Francis Dunnery "I Believe I Can Change My World"

I posted a song for Ghandi's birthday earlier this month, and my friend Ross asked about other songs that talk about Ghandi.  This tune popped to mind, because it includes the short line:

"I believe in Mahatma Ghandi, when non-violence was his faith."

But what this song makes me think of, is Betty Friedan.


I had this enormous, out-of-control crush on a girl.  I mean I'd had crushes before, but this one just felt irrational.  I just couldn't even think straight in front of this girl.  Logically, I couldn't explain it---she was pretty and smart and funny, but she wasn't superhuman or anything.  I think my friends understood why I liked her, but found my reaction to her to be a bit over the top.  Like those old episodes of South Park where one of the kids like a girl so much that every time he talks to her, he vomits.  It wasn't healthy.

I made her a mixed tape.  Because that is the kind of thing you did back in my day.

I was such a completist (nerd), that I even wrote liner notes when I made a mixed tape for someone.  For some people, it would be a way to let them know more about this artist (this was pre-Google).  In other instances, it was to tell them what I thought about the tune (this was pre-Blog).  And in this particular case, I wrote about why I had included each particular song.  Most of the song had been chosen based on something we had previously talked about---an artist or an idea or whatever.

For this tune, my only note was "Betty Friedan."

After she had listened to the tape, she thanked me and told me what she liked about it.  But she also had a question.

"Why did you write just 'Betty Friedan' about that song?"

"Because the song mentions Betty Friedan."

(The actual line is: "I believe in Betty Friedan, Gertrude Lawrence and Rosa Parks/I believe in Margaret Sanger, Mary Magdalene and Joan of Arc")

"Uh-huh . . ."

"And we had the conversation?"

"Uh . . ."

"About Betty Friedan . . ."

And suddenly, a clear transmission broke though the interference that typically plagued my brain functioning whenever I was around this girl.  I realized something:

She was not paying attention to and obsessing over every minute detail of every conversation that we'd been having.

In my clarity, I replayed in my head the moment that had led me to include the song, due to its mentioning of Betty Friedan.  I could now see that it hadn't been a conversation.  More like a scrap of dialogue.  Relatively forgettable.

She said something about someone making an inaccurate, and ill-argued reference to Betty Friedan in a class she was taking.  That's it.  And she said it in a funny way.  Because she actually was a pretty funny person.

Somehow in my addled brain, I had built it up to be a monumental, or at least memorable, conversation.  Our dialogue, like this song, had felt frenetic and densely packed with meaning.

It wasn't.  It was a barely registering blip on her radar.

And with that, I was rational enough to know that I was irrational, and clear headed enough to know that I had not been viewing the reality, clearly.

I knew I couldn't change my reaction to her---it was something weirdly physiological.  And I knew I wasn't likely to change her view of me to something that matched my level . . .

I took my next cue, from the same song.

"I believe in Cat Stevens, when he said 'I have to go.'"


Hear the song on Youtube.

Francis Dunnery "Father And Son"

Here's a Father's Day Weekend Post:

"You will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not."

I'm soaking in the goodness of today's Father's Day, knowing in the back of my head, that I won't always be a rock star/genius in the eyes of my kids, and that being a Dad will someday mean dispensing advice that is unwelcome, unappreciated, and at times, unheard.

But today, I get pancakes, and a rock with "Dad" painted on it!


A thought about this version . . . I love how Dunnery, even better than Cat Stevens, alters his voice from Father to Son.


Hear the song on Youtube.

Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.

Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show.  They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.

Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.

Francis Dunnery “Good Life”

Call it the 3rd Act Problem.

I read The AV Club pretty regularly, and they had a pretty interesting piece, where they asked the writers on the site to name a movie that was great for the first two-thirds, but blew it in the final stretch.

Some of the films failed because they switched tone, or had an improbable or cloying plot twist. For whatever reason, the film, which had been on it’s way to becoming a fave, fell flat.

I don’t think “Good Life” falls flat. I think it’s a great song, through and through. But I can’t quite connect, because of a 3rd Act problem.

I’m with the song in the first verse. It’s a break-up song, and I really like the gentle, realistic scene it portrays. It’s not a “fuck you you fucking Fuck” break-up tune. He simply says “I’m not meant for you and you’re not meant for me.” And he wishes her happiness and good relationships going forward.

That’s me. I worked hard to burn few bridges in my life. And I have rarely heard that reflected in song.

So in the middle of "Good Life," he gets married to someone, but he tells his old girl that there’s someone for her, and she’ll be okay.

I’m still with him. I wish nothing but the best for the people of my past.

But here comes the 3rd Act.

Now she’s married with children, and suddenly he’s overcome with regret, and suddenly he’s calling her on the phone. He still wishes her a good life, but the strummy tone of the song, goes from sweet and wistful, to smelling a little to much like self-pity. He wants her back, but it's too late.

And while that's a real scene for many folks---wanting the girl back---I'm happy to say that I don't have any regrets. I'm married and have kids and have been happy to live in the universe of the second verse.

This is a song that could potentially remind me of a number of ex’s, but I can’t claim it. It belongs to Francis. He takes it back in the 3rd Act.

Francis Dunnery “Heartache Reborn”Pretenders "Show Me"

There are lots of sentimental reasons to resist technology.

Just the other day, I was wondering about album art, and if it will be a lost art, now that the world increasingly buys their music in mp3 form, sans packaging.

But as a DJ, there are plenty of good reasons to happily say goodbye to the package.

This weekend, I was hosting a remote broadcast for the station. I was on the mainland, and Greg Martino, weekend DJ, was controlling things back at the station. As is the plan, we each had a copy of the list of songs to be played during my broadcast, so he could spin the discs, and I could come on the air an announce the songs, and do my shtick.

In the middle of the broadcast, I heard a song I didn't recognize. I looked on my list, then gave Greg a call.

"Should you be playing 'Show Me' by The Pretenders?"

"I am," he said, suddenly not so sure. "Track 5."

This was definitely not Chrissie Hynde singing.

When the song ended, he pulled the disc out of the player. "Gulley Flats Boys."

"Francis Dunnery! I've been looking for that!"

For the last 2 years, atop CD Player #2 in the mvyradio studio, has sat the Francis Dunnery album "The Gulley Flats Boys." Just the case. The CD had disappeared.

Saturday, when Greg had reached into The Pretenders' CD case, he assumed he was pulling out a Pretenders CD. He never looked at the label. He was spinning "Heartache Reborn" off the Dunnery CD, instead of "Show Me" off the Pretenders CD.

Fortunately, The Pretenders CD was also stuffed in the Pretenders case, so nothing is lost.

But this never happens with MP3s.

So for today, I'm not a Luddite.




Pretenders


Francis Dunnery