Heartache With Hard Work

I was pretty into NOFX in high school, and Heavy Petting Zoo was my favorite album by them at the time. I hadn’t listened to it in at least a year or two but when I was going through my CDs trying to find my copy of Pet Sounds, I ran into it and decided it would be fun to have a little blast from the past.

Listening to it, I’m amazed to discover how good an album it really is. Which makes me wonder: why did I ever let it drift to the bottom of my stacks of old CDs? No real answer, but I won’t let it happen again.

Heavy Petting Zoo has pretty much everything that makes NOFX good. A few knock-down drag-out punk songs, a few more melodious pop-punk hybrids, a surprising amount of tenderness, a decent amount of humor (both in the silly sense, but also in the wry “we have to laugh at the world because the alternative is to get depressed” sense), a little over-the-top social commentary, and a lot of songs about sex, fetishes, domestic violence, and prejudice.

Two short examples:
What’s the Matter With Kids Today?
It starts out “There’s something wrong with the kids in my neighborhood” and then goes on to catalogue the problems:
They’re always going to church
They dress well and they’re speaking articulate
They show each other respect
They’re never late, don’t joke, or break rules
They eat right, study hard, they like school
It lasts only a little more than a minute, just long enough to get the point across, but before it starts to sound trite. And it’s got a great punk feel – this is the kind of song you’d love to get kicked in the face to.

August 8th
The opposite side of the spectrum. This is just a pretty little song about one of those days when you realize that things are going to be okay. The hurt isn’t specified, and it really doesn’t matter. Everybody has bad times, and everybody also knows what it feels like when you step outside, the sun is shining, and you just know that you’re going to make it. While the sound is totally different to “What’s the Matter with Kids Today?” there are some similarities in theme: both are songs about the importance of spontaneity. The former is an indict of those who follow rules and patterns without question, who don’t allow themselves to live their life in the moment, with danger. The latter is about moments of spontaneous joy. I think that being able to understand the critique in the first song is important to make possible the happiness of the second.

There’s a lot of other great songs on this album that deal with some of the same ideas. “Freedom Like a Shopping Cart” deals with people who keep fighting for more, more money, more prestige, more power, but never seem to get any happier. It suggests that maybe the best thing we could do is give up on freedom when it’s nothing more than freedom to self-police, and instead embrace the freedom of no responsibilities. While this runs the risk of romanticizing the life of the homeless, I think it’s an important message: happiness is a state of mind, and there really is something to Thoreau and Emerson when they tell us to simplify our lives.

Another song, “Black and White” condemns the moralistic society which forces a man to deny his feelings for other men and stay in a loveless marriage. And it takes a detour to poke fun at Catharine Mckinnon and other feminists, who, they claim, let their feminism become a vehicle for condemnation of sex in general. It’s a little bit simplistic, admittedly, but come on, it’s just a punk song, and it is fun.

There are some missteps – I thought “Hotdog in the Hallway” (about how he likes to have sex with his fat girlfriend) was kind of funny back in high school, but it’s really just in bad taste. And a couple songs get a bit repetitive. But apart from that, it’s really a great little album.

I watched most of the Oscar’s tonight, for the first time in many years. I hadn’t been missing much, though Jon Stewart was pretty funny. I have to admit, though, I had never even heard of Crash. That’s how out of it I am in terms of movies. Oh well…

Anyways, given the movie theme of the evening, I thought I’d write about a couple of my favorite uses of songs in movies.

Dare – Stan Bush (The Transformers Movie)

The Transformers Movie was my favorite movie when I was a kid. It’s not quite so high on the list now, but I still really enjoy it. It features Leonard Nimoy, Orson Welles (in his last role ever), has one of the all-time best bad-ass scenes when Optimus Prime takes out basically all the Decepticons by himself, and has a great soundtrack. From that soundtrack, this is my favorite song. It plays in the beginning and is returned to in the final climactic moments. It’s got a great 80s feel as the jangly synthesizers abound. And, it’s a little silly, but it still gets me pumped up to hear the chorus: “Dare! dare to keep all of your dreams alive / It’s time to take a stand / And you can win, if you dare.” Yeah, Hot Rod, kick Galvatron’s ass!

Most of the Time – Bob Dylan (High Fidelity)

This is probably my favorite use of a song in a movie ever. Obviously I love High Fidelity, not just because it’s got John Cusack, and not just because of the music-snob associations, but also because it’s a really great story. It’s hard to convey love on film, and even harder when the main characters are already broken up when the movie starts. This song comes in close to the end when Rob is finally starting to get that he has a lot of things he’s going to have to deal with if he wants to actually start being happy. That moment is so powerful because it shows that sometimes the only way that you can get what you want is to give it up.

Rob spends the whole movie trying to get Laura back without ever owning up to his own role in her decision to break up with him. He never stops to figure out what he really wants out of life: he just wants Laura back because then his life can continue the way that it was. After the funeral, he is finally able to tell Laura “I’m sorry” and then heads out into the rain, to get on with his life. It’s a very sad moment, because it’s when he first really looks at the future, which is a scary prospect. As he sits on a bench in the pouring rain, waiting for a bus and catalogues his own faults, you realize that Laura was perfectly right to break up with him, which is a strange feeling since you’ve spent the entire movie getting to know and love Rob, and have been seeing things from his perspective.

So this is a scene about sadness, about losing someone and moving on, but it’s also a scene about redemption. Rob finally turns a corner when he embraces his own failures and fears. He sits in the pouring rain and the grief runs over him but in doing so, perhaps, washes him clean.

For this scene, no song could be better. First of all, if ever a song felt like rain, it was this song. I can’t tell if it’s only because the scene and the song as so closely interlinked in my mind, but hearing it makes me think of a thunderstorm, of deep dark nights and being huddled up, trying to keep warm, staring up into the sky and feeling the rain against my face.

As for the rest of it, Bob Dylan’s voice (a handicap at times in his career) is perfectly suited to this situation. Gravely, wise, but also tender, he tells of the regrets we feel about those we have left behind. In the same way that the scene is about loss and redemption, the song is about beginning anew, leaving behind the person that you loved. But, there is a delightful tension in lines like:
“Most of the time, she ain’t even in my mind
I wouldn’t know her if I saw her, she’s that far behind
Most of the time, I can’t even be sure
If she was ever with me or if I was ever with her”
Most of the time, we are fine. But, only most of the time. Sometimes, it hurts so bad you can’t stand it. And I think the singer is in one of those moments. His constant repetitions that “most of the time” he is okay, doesn’t even miss her, doesn’t even notice that she’s gone, I see as him grappling, struggling for something to hold onto. Most of the time, I can survive, but at times like these, it feels very hard. It is not a hopeless song, because he does know that the pain eases and life moves on. But it is a song about how hard it is to lose love, and the struggle that goes on inside.

This is the tension of the scene. Rob is only able to end up proposing to Laura because he finds himself inside this song for a brief period, seeing a future without Laura, and forcing himself to think about what being with her means to him. He finally sees that a life without Laura is bad because of the deep love that will be gone.

The narrator of Dylan’s song ends up alone, while Rob and Laura end up together but the crucial moment remains the same, I think. Rob is faced with a choice: move beyond Laura and deal with it, most of the time. Or, commit to Laura in earnest and realize that there will be times when this is terrifying, being with one person forever, but that most of the time, it will be good. That’s all that happiness is, I think. Realizing that we cannot control everything, but that we have the choice to find joy in what life we are given the chance to live.

Moon River – Audrey Hepburn (Breakfast at Tiffany’s)
Audrey Hepburn…need I say more? Breakfast at Tiffany’s is a great film on its own merits, but I would happily watch the whole thing even if it was terrible, just to get the two minutes of her strumming the guitar, singing “Moon River.” She’s so beautiful and sad and distant and fragile. Henri Mancini won an Academy Award for the song, and rightly so, but it’s her delivery that turns it from a great song into a magical one.

Strong Bad e-mails are now available as podcasts. I’ll admit, I don’t really understand the podcast thing, but if it involves me getting Strong Bad e-mails which I can watch on my iPod, I strongly support it.

In other news, there’s a couple new Ted Leo songs floating around. They’re demos of songs that he and the Pharmacists will be playing on their upcoming tour. They’re playing in Boston in a few days, but I really can’t take the time to head down there, unfortunately. I’ll go into more detail on Ted Leo at some later time, but for now, check out the demos.

Army Bound

Some Beginner’s Mind

Also, Brett O’Donnell, the coach of debate at Liberty, was on the Colbert Report tonight. Some funny stuff, like when he talks about the cocky Harvard folks, especially their coach. Can we get Dallas on there for a rebuttal?

Just a short entry today.

Revelry – Sea Ray

I don’t really know much about Sea Ray. They’ve got kind of a Cure thing going on. Sort of. And they have lots of strings. And maybe they’re not really that much like the Cure. Anyways, I found out about them because I bought the album Live at KEXP, which kicks off with this song. I prefer this live version to the studio one, mostly because it feels a looser, more organic. A bubbly guitar opens the song, then the strings move in. After a slow buildup come the vocals. The singer doesn’t have a particularly amazing voice and I find it a little annoying on some of their songs, but it fits very well with this song. There is an extended instrumental period in the middle and then a short final verse as the song trails down.

Sea Ray broke up a while ago, which is kind of a shame, but I still haven’t heard all of the stuff they put out while they were together. So I’ve still got some chances to explore.

I thought today would be a good day to talk about a few of my favorite covers. Covers, like live recordings, are usually a tough sell for me because I get very attached to the original version and any deviation seems bad.

However, on rare occasions, a band will re-invent a song that I like, or (even more amazingly) put together a fantastic version of a song I don’t even like (seeing Ben Gibbard and Carissa’s Wierd doing “Complicated” was a great example of that). This is a post to celebrate those songs. I’ll choose a couple where I think the new version significantly improves on the original.

Everyday – Rogue Wave (Buddy Holly cover)

I haven’t really gotten into Rogue Wave all that much, though a number of folks have strongly recommended them to me. It’s not that I dislike what I’ve heard; it just hasn’t gripped me. After hearing this cover of one of my favorite Buddy Holly songs, though, I may have to give them a more attentive listen. They’ve taken a very pretty, peppy sing-a-long song that can’t help but make you smile and deepened it, fleshed it out.

The feeling and theme of the song remains the same, but the layered guitars add levels, give the song more weight. Instead of a single current, this version feels more like a stream full of eddies, rapids, twists, and turns. The drums come and go, as do the strings. A quick-paced pretty song has been transformed into a slower, more driven, melancholic, and powerful song that is taut with emotion.

The original is great, but this version is even better.

Reason to Believe – Aimee Mann and Michael Penn (Bruce Springsteen cover)

I love Bruce Springsteen, and it’s tough to imagine a cover being better than one of his originals. That is because so much of what makes his music great is his delivery, the way he constructs and executes his songs, whether solo or with the E Street Band. This song, the final cut off his acoustic album Nebraska, is one of the few exceptions, which is a shame as it has some of his very best lyrics. However, his vocals feel a little flat, too matter-of-fact, and are a little off-beat with the guitar. Beyond that, the musical accompaniment has very little variation: the same quietly strummed guitar riff carries through the whole song, occasionally the harmonica kicks in, and other assorted background noise filters in. I love his decision to simply go with the basic recordings for Nebraska, but this is one song that could have used a little touching up.

Fortunately, Aimee Mann and Michael Penn (a husband and wife team who each have a number of great albums on their own) were up to the task. Their version gives the lyrics the groundwork they deserve. The production values are higher, but it is not overproduced. It opens with Penn singing, not much different than the original, but as the first verse ends, the organ kicks in, providing a great harmony. Then, the third (and essential) component of the harmony enters in as Mann joins in singing. The boy/girl interaction works to perfection here – emphasizing the beauty of two elements joining together. This calls attention to the lyrics, which deal with the dreams of finding harmony and the pain that we feel at the realization that this harmony is ephemeral at best.

To explain what I mean, I will take a rather long tangent about The Boss and his songs at this point. A lot of people, I think, misunderstand Springsteen, thinking he is overly simplistic in his glorification of the misfits. This is a reasonable take, as some of his most famous songs tend to strongly suggest that redemption is little more than a car-ride away. However, even “Thunder Road” or “Born to Run” have a lot more realistic view of suffering than one might think.

Lines like “Together Wendy we’ll live with the sadness / I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul” suggest that, even back at the height of the “Born to Run” phenomenon, he was very aware that the redemption promised in these songs was temporary at best. You dreamed crazy dreams, you loved like crazy, you drove away into the night, you pulled out of the town full of losers because to not do so would be to succumb to the weariness. But Bruce knew that the youthful abandon would not be enough. I do not get the impression that a life of perfect happiness awaits around the corner for him and Mary. Instead, they will find pain and sadness, but in the face of that pain, the best they can hope to do is to refuse to give up.

