![]() There's the Kinks' "Starstruck," the Rolling Stones' "Starfucker." More important for me, from the ladies' perspective, we've got Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly" and Norah Jones' "I've Got to See You Again." Let's face it - if it wasn't for us chicks lusting after those guys with the guitars, there would be no rock and roll. Why else do men pick up guitars if not to score with the ladies? So it's about time that we stage-door adorers get our fair share of credit. Sure, rock music is full of groupie songs. "Loneliness is such a sad affair" - that's the heart of this song. Why laugh at this girl, when she still believes with all her wretched heart that the rock star will come back? Isn't her intense belief in him grander than irony or satire? And the palpable pain of her loneliness and neediness - well, trust Karen Carpenter to go for it without judgement or reservation. But she can't see that she can only repeat, almost feverishly, "Baby, baby, baby baby, oh baby." And then, abruptly, the wall of sound telescopes into a rare acoustic simplicity for the last line: "I love you, / I really do." There's such a world of difference between his careless "I love you" and hers. "Said you'd be coming back this way again, maybe." Note that "maybe" - it's way more than just a convenient rhyme for "baby." It's his standard line, what he says to all the girls. "Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby?" she pleads in the jangly chorus. "Your guitar," she wails, plangently in the second verse, "It sounds so sweet and clear." We're right there with her, grooving on that riff - only to learn that "But you're not really here / It's just the radio." The line between fantasy and reality is blurry, and getting blurrier all the time. Bring on the harp glissandos, the lush strings, the Bacharach-ish horn section, the breathy backing chorus. ![]() That throw-caution-to-the-winds passion in Karen Carpenter's voice is truly a thing of beauty and a joy forever. What the hit version lost in irony and satire, it gained in soul-shivering sumptuousness. In fact, when this song was written by Bonnie Bramlett (of Delaney and Bonnie and Friends) and Leon Russell, the title was a lot more obvious: "Groupie (Superstar)." Not many people know their version, or even the Joe Cocker cover from Mad Dogs and Englishmen, sung by a young Rita Coolidge, But once Karen and Richard got their hands on it. I was sure that the girl singing had really had a meaningful affair with the rock star, and that it would be only a matter of time before he came back to town to resume their relationship. I have to say, I didn't read it this way in 1971 when this track was all over the airwaves.
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