Showing posts with label chapel of love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chapel of love. Show all posts

7 January 2010

Always Magic in the Air


New York State of Mind Charted in Full

There has been a gap in the market for a book focusing on the Brill Building songwriters and the good news is that Ken Emerson's account, while clearsighted in charting later artistic and commercial decline, is as detailed and loving as one could possibly hope for - a joy to read from beginning to end and a fitting tribute to the music that even some of the writers didn't expect to last (Barry Mann rushes off in a panic to compose more songs at the news that a current hit is drifting down the charts).

Early chapters concentrate on individual teams but as the book progresses their fates and business interests become intertwined, the slightly older Leiber and Stoller emerging as major players, producing or "editing", as they modestly call it, the contributions of younger writers as their own interest in appealing to a younger demographic wanes. There's a general promiscuity, too (creatively speaking), with writing partners sneaking in a quick collaboration on a morning when the regular soulmate is busy.

Some unsung heroes emerge: publisher Don Kirshner's role in creating the circumstances which allowed, for a few Eden-like years, his writers to flourish, and the visceral excitement of George Goldner when he hears a palpable hit. Someone ascribes the emotions of a twelve year old girl to him, hearing magic in the likes of Chapel of Love when no one else can.

But what gives this tale of connected personal, creative and business lives an especial poignancy is that the Brill Building story is also that universal tale of time passing: partners falling out; writers approaching thirty who can no longer empathise with a younger audience; the emergence of the self-supporting artists like the Beatles and Dylan causing writers like Gerry Goffin to question their purpose (he says that he now tries simply to be an "adequate" writer; one longs to tell him that the best of what he created with Carole King will never need apology).

A general exodus from New York in the late sixties, linked to the expansion of Don Kirshner's business interests which made him less hands-on with his writers, were factors in the decline of these crafted pop songs - the New York musical mix, particularly the passion for Afro-Cuban rhythms, permeated the best Brill Building recordings - and Emerson (rightly, in my view) cites Bacharach's decreasing involvement with African-American artists like Lou Johnson and Chuck Jackson as contributing to blander work in the 70s.

These writers were, in one sense, hacks, and Emerson doesn't flinch (any more than the writers themselves) from distinguishing between the trash and the gems, but what comes through more than anything in this warm and compelling account is that - not only in Bacharach's case - the best artists always brought out the best in the writers, who took enormous pride in their achievements. And Emerson has a knack for selecting the moments that matter, none more so than when, around 1960, amid fears that this music has had its day, the Drifters' Charlie Thomas finds Doc Pomus chanting: "Rock'n'roll will never die." When Thomas retorts that it's "just a song," Pomus replies: "No, it's not a song, Charlie. It's a place in your heart." This music may or may not live forever, but as Emerson says "it still resounds half a century later," and I can't imagine a better chronicler of those who shared their creative lives with us. This book will send you back, with a fresh delight, to the records.


2006 review. Image: Don Kirshner with Carole King and Gerry Goffin, from an article by Kevin Smokler in Tablet Magazine looking at the Jewish American context of "the magic created at Aldon."

Related sites I'd particularly recommend:
this page of goodies from the oldies connection website is devoted to Always Magic ... It will point you to a range of reviews, a book excerpt and a couple of streamed interviews with Ken Emerson. One is an interview on WFMU with Bob Brainen, on realplayer, complete with lots of relevant music including rarities. I couldn't open the direct link for the other, an interview on WFUV, so go to the link provided for the main page and put "ken emerson" into the archive search box. The file then opened - on my PC, anyway - in media player.Spectropop - an amazing resource about the interrelated fields of girl groups, Phil Spector and the Brill Building writers - the essence of early 60s pop, in other words - very well laid out, with a large section devoted to individual writing teams as well as a feature on Don Kirshner and Aldon Music. Neil Sedaka and Howard Greenfield are summed up perfectly: "Though their songs lacked the social consciousness of Mann & Weil or the depth of Goffin & King, their best songs fit the definition of perfect Pure Pop - catchy, tightly constructed songs that anyone could appreciate." See the Spectropop review of Always Magic in the Air here (scroll down if you're not waylaid by other CD and book reviews of tantalising items from 2006).

