30-Day Song Challenge: A song you know all the words to (day 8)

I could only think of one, and it might be a little bit of a cheat: "The Samurai in Autumn" by the Pet Shop Boys. I do, indeed, know all of the lyrics, which are thus:

It's not as easy as it was

Or as difficult as it could be

For the Samurai in autumn

And no more than that in this largely instrumental track. Certainly not difficult to remember, and I have always imagined that the lines are about the boys themselves in their late career period, when only the diehards care anymore (although, knowing Neil Tennant, it probably has to do with an historical figure).

I've always found this to be the highlight of their Release album (2002), which turned off the hardcore synthpop crowd with its "rock" aspirations. This peppy yet moody dance number, plopped midway through amongst dense, boring guitar slogs like "Birthday Boy" and "Love Is a Catastrophe," feels like PSB doing what they ought to be doing; it even evokes the brilliant experimental vibe of Relentless.

30-Day Song Challenge: A song that reminds you of a certain event (day 7)

Sean Kingston's "Fire Burning" was ubiquitous on the radio in the summer of 2009. I'm not his target audience, but this synthy, RedOne-produced jam is breezy fun. It became tied in my mind to shopping excursions for and the eventual purchase of a new car that summer after driving a 1989 Pontiac well beyond its reasonable years of use. Kingston set the dancefloor on fire as I drove to the dealership; while I did my test drive; and when I eventually drove home in a sexy new car. What I don't like is the lyrical use of "shawty;" it's time for that one to be retired.

Season of the Witch

1.5 out of 5

Despite a lot of bad reviews, I approached this Nicolas Cage vehicle with an open mind, because it's a horror movie and I have previously come to the defense of his similarly maligned The Wicker Man. The plot finds Cage and Ron Perlman, a pair of medieval swashbucklers, charged with transporting an alleged witchy woman on a long journey to meet her judgement. This is preceded by a series of battle sequences that show Cage and Perlman tiring of their bloody adventures while engaging in supremely hammy dialogue about things like who's buying the drinks tonight. The movie fails to do much with its villain; a sequence in which Cage's entourage tries to get her carriage across a decaying bridge is more entertaining than anything she conjures up. There's also a twist in play here, and it's not uninteresting, but it is the most blatantly obvious twist I've ever seen. I'm not one of those types who's always bragging that I had it figured out in the first 30 minutes, but I pretty much saw it coming right away. The movie climaxes with an action-filled throwdown, but the best I can say for all of this is that some of the scenes look terrific in 1080p. Note that the movie has no connection to George Romero's 1976 movie of the same name or Halloween III: Season of the Witch from 1982.

30-Day Song Challenge: A song that reminds you of somewhere (day 6)

I've always loved music and I often marvel at how certain songs become attached to a random moment or place in time — even the mundane moments that have no reason to be memorable. Today's tune, Robert Plant's "I Believe" (which could also fit day 14 — a song some might be surprised that I love), is one of those songs. Whenever I hear its plaintive melodies, I always remember a specific moment when I heard it on the radio in 1993. I was driving home from college (Ole Miss) at the end of a semester after taking my last exam, packing up and hitting the road to Corinth. I was on the twisty snake known as Mississippi Highway 30, somewhere in the edge of or a little east of the Holly Springs National Forest, where the two-lane highway bobs and weaves amongst kudzu-covered northeast Mississippi hills. And the image that's attached is the setting sun beaming through the trees as Plant elegizes his lost son, who died as a young child. "I Believe" has a hypnotic, dreamy quality that sticks with the soul, and the pain that birthed this beauty is evident:

Big fire, on top of the hill
A worthless gesture, and last farewell
Tears from your Mother, from the pits of her soul
Look at your Father, see his blood run cold
Like the wind, you are free
Just a whisper, I hear you, so talk to me

30-Day Song Challenge: An obscure song that you love (day 5)

(Note: I'm asking readers to indulge me today as I'm exercising some editorial discretion and replacing "a song that reminds you of someone" with today's alternate category of my choosing.)

The production triumvirate of Stock, Aitken & Waterman was responsible for some pop gems and some awful music in the late '80s. One of their happy accidents was Carol Hitchcock, who got no further than the release of a single, "Get Ready," in 1987. The song hit #56 in the UK and, best I can tell, missed the Billboard Hot 100 entirely. That's a shame, because it's a cracking cover of the Motown classic, with SAW in top form and Hitchcock, whose bald look unfortunately became the most notable thing about her in terms of pop history, pulling off a competent vocal performance. But what I'd like to call your attention to is the single's B-side, Hitchcock's take on "More Than Words Can Say," a SAW ballad that had already appeared on Mel & Kim's SAW-produced album and that would also go on to be butchered by Hazell Dean as her B-side to "Love Pains." The Mel & Kim version sounds like a weak Rick Astley album cut — in other words, chintzy. Judging by the few comments on the YouTube video below, however, I may be in the minority in believing Hitchcock pulled off the definitive version of this track, thanks to a convincing vocal and a rare moment of restraint on the part of SAW, who approach the ballad with a delicate touch, playing up the guitar riffs and setting aside the dance track. This effective song could have been something in the right time and place — I can easily imagine an established chanteuse like Laura Branigan singing it and Casey Kasem counting it down.

"More Than Words Can Say" by Carol Hitchcock

30-Day Song Challenge: A song that makes you sad (day 4)

Alanis Morrissette regained my attention in a big way with 2008's Flavors of Entanglement, which was partly inspired by the end of a relationship. This wrenching ballad, which serves as a companion piece to the equally brilliant single "Not As We," mourns the moment that Alanis has to lay down her torch for the one she loves. What really gets me is how it memorializes love in the small details, the things that she will remember when she is alone and that will cause a tear to slip down her cheek:

I miss your smell and your style
And your pure abiding way
Miss your approach to life
And your body in my bed
Miss your take on anything
And the music you would play

It admittedly has Morrissette's perhaps overly familiar lyrical structure involving a list of things, but I think it's one of her finest moments as a songwriter.

30-Day Song Challenge: A song that makes you happy (day 3)

There are songs you like, and then there are songs that make you feel something. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "(Forever) Live and Die," a #19 hit in 1986, has always been one of those for me. And despite lyrics about "why you make me want to cry," it does give me a happy feeling, because there's just something powerfully evocative in that lovely synth and brass production (props to Stephen Hague) and those ascending vocal harmonies. The feeling it evokes is also tinged with nostalgia, although the only thing it really reminds me of is standing at the door waiting for the school bus while the song played on VH1 in the background. I didn't own the song until many years later when I got an OMD compilation; I had no idea what the name of the song was, in fact, although the tune had stuck with me through the years. I particularly like the dreamy, lilting intro, and the brassy instrumental bridge. It all somehow combines to feel like a perfect autumn day spent on a carnival ride, holding hands with the one you love.