RRSS: Come on, children!
Maybe we ought to rethink that last damning statement from Little Richard:
"I think that when people want joy and fun and happiness, they want to hear the old-time rock & roll. And I'm just glad that I was a part of that. There's only a few of us left: myself, Bo Diddley, Chuck, Fats, Jerry Lee, the Everly Brothers. It's getting thin. So I think this is the last of it, the last of the good days. Soon there'll be a totally new thing. But it won't be the same. Never."
- Little Richard for Rolling Stone
It's hard not to feel a little bit sympathetic. In the category of things romanticized almost beyond recognition, 1950's rock and roll stands somewhere. Maybe near the top. Maybe somewhere in the middle. But the point remains. It's one of the great American past times to talk fondly of old time rock and roll (or rock'n'roll), and it is a short mental hop from the topic of old time music to old times in general (the good old days). The notion of rock and roll, then, becomes a communicative sign, representative of a much broader range of cultural ideas and ideals that occur outside the actual music that was produced during the time we refer to. So what of the music itself, and its influence on music that came after (in some cases, a decade later)?.
What I find interesting about the above quote is that Little Richard entrusts the fate of fun and joyful rock and roll to himself and his remaining musical colleagues. Contained in that act is what defines rock and roll, as it would become (and is now) opposed to the broader category of rock music. As a musical and cultural event (one that took place over a period of several years in the 50's), the rock and roll revolution was equally held up by not only the music that emerged, but the musicians themselves, and the producers, the recording technologies, the audience, and the media. It could be said that rock and roll, at the outset, was defined by what it was not as much as what it was. Like many other forms of music, especially in an age when sound recording was still defining itself, rock and roll was a product as much as a musical style. Musically, it contained specific and important sets of aural characteristics, many of which were previously unheard of by a mass American audience, and many which were a result not of the songs themselves, but of the nuances of the specific performances which would be captured as the recordings: the definitive sounds of 50's classic rock and roll. Sam Phillips' unique "echo" effect, produced by manipulating the tape through different sets of recorder heads, helped to create what would become the signature Sun records sound. Phillips would also take the role of musical advisor, suggesting that Johnny Cash speed up a once slow and stately version of "I Walk The Line", turning it into one of Cash's most beloved songs. The very act of recording and releasing Elvis Presley's cover of Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup's "That's All Right" was a carefully planned act, designed as it was to become a distinct cultural product. At the time, there was really no conceivable way for Elvis to become what he did without guiding forces like Sam Phillips. In 1964 the Beatles had carefully studied the blueprints for their musical foundations. These blueprints were Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Carl Perkins, among others. There was no rock and roll blueprint ten years earlier in Memphis, though.
The state of the culture of the mid-50's required, or guaranteed, that rock and roll would be more than simply a musical phenomenon. Racially, politically, economically, there were changes that stemmed from the rock and roll golden age. So rock and roll's various important actors could not survive as simple musicians, but as shareholders in the collective stock of rock and roll: its image, its message, its history, and its music. It was not an easy role to take on. In other words, there was only one Buddy Holly in 1957, and it was Buddy Holly. Holly would not have survived had he developed himself an Elvis Presley persona. The earliest Sun recordings of Charlie Rich (read Peter Guralnick's Feel Like Going Home and you'll see why I keep mentioning him) sound like Elvis, but without the spark. Rich, unfortunately, was not the kind of person who could invent himself a personality. Despite being a talented jazz pianist, according to Peter Doggett (and his book Are you ready for the country: Elvis, Dylan, Parsons, and the roots of country rock), his best qualities - "the mesh of black and white blues styles, the pained dignity with which he met the world - were also the barriers between Rich and public acceptance".
So rock and roll in the 1950's was based as much on public persona as on the music. Elvis, though not larger than life as he would be in the seventies, was still an exciting presence. As was Jerry Lee Lewis. As was Chuck Berry. New and exciting. So what of the Beatles, for example? Were they not just presented as four media-contrived personalities as well? The quiet one, the funny one, the cute one, and the leader? Well, yeah, I guess they were. But that may have been what was needed to help them conquer the world. Musically, things were different. Musically, there was already a movement underway, which had begun in the late fifties. Rock and roll's decline at the turn of the decade was as a result of its major figures being unable to continue this newfound tradition. But Chuck Berry had already spelled out a new feeling about the music in his songs and their words: Johnny B. Goode was a real person, and anyone could be him. It may have started with The Wailers recording of "The Fabulous Wailers" in 1959, or it may have started anytime before or after that. The fact is that despite fading stars and personalities, something in the music itself was able to strike a chord in the young musicians of America. And they formed groups, and picked up electric guitars, and learned the chords, and chunked out covers of Chuck Berry songs and R&B tunes and blues songs, and garage rock could not help but to be born. The "roll" was gone, and I'm not sure where it even was in the first place.
In Britain, things were similar. In fact, all around the world, kids were jamming on guitars. How could they not? It was infectious. But in Britain there was an increased and sustained interest in American blues which would have a profound effect in defining British rock music. The British blues movement was helped along with visits from artists like Big Bill Broonzy and, notably, Muddy Waters, who played an amplified blues style which would anticipate the guitar heavy playing of the Stones, the Yardbirds, and the Small Faces. British blues music was a hybrid of the DIY attitude and group focus of skiffle music, the energy and the beat of rock and roll and pop music, and the guitar licks and instrumental focus of Memphis and Chicago blues of the 1950's. Though British blues was far removed from the American south or the Appalachians, it retained its recognizable form, and the added beat made it easy to dance to. It is evident that in the mid sixties, as I pointed out on the show last night, no form of rock music was entirely separate from another. The Beatles and the Stones, despite cultivating different public images, musically evolved together, paying close attention and discovering influences among contemporaries, not just in the music of the recent past. Bands who had started out playing straight blues took in pop influences, geared their songs towards young teens, and then eventually towards a growing number of music loving hippies.
But we're not there yet. We've barely scratched the surface of the second Golden Age of Rock. Rock and roll, but not necessarily at the same time. Our scene is set in 1964. Garage rock bands like the Sonics and the Iguanas paid homage (lovingly) to rock and rollers of the past by putting as much emotion into their covers as is humanly possible. In fact, everyone around this time is well aware of where they come from, and do their part to pay respects to those who came before. Even the Beatles. But we'll talk about them next week.
"Come on, children!" says Steve Marriot, but they don't need much persuading. Not for this train. Or bus. Whatever mode of transportation, the kids wanna rock.
As you were,
Ian
"I think that when people want joy and fun and happiness, they want to hear the old-time rock & roll. And I'm just glad that I was a part of that. There's only a few of us left: myself, Bo Diddley, Chuck, Fats, Jerry Lee, the Everly Brothers. It's getting thin. So I think this is the last of it, the last of the good days. Soon there'll be a totally new thing. But it won't be the same. Never."
- Little Richard for Rolling Stone
It's hard not to feel a little bit sympathetic. In the category of things romanticized almost beyond recognition, 1950's rock and roll stands somewhere. Maybe near the top. Maybe somewhere in the middle. But the point remains. It's one of the great American past times to talk fondly of old time rock and roll (or rock'n'roll), and it is a short mental hop from the topic of old time music to old times in general (the good old days). The notion of rock and roll, then, becomes a communicative sign, representative of a much broader range of cultural ideas and ideals that occur outside the actual music that was produced during the time we refer to. So what of the music itself, and its influence on music that came after (in some cases, a decade later)?.
What I find interesting about the above quote is that Little Richard entrusts the fate of fun and joyful rock and roll to himself and his remaining musical colleagues. Contained in that act is what defines rock and roll, as it would become (and is now) opposed to the broader category of rock music. As a musical and cultural event (one that took place over a period of several years in the 50's), the rock and roll revolution was equally held up by not only the music that emerged, but the musicians themselves, and the producers, the recording technologies, the audience, and the media. It could be said that rock and roll, at the outset, was defined by what it was not as much as what it was. Like many other forms of music, especially in an age when sound recording was still defining itself, rock and roll was a product as much as a musical style. Musically, it contained specific and important sets of aural characteristics, many of which were previously unheard of by a mass American audience, and many which were a result not of the songs themselves, but of the nuances of the specific performances which would be captured as the recordings: the definitive sounds of 50's classic rock and roll. Sam Phillips' unique "echo" effect, produced by manipulating the tape through different sets of recorder heads, helped to create what would become the signature Sun records sound. Phillips would also take the role of musical advisor, suggesting that Johnny Cash speed up a once slow and stately version of "I Walk The Line", turning it into one of Cash's most beloved songs. The very act of recording and releasing Elvis Presley's cover of Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup's "That's All Right" was a carefully planned act, designed as it was to become a distinct cultural product. At the time, there was really no conceivable way for Elvis to become what he did without guiding forces like Sam Phillips. In 1964 the Beatles had carefully studied the blueprints for their musical foundations. These blueprints were Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Carl Perkins, among others. There was no rock and roll blueprint ten years earlier in Memphis, though.
The state of the culture of the mid-50's required, or guaranteed, that rock and roll would be more than simply a musical phenomenon. Racially, politically, economically, there were changes that stemmed from the rock and roll golden age. So rock and roll's various important actors could not survive as simple musicians, but as shareholders in the collective stock of rock and roll: its image, its message, its history, and its music. It was not an easy role to take on. In other words, there was only one Buddy Holly in 1957, and it was Buddy Holly. Holly would not have survived had he developed himself an Elvis Presley persona. The earliest Sun recordings of Charlie Rich (read Peter Guralnick's Feel Like Going Home and you'll see why I keep mentioning him) sound like Elvis, but without the spark. Rich, unfortunately, was not the kind of person who could invent himself a personality. Despite being a talented jazz pianist, according to Peter Doggett (and his book Are you ready for the country: Elvis, Dylan, Parsons, and the roots of country rock), his best qualities - "the mesh of black and white blues styles, the pained dignity with which he met the world - were also the barriers between Rich and public acceptance".
So rock and roll in the 1950's was based as much on public persona as on the music. Elvis, though not larger than life as he would be in the seventies, was still an exciting presence. As was Jerry Lee Lewis. As was Chuck Berry. New and exciting. So what of the Beatles, for example? Were they not just presented as four media-contrived personalities as well? The quiet one, the funny one, the cute one, and the leader? Well, yeah, I guess they were. But that may have been what was needed to help them conquer the world. Musically, things were different. Musically, there was already a movement underway, which had begun in the late fifties. Rock and roll's decline at the turn of the decade was as a result of its major figures being unable to continue this newfound tradition. But Chuck Berry had already spelled out a new feeling about the music in his songs and their words: Johnny B. Goode was a real person, and anyone could be him. It may have started with The Wailers recording of "The Fabulous Wailers" in 1959, or it may have started anytime before or after that. The fact is that despite fading stars and personalities, something in the music itself was able to strike a chord in the young musicians of America. And they formed groups, and picked up electric guitars, and learned the chords, and chunked out covers of Chuck Berry songs and R&B tunes and blues songs, and garage rock could not help but to be born. The "roll" was gone, and I'm not sure where it even was in the first place.
In Britain, things were similar. In fact, all around the world, kids were jamming on guitars. How could they not? It was infectious. But in Britain there was an increased and sustained interest in American blues which would have a profound effect in defining British rock music. The British blues movement was helped along with visits from artists like Big Bill Broonzy and, notably, Muddy Waters, who played an amplified blues style which would anticipate the guitar heavy playing of the Stones, the Yardbirds, and the Small Faces. British blues music was a hybrid of the DIY attitude and group focus of skiffle music, the energy and the beat of rock and roll and pop music, and the guitar licks and instrumental focus of Memphis and Chicago blues of the 1950's. Though British blues was far removed from the American south or the Appalachians, it retained its recognizable form, and the added beat made it easy to dance to. It is evident that in the mid sixties, as I pointed out on the show last night, no form of rock music was entirely separate from another. The Beatles and the Stones, despite cultivating different public images, musically evolved together, paying close attention and discovering influences among contemporaries, not just in the music of the recent past. Bands who had started out playing straight blues took in pop influences, geared their songs towards young teens, and then eventually towards a growing number of music loving hippies.
But we're not there yet. We've barely scratched the surface of the second Golden Age of Rock. Rock and roll, but not necessarily at the same time. Our scene is set in 1964. Garage rock bands like the Sonics and the Iguanas paid homage (lovingly) to rock and rollers of the past by putting as much emotion into their covers as is humanly possible. In fact, everyone around this time is well aware of where they come from, and do their part to pay respects to those who came before. Even the Beatles. But we'll talk about them next week.
"Come on, children!" says Steve Marriot, but they don't need much persuading. Not for this train. Or bus. Whatever mode of transportation, the kids wanna rock.
As you were,
Ian
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