My Culturally Rooted Tangent

I sang at choir in the church basement tonight. Please, laugh away.

Yes, I'm a good Irish Catholic lady who practiced with fellow choir members for two and a half hours -- less a twenty minute break in which we drank wine or beer and ate hors d'ourves. (You can refill your glass at the end of break so you have sustenance for the second half of practice!)

Since I am grooving on my catholicism tonight, I shall make confession. I love singing! It's challenging fighting all of the complications of harmony (so appropros on so many levels), it is so challenging fighting all of the bullshit of organized religion -- but somehow set it to music and I feel it. So many conflicts, but goddammit -- I'm still a fucking catholic!

Excuse me, Irish Catholic.

See, that differential is significant. I don't buy into that political pope crap. I also grew up with several guys who killed themselves because they were destroyed by the tragedy of being raped by priests. I imagine one of them as a significant image in the Jungian Archetypical Heaven now. He was golden and beautiful and Michelangelo would have painted him as the Archangel Michael. And I was taught to practice catholicism by 13 years of catholic school and my Irish catholic grandma and Jesuits and a book of the saints. So really and obviously, I'm an overanalyzing, superstitious woman. But aren't those the qualities that keep religion solid, stable and historical?

The point I was trying to make a minute ago is I don't pray to Jesus or God. I think pure, unsinful beings are unapproachable (and a load of misogynistic, hallucinogenic bullshit). I am the product of faith passed on from the oppressed -- pray to your mother and your friends and family, the Blessed Mother and the saints.

And the name is also significant. I was not taught to pray to the Virgin Mary; I was taught to pray to the Blessed Mother. Recite both of those names to yourself and see who you want to call on to assist you in your petitions. Tonight I stood on a bridge that rocked over the Chicago River while singing "Gentle Woman" to a a gift of urban nature which always blesses me. Blessed Mother, thank you for your children.

And tonight I also sang with the church choir -- even "Danny Boy" (yuck) which according to the music notes was published in "Londonderry" rather than Derry. I hate "Danny Boy". Over-played and praising saccharine martyrdom to The Man.

We should sing "The Wind That Shakes the Barley". It's a more valuable theme and it relates better to the times.

"Twas hard the woeful words to frame

To break the ties that bound us.

But harder still to bare the shame

Of foreign chains around us."

Today, the foreign chains are made of different steels. In this millennium, foreign does not refer to other nations and cultures, but rather, multinational corporate persecutors. We are cuffed by different oppressors but we are all still trapped.

And now to quote a catholic from a different culture: "Better to die on your feet than live on your knees."

So let us pray.

Evil Diva, Banshee Bitch

Evil Diva

This is me

When I flash my tongue, silver

Razor, sing my blood

My gunfire cracks

Through the canyon

Yes, my throat

I am that bitch in sequins and

I am the naked warrior

I lead the battle with my shrill

Sing death home

Home and howl, keen

Through the night

Through the canteen

And whiskey spews through my nose

And love from my lungs and

Wicked, wicked lies

The green in my eyes

The gold and brown

The earth in the shadows

My hips in the sway

In the mist, my lips

Sing you home

Sing you home

Sing you

Wave-particle Duality

The landlord painted the backyard sewer cap and all of the stray cats are rolling on the fresh white coat and getting high. I'm trying to get the drunky ladies out for end-of-the-work-week Friday cocktails and they sound like the temperance league. My nephew is fevered, my dad is tubed and my son is steadfastly working his way into the 1%. I'm getting unspecific orders via text, PJ Harvey is coming through me and I'm skimming the quantum theory of mechanics on the internet for shiggles.

Seasonal shifts bring out the strange.

Photo by Ted Nelson

Purify

I am not neat by nature.

Growing up, my mother instituted "Saturday Chores" for my sisters and me. We had to clean our bedrooms and then were each given a scouring assignment: front room, kitchen/ tv room, or bathroom. Kitchen/ family room was the worst. You had to clean the stove, fridge and scour the counter tops. You had to pick up and put away all of the flotsam and jetsam from tvland and scrub the floors. The floors were tough because you needed to accomodate the kitchen floor linoleum and all of its grime then dump your water and work the wooden parquet. Our house was pretty small but ma did a good job embodying every type of housing wing in about 1000 square feet.

The bathroom was grungy but easy. Swipe up the mirrors, scrub down the sink and then the toilet. Change the litter box. Scrub the small floor, then scour the tuband shower walls. Strip down and take your shower while rinsing away all the scrubbing bubbles. Hop out, dry off, throw on your sweats and mop your way out the door.

The living room and hallway assignment was the longest process but the most soothing. The walls were an astonishing bright green and the wall-to-wall carpet the color of the forest. You had to oil all of the colonial wooden furniture and shelves, remove and dust all of the books and knick-knacks and then vacuum the carpets and cloth on the furniture. You also had to vacuum under the furniture -- no cheating! Strangely, cleaning the living room always made me feel kind of Zen.

The motivating beat for Saturday Chores was ma's vinyl. She had splurged on the entire Beatles Apple Collection. Also, there was Steve Goodman, the "Three Legged Man" and Billy Joel. (Trust me, if I never hear "For the Longest Time" again, it still won't be long enough.) I enjoyed dancing & dusting to The Last Waltz by the Band. But nothing beat cleaning to Jesus Christ Superstar.

And now for confession number one. I can sing the entire original Broadway soundtrack note-by-note and word-by-word from the Overture through John Nineteen Forty-One. I once won two tickets to a performance at the Chicago Theater on Johnny B's morning show by calling in and singing a medley from the score. Through the years, I definitely have had some strange wins and losses.

And my losses and my nature have led me to the juice of confession number two. My apartment is a horrible, disgusting dastardly wreck. It looks like it was hit by a dust storm, followed by a mental monsoon and sealed with a hiccuping hurricane. And when you add my nature + earning a master's + a ridiculously menacing cerebral blow, you get Disaster Land.

So today, I put on Jesus Christ Superstar and sang it word-for-word while scrubbing the grease stains and soot out of my kitchen. Mostly. I still have to scour the floor. Damned Saturday Chores perfectionist upbringing.

(Image is "Purify" by Rachel Combs-Gullick.)

"Haunted...

...of your precious love. Of your precious love."


I noticed today that I posted on St. Patrick's Day in 2010, 2008, and 2007.
I don't have much to add today. The world has gone mad & will get worse with the current struggles in Japan, Libya, Wisconsin & Egypt. According to the end of the Mayan Calendar, we may be done in on December 21, 2012.

We all have the true Luck of the Irish. So "may the road rise to meet you and may the wind be always at your back."

Caverns

I think I've fallen into a cavern. It's very pretty; lots of stalagtites and stalgmites but it's twisty and complicated so it's taking all of my energy and concentration to navigate the terrain. Here are some bits & pieces.

I spent the better part of a week in New York so my son could visit colleges. This was our first visit to NYC. It was very cool and it wasn't the least bit intimidating coming from Chicago -- just a little more cramped but very energetic, so it all balances out. Looks like the kid is going to Brooklyn College to study film production, so I'll be visiting there quite a bit. But I'm not moving there because 5 straight days of me and the kid and nobody else has convinced both of us that him moving far away for awhile really is a very, very good idea. (Is "awhile" a real word?)

Meanwhile, I'm still in graduate school which is intensifying. By the time he leaves town, I'll be able to work about 15 hours a day on all of the research projects around here (including my thesis) plus I just ordered a bunch of Tony Horton DVDs, so I'm intending to counteract empty nest syndrome by co-publishing scientific journal articles and recreating the ass I had before I was a mom. (The ass part probably won't happen exactly like that but it is important to have goals in this world.)

While we were in New York, we went to a taping of "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon". His show isn't very funny yet but he seems gracious and his house band is the Roots (I think I've previously mentioned my intense respect and attraction to Questlove) so really, the music was the best part of the show. There was a musical guest the night we attended called Liquid Liquid.

*

Liquid Liquid was a New York No Wave art band form the late 70s that "never quite caught on completely". (That's what lifelong friend of percussionist Dennis Young told me. I was sitting next to him and Dennis's wife and I'm nosy so I started asking questions after eavesdropping.) Of note, Liquid Liquid created the famous bass line sampled by Grandmaster and the Sugar Hill Houseband in that old 80s hip hop standard "White Lines".

*

That bass line comes from the song "Cavern", which Liquid Liquid played (splendidly) with the Roots on the episode the kid and I attended and that was one of the more spectacular 30 minutes of live music I have ever witnessed. And I have witnessed many hours of live music. So here is a link to the version of the song that aired on the show that night. This is very good but it isn't quite the same as being in a 100 person TV studio with all of that sound wrapping you up in its fingers and stroking you home. But go watch it.

Video: Liquid Liquid Plays “Cavern” on Jimmy Fallon with Help from The Roots

(Not aired was a first taping of "Cavern" and another recording of their song "Optimo".)

(Also, I think there should be a learning curve allowance for late night talk shows. It's a whole different thing than stand up, writing and performing in sketch comedy, etc. And let it be said now that Mr. Fallon has excellent taste in music.)

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"Every Day Is a Yellow Day...

... I'm blinded by the daisies in your yard."

-- Prince

Margaret, my psychic friend (or friend who is psychic), told me I'm all yellow bursting solar plexus, right now. I'm hiding out at home with a low-grade fever and sore throat and can feel my flesh burn, chill and hum and letting dreamland envelope and possess me on my couch all day, again and again.

Once upon a time, I was a psychic friend. Sad and freaked out people would call the 900 line and they would get to talk to Mia (one of my AKAs) and she would tell them yes, of course, the cards and the stars and my guides say yes, you will be loved again. That's what most callers wanted to know.

Then, I moved to New Mexico because it was new, said so in the name. I used to do romantic things like move across the country to a place with a poetic name and get paid to be a charlatan with an AKA and sleep with strangers named Krishna I met at the river and believe the stars could guide me to my heart. (Now, I'm logical and practical although I still believe in dreamland and evidently my solar plexus has started bleeding yellow in the psychic plane.) Anyway, in New Mexico, I met Margaret an expat Scot who lived in a trailer in the foothills and owned a store called the Lyceum where she read playing cards. Really, she had you pick seven cards and she would hold them to her cancerous breast and recite all of the harder truths you knew but didn't feel like realizing and you could fit them into whichever context you felt you could hold in your palm without spilling them on the floor. Later, she cut off her right breast and started predicting with amazon precision via telephone which is how I learned to always bet on green and that today I am pouring yellow.

Muskrat Love

I have this gnawing suspicion that I am not living my own life. Like maybe I accidentally spliced the tape of my internal soundtrack to a copy of America's Greatest Hits and I'm walking around singing about a horse with no name and Ventura Hwy even though I hate those songs and they aren't even in my key but they stick in my head forever. In my dreams lately, I'm the only one who realizes those people gathering on the sidewalk are actually flesh-eating zombies and the Program Director insists that I bring them in for an appointment right away because they are just a little psychotic. Somehow he doesn't notice them spitting out fingernails and eyelashes. Meanwhile, my supervisor is giving away the last water in the county to these zombies who really are just waiting to snap her neck and chew on her brains and Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man that he didn't already have and there isn't even a power button on the goddamned sound system. It just gets louder and I'm almost grateful when a crackhead knocks me down and starts repeatedly stomping on my face.

And I'm working on a graduate degree in this discipline and you really can't even think about a career shift during a recession with a kid about to go off to college. So just keep kicking me in the face, crackhead, just keep kicking. Sooner or later I'll either pass out or remember another melody and then I will sing all of the notes to some sick acid rock guitar solo in a perfectly pitched wail and it will drown out all of the Sister Golden Hairs who will hold their bleeding eardrums and slip on all of the shit leaking out of their state-of-the-art septic tanks and I will not document how many days the tank has been leaking and I will not pull the records of the purchase date and I will not write down that their eardrums are bleeding nor the causality and I will not fax a picture of the event to the FDA within 24 hours. I will just laugh and scratch out all of the band America's lyrics with a leaky, puddly pen and I will never, ever initial and date those blobs of ink. I will just laugh and sing all of the acid guitar solos that used to accompany my dreams and also all of the original Tom & Jerry soundtracks louder and louder and louder until we all finally admit that life is just one great, big fat Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle -- or maybe a Quantum theory of observation -- and if we don't wise up, it's going to seem like the flesh-eating zombies are eating our brains but we still have to get up at 5:55 a.m. and go to work and think about the best way to identify an error correct or how to keep that crackhead clean once he's kicked it.

Fashionably Late

I went with my friend to her big work shindig last night. I didn't get the memo about the dress code. Most of the women were wearing little black dresses with tights and shoes very much like the one pictured here. (Call me old-fashioned but I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to wear hose with open-toed shoes.) I wore jeans and my peely red leather boots. Sometimes I feel like Clint Eastwood. That's probably why everyone was casually feeling out the true nature of the relationship between my friend and me. She and I are friends, not "girlfriends" but still, I refused to debunk that myth. That would be very un-cowboy of me.

In keeping with the flavor of the evening, we slipped away before the dancing and went to the secret bar. There was a cowboy band playing complete with a violinist and a lead guitarist with a 1950s era Fender in virginal white which contrasted nicely with his black pearl snap western shirt. The band was good. The lead singer was Australian but everybody knows Australians make the best rednecks because they're from the Deep South.

I can't remember the name of the band but my friend had to pass the tip jar because she's outgoing, trustworthy and was wearing a nice femme outfit. I guess that makes me the butch -- well, that and my Clint Eastwood glare.

Hallelujah!

well, maybe there's a god above
but all I've ever learned from love

was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you

it's not a cry that you hear at night

it's not somebody who's seen the light

it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

-- L. Cohen

(This link will take you to a nice live performance on youtube but you have to watch a tampax commercial first. Hallelujah!)

Harvest

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

-- Willie

"I didn't come here and I ain't leaving."

-- Willie

Lady Day

Today is Lady Day whence back in the day this was the New Year Day by the reckoning of certain Western European cultures.
Lady Day celebrates the Feast of the Annunciation because it is exactly nine months before Christmas. Of course, this reckoning is wrought with all sorts of flaws -- like Jesus was born in July -- so maybe that's why the tradition changed. Of course, this day celebrated the Lady long before Jesus camped in the desert. (The Annunciation painted by Henry Tanner.)

Lady Day also refers to Billie Holiday. Possibly the name was given to her by Lester Young. Lady Day sounds like all the joys and sorrows and weariness and loneliness and bliss of all the women who ever heard they were with child.

Them that's got shall get

Them that's not shall lose

So the Bible said and it still is news

Mama may have, papa may have

But God bless the child that's got his own

That's got his own

Listen to God Bless the Child

Dulce Veneno

It's been such a long, hard winter. Three of my friends have been laid off in the last week and a half and a whole lot more are bracing themselves for the inevitable. It is still sooty/ snowy and cold. It did warm up to just over freezing this weekend, so that was nice.

I am trying to be more positive. Here are some breasts to cheer us all up.

Another thing that cheers me ... I like the song Dulce Veneno by Uranio. Unos de los musicos del grupo Uranio -- especificamente, el cantador -- son muy sexy de modo machos paisos, sino no haría dormirlo eso tipo del piso para comer bizcochitos. Mejor, él comería mi bizcochito. They play the song on Mex to the Max on the chicano music video station, which I now have thanks to my digital convertor box.

I am glad we get new channels -- including one that shows movies like It Happened One Night and Taxi Driver and All That Jazz weeknights at 7 pm. That almost makes up for the fact that every time a truck or squad car goes by my house everything pixelates to pieces. Seven o'clock movies are good because they keep me off the booze and cigarettes and men.

mala sirena

I just received a fantastic Christmas present. Rhapsody now has 60 Liliana Felipe songs for my listening pleasure. (I posted about Liliana a couple of years ago.)

Her music may not be for everyone, but if you're a dirty little secret lover of cabaret, then this will be just the thing por El Hábito.

Here is a link to listen to my theme song, Mala.

My Rhapsody Playlist

Here are the lyrics. If you want, you can click on them for my English translation.

Mala porque no me quieres
mala porque no me tocas
mala porque tienes boca
mala cuando te conviene

mala como la mentira el mal aliento y el estreñimiento mala
Mala como la censura
como rata pelona en la basura
mala como la miseria como foto de licencia
mala como firma de Santa Anna como pegarle a la nana
mala como la triquina mala
mala y asesina mala como las arañas
mala y con todas las mañas
mala como el orden la decencia
como la buena conciencia
mala por donde la miren
mala como una endodoncia
mala como clavo chato
mala como película checa
mala como caldo frío
mala como fin de siglo

mala por naturaleza de los pies a la cabeza
mala, mala, mala, mala
pero que bonita chingaos!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sweet Dreams

A tip of the snifter to Chico Banks who died suddenly a couple of weeks ago. I'll miss you, man and I hope you're still getting a little extra in your glass just because you smiled and said pretty please.

Tightly Clichéd

I haven't been reporting because I don't feel like being anything but me and lately I don't make for very good copy. Here are some infinitive forms which currently describe my life: to work, to mother, to granddaughter, to daughter, to sister, to aunt, to behave, to economize, to dodge bill collectors, to heal, to be healed, to sleep, to dream, to plan, to laugh, to master, to rest, to renew, to recalim, to befriend, to enjoy the occasional solitude, to not take things very seriously.

As I said, it doesn't make for interesting reading but it makes for good living.

The biggest news is that I'm trying very, very hard (and not so very perfectly) to kick that devil nicotine once and for all. Please, no comments about how the only way to quit smoking is cold turkey. It isn't and all cold turkey does is make me a homicidal maniac. Nobody wants to see that. Nations will declare jihad on the US because of the large, foul cloud of bad vibes and violence emanating from my aura. It would be very, very bad -- as in hell on earth, armageddon, etc.

The other biggest news is that I'm working on an application for a Master's in Science program offered at the university/hospital where I work.

And in other news...

My son now drives and we just spent the holiday at my mom's eating cold turkey and watching a brazillion bootleg movies.

Also, I wish Blog Ho would post because he's practically my last enjoyable vice in this life since I cut back on the booze and the loose men. Practically, not totally or definitely, so please, still no comments about cold turkey. I don't want to hear it.

Have you noticed that many "loose" men aren't "loose" at all, but rather uptight when you get down to it? So the term "loose" is not a very good one when applied to men of leisure and easy pleasure. Let's change it to "tight" since "tight" is the second syllable in "uptight" and "tight" can also slangily mean drunk and/or a really good mesh of skilled and talented musicians during an improv jam session or (mistakenly used in reference to) a recorded song which sounds very good only after about 10,000 takes.

I have some new girlfriends and some blast-from-the-past girlfriends popping out of the woodwork and I've been having lots of fun hanging out with the girls and doing cool things at cool places and not really caring if you think I'm cute while doing it.

Mostly, I hang out with cool chicks, but I do still know some "tight" guys, in case you were concerned about my ability to be heterosocial. In fact, it was a couple of "tight" guys who helped me relocate my super powers a couple of weeks ago at an improv show during which 2 troupes performed; one female troupe of improvisers called Children of a Lesser God and one male troop of improvisers called Uncle's Brother. The male troop contained some famousish people. The female troop was "tight".

Yeah, during the show the one "tight" guy friend started asking me for a bunch stuff because he is not a boy scout, but rather a journalist. Meanwhile the other tight guy friend was suffering from the adverse effects of a reiki sneak attack coupled with acupuncture, allergy season and a musty rug at the IO, which may cause runny nose, sneezing, watery eyes, ague and overall fatigue. Yet somehow all of the symptoms, wacky energy, extemporanea and general hilarity were strangely regenerative, kind of like an eclipse on Heroes or possibly more like the way the destruction of Alderaan and the death of Obi-Wan brought the gang closer together and led to the eventual triumph of rebel forces against the Empire.

So once again, I have the magical ability to pull any necessary item out of my purse at any given time, for which my superheroic alter ego, Single Mom, is rightfully renowned, and if you ever run into me while drowning in a river I promise to dig you out a straw or a self-help manual on survival or somesuch -- or maybe I'll just dig you out of the current so you don't die.

Not on my watch, pal.

"Never Can Say Goodbye"

Isaac Hayes passed away last night at the age of 65 and after 40 years of us grooving to his Hot Buttered Soul.


Isaac got his start as session player for Otis Redding at the legendary Stax Records in Memphis. He went on to record an impressive catalog of his own, spanning 5 decades.

He changed soul music with his deep jams and long, intricate interpretatioms of songs. He won an Oscar for composing and performing the music for Shaft.

Another generation got to know him and his Chocolate Salty Balls when he voiced the role of Chef on South Park. At times, Chef seemed to be the only sensible adult in that quiet little white-bred redneck mountain town -- although he would burst into song about making sweet love in irrelevant and inaapropriate situations. But I sometimes have that problem, too.

Eventually, Hayes left South Park -- although there seems to be some dispute as to the reason for his departure.

Hayes also left us some damned fine dirty grooves.

We'll miss you Isaac.













America, I can't believe it! Bernie Mac just up and left!


Bernie Mac, one of the original Kings of Comedy, creator and star of the Bernie Mac show , Ambassador of the City of Chicago and fellow White Sox fan, died of complications from sarcoidosis on Saturday.


Goodbye, Mr. Mac. America will miss you, too.



***
Oddly, both Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes filmed a movie with Samuel L. Jackson before both passed away. The film, called Soul Men, is scheduled for release in November.

Mi amor, mi chingador ... te conoceré en el infierno

Four hundred eighty-eight years ago today Cuitláhuac led the Aztecs against Hernán Cortés and his Spanish merceneries, driving them out of Tenochtítlan.

Cuitláhuac was dead of small pox within a few months. (Bioterrorism was created by the Western man.)

Cortés had been greeted by the Aztecs as a god. They believed him to be an incarnation of Huitzilopochtli, god of war and patron of Mexico. This was because Cortés' lover la Malinche told him how to act in order to best the Aztecs. and so Cortés ended up lucky in love and money.
According to legend, Malinche was sold into slavery by her Aztec mother after her mom remarried and wished to leave her land to children by her 2nd marriage. (Aztec inheritance was matrilineal). Malinche was in the way and so she was placed on the auction block.

She passed through many tribes and ended up translating for Cortés because she knew so many languages. He was a conquistador thousands of miles from his wife, so he lived up to his name and conquered Malinche and with her help (the Spanish never would have succeeded without her) he conquered the Aztecs.

According to other legends, Malinche had several children by Cortés and when he left Malinche in order to return to Spain and his European family, she was so heartbroken that she drowned her children and herself.

Malinche was doomed by all of the gods in all of the heavens of all of the religions to search the earth for the souls of her children and not to return to the gates of heaven until she finds them. Her dead children of course, are hiding from her, seeing as she drowned them. So she tears at her hair and she keens and moans in her grief and that cry will turn your blood to ice in your veins and because of that cry, the ghost of Malinche is called La Llorona.

And to this day La Llorona snatches little children from the shore and drowns them. Perhaps she mistakes them for her own, she has been searching so long. Perhaps, she hopes to trick the gatekeepers and sneak into heaven with someone else's child.

Today, in Mexican spanish, a malinche is an unforgivable traitor. and La Llorona is a folk song and a cautionary tale used by parents to warn children away from the water.

Today, Tenochtitlan is el D.F. (Distrito Federal) or Mexico City as we call it in english-speaking countries. The city's residents speak spanish, not nuahtl.

The wheel turns.

"Let them eat yellow cake!"

Well, they tell me of the pie up in the sky

Waiting for me when I die

But between the day you're born and when you die

They never even seem to hear you cry

But as sure as the sun will shine

I'm gonna get my share now, what's mine

And then the harder they come

The harder they fall, one and all

Ooh, the harder they come

Harder they fall, one and all

-- from The Harder They Come

by Jimmy Cliff

************************

Let them eat yellow cake!

My Cheating Heart

Parisian Cowboy tagged me with this meme in which I am supposed to mention my 5 favorite songs. If I do it, he'll buy me a beer next time I'm in Paris (which would also be the first time).

I really suck at favorites, so I ‘ve compiled a list of 5 favorite studio recordings and 5 favorite live songs. I know, I’m complicated and annoying… It's why I'm single.

Recorded:

1. Townes Van Zandt “Where I Lead Me” Delta Momma Blues A man, a guitar, a strong song and raw emotion... What else do you need?

2. PJ Harvey “Oh, My Lover” Dry ("say my name, tell me it’s alright…") A woman, a guitar, a passionate wet, wave of a song and raw emotion... What else do you need?

3. Led Zeppelin “Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You”

OK... I seem to have a theme with the raw emotion and guitars happening here. But I think this is the song where Page's guitar, Plant's voice and Bonham's drums truly come together and hold you fast to your pain.

4. U2 “Bad” The Unforgettable Fire

Maybe this seems like a very average kind of choice, but when this song comes on the radio I turn up the volume and sing at the top of my lungs and I don't care if all of the people are staring at me. Please play it at my funeral.

5. Sly and the Family Stone “If You Want Me To Stay” Fresh

I've already blogged about this song before. Listen and your ass will move of its own accord.

Live

1. Sam Cooke “Bring It On Home” (the live version used in the opening scene of the movie Ali) It makes my heart split open and it is hot and tight.

2. Morphine “All Wrong” Double Door, September 1994 Mark Sandman on 2 string slide bass, Dana Colley playing 2 saxophones at the same time and Billy Conway on percussion. I went with my dear and devious friend Ramón, we got in for free and we were young and cool then. This song gave me the shivers.

3. Ani DiFranco “Swan Dive” Living In Clip

One of my theme songs. Ani may be a folky feminist, but she has chops. The recorded version of this song is pretty bland, but the live version is all power chords and percussion and witty Difraconian lyrics.

4. Of Montreal “Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider” Pitchfork Music Festival 2007

If this band comes within 200 miles of where you are, go see them right away. Their albums are good, but live they have a much bigger, heavier sound -- lots more guitar and percussion. And Kevin Barnes (songwriter/ founder) may be prancing around in lady's underwear but he will dominate you when he performs. The live show includes a bevy of interpretive dancers, multiple costume changes, paint, glitter and big sound. "Bunny..." had me dancing in the aisles and I had never heard of this band before.

5. The Who “A Quick One While He’s Away” The Rolling Stones Rock ‘n’ Roll Circus

The Who had just come back from a long stretch on the road and they were at their musical peak and blew the Stones (and everyone else) out of the water. "A Quick One..." is one of Townsend's earlier attempts at the rock opera and it is lush and intelligent. The refrain "You Are Forgiven" truly imparts a sense of redemption.

Okay... I'm supposed to tag 5 bloggers to write their 5 favorite songs (or if you have to be a big, dorky cheater like me, feel free) so I tag Pavel Chekov -- b/c you gave up space for music -- and everybody on my side bar of links, consider yourself tagged, and anyone else who sees this and wants to play, I hereby solemnly tag you.

Have fun!