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November 21, 2008

Numerology: 59: A Highly Cototient Number (as well as a "Magical Golf Score")

The process of diligently, sometimes desperately, searching for number songs never fails to turn up interesting tidbits. In the early ‘70s, when women were paid 59 ¢ for every dollar earned by men (many of them male chauvinist pigs), proponents of women’s liberation wore buttons that read simply “59 ¢.” (If 21st-century feminists felt inclined to protest the wage gap, their buttons would read “77 ¢.”) Another thing this quest has taught me is that for every number between 1-100, some kind of connection can usually be made to Bob Dylan, and 59 is no exception. “The Ballad of Donald White,” which Dylan adapted from a traditional Canadian ballad called “Peter Emberley” and performed early on before concentrating on his own material, contains the lines, “And so it was on Christmas eve
/In the year of ‘59/It was on that night I killed a man,
 I did not try to hide.” Hardly an uplifting sentiment, but when you’re Dylan you don’t need to write an anthem every time out.

The Gaslight Anthem - "The '59 Sound"

I firmly believe that a band whose name incorporates the word “anthem” has a responsibility to render listeners physically unable to keep their fists from clenching and their heads from bobbing to its music. The Gaslight Anthem, punk rockers from New Brunswick, N.J, deliver the goods with “The ’59 Sound.” It’s the kind of song that would sound glorious blaring through a car stereo on the Jersey Turnpike beneath a splendidly polluted sunset, or even just ringing through headphones while waiting for your toast to pop. While it may not break any new ground (in fact, there’s an unsettling vocal similarity to the Gin Blossoms’ “Hey Jealousy”) “The ’59 Sound” succeeds; rock ‘n’ roll allows for almost infinite variations on a theme, and the force of good crunchy guitars and a sturdy melody will often carry you through with flying colors. “’59” by the Brian Setzer Orchestra is more specific to the year 1959 than “The ’59 Sound,” but this earnest but edgeless tribute to a great year in rock does little to evoke the spirit of the times.

For all you sidewalk social-scientist Blondie fans out there, please know that “11:59” has already nabbed top honors for the 11 slot, so chill. The Postmarks of Miami, Florida, perform a faithful cover version of the song on their By the Numbers CD, a collection guaranteed to warm the heart of numerologists worldwide: each song, from “One Note Samba” to “Five Years” to “11:59,” has a number in its title, proof positive that this author is not alone in obsessing about number songs. Speaking of covers, on the mini-album entitled 59, the adorable Japanese duo Puffy Ami Yumi performs a crisp rendition of “Joining a Fan Club” by Jellyfish, overlooked power pop proponents from San Francisco of the early ‘90s. Moving from the briefly appreciated to the largely unknown, “59.58” is a song by Headcase, a solo project from session man and former Curve bass player, Dean Garcia.

Imagine, if you will, that a songwriter ended up turning into a chicken. Wouldn’t you be tempted to look at his early work for references to laying eggs and clucking? It’s like when a singer commits suicide; one can’t help poring over song lyrics for intimations of his self-destructive plans. In that same vein, when a writer comes out of the closet, there is an urge to look back at his body of work for signs of self-loathing, or an over-reliance on neutral pronouns. Hüsker Dü provides a case in point; two of the three members of this seminal Minneapolis power trio eventually came out as gay. (Oddly enough, it was bassist Greg Norton, the one with the swishy handlebar moustache, who was the band’s lone heterosexual.) It’s hard to say how much of the angst that marked the band’s early records was fueled by Bob Mould and Grant Hart feeling forced to live a lie, but “59 Times the Pain” certainly exemplifies the inner turmoil of a deeply conflicted man. The song is brutal and grinding, with lyrics that speak of unbridled torment:

Husker Du - "59 Times the Pain"

The most intense of burning hells
Blasting expectations into smithereens
Never feeling normal, can’t accept the truth
Resign myself to hating it, I hate it all…
59 Times the Pain/I could never be like you

A Swedish hardcore band was so taken with the song that it took the title as a band name, and had a pretty successful 10-year run starting with a single called “Blind Anger & Hate.” Well, what did you expect from a band called 59 Times the Pain, “Feelin’ Groovy”? Ah, there’s my cue. As with no. 50, a composition by Paul Simon is the proverbial elephant in the room. But unlike the 50 slot, which offered a multitude of choices, this elephant can neither be ignored nor passed over for a more esoteric choice. “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)”—let’s be glad he named the song after a structure properly known as the Queensborough Bridge—is the quintessential feel-good song of the ‘60s or just about any other era. Oh, there are countless songs about feeling good, but most focus on something specific—like “a new dawn, a new day, a new life,” as Nina Simone sang in “Feeling Good” or “the only one who can bring me joy” in Otis Redding’s “Happy Song,” to name just two. In “Feelin’ Groovy,” Simon turns this idea on its head by appreciating what we tend to overlook. It’s easy to feel good because you just got paid, just got laid, just met the girl of your dreams, but the source of Simon’s groovy feeling is freedom (no deeds to do, no promises to keep) and the simple sweetness of ordinary things: the morning, cobblestones, flowers, and that lamppost he is moved to address by name. Taking stock, Simon concludes, “Life I love you. All is groovy,” and somehow it doesn’t seem trite or mindless, like the ‘80s equivalent, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

Simon & Garfunkel - "The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)"

Simon & Garfunkel - "The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)"
(live in Central Park, NYC, 1981)

Cochise - "The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)"

Few of the cover versions of the song were half as groovy as the original. In 1967, Harpers Bizarre, then known as the Tikis, were a Santa Cruz surf band led by future Van Halen producer Ted Templeman. The music industry legend Lenny Waronker, who knew catchy when he heard it, approached the Tikis to record the song. Changing their name so as not to lose the hard-earned street cred of their Tikis fan base, the renamed Harpers Bizarre scored a monster hit with a lush, syrupy version replete with key change. Early in the ‘70s, a progressive-minded quartet called Cochise decided that “Feelin’ Groovy” needed an infusion of Heavy in the tradition of the Vanilla Fudge, who took the wired, sprightly intensity of the Supremes’ “You Keep Me Hanging On” and bludgeoned the song into submission. Cochise’s “Feelin’ Groovy” wasn’t quite as misguided, but it shared a common impulse to break a butterfly on a wheel. The debut LP by Cochise, whose members went on to play with Procol Harum, Foreigner, and Pink Floyd, was notable for its cover art, designed by future Pink Floyd cover-meister Storm Thorgerson. It depicted the sun rising over the Grand Teton-esque expanse of a woman’s naked breasts (quite daring for the time) and probably led to more than a few impulse buys by mammary-minded adolescents. Former street musician Ted Hawkins, who enjoyed a few years of notoriety before his death in 1995, did a soulful, stripped down version, and Jimmy Page liked to incorporate the melody into live versions of “Heartbreaker” and “Whole Lotta Love.” But the S&G original reigns supreme. During the duo’s 1966 concert tour, Simon explained the origins of the song to their audiences via the following charming spiel, which he tweaked from night to night:

"I came back from England to the United States in December of 1965, and “The Sounds of Silence” had become a big hit…. I had to make this transition from being relatively unknown in England to being semi-famous here. I didn’t adjust well. It was always slightly embarrassing to me, teeny bops, etcetera. So I used to think, all my sweets are gone, good times gone, left over in England. All the songs I was writing were very down type of songs, nothing happy, until about last June. For some reason last June I start to come out of it. I start to get into a good mood, I don’t know why….

So here I am getting into this pleasant frame of mind, and I was coming home one morning about 6:00, comin’ over the 59th Street Bridge in New York, and what a groovy day it was, a real good one, and one of those times when you know you’re not gonna be tired for about an hour. You know it’s gonna be nice. So I started writing a song that later became “The 59th Street Bridge Song” or “Feelin’ Groovy.”

Groovy little footnote: Simon & Garfunkel’s song was the first song to fully exploit the term “groovy,” which, along with “far-out,” “too much,” and “out of site,” vied for the title of essential superlative of the ‘60s. The cheesy “Groovy Kind of Love” swiftly followed, and years later came the Clash’s sublime “Groovy Times” and the acid house gem “Groovy Train” by the Farm.

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, 6 (redux), 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, 58

Posted by Jeff Klingman at November 21, 2008 08:00 AM

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