foxtales

Poems and Prose by Tim Fox

  • No Stone Unturned

    My Freshman year of college, I wrote a journal entry for English class that started, “I have been a Stones fan forever.” That may have been hyperbole, but it is true that I–like millions of others–have never lived in a world without the Rolling Stones.

    Richard Cohen takes that fact as the premise of his forthcoming book, The Sun and the Moon and the Rolling Stones. It’s one of two music-related books I’ll be reviewing together for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch next month.

    The title comes from an interview with Keith Richards. When Cohen asked the guitarist what it was like to live in a world always starring the Rolling Stones, he (typically) turned the question back on the interviewer: “You tell me. I don’t know. . . . For you, there’s always been the sun and the moon and the Rolling Stones.”

    Cohen was 26 in 1994 when Rolling Stone magazine asked him to cover the group’s Voodoo Lounge tour. In 1994 I was 28, so we’re roughly contemporaries–late entries to Generation X. His entree to the Rolling Stones was “Honky Tonk Women.” Mine was, like so many other people’s, “Satisfaction.” But what we share more deeply is a vague feeling of being “born too late.” “Time would always separate me from these guys, from this generation,” he writes. But he soldiers on.

    Cohen obviously did more than cover a tour. His book is another history of the Rolling Stones, but he promises to re-tell those familiar tales of music and madness and Altamont and decadence through the eyes of a Gen Xer rather than a Boomer. Will he see another, baby, standing in the shadows? I’ll keep you posted.

  • Apocalypse Prince

    The first Prince song I remember hearing was “1999.” It was playing on my sister’s stereo as we got ready for church one morning. Its slowed-down-speech intro–“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you, I only want you to have some fun”–sounded like both a promise and a threat.

    It was the early 1980s. I bought the album 1999 in 1983. That year, a miniseries called The Day After aired on ABC. Set in nearby Lawrence, Kansas, Kansas City, Missouri, and environs, it followed the survivors of a nuclear blast.

    Nuclear war was the constant, nagging fear of my troubled teen-aged mind, and of many people’s in those days–not least of all, Prince.

    As I would learn later when I started working backwards and bought his 1981 album Controversy, the end of the world brought about by nuclear weapons was a theme for him. The song “Ronnie Talk to Russia” opens, in a childlike, sing-along chorus, with: “Ronnie talk to Russia / Before it’s too late / Before it’s too late / Before it’s too late / Ronnie talk to Russia / Before it’s too late / Before they blow up the world.”

    In the end, the song turns personal. “The world” turns to “my world.” That’s how I felt, being 16 or 17 years old. They wanted to blow up “my world.”

    “1999” was not a song. It was a manifesto. It was personal. It was a recipe for living a rational life in an irrational world.

    From that ominous spoken intro to the references to death, war “all around us,” a mind saying “prepare to fight,” and the rhetorical child’s question at the end–“Mommy / Why does everybody have a bomb?”–“1999” set the agenda for what would follow: songs about a world where we should “pretend we’re married,” “play music, sex, romance,” and, most poignantly, be “free.”

    “Everybody’s got a bomb / We could all die any day / Before I let the happen / I’ll dance my life away,” Prince sang. And why not? In a world gone mad, what else can you do?

    Party on, Prince. Party on.

  • A Good Kind of Crazy

    Like most people’s, my life has a soundtrack. And like most people my age, it started with AM radio in the early-mid ’70s, which morphed into FM radio in the late ’70s, which segued into college radio in the ’80s. And like all people do as they age, I romanticize the music of my youth and struggle to understand, let alone appreciate, what has come since. (more…)