#54 - The Eternal Jukebox

The Eternal Jukebox

2/13/05 (#54)

Creating one's "Top five desert island discs" is common fodder for music fans. The concept is a bit absurd---name your five must-have discs should you find yourself faced with only five---yet the exercise offers insights. Do you opt for variety? Perhaps you choose the discs by virtue of time spent in the player? These are important considerations, as no one would want to get to that fictional island and find themselves stranded with a John Mayer album, doomed to a daily self-inquisition of "What the hell was I thinking?" I know the game is absurd---how would you play the discs on the island? Why do I get to choose five, when I can easily hold nine in one hand?---but I have played it many times with studied seriousness.

My list today has little resemblance to the list made five years ago. Or ten, or twenty. I have never clung to any era of musical history---as Carlos Santana once said, "Music is like a menu: I can't eat the same thing everyday." I will always love Exile on Main Street, my vote for the Stones' most accomplished and diverse album, but it doesn't get much airplay in the house anymore. If I had to choose 5 albums to take on my musical excommunication, I might choose that album (double album, after all---I used the same theory for maximizing my musical harvest with Columbia House), but it's not among my five "favorites" today. American Music Club's Everclear has made the list many times since its release, and might again today, but their follow-up, Mercury, gets a great deal more play at home these days. It's not that I don't love the old albums, it's simply that I like fresh music. Much of the joy of music is tension and release, anticipation and fulfillment. Old albums are like Hitchcock films---master works, no doubt, but I have known for a long time that Mother isn't to blame for the mess in the shower.

Last week I visited my old stomping grounds of Maine, and was reminded, again, that for Maine radio, the top five desert island discs have been alarmingly consistent since 1975. Maine was obsessed with classic rock when I moved away in 1994, but I was shocked to find that in the past 10 years, the playlists have not evolved at all. At all. Bryan Adams is still a daily staple, despite his long tenure as mayor of the small Canadian town of Obscurity; Ted Nugent's popularity may have waned nationally, but he was still a contender for the back of the State Quarter in Maine; Bad Company hasn't released an album in 30 years, but they still get airtime with a frequency that Avril Lavigne would envy.

I am not dissing on Maine. It is home to many of the most wonderful people I have ever known. Nor am I dissing on Classic Rock radio, which we have in Oregon, though the playlists differ significantly. (I'll get to that.) I once mentioned to my friend Sean that I was annoyed with Oregon's KGON and their classic-rock repetition, and his response allowed me to see the station in a new light: "I know what you mean, but I also find it comforting: With so many things changing in the world, and so many one-hit wonders cluttering the Modern Rock stations, KGON doesn't change. I know what I will get when I go back to it, and that's reassuring."

That's a wonderful way to think of classic rock radio. That's how I feel about Exile on Main Street, and that's why, even if it sits long enough to accumulate a Mars-like terrain of dust, I will never part with it. My friend Denyse was once a fan of Elton John, but had moved on in the same way I had with The Stones; when I visited her, I fell deeply into her collection of Elton's vinyl (mostly new to me), and offered my apologies for making her listen to music she was likely tired of. "On the contrary", she replied, "these albums are like hearing the voice of an old friend." It's nice to have those voices on the shelf, even if we don't talk as often these days.

But in Maine, the stations aren't playing the voices of old friends. They air the voices of annoying high school acquaintances, the folks you think of when you are contemplating the cons of attending your high school reunion. True, there was a time when I enjoyed The Scorpions, but I was young and foolish then. I grew up. The Scorpions never did. While I am all for the joys of reminiscing, there is little from my late teens that is worthy of rewind/replay, literally (high school) and figuratively (the soundtrack.)

I have tried to apply Sean's "comforting" theory to Maine radio, but it just doesn't work. There, the theory is clearly, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Nationally, Classic Rock is a huge genre in radio programming, catering to nostalgic baby boomers who (as Sean stated) find the familiar format to be the sonic version of comfort food (audible macaroni and cheese) as well as those who still insist "Rap isn't music" and feel that the simultaneous waves of disco and punk signaled the end of rock as they knew it. In Maine, it's all that and then some. I recall Craig Wood's advice to me when I first started playing in bands---"People don't know what they like, but they like what they know." For much of Maine, what they know is Grand Funk Railroad.

To describe a typical day about classic rock radio in Maine is a difficult thing. A grocery list of songs does not tell the whole story, since the sum is so much more than its parts. Certain songs might be enjoyable in a vacuum, but the cumulative effect of a string of hits taken from As-seen-on-t.v. packages like "Southern Fried Rock" and "Guitar Gods" sours even the most enjoyable melodies. Led Zeppelin's "Communication Breakdown" might be a genuine classic, but when played between "We're an American Band" and "Summer of '69", it is angus roast beef between slices of moldy bread---the sandwich as a whole is foul and inedible.

But I made a list anyway---a day in the life of Maine's classic rock airwaves (I heard every one of these songs. Some of them, more than once.)

"Godzilla", Blue Oyster Cult
Note to program directors: if the band in question is the subject of mockery on SNL, and everyone unanimously agrees that the joke was very funny, you should think twice about including the band in your playlist. But worse, "Don't Fear the Reaper", as tired as it certainly is, at least remains at its core a compelling song. "Godzilla"? It's a Weird Al Yankovic song. And not even a good one.

"There's Only One Way to Rock", Sammy Hagar
Sammy is the national spokesman for formula rock. I don't think Mr. Hagar believes a single word he sings---he simply predicts what the lowest-common-denominator rockers of America want to hear, and crafts his tunes accordingly. His audience may not be able to drive 55, but Sammy is strictly 39 in the 45 zone.

"Bad Company", Bad Company
(Historical note: The song "Bad Company" by the band Bad Company comes from the album Bad Company. I believe that fully illustrates the creativity of this band.)
I know that this is an anthem for "rebel souls" nationwide, but I find it ridiculous when anyone identifies with the title character of a song. (Think "Desperado" by the Eagles.) But let's look at the important points: cartoon performers like Marilyn Manson often get labeled as a bad influence on America's youth, yet pick-up trucks across the nation resound with lines such as "Behind a gun I'll make my final stand". Why hasn't Wal-Mart banned the ridiculous Paul Rodgers? Heck, by virtue of his belted-faux-kimono in that video by The Firm alone he should have earned permanent excommunication from the church of Rock. Perhaps it did---and his personal Elba is Maine.

"Show Me the Way", Peter Framptom
Insert punchline here. There must be a thousand to choose from.
Side note: Mr. Framptom buys clothing from my friend Allie's boutique in Los Angeles. Allie's beau Brett told me this, clearly indicating that he had no real sense of who Peter Framptom was/is. I think I literally turned green with envy. A lifetime devoid of exposure to Framptom Comes Alive? He doesn't know how good he has it.

"Old Time Rock and Roll", Bob Seger
This is the song that I name when I am trying to describe how crappy Maine radio can be. That I heard it while I was back confirmed my accusations, to my delight and my chagrin. This song actually celebrates the classic rock ethos: "today's music ain't got the same soul." As for that lyric, I say, "And who do I thank for that?". Bob Seger and the word "soul" should not be used in the same sentence, except in the sentence, "This Bob Seger song is crushing my soul."

"Unskinny Bop", Poison
This one surprised me. Not because it's a good song (obviously) but because this is an '80s song---Poison is hardly "classic" anything. This debut single from the cheesiest band of the hair-band era (let's face it, even Warrant would kick Poison's ass) deserved to be an unanswerable question in Trivial Pursuit. Outside of Maine, it likely is.

"Rock You Like a Hurricane", The Scorpions
As you may have noticed by now, the key to staying power on Maine radio is to use the word "Rock" in the title. Sadly, "Rock Lobster" is the exception to the rule. I'd have much preferred the B-52s to the Scorps.

"Takin' Care of Business", Bachmann Turner Overdrive
This song was a standard when I was in junior high. That was 22 years ago. That it still gets regular airplay makes me feel like Vicini in The Princess Bride---"Inconceivable" doesn't mean what I think it means. The deliciousness comes from the lyrics: "If you ever get annoyed, look at me, I'm self-employed/I love to work at nothing all day". So the singer is actually mocking the listener for their day job, yet the working class embraces this as one of their anthems. Baffling.

What puzzles me most about Maine classic rock is this: Despite having several decades of music to select from, the roster of acceptable songs is woefully small. For some reason, "Wild Horses" by the Stones can get daily airing, but the equally lovely "Memory Motel" gets no airplay at all; "Rock and Roll" by Led Zeppelin is played in its entirety with the same frequency as Cadillac advertisements, yet "The Battle of Evermore" from the same album seems to have been unofficially banned; Dylan has a catalog of songs the length of the average town's voter list, yet you'll hear little more than "Tangled up in Blue" while driving from Lewiston to Freeport. That's where the western Portland's KGON shines---at least they acknowledge that the classic songs came from actual albums, and Led Zep's "Misty Mountain Hop" gets the nod almost as often as the "hits" from the same disc. In Maine, I doubt "Misty Mountain Hop" has been played this decade. (I'm still amazed that the same is not true of "Unskinny Bop".)

I'm going to miss Maine, especially Meme and Pepere, Uncle Justin, snowmen, Moxie, chicken salad subs, The Italian Bakery, and the fabulous sound of the Maine accent. But Bachmann Turner Overdrive? No. Bryan Adams? Definitely not. A few minutes in the car with each was enough to confirm my suspicions: that's one reunion I will not be attending.

©2005 wpreagan