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April 09, 2008
Numerology: Klein's on 45
Numerically speaking, 45 is royalty. The seven-inch 45 rpm vinyl disc is the medium that delivered rock & roll (arguably in its golden age) to millions of teenagers in the ‘50s and ‘60s. The sight of a spinning 45 was an iconic image even before it appeared in the opening moments of Happy Days, which, along with American Graffiti, persists in coloring my mental picture of 1950s. So popular and ingrained is the retro cool of the 45 that a slew of strange bedfellows, like Morrissey and Ricky Skaggs, have recently issued new collections of old hits, on CDs that model the look of classic vinyl singles.
When you name a song after your band, it had better be good. 45 Grave has an interesting bio, so I was hoping “45 Grave” would be a fist-clenching anthem, but these West Coast goth punks—led by mainstay Dinah Cancer (say it out-loud)—come up a bit short. I’ll take “45 Grave” over “Living in a Box,” but it doesn’t compare to “Talk Talk.” Actually, when it comes to songs sung by women who could eat me for breakfast, I much prefer L7’s “Ms. 45.” But before we abandon the subject of song titles doubling as band names, let me ask you this: wasn’t “Stars on 45” by Stars On 45 the worst of them all?
OK, Stars On 45 wasn’t a band in the true sense; it was a bunch of studio musicians taking cues from a guy named Jaap Eggermont, a man who had devoted much time and energy to a project that was a nightmare to assemble. But Eggermont—former drummer for what is now the longest-running rock act in existence, those proud sons of the Netherlands, Golden Earring—had spent 10 undistinguished years as a producer, and wasn’t about to let go of an idea that he could feel in his bones would be a huge hit.
And so it came to pass, like a Dutch kidney stone, in 1981. Primarily voiced by fake Paul McCartney (Okkie Huysdens), fake George Harrison (Hans Vermeuien), and fake John Lennon (Bas Muys), “Stars on 45” ascended to the top of the U.S. charts a mere six months after Lennon’s murder. (It would take 25 years and the strenuous intervention of Cirque du Soleil to render the Beatles this unpalatable again.) Many found the singing soulless, the beat mind-numbing, and the medley form wanting, yet “Stars On 45” spawned a short-lived revolution. It wasn’t just novelty purveyors like Weird Al Yankovic (“Polkas on 45”) and the British Weird Al, Ivor Biggun (“Bras on 45”) who lined up for a ride on the medley train; legitimately cool bands like Squeeze (“Squabs on Forty Fab”) and Orange Juice (“Blokes on 45”) got into the act, too.
Orange Juice - "Blokes on 45" (John Peel Session)
Eggermont’s first attempt to milk the formula using Abba tunes did pretty well, but the subsequent Stevie Wonder version pretty much tanked, and the Stones medley had to be scrapped completely. It hardly mattered though; the man was already set for life. I’m sure he must have chuckled upon receiving a royalty check recently, from the house-style reworking of his song by the French duo Global Deejays. I get a headache just imagining the complex web of royalty payments that a cover of a Beatles medley would spawn. A final numerical point: Stars on 45 was not the only 45-related venture in Jaap Eggermont’s career: he played drums on Golden Earring’s war-themed “Another 45 Miles,” but probably hasn’t seen any cash from that one in a long time.
Shinedown had a big hit a few years back with “45,” a slice of packaged angst with a testosterone-fueled chorus that goes, “And I’m staring down the barrel of a 45/Swimming through the ashes of another life…” But hang on; it’s not what you think: According to singer Brent Smith, “[B]asically, the 45 isn’t an actual literal term for a gun, I used it as a metaphor for the world, the 45 is actually the world and what it hands you every day of your life.” Maybe so, but don’t tell Bronson Arroyo. The Cincinnati Reds pitcher (and decent guitarist) almost certainly chose “45” as his entrance music because it inspires him to go out there and be aggressive early in the game, not for its metaphorical implications.
Metaphors are grownup thoughts, and 45 is a grownup age. Somewhere around 45, it becomes incumbent upon you to give at least a passing thought to your own mortality. In 1955 the Irish soprano Mary O’Hara sang the longevity-minded “45 Years.” Ms. O’Hara’s name may not be familiar in these parts, but her life has been made into a play, and for good reason: Twice she achieved fame as a recording artist, separated by 12 years of living in a convent. If that doesn’t scream biopic I don’t know what does. Is Holly Hunter available?
I wish Mary O’Hara were here right now to sing a brief medley of songs that were ineligible to win but worthy of mention. It would go like this:
Brimful of asha on the 45/Brimful of asha on the 45.…The only girl I've ever loved/was born with roses in her eyes/But then they buried her alive/One evening 1945…Bleep bleep bleep, bloop bloop.
Cornershop - "Brimful of Asha"
The bleep bleep part was an attempt to conjure up the instrumental “45:33” by LCD Soundsystem. While the innovative Murphy takes the medley to a rarely reached height, “45:33” is an album masquerading as a song. And the fact that it’s priced on iTunes as an album proves my point.
45 is the name of Bill Drummond’s collection of cranky tales about life and the music business. Drummond, whose musical sojourn began in the early ‘80s behind the scenes of Echo & the Bunnymen and the Teardrop Explodes, went on to score worldwide hits with the KLF and notoriously burned a million English pounds in 1994. (He now says he regrets it.) The book is an intermittently fascinating account that veers between fanciful discourse on interstellar lea lines and brilliant punchy writing, like this thumbnail description of Bunnymen guitarist Will Sergeant (circa ’78): Short-order chef with black moods and beautiful eyes. Favourite Stone: Brian Jones. If the book has a musical equivalent, it would have to be a song that is both sharp-eyed and fanciful, one that considers multiple implications with skill and a sneer: in short, a song by Elvis Costello.
Before conferring honors upon Mr. McManus, let me present the bronze, silver, and brass medal winners. The quietly harrowing “2:45 a.m.” finds Elliott Smith on a dark night of the soul, his fragile voice sounding as nakedly vulnerable as ever, even when double-tracked. I just question whether the drums that enter during the last verse need to be there. The simple beauty of the melody, the intimacy of Smith’s voice and guitar are compelling on their own and the drums feel almost like an intrusion, like someone came into the room and turned the lights on too quickly. “Colt 45” by Metal Urbain is an appealingly reverb-laden rave-up that gives French punk a good name. Contemporaries and acolytes of the early Clash, the band employed a declamatory singing style and distorted keyboards, bringing to mind a Gallic take on Suicide. Gang of Four’s “5:45” is a stubborn screed decrying death as entertainment, as only Gang of Four could do it: “How can I sit and eat my tea/with all that blood flowing from the television?”
Elliott Smith - "2:45 a.m."
Metal Urbain - "Colt 45"
Gang of Four - "5:45"
Fine songs all, but not especially concerned with 45. Leave it to Elvis Costello, wordsmith nonpareil, to deliver one song containing all the major connotations of the number: 45 the year, 45 the 7-inch single, and 45 the gun—as well as writing it at the age of 45. Impossibly clever lyrics are what you expect from Elvis, but the sound of “45,” which leads off When I Was Cruel (2002), marked a return to the kind of music he hadn’t made since he was 25. Gone, at least for the moment, was Elvis the UCLA artist in residence and Anne Sophie von Otter collaborator. Back after a long absence was the seductive, bitter, guitar-strumming Elvis who charmed a million hearts with an audacious vinyl troika in 1977-79. That voice is still that voice, the lyrics still sting, and the guitar crunch hasn’t aged badly at all.
Elvis Costello & the Imposters - "45"
(A&E Live By Request, 2003)
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, 42, 43, 44
Posted by David Klein at April 9, 2008 09:17 AM
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Comments
There's an Aussie band called Midnight Juggernauts who opened for Justice recently, and seem to have exactly one good song, which is not called "45 and Rising." That one is almost too sub-Daft Punk vocoder-hell to mention, but in the name of completeness...
Posted by: Jeff K at April 9, 2008 10:07 AM
It doesn't feel like a critical miss, but since I praise the name of completeness daily, it's the kind of thing I need to know. Gracias.
Posted by: david at April 9, 2008 10:47 AM
I actually preferred the "Hooked on..." (as in Classics and Swing and I forget what else) series to "Stars on 45."
That's because me and some friends once put together a medley record based on psychedelic hits of the 60s.
We were going to call it "Hooked on Drugs."
Posted by: steve simels at April 9, 2008 11:40 AM
I've lost a pound or two listening to LCD's 45:33. When I'm running around this town I always look west and imbibe sights sublime.
Posted by: Kelli Douglas at April 9, 2008 02:28 PM
Wo there, for a second I thought that was Elton kissing David Gest. Sorry, Elvis!
Posted by: Liza at April 9, 2008 05:35 PM
