Some Songs Considered

“Burn Last Sunday” – Superchunk 
(Words/music: Superchunk, available on Indoor Living, Merge Records 1997) 

In a way, Superchunk gently plays with expectations on “Burn Last Sunday.” Where many bands, especially in 1997, stepped on the gas during the chorus, the band pulls back slightly. After a brief introduction, twin guitars and energetic guitars fill the verse.  Even Mac McCaughan’s vocals push toward the upper end of his register – a vocal maneuver many rock singers save for the song’s climax. When the song’s hook comes along, the drums quiet and the guitars slide into an accented three note phrase. McCaughan’s vocals calm as well, and a mellow synthesizer joins in halfway. It has the melody and repetition that an anthemic chorus might have, but by getting gentler rather than rowdier, it gains attention with a slight surprise. 

Of course, the band didn’t invent this maneuver, but like with many of the band’s best recordings, Superchunk pulls it off flawlessly. If the band’s most famous songs suggest a frenzied energy, “Burn Last Sunday” shows off the band’s less heralded yet equally important gifts – namely, an underrated sense of arrangement, precise execution, and the ability to turn simple melodic phrases into potent earworms. It’s this precise craftsmanship that I admire in a lot of the band’s late ‘90s albums. Whether it’s the restraint to keep the guitar melody simple during the chorus, or the “oohs” carefully hidden in the mix toward the end of the first verse that aren’t always noticed yet always heard, there are plenty of little moments to notice and admire each time I listen. 

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

“Noise Brigade (live)” – The Mighty Mighty Bosstones
(Words/music: Nate Albert, Dicky Barrett, & The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, available on Tibetan Freedom Concert, Grand Royal / Capitol 1997)

“A dime for a dozen if that’s what you’re after” stands out to me in this song even if I’m not quite sure what to make of it.  It seems accidentally referential, as the Mighty Mighty Bosstones were the ones who broke open the late 1990s ska-punk revival (and, effectively, opened the door for the “dime for a dozen” ska bands to have their fifteen minutes).  It doesn’t sound cynical; the Bosstones never struck me as a band jealous or resentful of their peers.  Quite the opposite, as I have a vivid memory of Dicky Barrett proclaiming how Reel Big Fish would follow in their footsteps performing on the marquee before the MTV awards. 

There’s the thought that Dicky Barrett isn’t describing his band (or any band, for that matter) but his voice – one that he asks “should I call this my range or a ridge?”  This live version, from the 1997 Tibetan Freedom Concert, only supports that claim.   His band sounds as tight as ever with horn hits and guitar lines all falling into place.  Then there’s Barrett’s voice sounding like he’s trying to sing exclusively out of the back of his throat.  For a man with such a naturally strong speaking voice (as shown in the breakdown and an introduction on the concert compilation’s previous track) the way he’s singing undercuts his voice’s power.  Barrett doesn’t always sound like this, but the imperfections only magnify the self-critique in the lyrics.  Regardless, Barrett doesn’t need to sound like an angel, particularly when the rest of the band sounds this heavenly.

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

“Dig Me Out” – Sleater-Kinney
(Words/music: Sleater-Kinney, available on Dig Me Out, Kill Rock Stars 1997) 

OK, so this song came to mind in part because I do need to dig out my car from the snow storm that hit the northeast (and continues right now, I think).  Truth be told, this is one of the last songs I need to hear right now.  I haven’t left the house all day and it’s been completely unproductive.  Whether it’s because I haven’t done too much or because I can’t go anywhere, I’ve been feeling stir crazy.  Hearing a song like “Dig Me Out,” particularly when I should be forcing myself into bed, only heightens that cabin fever-fueled anxiety.  Thankfully I went against habit and didn’t make an entire pot of coffee today.  I can only imagine how I would feel stuck home, over-caffinated with the wiry guitars in “Dig Me Out” making my pulse quicken beyond a healthy level.

