Some Songs Considered

“Game Theory” – The Roots f/ Malik B.
(Words/music: Malik B., Khari Mateen, and The Roots, available on Game Theory, Def Jam 2006) 

No one will ever question the Roots’ chops as musicians, nor should they.  However, I wonder if their consistent prowess gets them taken for granted.  They always put meticulous thought into the performance and sequence of their albums, and now as Jimmy Fallon’s late night house band, they are on TV five nights a week backing musicians ranging from Christopher Cross to Public Enemy.  Even ?uestlove’s Twitter account reflects his immense understanding of music history and ear for tunes, as he constantly shares deep cuts many haven’t heard and offers off-the-cuff “lectures” ranging from production minutia to a thumbnail sketch of his band’s catalog.  Continued brilliance defines genius, but it also makes it easy to accept brilliance as commonplace and let appreciation lapse into acceptance. 

This thought ran through my head over the last week as I listened to the new Roots album How I Got Over at least a dozen times in a variety of settings.  It’s the same thing I’m hearing this afternoon, granted in a harder tone, as Game Theory fills the air.  Their recordings manage one of the trickiest balancing acts – minding the tiny details without sacrificing the song’s “big picture.”  Every bit of the track, whether the snap out of half time when the rhyming begins or the timbre and level of the organ peppered throughout the verses, feels perfectly positioned and performed.  Even with a band as good as the Roots, this isn’t a one-take track.  Still, this degree of attention to drum sounds and integrating samples might get in the way of the track’s overall feel, yet the Roots always manage to retain the same intensity they exude as a live band.  I can lose myself in the specific sounds in one of their tracks as easily as I can absorb the beat and bob my head along to it.  This versatility may seem effortless, but it’s also elusive, and few ever reach that level once, let alone at the frequency the Roots find it.

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

“No Backbone” – The Lemonheads
(Words/music: Evan Dando and Tom Morgan, available on The Lemonheads, Vagrant 2006) 

For a while, Evan Dando slipped out of the spotlight.  When he brought back his Lemonheads moniker roughly a decade after their last record, Dando came out swinging.  He borrowed the rhythm section from punk legends The Descendents and tore through a collection of songs that seemed to reclaim the “pop punk” label from the mall punk popular during that time.  These songs worked well because they leaned on Dando’s strengths, particularly his gift for melody and his relaxed voice.  However, these tunes benefited almost as much from the Descendents’ paunchiness, giving Dando’s songs a snappiness that highlighted their melodies. 

For all its strengths, though, J Mascis’ guitar dominates “No Backbone.”  From the second Mascis puts pick to string, his nimble lead guitar takes center stage.  Even when it plays a supporting role to Dando’s vocals, Mascis’ fills seem to spur on the rest of the band.  Even without a punchy rhythm section supporting his songs, “No Backbone” would hold up with the rest of Dando’s upbeat compositions.  By adding Mascis to the mix, Dando ensures that his comeback set hit all the right notes.  Even if Dando had an eager audience willing to give any new batch of songs a try, it sounds like he wasn’t taking any chances with anything less than full speed ahead. 

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

“Come Back” – Pearl Jam
(Words/music: Mike McCready and Eddie Vedder, available on Pearl Jam, J Records 2006) 

From the beginning of my musical roots, I’ve loved Pearl Jam, and while I haven’t always co-signed with their output since then (see: Riot Act), I always root for them.  I understand almost all the criticisms of the band and don’t question anyone’s distaste for their music because many of my reasons for liking this band come from myself rather than the band itself.  Thinking about it over the past few days, I’m most likely to still call myself a fan in 2010 because Pearl Jam has, for the better part of the last decade at least, been an easy band to root for.  They strike me as a band that does what it wants to do rather than what it feels obligated to do; their records don’t conform to current trends (or, often, trends in their own music), they tour when they want to tour, and play whatever songs they feel like playing over a two-hour setlist.  Generally, in response, their fanbase rewards their independent spirit.  Rather than demanding a greatest hits revue every night on tour, fans come out and revel in the spontaneity of their setlists and new musical pursuits. 

