‘But The Radio Rolled Me . . .’

Sometimes when I’m writing a post for this blog, I lapse into imperial mode and type something like “When we listen to vintage music today . . .” 

“We”? Like there’s some kind of committee here advising me what to do? Maybe a convention of little music spirits all babbling at once, telling me to post Northern soul or a one-hit wonder, to re-envision life in a hippie commune in 1967 or to examine who it was who yelled “I got blisters on me fingers!” (I think it was Ringo.) But no, there’s no magical or freaky gathering, just your humble correspondent. I’m the only one here. 

Do you remember, though, how in cartoons those little characters – one angelic, one devilish – sometimes sat on a character’s shoulders, representing good and evil intentions? There are times I feel like that, with the characters maybe named Odd and Pop. 

“Yeah,” chips in Odd, “give ’em some Bulgarian choral music! They’ll love it, just like they love rutabagas! Vegetables for the ears!” 

“Vegetables!” cries Pop. “Vegetables? They don’t want vegetables! They want something sweet. The Archies! Or maybe Edison Lighthouse!” 

“Hah! Then we have to tell them all to watch their blood sugar,” snaps Odd. “At least with the Bulgarians singing, there’s something to chew on.” He shrugs. “All right, we can be a little less distinctive, but make it nutritious, make ’em think a little bit about it. Maybe one of those groups from the late Sixties, early Seventies that always seemed to have a point to make. Or maybe one of the groups that sang like it was 1550 and they were in front of Queen Elizabeth. You know, pull something out like Steeleye Span or Robin Williamson or Trees.” 

I begin to sort the impulse Odd had offered me. Those artists sometimes have that Olde English sound, but could one call it Elizabethan? As I think, Odd speaks up again: “Or give them something in Danish! Lord knows you have plenty of it!” 

I do. I have the collected works – thirty-some CDs – of Sebastian, who is probably Denmark’s foremost artist of the pop-rock era. And I also have maybe a couple of hundred other songs in Danish. “Just keep feeding it to them until they like it!” Odd snaps. “It’s good for them!”

On the other shoulder, Pop shakes his head sadly. “He keeps trying to inform them,” he says, looking across the way at Odd, who turns his back. “I just want to entertain them. Make them happy.” 

“Happy?” snaps Odd. “As if happy is a permanent part of the human and musical condition. Remember what St. Elton said: ‘Sad songs say so much.’ No room for happy when you need to learn!” He snorts and asks Pop, “Or do you really think that people get happy when they’re told to do so by the Partridge Family?” 

“Well, not always,” says Pop. “But sometimes pleasant and familiar music can raise people’s spirits. You have no idea how many people happily sing along with the record about a corner in Winslow, Arizona, when they have no idea what highway they’d be on!” 

“That would be ‘Carefree Highway,’ I imagine,” snaps Odd. “Oh, puh-leeeze!” 

“So what if it is?” asks Pop. “Listeners deserve good times.” He cocks his head and adds, “In a general sense that is. The single ‘Good Times,’ well, they enjoy it, but that’s not what I had in mind.” He shrugged. “On the other hand,” he says, and begins singing under his breath, “‘our new state of mind . . .’” 

Odd covers his ears. “Substance!” he cries. “Give me substance!” 

Pop quits singing, considers. “How about a decades-old coded history of pop and rock with a hook that works . . . and a chorus that listeners can sing?” 

Odd chews his lip. 

“Listeners have to work to get the words,” Pop offers. “It’s no silver platter song!” 

“Was it popular?” Odd asks. 

“Yeah,” Pop acknowledges. “It went to No. 8 in the autumn of 1974.” 

“Well, okay.” Odd says. “But next time, it’s vegetables for the ear!” 

Pop nods agreeably, knowing he wins most of those arguments. 

And here’s Pop’s choice for today: “Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me)” by Reunion:

– whiteray