On The Sixtieth Anniversary Of Her Death-Lady Day-Billie Holiday- She Took Our Pain Away Despite Her Own Pains- For Sax Man Johnny Hodge's 112th Birthday-Blowing The High White Note-The Giants of Jazz- Studs Terkel-Style

Click on the title to link to a "Sunday Boston Globe", December 13, 2009, review of a new biography of Louis Armstrong.

BOOK REVIEW

Giants of Jazz, Revised edition, Studs Terkel, Thomas Crowell Company, New York, 1975

Recently I have been on a tear reviewing the works of the now departed Studs Terkel. As is the case, usually, when I get “hot” on an author I grab everything I can get my hands on and read it in no particular order. That is the case here. Terkel, widely known and deservedly so, as the author of oral histories concerning the pressing social issues of class, race and gender of working people (in the main)in America was also in his earlier career a popular Chicago disc jockey concentrating on jazz (and a little blues and folk as they intersected jazz). I had not previously known of that part of Studs’ life and only became aware of it through reading his last work, a memoir of sorts but really a series of connected vignettes, “Touch and Go” (well worth reading by the way as background to his interest in the jazz figures highlighted here). Previously my knowledge of jazz was formed by the likes of Nat Hentoff and John Hammond. Apparently I have to revise this list to include Studs. Why?

As a member of the "Generation of ’68" my tastes were formed by blues, folk and early rock & roll and only incidentally by jazz. However, once one delves into the roots of all of these forms one can only understand their attractions when one sees the influences all those forms had on each other. Without going into a dissertation on the subject (useless in any case) jazz is a core beat that expressed one form of music that had its roots in the South , among blacks and was a reflection of the rural life that was being left behind as America became more industrialized. Jazz is the music of the city, as blues is (before World War II) the music of the southern countryside. But enough. Read Studs and you can see how the music developed (and was retarded as well by the rules of racial separation as it spread to whites looking for real music, other than the likes of the Paul Whitman Orchestra or Tin Pan Alley, after World War I).

Many of the names of the performers highlighted here have are the classic expressions of the jazz idiom. King Oliver, Louis Armstrong, "The Empress" Bessie Smith. "The Duke" (Ellington), "The Count" (Basie), "Lady Day" (Billie Holiday). Yes this is the royalty of jazz. For those who follow this space you already know of my devotion to Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith. Less well know is my devotion to the “King of Swing” Benny Goodman of the Peggy Lee days in the 1940’s, Dizzy Gillespie of be-bop in the early 1950’s and Duke Ellington of the early 1940’s. Well, if you want to know more about them read on. By the way, this little book’s formatting is an early example of Studs Terkel’s easy style that he would work into an art form when he went full bore at his oral history interviews later. The only fault I would find here is that Studs is a little light on female singers. No Peggy Lee of the Benny Goodman days, no Margaret Whiting, no Helen Morgan, No Ivy Anderson. Oh well, I have always been a 'sucker' for a "torch singer". Maybe, Studs, except for Billie, wasn’t.

On The Sixtieth Anniversary Of Her Death-Lady Day-Billie Holiday- She Took Our Pain Away Despite Her Own Pains- A Jeff Bridges Retrospective- In The Time Of The Small Time Lounge Lizard Act- “The Fabulous Baker Boys”

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Michelle Pfeiffer performing  the song Making Whoopee in the film The Fabulous Baker Boys. Whoa!

 DVD Review

The Fabulous Baker Boys, Jeff Bridges, Beau Bridges, Michele Pfeiffer, 1984

In what has now become my standard opening line doing this retrospective of Jeff Bridge's film work I will simply repeat here what I have said before. I have spilled much ink this year, in the wake of his Oscar victory in the role of broken down country singer-songwriter, Bad Blake, in the film Crazy Hearts , arguing that Bridges had been preparing for that role since he first broke out as the future good ol' boy, Duane Jackson, in The Last Picture Show. That thread in his work comes to something of halt here as Bridges, and brother Beau, play a brother team of lounge lizard show tune piano-players going nowhere fast in the hard scrabble work of small venue musical gigs. East Coast version, mainly New York City and its environs. Bridges' here plays a more abstracted, more world-weary and wary, catch in a place that he doesn't want to be, life has passed him by, more existential anti-heroic role.


You know, now that I think of it, what this low rent brother act could use is a female singer, a torch singer. And of course the plot line in what would otherwise be an unexceptional film brings in just such a singer in the person of Michelle Pfeiffer to spice up the act. The tensions, including the obvious sexual tensions between Jeff and Michelle drive most of the film. And at that level this becomes a better than average film. But the real reason that I liked the film is, as I have mentioned in other reviews, I am a sucker for a torch singer. From Bessie Smith to Billie Holiday to Peggy Lee in her Benny Goodman days, hell, even Rosemary Clooney when she was in the mood could (can) always chase away the blues. Now enter one fetching torch singer, one slinky, fetching torch singer, one cry me a river fetching torch singer and I am a goner. Add in a scene with said torch singer dressed in a come hither devilishly red dress singing atop old Jeff's piano on New Year's and, well, be still my heart. I could add more but under doctor's advice I have to wait until my blood pressure subsides Oh ya, before I forget Jeff (and Beau) did a good job acting here. But it's really about that silky-voiced, sultry dame, okay. Enough said.

*The Torch Singer's Torch Singer -The Sixtieth Anniversary Of Her Death-Lady Day-Billie Holiday- She Took Our Pain Away Despite Her Own Pains

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Billie Holiday performing Strange Fruit.

DVD REVIEW

Billie’s Best, Polygram Records, 1992

In my book, and I am hardly alone on this, Billie Holiday is the torch singer's torch singer. Maybe it is the phrasing on her best songs. That well-placed hush. Maybe it is the unbreakable link between her voice when she is on a roll and the arrangements. Hell, maybe in the end it was the dope but, by Jesus, she could sing a modern ballad of love, lost or both like no other. And if it was the dope, let me say this- a `normal' nice singer could sing for a hundred years and never get it right, the way Billie could get it right when she was at her best. Dope or no dope. Was she always at her best? Hell no, as the current compilation makes clear. These recordings done between 1945 and her death in 1959 for Verve show the highs but also the lows as the voice faltered a little and the dope put the nerves on edge toward the end.

Many of the songs on the current compilation are technically sound, a few not, as is to be expected on such re-mastering. You will like Come Rain or Come Shine, Stars Fell On Alabama and Stormy Blues. A tear will come to your eye with Some Other Spring and East of the Sun. The surprise of the package is Speak Low, a sultry song with tropical background beat. That one is very good, indeed.

One last word- I have occasionally mentioned my love of Billie Holiday's music to younger acquaintances. Some of their responses reflecting, I think, the influence of the movie version of her life (Lady Sings the Blues with Diana Ross) or some unsympathetic black history 'uplift' type views on her life have written her off as an 'addled' doper. Here is my rejoinder- If when I am blue and need a pick me-up and put on a Billie platter (CD)and feel better then, my friends, I do not give a damn about the dope. Enough said.

On The Sixtieth Anniversary Of Her Death-Lady Day-Billie Holiday- She Took Our Pain Away Despite Her Own Pains- Out In The 1950s Be-Bop Night- Billie Holiday Cries A River- A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Billie Holiday performing the riveting Strange Fruit.

Billie’s Best, Billie Holiday, Verve, 1972

In my book, and I am hardly alone on this, Billie Holiday is the torch singer’s torch singer. Maybe it is the phrasing on her best songs. That well-placed hush. Maybe it is the unbreakable link between her voice when she is on a roll and the arrangements. Hell, maybe in the end it was the dope but, by Jesus, she could sing a modern ballad of love, lost or both like no other. And if it was the dope, let me say this- a ‘normal’ nice singer could sing for a hundred years and never get it right, the way Billie could get it right when she was at her best. Dope, or no dope. Was she always at her best? Hell no, as the current compilation makes clear. These recordings done between 1945 and her death in 1959 for Verve show the highs but also the lows as the voice faltered a little and the dope put the nerves on edge toward the end.

Many of the songs on the current compilation are technically sound, a few not, as is to be expected on such re-mastering. You will like Come Rain or Come Shine, Stars Fell On Alabama and Stormy Blues. A tear will come to your eye with Some Other Spring and East of the Sun. The surprise of the package is Speak Low, a sultry song with tropical background beat. That one is very good, indeed. One last word- I have occasionally mentioned my love of Billie Holiday’s music to younger acquaintances. Some of their responses reflecting, I think, the influence of the movies or some black history looks on her life have written her off as an addled doper. Here is my rejoinder- If when I am blue and need a pick-me-up and put on a Billie platter and feel better then, my friends, someone who can do that for me I will buy them, metaphorically of course, all the dope they ever need. Enough said.

On The Sixtieth Anniversary Of Her Death-Lady Day-Billie Holiday- She Took Our Pain Away Despite Her Own Pains- Out In The Torch Singer Be-Bop Blues Night- Blues Masters- The Women Hold Forth- A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Billie Holiday holding forth, very holding forth on Stormy Blues.

Blues Masters: Classic Blues Women: Volume 11, various artists, Rhino Records, 1993

I swear, I swear on a stack of seven bibles, I am off, finally off film noir femme fatales after watching (or rather , re-watching) Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer, mainly Jane Greer, go round and round in the classic crime noir Out Of The Past. How could any rational man not think twice about following such femmes as Jane Greer’s Kathy who just happened to be a little gun happy (and a chronic liar to boot) who put a couple in Robert Mitchum’s Jeff after he did somersaults to try to save her bacon about six times. That’s gratitude for you.

Well, like I said I am off, done, finished with those two-timing dames, and good riddance. Now I have time, plenty of time, and my health to speak of blues in the night wailing female torch singers who, as far as I know, do not carry or do not need to carry guns, to do their business. Of course it was not big deal to change my allegiances because since I was a kid I have been nothing but putty in their hands for any torch singer who could throw away my blues with some sorrow laden tune.

Maybe it was in some back-drop Harvard Square coffeehouse in long mist time 1960s when I first heard such voices, first among them, Billie Holiday, late, early, whatever Billie Holiday singing of some man on her mind, mostly some no good man, some no dough man, who maybe took a couple of whacks at her for no reason, or just took her last dough to bet on that next sure thing…and happiness. Or maybe earlier when some home background 1940s we-won-the-war be-bop music filtered through the air my own childhood house from the local radio station playing Peggy Lee all Benny Goodman’d up, or Helen Whiting, or, or well, you get the drift. Stuff that would stop me in my tracks and ask, ask where did that sorrow come from.

Later, several years later, it blossomed fully when some now half-forgotten (but only half-forgotten) girlfriend gave me a complete Vanguard Record set of all of Bessie Smith’s recordings. Ah heaven, and ah the student neighbors who had to listen for half a day while I played the damn set through. So get it, get it straight I am a long-time aficionado of the genre and commenting on this Blues Masters CD about classic women blues singers is a piece of cake.

Strangely, although the bulk of the “discovered” blues singers of the folk revival minute of the 1960s were male (Mississippi John Hurt, Bukka White, Son House, Skip James, et. al) back in the serious heyday of the blues in the 1920s and early 1930s women dominated the blues market, the popular music of the day. And the women featured in this compilation were the most well-known of the myriad torch singers that lit up the concert hall, speakeasies and juke joints North and South. Mamie Smith, “Ma” Rainey, the divide Sippie Wallace, of course Bessie Smith, Ida Cox, Victoria Spivey (later to be one of the first women blues producers and record company owners), and Alberta Hunter are all rightfully and righteously here.

What, no Billie Holiday? Well yes she does Stormy Weather here so stay calm. I have singled her out because to me her voice, her phrasing, her half breath between notes is what torch singing was all about and all about whenever I felt (or feel) blue I just turned to Billie and she would sing your blues away (unfortunately not her own). Now if I could just get a torch singer who was also a non-gun- toting femme fatale I would be in very heaven. Ya, I know I said I was off femmes but what are you going to do.

