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Love Is In the Air...Or Not
William
Shakespeare once said that music was the food of love; Lawrence
Durrell stated that music was invented to confirm human loneliness.
And it is on this most blighted of holidays, Valentine's Day,
that the twain shall meet. Whether you're sharing a darkened room
with the one you love or going it solo at a dive
bar, there's something pumping through the speakers. So, lest
you wind up staring vacantly at a CD changer, jukebox or mildly
peeved DJ, here's a few suggestions for what might help you through
the holiday, however you might spend it.
Best to Get That Proverbial Swerve On:
Nina
Simone: "I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl"/"See-Line Woman"
It's hard to decide between these two very different sides of
La Simone. "Sugar"
may be an old-style blues tune with indisputably lascivious intent,
but she delivers it with a heaping spoonful of elegance and a
light touch on the barrelhouse piano—it's longing and
it's risque. "See
Line" is a different story, with Nina at her most rhythmic
and earthy, howling and grinding the lines over percussion and
a worksong-like chant.
Any David
Lynch Soundtrack
Dave and his old buddy Angelo Baldamenti used to mix up a good
blend of pretty and spooky etherea with the occasional driving
beat rising up out of it all. Plus, the constant vague expectation
of a backward-talking
dwarf or oxygen-huffing
Dennis Hopper will bring an exciting edge to dull relationships.
John
Lee Hooker: "I'm in the Mood"
No, not the version he did with Bonnie Raitt—but the original,
with its minimal mix of electric and acoustic guitars, backed
with a coffin-thump drum and washed over with more echo than an
empty dancehall. You will feel the rain on the roof, smell the
magnolia in the garden, and swear that you are actually on a giant
brass bed.
The
Amazing Crowns: "The Amazing Crowns"
Because there's something to be said for rolling off that bed
and winding up on the floor. Or maybe it's late and you need a
little extra oomph. Or maybe you're just sleeping with underage
kids again. Regardless, this album has a lot of high-speed banging,
twanging and yowling with the all-important standup bass. In other
words, you can conceal your activities from roommates and neighbors.
James
Carter: "The Real Quietstorm"
Miles gets a bit overused
in these times, so move to the next generation with this album,
a
disc so romantic that J.C. even got his girl to pose with
him for the cover shot and wrote the lady a little tune called
"The Intimacy of My Woman's Beautiful Eyes." But, while it's all
ballads—a mix of originals and standards—it's not all
sappy, with Carter displaying the various shades and stages of
romance with just his horn. So pour the Hennessy,
lower the volume, and get busy.
Best
for Being Lonely and Morose (After all, as Phyllis Diller said,
self-pity is better than none at all.)
The
Chantels: "Maybe"
The tune that kicked off girl-group mania, the record that blended
primal R&B stomp with doo-wop backing behind gospel-style lead
vocals—it's hard to believe Arlene Smith's raw, agonized
wail came from a 16-year-old. A rough-edged 1958 classic, but
its lack of polish gives it immediacy and intensity that will
tear your heart out. And that's what it's all about, isn't it?
Tom
Waits
Any Tom Waits. They're all painful. Tom with just the acoustic
guitar, like in "I
Hope That I Don't Fall in Love with You," is every person
you gazed longingly at and never met…. Like "Nobody,"
which is just a piano and Tom about all those people you loved
who weren't worth it because they didn't love you back and the
sad thing is that you loved them more than anyone ever will because
they're just not worth it…. Or "Johnsburg, Illinois," which is
just spoken Tom and makes you cry because it's all about how you
love people for their details and even though everyone else thinks
those details are banal and stupid, they're not…. Or "The
Briar and the Rose," which is sort of Celtic and has horns
but is all about how you can't tear apart what's good and what's
bad about something without losing it altogether…. Or.… Well,
just any fucking Tom Waits. Now…gimme back my drink. And turn
off that damn light, will ya?
Billie
Holiday: "My Man" It's not truly agony if Billie Holiday isn't
present. You could play any Billie, really, but this
one is the real heartbreaker. Both in sound and in spirit,
Holiday's voice wraps cold sorrow in a veil of warmth like sleeping
on the sidewalk with a silk blanket, and this song's blend of
hope and despair suits it perfectly. She did a number of renditions,
but I think the later orchestral Decca version is most agonizing.
If you're still not wallowing deeply enough, "Lover
Man" should finish you off.
Lenny
Welch: "Since I Fell for You"
When you're ready to tread that fine line between pathos and pathetic,
slap on this slab of 1965-style melodrama and let those maudlin
double string sections drown your suffering like a bottle of pink
Champale. If that doesn't do it, Welch's utterly hysterical (hysterical
as in both "ha ha" and "get the tranquilizer gun") howl of "Love!/Brings
such misery!/And pain!" will.
Patsy
Cline
Do I need to explain this to you? Honey, please! You're worse
off than I thought.
Best for Blowing Off the Whole Thing:
The
Misfits: "Astro Zombies"
"With just a touch of my burning hand/I send my astro zombies
to rape this land/Prime directive, exterminate/The whole human
race." Bellow along with Glen Danzig to what may be the
world's catchiest punk song—and what is the antithesis
of that which is Hallmark but that which is punk?—and feel
the magic for yourself. If that doesn't fully sate your bloodlust,
try "Mommy,
Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight?"
Wanda
Jackson
The original and still champion rock chick—so rock that she
used to go out with Elvis
Presley, drink with Gene
Vincent, and tour with Jerry
Lee Lewis. Not only did she have a voice that makes the Swiss
Miss sound butch and PJ
Harvey sound demure, but she could play a mean guitar and
wore mega-fresh fringed outfits. My specific recommendation would
be her string-twanging, piano-thumping party trilogy: "Let's Have
a Party," "We're Havin' a Party," and "Man, We Had a Party."
Snoop
Doggy Dog: "Doggystyle"
Because he "don't love ho's." Because "it ain't no fun if the
homies can't have none." Because it's one of the most
fun records of this decade. (Not necessarily the best—although
it's up there—but fun!) Because whenever you're ignoring
anything, you wanna do it with some Indo, some cash flow, some
gin 'n' juice, and an Impala
with mad hydraulics.
Vince
Guraldi Trio: "Linus and Lucy"
Odd that this comes right after Snoop on the list, huh? "Linus
and Lucy," I'm sure, is better known to y'all as "The
Peanuts Theme" or "The
Charlie Brown Song"—that amazing piano tune Schroeder
always plays and the kids do their funny little dances to. It's
like sunshine trapped on disc, just for you to bask in.
Barry
White
You can't really make
sweet love to Barry White unless you know the person really
well and make a contest out of seeing who can go the longest without
laughing. But how is Barry White useful to the single population
on V.D.? One word: karaoke.
Just you, the lyrics, the playback, and a widescreen videotape
of some Madonna wannabees cavorting on a tugboat who can't get
enough of your love, babe.
Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "someone's
missing..."
Don't
be silly… Frank
Sinatra remains the standard for pickup music, but not the
best thing for take-home action. As far as that proverbial "All
the Way," you can get it on to Frank Sinatra, but I wouldn't advise
it. First of all, the Chairman
is a gentleman, and he doesn't want to watch. Second, if you're
doing the deed, and that "do be do be do" at the end of "Strangers
in the Night" come through the speakers, you're both going to
feel profoundly ridiculous. Sinatra and romance go hand in hand,
thus the cliche that spoils the mood. However, if you've really
got to have Frank to accompany your illicit activities, the best
is the "Francis
Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim" album in which our
hero gets smooth, smooth, smooth, baby, with the bossa nova master.
But Frank
is at his best if you're feeling the pain. After all, when he
first called himself chairman of the board, that board was the
board of guys whose gals had gotten away. "I'm a Fool to Want
You" may be one of the most gut-wrenching songs ever recorded—I
mean, the part where those Strauss-like strings fade and there's
the silence, and you hear Francis Albert, King of the World, whimpering
"Take me back, I love you/Pity me, I need you." Please. Dim the
lights, lay out the Jack
and the Luckys, put on "In
the Wee Small Hours," and prepare to be very, very blue indeed.
My personal favorite is "Sinatra
Sings for Only the Lonely," because it's got "One for My Baby,"
and whenever I seriously start contemplating suicide, I look at
the cover art of Frank in clown makeup and it perks me up a bit.
A little bit. For five minutes or so, anyway.
But, like the man for all seasons he is, that ultimate swingin'
cat has the tunes for you to scrap this whole koo-koo hearts 'n'
flowers carnival. Every heard of a little ditty called "My Way,"
for starters? And how about "Songs
for Swingin' Lovers!"—Frank's
paean to swaggering sophistication, the man of the world who's
still a boy at heart. Sure, they say it's for lovers, but its
lighthearted tone and easy swing will keep you merry and bright.
And, just in case, this is the ultimate making-out-on-the-couch
album.
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