The better heading for this essay is probably “Classic and Underappreciated,” because when Marshall Crenshaw’s self-titled debut was released in 1982, it sold pretty well, had a single that charted and made enough of a dent in the minds of enough listeners for Crenshaw to make an ongoing career out of it. Still, for all his talent and for all his good songs, Crenshaw’s is not a name that pops up as often in conversation as other tunesmiths’ might. Among glasses wearers of his generation – not the most scientific way to parse this material, but hey – he had more in common with Buddy Holly than Elvis Costello or Warren Zevon, both more biting in their wit, though not appreciably more intelligent, at least compared to the persona put forth in the songs on this album.
Several times, we hear the declarations of a young man grappling with love, often counteracting his vulnerability with his strong intellect. “There She Goes Again” kicks off the album, and introduces that mindset. He’s lost a girl who’s now going out with guy after guy: He acknowledges it’s a “sad situation” but knows he’s going to “find someone better” because he can live without her. Instead of wallowing and playing the victim, the bouncy major-key shuffle speaks to his being pretty much okay with this, his having moved on even this far. It’s the most polite kiss-off song I can think of. Later on, we hear that he’s going out looking for a “Cynical Girl” – the “he” is not necessarily the same character, of course, but whoever it is knows what he wants and it’s not foremost a Pleasant Girl or a Subservient Girl but one who’s been disillusioned, who sees the world as it is (even though the singer professes to want to be “lost in love” at this point – I guess someone has to take the wheel).
Crenshaw’s songs here are clearly not as political as those others’ I mentioned occasionally were – “Soldier of Love” is as close as it gets – but that approachable charm is why the music was especially refreshing. Even when it was released, some of the musical arrangements were less “outdated” than they were “classic” since they pulled in some of the best of what the previous 30 years of popular music had to offer. The Buddy Holly comparison is easy but apt, especially considering Crenshaw portrayed Holly in the movie La Bamba. Their songs are largely simple but elegantly so, with tight melodies over familiar chord progressions such that there don’t seem to be many extra moving parts. The 1950s homages/inspirations continue with the close Everly Brothers-style harmonies that shimmer regularly on here. Even “The Usual Thing” resembles a rockabilly version of “Rock and Roll Music,” especially towards the end of the chorus.
These connections, while clear, are never overbearing. And while they contribute to Crenshaw’s sound, it is more widely a mixture of clean guitars, moderate-to-uptempo songs, and a tight rhythm section featuring especially propelling basslines. “Someday, Someway” and “Mary Anne” are both well-wrought pop gems that also feature the band’s talent on full display. Not to be overlooked, “She Can’t Dance” and “Brand New Lover” are the kinds of songs that makes a sunny day feel sunnier.
It’s hard to figure why Marshall Crenshaw didn’t retain the success of his early career, but it’s certainly easier just to know that most bands don’t. That’s largely beyond the scope of this appreciation anyway. This album is an excellent collection of songs, and that’s all we need to know. While it’s now just about thirty years old, and some of its inspiration nearly sixty, the sounds are familiar enough and fun enough for it still to have a surprising amount to offer.
12 Desperate Straight Lines sounds sort of like a cross between Phoenix and early solo Paul McCartney. Now, depending on your tastes, that simplistic assessment could span from high praise to damnation, but happily for everyone I’d say the truth lies somewhere in the good part of the middle. There’s plenty to applaud on this sophomore effort, its few arguable missteps generated by production choices and not a lack of talent, which in its own way would be less frustrating and more easily dismissed.