Caveman

Or the Evolution of Ringo Starr

Ringo Starr celebrated his 85th birthday a few weeks ago, although I didn’t realize it was his birthday week until well after I’d heard the Muses screaming into the void and started writing this essay. I’d like to wish Ringo the best and maybe offer a bit of an apology for some of the things that might find their way out of my brain and onto the page as I write.

First of all, I have to say I’m not anti-The Beatles or even anti-John, Paul, George, or Ringo. My mom was part of the screaming throng that absolutely loved them in their heyday, and their albums regularly found their way to the turntable in our family room during the late 1970s.

But I’m a contrarian at heart, so I tend to steer clear of the shiny things in pop culture. If everyone else likes something, I’m not likely to be a fan. Or at the very least, I’ll put on my devil's advocate cap and try my best to get under people's skin.

The Beatles were a bit before my time, but they still had enough sparkle left when I was in my formative years that I felt like I needed to run away from them. In fact, maybe my mother's insistence that they were the greatest thing since sliced bread is at the root of my contrary nature.

I can certainly see the merit in their music. Looking back, their influence is clear on the punk that was a staple of my teen rebellion and continues to have a hold on me even as an adult.

I’ve never been a fan, though.

In fact, I used to tell people who expressed a love for The Beatles, and I should tell you here it was a joke, you know, meant to be funny, that I thought the most artistic thing any member of the band had ever done was Ringo Starr’s performance in the 1981 cult classic movie, Caveman. I’d say this, mainly because the words would often elicit a venomous response.

The joke kind of falls flat now. People have moved on to worshiping other pop idols, like Michael Jackson, then that blonde from No Doubt, and now Taylor Swift, or whoever is moving in to take her place. And without the angry defense, I feel like I’m just wasting my breath.

It seems that, in hindsight, though, my Caveman comment might have been spot on. Although most of you, in all likelihood, didn’t know the movie existed, the thing has a cult following. You can find a witty review and a synopsis at Brandon Tenold’s Cult Movie Review. I could argue that it launched the careers of Shelly Long and Dennis Quaid. Sure, they both had roles before Caveman, but things really took off for them after.

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The biggest thing the movie did was land Ringo Starr in proximity to his future wife, Barbara Bach. In all likelihood, it was Bach’s influence that kept old Ringo with us and let him see 85. They went to rehab together in the late 1980s, got clean of the alcohol and drugs, and went so far as to stop eating meat.

Some of that must have contributed to him still hanging on and making music.

And the thing is, in his old age, his music has become much more artistic than the pop hits The Beatles were putting out to feed the masses. He also has slipped from the limelight, and the screaming fans are a thing of the past. Ah, maybe one or two seasoned ladies still try to slip backstage, but at this point, that’s just going to lead to a broken hip. Or worse.

But Ringo is still out there, making music and even some new fans. And sure, I’ll admit that I’m one of them. But there’s a fairly strong argument to be made that without his role in Caveman, he would have faded almost completely out of our collective memory like many of the other big-name musicians of his generation.

And finally, Caveman begins with a date: One Zillion BC, October 9^th, to be exact. Which, if you’re a Beatles fan, you probably know is John Lennon’s birthday. Not the One Zillion part, but the October 9^th part, Lennon wouldn’t come along until 1940.