There’s an Easy Answer to This - But Do You Have Others?

I like either “Send In the Clowns” or “Sex Machine” by James Brown.

From 1977 off her album “We Must Believe in Magic” we present Crystal Gayle and Goin’ Down Slow.

carl

Savage Garden - Affirmation

“Somewhere Over the Rainbow”

Uh…that is easy: Another One Bites The Dust by Queen. Over to you, the late great Freddie Mercury.

Ok, that was too easy and obvious. Let’s try this again.

Don’t You Want Me Baby! by The Human League. Perfect. 

The Age of Acquarius

This would seem to be the perfect choice.

“Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” as sung by Ethyl Merman:

You can do it, all you need is a hand.
We can do it, Mama is gonna see to it!
Curtain up! Light the lights!
We got nothing to hit but the heights!
I can tell, wait and see.
There’s the bell! Follow me!
And nothing’s gonna stop us ‘til we’re through!
Honey, everything’s coming up roses and daffodils!
Everything’s coming up sunshine and Santa Claus!
Everything’s gonna be bright lights and lollipops!
Everything’s coming up roses for me and for you!

Based upon other posts about how well GC77 is going, how could it be anything but “Under My Thumb” by the Rolling Stones?  Well, maybe it should be “Its Money that Matters” by Randy Newman.

“Is that all there is”

I don’t have a dog in this hunt, thankfully. But Psychobabble fits. Here are a couple of stanzas by The Alan Parsons project.

I don’t know why I’m scared of the lightning
Trying to reach me
Help me to find what I don’t want to know
You’re taking me There but I don’t want to go
I don’t care it’s all Psychobabble rap to me
Psychobabble all psychobabble
Psychobabble all psychobabble
I don’t care it’s all psychobabble rap to me

You’re readin’ my mind you won’t look in my eyes
You say I do things that I don’t Realise
But I don’t care it’s all psychobabble rap to me
Psychobabble all psychobabble
Psychobabble all psychobabble
You’re lighting a scene that’s faded to black
I threw it away cause I don’t want it back
But I don’t care it’s all psychbabble rap

I would suggest this, except my husband says it’s a little too manly for the current TEC. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yDrtNEr_5M

Well…there’s the immortal Jim White song, “God Was Drunk When He Made Me.”

Or, they could commission a notable composer like John Butler to write something.

Simple - “Eve of Destruction”

With new and improved lyrics just for TEC…

The TEC, it is exploding
Violence flarin’, bullets loadin’
You’re old enough for sex, but not for votin’
You don’t believe in war, but what’s that deposition you’re totin’
And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin’

But you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.

Don’t you understand what I’m tryin’ to say
Can’t you feel the fears I’m feelin’ today?
If the voting button is pushed, there’s no runnin’ away
There’ll be no one to save, with TEC in a grave
[Take a look around ya boy, it’s bound to scare ya boy]

And you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.

Yeah, my blood’s so mad feels like coagulatin’
I’m sitting here just contemplatin’
I can’t twist the truth, it knows no regulation.
Handful of deputies just pass legislation
And law suits alone can’t bring integration
When respect for conservatives is disintegratin’
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin’

And you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.

Think of all the hate there is in liberal places
Then take a look around to Newark and LA
You may leave here for 2 weeks to Lambeth
But when you return, it’s the same old place
The poundin’ of the drums, the pride and disgrace
You can bury your dead, but don’t leave a trace
Hate the conservatives, but don’t forget to say you’re inclusive
And, tell me over and over and over and over again, my friend
You don’t believe
We’re on the eve
Of destruction
Mm, no no, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.

“Pants on the Ground” by that American Idol contestant last year

This is too easy.  Choice #1 - Late Lament by the Moody Blues - “Breathe deep the gathering gloom ...”  Choice #2 (my personal favorite ) AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.”  I prefer the original Bon Scott vocals.  I’m hoping it will be added to the U2charist service, maybe in place of the confession!?

“Dont need reason, dont need rhyme
Aint nothing I’d rather do
Going down, party time
My friends are gonna be there too, yeah

Im on the highway to hell
on the highway to hell
highway to hell
im on the highway to hell

No stop signs, speed limit
Nobodys gonna slow me down
Like a wheel, gonna spin it
Nobodys gonna mess me round
Hey satan, payed my dues”

Kind of prophetic, ain’t it!

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn’t have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standin’ by
But “happily ever after” fails
And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly

But I know a place where we can go
That’s still untouched by men
We’ll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
You can lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

“The End of the Innocence” by Don Henley and Bruce Hornsby

From their 2007 album The Altar and the Door it’s Casting Crowns and Slow Fade.

This video will break your heart.  But that’s the point.  What might have been…

Adulterous wife, who receives strangers instead of her husband!  Ez 16:32

carl

“Sympathy for The Devil”

Come come folks, there is only one candidate

Come ON!!!!!  This is easy.  Real easy.  Get a clue folks!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFs78YdBWeY

“I Did It My Way” by Sinatra.

I have to go with Pb…Frank Sinatra “My Way” it should be.

“I’ve Seen The Theology and the Damage Done” - A parody by Wallace Hartley

I caught you knockin’ at my parish door
I love you, baby, can I have some more
Ooh, ooh, the damage done.

I saw this church take and change its stand
I watched your theology take another man
Gone, gone, the damage done.

I sing the song because I love the man
I know that some of you don’t understand
Serve Him to keep from falling out.

I’ve seen your theology and the damage done
A little part of it in everyone
But TEC is like a settin’ sun.

Actually, folks—sorry to have to break it to you. The choice has been made, and certain select deputies are even now in the process of rehearsing it with the PB. Here is a sneak peek at the staging of the announcement of the winning theme song (actually two of them, put together) tomorrow—a friendly informer smuggled the surreptitious video to us at SF.

Word has it that more names on her list will also be announced tomorrow, according to the criteria in the second song. 

So it’s too late to add “People are Strange” (the Doors)???

A theme song?  Really?  Seems childish to me, but then…we are talking about the Episcopal thingamajig.

This is the one… on so many levels…. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMhNih637yI&feature=related

Here’s to the ladies who lunch—
Everybody laugh.
Lounging in their caftans
And planning a brunch
On their own behalf.
Off to the gym,
Then to a fitting,
Claiming they’re fat.
And looking grim,
‘Cause they’ve been sitting
Choosing a hat.
Does anyone still wear a hat?
I’ll drink to that.

And here’s to the girls who play smart—
Aren’t they a gas?
Rushing to their classes
In optical art,
Wishing it would pass.
Another long exhausting day,
Another thousand dollars,
A matinee, a Pinter play,
Perhaps a piece of Mahler’s.
I’ll drink to that.
And one for Mahler!

And here’s to the girls who play wife—
Aren’t they too much?
Keeping house but clutching
A copy of LIFE,
Just to keep in touch.
The ones who follow the rules,
And meet themselves at the schools,
Too busy to know that they’re fools.
Aren’t they a gem?
I’ll drink to them!
Let’s all drink to them!

And here’s to the girls who just watch—
Aren’t they the best?
When they get depressed,
It’s a bottle of Scotch,
Plus a little jest.
Another chance to disapprove,
Another brilliant zinger,
Another reason not to move,
Another vodka stinger.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!
I’ll drink to that.

So here’s to the girls on the go—
Everybody tries.
Look into their eyes,
And you’ll see what they know:
Everybody dies.
A toast to that invincible bunch,
The dinosaurs surviving the crunch.
Let’s hear it for the ladies who lunch—
Everybody rise!
Rise!
Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise!
Rise!

You’re so Vain (I’ll bet you think this lawsuit’s about you)

I’d like to submit an ancient piece <a > link</a>

Oops!  Here it is: link

Bob Dylan of course:

<a>http://videos.sapo.pt/EZNZizOUtzpQctOD4U1U</a>

bb

Let’s try that again:

Bob Dylan of course

bb

Have I mentioned how much fun this thread is?

From 1974, Terry Jacks and Seasons in the Sun.

carl

How about “My Object All Sublime” from Gilbert & Sullivan’s “The Mikado”?

David Katzakian

I propose Donovan’s “Season of the Witch.”

LOL! I really have enjoyed the various choices for a theme song!  Some are funny, some are scary! For pure fright value, I love the Dies irae by Verdi.

I am torn between “We Are the Champions” by Queen, and “Money” by Pink Floyd.

A few suggestions (all from Jethro Tull):

(1)

Locomotive Breath.

