When I was 8 years old, my family boarded our minivan like the proverbial stagecoaches of yesteryear and we headed westward—across Interstate 90 for our summer family vacation. My mother is a native of South Dakota, but perhaps thinking her knowledge of state history not nearly fascinating enough to pacify two pre-adolescent boys for vast stretches of time in an ’89 Astro, my parents picked up a complimentary (the “magic” word for this family) travel cassette tape that would narrate our voyage across the state with historical and cultural tidbits.
Mostly what I remember was the sound of tom-tom drums and some vague thing or other about a battle outside of Mitchell. In fact, we were already 30 miles past Mitchell because the tape was not timed to my father’s lead foot.
Anyway, the cassette tapes were helpful and educational. The voice-overs were realistic and the facts seemed more or less factual. But there was one tiny element of the tape’s composition that struck everyone in the car, child and adult alike, as aesthetically inexcusable: that messianic, overblown jingle about “great faces and great places.”
The song itself would blast out of our factory stereo at the beginning and conclusion of every single tape (I believe 8 or so in the boxset), so by the time you passed Chamberlain, you were more or less looking for a great place, or even a pretty good ditch, to dump the lot of them. It’s not so much we disagreed with the sentiment: certainly “great faces, great places” may score big points in a Dr. Seuss competition but really, as far as state slogans go, what’s the big deal? I mean, Explore Minnesota isn’t exactly throwing out the textbook on original marketing. And North Dakota’s got that “Legends” stuff that frankly just stands to make a lot of potential visitors to North Dakota regret ever going to North Dakota.
No, what I’m concerned with mostly about the jingle of “Great Faces, Great Places,” is purely sonic, specifically its dangerous inclination toward harmonies vaguely resembling the force and breadth of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and then its insufferably campy melody that—if left without lyrics—could just as easily describe a weekend retreat for McDonald’s executives or the grand opening for a new dollar store.
South Dakota can do better than this. I met a man in Ireland who was actually Polish who told me the most beautiful place on Earth was twenty miles south of Pierre. That’s specific. His reason? Because there was no noise. Unfortunately, he must’ve have visited before 1992. Because I swear if you’d visit this locale now, you’d likely have peace and quiet for about fifteen seconds before the faint echo of “Great Faces, Great Places” line came drifting over the prairie hills into your subconscious and absolutely ruin your day.
So, I’m calling on all South Dakota songwriters (and specifically the South Dakota Board of Tourism) to set up a songwriter’s competition: please, please, please, it’s time for a new South Dakota tourism song. Leave the parameters open: personally, I’d like to see something ala Bob Seger, a combine, and a dusty-brimmed, Deadwood cowboy hat. A little country, a tinge of folk, and an unmistakable easy rock sound. Classic but not trite. Distinct but not trying too hard. This should be a theme song, but not something that sounds like it was meant to part the Missouri River or sell a gently-used Jacuzzi.
All submissions will be sent directly to Gov. Rounds’ iTunes playlist. First one to hit 10 listens wins. And the winner will get to be mayor of Spink. Now bust out your banjos and guitars and honky-tonk pianos and get songwriting.
The revolution will write the songs the world sings—while mini-vanning across the Land of Infinite Variety.
Cousin Christopher teaches college kids in Minnesota how to write, he also tickles the ivory for the Golden Bubbles and the Rock Garden Tour Family Band, he also writes about rock and roll.
Amen!
(and that's all I'll say about that)
Posted by: JessicaG | March 23, 2010 at 02:20 PM