This past weekend, drummer Steve Foley passed away at the age of 49. Foley, of course, is best known for replacing Chris Mars in the Replacements for their final tour in 1991 after years spent gigging on the local Minneapolis music scene. Upon hearing word of his passing, I found myself revisiting a thought — a concept, if you will — that’s been vying for more space in my mind as of late.

My thought, of course, is that there’s really no less flattering sight than that of the aging rock ‘n’ roll musician. Now, before you respond with a sarcastic “boo-hoo,” hear me out. It’s one thing to show your age in a grey cubicle — as long as they make Dockers in your size, truth be told, you’re still good to go — but a rocker hitting his 40s is a whole ‘nother bag of hammers.

Rock ‘n’ roll’s very inception — or conception, if you will — was a reaction to the stodgy “grown-up” music of the day, and while its first real star, Bill Haley, was already pushing 30 (!) by the time “Rock Around the Clock” appeared in the closing credits of the film Blackboard Jungle and changed the face of popular music forever, rock ‘n’ roll still enjoyed an immediate and irrevocable connection to youth.

For teenagers in America who had long been stuck listening to the same music as their parents, rock ‘n’ roll was something they could call their own. Haley was a huge star, of course, but the proverbial elder statesman soon gave way to much younger idols with whom teenagers could more closely identify, including Elvis Presley, Frankie Avalon, and Ricky Nelson.

Presley, of course, is probably the best example of rock ‘n’ roll’s celebration of youth. After all, while talent surely had something to do with it, it was his youthful bravado and untamed sexuality that made him a star. He had the swagger of a young man who had no idea what he couldn’t do, and America’s teenagers loved every controversial shake of the hips and snarl of the lips. He, more than anyone, made sure that rock ‘n’ roll belonged to the young: he was young, the millions of adoring fans were young, and they saw something in each other that made for a beautiful relationship.

As he grew older, though, he lost touch with his audience and watched as bands like the Beatles and Rolling Stones stole his thunder. His final days were spent as a tired Vegas act going through the motions, lost in a drug-induced haze and utterly alone in a world that, for the most part, had moved on from him years ago. He was 42.

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Originally, this fine blog entry was crafted exclusively for the awesome Popdose Statutory Rock List, but alas, as I am wont to do — such as right here in the far-too-long opener to this week’s Cold Shot, special Statutory Rock Edition — I ran at the keyboard wa-a-a-y too long and we decided to put it in the refrigerator for a few days and save it for this space.

Today, Cold Shot hashes the lyrics of “Shake, Rattle and Roll,” covered by three different acts: Big Joe Turner (1954), Elvis Presley (1955), and Bill Haley & the Comets (1954), which for my money, is one of the dirtiest songs of all time — but since most people equate Bill Haley and early Elvis with quaint old country-billy and the Donna Reed era of pre-acid sock hops and ‘57 Chevys, these horndogs get a free pass.

In the 1950s, teen ‘tang wasn’t just the purview of grizzled old rock stars. It was an uplifting cultural phenomenon that helped break down the color barrier. In fact, one might say it “inspired” some crucial, er, “events” that made America the celebrated ethnic melting pot it is today.

Case in point: Generally considered a lyric that discusses the deflowering of a young virgin, Big Joe sings “I’m like a one-eyed cat, peepin’ in a seafood store/I’m gonna look at you,’till you ain’t no child no more.”

Elvis covered it verbatim in the Sun Records rockabilly style. Together, the most influential black and white singers of the mid-1950s brought together audiences from all walks of life. Note: The original Elvis Sun recording of this cut didn’t make it to commercial release until the 1990s, but he did sing it on TV back in the day coupled with the hastily written copycat followup “Flip, Flop and Fly.” There is no doubt The Pelvis was singing this song at live gigs and getting those gals all wound up. For good measure, Sam Cooke later covered it with the skeeve intact (and we’re not even drilling down deeper into the lyrics, such as the see-through dress issues and just exactly what were they doing in bed before Big Joe et al demands some breakfast).

We will, however, bring up this little gem of a lyric from later on in the cut: “I get over the hill and way down underneath/You make me roll my eyes, even make me grit my teeth.” (more…)