Helen Espinosa’s theme for this week’s Song Lyric Sunday is a song or band you’ve changed your mind about, first poo-pooing, and later loving.
I am not completely embarrassed to admit this. I swear.
Helen Espinosa chose Sex as this week’s Song Lyric Sunday theme. It doesn’t have to be graphic, but you can find out how to play along by clicking the link above.
I prefer something a little more subtle, but no less raw, so I’ve chosen a classic 1972 Eagles song — hey, sex, drugs, and rock and roll go together like Luke, Leia, and Han and Chewy, right? The “video” is a still, but the original album track has been remastered, so the quality is great.
Helen Espinosa chose an examination of anger as the Song Lyric Sunday theme this week.
I suspect love’s betrayal is the most common subject of anger in music. Carrie Underwood’s Louisville Slugger revenge song, Before He Cheats, came to my mind first, then Chicago’s murderous rage song, Cell Block Tango.
But I settled on another kind of anger altogether: alien megalomaniacal anger like Little Shop of Horrors’ Audrey II’s “fightin’ mad” song sung by the Four Tops.
Helen Espinosa, of This Thing Called Life One Word at a Time, chose New to You as the theme for this week’s Song Lyric Sunday. I admit I haven’t gone seeking new music to listen to because I find comfort in the music I grew up with, and I really only listen in the car. Of course, I couldn’t escape hearing the music my son grew up with as well, but mostly I stick to the Oldies and show tunes.
Enter Candice Louisa Daquin, an unpretentiously exquisite poet, honest, passionate, and brilliant. She introduced me to Tim Arnold and his music, and then asked if I knew Kate Bush. I did not. I went looking, and found an inexplicable, unique artist with a bizarrely appealing sense of fun. I was hooked. A link to the YouTube video from her 1978 Lionheart album is in the song title. I hope you are as intrigued as I was.
Helen Espinosa’s theme for Song Lyric Sunday this week is missing someone you love. The person I miss the most is the little boy my son used to be. The little boy who kept every sparkly rock he found because it was “special”. The little boy who crawled underneath a big cardboard box, pretending it was his shell and he was a pet turtle named Secret. The little boy who used to write his mother checks for a million dollars so she’d be rich.