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Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
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Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
When I was 6 years old, the lady who lived in the apartment above ours gave me a stack of old 45s she no longer wanted. One of my favorites from the bunch was, and still is, Marv Johnson's "Merry Go Round." Ever heard of him? Well, you should have, because he was the first artist to release a record on the label that would come to be known as Motown.
When you're looking for a last-chance miracle to draw a crush object close to your heart, who do you call upon but Cupid, the god of desire, erotic love, and affection. In 1961, silky-smoky-voiced Sam Cooke penned his soulful plea to the boy with the bow and arrow, asking him to work his magic. Combining Latin rhythms with jazz and R&B, Sam created a perfect pop song. How could Cupid not fulfill his desperate wish? Here's a man who's in distress, in danger of losing all his happiness. For he loves a girl who doesn't know he exists. And it's all up to Cupid to fix. This really hits home, doesn't it? How many of us have pined for someone - a person we probably saw every day at school or at work - who was barely aware of our existence?
In 1968, The Band sang about pulling into Nazareth, "feelin' 'bout half past dead." Robbie Robertson wrote that lyric for The Band's most enduring song, "The Weight," but he wasn't referring to the Holy Land. Rather, he was paying homage to Nazareth, Pennsylvania, home of guitar maker C.F. Martin & Company. Well, maybe it's a holy place, after all - at least to musicians.
Snarly, salty Tom Waits is one of the few singer/songwriters never to sell out by allowing his songs to be used in TV commercials. Through the years he's filed lawsuits against lots of big companies that attempted to use his songs – or rips-offs of his music – in TV ads. And he won every case.
At a show at New York's legendary Apollo Theater a few months back, Bruce Springsteen joked that he was the "hardest working 'white' man in show business." Bruce made this remark in homage to one of his idols, the late James Brown, the soul-funk sensation long known as the "hardest working man" in the business. James, the Apollo apostle, often performed up to 330 one-night shows per year, in extravagant bop-till-you-drop style. Growing up in extreme poverty may have driven James Brown to work till exhaustion, but what inspired a middle-class white boy from Long Branch, New Jersey, to rock his heart out onstage for four hours, night after night, from beach bars to coliseums? "His love of his fans" is one easy answer. But it goes much deeper than that, as I was reminded after reading a fascinating profile of Bruce in the July 2012 issue of "The New Yorker" magazine.