Hey Hey, My My: 5 Songs With Repetitive Titles

This week's songs are from Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros, the Beastie Boys, Gasper Lawal, Otis Clay, and Bob Dylan

I’d had this theme in my notes with a few song ideas dropped in. When I noticed 11/11 as a Tuesday on the calendar, I couldn’t help but take the opportunity for a little universal synergy.

Repetition offers emphasis. It conveys importance. It commands attention. Sometimes it means nothing at all.

Here are 5 songs with repetitive titles.

“You yell at people when you’re young. Fair enough. But it can get pretty brittle if you kept shouting your whole career and your whole life. It would be a bit false if you’re 47 and get you get up there and shout ‘C’MON EVERYBODY, WE GOTTA GET THERE AND GO!’” - Joe Strummer.

Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros - “Yalla Yalla”

After a decade of near silence, “wandering around, trying to figure out what to do for 11 years,” following the end of the Clash Joe Stummer emerged in the late 90s with the Mescaleros. Rancid’s Tim Armstrong signed the band to his record label (Hellcat Records) in a casual meeting after being introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Because, who wouldn’t want to put out a Joe Strummer record?

I love the Clash, but understanding the lyrics doesn’t come easy. Good as they are, it’s hard to decipher some of the words because of the snarling and barking. That said, they still managed to get their point across. In the second phase of his career, and in his 40s Strummer consciously took a new approach to his singing style, citing Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett as influences—more deliberate phrasing, finding openings within the music to weave through. The barking is gone, and a more tender soul is revealed. You get a real sense of his vulnerability on the three albums he put out with the Mescaleros.

My favorite of those is Rock Art and the X-Ray Style, which in true Strummer fashion integrates a mixed bag of international styles and genres. Rock Art…is the most vibrant—it lives up to the bright pink cover art (the title song in particular is a highlight of Strummer’s entire output). The child of a member of England’s foreign service, Strummer was more than an observer of other cultures. He integrated sounds and styles from pretty much every genre, and with touches of international influences.

“Yalla Yalla” —a term used across Arabic cultures akin to “hurry up” or “let’s go”— uses mostly electronic instrumentation. It’s unlike anything Hellcat Records was putting out at the time. It sounds entirely out of time from 1999, when Limp Bizkit, Rage Against The Machine, Creed, and Korn topped the rock charts—not exactly the soundtrack for self-reflection, global harmony, and hope for a better world. The song has a serene aura about it; it paints a picture of a brighter better future that will be born from “Some crazy widow [who] dares to have a vision.” When I was immersing myself in the Clash as a high schooler, the decimated and fractured England they sang about felt like the distant past. I was closer to “1977” then than we are to 1999 now, and yet this music still feels fresh, contemporary, and vital. It’s one thing to be timeless, and another to be ahead of your time completely. Joe Strummer was both.

“‘That’s why we keep on making records,’ Diamond says. ‘You harness that energy into three minutes that sound good. You’re always going for that. Those moments together are ... beyond time.’

‘They’re special,’ Yauch says with a grin, sensing an enthusiastic lurch toward the pretentious.

You hug?

‘No, but we nuzzle.’”

- L.A. Times, 2004

Beastie Boys - “Rizzle Rizzle Nizzle Nizzle”

I take it as something of a personal failure that I’ve been doing this for over a year and have yet to include a Beastie Boys track. In junior high, most likely 1998, I convinced two of my friends to get jumpsuits so we could be the Beastie Boys for Halloween. I think they both ended up buying masks and flaking on me (which, fair).

As I noted above, in high school I made a sharp turn in favor of punk music. The typical turn in that direction ultimately leads into a kind of music snobbery—but only if you’re doing it right. That snobbery typically involves a shunning of pretty much anything in the mainstream. I myself hit full snobbery somewhere around when To the Five Boroughs came out in 2004. So, somehow the Beastie Boys went from a favorite of mine to something I ignored in back-to-back album releases. Along with the underappreciated The Mix Up and Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 1, To the Five Boroughs was waiting for me to experience with fresh ears after the passing of Adam Yauch. And then again to really immerse myself in while reading the essential Beastie Boys Book.

“Rizzle Rizzle Nizzle Nizzle” means “Right Right Now Now,” which we know because this is a remix of “Right Right Now Now” from the original album. It’s another song that’s 20+ years old that is highly relevant to the present day—calling for urgent action to combat racism, gun violence, and inequality. Of course they do this in the most Beastie Boys way possible.

Well, I’m a funky-ass Jew and I’m on my way
And I got to say fuck the KKK
And oh yeah, hey, how about today?
If you want to set it off then let me hear you say

What better time than the present?

So why do I like this one more than the original? The beat stutters and stops with the odd zig-zag of the synthesizer that replaces a loose beat and harpsichord from the original. It underlines the disorientation and has a touch of the chaos. Listen closely and you can hear sirens drop in and out. It’s less Ill Communication and more Hello Nasty. It’s less Lower Manhattan and more Queens. It’s less Tom Colicchio, more Colonel Sanders.

