"A Hard Day's Night" / The Beatles
I'm looking back over the playlist I compiled for last Friday night's music trivia session at my college reunion. (A quick shoutout to all you MHTs that I pestered to check out my blog!) A lot of the tracks I played for you are songs I've written about here -- like "The House of the Rising Sun," "For Your Love," "Along Comes Mary," "Walk Away Renee," "California Dreaming," "Wild Thing," and my top five singles of all time, "The Letter," "She's Not There," "Happy Together," "If I Fell," and "Wouldn't It Be Nice." (And just for you, Liz: "Have I the Right?") I'll even throw in my write-up on "Concrete and Clay," a selection that seemed to stump you all on the one-hit wonders part of the quiz. Click on the highlighted titles to find those blog posts and let me know what you think.
And by the way, I'm still scandalized that none of you knew who Graham Parker is. However, I look upon this as a learning opportunity and direct your attention forthwith to my recent Graham Parker marathon.
But enough links. (If you want any more, just click on any artist's name in the cloud of labels in the column to the right -- the bigger the name, the more blog posts I've written on that artist.)
I was shocked to discover, when I began to trawl through my own posts, that I had never written about "A Hard Day's Night." Oh, I've written briefly about the Hard Day's Night album, but never about this wonderful song itself. I suppose it's because I try very hard not to write about the Beatles too much -- it would be way too easy to make this a total Fab Four blog. And you know me, I never do things nice and easy.
Forgive the scratchy visuals on this clip from A Hard Day's Night; there's another version on YouTube with better film quality, but it's a full 10-minute clip that sucks you right into the movie, and that's way too distracting. ("Who's the little old man?" George asks Paul, and I'm a goner.) Last spring my daughter and I tramped around Marylebone Station, where many of these opening scenes were shot, and I swear I expected the lads to come running down that alley any minute, screaming girls in hot pursuit.
The title A Hard Day's Night was chosen first for the movie, long after the script was written, when the Beatles were already in the thick of filming. It came from a phrase John Lennon had used in his book In His Own Write, but he'd picked up the phrase in the first place from Ringo, who had a Yogi Berra-like penchant for memorable phrases that defied grammar and logic. On the set one day, producer Walter Shenson pulled John and Paul aside and asked them to write a song to match the movie's title -- a crazy request, given their hectic lives at the time. Shenson himself knew it was too much to ask. And yet ten hours later, John and Paul had whipped something together, its lyrics scribbled on a matchbook cover. "Now don't bother us about songs anymore," Lennon grumbled as he sent Shenson away with his new #1 hit movie theme song.
The most brilliant thing about this song? You know what I'm going to say. It's that opening chord, a single aggressive discordant clang that simultaneously packs up and then releases all the hassles of his day. What is this loud, grating, messy chord? You won't find it on any chord chart; the gods must have gotten involved, dictating which finger should land on which fret. The main thing is the fierce attack, striking those guitar strings for all they're worth.
It's a wonderful movie opener, but it also works for AHDN as a a stand-alone song -- a simple thing about a guy coming home to his girlfriend/wife after a tough day at work, and finding comfort in her arms. For a couple of guys who'd never had a proper job in their lives, it's amazing how Lennon and McCartney nailed the perspective of a weary working stiff. He's been working like a dog, and for one reason only: to get her money to buy her things. While on one level -- the level that made it safe for BBC radio play -- it's about domestic comforts, relaxing in the safety of hearth and home, on another level of course it's all about sex. ("And it's worth it just to hear you say, / You're gonna give me everything" . . . "Cos when I get home to you, / I find the things that you do / Will make me feel all right.") John Lennon throws in just enough of a groan on "everything" and "feel all right" to make sure we know what he's really after.
Naturally John had to sing this one. Who else could have conveyed all the pent-up frustrations and anger of a working day? He's not wheedling or charming anybody (those would be Paul's departments); he's bone-tired, still spoiling for a fight, and his need for her is raw as an open wound. When his voice lifts yearningly in the bridge -- "When I'm home / Everything seems to be right / When I'm home / Feeling you holding me tight / [key change] / Tight, ohhh!" -- well, baby, better put that steak-and-kidney pie back in the oven, because you won't be eating right away.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
THE WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE
This one's for Ginny!
1. "We Should Be Making Love" / Huey Lewis & the News
From Hard at Play (1991)
Totally a fangirl thing, my Huey Lewis crush. Though the 80s retro-pop groove they'd carved out was running thin by the time of this album, I'm very fond of this track, with its kicky blues beat and a sort of When Harry Met Sally plot line. That little bit of hoarseness in Huey's voice? Ssssshivers up my spine.
2. "Up Above My Head" / The Wood Brothers
From Up Above My Head (2009)
Hey, Oliver and Chris Wood! How dare you sneak out a new album last year without letting me know? I just discovered it on line and am only beginning to explore its gospel-meets-bluegrass-meets-jazz vibe. It's a mystery to me why these guys aren't better known, but clearly they need new PR folks.
3. "Hey" / Red Hot Chili Peppers
From Stadium Arcadium (2006)
Oh, play that funky music, white boys! Why do I just about always like every song I've ever heard from this band? I don't "follow" them, the way I follow so many other bands; but then a track like this cycles up and I'm instantly transfixed. That jazzy rhythm, the insouciant vocals, the nimble guitar lines -- who listens to the lyrics?
4. "Lies" / Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
From Once (2007)
Plaintive song from the utterly charming Irish film -- I refuse to be critical.
5. "Billy's Blues" / Laura Nyro
From The First Songs (1973)
How arty and sophisticated I felt, listening to this jazz-infused folk-soul when I was 17 years old. It was like Nina Simone for prep-school girls. Let others listen to the mainstream covers of Nyro's songs by the Fifth Dimension and Blood, Sweat & Tears; I felt so in-the-know, listening to the originals instead.
6. "It Makes You Happy" / Bill Jerram Band
From Bill Jerram Band (2005)
Spirited, tuneful, jangly power pop from a fellow Kinks fan down in Texas. Dig that organ riff! What a sad music world we live in that catchy bands like this don't get enough (or any) attention. But hey, these guys are on iTunes; check out their songs there, or on Bill's MySpace page.
7. "Rene" / Small Faces
From Ogden Nut's Gone Flake
Cockney humor percolates through this wicked little softshoe number, which gradually devolves into a psychedelic bluesy ramble. I wish I'd discovered this classic 60s concept album back in the day -- it's probably best appreciated in the herbally altered frame of mind in which it was written.
8. "Baby of Mine" / Alan Price
From England, My England (1978)
Despite the 80s overproduction (someone lasso that sax!), this tender little pop song hangs onto its charm. True, it lacks Price's biting social satire, or his trademark blistering organ riffs, but there's a phrase or two of his best heartbreak-husky vocals to make up for it.
9. "Peaceful" / Georgie Fame
From Superhits
Sometimes I do think the shuffle has a mind of its own -- why else would it so often follow up an Alan Price song with a Georgie Fame number? I first knew this Kenny Rankin song through the 1968 Bobbie Gentry version, then Helen Reddy's 1973 hit version, but now that I know Georgie's 1969 cover, I'll never listen to anybody else's. He takes it in a jazzy swinging direction that is infinitely more relaxed and, well, peaceful, than the others'.
10. "Business Time" / Flight of the Conchords
From Flight of the Conchords (2008)
This New Zealand folk-comedy duo absolutely cracks me up; the plus is that their music is actually musical. On this one, Jemaine Clement out-Barry-Whites Barry White. "You know when I'm down to my socks it's business time / That's why they call them business socks." Was anybody else here hooked on their HBO series? I hated to miss an episode.
This one's for Ginny!
1. "We Should Be Making Love" / Huey Lewis & the News
From Hard at Play (1991)
Totally a fangirl thing, my Huey Lewis crush. Though the 80s retro-pop groove they'd carved out was running thin by the time of this album, I'm very fond of this track, with its kicky blues beat and a sort of When Harry Met Sally plot line. That little bit of hoarseness in Huey's voice? Ssssshivers up my spine.
2. "Up Above My Head" / The Wood Brothers
From Up Above My Head (2009)
Hey, Oliver and Chris Wood! How dare you sneak out a new album last year without letting me know? I just discovered it on line and am only beginning to explore its gospel-meets-bluegrass-meets-jazz vibe. It's a mystery to me why these guys aren't better known, but clearly they need new PR folks.
3. "Hey" / Red Hot Chili Peppers
From Stadium Arcadium (2006)
Oh, play that funky music, white boys! Why do I just about always like every song I've ever heard from this band? I don't "follow" them, the way I follow so many other bands; but then a track like this cycles up and I'm instantly transfixed. That jazzy rhythm, the insouciant vocals, the nimble guitar lines -- who listens to the lyrics?
4. "Lies" / Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
From Once (2007)
Plaintive song from the utterly charming Irish film -- I refuse to be critical.
5. "Billy's Blues" / Laura Nyro
From The First Songs (1973)
How arty and sophisticated I felt, listening to this jazz-infused folk-soul when I was 17 years old. It was like Nina Simone for prep-school girls. Let others listen to the mainstream covers of Nyro's songs by the Fifth Dimension and Blood, Sweat & Tears; I felt so in-the-know, listening to the originals instead.
6. "It Makes You Happy" / Bill Jerram Band
From Bill Jerram Band (2005)
Spirited, tuneful, jangly power pop from a fellow Kinks fan down in Texas. Dig that organ riff! What a sad music world we live in that catchy bands like this don't get enough (or any) attention. But hey, these guys are on iTunes; check out their songs there, or on Bill's MySpace page.
7. "Rene" / Small Faces
From Ogden Nut's Gone Flake
Cockney humor percolates through this wicked little softshoe number, which gradually devolves into a psychedelic bluesy ramble. I wish I'd discovered this classic 60s concept album back in the day -- it's probably best appreciated in the herbally altered frame of mind in which it was written.
8. "Baby of Mine" / Alan Price
From England, My England (1978)
Despite the 80s overproduction (someone lasso that sax!), this tender little pop song hangs onto its charm. True, it lacks Price's biting social satire, or his trademark blistering organ riffs, but there's a phrase or two of his best heartbreak-husky vocals to make up for it.