This is not a particularly optimistic view on the world. And on his next few albums, he would write many other songs about broken lives, faded loves, what happens to people once they realize that their youthful dreams are long gone, but nothing is there to replace them. Anyone who could follow up “Born to Run” with songs like “The River” where he declares that:

I remember us riding in my brother’s car
Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir
At night on them banks I’d lie awake
And pull her close just to feel each breath she’d take
Now those memories come back to haunt me
They haunt me like a curse
Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true
Or is it something worse?

is clearly not someone who believes that true love can conquer all. Instead, it is an artist who is constantly attempting to navigate the space between optimism which is necessary to sustain life, and a realistic portrayal of the lives as people are forced to live them, with all the tedium, and crushing sadness that implies. Springsteen wants us to find heroes in the downtrodden without masking over their suffering. True love may not be able to conquer all, but it is what sustains us, and the capacity for love is what makes everything else worse struggling for.

One of the reasons I love “Reason to Believe” so much is that it addresses this tension better than almost any other song:

Now Mary Lou loved Johnny with a love mean and true
She said “Baby I’ll work for you every day and bring my money home to you”
One day he up and left her and ever since that
She waits down at the end of that dirt road for young Johnny to come back
Struck me kinda funny, seemed kind of funny sir to me
How at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe

For me, the ambiguity in the final line (which ends each of the four verses) is what makes this song special. It could be read either positively or negatively. In one sense, it could be heard with a sense of wonderment: that in spite of the pain of lost love and lost dreams, people persevere and find reasons to believe. In this sense, the song becomes a testament to the strength of people to never give up, to never succumb to the sadness. It tells us that there is honor in living our lives.

However, the line could be read in the opposite way as well. It can be seen as Bruce musing at the irony that people continue to set themselves up for pain by believing against all odds that things will simply turn around. Mary Lou waits for Johnny to return, she hangs onto that belief to keep herself from falling to pieces, but it is not at all hard to see this as a form of psychosis. This reading of the song treats the four short vignettes as dark comedies. Bruce, as the detached singer, is filled with amazement that people continue to find reasons to believe, only to have their dreams continually broken.

Ultimately, I prefer the first interpretation, but I think that becomes much stronger when placed in the context of the second. We do need to find reasons to believe, and there is always hope, even in the worst of situations, but even as we strive to find meaning for our lives, we cannot lose sight of the fact that so many people are faced with overwhelming sadness. And we can’t let our dreams become a substitute for actually living our not-so-perfect lives.

As I said earlier, this is why I find the cover to be so perfect. The harmony created by the two singers gets at the heart of the song in a way that Bruce, by himself, simply cannot. The connection, the perfect interlinking of voices, is the ideal for which we strive. When the song is simply Bruce by himself, it feels like a simple song about a few people. With Mann and Penn together, it still feels incredibly personal, but it also hints at a broader allegory that applies to all of us.

The new self-titled Johnny Boy album came in the mail
all the way from Sweden.

First the bad news: nothing on the album is remotely close to the heights of You Are the Generation… or Johnny Boy Theme. I pretty much expected this, but it’s still a little disappointing.

That said, the other eight songs make for a decent album, if not a great one. One highlight is “Fifteen Minutes,” which is reminiscent of the better moments in many ways, and suffers only from a lack of variation. The same basic riffs runs through the whole song and the mini-wall of sound background stays more or less constant. Part of what makes the bombardment tactic of production work is the contrasts between loud and quiet, fast and slow.

Other tracks suffer from excessive tinkering and production. “Bonnie Parker’s 115th Dream,” for example, has some nice elements but is so drenched in overdub, sound effects, and meanderings that end up going nowhere that it ends up feeling bloated and overdone. I could also do without the pseudo-rapping.

The two main missteps reside in the middle of the album: “War on Want” and “Springer.” The former reveals just how limited Lolly’s vocal range really is, with her virtually monotone declarations that she “don’t wanna new kitchen, honey / don’t wanna buy now, pay September.” As I’ve said before, Johnny Boy is a great punk band, but that’s because of their subtlety, drawing punk elements out of disparate areas. This song beats you over the head with virtually no nuance. “Springer” is not much better. Her voice here, once again, suffers quite a bit. And the tune is almost nonexistent. Other than a brief chorus, it’s little more than sound effects and whispered atonal singing.

