This week In Singing Ladies 06/52

1 . Amy Winehouse . Love Is A Losing Game

“Comfortably Numb,” found on Pink Floyd’s 1979 concept album “The Wall,” unravels with a hauntingly anesthetic air, mirroring its protagonist Pink’s emotional and physical paralysis.

The interplay of Roger Waters’ weary delivery and David Gilmour’s dreamy vocals flawlessly sonifies the drug-induced haze Pink finds himself locked within.

Waters’ lyrics, inspired by his unsettling experience of being sedated before a 1977 performance, channel disconnection with clinical precision, as seen in the opening line, “Hello? Is there anybody in there?”

Gilmour’s guitar solo, lauded by Planet Rock listeners as the greatest of all time, speaks volumes where the lyrics taper off; its soaring, mournful notes feel like unspoken cries desperately trying to breach Pink’s impenetrable numbness.

The song’s layered arrangement stands as a tension between Waters’ penchant for conceptual storytelling and Gilmour’s melodic sensibilities, though its inclusion as a B-side to “Hey You” in 1980 feels like an underappreciation of its standalone power.

Live renditions, such as the 1986 charity performance with Pete Townshend and Annie Lennox, or the significant 2005 Live 8 reunion with the band’s classic lineup, expand its cultural footprint beyond the studio tape, each version casting the track in a slightly different hue.

While Gilmour’s solos achieve a visceral immediacy, the narrative leans heavily on its autobiographical undertones, tethering it perhaps too closely to Waters’ personal experiences instead of universal resonance.

Yet, the song’s pertinence persists; its recent reimagining by Body Count featuring Ice-T and Gilmour in 2024 underscores its elasticity within vastly different musical realms.

Lifted from : Amy Winehouse gives . private concert (2008)

2 . Solange . Bad Girls

“So This Is Love?” occupies a curious niche within Van Halen’s catalog and the 1981 album “Fair Warning.”

While the record largely channels a darker, heavier vibe compared to the band’s earlier output, this seventh track swings with an uncharacteristic looseness, offering relief from the intensity that surrounds it.

Built around an infectious swing beat not often associated with Van Halen, the song feels as if it’s daring the band’s rock formula to bend without breaking.

The interplay between Eddie Van Halen’s nimble guitar work and David Lee Roth’s smirking swagger establishes an almost playful tension, though Roth’s delivery can veer towards self-parody, especially in the way he teases out the vocal phrasing.

Eddie Van Halen’s guitar solo, crafted in one take using fragments of about four separate improvisations, has a patchwork quality that paradoxically enhances its raw charm, though the stitching isn’t seamless.

The promotional video, filmed for Italy’s RAI 1 program “Happy Circus” at Prehistoric Park, captures the band amidst animatronic dinosaurs, an absurd setting that somehow complements the song’s quirky energy.

“So This Is Love?” charted modestly, peaking at number 110 on the Billboard Hot 100 and climbing to 15 on the U.S. Mainstream Rock Tracks chart, reflecting its middling reception compared to the band’s heavy hitters.

Its original working title, “Flesh and Blood (Banana Oil),” suggests a more experimental ethos behind its creation, though the final product doesn’t stretch boundaries as much as it flirts with them.

While not as ambitious as its peers on “Fair Warning,” the song’s swing-infused beat and Eddie’s effortless guitar licks make it a curious detour rather than a definitive triumph.

Lifted from : Solange opens her ‘True’ tour in SF (2013)

3 . Norah Jones . Sunrise

“Worried Life Blues” by Eric Clapton and B.B. King, from the 2000 album “Riding with the King,” delivers a polished yet reverent take on one of blues’ most covered standards.

Originally penned by Big Maceo Merriweather and Sleepy John Estes, the song’s long history is built into its structure—half lament, half resignation. Big Maceo’s 1941 recording serves as the blueprint, but the Clapton-King version feels like a museum piece with a fresh coat of lacquer. It’s blues reimagined for an audience likely more familiar with awards ceremonies than Mississippi juke joints.

The album, co-produced by Clapton and Simon Climie, does succeed commercially, peaking at number 3 on the US Billboard 200 and claiming the top spot on the Billboard Top Blues Albums chart. The Grammys even crowned it Best Traditional Blues Album in 2001, a win that says more about the industry’s affection for tradition polished to a modern sheen than about innovation.