On The Sixtieth Anniversary Of Her Death-Lady Day-Billie Holiday- She Took Our Pain Away Despite Her Own Pains- *It Don't Mean A Thing If You Ain't Got That Swing- The Birthday Centenary Of Swing's Artie Shaw

Click on the headline to link to a "Wikipedia" entry for jazz man and mad clarinetist Artie Shaw.


Markin comment:

There is a question of who was the better clarinetist, Artie Shaw or Benny Goodman, among classical jazz aficionados (although one should not exclude Duke Ellington's sideman, Barney Bigard, in that mix). There is, however, no dispute over who had the better swing band in the 1930s- Artie hands down (including with Billie Holiday as vocalist, for a short time). For those, by the way, unfamiliar with swing that was the "bad" teenage-driven music that your grandparents, or parents, listened to away from their parents. You know, the music of the youth tribe like rock and roll for my generation or, maybe, hip-hop for this generation.

On The Sixtieth Anniversary Of Her Death-Lady Day-Billie Holiday- She Took Our Pain Away Despite Her Own Pains- *Songs To While Away The Class Struggle By- Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit"

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Billie Holiday performing Strange Fruit.

February Is Black History Month


*FromThe Torch Singer's Torch Singer-Billie Holiday- American Left History blog, June 9, 2008


DVD REVIEW

Billie’s Best, Polygram Records, 1992

In my book, and I am hardly alone on this, Billie Holiday is the torch singer's torch singer. Maybe it is the phrasing on her best songs. That well-placed hush. Maybe it is the unbreakable link between her voice when she is on a roll and the arrangements. Hell, maybe in the end it was the dope but, by Jesus, she could sing a modern ballad of love, lost or both like no other. And if it was the dope, let me say this- a `normal' nice singer could sing for a hundred years and never get it right, the way Billie could get it right when she was at her best. Dope or no dope. Was she always at her best? Hell no, as the current compilation makes clear. These recordings done between 1945 and her death in 1959 for Verve show the highs but also the lows as the voice faltered a little and the dope put the nerves on edge toward the end.

Many of the songs on the current compilation are technically sound, a few not, as is to be expected on such re-mastering. You will like Come Rain or Come Shine, Stars Fell On Alabama and Stormy Blues. A tear will come to your eye with Some Other Spring and East of the Sun. The surprise of the package is Speak Low, a sultry song with tropical background beat. That one is very good, indeed.

One last word- I have occasionally mentioned my love of Billie Holiday's music to younger acquaintances. Some of their responses reflecting, I think, the influence of the movie version of her life (Lady Sings the Blues with Diana Ross) or some unsympathetic black history 'uplift' type views on her life have written her off as an 'addled' doper. Here is my rejoinder- If when I am blue and need a pick me-up and put on a Billie platter (CD)and feel better then, my friends, I do not give a damn about the dope. Enough said.

In Honor Of Janis Joplin's Birthday -From The Archives -The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love- When The Music’s Over-On The Anniversary Of Janis Joplin’s Death

The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love- When The Music’s Over-On The  Anniversary Of Janis Joplin’s Death

Classic Rock : 1968: Shakin’ All Over, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1989

Scene: Brought to mind by a the cover art on this CD of a Janis Joplin-like female performer belting out some serious blues rock in the heat of the “Generation of ‘68” night.

Josh Breslin (a. k. a. the Prince of Love, although some yellow bus wit made a joke of that moniker calling him the Prince of Lvov, some Podunk town in Poland, or some place like that) was weary, weary as hell, road- weary, drug-weary, Captain Crunch’s now Big Sur–based magical mystery tour, merry prankster, yellow brick road bus-weary, even hanging around with his “papa,” “Far-Out” Phil Larkin who had gotten him through some pretty rough spots weary. Hell, he was girl-weary too, girl weary ever since his latest girlfriend, Gypsy Lady (nee Phyllis McBride), decided that she just had to go back to her junior year of college at Berkeley in order to finish some paper on the zodiac signs and their meaning for the new age rising. Ya, okay Gypsy, do what you have to do. Moreover this summer of 1968, June to be exact, after a year bouncing between summers of love, autumns of drugs, winters of discontent, and springs of political madness what with Johnson’s resignation, Robert Kennedy’s assassination piled on to that of King’s had taken a lot out of him, including his weight, weight loss that his already slim runner’s frame could not afford.

Moreover, now the chickens were coming home to roost. Before he had joined Captain Crunch’s merry prankster crew in San Francisco, got “on the bus,” in the youth nation tribal parlance, last summer he had assumed that he would enter State U in the fall (University of Maine, for those who did not know). After a summer of love with Butterfly Swirl though (his temperature rose every time he thought about her and her cute little tricks to get him going sexually even now) and then a keen interest in a couple of other young women before Gypsy Lady landed on him, some heavy drug experiences that he was still trying to figure out, his start–up friendship with Phil, and the hard fact that he just did not want to go home now that he had found “family” he decided that he needed to “see the world” for a while instead. And he had, at least enough to weary him.

What he did not figure on, or what got blasted into the deep recesses of his brain just a couple of days ago, was a letter from his parents with a draft notice from his local board enclosed. Hell’s bells he had better get back, weary or not, and get some school stuff going real fast, right now fast. There was one thing for sure, one nineteen-year old Joshua Peter Breslin, Olde Saco, Maine High School Class of 1967, was not going with some other class of young men to ‘Nam to be shot at, or to shoot.

Funny, Josh thought, as he mentally prepared himself for the road back to Olde Saco, how the past couple of months had just kind of drifted by and that he really was ready to get serious. The only thing that had kind of perked him up lately was Ruby Red Lips (nee Sandra Kelly), who had just got “on the bus” from someplace down South like Georgia, or Alabama and who had a great collection of blues records that he was seriously getting into (as well as seriously into Ruby although she seemed slow, very slow, to get his message). Josh, throughout high school and even on the bus, was driven by rock ‘n’ roll. Period. He got surprised one day when he heard Ruby playing Shake, Rattle, and Roll. He asked, “Is that Carl Perkins?” Ruby laughed, laughed a laugh that he found appealing and said, “No silly, that's the king of be-bop blues, Big Joe Turner. Want to hear more stuff?” And that was that. Names like Skip James, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson, Son House, Muddy Waters and Little Walter started to fill his musical universe.

