A Veterans Day Eve Shuffle
[that has nothing to do with Veteran's Day...]
TIP: Click on the title to see a video of the song, if there is one.
1. "Tell Me More and More and Then Some" / Nina Simone
From Pastel Blues (1965)
Lordy, lordy, lordy. That husky contralto with just a quaver of emotion -- that languid tempo, the growly piano and persistent counterpoint of harmonica -- I don't know the Billie Holliday original but I can't imagine she captured the raw sexual longing of this song any better than this.
2. "Modern Love" / David Bowie
From Let's Dance (1983)
Ah. One of the classics, as I rhapsodize here.
3. "We Were Both Wrong" / Dave Edmunds
From Repeat When Necessary (1979)
Dave Edmunds and his back-up band Rockpile charge through this number by guitarist Billy Bremner (credited to his pseudonym Billy Murray) with their characteristic finger-snapping sexiness, all straight-legged jeans and a cigarette pack in the rolled-up shirtsleeves. How, when all the other kids on the block were going all jangly and New-Wave-y, did Dave E convince his pals to commit so totally to rockabilly? That swaggering retro guitar intro sounds so Nashville, it's amazing it came out of London.
4. "One (Blake's Got A New Face)" / Vampire Weekend
From Vampire Weekend (2008)
Mmm-hmn. Now, that I mention it, there's something jangly and New Wave-y about this song, 30 years later though it may be. Stitching together musical styles in a world-music montage, this song weaves a cryptic spell. But mostly I love how Ezra Koenig yelps "Blake!" in the hypnotic refrain. Sometimes that's all it takes.
5. "Working in a Coal Mine" / Lee Dorsey
From The New Lee Dorsey, 1966
And here's another yelp that makes the song. It's that hooky refrain, the monotonous "working in a coal mine, / going down down down / working in a coal mine / Whoop! about to slip down" that's forever branded on my musical memory. Dig the sound effect of pick axes hitting metal, too. Written by Allen Toussaint, memorably covered by Devo -- it's one of the great pop songs about physical labor, a worthy companion to Sam Cooke's "Chain Gang."
6. "Shoplifters of the World Unite" / The Smiths
From Louder Than Bombs (1987)
No monotony here, just Morrissey's campy enervated vocals -- but it's about oppression, all the same. (Or is it? I never know with the Smiths...)
7. "Don't B Movie Me" / Georgie Fame
From Georgie Fame 1973
Two minutes into his teen-idol career, Georgie Fame was already shrugging off the pop shackles to became the jazz keyboardist he'd always really been, borrowing happily from ska and blues as well. I'm sorry I couldn't find a video for this one; you may not even be able to find a video link. (My version was lifted from vinyl -- it would not be an exaggeration to say that I invested in a turntable and software mostly just to capture my old Georgie Fame LPs). Sigh. Sometimes I wonder if Elvis Costello knew this song when he wrote "B Movie" on Get Happy! Any other artists, I'd say it was a coincidence, but you never know with Elvis...
8. "Just A Thought" / Gnarls Barkley
From St. Elsewhere (2006)
No trouble finding a video for this one. I promise you, I had this song on my iTunes long before I discovered Cee Lo Green as a judge on The Voice. Glad to see he was always a musical chameleon -- what is this song? It's not hip-hop, it's not R&B, it's not indie pop (not with all those grating musical effects). Weird song, sublime vocal. Sometimes I think this guy is from Mars.
9. "I Pray Now" / Fred Eaglesmith
From Tinderbox (2008)
And while we're at it, what label would you slap on Fred Eaglesmith? He's like the Canadian heir to Pete Seeger's populist folk mantle, but only if you throw in crunchy Tom Waits guitar effects and dead-eye Neil Young political commentary. "I pray now / I pray now / I didn't use to pray" -- it's prayer on the edge of desperation, and you have to fear whatever drove this man to his knees.
10. "For Debbie Reynolds" / Robyn Hitchcock
From Shadow Cat (2007)
Ah, a perfect confection to end on, from the master label-eluder Robyn Hitchcock. I imagine Robyn dashed this song off at 4 am after watching Singing in the Rain on TV -- which doesn't mean it's not profound, not by a long shot. "It's all about success," he croons, "What are you doing this time tomorrow, baby?" And all I can see is Debbie Reynolds' scrubbed face and ponytail as she tap danced her way into Gene Kelly's arms -- oh, if only the fairy tale ended there. Robyn, of course, knows it doesn't, and sadly so do I.
