I will not sugarcoat the truth. I am not a die hard fan of the Monkees. I do not own a single one of their albums. I've only seen five episodes of their show. However, when the news was released today that lead singer Davy Jones died of a heart attack, I was saddened. I didn't feel this way when Michael Jackson or Whitney Houston (maybe Amy Winehouse) died, but somehow it struck a chord with me. Why does a singer for a band that I casually liked make me feel blue?
I think it comes down to the roots of our relationship. This afternoon when driving around Long Beach, I heard K-Earth 101 presenting interviews with the late Jones years back talking about Michael Nesmith and how he perceived him as a circus boy. This was also used as a transition into the song "I'm a Believer," which I turned up and tried to understand why I was feeling down about the whole situation.
The truth is that the Monkees are one of the few things that me and my mother could relate over. While I cannot recall the first time I heard their music, I enjoyed listening to my mom regale stories about her friends seeing the band back in the 60's at Disneyland. It almost seemed more charming than hearing a prototypical Ed Sullivan/Beatles mash-up story. It's true that the Monkees were popular at the time, but as time progressed, the general consciousness is that they're a novelty band in the same way Herman's Hermits was: upbeat, catchy, silly lyric songs. To hear her talk about the Monkees as a credible band left that impression on me.
As time progressed, it seemed like the Monkees were having a pseudo comeback with the popular Smashmouth cover of "I'm a Believer," which caps off the first Shrek movie. Even "Daydream Believer" popped up in car commercials from time to time. I doubt too many faces from my generation (the ages 20-25 crowd) are aware of them as more than that band who did "I'm a Believer" because of Shrek. For the most part, I am fine with that because at least they are remembered in the same way no one knows any other Turtles song besides "So Happy Together."
I consider it an accomplishment to stand the test of time and have music that still clicks in some way. Even if the tonality makes no sense, if your music can be played on oldies stations every day, you have made your mark. Even if the Monkees were more than "Last Train to Clarksville," it's that song that people will still hum in their head like an ear worm.
They were not as musically on par as the Beatles, but the comparison seems a little daft. The Monkees was what has become known today as a boy band. They were compiled by random people that looked interesting and forced to perform music and even have a TV show, which at the time received some of the highest praise from audiences for being a cutting edge mix of slapstick, entendres, and wacky premises. Even though the Beatles produced credible movies, it's impossible to see them going nearly as crazy a these guys. It would seem too different from their image.
Yet I must go back to the question: why do I care so much about the Monkees?
Besides that connection that I had with my mother, it can be traced back to moment when I knew I discovered them for myself. It's true that I probably heard their tunes on the radio a few times, but they were just a band at that point. It was on the WB one weekend many years ago. In honor of their anniversary, they were playing all of these old shows. That weekend I discovered The Jack Benny Program and Underdog. I had developed a large interest in old TV shows. For some reason it always captivated me to watch them and see just how different things were. Seeing the pacing and joke set-ups could tell you more about the time frame than any history book could.
One of the shows in that line-up was The Monkees. I decided to give it a try. I was interested since I heard their opening song which declared "Hey hey, we're the Monkees!"Watching them walk together in a line looked different. Pushing a bed down a street seemed bizarre. What was this show, and why was some band allowed to get away with this? In today's modern age, my preset notion was that boy bands produce bland actors and even more mediocre music.
The episode was "Monkees vs. Machine" in which they infiltrate a toy factory. Just like when I mistakenly discovered Mork and Mindy one night after they cancelled Get Smart reruns on KDOC, I was immediately intrigued. To say the least the show was very much of it's time. Each character was chipper and looked happy. The premise wasn't that complicated and made for an easy moving show. Still, what made me love it was that it was a lighthearted, wacky show where Mickey Dolenz losing his pants wasn't seen as more than a goof.
I declared my love for that show early on when a gag involving one member to hit his head against a post was replayed in rapid succession for humor. This embodied what I would grow to like about the Monkees. They weren't trying to be political or in your face. They just wanted to have a good time. The fact that their show was also a solid 30 minutes of material also helped the case. Ever since that episode, I have been intrigued to see more. Sadly, that has only been reduced to a VHS that my mother had in which each member picked their favorite episode. It was great, but I wanted to see more.
Sure enough it made me like their music more. I don't know more than the hits, but it doesn't stop me from dancing to them. This past year when I noticed that the Monkees were coming to the Southern California area, I asked my mom if she was interested in going. Oddly the show was playing just far enough away that the drive didn't seem worth it. I will also note that Davy Jones, who had since developed problems with the band, was not on the bill. Still, I was kind of excited.
I cannot really determine why the Monkees have stayed with me as long as they have. I occasionally will pop over to Youtube and watch their videos and transport back to a time when a bunch of people sitting around a piano was a music video. Somehow the primitive nature alone made me love it more. These guys were simple and from the looks of things, pure despite being created for commercial intention.
I never met Davy Jones. In fact, to date I have only met Mickey Dolenz at the Anaheim Comic Con 2010. It wasn't a great event, but Dolenz was one of my highlights. I didn't talk to him for a long time, but I did it. I met one of the Monkees. I was even amused when I bought two autographs and one said "Julie, Love Mickey" and the other said "Thomas, Cool Mickey." That signature alone was very much from a mindset of a certain time and I still love that photo. My mom has gone on to place it on her desk at home.
I don't know how much of my humor derives from the Monkees, but I'm sure there's some traces there. I regret not seeing more episodes, but the box sets tend to be a little out of my price range. Luckily I have Youtube and a couple other people who share that fascination with that era. When the news broke, I heard it on Tumblr from the Criterion Corner blog. Julie Klausner and James Gunn would follow. Three different types of people, all sharing their sympathies for Davy Jones' death seemed like a fitting way of showing how the band has inspired various generations.
In closing, I think that my fondness has a lot to do with the simple fact that it met a certain curriculum that you couldn't get from the Beatles. This can be seen as trying to be filled by pop singers at Disney such as Hillary Duff and the Jonas Brothers, but the Monkees are probably the quintessential boy band. They had a great show, wrote radio ready songs, and appealed to the innocence in all of us. Sure some think that they lack edge, but why would you expect that from a band whose theme song says "We're too busy singing to put anybody down"?
I wish that I could say that this memoriam was more than a rant about why the Monkees have a place in my life. However, isn't that the great achievement? Though it's true that the band is only reflective of Davy Jones' early career, at least he's remembered every day through song. The fact that I can hear that music and get through a rough day with a smile on my face means something. I could never get that from the bummer political songs of the '60s. It may have not been the best, but it was the perfect mix of style and substance.
I'm going to miss him, if just because of the joy and connection he brought to me and my mother.
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