“This music is not about trends, about what is commercial or a sound of a particular moment. It is about music to be felt, that gives pleasure. It is nurturing and meditative.” - Gasper Lawal

Gasper Lawal - “Kita Kita”

“Kita Kita” sounds like something the Beastie Boys would sample, or a bit like a José González guitar line until the percussion picks up. It also has a bit of a Sandanista! space-out section. Whatever your way in may be, it’s something you’ll be in a better mood after having listened to it than you did before.

Lawal is a Nigerian UK-based percussionist who claims credits with Stephen Stills, Ginger Baker, the Rolling Stones, Steve Winwood, and Funkadelic. As a contemporary connection, Jamiroquai drummer Sola Akingbola was picked up off the street by Lawal, given a meal, and was invited into his band, gradually learning how to play percussion instruments, and ultimately the full kit. There’s not a lot of Lawal’s music on streaming services. I’m not even entirely sure how this ended up in my library, but it’s a nice pick-me-up.

““What is it that makes a man rich? You’ve contributed something. Somebody liked something you’ve done.” - Otis Clay

Otis Clay - “Precious Precious”

Otis Clay was among the great migration up from the deep south to Chicago, where he grew up singing in church. In his early career, he wrote, sang, and recorded gospel-tinged R&B in the early 60s for Chicago’s One-derful! Records along with Josephine Taylor. In the early 70s he moved to Memphis’ Hi Records. If Clay’s music sounds a bit like Al Green to you, it’s because they were label/studio mates. All of 1972’s Trying to Live My Life Without You is worth your time. He’s got a touch of the soulful, cool voice of Green and the ability to convey a deep sense of pain like Charles Bradley. A number of songs contain multiple hooks—verses, choruses, and pre-choruses—that anyone else would make a whole song out of. His songs are packed with them.

Having said that, some of his lyrics are hilariously over the top. In “Trying to Live My Life Without You”, (which Bob Seeger would eventually score a Top 10 hit with) he sings of the struggles of adapting to life post break-up, suggesting he was drinking “four or five bottles of wine” and smoking “five packs of cigarettes a day.” That type of pace makes Don Draper sound like Ian McKaye. In “Precious Precious,” he sings of his dedication and willingness to wait for his “Precious” to come around back to him. All well and good. But it takes a turn in the second verse:

You’ve been in and out of my life
And, ooh, baby that hurts
Baby, that hurts, yeah
You’ve been with every guy in this town
You’ve been dealin’ in dirt
You’ve been in dirt, yes you have

Typically these types of songs are meant to establish a feeling the listener can identify with. Commiserate a little. And maybe they do for the first verse, but once the singer point-blank calls his “Precious” a total whore, I would venture to guess most people would opt out. But then Clay pulls a fast one and shifts into one of those big hooks that pull you right back in. It’s a back-and-forth with his phrasing, the horns, and backing singers that is perfectly executed. For most other artists, that would be the whole song.

“I just figure it out. I make it up or I got it someplace I just sorta…The song was there before me, before I came along. I just sorta came down and I sorta took it down with a pencil that it was all there before I came around. That how I feel about it.” - Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan - “Corinna, Corinna”

Some songs just come out of the ether. “Corinna, Corinna” is but one iteration of many. Led Zeppelin wove it into “You Shook Me”, (which is a Willie Dixon cover), Joni Mitchell did it as “A Bird That Whistles", Steppenwolf recorded it as “Corina, Corina”, Albert King too. Maybe a couple of them got it from Dylan. Eric Clapton didn’t; he knew it as “Alberta.” Dylan claims to have learned it off the radio. It could have been Cab Calloway’s “Corrine Corinna,” or the first recorded version from Bo Carter. Or did Blind Lemon Jefferson beat him to it? There was a sheet music song about a missing Corinne copyrighted 10 years before that. Given Dylan’s fondness for Bob Wills, and his childhood hobby of picking up distant radio stations, my guess is it was that version that Dylan picked up. Out of any that I’ve listened to, it’s the one that keeps things light, and a little innocent. Dylan’s has a similar saccharine sweetness to it; however, it doesn’t have Wills’ melody. Dylan lifted that from Robert Johnson’s “Stones in My Passway,” refining it into a 12-bar blues that feels like anything but. So when Dylan says a lot of what he does is already out there floating around and he’s just there to catch it, we should listen to him.

“Corrina, Corrina” was the B-side to Dylan’s first single “Mixed Up Confusion,” which was recorded in the same session. Columbia Records’ John Hammond and Dylan manager Albert Grossman were reportedly polar opposites, and Grossman was angling to get Hammond out of the way. Apparently a session with a full band was either part of the scheme, or the breaking point. But “Corrina, Corrina” was the only track to stay on the album.

The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan was the first Dylan album I bought. I imagine it’s got something to do with the iconic cover image, which sells an idea of what your 20s could be like for a budding Cosmopolitan creative-type with limited ambition. It’s an album you think you know front to back at this point. All the early acoustic stuff; a guy, a guitar, and a harmonica. Until that day when you give it a full listen because it’s been a few years. You’ve made it through “Talkin World War III Blues,” and what’s waiting for you on the other side is a light bass and drums appearing out of seemingly nowhere. You’d entirely forgotten that there’s a backing band on “Corinna, Corinna,” and that wave of realization makes you listen like you’re hearing it for the first time. Getting a second chance at something like that is a gift.

Thanks for reading. Enjoy the listening.