9. "Peaceful" / Georgie Fame
From Superhits
Sometimes I do think the shuffle has a mind of its own -- why else would it so often follow up an Alan Price song with a Georgie Fame number? I first knew this Kenny Rankin song through the 1968 Bobbie Gentry version, then Helen Reddy's 1973 hit version, but now that I know Georgie's 1969 cover, I'll never listen to anybody else's. He takes it in a jazzy swinging direction that is infinitely more relaxed and, well, peaceful, than the others'.
10. "Business Time" / Flight of the Conchords
From Flight of the Conchords (2008)
This New Zealand folk-comedy duo absolutely cracks me up; the plus is that their music is actually musical. On this one, Jemaine Clement out-Barry-Whites Barry White. "You know when I'm down to my socks it's business time / That's why they call them business socks." Was anybody else here hooked on their HBO series? I hated to miss an episode.
Monday, May 24, 2010
"I'd Be Far Better Off Without You" / Sandie Shaw
Bit of a palate cleanser, this. You can't follow up Graham Parker with just anybody -- jumping to a completely different era is the only strategy that works for me.
Despite my devotion to Dusty Springfield, and my sneaking affection for Lulu, my third favorite British girl singer of the 1960s wasn't demure Cilla Black, or bright-eyed Petula Clark, or the inscrutably hip Marianne Faithful. No, it was the elegant Sandie Shaw, languid and barefoot and model-beautiful. She was much more popular in Europe than in the States -- I only remember hearing her on the radio for a brief blip in 1964, beginning with "There's Always Something There to Remind Me" (she beat out Dionne and even Dusty for her way with a Bacharach-David song) and ending with the stunning "Girl Don't Come." But to me, Sandie Shaw WAS Swinging London, as iconic of the era as Charlotte Rampling or Julie Christie or the Shrimpton girls.
Well, here's the flip side to "Girl Don't Come" -- in fact, this was originally the A-side, until DJs decided they preferred "Girl Don't Come." To me it's a toss-up; both are fabulous moody songs, with just a whisper of cool jazz sultriness, tailor-made for Sandie's smoke-edged voice. And as it happens, both were written by Chris Andrews, a Pye in-house songwriter who wrote most of Shaw's singles throughout the 60s. Take a listen.
To be honest, I haven't much to say about this song. It's definitely more pop than rock -- those crisp L.A.-style horns, that sashaying samba beat -- and I should cringe at its message of a woman helplessly mired in a love affair with a man who doesn't appreciate her. Then again, this is nothing compared to some of Dusty's most clinging, co-dependent songs ("I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten," "You Don't to Say You Love Me"), and you know how much I love those tracks.
And ultimately Sandie lashes back, shifting into "You Don't Own Me" mode in the bridge -- hear her kittenish voice turn into a tigress's snarl as she declares "'For without you I'd be free / Free to go where I want to, / See what I want to, / Do what I want to." That Sixties ideal of the free-spirited bird, leaping into some impossibly tiny sportscar with her mini-skirt and patent-leather boots, carelessly flipping her long windswept hair -- it's hardly "I am woman, hear me roar," but it wins for glamour, hands down.
We'd have to wait for the 70s to get true rock chicks, empowered babes like Joan Jett and Chrissie Hynde and (I suppose) Stevie Nicks. They had big voices and tough attitudes; they had brains and guts and could totally take care of themselves. But did I ever want to be them? No, I'm sorry to say, I did not. For better or worse, I wanted to be Sandie Shaw. Which really explains a lot. . .
Bit of a palate cleanser, this. You can't follow up Graham Parker with just anybody -- jumping to a completely different era is the only strategy that works for me.
Despite my devotion to Dusty Springfield, and my sneaking affection for Lulu, my third favorite British girl singer of the 1960s wasn't demure Cilla Black, or bright-eyed Petula Clark, or the inscrutably hip Marianne Faithful. No, it was the elegant Sandie Shaw, languid and barefoot and model-beautiful. She was much more popular in Europe than in the States -- I only remember hearing her on the radio for a brief blip in 1964, beginning with "There's Always Something There to Remind Me" (she beat out Dionne and even Dusty for her way with a Bacharach-David song) and ending with the stunning "Girl Don't Come." But to me, Sandie Shaw WAS Swinging London, as iconic of the era as Charlotte Rampling or Julie Christie or the Shrimpton girls.
Well, here's the flip side to "Girl Don't Come" -- in fact, this was originally the A-side, until DJs decided they preferred "Girl Don't Come." To me it's a toss-up; both are fabulous moody songs, with just a whisper of cool jazz sultriness, tailor-made for Sandie's smoke-edged voice. And as it happens, both were written by Chris Andrews, a Pye in-house songwriter who wrote most of Shaw's singles throughout the 60s. Take a listen.
To be honest, I haven't much to say about this song. It's definitely more pop than rock -- those crisp L.A.-style horns, that sashaying samba beat -- and I should cringe at its message of a woman helplessly mired in a love affair with a man who doesn't appreciate her. Then again, this is nothing compared to some of Dusty's most clinging, co-dependent songs ("I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten," "You Don't to Say You Love Me"), and you know how much I love those tracks.
And ultimately Sandie lashes back, shifting into "You Don't Own Me" mode in the bridge -- hear her kittenish voice turn into a tigress's snarl as she declares "'For without you I'd be free / Free to go where I want to, / See what I want to, / Do what I want to." That Sixties ideal of the free-spirited bird, leaping into some impossibly tiny sportscar with her mini-skirt and patent-leather boots, carelessly flipping her long windswept hair -- it's hardly "I am woman, hear me roar," but it wins for glamour, hands down.
We'd have to wait for the 70s to get true rock chicks, empowered babes like Joan Jett and Chrissie Hynde and (I suppose) Stevie Nicks. They had big voices and tough attitudes; they had brains and guts and could totally take care of themselves. But did I ever want to be them? No, I'm sorry to say, I did not. For better or worse, I wanted to be Sandie Shaw. Which really explains a lot. . .
Sunday, May 23, 2010
FIRST ANNUAL GRAHAM PARKER MARATHON
"All Being Well" / Graham Parker
All good things must come to an end, and so this Graham Parker Marathon -- which was only supposed to last a week in the first place -- winds up today. Not that I'm going to stop listening to Graham Parker, mind you. No, I'm renting a room in Parkerville on a permanent basis (it hasn't got a garden but it's got a lovely patio). Once you're hooked on an artist this great, there's no going back.
So perhaps it's fitting that the final song in this marathon should be "All Being Well." As the last track of GP's 2007 album Don't Tell Columbus, it's a sweet farewell song, a tender valediction. For those of you who still think of Graham Parker as an angry young man, here's proof positive that he's got a sensitive side and he's not afraid to show it.
The structure is dead simple, as befits a folky acoustic ballad. (The song this most reminds me of, oddly, is an old John Martyn song, "May You Never"). Each verse has four lines, alternating between imagined future scenes when the lovers might meet -- "I'll see you when the leaves are falling," "when the candles flicker," "when the shadows fall," etc. -- and the repeated "all being well." But the third lines of the verse add a sense of mortality, speaking of stalling hearts and failing eyes, and they nudge the song toward realism. Even the repeated "all being well" -- which at first seems so comforting, dropping down to his low, warm register to resolve the melody -- isn't a gilt-edged guarantee. (Mindless optimism? Not in the Graham Parker universe.) The more often he repeats it, the more I brood about its meaning. That conditional tense is significant -- I realize that there's no certainty that all will be well. We can only hope that the stars will align.
So what does he offer to hold back the darkness? Listen to the chorus: "I'll hold you in my arms and tell you / That nothing can break this spell / I'll see you when the road stops winding / All being well." (I love how the melodic phrase on "nothing can break this spell" jumps upward, breaking the downward pattern of the verse.) Yes, love is our best option for getting through life. We've heard that a million times before, but Graham Parker rescues this tired cliche and gives it renewed conviction. I get the sense that he's not a hundred percent sure that nothing can break this spell, but he's telling her this tender lie anyway -- he wants it to be true, because he loves her so. And it's not just until nighttime, or until the next season, but forever, unto death ("when the road stops winding"). They're partners for life. (Check out track one of 12 Haunted Episodes.)
This song is such an unheralded beauty, tucked away at the end of an album that's largely satiric ( incisive, funny songs like "I Discovered America," "England's Latest Clown," and the Bush-era "Stick to the Plan"). Graham Parker's albums are full of surprises like this. The marathon isn't really over; there's so much of his music I need to really listen to and learn by heart. What a pleasure to look forward to!
"All Being Well" / Graham Parker
All good things must come to an end, and so this Graham Parker Marathon -- which was only supposed to last a week in the first place -- winds up today. Not that I'm going to stop listening to Graham Parker, mind you. No, I'm renting a room in Parkerville on a permanent basis (it hasn't got a garden but it's got a lovely patio). Once you're hooked on an artist this great, there's no going back.
So perhaps it's fitting that the final song in this marathon should be "All Being Well." As the last track of GP's 2007 album Don't Tell Columbus, it's a sweet farewell song, a tender valediction. For those of you who still think of Graham Parker as an angry young man, here's proof positive that he's got a sensitive side and he's not afraid to show it.
The structure is dead simple, as befits a folky acoustic ballad. (The song this most reminds me of, oddly, is an old John Martyn song, "May You Never"). Each verse has four lines, alternating between imagined future scenes when the lovers might meet -- "I'll see you when the leaves are falling," "when the candles flicker," "when the shadows fall," etc. -- and the repeated "all being well." But the third lines of the verse add a sense of mortality, speaking of stalling hearts and failing eyes, and they nudge the song toward realism. Even the repeated "all being well" -- which at first seems so comforting, dropping down to his low, warm register to resolve the melody -- isn't a gilt-edged guarantee. (Mindless optimism? Not in the Graham Parker universe.) The more often he repeats it, the more I brood about its meaning. That conditional tense is significant -- I realize that there's no certainty that all will be well. We can only hope that the stars will align.
So what does he offer to hold back the darkness? Listen to the chorus: "I'll hold you in my arms and tell you / That nothing can break this spell / I'll see you when the road stops winding / All being well." (I love how the melodic phrase on "nothing can break this spell" jumps upward, breaking the downward pattern of the verse.) Yes, love is our best option for getting through life. We've heard that a million times before, but Graham Parker rescues this tired cliche and gives it renewed conviction. I get the sense that he's not a hundred percent sure that nothing can break this spell, but he's telling her this tender lie anyway -- he wants it to be true, because he loves her so. And it's not just until nighttime, or until the next season, but forever, unto death ("when the road stops winding"). They're partners for life. (Check out track one of 12 Haunted Episodes.)
