Some Songs Considered

“So Sad About Us” – The Breeders
(Words/music: Pete Townshend, available on Safari EP, Elektra 1992) 

In high school and college, I used to spend hours wading through used CD bins.  Today there are so many different ways to give a new band a shot before spending money on an album, but back then I relied on used CDs as a source for broadening my back catalogue.  So when I got my paycheck from working at Walgreens’ or my work study job, I’d go to the record store and flip through bins until I stacked up a half dozen albums or so.  On an ideal trip, I’d find at least one album from a band that was new to me, one copy of a record that I probably would have bought brand new, and one random back catalogue item that I would eventually get around to later on. 

This was how I ended up with the Breeders’ Safari EP. Its dollar price tag sucked me in to the point where I bought it without scrutinizing the track list.  I don’t remember what else I brought home that day, but it must have been pretty good because the EP went unlistened for a few months.  Then, for whatever reason, I picked up the EP and saw that the final track was “So Sad About Us.”  Sure enough, I put the disc in and discovered that it was a cover of one of my favorite songs by The Who.  The Deal sisters gave it a faithful treatment, keeping the nimble bass line and distinctive rhythm guitar sound prevalent in their version.  The harmonies and edgier tempo cemented my obsession with this version and highlighted the paradoxical relationship between the happy tone and melancholy lyrics.  It’s the kind of cover that fits well at the end of an EP – one that honors the original material while playing up to the band’s strengths.  My delayed discovery made it feel like I sent myself a present from the past, and I’m certain that these circumstances only contributed to my love of this cover version.

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

“Candy Everybody Wants” – 10,000 Maniacs
(Words/music: Dennis Drew & Natalie Merchant, available on MTV Unplugged, Elektra 1993)  

My iTunes library on my current computer goes back to July 2007.  “Candy Everybody Wants” is the song that’s been played at least once (an embarrassingly large percentage of my library has a playcount of zero) that went back the furthest until moments ago when I played it.  The suggestion is that I went two and a half years without listening to the song, and that’s not likely true; I may have heard it on Pandora or it may have played on my iPod on one of the times where my music didn’t sync (not to mention clicking on another song before it ended).  Regardless, I haven’t heard it a lot since July 2007 and that makes me kind of sad.  

The melody in “Candy Everybody Wants” suits Natalie Merchant’s voice well.  Merchant’s rich tone serves it well while still giving her a few minutes to show her vocal strengths, particularly at the end of the verses.  Lyrically, the song tangentially addresses the debate about content in the mass media, specifically whether the entertainment industry should be ashamed for glorifying sex and violence or whether it’s merely listening to and providing for its audience’s demands.  The whole thing, the melody, the assortment of stringed instruments, and the subject are all pleasant – certainly charming and clever, but not in a particularly outstanding way.  I suppose this is how I could go from July 14, 2007 to today without having heard the song; it’s the kind of song that might lose its charm when in constant rotation.  While two and a half years is too long, in this case absence made my ears grow fonder.

More on 10,000 Maniacs: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Good” – Better Than Ezra
(Words/music: Kevin Griffin, available on Deluxe, Elektra 1995)

For people of a certain age (let’s say mid to late 20s), “Good” works like catnip.  On its own, the opening G chord alone miraculously leads to louder stereos.   When mixed with a few drinks, it gets an entire bar of young professionals reminiscing about their high school days.  Throw in closing time, and the same group will sing along whatever words they might remember.  I only say this because I’ve seen it happen a few times; Better Than Ezra were never huge in the 1990s, and “Good” probably doesn’t immediately come to mind when thinking of great songs of that era, yet many still have a soft spot for the song.

To speak of “Good” in sports terminology, it’s a “workman-like” song.  It doesn’t have a killer hook or a distinctive riff, but it accomplishes its objectives in a humble and diligent way.  Even with a standard chord progression, a solid memory, and mostly forgettable lyrics, “Good” manages to make an impression.  Even without a single standout quality, it succeeds because every part of it, for lack of a better word, is good enough.  Where others might try to cram unnecessary instruments or flashy licks into the track, Better Than Ezra wisely stay out of the song’s way, letting it play out without any unnecessary embellishments.  This rings especially true in the chorus, where Kevin Griffin manages to put a few extra syllables into the “it was good living with you” line.  If he tried to say anything more, the hook would lose its ramshackle charm.  Instead, it’s a particular favorite for sing-alongs, either with the lyrics intact or embellished.  It doesn’t really matter, because the moment always ends up being good enough in the end.

More on Better Than Ezra: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“In the Meantime” – Spacehog
(Words/music: Royston Langdon, available on Resident Alien, Elektra 1995)

I realize that when I think about music, I have a bit of a double standard when it comes to vocals and other instrumental parts.  While I’m comfortable (and prone to) citing a bit of instrumentation as being exceptional, whether it’s the main riff or the tiniest backing instrumentation buried deep into the mix.  I even feel fine praising vocalists either for style or melody or any minute detail or intangible.  However, when I single out a vocalist singing something phonetically – something that isn’t words – I feel a little guilty.  It comes back to this idea that songs are both music and words, and that on some level, songwriting is another way of storytelling.  It’s irrational, but I feel like I’m issuing a backhanded compliment when I put the non-verbal vocals over the words that the songwriter (perhaps) spent hours pouring over.

