"Fools In Love" / Joe Jackson
This coming Saturday, August 11, is Joe Jackson's birthday (he'll be 53), so I'm declaring the rest of this week Joe Jackson Week. And what a pleasure it will be to write about Joe Jackson; he's one of those wonderful artists I never listen to as much as I could. I forget how much I like him, until a song comes up on my shuffle and is just so glorious it stops me in my tracks.
Like this one, from his 1979 album Look Sharp! -- as soon as that slouching ska intro begins, I sit up and grin. That ska accent is a dead New Wave giveaway, but Joe was never a knee-jerk New Waver, and soon this song sidles into jazz territory, where Joe's pianistic skills can really shine. "Fools in love," he starts off, confidingly, as though shaking his head -- "Are there any other kind of lovers?" Dropping his voice lower, he rattles off a list of the annoying symptoms, in finger-wagging tempo: "Everything you do / Everywhere you go, now / Everything you touch, / Everything you feel / Everything you see, / Everything you know, now / Everything you do, you do it for your lady love / Your lady love, your lady love," repeated fiercely with big twanging strums on the guitar. Tsk-tsk. "Fools in love," he sings, returning to the verse, "are there any creatures more pathetic?" flinging off that last adjective with such fastidious scorn, you can't help but agree.
But in the chorus, a little more earnestness creeps into his voice and he rises to a higher register, almost yelping: "Fools in love, they think they're heroes / Cause they get to feel no pain / I say fools in love are zeroes / I should know" -- then, with a dramatic pause, he caustically turns the whole thing on its head. "I should know because this fool's in love." Just by sticking in an apostrophe, he changes the whole meaning of the title. Brilliant.
Self-hatred is an underexplored emotion in rock 'n' roll, and nobody expresses self-hatred with as much delicious flair as Joe Jackson. It sits very well on him -- tall, gawky, bony, pale, balding, he looks like a guy who just might have self-esteem issues. Whether he actually does or not is totally irrelevant; somebody in pop music needs to speak for the sensitive geeks among us. He never buys us off cheap by pretending it's going to be all right, either. And as he rips off that cathartic, elegant piano solo in the middle eight, he absolutely vindicates himself. Man, I'll listen to this fool in love any day.
Fools In Love sample
Showing posts with label ska. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ska. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
“She’s Going” / The English Beat
Though the Specials were the first late-70s ska band that stole my heart, I had to love the English Beat as well – not to mention General Public and Fine Young Cannibals, the two excellent bands they split into after three brilliant, inventive albums (when you’ve got that much talent in one group, why not spread it around a bit?). Their sound was funky, urban, hectic, and ineffably finger-popping cool. I dug it.
This 1982 song’s a perfect example of that sweet amalgam of reggae, r&b, soul, jazz, and punk that made this ska renaissance so delightful. The beat, of course, has its roots in reggae, though it skitters along much faster; that emotive lead vocal is soulful indeed, and the way the voices trade back and forth is classic r&b call-and-response. And then there’s the plaintive sax and the tooting horns dancing in and out -- jazz pure and simple.
The song’s a lot darker than you’d think at first from its bouncy upbeat energy, though – that’s where the punk kinship shows up. It’s a Tortured Relationship Song with so many twists and shadows I can’t really tell what’s going on. The first time around I thought it was just a break-up, but the more I listened, the more ominous lines came to light. The best I can make out is that it’s a murder-suicide – “So next time she meet him / They'll both be in heaven”; “she'd rather die than live to behave so badly”; “just watch the spirit slipping out of her hand.” No wonder they say halfway through the song, “I guess you thought it was an ordinary row. / Well you were wrong. / Just take a look at her now.” Yikes.
All of which gives the chorus an especially grim irony: “She's leaving, / Too late to take her home./ She's going, / Too late to tell her you love her. / She's freezing, / Rather be dead than alone. / She's going, / I think you're too late she's gone.” Phrases we throw around so lightly – “I’d rather die that do that” – take on a ghastly double meaning.
Thanks to that snappy ska beat, every line is stuffed to bursting with words, firing at you so rat-a-tat fast, it’s hard to sort it all out. It’s never clear who loves whom, who wants to leave whom, who would miss whom, only that there’s a shipload of misery swirling around. Actually, most of the English Beat’s songs sound similarly disoriented, I’ve noticed – maybe it says something about the working-class Birmingham milieu they came from. When you’re in the middle of certain edgy social scenes, you really can’t tell up from down, wrong from right, black from white, love from hate. You have to be a cool cat indeed to land on your feet.
