“Burn Last Sunday” – Superchunk (Words/music: Superchunk, available on Indoor Living, Merge Records 1997)
In a way, Superchunk gently plays with expectations on “Burn Last Sunday.” Where many bands, especially in 1997, stepped on the gas during the chorus, the band pulls back slightly. After a brief introduction, twin guitars and energetic guitars fill the verse. Even Mac McCaughan’s vocals push toward the upper end of his register – a vocal maneuver many rock singers save for the song’s climax. When the song’s hook comes along, the drums quiet and the guitars slide into an accented three note phrase. McCaughan’s vocals calm as well, and a mellow synthesizer joins in halfway. It has the melody and repetition that an anthemic chorus might have, but by getting gentler rather than rowdier, it gains attention with a slight surprise.
Of course, the band didn’t invent this maneuver, but like with many of the band’s best recordings, Superchunk pulls it off flawlessly. If the band’s most famous songs suggest a frenzied energy, “Burn Last Sunday” shows off the band’s less heralded yet equally important gifts – namely, an underrated sense of arrangement, precise execution, and the ability to turn simple melodic phrases into potent earworms. It’s this precise craftsmanship that I admire in a lot of the band’s late ‘90s albums. Whether it’s the restraint to keep the guitar melody simple during the chorus, or the “oohs” carefully hidden in the mix toward the end of the first verse that aren’t always noticed yet always heard, there are plenty of little moments to notice and admire each time I listen.
“Learned to Surf” - Superchunk (Words/music: Superchunk, available on Leaves in the Gutter EP, Merge Records 2009 / Merge Records 2010 Digital Sampler)
It’s now 2009 and Superchunk have reemerged with a new EP and a new single. “Learned to Surf,” the lead track from the Leaves in the Gutter EP, springs forth with the same energy that inhabits the band’s best work. I’ve listened to this song dozens of times over the past few months and I’m still in awe of the way it snaps so quickly from that opening riff into the muscular verses. Drummer Jon Wurster is the secret weapon, particularly for the way he uses his toms efficiently in the first chorus. Rather than barrel through the song, Wurster dances across his kit, making it sound even stronger when he hits full speed. This doesn’t sound like a band trying to recapture their golden days – this is a band that sounds completely rejuvenated and ready to contribute.
I especially love the sentiment in the chorus - “I stopped swimming and learned to surf.” At this point, Superchunk could have made ripples by reissuing their albums and touring on old material. However, true to form, it’s not merely good enough to tread water – Superchunk is back in the ocean and ready to tackle the waves. It’s a great point about the difference between surviving and remaining vital. At some point, we all feel like we’re content enough to just keep our heads above water. However, sometimes we end up in a pattern where we get used to “good enough” and lose sight of getting better. Once we hit some level of success, it’s easy to feel content and tread water for a while. In a way, that’s how this blog came about – I’ve been swimming in music for more than half of my life, and it was time that I stopped swimming and learned to surf. It means falling off my board every so often, but I feel like I’m getting better and (if nothing else) I can spot which waves I want to take in now. So I can appreciate the risk involved with learning a new trick. I should be amazed that Superchunk came back sounding as good as ever, but the band’s never been content to settle for treading water.
“100,000 Fireflies” – The Magnetic Fields (Words/music: Stephin Merritt, available on Distant Plastic Trees, Red Flame 1991)
I was pleasantly surprised to see that the latest version of Stephin Merritt’s Magnetic Fields close one of their recent shows with “100,000 Fireflies,” as I didn’t know that the band still reached that far back into their catalogue. I’m mostly curious to see how their string-heavy recent lineup would interpret a song that relies so much on its production aesthetic. The keyboard, bouncy drum machine, and Susan Anway’s vocals make this recording of “100,000 Fireflies” sound like a slightly warped music box – it still sounds beautiful and pretty despite being a little weird. I remember the first time I heard this version after knowing (and loving) Superchunk’s cover and being amazed at the way Anway’s vocals and the change in octave on the keys sounded during the “I’m afraid of the dark without you next to me” line.
Trying to resolve the two distinct versions tonight, the best I can do is to compare them both to fireflies. The Superchunk version draws on the frenetic energy of a firefly humming around. Thus, their spin on the narrator’s loneliness draws on this restlessness and focuses it on pleading for another opportunity. This Anway-Merritt recording (perhaps influenced by my vision of a “100,000 Fireflies” music box) looks at the firefly inside the glass jar with its beauty and wonder carefully preserved. Their version feels smaller and more restrained yet feels more distant and isolated like an object untouched. Like the bugs stuck inside the jar, the narrator feels alone yet doesn’t quite know what to do to mend heartbreak. Instead, the narrator swaps out the missing lover for lightning bugs to find some solace in the dark the same way one might cling to a song when feeling lonely. This quiet, understated loneliness might not burn with the Superchunk version’s intensity, but it might cut deeper. While it looks bright and beautiful from far away, the lonliness doesn’t reveal itself until we get closer, the same way we wouldn’t notice the jar enclosing the beautiful fireflies unless we’re looking for it specifically.
“100,000 Fireflies” – Superchunk (Words/music: Stephin Merritt, available on Incidental Music 1991 – 95, Merge Records 1995)
I first knew “100,000 Fireflies” through the Superchunk version, and because my original copy of Incidental Music was on a CD-R, I didn’t know it wasn’t a Superchunk song. With a bit of hindsight and and much deeper love for Superchunk’s catalogue, it stands out from a bunch of their earlier songs. Lyrically it’s a little more dramatic than Mac McCaughan usually gets (I don’t think the phrase “I want to kill myself” appears in any of his songs). Their cover highlights a lot of the things I love about the early Superchunk, particularly their fusion of melody and mayhem without sacrificing either. It’s also more complex than the three chord pop-punk birthed at the end of the decade; the arrangement rises and falls in both volume and intensity.
There’s a certain justice to follow the “when I turn up the tone / on my electric guitar” lyric with electric guitars, and the energy Superchunk breathes into the song is infectious. McCaughan’s strained vocals, particularly in the post-chorus section, lean on the desperation in the lyrics. The guitar slows down and feels heavier as he pleads for another chance. Gradually, Jim Wilbur embellishes on the main riff, twisting it into a brief solo before the song ends.
In many ways, Superchunk gets right to the core of the song, bringing the urgency to the forefront with distorted guitars. Like the Magnetic Fields version (and more on them in the next post – give me a half hour or so), the Superchunk cover relies on crafting a specific mood. Their mood draws on the ones that run beneath the surface – ones I might not have gleaned just from the original version alone.
“Crossed Wires” – Superchunk (Words: Mac McCaughan, music: Superchunk, available on “Crossed Wires” single, Merge 2009)
I’ll keep this one brief, mainly because I already wrote about why I was so excited that Superchunk was recording again in 2009 and that I finally got to see them last summer as well. If these two moments were enough to reignite my nostalgia, “Crossed Wires,” the second Superchunk release last year (granted, their entire 2009 output would fit on Side A of a cassette if we still used those), sounds like a power-pop master class. It’s three and a half minutes of hooks – from the guitars, from Mac McCaughan, even the bass throws in a couple excellent melodic licks too. This forceful melody combined with a lively tempo makes “Crossed Wires” as immediately compelling and infectious as anything else in 2009.
On its own, “Crossed Wires” would be a great pop song, but the deeper parts of the track kept it in my rotation months later. Specifically, Jim Wilbur’s lead guitar spends the verses complimenting the melody in a subtle and unobtrusive way that it’s easy to miss out. While it takes a back seat to McCaughan’s double tracked vocals in the chorus, Wilbur’s lead lines bend notes, slide up and down the neck, and generally encase the vocals in the verse. He never wails in an overpowering way (and after seeing the band last summer, I’ll vouch that he could if he wanted to!), instead nimbly dancing between the vocals, the acoustic and electric rhythm guitar parts, and the rhythm section. Would it be a good song if a power trio tore through it? Yes, but it’s these extra touches that distinguish a Superchunk single from their imitators.
“Art Class (Song for Yayoi Kusama)” – Superchunk (Words/music: Superchunk, available on Here’s to Shutting Up, Merge Records 2001)
It took about three minutes for word to spread upon walking into the Cat’s Cradle last night. “Superchunk is closing tonight,” and with that a sudden burst of unexpected energy rode through my body. The rush of being hours away from seeing the band (I would have put good money on them playing on Saturday night) made everything a little sharper, even when sitting down with a beer. The Broken West’s power pop, Richard Buckner’s guitar explorations, Guv’ner’s muted trumpet, Versus’ heavy pop, and the 3Ds fuzzy melodies all helped build the anticipation for Merge’s flagship band. Superchunk came on at quarter of one but it might as well have felt like the middle of the afternoon.
Superchunk blew through a set of old favorites - “Precision Auto,” “Detroit Has a Skyline,” “Driveway to Driveway,” etc – and new singles “Crossed Wires” and “Learned to Surf” and sounded equally as ebbulent and muscular as in their heyday. Not surprisingly, nothing from Here’s to Shutting Up showed up in the setlist (although the keyboard was out for “Watery Hands”), widely considered Superchunk’s “mellow” album. It’s a shame, because some of that album’s best songs would have fit in well in the middle of the set. The upper-mid tempo “Art Class” would have dialed the energy back only half a notch and provided a perfect “why so serious” sing along in the crowd. In addition to fitting in with the rest of the setlist’s melodic assault, “Art Class” captures the spirit of the entire week-long celebration. “Life is the art that you make,” sings McCaughan as his band plays with the same intensity they’ve exhibited over the past two decades. Much has been said and written about Merge’s continued success and the role of a label run by musicians and fans, but Superchunk proved last night that they are far away from hanging up their guitars and solely concentrating on the label (I hope). If nothing else, they have plenty more art to make, and plenty more nights to make us pogo along.
I came around to Superchunk only after falling in love with some of their disciples. This is consistent with how I discovered a lot of music during my late teens. While I’ve always solicited recommendations from friends (and continue to do so, often in the comments section of this blog), music discovery has largely been a solitary expedition. Until I got to college and met people with a similar passion for music and a more extensive background in the things I was interested in, I started from the present era and worked backward. Even though Napster was around, the internet was largely a way I could research bands and supplement the reading and research I did through magazines and band biographies. Occasionally, I’d get a tip from a friend or the record store clerk, but largely I discovered new things by reading magazines or fanning out from one band to the next. This was how the process worked – I liked Nirvana, and they introduced me to Sonic Youth and David Bowie (and later, The Pixies, The Vaselines, and the Meat Puppets among others). I loved R.E.M., and they introduced me to The Replacements, Big Star, Patti Smith, and a ton of others. Those are the two bands with the largest domino effect. Even if they did so in a different way, The Get Up Kids had this same effect. I picked up Something to Write Home About blindly and loved it and it was, in many ways, to independent music.
Soon after getting into the ‘Kids, I ended up tracing the thread back to Superchunk. I have a specific memory of buying Here’s Where the Strings Come In during my first visit to a Newbury Comics store my freshman year of college and listening to it twice on the bus ride home after visiting my friend Ryan in Boston. I think I played songs from Here’s to Shutting Up on just about every radio show my freshman and sophomore years of college. I loved how these songs were contradictions – they were loud and intense yet simultaneously melodic and introspective. Superchunk wasn’t afraid to tweak the formula as they went as well – they could produce buzzsaw pop almost effortlessly yet weren’t afraid to try some different sounds or take chances on arrangements. Add in their unparalleled work ethic and their dedication to their ideals and I was floored. Superchunk was a band I was made to love, making it that much more heartbreaking that they started winding down right around the same time I really started to love them.
It’s now 2009 and Superchunk have reemerged with a new EP and a new single. “Learned to Surf,” the lead track from the Leaves in the Gutter EP, springs forth with the same energy that inhabits the band’s best work. I’ve listened to this song dozens of times over the past few months and I’m still in awe of the way it snaps so quickly from that opening riff into the muscular verses. Drummer Jon Wurster is the secret weapon, particularly for the way he uses his toms efficiently in the first chorus. Rather than barrel through the whole song, Wurster dances across his kit, making it sound even stronger when he hits full speed. This doesn’t sound like a band trying to recapture their golden days – this is a band that sounds completely rejuvenated and ready to contribute.
I especially love the sentiment in the chorus - “I stopped swimming and learned to surf.” At this point, Superchunk could have made ripples by reissuing their albums and touring on old material. However, true to form, it’s not merely good enough to tread water – Superchunk is back in the ocean and ready to tackle the waves. It’s a great point about the difference between surviving and remaining vital. At some point, we all feel like we’re content enough to just keep our heads above water. However, sometimes we end up in a pattern where we get used to “good enough” and lose sight of getting better. Once we hit some level of success, it’s easy to feel content and tread water for a while. In a way, that’s how this blog came about – I’ve been swimming in music for more than half of my life, and it was time that I stopped swimming and learned to surf. It means falling off my board every so often, but I feel like I’m getting better and (if nothing else) I can spot which waves I want to take in now. So I can appreciate the risk involved with learning a new trick. I should be amazed that Superchunk came back sounding as good as ever, but the band’s never been content to settle for treading water.
Merge Records will be celebrating its 20th anniversary with a five night run of concerts in Chapel Hill, NC at the end of the month, and Superchunk will be at the heart of the celebration not only because it includes Merge’s co-founders, but because they’ve set the standard for independent music over the past two decades. For someone who came around to them just a little too late last time, I’m thrilled that I’ll get to see them at XX Merge in a couple weeks and see proof in person that it’s never too late to stop swimming and learn to surf.
“Through with People” – Portastatic (Words/music: Mac McCaughan, available on Bright Ideas, Merge 2005)
A few days ago, I wondered about the “burden of creativity,” or rather, when the need for self-expression becomes a duty rather than a privilege. I’m not sure Mac McCaughan has ever felt this burden, as he has put out records (both his own and other people’s, but let’s focus on his own) fairly consistently for the last twenty years. If anything, McCaughan might need to decide how to put out a song – save it for Superchunk, or put it out under his Portastatic moniker. I’m sure that he’s answered the question, and I’d imagine that the answer gives some difference between what makes a “Superchunk song” and what makes a “Portastatic song.” Still, I’d love to ask McCaughan this question in order to learn more about his songwriting process. If I ever get the chance to meet him (perhaps if I make it down to the Merge XX anniversary), this would be my first question for him.
While most of the early Portastatic albums were alternate settings for McCaughan’s songs outside of Superchunk’s buzzsaw pop, some of the later albums blur the lines between his flagship group and his “solo” work. In particular, “Through with People” from 2005’s Bright Ideas seems like it could have been a Superchunk song. It has all of the key elements – a catchy melody, McCaughan’s wry lyrics, and an upbeat tempo (even if the Portastatic recording would be a bit slow for Superchunk). Aside from the tempo being turned up (only slightly), I imagine a Superchunk interpretation would be very similar. If anything, it might have a bit more punch (especially if John Wurster was behind the drums) than this version. That’s not to say this version doesn’t work – it’s an excellent song, and even if I hear it a bit faster in my head, the tempo gives the arrangement enough room to work behind McCaughan. In particular, I love the way it shifts seamlessly from one part of the song to the next, even without a traditional “chorus” section. Since it had been about four years since Superchunk put out a record (and now, eight years later, they’re only getting around to a new EP), I can’t help but wonder if “Through With People” and a few of the more uptempo songs on Bright Ideas became Portastatic sounds out of default. It’s one of my favorite Portastatic songs and one of my favorite recent McCaughan compositions (and I also love Barbara Manning’s faithful cover on the covers disc in Merge’s SCORE! anniversary series), but every time I hear those muted power chords in the middle of the verse, a small part of me wonders what it might sound like played in the same setlist as “Precision Auto.”
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