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
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