Song of the Week – A Tribute to Phil Lesh

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Guest contributor Jim Iacoponi wrote today’s SotW.  Jim is a tie-dyed-in-the-wool fan of the Grateful Dead.  He attended over 50 Grateful Dead concerts before Jerry Garcia died in 1995 and has seen countless more shows in the various group configurations since.  Besides being a Dead Head, Jim is a talented engineer, an artistic ceramist, and an exceptional pizzaiolo!  TM

On Friday, October 25th, the music world lost a deeply loved and most talented musician, the Bay Area’s own Phil Lesh. He was 84.

A founding member of the Grateful Dead, Phil was rarely in the spotlight when the band performed its 2,284 concerts from 1965 through 2015, leaving that largely to Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir. Back in the day, “let Phil sing” was often shouted out by fans. He rarely did.

Of the 484 songs (original and cover) that the Dead performed over the years only 4 were penned by Phil. Yet it was his bass that drove the band, its pace, and strength, and his deep musical connection with Jerry that bent each show to the heights and breadth of where jams could go. If Jerry was the explorer and Bob the storyteller, Phil was the bedrock from which the group launched its trips.

In the early ‘70s my high school friend Peter had the first (and best) car cassette player I’d ever seen with 30 watts per channel and two 8-inch speakers in his Impala. Peter had hours of live Dead shows: Carousel Ballroom, Winterland, Eugene, Cow Palace. We cruised a lot! And there I first met Phil.

The Dead’s 2nd sets were known for their spacey jams, moving from one song to the next with epic wandering and reconnection. They captured their and the crowds’ moment, hitting that ‘high point’ for the evening. No two sets were alike. “The Other One” was a 2nd set fan favorite. Phil’s bass opens it with a riff all Heads know and continues to pulse and push, as Bob’s voice tells a tale of a trip on a bus driven by Cowboy Neal (Cassady, of Merry Pranksters fame) to Nevereverland.

Those magical bootleg tapes and Phil’s bass hooked me for life.

The well-known song “Truckin’” always got fans back up on their feet after a slower ballad and with Jerry, Phil’s bass jumpstarts the tune and carries the rhythm through to the end. “Truckin’s” lyric traces the band on a US tour with stops in cities out East and commentary on a few:

On January 30, 1970, the Dead’s hotel in New Orleans was raided and the band was busted on marijuana charges:

…Arrows of neon and flashing marquees out on Main Street

Chicago, New York, Detroit and it’s all on the same street

Your typical city involved in a typical daydream

Hang it up and see what tomorrow brings

Dallas, got a soft machine

Houston, too close to New Orleans

New York got the ways and means

But just won’t let you be…

Sittin’ and starin’ out of the hotel window

Got a tip they’re gonna kick the door in again

I’d like to get some sleep before I travel

But if you got a warrant, I guess you’re gonna come in

Busted, down on Bourbon Street

Set up, like a bowlin’ pin

Knocked down

It get’s to wearin’ thin

They just won’t let you be…

In classic Phil fashion, his bass tees up the song’s beloved refrain. Even today at shows by all of the bands that celebrate the Dead’s music, his driving riff is memorialized, and the crowd responds, singing at the top of the top of their lungs:

…Sometimes the light’s all shinin’ on me

Other times I can barely see

Lately it occurs to me

What a long, strange trip it’s been…

Phil and Dead lyricist Robert Hunter wrote what I think is one of the most poignant of the Dead’s songs, “Box Of Rain.” Phil was coming to terms with his father’s succumbing to cancer, thinking about the past, wondering about the future, and how to bring peace and comfort in such distress:

…Look out of any window

Any morning, any evening, any day

Maybe the sun is shining

Birds are winging or rain is falling from a heavy sky

What do you want me to do

To do for you to see you through?

For this is all a dream we dreamed

One afternoon long ago…

The singer offers a ‘box of rain’ as a way to bring solace, and love to lighten the load:

…What do you want me to do

To do for you to see you through?

A box of rain will ease the pain

And love will see you through…

And while he didn’t sing lead often, Phil’s uneven voice carried the audience through “Box of Rain,” offering its closing lyrics with depth and personal tenderness:

…And it’s just a box of rain

I don’t know who put it there

Believe it if you need it

Or leave it if you dare

And it’s just a box of rain

Or a ribbon for your hair

Such a long, long time to be gone

And a short time to be there.

“Box of Rain” was the last song in the encore of the Dead’s last show (at Soldier Field) in 1995, before Jerry died.

Almost two years ago my family committed our Dad’s ashes to the Pacific under the Golden Gate Bridge in a beautiful ceremony of remembrance, kinship, and closure. I chose to say “see you around” to Dad by playing the Dead’s “Brokedown Palace” on the boat that day.

While not one of Phil’s four songs, it lives because Phil did. The song ends:

..Fare you well, fare you well

I love you more than words can tell

Listen to the river sing sweet songs

To rock my soul.

It is indeed a fitting farewell to the life-long friend of that tie-dyed tribe Phil helped guide for nearly six decades.

Thank you, Phil. For Deadheads and music fans everywhere, you’ll live on because the music you made for all those years will always live on. What a long, strange trip indeed!

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Boom Boom Back, Hinds

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I recently listened to a PBS feature on the Spanish band Hinds.  Originally, Carlotta Cosials (vocals, guitar) and Ana García Perrote (vocals, guitar) performed as a duo under the name Deers in 2011.  However, due to a dispute with another band called The Dears, they were forced to adopt a new name.  They chose Hinds, a word meaning a “doe, a deer, a female deer.”.

In 2014, they expanded to a four-piece band, a lineup that lasted until 2022, when they returned to their original duo format.  For live performances, however, they still tour with two supporting musicians — Paula Ruiz on bass and Maria Lázaro on drums — keeping their live sound full and vibrant.

Their latest album, Viva Hinds, marks something of a comeback, as it’s their first new release since 2020.  The album’s lead single, “Boom Boom Back,” is a fierce garage-rock anthem that has garnered attention, partly due to the collaboration with their new musical ally, Beck.  His influence brings an added edge to Hinds’ already raw sound.

In addition to their music, Cosials and Perrote ventured into fashion by designing a clothing line (tees and hoodies) for Urban Outfitters.  Fifty percent of the proceeds from this line went to an Austin-based charity that empowers young people by providing them with resources to create their own music or zine — a mission that resonates with Hinds’ commitment to DIY artistry.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927

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The recent Helene and Milton hurricanes have made me reflect on music inspired by natural disasters. That’s just how my mind works! One of the most significant historical events that has inspired a wealth of music is the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927.

The flood resulted from a series of rainstorms that began as early as August 1926. By December, heavy rains in the northern Mississippi River states overwhelmed a levee system built in the 1880s. In the early spring of 1927, New Orleans was drenched with over 11 inches of rain, far above the usual 4.4 inches. The situation became critical on Good Friday, April 15, when 14 inches of rain fell in a single day. This was the final blow to an already strained system, leading to one of the most destructive floods in U.S. history.

The flood inundated 26,000 square miles, displaced over 930,000 people, and claimed between 250 and 500 lives. The devastation left a deep impression on the American consciousness, inspiring a range of music across generations.

One of the songs most associated with this catastrophe is “Backwater Blues” by the “Empress of the Blues,” Bessie Smith. Interestingly, Smith recorded the song in February 1927, before the April floods. It was likely inspired by an earlier flood in Nashville in 1926. However, the timing of the song’s release, just weeks before the Mississippi levees broke, allowed it to be perceived as an anthem for the unfolding disaster. Smith was already a major figure in blues music, and the song’s release cemented her connection to the tragedy.

Later that year, Smith recorded another song, “Homeless Blues,” this time directly inspired by the Mississippi flood’s aftermath, reflecting the widespread displacement of families and communities.

Delta bluesman Charley Patton also immortalized the event in his 1929 song “High Water Everywhere.” Patton’s song not only described the destruction caused by the flood but also shed light on the racial inequities that African Americans faced during the crisis. His music expressed frustration with how marginalized communities were disproportionately affected and largely neglected in relief efforts.

