the first round
(6) the carpenters, “top of the world”
beheaded
(11) duran duran, “union of the snake”
131-106
and play on in the second round

Read the essays, watch the videos (if available), listen to the songs, feel free to argue, tweet at us, and consider. Then vote. Winner is the aggregate of the poll below and the @marchxness twitter poll. Polls closed @ 9am Arizona time on March 3.

jennifer epstein on “top of the world”

I’m 11 years old, standing on a set of risers and trying hard not to sing. The opening notes of “Top of the World” play from the music teacher’s tape deck. I’ve signed up for sixth grade chorus to avoid daily P.E., and the mortification of singing (very very quietly, because by sixth grade, one knows one’s strengths, and singing was not mine) on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays is preferable to the mortification of dressing in a green and white P.E. uniform and attempting various sports on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
We are rehearsing a medley of songs by The Carpenters, not because it’s current music—Karen Carpenter had died five years earlier and the band ended with her—but because this is South Middle School, in Downey. Karen attended this school, and Richard and his parents still live across town. Less than two miles up the road are the Close to You and Only Just Begun apartment buildings. This is Carpenters country.

Some of the more established Downey families had members who went to school with Karen and Richard. One friend’s mother, whose name also was Karen, grew up with Karen Carpenter. She told me about what a beautiful voice she had, even in high school. 
The middle school medley features the group’s more upbeat hits—“Top of the World” and “Close to You” and, in a nice bit of meta-programming aimed at the folks—“Yesterday Once More.” At the performance, we rock gently from side to side, an off-key group of sports-averse pre-teens made slightly less off-key by my silent rendition of the songs. We embody the wholesome image of Downey that The Carpenters created, a nonthreatening, swaying mass of blank happiness, a pleasure to behold.

In “Up From Downey,” a 1974 cover story for Rolling Stone, author Tim Nolan refers to Downey as a “low-lying, bland suburb near L.A. International Airport.” Never mind that Downey is considerably nearer to Hollywood than the airport, that Beverly Hills is much closer to LAX than Downey is. Or that Beverly Hills is bland, too. Nolan isn’t writing about Downey’s literal geography, but the jab is a reminder that the city is invisible, even in Southern California. Downey is a working class city. The wonder isn’t that the Carpenters came from here; it’s that they stayed. 
Throughout their career, Karen and Richard were The Carpenters, from Downey. And I am from Downey, home of The Carpenters. I have said that phrase hundreds of times throughout my life. I said it again, when explaining where I was from to a co-worker, just the other day. 
Downey isn’t known for much else. My hometown is home to the oldest McDonald’s, which has been disowned by the Krocs (but that’s another essay). In the heyday of the aerospace industry, Downey-based Rockwell built the Challenger (same). And given our proximity to Hollywood, we’ve been on film a time or two: we’ve had bit parts in Mad Men, The X-Files, Falcon Crest, Big Love, a Madonna video, more things. We play indistinct towns that could be anywhere in the U.S. Before the 105 freeway opened, we played ourselves in Speed. 
But back to the music of my sixth grade chorus class. Was it good? This is a question I never considered before Badness approached. I invite you to think back to the home a beloved relative, a grandparent maybe, lived in when you were a child. How was their wallpaper; was it ugly? Were your grandmother’s shoes in good taste? In Downey, The Carpenters were just a fact of life, the musical wallpaper of our city, and we didn’t spare a moment to think critically about them. 
Until 1994, that is. That’s when, through some combination of nostalgia and irony, 14 alternative rockers recorded a Carpenters tribute album, If I Were a Carpenter. I had just entered my senior year at Downey High School (Richard, ‘64, Karen, ‘67). We were deep into the alternative music scene by then, making pilgrimages to Sunset Boulevard all-ages clubs as much as parents would allow, loitering at Middle Earth Records (an impossibly cool shop for Downey, filled with obscure punk 7-inches and a wall of bootlegged tapes), our school uniforms black dresses and thrifted old-man cardigans. 

When the record came out, we were all-consumed by it. We already knew most of the songs, or thought we had. But here they were, completely reimagined—it was your grandmother’s wallpaper in a design magazine. And it was good.
I especially love Shonen Knife’s cover of “Top of the World.” Where The Carpenters’ version is sedate, Shonen Knife infused the song with vigor, joy, and jangly guitars. I asked Naoko Yamano, singer/guitarist/founding member of Shonen Knife, what she thought of the original version of “Top of the World.” 
“When I was an elementary school student, my friends and I visited our teacher’s house for a party. It was in 1972 and a girl said “The Carpenters are in Japan and their concert is playing on TV now. Let’s watch it!,” Naoko wrote in an email. “Everybody except me loved to watch… The Carpenters were textbook-like for me. Actually their song “Sing” was in our music textbook at school.”
It wasn’t until being approached for the project that she reconsidered the band. “After I covered their song,” she wrote, “I [started] to notice how they are great. The original recording of “Top of the World” is perfect! Karen’s vocal is Godlike.”
I listened to “Top of the World” more times over the past month than I had since sixth grade. And Naoko was right; her voice is otherworldly. The lyrics are not great, but how many early 70s soft-rock songs have great lyrics? (The answer: one.) 
Shonen Knife’s arrangement of “Top of the World” roughs up the soft edges, exaggerating elements of the song (like that quarter rest in the chorus), effectively magnifying what is good about the original. And there’s that fantastically catchy opening riff, which I recently learned is the Osaka train melody. 
“I quote it in our song because I wanted many people in the world to know about my hometown Osaka through my music,” Naoko said. 
They are Shonen Knife, from Osaka.

I told Naoko that Downey is my hometown and she graciously replied that she’d like to see it someday. I grew up in this area and now live just a few miles away, in Long Beach (home of the Carpenters Performing Arts Center at Cal State Long Beach, which Richard and Karen attended), and I would recommend a hundred other tourist spots before ever directing her to visit Downey. 
But you know who did visit Downey, if only for long enough to record the video for “Superstar?” Sonic Youth. And what a thrill it was, to wait stay up late, TV volume turned low, waiting for 120 Minutes to air that video. What a thrill it is to watch it, even today. 
It’s a cliche, but back in 1994, when we were on the cusp of adulthood but our own world still felt so small, by listening to the album, we felt seen. Our idols, they were Carpenters fans, too. 

Jennifer Rice Epstein was born and raised in Downey, Calif. She’s published nonfiction and essays in dozens of magazines, including LA Weekly, Los Angeles magazine, Flaunt and Paste. She now lives in Long Beach with her husband, kids, and assorted pets.

stephanie burt on “union of the snake”

Hey, Simon.
Rog?
You’re stepping on my toe.
Yah, I’m sorry. We’ve been shooting all day.
We’d better. If we’re gonna be the flagship band of the New Romantic British Invasion we’ve got to get the look just right. You know, the look.
I think you mean the Look.
Yah, that. The Look.
Like the Reflex.
That song’s about wanking, innit, John?
Like there’s anything wrong with wanking. How many posters did we sign in Denver?
Nothing wrong with that. America’s weird though.
You got that one right. Rog?
Simon?
You know that weird American flag with the snake cut into bits?
Saw it in Boston once. Why?
I had a dream where the snake got back together.
That can’t happen. Biology, man. Humpty Dumpty stuff. Even for snakes.
What if it happened?
Can’t happen, Simon. Where is this going?
You’ll see. What’s it called when a lot of things get together to form one thing?
A union. It’s a union. As in labor union. You know.
I know about unions. What, do you think I’m a Tory?
Lord no.
What if the snake on the flag got together and started a union? They could call it the Union of the Snake.
A herpetological labor movement.
Those are some big words, Rog.
Wait till you see what I can do with it.

*

(the next day)

OK, John, I’ve got our next number one hit here. The Union of the Snake.
Simon, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would snakes need a labor union?
Rog, you snitched. You said you would let me tell John.
You were gonna write a song about snakes. I got weirded out.
Are you callin me weird, Rog?
Not you, snakes. We’re the world’s most successful New Romantic band, having proven our deep appeal to our base of young, predominantly female fans primarily through the sexy, self-assured glamor of our innovative, feature-film-like videos. What makes you think our fans want to see snakes?
Maybe on a plane?
No.
It’s not really about snakes.
What did you write about then, Simon?
Just one snake. The Union of the Snake.
Like The Taming of the Shrew. Or The Hunting of the Snark.
Right. Exactly.
I knew this was a big mistake.
That’s it! That’s the missing line.
What?
We’ll put that into the first verse. “I knew this was a big mistake.”
Is it about sex then?
The union of the snake is on the climb. Draw your own conclusions, Rog.
I was hoping for a labor union anthem. You know, like that Billy guy.
Billy Bragg.
Him.
Nope. Hey, listen to this!
Makes me want to shake my hips. Or shake someone else’s hips.
Is that the middle eight?
Total yes, Rog! All the melody instruments drop out and it’s just, clickety clickety click blaaat with a trumpet. And then we start singing again.
Makes you want to do the union with your snake.
Not your own snake. That’s “The Reflex.” We already did that one.
Fair enough.

*

(the next day)

Oooh, that’s catchy.
Thank you. Those vocals, oooommf.
Inspiring. An anthem. Really lifts me up.
Me too. We’ve got this one. (shakes hips, lifts chin as if to address the heavens)
You know what? Duran Duran are actually a singing group. We can really sing.
That is correct.
Still gotta make those videos, Rog.
That’s true. Just don’t eat nightshades.
What do you think we are, snakes?
One snake. The union of the snake. Singular, John. One snake.
One snake. One union. Got it. Still sketchy, Simon. Still a little bit sketchy trying to get on US radio heavy rotation singing about a snake.
We’re gonna have to make the video real glam and sexy to compensate.
What do we do for the video then?
A guy with a kind of crested parrot iguana head climbs out of the shadows and preens in the sun in a vaguely Australian desert and there’s this hot androgynous girl dressed like an Upper East Side doorman with a zipper pull and we drive a truck there, and then we all go down in a really old elevator to rescue a kid from a bad guy. No, we rescue, like, six kids, all dressed like Luke Skywalker, and we’re in this dusty purple-red light, and everyone’s white for some reason, except for crested parrot iguana man, and then there’s this girl with her hair cut exactly like Simon’s but she’s in a checkboard sleeveless dress and she’s juggling—
What’s she juggling?
Doesn’t matter. White balls or something. Anyway that happens and you wear sunglasses indoors underground for some reason and then there’s this kind of chase through pirate ship riggings that also include HVAC tubes for some reason and there’s a girl with short dreads—hey, Simon?
Rog?
Is this a dream you had?
Why, yes, yes it was.
Simon?
Rog?
What if we made a feature film about really glam pirates? Like, really over the top, and the star was a white guy with dreads and mascara?
Never work. Let’s just make the video.
Got it. No snakes though.
Not even one?
Not one.

Stephanie Burt is Professor of English at Harvard and the author of several books of poetry and literary criticism, among them Don't Read Poetry (Basic, 2019) and Advice from the Lights (Graywolf, 2017), an NEA Big Read selection. Her collection of imitations and adaptations After Callimachus will be published by Princeton University Press in April 2020.