Between Rock and Chuck Berry

GOODBYE, JOHNNY B. GOODE "To hear you play your music when the sun go down"

I FEEL SORRY FOR KEITH RICHARDS. When Chuck Berry died earlier this year, there wasn’t much hoopla surrounding the death of his hero, not to mention it came as an impasse, that last gasp of what little remains of that baby boom rock, as opposed to that unquiet whimper, that is, the death of Chris Cornell several weeks ago. But that is understandable. Berry was a prehistoric guillotine, Cornell was a pretty noose. And that doesn’t sound so grim, to start with.

It was only recently that we lost some prominent names in the rock world, monster performers such as David Bowie, Scott Weiland, Lemmy Kilmister. And these monsters are not just statistics on the rock scene, they’re more like credos. They have, in fact, contributed significantly to the development of the genre, with Bowie introducing an androgynous character into it, Weiland reliving the memories of punk rock (at least from an attitude standpoint) and Kilmister stepping onto that gas with some unholy riffs from his motor-paced guitar. How much more with Chuck Berry? How can we forget that Ding-A-Ling of a song?

I’ve never been a huge Berry fan, but (always) it feels good to listen to his music. There’s a certain manner every time you listen to them, apart from the sexual innuendos that he seemingly perpetuates, his rhythm guitar enables you to move with a groovy gait in that you couldn’t help but give a swing. And Richards has never been shy on his admiration with Berry that he somehow copied some of Berry’s chops which is one of the secrets why, despite Charlie Watt's lousy drumming, save the Stones all these years.

Needless to say, rock owed much to this rock's ultimate bad boy. That’s not an exaggeration. Over the years prior to his death, he became an elderly statesman even to the likes of the Stones. He never changed his style, he just morphed into a titan, a larger than life entity behind that storied history of rock n' roll. His live performances were anything but bland. His signature duck walk was copied many times, but none does it with more kick than Berry. If ever you want to see the extent of his influence, you might want to watch Back to the Future II, or see why Coldplay, in their recent gig, asked Michael J. Fox to do a Johnny Be Goode again like he did in the film.

To the rock purist, he will be missed. I hate to say this, but today’s music is nothing short of a bunch of cadavers with no soul in it. It’s sexless even. After listening to a song or two, you wonder if you want to hook up with a man or a girl or what---I’m not joking. Where’s the improvisation, the extended guitar riffs, the subtle, crafty poetry of its lyrics, the manliness of its angst? Isn't that what rock is? If they want to perpetuate their ambivalence through their music, fine, but they should give it with a punch at least--I salute Freddie Mercury for that. But Berry was the original “Maginoo Pero Medyo Bastos”.  

photo: Black EOE Journal