Seasons in the Sun
- Who Shot Sam?
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Seasons in the Sun
Great piece from Slate about the strange appeal of Terry Jacks' god-awful 1970s hit. I didn't realize that all of these artists had covered it, but now I'm almost tempted to seek out a few of these versions to see what they sound like and just how cringeworthy they are (John Doe, how could you?). I also didn't realize that the song was derived from Jacques Brel's "Le Moribond" - while I know a lot of his other work, that's one tune I've not heard...
music box
Goodbye, Papa, It's Hard To Die
The enduring appeal of an abominable pop song.
By James Sullivan
With its outtakes, rarities, and B sides, the long-awaited Nirvana boxed set turned out to be the table scraps of a once-bountiful buffet. There is one moment, however, that's well worth seeking out: a ghostly rendition of the infamous pop hit "Seasons in the Sun." Fittingly, it comes at the end. A video clip from 1993 shows the trio struggling grimly with the song in a studio in Rio de Janeiro. Having switched roles—Kurt Cobain on drums, Dave Grohl on bass, Krist Novoselic on guitar—they exhibit a funereal seriousness that might reflect their lack of skills on unfamiliar instruments. It's more tempting, though, to believe that impossibly maudlin tune is hitting them right in the gut.
For those of a certain age, Terry Jacks' 1974 chart-topper "Seasons in the Sun" remains an unsurpassed nadir of pop music. There was, to be sure, stiff competition at the time—Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again (Naturally)," Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods' "Billy, Don't Be a Hero." During those mid-Watergate weeks and months, the whole country seemed eager to wallow in tuneful misery. "We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun/ But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time," sings Jacks, puckering up on every syllable. The singer addresses his friend, his father, and his lover as he prepares to die of unspecified causes—assuming, that is, that "too much wine and too much song" isn't a diagnosis. In his epic bad-song survey, Dave Barry put "Seasons in the Sun" in a class of its own, and voters emphatically agreed. Yet Nirvana is hardly the only band to cover the tune—there's been a recent revival of sorts. If it's so universally despised, then why does this song refuse to die?
Part of the allure, at least for connoisseurs of Continental cool, is the song's source. The lyrics, written by the mass-market poet Rod McKuen, are a translation of the French tune "Le Moribond" ("The Dying Man") by Jacques Brel. Born in Brussels, Brel was a family man and cardboard-factory worker until his breakthrough in the 1950s. In the clubs of Paris, he became a hipster chansonnier, a cabaret hero with the dash of a nouvelle vague leading man. Routinely compared with Dylan despite his overt theatricality, Brel, with his storytelling style and his world-weary melodramatics, was an inspiration for David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, and many others.
Brel's original 1961 delivery of "Le Moribond" is idiosyncratic, almost jazzy, despite being set to a rigid martial tempo. By contrast, Jacks sings it as if he's following the bouncing ball. As the story goes, Jacks discovered the song on an old Kingston Trio album and brought it to a Beach Boys session he was producing. The Boys cut a demo but declined to release it, leaving Jacks to record it himself. The production was poky and very AM-radio, but the power-chord pioneer Link Wray supposedly played the opening electric guitar riff. The resulting single sold millions.
The more elusive part of the song's appeal lies somewhere between the cradle and the grave. In Jacks' twee version, the melody is reduced to a hectoring nursery-school simplicity, yet the subject is the heaviest of them all—going off to ride the big teeter-totter in the sky. Kurt Cobain, quintessentially conflicted, clearly loved "Seasons in the Sun" despite his aversion to sentimentality. (The Terry Jacks 45 was the first record he ever bought.) He certainly wasn't alone.
On a new limited-edition single, the L.A. punk holdout John Doe covers the song straight, with no hint of a snicker and no fear of the schmaltz. A sneaky theremin tweaks the role of the angels' chorus, but it's almost as if Doe were auditioning as Jacks. England's Black Box Recorder, featuring former members of the Auteurs and the Jesus and Mary Chain, covered the song faithfully, too. Their version followed yet another reverent reading, turned in by the Dublin boy band Westlife, that went to No. 1 on the U.K. pop charts.
