Today’s SotW post was written by frequent guest contributor and long-time friend, Michael Paquette.
Robert Plant’s solo career has been a bit uneven, but he has always sought fulfillment with his musical efforts and has produced a wide range of material in following that path. His most highly acclaimed work outside of Led Zeppelin is his collaboration with Allison Krauss which resulted in the landmark Americana album Raising Sand (2007). Led Zeppelin was not much of a singles band. Plant’s solo works have not climbed the charts but consistently produced compelling music. Led Zeppelin called it a day after the death of John Bonham in 1980. Many fans felt that the band would reunite with a different drummer. However, that never happened partly because Robert Plant was so engaged in his solo career.
Plant’s second solo release was called The Principle of Moments. Released in 1983, it fits in with the works of many bands that used synths for bold and splashy sounds at that time. But Plant and his bandmates used synths to construct an evocative and more subtle mood. The guitar work on this album by Robbie Blunt conjures up a similar sound to what Mark Knopfler was playing with Dire Straits.
When “Big Log” was released, it snuck into the top 20 in 1983 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart, and #6 on Billboard’s Top Tracks. It was Plant’s first solo release to chart. The album would continue to gain recognition and was ultimately certified gold with two other songs that also made the charts.
Plant uses a more restrained vocal on this song cutting loose with some wails as the song progresses. Phil Collins is on the drums. The title appears to be a little suggestive but is just a reference to a log blazing in a fireplace while Plant and Blunt were laying down the track. This song still burns bright when revisited over 40 years later. It is a fine solo work constructed by a leader of one of the all-time greatest bands.
A remastered edition of the album was released in 2007. It included live renditions of two songs from the original release, and an unreleased live version of Plant and Bob Marley performing “Lively Up Yourself” recorded in September 1983.
The Principle of Moments is a fine addition to any record collection that also includes Led Zeppelin material.
In rock and roll history, the name Wayne Perkins isn’t instantly recognizable. Unless, that is, you carefully read the credits in the liner notes of your albums.
Perkins recorded with high-profile artists, including the Rolling Stones, Bob Marley, and Joni Mitchell. He was almost invited to replace Mick Taylor when Taylor left the Stones but was ultimately passed over for their old friend Ron Wood. Yet, before that decision, he laid down remarkable tracks on the Stones’ Black and Blue (1976) album. His playing on “Hand of Fate” is epic!
For Marley, he overdubbed guitar on three tracks on the Catch a Fire (1973) album. (For those who collect vinyl, you may remember this album with the cover that depicted a Zippo lighter that opened at the top!) Perkins’ best contribution is the solo on “Concrete Jungle.”
Joni Mitchell’s breakthrough commercial success Court and Spark (1974) includes some fine guitar playing by Perkins on “Car on a Hill.” It has been said that the song is about an incident where Joni was waiting in vain for her then-boyfriend Jackson Browne to show up because he was out with his new partner Phyllis Majors – who he eventually married. Perkins’ crying guitar adds to the feeling of anxiety that Mitchell’s song conveys.
After discovering Perkins’ role in this set of songs, I’m confident you will agree he deserves recognition not just as a footnote in rock history, but as a pivotal figure in its development.
Looking back on the musical offerings of 2024, one track that stood far above the rest was “Right Back to It” by Waxahatchee featuring MJ Lenderman. Released as an early teaser in January, the song found its permanent home on Tigers Milk, Waxahatchee’s stunning March release that cemented Katie Crutchfield’s place as a songwriter of rare emotional insight.
For the uninitiated, Waxahatchee is both a moniker and a flexible musical identity — a vessel for Crutchfield’s poetic musings, sometimes as a solo troubadour and other times flanked by a full-band ensemble. This fluidity of form mirrors the emotional depth of her music, where vulnerability is as much an instrument as her guitar.
On “Right Back to It,” Crutchfield collaborates with alt-country luminary MJ Lenderman, whose vocal harmony provides a wistful counterpoint to her introspective lyrics. The result is a love song unlike any other — a portrait of enduring affection painted in shades of insecurity and redemption. Crutchfield, in her own words, described the song as an exploration of “the ebb and flow of a longtime love story,” eschewing the saccharine for something more visceral and, ultimately, more relatable.
Musically, “Right Back to It” strikes a rare balance between simplicity and sophistication. Its timeless melody feels as though it has always existed, as if plucked from the ether and given new life in Crutchfield’s hands. The interplay of Crutchfield’s yearning vocals and Lenderman’s understated electric guitar fills ensure the song resonates long after its final notes fade.
