Kristin Hersh, a founding member of Throwing Muses with her stepsister Tanya Donnelly (The Breeders, Belly), released her solo album Hips and Makers in 1994. The album, a raw collection of deeply personal demos, wasn’t initially meant for release — making it similar in spirit to Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. One song on the album, “Sundrops,” has the aura of “As You Said,” the sublime Jack Bruce song he composed for Cream.
The lead track, “Your Ghost,” is stunningly haunting.
Is the “ghost” a lost lover? A departed friend? A relative? Hersh keeps it ambiguous, which only adds to its power.
If I walk down this hallway tonight, It’s too quiet, So I pad through the dark And call you on the phone, Push your old numbers And let your house ring ‘Til I wake your ghost.
It feels like Hersh is dialing the number just to hear the voice on her ghost’s answering machine.
I can’t drink this coffee ‘Til I put you in my closet.
She’s paralyzed, unable to go through even the simplest routine — drinking coffee — until she finds a way to tuck the ghost away.
Michael Stipe of R.E.M. was instrumental in shaping the recording of this song. Conversations between Hersh and Stipe helped her realize what the track needed: his voice. Stipe agreed to lend his poignant presence to the song.
The sparse arrangement — just guitar, cello, drums, and vocals — perfectly complements the aching sentiment of the lyrics, creating a delicate, ethereal atmosphere that lingers long after the song ends.
Today’s post was written by a guest contributor, KJ Nolan, who last penned for the SotW in August 2010. KJ and I have been friends for 40 years when we met Boston College and worked at the school’s radio station – WZBC. As you will see from today’s post, he still keeps up with new artists. Of course, that’s no surprise to me! TM
Late to the party, as usual, I didn’t hear about the Courettes until my missus got a tickle about their fourth album in her Facebook feed. Shortly later, our copy arrived, one of many times she has been the one to bring new music into our home. I was immediately hooked. The album echoes Blondie, Lucious Jackson, Ronnie Spector (not to mention La La Brooks, who makes two appearances on the album), Brian Wilson (one of their engineers is an alum of the “Smile” sessions”), sixties fuzz punk and the Wall of Sound, just for starters.
The Courettes are Martin Couri, a fellow from Denmark and Flávia Couri, a gal from Brazil. The two met when their respective bands were gigging together. Joining forces, they built up a strong reputation over the course of three albums and such singles as “Want You Like a Cigarette” and “Boom! Dynamite”.
The Soul of . . . the Fabulous Courettes was released last September. Martin, on drums, and Flávia, on a bad-ass Silvertone and other guitars, are joined in the studio by Søren Christensen, who produces the tracks and layers them with keyboards. The album is a little more slick and a wee bit more Americanized (there is a “Boom” song here, too, and Flávia pronounces it “bewm”), but their power is undiminished.
The Soul of… takes no prisoners from the get-go. Recognizing that the best rock & roll songs are about sex, the kids blast away with longing, hunger and joy on “You Woo Me”. A Farfisa organ, another sure sign of a great rock & roll song, whines insistently, while Flávia makes clear what her protagonist is after.
Don’t leave me hanging
Don’t make me sad
I’ll give you something
That you’ve never had
Come on baby
You drive me mad
You’re in my mind
It’s all the time
You’re just my kind
I cannot hide
You woo me
Yeah, you woo me
Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?
[A side note: all lyrics are approximate. With no online lyrics that I can find anywhere, I resorted to listening over and over. I even took advantage of YouTube’s adjustable playback speed. And you know what? “Woo Me” at 50% speed isn’t half bad! It’s got a languid, bluesy feel that I find entirely satisfying.]
My personal favorite track is “Here I Come”. It’s another up-tempo barn burner driven by a clever little rhythm riff that stays with you. Once again, the female protagonist is openly predatory, warning “You better stop, there’s nowhere to hide.” The chorus arrives, the band roars into overdrive, and our heroine declaims:
Some day
I’m running your tail
I’m coming your way
I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha
Some day
I’m coming your way
I’m running your tail
You better watch your back, here I come!
Thanks, hon. If you need me, I’ll be hiding under the bed. But I’ll shave first, just in case.
The last track for this post is one of several “My ex is a douche” songs strewn through the album. I guess we all knew someone who made us feel that way, but wait! Turns out that this one isn’t about an old boyfriend at all. This one (like another one, more obviously worded) is about her abusive father, who passed away some years ago. Flávia says in the band’s page on the website for label Damaged Goods (damagedgoods.co.uk/) that “Don’t Want You Back” is “about his death and how he still has a power over me and bringing me down and what it’s like to break free from that.” The song pulses and swirls at a slower tempo, punctuated by tube chimes. The intent is unmistakable.
