Now Winnemucca is clearly the best place name beginning with W. Sadly, I couldn't find any songs about it... but Richmond Fontaine did name a whole after after it.
There’s this guy I work with who is, to put it bluntly, a
bit of a dick. We’ll call him Bob. Because his name is Robert Brown and his
address is 32 Acacia Gardens, LS3 6JN. OK, I made that up for the purpose of
the joke. He’s not really called Bob. That is his actual address though, if you
want to go push rotting vegetables through his letterbox.
The interesting thing about Bob is that I’m not the only one
who thinks he’s a dick. Everyone in our office feels the same. (Fortunately, he
doesn’t work in our office, he’s in the one down the corridor. Yet I seriously
suspect that many of the people who work in that office also think he’s a dick.)
However, Bob is not, on the surface, an unpleasant person.
He’ll always say hello with a smile and ask how you’re doing. And he’ll tip his
head slightly to one side as you answer, to show that he’s listening. But
surface is all it is. You can just tell. Underneath he’s shallow and
self-important, probably lazy, vain and dishonest: a textbook narcissist.
Given that the people I work with all have different likes and
dislikes, different interests, cares and concerns (although they’re all pretty
decent folk – no Tories, for example), how come we’ve all arrived, pretty
independently, at the same conclusion when it comes to Bob? We don’t share the
same unified opinion about everyone else in the world – certain of my
colleagues might even have a good word to say about Tom Hanks, Noel
Gallagher or Scrappy Doo, for example, and I won’t hold it against them. So why do we all think
Bob is a dick?
Scientists and psychologists have a number of answers for
the Everyone Thinks He’s A Dick phenomenon. The first of those is plain,
old-fashioned narcissism. You’re probably aware that the word comes from Narcissus,
a character from Ovid's Metamorphoses who is cursed by the gods to fall in love
with his own reflection. When he realises his reflection won’t ever love him
back, he dies of a broken heart. In the early 20th century, various
psychoanalysts began to use the term narcissism to refer to people who are
condescending, feel superior to others, are preoccupied with admiration, and
exhibit a lack of empathy. Just like Bob.
On a side note, I was interested to read that German
psychoanalyst Karen Horney believed narcissism existed on a sliding scale “that
ranged from healthy self-esteem to a pathological state”. Which suggests that
the only way you can claim not to be a narcissist is if you believe you’re
actually a bit rubbish. I guess I’m safe there then.
Beyond narcissism, we get to a more modern definition
of why everyone thinks Bob is a dick: affective presence. Coined by
psychologists Noah Eisenkraft and Hillary Anger Elfenbein as recently as 2010,
their study suggests that some people have the gift – or the curse – to make
everyone feel good about them… or to think they’re a dick.
Affective presence refers to how we make other people feel, just by being around them, regardless of our own emotions or intentions. It's
an overall, lasting effect we leave on others.
The researchers were clear to draw a line between affective
presence and another phenomenon known as “emotional contagion” – which is
basically how happy people might make you feel more happy and miserable people might make you want to slit your own wrists. (Besides, we all know this isn’t always
the case – overly positive people can be a pain in the arse, whereas
depressives with a sense of humour can sometimes cheer you up… I hope, anyway.)
Scientific
American drills into the affective presence research in a little more
depth, revealing an interesting nugget that I’ll leave you to ponder on, as it
seems to me to be at the root of Bob’s problems…
In the research group, people who “described themselves as
both ‘extroverted’ and ‘disagreeable’ were more likely to have a negative
effect on” others. You may well ask why anyone would go out of their way to
describe themselves as ‘disagreeable’? (I’m not sure Bob would… but then, I’m
trying to limit the time I spend in his presence, so I’m not going to ask him). It's an interesting combination though - somewhere between Timmy Mallett and Jeremy Clarkson. Now imagine having to work with that!
Yes, I'm using the same picture I did yesterday. Because I'm too lazy to change it, and because sometimes, there's a man, well, he's the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that's the Dude, in Los Angeles. And even if he's a lazy man - and the Dude was most certainly that. Quite possibly the laziest in Los Angeles County, which would place him high in the runnin' for laziest worldwide. But sometimes there's a man, sometimes, there's a man. Aw. I lost my train of thought here. But... aw, hell. Here's this week's answers...
10. Cat sits on white wine.
Cats sit on mats. As readers of the Oi, Frog! books will know.
Just as we had a band called The Bens for our Top Ten Ben Songs, The Donnas were an obvious choice to open this week's post... although there is a far more famous Donna who we come to shortly.
