Showing posts with label Big Star. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Big Star. Show all posts

Friday, December 26, 2014

DB's Song of the Day (day 360): "SEPTEMBER GURLS" (1974) Big Star



Today’s song is kind of a request. Today is the birthday of my oldest friend, Tim—Happy Birthday!—and it so happens that Alex Chilton’s birthday is the 28th. Chilton who died in 2010, was the leading figure of Big Star, a short-lived but much admired band from the early Seventies. “September Gurls,” written by Chilton, states “December boys got it bad.” And that’s the line that seems to make a claim for December boys, set against those September girls that “do so much.”



What is it those December boys have “got bad”? I’m not too sure. I suppose it’s a certain infatuation with “September girls.” When Tim laid this song on me on a tape back in the mid-Eighties (none of us knew Big Star until bands like R.E.M. and The Feelies and the dBs and The Replacements started touting them), September girls were easy to imagine. Being in college and seeing troupes of girls returning to school each fall accords well with the song’s feel. Or living near or working at a college. The spelling of “girls” as “gurls” reminds one of “those lovely seaside girls / your head it simply swurls” from “Seaside Girls,” a song that drifts through the day in Joyce’s Ulysses. September gurls make heads swurl as well.

How can I deny what’s inside / Even though I’ll keep away / Maybe we’ll love all our days / December boys got it bad

That’s the part that sticks with me. The denial of a feeling, and keeping away from a temptation that might actually be a fulfillment. The third line seems to open the door for hope or maybe it’s suggesting a lifetime of unrequited love, which is what the December boy has got, bad. Fair enough, not so much a downer or bummer as a statement of affective dysfunction. Loving, as in lying, against time. Fun!

And Chilton, whose band Big Star became one of those lodestars in the Eighties, a blast from a past that, to my ears, becomes more acute as time goes on, is a melancholy master, much of the time. In fact, my song of tribute was likely to have been “Nighttime” (“I hate it here, get me out of here”) or the aforementioned “Kangaroo” or maybe the song that summed up a certain bluesy feeling some of us might recognize as parental, “Blue Moon.” There are even darker songs, and there are some, particularly on the first album, that are very jangly and Byrds-meets-Kinks like. A nice vibe of Seventies spirit, not too angsty. But where the “mellow” edges are starting to fray, as they tended to do, all too often.

There’s always the spike of the bridge here to give us a lift: “Oooh when she makes love to me” and then a nice little musical ellipsis. So maybe things aren’t so bad for our December boy, as he sounds like a passively patient lad getting some presents, those favors every good boy deserves.

I loved you, well, never mind / I’ve been crying all the time

The “never mind” sets the tone. As in: one could say a lot more about that and the crying over what was or could’ve been, but that state of having it bad is just one of those things you learn to live with, pilgrim.

It’s a fitting song, here on the day after Christmas, because that’s when you really know for sure the year is going, going, gone. Did you not get what you wished for? Better luck next year. And it’s got that Chilton jangle that recalls to me, often, that “morning after” state wherein one feels a bit bruised by the liberties one took with one’s psyche the night before yet still opens wondering eyes upon a strong day newly dawned. It seems to me a song at peace with its yearning. At a certain point all we can do is enjoy the pageant as it passes. September girls do so much.



Monday, March 12, 2007

THROUGH THE YEARS, 10


35 years ago: April 1972

Big Star isn't a band I heard of at all in the '70s. I didn't even know who Alex Chilton, the leader of the group, was. Sure, I knew the song by The Box Tops, Chilton's initial band, called "The Letter" but it was made dated, in my middle school years, by Joe Cocker's frenetic version. So it wasn't until Big Star started showing up on lists of all-time favorite music compiled by the likes of Peter Buck of R.E.M. and Paul Westerberg of The Replacements, two front-runners in the mid-80s "bands of my generation" sweepstakes, that I took notice of the previously overlooked Big Star. And, as they say, I'm glad I did!

This is the first album and it's imbued with an "essence of the '70s" that is hard to place, since it wasn't part of my consciousness during that decade. I think that's one reason I'm so fond of this band. When I think back on the '70s I think of the prog-rock I actually listened to; I think of glam, which I grudgingly accepted; I think of heavy metal, which was a passion for a brief time; I think of getting to know the past work of '60s greats now absent or in decline. But it's an album like #1 Record that provides a glimpse of the spirit of a cooler version of the '70s. I know it was there in the '70-'72 period in CCR and The Kinks and The Who and The Stones -- it's rock that has fully come into its own: a pop sound with harder edges, a bit of country twang here and there, a sense of the "happy trails" era giving way to grimmer, more stressed psychic vacations. Chilton and Chris Bell, his collaborator (on this album), give Big Star equal parts of kick and contemplation. Like Badfinger, another band of this period which pinpoints the feel of the times (and I did have a few of their 45s), Big Star has a sense of melody that is crisp and never cloying. But for some reason there aren't any hits here. That has something to do with what I see as Chilton's calculated "underground" persona. Having scored big hits (to become a "big star") with The Box Tops while still a kid, Chilton seems to be highly ambivalent about going down that road again. But that's probably just hindsight. At the time there was no reason why #1 Record shouldn't have hit the way The Eagles' first album did (released the same year).

Big Star fuses Byrds-like harmonies with the kind of power-pop riffs that The Kinks originated. Probably their best known song these days is "In the Street" which I'm told was the theme song for That '70s Show -- "wish we had / a joint so bad," yup -- but songs like "The Ballad of El Goodo" (maybe a bit too existential for AM) and "Thirteen" (which sums up young teen love without condescension or sappy nostalgia) and "Give Me Another Chance" and "Try Again" give us a taste of the introspective Chilton who will eventually create Big Star's Third / Sister Lovers, one of the greatest albums of the '70s. Period. Big Star's gifts are subtle -- it's in the arrangements, of voices especially -- and when #1 Record rocks ("Feel"; "Don't Lie to Me") it doesn't go for the kind of cranking riff-rock that could be found at the time in the likes of The Guess Who or Free or Foghat; it's the kind of music I can imagine the more discerning teen heads listening to, the kind of guys that know a bag of good stuff from run-of-the-mill and would pass on the latter.

It's an image I can't suppress when listening to this album: '70s rec-rooms and multiple sibling bedrooms where, surrounded by the trappings of middle-class suburbia, the kids would get blitzed and float away on serene voices and hard guitars. As one who was only thirteen in '72, this album pre-dates my actual exposure to such scenes, but it registers my sense of things to come, in more ways than one.

Tell your dad, Get off my back
Tell him what we said 'bout 'Paint It, Black'
Rock 'n' roll is here to stay.
Come inside, well it's OK

--Bell and Chilton, "Thirteen" (1972)