However obvious it sounds in retrospect, the fusing of Dylan
and the Beatles was modern rock’s Cartesian moment (and for what it’s worth, cogito, ergo sum seemed pretty
self-evident after the fact too). The LP never sounds like an historical
artifact, either—forty years after the fact, it still exudes an uncontainable energy. So many
genealogies begin here; McGuinn’s jangling guitar bequeathed Peter Buck and indie rock as we know it, and even
Michael Clarke, never the world’s greatest drummer, brings a striking visual
cool, all t-shirts and eyes buried under hair and sullen lips, looking like
nothing so much as a young Thurston Moore.
The real secret genius, though, is Gene Clark; any band can
cover Dylan, but few could deliver originals like his. Bashing out one perfect
pop gem after another, he makes it sound easy, so that when the bridge on “You
Won’t Have to Cry” threatens to climb a step into straight-up
wanna-hold-your-hand-ness, it’s possible to read it as a sophisticated joke rather
than aping and have some ground to stand on. Maybe it’s both. Either way, “I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better,” “Here
Without You,” It’s No Use,” etc.: ten of the album’s twelve tracks (and all of
the originals) clock in under three minutes, often well under (Dylan's "Spanish Harlem Incident" was short; theirs is shorter by 20%, not even two minutes long!), reflecting an intuitive awareness of pop mechanics at
their finest; crawl into the ear, get out quick, and leave a lasting earworm. Every single Clark composition is A-side material, every single cover an assertive act of ownership. The American rock LP nearly peaked here, at its birth.
No comments:
Post a Comment