Monday, March 14, 2016

For What Is a Man?

At the tail end of 1968, the day before New Year's Eve, Frank Sinatra went into a studio in Hollywood and spent half an hour laying down the vocal for what would become the title track to his next album. The year had been a rough one for Sinatra; in August, his marriage to Mia Farrow ended after just 25 months. Frank had wanted her to quit acting and spend her life as his wife, but Mia had other ideas; Rosemary's Baby came out two months before they split for good. Frank was 52; Mia was 23. Still, most of us would say it's better to have loved Mia Farrow and lost her than to never have loved Mia Farrow at all.

Sinatra may also have been wondering if the hits had dried up. He and his daughter Nancy had gone to Number One early in 1967 with "Somethin' Stupid," but he hadn't reached the Top Twenty since. Fiftysomething-year-old pop singers rarely make comebacks.

Frank was going in that evening to record a song that had been specially written for him by Paul Anka. Anka had heard a French pop song called "Comme d'habitude," for which he wanted to write new English lyrics. Over dinner in Florida, Anka had had a conversation with Frank in which a weary Sinatra said, "I'm quitting the business. I'm sick of it; I'm getting the hell out."

"At one o'clock in the morning," Anka said later, "I sat down at an old IBM electric typewriter and said, 'If Frank were writing this, what would he say?' And I started, metaphorically, 'And now the end is near.' I used words I would never use: 'I ate it up and spit it out.' But that's the way he talked. I used to be around steam rooms with the Rat Pack guys – they liked to talk like Mob guys, even though they would have been scared of their own shadows."

The song was "My Way." With the year ending, his marriage ending, his youth ending, possibly his career ending, Sinatra went into the studio and put his whole sorry life into that vocal performance. As he faced the final curtain, Frank managed to sum up his sordid past and questionable future in the space of four minutes and 35 seconds. No matter what he had lost along the way, Frank had his dignity and self-worth, and no one would ever take that from him.

"My Way" is often interpreted as a boast, a challenge to anyone who would dare Frank to do things differently, but it's about his past, not his future. Bono called Sinatra "the champ who would rather show you his scars than his medals," and "My Way" is all scars. Regrets? He's had a few.  Whatever he lost along the way, and the song makes it clear that there had been plenty lost, he had faced it all and he stood tall. A man can't be expected to win every time; all he can be expected to do is to be himself. To be a man.

Sinatra's vocal is magnificent, starting out ruminative and inward, doing that soft-loud-soft thing long before Nirvana or even the Pixies. He carries out his vowels on "But through it all/When there was doubt," then bites off the consonants at the end of "I ate it up/And spit it out." With his impeccable breath control, he turns on a dime from "I did it my way" to "I've loved, I've laughed and cried."  The regret seeps into the space in the line "I've had my share of ... losing," as if he can't bear to say the word. But when it comes, the word itself is clear and forthright.

He finally builds to the song's climax when he sings, "I took the blows, and did it my way." The control of the vocal emphasizes that at no point does he seek to evade responsibility; admitting the occasional defeat has only made him stronger. It's made him his own man.

The other exemplar of 20th century masculinity, Cary Grant, embodied what every man aspired to be, but what none of us actually were, including famously Cary Grant. "Everyone wants to be Cary Grant," Cary once said. "Even I want to be Cary Grant." Sinatra, by contrast, was what every man was. Even after all our missteps and losses, it was never too late to reclaim our self-worth. None of us could become Cary, but we always had the chance to be Frank.

"My Way," of course, became Sinatra's signature song for the rest of his days, which consisted mostly of concert performances. He had only one more Top Forty hit left in the quiver: "Theme From 'New York, New York,'" in 1980. He retired, briefly, in November 1970, a year and a half after "My Way" had left the charts. It was in almost every respect a career-capping performance that couldn't be topped.

Yes, it was Frank's way. The rest of us can only hope to live up to that standard.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Cheap Trick: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part XV

Today, in the final entry in this series, we deal with the case of Cheap Trick. I am sure I don't need to tell you guys about Cheap Trick - the magnetism of Robin Zander, the charisma of Rick Nielsen, and how about the tunes? "I want you to want me!" "The dream police, da da da da da da da!" "Your mama's all right, your daddy's all right, they just seem a little bit weird..."

