You’re just too good to be true / Can’t take my eyes off of you / You’d be like Heaven to touch / I wanna hold you so much / At long last, love has arrived / And I thank God I’m alive / You’re just too good to be true / Can’t take my eyes off of you
Grateful the heatwave in LA broke. As the seasons roll by I’ve learned to appreciate shit. My rock ‘n’ roll journey, the people I’ve met, my groovy pad in the canyon, and most of all my cool chick.
I almost called it a day so many times / Didn’t know what it felt like to be alive / Until you been a friend to me / Like nobody else could be
Keep my hands on the wheel now, mama / I’m gonna honestly try / She looked past the scars and the burned-out eyes / And could see I’m no easy ride / She’s just the kind who might get you to buy / Some strange religion
I’m keeping it quick. My wife called and said the power might go out. It’s hot, I mean it’s real fucking hot like we’ve never felt up here in Laurel Canyon.
A question for a sweltering Indian summer day—are you rooting for the cowboys or the indians?
Got struck by the first volley / Of the war in the corps / Never held my service / Send ’em a wire, give ’em my best / This ammunition never rests / No one serves coffee, no one wakes up
Stop breathin’, stop breathin’ / Breathin’ for me now / Write it on a postcard / Dad, they broke me / Dad, they broke me / Stop breathin’, stop breathin’ / Breathin’ for me now
As I said last week, “It’s warm, let’s be lazy. Captain, please drive the boat.” In this lil column I’ve mentioned many times that I’ve never been comfortable with long holiday weekends. Here in LA they tend to start upon waking up on Friday mornings.
As I see it there are only two options: sit in traffic or kick back and try to relax. Both will need to be done to music. Here are some of the songs I’ve turned onto this summer.
Time for livin’, time for givin’ / No time for makin’ up a monster to share / Time for livin’, time for givin’ / No time for breakin’ our own fairytale
Ain’t, ain’t, ain’t nobody’s got to spell it for me / Ooh, ain’t nobody got to yell, I can see / Ain’t nobody got to think, I can hear / But if I have to, I will yell in your ear / Aah, ooh
Time for livin’, time for givin’ / No time for runnin’ over anyone / Let’s share time for livin’, time for givin’ / No time for passin’, done the fun
Just as summer seems to have started, it’s time for LA kids to head back to school. Personally I feel like jumping on a fishing boat and heading out to sea.
It’s likely not gonna happen for a couple weeks. Honestly, there is nothing like setting to sea with studding captain at the helm.
Once upon a time, not too long ago, we took a day out in Manchester / We all fall down, there’s not enough hours in the day / Played a bit of football, fell into the union / Barged our way into the toilet with the kung fu king
There’s not enough hours in the day / I remember seeing someone dressed in a suit, looking like a lunatic / And we all fall down, there’s not enough hours in a trip
Growing up Jewish on the east side of Manhattan, our family went to the theatre. I’ve always had a soft spot for 1960s Broadway musicals. I’ve always wanted to do a modern take on A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.
The musical tells the bawdy story of a slave named Pseudolus and his attempts to win his freedom by helping his young master woo the girl next door. The plot displays many classic elements of “farce,” including puns, the slamming of doors, cases of mistaken identity (frequently involving characters disguising themselves as one another), and satirical comments on social class. The title derives from a line often used by vaudeville comedians to begin a story:
“A funny thing happened on the way to the theater.”
Eyes lit on sharp threats from dark lips / The lights press the soft skin to rough hands / Eyes lit on sharp threats from dark lips / The lights press the soft skin to rough hands
I’ve gotten into the habit of posting lyrics on this, my Idelic Hour column. Honestly having a deadline to write a few words every week can be daunting on a Friday morning. Often I’m just using all the gas in my tank to close the work week in good order.
Last week my daughter Zoe was my “Idelic” muse. This week it’s my son Jonah. Tomorrow he turns 16. I’m certain 16 is a magical and tumultuous age. This curly haired athlete looks like a spartan warrior. We love him so.
Now that you’ve found your paradise / This is your kingdom to command / You can go outside and polish your car / Or sit by the fire in your Shangri-la / Here is your reward for working so hard / Gone are the lavatories in the back yard / Gone are the days when you dreamed of that car / You just want to sit in your Shangri-la
Put on your slippers and sit by the fire / You’ve reached your top and you just can’t get any higher / You’re in your place and you know where you are / In your Shangri-la / Sit back in your old rocking chair / You need not worry, you need not care / You can’t go anywhere / Shangri-la, Shangri-la, Shangri-la
Nothing is ever truly perfect than a sunny, clear Friday morning in July. Well, let’s call it pretty fucking good. The weather in LA these past few weeks has actually been pretty ideal. Today we’re as lucky as we’ll let ourselves feel. Jonah went surfing with friends. Kid is turning 16 next weekend. I tired to take his photo but he said no and shushed me into the house for fear his buddies would see old rocker dad.
Meanwhile I’m absolutely over the moon to share my daughter’s new music project L’ESPIRAL. Over the past couple of years I’ve watched and listened to my lil “wild flower” turn her poems into songs and become quite the singer. Today’s debut release is a cover celebrating the one year anniversary of Sinéad O’Connor’s passing. Maybe it’s the Sidel way of ushering in a new “season of the witch.” Our country, our planet, needs you (females) to take charge!
I went to the market to realize my soul / ‘Cause what I need I just don’t have / First they curse, then they press me ’til I hurt / Rudie can’t fail / Okay! Okay!
So where you want to go today? / Hey, boss man! / You’re looking pretty smart / (Chicken skin suit) with your chicken skin suit / You think you’re pretty hot / (Pork pie hat) In the pork pie hat
Rudie can’t fail / Rudie can’t fail
I never seem to tire of cool rock bands like The Clash. Maybe that’s why, instead of relaxing on a Thursday evening, I’m up listening to old records, soothing myself with cool tunes, and creating this radio hour. I’m almost there. Where there is… might be at a relaxing poolside in a cozy lawn chair.
Could I write a requiem for you when you’re dead? / “She had the moves, she had the speed, it went to her head” / She never needed anyone to get her round the track / But when she’s on her back / She had the knowledge / To get her into college / But when she’s on her back / She had the knowledge / To get her what she wanted
The stars of track and field, you are / The stars of track and field, you are / The stars of track and field are beautiful people.
Best to my British friends on tomorrow’s soccer match. I had recorded the game the other day and watched in bed after a long day of music business hustle. As my wife and kitty softly crashed, I laid back and watched the English football team hang on to a 1-1 tie.
Even though this game had been played hours prior, I tapped into the feeling of British origins of hope and suspense. In a small way I was walking a tightrope between glory and gloom.
Eighty minutes into the match, coach Gareth Southgate took a leap of faith and subbed a young player for team captain and “futbol” legend Harry Kane. As the game approached its climax, I found myself reflecting on the unpredictability of sports, much like the thrill of non Gamstop casinos UK, where the unexpected can happen at any moment. At ninety minutes, Ollie Watkins became a legend! It’s only soccer, but it’s nice to know a prevailing wind can change.
Fell into a sea of grass / And disappeared among / The shady blades / Children all ran over me / Screaming tag / Hey you are the one
He trips her as her sandals fail / She says “Stop I’m a girl / Whose fingernails are made of mother’s pearl” / Yellow buttercup helicopters / Orange buttercat chasing after / The crazy bee mad about somebody
Me and my girlfriend / Don’t wear no shoes / Her nose is painted pepper sunlight / She loves me / I mean it’s serious / As serious can be
I kept my nose to the grindstone and worked hard this week. After last night’s Presidential debate it’s very clear that our future is uncertain. Today I am going to thank my lucky stars and surround myself with amazing songs, cool old friends, and family.
I’m just gonna let “summertime roll” and paint my nose with pepper sunlight.
Now when the water’s calm and everything is right / Ain’t no catfish gonna make us fight / Hold your sails to the wind and keep your ship in gear / ‘Cause if we sail together we got nothing to fear
You threw me your line and now you know I’m your bait / You got me hooked and line and sinker, let them other fish wait / Call me fin flappin’ mama who’s learnin’ to float / Hold on captain, you are rocking the boat / I need your power, it’s really outta sight / Let’s wade in the water where everything is right
Coming off the summer solstice and Juneteenth, there’s a bunch of stuff to “riff on” and dream about. I had a week filled with doctor and dentist check-ups booked months ago thinking I’d have the time once school broke for recess.
The week found my turntables bouncing from genre to genre. A client reminded me I turned her onto Marlena Shaw’s “California Soul.” When I dug the record out I ended up grooving on Shaw’s version of “Let’s Wade in The Water.” Now there’s a Juneteenth “spiritual.” Google says slaves used to use songs as instructions to escape to freedom.
I’m certainly looking for that “freedom.” Lord have mercy!
everyone loves you when you’re gone. / with five leaves left from the day / and no body wants to sing those songs / today it’ll be okay. / everytime your record skips / wish your drunk out of home / pushing and fighting with two fat lips / playing your fishes trombone / we’re all alone, cause no body cares. / so cmon love, cause no body wants to see you cry, kisses for the misses tonight.
Musically I’m all over the map this week. Old punk hippie indie sleaze baller. “Steady as I am.”
Last weekend my friend Archie and I rolled to SoCal’s latest festival No Values. Maybe for me it should have been called Nu Values. It was at the Pomona County Fairground and I’ve never seen such a big parking lot with so many fucking cars. They actually ran out of spaces by 4PM and had to park us on a race track! Although it was super long walk to the festival grounds, it was honestly pretty cool to drive and park on a raceway.
The festival-like week was filled with old friends. We watched our pals The Garden and found friends on the side of the stage watching The Damned. Some pals did a fine job playing in Iggy’s band, and Turnstile showed us why they are the rock band of the hour.
The golden age of rock and roll will never die / As long as the children feel the need to laugh and cry / Don’t wanna wreck, just recreation / Don’t wanna fight but if you turn us down / We’re gonna turn you ’round / Don’t mess with the sound / The show’s gotta move everybody groove / There ain’t no trouble on the streets now / So if the going gets rough don’t you blame us
Oh oh oh gotta stay young you can never grow old / Oh oh the golden age of rock and roll
It’s no secret that I’m a highly emotional and over sentimental rock ‘n’ roller. As my 15 year old son Jonah barks at me, “Dad, you old hippie. What, you gonna cry? Fucking pussy.” He’s not far off, ha ha! It’s my DNA make-up and it’s become clear that songs have the ability to transport my emotional state to a time and a place.
These last couple of weeks I’ve been triggered by a playlist I compiled of favorite albums from 1974. It’s totally insane, surreal and frightening that I’m recounting summers past in the late 1970s, but it’s the first week in June. Final exams have been taken, books, pencils, and computers tossed to the side. There is an exhale of relief… and then joy. The joy of possibility. The freedom of youth. I feel it, like voices on the wind.
A thin moon me in a smoke-screen sky / Where the beams of your love-light chase / Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t feel no pain / With the rain running down my face
Your matches still light up the sky / And many a tear lives on in my eye
Down in the city just Hoople and me / Don’t I love her so / Ooh Don’t I love him so
Hope you enjoyed Memorial Day weekend. My Idelic long weekend set was stymied again by tech issues on my computer, but thanks to a new friend my addiction to broadcasting continues. So here I am dropping records for imaginary lovers driving fearlessly into the desert night.
Being a Southern Californian, long summer weekends always have me reaching to classic rock for long drives. As I drove south, the radio was blaring hits from 1974—the year that found me wandering the streets of New York City. Record stores were plenty and essential. There was five shops within two blocks of our apartment.
My my my I’m so happy / We gonna join the band / We are gonna dance and sing in celebration / We’re in the promised land
Oh, there is a train that leaves the station / Heading for your destination / But the price you pay to nowhere has increased a dollar more / Yes, it has! / And if you walk you’re gonna get there / And though it takes a little longer / And when you see it in the distance you will wring your hands and moan
Yesterday was the son’s last day of 9th grade. Unlike his “idelic rock ‘n’ roll dad,” Jonah is not very sentimental.
Oh, that feeling of racing home to drop the needle on Alice Cooper, throwing on my favorite t-shirt, and heading to the school yards to party with my crew.
