Learning to Love Olive Garden Pop

by Ben Marlin

When I talk about Olive Garden pop music, most people know what I mean. They remember restaurant visits where they felt like family; and they can picture the genre's greatest hits, like this one by Frank Sinatra:

"Hey, ring a ding ding, jocko!" ::sharp horn riff:: ::drum fill:: "Get a load of that broad!" ::more horns:: "Las Vegas, baby!" 

or this Dean Martin classic:

"Oh rigatoni, aglio e olio, Ronzoni fettuccine, Vatican City..." ::passionate mandolin strumming:: ::two dogs enjoy a romantic dinner and fall in love::

Okay, that's a little reductive. In a more expansive definition, Olive Garden pop consists of a handful of legendary crooners singing songs from the Great American Songbook. It's usually from the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s; but even today, there are singers like Harry Connick, Jr. and Michael Buble whose entire careers are homages to that genre of music. Additionally, dozens of rock and soul singers have expressed their love for the music by singing entire albums devoted to the Songbook. 

For generations raised on rock and roll, Olive Garden pop can be a hurdle. We're used to music filled with scraggly guitars, sharp melodies, immediate hooks, and hoarse, emotive vocals. As a result, it can be hard to wrap our heads around music that's slower, more mannered, and more subtle. 

However, as I've gotten older (seemingly faster than most people I know), I've found my tastes slowing down. Some of it is the inevitable lame-ing out that comes with age. But when one's tastes slow down, one can start to appreciate slower, softer sounds.....in other words, music that's more adult. 

Slowing down my brain has been a liberating experience. Instead of flailing around for a song's chorus like a junkie searching for a fix, I can allow it to build, appreciating the winding path towards the catchiest part. Rather than expecting a singer to EMOTE from the bottom of his or her small intestine, I can appreciate the way Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald caresses a particular phrase, or digs for the most nuanced way to express a word. I can enjoy arrangements by Nelson Riddle or Billy May, which aren't automatically more satisfying than rock riffs, but are often more complex and more rewarding of multiple listens. And while profound lyrics aren't necessary for rock music to be great - think "Tutti Frutti", or even "shining flying purple wolfhound" - it's gratifying to hear Cole Porter and Lorenz Hart strive for class and wit in their lyrics.

I've always enjoyed Olive Garden pop in context. But it's taken time for me to appreciate it without the scent of breadsticks wafting through the air, or unaccompanied by some disgruntled servers singing a Happy Birthday song that isn't "Happy Birthday". As with jazz, it's taken time to open my brain to music that's more about the journey than the destination. 

I've enjoyed the journey, though. It turns out that Frank Sinatra recorded at least two dozen classic albums during his never-ending pasta bowl of a career. Ella Fitzgerald left us a few hundred classic songs. Dean Martin sang about more than the moon hitting your eye like a big pizza pie. Who knew? 

Do I like Olive Garden pop as much as Elvis, or the Beatles, or Elvis? Not yet. Maybe my ears are still in the process of slowing down. Or maybe genteel beauty will never hit me quite the way power chords and passion do. But even after my leftover salad has been stuffed in my pockets and I'm leaving the restaurant, the music still rings in my ear, and I've come to enjoy it a whole lot. It's one aspect of growing older that I'm grateful for.