There are moments in rock and roll that we keep coming back to. You hear a song start on the radio, and you anticipate the little moment's arrival. It's a personal thing, but I think it's safe to say that everybody's got their favorite ones. Below, I offer some examples. Feel free to leave your own favorites in the comments section.
The Who - Won't Get Fooled Again
Now, when I talk about moments, I don't mean songs. I mean little thing within songs that elevate them. They make us remember the song, and pull us back for another listen time and time again. We might not even notice that it's happening. In this example, we definitely notice it. This has got to be the definitive "moment" of all rock and roll.
First, we need to put it into context. The song, and the "Who's Next" album, were released in 1971. Live rock was in an overkill mode, with shows becoming more and more elaborate all the time. Kind of like tailfins in the '50s. Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, Alice Cooper, David Bowie, Yes, the big acts were travelling with semi's full of props, sets, and special effects.
Amidst all this, one of the biggest draws of the day was The Who. It was kind of embarrassing, really, because except for a laser show later in the '70s they kept things pretty simple. If you've ever seen them, you'd know why. They put on quite a show just standing there and playing. Well . . . not exactly just standing there. Except for bassist John Entwhistle, of course. The other three, Keith Moon, Roger Daltry, and Pete Townshend, are remembered as some of the most dynamic performers in music history. Even now, with only two surviving members and both in their 60s, Daltry and Townshend can throw down with the best of them.
It is to Daltry's everlasting chagrin that he had to share a stage with Townshend. It wasn't enough that Pete wrote most of the songs, he was also the ultimate stage presence. In any other group nobody would remember anybody but lead singer Roger Daltry, but in The Who he was always second banana to the skinny guitarist with the big nose.
This song and its "moment" are the one single, solitary time that Roger ever got to upstage Pete. It happens at the end of the instrumental break. The synthesizer noodles around, Moon brings in scattered drum fills, it builds up to a peak, and all of a sudden Daltry lets go a shriek from the deep, dark recesses of his gut. It is primal and cathartic. No one else could do it. Daltry can't even do it any more. It's a throat-ripping howl that sends chills up and down your spine the thousandth time you hear it.
That is what a "moment" is.
Bruce Springsteen - Born To Run
To me, this is The Boss' best album. In fact, it's one of two or three that I even like. I'm not real big on Bruce, but this record kicks ass. This song has a really nice moment, again at the end of the instrumental break. The band tumbles down the chromatic scale from root to root, Baaahhm, Baaahhm, Bahm bahm, bam bam ba-ba-ba-ba b-b-b-b b-Baaaaahhhhmmm.... The band rumbles on a I chord for a few seconds, and somewhere in the background, The Boss checks in . . .
"One, two, three, four,
Highways jammed with broken heroes in a last-chance power-drive!"
Oh, MAN!! It picks you up out of your seat.
"Everybody's out on the road tonight, but there's no place left to hide."
Bruce Springsteen - Jungleland
Last cut on the same album, and in my humble opinion his greatest song. A nine-minute mini-opera set in the mean streets of some nearly-nameless Jersey burg.
"The Rangers had a home-coming
In Harlem late last night
And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine
Over the Jersey state line"
It builds, swirls, swims and rolls through the deep New Jersey night, special but not much different from any other night here. It slowly climbs to a peak, and then the music drops away like a roller coaster. From a driving 4:4 rocker, it bottoms out into a 2:4 dirge, nearly silent but still firm. And gliding over the top comes one, single, clear note from the saxophone of Clarence Clemmons.
Yeah, I know, The Big Man doesn't hold a candle to the great sax players like Coltrane, Rollins, and Parker. But with that one, singing, sweet note he makes the others sound like Kenny G. The note, and the sweet, simple legato line that follows it come straight from the heart and hover like your stomach on that roller coaster. When the guitar finally comes back in you realize you haven't drawn a breath in a while.
Eddie Money - Two Tickets To Paradise
Nope, don't care much for Eddie Money. Or this song, to be honest. He's like a poor-man's Springsteen, a John Cougar Mellencamp wannabe. I've seen him live, years and years ago, opening for Santana at Boston Garden. He was all right, I guess. The secret of his success apparently was the guitar player, Jimmy Lyons, who co-wrote most of the songs and led the band. They split up after a while, but eventually got back together. Last I knew they were still on the road endlessly regurgitating their three hits.
This was probably the best one. Catchy little tune, and they actually delivered it like they meant it. I've got to admit, if I'm not paying attention I actually get into it a little. Especially after the last verse, and just before the final chorus. The band executes the final turn-around and the piano player does four rapid-fire sweeps down the keyboard. Those things where you just lay the flat of your hand on the keys and run it from top to bottom. It's that moment of unbridled passion that elevates this song above the mundane.
George Michael & Elton John - Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me
Is there a lamer human being on the planet than George Michael? If so, it may be Elton John. To be fair, I actually like both of these artists. I've been a fan of Elton John's since he came out. Great songwriter, and a completely unique singer. As for Michael, I don't care much for his own recordings, but he can work magic with other people's material. You should hear what he did singing Queen at Freddie Mercury's tribute concert. Awesome pipes; just a reprehensable human being.
This recording is a live cover of one of Elton's hits from the 70's. George sings the first verse solo, and then introduces Elton. He takes the second verse, and Michael does counterpoint in the background. At the end of the verse, they harmonize on "Oooohhh," and on into the chorus. That "oh" is the moment. Chills, baby.
Dave Edmunds - I Hear You Knocking
Dave Edmunds is a weird duck. Simultaneously retro and progressive. Prog-a-billy. This song is a perfect example. It sounds like it was recorded at Sun studios on a single microphone. It bumps and lurches along like a school bus driving down a set of railroad tracks. The instruments all pound the one and three. The beautiful moment is, I think, just before the final verse. The bus bumps to a halt on the one. A beat, just one single beat, of silence. Then, on the three, one V7 chord on the piano. Just the piano. Bang, with a wince of the 7 note. Beauty.
Paul McCartney - Smile Away
This one's one of my favorites, from one of my favorite albums. Ram, 1971. Second album after he left the Beatles. First song is Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey, which is definitely one of those love-it-or-hate-it songs. I happen to love it. The fade-out fades straight into the opening of Smile Away, which is one of Paul's goofy nonsense songs.
It's got a funky, rocking little beat propping up some throw-away who-gives-a-f*&$ lyrics. In the background, Linda and somebody are singing what sounds like "Don't-know-how-to-do-it" over and over. It bops, and bops, and bops, and bops along until just before the final verse Linda changes the background to Yaaaaahhh, yah-yah-yah-yah-yah-yah-yah, be-Dump be-Dummm. It's just enough to push it over the top. Great stuff.
Foghat - Slow Ride
This one harkens back to the original example. Foghat is one of the great underrated bands in rock history. They are the '65 Chevy Impala of rock and roll. Now, in the new century, a '65 Impala looks pretty cool. Back then, it was just another family car. Dig out your long-unheard copy of Fool For The City or Rock And Roll Outlaws and give it a spin. They were surprisingly sophisticated, although we didn't appreciate it at the time. After all, the seventies were the time of progressive rock, and sophisticated meant you rearranged Wagner for a four-piece band. If they came out now, they'd be huge. And, like AC-DC, every album sounds basically the same. They started off great and stayed that way.
Slow Ride was far from their greatest song, but it probably had their greatest moment. Rod Price was one of the great slide players in rock, and Lonesome Dave Prevrett (sic) was a singer of surprising range and emotion. Slow Ride is a bawdy little ditty that bumps and grinds seductively along. Da-dump (thump) da-Da-dump (thump) da-Da-dump (thump) da-Do-n-Dooo, all the way through the last verse. In the instrumental break it builds in speed and intensity until you think the top of your head is going to come off. It goes and goes and goes and then comes to a screeching halt. Then, Lonesome Dave pulls one from the bottom of his toes.
"Ssslooow rriiiiide!"
Followed by the greatest crash-and-burn ending ever. It's beautiful, and brutal, and delicious.
Dave and Rod have departed this mortal coil, but the music lives on. It is this moment, and the ones above, and the ones like them, that are the reason that rock and roll is so great. It takes from every kind of music that came before it and after it, and boils it down to its essence. Then it is placed into the hands of a passionate person who hopefully has learned to play their instrument well enough to translate that passion into music and timbre.
Of course, I've forgotten a few thousand good examples of these moments. Feel free to share your favorites.
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