Today on “Hockey Central at Noon” on sportsnet.ca the question was raised, “Who is your hero?” That got me thinking—not about my heroes—but about expanding my discussion about crappy (but famous) songs and poems. I think soppiness is the major offense that I focus on when deciding what goes on my list.
The hero-cum-soppiness drivel is most evident in “Wind Beneath My Wings,” written by Jeff Silbar and Larry Henley and most famously unleashed to afflict the public in the rendition by Bette Midler. Here’s some of it:
Ohhhh, oh, oh, oh, ohhh.
It must have been cold there in my shadow,
To never have sunlight on your face.
You were content to let me shine, that's your way.
You always walked a step behind.
So I was the one with all the glory,
While you were the one with all the strength.
A beautiful face without a name for so long.
A beautiful smile to hide the pain.
Did you ever know that you're my hero,
And everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle,
For you are the wind beneath my wings.
It might have appeared to go unnoticed,
But I've got it all here in my heart.
I want you to know I know the truth, of course I know it.
I would be nothing without you.
Here I am on top of the world—but of course it’s all because of poor overlooked you. I nominate this as the epitome of humblebragging. It even tops that bone-achingly foolish internet abbreviation “IMHO,” which, of course, has nothing humble about it.
The song ends with a faux-religious touch:
Fly, fly, fly high against the sky,
So high I almost touch the sky.
Thank you, thank you,
Thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.
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While we’re on the spirituality trail, here’s a song that almost literally put me off the road. Back when I had my Austin Healey Sprite* I would sometimes take a spin along back roads with the top down, listening to either WMCA or WABC, the two major pop/rock music stations in the New York area (only AM radio in the car). On one sunny Saturday as I was driving along, the DJ announced that he was going to play a new release. OK. The sound dispersed into the countryside as I half-listened to a song called “Honey.” Here’s part of the lyrics:
And Honey, I miss you
And I'm bein' good
And I'd love to be with you
If only I could
One day while I was not at home
While she was there and all alone the angels came
Now all I have is memories of Honey
And I wake up nights and call her name
Now my life's an empty stage
Where Honey lived, and Honey played and love grew up
And a small cloud passes over head
And cries down on the flower bed that Honey loved
(Written by Bobby Russell)
“While she was there and all alone the angels came”—did I really hear that? I jerked the wheel and the Sprite pulled toward the right. It can’t be that a grown man would describe death as “the angels came.” Even a slow 5-year-old wouldn’t buy that. I spent more gasoline driving around aimlessly for the next hour in order to confirm what I heard (I knew the station would repeat the new release during that time). Unfortunately, yes; what I had heard, I had heard. Angels!
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While we’re on the subject of Bobby Russell (AKA Robert L. Russell and Robert Russell), let’s be crabby about his apples. He also wrote “Little Green Apples”:
Sometimes I call her up at home knowin' she's busy
And ask her if she could get away and meet me
And maybe we could grab a bite to eat
And she drops what she's doin' and she hurries down to meet me
And I'm always late
But she sits waitin' patiently and smiles when she first sees me
'Cause she's made that way
And if that ain't lovin' me
Then all I've got to say
God didn't make little green apples
And it don't snow in Minneapolis when the winter comes
And there's no such thing as make-believe
Puppy dogs, autumn leaves 'n' BB guns
God didn't make little green apples
And it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summertime
There’s our man God again. Not sending down angels to drag wives away to their death this time, but playing Johnny Appleseed. Are we out of Kindergarten yet?
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Today in the Guardian there was an article entitled “Five classic songs that got sex right.” But that’s for another day.
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