Game Theory
The Big Shot Chronicles

There are many things I cannot vouch for, but there is one thing I can guarantee: I do not forget. And among those who truly cannot be forgotten (the capitalization is far from merely a whim) is a Lord of Music named Scott Miller, who has not been with us since April 15th of this year. What saddens me the most is that I learned about it completely by chance, months later, while searching for information about what was supposed to be his second (or third, perhaps...?) artistic youth in a wonderful Career that was never adequately rewarded. Not even two weeks after blowing out his 53rd candle. The more I think about it, the worse I feel.

This page is not meant to be a commemoration, but a few words (only?) on a Character of such magnitude are the least I can do - within the limits of a page. Scott Miller was a Genius. One of the many Geniuses that the OTHER '80s, those of the new American alternative music, brought to prominence; yet unique, even among the exponents of a generation that brought Rock back to levels of ineffable splendor, and whose names include Steve Wynn, Guy Kyser, Dan Stuart, Sid Griffin, David Roback, Matt Piucci, Michael Quercio, Van Christian... more or less all united under a label that over the years we have learned to recognize and use, often - indeed, almost always - without considering its extreme conventionality: Paisley Underground. In that variety, let me say and the term is not random, KALEIDOSCOPIC of attitudes and sound influences, there was a common impulse to recover the sixties - from the jangle of the Byrds' patriarchs to the tribalism of the first garage to the most visionary psychedelia. Scott Miller's Game Theory embodied the power-pop soul of that California rediscovering its own spirit from twenty years earlier, now revitalized by post-punk and the urgency to express themselves by the twentysomethings of the first half of the decade.

A manifesto of the finest Pop craftsmanship, "game theory" was above all the theory of composing the ideal rock-song, condensed into 2/3 minutes of absolute perfection. Scott was the deus ex machina of this kind of compositional approach, which I could not summarize better than his own words; those of a famous declaration that forced me to ask myself many questions about the real boundaries of the human psyche: "I've got music playing in my mind all the time, the ideas come to me in a steady stream, and certainly not all of them are GOOD, as ideas… but when they come, I start to develop them and don't abandon them until they take the form of a song." Being also a great music critic allowed him to have an absolute awareness and mastery of his ideas, which he managed to materialize - turning them into sounds and words - with embarrassing ease. The way Game Theory, between '82 and '88, churned out material continuously and to ever-increasing qualitative growth, with absolute peaks in the '85/'87 triennium, reflects this creative explosion that Scott - Precocious Talent but fearsomely mature - managed to govern with the authority of a Master.

Even before the absolute masterpiece "Lolita Nation", "The Big Shot Chronicles" is the album that reveals Miller's greatness - who, it is worth remembering, found himself facing the disbandment of the band after "Real Nightime" and reforming it with a new four-piece lineup, in which Shelley LaFreniere's keyboard sound became as characterizing as the leader's guitar - halfway between dreamy acoustic pictures and overwhelming anthems of the most crystal-clear and sensational power-pop, with vocal structures and harmonic architectures that, to this day, no one in the genre has been able to match. Mind you, with the production of a certain Mitch Easter, not just anyone: someone who worked with R.E.M. for "Murmur", if you get what I mean. But compared to this 1986-dated work, "Murmur" - forgive me - cannot but appear to me as a beautiful watercolor in front of a mural of bewildering proportions.

My mind, a dilettante musician, was blown away upon hearing this jewel from the Enigma catalog: chord changes in abundance, arrangements that pull you along and make you reach the end in one breath, the pursuit of melodic perfection that is not just a search for a catchy refrain. "Erica's Word" is a monument to the Millerian philosophy: Extraordinary songs, like those that the luckiest might come up with once in their lifetime but that 90% of authors would never come up with at all, music that imprints itself in the memory and doesn’t fade away, a breathtakingly beautiful guitar solo. And what about an acoustic and superb "Regenisraen", as enveloping as the most accomplished of this world’s "Tangerine", leaving one stunned by the choral parts and key changes…? You can't even talk about Pop "craftsmanship" in these cases, rather high engineering. 

In a game with Music, especially when the match is with a Mind of such caliber, words would always lose anyway: and so yes, I admit my inability to render with words the beginning of "Here It Is Tomorrow", but the same goes for "Where You Going Northern", a house of cards patiently built from the base to the top, in a balance of melody and auteur rock (between Alex Chilton and Roger McGuinn) that is transcendent... "I've Tried Subtlety" reminds me of Tom Petty of the early Heartbreakers elevated to unattainable levels for the subject, while those "progressive" keyboards (listen closely to "Crash Into June") remind me of my beloved Last. The "noisy" guitars, in full Paisley/College spirit, cannot be missing and "Make Any Vows" reaffirms it, but there's also a more delicate psychedelia, close to the sweeter side of the Green On Red of "Gravity Talks" ("Too Closely"). It's just a selection of my favorite tracks, partial, of course, to let you discover with your own ears - in the unrepeatable moment of the first listen, if ever it is for anyone - all the greatness that a single review cannot encompass.

Scott Miller gave infinitely more than he received in return. He leaves almost in an unreal silence. But, as I said at the time for Kevin Ayers, at least to me, it will never be a goodbye.

Goodbye, eternal boy.