Yeah, this one takes me right back to a past I’m not going to tell you about. You’ve probably had a time like that yourself — full of confusion and searching, passions and choices you might live to regret — but what a ride!
The YouTube of Jackie Wilson performing it live, sometime between 1967 and 1975, is linked to the song title. As a bonus, I’ve linked the 1989 Howard Huntsberry’s version to the video you’re probably more familiar with, after the lyrics. Enjoy them both!
I wonder if questioning is a cycle of humanity’s evolution. Surges of exploration, scientific discovery, extraordinary creativity in any of the arts all seem to coincide. Golden Ages like the Renaissance or the Age of Aquarius. Revolutions. Times when dissatisfaction saturates enough people’s lives that we reach a tipping point where the collective will is finally strong enough to question the rules, Authority, what we think we know, what we believe. And we search for new perspectives, trying this philosophy or that, new music, new art, new medicines, no medicines, new governments, anarchy, new views of the stars . . .
Till we reach a new plateau where we sit, complacent. Tired of questioning or simply believing there is no need to question. Willing to accept the lie in believe. A new Dark Age. We are comfortable.
Until we aren’t.
I suspect the world is showing us just how uncomfortable we have become, and dissatisfaction has reached the 98th monkey.
Helen Espinosa’s theme for this week’s Song Lyric Sunday is Guilty Pleasure. Yummy!
I fell in love with Neil Diamond when I was in high school. My friends — Dead Heads and Moody Blues fans — had the same regard for Neil that many today have for John Tesh or Michael Buble or Barry Manilow, meaning not a lot. But I. Didn’t. Care. Neil sang to me in a spiraling surge of emotional energy that I might now describe as a virgin’s chaste orgasm. (How can I admit this in public even now? I’m sure I’m blushing.)
I grew up in the ’50s and ’60s. Most of our staple TV entertainments were shoot-em-up Westerns and shoot-em-up Detective shows. Especially in the ’50s. My formative years. The hero shoots the bad guy. The bad guy falls down dead. No blood, no twitching, no ugliness or remorse.
Then John F. Kennedy was shot to death, and the world was shocked. Two days later, live on national television, we watched Jack Ruby shoot and kill Lee Harvey Oswald. Up close. Live. Dead.
Sunday has come and gone, but Helen Espinosa’s Song Lyric Sunday’s theme this week was A Song from the First Band You Ever Heard in Concert, and I couldn’t very well pass that up no matter how far behind the rest of my life has fallen. (The YouTube link is in the song title.)