Blaze

I saw Joe Jackson in concert in 1989, when he was touring to promote “Blaze of Glory.” It’s a concept album, originally an LP record, with each side being a continuous “suite” of songs that segue one to another. During the concert, that entire album was completely performed, beginning to end, with a break for intermission. It was phenomenal.

When introducing it, I remember him talking about his generation - a funny joke, that, considering what comes later - as the inspiration for the album. Maybe that’s not quite it, but more of their journey, from the hope of the 1950s (“Tomorrow’s World”) through the craziness of the 60s (“Down to London,” which I realized much more than 8 years later, was all about the exact “Swinging London” that Austin Powers lives in) to the various disappointments that followed soon after: The romantic death of romanticized fame in “Blaze of Glory,” the corruption of idealism into violence in “Rant and Rave,” the poseurs and hopeless youth-lovers of “19 Forever,” the yuppie dreams of “Discipline.” I don’t know if he realized the journey was still continuing, although I certainly expect that he did - he’s no dummy. And “The Human Touch,” which closes the album, is about the realization that there is something more, and more to come, in an ultimately hopeful denouement. 

Still, he saw that it hadn’t worked out as he expected, and maybe not even close. No cities on the moon, no endless party, no society remade in their image, no superstar philosophers changing the world with a well-spoken word. And in the 1980s, the gusto with which people had embraced the joys of making money - because they could - had to rankle more than even now.  While it ends on a hopeful note, it’s probably because Joe is ultimately hopeful, and wasn’t willing to accept that it was going to end, then, in that way.

It’s one of my favorite albums, ever, by anyone. Which is probably in no small part because it came along at that point in life when the music you hear is going to stick. It’s not because I identify with the content, as I was born too late for that '50s hope and on the wrong continent for Swinging London. And I'm just plain the wrong generation for the death of Idealism to matter much to me. On the other hand, I fully appreciate the cunning irony of “Evil Empire,”  have known the “Me and You (Against the World)" feeling since meeting my wife, and, what can I say, just “get” everything about the title track. While “19 Forever” has grown up/with/past me, from being just past 19 (I was 25 at that concert), zooming past 35, and finding myself, here, where all those ages are practically historical for their relevance to my current daily life. And perhaps it is that final hopefulness that makes it appealing, and has made it appealing for the last 24 years or so. Even if I’m projecting my hopefulness onto it, it’s easy to see from here that he was right: Whether you consider 1989 a low or a high point, there was still a lot left to come. (The concert was in August, incidentally, a few months after Tiananman Square, a few months before the Berlin Wall fell.)

At the concert, Joe also mentioned getting dinged a bit by the Los Angeles Times’ music critic, who thought “19 Forever” was, well, mean. Note that at the time, The Who were on a don't-call-it-a-farewell tour that was considered to be much more about selling out than making music, that they were further being ridiculed at the time for singing songs about youth while well into their 40s, and that the last verse of “19 Forever” ends with “But I won’t get fooled again.” Joe sang the end of this song with a huge pompadour wig, further mocking those who cling to their youth far too long. I didn’t think it was mean, myself, but I can see how someone would.