"Ready To Start" / Arcade Fire
Okay, so my guest blogger for the summer got sidetracked, and now he's going back to school and I've lost him for the next few months. Nevertheless, I have one thing to thank him for -- he gave me his copy of the new Arcade Fire album The Suburbs, and I'm helplessly -- helplessly, I tell you -- in love with this track.
Mostly, I have to admit, it's that chorus -- the progression of the "if I was" clauses: "If I was scared / I would / If I was bored [later changed to "pure"] / You know I would / If I was yours..." and the pregnant, yearning pause before he concludes "but I'm not." This is just eating at him, that he can't get this girl. Forget that pose of hipster disaffected cool; he wants her. But is he willing to stand on the precipice, risk everything, to get her? Maybe yesterday, but today he's finally ready to move past that. It's a huge step, and this song just vibrates with fear and trembling resolution.
He knows the world is full of risks. There are the businessmen who will drink his blood (notice how craftily they add "like the kids in art school said they would" -- no knee-jerk prejudices here!). He's willing to bow down to the emperor, even though he knows the guy's got no clothes. But he won't pretend he feels alright, even if she knocks on his door; it may be stepping out into the dark, but he's finally got the courage to stand on his own two feet.
Don't you remember that moment -- when you finally realize that the person you've idolized has feet of clay? It's a liberating moment, but scary too. For once, Arcade Fire justifies the Springsteen-like anthemic build-up of their songs; it's simply the sound of a guy mustering his courage to confront a brave new world. The buzzy clutter of sound behind Win Butler's vocals makes supreme sense -- he's still fighting his way past all those hipster-approved attitudes. Now, at last, he's ready to start sounding like himself.
Personally I never liked Arcade Fire's earlier albums; this one has completely turned me around. And I know it's a monster hit (I usually hate the monster hits); I know that the indie world feels betrayed that these guys have gone mainstream. Of course they'll make a ton of money with this record, play the Garden, top the charts. So what? WAKE UP, PEOPLE!! When the music's good, it's good. Why should the "indie" label have to mean "only minimal, underground success"?
This album seems to me like Arcade Fire's coming of age record, the one where they prove they've got the goods. I don't blame them for being scared -- they've got no place to go from here but down.
Still -- you know what? I'm laying my money on these kids.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE
Sitting in my hotel room...but my iPod seems haunted by Nick Lowe again! Yikes!
1. "Alone in the Summer" / Tom Gallagher
From Age of the Wheel (unreleased)
Lurchy, angst-ridden rock & roll from the late Tom Gallagher, a fellow Kinks fan whose musical gifts sadly escaped the recognition he deserved.
2. "Ireland" / Greg Trooper
From Between a House and a Hard Place (2010)
Ooh, another of my special guys! Here's a live acoustic performance of one of Troop's most euphoric love songs, a lilting rhapsody about a girl from ( -- wait for it -- ) Brooklyn. It's dizzying how over-the-moon he is -- "When I'm with you, it feels so right / My wallet's full on Friday night / My ship has docked, and my kingdom's come / And my heart's unlocked and overrun" -- 000h, that's love for you.
3. "What's Shakin' On the Hill" / Nick Lowe
From Party of One (1989)Here he is again. Wistful reflections from a misfit loner -- and yet he's still the Jesus of Cool.
4. "Nearer to You" / Elvis Costello & Allen Toussaint
From The River in Reverse (2006)
Okay, so it's more Elvis than Allen. Still, Elvis (a.k.a. Nick Lowe's most famous protege) is spilling his heart out in classic R&B mode, all dressed up with AT's rippling piano riffs -- and if it ain't New Orleans proper, it's still a fine thing.
5. "Big Hair" / Nick Lowe
From Pinker and Prouder Than Previous (1988)
All roads lead back to Nick. "Big hair, where you going to?" One of my favorite driving songs ever, a rockabilly romp with a ton of car puns and a sexy subtext. Nick at his worst -- which still means it's wonderful.
6. "Summer Is Over" / Fred EaglesmithFrom Milly's Cafe (2006)
The country vibe continues with this twangy little waltz, perfect for the waning days of August, with a slightly scruffy carnival wheeze. Think Springsteen's "4th of July, Asbury Park," filtered through Tom Waits' lowlife sensibility, with a little Kerouac thrown in for good measure. There's no trumped-up melancholy here, though -- Eaglesmith's a genuine man of the people. Check him out; you'll love him.
7. "Star Ship" / Brinsley Schwarz
From Despite It All (1970)
Why, what a surprise -- Nick Lowe again! (Really, it's all coincidence, I swear.) Another waltz, a little more uptempo but just as twangy. A deservedly neglected track, from the days when Nick Lowe churned out imitative country-rock by the boatload.
8. "Show Me" / Lulu
From It's Lulu (1969)
Lulu pulls out the Big Production Values -- horns, strings, Latin percussion, and 60s-era sizzle worthy of a James Bond theme song. But beneath it all is a snappy R&B number from the pen of Joe Tex (remember Rockpile's version of his song "If Sugar Was As Sweet As You"? Another Nick connection. . . .) "Show me a woman that's got a good man / And I'll show you a woman doing all she can / To make life happy for her lovin' man / So worry don't cross his mind." It IS that simple, folks.
