MUSICAL MUSING #52: Black Betty (Ram Jam -1977)

(Click4 to listen to "Black Betty")

My sense of pride in my daughters is often triggered by the most infinitesimal and absurd accomplishments — or failures.  

I've beamed as my eldest gagged while trying calamari for the first time. I've revelled as my middle child perfectly recited in it’s entirety the Phineas and Ferb theme song.  And a small tear came to my eye, when my youngest created what must have been the largest and most perfectly shaped poop ever created by a child of her size.

Lately, this sense has been stirred by my children's recognition and appreciation of music. Not just any music. The music that matters — my music.

Last Tuesday, I was never prouder of my seven-year-old.

Already ten minutes late, we were about a minute short of the dance studio where we were to pick up my 13-year-old.  Driving, my thoughts were interrupted by a song intro that was as familiar as the front of my hand — I recognized it, but didn't immediately know it.  A cymbal crash and a steady pedal base drum, punctuated about eight beats in by a classic guitar riff.  I thought, "Good tune, but what the hell is it?"  (It was like when you see somebody you know, but don’t know from where you know them — and their name you know you know, but hasn't yet come to you. That’s where I was with this song.)

No sooner had this thought entered my mind, and before a single lyric was sung, from behind I heard Jessie say, “Oh, Black Betty.”

Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam
Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam

Holy shit. She was right. It was “Black Betty,” bam-ba-lam. The rockin’, redneck soundin’ hit single from somewhere in the 1970s. Jessie identified the song title as if Black Betty was an old kindergarten friend she had just spotted in the toy section at Target.

Black Betty had a child
bam-ba-lam
The damn thing gone wild
bam-ba-lam

I was stunned, “Wow. You’re right Jessie! How do you know this song? Did you dance to it before?”

(Okay, dumb question. Sure, Jessie’s dance instructor is going to choose to dance to a song that was once boycotted by the NAACP because it’s lyrics were deemed insulting to black women.)

Said it weren't none of mine
bam-ba-lam
Damn thing gone blind
bam-ba-lam

“No, it’s on my iPod,” Jessie said as a matter-of-fact.

I said Oh, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam
Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam

Jessie has a hand-me-down 2nd Generation 20GB iPod containing a wide variety of music from her older sister and me. Apparently, somewhere in her “1970s” playlist is “Black Betty,” bam-ba-lam.

(Note: It is impossible for me to say or write “Black Betty,” bam-ba-lam, without following it with “bam-ba-lam.”)

Oh, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam
Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam

Shaking my head in disbelief I said, “Wow. Great call Jessie!” By my reaction you would have thought she just named all nine justices of the U.S. Supreme Court.

She really gets me high
bam-ba-lam
You know that's no lie
bam-ba-lam
She's so rock steady
bam-ba-lam
And she's always ready
bam-ba-lam

Basking in her new found glory, Jessie asked, “Who sings this?”

Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam
Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam

Who sings this? Man, who does sing this? My God, I couldn’t recall who sang “Black Betty,” bam-ba-lam. I was blowing it. My musical prodigy was thirsting for useless Seventies trivia and I was having a brain fart.  Disappointed in myself I answered, “I’m sorry Kid, I can’t remember. It’s a one-hit wonder with a weird name — but I can’t recall it right now.”

Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam
Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam

Jessie didn't know what a "one-hit wonder" was, so I had a brief father-daughter talk about musical flashes in the pan and fleeting fame, as "Black Betty" played itself out and we waited for Lauren.

She's from Birmingham
bam-ba-lam
Way down in Alabam'
bam-ba-lam
Well, she's shakin' that thing
bam-ba-lam
Boy, she makes me sing
bam-ba-lam

Whoa, Black Betty
bam-ba-lam
Whoa, Black Betty
BAM-BA-LAM

On the way home, Jessie continue to flex her 70s music muscle by identifying on the radio Queen's 1974 breakthrough hit “Killer Queen.” This one was easy, hell, the name of the band is in the song title, and . . . vice versa. She couldn't duplicate the shining moment presented by Black Betty, bam-ba-lam — the musical call of her young lifetime. Instead of head shaking praise, she got only a wink and a smile, being told to "Stop trying to show off."

It wasn’t until we got home that I recovered from my RAM (random access memory) jam, remembering that "Black Betty” was performed, fittingly, by a band named Ram Jam.

With great pride, Jessie and "Black Betty" will be forever linked.

Whoa, Proud Daddy . . . bam-ba-lam.