Some Songs Considered

“Forever Young” – Alphaville
(Words/music: Marian Gold/Bernhard Lloyd/Frank Mertens, available on Forever Young, Atlantic 1984) 

This is going to sound a little strange, but I think I’m being stalked by “Forever Young.”

It started a couple of weekends ago while watching Jay-Z’s performance on Saturday Night Live.  He performed his single “Young Forever” which was essentially English singer Mr. Hudson singing Alphaville’s “Forever Young” with some Jay-Z verses thrown in.  While it didn’t carry the weight of his eight minute medley near the beginning of the show, it was enough to get the hook of “Forever Young” stuck in my head for a few days.  This happens a few times a week where something random gets stuck in my head and I live with it for a few days.  It might have gone away had I not heard Alphaville’s song a few days listening to the radio.  Normally, I might not stop and take notice of the song, but with the hook still lingering in the back of my head, I eagerly listened to the entire thing.  Again, this normally ends here, but “Forever Young” remained persistent.  As I sat down yesterday afternoon and powered on the TV, Comedy Central was replaying Napoleon Dynamite and was right at the beginning of the scene at the prom.  I tuned in maybe twenty seconds before the Alphaville-soundtracked slow dance and laughed a bit.

This isn’t where it ends.  Instead, earlier tonight after clicking through a series of YouTube videos, I ended up watching a half dozen performances from New York’s PS22 choir, the group of fifth graders you’ve probably seen singing incredible versions of Phoenix’s “Lisztomania” or Lady Gaga or about fifty other random songs from the last forty years.  I started with their recent version of the Talking Heads’ “This Must Be the Place” and through several related videos until “Forever Young” stared back at me.  Even though my first instinct was to fight it (this would be the fourth spontaneous occurrence in eight days), I clicked through and was glad I did.  Their version, unsurprisingly, captured the original’s pristine melody, and the vocal arrangement worked really well with the specific harmonies.  It also leaned a little heavier on the sweetness in the song – the perpetual youth in spirit, at least – that competes with the Cold War-era uncertainty running underneath the surface of the original.  It was at this moment that I surrendered to “Forever Young,” a song I always liked yet spent the last week trying to evade. 

It also meant that I bought an Alphaville album at the universe’s apparent urging. 

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

“Crooked Teeth” – Death Cab for Cutie
(Words/music: Ben Gibbard and Chris Walla, available on Plans, Atlantic 2005) 

Some songs ride one exceptional part straight on through greatness.  Whether it’s a spectacular hook or a clever lyric or even a great bridge, great songs usually have one specific part (at least) that elevates it into the next level.  Sometimes, however, a song gets by with just a lot of good parts rather than one or two great ones.  If these songs were an athletic team, then the post-game interview would lean heavily on the phrase “team effort.”  That’s not too far off with a song like “Crooked Teeth” – even without a single “great part,” it’s still one of my favorites. 

Before this becomes a series of backhanded compliments, let me clarify; “Crooked Teeth” represents a lot of the things I love about Death Cab for Cutie.  It finds the balance between being catchy and running its melody into the ground.  The lyrics are quirky and endearing, and the overall performance is tight.  I guess my point is that a lot of the band’s songs do these things and “Crooked Teeth” does none of these better than others.  It’s not as dynamic as “The New Year” nor as urgent as “We Looked Like Giants.”  Even Ben Gibbard’s imagery isn’t as strong as it is at other times (nor is it as grating and head-scratchingly annoying as it is at others).  Even if “Crooked Teeth” isn’t the first Death Cab for Cutie song I’d think of playing, I’m always glad by the time the hook comes around. 

More on Death Cab for Cutie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Rock and Roll” – Led Zeppelin
(Words/music: John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, and Robert Plant, available on Led Zeppelin IV, Atlantic 1971)

It’s been a couple years since “Rock and Roll” was used in a car commercial, so it’s been a long time since I’ve heard the song.  iTunes tells me it’s been since February 2008, so that was at least the last time I actively chose to listen to it.  In the interim, I’d forgotten how wonderful it is. 

That, in a nutshell, sums up my feelings about Led Zeppelin, or at least about their best known songs.

Back in November, I said that I gravitate toward the “less canonical songs” because I spent my teenage years bombarded by the band.  At one point in time, the drum intro to “Rock and Roll” sent that special spine-tingling excitement through my body.  Now, it generally gets me to switch the radio station.  Every time, whether I actively think it or not, I know that I’m being unfair running from Led Zeppelin the same way I run from songs I actively dislike.  I know that ten years ago if “Rock and Roll” came on, I’d drive around the block a couple times just so I could finish hearing it.  This might come across as a statement about getting older, but the truth is that once a week I sit in my car somewhere for another thirty seconds to finish hearing a song before going on with the rest of my life.  Thankfully, I still find joy in music – until today, it rarely came from Led Zeppelin.

I’m not sure what possessed me to put on “Rock and Roll” today, but I’m glad that I did.  The thing that struck me the most was its looseness.  I think of Zeppelin as this monolithic band with an immovable sound, but here at least John Bonham and John Paul Jones establish an open groove, giving Jimmy Page the space for a blues solo that sounds playful rather than ominous or foreboding.  Even Robert Plant’s screaming, propelled along by that piano that always surprises me, sounds like the yelps of a man having fun.

I’m tempted to use this as an example of the idea that taste is cyclical, but I’m not sure that’s the case.  Yes, the end result is the same – I wish I could stay up tonight, put Led Zeppelin IV on my turntable, and redigest this album for the first time in several years.  However, it’s not entirely accurate to say I see the same things I liked a decade ago; in fact, I’m certain I’ve never really considered Led Zeppelin as “sounding like they’re having fun.”  Instead, this makes me think that our taste continually evolves and makes these return visits interesting, if for no other reason than to see how we’ve grown.  After all, songs don’t change – we do.

More on Led Zeppelin: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“It’s a Shame About Ray” – The Lemonheads
(Words/music: Evan Dando and Tom Morgan, available on It’s a Shame About Ray, Atlantic 1992)

“It’s a Shame About Ray” fascinates me because it hints at a story more than it actually tells one.  Evan Dando laments someone without giving a specific reason why.  The best guess is that Ray is gone; it could be anything from Ray just leaving before Dando arrived to moving away to passing away.  It doesn’t really matter, because this lament ends up telling more about Dando’s narrator than about Ray.  Whether intentional or not, Ray becomes an excuse for the narrator reflect on himself.  He tells us that he’s “never been too good with names” twice, and in between he suggests that he’d be better off putting his feelings back with the cobwebs – hidden away in a place rarely touched.  Whether he’s an introvert or he’s extracting a lesson from Ray’s situation, the narrator sounds resolved to keep to himself for a little while.

Thankfully, the entire song isn’t as mopey as it sounds.  Dando sings with a deceptively melodic voice; he isn’t belting out the song like an arena rock singer, but he still projects his voice with a bright tone.  In an era where singers hid behind their hair and a wall of distortion, Dando puts his voice front and center (ironically with an introverted narrator).  Even with his generally upbeat tone, Dando finds just enough sadness in his notes at the right times.  Perhaps the moderate tempo helps to give the song a general melancholy quality around the end of the verses, but something about the melody keeps it from completely contradicting the lyrics.  It’s difficult not to let the music influence the story in the lyrics, but with so few clues in the narrative it doesn’t feel like too much of a leap to suggest that even while he laments Ray, he feels like it’s for the best (whether for him, for Ray, or for all involved).  Perhaps that’s just the optimist in me hearing what he wants to hear.

