Record Collecting for Girls: Unleashing Your Inner Music Nerd, One Album at a Time

by Courtney E. Smith

  It's easy for rock stars to build up layers of people around them as insulation from the outside world. It's even easier to hide behind obligations to the band. And if the wife protests too much, she'll start hearing choruses of "Yoko Ono." The only way out of this hell is divorce—preferably one in which you take everything.

  That summer I started to miss our conversations, and because I'm a glutton for punishment, I started e-mailing the Soul Mate again. He told me about the temp jobs he was taking while his band tried to make it. I told him about the book I wanted to write, which turned out to be the one you're reading right now. My relationship with my boyfriend was already flailing, but I was loath to be the one to instigate our breakup. When the Soul Mate came back to New York in August, I went to see his band. I watched their show. Immediately I was a goner, and my hormones were to blame. At the same time, I started representing his band at MTV because they were the sort of band I often got behind. It was expected. Their first album was about to be released, and it was already clear it was going to be big. I was excited to work on a project that promised to be a success, thereby earning me brownie points at work as a genius trendsetter. I consciously refused, at the time, to consider just how fraught mixing business and pleasure could be.

  As our e-mails continued and his band started to take off, he told me how weird it was to watch their audience expand to include people who were radically different from them, and not necessarily in a good way. I told him Kurt Cobain once felt the same way and that becoming bigger meant becoming more detached from the audience for the sake of your own survival. He was struggling to reconcile his band's reputation and who he wanted to be with the people they were becoming. There's a degree of selling out that inevitably accompanies success, and most bands don't realize it's happening until it's too late. It's a short jump from the conversation we were having to realizing your audience is made up of frat guys with whom you wouldn't want to have a conversation.

  WARNING SIGN: YOUR UNIVERSE GETS SUCKED INTO HIS EXPANDING STAR

  The Soul Mate and I didn't have to face the problem of our egos facing off because I had my own work and aspirations that weren't wrapped up in his musical career, but I would be remiss not to address it.

  It's a problem that was acute for many wives of '60s and '70s icons, and Suze Rotolo, Bob Dylan's paramour who appeared with him on the cover of The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, is a prime example. In her memoir, A Freewheelin' Time, she talks about her distaste at being cast by Dylan's contemporaries as the girlfriend who was relevant only as a muse for his songs. She was hurt when she was publicly informed that Dylan was having another relationship at the same time with Joan Baez, but she wasn't necessarily shocked by his behavior then or by his eventual public snubbing of Baez. Rotolo writes, "Girls knew their place if they were girlfriends. Even if they were folksingers working their way up just like the guys, their position was not quite the same."

  This proved to be prophetic commentary on how Dylan's relationship with Baez would play out. When Baez and Dylan played live together in '63, on her tour and at the Newport Folk Festival, she was much more famous than he was. They were in love, and Baez felt it was her duty to put Dylan's music in front of the public. He had the talent, and she helped give him the platform. By the time they toured England together in '65, he had become the voice of his generation and never once invited her on stage for a duet, because he was at the self-centered-dick stage of his career.

  Baez and Rotolo were both well-educated, talented, thoughtful muses for Dylan. They helped advance his songwriting and persona. In the end, though, the power of his sun was so great that all the women orbiting him ended up burned to a crisp. His fame spiraled out of control so quickly that the man even managed to singe himself. By the time he turned up in Marianne Faithfull's party-girl life in '65, he was a stoned shell of himself, hitting on pretty little girls, interested only in their breasts. This is the problem of growing fame. It is impossible to remain unchanged when you gain the adulation of millions, and it takes an incredible sense of self to stick with anyone through the life-changing process of becoming famous. Only the most remarkable of partners can avoid getting sucked into the orbit when the rising rock star becomes the center of the universe.