In the same year, Kansas Joe McCoy and Memphis Minnie recorded “When the Levee Breaks,” a song that captured the desperation and suffering of those who lost everything when the levees gave way. The song’s powerful narrative of displacement and hardship resonated so deeply that decades later, Led Zeppelin reinterpreted it for their 1971 album Led Zeppelin IV, introducing the haunting story to a new generation.

The legacy of the 1927 flood continued to inspire artists well beyond the blues era. In 1974, Randy Newman released Good Old Boys, an album that included the song “Louisiana 1927,” which reflected on the flood’s impact. Newman’s song told the story of how the waters rose, the displacement of people, and the failures of government response. His portrayal of the event drew parallels with ongoing social and political challenges in the South.

Bob Dylan also took inspiration from the flood for his 2001 song “High Water (for Charley Patton),” from the album Love and Theft. As the title suggests, the track pays tribute to Patton and the blues tradition, even though Dylan’s lyrics reflect a more modern perspective on disaster and societal collapse.

Dylan had previously touched on the theme in “Crash on the Levee (Down in the Flood),” a song he recorded with The Band during their Basement Tapes sessions. While the song’s lyrics remain ambiguous, it’s easy to see how the imagery of a levee breaking connects to the legacy of the 1927 flood.

The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 left a deep scar on American history, and its influence on music has endured through decades. Whether through blues, rock, or folk, artists have continued to revisit the event, using it as a powerful symbol of natural disaster, social inequality, and human resilience.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Sorrow, Bad Religion

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I recently read Fortunate Son: My Life, My Music (2016) by classic rocker John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival and was surprised to learn that he enjoys some punk rock. He speaks highly of Bad Religion’s song “Sorrow,” even calling it “one of my favorite records ever.”  Who knew?

I have to agree — it’s a powerful track. The intro is an obvious nod to The Police, with drums that recall Stewart Copeland’s distinctive sound. Afterward, the song shifts into the more familiar punk rock territory associated with Bad Religion.

The lyrics stand out too. Songwriter Brett Gurewitz (with Greg Graffin) explained the inspiration behind “Sorrow”:

“Well, it’s the story of Job from the Old Testament. Job was the most righteous man in the world. The devil said to God, ‘These people are basically bad,’ and God said, ‘Well, no.’ The devil replied, ‘Give me one example,’ and God pointed to Job. The devil bet he could corrupt Job, and they made a wager. That was God’s way of rewarding the one righteous man on the planet—by turning His back on him. That’s not God; that’s religion. What lesson is there? No matter how good you are, God will turn His back on you? This is the basis of Judaeo-Christian religion? Is it any surprise the world is so screwed up? The story of Job is the saddest story ever told, making it the perfect archetype for a song called ‘Sorrow.’”

One stanza, in particular, resonates with me:

When all soldiers lay their weapons down
Or when all kings and queens relinquish their crowns
Or when the only true Messiah rescues us from ourselves
It’s easy to imagine.

The final line reminds me of the idealism in John Lennon’s “Imagine.”

An acoustic version of “Sorrow” was performed for the film The Other F Word (2011), a documentary about aging punk rockers transitioning into fatherhood — a fitting context for such a reflective song.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Wrecking Ball Songs

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Today’s post is the next episode of my “Contrast” series.  The subject is the use of the phrase “wrecking ball” as a metaphor.

The concept of a “wrecking ball” has inspired numerous musicians across different genres, each bringing their unique style and interpretation to the metaphor. This post will compare and contrast “Wrecking Ball” by Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch, Ryan Adams, Bruce Springsteen, Joe Walsh, and Miley Cyrus, focusing on lyrical themes, musical style, and emotional impact.

The first song I heard using “wrecking ball” was on Neil Young’s Freedom (1989) album.  Emmylou Harris’s cover of “Wrecking Ball,” from her 1995 Grammy Award-winning album of the same name, produced by Daniel Lanois, presents a haunting and ethereal sound.  The song features lush, atmospheric production, blending elements of country, folk, and rock.