Showing posts with label the smiths. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the smiths. Show all posts
Monday, November 10, 2014
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Girlfriend in a Coma / The Smiths
I won't go into detail about what I was doing in 1987, but I can tell you one thing I wasn't doing -- I wasn't listening to the Smiths. A pity, I suppose. On the other hand, it means that I now face the delicious pleasure of exploring this brave new world all at once.
I feel about the Smiths the way I feel about Robyn Hitchcock; what I find most compelling is their inimitable Smiths-ness. When you figure that Robyn and the Smiths both wandered onto the music scene in the wasteland left behind by punk, it all makes sense; they were all trying to reinvent the wheel. As soon as their songs begin, you're immediately projected into some sort of parallel universe. It's not just the oddball timbre of Morrissey's vocals; it's the whole ball of wax: the unrhyming lyrics, the mesmeric repeated phrases, the modular melodies -- like a pop equivalent of Legos -- and the quirky combination of romantic yearning and postmodern irony. The emotional flutter in Morrissey's voice is simply not to be trusted.
Having come to the Smiths late, I did the prudent thing: I started out with a "best of" compilation, in this case the excellent Louder Than Bombs. But I knew -- it was inevitable -- that eventually I'd have to go back and buy all the albums, as I slid further and further down the rabbit hole. My latest purchase: the aptly titled Strangeways, Here We Come, released in 1987. All new tracks to me, since Louder Than Bombs was compiled as a sort of catch-up album for the overseas market, and was released well before they recorded Strangeways, which turned out to be their final album. It's full of wonderful treasures, but this track in particular whacked me upside the head. In a good way, of course.
Now, full confession: I've got a friend who's just come out of a coma. Tragic story, which I won't go into here, but I've been preoccupied for weeks, worrying about her condition. So from the get-go, I feel ambivalent about Morrissey singing about something so sad -- not just singing about it, but singing about it in a jaunty pop song with a rather bouncy beat. What gives?
"Girlfriend in a coma, I know / I know, it's serious." Meanwhile, there's a perky little guitar riff, not to mention cello arpeggios as he wonders, "Do you think she'll pull through?" At first he doesn't want to see her, then he's longing to see her to say goodbye. He's tormented by the memory of thoughtlessly saying in the past that he'd like to murder her or strangle her. Like so many Smiths song, this one homes relentlessly in on a callow emotional response; of course he's sorry, of course he loves her, blah blah blah, but really it's all about him, his guilt and his fears.
Maybe it's satire -- a comment on the shallowness of self-involved modern love -- maybe it's just being brutally honest about human nature. Either way, it's provocative, and yet so dreamily beautiful, in its Smith-y way, that it's been echoing in my consciousness all day.
YouTube wouldn't let me embed the official video, which is a shame. (Ah, the Eighties, when a video really mattered!) Take a look at it though -- it's a curious artifact in and of itself. There's Morrissey, earnestly emoting (in color! at a tilted angle!) at the bottom of the screen, while behind him plays scenes from the 1964 movie The Leather Boys, a black-and-white kitchen-sink drama about young working-class marrieds estranged by the husband's attraction to a studly gay biker. I haven't seen this film, but now I'm wildly curious. First of all, anything with Rita Tushingham -- she of A Taste of Honey and The Knack and How To Get It -- has to be good. But more importantly, it throws into the mix all the mystery surrounding Morrissey's own sexuality, especially because the young husband, played by Colin Campbell, looks frighteningly like Morrissey. So is that why he really can't get too worked up about his dying girlfriend?
Punk rock smashed so many barriers, artists like the Smiths and Robyn Hitchcock had to find new ways to be transgressive. Absurdist poetry about insects and transportation was Robyn's solution; the Smiths instead trained a discomforting spotlight on the worst banalities of human interactions. It's a very seductive view of the world. I might just have to listen to more of it.
I won't go into detail about what I was doing in 1987, but I can tell you one thing I wasn't doing -- I wasn't listening to the Smiths. A pity, I suppose. On the other hand, it means that I now face the delicious pleasure of exploring this brave new world all at once.
I feel about the Smiths the way I feel about Robyn Hitchcock; what I find most compelling is their inimitable Smiths-ness. When you figure that Robyn and the Smiths both wandered onto the music scene in the wasteland left behind by punk, it all makes sense; they were all trying to reinvent the wheel. As soon as their songs begin, you're immediately projected into some sort of parallel universe. It's not just the oddball timbre of Morrissey's vocals; it's the whole ball of wax: the unrhyming lyrics, the mesmeric repeated phrases, the modular melodies -- like a pop equivalent of Legos -- and the quirky combination of romantic yearning and postmodern irony. The emotional flutter in Morrissey's voice is simply not to be trusted.