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

“Hey Hey What Can I Do” – Led Zeppelin
(Words/music:  John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, and Robert Plant, available on “Immigrant Song” Single (Atlantic 1970), Led Zeppelin: The Complete Collection (Atlantic 1990))

Like many American males, I went through a Led Zeppelin phase as a teenager.  I remember buying the Remasters CD set as an introduction to the band and playing “Communication Breakdown” to break in the first subwoofer I ever owned.   For a variety of reasons, I went a long time after this phase ended without actively listening to the band.  Whether it was from overdosing on them at age fifteen, never getting into the mystical lyrics (never been a Lord of the Rings devotee), or just becoming preoccupied with other bands, my time in the cult of Zeppelin gave way to a begrudging respect from afar.  I still worshiped John Bonham’s quick hands and feet, but again I felt myself pulled toward other drummers.  This seemed emblematic of my relationship with the band in general – they seemed so far out of my league that I never felt a strong connection.

Now, when I think of Led Zeppelin, I’m drawn toward the less canonical songs – perhaps because of the seemingly millions of times I’ve heard “Black Dog” on the radio, or maybe because I still harbor contrarian tendencies.  Regardless, these are the songs that pique my interest, in part because something like “Hey Hey What Can I Do” still manage to sound like Led Zeppelin songs without the aggressive guitar riffs.  Instead, it draws on the blues more for subject (in this case, heartbreak) than style, relying on the less-heralded arranging skills.  Specifically, the lively mandolin dances around the acoustic guitar chords in a playful way, and the backing vocals (a relative rarity in the Zeppelin catalog) build on the song’s campfire feeling.  Of course, it still gives Robert Plant’s caterwaul an opportunity, particularly in the song’s outro, but it also features the rare experience where Plant’s narrator isn’t in control.  Perhaps I’m letting the strength of his voice influence my memory, but Plant’s characters generally have a sense of control or power (or, if nothing else, at least a sense of action).  In this song, his protagonist has little else to do but leave behind a wild woman.

More on Led Zeppelin: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Denise” – Fountains of Wayne
(Words/music: Chris Collingwood and Adam Schlesinger, available on Utopia Parkway, Atlantic 1999)

Fountains of Wayne frontman Adam Schlesinger knows his way around a melody.  In addition to writing songs for his band, Schlesinger produces records, wrote songs for other pop acts, and composed music for Tom Hanks and Stephen Colbert (among others).  Still, it takes more than knowing how to harmonize to write a song that resonates with an audience.  Even the most formulaic hit song needs an intangible element to distinguish itself from the rest of the pack.  Some unique quality, whether it’s a specific stylistic flourish, memorable performance, or quotable lyric, helps the song transcend its formula and catch our ears.

Schlesinger, particularly when writing with his Fountains of Wayne bandmates, knows how to focus in on minute (and often absurd) details.  For instance, “Denise” references a chain of travel agencies, a late 90s hip hop icon, and a lavender colored luxury car.  These references warrant a giggle at first, but ultimately Schlesinger includes them as a way to help create a character.  While others might only name their love interest, “Denise” paints a specific picture.  Every time I listen to the song, I start to construct what this woman might look like, using the details as a starting point.  It’s that engagement as a listener that brings me back to the song repeatedly.  Once I had my vision of “Denise” constructed, I started looking at the ways Schlesinger constructed his Denise.  Specifically, it’s the small touches like the post-chorus keyboard or the punning on her name at the end of the second line that catch my attention now.  While this level of detail sometimes grates on a listener, “Denise” becomes a little more real with each specific fact we learn about her.