However, in some instances these non-verbal vocals say the right thing; the absence of words puts the emphasis on the melody and, to a lesser degree, the sound of the voice itself.  The first instance of singing in “In the Meantime,” about thirty seconds in, introduces the melody without words, splitting it between Royston Langdon’s vocals and the adjoining guitar fill.  It introduces the melody before the story begins, and for good reason – it’s the song’s strongest asset.  I’m hard pressed to quote more than ten words in the entire song after almost a decade and a half of knowing it, but even just a few notes from that vocal melody will instantly get the song in my head and trigger the corresponding guitar fill.  I say this not to slight the words – I take no issue with the storytelling (and there are a couple other Spacehog songs where I can cite actual lines), but the words take a clear backseat to the melody.  Everything about it – the sequence of notes, the warm tone of the vocals paired with the more pointed, lower sound of the guitar fill – feels perfect, and when Langdon pairs his part of the melody with words later on in the song, I’m still fixated on the melody to the point where it’s near impossible to focus on what he’s saying.  I only feel guilty on that until Langdon hits that first note, and then I’m hooked again.

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

“See How We Are” – X
(Words/music: Exene Cervenka and John Doe, available on See How We Are, Elektra 1987)

Storytelling relies on details.  The best stories vividly recreate every aspect of the story – the characters, the setting, the events – and active engage the audience.  Still, just because storytelling relies on details doesn’t mean that every story needs to be three hours long.  Sometimes the best stories are the ones that don’t reveal all of the details.  I don’t mean keeping the audience in suspense , but rather sharing only the most essential ones with the readers.  These stories shift the focus away from the concrete, journalistic details and focus on the emotion underneath the surface.  When these stories succeed (or, as I like to tell my students “when the story wins”), We don’t merely place ourselves into the protagonist’s situation.  Instead, we channel the emotions (especially the conflicted emotions) and look at ourselves.  Potentially, we come to a new understanding of ourselves (or others) or gain a new perspective.

Based on that criteria, “See How We Are” wins.  Each verse details a different situation where life moved quickly; by the time the protagonists get a chance to assess their scenarios, they’ve ended up somewhere entirely different.  Each one seems like a snapshot of a moment in time – just enough to evoke the feeling of the world moving too fast or circumstances that spiraled out of control.  By making these sparse, Doe and Cervenka create something unique – these snapshot s (almost like mini-vignettes) could be all different people,  or each one could form a single narrative – starting with a prison romance, culture shock when returning to the outside, and the paradoxical realization that this changed world still features the same personalities and related problems.  On a quick glance, one might call these “gaps” in the story, but really they are opportunities for the audience.  As listeners, we have a few choices – we can look at the song as a heartbreakingly beautiful narrative focused on a couple characters.  We could look at it as a series of snapshots of different people all reevaluating their lives.  Or we can use it as an opportunity to “step into” these openings ourselves and fill in the spaces with our own experiences.  Even without bars on our windows, we see how we are all more similar than we realize.

__________

I’d be remiss if I didn’t send my thoughts out to the band and Exene Cervenka, who was recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  It’s a tribute to her tenacity and strong will that she’ll remain touring with the band though.  X wouldn’t be the same without her beautiful vocals right next to John Doe’s.

“Mint Car [Radio Mix]” – The Cure
(Words/music: Perry Bamonte, Jason Cooper, Simon Gallup, Roger O’Donnell, Robert Smith, available on Galore: Singles 1987 – 1997, Fiction/Elektra 1997)

A few months ago, my friend Dave sent me a frantic instant message late at night.  He was making a mix and needed a second opinion.  “‘Just Like Heaven’ or ‘Mint Car’” he asked, and I was forced to admit that I didn’t know “Mint Car” off the top of my head.  I owned the song as part of the Galore singles collection that I listened to incessantly in high school, but since my CD collection went digital, I mainly listened to the earlier Cure singles as parts of other playlists.  I know the first two thirds of Galore extremely well but had forgotten the end of it.  As a result of Dave’s question, I rediscovered both “Mint Car” and “Strange Attraction” from the Wild Mood Swings album, so I think I benefited more from the conversation than he did!

Regardless, I immediately understood Dave’s quandary – “Mint Car” and “Just Like Heaven” are both on the shimmery pop side of the Cure’s catalog.  Both songs feature Robert Smith as an unabashed romantic (as opposed to a sinister storyteller) and are within a second of each others’ running time.  Still, “Mint Car” plays like the younger sibling, flaunting its melody more directly and bounding along at a slightly bubblier pace.  If one strength in “Just Like Heaven” is its relatively laid back tempo, “Mint Car” comes busting out of the gate enthusiastically.  The protagonist sounds like someone experiencing a new love and all of the wonderful sensations and giddy excitement, while “Just Like Heaven” comes off slightly more familiar yet equally enamored.  Ultimately, “Mint Car” won out because it was less known; Dave’s friend (probably) knew “Just Like Heaven,” and “Mint Car” might help lead this person slightly deeper into the catalog.  The decision made perfect sense to me.

“Mint Car” works for today for two reasons.  First, in the Northeast US, today feels the way that spring should – bright and warm  - and evokes the same kind of emotions as “Mint Car.”  Additionally, Dave is celebrating his birthday this weekend and while I can’t join him, I’m dedicating this post to him in celebration.  I met Dave in college and in addition to being my RA one year, Dave recruited me to write record reviews for the school newspaper.  Dave was an excellent editor and a gifted media critic himself, and I was thrilled when he started up his NineDaves blog last year.  Dave writes about a variety of topics near and dear to his heart – whether it’s keeping an eye on Broadway, putting his favorite TV shows through his crosshairs, or keeping tabs on happenings in Brooklyn, Dave writes with the kind of natural wit and charm that I envy.  As a birthday present to Dave, give his blog a visit.

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

“Moving in Stereo” – The Cars
(Words/music: Greg Hawkes and Ric Ocasek, available on The Cars, Elektra Records 1978)

So over the weekend I upgraded my computer’s speakers (which by my estimate, were four times older than my actual computer) to a modest yet fancy (and relatively cheap) 5.1 setup.  I remember when I got the other set of speakers, including the first subwoofer I ever had, I played Led Zeppelin’s “Communication Breakdown” and was nearly blown back by the sound rattling my computer chair.  This time, perhaps because I mentioned it in a post last week, I wanted to play “Moving in Stereo” to hear how the multi speaker setup sounded.  Whenever I think about “Moving in Stereo,” I think of a specific time in high school driving a friend home.  It was late at night and foggy, and as I was trying to retrace my steps out of an unfamiliar neighborhood in a neighboring town, the local radio station went silent for ten seconds, followed by their weekly test of the Emergency Broadcast System.  The silence followed by the distinctive piercing sound threw me off guard, but the DJ must have had a sense of humor, or at least a sense of the moment, by coming out of the EBS test and several seconds of silence with “Moving in Stereo.”  It was the first time I heard “Moving in Stereo” and paid attention to it, so I wasn’t prepared for bassist Benjamin Orr’s creepy vocals swirling around me.  With the rolling fog and eerie suburban silence as a backdrop, it almost made me feel like The Cars were haunting me.  Almost.

Still, while I immediately think of those vocals as the benign ghost of synthpop’s past, the signature keyboard part stands out even more.  If, like today, I think about the way Orr sings the word “tremolo” before listening to the song, I’m walking around whistling the melody from the keys.  As a melodic phrase, this line works because it doesn’t try to do too much.  Instead, the melody moves at the same deliberate pace as the rest of the song while still cutting through the strange ambient noises in the background.  It’s a tribute to Ric Ocasek’s commitment to efficient and effective arrangement both in his songwriting and later on in his production work.  While others might have drenched the song in eerie sounding synthesizers, Ocasek and keyboard player Greg Hawkes rely on a sort of musical agoraphobia, letting the open spaces in the arrangement linger just long enough to fall on the creepy side without becoming uncomfortably oppressive.  While many of you associate “Moving in Stereo” with Phoebe Cates moving in slow motion (and who would blame you?), I can’t shake that odd, dark moment where The Cars creeped the hell out of me.

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

“Somebody’s Baby” - Jackson Browne
(Words/music: Jackson Browne, available on Fast Times at Ridgemont High OST, Elektra 1982)

My dog Jack is named after Jackson Browne, somewhat in jest.  While brainstorming names for him, “Jackson” was suggested with the stipulation that his full name would be Jackson and he would colloquially be Jack.  I, of course, remarked that it was just like Jackson Browne, one of the more underrated songwriters of his era.  It stuck and three years later, Jackson is stealing my socks like there’s no tomorrow.

But back to that point about Jackson Browne being overlooked – he’s had a reasonable amount of commercial success and plenty of critical acclaim, but he doesn’t seem to be cannonized the same way as many of his peers.  It’s a shame because Browne’s written some of the finest songs of his era in a number of different styles.  He wrote one of my favorite classic rock radio ballads (“The Load Out”), Nico’s signature song (“These Days”), and even co-wrote my favorite (read: one of the few I enjoy) Eagles songs (“Take it Easy”).  In addition to many of his witty folk songs, Browne also composed “Somebody’s Baby,” one of my favorite pop songs.  The arrangement flows flawlessly from one part of the song into the next; while some songs load up the chorus and settle for verses that seem like afterthoughts, Browne interlaces the hook throughout the whole song.  Every bit of the song – the keyboard at the beginning, the tiny fills between lines, and the way Browne tosses off the details about this dream girl almost effortlessly – gets embedded in my brain for hours.  Like the best pop arrangements of the 60s, every note is necessary and useful and works toward the common goal.  It’s perhaps even a little too slick – without one single flawless line, it’s hard for the song to have a “calling card” - that one moment that makes it timeless.  Instead, it has to settle for being that song that you’ll hum for the rest of the night.  It’s this sort of understated genius that makes Browne a compelling musician and songwriter, even if you’ll rarely find yourself itching to put on one of his records.

More on Jackson Browne: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm