Perfect Pop #4: Emitt Rhodes - Emitt Rhodes

In the early 70s, it was almost unimaginable for an artist to surpass The Beatles’ faultless arrangements. So when a self-titled album by a so-called Emitt Rhodes made its way to radio stations, many couldn’t imagine that his compositions were actually authentic. Even when it was historically reported that the Fab Four had broken up a few months prior to Emitt’s release, a radio DJ for WHMC in Maryland called Barry Richards contested listeners to uncover whether or not this mysterious musician could really pull off these luscious pop tracks.

Rhodes was immediately regarded as an impostor - listeners heavily scrutinized every guitar and piano chord with the intention of unearthing the rumored Beatles master tapes that were supposedly stolen from the recording studio before their demise in 1970. Sure, The Beatles markedly inspired the songs on Rhodes’ self-titled album, but what nobody cared to question was how one man had actually masterminded the formula all by himself. In fact, the only correlation they could’ve ever had was the formation of the Merry-Go-Round in 1966, a rock n' roll band that was deeply indebted to that of psychedelic garage rock and baroque pop as much as the palpable British beat influence. They did have their brief moment in the limelight - even swooning a crowd of frenzied ladies - when it was customary for eye-catching pop bands to mime pre-recorded medleys for the sake of selling an image on television.

After much conflict, it didn’t take long for Rhodes to decide that he wanted to create music under his own name. Self-assured of his own proficiency, he moved back to his parents’ garage in Hawthorne, California and created his one-man studio band. Employing a strictly DIY technique, he would record a metronome set to a desired tempo; from there, he’d play the instruments he knew until he could bounce them all down to the fourth track so as to free up the first three with new parts. This process would culminate into finally being able to transfer the song to an eight-track, where he would finally sharpen up his pristine vocals. 

At the tender age of 20, Rhodes had managed to write a batch of songs that would defy the multifarious production skills of George Martin and Geoff Emerick. Well into the recording process, with four instrumental backing tracks to show for his efforts, his shot at a solo career had officially commenced after he sold label conglomerate ABC/Dunhill the idea of a one-man-band album. The label heads liked the idea, so they gave him 5,000 dollars, which he used to invest on more sophisticated recording equipment. With major label backing and a slightly larger budget, it was time for Rhodes to pursue his own direction.

Rhodes himself puts to rest any asinine assumptions with invigorating opener With My Face on the Floor, a paradoxically merry song about a relationship’s end with an exacting metric rhyme that irrefutably certified Rhodes as a pop star in the making. What follows is pure pop bliss – as if shaking off his sad sack woes, he wistfully sings the unabashedly sweet Somebody Made For Me, an inciting mid-tempo number with basic piano keystrokes, sha la la harmonies, and callous guitar work guaranteed to rouse even the most sneering to sing along. And then there’s the smooth as butter choruses of Fresh as a Daisy, whose queasingly amorous words almost cracked the top 50 when it probably would’ve made it all the way to the top with the right representation. Insomuch as how Rhodes’ songs follow a classic pop pattern, he’s never disloyal to saccharine words that’ll proffer a relatable message.

Contrary to artists who wish to obscure their self-worth with shoddy production methods, Rhodes always aspired to write grand pop songs despite the limited space and resources. Even when the vinyl feebly pops and clicks, the songs on Emitt Rhodes sound oppressed by myriad million dollar ideas. From the clanky, piano driven She’s a Beauty to the tender acoustic melody of Lullaby, these bouts of genius were proliferated by skinning Macca (the former) and Simon & Garfunkel (the latter) compositions to their skeletal core.

But for every noticeable knock-off, there are songs that should raise the bets to his favor as the top prizefighter: Long Time No See’s heavy riffs and muffled drums show him at his most soulfully sinister and debonair, while You Must Have’s plucky acoustic number forlornly ends without once losing his melodic flair. A strong case could by made about him sounding like a McCarthy poseur, especially in the ruminating ballad Ever Find Yourself Running, whose twangy guitars and carnavalesque soundscapes hit a bit too close to home. When asked if he deliberately wanted to sound like The Beatles, the always-taciturn Rhodes would simply answer that he was flattered by such comparisons. 

Like the young man peering behind the window glass in the album cover, Rhodes was merely a display figure behind a highly orchestrated scheme. When he began to see some moderate success, his former label with the Merry-Go-Round (A&M) wanted to cash in on his unfinished contract. They dusted off his final recordings with his former band, labeled it as a solo release titled The American Dream, and put it out on record shelves while Emitt Rhodes was still on heavy rotation. To counteract these claims, Dunhill’s foolhardy plan was to pressure him to write two records per year.

Rhodes was a meticulous songwriter, which meant that he had half the time to dedicate towards any subsequent efforts. He had been shafted for multiple reasons: being sued for more money than he had ever seen in his lifetime, under breach of contract for not having the records on time, and to top it off, audiences weren’t buying his records due to lack of promotion. By the age of 24, his contact was terminated. But most unfortunate of all, his initial impulse had been demoralized by the weight of corporate raiders hounding his every step.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Rhodes isn’t affable in the public eye; anyone who’s been held hard by the throes of big business would inexorably raise a shield of mistrust. He didn’t become a recluse or a hermit like many would dramatize in order to make him into this enigmatic figure. I’m sure Rhodes would simply want listeners to shun any false sympathy and simply enjoy Emitt Rhodes for what it is – an expertly crafted pop record coming from an artist whose life lens was still a wide-open aperture.