Most composers incorporate transitional bridges into the structure of their tunes. These short sections, commonly called the “middle eight,” distract us from the main theme long enough to create a sense of anticipation so the melody can reestablish itself with a bang. It’s an essential element of Songwriting 101. Of course, some next-level artists vibrate to their own frequencies, damn the consequences. “Jungleland” and scores of other songs by Bruce Springsteen adhere to no preconceived notions, nor did folk ballads by Joni Mitchell and many other artists who consider themselves jazzy. In “The Crunge,” on Houses of the Holy, Led Zeppelin included the spoken aside “Where’s that confounded bridge?” in a blatant acknowledgment that the riff didn’t attempt to build tension by veering off course or try to modify its stubborn funky groove.
Which brings us to Pete Townshend. Actually, this week’s installment of the SOTW should properly be called the “Song Section of the Week,” but it’s fun to mix things up a bit. More importantly, when it comes to this topic—like every other pop music analysis—the Beatles reign. I could spend hours—days— dissecting the Fab Four’s sublime shifts from major into minor keys, the innovative way they stretched the middle eight, and the mold-busting means they used to incinerate the playbook and create a dynasty of unprecedented creativity. The colors, tones, textures and shapes, unpredictable dynamics, and emotional range in their bridges—as well as verses, choruses, intros, and outros—place the Beatles at the top of the musical Everest, where they will rule until the end of time—and after.
But they don’t stand alone in the rarified air. I’ve always appreciated the visceral subtlety Pete Townshend brought to the Who. So here’s a list of my Favorite Five Bridges of Pete Townshend:
- The second song on Who’s Next, “Bargain,” opens with a Keith Moon drum fill followed by Roger Daltrey’s confession that he’d “gladly lose me to find you.” But it’s the tender bridge that reveals Townshend’s distinctive intimacy, when Pete takes over to sing, “I know I’m worth nothing without you.” After its climax, the snare snaps, the percussion picks up the pace, and we return to the sweet whirring melody.
- The last track on side one of Who’s Next, “This Song Is Over,” withstands the test of time as a triumphant rock and roll symphony. Yet it’s the quiet middle part that sucks the listener into its emotional vortex. Again it’s not sung by Daltrey but Pete. “She was the first song I ever sang. But it stopped as soon as it began.” If I wasn’t already going to cry, this would’ve sent me to the Kleenex.
- Yes, Who’s Next again, but it would be sinful to omit “Going Mobile,” sung in its entirety by Townshend. A vulnerability accompanies the breakdown when Pete wails, “When I’m driving free, the world’s my home.” Traffic-challenged citizens of our fair city like me, who fancy the rush of the open road, certainly relate.
- “The Real Me,” the first track on Quadrophenia after the overture (“I Am the Sea”), foretells the despair about to be symbolized in the rain and beach. The verses give us insight into the psyche of the protagonist, Jimmy, while the choruses display his heartache and search for identity, but it’s the bridge where we feel the anguish: “The cracks between the paving stones, like rivers of flowing veins.” To Jimmy, even the streets bleed.
- “Love, Reign o’er Me” serves as Quadrophenia’s crescendo, but its fury and passion pause momentarily in the soft passage where Jimmy realizes that “I need to get back home to cool, cool rain.”
There are many others too. For example, I could add “The Seeker,” “Slip Kid,” and “Pure and Easy.”
Which bridges by which artists penetrated the surface of the choruses and verses for you?