King Dork by Frank Portman Page A
Authors: Frank Portman
Tags: General, Juvenile Nonfiction, Action & Adventure, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Parents
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seventies bands and stuff, as a sort of tribute to their fine work; and I’ve got the army coat, though that’s more of a practical tool than a fashion statement. But I don’t “dress punk,” or mod or metal or goth or garage or rockabilly or anything. I don’t wake up every morning and put on a music-genre-oriented
youth-culture Halloween costume—that’s what I’m saying.
My tastes do tend to be a bit retro, though. I’m really into the Who, the Kinks, the Merseyside/British Invasion sort of thing. And like I said, I also like a lot of seventies stuff, which I find myself listening to more and more often. 1975 was a great year for rock and roll, and don’t believe anyone who tells you different. But I can find something to appreciate about most pop music—it’s all part of rock and roll history, which I’m trying to know everything about. I have a pretty big record collection of mostly old stuff, and I’m totally proud of how schizophrenic it is. I even kind of like Wishbone Ash.
And I’m not even exaggerating all that much. But for some
reason I’m not necessarily too interested in very much of
what was recorded after I was born. And, as a matter of prin-ciple, I don’t dig whatever mindless, soulless crap all the normal people are into at any given time, because what would be the point of that?
My personal ultimate in art rock will probably always be,
well, either the Who or the Sweet. Or Foghat. But I’m also really into Bubblegum, and that’s probably what confuses
people most.
Bubblegum is this music they had in the seventies, cre-
ated and marketed for little kids, and, apparently, not taken 83
very seriously by anyone involved. But it somehow ended up being brilliant by accident without anyone realizing. I love that. I have a pretty big collection of Bubblegum records.
Now, I admit, maybe I got into it at first because it was so clearly the opposite of what everyone else liked. But whatever: it’s some of the best rock and roll music there ever was.
I think normal people think it sounds corny or wimpy, not realizing that there would have been no Ramones without
“Yummy, Yummy, Yummy.” But I’m quite confident that
when we’re all dead, history will clearly conclude that my retro rock revival was years ahead of everybody else’s retro rock revival.
Sometimes, when I’m trying to cheer up Little Big Tom
by finding some interest we can temporarily pretend to share, I’ll ask him about the music of the sixties and seventies, which was his era. Back then, he and all his friends didn’t pay attention to most of my favorite music from the time. They
thought it was childish, not serious, meaningful music like, say, Led Zeppelin. Now, Led Zeppelin is all right (good
drums and guitar, anyway, though that singer should have
been silenced or muzzled or something—frankly, I prefer it in Yardbird form to be honest). But Little Big Tom’s example of how serious and important and adult it all was? “Stairway to Heaven.” I kid you not. Don’t get me wrong: I like hobbits and unicorns and wizards and hemp ice cream as much as
the next guy. And I suppose it’s the antimaterialist message that seemed so sophisticated and meaningful to those guys—
no one does antimaterialism better than multigazillionaire rock stars. But my view is that there’s something seriously wrong with a subculture that would prefer “Stairway to
Heaven” to “Wig Wam Bam.” Come on: go listen to “Wig
Wam Bam” and tell me I’m wrong.
I was thinking about all this, and kind of counting the
84
ways in which the Sweet ruled Led Zeppelin’s relatively sorry ass, when I returned home from the first post-Fiona school day. On my way in through the patio, I noticed Little Big Tom using a sledgehammer to break big pieces of concrete into little pieces that would fit in his wheelbarrow. (He was trying to turn the backyard into Spaceship Earth by reversing the
paving process and planting ferns and
youth-culture Halloween costume—that’s what I’m saying.
My tastes do tend to be a bit retro, though. I’m really into the Who, the Kinks, the Merseyside/British Invasion sort of thing. And like I said, I also like a lot of seventies stuff, which I find myself listening to more and more often. 1975 was a great year for rock and roll, and don’t believe anyone who tells you different. But I can find something to appreciate about most pop music—it’s all part of rock and roll history, which I’m trying to know everything about. I have a pretty big record collection of mostly old stuff, and I’m totally proud of how schizophrenic it is. I even kind of like Wishbone Ash.
And I’m not even exaggerating all that much. But for some
reason I’m not necessarily too interested in very much of
what was recorded after I was born. And, as a matter of prin-ciple, I don’t dig whatever mindless, soulless crap all the normal people are into at any given time, because what would be the point of that?
My personal ultimate in art rock will probably always be,
well, either the Who or the Sweet. Or Foghat. But I’m also really into Bubblegum, and that’s probably what confuses
people most.
Bubblegum is this music they had in the seventies, cre-
ated and marketed for little kids, and, apparently, not taken 83
very seriously by anyone involved. But it somehow ended up being brilliant by accident without anyone realizing. I love that. I have a pretty big collection of Bubblegum records.
Now, I admit, maybe I got into it at first because it was so clearly the opposite of what everyone else liked. But whatever: it’s some of the best rock and roll music there ever was.
I think normal people think it sounds corny or wimpy, not realizing that there would have been no Ramones without
“Yummy, Yummy, Yummy.” But I’m quite confident that
when we’re all dead, history will clearly conclude that my retro rock revival was years ahead of everybody else’s retro rock revival.
Sometimes, when I’m trying to cheer up Little Big Tom
by finding some interest we can temporarily pretend to share, I’ll ask him about the music of the sixties and seventies, which was his era. Back then, he and all his friends didn’t pay attention to most of my favorite music from the time. They
thought it was childish, not serious, meaningful music like, say, Led Zeppelin. Now, Led Zeppelin is all right (good
drums and guitar, anyway, though that singer should have
been silenced or muzzled or something—frankly, I prefer it in Yardbird form to be honest). But Little Big Tom’s example of how serious and important and adult it all was? “Stairway to Heaven.” I kid you not. Don’t get me wrong: I like hobbits and unicorns and wizards and hemp ice cream as much as
the next guy. And I suppose it’s the antimaterialist message that seemed so sophisticated and meaningful to those guys—
no one does antimaterialism better than multigazillionaire rock stars. But my view is that there’s something seriously wrong with a subculture that would prefer “Stairway to
Heaven” to “Wig Wam Bam.” Come on: go listen to “Wig
Wam Bam” and tell me I’m wrong.
I was thinking about all this, and kind of counting the
84
ways in which the Sweet ruled Led Zeppelin’s relatively sorry ass, when I returned home from the first post-Fiona school day. On my way in through the patio, I noticed Little Big Tom using a sledgehammer to break big pieces of concrete into little pieces that would fit in his wheelbarrow. (He was trying to turn the backyard into Spaceship Earth by reversing the
paving process and planting ferns and
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