The ploy worked - “Dock” topped the Billboard Hot 100 in March of ’68, the singer’s first visit even to the chart’s top 20. The song was unmixed at the time of his death Atlantic Records demanded that Cropper finish it within days to capitalize on the attention surrounding Redding’s demise - which he did, getting the record out to radio DJs by the end of the year. Of course, “Dock of the Bay” essentially ended up as Redding’s closing statement, due to the plane crash that tragically claimed his life in December of ’67, a month before the song’s release. Otis Redding Makes Record-Setting Return to Charts After 41 Years And as one of the catchiest wordless hooks in the history of recorded music, its early fade out practically taunts you to put the record on again, for another 2:42 of wasted time at the dock of the ‘Frisco Bay. The song was infinitely better off for it, though - it’s the only conclusion “Dock of the Bay” could have reached, one that offers no resolution but a sense of continuation, a debate to be settled another day, or not. Initially, Redding intended the song to feature a sort of rapped ad-lib, but forgot the words he intended to sing and just whistled instead, possibly intending it as a placeholder to be returned to later. The famous whistling outro essentially calls it a draw. The verses and chorus practically stage a war between singer and song, whether its lasting impression when finished will be one of miserable angst or supreme chill. Not that it plays anything like that over its sweetly swaying groove, which lends a sort of lazy nobility to the “Sittin’ on the dock of the bay/ Wasting time” refrain, Otis’ desperation barely breaking through the determinedly placid production. That might even be the optimistic way of interpreting the lyric, which when read out of context comes off nearly like the pop equivalent to No Exit, a bitter resignation to an eternity of monotony, without potential for escape. Given all this, it’s hard not to read the song’s climactic bridge - “Looks like nothing’s gonna change/ Everything still remains the same/ I can’t do what ten people tell me to do/ So I guess I’ll remain the same!” as a glum lament over the lack of support he received while attempting to evolve his sound. “It’s time for my to change in my music,” he insisted in response. A recent Rolling Stone history on “Dock” reports that not only were Walden and Stax co-founder Jim Stewart wary of Otis’ new direction, but his own wife, Zelma Redding, was left unimpressed: “Oh, God, you are changing,” she told him in dismay. Indeed, the song could be read as Otis venting his frustration at folks like his manager telling him to stay in his R&B lane, and curtail his Fab Four-sized ambitions. And “pop” the song certainly was - but it was also possibly Redding’s richest composition to date, a mix of blissful Stax stillness and profound existential anxiety that showed a complex level of contemplative soul previously unexplored on the pop charts. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band to add newfound detail and depth to the lyrics and production of his music, and he started writing “Dock,” appropriately enough, while on the houseboat of famed rock promoter Bill Graham.īecause of its laconic vibe, accessible melody and whistling outro - which Redding didn’t originally intend to keep - manager Phil Walden worried the song would be seen as “too pop” for his artist, who’d made his name largely on fiery, horn-led stomps and frenzied vocal performances. He was inspired by The Beatles’ recently released Sgt. 8), was co-written by Redding and M.G.’s guitarist Steve Cropper as the soul legend was looking to expand his audience to the pop and rock worlds, a crossover he’d begun in earnest with his incendiary performance at the Monterey Pop Festival in the summer of 1967. “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” which was released as a single 50 years ago this Monday (Jan.
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