If some bands bring no irony to the song whatsoever, others have predictably played it for broad laughs. Blink-182 has been known to mangle it in their live shows. The Scarsdale knuckleheads Too Much Joy couldn't resist; neither could the campy Cali-punk cover band Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. The Brooklyn Francophiles Les Sans Culottes give the song a psychedelic-lounge spin that goes all frantic at the finish.
However we hear the song—as a heartbreaking suicide note or an unforgivably mawkish tug on our emotions—it remains lodged in the collective cranium. "Strange how potent cheap music is," Noel Coward once remarked. The secret of the enduring appeal of "Seasons in the Sun" is just that simple. How will we face our own final days—with grace, humility, a defensive sneer, or a loud guffaw? It's a sad song about death, and death gets us every time.
James Sullivan is a former critic and reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle. He is currently writing a book on the cultural history of blue jeans.
music box
Goodbye, Papa, It's Hard To Die
The enduring appeal of an abominable pop song.
By James Sullivan
With its outtakes, rarities, and B sides, the long-awaited Nirvana boxed set turned out to be the table scraps of a once-bountiful buffet. There is one moment, however, that's well worth seeking out: a ghostly rendition of the infamous pop hit "Seasons in the Sun." Fittingly, it comes at the end. A video clip from 1993 shows the trio struggling grimly with the song in a studio in Rio de Janeiro. Having switched roles—Kurt Cobain on drums, Dave Grohl on bass, Krist Novoselic on guitar—they exhibit a funereal seriousness that might reflect their lack of skills on unfamiliar instruments. It's more tempting, though, to believe that impossibly maudlin tune is hitting them right in the gut.
For those of a certain age, Terry Jacks' 1974 chart-topper "Seasons in the Sun" remains an unsurpassed nadir of pop music. There was, to be sure, stiff competition at the time—Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again (Naturally)," Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods' "Billy, Don't Be a Hero." During those mid-Watergate weeks and months, the whole country seemed eager to wallow in tuneful misery. "We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun/ But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time," sings Jacks, puckering up on every syllable. The singer addresses his friend, his father, and his lover as he prepares to die of unspecified causes—assuming, that is, that "too much wine and too much song" isn't a diagnosis. In his epic bad-song survey, Dave Barry put "Seasons in the Sun" in a class of its own, and voters emphatically agreed. Yet Nirvana is hardly the only band to cover the tune—there's been a recent revival of sorts. If it's so universally despised, then why does this song refuse to die?
Part of the allure, at least for connoisseurs of Continental cool, is the song's source. The lyrics, written by the mass-market poet Rod McKuen, are a translation of the French tune "Le Moribond" ("The Dying Man") by Jacques Brel. Born in Brussels, Brel was a family man and cardboard-factory worker until his breakthrough in the 1950s. In the clubs of Paris, he became a hipster chansonnier, a cabaret hero with the dash of a nouvelle vague leading man. Routinely compared with Dylan despite his overt theatricality, Brel, with his storytelling style and his world-weary melodramatics, was an inspiration for David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, and many others.
Brel's original 1961 delivery of "Le Moribond" is idiosyncratic, almost jazzy, despite being set to a rigid martial tempo. By contrast, Jacks sings it as if he's following the bouncing ball. As the story goes, Jacks discovered the song on an old Kingston Trio album and brought it to a Beach Boys session he was producing. The Boys cut a demo but declined to release it, leaving Jacks to record it himself. The production was poky and very AM-radio, but the power-chord pioneer Link Wray supposedly played the opening electric guitar riff. The resulting single sold millions.
The more elusive part of the song's appeal lies somewhere between the cradle and the grave. In Jacks' twee version, the melody is reduced to a hectoring nursery-school simplicity, yet the subject is the heaviest of them all—going off to ride the big teeter-totter in the sky. Kurt Cobain, quintessentially conflicted, clearly loved "Seasons in the Sun" despite his aversion to sentimentality. (The Terry Jacks 45 was the first record he ever bought.) He certainly wasn't alone.
On a new limited-edition single, the L.A. punk holdout John Doe covers the song straight, with no hint of a snicker and no fear of the schmaltz. A sneaky theremin tweaks the role of the angels' chorus, but it's almost as if Doe were auditioning as Jacks. England's Black Box Recorder, featuring former members of the Auteurs and the Jesus and Mary Chain, covered the song faithfully, too. Their version followed yet another reverent reading, turned in by the Dublin boy band Westlife, that went to No. 1 on the U.K. pop charts.
If some bands bring no irony to the song whatsoever, others have predictably played it for broad laughs. Blink-182 has been known to mangle it in their live shows. The Scarsdale knuckleheads Too Much Joy couldn't resist; neither could the campy Cali-punk cover band Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. The Brooklyn Francophiles Les Sans Culottes give the song a psychedelic-lounge spin that goes all frantic at the finish.
However we hear the song—as a heartbreaking suicide note or an unforgivably mawkish tug on our emotions—it remains lodged in the collective cranium. "Strange how potent cheap music is," Noel Coward once remarked. The secret of the enduring appeal of "Seasons in the Sun" is just that simple. How will we face our own final days—with grace, humility, a defensive sneer, or a loud guffaw? It's a sad song about death, and death gets us every time.
James Sullivan is a former critic and reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle. He is currently writing a book on the cultural history of blue jeans.
Mother, Moose-Hunter, Maverick
Thanks for posting this, Mr. Sam.
If I remember a song so clearly, after so many years, can it really be bad?
I have clear memories of hearing this one at good ol' Mar Vista elementary, and hearing my budding critic friends say how bad it was. If it was so bad, I wondered, then why can't I stop listening?
If I remember a song so clearly, after so many years, can it really be bad?
I have clear memories of hearing this one at good ol' Mar Vista elementary, and hearing my budding critic friends say how bad it was. If it was so bad, I wondered, then why can't I stop listening?
http://www.forwardtoyesterday.com -- Where "hopelessly dated" is a compliment!
- Boy With A Problem
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Phlegmy bubblegum - like something your cat might cough up and leave for you to step on.
However, in Van Buren, Missouri, in 1974, if you were to play this for you and your girlfriend to skate to at the roller rink, it would probably mean that afterwards you two would go outside to neck. Leslie Dorris, I miss you.
However, in Van Buren, Missouri, in 1974, if you were to play this for you and your girlfriend to skate to at the roller rink, it would probably mean that afterwards you two would go outside to neck. Leslie Dorris, I miss you.
Like me, the "g" is silent.
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So, you're saying that "Afternoon Delight," "Along Again, Naturally" and the immortal "Jeans On" weren't good?
http://www.forwardtoyesterday.com -- Where "hopelessly dated" is a compliment!
- Boy With A Problem
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I have the Rhino box - "Have A Nice Decade" - it's amazing how many of these songs are better or worse than you remember -
Better -
Seasons In The Sun
Alone Again (Naturely)
Smokin' In The Boys Room
Midnight At The Oasis
Mr. Big Stuff
Bertha Butt Boogie
Jackie Blue
Bad Blood
The Night The Lights When Out In Georgia
Frankenstein
Worse -
The Night Chicago Died
Joy To The World
Feelings
Billy Don't Be A Hero
The Candy Man
Afternoon Delight
Sometimes When We Touch
A Horse With No Name
Brand New Key
One Tin Soldier
Better -
Seasons In The Sun
Alone Again (Naturely)
Smokin' In The Boys Room
Midnight At The Oasis
Mr. Big Stuff
Bertha Butt Boogie
Jackie Blue
Bad Blood
The Night The Lights When Out In Georgia
Frankenstein
Worse -
The Night Chicago Died
Joy To The World
Feelings
Billy Don't Be A Hero
The Candy Man
Afternoon Delight
Sometimes When We Touch
A Horse With No Name
Brand New Key
One Tin Soldier
Everyone just needs to fuckin’ relax. Smoke more weed, the world is ending.
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It's like this band called Smokie, which was huge in Poland in late 70's.
I know their songs are kitsch and cheesy, but I can't help singing along " ooh, I don't know why she's leaving, or where she's gonna go, I guess she's got her reasons, but I just don't want to know" when I hear it on the radio.
I know their songs are kitsch and cheesy, but I can't help singing along " ooh, I don't know why she's leaving, or where she's gonna go, I guess she's got her reasons, but I just don't want to know" when I hear it on the radio.
If you don't know what is wrong with me
Then you don't know what you've missed
Then you don't know what you've missed
- Who Shot Sam?
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You mean these guys (gotta love the hair - right up there with REO Speedwagon)?:invisible Pole wrote:It's like this band called Smokie, which was huge in Poland in late 70's.
I know their songs are kitsch and cheesy, but I can't help singing along " ooh, I don't know why she's leaving, or where she's gonna go, I guess she's got her reasons, but I just don't want to know" when I hear it on the radio.
http://www.smokie.co.uk/band/index.asp
Mother, Moose-Hunter, Maverick
BWAP --
Hey, I like "Brand New Key" and "One Tin Soldier" (though I can't agree with it's statement that it's okay to hate my neighbor, and perfectly acceptable to cheat a friend).
Nevertheless, I must admit that sometimes when we touch, the honesty really is too much.
Hey, I like "Brand New Key" and "One Tin Soldier" (though I can't agree with it's statement that it's okay to hate my neighbor, and perfectly acceptable to cheat a friend).
Nevertheless, I must admit that sometimes when we touch, the honesty really is too much.
http://www.forwardtoyesterday.com -- Where "hopelessly dated" is a compliment!
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Who Shot Sam ? wrote :
You've never heard "Living Next Door To Alice", "Mexican Girl" or "I'll Meet You At Midnight" ?
Yep, but this is not the original line-up from the 70's.You mean these guys (gotta love the hair - right up there with REO Speedwagon)?:
http://www.smokie.co.uk/band/index.asp
You've never heard "Living Next Door To Alice", "Mexican Girl" or "I'll Meet You At Midnight" ?
If you don't know what is wrong with me
Then you don't know what you've missed
Then you don't know what you've missed
- Boy With A Problem
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bobster wrote -
"Don't Look Ethel!"
ha ha - I think it's a case of attempted irony - I just looked and One Tin Soldier is subtitled - The Legend Of Billy Jack -though I can't agree with it's statement that it's okay to hate my neighbor, and perfectly acceptable to cheat a friend
"Don't Look Ethel!"
Everyone just needs to fuckin’ relax. Smoke more weed, the world is ending.
- Boy With A Problem
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and then WSS wroteinvisible Pole wrote:
It's like this band called Smokie, which was huge in Poland in late 70's.
I know their songs are kitsch and cheesy, but I can't help singing along " ooh, I don't know why she's leaving, or where she's gonna go, I guess she's got her reasons, but I just don't want to know" when I hear it on the radio.
The guitarist, Mike, lists Bryan Adams and Elvis Costello as two of his favorite artists - others cited by members of the band - Syxx, Journey, Kenny G and Sting. You can't make this shit up (well, you probably can actually)You mean these guys (gotta love the hair - right up there with REO Speedwagon)?:
http://www.smokie.co.uk/band/index.asp
Everyone just needs to fuckin’ relax. Smoke more weed, the world is ending.
Recently saw "South Pacific" as part of the research for my musicals magnum opus. Boy, is that a dull movie!Boy With A Problem wrote:I just looked and One Tin Soldier is subtitled - The Legend Of Billy Jack -
"Don't Look Ethel!"
And, naturally, there was Billy Jack himself, Tom Laughlin, as a pilot. A thoroughly non-engaging cinema presense. I kept hoping he would get up and say how bad violence was, while kicking the crap out of someone.
BTW -- I've never actually seen "Billy Jack" -- even as a child, I had moviegoing standards!
And also BTW...did they call YOU the streak?
http://www.forwardtoyesterday.com -- Where "hopelessly dated" is a compliment!
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- ReadyToHearTheWorst
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It seems that persons hereabouts might appreciate these collections of 'naff' hits:
Guilty Pleasures
and
Guilty Pleasures Rides Again
Gems by Starland Vocal Band, Alessi, Andrew Gold & more abound.
Guilty Pleasures
and
Guilty Pleasures Rides Again
Gems by Starland Vocal Band, Alessi, Andrew Gold & more abound.
"I'm the Rock and Roll Scrabble champion"
Try Born Losers. It's a prequel of sorts - major guilty pleasure damage.BTW -- I've never actually seen "Billy Jack" -- even as a child, I had moviegoing standards!
SPSeasonsInTheSunDisc