But that beat, that beat – it’s way too intoxicating to resist. The voices pop in and out like horns themselves, tripping along on the rhythm, and I feel almost guilty, enjoying this song as much as I do. Ah, well, it’s a bleak world, all right – might as well dance, brother.
She's Going sample
Though the Specials were the first late-70s ska band that stole my heart, I had to love the English Beat as well – not to mention General Public and Fine Young Cannibals, the two excellent bands they split into after three brilliant, inventive albums (when you’ve got that much talent in one group, why not spread it around a bit?). Their sound was funky, urban, hectic, and ineffably finger-popping cool. I dug it.
This 1982 song’s a perfect example of that sweet amalgam of reggae, r&b, soul, jazz, and punk that made this ska renaissance so delightful. The beat, of course, has its roots in reggae, though it skitters along much faster; that emotive lead vocal is soulful indeed, and the way the voices trade back and forth is classic r&b call-and-response. And then there’s the plaintive sax and the tooting horns dancing in and out -- jazz pure and simple.
The song’s a lot darker than you’d think at first from its bouncy upbeat energy, though – that’s where the punk kinship shows up. It’s a Tortured Relationship Song with so many twists and shadows I can’t really tell what’s going on. The first time around I thought it was just a break-up, but the more I listened, the more ominous lines came to light. The best I can make out is that it’s a murder-suicide – “So next time she meet him / They'll both be in heaven”; “she'd rather die than live to behave so badly”; “just watch the spirit slipping out of her hand.” No wonder they say halfway through the song, “I guess you thought it was an ordinary row. / Well you were wrong. / Just take a look at her now.” Yikes.
All of which gives the chorus an especially grim irony: “She's leaving, / Too late to take her home./ She's going, / Too late to tell her you love her. / She's freezing, / Rather be dead than alone. / She's going, / I think you're too late she's gone.” Phrases we throw around so lightly – “I’d rather die that do that” – take on a ghastly double meaning.
Thanks to that snappy ska beat, every line is stuffed to bursting with words, firing at you so rat-a-tat fast, it’s hard to sort it all out. It’s never clear who loves whom, who wants to leave whom, who would miss whom, only that there’s a shipload of misery swirling around. Actually, most of the English Beat’s songs sound similarly disoriented, I’ve noticed – maybe it says something about the working-class Birmingham milieu they came from. When you’re in the middle of certain edgy social scenes, you really can’t tell up from down, wrong from right, black from white, love from hate. You have to be a cool cat indeed to land on your feet.
But that beat, that beat – it’s way too intoxicating to resist. The voices pop in and out like horns themselves, tripping along on the rhythm, and I feel almost guilty, enjoying this song as much as I do. Ah, well, it’s a bleak world, all right – might as well dance, brother.
She's Going sample
Friday, March 02, 2007
"Talk Is Cheap" / The Toasters
Today started out rainy and ended up sunny and that seems as good a reason as any to listen to some ska. Now, when I think of ska I want it to sound like the Specials or the English Beat -- or like this New-York-based band that's still performing, still recording (as far as I know), and still clinging to that ska-reggae-punk blend that Two Tone Records made famous at the dawn of the 1980s. That retro name (sounds like a doo-wop group from the 50s, doesn't it?) tells you that the Toasters are not about re-inventing the genre: as you'd expect they've got a tight, sly horn section, a hopped-up beat, frenetic percussion, rapid-fire guitar riffs, and a lead singer with a working-class British accent.
This song is even about ska, at least in the first verse: "Well I heard bad news from the man in the street / His shades are dope but his dogs are sweet / Ska isn't reggae, it's a brand new beat / It's the same old tunes on a New Wave beat." The main gist of the song, though, is that people run their mouths all the time and say stupid things. (A warning to all of us critics.)
Ska musicians always seem to me to have their politics in the right place -- they're street-wise cynics who can spot a blowhard or a hypocrite or a bigot a mile away -- and the I've-seen-it-all attitude cynicism is underscored by a jerky, jaundiced minor-key melody. These two lines especially make me snicker: "And I heard some crack about unity / That only works when the beers are free" and "Talk to me about the problems of the world / You want to bone your best friend's girl."
But the lyrics are minimal, really; it's that breathless runaway rhythm that makes this track work, as if the entire ensemble is working like mad just to keep up with each other, fuelled by some kind of crazy adrenaline that I wish they could bottle and sell over the counter. My favorite part of the song is about three-quarters of the way through, when the lead singer launches into the fastest spate of nonsense scat you ever heard, a sarcastic sort of blub-a-da-blub-a-dah that, I swear, makes me imagine nothing but a pair of fat fleshy lips flapping in the wind.