Fortunately, things pick up again for the last few tracks. “College” is a light, bouncy track with maybe just a little too much production, but it holds off in some of the right places making for a pleasant little song. “Formalderhyde” is definitely the best of their attempts to capture the typical punk sound. Sneering vocals from Davo, with a nice backing by Lolly, driving drums and limited production make for a decent song.

Clearly, Johnny Boy wants to be more than a boy-girl band reviving the best of 60s-era pop. This involves missteps into other genres they clearly have yet to master, and it means they go a little over the top trying to add as many effects as possible in every conceivable place. The best moments are those where the tune is allowed to shine through, and the production supports, rather than overwhelms.

All in all, absent the first and last tracks, which stand head-and-shoulders above the rest, this wouldn’t be an album worth noticing. It has some nice songs but nothing that jumps out and says “pay attention to this band.” However, the glory of “You Are the Generation…” and “Johnny Boy Theme” bookending the album show that this band clearly has the potential to produce show-stoppers. Here’s hoping that they can produce more gems like these for the next album.

The number of concerts I have attended has declined rather dramatically in the past couple years, but I made it to my first show of 2006 last night: Stars in Boston.

For a band with a lot of languorous ballads (and I mean that in the most positive way), they rocked out quite a bit. The bass, in particular, featured much more prominently and was a driving force in a number of songs. That’s not to say there weren’t any quiet moments, but they were much more spaced out than on the albums.

The louder and dancier vibe was very enjoyable, but it did have its downside: partially drowning out Amy Millan’s voice. And that’s a pretty bad thing, since that’s really one of the primary things that makes Stars great. She sounded as good as ever, when her voice made it through, but she is just better suited for the quieter songs or the studio when the music can be kept a little bit in the background. When she really needed to be heard, she tried to go louder at the expense of sounding as good. On “Heart” and “Ageless Beauty,” in particular, the live versions were far inferior to the originals. Still good, but they didn’t sound nearly as magical.

One modification they made, presumably to help deal with this issue, was to have both of them sing together in places where she sings alone on the studio versions. This was usually the right call, since the blending of their voices was very good, and it made the vocals more forceful without her having to oversing. Those blended vocals were definitely among the main highlights. The combination was even better than the album versions in most cases, since it felt a little more free and natural. There were a few occasions when the dual singing ended up with him just drowning her out, but on the whole, it was quite well done.

As for Torquill Campbell, he was eerily reminiscent of Morrissey. I mean, all of the sensitive indie-rock guys clearly have a lot of Morrissey in them, but this was way more than I would have expected. This is in no way a bad thing; it was just a little strange that for the whole show I kept expecting him to break into “How Soon is Now” or something.

Highlights of the show: “Your Ex-Lover is Dead” was perfectly done, even more wrenching than usual. “He Lied About Death” (which was “dedicated to Dick Cheney for finally having the courage to shoot someone himself”) was MUCH better than the album version. Frankly, I think the original is almost unlistenable, but with the live version I think I got the idea of what they were going for. The pounding bass and more natural guitar effects did a better job of conveying frustration and anger than studio tinkering. They played a cover of “Hungry Heart” which was fantastic. I mean, one of my favorite bands covering The Boss…what more can I ask for?

Finally, the encore of “The First Five Times,” “Elevator Love Letter,” and “Calendar Girl” was just amazing. Elevator Love Letter couldn’t quite live up to my expectations, simply because I love the original SO much, but it was still very well done, and when the fading sounds of that song echoed and Millan’s voice emerged singing “If I am lost for a day try to find me / But if I don’t come back, then I won’t look behind me” it was just devastating.

On the whole, I give the show an 8/10. Very enjoyable, if not one of the best concerts I have ever been to.

The opening act was Magnet, which is a Norwegian named Even Johansen. I had never heard of him, but was pretty impressed by the show. He played a number of soft and slow songs, which reminded me of Jeff Buckley more than anything else, and a number of electronically augmented My Bloody Valentine-esque songs with quite a few layers of sound. There were really only these two types of songs, which felt a little bit repetitive, but only a little. More than anything else I was impressed with his vocal range and guitar playing ability. I was definitely intrigued enough to make an effort to find some of his songs and see how I like them. Also, he was pretty funny. And did I mention he’s from Norway? Who doesn’t like Norwegians?

