1982 (35 page)

In MARZ, Kim Richardson sang all kinds of rock hits by Rush and Van Halen and Heart. You will note that two of those three bands I’ve just mentioned had male singers. Kim Richardson was a girl, but she sang those songs. In the
early 1980s, it entirely made sense that a good female singer would need to handle rock songs sung by male stars. That’s because rock men had entered a strange decade where singing with high-pitched voices became the norm. Geddy Lee from Rush was a part of this rock tradition whereby male lead singers needed to sing as high as possible. I was never sure why or how this began. In the 1960s, rock-band guys sounded more like men—like Mick Jagger or Jim Morrison or John Lennon. But by the late 1970s, credible male rock singers needed to wail like sopranos or hyenas. (Maybe it was some kind of throwback to castrato opera singers of earlier centuries, who would sing high because they’d had their testicles cut off. Or maybe the castratos had their testicles cut off in order for them to be able to sing high. I can never remember which came first. But anyway, it was an awkward and curious development in the 1970s and ’80s, especially because I’m quite sure these rock lead vocalists retained their testicles. I think.)

Here is a short list of male rock singers who sounded more like high-pitched female rock singers in the late 1970s:

Geddy Lee (Rush)

Steve Perry (Journey)

Rik Emmett (Triumph)

Dennis DeYoung (Styx)

Nick Gilder

Roger Hodgson (Supertramp)

the guy from the band Boston

As you can see, some of the most popular rock singers of the late ’70s were men who strained their vocal cords to
sing in a high-pitched way. This meant Kim Richardson could easily handle the male parts, and she did so with aplomb. But then, Kim’s most captivating turn was performing a song called “I’m Gonna Follow You” by Pat Benatar from her album
Crimes of Passion
. Pat Benatar was very sexy and wore tight leggings just like the members of Van Halen. She also wore jackets with shoulder pads before most people did. I’m pretty sure Pat Benatar never heard Kim singing her song. That’s probably a good thing. Pat Benatar was one of the best singers in rock. But Kim Richardson was a better singer than Pat Benatar.

Back in the Thornlea music room, Bob had recruited Kim Richardson to sing the female part in the duet that was scheduled for the Harbourfront finale. In mid-April, Bob began our regular Vocal Group practice by announcing to the whole group that he had chosen me to sing the male part in the duet. Some of the Vocal Group members clapped. It was a great distinction for me. That is, it was a great distinction for me even though there were only four other guys in Vocal Group to choose from. Actually, one of the four was a science teacher named Mr. Sanderson, so I’d really only beaten two others. Still, this was a major accomplishment for a Grade 9 student with a mediocre voice. I was probably the first Middle Eastern kid to get to do a solo in a duet with Thornlea Vocal Group. It felt like I had finally arrived. The only remaining question was what song we were going to sing.

It wasn’t until three weeks before our big Harbourfront concert that Bob announced the song that I was to sing in the duet finale with Kim Richardson. The duet had not really been a priority at the practices, because it didn’t involve the whole
group until the end refrain. Finally, with some fanfare, Bob revealed the song that would close the concert.

“For the duet finale, I’ve chosen … shoo-er … ‘Ebony and Ivory’! Shoo-er. It’s going to be fantastic!”

Some of the Vocal Group members clapped to be supportive. Bob had a big grin on his face. It made sense that he had chosen that particular song. It was rising in the charts and was pretty much ubiquitous on the radio. “Ebony and Ivory” was a hit. But it was with the selection of “Ebony and Ivory” that my stunning singing debut started to take a pale turn.

“Ebony and Ivory” was a duet written and performed by Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder. It had become a number-one pop single after being released in March. It was about a black person and a white person coexisting in perfect harmony. To underscore this harmony, it was a recording of a black person and a white person who coexist throughout the tune. It was all very sweet. And it was also one of the worst songs in history.

It seems almost inconceivable that Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney could come up with a song as horrible as “Ebony and Ivory.” Both are musical icons that already had rich histories of writing stellar classics. They are two of my heroes. I had always wanted a voice like Stevie’s. His
Fulfillingness’ First Finale
from 1974 is one of the best albums ever recorded. And as I’ve already told you, McCartney was always an idol of mine. Still is. Long before I truly discovered how revolutionary the Beatles had been, I immersed myself in McCartney and Wings recordings, and some of them were among my all-time favourite songs. I’d learned to play “With a Little Luck” on guitar in Grade 8. But here’s the dose of reality: both of those
legends have had unfortunate moments in their careers when they created excessively candy-coated pop. This new duet took things to the next level of saccharine.

Let me explain “Ebony and Ivory” in scientific terms. Try this experiment at home. Pour a medium-sized coffee and then put seven large sugar cubes in it. Then quickly empty the coffee and keep only the wet sugar cubes. Now consume the wet sugar. Presto. You have an empirical example of the nature of the “Ebony and Ivory” duet (and some wasted coffee). Between the sweet melody and the earnest sentiment, the song was never easy to listen to. Or perhaps it was too easy to listen to. It became a giant hit. But that didn’t make it any better. It is surely one of the most annoying duets of all time.

To provide some context, I have compiled a short list (or shortlist) of the worst pop duets of all time:

1.  Gwyneth Paltrow and Huey Lewis, “Cruisin’”

2.  Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson, “The Girl Is Mine”

3.  Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder, “Ebony and Ivory”

4.  Bono and Frank Sinatra, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”

5.  Rob Lowe and Snow White, “Proud Mary”

As you can see from this list, one of the few duets worse than “Ebony and Ivory” is another Paul McCartney duet called “The Girl Is Mine.” That song has a nice melody but similarly crap lyrics that defy any logical defence. In the main refrain of that song, Paul and Michael both sing that the “doggone” girl is his. Besides the absurd nature of the lyric, it’s hard to imagine a girl who fancies both Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson. What kind of diverse taste does this doggone girl
have? It doesn’t make any sense. “Ebony and Ivory” was only slightly better. It featured a strangely literal video with Stevie and Paul sitting on giant piano keys and then dancing and high-fiving each other. It was all very embarrassing for two musical greats. The upshot is that it still belongs on a list with Rob Lowe singing out of tune with a cartoon Snow White character at the Oscars.

But anyway, I don’t mean to mislead you. It wasn’t the quality of “Ebony and Ivory” that was the problem in terms of my performance at Harbourfront in May of 1982—not at all, actually. It wasn’t how silly or banal the song was. You see, there’s something you need to know about Kim Richardson beyond what I’ve told you. Kim was one of the best singers around. I’ve told you that. She was a dear friend and had distractingly large breasts. You know that, too. But there’s one more thing. Kim was black. That is, she still is black. And she was black in 1982. Why is that relevant? Well, when it came to deciding which one of us was going to sing the Ebony part of “Ebony and Ivory,” it was quite clear what direction we would take. Kim was Ebony. Obviously. But that left me. And the song wasn’t called “Ebony and Olivey.” Or “Ebony and Browny.” My only option was to play Ivory. And so it was. I was to sing Paul McCartney’s part of the hit song that would close the Harbourfront concert. The song was about racial harmony. And I was charged with the responsibility of representing all white people. I was to do this onstage.