From the Santa Cruz Sentinel:
To mark the 50th anniversary of the rock revolution, the Sentinel is
re-assessing the popular songs of the last half-century.
THIS WEEK'S SONG: "Free Bird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd (1973)
By Dan Fitch - Sentinel correspondent
Whenever I go to a concert, someone yells, " 'Free Bird'!" and people
laugh. I bet this even happens at concerts where humor is not
allowed, like a Bruce Cockburn show. I visualize Bruce teaching us
how we have ruined everything all over the world and at the
conclusion of his lecture, a guy yells, " 'Free Bird'!" and someone
accidentally chuckles.
I don't mean to annoy educated people with that. I am almost educated
myself. But I won't apologize for offending because every kind of pop
music annoys somebody. I am willing to admit I had a relationship
with "Free Bird." It isn't something I talk about. I brought it up
with my daughter only one time. I waited until she turned 16.
FATHER: "Ever heard of 'Free Bird'?"
DAUGHTER: "No."
FATHER: "Never? Come on, not once, by accident?"
DAUGHTER: "No. What's it like?"
FATHER: "Long. Bunch of guitar soloing, some dumb words."
DAUGHTER: "The only worse things than guitar solos are drum solos.
Drum solos are the worst."
I hope my daughter's relationship with songs is healthier than mine
was with "Free Bird." But the power of the song on our culture is way
underestimated. Some songs are powerful by voice. Janis Joplin or
Billie Holiday or Emmylou Harris could change you with a tone. Other
songs move with sound. The bass line to "Taxman" by the Beatles gets
me every time.
It is a rare song that combines words and sounds to knock you flat or
soothe the inner beast. The first time I heard Johnny Rotten sing
"we're so pretty, oh so pretty, we're vacant!" I knew pop would never
be the same, and it was about time. "Free Bird" wasn't like that. The
solos aren't that great. I never knew most of the words. The voice
isn't so interesting.
At a party attended by people more than 35 who graduated from
college, it is important to drop the names Velvet Underground or John
Coltrane. But if you say "man, that Lynyrd Skynyrd did some neat
stuff!" you will not be allowed to join the Green Party.
But the thing is this: "Free Bird" was one of the most powerful and
dangerous pop songs of the last 50 years.
The other day I asked a friend, also 45, if he used to listen to it.
"Sure," he said. "You were drunk, and you drove your Camaro 110 miles
per hour with tears running down your face." It was not a healthy
relationship '70s boys had with "Free Bird." It was an atomic bomb of
a Youth Drinking Song. It wasn't about nursing a cold one between
your legs while you drove. It wasn't a kissing song.
For a lot of teen boys and young men, it was a "let's get destroyed
on beer and Southern Comfort and create problems for society in a
dangerously stupid way" type of song. Driving through fences, into
ditches and into other vehicles isn't romantic in any generation.
"Free Bird" conjures a "how did I manage to not kill anyone or
myself" identification.
Some guys listened to "Free Bird" responsibly. I wasn't one of those
people. There are many others like me. In 1975 I saw the band. Three
of us rode to the San Jose Civic Auditorium in a 1964 Plymouth
Barracuda equipped with a small-block V-8. My car was a 1967 GTO with
a 389. I paid $600 for it. I weighed 110 pounds.
We drove fast, loud and stupid. We went to hear "Free Bird" in
person. I had a leather "bota" bag filled with horrible cheap wine
slung under my shirt. One friend had a pint of 100-proof vodka stuck
down his pants. Door searches weren't comprehensive in 1975.
I drank all the wine and some of the vodka.
I didn't make it to "Free Bird." I missed it because I was splayed
under my seat in a pool of drunken goo. My friends tossed me on my
suburban lawn at the end of the night. "Free Bird" was made for '70s
youth drinking. It starts slow and dramatic, increases velocity,
builds to a frenzy of guitars, then drops to still waters that don't
run deep. This was not my parents' '60s rock 'n' roll.
I no longer have the desire to listen to it. Some music I will always
play, regardless of the window of circumstances it entered my life.
But not this song. It's cool with me if it goes quintuple platinum
and the band plays at the Boardwalk with only one original member and
his stepkids.
It's cool with me if people want to yell "Free Bird!" at folk and
jazz shows. And it's cool that I don't drink, smoke, drug, nor am I
religious. If anyone asks why I don't call for "Free Bird" anymore, I
tell them I don't blame the song, but it rocked my world too hard.
Now that's an influence.
50 Years of Rock: Looking Back At "Freebird"
Moderator: SMLCHNG