  Rotolo's ability to see what was going on in 1962 as Dylan started to gain acclaim was really impressive. Against his wishes, she ran off to Italy to go to college. She pursued her own ambitions and refused to remain a slave to his. Not many women can resist the excitement the world of rock stardom offers, let alone have the presence of mind to satisfy their own needs. As time marched on for Rotolo, however, she fell into the Warhol crowd, partly because Dylan hated them. She had to be rescued from her own bad drug decisions by Dylan well after their breakup (which had to have been at least a little humiliating, after all they had been through). Although she is, more than most rock-star wives, an exceptional person in her own right, she is still only as interesting to history as her most famous lover.*

  The Soul Mate came back to New York with his band that fall. We texted pop-culture references back and forth for two days straight, starting the moment his tour bus hit the Lincoln Tunnel. He made sure I was coming to their show and the after party. I had broken up with my boyfriend, and I was in it to win it. I remember feeling so anxious about seeing him that I had to force myself to go talk to him at the party after the concert. When we finally did connect, it felt as if the room were on fire. We talked, we drank, and before I saw it coming, we were kissing. Then we were full-on making out. In the bar. In front of everyone: his band, the record label, my coworkers, and a bunch of way-too-cool strangers.

  I made a few fatal miscalculations. First, because he was in a band and I worked at MTV, I assumed that there was a power dynamic between us that ensured he would not dick me around. This led to my second miscalculation: I'd assumed he was single. I was wrong on both accounts. Not only did he have a girlfriend then, but he'd had a girlfriend when we met. He chose not to disclose this bit of information until a few weeks later, upon my suggestion that we try having a date when the band was back in my town.

  My exact text in reply was, "ew ew ew we're done talking now." Then I threw the phone across the room.

  WARNING SIGN: HE PUBLICLY EMBARRASSES YOU

  By the time Pattie Boyd's famous husbands were all done with her, she had no idea who the real Pattie Boyd was anymore. Boyd started out as a model in London in the Swinging '60s. As an extra on the set of Help! she met Beatle George Harrison, who was so inspired by her countenance that he wrote "Something," one of the Beatles' finest songs. Within a year she became his wife. Fast-forward half a decade ... and family friend Eric Clapton had become obsessed with her. In an effort to woo Boyd away from her marriage, Clapton wrote "Layla" and "Bell Bottom Blues." Around this time, Pattie learned that Harrison had been unfaithful. He started bringing mistresses to their house and even slept with Maureen Starkey, Ringo's wife, while Pattie was home. Who wouldn't leave all that for a little "Layla"?

  Clapton wasn't quite the Prince Charming she had hoped for. Within a few years, she discovered that he too had been cheating on her. In a childish move to fix it, he proposed. I suppose you could look at it as an apology by way of grand gesture. But Boyd later found out that Clapton had popped the question because an item stating that they were to be wed was scheduled to appear in the papers shortly—the result of a drunken bet with his manager. And so the two were quickly married in Tucson, Arizona. They skipped the honeymoon and went straight out on a string of tour dates. Sweet romance, right? It wasn't long before Clapton pulled the "no wives on tour" card, sending Boyd home and making room in his bed for a groupie who was nowhere near as beguiling as the woman who had inspired him to write "Bell Bottom Blues"—but was at least ten years younger.

  Things got worse for Boyd. Clapton was an alcoholic. After seeking treatment, he fell off the wagon so hard that she finally left him. He talked her into coming back home. And then he told her he was in love with someone el
se. That someone else quickly announced she was pregnant and became the mother of his only son. To add insult to injury, Boyd had been trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant for years. By now she was in her mid forties and was approaching the point at which motherhood would be impossible.

  A guy who will unthinkingly destroy you because he sees his own needs as more important than yours is a jerk. You wouldn't think that would have to be articulated, but since the concept of rock stardom first powered into existence, a substantial number of women have proven themselves more than willing to subjugate themselves to musicians' egos. A parting comment on this: If they do it once, they will do it again. If it happens to you, at least have the courage of your convictions and stop yourself from going back for more.

  Even after our series of infuriating texts, the Soul Mate wasn't done talking to me. He e-mailed the next day to apologize profusely and berate himself. For once, it was nice to have a guy own up to the epic-asshole level of his actions. He also made it clear that he was very much in love with his girlfriend and I shouldn't hold my breath waiting for that to change. I wasn't the wife in this rock-star romance; I was the groupie. If I had known all the facts in advance, things would have gone differently. We would have made lovely friends and nothing more.