Clapton’s meticulous guitar lines blend seamlessly with King’s soulful warmth here, providing a dialogue rather than a duel. Yet, for all its technical proficiency, the rendition feels overly restrained—more like a respectful nod to history than an attempt to rekindle its spirit. The edges of pain and defiance in the original seem smoothed out, leaving behind a performance content to rest comfortably in its own legacy.

In essence, “Worried Life Blues” in this packaging exists less as a moment of raw expression and more as a finely tuned homage, satisfying a broad audience while sidestepping the risk of reinvention.

Lifted from : Blue Note publish Norah Jones’ second album . ‘Feels Like Home’ featuring ‘Sunrise’ (2004)

4 . Sheryl Crow . Strong Enough

“Nowhere Fast,” a track from The Smiths’ 1985 album “Meat Is Murder,” encapsulates a peculiar kind of restless fervor that seems to unravel more under scrutiny.

Recorded across a fragmented timeline—beginning at Jam Studios in London before moving through Liverpool’s Amazon Studios, then Ridge Farm Studios in Surrey, and finally Island Record’s Fallout Shelter—it carries the marks of a piece that’s been meticulously worked over, though not always to its benefit.

Johnny Marr’s rockabilly influences, nodding toward American icons like Eddie Cochran and Bo Diddley, give the track its propulsive rhythm, but the execution feels oddly weightless.

It’s as if the band is chasing after the spirit of the sound without ever anchoring it in something tangible.

Morrissey’s lyrical delivery wrestles with urgency, though his infamous sense of irony feels diluted here, leaving the lines hovering between wry commentary and vague theatrics.

The production, led collaboratively by the band with Stephen Street engineering, is polished to a fault, perhaps softening an edge the song sorely needs.

Played live 72 times between its debut in June 1984 and its disappearance post-1986, the song’s sporadic presence in Morrissey’s 2009 solo setlist is telling—it seems even the frontman struggled to find lasting resonance with it.

“Meat Is Murder,” the album itself, ascended to the top of the UK Albums Chart for 13 weeks, a fact that adds weight to the track’s inclusion, but “Nowhere Fast” feels more like a brisk detour than a centerpiece—a polished vehicle without a destination.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Sheryl Crow

5 . Samantha Fish . I Put A Spell on You

“Empty Rooms,” a collaboration between Gary Moore and Neil Carter, finds its dwelling within the themes of heartbreak and solitude, captured with precision on Moore’s sixth studio album “Run for Cover,” released in 1985. Originally appearing on 1983’s “Victims of the Future,” the track received a second life in its updated version, supported by contributions from Glenn Hughes, formerly of Deep Purple. This re-recording injects just enough polish to complement Moore’s characteristic guitar phrasing without drowning its somber essence in overproduction.

The single’s lyrics navigate the quiet void left in the aftermath of a failed relationship. References to “her face in every crowd” and “learning to live without love” enhance the song’s melancholic fiber, yet its narrative steers clear of any emotional breakthrough. If anything, its cyclical nature mirrors the stagnation of grief, unable to fully develop into resolution or catharsis. On both versions, Moore’s vocal delivery leans into subdued anguish—a choice that, while fitting, occasionally flirts with monotony.

The music video, created in 1984, juxtaposes simplicity and metaphor. Featuring Moore singing while clutching a photograph, intercut with vignettes of a boy and girl, the visuals underline the track’s preoccupation with memory and loss. While evocative in its subtlety, the execution lacks the imaginative scope to add much beyond illustration.

Live renditions, such as those at the Kings Hall in Belfast (1989) and Montreux Jazz Festival (2010), reflect the song’s adaptability to Moore’s stagecraft, though its introspective demeanor sometimes risks waning in such settings. Ultimately, “Empty Rooms” feels less like a revelation and more like a lingering ache—a slow burn of sorrow that doesn’t overreach, yet doesn’t wholly captivate either.

Lifted from : Samantha Fish rocks Pennsylvania (2015)

6 . Sade . Babyfather

“The Final Countdown” by Europe is a curious fusion of 80s bombast and cosmic ambition, delivered as the title track of their 1986 album.

Written by Joey Tempest, its iconic keyboard riff—conceived years before—is both the song’s anchor and its most divisive element, straddling a fine line between grandeur and kitsch.

Tempest’s lyrics, vaguely inspired by David Bowie’s “Space Oddity,” aim for introspection but land closer to arena-friendly vagueness, better suited for pyrotechnics than poetry.

Originally intended merely as a concert opener, it takes on a life of its own, becoming a single that topped charts in 25 countries, including a two-week reign in the UK, while peaking respectably at number 8 on the US Billboard Hot 100.

Though its chart success in the US and the album rock charts—capping at number 18—indicate popularity, its electro-symphonic pulse confounded as much as it enamored.

The accompanying Nick Morris-directed video, weaving between Solnahallen’s live concert footage and Swedish theatricality, underscores the band’s 80s excess, now immortalized with over a billion YouTube views.

Live, its importance remains undisputed, finding space in Europe’s setlists from the 1986 “Final Countdown Tour” through to the much-hyped Millennium celebration in Stockholm on New Year’s Eve 1999.

And yet, its endurance isn’t without critique. The 1999 remix “The Final Countdown 2000” failed to rekindle the flame, even irking the band itself. While forever synonymous with Europe’s name and appearing in humor-laden lists like VH1’s “Most Awesomely Bad Songs…Ever,” its inclusion in “Best Hard Rock Songs of All Time” hints that hyperbole and complexity often go hand in hand. It is both unforgettable and, depending on your disposition, inescapable.

Lifted from : Sade release their sixth album . ‘Soldier of Love’ (2010)

7 . Mary Gauthier . Bullet Holes in the Sky

“Kokomo” lands squarely in the sun-drenched catalog of The Beach Boys, but its warmth feels oddly manufactured, more resort commercial than coastal soul.

Crafted by John Phillips, Scott McKenzie, Mike Love, and Terry Melcher, the 1988 single trades the group’s classic surf rock for a breezy, adult-contemporary vibe—palatable but devoid of the bite that once made their harmonies timeless.

Anchored on the “Cocktail” soundtrack and the “Still Cruisin’” album, the song outlines a dreamlike itinerary through both fictional (“Kokomo”) and actual Caribbean locales, such as Aruba and Martinique. These lyrical postcards, though romantic, lack substance—appealing on the surface but teetering on travel brochure cliché.

Its chart performance in the US and Australia, soaring to a number-one hit, underscores its commercial effectiveness rather than its artistic depth. As their first original top-20 single since the 1960s and final top-40 showing, “Kokomo” serves as both a comeback and a coda—compelling for its place in music history, if not its intrinsic merit.

Melcher’s production ties the track neatly into the era’s mainstream aesthetic, though the absence of Brian Wilson in the recording sessions subtly undermines its connection to The Beach Boys’ creative core. Wilson’s commitment to his solo album and the controlling presence of therapist Eugene Landy further emphasize the fragmented state of the band at the time.

The accompanying video, filmed at Walt Disney World’s Grand Floridian Resort, leans heavily on visuals of sun-kissed leisure, featuring Mike Love, Al Jardine, Carl Wilson, Bruce Johnston, and a hammock-slung John Stamos. It complements the track but doesn’t elevate it beyond a visual extension of its glossy escapism.

A Grammy nod in 1988 for Best Song Written for a Motion Picture, ultimately lost to Phil Collins’ “Two Hearts,” feels less like a missed opportunity and more like a nod to its catchiness rather than its craft. Nearly 2 million sales—and over 2.2 million digital downloads—solidify it as a commercial juggernaut, though its lasting impression depends on nostalgia rather than innovation.

Lifted from : Mary Gauthier performs for Paste Magazine (2017)

8 . Valerie June . Somebody to Love

“Senses Working Overtime” is less a song and more a clever patchwork of contrasts, held together by Andy Partridge’s knack for thematic juxtaposition.

Released in January 1982 as the lead single from “English Settlement,” this track thrives on its eclectic blend of influences, borrowing the medieval tones of “The Wonderment” while drawing upon the pop sensibilities of songs like The Kinks’ “Autumn Almanac” and Manfred Mann’s “5,4,3,2,1.”

