Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged 'virgin records'

February 4, 2010

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“Across the Universe” – David Bowie
(Words/music: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, available on Young Americans, Virgin 1975)

The Beatles’ recording of “Across the Universe,” recorded primarily on February 4, 1968, gradually unfolds itself and lets subtle layers of strings and harmonies roll out as the song progresses. It’s appropriate, given both the song’s famous opening line and the way John Lennon described the song “flowing” into him one night in bed. With its Sanskrit mantra mixed in, “Across the Universe” thrives on this circular interconnectivity on both the lyrical and musical level.

All this makes David Bowie’s version a little stranger. Where Lennon’s performance flows effortlessly, Bowie’s version lags. Anchored by a strong backbeat, the rest of the song feels like it’s moving in slow motion – the harmonies are strained and stretched out and the guitar melodies expand past their original length. This isn’t a bad thing, either. In fact, a straight-ahead cover from Bowie would be boring and out of character. Instead, as it appears with the rest of the “plastic soul” Young Americans, Bowie’s universe feels slightly melted and warped and just slightly more irregular than Lennon’s perfect circle. However, even with slightly disjointed parts, Bowie’s version reaches a moment of connectivity as well when Lennon shows up and trades off vocals at the end. If Lennon’s original is a meditation, Bowie and Lennon’s trade off feels like resolution in the face of hardship. With disjointed pieces and all, it’s a reminder that sometimes inner peace comes from ourselves rather than our surroundings.

More on David Bowie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 27, 2010

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“See a Little Light” – Bob Mould
(Words/music: Bob Mould, available on Workbook, Virgin 1989)

As much as shrill guitar defined Husker Du’s sound, the cello during the second half of “See A Little Light” signals that something changed. Where the guitars once cut like a treble-fueled buzzsaw, Mould opts for the rich sound the cello provides in the second half of the song. It gives the melody a slightly different context - where the beginning of the song feels bright, the second half of the song sounds slightly sadder even as it modulates upward. It doesn’t redefine the song as much as it incorporates a different thread, weaving this bowed melody in with the acoustic guitars and Mould’s vocals.

This melancholy thread plays off the lyrics too. If “See a Little Light,” Mould’s first single after Husker Du dissolved, comments on the band’s break (and it certainly may be read as a breakup song without that biographical link), then Mould sounds like he’s moved on. In this case, Mould focuses on the passage of time - “look how much we’ve grown,” “as the years go by,” etc - rather than casting aspersions. He’s saying all the right things and encourages the second party to “see a little light” and start to move on as well. When looking at the words and the general brightness of the arrangement initially, it sounds like Mould moved on. However, the cello line feels like the sad thought mixed in with the resolution to move on. This is the nostalgia that creeps up in these situations - one where looking back fondly yields to sadness for the end of an era - and undercuts any sense of closure. In this case, it’s perhaps fair to say that while Mould moved on (and quite successfully), he never left behind his old band entirely, performing Husker Du songs in the same sets where he sings “See a Little Light”

More on Bob Mould: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 31, 2009

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“One More Time” – Daft Punk f/ Romanthony
(Words/music: Thomas Bangalter, Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, and Anthony Moore, available on Discovery, Virgin Records 2000)

Even if its creators make themselves up to look like robots, even if the lead vocal clips and bends from computer manipulations, and even if the beat loops in a way that only technology could allow, the core of “One More Time” remains distinctly human. Whether it’s the emotional ups and downs in the arrangement, the focus on the visceral and distinctly human response to music, or even the way that the track sounds like a tight soul band behind the digital curtain, the human heart outshines the mechanical components. Here, the robots are at the service of the humans on the dance floor, pumping in the music that will fuel the celebration. (For what it’s worth, Tom Ewing does an excellent job describing this song, particularly the breathy vocal delivery, in the Pitchfork 500 book, so I’ll direct you to that rather than retread that analysis (EDIT: Thanks for the link, Tom!)).

While we’re celebrating the end of the year (or, for many, the beginning of a new one), I’m celebrating a year of writing. Even on the most uninspired and lethargic days, I managed to write something and I have the people who read this blog to thank. I never expected anyone aside from a few friends to read this blog, and I’m flattered by every person who subscribes, reblogs, comments, tweets, or links to this blog. I’m humbled every time someone takes a few minutes to read something I wrote and even more when they take the time to write back or share it with someone else. Without all of you, I couldn’t have stuck with this blog, let alone tried to write about someone different every day.

So thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this year. I’ll be more specific tomorrow with the thank yous and my plans for 2010, but you are the reason that I’m going to keep writing.

More on Daft Punk: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

October 18, 2009

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“Music Sounds Better With You” – Stardust
(Words/music: Thomas Bangalter, Ben “Diamond” Cohen, Alan “Braxe” Quême, available on Music Sounds Better With You EP, Virgin 1999)

A lot of pop music walks a fine line between being delightful and being annoying. A lot of this is left to personal taste – what is one person’s pop anthem is another person’s signal to leave the room. That being said, some know how to write songs that play to their strengths and others take the strong point and run it into the ground. Finding repetitive music either as an opportunity for revelry or a source of repulsion tends to vary from person to person. Perhaps this is what made Stardust, a one-off collaboration between Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter, producer Alan Braxe, and vocalist Ben Diamond, a one-time collaboration. “Music Sounds Better With You,” depending on your taste, either sounds like a perfectly danceable pop gem or a musical thought dragged on too long.

Essentially, “Music Sounds Better With You” loops the same keyboard riff, sound effect, and pulsing beat for the entire song. Ben Diamond sings the same few lines like a lounge singer squeezing as much charisma out of his limited script. The vocals aren’t as droll as that last sentence suggests, but the riff is the make or break portion of the song. Bangalter and company pull out a couple tricks – they fade in, drop the beat, etc – but essentially ride this riff for the entire song. Personally, I see how someone might find the song annoying, particularly the high pitched sound at the end of each bar. However, I end up getting lost in the repetition, occasionally keying in on Diamond’s vocals but generally just nodding my head along to the beat. Even if it’s not the most dynamic song, it gets firmly lodged into my brain, in part because the song threads that keyboard line together at least a hundred times before the track ends. It’s simple enough to withstand the repetitive usage and slips into the subconscious to that place where melodies go only to return at the most random times. It’s also melodic enough to become a welcome guest; while some melodies annoy me, getting part of “Music Sounds Better With You” only sends me clamoring for my iPod.

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

September 21, 2009

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“Teardrop” – Massive Attack
(Words/music: Robert “3D” del Naja/Elizabeth Fraser/Grantley Marshall/Mushroom, available on Mezzanine, Virgin 1998)

“Teardrop” isn’t written as a series of haikus, but it feels like it could. With the exception of a few lines at the beginning and the repeated line at the end, every line of lyrics contains five syllables (students of literature – if you know what a poem like this would be called, let me know). Even without the structure, “Teardrop” shares the meditative quality of a haiku. Even on paper, the words read like a simple poem, with the meaning coming out in the repetition. Elizabeth Fraser from the Cocteau Twins repeats entire lines (“teardrop on the fire” and “fearless on my breath” specifically), but it’s the ideas that bind together her words – acts of nature (“night,” “fire,” “water,”), states of mind (“love,” “fearless(ness),” “impulsion), and physical reactions (tears, breathing, stumbling). Even though she declares that love is a “doing word,” most of the action feels internal, comparing her state of mind to the elements around her. Rather than feeling paralyzed by love, Fraser’s narrator finds strength reflected in nature, giving her the taste of fearlessness even while the rest of her being tries to catch up.

Musically, Massive Attack provides the meditative background for the protagonist’s search for solace. When repurposed as the opening music to the medical drama House, “Teardrop” feels eerie and haunting. When paired with Frazer’s poetry, it makes me think of the kind of things that haunt a person – in the narrator’s case, it might be uncertainty and hesitation. If this type of reflection might be called “confronting one’s demons,” perhaps “ghosts” – the memories of past events and actions – might be more appropriate. Regardless, it’s beautifully haunting, as the darkness gives way to the revelation achieved by meditating on an evaporating teardrop.

More on Massive Attack: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

July 19, 2009

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“Cherub Rock (Live on Saturday Night Live)” – The Smashing Pumpkins
(Words/music: Billy Corgan, originally available on Siamese Dream, Virgin 1993)

No matter how hard we try, it’s impossible to listen to every “important” band. There aren’t enough hours in the day to go back and re-listen to favorite records of mine, let alone discover new things. For whatever reason, some bands just don’t stick when you first hear them. I’m the right age to be obsessive about the Smashing Pumpkins, yet I’ve never had more than a passing interest in a lot of their catalog. It’s strange because I have friends (and family too - the Pumpkins were my younger brother’s first favorite band) whole-heartedly devoted to this band. I never actively disliked the Smashing Pumpkins, but I never moved beyond a cursory knowledge of their most important songs. Maybe I was proctetcing myself from another obsession – I was deep into Nirvana and R.E.M. at the same time the people around me poured into this band, and maybe their devotion subconsciously convinced me to keep this band at arm’s length.

In any case, I’ve come up short trying to listen to any Smashing Pumpkins album other than Siamese Dream, and to be honest it’s largely because of my love for “Cherub Rock.” Even as the early ‘90s alt-rock wave started cresting, Billy Corgan already raised the question of authenticity. This was the first hook for me, because when you’re sixteen questioning the authenticity of others’ intentions makes you more authentic (at least in my mind it did), so I desperately wanted to empathize with Corgan’s screed against paper-winged angels. Now, when authenticity isn’t as much of an issue (or at least not something I need to wear on my sleeve as an emblem of battle), I’m taken in by the song’s intensity (especially in this live version, however tinny the MP3 sounds). “Cherub Rock” springs to life like a snake uncoiling to strike its prey. Flying into action with Jimmy Chamberlain’s forceful drumming, Corgan doesn’t pull back the attack for nearly five minutes. Power chords follow cymbal crashes, followed by a guitar solo played with abandon. When Corgan’s calling out the imposters, he seems to indicate that some of his peers hold back. If Corgan’s screed is tongue in cheek (and I’m inclined not to think so), he still counters with heart-on-sleeve intensity. For better or worse (depending on your opinion of the band, I imagine), Corgan errs on the side of passion, often with bleeding-heart lyrics. Even if Corgan’s gone of the deep end in the last couple of years, he maximized his band’s first moment in the spotlight. If I never get deep into this band (and, unfortunately, I think that window has opened and shut for me), I’ll still respect the way they went into battle on “Cherub Rock” with full power, ready to enlist their audience right behind them.

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

June 11, 2009

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“E.M.I.” – The Sex Pistols
(Words/music: Paul Cook, Steve Jones, Glen Matlock, and Johnny Rotten, available on Never Mind the Bollocks, Virgin 1977)

Earlier this week, I was reminiscing about my cassette walkman. I remember spending hours in high school plugged into it, usually carrying at least one spare tape “just in case” I got stuck somewhere and needed to listen to more than one cassette tape in its entirety lest I’d be forced to interact with someone. I grew up in the CD era right before CD-Rs became popular (a quick aside – I remember going to a computer show with my dad and getting blank CDs for roughly $2 a piece and thought they were a bargain!), so I rarely bought a new album on cassette. Instead, my travelling companions came in two varieties – homemade tapes either with an album on each side (or a mix of CD tracks and radio recordings) or bargain bin tapes. I made a couple huge finds – most prominently I got a copy of R.E.M.’s Chronic Town at a department store going out of business sale. I also remember having the Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks tape in this collection (and I’m sure it’s in one of my shoeboxes somewhere), and I have a very vivid memory of sitting at school waiting for a band rehearsal as the second side of the tape played. I identified with punk rock because it was many things that I wasn’t at 14 - adventurous, brazen, and uncompromising. In many ways, this cassette is my personal punk rock emblem – while my peers walked around with portable CD players, I let the cassette wheels’ gentle hum mix in with the power chords.

The Sex Pistols might be more known for their attitude than for their music, and while personality was more important to the Pistols than to some of their peers (The Clash, for example, became more defined by their eclecticism than their attitude, especially in their later years), they deserve a little more credit. Sure, these songs sneer, spit, and scoff all over the place, but they’re also well written. “E.M.I.” embodies this balance between spirit and craft. It’s a dig towards their former label (and by proxy a dig at the “punk as a fashion statement” sentiment), but it’s not as obtuse as the Pistols usually get accused of being. Sure, they explicitly name the target, but it’s more a list of (reasonable) complaints rather than a libel suit waiting to happen. It’s a cathartic release of this frustration, but it’s also catchy as hell, from the chanting of the label’s name in the background to the way John Lydon (then Rotten) annunciates every syllable. He instinctively knows what to distort and what to rush through in order to bring his audience right in line with him. Looking back at it, especially with it at the very end of Never Mind the Bollocks, “E.M.I.” seems like a triumphant middle finger towards their detractors. Sure, it’s not polite to gloat when you’ve won, but sometimes it just feels right.

