fussyjazz:

Roberta Flack — Ballad of the Sad Young Men

In early 1969, a young Roberta Flack sat down in a studio and supposedly pumped out First Take in a matter of hours (hence the title). Forty-one years later, Bloomington is on fire, yet the air is shot through with a chill, a tap on the should from the coming bleak winter. I turn around, and nothing’s there. Well, Roberta Flack is there. And like Regina Spektor’s “Poor Little Rich Boy” did five years ago, Roberta’s “Ballad of the Sad Young Men” has me shot through with regret, anxiousness, doom and somehow, still, a bittersweet sense of hope. I’ve got the weird grin of defeat. She’s yanking down my trousers to reveal legs covered in goosebumps. We may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us. Is Roberta really a sympathizer or is she calling me out? Probably best to give this a good, deep listen and check out the lyrics (not penned by Ms. Flack):

Sing a song of sad young men
Glasses full of rye
All the news
Is bad again
Kiss your dreams goodbye
All the sad young men
Sitting at the bars
Drinking up the night
Missing all the stars
All the sad young men
Drifting through the town
Drinking up the night
Trying not to drown
All the sad young men
Singing in the cold
Trying to forget
That they are growing old
All the sad young men
Choking on their youth
Trying to be brave
Running from the truth
Autumn turns the leaves to gold
Slowly dies the heart
Sad young men are growing old
And that’s the cruelest part
All the sad young men
Seek a certain smile
Someone they can hold
For just a little while
Tired little girl
She does the best that she can
Trying to be gay
For a sad young man
While a grimy moon
Blossoms up above
All the sad young men
They play at making love
Misbegotten moon
Shine for sad young men
May your gentle light
Guide them home again 

thank you c swanson for introducing the internetz to this great blog.

1 year agoOctober 16, 2010