Having come to the Smiths late, I did the prudent thing: I started out with a "best of" compilation, in this case the excellent Louder Than Bombs. But I knew -- it was inevitable -- that eventually I'd have to go back and buy all the albums, as I slid further and further down the rabbit hole. My latest purchase: the aptly titled Strangeways, Here We Come, released in 1987. All new tracks to me, since Louder Than Bombs was compiled as a sort of catch-up album for the overseas market, and was released well before they recorded Strangeways, which turned out to be their final album. It's full of wonderful treasures, but this track in particular whacked me upside the head. In a good way, of course.
Now, full confession: I've got a friend who's just come out of a coma. Tragic story, which I won't go into here, but I've been preoccupied for weeks, worrying about her condition. So from the get-go, I feel ambivalent about Morrissey singing about something so sad -- not just singing about it, but singing about it in a jaunty pop song with a rather bouncy beat. What gives?
"Girlfriend in a coma, I know / I know, it's serious." Meanwhile, there's a perky little guitar riff, not to mention cello arpeggios as he wonders, "Do you think she'll pull through?" At first he doesn't want to see her, then he's longing to see her to say goodbye. He's tormented by the memory of thoughtlessly saying in the past that he'd like to murder her or strangle her. Like so many Smiths song, this one homes relentlessly in on a callow emotional response; of course he's sorry, of course he loves her, blah blah blah, but really it's all about him, his guilt and his fears.
Maybe it's satire -- a comment on the shallowness of self-involved modern love -- maybe it's just being brutally honest about human nature. Either way, it's provocative, and yet so dreamily beautiful, in its Smith-y way, that it's been echoing in my consciousness all day.
YouTube wouldn't let me embed the official video, which is a shame. (Ah, the Eighties, when a video really mattered!) Take a look at it though -- it's a curious artifact in and of itself. There's Morrissey, earnestly emoting (in color! at a tilted angle!) at the bottom of the screen, while behind him plays scenes from the 1964 movie The Leather Boys, a black-and-white kitchen-sink drama about young working-class marrieds estranged by the husband's attraction to a studly gay biker. I haven't seen this film, but now I'm wildly curious. First of all, anything with Rita Tushingham -- she of A Taste of Honey and The Knack and How To Get It -- has to be good. But more importantly, it throws into the mix all the mystery surrounding Morrissey's own sexuality, especially because the young husband, played by Colin Campbell, looks frighteningly like Morrissey. So is that why he really can't get too worked up about his dying girlfriend?
Punk rock smashed so many barriers, artists like the Smiths and Robyn Hitchcock had to find new ways to be transgressive. Absurdist poetry about insects and transportation was Robyn's solution; the Smiths instead trained a discomforting spotlight on the worst banalities of human interactions. It's a very seductive view of the world. I might just have to listen to more of it.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE
Back on schedule!
1. "William It Was Really Nothing"
/ The Smiths
From Louder Than Bombs
(1987)
Anybody here see 500 Days of Summer? Remember that scene in the elevator where Joseph Gordon-Levitt finally strikes up a conversation with Zooey Deschanel? It happens when he recognizes that she's listening to the Smiths on her iPod -- the sign of a kindred spirit. Actually she was listening to "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" -- the flip side to this 1984 single -- but let's not split hairs. Their sound is so distinctive, it's like walking into a room and being transported to the Planet of Morrissey.
2. "The Lovecats"
/ The Cure
From Japanese Whispers
(1983)
Still in British New Wave territory, with this spiky but highly danceable little track by the Cure, a.k.a. Robert Smith and whoever he's playing with now. When I first bought Boys Don't Cry, I never thought this was a band that would still be around 25 years later. Shows how much I know! I love the alley cat meows tossed in, and that bang-on-a-can percussion.
3. "This Is Where I Belong" / Bill Lloyd
From The Modern Genius Of Ray Davies (Mojo magazine giveaway, 2006)
One of the better Kinks tribute albums (amazing how many of those are around when you start digging). Lloyd throws a little extra good ol' boy twang into this iconic Kinks track, an interesting idea. Personally I prefer Ron Sexsmith's version (on -- he captures the oddball neurotic edge of Ray Davies's original. (Borderline agoraphobic, more like.) But this track lured me into exploring Lloyd's other music, which I like a good deal. Note to musicians: Those tribute album tracks DO snare new listeners.
4. "Alex Chilton" / The Replacements
From Pleased To Meet Me
(1987)
Still in the 1980s, but now in American post-punk garage rock territory (actually, more like basement rock.) No wonder Paul Westerburg developed a man-crush on ex-Big Star leader Alex Chilton -- the album was recorded in Chilton's hometown Memphis, with Jim Dickinson producing, and Chilton joined them on guitar for "Can't Hardly Wait." Of course, after Chilton heard this track, I don't think he ever spoke to Westerburg again. So it goes.
5. "A Heartbeat
" / Roman Candle
From Oh Tall Tree in the Ear
(2009)
At last, a newer song, but frankly this irrepressibly cheery gem has such a classic pop sound, it could have been written anytime between 1962 and 2010. I love this little North Carolina band -- check out my previous post.
6. "Something Better Beginning" / The Kinks
From Kinda Kinks
(1965)
One of my favorite British Invasion tracks EVER.
7. "Cold River
" / John Hiatt
From Master of Disaster
(2005)
Love this album -- it came out the season when I first discovered Hiatt's music, and I gorged on it. I just noticed a line that never struck me before -- about a woman slipping on her stockings, "and it made the sweetest sound." (Remember when he tells his girl in "Drive South," "don't bother to pack your nylons"?) John knows that equation: Lingerie = intimacy.
8. "Art Lover
" / Holly Ramos
From Racehorse
(2006)
What is it, Kinks covers night? Interesting twist, to have a woman singing this song, with its creepy hints of pedophilia. (Borderline twisted stuff comes so naturally to Ray Davies.) I interviewed Holly back in 2006 when this album came out; she has just the right waifish punk charm to pull it off.
9. "Cushie Butterfield" / Alan Price
From Geordie Roots and Branches
No links, sorry. This album is an obscurity indeed -- a charity effort by some Newcastle bank, which ex-Animals bassist Chas Chandler produced; he roped in his old bandmate Alan Price to sing a bunch of traditional English folk songs. I know this song well, not from pub singalongs but from a kids' music album my toddlers listened to incessantly -- "Cushie Butterfield" was Sting's contribution. (Those guttural Northern vowels -- priceless!) A great little ditty with a sea shanty lilt.
10. "Lady Scarface
" / Lydia Lunch
From Queen of Siam (1991)
One of the joys of internet fan forums is that from time to time folks do CD mixes for each other, which is how this offbeat Lydia Lunch track ended up in my iTunes. It's a deliciously kinky little spoken word number, kinda Gothic cabaret in mood, with Lydia's kittenish pout tilting toward the psychotic. (She's all whips and handcuffs to the dirty raincoat of Holly Ramos' "Art Lover".) Is there an arc here, from the Smiths through the Replacements to Lydia Lunch? Maybe, but who can tell at this time of night?
Back on schedule!
1. "William It Was Really Nothing"
/ The SmithsFrom Louder Than Bombs
(1987)Anybody here see 500 Days of Summer? Remember that scene in the elevator where Joseph Gordon-Levitt finally strikes up a conversation with Zooey Deschanel? It happens when he recognizes that she's listening to the Smiths on her iPod -- the sign of a kindred spirit. Actually she was listening to "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" -- the flip side to this 1984 single -- but let's not split hairs. Their sound is so distinctive, it's like walking into a room and being transported to the Planet of Morrissey.
2. "The Lovecats"
/ The CureFrom Japanese Whispers
(1983) Still in British New Wave territory, with this spiky but highly danceable little track by the Cure, a.k.a. Robert Smith and whoever he's playing with now. When I first bought Boys Don't Cry, I never thought this was a band that would still be around 25 years later. Shows how much I know! I love the alley cat meows tossed in, and that bang-on-a-can percussion.
3. "This Is Where I Belong" / Bill Lloyd
From The Modern Genius Of Ray Davies (Mojo magazine giveaway, 2006)
One of the better Kinks tribute albums (amazing how many of those are around when you start digging). Lloyd throws a little extra good ol' boy twang into this iconic Kinks track, an interesting idea. Personally I prefer Ron Sexsmith's version (on -- he captures the oddball neurotic edge of Ray Davies's original. (Borderline agoraphobic, more like.) But this track lured me into exploring Lloyd's other music, which I like a good deal. Note to musicians: Those tribute album tracks DO snare new listeners.
4. "Alex Chilton" / The Replacements
From Pleased To Meet Me
(1987) Still in the 1980s, but now in American post-punk garage rock territory (actually, more like basement rock.) No wonder Paul Westerburg developed a man-crush on ex-Big Star leader Alex Chilton -- the album was recorded in Chilton's hometown Memphis, with Jim Dickinson producing, and Chilton joined them on guitar for "Can't Hardly Wait." Of course, after Chilton heard this track, I don't think he ever spoke to Westerburg again. So it goes.
5. "A Heartbeat
" / Roman CandleFrom Oh Tall Tree in the Ear
(2009)At last, a newer song, but frankly this irrepressibly cheery gem has such a classic pop sound, it could have been written anytime between 1962 and 2010. I love this little North Carolina band -- check out my previous post.
6. "Something Better Beginning" / The Kinks
From Kinda Kinks
(1965)One of my favorite British Invasion tracks EVER.
7. "Cold River
" / John HiattFrom Master of Disaster
(2005)Love this album -- it came out the season when I first discovered Hiatt's music, and I gorged on it. I just noticed a line that never struck me before -- about a woman slipping on her stockings, "and it made the sweetest sound." (Remember when he tells his girl in "Drive South," "don't bother to pack your nylons"?) John knows that equation: Lingerie = intimacy.
8. "Art Lover
" / Holly RamosFrom Racehorse
(2006)What is it, Kinks covers night? Interesting twist, to have a woman singing this song, with its creepy hints of pedophilia. (Borderline twisted stuff comes so naturally to Ray Davies.) I interviewed Holly back in 2006 when this album came out; she has just the right waifish punk charm to pull it off.
9. "Cushie Butterfield" / Alan Price
From Geordie Roots and Branches
No links, sorry. This album is an obscurity indeed -- a charity effort by some Newcastle bank, which ex-Animals bassist Chas Chandler produced; he roped in his old bandmate Alan Price to sing a bunch of traditional English folk songs. I know this song well, not from pub singalongs but from a kids' music album my toddlers listened to incessantly -- "Cushie Butterfield" was Sting's contribution. (Those guttural Northern vowels -- priceless!) A great little ditty with a sea shanty lilt.
10. "Lady Scarface
" / Lydia LunchFrom Queen of Siam (1991)
One of the joys of internet fan forums is that from time to time folks do CD mixes for each other, which is how this offbeat Lydia Lunch track ended up in my iTunes. It's a deliciously kinky little spoken word number, kinda Gothic cabaret in mood, with Lydia's kittenish pout tilting toward the psychotic. (She's all whips and handcuffs to the dirty raincoat of Holly Ramos' "Art Lover".) Is there an arc here, from the Smiths through the Replacements to Lydia Lunch? Maybe, but who can tell at this time of night?
Sunday, October 05, 2008
"Please Please Please Let Me Get Get What I Want" /
The Smiths
It's killing me here, knowing that, out in San Francisco this weekend, Nick Lowe and Ry Cooder and Jim Keltner played together for the first time in nearly 20 years, coming just a John Hiatt short of reconvening their old band Little Village. Elvis C made a guest appearance, too. All this happening and me not there? It's killing me. The whole gang of them are playing the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival right about now (some year I seriously have to get out there for that festival), and then Nick's going down to Austin to tape a segment of Austin City Limits. I am so dying here!
And don't even get me started about how much I'd love to fly over to London for a night to see Ray Davies in his new musical, Come Dancing. The show is reported to be simply brilliant, but let's face it, the chances of it ever coming over for a Broadway run are slim-to-none.
But no, here I am stuck in New York cleaning up dog poop and nagging children to do their homework and trying desperately to finish this book I'm writing. Cruel and unusual, that's what I call it.
Well, here's a song that sums up my state of mind. You can always count on the Smiths to deliver a premium neurotic snit when you need one. Morrissey's petulant whiny drawl suits my frame of mind perfectly. It doesn't even really matter whether his affected pose is tongue-in-cheek or not -- I still get a kick out of his fey falsettos and vocal flutters, that sing-songy rehearsal of all his wrongs. "Good times for a change / See, the luck I've had / Can make a good man / Turn bad" and then later "Haven't had a dream in a long time" -- this thing is just drenched in self-pity.
Those dogged repeated "please's" sound so urgent, and yet so unhopeful -- just listen to the chorus: "So please please please / Let me, let me, let me / Let me get what I want / This time. " The kicker is that tacked-on "this time", a rib-jab reminder that every other time, he hasn't gotten what he wants. And just in case you were ever in doubt, he reiterates at the end of the song, "So for once in my life / Let me get what I want / Lord knows, it would be the first time /Lord knows, it would be the first time . . . "
What he wants is, so obviously, sex -- and not just sex, but a particularly furtive, groping, clumsy sort of adolescent sex. It's urgent as hell, but by the time he's done, I'm grinning too much to feel sorry for myself anymore. A dose of rock-and-roll therapy -- that cures me every time.
Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want sample
The Smiths
It's killing me here, knowing that, out in San Francisco this weekend, Nick Lowe and Ry Cooder and Jim Keltner played together for the first time in nearly 20 years, coming just a John Hiatt short of reconvening their old band Little Village. Elvis C made a guest appearance, too. All this happening and me not there? It's killing me. The whole gang of them are playing the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival right about now (some year I seriously have to get out there for that festival), and then Nick's going down to Austin to tape a segment of Austin City Limits. I am so dying here!
And don't even get me started about how much I'd love to fly over to London for a night to see Ray Davies in his new musical, Come Dancing. The show is reported to be simply brilliant, but let's face it, the chances of it ever coming over for a Broadway run are slim-to-none.
But no, here I am stuck in New York cleaning up dog poop and nagging children to do their homework and trying desperately to finish this book I'm writing. Cruel and unusual, that's what I call it.
Well, here's a song that sums up my state of mind. You can always count on the Smiths to deliver a premium neurotic snit when you need one. Morrissey's petulant whiny drawl suits my frame of mind perfectly. It doesn't even really matter whether his affected pose is tongue-in-cheek or not -- I still get a kick out of his fey falsettos and vocal flutters, that sing-songy rehearsal of all his wrongs. "Good times for a change / See, the luck I've had / Can make a good man / Turn bad" and then later "Haven't had a dream in a long time" -- this thing is just drenched in self-pity.
Those dogged repeated "please's" sound so urgent, and yet so unhopeful -- just listen to the chorus: "So please please please / Let me, let me, let me / Let me get what I want / This time. " The kicker is that tacked-on "this time", a rib-jab reminder that every other time, he hasn't gotten what he wants. And just in case you were ever in doubt, he reiterates at the end of the song, "So for once in my life / Let me get what I want / Lord knows, it would be the first time /Lord knows, it would be the first time . . . "
What he wants is, so obviously, sex -- and not just sex, but a particularly furtive, groping, clumsy sort of adolescent sex. It's urgent as hell, but by the time he's done, I'm grinning too much to feel sorry for myself anymore. A dose of rock-and-roll therapy -- that cures me every time.
Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want sample
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
"Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" / The Smiths
Watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall over the weekend, I caught this song faintly in the background as the lead character (hard to call him a hero) moped around his house after being dumped. An obvious soundtrack choice, but I wish it had been played up more; that adolescent self-pity vibrating through Morrissey's vocals completely pegged what was going on with that guy, and I've been humming the song ever since.
I missed the Smiths -- but then again, most of us in the States did. Face it, the Eighties were a strange musical limbo, with the great stuff (there was great stuff, I now know) floating around the ozone while records like Thriller and Like a Virgin and Kissing to Be Clever were repeatedly blasted at us. No wonder we sucked up the Police and Dire Straits like fresh water in the desert. If it hadn't been for that vacuum, maybe we wouldn't have had Springsteen to deal with today.
But coming to the Smiths late is better than never discovering them at all. While I dig Morrissey's more recent stuff too, the idiosyncracies of the Smiths really get me where I live. Being a Ray Davies fan, I'm not put off by Morrissey's fey vocals at all; in fact I love them. Few songwriters can get away with throwing rhymes out the window, but Morrissey pulls it off, maybe because he also doesn't care how many syllables are in a line. That quirky mix of Brechtian songspiele with a backbeat and Johnny Marr's catchy guitar riffs was genius.
Our singer's condition is something we can all secretly identify with: "I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour / But heaven knows I'm miserable now / I was looking for a job and then I found a job / And heaven knows I'm miserable now." None of the conventional cures really work for this guy. As the melody ricochets wearily between two notes, occasionally flipping up into a mournful falsetto, we're sucked into his passive-aggressive paralysis.
His general misanthropy kicks in too -- "In my life / Why do I give valuable time / To people who don't care if I live or die" (great self-pitying wail there) or "Why do I smile / At people who / I'd much rather kick in the eye" -- we all know how that feels. But how English is that knee-jerk politeness, not to mention all the resentful baggage it carries with it? His girlfriend is useless: "What she asked of me at the end of the day / Caligula would have blushed." That line cracks me up, especially given the drama queen flutter he gives "blushed." "Oh, you've been in the house too long, she said" -- I bet she did -- "And I naturally fled." Naturally. Really, he may feel sorry for himself, but I've got news for you, man, she's not the problem.
So what are we supposed to make of this guy? Morrissey sees how ridiculous he is, for sure, but he's not totally putting him down; there's some sneaky sympathy there too. (It's the same slippery perspective Ray Davies has been using for years.) We're free to see aspects of ourselves in his whiny despondency, or not. Whatever. It's better than a trip to the shrink, in my opinion, and a hell of lot more fun.
Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now sample
Watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall over the weekend, I caught this song faintly in the background as the lead character (hard to call him a hero) moped around his house after being dumped. An obvious soundtrack choice, but I wish it had been played up more; that adolescent self-pity vibrating through Morrissey's vocals completely pegged what was going on with that guy, and I've been humming the song ever since.
I missed the Smiths -- but then again, most of us in the States did. Face it, the Eighties were a strange musical limbo, with the great stuff (there was great stuff, I now know) floating around the ozone while records like Thriller and Like a Virgin and Kissing to Be Clever were repeatedly blasted at us. No wonder we sucked up the Police and Dire Straits like fresh water in the desert. If it hadn't been for that vacuum, maybe we wouldn't have had Springsteen to deal with today.
But coming to the Smiths late is better than never discovering them at all. While I dig Morrissey's more recent stuff too, the idiosyncracies of the Smiths really get me where I live. Being a Ray Davies fan, I'm not put off by Morrissey's fey vocals at all; in fact I love them. Few songwriters can get away with throwing rhymes out the window, but Morrissey pulls it off, maybe because he also doesn't care how many syllables are in a line. That quirky mix of Brechtian songspiele with a backbeat and Johnny Marr's catchy guitar riffs was genius.
Our singer's condition is something we can all secretly identify with: "I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour / But heaven knows I'm miserable now / I was looking for a job and then I found a job / And heaven knows I'm miserable now." None of the conventional cures really work for this guy. As the melody ricochets wearily between two notes, occasionally flipping up into a mournful falsetto, we're sucked into his passive-aggressive paralysis.
His general misanthropy kicks in too -- "In my life / Why do I give valuable time / To people who don't care if I live or die" (great self-pitying wail there) or "Why do I smile / At people who / I'd much rather kick in the eye" -- we all know how that feels. But how English is that knee-jerk politeness, not to mention all the resentful baggage it carries with it? His girlfriend is useless: "What she asked of me at the end of the day / Caligula would have blushed." That line cracks me up, especially given the drama queen flutter he gives "blushed." "Oh, you've been in the house too long, she said" -- I bet she did -- "And I naturally fled." Naturally. Really, he may feel sorry for himself, but I've got news for you, man, she's not the problem.
So what are we supposed to make of this guy? Morrissey sees how ridiculous he is, for sure, but he's not totally putting him down; there's some sneaky sympathy there too. (It's the same slippery perspective Ray Davies has been using for years.) We're free to see aspects of ourselves in his whiny despondency, or not. Whatever. It's better than a trip to the shrink, in my opinion, and a hell of lot more fun.
Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now sample
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
"We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful" / Morrissey
I suppose if I lived in the UK I'd have a strong opinion about Morrissey. In that parallel universe, I probably would have thought that the Smiths were the salvation of rock music in the early 80s, and then Morrissey's diva act would have gotten on my nerves. I would have blamed him when the band split up and he launched his solo career. His moving to Los Angeles would have just been the icing on the cake.
I don't live in the UK, however. I liked what I heard of the Smiths' music -- the reptitive riff-like melodies, the neurotic lyrics, the odd cabaret-style singing voice (really not all that different from Boy George, is it?) -- but you just didn't hear it much over here. I didn't even know Morrissey by name. So nowadays, when a Morrissey tune comes up on Sirius radio, it has no baggage for me. I don't have a visual to go with it, let alone a mental file full of the bloody-minded things the guy has said and done. I can enjoy it for what is is.
This song I first heard in the cover version by Reel Big Fish, a catchy, tight rendition that's totally fun. Generally, however, I think Morrissey's own morose, effete croon is the perfect vehicle for his offbeat, twisted songs. His original is on the 1992 album Your Arsenal, but I found the track on a Best of Morrissey CD, which I suspect gives me all the Morrissey I'll ever need.
One thing you've got to say for Morrissey: his songs are brutally honest about how horrible people can be. (Drawing from his own experience, no doubt.) He rarely bothers to rhyme his lyrics, but that makes the songs even stronger, as if he's just taking down verbatim the crap people say. This perky, snarky song exposes the total pettiness of envy: "We hate it when our friends become successful / Oh, look at those clothes, / Now look at that face, it's so old, / And such a video -- well, it's really laughable / Ah hahahaha..." Oh, I'm sure none of us have reacted this way ever. Right.
The narrator of this song may be just a character -- one of Morrissey's former friends, who I'm sure turned on him when he became successful (I'm guessing they had other provocations as well, but he'd never acknowledge that). In verse two he adds, with an extra sneer, "We hate it when our friends become successful, / And if they're northern / That makes it even worse" (Morrissey is from Manchester, which is northern enough.) And in verse three, he mocks their self-interest: "You see, it should have been me / It could have been me / Everybody knows, everybody says so." Sunk in self-pity, the narrator lashes out irritably even at his supporters: "They say, "Oh, you have loads of songs, / So many songs, / More songs than they can stand / Verse, chorus, middle eighth break" / Just listen: Lalalalalalala..." Envy really isn't pretty, is it? No wonder the medieval church named it one of the seven deadly sins.
I dig the way Morrissey's campy vocal skips blithely over a charged-up beat and some brisk power-chord guitar. Those taunting vocal flutters, the disdainful swoops, the mocking ha-ha-ha's -- he can sound so wounded and snide all at once, it's truly a marvel. The truth is, if Morrissey were a normal, salt-of-the-earth type bloke, he just wouldn't deliver this much nasty fun, would he?
We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful sample
I suppose if I lived in the UK I'd have a strong opinion about Morrissey. In that parallel universe, I probably would have thought that the Smiths were the salvation of rock music in the early 80s, and then Morrissey's diva act would have gotten on my nerves. I would have blamed him when the band split up and he launched his solo career. His moving to Los Angeles would have just been the icing on the cake.
I don't live in the UK, however. I liked what I heard of the Smiths' music -- the reptitive riff-like melodies, the neurotic lyrics, the odd cabaret-style singing voice (really not all that different from Boy George, is it?) -- but you just didn't hear it much over here. I didn't even know Morrissey by name. So nowadays, when a Morrissey tune comes up on Sirius radio, it has no baggage for me. I don't have a visual to go with it, let alone a mental file full of the bloody-minded things the guy has said and done. I can enjoy it for what is is.
This song I first heard in the cover version by Reel Big Fish, a catchy, tight rendition that's totally fun. Generally, however, I think Morrissey's own morose, effete croon is the perfect vehicle for his offbeat, twisted songs. His original is on the 1992 album Your Arsenal, but I found the track on a Best of Morrissey CD, which I suspect gives me all the Morrissey I'll ever need.
One thing you've got to say for Morrissey: his songs are brutally honest about how horrible people can be. (Drawing from his own experience, no doubt.) He rarely bothers to rhyme his lyrics, but that makes the songs even stronger, as if he's just taking down verbatim the crap people say. This perky, snarky song exposes the total pettiness of envy: "We hate it when our friends become successful / Oh, look at those clothes, / Now look at that face, it's so old, / And such a video -- well, it's really laughable / Ah hahahaha..." Oh, I'm sure none of us have reacted this way ever. Right.
The narrator of this song may be just a character -- one of Morrissey's former friends, who I'm sure turned on him when he became successful (I'm guessing they had other provocations as well, but he'd never acknowledge that). In verse two he adds, with an extra sneer, "We hate it when our friends become successful, / And if they're northern / That makes it even worse" (Morrissey is from Manchester, which is northern enough.) And in verse three, he mocks their self-interest: "You see, it should have been me / It could have been me / Everybody knows, everybody says so." Sunk in self-pity, the narrator lashes out irritably even at his supporters: "They say, "Oh, you have loads of songs, / So many songs, / More songs than they can stand / Verse, chorus, middle eighth break" / Just listen: Lalalalalalala..." Envy really isn't pretty, is it? No wonder the medieval church named it one of the seven deadly sins.
I dig the way Morrissey's campy vocal skips blithely over a charged-up beat and some brisk power-chord guitar. Those taunting vocal flutters, the disdainful swoops, the mocking ha-ha-ha's -- he can sound so wounded and snide all at once, it's truly a marvel. The truth is, if Morrissey were a normal, salt-of-the-earth type bloke, he just wouldn't deliver this much nasty fun, would he?
We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful sample
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