Most artists who had a vintage run in the years leading up to the 1980s were casualties of the synth and pop boom. Bob Dylan hit a rough patch when he lost the instrumental spark which had always guided him. Paul McCartney, too, struggled post-Wings and found himself favoured as a shallow pop figurehead. Neil Young found inspiration, it would seem, from an erratic pinball machine. He is hit from genre to genre, the robotics of his Tron-like disaster Trans is followed up just five months later by Everybody’s Rockin’. Nobody, not at the time nor now, was rockin’ to this one. Not every work must be profound. Not every work must be listenable. One or the other will do, but neither for every song on this blessedly short album is the choice Young makes. Young hits back at his label with exactly what they asked for, a rock and roll album.
Self-sabotage or just bad writing? Possibly both are at play here, as Young and Geffen Records’ relationship sounds frayed just months after releasing Trans. Young earnestly tries to figure out what rock and roll was. The crucial problem, for both label and artist, is the “was”. Rock and roll had shifted, its fundamentals had eroded over time and given way to the artist of today. Everybody’s Rockin’ sifts through the dig site of old tones, of Elvis Presley and Chuck Berry. What should be a welcome meeting between historic hands and Young, the new statesman of rock and roll who had dominated the 1970s, proves to be a challenging overlap. Betty Lou’s Got a New Pair of Shoes is the flat-sounding opener, a saxophone-featuring piece with the usual piano slap which featured with the high-tempo tones of the 1950s.
But there is no high-tempo from Young; his unique vocal style does not lend itself to the boo-wop brilliance of the genre he is riffing on. He is certainly not trying to bring his voice around to the past. There is brief fun to have with some of the sound Young creates here, but knowing it is hollow and created to cause trouble does not excuse the instrumental shortcomings. Rainin’ in My Heart suggests Young has a grasp for the tone of the times but not the lyrical reliance, the stories which are told with honesty and rhythm, hence their memorable nature. That song proves Young does not have a voice for the genre. He would have stuck out like a sore thumb in the pearly whites and greased hair of the time. Young proves he is better than the label’s expectations at the time, and suggests there is still friction on third song Payola Blues. Dreamy, floating rhythm and blues pieces made as a knock at Alan Freed.
Destruction of image, of expectation, is what Young presents here. He confirmed a decade later the reason for Everybody’s Rockin’, an album which makes good on the simple structure, the shallow nature of old rock and roll. But it was enough back then. Young believes it is still enough now, though fails to realise he wrote some of the finest songs of his generation, the sort of music which means returning to the 1950s swing often leaves a lot to be desired. Satire put to music is still reliant on an effective adaptation of the times. Payola Blue is a scorching piece of the protest puzzle Everybody’s Rockin’ puts together. Far too on the nose, as is the rest of the album, but what a fun thrill it is. The same cannot be said for the songs to follow.
When an artist is given liberty to create by what moves them, a record company should not be surprised when they become the subject of songs. Young rallies against Geffen Records in what becomes a fascinating period for him as an artist in battle with the powers that be, but an uninteresting musical period. They were right about Trans, but wrong about the expectation of Young as a rock and roll hitmaker. He would follow whatever tone he wanted to, even if he butchers them, as he does on Wonderin’. Young pays tribute to Jimmy Reed and Sam Phillips, to name a few, though his animosity against the record label overwhelms what is, at times, a very listenable, nostalgia-driven piece. There is still heart in the hate, though Young is overwhelmed by spite. An album worth reading up on, but not listening to.
