Like Some Sort of Punk Rock Fairy Godmother

Or Sometimes, a Road is Just a Road

The other day, I found myself on the periphery of a conversation about the band Electric Light Orchestra, often referred to as ELO. Apparently, these guys are still on the road making music. My contribution to the discussion was to say, “ELO is my second favorite English band known by an acronym; OMD would be my favorite.”

This was met with a pause. Then, the conversation flowed on around me like I hadn’t said a thing.

I’ve been obsessing over obscure music for the last few weeks, and OMD or Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark is what popped into my head. My filters don’t stand a chance in hell of stopping the comment from falling out of my mouth.  

I’m sure this obsession results from my subconscious having this essay percolating but not sharing the plan with me. And I’m pretty sure things were set in motion after I watched a Patti Smith video here on Substack where she talks about writing the song ‘My Blaken Year.’

In the video, she says, “…if you’re going to take the path of being an artist… you’re gonna sometimes have a hard road.” She also says the song “was a gift” given to her while she slept. First of all, Patti Smith, being here on Substack like some kind of punk rock fairy Godmother, warms my heart.

You can find her full video here.

My Blakean Year

The next few weeks had me digging up songs about artists who, because they had no choice but to create, had a rough go of it in life or were all but forgotten in death. This theme seems to be a fairly well-trodden path for musicians, especially the singer-songwriter types.

So, My Blaken Year led me to Frank Turner’s, ‘I Believed You William Blake.’ A song about Catherine Boucher, Blake's wife and the one person who, during his life, saw his true genius. Here’s a bit of Turner’s lyrics from the song, “I held him when he faltered / When earth and faith did shake / And on my grave the words will say / ‘I believed you, William Blake.’"

It seems old William really lucked out and pulled himself a true ride-or-die kind of girl.

And he sure had a hard row to hoe. If it weren’t for Catherine, none of us would even know his name. And every bit of his work would be lost. I mean, who the hell is going to hang on to the art and ramblings of a madman?

Now, please stick with me, as this thing heads in a slightly different direction for a bit. You see, wondering what would’ve happened to Blake’s work had Catherine not seen its value got me thinking about the cyclical nature of the criticism and cultural significance of art.

There are times when the innovators and early adopters are looked to as trailblazers, leading the way to new ground. But at other times, we ignore and marginalize them, or worse yet, we attack them as different and do our best to kick them out of the conversation altogether.  

It feels like we’ve been stuck in the latter part of that cycle for a while now. There are artists out there doing things differently, making unique music and art, but they seem to be trapped in the purgatory wing of YouTube or on some back-channel art website. And most are not valued by a wider audience.

Someone like Turner, who, at least as I see it, is a modern-day Bob Dylan, is one of those, if you know, you know kind of artists. He seems to have sold his soul down at the crossroads for a bit of poetic genius at a time when most people could give a shit about how a song's words are strung together. And I’ll tell you what, the man sure as hell can string together some words.

But I’m seldom met with a “Oh, I know who Frank Turner is” when I tell someone they should give his work a listen.  

‘Sister Rosetta’ is another of his songs that looks at the fickle nature of fame and fortune. Rosetta Tharpe was a gospel singer who could play the hell out of a guitar. She shined brightly in life but faded into obscurity after passing away in 1973. It took until 2017, that’s more than 40 years, for her induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to somehow manage to circle this thing all the way back to OMD. You see, their song ‘Pandora’s Box’ fits perfectly into the mold of this essay. Although I don’t remember listening to it while trudging through all this depressing music.

Maybe it was a gift from, I don’t know, my fairy Godmother. Wouldn’t that be grand?   

Anyway, ‘Pandora’s Box’ is about Louise Brooks, a Kansas girl who made her way to Germany to become a star in silent films. After the industry pitched her away, she spent decades as a suicidal alcoholic escort. But, on a high note, she ended her life, well not ended so much as finished, she died of a heart attack, as a somewhat well-regarded author.

See, doesn’t that fit nicely into that difficult road thing?

And to quote Patti Smith’s ‘My Blaken Year,’ ‘One road is paved in gold / One road is just a road.’

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Some things I learned while researching this essay:

First of all, if you are looking to take music in a different direction, you should probably start seeing live shows in Manchester, England. In a span of fewer than 20 years, both Sister Rosetta and the Sex Pistols played shows there, which are cited as defining moments for the rock and punk genres.

Eric Clapton and Keith Richards, along with some other names you might recognize, were at Sister Rosetta’s show, and founding members of Buzzcocks and Joy Division attended the Pistols show.

And second, I learned Patti Smith has been drifting around at the edges of almost everything good happening in music, literature, and any artistic endeavor you can imagine since the 1970s. Maybe she really is some kind of fairy Godmother who flutters around, sprinkling black glitter and inspiration wherever she goes.

Finally, I have to admit, with Substack making the world feel a bit smaller, I’m terrified this might find its way in front of Patti Smith. Seriously, I don’t want her to find out I’ve been running around referring to her as a fairy Godmother.