In the shuffling madness,
Of the locomotive breath,
Runs the all-time loser,
Headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping—
Steam breaking on his brow—
Old Charlie stole the handle and
The train won’t stop going—
No way to slow down.

He sees his children jumping off
At the stations—one by one.
His woman and his best friend—
In bed and having fun.
He’s crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees—
Old Charlie stole the handle and
The train won’t stop going—
No way to slow down.

He hears the silence howling—
Catches angels as they fall.
And the all-time winner
Has got him by the ba**s.
He picks up Gideon’s Bible—
Open at page one—
God stole the handle and
The train won’t stop going—
No way to slow down.

OR,

(2),

Nothing to Say

Everyday there’s someone asking
what is there to do?
Should I love or should I fight
is it all the same to you?
No I say I have the answer
proven to be true,
But if I were to share it with you,
you would stand to gain
and I to lose.
Oh I couldn’t bear it
so I’ve got nothing to say.
Nothing to say.

Every morning pressure forming
all around my eyes.
Ceilings crash, the walls collapse,
broken by the lies
that your misfortune brought upon us
and I won’t disguise them.
So don’t ask me will I explain
I won’t even begin to tell you why.
No, just because I have a name
well I’ve got nothing to say.
Nothing to say.

Climb a tower of freedom,
paint your own deceiving sign.
It’s not my power
to criticize or to ask you to be blind
To your own pressing problem
and the hate you must unwind.
So ask of me no answer
there is none that I could give
you wouldn’t find.
I went your way ten years ago
and I’ve got nothing to say.
Nothing to say.

OR,

(3),

A Time For Everything

Once it seemed there would always be
a time for everything.
Ages passed I knew at last
my life had never been.
I’d been missing what time could bring.

Fifty years and I’m filled with tears and joys
I never cried.
Burn the wagon and chain the mule.
The past is all denied.
There’s no time for everything.
No time for everything.

Pax et bonum,
Keith Töpfer

Or, perhaps the best choice (at least from Tull):

(4),

Lick Your Fingers Clean

I’ll see you at the weighing in when your life’s sum-total’s made.
And you set your wealth in godly deeds against the sins you’ve laid.
So place your final burden on your hard-pressed next of kin:
Send the chamber pot back down the line to be filled up again.
Take your mind off your election and try to get it straight.
And don’t pretend perfection: you’ll be crucified too late.
And he’ll say you really should make the deal as he offers round the hat.
Well, you’d better lick your fingers clean, I thank you all for that.
And as you join the good ship earth and you mingle with the dust
be sure to leave your underpants with someone you can trust.
And the hard-headed social worker who bathes his hands in blood
will welcome you with arms held high and cover you with mud.
And he’ll say you really should make the deal as he offers round the hat.
Well, you’d better lick your fingers clean, well. I’ll thank you all for that.

OR, (last, but certainly not least)

Thick as a Brick, Parts 1 and 2,

      Part 1

Really don’t mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can’t make you think.
Your sperm’s in the gutter your love’s in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don’t know how it feels to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
in the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don’t know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I’m a bad dream that I just had today
and you shake your head and say it’s a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.
See there! A son is born and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.
We’ll make a man of him, put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly and how to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the Painter casting shadows on the water
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary’s creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping, their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.
And the youngest of the family is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master - thoughts moving ever faster -
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.
And the oldest of the family is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man’s gone - do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song. Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
and the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam.

    ~ Intermezzo ~

I’ve come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals! I’ve got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man twenty years too late.
Your bread and water’s going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I’ll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone,
you meet the stares, you’re unaware that your doings aren’t done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies
and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case,
you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.

So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won’t you rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won’t you? Join your local government.
We’ll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They’re all resting down in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

      Part 2

See there! A man born and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There’s a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease.
We’ll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

    ~ Intermezzo ~

We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

    ~ Intermezzo ~
 
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured
(in neat little rows) sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying: “How’s your granny?” and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.
The legends (worded in
the ancient tribal hymn)
lie cradled in the seagull’s call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist’s fall.

The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun. Light the sun.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night
and fully pregnant with the day,
wise men endorse the poet’s sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression, the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools
and the thoughts of the wise and
from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song
as the wise man breaks wind and is gone
while the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose
and the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won’t your rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won’t you? Join your local government.
We’ll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They’re all resting down in Cornwall writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual

    ~ Intermezzo ~
 
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don’t know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.