Structurally, it alternates between verses that seem plucked out of a period drama and a singalong chorus that could anchor any pub gathering worth its salt.

The production, credited to both XTC and Hugh Padgham, has its moments of brilliance, none more so than the intricate drum fills peppered throughout courtesy of Terry Chambers, whose use of a drum synthesizer doesn’t feel dated but rather intriguingly playful.

Dave Gregory’s electric 12-string guitar brings a texture both chime-like and oddly grounding, cutting against Colin Moulding’s fretless bass lines, which at times feel like they’d be at home in an entirely different song altogether.

The song’s video, featured on VH-1 in 1982, mirrors its intentions—neither straightforward escapism nor an overly complex art piece, but a curious middle ground.

Though edited for its single release, the core remains intact, a testament to a group bent on showing their “senses” in full bloom, even if their cohesion occasionally wavers.

Chart success followed: #10 in the UK, #12 in Australia, and #15 in Ireland, enough to cement its place in the global playlist of its era, even making room for inclusion in compilations like “Waxworks-Some Singles (1977-82)” and “Fossil Fuel – The XTC Singles 1977-92.”

Still, for all its idiosyncratic charm, “Senses Working Overtime” sometimes feels like it’s straining under the weight of its ambition, trying to split the difference between catchy, radio-ready track and experimental art-pop.

Lifted from : Valerie June sings in Cleveland (2017)

9 . Carole King . Jazzman

“Feel Like Makin’ Love” by Roberta Flack epitomizes the intimate elegance of mid-’70s soul while avoiding the extremes of sentimentality or bombast.

Composed by Eugene McDaniels and recorded for her 1975 album, the track demonstrates a breezy confidence, partly owed to McDaniels reportedly penning it in just 45 minutes and Flack nailing the vocal in one take.

The minimalism works in its favor, as the song envelops listeners in a lush, sensual mood without overburdening the arrangement.

Its ascent to the top of the Billboard Hot 100, the Hot Soul Singles chart, and the Adult Contemporary charts underscores its broad appeal, even if the repetition of its central theme might err on indulgence for some.

Flack’s production under her alias Rubina Flake, alongside McDaniels, adds subtle layers to the track, melding flawlessly with the talents of seasoned musicians like Bob James on keyboards and Hugh McCracken on guitar.

The inclusion of vocalists like Deniece Williams and Patti Austin on the background harmonies ensures the song’s rich texture remains cohesive and inviting.

The track’s three Grammy nominations cement its critical acclaim, but those accolades don’t overshadow its simple pleasure—it feels handmade in its intimacy but universal in its reach.

Whether compared to D’Angelo’s sultry reinterpretation or Roy Ayers’ jazzier take, Flack’s version retains its charm as the definitive rendition, though its tempo and tone risk blending into the background depending on the setting.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Carole King

10 . P!nk . Try

From the opening beat, “My Prerogative” announces a defiant swagger, a self-assured rebuttal wrapped in the slick, kinetic production of Teddy Riley’s new jack swing. Released on October 11, 1988, as part of Bobby Brown’s second studio album, “Don’t Be Cruel,” it carries the sonic heft of Riley’s polished sensibilities while channeling Brown’s palpable frustration. This is not a confessional but a declaration, with its lyrics co-written by Brown, Gene Griffin, and Riley, pushing back at the fallout from Brown’s controversial departure from New Edition. That tension seeps into every corner of the song, its tightly wound grooves vibrating like a coiled spring.

Recorded at Axis Studios and mixed at Soundworks in New York, with the finishing gloss applied at Future Disc Systems in Hollywood, the track embodies an urban cool that feels as geographically diverse as its production locations. The hook is a hypnotic earworm, reinforcing Brown’s unapologetic mantra—his prerogative—a phrase that lands with both swagger and theatrical flourish.

Chart dominance came swiftly and emphatically. The track claimed the number one spot on both the Billboard Hot 100 and Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs charts, while also breaking into the top ten internationally, from Ireland to New Zealand, the Netherlands, and the UK. Yet its mass appeal rarely undermines its edge; it’s not a crowd-pleaser but a sonic soliloquy delivered to the jeering masses, who now seem to applaud in hindsight.

