45 REVELATIONS
It’s not as if I haven’t seen it coming. But the 7” 45 revoiution-per-minute single is welt and truly up against the wall now, and, as the Beach Boys once prognosticated about Wendy’s new boyfriend, its future looks awful dim. Part of me, the part that squirrels away thousands of 45s and attempts to write a column about them, against the tide of all American music journalism in the last two decades, is upset.
45 REVELATIONS
KEN BARNES
BY
It’s not as if I haven’t seen it coming. But the 7” 45 revoiution-per-minute single is welt and truly up against the wall now, and, as the Beach Boys once prognosticated about Wendy’s new boyfriend, its future looks awful dim.
Part of me, the part that squirrels away thousands of 45s and attempts to write a column about them, against the tide of all American music journalism in the last two decades, is upset. Abandon the single—the pure symbolic essence of rock ’n’ roll, the standard-bearer of its history, from "Rock Around The Clock” and “Heartbreak Hotel” to “Be My Baby” and “I Want To Hold Your Hand’’ and “Grapevine” and “Anarchy” and “Good Times” and—you get the picture? The 45 soared to popularity the same time rock ’n’ roll did—can they survive without each other?
Sure they can (rock ’n’ roll, anyway). Through all the emotion, I can understand why the 45 is obsolescing. Technology is passing it by. 12” singles sound better. CDs sound better still. Cassettes are more convenient (and portable) than vinyl.