What got him really going though were the women singers, Sippie Wallace, mad Bessie Smith, a whole bunch of other barrelhouse blues-singers named Smith, Memphis Minnie and the one that really, really got to him, “Big Mama” Thornton. The latter belting out a bluesy rendition of Hound Dog that made Elvis' seem kind of punk, and best of all Piece Of My Heart.

Then one night Ruby took him to club over in Monterrey, the Blue Note, a club for young blues talent, mainly, that was a stepping-stone to getting work at the Monterrey Pop Festival each year. There he heard, heard if you can believe this, some freckled, red-headed whiskey-drinking off the hip girl, ya just a wisp of a girl, from Podunk, Texas, or maybe Oklahoma who was singing Big Mama’s Piece of My Heart. And then Ball and Chain, Little School Girl, and Little Red Rooster. Hell, she had the joint jumping until the early hours for just as long as guys kept putting drinks in front of her. What a night, what a blues singer.

Just now though Ruby Red Lips came over to him, kind of perky and kind of with that look in her that he was getting to catch on to when a girl was interested in him and said, “Hey, Janis, that singer from the Blue Note, is going to be at Monterrey Pops next month with a band to back her up, want to go? And, do you want to go to the Blue Note with me tonight?” After answering, yes, yes, to both those questions the Prince of Love (and not some dinky Lvov either) figured he could go back to old life Olde Saco by late August and still be okay but he had better grab Ruby now while he could.

In Honor Of Janis Joplin's Birthday-From The Archives -The 50th Anniversary O The Summer Of Love- When The Music’s Over-On The Anniversary Of Janis Joplin’s Death-Magical Realism 101

The 50th Anniversary O The Summer Of Love- When The Music’s Over-On The Anniversary Of Janis Joplin’s Death-Magical Realism 101

Scene: Brought to mind by the cover art on some fogged memory accompanying CD booklet of a wispy, blue-jeaned, blouse hanging off one shoulder, bare-foot, swirling mass of red hair, down home Janis Joplin-like female performer belting out some serious blues rock in the heat of the “Generation of ‘68” night. In the time of our time. Belting out songs, band backed-up and boozed-up, probably Southern Comfort if it was late and if the package store was short of some good cutting whiskey, but singing from somewhere beyond a no good man, no job, no roof over a head, no pocket dough, no prospects and a ton of busted dreams in some now forgotten barrelhouse, chittlin’ circuit bowling alley complete with barbecued ribs smoking out back or down town “colored” theater. Or the echo of that scene, okay.
*******
Josh Breslin (a. k. a. the Prince of Love, although some merry prankster yellow brick road bus wit made a joke of that moniker calling him the Prince of Lvov, some Podunk town in Poland, or some place like that) was weary, weary as hell, road- weary, drug-weary, Captain Crunch’s now Big Sur–based magical mystery tour, merry prankster, yellow brick road bus-weary, weary even of hanging out with his “papa,” “Far-Out” Phil Larkin who had gotten him through some pretty rough spots weary. Hell, he was girl-weary too, girl weary ever since his latest girlfriend, Gypsy Lady (nee Phyllis McBride), decided that she just had to go back to her junior year of college at Berkeley in order to finish up some paper on the zodiac signs and their meaning for the new age rising. Ya, okay Gypsy, do what you have to do, the Prince mused to himself. Chuckled really, term paper stuff was just not his “thing” right then.

Moreover this summer of 1968, June to be exact, after a year bouncing between summers of love, 1967 version to be exact, autumns of drugs, strange brews of hyper-colored experience drugs and high shamanic medicine man aztec druid flame throws, winters of Paseo Robles brown hills discontent, brown rolling hills until he sickened of rolling, the color brown, hills, slopes, plains, everything, and springs of political madness what with Johnson’s resignation, Robert Kennedy’s assassination piled on to that of Martin Luther King’s had taken a lot out of him, including his weight, weight loss that his already slim former high school runner’s frame could not afford.

Now the chickens had come home to roost. Before he had joined Captain Crunch’s merry prankster crew in San Francisco, got “on the bus,” in the youth nation tribal parlance, last summer he had assumed, after graduating from high school, that he would enter State U in the fall (University of Maine, the Prince is nothing but a Mainiac, Olde Saco section, for those who did not know). After a summer of love with Butterfly Swirl though before she went back to her golden-haired surfer boy back down in Carlsbad (his temperature rose even now every time he thought about her and her cute little tricks to get him going sexually) and then a keen interest in a couple of other young women before Gypsy Lady landed on him, some heavy drug experiences that he was still trying to figure out, his start–up friendship with Phil, and the hard fact that he just did not want to go home now that he had found “family” he decided that he needed to “see the world” for a while instead. And he had, at least enough to weary him.

What he did not figure on, or what got blasted into the deep recesses of his brain just a couple of days ago, was a letter from his parents with a draft notice from his local board enclosed. Hell’s bells he had better get back, weary or not, and get some school stuff going real fast, right now fast. There was one thing for sure, one nineteen-year old Joshua Lawrence Breslin, Olde Saco, Maine High School Class of 1967, was not going with some other class of young men to ‘Nam to be shot at, or to shoot.

Funny, Josh thought, as he mentally prepared himself for the road back to Olde Saco, how the past couple of months had just kind of drifted by and that he really was ready to get serious. The only thing that had kind of perked him up lately was Ruby Red Lips (nee Sandra Kelly), who had just got “on the bus” from someplace down South like Georgia, or Alabama and who had a great collection of blues records that he was seriously getting into (as well as seriously into Miss Ruby, as he called her as a little bait, a little come on bait, playing on her somewhere south drawl, although she seemed slow, very slow, to get his message).

Josh, all throughout high school and even on the bus, was driven by rock ‘n’ roll. Period. Guys like Elvis, Chuck, Jerry Lee, even a gal like Wanda Jackson, when they were hungry, and that hunger not only carried them to the stars but slaked some weird post-World War II, red scare, cold war hunger in guys like Josh Breslin although he never, never in a million years would have articulated it that way back then. That was infernal Captain Crunch’s work (Captain is the “owner” of the “bus” and a story all his own but that is for another time) always trying to put things in historical perspective or the exact ranking in some mythical pantheon that he kept creating (and recreating especially after a “dip” of Kool-Aid, LSD for the squares, okay).

But back to Ruby love. He got a surprise one day when he heard Ruby playing Shake, Rattle, and Roll. He asked, “Is that Carl Perkins?” Ruby laughed, laughed a laugh that he found appealing and he felt was meant to be a little coquettish and said, “No silly, that's the king of be-bop blues, Big Joe Turner. Want to hear more stuff?” And that was that. Names like Skip James, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson, Son House, Muddy Waters and Little Walter started to fill his musical universe.

What got him really going though were the women singers, Sippie Wallace that someone, Bonnie Raitt or Maria Muldaur, had found in old age out in some boondock church social or something, mad Bessie Smith squeezed dry, freeze-dried by some no account Saint Louis man and left wailing, empty bed, gin house wailing ever after, a whole bunch of other barrelhouse blues-singers named Smith, Memphis Minnie, the queen of the double entendre, sex version, with her butcher, baker, candlestick-maker men, doing, well doing the do, okay, and the one that really, really got to him, “Big Mama” Thornton. The latter belting out a bluesy rendition of Hound Dog made just for her that made Elvis' seem kind of punk, and best of all a full-blast Piece Of My Heart.

Then one night Ruby took him to club over in Monterrey just up the road from the Big Sur merry prankster yellow bus camp, the Blue Note, a club for young blues talent, mainly, that was a stepping-stone to getting some work at the Monterrey Pop Festival held each year. There he heard, heard if you can believe this, some freckled, red-headed whiskey-drinking off the hip girl (or maybe some cheap gin or rotgut Southern Comfort, cheap and all the in between rage for those saving their dough for serious drugs).

Ya just a wisp of a girl, wearing spattered blue-jeans, some damn moth-eaten tee-shirt, haphazardly tie-dyed by someone on a terminal acid trip, barefoot, from Podunk, Texas, or maybe Oklahoma, (although he had seen a fair share of the breed in Fryeburg Fair Maine) who was singing Big Mama’s Piece of My Heart. And then Ball and Chain, Little School Girl, and Little Red Rooster.

Hell, she had the joint jumping until the early hours for just as long as guys kept putting drinks in front of her. And maybe some sweet sidle promise, who knows in that alcohol blaze around three in the morning. All Josh knew was this woman, almost girlish except for her sharp tongue and that eternal hardship voice, that no good man, no luck except bad luck voice, that spoke of a woman’s sorrow back to primordial times, had that certain something, that something hunger that he recognized in young Elvis and the guys. And that something Josh guessed would take them over the hump into that new day they were trying to create on the bus, and a thousand other buses like it. What a night, what a blues singer.

The next day Ruby Red Lips came over to him, kind of perky and kind of with that just slightly off-hand look in her eye that he was getting to catch on to when a girl was interested in him, and said, “Hey, Janis, that singer from the Blue Note, is going to be at Monterrey Pops next month with a band to back her up, want to go? And, do you want to go to the Blue Note with me tonight?” After answering, yes, yes, to both those questions the Prince of Love (and not some dinky Lvov either, whoever that dull-wit was) figured he could go back to old life Olde Saco by late August, sign up for State U., and still be okay but that he had better grab Ruby now while he could.

On Memphis Minnie's Birthday - When Women Singers Held Sway In The 1920s Blues Night- “I Can’t Be Satisfied”-A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Memphis Minnie, the Hoodoo Lady, performing, well what else, Hoodoo Lady Blues.

CD Review

I Can’t Be Satisfied: Early American Women Blues Singers-Town And Country: Volume l-Country, Yazoo Records, 1997


Recently in reviewing another compilation of women blues singers from the 1920s I mentioned that I had sworn off, I had sworn on a stack of seven bibles, that I was off, finally off film noir femme fatales after watching (or rather, re-watching) Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer, mainly Jane Greer, go round and round in the classic crime noir Out Of The Past. How could any rational man not think twice about following such femmes as Jane Greer’s Kathy who just happened to be a little gun happy (and a chronic liar to boot) and who put a couple in Robert Mitchum’s Jeff after he did somersaults to try to save her bacon about six times. That’s gratitude for you.

Well, like I said I am off, done, finished with those two-timing dames, and good riddance. Now I have time, plenty of time, and my health to speak of blues in the night wailing female torch singers who, as far as I know, do not carry or do not need to carry guns, to do their business. Of course it was not big deal to change my allegiances because since I was a kid I have been nothing but putty in their hands for any torch singer who could throw away my blues with some sorrow laden tune.

Maybe it was in some back-drop Harvard Square coffeehouse in long mist time 1960s when I first heard such voices, first among them, Billie Holiday, late, early, whatever Billie Holiday singing of some man on her mind, mostly some no good man, some no dough man, who maybe took a couple of whacks at her for no reason, or just took her last dough to bet on that next sure thing…and happiness. Or maybe earlier when some home background 1940s we won the war be-bop music filtered through the air of my own childhood house from the local radio station playing Peggy Lee all Benny Goodman’d up, or Helen Whiting, or, or well, you get the drift. Stuff that would stop me in my tracks and ask, ask where did that sorrow come from.

Later, several years later, it blossomed fully when some now half-forgotten (but only half-forgotten) girlfriend gave me a complete Vanguard Record set of all of Bessie Smith’s recordings. Ah heaven, and ah the student neighbors who had to listen for half a day while I played the damn set through. So get it, get it straight I am a long-time aficionado of the genre and commenting on this I Can’t Be Satisfied CD about classic women blues is a piece of cake.

Strangely, although the bulk of the “discovered” blues singers of the folk revival minute of the 1960s were male (Mississippi John Hurt, Bukka White, Son House, Skip James, et. al) back in the serious heyday of the blues in the 1920s and early 1930s women dominated the blues market, the popular music of the day. And the women featured in this compilation were the most well-known of the myriad torch singers that lit up the concert hall, speakeasies and juke joints North and South. Hattie Hart, Ruby Glaze, the divine Bessie Tucker, of course Lottie Kimbrough, Lizzie Washington, and Bertha Lee are all rightfully and righteously here.

What, no Memphis Minnie? Well yes she does Outdoor Blues here so stay calm. I have singled her out because to me her voice, her phrasing, her half breath between notes is what blues-style torch singing is all (and with plenty of double ententes too) . Now if I could just get a torch singer who was also a non-gun- toting femme fatale I would be in very heaven. Ya, I know I said I was off femmes but what are you going to do.

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Singing The Cole Porter Blues-“The Very Thought Of You”

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of the late legendary singer Etta James performing this Cole Porter classic, The Very Thought Of You.

Torch Songs, various artists, 2 CD set, Capitol Records, 2004

Some days are just Cole Porter days. No not a “Love for Sale” day kind of saucy and salacious, portending of adventures or dreams of adventures, like he could do with a two-termed turn of phrase, No today, well actually since today’s brood has turned in night, tonight is a low-down blues day. So, like I have done on more occasions than I care to confess to, I headed off to Jack’s Jazz Joint over in the Camelot House across the street from Hoby’s in Harvard Square. (Harvard Square for the three people in the world who are geographically-disadvantaged is in blues-etched Cambridge which is in Massachusetts. None of that information enters into the story, not at all, but with the blues you could be in Timbuktu for all the locale mattered). Jack’s, my favorite shucking the blues watering spot. Ya, good old Jack’s.

Okay, you have probably figured it out by now anyway. All day (and night) blues, a tumble down smoky jazz- joint filled with more torch singer blues memories than one could shake a stick at, and some booze can only mean one thing- a dame (oops, Cambridge, woman). It also takes no rocket science either to figure out it was my very own Joyell, companion of a thousand love battles, big and small, and of nine hundred and ninety-nine armed truces that has me blue, blue all over… And that is the problem- the watering hole to be solved problem. This latest battle is without a current truce and it has been a week now.

Naturally, for the first day or so, it was all good-bye and good riddance but the past six days well, they have been hard. And that is also where the problem lies. Neither of us has had a good track record on giving in, letting bygones be by gone, and move on. In short everything takes on the character of a civil war and just now I am like the Confederates in early 1865- on my last legs.

And the dispute, the substance of the dispute? Who knows? Do you love me more than the whole wide world? Why don’t you get a better job? Why were you practically drooling over Lorraine at that party last night? Why didn’t you put the laundry away? Jesus, who knows at this point, although a week probably has eliminated the laundry battle as the reason for the fight.

Ah, there’s Jack’s. I wonder who is on the floor tonight. The sign said Rita Radley, a torch singer. Don’t know the name but Jacks’ is a showcase for lots of up and coming talent. Hope she can sing these blues away. As I took my seat (my usual seat when these love battles run their course) at the bar in front of Tommy’s station and ordered my first whiskey neat (I stopped throwing in a beer chaser when I started making enough dough to drink good whiskey, good enough not to be need a chaser and get a better buzz too.) I notice that Rita (recognized from the photo out front) was getting ready to hold forth.

Now this Rita was nothing but a frail (oops, again Cambridge, gal), a thin gal but with a shape, wearing an evening gown that had guys, including me, thinking about this and that and that line to work on her, and with that tussle of Irish red hair that I knew from primordial times meant Irish (and eight million tussles, novena beads and catechism tussles, for some slight lip kiss and slapped cop feel, jesus never again). I’ve had enough Irish redheads to last a lifetime (Joyell is brunette, my hair color of choice the past few times out, except that slight pass at blonde Lorraine of some battle past). But I also know, eight hundred years of English tyranny know, Easter 1916 know, struggle in the north now know, that some of these , ah, gals can sing the blues with the best of the black singers of the past like blessed Billie (Holiday), like blessed Dinah (Washington), like blessed Nina (Simone).

And as Rita gives her intro and starts up on her first song I know that eight hundred years, that 1916, that struggle in the north now sorrow drives her voice, drives her voice to that place where those aforementioned black singers live. That life’s sorrow place. For that one moment I am at peace, at peace with myself. And the next minute, after she is done, I call out to the bar-tender, “Tommy, one more here and one for the torch.” She gives me a smile, a professional kudos smile, and moves on to her next song. That next song, “The Very Thought Of You," really brings down the house, shades of Billie, shades of Etta James. But also shades of Joyell when she tears into “the mere idea of you” line of the song. And so, respectfully waiting until she finished her number, I head to the telephone out in the lobby. Thanks, Rita.

***Out In The Ageless Blues Night- Alberta Hunter Holds Forth- A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Alberta Hunter performing Nobody Knows You When You Are Down And Out.

Alberta Hunter, Greatest Hits, 1978

As I noted in a recent review of Memphis Minnie one of the interesting facts about the development of the blues is that in the early days the recorded music and the bulk of the live performances were done by women. That time, the early 1920’s to the 1930’s, was the classic age of women blues performers. Of course, when one thinks about that period the name that comes up is the legendary Bessie Smith. Alberta Hunter came into prominence at the tail end of that period. Although there were periods of quiescence Ms. Hunter had a long career as a classic blues torch singer.

This compilation produced by the legendary John Hammond and, therefore, technically good has a nice run of songs that made Ms. Hunter’s mark. Her phrasing on Always is interesting. Her heartfelt sorrow in A Good Man Is Hard To Find comes through. Sweet Georgia Brown is just so fine. And the plaintive My Handy Man Ain’t Handy No More says it all. If you like torch singers this is for you.

I Fall To Pieces Each Time I Hear Her Sing- Pasty Cline Sings The 1950s Standards -A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Patsy Cline performing I Love You Some Much It Hurts Me.

CD Review

Pasty Cline: True Love- A Standards Collection, Patsy Cline, MCA Nashville Records, 2000

For those of us of a certain age (growing up in the early 1960’s) the timeless voice of Patsy Cline, whether we were aware of it or not, formed the backdrop to many a school dance or other romantic endeavor. I was not a fan of Cline’s, at least not consciously, growing up but have come to appreciate her talent and her amazing voice since then. In another earlier review in this space I have called her the ‘country torch singer’ par excellence. And she does not fail here. I believe that this compilation does justice to her work, work cut short before her full maturity by a fatal accident, but that reflects her move away from a countrified sound to a pop star. Patsy, like many another torch singer, Bessie Smith or Billie Holiday come to mind, needs to grow on you. The best way to do that is grab this album and sit back. You won’t want to turn the damn thing off.

