Written Late at Night When I Was Supposed to Be Working On My Novel

My father had  a short list of favorite songs that included Glen Campbell's "Where's the Playground Suzie?", "Wives and Lovers" from Jack Jones and Andy William's "Moon River," but two of his favorites, the only songs in which he'd sing along in a deep off-key monotone, were "MacArthur Park" by Richard Harris and Ann Murray's "Snowbird." My mother, a backup studio singer for the likes of Burt Bacharach and Herb Alpert, did an LP with Ray Conniff and the Singers called Turn Around Look at Me, an album with a stunning 1960s-a-go-go-like blonde on the cover. One of the tracks was "MacArthur Park." Conniff would eventually fire my mother during the production of the LP We've Only Just Begun, but not before they recorded "Snowbird." Though my parents would divorce before either of those songs were ever released, this has for me always been a connection they shared.

So "MacArthur Park" at six years old was as simple as simple got: It was like this cake was, like, in the rain and it was, like, melting and the guy can't have another one ever because he doesn't know the recipe. Oh, no. We often associate songs with things that occurred in our lives. Brain research has shown the olfactory as the most memory inducing; I'd argue music. Sometimes there's a direct correlation: a love song that takes you back to a specific romance; a record that whisks you to some epic party in the Valley and you want to throw up when you hear it because that's what you did six times that night because the quaaludes were Lemmon and not Rorer. Other songs evoke an emotion only your subconscious comprehends. For a song like "MP," it's often both.
The setting is an iconic park in Downtown L.A. I was born and raised in California.  My mother was born and raised in L.A.  My family had been there since the year Zorro. The song was overly dramatic, and that was me, even at six.
"Between the parted pages and were pressedIn love’s hot, fevered ironLike a striped pair of pants."
Deep, man! (And forget, btw, those turgid, ridiculous allusions to oral sex you may have heard – it’s just not true – it can't be Jimmy!) Many will point to the idiocy of Webb's lyrics, all that sweet green icing flowing down and all (I mean, seriously, green icing? What flavor is green?) And yet, in my pre-teen consciousness I learned in seven minutes the perspective of not taking anything too seriously, being able to spot and laugh at absurdity. More importantly, I learned about romance – those things that today, 50 years later, break my heart so profoundly that I need medication: "After all the loves of my life, you’ll still be the one." It seemed so romantic, so quixotic: finding that one special person who would always be "the one." Sigh. Today I can't even remember the names of half the girls who were "the one," but found another who is.
There's a whole stanza where Harris sings about the future course of his life, Webb-style. He'll win and lose "the worship in their eyes." He'll have dreams, he'll drink wine (Richard Harris drank a LOT of wine), he'll be up, he'll be down, he'll have stuff, he'll put this stuff into perspective, he'll be Dumbledore, etc. It's the fucking 2001 of pop songs!

Jimmy Webb's arrangements are typical of the sixties: lavish, loud and simply too much as Harris's untrained voice creeks and deafens the trained ear, and the LP, A Tramp Shining, takes it to the upper limits with lush musical interludes and swingin' singles songs about girls. "MP," though, has to be the single weirdest song ever. Period. Little has been understood about its strange, incomprehensible lyric, but Harris sounds so very convincing, as if he knew indeed what was going on. His dramatic approach and the over-orchestration of the music has the listener waiting for an answer, a clue, a lesson… Everyone on the planet should own a copy of "MacArthur Park," or better yet, of A Tramp Shining; a late at night album when those party liggers simply will not leave. A Tramp Shining is sure to do the trick. Ah, then you'll be able to wallow in whatever this wonderful shit is.


The song, originally written at the request of producer Bones Howe for The Association. Howe had asked that Webb create a song with classical elements and time changes, but was unhappy with the result. "MacArthur Park" was released 50 years ago today.