I Love This Song!

5 Favorite Opening Riffs -- Genius Class

Okay, over the rules One More Time. Not the The Best Opening Riffs-- too many songs, too little time -- but 25 Favorite Opening Riffs, in five 5-riff installments. The arbitrary rules: 1. One riff per band. 2. Doesn't have to be a guitar riff, but vocals don't count. 3. Has to be a true opener -- the very first notes of the song, proclaiming this song's distinctive DNA. 

Remember how, back in the day, AM radio DJs used to gab during song intros, trying to sneak a few more words of banter/announcements/advertising messages?. That used to drive me crazy. Transistor held up to my ear, I wanted to prove my pop savvy by being the first in the room to shout "I love this song!"

I know I said I was leading off with the "no-brainers." But some of you may have noticed -- and, if you're anything like the music fans I think you are, been distressed by -- the absence on that list of the REAL no-brainers. Which are, forthwith and henceforth...


Sunshine of Your Love / Cream

Sheer genius here, to double the bass riff with the electric guitar -- a particularly fuzzy guitar as well, with a wah-wah pedal and Marshall amps. The great bassist Jack Bruce wrote that commanding riff and it dominates the song -- those first four notes (LISTEN HERE!) sliding seductively into a dark downward spiral, over and over. Every bassist I know has learned this riff -- but it just doesn't sound the same without that scratchy guitar on top.
NOTE: Invoking the "one riff per band" rule, I decided on this rather than "Layla," even though they're by two different Clapton bands.  Sorry, Slowhand, but the competition was fierce.

Satisfaction / The Rolling Stones

Oh, the one-riff-per-band thing made this very tough. So many great Stones riffs -- but in the end, how could I have picked anything else? Talk about fuzzy guitars -- Keith Richards added a fuzzbox to his Gibson to get this snarling, snarky tone just right. It's only three notes, up and down a tiny minor-key scale, but how perfectly does it encapsulate the song's theme of pent-up frustration -- up and down, over and over, never breaking out of that narrow range.  It makes me want to smash things -- which is, presumably, the point.

You Really Got Me / The Kinks

Oh, why did I impose that one-riff rule?  Well, basically, because otherwise this entire list of 25 might well have been nothing but Stones, Kinks and Queen riffs, with a Beatles tune here and there. But of all the great Kinks openers (and yes, I AM prejudiced in this matter), how can we deny the riff that started it all for them?  As with the previous two songs, the distinctive tone of the guitar makes all the difference; in this case, the mutilated amplifier of Dave Davies, turning his electric guitar into an angry buzzsaw. Ricocheting between two notes, with just enough syncopation to sound erratic and dangerous, it's an aggressive cry of sexual frustration that will not be denied.

Summer in the City / The Lovin' Spoonful

How long does it take the Lovin' Spoonful to claim your eardrums? Two notes plus one drum-whack. True, the notes are ominous, swelling organ tones and the drum-whack is punitive to say the least. But oh, for sheer economy of effect, this gritty urban anthem of seizing conditional pleasure scores BIG-TIME.  Considering that everything else this band had released was mellow jug-band stuff -- "Daydream," "Do You Believe in Magic" and "Younger Girl" -- this hard-hitting 1966 urban song reminds us that the Lovin' Spoonful were originally a New York City band. And their reward for working so hard?  Their only #1 hit.

Hard Day's Night / The Beatles

BEST OPENING RIFF EVER.

Okay, I too resist the idea that the Beatles get to win all the prizes. Even though I was a true Beatlemaniac back in the day and still adore my Chosen Beatle (Paul McCartney), I would love to spread the accolades around. But let's face it: with one discordant guitar chord, the Fabs announced that their hit record was going to be better than your hit record, and they were right. They win for sheer economy of effect; they win for the streamlined drive of the track that followed. This song is a relentless, exhilarating ride into the heart of pop and out again. It was the title track of the first LP I ever owned (note: the American version, really a film soundtrack, but I so loved that movie) and I would love to be objective.

But I can't.

But really: One chord and you KNOW what song this is.

And isn't that the definition of a great opening riff?

Time Is On My Side /
The Rolling Stones

I know, I don't often write about the Stones.  I don't often think about the Stones, that's why, and if I do, it's not 1964-era Stones.

But as I was reviewing my 100 Favorite Singles project the other day, and re-listening to "Tired of Waiting," it suddenly occurred to me how much alike these two singles are.  And I got to thinking....

