The recent death of Leonard Cohen was a reminder that the next decade or two are going to see the deaths of virtually all the remaining first and second generation rock'n'rollers, most of whom are now in their 70s or 80s, or even 90, like the peerless Chuck Berry (who is about to release a new album!) Just under a month ago the pop singer Bobby Vee died, age 73. He had several hits in the States in the late 50s/early 60s, a time when the Teen Idols - the pretty boys big in looks but less so in talent - ruled the roost following the demise of the original rock'n'rollers. Elvis had been drafted into the army and lost some of his edge, Chuck Berry had been imprisoned for violation of the Mann Act (transporting an underage girl across state borders, very possibly a trumped up charge), Little Richard had turned to God and gospel, having survived seeing the wing of the airplane he was in catch fire, Jerry Lee Lewis had been blacklisted after it was revealed he had married his 13-year-old cousin (on top of which he hadn’t actually divorced his first wife), and Buddy Holly was killed in that tragic plane crash, as immortalised by Don McLean in his song The Day the Music Died. As Jerry Lee Lewis famously lamented, half of the Teen Idols seemed to be called Bobby - Bobby Rydell, Bobby Vinton, and Bobby Vee. But out of the pile of Bobbys et al, came the brilliant Dion (DiMucci), and the underrated Ricky Nelson. And while Vee wasn't quite in their class, he was a notch or two above many of his contemporaries, among them Fabian, who became the first manufactured pop star, although he had never asked for it. A good looking Italian kind from South Philly who bore a vague resemblance to both Elvis and Ricky Nelson, 16-year-old Fabiano Forte was sitting on his stoop after an ambulance had carted away his stricken father, who had suffered a heart attack, when he was spotted by a local music mogul who asked him if he fancied being a rock'n'roll star - true story!
Bobby Vee's story also reads like a Hollywood movie.
In 1959, North Dakota native Robert Velline was a 15-year-old Buddy Holly fan who played in a rockabilly-type band with his brother, and was looking forward to seeing his idol in concert the next night. But tragedy struck when Holly's plane crashed. Rather than cancel the gig, the promoter sought other acts to fill the bill via a local radio station, and Velline's band got the gig. In fact it was their very first gig, and the band didn’t even have a name, so they made one up on the spot: The Shadows. And in true Hollywood fashion, they went down a storm and a star was born, and a few years later Bobby's riding the top of the charts with the memorable Goffin-King song Take Good Care of my Baby, one of those pop tunes that everybody knows. Vee - as he then was - was a good enough singer, but the strength of that song lies in the textured, multi-layered production by the young Texan "Snuff" Garrett, a sort of precursor to Phil Spector's famous "Wall of Sound" - in fact, Spector is on record as saying that he thought Garrett (who died earlier this year) was the only contemporary producer worth a damn. Vee enjoyed several other hits including the superior Garrett-produced The Night has a Thousand Eyes, another superior pop song that most people know, which can be seen as a forerunner of The Police's Every Breath you Take.
One footnote of interest: while still a working band, The Shadows briefly hired a local piano player who called himself Elston Gunnn (sic). "Bobby Vee was from Fargo, North Dakota, raised not far from me," wrote the man who shortly afterwards changed his name to Bob Dylan in his memoir Chronicles. "In the summer of '59 he had a regional hit record out called Suzie Baby on a local label. His band was called The Shadows, and I had hitchhiked out there and talked my way into joining his group as a piano player on some local gigs, one in the basement of a church. I played a few shows with him, but he really didn’t need a piano player, and besides, it was hard finding a piano that was in tune in the halls that he played….Bobby had a metallic, edgy tone to his voice," Dylan recalled, "and it was musical as a silver bell, like Buddy Holly's, only deeper. When I knew him he was a great rockabilly singer, and now he had crossed over and was a pop star."
And what did Vee make of his provisional piano player? "He was a kind of a scruffy little guy, but he was really into it, loved to rock'n'roll. He was pretty limited by what he could play. He was pretty hot - in the key of C. He liked to do hand claps, like Gene Vincent…He would come up [to the microphone] and do that every now and then, and then scurry back to the piano…He was just a spacey little guy," Vee concluded, "you know, just sort of worming his way around."
Which brings us to The Rolling Stones, cumulative age somewhere around 3,000 years old (or is that 300?), and in possession of the finest and deepest back catalogue of all, rivalled only by The Beatles - The Last Time, Satisfaction, Paint it Black, Gimme Shelter, Sympathy for the Devil, Honky Tonk Woman, Wild Horses, Jumpin' Jack Flash, Street Fighting Man, You Can't Always get What you Want, Tumbling Dice…the list goes on and on, on top of which there's that stunning run of four classic albums: Beggars Banquet, Let it Bleed, Sticky Fingers, and Exile on Main Street, that few acts can claim to have equalled. And if they haven't made a really good album since 1978's Some Girls, so what, they’ve done more than enough (and the bits I've heard of their new blues-roots album Lonesome and Blue don’t sound too bad either).
I'm of the baby boomer generation, and to me rock'n'roll provides many of the cultural landmarks and highlights of our times - Elvis on the Ed Sullivan Show, Dylan going electric, The Beatles in India, the Woodstock festival…and the Stones mythology is the richest of all: the drugs, the women, the Redlands bust featuring Marianne Faithful and that Mars bar, the death of Brian Jones, the Hyde Park concert, Altamont, and the creation of the brilliant Exile on Main Street, arguably their finest effort, much of which was recorded at Keith Richards' decadence drenched mansion Nellcôte in the south of France (electricity stolen from the French mains, thank you). As I see it too, it was Keith Richards more than anyone else who redefined masculinity in the 1960s with his teased hair, eye make-up, earring, and colourful, flowing garments, and with Anita Pallenberg on his arm, cocking a defiant snook at the stuffy English establishment. As embodied by Keith and others, the '60s were a brilliant sunburst of colour in a black and white world that represented the liberation from decades if not centuries of the shackles and restraints of convention as to how men were supposed to look and behave, and what you could do with your life.
Anyhow, the other night Channel 4 broadcast The Rolling Stones: Olé, Olé, Olé! A Trip across Latin America, a documentary that followed the Stones on their 2016 tour of the area, which culminated in a free concert in Cuba. Musically the excitement is still there, reverberating with every familiar riff, and given that the core of the band - Mick, Keith, and Charlie - has been playing together for over 50 years now (and 30 years with Ronnie Wood) they're tighter than ever, and Keith and Ronnie play seamlessly off each other, (though I personally prefer the line-up featuring Mick Taylor's lovely, delicate guitar lines - he absolutely shines on Sticky Fingers!) The tour took in Brazil, Chile, Argentina, Colombia, Peru, Uruguay, Mexico, and Cuba, and there was lots of fascinating local colour and culture on offer - a samba musician, for instance, told how the music originated as a rebellion against their Spanish rulers and the forced imposition of Catholicism, while Argentine boasts a cult called the Rolingas, dedicated to the Stones and their music. In addition, many locals spoke of how under the recent dictatorships that governed several Latin American countries it was forbidden to listen to Western music, and people told how they had actually gone to prison for listening to the Stones. We in the West take these things for granted, but to these people the Stones concerts were a major event in their lives, a symbolic liberation and vindication of their freedom and beliefs. There were scenes of grown men moved to tears at seeing their heroes, and the ecstasy on the fans' faces was undeniable. There were funny moments too regarding the Cuban concert, which had to be rescheduled at the last minute due to President Obama's historic visit, only for the Pope to object to the new date, which happened to be Good Friday!
So, a fascinating documentary, do catch it if it comes your way! Viva Los Stones!