9. "Jack Shit George" / Ian Dury & the Blockheads
From Mr. Love Pants (1998)
Oh, ye modern rappers, look at how the Cockney master did it. Leading off Dury's final album -- which reunited him with the Blockheads after 15 years -- this snappy litany skewers all the ills of modern education and their dire consequences, spooling out over a background of deeply, deeply funky jazz. "What did you learn at school today? / Jack shit / The minute the teacher turns away / That's it / How many times were you truly intrigued? / Not any / Is boredom a symptom of mental fatigue? / Not many. . . ." (Oh, and guess who performed on the Live Stiffs Tour with Ian Dury?)
10. "Bowie" / Flight of the Conchords
From Flight of the Conchords (2008)
(Weren't we just talking about this number?) On the TV show, the spectacle of Jemaine tricked out like Ziggy Stardust, floating into Brett's dream, was one of the funniest comedy bits I've seen in ages. And of course the musical parody is spot-on. "Do you have one sequined jumpsuit in space, Bowie, or do you have ch-ch-changes?" The Nick connection? Just look at this David Bowie single's sleeve --
Now look at the single Nick Lowe released immediately after:
So you see, Nick Lowe likes to make fun of David Bowie too. There, I knew I'd find something!
Sitting in my hotel room...but my iPod seems haunted by Nick Lowe again! Yikes!
1. "Alone in the Summer" / Tom Gallagher
From Age of the Wheel (unreleased)
Lurchy, angst-ridden rock & roll from the late Tom Gallagher, a fellow Kinks fan whose musical gifts sadly escaped the recognition he deserved.
2. "Ireland" / Greg Trooper
From Between a House and a Hard Place (2010)
Ooh, another of my special guys! Here's a live acoustic performance of one of Troop's most euphoric love songs, a lilting rhapsody about a girl from ( -- wait for it -- ) Brooklyn. It's dizzying how over-the-moon he is -- "When I'm with you, it feels so right / My wallet's full on Friday night / My ship has docked, and my kingdom's come / And my heart's unlocked and overrun" -- 000h, that's love for you.
3. "What's Shakin' On the Hill" / Nick Lowe
From Party of One (1989)Here he is again. Wistful reflections from a misfit loner -- and yet he's still the Jesus of Cool.
4. "Nearer to You" / Elvis Costello & Allen Toussaint
From The River in Reverse (2006)
Okay, so it's more Elvis than Allen. Still, Elvis (a.k.a. Nick Lowe's most famous protege) is spilling his heart out in classic R&B mode, all dressed up with AT's rippling piano riffs -- and if it ain't New Orleans proper, it's still a fine thing.
5. "Big Hair" / Nick Lowe
From Pinker and Prouder Than Previous (1988)
All roads lead back to Nick. "Big hair, where you going to?" One of my favorite driving songs ever, a rockabilly romp with a ton of car puns and a sexy subtext. Nick at his worst -- which still means it's wonderful.
6. "Summer Is Over" / Fred EaglesmithFrom Milly's Cafe (2006)
The country vibe continues with this twangy little waltz, perfect for the waning days of August, with a slightly scruffy carnival wheeze. Think Springsteen's "4th of July, Asbury Park," filtered through Tom Waits' lowlife sensibility, with a little Kerouac thrown in for good measure. There's no trumped-up melancholy here, though -- Eaglesmith's a genuine man of the people. Check him out; you'll love him.
7. "Star Ship" / Brinsley Schwarz
From Despite It All (1970)
Why, what a surprise -- Nick Lowe again! (Really, it's all coincidence, I swear.) Another waltz, a little more uptempo but just as twangy. A deservedly neglected track, from the days when Nick Lowe churned out imitative country-rock by the boatload.
8. "Show Me" / Lulu
From It's Lulu (1969)
Lulu pulls out the Big Production Values -- horns, strings, Latin percussion, and 60s-era sizzle worthy of a James Bond theme song. But beneath it all is a snappy R&B number from the pen of Joe Tex (remember Rockpile's version of his song "If Sugar Was As Sweet As You"? Another Nick connection. . . .) "Show me a woman that's got a good man / And I'll show you a woman doing all she can / To make life happy for her lovin' man / So worry don't cross his mind." It IS that simple, folks.
9. "Jack Shit George" / Ian Dury & the Blockheads
From Mr. Love Pants (1998)
Oh, ye modern rappers, look at how the Cockney master did it. Leading off Dury's final album -- which reunited him with the Blockheads after 15 years -- this snappy litany skewers all the ills of modern education and their dire consequences, spooling out over a background of deeply, deeply funky jazz. "What did you learn at school today? / Jack shit / The minute the teacher turns away / That's it / How many times were you truly intrigued? / Not any / Is boredom a symptom of mental fatigue? / Not many. . . ." (Oh, and guess who performed on the Live Stiffs Tour with Ian Dury?)
10. "Bowie" / Flight of the Conchords
From Flight of the Conchords (2008)
(Weren't we just talking about this number?) On the TV show, the spectacle of Jemaine tricked out like Ziggy Stardust, floating into Brett's dream, was one of the funniest comedy bits I've seen in ages. And of course the musical parody is spot-on. "Do you have one sequined jumpsuit in space, Bowie, or do you have ch-ch-changes?" The Nick connection? Just look at this David Bowie single's sleeve --
Now look at the single Nick Lowe released immediately after:So you see, Nick Lowe likes to make fun of David Bowie too. There, I knew I'd find something!
Monday, August 23, 2010
"Move It On Over" / Hank Williams
Just got back from a week of house-building in New Orleans -- well, I wasn't doing the work, but the teenagers I was supervising were: painting, hanging vinyl siding, mounting insulation, putting up dry wall, the whole nine yards. Working in close quarters (not to mention the steamy heat), the crew instinctively fell into a sort of construction ballet, constantly calling out things like "coming through!" and "heads up!" and "move over!" And every time I heard that "move over," this song launched in my head.
But could I get a singalong going? No way. None of the kids knew that song -- urban teenagers don't tend to listen to a lot of Hank Williams. I'd have done better with Christina Aguilera's "Move It" or, even better, will.i.am's "I Like To Move It" from the cartoon movie Madagascar.
Maybe if we'd had a singalong I'd have gotten it out of my system. Instead here I am, days later, still murmuring the dang thing over and over. Take a listen:
The premise is ridiculously simple. The guy's had a fight with his wife, and now he's sleeping -- literally -- in the doghouse. It's the family pooch he's singing to, as he's scrounging a bit of floor to lay down on. "Move over little dog, 'cos the big dog's moving in," he declares. In every verse he changes that up, though -- "move over skinny dog, 'cos the fat dog's moving in," or "move over, nice dog, 'cos a mad dog's moving in," and, saving the best for last, "move over, cold dog, 'cos the hot dog's movin' in." He changes the verb, too -- "scoot it on over," "slide it on over," "sweep it on over," et cetera -- mixing things up just enough to keep you on your toes.
In the alternating lines, we get his story. She's warned him before not to play around, but he just couldn't behave himself -- and now she's changed the locks. The jaunty tempo tells me he's hasn't really learned his lesson, either, though he seems purty sorry at the moment (a cold hard floor'll do that to you).
Like a lot of the great country songs, this one skates along the edge of comedy, but it's got a bead on real life as well. Because we all know this kind of happy-go-lucky guy, don't we? Sure, he's a feckless rake, but that cheerful tone clues you into how he gets all those women -- and why his girl will eventually take him back. After all, Hank Williams could have made this a mournful break-up song if he wanted to -- nobody could do mournful better than Hank Williams.
Instead we get a perfect comic marital cliche, with the rueful husband winding up sleeping on the couch. (Picture Cary Grant, glasses askew, in a rumpled plaid robe and slippers.) The wife with her arms crossed, hair in curlers. And he slinks out with his tail between his legs, looking guilty as hell. Not once does he protest his innocence, or declare his love for his mistress. Nope, he's cheating on her because that's what some men do. She'll forgive him, and then he'll do it again.
Infidelity's a big topic in country music, and always has been -- put it right up there with prison, drunkenness, and pick-up trucks. But let's not fool ourselves that country music fans are the only ones who know where this guy is coming from.
Just got back from a week of house-building in New Orleans -- well, I wasn't doing the work, but the teenagers I was supervising were: painting, hanging vinyl siding, mounting insulation, putting up dry wall, the whole nine yards. Working in close quarters (not to mention the steamy heat), the crew instinctively fell into a sort of construction ballet, constantly calling out things like "coming through!" and "heads up!" and "move over!" And every time I heard that "move over," this song launched in my head.
But could I get a singalong going? No way. None of the kids knew that song -- urban teenagers don't tend to listen to a lot of Hank Williams. I'd have done better with Christina Aguilera's "Move It" or, even better, will.i.am's "I Like To Move It" from the cartoon movie Madagascar.
Maybe if we'd had a singalong I'd have gotten it out of my system. Instead here I am, days later, still murmuring the dang thing over and over. Take a listen:
The premise is ridiculously simple. The guy's had a fight with his wife, and now he's sleeping -- literally -- in the doghouse. It's the family pooch he's singing to, as he's scrounging a bit of floor to lay down on. "Move over little dog, 'cos the big dog's moving in," he declares. In every verse he changes that up, though -- "move over skinny dog, 'cos the fat dog's moving in," or "move over, nice dog, 'cos a mad dog's moving in," and, saving the best for last, "move over, cold dog, 'cos the hot dog's movin' in." He changes the verb, too -- "scoot it on over," "slide it on over," "sweep it on over," et cetera -- mixing things up just enough to keep you on your toes.
In the alternating lines, we get his story. She's warned him before not to play around, but he just couldn't behave himself -- and now she's changed the locks. The jaunty tempo tells me he's hasn't really learned his lesson, either, though he seems purty sorry at the moment (a cold hard floor'll do that to you).
Like a lot of the great country songs, this one skates along the edge of comedy, but it's got a bead on real life as well. Because we all know this kind of happy-go-lucky guy, don't we? Sure, he's a feckless rake, but that cheerful tone clues you into how he gets all those women -- and why his girl will eventually take him back. After all, Hank Williams could have made this a mournful break-up song if he wanted to -- nobody could do mournful better than Hank Williams.
Instead we get a perfect comic marital cliche, with the rueful husband winding up sleeping on the couch. (Picture Cary Grant, glasses askew, in a rumpled plaid robe and slippers.) The wife with her arms crossed, hair in curlers. And he slinks out with his tail between his legs, looking guilty as hell. Not once does he protest his innocence, or declare his love for his mistress. Nope, he's cheating on her because that's what some men do. She'll forgive him, and then he'll do it again.
Infidelity's a big topic in country music, and always has been -- put it right up there with prison, drunkenness, and pick-up trucks. But let's not fool ourselves that country music fans are the only ones who know where this guy is coming from.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE
Even though I'm off in New Orleans for the week -- bring on the po' boys and jambalaya! -- I'm still listening to my iPod. Here's a little Shuffle to tide us all over...
1. "I Gotta Go Now" / The Kinks
From The Kinks (1964)
A slight, obscure, and absolutely delicious early Kinks track. Most of the lyrics consist of "I gotta go now" over and over, with a few "whatcha gonna do about it nows" and "hey little girls" thrown in. A strange and wonderful concoction of blues lingo, jazz syncopation, and folk harmonies, served up with effervescent pop charm.
