Volume 22 - Even Though We Ain’t Got Money: Dinghy Rock not Yacht Rock



The origin of the "yacht rock" slur?



I learned a couple years ago that it had become hip amongst the “hipster” kids to call some sub-genres of soft rock by the term Yacht rock.  Michael McDonald, Christopher Cross, and others, like Messrs Loggins and Messina pictured above, who have been treated with reverence here by Dolf and Holiday would likely fit the profile.  These young folks forget soft rock’s contributions to all strata of the socio-economic ladder, but Dolf and Halliday do not, as evidenced by the exchange below.  Forgive the editorial, but the Soft Rock is a music of all peoples in my humble estimation.  It is most interesting that Adolfo should reference yachting as a potential song conceit.  Dolf and Holiday were certainly hipsters in their own day and in their own way.  Read on. – ed.





Dolf:

Money doesn’t always kill art, does it?  I can think of several successful artists whose oeuvre arguably grew stronger with age and success.  A young, impoverished Gordon Lightfoot, still toiling away in an Ontario barroom, would never have had the chance to get on radio “The Wreck of the Edumund Fitzgerald,” a song over six  minutes in length and dealing with such arcane subject matter as a boating accident on the Great Lakes.  Success does allow some freedom, no? 

No Hush Puppie here.

Consider William Martin Joel, a man with the face of a Hush Puppie (a fine shoe, no doubt, but as a mug, nay), yet somehow able to date supermodels like Elle MacPherson and future wife Christie Brinkley.  That kind of success and swagger allowed him to explore his roots and his love of 50’s and 60’s rock ‘n’ roll  with  An Innocent Man, surely not the kind of album that would have gotten any airplay without Joel’s growing cachet—and needless to say “assplay” would most certainly be a non-starter for such a mook.   Would he have become our musical ambassador to Russia, Ronald Regan with a piano, as a poor young man, literally from Hicksville?  No, fame does open doors and allows creative whims to take flight. 

And yet, some of our greatest songs are aged in a cask of poverty and innocence, nay, even blissful ignorance.  So I have to say I love you in a song.  Working just enough for the city.  The coat of many colors Momma made for me.  Love child, love child, never quite as good, afraid, ashamed, misunderstood.  This list goes on and on, but I want to write about “Danny’s Song,” by Mr. Kenny Loggins.  Consider the whole premise of the song as gift.  The meta-poetic nature of Kenny’s undertaking.  You know the story, I am sure.  Kenny, himself without much money, gave the song to his older brother Danny who was about to have a child, and the song’s lyrical content itself confronts poverty and love with a grace oft-imitated, especially in modern (i.e bad—remember Johnny Paycheck’s “She’s All I Got”???) country music, but never repeated.  The song grew and grew. 

It became important again to Kenny when he and wife were expecting, and Canuck songstress Ann Murray, of “Can I Have this Dance for the Rest of My Life” fame, had a huge hit with said song before she ever understood the power of having a child herself.   I am particularly fond of the following verse, open to so many interpretations:

Love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup, drink it up,
Love her and she'll bring you luck.
And if you find she helps your mind, buddy, take her home,
Don't you live alone, try to earn what lovers own.

Dolf responds:



McDreamy knows



Poverty, man, ain’t that a bitch!  No wonder there are so many songs, poems, films, and novels that touch on this subject.  There’s always a war, my friend, but these are most troubling times we live in.  And guess who’s fighting these wars, all wars?   Certainly not that “fortunate son” referenced in the tasty John Fogerty jam.  And money can’t buy one love, Sir Paul, but I do see a lot of rich fellows sporting some nice arm candy!  Depends on your definition of love, I suppose.  And Linda (not to mention Mr. Patrick Dempsey) may beg to differ, Mr. McCartney. 

Yet I appreciate your point and that of Mr. Loggins.  In the prime of my life, my family and I surely live in comfort.  I have been blessed (in so many, many ways!).  Yes, I have a collection of vintage motorbikes and roadsters, not to mention ready access to my father’s sailing sloop whenever the spirit moves me.  But I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to give a meager gift of song to my loved ones.  Yea, I still strive to “earn what lover’s own.” 

I think of Mr. James Taylor, Brother JT, his masterpiece of Soft Rock understatement, “You’ve Got a Friend.”  What better gift to a friend in need than song?  Sure, a few bucks would be nice.  And a parka would surely help when “that old North wind begins to blow.”  But if you can hum your very own personalized tune when the going gets tough, well, to quote Mr. Perry Como, “You’ll have a pocket full of starlight,” which in my estimation is better than a bowl of soup and microwave-ready Hot Pocket any day!  Annie Denver (née Martell) is forever immortalized by her song, and John’s litany of gifts—a night in the forest, a mountain in spring time, a storm in the desert, et al—surely have nothing in common with the baseness of cold hard diamonds or, better yet, cold hard cash.  Give me a song any day, friend.  Call it “Adolfo’s Song.”  And perhaps employ yachting as its central conceit.