I’ve resolved the band’s up-and-down output over the last decade with the thought that anything new is a bonus because I will still root for this band to do well even if their record disappoints me.  So when the band produces something like “Come Back” from their self-titled 2006 record, I’m especially impressed.  “Come Back,” in many ways, reflects the qualities I like about the band these days.  Boiled down, it’s an easy song with a simple sentiment – one that doesn’t try too hard to bend itself into anything other than a mid-tempo ballad.  Where other “simple” songs in the Pearl Jam catalogue come across as “primitive,” this sounds effortless.  Whether in Vedder’s relatively straight-forward lyric or Mike McCready’s relatively subdued solo at the end of the song, I find myself drawn to “Come Back” because it’s an easy song to love.  In a sense, that’s why I’ve stuck with Pearl Jam so long – they make it easy to love them.

More on Pearl Jam: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“A Certain Romance” – Arctic Monkeys
(Words/music: Alex Turner, available on Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, Domino 2006)

Today’s post originally ran April 8, 2009.  Tonight I have a family obligation, so there will probably not be a new post until tomorrow.  Enjoy!

Back in January [2009], a Los Campesinos! song helped me come to the conclusion that our personalities may constantly evolve yet always retain some bit of all of our previous stages; in essence, there’s this thread within our evolving selves that runs from our youth well into adulthood.  If nothing else, this was my theory for why youthful energy in songs resonates so powerfully with me.  However, having elements of our youth embedded in our personalities isn’t always advantageous.  Sometimes, these strange things from our past reappear suddenly.  These events, or rather “these people,” aren’t people that we outright disown.  In fact, these are people that we share a lot of history with and are valuable friends even if we don’t see them that often.  However, the problem arises when this person becomes a sort of time capsule; perhaps this person brings out old habits or uncomfortable stories.  However, the worst version of this is when you’ve moved on and grown up and this person, like a time traveler, hasn’t given up his immature ways and become an embarrassment by association.

Alex Turner, the principle songwriter for the Arctic Monkeys, was twenty when this song came out – old enough to have experienced this phenomenon.  In “A Certain Romance,” he offers an explanation for these “time travelers” to his newer friends – these people are crude and ill-tempered, but he counts some of them among his friends.  While he’s quick to point out that they lack “romance,” Turner also makes sure to qualify his description with a slight admiration for their lack of pretension and ruthless authenticity.  It’s a tricky balancing act – Turner’s narrator tries his best to give respect to his hooligan friends while still distancing himself from their violent behavior.  Rather than come to a clear resolution, Turner treats the situation with a nod and a wink and hopes that we’ll recognize his predicament and let it slide without further comment.

Alternately, “A Certain Romance” works as a commentary on Turner’s contemporaries.  They’re too concerned with the immediate moment, whether it’s with fashion concerns, settling grudges, or engaging in hedonism, to look at the big picture.  Everything becomes a quest for status, whether it’s updating your ringtone or vanquishing the guy looking at you strange.  Turner respects their right to be different, and the wistful quality to his voice makes it seem like he either envies or pities their existence.  Chances are that it’s a mix of the two – wishing he could subsist on simple pleasures yet mourning the fact that he can’t convince them to go beyond the moment.  Instead, these friends provide constant opportunities to look inwards and question whether ignorance (or social ignorance, in this case at least) truly is bliss.

More on Arctic Monkeys: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Meet the Mets” – Yo La Tengo
(Words/music: Bill Katz and Ruth Roberts, available on Yo La Tengo is Murdering the Classics, Egon 2006) 

For baseball fans, opening day means several different things – the first true sign of spring, a renewal of hope for a new season, and the comfort of knowing that most nights there will be a baseball game to watch.  Even as my team, the New York Mets, don’t inspire an overwhelming amount of confidence this season, I’m glad to have them back as a regular part of my life for the next six months.  I’m looking forward to putting the game on the radio in the background while finishing my work or driving in the car, and maybe this team will surprise me at times.  If nothing else, at least summer is just around the corner. 

So in honor of opening day, I share Yo La Tengo’s version of the Mets’ theme song.  Yo La Tengo (who I wrote about in a baseball themed post last April as well – I’m so predictable) recorded “Meet the Mets” during one of their all-request stints in support of New Jersey’s WFMU.  Some of these covers – most of the bizarre and oddly charming ones at least – join “Meet the Mets” on the Yo La Tengo is Murdering the Classics collection.  The band members are Mets fans (and Ira Kaplan in particular knows his Mets history) and naturally turn out a faithful version of the song.  Thankfully, it’s a little sweeter than the somewhat tacky version that introduces Mets games on WFAN, and the giggles halfway through (plus the joyous declaration of “solo!”) only add to its charming and playful nature.  In a way, Yo La Tengo’s spontaneous fulfillment of a request mirrors my feelings for the upcoming season – I’m hoping the team makes it through respectably, and if not it’s probably better to laugh it off. 

