Women's liberation has meant that romance works both ways in terms of expectations. In theory, it would seem just as palatable for a woman to ask a man out. Theory does not govern how we actually live - i.e. "chivalry" remains alive.
People like Bill Cosby and Andrew Cuomo might be seen as fossils from the age of male preeminence. I use the words "might be." We react with some astonishment to their conduct. Well, how could we not? But as I have asked previously, what kind of sex ed did they get as boys? Did they surmise from the world around them, and from the pop culture world, that men are assertive and dangle the lasso, as it were? They "corral" their female quarry. Not sure how Roy Rogers got into this.
I'm reflecting on a huge hit song from the 1960s as I filter these thoughts through. I have taken to the songwriting craft myself. You might put me down for presumptuousness if I were to share my most frank thoughts about "By the Time I Get to Phoenix." Do I have no right to have substantial reservations about the song? It's art. We all have a right to share as we please.
I congratulate the songwriter on his obvious boffo success, certainly in commercial terms. The fellow is Jimmy Webb. Previously I have gushed with praise about his song "MacArthur Park," a cantata with distinct melodic ideas, so entrancing it has inspired arrangements for the top big bands. The bands took to the tune like a bear to honey, but this left fans with little or no grasp of the lyrics. Most of us came to know the lyrics. What are the odds of the phrase "left the cake out in the rain" being a springboard for a popular song classic?
Oh, but you can readily dismiss the odds or formula when reviewing pop song successes. Such songs must simply touch something inside us.
"By the Time I Get to Phoenix" got stamped in our heads with the Glen Campbell version. Would you believe Johnny Rivers recorded it first? It's jaw-dropping to see how many times the song has been covered, even with the famous "rap" intro by Isaac Hayes. Dean Martin, ever the stylist, did the song just as expected and it went over great.
I have long opined that Top 40 songs of this particular era were appealing mainly because of a catchy melody. People in the actual craft of song construction never assert that. I discovered that they have very exacting standards for the lyrics. And yet, as we made our rounds in the mid-20th Century with the radio in the background, how many of us could really supply a synopsis of the lyrics for a particular song?
Maybe we just understand the basic essence of a particular song's lyrics, and barely that.
"Gentle On My Mind" - what was the point, what was being described and why? That too was made big by Glen Campbell, he of the "Wrecking Crew" studio background. The "Crew" made it their mission to produce recorded sounds that won the public's affirmation. It was a science like any other professional craft.
Campbell broke away from the studio obscurity to become a major personality on his own. No question he was a superb artist and hard worker.
As I segue here into the song "By the Time I Get to Phoenix," Ill insert that I wrote my own song in the 1980s called "San Mateo Freeway." "So what?" you might ask. I feel vindicated in a way because my song suggests the same kind of feeling as "Phoenix." Here's a man having drifted from a woman, and he imagines she's probably not over him. My song and the "big one" both suggest the man is hovering in the woman's thoughts and she's probably pining.
But the man is a jerk: if he really thinks the woman is so special, why can't he get off the pot and just be with her? The songs don't say why the man deemed it necessary to separate himself from this nearly-ethereal significant other. Who is she and why is she so important to him? If he has really separated himself, why doesn't he just move forward with new objectives and fresh "conquests?" Huh, why?
She's out there in the ether or might as well be.
Frankly, you can look at the pure lyrics of lots of pop songs - music aside - and find flaws that seem glaring. Things that don't make total sense or don't make sense at all. "Throwaway lines" that seem to have gotten in there just to keep the melody going.
Webb gained fame and money - he needn't fear my criticism. But I'm astonished about a song that shows an unsympathetic jerk in a way that suggests we should care. I mean, just read the lyrics. A guy is en route to Phoenix, I guess. He imagines this woman finding a note he left her "on her door." Jeez. He imagines her laugh as she reads about him "leavin'." Then to add insult to injury, that stanza ends with a statement about how he has "left that girl so many times before."
And we should care about this guy? We should care only in the sense that we should care about him getting his butt kicked, n'est-ce pas?
The song drones on with no new dimensions or revelations. It's just more self-absorption about how the woman still thinks of him, would consider giving him a call "at lunch." This was during the days of pay telephones. Save your money, sweetie, there are countless "fish in the sea" for you to consider, if you're as appealing as the song suggests. Meanwhile the guy just keeps on traveling as if he's some "Bronson" wannabe, searching for something. In the '60s, it seemed all young people were just searching, interminably. Yeah, for something ethereal.
Racking up the miles
The man approaches Albuquerque. Then it's on to Oklahoma. Would you believe, the lyrics imagine the woman in her sleep is calling this drifter man's name "out low?" The line in the lyrics seems redundant: "She'll turn softly and call my name out low." A redundancy would be flagged by a song lyric analyst. We're always supposed to cut the fat and get to the point. It's well-known that top songwriters break the rules even while being well-versed in all of them. Nothing succeeds like success.
Congratulations Jimmy Webb. In the meantime I am truly proud of my own song written in the 1980s, "San Mateo Freeway." There's a line "maybe she's been searching for me." The hubris is quite parallel to the "Phoenix" lyrics. So why can't my song be a hit? When it comes to popular music, many are called, few are chosen. Alas, a minuscule few.
I do invite you all to call up my song "San Mateo Freeway" from YouTube. I wrote it at a time when I felt the main goal for a song was to have it "sound good." I really feel I achieved that. As for lyrics, I wasn't into making them multi-layered or nuanced with meaning - largely I just wanted the words to sing good, to "roll off the tongue." I believe this is called "prosody" in songwriting.
A writer for Elton John's "Yellow Brick Road" album confessed in a documentary that he really was just trying to write words that sang well. He mused about how people had looked for "hidden meaning" in his lyrics. Well, whatever floats your boat. Nothing succeeds like success. Many are called, few are chosen. So it's best to just ply the songwriting craft because of love of the craft.
Hubris or what?
The last stanza of "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" makes me cringe again, as the wayward man, road map beside him, imagines this woman will "cry just to think I'd really leave her."
I can't believe it. Tell the guy to take a flying leap. "She just didn't know I would really go." Maybe she did. You know, maybe she doesn't give a rip. Scratch off this guy's name, honey. He was fool's gold.
The song is fool's gold IMHO. But perhaps it vindicates my effort with "San Mateo Freeway." I love working San Mateo CA into a song. "Maybe she's been searching for me, and maybe what we had can still be, a love as big and full of splendor as San Francisco Bay."
BTW fool's gold is "pyrite."
- Brian Williams - morris mn minnesota - bwilly73@yahoo.com
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