She's Not There
We spent the evening in Pacific Palisades at the Relay For Life, a cancer walkathon. For 10 dollars a white bag was emblazoned with my father's name and took its place at the perimeter of the makeshift track. Filling out the form I thought how long he'd been gone. And when writing my name, I thought of the day of my birth, how he must have been elated. But now he's gone. And someday I will be too. It's the way of life, and death.
And after stopping by my house in Santa Monica to pick up some laundry and get my car, I found myself driving up the 405 listening to satellite radio. First Sirius, the country channel. But I can't listen to country after an absence from the radio, I need to hear something I know, so I switched to XM's Deep Tracks. But Indigenous didn't ring my bell. So I went back to Sirius and dialed up NIN's "Closer," which I could barely hear over the din of the freeway. But when I stopped in front of Felice's abode, the XM readout switched to "She's Not There" and I pushed the button to hear it.
The Zombies were lumped in with the British Invasion, but in retrospect, "She's Not There" doesn't sound like the Beatles, the Stones, almost none of the midsixties English acts. It's like you're sitting at home in the dark by the glow of the dial and a sound begins that pulls you right through the radio into another world. At the time, "She's Not There" was just another song on the radio, one I didn't even buy, but 40 years later, it's clear, it's a masterpiece.
Or maybe that's "Time Of The Season." From Odessey And Oracle, released after the act had broken up.
Where do we give the credit. Colin Blunstone or Rod Argent? Mr. Blunstone never had another hit in the U.S., but as much as I loved "Hold Your Head Up" and "God Gave Rock And Roll To You", they were period pieces, forgettable. Whereas those Zombies gems are akin to the Renaissance, timeless. Then again, Argent's "Liar" has got a modicum of the same magic.
I guess, like any great band, all the members are indispensable.
The mood of "She's Not There" was set instantly. That haunting bass line, reminding you of every disappointment ever in life. And Colin singing like a member of the undead, returned to life, speaking of his experiences on the other side.
"How would I know, why should I care"
This is the first moment of magic, when you realize this is not just another confection. It's like the music has stopped, and Colin is singing just to you, standing on the side of the stage. The intimacy gives you goosebumps.
But Colin's vocal is matched by Rod Argent's keyboard work in the break. This was no amateurish guitar solo, but more akin to jazz. This was not someone who learned to play yesterday, but had been taking lessons for his entire life. This break is like the montage in a movie, setting up the final act.
"Well, let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she acted, the color of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there"
They say that women pine, but no one goes through the bends like a man scorned. He was on top of the world with her by his side, at the top of his game. Without her, he's busted back to private, he's afraid to show up in public, and if he does, all he can do is tell his story. How he had an angel. Who made his life complete. And then she disappeared.
You wonder why people gave up trying to write the Great American Novel. Because these cats from the U.K. did a better job of delineating life in two and a half minute pop confections. Which hold up today. These records baked in wax are as universal as ever. And the more time that goes by, the less dated the sound, the more immediate they seem. It's like stumbling upon a time capsule that reveals the truth of generations.