Stand out covers here devoted to the themes of love, lost love, found love, misplaced love, and perhaps, hate if things every got that far out of hand are Always; You Belong To Me; I Love You So Much It Hurts (a personal favorite): and, the title song, True Love. But listen to the whole thing when you are in the mood.

"Crazy"

Written by willie nelson
(as performed by willie nelson)
Also performed by patsy cline and ray price*

Crazy
Crazy for feeling so lonely
Im crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue

I knew
Youd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
Youd leave me for somebody new

Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wondrin
What in the world did I do

Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
Im crazy for tryin
Crazy for cryin
And Im crazy
For lovin you

(repeat last verse)


Patsy Cline, She's Got You Lyrics

Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: She's Got You

“She's Got You”

I've got your picture that you gave to me
And it's signed "with love," just like it used to be
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got your picture, she's got you

I've got the records that we used to share
And they still sound the same as when you were here
The only thing different, the only thing new,
I've got the records, she's got you

I've got your memory, or has it got me?
I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be

I've got your class ring; that proved you cared
And it still looks the same as when you gave it dear
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got these little things, she's got you

Patsy Cline, Why Can't He Be You Lyrics

Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Why Can't He Be You


“Why Can't He Be You”

He takes me to the places you and I used to go
He tells me over and over that he loves me so
He gives me love that I never got from you
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you

He never fails to call and tell me I'm on his mind
And I'm lucky to have such a guy; I hear it all the time
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me, too, his love is true
Why can't he be you

He's not the one who dominates my mind and soul
And I should love him so, 'cause he loves me, I know
But his kisses leave me cold

He sends me flowers, calls on the hour, just to prove his love
And my friends say when he's around, I'm all he speaks of
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you

Patsy Cline, Sweet Dreams Lyrics

Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Sweet Dreams

“Sweet Dreams”

Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you

You don't love me, it's plain
I should know I'll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you

Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can't come true
Why can't I forget the past, start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you

*The King Of Swing- The Jazz Music Of Benny Goodman- Miss Peggy Lee Is In The House

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Peggy Lee Singing "Why Don't You Do Right?" Backed By Benny Goodman's Band.

CD Review

Benny Goodman And Peggy Lee, Peggy Lee, Benny Goodman and various side men, Columbia Records, 1989

Musically, I am a blues man. I am informed, malformed, deformed, reformed by the blues. Then I am a rock man. And a folk man, in all its variants. So where doe that lead me into an exposition of jazz that I have recently started to write more about in this space. Well, let’s just call it an extension of the blues (not hard to do by the way). I mentioned in a recent review of the work of jazz singer Mildred Bailey that the clearest example of that is Lady Day, Billie Holiday. I noted there, that, yes, I know that she was a jazz singer extraordinaire. But, the way she swept my blues away when I was down in the dumps sure makes me think she was the queen of the blues (Bessie Smith being, of course, outlandishly the “Empress” ). I would further note in the category of male bandleaders (that is, after all, what jazz was about back in the days, bands) Duke Ellington’s work has a similar status.

Taking this idea once more as my theme all of this is by a very round about way of bringing the jazz band leader under review, Benny Goodman into the picture. Duke Ellington set the standard in the 1940’s for the phrasing of a jazz piece, for the mix of instruments, for the hush that signaled a new direction to the piece, for the … well, underlying sense of what was going on. As I expressed elsewhere, for that something unsayable but certainly knowable when the music is done right. Benny Goodman, although I believe more into the commercial showmanship of the music than Ellington and others like Chick Correa (who will be highlighted here later) had that in spots. But Benny had that something different, consciously so. He made his work jump to the swing that would get even a tongue-tied, doubled-jointed clod like this review up and dancing. That, my friends, is no mean trick.

I believe that Benny Goodman had two good stretches. One was with small combos. The other is when he had the singer Peggy Lee fronting for his big band. No question, I am a sucker for a torch singer. Billy Holiday, Helen Whiting, Ivy Andersen, you name it. And naturally included on that list is Ms. Peggy Lee. No, not the Peggy Lee of the 1950's when I was growing up and she had changed her performing persona into a femme fatale with such hits as "Fever" but back in the days before I was born with Benny Goodman and the Swing era. I can still remember as a kid seeing a film clip of her in, I think, "Stage Door Canteen" doing her classic "Why Don't You Do Right Like Some Other Men Do". Wow. And this album is filled with such material from that 'innocent' era. Plenty of torch songs like "My Old Flame" and including Cole Porter standards like "Let's Do It". Naturally, Goodman is at his perfectionist best with a singer like Ms. Lee in front with just enough clarinet solos to keep things interesting. If you want to go back to the mists of time in the career of one Peggy Lee this one is for you.

*Jazz Days On My Mind- The Music Of Mildred Bailey

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Mildred Bailey Performing "Rocking Chair".

CD Review

Thanks For The Memories: Mildred Bailey, Giants Of Jazz, 1996

Musically, I am a blues man. I am informed, malformed, deformed, reformed by the blues. Then I am a rock man. And a folk man, in all its variants. So where doe that lead me into an exposition of jazz that I have recently started to write more about in this space. Well, let’s just call it an extension of the blues (not hard to do by the way). And the clearest example of that is Lady Day, Billie Holiday. Yes, I know that she was a jazz singer extraordinaire. But, the way she swept my blues away when I was down in the dumps sure makes me think she was the queen of the blues (Bessie Smith being, of course, outlandishly the “Empress”).

All of this is by a very round about way of bringing the jazz singer under review, Mildred Bailey into the picture. Billie Holiday set the standard in the 1940’s (and to a lesser extent in the 1950’s when the dope started to get the best of her) for the phrasing of a jazz song, for the hush that signaled a new direction to the song, for the … well, underlying sense of the song. For that something unsayable but certainly knowable when a song is done right. Mildred Bailey and others (who will be highlighted here later) had that in spots and that is why she and this “greatest hits’ compilation of her work are being reviewed here.

