Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged 'Sub Pop'

December 2, 2009

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“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

November 17, 2009

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“Pump It Up” – Mudhoney
(Words/music: Elvis Costello, available on March to Fuzz, Sub Pop 2000)

I’ve had two relatively short, strictly recreational stints in garage bands. The first happened in high school, playing with a couple guys who wrote songs before I even was in the picture. The second happened during summer vacation during college with some friends who wanted to play songs that we loved. With these two bands, I played a total of one gig – a barbeque as an excuse for our band to play the five or six songs we knew. However, as soon as I started listening to records and playing the drums, I started thinking about the kinds of bands I wanted to be in. I still, from time to time, find myself listening to a song and thinking “I want to be in a band that sounds like this.” Of course, the next song starts and I still haven’t picked up one of my dormant instruments.

Regardless, Mudhoney always struck me as the ideal form of my garage band ambitions. From the first time I heard the band (first on “Overblown” on the Singles soundtrack, then on “Touch Me I’m Sick”), their blistering pace and tongue-in-cheek lyrics seemed like the right mix of energy and edge. Their cover of Elvis Costello’s “Pump It Up” plays like the world’s best garage band, stomping through Costello’s snotty song with the right combination of abandon and attention to detail. While Mark Arm is no Elvis Costello (comparing how the two handle the “listen to the propaganda, listen to the latest slander” line illustrates the difference), he sings the verses with a chip on his shoulder, seemingly sending the message that he can pull off a song that few others would attempt. This, ultimately, is Mudhoney’s legacy – one where they were skilled enough, whether as songwriters or musicians – to make what they did sound deceptively simple. Perhaps this is why Mudhoney exists in the shadow of their more ambitious peers, but it’s also what gives the band the attitude and charisma that radio-grunge often lacked. If nothing else, they would blow away your neighborhood’s best band.

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

TAGGED UNDER: mudhoney | mark arm | garage bands | sub pop | 1992 | 2000 | 1990s |

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

April 2, 2009

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“When I Go Deaf” – Low
(Words/music: Mimi Parker, Zak Sally, and Alan Sparhawk, available on The Great Destroyer, Sub Pop 2005)

Even though I haven’t touched drums in an embarrassingly long time, I still consider myself a drummer. I started playing the drums sixteen years ago, and for many of those years (the first eleven, we’ll say), it was a bit part of my personality. These days, mostly due to time and logistics (as a drum set takes up a lot of room and creates a lot of noise), I call myself a “lapsed drummer” in the way that non-practicing Catholics still identify with their religion; I grew up playing the drums, and in many ways they shaped who I am today. Thankfully, in high school, I started wearing ear protection (learning to play the drums by listening to Dave Grohl might not be good for the ear canal) while practicing, otherwise I’d have some serious hearing loss. While my most recent hearing test turned out fine, I still fear that I’ve chipped away at my ability to hear higher frequencies, so the lingering fear of going deaf sits in the back of my brain.

“When I Go Deaf” is less about actual deafness than it is about the burden of creativity. Alan Sparhawk greets the eventual loss of hearing as a freeing moment releasing him from, among other things, the need to fight with his lover and the relentless songwriting process. It’s interesting because it goes beyond the “I’d die if I went deaf because I couldn’t listen to music anymore” stock answer that so many of us throw out casually. Instead, Sparhawk focuses in on these “freedoms” in a slightly ironic way. He focuses in on the ways that words hurt relationships – lies, arguments, etc – but doesn’t note how words probably brought his narrator and his lover together in the first place. Sure, we say things (intentionally and unintentionally) that hurt those that we love, but we often overlook the power of communication to bring two individuals together in the first place.

However, the fourth verse is the most interesting one to me. On the surface, it seems like the narrator is complaining about having to be a songwriter. Instead of taking this as a “pressures of being famous” song (as Low never really earned a high enough profile to warrant that type of song), I see two possible readings to this line. On one hand, the freedom from having to scratch out couplets comes from a dedication to express the idea in one’s head as accurately and completely as possible. In a way, if the medium was unavailable, the narrator no longer has to spend hours or days carefully crafting a song in order for it to match the idea in his head. Alternately, this (along with the previous verse) could be freeing in that it forces the narrator out of a rut. If all he has known was writing songs, he might slip into this medium automatically without having to consider if it’s the best way to express the idea. If he goes deaf and can’t write songs, he’s free to express himself in other ways that aren’t necessarily constrained by rhyme schemes or song structures. In either case, the bottled up idea no longer controls the artist.

