Track: Big Star - "Big Black Car"

I confess: for the longest time, I never really got Big Star. I heard a ton about them, their influence, etc. and grabbed the albums, but none of it really stuck much. I mean, it was really good, for sure, but I didn't love it. Another one of those bands whose albums I kept around but didn't listen to often. Fairly recently, within the last year, probably, I've kinda started to get it. This can likely be traced back to "Adventureland" (sidenote: excellent movie, SEE IT). A Big Star song, "I'm In Love With A Girl", was used to great effect in the film, so I sort of went back to their catalogue, and it started to make a little more sense. Just the other night, I gave another listen to their final album, "Third/Sister Lovers", which this song is from. It really clicked with me this time, so much, in fact, that I had trouble picking a single song for this post. But anyway, for those not in the know, a bit of history: Big Star today hold a high place in rock canon; hugely influential, loved by a who's-who of indie rock, covered by everybody and their dog, etc. etc. Most people would be familiar with them through the theme song from "That 70s Show", which is Big Star track "In The Street" with a few edits. In their time, however, they were pretty much the quintessential shoulda-been band. Big Star was a Memphis powerpop band in the 70s, signed to legendary soul label Stax. They had great tunes, great reviews, and a singer-songwriter, Alex Chilton, straight out of hitmakers The Box Tops. In their brief run, they were plagued by distribution problems and crumbling relations within the band. I've always thought Chilton himself summed it up quite well in "Thank You Friends": "All the ladies and gentlemen who made this all so probable". That's exactly what Big Star was; a big ball of probablys that never came true.

This album, "Third/Sister Lovers", was recorded while the band was falling apart. After 3 years and 2 albums of getting fucked over by Columbia's lack of cooperation and interest, relations in the band were fraying and Chilton was in bad shape. It seems he took these sessions with a sort of nothing-to-lose mentality. The music sounds strange and uncommercial even today, so one can imagine what it would've been like by 1974 standards. It didn't get released until 4 years later. Chilton sounds weary, lonely, sad, frustrated; the gloom pervades the whole album, even the upbeat numbers. The aforementioned "Thank You Friends", despite its joyful horns and soul backup vocals, is dripping with bitter sarcasm; Chilton "rejoices to the skies" in praise of the "friends" who helped him get there. Musically, the album is some of his best work; darkly beautiful pop accented by often haunting string arrangements. Some tracks literally sounds like they're on the verge of collapse (the tangled rock of opener "Kizza Me", the stark, lonely "Kangaroo", its mournful acoustic melody played against squalls of feedback), others are simply strikingly pretty (the string-driven ballad "Blue Moon", the bittersweet "Nighttime"). This track, "Big Black Car", leans more towards the latter; a simple, sad pop song.

When I think of car songs, something like "Little GTO" comes to mind; an upbeat track about how the singer loves his sweet ride/cruising with his baby/etc. "Big Black Car" goes against this in terms of both sound and content. Chilton sings of driving almost more like medication than a passtime; "I can't feel a thing," he sighs. Fittingly then, the music is played in narcotic pace and tone. The instruments seem to float in dreamy reverb. Acoustic guitars shimmer, snatches of piano occasionally tumble across, a woozy electric moan emanates from the background. Chilton himself, drifting through, sings in a hushed, breathy voice, sounding exhausted to the point of numbness. Lyrically, Chilton plays with the classic pop symbolism of car as escape. "Nothing can touch me, nothing can hurt me," he starts, evoking the trope, "why should I care, driving's a gas, it ain't gonna last." His final word hangs in the air for a moment, silently, before the music stumbles back in. He's reminding us of the real world physicalness of driving, as opposed to its fantasy transcendence; basically, you can dream your life away, but once you wake up, everything's still the same. Where most people would write escapist songs, Chilton wrote a song about escapism; its delusiveness, its fleetingness, and ultimately, its futility.