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October 30, 2008

Numerology: Fiddy Ocho

Even before I discovered that in Central American lore 58 signifies bad juju (something to do with 58 original sins) the number was already emitting perplexing vibes and wafting them my way. Fifty-eight (which is the sum of the first seven primes) presents a challenge even to the most seasoned seeker of numerically titled ditties. The fact that 58 is the name of the side project of Mötley Crüe bassist Nikki Sixx (their cover of “Alone Again (Naturally)” borders on a criminal act) supports my contention that 58 is inherently flawed. Whether you agree or not, it’s hard to argue that the offerings assembled herein comprise a pretty motley crew (I’m sure Nikki would agree.) Motliest by far is “Ronsard 58,” an early work by Gaullic sleaze hero Serge Gainsbourg that recently made it onto a Top 10 list of Serge’s most misogynistic songs (amid plenty of competition). Although unversed en Français, I was able to secure a rough translation of this vaguely jazzy Beat-poet blues number. The essence is that Serge is sweet-talking his latest female conquest with details of the riches lay that in store for her. Someday, he speak-sings between drags on his Gauloise, this unnamed young woman will have a life of leisure, with cars, boats, and houses. No longer, he assures her, will she be a “dirty little whore.” How romantic.

Serge Gainsbourg - "Ronsard 58"

To less salacious songwriters, 58 tends to mean 1958, and not necessarily in a good way. Frickley in South Yorkshire is a small mining town where, according to “Frickley 58” by Chumbawumba, “once the riot coppers beat the pickets to the ground.” But a football stadium has since been erected where the protesters were felled, and no one remembers the struggle. Songs like this never become hits. As proved by “Tubthumping,” the band’s lone smash, when people in a song get knocked down, it’s best for them to get back up again (and declare, “You’re never gonna keep me down!”) “Alabama ’58” by the Dubliners, another song about injustice, connects the intolerance of the American South to similar ugly chapters from the pages of history. Al Stewart, of “Year of the Cat” fame, is known for incorporating history and historical figures, including Warren G. Harding, Nostradamus, and Jean-Paul Marat, into his songs. His “Class of ‘58” is a cheeky look back at rock’s golden age, with the sharp-eyed observation that “One day they’ll make TV shows on ancient rock-and-rollers.” Although not quite ancient, the debut album by Chicago (released under the group’s original name, Chicago Transit Authority) featured the eight-minute, not at all poetic “Poem 58,” which was mainly a showcase for the hot licks of lead guitarist Terry Kath. Although best known for their radio-friendly hits of the ‘70s and ‘80s, Chicago was far more aggressive sounding on their early albums with Kath. But after he fatally shot himself with a gun he thought was unloaded, in 1978, Chicago’s lost its hard-rock edge and headed toward the extremely lucrative middle of the road.

In the fuzzed-out shoegazer scene of the early ‘90s, Kitchens of Distinction never got the recognition garnered by many of their compatriots, partly due to a preponderance of unapologetically gay-themed lyrics, but that didn’t stop Thom Yorke from citing the South London band as an influence on Radiohead. (Notable among other KOD-influenced bands are Interpol and the Editors.) Post-Kitchens, bandleader (and licensed physician) Patrick Fitzgerald has forged ahead as Stephen Hero, continuing his interest in widescreen atmospherics and showing a notable predilection for numerical titles with 2007’s 57 Stars of the Air Almanac and the song “58th Star.” This big minor-key ballad has a sweeping romanticism and shows Mr. Fitzgerald’s voice to be undiminished by time or the lack of breakout success, although comparing the object of his love to the heavens above, the planets, and the firmament does border on the bombastic.