The Alek Keshishian-directed music video, with its kinetic stage performance, accents the song’s performative defiance, earning a nomination for Best Stage Performance in a Video at the 1989 MTV Video Music Awards. Yet, much like Brown himself, the video teeters between unrestrained charisma and over-the-top pageantry, an aesthetic befitting its era. Even in its live iterations—most memorably at Madison Square Garden on February 4, 1989, where Brown shared the stage with rap luminaries—the song retains that balance of bravado and precision, cementing its place in a uniquely late-’80s zeitgeist.

Despite its critical nod, with a Soul Train Music Award nomination for Best R&B Urban Contemporary Single, there’s a certain lack of subtlety to “My Prerogative.” Every drum hit, every vocal inflection screams intent, leaving little for nuance. But in its own way, that relentlessness is its charm—a bold stake in a rapidly shifting pop landscape.

Lifted from : Pink sings in Hollywood (2019)

11 . Rhiannon Giddens . She’s Got You

“How Will I Know” is a meticulous construct of 1980s synth-funk and dance-pop, crafted with precision by George Merrill and Shannon Rubicam and ultimately shaped by Narada Michael Walden’s production vision.

Originally envisioned for Janet Jackson, the song found its rightful home on Whitney Houston’s debut album, “Whitney Houston,” released in 1985. Its fast tempo of 120 beats per minute, paired with its G-flat major key, marks it as a quintessentially upbeat artifact of its era, though its musical innovations don’t stray far from the formulaic energy synonymous with mid-‘80s chart-toppers.

By February 15, 1986, the song had scaled to the summit of the *Billboard* Hot 100 chart, signaling Houston’s ability to navigate the pop landscape with a deftness that belied her debut status. Impressively, it didn’t stop there, landing on the top spot of the *Billboard* Hot Black Singles and Adult Contemporary charts, ensuring its appeal to multiple demographics. Yet, its double platinum certification for two million units sold speaks less to any groundbreaking ambition and more to its effortless alignment with commercial expectations of the time.

The music video, directed by Brian Grant, is a flamboyant collision of striking visuals and irreverent charm. Bright colors saturate the backdrop, Houston’s honey-blonde hair and silver dress providing a focal point amidst the playful chaos. Arlene Phillips’ choreography ensures movement competes with music, though the dance sequences rarely surprise. A cameo by Aretha Franklin teeters on the edge of becoming a distraction, a moment more notable for its implication than its execution.

“How Will I Know” succeeds as an earworm, one whose structured polish and approachable charm underscore Whitney Houston’s ascent during the decade. It radiates confidence but rarely disrupts expectations, a calculated step in Houston’s climb to pop superstardom that leaves just enough room for doubt about its creative adventurousness.

Lifted from : On radio today, Rhiannon Giddens at WFUV (2015)

12 . Suzanne Vega . Solitude Standing

“Alibis,” a 1984 release from Sérgio Mendes’ album “Confetti,” is a polished yet calculated foray into the pop and adult contemporary charts.

Written by Tom Snow and Tony Macaulay, the song positions itself as a midtempo exploration of infidelity, filtered through era-specific technology—its lyrics point to clunky telephone services, a relic of pre-digital angst.

The pairing of Mendes’ production, assisted by Robbie Buchanan, and Joe Pizzulo’s clean-lined vocal performance strives for accessibility, a decision likely influenced by the massive success of Mendes’ earlier hit, “Never Gonna Let You Go.”

Musically, “Alibis” leans heavily on its bass line, which provides a modest groove without fully committing to funk or dance.

The melodic hooks are inoffensive, efficient, and faintly corporate—intended more to linger than to leap out at you.

Yet these elements are elevated, albeit briefly, by Ernie Watts’ saxophone solo, which injects a flash of verve into the otherwise tightly controlled arrangement.

The track’s Billboard performance—#29 on the Hot 100 and #5 on Adult Contemporary—suggests it achieved its aim: a radio-friendly offering that doesn’t disrupt the sonic wallpaper of 1984.

“Alibis” isn’t daring, but it doesn’t fall flat either; it’s a well-oiled machine from an artist navigating a moment when pop was prioritizing shine over substance.

Lifted from : Suzanne Vega sings in Munich (2014)