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

“Your Blood” – Destroyer
(Words/music: Dan Bejar, available on Destroyer’s Rubies, Merge Records 2006)

To those of you who don’t know Dan Bejar’s music, I’ll tell you that this song sounds a lot different than “‘Your Blood’ by Destroyer” might have sounded were I to describe the song based solely on the two names involved.  Somehow, I imagine Bejar likes that sort of misdirection; his songs defy typical genre labels, calling for the even less-telling adjectives “quirky” and “eccentric.”  Whether composing mini pop-suites complete with MIDI synthesizers or twisting the pure pop of the New Pornographers a couple times each album (and his contributions are always among my favorites), Bejar has a way of making these less-than-likely decisions sound catchy.  Against whatever odds one might place on a pop song successfully referencing several of Camus’ works, Bejar succeeds.

“Your Blood” may as well be called “The Freewheeling Dan Bejar,” as it glides across a crisp shuffle with tinkling piano and bluesy guitar fills.  I imagine Bejar, complete with his giant poof of hair, walking down the same cold Greenwich Village street captured in that Dylan album, quietly singing along to his companion in that tunefully nasally tone he uses so well on this track.  The voice merits a Dylan comparison not because he specifically sounds like Dylan (he doesn’t to me at least) but because it may put some off initially.  However, just like Dylan, Bejar knows how to use his vocal capacity – not to sing arias, but rather to open a valve and let his subconscious mind flow freely, tangling itself with these dense melodic threads.  Usually, it’s these melodic knots that make Bejar’s songs so interesting, but here all of the threads braid together naturally.  Where some of his other songs require some patience, “Your Blood” satisfies immediately.  Sure, there are different sounds to appreciate each time (recently it’s the burst of guitar accompanying the “Tabitha takes another stab” line), but few of his songs are both immediately and continually gratifying.

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

“Wolf Like Me” – TV on the Radio
(Words/music: Tunde Adebimpe, available on Return to Cookie Mountain, 4AD 2006) 

Not being the biggest TV on the Radio devotee (for no specific reason, I just never fell in love with any of their records), I’ll qualify the following as an over-generalization: the band’s most successful tracks create a very specific soundscape.  As much as the elastic vocals are exciting, my ears inevitably go back to listening to the instrumentation behind the singing.  This probably explains why my appreciation of the band stalls at the “admiration from afar” stage, but my emotional attachment to their music begins and ends with the mood the song crafts.

Taking a step back from that statement for a minute, it’s no wonder why “Wolf Like Me” stands out the most.  From the moment that first fuzzy chord joins the pounding drums, “Wolf Like Me” captures the anxiety of pursuit.  Whether it’s the tension in the chords, the relentless drums, or the way the vocals overlap at times, the song’s “A” section feels unrelenting and constantly in pursuit.  Even a few years later, I haven’t had figured out the slower “B” section – whether it’s a momentary relief from the predator, the part in the nature video where the prey is caught and the camera slips into slo-mo, or just a different hallucination – aside from the way it contrasts the beginning of the song in its intensity.  The vocals remain the same yet the rest of the song slows down around it.  When the song picks back up for the ending just as it catches its breath, the same anxiety resumes.  Appropriately, the lines that stand out to me are the ones that fit in with this sense of anxiety – “my mind’s aflame,” “bloodlust tanks,” “we’re howling forever.”  If music often serves to enhance the lyrics, these words feel like the natural extension of the music.

More on TV on the Radio: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“The Crane Wife 3” – The Decemberists
(Words/music: Colin Meloy, available on The Crane Wife, Capitol 2006) 

I’ve realized that loving songs shares a lot with romantic love. This probably says more about my own relationship with music than it does about love itself (that sound you’re hearing is the simultaneous nodding of every woman with whom I’ve been involved), but it makes sense given I spent the bulk of my teenage dating years devouring records.  My point is that just like meeting someone, songs have their initial obvious charms.  In this case, it might be a memorable lyric or a particularly exciting bridge or even just a really catchy melody.  However, there are lots of clever lines, stunning bridges, and catchy melodies out there; the songs I end up loving reveal different aspects of itself over time.  What was once a catchy song ends up being one with an offbeat chord progression or interesting instrument deep in the mix.

