The Clash - White Man in Hammersmith Palais
Another old favourite of mine from a band with an almost impeachable discography, White Man.. begins with Joe Strummer recounting his disappointment at the choreographed moves and performance of Dillinger, Leroy Smart and Delroy Wilson, likening them to The Four Tops (which is a diss.. I think), at a reggae all-nighter in the aforementioned Hammersmith Palais. Strummer then addresses many of the prevalent social themes in The Clash's vocabulary - race, violence, the commercialisation of rebellion and, finally, Britain's descent to a maudlin celebrity culture - "If Adolf Hitler flew in today / They'd send a limousine anyway".
The lyrics are typical Strummer - a sardonic clarion call, mature, passionate and funny, sung in a breathless rasp over a backing that moves from typical big riffs to an understated, bass-driven reggae groove. And over all of this, Strummer manages to inject a sense of humour, poking fun at both himself (the scared white man), at other bands (The Jam in their "Burton suits") and at those who advocate violent rebellion ("Fooling with your guns / The British Army is waiting out there / An' it weighs fifteen hundred tons"). This song was also a particular favourite of Strummers, who finished most of his later gigs with it.
It's been argued that White Man .. may have been the first song to fuse punk and reggae. It wasn't the first attempt at ska by punk bands, but the fusion was both irresistable and critically acclaimed (Robert Christgau called it "a must") and set the tone for much of the later output of The Clash. It's magnificent, of course. Lyrically, thematically and musically, it may be a song from another time, but it still sounds so relevant and true. If you didn't think that Joe Strummer was a musical god, now may be a good time to reconsider. Songs like this are, arguably, the real reason why punk has managed to endure - who else was making music as socially-aware and relevant in those days? The serious, angry young yobs managed to strike chords on so many level that listening to them 30 years later is both a joyous experience and a depressing one, as so many of the issues that they protested are still around. For that reason, if for no other one, The Clash are deserving of a position in the pantheon of musical greats.
But how do they stack up on the Rock Nutter (tm) scale?
Names:
Joe Strummer's real name was John Mellor. Their original drummer was given the likely pseudonym of Tory Crimes. Chalk one up for "The Only Band That Matters".
Bad Behaviour:
In 1977, Strummer was arrested for spray-painting "The Clash" on a wall in a hotel. In 1980, he was arrested in Germany for bashing a violent audience member with his guitar and commented "I nearly murdered somebody, and it made me realise that you can't face violence with violence. It doesn't work". Joe Strummer was Lily Allen's godfather. If that's not inexplicable behaviour, then I don't know what is. Chalk up another point.
Prison:
Headon spent time in jail for dealing. The rest of them were arrested continuously in the early days of the band for things like vandalism. Three out of three for The Clash.
Drugs:
They shot up more speed than should be humanly possible and smoked shedloads of dope. Topper Headon was a junkie. Make that four.
Weird History:
Strummer was born in Turkey and was a gravedigger and a busker before The Clash. Strummer and Jones went to art school. Strummer married a South African woman in 1975 in order to get her British citizenship. We'll give them the final point.
So, The Clash - true rock nutters? Yes, but in a socially responsible, serious way.
(P.S.: In a sad note, the Hammersmith Palais closed in March 2007)
Verdict: The best roots rock rebellion known to man
Tomorrow: Solomon Burke - Everyone Needs Somebody to Love
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Who Ate All The Pies?
Fats Domino - Ain't That a Shame
Originally brought to prominance by being covered by Pat Boone and spending 2 weeks at number 1, Domino's original proceeded to eclipse the later cover version. Back in those days it wasn't uncommon for songs to be covered pretty soon after they were released, so it's entirely possible that both versions of the song were on the charts at the same time. Imagine two versions of a Cher song on the chart at the same time. I think that would probably be a signal to the future that she finally killed John Connor. I'd be waiting, happily, for the first nukes to hit.
Tangential detours aside, I'm pretty sure that this is one of those very rare songs that has been covered by two separate Beatles - Lennon on Rock and Roll (with.. ug.. Yoko) and McCartney on Tripping the Live Fantastic, so it must have some appeal. What that appeal is, I'm not entirely sure - it's .. short, somewhat sanitised, entirely unthreatening and sans any real emotion or edge. Musically, it's all jazzy-walking-blues - big horns, piano all up in the mix, and Fats' honeyed vocals telling you about how sad he is. Seems like Fats' girl done him wrong, but he doesn't seem particularly broken up about it. And therein lies the crux of my disagreement with this song. I know it's a thousand years old and that naked displays of emotion were probably frowned upon in those days, but if Fats has been wronged, why isn't he pissed? If his tears are falling like rain, why does it sound like he's ordering takeaways? It's just all a little too middle of the road for me, even if it is a supposedly iconic piece of rock and roll.
Oh, and at least Fats lived up to his name - dude may not have set the Rock Nutter (tm) scale alight, but there were probably some beignet vendors in New Orleans who put their kids through university with help from Fats.
Verdict: No-one ever said the Beatles had taste.
Tomorrow: The Clash - White Man in Hammersmith Palais
Originally brought to prominance by being covered by Pat Boone and spending 2 weeks at number 1, Domino's original proceeded to eclipse the later cover version. Back in those days it wasn't uncommon for songs to be covered pretty soon after they were released, so it's entirely possible that both versions of the song were on the charts at the same time. Imagine two versions of a Cher song on the chart at the same time. I think that would probably be a signal to the future that she finally killed John Connor. I'd be waiting, happily, for the first nukes to hit.
Tangential detours aside, I'm pretty sure that this is one of those very rare songs that has been covered by two separate Beatles - Lennon on Rock and Roll (with.. ug.. Yoko) and McCartney on Tripping the Live Fantastic, so it must have some appeal. What that appeal is, I'm not entirely sure - it's .. short, somewhat sanitised, entirely unthreatening and sans any real emotion or edge. Musically, it's all jazzy-walking-blues - big horns, piano all up in the mix, and Fats' honeyed vocals telling you about how sad he is. Seems like Fats' girl done him wrong, but he doesn't seem particularly broken up about it. And therein lies the crux of my disagreement with this song. I know it's a thousand years old and that naked displays of emotion were probably frowned upon in those days, but if Fats has been wronged, why isn't he pissed? If his tears are falling like rain, why does it sound like he's ordering takeaways? It's just all a little too middle of the road for me, even if it is a supposedly iconic piece of rock and roll.
Oh, and at least Fats lived up to his name - dude may not have set the Rock Nutter (tm) scale alight, but there were probably some beignet vendors in New Orleans who put their kids through university with help from Fats.
Verdict: No-one ever said the Beatles had taste.
Tomorrow: The Clash - White Man in Hammersmith Palais
Monday, October 26, 2009
ANNOUNCEMENT: This post brought to you by Corporate Douchebag Enterprises*
Gladys Knight and The Pips - Midnight Train to Georgia
Gladys Knight. Gladys Knight and The Pips. No relation to Michael Knight but I'm seeing a tie-in here, people. Think merchandising opportunities. Think collaborations. Think about that key over 50 housewife demographic! Wouldn't Gladys, the Pips and The Hoff break through in the lonely housewife market? I'm seeing gold records up on the walls. Think graphs heading towards the stratosphere and charts with little dots bouncing off the ceiling. Only in Germany, you say? Bollocks.
Well then, this is THE song for the key 50+ housewife/empty nester demographic. Young people will hate it, but that's ok because we hate them too. Look at how we've used the Backstreet Boys and N*Sync to destroy their minds. By the time they hit 50, if they hit 50, they'll be begging us for Gladys Knight.
The song? The song? Who cares about the song. It's family friendly, made by unthreatening black people. Hell, even the men with the deep voices are singing with smiles on their faces. THIS WILL SELL! SELL MILLIONS! IT WILL MAKE US ALL RICH!
First the airwaves. Then the television. Then the movies. Then the world. We will take over the world thanks to Gladys Knight and The Pups. Pips. Whatever. No-one really cares. The song is inconspicuous. Hell, no-one will know, and we can assume control of their thinking faculties. Everyone wants sweetly-sung songs about love. People don't want to be challenged. This song will not challenge them so they will buy it and, with that, erode their ability to think critically. Which will allow us to sell them more more more crap crap crap.
The world is ours.
(Tomorrow: Fats Domino - Ain't That A Shame)
* I know it's a bit late, but this post was written on friday when I was, unfortunately, dressed like a corporate douchebag and sitting in an airport. Wa-hey!
Gladys Knight and The Pips - Midnight Train to Georgia
Gladys Knight. Gladys Knight and The Pips. No relation to Michael Knight but I'm seeing a tie-in here, people. Think merchandising opportunities. Think collaborations. Think about that key over 50 housewife demographic! Wouldn't Gladys, the Pips and The Hoff break through in the lonely housewife market? I'm seeing gold records up on the walls. Think graphs heading towards the stratosphere and charts with little dots bouncing off the ceiling. Only in Germany, you say? Bollocks.
Well then, this is THE song for the key 50+ housewife/empty nester demographic. Young people will hate it, but that's ok because we hate them too. Look at how we've used the Backstreet Boys and N*Sync to destroy their minds. By the time they hit 50, if they hit 50, they'll be begging us for Gladys Knight.
The song? The song? Who cares about the song. It's family friendly, made by unthreatening black people. Hell, even the men with the deep voices are singing with smiles on their faces. THIS WILL SELL! SELL MILLIONS! IT WILL MAKE US ALL RICH!
First the airwaves. Then the television. Then the movies. Then the world. We will take over the world thanks to Gladys Knight and The Pups. Pips. Whatever. No-one really cares. The song is inconspicuous. Hell, no-one will know, and we can assume control of their thinking faculties. Everyone wants sweetly-sung songs about love. People don't want to be challenged. This song will not challenge them so they will buy it and, with that, erode their ability to think critically. Which will allow us to sell them more more more crap crap crap.
The world is ours.
(Tomorrow: Fats Domino - Ain't That A Shame)
* I know it's a bit late, but this post was written on friday when I was, unfortunately, dressed like a corporate douchebag and sitting in an airport. Wa-hey!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Frodo, Don't Wear The Ring
Led Zeppelin - Ramble On
Confession time: I hate The Lord of the Rings trilogy. There, I said it. It bores me to tears. I've read it twice. Once I even liked it. And I hated the movies, I couldn't stay awake through them. Every time I hear words like "hobbit" or "Baggins", I have to fight back an involuntary gag reflex.
More on that later, however.
Led Zeppelin are, of course, the source of some of the truly great rock songs of all time (as well as Stairway to Heaven), true rock nutters and performers of the absolute highest order. Stories of their nutterdom are legendary and everyone's heard Whole Lotta Love or Kashmir. That should make them and, by extension, their songs cool. Right? Right?
Wrong. So very wrong. Ramble On starts off all Led Zep-y - sunny, open chords courtesy of famed groupie bedpost-notcher Jimmy Page, a legato bassline courtesy of some old bearded guy, and inconspicuous percussion courtesy of John Bonham, a man who was clearly in a Rock Drummer Nutter competition with Keith Moon from The Who. Robert Plant's Wailing, slightly mournful vocals start the downward slide, which continues until the first chorus. The first chorus is classic Led Zeppelin - propulsive drumming; taut, powerful guitar; thumping bass and Plant's plaintive howls.
It's great. Most of the song is great, in fact.
Musically, it all amazingness and awesomeness - Page's guitar work is continually inventive and serves almost as a second vocalist, a musical counterpoint to Page's vocal lines - at times providing sweet relief and at times building tension. The rhythm section is tight, cohesive and serves the twin masters of the song (Page and Plant) perfectly, while never being understated. Unfortunately, the song moves into gag reflex territory when Plant starts singing about Mordor and Gollum and basically going all hobbit on us. This is pretty indicative of Led Zeppelin's quality - when they're doing the bluesy thing, they're phenomenal; when Page uses a little licence with the lyrics (a la Stairway to Heaven) they sound cod-folky, indulgent and, well, crap.
Does their headline contribution to rock nutterdom redeem them? Not in this instance. The hobbit crap just ruins it for me. Put together a venn diagram of rock and roll and hobbits, orcs and the like, and should look like an 8. Basically, as a result of this song, Led Zeppelin are solely responsible for Ronnie James Dio and the rest of the hobbits- and dragon-metal bullshit that crawled out of some godforsaken swamp later. And that is something I can't get over..
Verdict: Ramble off
Tomorrow: Gladys Night and the Pips - Midnight Train to Georgia
Confession time: I hate The Lord of the Rings trilogy. There, I said it. It bores me to tears. I've read it twice. Once I even liked it. And I hated the movies, I couldn't stay awake through them. Every time I hear words like "hobbit" or "Baggins", I have to fight back an involuntary gag reflex.
More on that later, however.
Led Zeppelin are, of course, the source of some of the truly great rock songs of all time (as well as Stairway to Heaven), true rock nutters and performers of the absolute highest order. Stories of their nutterdom are legendary and everyone's heard Whole Lotta Love or Kashmir. That should make them and, by extension, their songs cool. Right? Right?
Wrong. So very wrong. Ramble On starts off all Led Zep-y - sunny, open chords courtesy of famed groupie bedpost-notcher Jimmy Page, a legato bassline courtesy of some old bearded guy, and inconspicuous percussion courtesy of John Bonham, a man who was clearly in a Rock Drummer Nutter competition with Keith Moon from The Who. Robert Plant's Wailing, slightly mournful vocals start the downward slide, which continues until the first chorus. The first chorus is classic Led Zeppelin - propulsive drumming; taut, powerful guitar; thumping bass and Plant's plaintive howls.
It's great. Most of the song is great, in fact.
Musically, it all amazingness and awesomeness - Page's guitar work is continually inventive and serves almost as a second vocalist, a musical counterpoint to Page's vocal lines - at times providing sweet relief and at times building tension. The rhythm section is tight, cohesive and serves the twin masters of the song (Page and Plant) perfectly, while never being understated. Unfortunately, the song moves into gag reflex territory when Plant starts singing about Mordor and Gollum and basically going all hobbit on us. This is pretty indicative of Led Zeppelin's quality - when they're doing the bluesy thing, they're phenomenal; when Page uses a little licence with the lyrics (a la Stairway to Heaven) they sound cod-folky, indulgent and, well, crap.
Does their headline contribution to rock nutterdom redeem them? Not in this instance. The hobbit crap just ruins it for me. Put together a venn diagram of rock and roll and hobbits, orcs and the like, and should look like an 8. Basically, as a result of this song, Led Zeppelin are solely responsible for Ronnie James Dio and the rest of the hobbits- and dragon-metal bullshit that crawled out of some godforsaken swamp later. And that is something I can't get over..
Verdict: Ramble off
Tomorrow: Gladys Night and the Pips - Midnight Train to Georgia
Fast Women, Cocaine and Guns, These Are a Few of Wilson Pickett's Favourite Things
Wilson Picket - Mustang Sally
Written by Mack Rice, with the name suggested by Aretha Franklin, this was a song revived and revitalised by film The Commitments. And it is funky. It's James Brown funky but not as frantic as Mr Brown's ouevre, which always leaves me thinking that Mr Brown couldn't really grab a microphone without it resulting in at least one high speed car chase.
