Apologies for that last, bone-dry post on A&M history. Also, a warning: I am sick, so stay away from this post, or you will get a virus. (Just kidding, about the virus part at least... I mean, I am sick, but I was just making a pun on virus and virus--nevermind. My wit went with my health!)
In an earlier post, I cited an interview in which Chuck Mangione (a serious jazz/pop-instrumental artist blessed with a surprise, astronomical hit) expressed no regrets for hitting it big. There are some, you know, who are bitter. I don't know that he is bitter, but think of Bobby McFerrin: is there anyone (there are only a few) who can do more with a human voice than him, who also conducts to great spirit and effect, only to have morons post videos of their boring day at the beach to the tune of his "Don't Worry, Be Happy" only to misidentify him has Bob Marley ?
"Don't Worry, Be Happy"-- like "Feels So Good" or "A Taste of Honey" or "Take Five" or "Bolero"--is iconic, cliche, shorthand. You know, since the late 1980s commentators have written about the affect of having a "24 hour news cycle," where instead of twice per day (when your newspaper or magazines are printed, and at 5:30, when the national news is broadcast) information (sometimes raw data, mixed with opinion) bombards us 24/7, on our computers, in our radio, on our Iphones, blackberries, billboards, in our inboxes, and even in our facebook profiles. The same thing has happened to "art," perhaps. While we, the concertgoing intelligentsia of classical musicians might go see something experimental or buy a full-length CD, the art of the concert and the art of the album are withering. This is the age of the mix-tape, the link, the streaming upload. You must make a quick impression however you can, spread like a virus, and attempt to ride out your wave of fame, hoping that an audience following stays with you.
Frequently, the crossover hit leaves a thin residue of an audience for a recording artist. "Feels So Good" maybe picked up Mangione a few fusion fans who were eager to take the next step beyond Steely Dan, but not ready to go all the way to the Weather Report. But now, Mangione is a kitsch artifact in and of itself, as attested to his genial status as cult hero of the Mega-Lo Mart, an iconic character with his trademark hat and scraggly facial hair, selling all varieties of mundane products.
I first heard Mangione when, when I was in junior high, the high school marching band did a Mangione show. Of course, the director was a child of the 60s/70s, and so this was, you know, contemporary. And the parents seemed to be into it, and you know what? It is pretty good music. It definitely gives one a relaxed sense. (I loathe 70s directors, though, because they also brought us, gasp, the show choir, all because budding choral directors of the period never quite felt at home until they spent that summer with "Up with People."
The one-hit-wonder, by staying in the limelight, has the opportunity to drag a whole world of listeners into a new genre. I still remember, as a very very very young person, hearing a group I now know to be the Tijuana Brass on a commercial for Tide or some household cleaning product in the late 80s (but my youtube search came up for naught). Still, thinking of a recording artist as an image, waiting to strike it big and drag as much success as they can, brings me back again to Alpert. The consummate Artist and Repertory (A & R) man, his music is always one edit short of a commercial. But who knows? Maybe that's why, subconsiously, I play the trumpet.
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