Cheap Trick was the only one of these artists whose poster I had on my wall when I was a teenager, so I approach them with a little bit of bias. Cheap Trick basically invented power pop, which has probably been my favorite genre of music over the years. Without Cheap Trick, you don't get Weezer, do you? Do you get Husker Du or Fountains of Wayne without Cheap Trick? Do you get the Shoes? Well, we could probably live without the Shoes.

Everybody loves Cheap Trick. John Lennon asked Rick Nielsen and Bun E. Carlos to work on Double Fantasy (although it was never used, and when they showed up at the studio, Yoko had no idea who they were). Musicians from Joey Ramone to Kurt Cobain professed their admiration for the boys from Rockford. And Apu as well:

I should probably look and see how they did on the charts, but really, I don't care. I'm entitled to one vote out of pure fandom. I love Cheap Trick, and I'm voting YES for them.

This concludes my series on my Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ballot. The most enjoyable part of this for me has been listening to the music of all these great artists while I was making my case for them. As they say in the Miss America pageant, they're all winners, and I wouldn't mind seeing nearly all of them in the Hall of Fame, although I still have trouble understanding the argument for Deep Purple. Thanks for reading. 

Sunday, December 13, 2015

The Cars: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part XIV

The best evidence that the Cars were ahead of their time can be found on the back cover of the band's debut album. That album heralded the arrival of new wave as a force in pop music, yet keyboardist Greg Hawkes still has long stringy hair parted in the middle and a gross little mustache, as if he's in Yes or Heatwave. Hawkes had not only failed to realize that the new wave revolution had come; he had failed to realize that he was supposed to lead it.

If you weren't a teenager back then, it's hard to overstate how fresh and exciting those Cars songs sounded. In a rock world that had grown flaccid and undisciplined, they were taut and gleaming. I'm sure there were other bands that were playing music like that - where I was, in Louisiana, the Talking Heads didn't arrive till about 1983 - but the Cars brought them to the masses.

Looking back now, I'm surprised at how little chart success the Cars had back then. They didn't reach the pop Top Ten until 1981's "Shake It Up," off their fourth album. But those songs were all over AOR radio - "Just What I Needed," "Let's Go," "You're All I've Got Tonight." Somehow, it seemed like everyone knew every song on The Cars and Candy-O;  as guitarist Elliot Easton said, "We used to joke that the first album should have been called The Cars' Greatest Hits."

Meanwhile, they just got more popular, if anything, adapting well to the demands of the MTV culture and moving more forcefully into the Top Ten with "You Might Think," "Drive," and "Tonight She Comes." But after 1984's Heartbeat City (well, actually after 1985's Greatest Hits), they put out one more album, 1987's dud Door to Door, and it was over. The Cars had released just five meaningful albums

And those songs have never really gone away, which is in a way part of the problem. They eventually revealed themselves to be slick enough to be in heavy rotation in big-box-retailers' commercials. I'm not altogether certain how well they've held up. And their career was pretty short.

I could definitely see a vote for the Cars; at times, as I've been ruminating over my ballot, they've been a yes vote for me. This is their first year as a nominee for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and if they're still on the ballot next year, I'll probably vote for them. But for the moment, I vote NO for the Cars.

I've been putting videos at the end of these things because I figure if you're like me, after reading about all these great artists, you're in the mood to listen to some of their stuff. My plan was to put the classic MTV video of my favorite Cars song, "Since You're Gone," down here, until I discovered that the Cars did that song on ABC's early-Eighties SNL knockoff Fridays. I don't know how funny it was, but Fridays had much better music than SNL at that point. This is from an episode hosted by Valerie Harper, and who doesn't love Valerie Harper - but for this song, they're introduced by none other than Larry David. Enjoy.


Chic: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part XIII

As I mentioned in the essay for Nine Inch Nails, we are given very little direction in how or why we should cast our ballots for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. We're not asked to weigh cultural impact against chart success or anything like that, and neither are we asked to which parts of an artists' contributions we are to consider. If we were voting on, say, Johnny Rivers, should we account for the fact that he started his own label and discovered the Fifth Dimension? I honestly don't know, and can see both sides of that argument. If you're wondering whether to vote for the Drifters, do you include in your consideration Clyde McPhatter's solo career? Do the contributions made by Foxboro Hot Tubs add to the dossier of Green Day?

