‘Screw the black market. This is a pop record, daddy-o!’
freedom of discovery via unemployment compensation
we were gods and goddesses
She had a face for which a ship might have once been named
the bottom of society
who had an answer to the British Army?
as pretty damn pure a piece of pop craft as was ever recorded
‘Just sing `Baby, baby, baby.’
loose, sloppy spirit
I wanted a silly song that had a bit of new wave texture to it
ready to trade me for a piece of architecture
kissing and fainting
The most ferociously swinging girl-group song of all time
the Dionne version sounds quite perfect
that’s good enough for us
images of woods, lakes, moonlight
combines teenage lust with baptism
just for the funk of it
haunting despondency
gladly anticipating, a physical altercation
the hottest slice of funk to hit the pop charts
“teenage dreams so hard to beat”
a swaggering sexual boast
a lasting inspiration for the lovers, the dreams, and me. (Especially me, this is “our song” for my wife and I)
a hypnotic eastern dervish dance.
lines and scenes of struggle and decay
an entire cycle of grief
remains despairingly relevant
a sort of riff song
feeling sorry for himself while picking up a barfly who liked to be smacked around
it’s easy to forget what a major star he was
a celebration, a sexual boast, and a political statement
a concise, compelling James Burton guitar solo
a patriotic statement even as it chastises the selfish and powerful
a tough minded prescription for the solidarity and justice that were needed
Americana mixed with something menacing
the song from their father
the spirit, high-spirited
it can crumble even the most stable of emotional foundations
the ability and style of the producer was as important as the song
it was certainly jarring
I was forced to live the life of a monster…
jazz, pop, soul, and funk brilliantly mixed together to transport the listener to a higher dimension
he could lift the bandstand
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