Songs in the hourglass: The Girl from Ipanema

As a father I wonder what kind of music Baby Mojo will like.   I hate to sound like an old man who says ‘back in my day…’; but if my son likes any music that requires the use of an autotuner, has to bleep out  words or the artist has more tattoos than hands then he’ll find that MP3 player meeting the business end of a hammer. 

As a youth I do not actively remember hearing The Girl from Ipanema in the house.  It certainly was in the genre of music that mom liked, but I didn’t see the LP in her collection.  Mom was kind of a collector, so I come by my packrat tendencies honestly.  However, much to the chagrin of my wife, my neo hoarding is an entry for another post.

Of course, by the time I reached college I had heard The Girl from Imanema many times, but it always seemed to be a punch line.  However, sometime between college and becoming a father the song morphed from a cliché to an island of sanity-surrounded by a moat of screaming toddler. 

It’s a song that has accompanied me many places.  Some folks know where they were when X happened.  For me I know where I was when I heard certain songs and the moment was just right.        

Seafood in Nottingham

It’s the obligatory working in a dead end job that just shucks story.  I was living in Nottingham, England for a little bit where I was working a couple odd jobs and experiencing some culture*.  One of the odd jobs I picked up was shucking oysters at a small restaurant.  The kitchen was almost the size of a large bathroom; it was a very small restaurant. As a relatively small man I felt good working there, but I occasionally felt like I was in Lilliput and on the verge of being tied down.

One day when I was putting a butter knife into an oyster the song came on the radio.  It was so beautiful and unlike the situation where I was currently, (aside from the occasional culture) that I had to stop and look out the back door.  Unfortunately the view out the back door was to a scene of urban decay, but even that couldn’t taint the haunting vision of this girl from Impanema.

The Strip Club

It’s the obligatory working in a strip club as a DJ story.  I was living in Charlotte, NC for a little bit where I was working a couple odd jobs and experiencing some culture. ** One of the odd jobs I picked up was as a relief DJ at a strip club.  It was a nice middle of the road strip club, in other words, it wasn’t too trashy and there wasn’t a valet service.  ***

One night I was goofing around and I played The Girl from Ipanema.  From a mood and style perspective it went perfectly, the detached crowd, spinning girl on a pole on stage 2- it was perfect.  It was perfect until the girl on stage 1 commented that the song was too slow and to pick up the pace.  Her comments made me stop concentrating on the memories of the oyster restaurant and focused it again on her mammaries.  However, much to the chagrin of my wife; playing music for women to dance and undress to is more complicated than it sounds and is an entry for another post.

Driving through Georgetown, S.C.

It’s the obligatory driving through a sleepy town at 6:00 AM story.  The MP3 player, devoid of anybody in need of an autotuner, was on random shuffle and the song came on.  My wife and son were asleep, but it was close enough for them to wake that I turned the volume up just a bit. 

It’s still a great song, regardless of the memory that it brings up.  I think that the most recent time I heard it was the best one though and you can bet that Baby Mojo will learn to love the song.  It’s also a safe bet that he’ll like Peggy Lee, Rush Pulp, The Ramones and the Pixies too.

*Drinking beer and eating fish & chips.

**Extra work in television and movies, singing telegrams and playing music for naked ladies.

***Not that I know what services make up a nice or not so nice strip club, because I don’t.