These questions weighed heavily on my mind when I was considering the candidacy of Chic. Chic had a fairly short but hugely successful career: Between December 1977 and July 1979, they had four Top Ten hits, including the Number Ones "Le Freak" and "Good Times." Along with the work of the Bee Gees, those were the preeminent disco hits of the era, with tougher and more memorable instrumentation on the Chic hits.

This hits dried up after that, and Chic broke up (albeit temporarily) after 1983's album Believer. But at the same time, under the name the Chic Organization, the key members of the band wrote and produced some of the most prominent dance hits of the late 1970s, including "We Are Family" for Sister Sledge and "Upside Down" and "I'm Coming Out" for Diana Ross. Those credits, I believe, definitely should be part of Chic's claim on the Hall of Fame.

Chic guitarist Nile Rodgers went on to be one of the most important producers of the 1980s: David Bowie's Let's Dance, Madonna's Like a Virgin, the B-52's Cosmic Thing, Duran Duran's Notorious. The group's bassist Bernard Edwards, produced Robert Palmer's Riptide and The Power Station, and ABC's Alphabet City, which spawned the hit "When Smokey Sings."

Does Chic deserve credit for that work? I don't honestly know, but I can't quite get it out of my mind when I'm evaluating their candidacy. If nothing else, it represents how important Chic's influence was on the pop music of that entire generation. For another thing, I think that Chic would have carried on longer if Rodgers and Edwards hadn't been so busy producing other people's records. (Their own last few albums might have had more hits, too, if they had been more focused on them.)

In addition to their production work, Edwards' bassline for "Good Times" may be the most influential ever, leading directly to both Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" and the Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight."  As it was, Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards, the heart of Chic, basically owned dance-pop music for a decade.  Much of that was because of their own records as Chic, much of it was because of their production work as the Chic Organization, and much of it was their individual solo work.

I see a continuum there that I think the Hall of Fame is getting at as well; their bio in the Hall of Fame voting guide mentions their "careers as top-flight producers for A-list megastars." (The bio doesn't mention this, but Edwards and Rodgers met while they were touring with a Sesame Street stage show, which I find adorable.) The work done by Chic as Chic puts them into the conversation, and the remainder of their resume puts them over the top. I vote YES for Chic.

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Los Lobos: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part XII

Los Lobos is one of the greatest stories in the history of American popular music. They started out as a freaking wedding band, playing for their friends and clients in East L.A., building a following that led them to record an EP in 1983, ...And a Time to Dance. The sales of that EP led them to buy a van, which enabled them to start touring beyond Southern California for the first time in their career. I think it was drummer Louie Perez who, reflecting on this time of playing small halls and ballrooms around the country, later got off one of the all-time great quotes (in a magazine I have since lost, so I apologize if I have it slightly wrong): "We discovered America through the service entrance."

They were grown-ass men by this time, around 30 years old and with families, before they could really even make a living with Los Lobos. Eventually, their norteno roots-rock intersected with a popular biopic of Ritchie Valens, and they topped the charts with "La Bamba." They shrugged it off with characteristic modesty, saying they were just glad they could get Ritchie Valens a Number One hit.

"La Bamba" was also pretty much the end of Los Lobos' commercial success (after the soundtrack hits, they literally never had another single on the Hot 100), because they were more interested in doing what they wanted than in expanding their audience. They made experimental stuff, relasing new albums sporadically, to the point that they got dropped by Warner Brothers in 1996.

The weird thing about Los Lobos is that they sparked a revolution that never happened. The songs from the La Bamba soundtrack and especially the ones from 1984's How Will the Wolf Survive were full-on Chicano rock, an unmistakable blend of Mexican-American influences and classic Chuck Berry-derived rock & roll. How Will the Wolf Survive? was named to Number 30 on Rolling Stone's top albums of the 1980s, and No. 461 on that august magazine's list of the Top 500 albums of all time. In other words, it's real good.

