Sing Me Home

When a Song Brings You Home

Thank you to everyone who participated in the poll from When Your Doorbell Rings and to those who left comments. I am pleased to say that half said they would answer the door, even when the interruption is unexpected. (Note, the poll shows 46% but one respondent wrote to say she had pressed the wrong option.) The second largest group was those who said they peek through a window (33%). Looking through drapes and blinds or the peephole in a door is not only reasonable, it’s smart – especially if you live in a city and especially if you live alone.

I think what I was trying to understand is whether folks still appreciate seeing a friend, even if their visit isn’t predicated by a text or a call. And whether folks are generally willing to trust a stranger at their door, providing they’re not selling something, evangelizing, or plotting harm in any way. My very unscientific poll seems to indicate that you are and you will. And that makes me happy.

I hope I also convinced some of you to talk to a Census field representative, should one ever appear at your door. 😊

---

On a completely different note (metaphorical segue intended), for some inexplicable reason, I’ve been singing Blueberry Hill all morning. You know the one: I found my thrill on Blueberry Hill.  Which has me thinking about home songs, songs about special places, the places we call home. Chances are you really like a lot of these songs even if you’re not from the place they describe. What I’m wondering, however, is how you feel when the song IS about your hometown.

I spent my childhood in Chicago, from eighteen months to age eighteen. After high school, I moved—on my own – to San Francisco. But Chicago is where I would return home to visit family. It’s where I came to love the blues, with my sister taking me to Rosa’s Lounge as soon as I was twenty-one. Many years later, I even lived with Mama Rosa above the bar – but that’s a story for another time. So it’s no surprise that “Sweet Home Chicago” always makes me smile. Check out this version performed by Buddy Guy, Eric Clapton, Robert Cray, John Mayer, and more.

And then there’s San Francisco, where I arrived straight out of high school with just two suitcases. First I stayed at a hostel on Market Street and discovered (to my surprise) that the bathroom was shared and down the hall. Then I went to a hotel on Polk Street and made the mistake of paying for a week in traveler’s checks before seeing the room, which turned out to have shag carpeting, a slick polyester bedspread, and cigarette burns on every surface. I spent that first night fitfully awake, never changing out of my clothes, and listening to continual copulation in the adjoining room. I couldn’t believe my stupidity. The next morning I checked out and demanded a refund which, of course, never came.

From there I went to the Embarcadero YMCA. This was 1984, y’all and I was wary, especially after my experience on Polk Street. But it was on the waterfront, the room was clean, and the price was right. I worked the 3-11pm shift at the Hyatt Regency and would walk “home” in awe of the Bay Bridge and the moonlight shining on the water. I was equally awed by my life -- new, exciting, and filled with possibility – as well as my own audacity. After the YMCA, I would go on to live with a witch who was legally insane (I’m not kidding), a dominatrix whose clients came from City Hall (still not kidding), and then with art school students – and that’s just in the first two and half years when my boyfriend was a musician in a funk band. Sitting on the dock of the bay was a real thing, especially at lunchtime or late in the evening. San Francisco was the emerald city. I never thought I would leave.

This Otis Redding classic always takes me back to that time and place. My home, San Francisco.

A few weeks ago I wrote about national anthems in a post titled, My Country Tis of Thee. Due to some technical glitch, this only went out to a handful of folks. Maybe that was for the best, maybe the topic is too touchy these days, but if you’re interested, you can still read it here.

Home songs, I hope, are less controversial. Here’s my best collection, listed somewhat alphabetically. Let me know which is your favorite and which songs I forgot.

Ala-Freakin-Bama – Trace Atkins (Any readers from Alabama out there? Do you find this as funny and fabulous as I do? Of course, there is also the rock-n-roll classic by Lynyrd Skynyrd, Sweet Home Alabama)

(Point Me in the Direction of) Albuquerque – The Partridge Family (Does anyone remember this?)

Country Roads (Take Me Home) – John Denver

Deep in the Heart of Texas – not sure where this song originated but this version is from the 1953 movie, Rich, Young & Pretty

Empire State of Mind – Jaz-Z featuring Alicia Keys (a modern take on NYC)

Georgia – Boz Scaggs

Georgia On My Mind– Ray Charles

Idaho – Vicci Martinez (how many of my Idaho peeps know this one?)

(Walking in) Memphis – Marc Cohn

My Kind of Town – Frank Sinatra

New York, New York – Frank Sinatra

New York State of Mind – Billy Joel

Oklahoma – Keb’ Mo’ (this is relatively new from 2019)

Oklahoma – Rodgers and Hammerstein (I live here now folks and, yes, I sing this all the time)

Philadelphia Freedom – Elton John

(I Left My Heart in) San Francisco – Tony Bennet

Southland in the Springtime – Indigo Girls

Viva Las Vegas – Elvis Presley

Do you have a hometown song that you like? That you identify with? A song that makes you sing along, that makes you say, “Yeah, that’s where I’m from, that’s my home”? Or maybe a song that doesn’t specifically mention your hometown but captures its essence? Leave a comment. I’d love to hear it!