Billboard Top 100 = No! (though it did hit #3 in Canada in 1994):  Lyrics = A+, Music = B, Memories = C, GPA = 3.11.

We continue our study of ballads by reviewing "Jane" by the Barenaked Ladies (listen to a snipped here, from Amazon.com).

Remember, when we reviewed "Picture Postcards From LA" by Joshua Kadison, we noted that all ballads must have an "inflection point" in order to be discussed on Life 'n Lyrics.  Jane fits this criteria perfectly!

Let's begin our study of the song.

The girl works at the store, sweet Jane St. Clair
Was dazzled by her smile while I shopped there
It wasn't long before I lived with her
I sang her songs while she dried my hair

Well, this Jane person sounds nice, with a nice smile.  I'm thinking that the person who wrote this song omitted a few things between her smile and the fact that he somehow ended up living with her, but we'll give this transgression a pass.

And then, the tone changes a bit.

Jane, divided, but I can't decide which side I'm on
Jane decided only cowards stay, while traitors run
Jane, Jane

Why is Jane divided?  What's up with traitors, anyway?  Did men mistreat Jane in the past?

The next verse offers the inflection point.

I'd bring her gold and frankincense and myrrh
She thought that I was making fun of her
She made me feel I was fourteen again
That's why she thinks it's cooler if we'd just stay friends

Jane, Jane 

What?

Any guy who has been in love knows what it is like to feel fourteen again in the presence of a woman.  The song hits a high point at that very lyric.  And then, BAM, the bottom falls out of the song.

Jane doesn't think a man could ever be faithful
Jane isn't giving me a chance to be shameful   

So did Jane cut this relationship short, or did the guy who wrote this song give clues about forthcoming transgressions?

Now you're playing defense, and that's never going to turn out the way you want it to turn out.

I wrote a letter, she should have got it yesterday
That life could be better by being together
Is what I cannot explain to Jane

That's the big advantage to being married.  Somehow, you break through that invisible wall.  For whatever reason, she agrees that life could be better by being together.  Who knows what causes that switch to flip?

The girl works at the store, sweet Jane St. Clair
Still dazzled by her smile while I shoplift there
No promises as vague as Heaven
No Juliana next to my Evan
Jane, desired by the people at her school and work
Jane is tired, 'cause every man becomes a lovesick jerk

Jane, Jane

We leave with the revelation that Jane is one attractive lady, a woman who has been burned over and over again by various Men.  Men!  What's wrong with us?

Once again, we're dazzled by a ballad, a ballad that is defined by an inflection point.  All great ballads possess this wonderful attribute!

Billboard Top 100 #??? In 1994:  Lyrics = A+, Music = B, Memories = C, GPA = 3.11

We begin a study of ballads by reviewing "Picture Postcards From LA", by Joshua Kadison.

For a ballad to be included on "Life 'n Lyrics", there needs to be an inflection point, some place in the song where the story departs from the script, where things change.  This song has an inflection point! 

The first half of the song sets the stage.  We learn of a woman named "Rachel".  She's the waitress who wants to be a star!

I'm the piano player, down at Eddies' bar,
and Rachel she's the waitress who want to be a star.
She swears she's gonna make it, make it big someday,
and she'll send me picture postcards from L.A.
When it's time for closing I play while Rachel cleans.
She listens to my music, I listen to her dreams.
She swears she's gonna make it, she's going all the way,
and I say, "Send me picture postcards from L.A.
"Send me postcards from L.A. signed with love forevermore.
Picture postcards from L.A. to hang on my refrigerator door.
Rachel, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of the California sun."
When Rachel shares my pillow she always asks me things
like do I really think she's pretty, do I like the way she sings?
I don't know how to answer, so I always smile and say,
I say, "Send me picture postcards from L.A.
"Send me postcards from L.A. signed with love forevermore.
Picture postcards from L.A. to hang on my refrigerator door.
Rachel, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of the California sun.

Interestingly, the lyrics leave us with questions.  When Rachel asks the singer if he likes the way she sings, he doesn't give a direct answer.  Maybe this foreshadows things to come?

And then, the song builds, there's excitement, there's hope. 

Sometimes Rachel stands up in the middle of the bar
and does a scene from the late show.
We all clap our hands as she puts her apron on
and says "Next week, I'm gonna go."

