“Strange Things Happening Every Day.” That’s a fitting description for this exact moment in time. It’s also the name of Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s most widely known song, an early example of rock’n’roll from 1945, long before that term was used in a musical context. (And “Rock Me” came out in 1938, when Bing Crosby’s appealingly somnolent croon was considered the voice of America.) She even frequently used a Gibson SG guitar (not something that was prevalent back then), which hard rock/heavy metal titans Angus Young, Tony Iommi, Glenn Tipton, and Cream-era Eric Clapton would eventually become associated with.
As far as strange things, being ignored by the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for the first three decades of its existence would definitely qualify as such. The 1986 inaugural class included Chuck Berry, Little Richard, and some of the other founding fathers who she influenced. That would’ve been the ideal time to honor Sister Rosetta Tharpe, not three years after Green Day were inducted.
Mark Knopfler is among the legions of guitarists who owe her a great debt. The band he led, Dire Straits, stood out for their extraordinarily grand guitar odysseys told from the perspectives of ordinary men, such as “Sultans of Swing,” “Tunnel of Love,” and especially “Telegraph Road.” The latter is essentially Stratocaster Steinbeck, a 14-minute saga that deals with the development of modern civilization, unemployment, and a decaying relationship. It shows how Knopfler is as exceptional a writer as he is a guitarist. High praise for someone whose playing evokes Chet Atkins, Albert King, and Ritchie Blackmore’s solo in Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water.”
He presents the mundanities of everyday life in Technicolor, where they come across as transcendent and cinematic. Making Movies isn’t just the title of his best record, it’s an accurate description of Knopfler’s music. The 1980 album, equal parts gritty and sublime, features “Romeo and Juliet,” perhaps the supreme achievement of Dire Straits. It’s a story narrated by “Romeo,” reminiscing about his time with “Juliet,” giving a post-mortem of their relationship. The past is all that’s left for them, yet he still can’t help but miss her, as expressed in the line, “All I do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme/Juliet, I’d do the stars with you any time.” It’s beautifully sentimental, while also meta, since the first part is actually referring to the song itself. At the end, Knopfler’s guitar is immersed in melancholy and sounds distant, conveying a time and place that’s gradually vanishing.
Dire Straits came out with their first album in 1978, a few month’s after the Cars released their self-titled debut, which is one of those records that, even in these divisive times, everyone seemingly loves. From the very beginning, “Good Times Roll” made a huge impression with its herky-jerky rhythm guitar, electronic drum bloops, eerie keyboards with a classical tinge, brief guitar licks that added some bluesy nuance, and vocals that brought to mind a sensitively blasé vampire. The album demonstrated that the Cars universe encompassed everything from Kraftwerk to Carl Perkins, and were just the right combination of avant-garde, pop, and hard rock. The people who hated Talking Heads but loved Aerosmith and vice versa, would love the Cars.
Long Island native Elliot Easton was a big reason why they would soon fill arenas. His guitar gave the songs heft, like the opening head-banging riffs in “Just What I Needed,” and the ‘50s sock hop solo in “My Best Friend’s Girl.” Rick Ocasek was the mastermind who wrote all the songs, but he was savvy enough to let the late bassist Benjamin Orr sing on some of their best material. The Cars could’ve passed for employees at the then-up and coming Apple, with the exception of Orr, who looked and sounded like a 70’s rock god, crooning like an ideal combination of Bryan Ferry, Paul McCartney and Scott Walker. His finest hour was 1984’s “Drive,” where grief never sounded quite so lush. The irony is, for a band that would sometimes be thought of as robotic, and in a decade overflowing with synth-pop ballads, the Cars created the most empathetic and humane one of all.
“Runaway” came out the same year as “Drive,” and was everyone’s introduction to Bon Jovi. Moonlighting from the E Street Band, Roy Bittan (an indispensable part of Making Movies) contributed the distinctive keyboard bleeps that propel the song. It was a modest hit, but at that point, they were somewhat overshadowed by contemporaries like Ratt and Twisted Sister.
The following year, Bon Jovi released “Silent Night,” a stellar power ballad with a pugnacious, soulful Mink Deville spirit that separated them from their peers. It was ubiquitous on WXRK, a station that had recently hired Howard Stern. Bon Jovi would become semi-regulars on his show, just before they broke out worldwide with 1986’s Slippery When Wet. The second single “Livin’ on a Prayer,” an infectiously catchy tune about economic hardship you could dance to, took over the airwaves, MTV, and the Bar/Bat Mitzvah celebrations of 1986-1987. The song became so successful that it assured the band they’d never have to live like the financially struggling characters in “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
Had Depeche Mode not already used it, Songs of Faith and Devotion would’ve been a perfect Bon Jovi album title. One of their biggest hits, “I’ll Be There for You,” is emblematic of how the themes of loyalty, ambition, and persistence permeate their entire career. Richie Sambora’s hypnotic coral sitar that pops in throughout the song connected South Asian-inflected ‘60s psychedelia to ‘80s suburban glam metal Americana. While driving around Long Island in the summer of ’89, that song really was there for you, as it seemed to be on anytime you turned on the radio. It made for good company.
When Nina Simone sang “Tomorrow Is My Turn” in 1965, she wasn’t kidding around. It’s been 15 years since her death, and Simone is now more popular than she ever was in her lifetime. You hear her in movies, television, commercials (bizarrely enough, even in a Ford spot during the 2017 Super Bowl), and sampled in countless hip-hop songs. Her visibility also increased with the Academy Award nominated 2015 documentary What Happened, Miss Simone?
Watching the violence in Charlottesville last summer, and the president’s cowardly, mealy-mouthed response, it was difficult to not have her civil rights anthems come to mind. Simone’s legacy is defined by those songs and her influence on the evolution of music in the ‘60s. It was during that time when rock’n’roll started to lean towards the exotic, sophisticated and baroque. You can hear her in the psychedelic blues of the Animals and the Doors that were equals parts roadhouse and haunted house, as well as the plaintive and intense folk-jazz-soul of troubadours like Tim Hardin, Fred Neil, and Nick Drake.
The Moody Blues had been a major part of this sea change. Initially, they were primarily an R&B act, the British equivalent of the Rascals. Original singer Denny Laine had one of the greatest voices of that era, sounding more Belmont Avenue than Birmingham, England. For those who only know of the Moody Blues as the progressive orchestral band who like looked variations of Dr. Strange, the pure soul power of 1964’s “Go Now!” (a Bessie Banks cover) will be a revelation.
When Laine left the band in 1966, that could’ve easily left a devastating void. However, it ended up being the best thing that could’ve happened to them, as they hired guitarist-singer Justin Hayward and bassist-singer John Lodge. The following year, they released Days of Future Passed, an introspective psychedelic folk September of My Years. The album conjured up a desolate city blanketed in snow, with isolated figures trudging through cobblestone streets. Essentially, they went from Eddie Kendricks to Edward Hopper.
In 1981, “Gemini Dream” blasted out of roller discos everywhere, sounding uncannily like another Birmingham band, ELO. The follow-up single was “The Voice,” haunting baroque folk with synth-pop flourishes that had one foot in the 1880’s, and the other in the 1980’s. In the year of Moving Pictures, Tattoo You, and numerous other memorable musical highlights, there was nothing like it.
You could say the same about the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame class of 2018.
Matt Leinwohl