I was ten years old when the Beatles made their first
appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. The
only reason I was watching was because my mother, who I guess would have been
33 at the time (funny how she seemed “old” to me back then), had been hearing
about them and was curious to see what they were all about. So, the three of us (her, me, and my younger
sister) sat down that Sunday night and watched, along with almost everyone else
in the country, as the world was changed forever.
I remember she loved them, and found them adorable, while my
sister Patty and I immediately wrinkled our noses and started giggling about
how awful their long hair was. (Three
weeks later, we were both in love with Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones, so go
figure.)
For the next six months or so, the Beatles pretty much ruled
my life. My classmates and I made life
miserable for our bus driver, as we regaled her on a daily basis with
fascinating details such as George’s birthday, Ringo’s favorite color, the name
of John’s childhood pet, and Paul’s height and weight. Patty and I even cut out small photos of
their faces from the pages of Tiger Beat magazine and taped them over the faces
of all of our Ken dolls. There was no
way our Barbies were going to date boring old Ken(s), not with the Beatles so
readily available.
(By the way, I feel I need to mention at this point that, in
all the years since that time, I have retained in my often-fuzzy memory the
birthdays of all four Beatles. I married
a devoted Paul McCartney fan. Every June
18, I say to him, “hey, you know what today is, don’t you?” And every June 18, he says, “no, what?” Sigh...men!!)
As the so-called “British Invasion” continued, I started to
branch out and listen to several of the other bands of that era. I recall liking the Dave Clark Five and
Herman’s Hermits well enough, but preferred the bluesy singing of Eric Burdon
of the Animals, and the brilliant guitar theatrics of Beck, Hendrix and Clapton. I also really liked the Kinks, whose lead
singer and songwriter, Ray Davies, was already making wry social commentary
into hit singles (remember “A Well-Respected Man?”).
As time marched on, I began listening to a lot of different
music. I remember at various times being
“into” James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, and Buffalo Springfield (especially Neil
Young, and I am still a fan). Janis
Joplin, who died two days before my seventeenth birthday, became one of my
idols not just for her amazing voice, but also for the fact that she’d grown up
an outsider – just like me.
Meanwhile, Ray Davies and the Kinks continued to make great
music, but with somewhat less success than before. Davies became enamored of “concept”
albums. The general record-buying public
did not, despite such great songs as “Sunny Afternoon,” “Shangri-La” and “Waterloo Sunset.”
In 1970, the Kinks released a single from their latest
album. The song was called “Lola,” and
it reached #9 on the Billboard charts.
To this day, how a song like “Lola” could have possibly been a bona fide
hit single blows my mind.
Which brings us to the topic of today’s blog post. Not long after its release, “Lola” became my
favorite song. Through the years, it’s
held on to the top spot in my heart, despite some serious contenders. Admittedly, there are songs I love that are
more beautiful (“You and Your Sister” by Chris Bell immediately comes to mind)
and songs I love that have a better melody (pretty much any of Todd Rundgren’s
early stuff, not to mention a number of Davies’ other songs). There are even songs I love that are just as
clever (click here to read my blog post on “Amplifier”). But, so far at least, nothing has quite been
able to replace “Lola” in that top spot for me.
So, if I may, allow me to present Five Good Reasons Why
“Lola” is Still the Greatest Pop Song of All Time.
1. The Song is About...What??!!??
There’s really no getting around it. The song is about a young man whose first
sexual encounter may - or may not - be with a transvestite. The lyrics more or less leave it open to
interpretation. Still, not exactly the
sort of thing a lot of rock and roll songs are written about even now…and
certainly not in 1970.
And it’s not like Lola is a particularly convincing woman,
either. To wit:
“Well I'm not
dumb, but I can't understand
Why she walked
like a woman but talked like a man.”
2. The Vocal
Performance
One of the things I’ve always loved about Ray Davies is the
fact that he sings rock’n’roll songs, but, unlike most English rockers, he
doesn’t particularly try to disguise his accent when he sings, and in “Lola” he
definitely makes this work to his advantage.
After the brief, but instantly recognizable, guitar intro,
Ray begins the narrative in his trademark English accent:
“I met her in a
club down in old Soho,
where you drink
champagne
and it tastes just
like Coca Cola,
C-O-L-A, cola,”
And he never really
shakes the accent, even in the rollicking choruses. It gives the song the needed innocence that
probably got it played on AM radio stations all over the country without any real
issues.
3. The Whole Coca Cola Thing
The U.S. version of
the song mentions Coca Cola by name, as quoted above. However, because the BBC had a policy against
product placement, they insisted Davies change the words for British
radio. The English version substitutes
the phrase “cherry cola.” Which, to be
fair, still rhymes nicely with “Lola.”
For some reason
(probably the fact that I have a lifelong Coca Cola addiction), I’ve always
gotten a huge kick out of that.
4. The Simplicity of the Musical Accompaniment
With lyrics that
assault your senses and ignite your imagination from beginning to end, the fact
that “Lola” has such a straightforward guitar/bass/drums musical backing works
beautifully. There’s no need for
anything fancy, the words are what matters here. The Davies brothers realized that, and I
thank them for it.
In fact, the
backing track is very similar to another of my favorite Kinks songs,
“Apeman.” In that one, the simple music
is once again matched up with witty, clever lyrics, and, once again, it works
perfectly in the context of the song.
5. That Line
The main reason I
fell so hard for “Lola,” and have stayed resolutely in love ever since, is the
complete and total brilliance, wit, and just plain genius of its most famous
line.
“Well I'm not
the world's most masculine man,
but I know what I
am, and I'm glad I'm a man,
and so is Lola.”
I’ve written in this blog before about my affection for
lyrical word play, double meanings in songs, and the like. This, to me, is the apex, the crowning moment
of pop song writing, the “it” moment.
It just might be the single greatest song lyric line ever
written.
Yes, I know, there have been many, many great lines written
in many, many great songs over the years.
Most of them are a whole lot more serious and more earthshattering than
this one. But, as far as I’m concerned,
none of them come close to it.
So, what exactly is he saying? Is he saying that he’s glad he’s a man, and
Lola is also glad? Or is he saying, as seems
to be the general consensus, that he’s a man – and that Lola is also a man?
I’ve actually read a number of interpretations, and I think
the beauty of the whole thing is that the question is left unanswered in the
song. It can mean whatever you want it
to mean. I’m quite certain this was done
purposely by Davies, and to me it is sheer genius.
So, kudos to all the songwriters over the years who’ve
written gorgeous love songs, or heartbreaking songs about lost love. For me, even after all this time, it’s still
all about a young boy being seduced in a London bar by a rather manly
transvestite named Lola.
