Archive for the ‘1972’ Category

Saturday Single No. 637

Saturday, April 13th, 2019

Last evening we attended a local production of Joseph & The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, the first production written years ago by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice. It was lively, fun, well-done, and a good time. And it got us home relatively early as these things go, about 10. That gave us time enough to stay up late.

So after settling in, we watched a couple episodes of Season Six of Game of Thrones in advance of the premiere of Season Eight tomorrow evening. We watched a couple more this morning before beginning our Saturday chores. We might finish Season Six before tomorrow evening, but we won’t have time for Season Seven. That’s okay, as it’s still relatively fresh in our memories, I think.

Anyway, along with frittering away our time on fantasy, we’ve been keeping the household running. I’m doing more these days than I have since early January, although there are some tasks I cannot yet resume. I keep trying to remind myself as I sit at the computer or sit on the couch that healing of any kind – physical or emotional – takes time. I’d kind of forgotten that.

So, three paragraphs, all mentioning time. That’s a cue. The RealPlayer has more than 2,800-tracks that come up in a search for “time.” As usual, some go by the wayside, like all of Ronnie Aldrich’s All-Time Piano Hits and Big Maybelle’s Saga of the Good Life & Hard Times as well as everything but the title track from Anne Briggs’ The Time Has Come and many more.

Still, as one might expect, there’s a lot to work with. And I run across an easy listening version of “It’s Going To Take Some Time” by the Button-Down Brass (featuring the “funky trumpet” of Ray Davies). The song, written by Carole King and Toni Stern and first released in 1971 on King’s album Music, showed up here eight years ago when I waded through King’s work in the wake of my Ultimate Jukebox. Other than that, it’s been ignored.

Along with those two versions, the RealPlayer also offers the Carpenters’ cover of the tune, which went to No. 12 in 1972, the only version of the song ever to reach the Billboard Hot 100. (The Carpenters’ record also went to No. 2 on the magazine’s Easy Listening chart.)

Now, I once referred to the Carpenters as sitting on the softest end of the pop-rock couch or something similar, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like their work, or at least some of it. And Karen Carpenter’s voice was a thing of beauty. So for all of the above reasons, here’s “It’s Going To Take Some Time,” today’s Saturday Single.

No. 47 Forty-Seven Years Ago

Tuesday, March 19th, 2019

As I hoped/expected, Sunday’s performance of Don McLean’s “Crossroads” at our Unitarian Universalist Fellowship went well. The other two members of our music group in attendance pitched in on vocals (and on bass), and we got through it well enough.

But spending three hours at the fellowship – on top of having run some errands on Saturday – pretty well wiped me out. I spent a good deal of the rest of Sunday doing nothing, and the same was true yesterday.

As well as I may think I am recovering from January’s surgery, I still have a ways to go to get back even everyday strength and stamina. It’s a long road.

Today, we’re going to jump back into the category I have dubbed “symmetry,” a game we first played early in February when we looked at the No. 50 record from fifty years ago that week. We’ve moved forward and back from that particular spot a couple years each way, and this morning, we’re going to look at what was No. 47 in the Billboard Hot 100 forty-seven years ago, in the magazine published on March 18, 1972.

In previous iterations of this game, we’ve done a quick check of the top two records; I think we’ll expand that to the top three records from now on, and forty-seven years ago yesterday, they were “A Horse With No Name” by America, “Heart Of Gold” by Neil Young, and “The Lion Sleeps Tonight (Wimoweh)” by Robert John. That last, of course, was a cover of the Tokens’ No. 1 hit from 1961.

And what of our business further down the chart? Well, at No. 47 in the third week of March 1972 was one of my favorites of that long-ago season, a song that I no doubt heard live in mid-May of that year when Elton John played at St. Cloud State: “Tiny Dancer.”

Surprisingly, it would just miss the Top 40, peaking at No. 41.

‘Lazy Mornin’’

Thursday, March 7th, 2019

I had not intended to turn this week into a vacation from my duties here, but I’ve been taking it easy: sleeping late and lounging, although yesterday, I did manage a run to the grocery store and the public library. (The resulting fatigue told me I have some ways to go before entire recovery from my January surgery.)

But I have thought only a little about this blog this week, and except for this quick note to say that all is well, I’m going to continue to laze the week away.

And with that, here’s Gordon Lightfoot’s “Lazy Mornin’,” from his 1972 album Old Dan’s Records.

See you Saturday.

What’s At No. 100? (1-15-1972)

Tuesday, January 15th, 2019

Here’s the Billboard Hot 100 for January 15, 1972, forty-seven years ago today:

“American Pie (Parts 1 & 2)” by Don McLean
“Brand New Key” by Melanie
“Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green
“Sunshine” by Jonathan Edwards
“Family Affair” by Sly & The Family Stone
“Scorpio” by Dennis Coffey & The Detroit Guitar Band
“I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing (In Perfect Harmony)” by the New Seekers
“Got To Be There” by Michael Jackson
“Hey Girl/I Knew You When” by Donny Osmond
“Clean Up Woman” by Betty Wright

So what did I think about those eleven records back then, when I was just into my second quarter of college? Well, I liked “American Pie,” but generally heard the album track, not the bifurcated version on 45, which – if I remember things rightly – didn’t cover the entire track anyway. (I think our pal Yah Shure once detailed for us the history of the single vs. the album track, but I’m too lazy this early afternoon to go find that comment.)

I also liked “Let’s Stay Together,” even before hearing it during a sweet afternoon with a young lady a few weeks after this chart came out. And I kind of liked the Melanie single – with its winking naughtiness – and the Jonathan Edwards record. I was okay with the New Seekers record, too, although these days, the first thing that comes to mind when I hear “I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing” is Don Draper.

I don’t recall ever hearing either of the Donny Osmond sides. If so, I would have cringed. Nor am I sure if – in 1972 – I’d ever heard Freddie Scott’s original version of “Hey Girl” or Billy Joe Royal’s version of “I Knew You When,” which charted in 1963 and 1965, respectively. (Royal’s record was a cover of Wade Flemons’ 1964 original.)

As to the other records in that Top Ten, I didn’t care about them then. I’ve changed my mind on a couple: “Family Affair” and “Clean Up Woman” are in my iPod along with the records by Don McLean, Al Green, Jonathan Edwards and the New Seekers. I know that “Scorpio” scratches an itch for some of my friends, but it doesn’t do anything for me. And the Melanie single no longer appeals (although thinking about it as I write, I can hear it clearly in my head).

With that done, let’s dive to the bottom of that 1972 Hot 100, and there we find the last charting single for Freda Payne, best remembered for “Band Of Gold” (No. 3 in 1970) and for “Bring The Boys Home” (No. 12 in 1971). “The Road We Didn’t Take” is a decent soul ballad, produced by the team of Holland-Dozier-Holland for their Invictus label. But it pretty much went nowhere, spending two weeks at No. 100 and then disappearing.

A Small Bud

Wednesday, August 29th, 2018

I see the signs: A little bit of mist in the morning air. The turning of the sumac along the roadsides. The first leaves falling golden from the flowering crab next to our deck.

Autumn is coming. My time of year.

The Texas Gal and I talked about the seasons the other day as we lazed in the living room. She likes the spring, she said, when everything is green and new and possible. It’s a sweet time, she said.

I told her what she already knew, that to me autumn is bittersweet, and for as long as I can remember, bittersweet has been my default. It’s colored what I read and what I write, what I sing and what I hear, and – for many of the years of my life – what I felt and how I lived.

I no longer feel or live that way, thanks to the Texas Gal’s presence in my life for these past eighteen-plus years. But I still feel the pull of the bittersweet in literature, movies, television and song, sensing that tales of joyous but ultimately failed pairings and of barely missed chances that rarely resolve well are somehow more interesting and more valid to me than easy happy endings.

And I wonder where that sense came from. Was I formed by the art of my youth, when tales – whether in print, on the screen or on the radio – did not always end with smiles? Two examples come to mind quickly: Kirk Douglas’ crucified Spartacus watching his wife and child being taken to safety on the road outside Rome as he was dying. And then there’s the Association’s “Cherish,” a song that’s been mentioned here numerous times. Let’s take a refresher on Terry Kirkman’s lyric:

Cherish is the word I use to describe
All the feeling that I have hiding here for you inside
You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I had told you
You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could hold you
You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could
Mold you into someone who could
Cherish me as much as I cherish you

Perish is the word that more than applies
To the hope in my heart each time I realize
That I am not gonna be the one to share your dreams
That I am not gonna be the one to share your schemes
That I am not gonna be the one to share what
Seems to be the life that you could
Cherish as much as I do yours

Oh, I’m beginning to think that man has never found
The words that could make you want me
That have the right amount of letters, just the right sound
That could make you hear, make you see
That you are drivin’ me out of my mind

Oh, I could say I need you but then you’d realize
That I want you just like a thousand other guys
Who’d say they loved you
With all the rest of their lies
When all they wanted was to touch your face, your hands
And gaze into your eyes

Cherish is the word I use to describe
All the feeling that I have hiding here for you inside
You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I had told you
You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could hold you
You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could
Mold you into someone who could
Cherish me as much as I cherish you

And I do cherish you
And I do cherish you

Cherish is the word

Anything that potent tends to throw discussion off-track, but anyway, I don’t think I project melancholy to the world. I’m pretty gregarious, quick with a joke (but not to light up your smoke), and all that. So where did that tinge of sorrow – the bitter that leavens the joy – come from? From those books, films and records of my youth? Or did those bits of media somehow validate feelings already present, feelings sown by frequently being the ninth boy at an eight-boy game and by the regretful smiles of a fair number of lovely young women?

I have no firm answers to those questions. How each of our personalities is molded is a riddle. All I know is that an important portion of me is the one that begins to bud right around the end of August and then flowers during the last weeks of September and the first weeks of October

And I feel that small bud forming inside me this week. My time of year is coming.

Here’s “Autumn Brigade” by the English group Jackson Heights. It’s from the group’s 1972 album The Fifth Avenue Bus.

Saturday Single No. 600

Saturday, July 14th, 2018

So, what do we know about No. 600? Well, let’s head to the reference books.

Our first stop is The Heart of Rock & Soul, Dave Marsh’s 1989 listing of the 1,001 greatest singles, where No. 600 is “If It Ain’t One Thing . . . It’s Another,” a 1982 release by Richard “Dimples” Fields. Marsh notes that the single “uses Fields’s sweet gospel falsetto and a groove that owes a lot to Superfly-era Curtis Mayfield to salvage a lyric that’s as detailed and pained (though not nearly as poetic) as ‘What’s Going On.’ It’s as if,” Marsh goes on “the Stylistics’ Russell Thompkins had awakened from his romantic reveries and decided to take a hard look at real life.” The single, released on the Boardwalk label, went to No. 47 in the Billboard Hot 100 and spent three weeks at No. 1 on the magazine’s R&B chart. Listening to it for the first time this morning, I’m left pretty much unmoved.

Flipping the pages of the 2005 tome 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die, edited by Robert Dimery, we find Page 600 occupied by Sonic Youth’s 1988 release Daydream Nation. Ignacio Julià – the author, with Jaime Gonzalo Julià, of the 1994 book about the group I Dreamed Of Noise – writes that the album “refined a quest that had started in the New York underground of the early 1980s and had experimented along the way with minimalisation and hardcore.” Like much music from the early 1980s, Daydream Nation had never reached my ears until this morning. I obviously don’t have time while writing to even listen to the entire album (much less absorb it), but a quick listen to a few tracks tells me that Sonic Youth’s music is not my deal.

Taking up another tome, I flip the 2001 edition of The Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock & Roll to page 600. The first full listing on the page is Malo, the band formed in San Francisco in 1971 by Jorge Santana, Carlos’ brother. I am reassured. I have heard a great deal of Malo, with all four of the band’s early 1970s albums on the digital shelves. The encyclopedia’s entry, of course, is little more than a bland recapping of when albums and singles were released and who came and went from the band’s personnel at those times. So I quickly check the band’s entry in Joel Whitburn’s Top Pop Singles (a volume we’ll revisit in a moment) and verify that the band’s “Suavecito” was Malo’s lone Top 40 hit, reaching No. 18 in early May of 1972. The rest of Malo’s four 1970s albums are well-worth hearing, but “Suavecito” – good in its long form and sublime as a single – towers above all. And as my pal Yah Shure said here almost eight years ago, “One spin of the ‘Suavecito’ 45 and it’s like late spring-early summer, no matter what the time of year.”

The first entry on Page 600 of {The New} Rolling Stone Album Guide, released in 2004, is for Offspring, described as “one of the biggest bands to emerge from the pop-punk explosion of the mid-’90s, boasting hook-filled, frat-friendly anthems and a metallic gleam that referred back to the old-school sludge that L.A. punks fell for when they burned out on adrenaline.” And I thought I wrote twisty run-on sentences that leave readers going “Huh?” Based on just that little bit of work from writer Keith Harris, some quick listening to a few Offspring tracks, and my sense of my own tastes, I’ll walk on.

Reopening the Whitburn book, we find on the top of Page 600 the slender entry for Art Lund, a Salt Lake City native who sang baritone with Benny Goodman’s band during the 1940s, billed as both Art Lund and Art London. In 1947, Lund had a No. 1 hit with “Mam’selle,” a tune originally found in the movie The Razor’s Edge. His entry in Top Pop Singles, which compiles chart data beginning in 1955, lists only his 1958 single “Philadelphia U.S.A.,” a bland piece of pop that peaked in Billboard at No. 89.

And that’s enough of that. I had hoped that Saturday Single No. 600 would be something new and exciting, but maybe that’s too much to hope for after more than 2,100 posts. We’re going to pass on Sonic Youth, the Offspring, Richard “Dimples” Fields and Art Lund (though “Mam’selle” is a sweet song, I don’t care for Lund’s vocal). That leaves us with Malo, and it’s been almost eight years since “Suavecito” showed up here. That’s an eternity in blogtime, so with no regret, Saturday Single No. 600 is Malo’s 1972 single “Suavecito.”

Chart Digging: Four Julys

Wednesday, July 11th, 2018

It’s time to dig into some Billboard Hot 100s from a few different Julys. We’re going to play some Games With Numbers and turn today’s date – 7/11/18 – into 36, and check out the No. 36 record on four charts, starting in 1976 and heading back four years at a time.

As we customarily do when we play these games, we’ll check out the No. 1 record for those weeks at the same time.

The second week of July 1976 found the country recovering from its Bicentennial celebration, the climax of what seemed at the time to have been about five years of preparation and marketing. If you didn’t have something Bicentennial themed in your house, you were either unpatriotic or worse, a spoilsport. Anyway, just less than a week after the hoopla reached its climax, the No. 36 record in the Hot 100 was a discofied version of one of the greatest and most familiar pieces of classical music: “A Fifth of Beethoven” by Walter Murphy & The Big Apple Band, which was heading up the charts to No. 1. (It would reach No. 10 on the magazine’s R&B chart and No. 13 on what was then called the Easy Listening chart.)

It was the only Top 40 hit for Murphy, who had been an arranger for Doc Severinsen and the orchestra for The Tonight Show. (That means there’s only one degree of separation, as folks say, between me and Murphy, as I’ve met Doc Severinsen twice.). Two other releases, “Flight ’76,” based on Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee,” and 1982’s “Themes from E.T. (The Extra-terrestrial),” went to Nos. 44 and 47 respectively. And Murphy’s condensed and discofied take on George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” bubbled under the Hot 100 at No. 102 in early 1977.

The No. 1 record during the second week of July 1976 was “Afternoon Delight” by the Starland Vocal Band.

Heading back four years from that puts us in the summer of 1972, when I was working half-time as a janitor and planning a trip to Winnipeg, Manitoba, with my pals Rick and Gary. (The ease with which we crossed from the U.S. into Canada that summer now astounds me. We showed the Canadian officials our driver’s licenses and the hand-written letter my dad had supplied that gave us his permission to take my 1961 Falcon – which Dad technically owned – across the border. Returning to Minnesota a few days later was just as easy. Simpler times.) Anyway, the No. 36 record as our plans for our trip were taking shape was a pairing of song and singer that itself echoed a time a decade earlier that in 1972 seemed much simpler: “Sealed With A Kiss” by Bobby Vinton.

Vinton’s version doesn’t stray far from the feel of Brian Hyland’s 1962 version that went to No. 3, and both are appreciably less mournful – to my ears, anyway – than the non-charting 1960 original by the Four Voices. Vinton’s version was on its way to No. 19 (No. 2, Easy Listening) during the second week of July. It was the thirty-eighth record Vinton had in or near the Hot 100 in a ten year period. He’d add eleven more through 1981 before the hits ran out.

Parked at No. 1 that week in 1972 was Bill Withers’ “Lean On Me.”

We’ve dallied a lot in recent months in the memorable year of 1968, but a four-year retreat from 1972 finds us there once again. And – as I’ve noted here many times before – it was likely around this time that I spent four days working at the state trap shoot, getting dirty with tar dust and listening to the radio for eight or so hours each day. Nevertheless, I don’t recall KDWB offering me Wilson Pickett’s “I’m A Midnight Mover” during those four days. It was sitting at No. 36 fifty years ago this week, and if I heard it then, if just didn’t make an impression, which – based on a listening this morning – seems unlikely.

The record peaked at No. 24 on the Hot 100 (and at No. 6 on the R&B chart), one of the forty-three records Pickett placed in or near the Hot 100 between 1963 and 1973 (with forty of his records reaching the R&B Top 40).

The No. 1 record during that week in July 1968 was “This Guy’s In Love With You” by Herb Alpert.

Whatever I may have been doing during in early July 1964, it hasn’t stuck in my memory. I was ten, with sixth grade at Lincoln Elementary on the horizon, and I was probably just finishing up summer school. That might have been the year my summer classmates and I were featured in the Shopping News for building a fake igloo for our studies on Alaska. In any case, I’m sure I spent a lot of time with Rick, both of us lazing away summer days in a way that I’m certain kids these days are not allowed to do. We didn’t really listen to pop music then, but we no doubt heard it when we were around older kids. Still, I would guess that Terry Stafford’s “I’ll Touch A Star” – the No. 36 record fifty-four years ago this week – was something we missed.

The record was Stafford’s follow-up to his No. 3 hit, “Suspicion,” and like that record, it was a bit of traditional pop in a time when the charts were mixing traditional pop and R&B and English hits and surf sounds and light jazz in such a way that listening to a Top 40 station would have been an adventure. “I’ll Touch A Star” peaked at No. 25 (No. 4 Easy Listening, where, surprisingly, “Suspicion” had failed to chart). Stafford had only one more record tickle the Hot 100: “Follow The Rainbow” bubbled under at No. 101 later that summer in 1964. He went on to place a few records in the bottom half of the country Top 40 in the 1970s.

The No. 1 record during the second week of July in 1964 was “I Get Around” by the Beach Boys.

(It’s interesting to note that – based on a little bit of digging – this post marks the first time that I’ve ever featured the music of Terry Stafford, Bobby Vinton or Walter Murphy & The Big Apple Band. I’ve mentioned Vinton frequently and Walter Murphy & The Big Apple Band a few times. Until today, I’ve never mentioned Terry Stafford over the course of some 2,100 posts.)

Saturday Single No. 598

Saturday, June 30th, 2018

Time has gotten away from me.

I slept in a little. We ran some errands (which included finding a new – well, hardly used – sewing machine for the Texas Gal). We had lunch and then napped. And now I find myself heading toward late afternoon without having thought much at all today about this little space on the ’Net.

The day has slipped away (as has half of the year). But that’s what time does. It slips away from us, in measures short and long. And all we can do is run with it, embracing moments small and large as they come and go.

So here’s Eric Andersen with his “Time Run Like A Freight Train.” He recorded it twice: first in 1972 or 1973 for his album Stages. The master tapes for the album were lost, so he recorded it and released it on 1975’s Be True To You. In the early 1990’s, the lost master tapes were found, and Stages: The Lost Album was released in 1991.

This is the original version from Stages: The Lost Album, and it’s today’s Saturday Single.

Saturday Single No. 594

Saturday, June 9th, 2018

I woke to the sad news this morning that Danny Kirwan, one-time guitarist and songwriter for Fleetwood Mac, died in London, according to a statement from Mick Fleetwood and the band.

Kirwan, who was 68, was a member of Fleetwood Mac from 1969 into 1972, an era when the band shifted its style from its blues-based origins to pop-rock, presaging the West Coast rock direction the band would take in the mid-1970s with the addition of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham.

By that time, Kirwan was gone, having been booted from the band in 1972 for alcoholism, according to Rolling Stone. He released four solo albums during the second half of the 1970s, but then his fortunes deteriorated, the magazine’s website says, quoting from a 1993 interview with the Independent in which Kirwan said, “I get by and I suppose I am homeless, but then I’ve never really had a home since our early days on tour. I couldn’t handle it all mentally and I had to get out. I can’t settle.”

In that interview, Kirwan then added, “I was lucky to have played for the band at all. I just started off following them around, but I could play the guitar a bit and Mick felt sorry for me and put me in. I did it for about four years, to about 1972, but . . . I couldn’t handle the lifestyle and the women and the traveling.”

Kirwan’s high point during his time with the group is almost certainly Bare Trees, the 1972 album for which he wrote five songs, including the title track. That track been seen here before, but it’s been a while, so in memory of Danny Kirwan, Fleetwood Mac’s “Bare Trees” is today’s Saturday Single.

Trees Again

Tuesday, May 22nd, 2018

Rob’s wife, Barb, was correct: The tree at the corner of our condo is in fact a flowering crab. But unlike the one in their yard in St. Francis, which has pink flowers, ours offers white flowers to the world. Here it is about a week ago:

Flowering Crab 2

That was its peak. Overnight, the wind came up, and morning found the ground littered with white flowers. And over the next few days the flowers flew off like large snowflakes. If we get even a third as many crab apples as there were flowers, we’re in for a crabby autumn.

(We still don’t know what type of tree stands between the flowering crab and the maple. We’ve talked about taking pictures of its general appearance and close-ups of its leaves and posting them on Facebook for our friends to take a look at, but we have not yet done so. It’s in full leaf, however, and it looks quite nice, and whatever it is, it’s providing noon-time shade.)

And I thought, since trees have been a frequent topic of conversation around our place, I’d take a look at the digital shelves and see if I could find a few tunes with types of trees in their titles.

The first one is easy: “Tall Pine Trees” by Peter Yarrow. It’s beautiful, a song of farewell, but I think what captures my imagination is the tune’s Russian overtones. It’s from Peter, Yarrow’s first solo album, which was released in 1972 in conjunction with solo albums from Noel Paul Stookey and Mary Travers, Yarrow’s partners in Peter, Paul & Mary. When the Texas Gal and I took my mom to see Yarrow in concert six years ago, the second half of his show was made up almost entirely of requests; I asked for “Tall Pine Trees,” and he told us that it was the first time the song had ever been requested. Sadly, he didn’t perform it.

We move to the first hit by Dorsey Burnette. “(There Was A) Tall Oak Tree” starts with a retelling of the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden and then shifts for its second verse to a theme echoed by many songwriters: How humans have despoiled nature for their own ends. (Think, among many others, of Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi.”) The record peaked at No. 23 on the Billboard Hot 100 during the first week of March 1960, the first of six records that Burnette – the older brother of Johnny Burnette and the uncle of Rocky Burnette – would place in or near the Hot 100 but his only Top 40 hit. (He placed five records in the magazine’s country Top 40 in the 1970s.)

And for the second time this month, we come across the name of Gram Parsons, this time as the writer of a song recorded by Johnny Rivers. “Apple Tree” is the second track on Side Two of River’s 1972 album Slim Slo Slider. It’s a tale of love found and love lost, framed as a seasonal saga:

I used to sit in a big apple tree
Welcome the sun as he shone down on me
Watch the fruit ripen, smell the land grow
Felt the fall rains get colder and turn into snow

And then in the summer, I’d walk through the trees
Roll up my trousers way over my knees
Waded a stream ’til the rocks hurt my feet
The water was cool, and the summer was sweet

Autumn got lonely when harvest came ’round
Green leaves turned golden and fell to the ground
Clear nights got colder, with the stars bright above
And in the winter, I first fell in love

She loved me truly ’til winter passed by
Left without warning and never said why
Maybe she’s lonely, needs me somewhere
Maybe by summer, I won’t even care

And then Rivers lets us think about that as James Burton takes us home with a lovely guitar solo.

We’ll close our brief excursion through the trees with the Indigo Girls’ lovely but cryptic “Cedar Tree” from their 1992 album, Rites Of Passage, an album I love:

You dug a well, you dug it deep
For every wife you buried, you planted a cedar tree
The best, the best you ever had

I stand where you stood
I stand for bad or good
And I am green, and you are wood
The best, the best he ever had

I dig a well, I dig it deep
And for my only love, I plant a cedar tree
The best, the best we ever had