Tim Duggan, my long-time friend and business associate who is also a self-styled Rock music instructor and philosopher. Tim Duggan
“Okay, here is what you need to know. I’m not a Rock & Roll expert, but compared to you, I’m a world-renowned authority,” laughed Tim Duggan.
“Yeah, I get it. Just tell me the basics and where I should begin,” I replied. I was smiling as well because we both knew he was right.
“I’ve burned some CDs for you.”
“Of what?”
“Of my favorite songs and artists. I’m a fan,” Tim explained. “Like most people, my musical tastes revolve around the sounds and artists I listened to between the ages of twelve and twenty-four. Yeah, I like some of the new stuff, but the golden era for me was in my formative years. My bet is that is true for most people, but that’s just my opinion.”
“That makes sense to me,” I said as I reached for the stack of CDs in Tim’s hand.
“Not so fast,” he responded, pulling the CDs back from my grasp. “You need some quick instruction.”
“Instruction? I know how to listen to music!”
“Apparently not or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Score one for Tim. “I do have to ask you a question first.”
“Shoot.”
“Please tell me you know who the Beatles are and what they mean to music and culture in general.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know the Beatles,” I assured him.
“Good. Then we can start with my favorite group, The Who,” said Tim.
“Who?” I asked.
“The Who,” Tim repeated.
“Sounds like the beginning of an Abbot and Costello skit,” I said.
“Are you going to take this seriously?” Tim asked sharply. “I don’t want to waste my time.”
“Yes, of course.”
“The Who is different than all the other bands of our generation,” Tim began.
“How?” I asked.
“The standard of the time was a lead guitar, rhythm guitar, bass guitar, and drums,” he explained with more patience than I deserved. “In every case the drums, bass, and rhythm guitar were strictly support for the vocals, while the lead guitar added a little extra.”
“You just described the Crickets, at least at one point in time,” I pointed out. “There were also times where they were a trio with one guitar only.”
“Really?” asked Tim. “The early Beatles were a typical foursome, but I think you are right. This configuration may have begun with the Crickets and inspired The Beatles and almost every other early Rock combo,” Tim acknowledged. “But not The Who. With The Who, every instrument is the lead and all four instruments play lead at the same time! You can tune into each and every instrument and it is playing its own counterpoint to the lead. Even the drums.”
“Sounds like a mess.”
He shook his head. “Listen to this CD first, Gary. There is not a nanosecond of mess. Only incredibly creative and complex music. I believe listening to The Who raises your I.Q.” Tim handed me the CD and smiled. “So . . . you really need this.”
“Nice,” I responded.
Tim was really into this. He was excited about sharing his knowledge and love of his music. He continued with enthusiasm, lifting up a second CD. “This is ‘The Boss,’ Bruce Springsteen. Bruce plays blue collar, hard working Rock & Roll.” Tim held out the CD but I didn’t reach for it.
“What?” Tim asked.
“I’m not excited about his politics,” I said.
Tim tossed the CD into my lap. “Get over it. We’re talking music here, not the state of the Union. Bruce and his E Street Band always figure prominently into any discussion of American Rock & Roll. We can’t have this discussion without talking about The Boss.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Led Zeppelin,” Tim said, handing me another CD.
“This is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ right?” I said.
“Impressive,” Tim responded with surprise. “How do you know Stairway?”
“I’ve seen Wayne’s World.” I handed the Led Zeppelin CD back to Tim, who leaned over to reach for it. Just as he was about to take it, I pulled it back and in my best Mike Myers impersonation said, “Stairway denied!”
“You are so goofy,” Tim said, shaking his head while trying his best to hide a smile. “You really are, you know.”
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Well, The Doors, of course, but you need to talk to your buddy Jim Riordan about them. He literally and figuratively wrote the book on Jim Morrison, so see him for the details. He’ll tell you what you need to know, but they were different. Their music didn’t sound like anyone before or since. I think as part of your Buddy Holly project, they may not really fit. You can find a little Buddy in The Who, The Boss, Led Zeppelin, and almost every early Rock band, but I can’t hear anything but pure Doors in Doors music.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll skip The Doors and leave them for another day. What else?”
“That’s more than you need to begin. I think this is a great start and introduction to all of the music you foolishly missed.”
“Is there anything in particular I should listen for?” I asked.
Tim Duggan, my long-time friend and business associate who is also a self-styled Rock music instructor and philosopher. Tim Duggan
Tim thought for a moment and then continued. “The one thing that strikes me is that from Buddy forward, the music evolved steadily but the lyrics made a quantum leap in direction,” he explained. “Buddy, early Beatles, and really all the music of the fifties and early sixties is about love, teenage crushes, holding hands, and the girl next door. You didn’t hear much if any overt sex, violence, or drugs. Then it changed.” Tim paused again.
“How so?” I asked.
“The lyrics—their intensity. They start becoming angry and focused on social issues, the generation gap, and Vietnam,” Tim continued. “The divide between the World War II generation and the Baby Boomers became pronounced in the lyrics of the music of the late sixties. A female friend of mine refers to The Who as ‘angry male music,’ and I think it’s a good description.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “And how do you think all this relates to Buddy?”
