Some Songs Considered

“Darklands” – The Jesus and Mary Chain
(Words/music: Jim and William Reid, available on Darklands, Warner Brothers 1987) 

It’s a strange endeavor to approach a band’s catalog when it’s complete (or, at least seems complete – who knows with the JAMC).  There’s the compilation route – and the Jesus and Mary Chain have an excellent one titled 21 Singles that makes an incredible case for this band as a singles band – but in many ways a compilation feels like cheating.  It almost seems too easy to fall in love with a band with all of their best songs immediately put in front of you, and sometimes it makes delving deeper into the catalogue harder.  Then there’s the approach of asking for starting points.  Sometimes this is quite useful, but it also demands that you consider the source as well.  So when asking about the Jesus and Mary Chain, you’re likely going to be told to start with Psychocandy, and I’m not going to argue with that starting point.  I will, however, admit that it’s not my favorite Jesus and Mary Chain album (and, given my run of songs over the last year and a half, that probably isn’t a shock).  Based both on play count and gut instinct, Darklands comes out on top for me.

Many of my feelings about the Darklands album also explain why I love the title track.  “Darklands” captures the Reid brothers at their most tuneful.   I understand and respect the appeal of the earlier and more chaotic songs on Psychocandy, but I’m far more inclined to the gentle sweetness and tinges of melancholy in these songs.  Of course, this is easy for me to say looking at their catalog as a whole, especially considering that I’ve never seen one of their loud, chaotic, and confrontational shows.  Still, it’s hard to deny the charm in “Darklands,” whether it’s the gentle jangle or the way William Reid’s voice toes the line between gruff and brash and gently beautiful.  It may be an outlier when looked at the band’s work overall, but it’s hard to deny a guitar jangle employed so perfectly. 

More on The Jesus and Mary Chain: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Never Gonna Give You Up” – Rick Astley
(Words/music: Matt Aitken/Mike Stock/Pete Waterman, available on Whenever You Need Somebody, RCA 1987)

Yes, it’s April Fools’ Day.  Let’s do this in bullet points.

• Today at Popular, the rundown of every number one single in the UK, Tom Ewing’s post on “Never Gonna Give You Up” (both the tongue-in-cheek perfect 10 and the clarification in the edit) touches on the point that the internet has changed the meaning of the song.  He has some fun with it, but there’s a touch of truth even in the hyperbole.  If nothing else, this is an example of context turning a song upside down.

• The comments on the Popular post are excellent too, and they discussed the point I considered in the car this morning (before reading Tom’s post) – why did this catch on like wildfire?  My apocryphal theory is that the video mirrors the practice of Rickrolling.  Specifically, it’s an exercise in “what you see isn’t what you’re going to get” – the same way that a link to an album leak or a cat video leads to the video, the awkwardly dancing redhead in the video doesn’t match the voice singing the track.  This has always been part of the novelty of the song, and it only compounds the surprise when sent as a tinyurl link.

• Finally, the ultimate answer to the “why” question comes back to the song.  Rickrolling went on for so long (still goes on?) because we’re drawn to the song.  Whether it’s a blast of nostalgia, a mini dance break in your cubicle, or just a guilty pleasure, “Never Gonna Give You Up” is generally more pleasant than grating.  I know I’ve been sent the video and let it play far longer than I realized.  Now, after being sent the video for the tenth time in a weekend, that’s a different story.

More on Rick Astley: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Ask” – The Smiths 
(Words/music: Johnny Marr and Morrissey, available on Louder than Bombs, Sire 1987) 

No matter what anyone else says, vagueness is not a virtue.  I had an experience today where hollow thought took precedence over a considerate, well-formed answer, and it bugged me ever since.  Sure, there are times when full-disclosure isn’t wise, and perhaps coyness or discretion is a virtue – knowing when a one word answer or a scaled down version of a story suffices.  But vagueness for the sake of not-committing infuriates me to no end.  To oversimplify it, it too often comes down to an unwillingness to commit to an idea (or, in some cases, avoiding thinking at all).  We’re all entitled to turn off our brains every now and again or to have a knee-jerk reaction to something like a song or a movie without an accompanying defense.  The problem comes when a vague answer garners praise for insight that isn’t there.

I don’t think Morrissey and I are ranting about the same thing here, but I think the sentiments overlap.  The heart of the lyric targets inaction; specifically, that unless you advocate for your thoughts and ideas, don’t’ expect them to go anywhere.  It’s slightly ironic given that many canonize Morrissey as the patron saint of shy souls, but it’s necessary advice.  While his narrator claims that he can’t say no if asked, it’s also not the end of the world if someone says no.  After all, you’re just in the same place where you started, only without the nagging “what if” lingering in the back of your head.  In this case, vagueness about one’s intentions forces people to be mind readers, and when we leave it to others to read our minds we can’t expect to be understood.

So if anything, virtue lies in directness – whether directness in advocating for yourself or just being direct about your perspective.  And if someone asks you a question, give them a real answer.

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

“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

“Never Tear Us Apart” – INXS
(Words/music: Andrew Farriss and Michael Hutchence, available on Kick, Atlantic 1987)

In the United States, the night before Thanksgiving becomes a sort of impromptu reunion.  I’m not really big on the forced nostalgia and awkward reminiscing, so I tend to corral my friends somewhere where we’re less likely to run into hoards of people I haven’t seen since the early part of the decade (tonight I didn’t even make it that far – I stayed in and made an Oreo cheesecake for Thanksgiving).  It all comes back to the idea of reminiscing on someone else’s terms; if I had control over more of the settings – say, knowing which random people I’d run into, or at least setting a playlist – then I might be more inclined to brave the bars on a night like this.

Oddly enough, the first song that came to mind was “Never Tear Us Apart.”  At first, it came to mind as the perfect song to play near the end of the night.  These types of slow power ballads make for great sing-alongs, and I have vivid memories of belting out the chorus with some of my friends when the song came on.  Then, the more I thought about it, it thematically captures these kind of moments where the past and present intersect.  I doubt it’s what Michael Hutchence thought about when he wrote the song, but high school brings up bittersweet memories (or, more aptly, bitter and sweet memories).  “Never Tear Us Apart” describes a collision of two worlds (in this case, past and present) with resolution and a slightly melancholy undertone.  The way he sings the title line sounds convincing, yet the necessity for such a declaration suggests that the union will be fraying soon enough.  In this case, as each year passes, the gap between the shared memories and the new lives we all live widens, and with each passing year the topics of conversation grow fewer and fewer .  At least, if we all had a few drinks and sang the backing vocals to “Never Tear Us Apart, “ we could bond over this implicit recognition of a widening gap.

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

“Beds are Burning” – Midnight Oil
(Words/music: Rob Hirst, James Moginie, and Peter Garrett, available on Diesel and Dust, Columbia 1987)

Contradictions fascinate me, especially when I find them within myself.  “Beds are Burning” presents one I particularly find fascinating; I find myself completely at home in this song yet still feel like a stranger to it.  I’ll start with the familiarity.  Without fail, the first three notes of this song cause me to stop everything and exclaim “Midnight Oil.”  Depending on the context, friends and acquaintances treat this semi-involuntary response with a mix of bewilderment and reluctant respect.  I can’t play the song, I can’t identify the chords or the progression, and I don’t know a lot of the words, but those three notes immediately trigger recognition in my brain.  For whatever reason, years of sporadically hearing “Beds are Burning” seared those three notes into my brain, attaching a permanent association that earns me little more than odd looks from friends and the occasional point in a trivia competition.

Still, even if those three notes mean that I recognize the surroundings, I still feel like a stranger.  Midnight Oil wears their Australian heritage proudly, using their songs as a way to address issues they feel strongly about.  In particular, “Beds are Burning” rebukes the Australian government for their forcible displacement of Aborigine people in the 20th century.  They even used their performance of the song during the closing of the 2000 Olympics in Sydney as a soapbox, performing their best known song to their largest worldwide audience with the words “sorry” on their chests as a reference to the Australian government’s refusal to issue a formal apology.  While I can identify with the general call-to-consciousness in the chorus, the song’s finer details only highlight that I know little to nothing about the Aborigine people or the Australian government’s mistreatment.  I’ve never been to Australia, but I imagine the experience of feeling like a foreigner in a place where I speak the language might feel (granted, on an entirely different scale) somewhat like the conflicted way I feel about this song.  Regardless, it’s a reminder that I still have a lot to learn about the world.

More on Midnight Oil: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“See How We Are” – X
(Words/music: Exene Cervenka and John Doe, available on See How We Are, Elektra 1987)

Storytelling relies on details.  The best stories vividly recreate every aspect of the story – the characters, the setting, the events – and active engage the audience.  Still, just because storytelling relies on details doesn’t mean that every story needs to be three hours long.  Sometimes the best stories are the ones that don’t reveal all of the details.  I don’t mean keeping the audience in suspense , but rather sharing only the most essential ones with the readers.  These stories shift the focus away from the concrete, journalistic details and focus on the emotion underneath the surface.  When these stories succeed (or, as I like to tell my students “when the story wins”), We don’t merely place ourselves into the protagonist’s situation.  Instead, we channel the emotions (especially the conflicted emotions) and look at ourselves.  Potentially, we come to a new understanding of ourselves (or others) or gain a new perspective.

Based on that criteria, “See How We Are” wins.  Each verse details a different situation where life moved quickly; by the time the protagonists get a chance to assess their scenarios, they’ve ended up somewhere entirely different.  Each one seems like a snapshot of a moment in time – just enough to evoke the feeling of the world moving too fast or circumstances that spiraled out of control.  By making these sparse, Doe and Cervenka create something unique – these snapshot s (almost like mini-vignettes) could be all different people,  or each one could form a single narrative – starting with a prison romance, culture shock when returning to the outside, and the paradoxical realization that this changed world still features the same personalities and related problems.  On a quick glance, one might call these “gaps” in the story, but really they are opportunities for the audience.  As listeners, we have a few choices – we can look at the song as a heartbreakingly beautiful narrative focused on a couple characters.  We could look at it as a series of snapshots of different people all reevaluating their lives.  Or we can use it as an opportunity to “step into” these openings ourselves and fill in the spaces with our own experiences.  Even without bars on our windows, we see how we are all more similar than we realize.

__________

I’d be remiss if I didn’t send my thoughts out to the band and Exene Cervenka, who was recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  It’s a tribute to her tenacity and strong will that she’ll remain touring with the band though.  X wouldn’t be the same without her beautiful vocals right next to John Doe’s.

“World Shut Your Mouth” – Julian Cope
(Words/music: Julian Cope, available on Saint Julian, Island Records 1987)

I started regularly accumulating albums on vinyl about four years ago, but the habit’s origins go all the way back to high school.  Merle’s Record Rack, the record store in my hometown that’s since closed, had a small used vinyl section all the way in the back of the store (right near the posters).  Usually, my trips to Merle’s began at the new release rack and ended with a long trek through the used CD section.  However, on occasion (usually when we had time to kill), we’d explore some of the other oddities – the wall of used cassette tapes (some of which sit in my car), a rack of t-shirts that smelled like incense, and the used LPs.  We didn’t have a working turntable, so it was mostly out of curiosity unless we found an unavoidable deal.  For example, my brother bought most of Pink Floyd’s catalog for $2 each because he couldn’t pass it up.  I followed suit, nabbing a couple “dollar classics” – Born to Run, Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy, and plenty of other classic rock-leaning albums.  Thus began my obsession with dollar records.

When I finally started building a LP collection, I had a few loose rules – I only wanted to pay more than $10 if it was a record I loved (I think the Replacements Pleased to Meet Me was the first I broke double-digits for), and I would buy essentially anything I had remote interest in for a dollar or less.  This is how I ended up with Saint Julian on LP – I found it for a dollar and bought it, confusing all parties involved.  I tried my best to explain “World Shut Your Mouth” to my friend with me, describing its driving beat and snake-like lead guitar riff.   I tried to explain that Cope’s lyrical plea to ignore criticism and keep dreaming was less about the specific words and more about how he said it, with his repetition mimicking the relentless snare drum hits.  Finally, after playing it in the car on the way home (and deciding that the band OK Go probably loved that song), I figured out how to summarize it – it’s a fine bit of power pop that’s catchy, enjoyable every so often, and not worth much more scrutiny.  A dollar for the LP seemed like a fair price.

To this day, I haven’t played Saint Julian.  I still have it (somewhere), and if I ever find myself DJ-ing somewhere, I might dig it out strictly to play “World Shut Your Mouth.”  I still don’t regret spending a dollar on the album.

More on Julian Cope: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Running to Stand Still” – U2 
(Words: Bono, Music: U2, available on The Joshua Tree, Island Records 1987)

I understand why some people are turned off by U2.  Bono himself would probably think he’s a little too smug, and even though he means well, he often comes off as pompous and self-aggrandizing.  U2’s music, at least since reaching mega-stardom with The Joshua Tree, strives to be as important as the humanitarian causes the band champions.  Part of the reason these songs resonate with so many (aside from being incredible music compositions, and I think the three non-Bono members don’t always get the credit they deserve) is that these sounds take in the world with a wide lens.  Most of the massive hits draw on these broad, universal themes of the shared human experience – the pains and joys of love, struggles with faith, the search for something greater, and yes, even the quest for justice in a few songs.  Bono is not a poetic genius in the conventional sense at least (meaning you won’t see a book of “poetry,” or I really hope we won’t), but in his best moments he takes an event of any size and stretches it out to find the shared human experience in it.  Still, I see how some people prefer to approach life on a smaller level by listening to songs that focus on smaller, more individual stories and do the connecting and relating on their own level.  For better or worse, U2 songs have little lyric subtlety, but I’m not sure we always need our messages subtle and nuanced.  Sometimes, we’re best served to confront life at face value.

While Bono uses “I” almost as a universal “we” (think of “Where the Streets Have No Name,” for one example), he has a few moments of narrative brilliance where his lyrics serve as a detached observer.  The “I” in “Running to Stand Still” is not Bono, but rather the character he’s describing.  On one level, it’s a story about a woman in the thrall of heroin addiction.  He describes her helplessness and despair as her alternatives fade away, leaving only the needle and the looming cloud of death out in the horizon.  In particular, I’ve always loved how the song starts mid-thought with the word “and.”  Rather than try to tell her entire story – how she came to heroin, etc. – we enter the picture in media res and fill in the details on our own. Musically, “Running to Stand Still” flows like a body of water in the middle of the night.  The bending notes on the guitar and the building toms on Larry Mullen, Jr.’s drums create a somber mood.  Appropriately, the song ends without a true climax (a rarity for a U2 song, and a remarkable sign of restraint); at the moment near the end where it might build to something, the music turns the other way and fades down to just the main guitar riff.  Both musically and lyrically, it captures the hopelessly endless feeling of addiction and being trapped in the beginning of the story without a true middle or ending.  Even as a song about heroin addiction, Bono paints it in a way (save for the penultimate “needle’s chill” line) that casts it as addiction and obsession in general.  Most of us, hopefully to a lesser degree, have these single-minded moments that drive us nuts – perhaps with our jobs, or families, or anything else – where we feel that no matter how hard we try, we’re always standing in the same place.  The hope is that we can make our way out of this song and into one that reaches soaring heights and better places.

More on U2: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“History Never Repeats” - Split Enz
(Words/music: Neil Finn, available on History Never Repeats: The Best of Split Enz, A&M 1987)

Without a doubt, the internet changed how we discover new music; if we want to hear something we haven’t heard, there’s many ways to find, sample, and even obtain music or a video or even an artist biography and discography.  Even something like the iTunes store makes owning music available at a whim – I could download almost anything I wanted to hear and have it on my iPod in half an hour.  This is an incredible blessing to us (and, I believe, to musicians as well), but running a search shouldn’t be the exclusive avenue for discovery.

For example, my own musical education – an ongoing process – employs a degree of networking.  I’m constantly asking friends and family what they’re listening to and what I should hear.  The internet makes this so much easier – I could post a tweet asking for new recommendations and have them roll in over the rest of the night.  Still, there’s something satisfying about making a personal musical discovery – the kind that starts with something you love and ends up with a new favorite.  The story about how I came to Split Enz begins with Pearl Jam, one of my favorite bands of my youth (and still today, although that love has evolved – more on that another time) and one of the “gateway” bands that led me toward different things I love.  Pearl Jam was a convenient starting point if for no other reason than the plethora of cover songs Ed and the band performed.  Specifically, I came across Neil Finn through the first 7 Worlds Collide collaboration, which led to finding one of Finn’s solo albums, and ultimately led to finding the History Never Repeats compilation.  I’d already heard some of the songs - “I Got You” and “History Never Repeats” specifically (the latter from the 1995 Pearl Jam Christmas single where Ed, Neil and Tim Finn performed a lovely version of the song) and came to enjoy a lot of the other songs on the collection as well.

“History Never Repeats” thrives on a nervous, youthful energy – those fast sixteenth notes on the hihat push the tempo to the point where it sounds like it’s speeding up.  Finn’s lyrics describe a story of young love gone bad and the attempt to reconcile shortcomings in the past with the power to proceed with the future.  There are artifacts of the new wave era in this song – in particular that bright synthesizer running through the chorus – but the arrangement avoids sounding completely dated.  The jangly guitar line that alternates with the chiming chords in the chorus adds another melodic layer underneath Finn’s vocals.  The melody is plenty catchy, but I’m always drawn in by the high harmonies that enter and exit the song; even at a young age (Finn was 23 when the song was recorded in 1981), Finn had a keen sense for knowing when to use certain techniques.  Three minutes of harmonies at a strained register would have grated on the listener, but used in moderation with some other excellent flourishes – a discordant piano, the drumroll-fueled bridge, and those synth arpeggios – keeps the song interesting a near quarter century later.

More on Split Enz: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“About You” - The Jesus and Mary Chain
(Words/music: Jim and William Reid, available on Darklands, Blanco y Negro 1987)

Two decades after their debut, much of the Jesus and Mary Chain’s reputation revolves around their early incarnation – today, they’re best known for the buzzsaw distortion on Psychocandy and their early shows laced with a defiant stretches of feedback and belligerence.  However, a closer listen to many of the Reid brothers’ songs reveals their ability to write a killer pop song (and anyone who needs convincing should start with the last eighteen tracks on their 21 Singles collection).  The genius behind the Jesus and Mary Chain was less in how loud they could play, but rather in how loud they could play their 60s inspired melodies.  Even still, they’re more than the Beach Boys run through a distortion pedal; there’s a sweetness and beauty to many of their songs.

While Darklands doesn’t have the same bite as Psychocandy, the songs and performances are much stronger.  It’s easy to overlook how early fans would have been disappointed with Darklands’ smoother production when looking at the band’s work after they disbanded, but the best songs are on par with the best tracks on their debut. While “April Skies” and “Darklands” are among my favorites in their catalog, the final track “About You” sticks out to me with its minimal arrangement.  A song with just acoustic guitars and tambourine was inconceivable after hearing the wailing wall of sound on Psychocandy, but it sounds right at home at the end of their second album.  It’s unmistakably a JAMC song – the guitar style and chord changes recall a number of their other songs – but “About You” slows down the tempo, letting Jim Reid’s voice fill the air like a warm summer’s fog.  His long phrasings and lower register gives the song, an homage to finding warmth in a loved one, just a touch of melancholy.  If “Just Like Honey” is the obvious mix tape song in their catalog, “About You” is the song to include when you want to send the “I’m into you” vibe without being blatantly obvious.

More on The Jesus and Mary Chain: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm