Some Songs Considered

“Abel” – The National 
(Words/music: The National, available on Alligator, Beggars Banquet 2005) 

The National, circa the Boxer album, leaned toward songs that gradually revealed details over time.  Through repeated listening, different lyric fragments or layers of sound emerged from the mix, adding one more piece to the final picture.  That’s not to say that Boxer doesn’t have immediate gratification; rather, many of the songs filled in the details after a few spins.  My experience with its predecessor Alligator went in the opposite direction.  Knowing my personal history with Boxer, it surprised me that I tended toward the more immediate songs on the album.  

So as I found myself leaning toward the more visceral songs, I kept coming back to “Abel.”  At first, it was for its rawness – its guitars and stomping drums reminded me of the intensity in their live shows.  Then, after a few listens, the line between these two seemingly different incarnations of the band appeared clearer.  Sure, Matt Berninger repeats that one lyric with a growl he set aside on most of Boxer, he uses repetition frequently to help tell his stories.  “Ada,” for instance, thrives around a main lyric that travels elliptically.  Berninger’s knack for character development comes across clearer when he’s telling a story, but he’s just as immersed in a character on “Abel” as he is on one of his more linear songs.  He may sound like he’s stuck in a vicious circle, but that’s by design.  The anxiety and excessive repetition only underscore the fact that this narrator’s mind isn’t right, and the more he recognizes it, the worse he feels.  When he escapes from this loop, he only manages brief fragments of communication before slipping right back in.  Berninger and his band put us right inside the eye of the storm, alternating between pushing us into the madness and letting it swirl around uncontrollably.  

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

“Watching the Detectives” – Elvis Costello
(Words/music: Elvis Costello, available on My Aim is True (Reissue), Rykodisc 1993)

Elvis Costello earned a reputation as a gifted lyricist.  Most discussions of his music, particularly his late ‘70s output, focuses on the sarcasm, wordplay, and wit in his lyrics (which makes sense for a man who uses the word “anaesthetize” in a pop song).  His skill doesn’t end on the lyric sheet, though; Costello could put notes on a staff with the same expertise he could fill his notebook.  Whether arranging his own songs or producing others records, Costello has a knack for using his core group of musicians to create whatever sound or mood his song needs. 

“Watching the Detectives” does this particularly well.  Using the same group of core instruments that made the melancholy “Allison,” Costello turns a wobbily reggae shuffle into a darker, more sinister sounding song.  The lyrics draw on the melodrama in a TV detective show, and in turn Costello draws on some of sounds of a noir thriller in his song.  Overall, it makes his story about a couple divided by television that much more mysterious.  Like the shows the lover enjoys watching, we’re missing some of the clues about the relationship; borrowing some of the musical tricks from these shows is Costello’s way of winking at us as he makes a boring night on the couch seem dramatic.  From the dirty drums to the dark sounding guitar, the dark groove puts us on alert.  When his band suddenly cuts out at the end of the third verse, Costello uses the band to create drama beyond his narrative, ultimately letting the music help him tell his story.  It’s hard to imagine making a droll night in this compelling with words alone.

More on Elvis Costello: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Chicago” - Sufjan Stevens
(Words/music: Sufjan Stevens, available on Come On and Feel the Illinoise!, Asthmatic Kitty 2005)

At his core, Sufjan Stevens sings folk songs.  He specializes in first person narratives focused on a few individuals and their struggles – sometimes with spirituality, sometimes with interpersonal conflicts, sometimes with internal emotions.  We rarely talk about his stories, or at least not within the first few breaths.  The spotlight gravitates towards his ambitious declaration to write an album for each of the fifty states (don’t hold your breath) or his sprawling, symphonic arrangements.  Whether intentional or not, Stevens buries his songs beneath layers of strings, album-sized ambitions, and paragraph-sized song titles.  He offers so many different paths to enter his work that we often overlook the most obvious ones.  We’re seduced into scouring the details he includes from a given state or marvel at the grandeur of his arrangements (or, on some occasions, his religious identification) yet look right past the universal narratives starring right back at us.

Compared with much of the rest of his album, “Chicago” sounds straightforward and confessional.  There’s an economy of language in the song’s lyrics (and the title, one of the few without a compound sentence), focusing less on the details (even if he gives locations) and more on his character’s feelings.  We don’t know what he’s running away from (or who he’s running to), we only know that he’s running. However, Stevens gives some clues into his narrator’s mindset – he repeatedly acknowledges his mistakes and refers to the way things come and go freely in life.  The city might change and the details may be different, but his narrator still cries in his van and longs to do it better the next time.  He knows that he’s erred and sees his shortcomings, yet he has an understanding that he’ll end up in the same story again.  His arrangement works in conjunction with this story, gracefully accentuating the melancholy feelings in Stevens’ song.  He layers these strings and the female vocals in the chorus but pulls the adornments back when he needs focus on his words rather than his arrangement.  Even with a song named after the state’s biggest city, Stevens isn’t hiding his uncertainty nor his personal revelation on this song.

“Round Here” – Counting Crows
(Words/music: David Bryson, Adam Duritz , Dave Janusko, Dan Jewett, and Chris Roldan, available on August and Everything After, Geffen 1993)

It would be unfair to boil the Counting Crows down to Adam Duritz and backing musicians, but it wouldn’t be too far off.  At their best, the Counting Crows craft music that follows emotional twists and turns Duritz creates with his lyrics.  It’s a credit to their musicianship that these guys fill any necessary role, whether it’s upbeat and jangly or downtrodden and reserved.  This emotional range makes August and Everything After a compelling listen – while Duritz hides behind the music occasionally, he generally bears all and lets the music reflect his mind.  While some of the later Counting Crows albums border on trite, Duritz is honest, subtle, and engaging on this album and provides a backbone for an album’s worth of wonderful songs.  While Duritz is the key figure, his band brings these songs the extra mile – he sets them up, they knock them down skillfully.

“Round Here” provides the perfect opening for this album.  It begins in a quiet, reserved way, almost tentative to introduce itself to the listener.  Lyrically, Duritz evokes images of fog, ghosts, and general anonymity.  He wants to blend in to the surroundings, but soon enough his narrator steps out from the camouflage and begins telling his story.  At his emotions bubble, the music flows behind him – rising when he’s getting back into it, falling again to start over.  When the band plays at their most aggressive (during the funk-tinged bridge), the narrator seems the most in control of the narrative.  At this point, he’s shifted from sharing his thoughts and painting details to giving advice.  Everything’s fallen into place at this moment – both band and storyteller sound at their most confident, but just like the lightning he sings about, it’s gone soon enough, leaving Duritz questioning his confidence again.  This ebb and flow serves his story better than a verse / chorus structure could.  Rather than fit his tale into a set formula, Duritz leads his listener through his mind and some of the idiosycracise and insecurities that appear throughout the album.  Every step of the way, his band is there in part as reinforcement and in part as a guide to the listener that helps to steer the ship behind Duritz.  It’s an apt introduction to both the album and Duritz’s individual stories.

More on Counting Crows: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm