Raise a pint to the stupidly nerdly. Led Zeppelin are demigods of cock rock and all that, but their nerdiness is just so endearing, it’s adorable and squee. Their Tolkien references are so self-conscious and off-base; they’re not even good nerds. I understand that if you happen to be Robert Plant, then yes, you could reasonably expect to be picking up chicks in the darkest depths of Mordor, but it’s not canon, Robert, not canon. You just have to trowel those references in where they don’t fit at all, because why, to show that you know how to read? Honestly, though, I’ll take “Middle Earth the Led Zeppelin edition” quite happily; it’s a sexier place than the original.
This. Either you get it or you don’t. There’s no particular cosmic secret to it or anything. It’s a just a joke. You’re either in the spirit of it or you’re not. Bob Dylan is divisive like that, and this one of his most intensely love-it-or-hate-it moments. I can definitely understand that if you don’t happen to be a fan of incomprehensible lyrics or people who sing like drunk frogs, Dylan can be excruciatingly annoying. Which also happens to make him appealing to people who enjoy the knowledge that the things they’re into are annoying to others. That may be part of the reason why, in his heyday, his followers dubbed him the voice of his generation. Because the young generation really made it a point to confuse and irritate their elders; it feels so revolutionary and radical when the things you enjoy are closed off to outsiders who just don’t get it, man. But that’s just a common trait of being young and eager to break the apron strings. That’s why there’s been so many annoying subcultures based on annoying things. Bob Dylan, for his part, found the phenomenon of being the voice of anyone but himself extremely annoying, and spent a great deal of time and energy trying to alienate his own fanbase. He didn’t mean for his funny joke song to represent the enmity of generational groups and the cultural disjointment caused by radically changing values. It just happened to.
This is something that doesn’t get touched upon very often – a really dumb Bob Dylan song. At their best, Dylan’s cryptic verses fell just on the right side of silly. This is one time he clearly overshot the line, and he knew it. It’s like he started out in his usual vein of poetic seriousness, then said ‘fuck it’, scribbled down a random chorus and wandered off. However, it also happens to be one of his catchiest songs, so it’s enjoyed a life of its own. It’s best known as a novelty Manfred Mann hit, but it’s been covered by a variety of notables. Sing-along choruses have never been Dylan’s bag – he’s not a crafter of pop hits – so this may well be the singiest Dylan chorus ever. Which he still, gleefully, performs in concert. Perhaps he really wanted to contribute something to the culture that was just silly and fun. Wearing the voice-of-a-generation hat all the time gets wearying, you know.
You might not thank them for it, but The Who invented concept albums. Before they delved all the way into long form narrative songwriting, they started with a mini-opera in six movements, which clocked in at a relatively modest nearly-ten-minutes. That alone should remind you just how incredibly weird The Who really were. They don’t get nearly enough credit for how avant-garde they were. Perhaps their memorable habit of smashing things was too much of a distraction and overshadowed their more intellectual innovations, though it also put them among the godfathers of punk. How many people can take credit for paving the way for both punk and prog-rock? But besides being trailblazers in the field of onstage violence and offstage misadventure, they also blew open the limitations of pop songwriting. Pete Townshend wanted to tell stories that were more complex than the usual three-minute pop song structure was thought to allow, so he threw away the three-minute pop song rulebook. Even the Who’s three minute pop songs weren’t the usual pop song stuff; they were frequently clever and humorous, but they told stories that were darkly subversive. A Quick One came out in 1966, and knocked around in various iterations, the best of which, I think, is the long-buried Rock and Roll Circus performance. It tells, in six distinct segments, what appears to be a straightforward story of marital infidelity. It wasn’t until decades later that Townshend revealed that the song was actually his attempt to articulate memories of childhood sexual abuse, under the loose cover of a typical cheating-spouse narrative. That certainly explains the high level of emotional intensity packed into those eight minutes. Only something vividly personal could feel that angry and cathartic. That feeling of anger and catharsis made for a few legendary live performances, but it was unsustainably draining. The Who stopped playing a Quick One in 1970 and didn’t play any part of it again until their reunion in 2014 – it was just too painful.
I’ve had the CSN&Y version of this song stuck in my head quite a bit. Those guys really had some amazing harmonies. You can make fun of them for their mustaches choices, or dislike their fanbase, but you can’t dismiss those harmonies. But honestly, I actually like the Buffalo Springfield version a little better. It’s not as catchy, and definitely not as harmonious, but it sounds more like a proper rock song. It sounds scruffy, which I like.
This is Bob Dylan at the height of his lyrical cryptid phase. I honestly think that trying to parse Dylan’s lyrics is pointless and detracts from just enjoying the wordplay and the music, but I realize that for some people it’s a sport. I think Dylan just liked to use a lot of words. You should try to just feel the emotion of the song and not think too hard about what it ‘means’. Because this is a conversation that’s been going on for decades and it’s gotten boring. Also, I quite like this particular take of the song; it’s less…screechy?
Jimi Hendrix really needs no commentary. Everyone knows this song, and everyone knows his story. To the point of over-familiarity, some would say. Hendrix continues to compel the imagination as much for being such a tantalizing ‘what-if’ as for his actual legacy. Obviously, we all know that it’s more fun to lionize the gifted and dead than the equally-gifted-but-still-plugging-along. We enjoy the narrative more than we enjoy the work. Would we listen to Purple Haze with the same delight if Jimi Hendrix was now an elderly man composing music for films, releasing the occasional space-jazz album, and making out-of-touch comments about today’s social issues? Probably not. We like it because it’s a preview of attractions that never came.