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“L.A. Woman” – The Doors
(Words/music: John Densmore, Robbie Krieger, Ray Manzarek, and Jim Morrison, available on L.A. Woman, Elektra 1971)  

For whatever reason, “L.A. Woman” is the Doors song that fascinates me the most.  It’s not the weirdest Doors song nor is it the best representative track.  However, this is the version of the band I enjoy the most.  The arrangement feels fuller and more freewheeling than a lot of their work and Jim Morrison sounds immersed in his vocals.  Even if the lyrics aren’t his most brooding, his delivery seems particularly unhinged.  He sounds like he’s tossing off lyrics as they come to him – repeating some lines that he wants to mull over a little more, annunciating some lines more than others, and tossing in whoops and “yeahs” at random intervals.  Robbie Krieger is right behind him, echoing some of Morrison’s vocals with similarly phrased lead licks.  Even though the band only performed the song once, this is the version I’d like to picture live – freewheeling and fun.

Even if “L.A. Woman” feels like a live improvisation, other moments suggest its meticulous construction.  Even if Morrison sounds like he’s making up the words on the spot, the repetition and phrasing of the words seems planned out.  Particularly on the bridge, Morrison knows exactly how to contort each syllable to fit with the right melodic and rhythmic bend to it.  There’s also the anagram – “Mr. Mojo Risin’” as a rearrangement of Morrison’s name.  No matter how off the cuff and free associative the end product sounds, it takes too many twists and turns to be anything less than carefully planned out.

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

TAGGED UNDER: the doors | jim morrison | 1971 | 1970s | elektra |
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“Sucked Out” – Superdrag
(Words/music: John Davis, available on Regretfully Yours, Elektra 1996) 

Sitting there right next to the not-so-subtle critique of the mainstream music hype cycle (and think of how much quicker it’s become since then!) is a self-conscious awareness.  Superdrag never matched the popularity of “Sucked Out” yet seemed to know their fate from the song’s first line.  Off the top of my head, I can’t think of any other one-hit-wonder about being a one-hit-wonder, but here’s Superdrag asking what would become of them after their fifteen minutes ticked away (for the record: they made a few more albums (only one more on a major label) and John Davis became born again).

And in there, with the overt commentary and acute self-awareness, is a moment of sheer joy.  When it comes time for the hook, the rest of the band backs off and Davis unleashes the song’s signature line in a visceral scream.  Even if the question gets to the heart of his complaint – the industry lacks soul, essentially – and hits a little close to home for a band who would exit the spotlight as quickly as they entered it, it’s a moment of unbridled joy.  Just take it for a ride; when it gets to the hook, sing along at the top of your lungs.  When done right, it’s neither self-conscious nor cynical (and yes, it garners odd looks from the people in the next lane, especially in the summer when the windows are open).  Ultimately, this is why the song still sounds fun – not because it’s still prescient, not because it’s self-aware, but because for a few seconds, it reduces otherwise sane people into screaming messes.

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

TAGGED UNDER: superdrag | 1996 | 1990s | elektra | scream-along with this one |
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“Shimmy Shimmy Ya” – Ol’ Dirty Bastard
(Words/music: Robert Diggs Jr. and Russell Jones, available on Return to the 36 Chambers, Elektra 1995)

In the world of the Ol’ Dirty Bastard, “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” plays fairly straightforward.  That being said, “straightforward” for the ODB sounds spastic and bizarre to the rest of us.  Once you get past his oddities – his declaration for his preference for “rawness,” for example – “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” follows a fairly straightforward structure.  Behind that relentless piano loop RZA crafts, ODB repeats himself through most of the track.  Unlike some of his more free-associative tracks, “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” gives the impression that Dirt thought about what he wanted to say, specifically a Wu-Tang shout-out, and set out to accomplish it.  It has a hazy, almost drunken feel to it as the beat and the piano seem out of sync – the perfect musical accompaniment to an ODB solo track.

Of course, the charm of an ODB solo cut isn’t the cunning wordplay or the masterful production – it’s the personality behind the rhymes.  Even in a fairly set routine, ODB makes the track feel like it could fall off its hinges at any given moment.  It’s an odd sort of excitement – the way Dirt’s voice rises and falls sounds hypnotic, yet at the same time it sounds inches away from collapsing in on itself.  Dirt’s role in the Wu-Tang Clan was to bring the crazy personality among many skilled lyricists, and “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” finds him flying the freak flag proudly, even if it’s not his strangest moment.

More on Ol’ Dirty Bastard: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: 1990s | 1995 | elektra | ol'dirty bastard | rza | track analysis | wu-tang clan | odb |
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“Bittersweet” – Hoodoo Gurus
(Words/music: Dave Faulkner, available on Mars Needs Guitars!, Elektra 1985)

Back in 2003, I attended the CMJ Music Marathon, the annual “college radio convention” in New York City that’s basically an excuse to see bands and drink free beers.  One of the few panels that I went to (most were either topics I wasn’t interested in or were far too early) was a panel discussion on music in video games.  At the time, video game music was somewhere between the 8-bit soundtracks embedded in my memory (I probably know the map music from Legend of Zelda better than any song I’ve heard more recently) and the Guitar Hero / Rock Band phenomenon of gaming as musical participation.  Some games – EA Sports games and Grand Theft Auto 3, off the top of my head – started using pop/rock songs in their soundtracks at the time, and game developers, marketers, and A&R people told the small crowd how video games were going to become as important as radio or music videos.  I mildly laughed at the idea then, but in retrospect only laugh at my skepticism now.

Thinking about it a little bit, video games are great vehicles for marketing music for a couple reasons.  First, video games create a captive audience that keeps returning.  We’re programmed to shift stations in the car or flip channels during commercials, but when playing a video game we’re sitting down in front of the TV (save for a bathroom break) for long periods of time.  Even though the soundtracks are swelling with each new game, there’s still a good degree of repeated songs with each repeated play.  Without realizing it, these songs are embedded in our consciousness.  This is where the second part of my theory comes in – when we hear these songs outside of the game, we start thinking about the video game again.  So if you hear a song from the newest edition of Madden football or GTA or Rock Band, it makes you think about the game (which, more often than not, is a pleasant thought).  Then, the positive opinion of the video game transfers to the out-of-context song; it has the power to turn good songs into something great, mediocre songs into something good, and even bad songs into tolerable to slightly favorable ones.

I don’t play a lot of video games anymore, but back around this time I was obsessed with EA’s MVP Baseball 2004 (The one with Albert Pujols on the front of it).  The songs in the game were heavy on early 2000’s alternative rock.  The “biggest” song in the game was the Von Bondies’ “C’mon, C’mon” and otherwise there were smaller, lesser known bands (Stellastar and Snow Patrol among others, with the latter finding success in the ensuing years).  One song, “Bittersweet,” was out of place simply by being the oldest song in the game and one of the few that wasn’t a bland modern punk song.  As I kept leading my New York Mets towards the World Series, “Bittersweet” (an appropriate description of being a Mets fan, by the way) was a welcome rest from the angrier songs in the game.  It’s a fine piece of mid-80s pop rock – some nice background vocals in the pre-chorus, just enough guitar to keep it interesting, and a simple melody that’s pleasant but not annoyingly catchy.  It wasn’t a song that I liked enough to find the album right away, but one that I’d nod along to (and sing along to the “don’t cry-e-ay” part) while adjusting my rosters.  At best, it sounds like something from the last Replacements album – a nice enough song, but nothing worth getting worked up over.

So a few years later, while watching VH-1 Classic late at night, I saw the horrendously dated video.  I was doing work on my couch, so my head was turned away from the screen until I realized that I was singing along.  I looked up and watched the rest of the video just to refresh my memory – I knew the song, and I knew it was from MVP Baseball, but I couldn’t remember the name of the song.  The marketing worked, but only half way – I thought fondly on the Hoodoo Gurus (who have a handful of equally pleasant singles that I have on a couple compilations), but that night I longed for those afternoons spent desperately trying to throw a no-hitter rather than a burning passion to buy their album.

That’s not to say I don’t like the song - it’s deceptively catchy and has a strong arrangement. Faulkner’s voice is uniquely gruff in a way that really just well with those backing vocals I love to sing.  Everything falls into place well - the way the chords change every measure, the way the acoustic guitar cuts right to the front of the arrangement.  But to be perfectly honest, I think the reason I like it (and ultimately hunted it down) was that I had heard it probably a hundred times while playing video games (also, having mostly mediocre songs surrounding it drove its stock higher).

More on Hoodoo Gurus: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: hoodoo gurus | elektra | 1985 | 1980s | pop/rock | video games | personal reflection | albert pujols | cmj music marathon |

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“See No Evil” - Television
(Words/music: Tom Verlaine, available on Marquee Moon, Elektra 1977)

Much has been made (and rightfully so), about the expert guitar work on Marquee Moon, but I think that Tom Verlaine’s vocal style sells this song. While the technical prowess surpasses much of the rest of their mid-70s New York peers, somewhere beneath Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd’s dueling guitars lies an anxious, unnerving punk song. Verlaine’s sneer (and it’s truly a sneer - the man can play guitar with the best of them but don’t expect to hear him belting out jazz standards anytime soon) channels Patti Smith’s cadence and pacing. The lyrics even seem like Patti Smith castoffs, which is fine given that the words take a backseat to the vocal delivery and the chugging attack of guitars. That being said, “See No Evil” provides a perfect lyrical start to Marquee Moon. Verlaine squeezes every bit of defiance possible out of his lyrics and conveys the impatience and anxiousness embedded within. That, and even after years of listening to this song, I still find a tremendous amount of joy in shouting out the “evillllll” bit at the end of the chorus. It would have made a fine three-chord romp, but it’s the otherworldly arrangement of those hypnotic guitar lines and open hi-hats that makes this song a classic.

I understand why Michael Stipe would be drawn to this song (given his hero worship of Patti Smith). R.E.M. covered this song a bit in the mid-80s. (ED: Link fixed, not sure why it wasn’t working before)

Oh, and Verlaine and Lloyd wail on this song. Have I mentioned that yet?

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

TAGGED UNDER: television | elektra | 1977 | 1970s | track analysis | punk |
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