Category Archives: mixtape

Paul McCartney and Wings – Give Ireland Back to the Irish (1971)

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Picture used as the album cover of Wildlife (1971), Wings’ first album. Photo Credit: Barry Lategan

Paul McCartney and Wings – Give Ireland Back to the Irish (1971) (Video) (Lyrics)

(Written March 19, 2023)

Paul McCartney never disappoints, and “Give Ireland Back to the Irish” can be considered a perfect demonstration of the breadth and depth of his talents.  This past winter, December 2022 to be exact, The 7” Single Box Set hit stores.  This monster encompasses 80 seven-inch vinyl singles dating from his Wings and solo careers, spanning over 50 years of musical history (1971-2022).  Easily retailing for hundreds of dollars, the idea works as vinyl continues to come roaring back thanks to collectors and the lack of a better medium.  What could be better than listening to music the way it was originally intended?  As I have no vinyl collection and my days of collecting physical music (my CD collection in the 90s, early 00s) are long over, it never occurred to me to find the collection digitally.  Fortunately, that is precisely what I did, and for that, I am grateful.  “Give Ireland Back to the Irish” shines in the collection as the gem it is.

Rediscovering my favorite Wings hits, along with Paul McCartney’s extensive back catalog of solo work, made listening to The 7” Single Box Set a guilty pleasure.  “Give Ireland Back to the Irish” definitely caught my attention.  First, I had forgotten how much I love the song.  It also hit me how easy it is to forget that Paul McCartney can actually rock all on his own, silly love songs aside.  I still consider it among the best protest songs of all time.

Then there is the significance of the song.  Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I devoured the news daily.  I learned about “the Troubles” at a young age, and it is still something I will never understand.  Hatred between Catholics and Protestants?  It didn’t make sense.  Differences of opinion and belief?  Yes.  Hatred?  No.  It went against not only everything I had experienced as a child in my daily life, it also went against everything I had been taught to believe.

First, my father’s extended family is roughly half Catholic and half various Protestant denominations.  While my family and I belong to the Methodist church, my paternal first cousins were raised in the Catholic Church.  As a toddler, I attended cousin Nicole’s first Communion.  When my Russell grandparents married in 1943, my Protestant great grandmother, Dad’s Grandma Russell, supposedly didn’t originally like the idea of her youngest son marrying a Catholic.

Next, Standish, Michigan, the site of my entire K-12 education, is largely Catholic.  I spent my early childhood watching my classmates attend Catechism on Wednesday evenings.  My Catholic classmates knew my beloved Joyce – my neighbor, babysitter extraordinaire, and adopted grandmother – from 3rd grade Catechism as she taught Catechism for nearly three decades.  I watched in envy that spring as the Catholic girls dressed up as miniature brides to make their first Communion.  Later, as an adult, Mom shared with me that she’d felt the same way watching her Catholic best friends make their first Communions decades before.

Finally, our neighbors were Catholic.  Not only were they Catholic, they were the most devote Catholics I’ve ever known.  It is no secret that my brother, sister, and I adored Joyce and Carl.  On Saturday afternoons, Joyce could often be found ironing all of the linens about to be used in Mass later that evening.  Earlier in my childhood, my parents actually used to go out from time to time on Saturday evenings.  Joyce could babysit, but there was one catch: my sister Erica and I would be attending Mass with her family, as would our brother Garrett years later.

Much to my Methodist grandmother’s amusement, her Catholic friends would comment on seeing my sister and I, dressed up and on our best behavior, in Mass with Joyce and her family, looking cherubic.  Erica and I may have attended the local Catholic church more than our Methodist church in our earliest years.  Those Saturday evenings are among some of my best memories of time spent with Joyce, Carl, Carla, and Joelle.

Even as a young child, I recognized the cognitive dissonance required for me to hate Catholics.  It would have meant hating many of the very people closest to me throughout my childhood – friends, family, teachers, etc. – solely based on religion.  Considering my paternal grandmother’s Ukrainian/Polish heritage, it would almost demand some level of self-hatred.  I will never even begin to understand.

Supposedly Paul McCartney’s family was a mixture of Catholic and Protestant as well, which would explain “Give Ireland Back to the Irish.”  Even given his level of fame, the song took a certain amount of courage to write and record, particularly in the aftermath of the Beatles and the formation of Wings.  The lyrics say it all:

Great Britain you are tremendous

And nobody knows like me

But really what are you doin’

In the land across the sea?

Lyrics:  Paul McCartney/Linda McCartney

The Corrs – Runaway (1995)

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The Corrs – Runaway (1995) (Official Video) (Lyrics)

(Written March 17, 2023)

It seemed appropriate to share a beautiful song by an Irish band on St. Patrick’s Day.  I fell in love with the entire album when it first came out, even though it wasn’t exactly the music I was into at the time.  It certainly has held up.

I hope to revisit Ireland one day.  I only spent a long weekend in Dublin while studying abroad in the United Kingdom, and yet, it left a deep impression on me.  I have yet to travel anywhere where I felt so at home.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!  More to come on Ireland in the week ahead.

Morcheeba – Rome Wasn’ t Built in a Day (2000)

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Morcheeba – Rome Wasn’ t Built in a Day (2000) (Official Video) (Lyrics)

(Written March 6, 2023)

I wish I could convey to today’s teenagers and young adults how much freedom we had in the late 1990s/pre-September 11th, 2001.  I consider myself fortunate to have grown up just enough to enjoy all that that time period had to offer.  Those years, roughly 1996-2001, still loom large in my life.  What a soundtrack I could create for that time!  Morcheba’s Rome Wasn’t Built in a Day would feature front and center.  It is upbeat, optimistic, and fun in a way that is sorely missing today.  The video is infectious and fits the song perfectly.

I don’t remember exactly when I first heard the song, but it will always remind me of my summer in London.  My freshman year at Michigan State, I had no doubt that I’d study abroad.  The only questions that remained were:  when, where, how, and why.  I settled into life at Michigan State with my mom’s experience studying abroad in the United Kingdom in the ‘70s firmly in the back of my mind, oblivious to the profound impact it would all have on my life.

From all the stories I grew up with, I could tell that studying abroad loomed large in my mom’s college experience.  It’s clear that she loved every minute of it.  Interestingly, I’m not sure if it would’ve happened without my dad.  When my mom wanted to marry my dad before graduating from Central Michigan University, my grandparents handled it brilliantly.  They suggested that she study abroad before she married.  I don’t know if she would have taken that step otherwise.  I’m just glad that she did and shared those stories with me.  I doubt she knows the extent to which they inspired me.

Spring semester 2000, the professor in my freshman literature class passed out a flier for a short term study abroad program in the United Kingdom that summer.  Even though I would be taking another literature course I didn’t necessarily need, I’d be able to finish up my required humanities credits.  A summer in London sounded perfect.  I couldn’t sign up fast enough.  In the end, I would spend five weeks in the heart of London (Bloomsbury) and one week in Glasgow, Scotland.  For the first time, I would be away from my family and the canoe livery for an extended period of time during the summer.

Russell Square Station just happened to be the closest tube stop to the University of London and Commonwealth Hall. Sadly, Russell Sq. Station was bombed in an act of terrorism on 7 July 2005.

It’s funny what I’ve taken away from the entire experience.  First, I became an addict.  I became addicted to studying abroad.  As soon as I returned to Michigan, I knew that I wanted to spend at least one full semester studying abroad.  I hadn’t given up Spanish just yet and spending a semester (minimum) in a Spanish-speaking country seemed a foregone conclusion.  The width and breadth of Michigan State University’s Office of Study Abroad did not make it easy – or maybe a little too convenient.  The choices seemed endless.  I couldn’t make up my mind between a semester in Caceres, Spain or Quito, Ecuador.  Ultimately, I didn’t have to choose.  With my parents’ blessing and plenty of scholarship opportunities, I did both.  In the end, I participated in five separate study abroad programs through Michigan State and three alternative spring break programs in Mexico (two in Merida and one in Puebla).  The two study abroad programs not mentioned above were short term programs studying business in Mexico (one in Monterrey and one in Merida).  I could not have asked for a better education.  I like to think that it all started with that summer in London.

