Archive for the ‘1998’ Category

‘Run Just Like The Wind Will . . .’

Wednesday, January 16th, 2013

Doing some of my usual wandering through Billboard Hot 100 charts and videos at YouTube this morning, I found myself sifting through several reggae versions of the same Neil Diamond song. I started here:

The 1970 cover by Jr. Walker & The All Stars of Neil Diamond’s “Holly Holy” – a No. 6 hit from 1969 – got only as high as No. 75 in the Hot 100. In fact, that’s where the record was sitting forty-two years ago today: No. 75. (It went to No. 33 on the R&B chart.) Even though I was a dedicated Top 40 listener back in those days, I don’t recall hearing the Walker cover, which is not at all surprising. At Oldiesloon, a quick scan of surveys from the Twin Cities’ stations KDWB and WDGY around the time 1970 turned into 1971 showed no sign of the Walker version. (The highest Walker’s cover of “Holly Holy” got in any survey listed at the Airheads Radio Survey Archive is No. 14, at KASR in Astoria, Oregon, which is surreal even for 1971.)

I wondered, as I often do, about other covers, so I took a quick look at Second Hand Songs. Now, I imagine that I’ve dug into titles at that website more than a hundred times over the past few years, and on occasion, I’ll find a listing for a reggae cover of a specific tune. But four reggae covers of the same song? Never.

I don’t know much about reggae, being at best a casual listener. There are some LPs in the stacks, mostly Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Bunny Wailer and Ziggy Marley. I recognize Marley’s stuff when it comes on the radio on WXYG. But beyond that, the data banks are pretty clean. So I did not recognize the three solo performers listed at Second Hand Songs as having recorded covers of “Holly Holy.”

The 1970 cover by John Holt, which sounds to me a little like reggae light for some reason, was released as a single on the Bamboo label. Also in 1970, Jackie Mittoo recorded “Holly Holy,” releasing it on his album, Now. Four years later, Willie Lindo included the song on his album Far & Distant. Of the three, I think I prefer the Lindo version, but Mittoo’s is okay. (There are entries on both Holt and Mittoo at Wikipedia. Information on Lindo is a little sketchier, but there are a few pages out there with some stuff.)

The fourth reggae version listed at Second Hand Songs was by a more familiar group: UB40. The group from Birmingham, England, included the tune on their 1998 album, Labor of Love III, and it’s pretty good:

Saturday Single No. 320

Saturday, December 15th, 2012

I have no children. Nor does the Texas Gal. Not this time around, anyway.

So there is no way for me to comprehend the grief that lives today in Newtown, Connecticut, where twenty children and six adults were murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary School yesterday. (Two others died in Newtown as well; the killer evidently murdered his own mother before going to the school, and he killed himself in the school.)

Like many others, I imagine, I spent yesterday with the television on as background, occasionally looking up from my other tasks as more information became clear and details came through. It never made sense, of course. Those of us who are sane and whole cannot begin to understand the motives of those who are not. So in my living room, shock turned to bafflement, which gave way to confusion and sorrow as I learned about another convulsion of the violence that is as much a part of our culture as are birthday parties.

I know, however, that my shock, confusion and sorrow cannot come near to the shock, confusion and raw grief felt by those in Newtown whose houses held empty beds last night. And it’s the children who haunt me. In no way do I mean to diminish the murders of seven adults yesterday or the agonies of their families today. But I find a special horror in the killing of twenty school children, as do many, I think, in the United States and around the world.

I am not a father. So I do not know how it feels to have one of life’s greatest gifts taken violently away. I can think of parallels and rough equivalents, but those, I am sure, would cast nothing more than faint shadows compared to the darkness that’s settled onto those twenty homes in Newtown.

I have to admit that I am glad not to know how that darkness feels. I only wish none of us knew.

And in what feels like a futile act of consolation, I offer “By Way Of Sorrow” by Dar Williams, Lucy Kaplansky and Richard Shindell, who recorded in 1998 as Cry Cry Cry, for a Saturday Single:

By Way Of Sorrow

You’ve been taken by the wind
You have known the kiss of sorrow
Doors that would not take you in
Outcast and a stranger

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you’ll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

You have drunk a bitter wine
With none to be your comfort
You who once were left behind
Will be welcome at love’s table

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you’ll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

All the nights that joy has slept
Will awake to days of laughter
Gone the tears that you have wept
You’ll dance in freedom ever after

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you’ll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

(by Julie Miller)

Edited slightly since first posting.

Saturday Single No. 307

Saturday, September 8th, 2012

One Friday evening early in October 1970, I noticed something as I read the Minneapolis Star. Columnist Jim Klobuchar – also for many years the paper’s beat writer for the Minnesota Vikings – was sponsoring a weekly football prediction contest: Pick the winners of that week’s National Football League games and the University of Minnesota’s game.

What did the winners get? I don’t recall. I never won. But for the rest of the football season, Friday evening for me meant jotting my picks on a piece of paper, addressing an envelope to “Pigskin Picks” (I think), and then driving downtown to the post office to mail my work long before the midnight deadline.

As I said, I never won, but I did pretty well, especially on the pro football predictions. From the time I first entered the contest (simple math tells me it was during the fourth week of the NFL season) through the end of the regular season, I got 91 games correct, missed on 44, and there were eight ties. Scoring ties as half-right and half-wrong (just as the NFL considers them half-games won and lost), my winning percentage that year was .6643.

I didn’t keep track during that 1970 season of which individual games I got right and which I fanned on. But as football season approached in 1971, I bought a steno notebook for my predictions. That first full season, I had a percentage of .6296. Keep in mind that I was picking winners only, not messing around with point spreads. But sixty-three percent was a pretty good result for a freshman in college who’d only been paying attention to pro football for about four years.

For the 1972 season, I bought another steno notebook, and a year later, I took a blank steno notebook with me to Denmark so I could make my predictions from there (with the help of the Paris-based English language Herald-Tribune, which we got a day late in Denmark). After that 1973 season, with not quite four full seasons behind me, I had a winning percentage of .6662, and I had what appears to be a life-long hobby: Predicting NFL games has been one of the constants in my life, through college and many jobs; through marriage, divorce and remarriage; through seventeen cats, three rats and three hamsters; through twenty-two homes in four states. Through all of that, I’ve filled seven steno notebooks with football predictions. I started an eighth notebook last year, and I don’t see myself quitting until my own final gun sounds.

I’ve never missed a week. I thought I had missed one in November of 1974, when I slowly became aware of my surroundings after a horrible traffic accident. Four days after the accident, as Rick and I watched a Monday night football game in my hospital room, I mentioned that I’d not made my predictions for that week’s games. It turns out I had. On Saturday, my dad had read each of that week’s pairings to me and noted my predictions, an event that remains lost in the haze of concussion and painkillers.

So how am I doing? Not bad. Pro football has become more volatile and less easy to predict over the years: Upsets are more frequent, and teams improve or decline more rapidly. When I began this hobby, I could pretty much pencil in victories each week for the Dallas Cowboys, the Los Angeles Rams, the Baltimore Colts, the Oakland Raiders and my Minnesota Vikings; not much later, the Miami Dolphins and Pittsburgh Steelers joined that group. Similarly, there was a group of teams that one could reliably expect to lose almost every week.

It’s not nearly that easy anymore. Oh, there are dominant teams and there are the chronic underachievers. But those outliers are fewer, with more teams bunched in the middle. And that makes my self-appointed task of prediction more and more difficult each year. But as I said, I’m not doing so badly. After forty-one full seasons and most of another, my winning percentage was .6320.

A new season started Wednesday, with the Dallas Cowboys defeating the New York Giants, just as I had predicted. Tomorrow and Monday bring the rest of the first week’s slate of games, and my forty-third season is underway. Wednesday’s correct pick brings my all-time totals to 6,185 games right, 3,591 games wrong, with 45 ties, and my winning percentage sneaked up to .6321.

That’s a total of 9,821 games. That number will climb, of course, starting tomorrow, and it’s going to hit 10,000 on November 29, probably right around 3 p.m. Assuming I’m home, which is likely, I’ll jot the third score of the day into my steno book. And then I’ll go back to reading the paper, eating a brownie, sipping a beer, watching a different game, or whatever it was that I was doing as the fuel for my life-long hobby plays out in stadiums across the country.

To go along with all that, here’s a video using one of the pieces composed over the years for NFL Films. It’s accompanied by stills of NFL players and action that come mostly – I think – from the 1970s (including a montage of one of the most painful moments in the history of my Minnesota Vikings). The tune can be found on The Power And The Glory: The Original Music & Voices Of NFL Films, a 1998 CD credited to Sam Spence and John Facenda. The piece is titled “Classic Battle,” and it’s today’s Saturday Single.