Someone asked me once if I could date one famous musician, who it would be. At the time, I said Paul Simon. I still think that’s a decent answer, gender issues notwithstanding, but I think my new answer would have to be Dar Williams. It’s always hard to tell how much you can really know about someone just from listening to their music, but if anyone is just being her genuine self, I think it’s Dar Williams. She plays folk-driven music, has incredibly smart and witty lyrics, and demonstrates a very sensitive understanding of the human soul.

I saw her play at the Boston Folk Festival last year and she came off exactly as I expected: someone who is constantly amazed at the adoration of her fans, who never really wanted anything more than the chance to play music at a little club. Over the years, her music has changed a bit. There’s now a little less of the folk singer with a guitar and no accompaniment, and a little more of the full band approach. But these are changes in style, not in substance.

February

The timing seems appropriate. This is a song that makes a lot more sense to me after living in cold climates the last few year – I’m sure folks living in Georgia don’t have nearly the same relationship to winter as the rest of us. It’s a dreary February this year, not actually that cold, but with no snow. So everything is just brown and grey. I’d be much happier if it were 20 degrees colder all month and at least there was some snow.

The are a number of Dar Williams songs I like more than this one, but this is probably the best one for expressing the feeling of crushing sadness and dreariness. It’s not a song about being miserable; it’s just a song about finding it impossible to smile. The month of February seems to drag on forever and you wonder when it will ever be Spring. Like all Dar Williams songs, it’s very pretty, her voice soars at times and whispers at others, and the acoustic guitar holds the song together. The pinnacle of the song, for me, is the third verse:
And February was so long that it lasted into March
Found us walking a path alone together
You stopped and pointed and you said, “That’s a crocus”
And I said, “What’s a crocus?” And you said, “It’s a flower”
I tried to remember, but I said, “What’s a flower?”
You said, “I still love you”

Sometimes that makes about as much sense to me as anything I’ve ever heard. It’s just heartbreaking.

As Cool As I Am – live version from “Out There Live”

This is the first Dar Williams song I ever heard and still one of my favorites. It has a great sound, but what really does it for me is some of the best lyrics out there. For example:
So now we’re at a club, you watch the woman dancing, she is drunk
She is smiling and she’s falling in a slow, descending funk
And the whole bar is loud and proud and everybody’s trying, yeah
You play the artist, saying, “Is it how she moves, or how she looks?”
I say, it’s loneliness suspended to our own like grappling hooks
And as long as she’s got noise, she’s fine
But I could teach her how I learned to dance when the music’s ended

That’s just a sample. I could quote basically the entire song. This is a live version, which I might even like more than the original. It has a little quicker feel, since the driving instrument is the cascading guitar instead of the didgeridoo. But both are very good.

Are You Out There

This is my favorite song by her. It’s a paean to public radio and music that sidesteps the mainstream. It has such an interesting feel, being one of her faster-paced and more intense songs. The drums are far more prominent than in almost any of her other songs, and the background has a vaguely Revolver-era Beatles swirly feel to it. As per usual, the lyrics are fantastic: when she sings about staying up all night, you can almost see the dawn. And, with the line “Are you out there, can you hear this/Jimmy Olson, Johnny Memphis/I was out here listening all the time” the image of her crouched by the radio with the crackly music coming through is crystal clear.

I’m pretty short on time for the next few days, so this will be quick. I love Modest Mouse. I’m sure I can go into this in more detail at some later point. For now, I wanted to post an early version of “Float On” from a show that I went to in Seattle right before Christmas, 2002.

Life Goes On
They played a number of songs that would end up on “Good News…” but this was by far the best. It’s significantly longer, with a lot more verses and more Isaac mumblings. It still has the same unbelievably catchy riff, but has a little bit less of the pop shine. Basically, it rocks out a little more: it was from the encore so Isaac’s voice is a little raw, and it’s live so it’s less polished. Which is part of what makes it so much fun. Don’t get me wrong, I like the final version of the song a whole lot; I just like this one even more.

I once heard someone refer to this version of the song as “Life Goes On,” so that’s what I call it. I have no idea if that was ever a working title or anything.