Some Songs Considered

“Make Me a Mixtape” – The Promise Ring
(Words/music: The Promise Ring, available on Electric Pink EP, Jade Tree 2000) 

Sometimes random shards of memory stick inside far longer than ever expected.  For instance, I remember years ago, probably in 2002, having an instant messenger conversation with my friend Dan that touched on the “perfection of Davey [vonBohlen] from the Promise Ring’s lisp.”  It was a passing point in a conversation long forgotten, but that single moment tucked away deep in my brain and resurfaces whenever the Promise Ring crosses my consciousness.  It’s the quickest way for me to identify a deep cut in their catalogue – I usually cue in on his voice before actively considering the song (or, sometimes the band itself).  In a way, it’s the Promise Ring’s beauty mark – a subtle, humanizing flaw that grows more charming with more time spent in its company. 

At times, it makes vonBohlen sound younger, particularly on “Make Me a Mixtape.”  Maybe I just associate the sentiment in this song with the time spent as a teenager on the floor of my bedroom with my boom box and stacks of records (and not to mention bands like the Promise Ring), but I imagine vonBohlen singing this song from a nostalgic place.  Considering the lyrics tonight for the first time in a long time, I’m struck at the similarities between my mixtape process and the one in this song.  I tend to think of a few songs or bands to serve as tent posts and then fill in the rest with things that work well around those.  I (almost) always accompanied these mixes, whether on tape or CD, with some kind of note or letter as well, generally opting for a track-by-track accompaniment (many of which read like a primitive form of these blog posts).  It makes me want to dig out the blank tapes in the back of my closet, gather a bunch of records, and over-think song transitions until dawn. 

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

“Higher than the Stars” – The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
(Words/music: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, available on Higher than the Stars EP, Slumberland 2009) 

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart came through Connecticut last Thursday and played a tight and fun set.  The band locked in from the first note and played with an understated charisma and confidence rarely seen in a band with only an LP, an EP, and a handful of singles to their name.  I wasn’t surprised by their musicianship, as quickness and precision make many of their songs terrific, nor the extra punch in their live set.  I wasn’t surprised by the way the bass would peek out of the live mix, or the giddy ways that vocalists Kip Berman and Peggy Wang-East gently harmonized.  Nothing from the Pains’ set, save for their charmingly hilarious banter about finding a bar after the show, surprised me nearly as much as the crowd. 

The audience crowded up to the front of the stage and bounced along moderately and followed each song with enthusiastic cheers and applause, none of which surprised me – after all, their self-titled LP grew on me more and more with every listen.  The surprise came when I started looking at the people around me.  At first, it was the people singing the lyrics – all of the lyrics – to themselves.  This wasn’t in the loud, band spurred sing-alongs, but rather the way one sings along quietly to yourself to a personal favorite.  Aside from the new tunes, people on both sides of me were mouthing along the lyrics to every single song.  Even more surprising was that some of these people had their eyes closed!  At first it seemed strange, but then near the end of “Higher than the Stars” I had a moment of recognition.  When the “back of her mother’s car” line, the song’s hook that waits as long as possible before sneaking out, I realized that not only was I singing along without realizing it, I was also clutching the copy of the “Say No to Love” single I picked up between sets.  I felt odd only for a split second before I understood all the responses going on around me.  These are the kind of songs that trigger these moments of immersion, and when they are played with the conviction and skill that this band naturally exudes, it’s impossible not to radiate the same sort of joy yourself. 

More on The Pains of Being Pure at Heart: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“So Sad About Us” – The Breeders
(Words/music: Pete Townshend, available on Safari EP, Elektra 1992) 

In high school and college, I used to spend hours wading through used CD bins.  Today there are so many different ways to give a new band a shot before spending money on an album, but back then I relied on used CDs as a source for broadening my back catalogue.  So when I got my paycheck from working at Walgreens’ or my work study job, I’d go to the record store and flip through bins until I stacked up a half dozen albums or so.  On an ideal trip, I’d find at least one album from a band that was new to me, one copy of a record that I probably would have bought brand new, and one random back catalogue item that I would eventually get around to later on. 

This was how I ended up with the Breeders’ Safari EP. Its dollar price tag sucked me in to the point where I bought it without scrutinizing the track list.  I don’t remember what else I brought home that day, but it must have been pretty good because the EP went unlistened for a few months.  Then, for whatever reason, I picked up the EP and saw that the final track was “So Sad About Us.”  Sure enough, I put the disc in and discovered that it was a cover of one of my favorite songs by The Who.  The Deal sisters gave it a faithful treatment, keeping the nimble bass line and distinctive rhythm guitar sound prevalent in their version.  The harmonies and edgier tempo cemented my obsession with this version and highlighted the paradoxical relationship between the happy tone and melancholy lyrics.  It’s the kind of cover that fits well at the end of an EP – one that honors the original material while playing up to the band’s strengths.  My delayed discovery made it feel like I sent myself a present from the past, and I’m certain that these circumstances only contributed to my love of this cover version.

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

“Life in Technicolor ii” – Coldplay
(Words/music: Guy Berryman, Jonny Buckland, Will Champion, and Chris Martin, available on Prospekt’s March EP, Capitol 2008) 

Thinking about the video for Air’s “Kelly Watch the Stars” last night started me thinking about other songs I strongly associate with music videos.  Coldplay’s video for the alternate version of “Life in Technicolor” stands out because it defies many of the reasons why I’ve watched fewer videos.  I first saw it on YouTube and watched it because it was one of the first high definition videos (whenever that was a new thing) I saw.  At that time I started to find the band’s Viva la Vida album strangely compelling after generally writing off the band as one that other people loved far more than I ever would.  I hadn’t heard this version of “Life in Technicolor” and, quite honestly, without this video and its charming marionettes, I doubt I’d own the EP.

Musically, “Life in Technicolor” touches on many of the qualities I grew to admire about the band’s last album.  Where the band seemed locked into the piano-anthem formula for a while, the guitars feel comparatively subtle by comparison.  Of course, it’s still a Coldplay song and still has that stadium-reaching melody, but it doesn’t feel as cloying here, partially because Chris Martin doesn’t slip into his nasally register as much.  I think part of it has to do with this video, where Coldplay seems to be mocking their rockstar ambitions.  From the puppet crew member stationed at the desert table to the dozens of Marshall amps rolled out behind the band, each over-the-top detail seems strangely sweet when presented in puppet form.  Coupled with the general bewilderment by the human crowd – particularly the parents at the school – and by the time Coldplay’s helicopter flew through the window at the end, I was ready to click “replay” a couple more times.

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

“Game of Pricks (7” Version)” – Guided by Voices
(Words/music: Robert Pollard, available on Tigerbomb EP, Matador Records 1995)

Tonight, my friend Mike is finishing the accompanying notes to his pseudo-step sister’s eighteenth birthday present - a collection of eighteen albums he wishes he had when he was eighteen.  It’s an inspired idea for a gift (he ran his preliminary list by me a few months ago) and it got me thinking about the kind of things that I wish I knew at eighteen but didn’t know.  This led to the only logical choice – write a gimmick letter to my eighteen year-old self in the spirit of Mike’s gift.  I’m reprinting it here tonight with the hopes that any of you with a Delorian may send this back to me in 2001 (and if you do, tell me to buy Google stock and bet on the Red Sox coming back after Game 3 of the 2004 ALCS).

Dear Brian,

First, let me say that few things change – you’ll start writing this letter three different times before scrapping the beginning.  It was supposed to start with some clichéd time travel commentary and a lot of “yes, you still like music” guffawing, but you never cared much for it at eighteen and don’t really tolerate it at twenty six, so I’m not sure how I ended up on that path.  You’ll still be a perfectionist and you’ll still try to bend over backwards to cater to others, even if it means blowing it in the first place.

Anyway, the whole point of this is to tell you about a song you’d like.  You don’t know Guided by Voices, but you’ll love them (trust me on this one).  You can look them up, but I’ll say they’re a very prolific band known for making the most of low fidelity recordings.  You know that Pavement record you found in the used bin a little while ago (Terror Twilight)?  They’re kind of like that, but not really.  More like the earlier Pavement albums (which you’ll love too, even more than Terror Twilight).  I’ve sent you the song “Game of Pricks” from an EP they put out in 1995 (although my version of it comes from their 2003 retrospective Human Amusements at Hourly Rates).  Ironically, it’s a cleaner, more streamlined version than the original – you’d probably like the original (from an album called Alien Lanes) once you got over the fact that your friends’ CD-R of cover songs sounds better than that album.  I think it’s something you’d enjoy – catchy, energetic, blistering pop music.  Yes, don’t be afraid of that word “pop” – it doesn’t always denote something on TRL. Also, it’s worth noting that this originally appeared on a 7” vinyl single – in 2009, you’ll have bought more vinyl singles (and a lot more vinyl LPs and MP3 albums) than CDs – but don’t worry about that right now.

Why “Game of Pricks,” you might ask?  I know it sounds like an angry revenge rant, but I see it slightly different.  This, at least in this case, is a song from your to yourself.  Eighteen is a very strange time, and I’m not sure you’ll realize it until you’re closer to my age, and my advice to you is to embrace honesty.   I don’t necessarily mean this in the “don’t lie” sense (because let’s face it, a half-truth saves a lot of trouble from time to time), but rather embracing and accepting reality, and that starts with yourself.  You’re a smart kid, but you’re a little delusional from time to time.  Yes, some of it is naiveté, but a lot of it starts with an understanding of yourself – your strengths, your limits, your friends (or who you want to befriend), your goals (or lack thereof), etc.  It’s very easy to make excuses to yourself, but it will only leave you frustrated and exhausted in the end (it’s a timespace continuum thing, and that’s the best time travel joke you’ll allow yourself).  I’m not saying that being truthful with yourself is the solution to your problems, nor an easy thing to do.  I’m saying what Robert Pollard’s singing in the chorus is kind of right – you owe the truth to yourself, otherwise you’re no better than all those pricks out there.

Anyway, keep your head up – believe it or not, every year gets a little bit better.  I’d write more, but I have a midnight deadline for this letter and I have only a couple minutes left before that time runs out.  Like I said – few things have changed.

See you soon,
Brian

More on Guided by Voices: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“You! Me! Dancing! (EP Version)” – Los Campesinos!
(Words/music: Tom Campesinos! and Gareth Campesinos!, available on Sticking Fingers into Sockets EP, Arts & Crafts 2007)

I understand why I like Los Campesinos! – they play frenetic pop music that seems ready to explode at any minute.  Their songs burst from the seams with violins, glockenspiel, rapid fire streams of words, and melody from all angles.  No, if you described a band like this to me, I’d ask to borrow the album, no questions.  I’m more curious why this band has taken such a hold on me.  From the first time that I listened to the Sticking Fingers into Sockets EP a couple of years ago (when I listened to all sixteen minutes of it three times in a row – an act unheard of in my post-iPod era of song shuffling) through the moment that I received the We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed LP in the mail today after a prolonged backorder, I’ve been so smitten with the Welsh youngsters.

The easy way out of this would be to say that their youthful exuberance brings me back to my own days as a teenager, and that’s certainly true.  Their voluminous, Live Journal like lyrics are sweet, snarky, and so full of charm and life that it harkens back to those teenage days when everything burned a little brighter – the highs seemed higher and the lows seemed cavernous.  I’m not sure that the youthful energy alone answers my question, though; otherwise, I’d still love anything that was on the radio in 1996 just because it reminded me of being a teenager again.  No, there’s something that makes the twentysomething Brian melt with each note.

One of my favorite college professors loved to share his favorite (and almost always esoteric) words, sometimes to the point where my roommate and I would place bets on how many times he would put a word on the chalkboard and tell us to remember it.  One of his favorite words, and one that’s stuck with me since, is “palimpsest” – a painting that’s been painted over an older painting.  As the newer work wears, the “original” painting shines through, creating a new piece of art as a hybrid of the two.  To a degree, I think that our personalities are palimpsests – we change over time, but our previous paintings always manage to shine through.  As we grow older and add new details about ourselves, certain details from the past manage to shine through – we’re not the same, we’re not different, but we’re something new and old simultaneously.

So thinking about myself this way, I see the different layers of my taste reflected in “You! Me! Dancing!”  The slow build up into a distinctive riff that sets the song off on its way reminds me of Sonic Youth’s “Teen Age Riot,” only this sounds like “Teen Age Riot” played by actual teenagers – it’s a bit sloppy, a bit bubblier, and not nearly as restrained as Thurston and company.  Still, for all its nervous energy, it’s a well made composition – the backing harmonies, shifts from verse to chorus, and different texture changes (the legato violin lines in half time set up the snappy, full speed chorus) – show a band with a gift for arrangements and enthusiasm at the same time.  It’s equal parts wise beyond its years and young for its age – a perfect way of presenting a song about those joyous nights with friends that always seem to end too soon.  Gareth Campesinos! paraphrases Rousseau at the end when he declares that we’re “ignorant, we’re stupid, but we’re happy.”  Even if we grow out of this youthful naïveté, it’s still in there, waiting to peek through our current portrait and bring us back to that state of mind.

More on Los Campesinos!: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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

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