It's no surprise that my son, who loves ska-punk, turned me onto this band -- the speed and energy of this track probably seems normal to a teenage boy's raging metabolism, and the anti-authoritarian political sentiments are perfect for the under-30 mentality. But on a cold, rainy day, we could all use a shot of fierce head-thrusting music with snappy so-there horn flourishes (is it any wonder that ska took off in England?). It certainly kicked my mood up a couple of notches -- just in time for the sun to come out.
Check it out at: http://www.mp3.com/the-toasters/artists/11054/songs.html?tag=tabs;songs&om_act=convert&om_clk=arttabs
Today started out rainy and ended up sunny and that seems as good a reason as any to listen to some ska. Now, when I think of ska I want it to sound like the Specials or the English Beat -- or like this New-York-based band that's still performing, still recording (as far as I know), and still clinging to that ska-reggae-punk blend that Two Tone Records made famous at the dawn of the 1980s. That retro name (sounds like a doo-wop group from the 50s, doesn't it?) tells you that the Toasters are not about re-inventing the genre: as you'd expect they've got a tight, sly horn section, a hopped-up beat, frenetic percussion, rapid-fire guitar riffs, and a lead singer with a working-class British accent.
This song is even about ska, at least in the first verse: "Well I heard bad news from the man in the street / His shades are dope but his dogs are sweet / Ska isn't reggae, it's a brand new beat / It's the same old tunes on a New Wave beat." The main gist of the song, though, is that people run their mouths all the time and say stupid things. (A warning to all of us critics.)
Ska musicians always seem to me to have their politics in the right place -- they're street-wise cynics who can spot a blowhard or a hypocrite or a bigot a mile away -- and the I've-seen-it-all attitude cynicism is underscored by a jerky, jaundiced minor-key melody. These two lines especially make me snicker: "And I heard some crack about unity / That only works when the beers are free" and "Talk to me about the problems of the world / You want to bone your best friend's girl."
But the lyrics are minimal, really; it's that breathless runaway rhythm that makes this track work, as if the entire ensemble is working like mad just to keep up with each other, fuelled by some kind of crazy adrenaline that I wish they could bottle and sell over the counter. My favorite part of the song is about three-quarters of the way through, when the lead singer launches into the fastest spate of nonsense scat you ever heard, a sarcastic sort of blub-a-da-blub-a-dah that, I swear, makes me imagine nothing but a pair of fat fleshy lips flapping in the wind.
It's no surprise that my son, who loves ska-punk, turned me onto this band -- the speed and energy of this track probably seems normal to a teenage boy's raging metabolism, and the anti-authoritarian political sentiments are perfect for the under-30 mentality. But on a cold, rainy day, we could all use a shot of fierce head-thrusting music with snappy so-there horn flourishes (is it any wonder that ska took off in England?). It certainly kicked my mood up a couple of notches -- just in time for the sun to come out.
Check it out at: http://www.mp3.com/the-toasters/artists/11054/songs.html?tag=tabs;songs&om_act=convert&om_clk=arttabs
Thursday, February 01, 2007
"It Doesn't Make It Alright" / The Specials
When the Specials' debut album landed on my turntable in late 1979, it came with the only imprimatur that mattered to me that year -- Elvis Costello had produced it. Though it came on a legit label, Chrysalis, the black-and-white album cover looked homemade, with its checkerboard motif and the muddy photos of a multi-racial bunch of players, kitted up in skinny ties and narrow-brimmed fedoras. I considered myself a reggae fan, but it had never occcurred to me before that you could graft reggae onto punk, let alone throw in a ska organ and horn section. But as soon as I heard it, I knew it WORKED.
And like their mentors, the Clash, the Specials weren't afraid to dish up some politics while they were at it, even if it meant that racist agitators showed up at some of their early gigs to turn them into slugfests. But really, how could anybody be offended by this earnest plea for tolerance? Nothing could be less aggressive than these laid-back reggae rhythms, the offbeat guitar strums and organ riffs, the meandering bassline (granted, the drumbeat does morph into a bit of a bash-up at the end of every chorus). But I never doubted how sincere these guys were, with those inarticulate Midlands-accented vocals, not to mention the deliberately unglossy production values -- Elvis learned from the master, Nick Lowe, how to keep a record sounding authentic and fresh and honest.
