Singer was the patron saint of rock Uncool – Rolling Stone

Eddie Money should not have been a rock star. His stage movements were always a little gawky and spasmodic, his hoarse voice at the limit needing a rhombus or two. Emerging in the punk era without ever being part of it, he preferred the traditional rock choirs respectful of the stadium and adopted the look New Wave assorted while keeping a hair too long. He was even a police officer from New York – a career choice that, while quite honorable, did not fit the traditional rock & roll anti-establishment manual.

For decades, we've been taught that pop stars, especially rock stars, are supposed to embody some kind of cool. But the accidental genius of Money, who died Friday as a result of complications at the heart valve at the age of 70, was that he had almost never been. For most of his career, he has been endearing to all the rock palooka, a clumsy, somewhat overworked dude who was one of the most relatable acts of rock and who, during a career of 45 years old, stumbled upon some of the greatest radio hits of his time. .

From the beginning, Money seemed out of step. His first album arrived in 1977, the same year as the debut of Clash and Elvis Costello. Still, Money preferred his rock & roll almost proudly, without a doubt generic. It was the dawn of what was called Corporate Rock and many of Money's successes, such as "Baby Hold On", "Gimme Some Water" ("Because I shot a man at the Mexican border "?), and especially" Two Tickets to Paradise ", consistent with many brands like this: big muscular guitars, some vacuum hidden sound, the school's guitar solo of music.

But this hoarse voice, immediately recognizable, was omnipresent. The money is thrown into songs as he's thrown into shows: with a neglected passion. Rock lyrics are no more generic than those of Frisky's "Think I'm Love" or his first hit "Baby Hold On" – "the future belongs to us to see / when you hold me" – but Money sang them, and other songs, as if he firmly believed in every word and that his life depended on their transmission with the greatest possible intensity.

It was also the time of the soft-pillow sound now called Yacht Rock, a rather disgusting term dripping with an ironic appreciation for Christopher Cross and Rupert Holmes. But again, Money has never been so good for that moment. Barely a suave crooner, he replaced all sputum emotions, devoid of the polite or articulated gene. As we can see many times in his videos, he could not get the glam-sultry look either, even when he claimed to be a vampire ("Think I am in Love").

Five minutes of desperation, "Take Me Home Tonight", the hit of 1986 that put it back on the charts after a dry period, remains a fabulous record. As always, he sang it as if his world was falling apart and he could not do anything about it – a tension dissipated when Ronnie Spector appeared to pay him homage. Ronettes played "Be My Baby" in what may have been the first "Live sample" in pop, do not give in to an old record, but use the original singer to recreate the party.

This song ushered in the golden age of Money. It's hard to think of another Seventies rocker that has adapted so well to the sound of the next decade, but Money and his various producers and co-songwriters have managed to modernize it without ever forgetting his great emotions. "I Wanna Go Back" hit the petticoat rock-klutz, as did "We Should Be Sleeping". There was nothing subtle about these songs or their arrangements, but Money motivated him, especially since many of his songs accounted for confessions about the amount he had decoyed from. One way or another. And if the discography of Money is not filled with hidden treasures, many profound retouches are worth re-reading: the percussive "Trinidad" (in particular the live and acoustic version of his Unplug it EP) and "Another Nice Day in L.A.", co-written with Heartbreakers' original drummer, Stan Lynch.

Then there is "Walk on Water", which could be his masterpiece. Again, he is responsible for every sound and whistle sound of the 80s: the amplified synth arrangement, the chanting chorus "na-na-na-na", the extremely intrusive drums. Even if she makes her way through the room or on the radio, it's an undeniably poignant song. When he hits the word "believe" in the choir ("If I could walk on the water / would you like believe in me … my love is so true! "), It seems so desperate to rescue another failed relationship that you can not help but sideline yourself. Pop started to become more and more mechanized, but Money, in his sincere way of letting things go, was raging against the machine.