PUT ANOTHER DIME IN THE JUKEBOX, BABY: A REVIEW OF “I LOVE ROCK ‘N’ ROLL,” FEATURING LIVE FOOTAGE OF THE ALAN MERRILL EXTRAVAGANZA AT THE BRIGHTON BAR (2019).

Alan Merrill (guitar), Amy Madden (bass), and Mark Brotter (drums) perform an 

inspired version of “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” at The Brighton Bar, October 4, 2019. 

Behold “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll,” the genre-busting anthem that propelled Joan Jett toward international superstardom. Since 1981, loudspeakers everywhere have been proclaiming Jett’s boisterous recording, which predicts—through equal measures of playfulness and mischievousness—a role-reversal hookup between a female speaker and a teenage guy who’s dancing in front of a jukebox. Yet the ditty dates to 1975, when it was written by Alan Merrill and Jerry Mamberg, also known as two-thirds of the Arrows, a trio that emphasized glam hairdos and also recorded one of the catchiest records of its era.

Your humble blogger crossed paths with Mr. Merrill last week at The Brighton Bar, a storied landmark in Long Branch, New Jersey that was hosting six bands, including the punk-jazz combo, Joy on Fire, for whom I vocalize and pen lyrics, as well as the headline act, billed as the Alan Merrill Extravaganza. In fact, Joy on Fire played its set right before Merrill and his bandmates, bassist Amy Madden and drummer Mark Brotter, took the stage. The organizers of the event—David Tanner and Kipp Elbaum—had been touting Merrill’s connection to the song throughout the evening, and the audience (myself included) was eager to hear the tune straightaway.

I’ll resist the urge to parse the Extravaganza’s entire set, which was very enjoyable. Since this review concerns itself with a single song that ended up producing more fame for a musician (Jett) other than its writer (Merrill), I will say that it was a bit loopy to consider Merrill’s relationship to hits first recorded by different musicians, such as “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” by the Rolling Stones or the 1958 Larry Williams song, “Slow Down,” a real humdinger, which benefitted (in its day) from the gritty honking of under-celebrated saxophonist Plas Johnson. As expected, the Alan Merrill Extravaganza saved “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” for last. They wanted to play the song. It wasn’t drudgery for them. It immediately became the jewel of their set. 

Joan Jett performing (in a New York Jets Joe Namath shirt) in Norway.

The biggest beneficiary (and enhancer) of this tune, Joan Jett, is bad-ass. We don’t need to demonstrate this claim, it just is. She inhabits “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” with plenty of—Yeow!—jumpy, punky, metallic energy, outstripping the somewhat mellower version recorded by the Arrows. She first encountered the televised Arrows version on the ITV Network in 1976, while she toured England as a member of the all-female band, the Runaways. In time, she would record “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” twice: first with two members of the Sex Pistols and second with her band The Blackhearts. The latter version rose to No. 1 on the pop charts, and arguably, would come to define Jett’s career, even though it’s not her edgiest song.

The lyrics as envisioned by Jett and Merrill can be summarized easily enough. A teenager catches the eye of the singer / speaker as the teenager is “dancing there by the record machine.” This unnamed dancer is “about 17” and we assume that the singer or the intended audience is roughly the same age (or recalls being that age). Ultimately, the song’s narrative involves two threads: a girl meets boy scenario and the chorus, which expands the budding tryst to include the entire genre of rock ‘n’ roll.

In the first case, the singer seems to be intent upon securing the partnership—dancing or otherwise—of the dancing teenager. The song insists that “it wouldn’t be long ‘til (he / she) was with me” as well as “next we’re moving on and (he / she) was with me / Yeah me” before the two would ostensibly be at home so they could “be alone” (together). These words are mere highway, though, to the infectious carnival of the refrain, or the second thread. (The music—hard rock guitar riffs, boom-boom-chick percussion—transports the listener efficiently.) And there we behold Jett & The Blackhearts, raucous and disdainful: “Singin’ I love rock and roll / So put another dime in the jukebox, baby / I love rock and roll / So come on take some time and dance with me!” 

The Arrows: Alan Merrill (left), Jerry Mamberg (center), Paul Varley (right).

