Sister Golden Hair

So apparently Gerry Beckley wrote this song with Jackson Browne in mind. Which is interesting and might go some way towards explaining why it's America's least-bad hit, lyrically. (Talk about damning with faint praise.)

But also amazing when you compare it to Browne's then-current work: he would have released Late for the Sky the year before, home to the staggeringly brilliant "Fountain of Sorrow," and was working on The Pretender. Which, I mean. It's not my favorite of Browne's 70s work—in fact, it's probably my least favorite. But it's "The Fuse" and "Here Comes Those Tears Again" and, oh yes, the phenomenal title track.

And from that we get...this. Which, as this dandy cover makes plain, is—don't get me wrong—delightful, with its crazily catchy melody, neat chord changes, and lyrics that are, by America's (very, very low) standards, pretty okay.

But Jackson Browne they ain't. Still, not everything needs to be. I suppose.

Waterloo Sunset

Nothing revelatory in this cover, at least, not in the sense that it sheds light on the composition. But it is revelatory in how much it would seem to indicate Jackson Browne learned from Ray Davies. Other than the fact that so much of the song—which is to say any of the song—focuses on external characters, this sounds like it could have been written by Browne, down to the melody.

Brothers Under the Bridge

If someone'd asked me what Bruce Springsteen song David Lindley and Jackson Browne'd be most likely to cover, this wouldn't have been amongst my first 50 guesses. And yet it works beautifully. Obviously, Lindley can make pretty much anything sound good, but this straightforward take works, and Lindley's vocals fit the song perfectly, with spare but sweet harmonies from Browne. And, honestly, Lindley looks like he could be one of the characters in the song.

Come Veterans' Day I sat in the stands in my dress blues 

I held your mother's hand when they passed with the red, white and blue 

One minute you're right there 

Then something slips

The Road and the Sky

For my peeps on the east coast. Stay dry, my friends.

Now can you see those dark clouds gathering up ahead? 
They're going to wash this planet clean like the Bible said 
Now you can hold on steady and try to get ready 
But everybody's gonna get wet 
Don't think it won't happen just because it hasn't happened yet

My 25 Favorite Songs, Part II

20) “Bad”— U2, 1985. A terrifyingly gripping song, mixing tragedy and hope in one six-minute swell. I never wanted to like U2 in the mid-80s when they started to get huge—just because, I guess. But watching Bono do this at LiveAid led to a grudging “Mm hmm” from me. And then watching it a few years later during Rattle and Hum put me over the edge. No pun intended (heh...The Edge. Heh.) Anyway, it's symphonic in the way it builds to a climax and then lets up very slowly, very deliberately. Sad and astonishing. “True colors fly in blue and black, blue silken sky and burning flak.”



19) “Red Shoes”—Elvis Costello, 1977. Geek bravado at its apex. As a geek who likes to think he’s brave (I’m not), it kinda speaks to me. Usually saying, “Get out of my face.” But still I love the way it smiles and hisses at the same time. “I used to be disgusted, now I try to be amused.”



18) “America”—Simon and Garfunkel, 1968. In college I took off one night on a plane ride halfway across America and spent a couple of days on the road, from Texas out to New Mexico, searching for…something. I never found it, and neither does the narrator of this song. But the search for something real and personal continues, Paul Simon put together a travelogue of the soul here. “'Kathy, I’m lost,’ I said, though I knew she was sleeping.”



17) “Me and Bobbi McGee”— Kris Kristofferson, 1971. This probably should be higher, but being on this list should be good enough for now. It’s Jack Kerouac condensed to four lovable minutes. And it’s a genuine piece of my childhood—on every car trip we’d take as a family, my parents had this playing on the tapedeck. It’s now embedded, as it should be. Love, adventure, and loss without regrets, a landmark tale of affection that takes us straight across the U.S.A. “I’d trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday, holding Bobbi’s body next to mine.”



16) “The Pretender”—Jackson Browne, 1976. The man knew pain. And he knew how to write about it. Self-deprecating and self-realizing without an ounce of self-pity. My favorite Jackson Browne song. “We’ll get up and do it again. Amen.”