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“Waiting for the Great Leap Forward” – Billy Bragg
(Words/music: Billy Bragg, available on Worker’s Playtime, Go! Discs 1988) 

My instincts want me to use “Waiting for the Great Leap Forward” as a way to look back at the past year of blogging.  When I started writing this blog, I did it as a way to explore my taste in music.  I’ve been secure in my taste, meaning that I like the things I like proudly with or without the validation of others, for a while now, but I wanted to go deeper and try to figure out why I liked the things that I like.  In that sense, Bragg’s ode to contradiction seems strangely appropriate to a point.  “Waiting for the Great Leap Forward” hinges not only on the allusion to the failed economic and cultural renewal plan in 1950s China but on his appropriation of the cliché “one step forward, two steps back.”  He lists a series of moments where advancement and regression converge – events where the opposite outcome – whether intended or inevitable – becomes prevalent.  The power of Bragg’s song, both in the original version and in the continually updated lyrics since – is that he confronts his own contradictions in addition to the glaring dissonance in our culture.  Whether it’s growing old, adapting to technology, or the accidental isolation of fame, Bragg ponders where and how he fits in to a changing world.

After a year of writing about songs that cover a significant portion of my taste as well as my personal listening history, I’m left in a similar position of confusion.  In some cases, I have a better handle on the kind of things I like, none of which surprise me.  Still, I’ve found that I’ve raised more than enough questions, whether directly or tangentially, to offset any “progress” I might declare (or, at least, “progress” I had in mind at the beginning of the year).  However, this isn’t a failure; after all, this isn’t the kind of thing with tangible results.  Instead, I feel even more curious at this point than when I started.  That, coupled with the list of songs and songwriters I haven’t touched yet, is enough for me to want to continue with this in 2010.  The job feels incomplete not because I failed to find what I was looking for, but because I’ve found that there’s more to explore.  Where I once imagined writing some kind of dossier of my introspection, I’m finding that the act of considering and writing about these songs is what I wanted all along – that the small epiphanies about a forgotten favorite or a new perspective on a personal memory are the reasons I sat down to write in the first place.

Which brings me back to the song – even if the piano chords are slow at first, Bragg and friends eventually kick into gear.  For his mixed feelings about progress, Bragg isn’t moping about failure.  Instead, he’s forging on the same way he has for the better part of three decades now, still singing “Waiting for the Great Leap Forward” just with different details.  On a much smaller scale, that’s what I’m hoping for – continuing along with different details, hoping each day to figure out something else, or get a little better at what I’m doing.

More on Billy Bragg: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: billy bragg | 1988 | 1980s | go! discs | personal reflection |
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“Fairytale of New York” – The Pogues w/ Kirsty MacColl
(Words/music: Jem Finer and Shane MacGowan, available on If I Should Fall From Grace With God, Island 1988)

Each year around this time, the number of people who claim “Fairytale of New York” as their favorite Christmas song swells just a little bit.  Understandably, of course, as this is a rare charismatic holiday song amidst a sea of mall muzak and overplayed standards.  MacColl and MacGowan sing with such convincing personality – MacGowan’s voice seems destined for telling a drunk’s story, and MacColl plays his foil with brassy, beautiful charm.  Even without getting into the story, MacGowan’s gruffness, MacColl’s melancholy, and the swelling instrumentation behind them communicates all of the emotions that play out – revelry, melancholy, regret, and hope.

Beyond the song’s vocal and melodic charms, the two lovers’ story resonates with many, particularly in a season of commercialism and abstract love.  Yes, the protagonists seem to be at rock bottom – MacGowan’s character is sobering up in jail while MacColl is dying from a drug addition.  However, despite their frustration, bitterness, and regret they never fall entirely into despondence.  MacColl comes closest, accusing MacGowan of stifling her potential, yet it’s right after she claims that anyone could “be someone.”  Instead, however the song plays out – whether it’s all in MacGowan’s head or whether this is a split screen / split narrative scene – both characters focus on the hopeful Christmases in their past.  Maybe it’s the optimist in me, but it seems like they do this not to point out that they are hopeless, but rather as a way of recapturing any shred of their dreams, ultimately realizing that the only thing they have left is each other, no matter how much they irk each other.  Even if they’re shells of their former selves, there’s hope that somewhere deep is a shred of what inspired their dreams in the first place.

