Ready for some more fierce tunes? Then you’re in the right place! Here’s a link to today’s songs and at the end of the post, you can check out the complete playlist.
And you can pre-order the anthology through our Indiegogo campaign.
Lee D. Thompson (Diary of a Fluky Kid) — “Dream Police” by Cheap Trick.
During winter, or rainy summer days if we weren’t out playing ball we were in the basement playing air-band long before things like Guitar Hero were even part of predictions of the future. There was a set list, insanely varied, from J. Geils Band (“Centerfold”) to Neil Diamond (“Song Sung Blue”) to Chilliwack (“My Girl”) to Queen (“Another One Bites the Dust”) and always Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger”. But my favourite, and perhaps this was a nod to one day becoming a writer (aka living inside of my head), was “The Dream Police” by Cheap Trick. We rocked it.
Patti Larsen (Prince Nameless) — “Hard Habit to Break” by Chicago.
I’m a teenager all over again thinking about this song, that time in my life. My older sister Caron loved Chicago and, because she did, I did, too. We’d sing the entire album at the top of our lungs, anytime, day or night. Sharing parts, of course, into hairbrushes and our closed fists when props were unavailable. There was something truly angsty about Chicago’s music that appealed to the melancholy nerd-girl in me. And, of course, I could sing and pine over the boy I thought I loved, imagining him hearing me singing and understanding just how much he needed to be with me … I’m listening to the song right now after how many years away. I still know all the words.
Jamie Fitzpatrick (These Memories Can’t Wait) — “Memories Can’t Wait” by Talking Heads.
My Fierce Short borrows its title from a Talking Heads song, “Memories Can’t Wait”, from an album called Fear of Music. That’s one of the records that changed the way I hear music. It’s hard to put into words, but I think of it as a record that favours ambiguity over affirmation. I didn’t know what it was trying to say, and eventually I came to realize that a great song isn’t defined by what it “says” or what it’s “about.” It’s something you witness and take in and process without articulating it. That was a good music lesson, and not a bad life lesson.
Cale Liom (I Used to Think I’d Make a Good Boy) — “Strangelove” by Depeche Mode.
When I think of my childhood/teen years, the first album that comes to mind is Depeche Mode’s Music for the Masses. It was the first album I ever bought. I has a lot of emotional significance to me, and probably well represents my angst-ridden youth. At least three songs on it would make my top songs list, but pressed to pick one, I’d say “Strangelove.”
Gerard Collins (The Long Last Year) — Various.
Blondie was sultry and sexy, singing “Call Me” in a way you wanted girls to want to call you. Bob Seger was already a ragged soul and “Against the Wind” reflected that weary vagabond part of me, which was really more of a yearning to just grow up, leave town and have experiences that would leave me depleted (I heard it on the radio a couple of days ago, and, in my mind, checked all the boxes, for better or worse). The girls were going gaga over Michael Jackson, but the song I remember most vividly — besides “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” on the car radio the summer after I graduated, sitting next to a girl who might, or might not, have wanted me to kiss her — was “Another Brick in the Wall”. Pink Floyd said I “didn’t need no education”, though even then I thought Pink Floyd had a grammar problem and could’ve used some further schooling. But I liked the rebel call, double negative and all. It spoke to me. At that point, I had no intention of pursuing education — I declared on my last day of high school that I was “never going to school again, for as long as I live.” And, for a couple of years, I was true to my word. Now, I have more letters after my name than I’ll ever use … I won’t say I don’t need no letters, but, then again, I won’t say I do.
Oh — and to punctuate all this rebellion without a cause, I remember our entire senior year class waiting for the teacher to leave the room before we started beating on the desk and stomping our feet to the beat of Queen’s “We Will Rock You”. Yeah, it was like that, all the time. We were young and angry, the lot of us. I can’t remember if I started it, or just followed. But I remember being the one to sing the Freddie Mercury part, and it felt good to be a part of something like that, all of us implicated when the teacher returned, though sticking my neck out just enough to qualify as passive-aggressive rockstar.
I realize, of course, this is more than one song. But I guess, once a rebel, always a rebel.
Becoming Fierce — The Complete Soundtrack