When I’m writing, I listen to pop music — rock ‘n’ roll, folk, folk rock. I can’t write while listening to serious music; it fails to cut into whatever anxiety there will always be about writing. Pop takes care of it.
Usually, I put on the CDs I painstakingly made from my twelve feet of LP’s. But sometimes I switch from channel 1948 (Music Choice, classical music) to channel 1929 or thereabouts, Music Choice’s 70’s hits.
This is kind of fun. I sit at my computer with my back more or less turned to the TV screen, so while I hear the songs and can easily sing along with almost all of them, I can’t always identify the singers. So I’ll turn to the screen to learn who’s singing.
While the songs are still in my system, the names of the groups are not. Often, as I look at the TV screen I’m saying, “Who the hell was that?”
But there is one consistency throughout all these bands, known or unknown: if they are male, they all have the same hair. Long, uncombed, down past their shoulders. All of ’em, the same hair. Blond or brown, doesn’t matter. Long, uncombed, down past their shoulders. Streaming-in-the-wind sort of hair.
Was there one stylist who traveled around the world to address all this hair? I’m now wondering if the boys all got together early on and said, “OK, what hair look should we have and should we all have the same look?” Did they evaluate the message broadcast to their audiences due to the hair? If so, what was that message? I can’t figure it out.
Did they spend as much time creating a legend around the hair as they did writing their tunes?
Every single male band I’ve turned to the TV to identify brandishes the same hair. So a broader question would be: did all these groups conspire — no, that’s the wrong word — consult? Commiserate? Concatenate? over the same hairness. Were there arguments about, “No, we did that first and you shouldn’t be imitating our hairs!”
Were there threats of lawsuits for plaghairism?
I don’t remember whether, back then, I found these hairdos attractive on men. I never had a boyfriend whose hair was longer than mine. Was the hair part of my (de)selection process? What I do know is not only do I not find them attractive now, I would be unable to recognize one from the other — if I knew who they were in the first place.
End note: right now it’s Janis Joplin singing, “Me and Bobby McGee.” I didn’t have to turn around to know this and to know her.
I can hear you and Janis belting out “Me and Bobby McGee”! What a great team you guys would have made–except that you had the better voice. And the long hair, too!
Well, now. I deeply appreciate your (too kind yet flawed) memory of my voice. It was a nice voice but I couldn’t rock. I once ran into Joplin outside the film studio where I worked. She was tallish and pale and with acne scarred skin. My skin was better than hers. She died shortly afterward and I was really sad.
Naomi,
If there”s one thing about me that’s not yet flawed it’s my memory. You had an exceptionally beautiful singing voice (Allan said it was one of the best voices he’d ever heard) and, yeah baby, you could rock as well as anyone.
I, too, was really sad when Janis passed; never been anyone quite like her before or since.
OMG! If Allan said that, it must be so and I’ve just forgotten. (I haven’t forgotten Allan.) But not rock; I wasn’t unselfconscious enough to rock, voice or no. Folk was my province.
And what a folk singer you were! Folk, rock, blah-blah-blah. You had/have enormous talent in whatever venue you wanna call it, Nomes.
I bow to your authority. And it feels great, too.