Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged 'a and m records'

November 5, 2009

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“With a Little Help from My Friends” – Joe Cocker
(Words/music: John Lennon and Paul McCartney, available on With a Little Help From My Friends, A&M 1969)

For many, Joe Cocker’s version of this song evokes The Wonder Years. I’m only nostalgic about the show because it was my dad’s favorite show when I was a kid (I was ten when it ended). Between my parents viewing and the backdrop of Vietnam War-era America, it felt like another world for me. Of course, the show might make more sense now that I lived through (and have a healthy distance from) my early teenage years. Regardless, Joe Cocker’s voice makes me think of this show, and perhaps that’s why his version makes sense.

Cocker takes the Beatles’ original, slows it down, and twists the emotions on the original. I like the bouncy Sgt. Pepper’s take on the song (and as I’ve suggested before, I’m a Ringo apologist), but Cocker’s version focuses on the anguish in the song’s lyrics. Perhaps it’s Cocker’s voice, particularly the way that he trails off near the end of some of the lines, that makes the song sound worn out, but Cocker’s narrator feels fatigued. That, combined with the backing vocals that lead him through the chorus and later share the burden with him in the final verse, puts the focus on the aid from friends. It’s this spirit that the show – one that focuses on growing up during one of the more tumultuous moments in twentieth century America – captures, and having Joe Cocker set the stage every week feels appropriate.

(Side note: I learned tonight that Jimmy Page played guitar on this. I’m too tired to try to work it in to the rest of the post, so I’ll just share it here).

More on Joe Cocker: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

October 25, 2009

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“Found Out About You” – Gin Blossoms
(Words/music: Doug Hopkins, available on New Miserable Experience, A&M 1992)

I’m too young to remember the Gin Blossoms when they were active, and for a long time the only music I knew from 1992 came draped in flannel. This is how I have little to no nostalgic attachment to their songs – I spent my free time playing Super Nintendo when their songs flooded American radio. For whatever reason, whether it’s detachment or objectivity, these songs came to me in a unique way – first as underwhelming, unassuming relics from an era I vaguely remember, and later as a strange sort of underdog. Somehow, through sporadic plays on the radio, these songs (mainly the singles) started to win me over. I realized that the Gin Blossoms won me over when I heard “Found Out About You” while paying for my groceries this spring and I started to bag my food slower so I could hear the end of the song.

I do know, however, that it takes roughly three notes into the jangly opening riff to pull me in. Perhaps a lifetime of listening to R.E.M. makes my ears perk up anytime an arpeggio rings out of a guitar, but the opening riff hooks me every time, whether I’m paying for cereal at the self-checkout or not. It was only later that I delved a little deeper that I saw the darker side to the song. “Found Out About You” was one of the songs guitarist Doug Hopkins wrote before getting kicked out of the band (and later committing suicide). Appropriately, “Found Out About You” comes from a place of bitterness and resentment. It’s certainly not the first angry song to find its way into supermarket playlists (nor will it be the last), but few encase betrayal in such a melodic package. It also helped me pay more attention to a band I wrote off without a particular reason.

More on Gin Blossoms: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: gin blossoms | 1992 | 1990s | a and m records |

September 10, 2009

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“Show Me the Way” – Peter Frampton
(Words/music: Peter Frampton, available on Frampton Comes Alive!, A&M 1976)

Before I owned a guitar, I wanted to have a talk box. As someone with dual fascinations with both gadgets and sounds, it was inevitable that I’d succumb to its shiny allure (same with the theramin, and to be honest I’m not really over that crush yet). I remember surfing from webpage to webpage in the late ‘90s, first learning how the talk box worked (redirecting the sound of the guitar through a tube, bouncing off the singer’s vocal cords, and into the microphone) and later finding workable plans for building a talk box. The dream of making ridiculous sounds was within reach! Despite the fact that the raw materials, tools, and time involved would have cost more than buying the actual item (perhaps), I convinced myself that I would do it if I actually owned a guitar. This, of course, is like saying that you’d reupholster your car if you owned one. Now, a solid decade later, I do own an electric guitar sans talk box, and even if it still produces a very specific, instantly recognizable sound, I can live without it.

When I think about the sound that a talk box produces, I immediately think of “Show Me the Way.” Without the effect, it’s a fine pop song, and this entry might be about how Peter Frampton’s voice fills with enthusiastic glee near the end of each verse. It’s that specific melodic phrase combined with the specific sound from the talk box that brings the song to the next level. The talk box gives the song its calling card – a unique sounding introduction produced by a gimmicky piece of equipment. It also brings an already excellent melodic phrase into complete earworm territory. The net result works so well that spending more than five seconds thinking about the phrase “talk box” immediately places that melody into my brain. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I just think it’s unique in that I can’t think of other songs that I know and love with such a strong association to an object.