Sonically, “When I Go Deaf” is gorgeous, as it builds from the slow strums and flawless harmonies to the sonic blast at the end of the song. It’s an odd aesthetic choice for a band so associated with producing quiet, fragile arrangements, and this deliberate choice suggests one final blowout before the silence rolls in. I know that if I eventually go deaf, I’d love for my final moments of hearing to be similarly grand.

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

March 25, 2009

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“Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” – The Vaselines
(Words/music: Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee, available on The Way of the Vaselines: A Complete History, Sub Pop 1992)

I feel guilty starting this entry with a reference to Nirvana, but without Kurt Cobain’s repeated championing of the Vaselines, most of the world would not know them. It makes sense that Cobain would be a fan, as the Vaselines shared the same love of wry, sometimes noisy pop music that Cobain rode to fame. Throughout The Way of the Vaselines (which is being rereleased as Enter the Vaselines in May), Kelly and McKee explore some strange sounds (the bike horn on “Molly’s Lips” being one of my favorites) yet always retain a sense of song structure. It made sense that Nirvana would cover some of these songs on early singles and perform them faithfully (although, they played them a bit louder). Still, it’s “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me for a Sunbeam” from the MTV Unplugged in New York that pays the most loving homage to the band. The Unplugged performance contained a lot of off beat covers (including a mini Meat Puppets’ set with actual members of the band performing with Nirvana), but it’s the Vaselines song and Cobain’s matter-of-fact introduction that stands out as a moment of pure reverence to a song (and band) that he admired.

The Nirvana version does the original (which the Vaselines would later rename to add in the “doesn’t” from the song’s first line), especially the string melody recreated by Krist Novoselic’s accordion. The song, a parody of a children’s hymn, skillfully toes the line between poking fun at the original and standing on its own. Even without knowing the original hymn, the song stands as an ode to being imperfect. The narrator accepts his shortcomings and acknowledges that he’s not “sunbeam” material, yet he refuses pity. While the song feels a little sad, I’ve always heard the chorus as a frank acceptance of the narrators’ imperfections, preferring to be taken as is rather than pitied for being flawed. It’s the kind of song, one composed by a couple of melodically inclined outsiders, that Cobain, the quintessential outsider, would be drawn to, and it probably explains why he produces such a stirring performance.

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

March 9, 2009

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“Young Lions” – Constantines
(Words/music: Constantines, available on Shine a Light, Sub Pop 2003)

Here’s an old favorite of mine. I loved the Shine a Light album when it came out in 2003, and I still remember the first time I heard their self-titled debut on a small, impromptu road trip in college and being even more impressed with it. I think the juxtaposition of these tuneful songs with the heavy instrumentation drew me in (as it frequently does). Still, I haven’t listened to either of these albums in ages, nor have I checked out their follow-ups. There’s no good reason for this – I don’t hold a grudge against the band for a bad show (I missed my best opportunity to see them, but that’s an entirely separate story), I don’t have any negative memories associated with the songs, and it’s still something that I enjoy (although not as much, since enthusiasm often wanes over time). It was just one of those things where I eventually put the album down to listen to something different and never really made my way back to it. We all have these old, forgotten favorites that slip out of our lives for a while, only to return when we least expect it. In one way, it’s like reconnecting with an old friend and catching each other up on new happenings while recalling old times. In another way, these personal relics work like a time capsule, letting us find something about our past selves and presenting the opportunity to see how we changed (or, in many cases, how we’re the same).

“Young Lions,” one of the few tracks from Shine a Light that will pop up on shuffle occasionally, begins with a low rumbling guitar and stomping drums that immediately beckon me back half a decade. In many ways, this is what I loved in 2003 (and, to a lesser degree, today) – songs that obscured melodies behind explosions of distortion and volume. That’s not to say that it’s devoid of melody, as what often happens when the volume knob eeks up toward double digits. The melody is a bit sneakier and sneaks around different parts of the arrangement – not just in Bryan Webb’s gruff voice, but also in little guitar fills between lines. It’s not as immediately tuneful as some of the other songs I’ve written about, but I find that these melodic bits stay with me, creeping in and out of my conscious thought the same way that it steps out of the fog of feedback only to submerge itself again moments later. I’m drawn to songs like this for a few reasons. First, there’s a visceral rush in loud, stomping songs, and like its lyrics, “Young Lions” stands posed as a beast at the foot of its kingdom waiting to strike. This is probably the same reason I’m likely to skip this song when it comes up in shuffle; if I’m not in the mood to let my pulse jump a couple BPMs, I have no interest in hearing this song. Additionally, the part of me that admires songcraft appreciates when a band combines raw power and melodic subtlety. I can sit with my guitar amp turned all the way up, blast through a couple power chords, and work myself into a feverish sweat, but it takes skill to stitch it together with a melodic thread. Just as Webb’s lyrics try to resolve the promise of the predator with its primal nature, songs that try to balance melody and bombast make me listen closer. It also brings me back to those days where I felt the same heightened emotional intensity when, like the metaphorical lions in the song, I too stood at the foot of my kingdom looking for a place to leave my mark.

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

February 9, 2009

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“Please Visit Your National Parks” – Oxford Collapse
(Words/music: Oxford Collapse, available on Remember the Night Parties, Sub Pop 2006)

One way that I’ve noticed my taste shift in the last few years is that I find myself engaging in more “situational listening. There were times where I could listen to anything I pulled out of my CD wallet – yes, I’ve always had urges to listen to a specific band or album, but I find now that I “have to be in the mood” for certain things far more often. This doesn’t mean that I don’t like these bands – that would be entirely false. I think this was how I got back into Pandora radio about a year ago – I’ve found that in certain situations, I want to hear something that sounds a certain way (or, at least, don’t want to hear something that sounds a certain way), and rather than trust one of my huge, randomized playlists or pick out an entire album to listen to, I fire up Pandora and let it work its magic.

Remember the Night Parties is an album that fits this mould perfectly. When I hear one of these songs in the right situation, I want to listen to the rest of the album. While a few years ago, I would have put the album on my discman and got to work on whatever I needed to do for class, I’ve found that I can’t listen to a song like “Please Visit Your National Parks” and get anything taxing accomplished (and appropriately, I’m writing this blog post in silence after having listen to the song a couple times). When I first thought of this, I wanted to say that I’ve lost the ability to multitask and split my attention between a couple different tasks. However, I’d like to think that it’s more that I want to give what I’m doing my complete attention, or at least the attention it deserves. “Please Visit Your National Parks” has a lot going for it – it’s a fun, playful blast of guitar that sounds like a boat on a lake being tossed around enough to make the excursion exciting, but not enough to endanger the passengers. It’s the rare studio recording where the band sounds like it’s having fun in the studio (and having seen them play live once before, they without a doubt enjoy making music). I just find that once I hear those guitars start, I can’t concentrate on anything else. To a degree, it’s fine because the song is worth the attention; it only causes a problem when I have something else I’m trying to accomplish (such as writing a blog post before the end of the day).

More on Oxford Collapse: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 27, 2009

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“Spitfire” – The Spinanes
(Words/music: Rebecca Gates & Scott Plouf, available on Manos, Sub Pop 1993)

I can remember the first time hearing some songs (or, at least, the first time when the song struck me) to varied degrees of detail; I used to know the first ten or twelve CDs that I bought and the circumstances of the purchase. Then there’s songs where I struggle to figure out how I discovered them or when I first heard the band. I know that I bought the Spinanes’ Manos album used (hey kids, remember used record stores?) at the now defunct In Your Ear on Thayer Street in Providence, RI (or that’s my guess at least based on the price tag on the CD case). It had to be after I saw Rebecca Gates open for Ted Leo at a solo show at AS220, so let’s say that I found this in the winter of 2003-2004. There, I’m a regular musical archaeologist, aren’t I?

Anyway, back to Gates opening for Ted Leo. I remember that she performed a similar set (solo, playing an electric guitar) and that her performance style reminded me a lot of Ted Leo’s – both could play quiet, nimble guitar lines or both could play loud, jagged chords to break the mood. Vocally, Gates and Leo were perfect foils for each other – his vocals leaped all over the map from loud shouts to soaring falsettos to rapidly fired bursts of Latin and French. Gates’ preferred to stay in her natural lower register for the entire set, letting her vocals create a hazy sort of effect. At points, it almost seemed like her voice provided the accompaniment to her more melodic guitar lines, which made the performance that much more interesting.

On record (at least on Manos, I have one other Spinanes record but haven’t listened since I got it), Gates and future Built to Spill drummer Scott Plouf continue in this same style – the drums and guitar lineup gives the songs a bit more muscle than a solo performance, but not quite as full sounding as a complete band. This results in arrangements with a certain level of space – the guitars, drums, and vocals all take equal billing and stand out from each other. In particular, the lack of a bass line makes the songs seem hollow, leaving plenty of room for one of these three elements to go off its own digression without muddling the mix. The downside to this stripped down formula is that there’s only so much variation. The songs are good, but they all tend to blend together by the end of the album.

For whatever reason, “Spitfire” is the song that sticks out the most from this album. Perhaps it’s the way that the song starts with Plouf’s distinctive beat or the way that Gates scratches out those first couple of chords on her guitar. When the verse starts, everything shifts into half time and gets a bit fuzzier. Gates’ vocals hide behind her guitar and Plouf’s open hi-hat until the song snaps back to the original tempo just in time for the chorus of multi-tracked “spitfires” – the most distinctive element of the song. There’s enough variation between these two sections in tempo, enunciation, and clarity, to keep it interesting and make it stand out from the rest of the songs on the album. This is probably why I can recognize “Spitfire” immediately and strain to connect any of the others songs to the band.

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

January 19, 2009

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“Mykonos” – Fleet Foxes
(Words/music: Robin Pecknold, available on Sun Giant EP, Sub Pop 2008)

When Fleet Foxes topped many of the year end “best of” lists, I snidely declared it as a sign that 2008 was the “Year of Bland Music.” Sure, there was a lot of good music last year (much of which will sneak its way into Some Songs Considered, I’m sure) but nothing that struck me as truly exceptional and “great.” I even liked the self-titled Fleet Foxes album (although I think I preferred the EP more, but I’ll get into that) but I thought that it was “good” and not “great.” I guess I mean “good” in the sense that I enjoyed listening to it, I listened to it a few times, and I’ll probably listen to it again in the future. I realize that I’m probably understating that (and the other albums I enjoyed last year too), but for as long as I can remember, there’s been at least one album each year that went beyond this enjoyable listening experience and into a mildly obsessive fandom. These albums, the “great” ones, if you will, caused me to go weeks listening almost exclusively to one band, making my friends copies of the album, obsessively checking tour dates with hopes that the band would come within two hours of me. There was a lot of excellent music last year, but nothing new that became part of my life for even a short while.

That being said, I understand why so many people fell in love with the Fleet Foxes album. The album is full of flawless harmonies, crystal clear arrangements, and songs that somehow bridge the gap between Woodstock folk and 21st century indie pop. They seem to be equal parts CSNY and Grizzly Bear – traditional yet unconventional, throwback yet timeless. It also seems like they deliver the goods live as well, quelling one fear that their harmonies were studio creations. It’s one thing to read a live account, but it’s another to witness the genuine article, so when the band played “Mykonos” on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, I was suitably impressed. Yes, the harmonies are just as spectacular when done on the spot (and kudos to the SNL director, who did a great job framing the faces of the different band members during some of the more complex vocal arrangements – a nice touch - it also makes the performance seem more intimate, and I’m sure that many are drawn in to the “intimacy” of these songs, as they seem like the best rehearsed campfire singers I’ve ever seen). The song also took on a little more spring – it wasn’t suddenly anthemic, but it moved a bit more. Ultimately, this is probably why I like the EP more than the LP. After a few tracks, I’m used to the harmonies and the quiet arrangements, but I’m ready for a different wrinkle. Sure, the songs are nothing to sneeze at, but I find my hand reaching for the skip button (or into my LP crate, depending on the location) by the end of the album. With the Sun Giant EP, I get the best of both worlds – a few modern folk gems for about twenty minutes before moving on to something that stimulates a different part of my musical brain.

PS – until the Powers that Be remove it, enjoy this video of “Mykonos” on SNL.

More on Fleet Foxes: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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