Pat DiNizio

The Smithereens are among the artists who have perfected the genre

Those who do know the band love it dearly, are well aware that the 1997 effort “God Save the Smithereens” is an absolute fully tenured classic, that Dinizio’s solo efforts — especially “Songs and Sounds” and the recently released masterpiece “Buddy Holly” — are just as good, that if there was indeed justice in both universe and music industry this band would be in the running for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

BY JEFF MIERS: SOUND CHECK, BUFFALO NEWS-

There’s a litmus test for power pop songs, one that decides with permanence whether said song should be filed beneath the heading “classic” or “Meh, so-so.”

If the song jumps out of the speakers, lands in your lap, introduces itself, steals your heart, and then is up and out of your life before four minutes have passed, that’s a good sign. If you find yourself wanting to hear the song again shortly after it ends, that’s even better.

If you only make it through the first bittersweet chorus before you’ve backed the track up to the beginning again, the ditty is most of the way there.

But if you hit the “repeat” button, and let the thing loop so that it plays over and over again while you drive around with the windows down (even in the dead of winter) lamenting the fact that it’s such a short tune, and is so elusive, and seems to be over before it began — well, you’ve got a classic on your hands.

The first time I recall falling beneath the spell — Is it black or white magic? I dunno — of one of these little pocket symphonies was something like 3z decades ago, when the Beatles’ “Eight Days a Week” had me picking up the needle and trying to find the beginning groove in the vinyl over and over again.

It was so addictive.

It still is.

From there, I fell easily into the groove of 1970s power-pop, cuz there was an awful lot of it around, from the likes of the Raspberries, (“Go All the Way” fits the bill) Todd Rundgren, (“Couldn’t I Just Tell You”) and even Sweet (“Love Is Like Oxygen,” indeed).

Then back to Buddy Holly, probably the father of this particular strain, and forward to Cheap Trick, and ultimately, to Big Star, the band that time (and everyone else save a few savvy audiophiles) forgot until it was too late.

Somewhere along the line, I heard the Smithereens — I think it might have even been courtesy of MTV, curse its rotten little soul, otherwise — cranking through “A Girl Like You,” and there it was, that familiar tickle.

What starts as bemused affection soon turns into full-blown obsession.

After a while, you just can’t stand yourself anymore.

I mean, are you really so weak and predictable that you’ll fall for that hook every damn time?

I recall the absolute nadir of my pop-starved behavior taking place during my sophomore year of college, during a visit from my brother and his then-girlfriend.

He happened to bring along with him his latest vinyl obsession, Roxy Music’s “Avalon” album.

We never got past the first song. “More Than This” is not technically a power-pop song — it is in fact much more Bowie than it is Buddy — but it is one of the most infectious few minutes of music I’ve ever heard.

I insisted we play the song over and over and over again, while I howled with delight, my brother laughed knowingly, and his girlfriend pondered the wisdom of becoming involved with anyone bearing the last name Miers.

This went on for hours.

Reflection on the whole “More Than This” experience led to a revelation or two.

First, I realized that a common trait of the majority of my “repeat ad infinitum” favorites was a certain melancholy in the lyrics.

Beneath the simplicity of what so often are mere declarations of love lies a desperation, a wistfulness, something to do with the impossibility of the perfect world conjured by melody, rhythm and inflection surviving past the song’s fade.

Invariably, the narrators in these pieces want something they just plain can’t have, will spend their lives pining for to no avail.

Many power-pop songs are delivered from a male perspective, though they needn’t be — just ask the Bangles, or even the Donnas.

Generally speaking, though, it’s fair to say that these tend to be songs involving a guy enthralled (with the stubbornness of a boozed-up Romantic poet) with some muse figure, and an elusive one at that.

From the time Alex Chilton pined for the “September Gurls” he knew in his heart would never give him the time of day, right through Smithereens singer/guitarist/songwriter Pat Dinizio’s insistence that “She’s Got a Way” all her own, power-pop classics all seem to revolve around unrequited love.

And unrequited love is always about something more — something like the ephemeral nature of human experience, the whole “crossing the desert sands but never entering the promised land” aspect of the human condition.

Or maybe I’ve just spent way too much time thinking about this stuff.

Dinizio and the Smithereens have entered the echelons of the revered cult band.

It’s doubtful that anyone who doesn’t own a Big Star, Raspberries or Cheap Trick album knows who the band is, though I could be wrong.

Those who do know the band love it dearly, are well aware that the 1997 effort “God Save the Smithereens” is an absolute fully tenured classic, that Dinizio’s solo efforts — especially “Songs and Sounds” and the recently released masterpiece “Buddy Holly” — are just as good, that if there was indeed justice in both universe and music industry this band would be in the running for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Of course, if that was indeed the case, we wouldn’t have the opportunity to see the group in an intimate space like the Bear’s Den, where the Smithereens will perform tonight.

And maybe, just maybe, if these guys had been given everything they’d ever dreamed of, the music would lack the poignancy that comes only through a certain amount of failure.

After all, it’s not usually the most popular kid in class who ends up writing the best songs.

Right?