One of the most unique yet largely unreported characteristics of music is how otherwise cool, cultured, intelligent, open-minded and worldly individuals may have the worst taste in what they choose to listen to. I used to have a friend who was a talented performance artist. He read lots of fascinating books, he seemed to know all the people worth knowing and you could have hours-long conversations with him about any number of subjects — but the music he listened to was mostly bland. You don't run into this when it comes to other interests people have: well-read individuals with a love of the arts don't tend to be into nothing but teen sex comedies and moronic Roland Emmerich popcorn movies. But having bad taste in music can inflict anyone, which may explain why Dave chose to give us a Pat Boone CD for Christmas one year.
Dave is one of my uncles. I've always looked up to him. He's clever and well-read. He usually has unique takes on matters of politics. He likes discuss sports but never has tired and cliched views on "playing with determination and heart" or any of that malarky. One summer he went camping with us and I got to ride alone with him in his car. During these drives through Alberta and BC, we talked about everything from the situation with the Ozone Layer to "Macho Man" Randy Savage's reign as WWF champion (admittedly, a topic I knew much more about than he did). Over the years he has given me many books and I've loved every single one of them. His film recommendations are equally spot on. And yet he gave us a Pat bloody Boone CD for Christmas.
What could Dave have seen in him? Indeed, what did millions of perfectly nice, normal people get out of such a boring artist? Elvis may have stolen from black music but at least he kept the thrill and excitement and even added some of his own; a listen to Boone's versions of Little Richard classics "Long Tall Sally" and "Tutti Fruitti" and it's clear that cultural appropriation is the least of his crimes. He took brilliant pop records and removed everything that made them special. Such an inoffensive and milquetoast singer by rights ought to have equally bland, nondescript fans. I have no doubt that plenty of them are but Dave isn't one of them.
With a song like "Love Letters in the Sand", however, it's less important that he's a giant dud because pure balladeering requires the steady hand of someone with very little personality. Well, a truly strong performance of a gentle love song needs a Sinatra, a Vaughan, a Crosby or a Fitzgerald who all oozed charisma and personality but a Boone can pull it off even though he was woefully lacking in these characteristics. The singing is technically flawless so what does the need for real feeling matter? Real feeling and passion is, if anything, a drawback if all that you want from the music you're listening to is for it to be something to have on while you're doing something else. No one got anything out of putting any real consideration into a Pat Boone record (believe me, I've been trying to do so over the last few days).
It was natural that Elvis Presley clones would emerge following his breakthrough in 1956. But while this became common in the UK and much of western Europe at the end of the fifties, Americans were lacking in this regard. Elvis' peers — Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison, Gene Vincent — didn't need to ape the star because they had cut their teeth on the road just as he had and were fully formed as the rock 'n' roll phenomenon was taking hold. Snapping up the 'Next Elvis' may have been the goal of record company executives but they should have been satisfied with some of his talented contemporaries. Perhaps they would have been had they managed to appeal to parents and authority figures who clearly preferred kids to be listening to Boone instead.
There was still the need to manufacture pop stardom even if there was no way to bottle what Elvis was able to create. Pat Boone was in the right place at right time to exploit this situation and he ended up surpassing the sales of all of them except for Elvis himself. His rock 'n' roll exploits are laughable but he could find his way around a well-crafted pop ballad. He even managed to be reasonably good at whistling on his records. And at least "Love Letters in the Sand" doesn't have one of those wretched spoken word bits in the bridge like his lousy UK chart topper "I'll Be Home".
Dave's taste in music isn't entirely vile. I know he likes The Beatles, Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen and has a fondness for a good deal of folk music which isn't really to my taste but that's not the point. Judging him based on one CD gifted to us nearly the thirty years ago is unfair but judge I will continue to do. There's just no going back from tacitly approving such a lifeless singer. And to think I could have blogged about the Everly Brothers' vastly superior "Bye Bye Love" instead but it was held off the top by "Love Letters in the Sand". The dullards won and it wouldn't be the last time they got their way.
Score: 4
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Can Con
The Diamonds fell one spot to number twelve during the first week of Boone's fortnight at the top before "Little Darlin'" fell out of the Top 50 entirely just seven days later. Nothing else to report though it should be said that CHUM's published listings aren't exactly easy to read. In addition, artists aren't even listed for positions eleven through fifty so I may well be missing the odd Canadian act who did, say, "Coconut Woman" at number forty. Nope, that was Harry Belafonte. But not to worry, Canadians will be popping up much more often, especially when this blog moves into the sixties. Until then, it's crusty old bandleaders and teen heartthrobs who'll be doing the heavy lifting for the maple leaf. My homeland has also produced its fair share of tedious types, as we'll no doubt see.
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