Now you're probably thinking to yourself that Rachel is finally going to break out of this little dive that she works in.  Like so many people, she has dreams, and this feisty lady is actually going to act upon her dreams.

She'll even buy a ticket and pack her things to leave.
Though we all know the story we pretend that we believe.
But something always comes up, something always makes her stay.
And still no picture postcards from L.A.

Oh no.

I'll bet you know somebody like this, somebody who talks about hitting it big, and gets close to actually doing something about it, only to see inertia get in the way.

A great ballad needs to have an inflection point like this.

Send me postcards from L.A. signed with love forevermore.
Picture postcards from L.A. to hang on my refrigerator door.
Rachel, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of the California sun."
I'm the piano player down at Eddie's bar,
and Rachel she's the waitress who wants to be a star.

Now that's a salty ballad!  Rachel is still where she's always been.  We're left to wonder what becomes of her, though it isn't hard to predict.  And in a way, we're left to wonder what's up with this piano player, right?  Why is he playing piano at Eddie's bar, why isn't he doing something more significant with his life?

This is what a great ballad does.  A great ballad makes us think, it makes us ponder what is possible.  A great ballad requires contemplation.  It paints a picture that is vivid in our mind.

Billboard Top 100 = No Chance.  Lyrics = n/a, Music = B, Memories = A, GPA = 3.5.

Spring officially begins in the third week of March.

But if you live in the northern third of the United States, early Spring is a period of transition.  No leaves on the trees.  Brown grass.  Mud.  Rogue blizzards.  A high temperature of 49 degrees.

For many, the start of the baseball season represents the beginning of Spring.  Again, if you are in the northern third of the United States, early April baseball isn't a whole lot of fun.  Baseball wasn't meant to be played with snow flurries dancing about.  You shouldn't need to wear mittens at a baseball game!

The second weekend in April brings us what I consider to be the unofficial start of Spring. Yes, on the second weekend of April, we get to enjoy "The Masters", the first major golf tournament of the year.

The images we see when watching The Masters illustrate a stark contrast between Spring in the South, and the brown and mud that lingers in the North.  We see beautiful azaleas, green trees, and manicured fairways.

Every four or five years, The Masters coincides with Easter.  As a youngster, our family enjoyed Easter by watching The Masters.  An Uncle of mine was fond of golf, my cousin played golf, my brother was a very good golfer.  So The Masters brings back fond memories of family cheering Jack Nicholas, Seve Ballesteros, Tom Kite, Craig Stadler, Tom Watson, and others.

The winner of The Masters gets to wear a green jacket.  To me, the jacket is symbolic of Spring, a time when things become green once again.

It was back in 1997 that we saw Tiger Woods win The Masters.  Ever since then, you looked forward to a Sunday when Tiger was one shot ahead, or one shot behind.  This weekend, I'm not sure what we will be looking forward to when we see Tiger approach the first tee.  How will Verne Lundquist respond when Tiger birdies the 16th hole?

CBS plays a song from Dave Loggins (brother of Kenny Loggins), who once sang "Please Come To Boston".  These days, CBS plays the song a couple thousand times in the weeks leading up to the tournament.  Still, the first time you hear it, on Thursday afternoon as the scores are being posted, as the images of spring are celebrated on a high-definition television screen, you can't help but be optimistic that Spring is finally here, that five months of miserable weather are behind us.

Enjoy the song, and enjoy the fact that Spring is finally here!

Billboard Top 100 #44 in 1982:  Lyrics = B, Music = A-, Memories = A-, GPA = 3.44.

Has there ever been a song that stood the test of time better than this one?

And to think it was so underappreciated when it was released in 1982.  Come on, #44?  It didn't even get a chance to be on American Top 40.  What song would you rather listen to, "Key Largo" by Bertie Higgins (was #17 for the year) or this song?

The song appeared in the movie "Valley Girl" in 1983 ... if you want to see Nicholas Cage raw and unpolished, give Valley Girl a chance on Netflix ... or get the soundtrack, a soundtrack loaded with favorites.

Maybe you remember the song from "The Wedding Singer".  The best part of this scene is how the song dies out when the door is opened, then re-appears when the door is closed.

Or maybe you were like me.  Maybe you were there from the beginning, enjoying the original video.

Like most things that Todd Rundgren touched, the song is timeless.

But my favorite memory is from college.  On a random October afternoon, my wife-to-be appears in my dorm room, while this song is playing on the radio, and she says "Did you know that they played on the lawn at the dormitory down the street last Friday?"

Well, this was 1985.  Google wouldn't dominate the world for nearly twenty years.  You couldn't just do a search to see where/when they played.  I looked in the various campus newspapers ... nothing.  And yet, there was my wife-to-be, cheerfully proclaiming that people loved the show, dead-panning the whole thing, expressionless.

Of course I doubted her story.  Nobody could verify her story.  Of course, she would say that "nobody could deny her story".  And she said that without expression, too.

To this day, when "Love My Way" is on the radio or on VH1-Classic or is on my iPod, my wife reminds me of how I missed my chance to see the Psychedelic Furs in the dorms in 1985.

Billboard Top 100 #20 in 1975.  Lyrics = B+, Music = B, Memories = A, GPA = 3.44.

Sometimes a song takes you in a whole new direction.

It's February 2003.  My wife is away on a business trip.  I'm listening to one of the music stations on the satellite dish, and out of nowhere comes America and Daisy Jane.  I hadn't heard the song in ages!

A few days later, I'm visiting a corgi dog breeder, and one corgi keeps standing up, with mini-front legs gently touching my knees.  Well, it turns out that this dog is named "Feisty", and is the great-granddaughter of our dog, "Tally", who had passed away about three months ago.

Oh oh.

Two months later, we learned that Feisty was pregnant.  Somebody (me) thought it might be a good idea to raise a puppy.  So we decided to purchase a puppy from Feisty's litter.  If it was a girl, we'd name her "Daisy", because of the weekend when I heard the song "Daisy Jane" and then visited the dog breeder.

If the dog was a boy, well, that became more problematic.  We considered "Memphis", after the lyrics in the song "Flying me back to Memphis ... gotta find my Daisy Jane."

Feisty gave birth to just one puppy, a little boy, on May 16, 2003.  Almost immediately, we could tell that this dog wasn't a "Memphis", he was goofy, happy, jolly, uncoordinated, seemingly slow on the uptake.  He would be named "Bert", but his formal AKC registered name is "Flying Me Back To Memphis", in deference to the song that helped put us in touch with the dog that would give birth to Bert.

Fast forward seven years.  We plant Bert in a parking lot, and make our way to the ballroom of a Native American Casino, where America will play in front of a crowd of 1,500 58 year olds who are pumping nickels into slot machines in hopes of winning $1,009,000 like a woman won a few weeks ago.  These folks were pumping Miller Lite and Bud Lite into their tummies as well, hoping that the beverages wouldn't hinder their ability to win at the table games.  This is what America (the country) has come to ... if you're lucky enough to have a job, you paid taxes that were used to keep banks afloat so that bank execs could earn bonuses lending money to organizations that built casinos that enabled you to drain your remaining funds ... with the funds from the casino transferred to the banks in the form of interest payments, where the banks used the funds to hide massive amounts of debt in foreign countries in exchange for the rights to future lottery proceeds from foreign countries.

But I digress.

America (the band) is still performing, forty years after inception.  And the 1,500 58 year olds who showed up on this rainy Thursday evening were treated to the entire catalog of favorites.

Now, this video was shot four years ago, but it gives you an impression of what a live performance from a band touring for forty years sounds like. 

1,500 58 year olds didn't seem to care about the quality of the performance.  For ninety minutes and $45 and $6 of ticket fees and taxes, they were taken back to the early 1970s.  They could envision themselves driving down Ventura Highway, living during a time when it seemed like the Baby Boomer generation could change the world.  Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way, hence, the ninety minute escape.

One does wonder who of the current generation of musicians will have the ability to continue to tour in 2040?  I mean, can we expect to see "The Black Eyed Peas ... This Time It's For Real 2040 Tour"?  Or did the Baby Boomer generation take hold of a magical moment in time, allowing a band like America to perform 100 times a year, every year, for forty years?

Our little "Bert" is almost seven years old now.  We probably wouldn't have Bert if it weren't for America.  Music influences us in unique and anticipated ways.  I doubt America ever conceived that their 1975 hit would result in a family owning a Pembroke Welsh Corgi.

Billboard Top 100 #8 In 1980:  Lyrics = B, Music = B, Memories = B, GPA = 3.00.

The Eagles are touring again, thirty years after this song hit the charts.

