Artist page

Singles
Here are some songs that I couldn't live without, but don't fit easily into the album format of the main list. Enjoy.

Can I Change My Mind
by Tyrone Davis I'm just not sure why this song appeals to me as much as it does. The melody and arrangement and Davis's performance, for sure. Lyrically, I guess it seems different than most broken relationship songs because of the moment it captures. The singer isn't agonizing sometime after the fact, but making an urgent, but not too urgent plea, at the moment of impact, when the bags are packed but he's not yet out the door.

Centerfield
by John Fogerty You probably don't realize I know the following about myself: I'm often too cynical and cranky. I frown too much and smile too little. This is no justification, but I suspect all of that could be said of John Fogarty, as well. If I were five years older there would probably be a Creedence Clearwater album on this list. (And even at this very moment I can't resist the cynical urge to note that "Fortunate Son" should be far less relevant today than it is.) So, on the face of it at least, it seems ironic that I'd single out this tune for inclusion. It's so utterly lacking in snide cynicism it feels like what Norman Rockwell would sound like if he could play electric guitar. To dial down the everpresent grouch inside of me, I try to focus on the kind of unabashed glee we have the opportunity to enjoy every day and which this song embraces. Put me in, coach!

God Save The Queen
by The Sex Pistols It's almost to impossible to imagine now just how shocking The Sex Pistols were when they burst on the scene. But the fact is, there was nowhere, absolutely nowhere, on the radio dial these guys would fit. I mean, there wasn't even some daring fringe college station like Radio K. As a result, their reputation spread far more quickly than their music, and the whole western world found out about these guys through the news media, not from listening. However, a KBEM grad got special permission to play this song and two other punk songs one Friday night, the airplay justified more for its news value than entertainment value. It was almost as if the song were dangerous, so when I finally heard it I almost felt a little let down. Sure it was different, very different. And it was definitely cool, with tons more raw emotion than musical talent. It was certainly understandable why there was no place in the mainstream for this. But dangerous?! Hearing them and seeing them you realized that they realized there was a big, huge, colossal joke underlying the act. But even though they were a gimmick, they were no fake, something they made sure of by disbanding before we could entirely tire of the act. And they did open a subculture that has since been absorbed by the mainstream enough so that Budweiser relies on the Ramones to sell beer. Because of that I have to smile with a deep sense of admiration every time I hear Johnny Rotten sneer "We mean it, man."

Maybe I'm Amazed
by Paul McCartney I've loved this song since the first time I heard it in the 1970s, so I can't credit my affection for it to the fact that it's a better than average silly little love song written for a woman named Linda. Still, better than perhaps any other song, it captures how I feel about your mother.

Ooh La La
by The Faces This one has always felt like a rare gem to me since I found it on a cutout album in a Dinkytown record store in my mid-teens. It almost feels hidden, the last track on an album dominated by Rod Stewart's rasp and the band's typically raucous electric guitar and piano arrangements. In contrast, this one features Ronnies Lane and Wood on acoustic guitars and vocals, with a little help from their mates. The song itself satisfies like a good short story; you can easily imagine the main characters, and the message in the chorus ("I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger") gets more compelling with every listen. As good as it is, it felt like hardly anybody knew it until bands like Soul Asylum would cover it and it showed up in the movie Rushmore.

That's Just What You Are
by Aimee Mann Aimee Mann's songs often contain such an acidic take on romance that they knock you back on your heels. ("Long Shot," which opens I'm With Stupid may be the most extreme example. It begins with the line "You f*&$ed it up".) "That's Just What You Are" sounds mild by comparison. Ultimately it's as bleak as the rest, but she offers it with such matter-of-fact resignation and such a bouncy melody that I find it irresistible.

The Tears Of A Clown
by Smokey Robinson &
the Miracles In the Age of Information it's hard to imagine what it was like to fall in love with a song at first listen, only to hear no back announce from the DJ. It wasn't like I could go to the Internet, plug "tears" and "clown" into Google and figure out the title or who did it. Because of this song I know little Pete's agony in "A Hard Day's Pete."

Can I Change My Mind by Tyrone Davis	I'm just not sure why this song appeals to me as much as it does. The melody and arrangement and Davis's performance, for sure. Lyrically, I guess it seems different than most broken relationship songs because of the moment it captures. The singer isn't agonizing sometime after the fact, but making an urgent, but not too urgent plea, at the moment of impact, when the bags are packed but he's not yet out the door.
Centerfield by John Fogerty	You probably don't realize I know the following about myself: I'm often too cynical and cranky. I frown too much and smile too little. This is no justification, but I suspect all of that could be said of John Fogarty, as well. If I were five years older there would probably be a Creedence Clearwater album on this list. (And even at this very moment I can't resist the cynical urge to note that "Fortunate Son" should be far less relevant today than it is.) So, on the face of it at least, it seems ironic that I'd single out this tune for inclusion. It's so utterly lacking in snide cynicism it feels like what Norman Rockwell would sound like if he could play electric guitar. To dial down the everpresent grouch inside of me, I try to focus on the kind of unabashed glee we have the opportunity to enjoy every day and which this song embraces. Put me in, coach!
God Save The Queen by The Sex Pistols	It's almost to impossible to imagine now just how shocking The Sex Pistols were when they burst on the scene. But the fact is, there was nowhere, absolutely nowhere, on the radio dial these guys would fit. I mean, there wasn't even some daring fringe college station like Radio K. As a result, their reputation spread far more quickly than their music, and the whole western world found out about these guys through the news media, not from listening. However, a KBEM grad got special permission to play this song and two other punk songs one Friday night, the airplay justified more for its news value than entertainment value. It was almost as if the song were dangerous, so when I finally heard it I almost felt a little let down. Sure it was different, very different. And it was definitely cool, with tons more raw emotion than musical talent. It was certainly understandable why there was no place in the mainstream for this. But dangerous?! Hearing them and seeing them you realized that they realized there was a big, huge, colossal joke underlying the act. But even though they were a gimmick, they were no fake, something they made sure of by disbanding before we could entirely tire of the act. And they did open a subculture that has since been absorbed by the mainstream enough so that Budweiser relies on the Ramones to sell beer. Because of that I have to smile with a deep sense of admiration every time I hear Johnny Rotten sneer "We mean it, man."
Maybe I'm Amazed by Paul McCartney	I've loved this song since the first time I heard it in the 1970s, so I can't credit my affection for it to the fact that it's a better than average silly little love song written for a woman named Linda. Still, better than perhaps any other song, it captures how I feel about your mother.
Ooh La La by The Faces	This one has always felt like a rare gem to me since I found it on a cutout album in a Dinkytown record store in my mid-teens. It almost feels hidden, the last track on an album dominated by Rod Stewart's rasp and the band's typically raucous electric guitar and piano arrangements. In contrast, this one features Ronnies Lane and Wood on acoustic guitars and vocals, with a little help from their mates. The song itself satisfies like a good short story; you can easily imagine the main characters, and the message in the chorus ("I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger") gets more compelling with every listen. As good as it is, it felt like hardly anybody knew it until bands like Soul Asylum would cover it and it showed up in the movie Rushmore.
That's Just What You Are by Aimee Mann	Aimee Mann's songs often contain such an acidic take on romance that they knock you back on your heels. ("Long Shot," which opens I'm With Stupid may be the most extreme example. It begins with the line "You f*&$ed it up".) "That's Just What You Are" sounds mild by comparison. Ultimately it's as bleak as the rest, but she offers it with such matter-of-fact resignation and such a bouncy melody that I find it irresistible.
The Tears Of A Clown by Smokey Robinson & the Miracles	In the Age of Information it's hard to imagine what it was like to fall in love with a song at first listen, only to hear no back announce from the DJ. It wasn't like I could go to the Internet, plug "tears" and "clown" into Google and figure out the title or who did it. Because of this song I know little Pete's agony in "A Hard Day's Pete."