The Ides of Drew

Of everything I've done since starting at my current job, I'd have to say my creation of a CD exchange club ranks among the greater accomplishments. It works as follows: Each member has a month on which he or she must compile a mix CD, make copies for everybody in the group and distribute them before that month finishes and then legally enjoy them in the privacy of their own home, before praying to Protestant God and saluting Old Glory. Yes, it's a little effort when you're month rolls around, but everybody else need only to sit back and graciously accept the new music.

My month was last month. I wasn't going to bother mentioning it here, but today I stumbled upon this post on the blog Slowly Going Bald, which demonstrates a handy way of legally sharing a mix CD by making it simple for readers to access the iTunes store and pick up any given song.

Thus, I'm proud to present The Ides of Drew, or what I listen to that I didn't think would make my coworkers think less of me. Clink on the iTunes link to take any of the songs for a test drive. If you want it for your own, you still have to buy it, of course. But this makes it all a bit more accessible.

1. "Too Drunk to Dream" by Magnetic Fields

This is the from the Fields album that came out a few months ago. Feel happy-sad!

2. "Out of Zone" by Marbles

I really like The Apples In Stereo. They represent everything I love about music and I feel like they're whole aesthetic is spot-on. Marbles is a kinda-sorta side project that, unless I'm mistaken, existed before the Apples in Stereo but was released much later.

3. "Cherry Tree" by Grand National

I also like anything that you can dance to that defies most of the characteristics of what you'd call "dance music."

4. "Bonnie and Clyde" by Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot

I don't speak French, but I still like this song. Highlights: That weird background instrument that kind of sounds like a person hiccupping, Brigitte's inability to pronounce "Bonnie" correctly, Serge's use of "ka-tick-ka-tick-ka-tick" to represent the sound of gun fire.

5. "I Hear the Bells" by Mike Doughty

I used to really liked that band Soul Coughing. It doesn't exist anymore, but the lead singer still does cool stuff. This song was featured in an episode of Veronica Mars, and for whatever reason I picture the girl singing back-up being Veronica Mars.

6. "Helena Won't Get Stoned" by Tarkio

The lead singer of the Decemberists, pre-Decemberists, I think.

7. "Is It True?" by Miss Ludella Black

As near as I know, this singer is totally contemporary, but just sounds every bit like she's four decades old. That's a good thing.

8. "Lady Bird" by Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood

I think Lee Hazlewood is good, and not in a kitschy, ironic way. I think this the best of his duets with Nancy.

9. "Lotion" by The Greens Keepers

A strange, dark little number that nonetheless has a dance beat. It takes a memorable line from Silence of the Lambs and makes it… different… and creepier.

10. "Rainfall" by The Apples in Stereo

My favorite song for, like, two years.

11. "Empire City" by Bishop Allen

Upbeat and strange.

12. "Wet and Rusting" by Menomena

Not so upbeat, but very pretty.

13. "Oh My" by Office

I kind of hate this band for having the name "Office" when a TV show called The Office is existent and funny and well-known. But this sing is pretty damn good.

14. "I Did What I Did for Maria" by Tony Christie

A spirited, Tom Jones-style ballad that justifies murder.

15. "Autobahn" by Karate

I know nothing about this song. I downloaded it back in the glory days of Audiogalaxy. It's likely mislabeled, and that's probably why I can't find it on iTunes. Hence the lack of link.

16. "Harmony" by The Clinic

I used to love this bad. Then I hated them. Now I love them again. Their music sounds like a children's lullaby and the theme from Halloween had a baby. They wear surgical masks over their mouths when they play. Even the guy on clarinet.

17. "Dangle" by Daylight Titans

A fairly unknown band that's scored a few hits by being on movie and TV show soundtracks. I blogged about them once, and the lead singer wrote me an email to thank me. I thought that was nice. Now offering them to you.

18. "Let Me Take Your Photo" by The Speedies

Don't hold the fact that this was in a photo printer ad against this song.

19. "L'Aventurier" by Nada Surf

Again, I don't speak French. I know — weird that I put two on this album. The only lyric I can pick out in this is "Jack Kerouac." (Also, until I looked it up on iTunes just now, I thought the song was called "Indochine." It's actually a cover of a song by the group Indochine. Things you learn.)

20. "Boner" by Grand National

More dance-y goodness. Ignore the fact that this song is called "Boner."

21. "Magic" by Marbles

A very short, very good song.

22. "Africa" by The Gaylads

First, I don't like reggae, in general. But these guys are an old, old reggae band who do some way cool stuff. Second, seeing as how they're an old, old reggae band, I don't think the band name "Gaylad" is meant the way most modern ears would hear it.

23. "High Art, Local News" by The New Pornographers

Is it corny that I put this on here? I like this song.

That was my contribution, anyway. In case you're interested in sharing with your friends what CDs you've been burning, the little cajigger that makes the link to the iTunes store can be found here. Too bad neither version of "L'Aventurier" exists on iTunes. Here's YouTube versions of both.

