Just like most near-lifelong B’maniacs stuck in the summer
of 1980, news that no less than John Lennon was about to reenter the recording
studio after an unprecedented five year AWOL filled me and my ears with eager, excited anticipation. I mean, there could
be no doubt the Chief Beatle would have identified with, not to mention greatly
appreciated, the leather-jacketed back-to-raw-basics approach the late
Seventies' p-rockers had brought to an otherwise milquetoast music scene during
his hiatus. So, naturally, these new Lennon recordings would undoubtedly
reflect said fire and fury, righting all that was wrong upon my AM and maybe
even FM radio dial. Right?
"Imagine" then my utter disappointment when the
resultant Double Fantasy – at least John's tracks –
appeared coated with layer upon layer of innocuous goop that sounded far, far
more Billy Joel than Joey Ramone.
I can understand, I suppose, that
Lennon was being delicately eased back into the early Eighties marketplace with
the least offensive, most mainstream audio sheen possible. But just a minute:
This was a man who had until then never once feared to recklessly puncture the
sonic envelope, public opinion not to mention the Billboard Hot 100 be damned. So why was he now making music with a
buncha too-high-paid, perfectly-pitched NYC studio cats as opposed to with,
duh, a real band?
Listen, forget Paul, George, and
even Ringo – there already existed in 1980 a fab foursome that were more than up-to-the-task of injecting
what turned out to be John's final recordings with all the fun and frantic
force they so richly deserved. Why, these guys were even fellow Brits, one of
whom had concocted a little retro-masterpiece called "I Hear You
Knocking" which Lennon once remembered to be his favorite record of 1970!
Not only that, said combo had, on
the very heels of Double Fantasy,
released a galloping gem of a record called Seconds
of Pleasure which could stand the vinyl test against "Power To The
People" and possibly even "Please Please Me" (to say nothing of
"Cleanup Time") with one '59 Telecaster fried behind its back.
Alas though, as John chose to exit
his recording career via the dreaded middle of the road, Billy Bremner, Terry
Williams, Dave Edmunds and Nick Lowe, dba
Rockpile, were busy bashing out some of the most brilliantly base rock 'n' bop
you or I have ever heard. Even today, all these decades and D-chords later,
songs such as "Teacher Teacher" and "Play That Fast Thing (One
More Time)," to say nothing of albums like Labour of Lust, Repeat When
Necessary, and the above-mentioned Seconds,
flip and flop with all the majesty of your typical vintage Elvis or even, dare
I say it, (With The) Beatles number. Yes, unless someone out there can prove to
me otherwise, it appears Rockpile were just about the best band at work anyway,
anyhow, and anywhere as those Seventies became the, gulp, Eighties.
Proof extremely positive of this
claim can now immediately be found upon Eagle Rock Entertainment's joyous Rockpile Live at Montreux 1980 CD, which
in sixteen tracks and a mere, lightning 49 minutes captures the quartet at
their absolute, astonishing popabilly peak.
Now remember that, due to myriad
contractual (and other) snafu's at the time, Rockpile all too seldomly found
themselves together on stage performing the dozens of songs they'd helped
write, perform, and/or produce for slews of Mickey Jupp, Carlene Carter, Elvis
Costello and of course Edmunds and Lowe records. In fact, only one Seconds of Pleasure track – the
blackboard jangle classic "Teacher Teacher" – made its way onto Live at Montreux. Yet with numbers the
caliber of Graham Parker's "Crawling From The Wreckage," the
aforementioned Costello's "Girls Talk," and even a "Let It
Rock" which, with its note-perfect "Rock Around the Clock"
break, sounds so much more nutty yet
nuanced than the Rolling Stones' previous reading, there's more than enough
pleasures to go around and around.
For example: a thoroughly pub
rock-soaked "Sweet Little Lisa," a "Queen of Hearts"
precisely the way it's meant to be
heard (so sorry, Ms. Newton), an undeniably adulterous "I Knew The
Bride" not to mention possibly definitive versions of "So It
Goes" and "Switchboard Susan." Why, even that oldie but still
goodie "I Hear You Knocking" makes an appearance in typical R-pile
reckless abandon. In other words, here is a band captured at its completely
fully-stoked prime, ripping across their on-stage repertoire in a manner which,
tempered and duly tamed, formed the basis upon which most every subsequent
American "new wave" hit was built, from Greg Kihn on down to all the
Tommy Tutones and Rick Springfields you'd ever care to recall.
But then, what of our heroes
themselves?
Rockpile most unfortunately
splintered soon after their Montreux grandstand, Dave Edmunds moving on to
produce the reformed Everly Brothers, for example, and sustaining his solo
career all the way through 1990's "King of Love" while his erstwhile
partner Nick Lowe eased into life as the undoubtable Cary Grant of rock 'n'
roll (buoyed by abundant "What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love and
Understanding" Bodyguard royalties
for starters).
Tragically, I must report no other
band has appeared since to fill the smash-happy void Rockpile left in our
world. But at least we finally have, with Live
at Montreux, both aural evidence of what all the buzz was about and another sixteen reasons to mourn
what could have only been if Billy, Terry, Dave and Nick had continued to call
it rock for us all.
But! There remains plenty of Double Fantasy out-takes still begging
for them to overdub upon, of course….