Still haunting my dreams
Breaking my schemes
Causing me sorrow once again
I’m glad that you’re gone
Forever gone
I don’t want you back
Never, never again
Hurt by lover or parent, the emotion is universal. “Don’t Want You Back” plumbs it memorably.
Bonus stuff: the kids played SXSW last spring, for about 35 minutes. The Soul of… was still months away, so they didn’t play any of the songs from it, except for “SHAKE”, their final number, now out as a single. It’s just the two of them, and the show is raw and raucous.
It’s been half a century since the Ramones changed everything. Pop music has gone in lots of directions since then, as has that subset we call rock & roll. The Courettes harken back to when untrained teenagers with cheap guitars first took the stages of their high school auditoriums, and they synthesize everything worthwhile that followed. Here’s to seeing them make it big.
Ecclesiastes was famously the inspiration for the Byrds’ massive 1965 hit “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There is a Season)”, written by Pete Seeger in 1959. Pete Townshend’s song “Empty Glass,” the title track from his 1980 solo album, also refers to Ecclesiastes, resonating deeply with its existential musings.
Written during a turbulent period in Townshend’s life, the song’s lyrics evoke themes of spiritual longing, disillusionment, and the search for meaning amid chaos. The “empty glass” becomes a powerful metaphor, capturing both depletion and the potential for renewal.
I don’t pretend to be a student of the Bible, but the connection between Ecclesiastes and “Empty Glass” led me to investigate. This is what I learned.
The book of Ecclesiastes in the Hebrew Bible is a poetic meditation on the human condition, marked by its exploration of life’s seeming futility and the quest for meaning. Attributed to “Qoheleth” or “The Teacher,” the text grapples with profound existential questions, famously declaring, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity (i.e. futile)!” (Ecclesiastes 1:2). Themes of transience, toil, and the search for purpose thread through its twelve chapters, offering observations that oscillate between despair and tempered hope.
Qoheleth observes the cyclical nature of existence: generations come and go, the sun rises and sets, and human labor appears repetitive and ultimately inconsequential (1:4-11). Despite its sober outlook, the text does not prescribe nihilism. Instead, it encourages finding joy in simple pleasures — eating, drinking, and enjoying one’s toil — because these are gifts from God (3:12-13). Ecclesiastes challenges readers to embrace life’s ephemeral beauty while acknowledging its mysteries and limitations, urging humility in the face of the divine.
Qoheleth’s declaration that “there is nothing new under the sun” (1:9) underscores a sense of futility, echoed in the opening lines of Townshend’s “Empty Glass”:
Why was I born today? Life is useless like Ecclesiastes says.
This direct reference situates the song as a modern meditation on timeless questions. Townshend’s lamentation of life’s emptiness mirrors Qoheleth’s reflections on the fleeting nature of worldly pursuits. Yet, both the text and the song suggest that this acknowledgment need not lead to despair; instead, it invites introspection and openness to spiritual fulfillment.
Townshend’s lyrics are imbued with a yearning for divine connection, a theme central to Ecclesiastes. Qoheleth acknowledges human dependence on God, stating, “He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity in their hearts” (3:11). While “Empty Glass” does not directly articulate this sentiment, its metaphor of an “empty glass” can be seen as a vessel awaiting spiritual replenishment — a subtle reflection of the biblical notion that life’s meaning transcends human understanding.
Despite its somber tone, Ecclesiastes ultimately encourages finding joy in the mundane. The text’s refrain to “eat, drink, and be merry” (8:15) is not hedonistic but an acknowledgment of life’s fleeting nature and the importance of cherishing its small blessings. Townshend’s song, while darker in tone, contains a similar kernel of resilience. The “empty glass” may symbolize a state of depletion, but it also implies readiness to be refilled — a nod to the potential for renewal. He says:
Don’t worry, smile and dance You just can work life out Don’t let down moods entrance you Take the wine and shout
Both Ecclesiastes and Pete Townshend’s “Empty Glass” wrestle with profound existential questions, grappling with themes of futility, mortality, and spiritual longing. Yet, neither succumbs entirely to despair. Ecclesiastes reminds readers to embrace life’s transience with humility and gratitude, while “Empty Glass” speaks to the enduring human quest for meaning and connection. Together, they offer complementary reflections on the human condition, bridging ancient wisdom and contemporary experience.
The recent rejection of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter by the CMAs and the country music establishment highlights the barriers that pop artists often face when crossing over into country. (That snub was somewhat corrected last week when Beyoncé and Cowboy Carter received 11 nods!) Despite Beyoncé’s creative integration of country themes and sounds, her work received limited recognition from traditional country circles, exposing lingering questions about authenticity and genre boundaries. Beyoncé is not the first artist to bridge these worlds—many pop musicians have taken bold, genre-bending steps into country, including Ray Charles, Ringo Starr, Elvis Costello, and Leon Russell. These albums provide insight into how pop artists reshape country music, pushing its boundaries while navigating its norms.
