Some Songs Considered

“The Comeback” – Shout Out Louds
(Words: Adam Olenius, music: Shout Out Louds, available on Howl Howl Gaff Gaff, Capitol 2005) 

Even if they don’t come to mind right away as a personal favorite, it’s fair to say that I’m a fan of Shout Out Louds.  I’ve enjoyed each of their three albums more than the previous record.  Tonight, I realized that I consider one of their songs (“1999”) as one of my favorites of this nearly half-completed year.  I even realized that I wrote about this band in this blog’s second entry – before pretty much every single band that I’ve loved my entire listening life.  I only qualify my fandom because it seemed to sneak up on me.

I suppose it relates to the way the band puts together their songs.  “The Comback,” for instance, isn’t flashy or overly dramatic; instead, it lays out its melody with few frills.  There are some nice embellishments, in particular the quick guitar work near the end of the solo section, but generally the band pushed the melody to the forefront and lets it carry the song’s weight.  I realize this might sound like a backhanded compliment, but in this instance its straightforward nature helps the melody linger even after the song ends.  Rather than call it “simple,” I’d prefer selective, as the band knows when to toss a curveball and make it effective.  When they do, these embellishments aren’t lost in sensory overload.   It’s easy to overlook a band that makes spectacular songs seem unspectacular, but only while the music isn’t playing.  When one of their records spins, the admiration returns. 

More on Shout Out Louds: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Heartbeats” – The Knife
(Words/music: The Knife, available on Deep Cuts, V2 2005)

Two very specific parts of “Heartbeats” cut through to me every time.  This is not to slight the beautifully hypnotic synthesizer groove or the song’s crafted images, but both moments that leave me breathless come from the vocal delivery.  The first comes in the second half of each line in the hook where Karin Dreijer seemingly lets the melody float higher for a word or two.  For most of the song, Dreijer sings in a tone as thick as the synthesizers accompanying her.  It’s not quite a falsetto, but it achieves a similar effect – her voice sounds lighter and higher for this moment like a dancer nimbly leaping across the stage.  Like the most gifted dancers, Dreijer’s voice feels less like a jump and more like a hovering glide that lingers a split second longer than gravity should allow.  It’s a brief trick, as Dreijer returns back to her normal cadence at the beginning of the next line.

It’s this momentary hover plus the modulation upward in the bridge that sets up the knock-out punch: the “yeah-ah” vocal in the second chorus.  In a song that blurs its lustful images with foreboding overtones, this vocal radiates with joy.  When woven in with the hook at irregular intervals, it overlaps with different notes each time, yet no part feels out-of-place.  Moreover, where Dreijer’s voice hovers on those couple of notes in the hook, this vocal soars unrestrained.  In a song with plenty of melodic gems, this bit sticks with me days after hearing the song.  

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

“Working Overtime” – New Order
(Words/music: New Order, available on Waiting for the Sirens’ Call, Warner Brothers 2005) 

My morning consisted of an uncomfortable level of humidity coupled with far too little sleep.  At a certain point, I hit the right balance of fatigue, atmospheric moisture, and frustration to channel back to my final week as an undergraduate.  At this point, I’ve been away from school longer than I actually spent there, so many of my memories now run together, but I still remember my final week spent sleeping during the day and finishing a semester-long research paper at night.  I usually speak of my nocturnal week the way someone speaks of a successful adventure, but a more honest reflection this morning points back to this week as reinforcement of a lot of poor creative habits (specifically, the idea that I can only be creative late at night).  Every year around this time, whether it’s “sympathy pain” for students preparing for finals or just a strong association with the first uncomfortably humid morning, I slide back into that same mix of sleeplessness, anxiety, and intellectual frenzy that producing a semester’s worth of work in ten days produces.

This morning, I really wanted to know what I listened to on those late nights alone in my apartment’s living room, so I started digging around to figure out what I might have listened to in May 2005.  I found the only playlist from around that time that’s made it through several different computers, and the oddest song was New Order’s “Working Overtime.”  Listening now, it sounds like a cleaner version of Primal Scream’s version of the Rolling Stones (nor is the irony lost on me), but back then it was the aggressive guitar that earned its way onto one of these late night playlists.  If nothing else, this was the kind of song I’d put on to try to spur my third wind of the evening and regain motivation to hammer out a few more pages before sunrise.

