50 years from '70: A Revisited Review of The Kinks’ Lola vs. Powerman and the Moneygoround, Pt. 1
By Carly Tagen-Dye
I spent the majority of 2020 wishing I were somewhere else, and compensating for that by using music to time travel through decades past. Through these deep dives into obscure genres and albums, I found auditory kinship with the Kinks, especially with the content they made at the later point in their career.
One of the most influential British Invasion bands, the group, most notably composed of brothers Ray (vox/rhythm guitar) and Dave (lead guitar) Davies, steadily rose to star-status for their crucial contributions to rock n’ roll. Though the Kinks themselves aren’t necessarily a niche group, much of their catalog is unsung to the general public. Everyone knows the groundbreaking single, “You Really Got Me,” which, with its use of distorted guitar, is often credited as being the first punk song. Others might be familiar with the crooning ballad “Waterloo Sunset” or the descending bassline in “Sunny Afternoon,” but not so much with songs past the late ‘60s. To combat the band’s fading popularity, Ray took matters into his own hands. He became more ambitious with the Kinks’ discography, merging genres like bluegrass and show tunes to create concept albums such as the Preservation Act series (1973-1974) and Soap Opera (1975). Whether out of desperation or artistic choice, we might never know for sure.
Right before that dip, the Kinks put out a record that became their most successful release following their domination of ‘60s mainstream music, and that celebrated its 50th anniversary this past November. That record, Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, Part One (1970), never got a part two, and frankly, I’m not sure one would have sufficed. The thirteen-track album is packed with what feels like years’ worth of material, and the space it allows listeners to experience everything in far surpasses any potential sequel.
The album opens with “The Contenders,” where a screeching guitar drops one into the ‘70s rock scene, full force. It’s shortly followed by a piano-driven ditty called “Denmark Street,” which is a call-out to the capitalist music industry and its impact on artists. Lyrically, Ray details a character on his way to share his work with a “music man,” only to be told it’s all chance if he gets played on the “rock n’ roll hit parade.” The track could feel self-indulgent, knowing the Kinks’ constant struggle with reclaiming their fame, but there’s a self-awareness to these semi-autobiographical lyrics. They’re not wallowing or self-pitying; they simply state things as they are.
Even half a century after its initial release, the songs off Lola are eerily reflective of today’s climate, brought to us by a writer who was observant of his life in 20th century London. One striking example is “Apeman,” a whimsical monologue that touches on many things we’re still worried about, like crazy politicians, nuclear war and impending environmental crises. Ray preaches that he “don’t feel safe in this world no more,” yet the song’s lyrics explain that we begin to see ourselves more clearly through such chaos. This critique of mankind humbles us by stating we aren’t the most important beings in the world (“I think I’m so sophisticated...I’m no better than the animals'').
In the vein of “Denmark Street,” the album houses tracks like “The Moneygoround'' and “Top of the Pops'' that take a jab at the mundanity of one’s work. Ray asks, “Can somebody explain why things go on this way?,” which could apply to many instances in 2020. Perhaps it’s the ambiguity that makes the song hit closer to home today.
Lola is also pivotal in terms of self-reflection. It’s there in Ray’s lyrical awareness of the world, as well as in the stories he, and subsequently, his listeners, create in each song. I’ll always associate the start of this decade with many unwanted disruptions, but also with the solace Lola provided amongst it. When I think of an autumn spent at home instead of away at college, I’ll picture myself lying on my roof, staring up at a cloudless sky as the title track, “Lola,” nestles into my psyche. When I think of the uncertainty of coming of age in a pandemic, I’ll revisit the bridge of “This Time Tomorrow,” the lyrics, “I don’t know where I’m going,” becoming a newfound mantra for adulthood. When I reflect on how hard empathy has been at times, I’ll think about the emotional key progression in “Strangers,” with Dave Davies’ warbly falsetto reminding me that we’re all traveling on the same road. This realization that our struggles aren’t as isolated as we think can help make connection easier.
Generally, Lola is far from the strangest Kinks record, but it’s absurd enough to make one feel like they’re in a new “mixed up, muddled up, shook up world.” I’m at home within its weirdness even fifty years later, as a young adult who’s growing up under entirely different circumstances. The classic nature of these songs transports one to a different time, while its subject matter zeroes in on familiar human struggles. Ray Davies was well-documented as being no stranger to working through trouble. In these periods of upheaval, having a solid escape might be what helped him, and will help us, to muster through. Lola, and the atmosphere it creates and critiques, is that light in the dark.
A 50th anniversary reissue of the album, including a previously unreleased track, is available to stream here.