With that album, Los Lobos managed to sound both original and comfortable at the same time, and seemed to herald a new genre that never quite arrived. Who followed Los Lobos - Cypress Hill? Los Lonely Boys? Alien Ant Farm? I'm sure I'm missing something here, and feel free to help me out in the comments, but I can't see where the Los Lobos influence ended up.

I would be totally fine with having Los Lobos in the Hall of Fame, and strongly considered voting for them. I like pretty much everything about Los Lobos - their attitude, their career path, their modesty, and most of all their music. But given their lack of hits, and the fact that I have a hard time seeing their footprints, for now I am going to vote NO for Los Lobos.

Friday, December 11, 2015

N.W.A: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part XI

When I began thinking about the five names I would tick on my Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ballot, I wrote off N.W.A pretty quickly. There were two primary reasons for this: First of all, I am not much of a fan of N.W.A and hardly ever listen to this kind of music. It's not that I hate it; I just don't have much interest in it.

The second reason was that N.W.A had a very short career. They were a supernova that were briefly a major cause celebre; then their most important member left, the remaining group released an EP and second album that didn't live up to the first, then they blew apart in several different directions. The original group with Ice Cube released a single album, while N.W.A in all its guises released two and a half.

Which Hall of Fame member released the least amount of product in his or her career? It's gotta be Ritchie Valens, who put out two studio albums and one live album, none of them released during his lifetime. N.W.A would arguably beat that record, without the excuse of having died at age 17.

But I have been convinced that N.W.A's place in history is worthy of induction. They weren't exactly the first gangsta rappers - Ice-T's Rhyme Pays came out a year before Straight Outta Compton - but they were far and away the most popular and enduring. Compton went triple platinum with virtually no airplay. They also virtually invented West Coast rap; aside from Ice-T, until N.W.A, hip-hop was predominantly a New York phenomenon.

And after N.W.A? They paved the way for Tupac, for Eminem, for Too $hort, for Snoop Dogg, for 50 Cent, for Kendrick Lamar, who just released what the president of the United States called his favorite song of the year. The President of the United States.

That's not to mention the legacy of the members themselves. Ice Cube and Dr. Dre were two of the most important hip-hop figures of the 1990s, and Eazy-E and MC Ren both had solo platinum releases. They would be the Beatles of hip-hop, if the Beatles had broken up after A Hard Day's Night. The only rap group that measures up with N.W.A in influence would be Run-DMC, and they're already in.

Look at it this way: How many musical groups get a biopic made about them? It's not uncommon for solo artist to get their own movie, like the aforementioned Ritchie Valens, but I can't think of any other groups that have done so except for the Beatles, and those were primarily squirrely European art films. (Plus, major props to Ice Cube for having Ice Cube Jr. portray him in the movie, which is awesome.)

I'm also pretty sure they invented that whole "Straight Outta" trope. Was that phrase used anywhere prior to Straight Outta Compton? Not that I can find, but I'm not exactly a lexicographer. Not a professional one, anyway.

So in the end, I've decided that their cultural influence and impact on the world of music for the past two decades is impossible to ignore. I vote YES for N.W.A.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Yes: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part X

When I was 15, I listened to a lot of Yes. I mean a lot of Yes - I swear to God, I even had a copy of Tormato, although it didn't spend very much time on my turntable. But I did a lot of unwise and not particularly noble things when I was 15, and I can't make my decision now based on how I felt back then.

Having said that, there's an awful lot of Hall of Fame-type things you can say about Yes. They had a long and productive career, with Fragile placing in the Top Five on the album charts in 1971, and "Rhythm of Love" landing as their last Top Forty hit in 1987. They didn't really invent prog rock, but for a while there, they were certainly the most popular prog group, them or ELP, and served as somewhat of a trailblazer in that regard. They could churn out multi-part ten-minute suites as well as the Number One pop hit "Owner of a Lonely Heart." That Chris Squire sure could play some bass.

Like Deep Purple, Yes went through a lot of personnel, but the core was pretty solid: Squire, singer-composer Jon Anderson, guitarist Steve Howe. With his omnipresent cape, Rick Wakeman was self-parodic on keyboards, and before joining Yes, he was a much in-demand session musician, playing piano on both David Bowie's "Changes" and Cat Stevens'  "Morning Has Broken." But I never thought he was all that critical to the Yes sound; I couldn't tell you which albums he played on as opposed to Tony Kaye, or whatever other keysmen they roped in.

One cool thing that Yes did was after the release of Relayer in 1974, they took some time off so each member could record a solo album. You can bet that Kiss was watching that move. Plus, they were one of the first bands to be more recognizable by their logo than by their faces, as I was discussing in the Steve Miller entry the other day. I'm not crazy about that strategy, but I have to give them some credit for being influential like that.

My concern about Yes is a rather quaint one: The music isn't all that good. A year or so ago I dumped The Yes Album onto my iPod, and it just hasn't held up that well. Whenever "I've Seen All Good People" comes up, it is distinguished by the flatness of its composition compared to the other songs I'm generally listening to. (It doesn't help that these days, I'm generally listening to Cole Porter songs, sort of the mathematical inverse of Yessongs.) The musicians are virtuosic and the arrangements fascinating, but the tunes themselves don't really work. Well, "Roundabout" is pretty good, but maybe they should have done more covers, like they did on their first couple of albums.

I can definitely see a Yes vote here, and it wouldn't bother me at all if they were in the Hall of Fame. But personally, I'm just not feeling it; I feel like my support can be put to better use elsewhere. I vote NO on Yes.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

The Spinners: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part IX

The Spinners, best known for their string of smooth R&B hits throughout the early 1970s, were actually a Motown act for the entire decade of the 1960s. The group dates back to 1954, when Henry Fambrough and four other dudes began singing together just outside Detroit; Fambrough, incredibly enough, is still with the touring Spinners today. He's 77, and has been a Spinner for more than 50 years.

The Spinners reached the Top Forty just twice in the 1960s: with "That's What Girls Are Made Of" in 1961, and "I'll Always Love You" in 1966. They had a bit of a breakthrough in 1970, when the Stevie Wonder-written and -produced "It's a Shame" became their first Top Twenty hit (funny how Stevie keeps coming up in these essays).

Three things changed for the Spinners in 1972:  Obviously not a priority for Motown, they jumped to Atlantic at the recommendation of Aretha Franklin. At Atlantic, they were paired with the producer Thom Bell. And Philippe Wynne joined the group, becoming the de facto lead singer.

For the next five years, the Spinners were the most successful R&B vocal group in the nation, both in terms of hits and in terms of cultural impact. Ironically, for a former Motown group that had its roots in Detroit, they helped define the Philly Soul sound, and they had five Top Ten hits, including the Number One smash "Then Came You," with Dionne Warwick.

Wynne left the group in 1977 for a solo career (to be managed by Alan Thicke!), and with the Philly sound fading in popularity, that was pretty much it for the Spinners. They did manage a couple of Top Five hits in 1980 with medleys of older R&B songs, and they have continued as a touring act to this very day. But for all intents and purposes, the Spinners' Hall of Fame case rests on that 1972-76 peak.

It was an impressive stretch, but not really Hall-worthy, in my opinion. For one thing, the Spinners weren't all that involved in creating their own records: They didn't write or produce at all, at least not any of their hits. When that's the case, you need more of a catalog than what the Spinners had. With all due respect to Henry Fambrough, I vote NO for the Spinners. I was always more of a Stylistics man, anyway.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Janet Jackson: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part VIII

There really isn't any coherent argument for keeping Janet Jackson out of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame: Every single marker is positive. She had a staggering number of hits, songs that defined an era of pop R&B, was an icon to millions of fans with her own distinctive style, and was a lasting influence on a generation of singers. Beyonce adores Janet Jackson and has called her "one of my biggest inspirations," and Beyonce, as you probably know, currently rules the world.

Probably the most impressive thing about Janet Jackson's career is the sheer bulk of it. Billboard rates her the seventh biggest pop star of the Hot 100 era, ahead of even her brother. (Michael, that is, not Jermaine, although she's ahead of Jermaine, too.) She's had ten Number One hits; only eight other artists have had more. She's had 27 Top Ten hits; only five other artists have had more (Madonna, Elvis, the Beatles, Michael and Stevie, all of them not just Hall of Famers but obvious Hall of Famers). Rhythm Nation 1814 is the only album in history with seven Top Five hits.

But what I admire the most about Janet Jackson is the way she has survived in the public eye for four decades, while her brother went crazy and Justin Timberlake exposed her nipple and she had to play a poet named Justice in a movie called Poetic Justice, and has continued to not just do whatever she wants but stay defiantly sane as well. Although she mostly avoided the hellscape that was the family singing group, she appeared on The Jacksons variety TV show at the age of 10, then became a full-fledged star at the age of 11 when she became a regular on Good Times, playing the abused child (!) Penny. She has said she made Control at the age of 19 outside of the family auspices just to get away from her father.

She's been a superstar and an icon ever since, but has never seemed like anything other than a normal person. She even made Michael's twisted angst relatable in the video for "Scream." If you can humanize Michael Jackson, you're really something special.

You do occasionally hear the argument that Janet was a product of her producers, that the brilliant team of Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis were responsible for making her a star, starting with her 1986 breakthrough album Control. But Jackson herself took a producer's credit on that record, as well as a songwriting credit on all that album's Jam-Lewis songs. She got a solo writing credit on the Number One hit "Black Cat." The Jam-Lewis-Jackson team soldiered on through 2006's 20 Y.O., but Janet has always seemed the most important and irreplaceable part of that triumvirate.

Do I really have to convince you people? This is an obvious choice. I vote YES for Janet Jackson.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Deep Purple: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Justifications and Excuses, Part VII

Do you know how many people have been members of Deep Purple? Fourteen. Some of those are guys who latched onto the band in its latter stages to fill out a touring lineup, but even in its heyday, Deep Purple had a continually revolving membership. By 1976, Deep Purple was already on what its fans to refer to its Mark IV lineup, with even founding guitarist Ritchie Blackmore having departed. Ian Gillan, the vocalist who sang "Smoke on the Water," was gone by 1973.

Indeed, Deep Purple had two recognizable hits: "Hush," from 1968, and "Smoke on the Water," from 1973, both of which peaked on the pop charts at Number Four. (Their other Top Forty hit, strangely enough, was a cover of Neil Diamond's "Kentucky Woman," which slithered up to Number 38 at the tail end of 1968.)  Those songs had just three of the five band members in common.

My intuitive sense is that a group with so many shifting members couldn't possibly be among the greatest of all time. Was it possible that Deep Purple was immortal with Rod Evans handling the lead vocals, and then again with Ian Gillan doing the honors? The Beatles, you know, had four guys ever. I bet you could name everyone who has ever been in the Rolling Stones. Sure, it's unfair of me to compare Deep Purple to the greatest bands in pop music, but no one has ever accused me of being fair in these little essays.

There have been many Temptations over the years, but they had a small core of lead singers along the way, and were heavily producer-driven anyway. Fleetwood Mac may make a better comp for Deep Purple, but everyone knows the Buckingham-Nicks-McVie-McVie-Fleetwood lineup is the reason they're in the Hall of Fame.

The strongest argument in Deep Purple's favor is that there are a lot of hard rock performers, especially guitarists, who have a tremendous amount of respect for them. Tom Morello wrote the article on Deep Purple in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame nomination booklet, the only musician to do that for any of the nominees, and I place a lot of weight on that. (Morello calls them the third-best heavy metal band of the 1970s, which to me is like being the third-best wide receiver in the AFL [Art Powell, probably].)

Slash has been quoted as saying, "How can you not induct Deep Purple?" Lars Ulrich of Metallica told, "I got two words to say: Deep Purple. That's all I have to say: Deep Purple. Seriously, people, Deep Purple." That's more than two words, but you don't mess with Lars.

Tom, Slash, Lars, you guys are all free to vote for Deep Purple, if you have a vote, and I'm all in favor of you having one. I'm sure the first riff you all ever played on the guitar was "Smoke on the Water" (yes, I know Lars is a drummer, but I'm sure he can play "Smoke on the Water" on the guitar). Writing an extremely recognizable and easily playable riff isn't quite enough for me, though. I vote NO for Deep Purple.