When I finally returned to campus, I landed a position as a peer advisor in what was then called the Office of Study Abroad on campus.  I spent my time working in the Office of Study Abroad helping students plan their own study abroad experiences.  To this day, it is the best job I’ve ever held (Russell Canoe Livery exempted, of course).

In addition to becoming an addict, my experiences in London and Glasgow left me with the sense that I could take on just about anything.  I grew up in Michigan’s smallest city, Omer, Michigan.  Attending one of the largest universities in the United States, Michigan State University definitely resulted in culture shock, and yet, it was nothing compared to what I experienced living in London during that time period.

In essence, London and Glasgow represented an awful lot of firsts in my life.  For the first time in my life, I had easy access to world class museums and theatres.  In fact, the program I completed focused extensively on the Arts and Crafts movement.  Not only did I have the opportunity to visit the Victoria and Albert (the V&A), we often visited various exhibits as part of class.  One free weekend, I explored the Louvre with friends, traveling to Paris via the Chunnel shortly after it opened.  I also experienced all the pomp and circumstance of the British monarchy as the Queen Mum turned 100 years old that summer.  A closeup I’d taken of a Bobby while witnessing the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace didn’t win the Office of Study Aboad’s photography contest, but it did end up in their catalog for the following year.  I still have the catalog and countless memories.

Every time I hear Rome Wasn’t Built in a Day, I am instantly transported back to that time in London, to the 19 year old I once was, so many opportunities unfolding before me for the first time.  I can imagine myself rushing to catch the tube to class or the V&A each morning from Russell Square Station.  I envision myself catching the train to Bath after a failed attempt to spend a weekend of adventure in Wales or heading to the airport to spend the weekend in Dublin.  I can’t think of anything more powerful than the ability of music to transport you back to a time and place.

Joan Osbourne – One of Us (1995)

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Joan Osbourne – One of Us (1995) (Video) (Lyrics)

There are one hit wonders, and then there are one hit wonders that reside on Grammy nominated albums.  While I’ve never been a fan of award shows, even the Grammys, I did pay some attention to the Grammy albums that came out each February as a teen – just in case there was something I’d missed the year before.

I don’t remember when I first heard One of Us, but I immediately fell in love with the song.  It was the perfect song to belt by yourself in your car when you think no one is watching.  Half the fun of getting your driver’s license as a teen is the anticipation.  I couldn’t wait to be the one behind the wheel, belting whatever I pleased.

Growing up, the only thing better than waiting to get my license was waiting for my older cousin Abby to get hers.  We are only ten months apart in age and grew up together.  We shared a first Christmas at Grandma Buttrick’s house in 1980 – and every one thereafter until Grandma passed away in 2014.  Now, at Christmas, we bring the party to Abby, even in the middle of blizzards.  We did elementary school, junior high and high school, and even college together.  We, along with her older sister Emily, studied supply chain management at Michigan State.  Freshman year, she was my ride home.  Safe to say, my childhood would have been much different without Abby J.  She was very much the older sister I never had.

In February 1996, the Grammys were over, we were celebrating all of the February birthdays at Aunt Robin’s house, and Abby was just about to turn 16.  Her first car was similar to mine.  I ended up with my beloved ‘89 red Grand Prix and hers was a white ‘88.  Both of those cars ended up saving our lives.

I don’t remember specifically what Abby received for her birthday, aside from the car, but we ended up listening to One of Us on the CD player she had had installed in her car.   There is nothing to compare to giggling in the back seat of a car with your older cousin and younger sister singing along to a great song at top volume.  This image of the three of us singing One of Us with as much emotion as we could muster continues to haunt me.  In a few months, everything would change.

The day started out normal enough.  A typical beautiful early June day not long after school ended for the year, it was to be my first day of driver’s ed.  I had just enough time to down a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats before Mom was to return from the gym and drop me off at the high school.

