Some Songs Considered

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

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

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

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

“See a Little Light” – Bob Mould
(Words/music: Bob Mould, available on Workbook, Virgin 1989) 

As much as shrill guitar defined Husker Du’s sound, the cello during the second half of “See A Little Light” signals that something changed.  Where the guitars once cut like a treble-fueled buzzsaw, Mould opts for the rich sound the cello provides in the second half of the song.  It gives the melody a slightly different context - where the beginning of the song feels bright, the second half of the song sounds slightly sadder even as it modulates upward.  It doesn’t redefine the song as much as it incorporates a different thread, weaving this bowed melody in with the acoustic guitars and Mould’s vocals.

This melancholy thread plays off the lyrics too.  If “See a Little Light,” Mould’s first single after Husker Du dissolved, comments on the band’s break (and it certainly may be read as a breakup song without that biographical link), then Mould sounds like he’s moved on.  In this case, Mould focuses on the passage of time - “look how much we’ve grown,” “as the years go by,” etc - rather than casting aspersions.  He’s saying all the right things and encourages the second party to “see a little light” and start to move on as well.  When looking at the words and the general brightness of the arrangement initially, it sounds like Mould moved on.  However, the cello line feels like the sad thought mixed in with the resolution to move on.  This is the nostalgia that creeps up in these situations - one where looking back fondly yields to sadness for the end of an era - and undercuts any sense of closure. In this case, it’s perhaps fair to say that while Mould moved on (and quite successfully), he never left behind his old band entirely, performing Husker Du songs in the same sets where he sings “See a Little Light”

More on Bob Mould: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“I Wanna Be Adored” – The Stone Roses
(Words/music: Ian Brown and John Squire, available on The Stone Roses, Silvertone 1989)

As far as first lines on a debut go, Ian Brown’s coy statement of “I don’t have to sell my soul / he’s already in me” comes across with the right amount of confidence and mischief.  Looking back, one might make the argument that the Stone Roses had some kind of satanic bargain based on a colossally successful first album and a subsequently maligned release.  Perhaps those of you better versed with the band’s history in the press would know, but the Roses didn’t seem like the kind of group desperate for the limelight.  Otherwise, they might not have waited as long for a follow-up.

Instead, the opening demonic confession feels more in line with the way the song sounds.  Brown’s vocals, echoing throughout the cavernous track, only helps build the playfully sinister soundscape.  The song never tips too fan in the direction of either demonic aggression or lingering, fog-like ambience, and it’s Brown’s cool demeanor that keeps the sound in check.  As the bassline gently unfurls itself and the guitars echo, Brown keeps the song from floating away in its own cavernous size.  Most surprising, however, is how Brown holds the song together without  commanding a disproportionate amount of the spotlight.  Instead, he’s directing the song from the inside, gently nudging it in the direction it needs to go without having to overtly claim control.  Instead, he rises and falls with the song like it’s second nature – like it’s a natural move for him to make.  He needn’t sell his soul when it already knows the right moves to make.

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

“Madonna of the Wasps” - Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians
(Words/music: Robyn Hitchcock, available on Queen Elvis, A & M Records 1989)

Sometimes, a song becomes an unlikely gateway into musical exploration.  Even though I probably heard it before, I first knowingly heard “Madonna of the Wasps” after receiving Rhino Records’ Left of the Dial: Dispatches from the ’80s Underground box set a few years ago (which is an excellent compilation for anyone who wants to explore some of the really exciting and important bands in the 1980s).  It’s a catchy song and its jangly guitar riff immediately caught my ear – as an R.E.M. Fan, I’m conditioned to respond positively to a jangle-pop Byrds-quoting guitar riff.  I also knew Robyn Hitchcock through his connection with R.E.M. (in recent years, Hitchcock collaborated with The Minus 5, a project spearheaded by R.E.M.’s side instrumentalist Scott McCaughey and featuring Peter Buck), so “Madonna of the Wasps” earned frequent plays both on my college radio show (appropriately titled Left of the Dial, hence my attraction to the box set) and in my personal playlists.  It’s the kind of song that I might not be an immediate recommendation to a friend, but it’s the kind of thing I’d never skip if it came up on shuffle.

For many songs, the story ends with the song integrating itself into my iTunes library and becoming a welcomed visitor when it pops up on shuffle or while playing the compilation.  However, after digging  a bit deeper to find out more about the song, I discovered a few interesting facts.  For example, the Peter Buck-sounding riff was played by Buck himself – a fact that didn’t shock me (as Buck played with a lot of bands over the years).  Then, while reading the Allmusic entry on the song, I found that when Hitchcock performs the song live (both before and after recording the Queen Elvis album), he prefaces the song with an oddly endearing vocal introduction.  My curiosity about this intro, which sounds more like the chanting that starts the song rather than the ringing guitar riff, led me to a video of Hitchcock performing the song with Paul Shaffer’s band on David Letterman’s NBC show.  While I knew of Hitchcock in his current incarnation as a gray haired alt-troubadour, I was amused to see him looking more like the energetic young man that fronted the Soft Boys.  In this video, Hitchcock looks loose, even conversing with Shaffer’s guitar player mid-song, perhaps coaching him through the arrangement.  It’s an excellent performance I’ve added to my bookmarks – and ultimately one that makes me glad that I didn’t just move on to the next song on the box set without wanting to look a little deeper.

More on Robyn Hitchcock: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Future 40’s (String of Pearls) (w/ Michael Stipe)” – Syd Straw
(Words/music: Jody Harris and Syd Straw, available on Surprise, Virgin Records 1989)

If you’re an R.E.M. fan and “Future 40’s” sounds familiar, you probably recognize it from the Tourfilm concert movie.  Michael Stipe prefaces a raucous version of “I Believe” with a sizeable chunk of “Future 40s” as the crowd claps along inconsistently (and yes, it gets on my nerves, I’m sorry).  Having heard this version dozens of times, I finally chased down those lyrics to find Syd Straw’s song.  Straw collaborated with Stipe with the Golden Palominos, and Stipe (in addition to other Palominos) helped her on her solo debut.  I also found that Straw and Stipe share another “collaboration” – both guest starred on The Adventures of Pete and Pete (Stipe was an ice cream man, Straw was Big Pete’s math teacher).

Appropriately, the vocal interplay takes center stage in this song.  Straw lets her voice slide up and down her register throughout the song, letting a phrase in a lower range catapult her towards the higher notes, singing at both ends of the register with the same clarity and emotional emphasis.  Stipe provides the perfect vocal foil as he emerges throughout the song.  At points, the duo sing together, while other moments one will hold a note slightly longer, and at other times Straw and Stipe sing entirely different phrases.  This constant vocal movement creates constant interest, and thankfully the arrangement keeps the vocals right in front.  That’s not to say the backing track is lacking – specifically, that repeated guitar riff is terrific, and the way the rhythm guitar follows the bass drum’s punch in the last minute gives the song the perfect bite in the final minute.  While there’s no mistaking Michael Stipe’s voice in this song, Stipe’s content enough to let Straw have all of the moments in the spotlight.  His heavier voice lets Straw perform her vocal acrobatics, letting the notes dance off wherever she feels like sending them.

More on Syd Straw: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Crazy” – Pylon
(Words/music: Pylon, available on Hits, DB Records 1989)

I know the music of Pylon for two distinct reasons.  The first was hearing R.E.M.’s cover of “Crazy” on their Dead Letter Office collection when I first got into R.E.M..  I remember loving the collection of B-Sides, in part because it contained the 1981 Chronic Town EP (which I also had on cassette tape from a department store’s going out of business sale, not know the scarcity of the artifact), but also that it contained a lot of really catchy songs – in particular, the track “Burning Hell” and a lot of the cover songs.  I knew that “Crazy” was a cover only through reading the track notes in the CD (and, also, from reading a bit about Pylon in the R.E.M. oral history Talk About the Passion).  Otherwise, it seemed like a more upbeat version of an early R.E.M. song – a mysterious sounding verse in Stipe’s trademark mumble, and the catchy chorus sounding out through Peter Buck’s jangling guitar.  I can remember making a R.E.M. mix tape for friends and putting this song at a prominent position early in the tape.

I finally heard some of Pylon’s music directly when the DFA reissued their Gyrate album (I was also able to pit up the Hits collection – essential listening in my book).  Of course, I immediately went to “Crazy” so that I could hear the original version of this song that I loved.  I was struck at how faithful the cover was – the same riff runs through the song, granted it’s played by late guitarist Randy Bewley darker and with less reverb.  Vocalist Vanessa Briscoe sings in a more confident manner than Stipe (perhaps because Stipe made up some of the words, according to Pylon’s drummer Curtis Crowe).  Throughout the music collected on Hits, Briscoe toes the line between letting her band take center stage and becoming the focal point in the songs.  She commands a strong presence (in a way that the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Karen O does) but is content enough to share her spotlight with her bandmates by disappearing behind their taut rhythms and focused songs, only to storm back to center stage moments later.  It’s the kind of music that makes me simultaneously happy and sad – I’m glad that I’ve discovered one of the true American post-punk gems, even if I kick myself a bit for waiting the better part of a decade before seeking it out.

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

“I Won’t Back Down” - Tom Petty
(Words/music: Jeff Lynne and Tom Petty, available on Full Moon Fever, MCA 1989)

A few years ago, I came across a book titled Lit Riffs.  The concept was simple – writers composing short pieces of fiction based on a song.  As with any anthology, some of the entries were good (specifically, I remember a dark one about a Vietnam veteran based on Pearl Jam’s “Why Go”) and some were disappointing.  Still, the one that stuck with me the most was based on “I Won’t Back Down,” turning the song’s plaintive declaration of perseverance into a story of schoolyard bullying.  The song seemed more like words of advise to the protagonist (I gave away my copy of the book, so I can’t reread the story, sorry) than a mantra, as the main character struggles with his quarrelsome peer.  It wasn’t a trailblazing work of fiction, but it made me think about Tom Petty’s song again.

“I Won’t Back Down” works so well because of what Tom Petty leaves out of the song.  It doesn’t reach the same vocally intense (read: emotional) moments that “Free Fallin’,” the previous song on Full Moon Fever reaches, nor does it have the same driving force as my personal favorite “Runnin’ Down a Dream.”  Instead, Petty calmly declares that he’s willing to stand up for his beliefs.  In a strange way, this reminds me of the calm and passive courage Atticus Finch displays in To Kill a Mockingbird – he doesn’t advertise that he’s a terrific attorney or a world-class sharpshooter – he only flexes his muscle when necessary.  Petty’s song lays itself out in a similar way – it sets a steady, constant tempo and refuses to fluctuate.  There’s some great slide guitar but no full blown solo, just a couple well-placed fills.  Even when Petty’s vocals climb up towards the top of his register, he’s just taking the high part of an ensemble vocal rather than showing off.  This isn’t our former President threatening to “smoke ‘em out,” but rather a firm yet calm statement of resolve and conviction.  It’s the kind of sentiment that more of us should take a cue from.

When Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers played last year’s Super Bowl halftime, I worried that the set would be kind of boring.  Instead, I was pleasantly surprised that his set contained two of my favorites - “Runnin’ Down a Dream” and “I Won’t Back Down.”  In particular, the latter seemed appropriate for the occasion, as the Giants refused to buckle against New England’s juggernaut.  After the game, I called Eli Manning’s performance the “physical manifestation” of this song, and a year later it seems fitting.  Manning didn’t win the game with a record statistical evening (in the same way that Petty’s song doesn’t overload on effects or gimmicks).  Instead, his steady, consistent play (and a moment of luck eluding the Pats’ defense on the Tyree miracle catch) provided the foundation for his team’s victory.  If nothing else, it gave me a great premise to write about the game the next day!

More on Tom Petty: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm