“J. Geils”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-17)

In 1977 the music world was literally exploding with all sorts of new ideas and cathartic experimentation. Cultural seeds planted by artistic voyagers like Iggy Pop and Lou Reed had germinated and grown into a new sort of rebellion. Yet the echoes were familiar. Stripped down to basic elements of flash, rhythm and street-style, it was still the ‘Blues Attitude’ that had birthed Rock & Roll.

But as I attended high school in the Pittsburgh area, that year also offered an audio document of a more mainstream variety. One steeped in the rich traditions of an earlier era, but flavored with the gritty sound of working class, bar-band Rock. I was 16 years old. The message resonated in my head and heart with the kind of importance that classroom lectures could only hope to carry:

“I didn’t take the warning, I really didn’t care

I had already gone too far, to let them steal my share

So, like a fool I took ‘em on, and as my anger cool

I realized I could take all mine, and skip off with theirs, too,

I know I must be crazy, I’m bound to wake up dead

Somebody, somebody

Waitin’ outside my back door

Somebody, somebody

Tryin’ to even up the score.”

In 1977 we were living in the post-apocalyptic ashes of Vietnam, Watergate and the Arab Oil Embargo. Our industries were crumbling, along with the major cities. President Carter presided over a nation humbled and hobbled by the weight of its own arrogance and greed. Our generation seemed poised to inherit the ‘malaise’ of economic and social stagnation, while surrendering hope.

In school, I learned that America was a nation destined to make do with less. Less resources, less respect from the world community, less of the soaring rhetoric heard from Roosevelt and Kennedy. Less job opportunities as the steel mills were shutting down. Less horsepower from our Monte Carlos, Chargers and Torinos. Less gasoline to make them run. Less economic diversity as aging urban centers gave way to shopping malls. Less help for those in need as budget issues dictated sacrifice.

From both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, there was an uneasy growl of ‘Punk Rock’ in response. But just as prevalent in America were blue collar heroes like Bruce Springsteen, The Iron City Houserockers and a group from the Boston area known for drawing on influences of Blues, Soul and primal Rock & Roll:

“I figured I should lay real low, and stayed away from town

I covered up all my moves, so it’d be hard to track me down

But I started gettin’ shaky, and I paced around the floor

Hiding out all alone, I couldn’t take much more

Just sittin’ ‘round here waitin’is drivin’ me up the wall

Somebody...”

In 1977, I bought the ‘Monkey Island’ LP shortly after it was issued. WYDD-FM, my favorite radio outlet during that era, played the album in its entirety. But given heavy rotation was a single called ‘Somebody.’ It pounded the speakers of my RCA radio with the kind of nasty, muscle-car and custom chopper vibe I craved. I would hum the song to myself during classes at Valley High School. I could hear it echoing through the halls as I trudged along with my denim jacket and engineer’s boots.

The Ramones, Clash, Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks, Adverts, Damned, DEVO and Generation X made me ponder making my own crude music manifesto in the tradition of garage greats that had gone before. But the J. Geils Band struck a different chord. One dripping with Harley-Davidson motor oil and smoked with the burning desire I felt to make a statement of my own:

“So, I called up my old friend Marlene, who was lookin’ for some fun

I got drunk and like a fool, I told her what I had done

I heard them knockin’ at my door, they got to me at last

It don’t take much to figure out how they found me out so fast

And when I looked for my Marlene, I saw that she was gone

Somebody...”

In 1977, I could not have imagined being a middle-aged man, divorced twice and unemployed from career chaos several times over, as one business gave way to the next. I could not have imagined that the youthful angst I felt would be nothing compared to the adult ennui of an overweight fellow with declining health, dwindling mobility and few relationship opportunities.

I could not have imagined the Internet. Or file downloads replacing vinyl records. Even the World Trade Center towers being assailed on 9-11-2001. I could not have imagined smartphones redefining the way we receive news and information. Or someone like Donald Trump ascending to the nation’s highest office, years later. And I certainly could not have imagined that on a recent night in April, I would read that John Warren Geils, Jr. had passed away at the age of 71.

With a brew in hand, I pulled out my seasoned copy of the ‘Monkey Island’ LP and put it on my stereo turntable. The platter felt good in my hands. It was the very same item I’d purchased some 40 years ago. Suddenly, the decades between now and then disappeared:

“Somebody, somebody

Waitin’ outside my back door

Somebody, somebody

Tryin’ to even up the score.”

In 1977, the song was my anthem. From a modern vantage point, I thought of a classmate named Paul, who was commemorated in one of our school yearbooks. He’d been fortunate enough to drive a Corvette to his classes, something that made him an ‘elite’ student in everyone’s eyes and the envy of us ‘regular’ folk. His father was a lawyer. Other kids said that it had a 502 cubic-inch ‘big block’ V-8 motor. An accident with the car claimed his life. So his memory was frozen in time. Never did he reach the woes of maturity, devalued money or male-pattern baldness. I often thought of him when ‘Somebody’ was on the radio. In eternity, I reckoned he was still driving, in an unending race with fate and oblivion. Forever on the road.

At night, I guessed he and the black Corvette were out there ahead of me, somewhere. Throttle pegged to the floor and the J. Geils guitar riff wailing from its 8-Track deck.

Now, Geils himself had slipped free of the Earth, into eternity. I struggled to comprehend that so many years had passed since my life in New Kensington and listening to WYDD and watching Space: 1999 and pondering a date with the big blonde in my German class who intended to become a law student.

Fraulein Haas. Where was she now? Probably someone’s quirky grandmother? Battling to achieve weight loss and handle menopause? I twisted the volume knob on my stereo and suddenly, it did not matter. I was back again to 1977.

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Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

‘Somebody’ lyrics written by Peter Wolf/Seth Justman