I met Mom in the kitchen after I heard the door to the garage open.  I knew immediately something awful had happened.  Mom couldn’t stop crying, and generally, Mom wasn’t a crier.  On the way home from the gym, she had heard that Abby had been involved in a tragic car accident.  I don’t know for sure, but I have the idea that she heard it on the radio on her way home.  However it was reported on the radio, it made it sound as though Abby was at fault.  That certainly wasn’t the case.  In reality, Abby was hit head on by a drunk driver.  Another car had been immediately in front of Abby and swerved out of the way of the drunk driver, leaving Abby with no time to react.  Tragically, the other driver died.

Abby was OK but certainly not unscathed.  Once she was home from the hospital, I remember visiting her with my mom, sister, and brother.  My younger brother Garrett, 5 at the time, made her laugh so hard that he had to stop.  It made her stitches hurt.  He still has that effect on people.

My intention here isn’t to tell Abby’s story as I could never do it justice and it isn’t mine to tell.  Instead, it is to finally admit just how deeply Abby’s accident affected me.  Keep in mind that her accident happened on my first day of driver’s ed.  Shortly after learning the true story of the accident and that Abby would be OK, I was sitting in a classroom listening to the driver’s ed instructor talk about her accident.  I wouldn’t feel comfortable behind the wheel for years.   It would take two road trips well into college – one to Minnesota and one to Texas – to make that happen.

In the end, Abby and I joined SADD (Students Against Drunk Driving) the following school year.  She went on to suffer braces all over again and became class president her senior year.  Eventually, we both ended up at Michigan State.  It is thanks to Abby, who still didn’t feel completely comfortable driving the expressway, I learned the back roads home from State.

Everyone always seemed to chalk up my issues behind the wheel – fear, basically – to Turner Syndrome (TS).  Most women with TS do not get their license on time due to depth perception/spatial issues.  Fortunately, I’ve learned how to deal with those.  No, it was my fear and anxiety after Abby’s accident.  One of Us will always take me back to a much simpler time.

Don McLean – American Pie (1971)

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Don McLean – American Pie (1971) (Video) (Lyrics)

(Written February 6, 2023)

This Day in History – The Day The Music Died

The Day The Music Died  (Earlier Blog Post – Documentary)

What can I say about Don McLean’s American Pie that hasn’t already been said?  Not much, actually.  Yet, that song is so ingrained in my love of music, my childhood, and more.  It can safely be called Americana at this point – a modern American folk song in the best sense of the term.

I couldn’t tell you the first time I heard the song, but I have always loved it and could deeply visualize the lyrics.  For whatever reason, I imagined the high school gym as the same high school gym where I’d watched my dad play old man basketball countless times as a preschooler – his alma mater – Arenac Eastern High School in Twining, MI.  I think it has something to do with how rural the setting appears to be in the song.  Sadly, Arenac Eastern High School no longer exists.  The building, now a community center, still sits among acres of farm land and a tiny village.  When I think of the quintessential rural American high school, Arenac Eastern immediately comes to mind.  It has always felt like stepping back in time and into my family history.

Whatever the case may be, I do know that I had the lyrics practically memorized by 4th grade.  Mrs. Currie, my 4th grade teacher and my first teacher at Standish Elementary, used the lyrics to teach us the terms “levee” and “dirge.”  In fact, at this point, I can’t listen to the song without thinking about 4th grade and Mrs. Currie.  None of the kids were getting it.  She then began to sing the song, basically saying “Come on!  You know the song.”  Except, they didn’t.  As I remember it, I was the only kid who knew the song and lyrics – at least well enough for the purposes of her vocabulary lesson.  It was funny, irrelevant, and frankly, kind of summed up that school year.

Years later, as a substitute teacher, I had the opportunity, with a bit of caution and specific directions from the regular classroom teacher, to show high school Spanish students the movie La Bamba.  After the movie, I had just enough time to explain the term “the day the music died” and the lyrics to American Pie.  They left singing Oh Donna, moved by the true story, which completely took me by surprise.  It also happened to cement it in my memory.

February 3rd, 1959 – “The day the music died” – (L to R) Buddy Holly, JP Richardson (the Big Bopper), and Ritchie Valens died in an airplane accident, traveling over Iowa as part of the Winter Dance Party Tour.

