Cheer Up Sleepy Jean

Since they burst on to the cultural scene in 1966, the Monkees have weathered considerable flack for being little more than a studio concoction. Their most enduring pejorative nickname is the "pre-fab four," a nod to the fact they were our version of the Beatles.

But in the nearly four decades since, we've become quite inured to the "fab" part. Thanks to MTV and shows like American Idol, we expect - nay, we demand - packaging. We will accept no pre-fab artists. On a side note, we no longer feel deceived and rush to the Attorney General's office when performers lip sync.

But Davy Jones, the talented Monkees front man who died February 29 at age 66, was packaged when packaged wasn't cool - or overwrought; when back stage behavior, to use a term coined by the sociologist Erving Goffman, hadn't yet been transformed into another aspect of performance to be judged harshly by the likes of Simon Cowell. When you kept private the behaviors engaged in to improve your image (In my human communication class, I cite this line from Bruce Springsteen's hit Dancin' in the Dark: "I check my look in the mirror/want to change my clothes, my hair, my face").

But more important for our journey, Davy Jones rightfully achieved his fame for being good - not great, not outstanding, but good. Jones was good enough, which is just fine. Critics of pop star Katy Perry and of the prevalence of Auto-tune may disagree, but it seems less likely these days that a solid singer whose greatest gift is the ability to connect with an audience will carve out a career as lengthy as Jones'.

Such is life under the tyranny of perfection, artificially attained or otherwise.

Jones didn't have to sing Daydream Believer with a perfect vibrato and with mock earnestness that suggested he was trying to vanquish Paul McCartney. He didn't feel compelled to sing as though he was trying to find notes with a compass. There was little urgency, little tension, in episodes of The Monkees. No "inside baseball," no vying for the attention of the back of The Voice judges. The song was enough.

No, Jones, Micky Dolenz, Mike Nesmith (the one in the wool hat), and Peter Tork just came out and entertained - and really well, I might add (I'm a longtime fan). And unlike today's Idols, they made the most of the room to grow as musicians. Today's pre-fab stars have to hit the scene fully realized. Guess there's not a lot of room for the music industry equivalent of the late bloomer.

Let's all raise a glass to Davy Jones, a wonderful entertainer and a devoted husband and father - and a reminder of the time when pre-fab still had its innocence.