To a pre-teen Beatlemaniac, this first Stones single to really hit it big in the US was a scary thing. When the Beatles were introduced to American on the Ed Sullivan show, they won hearts; when the Stones followed suit in October 1964, they sent shivers up spines. I still remember watching them that night, closing out the show with this number. As I recall it, Mick shook his tambourine like a rattlesnake shakes his rattles, and lowered his head to glare menacingly at the camera. I actually scooted a few inches further from the TV. I did not like them -- but I sure as hell watched every minute of that charged performance.

It's useful to note that Mick and Keef didn't write this tune themselves -- it was written by Jerry Ragavoy (under the name of Norman Meade, for some reason) and had already been recorded twice in the previous few months, once by jazz trobonist Kai Winding and once by Irma Thomas. When the Stones showed up at Chicago's Chess Records studio in June 1964 to record at the home of the blues that had inspired them, it was a logical recent track for them to cover.

But just listen to Irma's version. Even though it has the same tempo, it's not nearly as draggy and weary-sounding.  In fact, Irma sounds positively buoyant. Time is on her side because she plans to hang in there and wait for her man; she's full of hope and faith.

In contrast, the Stones sound dogged, spiteful, and fixated. Mick's petulant, taunting vocal lags behind the beat (well, that's why it was called backbeat, folks) and Charlie Watts' abusive drum slaps are way forward in the mix.  "Ti-i-i-ime, is on my side," Mick snarls, "Yes it is," and  I get a shiver of sexual fear. He's not the patient lover waiting for her to be ready, he's the stalker, the predator, lying in wait.

"Go ahead and light up the town," he mocks sarcastically in the bridge, adding like a threat, "I'll always be around" as Keith's and Brian's guitars bicker and quarrel behind him. In lieu of Irma's gospel style backing singers, the other Stones utter discordant moans in the background -- "time, time, time" -- like a clock loudly ticking off her last moments of freedom.  This is simply saturated with sexual knowingness; it is hot stuff.

This Chess version made it onto 12 X 5, the Stone's second album, which was released in October 1964. (The single that came out in January 1965 has a different arrangement, with a guitar intro instead of this track's brooding minor-key organ.) That's good to know, because the Kinks recorded "Tired of Waiting" in August 1964 -- they couldn't possibly have been copying the Stones track. It must just have been something in the London air in the summer of 1964 that made everybody feel hostile and exhausted. 

The differences are subtle, but dangerous. If the Kinks are at the end of their rope, tired of waiting for the girl who won't settle down, the Stones can wait forever -- and oh, when she finally comes crawling back, revenge is going to be so sweet. . . .

Shattered / The Rolling Stones

Now it's my Windows Movie Maker that's gone haywire -- the program I use to make videos so you can listen to the music I write about.  I swear, will the technical difficulties ever end?  These days I have a hard enough time getting time to blog anyway, without having to devote 2 hours to decoding tech issues. 

Blogger is probably punishing me for not switching to its updated interface.  Well, I tried it, and I see nothing about the new interface that improves my blogging experience whatsoever.  It's like making me switch versions of Word (and all along I still wish Microsoft hadn't driven WordPerfect out of the market!).  Now, I'm no Luddite -- just today I tried out a new GPS device that is not a Garmin system, and I loved my new and improved navigation experience. But when something isn't broken, I hate having someone else decide it's time to fix it.  Does the latest version of iTunes really matter?  

So once again I have to fall back on You Tube:



Mind you, after listening to this song about 50 times trying to get it downloaded, I'm not sure I like it anymore.  Well, "like" is probably the wrong verb anyway.  I listened to Some Girls a LOT when it first came out in 1978; I'd just moved to Manhattan, and this song encapsulated all the frustrations I felt, learning how to deal with the Big Bad Apple.  I shared a shabby apartment in a fringe neighborhood, rode a filthy graffiti-covered subway train to work, and climbed up out of the subway every morning in Times Square (the old nasty Times Square, not Mayor Bloomberg's sparkling new Times Square Mall).  So it was oddly comforting to listen to the relentlessly chugging rhythm track of this song, and hear Mick's campy yelps of outrage.

Among the lines that have always stayed with me:



All this chitter chatter, chitter chatter, chitter chatter
'Bout schmatte schmatte schmatte, 
I can't give it away on Seventh Avenue. 

Don't you know the crime rate's going up up up up up
To live in this town, you must be tough tough tough tough tough tough tough


Rats on the West Side, bed bugs uptown
What a mess, this town's in tatters

This town's full of money grabbers
Go ahead, bite the Big Apple
Don't mind the maggots 

Don't you just love how opportunistic Jagger's lyrics are?  He'll say anything if it rhymes, or even if it kinda rhymes.  It's just brilliant dumb luck that those rhymes come off as insightful and impressionistic. 