In an era where fleeting trends dominate, Waxahatchee offers a welcome reminder that the best music isn’t just heard — it’s felt. And with “Right Back to It,” Katie Crutchfield proves, once again, that she’s a master of making us feel.
“Just Because” is a song first recorded by Nelstone’s Hawaiians in 1929. A few years later, in 1933, it was recorded by The Shelton Brothers. While the songwriting credit is officially attributed to Sydney Robin and Joe and Bob Shelton, some believe Robin wrote the song alone, with the Sheltons later claiming credit after their recording gained attention.
Regardless of its authorship, the song holds a seminal place in rock and roll history. It was recorded at Sun Studios in 1954 but remained unreleased until Elvis Presley included it on his debut RCA album in 1956.
Further cementing its legacy, “Just Because” has been covered by an eclectic mix of artists: twangy guitar maestro Duane Eddy (who passed away in 2024), skiffle enthusiast Paul McCartney, blues devotee Jorma Kaukonen, and rockabilly preservationist Brian Setzer. An especially unique rendition appears on the album Beauty and the Beard (1964), a collaboration between the unlikely duo of the sexy Ann-Margret and New Orleans clarinetist Al Hirt.
Though not a holiday song, the lyrics contain a whimsical twist: the woman being sung to refers to the singer as “Santa Claus.” It’s a humorous and fitting way to close out the year.
I’ve always been intrigued by the ability of an artist to write a song from the perspective of the opposite gender in a way that rings with authenticity. This post will highlight three examples of my favorite songs written by men from the point of view of a woman. In each case, cover versions by female artists are so effective that they underscore how successfully the male writer captured a woman’s voice and experience.
The first is “Angel From Montgomery” by John Prine. The song is from the POV of a Southern woman who feels like an old soul. It opens with these evocative lines:
I am an old woman Named after my mother My old man is another Child that’s grown old
The version by Bonnie Raitt, with her whiskey-soaked vocal, captures the essence of the song in a way that Prine’s original version doesn’t quite achieve. You can feel the desperation in her voice as she wishes to escape a life of drudgery and unfulfilled dreams.
Next is “Millworker” by James Taylor, a poignant song that delves into the anguish of a woman trapped by her circumstances. In “Millworker,” the narrator is a woman working in the mills during the Industrial Revolution. She recounts her struggles and hardships, painting a vivid portrait of resilience and sorrow.
Emmylou Harris’ version is the gold standard. She eloquently conveys the heartache of a woman who married a man who drank himself to death, leaving her to raise three children on her own. To survive, she takes a monotonous job in the mill, her mind drifting back to happier times on the farm where she grew up. The song ends with an overwhelming sense of sadness and regret.
Yes, but it’s my life has been wasted, and I have been the fool To let this manufacturer use my body for a tool I can ride home in the evening, staring at my hands Swearing by my sorrow that a young girl ought to stand a better chance
Finally, since it’s Christmas week, I have to include “Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis” by Tom Waits. The narrator, a woman, writes a letter to a man named Charlie, and through her words, Waits delivers some of his most vivid and poignant storytelling. The song is written in a Beat prose style, weaving a tale of a pitiful life with an unexpected twist at the end.
Neko Case (of The New Pornographers) recorded a version that stands out, though I can’t say it’s better than Waits’ original. With a simple church organ accompaniment, Case’s rendition spins the tale with raw vulnerability and haunting clarity.
While there are many more examples of songs written by men from a woman’s point of view, few match the emotional power of the three I’ve featured today. These songs not only demonstrate the skill of their writers but also the ability of cover artists to bring fresh, profound interpretations to the material.
Father John Misty (aka Josh Tillman) released his sixth album under that moniker in 2024. Its title, Mahāśmaśāna, is a Sanskrit word meaning “great cremation ground,” perfect subject matter for a pop album! Catch the sarcasm?
The lead track, and title song, is a 9-minute epic, both musically and lyrically – drawing comparisons to George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass.”
A rolling drum intro introduces sweeping strings, keyboards, and strings. By the 7:30 mark, a saxophone joins the wall of sound, along with screeching strings, that bring the song to a soaring climax.
FJM’s vision is bleak — he imagines a post-apocalyptic world left with no trace of life.
Mahashmashana, all is silent now And in the next universal dawn Won’t have to do the corpse dance, do the corpse dance Do the corpse dance with these on
However, in an interview with Scott Simon of NPR, FJM offered a different perspective on the song. “Well, that ‘Mahāśmaśāna’ song I really think of as being a love story. But this corporal form, you know, it just – the body wins every time. And love is kind of the foot soldier of that destruction – sounds like a hit.”
The album has received critical praise, placing 49th on Paste’s list of the 100 Best Albums of 2024.
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.
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.