  Although I wanted to, I couldn't cut him completely out of my life. His band still had to do stuff with MTV, and I chose to see him at the little soirees in restaurants and concert halls that I was invited to when he played shows in my city. It would have seemed odd if I hadn't shown up, given our professional relationship, but every time I had to do something as small as schedule one of their videos, I had to swallow another chunk of my pride. Hearing their music when I went shopping or sat in a bar was the worst torment. Through all of this, he and I kept standing around at these little gatherings, talking about books and pretending we weren't completely petrified of each other.

  Realizing I'd thought I was a wife but was really just a groupie was a worst-case scenario for me. It was humiliating. I was pissed off at myself most of all, because I was just as stupid and deluded as Pamela des Barres. It meant I was a dumb girl, a Penny Lane who believed the fairy tale and didn't know how they really saw her: as a prize to be traded in a poker game when the tour was over. Just the same, I don't think I would want to be a rock star's wife, either. Rock stars only disappoint.

  If I were more like Pamela des Barres, I would still be his friend even though he disappointed me. One thing that crazy groupie was always able to do was show up for the next concert with a smile on her face, no matter the circumstances. I'm working on mastering that skill to manage this rock star, but his band's music is permanently out of my rotation. I need my space.

  ROCK 'N' ROLL CONSORTS PLAYLIST

  THE VELVET UNDERGROUND, "Femme Fatale"

  LED ZEPPELIN, "Whole Lotta Love"

  MARIANNE FAITHFULL, "As Tears Go By"

  IKE & TINA TURNER, "Proud Mary"

  MÖTLEY CRÜE, "Dr. Feelgood"

  DAVID BOWIE, "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide"

  JOY DIVISION, "Means to an End"

  ELVIS PRESLEY, "Viva Las Vegas"

  JOHN LENNON, "Oh Yoko!"

  NIRVANA, "Heart Shaped Box"

  BOB DYLAN, "It Ain't Me Babe"

  JOAN BAEZ, "Diamonds and Rust"

  THE BEATLES, "Something"

  DEREK AND THE DOMINOS, "Layla"

  DEREK AND THE DOMINOS, "Bell Bottom Blues"

  BEATLES VS. STONES

  WHEN I WAS a newly minted twenty-one-year-old in Dallas, there was a cute but moody guy named Patrick who hung out with my group of friends when he deemed it worth his time. Patrick played guitar in a twee rock group and was renowned for being a total asshole who could pick up almost any woman. The other guys were dumbfounded by his skills. They didn't understand that his cocky attitude was a captivating siren's call for girls, especially girls who were young and self-destructive in romance.

  One night Patrick and I were hanging out at a show. Out of curiosity about his oft-discussed abilities as a lady-killer, I asked him what his best pickup line was.

  "I usually just go up to a girl and ask, 'Beatles or Stones?'"

  "But what's the right answer? What do you want her to say?"

  "If she says Beatles, then she's probably a nice girl and has good taste in music," he paused to smirk at me, "and if she says Stones, you know you can take her home and fuck her."

  No joke, that is exactly what he said. I was completely taken aback. It's not that it wasn't obvious to me that sex and rock music go hand in hand, but it had never occurred to me that my sex drive would be subject to the snap judgment of random guys based on my preference in bands.

  Patrick's pickup line stuck with me, and over the years I've told this story many times. It almost always gets the same reaction. Boys are able to anticipate where the story's going. They tend to look sheepish, laugh, and say, "Well, yeah, but it's kind of true." Girls almost never see what's coming and are either horrified or say something along the lines of, "That explains why guys look excited if I say I like the Stones."

  After this little chat, I spent years insisting my answer was neither Beatles nor Stones, but Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys. When it comes to sex, I like to be a woman of mystery. I could give you a list of reasons why that single album was better than anything either of the other bands ever released, but it was really just a dodge of what I felt was an unfair evaluation of what might be happening in my pants. You could be a conscientious objector, too, for reasons entirely your own, and choose the Who, the Kinks, the Supremes, or whomever, and that's fine, but sidestepping the question entirely is a cop-out. Choosing favorites in seemingly impossible situations is what music nerds do for fun. And I've grown to believe that you can avoid lecherous pigeonholing if you can support your choice with a considered explanation.

