Remembering Chuck Berry, born on this day in 1926. —Ed.
The passing of Chuck Berry—whose contributions to rock’n’roll surpass those of Elvis Presley, Little Richard, Buddy Holly, hell Jerry Lee Lewis even—is a sad event for anybody who has ever fallen in love with the sound of a Gibson ES-350T. Berry did more than just produce many of the most iconic songs of rock’n’roll, he was instrumental in the invention of rock ’n’ roll itself, which makes him more important than Nicola Tesla, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, and the Wright Brothers put together. And you can toss Johannes Gutenberg onto the pile if you want.
Berry had it all. Mad songwriting skills that focused on teen culture, a great voice, a unique approach to playing the guitar, and a mastery of stagecraft that is best exemplified by his famous duck walk. How influential was Berry? Well, John Lennon once said, “If you tried to give rock and roll another name, you might call it ‘Chuck Berry.’” And none other than Bob Dylan pronounced Berry “the Shakespeare of rock ‘n’ roll.”
All of that said, you would think it’d be easy to find a great compilation of Berry’s best songs. Not so. Some of the massive compilations—such as 1988’s The Chess Box, 2000’s The Anthology, 2007’s Johnny B. Goode/His Complete ‘50s Chess Recordings, and the compilations of his post-peak Chess Records years are freighted with either numerous alternative takes and filler or both—which is fine if you’re the type of person who loves outtakes and filler, which I’m not—while others inexplicably omit songs I simply can’t live without.
Take the 1982 Chess Records compilation The Great Twenty-Eight, for example. It includes most of the songs Berry is best remembered for, and omits to include the embarrassingly infantile “My Ding-a-Ling,” but I simply find it impossible to forgive the omission of “You Never Can Tell,” which is perhaps my favorite Berry song.
No, I’ve yet to find the Berry compilation that makes me completely happy. And am I so hard to please? Are you kidding? Me? No. All I want is as succinct a distillation of Berry’s finest moments as possible. 2006’s 30-track The Definitive Collection is a close as they get, even if it doesn’t include “My Ding-a-Ling,” which makes me very unhappy indeed. But I can stomach this disagreeable fact because the collections is as short and sweet as they come and includes “You Never Can Tell,” although it does not such immortal tracks as “Jaguar and Thunderbird,” “Tulane,” and the bluesy “Have Mercy Judge.”
They’re all here, all of the songs that left such an indelible mark on rock and roll: the trailblazing “Maybellene” and the electrifying “Johnny B. Goode,” to say nothing of “Little Queenie,” “Back in the U.S.A.,” “Let It Rock,” “Nadine,” “Promised Land,” “You Never Can Tell,” “Reelin’ and Rockin’,” and I could go on but I think you get the picture. All I ask is I get my paws on a compilation as I don’t have to be skipping tracks all over the place, and I can count on three digits the numbers on The Definitive Collection I don’t want to hear, to wit “Havana Moon,” “Almost Grown,” and “My Ding-a-Ling,” which the people who put together these compilations actually seem to think a sane human being wants to hear.
Bottom line? I don’t want to hear no fucking rock ’n’ roll Christmas songs, even if Berry wrote the only fucking rock’n’roll Christmas song that ever mattered. I don’t want to hear multiple takes and I certainly don’t want to hear such obscure throwaways as “Dear Dad,” “Anthony Boy,” “Rockin’ at the Philharmonic,” and “Time Was.” Don’t want to hear “Hey Pedro,” the instrumental “Blues for Hawaiians,” or “Vacation Time” either. I leave that shit for the fanatics and completists.
What I want is what I what I come closest to getting on The Definitive Collection. It’s not perfect, but Berry wasn’t perfect either. If I may talk turkey for a minute, he hankered to reinvent himself as a blues guy but tanked, and he more or less ceased to cut the mustard as a songwriter a long, long time ago. But that’s okay. Happens to the best of them, and Berry was the best of them. Like the old folks say, C’est la vie. Chuck Berry has gone to the Promised Land at last, and we’re not likely to see his likes again. Hail hail rock and roll!
GRADED ON A CURVE:
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