I’m glad that I had the opportunity to explain the lyrics to American Pie and help them make the connection.  I may have known the song longer than I care to remember, but it wasn’t all that long ago that I learned that the lyrics referenced a true tragedy, much less the death of Buddy Holly, JP Richardson (the Big Bopper), and Ritchie Valens.  I suppose that is the true tragedy of American Pie:  What if they had lived?

The musical legacy of Buddy Holly, of course, is staggering.  Modern pop and rock music would not have evolved in quite the same way without him and the Crickets.  He inspired the Beatles to write their own music, among countless others.  In fact, it could be said that Buddy Holly was one of the main influences of what became known as the British invasion.  JP Richardson (the Big Bopper) and Ritchie Valens were just getting started.  Again, what if?

If nothing else, American Pie taught me that lyrics can indeed be a form of poetry.

Lou Diamond Phillips (Ritchie Valens) and Danielle von Zerneck (Donna Ludwig) in a car in a scene from the film ‘La Bamba’, 1987.
(Photo by Columbia Pictures/Getty Images)

Guns N’ Roses – November Rain (1991)

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W.M. and I – Puebla, Mexico – March 2004

Guns N’ Roses – November Rain (1991) (Official Video) (Lyrics)

(Written February 2, 2023)

Ah, Michigan State and all of my Alternative Spring Break (ASB) memories in Mexico.  Some of my best ASB memories involve W.M., and one in particular, November Rain by Guns N’ Roses.  It takes me back to nothing less than the most romantic evening of my life.

I met him at the airport as we headed to Merida, Mexico for a week of working hard doing volunteer work and playing even harder.  I was listening to Here Comes the Sun, ready to relax in the Yucatecan sun in the middle of a busy, crazy spring semester, and here was this guy – our site leader for the week – chatting me up.  He flashed me this great smile and asked me what I was listening to at the moment.  We bonded over George Harrison.

Lunch break with friends – Merida, Mexico – March 2001
The week W.M. and I met.

It didn’t take us long to become friends.  By the end of our first day of volunteer work, we were hanging out eating pizza and drinking Mexican beer, getting lost in deep, meaningful conversations.  I had lost my grandfather almost exactly a year before – at age 20, the first real loss of someone so close to me – and I was happy to find someone who understood.  That was the thing – W.M. and I should have had everything in common.

A year ahead of me, he studied marketing and Spanish to my supply chain management and Spanish.  No wonder we had found one another.  Later, the only time I actually met up with him on campus in East Lansing – or the United States for that matter, and for lunch no less – he told me all about his semester in Quito, Ecuador.  I don’t remember if I had already decided on a semester in Ecuador, but after hearing about W.M.’s experiences there, it was a forgone conclusion.

I’d love to say that this story is a college romance that ended well, but that simply wasn’t the case.  Instead, it is a story of friendship spanning years, countries, cultures, and continents that didn’t end so well.  It is also a story of unrequited love on my part.  I fell. Hard.

The thing is that I was never going to change my plans for anyone, muchless a man who hadn’t shown the least bit interest in anything more than friendship.  We left it as friends and that was it.  We were both driven with much to do.  That is, until Spain.

Fast forward nearly two years, and I was in the middle of my semester abroad in Caceres, Spain.  I’d resigned to myself that W.M., unfortunately, wanted to remain friends, nothing more.  Then I received the email.  The week before Valentine’s Day, I receive an email from him stating that he had landed an internship in Madrid – an easy train ride away – did I want to meet up?  Did I!

In the end, we spent a fun weekend in Madrid hanging out.  He booked me a hostel near wherever he was living.  We spent Saturday hanging out, eventually ending up at the Hard Rock Cafe and a beautiful park nearby.  We talked for hours.  Too good to be true, right?  Right.  When he walked me back to the hostel and didn’t even so much as kiss me goodnight, I wept.

In 2004, I returned to Mexico and ASB as a site leader myself.  Now a senior, I juggled interviewing for full-time positions in Texas with classwork along with all of my extracurricular responsibilities, including ASB.  As a result, I had to fly into Mexico City on my own and take a bus to Puebla to meet up with the rest of the group.  I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but W.M. got ahold of me once again.  Would I like to meet up for dinner in Puebla one evening?  He happened to be working in Mexico City at the time.

