Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous artist recorded this obscure song.
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous artist recorded this obscure song.
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
I have a deep and abiding loathing for any and all reality TV (with the exception of Wipeout! — which I must admit cracks me up).
I am of the opinion that the last thing our screwed-up civilization needs is one more outlet for Donald Trump’s hippo-choking ego. (On a side note to The Donald, when your hair looks so bad it can be mistaken for a rug, you might as well wear a rug. If that is a rug, jeez, dude, with your money that’s the best you can do?)
But in the whole misbegotten field of “reality” television, nothing this side of ipecac is a more reliable vomit inducer than music and/or dance competition shows. There is something especially perverse about one singer being told that his hideous melisma-laced yodeling fell short of the efforts of another singer, who managed to screw his face up in a way the judges found more authentic.
[Author's Note: "melisma" is a musical term for a vocal effect in which a syllable is sung, not with one note, but with two or three (or in the case of Mariah Carey two or three dozen).]
Having made all that clear, I can only imagine the scorn you will heap on my head when I admit, red-faced, that I myself have been a competitor in a reality contest show. I wish I could tell you it was Wipeout!, although, I don’t care how well those obstacles are padded, I would be killed.
No, my sorry story is more preposterous, more grotesque, more soul-searingly humiliating than any face-planting on the Big Balls could possibly be. Perhaps the title of the show — Hit Me Baby One More Time – won’t on its own convince you.
Well, then, attend the tale of Bertie Todd:
In the summer of 2005, our band (The Knack) was approached to be on a music competition show spun off — as they all seem to be — from some a-holes in England who, based on the comparative level of erudition over there vis a vis ours, you’d think would have better things to do.
It went something like this: a bunch of old farts– excuse me artists– of a previous era would perform two songs in an attempt to win the hearts of the voting public, which in this case wouldn’t be the usual nationwide viewers but rather the live studio audience, consisting of about 200 glue-sniffing teens recruited off the mean streets of Hollywood.
The two songs would be 1) Your Big Hit, and 2) Your Version of a Hit Song of Today.
In a minor miracle, our lead singer Doug found a Hit Song of Today (Are You Gonna Be My Girl) that was actually pretty damn good: it’s that rocker by Jet, the Aussie band. You would then be held in judgment by the aforementioned glue-sniffing teens, with the performances of Your Big Hit and Your Version of the Hit Song of Today presumably carrying equal weight.
(By the by, did you know that in Australia “jet” means black that is not shiny — what we would call “matte” black — and so the band name might have nothing to do with aeronautics? And, yes, I am stalling.)
That was, ostensibly, the competitive part of this mishegoss, but in reality (no pun intended) the actual competition as the nation saw it was… who would show up looking relatively normal, and who would show up fat and bald. I am proud to say we fell in the former category. I actually heard a guy on talk radio complaining that he was looking forward to seeing our band, hoping to be able to ridicule us for getting F and B, and was cruelly disappointed to see that we were actually not F and B. It was the one shining moment I took away from the whole gruesome exercise.
Our rivals for the hearts of the glue-sniffers were among others Tommy Tutone and Vanilla Ice. It was funny to see Tommy there, because our band and his were always getting put on the same concert bills at that time. You could see his face fall when we walked in: “You guys again?“ Tommy, in case you were wondering, not F and B. Vanilla Ice (whose real name I’m ashamed to say I can’t remember) turned out to be a seriously nice guy, and seriously not F and B.
The moment had come for us to perform our magnum opus (or 50 seconds of it, at any rate). We were standing on the hydraulic platform waiting for it to whoosh us up onto the stage in a nimbus of dry ice. The production guy was giving us counsel, advising that the crowd was going to go nuts for us, which would give us a goodish moment to, in his words, “strike a pose.” “Or not”, I muttered to myself, already feeling decidedly less than sanguine. I mean, can you imagine? I’m pretty sure he said “strike a pose”, but it may even have been “vogue”. Incidentally, if a production guy can tell you with authority that the crowd is going to go nuts, exactly how much significance can you put on it when they do indeed go nuts?
The Knack – My Sharona (abridged)
NBC’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time” – June 9, 2005
We got through Our Big Hit without incident: we HAD played and sung Sharona a few times over the years, after all. Following a blessedly shortish interval, we were gathered backstage to return for our rendering of the Big Hit of Today.
About 30 seconds before we took the stage, Doug grabbed my arm: “Bertie, what are the words in the second verse?!” Holy crap, he’d gone up on his lines! Couldn’t be faulted under the circumstances, but I had to admit to him that I hadn’t the slightest idea what the words were. Being the trouper he had been his entire life, Doug somehow pulled the lyrics out of the air (or some unnamed orifice) and our B. H. of T. came off without a hitch.
The Knack – Cover of Jet’s Are You Gonna Be My Girl?
NBC’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time” – June 9, 2005
We returned to our dressing room, bloody but unbowed, to await the results of the voting.
* And this, I blush to say, is where the tale gets ugly. *
Because somehow, I had been seduced by this absurd carnival of souls into caring whether or not we won.
Every reasoning cell in my body dismissed any suggestion of credibility adhering to a “Hit Me Baby One More Time” victory. As I’ve said, I can’t abide philosophically with the very notion of a music competition show, much less put any stock in the results. Still…I wanted to win. WE wanted to win.
To be fair, there were practical considerations that made it desirable to garner the Elmer’s-stained laurel wreath. For one, it would mean appearing on the next week’s show (some fun now), which meant getting paid again. For another, ten million viewers attesting to the fact that we weren’t F and B couldn’t hurt that cottage industry known in showbiz circles as The-Knack-Plays-My-Sharona. Lastly, and most importantly, it would be embarrassing to lose to Vanilla Ice.
The producer came into our dressing room and spoke in the muted tones of a funeral director. We had lost to Vanilla Ice. In case you were wondering, Vanilla’s presentation of his chosen Big Hit of Today consisted of a newly-created rap over a sample of the tune. Seeing as this WAS in keeping with rapper ethos, I suppose it was a legitimate approach, but it wasn’t really like learning a new song, was it? I’m not bitter.
Vanilla Ice – Cover of Destiny Child’s “Survivor” / NBC’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time” – June 9, 2005
So, there you have it. If you choose to call me hypocrite for being a (semi)willing participant in a process I abhor and degrade, at least admit I have the courage to come clean about it. I mean, let’s face it, it’s not as if anyone would have called me out. (“Wait just a minute, bub! Didn’t you yourself lose to Vanilla Ice on Hit Me Baby One More Time?”) All that’s left is for me to pitch my OWN idea for a reality show.
The fabulous humorist Calvin Trillin developed something he called the Harry Golden Rule. I can’t put it as well as he can, but basically he points out that this world is so wacky that any idea for satire you come up with, no matter how outlandish, is in danger of having the truth (or in our case “reality”) beat you to it. I can only hope, then, that I’ve gotten in under the wire with the following:
A therapy group meets once a week, as usual, to work on their psychological issues, as usual, and bare their souls, as usual. But as we all know, in American television NOTHING is as usual (apart from sitcoms, cop shows, lawyer shows, doctor shows, and excuses-for-showing-a-cut-up-stiff shows).
For on “American Group” the members, in front of a horrified-yet-engrossed live national audience, compete to undermine the mental health of their counterparts, in a no-holds-barred attempt to become the Last Patient Standing.
Each week, a hapless soul gets booted off the group, with a year’s supply of mood elevators for a party gift, as supplied by Merck, the show’s sponsor. In the course of a season four therapy groups will provide a rapt viewing nation with four champions, who ultimately square off in a Battle Royal to become America’s Most Wanted Sociopath, and claim the most coveted prize: his or her very own therapy group, and an honorary Doctorate of Psychology with which to practice.
Judging for the P.W.O. (Psychological Warfare Octagon) will be provided by Dr. Phil, Dr. Laura, Paula Abdul, and a special weekly celebrity guest shrink (e.g. Charlie Sheen).
Once I establish myself as king atop the reality TV dungheap with this beauty, my newly formed Seventh Circle of Hell Productions will follow up with Match Dot Com Forward Slash Bachelorette, where viewers will be asked to vote on America’s Best and Worst Blind Dates; and “The Great Sobriety Race”, on which A.A. contestants engage in a helter skelter dash across the globe, in a desperate hunt for local meetings.
As with “American Group”, I feel confident that these two entrants uphold, perhaps even raise to new heights, the basic tenet of all reality television: a humiliating public shattering of privacy masquerading as entertainment for the brain dead masses.
Go ahead, baby: Hit Me One More Time.
Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous artist recorded this obscure song.
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous artist recorded this obscure song.
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous artist recorded this obscure song.
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
“Pop Song” is in most circles a dismissive phrase, if not one of downright ridicule.
Ever since the advent of underground radio in the 60s there has been a perceived great divide between “pop music” and the real stuff, the heavy stuff, the cool stuff. Actually, this divide existed long before the Golden Age of the Sixties: beatniks (the original “cool” people) doubtless sneered contemptuously at Fifties rock and roll, favoring instead Miles Davis and Thelonius Monk. It’s ironic — and instructive — to note that their blanket dismissal of that uncool teenage music would include the likes of Little Richard, and James Brown.
Anyone want to tell me that Chuck Berry was uncool? How about Fats Domino?
The prevailing notion is that people who are making music for the purpose of selling their songs to a LOT of people, thus making a LOT of money, are doing it for the wrong reasons, and so can’t possibly be making good, worthy music. The interesting thing about proponents of this theory is how they (like so many proponents of so many theories) blissfully ignore any examples so ill-mannered as to knock holes in their pet ideas: in this case admittedly inconsequential examples like, oh, The Beatles, or Gershwin. For six years the Beatles stood on top of the world, a world they had cracked wide open by writing and recording hit after hit after hit. “Strawberry Fields Forever” was groundbreaking in delivery, in lyrical content, in recording technique…but it, like all other Beatles songs, made you want to hear it again and again and again. As did your neighbor, and your neighbor’s niece in Des Moines, and her pen pal in Calcutta.
The Beatles weren’t an acquired taste, nor was Gershwin. In this You Tube clip, a very different take on George’s Summertime illustrates perfectly how a great song yields itself to any number of styles, performers, eras.
George Gershwin wrote the latest hits of the day when he wasn’t writing envelope-pushing classical music melded with jazz, which shocked the legitimate music world (ironically called “longhairs”) of his time. In truth they shouldn’t have been so scandalized, for great classical composers such as Stravinsky and Debussy had been borrowing jazz rhythms and harmonies for years.
This You Tube clip of Debussy’s Golliwog’s Cakewalk comes to us courtesy of “Glee”, but this and other output from the a cappella group The Swingle Singers dates back to the 60s and early 70s.
See, Igor and Claude didn’t ask “Is it cool?”, or “Is it legitimate?” All they asked was A.) Is it good?, and B.) Can I steal it?
Leaving the theft angle for another discussion, question A is the one we should all be asking upon hearing a song. Not is it relevant. Not is it serious. And, for God’s sake, not is it hip. I’ve known many fantastic songs, more than I care to count, that were cranked out by an assembly-line mentality (so have you; they’re called Motown).
On the other hand, I’ve heard equally as many songs — all products of a life’s worth of soul examination — whose sole accomplishment was breaking the only commandment that any art or entertainment form has: Thou Shalt Not Bore.
Don’t bet me wrong: if you’ve got both — Depth of Meaning AND good Songwriting Craft — you’ve got far and away the best of both worlds. Paul Simon springs to mind as an excellent example. By the way, he wasn’t above getting a kickstart from Bach on the melody of this truly great song, and like all such songs this one speaks as poignantly to what we’re going through today as it did over 35 years ago.
And Randy Newman, performing one of his exactly 40 years ago (written years earlier). If you like the string arrangement on this one, Randy orchestrated all his songs himself. This kind of thing requires (wait for it) WORK. And, in Randy’s and Paul’s case, an extraordinary amount of talent.
The how and why behind the making of a song might make a good sideline piece, but the headline is Did It Grab You? Did it sneak itself past all your modern-man defenses and touch you? Did it make you grin? Contrary to what every rock music pundit seems to want to tell you, grinning is good. There are times when I’d rather have the empty calories of a doughnut than a bowl of oatmeal. Actually, when it comes to music, who ever wants oatmeal?
People of a certain age (i.e. younger than me) can be forgiven for being alarmed at what seems so far to be a staunch defense of pop music. Yet I readily agree with them: today’s pop music is crap. The thing is so for the most part is the cool, stance-appropriate alternative. That may seem a sweeping denunciation, and I’m sure you’re well-armed with the names of exceptions to throw at me. But the main building blocks of the song-making craft have been pretty much abandoned.
Creating popular music (call it rock, if you like) requires the craft of songwriting; recording and purveying songs without a songwriting background would be like trying to field an NBA team without learning the fundamentals of dribbling. Contrary to what seems to be the prevailing belief regarding songs, you can’t just rub one out. Crafting a melody requires inspiration, elbow grease, and a whole lot of trial and error. Lyrics — lyrics worth listening to — require even harder work. As for chord changes, one is faced perpetually with the conundrum of how to sound like you’re not the same as ten thousand other tunes whilst remaining recognizable enough to the ear to be a pleasure to listen to, as opposed to assaultive noise.
God Bless America by Irving Berlin is a well-crafted song. So is God Save The Queen by the Sex Pistols. The appreciation of which requires neither agreeing with the flag-adoration of the former nor the audience-spraying spit of the latter. A great song is a great song, and the original motivation for creating it is ultimately inconsequential.
By the way, if you listen to these two songs — so different in approach, in performance — you might be astonished to hear that these songs have more qualities in common than not. Both are relatively short and to the point: both utilize recognized rhythms and harmonic structures of their times; both exhibit lyrics created to further a social point, and succeed because the lyrics can be understood clearly to speak to that point; and these lyrics in both cases are supported by music that jibes with the meaning and emotion: in Berlin’s case, the stirring patriotic sentiment of 30s America; in Johnny Rotten’s case, the violent contempt for a decayed and grayed 70s England.
All of these qualities, it should go without saying, are among the building blocks of classic popular songwriting craft.
God, I love the Pistols. Back in the day when everything about rock music (well, at least according to serious critic types) was political, I used to tell people (truthfully) that I loved the Sex Pistols AND I loved ABBA. Then I’d sit back and watch their heads explode. I didn’t bother at the time to explain to them what I’ve been talking about with you: Good trumps Hip.
So stop making the distinction between people who are “just in it for the money” and the presumed artistes of the world. For one thing, said distinction doesn’t exist: everybody likes money. For another, far more important thing, it overlooks the true reason we have such a paucity of great music in the public ear today: no one’s learning how to play, how to arrange, how to sing, and how to write songs.
Maybe we can all learn how to dribble together.
Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous celebrity from another field recorded this well-known song, “Stand By Me.”
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
[audio:http://backpagemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/GuessThisArtist4.mp3|titles=Guess The Artist!|artists=]
Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous artist recorded this obscure song.
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
[audio:http://backpagemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/GuessThisArtist3.mp3|titles=Guess The Artist!|artists=]
Rules of the Game: Click this sound file and see if you can guess which famous artist recorded this obscure song.
Honor System: It is considered tacky to try and look this up on the internet before answering.
Play the track![audio:http://backpagemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/GuessThisArtist_2.mp3|titles=Guess The Artist!|artists=]