I think that there is also a band called The Donnas, said Charity Chic, who was in a huff because I sided with George last week.
Please please please include all girl band The Donnas with the wonderfully dirty glorious 'Take It Off', said C.
I agree with C, The Donnas are ace, said Swiss Adam.
Even my millennial hipster politico friend, Ben, was quick to chime in that I should feature the great Aussie garage band, The Donnas...
I haven't the heart to tell him they're American. He gets upset if you challenge his youthful wisdom. (It's OK, he doesn't read this. He's far too busy. He votes by proxy.)
Anyway, here they are, with one of many fine tunes from their back catalogue...
There were less suggestions this week because there are less songs featuring Donnas. I'm not saying I engineered it that way to cut down on my workload... but if we do My Top Ten Eammon Songs next week... well...
Still, there were a few strong suggestions that didn't quite make the Top Ten. Such as this one from Lynchie...
Frank Zappa had a song called "Donna Ya Wanna", but it's very rare - only on live bootlegs I think.
Sadly so rare I couldn't find it on youtube. Although it did suggest this fine slice of Zappa as an alternative...
It's worth noting that at this point I considered allowing songs with Madonna in the title, but it opened up a whole kettle of fish and I wondered how I'd manage to make ends meet. But still, there was this...
Tea time won't be the same without my Donna At night I lie awake and dream of Donna I think about that small cafe That's where we used to meet each day And then we used to sit a while And drink our afternoon tea
Suggested by Lynchie. I have to wonder why Donovan would want to go out with another Donna though. Too confusing. It'd be like me going out with a Rolamina.
Rigid Digit and my millennial hipster politico friend, Ben, preferred this version...
When you dig a little deeper though, you discover it's not a song about a girl at all, but an old Yiddish song from the 1940s about a calf being led to slaughter.
Donna has a nine year old kid In another months time she's expecting twins She says she can quit anytime she likes But I know she's on a mission tonight Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back Don't pay no bills don't pay the rent But you don't forget where the money went And who will you turn to when the money's all gone You'll wonder why, why you were born
I wish that was a Flight of the Conchords piss-take. But I think they're serious. My millennial hipster politico friend, Ben, objects to that because he says it's "classist", which I didn't even know was a word. But I guess you can see his point.
From last year's Pixies album, Beneath The Eyrie, which I ended up listening to quite a lot during the first lockdown. Not the kind of Donna you want to meet on Halloween...
And when the moon grows smaller Donna picks out a flower Gives her a witchy power There in the witching hour, in the witching hour Donna's taking her potion, eating all my devotion Fucking up my emotion, in the witching hour Donna picks her a flower, in the witching hour
Speaking of Donna Summer, said Brian, here's early Paddy that goes back to at least '84...
Which gets you almost top marks as far as I'm concerned, Brian, and allows me to pay proper tribute to the lady many of you expected to be at the top of the page...
Obvs a picture of Donna Summer is required, said Charity Chic... although he loses points for saying "obvs".
Come on, guys, you're both grown men - you're both older than me, for pity's sake! Leave "obvs" to the young uns, eh?
Anyway, here's Donna Summer with a song written specially for her by Bruce Springsteen (who also wrote Cover Me with her in mind, until Jon Landau convinced him to keep it for himself)...
There are, of course, thousands of pop songs about love of money. They deserve, at least, a Top Ten of their own. There are also about a hundred different versions of this song, originally written and recorded by the mighty Barrett Strong back in 1959. But I love this version more than any other because it's truly unique... and because the video is like 1979 in a bottle.
Poor old Roddy, he didn't quite get it all. Although going from the video, he must have been about 12 when he recorded this, so he did pretty well for such a young 'un.
Lawrence (of Felt & Denim fame) returned earlier this year with a new album from his third band, including this wonderful hymn to alienation which has him bemoaning his uselessness at humanoid relationships before guiltily confessing: "Yet I admit I'm still susceptible to vaginas." When was the last time Gary Barlow wrote a lyric like that?
I remember when this was released, the record company promoted it as Radiohead's answer to Bohemian Rhapsody. I still think that comparison holds true. Like Bo Rap, there's far more going on here than one song can usually hold... and yet, it works.
Back in my Championship Hearts playing days, I went by the moniker 'Marvin': the original Paranoid Android. Life - don't talk to me about life...
Those were the songs that get me robot-dancing... which one gives you a binary solo?
