Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged '1970s'

February 8, 2010

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“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

February 7, 2010

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“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

TAGGED UNDER: cheap trick | 1979 | 1970s | epic records | audi commercial | super bowl | wtf |

February 4, 2010

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“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

January 31, 2010

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“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

January 29, 2010

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“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

TAGGED UNDER: sid vicious | sex pistols | frank sinatra | 1979 | 1970s | EMI | cover song |

December 22, 2009

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“Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)” – Marvin Gaye
(Words/music: Marvin Gaye, available on What’s Going On, Motown 1971)

When presented with a soapbox, Marvin Gaye responds with a snapshot rather than a sermon. The What’s Going On album draws on a host of social issues, yet it’s not driven by a specific agenda. Take “Mercy Mercy Me,” a song that still seems relevant as the world’s leaders meet in Copenhagen right now to discuss the global climate. Gaye describes the fragile state of the environment in a subdued yet soulful tone. While he implies judgment on the situation when he notes that “things ain’t what they used to be,” he never pushes his agenda. In this case, it’s an asset to the song; Gaye’s arrangement feels intimate and contemplative, and any attempt at sloganeering wouldn’t fit the situation.

So why bring up the environment at all? In this case, it seems like an issue of conscience. Gaye seems intent on crafting an accurate depiction of his world and wrote songs about what he saw. “Mercy Mercy Me” depends on this feeling of authenticity; otherwise, the Hollywood strings and orchestral touches might feel cheesy. Instead, these embellishments give Gaye’s impassioned vocals and serious subject matter the gravitas it deserves. Anything else – whether a truncated vision of the world, an out-of-character rally cry, or the privileging of persona over person – makes “Mercy Mercy Me” laughable. While other scenarios use personas to their advantage (and Gaye does this as well, especially in his “Let’s Get It On” days), a disarmingly beautiful song like “Mercy Mercy Me” calls for complete truth. Even if the truth is that Gaye doesn’t have an answer (and if anyone did, our leaders wouldn’t be in Copenhagen right now), he does his part by getting the conversation rolling.

More on Marvin Gaye: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 19, 2009

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“After the Gold Rush” – Neil Young
(Words/music: Neil Young, available on Live Rust, Reprise 1979)

I vividly remember the first time “After the Gold Rush” connected with me. I was watching VH-1 Classic and saw a performance from a concert (perhaps in Berlin) in the 1980s. Young performed the song on his own at the piano with his harmonica attachment, and behind him was a sea of fans largely silent (and swelling to raucous applause for the “I felt like getting high” line). I remember being struck by the simplicity of the song, specifically the way that Young commanded the attention of such a large crowd with such a simple, fragile song. At that point, I knew Harvest and the louder rock songs (“Cortez the Killer” and “Rockin’ in the Free World” for example), but this performance sent me deep into his catalogue.

“After the Gold Rush” thrives on this fragility. Whether it’s the fragile state of the environment, the minimal piano-voice-harmonica arrangement, or the narrator’s fragile mental state, the song feels like it might fall apart at any moment. Still, it’s Young’s imperfectly wavering voice that makes the track compelling. It needn’t be perfect or polished. Instead, it’s a trip into his narrator’s head and a glimpse at his view of the world. Whether it’s conspiracy theories, fears for Mother Nature, or drug-fueled dreams of leaving Earth, Young’s narrator sounds like a man clinging to his dreams as a last hope. Desperation rarely sounds this beautiful.

More on Neil Young: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 11, 2009

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“Watching the Detectives” – Elvis Costello
(Words/music: Elvis Costello, available on My Aim is True (Reissue), Rykodisc 1993)

Elvis Costello earned a reputation as a gifted lyricist. Most discussions of his music, particularly his late ‘70s output, focuses on the sarcasm, wordplay, and wit in his lyrics (which makes sense for a man who uses the word “anaesthetize” in a pop song). His skill doesn’t end on the lyric sheet, though; Costello could put notes on a staff with the same expertise he could fill his notebook. Whether arranging his own songs or producing others records, Costello has a knack for using his core group of musicians to create whatever sound or mood his song needs.

“Watching the Detectives” does this particularly well. Using the same group of core instruments that made the melancholy “Allison,” Costello turns a wobbily reggae shuffle into a darker, more sinister sounding song. The lyrics draw on the melodrama in a TV detective show, and in turn Costello draws on some of sounds of a noir thriller in his song. Overall, it makes his story about a couple divided by television that much more mysterious. Like the shows the lover enjoys watching, we’re missing some of the clues about the relationship; borrowing some of the musical tricks from these shows is Costello’s way of winking at us as he makes a boring night on the couch seem dramatic. From the dirty drums to the dark sounding guitar, the dark groove puts us on alert. When his band suddenly cuts out at the end of the third verse, Costello uses the band to create drama beyond his narrative, ultimately letting the music help him tell his story. It’s hard to imagine making a droll night in this compelling with words alone.

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

December 9, 2009

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“Blitzkrieg Bop” – The Ramones
(Words/music: The Ramones, available on Ramones, Sire 1976)

Admittedly, a lot of things come to mind about the Ramones before I think about how many excellent songs they wrote together. If it were possible to monitor my brain while asking me about the Ramones, I’d imagine that my synapses would jump to all of the trivia associated with the band. That fine, and at some point in my past I’m sure I would be thrilled with the way I could fluidly talk about their place in history and owning Rocket to Russia on vinyl or even making the argument that the Ramones version of punk owes more to Phil Spector than Iggy Pop. However, there’s a marginal amount of joy I find in those facts; perhaps it’s from being in a job surrounded by facts, or perhaps it’s the burden of having so much information available that I feel like I can’t possibly absorb it all.

My point is this – the reason I care about Joey Ramone’s real name or the garage rock bands the Ramones covered ultimately goes back to the music. While historical context can enrich music, it shouldn’t eclipse the song. Ultimately, “Blitzkrieg Bop” isn’t great because the band played it on stage at CBGBs in the late 70s, or because someone puts it in their top five list. “Blitzkrieg Bop” is great because of the way it makes a pulse quicken as soon as the first power chord strikes. In the right moments, “hey, ho, let’s go” stirs my soul like nothing else, and for 2:11, the reason why so many of us know so much about the Ramones takes center stage. It’s easy to get lost in the trivia (especially now with all of the listmaking going on), and that’s part of the fun of music. Let’s just remember the reason why we care about any of it in the first place.

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

December 7, 2009

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“Gloria (In Excelsis Deo / Gloria (Version))” – Patti Smith
(Words/music: Patti Smith and Van Morrison, available on Horses, Arista 1975)

Someone reading about “Gloria” without ever hearing it would imagine that Patti Smith delivers the opening line to the song through clenched teeth. Instead, one of the first recorded artifacts of the New York punk rock scene begins closer to a whisper than a scream. Smith lets out her signature line with a measured pace and restrained tone. It’s not as angst-ridden or sensationalist as it is a statement of the facts. After all, she’s not denying religion – she’s just saying that it’s not her thing.

Even if this is the most famous line in her song (only rivaled by the hook in “Because the Night”), it’s not her thesis statement. That comes late on in the verse when she goes a step further, declaring that her sings “belong to me.” Until this point, Smith continues with the restrained tone of her first few lines until she reaches this declaration. When she repeats the word “me,” she lingers and sneers at it, letting the note bend slightly. This is the moment where Smith picks up, letting the swagger in her voice take over as the song crescendos head-on into Van Morrison’s “Gloria.” As the song progresses, Smith’s narrator takes the ownership of her sins as empowerment, fusing a sense of action and control with the sexual energy in Morrison’s original. By the end of the song (and the return of that infamous first line), Smith’s persona becomes fully formed. The measured pace of the opening gives way to Smith’s surrealist, self-empowered narrator. Rather than take her cues from anyone else (the Divine included), Smith’s persona acts on her own accord, bending the will of others (or others’ songs) to fit her own vision.

More on Patti Smith: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

November 28, 2009

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“A Message to You Rudy” – The Specials
(Words/music: Lee “Scratch” Perry and Lee Thompson, available on The Specials, 2 Tone / Chrysalis 1979)

More than bands in other genres, ska bands look backward to their heroes for their inspiration. The Specials did this as much as anyone else and in the process became ambassadors to both the second wave ska movement and to the history of ska in general. Without the Specials pointing backwards to their roots, generations of music fans might begin and end their knowledge of reggae with Bob Marley. So it’s appropriate that the Specials debut album contained a number of old reggae songs, including a faithful interpretation of this Dandy Livingstone track. While Livingstone’s track cautioned the Jamaican rude boys against their violent behavior, The Specials sent their “message” to the new wave of ska in England. Just as the new wave of ska repurposed “rude boy” to mean fans of the music (granted, some still took the violence as part of it), the Specials took Livingstone’s warning and repurposed it as a rallying cry to their growing two-tone movement.

Personally, “A Message to You Rudy” takes on an entirely out-of-context meaning. Tonight I’m going to celebrate my friend Matt’s birthday at Rudy’s, one of our favorite bars. In addition to affordable beer (and amazing Belgian frites), Rudy’s has been a place to get together with friends, listen to an insanely eclectic jukebox, and kick back from the day-to-day grind. Even though I knew most of the songs that I associate with Rudy’s long before I could drink beer, many vivid memories attached to these songs occurred at Rudy’s. So tonight, while lifting a pint to Matt, I’ll see if I can slip a dollar into the jukebox and play the Specials in honor of a friend, a band, and a bar that I hold so dearly.

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

TAGGED UNDER: the specials | dandy livingstone | 1979 | 1970s | ska | 2 tone records |

November 23, 2009

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“Sir Duke” – Stevie Wonder
(Words/music: Stevie Wonder, available on Songs in the Key of Life, Motown 1976)

Stevie Wonder’s celebration of music (and elegy to the late Duke Ellington) sneaks in a bit of criticism as well. Even though most of the song celebrates the omnipresence of melody in our souls, Wonder offers a qualifier right at the end of the first verse. “Just because a record has a groove doesn’t make it in the groove,” he sings, and he’s right. These are the intangible distinctions music relies upon – the sort that describe the difference between hearing (for instance) a Duke Ellington tune and a Duke Ellington performance. Anyone who sat through a middle school band concert could tell you the difference between playing the notes and performing the song. Sometimes I get caught up thinking about the structure of a song or a specific phrase without paying due attention to the people performing it or the way the singer intonates a line. Simply put, sometimes it’s not about finding the perfect notes – it’s about finding the perfect notes for the performer.

“Sir Duke” falls into that latter category. Not only are the horn notes, drum licks, and guitar lines meticulously constructed and arranged, Wonder gives it a groove like few others. It’s one thing to play all of these phrases properly, but it’s another thing entirely to breathe life into such intricate phrases. Even while his horn section plays those fast runs in unison with the rhythm section, the track never loses its soul. Instead, Wonder sits back, lets out a joyous whoop, and boogies on into the song’s next section. It’s hard to imagine “Sir Duke” as performed by anyone else, let alone performed without sacrificing either the musicianship or groove. Instead, Wonder plays to his entire audience, giving the musicians something to admire and the fans something to feel. In that sense, he belongs in the same league as the people he’s celebrating in this song.

More on Stevie Wonder: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

November 21, 2009

Reblogged from somesongsconsidered

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“Layla” – Derek and the Dominos
(Words/music: Eric Clapton and Jim Gordon, available on Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, Polydor 1970)

I’m not going to question Eric Clapton’s guitar chops; I can only dream of one day being half as good at something as Eric Clapton is at playing the guitar. He’s a pretty good vocalist, and a decent songwriter too. That being said, “Layla” doesn’t become an immortal song without Jim Gordon’s piano coda. The opening song runs on a killer riff and his desperate declaration of love for George Harrison’s wife. It would be a solid song on its own – Clapton delivers an impassioned vocal performance (clearly drawing on his real-life inspiration) over Duane Alman’s lead riff, but it’s the piano coda that cement’s the song’s legacy. Gordon’s section of the song puts on the breaks, shifting the tone away from desperation to melancholy. Producer Tom Dowd spliced together the two movements, but both parts seemingly needed each other. Clapton’s desperation benefits from the slowed tempo, and Gordon’s piano riff feels more heartfelt after Clapton’s overt declaration of (what seemed like) unrequited love. On their own, each part could do well (and Gordon’s piano solo worked exceptionally well as a montage piece in Goodfellas), but together each part takes what it needs from the other.

November 9, 2009

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“Hey Hey What Can I Do” – Led Zeppelin
(Words/music: John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, and Robert Plant, available on “Immigrant Song” Single (Atlantic 1970), Led Zeppelin: The Complete Collection (Atlantic 1990))

Like many American males, I went through a Led Zeppelin phase as a teenager. I remember buying the Remasters CD set as an introduction to the band and playing “Communication Breakdown” to break in the first subwoofer I ever owned. For a variety of reasons, I went a long time after this phase ended without actively listening to the band. Whether it was from overdosing on them at age fifteen, never getting into the mystical lyrics (never been a Lord of the Rings devotee), or just becoming preoccupied with other bands, my time in the cult of Zeppelin gave way to a begrudging respect from afar. I still worshiped John Bonham’s quick hands and feet, but again I felt myself pulled toward other drummers. This seemed emblematic of my relationship with the band in general – they seemed so far out of my league that I never felt a strong connection.

Now, when I think of Led Zeppelin, I’m drawn toward the less canonical songs – perhaps because of the seemingly millions of times I’ve heard “Black Dog” on the radio, or maybe because I still harbor contrarian tendencies. Regardless, these are the songs that pique my interest, in part because something like “Hey Hey What Can I Do” still manage to sound like Led Zeppelin songs without the aggressive guitar riffs. Instead, it draws on the blues more for subject (in this case, heartbreak) than style, relying on the less-heralded arranging skills. Specifically, the lively mandolin dances around the acoustic guitar chords in a playful way, and the backing vocals (a relative rarity in the Zeppelin catalog) build on the song’s campfire feeling. Of course, it still gives Robert Plant’s caterwaul an opportunity, particularly in the song’s outro, but it also features the rare experience where Plant’s narrator isn’t in control. Perhaps I’m letting the strength of his voice influence my memory, but Plant’s characters generally have a sense of control or power (or, if nothing else, at least a sense of action). In this song, his protagonist has little else to do but leave behind a wild woman.

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

November 8, 2009

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“Move On Up” – Curtis Mayfield
(Words/music: Curtis Mayfield, available on Curtis, Rhino 1970)

On its own, the first four minutes of “Move On Up” accomplishes everything it needs to accomplish. Mayfield threads together his inspirational lyrics, stone-cold groove, and shouting horns for a three minute celebratory burst that makes even the most bashful singers break out their best falsetto. In many ways, it’s the epitome of the “secular gospel” sound Mayfield cultivated (Buffalo Tom’s Bill Janovitz quotes Mayfield as calling his music “church songs” without the word “God” in his Allmusic writeup). Yes, Mayfield’s lyrics sound like an emotional pep talk, but it’s the sheer joy that permeates every note of the song that makes it great, from the crispest snare drum to the loudest horn.

It’s this sense of joy and celebration that gives the song a second act. After essentially ending the song with a closing fanfare, the drummer brings the band back in. One by one, Mayfield’s band starts back in and builds on the groove. While there’s an excellent saxophone solo during the first half of this vamp, the focus remains on the groove, as the drummer and conga players furiously lay down the beat and the horn section hits their figures. In some cases, such an extended coda might feel self-indulgent. Here, it’s a celebration of the perfect groove and jubilant horn phrase. Even as it approaches the nine minute mark, “Move On Up” never overstays its welcome. Instead, it takes its good ideas and gives them the space to play themselves out. Whether listening to just the first half of the song (or something like The Jam’s accelerated take on it) or the entire extended version, it’s impossible to resist Mayfield’s electric charm.

More on Curtis Mayfield: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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