Misheard lyrics
Yeah, I love that Duran Duran song, “Rio.” You know, where they sing, “It means so much to meeee, like a birthday or a preeee-view.” Because really, who doesn’t like birthdays and movie previews? Oh wait — you mean it’s really “birthday or a pretty view?” Enunciate, Simon, enunciate! I can’t help it, I love misheard lyrics. There are about 100 Web sites collecting them. Some are so old they’re clichés by now — “There’s a bathroom on the right” and “'Scuze me, while I kiss this guy” being two golden oldies. Others are so dumb you wonder if someone just made them up to be funny. Did people really mishear, “We all live in a yellow submarine” as “We all live in a ghetto in the sink”? I wonder. My favorites are the ones that people I know actually admit to believing, such as my husband Rob once thinking the Ramones were singing, “The kids are lids on land mines” instead of “The kids are losing their minds” in “Blitzkrieg Bop.” And an anonymous high-school friend who really thought Billy Idol’s “Eyes Without a Face” was “How’s About a Date?” I have to admit, I still mishear lyrics every day. U2’s “Vertigo”? Where Bono sings “Hello, hello, I’m at a place called Vertigo”? It still sounds to me like he’s saying “Hello, hello, I’m in a place called Oregon.” —G.F.C.

Neil Diamond
MCA
I discovered Neil Diamond on July 4, 1986, during the heady days of "Top Gun," a jelly-bean fueled presidency and the nation's audacious Statue of Liberty centennial. Against a backdrop of warships and fireworks, an orchestra struck the haunting first chords of "America" and Neil belted out lyrics so infused with humility, pride and patriotism that they still bring tears to my eyes. As Lady Liberty beckoned, Neil reassured us all that “everywhere around the world / They're coming to America / Every time that flag's unfurled / They're coming to America.” At last, I’d found a crooning Jewish superhero to call my own. Foolishly, I lost touch with Neil in my rebellious adolescence. In forsaking him, I cheated myself out of more than just great music. I lost a bridge to my heritage and the zest for life Neil exudes, whether he's wooing "Sweet Caroline" or singing sweet thanks to "Shilo." Older, wiser and arguably more refined, I’ve rediscovered Neil. Cruising down the road on a hot August night, you'll find Neil and I joyfully sharing a bowl of "Crunchy Granola Suite" and proclaiming "Halle, hallelujah!" —Josh Belzman

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Ray Stevens
Curb Records
The '60s and '70s were the Golden Age of pop novelty songs, when Top 40 radio always had some comedy relief. The Elvis of that musical sub-genre, with three Top 10 singles, was Ray Stevens. He first appeared in 1962 with the politically incorrect "Ahab the Arab," a half-sung, half-talked send-up of Valentino's "Sheik of Araby." ("He'd jump on his Camel named Clyde and ride!") With "Gitarzan," he turned Edgar Rice Burroughs' king of the jungle into a rock star, while Jane belted out a Janis-Joplinesque "Oh baby, baby!" Then in 1974, when streaking was the hot fad, inspiring more than 20 singles, it was Stevens who went to No. 1 with the simply-titled "The Streak," whose dimwitted 'victim' vainly tried to protect his wife ("Don't look, Ethel!") until she threw off her inhibitions and clothes. ("Ethel, you shameless hussy!") In such whimsical performances as "Harry the Hairy Ape" or "The Mississipi Squirrel Revival," Stevens wasn't trying to be as ironic or sophisticated as other novelty artists — just funny. And he was. —Wendell Wittler

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