How songs chug

Thanks to my iPod (forget same-sex marriage, when can I marry my iPod?), I had a dumb little epiphany this morning on my way to work. First the iPod played "Islands in the Stream," an innocuous little pop ditty by Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton. I realized as I was singing and bopping along in the car that I like the song largely because it does something I've always thought of as "chugging along." I've never quite known what I meant by that phrase, but another song I love for its chugging is Dionne Warwick's "Heartbreaker"--I love Dionne's Bacharach period in the 60's but don't have much use for the rest of her output, except for this early 80's number with Barry Gibb.

Then came George Harrison's "Isn't It a Pity," a much slower and statelier number with a kind of "Hey Jude"-like chant at the end. And by gosh if I didn't realize that this song also "chugged along," causing me to thump a steady if slow rhythm with my entire body in the car seat. Next was The Babys "Isn't It Time" (sorry, but I count all Babys hits as guilty pleasures). Eh, voila, this song didn't chug. And I figured out what the hell I mean by "chugging."

In most pop songs (like "Isn't It Time"), after the first chorus, before the second verse begins, the background rhythm (bass, drums, rhythm guitar) stops or changes tempo, often slowing down, then picking up again once the verse starts. But in "Islands in the Stream" and "Isn't It a Pity" and "Heartbreaker," the background rhythm keeps going, it doesn't stop or slow down like in the average pop song. In other words, it just keeps on chuggin' along. Maybe this difference is obvious to everyone else, and with the current pop rage of stop-start rhythms, this may be a thing of the past, but I am at last pleased to know what the hell I'm talking to myself about in the car between bursts of singing along.