[Rabbit Mac New Song Download
Jamar Lizarraga
"Rabbit" is a song by Chas & Dave from the album Don't Give a Monkey's, which was released as a single on 23 November 1980 and entered the UK Singles Chart at number 66.[1] The song stayed in the charts for 8 weeks and peaked at number 8 on 17 January 1981. The song was used in a series of adverts for Courage Bitter.
The title comes from the Cockney rhyming slang "rabbit and pork" meaning "talk".[2] The song is about a relationship between a man and a woman, in which the man expresses his love for his girlfriend, but complains that she will not stop talking or, "rabbiting".
The song was recorded at Portland Studios with sound engineer Andy Miller. At the recording, Peacock came up with the bass riff for the intro and other parts of the songs. When the sound engineer was balancing the mix, Peacock tried mouthing "rabbit" eight to the bar on the fade out, which Hodges liked. Peacock however thought it too fast to sing, so Hodges came up with the idea of both of them singing four "rabbit" to the bar, but one on the 'on' beat and the other on the 'off' beat.[4] They practiced for 15 minutes to get it right and recorded in a couple of takes.[6] Hodges thought it too good to be used only on the fade-out, so they put it on the intro and after the chorus. The first version recorded was used for the album.[4]
The duo recorded a second, shorter, version a couple of weeks later because advertiser for the Courage Bitter wanted the song for their adverts. This version had one less verse and, according to Hodges, had a more 'live' feel that they prefer, and was therefore chosen as the single.[4]
The song was released as a single in November 1980. The duo performed the song on the children TV show Tiswas, and were interviewed by the presenter Sally James dressed as a rabbit.[3] As there was still time before the end credit rolled, Chris Tarrant asked the duo to perform a ten-minute version which turned into an extended party, with the presenters pogoing in rabbit suits and guests Cannon and Ball dancing a conga. Following the performance, the song rose by over 20 places in the chart,[4] where it eventually reached No. 8, becoming their first top ten hit.[7]
Feminists however complained that that song was sexist, where men wanted their women to be quiet. Some threatened to disrupt their performance when Chas & Dave recorded a live show for BBC Radio 1 at the University of London.[4]
God bless the 1960s. And God bless all of the interest in classical music and theory that came with the psychedelic movement. I'm serious! This song is as good for any in bringing up the discussion of "what mode is this - really!?" for students. Or among yourselves. I would strongly argue for Phrygian, but. Either way.
Only Grace Slick really knows what mode the song is actually in, and considering that she wrote the song with a strong anti-authority bent, she probably wasn't consulting her music teacher on this one. We'll actually come back to Grace Slick in two weeks as we're discussing the 1980s, so brace yourself for that one.
ADDITIONAL LINK: I have close to absolutely zero frame of reference in terms of EDM, but this particular article explains modes a little more clearly. I understand the accompanying artwork a little less clearly. Enjoy!
One could argue for Locrian mode, based on G major, but the F# major chord includes a C#, not found in the G major scale.
Considerations for Teaching: While the song makes no overt reference to illegal drugs, but rather direct reference to Lewis Carroll's children's books about young Alice, Grace Slick wrote it with reference to drug culture in mind. The psychedelic musical movement was almost entirely populated by musicians who were also heavy drug users, which often comes up in discussion when talking about this musical era. The song is often used in film and popular culture to portray a world turned upside down, sometimes violently, as seen in the film The Game. Despite these precautions, the song is an excellent example to use when introducing modes in advanced theory classes.
Here's a thing that definitely makes me feel old: I'm at the point in my career where there are now retrospective re-releases and anniversary editions of albums I covered when they were new. It's one thing to talk about what Rage Against the Machine's Evil Empire meant to me and realize that it turns 20 this year, but it's a whole other thing to look at the nostalgia coverage of a release from the mid-aughts and think, "I had conversations about those things, often with those artists, as they were happening." I confronted that reality last night at the first show on the mini-tour in celebration of Jenny Lewis' Rabbit Fur Coat, her first solo album cut with the Watson Twins that came out all the way back in 2006.
I was a pretty big fan of Lewis' band Rilo Kiley, but even though I put songs like "It's a Hit" and "I Never" on nascent iPod playlists (shout out to the 3rd generation), there was a nagging (and honestly pretentious) voice inside me that couldn't commit to Lewis because she had been a child star. I have no idea why playing video games with Fred Savage would disqualify somebody from having a thoughtful career in music, but that's how my brain worked in 2004.
Rabbit Fur Coat was a whole new ball of wax, though. I didn't know who the Watson Twins were (I still kind of don't, if I'm being frank), but the songs were undeniable, and the title track was particularly devastating. It spins the tale of Lewis' life as the breadwinner for her messed up mom, and the titular garment becomes a metaphor for her decadence and the emptiness at the center of her relationship with her daughter. When Lewis performed "Rabbit Fur Coat" at last night's show, she dismissed her band members (and the Twins) and took it on by herself, line after heartbreaking line. Perhaps it was because the show was in a church, or maybe it's just because Lewis has the sort of charisma that can't be taught, but the bangs-and-glasses crowd was hanging on every line in reverent silence. I came away wondering how Lewis manages to get through performing that song, as I get pretty choked up about it and none of that stuff happened to me.
(As an aside: For the second straight day I've picked a song to write about because of its lyrical content, despite the fact that I've always taken the stance that lyrics don't matter and I don't care about them. Could the first revelation of this project be that I'm completely full of shit?)
The rest of the show was just as amazing. On a converted altar, Lewis played through the entirety of Rabbit Fur Coat with soul-baring guile, then broke for an intermission and tacked on a mini-set of jams from her exquisite 2014 release The Voyager, plus a new song called "Red Bull & Hennessy." She remained mysterious during the Rabbit Fur Coat portion of the show, noting that she had recently seen Phish at Madison Square Garden and noticed that Trey Anastasio doesn't talk to the crowd, and she was trying to ape that approach. But Lewis is a great all-time talker, and is one of my favorite interviews. In fact, one of the best thing I've ever written was when I talked with Lewis about old school hip-hop albums she loved during the promo push for Rabbit Fur Coat. She did not rap last night, but I like knowing that deep down, Lewis still thinks of herself as Bonita Applebum.
Soul music was, of course, still coming primarily from Detroit and from the Country-Soul triangle in Tennessee and Alabama, but when it came to the new brand of electric-guitar rock that was taking over the airwaves, LA was, up until the first few months of 1967, the only city that was competing with London, and was the place to be.
Kantner had moved around a bit between Northern and Southern California, and had been friendly with two other musicians on the Californian folk scene, David Crosby and Roger McGuinn. When their new group, the Byrds, suddenly became huge, Kantner became aware of the possibility of doing something similar himself, and so when Marty Balin approached him to form a band, he agreed.
Buchanan never had much of a career as a professional, but he had supposedly spent nine years studying with the blues and ragtime guitar legend Rev. Gary Davis, and he was certainly a fine guitarist, as can be heard on his contribution to The Blues Project, the album Elektra put out of white Greenwich Village musicians like John Sebastian and Dave Van Ronk playing old blues songs:
By 1965 Kaukonen saw himself firmly as a folk-blues purist, who would not even think of playing rock and roll music, which he viewed with more than a little contempt. But he allowed himself to be brought along to audition for the new group, and Ken Kesey happened to be there.
They also hired a press agent, their friend Bill Thompson. Thompson was friends with the two main music writers at the San Francisco Chronicle, Ralph Gleason, the famous jazz critic, who had recently started also reviewing rock music, and John Wasserman. Thompson got both men to come to the opening night of the Matrix, and both gave the group glowing reviews in the Chronicle.
The Ashes split up once Dryden left the group to join Jefferson Airplane, but they soon reformed without him as The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, who hooked up with Gary Usher and released several albums of psychedelic sunshine pop.
Things were also becoming difficult for Anderson. She had had a baby in May and was not only unhappy with having to tour while she had a small child, she was also the band member who was most vocally opposed to Katz. Added to that, her husband did not get on well at all with the group, and she felt trapped between her marriage and her bandmates. Reports differ as to whether she quit the band or was fired, but after a disastrous appearance at the Monterey Jazz Festival, one way or another she was out of the band.
Katz appealed the dismissal, and won that appeal, and the case dragged on for another three years, at which point Katz dragged RCA Records into the lawsuit. As a result of being dragged into the mess, RCA decided to stop paying the group their songwriting royalties from record sales directly, and instead put the money into an escrow account. The claims and counterclaims and appeals *finally* ended in 1987, twenty years after the lawsuits had started and fourteen years after the band had stopped receiving their songwriting royalties. In the end, the group won on almost every point, and finally received one point three million dollars in back royalties and seven hundred thousand dollars in interest that had accrued, while Katz got a small token payment.
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