“The music is all part of the natural Buddy lineage,” Tim answered confidently, “but the topics and lyrics are not. Does that make sense? Buddy’s lyrics are more in tune with the decade of the fifties.” Tim looked at me, his eyebrows arched high as he waited to see my reaction.
I understood exactly what he meant. “Maybe that’s why Buddy almost seemed to disappear during the sixties and seventies, but seems to have come roaring back as the anger of that generation subsided,” I wondered aloud. “So do you think the lyrics are a reflection of the mood of the generation, or did the lyrics incite the mood?”
“Probably a little of both,” said Tim. “Teenagers were becoming heard and seen. In the fifties and before that time, kids really didn’t have a voice in adult affairs. Think about it. The young artists of the sixties gave their generation a new vehicle to express their opinions and even to take a stance on a big event of the day. Can you think of a time before that when teenagers would dare participate in the national dialogue, much less try to direct it?” asked Tim. I shook my head as he continued. “This change was both rapid and radical, like many of the changes during this time. So I guess it was a reflection of the new generation’s aspirations, but also a call to arms that swelled the ranks of the young who became politically and socially active.”
“I get that,” I assured him. “But I had teenagers and you have teenagers now. Do you want them setting the political and social agenda for the future?”
“No, of course not,” he firmly replied, “but the question and my answer are irrelevant. Go back to the early sixties with me. It has nothing to do with their maturity level. The music was being made by kids their own age and they were demanding input into these social and political issues. It was the arrogance of youth that demanded a say in national or world affairs—a role in political and social structures and even equality (or at least respect) within their own family units. The music was played and created by their peers for them.”
“Give me a song that you think represents that,” I said.
“Sure—‘My Generation’ by The Who from 1965.” Tim replied. “Musically it’s unique because it’s the first song to feature a solo rift from the bass player. More importantly it is a radical call to action to the post World Word II generation. It says ‘I hope I die before I get old.’ Writer Pete Townshend is taking a blatant stab at his parents’ generation by declaring that his generation has its own values and vision of how the world should be. If getting older leads to losing youthful idealism and passion, then it would be better to die before that happens. By ‘old’ he is speaking of a state of mind, not an age,” he added.
“So ‘My Generation’ is a rejection of the values of his parents’ generation?”
Tim nodded and continued. “More importantly, it is a demand to be heard and treated equally. It’s not personally aimed at Mom and Dad individually, but it is squarely aimed at Mom and Dad’s generation as a whole. Roger Daltrey sings the words with passion and without compromise. Again, the arrogance of youth.” Tim smiles. “I just love The Who.”
“And that is where it all loses me,” I sighed. “I remember our young men and women in uniform being spat upon. I remember the SDS and the Weather Underground blowing up the Haymarket Square Statue in Chicago and the Pentagon. I remember Abbie Hoffman, wrapped in the American Flag he despised, screaming on TV. I only see him as a criminal. You and Jim Riordan talk about it all in glowing terms, while I find it shameful. Was that all incited by the music?”
“No,” Tim answered quickly. “Well . . . yes.” Tim struggled to get his footing here. “Well, some of it. But first of all, I’m not glowing. Some of what happened is shameful, but much of it was not. The point, Gary, is that all that stuff is irrelevant to this conversation. I thought you wanted to talk about the music. You keep trying to force a political or social discussion. You’ve jumped the track. Let me be clear. I think you are talking about a narrow bandwidth of the music led by Bob Dylan and the anti-war movement. I’m not talking about the politics at all. I’m trying to introduce you to the music and the voice our generation was finding on all sorts of subjects.” Tim paused and his eyes narrowed. “So what is pulling you elsewhere?”
“I don’t know,” I reply with a shrug as I brush off his question. Deep inside, though, I really did know. A memory from my past was surfacing. I see a friend of mine, a young teenage girl carrying an American flag down the street, crying. For years I have been lumping the music and the actions I detested by some members of my generation into the same pile. Intellectually I understood the difference, but emotionally I had not separated the two. Hey, Buddy. I didn’t expect you to bring me here.
“The more you talk, the more I realize you would be an admirer of The Who’s Pete Townshend,” Tim said.
I barely heard Tim because I was lost in my emerging epiphany. How did I travel from John Mueller’s Winter Dance Party in February to this point? Where had I been all the years before?
Tim could see my mind was drifting in another direction. “Hey! Stay with me here!” he demanded. “When Abbie Hoffman jumped onto the stage at Woodstock to make a speech, Pete hit him in the head with his guitar, knocking him off the stage, then told the crowd that ‘The next f—-ing person who walks across this stage is going to get f—-ing killed.’ You see, while a few had a specific anti-war agenda, it wasn’t about the politics for Pete and most of the sixties musicians. It’s all about the music. You’re stuck on Abbie Hoffman, who probably couldn’t carry a tune,” laughed Tim. I was staring down at the CDs I was holding and didn’t offer a reply. “You know what I think Buddy would say?” Tim asked. When I didn’t respond he answered his own question: “It’s all about the music.”