burt bacharach doesn't need my help

In the 1990's, there was an alleged revival of interest in Burt Bacharach. I was told it was instigated in a small way by an article I wrote about him for Tower Records' Pulse magazine. I'd say this is totally absurd. There weren't a great many articles being written about Burt at the time, but it ain't like "Walk On By" needed to be restored to public view.

We never have to revisit Burt, the Beatles, Pet Sounds, or any of the other canonical stuff. They glow enough on their own. But every so often, the critical community "rediscovers" something and elevates it to some canonical place to which it didn't likely earn its way. Next thing you know -- viola! -- a forgotten genius is born.

Ken Nordine warned me that nothing fails like success, and that doing something well makes you assailable. When someone becomes canonical, they're big enough to be an easy target.

Burt Bacharach's lack of hipster stylishness had nothing to do with any lack of musical style on his own part. But his body of work was so huge and generated so many hits over so long a period of time that he became a guy people took for granted. Then you'd turn on the late show and hear his themes for Promise Her Anything or Made In Paris and his genius -- yes, genius -- announced itself.



When I interviewed Burt, Alison Anders had recently gotten in touch and wisely proposed teaming him up with Elvis Costello to write a song for her Brill Bulding-set film Grace Of My Heart, which resulted in this song, and this version, which is to my ears much better than the one issued by Elvis Costello. Kristen Vigard needs better management. She hits this out of the park, and it's not easy sung.

A new critical respect was afforded Burt. The article I wound up writing for Pulse, I had first shopped to Jazz Times, whose publisher dismissed the idea as "cheese" and "revisionism". Not much later, Bill Frisell did a disc of Bacharach's new songs (co-written with Costello), and certain viewpoints had been modified in Burt's favor.

Why it took a magazine normally as good as Jazz Times so long to catch up to something my mother had figured out by 1965... Go figure.

Next time out, I'll explain how Count Basie doesn't need my help either.