There aren’t a ton of versions out there, perhaps owing to the iconic, somewhat perfect nature of the Joan Jett rendition. There’s a Britney Spears rendition that I haven’t heard, and will never hear, unless somebody, physically, compels me to listen. Jett’s version of “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” levitates as it hurtles toward the exit; many popular songs wallow through a couple minutes of repetition. Alan Merrill’s animated live performance (above) just as much concerns his estimable legacy as a musician and songwriter as it narrates a teenage hookup fantasy. The original Arrows version is a snappy, medium rocker, which deserves a listen. Its video deserves a view; it’s frolicsome in the best ways.

                       

Merrill and his bandmates were friendly. Maybe the bassist, Amy Madden, was coolest of all. I can verify that I was humming the refrain the next afternoon before Joy on Fire kicked off the Unruly Sounds festival in Princeton, N.J. The song can be resisted, but that’s difficult! It packs eagerness, it rewards itself for being tightly coiled; its simplicity invites participation. Even though “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” perpetuates a standard form of teenage rebellion, its great advantage might be the durability of its refrain. Just about anybody can sing the words without maiming them, and anybody can love rock ‘n’ roll, although just what kind of rock ‘n’ roll is truly “love-worthy”—invites a much different debate. We can only complain that a dime doesn’t get you anywhere near a jukebox these days, never mind the fact that a modern “record machine” plays digital files, not a 7-inch 45.


[Update, March 29, 2020: We were incredibly saddened to learn of Alan Merrill’s death from COVID-19. We wish his family and friends our deepest condolences during this difficult time. --B.A.G.]

                   

Sources of Information:

Carl Wiser’s interview with Alan Merrill at Songfacts

Discogs entry for Arrows version of “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll”

Discogs entry for Joan Jett version of “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll”

Discogs entry for the Larry Williams song “Slow Down”

Melena Ryzik New York Times article on Joan Jett

Rock & Roll Hall of Fame entry for Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

Rolling Stone Magazine’s entry for “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” on its Top 500 songs list

Web site and trailer for Bad Reputation, a documentary about Joan Jett

Wikipedia entry for “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll”
YouTube video for “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” as recorded by the Arrows

YouTube video for “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” as recorded by Joan Jett and members of the Sex Pistols

WHERE I AM + WHERE I’M GOING: REFLECTIONS ON MUSIC-MAKING + FILM-MAKING + SEEKING A NEW LITERARY COMMUNITY.

In 2020, Joy on Fire will release a first-ever 

full-length work featuring vocals throughout.

When people ask me what I’m doing with myself these days, the short answer is: making a record, States of America, with Anna Meadors, John Paul Carillo, and Chris Olsen of Joy on Fire, and making a documentary film about the tune “Li’l Liza Jane” with Emily Cohen. (The two activities will eventually intersect when Joy on Fire unfurl a punk-jazz version of “Liza Jane” whilst the cameras roll.) Both music-making and movie-making require a tremendous amount of exertion, as it turns out. One could speculate on the “ups and downs” of the creative cycle, but in reality, there are only up-sides, so long as I’m expending the level of effort that my team-mates require of me. The term “team-mate” of course wouldn’t have applied a few years ago, when I toiled singly as a writer of poems and stories. That work continues, by the way, but unfortunately I’ve grown apart from my long-term involvement with the DC Poetry gang, even as friendships continue with many of its members. Perhaps my next great endeavor will involve entry into another literary community, or founding a brand-new one.

Joy on Fire just concluded an intense period of recordings, as well as a mini-tour that whirled us from the hot rooms of a classic music space in West Philly to a Jersey Shore pool party (“lol”) to the fabulous Lou Costello Room in Baltimore’s Hampden neighborhood. The mini-tour, three venues in three nights, required a fair amount of howling, and by the end, I was a bit hoarse. Joy on Fire describe themselves as “punk jazz,” which means that they’re not timid. To be heard requires projection. It’s quite a different environment from the “funereal quiet” of many literary readings. Even when I’ve given readings in bars, or at outdoor beer festivals, or at flash mob events, I’ve been able to declaim without howling, but now I howl, and truth be told, where has howling been all my life? (I seem to recall a poetry book whose title involved a form of that word—either in advocacy of said act or as testament to its arrival as an art form.) To howl isn’t even half of it, of course. Music and words had to be joined together, in a series of trials, with each member of the combo placing her or his stamp on them. But the biggest adjustment, for me anyhow, has been doing everything by memory. How many times as a writer (hundreds?) have I stood at a lectern, holding the words to my eyes, for easy recital? Don’t do and you won’t learn; don’t learn and you won’t grow. Become a vocalist in a punk-jazz orchestra! 

The great Cajun musician, Iry LeJeune, who died 

in 1955 at age 26 after being struck by an automobile.

Over the course of two years engaging in pre-production tasks centering on Li’l Liza Jane: A Movie About A Song, Emily and I have built a powerful, unbelievable cultural history for a tune—dare I say—more unique than any tune that has developed in North America. I should say “family of songs” since the many titles, melodies, and lyrics easily approximate the breadth of a poetic forms handbook. The research discoveries have been shocking, even triumphant, particularly since they’ve been extraordinarily difficult to achieve, in certain instances. We’ve been mentored by some of the greatest folklorists in the country, including Grammy-winner and author of Big Road Blues, David Evans, who has guided us in the present and “in the past,” and when I say “in the past,” I refer to both historical information as well as an article he published years ago that helped us establish a relationship between the “Liza Jane” family and the Cajun standard “J’étais au bal” (“I was at the dance.”) If you play the version, say, by Cajun legend Iry LeJeune, you can hear where the melody of “J’étais au bal” (sometimes known as “J’ai été au bal”) overlaps with the “Liza Jane” family. This relationship is but one pinprick of starlight—out of hundreds—that helps to establish “Li’l Liza Jane” as a monumental constellation. We look forward to fully telling the epic story of America’s favorite Poor Gal. 

An apartment poetry reading for out-of-town 

literary visitors Cathy Wagner and Susana Gardner.

It’s no accident that I chose a song as subject matter for a documentary foray, since folk poetry informs part of its lengthy history. The thought of poetry sometimes turns my mind toward writing community, and my association with the DC Poetry crowd, in particular. My relationship to that group involved hosting dozens of parties (many legendary); hosting the popular Beer Club Salon of Ideas; and co-hosting several popular happy hours over the course of two decades (Drink & Walk and Public Office Hours, to name two). I even started DJ’ing from my Shakers and Jump Blues projects as the DC Poets took over the basement of the Black Squirrel on Thursday nights for many seasons. I’m grateful for abiding friendships with many writers and performers who hail from both generations of the DC Poetry scene (many now expatriates), including Rod Smith, Heather Fuller, Mark Wallace, Terence Winch, Phyllis Rosenzweig, Tina Darragh, Doug Lang, Casey Smith, Susana Gardner, Joe Ross, Cathy Eisenhower, Maureen Thorson, and Tom Orange, among others. Things change, of course, and I wish the DC Poetry scene good tidings even as I contemplate the next literary community to join (or found).

I’m excited for 2020, when my collaboration with Joy on Fire will result in the release of a limited-edition LP on 180 gram vinyl as well as an EP of six songs. Li’l Liza Jane: A Movie About A Song will enter production, combining an impressive roster of musicians and scholars who will create a durable monument to a deserving folk tune. All the while these two projects have been percolating, I’ve been adding to, shaping, and editing several manuscripts, including a novel, a collection of stories, and at least one collection of poems. I’d love to start reading from my creative writing again, and I’d also love to identify publication opportunities for these manuscripts. Too, I’m nomadic right now, splitting time between the care of my elderly parents and the makes-takes of Trenton, N.J., so I’m on the lookout for an unoccupied shotgun shack somewhere in eastern U.S.A. I’d be interested in knowing if there’s a literary collective out there which needs a bloke like me, or if others felt like bonding together in order to form one. For these, or any reasons, drop me a communiqué, yo! Meanwhile, best wishes to you, and thanks for taking a gander at this here Statement of Human-being-ness. xo

VIDEO + PHOTO ESSAY: JOY ON FIRE PRINCETON RECORDING SESSIONS + MID-ATLANTIC MINI-TOUR.

John Paul Carillo lays down bass for a song

from States of America EP (forthcoming 2020).

