M Is For...

An artists' A to Z, according to the whim of the day. 

The Monkees / "I Know What I Know"

The Monkees? Yes, the Monkees.  And not just a blast from the past, but a new track from a new album.

Wait -- the Monkees are still recording?  Didn't Davy Jones die last year? (Well, he actually died in February 2012, but I get your point.)

This new 2016 album, Good Times, honors the past, with tracks that recycle not only hitherto-released Davy vocals from 1967 but also a 1968 track with the late great Harry Nilsson (more on him to come soon).  However, it's also got a bunch of new material, produced by Fountains of Wayne's Adam Schlesinger and featuring such songwriters as Ben Gibbard (Death Cab for Cutie), Rivers Cuomo (Weezer), Andy Partridge (XTC), and Noel Gallagher (Oasis) and Paul Weller (the Jam). If that's not a sign that the Monkees are now officially cool, I don't know what is.

 All of which would mean nothing if the album wasn't good. But -- it IS good. And here's the track I keep coming back to.

Now, back in 1967, I was irredeemably a Davy girl. My sister was a Micky Dolenz girl, and we both had a certain fondness for the band goofball, Peter Tork. But I always had a sneaking curiosity about Mike Nesmith, the more so as his country-tinged songs showed up on later albums (once the band had fought to have more of their own stuff on the LPs). As Monkees fan lore would have it, Mike was the one in the band who had the most singer-songwriter chops, as opposed to acting chops (a version of the story that shortchanges former folkie Peter Tork, but whatever).

So in this 2016 incarnation, where Micky, Peter, and Mike all contribute their own distinctive tracks, I'd have expected Mike's songs to be twangy as all get-out.

Instead, we get this poignant love song.  It's a perfect example of Music for Grown-Ups, with its clear-eyed declaration of symbiotic need. "I know what I know / And what I know / Is I know nothing / Without you." Subsequent verses simply substitute new verbs -- "I see nothing without you," I have nothing without you," I feel nothing without you" -- could he be more humble?

And the melody is perfectly wedded to those lyrics. "I know what I know" modestly steps down the scale, with "And what I know" climbing only halfway back up the scale, so tentatively. The melody peaks upward as he bares his soul on "I know nothing," followed by the wry diminished chords of   "Without you."

It's not a teenage love song, full of inarticulate longing. It's an emptying of ego, a stripped-down statement of need. As the bridge declares, "Alone I am / With waiting heart / Alone I am / A world apart," In a later iteration of the bridge, he goes even more needy: "Someone alone / Always dreams of / The perfect one / Someone in love."

The slightly hoarse edge to Mike's voice, the strained leap to those high notes -- it all works to the song's purpose. It's mostly just a piano and the singer, though in the middle eight, we get the movie-music heartstrings-yank of Adam Schlesinger playing the chamberlin (a pre-Mellotron schmaltz machine).

It's so far from "Hey hey we're the Monkees" -- and I can't think of a better reason to listen to the Monkees in 2016.

L Is For . . . .

Working my way through the alphabet, one artist for every letter from A to Z.  Bonus points when both your names start with that letter....

Lyle Lovett / "If I Had a Boat"

So many L's, so little time.  I could have written about Nick Lowe (well, obviously), or Amos Lee, or Lulu or Los Bravos or the Lumineers. But this is where I landed, because -- well, Lyle. I mean, Lyle.

I realize that I have already treated you to such Lyle Lovett beauties as "Nobody Knows Me" ,   "She's Already Made Up Her Mind", and "In My Own Mind". But in my ongoing quest to earn this genius the recognition he deserves (outside of country music circles, who hardly pay him any attention at all anyway), here's one of his most iconic songs.

And you have to pay respect to an artist who was already hitting the "most iconic" level on his sophomore album. Pontiac came out in 1988, and seriously, this guy was already this good.

Some artists I'd wonder if I'm just imagining the DNA of a song, but with Lyle? Underestimate him at your peril. I'm sure he knew the Pete Seeger classic "If I Had a Hammer" and had it firmly in mind when he wrote this.

Yeah, it starts off all folkie and simple. "If I had a boat / I'd ride out on the ocean." But he quickly throws a country-western curveball into the song: "And if I had a pony / I'd ride him on my boat."

Horses hate boats. Lyle grew up on a ranch; he knows horses. So yes, we're in magical realism territory. "We could all together / Go out upon the ocean / I said me upon my pony on my boat." I see Lyle, with that wild crop of curly hair, sitting on his cowboy paint pony, staring out to sea.

And the ironies keep on coming. He's channeling 1950s cowboy star Roy Rogers -- "If I were Roy Rogers / I'd sure enough be single / I couldn't bring myself to marry old Dale [Evans, Roger's wife and co-star] / It'd just be me and Trigger [Roy's horse] / We'd go riding through those movies / And then we'd buy a boat / And on the sea we'd sail." Is it just me, or is there a kind of Coen brothers madness to seeing this ark fill up with cowboys and their ponies?

He goes on from there to mess with the Lone Ranger legend ("But Tonto he was smarter / And one day said 'Kemo Sabe / Kiss my ass, I bought a boat / I'm going out to sea.'") Allying yourself with the Native American point of view? Priceless.

And yet and yet and YET. Here's the genius of this song: There's something so plangent, so yearning about that folk-inflected melody that it trumps everything else. Lyle's earnest mellifluous vocals, the simple acoustic finger-picking, with just a touch of pedal steel behind -- it's delivered with such conviction. The wink-wink cultural references dovetail right into a genuine vein of desire. He WANTS that boat, he WANTS that pony, He WANTS to be Roy and Tonto. And we, listening, want that too.

This song's been covered by everyone from Jimmy Buffett to Dave Matthews. I swear I've heard it in movie soundtracks, and when I hear it, it always lifts my heart. Yet it's not sappy; it's the total antithesis of sappy. It's just plumb beautiful.    

K Is For Kinks

26 days, 26 artists from A to Z. Yeah, I know I dropped the ball for a few days, but I'm back and raring to go.

The Kinks / 
"Who'll Be the Next in Line" 

Well, who else did you expect I'd choose for K?

Okay, here are the bare facts: March 1965, B-side to "Everybody's Gonna Be Happy," but then some shit went down and in July 1965 it became the A-side when it was released in the U.S.  Not that it made that much of a splash, because by then the Kinks were banned from the U.S. for reasons still unclear. We U.S. fans knew "All Day and All of the Night" and "You Really Got Me," and maybe even "Tired of Waiting." But after the ban, finding a Kinks song on the radio was anything but easy.

Yet I know I heard this song on the radio in 1965, and it was definitely on the 1966 U.S.-only The Kinks' Greatest Hits, which I kept stealing from my big brother Holt. It wasn't like the Kinks' other early power-chord tracks -- "You Really Got Me," "All Day and All of the Night," "Tired of Waiting" -- it was edgy, and jazzy. I believe this was my first inkling that these guys were going to be interesting enough to listen to for a long time. (Though I don't suppose even then I realized I'd still be listening to them 40 years later.)

Here are the underpinnings: an insistent 4-note bass motif; a speedy nervous tempo that's all fits and starts; a chromatic melody that hovers obsessively around the same few notes; and Ray Davies' whiniest, most fretful vocal to date. "Who'll be the next in line?" he agonizes. "Who'll be the next in line for heartache? / Who'll make the same mistakes I made over / You?" (I love how Ray's vocals dip in a swoop on "li-ine.") It ping-pongs back and forth between just two chords -- G to C -- and the verses are nothing but questions. This girl has really tied him up in knots, hasn't she?

In the bridge, the melody jumps briefly to a higher note, as if he's fighting through to a moment of clarity: "One day you'll find out when I'm gone, / I was the best one you had, / I was the one who gave you love." But even there, he's singing in a listless monotone. He says these things without really believing them, or without believing they'll make a difference.

That's where he is right now: numb, confused, queasy. He's not 100% out the door, but he can read the writing on the wall. And you know what? He's beginning to realize that she's just not worth it anymore.

Now, in 1965 every pop song was ostensibly about girls and boys, but the songwriters--guys like Ray Davies--had other things on their mind, which often secretly inspired those songs. So here's my alternate take on "Who'll Be the Next in Line?": What if it's really about Ray's anxiety about losing his grip on pop fame?

After all, there were dozens of talented young bands swarming around, hoping to dethrone the stars of the moment. (The Kinks themselves had been those hungry youngsters only a few months earlier.) With such a talent glut, the record companies were quick to boot any band the minute their records stopped selling. The formerly hot Kinks were on thin ice. Who could blame Ray Davies for wondering who the next "it" band was going to be?

Expressing adolescent anxiety, of course, was the key to the Kinks' success. In "You Really Got Me" and "All Day and All of the Night," the raging hormones of love torments the song's singer. "Tired of Waiting" is one long groan of frustrated lust. And after this would come songs like "Dead End Street" (anxious about being broke), "Sunny Afternoon" (anxious about being rich and then losing it), "Shangri-La" (anxious about losing touch with his roots), "Lola" (anxious about his sexuality) . . . well, you get the picture.

But here's what made it work: It felt authentic. It never seemed that Ray Davies was cynically pandering to his teenage audience. No, he was tuned into their insecurities because he shared their insecurities. He was just lucky enough to be able to express it, to speak for the losers and misfits in a way the Beatles, the Stones, and The Who never could (though The Who sometimes came close).

And which of us doesn't still have a tiny whiny voice inside complaining, "But it hurts! It's not fair! You just don't understand! Someday you'll be sorry!"  

Which is probably why I'm still listening 40 years later.

J Is For...

My personal alphabet of artists, from A to Z. 

Joe Jackson / "So You Say"

Just to prove that I do listen to new releases -- a devastating track from my longtime musical love Joe Jackson's 2015 album Fast Forward. Which, y'know, if you don't have, you should. Because this guy is one of those who just keep on getting better and better.

I saw Joe at the legendary Apollo Theater in Harlem this past July. I was transported: every song he sang was gold.

First of all -- a tango!  Who does tangoes anymore? But it's a brilliant choice, because the tautly circumscribed sexuality of the tango is just what this song is about.

We Joe-ites know this territory well, from tracks like "Blue Flame" and "Not Here, Not Now." Joe Jackson excels at scenarios where love is NOT easy, where inhibitions cramp desire. "So you say," he begins, launching us into the middle of a conversation that's probably been torturously waging for a while. "And I agree," he replies, but then adds -- zing! -- "You're a prize, but / Not for me." I love the confidential curl of that next melodic phrase: "There'll be no more lies now / So you say."

Oh, he'll take the passive aggressive route: "I'm a fool / You're a sage / Yes, I'll try to / Act my age." (Cue the Joe-ite footnote to "Awkward Age.")

But because this is Joe Jackson, the bridge unleashes a higher-register burst of emotion: "And I thought I knew what went on in my heart / Till you taught me I would never have been smart / Enough to leave you." Oh, that crafty turn at the end of the phrase.

Because this guy has reached his limit. "Tell me once / Not again / Take a breath and / Count to ten / Time to say goodbye now / So you say." WAIT! Wha-?

So who's doing the leaving?

And there's our reality check: How often do lovers get so inside their own heads, they think they're driving the course of the affair? When in fact...

I Is For...

26 days, 26 artists, from A to Z....

The Impressions / 
"Woman's Got Soul"

Of course I know who Curtis Mayfield is. He did the soundtrack for Superfly, right? "This cat from the slum / Had a mind, wasn't dumb" -- yeah, that song has a whole backstory for me. (When I write the book...)

But in 1965, when this single was getting tons of airplay in Indianapolis, I didn't know who Curtis Mayfield was. I knew the title track from the album even better -- "People Get Ready," one of the civil rights movement' iconic tracks, along with Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come." Still, I doubt I had any idea who the Impressions were, and I certainly didn't know that Curtis Mayfield was their lead singer.

