Ever seen that artist’s representation of ‘50s icons just hanging out together at some soda fountain? If you’ve been to a Chubby’s, or some other ‘50s redux diner, you’ve seen the image. The same grouping – Humphrey Bogart, James Dean, Marlon Brando (who, unlike the rest, was actually alive, when these paintings began to surface, and Marilyn Monroe, caught in expression of the simple ecstasy of standing over a subway grate – has been replicated as characters in Edward Hopper’s Night Hawks. The idea of the painting, if any could be assigned, seemed to be, “Look, all these icons coulda, shoulda hung together.” Why not? Why shouldn’t have In A Lonely Place-era Bogart, Streetcar Named Desire-era Brando, Rebel Without a Cause-era Dean, and Seven-Year Itch-era Monroe have hung out in another time zone on the wall over the table jukebox? If they had hung out, been friends, would that have changed much the trajectory of their respective lives? Doubtful. Have your friends changed your life’s destiny to any great extent? What put this in mind was listening to the CD with January’s MOJO: In My Room: A Tribute to the Genius of Brian Wilson. The more I listen to the bands covering Wilson’s music or contributing songs inspired by Wilson’s music, the more convinced I am that the man is a songwriting genius. I know the word gets thrown around way too much. I normally hate expansive compliments; they seem so careless, therefore not really meant. What is “I’ll call you” in flattery-speak but to announce you love someone or think he’s a genius? That said, Wilson is supreme among songwriters of the ‘60s for voicing a wistfulness that isn’t necessarily tethered to the ‘60s. sure, other songwriters of the ‘60s and ‘70s have meditatedWilson’s totem themes – quietude, spiritual connection to earth and sea, loss and loneliness, and at least one simple paean to whatever struck the writer at the moment. But, Wilson’s music really goes back to the most elementary joy of creating noise. That’s how pure it is. Dylan? Too complicated. Richman? Too loopy. Drake? Too despondent. Lennon? Too revolutionary. Cohen? Too jaded, then too philosophical, then back to too jaded. It could be an ephemeral thing, this love for Wilson, but so is joy, which is really what’s at the heart of his music. Yank me around to the real reason I started this whole epistle: Friends and the sense of longing and understanding conveyed in Wilson’s music. At some point, I remembered Mike Love’s weird tirade, dissing the surviving Beatles at the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame. The moment was more memorable for Dylan’s humorous reaction at being glad Love wasn’t presenting to him. Love might be nicer, maybe, if he knew he and his fellow Beach Boys (the real ones, not the buncha replacement guys he touring with now) were the prologue to “Gabbba Gabba Hey.” Especially if Dee Dee Ramone and Joey Ramone were still alive. Those men were sweethearts and Joey, I seem to recall, had a soft spot for the Beach Boys. So, what better artist’s representation than the two deceased Ramones with Mike Love and a benevolent Brian Wilson (a surly Johnny glowering at all the peace, love and understanding while signing away the rights to another Ramones song for a Vonage commercial). Do I dare add to to this rock portrait? I'm gonna add Dusty Springfield. And Mary Wells. And, someone Brazilian. Living or dead. I'm open to suggestions.