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

March 20, 2009

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Young Americans” – David Bowie
(Words/music: David Bowie, available on Young Americans, Virgin 1975)

In completely isolated circumstances – never having heard the song before nor knowing that it is a David Bowie song – “Young Americans” requires a slight leap of faith to get into it. Knowing the song, the opening drum notes are enough to guarantee that I will do nothing but listen to this song for the next five minutes. However, I understand how the unfamiliar might be put off by the opening; the cascading piano keys and the absurdly prominent honking saxophone makes the song sound like the type of soft-rock fare heard while shopping in a drug store. Bowie eventually rewards the listener’s patience as slowly all of the different layers come in, starting with the moment the backing vocals enter during the first chorus. Featuring future star Luther Vandross, Bowie’s backing singers push his own vocal performance as he tries to keep up with them. Slowly, he settles into the song and works himself up into a soulful fervor. Maybe it’s his background singers pushing him to compete with them, perhaps Bowie gets more worked up as he goes deeper into his cynical look at life in the 70s, or maybe it’s just a superb arrangement with an excellent bridge leading into the final climax. Regardless, Bowie turns in perhaps his finest vocal performance, especially in the last minute and a half as he sounds like a man possessed, tossing off line after line until his band stops and Bowie puts his cracking falsetto squarely into the spotlight. Bowie’s vocal performance alone makes this an essential song, but it’s the flawless arrangement that catapults “Young Americans” into the stratosphere. I even kind of like that damn saxophone even though it’s a little too loud for my taste.

To me, the most interesting line is the borrowed line from the opening of “A Day in the Life” in that final stretch run. My friend Mike and I discussed it a while back and we agreed that the single line fits only because it’s the perfect length – any more and it would derail the song. I see a few different reasons for the line (“I heard the news today, oh boy”). First, it could be a hat tip to John Lennon, who guests on two other songs on Young Americans. It also fits the thematic content of the song – Bowie fills his song with details of racism, economic depression, and social injustice (among other bummers) and his backing singers offer the line almost like a Greek chorus commenting on the plot. It’s important that the backing singers and not Bowie get this line as well, letting it work as a bit of call-and-response, as the line triggers Bowie’s most impassioned segment of the song. It also creates this sort of dialogue between Bowie’s sketch of American life in the 1970s with Lennon’s depiction of youthful boredom in 1960’s England. Mike summarizes the conversation as “Life in England is full of tedium and repetition… Yeah, well America’s just as bad, it’s just more hedonistic.” I’m inclined to agree with his interpretation.

More on David Bowie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 1, 2009

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“Future 40’s (String of Pearls) (w/ Michael Stipe)” – Syd Straw
(Words/music: Jody Harris and Syd Straw, available on Surprise, Virgin Records 1989)

If you’re an R.E.M. fan and “Future 40’s” sounds familiar, you probably recognize it from the Tourfilm concert movie. Michael Stipe prefaces a raucous version of “I Believe” with a sizeable chunk of “Future 40s” as the crowd claps along inconsistently (and yes, it gets on my nerves, I’m sorry). Having heard this version dozens of times, I finally chased down those lyrics to find Syd Straw’s song. Straw collaborated with Stipe with the Golden Palominos, and Stipe (in addition to other Palominos) helped her on her solo debut. I also found that Straw and Stipe share another “collaboration” – both guest starred on The Adventures of Pete and Pete (Stipe was an ice cream man, Straw was Big Pete’s math teacher).

Appropriately, the vocal interplay takes center stage in this song. Straw lets her voice slide up and down her register throughout the song, letting a phrase in a lower range catapult her towards the higher notes, singing at both ends of the register with the same clarity and emotional emphasis. Stipe provides the perfect vocal foil as he emerges throughout the song. At points, the duo sing together, while other moments one will hold a note slightly longer, and at other times Straw and Stipe sing entirely different phrases. This constant vocal movement creates constant interest, and thankfully the arrangement keeps the vocals right in front. That’s not to say the backing track is lacking – specifically, that repeated guitar riff is terrific, and the way the rhythm guitar follows the bass drum’s punch in the last minute gives the song the perfect bite in the final minute. While there’s no mistaking Michael Stipe’s voice in this song, Stipe’s content enough to let Straw have all of the moments in the spotlight. His heavier voice lets Straw perform her vocal acrobatics, letting the notes dance off wherever she feels like sending them.

More on Syd Straw: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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