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07 September 2005

Comments

Mrs. Peperium

Where's Ruby Reddress?

Bleak Mouse

I've heard some pretty low people blame their parents for many things in their lives, but -- Helen Reddy's Greatest Hits? Next you'll be blaming "society."

Be a man. Get a blowtorch. Take the record outside. You know what to do.

Misspent

It actually isn't that bad. I don't even mind "I am Woman" looking in hindsight at the withering of its ultra-feminist idealism in today's society. I rather like her version of "I Don't Know How to Love Him" and some of the other songs.

I don't blame my parents for my musical tastes (which run from quite good to terribly bad). I often find myself liking music not for its inherants "goodness" as music, but rather the baser question of "Does it sound nice to my ears" or "Does it remind me of something". If it makes me quiet and serene then it is good to me. If it reminds me of times gone by and simpler lives (at least imagined ones) then it is good to me. I do blame them for having so many bad records around for me to collect.

Bleak Mouse

All right: "The sins of the fathers are visited on the sons."

I too have some guilty pleasures, but 'fessing up to them like that -- you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

Perhaps it's because I recall the "ultra-feminist idealism" of the 70s somewhat differently that the mere mention of Helen Reddy makes me want to grab a large squirtgun.

It's also an unfortunate fact of popular music that many artists are forever disgraced by the "hit single," whereas the bulk of their work can be rather good.

Quicquid

Delta Dawn, what's that flower you have on?
Could it be a faded rose from days gone by?
And did I hear you say
He was meetin' you here today
To take you to his mansion in the sky?

Misspent

YES! YES! YOU'RE MY BOY, QUICKY! YES!!

Quicquid

She's forty-one but her daddy still calls her baby
All the folks 'round Brownsville say she's crazy
'Cause she walks downtown with a suitcase in her hand
Waitin' for a mysterious dark-haired man...

But it is impolite to continue with this heartless exposé of Mrs. P's secret life. Especially since the Card's wife is not online to egg me on.

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