2. "Warming Up to the Ice Age" / John Hiatt
From Warming Up to the Ice Age (1985)
And now some early Hiatt, prowling through relationship angst with stuttering tempos, lashing drums, and a barrage of pun-larded lyrics. Amazingly, this was the album whose failure killed Hiatt's contract with Geffen Records, but the seeds are here -- next he would make Bring the Family for A&M, and the rest is history. All told, I think I like grown-up happy John Hiatt better than young angry John Hiatt, but man, he was already gooooood.
3. "Boring Enormous" / Paul Westerberg
From Stereo (2002)
Post-Replacements Paul Westerberg, strumming his guitar in his basement and singing about his contented home life. I can see why Replacements fans must have been baffled by this development. I came late to the party, though; this is the Westerberg I first knew and adored. Hey, Bob Dylan was from Minnesota, too -- why shouldn't Paul Westerberg find his inner folkie?
4. "Who Can I Turn To?" / Van Morrison and Georgie Fame
From How Long Has This Been Going On? (1995)
Van Morrison in full jazz crooner mode, scatting along to the keyboard stylings of Mr. Clive Powell, a.k.a. Georgie Fame, who lends a layer of honeyed elegance to Morrison's whiskey-and-soda vocals. An entire album of songbook standards, big-band arrangements and all -- and I'd pit Van against Tony Bennett or Frank Sinatra any day.
5. "Queen of Sheba" / Nick Lowe
From Nick the Knife (1982)
The romantic philosophy of Nick Lowe -- she's not Queen of Sheba, or Mona Lisa, but he still adores her, and there's a place that they can go where that thing will grow. The bass line's springy as a rubber band, and Nick cheekily lounges his way through this generic love song with considerable aplomb. (Always wanted to use that word in a review...)
6. "Jungle Song" / Chilli Willi and the Red Peppers
From Bongos Over Balham (1974)
A congenial little soul jam, with some killer harmonica, by these talented pub rockers, erstwhile colleagues of Mr. Lowe in his plaid-shirt days. A notable incubator of New Wave talent -- bassist Paul Riley went on to play in the Rumour behind Graham Parker, and drummer Pete Thomas ended up in Elvis Costello's Attractions.
7. "Dead End Street" / The Kinks
From Face to Face (1966)
Any shuffle that has two Kinks songs is a good shuffle. And this endearing soft-shoe is one of my favorites -- a perfect song for these recessionary times, about a middle-class couple just scraping by. "What are we living for? / Two rooms apartment on the second floor / No money coming in / The rent collector's knock is trying to get in." Even better: "We both want to work so hard / And we can't get the chance." I love that dramatic French horn fanfare; even better is the boozy Dixieland trombone in the fade-out...
8. "I Must Be the Devil" / The Box Tops
From Best of the Box Tops: Soul Deep (compilation)
Throw the irony out the window -- Alex Chilton groans and moans his way through a pitch-perfect blues number, complete with slouchy guitar. "I can't stop, I can't stop, I ca-a-a-n't stop!" Who knows what he's apologizing for -- "I can't bear to see my face, / Wrongs done I can't erase, / It's all wrong, it's all wrong, it's aa-ll-ll wrong!" But I bet you anything she forgives him.
9. "Youth Culture Killed My Dog" / They Might Be Giants
From They Might Be Giants (1986)
Oops, irony's back! A bit of sublime silliness from the Johns, our leading purveyors of comic catchiness. Don't let that Peter-Gunn-like bass riff deceive you -- it's really about his dog committing suicide because of trashy modern music. Or something like that. "But the hip hop / And the white funk / Drove away my puppy's mind." Who else could deliver such goofiness with so much zest?
10. "Try Not To Cry" / Greg Trooper & the Flatliners
From Everywhere (1992)
Back to earnestness -- a passionate alt-country anthem, injected with an R&B howl, about the sorrow that lies deep down things (or lachrymae rerum, for you Latin scholars). This is what the world looks like from the other shore of heartbreak -- pair this with "Don't Think About Her When You're Trying to Drive" and we'd have the whole territory covered. Of course, you HAVE to cry when you hear this song. This guy is just so damn good...
Even though I'm off in New Orleans for the week -- bring on the po' boys and jambalaya! -- I'm still listening to my iPod. Here's a little Shuffle to tide us all over...
1. "I Gotta Go Now" / The Kinks
From The Kinks (1964)
A slight, obscure, and absolutely delicious early Kinks track. Most of the lyrics consist of "I gotta go now" over and over, with a few "whatcha gonna do about it nows" and "hey little girls" thrown in. A strange and wonderful concoction of blues lingo, jazz syncopation, and folk harmonies, served up with effervescent pop charm.
2. "Warming Up to the Ice Age" / John Hiatt
From Warming Up to the Ice Age (1985)
And now some early Hiatt, prowling through relationship angst with stuttering tempos, lashing drums, and a barrage of pun-larded lyrics. Amazingly, this was the album whose failure killed Hiatt's contract with Geffen Records, but the seeds are here -- next he would make Bring the Family for A&M, and the rest is history. All told, I think I like grown-up happy John Hiatt better than young angry John Hiatt, but man, he was already gooooood.
3. "Boring Enormous" / Paul Westerberg
From Stereo (2002)
Post-Replacements Paul Westerberg, strumming his guitar in his basement and singing about his contented home life. I can see why Replacements fans must have been baffled by this development. I came late to the party, though; this is the Westerberg I first knew and adored. Hey, Bob Dylan was from Minnesota, too -- why shouldn't Paul Westerberg find his inner folkie?