More on Fountains of Wayne: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“In the Air Tonight” - Phil Collins
(Words/music: Phil Collins, available on Face Value, Atlantic 1981)

Back in January, I made a passing reference to an article I ripped out of an issue of Spin magazine years ago.  It’s called “Six Steps to Godlike Genius,” and in the article Chuck Klosterman shares his “six-step plan for writing transcendent rock music.”  In a piece intended as a bit of satire (his last step is “place tiny classified ads” after all), he hits on an idea about music that’s stuck with me.  Step #3 says, “Make sure every track has the Good Part,” and in a semi-serious, semi-factual list, Klosterman hit on an interesting idea.    His capital-lettered “Good Part” could be any number of things (Klosterman’s suggestions: speak-singing breakdowns, bass solos, and anything that makes the crowd pogo, among others), but most truly great songs have at least one moment or one specific element that makes it, as Klosterman says, transcendent.  It can be a specific part of the arrangement, a specific lyric, or even a specific sound.  It doesn’t have to be an isolated incident either – it could last for a few seconds, it could keep coming back, or it could be a fleeting happy accident.  Regardless, I’m hard pressed to think of a song where something doesn’t stand out and argue for its greatness.

In the article, Klosterman cites some solid examples – the bridge in Van Halen’s “Panama,” the drum intro to Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks,” and what he calls the “wah-wah effect” in Peter Frampton’s “Show Me the Way” (although I think he means the talk box, but there might be a wah-wah pedal involved in there too).  His list leaves out perhaps the best example – a Great Part among Good Parts.  Maybe he leaves it off because it’s obvious, but the moment the drums enter at the end of “In the Air Tonight” is a culturally recognized Good Part.  It’s the part that makes normally sane people (and, in the case of a recent blockbuster, Mike Tyson) flail their arms and bludgeon any objects in arm’s length.  It even makes a gorilla with a drum kit an effective chocolate salesman.  Even listeners who might be bored by Collins catalog join in eagerly, making it the type of transcendent moment a songwriter dreams of having.

The drum break is the Good Part, without argument, but it’s only great because Collins sets it up perfectly.  “In the Air Tonight” sets an eerie tone from it’s opening notes, and Collins builds on this by echoing his voice and leaving tons of space in the arrangement.  As he tells the story of watching a man drown without offering any help (reportedly a metaphor for his failing marriage), Collins crafted a tense and ominous mood, making us feel like we’re out with him on that foggy night.  The tension builds throughout the song until the drums enter; suddenly, the once cavernous arrangement feels closed off – not exactly claustrophobic, but kind of like someone else joined us out of nowhere when we least expected it.  It’s hard to imagine now, but the drums come out of nowhere – the arrangement swells a little bit right before they come in, but we’re not really given a warning before they come in.  Listening to it now, knowing that the drums are the Good Part, adds a layer of anticipation onto the song’s ominous tone – we know the drums are coming and we’re waiting for the part where we can bash the steering wheel in time.  I can’t remember the first time I heard the song, so I’m not sure if I can compare the element of surprise to the anticipation of the Good Part, but my heart rises a little bit every time I hear those opening notes, knowing I’m only a couple minutes away from air drumming glory.

More on Phil Collins: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Montage” – Trey Parker
(Words/music: Trey Parker, available on Team America: World Police OST, Atlantic 2004)

Team America: World Police took what South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone do on their TV show and made it bigger.  They created a work of biting, often brilliant satire and did their best to hide it behind an antiquated Saturday morning medium (in this case, marionettes) and a ton of crude humor.  It works for a few reasons – like all good satire, it works both at face value and reading deeper.  It also works because it doesn’t target one single group.  Parker and Stone value common sense above all (and seem to lean towards libertarianism, but I digress) and dig in against anyone regardless of affiliation, fame, or social standing.  It makes it hard to stay hurt when they mock your ideology and immediately move on to target someone else. 

Team America worked as well as it did (or as well as it did when I saw it five years ago) because it tossed out darts in every conceivable connection – regardless of your personal stance, the film was bound to hit on something to laugh at sooner or later.  Much of the focus was on the film’s characters and Parker and Stone’s lampooning of extreme American patriotism (and also the equally zealous America left), but Team America also works as a parody of action movies in general.  Like the best satirists, Parker and Stone lampoon action movies by playing by the genre’s rules.  This is where the music, Parker’s specialty, comes into play – the songs in the movie hit on all the familiar themes – the jingoistic country ballad, the over-the-top theme song (and subsequent “bummer” remix), and a heartbreakingly hilarious ballad Kim Jong-Il sings about being lonely.  “Montage” is the most self-conscious song in a movie that tries its best to hide all of the winks and nods behind loud explosions.  Appropriately enough, it’s the perfect montage song (so perfect that Parker recycled it from the skiing episode of South Park) – if you block out the montage-by-numbers instructions Parker sings about, it sounds exactly like a 1980s action movie montage, complete with pulsing synthesizer, a chorus of backup singers, and Parker’s vocal tics for emphasis.  Personally, the “fade out” bit at the end captures the song’s spirit perfectly – it flawlessly executes the cliché as it describes why every montage ends with a fade out.  By doing so, Parker makes us simultaneously laugh at the joke and marvel at what might be the perfect montage song.

More on Trey Parker: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“It’s About Time (Live on 120 Minutes)” - Evan Dando
(Words/music: Evan Dando and Tom Morgan, available on MTV’s 120 Minutes Live, Atlantic 1998)

The Lemonheads, Evan Dando’s band, are best know for a cover song (“Mrs. Robinson”) and this week just released an album of covers.  It’s a shame that Dando’s legacy will likely be associated with a cover song because he wrote songs that are just as good as the songs he covered.  This performance of “It’s About Time” recorded for 120 Minutes showcases one of Dando’s lesser known songs.  He makes the song’s guitar riff heavier on the backbeat, but otherwise Dando focuses solely on the guitar and vocals.  Even without his band, Dando manages to pull off all of the subtle shifts in the song.  Specifically, he exaggerates the dynamics by bringing the song to a near whisper and building back up (the original version relies on the drums to drive the volume back up).  Dando’s always known how to play to his band’s strengths, whether it was using Juliana Hatfield’s backing vocals sparingly or writing driving yet melodic songs when members of The Descendants were his backing band.  However, in this solo setting Dando can’t hide anything behind these flourishes.  Instead, the focus lies strictly on Dando’s voice and his song.  “It’s About Time” stays engaging even without the band’s muscle largely because it’s an interesting composition.  Sure, it’s not the same without Hatfield’s high notes on the final chorus, but Dando’s solo version for 120 Minutes showcases the skill in his songwriting.  It’s important to know how to use your band’s strengths to complement your songs, but even the most skilled musicians will fail without solid material.  Evan Dando wrote some of the best power pop in the early 1990s, but I’m afraid he’ll only be known for ushering in the era of the punk cover of bygone classics.

More on Evan Dando: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Tighten Up” - Archie Bell and the Drells
(Words/music: Archie Bell and Billy Buttier, available on Tighten Up, Atlantic 1968)

I’m usually skeptical of any song that comes with its own dance, as Archie Bell suggests in the opening to “Tighten Up.”  However, Bell’s showmanship quells my fears instantaneously.  He manages to sound both genuinely delighted to front his band and completely in control of his group as he calls on each of his bandmates to step into the spotlight.  Musically, “Tighten Up” sounds like a fun dance record – the drums skitter briskly, the bass player nimbly moves up and down the neck of his guitar, and the guitarist lays down a funky rhythm track.  I’m drawn in every time by the informal, almost live feel to the track – even for something with such a simple structure (no verse, no chorus), the song gradually evolves as the different parts start and finish.  These different layers – the soloists, the hand claps, Bell’s own soulful bursts of vocals – keep the song interesting throughout its duration.

