Enter Teslar.
For those who've never heard it, the Tornados' song Telstar is a loud piece of instrumental pop music that dates back to 1962. It was recorded in honor of theTelstar communications satellite, which was one of the first ever launched by a private company. Why they chose this largely innocuous (at least from a historical perspective) satellite for the title of their signature song, I can't say. But it did't stop the song from becoming a massive hit in the US and UK, where it hit number one on both countries' pop charts. The Tornadoes frontman, Joe Meek, was notorious for his nigh insanity in the recording booth, and the meticulous detail he put into producing his songs (most of which aren't good enough to be very memorable). To create the effect he was going for on Telstar, he employs a number of space agey sound effects and a keyboard instrument called a clavioline that gives the driving beat its celestial property. A steady surf-rock drum roll supports the tune, and Meek adds layers of echo and distortion on top of everything to reflect the scale of the final frontier. The various elements all come together to create a sound that's very futuristic in a 1950s, "Tomorrowland" sort of way.
Using nothing but it's own unique instrumentation, Meek tells a story with Telstar. It starts off with the sound of a rocket blasting off and follows it with a steady, driving drum beat. The clavionline rises along with the drums to transition from act 1, liftoff, to act 2. Act 2 is the breach of the atmosphere, and the clavioline leads the charge, forming the beat that makes up the bulk of the song. The distorted, surf rock guitar replaces it to create a sense of wonderment before the cycle repeats itself. The sounds all increase in volume for the third and final act, in which a vocalist jumps in to add echoing "ooh"s and "Aah"s. As the craft breaks into orbit, the sounds all rise into a crescendo of noise, building an excited, hopeful atmosphere that still manages to retain the rest of the song's awe factor. It finishes with a few rising notes and a fadeout, as if the craft is vanishing into the distance.
This record is the proof of the old saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. When I listen to Telstar, it means a great deal more to me than what it represents at face value. With it's lofty, floaty sound effects, there's a real sense of hope and excitement imbibed in this song. At the same time, the wailing clavionline and hint that the thing you're "watching" is disappearing also create an odd atmosphere of sadness. As much as an instrumental track can be "about" anything, this song (to me) is about the start of one journey and the end of another. It is at once a song of adventure and nostalgia.
Often, our impressions of a song reflect the circumstances in which we were introduced to it. Mad Men introduced me to this song. It was played at the end of an episode as the main character flew from New York to California, away from his family and uncertain whether he'd choose to return. I was, at the time, weeks away from my own college graduation: a period in my life which saw my breakup with my college girlfriend, several dramatic changes in my interpersonal relationships and a very intense uncertainty about what would come next for me. It is perhaps because of those particular circumstances that the song brings my life's turning points to mind. To me, this song is graduating college and moving from my hometown to go pursue my political career. It was leaving the company that had given me my first chance to become a real campaign manager. It reminds me of all those times that I left something I loved behind to start the next, exciting chapter of my life.
The greatest beauty of music is its ability to mean something unique to its listeners. To each individual who hears a song, it means something different that can't be duplicated between any two people. And to me, Telstar is a medley of hope, triumph, uncertainty and nostalgia that leaves pang in my heart every time I hear it.
