|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Archives
Looking back |
Rock and roll music still gets me off. You can't imagine how a thought so basic can come as such an enormous relief 25 years after my first rock concert, and nearly 30 years since I discovered rock and roll radio. There are moments when there is doubt. Sometimes I'll be at a concert, or listening to a record, and appreciating it's worthiness with all my intellect, and feeling nothing. Music used to be the basis of my perspective on the world outside and inside my head. It was religion, politics, and news to me. I identified with the musicians that expressed attitudes and feelings that resonated with me. Their existence validated mine. Everything I listened to really mattered. Now I'm a grownup. Most of the time I play music because it helps pass the time, or because it's a preferable auditory stimulus to the hum of fluorescent lights or the sound of my computer's cooling fan. Sometimes the facile comfort of nostalgia is reason enough. Usually I browse through my collection stopping at whatever seems a suitable antidote to the mood of the moment. Most of the time, music's purpose is just that banal. Sometimes I can't even be bothered to put music on. Still, every now and then something comes on that really blows me away. It fills me so full that tears of rage, joy, or often an emotion that I can't even put a name to simply overtakes me. Or there's something that I just have to hear, usually some song that once before, and may yet again produce that feeling. There are times when nothing else will satisfy a craving but some tune that has insinuated itself into my personal pantheon of perfect pop singles. I've spent a lot of time trying to characterize my notion of a perfect pop single. I haven't found any hard and fast rules that will withstand scrutiny or challenge, there are loads of exceptions to all the metrics. What the hell, here's a shot at it. First and last, a melody. It'll have a tight structure. No self indulgence allowed, no "jamming," and one to many repeats of the chorus on the way to the fade is enough to sink it. The presence of a bridge is a fairly safe bet. The sentiment of the lyrics rings so true in my own head that I might have written them myself. The arrangement is so suited to the lyric and melody that there will never be any reason for anyone to cover the song other than to pay homage to it. If it's a rocker, it'll beg me to TURN IT UP! It insists that I sing along, and it nearly always makes me hit the repeat button. It feels so good that once isn't enough. Songs that lift me up, or at least offer me a catharsis have an edge. A perfect pop single isn't always possessed of all these things. Sometimes a preponderance of these elements, combined with a high level of craft will cut it. Often, it's the record more than the song itself. Even the clowns at the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences know enough to give separate Grammy's for songs and records. Buddy Holly's greatest contribution to rock and roll is "Not Fade Away," perhaps the perfect rock song. But face it, a lot of people performed it better than Buddy. On the other hand, "Words Of Love" as Holly originally recorded it is flawless. The very sound of the record seems to exist out of time. One of the Beatles most perfect efforts is all song and almost no production. "I Don't Want To Spoil The Party," a relatively obscure album track from the 1964 release "Beatles For Sale," isn't strictly speaking, even a single. An early hint at the more serious turn John Lennon's writing would take, the lyric is just so real. It's an expression of a vulnerability that's familiar the first time you hear it. In 1971 hippie folk-rockers Brewer and Shipley recorded a fairly unremarkable little anthem called "Tarkio Road" that by the grace of a really fine groove, shimmering acoustic guitars, and a layered arrangement that stops at the brink of excess, is always good for a second spin. All kinds of songs reside in this musical Xanadu; "Thirteen" by Big Star, Glen Campbell's "Galvaston," Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," Dionne Warwick's "Walk On By," and The Replacement's "Bastards Of Young" all dwell side by side. Above all, a perfect pop single is undemanding. It grabs you right away. It doesn't ask you to cultivate an appreciation for it. It's a whore, it expects nothing from you. Recently I was driving home from work and popped copy I'd been sent of II by The Presidents of the United States of America into the player. I'd heard something from it on MTV, and had remembered the first album as pretty much unremarkable. The single "Mach 5" came on and within seconds I'd restarted the track, this time much louder. The song rocked hard, it had a really cool melody, and it made me grin like a goof. The second it was over, I hit the repeat button and played it again, even LOUDER! The only thing wrong with this song is that it reminds me that I'll never be 20 again, tooling along crankin' it with a bunch of my friends If this band never produces another second of cool rock and roll again, I'm sure of this, I'll be coming back to this record for decades. A song about smashing toy cars fer cryin' out loud. It's got all the weight of an Archies record. There's nothin' beats a measured dose of pop confection. Phil Spector could pack as much musical muscle as Mozart employed for a whole symphony into three minutes. Brian Wilson could channel God by accident. Most of the time I like listening to a bunch sky pilots jamming for hours. The rest of the time, I want to scream down the highway with all the windows down, grinning like a goof and singing along.
|
|