It wasn’t luck that brought me back to the Warbler. It was deciding that I might go truly insane if I didn’t purchase a new laptop. You see, I had my previous laptop stolen, literally right from out of my hands, while writing what I had planned to become the next blog entry. I won’t go into the details here regarding the ensuing multi-block foot chase, the incompetent coppers, the weeks of reliving the experience, the 5 stages of grief, the impetuous decision to forgo replacing the laptop under the misguided (and overly dramatic) belief that, it too, will be stolen, like all important things in my life. But then, after listening to several hours of dharma talks on the perils of clinging and attachment, I said to myself, “Fuzzy, sure you can write by hand, in notebooks, like primitive man once did, but will that truly make you feel part of a community? Will those semi-legible scribbles be magically transported to the tubes and wires of the world wide web? It’s time to pull yourself up by your digital boot straps and search online for a great deal on a used laptop.” And so, dear readers, this is what I did, staying late at work to find my new box of words, certainly not using actual work time for said search, finally clicking the “purchase” button on my new baby, which is propped up on my lap this very moment, my starving fingers gliding across the keys like a dancing gazelle, the words birthing from my insides, covered in a gooey mixture of dusty bunnies and placenta.
Many, many songs have consumed my inner repeat button this past month, but none more so than Paul McCartney and Wings’ “With A Little Luck.” It’s such a hopeful, positive song, so much the opposite of what I have been feeling all month; perhaps it was my emotional resistance that had hardened the songs’ resolve to remain cycling in my cerebral cortex.
I do love this song and it had been a long while since I’d actually heard it. It wasn’t (at least I’m pretty sure) playing subtly in the background somewhere, infecting my brain. It wormed its way in naturally, a musical homeopathic tonic.
I just looked at the Wings’ Greatest Hits track list and I am pretty sure every other song on the album I have heard sometime this past year. Silly Love Songs. Live and Let Die. Jet. Band on the Run. Let ’em In. Uncle Albert. My Love. Amazing.
(And if you don’t own this album or have it on one of your newfangled digital streaming thingies, run-don’t walk-and get it now. It’s an essential album.)
But, this song, “With A Little Luck,” I have to say, it doesn’t hold up as well as the others. It’s probably the cheesy swirls of the keyboards–a sound that would become a popular setting on most organs, circa late 70’s early 80’s–that does it in for me. No, that’s overstating it. It’s precisely this sound that brings me back to 1978 when it was first released. I’m 11 years old, riding in the back seat of Brian Davidson’s Mom’s sky-blue Cadillac Eldorado convertible, on the way to Pomelo Elementary School, she’s chain smoking menthol Salems, Paul McCartney and Wings’ London Town blasts from the 8-track player, replacing Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, which had been the soundtrack the previous year. I thought Brian’s mom was so cool. When it was my mom’s turn to carpool us to school, if there was any music at all playing, chances were good it would be Barry Manilow or Neil Sedaka. (Who, I will admit to harboring a great appreciation for today.)
But it had been a long time since I’d heard this song, before seeking it out for this post. And I had never seen the video for it (above), which is AMAZING. It’s like a bizarre anti-depressant music video. Everyone is so mellow and semi-catatonic. Except the children, who dance more lively than the adults and are smiling. But maybe that’s the message I should take from it. Just chill the fuck out.
With a little luck, we can help it out
We can make this whole damn thing work out
With a little love, we can lay it down
Can’t you feel the town exploding?
And then, my favorite part of the song, the part that is like a lost Beatles’ song:
There is no end to what we can do together
There is no end
The willow turns his back on inclement weather
And if he can do it, we can do it, just me and you
And I know that what Sir Paul is saying to me is, “Hey, yes it sucks to have your laptop stolen, but I’m here to help you, like the willow, turn that frown upside down and get you back on the blogging track.” And like so many Beatles’ songs before it, I listen to the message, I adhere to the wisdoms. And I take Paul’s words and pass them along to my new companion, my lap-heating word box:
“There is no end to what we can do together!”