Day After Day #31: The Ballad of El Goodo

Day After Day is an ambitious attempt to write about a song every day in 2024 (starting on Jan. 4).

The Ballad of El Goodo (1972)

History is littered with great bands that never got their due. One of the obvious choices in that category is Big Star. The Memphis band formed in 1971 when singer Alex Chilton teamed up with Chris Bell and his band Icewater, which also featured drummer Jody Stephens and bassist Andy Hummel. Chilton and Bell had known each other since they were teens and were inspired by the Beatles' songwriting partnership of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. 

Big Star's first album, 1972's #1 Record, is a power pop masterpiece. Filled with great harmonies, hooks on top of hooks, and sharp guitar work, it's an incredible debut. It was critically lauded when it was released, but Stax Records wasn't able to do much in the way of promotion or distribution; and when Stax signed a distribution deal with Columbia Records, the bigger label didn't fare any better. As a result, #1 Record ended up being quite the opposite.  

The band's frustration with the obstacles in its way led to infighting, including actual physical fights. Bell, struggling with drug use and depression, quit the band a few times before Big Star split up in late 1972. Chilton, Stephens and Hummel reformed the band a few months later and recorded the second Big Star album, Radio City. It suffered from a similar fate as its predecessor, with Columbia refusing to distribute the record. Once again, the band received excellent reviews but with litter to show for them. Radio City sold better than the first album but still only managed about 20,000 in sales. Hummel left the band shortly before Radio City, opting to focus on his college studies. 

After Chilton and Stephens reconvened in September 1974 to record a third album with a bunch of session musicians, but Chilton was having mental issues and eventually John Fry, who produced the first two albums and owned the studio, decided to end the sessions. The resulting album, Third/Sister Lovers, which was filled with personal songs written by Chilton that were very different from the first two records, wasn't released until 1978. There were many reissues, including a 1992 CD release on Rykodisc that was overseen by Jim Dickinson, who produced the album. Third/Sister Lovers has since received critical adoration, even as Chilton and Stephens questioned whether it was even a Big Star album.

Not long after the album was released, Chris Bell died in a car accident. He had been working on a solo career. Big Star reformed in 1993 as Chilton and Stephens were joined by Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow of the Posies; that version of the band toured occasionally and released an album, In Space, in 2005. The band would continue until 2010, when Chilton suffered a heart attack and died. Hummel died a few months after that. Stephens led some tribute shows in the years that followed, supported by Matthew Sweet, Mike Mills, Mitch Easter and others.

I certainly didn't hear of Big Star until probably the mid-'80s when I saw they were listed as huge influences on the likes of R.E.M. and the Replacements. Hell, I heard "Alex Chilton" by the Mats before I actually heard anything by Chilton. I didn't really dig into Big Star until the '90s when I picked up the double CD of #1 Record/Radio City. I saw Chilton play solo at the Middle East Downstairs in Cambridge around '97 or so. A cover of Big Star's "In the Street" was used as the theme for That '70s Show, so that brought Chilton a little renewed popularity, at least from the indie crowd. 

There are plenty of amazing Big Star songs I could have picked, but I'm going with "The Ballad of El Goodo" from the debut album. Written by Chilton, it talks about sticking to your proverbial guns; I always interpreted it as Chilton maintaining his artistic vision even as he's dealing with doubters and obstacles. Little did he know when he wrote it how much he'd have to live it in the years to come.

"I've built up and trusted/Broke down and busted/They'll get theirs and we'll get ours if we can/Just hold on hold on hold on hold on."

It's amazing how timeless the song is and how 50+ years later, it still holds up (as does pretty much everything Big Star did). Indeed, Big Star remains underappreciated and underrated. Sometimes you're just not meant to be beloved by the masses, even when you're brilliant.

My Life is Right

I turned 46 yesterday. It was a busy day of activities. Ran some errands. Coached the first half of Hannah's soccer game before booking it over to Wolf Hollow in Ipswich to run the Big Bad Wolf 5-mile trail race with my homies at Notch Brewing. Chris and Mary Ellen from Notch gave me an awesome, massive (36 oz.) beer stein for my birthday, which was filled a few times at the post-race party. Got home by 3, and then Deb and I dropped the girls off for a sleepover and headed in to Fenway for the Jays-Sox game. It was a beautiful night and the Jays obliged by actually beating the Sox, 3-2.

This is the 10th birthday in row I've documented on this blog. Much has changed in the last decade, most of which revolves around the kids getting older (one of them being born in '04). My job's the same, but very different; I've probably had 10 different direct supervisors in the last decade at least. I definitely look older thanks to the copious amounts of gray hair, but I'm in better shape now, even though I'm no longer running marathons.

Got to thinking today about what my dad was like at this age. He turned 46 in 1986, which was also the year he lost his job at the Seabrook nuke plant. He had been drinking pretty heavily for a few years and had a nasty DWI arrest the year before; it was fair to say he was seriously depressed and losing his job just gave him more time to wallow in self-pity and booze. He wasn't in the best of health, anyway, being overweight and diabetic, and within a few years that combo of booze and diabetes resulted in his body wasting away. By the time he died in '96 at the age of 55, he looked at least 20 years older.

It's hard to know exactly what was going through his head because the man didn't exactly open up to anyone; when the boozing was bad, he would cry about how he missed his family in India but I'm not sure how much of that was just the booze talking. He was never that close with anyone in his family, as far as I could tell him. Dude was all about himself. I think he believed if things went well for him, then by the properties of trickle down economics, they would likewise go well for the rest of us. But I don't remember ever having a real heart-to-heart talk with him about anything. That was where my mom came in; she handled all that messy emotional shizz that my dad wanted no part of. My brother and I absorbed all that stuff and I think we've both done pretty damn well considering how effed things got at home, especially after I went to college. But at any rate, 46 for my dad must have felt like another year in the Bataan Death March. Things were bad and just getting worse. And did they ever. He got other jobs, but he never stopped drinking or smoking until it was way too late. His body finally shut down on him, and that was that.

It's 27 years after my dad turned 46 and here I am. I've got a terrific wife and two amazing daughters who know me better than I knew my dad. I'm not saying I'm the perfect father, but I do my best. My dad's greatest lesson to me was to do the opposite of what he did, which was not give a shit. I'm involved in their lives and I'm enjoying the hell out of it. And their childhood is flying by. In nine years, Lily will be off to college and I'll be writing some lame-ass post about empty nest syndrome. So look forward to that, yo.