Journalist @baltimoresun writer artist runner #amwriting Chaplain PIO #partylikeajournalist

Journalist @baltimoresun writer artist runner #amwriting Chaplain PIO #partylikeajournalist
Journalist @baltimoresun writer artist runner #amwriting Md Troopers Assoc #20 & Westminster Md Fire Dept Chaplain PIO #partylikeajournalist
Showing posts with label Music Simon-Carly Simon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music Simon-Carly Simon. Show all posts

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Carly Simon - You're So Vain


Carly Simon - You're So Vain http://tinyurl.com/ydsoush http://twitpic.com/15zhpy http://kbetrue.livejournal.com/299459.html

http://kevindayhoff.blogspot.com/2010/02/carly-simon-youre-so-vain.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=js8YE7uZFUY



See also: http://www.rollingstone.com/rockdaily/index.php/2010/02/26/is-carly-simons-youre-so-vain-about-david-geffen/

Lyrics by: Carly Simon Music by: Carly Simon http://www.carlysimon.com/music/Lyrics/You%27re_So_Vain.html

You walked into the party
Like you were walking onto a yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye
Your scarf it was apricot
You had one eye in the mirror
As you watched yourself gavotte
And all the girls dreamed
That they'd be your partner
They'd be your partner, and....

You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

You had me several years ago
When I was still quite naïve
Well you said that we made such a pretty pair
And that you would never leave

But you gave away the things you loved
And one of them was me
I had some dreams
They were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee and....

You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

Well I hear you went up to Saratoga
And your horse naturally won
Then you flew your Lear jet up to Nova Scotia
To see the total eclipse of the sun

Well, you're where you should be all of the time
And when you're not you're with
Some underworld spy
Or the wife of a close friend
Wife of a close friend, and....

You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

© 1972 Quackenbush Music Ltd.

Queens of the Stone Age - You're So Vague

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9eBCwuCTCFQ



Clear-eyed girl
In a crooked way
All the crooked walkin
To avoid and evade
Hair like maple, skin like cream
Bet they say I love you
When you strip them thin

Chorus:
Baby, you're so vague
That you probably think this song ain't about you

Green eyed boys
Lick the razor blade
Girl I think I love you
And the mess you made
Setting you up
It don't get you down
When you flash your fangs
You own this town

Chorus:
Baby, you're so vague
That you probably think this song ain't about you

19721202 YT Carly Simon Youre So Vain 20100228 Music, Music Simon-Carly Simon

Carly Simon - You're So Vain KED 20100228

19721202 Carly Simon Youre So Vain Music, Music Simon-Carly Simon


*****

Kevin Dayhoff Soundtrack: http://www.kevindayhoff.net/ Kevin Dayhoff Art: http://www.kevindayhoffart.com/ Kevin Dayhoff Westminster: http://www.westgov.net/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/kevindayhoff Twitpic: http://twitpic.com/photos/kevindayhoff Kevin Dayhoff's The New Bedford Herald: http://kbetrue.livejournal.com/

Friday, May 01, 2009

Music that came up in my April 29, 2009 The Tentacle column, “The Mockingbird’s Song”:





For VL-WAB

The reclusive and enigmatic childhood friend of Truman Capote, Harper Lee, celebrated a birthday yesterday. She was born Nelle Harper Lee on April 28, 1926, in Monroeville, Alabama…

She is best known for her one and only book, which just happened to be a Pulitzer Prize-winning best-seller, “To Kill a Mockingbird,” published in (July 11,) 1960, when she was 34 years old.

Ms. Lee and “Mockingbird” come to mind for a number of reasons which I thoroughly do not understand; and that’s just fine with me.

I’ve been told artists dream of castles in the clouds, writers live in them and psychologists are the landlords that charge rent.

At my advanced age, I’m comfortable with the concept that my cloud is my castle, and I own it and I’m too tight to pay rent.

[…]

From those long-gone lazy days, I usually associate “Mockingbird” with short stories like Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery,” “Rain” by W. Somerset Maugham and “Portnoy’s Complaint” by Philip Roth – and why I’m still traumatized by the word spatula – except when Rachel Ray says it on her cooking show.

I think of the film “McCabe and Mrs. Miller,” by Robert Altman. I was initially introduced to him when he directed a number of episodes of “Bonanza.”

“McCabe” introduced me to Leonard Cohen – and later his song “Famous Blue Raincoat.” Remember: “It’s four in the morning, the end of December. I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better…”

(An outtake: “Many of the “summer anthems” also come to mind when I recall those childhood summers. Who can forget “Summer in the City” by the “Lovin’ Spoonful,”In the Summertime” by Mungo Jerry, “Summertime Blues” by “The Who,” or one of my favorites, “Red Rubber Ball” by “The Cyrkle.”)

I think of Carole King’s “It’s too late,” and Carly Simon’s “That’s The Way I Always Heard It Should Be” – “My father sits at night with no lights on. His cigarette glows in the dark…”

It was over 40 years ago in the summer of 1967 that I first heard the song, “Ode to Billy Joe,” by Bobbie Gentry on WCAO on the AM dial of the car radio.

[…]

*****

“Ode to Billy Joe,” by Bobbie Gentry
http://kevindayhoffart.blogspot.com/2007/11/20071101-today-billy-joe-macallister.html

Famous Blue Raincoat Leonard Cohen
http://kevindayhoffart.blogspot.com/2009/03/famous-blue-raincoat-by-leonard-cohen.html

Carole King “It’s Too Late” released April 1971
http://kevindayhoffart.blogspot.com/2009/04/carole-king-its-too-late-released-april.html

McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971) Directed by Robert Altman
http://kevindayhoffart.blogspot.com/2009/04/mccabe-and-mrs-miller-1971.html

Carly Simon’s “That’s The Way I Always Heard It Should Be”
http://kevindayhoffart.blogspot.com/2009/04/carly-simon-live-in-grand-central.html

20090429 Music that came up in my Apr 29 2009 Tentacle column





Kevin Dayhoff Art: http://www.kevindayhoff.com/ (http://kevindayhoffart.blogspot.com/)


Kevin Dayhoff Soundtrack: www.kevindayhoff.net http://kevindayhoff.blogspot.com/
Kevin Dayhoff Art: www.kevindayhoff.com
Kevin Dayhoff Westminster: www.westgov.net

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Carly Simon live in Grand Central Station 1994

Carly Simon live in Grand Central Station 1994

Related: http://blip.fm/kevindayhoff_soundtrack



Carly Simon - Haven't Got Time/ Anticipation/ That's The Way: Live

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYOL4vClXis



20090429 Carly Simon live in Grand Central Station 1994

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

20080422 The Happy Colors, Massive Attack, and Carly Simon

The Happy Colors, Massive Attack and Carly Simon

April 22, 2008

Massive Attack - Live With Me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LgrGHWSy6k

This song reminded me of:

Carly Simon- “That's the Way I Always Heard It Should Be” from 1971

http://youtube.com/watch?v=JdFjWZBRl6U

And it also reminded me of:

19960422 "The Happy Colors" The Dream of the Pink Zebras 04.22.1996 Binder # 15 v. #4.0095 07.1995 –

http://kevindayhoff.blogspot.com/1996/04/19960422-happy-colors-dream-of-pink.html

"The Happy Colors" The Dream of the Pink Zebras 04.22.1996 Binder # 15 v. #4.0095 07.1995 –

04/22/1996

"Life has a value only when it has something valuable as its object". HEGEL, Introduction to Philosophy of History (1852)

"We love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving". NIETZSCHE, "On Reading and Writing" _ Thus spoke Zarathustra (1883-1892)

"Always develop solutions to challenges that can withstand testing conditions that closely approximate reality". GRANDPA DAYHOFF, "The Frozen Chicken Test" (11.1994)

...of which reminds me of a story that has been in my head for years... a love story called:

"The Happy Colors"

© Kevin Dayhoff April 22, 1996

A sultry August ocean breeze drooled over them as they stood poised at the railing on the balcony of the large art-deco condominium overlooking a vast ocean beyond. Far below little people and cars scurried about putting away the remains of another day at the beach. The cries of tired children, squeals of laughter and the banter of parental instructions all jumbled together with the calls of the sea gulls and an ocean's heartbeat pumped waves that crashed upon the shore. It was music written by the Great Composer in the sky. A piece called "The Happy Colors".

The colors were to be remembered so well. The breeze ruffling her long hair ever so delicately. The sparkle of her eyes as she gazed at the deep azure expanse of the ocean below. The deep maroon of the setting sun as it echoed off her glass of red wine held so deftly in her seasoned, thoughtful fingers. A warm smile sprung from her inviting crimson lips, brightening her face which reflected the flickering yellow candle light. A lone white candle stood sentry, melting on to a black tablecloth that maintained the remains of abandoned china and dessert for two. The cream of her graceful gown mimicked the creamy black russian captured in the solid glass grasped in his deeply creased and weathered hands. His graying hair contrasted with the dark black of his finely tailored black tuxedo.

Their conversation drifted from the previous discussion of how they had met, and parted, in their childhood years. Perhaps they had even been lovers in a previous life. The years had marched by. And although they had lived separately for all these years, they had never left each other. They hadn't regretted their lives apart, but, then again, they did. Neither had known the other was to be at this function. This meeting again, for the first time, all over again; it was of serendipitous happenstance. As wave upon wave crashed and pounded upon the shore below, their eyes remained transfixed upon one another, oblivious to the party's banter, as their hearts crashed and pounded in unison in their warm chests. A grandfather clock dutifully stood sentry and watched the crowd beyond, and kept them away, as it quietly announced the time, seemingly, only to them...Midnight.

A stimulating intellectual discourse ensued. Alice B. Toklas was instrumental to whatever it was, that Gertrude Stein became. F. Scott Fitzgerald needed the catharsis of Zelda's being in order to create. Nietzsche fleshed out the paragraphs of their life but Hegel defined their meaning and Sartre gave them the punctuation. They had built their lives, their own way, and though they had had their shortcomings here and there, they were happy with the lives they had lived, albeit apart. They had made the best choices that they could make, not that they always had the criteria necessary in order to make the choices. They had made their choices in life because they had to make the choices. They had soared in hostile air. In a life of no inherent meaning, they had created a meaning. Their meaning. Now, older and wiser, the works that they had created, the thoughts they had promoted, the decisions they had made; were all the foundation of the work that laid ahead, that needed to be done.

They continued on to a poem that had marked their decisions in life, by a sage author they had long since forgotten....Does one build a fence at the top of the chasm of life or provide for an ambulance below?

At that, the handsome young waiter tentatively inquired about their needs.... They had none. Then again. Maybe one more drink before they left the party and parted company once again. To again do what they had to do. Because it is what it is, this life of their's.

"Yes, I'll have another black russian for me and a glass of red wine for the lady. Thank you".

The jazz quartet played a soft number in the background as the party in her honor grew quiet, reflecting about their chance meeting. Many smiled, some mused philosophically, others miffed jealously. Meanwhile, on the balcony, the lovers discussed their latest endeavors as they entwined in dance to the soft caresses of the music, oblivious to the quiet banter beyond.

They danced so softly together. Her hand ran longingly through his graying hair. Her long hair blowing across his eyes. The sun dipping below a wanting horizon. The sea gulls sang their good night praises of yet another great day in a great life.

The wise grandfather clock called to them that it was, indeed, time to go. They wanted this moment to never end. As the waiter appeared at the door of the balcony, as they held each others hand so tightly and gazed into each others eyes, as they whispered how much they were in lover and how glad they were that they had found each other again.

They a paused at the railing of the 17th floor and gazed into the sun's remains of the day and promised that they'd never part again... At that;

they climbed upon the railing, and jumped.

Grandpa Dayhoff 04.22.1996

"The more absurd life is, the more insupportable death is". JEAN-PAUL SARTRE, The Words (1964)

"Man's 'progress' is but a gradual discovery that his questions have no meaning". SAINT-EXUPERY, The Wisdom of the Sands (1948)

"Life has to be given a meaning because of the obvious fact that it has no meaning". HENRY MILLER, "Creative Death", The Wisdom of the Heart (1941)

"Man is the only animal for whom his own existence is a problem which he has to solve". ERICH FROMM, Man for Himself (1947)

To be an artist is to jump...to jump from the comforts and confines...from behind the railing...then experience the free-for-all-fall of the intellectual, artistic unknown and document the meaning, your own meaning that which you and you alone, give this existence.

This piece has been in my head for years. I have not a clue as to what "the jump" is all about. Perhaps I should have left "the jump" in my head, but I had grown tired of the space it was taking up. Perhaps, "the jump" is an existential artistic exercise and can be interpreted as affirming. Anyway, I've always gotten a kick out of the incongruous, Hemingway-twist ending. I guess I'm a bit worried that many will find this piece disturbing. Well, it is what it is. I think perhaps the piece is allegorical. It's art. It's done. Now I have room for another piece.....Mr. Eaton would have liked this I'll bet....

Grandpa Dayhoff 04.22.1996

"The Happy Colors" The Dream of the Pink Zebras 04.22.1996 Binder # 15 v. #4.0095 07.1995 –

Kevin Dayhoff, a slave to the masters of the page - the little soldiers in my life – words

20080422 The Happy Colors, Massive Attack, and Carly Simon