Tonight I was in the right mood to hear one of these tiny discoveries.  While “The Crane Wife 3,” a song I love on an album I rarely listen to, played, something nondescript caught my attention right before the third verse.  I paused it, grabbed my headphones(which are still on even though I’m not playing any music), and backed up the track.  Sure enough, right after the little glockenspiel melody at 2:07, there’s this odd bent guitar note right before Colin Meloy starts singing again.  I always loved the way that this song gathered steam, building from that solitary acoustic guitar to a fully augmented band by the end, but never noticed this little tic before.  To the best of my knowledge, there isn’t any slide guitar in the rest of the song.  Perhaps it’s not played with a slide and just a bent note, but it’s an anomaly in a song I thought I otherwise knew completely well.  It’s not the purest form of love deepening itself (more on that another time, I suppose), but it’s the type of serendipitous discovery that makes me wish I had more time to listen to older records on a more frequent basis.

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

“Smiley Faces” – Gnarls Barkley
(Words/music: Brian Burton & Thomas Callaway, available on St. Elsewhere, Atlantic 2006)

In 1976, David Bowie affectionately referred to his Young Americans album as “plastic soul.”  It seems that Bowie used the term (originally used as a critique of Mick Jagger singing soul music) somewhat tongue-in-cheek, yet it seems an apt description.  If soul often centers itself on the groove, Bowie took it as something pliable.  His take stretches parts and bends other to his liking, creating a weirder version of the genre.

Regardless, I wouldn’t call Gnarls Barkley “plastic soul,” but rather “cartoon soul.”  It seems almost too obvious of a label with Danger Mouse getting his name from a cartoon, the series of costumes the band wore during promo appearances, and the general Technicolor quality to the band’s albums and videos.  Rather, I’m drawn to the larger-than-life qualities of cartoons and the abundance of wonder and imagination.  Even “Smiley Faces,” one of the tracks on St. Elsewhere that isn’t crammed to the brim musically, feels elastic.  Where some songs use a “walking” bassline, this one feels like the way a cartoon character struts down the street with long, bouncing strides.  Cee-Lo’s voice fits this type of track perfectly, as he’s able to manipulate his voice without sacrificing its power or soul.  For example, he can hold a note and bend it to his liking.  It’s not that these notes feel unnatural nor is Cee-Lo the only vocalist with this skill.  In this setting, it feels like a cartoon character fluidly shifting forms.  His voice has the same freedom to move unconventionally rather than stay tied down to genre conventions.  Even if the end result sounds like a snappy, soul-inspired piece of rock music, parts of it make it feel like it’s hand drawn, inked-over, and colored in to achieve something brighter and snappier than average.

More on Gnarls Barkley: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“You Know I’m No Good” – Amy Winehouse
(Words/music: Amy Winehouse, available on Back to Black, Republic 2006)

As marvelous as “Rehab” is, it took “You Know I’m No Good” to have interest in hearing the rest of Back to Black.  Perhaps it’s residual feelings from the “single plus filler” era of albums in the late 1990s, or maybe it was the feeling that “Rehab” felt like a bolt of lightning and that a second strike wouldn’t be as electric.  Regardless, it took the slightly slower “You Know I’m No Good” to pique my interest in Amy Winehouse’s songs. 

Even if it seems easy now after watching Winehouse repeatedly trip over herself in the press, “Rehab” seems a little too cliché at this point.  Of course, that’s part of what makes it so compelling - it gave Winehouse a larger-than-life personality to counter her larger-than-life voice.  Still, I found myself drawn more to “You Know I’m No Good,” which still addresses her demons with far less caricature.  If the intensity in “Rehab” made it urgent, the laid back cool works almost as well here.  Mark Ronson’s production feels playful here and Winehouse follows his lead with odd similes and a reference to a Lesser Bond.  She practically coos out the title line near the end of the chorus too, making the “you know I’m trouble” practically sound like a come-on rather than a put-off.  Even if it’s essentially the same source material as “Rehab,” Winehouse manages to spin a different story out of the same yarn.  If nothing else, it gave me reason enough to look a little deeper.

More on Amy Winehouse: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Say It Right” – Nelly Furtado
(Words/music: Nelly Furtado, Nate Hills, and Tim Mosley, available on Loose, Universal 2006)

Cold, damp Saturday nights trigger memories of playing in my high school’s marching band.  Every fall for four years revolved around football halftime shows and random competitions around the state.  I remember holding my drum sticks with raw hands and piling under blankets with four or five friends as we waited for the awards ceremony at the end of the night.  So this time of year in particular, the rhythmic pulse of a marching band immediately grasps my attention.  Timbaland and Danja’s production on “Say It Right” replicates the sound of a drumline, complete with multi-pitched toms, tightly wound snare drums, and a deep, booming bass drum.  It’s not as busy or intricate as some drum lines, but the moderate tempo and light flourishes (opening cymbals, light glockenspiel) almost makes it sound like the kind of music a band might play either entering the field.

This would make Nelly Furtado the drum major – the leader of her band, and her Loose-era image could command this type of center-stage presence.  It’s possible to see Furtado in the middle of the field, both leading the band onto the performance space and then singing with their backup.  I’m kind of surprised some college bowl game didn’t try this idea, pairing Furtado with one of the more dynamic marching bands.  “Say It Right” would probably be an easy arrangement for most of these bands, as it’s mostly percussion with some longer held notes backing the vocals.  It’s probably too laid back for a halftime show – as Timbaland and Danja build the beat and then stay out of Furtado’s way for the most part.  Still, I can kind of picture it – Furtado and some backing singers as the center of the field with a drum line and some horn players in motion behind her.  Then again, it might just be this weather talking.

More on Nelly Furtado: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Steady, as She Goes” – The Raconteurs
(Words/music: Brendan Benson and Jack White, available on Broken Boy Soldiers, Third Man / V2 Records 2006)

I love watching sports, but I’ve realized that it’s an area where trivia trumps understanding.  Sure, there are plenty of excellent minds who analyze and discuss sports both on TV and in print, but far too many spew lists of unrelated facts.  For example, while watching football highlights, a former NFL player recapping the game diverted from the action on screen to tell us where the running back went to college.  Rather than analyzing the play (which is why these networks hire former players and coaches, not necessarily because they are gifted journalists) or just reading the copy and staying out of the way, he felt compelled to throw out a fact a way of showing off.  Sometimes a player’s alma mater matters (when talking about former teammates, the system he played in, a former coach, etc.), but most of the time it’s inconsequential.  Rather than furthering discussion by talking about what makes a player exceptional or a team perform poorly, we’re pumped full of facts available within the first couple paragraphs of a Wikipedia search.  Simply put, it’s a convenient way to sound knowledgeable without saying anything thoughtful.

This happens with music as well.  It’s easy to fall into the trap of listing band member’s former bands or listing every single detail of a band’s biography.  I know this because I find myself falling into this trap more often than I care to admit.  It seems like some bands elicit this type of fact burp more than others; The Raconteurs, for instance, often get described not by what they sound like but by the members’ other musical projects.  Maybe that’s good enough for some people, but knowing where a band comes from doesn’t mean I’ll like a record.  In the grand scheme of things, I don’t like “Steady, as She Goes” because the guy from the White Stripes sings on it.  I like it because it’s a departure from Jack White’s usual straight-ahead blues assault.  There’s depth to the arrangement, both in instrumentation and in song structure.  There’s also subtlety beneath the volume, whether Brendan Benson’s backing vocals (hey, have I mentioned that he’s a solo artist?) or the guitar squeal buried in the mix right before the second chorus.  It also keeps the same things I like about his White Stripes songs, such as the punchy guitar sound and the snowballing tension that builds up to the chorus.  Sure, the band members’ pedigree acts as an advertisement to bring in listeners, but ultimately, people won’t stay exclusively because of their alma mater or hometown.  Eventually, these songs have to say something.

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

“Build Me Up” – Rhymefest f/ Ol’ Dirty Bastard
(Words/music: Michael d’Abo/Tony Macaulay/Mark Ronson/Che Smith, available on Blue Collar, RCA 2006)

Somehow, it’s appropriate that the ODB’s final recording before passing would be a goofy hook based on a classic pop song.  Dirt’s legacy lies in his absurdity, and it’s this inherent ridiculousness that makes something this goofy work so well.  Even if he’s far more clever than this, “Build Me Up” more or less captures the ODB’s enduring legacy as a partly absurd, partly comedic presence.  To laugh at Russell Jones is only to acknowledge the tip of the iceberg – although, to be fair, he doesn’t exactly do himself favors by seeking out opportunities to show off his skill for wordplay.

That being said, it’s Rhymefest’s premise that makes this track a winner.  Our narrator has girl problems, so he writes a letter to the ODB – a decision of questionable logic that yields endless comedic results.  It also affords Rhymefest, who tries his best to milk the “blue collar” work ethic off of Kanye West’s coattails, the opportunity to cut loose and be ridiculous.  Sure, it yield’s some clunkers, but on a track where the hook is a pop song interpreted by a man who once asked to be called Big Baby Jesus, Rhymefest sounds downright clever.  In any case, it offers ‘Fest the chance to make a reference to When Harry Met Sally and air out his lady problems in as many creative ways as possible, knowing that the ODB will be there to out-ridiculous him nearly a minute later.  It’s a playful side that Rhymefest would later mute, outing himself as a proud homophobe on a later mixtape, but for one fleeting moment it felt like he was having fun at his own expense.  Even if he went back to taking himself (too?) seriously, “Build Me Up” makes it impossible to stay stoic when the ODB starts in on the hook.

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

“Give It” – X-Press 2 with Kurt Wagner
(Words/music: Darren Morris, Kurt Wagner, X-Press 2, available on Makeshift Feelgood, Sony 2006)

Eventually, “Give It” blooms into a lively, pulsing dance with synthesized horns and a choir of backing vocals.  At this point in the song, it becomes a digital gospel choir joining Kurt Wagner’s promise to be patient.  However, the track must grow into this the same way that Wagner’s narrator must learn to be patient.  At the beginning of the song, his narrator contemplates the future, eagerly seeking it out yet fearing the impending change.  He realizes that the moment he’s experiencing will pass and has the instinctive impulse to capture this specific moment.  It’s not quite that simple, as Wagner goes off in a couple tangents, but ultimately this crisis of “now versus then” comes to the forefront.  Alternately put, it’s the decision to focus on enjoying a given moment or think about how the moment fits into the larger picture.  In that sense, it’s a self-awareness of immediately recognizing a given moment as important and knowing that this recognition will change the moment in progress. 

I’ve discussed and thought about this idea a good amount recently in a few different contexts, eventually leading back to the same conclusion and the same example.  I’m way too inside my own head sometimes, and for all the positives that constant self-reflection brings, it makes it very hard to experience something and then “sort it out” later.  I then think about the first time I heard this song – earlier this summer at the end of Lambchop’s set at the Merge Records anniversary shows.  By this point in the set, Wagner and his dozen backing musicians won over the entire room, and Wagner’s impassioned “Give It / Once in a Lifetime” closing went to the next level.  It was a rare moment where I knew what was unfolding – the event’s signature performance – yet I found myself able to silence that part of my brain and be stunned into silence.  Soon afterward, I described it as “a surreal moment that ended a memorable set,” and a few months later I’m still thinking about it.  Ironically, by not immediately processing this moment, I’ve been able to process it a dozen different ways.  I’m still not sure I have a definitive answer, but I’m not sure that’s the point; Wagner’s protagonist turns off his meta-commentary and turns patience into a spiritual revival, and in a way I have too – albeit a series of minor personal revelations.  By quieting my thoughts for a few minutes, I sewed seeds for an entire series of ponderings.  In many ways, I’ll be chasing down that performance (or similar ones) for the rest of my life, and I’m only starting to realize that sometimes it’s worth letting it get a head start so that I can see where it leads me.

More on X-Press 2: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Harrowdown Hill” – Thom Yorke
(Words/music: Thom Yorke, available on The Eraser, XL Recordings 2006)

In interviews around the time The Eraser came out, Thom Yorke alternately acknowledged, denied, and distanced himself from the inspiration for “Harrowdown Hill.”  I’m not as interested in pinning down the subject as I am by Yorke’s statement about the song’s evolution.  “It’s one of those really odd things where I wrote half the lyrics before considering what I was writing about.  It happened over a long period of time.  By osmosis, these things were going on and they ended up in the tune.”  I’m not really interested in Yorke acknowledging or distancing himself from David Kelly, a British chemical weapons expert found dead in a mysterious manner, because that’s not what the song is “about.”  If Kelly was the inspiration for the song, Yorke moved it beyond a factual report of the situation and tapped into the underlying emotions.

Yorke’s lyrics with Radiohead touched on ideas of paranoia, detachment, and recognition of a dark undercurrent, yet he called “Harrowdown Hill” the “most angry song I’ve ever written in my life.” His anger, in this case, comes from exasperation.  The “we think the same things at the same time / we just can’t do anything about it” comes from the same place as the Orwellian visions in Radiohead’s songs, but Yorke seems more focused on the inability to act against these forces rather than the things he detests.  If Yorke felt incredulous before at the things he saw in society, he’s rendered speechless by the methods used to perpetuate the cycle.  In that sense, it’s no wonder Yorke wants to distance himself from the song’s origins, lest he go back down that rabbit hole of frustration and anger again.

More on Thom Yorke: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm