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“Help!” – The Beatles
(Words/music: John Lennon and Paul McCartney, available on Help!, Parlophone / EMI 1965)

Almost four decades after their split, we still talk about the Beatles.  This week alone, an all-Beatles installment of Rock Band and an extensive box set of remastered albums hit the marketplace, and rather than decry this as a cash grab (which, to be fair, some are suggesting), it’s become an opportunity to celebrate the band anew.  In the upcoming weeks, music geeks will discuss the fidelity of the new reissues, baby boomers will buy these albums yet again, and teenagers will gather to kill Saturday afternoons trying to nail the three part harmonies while mashing plastic buttons.   In each of these cases, the Beatles music will be right there at the forefront of the discussion, debate, and diversions.  It’s only appropriate, as the Beatles remain an element of pop culture that unites people from all ages and backgrounds.  The simple reason for their enduring legacy lies in their songs – no matter what you listen to, you probably listen to the Beatles as well.

“Help!” reminds me of the way their songs continue to inspire wonder.  In college, I helped out a friend of mine on his senior music project.  As a music student with a concentration with songwriting and recording, his “recital” consisted of performances of a variety of different styles of compositions.  One day, while rehearsing one of his songs, he came in excited that he just learned how to play “Help!” the night before.  At that point, I knew the song but hadn’t spent a whole lot of time thinking about it.  He walked me through the chord progression, marveling not only at the harmonic selections but also the ways they were voiced.  I followed along as he played through the intro/chorus and the first verse calling out the chords and their variations, marveling simultaneously at the way each chord fell perfectly into the following chord as well as my friend’s wide-eyed wonder at the whole thing.  Here was a composition student (who wrote some very meticulous, very beautiful arrangements for his recital) at the brink of speechlessness over a sub three minute pop song.  In retrospect, this was one of those moments that helped shape my appreciation for art – specifically noting the skill and precision in making something extremely difficult look easy.  It also helped recontextualize the Beatles, cementing that idea that their catalog contains a lifetime of personal revelations waiting to be unearthed gradually.

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

TAGGED UNDER: the beatles | 1965 | 1960s | video games | moments of personal revelation |
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“Mother” - Danzig
(Words/music: Glenn Danzig, available on Danzig, American Recordings 1988)

After firing off yesterday’s video game related post, I started trying to think about another song from a video game that I could write about today.  Naturally, my attention turned to the most blatant marriage of music and video games and thought about my introduction to the rhythm-based “fake rock star” games.  If my memory serves me correctly, a few of us were going to the casino to play cards.  It was a Saturday afternoon and we got a late start, but we were hopeful that we could go, put our names in, and eat lunch while we waited to get seated.  After about an hour and a half, we moved up one tenth of the list, so we decided to cut our losses and head back home.  That was when Mike and I decided that we would take the money we might have lost (we’re both pretty good card players and while we never really win big, we never lose big either) and invest in Guitar Hero II (this was after a long, fruitless attempt to buy the game the previous New Year’s Eve, instead settling for a Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon after midnight).  We proceeded to play from the time we got home from the casino (4 PM-ish) until nearly midnight, passing the plastic Gibson-esque guitar back and forth between songs.  We were hooked. Over the next few months, the default plan for those nights where going out somewhere was undesirable and staying home was maddening, Mike and I would get together and hone our rhythmic chops.  Soon, we were finding different ways to keep ourselves occupied with these songs.  Personally, I tried to flawlessly play Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” while practicing the guitar solo in Matthew Sweet’s “Girlfriend” behind my head (no, the fact that I looked ridiculous is not lost on me, trust me).

One of my favorite parts of the game (and the subsequent games – my little brother has Rock Band so family gatherings become group performances of these songs) was the discovery (or, in many cases, rediscovery) of new songs.  I earned a new appreciation for the Rolling Stones’ “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” after trying to play the guitar solo a few times.  The most immediate impact of the game’s music came through Danzig’s “Mother” - it was a song I knew well enough from occasional modern rock radio plays to recognize it, but not enough to know what it was called or that it belonged to Danzig (I’ll also admit here that despite having several friends who worship them, I have a cursory knowledge of The Misfits at best.  This is probably something I should fix at some point). Early on, it became one of our favorite songs in the game as Mike and I would negotiate who would get to play it (“if you’re playing ‘Mother’ I’m playing ‘War Pigs’”).  Soon, after repeated plays, “Mother” began creeping into our everyday life.  I’d get the song, specifically the riff, stuck in my head, usually prompting some kind of reference to the song. 

We reveled in the song in part due to the game, but also because it’s the type of song that gets subconsciously embedded into your brain.  The highly rhythmic and frequently repeated main riff was complex enough to remain interesting enough not to get annoying, and Danzig’s primal wails channel that part deep down in each of us (well, me at least) that wants to nod along just a little more deliberately.  The Allmusic Guide describes Danzig’s voice as “Elvis meets Jim Morrison,” and he certainly has a strange, dark charisma to his vocals – they aren’t quite high enough to reach Iron Maiden-like heights, but they’re screamed in a way that gives those early Soundgarden tracks a run for their money.  “Mother” toes the line between self-parody and visceral rock and roll – Danzig realizes he’s fits the bill of the “heavy metal stereotype” (see his appearance on Aqua Teen Hunger Force) yet uses this to his benefit.  In the hands of one of his imitators, it would sound almost campy, but Danzig manages to “sell” the song by putting the focus on the power of his voice rather than the words being sung.  Oh, and that guitar riff is pretty cool too; I wish I knew how to play it without having to mash multi-colored buttons.

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

TAGGED UNDER: 1980s | 1988 | american recordings | danzig | guitar hero | hard rock | personal reflection | video games | elvis | jim morrison | cheap trick | matthew sweet | dog the bounty hunter |
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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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