I’m fascinated by Rock Stars. Not just the sex and drugs, but the tales of how the music came to be. How, when they needed a hit song, they simply went to work and magically wrote one.
Presto! Van Morrison cranks out Brown Eyed Girl…
Allakhazam! Bruce Springsteen writes Hungry Heart…
Abracadabra! Steve Miller Band writes…er – Abracadabra.
Behind the Music and other stories in Rolling Stone Magazine might be apocryphal, but seemingly behind so many “hits” lie the yarns of a band hunched over the mixing board, exhausted after a long night of recording, looking up as the engineer plays back the first couple bars, and everyone glances at each knowingly.
The singer goes to a bandmate’s house in the Hollywood Hills in the middle of the afternoon and he “plays a little something he’s been working on“…
A guy gets drunk and plays a few riffs into a tape recorder before passing out and the next morning he wakes up discovering the opening of Satisfaction…
Stairway to Heaven is written one sitting.
Or somebody toils for years and…nothing. But we never hear about that poor sonofabitch.
And it seems like there are stories like this in every medium.
Whether it’s on stage or on the radio, in the theatre or in paperback – or its third season on HBO, by the time it’s a hit, it almost looks effortless. Maybe because those fleeting moments of diversion bring so much enjoyment to the audience, it’s assumed that there was no actual work involved in making it. But with rare exception, it takes effort not only to create this stuff, but to connect so completely.
Of course, talent, luck, and timing all play a part, but whether it’s the hours or months or sometimes years of working on a project or the decades of practice leading up to that moment of truth, the artist can only do so much in the creation of a “hit”. The audience must also dig it for it to succeed in that capacity. And before that, the producer or patron or studio or network or what have you has to believe in the artist in the first place.
So many artists will tell you that the craven pursuit of a “hit” is a fool’s errand or that they don’t know if they’re writing a hit or not. Or as the hit screenwriter William Goldman famously said “Nobody knows anything.”
Paul McCartney notoriously said he’d sit down with John Lennon and say “Now, let’s write a swimming pool.” So at a certain point, some artists have to know when they’re on to something – but only after a fair amount of practice:
http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20121114-gladwells-10000-hour-rule-myth
Enormous success must be extremely gratifying for an artist in any medium, but that instant response that a live performance of a hit song has to be a huge rush like no other. A Broadway Musical, stand-up comedy, live performance of a sitcom – those all have to be a blast, but specifically that emotional jubilation that greets the opening bars of a familiar song – the cheers during the guitar solo, the rousing applause after, and sometimes even tears – magic.
Think about that rise in the volume of the crowd when they first recognize the tune. I get a smile on my face even if I’m not particularly fond of the song or the band (the audience’s joy goes a long way). And that’s the thing about hits – and I’m talking about the real, big classic hits – that connection with the audience is everything.
Let’s take, for example, Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.
From time to time, I like to search YouTube for live or unreleased versions of songs from artists that I like. This probably isn’t that unusual in this day and age, but more often than not, I find myself searching for Journey cover bands and various vocalists, curious if anyone can replicate Steve Perry’s voice.
Doing this once might not be that peculiar, and while I don’t know exactly how many times I’ve foraged the site, I’m certain it’s been more than twice. This is more than likely strange enough all by itself, but to specify this public confession of madness a little further, the point of the search is to see – or rather, hear – if any of these other singers can nail the “lonely” / “South Detroit” lyrics in Don’t Stop Believin’ in quite the same way that Perry can. Based on my exhaustive research (and I’m most likely the only expert in this particular field), my thesis is pretty bulletproof:
There is no one else on God’s green earth that can sing Don’t Stop Believin’ quite like Steve Perry can. I don’t even know if Perry himself can even sing it like that anymore. I’ve long suspected that while all these other “nostalgia acts” have been backing up the Brinks truck and unloading it onto the front porch, we haven’t been blessed with a real Journey reunion featuring Steve Perry because he’s unable to perform at the level he’d like. And being not only a consummate performer, but a man of integrity, he refuses to simply cash in and give a sub par performance.
Or maybe he still just wants his own bus (see VH1’s Behind the Music – Journey).
‘You’re hearing it from me: Nope’: Steve Perry emphatically denies Journey reunion rumors
Saying Steve Perry is the key to Journey’s success and that nobody can sing quite like him is not a grand proclamation – but the irony is that if you look at YouTube, there are so damn many people trying.
And this isn’t to say that there aren’t quite a few terrifically talented singers out there. Heck, when these kids in the high school talent shows give it all they got, I can’t help but smile. They’re not in the same universe as Perry, but hey, like the song says…
In fact, Journey’s new guy, Arnel Pineda, like Steve Arguirre before him, seems to actually be able to hit the notes, as do a couple of the tribute artists, but for whatever reason, it’s just slightly different, even though as so many comments attest: they sound “just like Steve Perry!!!!”