More on Peter Frampton: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

April 19, 2009

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“Madonna of the Wasps” - Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians
(Words/music: Robyn Hitchcock, available on Queen Elvis, A & M Records 1989)

Sometimes, a song becomes an unlikely gateway into musical exploration. Even though I probably heard it before, I first knowingly heard “Madonna of the Wasps” after receiving Rhino Records’ Left of the Dial: Dispatches from the ’80s Underground box set a few years ago (which is an excellent compilation for anyone who wants to explore some of the really exciting and important bands in the 1980s). It’s a catchy song and its jangly guitar riff immediately caught my ear – as an R.E.M. Fan, I’m conditioned to respond positively to a jangle-pop Byrds-quoting guitar riff. I also knew Robyn Hitchcock through his connection with R.E.M. (in recent years, Hitchcock collaborated with The Minus 5, a project spearheaded by R.E.M.’s side instrumentalist Scott McCaughey and featuring Peter Buck), so “Madonna of the Wasps” earned frequent plays both on my college radio show (appropriately titled Left of the Dial, hence my attraction to the box set) and in my personal playlists. It’s the kind of song that I might not be an immediate recommendation to a friend, but it’s the kind of thing I’d never skip if it came up on shuffle.

For many songs, the story ends with the song integrating itself into my iTunes library and becoming a welcomed visitor when it pops up on shuffle or while playing the compilation. However, after digging a bit deeper to find out more about the song, I discovered a few interesting facts. For example, the Peter Buck-sounding riff was played by Buck himself – a fact that didn’t shock me (as Buck played with a lot of bands over the years). Then, while reading the Allmusic entry on the song, I found that when Hitchcock performs the song live (both before and after recording the Queen Elvis album), he prefaces the song with an oddly endearing vocal introduction. My curiosity about this intro, which sounds more like the chanting that starts the song rather than the ringing guitar riff, led me to a video of Hitchcock performing the song with Paul Shaffer’s band on David Letterman’s NBC show. While I knew of Hitchcock in his current incarnation as a gray haired alt-troubadour, I was amused to see him looking more like the energetic young man that fronted the Soft Boys. In this video, Hitchcock looks loose, even conversing with Shaffer’s guitar player mid-song, perhaps coaching him through the arrangement. It’s an excellent performance I’ve added to my bookmarks – and ultimately one that makes me glad that I didn’t just move on to the next song on the box set without wanting to look a little deeper.

More on Robyn Hitchcock: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

April 18, 2009

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“(Keep Feeling) Fascination” - The Human League
(Words/music: Jo Callis and Phillip Oakley, available on Fascination! EP, A&M 1983)

Nearly two decades after it ended, the music of the 1980s still has a public image problem. To many in my generation, nostalgia boiled the decade down to the kind of stuff you’d find at an 80s theme party – side pony tails, hair metal, and synthesizers. Our surface level interpretation of the 1980s prevents many of us from getting deeper into the actual songs. Of course, I’m not trying to suggest that the 1980s as a whole deserves a critical reevaluation; instead, I’m reminded that every era has bad songs and that while these songs provide convenient punching bags for critics, we shouldn’t let these overshadow some of the creative work done concurrently. However, while I’ve always advocated spending a closer look at certain bands (some – The Smiths, R.E.M., and other bands slightly out of step with the rest of music during that era – don’t face the same retroactive scorn), I’ll be the first to acknowledge some of the 1980s aesthetic sins. Yes, each decade has its own guilt where the bad overshadows the good (disco, for example). However, the synth-heavy 1980s brought this to the next level of awful – I understand the innate aversion to this period, yet it short changes some songs.

If I were to quickly categorize the period into three categories – one for the great music that transcends the era, one for the awful music that would be awful in any era, and a third that for good or bad are clear products of its era - “(Keep Feeling) Fascination” falls into that middle ground. At its core, it’s a fun, bouncy song. In particular, the bass line makes the song work – it’s more likely to get stuck in my head than the melody or the words. For a majority of its running time, “Fascination” is a fun head-nodder. However, all of the elements that make the song work – the trade-off vocals, the bass line, and it’s light feel – pale in comparison to the synthesizer in the chorus. Melodically, the synth line is fine (and actually complements the song well). However, it’s too loud and too gaudy – it sounds vaguely out of tune, if not entirely out of place. I’m not sure where to point the blame – at the mixer for making it so prominent, at the band for selecting that specific sound, or at the public for cultivating a taste for anything with a synthesizer, but it takes a perfectly good song hostage. It’s not alone, as I can think of a few excellent songs (Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” immediately comes to mind) undercut by their production. Even if this oppressive synthesizer distracts me from the rest of the song on occasion, I’d like to think that the composition is like a butterfly waiting to escape from its synthesizer-spun cocoon. It’s a great song with a very good performance that’s handicapped by this one element, making it an excellent choice to be covered – just leave your Korg keyboard at home this time.

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

March 13, 2009

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“Enjoy the Silence” – Failure
(Words/music: Martin Gore, available on For the Masses: A Tribute to Depeche Mode, A&M 1998)

For many different reasons, “Enjoy the Silence” brings me back to the late 1990s. I discovered Depeche Mode through their Singles 86>98 collection, largely because a half hour infomercial ran on a local music channel non-stop. I spent a lot of time listening to the first disc of this collection, which compiles almost all of Depeche Mode’s essential singles (save for a couple early ones found on the Singles 81>85 collection). In many ways, this was my first introduction to 1980s alternative rock beyond R.E.M. and U2 and the handful of Cure songs I heard on the radio. When I hear Depeche Mode songs now, I’m drawn in by how dramatic they sound. The drums boom, the synthesizers sound dark and ominous, and there are some sharp dynamic changes (well, a fair amount of loud/soft contrast for the pre-Pixies/Nirvana world). Dave Gahan sang these songs in a unique way by singing with a morose tone while still projecting to the back of the room – a sort of overblown bleakness. His voice sounded like a fog filling an empty field – a dark charisma that seems unassuming until it surrounds you and demands your attention by obscuring everything else. I ate it up at fifteen because I’d never heard anything like it, and I still appreciate it now because Martin Gore knew how to write songs that played up to his band’s strengths. At his best, he hit the perfect balance of song and sulk, making these melancholy songs sound just melodic enough.

Still, I think my personal association linking Depeche Mode to the late ‘90s goes beyond my personal discovery. Many of the bands getting airplay on “modern rock radio” bore Depeche Mode’s influence. Appropriately, the For the Masses tribute album collects a lot of hard rock and electronic bands trying to channel Depeche Mode’s emphasis on musical atmosphere. While the album achieves mixed results, Failure’s cover of “Enjoy the Silence” pushes the song to its logical limits. While the original only has a slight shift in volume from verse to chorus (mostly from more elements entering the mix), Failure’s version relies heavily on these changes in dynamics, specifically by contrasting a quieter, tremolo-drenched guitar lines with the distortion-laden power chords in the chorus. Ken Andrews’ sings in a similarly monotone manner, but uses a megaphone effect to change the quality in his voice in a way that almost sounds like a second character. It’s grandly overblown and vaguely melodic, yet it pushes just enough to become anthemic. This is the kind of dark, huge sounding song that many other bands strived to achieve in 1998, and perhaps Failure achieved this because they are a skilled band (admittedly, I don’t think I know any of their other songs – please let me know if I should fix this), but perhaps they achieved this because they were working with quality material to begin with. Depeche Mode set the blueprint nearly a decade earlier, and Failure executed it in a way that their “Enjoy the Silence” rivals the original.

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

February 16, 2009

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“History Never Repeats” - Split Enz
(Words/music: Neil Finn, available on History Never Repeats: The Best of Split Enz, A&M 1987)

Without a doubt, the internet changed how we discover new music; if we want to hear something we haven’t heard, there’s many ways to find, sample, and even obtain music or a video or even an artist biography and discography. Even something like the iTunes store makes owning music available at a whim – I could download almost anything I wanted to hear and have it on my iPod in half an hour. This is an incredible blessing to us (and, I believe, to musicians as well), but running a search shouldn’t be the exclusive avenue for discovery.

For example, my own musical education – an ongoing process – employs a degree of networking. I’m constantly asking friends and family what they’re listening to and what I should hear. The internet makes this so much easier – I could post a tweet asking for new recommendations and have them roll in over the rest of the night. Still, there’s something satisfying about making a personal musical discovery – the kind that starts with something you love and ends up with a new favorite. The story about how I came to Split Enz begins with Pearl Jam, one of my favorite bands of my youth (and still today, although that love has evolved – more on that another time) and one of the “gateway” bands that led me toward different things I love. Pearl Jam was a convenient starting point if for no other reason than the plethora of cover songs Ed and the band performed. Specifically, I came across Neil Finn through the first 7 Worlds Collide collaboration, which led to finding one of Finn’s solo albums, and ultimately led to finding the History Never Repeats compilation. I’d already heard some of the songs - “I Got You” and “History Never Repeats” specifically (the latter from the 1995 Pearl Jam Christmas single where Ed, Neil and Tim Finn performed a lovely version of the song) and came to enjoy a lot of the other songs on the collection as well.

“History Never Repeats” thrives on a nervous, youthful energy – those fast sixteenth notes on the hihat push the tempo to the point where it sounds like it’s speeding up. Finn’s lyrics describe a story of young love gone bad and the attempt to reconcile shortcomings in the past with the power to proceed with the future. There are artifacts of the new wave era in this song – in particular that bright synthesizer running through the chorus – but the arrangement avoids sounding completely dated. The jangly guitar line that alternates with the chiming chords in the chorus adds another melodic layer underneath Finn’s vocals. The melody is plenty catchy, but I’m always drawn in by the high harmonies that enter and exit the song; even at a young age (Finn was 23 when the song was recorded in 1981), Finn had a keen sense for knowing when to use certain techniques. Three minutes of harmonies at a strained register would have grated on the listener, but used in moderation with some other excellent flourishes – a discordant piano, the drumroll-fueled bridge, and those synth arpeggios – keeps the song interesting a near quarter century later.

More on Split Enz: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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