Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Jan. 27, 2003: Super Bowl of Rock

As many people know, a very important event took place this weekend: The Super Bowl of Rock.

A local radio station hosted this event, pitting 32 bands against each other. The way it worked was this: They had elimination rounds, alternating songs by different groups, say, Journey vs. Billy Joel. Listeners called in which band they were voting for, and the band with the most votes moved onto the next round.

By the end of the weekend, I wasn't surprised that the final match-up was between Bruce Springsteen and The Beatles.

I wasn't actually listening when the final showdown arrived, but knowing Philly, I'd say The Boss just edged out The Beatles.

I've heard more Springsteen since I've moved here than I think I've heard in my entire life. The Boss definitely rules in Philly, and he's growing on me.

Springsteen's working class roots and New Jersey pedigree endear him to Philadelphia listeners. And I think it must be for similar reasons that they're so entranced with Billy Joel and Frank Sinatra.

I think the music of a city says something about its personality, and I'm not at all surprised that Philly is ruled by working class rockers and crooners. It makes sense to me, based on the people I've met since I've lived here. Tough-talkers in denim, not afraid of anything, not even of talking about diapers in the grocery store line.

And just listen to these lines from 1975's "Thunder Road":  "Show a little faith, there's magic in the night/You ain't a beauty, but hey you're all right." I could definitely hear the guys in my neighborhood talking that way.

Or how about this, from "Born to Run":

       Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
       I want to guard your dreams and visions
       Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims
       And strap your hands across my engines

I would say the Holy Trinity of Music in Philadelphia are The Boss, The Pianoman and The Chairman of the Board. It no longer surprises me when I hear Frank Sinatra in a restaurant or store around here, although it was initially a shock, coming as I did from a small town which has been playing hair metal for the past 20 years. And yes, they still wear frosted peg-leg jeans, too.

Besides hair metal, my small Pennsylvania hometown also played a healthy amount of Tom Petty. While he's not exactly a country boy, he does have a sort of unpolished, down-to-earth quality about him. I could see him tooling around in a pickup truck, maybe shooting at cans in his back yard after his shift at the warehouse.

London has been associated with punk for so long that they sell postcards with mohawked youth on them. Of course, modern trends in London lean more towards a resurgence of the Mod lifestyle. But that doesn't sell post cards.

I've visited Baltimore plenty of times but could never pin down its musical personality. It does seem, though, that Baltimore plays more gospel music than any other city I've visited. Maybe they're trying to make up for the dark juju left behind by Edgar Allen Poe.

When I was in Minneapolis many years ago, that Twin City played a lot of Bob Dylan, which makes sense when you realize he hails from Duluth, just down the road. Walking the windy, shrill streets of Duluth, I could understand what inspired the Dylan classic, "Blowin' in the Wind."

Driving across country, you hit many interesting pockets of musical preference. It is quite possible, for example, to drive through Pop Ballad territory, where you hear nothing but Michael Bolton and Mariah Carey. It's also possible to drive through Genesis Land, though you may wish you hadn't.

And then there are regions where you get nothing but country music and evangelists. I try to get through these regions as quickly as possible, while obeying all road rules, of course.

What about those areas where you get nothing but static? Perhaps the inhabitants are stuck in a time warp from the turn of the century, listening to piano music in the living room and then going to bed at 7 p.m. Of course, in some cases, this is likely true.

In a blatant show of serendipity, "Born to Run" is currently starting up on the radio. So there's no better way to end this, then to let The Boss do it:

       Someday girl I don't know when
     We're gonna get to that place
     Where we really want to go
     And we'll walk in the sun
     But till then tramps like us
     Baby we were born to run

Moral:
There's no way you can beat lyrics like "strap your hands across my engines."

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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