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"Good Vibrations" is not one of the six songs that illustrate everything one needs to know about rock and roll. It could have been, but it's not. "Good Vibrations" is, however, the one song that illustrates that I'll be away at the beach for the next week. This choice is a little ham-fisted and obvious, but then to hell with subtlety, I'm going to the beach.
The next few months promise to be fairly challenging for the editorial staff here at hotrod.vox.com. We are hardly apolitical, but we do try to steer clear - at least in this venue - of the more controversial issues. It's all well and good to argue about which music is right or wrong, but it's more difficult at times to maintain what we hope to be our general light-hearted tone when debating those things that actually, you know, matter.
That said, this is without a doubt the best analysis of John McCain's choice for running mate that we have seen all day.
Look, it's not that I don't want to explain myself. It's just that between the Liz Phair show, watching Obama's speech through a window on a crowded U Street sidewalk, a bizarre cab ride home, a looming 5:00 AM wake-up call, a sudden shitstorm at work, and that aforementioned vacation.... Well, a careful and thorough dissection of my reasons for the selection of this song nearly a week ago as representative of some particular aspect of rock music is not the highest on my list of priorities right now. So let's just say that somebody has to speak on behalf of all those pussified singer-songwriter types, and it may as well be Jackson Browne.
I think somebody just woke up and realized I'm going on vacation in a couple of days. We've been a little slow down at the lab for a few weeks now, but as you might expect at least three minor crises arose today that all need to be dealt with in the next day and a half. And I had already been counting on a fair amount to do to get things buttoned up before I go. I meant to carve out some time for this post over lunch, and - frankly - even now I probably should be trying to get as much done as possible before tonight's festivities. But some things are more important.
So I'm sorry, Scottie, that your birthday kind of got short shrift. But hey - you can't read anyway. So let's just hope your big sister doesn't spill the beans. I can't believe you're already two years old! Only one more year 'til the fun really starts!
I've got another full day today, so yinz will have to draw your own conclusions for this one, too. I will say that maybe I would have picked a different song if I wasn't going to see Liz perform Exile in Guyville this evening. Maybe.
"Jump" was the first ever rock song that I really, really, really loved. But that's not why it shows up here. Not exactly, anyway. And unfortunately, I'm unable to elaborate for the time being. I'll be spending the remainder of the evening geeking out with my fantasy football draft. This is serious business. I have a title to defend.
The punk rock movement was a reaction to two decades of increasingly bloated excess. The objective was strip away all the superfluous bullshit and recapture the vitality and essence of rock and roll in a way was still forward-thinking. If we accept as a given that the basic story of rock music is the appropriation by white dudes of music typically made by black dudes, then this early Clash song succeeded spectacularly - adding progressive reggae beats to standard blues-based rock. So you could say that "(White Man) in Hammersmith Palais" is a seminal punk rock song. And you'd be right.
But the more salient issue here is the faddish nature of the rock and roll milieu. Trends - from beach music in the late 1950's to the grunge of the early 1990's - are fleeting and the Clash were one of many bands who recognized a developing trend and managed to hop on board the bandwagon at just the right time. That lyric about turning rebellion into money couldn't have been more apt. By the early eighties, the Clash were the biggest rock band in the world - the only band that mattered, as it were - and they paved the way for sanctimonious arena rockers such as Radiohead and U2. Somewhere, Joe Strummer looks down on Bono and smiles.
I'm torn over just how much background I should provide with these songs. I mean, I'm happy to elaborate, but I'm sure I'll just be hypocritically accused of "showing off." I guess the meaningful discourse can always happen in the comments....
Here's a tip, though: if you can't figure out why the Rolling Stones covering a song by Buddy Holly and the Crickets is significant, maybe you want to join the discussion of reality television already in progress elsewhere.
They call them the terrible twos, but I've found they're far more receptive to Unkie Hotrod's mischievous tutelage once they turn three. That's the sweet spot, actually, because it's not much longer before they realize their best bet is to turn against me. Niece #3 joins those ranks today. Happy birthday, Midge! I hope it's a fun year!
Even a broken clock is right twice a day, so let's get this one out of the way first.
A roommate in college once expressed incredulity that one of Prince Rogers Nelson's guitars belongs to the Smithsonian Institution. I told him he didn't know anything about music, and I was confident that I was correct. Years later, he removed all doubt when he gave me a CD he and his band had recorded.
I've never seen a performer make playing a guitar look as easy as does Prince.