  Even if I never admit it to the sort of guy who'd ask, after a thorough comparison of their bodies of work and the bands' histories I finally realized that I'm a Beatles fan through and through. My arguments for the Beatles are not entirely musical, but it's clear they never stopped being the world's greatest rock 'n' roll band and the Rolling Stones are pretenders to the throne.

  NUMBERS NEVER LIE

  By the end of 2009, the Beatles had sold over a billion records worldwide to the Stones 600 million. Let's take a closer look at those numbers. The Stones released their first album two years after the Beatles' debut and have continued recording and touring in the years the since the Beatles broke up. Three of the Stones' most critically lauded albums were released post-Beatles (1971's Sticky Fingers, 1972's Exile on Main St., and 1978's Some Girls), so they've been recording for about forty years longer than the Fab Four and have produced about fourteen more studio albums. (That number is debatable because, as was customary at the time, the Beatles released multiple albums with overlapping track lists.) Until very recently the Beatles' songs have not been available for sale as digital downloads. Despite having four additional decades of recorded output and more music available from more places in more formats, the Stones have sold some 400 million fewer albums than the Beatles.

  On November 16, 2010, the Beatles' back catalog was finally made available for digital download exclusively on iTunes, accompanied by much press and a marketing campaign paid for by Apple to mark the event. In the first week they sold two million individual songs and 450,000 albums worldwide. Those are sales of tracks that have all been available and widely purchased on vinyl, tape, and CD by the general public over the last forty years. No new audio material at all.

  Entangled by contractual and copyright issues, the Rolling Stones made their catalog available for download with various partners on a piecemeal basis, getting it all out there by 2005. However, they boast no comparable first-week sales numbers for either the big release of their ABKCO catalog or their later Virgin catalog release, despite big marketing pushes by online retail partners. It was news when their digital catalog became available, but it wasn't the same kind of wo
rldwide event as when the Beatles finally broke their status as digital holdouts.

  It's questionable to say one band is better based on sales alone, because then you imply that commercial art is more valuable than other art, which I don't think is true. But it's not like I'm comparing Britney Spears and Bright Eyes here. If anything, the Beatles' later output is far more artistic and inscrutable than anything in the Stones' oeuvre. Given that these two bands took off commercially in the same decade, with similar recording, distribution, and promotion resources, it's reasonable to expect that the total sales would be in the same ballpark. Selling 600 million albums is nothing to sneeze at, but the Beatles' music has outsold the Stones by a 40 percent margin. In overall earnings, however, the Stones may have come out ahead through their massive tours in the '80s and their fondness for playing exclusive parties for monstrous fees.

  WHAT'S REAL AND WHAT'S PUBLICITY?

  If the Beatles obviously have it over the Stones in sales, the question remains: How did the two bands get cast as rivals in the first place? To understand how they became the biggest bands in the world, one right after the other, we have to go back to the 1960s and the beginnings of rock 'n' roll. Enter the Beatles, a group of long-haired guys from Liverpool, one of the UK's grittier cities. They started as lads in leather jackets and rockabilly hairdos with a Bill Haley & His Comets look (think The Fonz on Happy Days), and in their quest to get to the toppermost of the poppermost, they morphed into the more recognizable wholesome boys in matching suits that even mums and dads could enjoy. At this point, they weren't exactly the highly developed musicians they would become after 1965. They wrote songs that capitalized on the interests of teenage girls, which is precisely why the early Beatles material was cheesy—those dudes weren't even trying. They were cashing in on teen dreams and candy-covered rainbows. Just the same, they managed to have a profound effect on the perception of pop music by the general public. Beatlemania awakened US advertising agencies to the phenomenon of youth culture and the emerging counterculture. And at the time, Americans under the age of twenty-five made up 40 percent of the population—it wasn't a demographic that could be ignored. To the ad world that amounted to an insanely large market with a loud, shrill, screaming voice.