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February 28, 2008

Numerology: Giving Our Regards to 42nd Street

In The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the number 42 signifies nothing less than the meaning of life itself. The members of Level 42, London-based purveyors of vaguely danceable smooth pop in the ‘80s, named their quite successful band after this mind-bending sci-fi classic by Douglas Adams, but in the world of music, 42 stands for something only slightly less fraught with possibilities than life itself: 42nd Street. Ten of the 11 songs surveyed herein refer to this once-notorious stretch of Manhattan real estate that was sanitized during the Giuliani years. What’s more, there is no mystery about the definitive 42 song: it’s “42nd Street.” You know the one: “Come and meet those dancing feet/On the avenue I’m taking you to/Forty-second Street” But show tunes are out of bounds here. Bob Dylan (who wrote in Chronicles Vol. 1 that something vital clicked for him as he sat watching a performance of Kurt Weill’s Threepenny Opera) would disagree, but for me, the vast majority of show tunes don’t feel like they belong with the songs on this list. Blues and country songs, on the other hand, make perfect sense because blues and country are essential elements of rock & roll. I do realize that there are elements of show tunes in music I like and admire, from the Kinks and Bowie and Kate Bush to people like Rufus Wainwright and Nellie McKay. But a song like “42nd Street,” whether the Depression-era ditty version by the Boswell Sisters or the belted-out Broadway showstopper in the Tony Award-winning 1980 revival, just doesn’t make sense at this particular party. What a show tune—this show tune, at any rate—lacks is edge, the edge that characterizes rock & roll and its close relatives. The fact that I cannot turn up a single rock version of the song seems to bear this out. To have “42nd Street” sitting cheek by jowl with “Map Ref 41 N 93 W” would stop this juggernaut in its tracks.

Through the years of unchecked raunch—the ‘60s through the late ‘80s—42nd Street inspired songs that mirrored its nasty side. Folks as varied as first-wave English punkers the Angelic Upstarts, Billy Squier’s first band, Piper, and Golden Earring, the longest-running rock band in history (you read that right; the Dutch outfit best known for “Radar Love” formed in 1961, two years before the Stones) all had songs called “42nd Street.” None were great shakes. The Upstarts, making good use of a police siren, lose points for the social critique of the verses, which rings a bit hollow next to the chorus about “the girl I’d like to meet.” In the song by Piper—from the 1976 eponymous LP that Circus. magazine declared the greatest debut by an American band—the heart of the red light district and recycled Thin Lizzy riffs are but a backdrop for Billy Squier, who howls that he is a man of “repu-tay-shunnn,” “obli-gay-shunnn” and “conster-nay-shunnn.” The Golden Earring song starts with traffic noises and kicks up a frantic ‘70s hard-rockin’ groove before making the expected references to misfits, perverts and losers, and fading out with, you guessed it, a police siren.

IIn the one-off whatsit department: R.E.M.'s Out of Time-era outtake called "42nd Street Song" should have remained on the kudzu-covered cutting-room floor; Flaming Lips' "Miracle on 42nd Street" is a sound collage that leaves little lasting impression, and Malcolm McLaren's "42nd Street," from his 1998 tribute to himself, Buffalo Gals Back to Skool, speaks for itself. Ineligible but worth mentioning for the clear enunciation of "42" are two tracks that employ the tried-and-true street address and phone number strategy: the B-52s' "6060-842" from the classic 1979 debut, and the obscure girl group known as the Pixies Three, whose "442 Glenwood Avenue" is a sassy invitation to a swinging party.

The Trees Community - "Psalm 42"

Certainly the hardest no. 42 song to describe in mere words is “Psalm 42,” a 12-minute symphony of sorts by the Trees Community, a monastically minded troupe whose first release, Christ Tree (1975), was too baffling for any widespread recognition. In recent years, the absolute singularity and authenticity of the project has led to an unlikely wave of positive reappraisal. The sonic landscape that opens “Psalm 42” could almost pass for something from Eno’s Another Green World, but it doesn’t last long; soon there is vocal interplay suggesting plainsong, and there are Eastern bells, and oboes, and voices chanting songs of praise. And that’s only in the first half. It’s fascinating, to be sure, but it isn’t definitive. It’s kind of the opposite of definitive.

Django Reinhardt - "Swing 42"

So, back to the problem at hand. The need for a suitable 42 song has been a conundrum for longer than I care to admit. I briefly considered the spry Django Reinhardt instrumental “Swing 42.” After all, the three-fingered Django was a virtuoso, trailblazing guitarist who influenced generations of players, including people like Jerry Garcia and Mark Knopfler. Then I was excited when I stumbled upon “Fire on 42nd Street” by Austin’s The Lord Henry, but in the end I couldn’t pull the trigger on either the classic jazz instrumental or a decent-enough song that sounds a bit too much like Franz Ferdinand. But this quest has reinforced my abiding faith that there is a good and suitable song for every number, and finally that song appeared.

The Lord Henry - "Fire on 42nd Street"

East River Pipe is the musical alias of Fred Cornog, a reclusive yet prolific songwriter whose weary voice hints at the hard life he’s lived. After a brief flirtation with major labels in the early ‘90s, followed by years of homelessness and drug addiction, Cornog has persevered, finding stability and sanity while continuing to write songs marked by understated beauty and a wry and incisive lyrical touch. It took me a listen or two to fall for the simple charms of “Down 42nd Street to the Light” but I now see its strengths clearly: the weary sense of resolve and hope in his voice, the ramshackle but just-right musical accompaniment, and the hypnotic singsong of the backing vocals, like a child’s voice issuing from the backseat of a car. But if I needed something extra to prove to me that I had found a 42 song I could really live with, it was that Cornog mentions my hometown: "We could fly from here to there and back/Tenafly or maybe Hackensack." I assure you: references to good old Tenafly—also the hometown of Ed Harris, Leslie Gore and Bob Guccione Jr.—are few and far between in the world of popular song. It was all the sign I needed. The superfluous sign, which was just plain odd, is the name of a 1995 East River Pipe release: Poor Fricky.

Fricky was the name of my cat growing up in Tenafly. You can ask my dad.

East River Pipe - "Down 42nd Street to the Light"

Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. It's starting to creep everybody out.

Previously: No. 1, 2-4, 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26/27, 28 , 29 , 30, 30 (counterpoint), 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41

Posted by David Klein at February 28, 2008 11:40 AM

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Posted by: Jeff K at February 28, 2008 03:00 PM

Posted by: david at March 3, 2008 02:24 PM

Posted by: Jeff K at March 3, 2008 07:45 PM

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