Ray Davies: The Lonely Kink
Outside the restaurant, wind and rain pelt a village green in the Highgate neighborhood of London. inside the restaurant, Ray Davies contemplates his career since the Kinks dissolved in 1996.
“I’ve realized how difficult it is to be on your own after being in a group for so long,” says Davies, who led the Kinks for thirty-two years. “I want to feel I’m in a band, but I’m not. That’s the biggest problem I’ve had in recent years.”
This is quite a statement, given what Davies went through in 2004, when he was shot by a mugger in New Orleans. The injuries were much worse than reported at the time, and Davies still hasn’t fully recovered. But in the four years since then, Davies has kept busy. He’s recorded two albums of original music partially culled from his experiences in Louisiana, 2006’s pessimistic and prophetic Other People’s Lives and the feisty new Working Man’s Café. He was also named a Commander of the British Empire, even though he doesn’t like empires at all. But through it all he missed his fellow Kinks.
“Getting shot is easy compared to creating an identity for yourself as a solo artist,” Davies says, picking at his baked avocado, which is oozing grease and smelling bad. He’s speaking like a depressed person. Minimal volume. Minimal affect. “I don’t want to treat musicians like hired help. I encourage a collaborative spirit. We had that in the Kinks, although my brother, Dave, will say otherwise.”
And that, of course, is the problem.
If sibling placement theory is to be believed, the happiest and most secure of all humans is a youngest male with all older sisters. And that is the family Raymond Douglas Davies was born into on June 21st, 1944, in the working-class neighborhood of Muswell Hill in North London. He had six older sisters to look after his every need. He had a good deal then, with all those girls to carry him around and play records for him. Then on February 3rd, 1947, Annie (at age 45) and Fred Davies had another son, Dave, and Ray’s Garden of Eden became a turf war. The two brothers were fated to compete and collaborate for the rest of their lives.
“That’s the back story of my life even now,” says Kinks lead guitarist Dave Davies, in a quavering Cockney accent. “My family was great, I felt loved and was encouraged to pursue music. Things only got psychotic when Ray and I started to have hit records. We were adolescents, and we had to finish growing up around some nasty people in one of the nastiest businesses in the world.”
The brothers even debate the Kinks’ greatest contribution to rock & roll: a guitar that sounded mean. According to Ray, Dave had the idea of sticking a knitting needle through the speaker of their tiny green ten-watt Elpico amplifier to create more guitar distortion. According to Dave, Dave had the idea of slicing the speaker of their ten-watt Elpico with a razor blade.
“The only person who was there when I did it was me, so who would know better?” says Dave. “I just wanted to torture my amplifier. It kept giving me the same sound. I wouldn’t have minded if it had died on the spot, but instead it had that great raunchy sound that I loved.”
Knitting needle or razor blade, the idea that more distortion could be desirable on a guitar was quite revolutionary at the time, and when Dave took a simple blues-piano riff written by Ray and turned it into snarling bar chords, they knew they had something new under the sun. The electrified crowds at their shows knew it too. Pye Records didn’t know it, and Ray had to insist that they be allowed to record it and then record it again to capture the snarl properly. The resulting single, “You Really Got Me,” by the Kinks, became a hit in 1964 and still sounds stunningly vital to this day. A sinister, relentless declaration of lust, it was also the birth of the power chord, thus inspiring both metal and punk. It even launched the second phase of metal when Van Halen covered it in 1978. It’s hard to think of a more influential song.
“To me, one of the tests of a great song is if you can play it on an acoustic guitar,” says Chris Collingwood of Fountains of Wayne. “When I was trying to figure out songwriting, that’s what I discovered in the Kinks. Ray wrote tunes that were almost campfire songs, and those are the hardest to write. Ray could write songs and leave them simple. Or he could make songs loud and trashy but remain pop underneath. Any time you hear a band like Nirvana playing a loud, trashy pop song, that’s the influence of the Kinks. Even the Beatles didn’t do that.”
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