"Yesterday" once more

The life of a human being is short, not even the blink of an eye in the grand scheme of the universe. Even the most famous lives are little more than a split-second burst of light in the deep void of the Cosmos. No matter how arrogant and conceited you are, you end up like even the lowliest microorganism; you can only hope that your life meant something to others. Those who only care about their own gratification leave about as much behind as the drunken vagrant who falls into a river and is never seen again. I not sure what the hell I’m talking about here, except that life being what it is, it is best to make life as tolerable as possible, without regrets or self-consciousness. 

That being said, there are memories that unfortunately retain their cringe-worthiness, that pop-up every now and then for no explicable reason, and you hope that you are the only person who still remembers it. And then there are memories that you think it would be a shame to lose just because they arouse mirth in others. I was looking for a video of some song on the Internet when I came across something else: A YouTube video of the entire (sort of) concert at Budokan by one particular act that I have some reservations about recalling. Budokan is in Japan, and for reasons I don’t know it was a venue that many Seventies’ recording acts thought was essential to have on their resume to perform at.

In this case, it was the Carpenters. I know. Back in the day, millions of people bought their records, but few wanted to admit that they did, then or now. They were one of those “guilty” pleasures. Even in the Seventies’ they were hopelessly retro; “Yesterday Once More” already had them pining for the “old days.” But if you liked music for music’s sake—meaning melodic with lush orchestration—there was probably no other act that gave you both in heavy doses. “Superstar” is probably my favorite Carpenters’ song, because of its faux-drama, while “Rainy Days and Mondays” is OK too. Actually, there are about 20 of their songs that I find myself “liking,” and the snickerers be damned.

I had to come up with a pretty good reason to talk about the Carpenters after all of this time, so I suppose it is worth noting that 31 years ago this month Karen Carpenter died at the age of only 32, from a heart condition brought on by her well–known “addiction” to anorexia. I always thought that Karen looked tall on her television appearances, but she was actually only 5-4. It was her thinness that gave the illusion of height. She sometimes played drums on stage, and pretty well; but she was so small that she practically disappeared behind the drum kit. By the time she reached 30, Karen was so shriveled-up one suspected that she looked more like 60 without make-up. Although she gained thirty pounds through intravenous feeding during a hospital stay not long before her death, the rapid weight gain only further weakened her heart.

Anyways, listening to the Carpenters’ songs is like gorging on sweets, but everyone has their limits. After awhile you start to feel nauseous and sour, and you have go on hiatus from it for awhile, a long while. Karen did attempt to “expand” her musical horizons, recording a self-titled solo album with producer Phil Ramone, best known for his work with Paul Simon and Billy Joel. Her brother happened to be taking a break at the time, to recover from his own drug addiction. I’ve listened to the songs on this album, and frankly I agree with the decision at the time by her brother and the record label not to release it. By the time the decision was made to join the contemporary music scene, that train had already left the station. There are some good songs on it—Rod Temperton’s songs would be the highlights of Michael Jackson’s best album, Off the Wall—but even the catchy “Lovelines” didn’t sound “right” being sung by Karen. These definitely were not Karen songs, let alone Carpenter songs, and not one was top-40 worthy. Karen’s stately contralto was put to best use being run through lugubrious melodies backed by a healthy dose of orchestration, and Richard Carpenter knew that. “Sweet Sweet Smile” was about as adventurous as Karen got vocally on a Carpenters’ record and still not be slightly irritating.

So, no, I’m not embarrassed to say that I “like” the Carpenters and their music (let alone mention it at all). Frankly, I like it a ton better than most of this totally tuneless “music” I hear everywhere on the radio, save for “oldies” stations—even those playing Eighties’ music.