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John Cougar Mellencamp's new album -- "Big Daddy" (Polygram) -- starts easily,
with no fuss, like a veteran ballplayer trotting slowly out to take his position in center
field. No need to impress anyone, no need to put on a show: He knows what he can do, and
the rest of us will find out after we've watched him play.
But then he comes up to bat, and
there's tension in his stance. Or -- to scrap the analogy -- when Mellencamp starts to
sing he sounds troubled, sometimes almost lost.
It's no secret that he's troubled,
too, in real life -- troubled with the breakup of his marriage, troubled with the empty
demands of massive pop fame.
And that's largely what this album
is about. You can hear it in songs like "Big Daddy": "Now they all see
through you and you're sinking like a stone." And you can hear it most ironically in
"Pop Singer." "I don't want to be a pop singer," he tells us - in a
song that's on the charts as a current pop hit.
(He might just as well be talking
about all sorts of empty pop music lives. "I don't want to hang out after the
show," he sings -- and he might as well be talking about the sometimes empty life of
a pop critic, who bounces nightly from one industry party to the next.)
And what's most arresting about the
song is the way it suddenly stops, leaving unanswered -- even unasked -- questions jabbing
at you in the silence.
Meanwhile Mellencamp's wonderful band just keeps playing, weaving separate strands of
sound into a tapestry that's much livelier, more optimistic and even much more alert. They
sound like friends who've known each other for years, especially in "To Live,"
where sometimes they all seem to be talking at once and then sometimes the conversation
quiets down, leaving only the hush of a violin and a gently tapping cymbal.
The contrast between band and voice
demonstrates a curious difference between classical music and rock & roll. If these
were classical songs, the accompaniment would mirror the voice, suggesting that, when
artists cry, the universe cries with them. But in rock & roll, the beat goes on, much
as life goes on. And here -- remember "Jack and Diane"? -- we're all but quoting
a thought from a song Mellencamp wrote long before serious critics deigned to take him
seriously.
Life goes on, even after the thrill
of living is gone. That might be one message -- unintended? -- of this touching new album
(as honest and individual a statement, let's note, as any grownup in pop music is likely
to make). The quietly transcendent playing of Mellencamp's band suggests that the promise
of rock & roll might someday be fulfilled and that the lost thrill of living might
return.
Los Angeles Herald-Examiner, May 14, 1989. Mellencamp
still called himself "John Cougar Mellencamp" back then.
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