But back to The Commitments - where that version was clean and well produced, this version has grit and production that is clearly boggled by the range of Pickett's voice. And, of course, this is the better version - Pickett has the range and emotion and soul of the deranged madman that he was. This was a man who, variously:
(1) Developed a reputation for a fondness for guns, as big as possible
(2) Was arrested with a loaded shotgun in his car
(3) Was arrested for yelling death threats while driving his car over his neighbours lawn. The neighbour also happenend to be the mayor of Englewood, California
(4) Was arrested for beating up his girlfriend
(5) Spent a year and a half in jail for drunkenly running over an octogenarian (no mention is made of whether he was driving a Mustang)
(6) Was known for settling what he called "disagreements of a personal nature" with his fists
Most of the above were accomplished whilst under the influence of significant amounts of cocaine.
Notwithstanding his lack of a pseudonym (Wilson Pickett is a pretty satisfactory name though), he obviously qualifies for rock nutter status.
The song? It's awesome. I wouldn't say anything less - mainly for fear that Mr Pickett would come around here and kick my ass (so what if he's dead?) but also because it really is an amazing example of soul music sung by a man who, despite being a hyperviolent lunatic gun nut, had a voice that sounds like the result of a Faustian pact.
Verdict: A worthwhile rival to James Brown, in every way
Tomorrow: Led Zeppelin - Ramble On
Written by Mack Rice, with the name suggested by Aretha Franklin, this was a song revived and revitalised by film The Commitments. And it is funky. It's James Brown funky but not as frantic as Mr Brown's ouevre, which always leaves me thinking that Mr Brown couldn't really grab a microphone without it resulting in at least one high speed car chase.
But back to The Commitments - where that version was clean and well produced, this version has grit and production that is clearly boggled by the range of Pickett's voice. And, of course, this is the better version - Pickett has the range and emotion and soul of the deranged madman that he was. This was a man who, variously:
(1) Developed a reputation for a fondness for guns, as big as possible
(2) Was arrested with a loaded shotgun in his car
(3) Was arrested for yelling death threats while driving his car over his neighbours lawn. The neighbour also happenend to be the mayor of Englewood, California
(4) Was arrested for beating up his girlfriend
(5) Spent a year and a half in jail for drunkenly running over an octogenarian (no mention is made of whether he was driving a Mustang)
(6) Was known for settling what he called "disagreements of a personal nature" with his fists
Most of the above were accomplished whilst under the influence of significant amounts of cocaine.
Notwithstanding his lack of a pseudonym (Wilson Pickett is a pretty satisfactory name though), he obviously qualifies for rock nutter status.
The song? It's awesome. I wouldn't say anything less - mainly for fear that Mr Pickett would come around here and kick my ass (so what if he's dead?) but also because it really is an amazing example of soul music sung by a man who, despite being a hyperviolent lunatic gun nut, had a voice that sounds like the result of a Faustian pact.
Verdict: A worthwhile rival to James Brown, in every way
Tomorrow: Led Zeppelin - Ramble On
Overburdened?
The Rolling Stones - Beast of Burden
Following on to a question that I think I asked back in the mists of time - can a song's qualitybe influenced by subsequent covers of it? I'll wager that the coolness of Dylan's version of All Along the Watchtower is enhanced by Hendrix's version and that Tom Waits' Ol' 55 is diminished due to having been covered by The Eagles. In this case, how can we look rationally on Beast of Burden, knowing that it's been covered by Bette Midler?
We can't, obviously. Knowing that Mick and Keith's fine, fine song has been raped and pillaged by mecha-Midler sickens me, but knowing that Mick actually appeared in her video for the song is enough to reduce me to Virgin of Guadaloupe-like tears of blood.
Taken in isolation, the song itself is so classic and Stones-y that it may actually be an archetype for 'that Stones sound'. Keith and Ronnie Wood run amok, guitar lines entangled like two drunken fencers - all twangy epees and subtlety one minute, then countrified sabers and a bit of argy-bargy the next. Bill Wyman's bass and Charley Watts drums are largely anonymous but compliment the dueling guitars and one of Jaggers' finest vocal performances - his voice conveying resilience and frustration in its wails and croons and shouts.
It's a pity that Midler got her sweaty claws on it then. More so given the Stones' propensity for scaling the heights of rock nutterdom, which would have made this song a Rocky-esque contender.
Verdict: Good, or bette-r?
Tomorrow: Wilson Picket - Mustang Sally
Following on to a question that I think I asked back in the mists of time - can a song's qualitybe influenced by subsequent covers of it? I'll wager that the coolness of Dylan's version of All Along the Watchtower is enhanced by Hendrix's version and that Tom Waits' Ol' 55 is diminished due to having been covered by The Eagles. In this case, how can we look rationally on Beast of Burden, knowing that it's been covered by Bette Midler?
We can't, obviously. Knowing that Mick and Keith's fine, fine song has been raped and pillaged by mecha-Midler sickens me, but knowing that Mick actually appeared in her video for the song is enough to reduce me to Virgin of Guadaloupe-like tears of blood.
Taken in isolation, the song itself is so classic and Stones-y that it may actually be an archetype for 'that Stones sound'. Keith and Ronnie Wood run amok, guitar lines entangled like two drunken fencers - all twangy epees and subtlety one minute, then countrified sabers and a bit of argy-bargy the next. Bill Wyman's bass and Charley Watts drums are largely anonymous but compliment the dueling guitars and one of Jaggers' finest vocal performances - his voice conveying resilience and frustration in its wails and croons and shouts.
It's a pity that Midler got her sweaty claws on it then. More so given the Stones' propensity for scaling the heights of rock nutterdom, which would have made this song a Rocky-esque contender.
Verdict: Good, or bette-r?
Tomorrow: Wilson Picket - Mustang Sally
Monday, October 19, 2009
.. and we're back
2 months late, I know, I know.
Sorry for being so quiet. I've been .. busy.
But there'll be much more happening here from now on.
Sorry for being so quiet. I've been .. busy.
But there'll be much more happening here from now on.
No Love Lost
Love - Alone Again Or
Hippies. Gotta love 'em. Well, not really. They were basically just a bunch of dirty people who didn't want to wear shoes and thought the world could do with more love, marijuana and macrobiotic food. I don't really relate to them, to be honest, preferring caffeine and pizza. I'm ok on the love thing, but not necessarily on the Love thing.
This song is a little strange. There are a million influences - the whole hippie thing shines through in the awful, awful, awful lyrics (talking about how people are the greatest is a new lyrical low). The minor chord fingerpicked guitar part is almost classical and the string part almost orchestral. And then you have the horns, which sound like Love came across a passing mariachi band and decided to drag them into the studio. It's all rather unfocused. It all enough to make you wonder whether they weren't .. stoned?
Actually, it would be a safe bet that, yes, they were stoned. Off their heads. Only people smoking a boatload of marijuana could make music like this. In the same way that only people smoking the quantities of marijuana and taking the kinds pharmaceuticals endemic to the love generation could really appreciate this.
Not even Arthur Lee's strong showing on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm) - he spent time in prison on weapons, drugs and assault charges - nor cover versions by The Damned and hipster icons Calexico can redeem this song.
Verdict: Best left well enough alone
Tomorrow: The Rolling Stones - Beast of Burden
Hippies. Gotta love 'em. Well, not really. They were basically just a bunch of dirty people who didn't want to wear shoes and thought the world could do with more love, marijuana and macrobiotic food. I don't really relate to them, to be honest, preferring caffeine and pizza. I'm ok on the love thing, but not necessarily on the Love thing.
This song is a little strange. There are a million influences - the whole hippie thing shines through in the awful, awful, awful lyrics (talking about how people are the greatest is a new lyrical low). The minor chord fingerpicked guitar part is almost classical and the string part almost orchestral. And then you have the horns, which sound like Love came across a passing mariachi band and decided to drag them into the studio. It's all rather unfocused. It all enough to make you wonder whether they weren't .. stoned?
Actually, it would be a safe bet that, yes, they were stoned. Off their heads. Only people smoking a boatload of marijuana could make music like this. In the same way that only people smoking the quantities of marijuana and taking the kinds pharmaceuticals endemic to the love generation could really appreciate this.
Not even Arthur Lee's strong showing on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm) - he spent time in prison on weapons, drugs and assault charges - nor cover versions by The Damned and hipster icons Calexico can redeem this song.
Verdict: Best left well enough alone
Tomorrow: The Rolling Stones - Beast of Burden
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Sweet Nothings
Elvis Presley - Love Me Tender
Based on a civil war-era ballad called Aura Lee, Love Me Tender was the soundtrack song for the first of Elvis's 31 movies. It was one of Elvis's first steps on the road to becoming the global mega-ultra-Michael-freaking-Jackson-star that he became before he died trying to take a dump, obese, amphetamine-fueled and all about the underaged girls. Hell of a life.
The song's pretty much just the big guy (Elvis, not God) - southern crooning, soft focus acoustic guitar and harmonised backing vocals. That's all. Big production clearly wasn't hip in those days. It's all very sweet and romantic, in a late 50s boy-meets-girl-and-pledges-eternal-love kind of way, but it really doesn't do much for me. I'm not really the type to pledge eternal love so I think this one is lost on me. Maybe his later work will strike a chord but, seeing as he's about as far from being a rock nutter as can be in this song, we'll hold off on reviewing his career with the Rock Nutter Scale (tm) for a while.
All in all, a disappointing start from Mr Sequined Jumpsuits - where's the sneering, hip-thrusting god of rock and roll? This song is the musical equivalent of herbal tea with honey - I want caffeine, dammit, caffeine and bourbon.
Verdict: Try a little less tenderness
Tomorrow: Love - Alone Again Or
Based on a civil war-era ballad called Aura Lee, Love Me Tender was the soundtrack song for the first of Elvis's 31 movies. It was one of Elvis's first steps on the road to becoming the global mega-ultra-Michael-freaking-Jackson-star that he became before he died trying to take a dump, obese, amphetamine-fueled and all about the underaged girls. Hell of a life.
The song's pretty much just the big guy (Elvis, not God) - southern crooning, soft focus acoustic guitar and harmonised backing vocals. That's all. Big production clearly wasn't hip in those days. It's all very sweet and romantic, in a late 50s boy-meets-girl-and-pledges-eternal-love kind of way, but it really doesn't do much for me. I'm not really the type to pledge eternal love so I think this one is lost on me. Maybe his later work will strike a chord but, seeing as he's about as far from being a rock nutter as can be in this song, we'll hold off on reviewing his career with the Rock Nutter Scale (tm) for a while.
All in all, a disappointing start from Mr Sequined Jumpsuits - where's the sneering, hip-thrusting god of rock and roll? This song is the musical equivalent of herbal tea with honey - I want caffeine, dammit, caffeine and bourbon.
Verdict: Try a little less tenderness
Tomorrow: Love - Alone Again Or
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The End of Happiness
The Stooges - I Wanna Be Your Dog
From the self-titled 1969 album, this is the song that Danny Fields, who knows a thing or two about punk, described as the greatest punk song of all time. This, of course, means that in 40 years, punk hasn't moved forward at all, because I Wanna Be Your Dog also happens to be one of the first real punk songs ever recorded. That's no bad thing, of course, as the song is magnificent - it's the scalding, apocalyptic clarion call for the end of the love generation.
The hippies and their fatuous ideals died with Iggy screaming "Come ownnnnnnnnnnnnnn" and the contingent ugliness of the 1970s was ushered in - heroin, depression and the death of hope and innocence. And how better to express it than the via the howls, grunts, thumps and rattles of the ultimate misanthrope and his cadre of barely-literate, violence-obsessed thugs? This song has everything. Well, everything except sophistication. Built on a simple 3 chord guitar riff, bass playing courtesy of what sounds like a tempo-incapable drunk and simple, violent percussion, Velvet Underground guitarist John Cale's production touches, such as sleigh bells and single-note piano lines, augment the simplicity of the song to a degree that shouldn't be possible. The result is a wall of noise over which Mr Pop can vent all of the rage and frustration and fury and deviance that he had built up over the previous 22 years. And vent he does, in one of the purest, most visceral songs ever made.
This is a song that couldn't be made by anyone other than true, thuggish believers - the effect would seem watered down if it wasn't entirely honest and nihilistic. This is the music that the Manson family would have made if they had had any talent and were better able to skilfully manipulate their audience. As out of control as Iggy may have been, he knew what he was doing, and through a sense of performance heavily modelled on Jim Morrison and early blues singers, he simply took it to the next level through utter fearlessness and a willingness to inflict pain, both on his audience and himself.
It's a magnificent statement of nihilistic frustration and angst. Is it as good as Search and Destroy? It feels more adolescent and less artful, so I'd pick Search and Destroy as the Stooges song I would listen to for the rest of my life, but it's still better than almost anything I've ever heard.
Verdict: God-like
Tomorrow: Elvis Presley - Love Me Tender
From the self-titled 1969 album, this is the song that Danny Fields, who knows a thing or two about punk, described as the greatest punk song of all time. This, of course, means that in 40 years, punk hasn't moved forward at all, because I Wanna Be Your Dog also happens to be one of the first real punk songs ever recorded. That's no bad thing, of course, as the song is magnificent - it's the scalding, apocalyptic clarion call for the end of the love generation.
The hippies and their fatuous ideals died with Iggy screaming "Come ownnnnnnnnnnnnnn" and the contingent ugliness of the 1970s was ushered in - heroin, depression and the death of hope and innocence. And how better to express it than the via the howls, grunts, thumps and rattles of the ultimate misanthrope and his cadre of barely-literate, violence-obsessed thugs? This song has everything. Well, everything except sophistication. Built on a simple 3 chord guitar riff, bass playing courtesy of what sounds like a tempo-incapable drunk and simple, violent percussion, Velvet Underground guitarist John Cale's production touches, such as sleigh bells and single-note piano lines, augment the simplicity of the song to a degree that shouldn't be possible. The result is a wall of noise over which Mr Pop can vent all of the rage and frustration and fury and deviance that he had built up over the previous 22 years. And vent he does, in one of the purest, most visceral songs ever made.
This is a song that couldn't be made by anyone other than true, thuggish believers - the effect would seem watered down if it wasn't entirely honest and nihilistic. This is the music that the Manson family would have made if they had had any talent and were better able to skilfully manipulate their audience. As out of control as Iggy may have been, he knew what he was doing, and through a sense of performance heavily modelled on Jim Morrison and early blues singers, he simply took it to the next level through utter fearlessness and a willingness to inflict pain, both on his audience and himself.
It's a magnificent statement of nihilistic frustration and angst. Is it as good as Search and Destroy? It feels more adolescent and less artful, so I'd pick Search and Destroy as the Stooges song I would listen to for the rest of my life, but it's still better than almost anything I've ever heard.
Verdict: God-like
Tomorrow: Elvis Presley - Love Me Tender
Monday, August 17, 2009
John Mellencamp - Pink Houses
video
I'm not sure exactly why, but John a.k.a "Cougar" a.k.a "Mr Righteously Indignant Leftist" Mellencamp seems like a bit of a douchebag. Which is not to say that I have anything against righteously indignant leftists - hell, I dated/lived with one for almost two years. The difference between her and Cougar is that she didn't have any money and was thus entitled to be a righteously indignant leftist (RIL). I don't think you're allowed to be a RIL when you're married to a supermodel, have sold 40-odd million records and the big decisions in your life are "Porsche/Ferrari/both?". RILs are supposed to marry lumpen communists with bad teeth and body odour and live in community of poverty with an ill-shod, ringworm-ridden brood. Think Billy Bragg, not Bruce Springsteen.
Douche.
Nonetheless, the drug-free, teetotalling Cougar (*cough* loser *cough*) did take a bit of a stand against John McCain about the use of his songs on the campaign trail, so we should give some credit to him. Except that what was McCain doing using his songs anyway? You can't really see David Cameron using Billy Bragg songs, now can you?