Stephen Hero - "58th Star"

Dave Matthews has a thing for numbers, but his “58” differs very little from his “34” and “41”—all tasteful lite-jazz instrumentals that would make a lovely soundtrack to a meeting with a sales rep over biscotti and java at a local Starbucks. “Let’s Start at 58th and Roosevelt” by P-Love wouldn’t raise any hackles among the coffee-and-laptop crowd either, but “58 Kilpatrick St.” by Boston punks the Blue Bloods would definitely not make it onto the play list—which is to its credit. This revved-up ode to the refusal to grow up and take responsibility features the piquant lines, “Well we smoked all your mother’s cigarettes/and we drank all your father’s beer/you’re 28 years old/and you still live downstairs/and the night will become day down there.” While we’re on the subject of post-punk, “Chevrolet ‘58” by Venezuelan surf rockers Los Mentas sounds a lot like the Clash’s version of “Brand New Cadillac,” right down to the stutter-stepping opening bars.

But you know what they say: you don’t have to be a weatherman to know that if the wind hasn’t hit 58 mph, you can’t issue a Severe Thunderstorm Warning. And while I can’t find a single song in Bob Dylan’s canon associated with 58, drawing a straight line from Dylan to Mott the Hoople, the star-crossed champs of 58, is pretty simple. Ian Hunter, Mott’s perennially shade-wearing front man, aped Dylan’s vocal style for the band’s first few records, which made a certain sense given his limited range and the jaded imagery of this former professional songwriter’s lyrics. Mott’s first few records sold poorly, despite the band’s well-earned reputation as a titanic live act. Even so, they possessed some of the coolest nomenclature in rock history. The audacious name Mott the Hoople (taken from a 1966 novel by Willard Manus) was bestowed by their first manager, Guy Stevens, the legendarily mad figure who also named Procol Harum and eventually produced the Clash’s London Calling. (Hoople means “hobo” or “buffoon.”) The band also boasted bassist Pete “Overend” Watts (his real name) and later added guitarist Ariel Bender (a replacement for Mick Ralphs, who went on to mega-stardom with Bad Company). Folks, you just don’t get names like that anymore. Yet the band struggled to translate their live energy into recordings. By early ’72, with the group at the point of collapse, Overend Watts contacted David Bowie looking for a bass-playing gig. Instead, Bowie offered up “All the Young Dudes” and produced the breakthrough LP of the same name. (Bowie first offered “Suffragette City,” but Hunter, who also wanted “Drive-In Saturday,” said it wasn’t good enough.) Under Bowie’s tutelage, Hunter dropped some of Dylan’s mannerisms, picked up a few of Bowie’s, and the band gained some much-needed studio skills. The Bowie infusion resulted in the resurgence of the band’s career, as well as one of the great singles of the rock era. But while Mott finally achieved a measure of rock ‘n’ roll glory, fame is fleeting, a theme explored in songs like “Ballad of Mott the Hoople.” Two years later, internecine squabbling led to Hunter’s departure, which leads us to “Born Late ’58,” a song that embodies this internal tension by the fact that it was recorded after Ian Hunter had already left the recording sessions for The Hoople, disgusted with the limited abilities of Ariel Bender.

“Born Late ‘58”—not to be confused with “Born in ‘58” by Iron Maiden lead shrieker Bruce Dickinson—is not an earthshaking song, but it has the signature glam boogie sound of classic Mott and proves that Watts was capable of singing a lot like Ian Hunter (something he would do a lot more of in the uninspired, mercifully brief post-Hunter incarnation of the band.) Eventually, Hunter returned to the studio to finish the album, and apparently approved of the song, in which Watts taunts a would-be suitor who is just a bit too long in tooth to bed the object of his affections:

Admit it, she’s greater, shame you weren’t born later.

Mott the Hoople - "Born Late '58"

A few final notes:

NOTED PERVERSE TWAT is an anagram for Pete Overend Watts.

“Plan 58” by Main Concept is German rap at its finest.

John Cage composed “Fifty-Eight” to be performed at the Landhausof, an Austrian structure with 58 archways.

At the 2:58 point in “Hey Jude,” John Lennon can be heard to mutter “fuckin’ hell” at his muffed vocal. I kid you not.

Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. The higher the digit, the lonelier the climb.

Previously: No. 1, 2-4, , 4 (redux), 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, 45, 46 , 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, Footnotes, 57

Posted by David Klein at October 30, 2008 08:30 AM

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