Maybe you'd like to see them in concert.

If this were 2006, you could easily obtain a home equity line of credit to pay for the tickets.  When we looked for tickets, a pair of lower bowl seats at Key Arena sold for a week's after-tax wages at McDonalds.  That's right.  For 2% of your annual salary, you could pay for the right to see the legendary band perform 35 year old songs for a couple of hours.

Why are tickets that expensive?

I can't tell you why!  There's going to be a heartache tonight when people find out how much tickets cost.  One of these nights, people are going to stop paying these prices, they'll welcome a new kid in town, one who isn't interested in soaking the paying public.

Now honestly, if you want to enjoy life in the fast lane, you probably need to charge several hundred dollars a ticket.  But if I want to attend the concert, I have to pay a lot more than the face value of the tickets.  I have to stay overnight in a hotel.  California is a place where people can afford such luxuries, not the Pacific Northwest.

When you attend a concert, you want a peaceful, easy feeling, not the angst that comes with pricey tickets.  You don't want to be seated next to a witchy woman who you have to tell to take it easy.  You want to have fun.  And if you're not having fun, you can't hide your lyin' eyes, because you're in it for the long run.  You don't want to end up like some desperado who can't even enjoy a tequila sunrise.

Sure, you probably think I should just get over it, this anger only represents wasted time.  The band deserves the best of my love, after all, they provided us music fans with a myriad of memories.

Maybe you are right.  Anyway, the best tickets are already gone. 

Billboard Top 100 = #91 in 2010, Lyrics = A-, Music = B, Memories = C+, GPA = 3.00.

This three minute vacation takes much less than three minutes.  Today, I plugged my iPod into the car stereo, fired up this song, and within twenty seconds, my wife says "What the heck is this song?"

Go back to 1980.  There were only a handful of radio stations, and they generally all played the same thing.  You were all going to sit in the car and enjoy Bette Middler singing "The Rose" or "Coward of the Country" by Kenny Rogers, and you were all going to like it, no exceptions.  If you didn't like "Too Hot" by Kool & The Gang, you just waited for two months until it dropped off the charts.

These days, a new song gets ten or fifteen seconds, and if you perceive that it isn't any good, you zap it ... heck, there's 2,800 songs on your iPod that you've heard 10,000 times before, life is short and you don't have time to listen to something you don't want to hear, right?

But there is something to be said for repetition.  I heard this a half-dozen times before looking up the playlist on the radio station I was listening to.  Then I realized it was Pearl Jam.  Oh.  Then I listened to the lyrics.  Oh.  Then I downloaded the song from iTunes, and listened to the melody on my good headphones.  Good stuff!

It took a bit of practice.  I had to learn to like the song.  I'm not sure we have the patience to let songs grow on us anymore.

By the way, if you are on Twitter, click here, you can get a copy of the song for free.

Billboard Top 100 #13 in 2001:  Lyrics = B+, Music = A-, Memories = B, GPA = 3.33

Imagine.

It's a Saturday in summer, somewhere around 2:30pm in the afternoon.  Your eyes are closed.  Your headphones are on, and you are listening to "When It's Over" by Sugar Ray.  You are napping, lightly.  You hear the lyrics "... all my favorite TV shows have gone out the window."  Ain't that the truth?

And then you hear a horrible sound, distinctly louder than the music in the headphones ... the sound of two cars plowing into each other.

Looking out the window of our 7th floor condo, I see two cars, demolished, in the middle of an intersection of two busy streets.  One of the cars is upside down, wheels spinning.

"CALL 911" I screamed at my wife, who was already on her way to pick up a phone.

I ran out the door of the condo, pounded on the "L" button on the elevator, waited four or five seconds (which seemed more like four or five minutes).  Now I'm on the elevator, cruising to the Lobby floor.  The door opens.  I run, fast (though not nearly as fast as ten or fifteen years ago), shouting at the front desk person to call 911.  Out the front door I go, to the left, then another left, down a hill that is about 30 feet tall.

I arrive at the accident scene.

Three or four men are on their knees, trying to pull an elderly woman out of the back seat of the car that rolled over.  She's buckled in, upside down.  I'm on my knees now.  The elderly woman seems amazingly composed and patient, given her predicament.  One man holds her shoulders while another man unbuckles her seat belt.  A third man helps guide the woman through the broken passenger side rear window.  The woman is dragged out of the car as carefully as one can be in a moment of anxiety, and is carried over to the sidewalk.  A small gathering of maybe a dozen passers by clap.  The family of the woman hug her.  It looks like everybody is ok.

