Yacht Rock
by Bill Tuomala
"When a friend is drowning in a sea of sadness,
you don't just toss him a life vest. You swim one over to him." In the past few months, friends have sent me literally
dozens of links to various artists' live performance clips on YouTube.com and
I've only watched two of them. ('Mats on Saturday Night Live, 1986.) Strange as it seems, I'd rather watch Jim
Mora's "playoffs?" rant, Denny Green's "crown 'em!"
tirade, or Richard Nixon's "I'm not a crook" proclamation over a
clip of so-and-so rockers playing in a club back in the day before they hit
it big or became a cult legend. Why? At first, I thought it had something to
do with keeping the mystery alive for artists I love. Then I thought about it
some more and determined that I'm: 1) lazy, and 2) not obsessively into rock
'n' roll like I once was. Still love it to death, but can go a day - though
not a week - without listening to it. Rock 'n' roll has equaled out in my
mind as an object of obsession; reaching the same sort of level as politics, Sioux
hockey, The White Shadow, and
cheap beer. I'll totally 'fess up and admit that I am more looking forward to
the next broadcast of Hardball with Chris Matthews then I am of the next airing of the
always-excellent Little Steven's Underground Garage radio show. I also realized that I'm in some sort of transition mode
with my infatuations; that rock 'n' roll may once again rise in my
priorities, but it's not guaranteed. Aside from those brief moments in the
car when I'm blasting the Hold Steady's "Southtown Girls" or
gleefully singing along with the likes of Manfred Mann's version of "The
Mighty Quinn" on the AM oldies station, the only time I truly feel
connected to rock 'n' roll is during those late nights with headphones on and
a beer 'n' vodka buzz going. It seems only darkness, confinement, and liquid
depressants can coax me into a one-night stand with rock 'n' roll. In such times of apathy and boredom, it's usually the rule
that I embrace forms that are uncluttered sound-wise, such as fifties rock and
classic country; or feature sonic explosions like those in raw blues and
early metal. (It's no wonder that a few weekends back I broke out Deep
Purple's Made in Japan double-live
album - four sides, seven songs - for a special tracking.) And if it's not the
above genres, then I find comfort in laughs. Sadly, there's not enough laughs these days in rock 'n'
roll. But lately I've been obsessing over one of the funniest things
associated with music that I've ever seen. Yacht Rock is a web-based video series made by total
unknowns. Ten episodes - so far - have been made, five minutes long each.
What they lack in production resources they make up for in spades with wit
and attention to the trivia of popular culture. They create a hilarious
alternate history of the smooth music made in the seventies and eighties by
the likes of the Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, Toto, and Hall & Oates. And
- glory of glories - it's not some simple-minded attempt at irony. It's too
smart for that. It's so well-written and conceived that it works by making
Kenny Loggins an eerily charismatic figure with talent to burn, Journey's
Steve Perry a supernatural shaman, and Michael McDonald a sympathetic
protagonist. The series revolves around the philosophy that smooth
music is the pinnacle and perfection that a musician can reach. Hard rock and
any type of hard beats are discouraged, if not outright banned. When a smooth
artist is tempted by hard rock, the others react with dismay. But in Yacht
Rock "hard rock" is a relative
thing. Loggins's song "I'm Alright" and the Loggins/Perry
collaboration on "Don't Fight It" are considered quintessential
hard rock, leaving the heavy metallic sheen of early Van Halen to be
downright evil. When Michael "hard rock has got me and Eddie drillin'
more coots than Black & Decker" Jackson hires Eddie Van Halen to
play guitar on "Beat It," Toto has to get the help of other smooth
artists (and Vincent Price) to put a stop to Jackson moving away from smooth
music. Silly? Yes. Have I watched it over and over? Of course. Such team-ups are one of the factors that make Yacht
Rock so much fun. You know how in Marvel
comics, Spider-Man will be cruising around Manhattan and just suddenly runs
into Thor? Yacht Rock works
like that also. Nobody seems to have a car and most of the meetings take
place in alleys, on sidewalks, and near open garages. No doubt that this was
necessitated by the series' low budget, and it only adds to the overall
comedic appeal. Team-ups and rivalries spring up constantly, also just like
in Marvel: Kenny Loggins with Jim Messina (broke up, Messina living in an
alley); Loggins and Michael McDonald (survives a feud over Loggins's
"rocking out" for Caddyshack); Loggins and Steve Perry (they wear karate outfits and celebrate
the eighties); Michael Jackson and Eddie Van Halen (derailed by Toto); Harold
Ramis and Toto (deal sealed by $75 bribe); Ted Templeman and Van Halen
(result of hypnosis.) I drew up one of those "rock family trees"
that detailed the Yacht Rock
universe and came up with an intricately-linked web. Most episodes revolve around the songwriting process. But
instead of being an actual process of writing, experimenting, re-writing,
editing, etc.; a song will come down to a certain epiphany that the artist
has. (McDonald: "Kenny - that's what a fool believes!") Each
episode unfolds like a mini-musical, where characters speak and sing words.
But in this case even the smooth and sometimes cringe-worthy tunes of Yacht
Rock easily eclipse the tripe one hears
in show tunes. It's all impossibly frustrating to describe. Each episode
is only five minutes long but has an abundance of laughs. Had it been borne a
quarter-century ago, it could have easily found a home on SCTV. That Yacht Rock references said late-night-sketch gem and its
send-up of Michael McDonald speaks volumes to its genius. You can find it at YachtRock.com. |
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