I think it’s this sense of hope even in the bleakest times that resonates.  Even in tough times, Christmas represents a moment of joy and hope for many people.  In a strange way, MacGowan and MacColl’s characters find joy in their loved ones, even if they’re referring to each other in less than affectionate language.  Hopefully we can find that too without having to hit the same nadir they experience.

Happy Christmas if you celebrate it, and I hope that it’s a time of peace, hope, and reprieve for all who need it.

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

TAGGED UNDER: the pogues | shane macgowan | kirsty maccoll | 1988 | 1980s | xmas | island records |
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“Bulldog Front” – Fugazi
(Words/music: Fugazi, available on Fugazi EP / 13 Songs, Dischord 1988/1990)

Fugazi knew how to wield music like a weapon in a way few others can match.  Even though the “bulldog” in the title refers to the aggressive yet hollow-bodied members of the D.C. hardcore scene, it’s an apt descriptor of their music.  Whether it was Ian MacKaye’s gnarled guitar lines, Brendan Canty’s iron-trap snare hits, or Guy Piccotto’s caustic yet earnest vocals, Fugazi’s most aggressive songs always felt like they came at full speed.  Appropriately, the band wielded the tenacity of their music with an agenda.  On “Bulldog Front,” Piccotto targets the testosterone-fueled rage in the audiences at hardcore shows.  Fugazi famously were anti-moshing, and “Bulldog Front” aimed at de-fanging these audience members who brandished these attitudes.  It was a call to those putting up a macho front to look past the surface and think deeper.

In a cruely ironic twist, Fugazi’s legacy (to many) begins and ends with surface knowledge of the band.  Most write-ups start by listing their historical connections (whether they are Minor Threat, Rites of Spring, or MacKaye’s label Dischord Records) and gradually move into their personal politics.  Fugazi were proud of their ethics, using not only music but in-song banter, interviews, and any other channel possible to discuss and share their ideals.  However, these facts often preclude any statement about the music itself.  It could be that the band’s ideals stretch farther than their music (or that their proactive promotion turns some people off), but it’s a shame that the band’s adventurous songwriting and unrivaled intensity become an afterthought.  I’m not saying this to diminish the importance of their ruthless D.I.Y. ethics or their high standards for society (both of which make them an essential voice in our culture, not just the world of punk rock), but their chops as songwriters and performers deserve credit as well.  After all, songs like “Bulldog Front” helped to stretch the definition of punk rock and expand its musical vocabulary; two decades later, we still need more bands writing songs with similar elasticity, intensity, and yes, personal honesty as well.

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

TAGGED UNDER: fugazi | ian mackaye | guy piccotto | 1988 | 1980s | Dischord Records |
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“Parents Just Don’t Understand” – DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince
(Words/music: Pete Harris/Will Smith/Jeff Townes, available on He’s the DJ, I’m the Rapper, Jive 1988)

Will Smith made his career by embracing absurdity.  The early stages of his career involved crafting this larger-than-life persona – a sort of self-caricature of Will Smith rechristened “The Fresh Prince.”  It made “Parents Just Don’t Understand” work at least.  The beat sounds like a Run DMC castoff (or, perhaps more appropriately, something in the vein of “Christmas in Hollis”), and it’s hard to think of someone like LL Cool J doing such a goofy song.  Smith embraces it and dives in head first, not only telling a tale of intergenerational misunderstanding, but by punctuating his story with a series of ridiculous details.  He could summarize the first verse as “my mom bought me wack clothes, made me wear them in public, and made me the laughing stock of the school” (and, if he did it today, would end it with a hearty “FML”), but instead he goes into all of the specifics.  He drops a reference to Sha Na Na, describes pants as “double-knit trousers,” and garnishes his rhymes with hyperbole all over the place.  Whether it’s to help win us over to his plight or another brick to build up his persona, it’s this open silliness that makes “Parents Just Don’t Understand” feel fun and, for lack of a better word, youthful.

