14.1.22 We Gotta Go

There you go. If that worked there's a video for you to watch. Of a song that I don't think I actually own.

I know, you'd think I'd know whether I owned it or not. You might expect me to own it, I'd expect me to own it; it's one of the cornerstones of rock, of punk, of indie. It's iconic. I might have this on a compilation. But I own so many things that this could be anywhere at all. Thank god for YouTube eh?

I don't know when I first heard Louie Louie, probably somewhere in the early eighties, that's where I heard  for the first time most things that have stayed with me. Possibly/probably on a pre-show tape at a Bunnymen gig, maybe a Julian Cope gig. Those pre-show tapes gave us access to so many things that we hadn't realised we needed at the time. They're where I first heard See Emily Play, Psychotic Reaction, I've Got Levitation, I Mist Be Mad, (I Had) Too Much To Dream Last Night.

I know the first time I heard it spoken of. Joy Division 'Still', the grey jacketed double album compilation that was put out to round up odds, ends and live cuts after Ian Curtis' far too young death. The band complete their take on The Velvets' grinding Sister Ray and joke "You should hear our Louie Louie". I had no idea what that meant.

You probably already know this but if not then the lead singer of the band talks at some length in the video about the fuss that surrounded the song. Basically they were investigated by the FBI because someone somewhere had decided that the indecipherably delivered lyrics were somewhat filthy in nature. It's a debate that probably still rages quietly somewhere in the ether - is Louie Louie disgusting?

It's 11 years before Never Mind The Bollocks. It was a different world, or held itself to be.

It's a classic. A stone cold classic. And it's tangential to what I'm actually going to talk about.

There's a film. An Alan Arkin film, called Coupe De Ville. And the last time I looked, you couldn't get it. Anywhere.

It's a family story. Arkin plays an ailing father who sends his three sons to pick up his Coupe De Ville from (somewhere far enough away to make it a long journey) and bring it to him. The three lads haven't seen eye to eye for a while, have their issues with each other, but this is what their dad wants. I don't think they actually realise at this point that their father's dying. I don't recall which actors play the three sons, though one of them is the taller robber in Home alone (which I've never seen). 

There's a thread running through the narrative, a running gag, whereby the three argue about the nature of the lyrics to Louie Louie. It's a neat shorthand to show who they are through their varying takes on what the song actually means. Because what the song means is different for every single person listening to it. What every song 'means' is different for every listener. Art doesn't fully exist until there is an audience and each audience member will take something different from each moment.

These four argue about many things: who should have the car, what Louie Louie means, what they mean to each other.

The title carries the name of the car but it's not about the car, it's never about the car. It's about what we mean to each other and where we find common ground. It's about the things we hold dear.

It's something I hold dear. I wish you could see it.