Some Songs Considered

“Everybody Wants to Rule the World” – Tears for Fears
(Words/music: Chris Hughes, Roland Orzabal, and Ian Stanley, available on Songs from the Big Chair, Mercury 1985)  

For matters of context, the Allmusic guide usually steers me in the right direction.  On Tears for Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” Stewart Mason writes that the song “was designed for one main purpose: to crack the US charts in a big way, which it in fact did.”  Using the band’s icier prior output as a point of comparison, Mason describes this song as “big” and “anthemic,” both appropriate terms for a song honing in on our universal desire for control.  Still, when I think of something sounding “anthemic,” I think of something that aims its sights at the peaks (think of all those U2 anthems playing in ESPN’s World Cup commercials right now).  In one sense, the one Mason sets in his Allmusic writeup, the intention is there in the band’s targeting of the American airwaves.  However, just from listening to the song, this sounds too effortless to strike me as a true “anthem.”

I should clarify that I mean “effortless” as high praise here; it takes a tremendous amount of skill to make something sound easy, and that’s what I feel happening here.  The melody rolls from one note into the next, gently climbing higher and higher as if gravity ceased working.  Even the drum beat, particularly the light touch on the hi-hat on the upbeats, hides its technical prowess beneath a laid-back demeanor.  And the guitar solos feel like a couple musicians just trading solos without paying attention to the red light in the recording booth.  I’m always left with the feeling of the song rolling along unencumbered rather than it reaching for the summit, and that’s the song’s strongest appeal to me.  After all, most of us wouldn’t want the responsibilities that come with ruling the entire world – we just want the power to make our lives easier.

More on Tears for Fears: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Dancing in the Moonlight (It’s Caught Me in Its Spotlight)” – Thin Lizzy
(Words/music: Phil Lynott, available on Bad Reputation, Mercury 1977)

I’m a night person, and over my lifetime this has been an annoyance to my mother, a badge of honor, a source of professional stress, a partial reason for giving up caffeine for a couple years, and currently an accepted fact of my existence.  Even though I love the early morning, my body prefers to meet the quiet hours right before falling asleep rather than waking up in time for them.  Regardless, I don’t try to fight it as much anymore.  Instead, I try to use my most lucid hours to my advantage (part of the reason why ninety percent of these posts go up just before midnight) and try not to stress too much about the nights where I’m in bed wide awake at 1:30 AM.

In a strange way, I’d say that the late hours feel just like the introduction to this song.  It creates a relaxed cool propelled by finger snaps (because snare drums would wake the neighbors).  Of course, my late nights rarely sound as cool as Phil Lynott, who soulfully tells a story of a teenager getting in trouble for a late night romantic tryst.  His narrator offers the defense that the moonlight made him do the E-Street shuffle, and understand what’s he’s trying to say.  If the late nights and early mornings are equally quiet, the associated revelations tend to be different.  Early mornings offer solitary moments of personal reflection while late nights provide the time to be alone with someone else.  Whether at a dance meeting the pretty people or dancing on the streets with one specific person, the night gives the opportunity to have moments impossible during the busy mid-day rush.   These are the kind of moments that make us spontaneously dance, even if we know we’ll be paying for the consequences for the next few days.

More on Thin Lizzy: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“I Get Wet” - Andrew W.K.
(Words/music: Andrew W.K., available on I Get Wet, Mercury 2002)

I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that nobody likes Andrew W.K. simply for the music.  Sure, the songs have their merits (more on that in a minute), but the real draw is the personality.  It’s possible to like music and hate the artist (Oasis is as fine an example as any other), but the dividing line for Andrew W.K. begins and ends with the man.  Since the red-hot fury of his debut faded, he’s released a few albums under the radar (including an entire album of Japanese pop songs – appropriately, he’s big in Japan), gone on public speaking tours, founded a successful club in New York City (Santos’ Party House), hosted his own kids show (that my ten year-old cousin enthusiastically endorsed this weekend), and grew his legacy as a cult figure.  Of course, his multiple-hour speaking engagements, appearance on Aqua Teen Hunger Force, weird faces on Fox News, and teaching Conan O’Brien how to dance helped build his persona, but the legend began with I Get Wet.  His debut, beginning with its iconic cover, crams enough partying into a half hour to give anyone alcohol poisoning.  It even spawned what might be the greatest Pitchfork review of all time – one that desperately tries to be snarky yet still tips its hand in Mr. Wilkes-Krier’s direction.  Naturally, it’s not music for everyone and for most people, it’s not music for all occasions.  Still, in well-concentrated bursts, Andrew W.K. accomplishes precisely what he aims to do – lighten the mood.

Ultimately, songs like “I Get Wet” work because they seem like the natural extension of this man’s personality.  If you’re going to like his music, it’s because you’re charmed (in some unconventional sense of the word) by the man creating the music.  It’s not even remotely subtle, but it has no aims of being Pet Sounds either.  It’s not the pop-metal sheen that makes “I Get Wet” (among others) irresistible, it’s the vivacity that permeates through every inch of the song.  Anything with energy and melody gets pushed to the front of the mix, pushing Andrew W.K. to the middle of the mix; as a result, the song nearly bursts with the fanfare of horns, pounding of drums, and bludgeoning with melody.  He has a gift for arranging, and he proves his musical prowess in a home movie by vamping on the opening fanfare on his piano.  Instead, he chooses to be the raving lunatic at the center of the party.  It’s understandable that some (or many, to be honest) might feel fatigued by his act, but he either plays the part so well (or truly lives this way, amazingly) that authenticity and irony get thrown out the window.  It might not scratch the itch for something quiet and precise (although he recently told NPR that he loves Bach), but when the time is right to turn the volume up to double digits, “I Get Wet” accomplishes the task perfectly.

More on Andrew W.K.: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Limelight” - Rush
(Words/music: Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson, Neil Peart, available on Moving Pictures, Mercury 1981)

Over their history, Rush earned a reputation as a band for musicians and nerds, and to a degree it makes senses.  Their songs fuse complex meters, cryptic philosophy-quoting lyrics, and unparalleled  musicianship, leave little room for middle ground.  Despite continued radio airplay, you generally love Rush (even on a casual basis) or find them pompous or deplorable.  Growing up as a drummer, spending time studying (or rather, gawking) at Neil Peart’s polyrhythmic onslaught was an inevitability.  As a teenager, I wish I had half the drumset Peart used and a tenth of his ability.  For many, Rush was a gateway into other bands (and drummers) with even more complex songs with even stranger lyrical content.  Unlike some of my fellow musicians, I never went much further down the rabbit hole, as the joy in listening to many of these other bands began and ended with trying to figure out what time signatures they used.

This is what separates Rush from many of the bands that came after them – they are a trio of virtuosos and use their musicianship frequently, but always do so in the service of their songs.  “Limelight” might be the best example of their ability serving the song.  Considered by many to be Rush’s most straightforward song (mainly due to that killer introductory riff), “Limelight” works for those who want to think about the song and those who want to enjoy it without dissecting it.  Even though it doesn’t feel like it’s in an odd meter (think of “Take Five” as an example of something where the woosy five beats to a measure gives it a specific feeling), “Limelight” shifts frequently, moving from seven beats a measure into the standard four into three and all over the place.  Perhaps because the tempo is slow enough that it’s possible to nod your head along to every beat, it doesn’t feel like an exercise in metric shifts.  The song shifts meters in a way that seems natural because it fits the song; while lesser musicians would write a song in an odd meter just to brag about doing so, Rush quietly lets the song roll into the next phrase like a winding road that needs to bend in order to navigate natural landmarks.  It also gives the slower bridge (predominantly in triple meter) a distinct aesthetic feel from the rest of the song, going beyond the simple chord change to contrast the rest of the song.  Even when the guitar solo winds up, the song naturally evolves from the triple meter backing the solo back into the original “seven.”  For a second, Alex Lifeson’s guitar and the rhythm section seem backward, but the two keep moving along just to snap into place in time for the final chorus.  It’s a difficult song to play (just try playing the drums in Rock Band) yet it’s simple enough to enjoy without having to read along with the sheet music.

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