Never a Dull Moment

It was the year of "Stairway to Heaven," "Miss American Pie," and "Imagine." Some of the albums to come out that year were Who's Next by the Who, Aqualung by Jethro Tull, Every Picture Tells a Story by Rod Stewart, What's Goin' On, by Marvin Gaye, and Tapestry by Carole King. It was 1971, a year that David Hepworth, in his book Never a Dull Moment, claims as the best year in rock history.

"I was born in 1950. For a music fan, that’s the winning ticket in the lottery of life," writes Hepworth. This will undoubtedly make the eyes of many younger people roll. Here's another Baby Boomer claiming his music is the best. Hepworth does concede that usually everyone's favorite music is that of their youth, but notes that the music from this era is still around and listened to fifty years later. Of course, how do we know that Drake and Kanye West and Taylor Swift won't be listened to fifty years from now?

So, if we take Hepworth's claim as gospel, he writes a somewhat disorganized report on what the rock gods were up to that year, as well as some artists who slipped out of sight. There are twelve chapters, one for each month of the year, ranging from King's Tapestry, which came out early in the year, to Who's Next, which came out at the end. We hear about the antics of the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, the various ex-Beatles (except for Ringo, who I don't think gets a mention). There's a lot about Sly Stone, Marvin Gaye, and acts that are as varied as Alice Cooper to Linda Ronstadt. It's an awful lot to absorb, as the names an bands come flying fast and furious.

Hepworth also notes that it was the beginning of what might be called "heritage rock," which is now billion-dollar industry. At the Concert for Bangladesh, which George Harrison organized, and featured Eric Clapton, Leon Russell, and Bob Dylan, Dylan played his hits (John Lennon was invited, but when he insisted that Yoko Ono be involved the matter was dropped). And of the recently departed Jim Morrison: "Morrison’s elevation into a cult hinted at a new truth about the music business, which was becoming even more apparent as it turned into an industry. It was no longer strictly necessary for its performers to be alive. In a handful of cases, it was probably better if they weren’t. “Live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse” was the traditional advice."

Hepworth mostly praises, not condemns. He seems to have a problem with Grand Funk Railroad, whom he disparages in a few different chapters. He also takes a shot at Patti Smith, whom he accuses of "glomming" onto famous people and writing a glowing review of Todd Rundgren's album for Rolling Stone. He was her boyfriend at the time.

What does Hepworth like? He throws a lot of hyperbole around. He gives the nod as best album to Who's Next. "This is largely because of one tune, which may well be the best recording of the best year in the history of recording, the five-minute opening cut, 'Baba O’Riley.'" But he's also effusive about Led Zeppelin IV and it's opening track, "Rock and Roll": "It’s the most bravura opening to what may be the most bravura rock-and-roll album of the era." He also sings the praises of David Bowie, who released Hunky Dory that year. "If all we knew of David Bowie was what he did in 1971, it would be more than enough."

Baby boomers should dig this book, as it will justify their insistence that this was the best music ever made (I'm one of them). It will also be instructive to those who want to learn more about the music. I know a sixteen-year-old who is just getting into the Beatles and he might appreciate it. Hepworth provides a list of 100 albums released in 1971, and it might be a fun, albeit expensive, project to collect them all (I've got more than a few).

The writing in the book is a bit scatter-shot, and Hepworth goes off onto tangents about other events of the year, such as movies and politics (I did love a line where he refers to Henry Kissinger as Nixon's "consigliere"). But he also comes up with some lovely passages, such as this one, which kinds of encapsulates what a rock star was in 1971: "These patchouli plutocrats seemed a new type of human being. They were immensely wealthy but required by their profession to conduct themselves like vagabonds. They had to pretend that they spent most of their time lying on their backs watching the clouds scud across the sky when the reality was that they were consumed by a combination of burning ambition and frantic productivity to which most things around them tended to be sacrificed."