Mayfield, full of restless talent, was probably already moving past the suave Impressions sound. They'd started out in 1958 in Chattanooga, Tennessee, but when Chicagoans Jerry Butler and Curtis Mayfield joined the band, their doo-wop and gospel sound got a serious overhaul. This number, like their previous Mayfield-penned hits "It's All Right" and "Keep on Pushing," were full-on Chicago soul, with a distinctive swagger and a boatload of horns. (By this time, the trio consisted of original member Sam Gooden, Mayfield, and Butler's replacement Fred Cash, who came on board in 1960.) On one level, this song doesn't have the social consciousness of a track like "People Get Ready." But underneath the plush sound, there's plenty of consciousness-raising going on.

I can't help hearing this song as a soul version of Rodgers and Hart's "The Lady Is a Tramp." Listen to that first verse: "She may not be the best lookin' woman / I ever did see / Nor have the charms of the ladies / Of high society." Yeah, that high-falutin' stuff's not for him -- "I don't need a Cadillac car / Or diamonds and such."

Yet there's also a Black Pride subtext here, as he swings into the lilting chorus: "But the woman that I hold / She's got to have soul / And then I'm richer than the richest gold / If the woman's got soul." In 1965, "soul" was a loaded and coded term. You either had it or you didn't, and if you didn't, you wanted it.

And he's skeptical of phony notions like "class" ("Because class in a woman / Don't mean she's gonna last."). What really matters is, well, you know, the sexy basics: "I need a kind of woman / That when I hold, she fits up tight, yeah / Oh, and when she throws it on me / I give in without a fight." Mayfield works that melody for all it's worth, teasing out all sorts of innuendoes.

Maybe this track was insurance for the Impressions. Just in case some listeners weren't ready for the "People Get Ready" message, they could relax here. Lord, how this track swings; those pillowy back-up harmonies keep everything in lush mode, and the horn section moves confidently from uptown to downtown  and back again. This is not a song for the civil rights battlefront, but whoa, it warms the home fires like nobody's business.

H Is For...

My challenge to myself: write about 26 different artists, A to Z, in 26 days. (Well, maybe not consecutive days...)

Hall & Oates / 
"I Can't Go for That (No Can Do)"

Of course it was always Hall for me, rather than Oates -- and I know I wasn't the only music fan who harbored a crush on Daryl, judging from how the camera dwelled on his tall rangy figure and blond shag in the 1980s videos that made these guys stars. But honestly, it was his voice that did it for me, not his good looks. Really, really, I swear.

I'd been a fan since the early 1970s -- and now I had to suck it up and watch Daryl and John hit the big time with a new sound that ran perilously close to disco. Yet those scatting, soulful vocals kept Hall & Oates from being dragged under by the layers of synths and glossy production values of the times.

Let me do you a favor and post something besides the original official video, just so you won't be distracted by all the backlighting and dry-ice mists and big-shouldered suits that stamp this 1981 hit as a sign of its times.

 
Given the soft-focus R&B sweetness of H&O's earlier stuff -- songs like "When the Morning Comes," "She's Gone," and "Sara Smile" -- the 80s stuff had a lot more edge. ("Maneater." anyone?) This song, too, is not all that flattering to women, with lines like "You've got the body / Now you want the soul." But now I'm thinking that this push-pull may have been what made it interesting.

The brooding intro runs for nearly a full minute, mostly pugnacious drums, overlaid with ripples of minor-key descending keyboard riffs. Anxious tension runs through the verses, with their jerky rhythm and tinny vocal reverb: "Easy, ready, willing, overtime / Where does it stop? / Where do you dare me / To draw the line?" This is clearly a man who's getting tired of making nice.

But then it blooms into lush soulfulness for the bridge -- "I, I-I, I'll do anything / That you want me to do, / Yeah I, I-I,  I'll do most anything ' That you want me to, ooh, yeah." Hall's supple vocals caress the long legato phrases, swooping around them, stroking the vowels. We're in happy major key territory, with the background singers chiming in, scattering rose petals in his path. He's in full-on Lover Boy mode.

And then he turns on a dime. "But I can't go for that, / Nooo, / No can do / I can't go for that, / Nooo, / No can do."  That refrain's staccato words are spit out with venom; the tempo is like a wagging finger. And of course, the mind boggles: What is it she wants him to do that's so beyond the pale?

It could be anything, of course.  Going to dinner's at her folks' house; taking her shopping; having a baby; signing a pre-nup.  Yet the song's slinky, sexy underpinnings trip me up, making me picture other kinds of requests indeed. Dirty deeds. Kinky things. It's completely against my nature, but there it is.

It's a cryptic song, after all, and unsettling.  It almost doesn't hang together, the melting "I'll do anythings" pitted against those scolding "No can do's.** But something about the jam just jells.

And then, of course, the musicians themselves puncture the balloon by telling interviewers that it's not about a couple at all, but about the music business -- how they're willing to cooperate with their label, touring, doing press (appearing in back-lit videos with dry-ice smoke) -- but only up to a point. No matter how hungry they are for stardom (and I'm betting these guys were hungry as hell for it), there were certain things they wouldn't do.

Well, that clears up that mystery.  But I think I liked the song better when I thought it was about a girl.

In fact, I loved the song when I thought it was about a girl -- so I'm just going to go on hearing it that way.

BONUS: Here's a link to an episode of Daryl's House, where Cee Lo Green joins the band for an extra funky version of this song. Love how Daryl and Cee Lo keep raising the bar for each other, verse after verse.

**This song alone thrust "no can do" -- originally an obscure (and racist) phrase of pidgin Chinese -- into common usage. Who knew?

G Is For...

Songs A to Z

My 26-day challenge to myself -- write about a different band every day, working from A to Z. 

The Grass Roots / 
"I'd Wait A Million Years"

Yeah, this gets complicated.

The Grass Roots were not what we purists might call a real band. It basically started as a construct by songwriters P.F Sloan and Steve Barri, along with famed producer Lou Adler. The legendary LA studio musicians known as the Wrecking Crew played most of the tracks, with lesser musicians recruited to tour the albums. Their clever blend of Brit backbeat, R&B, and folk-rock was a calculated marketing strategy, and the actual band members -- a rotating cast that included Creed Bratton, who later resurfaced as Creed on the American TV series "The Office" -- were given very little role in the songwriting and recording. The only constant was front man/vocalist Rob Grill, who until his death in 2011 continued to flog the brand on the oldies circuit.

And yet I can't deny that they produced some genuinely fine pop music. This 1969 single was a follow-up to their big hits "Let's Live For Today" (1967) and "Midnight Confessions" (1968) appearing on their LP Leaving It All Behind. Let's be honest: when those iconic hits blast out of a jukebox, do you not spring out of your chair and shout "I love this song"?

This song -- written by the songwriting team of Mitchell Bottler and Gary Sekley, who also wrote the Grass Roots' 1971 hit "Sooner or Later" -- starts out all baroque rock, with synth harpsichords, but it doesn't take long to blast out with a horn section and all. (Just to put things in perspective, this is the same year in which the Chicago Transit Authority, later known just as Chicago, released their first horn-drenched album.)

The arrangements are monumental, even if the lyrics are fairly jejeune: "All of the lonely nights / Waiting for you to come / Longing to hold you tight." Yadda yadda yadda, The chorus is fairly standard hyperbole: "But I'd wait a million years / Walk a million miles / Cry a million tears." Not enough? Let's go for even more cliched declarations: "I'd swim the deepest sea / Climb the highest hill / Just to have you near me." Ain't no mountain high enough, apparently.

Well, it was 1969, so fuzzy-headed philosophy was only to be expected: "As life is reality / When you are near to me / I am in ecstasy." But beyond that, it's really just reiterations of that millions theme. "I would wait for you (a million miles) / Baby, I would be true (a million miles) / I would follow you (a million years) / If you want me to."

The production is just slick enough to put me on my guard. Honestly, hold this up beside a sincere track like the Proclaimers' "500 Miles" and there's no contest. (Granted, walking 500 miles is a whole lot more feasible....)

And yet, at the eleventh hour --- damn, I just can't hate this song. It's so tight, so ferociously driven. Who am I complain that it was recorded by the Wrecking Crew? The Wrecking Crew were awesome.