“Yours truly strummed away with a slightly limp wrist” – The Kinks and Sexuality

One of the main subjects in several chapters of the Geek Rock book is the connection between popular music and gender. I briefly discuss the “women want them, men want to be them” allure of Mick Jagger, Roger Daltrey, and Robert Plant, specifically with regards to the audience, in my chapter. Martina Topic’s essay on Captain Beefheart contrasts his stage persona and appearance with that of Robert Plant, which Martina described as the epitome of hypermasculinity: bare chest, a mane of locks, pants that are snug in all the right places, you get the picture. (That’s right, we picked on Robert Plant, not once, but twice, for being too good-looking!) Caroline Gates-Shannon did a wonderful examination of the Twee Pop genre, exploring notions of gender in covers of songs written by men, but performed by women – The Cars’ “My Best Friend’s Girl” and The Beach Boys “Surfer Girl” – as well as the nontraditional masculinity present in the music and performances of Beat Happening. Caroline’s chapter floats out the phrase “alternative masculinity,” that is to say a form of masculinity that deviates from the standard (whether it’s the Ron Swanson “manly man” or Robert Plant’s bulge is your pick. And I promise to leave Mr. Plant alone from here on out. It’s not his fault he’s criminally handsome.)

The Kinks are one of the most influential bands of their period; The Beatles’ impact was immediate – Fellas! Let’s start a band and have girls scream at us, just like THOSE GUYS! – while The Kinks’ influence on popular music took a little longer. Part of it is that they truly were ahead of their time. Part of it was that they were banned from performing in the United States from 1965 to 1969; it’s a long story, and one that varies depending on which author, journalist, or even Kink you are asking. Here come some lofty claims that I can comfortably defend with evidence: they invented heavy metal with “You Really Got Me” (courtesy of Dave Davies puncturing and slashing the speaker cone on his “little green amp”), their landmark album The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society is the Rosetta Stone of indie rock, they scored the first hit single that celebrates queer sexuality with “Lola,” and you know how bands these days change genres with each album like they’re changing their socks? Well, The Kinks did that first – bluesy garage rock, baroque British pop, hard rock, concept albums, a fabulous country/trad-jazz album (1971’s Muswell Hillbillies), and one of the greatest musical theater pieces of all time, Preservation Act One and Preservation Act Two.

Another pronounced influence The Kinks had was with how Ray Davies (the band’s lead singer and chief songwriter, though his younger brother Dave wrote some wonderful songs as well) presented, performed, and subverted the rock ideal of traditional masculinity. This can be traced as far back as the band’s first single, a cover of Little Richard’s “Long Tall Sally” (where the narrator’s uncle John is “having some fun tonight” with a woman who may or may not actually be a woman – shades of “Lola,” perhaps?) backed with an original, “I Took My Baby Home.” The single’s B-side has Davies’ narrator taking a date back to his place, where he finds himself sexually overpowered:

“She had some pile-drivin’ kisses, they really knocked me out
They knocked me oh-oh-over,
She had a hug like a vice,
She squeezes once or twice and I moan…”

Okay, so Ray still had a little ways to go before becoming a man who Pete Townshend said should be England’s poet laureate, but consider this: the song was recorded in January 1964. At that point in time, The Beatles were ready to send all their loving to you, while their bad-boy counterparts The Rolling Stones were introduced to the British record-buying public with a press release (penned by their manager Andrew Oldham) urging the population to lock up their daughters. Across the pond, The Beach Boys were doing songs that treated women like objects. (Go read the lyrics to “California Girls,” a sublime melody and a textbook example in how to arrange a pop song that is also irretrievably sexist.) In “I Took My Baby Home,” however – Ray Davies’ first song on record – the man is the object, sexually submissive to his female partner.

Of course, this is only the band’s first single. There are countless instances throughout their catalog of Ray portraying himself as something less than a cock-of-the-walk alpha male, in defiance of typical rock and blues lyrics. Consider the narrator of “Sunny Afternoon,” where the man who has lost everything is hardly an object of pity, instead a newly-single abusive alcoholic who doesn’t pay his taxes. The Kinks also make plenty of references to queer sexuality, as well. There is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it gay reference in “A Well Respected Man,” while the male main character in “Dedicated Follower of Fashion” is described as wearing “frilly nylon panties.”

On Preservation, Ray sings “Mirror of Love” in the voice of a female character, and it is hilarious, and yet this character is later voiced in the story by the great Maryann Price. There is a fey glam campiness in Ray’s onstage banter during the live cuts on Everybody’s in Showbiz (supposedly, he was hamming it up for members of Andy Warhol’s entourage sitting in the front row), while the eponymous track from 1987’s The Road (primarily a live album, this was its one studio cut) provided the title to this article. From 1978’s Misfits, “Out of the Wardrobe” portrays a married couple who not only cross-dress at home, they swap traditional gender roles entirely: “He does the dishes, she smokes a pipe.” Much like “Lola” eight years earlier, the depiction is one of bliss, however not normal it may seem by conventional standards.


Before wrapping it up, I would like to shift the focus from Ray and talk about Dave; occasionally overlooked, Dave deserves to be a focal point in any discussion of the band’s sound or appearance. At a time where the Stones’ shaggy hair caused an uproar and more than a few dirty looks while touring the American south, Dave sported shoulder-length locks. He writes at great length in his autobiography Kink about this, as well as his affinity for wearing campy stage makeup in their early days. Where Ray delivered subtle gay winks in his lyrics, Dave, the ever-smirking maniac whose guitar solos in the band’s early days injected an orgasmic rush into the proceedings, admitted to his own bi-curiosity in the 1960’s. (Homosexuality was illegal in the UK until 1967.)

As if you all needed another reason to listen to The Kinks. Do it. Now.


How To Write A Love Song Without Getting Dry Heaves: The Soft Boys’ “Kingdom of Love”


On the whole, I can’t stand love songs. Part of it stems from time as a wedding DJ, where every week I watched newly-hitched couples writhe to such formulaic, saccharine dreck as Lonestar’s “Amazed” (which paradoxically cribs a lyric from one of the best love songs of all time, Paul McCartney’s “Maybe I’m Amazed”), Hoobastank’s “The Reason” (remember that one from 2005?), and Bryan Adams’ “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You,” which spends its first 80 seconds without a drumbeat, the hallmark of any great dance number, am I right?

Part of it is also my own disposition, and I know I am speaking for my than just myself on this. I don’t go for all that lovey-dovey cutesy stuff. That’s not what love is. Sure, those moments of hand-holding, cuddling, and saying really sweet things to one another have their place – on waterfronts, behind closed doors, in a dimly-lit theater…just make sure that in any of the above scenarios that you stay the Hell away from social media. Nobody cares. Love isn’t just teasing one another about who really loves who more, it’s about sticking together no matter what work, family, or the universe as a whole decides to throw at you. It’s about being there for your partner, supporting and comforting them, but more importantly, it is about having someone in your life that you can turn to for comfort and support without hesitation, someone to whom you can expose your weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and shortcomings. They don’t exactly address that in “Love Will Keep Us Together.”

There are two kinds of love songs that I do like: the realistic ones and the weird ones. The realistic ones include Ray Davies from The Kinks wondering aloud in their 1965 song “Something Better Beginning,” which captures a couple’s first meet at a dance, that “I found something I thought I’d never have / The only time I feel alive is when I’m with you / I wonder how long it will last.” The end result is a much more accurate glimpse into that first-night excitement than anything else from that period. I also love when married musicians write about love. Neil Young has been married to his wife Pegi since 1977, and the longevity of their relationship makes songs like 2010’s “Walk With Me” carry far more emotional weight. Paul McCartney’s Ram also exemplifies the realism of married bliss, where all the guy wanted was a horse, a sheep, and a good night’s sleep with his wife and babies in the heart of the country. (Be sure to also check out “Country Dreamer,” a Wings B-side from 1973. That song is all I want in life.)

The most exciting love songs, though, are the ones with the most unique approaches. I would much rather hear Iggy Pop’s “I Wanna Be Your Dog” than “Brown-Eyed Girl.” Who cares about all the times you sang sha-la-la when Iggy is beckoning, “Now we’re gonna be face to face / And I’ll lay right down in my favorite place?” Or, to return to The Kinks, how about “Lola,” the one tune that Ray has routinely introduced in concert as being one of his favorite love songs? In it, a young man, fresh to the electric candlelight of the London nightlife, encounters Lola and her dark brown voice. By the song’s end, the narrator declares, “I’m not the world’s most masculine man / But I know what I am, I’m glad I’m a man / And so’s Lola.” Not your typical tale, but there is no denying that the two are happy and comfortable with being themselves.

Perhaps my favorite of these off-beat love songs is “Kingdom of Love” by The Soft Boys, fronted by a young Robyn Hitchcock. Their second release, 1980’s Underwater Moonlight, laid the groundwork for some of the decade’s best music. (Naturally, this also means it sold poorly.) What made The Soft Boys so captivating was their ability to wear their influences on their sleeves – John Lennon, Captain Beefheart, The Byrds, Pink Floyd founder Syd Barrett, and Davies – while still presenting a collection of songs that are wholly original, blending the psychedelic pop of their heroes with the lean vitality of punk. The album’s lead number, “I Wanna Destroy You,” is perhaps the best example of this, a catchy pop tune to be sure, but those Beatlesque harmonies are delivered with a sneer. The title track, which rounds out the album, is also a must-hear masterpiece.

However, it is “Kingdom of Love” that gets the heaviest rotation. I enjoy this song so much that I included it in my literature class at St. John’s University. Discussing the subject of love, we looked at a number of songs about relationships and explored notions of power, gender, and sex. Other songs discussed included Bob Dylan’s “She Belongs to Me,” “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” by The Supremes, “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” by Beyonce, “Summer Boyfriend” by Lady Gaga, “Man” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and this one. (That lecture and subsequent discussion should probably be its own article – I had a surprising mix of opinions on the narrator of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” and whether she was a victim or, as one female student put it, “clearly just a crazy bitch.” She made a compelling argument.)

When I first heard “Kingdom of Love,” I was immediately captivated by the music. The intro and verses groove along with a cool swagger, a laid-back interplay between two guitars with a walking bass line and a relaxed drumbeat, while the choruses have a sense of urgency to them. Hitchcock’s sotto near-whisper is replaced with a near-monotone pair of vocals while the chilled-out guitars descend with bombast before going into its cathartic, major-key bridge. As stellar as the music is, the lyrics are even better.

In each verse, Hitchcock alludes to different places – a spiritual kingdom of love, a primitive jungle of love, and a physical kingdom of time. Every one of these places represents a different facet of being in a relationship: the mental connection of finding a soulmate, the physical connection that comes with sex, and the emotional connection that comes with companionship. Better still is the first chorus:

“You’ve been laying eggs under my skin
Now they’re hatching out under my chin
Now there’s tiny insects showing through
All the tiny insects look like you!”

I find that to be the perfect metaphor for the infatuation stage of love. (Note also that he is using a metaphor rather than a simile – it’s not “like” you’ve been laying eggs under his chin, you have been laying eggs under his skin!) The imagery of subcutaneous bugs works perfectly here; a person comes into your life and invades your psyche, the entirety of your being. This is reinforced in the song’s final line: “You’re the one I love, or so it seems / Because you’ve confiscated all my dreams.” This person has become such a part of the narrator’s life that they are omnipresent, even in dreams. The song’s bridge also has a lyric that I jokingly challenged my students to use as a pick-up line, but one that I will be including someday in my wedding vows: “All I want to do is be your creature.” If that’s not love, I’m afraid I don’t know what is.

There are other types of love song that I venerate, namely doo-wop ballads. However, I consider doo-wop to be a far more sophisticated form of music than (white) pop, especially from that same era, so we’ll just have to save my thoughts on The Penguins’ “Earth Angel,” “In the Still of the Night” by The Five Satins, and The Flamingos’ version of “I Only Have Eyes For You,” one of the most uniquely arranged pop songs in history, for another time.

Pop Deconstructionism 101: The Residents’ Third Reich and Roll

In the final stages of editing our manuscript, Vickie and I, during one of our semi-daily State of the Book conference calls, agreed that we needed to include a comprehensive Geek Rock discography. The reason for this was simple: there was (and still is) a lot more ground to cover. We’re both proud of every single chapter included in Geek Rock, but my only lament was in regard to what wouldn’t be in the book. I even hinted with a not-so-subtle nudge and wink that maybe, just maybe, we could someday do Return of the Son of Geek Rock to enshrine at least another dozen more artists from this genre within the framework of legitimate academic discussion.

For me, the most glaring omission (and sorry, kiddies, but I’m calling dibs on them in the event Return of the Son of… becomes a reality) is The Residents. In short, they represent the most esoteric depths of experimental music from the classic rock era, with a discography that spans four decades and gives Zappa a run for his money in terms of their eclecticism. Just about the only thing one won’t find in The Residents’ discography is a hit record. Commercialism has always been their target, not their goal. It may also be worth mentioning here also that The Residents have existed in some form since 1972 with no one knowing for sure just who the Hell these guys (and maybe gals) are.

There is plenty to discover and discuss from mining the band’s career. In my experience of getting into The Residents, I found the easiest point of entry to be their tribute albums – songs I already know, albeit in vastly different form. Covers can be a touchy subject, especially in this day and age where we can all rest soundly knowing just what Avril Lavigne’s rendition of “Imagine” sounds like, and yet at the same time there is a litany of cover tunes that not only do justice to the original, they surpass them. I’m sure there is a sizable segment of the population who think The Beatles did “Twist and Shout” first, no doubt because of the energy and vigor they put into their performance. Or how about Ike and Tina’s rendition of CCR’s “Proud Mary?” I love Fogerty and the gang, and they have their own share of dazzling covers (turning “Susie Q” and “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” into sprawling swamp-rock jams? Brilliant!), but Ike and Tina made “Proud Mary” theirs. In that same vein, Trent Reznor, the angriest man in music, was gracious enough to concede that Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt” was the best.

Beginning in the early 1970’s, cover albums became somewhat of a trend – David Bowie’s Pin-Ups, The Band’s Moondog Matinee, John Lennon’s Rock & Roll, side A of Todd Rundgren’s Faithful – meant to be a fond look back on the past, its yearning for yesteryear (for Todd and Bowie, it was back to the mid-60’s, while for Lennon and The Band, it was back to the early days of rock ‘n’ roll) a sign of dissatisfaction with the times. Released in 1976, The Residents’ second album, The Third Reich and Roll, subverted the standards of the above-mentioned tribute albums where the past was held in such a lofty view.

Beginning with an actual clip from the German version of “Let’s Do The Twist Again,” the snippet is cut short by flatulent sound effects and a tribal drumbeat. When the vocals come in, it is an atonal take on the chorus from Wilson Pickett’s “Land of 1000 Dances.” The barely intelligible lead singer calls off all the dance styles from the original before going back to the tribal drums. With the emergence of a plonking piano, the band segues into “My Baby Does The Hanky-Panky” by Tommy James and The Shondells. Each side of the original record makes up one long track, segueing from one song to the next, making it less of a traditional album than it is a work of aural art.

It is seemingly obvious from the outset that The Residents were throwing tomatoes at pop music: just look at the cover, which Wikipedia matter-of-factly denotes as featuring “television entertainer Dick Clark in a Nazi uniform holding a carrot while surrounded by swastikas and pictures of a dancing Adolf Hitler in both male and female dress.” The metaphor is a hard one to miss: the innate fascism of pop music. The late Clark may appear to be an innocent target, but let’s not forget that in the 50’s he dodged the same payola scandal bullet that ruined Alan Freed’s career (which may have had more to do with Freed playing Little Richard, while Clark was plugging Pat Boone’s version of Little Richard…)

The songs parodied are at times obvious choices: “A Horse With No Name,” “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy,” “A Double Shot of My Baby’s Love,” all songs with truly stupid lyrics. However, at the album’s conclusion, a synthesizer playing “Sunshine of Your Love” suddenly shifts – it can’t be! – to one of the most sacred cows of the past decade: The Beatles’ “Hey Jude,” with its closing mantra that seemed to make all the clouds go away during the storms of 1968. As the singers join in, the keyboardist begins bungling his notes – intentional or not? – adding a sinister quality to the proceedings. The guitar, which begins by doubling the “Hey Jude” mantra melody, starts to take some liberties here and there before drifting into the Luciferian counter to The Beatles’ angelic hymn: “Sympathy For The Devil” by The Rolling Stones. They even throw in a few “woo-woo” backing vocals for good measure. In just 35 minutes, The Residents have torched the very institution of pop music, reminding us that even our gilt-edged heroes were all part of the same big ugly pop machine.

Left off the album, but from around the same period, were two more visitations by The Residents onto the hallowed ground of The Rolling Stones and The Beatles. It is worth keeping in mind that by this time – 1976 – both groups were thought of as part of the past, despite everyone’s efforts to bring The Beatles back together, while the pre-punk revival Stones were busy taking two years to churn out yawn-inducing mid-tempo dinosaur rock sludge. (Black and Blue, anyone?)

The Residents’ intentions may never be known, but their cover of “Satisfaction” takes the roughshod garage band from outer space of The Third Reich and Roll and does it one better. With a vocal performance that is more screaming than actual singing, the cocky swagger of the original is replaced with an impotent, nasal lament, countered with sheer rage on the chorus. This type of cover, where deviation from the original is what defines it, was the first of its kind. Two years later, Devo’s robotic version of “Satisfaction” was praised for its innovative approach. Their version is brilliant, but The Residents’ version is, by contrast, downright scary.

On their EP The Residents Play The Beatles and The Beatles Play The Residents, the band did more than just spoof rock’s most sacred cow. The A-side, “Beyond the Valley of a Day in the Life,” is an audio collage compiled from Beatles and Beatle-related recordings. They go for deep cuts, too: “Tell Me Why” from A Hard Day’s Night, “Mr. Moonlight” (itself a cover!) from Beatles For Sale,“Tell Me What You See” from Help!, and even clips from The Beatles fan club-only Christmas records. Assembled like a more commercial “Revolution 9,” The Residents did one of the first mash-ups. The EP’s B-side is a haunting cover of Magical Mystery Tour’s “Flying,” one of The Beatles’ only instrumentals and only one of two to share a group writing credit.

By doing these twisted covers, the aura of reverence surrounding Rundgren’s note-for-note replications of “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” and “If 6 Was 9” and Bowie’s space-glam updates of songs by The Kinks, The Who, and The Yardbirds was suddenly unnecessary, while Lennon and The Band’s veneration of yesteryear can be written off as silly exercises in nostalgia (though in Lennon’s case, it was the settlement of a court battle for “borrowing” some Chuck Berry lyrics in “Come Together”). With Devo’s warped cover of “Satisfaction,” The Sex Pistols’ obscenity-laden version of “My Way,” and all those surprisingly effective hard rock covers of Britney Spears tunes, cover tunes can now – under the right circumstances – be stripped of their politics, done the way the artist wants to play it, not as an homage or a glowing tribute, but simply because they want to do it. We have The Residents to thank for that.