America – History: America’s Greatest Hits

(Warner Bros., 1975)

Reviewed by SoDak

There I was, on my back, naked from the waist down. The radio in the room was playing popular songs from the 1970s. It was immediately obvious to me that this experience was going to change my connection to the songs that I heard on that day. A woman with long black hair entered the room, took a look at me, and said, “Good, you are ready.” She walked to my side and prepared herself. I felt a soft, moist cloth on my skin. My willie was flipped back and forth a couple of times. So far everything was very professional. Suddenly, she said, “Ops, sorry about that.” I was not sure what she was apologizing for, so I said, “No problem. All of this is awkward anyway.”

I heard the opening notes of “Windy” by the Association on the radio. My genitals tingled as the Betadine evaporated. “You may feel a slight pinch here, but this will only take a second.” Two shots were injected into my scrotal area. I softly sang the chorus, “And Windy has stormy eyes, that flash at the sound of lies, and Windy has wings to fly, above the clouds (above the clouds).” A couple minutes later the doctor entered the room; I was comfortably numb. As he picked up his instruments, the harmony of the two guitars on the opening of “Ventura Highway” could be heard. He said, “Sounds like this is your vasectomy song.” All of us laughed, as the clean guitar notes bounced around the room. The hemostatic clamp was placed on my sac, so no incision was necessary. Dewey Bunnel of America sang, “Chewing on a piece of grass, walking down the road. Tell me, how long you gonna stay here Joe? Some people say this town don’t look good in snow. You don’t care, I know.” The three of us hummed along, as the song progressed. The doctor took a moment to share: “Wonderful. Great access. I cut the vasa deferentia. I will be done in a couple minutes. I just need to finish clamping the ends.” The chorus to the song repeated: “Ventura Highway, in the sunshine, where the days are longer, the nights are stronger than moonshine! You're gonna go, I know.” A band-aid was put in place. We all looked at each other, pondering the line: “Seasons crying no despair, alligator lizards in the air.” (I have since discovered that “alligator lizards in the air” is a reference to the particular shapes that the writer saw in the clouds.) This simple, happy song is now forever tied to a procedure that ensures that I shoot blanks—or if you will, that no swimmers are present in my baby batter.

Today, I cannot think of the band America without reflecting on this moment in my life. It was not a bad experience. In fact, it was rather humorous; and it is something that I had been planning to do for a long time. Now, I have another interesting association that is mixed in with all the other memories linked to these pop songs by America. When I hear “A Horse with No Name,” I remember sitting in the passenger seat of an old Chevy pickup, rambling down the dirt roads in the Black Hills, as my father looked for a downed tree that he could cut up for firewood. When I hear “Sister Golden Hair” and “Daisy Jane,” I think of the kindling of love and comfortable nights with my partner. Eighteen years ago, we would listen to a Good Time Oldies radio station as we prepared meals, just happy to spend time together. As the song “Don’t Cross the River” bounces along, I recall the years that I spent delivering auto parts for a job. The truck that I drove only had an AM radio and I loved it. Many of my friends worked at the same business and we constantly talked about music. “Muskrat Love” fills me with memories of being carefree while roller-skating under the crystal ball in the 1970s. Years later I finally heard the original version of this song by Willis Alan Ramsey. If you have not heard it, check it out. It has none of the sweet, sticky, studio syrup that is so common with songs by America. (While you are at it, listen to Ramsey’s song “Ballad of Spider John”—it is a great fuckin’ song.) America’s “Tin Man” stirs up memories of running through the sprinkler in the summer, as the radio played recent hit songs. When I hear “Lonely People,” I recall sitting in the backseat of the car, headed to my grandfather’s ranch. I sat with my green handheld radio, trying to get a signal, hoping to hear good songs, while I stared out the window at the open landscape of western South Dakota. Obviously, I am a sucker for sad songs that also contain glimmers of hope.

The band America, like so many others, is interwoven with so many moments in my life. I am not going to make any grand claims for the band or its songs. All I can say is that I enjoy listening to their record, History: America’s Greatest Hits, from time to time. While I first heard all of these songs as singles on the radio, this collection has all the songs that I want to hear by America. Given my personal history, this record is more than an assembly of songs; it is a collection of memories, experiences, and friendships.

Almost every song on History: America’s Greatest Hits includes a recognizable hook. America excelled at writing finely honed pop songs. I love the warm production found on 70s music, especially country and folk rock music of this era. Sure I hear the influence of Neil Young and other artists within these songs, and yes, there are plenty of other bands that are better. And I know that America played soft, catchy, digestible music; and there is nothing challenging here. I do not care. Their songs are part of my life. Now, I have an additional, and intimate, memory associated with this band.