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Pif Magazine
Pif Magazine |
Pure 100% Rock And Roll - From Concentrate : Page 1, 2, 3, 4 3. She's So Heavy ("she's so heavy" loop at the end)
The spooky "she's so heavy" ending part of "She's So Heavy" is classic for three reasons: a. The "I want you so bad" part, which comprises the majority of the song, is so schmaltzy that we unconsciously desire to escape from it forever. We are afforded only three brief respites from it in the first half of the song, so by the time we are fully released into the final "she's so heavy" part in all its loopy density, we are veritably salivating for it. It is like a strip tease act at the end of which all is revealed. (Not that I would know, but I've read historical accounts of such things.) b. The tune of the "she's so heavy" part is so spooky, gothic, and un-Beatles, it almost seems cultic. Furthermore, as the final loop iterates out, it becomes progressively noisy, static-filled, and so Dada-istically abrasive, we are almost relieved when it abruptly ceases mid-beat. This is angry art in the guise of pop (and three minutes worth of it, no less). Now flip the record over, and drop the needle down on the shining, happy "Here Comes the Sun." So incongruous. They should have left a 30-second pause on the CD between "She's So Heavy" and "Here Comes the Sun" just to give us a chance to return to the earth's surface. c. Paul McCartney's mad bass licks make the Red Hot Chili Peppers sound like a practiced ensemble of lederhosen-clad Bavarian schoolgirls. 2. Sweet Child O' Mine ("where do we go" part)
The best rock and roll is always a little stupid. I can't write off Jerry Lee Lewis because, had I been around then, I'm sure he would have affected me in some primordial way — just as Guns N' Roses have affected me in some primordial way. I never owned any of their albums, and I mocked them publicly, but in the secret chamber of my heart, when no one was looking, I often unpacked the end of "Sweet Child O' Mine" and lovingly marveled at its radiating validity. "Sweet Child O' Mine" starts off as an admittedly beautiful power rock love song. That sweet harmonic guitar riff begs to be aerobicised to (and I'm sure has been). The lyrics tell of an escapist rock-and-roll love, void of any real world details, just like any good top 40 lyric should be. "Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place, where as a child I'd hi-e-ide/ And wait for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by." He cannot just sing "hide," and you've got to love that. Then about 2/3 through the song, Slash goes into this sort of baroque minor key guitar break that has nothing to do with the rest of the song. It's kind of eerie. Why end the song like that? Interesting. Odd. But wait, that's not the part yet. The guitar drops out and goes ca-chunky just as Axl begins to sing again, hushed and deep, and he's asking his mythical beloved, "Where do we go?" That, my friends, is post-modern. It's as if Guns N' Roses are saying, "OK, we gave you people what you want, and now we've got a question for you — 'How on earth do you work this kind of love?'" Suddenly Axl starts wailing, "Where do we go now!?!" and the drums kick in and Slash erupts into an erratic pop-fuzz guitar frenzy — and that is "the part." From there on out. With all the "wo-u-wo-u-wo-u"s and the "ai-e-ai-e-ai"s, climaxing in one massive penultimate, "chi-i-i-i-au-au-au-au-i-i-i-i-ai-ai-aild of mi-e-ieeeeeeeenne." If it's so laughable, then why am I not laughing? |
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