
Late last night HCB and I were exchanging emails (as in our wont.) The topic in this instance was Chuck Berry. H was concerned with inaccuracies in lyric transcripts, and I couldn’t help but recall how, when I interviewed the man for the NME in the mid 1970s, he came off like a slick, greasy, obnoxious conman with something close to contempt for his own work. (And don’t even mention the stories of his sex life.) But, while seeming wholly reprehensible, he did write all those songs. All those incredible songs. Was Chuck idiot savant of 20th century poetry? Check “No Money Down” reproduced below – a perfect, custom-paint vignette of the USA, like some hipster Norman Rockwell – preserving the days when the transaction between capital and labor at least kinda worked, when the UAW had plenty of juice and capitalism seemed to be creating a consumer version of the workers' paradise. Of course, we were burning natural resources like there was no tomorrow – and here in tomorrow we’re going to have to pay the price – but ol’ Chuck could make it all so seductive.
"Well Mister I want a yellow convertible
Four door de Ville
With a continental spare
And wire chrome wheels
I want power steering
And power brakes
I want a powerful motor
With jet off take
I want air conditioning
I want automatic heat
I want a full Murphy bed
In my back seat
I want short wave radio
I want TV and a phone
You know I got to talk to my baby
When I’m riding alone
I want ten dollar deductible
I want twenty dollar notes
I want thirty-five in liability
(That's all she wrote)
I got me a car
And I'm going to drive it down that road
And I won't have to worry
Bout driving that broken down old ragged Ford"
Click here for Chuck doing it live. And
click here for a quality Chuck Berry fan site.
The secret word is
Jitney