"Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" (Nina Simone)

If you go searching around the Web for "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood," you'll find lots of references to British rock/R&B band Eric Burdon & The Animals, along with phrases like "Burdon's song" or "the Animals' song."

This is dead wrong.  

It was Nina Simone's song first (in 1964).

As the 2012 book Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone by Nadine Cohodas tells it, Burdon came backstage after one of Simone's concerts to meet her soon after The Animals had scored big with "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" in early 1965, nearly a year after her own version had failed to chart.  And the pull-no-punches Simone gave it to him right between the eyes.

"So you're the honky motherfucker who stole my song and got a hit out of it?"

What most sources online also don't get right is the story behind the composition.

The composer/arranger Horace Ott, a South Carolina native who also wrote/arranged for jazz organist Jimmy McGriff and drummer Bernard Purdie, came up with the song's haunting refrain (Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood) and basic structure after a fight with his future wife, Gloria Caldwell.  He then took the tune in its skeletal state to pals of his, songwriters Bennie Benjamin and Sol Marcus, who fleshed out the verses and put the finishing touches on the composition, specifically with Simone in mind.

But if you take a look at the writing credits for the song, Ott's name isn't anywhere to be found.  That's because Ott was a member of Broadcast Music, Inc. (BMI), whereas Benjamin and Marcus were members of the American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers (ASCAP)—different organizations that protect artists' copyrights and make sure they get paid proper royalties for their work.  At the time, that meant they weren't allowed to work together.  So Ott handed over his writing credit to Caldwell.  (Sort of appropriate, considering it was an argument with her that prompted him to sit down at the piano and create the first seeds of the song.)

I prefer Simone's version to all others—not just because it's the original, but also because of her vocal.  It's supple and smoky, like a shot of Bourbon that simultaneously burns and soothes.  What's more, she delivers every word with enormous passion and conviction.  

Putting the performance in context of the 60s Civil Rights era, it doesn't take too much effort to realize that she wasn't just singing the lyrics from the point of view of a hurt lover; she's singing them as a black woman, stating her hope to be accepted as a human being.  (Take a listen to the track again with that in mind, and the song takes on a whole new depth of emotion and meaning.)

Ott's arrangement also is engaging, combining tasteful strings with celeste, choir backing vocals, and some sort of melodic percussion that I've never quite been able to figure out.  (Is it roto toms?  Marimba?  Some sort of everyday plastic container, played like drums?  I've listened to the track on repeat before for a solid hour, trying to figure out what instrument Ott used to get that distinctive sound.  And it still eludes me!)

"My Baby Just Cares for Me" (Nina Simone)

I first heard Nina Simone's version of "My Baby Just Cares for Me" in a somewhat unlikely place: an ad copywriting class in college.
Our professor was discussing how to write effective commercials.  Specifically, he was trying to instill in us that we didn't have to beat people over the head with a product name every 5 seconds.  (A skill that some of us were better at than others.)  Anyway, he was showing us a reel of commercials, where each spot was more about telling a story or conveying the feeling of a brand rather than pushing a product.  There was this one spot for perfume (a quick Google search reminded me that it was a commercial for Chanel No. 5, circa 1987) that had "My Baby Just Cares for Me" playing over cinematic shots of a model zipping through the desert in a sports car.  Of course, I didn't give a rip about the perfume or the model with her big-ass 80s shoulder pads; I just wanted to know what that song was.
After lecture, I marched down to Franklin Street to the former Schoolkids Records, recounted what I could of the lyrics to the Goth girl behind the counter, and watched the immediate look of recognition spread across her heavily-pierced yet sweet face.
"That's Nina Simone.  Oh, I love Nina Simone!"  She was practically giddy.
So that's how I ended up with a CD of Simone's 1958 album Little Girl Blue (which got lost/stolen somewhere along the way) and became a life-long fan of the Tryon, NC-born artist.
The song itself dates to 1930.  It was penned by lyricist Gus Khan and melodist Walter Donaldson (the duo behind other hit songs of the 20s/30s, like "Carolina in the Morning," "Yes, Sir, That's My Baby," and "Makin' Whoopee") for the Eddie Cantor movie-musical, Whoopee!  A search of the Cantor version on the Web will bring up a scene from Whoopee! of the actor/singer in blackface, doing a soft-shoe while singing the number to a crowd of onlookers.  Not going to mince words: it's revolting.  That's why I'm not posting a link.
But leave it to Simone to take something like that and completely reshape and own it.  Not only does she completely rework the melody and rhythms into a sleek, jazzy display of her virtuosity (she was as expressive a pianist as she was a vocalist), she revises the lyrics to fit the new context, too.  It's a 3-minute masterpiece.

"See-Line Woman" (Nina Simone)

It's hard not to love Nina Simone.  Uncompromising, inventive, intelligent.  No one else sounded like her.
She was born Eunice Waymon in Tryon, NC, in 1933 and grew up playing piano by ear in her mother's church (her mother, Mary Kate, was a strict Methodist preacher).  As a pre-teen, she studied classical piano, developing a love for the music of J.S. Bach.  Seeing that she had true, budding talent, the townspeople of Tryon raised enough money for her to attend the Allen School, a private high school for African American girls located in Asheville.  
While in Asheville, she continued her music studies and dreamt of becoming America's first famed black concert pianist.  However, that dream didn't come to pass after Philadelphia's prestigious Curtis Institute of Music rejected her bid for admission—an incident that she felt was motivated by racial prejudice, which cut her deeply.  
To make a living, she began teaching music by day and performing in jazz clubs by night.  And because no preacher's daughter would be caught dead singing in a nightclub, she adopted the stage name "Nina Simone" (the "Nina" came from a pet name given to her by a boyfriend; the "Simone" came from the name of French actress, Simone Signoret).
One of her best known songs is her rendition of "See-Line Woman" from the 1965 album Broadway-Blues-Ballads.
The song (which sometimes is printed as "Sea Lion Woman," or "C-line Woman," or "See Lyin' Woman") is actually an old folk song, often sung by children to keep rhythm while jumping rope.  The first taped performance of the song dates to 1939, when Library of Congress field researcher Herbert Halpert recorded two sisters, Christine and Katherine Shipp, singing the song at their home in rural Mississippi.  But the song itself probably dates back to the 19th century.
So, what is a "see-line woman?"
There's no definitive answer.  As with any folk song like this, it gets passed down, and each person/locality/generation puts its own stank and spin on it.  Including Simone.
According to KCRW Public Radio DJ Tom Schnabel, Simone's take is decidedly adult: it's about women of the night, waiting for sailors to come into port.  Which I think is feasible (considering lyrics like for $1000 she'll wail and she'll moan...).  
Whatever its meaning, and however old the song really is, Simone's track sounds like it could have been recorded yesterday.  I still have a hard time believing it was cut in 1965 because it sounds so far ahead of its time.
Her drummer, Bobby Hamilton, puts down an unfaltering pattern on the hi-hat and kick drum that would put a Roland 808 to shame, setting the foundation for the (nearly) a cappella funk that Simone churns out.  In fact, the only real instrumentation is the soulful flute line that weaves in and out of Simone's husky vocals and the hypnotic, near-chanted see-line backing vocals.
The whole track is just under three minutes in length.  But it's three minutes that will make you want to seek out everything this brilliant woman ever put to tape.