4. "Who Can I Turn To?" / Van Morrison and Georgie Fame
From How Long Has This Been Going On? (1995)
Van Morrison in full jazz crooner mode, scatting along to the keyboard stylings of Mr. Clive Powell, a.k.a. Georgie Fame, who lends a layer of honeyed elegance to Morrison's whiskey-and-soda vocals. An entire album of songbook standards, big-band arrangements and all -- and I'd pit Van against Tony Bennett or Frank Sinatra any day.
5. "Queen of Sheba" / Nick Lowe
From Nick the Knife (1982)
The romantic philosophy of Nick Lowe -- she's not Queen of Sheba, or Mona Lisa, but he still adores her, and there's a place that they can go where that thing will grow. The bass line's springy as a rubber band, and Nick cheekily lounges his way through this generic love song with considerable aplomb. (Always wanted to use that word in a review...)
6. "Jungle Song" / Chilli Willi and the Red Peppers
From Bongos Over Balham (1974)
A congenial little soul jam, with some killer harmonica, by these talented pub rockers, erstwhile colleagues of Mr. Lowe in his plaid-shirt days. A notable incubator of New Wave talent -- bassist Paul Riley went on to play in the Rumour behind Graham Parker, and drummer Pete Thomas ended up in Elvis Costello's Attractions.
7. "Dead End Street" / The Kinks
From Face to Face (1966)
Any shuffle that has two Kinks songs is a good shuffle. And this endearing soft-shoe is one of my favorites -- a perfect song for these recessionary times, about a middle-class couple just scraping by. "What are we living for? / Two rooms apartment on the second floor / No money coming in / The rent collector's knock is trying to get in." Even better: "We both want to work so hard / And we can't get the chance." I love that dramatic French horn fanfare; even better is the boozy Dixieland trombone in the fade-out...
8. "I Must Be the Devil" / The Box Tops
From Best of the Box Tops: Soul Deep (compilation)
Throw the irony out the window -- Alex Chilton groans and moans his way through a pitch-perfect blues number, complete with slouchy guitar. "I can't stop, I can't stop, I ca-a-a-n't stop!" Who knows what he's apologizing for -- "I can't bear to see my face, / Wrongs done I can't erase, / It's all wrong, it's all wrong, it's aa-ll-ll wrong!" But I bet you anything she forgives him.
9. "Youth Culture Killed My Dog" / They Might Be Giants
From They Might Be Giants (1986)
Oops, irony's back! A bit of sublime silliness from the Johns, our leading purveyors of comic catchiness. Don't let that Peter-Gunn-like bass riff deceive you -- it's really about his dog committing suicide because of trashy modern music. Or something like that. "But the hip hop / And the white funk / Drove away my puppy's mind." Who else could deliver such goofiness with so much zest?
10. "Try Not To Cry" / Greg Trooper & the Flatliners
From Everywhere (1992)
Back to earnestness -- a passionate alt-country anthem, injected with an R&B howl, about the sorrow that lies deep down things (or lachrymae rerum, for you Latin scholars). This is what the world looks like from the other shore of heartbreak -- pair this with "Don't Think About Her When You're Trying to Drive" and we'd have the whole territory covered. Of course, you HAVE to cry when you hear this song. This guy is just so damn good...
Sunday, August 15, 2010
"Everything I Do Gonh Be Funky From Now On" /
Allen Toussaint
I'm off to New Orleans today for a week's adventure (say bye-bye!), but I'll leave you with this delectation from the master of Crescent City soul-pop. Sorry for the crap quality of the video (WHY do people insist on chatting blah-blah-blah while a great musician is performing?) but Allen Toussaint is disgracefully under-represented on YouTube.
I've said this before, so often that I bore myself, but Allen Toussaint is THE most elegant performer in show business today. Tall and thin, with a distinguished touch of gray at the temples, every time I've seen him he's been dressed in a well-cut suit, crisp shirt, silk tie, pocket square, cuff links, the whole bit (I can attest to the cufflinks because he has a habit of shooting his cuffs as he sits down to play). Sure, one of those times he was also wearing sandals -- with black dress socks -- but this guy has so much style, he could even carry that off.
Moving with the sort of perfect posture my piano teacher always demanded from me (and never got), Toussaint strolls across the stage like some kind of diplomat, in no hurry, smiling a eye-crinkling smile of amused forbearance (think Morgan Freeman as God in Bruce Almighty). He settles onto that piano bench like a pro golfer casually swinging a nine-iron, so cool, so relaxed. And then he lifts his beautiful, supple hands and drops them on the ivories like it was the easiest thing in the world -- still smiling, torso barely moving, but the notes are just pouring out, rippling, dancing, as if he'd simply bewitched the piano into playing three notes for every key he strikes. The complete opposite of the Jerry Lee Lewis school of sweat-pouring manic piano playing.
I'm going into such detail on his stage presence because A) you can't see much from the video, and B) there's not much to say about the song that you can't get from the title. It's kind of like that Archie Bell and the Drells song, "Tighten Up" -- it just is what it is. "Jus' a be myself, do my thang, / A little soul can't do no harm. . . " -- a declaration of independence for the funky beat, if you will. The guitar twangs, the drums whomp, the Crescent City horns toot, the backing singers testify.
"Some may say that I've got no class / But I'm doing what I wanna do / So groove with me if you can / Or just do what you can do / Aw shhhhhhh---ucks." I can just imagine the knowing grin on his face as he sings that.
What more is there to say, anyway? Allen Toussaint is the epitome of grace, and a lesson to us all.
Allen Toussaint
I'm off to New Orleans today for a week's adventure (say bye-bye!), but I'll leave you with this delectation from the master of Crescent City soul-pop. Sorry for the crap quality of the video (WHY do people insist on chatting blah-blah-blah while a great musician is performing?) but Allen Toussaint is disgracefully under-represented on YouTube.
I've said this before, so often that I bore myself, but Allen Toussaint is THE most elegant performer in show business today. Tall and thin, with a distinguished touch of gray at the temples, every time I've seen him he's been dressed in a well-cut suit, crisp shirt, silk tie, pocket square, cuff links, the whole bit (I can attest to the cufflinks because he has a habit of shooting his cuffs as he sits down to play). Sure, one of those times he was also wearing sandals -- with black dress socks -- but this guy has so much style, he could even carry that off.
Moving with the sort of perfect posture my piano teacher always demanded from me (and never got), Toussaint strolls across the stage like some kind of diplomat, in no hurry, smiling a eye-crinkling smile of amused forbearance (think Morgan Freeman as God in Bruce Almighty). He settles onto that piano bench like a pro golfer casually swinging a nine-iron, so cool, so relaxed. And then he lifts his beautiful, supple hands and drops them on the ivories like it was the easiest thing in the world -- still smiling, torso barely moving, but the notes are just pouring out, rippling, dancing, as if he'd simply bewitched the piano into playing three notes for every key he strikes. The complete opposite of the Jerry Lee Lewis school of sweat-pouring manic piano playing.
I'm going into such detail on his stage presence because A) you can't see much from the video, and B) there's not much to say about the song that you can't get from the title. It's kind of like that Archie Bell and the Drells song, "Tighten Up" -- it just is what it is. "Jus' a be myself, do my thang, / A little soul can't do no harm. . . " -- a declaration of independence for the funky beat, if you will. The guitar twangs, the drums whomp, the Crescent City horns toot, the backing singers testify.
"Some may say that I've got no class / But I'm doing what I wanna do / So groove with me if you can / Or just do what you can do / Aw shhhhhhh---ucks." I can just imagine the knowing grin on his face as he sings that.
What more is there to say, anyway? Allen Toussaint is the epitome of grace, and a lesson to us all.
Friday, August 13, 2010
"I Started a Joke" / The Bee Gees
No, not these Bee Gees. . .
These Bee Gees:
I heard this same song not once but twice today -- first on Sirius XM Radio's Sixties station, then again hours later on the PA system in the IGA where I was shopping for dinner. Now, it's entirely possible that I hear the same song twice in a day all the time, and just never notice. When it's something as obscure as this, though, I take it as a sign from God.
You know, the Brothers Gibb did have a career before they became the Kings of Disco in the late 1970s. In the mid-1960s -- soon after they moved back to the UK from Australia, where I gather they were like the Osmond Brothers, all over Aussie TV -- manager Robert Stigwood, always a man with his finger on the pulse of the times, steered them in the direction of Beatle-y folk pop. They happened to be good at it, VERY good at it, and I loved them. (Hence my disappointment in 1977.) In my household we -- meaning of course my older brother -- owned their first album, The Bee Gees' 1st, which featured such splendid songs as "Holiday," "Every Christian Lion-Hearted Man Will Tell You," and the haunting "New York Mining Disaster 1941" (a.k.a. "Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?"). This was a truly lovely album that promised great things to come from this brotherly trio.
On their next album, 1968's Idea, they drifted a little from that folk-oriented lodestar, though their material was still loaded up with ambiguous existential "messages" -- witness the other big single from this era, "I'm Just Trying To Get a Message to You," a hectic and clamorous song about social isolation. Compare it to, say, Simon & Garfunkel's "Sounds of Silence," or even Jonathan King's "Everyone's Gone to the Moon," and you'll see how the Bee Gees didn't quite get the point. Nevertheless there was something mesmerizing about Robin Gibb's high, nasal, hard voice streaming out of your radio speakers, and they were still worthy of respect.
So naturally when this song came out in December 1968, we all knew it had to "mean" something. But what?
I love this video, if only for the spectacle of Robin Gibbs' teeth, the long lanky hair, and the way he presses his right ear, straining to hear his tone and pitch, not to mention that distinctive quaver. But of course he sings it beautifully, he really does -- unless you find his voice cloying, which I understand some people do -- and the cryptic lyrics, the plaintive melody, the billowing strings and glissandos of harps, all conspire to convince us that this is a Heavy Statement.
The actual lyrics are deliberately vague. In verse one he starts the joke, but the "whole world" cries; in verse two he cries and they laugh. An obvious turnabout, and for some reason I always imagine Marcel Marceau here, with that little tear stenciled on his white cheek. (Reason enough to be wary of this song.) Since he declares the whole world is involved, however, it's hard to take this as just a story about a bloke who says awkward things at parties. And in verse three, it gets even more cosmic -- "I finally died / Which started the whole world living." Is it any wonder that people think this is a religious song? Because that smells like Christ imagery to me, whether the Gibbs brothers meant it or not.
The bridge gets even heavier, man. "I-I-I-I / Looked at the skies / Running my hands / Over my eyes" -- I picture that like a soft-focus movie scene, telegraphing a moment of spiritual awakening. Yet we're rudely jerked to earth by the end of the bridge: "And I fell out of bed / Hurting my head / From things that I'd said." Oof! Maybe it's just a hangover song after all.
The bottom line is -- this number sounds like a message song, but it's all balderdash. A year later, the Hollies would do it right with "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" -- a message song that conveys its message clearly (which presumably is the point of a message song, isn't it?) I'm willing to cut the Gibbses some slack -- I suppose they couldn't help it if their talent for mimicry led them to copy a style they couldn't fulfill, or if their natural tendency toward a Big Sound loaded songs with undue importance. "I Started a Joke" is still better than "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart," "To Love Somebody," "or (shudder) "How Deep Is Your Love." But . . . sigh . . . I expected so much more from them.
No, not these Bee Gees. . .
These Bee Gees:
I heard this same song not once but twice today -- first on Sirius XM Radio's Sixties station, then again hours later on the PA system in the IGA where I was shopping for dinner. Now, it's entirely possible that I hear the same song twice in a day all the time, and just never notice. When it's something as obscure as this, though, I take it as a sign from God.
You know, the Brothers Gibb did have a career before they became the Kings of Disco in the late 1970s. In the mid-1960s -- soon after they moved back to the UK from Australia, where I gather they were like the Osmond Brothers, all over Aussie TV -- manager Robert Stigwood, always a man with his finger on the pulse of the times, steered them in the direction of Beatle-y folk pop. They happened to be good at it, VERY good at it, and I loved them. (Hence my disappointment in 1977.) In my household we -- meaning of course my older brother -- owned their first album, The Bee Gees' 1st, which featured such splendid songs as "Holiday," "Every Christian Lion-Hearted Man Will Tell You," and the haunting "New York Mining Disaster 1941" (a.k.a. "Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?"). This was a truly lovely album that promised great things to come from this brotherly trio.
On their next album, 1968's Idea, they drifted a little from that folk-oriented lodestar, though their material was still loaded up with ambiguous existential "messages" -- witness the other big single from this era, "I'm Just Trying To Get a Message to You," a hectic and clamorous song about social isolation. Compare it to, say, Simon & Garfunkel's "Sounds of Silence," or even Jonathan King's "Everyone's Gone to the Moon," and you'll see how the Bee Gees didn't quite get the point. Nevertheless there was something mesmerizing about Robin Gibb's high, nasal, hard voice streaming out of your radio speakers, and they were still worthy of respect.
So naturally when this song came out in December 1968, we all knew it had to "mean" something. But what?
I love this video, if only for the spectacle of Robin Gibbs' teeth, the long lanky hair, and the way he presses his right ear, straining to hear his tone and pitch, not to mention that distinctive quaver. But of course he sings it beautifully, he really does -- unless you find his voice cloying, which I understand some people do -- and the cryptic lyrics, the plaintive melody, the billowing strings and glissandos of harps, all conspire to convince us that this is a Heavy Statement.
The actual lyrics are deliberately vague. In verse one he starts the joke, but the "whole world" cries; in verse two he cries and they laugh. An obvious turnabout, and for some reason I always imagine Marcel Marceau here, with that little tear stenciled on his white cheek. (Reason enough to be wary of this song.) Since he declares the whole world is involved, however, it's hard to take this as just a story about a bloke who says awkward things at parties. And in verse three, it gets even more cosmic -- "I finally died / Which started the whole world living." Is it any wonder that people think this is a religious song? Because that smells like Christ imagery to me, whether the Gibbs brothers meant it or not.
The bridge gets even heavier, man. "I-I-I-I / Looked at the skies / Running my hands / Over my eyes" -- I picture that like a soft-focus movie scene, telegraphing a moment of spiritual awakening. Yet we're rudely jerked to earth by the end of the bridge: "And I fell out of bed / Hurting my head / From things that I'd said." Oof! Maybe it's just a hangover song after all.
The bottom line is -- this number sounds like a message song, but it's all balderdash. A year later, the Hollies would do it right with "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" -- a message song that conveys its message clearly (which presumably is the point of a message song, isn't it?) I'm willing to cut the Gibbses some slack -- I suppose they couldn't help it if their talent for mimicry led them to copy a style they couldn't fulfill, or if their natural tendency toward a Big Sound loaded songs with undue importance. "I Started a Joke" is still better than "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart," "To Love Somebody," "or (shudder) "How Deep Is Your Love." But . . . sigh . . . I expected so much more from them.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE
It's back! (Sorry for the week's lapse). And better than ever, I'm tempted to add -- except there's no way of knowing ahead of time.
1. "Heartbeat" / The Knack
From Get the Knack, 1979
Hard to resist a cheery power-pop gem like this one, on the same album as the classic "My Sharona." He's SO excited by his new lover -- "Heartbeat, why do you miss / When my baby kisses me?" One of the great philosophical questions...
2. "Broke My Heart" / Tim Easton
From Porcupine (2009)
Another bit of philosophy, delivered with alt-country twang, as Tim Easton hoarsely declaims: "There's only two things left in this world / Love / And the lack thereof." It's the flip side of love, after she's dumped him -- though it's quite a punchy rocker, with an insidious hook.
3. "Please Mr. Postman" / The Marvelettes
From Please Mr. Postman (1961)
All those early Beatles covers -- I still think of them as the originals. But there's a certain pleasure in hearing the classic girl group version, Motown's first #1 pop single back in 1961. I love the idea that the Beatles discovered all this American black music through records American sailors sold while in port in Liverpool. Most Americans weren't listening to it then!
