Stranded

I recently joined Goodreads, a site for booklovers, and I’ve been adding books to my “read” list as I recall them.  The list is up to 360 books as of today though that number is only a fraction of what I’ve read in my life. I’ll be adding more.  Perusing my bookshelves the other day in order to add to the list I came across the book Stranded: Rock and Roll for a Desert Island, by Greil Marcus, which I bought when it was first released back in 1979 and I was 21 years old.  The book consists of twenty rock and roll writers essays answering the question: what rock and roll record would you take to a desert island?  Marcus adds a final chapter entitled “Treasure Island” in which he answers a different question: were a Martian to land on earth and ask you the meaning of rock and roll, what would you play to explain.  Marcus uses the question to craft a commented discography is which he outlines the best rock and roll has to offer, at least up to that time. 

It’s a fun book with some surprising entries and it got me thinking.  When I purchased the book thirty years ago my answer to the desert island question would have been unequivocal: Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks.  (I’ve blogged about Van and Astral Weeks previously here and put together sort of my own rock and roll discography here, here and here.)  I have loved Astral Weeks since the first time I put it on the record player when I was in my mid-teens.  I had no idea at the time that it was considered by the rock cognoscenti such as Marcus and Lester Bangs (who chooses Astral Weeks as his desert island record in the book) as one of rock and roll’s masterpieces.  I simply knew that I loved it.  It got to me in a way that no other record ever had.  And no one else knew about it!  It was my own little treasure.  And it would be tucked under my arm when I landed on that desert island. 

Would it still be?  If the desert island question were presented to me today would I still choose as I did as a 21 year old?  A 51 year old has different needs than a 21 year old, after all.  Would the me of today need or want to ride Astral Weeks’ emotional roller coaster in his desert island existence? (By the way, I’ve quoted Lester Bangs in this space previously as saying “Cyprus Avenue”, one of the records finest songs, was about “rapture, and despair.”  Perusing his essay this morning, I see that he says “rapture and anguish.”  I was close but wrong.  Thirty years will play with your memory.) Plus, as anyone who has read even the past few posts on this blog knows, my musical tastes have…what?   I was about to say my musical tastes have changed, but that’s not true.  The rock and roll I loved thirty years ago I still love.  Better to say my musical horizons have widened.  These days I listen to classical, jazz, and standards as much as I listen to rock and roll, probably more.  After all, I’ve heard the rock and roll thousands of time by now.  There is nothing new there, while there is still plenty of new music to explore in those other areas.  Anyhow, I digress.  Probably because I am avoiding the question.  What record are you tucking under your arm as the ship that dropped you off sails away into the distance?

I could cop out like Marcus and simply say, well, I’ll take my IPod with me along with the twenty-five hundred songs I have on it.  That’ll do.  No, you say?  I must choose a single record or CD?  Can I least put together a compilation?  No?  No. 

And the answer to the question is: I don’t know.  Or, at least, it depends on the day.  Today I might still choose Astral Weeks, tomorrow some other Van Morrison record, like Tupelo Honey, or Saint Dominic’s Preview, or Veedon Fleece.  Would I choose any other rock and roll?  No.  The older I get the more I am convinced that Van Morrison is the greatest rock and roller of them all (i.e. my favorite).  I listen to his music far more than anyone else, including Dylan. Pack me off to the island with just Van’s oeuvre and I’d be satisfied. 

But there are other contenders now.  Today I might choose some Bach concertos, such as this CD, which I adore.  I imagine keeping oneself from falling into the depths of despair would be of central concern on a desert island and I know of no music more joyous than the Bach concertos.  Tomorrow I’d perhaps choose Beethoven’s Archduke Piano Trio whose jaunty, bouncy second movement would keep one’s spirits up and whose first movement would add a dose of pure beauty to go along with it.  If you deem that large doses of beauty are the most important need on the island, Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet might do the trick.  It’s a touch choice, as you can see.

Perhaps a Jo Stafford collection, Helen Merrill’s debut album or Frank Sinatra Only The Lonely would fit the bill.  Jo Stafford’s full, rich voice could see you through a lot, and, to my taste, when she sang the standards no one did it better.  The Merrill and Sinatra records might be dangerous though.  You might want them in order to wallow in your despair but listen to them too much on your desert island and suicide may be your only way out.  As much as I love them, best they be left back on the mainland. 

Or maybe I’d bring along Pops’ Hot Fives and Sevens, perhaps the seminal jazz recordings.  The music is consistently great and it has the added benefit of including ninety songs.  That’d last you awhile.  And whose spirits would not be lifted while listening to Louis Armstrong sing and blow his horn?   

Clearly this post has devolved into an excuse for listing some of my favorite music.  So sue me.  Marcus used an entire book to list his.

There is more but time is short this morning so I’ll end.  Today, if forced to choose, I’d still go with Van Morrison.  But I’d take one of his later records, Magic Time, because you’d need a dose of magic if you’re all alone forever on a desert island.  And what song would be more appropriate to your existence than its opening track?  It would be the story of your life: