#64) "Wango Tango" by Ted Nugent - Take away his brashness and over-the-top political views (or who knows, maybe keep them right in place) and Ted Nugent is undeniably one of the greatest rock and roll musicians of all time. A killer, killer axe grinder, he rose to fame in the 1970s by forging a unique brand of rock and roll, louder and more obnoxious than ever; not a 'wall of sound', more a shriek from the end of the alley, or the edge of the woods, but always with just a little humor folded in. This somehow allowed him to swagger across the stage dressed like Tarzan without detracting from his legitimacy, and to everyone's shock, without the need for - or distraction of - drugs and alcohol.
Wango Tango is an awful song that I love listening to. No better representation of the Motor City Madman probably exists, and for my money it possesses all the requisite ingredients for a basic rock and roll stew: loudness, sexually charged energy, blistering guitar licks, and yet just a splash of spazzy, because rock and roll should never, ever take itself so seriously it can't climb up on a buffalo once in a while.
Ted Nugent has always realized this, and if people realized that he realizes this, they might not be quite as outraged by the outrageous things he says.
Er, maybe they would anyway...but in any case, Wango Tango tears it up.
"My baby like to rock, my baby like to roll / my baby like to dance all night, she got no control..."
#65) "Chevy Van" by Sammy Johns - I firmly believe everyone needs a little Uncle Ted in their lives, but I'll be the first to admit he's not what I want the most of along with me on 1/48/50.
The vibe of this trip will revolve more tightly around the likes of Chevy Van. This is another of those songs that resides inside a singular emotional moment. It's ultimately just an anecdote of a chance encounter, some version of which happens every single day somewhere, the kind of thing that for most people makes life worth living, at some point in that life at least.
But Chevy Van captures a special point in American history. The fact that these days this song - or this type of song - would be lucky to draw four people to Room 103 of the county annex out on Highway H for a Tuesday night performance, much less reach #5 on the Billboard Top 100 (as it did in 1973), is unfortunate, to say the least.
Makes me think we lost something along the way.
"I put her out in a town that was so small / you could throw a rock from end to end..."
#66) "Ventura Highway" by America - One of my favorite songs of all time: gorgeous instrumentation, complex rhythm, wildly inscrutable lyrics that don't have to mean anything, but mean everything. Ventura Highway isn't a place, or a road...man...it's a state of mind.
America vocalist and writer Dewey Bunnell has said he considers Ventura Highway his most enduring song; or so he was quoted on Wikipedia. But I have no reason not to accept it. This isn't a college paper I'm writing here, and if he doesn't think it, he damn well should. For all it's acoustic AM Gold vibe, Ventura Highway really is pretty timeless. Listening to it always makes my day, no matter how roughly that day has unfolded.
"This town don't look good in snow..."
#67) "Sister Golden Hair" by America - Another graceful beauty by America, Sister Golden Hair isn't quite so timeless. In fact, if any song smells the most like 1975, I'd say it's this one. But like Chevy Van, the song movingly captures the sadness of the post-60s/pre-80s era in a suitably introspective way.
'Sadness' isn't even quite the word; anxious, maybe, but not overwrought. Melancholy. The 70s were a lull between what was and what would be in this country, a kind of psychological nexus, and although I was only a young child at the time, the afternoon sunshine dripping down the kitchen walls from the window above the sink, I think, sounded a lot like this.
"I ain't ready for the altar, but I do agree there's times / when a woman sure can be a friend of mine..."
