Some Songs Considered

March 18, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Don’t Lie to Me” – Big Star
(Words/music: Chris Bell and Alex Chilton, available on #1 Record, Ardent 1972)

I didn’t plan on listening to Big Star this afternoon, but it happened anyway. I was in a parking lot with a newly open afternoon and hit play on my iPod. The Keep an Eye on the Sky box was the last thing I had queued up, so I let it play. What should have become a ten minute drive home became an hour and a half of errands and scenic routes. At every stop sign and traffic light the windows went down a little lower and the stereo went up a little louder until I provided enough outtakes from the #1 Record sessions for the entire town. I’m not entirely surprised, as good records have a knack for seizing plans and hijacking them for their own good.

So driving around on the most productive and relaxing afternoon I’ve had in ages, I marveled at the sound of these songs. If I can occasionally ponder a song’s composition without having heard it, I need to hear a record to gather thoughts about how it sounds. This afternoon, I marveled at the way these songs sounded. In particular, “Don’t Lie to Me,” a song I’d often overlook on #1 Record in favor of its better known counterparts, sounded nearly flawless. Everything sounded crisper than I remembered – the hi-hat shuffles sharply, the bass resonates with a rich tone, and the rhythm guitar is bluesy enough. Even the lead guitar that enters during the second half of each phrase stands out from its counterpart without being obnoxiously over-mixed. The best part came after the breakdown; after this brief moment of controlled chaos, the band snaps right back in, sounding even tighter than before. I’ll probably always think of Alex Chilton as a songwriter first, but damn could Big Star tear through a song.

More on Big Star: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 17, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Alex Chilton” – The Replacements
(Words/music: Chris Mars/Tommy Stinson/Paul Westerberg, available on Pleased to Meet Me, Sire 1987)

It doesn’t matter that Paul Westerberg’s line about millions of children screaming for Big Star’s Alex Chilton never quite came true. The “what if”s and alternate universe theories don’t really matter either. What matters is that Alex Chilton’s music gave Paul Westerberg the kind of joy he could only quantify with a statement like that. Art, and music specifically, often has the power to transform tiny moments into the size their significance warrants. For Paul Westerberg (and many others), that meant giving Alex Chilton his own anthem, complete with adoring fans.

In recent years, music has become a portable artifact; it is literally possible to carry all of Paul Westerberg and Alex Chilton’s songs on a cell phone, ready to play at any minute. So today, as news of Chilton’s passing starts to spread, I’m left thinking of all of the places his music is yet to go. Even if Chilton’s life ended too young and before he could bring his songs everywhere, his music will continue to travel. In one way, it will find new fans and reward the curiosity of those looking for beautifully crafted pop songs. However, in many more, Chilton’s songs travel with those who made these tiny songs a large part of their lives. We all have those lyrics or fragments of melody, or perfectly anticipated moments that we can recall without even hearing. On a good day, these are the songs that end up in our heads during otherwise mundane activities, becoming a surprisingly pleasant companion for the rest of the day.

When Westerberg said that he “never travels far without a little Big Star,” he didn’t mean that he kept an LP in his suitcase. If he’s anything like me, he kept the music somewhere far closer and more intimate, ready at any moment to transform into something bigger and something more beautiful, even if it’s just for a couple minutes and even if it’s just for one person.

More on The Replacements: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 16, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“That’s When I Reach for My Revolver” – Mission of Burma
(Words/music: Clint Conley, available on Signals, Calls, and Marches, Ace of Hearts 1981)

I saw Mission of Burma a few years ago shortly after they reunited. I had been a fan of the records Rykodisc put out (all of which Matador has reissued over the last couple years and are probably worth some of my eMusic credits at some point) and it was around the time that wiry and spry post-punk caught my ear. I can’t place it exactly, but I want to say that I saw them either right before or right after their first post-reunion album came out; in either case, I hoped that the balance of old and new would be decent enough so that I knew at least a handful of songs.

They played “That’s When I Reach for My Revolver” that night and a few others that I knew, but now when I look back and think about seeing Mission of Burma, I fixate on the surprisingly visceral sound. I got the sense of their volume from the Horrible Truth About Burma live album (and from reading about Roger Miller’s tinnitus), but didn’t really expect the band to carry as much of a wallop a couple decades later. I guess seeing the sound barriers set up around the drum set should have been the first tip for what was to come. The guitars felt deeper, giving the song’s riff a lurching feeling and the bass and drums felt like gut punches. Thankfully, this was also roughly the same time I started wearing earplugs to shows. Otherwise, I might still be hearing “Revolver” rattle around in my brain today.

More on Mission of Burma: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 15, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Rock and Roll” – Led Zeppelin
(Words/music: John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, and Robert Plant, available on Led Zeppelin IV, Atlantic 1971)

It’s been a couple years since “Rock and Roll” was used in a car commercial, so it’s been a long time since I’ve heard the song. iTunes tells me it’s been since February 2008, so that was at least the last time I actively chose to listen to it. In the interim, I’d forgotten how wonderful it is.

That, in a nutshell, sums up my feelings about Led Zeppelin, or at least about their best known songs.

Back in November, I said that I gravitate toward the “less canonical songs” because I spent my teenage years bombarded by the band. At one point in time, the drum intro to “Rock and Roll” sent that special spine-tingling excitement through my body. Now, it generally gets me to switch the radio station. Every time, whether I actively think it or not, I know that I’m being unfair running from Led Zeppelin the same way I run from songs I actively dislike. I know that ten years ago if “Rock and Roll” came on, I’d drive around the block a couple times just so I could finish hearing it. This might come across as a statement about getting older, but the truth is that once a week I sit in my car somewhere for another thirty seconds to finish hearing a song before going on with the rest of my life. Thankfully, I still find joy in music – until today, it rarely came from Led Zeppelin.

I’m not sure what possessed me to put on “Rock and Roll” today, but I’m glad that I did. The thing that struck me the most was its looseness. I think of Zeppelin as this monolithic band with an immovable sound, but here at least John Bonham and John Paul Jones establish an open groove, giving Jimmy Page the space for a blues solo that sounds playful rather than ominous or foreboding. Even Robert Plant’s screaming, propelled along by that piano that always surprises me, sounds like the yelps of a man having fun.

I’m tempted to use this as an example of the idea that taste is cyclical, but I’m not sure that’s the case. Yes, the end result is the same – I wish I could stay up tonight, put Led Zeppelin IV on my turntable, and redigest this album for the first time in several years. However, it’s not entirely accurate to say I see the same things I liked a decade ago; in fact, I’m certain I’ve never really considered Led Zeppelin as “sounding like they’re having fun.” Instead, this makes me think that our taste continually evolves and makes these return visits interesting, if for no other reason than to see how we’ve grown. After all, songs don’t change – we do.

More on Led Zeppelin: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 14, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Only Happy When It Rains” – Garbage
(Words/music: Garbage, available on Garbage, Almo Sounds 1995)

For the record, I hate the rain. The only thing that made me happy about all of the rain in the Northeast this weekend was that it wasn’t snow. While driving home in the rain today and listening to the radio, something (I wish I remembered the song) made me think of an accusation a friend made several years ago. “You listen to sad music,” she said, and while I do like sad songs, it’s never been strictly because the lyrics are sad. I know that some people like to put on sad movies when they are sad, but I’ve never really felt that way with music. Instead, I find myself retreating into favorite albums when I’m sad. If anything, I think I gravitate toward happier music – or at least music that makes me happy. If anything, “sad songs” generally need to be that much better.

So I imagine this was a statement on the sound of the music – quieter, more somber arrangements tend to sound “sadder” than something with a lively beat. A quick survey of the songs I’ve written about (via the “random post” link in the sidebar) led to a disproportionate amount of lively, happy songs, which would tend to disprove this idea. Anyway, the combination of all of these thoughts – this random memory and a rain soaked weekend – made me think of “Only Happy When It Rains.” In the context of this discussion, this is a song that doesn’t overtly sound gloomy, save for the repeated declarations that happiness requires misery. Members of the band claimed it was a tongue-in-cheek reference to liking alternative rock, but I always thought of that as reductionist thought anyway. If anything, this is a song about finding happiness in a sound that others find gloomy or jarring. If every single person saw happiness in the same things, our world would be less interesting.

So today, my thought is that the music itself is neither happy nor sad. Instead, we fill in the emotions. These might change over time and they may not transfer from person to person, but I suppose that’s why we have so many different songs in our lives. If one doesn’t make you happy, there are plenty of others out there that will.

More on Garbage: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 13, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Surf’s Up” – Brian Wilson
(Words/music: Van Dyke Parks and Brian Wilson, available on Smile, Nonesuch 2004)

Brian Wilson’s rerecorded Smile, one of popular music’s greatest “lost albums,” came out right around the same time that I started to look at the Beach Boys as more than a kitchy’60s act. I have a vivid memory driving around northern Rhode Island trying to match a washer for a drum set, listening to late period Beach Boys albums and discussing the efficiency in the arrangements with a friend of mine. I asked him about Smile and he gave me the run through of unofficial sequences and alternate recordings, rattling off a few of the songs he thought I’d know, almost stopping cold on some major road when I looked back blankly at “Surf’s Up.”

Now, I regularly listen to Wilson’s piano demo of “Surf’s Up” from the Good Vibrations box and marvel at the way he threads the song’s different sections together. I’ve never really focused on the lyrics, so I’ve let Wilson’s voice and the different, often overlapping, melodies wash over me. When I first heard Smile, I was curious to hear how “Surf’s Up” would sound decades later. Remarkably, it sounds like the original with a little more shine on it. The harmonies are flawless and perfectly balanced with each other, but it still comes down to Wilson and his piano. His voice, particularly in every television performance I’ve seen over the last six years, feels worn both by age and by decades of demons, but when paired with one of his melodies, it sounds as arresting as ever. Certainly as captivating as it sounded that one night stopped dead in traffic somewhere in Rhode Island.

More on Brian Wilson: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 12, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Redemption Song” – Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer
(Words/music: Bob Marley, available on Cash Unearthed, American / Universal 2003)

I spent four years in college yet never went through a Bob Marley phase. My instinct is to say that I got enough of it second hand, but after thinking about it for a minute I’d say that it was repeated plays of the same Marley tunes that burned me out on his music. I could only hear “Get Up, Stand Up” and “I Shot the Sheriff” so many times before a quick upward strum on a guitar would cause me to retreat. The positive side effect to this combination of burnout and stubbornness means that occasionally I get to make small discoveries in Marley’s cannon. The first one, the one that made me rethink my distaste, was “Redemption Song.” Sure, it partially has to do with the different instrumentation, but it was Marley’s careful weaving of his personal spirituality and politics of liberation that made the song speak to me. At other moments, Marley leans heavily on one (or both) of these polarizing ideas, but on “Redemption Song” he strikes a balance where it’s easier to see the beauty of his convictions without getting caught up in the polarizing details.

The first version of “Redemption Song” I truly loved was on Joe Strummer’s posthumous Streetcore album. In particular, I loved all of the extra touches – the guitar flourishes, the organ chords – that accompanied Strummer’s voice. Later on, I heard this duet version – the same instrumental track only with Strummer and Johnny Cash trading verses. Neither man saw the release of this track (Cash Unearthed came out shortly after his death), and I’m not even sure if Cash and Strummer recorded the song together or whether Cash added his vocals afterward (if you know, I’d love to know). All of this leads me to the most interesting bit of trivia (remember, I’m a Marley lightweight, so this didn’t seem obvious to me) that Marley wrote and recorded “Redemption Song” after his cancer diagnosis. All three of these men sang this song near the end of their lives (granted, for three different reasons – Marley’s illness, Strummer’s sudden heart attack, and Cash’s slowly declining health), and I’d like to think that this song brought them all peace as they neared the end of their time on Earth. If nothing else, all three – Marley’s original, Strummer’s version, and the version Cash augments – left beautiful interpretations for us to remember them fondly.

More on Johnny Cash: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 11, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Danger! High Voltage (Soulchild Radio Mix)” – Electric Six
(Words/music: Joe Frezza, Steve Nawara, Anthony Selph, and Tyler Spencer, available on Danger! High Voltage EP, XL 2003)

Right now I have a cold – thankfully one that’s not too dehabilitating, but one that’s just enough to make eating a chore and frustrate me with the periodic coughing. Most relevantly, it’s only made me more tired the last few days. Naturally, I looked to music before over-the-counter medication (or quality rest, perhaps the wisest option). The hope was that the right song would dislodge whatever ails me and put my brain back on solid footing.

