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Michael Nesmith (born 1942, Houston.)

Mike Nesmith is the Jimmy Carter of the rock generation. Carter, clearly one of the most intelligent people ever to hold his office, was a man who inherited a hopeless situation yet strove to lead the country as best he could. He was an honest man, misunderstood and misjudged, who might have gone on to great things in his chosen line of work had he not had so much to overcome. It is in this last respect Nesmith and Carter have something in common.

Nesmith's group The Monkees, were of course, a manufactured rock group. Idols to millions of eight to twelve-year olds in the sixties, they were formed not so much out of a love for music or a desire to communicate a message (as were many of their contemporaries) but rather out of a desire to capitalize on Saturday morning television, merchandising, and the expanding influence of Top 40 AM radio. That they had some remarkable tunes - "(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone," "I'm A Believer," and "Take a Giant Step" - does not contradict this. They were well financed, well planned, and Mickey Dolenz had one of the most classic AM radio pop voices in history.

This is not to say that Mickey could really sing, he just had one of those easy to listen to, youthful, friendly voices that made teenagers think he would be a pretty cool guy to hang out with. The Monkees represented all that people who liked the Jefferson Airplane and Jimi Hendrix hated about the music business. Shallow, often pandering songs, long on production and short on passion. In many ways they were no different from Spice Girls, Hansen, New Kids on the Block, or the Bay City Rollers, just more successful.

Mike of course was "the smart one," the nerd, the Zeppo of the group. He really could play the hell out of his guitar, even though the solo he finger-synced on television for "Papa Gene's Blues" - and that Mike introduced by singing "play, magic fingers" - was actually picked by Glen Campbell. Nesmith could also write a hell of a great song when he wanted to. To merely label him "the accidental Monkee" or "the misunderstood Monkee" is to do Nesmith a great disservice. His association with the world's silliest rock band has undoubtedly haunted him for two decades, making it difficult for him to achieve commercial acceptance. But to look at his output, without penalizing him for the awkward musical situation he found himself in, is to discover a treasure of great music.

By all accounts, it was Nesmith who led the other Monkees to demand they be allowed to play on their own albums, and to produce their own recording sessions. Nesmith was the first among them to show an interest in the studio, and to produce Monkees tracks. I don't know if Nesmith became one of the most respected independent video producers in the world because he grew frustrated with pop music, or if he merely found video production more interesting. But before he left pop music, he left us a legacy of enchanting, interesting tunes, and established himself as a talented producer of popular music.

The zenith of his career is the gorgeous, loping pop ballad "Joanne,"which charted all too briefly on the Top 40 lists in 1970 and brought the V-I bass line and pedal steel guitar to rock audiences long before "country rock" became the rage. Indeed, "Joanne" may be the most perfectly beautiful pop songever written, balancing insightful, introspective lyrics with a sublimely melancholy harmony, wafting from major to minor and back again to emphasize the bittersweet story the song evokes. Nesmith is not embarrassed of his intellect, and he uses his fine verbal skills to create memorably vivid images, while not for a moment allowing cerebralism to eclipse the emotional side of his main characters' lives:


Nesmith achieved his greatest chart success on a song covered by someone else. Overshadowed by the perhaps too-syrupy Linda Ronstadt version, it is easy to forget that Nesmith is the man who wrote "Different Drum," and recorded it with charming Texas-drawl aplomb. Nesmith's own version avoids the calculated sentimentality of Ronstadt's, presenting it as a modified talking blues. Other Nesmith highlights include "The Crippled Lion,""Here I Am," and the plaintive "Born To Love You." To have not heard Nesmith at his best may well be to have missed some of pop music at its best.

Present Carter and Michael Nesmith have both moved on to other areas. History will hopefully judge them better than have their contemporaries. Though the essence is gone, my only thoughts of them are kind.

--DJL