Now that jukeboxes are an endangered species, live music rocks
- Michelle Wood: SWCD
- October 12, 2009
- 926
And one of the most important ingredients in that kind of sublime setting is music.
Live music.
Played by real musicians ... none of that karaoke jive.
I mean, who really needs to hear some tone-deaf clown, diving into a seemingly endless sea of whiskey or rye, croaking out American Pie or Free Bird or some other monstrously drawn-out version of a classic rock dinosaur that he (or she) has no business tackling except, perhaps, in the privacy of their own showers?
Presuming they bathe.
The answer, naturally, is no one.
Which is not to say that the Eastern Seaboard isn’t crowded with players who actually care about their craft, the ones who follow the sun from Bar Harbor, Maine, to the Gulf Coast of Florida, not because they believe that they’ll be the Next Big Thing or land a spot on some execrable “They’ve Got Talent Though You’d Never Guess It” reality TV rubbish, but because in the act of picking up and playing a guitar, they can possibly touch a listener’s soul.
I know, I know.
I’m getting all sentimental in my middle-aged march toward mendacity and mediocrity.
But I still believe in the power of live music played well.
So let me ride that wave, invite you to step onto the surfboard of memory and magic and ask you this simple question: What song, more than any other, is by far the one most often requested and the one most often played?
Picture seaside cafes.
Imagine sunburned, happy people.
Conjure the palm trees and the warm breezes and the belief that relief from all the world’s woes is simply a blender away.
The answer, of course, is Margaritaville, Jimmy Buffett’s paean to the power of positive libation.
It is to waterfront dives what Handel’s Messiah is to Christmas cantatas.
It’s ubiquitous.
It’s universal.
And it’s undeniably misunderstood.
Remember when President Reagan’s handlers misappropriated Bruce Springsteen’s bleak antiwar anthem, Born in the USA, as his unofficial campaign theme song in 1984? The Gipper had to be pointedly reminded by The Boss that politicians ought to at least listen to the lyrics before twisting them for their own personal gain.
Such is the case, on a much more benign scale, with Margaritaville. It is, in fact, a lament, not a celebration, of human guilt and shame. Parrot Heads might prefer to hear it as a call to libertine behavior, which is fine with me.
Certainly, I couldn’t care less what gets a crowd off its feet and into a party mood, as long as it’s not mutant outlaw bikers bashing innocent skulls and knifing a guy dead at a Rolling Stones concert nearly 40 years ago.
But speaking of the Mount Rushmore of Rock’n’Roll -- Elvis, the Stones, the Beatles and Bob Dylan -- I have another question for you.
If Margaritaville is the Number One, Top of the Pops, the People’s Choice as by far the most-performed tune in coastal places along the Atlantic shoreline, what is the runner-up selection?
True, this is hardly a scientific study and it’s based solely on personal observation over the last 15 years or so, but I’d imagine you’d have a hard time coming up with the title.
My wife and I were enjoying another in a series of fantastic meals in Siesta Key, simply savoring the sunshine and the seafood and the ambience of a place called The Hub. Not a worry in the world, at that moment, except what the stocky, bearded acoustic guitarist might play next, after he’d done a superb job with Creedence’s Green River.
And then -- now’s the time to declare your answer to my last question -- he began strumming the mournful opening chords of one of Dylan’s most powerful tunes, and then, he sang the immortal first words:
“Mama take this badge off of me:
I can’t use it any more.”
For reasons that remain unclear to me to this night, I have no idea why so many musicians feel impelled to share Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door with those who sometimes listen and sometimes don’t.
“This is incredible,” I said to my wife. “It happens nearly every place we go.”
The applause was more than polite when he’d finished.
It was appreciative.
Sincere.
Like a thank-you note written in the sand.
“Maybe,” she said, “it’s because everyone understands it.”
And so there you have it.
A song about death touches us all.
I suppose that’s why technicolor sunsets leave one speechless.
What else is there to say?
Mike Dewey can be e-mailed at CarolinamikeD@aol.com or snail-mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560.