The Kitsch Stewart Theory

I was recently advised to maybe consider updating my blog, so I thought this might be a good place to put forth a thesis I have recently been developing. It concerns Al Stewart.

Al Stewart is a singer/songwriter from... Oh, let's say... The 70s. He plays a guitar, or something. If you've had the misfortune to have heard of him at all, it was probably in connection to his big hit, Year Of The Cat.

I first heard (of) Al Stewart when some music blog or such mentioned his song Sirens Of Titan. "A song based on what is possibly my favourite book by my possibly favourite author, Kurt Vonnegut?" I mused, "this Al Stewart must be good times!" I got my ears on it, and... I mean, yeah. It's alright...

Okay, so I have to admit, I take a great amount of guilty pleasure from Al Stewart. Like, everything about him should be terrible; his annoying, calm, cultivated voice, his inoffensive melodies, his predictable, poppy songs, his mediocre lyrics and apparent utter lack of humour... But for some reason, I keep finding myself listening to Year Of The Cat, On The Border, Broadway Hotel, Apple Cider Re-Constitution, and, of course, Sirens Of Titan.

Check out that random lens flare!
Okay, so I admit I added one thing to this cover art, but it wasn't the lens flare.

Anyway, I was wondering today whether Al Stewart's mid-seventies work could be thought of as a kind of musical kitsch. Now I am no expert in the field of kitsch studies - I would tend to defer to my sister in this area - and so I have no idea of how original or unusual this thesis may be, but, without having a clear account of what it is to be kitsch, something about his songs scream kitschianity to me.

It is screamed by the all-too-smooth vocals, as they throw a sudden emotional plea into an inappropriate location:

"In the village where I grew up
Nothing seems the same.
Still you never see the change
From day to day!"

What exactly about the line "From day to day" calls for a sharp raise in pitch, increase in volume, and oddly sustained, vibratto singing? Who knows? But it sure has a nice effect.

Kitsch is screamed by the randomly tinkling piano thrown haphazardly into a song like Sirens Of Titan. Composing a song entirely based on a brilliant work of black comedy, and managing to make it neither black, nor comedic? This strikes me as a kind of demented kitsch genius.

Kitsch is screamed by the cloying sentimentality in a song like Year Of The Cat, the poetastic pretentiousness of a song like On The Border, the village-green nostalgia in a song like Modern Times... The overwhelming sense of bland inoffensiveness that permeates his oeuvre, at least from this particular era.

As often seems to be the case when I try to make a point in a blog post, I thought there was more to this idea when I started, but perhaps all I can ultimately say is that listening to his work creates a particular impression in me, an impression I associate with floral wallpaper, lawn gnomes, tiny plastic terrapins, babushka dolls, and ducks on the wall. I also see, on reflection, that he is perhaps not so unique in creating this impression, nor would he be the earliest musician to do so; The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society gives me much the same feeling, albeit with a lot less accompanying pleasure, guilty or otherwise.

As a final note, I feel compelled to raise the possibility that Al Stewart is perhaps not so terrible as I may be suggesting. After all, as Wikipedia tells me, some guy called Broch referred to kitsch as "the evil within the value-system of art." To see Al Stewart as aesthetically evil is probably just a bit harsh.

Perhaps, feeling, for whatever reason, that he is a guilty pleasure, I then feel the need to disassociate myself from the pleasure his music can give me, reason it away, broadcast my disapproval, paint myself as an innocent, captivated victim... But perhaps, rather, the best response would be, as I have long ago done with Elton John, to simply reevaluate the artist's genuine merit, assert the excellence of his popcraft, and remove all sense of guilt from the pleasure. After all, he did write a song about a Kurt Vonnegut book.