Some Songs Considered

“Accidents Will Happen (Live – June 4, 1978)” – Elvis Costello and the Attractions
(Words/music: Elvis Costello, available on Armed Forces (Bonus Disc), Rhino 2002 and Live at Hollywood High, Hip-O 2010)

In the opening line of “Accidents Will Happen,” on Armed Forces, Costello declares, “Oh, I just don’t know where to begin.”  It may, somewhat ironically, be one of the more clichéd ways to begin a story, but in this case Costello uses it to immediately call attention to the perspective in the song.  If he doesn’t know the best way to tell the story, he seems willing to approach it from a few different angles.  Putting aside the song’s hook and the opening line, Costello moves through different points of view as the song progresses – telling the story as a third person narrator in the first verse, speaking directly to a second person in the second verse, and finally landing on “we” in the song’s bridge. Perhaps these are different fragments of stories put together for the big picture, but they seem like the same story from different angles.  The bits in the first person – the introduction, the hook, and the “I know” repeated at the end – frame these pieces as part of a single narrative.

On this recording, Costello and long-time keyboardist Steve Nieve give the song a slower, somber interpretation.    In particular, Costello’s slower pace and Nieve’s blue notes put Costello’s narrative upfront with a sadder tone.  It’s also interesting that he sets up the songs slightly differently, beginning with the chorus before starting.  Perhaps the arrangement tips my interpretation this way, but this version emphasizes the narrator’s involvement in the storyline, making the different shifts in perspective his attempt to find traction and start to make sense of this emotional accident. 

More on Elvis Costello and the Attractions: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Band on the Run” – Paul McCartney and Wings
(Words/music: Paul McCartney and Linda McCartney, available on Band on the Run, Capitol 1973) 

The things that I loved about Paul McCartney’s Beatles songs all come out in the second half of “Band on the Run.”  Of the three primary Beatles songwriters, McCartney had maybe the most natural knack for hooks, and this third segment of the song runs on that big, sing-along ready hook.  From the little guitar fills to McCartney’s charming strain toward the upper reaches of his register, “Band on the Run” plays these strengths expertly. 

This last movement only becomes light and playful given the context of the song.  In order to revel in McCartney’s simple melody, it needs something to stand out against.  Thus, both the watery guitars that open the track and the terse riff in the middle section lay the groundwork for the song’s final act.  To say this final sing-along is a reward the rest of the song builds to sells the opening short.  First, even if the first two portions differ, they aren’t “difficult” by any means (after all, this is a Beatle and not Stravinsky).  Secondly, the first half of the song has joy too.  While the end of the song derives its joy in its ability to sing along at a traffic light, the joy in the opening comes in its construction – in looking at the care put into each note and chord, or each of the different guitar tones used to create the different moods.  Besides, without the gentle introduction and the tense middle section, this final part may seem limp rather than lighthearted.  Instead, McCartney’s sense as a songwriter led him to balance these sections with each other so that none overstays its welcome.

“Baba O’Riley” – The Who
(Words/music: Pete Townshend, available on Who’s Next, RCA 1971) 

The first line of the Who’s biography on the Allmusic guide states that few bands “were riddled with as many contradictions as the Who,” and few tracks better blend these disparate parts than “Baba O’Riley.”  For example, its origins lie in a sound collage Pete Townshend crafted on a synthesizer.  The original intent was to program Townshend’s spiritual guru Meher Baba’s biography into a synthesizer and output it in the style of minimalist composer Terry Riley.  His inspiration relates to his ambitious Lifehouse project (summarized here, as I’m not going to attempt to summarize it myself).  While Townshend turned narratives into music on several earlier projects, this found him literally turning people into music.

Then there’s the “Teenage Wasteland” side of the song – the primal foil to Townshend’s cerebral origins.  The final version of the song marries Townshend’s synthesizer experiment with the cymbal and power chord crunch that fills the verses.  This is minimalist music blown out to its maximal output, and it’s this paradox that makes “Baba O’Riley” sound vital nearly fourty years later.  Even if its chords spread over arpeggiators and guitars and keyboards, the song’s heart remains in its three chords.  Over the five minutes, the Who pull these three chords to their limits.  By subjecting the song to this stress test, we find the beauty in the brutality of a chord structure stretched to its extremes. 

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

“Sonic Reducer” – Dead Boys
(Words/music: Stiv Bators/Johnny Blitz/Cheetah Chrome/Jeff Magnum/David Thomas/Jimmy Zero, available on Younger, Louder, and Snottier: The Rough Mixes, Bomp 1989)

“Sonic Reducer” speaks to the part of my soul that rarely expresses itself in words, which is probably why I’m writing and immediately deleting lines of clichés trying to start this post.  It taps into the sort of adolescent anger that attracts many of us to punk rock in the first place, but does so in an aggressive and blatant way.  It gives these feelings a backbone rarely associated with this strand of punk; usually this sort of rage comes with a nervous, frantic energy.  However, “Sonic Reducer” sounds like a freight train accelerating downhill, barreling through with enough force to destroy anything in its wake.

So when Bomp records reissued the “rough mix” of the Dead Boys debut, “Sonic Reducer” probably didn’t need a refinishing.  There are a few expected touches, such as a slightly quicker tempo and a more abrasive guitar sound immediately.  Overall, the song has a dryer, rawer sound than the original version and sounds like Raw Power-era Stooges.  For me, the drum break at the end validates this alternate version.  Where the original puts some sort of panning effect on the drums, the raw treatment of the tom toms gives this version eeriness on top of its aggression.  Coupled with the most brazen lyric in the song (“I’ll be a pharaoh soon”), this bridge tips the song into a new realm of menacing confidence – one that speaks to the part of us that wishes we could declare ourselves kings and act upon this declaration confidently.

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

“Parker’s Band” – Steely Dan
(Words/music: Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, available on Pretzel Logic, MCA 1974) 

A while back, The Onion published a piece titled “Donald Fagen Defends Steely Dan to Friends,” and like the best types of satire, the article touches on a lot of truth.  In it, “Fagen” lists off pretty much every defense a Steely Dan superfan offers to non-interested parties.  The fact that “wry, perfectly crafted lyrics” appears so early in this mock defense makes sense only because it’s a frequent point of praise.  It’s always surprised me how quickly that comes up.  I’ve always been attracted to their musical chops first and then found certain lyrics amusing (or, ignored them altogether).  So my appreciation (and defense, I suppose) begins with their musical chops and usually bridges into Becker and Fagen’s skill as arrangers.  The lyrics would come last, somewhere between icing on the cake and a complete afterthought.

That’s the exact way my appreciation for “Parker’s Band” evolved.  The lead guitar and quick pace first caught my attention.  Then I recognized the efficient arrangement – clocking in under three minutes partially due to its quick pace but partially due to its tight structure.  Only after the music hooked me in did I start picking up on all the clever references to jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker.  Fagan references his hometown of Kansas City, his one time record label Savoy, and his nickname “Bird.”  There’s also likely references to some of his tunes (“Groovin’ High”), his competition (“dizzy weekend” perhaps as a nod to trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie) and even Parker’s heroin habit.  In the end, the cleverness of working in these references (and having the lyrics still make sense beyond a series of in-jokes) put the song over the top.  Mr. Fagan needn’t remind me about his connection to Chevy Chase – I’m already listening.

More on Steely Dan: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“What Do I Get? (Live Version)” – The Buzzcocks 
(Words/music: Pete Shelley, original version available on Singles Going Steady, EMI 1979)  

Way back in the dark ages of the internet (for me, that means the late 1990s), I acquired this version of “What Do I Get” most likely from Napster.  Even as I’ve gone through two different Buzzcocks’ collections and a few of their albums, I always come back around to this particular version of the song.  Even though it isn’t wildly different than the studio version (or the Peel Sessions version I’ve also heard), whenever I hear a different version part of me wishes that I was listening to this one instead.

Part of it, I’m sure, is that the band plays it a couple notches faster in this version making it a touch more urgent and unpolished.  Part of it, also, comes back to the odd tics in Shelley’s voice in this one.  Whether it’s the way he off-handedly counts the song in or the silly falsetto he slips into near the end, I’m left filling in those parts on my own when playing the original in a jukebox or hearing it on the radio.  I’m also willing to admit a personal attachment (and nostalgia too) for this version, but it goes beyond just transporting it from hard drive to hard drive.  

That being said, if anyone can identify the source of this (and, if it exists, point me to the rest of that show I suppose), I’d be much obliged.  

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

“Killer Queen” – Queen 
(Words/music: Freddie Mercury, available on Sheer Heart Attack, Hollywood 1974) 

In terms of bite, this was my concept of how hard Queen sounded for a long time.  Between “Killer Queen” and “Bohemian Rhapsody,” my earliest notion of Queen was of a band that had heavy moments yet wasn’t really a heavy band.  Sure, Brian May plays a solid solo here, but it generally sticks close to the song’s melody.  Besides, as a kid I recognized this song more for the snaps at the beginning and the thick harmonizing in the vocals.  Needless to say, it surprised me later on to find out how heavy Queen could get; in fact, up through the Sheer Heart Attack album, “Killer Queen” was less representative of the band’s sound than I might think.  If I cherry picked different songs from the Queen collections my mom owned, I might have had a different idea of Queen altogether.  

I started thinking about “Killer Queen” earlier today when I started thinking about my mom’s CD collection when I was a kid.  This was right around the time that CDs became popular, and my mom owned maybe thirty different albums, generally amassing a few on her birthday and holidays.  The two favorites, for whatever reason, of my brothers and I were Classic Queen and Queen’s Greatest Hits, two different compilations of Queen’s music.  We each had our favorite songs from the collection – “Killer Queen” was mine, and my youngest brother loved “Bicycle Race” and listened to it to the point where I still can’t hear it.  Today is my mom’s birthday, and as I went through the mental list of things to get her (I settled on baking for her instead), music came up.  Even though she’s (surprisingly) switched to iTunes as her music store of choice (where she’s one by one buying the entire Monkees and Neil Diamond catalogs), I’ll always associate Queen with her CD collection.  

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

“Wrong ‘em Boyo” – The Clash 
(Words/music: Clive Alphonso, available on London Calling, Epic 1979) 

Days like today remind me that, given the scope of the entire world, I know very little.  I sat down to write about my pet peeve of limiting London Calling to the narrow confines of the “punk album” label and planned on using “Wrong ‘em Boyo” as a talking point.  I wanted to touch on how the song pulled in these different elements – specifically incorporating the twelve bar blues form and the Stagger Lee / Stack-o-Lee legend.  In the car on the way home from work this afternoon I ran through the song in my head and started fleshing out how I’d pull these things together in a way to celebrate the depth and breadth of the Clash’s repertoire. 

And then I called up the Allmusic page for London Calling to grab the writer’s credits (since both physical copies of the album are boxed away somewhere) and fell down the rabbit hole.  I knew that part of the song came from somewhere else, but I assumed it was the bluesy introduction and that the horn-driven romp was a Strummer/Jones composition.  It turns out that the entire version comes from an early ska/rocksteady band called The Rulers.  Their version, archived on a couple of Trojan Records’ ska collections, includes the restart and the groove-shift in the second section as well.  The Clash beefed theirs up with horns and a tempo change, but it stays pretty faithful to The Rulers’ version otherwise.  I knew The Clash’s reggae roots – I just didn’t know this specific example!

So what started as a rant ends as a reminder.  Part of what makes London Calling so great was the way it grabbed from all of the different musical worlds its creators delved in, be it musical forms, prior source material, or even just the cover’s design.  It’s impressive enough to pull off so many different musical feats – doing them all this well is what makes this band legendary.  

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

“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

“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

“Who Are You (Single Edit)” – The Who
(Words/music: Pete Townshend, available on Thirty Years of Maximum R&B, MCA 1994) 

The Who sounded fine last night at the Super Bowl – not quite revelatory yet not quite embarrassing – and provided enough overly-obvious age-related fuel for people who think that they are funny.  The band’s medley of CSI theme songs sidestepped the question I wondered going into the weekend – would Roger Daltrey still sing the “who the fuck are you” line in “Who Are You?”

In reality, I knew it wouldn’t happen; I imagine that Super Bowl producers have snipers waiting for anyone who might go off script.  I only raise this question because this is an obscenity that frequently makes its way onto the radio.  It doesn’t happen every time, but it happens regularly enough for me to stop noticing it as something out of the ordinary.  I don’t mention this because I’m offended, but rather that I’m curious.  Sure, Daltrey runs through the line quickly, but it’s not exactly a subtle obscenity either.  If nothing else, I’m fascinated by it – do radio programmers not notice it, or did someone sign off on it? In any case, I found this far more interesting than commenting on the band’s age this weekend.

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

“Dream Police” – Cheap Trick
(Words/music: Rick Nielson, available on Dream Police, Epic 1979) 

When asked about his music being used in a commercial, Iggy Pop (or I think it was Iggy Pop, please correct me if I’m wrong) said (and again, I’m paraphrasing – I can’t find the exact quote) that he saw no issue with licensing his songs.  Specifically, Pop said that his songs weren’t written with the intent to sell products, intimating that it’s not selling out if they come to you after an indiscriminate amount of time. 

I share this along with the following statement of facts: I don’t write songs, let alone songs anyone cares about.  What people do with their songs is their business, and if it puts food on the table or makes a loved one’s life a little better, then even better.  So when Cheap Trick decided to rerecord “Dream Police” for an Audi commercial and rechristen it as “Green Police” (to tout the car’s environmental credentials), it’s ultimately Rick Nielson’s prerogative to provide for himself and his family.  Hell, given the same opportunity, I’m not sure I’d do it differently.

That being said – ugh.

Cheap Trick, one of the finest and (generally) underappreciated power pop bands of their era, deserved the crowd who heard their music tonight.  Their songs are ebullient and wry and stick in your head for days.  “Dream Police” may not be on the same level as “Surrender,” but its slick production and eerily-tinged synths find the sweet spot between the song’s bubbly melody and the lyrics’ sci-fi paranoia.  Yes, it’s a ridiculous concept, but it’s the right kind of ridiculous that’s tempered with the proper goofy demeanor that makes it charmingly ridiculous.  Perhaps “Green Police” is the equivalent government related fear (judging by the number of folks on Twitter labeling it a “liberal dream,” perhaps it’s even more polarizing) thirty years later, but tonight it came off as hokey. 

Again, I’m not against anyone collecting a paycheck.  It’s just a shame that it had to come in such a patronizing way.  Maybe Rick Nielson is laughing at people like me (and maybe subconsciously I’m resentful because I’ll never afford an Audi), but I can’t help but feel like “Green Police” is counter-productive.  Not only will the melody to one of my favorite songs cause me to change the channel, but after tonight I’m not sure how long it will be before I’ll be able to listen to “Dream Police” and enjoy it again.

More on Cheap Trick: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Across the Universe” – David Bowie
(Words/music: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, available on Young Americans, Virgin 1975) 

The Beatles’ recording of “Across the Universe,” recorded primarily on February 4, 1968, gradually unfolds itself and lets subtle layers of strings and harmonies roll out as the song progresses.  It’s appropriate, given both the song’s famous opening line and the way John Lennon described the song “flowing” into him one night in bed.  With its Sanskrit mantra mixed in, “Across the Universe” thrives on this circular interconnectivity on both the lyrical and musical level.

All this makes David Bowie’s version a little stranger.  Where Lennon’s performance flows effortlessly, Bowie’s version lags.  Anchored by a strong backbeat, the rest of the song feels like it’s moving in slow motion – the harmonies are strained and stretched out and the guitar melodies expand past their original length.  This isn’t a bad thing, either.  In fact, a straight-ahead cover from Bowie would be boring and out of character.  Instead, as it appears with the rest of the “plastic soul” Young Americans, Bowie’s universe feels slightly melted and warped and just slightly more irregular than Lennon’s perfect circle.  However, even with slightly disjointed parts, Bowie’s version reaches a moment of connectivity as well when Lennon shows up and trades off vocals at the end.  If Lennon’s original is a meditation, Bowie and Lennon’s trade off feels like resolution in the face of hardship.  With disjointed pieces and all, it’s a reminder that sometimes inner peace comes from ourselves rather than our surroundings.

More on David Bowie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“L.A. Woman” – The Doors
(Words/music: John Densmore, Robbie Krieger, Ray Manzarek, and Jim Morrison, available on L.A. Woman, Elektra 1971)  

For whatever reason, “L.A. Woman” is the Doors song that fascinates me the most.  It’s not the weirdest Doors song nor is it the best representative track.  However, this is the version of the band I enjoy the most.  The arrangement feels fuller and more freewheeling than a lot of their work and Jim Morrison sounds immersed in his vocals.  Even if the lyrics aren’t his most brooding, his delivery seems particularly unhinged.  He sounds like he’s tossing off lyrics as they come to him – repeating some lines that he wants to mull over a little more, annunciating some lines more than others, and tossing in whoops and “yeahs” at random intervals.  Robbie Krieger is right behind him, echoing some of Morrison’s vocals with similarly phrased lead licks.  Even though the band only performed the song once, this is the version I’d like to picture live – freewheeling and fun.

Even if “L.A. Woman” feels like a live improvisation, other moments suggest its meticulous construction.  Even if Morrison sounds like he’s making up the words on the spot, the repetition and phrasing of the words seems planned out.  Particularly on the bridge, Morrison knows exactly how to contort each syllable to fit with the right melodic and rhythmic bend to it.  There’s also the anagram – “Mr. Mojo Risin’” as a rearrangement of Morrison’s name.  No matter how off the cuff and free associative the end product sounds, it takes too many twists and turns to be anything less than carefully planned out.

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

“My Way” – Sid Vicious
(Words: Paul Anka, music: Claude François and Jacques Revaux, available on Sid Sings, EMI 1979)

Truth be told, I have little to add to this.  It’s memorable in part because Sid Vicious died a premature and violent death, in part because it’s tweaking Sinatra, and in part because Scorsese used it over the credits of Goodfellas.  If anything, interpretation probably falls right down the middle between Vicious desecrating a standard and Vicious embodying the song’s denouncement of detractors.  Whether used to celebrate a full life or simply victory on one’s terms, “My Way” always came off to me as a bit too boastful to be truly moving.  

Even if I’m not really sure whether Vicious means this belligerently or earnestly, I know that I let off a little laugh when he sneers his way into “regrets.”  That, and I think of Ben Garant and Kerri Kenney’s portrayal of Sid and Nancy on a game show on The State and I laugh again.  I’m not quite sure what the agenda here is, but this is probably where all those ironic punk covers of decidedly non-punk songs come back to.  In that case, I’m torn; I admire the prototype yet hate the replications.

More on Sid Vicious: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm