I'm delighting in my latest download from the iTunes store: Carole King's The Living Room Tour album. My only beef is that she does some of my favorite songs as part of a medley, "Take Good Care of My Baby / It Might As Well Rain Until September / Go Away Little Girl / I'm Into Something Good / Hey Girl / One Fine Day / Will You Love Me Tomorrow."
I mean, why don't I get the whole shebang on "I'm Into Something Good" or "One Fine Day" or "Will You Love Me Tomorrow?" I love those songs. But then again, I got twenty-two songs, all of which are great, so I should keep my damn trap shut.
Do you believe that Carole King is in her sixties? That doesn't seem possible to me. I remember having a copy of Tapestry on vinyl, for god's sake -- and I think I bought it myself; it wasn't a hand-me-down from one of my brothers and sisters. It was, in fact, the second album I ever bought with my own money. The first, god help me, was Tom T. Hall's In Search of a Song.
That was definitely the influence of my older brothers and sisters. To this day, I have a secret fondness for classic country music that I can't acknowledge. I'll deny it if you bring it up in company.
At least I think this finally exonerates me from Kevin's insistence that I'm a "fucking hipster."
In any case, Carole King sounds great. Her voice still hits me the way it did the first time I listened to Tapestry. And for some reason, I still feel naughty listening to "Smackwater Jack." Now that I'm older, I don't see what it was about that song that made me feel like I should be turning down the volume lest my mother hear.
Ah, that old Catholic guilt. It's hard to shake.