No, they don’t. It’s not the same. Something just isn’t quite as good. Something just isn’t quite as miraculous. Something is missing. And that something is Steve Perry.
And one of the more fascinating things I’ve discovered is that when Journey first began performing the song upon its release (1981), the crowd responds with an almost eerie familiarity – like it was always there. It’s as if Perry, Jonathan Cain and Neal Schon were in the studio and not unlike Michelangelo, saw – or in this case, heard – the angel trapped in the marble and just kept carving until it was set free.
Yes, what I just said is that Steve Perry has the voice of an angel. Listen for yourself:
Bask not only in the vocal glory of King Steve…
…but also witness the well-rehearsed spontaneity of replacing “South Detroit” with “Houston”, or as you’ll see below, with wherever he happens to be performing:
and my favorite:
By now it’s clear I’ve listened to Don’t Stop Believin’ a couple times – and a couple different ways – but I always wind up coming back to Perry. And that roar of the crowd when the audience hears their city’s name never fails to bring a smile to my face.
The Connection is audible.
And hell, by 1994 in New York, Steve’s just yelling that line. And it’s actually a clever trick that even some of the tribute artists discovered: “South Detroit” is such a tough note to hit, the singer is able to kill two birds with one stone by simply yelling out his location instead (or just say “the Hell with it” and have the audience “sing along”). He’s able to save his voice and win over the audience all in one, swift blow:
Whether it’s Perry or not, the moment that bass line and the piano start going, the crowd is hooked. And as far as those lead singers that have followed Perry – yes, they sound almost like Steve, but as they sing in crowded arenas, how much more different are they from the tribute band giving it all they’ve got in a half empty bar? And for that brief, shining moment, does the audience even care?
I’ve long suspected that the price one pays for a hit is that they must play it forever. But think about all the songs those guys in piano bars are expected to know. I also used to think it’s got to be quite maddening to have to play those hits over and over again, no matter who you are. And I’m sure it is at times – but that’s the thing about hits – they’re almost designed to be played eternally.
But can you imagine being in the audience when Steve Effin’ Perry was in his prime singing Don’t Stop Believin’ for one of the very first times? Can you imagine living in, say, Wyoming in the 1980’s and Perry belting out “…born in raised RIGHT HERE IN CHEYENNE!”
Now, of course, Perry is not the first nor the last performer to modify lyrics to pander to the crowd, but imagine that person in the Japanese audience…
He’s been a fan of Journey for awhile and hears they’re coming to town, buys himself a couple tickets. Maybe he brings a date. He’s sitting there, whoever he is – maybe he works for a company that makes components for miniature tape recorders. Jonathan Cain lays down those first few, indelible notes on the piano. The audience is hooked, enjoying the show, clapping with near automated precision. And then our friend in Japan perks up at that one particular moment. He smiles at his date, she smiles back at him. He looks in her eyes and asks her:
“Did he just say, ‘Born and raised in Tokyo?’”
And as far as that audience in Atlanta in the clip above, the first time I watched it, I was expecting that fella talking, whoever he is, to cheer so loudly when Steve said “Atlanta”, that he’d break the mic on what had to have been a pretty primitive recording device.
Anyway, what sounds like happened instead was that the guy was so swept up in sheer amazement – so stunned, in fact – that he was struck dumb for a few seconds, only to recover a few moments later, simply uttering: “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it!” over and over and over again. Which, given the title of his favorite song, is more than a little ironic.
If you listen closely, it’s actually possible that he might have missed the moment when Perry sang “right here in ATLANTA!” entirely and is a little pissed because the crowd roared so loudly when it happened. I can’t be completely sure. I’ll have to continue to study the tape.
And who is this guy in an audience somewhere in Atlanta in 1981? As of this viewing this video has a little under 400 views, 100 of them mine. But nevertheless, did this guy ever imagine that his comments about Ross Valory’s wardrobe would forever be immortalized on the interwebs? And for that matter, did he even consider that some wise-ass in Los Angeles nearly thirty-five years later would be enviously giving this poignant and at least semi-private moment in his life this much unnecessary analysis?
We talk a lot today about the invasion of privacy and how we have to be very careful about our information with everything being public and recorded and on the internet for everyone to see. This innocent event was a generation (or two) ago! And did this guy in Atlanta even know he was being recorded? Maybe the guy who was doing the recording was sitting behind him. And is the person that uploaded the clip even the person who recorded the concert? And how elegant would the universe be if Our Friend in the Japanese Journey audience manufactured the device used to record the gentleman in the Atlanta audience?
So many questions. Yet, probably none are more important than “Why in the world is Steve Perry so awesome?” His voice, obviously. But to be clear, my meaning is more of a philosophical inquiry regarding the whole ball of wax.
Look at how much is bound together just by this single work of art – Japan, 1981, today, YouTube, a pocket recorder, you, me, a retired Rock Star, some guy in Atlanta, and, of course, a small town girl and a city boy, born and raised in whatever town you happen to be living in…
There are those that hate Steve Perry and Journey for perfectly valid reasons, just as there are those that hate such accomplished bands as The Eagles.
“Corporate rock”, they say (again, see Behind the Music). Whatever. Full disclosure, literally the first human voice my son heard out of the womb was Steve Perry’s immaculate pipes chanting Don’t Stop Believin’, so forgive my obvious bias. But is it even bias if it’s a crystal clear fact that Perry’s pipes are indeed immaculate and Don’t Stop Believin’ is a great freakin’ song?
So call me a sucker. Call me a sap. But having just devoted this much time to the genius of Steve Perry, I think that goes without saying.
Now, I am a screenwriter by trade and have yet to write what would be considered a hit – or at least none of my scripts have been bought and turned into hits. Yet. Now, when I’m not wasting time on frivolous analysis of music, I listen to quite a bit of it while I write. And as I write into the night, I would be lucky to create just one thing as brilliant as The Big Lebowski. And the Coen Bros. do it time and time again…
But The Big Lebowski was not a “hit” upon release. It’s genius was so far ahead of its time, it needed a few more years to gain the cult, nay, religious status it so richly deserves.
Sometimes you do never know when a hit is going to…hit.
And that’s another interesting thing about “hits”. As beloved as Don’t Stop Believin’ is – and for that matter The Big Lebowski – not everyone loves the hit. As “universally” loved as anything is, there’s always someone out there that doesn’t like it – or as people that are so passionate about that thing would say, “don’t get it.”
Sometimes those folks that don’t like an eventual hit are often the folks that might have some say in deciding whether or not it’ll ever even see the light of day -like the exec who passed on U2 or the fellow at Columbia who passed on Steven Spielberg and E.T. , or the publishers that rejected Stephen King. Fortunately the artists persevered. But these are also stories struggling artists like to tell themselves.
Were these people that said “no”, “wrong”? It is very possible that they just didn’t like the book or play or band or whatever. And possibly still don’t. Do I have E.T. or The Shining sitting among my dozens of unread stories? Hell, I don’t know.
In a way, art is a love affair with the audience – whether it’s an arena of thousands of people, or a single, exhausted, myopic executive. You must win over the crowd in those first few bars, or you’re cooked. (Something perhaps to keep in mind when embarking on writing an essay of exactly 3000 words.)
I Can’t Make You Love Me, written by Mike Reid and Allen Shamblin, produced by Bonnie Raitt and Don Was and performed by Ms. Raitt and featuring the “X” factor of the whole piece, The Great Bruce Hornsby on piano.
Bruce Hornsby hasn’t had a “hit” in years, but is probably one of the finest piano players ever and is also a brilliant songwriter and performer. And my artistic idol. (Talk about burying the lead, huh?)
Adele has one of the best voices going today, so take a listen to her cover:
It’s very good. But Bruce’s piano is missing and for my money, it’s just not quite as good as Bonnie Raitt’s performance.
Bruce Hornsby, like Steve Perry, just has that…thing, the beautiful uniqueness of himself.
Ultimately, we really can’t prove if one piece of art is better than another, we can only prove that music today is much worse than it was years ago:
Really, the only thing that makes something someone loves better than that same thing that somebody else absolutely hates is that they like it and the other person doesn’t. But if the masses happen to embrace it, however it gets there and for whatever reason – it’s a hit. And the artist is embraced, able to continue working with a little more freedom. But perhaps with a little less hunger because he or she doesn’t have as much to prove.
It’s interesting to listen or watch the trajectory of certain artists – they build, peak, plateau, burn out or fade away…
But always the struggle of the artist is to be true to themselves and also to connect to others by continuing to create something new, and yet in some way, familiar.
It takes persistence. Patience. Faith. You might even say to succeed, you can’t stop believing. But more importantly, you must remember that try as you might, you can’t make people love you. You can only give it your best shot and hope that they will.
And now it appears after all this, I realize that I’m talking to myself again, searching for muses amidst the marble and listening to angels while I work. And what do I happen to come across after all my rambling this evening is nearly done? Someone far greater than I, putting all of this so much better and beautifully – and more concisely – than I ever could.
And oh, to hear what this angel would have done with Don’t Stop Believin’
C I P R I A N I 
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