1 January 2010

Doo Wop Dialog[ue]: 67


pismotality
(42/M/London, England)


Clarke,
Again a really precisely captured sense of time: interesting that all the paraphernalia around the music - precise type, brand of record player, etc - is so much part of the experience.

I read Marsha's response to your post and I think it is more complex, as you say, than Girl-wants-romance and Boy-wants-IT. It's also, at least some of the time, about both wanting to believe in the dream, the delicious possibility, even if you know it's playacting: the willing suspension of disbelief, if only for the three minutes of that song.


Have you seen John Sayles' great movie Baby It's You, set in the 50s/60s (can't remember)? It's about an illusion that lasts a little longer - in fact, Clarke, it's precisely about what you said in an earlier post: romances not surviving high school. A "nice" girl falls in love with a “Fonzie" type at school, gets a kind of respect and status through doing so, but when she goes to a Sarah Lawrence-type establishment he's something to be disowned, mocked.

But the beauty of this totally convincing, small-but-big movie is the ending: Sheik's (the guy's) illusions about Sinatra-type stardom have been brought down to earth with an almighty bump, but meanwhile the girl is finding herself excluded in her new world: her Trenton, New Jersey roots make it harder for her to be accepted. He comes to see her once his world has fallen apart, trashes her room, angry at being excluded from her new life. But it ends with them agreeing to dance together at a college dance: her way of saying to snooty fellow students “This is part of who I am, deal with it"; and a way, too, of giving back some status to the battered Sheik: once again, as in high school, they're causing a sensation together.

But there's no way they'll get back with each other; it's about two damaged people realising that on that night, just for that moment, they can support each other. The film's not multi-protagonist, like American Graffiti, and less glamorous (no big cars) but it touches on a great deal of what we've covered in these postings. Because these two have (however uneasily and temporarily) reconciled past and present: living, for a moment, in the illusion which is also the truth of their bonding on some level: they had been an integral part of each other.

In a book of interviews, Sayles on Sayles, JS amusingly talks about the studio's reaction: despite his being totally upfront about his intentions, they were hoping to cash in with another Porky's! But it's a deeply moving, truly "adult" (ie offering no easy solutions) movie, and a story that has apparently resonated with many women trying to reconcile roots with aspirations. I also love his Passion Fish, another tale of two damaged lives. (Can't remember soundtrack for Baby It’s You, though.)

Still not onto my own childhood! Back after melting - or meltdown? Starting all over again is gonna be tough ... (=who, trivia fans?)

Totally agree about Mean Streets, by the way; my first encounter with the Chips’ Rubber Biscuit...

Incidentally, I've just worked out what I am: a doowop Helene Hanff. Or Frank Doel.


More discussion of Baby, It's You, which stars Rosanna Arquette and Vincent Spano, on Ned Merrill's film blog. To be fair (sort of) to the studio, I think Sayles says in the book that it was not until Porky's became such a huge and unexpected hit while Baby It's You was being made that the studio suddenly saw dollar signs, leading to an almighty battle about the edit; the Sayles-approved version was finally released with a conspicuous lack of promotional fanfare, but it is superb. I saw it in the mid eighties at my then local arthouse cinema, the GFT (Glasgow Film Theatre), so it did get an international release of sorts.

On the music front, it's worth mentioning that as they dance at the Sarah Lawrence-type college at the end (pictured above), a band is playing a so-so version of Strangers in the Night which gradually becomes, in their heads, the Sinatra recording they once smooched to a diner in the early days of their romance.

And the moment when Sheik's dreams are crushed is masterly: he's been working in a restaurant and occasionally doing a bit of miming to the jukebox (we see him ringadingdinging his way through that kitsch masterpiece Wives and Lovers), but always on the understanding that he'll get the chance to do some proper singing. One day a middle-aged guy comes in, asking for a microphone. When the penny drops, and Sheik protests that he is going to be the only one doing any singing, the guy replies: "Listen, if you think I could sing, do you think I'd be in a dump like this?" And that's when Sheik rushes off to the college to try to make it right again.

(Find the film trailer on the imdb site
here; interesting to see that Chapel of Love also features here: the Rosanna Arquette characters' girlfriends chant it when they learn she's going out with Sheik - though I have a feeling that in the film, after a moment she joins in too, sharing the fantasy while half laughing at it, exactly like the girls in Be My Baby. George Goldner would have approved.

Starting All Over Again, if you need to be told, is by Mel and Tim. It touched something in the late English deejay John Peel, not normally a soul fan, who played it on his show in the seventies.

Doel/Hanff: There are still bookshops in Charing Cross Road, though less than when I first moved to London in the mid eighties. But number 84 is no longer one of them.



31 December 2009

Doo Wop Dialog[ue]: 42

pismotality
(42/M/London, England)


Clarke,

I've decided not to worry for the moment about starting, stopping or whatever. This is whatever it is, and will end whenever it ends. All I know is that the satisfactions of writing these posts and responding to yours are pretty considerable, akin to my "real" writing, and the immediacy (can't save and refine it) is definitely an antidote to my normal writing process. For the moment I've got the time to pursue it (even though the full size keyboard for this web TV won't be on sale till sometime later this month - maybe even this stabbing urgently at tiny letters is part of the process).

I think you're spot on with the "empty promise at best" bit - and maybe both sides know it. Someone said (poss. Marsh yet again) that the plea in Goffin-King's Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow - "Tell me now and I won't ask again" - is the girl wilfully deceiving herself: she knows there's only heartbreak ahead "when the night meets the morning sun" but still needs the formulaic reassurance at that moment – he owes her that, at least, if she's doing this for him.

The play I'm currently writing (or not writing, given that I'm doing this) is for the Soho Theatre in London, and a few months ago they had a production that moved me deeply: set in a home for expectant unmarried teenage mothers in 60s England, it showed them listening to girl groups and sending up the sentiments (eg mockingly echoing, with gestures, the Shangri-Las' portentous "Cause that can never...happen...AGAIN!") but at the same time needing, and half-believing, those dreams, despite the transparent fact they'd been let down by boys. Maybe believing in two contradictory things at once, a la Alice in wonderland, is a deep human need, and dooowop sums it up.

What you were saying about the light made me think of American Graffiti and the way the move from night into day, especially tor the Richard Dreyfuss character, is also a stripping of illusions: you can't go on living forever in that indeterminate, protective dimness, even if your name Is Blanche Dubois. And of course AG is about that post High School test of affections you were talking about.

I can see there's so much more I want to say (but the right words won't - ) and I've barely responded to, or conveyed my enjoyment of, your piece, let alone my response to the performance itself, but I'll take a break there to ensure this instalment will fit. No flipping - unless it's the Marcels' Blue Moon (Goodbye to Love).


The play, Be My Baby by actress and playwright Amanda Whittington, is still regularly revived and now taught as a school text; her website will direct you towards explanatory notes and a facebook page so that those involved in productions of the play can also help each other.

In what was for me the most touching scene, the girls are obliged to work in the laundry when Chapel of Love comes on the radio, gradually uniting them in a kind of happy frenzy: a girl stirring the boiling sheets with a pair of wooden pincers improvises a microphone; a (dry) sheet is wrapped around another girl and they all proceed to act out the lyrics with whatever comes to hand and celebrate the instant bride.

As well as being great fun it has a dramatic point because it shows how these girls from different social background actually have the same things in common, the same hopes and dreams, underneath, and it took the music to break down the protective barriers we'd seen earlier in the play.

If I'm not mistaken (and I could be, because I can't find my copy of the book), it was said of George Goldner that he had the emotional sensibility of a thirteen year old girl, and that when he first heard Chapel of Love he repeatedly thumped the table in his insistence that this was a massive hit. Maybe he cried, too, at the vision of eternal happiness ("never be lonely anymore") therein limned; I'd like to think so. But until I can relocate Ken Emerson's great book about the Brill Building, Always Magic in the Air, I can't be sure.

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