In all honesty, the Waiting for the Sirens’ Call album fell victim to this nocturnal phase and the corresponding gap in my memory.  I remember being surprised how much I liked the album yet remember very little about it.  Rediscovering it today, however, helped to recreate that moment in time.  I wonder if listening to the entire disc would do the same thing.  

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

“Total Eclipse of the Heart” – The Dan Band
(Words/music: Jim Steinman, available on The Dan Band Live, USA Side 1 Dummy 2005) 

Like many others, I thought that the wedding band in Old School stole the beginning of the movie, and of the songs my roommate and I could find, the profanity-laced “Total Eclipse of the Heart” was our favorite.  Whether it was the melodrama mixing with cursing or simply touching on the guilty pleasure, this version of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” earned a lot of play in our dorm room.  My favorite part comes right at the end, where the band snaps into double time and gives the song an almost celebratory feeling.  If nothing else, it was worth a good laugh when one of us needed it.

Then, the joke died for me.  I still remember it well.

Some friends and I were out at a bar just off campus and it happened to be karaoke night.  We stayed and sat through the usual fare – some fun performances, some awful performances.  Then, a group of guys (“bros” if I went to college half a decade later) all huddled together to sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” only it didn’t sound like it.  They wanted to sing it like the Dan Band and, quite possibly, had never heard Bonnie Tyler’s version of the song.  So instead of doing the expected thing – singing at her pace while still dropping f-bombs – they proceeded to sing the verse nearly twice as fast as the backing track expected.  It was early in the night so it was unlikely that they were completely trashed, so until they reached the chorus, nobody had a clue what was going on.  It was at that point that the joke died; they tried too hard to make it fit (not to mention this was a solid year after Old School came out) and dragged the whole thing down with them. 

I suppose the moral of this story is to know your limits – sometimes it’s best just to laugh at the joke rather than try to recreate it yourself.

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

“Daft Punk is Playing at My House” – LCD Soundsystem
(Words/music: James Murphy, available on LCD Soundsystem, DFA 2005) 

James Murphy’s best work under his LCD Soundsystem moniker tends to sprawl beyond five minutes.  Generally, these tracks need this time to gradually evolve, like the ever-intensifying “All My Friends” or the lesser acclaimed “Someone Great” from the same disc.  Some of these songs need their long running time to tell the entire story – the caustic “Losing My Edge” needs every one of its near eight minutes to build up and tear down any artificial notions of “cool.”  Given the larger canvas, Murphy generally will use all available space to his advantage.  He does these longer tracks so well that his shorter, more compact tracks fall through the cracks.  Some of his best compositions – “Tribulations,” “New York, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down,” and “Daft Punk is Playing at My House” – could play twice before reaching the end of some of his longer songs.

“Daft Punk…” sounds particularly tight when compared with some of Murphy’s more extensive mixes.  Fueled by a tight guitar riff, the song gives Murphy enough space for a thumbnail sketch of a Daft Punk basement show.  Murphy howls a few times and repeats some of his lines, but generally he stays out of the way of the track.  It’s the only track I can think of that features a cowbell solo as well (and a multi-pitched cowbell / a-go-go bell solo at that)!  It captures the specific vibe one might have scrambling to put together a house show (especially one for a group that fills much larger venues) – Murphy sets the stage and ends the track before wearing out his welcome, just in time for the guys in the robot suits to annoy the neighbors.

(As I’ve done a few times this week, I’ll be listening to the new LCD Soundsystem album This is Happening at 10:00 tonight on the East coast and tweeting my thoughts and replying to yours on the @somesongs Twitter page.  Hope you’ll join in!)

More on LCD Soundsystem: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“7/4 (Shoreline)” – Broken Social Scene
(Words/music: Broken Social Scene, available on Broken Social Scene, Arts & Crafts 2005) 

When done well, the listener shouldn’t notice a song’s time signature unless he/she looks for it.  Most pop music sticks to four beats a measure and when it deviates from that norm, it should come with a purpose.  I think of the way a ballad in 6/8 (something like “Everybody Hurts”) rolls naturally from one beat to the next, or even the effortless way Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” sneaks in that extra beat.  If Broken Social Scene didn’t advertise that “Shoreline” generally used seven beats in a measure, it might have taken me a few listens to notice it.  Instead, the part of me that spent most of my youth behind a drum set keyed right in on the beat and marveled at how the whole thing fell into place.  Very soon after first hearing the record, my attention went away from counting beats in a measure to trying to figure out how it sounds so seamless.

This, in a way, also captures Broken Social Scene’s charm.  Whether performing with a dozen musicians on stage or juggling a lineup of friends and guests writing and performing on their album, Broken Social Scene pulls these disparate forces together better than many bands a third of their size.  The time signature is far from the only appeal to “Shoreline,” it’s the way the horns and the multiple vocalists interact.  Watching all of this come together at this quick of a tempo offers a reminder of what this band pulls off while firing on all cylinders.  I suppose this is also why their output became sporadic – an engine this powerful needs all its pistons present to fire at full power.

(On a related note, I’m going to give the new Broken Social Scene album a listen via NPR’s stream tonight at 11:00 Eastern.  I’ll be tweeting my thoughts on my first listen and would love to hear what you’d think as well!)

More on Broken Social Scene: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Crooked Teeth” – Death Cab for Cutie
(Words/music: Ben Gibbard and Chris Walla, available on Plans, Atlantic 2005) 

Some songs ride one exceptional part straight on through greatness.  Whether it’s a spectacular hook or a clever lyric or even a great bridge, great songs usually have one specific part (at least) that elevates it into the next level.  Sometimes, however, a song gets by with just a lot of good parts rather than one or two great ones.  If these songs were an athletic team, then the post-game interview would lean heavily on the phrase “team effort.”  That’s not too far off with a song like “Crooked Teeth” – even without a single “great part,” it’s still one of my favorites. 

Before this becomes a series of backhanded compliments, let me clarify; “Crooked Teeth” represents a lot of the things I love about Death Cab for Cutie.  It finds the balance between being catchy and running its melody into the ground.  The lyrics are quirky and endearing, and the overall performance is tight.  I guess my point is that a lot of the band’s songs do these things and “Crooked Teeth” does none of these better than others.  It’s not as dynamic as “The New Year” nor as urgent as “We Looked Like Giants.”  Even Ben Gibbard’s imagery isn’t as strong as it is at other times (nor is it as grating and head-scratchingly annoying as it is at others).  Even if “Crooked Teeth” isn’t the first Death Cab for Cutie song I’d think of playing, I’m always glad by the time the hook comes around. 

More on Death Cab for Cutie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Abel” – The National 
(Words/music: The National, available on Alligator, Beggars Banquet 2005) 

The National, circa the Boxer album, leaned toward songs that gradually revealed details over time.  Through repeated listening, different lyric fragments or layers of sound emerged from the mix, adding one more piece to the final picture.  That’s not to say that Boxer doesn’t have immediate gratification; rather, many of the songs filled in the details after a few spins.  My experience with its predecessor Alligator went in the opposite direction.  Knowing my personal history with Boxer, it surprised me that I tended toward the more immediate songs on the album.  

So as I found myself leaning toward the more visceral songs, I kept coming back to “Abel.”  At first, it was for its rawness – its guitars and stomping drums reminded me of the intensity in their live shows.  Then, after a few listens, the line between these two seemingly different incarnations of the band appeared clearer.  Sure, Matt Berninger repeats that one lyric with a growl he set aside on most of Boxer, he uses repetition frequently to help tell his stories.  “Ada,” for instance, thrives around a main lyric that travels elliptically.  Berninger’s knack for character development comes across clearer when he’s telling a story, but he’s just as immersed in a character on “Abel” as he is on one of his more linear songs.  He may sound like he’s stuck in a vicious circle, but that’s by design.  The anxiety and excessive repetition only underscore the fact that this narrator’s mind isn’t right, and the more he recognizes it, the worse he feels.  When he escapes from this loop, he only manages brief fragments of communication before slipping right back in.  Berninger and his band put us right inside the eye of the storm, alternating between pushing us into the madness and letting it swirl around uncontrollably.  