OK, the music. Well, imagine that small part of the American midwest that thinks that Springsteen is a little aspirational and complex. This is just the music for them. It's cod-philosophy set to the music from a beer advert. It's all perfect middle American charm - clean acoustic guitar, a little electric guitar twang, tobacco-enhanced lead vocals and honey-voiced backing. It's about as offensive as an American tourist. I can live without ever hearing it again - it's not that it's offensively bad, it's just completely and utterly middle of the road. Billy Bragg would be ashamed.
Verdict: Rather stay at home
Tomorrow: The Stooges - I Wanna Be Your Dog
video
I'm not sure exactly why, but John a.k.a "Cougar" a.k.a "Mr Righteously Indignant Leftist" Mellencamp seems like a bit of a douchebag. Which is not to say that I have anything against righteously indignant leftists - hell, I dated/lived with one for almost two years. The difference between her and Cougar is that she didn't have any money and was thus entitled to be a righteously indignant leftist (RIL). I don't think you're allowed to be a RIL when you're married to a supermodel, have sold 40-odd million records and the big decisions in your life are "Porsche/Ferrari/both?". RILs are supposed to marry lumpen communists with bad teeth and body odour and live in community of poverty with an ill-shod, ringworm-ridden brood. Think Billy Bragg, not Bruce Springsteen.
Douche.
Nonetheless, the drug-free, teetotalling Cougar (*cough* loser *cough*) did take a bit of a stand against John McCain about the use of his songs on the campaign trail, so we should give some credit to him. Except that what was McCain doing using his songs anyway? You can't really see David Cameron using Billy Bragg songs, now can you?
OK, the music. Well, imagine that small part of the American midwest that thinks that Springsteen is a little aspirational and complex. This is just the music for them. It's cod-philosophy set to the music from a beer advert. It's all perfect middle American charm - clean acoustic guitar, a little electric guitar twang, tobacco-enhanced lead vocals and honey-voiced backing. It's about as offensive as an American tourist. I can live without ever hearing it again - it's not that it's offensively bad, it's just completely and utterly middle of the road. Billy Bragg would be ashamed.
Verdict: Rather stay at home
Tomorrow: The Stooges - I Wanna Be Your Dog
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Don't Push Me, Man
Salt-N-Pepa - Push It
I'm a big hip-hop fan. I'm often willing to overlook the relatively common misogyny, violence and other stereotypes to find the gems of the ouevre. That relatively few hip-hop songs have made the top 500 songs list is a little disappointing to me. That this song, apparently about pushing it on the dance floor, made the list is mystifying.
I'm not sure I believe that this song's about dancing. It all sounds like it was intended to be a little sexual. It's also completely bloody awful. It has no redeeming features whatsoever. I'd rather 'push' pins into my eyeballs than 'push it' to this song. It's like a TV show caricature of a bad 80s rap song, or the theme song to an early 80s Eddie Murphy movie.
Verdict: Push off
Tomorrow: John Mellencamp - Pink Houses
I'm a big hip-hop fan. I'm often willing to overlook the relatively common misogyny, violence and other stereotypes to find the gems of the ouevre. That relatively few hip-hop songs have made the top 500 songs list is a little disappointing to me. That this song, apparently about pushing it on the dance floor, made the list is mystifying.
I'm not sure I believe that this song's about dancing. It all sounds like it was intended to be a little sexual. It's also completely bloody awful. It has no redeeming features whatsoever. I'd rather 'push' pins into my eyeballs than 'push it' to this song. It's like a TV show caricature of a bad 80s rap song, or the theme song to an early 80s Eddie Murphy movie.
Verdict: Push off
Tomorrow: John Mellencamp - Pink Houses
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Del-Vikings - Come Go With Me
Oh hell yes, there is nothing that this red-blooded male loves more than some Del-Viking acapella-style vocal harmonising. Even cold beer, fast cars and wild women are mere distractions on the road to the shining temple of the Del-Vikings. And why not? Everyone knows that nothing is cooler than vikings, not even pirates or ninjas (ninja-pirates may have a slight edge on them, but that's just semantic frippery).
That said, I'm getting the impression that these rather honey-voiced, shiny-faced, smartly-attired young men didn't know much about rape, pillage or drinking the blood of their vanquished foes. In fact, I'm feeling a little cheated. I bet they don't even believe in Valhalla. I can't see them singing this crap while they row their longboat to a faraway shore for a relaxing spot of massacre. Frauds. See image comparison below:
Viking.
Del-Viking.
The song sucks. I was lying, I hate acapella-style vocal harmonising. These guys make Celine Deon look like a marauding beserker. The song is so saccharine sweet it made my teeth ache. If they were singing about decapitation, or even the aerodynamic properties of battleaxes, I'd be more inclined to listen to it, but as far as I can work out, there's not even a mention of Thor.
These guys are vikings like I'm a real music reviewer.
Verdict: This is one of those times I wish for a real horde of vikings.
Tomorrow: Salt-N-Pepa - Push It
Oh hell yes, there is nothing that this red-blooded male loves more than some Del-Viking acapella-style vocal harmonising. Even cold beer, fast cars and wild women are mere distractions on the road to the shining temple of the Del-Vikings. And why not? Everyone knows that nothing is cooler than vikings, not even pirates or ninjas (ninja-pirates may have a slight edge on them, but that's just semantic frippery).
That said, I'm getting the impression that these rather honey-voiced, shiny-faced, smartly-attired young men didn't know much about rape, pillage or drinking the blood of their vanquished foes. In fact, I'm feeling a little cheated. I bet they don't even believe in Valhalla. I can't see them singing this crap while they row their longboat to a faraway shore for a relaxing spot of massacre. Frauds. See image comparison below:
Viking.
Del-Viking.
The song sucks. I was lying, I hate acapella-style vocal harmonising. These guys make Celine Deon look like a marauding beserker. The song is so saccharine sweet it made my teeth ache. If they were singing about decapitation, or even the aerodynamic properties of battleaxes, I'd be more inclined to listen to it, but as far as I can work out, there's not even a mention of Thor.
These guys are vikings like I'm a real music reviewer.
Verdict: This is one of those times I wish for a real horde of vikings.
Tomorrow: Salt-N-Pepa - Push It
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Knocking on the door of history
Little Richard - Keep a Knockin'
Talking about rock nutters, here comes a man who knows a thing or two about being a lunatic: Little Richard. Despite managing to (roughly) sustain a career that started in 1945, he's done pretty well for being an ordained minister, most notably in terms of the rather liberal sprinklings of drugs and homosexuality that have peppered his career. All that and he still manages to look like Prince's bulldyke birth mother.
And the song? It's raucous, bouncy and nowhere near as camp as something made by Little Richard should be. It's based on an 8 bar blues but, to be honest, that would be like saying that an atomic bomb is based on a firecracker. The drumming is fantastic, all driving and frantic and copied a million times by everyone from Led Zeppelin to Eddie Cochran. The sax is just dirty and Little's voice is straining and multidimensional, while still managing to be louder than the rest of the band put together. You get the feeling that he would consider not having a microphone only a very minor inconvenience. His trademark hoots sound like an owl on crack, having a DH Lawrencian 'crisis', at earth shattering volumes.
Horrific similes aside, this is, along with Muddy Waters' Rollin' Stone, one of the cornerstones of everything that is good and holy in the name of rock and roll. This is a man who gave a young Jimi Hendrix a spot in his band and of whose voice Hendrix stated that he wanted his guitar playing to sound like. How can I review something like this without taking into account its immeasurable importance? I could be churlish and point out that the production is pretty rubbish (they weren't very good with things like levels in those days) and the sound's quite muddy, but that would be disregarding all of the characteristcs that make this one of the first documents of a sound that would sweep the world, leaving so much dead and burned in its wake and ushering in rock and roll, the sound of debauchery and delinquency and all manner of good things.
Verdict: Incomparable
Tomorrow: The Dell-Vikings - Come Go With Me
Talking about rock nutters, here comes a man who knows a thing or two about being a lunatic: Little Richard. Despite managing to (roughly) sustain a career that started in 1945, he's done pretty well for being an ordained minister, most notably in terms of the rather liberal sprinklings of drugs and homosexuality that have peppered his career. All that and he still manages to look like Prince's bulldyke birth mother.
And the song? It's raucous, bouncy and nowhere near as camp as something made by Little Richard should be. It's based on an 8 bar blues but, to be honest, that would be like saying that an atomic bomb is based on a firecracker. The drumming is fantastic, all driving and frantic and copied a million times by everyone from Led Zeppelin to Eddie Cochran. The sax is just dirty and Little's voice is straining and multidimensional, while still managing to be louder than the rest of the band put together. You get the feeling that he would consider not having a microphone only a very minor inconvenience. His trademark hoots sound like an owl on crack, having a DH Lawrencian 'crisis', at earth shattering volumes.
Horrific similes aside, this is, along with Muddy Waters' Rollin' Stone, one of the cornerstones of everything that is good and holy in the name of rock and roll. This is a man who gave a young Jimi Hendrix a spot in his band and of whose voice Hendrix stated that he wanted his guitar playing to sound like. How can I review something like this without taking into account its immeasurable importance? I could be churlish and point out that the production is pretty rubbish (they weren't very good with things like levels in those days) and the sound's quite muddy, but that would be disregarding all of the characteristcs that make this one of the first documents of a sound that would sweep the world, leaving so much dead and burned in its wake and ushering in rock and roll, the sound of debauchery and delinquency and all manner of good things.
Verdict: Incomparable
Tomorrow: The Dell-Vikings - Come Go With Me
Just Shoot Me
Bob Marley - I Shot The Sheriff
I really do love the Wailers. I promise, I do. I'm not about to disavow Robert Nesta Marley's importance to music, socio-politics and the war against racism and colonialism &c &c. But don't make me listen to this song again. Please. Hell, I'll listen to the live versions of Lively Up Yourself or No Woman, No Cry from 1975's Live album a million times over and never get tired of them, but this song just doesn't capture the essence of Marley's or the Wailers' talent. It's not raw enough. Great reggae should, like the blues, be raw as hell, not sanitised and overproduced. This is a song about killing a policeman over drugs - it's not meant to be an out-and-out pop song.
The only time you really hear Marley singing is at about 3:28 in the song, when he's belting it out with all the conviction of a man who shot the sheriff and realises that this may not have been the smartest career move. The rest of the song is just far too clean and poppy for me, which is a shame, because had it been a bit darker and rawer (like the live version), it would have made for a better song, in my opinion. But then again, what do I know?
That said, how did Marley fare on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm)? Pretty well, really. Needless to say, he has the drugs aspect covered, what with being the figurehead of stoned Trustafarians everywhere. He managed to piss off enough people to get shot, probably due to his political views, and was arrested and convicted in the UK for possession of marijuana (what a suprise?). He was also an alleged womaniser of note who managed to father a brood who seem pretty keen on destroying the Marley name in music. OK, so his real name was actually Robert Nesta Marley but, apart from that, most of the boxes are checked. He may not be Keith Richards, but he's done himself proud.
Verdict: Maybe he should have shot the deputy too?
Tomorrow: Little Richard - Keep a Knockin'
I really do love the Wailers. I promise, I do. I'm not about to disavow Robert Nesta Marley's importance to music, socio-politics and the war against racism and colonialism &c &c. But don't make me listen to this song again. Please. Hell, I'll listen to the live versions of Lively Up Yourself or No Woman, No Cry from 1975's Live album a million times over and never get tired of them, but this song just doesn't capture the essence of Marley's or the Wailers' talent. It's not raw enough. Great reggae should, like the blues, be raw as hell, not sanitised and overproduced. This is a song about killing a policeman over drugs - it's not meant to be an out-and-out pop song.
The only time you really hear Marley singing is at about 3:28 in the song, when he's belting it out with all the conviction of a man who shot the sheriff and realises that this may not have been the smartest career move. The rest of the song is just far too clean and poppy for me, which is a shame, because had it been a bit darker and rawer (like the live version), it would have made for a better song, in my opinion. But then again, what do I know?
That said, how did Marley fare on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm)? Pretty well, really. Needless to say, he has the drugs aspect covered, what with being the figurehead of stoned Trustafarians everywhere. He managed to piss off enough people to get shot, probably due to his political views, and was arrested and convicted in the UK for possession of marijuana (what a suprise?). He was also an alleged womaniser of note who managed to father a brood who seem pretty keen on destroying the Marley name in music. OK, so his real name was actually Robert Nesta Marley but, apart from that, most of the boxes are checked. He may not be Keith Richards, but he's done himself proud.
Verdict: Maybe he should have shot the deputy too?
Tomorrow: Little Richard - Keep a Knockin'
Stop, in the name of all which does not suck
Sonny and Cher - I Got You Babe
The only thing I can say about this song is that the version that Cher did with Beavis and Butthead is better. But I'm not going to say that, because Cher, clearly a robot from the future sent back in time to rid the planet of humans via autotune, will find me and terminate me.
I can, however, understand why Bill Murray was always trying to kill himself in Groundhog Day. Having to wake up to this everry day would sap my will to live pretty damn quickly too.
Oh, and Sonny Bono is not related to a certain pretentious Irish halfwit.
Verdict: This sucks more than anything that has ever sucked before.
Tomorrow (if I'm still alive by then): Bob Marley - I Shot The Sheriff
The only thing I can say about this song is that the version that Cher did with Beavis and Butthead is better. But I'm not going to say that, because Cher, clearly a robot from the future sent back in time to rid the planet of humans via autotune, will find me and terminate me.
I can, however, understand why Bill Murray was always trying to kill himself in Groundhog Day. Having to wake up to this everry day would sap my will to live pretty damn quickly too.
Oh, and Sonny Bono is not related to a certain pretentious Irish halfwit.
Verdict: This sucks more than anything that has ever sucked before.
Tomorrow (if I'm still alive by then): Bob Marley - I Shot The Sheriff
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Don't Come Again
Nirvana - Come As You Are
I have some personal history with this song - it's iconic, chorusy bass intro was one of the first pieces of music I (and many of my contemporaries) learned to play on the guitar. I probably listened to this song, and the rest of the first 6 or 7 tracks on Nevermind, a million times between the ages of 13 and 15, as I traversed the dark void of being a middle class adolescent. It was never my favourite song on the album though - that honour went to Smells Like Teen Spirit or Lithium - but I know this song.
And, while listening to All Apologies recently was a pleasant suprise, re-listening to this is a little disappointing. Where All Apologies felt like a far more mature song, both musically and lyrically, Come As You Are is a little more adolescent, immature and raw, and it's not helped by that. It does a good job of furthering the definition of Cobain as a songwriter capable of stitching together immediate, catchy, punky songs from hooky riffs (or stealing the riffs from Killing Joke, as is the case of this song) with lyrics that make Bob Dylan look like a real poet.
My other issue with this song is that it doesn't really change tempo - while the dynamics of the song changes, Dave Grohl could have been replaced by a drum machine with no appreciable detraction from the song. It could even be argued that the world would be a better place if Mr AIDS-denialist Grohl was replaced by a machine (probably a discussion for when we review a Foo Fighters song in the top 500. Oh, wait, no Foo Fighters songs made it? Guess that proves who the talented one was).
On reflection (after listening 3 or 4), that assessment seems a little harsh - the tempo does change a bit, but there's nothing like the near-gleeful (this is Nirvana we're talking about, so gleeful is probably a bit excessive) tempo shifts of 'Teen Spirit or All Apologies that accompany the change in song dynamics. So let's change tack and go back to tearing the song apart for being immature. Well of course it is. Cobain recorded it for the first time when he was 24. And a junkie. And not married to Courtney Love. Clearly being married to Love was enough to turn him into a cynical old git in two short years. I'm suprised it took that long, to be honest.
All in all, this isn't the best Nirvana song. In fact, it isn't even the best song on the album. But it's still good enough to get into the list, which should be testament to how good a song it is. But it's not actually that good a song. As a piece of my youth, it's left an indelible mark, but as a song, it's a bunch of non-sequiturs draped around a riff stolen from Killing Joke and it would have had none of the impact it did if it wasn't preceded by Smells Like Teen Spirit.
Verdict: Nevermind
Tomorrow: Sonny and Cher - I Got You Babe
I have some personal history with this song - it's iconic, chorusy bass intro was one of the first pieces of music I (and many of my contemporaries) learned to play on the guitar. I probably listened to this song, and the rest of the first 6 or 7 tracks on Nevermind, a million times between the ages of 13 and 15, as I traversed the dark void of being a middle class adolescent. It was never my favourite song on the album though - that honour went to Smells Like Teen Spirit or Lithium - but I know this song.
And, while listening to All Apologies recently was a pleasant suprise, re-listening to this is a little disappointing. Where All Apologies felt like a far more mature song, both musically and lyrically, Come As You Are is a little more adolescent, immature and raw, and it's not helped by that. It does a good job of furthering the definition of Cobain as a songwriter capable of stitching together immediate, catchy, punky songs from hooky riffs (or stealing the riffs from Killing Joke, as is the case of this song) with lyrics that make Bob Dylan look like a real poet.
My other issue with this song is that it doesn't really change tempo - while the dynamics of the song changes, Dave Grohl could have been replaced by a drum machine with no appreciable detraction from the song. It could even be argued that the world would be a better place if Mr AIDS-denialist Grohl was replaced by a machine (probably a discussion for when we review a Foo Fighters song in the top 500. Oh, wait, no Foo Fighters songs made it? Guess that proves who the talented one was).
On reflection (after listening 3 or 4), that assessment seems a little harsh - the tempo does change a bit, but there's nothing like the near-gleeful (this is Nirvana we're talking about, so gleeful is probably a bit excessive) tempo shifts of 'Teen Spirit or All Apologies that accompany the change in song dynamics. So let's change tack and go back to tearing the song apart for being immature. Well of course it is. Cobain recorded it for the first time when he was 24. And a junkie. And not married to Courtney Love. Clearly being married to Love was enough to turn him into a cynical old git in two short years. I'm suprised it took that long, to be honest.
All in all, this isn't the best Nirvana song. In fact, it isn't even the best song on the album. But it's still good enough to get into the list, which should be testament to how good a song it is. But it's not actually that good a song. As a piece of my youth, it's left an indelible mark, but as a song, it's a bunch of non-sequiturs draped around a riff stolen from Killing Joke and it would have had none of the impact it did if it wasn't preceded by Smells Like Teen Spirit.
Verdict: Nevermind
Tomorrow: Sonny and Cher - I Got You Babe
No Pressure
Toots and the Maytals - Pressure Drop
After some pretty maudlin songs recently, the rootsy ska of Pressure Drop is like a breath of fresh air, lightening the mood and bringing smiles to glum faces. It's also one of the first songs to introduce reggae to a global audience, thanks to its appearance on The Harder They Come, and has been covered by everyone from The Clash, The Specials, Keith Richards, The Oppressed and.. erm.. Robert Palmer and Izzy Stradlin and the Juju Hounds.
Nevertheless, it's a great song - all bouncy ska and vocal harmonies courtesy of the Maytals with Toots Hibberts' toasting riding the surging wave of pressure. It's easy to imagine this song sounding like a breath of fresh air to a world caught in the tense, confrontational late 60s, listening to Pinball Wizard and Whole Lotta Love. Added to this, imagine the impact of this song in those areas of London where Jamaican immigrants lived, often in terrible conditions, feeling cut off from their homeland. This song's implications are gigantic, both on the British ska movement, typified by the Specials and Selector, and on the wider UK punk movement, which identified with reggae and disenfranchised Jamaicans long before The Clash discovered Junior Murvin's back catalog and wrote White Man (In Hammersmith Palais).
This song makes me feel happy. I don't know what the hell Toots is singing about. It's not clear whether Toots do either - he was a man known to appreciate Jamaica's other big export, to the extent of spending 18 months in jail for possession - but the results are a great reggae song. It's probably a little raw to appeal to trustafarians the world over but, as one of the archetypes for the ska movement that would spawn some of my favourite bands and music, it stands as a testament to reggae's ability to uplift.
Verdict: Happy cornerstone(d)
Tomorrow: Nirvana - Come As You Are
After some pretty maudlin songs recently, the rootsy ska of Pressure Drop is like a breath of fresh air, lightening the mood and bringing smiles to glum faces. It's also one of the first songs to introduce reggae to a global audience, thanks to its appearance on The Harder They Come, and has been covered by everyone from The Clash, The Specials, Keith Richards, The Oppressed and.. erm.. Robert Palmer and Izzy Stradlin and the Juju Hounds.
Nevertheless, it's a great song - all bouncy ska and vocal harmonies courtesy of the Maytals with Toots Hibberts' toasting riding the surging wave of pressure. It's easy to imagine this song sounding like a breath of fresh air to a world caught in the tense, confrontational late 60s, listening to Pinball Wizard and Whole Lotta Love. Added to this, imagine the impact of this song in those areas of London where Jamaican immigrants lived, often in terrible conditions, feeling cut off from their homeland. This song's implications are gigantic, both on the British ska movement, typified by the Specials and Selector, and on the wider UK punk movement, which identified with reggae and disenfranchised Jamaicans long before The Clash discovered Junior Murvin's back catalog and wrote White Man (In Hammersmith Palais).
This song makes me feel happy. I don't know what the hell Toots is singing about. It's not clear whether Toots do either - he was a man known to appreciate Jamaica's other big export, to the extent of spending 18 months in jail for possession - but the results are a great reggae song. It's probably a little raw to appeal to trustafarians the world over but, as one of the archetypes for the ska movement that would spawn some of my favourite bands and music, it stands as a testament to reggae's ability to uplift.
Verdict: Happy cornerstone(d)
Tomorrow: Nirvana - Come As You Are
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Twisted Sisters
The Shangri-Las - The Leader of the Pack
A tale of woe via young love and death by Harley Davidson, The Leader of the Pack is viewed as possibly the greatest of the Brill Building classics. Sung in classic call-and-response style by some delinquent street toughs from Queens, New York (ring any bells?), legend has it that this song features both a real Harley Davidson (driven into the studio which happened to be on the second floor of a hotel, via the lobby) and a young Billy Joel playing the piano. The song was also refused airplay by the BBC because it was thought that it may incite mod/rocker violence*.
The song? It's horribly produced. The instruments are muddy, the vocals are metallic and the mix is wishy-washy as hell. It's almost a relief when Jimmy the leather-jacketed thug crashes his bike and you know that the end is near. This is rebellious schoolgirl music for the cloth-eared. I'm sure that it's a great song (and the minor key vocal style is enticing) but it's just too harsh on the ears, in a bad way, to bear repeated listens.
*And that's a bad thing? I would have paid good money to see Keith Moon beat the piss out of Elvis.
Verdict: Mods beat rockers.
Tomorrow: Toots and the Maytals - Pressure Drop
A tale of woe via young love and death by Harley Davidson, The Leader of the Pack is viewed as possibly the greatest of the Brill Building classics. Sung in classic call-and-response style by some delinquent street toughs from Queens, New York (ring any bells?), legend has it that this song features both a real Harley Davidson (driven into the studio which happened to be on the second floor of a hotel, via the lobby) and a young Billy Joel playing the piano. The song was also refused airplay by the BBC because it was thought that it may incite mod/rocker violence*.
The song? It's horribly produced. The instruments are muddy, the vocals are metallic and the mix is wishy-washy as hell. It's almost a relief when Jimmy the leather-jacketed thug crashes his bike and you know that the end is near. This is rebellious schoolgirl music for the cloth-eared. I'm sure that it's a great song (and the minor key vocal style is enticing) but it's just too harsh on the ears, in a bad way, to bear repeated listens.
*And that's a bad thing? I would have paid good money to see Keith Moon beat the piss out of Elvis.
Verdict: Mods beat rockers.
Tomorrow: Toots and the Maytals - Pressure Drop
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Happy Days
The Velvet Underground - Heroin
From jaunty and twee to "dear god, could they be any more morose and miserable?". Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Lou Reed is in the house with his merry band of pranksters, The Velvet Underground. And they're here to tell you about kittens, flowers, sweetness and light. Actually, they're here to talk about heroin and how it makes them feel (apparently, like Jesus's son and how they guess, but just don't know). And who said men never talk about their feelings?
Reed also manages to perform admirably on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm). To whit:
Drugs? Umm, yes. Reed knew his way around heroin and quaaludes. And probably everything else.
Name? Prosaically no. Real name: Lewis Allan Reed.
Weird and Unstable Behaviour? Does repeated affairs with transvestites count? Or hanging out with Warhol and his factory? Read Please Kill Me and any doubts will be erased. Also, 3 words: Metal Machine Music.
Upbringing? He was given electroshock theraphy for homosexual tendencies. Seems suitably weird.
Trouble with the Law? Not really.
If you ever thought about doing heroin, listen to this song and you'll realise that it really can't be any fun. That said, maybe it's more fun than actually listening to this song. Especially when the screaming feedback starts. That's when it gets really fun. Thanks for that, John Cale, my eardrums were doing fine before you started trying to perforate them with viola feedback.
It may not be a fun song to listen to, but that doesn't mean that it is bad in any way. The point of this song is, rather than to glorify heroin, to demystify it, to express in music the anticipation of feeding an addiction, the rush of the drug, the bliss that follows it, and finally the all-encompassing wash of the chaotic feedback as everything comes together. The song starts slowly with clean guitars and Reed's near-monotone, building to a false crescendo at the first chorus, slowing up again for the verses and building in pace and volume again for the choruses, a rollercoaster of excitement and anticipation and relief, finally reflecting the narcotic bliss and pain and rush, driven by Maureen Tanners more and more frantic drumming and Cale's screaming viola feedback but offset by the mellowness of Reed's voice, before the calmness envelops the listener again and normalcy returns.
It's all very harrowing in fact. It would probably sound a little derivative and unauthentic were it released in a post-Trainspotting world, but its context is original and Reed's cachet as a true rock nutter can only enhance this songs claim to glory.
(Let's be clear here, the closest I've come to heroin is watching Trainspotting)
Verdict: Not fun, but addictive
Tomorrow: The Shangri-Las - Leader of the Pack
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A Penny For Your Thoughts of Kate Hudson
The Beatles - Penny Lane
From the Magical Mystery Tour album, Penny Lane was originally released as a double A-side single with Strawberry Fields Forever, a release that George Martin considered the finest single released by The Beatles.
It's a fine, jaunty song but has prompted a rare apology. When I called The Twist twee, I really meant it, but I've realised that twee is relative. This song is more twee than .. something incredibly, unutterably, ridiculously twee. It's the Deathstar of twee. It is indescribably twee. This assessment is, of course, based on the fact that I consider most of The Beatles' output to be such. This song, however, takes the biscuit. There's none of the ironic detachment of Sgt Peppers or the youthful joie de vivre of I Want To Hold Your Hand, merely almost nauseating cuteness and daintiness. It should be enough to make you want to mug an old lady, or think impure thoughts about Kate Hudson's Almost Famous namesake groupie, just to feel better about the world, but the song is actually pretty good.
OK, it's great. And it doesn't get out of your head. Especially not the chorus, which I have spent a good portion of the morning cursing due to it's limpet-like attachment to my rather feeble mind. Plus it's got little sexual references like "keeps his fire engine clean" (apparently, whatever that means). And you can also imagine Kate Hudson all dressed up like she was in Almost Famous..
(gratuitous Kate Hudson photo)
Point is, it's a little McCartney for my liking, but it's still a fantastic song.
Verdict: Kate Hudson Kate Hudson Kate Hudson Kate Hudson etc
Tomorrow: The Velvet Underground - Heroin
From the Magical Mystery Tour album, Penny Lane was originally released as a double A-side single with Strawberry Fields Forever, a release that George Martin considered the finest single released by The Beatles.
It's a fine, jaunty song but has prompted a rare apology. When I called The Twist twee, I really meant it, but I've realised that twee is relative. This song is more twee than .. something incredibly, unutterably, ridiculously twee. It's the Deathstar of twee. It is indescribably twee. This assessment is, of course, based on the fact that I consider most of The Beatles' output to be such. This song, however, takes the biscuit. There's none of the ironic detachment of Sgt Peppers or the youthful joie de vivre of I Want To Hold Your Hand, merely almost nauseating cuteness and daintiness. It should be enough to make you want to mug an old lady, or think impure thoughts about Kate Hudson's Almost Famous namesake groupie, just to feel better about the world, but the song is actually pretty good.
OK, it's great. And it doesn't get out of your head. Especially not the chorus, which I have spent a good portion of the morning cursing due to it's limpet-like attachment to my rather feeble mind. Plus it's got little sexual references like "keeps his fire engine clean" (apparently, whatever that means). And you can also imagine Kate Hudson all dressed up like she was in Almost Famous..
(gratuitous Kate Hudson photo)
Point is, it's a little McCartney for my liking, but it's still a fantastic song.
Verdict: Kate Hudson Kate Hudson Kate Hudson Kate Hudson etc
Tomorrow: The Velvet Underground - Heroin
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Not Quite Paradise City
Glen Campbell - By The Time I Get to Phoenix
Glen Campbell is an unsung hero of rock and roll. Well, at least the less rock-y side of rock and roll. This is the man who played guitar on most of Phil Spector's Wall of Sound work, as well as on songs by Bobby Darin, Ricky Nelson, The Kingston Trio, Merle Haggard, The Monkees, Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, The Troggs, Frankie Laine, The Association, Jan & Dean, and The Mamas & the Papas. He was also a touring member of The Beach Boys, filling in for Brian Wilson in 1964 and 1965 and played guitar on Pet Sounds.
This was the dude that played guitar on Ol' Blue Eyes' Strangers in the Night, You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' by The Righteous Brothers, and I'm a Believer by The Monkees.
So, while he may not be Tony Iommi or Jimmy Page, the man clearly has some chops and a pretty sound resume. What he does not have, however, is even an ounce of rocking out in this song about a dude running out on his lady. Clearly things didn't work out particularly well because mr Campbell ends up running all the way to Oklahoma. I'm thinking he knocked her up.
Basically, this is Glen Campbell telling some anonymous woman that she is the worst song, played on the ugliest guitar. By The Time I Get To Phoenix is not, however, the worst song. It's just pretty insiduous - the swells of strings, Campbell's mournful vocals, the quietly strummed minor chords in a periphery - it all manages to make you feel pretty sad on both parties' behalf, like you're watching a relationship implode, knowing full well that neither party wants it to happen but that there is also no choice in the matter. There is nothing exculpatory or self-pitying about the song, it's merely Campbell's farewell note. When I first heard this song, I was fully prepared to pan it. Now I quite like it. And repeated listens have caused it to grow on me. It's not necessarily something I would listen to repeatedly, but I can think of worse songs to listen to when you've run out on your lady and are feeling bad about it.
For the record, it's also been covered by Dean Martin, Georgie Fame, Isaac Hayes, Marty Wilde, Solomon Burke, Burl Ives, and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Hayes' version runs an incredible 19 minutes, including a full backstory of why the breakup too place.
In a happy twist, Campbell scores pretty well on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm):
- Name: Glen Travis Campbell is about as strange as white bread. An estimated 15% of the male population of the US's Red States have Glen, Travis or Campbell in their name (and 20% of the female population). No points.
- Drugs: Tales of cocaine and alcohol abound. Tick.
- Erratic Behaviour: Married four times and the father of eight children. Numerous near death experiences, heavy spending and public brawls with wife number three as a result of drug and alcohol abuse. Tick.
- Time in Jail: Ten days for drunk driving. Arrested, but not prosecuted, for battery on a police officer. Tick.
- Strange Upbringing: One of twelve children, born in a town with a population of less than 100 in deepest Arkansas. You better believe that was a weird upbringing. Half points.
Not bad, Glen, not bad. You almost snuck past Willie Nelson to be the most crazed country singer so far. But Willie's just cooler, gnaw'mean?
Verdict: Do you think Oklahoma has an extradition policy?
Tomorrow: The Beatles - Penny Lane
Glen Campbell is an unsung hero of rock and roll. Well, at least the less rock-y side of rock and roll. This is the man who played guitar on most of Phil Spector's Wall of Sound work, as well as on songs by Bobby Darin, Ricky Nelson, The Kingston Trio, Merle Haggard, The Monkees, Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, The Troggs, Frankie Laine, The Association, Jan & Dean, and The Mamas & the Papas. He was also a touring member of The Beach Boys, filling in for Brian Wilson in 1964 and 1965 and played guitar on Pet Sounds.
This was the dude that played guitar on Ol' Blue Eyes' Strangers in the Night, You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' by The Righteous Brothers, and I'm a Believer by The Monkees.
So, while he may not be Tony Iommi or Jimmy Page, the man clearly has some chops and a pretty sound resume. What he does not have, however, is even an ounce of rocking out in this song about a dude running out on his lady. Clearly things didn't work out particularly well because mr Campbell ends up running all the way to Oklahoma. I'm thinking he knocked her up.
Basically, this is Glen Campbell telling some anonymous woman that she is the worst song, played on the ugliest guitar. By The Time I Get To Phoenix is not, however, the worst song. It's just pretty insiduous - the swells of strings, Campbell's mournful vocals, the quietly strummed minor chords in a periphery - it all manages to make you feel pretty sad on both parties' behalf, like you're watching a relationship implode, knowing full well that neither party wants it to happen but that there is also no choice in the matter. There is nothing exculpatory or self-pitying about the song, it's merely Campbell's farewell note. When I first heard this song, I was fully prepared to pan it. Now I quite like it. And repeated listens have caused it to grow on me. It's not necessarily something I would listen to repeatedly, but I can think of worse songs to listen to when you've run out on your lady and are feeling bad about it.
For the record, it's also been covered by Dean Martin, Georgie Fame, Isaac Hayes, Marty Wilde, Solomon Burke, Burl Ives, and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Hayes' version runs an incredible 19 minutes, including a full backstory of why the breakup too place.
In a happy twist, Campbell scores pretty well on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm):
- Name: Glen Travis Campbell is about as strange as white bread. An estimated 15% of the male population of the US's Red States have Glen, Travis or Campbell in their name (and 20% of the female population). No points.
- Drugs: Tales of cocaine and alcohol abound. Tick.
- Erratic Behaviour: Married four times and the father of eight children. Numerous near death experiences, heavy spending and public brawls with wife number three as a result of drug and alcohol abuse. Tick.
- Time in Jail: Ten days for drunk driving. Arrested, but not prosecuted, for battery on a police officer. Tick.
- Strange Upbringing: One of twelve children, born in a town with a population of less than 100 in deepest Arkansas. You better believe that was a weird upbringing. Half points.
Not bad, Glen, not bad. You almost snuck past Willie Nelson to be the most crazed country singer so far. But Willie's just cooler, gnaw'mean?
Verdict: Do you think Oklahoma has an extradition policy?
Tomorrow: The Beatles - Penny Lane
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Twisted
Chubby Checker - The Twist
With a voice sharing the approximate tone and volume of a horn section and a name parodying Fats Domino, Ernest Evans, aka Chubby Checker, went from being a musical impersonator to the face of a global phenomenon (easily comparable with pet rocks and the hula-hoop) with the release of his cover of Hank Ballard's The Twist. The song actually has a number of relatively dubious accolades - it's the only song to have two identical versions hit US #1 and it's spawned a number of increasingly dire sequels - Let's Twist Again, Slow Twist and, worst of all, The Twist (Yo Twist!) with half-witted comic rap group The Fat Boys.
In addition, it's probably the only US #1 to be a direct copy of another song - as American Bandstand producer and presenter Dick Clark couldn't get Ballard to perform the song on his show, he merely hired Checker and a band and recreated the song in the same key and tempo, getting Checker to impersonate Ballard. The result was such that Ballard initially heard the song, he thought it was him and later complained that he had been "cloned".
Ethical issues aside, the song is a little twee. Fatty keeps singing about how his sister dances - while this would normally be pretty far over the weird/creepy line, the song's too geeky and innocent to be particularly twisted.
And I keep thinking he's singing "come on little bitch / and do the twist".
Verdict: Twisted sister
Tomorrow: Glen Campbell - By The Time I Get to Pheonix
With a voice sharing the approximate tone and volume of a horn section and a name parodying Fats Domino, Ernest Evans, aka Chubby Checker, went from being a musical impersonator to the face of a global phenomenon (easily comparable with pet rocks and the hula-hoop) with the release of his cover of Hank Ballard's The Twist. The song actually has a number of relatively dubious accolades - it's the only song to have two identical versions hit US #1 and it's spawned a number of increasingly dire sequels - Let's Twist Again, Slow Twist and, worst of all, The Twist (Yo Twist!) with half-witted comic rap group The Fat Boys.
In addition, it's probably the only US #1 to be a direct copy of another song - as American Bandstand producer and presenter Dick Clark couldn't get Ballard to perform the song on his show, he merely hired Checker and a band and recreated the song in the same key and tempo, getting Checker to impersonate Ballard. The result was such that Ballard initially heard the song, he thought it was him and later complained that he had been "cloned".
Ethical issues aside, the song is a little twee. Fatty keeps singing about how his sister dances - while this would normally be pretty far over the weird/creepy line, the song's too geeky and innocent to be particularly twisted.
And I keep thinking he's singing "come on little bitch / and do the twist".
Verdict: Twisted sister
Tomorrow: Glen Campbell - By The Time I Get to Pheonix
Monday, July 6, 2009
Bows and Arrows
Sam Cooke - Cupid
Before getting himself Sam-Cooke'd (i.e. shot by a woman in a hotel room, not to be confused with being Robert Johnson'd, or killed by a cuckolded husband), Sam Cooke was one of the brightest stars of the late 1950s and early 1960s American R&B movement, as well as a successful gospel singer, civil rights activist and record label owner. And there's a pretty good reason for this - the man had a VOICE.
The music is all huge swells of strings, muted horn and subtle, almost rhumba-like percussion. It's pretty generic and, to be honest, ridiculously schmoove. Far too schmoove for me. Luckily, it's not the main attraction - that honour goes to Cooke's voice, which is smooth as an oil-slicked penguin and seems to treats the verses as an opportunity to soar above the mundanity of the song. And the song really is mundane - the lyrics are as cheddar-tastic as the music.
The result is an annoying muddle - the song is too corny to really do anything other than use as a cod-romantic soundtrack to some kind of nauseating pseudo-romantic moment, but Cooke's voice is so phenomenal that it almost rescues the song. Almost. I want to like the song, hell, I want to love it, but it's cheesier than a bath full of cottage cheese. Having Cupid on permanent rotation for about 45 minutes helped me realise that it's just an innocuous song - it's lack of an edge means that it's going to be condemmned to be background music, a role in which, sadly, it functions just fine.
Verdict: Not gouda-nough
Tomorrow: Chubby Checker - The Twist
Before getting himself Sam-Cooke'd (i.e. shot by a woman in a hotel room, not to be confused with being Robert Johnson'd, or killed by a cuckolded husband), Sam Cooke was one of the brightest stars of the late 1950s and early 1960s American R&B movement, as well as a successful gospel singer, civil rights activist and record label owner. And there's a pretty good reason for this - the man had a VOICE.
The music is all huge swells of strings, muted horn and subtle, almost rhumba-like percussion. It's pretty generic and, to be honest, ridiculously schmoove. Far too schmoove for me. Luckily, it's not the main attraction - that honour goes to Cooke's voice, which is smooth as an oil-slicked penguin and seems to treats the verses as an opportunity to soar above the mundanity of the song. And the song really is mundane - the lyrics are as cheddar-tastic as the music.
The result is an annoying muddle - the song is too corny to really do anything other than use as a cod-romantic soundtrack to some kind of nauseating pseudo-romantic moment, but Cooke's voice is so phenomenal that it almost rescues the song. Almost. I want to like the song, hell, I want to love it, but it's cheesier than a bath full of cottage cheese. Having Cupid on permanent rotation for about 45 minutes helped me realise that it's just an innocuous song - it's lack of an edge means that it's going to be condemmned to be background music, a role in which, sadly, it functions just fine.
Verdict: Not gouda-nough
Tomorrow: Chubby Checker - The Twist
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The (Adolescent) Ego Has Landed, Settled and Colonised
Guns n' Roses - Paradise City
As I wrote previously, Guns n' Roses are not exactly a favourite on this blog. So it was with a certain enthusiasm that I sharpened the knives against the grindstone of sarcasm in preparation for today's post. Needless to say, the temptation to use the phrase Paradise Shitty was massive. I'll get it out of the way then: The only way to describe this song is Paradise Shitty.
Boom! Genius! Review done. Time for booze and groupies.
More?
Well, alright. You see, this song isn't actually as reprehensible and juvenile as Welcome to the Jungle, despite being written by the same bunch of drunken miscreants (normally a compliment when coming from me, in this case, not) at the same time. The truth of the matter is that this song doesn't come across as forced, which is not the case with Welcome to the Jungle. Welcome to the Jungle sounds like Rose was trying his absolute hardest to be a misanthrope whereas Paradise Shitty (damn!), erm, City is a little more relaxed and shows the more melodic, mellow road that GnR were going to walk down with the best of the Use Your Illusion albums (Civil War, November Rain etc).
Big ups to them but I still wouldn't listen to this song if I had any kind of a choice in the matter. The song itself is almost painfully over-produced and Rose's voice doesn't ever stray from his timeworn canine-deterrent formula. Add to this completely juvenile lyrics and the result is something that, while not being entirely painful to listen to, still manages to be mildly offensive. And by this time you haven't even factored in the personalities of the various band members..
There's a degree of redemption in Slash's guitar playing - he appears to be going completely wolvo-beserker for most of the song and he's actually quite a good guitar player, in the air-guitar-hero-wanker-y mode. But in the end, it is Slash's guitar playing that truly symbolises GnR, and especially everything off Appetite for Destruction, quite nicely - showoff, adolescent and masturbatory.
This is the sound of someone taking themselves very seriously, for no good reason.
Verdict: Not recommended for tourists, or anyone
Tomorrow: Sam Cooke - Cupid
As I wrote previously, Guns n' Roses are not exactly a favourite on this blog. So it was with a certain enthusiasm that I sharpened the knives against the grindstone of sarcasm in preparation for today's post. Needless to say, the temptation to use the phrase Paradise Shitty was massive. I'll get it out of the way then: The only way to describe this song is Paradise Shitty.
Boom! Genius! Review done. Time for booze and groupies.
More?
Well, alright. You see, this song isn't actually as reprehensible and juvenile as Welcome to the Jungle, despite being written by the same bunch of drunken miscreants (normally a compliment when coming from me, in this case, not) at the same time. The truth of the matter is that this song doesn't come across as forced, which is not the case with Welcome to the Jungle. Welcome to the Jungle sounds like Rose was trying his absolute hardest to be a misanthrope whereas Paradise Shitty (damn!), erm, City is a little more relaxed and shows the more melodic, mellow road that GnR were going to walk down with the best of the Use Your Illusion albums (Civil War, November Rain etc).
Big ups to them but I still wouldn't listen to this song if I had any kind of a choice in the matter. The song itself is almost painfully over-produced and Rose's voice doesn't ever stray from his timeworn canine-deterrent formula. Add to this completely juvenile lyrics and the result is something that, while not being entirely painful to listen to, still manages to be mildly offensive. And by this time you haven't even factored in the personalities of the various band members..
There's a degree of redemption in Slash's guitar playing - he appears to be going completely wolvo-beserker for most of the song and he's actually quite a good guitar player, in the air-guitar-hero-wanker-y mode. But in the end, it is Slash's guitar playing that truly symbolises GnR, and especially everything off Appetite for Destruction, quite nicely - showoff, adolescent and masturbatory.
This is the sound of someone taking themselves very seriously, for no good reason.
Verdict: Not recommended for tourists, or anyone
Tomorrow: Sam Cooke - Cupid
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Ex-Beatle in Record Contract Shocker!
George Harrison - My Sweet Lord
George Harrison, eh? Apparently he had some talented friends. Clearly that bunch managed to lean on a record executive heavily enough to get Harrison a record contract because there is no way that he would have gotten one on the basis of his talent. Well, certainly not if My Sweet Lord is anything to go on.
And what a pile of execrable, pseudo-pious bullshit this is. This is the kind of music that middle aged housewives on their Hare Krishna experimentation phase decide they want played at their funerals. To add to it all, this song is nothing but a rip off of The Chiffon's He's So Fine. There's a lesson in there somewhere.
Probably the worst bit of an awful song are the chanty backing vocals. Music has to work pretty hard to be worse than My Sweet Lord's sickly sweet backing vocals proclaiming "Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, etc etc". Harrison did, apparently, manage to push the boat of shit out a bit more by exhorting crowds at his concerts to “chant the holy name of the Lord.” before singing “Om Christ, Om Christ, Om Christ” ad nauseum, adding, “I know a lot of you out there think that’s swearing, but it’s not! If we all chant together purely for one minute, we’ll blow the roof off this place" (Giuliano, The Private Life of George Harrison). I don't know how the crowd managed to contain themselves but, seeing as the stadium probably didn't have a roof anyway, disaster was narrowly averted.
By this juncture we've worked out that Harrison is the untalented, psycho-religious Beatle. One would imagine that it would be hard to be less talented than the drummer (there's an old joke about rock drummers: How do you suffocate a rock drummer? Lock them in the car on a hot day. Guffaw), but Harrison has managed to sink to that low. Basically, this is one of the worst songs I have had the displeasure of finding on this list and it will forever colour my view of Harrison.
Verdict: My sweet load of crap.
Tomorrow: Guns n' Roses - Paradise City
George Harrison, eh? Apparently he had some talented friends. Clearly that bunch managed to lean on a record executive heavily enough to get Harrison a record contract because there is no way that he would have gotten one on the basis of his talent. Well, certainly not if My Sweet Lord is anything to go on.
And what a pile of execrable, pseudo-pious bullshit this is. This is the kind of music that middle aged housewives on their Hare Krishna experimentation phase decide they want played at their funerals. To add to it all, this song is nothing but a rip off of The Chiffon's He's So Fine. There's a lesson in there somewhere.
Probably the worst bit of an awful song are the chanty backing vocals. Music has to work pretty hard to be worse than My Sweet Lord's sickly sweet backing vocals proclaiming "Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, etc etc". Harrison did, apparently, manage to push the boat of shit out a bit more by exhorting crowds at his concerts to “chant the holy name of the Lord.” before singing “Om Christ, Om Christ, Om Christ” ad nauseum, adding, “I know a lot of you out there think that’s swearing, but it’s not! If we all chant together purely for one minute, we’ll blow the roof off this place" (Giuliano, The Private Life of George Harrison). I don't know how the crowd managed to contain themselves but, seeing as the stadium probably didn't have a roof anyway, disaster was narrowly averted.
By this juncture we've worked out that Harrison is the untalented, psycho-religious Beatle. One would imagine that it would be hard to be less talented than the drummer (there's an old joke about rock drummers: How do you suffocate a rock drummer? Lock them in the car on a hot day. Guffaw), but Harrison has managed to sink to that low. Basically, this is one of the worst songs I have had the displeasure of finding on this list and it will forever colour my view of Harrison.
Verdict: My sweet load of crap.
Tomorrow: Guns n' Roses - Paradise City
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
No need to apologise
Nirvana - All Apologies
I last remember listening to this song as a fourteen or fifteen year old, when everyone else in the world was also listening to Nirvana - Kurt Cobain had just offed himself and, in typical fashion, was being hailed as nothing less than a combination of John Lennon, Nelson Mandela and Bob Cratchit. After a few months of listening to nothing but Nirvana and their heroin-and-corduroy slacker ilk (Alice In Chains, Soundgarden etc), I shrugged it off and went in search of something a little less moribund.
Strangely, a few weeks ago I listened to Alice in Chains' Sap and Unplugged albums and they were actually quite good. My suprise was reinforced through relistening to this song. I was pretty suprised to see it on this list, as it's not only, as I expected, a rallying cry for disaffected teenagers. It's a really good song. This is the coruscating, visceral howl of a pretty pissed off and tortured artist.
We all know the Kurt Cobain story - successful band, heroin, crazy wife, depression, shotgun. But some of the music is also suprising. All Apologies is a far more mature expression of pain and anger than Nevermind was. Where Nevermind comes across as the output of a songwriter who wrote good, catchy songs with shit lyrics, All Apologies doesn't necessarily abandon the lyrical formula, but it tempers it into something that is a little more than rhyming non-sequiturs. While some of the lyrics are nothing more than lyrical tchotchkes, picked out of a hat at random and howled into a microphone, some of the lyrics actually make a little bit of sense.
Musically, the formula is instantly recognisable - melodic intro, verse, chorus, verse. Repeat ad nauseum. Cheap Trick with louder guitars, as Cobain once described his band. The guitar work is pretty basic, to be honest - buy a cheap guitar, run it through a tube amp cranked to 10 and you won't sound markedly different. Actually learning to play it is pretty optional. It's not for nothing that the first song a generation of guitarists learned was a Nirvana song. In terms of the rhythm section, Kris(t) Novoselic's personality is a perfect metaphor for Novoselic's bass playing - largely anonymous. But Dave "AIDS denialist" Grohl's drumming is pretty good, despite coming from a despicable, ignorant human being.
Let's just say that the world would be a better place if Cobain had shot Grohl instead.
Finally, let's see how Cobain looks on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm):
Weird History?
Not really. He was a disaffected teen. Who wasn't?
Prison?
He was arrested for beating up Courtney Love, which is almost understandable, given how unpleasant she is (the beating up, that is) and for some minor infringements over the years. Half a point, because he was never actually sentenced to a prison term.
Wild Behaviour?
He married Courtney Love. That should be enough.
Pseudonym?
Kurt Cobain's almost strange enough, but it's not a pseudonym. No points.
Drugs?
You name it, Cobain smoked it, snorted it or shot it up over the course of his life.
A strong showing from the man from Aberdeen, Washington, but not good enough to best the charming misanthropists at the top of the scale.
Verdict: All good, bar Dave Grohl
Tomorrow: George Harrison - My Sweet Lord
I last remember listening to this song as a fourteen or fifteen year old, when everyone else in the world was also listening to Nirvana - Kurt Cobain had just offed himself and, in typical fashion, was being hailed as nothing less than a combination of John Lennon, Nelson Mandela and Bob Cratchit. After a few months of listening to nothing but Nirvana and their heroin-and-corduroy slacker ilk (Alice In Chains, Soundgarden etc), I shrugged it off and went in search of something a little less moribund.
Strangely, a few weeks ago I listened to Alice in Chains' Sap and Unplugged albums and they were actually quite good. My suprise was reinforced through relistening to this song. I was pretty suprised to see it on this list, as it's not only, as I expected, a rallying cry for disaffected teenagers. It's a really good song. This is the coruscating, visceral howl of a pretty pissed off and tortured artist.
We all know the Kurt Cobain story - successful band, heroin, crazy wife, depression, shotgun. But some of the music is also suprising. All Apologies is a far more mature expression of pain and anger than Nevermind was. Where Nevermind comes across as the output of a songwriter who wrote good, catchy songs with shit lyrics, All Apologies doesn't necessarily abandon the lyrical formula, but it tempers it into something that is a little more than rhyming non-sequiturs. While some of the lyrics are nothing more than lyrical tchotchkes, picked out of a hat at random and howled into a microphone, some of the lyrics actually make a little bit of sense.
Musically, the formula is instantly recognisable - melodic intro, verse, chorus, verse. Repeat ad nauseum. Cheap Trick with louder guitars, as Cobain once described his band. The guitar work is pretty basic, to be honest - buy a cheap guitar, run it through a tube amp cranked to 10 and you won't sound markedly different. Actually learning to play it is pretty optional. It's not for nothing that the first song a generation of guitarists learned was a Nirvana song. In terms of the rhythm section, Kris(t) Novoselic's personality is a perfect metaphor for Novoselic's bass playing - largely anonymous. But Dave "AIDS denialist" Grohl's drumming is pretty good, despite coming from a despicable, ignorant human being.
Let's just say that the world would be a better place if Cobain had shot Grohl instead.
Finally, let's see how Cobain looks on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm):
Weird History?
Not really. He was a disaffected teen. Who wasn't?
Prison?
He was arrested for beating up Courtney Love, which is almost understandable, given how unpleasant she is (the beating up, that is) and for some minor infringements over the years. Half a point, because he was never actually sentenced to a prison term.
Wild Behaviour?
He married Courtney Love. That should be enough.
Pseudonym?
Kurt Cobain's almost strange enough, but it's not a pseudonym. No points.
Drugs?
You name it, Cobain smoked it, snorted it or shot it up over the course of his life.
A strong showing from the man from Aberdeen, Washington, but not good enough to best the charming misanthropists at the top of the scale.
Verdict: All good, bar Dave Grohl
Tomorrow: George Harrison - My Sweet Lord
Murder Most Cool
Lloyd Price - Stagger Lee
Arriving in a flourish of female backing vocals and saxophone is Lloyd Price's tale of a gambler-turned-murderer, Stagger Lee. It's clear that Stagger Lee was a totemic figure in blues and soul music - the first song directly referencing him was recorded by Mississippi John Hurt in 1928 and direct references to him have turned up in songs by Taj Mahal, Wilson Picket ('Stag-O-Lee'), The Clash ('Wrong 'em Boyo'), Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds ('Stagger Lee') and The Black Keys ('Stack Shot Billy'). And, of course, Mr Price's opus which was, commercially at least, the most successful, charting at #1 in 1959.
That it charted at all in the conservative 1950s was a miracle - it's a song about a man welching on his gambling debts and killing his fellow gambler, despite being begged for mercy. It's violent and vicious and celebrates criminality and murder.
I love it.
Price sings with fire and passion over a bed of exhortative backing vocals and bouncy horns, continually celebrating Stagger's murderous acts. It's really upbeat - no wonder the idiot box has such an easy time desensitising its viewers to murder - when the medium is this good, it's impossible not to like the message. That said, I'm not likely to murder someone purely because I like this song. I'm far more likely to induce murder amongst people by continually playing this song until they decide to batter me to death with a blunt object. I seem to evoke that feeling in people quite a bit. In that case, I will fully condemn this song for encouraging violent behaviour.
In the meanwhile, get your Stagger on.
Pointless and obvious speculative notes: Needless to say, this song was a direct progenitor to the gangsta rap of the various flavours of Ices, Vanilla excluded, and the Death Row posse. It was also considered a celebration of the strong, violent, anti-establishment black man and celebrated by the Black Panthers - Panther leader Bobby Seale reportedly named his son Stagger Lee in tribute.
Verdict: Staggeringly cool
Tomorrow: Nirvana - All Apologies
Arriving in a flourish of female backing vocals and saxophone is Lloyd Price's tale of a gambler-turned-murderer, Stagger Lee. It's clear that Stagger Lee was a totemic figure in blues and soul music - the first song directly referencing him was recorded by Mississippi John Hurt in 1928 and direct references to him have turned up in songs by Taj Mahal, Wilson Picket ('Stag-O-Lee'), The Clash ('Wrong 'em Boyo'), Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds ('Stagger Lee') and The Black Keys ('Stack Shot Billy'). And, of course, Mr Price's opus which was, commercially at least, the most successful, charting at #1 in 1959.
That it charted at all in the conservative 1950s was a miracle - it's a song about a man welching on his gambling debts and killing his fellow gambler, despite being begged for mercy. It's violent and vicious and celebrates criminality and murder.
I love it.
Price sings with fire and passion over a bed of exhortative backing vocals and bouncy horns, continually celebrating Stagger's murderous acts. It's really upbeat - no wonder the idiot box has such an easy time desensitising its viewers to murder - when the medium is this good, it's impossible not to like the message. That said, I'm not likely to murder someone purely because I like this song. I'm far more likely to induce murder amongst people by continually playing this song until they decide to batter me to death with a blunt object. I seem to evoke that feeling in people quite a bit. In that case, I will fully condemn this song for encouraging violent behaviour.
In the meanwhile, get your Stagger on.
Pointless and obvious speculative notes: Needless to say, this song was a direct progenitor to the gangsta rap of the various flavours of Ices, Vanilla excluded, and the Death Row posse. It was also considered a celebration of the strong, violent, anti-establishment black man and celebrated by the Black Panthers - Panther leader Bobby Seale reportedly named his son Stagger Lee in tribute.
Verdict: Staggeringly cool
Tomorrow: Nirvana - All Apologies
Monday, June 29, 2009
Hey Ho, Let's Go
The Ramones - Sheena Is A Punk Rocker
The Ramones are a curious musical atavism - while at their core, they were basically a bunch of anti-social, substance abusing lunatics who helped to define punk rock (and many of it's attendant behaviours), their heart beats with a solid pop rhythm, clearly evidenced in this song which was, apparently, the first 'punk' song to chart in the US and UK. Written by Joey Ramone and released in the year of our lord 1977, the year that punk rock broke according to Thurston Moore from Sonic Youth, it's a slab of surf-punk-pop. It features the traditional Ramones buzz saw guitar (courtesy of Johnny), machine gun drumming (courtesy of Tommy) and slightly doleful vocals (Joey again, in case you get confused about who did what). By all accounts Dee Dee played bass, but you can't really hear it, which means he was probably off stoned somewhere.
It's fantastic, of course, as this is The Ramones we're talking about. Or, more accurately, if you love the Ramones, you'll already love this and if you despise them, this will do nothing to change your mind. I love this song. It sounds like every other Ramones song with one difference being that, at 2:45, it's about a minute longer than most of their output. Most of that minute is dedicated to Joey singing "a punk punk, a punk rocker ooooh" repeatedly.
Now for the moment we've all been waiting for - The Ramones meet The Rock Nutter Scale (tm). True to form, they broke it.
(1) Must have done enough drugs to kill a regiment of dutch soldiers
They wrote Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue, Carbona Not Glue and I Wanna Be Sedated. They were junkies for most of their lives. Dee Dee died of an overdose at age 50-odd. Easy pickings for the boys from Queens, NY. And at one point they actually kicked Marky out for being an alcoholic. Guffaw.
(2) Must have been to prison more times than the neck tattoo fairy
Two words: Dee Dee. Three more words: Joey and Johnny.
(3) Must be reknowned for wild and destructive behavior
Joey stole Johnny's wife (or Johnny stole Joey's, roughly the same thing) and they consequently didn't talk for decades. This wouldn't be particularly out of the ordinary, except they were touring continuously during that time, playing on the same stage nightly and travelling in the same van. And Dee Dee was Dee Dee - tales of swastikas and being stabbed by drag queens abound.
(4) Should have a proper pseudonym
They're not an early precursor to the Jonas Brothers. In fact, they're not related at all. Which means they chalk up a point for their pseudonyms.
(5) Should have a suitably weird history
Joey spent time in mental hospitals getting electroshock therapy and Dee Dee was a male prostitute. Johnny was fascinated with the Third Reich.
Adding up the points, they're like a triple-headed Iggy Pop (in typical fashion, no-one cares about the drummer), a cerberus of punk-pop. And there's no doubt as to their influence - an often-quoted story is that everyone present at their first gig in the UK went off to form a band. And those present included future members of The Clash and The Sex Pistols. Apparently they also taught Sid Vicious how to shoot up heroin. Needless to say, their influence looms large over rock and roll. This song is tribute to their legacy - it mixes punk and pop at an almost intrinsic level - this wasn't punk or pop or some tired combination thereof, this was a visceral, vital mix at it's most basic level. They didn't know how to do anything else.
Verdict: A+ for Dee Dee
Tomorrow: Lloyd Price - Stagger Lee
The Ramones are a curious musical atavism - while at their core, they were basically a bunch of anti-social, substance abusing lunatics who helped to define punk rock (and many of it's attendant behaviours), their heart beats with a solid pop rhythm, clearly evidenced in this song which was, apparently, the first 'punk' song to chart in the US and UK. Written by Joey Ramone and released in the year of our lord 1977, the year that punk rock broke according to Thurston Moore from Sonic Youth, it's a slab of surf-punk-pop. It features the traditional Ramones buzz saw guitar (courtesy of Johnny), machine gun drumming (courtesy of Tommy) and slightly doleful vocals (Joey again, in case you get confused about who did what). By all accounts Dee Dee played bass, but you can't really hear it, which means he was probably off stoned somewhere.
It's fantastic, of course, as this is The Ramones we're talking about. Or, more accurately, if you love the Ramones, you'll already love this and if you despise them, this will do nothing to change your mind. I love this song. It sounds like every other Ramones song with one difference being that, at 2:45, it's about a minute longer than most of their output. Most of that minute is dedicated to Joey singing "a punk punk, a punk rocker ooooh" repeatedly.
Now for the moment we've all been waiting for - The Ramones meet The Rock Nutter Scale (tm). True to form, they broke it.
(1) Must have done enough drugs to kill a regiment of dutch soldiers
They wrote Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue, Carbona Not Glue and I Wanna Be Sedated. They were junkies for most of their lives. Dee Dee died of an overdose at age 50-odd. Easy pickings for the boys from Queens, NY. And at one point they actually kicked Marky out for being an alcoholic. Guffaw.
(2) Must have been to prison more times than the neck tattoo fairy
Two words: Dee Dee. Three more words: Joey and Johnny.
(3) Must be reknowned for wild and destructive behavior
Joey stole Johnny's wife (or Johnny stole Joey's, roughly the same thing) and they consequently didn't talk for decades. This wouldn't be particularly out of the ordinary, except they were touring continuously during that time, playing on the same stage nightly and travelling in the same van. And Dee Dee was Dee Dee - tales of swastikas and being stabbed by drag queens abound.
(4) Should have a proper pseudonym
They're not an early precursor to the Jonas Brothers. In fact, they're not related at all. Which means they chalk up a point for their pseudonyms.
(5) Should have a suitably weird history
Joey spent time in mental hospitals getting electroshock therapy and Dee Dee was a male prostitute. Johnny was fascinated with the Third Reich.
Adding up the points, they're like a triple-headed Iggy Pop (in typical fashion, no-one cares about the drummer), a cerberus of punk-pop. And there's no doubt as to their influence - an often-quoted story is that everyone present at their first gig in the UK went off to form a band. And those present included future members of The Clash and The Sex Pistols. Apparently they also taught Sid Vicious how to shoot up heroin. Needless to say, their influence looms large over rock and roll. This song is tribute to their legacy - it mixes punk and pop at an almost intrinsic level - this wasn't punk or pop or some tired combination thereof, this was a visceral, vital mix at it's most basic level. They didn't know how to do anything else.
Verdict: A+ for Dee Dee
Tomorrow: Lloyd Price - Stagger Lee
Good Truckin'
Sam and Dave - Soul Man
Ladies beware, Sam (or Dave) has a truck load of good lovin' for you. And he's a soul man. Please, form an orderly queue.
Written by Isaac Hayes, this song was one of the biggest singles (and the biggest at the time) on the famous Stax record label. The backing music was courtesy of the legendary Booker T. and the MGs, although technically only the MGs as Booker was away at university, and the Mar-Keys horns. Unsuprisingly, influences on later music abound - the guitar intro is very Hendrix-y and the horn lines have been recycled and sampled endlessly. The song has also been covered a fair number of times, including one (ill-advised) cover by Sam and Lou Reed for a movie of the same name. This does, however, bring us to the creation of a new rule - if something is covered by the Blues Brothers, then it's automatically cool. A nod to the greats by Mssrs Blues imbues any song with the kind of cool that could, almost, override it being covered by Bruce Willis. So, by association, this song is cool.
Luckily, it would have been cool anyway. Sam and Dave know how to belt it out - they were reknowned for sweat-soaked live performances that resulted in them wearing through 100 outfits a year when touring - and anyone who can be described as one of the greatest live acts of all time while wearing lime green three piece suits could probably teach modern musicians a thing or two about showmanship. And there were no Iggy Pop rolling-around-in-broken-glass-theatricals either, these guys were dancing. No wonder they had a truckful of good loving, it was probably in the truck behind the truckful of colourful suits and the truckful of dance moves.
The only thing that this song misses is even a blip on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm). These dudes were so tame that they make Prince look like a drunken football hooligan.
Still, maybe I should buy a truck.
Verdict: Sweat-soaked Soul
Tomorrow: The Ramones - Sheena Is A Punk Rocker
Ladies beware, Sam (or Dave) has a truck load of good lovin' for you. And he's a soul man. Please, form an orderly queue.
Written by Isaac Hayes, this song was one of the biggest singles (and the biggest at the time) on the famous Stax record label. The backing music was courtesy of the legendary Booker T. and the MGs, although technically only the MGs as Booker was away at university, and the Mar-Keys horns. Unsuprisingly, influences on later music abound - the guitar intro is very Hendrix-y and the horn lines have been recycled and sampled endlessly. The song has also been covered a fair number of times, including one (ill-advised) cover by Sam and Lou Reed for a movie of the same name. This does, however, bring us to the creation of a new rule - if something is covered by the Blues Brothers, then it's automatically cool. A nod to the greats by Mssrs Blues imbues any song with the kind of cool that could, almost, override it being covered by Bruce Willis. So, by association, this song is cool.
Luckily, it would have been cool anyway. Sam and Dave know how to belt it out - they were reknowned for sweat-soaked live performances that resulted in them wearing through 100 outfits a year when touring - and anyone who can be described as one of the greatest live acts of all time while wearing lime green three piece suits could probably teach modern musicians a thing or two about showmanship. And there were no Iggy Pop rolling-around-in-broken-glass-theatricals either, these guys were dancing. No wonder they had a truckful of good loving, it was probably in the truck behind the truckful of colourful suits and the truckful of dance moves.
The only thing that this song misses is even a blip on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm). These dudes were so tame that they make Prince look like a drunken football hooligan.
Still, maybe I should buy a truck.
Verdict: Sweat-soaked Soul
Tomorrow: The Ramones - Sheena Is A Punk Rocker
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Origin of the Species
Muddy Waters - Rolling Stone
Let's get this out of the way right here - Muddy Waters was a total badass. In many ways, he was an archetype for all rock and roll. The Rolling Stones got their name from this song. Dylan's 'Like a Rolling Stone' owes some small debt to this song. Hell, where do you think Rolling Stone magazine got its name? The man has influenced everyone from the British beat explosion, to Hendrix, to metal, to modern indie, missing no points between. In many ways, rock and roll probably wouldn't exist were it not for Mr McKinley "Muddy Waters" Morganfield.
The song itself is pretty sparse and spare - the first single released by famed Chess records, recorded in 1948, it's simply Waters and his guitar with none of the big sound that would typify his later work with backing bands. Tempo is provided by a bassy stomp on the low E string, while Waters' guitar leads and plaintive voice rise from, soar above and, ultimately, return to the grounding rhythm. This simple formula makes it easy to trace a direct line from this song to something like Hendrix's Voodoo Chile (Slight Return) and to contemporary bands like The White Stripes and The Black Keys.
It's hard not to be blown away by this song - it's simple and powerful and must have felt like an earthquake in 1948. It makes so much of what I've listened to over the last few days sound overproduced, manufactured and irrelevant. Listening to it for the first time is like waking up one morning to find that your house has been overrun by Neanderthals - it's like experiencing history. Actually, it's nothing like the Neanderthal scenario, it's more like meeting your great-great-grandparents. Or something.
Verdict: Rocking and rolling
Tomorrow: Sam and Dave - Soul Man
Let's get this out of the way right here - Muddy Waters was a total badass. In many ways, he was an archetype for all rock and roll. The Rolling Stones got their name from this song. Dylan's 'Like a Rolling Stone' owes some small debt to this song. Hell, where do you think Rolling Stone magazine got its name? The man has influenced everyone from the British beat explosion, to Hendrix, to metal, to modern indie, missing no points between. In many ways, rock and roll probably wouldn't exist were it not for Mr McKinley "Muddy Waters" Morganfield.
The song itself is pretty sparse and spare - the first single released by famed Chess records, recorded in 1948, it's simply Waters and his guitar with none of the big sound that would typify his later work with backing bands. Tempo is provided by a bassy stomp on the low E string, while Waters' guitar leads and plaintive voice rise from, soar above and, ultimately, return to the grounding rhythm. This simple formula makes it easy to trace a direct line from this song to something like Hendrix's Voodoo Chile (Slight Return) and to contemporary bands like The White Stripes and The Black Keys.
It's hard not to be blown away by this song - it's simple and powerful and must have felt like an earthquake in 1948. It makes so much of what I've listened to over the last few days sound overproduced, manufactured and irrelevant. Listening to it for the first time is like waking up one morning to find that your house has been overrun by Neanderthals - it's like experiencing history. Actually, it's nothing like the Neanderthal scenario, it's more like meeting your great-great-grandparents. Or something.
Verdict: Rocking and rolling
Tomorrow: Sam and Dave - Soul Man
Friday, June 26, 2009
Remeber The Kulaks
The Chiffons - One Fine Day
This song is a lot like the movie of the same name. While it doesn't necessarily have Mr Lantern Jaw George Clooney or Miss Neurotic Weasel Michelle Pfeiffer in it, it's saccharine sweet, completely innoffensive and a little nauseating in the wrong circumstances. And, just like the movie, I don't think I could sit through the whole thing unless there was a girl involved. And even then, I'd probably be wishing that something was being blown up.
That said, this is a cool little example of shoo-wop, girl group crooning, if you're into that kind of thing. I'm not really, but as a historical document it's quite interesting - this is an obvious fairy godmother of all things Spice Girls and Atomic Kitten. And, while that is akin to saying "That Stalin was quite a nice bloke, when he wasn't killing all of those dissidents and starving all of those Kulaks", I'd certainly rather listen to this than to Atomic Kittens execrable dreck.
This may be the first time The Chiffons have been compared to Comrade Josef Stalin. Let's hope it's not the last.
Verdict: No better than fine, comrade.
Tomorrow: Muddy Waters - Rolling Stone
This song is a lot like the movie of the same name. While it doesn't necessarily have Mr Lantern Jaw George Clooney or Miss Neurotic Weasel Michelle Pfeiffer in it, it's saccharine sweet, completely innoffensive and a little nauseating in the wrong circumstances. And, just like the movie, I don't think I could sit through the whole thing unless there was a girl involved. And even then, I'd probably be wishing that something was being blown up.
That said, this is a cool little example of shoo-wop, girl group crooning, if you're into that kind of thing. I'm not really, but as a historical document it's quite interesting - this is an obvious fairy godmother of all things Spice Girls and Atomic Kitten. And, while that is akin to saying "That Stalin was quite a nice bloke, when he wasn't killing all of those dissidents and starving all of those Kulaks", I'd certainly rather listen to this than to Atomic Kittens execrable dreck.
This may be the first time The Chiffons have been compared to Comrade Josef Stalin. Let's hope it's not the last.
Verdict: No better than fine, comrade.
Tomorrow: Muddy Waters - Rolling Stone
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Kiss Off
Prince - Kiss
This song is awful. It's not even about Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley and rock and rolling all night and partying every day. It's all cheap drum machines, casio keyboards and falsetto mincing. I'm sure that it appeals to a certain part of the population, normally those wearing moustaches, assless leather chaps and string vests, but it's not for me. I couldn't even listen the whole way through, despite what may have actually been some clever-ish lyrics. It made me want to listen to Black Sabbath so loudly that people in neighbouring towns complained, just the flush the song from my mind.
That said, it raises an interesting question - Prince is a bit of a nutter, is this song redeemable due based on what may be a good score on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm)? Let's see.
Name?
Well, his first name actually is Prince. But Prince isn't actually his real name anymore. His real name is something along the lines of % or ^ or & or # as part of his 'emancipation' from the record labels. Chalk up one point for squiggle, but I'm contemplating minusing a point for being a pretentious douche and requiring 'emancipation' from a life of millions of dollars and many, many women. If it comes to it, I'm willing to take his place. God knows I'm not going to change my name to ? or > or whatever and write 'slave' on my face, I'll handle it with dignity and savoir faire.
Drug use?
None that is known. No points there. A rock star that doesn't do drugs? Keith and Iggy would be spinning in their graves, were it not for the fact that they have clearly been provided with magic powers from injecting heroin into their eyeballs. Doctors everywhere, take note (kids, don't try that at home).
Unstable behaviour?
If his career is not a testament to years of hard drug use, then it certainly is a testament to seriously unstable behaviour. He is also a vegan Jehovah's Witness, which stacks up pretty high on the weirdo scale. See also desire to be 'emancipated' from his terrible life of 'slavery'. He should change his name to Kunta Kinte (I'm sure most people already refer to his as a variation of the first bit) and be done with it. Plus squiggle has allegedly bedded Magic Johnson amounts of women, so we'll give him the point.
History of arrests?
Again, none known. However, where's there's no smoke, there's no fire. FAIL!
Suitably weird upbringing?
Not really. No points.
So while he may be a nutter, he's not a Nutter. The song is not redeemed. And it was covered by Art of Noise and Tom Jones, further besmirching any claim to this being a good song.
Verdict: Clown Prince
Tomorrow: The Chiffons - One Fine Day
This song is awful. It's not even about Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley and rock and rolling all night and partying every day. It's all cheap drum machines, casio keyboards and falsetto mincing. I'm sure that it appeals to a certain part of the population, normally those wearing moustaches, assless leather chaps and string vests, but it's not for me. I couldn't even listen the whole way through, despite what may have actually been some clever-ish lyrics. It made me want to listen to Black Sabbath so loudly that people in neighbouring towns complained, just the flush the song from my mind.
That said, it raises an interesting question - Prince is a bit of a nutter, is this song redeemable due based on what may be a good score on the Rock Nutter Scale (tm)? Let's see.
Name?
Well, his first name actually is Prince. But Prince isn't actually his real name anymore. His real name is something along the lines of % or ^ or & or # as part of his 'emancipation' from the record labels. Chalk up one point for squiggle, but I'm contemplating minusing a point for being a pretentious douche and requiring 'emancipation' from a life of millions of dollars and many, many women. If it comes to it, I'm willing to take his place. God knows I'm not going to change my name to ? or > or whatever and write 'slave' on my face, I'll handle it with dignity and savoir faire.
Drug use?
None that is known. No points there. A rock star that doesn't do drugs? Keith and Iggy would be spinning in their graves, were it not for the fact that they have clearly been provided with magic powers from injecting heroin into their eyeballs. Doctors everywhere, take note (kids, don't try that at home).
Unstable behaviour?
If his career is not a testament to years of hard drug use, then it certainly is a testament to seriously unstable behaviour. He is also a vegan Jehovah's Witness, which stacks up pretty high on the weirdo scale. See also desire to be 'emancipated' from his terrible life of 'slavery'. He should change his name to Kunta Kinte (I'm sure most people already refer to his as a variation of the first bit) and be done with it. Plus squiggle has allegedly bedded Magic Johnson amounts of women, so we'll give him the point.
History of arrests?
Again, none known. However, where's there's no smoke, there's no fire. FAIL!
Suitably weird upbringing?
Not really. No points.
So while he may be a nutter, he's not a Nutter. The song is not redeemed. And it was covered by Art of Noise and Tom Jones, further besmirching any claim to this being a good song.
Verdict: Clown Prince
Tomorrow: The Chiffons - One Fine Day
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Ruined By Bruno
The Staple Singers - Respect Yourself
There's only one word that describes this song - Groove. This song just totally grooves. With an organ line that is the epitome of understated funk, a bassline that simmers, propulsive drums, and guitar reduced to nothing more than a palm-muted *snick*, this song will never rock, but with it's nifty line in faux-swearing and building, brassy crescendo is grooves as much as, or more than, anything on this list that has so far professed to being funky. George Clinton, take note.
Damnit, damnit, damnit, my research has just turned up an unpleasant truth about this song - Bruce Willis covered it.
As such, a previously fantastic, edgily funky song about civil rights is ruined by the sneering visage of Mr Willis. The man may have made Die Hard, but he is the anti-christ of soul when it comes to music. And with that, a new rule: Any song, no matter how good, will be consigned to the rusting slag heap of ignominy if it's covered by Bruce Willis. And the Staple Singers had such cool names too, to wit: Roebuck "Pops" Staples, Cleotha Staples, Pervis Staples, Yvonne Staples and Mavis Staples. It sounds like Shaft mated with the Ramones. All I can say is that they really must have needed the money to allow that no-talent assclown to cover it and ruin it forever.
Verdict: Respect Yourself Enough To Not Let Bruce Willis Cover Your Songs
Tomorrow: Prince - Kiss
There's only one word that describes this song - Groove. This song just totally grooves. With an organ line that is the epitome of understated funk, a bassline that simmers, propulsive drums, and guitar reduced to nothing more than a palm-muted *snick*, this song will never rock, but with it's nifty line in faux-swearing and building, brassy crescendo is grooves as much as, or more than, anything on this list that has so far professed to being funky. George Clinton, take note.
Damnit, damnit, damnit, my research has just turned up an unpleasant truth about this song - Bruce Willis covered it.
As such, a previously fantastic, edgily funky song about civil rights is ruined by the sneering visage of Mr Willis. The man may have made Die Hard, but he is the anti-christ of soul when it comes to music. And with that, a new rule: Any song, no matter how good, will be consigned to the rusting slag heap of ignominy if it's covered by Bruce Willis. And the Staple Singers had such cool names too, to wit: Roebuck "Pops" Staples, Cleotha Staples, Pervis Staples, Yvonne Staples and Mavis Staples. It sounds like Shaft mated with the Ramones. All I can say is that they really must have needed the money to allow that no-talent assclown to cover it and ruin it forever.
Verdict: Respect Yourself Enough To Not Let Bruce Willis Cover Your Songs
Tomorrow: Prince - Kiss
Monday, June 22, 2009
Seasonal Affective Disorder
The Beatles - Rain
As cool as their musical output may be, and some of it is decidedly cool, the Beatles were just such .. gimps. The bowl haircuts, the bad clothes, the wholesomeness, apart from Lennon's recalcitrance - you'd rather party with the Stones or Led Zeppelin, wouldn't you? While Lennon was lying in bed with Yoko, Keith was eating Mars Bars in interesting places and Jimmy Page and the lads were worshipping the devil. I'd certainly pick, well, almost anything over lying in bed with Yoko. Which leads me to my chief ideological difference with the Beatles - they seemed to care what everyone else thought of them. No likely self-doubt or analysis for the Stones - while they rode like the Horsemen of the Apocalypse through the seedy underbelly of the world, the Beatles trod respectfully on the Abbey Road crosswalk. Keith would have jaywalked.
And while the Beatles increasingly experimented with recording techniques and created a vast sonic pastiche, the Stones relied on their trusted formula of live instruments.
Philosophical differences aside, the song may as well be called, to quote REM, New Adventures in Stereo. Jangly guitars, and a bouncy bassline, along with drumming that is almost jazzy, albeit with a harder edge that would make true jazz aficianado sneer over his single malt, combine to bring about strange time changes. In addition, Lennon's legato, adenoidal vocals and Harrison's almost sitar-like lead guitar lend a spacy feel. And all this in a song about the weather. Maybe it's true that some of the greats could sing the phonebook and make it great.
But not the weather. The song, bar the rhythm section, and who would have thought that I'd ever admit an appreciation for Paul McCartney, leaves me cold. And it's not just my philosophical difference with the Beatles that is leading to this assessment, because a listen to the other songs on this list has given me a new appreciation for a lot of their other work (Sgt Peppers has always been a favourite of mine, and I wouldn't argue with it's inclusion, almost in totality, on this list, which is something I could only say about London Calling and, maybe, Exile on Mail Street). This song feels like a concerted attempt to use whatever studio tools and techniques were available to disguise a weak song with typically obtuse lyrics.
Verdict: Get an umbrella
Tomorrow: The Staple Singers - Respect Yourself
As cool as their musical output may be, and some of it is decidedly cool, the Beatles were just such .. gimps. The bowl haircuts, the bad clothes, the wholesomeness, apart from Lennon's recalcitrance - you'd rather party with the Stones or Led Zeppelin, wouldn't you? While Lennon was lying in bed with Yoko, Keith was eating Mars Bars in interesting places and Jimmy Page and the lads were worshipping the devil. I'd certainly pick, well, almost anything over lying in bed with Yoko. Which leads me to my chief ideological difference with the Beatles - they seemed to care what everyone else thought of them. No likely self-doubt or analysis for the Stones - while they rode like the Horsemen of the Apocalypse through the seedy underbelly of the world, the Beatles trod respectfully on the Abbey Road crosswalk. Keith would have jaywalked.
And while the Beatles increasingly experimented with recording techniques and created a vast sonic pastiche, the Stones relied on their trusted formula of live instruments.
Philosophical differences aside, the song may as well be called, to quote REM, New Adventures in Stereo. Jangly guitars, and a bouncy bassline, along with drumming that is almost jazzy, albeit with a harder edge that would make true jazz aficianado sneer over his single malt, combine to bring about strange time changes. In addition, Lennon's legato, adenoidal vocals and Harrison's almost sitar-like lead guitar lend a spacy feel. And all this in a song about the weather. Maybe it's true that some of the greats could sing the phonebook and make it great.
But not the weather. The song, bar the rhythm section, and who would have thought that I'd ever admit an appreciation for Paul McCartney, leaves me cold. And it's not just my philosophical difference with the Beatles that is leading to this assessment, because a listen to the other songs on this list has given me a new appreciation for a lot of their other work (Sgt Peppers has always been a favourite of mine, and I wouldn't argue with it's inclusion, almost in totality, on this list, which is something I could only say about London Calling and, maybe, Exile on Mail Street). This song feels like a concerted attempt to use whatever studio tools and techniques were available to disguise a weak song with typically obtuse lyrics.
Verdict: Get an umbrella
Tomorrow: The Staple Singers - Respect Yourself
Proto-Emo, Philip Roth and Barry White
The Four Tops - Standing In The Shadows of Love
Kicking off with Levi Stubbs' soulful baritone, plaintive and impassioned, over a minor chord choral backing courtesy of the Andantes, Standing In The Shadows of Love is a rollercoaster of anguish. Were it not for the fact that kids with dyed black fringes and multiple facial piercings didn't exist back in 1966 (nor did My Chemical Romance), this could almost be considered emo in a Philip Roth-ian alternate future. That said, if we're going to speculate about said future, Marvin Gaye was a lot hipper than Alkaline Trio, Sam Cooke knew far more about dying for women and no-one is ever going to rank Mr Vegan girly-boy Davey Havok next to Wilson Pickett in terms of cool.
Speculative future aside, the song has a number of musical highlights - the all-but-the-kitchen-sink Holland-Dozier-Holland approach to arrangement, where there are so many instruments (a full woodwind section, 2 sets of backing vocals, a rhythm section, guitars, and a brass section, amongst others) that it's hard to work out exactly what instruments are on the track, gives the track a volume that was definitely inspired by Phil Spector's Wall of Sound approach. The energy and tempo with which the song is performed gives it an almost attack-like quality and a frenetic pace, like Stubbs and co are not resigning themselves to heartbreak, but rather preparing themselves for a war with it.
One of the other highlights of this song is the interplay between the rhythm section - the song features incredible, driving drumming and some of the funkiest bass playing ever, courtesy of the Funk Brothers (probably not their real names) who are regarded as having played on "more number-one records than The Beatles, Elvis Presley, The Rolling Stones, and The Beach Boys combined" (Standing In The Shadows of Motown, documentary, 2002). Needless to say, they know how to play. In fact, they did so well for The Four Tops that it's pretty difficult to tell Standing In The Shadows of Love from the Four Tops' previous hit, Reach Out I'll Be There. Crafty move there boys, recycling wasn't a well-known technique back in 1966 (Barry White, and the Jackson 5, did however recycle this as cover versions over the years).
Despite that, both songs are ten kinds of badass. But was Stubbs and the rest of the band as badass as their music? Sadly not, unless you consider being married to the same woman for nearly 50 years and dying of old age at 72 as badass. Needless to say, he didn't challenge GG Allin and Keith Moon for the title of Head Rock Nutter. In fact, he was so unbadass that he makes my life of empty pizza boxes and blogging about old music look like a never-ending parade of wolvo-beserkerdom. But then again, maybe there's something far more hardcore about not walking down the road of nutterdom when all the groupies in the world are massaging one another with baby oil and the living room table is buried under a mound of cocaine. Maybe going home to your wife, every night, for almost 50 years is a far harder task.
Verdict: Bring on the groupies.
Tomorrow: The Beatles - Rain
Kicking off with Levi Stubbs' soulful baritone, plaintive and impassioned, over a minor chord choral backing courtesy of the Andantes, Standing In The Shadows of Love is a rollercoaster of anguish. Were it not for the fact that kids with dyed black fringes and multiple facial piercings didn't exist back in 1966 (nor did My Chemical Romance), this could almost be considered emo in a Philip Roth-ian alternate future. That said, if we're going to speculate about said future, Marvin Gaye was a lot hipper than Alkaline Trio, Sam Cooke knew far more about dying for women and no-one is ever going to rank Mr Vegan girly-boy Davey Havok next to Wilson Pickett in terms of cool.
Speculative future aside, the song has a number of musical highlights - the all-but-the-kitchen-sink Holland-Dozier-Holland approach to arrangement, where there are so many instruments (a full woodwind section, 2 sets of backing vocals, a rhythm section, guitars, and a brass section, amongst others) that it's hard to work out exactly what instruments are on the track, gives the track a volume that was definitely inspired by Phil Spector's Wall of Sound approach. The energy and tempo with which the song is performed gives it an almost attack-like quality and a frenetic pace, like Stubbs and co are not resigning themselves to heartbreak, but rather preparing themselves for a war with it.
One of the other highlights of this song is the interplay between the rhythm section - the song features incredible, driving drumming and some of the funkiest bass playing ever, courtesy of the Funk Brothers (probably not their real names) who are regarded as having played on "more number-one records than The Beatles, Elvis Presley, The Rolling Stones, and The Beach Boys combined" (Standing In The Shadows of Motown, documentary, 2002). Needless to say, they know how to play. In fact, they did so well for The Four Tops that it's pretty difficult to tell Standing In The Shadows of Love from the Four Tops' previous hit, Reach Out I'll Be There. Crafty move there boys, recycling wasn't a well-known technique back in 1966 (Barry White, and the Jackson 5, did however recycle this as cover versions over the years).
Despite that, both songs are ten kinds of badass. But was Stubbs and the rest of the band as badass as their music? Sadly not, unless you consider being married to the same woman for nearly 50 years and dying of old age at 72 as badass. Needless to say, he didn't challenge GG Allin and Keith Moon for the title of Head Rock Nutter. In fact, he was so unbadass that he makes my life of empty pizza boxes and blogging about old music look like a never-ending parade of wolvo-beserkerdom. But then again, maybe there's something far more hardcore about not walking down the road of nutterdom when all the groupies in the world are massaging one another with baby oil and the living room table is buried under a mound of cocaine. Maybe going home to your wife, every night, for almost 50 years is a far harder task.
Verdict: Bring on the groupies.
Tomorrow: The Beatles - Rain
Thursday, June 18, 2009
We're All OK
Cheap Trick - Surrender
Cliche Alert: This song contains more rock cliches per song minute than any song I've reviewed yet and, by all probability, will ever review. It's like every 70s American rock band decided to have a gangbang in the Stones' living room while The Darkness humped The Beatles' leg.
In short, you have:
(1) More slickly produced power chords than all of Tom Scholz sexed-up, soft focus Baywatch fantasies, courtesy of walking guitar stand and permanently baseball-capped (rebel!) Rick Neilson
(2) Castrato vocal fills
(3) The Generation Gap, addressed lyrically
(4) More rim shot drum fills than a bad comedy evening
(5) Iconic lyrics such as "losers of the year" and "We're all alright"
(6) Harmonised backing vocals, sounding like a drunken Beach Boys
Basically, the end result is The Who's My Generation reimagined for a car advert by a particularly untalented coked-up advertising exec. Score 1 to the British Invasion.
Rock Nutter Scale Scores?
(1) Must have done enough drugs to kill a regiment of dutch soldiers
Unless you count the collection of rare guitars as drugs, then nothing. And this scale doesn't. No points.
(2) Must have been to prison more times than the neck tattoo fairy
Nope. In fact, Rockford, Illinois has made April 1 "Annual Cheap Trick Day", obviously in recognition of their complete and utter lack of rock nutterness. No points.
(3) Must be reknowned for wild and destructive behavior
See above
(4) Should have a proper pseudonym
If Rick Nielsen and Robin Zander are pseudonyms, they're shitty ones. No points.
(5) Should have a suitably weird history
They're about as weird as peanut butter. On toast. No points.
So, the song is one big rock and roll cliche, in terms of nutterdom the band are basically as boring as pensioners, and the enduring legacy of this song is something along the lines of "thank you Cheap Trick, for Blink 182 and Bryan Adams". It should be rubbish, right? Right? It probably is, but it's likeable. Cheap Trick weren't rock stars, they were just a bunch of guys who defined the term 'Big In Japan'. They didn't trash hotel rooms or beat up supermodels, they made modest power pop for an adoring audience (mainly in Tokyo - their inexplicable popularity in Japan has led them to be referred to as The American Beatles over there) with no histrionics or ever attracting attention for anything other than the music. And the result has obviously inspired as many good bands as bad ones - Kurt Cobain described Nirvana as Cheap Trick with louder guitars. Surrender has been covered by everybody from Green Day and Down By Law to Marilyn Manson and Bob Mould. The song's cool. And so are Cheap Trick, for no other reason than being working class heroes.
So, for that, they should be saluted.
Verdict: Worth the price of admission
Tomorrow: The Four Tops - Standing in the Shadows of Love
Cliche Alert: This song contains more rock cliches per song minute than any song I've reviewed yet and, by all probability, will ever review. It's like every 70s American rock band decided to have a gangbang in the Stones' living room while The Darkness humped The Beatles' leg.
In short, you have:
(1) More slickly produced power chords than all of Tom Scholz sexed-up, soft focus Baywatch fantasies, courtesy of walking guitar stand and permanently baseball-capped (rebel!) Rick Neilson
(2) Castrato vocal fills
(3) The Generation Gap, addressed lyrically
(4) More rim shot drum fills than a bad comedy evening
(5) Iconic lyrics such as "losers of the year" and "We're all alright"
(6) Harmonised backing vocals, sounding like a drunken Beach Boys
Basically, the end result is The Who's My Generation reimagined for a car advert by a particularly untalented coked-up advertising exec. Score 1 to the British Invasion.
Rock Nutter Scale Scores?
(1) Must have done enough drugs to kill a regiment of dutch soldiers
Unless you count the collection of rare guitars as drugs, then nothing. And this scale doesn't. No points.
(2) Must have been to prison more times than the neck tattoo fairy
Nope. In fact, Rockford, Illinois has made April 1 "Annual Cheap Trick Day", obviously in recognition of their complete and utter lack of rock nutterness. No points.
(3) Must be reknowned for wild and destructive behavior
See above
(4) Should have a proper pseudonym
If Rick Nielsen and Robin Zander are pseudonyms, they're shitty ones. No points.
(5) Should have a suitably weird history
They're about as weird as peanut butter. On toast. No points.
So, the song is one big rock and roll cliche, in terms of nutterdom the band are basically as boring as pensioners, and the enduring legacy of this song is something along the lines of "thank you Cheap Trick, for Blink 182 and Bryan Adams". It should be rubbish, right? Right? It probably is, but it's likeable. Cheap Trick weren't rock stars, they were just a bunch of guys who defined the term 'Big In Japan'. They didn't trash hotel rooms or beat up supermodels, they made modest power pop for an adoring audience (mainly in Tokyo - their inexplicable popularity in Japan has led them to be referred to as The American Beatles over there) with no histrionics or ever attracting attention for anything other than the music. And the result has obviously inspired as many good bands as bad ones - Kurt Cobain described Nirvana as Cheap Trick with louder guitars. Surrender has been covered by everybody from Green Day and Down By Law to Marilyn Manson and Bob Mould. The song's cool. And so are Cheap Trick, for no other reason than being working class heroes.
So, for that, they should be saluted.
Verdict: Worth the price of admission
Tomorrow: The Four Tops - Standing in the Shadows of Love
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