My two bits of trivia (one old, one new) on “Tighten Up.”  Earlier this season while watching the Mets, current broadcaster/ former player (and Seinfeld-made icon) Keith Hernandez insinuated that “Tighten Up” was his favorite song.  It was during a discussion of another song, so it was only a passing mention, but the idea of Hernandez wiggling around on the dance floor to “Tighten Up” stuck with me, for better or worse.  Earlier today, I looked up “Tighten Up” on YouTube and the note on the video suggested that Bell recorded “Tighten Up” while on leave from the Army and that the song became a hit while he was stationed overseas.  Allmusic confirmed the story, adding that “Tighten Up” topped the pop and R&B charts while Bell was recovering from wounds from the Vietnam War.  I haven’t done much research on this fact, but I can’t imagine that there are a lot of people who enjoyed their number one single while laid up in bed wounded in combat.

More on Archie Bell and the Drells: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Crazy Mary” – Victoria Williams and Lou Reed
(Words/music: Victoria Williams, appears on MTV’s 120 Minutes Live, Atlantic 1998)

To know Victoria Williams’ music is to know her story too.  In 1993, Williams was diagnosed with MS and because she made a living as a singer/songwriter, lacked health insurance.  Thus the Sweet Relief Fund was born, and through two compilations (the first consisting of covers of Williams’ songs) and other efforts raises money for musicians who cannot pay their medical bills.  Having endured a gap in health insurance coverage myself, I can attest that it’s not cheap for a healthy person, let alone someone with something like MS requiring plenty of treatments.  Still, what seemed like a tragedy became a triumph as Williams still writes songs and performs over fifteen years after her diagnosis.

Still, it’s the story in her song that’s more important.  “Crazy Mary” reads like a character sketch or a barebones short story.  I’m somewhat reminded of the oddball characters Flannery O’Connor created in her stories (although I’m still not 100% satisfied with that comparison – help me out in the comments if you have a better match).  The title character is the strange hermit woman in her town - if she lived in your town, she’d be the subject of childhood legends and dares to go knock on her door.  Unlike the stereotypical urban legend, the narrator has seen Mary and even met her on a few occasions.  Still, Mary’s voice is silent in the song – she waves her arms frantically and has “wild eyes” but never utters a word.  We don’t know what drove her to the outskirts of the town or rendered her silent (and if it was a story, we’d have a slight back story at least) and we don’t quite know what happens to her at the end.

I’ve always been struck by how Williams sings the song in this version (from a compilation of live performances on MTV’s now defunct 120 Minutes).  Like many, I first heard Pearl Jam’s version from the original Sweet Relief compilation and they do an admirable job with the song, but Williams tells the story like she lived it first hand.  There’s the clever turn of phrase spelling out “loitering” followed by “a-llowed” and how she enters into a Crazy (Mary)-like shriek near the end of the chorus.  It’s the first verse after the chorus where Williams’ performance makes the story; she quickly speaks the first two lines of the verse (kind of like her duet partner Lou Reed might have done) before leaning into the word “dreaming” just for a split second longer than any other word.  Her voice lifts slightly higher just at the part where the narrator shares her dream of flight into Mary’s home.  At the end of the verse, Mary’s “rising up above” her run down shack, and after hearing how a car crashed into her house in the final verse, it seems like Mary’s ascended from life into the afterlife.  I might be reading too much into the biblical connotation of her name (which would strengthen the O’Connor comparison), but there’s a certain collapsing of the story onto itself at the end as the dream and reality blur.  The lines repeated right after the discovery of the accident – “that what you fear the most / could meet you half way” is vague enough to refer to Mary (who despite her exile from town met her demise from one of the citizens) or the narrator (who empathizes with Mary and thus probably sees something of herself in the demise) but pointed enough to pierce the song open, leaving the scars as a reminder of Mary’s story.


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PS – I can’t decide if Lou Reed adds or subtracts to this version.  I like the lead guitar he’s playing throughout the song, and at times it sounds like whimpering or wailing.  His lead part sounds like a strange mutation of the blues – distorted, disoriented, and slightly disturbed.  Still, his spoken (and sometimes out of time) backing vocals are kind of distracting.  I almost wish they turned off his microphone and just let him play the guitar solo.

More on Victoria Williams: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm
More on Lou Reed: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm