Thunder? Thun-Thun-Thunder?
Why Does this Song Exist and Why Did it Take Seven People to Write it?
Last week we had our first thunderstorm of the season. The family dog, Ouzo, does not like thunder. Ouzo is by no means alone in this regard, at least among dogs, but as a Maltese he is cursed by Nature to be a little white wound-up bundle of furry anxiety even on a quiet sunny afternoon. Loud booming noises outside, especially at night, leave him literally convulsing in fear.
At first, it’s kind of funny, then it’s heartbreaking, then — okay, enough. I once called the cops on New Year’s Eve because people wouldn’t stop shooting off fireworks in the park across the street. Ouzo didn’t understand why we were so calm in the face of what was clearly an armed conflict taking place right outside our house. Yes, you heard correctly. I actually called the police. On New Year’s Eve. Because of noise. The Fourth of July for Ouzo is what The Purge is for humans, the one night each year you spend shaking in the closet waiting for the sun to rise.
Anyway, Ouzo was trembling during the storm, and I was trying to console him. He was, alas, inconsolable. It was late and I was willing to try anything, and I know (think?) Ouzo appreciates music, so I started to sing to him, to distract his aural attention. It was late and I was tired, and because my imagination reserves were therefore limited, the first song that arrived at my lips was about thunder.
Thunder, feel the thunder. Lightning then the thunder.
Yes, this was the song that my brain delivered to me at that moment. “Thunder,” by the American rock-pop group known as Imagine Dragons. I am only vaguely familiar with this band, but I am aware enough to know that my grievances here are likely years beyond their expiration date. I realize that many people turn up their noses at the mere mention of this band, which seems to fly in the face of the 100 jillion albums they have sold. (Somebody bought those albums. Was it you?) I do have a distinct memory of the first time I heard them, which was on the Dick Clark New Year’s Eve broadcast some years ago. (New Year’s Eve television performances, surely the last refuge of the scoundrel.) The band performed the aforementioned “Thunder” song, and the reason I made note of them at the time was due to the fact that, in addition to the conventional drum set, they also used an additional singular drum at the front of the stage, which the lead singer would use to accentuate the many “thunder” references so generously provided by the song.
Thunder, feel the thunder
[Boom Boom Boom]
Lightning then the thunder.
When I was singing to Ouzo, I didn’t remember many of the lyrics, but I was pretty sure I had captured 95% of the song merely by accurately recalling the above refrain. I kept repeating it over and over.
Eventually, the storm passed. Ouzo’s body stopped convulsing. He fell asleep, still breathing, which I always regard as a minor miracle. At this point, I decided to turn in as well.
Later that night, I woke up in a cold sweat. I was jittery. The neurons were firing in my brain and I couldn’t fall back sleep. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that cup of coffee after five p.m. The song was still playing in my head, the lyrics doing violence to both my cerebrum and cerebellum.
Thunder, feel the thunder [Boom Boom Boom] Lightning then the thunder.
I suspected this was some form of burgeoning mental illness. While Ouzo was earlier tormented by thunder, Ouzo’s owner was now tormented by “Thunder.”
I was tossing and turning. Things about the song were steadily revealed to me as if in a fever dream. Like the use of the sampled voice repeating the word “thunder” over and over again, which was clearly being played back on a keyboard. I thought back to the time in my youth when my brother and I used to have a miniature keyboard, the CASIO SK-1, which, in addition to its tiny 32 keys and a killer synth brass sound, also had a sampling function. We used to record us saying words and then play them LOWWW and then play them high. Words about bodily functions were particularly funny. As were farts.
But why use a voice sampling function if not in the service of comedy? Why was it being used here to elicit non-humorous thoughts, especially, of all things, the sublimity of thunder? Why replay the words on the keyboard in such a way as to seem like you’re asking a question? “Thunder? Thun-thun-thunder?” Thunder doesn’t ask. Thunder tells.
I tossed and turned some more.
Lightning, then the thunder.
Another revelation struck, each becoming more absurd than the last. Most people say thunder and lightning – in that order – but did you notice what these guys did? They flipped it around. Lightning THEN the thunder. The old switcheroo.
Sure, it could be a metaphor for one’s dreams preceding the realization of those dreams — hence “(never give up on your dreams),” which is technically the last lyric of the song, delivered in (parenthesis) — but it could also be that the guys in the band were such meteorological purists that they insisted on educating their listeners that light travels faster than sound and therefore you see the lightning before you hear the thunder?
One must wonder which one of the seven credited songwriters came up with that idea, that of flipping linguistic convention on its ear.
Peanut butter, taste the peanut butter
[Boom Boom Boom]
Jelly then the peanut butter
I don’t recall specifically whether Dick Clark was still alive and hosting during that fateful New Year’s performance. If so, was this was the song that finally killed him?
To be clear, I’m just telling you what was going on in my head in the middle of the night in a state of semi-delirium. I’m not railing against the band or the song and will be the first to admit that any song that has the power to repeat on a loop in one’s head a thousand times has the foundations of a decent pop record. Credit where credit is due. The devil himself would no doubt have been proud to deliver such a catchy tune.
Also, sure, “Thunder” might be a dumb song, but there’s nothing inherently wrong with a dumb pop-rock song. Van Halen’s “Jump” is as dumb as they come (“Might as well jump. Go ’head and jump.”), but it doesn’t mean it can’t be great. A kick-ass riff can wash away all other musical sins.
Speaking of kick-ass riffs, this does bring us to the last of my fever dream torments, which is perhaps the infraction that is closest to being unforgivable in my mind. While I was unable to sleep, my brain started to alternate between the song at hand and a different song altogether. A better song. A song that is similarly a bottom-heavy tribute to the weather phenomenon known as thunder, except this one has a kick-ass riff, and is objectively awesome.
That song is “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC.
This 1990 masterpiece features one of the all-time classic opening guitar riffs, unsettling at first, building to a frenzied, sustained opus intended to enflame and incite. Like “Thunder” it repeats the word “thunder” a bunch of times, always accented by the drum, and its lyrics don’t have much to add (“We went through Texas, yeah Texas, and we had some fun.”), but again, who cares? “Thunderstruck” knows exactly what it is, and it works – in fact, it works so well that 35 years later it’s hard to find a more effective song for the purpose of rousing a group of people. On the flip side, if you were on the short end of an invading horde, the worst song you would want to hear blaring from the enemy’s loudspeakers would probably be “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC.
I am more than happy to overlook the faults of Imagine Dragons’ “Thunder” and to accept it for what it is. But it does beg the question: in a world where there already exists “Thunderstruck,” why did we need “Thunder?” Really, what’s the point? Was the world clamoring for another rock anthem about thunder, except in this case one that was demonstrably inferior to its predecessor in all respects?
One can only surmise what madness went on in the studio the day “Thunder” was conceived:
Let’s do a song about thunder, you know, like we’re gonna bring the thunder and such.
Like that AC/DC song.
Exactly.
Okay, let’s do it.
(To the lead guitarist) Can you come up with a sick guitar riff like in that song?
Probably not.
Okay, no problem. Can anyone here say the word “thunder?”
[Only one band members raises his hand.]
Great. We’ll just record you saying “thunder” then re-play it on the keyboard. It’ll sound like someone singing. Trust me. It’ll be just as cool.
What if we sang about thunder AND lightning, you know, so people don’t think we’re copying AC/DC?
Great idea.
How’s this, and if this sounds completely insane, say so, but, what if we say lightning THEN the thunder, you know, to flip it?
We don’t understand.
I mean, instead of saying thunder and lighting, we say lightning then thunder?
[Beat]
The old switcheroo.
[Seven heads nod in agreement.]
In 2009, U.S. intelligence agencies devised and initiated a cyberattack intended to cripple Iran’s nuclear program. The malware was devastating and set the regime’s program back years, but the coolest part of the operation was the added taunt. During the viral attack, all the scientists’ computers locked up and started to simultaneously play the same song — at full volume. That song was “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC.
Of course it was. Because the CIA – and AC/DC – knew what the fine men from Imagine Dragons apparently do not. Thunder doesn’t ask. Thunder tells.
Poor little Ouzo. At least his hidey-hole looks comfy and secure. In keeping with your theme, he might like a "thunder shirt" to wear during storms. It's an actual product. I hear that scaredy-dogs find them comforting.
Poor Ouzo