The beat goes on

One of the elements that propelled Simon & Garfunkel’s records, especially in their later years, was the percussion that gave punch and punctuation to Paul Simon’s sometimes bookish lyrics.

There was the groovy go-go beat on Hazy Shade of Winter, a song that referenced “manuscripts of unpublished rhyme” that you could dance to. The rolling thunder in America. The freak-out percussion at the end of Fakin’ It. The drum rolls that clear the way for the chorus in The Only Living Boy In New York. The cannon shots in The Boxer, like knockout blows. And in Bridge Over Troubled Water, the crescendo of cymbals and drums that give way to that faraway, submerged beat that starts with the “sail on, silver girl” lyric.

All of it was the work of session drummer Hal Blaine, who died this week. It’s not a reach to say Blaine sits at one of the four spots on the mythical Mount Rushmore of rock musicians. He played on more than 150 songs that reached the top ten. His log of session work makes for a playlist long enough for a car trip from New Jersey to Maine. Good Vibrations. These Boots Are Made for Walkin’. The drumroll that kicks in just before the chorus sings “Batman” on TV. The blues rock beat on Sinatra’s That’s Life. California Girls. Mr. Tambourine Man. Eve of Destruction.

Dennis Wilson became the Beach Boys’ drummer because he was Brian’s kid brother. Mike Clark had a cool haircut and that landed him the drumming gig with the Byrds. Live, their inability to keep time didn’t matter – they could barely be heard over the screams. For recording, Hal Blaine got the call.

Blaine is responsible for the boom-ba-boom bang, boom-ba-boom bang that kicks off Be My Baby, maybe rock’s most iconic drumbeat. He found the Bridge Over Troubled Water drum sound by placing tire chains over the snare drum and hitting them. On A Taste of Honey, he contributed the boom-boom-boom-boom bass drum bridge. (And probably deserved a co-author credit).

Blaine played on MacArthur Park. I Got You Babe. Wichita Lineman. Nearly all of Phil Spector’s hits. Close to You. Let’s Live For Today. Wouldn’t It Be Nice. Windy. It’s Over. Monday, Monday. Up, Up And Away. It’s a jukebox for all eternity.

So long, OBJ

When JFK died, there was a list that got passed around offering comparisons between the deaths of Kennedy and Lincoln – their last names were both seven letters long, Lee Harvey Oswald and John Wilkes Booth’s names had 15 letters, Booth shot Lincoln in a theatre, then fled to a warehouse; Oswald shot Kennedy from a warehouse and fled to a theatre. It was a long list; I can only remember some of it.

As a kid, reading the list brought some sense to a senseless act, put it into a kind of historical context and made me feel like maybe Kennedy’s death was, in some way, fated.

Forty-nine years ago, the Giants traded a record-breaking wide receiver, known for his blazing speed and swagger, to the Cleveland Browns for three players. And today, in trying to make sense of the Odell Beckham trade, I’m relating back to its similarities to the Giants dealing Homer Jones to Cleveland in 1970.

It killed me to see Homer leave New York, but even as a dopey teenager I realized its inevitability. The Giants needed a lot of help and trading their best player, and getting three players in return, was a quick way to start stocking the shelves. It didn’t hurt that one of the guys we got from Cleveland was Ron Johnson, whose star would quickly eclipse that of Jones.

The Giants of 2019 are now officially in full tear-down mode. They received two high draft picks and a promising player in return for Beckham (see, like the Jones trade, three players for one) so there’s a start. I hope like hell the Giants’ front office has a plan.

There were times when you were just dazzled by Beckham’s speed, his moves, his hands. And there were times when he could be a total embarrassment, like choosing the weekend when players were protesting police violence to mime peeing like a dog in the end zone after a touchdown.

Sometimes historical events repeat themselves, and sometimes their outcomes do as well. And for the record, there are 12 letters in Odell Beckham’s name and ten for Homer Jones.