Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged '2003'

March 12, 2010

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“Redemption Song” – Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer
(Words/music: Bob Marley, available on Cash Unearthed, American / Universal 2003)

I spent four years in college yet never went through a Bob Marley phase. My instinct is to say that I got enough of it second hand, but after thinking about it for a minute I’d say that it was repeated plays of the same Marley tunes that burned me out on his music. I could only hear “Get Up, Stand Up” and “I Shot the Sheriff” so many times before a quick upward strum on a guitar would cause me to retreat. The positive side effect to this combination of burnout and stubbornness means that occasionally I get to make small discoveries in Marley’s cannon. The first one, the one that made me rethink my distaste, was “Redemption Song.” Sure, it partially has to do with the different instrumentation, but it was Marley’s careful weaving of his personal spirituality and politics of liberation that made the song speak to me. At other moments, Marley leans heavily on one (or both) of these polarizing ideas, but on “Redemption Song” he strikes a balance where it’s easier to see the beauty of his convictions without getting caught up in the polarizing details.

The first version of “Redemption Song” I truly loved was on Joe Strummer’s posthumous Streetcore album. In particular, I loved all of the extra touches – the guitar flourishes, the organ chords – that accompanied Strummer’s voice. Later on, I heard this duet version – the same instrumental track only with Strummer and Johnny Cash trading verses. Neither man saw the release of this track (Cash Unearthed came out shortly after his death), and I’m not even sure if Cash and Strummer recorded the song together or whether Cash added his vocals afterward (if you know, I’d love to know). All of this leads me to the most interesting bit of trivia (remember, I’m a Marley lightweight, so this didn’t seem obvious to me) that Marley wrote and recorded “Redemption Song” after his cancer diagnosis. All three of these men sang this song near the end of their lives (granted, for three different reasons – Marley’s illness, Strummer’s sudden heart attack, and Cash’s slowly declining health), and I’d like to think that this song brought them all peace as they neared the end of their time on Earth. If nothing else, all three – Marley’s original, Strummer’s version, and the version Cash augments – left beautiful interpretations for us to remember them fondly.

More on Johnny Cash: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 11, 2010

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“Danger! High Voltage (Soulchild Radio Mix)” – Electric Six
(Words/music: Joe Frezza, Steve Nawara, Anthony Selph, and Tyler Spencer, available on Danger! High Voltage EP, XL 2003)

Right now I have a cold – thankfully one that’s not too dehabilitating, but one that’s just enough to make eating a chore and frustrate me with the periodic coughing. Most relevantly, it’s only made me more tired the last few days. Naturally, I looked to music before over-the-counter medication (or quality rest, perhaps the wisest option). The hope was that the right song would dislodge whatever ails me and put my brain back on solid footing.

So I turned to “Danger! High Voltage” in my time of need hoping that it would de-gunk my insides. Maybe it’s the Taco Bell line, but I hoped this song would have a Tabasco-like cleansing effect. Perhaps it’s over-the-top absurdity and driving beat would lift my spirits. If nothing else, that gaudy saxophone at the end would give me a laugh, and folk wisdom suggests that laughter is the best medicine, right? Or maybe listening to it would fill me with nostalgia for the first time I saw this video on the internet, probably in Real Player format before YouTube would make something like this immediately accessible. As a last resort, I could picture Jack White and Dick Valentine standing over a small fire, manically screaming back and forth at each other about their desires.

Of course, this didn’t work. I’m still hacking away, but at least I’m smiling a little more. And now I really want a quesadilla.

More on Electric Six: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 10, 2010

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“It’s Only Divine Right” – The New Pornographers
(Words/music: Carl Newman, available on Electric Version, Matador 2003)

In the past week, I’ve seen a few misconceptions about the New Pornographers that sparked the obsessive music geek in me. I’ve seen it intimated that Destroyer, the prolific musical output of New Pornographers contributor Dan Bejar, was Bejar’s side project. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Bejar contributes a few songs to the New Pornographers and generally doesn’t tour with them anymore. I bit my tongue, writing this off as a mistake in wording (he is better known for being in this band than for his solo output), but an even odder gaffe made me proclaim out loud at my desk. While going over guests on the forthcoming New Pornographers’ album (which supposedly has many of legitimate guests), “A.C. Newman” was listed as one of the guests. This baffled me – in certain parts of the internet, this would be like saying Paul McCartney made guest appearances on several Beatles albums! Newman is best described as the leader of the New Pornographers and, if anything, does his solo albums as side projects.

I make this assertion because (thus far), Newman saves his best songs for the New Pornographers. Not to diminish his two solo albums, both fine discs, but it takes maybe half of the New Pornographers’ Electric Version to see what Newman’s songs feel like when he’s firing on all cylinders. “It’s Only Divine Right” marries many of the best qualities of Newman’s songwriting – a driving beat, gently tangled melodic lines, and some clever wordplay. It’s equal parts bouncy and bombastic, enjoyable and edgy. Most importantly, it puts all of its parts to their best use, particularly Neko Case’s beautiful voice. Personally, I think Case sounds best when singing Newman’s songs, and it’s her harmony notes that bring “It’s Only Divine Right” toward pop godliness. Whether she’s doubling Newman’s lyrics or singing the series of rising notes right after the hook, Case’s voice adds a different texture to the song. While she sounds terrific when she takes the lead (“All For Swinging You Around,” among others), she’s equally deadly in this comparatively minor supporting role. Like a skilled director, Newman knows how to get the best performance out of his company of players by balancing egos to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

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

March 9, 2010

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“Dirty Old Town” - Ted Leo
(Words/music: Ewan MacColl, appears on “Tell Balgeary, Balgury is Dead” EP, Lookout! 2003)

(In honor of the new Ted Leo and the Pharmacists album The Brutalist Bricks, I’d like to re-run the story of when I first met Ted Leo in February 2003. This post originally ran on January 7, 2009. Back to new posts tomorrow!)

I’ve been blessed to have been involved with college radio while earning both of my degrees (first at WDOM in Providence, later at WQAQ in Connecticut), and it was (and continues to be) an important factor in my ever evolving musical taste. This post, however, isn’t my love letter to college radio (that comes with a different song) but rather a reflection of my favorite experience as a DJ.

I was fortunate enough to meet and interview Ted Leo during February 2003, right after the Hearts of Oak album came out (and right after I discovered his music). It was a surreal experience for a college sophomore to have to plan questions and interview someone who would be on Conan O’Brien later that week. From the moment that we helped Ted cart in his amplifier and guitar case (the same ones he still uses years later), it was apparent that Ted was almost as grateful to have the opportunity to appear on our modest station as we were to have him come to us. Through all sorts of stumbling blocks – our station’s faulty heater (it didn’t work a lot that winter), a less than vegan friendly cafeteria, his nagging vocal chord problems, and my nervous propensity to mix metaphors (he signed a poster with one of my quotes - “top to bottom, front to back” - my attempt to complement the body of songs on Hearts of Oak), Ted remained upbeat, enthusiastic, and completely engaging. We had Ted on for an hour or so – a mix of discussions about ska music, going to Catholic school, listening to New Order, and other topics with about half a dozen performances of songs from The Tyranny of Distance and Hearts of Oak. By the end of the afternoon, everyone in the room not only became fans of his music, but became fans of the man. In addition to his kindness and wit, Ted’s personal ethics shine through everything he does. Few contemporaries champion their causes as earnestly and completely and it seems that he has time to play on behalf of people and causes that he supports (for example, playing a benefit for a local punk rock promoter who recently passed away).

“Dirty Old Town” was the last song that Ted played that day, introducing it as a “song for the city of Providence.” I didn’t know the song (I hadn’t discovered The Pogues at that point), but I was struck by how he sang someone else’s song with the same passion and conviction that he sang his own songs. Looking back at that day nearly six years later, I have two prevailing thoughts. The first is the refreshing realization that the people that we’re fans of are fans themselves. It’s clear that Ted has a passion for music (look at the wide body of cover songs in his repertoire – in particular the obscure songs he’s playing on his recent solo tour) and that even to this day he remains a fan. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I’ve learned that songs don’t belong exclusively to their authors – they belong to us all. We all have our own unique memories associated with individual songs – sometimes shared, sometimes private – and that some songs immediately can immediately bring us back to a specific place or time. I’m not sure what Ted Leo thinks of when he hears Shane MacGowan sing “Dirty Old Town,” but this song will always make me think back to that afternoon in Providence where I got to interview one of my favorite musicians.

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 8, 2010

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“You Don’t Know My Name” – Alicia Keys
(Words/music: Alicia Keys, Kanye West, Harold Lilly, J. R. Bailey, Mel Kent, Ken Williams, available on The Diary of Alicia Keys, J-Records 2003)

A few weeks ago, I watched most of the Comedians of Comedy movie and their entire Live at the El-Rey special. I had never seen Maria Bamford perform standup, so I was surprised and impressed at the different voices she slipped into and out of throughout her routine. The one that stood out the most was her impression of Alicia Keys’ spoken bridge in “You Don’t Know My Name.” I hadn’t heard Keys song in a while but Bamford nailed the tone and phrasing of Keys’ phone call (which, in turn, made me think of the recent Saturday Night Live digital short where Keys makes another late night phone call with different results).

So today I went back to “You Don’t Know My Name” and remembered why I liked this song in the first place and why I never listen to it anymore. The main part of the song captures a lot of the things I enjoy about Keys, particularly her voice. I even love the production, in part because it’s an atypical style for Kanye West, especially since he stays virtually undetectable on it (I’d imagine that if this were made now, Kanye would have demanded to have Mos Def’s part in the video at least). It’s a terrific soul ballad that’s sweet without being overly sappy. Then there’s the spoken bridge. It’s a little too theatrical for my taste, but I understand its purpose (and I remember it working well within the context of the video too), and today I enjoyed it largely because I kept thinking of Bamford’s impression. Looking back at it now, it’s a little over-the-top and features a gratuitously outdated “can you hear me now” reference in it. Most importantly, the bridge plus the outro push the song over the six minute mark; I like the song, but not nearly enough to devote ten percent of an hour to it on a regular basis.

More on Alicia Keys: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

February 18, 2010

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“Little Eyes” – Yo La Tengo
(Words/music: Yo La Tengo, available on Summer Sun, Matador 2003)

“Little Eyes” always sneaks up on me. It starts with a series of innocuous beeps and long metallic tones before it locks into its groove. From there, it continues along for a little more than four minutes at the same volume. Other than the liquid-like guitar line bending throughout the song, nothing really stands out from the rest of the arrangement. The drums stay fairly low key, Georgia Hubley sings in a near-whisper for most of the song, and the bassline moves along yet does so in a subtle way. This is the kind of thing that if played in public wouldn’t turn too many heads.

Still, I have the entire melody committed to memory and could finish almost every line if you sang the first half of it for me. It’s nowhere near my favorite Yo La Tengo track, yet I know it better than the majority of their catalogue. The best guess I have is that it’s the net effect; if any part of the song were turned into the main attraction – whether it’s the vocal melody or a particular instrument turned up louder – it might be exposed in its isolation. Instead, with its unassuming presence, “Little Eyes” lets its charms work subtly. In a way, it’s an apt metaphor for Yo La Tengo as a whole, but I’ll leave that for another time. For tonight, I’m content to call “Little Eyes” a team victory despite not having a superstar performance.

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

November 30, 2009

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“What a Day (For a Night)” – Paul Westerberg
(Words/music: Paul Westerberg, available on Come Feel Me Tremble, Vagrant 2003)

Whether deliberate or by destiny, Paul Westerberg became the same sort of cult folk hero as the ones he emulated in his music. Today, a generation looks at him with the same awe and reverence that he bestowed upon Alex Chilton (or, to a lesser degree, Kiss). Since the Replacements fizzled out in the 1990s, Westerberg alternated periods of prolific output with prolonged hibernation. When he put out music – be it the polished power pop in the mid ‘90s, the raw basement recordings for Vagrant early this decade, or the spasmodic internet-only song collages over the last year – it was always unapologetically Westerberg. After all, it was his distinctive style and sound – simultaneously rough, unpolished, and beautiful – that earned him the same sort of legacy he admired in the first place.

“What a Day (For a Night)” is representative of Westerberg’s basement-folk period. It sounds hastily mixed and recorded quickly, and it’s not particularly complex. Still, for all its raggedness, it radiates with Westerberg’s charm. Whether it’s the wonderful lead guitar melody played a little too loud or the way Westerberg strains his voice as he tests the upper limit of his range, the imperfections never get in the way of his composition. In fact, these eccentricities feel charming in Westerberg’s hands. The whole thing sounds like something a friend could have put together on a four track in his basement, or the type of band one might stumble on playing in a small pub on a random weeknight. However, no matter how close we approach this Westerberg-ian ideal as the King of the Basement, we’re reminded that while we possess the same parts, we don’t know how to assemble them to make the whole thing so effortless and imperfectly beautiful. This is why people like me get excited every time a new Westerberg song surfaces out of some random hole on the internet, as it might be the next diamond in the rough.

More on Paul Westerberg: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

November 11, 2009

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“The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” – The Postal Service
(Words: Ben Gibbard, Music: The Postal Service, available on Give Up, Sub Pop 2003)

When talking about the Postal Service, it’s easy to get lost in the details, whether it’s the band’s back story or just the instruments used to create the recording. That discuss is fine and has a place, but it shouldn’t be the end of the discussion, and too often with a band like this – one that can be boiled down to its relationships and gimmicks – the substance gets shortchanged. For example, the beeps alone don’t make these songs speak to so many of us; if that was the case, anyone with a drum machine or a Casio synthesizer could get a record deal. Instead, I’m more interested in how these details fit together – specifically, how the process impacted the songs.

“The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” works so well because the adornments fit into the song’s structure perfectly. Around the same time as Give Up’s release, Ben Gibbard started writing grander songs for Death Cab for Cutie. “District,” despite Tamborello’s programming, remains relatively simple, with the chords held just long enough to create a sullen background for Gibbard’s late night meditation on loneliness. Jenny Lewis’ backing vocals add another texture to the verses, but that’s generally it. It’s the programming – the electronic beat and beeps – that sell the mood. Whether the electronic treatment gives it the feel of a late night illuminated only by an LCD screen, or it’s simply the short, clipped sounds created by the technology, but the song creates the sound of a quiet night lit up only by a racing mind. It’s hard to imagine some of Gibbard’s anthems getting this treatment. Instead, the Postal Service project needed songs that made the most of the available tools and, more importantly, used the tools to make itself better.

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

October 26, 2009

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“House of Jealous Lovers” – The Rapture
(Words/music: The Rapture, available on Echoes, Strummer / Universal 2003)

I’m not a particularly visual person normally, but “House of Jealous Lovers” makes me think of lines with steep angles. The guitars sound like they stop, pivot, and head in a different direction with every note, and even though the riff isn’t too complex (at least in terms of the amount of notes), it makes the guitar line sound worlds different. It’s the kind of thing that I like listening to if I want to aggressively air strum along with my thumb as I’m walking.

Still, maybe because it’s sounds like it looks jagged, I’ve always imagined the song as having a thorny exterior. I’ve always liked the song – I even bought the 12” single at one point – yet it’s hard for me to say that I have a real emotional or visceral reaction to it. Maybe it’s because I never lived in New York (especially New York during this dance punk revival) nor can I remember any occasion where “House of Jealous Lovers” brought a party to that elusive “next level.” Instead, it’s a collection of sounds – that start-stop riff, that deliberate cowbell, and the wild shouting – that sound exciting. It’s not that I dislike the song – it does all of these things well, and on the right moments, it feels perfect. “Moment” best fits it, for better or worse; when the song’s over, it washes away almost instantly. Perhaps this is the result of too many playlists put on shuffle, but I can’t help but come back to my concept of the song as a sort of sonic porcupine. Perhaps it’s the same jagged riff that looks interesting in the first place that prevents me from wrapping my arms around it and putting part of myself into it. Instead, it makes for a few good minutes of an elevated heart rate – and there’s nothing wrong with that. Nonetheless, I’m still curious why it’s kept me at arm’s length.

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

October 22, 2009

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“Maps” – Yeah Yeah Yeahs
(Words/music: Yeah Yeah Yeahs, available on Fever to Tell, Interscope 2003)

I’m always fascinated to see how the emotional resonance of certain lyrics creeps into the musical part of the composition. Sometimes we’re drawn to happy songs that sound sad or sad songs that sound happy, perhaps because of the novelty and perhaps because it lets us hear what we want or need to hear in a variety of different moods. Still, I’m always attracted to songs that present a unified front – songs that display emotions not just in the lyrics but in the music as well. While the emotional resonance within the listener depends on the circumstances revolving around the person listening and reacting to the song, the emotions a narrator experiences within a song might spill out into the rhythm and melody as well.

Maybe it’s from watching the tear-streaming video one too many times, but I imagine Karen O’s narrator as someone trapped in heartbreak. In the verses, she’s repeating words, contradicting herself, and generally sounding lost. She sounds like she’s pacing around inside her own head, unsure how she arrived where she is and hesitant about where to go next. Meanwhile, the drums pound heavily around her like the emotional baggage weighing her down. Nick Zinner’s guitar sounds like her pulse steadily quickening. Then, when she finally musters up enough courage to say something – even if it’s just pleading for her lover to “wait,” – the music explodes along with her. Rather than pounding down on her, the sound feels like it’s radiating off of her (or at least reflecting outward). Maybe I’m just hearing what I want to hear, but this might be why “Maps” hits so deep with so many people – that the musical shifts work in tandem with the lyrics, reinforcing the shifting moods Karen O sends her narrator through.

More on Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

October 3, 2009

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“The Cheat is NOT DEAD” – Strong Bad
(Words/music: Matt Chapman, Mark Cobb, and Peter Olson, available on Strong Bad Sings and Other Type Hits, Harmless Junk, Inc. 2003)

One of the rituals I had in college involved sitting with my roommate Jim every week and watching the new Homestar Runner cartoons. It usually went like this: I’d walk in from class to find Jim at his computer with headphones on, I’d sit down for a minute – long enough to open my e-mail, and Jim would lean over and say “new Homestar,” and we’d gather around his Gateway to laugh at some silly flash animation. So when the Homestar Runner album came out, it was an obvious purchase for us, if for no other reason than to support the folks who made after class afternoons a little more tolerable.

So when these songs, many of which appeared in the cartoons, sounded fully formed and, you know, like real songs, we were floored. In particular, “The Cheat is Not Dead,” sung by Strong Bad, a bizarre combination of Dear Abbey and a Mexican wrestler, impressed me. I knew the silly ode to reconciliation with his sidekick The Cheat, but this version adds a choir and the Blues Brothers coda to the end of it. It’s appropriate, as Strong Bad eventually eclipsed Homestar Runner as the site’s star, that Strong Bad would assume the spotlight with such a overblown performance. However, it ends up working – even after the initial shock wears off, I find that the Strong Bad Sings songs never get skipped in the car. If nothing else, they remind me of those times where putting off a paper to watch a flash animation made perfect sense.

More on Strong Bad: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

August 22, 2009

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“Where Will You Go?” – The Minus 5
(Words/music: Scott McCaughey, available on Down with Wilco, Yep Roc 2003)

Over the past decade, Wilco evolved from a critical underdog into a full-on rock juggernaut. Still, while audiences at Wilco shows swelled in the past year, some fans started to long for their earlier, alt-country roots. Yes, it’s hard to see that same band in the one routinely playing nine minute guitar epics, but Wilco have routinely worked in several different genres. Their 1999 album Summerteeth encapsulated the band’s classic pop tendencies, melting down their folk, country, rock, and pop roots all into a well-orchestrated batch of songs. These were the sort of songs Scott McCaughey writes in both the Young Fresh Fellows and the Minus 5 – songs that lean heavily on power-pop melodies often with a wry lyrical twist in them. McCaughey collaborates with a different set of musicians on each Minus 5 album, and Wilco’s contribution on Down with Wilco seems like the perfect fit for all parties involved. Wilco, stuck in that well-documented limbo between getting dropped by Reprise and landing on Nonesuch during Down with Wilco’s recording, could keep busy in the studio while McCaughey gained a backing band capable of a wide range of sonic textures.

“Where Will You Go?” would be a good song without Wilco’s help, but it’s percussionist Glenn Kotche who brings this song to another level for me. Specifically, I love the marimba line that follows the guitars like its shadow. It gives the song a unique feel and adds another melodic line that stays just enough out of the limelight. Additionally, the non-melodic percussion suits the song perfectly too, as he integrates shakers and sleigh bells in with his traditional drum kit. These are subtle differences, but they make each section of the song just different enough to take notice. Most importantly, Kotche knows the difference between putting his skills to use and eclipsing the song’s best elements. All of his work serves McCaughey’s song well, leaving the melody and backing harmonies alone in the spotlight. It’s these subtle additions – Kotche’s percussion, the distinctively snarling guitars, and the quick changes in dynamics – that helps to maximize McCaughey’s pop sensibilities.

More on The Minus 5: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 30, 2009

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“Teenage Wristband” - The Twlight Singers
(Words/music: Greg Dulli, available on Blackberry Belle, One Little Indian 2003)

Greg Dulli gets tons of credit for being an “interpreter of songs” because he has a way of taking a song, ripping out the essence of the original, and rebuilding around it. The Twilight Singers’ She Loves You album pulls together songs from all corners of popular music from George Gershwin and Nina Simone to Bjork and Mary J. Blige. Dulli manages to unite these disparate songs under a single aesthetic vision – marrying his soulful yet gruff vocals with arrangements that create dramatic tension. He’s as much of a storyteller as he is an “interpreter.” His albums, whether with the Afghan Whigs, Twilight Singers, or Gutter Twins, tend to feel episodic rather than wholly linear. Each song feels like its own short story with Dulli investing all of his energy into making each one worthy of individual attention. When put together, these songs describe a character – whether it’s Dulli himself, an invented persona, or something else entirely – and reflect the many (often conflicted) sides to this person.

The second Twilight Singers album Blackberry Belle was a tribute to the director Ted Demme, a friend of Dulli’s who died suddenly. Appropriately, these songs find Dulli at his most cinematic; his best songs always burned so bright that they seem destined for the silver screen, but Dulli and his band brings them to another level on this album. The opening piano line in “Teenage Wristband” plays like a prologue – it could be the jingling of car keys or the gentle hum of the motor firing up. By the time Dulli starts singing, the song is moving on all cylinders. Pop songs using a car as an escapist fantasy are a dime a dozen, but few have felt as large or desperate as “Teenage Wristband.” The arrangement feels almost cinematic in its size and shine; while it borders on melodrama, the bright piano, electronic drums, and Dulli’s desperate singing makes the song sound like the 75th minute of teen drama – right around the part in the fourth act where the protagonists finally get everything together and run off. The whole thing feels like it’s running on pure emotion – from the jammed arrangement to the narrator’s persistence to leave right at this moment. They might burn out before they ever get where they want to, but it will be a hell of a glow until they peter out.

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

May 21, 2009

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“Just Because” – Jane’s Addiction
(Words/music: Perry Farrell, Dave Navarro, Stephen Perkins, Bob Ezrin, Chris Chaney, available on Strays, Capitol 2003)

I know that some of you are going to see the name “Jane’s Addiction” and note that the year is after 1991 and stop reading this. I know that others will probably think that I’m crazy to spend any time thinking about a Jane’s Addiction song from their fairly uninspired reunion album Strays, and I appreciate that perspective. However, if I chose a song from either of their excellent first two studio albums, I’m not sure I’d have much to add. I don’t think I have any new insight that will make you rethink “Mountain Song,” and I’m not sure that Jane’s Addiction needs a critical reevaluation. I also think that, for a band that was in its prime nearly two decades ago, people tend to find their way to Jane’s Addiction if they’re interested. Maybe it’s the way “Jane Says” and “Been Caught Stealing” remain radio staples, or their members’ affiliation with other bands. Maybe I haven’t spent enough time with these albums, but I don’t think I can (or need to, to be frank) make a case for any of them.

I can, however, attempt to rescue “Just Because” from its questionable company on Strays.

Let’s get one thing out of the way right now: “Just Because” doesn’t belong in the same company as the best Jane’s Addiction songs, and I won’t try to make a case for it being there. It’s a fairly simple, paint-by-numbers early 21st century modern rock song; there aren’t any tricks, surprises, or timeless moments. Instead, it’s a solidly arranged, well-executed rock song. Whether it’s the stray notes that seem to fall away from the opening guitar riff, or the way Perry Farrell holds every syllable a split second longer than almost any other rock singer, or even the relentless feel to the song, the reunion era lineup of Jane’s Addiction makes it sound effortless. It has a solid riff and manages to be heavy enough and plenty catchy without being too annoying. The lyrics are awful and I encourage you to spend as little mental energy on Farrell’s words as possible. In fact, that’s solid advice for the song as a whole, and even if it isn’t life changing, it’s still an enjoyable song to have come up every now and again. It’s nowhere as adventurous (or ultimately as rewarding) as most of the songs on Nothing’s Shocking or Ritual De Lo Habitual, but we can admire how well Jane’s Addiction paints within the lines (right?)

More on Jane’s Addiction: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

April 20, 2009

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“My Sweet Lord (Live at the Concert for George)” - Billy Preston
(Words/music: George Harrison, available on The Concert for George, Warner Brothers 2003)

When I first delved into the story behind George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord,” I was puzzled by the idea that he originally gave the song to Billy Preston. I wasn’t surprised about giving it to Preston specifically, as Harrison and Preston collaborated frequently, but rather I was surprised that Harrison would give the song away at all. In a way, I always heard “My Sweet Lord” as a personal song – one detailing Harrison’s quest for finding enlightenment based on his studies of Hinduism. Maybe this seemed strange because I only knew Harrison’s version, complete with the “Hare Krishna” mantra from his backing singers. By comparison, Preston’s gospel call-and-response take on the song on his Encouraging Words album flipped the song around; while Harrison sounded like someone searching for a connection, Preston and his choir reveled in their unity. Maybe this is why, as someone who doesn’t practice religion yet still has spiritual moments, I’m drawn towards the yearning and searching rather than the “come and join with us” feel in Preston’s arrangement.

At the concert celebrating George Harrison’s life and music, an older Billy Preston sang “My Sweet Lord” with George’s band with the result somewhere between his version and Harrison’s recording. When the backing vocals chime in, they sing strong and vibrantly, yet Preston’s vocal performance seems more in line with Harrison’s version. Like the former Beatle, Preston sings the first verse on his own before the choir comes in, and even when the choir comes in, he remains the central figure rather than serving as the leader to set up the choir. After all, it’s this main vocal line – the one yearning for unity with the higher power – that’s central to the song, with the mantra (whether it’s the Judeo-Christian “hallelujah” or the Hindu prayer) playing the secondary role. Preston’s original version of the song flips these around, and even if I prefer it the other way, I imagine that speaks to a lot of people. Still, I identify more with Harrison’s version, reading it as the quest for enlightenment being the important part – it’s not about finding the one right answer, but rather finding your own best path to enlightenment, whether it’s through Christianity, Hinduism, or whatever else. Perhaps I’m projecting too much of my own beliefs onto the song, but it’s this strand of self-discovery and personal nirvana that’s made an incredibly beautiful song even more beautiful.

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