So I turned to “Danger! High Voltage” in my time of need hoping that it would de-gunk my insides. Maybe it’s the Taco Bell line, but I hoped this song would have a Tabasco-like cleansing effect. Perhaps it’s over-the-top absurdity and driving beat would lift my spirits. If nothing else, that gaudy saxophone at the end would give me a laugh, and folk wisdom suggests that laughter is the best medicine, right? Or maybe listening to it would fill me with nostalgia for the first time I saw this video on the internet, probably in Real Player format before YouTube would make something like this immediately accessible. As a last resort, I could picture Jack White and Dick Valentine standing over a small fire, manically screaming back and forth at each other about their desires.

Of course, this didn’t work. I’m still hacking away, but at least I’m smiling a little more. And now I really want a quesadilla.

More on Electric Six: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 10, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“It’s Only Divine Right” – The New Pornographers
(Words/music: Carl Newman, available on Electric Version, Matador 2003)

In the past week, I’ve seen a few misconceptions about the New Pornographers that sparked the obsessive music geek in me. I’ve seen it intimated that Destroyer, the prolific musical output of New Pornographers contributor Dan Bejar, was Bejar’s side project. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Bejar contributes a few songs to the New Pornographers and generally doesn’t tour with them anymore. I bit my tongue, writing this off as a mistake in wording (he is better known for being in this band than for his solo output), but an even odder gaffe made me proclaim out loud at my desk. While going over guests on the forthcoming New Pornographers’ album (which supposedly has many of legitimate guests), “A.C. Newman” was listed as one of the guests. This baffled me – in certain parts of the internet, this would be like saying Paul McCartney made guest appearances on several Beatles albums! Newman is best described as the leader of the New Pornographers and, if anything, does his solo albums as side projects.

I make this assertion because (thus far), Newman saves his best songs for the New Pornographers. Not to diminish his two solo albums, both fine discs, but it takes maybe half of the New Pornographers’ Electric Version to see what Newman’s songs feel like when he’s firing on all cylinders. “It’s Only Divine Right” marries many of the best qualities of Newman’s songwriting – a driving beat, gently tangled melodic lines, and some clever wordplay. It’s equal parts bouncy and bombastic, enjoyable and edgy. Most importantly, it puts all of its parts to their best use, particularly Neko Case’s beautiful voice. Personally, I think Case sounds best when singing Newman’s songs, and it’s her harmony notes that bring “It’s Only Divine Right” toward pop godliness. Whether she’s doubling Newman’s lyrics or singing the series of rising notes right after the hook, Case’s voice adds a different texture to the song. While she sounds terrific when she takes the lead (“All For Swinging You Around,” among others), she’s equally deadly in this comparatively minor supporting role. Like a skilled director, Newman knows how to get the best performance out of his company of players by balancing egos to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

More on The New Pornographers: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 9, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Dirty Old Town” - Ted Leo
(Words/music: Ewan MacColl, appears on “Tell Balgeary, Balgury is Dead” EP, Lookout! 2003)

(In honor of the new Ted Leo and the Pharmacists album The Brutalist Bricks, I’d like to re-run the story of when I first met Ted Leo in February 2003. This post originally ran on January 7, 2009. Back to new posts tomorrow!)

I’ve been blessed to have been involved with college radio while earning both of my degrees (first at WDOM in Providence, later at WQAQ in Connecticut), and it was (and continues to be) an important factor in my ever evolving musical taste. This post, however, isn’t my love letter to college radio (that comes with a different song) but rather a reflection of my favorite experience as a DJ.

I was fortunate enough to meet and interview Ted Leo during February 2003, right after the Hearts of Oak album came out (and right after I discovered his music). It was a surreal experience for a college sophomore to have to plan questions and interview someone who would be on Conan O’Brien later that week. From the moment that we helped Ted cart in his amplifier and guitar case (the same ones he still uses years later), it was apparent that Ted was almost as grateful to have the opportunity to appear on our modest station as we were to have him come to us. Through all sorts of stumbling blocks – our station’s faulty heater (it didn’t work a lot that winter), a less than vegan friendly cafeteria, his nagging vocal chord problems, and my nervous propensity to mix metaphors (he signed a poster with one of my quotes - “top to bottom, front to back” - my attempt to complement the body of songs on Hearts of Oak), Ted remained upbeat, enthusiastic, and completely engaging. We had Ted on for an hour or so – a mix of discussions about ska music, going to Catholic school, listening to New Order, and other topics with about half a dozen performances of songs from The Tyranny of Distance and Hearts of Oak. By the end of the afternoon, everyone in the room not only became fans of his music, but became fans of the man. In addition to his kindness and wit, Ted’s personal ethics shine through everything he does. Few contemporaries champion their causes as earnestly and completely and it seems that he has time to play on behalf of people and causes that he supports (for example, playing a benefit for a local punk rock promoter who recently passed away).

“Dirty Old Town” was the last song that Ted played that day, introducing it as a “song for the city of Providence.” I didn’t know the song (I hadn’t discovered The Pogues at that point), but I was struck by how he sang someone else’s song with the same passion and conviction that he sang his own songs. Looking back at that day nearly six years later, I have two prevailing thoughts. The first is the refreshing realization that the people that we’re fans of are fans themselves. It’s clear that Ted has a passion for music (look at the wide body of cover songs in his repertoire – in particular the obscure songs he’s playing on his recent solo tour) and that even to this day he remains a fan. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I’ve learned that songs don’t belong exclusively to their authors – they belong to us all. We all have our own unique memories associated with individual songs – sometimes shared, sometimes private – and that some songs immediately can immediately bring us back to a specific place or time. I’m not sure what Ted Leo thinks of when he hears Shane MacGowan sing “Dirty Old Town,” but this song will always make me think back to that afternoon in Providence where I got to interview one of my favorite musicians.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 8, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“You Don’t Know My Name” – Alicia Keys
(Words/music: Alicia Keys, Kanye West, Harold Lilly, J. R. Bailey, Mel Kent, Ken Williams, available on The Diary of Alicia Keys, J-Records 2003)

A few weeks ago, I watched most of the Comedians of Comedy movie and their entire Live at the El-Rey special. I had never seen Maria Bamford perform standup, so I was surprised and impressed at the different voices she slipped into and out of throughout her routine. The one that stood out the most was her impression of Alicia Keys’ spoken bridge in “You Don’t Know My Name.” I hadn’t heard Keys song in a while but Bamford nailed the tone and phrasing of Keys’ phone call (which, in turn, made me think of the recent Saturday Night Live digital short where Keys makes another late night phone call with different results).

So today I went back to “You Don’t Know My Name” and remembered why I liked this song in the first place and why I never listen to it anymore. The main part of the song captures a lot of the things I enjoy about Keys, particularly her voice. I even love the production, in part because it’s an atypical style for Kanye West, especially since he stays virtually undetectable on it (I’d imagine that if this were made now, Kanye would have demanded to have Mos Def’s part in the video at least). It’s a terrific soul ballad that’s sweet without being overly sappy. Then there’s the spoken bridge. It’s a little too theatrical for my taste, but I understand its purpose (and I remember it working well within the context of the video too), and today I enjoyed it largely because I kept thinking of Bamford’s impression. Looking back at it now, it’s a little over-the-top and features a gratuitously outdated “can you hear me now” reference in it. Most importantly, the bridge plus the outro push the song over the six minute mark; I like the song, but not nearly enough to devote ten percent of an hour to it on a regular basis.

More on Alicia Keys: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 7, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Pick a Part That’s New” – Stereophonics
(Words/music: Stuart Cable, Kelly Jones, and Richard Jones, available on Performance and Cocktails, V2 1999)

If I stop to think about it, Kelly Jones’ voice bothers me. He has a gravelly edge to his voice, particularly when he’s approaching the limits of his range, that sounds good on paper. On record, it’s generally fine too – I like a fair number of Stereophonics songs, so it is far from a dealbreaker, and I’m not sure I’d prefer to hear someone else sing any of them. So it generally comes down to the off moments where I’m finding my attention drawn to his voice rather than the melody or the lyrics. I guess, to boil it down, on the good songs it’s a nonissue, on the weaker songs it’s infuriating.

So I was kind of surprised tonight when I found myself focusing on his voice when I heard “Pick a Part That’s New.” This is one of my favorite Stereophonics singles, largely because of that terrific guitar riff and its generally sunny demeanor. The only explanation I have for this is that I’ve heard this song so many times that my attention shifted looking for something new. Earlier on this blog, I’ve suggested that songs that reveal different virtues with repeated listening lead to a rewarding relationship of repeated listening. In this case, repeated listening brought something unfavorable (or, more than likely, subconsciously overlooked) out front. I’m confident that “Pick a Part That’s New” and I will get through this rough patch. I might just need a night or two sleeping on the couch.

More on Stereophonics: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 6, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“This is Love” – PJ Harvey
(Words/music: PJ Harvey, available on Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea, Island Records 2000)

PJ Harvey never shied away from difficult subjects in her lyrics, but rarely is she as blunt as she is on “This is Love.” Where she may approach a subject obliquely, Harvey lays out her thesis within the first two lines: specifically, how can this world be so confusing when my lust is so clear? The song isn’t sensationalized – instead, it’s simplified down to its instincts. It manages to capture the way love (or lust, or something in between) causes tunnel vision without being flowery or dopey. Instead, Harvey asks the sort of questions rarely asked in these situations. The human brain can process many things, but I’m sure few, if any, might simultaneously process worldwide suffering and the taste of a lover at the same time. The song turns slightly at the end when Harvey’s narrator recognizes this tendency – when her mind is on someone else, it isn’t on the things that make her heart break, so her unasked questions become a plea for her lover to join her “to keep the walls from falling as they’re tumbling in.”

The thick guitar riff underscores the lust in Harvey’s lyrics. It’s slightly distorted sound fills out the arrangement yet while bludgeoning its audience. It is as direct as Harvey’s lyrics, and its repetition throughout most of the song coincides with the repetition within the lyrics. It also brings out the more powerful side of Harvey’s vocals, driving her voice to fill out as much space as the guitar’s dense tone. Where it might drown out another vocalist, Harvey summons enough to make her voice shine through.

More on PJ Harvey: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 5, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Root Down” – The Beastie Boys
(Words/music: Beastie Boys, available on Ill Communication, Capitol Records 1994)

Boiled down to one sentence, the Beastie Boys began as brats and became Buddhists, and somewhere in between they made their most interesting work. With the benefit of hindsight, this broad arc makes senses given that the Beastie Boys strike me as guys with lots of ideas. Whether it’s the range of sounds in their catalogue, the crowded production the Dust Brothers lent to Paul’s Boutique, or just the rapid pace the three MCs delivered their lyrics (and their tendency to accent each others’ rhymes by tripling up on certain words), the Beasties always seemed willing to explore an idea and see where it took them.

“Root Down” is neither the weirdest nor the best track in the Beastie Boys catalogue (or on Ill Communication, to be honest), but it synthesizes many of their best qualities. It combines together the live instrumentation (or at least the spirit of live instrumentation – I can’t quite tell) with a DJ’s touch. The feel of the track depends equally on the funk guitar that swells underneath the hook as it does with the gentle hiss of the record needle hitting the groove at the start and the hairpin turn the DJ triggers right after the hook. Lyrically, the Beasties are nimble, rhyming quickly and somewhat breathless. It’s a distinctive flow for a Beastie’s track; as with much of their work, the distinct tone of their voices and their cadence tips off the listener within a few words. In essence, “Root Down” works as an interesting introduction to the Beastie Boys. Proceeding deeper into their catalogue means scattering across their different stylistic endeavors, but “Root Down” captures their general essence as much as a single track can encapsulate a group with so many ideas.

More on The Beastie Boys: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 4, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Add Your Light to Mine, Baby” – Lucky Soul
(Words/music: Lucky Soul, available on The Great Unwanted, Ruffa Lane 2007)

Two parts of “Add Your Light to Mine, Baby” stand out the most. First, Ali Howard’s voice finds a sweet spot between clean execution and soulful embellishment. She extends a few syllables and bends a note or two but never to the extent a pop diva might elaborate melodically. This generally precise execution serves the song well – over-performing the vocal, particularly with all of the motion in the arrangement, would weigh down the song. Instead, Howard goes just a step beyond a precise performance right off the sheet music, adding just a touch of personality to her performance.

“Add Your Light to Mine, Baby” needs this relatively clean lead vocal to support the horn melody. The vocals melody is catchy, but the horns provide the song’s hook. This repetitive phrase (including when the key changes near the end) overpowers Howard’s vocal, and it’s simple phrase only makes it catchier. If Howard tried to compete for space with the horns (and I have every reason to believe she’s capable vocally), the song would suffer. Instead, her vocals play a supporting role at times, particularly when she settles in on a longer note. Rather than make her light the brightest in the band, she’s willing to share space.

More on Lucky Soul: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: lucky soul | 2007 | 2000s | ruffa lane |

About the Blog

Search Posts

SSC on Shuffle

Follow SSC On:

Elsewhere on the web

SSC on Twitter

Meta