Page 24 - the NOISE June 2013

THE WORST SONG EVER WRITTEN
“Rarely has a singer had as full and unique a talent as Rod Stewart; rarely has anyone betrayed his talent so completely. Once the most compassionate presence in music, he has become a bilious self-parody ... and sells more records than ever.” — Greil Marcus
I won’t whack near any shrubbery here: the worst song ever written, in my fleeting egotistical opinion, is “Tonight’s The Night” by Rod Stewart.
Why this tune? Why not any selection from the Michael Bolton or Bon Jovi catalogues? Why pick on Rod? Because unlike Mikey or Jon-Jon, his Rodness once possessed that magical quality known as “integrity,” and “Tonight’s The Night” represents the near complete disappearance of it.
Between the years 1968-1973, Rod Stewart participated in nearly a dozen of the loosest, swingingest, sloppiest, drunk- est, good time rock and roll albums ever made. Two with the Jeff Beck Group (Truth and Beck-Ola), five with the Faces (First Step, Long Player, A Nod Is As Good As A Wink, Ooh La La, and a live one) and four solo (The Rod Stewart Album, Gasoline Alley, Every Picture Tells A Story, and Never A Dull Moment). Pick up a few, you won’t be sorry.
These records are just bursting with heart and soul and booze and humor and dirt and tears and friendship and love and honesty and spine. Rod and his mates are clearly having a blast; you can hear it in the grooves. And what mates! Jeff Beck, Ron Wood, Nicky Hopkins, Mick Waller, Tony Newman, Ronnie Lane, Kenney Jones, Ian MacLagan, Martin Quittenton
... and Rod. All equals. Comrades.
Like many of his peers, Stewart began his career as an inter-
preter of others’ works, and then grew into a fine songsmith himself. Rod wrote or co-wrote a slew of stone classics during this period, including “Gasoline Alley,” “Mandolin Wind,” “Stay With Me,” “True Blue,” “You Wear It Well,” “Bad ‘n’ Ruin,” “That’s All You Need,”“Every Picture Tells A Story,”“Too Bad,” and “Mag- gie May,” his first #1.
The Faces in concert were like five best buds down at the corner pub playing all your faves on a Saturday night. (There’s at least three full live sets posted on YouTube). They punted soccer balls into the audience. Every song was a sing-a-long. Guitar solos got botched, background vocals went out of tune, strings broke, drumsticks flew, the bassist had a few too many and fell off the stage ... they were the greatest. Everyone, band and fans, was there to have a jolly good inebriated bash and that’s what they got.
Then it ended. Superstardom beckoned for Rod but not his friends. He broke up the Faces. He began dating models and jetting with the cocaine set. His mockery of the jaded playboy personality became the real thing, much like Bryan Ferry’s did. Coincidentally, Mick Jagger succumbed to this lifestyle around the same time and, not so coincidentally, the Rolling
Rod Stewart, A Night On The Town
Stones’ music also took a dive in quality.
Not as far as Rod’s, though. His next two albums, Smiler and
Atlantic Crossing were okay but nowhere near the high stan- dards that he had set for himself. Still, they contained nothing truly horrible.
That would come in 1976. A Night On The Town was partially recorded at the famed Muscle Shoals Studios by R&B pro- ducer Tom Dowd. Due to the talent involved, the record has a few highlights but is bogged down by the sugary glop of its leadoff track, “Tonight’s The Night.” Rod had sold his soul to that skanky whore fame and had stooped to writing songs for housewives and dilettantes. He was rewarded with another #1 single.
Other superstars such as Paul McCartney had followed sim- ilar paths, but while Paul’s granny music was mostly innocu- ous, Rod’s was downright sleazy — the soundtrack to a date rape. Stewart was only 31 when he recorded “Tonight’s The Night,” but he already has the creepy old guy vibe rolled out.
Examining the lyrics of pop songs like they were poetry is a pointless endeavor 99% of the time, but Rod richly deserves this one. So here we go.
Stay away from my window
Stay away from my back door, too
Not a bad opening. Go away babe, I still love you but can’t bear to see your face. It’s got potential. But then comes:
Disconnect the telephone line Relax baby, and draw that blind
The girl is already in Rod’s house and he’s telling her not to go near the windows or doors. Oh yeah, the phone is un- plugged too. All her means of escape are pretty much cut off. And pull them curtains while you’re up, honey. No witnesses. Now RELAX.
Let me pour ya a good long drink
How about a Roofie Colada? Rod then proceeds to rhyme “drink” with “hesitate”. Seriously, he’s not even trying.
Many critics of “Tonight’s The Night” point to this droolingly obvious double entendre as a perfect example of its wretch- edness:
Spread your wings and let me come inside
Even a prominent feminist like Ted Nugent might blush at that. For me, the song bottoms out right after the supremely slimy “sexy” sax solo (even the MUSIC of “Tonight’s The Night” is leering) when Rod The Scrod delivers this timeless gem:
Don’t say a word, my virgin child
24 • JUNE 2013 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us