Beyond confused, I, of course, said yes.  I had no idea what to expect.  Why would this man take a bus at least two hours each way just to spend the evening with me?  He knew no one else in the group and the plan was just for the two of us to meet up.  We were friends, but seriously, what else was going on here?

I met him in the zocalo, or town square, and we quickly found an outdoor table at a local restaurant.  In my mind, the only thing better than Mexican food is authentic Mexican food.  The cuisine in Puebla tops them all.  Pollo en salsa mole anyone?

After watching the sunset over an incredible authentic Mexican dinner, a little red wine, and the ever present great conversation, W.M. and I somehow found our way into the Mexican equivalent of a dive bar.  Now, I am not much of a drinker, but I love the atmosphere in dive bars from time to time.  This one happened to be perfect.

I never really did see any sign advertising the place, but I could not have had more fun.  W.M. and I ended up holding court with a group of Mexican young men roughly our age.  We, two gringos who spoke Spanish who happened to end up in this cool unadvertised bar, stood out.  In fact, they thought we were married.  So, in this ambiance, we all start singing along to November Rain – very poorly.  It is still among the most romantic nights of my life – and he never even so much as kissed me.  Yet, there was at least enough chemistry between us for people to think we were married.

That was the last time I ever saw W.M.  In 2008, I looked him up on Facebook, and unfortunately, it ended up in a political argument that ended our friendship.  I still have no idea how he could have attended the same business school as me, and yet not understand the impact government can have on business, good or bad – small business in particular.  Time had not treated him well.  In fact, Diego Rivera comes to mind.  I recently watched Frida and it all came flooding back, much to my amusement.  The passion between Frida and Diego gets me every time.

Over the years, I’ve tried and tried to capture our friendship in writing, and I’ve never been able to do it well.  I once even brought an effort for critique, and the reaction of the men in my writing group still cracks me up.  Every last man in our group believed him to be gay.  All I have to say is this:  If he is indeed gay, he didn’t know it himself at the time.  The last I knew, he had a Mexican girlfriend and lived in California.

I can’t help but think of him every time I watch Casablanca, particularly the line “We’ll always have Paris.”  Indeed.  We’ll always have Merida, Madrid, and Puebla.

The Ronettes – Be My Baby (1963)

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The Ronettes – Be My Baby (1963) (Video) (Lyrics)

(Written January 23, 2023)

If you stick around long enough, you’ll realize just how much I adore the Motown girl groups of the early ‘60s.  Yet, Be My Baby by the Ronettes is perhaps my favorite.  There is something downright haunting about the song and Ronnie Spector’s voice.  In fact, some of my favorite Christmas songs are versions sung by the Ronettes as well.

Be My Baby demonstrates Phil Spector’s wall of sound so well.  In fact, I can’t imagine the Ronettes sound without it.  Yet, here I am probably the only person on the planet under the age of 50 to know what Phil Spector’s wall of sound is or who Phil Spector was.  The funny thing is that it didn’t always work so well.  I normally love it in the girl group music he helped produce, and yet, The Long and Winding Road and most of the Let It Be (1970) album is overproduced.  I actually understood why the Beatles, led by Paul McCartney, released a stripped down version called Let It Be… Naked (2003) decades later, reimagining the entire album without Spector’s wall of sound.  I actually prefer Naked.

Sadly, Ronnie, who happened to have befriended the Beatles at the height of their (and her) fame, passed away in January 2022.  Her legacy lives on, and frankly, I can’t imagine a time when Be My Baby won’t be considered an absolute pop gem.

The Lightning Seeds – Change (1994)

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The Lightning Seeds – Change (1994) (Official Video) (Lyrics)

(Written January 22, 2023)

Some songs just immediately take you back to a certain time and place.  Sometimes, you have to dig to learn the actual name of the song, artist, or band, especially when it is included in a soundtrack.  Such as the case with Change by the Lightning Seeds.

First, a little history.  My little sister Erica spent much of her early adolescence obsessed with the movie Clueless (1995).  She wanted to be Cher.  I have a feeling she can still recite large sections of dialog from the movie.  Yes, she adored everything about Clueless.

I vaguely remember seeing it in the theater with her, and I loved it too, but it wouldn’t inspire me as Evita (1996) would a year later.  Still, there was much to love in Clueless if you were a young teenage girl in the midwest –  or anywhere for that matter.  In addition to Cher and friends, there was Josh (the incomparable Paul Rudd) and Cher’s incredible closet.  I bought the soundtrack.

The entire soundtrack fit the movie perfectly – early alternative rock smack dab in the middle of the 90s.  Change always stuck out in the soundtrack, but when I sought out the song with the lyric “stuck on drive” for a piece I planned to write on learning how to drive (I have yet to write that post, and frankly, it is quite the story), I didn’t come across it right away.  I finally discovered the right song, Change, and its incredible video.  Seriously.  Check out the official video and lyrics.  It is definitely worth it.

I’ve never come across a song that summed up the high school experience in the 90s quite as well.  It resonates with me in a way that makes me wish I had discovered The Lightning Seeds back catalog decades ago.  It is a perfect introduction to the pop/rock perfection that was 90s “alternative.”

The Temptations – My Girl (1965)

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The Temptations – My Girl (1965) (Video) (Lyrics)

(Written January 17, 2023)

Ah, My Girl!  I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know or love the song.  I think it comes with being a girl who grew up in Michigan.  As much as I love the song, it is the movie My Girl (1991) that holds the most memories.  Per usual, Grandma Reid took my sister Erica and me to see it in the theater.

At that point in 1991, I was 10 years old and could relate to Vada.  I happen to be roughly the same age as the protagonists (Vada and Thomas J.), and frankly, I could see myself becoming fast friends with Vada.  She loved to write, had a great sense of fashion, and seemed like a lot of fun.  I could imagine us dishing about our crushes as only preteen girls can.  I felt for her when Thomas J. died.

After the movie, we headed over to KMart where my sister and I purchased a Temptations/Four Tops CD to share.  The fact that we “shared” a CD highlights just how young we were.  For the record, my sister and I have never had the exact same taste in music.  I can think of only one other CD that we both purchased later on in our teen years.  It wasn’t so much that our musical taste varied that much, it is just that we were very different teenage girls.  Some of our best arguments were over what music to play in the car on that all-important 10 minute drive to school.

My Girl is timeless.  It represents my love of Motown and will always remind me of the movie and a simpler time in my life.

Michael Jackson – Thriller (1982)

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Michael Jackson – Thriller (1982) (Official Video) (Lyrics)

(Written January 14, 2023)

The King of Pop.  It is difficult to explain to younger generations just how big Michael Jackson was in the early 1980s.  He was everywhere.  The Beatles, of course, were bigger in the 1960s, but I fail to think of anyone (or any band) bigger than Michael Jackson in the years since – with, of course, the exception of Madonna, who was just as big as the Queen of Pop during the same time period.

Similar to Madonna, Michael Jackson’s hits immediately take me back to my earliest childhood memories.  My love of MJ’s music, once again, has much to do with the influence of my older cousins.  I distinctly remember my mom giving my cousin Nicole a Michael Jackson doll for her birthday.  As a preschooler, I was envious!  There is even an adorable picture of Nicole and I sitting on Grandma’s lap, Nicole proudly hugging her new Thriller album.

Unlike the cloud that hangs over Madonna’s legacy, there is little question that Michael Jackson’s music holds up.  I noticed it the summer of 2009 right after his death.  All of a sudden it was cool to rediscover MJ’s hits, his questionable legacy suddenly forgotten.  I can’t help but wonder if the same will happen with Madonna upon her death.

Then there is Thriller itself.  The album, the song, and music video itself – in reality, almost a short film – are still fun to revisit.  As a child who loved the macabre and everything to do with Halloween, I adored the video.  Learning as an adult that VIncent Price lent his incredible voice to the video:  Priceless.  In my opinion, Thriller is one of the best music videos ever made.