Still, listening to it tonight, I noticed a line at the end of the second “tale” (the one where the Prince takes his parents’ car out to cruise for girls, gets caught without a license, and fears his parents’ reaction over his stint in the slammer) that I must have skipped before.  Stuck between his plea to the officer and his arrest, Smith shares that his new lady friend is “a twelve year-old runaway.”  It seems like a one-off line – Smith gets arrested but it seems implied it’s for driving without a license – but in the context of the song, particularly the details of the girl trying to seduce him, it’s hard to ignore.  I realize that Smith is in persona here and rhyming from the perspective of a non-licensed teen, perhaps fifteen, but it’s the extreme nature of the detail (making her considerably younger) that is hard to ignore.  I realize Smith’s using exaggeration for effect, but it’s still hard not to find it a little uncomfortable.

More on DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: dj jazzy jeff | the fresh prince | will smith | 1988 | 1980s | hip hop | embracing absurdity | on further inspection... |
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“Punk Rock Girl” - The Dead Milkmen
(Words/music: The Dead Milkmen, available on Beezelbubba, Enigma 1988)

“Punk Rock Girl” accomplishes something spectacular – it captures everything wrong and right with the stereotypical suburban punk rock experience.  On one level, “Punk Rock Girl” describes those kids you knew in high school – the ones more interested in the image of punk rock than music itself.  Perhaps it’s a byproduct of my own personal investment in music, but people who see music as a fashion accessory is a major pet peeve.  I knew kids like this in high school – the “punks” who used it as an excuse to act like jerks – so hearing about kids chanting “anarchy” in a pizza shop when they can’t get their way doesn’t do much for me.  The Dead Milkmen seem in on the joke as well, and not just because of their history of tongue-in-cheek songs.  The narrator sounds like a high school student’s creative writing assignment, complete with forced imagery and awkward rhyme.  They even (intentionally, I think) credit “California Dreaming” (which they immediately allude to) to the Beach Boys, a wink to the know-it-all teen punk.  All of this comes from a band using an accordion prominently in a song about teens pissed about a lack of Mojo Nixon albums; it’s hard not to chuckle a little bit.

A funny thing happens near the end of the song – our faux-punk narrator encounters the quintessential teenage punk experience – exclusion.  He meets the rambunctious love of his life only to have her father deem him too weird (and thus unsuitable) for his daughter. Even then, after setting her father up as “The Man,” he still proclaims that’s “you’re the one for me, Punk Rock Girl.”  Maybe I’m jaded, but the narrator seems like he’s either fantasizing about a girl he barely knows (hence calling her “Punk Rock Girl”) and imagines all of the escapades they might encounter together, or he likes that her dad hates him.  Regardless, even if the narrator brings back uncomfortable high school memories, “Punk Rock Girl” speaks to a different part of the punk rock audience – one that might appreciate the orthodoxy of hardcore but maintain a healthy distance from it.  Even if it’s a little nerdy – a weak voice, wiry guitar, and sing-songy nature - “Punk Rock Girl” capture what it feels like to start working against the grain.  Regardless of it’s tone – whether it salutes the safety-pin clad or pokes fun at them – it’s part of the suburban punk’s experience for many of us.

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

TAGGED UNDER: the dead milkmen | 1988 | 1980s | track analysis | enigma records | growing up punk |
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“Into the Groove(y)” – Ciccone Youth
(Words/music: Steve Brey and Madonna, available on The Whitey Album, Enigma 1988)

Today marks the release of The Eternal, the sixteenth studio album by Sonic Youth, and I’m impressed with how vivacious this band sounds twenty seven years after the release of their first record.  Sure, their new album doesn’t push as the “golden era” Sonic Youth records, but I’m hard pressed to find a band that puts so much into their craft when they probably could coast.  Let’s face it, Sonic Youth could make a healthy living touring on their old material (think of how well a Daydream Nation tour would do), so it’s admirable to see them push their creative boundaries at all, let alone find it successful.  Having seen the band a few times now, I’ve seen the band’s passion for creating and performing and find it inspiring; I hope to one day hit my stride the way Sonic Youth has and find the inspiration to keep pushing myself for the sheer joy or creation.

I’m drawn to Sonic Youth partially because of the variety of emotions they wring out of their music.  They create these dissonant and jarring bursts of noise, yet their compositions teem with emotions behind this curtain of noise.  Take “Into the Groove(y),” the product of a collaboration with Mike Watt dubbed “Ciccone Youth” – their reinterpretation of one of Madonna’s best singles as a gnarled mess of distortion and darkness.  Immediately, I’m drawn to the sinister feel created by the oddly voiced guitar chords, megaphone-like vocals, and the clanging echoes.  This dark interpretation seems intentional, yet a mischievous joy runs throughout the entire song.  Whether it’s the samples from the original or the way Thurston Moore kind of locks into the song’s rhythmic pattern, it seems like the band truly loves the song.  Once you get past those odd sounds, the group stays faithful to the original’s arrangement, even preserving the tempo.  It’s like the band took a song they liked, took it apart in order to learn about how it’s built, and used some of their own pieces when putting it back together.  This is how a song sounds like a slower, darker dirge while still maintaining the same tempo and melody as the original.  It’s an impressive feat for any band, yet even more impressive when considering this was a side project.

More on Ciccone Youth: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: ciccone youth | sonic youth | mike watt | 1988 | enigma records | track analysis | please let me be even partially as cool as SY when I'm their age |
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“Under the Milky Way” – The Church
(Words/music: Karin Jansson and Steve Kilbey, available on Starfish, Arista 1988)

While I love carefully arranged, dense songs, sometimes a simple, straight-forward arrangement best suits a song.  “Under the Milky Way” thrives with a simple arrangement that drives its two key elements –the bright and cutting acoustic guitar chords and Steve Kilbey’s voice.  Even if Kilbey sounds like a more dour Bono at times (particularly when he over-pronounces the word “white”), it’s this slight element of sadness that makes this song so beautiful.  When he sings the chorus, he sounds deflated and vaguely frustrated.  The other elements, in particular the humming synthesizer lurking near the back of the arrangement, help to cultivate this mood.   Even the bagpipes (I think they’re bagpipes, at least) in the post-chorus section help to cast a somber tone on the entire song.  Most importantly, these extra accessories are just that – while other songs rely on these flourishes (and to great effect, but that’s not the point), the band wisely keeps the guitar and Kilbey at the forefront of the mix.  Even with the atmospheric touches, “Under the Milky Way” retains the feeling of a single (lonely) person playing guitar and singing the song.

Maybe because of this underlying intimacy or because of its beautifully simple arrangement, I’ve always thought of this song as a song that I wish I could play and sing.  I’m not a very experienced guitar player (I think in another post I’ve said that I can play “campfire guitar” – give me open chords and I can fake it), but I can play the chords in this song.  Still, even though I was playing the right notes, it didn’t feel right; when I thought about it, it sounded like “Under the Milky Way,” but it only resembled the song slightly.  Perhaps I didn’t have the right voicings, but more than likely it sounded off because it wasn’t my song the way I played it.  Some songs are universal in their performances – they shine through a variety of interpretations.  Others, and I think “Under the Milky Way” falls into this category, require the subtle touch that its songwriter instinctively adds.  I suppose if I played around with the chords long enough, I could adapt my own subtleties, but I would much rather listen to the recording and appreciate it rather than try to replicate it.  If some art inspires others to create, other works inspire admiration, and “Under the Milky Way” falls into that second category for me.

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

TAGGED UNDER: the church | 1988 | 1980s | track analysis | arista records | bono | songs I wish I could play |
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“Bring the Noise” – Public Enemy
(Words/music: Carlton Ridenhour, Hank Shocklee, Eric Sadler, available on It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, Def Jam 1988)

It would be foolish of me to try to put It Takes a Nation… into the proper social context; other people have done it and did a much better job than I ever could.  I only came to this record a couple years ago but it immediately struck me as sounding fresh and vital, especially for an album that just surpassed its twentieth birthday.  Even though the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique gets credited as one of the first sample-heavy “masterpieces,” the production by the Bomb Squad loops together dozens of samples without it sounding like a jumbled sound collage.  Even with such a rich backing track, Chuck D’s voice cuts through loud and clear, delivering his messages with both skill and conviction.  Hell, even Flavor Flav sounds competent (especially when compared to the ridiculous self-parody that reality TV has turned him into) when he chimes in. 

I was pleasantly surprised my first time through when I realized how different the album version of “Bring the Noise” was to the Chuck D / Anthrax thrash version of the song, one I knew from hours of playing the Tony Hawk 2 demo stage on the Sega Dreamcast in high school.  I imagined that the original wouldn’t have the same edge without the relentless double kick drum action, but the album version keeps the intensity enough to prevent Chuck D from sounding like a raving maniac.  In particular, the horn sample that weaves throughout the verse gives the track another sonic texture behind the siren sound and the prominently mixed scratching (the most dated part, at least to my ears).  Where the Anthrax version blurred the lines between rap and rock (and look at the horrors that has wrought), the original makes the connection between soul, funk, and hip hop explicit.

Listening again, it makes perfect sense that Public Enemy would tap The Roots to be the backing band for a live performance of the album – their diverse musicianship and devotion to detail will help make this album breathe as a funk-fueled riot.  Earlier tonight, I watched Public Enemy’s performance with The Roots (and the Antibalas Horns) on Jimmy Fallon’s show last night (embedded below, but go to Hulu and skip to about 37 minutes in to watch it in a higher resolution) and a few things jumped out at me.  First, Chuck D still sounds great and Flavor Flav looks more ridiculous than ever in a jacket that looks like a NASCAR series car (by the way, happy 50th, Flav).  Additionally, The Roots are an incredible asset to Jimmy Fallon’s show if for no other reason than serving as the potential to bring more live hip hop to television.  I have to think that the opportunity to perform with the Roots on TV (see: Ludacris’ excellent performance during Fallon’s first week) will make more skilled MC likely to perform on a late night show.  It goes without saying, but the Roots are flat-out excellent in this clip.  The most telling part, aside from their faithful interpretation of the original’s semi-chaotic funk, was Black Thought’s verse in last night’s performance.  The fact that he held his own with Chuck D says volumes about his abilities, and I’m looking forward to hearing him join plenty of other rappers in the coming months.

More on Public Enemy: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: public enemy | 1988 | 1980s | hip hop | track analysis | cover song - original | anthrax | the roots | beastie boys | jimmy fallon |
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“In My Eyes” – Minor Threat
(Words: Ian MacKaye, Music: Minor Threat, available on Complete Discography, Dischord 1988)

As someone who missed out on hardcore (and most of the derivative “-core” bands), it’s easy to dismiss hardcore as either juvenile or primitive.  I’m also tempted to fill this post with backhanded praise by focusing exclusively on “the scene” and thus calling the music an excuse for likeminded kids to come together, meet each other, blow off steam, and sharpen their ideals.  Still, I’m not sure this is fair to either the genre or Minor Threat, a band I’m tempted to declare “the apex of hardcore” only because Complete Discography is the only hardcore I own (not entirely true if you call Husker Du or The Minutemen hardcore, but you catch my drift).  That would just say more about myself than it would about the band, so I’ll leave the citizens (and ex-patriots, as I know a few people who are former hardcore devotees) to elect their own king.

While I can’t claim to know much about hardcore (and know my history of Minor Threat exclusively through Michael Azerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life – an essential read), I understand Minor Threat’s appeal.  Some might argue that these songs are political mouthpieces, two minute personal statements that planted the seeds of the straight edge movement, but that interpretation short changes the songs.  Looking beneath the tiny production and Ian MacKaye’s manic shouts, there’s a surprising amount of structure.  While it might lack melody, “In My Eyes” breaks itself into sections based on its function.  The song starts with a repeated drum and guitar figure – an overture of sorts for maybe the most ambitious song in their catalog.  Then, after slowing down, the band locks into a slower, relatively quieter section alternating with shout bursts of loudness.  MacKaye uses this section (let’s call it the “verse”) to tell his story, outlining the reasons and excuses people give for drinking and smoking and issuing his passionate replies through screams.  By the end of the verse, MacKaye grows angrier and more pointed, yielding to the breakneck chorus section.  The drums and guitars switch into double time, and as MacKaye repeats the title line, the kids can slam dance.  Still, even within this quiet-loud-quiet dynamic (one that alternative rock would milk in the following decade), there’s more going on than just stepping on a distortion pedal.  The guitars in the verse create a specific type of noise – a sort of lurching, almost menacing sound – rather than just “making noise” (as some imitators might interpret it).  Perhaps this focus on sound and tension becomes easier knowing that MacKaye goes on to form Fugazi, but “In My Eyes” sounds like more than a political slogan and bruises.

More on Minor Threat: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: minor threat | 1988 | 1980s | dischord records | hardcore |
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“Mother” - Danzig
(Words/music: Glenn Danzig, available on Danzig, American Recordings 1988)

After firing off yesterday’s video game related post, I started trying to think about another song from a video game that I could write about today.  Naturally, my attention turned to the most blatant marriage of music and video games and thought about my introduction to the rhythm-based “fake rock star” games.  If my memory serves me correctly, a few of us were going to the casino to play cards.  It was a Saturday afternoon and we got a late start, but we were hopeful that we could go, put our names in, and eat lunch while we waited to get seated.  After about an hour and a half, we moved up one tenth of the list, so we decided to cut our losses and head back home.  That was when Mike and I decided that we would take the money we might have lost (we’re both pretty good card players and while we never really win big, we never lose big either) and invest in Guitar Hero II (this was after a long, fruitless attempt to buy the game the previous New Year’s Eve, instead settling for a Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon after midnight).  We proceeded to play from the time we got home from the casino (4 PM-ish) until nearly midnight, passing the plastic Gibson-esque guitar back and forth between songs.  We were hooked. Over the next few months, the default plan for those nights where going out somewhere was undesirable and staying home was maddening, Mike and I would get together and hone our rhythmic chops.  Soon, we were finding different ways to keep ourselves occupied with these songs.  Personally, I tried to flawlessly play Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” while practicing the guitar solo in Matthew Sweet’s “Girlfriend” behind my head (no, the fact that I looked ridiculous is not lost on me, trust me).

One of my favorite parts of the game (and the subsequent games – my little brother has Rock Band so family gatherings become group performances of these songs) was the discovery (or, in many cases, rediscovery) of new songs.  I earned a new appreciation for the Rolling Stones’ “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” after trying to play the guitar solo a few times.  The most immediate impact of the game’s music came through Danzig’s “Mother” - it was a song I knew well enough from occasional modern rock radio plays to recognize it, but not enough to know what it was called or that it belonged to Danzig (I’ll also admit here that despite having several friends who worship them, I have a cursory knowledge of The Misfits at best.  This is probably something I should fix at some point). Early on, it became one of our favorite songs in the game as Mike and I would negotiate who would get to play it (“if you’re playing ‘Mother’ I’m playing ‘War Pigs’”).  Soon, after repeated plays, “Mother” began creeping into our everyday life.  I’d get the song, specifically the riff, stuck in my head, usually prompting some kind of reference to the song. 

We reveled in the song in part due to the game, but also because it’s the type of song that gets subconsciously embedded into your brain.  The highly rhythmic and frequently repeated main riff was complex enough to remain interesting enough not to get annoying, and Danzig’s primal wails channel that part deep down in each of us (well, me at least) that wants to nod along just a little more deliberately.  The Allmusic Guide describes Danzig’s voice as “Elvis meets Jim Morrison,” and he certainly has a strange, dark charisma to his vocals – they aren’t quite high enough to reach Iron Maiden-like heights, but they’re screamed in a way that gives those early Soundgarden tracks a run for their money.  “Mother” toes the line between self-parody and visceral rock and roll – Danzig realizes he’s fits the bill of the “heavy metal stereotype” (see his appearance on Aqua Teen Hunger Force) yet uses this to his benefit.  In the hands of one of his imitators, it would sound almost campy, but Danzig manages to “sell” the song by putting the focus on the power of his voice rather than the words being sung.  Oh, and that guitar riff is pretty cool too; I wish I knew how to play it without having to mash multi-colored buttons.

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

TAGGED UNDER: 1980s | 1988 | american recordings | danzig | guitar hero | hard rock | personal reflection | video games | elvis | jim morrison | cheap trick | matthew sweet | dog the bounty hunter |
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