That being said, “Dig Me Out” serves as a solid litmus test for someone new to Sleater-Kinney.  Their sound went in different directions – occasionally darker, occasionally fuller – but “Dig Me Out” represents a sort of “home base” for the band.  The guitars and drums push forward quickly, shifting from a straight-ahead stomp into a half-time arpeggiated breakdown.  These guitars provide a fast counter-melody to Corin Tucker’s bellowing vocals.  She sings with such power and force that it feels overwhelming at times, particularly with the fast moving arrangement underneath her.  In a strange way, though, her vocals provide an anchor for the song, letting those guitars cut around quickly.  Those who might be turned off by her voice get a strong sense of Tucker’s upper register in “Dig Me Out,” but those who find it exciting or impressive will likely find the trio’s minimalism surprisingly dynamic.  Considering that (most) of their songs feature two guitars, drums, and voice, Sleater-Kinney makes the most of a few pieces.

More on Sleater-Kinney: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Jesus Christ” – Teenage Fanclub
(Words/music: Alex Chilton, available on Ain’t That Enough EP, Creation 1997)

Writing about Teenage Fanclub covering a Big Star song does a disservice to the band, as they’re unfairly cast aside as Big Star imitators too often.  Still, it’s Christmas and I wrote about Big Star at the beginning of the year, so Teenage Fanclub will get their own day sometime next year.

That aside, their version of Chilton’s “Jesus Christ” leans heaviest on the ways Big Star influenced generations of power pop bands.  Every inch of this song, whether the sweet melody in the hook, the fuzzy lead guitars, or the clear counter melodies plucked underneath, hums with melody.  Their version is a faithful, slightly more muscular version of Big Star’s recoridng, although it leaves out Chilton’s closing declaration that “we’re gonna get born now.”  Even though it’s one of my favorite parts of the original (especially the way Chilton slightly rises up from his otherwise placid delivery), it’s a necessary omission.  This final line, along with the rest of the weird and twisted Third / Sister Lovers collection, suggests that Chilton laces the song with sarcasm.  Regardless of his intent, the sweetness of the melody and the charming arrangement are wonderous, and it’s this part of the song Teenage Fanclub honors on their version.  That’s the way I plan on spending the rest of my Christmas - celebrating the spirit and beauty of the season and taking a day off from the snark or cynicism.  There’s plenty of time for that the rest of the year.

More on Teenage Fanclub: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Everlong” – Foo Fighters
(Words: Dave Grohl, Music: Foo Fighters, available on The Colour and the Shape, Capital 1997) 

Saying that Dave Grohl was the reason I started playing the drums would be false, but it’s not out of line to suggest that I might not have stuck with them without him.  Grohl was to me what Bonham was to a previous generation.  At first, before learning form, I emulated his power, later returning to admire the technique behind the bombast.  Back in February I wrote about coming home from school and bashing along with the mid-tempo songs on Nevermind, but it was the quicker, nimbler Foo Fighters songs I looked up to from the beginning.  “Everlong” stands out in particular, in part because it was the first song that made me listen to the radio for hours in order to hear it.  At the end of 2009, I could listen to a new song through a variety of channels before purchasing the album, but in 1997, I stayed glued to the radio hoping to hear those muted notes segueing out of a Smash Mouth song.

Part of this obsession grew out of my admiration for Grohl’s drumming.  Sure, it was Taylor Hawkins wearing the dress behind the drum kit in the video, but Grohl played most of the drum tracks on the album, including “Everlong.”  I remember putting on my headphones, turning the anti-shock skip protection on my discman on, and trying vainly to play those sixteenth note fills.  I don’t have a precise body count, but I attribute at least two bloody knuckles, half a dozen broken sticks, and one cracked ride cymbal to “Everlong” alone (and far more sticks and the rest of my started set of cymbals to the Grohl school of bashery).  This became my goal – I wanted to grow beyond playing like Grohl in the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” video and into the more technically proficient (yet aggressively fueled) playing that “Everlong” represented.  Through about half a decade of drum lessons, I improved yet never could nail every single fill in “Everlong” – in fact, I got just good enough to fake my way through the song.  Maybe I took Grohl’s ode to infatuation to heart, or maybe I just felt the exact same way about “Everlong,” but anything less than a full speed, fully embellished version felt like an incomplete tribute.  Rather than regret this, I look back at a time where I put everything I had into emulating something I loved and smile.

(For what it’s worth, I’m confident that with ten minutes of warmup and a couple Tylenol, I could probably “fake” my way through “Everlong” today, rust be damned!)

More on Foo Fighters: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Come Together” – Spiritualized
(Words/music: Jason Pierce, available on Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space, Dedicated 1997)

The one time I saw Spiritualized (sometime in the fall / winter of 2003 I think), I was sick.  Against my better judgment, I took a bunch of cold medication and decided to tough out the show the best I could.  So I stood in the small club perhaps fifteen or twenty feet away from a seated Jason Pierce and lasted for about an hour of the sonic assault.  After about fifteen minutes, everyone around me entered into a sonicly induced trance, and at some point I’m sure my Tylenol Cold & Flu dosage served as an advantage (or, at least the closest to the medicated state that some argue is necessary to listen to a Spiritualized record).  Even as I reluctantly snuck out before the first set break, I wished I felt strong enough to stick out the entire set of Pierce’s tiny guitar symphonies.

More than any other song in his catalogue, “Come Together” captures the sonic bludgeoning my clogged up head took that night.  While most rock songs emphasize the back beat, “Come Together” comes front loaded, resting its weight on each measure’s downbeat.  Whether it’s the way Pierce leans into the lyric at the beginning of each measure or the heavier drum beats landing at the top of the measure, Pierce crafts an overloaded waltz.  While most waltzes move gracefully and nimbly over the triple meter, the overloading of sounds makes “Come Together” sound more like a storm than a gala.  Whether it’s warbling guitars, stately horns, squealing harmonica, or the London Community Gospel Choir backing Pierce, each layer feels like another storm squall crashing against the house.  Even if nothing (except possibly Pierce’s word choice) feels aggressive, the result still feels overwhelming.  This was the experience that night, where my body threw in the towel before my heart was ready.  In a different way, this is the feeling listening to the best Spiritualized records – one where the album commands surrender to its sonic presence and we’re obliged to sit back and listen.

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

“Brimful of Asha” – Cornershop
(Words/music: Tjinder Singh, available on When I Was Born for the 7th Time, Luaka Bop 1997)

Everyone has a signature mix song.  It’s not quite a theme song and not (necessarily) your absolute favorite song or your favorite artist.  Instead, it’s that crucial go-to song that finds its way onto a mixtape or into a crucial spot in a DJ set.  It’s a song we love yet it accomplishes another intangible task.  Perhaps it’s a song that sets up other songs well, or one with a strong personal association or funny related story.  For me, “Brimful of Asha” is like a melodic hand grenade dropped into a playlist.  It’s specifically useful for an abrupt shift from a serious or somber song into a lighter, bouncier part of the mix, but no matter what comes before it or after it, “Brimful of Asha” shines on its own.

From Tjinder Singh’s opening line in Punjabi (correct me if I’m wrong, of course), “Brimful of Asha” bursts out brightly.  Lyrically, Singh goes through some of India’s most famous playback singers, name checking performers, films, and labels relevant to the music in Indian movies.  However, on another level, “Brimful of Asha” is about a love of music in general.  Singh describes how the songs the playback singers sang fueled dreams, offered support through difficult times, and even serve as a “bosom for a pillow.”  Moreover, Singh keeps referencing 45 records and RPM players; while I couldn’t pick out an Asha Bhosle performance, I know the therapeutic and escapist power of putting on a record and letting the outside world stay at the door for a few minutes.  After all, we all have records/albums/songs that we turn to when we need them.  This is the universal power of music – whether it’s Mohammad Rafi, Miles Davis, or Michael McDonald, we all have the capability to get lost in a record.  It’s especially true with a record as infectious as “Brimful of Asha.”  It’s cyclical riff and repetitive structure even seem connected back to the record itself, and as the band keeps adding subtle layers until it feels like a 77,000 piece orchestra set behind Tjinder Singh, we’re on the other side giving in to the urge to lay our head down on it one more time.

(Two bits of postscript - I can’t find the video for the original song (just the sped up Fatboy Slim remix) but I remember loving it, especially for the animation.  Also, if you’re interested in more depth about the playback singers (and a fairly extensive analysis based on that background knowledge), check out this post).

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

“The Perfect Drug” – Nine Inch Nails
(Words/music: Nine Inch Nails, available on Lost Highway: Original Soundtrack, Interscope 1997)

I don’t have an extensive knowledge of Trent Reznor’s catalog, but I find the moments where he obsesses about the details in his songs.  If the angry, aggressive Nine Inch Nails songs were the first to catch my attention, Reznor’s depth kept me from writing him off.  Specifically, he doesn’t earn enough credit for the attention he pays to the quiet and slow moments he crafts.  For a while, Reznor’s name rarely was more than a sentence away from the word “industrial,” and even if he breathed more life into that genre than almost anyone else, it sells short the range of emotions he evokes in his music.

Even though it’s more rooted in electronics than other NIN songs, “The Perfect Drug” works because it relies on extremes.  When I close my eyes and visualize the song (and don’t see images from that Mark Romanek video – remember when videos had gaudy budgets? No wonder CDs cost $18.99), I imagine some kind of mutant organism constantly changing states.  Shortly after introducing those weirdly plucked strings in the opening, Reznor starts tinkering with the different sounds.  Whether it’s rolling out a programmed drum beat, adding faintly sung high harmonies in the back of the mix, or rotating through a series of keyboard and guitar sounds, Reznor lets the verses shift subtly every few measures.  The big changes – the ones that turn the most heads – rely upon the drum beat.  The changes in the beat, whether shifting to half time, quickly changing volume, or dropping out entirely, feel like immediate, hairpin turns.  Like a quick turn on the road, these shifts disorient the listener.  Finally, the track seems to fizzle out, only to return for a slow coda.  Up until this point, the shifts between the verse and chorus (and the frenetic drum break in the fourth minute) felt distinct in part due to their dynamic variance.  However, it’s this slow, piano and live-drum driven outro, where Reznor shows his full range.  Just like a rollercoaster saves the steepest drop for the ending (and looking at the spectral analysis, it kind of looks like one), Reznor takes the song all the way off the cliff at the end, giving a minute to reflect back on the chaotic ride he navigates us through.

More on Nine Inch Nails: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Fair” – Ben Folds Five
(Words/music: Ben Folds, available on Whatever and Ever Amen, 550 Music / Sony 1997)

These days, Ben Folds splits his reputation between writing cheeky piano-pop and syrupy sweet ballads.  Looking at his recent releases, it’s hard to imagine Folds as someone more nuanced than adolescent humor (see his cover of “Bitches Ain’t Shit”) or sappy slow songs.  He still hits these moments as a solo artists, but with less frequency than he did with his cohorts in the Five.  Percussionist Darren Jesse and bassist Robert Sledge spent most of their time in Folds’ shadow (the band was named after him, of course) yet deserve credit for a lot of the finer moments on the band’s albums.  Take “Fair,” for instance – Sledge’s distorted bass tone and Jesse’s hi-hat work gives the song the texture that Folds can’t achieve on piano alone, helping to distinguish each of the songs sections from the others.  The rhythm section also joins Folds’ vocally by harmonizing throughout the song, either singing response vocals or wordless swells during the verse.

However, the spotlight eventually lands back on Folds, and with good reason.  Folds wrote the harmonies and gave his rhythm section the room to do what they do best.  He also wrote some excellent lines, the “every couple nights or so you know you pop into my dreams” part in particular.  There’s an attention to detail, both in the music and in the lyrics, that helps the song sound like more than the sum of its parts.  This is what made the Five work so well; Folds knew how to write for his band, playing up each individual’s strengths (including and especially his own).  Like a true band leader, he orchestrated his performers without leaving a performer exposed, presenting a balanced front where all three musicians contribute equally.  Then again, it’s easy to be egalitarian when it’s your name on the marquee.

More on Ben Folds Five: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Hyperballad (Brodski Quartet Version)” – Björk
(Words/music: Björk, Nellee Hooper, Marius De Vries, available on Telegram, One Little Indian 1997)

In “Hyperballad,” Bjork’s narrator leaves her lover every morning, goes to a cliff, and tosses objects over the edge in some type of personal cleansing ritual.  This narrator also contemplates her own mortality by wondering what types of sounds she’d make as she lands against the jagged rocks.  She returns to her lover and says that she goes through this “so I can feel happier / to be safe up here with you.”  It’s romantic in the sense that she’s confronting personal demons – materialistic obsessions, a fear of death, or whatever – in order to break down any barriers between her and her lover.  It’s also kind of crazy; we might expect our partners to go for an early morning jog or a drive around the neighborhood to clear their mind rather than throwing carburetors and discarded dishware off a ledge.

This clash of emotions (put bluntly – the romantic meeting the weird), captures the experience of listening to a Bjork album; enjoying the beautiful moments means accepting (and occasionally finding beauty) in the strange quirks.

The Brodsky Quartet remix of the song only heightens both extremes.  The original starts as a shadowy echo and swells along with the narrator’s storyline.  However, the string quartet treatment gives the song an ironic ultra-modern feel.  If the original felt like a cold autumn sunrise, this sounds like the sparsely decorated flat the couple shares.  At times (perhaps when the light shines in the window), the strings and Bjork settle on a beautiful chord, only to find the strings take a quick turn toward something more dissonant.  When compared with the version on Post, Bjork sounds less settled on this version.  If the album cut is Bjork finding peace in her sunrise tosses, the string quartet version feels like the unsettled version that drove her to throw things in the first place.  Still, both arrangements have these moments of clarity where everything locks in, Bjork sounds heavenly, and the arrangement follows suit.  I suppose this is how littering off of a cliff ends up even vaguely romantic.

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

“Your Fucking Sunny Day” – Lambchop
(Words/music: Kurt Wagner, available on Thriller, Merge Records 1997)

This is the last in my series of posts about bands on Merge Records (thank you for indulging me) and I planned on yesterday’s being the final one, but I need to write about the single best moment of my week in Chapel Hill.  I anticipated that Superchunk would be awesome and they didn’t disappoint.  However, I was not expecting the best set of the week to come from Lambchop, the musical project of former floorer Kurt Wagner.  Until I started receiving the SCORE boxset earlier this year, I couldn’t name a single Lambchop song.  I soon fell for “Your Fucking Sunny Day” on Phil Morrison’s mix, at first because of the title and then because of its strangely addictive melody.  It’s a difficult song to pin down – it’s kind of funky, kind of orchestrated.  The most compelling part of the song, for me, is the way Kurt Wagner sings it – holding out certain phrases, letting some notes sneak out as a yelp, and still staying faithful to the melody the entire time.  In three and a half minutes, Wagner gave a sense that his personality ran deeper than the cursing in his song titles and the humor mentioned in every synopsis I read after listening to this song.

None of this, however, prepared me for what I saw last Friday night at Merge’s anniversary show.  Wagner came on stage backed by ten musicians (which I’m told is half as many as accompanied him at the Merge 15th anniversary) and played a 40 minute set that left half of the crowd a dancing mess and the other half petrified in awe.  I expected Wagner’s songs to shuffle from genre to genre, but I didn’t expect every different style to have such life and enthusiasm.  The slow songs sounded gorgeous (and, when I could make out the words, melancholy and heartbreaking), and the lively songs swung like a jazz trio after weeks of rehearsals.  Over a forty five minute set, Wagner and his band made us laugh, tugged at our heartstrings, and made jaws hit the floor.  Appropriately, Lambchop garnered the loudest, most enthusiastic ovation to end their set of the week, with Wagner beaming beneath his thick frames and trucker hat.  I’m convinced that the people in the audience had no clue what was coming when Lambchop was introduced.  By the end of the set, Wagner leaped out of his seat when shouting out the lyrics to the Talking Heads’ “Once in a Lifetime,” seeming like a man speaking in tongues (and, appropriately, one-upping David Byrne’s evangelical preacher performance in the music video).  It was a surreal moment that ended a memorable set – one that melted even the most cynical of hearts.  I’ve been surprised by shows before and naively thought that it couldn’t happen again – not with the free flow of information and the ease of acquiring music on the internet.  I was wrong, and went home ready to explore Wagner’s catalog.  I’m excited to digest his albums and, perhaps, be surprised again.  Still, I’m not sure any record can duplicate what I experienced in person last Friday.

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

“Mint Car [Radio Mix]” – The Cure
(Words/music: Perry Bamonte, Jason Cooper, Simon Gallup, Roger O’Donnell, Robert Smith, available on Galore: Singles 1987 – 1997, Fiction/Elektra 1997)

A few months ago, my friend Dave sent me a frantic instant message late at night.  He was making a mix and needed a second opinion.  “‘Just Like Heaven’ or ‘Mint Car’” he asked, and I was forced to admit that I didn’t know “Mint Car” off the top of my head.  I owned the song as part of the Galore singles collection that I listened to incessantly in high school, but since my CD collection went digital, I mainly listened to the earlier Cure singles as parts of other playlists.  I know the first two thirds of Galore extremely well but had forgotten the end of it.  As a result of Dave’s question, I rediscovered both “Mint Car” and “Strange Attraction” from the Wild Mood Swings album, so I think I benefited more from the conversation than he did!

Regardless, I immediately understood Dave’s quandary – “Mint Car” and “Just Like Heaven” are both on the shimmery pop side of the Cure’s catalog.  Both songs feature Robert Smith as an unabashed romantic (as opposed to a sinister storyteller) and are within a second of each others’ running time.  Still, “Mint Car” plays like the younger sibling, flaunting its melody more directly and bounding along at a slightly bubblier pace.  If one strength in “Just Like Heaven” is its relatively laid back tempo, “Mint Car” comes busting out of the gate enthusiastically.  The protagonist sounds like someone experiencing a new love and all of the wonderful sensations and giddy excitement, while “Just Like Heaven” comes off slightly more familiar yet equally enamored.  Ultimately, “Mint Car” won out because it was less known; Dave’s friend (probably) knew “Just Like Heaven,” and “Mint Car” might help lead this person slightly deeper into the catalog.  The decision made perfect sense to me.

“Mint Car” works for today for two reasons.  First, in the Northeast US, today feels the way that spring should – bright and warm  - and evokes the same kind of emotions as “Mint Car.”  Additionally, Dave is celebrating his birthday this weekend and while I can’t join him, I’m dedicating this post to him in celebration.  I met Dave in college and in addition to being my RA one year, Dave recruited me to write record reviews for the school newspaper.  Dave was an excellent editor and a gifted media critic himself, and I was thrilled when he started up his NineDaves blog last year.  Dave writes about a variety of topics near and dear to his heart – whether it’s keeping an eye on Broadway, putting his favorite TV shows through his crosshairs, or keeping tabs on happenings in Brooklyn, Dave writes with the kind of natural wit and charm that I envy.  As a birthday present to Dave, give his blog a visit.

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

“Sugarcube” – Yo La Tengo
(Words/music: Yo La Tengo, available on I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One, Matador 1997)

Maybe because I’ve always liked baseball, I’ve frequently thought of mixes (first tapes, then CDs, now playlists) as similar to baseball lineups (or, at least each side of a tape / half of a CD as a lineup).  I like to start with a solid “leadoff” track or two – ones that either feel right as an opening or keep the tempo moving along.  Then, the next few songs are the “power” songs – these are the ones that drive home the theme, command the listener’s attention, or are the ones I think the recipient will like the most.  Then, it’s time to wind down the side and “set up” the next side – these are maybe old favorites that deserve another listen or something I’m taking a chance on including.  It’s not a set formula, and it’s not how I make every mix, but I’ve found myself (even in the dead of winter) working in this mode to help put some structure into my mixes (and to help make the necessary cuts when I have 12 minutes of music and 3 minutes of space).

“Sugarcube” frequently finds its way into the middle of my mixtape batting orders.  Appropriately, Yo La Tengo (whose members earn bonus points for being Mets fans) took their name from an anecdote about communication miscues in the New York Mets’ outfield (and do yourself a favor and watch that video - it’s priceless and features the great Ed Kranepool).  It gains its muscle from the relentless fuzz that runs through the entire song.  However, it’s far more than an experiment in noise, as this tonal cloud bursts at the seams with melody.  The bass first lays claim to a melody (well, a counter-melody with the lead guitar), giving way to Ira Kaplan’s understated vocals.  Throughout the whole song, guitars squeal and bend but always retain their melodic grounding.  In many ways, this comes pretty darn close to “perfect” for me – it’s not afraid to be noisy and rough around the edges, but at the same time it’s intensely melodic and supremely catchy.  It’s the kind of song you could hear once and hum for days without realizing it.

I imagine “Sugarcube” as a gap hitting third baseman.  It prefers to spread its power out throughout the entire song, rather than swinging for the fences.  Instead, it’s this consistency that makes it a valuable asset to the lineup.  It might not make the big play with a big hook or inspired turn of phrase, but it’s consistent greatness makes it a perpetual musical MVP (as far as my mixes go).  It also earns extra credit for a hilarious video featuring Mr. Show’s Bob Odenkirk and David Cross, among others.

More on Yo La Tengo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Miss Misery” – Elliott Smith
(Words/music: Elliott Smith, available on Good Will Hunting OST, Capitol 1997)

Part I: The Song

Like many others, I came across Elliott Smith through Good Will Hunting.  Both director Gus Van Sant and Smith were from Portland, Oregon and Van Sant used a few of Smith’s songs to help flesh out the film’s misunderstood mind.  These songs share a lot with their creator as well - misunderstood works of precise craftsmanship and the product of a heartbreakingly romantic view of the world.  In 2009, Smith’s suicide defines his legacy to many people (and provides a convenient and limiting critical entryway into his catalog).  This single event unfairly eclipses his gift for songwriting.  Yes, many of these songs have sad undertones, but Smith’s not the first (and certainly not the last) to sing about heartbreak or melancholy, yet many immediately link his songs with dour feelings.

Of course, having your breakthrough song titled “Miss Misery” won’t shake those casual assumptions.  Beneath the protagonist’s message to his former lover, Smith lays out a carefully considered musical arrangement.  Every strummed chord, snare drum strike, and keyboard line serve a specific purpose.  Where others might have erred toward an overblown, theatrical arrangement, Smith’s restraint and efficiency give the song an understated dignity.  In particular, Smith carefully uses vocal harmonies without making them overpowering.  He might not have a choirboy’s voice, but he uses it to the best of his ability, treating it like another instrumental choice.  For example, there’s a moment halfway through each verse where his voice in the background helps ease the transition into the next chord – you’ll have to listen closely for it (for example, when the band first enters) as it sounds almost like a string instrument.  Others might use their moment in the spotlight (as “Miss Misery” was composed for Good Will Hunting, a major studio film – easily Smith’s biggest “break” to that point) as an opportunity to show off one’s abilities, but Smith continued to work the same way he always worked – by making the best choice for the individual songs.

Later tonight - Part II: The Academy Awards Performance

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

“Traffic” – Stereophonics
(Words: Kelly Jones, music: Stereophonics, available on Word Gets Around, V2 1997)

I’m a pretty awful guitarist.  Well, to be fair to myself, I’m a low-mediocre player, which is actually somewhat respectable when I add in that I’m entirely self-taught and that it’s never been anything more than something I’d pick up every couple weeks and mess around with for a few minutes (granted, I’ve done this now on and off for almost a decade).  My friend Mike once called me a “rhythm guitarist” – a completely accurate term in that I can strum chords somewhat well (open chords for sure, a few barre chords too, but things like B major always goof me up).  Still, this is fine with me because I’ve resolved my rock and roll dreams many years ago and I’m satisfied enough to write about songs rather than write songs.

I also find that I have a hard time remembering how to play songs.  I think this is because I’ll look up a song’s chords, play it for fifteen minutes, and then play something else.  So, when I pick up a guitar and start strumming mindlessly, I always play the same few things – “Misunderstood” by Wilco (because it’s two chords – D and G) and, oddly enough the opening/main riff to “Traffic” by Stereophonics.  It’s funny because while I do enjoy the song (as you’ll see below), I wouldn’t call it one of my favorite songs (and not even one of my favorite Stereophonics songs either).  It’s funny how certain parts of certain songs, whether it’s a specific lyric, a specific melodic phrase, or, in this case, a few chords (C, Am, F – each with hammer-ons added in) stick with you when you can’t remember details about songs you legitimately love.  I can’t be the only person this happens to, can I?

There’s also the idea that this song actually feels like moving in traffic.  It starts off slow with just those three chords arpeggiated and Kelly Jones’ gruff Welsh voice, slowly building up to the full band creeping along together only to come to a swift halt again.  In this case, the mid-tempo pace of the song (a pace that lulled many songs of the same era into boredom) becomes a thematic asset; it wouldn’t make sense for a song about being stuck in traffic to move at the speed of a Motorhead song.

I’ve also found myself at points doing exactly what the narrator does in the song – creating a back-story for complete strangers.  I wrote a story in college where I created a character out of this tendency – a bank employee who sits at the window all day and makes up stories about his customers.  At the end of the story, the protagonist meets one of these people (who, clichéd enough, he has a crush on as well) and finds that the details he constructed and reality differed immensely.  The narrator in this song has quite the imagination as well, as he comes up with a wide range of careers including model, office drone, hitman, sinner, teacher, elitist, until she slips away.  Sure, the chorus of “Is anyone going anywhere / Everyone’s gotta be somewhere” is a bit boring, but it helped fill stadiums.  I guess power ballads are best served with vague generalizations about life.

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