Dancing Barefoot. Legends of me dancing at Smith College with my work boots on and spilling a lot. But if there were a song that could mesmerize me into dancing, it would be this one by Patti Smith. Heading for a spill.
Darkness On The Edge Of Town. The Springsteen album that sucked up my high school friends and me, as if we were from NJ.
David Watts. Wish I could be like. (whether Jam or Kinks.)
Dead Flowers. The “Stripped” versions of Stones hillbilly-twanged songs are incomparable. Even “Not Fade Away,” which I first heard in covers by Ry Cooder and Tanya Tucker.
The Dead Heart. I’d almost forgotten Midnight Oil. They still sound good.
Dead Man Walking. “And I’m gone, like I’m dancing on angels/And I’m gone, through the crack in the past/Like a dead man walking.” The live acoustic version with Reeves Gabrels is amazing.
Dear Head On The Wall. Always love the great Alejandro Escovedo. Plus, this song reminds me of telling a Russian girl I worked with that the deer heads in the trophy room at the Endicott House in Dedham continued on the other side of the wall where their asses were. She seemed to buy it. It was there at the Endicott House where former N.H. Gov. Walter Peterson has told me of his love for big-game paintings. Walter was a giant gentle guy and an unlikely Republican whose children had been slandered by William Loeb. Switching gears, did Alejandro have hepatitis? When I saw Alejandro in Rockport, he walked through the small crowd asking how “Sister Lost Soul” began, but I choked. Then met a guy in Austin who called him Al.
Dear Prudence. My brother Tim was listening to this in our room when he heard my father died.
Debaser. Slicing up eyeballs, the Pixies say.
December Will Be Magic Again. I went out and got the single while I was in college, partly out of love for Kate and partly as a rare flashback to Christmas spirit. I’ve passed it down to my children. Catherine loves to sing this one.
Dedicated Follower Of Fashion. Ray Davies coins a phrase? “Everywhere the Carnebetian army marches on/Each one an dedicated follower of fashion.”
Deep Forbidden Lake. Even I know this one is sexual.
Desire. I fell upon this Ben Lee song from New Music From New West and quickly liked it more than the U2 by the same name.
Desolation Row. Sniffing drainpipes.
Diamond Dogs. Halloween Jack is a real cool cat and he lives on top of Manhattan Chase.
Different Drum. A Linda Ronstadt from childhood background music. I fell for her later as teenager and then went back as a cynical adult when she sadly had lost her voice.
Dig A Pony. By this one in the Beatles concert on the rooftop, it’s clear that Lennon was the Beatle that most threatened the establishment.
Dirge. A Dylan I loved as a child. And still do.
Dirty Diesel. Also love Paul Westerberg and the driving guitar.
Dis Land (Was Made For You & Me). “Wisemouth Johnny was a gifted child/Went out in the world one foggy morn/Gazed at the city that lay in ruin/Skipped down the road and sang this song/Let the wayward children play/Let the wicked have their day/Let the chips fall where they may/I’m going to Disneyland.” Timbuk 3 was a great band. Also loved the steel drums of “Sunshine” and the trucker feel of “Mudflap Girl.”
Dixie Chicken. Loved this as a young Little Feat fan. Sang it to my children ironically only after I understood its story.
Do The Strand. Saw Roxy at Boston University and the old Great Woods outdoor theater. “Look through who´s who/See la goulue/And nijinsky/Do the strandsky/Weary of the waltz/And mashed potato schmaltz/Rhododendron/Is a nice flower/Evergreen/It lasts forever/But it can´t beat strand power.”
Doesn’t Make It Alright. As the Specials said: “Just because you’re a black boy/Just because you’re a white/It doesn’t mean you’ve got to hate him/It doesn’t mean you’ve got to fight/It doesn’t make it alright/It doesn’t make it alright/It’s the worst excuse in the world.”
Don’t Do Me Like That. Went to see Tom Petty on an illicit drug. When Stevie Nicks took the stage for a duet, I could smell her. Went home afterwards and talked honestly to my childhood dog Casey.
Don’t Pass Me By. I remember it in the context of Paul is dead or the Manson family. Maybe had nothing to do with either. But I always liked it and wondered if you could really lose your hair in a car crash. I lost mine but not in a car crash.
Don’t Push Your Foot On The Heartbrake. Don’t put the blues where your shoes should be.
Drink Before The War. Sinéad O’Connor song I equate with the Iraq war (one of them anyway). When I read in the paper about war “jitters.”
Drop The Pilot. Used this as a stretch in a piece I wrote about PILOT (payments in lieu of taxes) programs. Big fan of Joan Armatrading. Also remember my Toronto family visiting one summer, pronouncing here name differently like “amah-TRA-ding,” like when they called Genghis Khan “ching-us,” which may be right for all I know. In any case, JA is more interesting than the more successful Tracy Chapman. (See A Side: Back to the Playlist.)
