One Hit, Onederful
Ode to 'Ode to Billy Joe' and others
by Scott McNutt
Whoomp, there it is, 15 minutes of fame. Hey Macarena! Tell Tchaikovsky the news. No, not Huey Lewis and-. They were hot, hot, hot in the ’80s and lame now, but I’m talking about groups like the JoBoxers that just got lucky when they thought they were making their dreams come true.
Some readers may chortle at the hope held by the likes of David Naughton, thinking he was dy-no-mite, makin’ it as a hot child in the city. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the joke that if life is a highway, Tom Cochrane is roadkill. The impression I get is that many music aficionados feel these flashes in the pan are too blind to see it and need to just live and learn.
Some may go so far as to say one-hit wonders got no reason to live, like short people. But believe it or not, as Randy Newman would probably tell you, having a single hit single is neither da bomb nor a bitch.
For a little while they’re swinging on a star. Eventually, these interim “in” things may have to move on and get a job. But, gee whiz, a pop-charting single isn’t a wipeout, even if the critics demand more, more, more. As the years go by, one-hit wonders can hold their heads up. They realize better than the rest of us that precious and few are the moments you get to break your stride and stop to smell the rose garden, especially one that wasn’t promised to you.
Besides, how long has it got to go on before success is called success? So what if it’s only a season in the sun or an afternoon’s delight? Isn’t it enough that they’re in the driver’s seat right here, right now?
Maybe these wannabe-stars are fooling themselves to think the future’s so bright, they gotta wear shades, but so what? Who are you to disturb this groove? Who do you think you are? Mr. Big Stuff? Rico Suave? If you can honestly say that nothing compares to you, then you can tell me goodbye. If not, then there’s never been any reason to be cruel to be kind of superior. You get what you give, you know?
True, some flavors of the month do stink to high heaven like a dead skunk in the middle of the road. As often as not, they let it all hang out, and the result is “She’s Like the Wind,” “Breakin,” or “Feelings.” On the other hand, try writing a better feel-good groove than King Harvest’s “Dancing in the Moonlight,” coming up with the sequel to Sheb Wooley’s “Purple People Eater” or inventing another fad to follow Billy Ray Cyrus’ “Achy-BreakyHeart.” We ain’t got nothin’ yet, do we?
Figuring out how to put the bomp in the bomp, bomp, bomp, or the yeah in the yeah, yeah, yeah isn’t easy. Lightnin’ strikes like magic for a few, but everything falls apart for most. No doubt many acts shot a hole in their soul with their one shot at success, and even if you don’t treat no-repeat pop charters like they’re walking on sunshine, you don’t have to be insensitive about it.
All right now, for what it’s worth, here’s my midnight confession: One-hit wonders ring my bell, they light up my life. No surprises, there, I know. But I can’t help it. Like being torn between two lovers in a third-rate romance, I’m hooked on the feeling.
Not that I would even if I could. Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm. One-hit wonders, I love you always forever. And there are more and more like me. So this elitist dismissal of one-hit wonders? We’re not gonna take it. We’re going to whip it, whip it good. There ain’t no stoppin’ us now. But all you pop purists out there, don’t worry, be happy. All we’re saying is, relax, get used to it. In any case, everybody’s free to do as they please in a big country like ours.
And in the year 2525, who’s going to care anyway?
http://www.metropulse.com/dir_zine/dir_2005/dir_1510/t_snarls.html
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