It is often said, sometimes to exhausting degrees, that good art is timeless. This is, of course, inherently true regardless of the medium. At the time of its release, Casablanca was widely considered a great film, perhaps the greatest film ever made. To this day, the Bogart super-vehicle is listed near the top of every ‘Greatest Films’ list you can find, and a conversation among film buffs can’t transpire without mention of it- usually as the main touchstone in the timeless art debate. I often disagree with the superlative lists and consider film buffs to be blowhard dickweeds, but I can’t dispute Casablanca. It was an excellent piece of filmmaking.
The same contention holds true for every section of popular culture; it is the reason Classic Rock radio continues to thrive, and it’s not only because middle-aged men can’t let go. Some songs simply live on. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” was recently voted by an association of songwriters as the greatest singular piece of popular music ever, despite the fact that it was written the better part of a century ago. The Beatles may always be adorned with the title of the “best band in history,” and they probably deserve it. And while iconography certainly plays a part in both The Fab Four and “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” it cannot be denied that great songwriting will always be great songwriting.
So where am I going with all this?
A few weeks ago, while driving home from a club at an obscene hour with no desirable CDs in the car and the iPod out of reach, I opted to check out the FM Radio option that comes standard on my Toyota. In my vehicle, this feature gets used less than virtually anything else. It’s not because I’m such a jaded critic that I think everything on the radio is garbage. I absolutely understand the basis for those that argue this ad nauseam, I just hate being associated with those people. It basically comes down to choice; why would I want to spend time sifting through commercials and a bunch of tunes I don’t like in hopes of finding one I do, especially when I almost always have thousands of tried-and-true songs at my fingertips? I am master of domain, and my domain is commercial-free. That said, (in longform, apparently) I looked upon said evening as an opportunity to re-connect with my FM roots. Throughout my childhood FM was the cornerstone of my musical diet. I, like most kids, didn’t own a lot of records. None of us had money to buy music and most of us didn’t have tape decks of our own anyway, (CDs existed in a far-off land at this point; a land comprised solely of rich people and grownups) aside from the occasional My First Sony boombox. So when I was a kid, the radio was the only beacon of audio to be had.
I remember sitting in my parents’ basement cranking our archaic, multi-sectional stereo and rocking the fuck out to whatever Northern Indiana was broadcasting. This was the early 90’s, the heyday of power ballads and bad R&B with very few exceptions (Hip Hop had yet to reach mass market radio.[1]) I like to think of this era of music as the unofficial soundtrack of Super Mario 3, because along with rocking the fuck out in my own adorable way, that’s what I usually was doing when the radio was on. While Tawny Kitaen was writhing on top of a car[2], I was figuring out how to make an animated plumber into a flying raccoon. The song was the same, but the visual was just a tad different.
Anyway, back to the car.
I’m scanning the dial looking for anything other Empire Carpet ads when I stumbled upon it: a song that made 1992 its bitch. And though I had come across said track in that basement hundreds of times, I had almost completely forgotten it ever existed. That song was none other than Tom Cochrane’s "Life is a Highway".
"Life is a Highway" essentially exploded into the universe in 1992 like Genghis Kahn in a leather jacket, raping and pillaging the ears of America with a staunch disregard for our sanity. To this day, the song contains one of the most catchy, sing-along-friendly hooks pop music has ever seen. Cochrane wasn’t doing anything that hundreds of roots-heavy singer/songwriters before him hadn’t. He was simply applying the formula: Rumbling Train Rhythm + Basic Chords + Memorable Hook = Black Tar Heroin. Mix in a well-executed bridge, and an addictive sonic drug turns into the Hammer of Thor crushing your noggin until you have no choice but to squeal with glee and call your local station insisting the DJ plays it every hour, on the hour, for a minimum of nine months.
Is it a perfect song? No. The lyrics in particular leave much to be desired. However, Tom could have been singing about raping barnyard animals and no one would have complained; everyone was too busy waiting for the chorus to come back in. The chorus, of course, did come back in, and it came back in roughly 94 times in the tune’s 4 minute and 26 second span. In fact, the lyrics on this tune are almost entirely pointless. I would wager all my worldly possessions on the notion that he wrote that monster hook and figured nobody would notice the rest- and he was absolutely right- resulting in verses that are only a tad better than patently ridiculous. Essentially, the song alludes to a failing relationship the narrator wants to get back on track. I surmise he and his lover are suffering from a tough situation within the constraints of nearly every place under the sun; a patchwork of cities of towns that squelch their affections. The only solution for these two wayward romantics is to hit the road because life is a highway he wants to drive all night long. Reading and re-reading the lyrics is an exercise in bad storytelling. Even if we are to believe that our fledgling lovers can peacefully coexist while on the road, how does this relate back to life being the crux of the argument? Or is the relationship the road, which is also like life, and even though it’s hard sometimes he still wants to ride on it? I know that most pop/rock lyrics are usually rudimentary and mainly an afterthought; but since I am taking the time to write at length about the merits, I feel the need to give a good pass under the microscope. Regardless of all my petty meandering, despite the song’s holes, when he hits that chorus (and ensuing wonky harmonica solo) all is forgiven.
