Juke Box Jury

Juke Box Jury

By

GREG SHAW

“Now here it is, the most requested song we’ve had in a long time . . .” I turned up the volume on my car radio, always interested in what Top 40 America is requesting, and hoped for something tolerable. When the song ended I punched the radio off and rode along for minutes in stunned silence. What was going on here? The record moved too fast to hold onto more than a line here and .there, and the fact that it was all couched in enigmatic images with 2 or 3 levels of meaning didn’t help but I thought I had an idea what it was about. It seemed to concern the history of rock ‘n’ roll, starting out with references to pink carnations, pickup trucks, the Book of Love . . . hey, maybe this is the first record since “Having a Party” or some other product of 1962 to include the titles of other records — far out. Then there was a lot of weird stuff about a Jester, a forward pass, Lennon reading a book on Marx (ha, clever), the Sergeants’ marching band and sweet perfume (I caught that one: who could forget the.Incense and Peppermint of ’67?), and Satan laughing as flames climbed into the night. Whew! I could hardly wait for it to come on again, impatiently stabbing button after button, AM to FM, until I found it. Over the next several listenings things began falling into place. This guy the Jester who grabbed the King’s crown and later sat on the sidelines in a cast had to be Dylan (in a coat he borrowed from James Dean) and the business about “the day the music died” repeated after every chorus, maybe that referred to his motorcycle accident. The forward pass — yeah they tried to make it without him and couldn’t do it. This was a record about the Death of Rock everybody’s been talking about lately!

But wait — there was more. How about those “good old boys, drinking whiskey and rye, singing ‘this will be the day that I die’ ”? (What, were they singing a Buddy Holly song?) That whole part eluded me, so I skipped over to' the section that starts with Jack Flash, “fire is the Devil’s only friend” and watching from beside the stage with fists clenched in rage. That had to be Altamont — I was there and saw those flames lighting the sacrificial rite, and knew the feeling. Hey, another “death of rock.” Hmmm, that makes three. Maybe there was a pattern to this record!

It was at this point that I got hold of the album, and found to my delight an unabridged, 8% minute version. And all was clear. Surrounding the middle portion that was excerpted for the single are two quiet segments, slowly sung over unobtrusive piano. “Long long time ago,” it begins, “I can still remember how the music made me smile. But February made me shiver with every paper I’d deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn’t take on more step. I can’t remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride, but something touched me deep inside — the day the music died.” That was it. Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, the Big Bopper... we don’t remember, most of us being too young, but that plane crash in 1959 was as traumatic to the kids of the time as that dark day on the speedway was for us. They all said rock was dead. But it came back again, disappeared for awhile with Dylan, went through a great confusion, and returned, healthy and alive despite all the tragedies. The closing interlude, with its allusions to Janis, came as an anticlimax as I was lost in the realization of what McLean was getting at in this song, and I almost missed the bit about “the three men I admired most: the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost” — I still haven’t figured that one out yet. But the final chorus caps it off neatly, as the “good old boys” join in to close the song like a post-wake drinking tune along the lines of “Waltzing Matilda,” demonstrating at last what their feelings are meant to be.

What he seems to be saying is that rock ‘n’ roll is always dying and being reborn. That each time it does the good old boys, those of us who -laughed and danced (when we had the chance at those goddamned Fillmores - he even works that in!) and lived the music, meet down at the levee to get drunk and bury our friend. That we care too much to see through our metaphorical tears and have faith in the Resurrection. And he’s right.

This may just be the most important single since “Like a Rolling Stone” or something equally monumental. (I note with curiosity that the same guy - Paul Griffin - played piano on both songs.) It may be the first since the early Who to make a statement about “us” as a rock ‘n’ roll generation (“for 10 years we were on our own . ..,” italics mine) and it is almost certainly the first thing since Dylan’s long methedrine-rap songs to provide such rewards for a listener sensitive to shades of meaning and deftness of expression. Some of his phrasings are astonishing: “no Angel born in Hell” or, as Greil Marcus pointed out to me, the way he says “I was a lonely teenage broncing buck” - it had to be that way to rhyme with “pickup truck” but even though there’s no such work as “broncing” it’s done so smoothly you invert it without thinking. There’s more to this record, plenty of images to mull over as the song passes through your radio, much more to think about. The album, though dedicated to Buddy Holly, contains little of interest beside this song. Yet it’s an essential album.

One thing I’ve been wondering about is why the tremendous response — especially on AM radio — to this record? Are those 14-year-old kids really hip to all this “death of rock” myth we critics have been tormenting ourselves with? And the disc jockeys, and housewives, and the others who’ve apparently flipped, around here at least, for this record?

And why did none of the trade magazines single it out as an important record? Why is a pathetic record like “American Trilogy” by Mickey Newbury racing up the charts with a bullet when “American Pie” hasn’t even entered the top 150 as I write this? Food for thought indeed. “American Pie” by Don McLean (UA 50856).

QUICK SPINS: Grand Funk’s new one “People, Let’s Stop the War” (Capitol P-3217) is a big improvement over their previous work. Another entry in the Political Statement Sweepstakes, its chorus is a bit too choppy to catch on at demonstrations, but as a rock ‘n’ roll record it’s real fine. :: The arrival of a new record by John Kongos was a big event in my day, but only until I heard it. “Tokoloshe Man” (Elektra 45760) doesn’t nearly live up to the promise of “He’s Gonna Step on You Again” and the other side, “Can Someone Please Direct Me Back to Earth” is ordinary beyond belief. Shape up, John. :: “Children of the Universe” by Dorsey Burnett (Capitol P-3190) is also a disappointment, even though it was arranged by Ernie Freeman. :: Yoko Ono’s single “Mrs. Lennon” will be a pleasant surprise to those who think she’s incapable of melody, and the flip “Midsummer New York” (which you can also hear on her album) is, of all things, a rock & roll song. :: United Artists Records is bringing back the 60s, in case you hadn’t noticed. There’s a lot of examples not the least of which is the return of Jan & Dean, but I’ll save that for another column. Right now I want to tell you about Jay & the Americans’ latest, “There& Goes My Baby” (UA 50858) which is interesting because they come from the 60s reviving the 50s but actually it’s not good for much more than a few laughs since you can get the Drifters now. :: An interesting record for all you curiosity-seekers is “Hoodoo Beat”/“Uncle Joe’s Homemade Brew” by Joe Crane & His Hoodoo Rhythm Devils (Capitol P-3166). Not as bizarre as you might think but definitely out of the ordinary. :: And speaking of revivals, R.B. Greaves has recorded “Paperback Writer” (Atco 6839) and it’s terrible. :: A bunch of mean-looking urchins called the Watts Little Angel Band have a single of “New Orleans/ Land of a Thousand Dances”/“Nik Nak Paddy Whack” '(Cotillion 44136) that’s rather strange. It’s the Michael Jackson sound, but without the sophisticated production, and with an extra ten or so punks pounding on oilcans, treestumps, bottles, each others’ heads, and everything in sight with short sticks of wood. Not at all like a steelband despite the description, this record sounds like nothing except maybe the chants of a tribe of East L.A. sub-teen delinquents as they hold you captive in their corrugated iron clubhouse (actually a condemned rendering plant) and attempt to scare the shit out of you by bashing the walls with closed switchblades as their wild eyeballs pierce the dark and they prepare to descend and slice you to shreds. In other words, this record has a lot of what they call atmosphere.

A group that does sound like a steelband is the Esso Trinidad Steelband, and that’s because they are one, but not an ordinary one. This band is produced by Van Dyke Parks, and this is the followup to their version of “Apeman” and their very unusual album. “Superstar” (Warner Bros. 7532) from the rock opera of approximately the same name, is a fine choice for this group’s sound, which is about as exalted and mystical as the ratinfested alleys mpst of the hippie opera stars who usually sing it belong in. :: This column has always been receptive to the revival of a beloved oldie, but with so much good music in the past there’s really no need to dredge the much at the bottom as Casper has done in coming up with “All Day, All Night (Marianne)” (Sunflower 117). Nobody liked this song when it came out around 1957, and it took us years to get the idiotic refrain (“Down by the seaside sifting sand”) out of our heads. Please, spare us. :: “I’m Gonna Make You Love Me” by the Grimm Bros. (Mod M-1011) might look like the revival of a 1968 Supremes record but only before you hear what sounds like President Nixon growling the lyrics in a very threatening tone of voice. I predict great FM success for this “irreverent” (as book publishers say) record, though I prefer the flip, subtitled “Instant Analysis” which is an acapella radio program, including jingles, news and commercials. And yes, it includes an analysis of the President’s record as well as a fearless editorial on the subject.

Here’s a song I thought I’d never hear again. “Hallelujah! I’m a Bum” by Toad Hall (Bamaby 2052) is one of those songs your columnist used to sit around in beatnik pads and sing along with at the age of 14 or so when all the songs in “IWW Songs” and “The Bosses’ Songbook” had been exhausted. Ah, the memories! :: In case you’re keeping tabs on “Mammy Blue” there’s a new version by Raymond Lefevre (Buddah 269). Meanwhile the Pop Tops are the only ones still on the charts with it. :: Frijid Pink’s new one “Lost Son”/“I Love Her” (Parrot 360) ain’t bad, and neither is “Steal My Heart Away”/“Midnite Lover” by Lucy Blue (Big Tree 127). The latter is hard rock, and worth a listen. :: Best title this month is “Love is Bigger Than Football” by Sammy Day and the Comic Strip (Big Tree 128) but it ain’t no “Instant Replay in the Football Game of Life.”

Rising with a big bullet is the Staples Singers’ latest “Respect Yourself’ but it’s not the magnificent record “Heavy Makes You Happy” was and I’m still pissed off that the latter didn’t get proper recognition. Meanwhile a look at the charts shows other artists sporting bullets to include John Denver, B.J. Thomas, Peter Nero and Les Crane, in fact almost half the records on the Hot 100 have bullets so it doesn’t really mean a heck of a lot.