Otis Redding was at the peak of his career before his tragic death in 1967. After seeing the song he co-wrote with Arthur Conley, Sweet Soul Music, chart at no. 2 and making history at Monterey Pop, he took to a houseboat in San Francisco Bay where the inspiration for his last and greatest track came to him. We all know the iconic song ‘(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay’ but often it is easy to let the sheer pleasantness of its sound wash over and to disregard the lyrics. Here I want to consider some of those lyrics and the meanings of the song in general – although don’t just take my word for it.
Following its release in 1968, the track was showered with awards. Accolades include two Grammys, a placing in Rolling Stone’s 500 greatest songs of all time, and the title of ‘6th most performed song of the 20th century’ from BMI. But these don’t capture the track’s special concoction of emotion and ease. Neither do they relay the message Redding was getting at.
The song’s content carries a weight seemingly beyond Redding’s 26 years of life at the time of recording. Lyrically it speaks of a man more experienced of the world and more tired of it than the 26-year-old Redding surely had any right to be. The sonic perfection distracts from this side of the lyrics too, as do the song’s short (although average) running time. Sweet guitar melodies, rising horns and effervescent wave-sounds in the background help Redding shrug off, sonically at least, the loneliness that he laments will not leave him alone. But beyond the poignant and retrospective subtext – the fact of his tragic death looming overall – it is a song about enjoying life despite all the painful freight that comes with it.
‘(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay’ will always be a timeless song because it is so relatable. In itself listening to the track reproduces the emotions contained within it. But it is most suitable for times of solitude and reflection. Ironically juxtaposing the calming melody, the anguish is almost tangible as Redding’s pitch heightens at the song’s emotional pinnacle. He deplores how “I can’t do what ten people tell me to do” then reconciles this, deciding to “remain the same, listen / Sittin’ here resting my bones”. It’s not about seizing the moment or distorting your psyche then. There’s nothing convoluted, Redding is singing about taking it easy and wasting time, actions which in our own lives can sometimes be the clearest paths forward but also the most sickening.
This ease also makes this song Redding’s most accessible track. Try letting its sonic waves wash over you before taking the plunge, that all to cliched ‘deep dive’, into his headier tracks. The classic ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ or the slow burn of ‘Cigarettes and Coffee’ are the kind of tonics that only the best songwriters are capable of mixing.
Of course, retrospectively, with knowledge of his tragic death, all of Redding’s songs make for more heartrending listens. For some listeners, this might grant them an authenticity they might not otherwise have had, and I cannot deny my own free-labeling of romance and meaningfulness to them in full knowledge of Redding’s death. But what cannot be addled with is the sheer appreciation for life that they exhibit in their sounds and inhibit in their listeners.
Redding painted life with its imperfections first in his lyrics. For it is where there is chaos and ugliness that true beauty in life can be found. At his most feverish we feel the yearning, fresh and lusty in ‘I’ve Got Dreams to Remember’ and ‘Pain in My Heart’. But these dazes are brief. And Redding’s real brilliance is at its peak in ‘Dock of the Bay’ which is a song of comparatively less effort or funky appeal.
Now at the 55th year since his death and the 54th since the posthumous release of the album The Dock of the Bay, the song’s ubiquity has become such that, as for so many artists with hit songs, many of Redding’s other works are hidden by its shadow. That only does justice to how good the song is though, and anyone who does venture into his earlier discography will be well-rewarded. For now though, whilst my current coursework-grindstone beckons me, I can take some solace in the escapism afforded by Otis Redding’s time in San Francisco Bay.
Words by Niall Hawkins
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