Dinner’s On Me!

Thursday, March 29th, 2012

How about a five-course meal?

“Cheese & Crackers” by Rosco Gordon is our appetizer. This disjointed, stop-and-start track from 1956 came to me on the two-CD set The Legendary Story of Sun Records, and I admit it’s confused me. At points it sounds like classic rock ’n’ roll, at other moments I hear rockabilly (and neither of those would be startling for Sun Records in 1956) and then I hear something else. A hint of what that is might come from a comment on Gordon by Bryan Thomas at All-Music Guide:

Rosco Gordon was best known for being one of the progenitors of a slightly shambolic, loping style of piano shuffle called “Rosco’s Rhythm.” The basic elements of this sound were further developed after Jamaican musicians got a hold of 45s Gordon recorded in the early ’50s – which were not available to Jamaicans until 1959 – and created ska, which took its name for the sound of this particular shuffle as it sounded being played on an electric guitar (ska-ska-ska).

“Soup For One” by Chic is the soup course. It’s a fairly straightforward serving from the R&B/disco group that producers and musicians Bernard Edwards and Nile Rogers loosed on the world in the late 1970s. While not nearly as propulsive as “Dance, Dance, Dance (Yowsah, Yowsah, Yowsah)” or “Le Freak” from their early days, “Soup For One” glides nicely across the floor. The 1982 release – the title song from the movie Soup For One – went to No. 80 on the Billboard Hot 100 (No. 14 on the R&B chart), the last charting single for the group.

“Poke Salad Annie” by Little Milton is the salad course for those who prefer greens. It’s a fine cover of the Tony Joe White swamp song from Little Milton’s 1994 album, I’m A Gambler. There’d been a time when Little Milton was a pretty regular presence on the charts, with thirteen records in or near the Hot 100 between 1965 and 1972 and twenty-one records on the R&B chart between 1962 and 1976. Even when the hits dried up, though, Little Milton kept on working, releasing twenty-three more albums from 1981 until 2005, when he passed on at the age of 70. And no, I don’t know why Little Milton (or whoever made the decision) spelled the song “Poke Salad Annie” instead of the original title of “Polk Salad Annie.” Makes no difference; Little Milton kills it.

“Memphis Women & Chicken” by T. Graham Brown is our main course. I mentioned Brown’s version of the Dan Penn song a couple of years ago, when I wrote about all the songs I have that mention Memphis in their titles. Greasy, juicy and a little bit sly, this track from Brown’s 1998 album Wine Into Water is a tasty main dish for this musical dinner. I’ve only heard a little bit of Brown’s work – one full CD and a few other tracks – but his name is high on my list of artists to listen to further.

“Chocolate Cake” by Crowded House is one of our two dessert choices. Even though it’s snarky and surreal, this track from 1991’s Woodface nevertheless has that Crowded House sound to it, a glossy finish that the Finn brothers lay on most everything I’ve ever heard from them. The pop culture references date the song considerably, placing it in a post-Soviet and pre-9/11 niche, which makes its ironic shadings seem like more of a pose than anything thoughtful. Or maybe the record was itself an ironic comment on post-Soviet irony. And then again, it might have been just a record.

“Ice Cream” by Sarah McLachlan is our alternate dessert. What better way to close out dinner than with a light, jazzy and sweet love song? “Your love is better than ice cream . . . It’s a long way down to the place where we started from,” McLachlan sings. “Your love is better than chocolate.” That’s pretty damned good, and with this sweet tune from 1993’s Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, our meal is over. I’ll take care of the bill.

‘It’s A Thin, Thin Line . . .’

Tuesday, February 21st, 2012

While looking for tunes with “rest” in their titles this morning, I came across several entries for the song “Tougher Than The Rest” by Bruce Springsteen. Now, that’s not the kind of rest I had in mind, but it’ll do for today.

The song comes from Springsteen’s 1987 album, Tunnel of Love, and it’s sparked a few covers. I dug into some of those this morning – not as many as I usually sample when I’m exploring covers – and found some interesting versions. Emmylou Harris included the tune on her 1990 album, Brand New Dance, and I saw some commentary this morning that ranked her version higher than others, so I went and bought the mp3, which I evidently can’t share in a video.

Well, I liked what I heard from Emmylou more than I did most of the covers I found. I was surprised by the tepid version from Everything But The Girl on that group’s Acoustic from 1992, as I generally like the album. And I didn’t hear much in the seemingly standard country styling from Chris LeDoux on his 1994 album Haywire. On the other hand, I did enjoy the version released on a two-song disc in 2009 by the Scottish group Camera Obscura.

As it turned out, the best version of the Springsteen tune I came across today is from a source that surprised me. Travis Tritt pulled the song into his hybrid of southern rock and Nashville twang on No More Looking Over My Shoulder in 1998, and the results were pretty good:

I’ll be back Thursday, either writing about Chef Boy-Ar-Dee or about covers of one of the greatest songs ever recorded by The Band.

Staying Up Past Midnight

Thursday, August 25th, 2011

I fully intended to retire early last evening. But you know how plans go.

Even with the sleep aid that has become an essential portion of my life in the past few years, I struggled last night. I could not settle, and I remained awake – if not entirely alert – way past the midnight target I’d set for last night’s curtain.

I’ll sneak in an hour of sleep sometime early this afternoon, but the rest of the day has tasks that call me. The Texas Gal and I will host our second End of Summer picnic Sunday and the house is not yet entirely in order. And Odd and Pop, the two little imaginary tuneheads who advise me about musical taste, do no dusting. So it’s up to me to get things done.

Here, then, are a few songs with “midnight” in their titles:

The 1978 film Midnight Express detailed the ordeal of an American sentenced to prison after being caught trying to smuggle hashish out of Turkey. Its soundtrack came from Giorgio Moroder, and the opener, “Chase,” went to No. 33, providing Moroder with the only Top 40 hit of his career. I much prefer the soundtrack’s second version of “Theme from Midnight Express” with vocals from Chris Bennett:

When I was checking the next “midnight” tune, I was surprised to learn that I’ve not even mentioned the duo of Ferrante & Teicher since the time this blog moved to its own space in January of last year. (Not that the easy listening duo had a major presence in the blog’s earlier locations; I’ve posted the archives through October 2008, and up to that point, I’d written about Ferrante & Teicher once.) I honestly thought the duo would have showed up her more frequently, given my occasional predilection for mid-1960s easy listening. Anyway, here’s their take on the theme from the 1969  film Midnight Cowboy, which went to No. 10 in January 1970:

From that mellowness, we head into rougher territory: In 1998, Buddy Guy invited Jonny Lang into the studio to join him on a duet on “Midnight Train” with results that were satisfying and wound up on Guy’s album Heavy Love:

I spent my post-midnight hour early this morning catching up on Sport Illustrated, and as I did, I found a remarkable piece about young Lyndon Baty, a sports fan from Texas who has a robot go to school for him. This morning, our fourth tune finds Delbert McClinton, still one of my favorites, singing about how he and his pals spend their post-midnight hour: at “midnight communion down on Second Avenue.” The tune is unsurprisingly titled “Midnight Communion” and comes from McClinton’s 2005 CD Cost of Living, which the reviewer at All-Music Guide liked very much.

And we’ll close it there. I’ll be back Saturday.

Web ADD: From Link To Link

Tuesday, August 16th, 2011

It was sometime during the mid-1990s. I was visiting Rob in St. Francis, and we were likely playing a game of Strat-O-Matic Baseball or maybe playing a table-top basketball game when he began telling me about the teaching opportunities available through the World Wide Web.

The topic wasn’t entirely new to me. A friend of mine from Minot State had moved to St. Paul a few years earlier and he and I had talked briefly about the Web and its utility as a teaching tool. I didn’t quite get it during those earlier conversations with George. My computer at the time was an old Mac, good for writing and playing a few rudimentary games, but I’d not taken the time nor invested the money to get online and explore the new world.

But as Rob talked about the Web and the concept of links in one piece taking the reader to another piece, which itself would have links going other places, I was intrigued, noting what is now obvious: “You could end up places you never intended just through those links.”

He nodded. “That’s the thing about it, as I see it: You learn things far afield from what you intended to find out when you started.”

We’d stopped playing our game by this point, whichever one it was. “It’s like Attention Deficit Disorder when I start daydreaming,” I said. He nodded, knowing I’d been plagued by ADD my entire life (although the condition hadn’t been diagnosed until the early years of the 1990s). “I start out thinking I need to go to the kitchen and figure out what to have for dinner, and a few minutes later, I’m still sitting in my chair, wondering which ethnic groups were the primary immigrants into Le Sueur County.”

He nodded. “Where Green Giant canned the corn that’s sitting in your cupboard.”


Now, having been on the Web for more than ten years, I can say that, yes, browsing is a lot like having ADD but more fun. And the lure of the link is essentially harmless, as long as I’m on my own time. If I’m looking for a recipe for Danish red cabbage and end up reading a board discussion of how many words Shakespeare actually created (Danish cabbage to Danish castles to Elsinore Castle also known as Hamlet’s castle to how much actual history Shakespeare knew about Prince Hamlet to what words in Hamlet were Shakespeare’s own coinages to a discussion of how many words the Bard of Avon coined overall), well, it’s my time and my cabbage.

But if the Texas Gal needs a ZIP code for a suburb of Philadelphia and I end up comparing the helmets worn by the Jacksonville Sharks of the 1970s World Football League and the Jacksonville Bulls of the 1980s USFL while she’s waiting to address an envelope, well, that’s a problem.

There is a series of links that can create the line of thought in that previous paragraph although I won’t walk through it; in fact, I think there’s a series of links that can connect almost any two topics in the world. And as I think about it, I’m sure that competitions have already sprung up somewhere in the world pitting Web users against one another in contests like: Go from the Swedish war ship Vasa to the 1975 coffee harvest in Colombia in the fewest number of clicks (without using Wikipedia or similar sites). Sounds like fun to me.

I’m pondering links this morning because of links I noticed at YouTube. I was doing some chart digging, looking into the Billboard Hot 100 from August 17, 1968, and I was less than thrilled by what I was finding. I was particularly unamused by the off-key warbling of Mia Farrow in the week’s No. 111 record: “Lullaby from ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ (Part 1).”

At that page, however, I found a link to a 1998 remake of the lullaby by a group called Morte Macabre, a group made up, All-Music Guide says, “of European heavy metal musicians from the groups Anekdoten and Landberk.” The lengthy track – titled simply “Lullaby” – is found on the group’s album Symphonic Holocaust, “a series of instrumentals taken from the soundtracks of obscure, mostly European exploitation movies.”

(And I wonder as I look for the next link that catches my attention if somewhere there hasn’t been a television host for late-night horror movies with the screen name of Mort Macabre.)

Sometimes the linking logic is difficult to see. Along with links to videos of other tunes by Mort Macabre and videos in a similar vein, I find a link to a video featuring a 1972 tune called “Summer’s Child” by a British band called Steel Mill. The entry at AMG seems to indicate that Steel Mill was one of those bands about which little was known, confounding collectors and diggers in later years. I’d never heard of the group or of its single album, Green Eyed God. I quite like the gloomy and foreboding “Summer’s Child,” though, and I may have to dig further into the group.

But we’ll click another link, choosing the visually most plain of the links that appear on the same page as “Summer’s Child.” And we discover Trace, a Dutch progressive rock group from the 1970s and a video presenting the track “Memory” from the group’s 1974 self-titled album. It’s a slightly ponderous instrumental track that sounds very much like 1974. We’ve not wandered too far afield from Rosemary’s Baby, it seems, as we’ve clicked our links. As it turns out, “Memory” is a decent listen, but no more than that; the track ends abruptly, most likely because it connects seamlessly to the album’s next track, and I’d be more inclined to find the next odd link to click than to seek out the rest of Trace’s album. But I’ve linked enough for now.

Dipping Into The Country Bin

Thursday, March 31st, 2011

The real world intrudes this morning, so I’m going to have to offer a brief post and come back tomorrow with a few thoughts about a mid-1960s album that both made me laugh and educated me.

For this morning, however, as it is the thirty-first day of the month, I thought I’d sort the tunes in the RealPlayer by performer, find out who ranks thirty-first and then find a random tune from that performer or group. I’m not going to tell you who ranks first right now; I’m thinking of doing a post on the Top 20 sometime in the next week or so. And most folks who’ve stopped by here regularly can probably figure that out without too much effort, anyway.

As it turns out, there’s a tie for the thirty-first spot in my performer standings: I have 121 mp3s by both Al Stewart and Brooks & Dunn. Since I featured Al Stewart not that long ago, we’ll go country this morning, digging into Brooks & Dunn’s catalog.

Since the release of their first album, Brand New Man, in 1991, Brooks & Dunn have racked up twenty No. 1 hits on the country chart among more than forty singles that reached the country Top 40. So how do I choose which tune to highlight here in this brief post? I sorted the 121 mp3s by running time and counted down to the thirty-first. That turned out to be “He’s Got You,” which went to No. 2 on the country chart in 1998.

Getting Used To Being 57

Tuesday, September 14th, 2010

I’ve been fifty-seven for a little more than a week now, which is long enough to get used to it. Just like it used to take a week or so to remember to write the correct year on a check every January, it now takes about a week for me to internalize my new age every September. (It never used to; back when age and birthdays were of huge importance, my age was always at the forefront of my mind.) Of course, the simile tends to underline the fact that – year by year – I’m out-growing many of the little things that used to be day-to-day realities: paper checks are now an item almost ready to be relegated to the same place where one finds dial phones, home-delivered milk and so much more.

But that’s okay. It’s better to be fifty-seven and know the world has changed immensely than it would have been to not get to fifty-seven at all. And in the absence of anything more compelling today, I thought I’d take a look at a few of the records that have been at No. 57 at mid-September, the time when these days I begin remember to include the additional year when someone asks my age.

We’ll start with 1956 – as the Billboard data I have seems to indicate that as the first year there was a No. 57 slot for a record – and then hit every six years from there.

On this date in 1956, the No. 57 record was “Mama, Teach Me To Dance” by Eydie Gorme. The record was Gorme’s second Top 40 hit, having peaked at No. 34 earlier in the month. She’d have five more Top 40 hits, the last two with husband Steve Lawrence. The duo, it seems to me, were regulars on many talk shows throughout the 1960s.

In 1962, one of the great Fifties rockers had a single at No. 57: Bo Diddley’s “You Can’t Judge A Book By The Cover” was heading up the chart toward its peak of No. 48 (No. 21 on the R&B chart). The video I’ve linked to is from a television performance (evidently in New York, according to other versions I’ve seen of the clip), and it kicks, Bo Diddley beat and all.

On this date in 1968, the Vogues’ “My Special Angel” was sitting at No. 57. A week later, the record would enter the Top 40 en route to No. 7. The record – which would spend two weeks atop the Adult Contemporary chart – would be the sixth of the group’s eight eventual Top 40 hits.

In 1974, one of Edgar Winter’s three Top 40 hits was perched at No. 57 on its way down the chart, having spent two weeks at No. 33 in mid-August. “River’s Risin’” was Winter’s last Top 40 hit and – to these ears – wasn’t quite as good as the two 1973 hits credited to the Edgar Winter Group: “Frankenstein” (No. 1) and “Free Ride” (No. 14).

Edgar Winter – “River’s Risin’” [1974]

I pretty much missed the Split Enz, although I listened to a fair amount of Crowded House, the group the Finn brothers formed after the Split Enz broke up. Around this time in 1980, the Enz’ record “I Got You” was at No. 57. It would climb just four more spots before peaking at No. 53. And although I never sought the record out, I recognize – like almost anyone else, I imagine – the song’s hooky chorus.

When mid-September 1986 rolled around, the No. 57 spot on the Billboard Hot 100 was occupied by “Emotion in Motion,” a single from Rick Ocasek of the Cars. The record would enter the Top 40 a month later and peak at No. 15, taking the top spot on the Mainstream Rock and Modern Rock charts. Even twenty-four years later, the video is, if a bit much, still fun to watch:

Our wanderings have brought us to 1992, and we’ll run through the remaining years quickly, as they’re years we don’t often deal with. The No. 57 record in mid-September that year was “Jump!” by the Movement, which went only to No. 53 in the Hot 100 but went to No. 2 on the Hot Dance Music/Maxi-Singles Sales and to No. 1 on the Dance Music/Club Play Singles chart. I missed it entirely.

The Wilkinsons, a country trio, occupied spot No. 57 during the third week in September 1998. Three weeks earlier, “26 Cents” had peaked at No. 55 on the Hot 100, but the record it to No. 3 on the Country Singles chart, the first of seven records the group got into the country chart, though none of the others did as well as “26 Cents.” I missed this one, too, but I may have to go back and check into the Wilkinsons. I likely won’t do the same with the Movement.

The data I have in my files ends with July 2004, so I don’t know what was at No. 57 that September, but to bring things up to the current time, I glanced at the Billboard Hot 100 available online for this week. The record currently at No. 57 is “Fancy” by Drake featuring T.I. and Swizz Beatz. I listened to about a minute of it. Wasn’t quite my thing.

I’ll be back tomorrow, I hope, with a new installment of the Ultimate Jukebox.

(One title corrected since first posted; thanks, Yah Shure.)