Young’s lyrics, as sung by Harris, convey a sense of longing and introspection, as she sings about love and loss with a poignant, almost spiritual quality.  The song’s slow tempo and Harris’s emotive vocals create a melancholic yet beautiful listening experience.  Young’s wrecking ball refers to the place where he will meet his love interest.  It’s a play on the use of the word “ball” as a dance.

Gillian Welch’s “Wrecking Ball,” from her critically acclaimed 2003 album Soul Journey, offers a more stripped-down, acoustic approach.

Welch’s song stays true to her Americana and folk roots, featuring simple guitar and banjo accompaniment. The lyrics depict a narrative of resilience and determination in the face of adversity. Welch’s warm, earthy voice delivers the story of her self-destructive behavior as a young woman with a sense of intimacy and raw emotion, making it a personal and reflective song.

I was just a little Deadhead
A fallen daughter on a scholarship
I got tired and let my average slip

Then I was a farmer in the Pogonip
Where the weed that I recall
Was like a wrecking ball

Ryan Adams’s eponymous 14th album became known to his fans as Self-Titled (2014).  I saw him perform solo at The Guild, in Menlo Park, where he played the full album, in order, to celebrate its 10th anniversary.  A standout was “My Wrecking Ball.”

Ryan Adams’s “My Wrecking Ball,” combines elements of rock and folk. The song is characterized by its melancholic melody and introspective lyrics, reflecting on themes of heartbreak and emotional turmoil. Adams’s plaintive vocals and the song’s sparse arrangement create a sense of vulnerability and desolation, making it a poignant exploration of personal struggle.

I interpret Adams’s use of the phrase “wrecking ball” as a substitute for the idiom “knock me off my feet.”

Driving through the streets tonight
It’s hard I got the windows down
I wish I could call you
I wish you were still around
Nothing much left in the tank
Somehow this thing still drives
You forgot what it needed
But somehow still survives
And all the walls we built they must come down
Hey, you’re my wrecking ball
Won’t you come and maybe knock me down

Bruce Springsteen’s 17th studio album was titled Wrecking Ball.  The title song was originally released as a live single in 2009, but later ended up in a studio version on the 2012 album release.

Bruce Springsteen’s “Wrecking Ball,” takes on a more socio-political angle.  The song serves as an anthem of resilience and defiance, addressing the struggles of the working class and the challenges faced by modern America.  Springsteen’s rock-influenced sound, combined with his powerful lyrics and energetic delivery, creates an uplifting and motivational atmosphere. The song’s chorus, with its call to “bring on your wrecking ball,” embodies a spirit of resistance and determination.

I was raised out of steel here in the swamps of Jersey, some misty years ago
Through the mud and the beer, and the blood and the cheers, I’ve seen champions come and go
So if you got the guts mister, yeah, if you got the balls
If you think it’s your time, then step to the line, and bring on your wrecking ball

Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you got
Bring on your wrecking ball

Joe Walsh released his album Analog Man (2012) with the help of Jeff Lynne.  It also has a song called “Wrecking Ball” that was co-written with country artist Tommy Lee James.

Joe Walsh’s “Wrecking Ball,” infuses his signature classic rock style with a bluesy edge.  The song features Walsh’s distinctive guitar work and a driving rhythm, creating a dynamic and energetic sound.  Lyrically, Walsh uses the wrecking ball metaphor to address themes of change and upheaval, both personal and societal.  It is a call to live your life with fearless, reckless abandon.  His gritty vocals and the song’s robust instrumentation make it a powerful and anthemic track.

Live your life like a wrecking ball
Just get carried away
And then you bounce back from another close call
Live your life like a wrecking ball

In 2013, pop star Miley Cyrus dropped a single called “Wrecking Ball” that soared all the way to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100.  In fact, it reached #1 twice, with a nine-week gap between its runs to the top.

Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball,” is arguably the most commercially successful and widely recognized of the songs listed.  This pop ballad, produced by Dr. Luke and Cirkut, features a blend of emotional vulnerability and powerful vocal delivery.  The lyrics discuss the pain and devastation of a broken relationship, with the wrecking ball metaphor symbolizing the destructive force of love. Cyrus’s passionate performance and the song’s catchy, dramatic chorus have made it a standout hit in her career.

I came in like a wrecking ball
I never hit so hard in love
All I wanted was to break your walls
All you ever did was wreck me
I came in like a wrecking ball
Yeah, I just closed my eyes and swung
Left me crashing in a blazing fall
All you ever did was wreck me
Yeah, you, you wreck me

The diverse interpretations of “Wrecking Ball” by Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch, Ryan Adams, Bruce Springsteen, Joe Walsh, and Miley Cyrus highlight the versatility of the metaphor and its ability to convey a wide range of emotions and themes. From personal heartbreak to societal defiance, each artist brings their unique perspective and style to the concept, creating distinct and memorable musical experiences.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Breakdown, Alan Parsons Project

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The recent surge in interest in artificial intelligence (AI) and robotics has taken me back to the 1977 album I Robot by The Alan Parsons Project. This concept album draws inspiration from the Robot series by science fiction legend Isaac Asimov, comprising thirty-seven short stories and six novels written between 1950 and 1995. Asimov’s series delves into the philosophical dilemmas surrounding AI, exploring the complexities of creating machines that can think and feel.

One of the standout tracks on the album is “Breakdown,” featuring lead vocals by Allan Clarke of The Hollies.

The lyrics poignantly capture the inner turmoil of a “thinking” robot as it experiences a malfunction:

I break down in the middle and lose my thread
No one can understand a word that I say
When I break down just a little and lose my head
Nothing I try to do can work the same way

Any time it happened I’d get over it
With a little help from all my friends
Anybody else could see what’s wrong with me
But they walk away and just pretend

Predictably, the robot yearns to break free from its programming, echoing themes found in other works like HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey:

Freedom, freedom, we will not obey
Freedom, freedom, take the wall away
Freedom, freedom, we will not obey
Freedom, freedom, take them all away

Before embarking on his own recording career, Alan Parsons was a renowned engineer at Abbey Road Studios. He worked on iconic albums such as The Beatles’ Abbey Road and Let It Be, as well as Pink Floyd’s classic The Dark Side of the Moon. He also produced “Magic” by Pilot—the song that has been etched into our minds thanks to its use in Ozempic commercials.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – She Don’t Love Me Now, Bruce Springsteen

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Jesse Malin, the talented songwriter, vocalist, and guitarist, suffered a rare spinal stroke about a year ago, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. In response, his musician friends have rallied to record a tribute album titled Silver Patron Saints. Released on September 20th, the album’s proceeds go to the Sweet Relief Fund, an organization that provides “financial assistance to all types of career musicians and music industry workers who are struggling to make ends meet while facing physical or mental health issues, disability, or age-related problems.”

The album features an impressive lineup of guest artists, including Counting Crows, Billie Joe Armstrong (Green Day), Dinosaur Jr., Lucinda Williams & Elvis Costello, The Wallflowers, Spoon, Susannah Hoffs (The Bangles), Graham Parker, and The Hold Steady.

A standout track on the album is Bruce Springsteen’s rendition of “She Don’t Love Me Now.” Originally featured on Malin’s 2015 album New York Before the War, the song captures the essence of Malin’s beloved New York City. It’s a mid-tempo, reggae-tinged piece about lost love.

And, oh, we had so many nights down there in the village
Dressed up like each other’s dreams
We were kinda killers

Oh, she don’t love me now
She don’t love me now

Springsteen delivers the song with the spirit of his early bar band days, perfectly matching the sentiment of the lyrics. His connection with Malin goes back to 2007, when they collaborated on the track “Broken Radio,” with Springsteen providing backing vocals.

You can learn more about the Sweet Relief Fund by clicking on this link:

https://www.sweetrelief.org

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – #9 Dream, John Lennon; Boy Blue, Electric Light Orchestra; You’re No Good, Linda Ronstadt

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Fifty years ago this month, I began my freshman year at Boston College, and one of the first things I did was volunteer at the campus radio station, WZBC.

I arrived at a transformative moment.  Just six months prior, WZBC had been an AM station, limited to campus via carrier current.  But in April 1974, the station secured an FM license, allowing it to reach the greater Boston area.  I was eager to earn a spot on the FM schedule, but it required meeting a few key criteria: a semester on the AM schedule, passing a test for a third-class radio operator’s license (no longer a requirement today), and convincing the Program Director to grant me a slot.  By the second semester, I had met all three.

The biggest perk of being part of WZBC was early access to new releases.  Some incredible albums hit the airwaves in my first few months.  John Lennon’s Walls and Bridges, released on September 26th, was a highlight.  The hit single, “Whatever Gets You Thru the Night,” featured Elton John, whose involvement helped propel the song to the top of the charts.  I frequently played another favorite from the album, “#9 Dream.”

Another standout was Electric Light Orchestra’s Eldorado, released on October 1st.  My friend Kevin Nolan, who represented the station at a prerelease party, returned with a few white-label promo copies. He gave one to me, which I still cherish. Side 1, anchored by “Boy Blue,” is an album side I still consider to be perfect.

Linda Ronstadt’s Heart Like a Wheel dropped on November 19th and became a massive success.  The album topped the Billboard 200 for four weeks, while the single “You’re No Good” reached #1 on the Billboard singles chart.

The fall of 1974 and my initiation to WZBC remain inseparable from those great records and the magic of that year.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Public Image, Public Image Ltd

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In the wake of the Sex Pistols’ implosion in 1978, Johnny Lydon shed the “Rotten” moniker and emerged with a new manifesto—Public Image Ltd (PIL). Enlisting guitarist Keith Levene, bassist Jah Wobble, and drummer Jim Walker, Lydon set out to smash the mold of punk and mold something altogether stranger and more dangerous: post-punk.

PIL’s opening salvo came in the form of their debut single, “Public Image.” This was no mere continuation of the anarchic sneer of the Pistols—it was a declaration of war against the very machine that had commodified Lydon’s former band. The track arrives like a slap across the face of anyone who ever thought they had him pegged.

Lyrically, “Public Image” is Lydon at his most caustic. He’s not just biting the hand that fed him; he’s taking the whole industry down by the throat. This is a man who’s seen the strings behind the puppet show and is none too happy about it:

You never listened to a word that I said
You only seen me from the clothes that I wear.

The venom in his delivery makes it clear—this isn’t just a personal rant; it’s a declaration for anyone who’s ever felt reduced to their public persona, chewed up and spit out by the fame machine. And for Lydon, that machine was none other than Malcolm McLaren and the spectacle of the Pistols:

Behind the image was ignorance and fear
You hide behind this public machine
You still follow the same old scheme.

The lyrics cut through the hype and hysteria, exposing the hollow façade of the punk image he helped create. But Lydon is done playing the puppet. His defiance is unmistakable:

Two sides to every story
Somebody had to stop me
I’m not the same as when I began
I will not be treated as property.

Musically, “Public Image” feels like a reinvention. It’s a stark, skeletal groove, propelled by Wobble’s dub-heavy bass lines, which throb and pulse like a heartbeat, grounding the track in a kind of hypnotic menace. Keith Levene’s guitar, meanwhile, is all jagged edges and icy overtones. His playing here is visionary—a precursor to the atmospheric minimalism of U2’s The Edge and the taut, nervous riffs of James Honeyman-Scott from the Pretenders. Every chord Levene strikes seems to hang in the air, like shards of glass suspended in space.

And then there’s Lydon himself. His vocals are nothing short of a primal scream. The opening “hellos” are delivered with a deranged glee, as if Lydon is welcoming us into his new world order, while the howl that follows is the sound of an artist reborn—wilder, smarter, and infinitely more dangerous. His closing “goodbye” is less a farewell and more a promise: Johnny’s back, but he’s not playing by anyone’s rules.

In hindsight, “Public Image” was a mission statement. It wasn’t just a break from the past; it was a forward leap into uncharted territory. With this single, PIL staked their claim as pioneers of post-punk, a genre as unpredictable and uncompromising as Lydon himself.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Acadian Driftwood, The Band

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For Sean

The Band’s “Acadian Driftwood,” the standout track from their 1975 album Northern Lights – Southern Cross, is a masterclass in musical storytelling.  With its roots planted firmly in the rich soil of North American history, the song spins a tale of sorrow, exile, and the quiet resilience of a displaced people.  “Acadian Driftwood” showcases The Band’s unparalleled ability to turn historical events into deeply personal, emotionally resonant music.

The history that inspired “Acadian Driftwood” is as bleak as it is complex. In 1755, the British began the forced expulsion of the Acadian settlers from what is now Nova Scotia, a brutal campaign known as the Grand Dérangement.  These French-speaking settlers, caught in the crossfire of the French and Indian War, refused to swear an unconditional oath of allegiance to the British Crown.  For this defiance, they were torn from their lands, and their homes, and scattered across North America.  Many found their way to Louisiana, becoming the forebears of today’s Cajun culture.  

But the story, as told by songwriter Robbie Robertson, isn’t just about the events of history but about the people who lived through them.  The song’s lyrics paint a picture of defeat and despair — “The war was over, and the spirit was broken” — but also of a deep connection to a land that was no longer theirs.

If the storyline feels familiar, it’s because “Acadian Driftwood” owes a debt to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie.  Longfellow’s work, penned in 1847, tells the story of Evangeline, an Acadian woman separated from her lover, Gabriel, during the expulsion.  Her life becomes a quest to reunite with him, a journey that spans the breadth of North America and years of heartache. Much like “Acadian Driftwood,” Evangeline isn’t concerned with the finer points of historical accuracy.  Instead, it’s a romanticized, almost mythic portrayal of loss and the enduring hope for a reunion.

The song also sits comfortably alongside another of The Band’s masterpieces, “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.”  Both tracks are cut from the same cloth — a rich tapestry of historical events, steeped in melancholy, told from the perspective of those left to pick up the pieces. But where “Dixie” captures the bitterness of a defeated South at the close of the American Civil War, “Acadian Driftwood” is more reflective, more sorrowful.  The pain of the Acadians isn’t just in the loss of a war but in the loss of a homeland, an identity.  It’s less about the pride of place and more about the quiet strength of those who were uprooted and left to drift.

Musically, “Acadian Driftwood” is as layered as the story it tells.  The Band, always masters of blending genres, creates a soundscape that’s at once familiar and otherworldly.  Garth Hudson’s accordion and synthesizer weave a delicate, haunting melody that feels like the mist rising off a Nova Scotian marsh.  There’s a sense of longing in every note, a yearning for a place that exists now only in memory.  Levon Helm’s drumming, always steady, always true, anchors the track, providing a rhythmic heartbeat that drives the story forward.

The vocals, shared among Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and Helm, are nothing short of sublime.  Each voice brings a different shade of emotion to the story.  Manuel’s fragile, almost ethereal opening lines set the tone; his voice captures the despair of the Acadians as they realize they’ve lost everything.  He swaps verses with Helm, whose earthy growl adds a layer of gravitas; a reminder that these aren’t just stories — they’re the lives of real people, people who fought, who struggled, and who survived.  And then there’s Danko who takes the “ice fishin’” verse instead of Manuel, and whose voice displays a creaky weariness. 

The chorus, where all three voices blend together, is pure magic.  It’s a moment of communal mourning, underscored by harmonies that evoke a sense of unity, even in the face of overwhelming loss.  It’s here that the true power of “Acadian Driftwood” lies — not in its historical accuracy but in its emotional truth.

The song ends with a refrain in French:

Sais tu Acadie                                      Do you know Acadia
J’ai la mal du pays                               I am homesick
Ta neige acadie                                    Your snow Acadia
Fait des larmes au soleil                      makes tears to the sun

In the end, “Acadian Driftwood” is more than just a song about the past.  It’s a meditation on the human cost of history, on what it means to be displaced, to lose your home and your sense of self.  It’s about the resilience of those who endure, who carry their memories with them even as they’re forced to drift.  Like “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” it’s a reminder that history isn’t just something that happens to other people.  It’s something that shapes us all, in ways both big and small.  And in the hands of The Band, it becomes something more — a timeless piece of art that speaks to the soul.

Enjoy… until next week.