Schoolhouse Rock

Perhaps it's a byproduct of our generation's relentless obsession with the very recent past, but the nostalgia business has gotten pretty cheap lately. I don't meant to be overly critical-- as a general rule, anything dealing with the Star Wars trilogy or the loosely-defined genre we call "80s music" is legit (among other things). Yet it seems that twentysomethings' almost compulsive need to be reminded about what we used to be like has produced some pretty unremarkable offerings of late. As a result, we're told to buy products, supposedly celebrating our shared experiences and generational identity, that commemorate things that happened in this very decade ("The 'Living in the 90s' CD can be yours if you call now!"). This sort of ersatz nostalgia drives me up the wall. Can it really be that I've cultivated such a romanticized fondness for the songs of my youth (my "youth" being roughly five years ago, coinciding with the Billboard charts) that I need to preserve these memories immediately before time slips into the next millenium?

Lest this review degenerate into a scathing diatribe on some vague evil I can't really articulate, it's refreshing to note that there are things like the "Schoolhouse Rock" box set out on the market that are truly memorable and worth owning. This collection hits home precisely because it reproduces those Saturday morning songs that most of us can remember and with which most of us can identify. Not only is it legit from a temporal standpoint (these things first aired in the 70s, mind you); it's also a cultural phenomenon genuinely shared by millions of people our age. The songs helped us back in elementary school, and they stay with us even today. Although as a practical matter, I'd be willing to bet most of us don't need to know how a bill becomes a law.

Packaged in a sturdy sendup of a three-ring binder (with the liner notes actually three hole-punched), the four-CD set arranges the familiar titles into loose categories and assigns them to the appropriate disc: there's Multiplication Rock, Grammar Rock, America Rock, and Science Rock (the CDs can also be purchased individually at participating retail outlets). As the liner notes indicate, the "rock" label is probably a misnomer, as the bulk of the songs instead sport blues and jazz influences. Yet there's a special magic to a track that explains some divine piece of knowledge in around three minutes (these were TV spots, remember). All the original tunes are here: the ever-popular "I'm Just A Bill," "Conjunction Junction," and "The Preamble" to name a few. We're even treated to bonus tracks: the aborted "Money Rock" songs of the early 80s and the equally short-lived "Scooter Computer and Mr. Chips," as well as a couple of modern alterna-rock remakes off of the "Schoolhouse Rock Rocks!" compilation.

The aforementioned liner notes are a treasure trove not to be overlooked, providing a detailed history of how "Schoolhouse Rock" came to be and capsule biographies of the major players in its history. An example: songwriter Lynn Ahrens, who, in addition to having an unbelievingly cute voice perfectly suited for children's records, penned some of the best songs ever written for the series, including my personal favorite, "No More Kings." But I digress. To be sure, the main reason to get this set is for its considerable nostalgic value; however, the songs themselves are not musically insignificant. Many exude a catchy, pop sensibility that make them fun to listen to in their own right. Besides, it never hurts to know the Preamble to the Constitution.

If you remember the Saturday morning shorts from ABC, or if you caught the live show making its way around the country, or if you simply need an excuse to regress back to a time when long-division was as alien as the opposite sex, then go out and pick up this set. The price has come down considerably since its summer 1996 release, and believe me, it's worth every penny. These are truly memories worth preserving.