25 May 2020. Parked-Car Chorus.
They’re always there—except that we ignore them, to the degree possible. Late model metal, with polished trim, fresh from the wash. Except that my own model—rather dear—was stolen last fall. From right in front of the house, mid-October, 8pm. Alesia across the way saw it happen, as the five young guys jimmied the door, jumped in, and off they went…
Do songs go with cars? Well, why not? Especially late-model songs—the popular standards that everyone (else) seems to know (various Beatles, BeeGees, Margaritaville—jovially re-written with alternate lyrics to match the times. (Coronaville, for instance.) It’s a gesture that doesn’t reach me—these mild ironies as a means of self-defense. Presented in good spirits, however, so that you feel like a spoiler to object. Not that I didn’t give it a try--what with Salley Gardens and Goodnight Irene. No takers, though. Is it because the old songs are simply old hat? Or is it their inescapable sincerity? Or maybe it’s the meaning of the words—just not a time for lost love, or death by morphine, or I wish you was never born. Everyone wants the positive.
So, I find myself returning once again, at least subconsciously, to H.G. Wells—The Time Machine, the film version, which I must have seen in about 1960, the year it was made. Ynot would have been 15—just the right age to ponder the Morlochs and the Eloi. Actually, the Morlocks are the only ones I remember—had to look up Eloi. Do the good-guys always lose? What is it about their role that’s not gripping? Not true enough to the full range--including what (Jewish) tradition calls the sitra achra—the Other Side. Those undeniable forces that rain darkness. (I wrote, unavoidable at first...) What Czeslaw Milosz meant by evil. Which is part of the stream…
The songs do touch on this, in their necessary ways. And now am filled with tears. Who’s to deny it? C’s response—That’s why people sing the blues—and she’s right, of course—especially those who recognize that their world is the blues…
And for the rest of us…?
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On another note. The music itself transcends all this, thank God. Let It Be, for example. Revisited by the chorus as Dr. Fauci, which I have yet to sing. A genuine pleasure to learn and to play. I think Paul McCartney knew this, of course. Love being pretty close to divine. (Mother Mary comes to me…). And now--can’t believe it—I'm trying some Burt Bacarach. Wobbled through the melody on concertina the other night, and C got it right away. What the World Needs Now. Almost makes me tear up, to be honest—not the meaning per se, but the beauty of the way he put the music together—felt it, let it happen. (The words were by Hal David. Did they follow? See below.) So there’s a truth here. Even if discovered only now...
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For the record: The car was a 1989 Honda Civic Wagon. I'd bought it for Betsy, who at one point had the front seat turned into a zucchini garden. You'd look in and see all the flourishing plants. And, apropos of the Beatles--how did I ever manage to not learn them? Peter always said they were the best... So, why not now?
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Note: What the World Needs Now Is Love. Turns out I have it exactly backwards. Burt Bcharach, in his 2014 autobiography writes that he and Hal David had the main melody and chorus by 1962--but that it another two years for David to come up with the lyrics for "Lord, we don't need another mountain." "Once David worked out the verses, Bacharach said the song essentially "wrote itself" and they finished it in a day or two." (Wikepedia.)
