SATURDAY SHUFFLE

Can't shuffle during the week these days, with electric drills and hammering going on all day every day.  (I HATE this renovation.) Thank god for the weekend!

1. Mean Mr. Mustard / The Beatles
From Abbey Road (1969)
One problem with the shuffle: It's always jarring to hear one isolated section of the great Side Two medley on this album. (Read my You Never Give Me Your Money post for the full version of how much I love this "musical mosaic"). Every time I hear John sing that Mr. Mustard is a "dirty old man," I think of Paul's grandfather -- "such a clean old man" -- in A Hard Day's Night.  And "his sister Pam" -- is that Polythene Pam, whose song we'll get next?  (And is Polythene Pam the roommate of Lovely Rita Meter Maid?) Yeah, I know, I listen to too much Beatles music. But I love that Mr. Mustard "keeps a ten bob note up his nose" -- perfect Lennonesque detail. 

2. Why Why Why Why Why / Brinsley Schwarz
From Nervous on the Road (1972)
Another throwaway Nick Lowe country rock gem, featuring one of his standard lonely losers.  Miserable in love, miserable out of love, moping around the house -- sound familiar?

3. The Thrill / Alan Price
From Alan Price (1977)
The cynical side of Alan Price, the side that made his O Lucky Man! soundtrack so brilliant. "Oh I just love the thrill of rock and roll / It gives release unto the darkest soul / The thickest yob can get a job / Rock and roll can keep you off the dole."  And is it sung like a rock anthem? No indeed -- it's a chirpy little music hall ditty, sung over a ragtime piano. So there!

4. Space Oddity / David Bowie
From Space Oddity (1969)
One of the great eccentric rock songs of all time, inspiring one of my earliest posts here.

5. I Wish I Felt This Way At Home / Dolly Parton
From Just Because I'm a Woman (1968)
Adultery, one of the great themes of country music. That tremble in Dolly's voice is super-saturated with guilt and desire; yet she still has an innocent, forthright quality. (This is from her first solo album, when she was still Porter Waggoner's "girl find.") She really does wish she felt this way about her husband, that's the kicker.  She means to be good... 

6. Pressure / The Kinks
From Low Budget (1979)
This album marked the Kinks' US comeback with a vengeance.  Just to prove they weren't British Invasion fossils, here comes this proto-punk anthem, given Ray Davies' special fragile neurotic twist: "Pressure, pressure, I've got pressure! / Oh, yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah..."  Was Ray mocking punk, or trying to keep up with the times?  Both, no doubt. 

7. You're Wondering Now / The Specials
From The Specials  (1980)
Ah, the lo-fi charms of the Specials! That knock on the door, the muffled "You can't come in!" And then the mopey shuffling reggae begins, brooding over how he's going to get by now that he's on his own. At last the instruments pack up, and he's singing alone, still wondering how... 

8. She's Going / The English Beat
From Special Beat Service (1982)
Perfect segue!  So it's going to be a ska Saturday -- I can live with that. Hear how the English Beat jacked up the ska tempo, made it more frantic, more urban.  Different drugs, I guess.

9. Take the Money and Run / Steve Miller
From Fly Like An Eagle (1976)
The tempo just got laidback again; we're far away from the Brixton streets, loping around in sunny Texas.  Yahoo! I wasn't living in the US in 1976, so I missed the radio overload of this song, thank goodness. Remember all those anarchistic 70s movies about wild young couples on crime sprees? Badlands, The Getaway, Sugarland Express (with True Romance and Natural-Born Killers their 1990s offspring)?  This song should have been the soundtrack for all of them.

10.  Hey Jude / The Beatles
From Past Masters, Vol, 2 (compilation)
So we begin and end with the Beatles -- that's fitting. Does this song go on too long?  Maybe, but I always, always, end up singing along with the "la la la la-la-la-las," which I'm sure was what Paul McCartney intended. My private theory: this is Paul's comeback to "All You Need Is Love"; he wanted the swaying crowds to be chanting along to his song, dammit.  And now they are.

WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE

Wait, it's December already? Wait, it's Wednesday already?

1.  "Changed the Locks" / Lucinda Williams  
From Lucinda Williams (1998)
I think I'd like Lucinda Williams more if all you male music fans weren't always slobbering over her brassy-babe act.  Okay, yes, the rootsy squawk and drawl of this song is appealing, and yes, it should be satisfying to hear a sister wash that man right out of her hair.  It's just that I wouldn't trust her with my man for five seconds.   

2. "This Empty Place" / The Searchers
From It's the Searchers (1965)
British Invasion bands sure did like to cover Burt Bacharach-Hal David songs.  This was a hit for Cilla Black and Dionne Warwick, and the lyrics are really better for a girl singer -- borderline dopey Brill Building sentiments.  But that cha-cha beat is beguiling, and I love the octave swoops in the lead vocal (either Frank Allen or Chris Curtis, in the Searchers' revolving door of personnel). The Searchers never quite got their due, IMHO -- they never had a compelling enough image or a distinctive enough sound to compete in that very crowded field -- yet they turned out a surprising number of great tracks, and this is one of my faves.       

3. "One Bright Star" / Paul Weller
From 22 Dreams (2008)
A tango -- a tango! -- from the former Jam front man, whose music gets more eccentrically eclectic with every album. 

4. "Hollywood Bed" / The Blasters
From Testament: The Complete Blasters Collection (compilation)
Back to classic rock and roll sound, though the track dates only to 1981.  I came late to the Blasters, via Dave Alvin (Nick Lowe's Yep Roc label mate), who long ago played in this band with his brother Phil.  That revved-up tempo, the hectic joy of this song -- this was SO not the sound of the 80s for me, but I'm glad I eventually found it.

5. "Whistle for the Choir" / The Fratellis
From Costello Music (2007)
A charming little shuffle of a song by one of my favorite young BritIndie bands. Melody is alive and well and living in Scotland.

6. "Don't Let Me Down" / The Beatles
From Past Masters Vol. 2 (compilation)
1969, and we knew the Beatles were pretty much kaput --for the first time, John Lennon was taking full songwriting credit for a song. And -- ouch! -- he's singing to Yoko, "I'm in love for the first time / Don't you know it's gonna last / It's a love that last forever / It's a love that has no past."  Well, I knew what he was getting at, but I cringed for Cynthia's sake.  Am I the only one who hears a veiled threat in this song, shades of "Run For Your Life"?  Johnny, we hardly knew ye.... 

7. "My Blue Angels" / Jon Lindsay
From Escape from Plaza-Midwood (2010)
Hello, what have we here?  Yesterday's brand-new find. Honest, I didn't rig this; I am NOT being paid to promote this kid, I swear.  But seriously, you should check him out.

8. "Blank Expression" / The Specials
From The Specials (1980)
Aw, what a great album. It wasn't just ska, it was political ska with a low-fi punk edge.  I love how the voices are just slightly out of synch as they sing, "Where did you get that / [blank] Blank expression on your face?"  This lyric runs through my mind whenever I walk through hipster Williamsburg.

9. "Making Whoopie" / Ben Sidran
From Old Songs for the New Depression (2002)
Jazz -- because sometimes you've just got to.  Ben Sidran sneaks on here as an acolyte of the divine Mose Allison, who slipped onto my radar courtesy of Georgie Fame and Van Morrison.  It's just Ben and a piano, taking this silly old show tune through all its changes.  Dee-lish. 

10. "Beautiful Night" / Paul McCartney
From Flaming Pie (1997)
That searing solo John, and now some throwaway solo Paul. (Don't worry, I'll never switch allegiances.) Well, it is a beautiful night -- as Paul tells us (I've counted) thirty-nine times.  A charming simple little tune which Paul then runs into the ground for the last minute and a half.  Man oh man, this dude so needs me to help him edit his music . . . along with any other services I'd be happy to provide...

The 100 Best Singles In My Head
Nos. 21-25

My second British Invasion -- those enchanted years at the end of the 70s and dawn of the 80s, when punk and New Wave were busy duking it out for musical supremacy. This was music that just crackled with fresh energy; every Tuesday held the promise of some new amazing LP that would blow my mind.

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

21. "Pump It Up" / Elvis Costello (1978)
By the time Elvis Costello burst onto the scene, I had become an album buyer, not a singles buyer, and hardly ever listened to the radio; MTV hadn't yet materialized to propel singles with catchy videos to the top of the charts. But I need at least one token Elvis Costello single -- he's such a musical hero of mine -- so I'll choose "Pump It Up" in honor of his second album, This Year's Model, the LP that first introduced me to his spiky charms. In general I'm a deep-tracks album fan when it comes to Elvis,* but "Pump It Up" was widely played in the fall of 1978, at least in the bars I frequented; some clubs even played this primitive video. As a newly-minted Elvis* fanatic I was proud to watch him storm the shores of America. What a tight little rocker this is! It starts out emphatically, with brisk drums and bass, then layers on Telstar twangs of guitar, a barrage of funhouse organ, and finally Elvis's* vocals, a nonstop assault of aggression and malice. We couldn't decipher everything he spat out, I'll admit -- many evenings were spent with ears patiently bent to the stereo speakers, trying to work it all out. (New Wavers would never do anything so retro as print lyrics on album covers.) But certain phrases came through loud and clear: "She said that's that / I don't want to chitter-chat"; "There's nothing underhand / She wouldn't understand" ; or "She's been a bad girl / She's like a chemical / Though you try to stop it, / She's like a narcotic." (Watch out ladies, the skinny nerd in the glasses sees right through you.) Melody was replaced with a terse morse code of repeated notes and thrusting jabs of drums, bass, and guitar. When all else failed, we could certainly join in the head-banging chorus: "PUMP IT UP! when you don't really need it/ PUMP IT UP! until you can feel it." I didn't know what I was singing about -- drugs? sex? -- but I knew it had to be sung loud. Maybe not a feel-good singalong, but exhilarating? You bet.

22. "Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick" / "There Ain't Half Been Some Clever Bastards" / Ian Dury and the Blockheads (1978)
My first couple of years in New York was a charmed era, musically speaking; riding the crest of the New Wave, we had so many clever, catchy bands to listen to. But I was always seduced by the wordsmiths, and there were some days when even Elvis* took a back seat to the razor-sharp wit of Mr. Ian Dury.

23. " A Message to You Rudy" / The Specials (1979)
With Elvis* as their godfather, the Specials got a shortcut onto my playlist in 1979. But it wasn't just the Elvis Connection; one listen to this track and we had to love this band, with their slappy ska rhythm, punk attitude, and pointed social commentary. How much had changed in the 10 years since The Foundations broke onto the charts; by 1979, all the cool bands rallied to the Rock Against Racism agenda, and times were ripe for a ska revival. What better trailblazers than this black-and-white band from Coventry, with their pork-pie hats and mohair suits? For at least a month after we discovered this album, my office mate Susan Roberts and I would drop this onto the turntable the minute we got home from work. That intro accordion would start its lazy wheeze, and we'd kick off the work heels and collapse gratefully onto my sway-backed sofa. I had no idea who "Rudy" was -- only later would I learn it was short for "rude boy," the 60s Jamaican equivalent of a hip-hop gangsta. The context made it clear, though: "Stop your messing around / Better think of your future / Time you straightened right out / Creating problems in town." (I could just picture a scene from that Jimmy Cliff movie The Harder They Come.) Despite a snappy horn section, the Specials' version sounded just amateur enough to be a credible voice from the slums. Terry Hall and Lynval Golding sing the lead together, but not quite together, and lay on the rude boy accent; the backing singers sound like they're way across the alley, kicking at cans; then the whole joint swings when the trombonist lays into his solo in the middle eight. (That would be guest star Rico Rodriguez, who played the same bit on Dandy Livingstone's 1967 original.) Yeah, yeah, the politics were there -- two years later when Brixton burst into riot, I instantly thought of this song. But who am I fooling? What I really loved about this track was simply that ska beat. That happy-go-lucky looseness was the best thing about this track -- how brilliant of producer Elvis* to just say no to slickness.

24. "Rock the Casbah" / The Clash (1982)
In theory, yes, I thought punk music was a great liberating force for popular music. In reality, most punk bands were too crude for my taste. (I'm thinking of a Stranglers show at the Roundhouse in 1977 . . . ) But I always had to make an exception for the Clash.

25. "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself" / Dusty Springfield (1964)
Okay, so Dusty had nothing to do with New Wave or punk -- but then, she wasn't really British Invasion either, not in the classic sense. She was just one of the greatest girl singers ever, her voice pure Motown housed by accident in a nice Irish Catholic convent girl. For years, there was a funny sort of competition going on between Sandie Shaw, Dusty Springfield, and Dionne Warwick to see who could be the foremost interpreter of Burt Bacharach/Hal David songs. (Later even Elvis* would give it a shot.) To me, though, there's no question that Dusty won that competition hands down. Memorable as their melodies may be, the point of a Bacharach/David song is always the tortured emotions -- break-ups, separations, dissolving marriages, stealthy lust. And come on, nobody did tortured emotions like Dusty did. The scenario here is all too familiar: Dusty's moping around the house after losing her lover. (Pair this with Patsy Cline's "Walkin' After Midnight" if you're really in the mood for self-pity.) "I just don't know what to do with myself," she sighs. " I'm so used to doing everything with you / Planning everything for two / And now that we're through . . . " I love how the lines get progressively shorter, until the final line weakly peters out; it perfectly mirrors how her life is closing in on itself. Even that little trumpet riff that punctuates the verse is a compressed version of that same melodic phrase. Yet she flings her voice into the crest of each line as if there's no tomorrow. "Going to the movies always makes me sad," she wails, "Parties make me feel as bad." She's out there, trying, but it's no use. And now, verse three, here comes the kicker, and it's quintessentially Dusty: "Baby, if your new love ever turns you down / Come on back, I will be around / Just waiting for you . . . " Only Dusty can make crawling back such a noble romantic gesture. The production is exquisite, with just enough strings and backing vocals to underscore the operatic shimmer of Dusty's voice. Oh, and that flagellating kick-drum! This is no time for half-emotions, my friends. Pull out all the stops.

* NOTE: On this blog, the single name "Elvis" will ALWAYS refer to Costello, not Presley.

"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