Somewhere not far from here is a place where river cruise ships hire tangerine porters with looking glass eyes. Elementary penguins stroll along the deck singing Hari Krishna. When the cruise comes back to port, newspaper taxis appear on the shore, and people climb in the back with their heads in the clouds.
Yes. I came of age in the sixties, but I never partook of the implements of psychedelia. I just loved the imagery of surrealism. (And yes, I know I mixed up the songs and words.)
I loved the band names — Strawberry Alarm Clock, Bubble Puppy, Moby Grape, Electric Prunes, Iron Butterfly, Pink Floyd — and what the heck is a Jefferson Airplane, anyway?
I loved the inventiveness of the wordplay — “I had too much to dream last night,” what a great line! And some of the imagery, surprisingly, makes perfect sense. I just learned today that semolina pilchard is actually a thing.
One of these days I might decide to write a psychedelic novel while sharing time with several species of small furry animals gathered together in a cave and grooving with a pict. It would not have to make sense, except it would have to be true to its own rules, just like a science fiction or fantasy world. That sense of unity is what makes “Revolution 9” a classic of the genre while others are just nonsense.
This is my week for learning more about seventies rock. I took to Netflix the last few days to watch Bohemian Rhapsody, the fine docudrama about Freddie Mercury and the rest of Queen, and then Becoming Led Zeppelin, the new documentary about that band’s formative years.
A common denominator in both stories is the value of collaboration and how the contributions of all four band members creates a greater whole. Jimmy Page talked about the importance of being able to hear what everyone is doing as the songs were mixed. Guitarist Page and singer Robert Plant were the “front men,” but Led Zeppelin would never have been Led Zeppelin without bassist John Paul Jones and drummer John Bonham laying down the foundation.
And there’s a key moment in the Queen saga where Freddie goes off as a solo artist and comes back to his friends after it does not go as well as he hoped. He delivers a heartfelt monologue about realizing that he had become FREDDIE MERCURY because of the push-and-pull, the creative friction with his bandmates.
Somewhere in there I heard the observation that great rock bands don’t fail, they break up. These films about two great bands illustrate that dynamic — when everyone contributes as a unit, magic happens, as long as the individuals can keep their egos in check.
These two films tell powerful stories about the power of creative collaboration.
I like what Ella Langley has said about dandelions — they’re considered weeds but they’re also resilient, colorful, homey and they don’t have thorns. And while making her new album, Dandelion, she found out that dandelion tea is considered a liver detox. That made it a good name for the album that follows her last, still hungover.
In one interview she says, “The context was like, I’m growing and I’m not just doing debauchery every day of my life — maybe just on Tuesdays.”
Ella has a central role in the story of Mary and Warren. When Mary was trying to figure out how to get my attention, Ella’s song “You Look Like You Love Me” came on. It’s the story of a girl who walks up brazenly to a young buck and presents herself as someone he ought to take home.
At the end of the song, she advises her fellow girls, “If you ever see a man in a cowboy hat and you think to yourself, ‘I could use some of that,’ don’t waste your time …” And while it was not as brazen an approach as Ella’s, Mary presented herself to me with a very lovely hug.
I used to be very tied into what was happening in the Top 40 and Hot 100. I’d keep track of things like “McArthur Park” being a huge hit that peaked at #2, or the injustice of “Good Vibrations” never climbing higher than #4 despite being the greatest recording of all time. But I don’t pay much attention anymore, and so I was surprised to learn that Ella’s “Choosing Texas” was the No. 1 song for five weeks earlier this year — the No. 1 song, not just the No. 1 country song. It IS an awfully catchy tune with a bittersweet story.
And no one does bittersweet these days like Ella Langley. For example, she has an infectious love song called “Never Met Anyone Like You” that would probably be a massive wedding song except for the bridge, where she sings, “You said it was us to the end, then you went and hooked up with my friend.” She knows how to put an ache in her voice that can break your heart in a Nashville minute.
Which brings us to Dandelion, the album. It’s almost a full hour of personal, honest songs about love and heartbreak and being human and, my goodness, it is something to hear.
“I’m in the back half of my twenties and still figuring it out, but I feel like I do it with a little more confidence,” she says in the liner notes on Apple Music. “That’s why a lot of these songs represent that. They represent that feeling of, like, you know, you’re still figuring it out, but you’re trying to do it a little bit better each time.”
She did it a whole lot better this time. It’s great watching someone with whom you’ve made a personal connection turn into a star, and I hope and pray she continues to soar like this for a long time. Dandelion is available now in all the usual places.
