Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged '1980'

March 3, 2010

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“Brass in Pocket” – The Pretenders
(Words/music: James Honeyman-Scott/Chrissie Hynde, available on Pretenders, Warner Brothers 1980)

It’s worth getting this out of the way: every time I hear “Brass in Pocket” I think of the karaoke scene in Lost in Translation. In particular, Chrissie Hynde’s promise to use her “side step” makes me think of a pink-wigged Scarlet Johansson dipping her shoulders to the side in succession. It’s appropriate, I suppose, that I associate this song with this moment of indirect flirting, as “Brass in Pocket” details the quest to catch someone’s eye. The thing that separates “Brass in Pocket” from other seductive songs is its focus; rather than dwell on the object of her affection, Hynde’s narrator goes through her arsenal of charms. This isn’t the sort of attention-grabbing behavior that reality TV thrives cultivates. Instead, the narrator prepares her usual tricks and steps up to battle.

Of course, the song isn’t wonderful simply because the narrator promises to prove that she’s “special” (and, if we believe the video, her charms aren’t enough to win over the restaurant patrons). It’s the song’s relaxed groove and just enough of a bounce to keep Hynde’s list of preparations moving forward. She’s not the only one with an arsenal of tricks, as the rest of the Pretenders came prepared to battle with ringing guitars and a small choir of “specials’” to back up Hynde. My favorite part of her vocal performance comes right at the end – after an entire song of confident singing, Hynde slides into a more relaxed and less pronounced tone for the “I wonder where you are” line. It fits the change from militant confidence to slight hesitation, but most importantly it casts the narrator in a different light for a brief moment, suggesting that we haven’t seen her entire bag of tricks just yet.

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

January 23, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Atmosphere” – Joy Division
(Words/music: Bernard Albrecht/Ian Curtis/Peter Hook/Stephen Morris/Bernard Sumner, available on Substance, Qwest 1988 / Factory Records single 1980)

If Ian Curtis’ suicide dominates Joy Division’s general reputation, most of their catalog does little to refute the gloomy associations. Whether it’s dark overtones in the lyrics or the general tautness of their sound, most would find bleakness in their music before finding beauty. Even their most famous song frames love as a destructive force. As with any generalized reputation, Joy Division’s reduced biography paints the band as completely one-dimensional. Songs like “Atmosphere” show the band putting a twist on their sound, foreshadowing the more nuanced emotions New Order put into their records.

“Atmosphere” frames the iciness of Joy Division’s sound in a different context. It still sounds cold and barren, but it feels like the peaceful quiet of a chilly pre-dawn morning. The humming synthesizer and huge drum sound feels like a busy street before everyone wakes up. It’s this setting where Curtis and his second party find a sort of public privacy while the rest of the world sleeps. Whether Curtis, who sings in a deep and rich tone, intends his plea as a final desperate act or just as a reaction to a disagreement, his request for this person to remain and talk rings through the emptiness. Where emptiness in other Joy Division songs might signify isolation or loneliness, this emptiness creates a sense of intimacy only available in these very early (or very late) moments. As the hum of the rest of the world builds, Curtis feels increasingly sincere and urgent. In a scene with few other signs of life, we’re given a glimpse into the kind of private moments we never know about. Out of this emptiness comes a sense of warmth, largely from the same ringing arpeggios and “Be My Baby” beat that “Just Like Honey” would use a few years later. Just as the song reaches its climax – the moment where the rest of the world wakes up – “Atmosphere” fades out. Even without resolution, it’s a rare glimpse into a side of the band that rarely gets mentioned.

More on Joy Division: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 22, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“That’s Entertainment” – The Jam
(Words/music: Paul Weller, available on Sound Affects, Polydor 1980)

Tonight marks the end of Conan O’Brien’s brief run as host of The Tonight Show after an extremely public bout with his network. I won’t add onto the pile of discussion of the way O’Brien left the network and instead will focus on wishing him a fond (and hopefully temporary) farewell. Of course, since music was one of the important parts of his show – from interacting with the characters in the Max Weinberg Seven to the terrific bands his staff booked for him – I thought I’d send Conan off with a song.

“That’s Entertainment” describes some of the sights and sounds of working class Britain. Paul Weller runs through the bleak sights, shrill sounds, and general humdrum details of everyday life. As a narrator, Weller stays generally detached, only tipping us to the unhappiness of the people living here in the “wishing you were far away” line (which, to be fair, could be any place at any time). It’s this general discontent that leads me to think that the “that’s entertainment” line isn’t necessarily meant as sarcastic. Rather, if it’s to suggest that working class life isn’t entertaining, it underscores the need for entertainment in our lives.

This is where O’Brien comes in. His show provided small doses of entertainment, be it bizarre comedy bits, an engaging interview, or a favorite band playing a new song. O’Brien’s show offered levity after an exhausting day and did so in a consistently clever and genuinely warm way. He combined the razor-sharp wit and flair for absurdity that many try to cultivate with an endearing and effortless charm that most of us dream of possessing. If Weller’s song focused on the need for tiny bits of escapism in our day-to-day lives, Conan O’Brien was one of my favorites. For the sake of entertainment, I hope he returns to television soon.

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

December 17, 2009

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“Driven to Tears” – The Police
(Words/music: Sting, available on Zenyatta Mondatta, Interscope 1980)

Given Sting’s post-Police foray into soft rock, it’s understandable how some might dismiss the Police. When coupled with the way some of their songs are used - “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” on the soundtrack to The Wedding Singer and “Every Breath You Take” surprisingly misappropriated by wedding singers (and sampled by Puffy, of course), It’s understandable how some banish the Police into the realm of adult contemporary radio. To do so, however, sells the band short, particularly in the way the three musicians in the band were more than the sum of their parts.

While Sting, the primary songwriter, vocalist, and biggest personality in the group, still receives the most attention, Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland more than held their own with their more famous bandmate. Summers, an accomplish guitarist outside of the rock world, brings his knowledge of jazz into his guitar playing, particularly in the unconventional chord voicings in “Driven to Tears,” moreover, Summers’ guitar has a distinctive echoey tone that helps cast the mood appropriate for Sting’s lyrics about poverty. His solo, however, departs from this shimmery echo into the more disjointed and dissonant sound one might expect on a Gang of Four record rather than a Sting recording. Additionally, Copeland, a cult hero in the drumming world, controls the beat with an acrobat’s prevision and flair for the dramatic. Whether locking into the double-time groove in the bridge section or tossing off-the-cuff fills into empty space, Copeland stakes claim to one third of the sonic space in the song. Copeland and Summers give sting the canvas to tell his story of disgust and empathy, giving just enough detail to communicate his point without making himself the center of the circus. Instead, as with the band’s best recordings, the entire trio shares the spotlight.

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

December 5, 2009

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Crazy Little Thing Called Love” – Queen
(Words/music: Freddie Mercury, available on The Game, Elektra 1980)

While the rest of the world falls in love with the Muppets’ version of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” I just spent fifteen minutes searching for Queen’s performance of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” from Saturday Night Live in the early 1980s. When I first saw it years ago, I started to think of Queen differently. I knew the song previously (having stolen my mom’s Queen compilations – sorry mom!), but it was that performance that gave me something more than Wayne’s World to think of when I heard them. The best I can find right now is a recording of a recording (with less than ideal sound), but even this clip captures the band tearing through the song. There aren’t any crazy time signatures or camera tricks – just a band doing what it does best.

Appropriately, Freddie Mercury steps into the spotlight on this track. Primarily known for both his dramatic flair and powerful voice, Mercury puts both talents to use somewhat differently on this song. Rather than overpowering his bandmates with his booming range, he slides into a rockabilly croon effortlessly. Not only does Mercury nail all of the vocal tics (specifically the intonation), he does it convincingly. Where a lesser singer might have resembled a caricature of Elvis Presley singing out of the side of his mouth, Mercury turns in a performance worthy of the King’s finest moments. More importantly, Mercury does so without having to sacrifice the power in his voice. Particularly in the SNL clip, Mercury still sings with presence; while it’s not as booming as some of his other recordings, Mercury delivers these lines with precise and focused force. By the time Brian May lays out an excellent guitar solo and Mercury can bounce around the stage, the band’s already into their victory lap.

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

October 9, 2009

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Private Idaho” – The B-52s
(Words/music: Kate Pierson, Fred Schneider, Keith Strickland, Cindy Wilson, and Ricky Wilson, available on Wild Planet, Warner Brothers 1980)

The B-52s are a party band, and any effort to prove otherwise denies their basic essence. Even “Private Idaho” and its jagged riff come packaged with a driving dance beat and bubbly vocals. No matter what, it’s this identity as a party band that flows through all of their songs. Even their name’s military connotation pales in comparison to the hairstyles of the same name. No matter what, the party vibe comes first.

That said, they’re more than a three minute stop on a wedding DJ’s playlist. “Private Idaho” in particular doesn’t have the same abandon one might expect in a dance party song. Like many of their early songs, “Private Idaho” uses a surf rock lick as its main riff, but unlike a song like “Rock Lobster,” this one feels rougher. The tone sounds darker and the edges seem more jagged and pronounced, and with the pounding drums leading the charge, the riff sneaks its way into the mix at times. Lyrically, the song touches on paranoia and isolation – atypical subjects for a dance party, but the B-52s manage to toe the line skillfully between foreboding and forgetting. The chorus of overlapping voices, especially Cindy Wilson and Kate Pierson’s wordless moans, feels closed in yet never entirely claustrophobic. No matter how dark the song gets lyrically or sonically, it still sounds like a band having fun. Whether it’s the stampeding drum fills, Fred Schneider’s distinctive annunciation, or the ladies’ intermingling voices, the song never loses that initial sense of fun. If it’s necessary to retreat to the underground, the B-52s advocate bringing the party down with us. I imagine it being a party where the B-52s follow “Life During Wartime” rather than the electric slide.

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

September 14, 2009

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“People Who Died” – Jim Carroll Band
(Words/music: Jim Carroll, available on Catholic Boy, Atco 1980)

I envisioned this blog as an opportunity to discuss songs and my relationship with them, so this is not the place for me to eulogize Jim Carroll. To be honest, Carroll’s death saddened me mainly because I know a lot of people who loved his work, in particular The Basketball Diaries, and will consider this death a personal blow. I only mention it because the touching tributes around the web pointed me back toward “People Who Died,” a song I haven’t heard in years and hadn’t thought about in almost the same amount of time.

Most of the tributes characterized Carroll as a “punk poet” – a writer who tried his hand at music the way other writers adapt a new genre. I’ve heard the term attached to people like Patti Smith (who described Carroll as “pretty much universally recognized as the best poet of his generation” in the New York Times obituary) but thought of it as a stopgap term – the way to describe someone who dabbled in the spirit of punk rock and approached songwriting with a literary eye. I’m skeptical to call a poet playing punk rock a “punk poet” – as it seems too tidy. However, hearing “People Who Died” now after being introduced to it on VH-1 Classic a few years back, Carroll’s song embodies the spirit of both punk and poetry. Poetry has this stigma of being dense and unapproachable, but just as often a writer will compose something that looks simple (at least on the outside) as the best way to communicate an idea. Specifically, a trashing punk song doesn’t provide the optimal ground for a web of complex imagery (at least usually), and Carroll seems to understand this about the medium. Rather than get bogged down in details, he presents his “poem,” (if you want to call it that) as a series of images bombarding his audience. It creates the same effect as elaborately lurid details, except using bodycount rather than gore to elicit shock. The stories fly by too fast before Carroll and his band describe them in a droll and deadpan way in the chorus, perhaps as a commentary to those who turn a blind eye to the casualties of drug abuse. The sing-songy chorus and blank faced descriptions give “People Who Died” the same feel as an Edward Gorey painting – simple on the outside and subversive right below the surface.

More on Jim Carroll: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: jim carroll | patti smith | 1980 | 1980s | atco records | r.i.p. |

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