Is this love/Bob Marley

Someone wrote “Bob only sounds good to people who would enjoy a phonebook reading accompanied by a metronome.” I guess I am one of THOSE easily excitable people who gets swoonish when listening to a recital of telephone numbers against the backdrop of a steady beat.

Rasputin

A little guesthouse in a little town in a remote area of Northern Java. Our days were spent sitting on the terrace, watching the fishing boats meander. Occasionally the ferry would pass, treating(?) us to the anomalous din of Boney M and “Russia’s greatest love machine.”

Rod Stewart and Maggie May

When I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to be Rod Stewart’s bed wrecking head kicking Maggie May. When I look at pictures of him now, my only thought is that he seems to be having a perpetual bad hair day. Too much head kicking perhaps.

Hallelujah

Perhaps whoever was on the school’s Christmas concert planning committee picked it because of the title, or maybe the committee was stacked with Leonard Cohen fans. Regardless, we were amused to hear 9 and 10 year olds passionately singing the words to Hallelujah:

Your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew her

She tied you

To a kitchen chair

She broke your throne, and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah…

Stairway to Heaven

Stairway to Heaven was the makeout song at the end of every high school party. It worked well for this purpose since it was so long. In contrast, the length of those stairs probably convinced many to take the paved road heading in the other direction.

The Doobie Brothers

Janet’s car was broken into in the 1970s. The thieves seemed to be targeting her collection of cassettes. They took them all except for a Doobie Brothers tape, which they contemptuously threw on the back seat. She still smarts at this slap across her musical taste.

Puff the Magic Dragon

I love Puff the Magic Dragon, which I thought was a bittersweet tale about growing up and losing one’s sense of wonder. Then someone informed me it’s an ode to getting stoned. Potheads aren’t seeking magical realms; they huff and they puff and they blow them down.