WHAT IS THE BEST AMERICAN BAND ?
With a couple of classic acts coming to town, our music critics debate the issue
Alabama, the country band that gave us songs about truck drivers and the perils of playing Texas without a fiddle, is returning to Houston this weekend.
And while any mention of the group demands images of patriotism, Southern pride and neatly coiffed facial hair, Alabama also conjures a more unexpected query: Is this America’s best band? Probably not. I mean, bands that don’t play with the creative catalyst of taboo topics generally don’t reach the summit of Mt. Greatest. But Alabama deserves to be in the discussion. It’s sold more records than Kiss (another band in the running that doesn’t quite complete the journey). It’s the most lauded group in countrymusic history (mostly because the Carter family existed before lauding musical acts became a big business). And Alabama’s three-part harmonies offered a distinct sound that has influenced the genre decades later.
Still, if it’s not Alabama, or Kiss, who is America’s greatest band? Fortunately, we have two music experts on our staff who can offer some clarity — Andrew Dansby and Joey Guerra. So we served them the question, with a few boundaries to ease the brain game:
We’re containing this debate to the pop-music era, which we’re starting at 1955 with the rise of rock ’n’ roll. The bands have to be “bands,” which is to say they can’t be solo acts or vocal groups (singers, rappers or scatmen who don’t play instruments or manipulate sound). All genres are included. Vocal acts that have been a band at one point (Beastie Boys, N.E.R.D.) can be considered, but you have to weigh their “band” work more heavily than the vocal work.
With that, Joey, Andrew, who is America’s greatest band?
Round 1
Andrew: I guess trying to pick a great American band requires defining America to an extent, which is the kind of task that makes nobody happy, since different folks have different visions for what we are/were/should be/ will be.
I’ll use my own parameter, which is that this country has always been a window, not a mirror. Though that criteria still makes it difficult to find a great American band.
What combination of four or five personalities conveys a sense of 240 years of growing pains? In this sense, it’s absolutely Creedence Clearwater Revival. I’m not saying they’re the great American band. I’m just saying they’re a great metaphor for America. Think about it: There’s familial strife. Internal complaints about the distribution of credit and wealth. Ambitions realized, ambitions thwarted. Corporate villains. Threats of secession. Victimization. Co-opting of AfricanAmerican music forms. Good songs, bad blood. Flannel. Beards. Guitar
solos. Songs against war that are sufficiently subtle that hawks still play along on their air guitars. A death-bed attempt at reconciliation that is never fully completed. Songs from California that draw from the South that became ubiquitous hits.
You could do worse, I suppose. Not my choice. But you could do worse.
But I think I’ll keep looking. Please, nobody say The Doors. No Doors.
Joey: I certainly have no ill will toward Alabama. But at no point in my life have I ever heard anyone refer to them as the greatest anything. Or refer to them much at all. Alabama certainly isn’t even near the middle of my list of great American bands.
My instincts push me to bands that aren’t just talented musicians but true influencers on pop music and pop culture. Bands that aren’t necessarily considered “important” by those who care about that word, but whose catalog is compulsively, consistently listenable. And whose music evokes something in a wide array of people at any given moment.
The Beach Boys come to mind because of the timeless melodies. But it’s mostly the complicated emotions the band’s music evokes: sadness, nostalgia, longing. A bittersweet, faraway sense of happiness that is uniquely American.
I’d also — hear me out — throw Journey into the ring. I defy to you to attend any sort of group event, turn on “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” and not sing along with every single person in the room. House party, karaoke night, “Glee” singalong, any number of arena concerts before the headliner takes the stage.
It’s not just that song. “Open Arms” and “Faithfully” are also unofficial anthems for the lovelorn, the lonely, the brokenhearted and the crazy in love. Basically, all of us. The fact that Steve Perry left the band so long ago and remains an elusive pop figure only adds to the luster.
Journey, which plays The Woodlands this weekend, certainly holds up stronger than I’d initially imagined in this argument. The band’s songs indeed reflect, if not real life, then the idealized version of life so many people aspire to. And what’s more American than that?
Round 2
I like where we’re going with this; Journey as a universal American experience, CCR as a metaphor for our nation and its people. I’m thinking back to an essay by rock scribe Michael Azerrad where he made the case for the Grateful Dead as the great American band, as they relate to the nation’s capitalistic nature and democratic appreciation. So, I have to ask, what about the Dead? Or the Ramones? Or the Monkees?
Joey: I’ll mostly leave the Monkees argument to Andrew, though I would easily pick them over the Dead and the Ramones. There’s something quintessentially American about a sitcom band becoming a real band with real shows and real fans. Reality TV before reality TV. It’s like a classic Disney fable.
I’d be remiss to not acknowledge the women in rock, always ignored in these discussions. I’d challenge anyone to try and knock Heart out of the running. Their history and renaissance is complex, confounding and the stuff of true champions.
The through line is Ann and Nancy Wilson. The sister act has endured lineup changes, ’80s shoulder pads, audience fatigue and nonstop sexism in a genre still very much considered a guy thing. The turning point was Heart’s tribute to Led Zeppelin at the 2012 Kennedy Center Honors. It was the perfect storm, a balance of classic rock tradition and the instantaneous nature of modern-day music. That single performance of “Stairway to Heaven,” with an orchestra and two choirs, went viral and earned Heart the respect it has deserved for so many years.
And when your performance makes Robert Plant weep with joy, you’re on the right track.
Andrew: There’s some argument to be made for the Grateful Dead in that the group was a jack of all trades and master of none. As hippies with jug band roots, they showed deep affinity for all stripes of American music — country, blues and jazz — without being great at any of them. That’s kind of sweet, you know?
The band’s affinity for American music is relatable to a dabbler like me, even if they failed to filter it in a particularly innovative
“So the Monkees were, at least at the outset, a community. It takes a village, and the Monkees were a village. Not the most multicultural village, but Run-DMC covered them.” Andrew Dansby
way.
I love the Ramones, and they represent a scrappy, up-fromthe-bottom, underdoggy side of America that I find appealing, though the New York epicenter is so specific. They were champions of ’60s girl groups, which is more than you can say for the ’60s and ’70s rockcrit establishment, which really was far too fixated on the guitar to appreciate the great pop of the era, Beach Boys included. I suppose what the Ramones did is translatable, otherwise they wouldn’t be such a strong brand. They hated each other and endured, which also works metaphorically for America.
I appreciate the Minutemen’s independent streak, but their spiels swing a little hard to the left to be a great American band, even though San Pedro is as working class as it gets. The Roots are, for my money, one of the best bands working today, but their reach is limited, in both hip-hop and beyond.
Los Lobos always comes up in these types of conversations, and for good reason. They play blistering blues-based rock with three guitarists, one of which is top-top shelf and he can also play accordion because they’re also a fantastic folk band. They serve their stuff in two languages, which means they’ve sounded like contemporary America for 40-plus years. They’re top-shelf balladeers.
I kicked around Sly and the Family Stone for being dual-gender, multicultural and fully funky with roots in Texas and a dream realized in California. They were also dysfunctional, like many families, so that’s a plus. They also sounded like weed and dressed like cocaine: There’s some magical equilibrium there. They had hits that people know.
OK, the Monkees. There’s a Monkees bandwagon circling now that they have a comeback album with hip and formerly hip people writing songs for them. Before I get to what I like about the Monkees, let me define the Monkees.
To me, the Monkees is Mike Nesmith, Davy Jones, Peter Tork and Micky Dolenz. The Monkees also includes Carole King, Neils Sedaka and Diamond, Glen Campbell, Boyce and Hart, James Burton, Larry Taylor, Hal Blaine, Jim Gordon and all the other great session players and songwriters who lent a hand on the earliest recordings. Look up any names that don’t ring a bell, as they’re all badasses. Except Gordon, who was a badass and then a murderer. So the Monkees were, at least at the outset, a community. It takes a village, and the Monkees were a village. Not the most multicultural village, but Run-DMC covered them.
Other things I like about the Monkees:
1. They had a few ubiquitous hits that just about anybody can sing.
2. They also had some weird, experimental stuff.
3. They put up a fight for creative independence from overbearing forces.
4. Early adopters of the TV medium for music.
4a. Think about that: They were built within an outside medium, TV, which makes them utterly modern for the era.
5. Took risks without assurance of reward.
6. Underappreciated and underdoggy.
Plus, Houston native Nesmith was (and is) a genius who deserves every bit the praise heaped upon Gram Parsons for scratching away at the big guitar façade built around rock ’n’ roll. He knew rock and country were the same. In addition to his distinguished work with the Monkees, his ’70s albums are ripe for rediscovery.
Anyway, there’s no real answer to this search. But I see a lot of possible contenders.
Round 3
So, with that said, are these the bands you’re cool with anointing as “America’s best band?” If Phil Spector put a gun to the temple of your favorite recording artist and slurred, “Tell me America’s best band,” are these who you each pick?
Joey: Can we pick five? Or 10? Or two dozen and just let readers fight among themselves in the comments? I’d also toss in two more female-fronted bands: Blondie and the Dixie Chicks.
Blondie because few bands so effortlessly merged style, sound, sex and a balance of male/female dynamics. Yes, Debbie Harry is Blondie and very much a ferocious voice for women whose influence is still felt today. But there are a lot of relationship dynamics happening in “Heart of Glass,” “Dreaming,” “One Way or Another” and even recent stuff like “I Wanna Drag You Around” and “Sugar on the Side.”
And, really, is there anything more American than the Dixie Chicks? Three Texas girls make it big in country music. Invoke the ire of middle America by calling out the president. Endure death threats and get disowned by country radio, only to be embraced by pop and rock fans with a career-defining album. And now, they’re back to selling out arenas. Talk about a classic American tale.
Final answer? Journey. Blondie. The Dixie Chicks. Argh.
OK, Journey. But ask me again in a few years.
Andrew: Gun to the head of my favorite band? I’d let him go ahead and pull the trigger. Most bands stick around too long.
Gun to my head? The Monkees. Or maybe Los Lobos with CCR and Sly close behind. But really the Monkees.
“‘Open Arms’ and ‘Faithfully’ are also unofficial anthems for the lovelorn, the lonely, the brokenhearted and the crazy in love. Basically, all of us.” Joey Guerra