By RICH FOLEY
I’ve just spent a good part of a day trying to organize my compact disc collection. You people with your MP3s and iPods and such can laugh at that statement, but I swear compact discs are as far as I intend to go down the technological pathway, or what I might call the Highway to Hell if I wasn’t worried about AC/DC filing a copyright infringement suit. Of course, I do own three AC/DC compact discs, so maybe they’d be hesitant to pick on a fan.
Anyway, I only own about 125 compact discs, a number which pales in comparison to the 300 to 400 cassette tapes I had at one time. About 100 of those cassettes remain in a dusty box under the bed, in case I ever wake up some morning and find it’s 1977 again. In that case, come on over and we’ll listen to some Steve Goodman, Gary Stewart or maybe some Lynyrd Skynyrd. But for now, back to those compact discs.
I keep most of them inside a large chest drawer, which makes it easier to organize them except for my bad habit of not putting one disc away when getting another out. Eventually, the formerly neat rows of discs are covered with empty jewel cases, loose liner booklets and stray discs. Then it’s time to return the discs and booklets to their respective cases and file them in some sort of order.
That total includes 13 Warren Zevon compact discs, plus 12 by Steve Earle and nine by Lucinda Williams that are kept in a separate storage rack, leaving me only about 80 to organize. That really shouldn’t take all that long to do, but I kept finding one or two songs I wanted to hear again before filing the disc away, and before I knew it, a good chunk of Labor Day was gone.
The filing was really the easy part as I usually just try to keep multiple discs by the same artist together, then group artists in the same general musical genre together. Therefore, you’ll find my Waylon Jennings discs adjacent to Hank Williams, Jr., but Kinky Friedman is always kept far from Melissa Etheridge (for more reasons than one).
The reason for all this Labor Day labor? I think it’s about time to replace The Doors’ “L.A. Woman” compact disc in the Buick’s CD player. I usually listen to the radio in the car, but revert to the CD player when most stations are broadcasting sporting events. The L.A. Woman disc, which I picked up at a flea market for 50 cents, is perfect for this purpose. It has to be a disc that I can stand repeated listenings of, as I hate to keep carrying discs in and out of the car.
Not only does it contain several songs I like including “Riders on the Storm,” “Love Her Madly” (which I also purchased as a 45 rpm single in 1971 and own to this day), and the oddly titled “The Wasp,” which is much better known as “Texas Radio and the Big Beat,” but it also contains the title cut, whose length is a bonus. When I’m going to work, I know if I turn on “L.A. Woman” after I clear the Fayette village limits, Jim Morrison will still be singing the verse about Mr. Mojo Risin when I reach the outskirts of Morenci.
I almost hate to mention this in case I was the last person on Earth to know it, but “Mr. Mojo Risin” is actually an anagram made up from the letters in “Jim Morrison.” I finally learned this a few months ago while watching an episode of “Jeopardy!” on television, just 39 short years after Morrison’s death.
Since then, I’ve tried to make anagrams of my own name, but can’t come up with anything near as cool as Morrison did. Riley Foch? Ichy Rolef? Cory H. File? I’ll have to keep trying.
Meanwhile, “Billy Idol’s Greatest Hits” has won out in the competition for a new compact disc for the car, at least for now. Not only do I like almost every song on it, since it has a length of 72 minutes, I won’t be hearing the same song very often. But there’s an odd coincidence to the choice.
It seems that the compact disc contains a Billy Idol version of “L.A. Woman.” I like it, but it doesn’t last as long as the original because Billy skips the verse about Mr. Mojo Risin. I’m guessing he didn’t replace it with an anagram of his own because the best one I could come up with for “Billy Idol” was “Ibid Lolly.” Not very catchy, for sure.
I’ll keep working on anagrams for me and Billy, so good-bye for now from Nowhere Road, or as we call it in Anagramland (better hide the kids!), Nora DeWhore. Now that’s an anagram you could write a song around.