This song is such an unheralded beauty, tucked away at the end of an album that's largely satiric ( incisive, funny songs like "I Discovered America," "England's Latest Clown," and the Bush-era "Stick to the Plan"). Graham Parker's albums are full of surprises like this. The marathon isn't really over; there's so much of his music I need to really listen to and learn by heart. What a pleasure to look forward to!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE (a day late . . .)
Sorry, but I've been battling a bronchial infection, and the Graham Parker obsession has been occupying my few free brain cells. But I just got a new prescription today and I can actually breathe again -- so bring on the shuffle!
1. "This Year's Girl" / Elvis Costello and the Attractions
From This Year's Model (1979)
Ah, the corrosive, splenetic wit of young Elvis Costello. Those percussive guitars and whack-a-mole drums; the funhouse organ of Steve Nieve; that faux Beatle-y bridge -- this is hostility, pure and undistilled and ultra danceable. "Forget your fancy manners / Forget your English grammar / 'Cos you don't really give a damn about this year's girl."
2. "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" / The Ramones
From The Ramones (1976)
For years, knowing the Ramones were a punk band, I got them mixed up with the Sex Pistols. What was I thinking? The sound may be jangly and raw, but the sentiments here are vintage teen pop, sweet stuff that Lesley Gore and Bobby Fuller would totally understand.
3. "Don't Lose Your Grip On Love" / Brinsley Schwarz
From Nervous on the Road (1972)
So who's surprised that Nick Lowe would affect a vintage country soul sound nowadays? Listen to where he came from. I picture the Brinsleys in their plaid flannel shirts, with Bob Andrews going all Garth Hudson on the organ, and Nick warbling like Levon Helm. Imagine the culture mash-up, hearing this mellow honky-tonk two-step emanating from a pub in North London!
4. "Desperadoes Waiting for A Train" / Guy Clark
From Heartworn Highways (2006)
This is actually a live version of Clark's tender character study about his grandpa, tobacco-stained chin and all, from his 1975 album Old No. 1. (Texas really is another country.) Because Guy Clark is such a wise songwriter, it's also about growing up and mortality and losing the past. I prefer the live version, thrumming with personal emotions; the first time I ever heard this song was live, and it shattered me.
5. "The Perfect Shot" / Joe King Carrasco
From Get Off Mi Quesadilla (1990)
We're on a Texas run here. Joe King Carrasco throws a New Wave curve into a Tex-Mex dance hall sound, stabbing chords on his Farfisa while drums slap insistently behind him. Just think Devo mixed with Doug Sahm, shaken not stirred.
6. "Natural Reaction" / Gomez
From A New Tide (2009)
I just downloaded this track but haven't really digested it yet -- and with Gomez, you need a few repeat listens, despite the hooks. I like this singer's plaintive voice, though (three different lead vocalists in the band, but I gravitate to the songs this guy sings -- wish I knew which one he is). I think of this band as the Modest Mouse of England, with a densely crafted sound and somewhat riddling, neurotic lyrics.
7. "Some Other Guy" / The Searchers
From Sugar and Spice (1963)
Generic Lieber-Stoller song (was there a girl-group version "Some Other Girl"?), but the Searchers jazz it up and make it very Cavern-club-era Beatle-y. No surprise -- everybody those days was chasing that golden sound. His girl's leaving him, and he's sad, is about the sum of it. Lovely spangly guitars!
8. "I'm the One She'll Miss Him With Today" / George Jones
From I Am What I Am (1980)
Possibly my favorite George Jones song -- what a wicked little adulterous web she's weaving here. It's a complicated plot, but don't worry, George will get it all across, with the artful insinuation of his yelps and yodels. Classic country wit, but not really comedy -- the shoe could so easily be on the foot (and probably will be before long!).
9. "Talk Is Cheap" / The Toasters
From Hard Band for Dead (1996)
Ska-licious! I think these lyrics are political, but I'm not really sure, they spin by so fast, overridden by the horns and urgent bleats of organ; the beat is absolutely the thing. The Toasters are an American band, founded by an English exp-pat who missed the Two-Tone ska sound after he'd moved to New York, but in the end, it's irrelevant -- ska is a world language.
10. "Thursday" / The Futureheads
From News and Tributes (2006)
Under a psychedelic haze of repeated synth chords and reverbs, this track sounds as if it came from the 80s. I have no idea how this song even got on my iTunes. I could blame Uncle E....
Sorry, but I've been battling a bronchial infection, and the Graham Parker obsession has been occupying my few free brain cells. But I just got a new prescription today and I can actually breathe again -- so bring on the shuffle!
1. "This Year's Girl" / Elvis Costello and the Attractions
From This Year's Model (1979)
Ah, the corrosive, splenetic wit of young Elvis Costello. Those percussive guitars and whack-a-mole drums; the funhouse organ of Steve Nieve; that faux Beatle-y bridge -- this is hostility, pure and undistilled and ultra danceable. "Forget your fancy manners / Forget your English grammar / 'Cos you don't really give a damn about this year's girl."
2. "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" / The Ramones
From The Ramones (1976)
For years, knowing the Ramones were a punk band, I got them mixed up with the Sex Pistols. What was I thinking? The sound may be jangly and raw, but the sentiments here are vintage teen pop, sweet stuff that Lesley Gore and Bobby Fuller would totally understand.
3. "Don't Lose Your Grip On Love" / Brinsley Schwarz
From Nervous on the Road (1972)
So who's surprised that Nick Lowe would affect a vintage country soul sound nowadays? Listen to where he came from. I picture the Brinsleys in their plaid flannel shirts, with Bob Andrews going all Garth Hudson on the organ, and Nick warbling like Levon Helm. Imagine the culture mash-up, hearing this mellow honky-tonk two-step emanating from a pub in North London!
4. "Desperadoes Waiting for A Train" / Guy Clark
From Heartworn Highways (2006)
This is actually a live version of Clark's tender character study about his grandpa, tobacco-stained chin and all, from his 1975 album Old No. 1. (Texas really is another country.) Because Guy Clark is such a wise songwriter, it's also about growing up and mortality and losing the past. I prefer the live version, thrumming with personal emotions; the first time I ever heard this song was live, and it shattered me.
5. "The Perfect Shot" / Joe King Carrasco
From Get Off Mi Quesadilla (1990)
We're on a Texas run here. Joe King Carrasco throws a New Wave curve into a Tex-Mex dance hall sound, stabbing chords on his Farfisa while drums slap insistently behind him. Just think Devo mixed with Doug Sahm, shaken not stirred.
6. "Natural Reaction" / Gomez
From A New Tide (2009)
I just downloaded this track but haven't really digested it yet -- and with Gomez, you need a few repeat listens, despite the hooks. I like this singer's plaintive voice, though (three different lead vocalists in the band, but I gravitate to the songs this guy sings -- wish I knew which one he is). I think of this band as the Modest Mouse of England, with a densely crafted sound and somewhat riddling, neurotic lyrics.
7. "Some Other Guy" / The Searchers
From Sugar and Spice (1963)
Generic Lieber-Stoller song (was there a girl-group version "Some Other Girl"?), but the Searchers jazz it up and make it very Cavern-club-era Beatle-y. No surprise -- everybody those days was chasing that golden sound. His girl's leaving him, and he's sad, is about the sum of it. Lovely spangly guitars!
8. "I'm the One She'll Miss Him With Today" / George Jones
From I Am What I Am (1980)
Possibly my favorite George Jones song -- what a wicked little adulterous web she's weaving here. It's a complicated plot, but don't worry, George will get it all across, with the artful insinuation of his yelps and yodels. Classic country wit, but not really comedy -- the shoe could so easily be on the foot (and probably will be before long!).
9. "Talk Is Cheap" / The Toasters
From Hard Band for Dead (1996)
Ska-licious! I think these lyrics are political, but I'm not really sure, they spin by so fast, overridden by the horns and urgent bleats of organ; the beat is absolutely the thing. The Toasters are an American band, founded by an English exp-pat who missed the Two-Tone ska sound after he'd moved to New York, but in the end, it's irrelevant -- ska is a world language.
10. "Thursday" / The Futureheads
From News and Tributes (2006)
Under a psychedelic haze of repeated synth chords and reverbs, this track sounds as if it came from the 80s. I have no idea how this song even got on my iTunes. I could blame Uncle E....
FIRST ANNUAL GRAHAM PARKER MARATHON
"Bad Chardonnay" / Graham Parker & the Figgs
The first time I heard Songs of No Consequence -- which, I gotta be honest, was only two weeks ago -- it made me laugh out loud. I never expected Graham Parker to be still making music this irresistibly catchy, rock & roll this sharp and lively. (Maybe it's his current backing band, the Figgs, who bumped up his adrenaline.) I have to admit, all the Nick Lowe fans out there who keep moaning that Nick needs to rock out more should just switch over to being Graham Parker fans and be done with it. (Leave more Nick for me.)
And -- who knew? -- on this album, which came out in 2005, Graham Parker's back in full "angry young man" mode. Okay, technically he's not a young man anymore, not as such. But it's not cranky old man anger, it's the scathing satire of an outraged guy in his twenties. Just look at some of those song titles -- "Vanity Press," "Suck 'n Blow," "There's Nothing On the Radio," the unambiguous "Evil," and the horrified "Did Everybody Just Get Old?" The hookiest song on the album, "Chloroform," is a withering portrait of some low-life hustler whom Parker describes, "You look like you been marked for life / And given up for dead / You look like you got someone else's / Hair growing out of your head." Feel-good music? I don't think so. But fun? Yes indeed.
In "Bad Chardonnay," Parker presents himself as an irascible veteran of the road, offering -- well, I wouldn't say advice exactly, but words of gnarled wisdom to his younger colleagues. "Don't gimme any lip, son," he snarls in the first verse, "Don't gimme any grief / I've been around the block and back / From Maine to Tenerife." (Love that juxtapostion.) "Yeah, I got my act together," he declares, adding with a wink and a shrug, "Okay, it's just an act." Subtle, effortless word play there.
In the chorus, where he professes to divulge the secret of his success, he tosses off a sustained send-up of pretentious wine tasting jargon: "You need a real long finish that never quits / Like English treacle on hominy grits / A buttery flavor that goes on and on / With a hint of grease and a nose too long." That's the part where I laughed out loud -- what a snarky parody. And yet, and yet, and yet . . . this is an absolutely spot on description of Graham Parker's music. His best rockers do build up to a big finish; the richness of his imagery could easily be called "buttery"; and certainly that hint of rockabilly greasiness is there. "English treacle on hominy grits" -- has anybody ever better described the 1970s' peculiar fusion of British pop with southern blues?
Verse two, where he describes the life of a touring musician ("I've seen this mighty continent / From the back seat of a van"), dispels all the glamor of rock-star existence. In verse three, he sardonically adds: "I've hit the bottom many times / And it's not always that bad / In fact it's kind of comforting / Like the friend you never had." He's not asking you to feel sorry for him, like the typical rock star self-pitying life-on-the-road song. ("Homeward Bound," this is not, and certainly not "Sitting in My Hotel Room.") No, he's the anti-hero of his own Crazy Heart.
Meanwhile, the song rockets impishly along, with emphatic drums and twitchy guitar, Graham crooning into the mike in his best raspy R&B vocals. The singer may be a disillusioned wreck, but rock and roll is a cruel mistress, and she will not let him rest. "But you got to do it your own way," he wails, resigned, "on cigarettes and bad chardonnay." The great songwriters know it's all in the details; it only takes those two swift details to nail the gritty tedium of a second-tier rock artist's life. Personally I don't think I'll ever order chardonnay again without thinking of this song -- and laughing.
"Bad Chardonnay" / Graham Parker & the Figgs
The first time I heard Songs of No Consequence -- which, I gotta be honest, was only two weeks ago -- it made me laugh out loud. I never expected Graham Parker to be still making music this irresistibly catchy, rock & roll this sharp and lively. (Maybe it's his current backing band, the Figgs, who bumped up his adrenaline.) I have to admit, all the Nick Lowe fans out there who keep moaning that Nick needs to rock out more should just switch over to being Graham Parker fans and be done with it. (Leave more Nick for me.)
And -- who knew? -- on this album, which came out in 2005, Graham Parker's back in full "angry young man" mode. Okay, technically he's not a young man anymore, not as such. But it's not cranky old man anger, it's the scathing satire of an outraged guy in his twenties. Just look at some of those song titles -- "Vanity Press," "Suck 'n Blow," "There's Nothing On the Radio," the unambiguous "Evil," and the horrified "Did Everybody Just Get Old?" The hookiest song on the album, "Chloroform," is a withering portrait of some low-life hustler whom Parker describes, "You look like you been marked for life / And given up for dead / You look like you got someone else's / Hair growing out of your head." Feel-good music? I don't think so. But fun? Yes indeed.
In "Bad Chardonnay," Parker presents himself as an irascible veteran of the road, offering -- well, I wouldn't say advice exactly, but words of gnarled wisdom to his younger colleagues. "Don't gimme any lip, son," he snarls in the first verse, "Don't gimme any grief / I've been around the block and back / From Maine to Tenerife." (Love that juxtapostion.) "Yeah, I got my act together," he declares, adding with a wink and a shrug, "Okay, it's just an act." Subtle, effortless word play there.
In the chorus, where he professes to divulge the secret of his success, he tosses off a sustained send-up of pretentious wine tasting jargon: "You need a real long finish that never quits / Like English treacle on hominy grits / A buttery flavor that goes on and on / With a hint of grease and a nose too long." That's the part where I laughed out loud -- what a snarky parody. And yet, and yet, and yet . . . this is an absolutely spot on description of Graham Parker's music. His best rockers do build up to a big finish; the richness of his imagery could easily be called "buttery"; and certainly that hint of rockabilly greasiness is there. "English treacle on hominy grits" -- has anybody ever better described the 1970s' peculiar fusion of British pop with southern blues?
Verse two, where he describes the life of a touring musician ("I've seen this mighty continent / From the back seat of a van"), dispels all the glamor of rock-star existence. In verse three, he sardonically adds: "I've hit the bottom many times / And it's not always that bad / In fact it's kind of comforting / Like the friend you never had." He's not asking you to feel sorry for him, like the typical rock star self-pitying life-on-the-road song. ("Homeward Bound," this is not, and certainly not "Sitting in My Hotel Room.") No, he's the anti-hero of his own Crazy Heart.
Meanwhile, the song rockets impishly along, with emphatic drums and twitchy guitar, Graham crooning into the mike in his best raspy R&B vocals. The singer may be a disillusioned wreck, but rock and roll is a cruel mistress, and she will not let him rest. "But you got to do it your own way," he wails, resigned, "on cigarettes and bad chardonnay." The great songwriters know it's all in the details; it only takes those two swift details to nail the gritty tedium of a second-tier rock artist's life. Personally I don't think I'll ever order chardonnay again without thinking of this song -- and laughing.
Monday, May 17, 2010
FIRST ANNUAL GRAHAM PARKER MARATHON
"Haunted Episodes" / Graham Parker
I know, I too expected this marathon to last just one week. But that was before I got going, before I really started listening to all these new Graham Parker CDs I snapped up. There are certain albums you just can't skip over, and one of them has to be 12 Haunted Episodes.
Now don't go looking for this 1995 album on iTunes; even Amazon.com only offers copies from second-party sellers, since it has been discontinued by Razor and Tie Records (guess they're too busy with other more valuable artists, like Twisted Sister, Simply Red, and Michael McDonald). As I recall, Razor and Tie also let Marshall Crenshaw slip away a few years ago. As Arte Johnson used to say on Laugh-In, "Verrrrrry INteresting."
But I'm not here to get into record company politics. I see that Graham Parker has done plenty of label hopping in his 30-plus-year music career, and it can't always have been the suits' fault. Who cares? The past is past -- which brings us to the topic of today's track, "Haunted Episodes."
Though it's the title track from this beautiful album, in some ways it's a bit of an outsider in an album that seems largely about his relationship with his wife. (With a few satiric songs interspersed -- well, it wouldn't be a Graham Parker album without a few satiric songs.) "Haunted Episodes" is a sort of love song, but it isn't about the girl he married, rather about an old girlfriend. You could easily put this on a playlist with Nick Lowe's "Long-Limbed Girl," Elvis Costello's "Just About Glad," and maybe Joe Jackson's "Rush Across the Road," three tender charmers about old flames.
The "haunted" in the title's a bit misleading, too -- he's not haunted by this old relationship, merely musing over where she is today. There's nothing spooky or brooding about this light, flowing melody; in fact, this song makes me think of something sunny that Donovan might have written, like "Jennifer Juniper." The jazz flute that embroiders this track is the final sweet touch.
Regrets? That's not even on the table. He's not claiming that he's better off without her -- in verse one he freely admits that "Things round here don't get any clearer / Stuff that once seemed in reach is not any nearer." But verse two is like a shrug of inevitability: "I wonder who was more demanding / We were just young I guess / Neither would settle for less." He does keep referring to a house -- perhaps someplace they once lived together -- and wondering whether it's been knocked down or if it's still standing in ruins. (Metaphor alert!) But there's no score settling going on. He almost seems afraid to imagine her life turning out badly, hoping that she's "takin' the knocks" all right. That tentative solicitude rings so true, revealing a reservoir of fondness beneath the touchy surface of their past.
Did I say that this song doesn't belong on this album? Oh, no, I did not. It only seems like a side track. Sure, it's not about his wife. But a man who can reflect this gently about lost loves isn't in any danger of being tormented by the past. "Still, it's not a whole life story, is it?" he asks himself. "It's just a page I turned / And there you were in it." He can afford to wonder about her calmly because the big love, the real love -- the main plot of his life story -- finally did show up. Lucky man.
"Haunted Episodes" / Graham Parker
I know, I too expected this marathon to last just one week. But that was before I got going, before I really started listening to all these new Graham Parker CDs I snapped up. There are certain albums you just can't skip over, and one of them has to be 12 Haunted Episodes.
Now don't go looking for this 1995 album on iTunes; even Amazon.com only offers copies from second-party sellers, since it has been discontinued by Razor and Tie Records (guess they're too busy with other more valuable artists, like Twisted Sister, Simply Red, and Michael McDonald). As I recall, Razor and Tie also let Marshall Crenshaw slip away a few years ago. As Arte Johnson used to say on Laugh-In, "Verrrrrry INteresting."
But I'm not here to get into record company politics. I see that Graham Parker has done plenty of label hopping in his 30-plus-year music career, and it can't always have been the suits' fault. Who cares? The past is past -- which brings us to the topic of today's track, "Haunted Episodes."
Though it's the title track from this beautiful album, in some ways it's a bit of an outsider in an album that seems largely about his relationship with his wife. (With a few satiric songs interspersed -- well, it wouldn't be a Graham Parker album without a few satiric songs.) "Haunted Episodes" is a sort of love song, but it isn't about the girl he married, rather about an old girlfriend. You could easily put this on a playlist with Nick Lowe's "Long-Limbed Girl," Elvis Costello's "Just About Glad," and maybe Joe Jackson's "Rush Across the Road," three tender charmers about old flames.
The "haunted" in the title's a bit misleading, too -- he's not haunted by this old relationship, merely musing over where she is today. There's nothing spooky or brooding about this light, flowing melody; in fact, this song makes me think of something sunny that Donovan might have written, like "Jennifer Juniper." The jazz flute that embroiders this track is the final sweet touch.
Regrets? That's not even on the table. He's not claiming that he's better off without her -- in verse one he freely admits that "Things round here don't get any clearer / Stuff that once seemed in reach is not any nearer." But verse two is like a shrug of inevitability: "I wonder who was more demanding / We were just young I guess / Neither would settle for less." He does keep referring to a house -- perhaps someplace they once lived together -- and wondering whether it's been knocked down or if it's still standing in ruins. (Metaphor alert!) But there's no score settling going on. He almost seems afraid to imagine her life turning out badly, hoping that she's "takin' the knocks" all right. That tentative solicitude rings so true, revealing a reservoir of fondness beneath the touchy surface of their past.
Did I say that this song doesn't belong on this album? Oh, no, I did not. It only seems like a side track. Sure, it's not about his wife. But a man who can reflect this gently about lost loves isn't in any danger of being tormented by the past. "Still, it's not a whole life story, is it?" he asks himself. "It's just a page I turned / And there you were in it." He can afford to wonder about her calmly because the big love, the real love -- the main plot of his life story -- finally did show up. Lucky man.
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