So what sticks out here in that regard? How about her rendition of Duke Ellington’s “I Didn’t Know About You”. Or King Oliver’s “’Taint What You Do”. Or, for that matter, Crosby’s “ A Ghost Of A Chance”. And, of course, “Gulf Coast Blues”. Finally, though, let us see why she is a cut below Billie and Bessie- “St Louis Blues”. That is the cut line. But she still is good. Listen up.

*"Women Be Wise- Don't Advertise Your Man"- Blues Singer Sippy Wallace

DVD REVIEWS

Sippy Wallace, Volume 2, The Complete Works, 1925-1945, Sippy Wallace, Document Records, 1995

Women Be Wise, Sippy Wallace, Alligator Records, 1992

Okay, okay before we even start here let’s get something straight. I took more than my share of politically correct abuse from my feminist friends, including my companion, when I titled one of my reviews of the work of the legendary blues singer Skip James after the title of one of his songs- "I’d Rather Be The Devil Than Be That Woman’s Man". As penance I noted that the more contemporary blues singer/songwriter Rory Block covered that song and changed the words to "I’d Rather Be The Devil That Be A Woman To That Man". So here, for the politically pure of heart, or their wannabes, you can switch to suit your sexual or gender orientation.

But enough of that, for now because we have the serious business of discussing the blues, and an important component of that genre is the work of the "Texas Nightingale"- Sippy Wallace. Frankly, readers if you are going to discuss the blues you have to take the lyrics the way you find them and work around that. There is not a damn politically correct thing about them from male or female singers. Whiskey or dope. Mistreatin’ man or woman. Hard luck, bad luck or no luck. Anger, murderous intent, hostility. This is the language of the blues. If you want to clean it up go to the modern folk music section. But, my friends then you would be missing some very hard driving, evocative music from down at the base of society in Jim Crow days, especially when done by one of the classic blues singers.

Classic blues singers? Those are, mainly, the black female singers of the 1920’s, most famously the likes of Bessie Smith and Ma Rainey, who played mostly to black audiences in the South (although not solely, witness the career of Ethel Waters). Sippy fits right in there. You may not know her because her career was cut short (for a while) by a return to her Baptist gospel roots in order to get away from “the devil’s music”. This struggle has been a gnawing tension in the fate of more than one accomplished blues singer although usually, as in the case of Howlin’ Wolf and Son House among others, the devil 'wins'.

Sippy’s story has a nice ending though. She was “discovered” by the great folk/blues/country singer and songwriter Bonnie Raitt (who sat at the knee of Mississippi Fred McDowell to learn her craft) in the mid-1960s after covering the above-mentioned "Women Be Wise". Sippy then went on to have a successful revival until her death. That also allows this reviewer to kill two birds with one stone. This review is serving to comment on two Sippy CDs. One, "Sippy Wallace, Volume 2", The Complete Works, 1925-1945, Sippy Wallace, Document Records, 1995. The other, "Women Be Wise", Sippy Wallace, Alligator Records, 1992 so that one can compare quality of the two periods and the presentation of the same song in each period. I am more favorably impressed by her later work, partially because the technical quality of the recordings is better later but also partially because her voice is better later. But you decide. Check these out from Sippy Wallace- "Advise Blues", "Special Delivery Blues", "I’m A Mighty Tight Woman", "Lazy Man Blues", and "Bedroom Blues". Check these from "Women Be Wise"-"Women Be Wise", "Special Delivery Blues", "Caldonia Blues" (definitely), and "Up Country Blues".

*A Country Torch Singer Is In The Room- The Music Of Patsy Cline

DVD/REVIEW

Patsy Cline Tribute, 2000

For those of us of a certain age (growing up in the early 1960’s) the timeless voice of Patsy Cline, whether we were aware of it or not, formed the backdrop to many a school dance or other romantic endeavor. I was not a fan of Cline’s, at least not consciously, growing up but have come to appreciate her talent and her amazing voice. In another review in this space I have called her the ‘country torch singer’ par excellence. And she does not fail here. At least musically. However, cinematically is another question. While it was interesting (and a little disconcerting) to see the old black and white television clips from the 1950's I do not believe that this compilation does justice to her work. Patsy, like many another torch singer like Bessie Smith or Billie Holiday, needs to grow on you. The best way to do that is grab a Greatest Hits album and sit back. You won’t want to turn the damn thing off. As for this film, if you have time watch it as an appetizer.


"Crazy"

Written by willie nelson
(as performed by willie nelson)
Also performed by patsy cline and ray price*

Crazy
Crazy for feeling so lonely
Im crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue

I knew
Youd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
Youd leave me for somebody new

Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wondrin
What in the world did I do

Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
Im crazy for tryin
Crazy for cryin
And Im crazy
For lovin you

(repeat last verse)


Patsy Cline, She's Got You Lyrics

Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: She's Got You

“She's Got You”

I've got your picture that you gave to me
And it's signed "with love," just like it used to be
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got your picture, she's got you

I've got the records that we used to share
And they still sound the same as when you were here
The only thing different, the only thing new,
I've got the records, she's got you

I've got your memory, or has it got me?
I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be

I've got your class ring; that proved you cared
And it still looks the same as when you gave it dear
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got these little things, she's got you

Patsy Cline, Why Can't He Be You Lyrics

Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Why Can't He Be You


“Why Can't He Be You”

He takes me to the places you and I used to go
He tells me over and over that he loves me so
He gives me love that I never got from you
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you

He never fails to call and tell me I'm on his mind
And I'm lucky to have such a guy; I hear it all the time
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me, too, his love is true
Why can't he be you

He's not the one who dominates my mind and soul
And I should love him so, 'cause he loves me, I know
But his kisses leave me cold

He sends me flowers, calls on the hour, just to prove his love
And my friends say when he's around, I'm all he speaks of
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you

Patsy Cline, Sweet Dreams Lyrics

Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Sweet Dreams

“Sweet Dreams”

Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you

You don't love me, it's plain
I should know I'll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you

Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can't come true
Why can't I forget the past, start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you