I had a different post planned for today. The karaoke science project is embarking upon its Lyrics bracket, and I (predictably) have many thoughts. I also happened to submit the song that became the bracket's number one seed, and now I will not be able to get through that song without crying, because it's "9 to 5."
I was very young, maybe five, when someone gave me the single of "9 to 5." It was the first music (and the only 45) I ever owned. You could play it on the Fisher-Price turntable. (In my memory, that gadget was red and beige-white, though a hasty web search turns it up on eBay in blue. Am I making this up? If the toy still exists, it has long since passed out of the house, either in a garage sale or as a hand-me-down to my sister's kids.)
Obviously the song ripped. The acrylic nails! The thumping piano! The horn hits! It would be years before I appreciated it as a songwriter, noticed the canny climb under "crazy if you let it," recognized the variation in lyrical rhythm between the rapid-fire verse and that cathartic chorus. It's personal, political—existential in places—and fully revolutionary. It feels comic, but there are lines that will stab you if you don't know they're coming. You could read Marx, or you could just spend three minutes listening to a perfect bit of country pop.
Dolly still means a lot to . . . well, to everyone. To us as a band, for sure. Charlie compiled a lovely thread of remembrance over on Bluesky. And if you haven't listened to Julie's cover of "To Daddy," please fix that. (Crowded Table Collective played that version in the first two Highwomen tribute shows.)
Some of my favorite eulogies have come from feminists: Rebecca Solnit, Tressie McMillan Cottom (I am having trouble tracking down the link to her Instagram post), Lyz Lenz. I saw someone call for people to remember Dolly in their prayers, and of course that's fine, but I think we should remember her in our actions. Donate to the Imagination Library, of course. Think about joining your local library board to keep LGBTQ+ stories on the shelves. Take a chance on an unknown artist or an unproven piece of art (Dolly helped produce Buffy). Support programs that get musical instruments into kids' hands. Join a union. Write a song and sing it. We have some very big, very sparkly shoes to fill, and it's gonna take everybody doing their best.
I was very young, maybe five, when someone gave me the single of "9 to 5." It was the first music (and the only 45) I ever owned. You could play it on the Fisher-Price turntable. (In my memory, that gadget was red and beige-white, though a hasty web search turns it up on eBay in blue. Am I making this up? If the toy still exists, it has long since passed out of the house, either in a garage sale or as a hand-me-down to my sister's kids.)
Obviously the song ripped. The acrylic nails! The thumping piano! The horn hits! It would be years before I appreciated it as a songwriter, noticed the canny climb under "crazy if you let it," recognized the variation in lyrical rhythm between the rapid-fire verse and that cathartic chorus. It's personal, political—existential in places—and fully revolutionary. It feels comic, but there are lines that will stab you if you don't know they're coming. You could read Marx, or you could just spend three minutes listening to a perfect bit of country pop.
Dolly still means a lot to . . . well, to everyone. To us as a band, for sure. Charlie compiled a lovely thread of remembrance over on Bluesky. And if you haven't listened to Julie's cover of "To Daddy," please fix that. (Crowded Table Collective played that version in the first two Highwomen tribute shows.)
Some of my favorite eulogies have come from feminists: Rebecca Solnit, Tressie McMillan Cottom (I am having trouble tracking down the link to her Instagram post), Lyz Lenz. I saw someone call for people to remember Dolly in their prayers, and of course that's fine, but I think we should remember her in our actions. Donate to the Imagination Library, of course. Think about joining your local library board to keep LGBTQ+ stories on the shelves. Take a chance on an unknown artist or an unproven piece of art (Dolly helped produce Buffy). Support programs that get musical instruments into kids' hands. Join a union. Write a song and sing it. We have some very big, very sparkly shoes to fill, and it's gonna take everybody doing their best.
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