The original by Indochine:

And the cover by Nada Surf:

Phaedra Is My Name

I made a to-do list in a word file nearly a year ago, just after I returned from Australia. It included various tasks, as to-do lists often do, from “get full-time job at the Independent” to “write more fiction.” Clearly, I’ve accomplished some and failed to attend to others. One of the tasks that has long been languishing on the list was to explicate the lyrics to three songs — David Bowie’s “Diamond Dogs,” Blondie’s “Susie and Jeffrey” and Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra’s “Some Velvet Morning” — and post the results on the blog. I like all three songs, in spite of that or perhaps because all three seem more or less nonsensical.

Today, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t put on pants without trying to clarify what at least one of these songs means. Since it’s my favorite of the three, I picked “Some Velvet Morning,” a decision which worked against my desire to get anything done quickly. You see, the first hit for “Some Velvet Morning” on Google is the Wikipedia page for it. I wrote that page. And I still haven’t got a clue what the song is about.

The video appears below. Please excuse the corniness of it all and keep in mind that in 1968 people didn't know any better. Also, note the description of the woman named "Phaedra."

Now here goes nothing: First, some things you should know about Lee Hazlewood. He wrote this song. He also wrote "These Boots Are Made for Walking," the song that transformed Frank Sinatra's pretty daughter into a notable singer in her own right. That song also employed the lyric You've been lyin' when you should have been truthin', however, so Hazlewood is not necessarily someone who thinks words should be used grammatically. More proof of this: the intro to his autobiography, The Pope's Daughter, which I wrote about in a previous post. Despite this tendency, I think Hazlewood is trying to get at something in "Some Velvet Morning." As far as the rest of his music is concerned, "Some Velvet Morning" stands out; it's psychedelic and less clearly influenced by country western music. And because it stands out, I’d say he wrote it for a reason. Why else take a departure from your usual fare if not to express something you feel necessary? Aside from being an asteroid and a genus in the spurge family of plants, Phaedra is a character appearing in Greek mythology and various subsequent works of literature. In nearly all of them, Phaedra has some connection with sex that usually results in something bad happening. (Such is the lot of so many women in literature, you know.) To the Greeks, Phaedra was the daughter of Minos, the Cretan King whose wife screwed a bull and gave birth to the Minotaur. (I suppose this makes the Minotaur and Phaedra step-siblings. Odd.) Phaedra is married to Theseus, the man who slays the Minotaur. Shortly after giving birth to two sons by Theseus, however, Phaedra falls in love with Hippolytus, Theseus's son by the Amazon queen Hippolyte and, thus, her stepson. Hippolytus rejects Phaedra, who then gets revenge for being scorned by falsely alleging that Hippolytus raped her. In all versions of the story, the claim directly results in Hippolytus being killed, whether by daddy Theseus's own hand or by divine intervention that Theseus asks for. (Best of these: At Theseus's request, Poseidon sends a sea monster to spook Hippolytus's horse and drag him to death.) In some versions, Phaedra subsequently kills herself out of guilt over her lie. In Seneca's tragedy based on the tale, Phaedra is portrayed as a sort of Deliliah figure, being amorally seductive and duplicitous enough to draw other people into the constant manipulations of the men in her life. Jean Racine offers a slightly more sympathetic take on Phaedra in his 1677 play, but not by much. In 1962 — just a few years before Hazlewood would have written "Some Velvet Morning" — Jules Dassin directed a film "Phaedra," in which his wife Melina Mercouri played the title character, a wife of a shipping tycoon who begins a disasterous affair with her stepson (Anthony Perkins.) Guess how it ends. Given Phaedra's spotty history, then, it's curious to me that Hazlewood would write a song that praises the character, at least would seem to on a superficial read-through. His working relationship with Sinatra persisted for many years after "Some Velvet Morning" and I don't think he'd have her portray a conniving, lying seductress. Thus, I think "Some Velvet Morning" might actually be an interesting reinterpretation of a generally reviled character — and quite a feminist spin at that. That's what I'm hoping a verse-by-verse examination of the lyrics should further prove, anyway. For the purposes of understanding the song, know that it’s a duet. Nancy’s parts are indented and italicized.

Some velvet morning when I'm straight I'm gonna open up your gate And maybe tell you about Phaedra And how she gave me life And how she made it in Some velvet morning when I'm straight

Okay, when Hazlewood says "straight," I don't think he means to use the word the way we'd use it today. Given the content of his other songs, I'd assume this means "sober" or "no longer a criminal." Note that right of the bat, Hazlewood is full of praises for Phaedra. He also might be making a weird sort of sexual metaphor with talking about how he wants to "open up your gate." Then again, it might just be an easy rhyme for "straight."

Flowers growing on the hill Dragonflies and daffodils Learn from us very much Look at us but do not touch Phaedra is my name

Nancy's part makes no overt references to sexuality, but all the natural imagery and flowers and stuff seems to put her in the context of the nymphs of Greek mythology — certainly not the context Phaedra occupies in the stories originally told about her. It's an odd switch. However, the nymphs were almost always sexual beings. I'd say Hazlewood wrote these lyrics specifically to conflate the actual Phaedra with some nymphy version of her. After all, Nancy's last spoken line in this verse is "Phaedra is my name."

