This is one of those songs that has that build-up thing going. I don't know if there is a word for it, but it's when a song builds real nice to where it just gets you going and pulls you along with a kind of growing anticipation. Often these songs don't deliver after the build, but this one does. Another one is "Roadhouse Blues" from the Doors. I think these kind of songs are often what we think of as "road songs". I do have a weakness for them. LinkThe Doors' L.A. Woman is even better as a "build-up song." It's probably the best example of an orgasmic phase and refractory phase parlayed into song. Even if you've heard the song a million times, listen again beginning around the 5 min mark--the part where Morrison intones "Mr Mojo Risin" (anagram for Jim Morrison).
The video is pretty interesting too--kudos to the maker.
I put the lyrics after the jump, in case any are unclear.
Well, I just got into town about an hour ago
Took a look around, see which way the wind blow
Where the little girls in their Hollywood bungalows?
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light?
Or just another lost angel?
City of Night, City of Night,
City of Night, City of Night, woo, c'mon
L.A. Woman, L.A. Woman
L.A. Woman Sunday afternoon
L.A. Woman Sunday afternoon
L.A. Woman Sunday afternoon
Drive through your suburbs
Into your blues, into your blues, yeah
Into your blue-blue Blues
Into your blues, oh, yeah
I see your hair is burnin'
Hills are filled with fire
If they say I never loved you
You know they are a liar
Drivin' down your freeway
Midnight alleys roam
Cops in cars,
The topless bars
Never saw a woman...
So alone, so alone
So alone, so alone
Motel, money, murder, madness
Let's change the mood from glad to sadness
Mr. Mojo Risin', Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin', Mr. Mojo Risin'
Got to keep on risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin', Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mojo Risin', gotta Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin', gotta keep on risin'
Risin', risin'
Gone risin', risin'
I'm gone risin', risin'
I gotta risin', risin'
Well, risin', risin'
I gotta, wooo, yeah, risin'
Whoa, oh yeah
Well, I just got into town about an hour ago
Took a look around, see which way the wind blow
Where the little girls in their Hollywood bungalows?
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light?
Or just another lost angel?
City of Night, City of Night,
City of Night, City of Night, whoa, c'mon
L.A. Woman, L.A. Woman
L.A. Woman, you're my woman
Little L.A. Woman, Little L.A. Woman
L.A. L.A. Woman Woman
L.A. Woman c'mon
5 comments:
Progression. Bolero is pure progression. The movie "10" ruined it. Now it's associated with mid-life crisis and massive sexual confusion and upheaval combined with inept sexually predatory impulses clumsily pursued. And money. Eso fue entonces las tetas grandes y saltos eran reales confiabilidad that was when big and bouncy breasteses were reliably real.
But tetas is not what I'm here for. I came to check timing and availability.
You see, I was goofing around all day, a guest came over and she became curious about the whole place as women sometimes do and the things she remarked on were a bit odd and a bit frustrating because everything was so surface and so fast and skimming-like and that's frustrating.
There is a small planter pulled out of storage in the shape of king Tut's head that parents gave me along with bisque figure of Nefertiti. See? There I go with the the tetas again. Two unfinished clay objects I was expected to paint and fire, so I did. I still had access to the base at the time so I visited their hobbies place in their activities center, they always do have theses places to keep young men out of trouble best as they can but hardly anybody avails themselves of the ceramics things they can do. It's just not much of a thing. Nevertheless a large base will have a fully equipped place with all the molds, hundreds of those, even possibly two or more nativity sets, a couple kilns, silt the liquid clay used to pour into molds, liquid porcelains clay, various types underglaze paints, glazes and over glaze paints. The type paint I need is real flecks of gold suspended in blood. It looks like blood, and it applies as if you are painting blood. The gold powder evenly suspended looks red and it's thick and sticky. A very thin even coat is applied. The red burns off and the gold powder melts and if it messes up in any way it's YOUR FAULT. It can fail to fully melt out for being too thin, it can run and ruin your piece, it can become patchy, in my case it drizzled a faint rain from the car to the final firing and tiny dots show on the final piece other than that it look like pure gold because it is. The paint is expensive. Probably 10X now what I paid for it then. Good thing I have four extra bottles. They've very tiny bottles, you paint a thin layer over a clear glazed piece.
The other colors are lapis lazui blue and black. There is ruby red in the necklace. The thing looks f'n real. I did a very good job.
But I never liked it because it's so trite. My parents never did manage appropriate gifts for me. It's an impossible situation. I make it so. It just is. They tried so hard but they have no idea how trite the whole thing is. Honestly, this would have interested me at 9 or maybe at 10 but not at 21. The books are all elementary too. All beginner stuff.
The thing fell and bashed. Oops.
Now I can gouge its whole head out and make a hole to accept a 4" pot. I told my dad, "Now king Tut can wear fern on his head that )))zoing((( outrageously right out of his head *waves arms around head* and already had an outrageously stripped gold and blue headdress. The guy's a freak" and my dad burst out laughing at the thing being broken after all that. He found that terribly funny.
It's been in storage nearly a decade. I pulled it out and because of my Dad it's one of the few things that I kept.
The woman said, "So you like king Tut. So does my son" and honestly, what can I say to that when she's probably doing the surface thing with her son my parents did with me. Whatever her son's interest I'm imagining she will not keep up. For all I know her son is reading hieroglyphics by now.
So I said, "Yeah."
The fern died. The replacement plant died. The third plant died. Now it has a succulent. It's doing well but perchance it dies then the next plant is a cactus.
Apparently, The Doors had plans to tour with this song and the eponymous LP. It required additional musicians--one to play bass and another to free Robbie Krieger from overdubbed lead and rhythm guitars.
I realize that the whole progression/climax structure is common to other music (and indeed other art genres).
For example, in my own iTunes library I have Death of Fiona.
The "Death of Fiona" song (and scene) may have just been a nod to Hitchcock's "The Man Who Knew Too Much."
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