There's no melody to speak of, and the only interesting instrumentation is in the bridge, where Keith rips off several of his own old riffs.  If I were really a Stones fan, I'm sure I could identify them. (If he played the riff from "You Really Got Me," I'd know that . . . ) And yet -- well, this is a supremely fun song. 

This is the last album, in fact,  where I really felt that the Stones were having any fun at all. From there on, it always just seemed like they had to grind out music to keep their enormous enterprise afloat. Mind you, I haven't listened seriously to anything after Tattoo You, but there's only so much time in the world.

But hey, I could be wrong.

The 100 Best Singles In My Head
Nos. 76-80

Okay, now we're starting to hit a groove. I've already written about most of these before -- they're all the sort of numbers that make you break out grinning the minute they dial up on the jukebox. The secret? They all share one vital component: Intros so distinctive, you know within two seconds what song you're hearing.

[Click on the highlighted links to read my earlier posts on those songs]

76. "Killer Queen" / Queen (1974)
Three fingersnaps, then Freddie Mercury's arch voice prances into "Killer Queen," backed by fastidious wrist-flicking piano chords. This song hit in 1974, the year my brother let me take his car to college, which meant I spent a lot of time driving and listening to the car radio. Every time this came on I'd crank it up, lean closer to the speakers, and work to decipher a few more of these lyrics. Wicked funny.

77. "Build Me Up Buttercup" / The Foundations (1968)
That great bouncy rhythm line -- bomp de-bomp, bomp bomp de bomp -- laid down by keyboards, bongos, and tambourine, and we're out of our seats already.
I swear, for the longest time I didn't even know that the Foundations were an English band. But then, they were a multiracial outfit -- more British Empire than British Isles -- and let's be honest, the PR machine that pushed Herman's Hermits and Peter & Gordon would never have done the same for a band with a West Indian horn section and a lead singer from Barbados. It didn't help that their roster kept shifting -- Clem Curtis, the mellow lead singer on 1967's "Baby, Now that I've Found You" had been replaced by the more youthful-sounding Colin Young in 1968 when they recorded "Build Me Up Buttercup." Written by Mike D'Abo (of Manfred Mann) and Tony Macauley, "Buttercup" was the song that really hit in the U.S.; that was the single I bought, and it was on constant rotation on my turntable for several months.
You can't help but sing along to this baby, right out of the gate with Colin Young's frantic cry "WHY do you build me up?" Even better is singing it in a group, chiming in on the echoes ("build me up," "let me down," "worst of all," "say you will," "I need you"). I remember singing it raucously in the backseat of my parents' car, with Beth Wood, Betsy Morris, Patsy DeFusco, and Margie Pugh. High spirits and good times rule, with those staccato horns rat-tat-tatting the accents on the end of every line. Forget the fact that his girlfriend's messing up his head -- "'I'll be over at ten' / you told me time and again / But you're late / I wait around and then. . . ", he wistfully reports. But he's so hooked, there's more joy than anguish in his voice as he declares, "I'll be home / I'll be beside the phone, waiting for you / Ooooh ooh ooooh Ooooooh ooh ooh" (those ooh's are ESSENTIAL). It's a karaoke favorite, for very good reason; no wonder this song has been covered so often, by bands who don't even bother to change the arrangement, and who sound just as good as the Foundations did. I love how the Farrelly brothers used it at the end of There's Something About Mary, with all the cast and crew singing lustily along. Pure pop heaven.

78. "Girl Don't Come" / Sandie Shaw (1964)
In that catalog of British girl singers from the 60s, tall langorous Sandie Shaw never cracked the American market like Dusty Springfield, Petula Clark, Cilla Black, or Lulu did. Still, this one glorious single shimmered through. That cool trombone intro, how it sliced through the British Invasion haze with a note of sophistication. . .

79. "It's Only Rock 'n' Roll (But I Like It)" / The Rolling Stones (1974)
I know I'm gonna take flak for this, but all my life I've fought liking the Rolling Stones. I knew at least one song had to be on this list -- c'mon, The Stones -- but which single could I publicly admit to liking? I had to zero in my brief Stones interlude, sandwiched between the demise of the Beatles and my growing infatuation with the Kinks. For this one album only, I was a whole-hearted, unclouded Stones fan. I hear those first guitar chugs, followed by that long sassy twang, and I can't help thinking, "My boys!"