We're not talking sophsiticated arguments -- these lyrics are simple and heartfelt: "Some people think they're really clever / To smash your head against the wall / Then they say "you got it my way" / They really think they know it all / It doesn't make it alright." This is the puzzled outlook of a kid who's been there on the street, and who could argue with that? Only people who like smashing heads against a wall. And the Specials -- or rather, organist Jerry Dammers, who wrote this song (with M. Harrison and D. Goldberg, according to the label) -- even have some insight into the psychological make-up that leads to hate: "Just because you're nobody / It doesn't mean that you're no good . . . It's the worst excuse in the world." You don't have to be a sociologist to understand the frustration that's made street punks throughout the centuries lash out because their own lives were such crap.
It isn't until the third verse that this becomes specifically about race: "Just because you're a black boy / Just because you're a white / It doesn't mean you've got to hate him / It doesn't mean you've got to fight." The Clash had already predicted that Britain was going to blow up in racial riots in their 1979 track "The Guns of Brixton" (long before Brixton finally erupted in April 1981). But anybody who listened to this Specials album, too, already knew there was hate simmering in Britain. I have to be honest -- this song is pretty mild, compared to "It's Up to You" and "Concrete Jungle" and "Too Hot" (the whole first side of the LP, actually), which was a bit of an eye-opener to us in the States, who'd always thought we were the only country in the world with civil rights problems.
Okay, the Specials were kinda asking for skinheads and rude boys to mix it up a little. But the skinheads never had a band like the Clash or the Specials or the English Beat explaining their point of view to me, so I've gotta go with these guys. After all, blacks and whites could play together in this band just fine. Nearly three decades later, this song's message still matters.
Song sample: http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,167155-1237268-WMLO,00.html
When the Specials' debut album landed on my turntable in late 1979, it came with the only imprimatur that mattered to me that year -- Elvis Costello had produced it. Though it came on a legit label, Chrysalis, the black-and-white album cover looked homemade, with its checkerboard motif and the muddy photos of a multi-racial bunch of players, kitted up in skinny ties and narrow-brimmed fedoras. I considered myself a reggae fan, but it had never occcurred to me before that you could graft reggae onto punk, let alone throw in a ska organ and horn section. But as soon as I heard it, I knew it WORKED.
And like their mentors, the Clash, the Specials weren't afraid to dish up some politics while they were at it, even if it meant that racist agitators showed up at some of their early gigs to turn them into slugfests. But really, how could anybody be offended by this earnest plea for tolerance? Nothing could be less aggressive than these laid-back reggae rhythms, the offbeat guitar strums and organ riffs, the meandering bassline (granted, the drumbeat does morph into a bit of a bash-up at the end of every chorus). But I never doubted how sincere these guys were, with those inarticulate Midlands-accented vocals, not to mention the deliberately unglossy production values -- Elvis learned from the master, Nick Lowe, how to keep a record sounding authentic and fresh and honest.
We're not talking sophsiticated arguments -- these lyrics are simple and heartfelt: "Some people think they're really clever / To smash your head against the wall / Then they say "you got it my way" / They really think they know it all / It doesn't make it alright." This is the puzzled outlook of a kid who's been there on the street, and who could argue with that? Only people who like smashing heads against a wall. And the Specials -- or rather, organist Jerry Dammers, who wrote this song (with M. Harrison and D. Goldberg, according to the label) -- even have some insight into the psychological make-up that leads to hate: "Just because you're nobody / It doesn't mean that you're no good . . . It's the worst excuse in the world." You don't have to be a sociologist to understand the frustration that's made street punks throughout the centuries lash out because their own lives were such crap.
It isn't until the third verse that this becomes specifically about race: "Just because you're a black boy / Just because you're a white / It doesn't mean you've got to hate him / It doesn't mean you've got to fight." The Clash had already predicted that Britain was going to blow up in racial riots in their 1979 track "The Guns of Brixton" (long before Brixton finally erupted in April 1981). But anybody who listened to this Specials album, too, already knew there was hate simmering in Britain. I have to be honest -- this song is pretty mild, compared to "It's Up to You" and "Concrete Jungle" and "Too Hot" (the whole first side of the LP, actually), which was a bit of an eye-opener to us in the States, who'd always thought we were the only country in the world with civil rights problems.
Okay, the Specials were kinda asking for skinheads and rude boys to mix it up a little. But the skinheads never had a band like the Clash or the Specials or the English Beat explaining their point of view to me, so I've gotta go with these guys. After all, blacks and whites could play together in this band just fine. Nearly three decades later, this song's message still matters.
Song sample: http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,167155-1237268-WMLO,00.html
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