I've been spending a lot of time with weirdos lately. And by "spending time" I mean listening to their records, not hanging out with them. So let's have a post spotlighting the infinitely sane folks pictured above could serve as a palette cleanser before I go down that deep hole.
Timing Really Is Everything:
Pre-1964: Music didn't mean anything to me. All I knew were the Irish records my mom and dad played, which were ridiculously uncool (accordions) and downright depressing (the Troubles). Elvis was no help because I interpreted his sneer as him being conceited, and six-year-old Irish Catholic me did not like that!
1964: One assassination later, the Beatles arrived and that was that. Anything before that may as well not have existed. My attitude would only harden as I bore my parents' constant criticism of any person with an electric guitar. Say the following aloud with a brogue and you'll get the idea:
There'll never be a Beatles record in this house!
So I figured the best defense was a good offense, and I'd show nothing but contempt for anything pre-Beatles. And that meant 1950's rock 'n roll, too.
1972: Two assassinations later, and I was in full rock-snob-mode. Long guitar solos meant rock musicians were virtuosos, prog rock meant they were intelligent, and the Grateful Dead meant they wrote better songs. (Well, one out of three ain't terrible.) I hated Fifties music. It was simplistic, sappy, and lame. It also emphasized vocals when I wanted electric guitars. When WCBS-FM switched from a pretty good AOR format to oldies I was outraged. Having a station devoted to something other than '60s music suggested that there might be something lacking in it. I wasn't having any of that.
So I reacted by mocking oldies mercilessly. One song was the epitome of all that was wrong with it: "Soldier Boy" by the Shirelles. The first time I heard it, I scoffed at the melodramatic opening line, found the melody to be simplistic in the extreme, and the rest of the lyrics trite. After all, there wasn't a war or anything, was there? Four girls singing with an orchestra was just as wrong as could be.
1985: This was the year of the great Mr. and Mrs. Jaybee wedding and, almost as significantly, record-collection merge. Having only purchased quality music myself, I needed to ensure my collection remained free of any "impurities", so I made a point of listening to every one of Mrs. Jaybee's records before admitting them into the collection.
Amidst the occasional good album was some disco, R&B - neither of which I'd yet come to appreciate - and, lo and behold, The Best of the Shirelles - a ten-song single record with a crappy black and white cover photo AND the corner cut away, indicating a budget buy. The presentation was a clear indication of the "quality" inside. After some rest and preparation, I put it on, patiently awaiting thirty excruciating minutes of bad pop music, and failed to hear any.
1987: I played it again and couldn't detect a single awful song. I played it yet again, and couldn't detect a single mediocre song. I did hear a couple of great ones, though.
Like "Soldier Boy", whose melody now sounded timeless, and the lyrics innocent and longing, the singing utterly artless and all the more powerful for that. And although even they don't know it yet, they're talking about fucking Viet Nam. Or may as well have.
This was folk Art.
2024: I decided there is some music out there I don't want to leave undiscovered, and ten Shirelles songs were no longer enough. So I opted for this compilation.
Shirelles: All Time Greatest Hits (1999)
Okay, so it's not a thirty-minute flash of genius that the knockoff LP was. It's over an hour (26 cuts!) of usually great and otherwise excellent music. It feels more complete if less miraculous.
Highlights:
"Foolish Little Girl", where I'm tempted to sing the first line of the chorus But I love him! out loud at random/inappropriate times (supermarket, airport, restaurant, etc.)
"Tonight's the Night" kicks the Rod Stewart song's ass, and gives Neil Young a run for his money.
Their comparably matter-of-fact version of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" edges out Carole King's more emotive version. Ditto their "Baby It's You" vs. Smith's version.
I could go on, but will instead report the Shirelles are rightfully in the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame. Luther Dixon, their main songwriter, alas, is not.
But I love him! (You see what I mean?)
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Fats Domino: My Blue Heaven: The Best of Fats Domino (2006)
Now who would want to get a record by Fats Domino? The songs are sweet enough but they are ubiquitous on oldies radio. So you sing along or dance along at a wedding because they're so damn simple and catchy, but don't take him seriously right? Indeed, his affable persona might cause one (me) to underestimate him.
Slightly wider exposure to his music makes a strong argument for him as one of the founders of rock 'n roll, at least the New Orleans version. It's astounding that such simple music could still sound so vital.
How could this be? Is it the accompaniment that is terrific throughout? Good tunes? That affable persona? Good guesses, but here's some actual evidence:
The bottom of "Ain't That a Shame" is astounding. (No, not his ass. Although... Subject for Further Research: Did Fats have a nice ass?). The piano, bass, drums, and god knows what else that provides the bomp in between the poetry:
Oh well BOMP BOMP Goodbye BOMP BOMP Although BOMP BOMP I'll cry
Ain't that a shame!
And have you ever heard anything that summarized the human condition so concisely? It makes "Love In Vain" seem like Infinite Jest. And speaking of concision, these songs all clock in at the low 2-minute range. Why did it take our '70s heroes twice as long to say essentially the same thing?
Other highlights include:
- The sax on "I'm In Love Again" is to die for.
- Fats' singing is out front on "Valley of Tears" so you can hear his voice in all its glory.
- And who gets away with singing oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh for over half the song before he starts singing actual words as Fats does on "Please Don't Leave Me"? (The title does the heavy lifting.)
- And is that ska I'm hearing on "By My Guest Tonight"? Did he invent that, too?
- It ends, appropriately enough, with "What a Party". Try it out at your next one and see.
With all this under his, ahem, belt, you'd think Fats would be an asshole. But he appears to actually be the humble entertainer we all see him as. (Kanye, take note.)
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Next: Things, Alas, Get Weird