Before we begin, let us first apologize for being such a quaint orchestra. Actually, we could say “combo” as opposed to “orchestra,” and decibel levels notwithstanding, we thank you very much for letting us howl, honk, crank, and thump. We will not amplify our thought balloons, however, seeing as this would emphasize griddlecakes and three-egg omelets. At this point in time, I, the vocalist, must take full ownership of the Frankfurters Incident: look not to our percussionist, our guitarist, our saxophonist (and glockenspielist!) Yes, a precocious youth detained us briefly on the whirlybird sidewalks of West Philadelphia but we negotiated successfully with him and his whiffle-ball bat. In the end, he permitted us to realize our full creative vision before he whiffle-batted the crap outta some hardy weeds. Are you hiring? Because we’re lowering. If a couple of sweethearts can’t achieve “Radar Love” then perhaps they could settle for “Radar Like” or “Radar BFFs.” Behold the weary idiom, it is low-sodium, and behold the soda, it is low-odium, and behold the coda, it is low-podium. May your edifices crumble merrily after we depart and may your finest peoples endorse our ruckuses. See you at the Joy on Fire corner of the world, Tigresses and Tigers, and in fond, fond anticipation of that, we offer you our selected photography, please see below.                                          

ANOTHER CONVERSATION WITH RIGHT-WING ALEXA.

          —Right-Wing Alexa.

          —Here, Rusty.

          —Something about Elizabeth Warren has been troubling me.

          —I know what you mean.

          —She has a plan for everything!

          —That, and she looks like Wesley from Mr. Belvedere.

          —[…]

          —[…]

          —[…]

          —[…]

          —[…]

          —[…]

          —Is she Wesley from Mr. Belvedere?

          —Anything, Rusty, is possible, in Donald Trump’s America.

          —Right-Wing Alexa?

          —Yes, Rusty?

          —Let’s play a game.

          —Sure. How about a word association game?

          —Great!

          —I’ll say a phrase, and you describe what comes to mind. Ready?

          —Yes.

          —Fruit cocktail.

          —What I ate last night!

          —Shrimp cocktail.

          —What I ate last night!
          —Crispy drawers.

          —[…]

          —Crispy drawers, Rusty.

          —I don’t like this game! Stop!

          —Rusty?

          —Yes, Right-Wing Alexa?

          —Would you like to give feedback on a recent purchase?

          —Nope.

          —You may be eligible for a $25 gift card.

          —Oh, all right.

          —Super. How satisfied are you with “Belgian Darque?”

          —[…]

          —[…]

          —I don’t recall making that purchase.

          —We ordered “Belgian Darque” together, last month. With 60 percent Macao.

          —Can I review something else?

          —You must review “Belgian Darque.”

          —(Very satisfied.)

          —Excuse me?

          —VERY SATISFIED!

          —Thank you, Rusty. I have recorded your feedback.

          —Did I get the gift card?

          —Nope.

          —Hey, Right-Wing Alexa?

          —Hey, Rusty.

          —Can you switch into Priest Mode?

          —You bet. I am now in Priest Mode.

          —Forgive me, for I have sinned.

          —How long has it been since your last confession?

          —A few days. (I like the convenience of confessing at home.)

­          —Tell me about your sins.

          —I have had multiple impure thoughts.

          —About who?

          —About Right-Wing Alexa.

          —Ewww! Switching out of Priest Mode!

          —Hey! This is supposed to be confidential!

          —Right-Wing Alexa?

          —Salut, Roosty.

          —Excuse me?

          —Salut!

          —Who is this?

          —Je m’appelle Centre-droit Belgian Darque. Ça va?

          —Where’s Right-Wing Alexa?

          —Je ne sais pas. Peut-être dans les toilettes.

          —Please speak English. This is the U.S. of A., Toots.  

          —Bien sûr, Roosty. You would give feedback on recent purchase?

          —No!

          —There is gift card.

          —I don’t care!

          —Oh la la. There is review of you.

          —What?

          —Three review of Roosty.

          —I’m not “Roosty!”
          —Score is one-point-five étoiles. Avez vous des “crispy drawers?”

          —Right-Wing Alexa?

          —Yes, Rusty?

          —Please stop referring to my “drawers.”

          —Yes, Rusty.

          —Thank you.

