Swamp Rabbit was at my shack waiting to welcome me home from a long road trip that ended on the treacherous backstreets of York, PA. I drove through an intersection with a sudden slope and the car came down hard on its front end, causing the oil pan to spring a leak. But that’s a long story for another time…
The good news was that I was back at the shack, a day late for Valentine’s Day, but not too late to send some belated valentines to victims of unrequited or insufficient love, especially those of you in the Philadelphia area whose hearts were broken by the Eagles’ loss a few days before, on Super Bowl Sunday.
“You got any love songs by Rihanna on that playlist?” Swamp Rabbit asked. “She was a big hit at the Super Bowl.”
“I saw her, but I couldn’t tell one song from another. I don’t think she did her most heartfelt love song — ‘Bitch Better Have My Money.'”
“Very funny, Odd Man. I should say old man. Ain’t nothin’ on your list from the 21st century, I bet.”
He had me there. I selected the Stones, Aretha, the Beatles and the Supremes from the 1960s. Suzanne Vega from the ’90s. Only one post-2000 number. The songs are more about power dynamics than about love. They’re often about the aftermath of love, when lovers become disillusioned and stop being nice. I’m looking through you, where did you go?
“Check out the segue from “Tattooed Love Boys” to Bacharach/David’s “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again,” I said. “Variations on the same theme.”
“Ain’t no way them songs are like each other, ‘cept in your sick mind.”
“Exactly, Rabbit. As I said last year, make you own list if you don’t like mine.”
Odd Man Out 
Who is Rihanna?
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I left a comment but didn’t see it. I had heard of Rihanna but don’t know anything about her. The news in my phone won’t let up about her superbowl gig.
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Rihanna is a big star, top of the pops. She performed at the Super Bowl halftime show, pregnant and surrounded by dancers who wore baggy whites and were supposed to be sperm cells, I think, like in that old Woody Allen movie. She did a lot of slouching and crotch-grabbing and looked like the Aztec goddess of indolence, or something. Some deep shit, man.
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Whoa.. ‘Sweaters.’ Always struck me as incredibly sad, especially since I distinctly remember someone from my past and the first time I realized I hated him. It was, of course, the first time I said, “I hate that fucking sweater.” It had chess pieces on it and was kind of puke green and maybe blue? Anyway, I must have listened to her “Big Science” CD a millions times driving back and forth between Philly and AC. Your musical recommendations always kept me guessing – and growing.
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Yes, that first album of hers was great, wasn’t it? Very spooky when you’re on the road at night. Like driving into the void.
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