Some velvet morning when I'm straight I'm gonna open up your gate And maybe tell you about Phaedra and how she gave me life and how she made it in Some velvet morning when I'm straight

Then Hazlewood re-speaks what he's already said. Nancy, speaking as Phaedra, gets different lyrics for her second part.

Flowers are the things we know Secrets are the things we grow Learn from us very much Look at us but do not touch Phaedra is my name

Again, Hazlewood is putting Phaedra in the context of natural wonderment and beauty. Also, he seems to be attributing a unspecified sort of power to her — "Secrets are the things we grow" and "Look at us but do not touch" being prime examples from that. These lines, I think, hint more at the kind of power that made the mythological Phaedra powerful, as she used a secret — specifically a secret about a lie she told — to bring down an entire family and all the badness arose from her being angered.

Some velvet morning when I'm straight

Flowers growing on the hill

I'm gonna open up your gate

Dragonflies and daffodils

And maybe tell you about Phaedra

Learn from us very much

And how she gave me life

Look at us but do not touch

And how she made it in Some velvet morning when I’m straight

This whole last verse combines the previously separated parts into a whole. Given the nature of the classical Phaedra and "Some Velvet Morning" itself, I feel like this is the musical equivalent of sex. Literally, the male and female parts are commingled, and going back and forth. Kind of funny in a way. And, if you buy this interpretation, it's pretty high-concept to use the structure of the song to actually convey meaning. What I take away from all this is the simple story of a male speaker praising a woman for teaching him the ways of love — if not necessarily the physical act of it, then the emotional response needed to be a good person. Whereas the myth ended badly, this song ends well because Phaedra specifically warns the man about her power — "Look at us but do not touch" — and the man knows to respect this. At a time when the feminist movement was an appreciable presence in American life, this seemingly surreal song actually seems to be making an interesting commentary. But I suppose that the sentiment expressed shouldn't be surprising, given that Hazlewood himself dedicated a sizable chunk of his songwriting career to aiding a talented and beautiful woman in her artist efforts — perhaps at the expense of his own. After all, this is the man who titled his autobiography The Pope’s Daughter.

I've Been Down So Long (It Looks Like Up to Me)

While stumbling around on iTunes some time back, I found a song called “Some Velvet Morning,” the meaning of which escapes me but the tune of which can take hold in my head for days at a time. It climbed up my most-played list until it reached the very top, where it’s hovered ever since. “Some Velvet Morning” was initially sung by Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood back in the 70s. Several different artists have covered it — like Lydia Lunch and Nick Cave or Evan Dando and Sabrina Brooke — but I somehow doubt anyone reading this now would recognize any of the versions of it. Too bad, really: The original is especially good in that neither Sinatra nor Hazlewood has what you’d consider a traditionally good singing voice, so they kind of song-speak their way through the song. It’s odd, but it works.

I’d bet Hazlewood had a hand in writing a lot of the songs he sang with Sinatra. Each has a something quirky about it, like “Big Red Balloon,” which involves a man escaping from his shrewish wife with the titular floatation device, or “Down From Dover,” which explains childbirth with the lyrics “At any time a tiny face will show / The wait is almost over.” (Shudder.) Nothing too weird, though, just a little off.

I make this claim about Hazelwood authorship because Spencer and I recently stumbled across the man’s personal webpage, on which he discusses much of his life. Most prominent among featured bits: an excerpt from his autobiography, The Pope’s Daughter, in which he talks about his relationship with Nancy Sinatra, the child of one of the most powerful figures in the recording industry. I’m almost keen to read the book, based on this passage alone.

What’s it like to work with a Nancy Sinatra? They ask it, and ask it, and when you have answered, they ask it again. And the ‘ahs’ and ‘ers’ come pouring from your mouth like so many miles of frozen string melting from each desperate tug of a left hand filled with warm adjectives. And because you will not free your sinful right hand (so happily engaged in mental masturbation), and swim for shore, you drown in a sea of sometimes kind, seldom clever, never interesting and mostly biased anecdotes.

So perhaps in our little story it is best we stay with feelings, failings and fantasies, shying away from graffitied walls of truth where someone has bothered to engrave it all, just as it happened, but didn’t!

What’s it like to work with a Nancy Sinatra? It’s a visit to Disneyland, only your father owns all the rides. It’s an evening in the medicine cabinet of Edgar Allen Poe’s mother. It’s a trip on Superman’s cape and you are too frightened to look down for fear you’ll discover your real identity. It’s a Sousa march and the phallic cymbals are playing melody. It’s a plastic palace where all that glitters is gold. It’s a Las Vegas stage, sitting on a two-dollar stool in front of a fifty-two-piece orchestra, next to a lady in a five thousand-dollar gown; you’re singing a little flat and wondering if the fly is open on your eight-dollar ‘jeans’. It’s Beauty and the Beast selling a ‘fix’ to the Mickey Mouse People. It’s frustrating, foolish, Falstaffian, freaky, fucked-up and fun.

Easily the best writing I’ve seen in a celebrity autobiography, and you’re hearing it from a guy who spent twenty minutes reading Adrienne Barbeau’s There Are Worse Things I Could Do.