Bobbie Gentry, "Ode to Billie Joe"

It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day when Billie Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Bobbie Gentry never explained why the title character committed suicide in "Ode to Billie Joe" - unless an explanation was buried in one of the six or so verses she was said to have excised from the song for Top 40 radio consumption.

Which gave author/screenwriter Herman Raucher free rein nine years later to come up with his own reasons why the kid might have jumped off the bridge and his gal pal lobbed inanimate things off it. In the slightly renamed film Ode to Billy Joe, Raucher and director Max Baer (yup, Jethro) presented Robbie Benson as a BJ upset about a BJ. Billie Joe's developing relationship with a too-young girl appropriately named Bobbie takes a weird turn when he comes of age in an unpleasant way: a jamboree with equal parts food, fighting and fucking gives way to a makeshift bordello where people have their way with holes for hire. It's too much for the unsure lad, who in his drunken state finds he prefers a man's company. This being set in 1953 - not to mention filmed in 1976, eons ago in terms of gay visibility - there was no way Billy Joe could be OK with that ... so he kills himself. A thoughtful YouTube poster has made the entire movie available in pieces for viewing; it's not terribly well acted, but it's interesting.

I'm glad the young generation is so, so better aware of their options where their budding sexualities are concerned. Gawd - if every essentially straight guy who had a dalliance with another guy offed himself, the human race would shrink noticeably.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Becomes an Oldie

Back in the mid-'80s, when I began listening to retro radio on a devotional basis, the local golden-oldies station, WWSW (3WS), used 1970 at its unofficial cutoff point: Shocking Blue's "Venus" and the Beatles' "Let It Be" were the most "recent" songs in its playlist. So I developed a working definition of an "oldie" as being a song that was at least 15 years old.

This definition served me well until the end of the '90s, when I discovered that songs I loved at the time of release by bands like Culture Club and ABC and Men at Work had become "oldies," rendering me a saddened and decrepit old man before I'd even hit middle age.

I bring this up because today is the 15th anniversary of my college graduation: a triumphant moment for me in my cap and gown (or, to be precise, top hat and gown), but now a worryingly distant memory. Yours truly is now an oldie even in the sense of achievement of adulthood, I guess. In commemoration, here are 10 other things that felt kind of new in 1995.

1. Smashing Pumpkins, "1979"
2. Sophie B. Hawkins, "As I Lay Me Down"
3. Martin Page, "In the House of Stone and Light"
4. TLC, "Waterfalls"
5. Nicki French, "Total Eclipse of the Heart"
6. U2, "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me"
7. Seal, "Kiss From a Rose"
8. Rappin' 4-Tay f/ the Spinners, "I'll Be Around"
9. Boyz II Men, "Water Runs Dry"
10. Oasis, "Champagne Supernova"

Roxy Music, "Out of the Blue"

If this blog post were a Facebook status update, it would read: Pop Argot is overwhelmed by what electric violin can do in a rock context.

But to elaborate, I'm also overwhelmed by the aptitude of everyone else onboard the space shuttle Roxy Music - especially the oboe player, and how often do I get to say that? - on "Out of the Blue." Even if I think Bryan Ferry's sartorial reputation is rather overstated, at least if this clip is evidence.

Lady Gaga, "Telephone"

Few artists today are as polarizing as Lady Gaga - you either absolutely adore her or are absolutely mystified by her overwhelming success over the past 18 months. I'm not on board with her - didn't she learn from Elton John and Madonna that costumes only go so far, that you have to have some lyrical meat on your glittery bones? - but I appreciate that she's affected a number of lives for the better.

Including, apparently, several among the U.S. military in Afghanistan: members of the 82nd Airborne made a video for Gaga's "Telephone" that's been setting the blogosphere abuzz. No dialogue about killing cows and making burgers (what does that line even mean?), just gyrations and choreography and three minutes of implorings to "stop talking."

I haven't yet decided, though, if it's preferable to the 10-minute Tarantino-inspired epic video Gaga and Beyonce did, though.

Marie Osmond, "This Is the Way That I Feel"

Ever wonder what Marie Osmond would have sounded like if she had mashed up two Diana Ross hits, "Love Hangover" and "Ain't No Mountain High Enough"? Then you should be aware of absolutely sweet Marie's final Top 40 chart appearance as a solo artist, "This Is the Way That I Feel." It spent a single week at #39 in June 1977 before disappearing into the Land of Lost Pop Songs. Thankfully, people like YouTube poster Music Mike remember them. (Check out his YouTube channel for an immense number of forgotten gems.)

Hootie and the Blowfish, "Can't Find the Time"

At last, we complete our exploration of a too-forgotten oldie. Over the years, a few obscure bands took cracks at recording "Can't Find the Time." The members of the Orpheus Rising incarnation of the band have archived a few snippets by groups with names like Wasabi and Wits End. But the one notable rendition in the past decade was by a very unlikely act: Hootie and the Blowfish, who had just begun their exit from the national stage but placed their cover of "Can't Find the Time" on the soundtrack of 2000's Me, Myself and Irene, a typically manic Jim Carrey comedy. Directors the Farrelly Brothers, or whoever was responsible for the soundtrack, peculiarly opted for mostly newly recorded covers of Steely Dan songs. What the Dan had to do with multiple-personality Carrey was anybody's guess, much less why Hootie and the Blowfish would chime in with a non-Dan cover.

(There is a connection of which the Farrellys were probably unaware, though: Chevy Chase, who was a drummer before he was a comic actor, played in an early version of Steely Dan as well as in a Boston-area band that impersonated Orpheus on a handful of tour dates.)

Darius Rucker and the boys didn't make much of an impression with their languid and faintly countrified take on the chestnut, but it did return the song to the public eye for a short period of time, and in hindsight, it makes a bit more sense of Rucker's country moves to come.

Rose Colored Glass, "Can't Find the Time"

After poor distribution from record label MCA prevented "Can't Find the Time" from becoming the hit it deserved to be, a few more singles came and went for Orpheus. "Brown Arms in Houston" grazed the singles chart, and "By the Size of My Shoes" gave "Rhinestone Cowboy" songwriter Larry Weiss some of his earliest visibility, but there were cracks in the armor. Principal lead singer and songwriter Bruce Arnold, dissatisfied with the touring version of the band and desirous of new collaboration, broke up the group in late '69 and formed a new Orpheus in '71 for one album; he now disavows all connection with the outfit presently gigging as Orpheus Reborn.

"Can't Find the Time," meanwhile, found new life in the hands of Rose Colored Glass, a pop quartet who took it to #54 in the spring of 1971. I'd never have known about it had it not been for a Dick Bartley compilation, Collector's Essentials: The '70s, that I reviewed in the early 2000s for the All Music Guide. (Ignore the typo in the first sentence; it's bugged me for years.) I love that, according to the 45 on this YouTube clip, the strings were arranged by Hoppy Hallman. One more reason to enjoy this chipper rendition of "Can't Find the Time."