Billy Joel: Rock Blocker?
“Billy Joel does not rock” is a long-standing statement of nigh-fact my friend Bob utters or writes a few times each year. Bob has a small briefcase of opinions about music he lugs around with him as indisputable fact; the statement about Billy Joel is close to the top of that list.
Numerous scientific studies have shown that Billy Joel successfully divides the universe into two primary categories.
If you default to the radio when driving, who tells Alexa to play some predictable playlist with a name like “The Rockin’ ’80s” or prefers Pandora because “it plays music I like without me having to think about it,” who thinks music is mostly good as background for ironing or cleaning out the garage, then there is a 94.1% likelihood you are incredibly fond of Billy Joel.
If you spend time carefully piecing together playlists for road trips, still consider albums not songs to be the defining measure of an artist’s brilliance, and can more easily list off the names of musicians and songs that suck than the ones you love, then there is a 87.7% likelihood you loathe Billy Joel or believe he’s something of a fraud.
And if you read or write about music, respect for Billy Joel rides the long tail towards zilch.
Bob has a gift of making divisive statements with the perfect amount of escapable ambiguity. He rope-a-dopes a debate as well as Ali did it in the ring, absorbing the jabs and waiting to deliver the haymaker. In this case, what Bob means by “does not rock” is conveniently, strategically vague.
Bob denounces Billy Joel as being worthy of respect in the pantheon of great rock musicians. He usually follows it up with a reminder that BJ is a derivative Bruce Springsteen with half the lyrical skill. He derides “Piano Man” as the semi-autobiographical song of a narcissistic prick. I often feel like Walter Sobchak in these moments. “You’re not wrong, Bob…”
Yet, many who have rocked were narcissists, derived their sound and approach from a greater contemporary, and rocked by rocking a piano. Some have even rocked via organ.
A majority of Joel’s songs lack the sonic crunch often affiliated with rock, and when he does attempt to crunch is usually when he’s loathed even more (see: “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” “A Matter of Trust”). Then again, Bob’s favorite all-time band is Steely Dan. Although I don’t make the same “rocks/doesn’t rock” divisions in my musical appreciation — because I don’t completely understand how to draw the line or where, and because the line seems to be a judgement passed solely on and by white dudes like myself — I struggle to listen to Steely Dan and see clearly why they rock where Billy Joel does not.
Bob also has a history of loving (or liking or respecting) Bruce Hornsby, Joe Jackson, and Marc Cohn, among many others. Do these men Rock? Why would a fan of these men wield the “does not rock” insult like a cudgel?
Is One Who Rocks about attitude? Must One Who Rocks use particular instruments for building songs structured in particular ways by and about flawed people (okay usually white dudes) with flawed relationships with terrible substance use habits? If so, then Billy Joel can and does rock.
I can’t help but defend the guy. It’s a stretch to say “I love Billy Joel,” but he could crush some catchy songs, and his life story is completely fascinating (New Yorker, 2014). His rise and multiple downfalls (The Atlantic, 2017). His awful choices on whom to trust with his money and his heart and his own demi-tragic flaws. His choice to stop making new pop music. The odd arcs his story has taken in the 25 years since his final studio album.
Go back and watch the performances from the rock gods who took the stage at 12–12–12: The Concert for Sandy Relief and try not to acknowledge that Joel put on a show that competed with — and arguably bested — the pantheon of performers generally considered his musical superiors. In many a stadium and arena over the decades, but especially on that night, whatever the definition, Billy Joel rocked.
YEAR: 1973 (by way of 2011)