4. "Flesh Cartoons" / Robyn Hitchcock
From Eye (1990)
Another whimsically surreal artifact from the master of folk-psych, Robyn Hitchcock, coolly distancing himself from a gallery of absurd characters. "I'm just watching on my own flesh cartoons" -- what the hell is going on in this song? Who cares?
5. "After Hours" / The 88
From The 88 (2010)
Hello -- you're not supposed to be hearing this song yet; it's from an unreleased album that I'm reviewing. Cute little indie-pop band from California, opened for Ray Davies last tour? Trust me, you'll like them.
6. "Business Time" / Flight of the Conchords
From Flight of the Conchords (2008)
Funniest Barry White send-up ever, from this New Zealand musical duo (you may have seen their HBO comedy show). "Next thing you know, we're in the bedroom . . . you're wearing that baggy old ugly teeshirt you got from your work several years ago . . . you know the one, baby, with the curry stain . . . You know when I'm down to my socks, it's time for business -- that's why they call them business socks!" Making love, making love for two, making love for two minutes!
7. "So Heavy" / Nick Lowe
From The Wilderness Years (compilation)
A deservedly obscure mid-70s Nick Lowe track, from those post-Brinsley Schwarz, pre-Rockpile years. Even Nick can't remember anything about this outtake.
8. "Drinkin'" / Reel Big Fish
From We're Not Happy 'Til You're Not Happy (2005)
An ebullient little bit of ska-punk -- "If I go out drinkin' / Then I can stop thinkin' / About how the world has done me wrong." Forget the usual lugubrious drunkard's anthem, this one staggers down the alley with a hectic tempo and a cheerful flourish of horns.
9. "Sing A Sad Song" / Merle Haggard
From Strangers (1965)
Complete change of pace here, slowing down to a spur-jangling country lilt, from Merle Haggard's debut album. Heartbreaks by the number, in true country style.
10. "The Right Place" / Monsters of Folk
From Monsters of Folk (2009)
More rootsy rambling, this time from the indie world, with Yim Yames (a.k.a. My Morning Jacket's Jim James) happily harmonizing with his fellow M.O.F.-ers M. Ward, Conor Oberst, and Mike Mogis. I loved this album so much more than I expected to -- whether you call it a side project or a super-group, it's still amazing. Hope it's not a one-time deal!
It's back! (Sorry for the week's lapse). And better than ever, I'm tempted to add -- except there's no way of knowing ahead of time.
1. "Heartbeat" / The Knack
From Get the Knack, 1979
Hard to resist a cheery power-pop gem like this one, on the same album as the classic "My Sharona." He's SO excited by his new lover -- "Heartbeat, why do you miss / When my baby kisses me?" One of the great philosophical questions...
2. "Broke My Heart" / Tim Easton
From Porcupine (2009)
Another bit of philosophy, delivered with alt-country twang, as Tim Easton hoarsely declaims: "There's only two things left in this world / Love / And the lack thereof." It's the flip side of love, after she's dumped him -- though it's quite a punchy rocker, with an insidious hook.
3. "Please Mr. Postman" / The Marvelettes
From Please Mr. Postman (1961)
All those early Beatles covers -- I still think of them as the originals. But there's a certain pleasure in hearing the classic girl group version, Motown's first #1 pop single back in 1961. I love the idea that the Beatles discovered all this American black music through records American sailors sold while in port in Liverpool. Most Americans weren't listening to it then!
4. "Flesh Cartoons" / Robyn Hitchcock
From Eye (1990)
Another whimsically surreal artifact from the master of folk-psych, Robyn Hitchcock, coolly distancing himself from a gallery of absurd characters. "I'm just watching on my own flesh cartoons" -- what the hell is going on in this song? Who cares?
5. "After Hours" / The 88
From The 88 (2010)
Hello -- you're not supposed to be hearing this song yet; it's from an unreleased album that I'm reviewing. Cute little indie-pop band from California, opened for Ray Davies last tour? Trust me, you'll like them.
6. "Business Time" / Flight of the Conchords
From Flight of the Conchords (2008)
Funniest Barry White send-up ever, from this New Zealand musical duo (you may have seen their HBO comedy show). "Next thing you know, we're in the bedroom . . . you're wearing that baggy old ugly teeshirt you got from your work several years ago . . . you know the one, baby, with the curry stain . . . You know when I'm down to my socks, it's time for business -- that's why they call them business socks!" Making love, making love for two, making love for two minutes!
7. "So Heavy" / Nick Lowe
From The Wilderness Years (compilation)
A deservedly obscure mid-70s Nick Lowe track, from those post-Brinsley Schwarz, pre-Rockpile years. Even Nick can't remember anything about this outtake.
8. "Drinkin'" / Reel Big Fish
From We're Not Happy 'Til You're Not Happy (2005)
An ebullient little bit of ska-punk -- "If I go out drinkin' / Then I can stop thinkin' / About how the world has done me wrong." Forget the usual lugubrious drunkard's anthem, this one staggers down the alley with a hectic tempo and a cheerful flourish of horns.
9. "Sing A Sad Song" / Merle Haggard
From Strangers (1965)
Complete change of pace here, slowing down to a spur-jangling country lilt, from Merle Haggard's debut album. Heartbreaks by the number, in true country style.
10. "The Right Place" / Monsters of Folk
From Monsters of Folk (2009)
More rootsy rambling, this time from the indie world, with Yim Yames (a.k.a. My Morning Jacket's Jim James) happily harmonizing with his fellow M.O.F.-ers M. Ward, Conor Oberst, and Mike Mogis. I loved this album so much more than I expected to -- whether you call it a side project or a super-group, it's still amazing. Hope it's not a one-time deal!
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