80. "Kind of a Drag" / The Buckinghams (1967)
Yes, I too loved "Don't You Care" and "Susan." But that opening fanfare -- who could resist?

"You Can't Always Get What You Want" /
The Rolling Stones

It goes with the territory -- you just can't be a serious Kinks fan and a lifelong Beatle fan, as I am, and still like the Rolling Stones. It's not just a question of being forced to choose sides, although that was certainly required back in 1965. It's more than that, it's a question of what I want out of music. All the things my soul craves from the Kinks and the Beatles -- their winsome melodies, poetic lyrics, playful wit, serious political commentary, sharp-edged social satire -- have zero to do with the Stones.

Still, in the new bipartisan spirit of our times, I'm willing to cross the aisle this evening. I caught a fragment of this song on the soundtrack of some random TV show tonight, and it sank its hooks into me instantly. It wasn't even the part where the Stones themselves are performing, it was just the intro with that starchy vocal chorale, intoning, "You cahn't always get what you want . . . " I had to giggle, and immediately I was tuned in, waiting through the French horn interlude for Mick Jagger to saunter casually in and pick up the beat.

I guess the idea here was to try some Dylanesque talking blues -- in verse after verse, Jagger sketches surreal social scenes, from a chi-chi wine sipping reception to a rowdy street demonstration to the hipster King's Road hangout The Chelsea Drugstore (though apparently that verse was actually written about a drugstore in Excelsior, Minnesota, that Mick wandered into the morning after a show in Minneapolis). If Dylan had written this, of course, the three verses would have related to each other, but come on, thematic development has never been Jagger & Richards' strong suit as songwriters. The drug references strung throughout are the only theme I can find, and in 1969, you were practically required by law to include at least 3 drug references in every rock song, weren't you?

Besides, the real point of this song is how it builds and builds until they've left folk blues way behind. One by one, they layer on those great syncopated drums, splashes of honkytonk piano, deliciously curling electric guitar riffs (was this Mick Taylor or Keith?), mad maracas, frenetic Farfisa organ licks, layers of choral oohs and ahhs, and Jagger's own shivering howls of something that's either ecstasy or anguish and probably both. It runs on and on for seven minutes plus, and even though I'm generally someone who gets bored after 2:58, I have to admit this is one grandiose production that works. Not until "Hey Jude" would we have such another irresistible singalong, one that everybody in the pub just has to chime in on, whether they can carry a tune or not.

And if you're looking for a life motto, you could do worse than adopt this. You can't always get what you want, we all have to grow up and accept that. But trust Mick and Keefe to flip that sage advice over and gleefully add, "But if you try sometimes / You just might find / [drum roll] You get what you need!" There's the Stones attitude to life in a nutshell. These guys have been pretty much always getting what they need -- and what they want -- for over 40 years now. Like John Candy says to his little brother Tom Hanks in Splash: "Hey, when I get something that works, I stick with it."

You Can't Always Get What You Want sample

"Play With Fire" / The Rolling Stones

MAY IS BRITISH INVASION MONTH!

It’s always been a love-hate thing with me and the Rolling Stones.

Like the loyal Beatlemaniac I was in 1964, I took sides: Beatles good, Rolling Stones bad. After all, they’d been presented to us as the Anti-Beatles, thanks to their canny manager Andrew Loog Oldham. When they finally appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show in October 1964, singing “Time Is On My Side”, I sat anxiously on my family room floor in front of the set, not knowing what to think. They didn’t wear matching suits, their long hair was ragged, and they were…well, UGLY. I was a ten-year-old clutching a fistful of Beatle cards -- cute was what mattered. And it didn’t help that there was an undertone of aggressive sexuality there that I was way too young to feel comfortable with. (Same thing that happened with House of the Rising Sun, minus that mesmerizing organ solo.)

It didn’t matter that the Stones weren’t actually the Beatles’ enemies – that they’d even recorded a Beatles song, “I Wanna Be Your Man,” as their second single (a track that still makes me wince). I simply refused to admit them into My British Invasion. In those days I was known to scoff that “Time Is On My Side” and “Heart of Stone” were the exact same song; “Satisfaction” and “Get Off My Cloud” had unforgettable hooks, I couldn’t deny that, but otherwise they seemed like the same song too. (Ten years old, and already a critic.) In secret, I liked their Mod-flavored ballads “As Tears Go By,” “Lady Jane,” and “Ruby Tuesday,” but I figured those didn’t count as Stones songs, following some obscure logic I cannot recall.

Now, years later, I can let go of that Beatlemania prejudice and admit how good these guys were. It took a couple of years, but once Jagger and Richards found their songwriting groove, they laid down some of the most memorable tracks of the decade. This one in particular haunts me. Set in a minor key, with just an acoustic guitar, a faint whisper of bass, tambourine, and harpsichord (played by Jack Nietzsche, of all people), its brooding delicacy is perfectly suited to the dark insinuations of Jagger’s voice.

And the lyrics – Jagger and Richards, a.k.a. Nanker Phelge, had made a quantum leap forward. Specific details – places, social customs – skewer the subject with pinpoint accuracy. Bring on the class warfare (so important to the British audience; I pretended I got it too), portraying the girl’s world of chauffeurs and couture and heiresses and diamond tiaras, which would all go up in smoke if she messes around with the singer. “So don’t play with me / ‘Cause you’re playing with fire,” Mick warns her in the chorus, his voice rising from the wary hush of the verses, like a coiled serpent striking. It didn’t matter that I'd never been to St. John’s Wood, Stepney, or Knightsbridge; I could tell what they stood for in this harsh little morality tale. And of course the local references made it ten times more evocative for me, besotted with Swinging London as I was.

The Stones – well, Jagger and Richards – recorded this in January 1965, riding the crest of British rock’s rapid evolution. Suddenly it was cool to be arty, to use different instruments, to strive for poetry and social comment in the lyrics. Ten months later, the Beatles would trump this with “Norwegian Wood,” an even more disturbing little story with more surreal lyrics and a sitar. But for its time, “Play With Fire” was a gem; that whole album, Out of Our Heads, was wonderful stuff. I should have given it its due back in 1965. Instead, I had to wait until 1976 to “discover” the Rolling Stones. That’s when the love part of the love-hate thing finally kicked into gear. Well, better late than never.

Play With Fire sample

“It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll
(But I Like It) " / The Rolling Stones

I have a problem with the Rolling Stones. I liked their first few hits, back in 1964. Then I saw them on the Ed Sullivan Show, and they were so . . . ugly compared to the Beatles, I immediately lost interest (give me a break, I was just a little kid). Back then you could be either a Beatlemaniac or a Stones freak, but never both, and I was already engaged to the Fab Four. Oh, from time to time, I’d hear a Stones song I secretly liked (wimpy stuff like “As Tears Go By” or “Lady Jane”), but I’d never admit it.

And then, ten years later, reviewing records for my school newspaper, I got It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll in the mail. The Beatles had split up, so I didn’t have to regard the Stones as The Dark Side anymore -- and hey, a free record deserves a spin on the turntable. Now, remember, I’d ignored Let It Bleed and Exile on Main Street and Sticky Fingers -- I didn’t have those classics to compare it to. My expectations were low, and this hard-rocking, high-spirited record just knocked me off my feet. I played it nonstop for the next couple of weeks, this track in particular – I’d play it at top volume every Friday when classes were over for the week.

“If I could stick my hand in my heart / Spill it all over the stage,” Mick Jagger brays in his broadest London accent. “Would it satisfy ya, would it slide on by ya / Would you think the boy is strange?” The answer is yes, of course. They’re mocking the notion of being “The World’s Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Band,” and living up to it at the same time. Keef and Mick Taylor’s guitars trade teasing riffs, Charley Watts whomps away on the drums, and Jagger howls and preens his way through the lyrics, occasionally dropping the name of some old standard like “Your Cheatin’ Heart” (that’s about as allusive as the Rolling Stones ever get).

He gets even campier in the interval, grunting and gasping and moaning as he repeats “I like it” over and over, probably while waggling his ass. There’s nothing insightful about the lyrics AT ALL (halfway through, they run out things to say about being on stage and fill in with a couple lame verses about sex). They tell you, straight out: It’s only a dumb thing called rock ‘n’ roll, and the only reason they’re singing it is because they like it. Well, so do I. It works.

I enjoyed Black and Blue. I got a kick out of Some Girls. And then I wasted money on Emotional Rescue and Tattoo You, and the Stones started charging a fortune for concert tickets and generally believing their own hype about being the World’s Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Band. If you ask me, they became the World Greatest Rock ‘n Roll Bores. I turned against them in a big way (as if you can’t tell). My brief love affair with the Stones was OVER.

But every now and again, I’ll put It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll on again . . . and you know what? I can’t help it; I still love it.