A song having major lyrical, and even structural flaws, doesn’t disqualify it from greatness. Many of your favorite songs have serious blemishes if you’re willing to look. But why look? If you love a song, the problems with it are of almost zero consequence.
The thing that grabbed me most about my re-acquaintance with this track is that, even after 15-plus years, it is still exceedingly good and highly listenable. Most good songs fail to reach greatness based on the sole criterion of long-term listenability. The popular music of the 1980’s is especially suspect in that regard.
At no time in prior history had technology and art been so intertwined. The advent of digital imaging and sound applications ran amok. The world was full of amazing new toys and it seemed everyone was eager to use them whether said toys had been perfected or not. It’s as if at no point did anyone stop and ask, “Does this synthesizer sound, I don’t know, a little chessy to anyone else?”
Of course, technology will always advance; leaving present day critics to look at past artifacts with the guile of a disaffected uncle watching a toddler mow the lawn with his Fisher-Price Bubble Mower. The look and sound of 80s, however, is so clearly time-specific that the output dated itself almost immediately- sometimes visually and audibly in the same swoop. As a result, this entire decade of music is often looked upon as being the worst of the Rock and Roll Era.
Synthesizers, for one, are a distinctly 80s instrument. Even metal bands were getting in on the act. The true downfall of the technology was the sweeping realization that suddenly real instruments weren’t physically needed. Why employ a horn section when you can duplicate one on your keyboard? In retrospect, the answer to this question and others like it is: Because the technology is too new, and thus not advanced enough to do the job you’re asking of it. Also, the in vogue tones sound fucking ridiculous. Just because something sounds “new” and “modern” doesn’t mean it sounds good, McDouche. Tom Cochrane didn’t employ any such tactics. He used guitars and B3-style organs and harmonicas; you know, “antiquated” instruments. Timeless instruments. (And admittedly the drums sound over-produced, almost synthetic, but that is a small critique on a much greater soundscape).
A quick side note about drum production: Modern day bands use synthetic percussion all over the place. Those especially guilty are cats like Ben Gibbard. The Postal Service’s debut, and thus far only, album was dangerously addled with synthetic instruments alongside the standards. But therein lies the difference- today’s musicians have learned from past mistakes. The beats on modern albums, like said vehicle, aren’t trying to be a drum kit. The beats are supposed to sound like they were made electronically and are most often peppered in as an “ironic” or “interesting” sonic textured, whereas the Musicians of Christmas Past tried to make everything sound like they were actually sticks on skins. I’m not absolving today’s acts or posturing as if they are somehow superior. To be perfectly honest, I’m tired of the Electro-Rock movement and there are just as many hacks working today than there were two decades ago. The latter-day engineers simply have the benefit of advanced technology and hindsight.
So, the question remains: is “Life Is a Highway” timeless? I would contend that it is. Granted, I cannot predict the future. I have no idea if people will still be playing this tune on Classic Rock stations 30 years from now, but I do believe all the necessary elements are certainly there. The song has a compelling vocal, apt production, instrumentation that will not go out of style anytime soon, and a bad ass chorus. I listened to this track more than several times throughout the course of this article’s composition and every time the hook dropped in, I still felt compelled to dance on a chair. Had I been in my car, I would have appeared suspiciously like Tom Cruise when he signed Jerry O’Connell to a long term contract in Jerry Maguire. And perhaps a long term contract is what Tom Cochrane needed to prove this tune’s durability. To the best of my knowledge, Cochrane never had a successful follow-up; thus, leaving him in the endless pool of One-Hit Wonders. Because so many OHWs are frivolous and forgettable, many residents of this pool never get the recognition they deserve, even if their one hit is undeniably great. I’m nothing if not a sucker for a well written Pop song. I don’t even care who records it. If Ashlee Fucking Simpson puts out a great single, I’m buying it. Hell, Simpson did put out a great single, Pieces of Me. I really enjoy that song, even if I roll up the windows when I listen to it. (I can deal with critical scorn. Rocks hurled at my windshield by teenager males, however, is completely different.)
Perhaps the most telling of all arguments for this record is that it didn’t start to suck after multiple listens. Sure, I got fatigued from hearing the same song over and over, but no more than I would have listening to any piece of music I genuinely enjoy. I think I could probably hear this song once a day, every day, for the rest of my life and it never develop a disdain for it. In fact, I might do just that. Life IS a highway and I would like to drive it all night long. Whatever the hell that means.
[1] Arrested Development’s Tennessee being the most notable exception
[2] Northern Indiana radio stations fucking loved "Here I Go Again" years after its initial heyday. Shit, I still love "Here I Go Again."
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