In another example, Sheed, struck by the musical sophistication of the Jerome Kern song “All The Things You Are,” paralleled its uncanny progressions to some make-believe mountain climbing maneuvering by famed mountaineer George Mallory in a fable called “Mallory’s Pipe.” Having gone back to the top of the mountain to retrieve the pipe he left behind, Mallory confidently went back down at night on the wrong side of the rock, the one without footholds nobody ever new existed. “All The Things You Are,” which shot onto the Hit Parade, found those footholds that no one ever knew existed, or anyone had used again.
Losing those tracks seemed to portend a lack of innovation and imagination to come. After generous discussions about Harry Warren and Jimmy Van Heusen, with an update about sustaining the great songwriting tradition with Frank Loesser, Burton Lane, and Cy Coleman, Sheed notes the post-World War II decline — changes under way well before the advent of rock ’n’ roll.
The magical merger of quality and commercial appeal — the art and pop — that could always be counted on, suddenly existed no more. “It seemed that by 1945,” Sheed says, “the kids had seized control of all the jukeboxes and radios and wouldn’t let go for a moment.” Not only that, but Sheed was startled by "how sharp the break was at the end of World War II, as if the bad stuff had been waiting for its cue. And perhaps it had, because several of the new hits seemed to depend on the latest gimmickry and special effects to celebrate technology more than music.”
Has a familiar ring, but I understand Sheed's passion, and frustration. After five decades of great song craftsmanship, there seemed like such an abrupt lack of the affirmative to latch on to, and too much of the negative to eliminate.
Article comments
1 - Natalie Bennett
This article has been selected for syndication to Advance.net , which is affiliated with newspapers around the United States, and to Boston.com. Nice work!
2 - Gordon Hauptfleisch
Thanks, Natalie.