Drive west on Interstate 10 from Phoenix to L.A. and you'll pass a cornucopia of interesting highway towns situated between the nation's 2nd and 6th largest cities. From Quartzsite and my personal favorite, Brenda, on the Arizona side, across the Mountain-Pacific divide to Coachella's Indio and Ray Kroc's San Bernardino on the California side. If you find yourself in the mood for southwestern small town Americana, this is a drive that shouldn't be missed. Bathed in nearly year-round sunshine and paved with nary a bend, the journey proves satisfying to even the most nervous of drivers.
The southern terminus of Joshua Tree National Park abuts the freeway and offers the naturalist a more meditative milieu than the 350 miles of rubberized asphalt that appears on maps to underline it. Just north of the park is another sleepy town of nondescript, and thus eminently American, character: that of Twentynine Palms.
With a growing population currently estimated around 25,000, inclusive of the Marines stationed there, it's not difficult to understand why the town's name derives not from a tally of local denizens, but instead from a tally of palm trees that (perhaps) naturally occur and were spotted by a Col. Henry Washington (if that's not a classic American name, I don't know what is) in 1852 as he surveyed the area for the military.
Twentynine Palms exists in an elevated desert climate, with lots of sunshine, hot summer days, and cool winter nights. In an ironic-to-me twist, I first learned about this slice of American apple pie not from that other American standby, i.e. my television, but instead from a Brit. A very famous Brit indeed. Robert Plant, best known as the lead singer of Led Zeppelin, released the aptly titled, "29 Palms" off of his sixth post-Zep solo album, 1993's Fate of Nations.
If you're at all familiar with Led Zeppelin's catalog, you could be forgiven for not recognizing the pop sensibility of Plant's solo releases. In those, he eschewed the complex, distortion-driven, straight-ahead rock sound Led Zeppelin perfected in the 70's in favor of a more introspective, nuanced, and if we're being honest, radio-friendly pop sound.
The song in question is a clever retelling of two star-crossed lovers whose love started with a spark and ended just as quickly (stop me if you've heard such a song before). What makes the song interesting to me, besides the beautiful, yet simple musicality of the piece, is that the two protagonists, Plant, autobiographically, and crooner Alannah Myles, are themselves famous musicians who had previously toured together through the southwest.. How a Baggie and a southern belle found themselves together in a dusty, southwestern American town highlights the sort of cultural intersections which rock 'n roll has enabled over the past 60 years. Whether through the mixing of blues with country, guitars with jazz instrumentation, or blacks with whites, rock 'n roll has covertly broken down barriers and made beautiful concoctions from a host of seemingly disparate ingredients.
When we hear Plant open the song with, "A fool in love, a crazy situation. Her velvet glove knocks me down and down and down," we're instantly clued in to whom Plant is referring; i.e. Myles and her critically acclaimed smash, 1989's "Black Velvet". By referencing a fellow rock star so early in the song, Plant starts off with a bang. But while starting off with a bang in any pursuit, romantic or otherwise, can be exhilarating, it also portends that it could be all downhill from here. And so it is, as Plant foreshadows, "Her kiss of fire, a loaded invitation." Uh oh.
The rest of the first verse (yes, all of those changing fortunes happen in one half of one verse!) as well as the entire second describe the thrill of his attraction to her. But then comes the payoff. The refrain is at once heartbreaking for anyone who's ever loved and lost, as well as heartwarming as he remembers the good, albeit brief, experiences with her on the road:
It comes kinda hard when I hear your voice on the radio
Taking me back down the road that leads back to you
29 Palms, I feel the heat of your desert heart
Taking me back down the road that leads back to you
The confluence here of person (Myles), place (Twentynine Palms), and time (the past) paints a beautiful, yet somber, picture of the reminiscence of joy and the crushing blow of loss ("it comes kinda hard," after all). Plant's competing sense of joy and loss are triggered by her "voice on the radio," (i.e. "Black Velvet"), forcing him to remember their time together touring through Twentynine Palms. Who among us cannot relate to the sounds (and sights and smells) of happy memories? They are at once joyful in having come to us, yet sorrowful in having left us.
Romantic relationships, in particular, have tentacles that do not quickly unhook after a formal parting. The breakup cliche, "you'll always be a part of me," has some truth to it according to Plant. Perhaps Twentynine Palms is his attempt at detaching the final vestiges of his former relationship with Myles. Or perhaps it serves as a memorial to past joys. Or perhaps it's just a catchy pop tune. In any case, it's a gem.
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