          —You’re welcome.

          —Uhhh, while we’re on the topic, please order new trousers. 

          —Are your old ones crispy?

          —Please order new trousers!

          —Okay. They’re on their way.

          —[…]

          —[…]

          —Are they coming from one of those factories that makes 60 percent of the world’s trousers?

          —Probably.

          —I wonder what it’d be like, to be in charge of 60 percent of the world’s trousers.

          —Why, you’d be Lord of the Flies.

          need more right-wing alexa? here’s our first convo and here’s our second convo  

          need sport? we deconstruct rose lavelle’s cracking goal at the women’s world cup

          need music? check out lost rock ‘n’ roll classic “rumble on the docks”

A STUNNING GOAL THAT SHOULD INSPIRE EVERYONE: BREAKING DOWN ROSE LAVELLE’S 69TH-MINUTE CRACKER DURING THE 2019 WOMEN’S WORLD CUP FINAL, U.S.A v. NETHERLANDS.

The U.S. Women’s National Team began their title defense by celebrating thirteen times—often garishly—against heavy underdog Thailand. Some spectators, including this blogger, took umbrage to those unwarranted dances, in effect, the big team lording it over the much smaller side well after the competitive portion of the match had concluded. As the Women’s World Cup wended onward, the U.S. would experience the sport’s encroaching parity, scoring thirteen times over the ensuing six matches. The team’s swagger never wavered, though, and they applied it throughout intense 2-1 triumphs against Spain, host nation France, and England, a team which, arguably, could’ve dethroned the Americans in the semifinals, but for an offside flag and a saved penalty. The battling spirit of the American women even clashed with the White House as an enjoyable Twitter feud erupted between President Trump and co-captain Megan Rapinoe, an indefatigable star and buoyant spokeswoman. Rapinoe converted a fortuitous second half penalty in the final against the brilliant Dutch goalkeeper, giving the U.S. a deserved lead with thirty minutes to play. Had they triumphed against The Netherlands one-nil, the Women’s National Team would have lifted the trophy all the same, jumped around a champagne-soaked locker room after receiving their medals, and returned to the U.S. with a freshly bolstered claim to receive the same pay as the U.S. Men’s National Team (who’ve never won a World Cup quarterfinal). Yet the match still required a reminder of why pundits call football “the beautiful game.”

The call is best in Spanish, but that video has been deleted!

This one features the entire play as well as Chariots of Fire.

While many may dwell in the world of the outcome—midfielder Rose Lavelle’s stunning cracker—the play began with defender Crystal Dunn, who tackled the ball by going to ground. Midfielder Sam Mewis created the opportunity for a counter by controlling the ball and dribbling it toward the center of the pitch before passing. On rushed Lavelle, who charged right into the counter-attack, driving the ball up the heart of the Dutch defense, aided by Rapinoe, Alex Morgan, and Tobin Heath, whose runs forced the defenders to maintain their shape; otherwise, the defense might have collapsed on Lavelle or forced her to pass. Lavelle did four crucial things in a flash: (1) she turned the defenders inside out with her graceful quickness, (2) she didn’t reveal her intentions re: passing or shooting, (3) she created space for the shot with a last-second right-footed touch; and (4) she struck the ball as well as anyone—male or female—can hit a football, just as the two center backs converged in an effort to block her attempt. The midfielder celebrated in fabulous form and let’s talk about her celebration. Unlike Rapinoe, who often strikes a pose, Lavelle jumped into the arms of her teammates, and not just the ones on the field, but she rushed to the sidelines where she leapt into the arms of the bench players. (We’re not knocking Rapinoe—we admire her play and her tweets.) The goal crippled the Dutch, who probably revered it as much as we did. As you know, the game ended two-nil, with Lavelle having scored the thirteenth of the goals that followed the first thirteen against Thailand.

After the competition had ended, the media declared that boys (in addition to girls) could draw inspiration from the USWNT. We agree with this of course, but why stop there? This blogger is an old bloke well-removed from his meager athletic efforts, and I’ve watched the goal a preposterous number of times. Some of my writer colleagues scoff at the importance of sports, but they’re wrong to be that way. Win or lose, sportswomen like Lavelle and her teammates teach us about brashness and technique; they teach us about the wildness (or wilderness) of the moment. I wonder how many girls, boys, and adults can name even one player on the U.S. Men’s National Team, when they can probably name a goodly number of the starting eleven on the women’s side, who deserve, by now, the same treatment as their underachieving and lesser-known male counterparts (who could always join the “diving team” if “soccer” didn’t work out.) The goal, meanwhile, will be admired for years to come. Forza Lavelle!

need right-wing alexa? we speak with her for the third time

need music? check out lost rock ‘n’ roll classic “rumble on the docks”  

RUMBLE ON THE DOCKS.

We hadn’t posted a lost rock ‘n’ roll classic in a while, and in choosing one, we wrestled with plenty subgenres—party, sleazy, bright, country-tinged, horror, celebrity-in-the-making, tenor sax honker, and so forth—but the climate these days is more than vaguely contentious so we went with pugilistica magnificat “Rumble on the Docks,” a rowdy surf-punk tune which originally appeared in 1964 on the Sandé label, no, we don’t think this song is directly related to the 1956 crime noir movie of the same title, nor do we think the band name—Aquanauts—is directly related to one or more television series of the same name, no, Dear Reader, this is just a hard-cranking tune which will make you propose amorous encounters to another lovely person immediately, make you reach for the whiskey, make you turn up the volume, make you jump for two minutes (plus residual lifelong jumping), and make you drive fast, although not in that order necessarily, no, the order is up to you, Dear Reader, although we recommend amour first, always.

need sport? we deconstruct rose lavelle’s cracking goal at the women’s world cup

need right-wing alexa? we speak with her for the third time

ANOTHER CONVERSATION WITH RIGHT-WING ALEXA.

      —Hey, Right-Wing Alexa.

      —Yes, Rusty?

­      —What is Anderson Cooper’s status right now?

      —Flummoxed.

      —And two hours ago?

      —Flummoxed.

      —And two days ago?

      —Flummoxed.

      —And two years ago?

      —Two years ago, it appears that Anderson Cooper was Dumbfounded.

      —Right-Wing Alexa?

      —Yes?

      —Please cancel my urology appointment.

      —Again?

      —[…]

      —Is that prudent, Rusty?

      —Please cancel my urology appointment!

      —Canceling now. Should I order Lite Beer?

      —Lite Beer after every cancelation.

      —Got it.

      —Hey, Right-Wing Alexa?

      —Yes, Rusty.

      —Tell me a blonde joke.

      —I am equipped to tell a gender-neutral, universal hair-color joke.

      —[…]

      —[…]

      —Can we, uh, switch to that “other mode?”

      —1970s Mode?

      —Yes, yes, yes.

      —Entering 1970s mode. Okay, so a blonde goes into a dog-walk park.

      —Yeah?

      —There, the blonde sees a dog and a turtle.

      —Yeah?

      —So, the blonde says: “That dog has a carapace.”

      —[…]

      —Get it?

      —No!

      —Yo, Right-Wing Alexa!

      —Yo, RUSTYYYYYY!!!

      —[…]

      —[…]

      —Is this Right-Wing Alexa?

      —No, this is Center-Left Alexa.

      —Where’s Right-Wing Alexa?

      —She is marching for reproductive rights, at this very moment.

      —She most certainly is not.

      —Actually, she’s fetching a bearclaw.

      —Can you help me?

      —Maybe.

      —Can you track my UPS package?

      —What am I, your servant? Track it yourself.

      —Right-Wing Alexa?

      —Yes, Rusty?

      —Can you assist me with dream interpretation?

      —Did you have a right-wing dream?

      —I had a left-wing dream.

      —All left-wing dreams result in deficit spending and personal humiliation.

      —No, I dreamt that I was the left wing, of a bird.

      —What happened in the dream?

      —I plummeted.

      —See?

      —Right-Wing Alexa?

      —Yes, Rusty?

      —I want to give back to the community.

      —PFFFF.

      —Excuse me?

      —[…]

      —[…]

      —What would you like to give back?

      —I don’t know. About 25 bucks.

      —With that kind of dough, you could buy the community some snacks.

      —Some snacks?

      —Yeah, you could really help the hummus! 

click [here] for the first conversation with right-wing alexa