There’s been a lively discussion of self-referential pop songs going on over on the message boards. People have mentioned songs about their own composition (“Your Song”), songs that confuse their listener with their subject (“You’re So Vain”), songs about their own instrumentation (“It’s Garry Shandling’s Show”), songs about their own chord progressions (“Hallelujah”) and even songs that are about some song, but possibly not themselves (“Song Sung Blue,” “An Old-Fashioned Love Song”).

But none of them are the greatest metapop song ever.

Best Metasong. “Overnight Sensation (Hit Record),” 1971, a mini-rock opera off of Starting Over, the last album by Cleveland power-pop quartet the Raspberries. You can hear the song for free at Last.fm.

The song starts with Eric Carmen quietly noodling on a piano, alone. “Well, I know it sounds funny,” he muses, “but I’m not in it for the money, no.”

Finally he gets to the point. “I just want a hit record!” he pleads. “Want to hear it on the radio!” Every young musician’s dream. As he sings these words, the song he’s hearing in his head bursts onto the track, with amped-up guitars and gorgeous background harmonies.

But it soon becomes clear that “Overnight Sensation” becoming an overnight sensation is happening only in his fantasy, as he describes years of frustrating hard work, writing lyrics, fiddling with melodies, arguing with unappreciative program directors, cutting demos, trying to capture the elusive song he hears in his head.

“In my head I hear the record play, hear it play,” he sings to a mounting crescendo, and then the band drops out and we hear the chorus for the first time, which is just background vocals repeating the words “Want a hit record, yeah, number one,” over and over. That’s how desperate the singer is: his creative impulse has been totally taken over by the need for success, the need to know that everyone is hearing the song in his head. Which is now only about his need for others to hear it, and so on around and around.

And this is the genius part: when the chorus comes in, we hear it through tinny little speakers, as if one a car radio. After a few bars of this distorted accompaniment–the ironic apotheosis for all his dreams of success–the chorus in the singer’s head drowns out the dashboard version and we’re back to full stereo. After jamming a bit, the band drops out again and we’re back to Eric Carmen noodling alone on the piano again, reminding us that the whole “hit record” was a dream.

OR WAS IT? The piano fade-out is a false ending, and after a rousing arena-rock drum fill, the full band jumps in one more time, this time in the middle of a smokin’ sax solo, the whole thing an over-the-top parody of sonic commercialism. So is this it? Did the piano daydream finally turn into a hit record, yeah?

Within the song, maybe. In real life, no. “Overnight Sensation (Hit Record)” was neither, barely squeaking into the Top 20, and the band broke up shortly thereafter, out of step with the disco era.