I sit down next to the woman, and ask her if she feels ok.  She tells me that she feels fine.  This comment is in stark contrast to her frail body, which is visibly shaking.  I put my left hand on her right hand, she grabs hold.  Her hand is freezing cold, and feels so fragile.  I tell the woman that help is coming, and truly it is coming, because you can hear the sirens a mile away.

She's still shaking.

In about a minute, EMTs arrive.  I tell the woman that everything is going to be ok.  The EMTs take over, you don't get in their way!  A policeman asks me what happened.

Everything is over in a few minutes.  I have no idea what happened to the men who helped the elderly woman out of the car.  Everybody disappears, the cars are towed out of the intersection, and broken glass is swept up .  Traffic begins to move again.  In some ways, it's like nothing ever happened.

I walk up the thirty foot hill, enter my condo, push "7" on the elevator selection panel, and head back to my condo, where my wife describes what she saw from high above.

That's what I think of when I hear "When It's Over" by Sugar Ray, a very listenable summertime fun song from 2001.

Video (parental discretion is advised) of Sugar Ray's "When It's Over".

Billboard Top 100 = n/a:  Lyrics = A-, Music = B, Memories = B, GPA = 3.22

Have you ever dined at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse?

This isn't a place for the faint of heart.  First of all, you're going to need to write a check from your home equity line of credit if you want to eat here.  A twenty ounce Porterhouse costs just shy of $1,295, and that's before you add side dishes to your dining experience.  Now, granted, these folks aren't going to serve you a small steak.  What you get is something so large that it cannot be stored in a meat locker.  I hear they use a giant kiln to prepare the petite version of the filet mignon.

In recessionary times (like the upcoming decade), one looks for value in a dining experience.  So Ruth's Chris Steakhouse isn't top of mind these days.

But it should be!

My wife and I walked past the front door of a Ruth's Chris and noticed the humble little sign ... "Happy Hour, 4-7 and 9-11".

Oh.

Turns out that you're in for a culinary surprise if you can find a table.  They have delicious sliders, caesar salads, wings, tiny nibblets of steak, fries, other appies, and cheap beer & wine.  Two people can literally fill their tummies and walk out feeling jolly for about $25.

And as you walk out of the restaurant, surprised that you didn't have to write a check out of the home equity line of credit, you'll hear this song from Adele:

Billboard Top 100 #27 in 1990:  Lyrics = A-, Music = B, Memories = B, GPA = 3.22.

Have you ever felt slighted?  Or disrespected in any way?

If you have, then the lyrics of "On My Way Up" are for you!

Back in 1990, I was interviewing for a new job.  One company flew me in for an interview, fed me a fancy steak dinner, put me up in a nice suite, and generally made me feel special.

The other company asked me to make a five hour drive in order to arrive for my 10:00am interview.  After six hours of meetings, the HR Executive thanked me for making the drive ... and then uttered the following sentence:  "On your way out of town, feel free to get yourself a hamburger at Hardees for dinner ... we'll be happy to pay for it."

After consuming a Mushroom 'n Swiss burger, I embarked on a five hour, 240 mile ride home ... the same ride I made in the pre-dawn hours earlier in the day.  You might say I had a bit of 'tude over the perceived interview slight.  At least I had an FM radio in my car.  And on the way home, as I passed through a half-dozen radio markets, I repeatedly enjoyed this song from Elisa Fiorillo.

The video is like many from the late 80s or early 90s (reference Paula Abdul, Karyn White, or Jody Whatley for examples ... the songs and videos are virtually indistinguishable with the benefit of hindsight ... future societies will view these gems and come to the conclusion that society actively participated in choreographed weekend dance parties held in buildings with perpetually open windows yielding moderate breezes and blowing drapery ... leaving the viewer hopelessly disoriented when seeing a live performance of the song on The Rick Dees Show ... yes, there was such a thing as The Rick Dees Show, where I saw Ms. Fiorillo perform, sans blowing drapery).

Well, all of that 'tude didn't make a difference ... the Mushroom 'n Swiss burger turned into a satisfying job.

But to this day, anytime I feel professionally slighted, I play "On My Way Up", filling my self full of 'tude!