Ray Charles’s Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (1962) remains one of the most influential pop explorations into country music. Charles’s interpretation of country standards through R&B, jazz, and soul transformed the songs and underscored country music’s universality. This album achieved critical and commercial success, challenging both genre and racial barriers, and expanding country’s reach to new audiences. Charles’s success demonstrated the genre’s potential for reinvention and set a high bar for future crossover efforts.
Former Beatle Ringo Starr approached country music with sincerity and respect in his 1970 album, Beaucoups of Blues, recorded in Nashville. Unlike Charles’s reinterpretations, Starr’s album featured original songs written by country music insiders, such as Jerry Reed and Sorrells Pickard, and was crafted with Nashville’s leading session musicians. Starr’s connection to country music predated this album; he had previously recorded country-influenced tracks with the Beatles, including “Act Naturally” and “What Goes On,” and worked closely with George Harrison, who shared his appreciation for the genre. While Beaucoups of Blues did not achieve commercial success, it reflected Starr’s genuine admiration for country and highlighted his willingness to dive into the genre’s traditions without diluting its sound.
Elvis Costello’s 1981 album Almost Blue took a different approach, focusing on cover versions of country classics by artists like George Jones and Gram Parsons. Unlike Starr’s focus on original songs, Costello paid tribute to existing classics, adopting a traditional country production style. Produced by Nashville icon Billy Sherrill, the album received mixed reviews; some critics appreciated Costello’s sincere tribute, while others questioned his ability to connect with country’s raw emotional depth. Almost Blue showcased Costello’s serious regard for country music, serving as a love letter to the genre from an outsider’s perspective.
In 1973, Leon Russell, recording under the alias Hank Wilson, released Hank Wilson’s Back Vol. 1, an album rooted in country while blending rock, gospel, and blues. Russell’s take on country, with his Southern roots and reputation for genre fusion, was largely embraced by country fans. Russell’s crossover was met with enthusiasm, perhaps due to his background and connection to Southern musical traditions, and highlighted his ability to blend genres authentically, delivering an innovative yet faithful interpretation of country standards.
Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter continued her exploration of country music, incorporating themes of resilience, independence, and Southern pride. However, despite its country-inspired narratives and instrumentation, Cowboy Carter was met with limited recognition from the country establishment, following in the pattern set by her earlier foray into country with “Daddy Lessons” from Lemonade (2016). While her work celebrated country traditions, her outsider status as a pop and R&B icon seemed to influence the genre’s gatekeepers. Beyoncé’s journey into country is a testament to the ongoing challenge of genre-crossing, especially for Black artists, whose contributions to country are often under-recognized despite their impact.
Ray Charles, Ringo Starr, Elvis Costello, Leon Russell, and Beyoncé each ventured into country with unique styles, bridging genres and challenging conventions. Charles redefined country standards, while Starr and Russell embraced country traditions with earnestness and originality. Costello’s Almost Blue honored the genre’s roots, and Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter continued the push for inclusivity. Together, these albums illustrate both the expansive possibilities within country music and the genre’s evolving yet complex relationship with crossover artists. The diverse approaches by these pop musicians reveal country’s potential to transcend boundaries, even as it maintains a guarded sense of tradition.
Now that the presidential election is over, I’ll be stepping back from the news and tuning into other things on TV — probably more sports and binge-watching some series. Before I started a heavy travel schedule in mid-September, I began rewatching The West Wing from the beginning. I wish Jed Bartlet were really running for president. Now that was a man of character!
One of my favorite scenes is from Season 1, Episode 18, “Six Meetings Before Lunch.” In this episode, the White House staff successfully confirms their first Supreme Court nominee, Justice Roberto Mendoza. The team throws an impromptu celebration party, and they coax C.J. Cregg (Allison Janney) to perform her iconic lip-sync routine to “The Jackal.”
“The Jackal” is a track by British guitarist Ronny Jordan, released in 1993. The Grammy-nominated Jordan was known for his style of music, often called “urban jazz” or “acid jazz.”
The track features a spoken-word vocal by Dana Bryant, telling the story of a streetwise ladies’ man, with heavy use of ‘70s street slang:
Fly boy was in the buttermilk, hard, livin’ fast, livin’ large, 6 foot 4 and not an ounce of fat!
When women asked, ‘is you a Cat?’ He said ‘I did more that that.
I’m the froest of the fro
And in case you hadn’t known, they call me ‘The Jackal’.
Jordan passed away at the young age of 51 in 2014, leaving behind a legacy in jazz that’s still celebrated by fans today.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
