Bob Marley at his very best, this song seems all the more relevant considering current actions world-wide. "You see men sailing on their ego trips, Blast off on their spaceships, Million miles from reality, No care for you, no care for me"

No one's recommended this? This song is unreal in so many ways. First, it sounds like relaxing lounge jazz, then all of a sudden it changes into music for a Scooby-Doo episode, then the strange wailing comes in and you're floating through the deep void of space in an alternate reality without worrying about oxygen or the laws of physics. That is all within the first minute of the song. And then, and then, let's not forget the way the Brother kills on the organ, my friends. Then there's the sample appeal, most obviously this was slowed down for A Tribe Called Quest's "Scenario", and recently reworked by Jay Dee, in that trademark handclap hitting, hypnotic head-nodding Dilla fashion.

A quasi-psychedelic throwaway from one of Elvis' later, cheesier movies. This song in particular gets a bad rap because it's presented in an ultra-campy dream sequence with groovy go-go dancers writhing and a man pouncing about in a dog costume. But I'm addicted to the song itself, which has a gorgeous arrangement with harpsichords, punchy trumpets and pillow-soft backup vocals by The Love Generation (who also sang on The Partridge Family's hits). And Elvis' vocal performance is more gutsy than you would imagine at this stage in his career. Worth seeking out!

Now I understand,
Why words mean so much to you,
They'll never be about you..

Roddy (singer/writer) says that �American English� is about �how ever single love song ever written is written about the person who wrote it, nobody else�.

Memory's a funny thing. Especially romantic memory.
The first time I heard this song was two days after the first time I fell in love. Everywhere I went, I sang its earnest chorus "And you are always on my mind" in my head, thinking about the one I was in love with. In the shower staring at a bottle of hair conditioner, I sang, "You are always on my mind". On the subway, trying to ignore a potential fistfight about to break out, I sang, "You are always on my mind". In the supermarket produce section, holding the perfect shape of a lemon in my hand, I sang, "You are always on my mind". I was giddy and happy and the song understood. "Hey!" the song said, "Hey!" Will Oldman sang, "I got a new partner now!"
But jacket weather set in and things grew colder and we broke up and I was miserable and I stored the CD away on a top shelf with other memorabilia of that love who's happy power was really freakin' painful for me to think about now.
Things weren't always so bleak and I got me a new love and some years later, when I listened to the song again, I noticed something about the lyrics I hadn't before. See, in reality, the song isn't joyous at all. Will Oldman is singing about a past love, a love who is always on his mind when all the time he is seeing another girl, a different girl from the one always on his mind. He can't be with that girl. He has a new partner now. What I thought was a song about new joy was a song about nostalgic loss.
I didn't see how it was possible that I had suppressed that true meaning for as long as I had, considering how often I sang the song and how much it meant to me at the time. I knew the lyrics like the back of my hand and when I listen to music I dredge up all I can get from the lyrics like I'm a devout scribe interpreting the bible.
One of the beauties of pop songs is that they take on the flavour of your life at the time you listened to them and carry that flavour on to whenever you listen to the song again, while meanwhile you're morphing and changing and discarding what songs you don't want to remember that you loved and making mixed Cd's for long cartrips of the songs you do you do want to remember. This song is weird in that IT seemed to be the one that was morphing the next time I heard it and not me, like it was a person that had changed over time that I was encountering again.
Besides which, what a fucking lovely song it is.

Many people think that Petula Clark first came to the US when the song 'Downtown' topped the charts in 1965. However, she actually came to Los Angeles in 1959 and recorded an album of Jazz songs. Among the many treasures produced during these sessions is 'Darn That Dream'. She sings this great song with all the innocense and charm of a hopeless romantic whose desired love is just out of reach. Her resignation to unrequited affection for her unavailable romeo is interrupted briefly by a soaring interlude from the orchestra. The sweeping melody almost suggests that she is dreaming of being held in "his" arms as they dance across the floor of a dimly lit ballroom. In the end she must come back down to earth and awake to the reality that she will never have the man of her dreams, however she refuses to give up the hope that one day she will get her happy ending. I know I'm rooting for her!!

A blend of Mexican, a sprinkling of country and a dose of Southern soul "Goodnight Moon" is a track off the album "I Ought to Give You a Shot in the Head for Making Me Live in This Dump" : classy!

When a song hits me - I will play it like it's going out of fashion, or in this case, coming into fashion!

Until four days ago I knew nothing about this band - I happened to be surfing around looking for inspiration and accidently came upon this song, the singer whom I now know as Ambrosia Paisley has a sultry, quirky voice and given to this song makes it feel like It should be played acoustic in some smoky bar with swing doors, and a bar man called Hank offering neat JD's.

Although that's probably not too far from reality it is being played world wide thanks to Mr Tarrantino who has used this track in his movie soundtrack - Kill Bill 2 - which kind of makes sense to me granted that my original search on Google four days ago started with Nancy Sinatra, which I also found out "Bang Bang my baby shot me down" (another recommendation should I add!) was lent to the Kill Bill 1 soundtrack.

Regressing, I do not know if any other tunes on this album are worthy but Goodnight Moon now firmly has a place in the soundtrack to my life.

This song was ravaged by critics in reviews of the Stark Reality 2003 reissue (it was previously-unreleased and included as a bonus track), but I think it's frickin' great. It's apparently from a somewhat different incarnation of the group and is a Monty Stark composition - not one of the Hoagy Carmichael reinterpretations that made up the original version of the album. It has a naive, off-kilter, beautiful, and bizarre sound that I just love.

It's upbeat psych-jazz with extremely awkward cheery lead vocals. Stark's phrasing is kinda off (and his voice is WAY off) - it basically sounds like an easy listening number gone terribly wrong - but in a really good way.

During the early days of 1982, I was as a 'wet behind the ears' 19 year old suddenly sent to a faraway war in the (previously unheard of) Falkland Islands. This deeply haunting, passionate and heart-rendering track by the much missed Faith Brothers, encapsulates much of the mood, confusion, passion, patriotic pride and dark bitter reality of that horrific time. Now no longer naive at 42, my mind still screams and my heart still aches ... as I listen .. and remember.

Along with 'And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda' (Eric Bogle, The Pogues et al), I believe 'Easter Parade' to be the finest song ever written about the utter desperation of war ... and life after the tea and medals have been dished out.

Would love to know if any Faith Brothers music is available on CD. (Tapes worn out and faded in the sun - a bit like me!). Can anyone help?

For me, simply the most perfect, most luscious piece of pop of its era. I just have to hear the opening downward guitar riff and I'm wrapped up in every note of the song, virtually holding my breath until the premature fade. Wow!

"Don't you know that my hate is everlasting, baby?" The story of the Monks is the story of rock & roll...in an alternate reality, perhaps. Take a bunch of bored US servicemen stationed in Germany about to be discharged, put them in a band, and have them decide to freak out the establishment by dressing in black capes, shaving their heads into monk's tonsures and wearing nooses as neckties. Perhaps not so shocking in these days after punk rock, but this was 1965. Oh, and don't forget the electric banjo. What began as a fairly standard surf/beat combo called the Torquays mutated into this band, churning out some of the most nihilistic music you've ever heard, even by German standards.