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

“King of Ska” – Desmond Dekker and the Cherry Pies
(Words/music: Desmond Dacres, available on The Definitive Collection, Sanctuary 2005) 

When reggae music started to gather steam in the mid-to-late part of the 1960s, Desmond Dekker was right in the middle of things.  By the end of the decade, Dekker wrote one of the most iconic tracks of the time period (“Israelites”) and found commercial success with several other tracks (including Jimmy Cliff’s “You Can Get It If You Really Want”).  However, as early as 1964 Dekker declared himself “King of Ska.”  Recording with the Cherry Pies (later known as the Maytals, reggae icons in their own right), Dekker seized the throne.  While the music sounds dated to the mid-1960s, lyrically Dekker sounds more like a battle rapper than a young reggae star.  “I am going to burn your skin like a blazing fire” he declares in the song’s contrasting section, giving his proclamation of power some more teeth to it.  If nothing else, it foreshadows the unforgiving nature that made “Israelites” its urgency. 

While I can’t refute Dekker’s royal lineage, I will always consider my friend (and frequent SSC commenter) Kevin to be “Ska Royalty” in my world.  I met Kevin in college and to this day I’ve never met someone with a more complete knowledge of a genre both in its contemporary form and its historical roots.  I’m pretty sure he was introduced to me as “Ska Kevin” and he certainly lived up to the name (all the while possessing one of the most open minds to non-ska music as well).  Today is Kevin’s birthday and he’s currently coping with the “Snopocalypse” blanketing the mid-Atlantic region, so I send warm happy birthday wishes along with this post.

More on Desmond Dekker: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Stevie Nix” – The Hold Steady
(Words/music: The Hold Steady, available on Separation Sunday, Frenchkiss 2005) 

I felt sad for selfish reasons today when I saw that Franz Nicolay, the keyboard player for the Hold Steady, announced his departure from the band.  It sounds like Nicolay is leaving to focus on an array of other projects and seems like the right decision for him personally, so in that sense it’s a good thing for him.  I say that it’s selfish because I’m going to miss seeing him perform with the Hold Steady. 

Craig Finn’s distinctive storytelling and Tad Kulber’s classic rock-quoting riffs take up most of the attention, but Nicolay’s keyboard (going beyond piano to include harpsichord and accordion, among others) helped fill out the band’s sound.  At their live shows, Nicolay set up on stage right, flanking Craig Finn’s manic preacher performance with an array of gesticulations on top of his keyboard parts and backing vocals.  For most of the show, Nicolay remains a secondary player, content to let Finn and Kubler dominate the mix.  Then, when the band starts playing “Stevie Nix,” Nicolay has his moment in the spotlight.  After a couple blistering verses, the band stops and Nicolay turns the piano break before the final verse into a cadenza, improvising and extending the bridge with nimble trills and a giant smile.  It’s the one time of the show where all eyes are on Nicolay, and every time he made the audience feel like our attention belonged there all night.  As he finishes up and Finn resumes the story, the crowd erupts into thunderous applause (and if/when the band plays “First Night” in the encore, this routine repeats).  Perhaps the Hold Steady will recruit a new keyboard player eventually, and while they may play Nicolay’s parts, they will not be able to replace the man who played them.

I met Franz after a Hold Steady show once and he graciously talked to all of the gathered people for far longer than necessary (which I can say about all of the members in this band), and he was the same ebullient soul that bounced along behind the stage.  I wish him nothing but the best in all his new projects and look forward to hearing the end results.

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

“Since K Got Over Me” – The Clientele
(Words: Alasdair MacLean, music: The Clientele, available on Strange Geometry, Merge Records 2005) 

Follow my logic here: “Since K Got Over Me” borrows a bit of the melody from The Crystals’ “Then He Kissed Me,” a song I strongly associate with Goodfellas.  Martin Scorsese used the song in the film’s famous single-take shot of Henry Hill and date entering the Copacabana through the service entrance.  As the camera snakes through the kitchen to the front of the club’s room, the Phil Spector-produced track lends some of its giddiness to this very unique date.  “Then He Kissed Me” helps to set the mood in this scene perfectly, from the liveliness of the club and the people working behind the scenes to the surreal feeling of the world bending to Hill’s whim. 

The connection between “Then He Kissed Me” and “Since K Got Over Me” led me to start thinking about the kind of scene this song would soundtrack.  Even if the production isn’t like Spector’s “Wall of Sound,” “Since K Got Over Me” relies on reverb to create atmosphere.  In fact, the cleaner, more distinct instrumentation gives the song a woosy feeling to it.  Alasdair MacLean’s vocals describe feeling out of sorts, so I’m inclined to think that my “Since K Got Over Me” scene would not be capturing a rise to power (like Henry Hill in Goodfellas) but rather someone hitting a snag.  Perhaps, as homage to one of cinema’s more famous scenes, my character could go through the same sort of gauntlet that Hill follows through the unseen side of the Copacabana.  Wherever he is – entering a club through the service entrance, taking the long way in to work, or whatever – he ends by pulling up his own chair alone, left to sort out the issues running through his brain.  While Hill becomes the most powerful man in the room, I’d want this character to seem powerless, or at least restrained by these issues.

Anyway, that’s just my idea.  What kind of scene would you soundtrack with “Since K Got Over Me?”

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

“Modern Girl” – Sleater-Kinney
(Words/music: Sleater-Kinney, available on The Woods, Sub Pop 2005)

The first time I heard “Modern Girl,” I thought the CD was defective.  About halfway through the song, the sound became distorted and garbled, and even though the CD was brand new, I assumed that I must have scratched it or received a copy with a manufacturing defect.  I went through all the steps – found another copy of the album , played both on a different CD player, and even found a torrent labeled “vinyl rip” – and every time, “Modern Girl” devolved from the cleanly looping guitar riff to the sound of an overloaded speaker.  Maybe it was the big deal made about the album’s circumstances, particularly the band working with Flaming Lips’ producer Dave Fridmann for their Sub Pop debut, but the idea that this was intentional didn’t cross my mind.

Needless to say, I felt foolish soon afterward.  Not only is it intentional, but it undercuts the song simple melody the same way Carrie Brownstein’s verses undercut her chorus.  “My whole life / look liked a picture of a sunny day,” she sings, yet the rest of the song juxtaposes declarations of happiness with feelings of alienation, frustration, and anger.  At Coachella in 2006, Brownstein described the song as “about a nervous breakdown in reverse,” and whether it’s a scene played in rewind or simply a relapse into a dark spot, the narrator spirals from contentment to despair, grasping onto memories of a happier time.  Similarly, the arrangement follows suit, starting with that looped riff and sing-song melody only to watch the faders creep up and the distortion set in.  By the end, it sounds the way Brownstein’s narrator feels – foggy, disjoined, and only vaguely remembering what it was like at the beginning.  The song goes deeper than this downward spiral – for instance, it’s up for debate whether the protagonist is “happy” because she’s clueless or because she’s genuinely happy at the beginning – but even these possibilities didn’t become visible to me until I realized that the track was “broken” by design.

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

“Ageless Beauty” – Stars
(Words/music: Stars, available on Set Yourself on Fire, Arts & Crafts 2005)

We all have those days where we feel like we’re walking around with the parking brake on.  No matter how hard we try or how much effort we put in, some days just have our number.  It’s doubly frustrating when it comes during a busy time, and even if we understand that these days happen, it doesn’t make them feel any better.  Instead, we’re left exhausted and feeling like nothing got done. 

On days like that, “Ageless Beauty” feels like it’s cruising right around the traffic jam.  My brain wants me to travel as fast as the bass line, yet I’m locked down in a crawl.  Still, I’m drawn to one specific line on these days – “Oceans won’t freeze / so loosen your heart.”  It’s welcome advice on those days; after all, oceans won’t freeze because they are constantly in motion, even if it’s not as visible as it might be at other times.  Like these giant bodies of water, we’re all going to have those days where the waves just don’t break as big as we want, but it’s ok because there will be other days where the tides move with the same grace and power as the synthesizers in this song.  On those apparently motionless days, we just have to breathe a little deeper and wait for our wave to come.

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

“300 Bars & Runnin’” – The Game
(Words: The Game, music: a lot of people, available on You Know What It Is Volume 3 mixtape, 2005)

Extended freestyle tracks remind me of extended drum solos – the technique and endurance demands respect even if the music output remains non-essential. On “300 Bars & Runnin’,” The Game unloads on G-Unit and its affiliated rappers for almost fourteen minutes. Lyrically, The Game sounds like he’s found a direct passageway into his surreal stream of consciousness. He repeats ideas and lines for his three hundred bars, yet barely takes a breath. What it lacks in clever turns of phrase and editorial precision (it is a freestyle, after all), it makes up for in endurance and bravado. Clearly, The Game isn’t looking for a diss track that cuts like either Nas’ “Ether” or Jay-Z’s “The Takeover.” Instead, he’s happy to go with volume over quality, unloading line after line as the beat keeps shifting between both hip hop classics and contemporaries.

Still, “300 Bars” makes for a compelling listen if just for the cavalcade of beats behind his flow. In an odd way, The Game’s near constant barrage blends into the background, somehow in support of the different tracks his DJ spins for him. In particular, The Game catches his second (well, maybe his third or fourth, to be honest) wind around the ten minute mark just as Kanye West’s “Diamonds from Sierra Leone” kicks in. To be fair, I think even I would sound good rapping over this beat, but The Game snaps out of a bit of a lull, riding out the last four minutes of his marathon.

It’s worth noting that this came to mind because today is the 300th consecutive day I’ve written about a song. Unlike the Game, I’m not done at three hundred, though. I think it’s safe to declare at this point, but it’s my plan to finish the year writing about a different artist every single day (with the exception that a solo project and a band are two separate entities). I realize that not every post is as strong as I’d like it to be, but I’ve been happy to hit a few moments like the ten minute mark on this track where everything seems to fall into place.

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

“Life on Mars?” – Seu Jorge
(Words/music: David Bowie, available on The Life Aquatic Sessions, Hollywood 2005)

The marriage of David Bowie’s songs and a Wes Anderson makes sense if only because of the shared weirdness between the two.  So it’s appropriate that The Life Aquatic, probably Anderson’s strangest movie, featured a character that played David Bowie songs in Portuguese throughout the whole film.  It was an interesting way to incorporate the soundtrack into the film’s plot (although there are a few excellent songs used traditionally, especially the Zombies’ “The Way I Feel Inside” among others).  Still, these performances share the same critique as the film in general.  To quote Moe Syzslak, much of the movie was “weird for the sake of being weird,” and having a character who spends most of his entire time on screen singing Bowie songs without a single line of dialogue (it’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie, so correct me if I’m wrong He does have a few lines of dialogue.  Thanks for the tip, Andrew) feels excessively odd.

That being said, Seu Jorge’s performances are compelling, even on their own.  Not knowing a word of Portuguese, I find that I’m shifting my attention away from the words and to the music itself, whether it’s Jorge’s distinctive vocal style (which often mimics Bowie’s fast delivery) or the beautifully replicated songs.  It also strikes me how a lot of the songs still have the same emotional resonance without having words to understand.  “Life on Mars” in particular feels bittersweet, suggesting the same feelings of loneliness without words to tell the story.  Jorge’s interpretations stand as tributes to Bowie’s versatile songwriting, showing how his songs still stand up (and, on occasion, take on a new life) even with the narrative power of the lyrics stripped away.

More on Seu Jorge: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm