Everyone knows that "Romeo and Juliet" by Dire Straits is one of the top songs of the 1980s, if not one of the best tunes of all time.
Growing up, I held this truth to be self-evident, one that no thinking human would or could ever challenge. After all, like I said, it's a contender for the title of "Greatest Song. Ever."
Then I met
Jason Chapman, a man whose musical tastes are eclectic but fairly spot on. He likes the weird stuff no doubt, but for the most part he's got a pretty good sense for sounds.
One day Chappy and I were sitting in our dorm in Smith hall during the late summer or early fall of 1997, playing Goldeneye and chatting about good songs as we were wont to do. I don't recall what spurred the conversation, but we came to talk about the Indigo Girls and how they're a pretty good set of singers.
Up to that point my exposure to the Indigo Girls was basically limited to "Closer to Fine," as it was a favorite of my high school girlfriend and a staple of any car ride with her. I always liked the tune and agreed that we should listen to some other Indigo Girls songs that Chappy recommended, in particular a song called "Romeo and Juliet" that he raved about.
A few bars into the song, the ill feeling began to sink in. There was, for all to hear, a pillar of my 80s upbringing torn asunder in a most spectacular way. I was dumbfounded. In shock, I asked Chappy how in the world he could prefer that "version" of such a great song so unconscionably defiled.
His answer astounded me.
"What do you mean,
that version?" he asked.
I told him it was a cover. A bad cover at that, missing entire stanzas and sung off key without any semblance of a cadence. He still didn't get it.
So, I set off on a mission to find a copy of the original Dire Straits masterpiece and played it before him to set the record straight. Being that it's a fantastic song and that I hold his taste for music in such high regard, I was pretty confident what his reaction would be. In fact, what else
could it have been?
His answer astounded me.
"Dude, that version sucks."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I did one of those signature Lewis Black head shakes, the ones where he's trying to come to terms with the utter absurdity of the Starbucks that sits across the street from another Starbucks in Houston, Texas, or trying to comprehend a simulcast of Bill Clinton speaking to the United Nations about the fate of the world on one channel, and asking a grand jury to define the definition of the word "is" on another.
Version? Sucks? In four words the man destroyed everything that I thought was good in this world. He insulted the pure beauty and genius of Mark Knopfler's poem and at the same time praised some two bit skank interpretation of it as "better," having thought that the original.
Seven years later I still haven't convinced Chappy that the Dire Straits version is the one true God, and I consider it one of the larger failings in my life. It eats at my soul and vexes me still. I thought back to this moment in a frenzy of buying on the iTunes Music Store this past weekend, now that I had my Mac set up after 7 weeks in storage in between apartments. Having long lost my record player and disinterested in a cassette version, I plunked down 99 cents and got a fully digitized copy of the song and promptly burned it to a mix disc for my Monday commute.
Driving home last night on beautiful Sunday evening on I-95 from my parents house 20 miles away, I popped in the disc and, as it was finally cool enough not to require air conditioning, I opened my windows and cruised to the disc. (Which, by the way, also contained Van Halen's "Dreams," a song played after John Kerry's Democratic Party nomination acceptance speech a week and a half ago. As
great a song as any for a campaign to unseat the incumbent.)
Before I knew it my exit came up and I got off the highway, still lost in the sheer magnificence that is "Romeo and Juliet." As I sat at the light at the end of the ramp, I reflected on Chappy's poor judgement regarding this work of art. I smiled to myself and played out the discussion in my mind, thinking of all the clever comebacks I had for him, and mocked him over and over in my mind, more so than I usually do.
Until I realized there were two dudes next to me in a Nissan Maxima with their windows down, just like mine, staring at me, just the same dumbfounded way I found myself staring at Chappy when he insulted this treasured song. At this point in an awkward situation you have exactly two options... Keep the music blasting and say f^$k it and let it rip, or turn down the music and peel out to save face.
I'd like to say I did the first, but I'd be lying. And those dudes in the Maxima, if they ever read this would call me on it in the most brutal of ways.
What I really did was ease off a bit on the lip-syncing and the animated Chappy-mocking and roll up just a couple feet... And oh yeah, subtly knock the volume down a notch or two... Basically playing out the opening scene of "Office Space" to a T.
But as soon as I turned that right, the volume went back up and then some, along with the Chappy-mocking. Of course, being that I'm new to the neighborhood, I forgot that there was one more traffic light right after the turn, and all those folks waiting to take the next left turn as I passed them in the center lane with their windows open got an earful of Mark's raspy voice and my nodding head.
This time I didn't care. I made that choice right then and there that this was
indeed the best song of all time, humiliating myself in public be damned as I rolled up to the light with a smile and the volume pinned.
"Romeo and Juliet," the one
true version, is that good. Chappy be damned.
