Go Cat, Go!

Whatever happened to Cat Stevens? Do you remember him? You know, the British folk rock star of the early 70s who brought us two really great albums, Tea for the Tillerman (Wild World, Where Do the Children Play, Father and Son), and Teaser and the Firecat (Morning Has Broken, Moodshadow, Peace Train). Whatever happened to him?

Well, as you might know, in the late 70s Stevens converted to Islam, and, as part of the process of becoming Muslim, changed his name from Cat Stevens to Yusuf Islam. (I guess only changing his name halfway, to something like Cat Islam, wouldn’t have quite done the trick! Oh, well…) In order to focus fully on his faith and pursue peaceful and philanthropic causes, Stevens also gave up his music career for the next 30 years, before finally returning in 2006. His choice – and nothing wrong with that. But, still, I have to wonder where his career might have gone had he not taken such a long hiatus.

I’ve always liked Stevens' music, and back in the early 70s I remember thinking what a cool sounding name “Cat” was, and wishing that I could be nicknamed “Cat.” But, alas, the name had already been taken. (As a child I did briefly go by the nickname “Bones,” but that’s a story for another time!)

Rumor has it that Stevens chose the stage name “Cat” because he thought his real name, Steven Demitre Georgiou, wouldn’t sell very many albums. And he was probably right! Still, the name “Cat “did sell millions of records – it’s just too bad he didn’t stay with his music career long enough for it to become one of those one-word superstar names – you know, like Madonna, or Sting, or Bono, or Lulu. (Come on – don’t tell me you don’t know who she is!)

As a teenager I really enjoyed Cat Stevens' songs, and spent hours leaning to play them on the guitar. I especially remember how much effort it took to stretch my pinky way out so I could reach the high notes on the guitar intro to Moonshadow. I got it, though! My personal favorite, however, was the song Father and Son, which required singing the first verse (the father’s part) in one octave, and then jumping up an octave to sing the second verse (the son’s part) – contrasting beautifully the maturity of the father with the innocence of the son. How cool is that? Of course, I had to play the song in just the right key so I could do both the low and the high parts without straining my voice too much! (Key of G works best, by the way.)

Cat Stevens' most recent album, Roadsinger, was released in 2009. Go Cat, go!

King Tut – Funky Tut!

So I’m driving into work this morning with my music cranked up, when on the radio comes Steve Martin’s King Tut. And in my mind I’m immediately transported back to Spring break 1979, when some friends of mine and I drove non-stop for approximately 23 hours in a 1976 Datson station wagon to Fort Lauderdale so we could share seven days of sun, sand, and nighttime wildness with 100,000 other crazed college students. (For some reason I have absolutely no desire ever to do that again – although I did have a pretty good time!)

Anyway, to pass the time as we drove, we listened over and over again to a cassette tape (Remember those?) of Steve Martin’s 1978 album, Wild and Crazy Guy, which featured some of his now classic comedy bits like Cat Handcuffs, You Naive Americans, and, of course, the title track, Wild and Crazy Guy.

I can’t even begin to count the number of times we listened to that tape (the whole album’s just 39 minutes long, so you do the math!), all of us in unison, voicing out loud lines like, “I've gotta get a pair of cat handcuffs, and I've gotta get 'em right away!” And (with a French accent, please!), “You Americans are so naive; you have so many naive ways. For instance, in my country, when you break up with a woman, you simply say, ‘I break with thee, I break with thee, I break with thee.' And then you throw dog poop on her shoes!"

Without question, one of the best cuts on the album was the novelty song, King Tut, which rose to #17 on the Billboard charts in 1978. Now, whenever the song comes on the radio (as it did this morning), I can’t help but sing along, belting out in full voice great lines like, “Now if I’d known they’d line up just to see him, I’d have taken all my money and bought me a museum!” An interesting side note: the backup band on the recording – identified as the Toot Uncommons – is actually the Nitty Gritty Dirt band, with whom Martin had previously appeared as an opening act.

Over the past 40 years Steve Martin has enjoyed success as a comedian, actor, musician and writer, and he is truly a multi-talented individual. Still, my best memories go back to his early albums, his wild and crazy routines, and the wonderful way he made me and my friends laugh.

A Hundred Pounds of Clay? Really?

I always enjoy the opportunity to combine my love of music with my interest in theology – not necessarily an easy task, or one that fascinates many people, but, nonetheless, one that kinda works for me. I especially enjoy taking a look at some of the “bad theology” expressed in popular songs down through the years.

I have to say, in general, popular music does a pretty poor job at offering up theologically sound lyrics. And maybe that should come as no surprise to me, but it does seem there is a fairly large number of popular songs that have (Oh, how shall I put this nicely?) missed the theological boat somewhat – prime examples being Joan Osborne’s What If God Was One of Us? and Norman Greenbaum’s Spirit in the Sky, two songs that at first seem pretty much okay, until you start thinking about the words a little bit.

Without a doubt, however, the chief offender of all time is Gene McDaniels’ 1961 hit, A Hundred Pounds of Clay. (If you’ve never heard this song before, or even if you have, check out the player below.) And not to give McDaniels too hard a time, but having studied the Bible a little bit, I consider myself fairly well versed in the scriptures, and even I can’t begin to figure out where McDaniels came up with this stuff. The writer of the book of Genesis, for instance, does offer up the image of a man being being made from the dust of the ground, and a woman being made from his rib, but as far as there being any reference to forming the first woman out of a hundred pounds of clay – sorry, can’t find it! Nor is there any image of God “rolling his big sleeves up” so he could get to work making a brand new world – as if God was some brawny Paul Bunyan type, schlogging his way around an otherwise uninhabited planet looking for something to do!

These criticisms aside, there is a much bigger problem I have with the song: it’s the suggestion that God, in some moment of great divine wisdom, decided the only thing missing from the life of this poor, solitary schmuck roaming aimlessly around in the middle of nowhere – the first human being to walk the earth, mind you! – is “lots of lovin” from a 100-pound waif-of-a-woman whose sole purpose is to smother him with hugs and kisses! Oh, really? I’d think food or shelter might come first, or a television perhaps. But what do I know?

To be fair, I guess McDaniels’ image is sort of believable, since there wasn’t much else to do at the time, and it would be another few thousand years before Lazy Boy recliners, Budweiser beer, and major league sports would be invented! But still, come on! Furthermore – and correct me if I’m wrong – it strikes me that the song, as a whole, is just a tad bit condescending toward women. But hey, go figure!

Give the song a listen and let me know what you think!

Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

I’m known among my friends for having rather eclectic musical tastes – equally happy with Beethoven or Buffett, Springsteen or Sinatra, Green Day or GaGa – it doesn't really matter. In fact, as I’m writing this post, I’m listening to the classic cowboy stylings of Riders In the Sky, yodeling in my mind, and wishing I were wearing fuzzy chaps and a ten gallon hat. (Oops, did I say that out loud?)

Anyway, from an early age I’ve always enjoyed music of all kinds, which has never really posed a problem for me, but has, at times, tended to baffle and confuse my family and friends – not the least of whom was my college roommate on the day I waltzed into our dorm room (figure of speech only) carrying a copy of Freddy Fender’s latest album, Before the Next Teardrop Falls.

“What are you doing with that?” he asked, grabbing his books and hurriedly exiting our room, knowing full well I would have Freddy’s voice crooning from the stereo within seconds. “It’s got a great tune on it,” I replied. “It’s called Wasted Days and Wasted Nights. You’ve got to hear it!” But before the words were fully out of my mouth, he was already far down the hallway, having learned early on in our college career that he and I didn’t always share similar tastes in music. Oh well, his loss!

It’s hard for me now to recall just what it was about that song, Wasted Days and Wasted Nights, I liked so much. It had enjoyed pretty good airplay on top 40 and country stations at the time, getting up as high as #8 on the Billboard Hot 100 charts. But there must have been something that compelled me to go out and buy the album: the twangy guitar, maybe; the lamenting vocal; Freddy’s forlorn look on the album cover – something! I just can’t for the life of me imagine what it was!

I do remember, however, also liking the title track, Before the Next Teardrop Falls. And, in particular, I recall trying my best to sing along in Spanish during the middle verse of the song – the sound of which also sent my roommate running down the hall…