I awoke this morning to an unseasonably cold, rainy, and generally nasty day. Biking to work at 7:30 this morning was no fun, but as always I’m glad I did. My 8:00 AM appointment was a little late, but at least she showed up - students skipping out on meetings is bad enough, but doing so on an 8:00 Monday morning meeting is a frakkin’ capital crime. Fortunately, the rest of my day is mostly free of interruption, leaving me plenty of time to work on research and, you know, blog.
Anyway, on such a generally miserable day I would ordinarily have no trouble finding several hours worth of music perfectly suited to guiding me through a productive workday under less than ideal circumstances. Today is no exception; I’m currently listening to an old favorite from back in the day, one that I firmly believe is one of the most underrated or under-appreciated CDs in my collection. I mean, does anyone actually remember the Ballistic Brothers? Likely not.
But for whatever reason, I had this song stuck in my head all morning:
Walking back to my office from my morning coffee and bagel, I had to hear it. I gotta say, it’s a seriously stupid and brilliant song. I thought about writing this as one of my Guilty Pleasure entries, but nope. I am all too proud to rock the Humpty.
Lately I’ve been trying to listen to some of the mp3s I’ve accumulated over the years but never really spent any time with. (Since most of these were acquired, um, via non-market means, I never worried about wasting money on unlistened-to music, as I would had I bought them on CD.) It’s been interesting; turns out that I have quite a back-log of good music to work through.
Anyway, I was listening to this earlier today as I was working at home (God bless spring break) and doing my best to avoid grading papers. I suppose it’s reflective of how little time I’ve spent exploring shoegaze that I’m only now spending time with two of the genre’s notable members: Chapterhouse and Catherine Wheel. I have spent quite a bit of time with some great bands of that period - My Bloody Valentine, the Jesus and Mary Chain, Slowdive, even that one Yo La Tengo record (one of my all-time favorites by the band, BTW). (For my money, I’ve always considered Catherine Wheel to be a little too rawk for shoegaze, but they do have the nice, loud, drone-y guitars common among the scene. Reasonable people may differ.)
But whatever the case, it was the sampled drumbeat in “Pearl” by Chapterhouse that inspired this post. For the uninitiated, the sample comes from “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin and is probably one of the most sampled drum tracks of all time. (Along with this, of course, which arguably was the germ of the genesis of an entire genre. But I digress.) Indeed, one of the things that annoyed me about the early Beastie Boys - other than their general brattiness - was that they sampled “Levee” on their first rap album License to Ill. At the time, you see, I was much more of a classic rock fan than rap/hip-hop fan. (In later years, my fandom did a nearly perfect 180, but again, I digress.)
Hearing that riff, sampled and sped up as it was, reminded me of this song and that quintessential early 1990s production style: everything lush, breathy vocals, the familiar drum riff. My guy friends and I absolutely loved “Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover,” perhaps because very few women had ever expressed an interest in being our lovers, and so to hear that sentiment over such a commanding beat; well it was more than we could bear.
I could go further about the “Levee” riff or sampling in general, but I won’t, because I do really need to grade papers, and I’d rather just leave you with those two songs. Enjoy.
Now, here is why that is the most metal video of all time.
It contains the bare bones of a narrative involving climbing dangerous snowy mountains and discovering the remnants of an ancient blood-sacrifice culture. And what is more metal than blood sacrifice? Not much.
Once atop the mountain, the band discovers the frozen body of a caveman, who they reanimate using a Gibson Flying-V guitar. Seriously. Lightening bolts shooting from a guitar and bringing to life a 10,000-year-old caveman? Very fucking metal.
And what is the first thing the unfrozen caveman does once he is awakened? He launches into a fucking shredder guitar solo. Seriously. If I was frozen for 10,000 years, the first thing I would want to do upon awakening is kick some metal ass.
After shredding for a few, the now unfrozen caveman uses said guitar to slaughter, then CANNIBALIZE, the band members. Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING, is more metal than cannibalization.
Is that a banjo at the beginning of the song? Who cares?! Even more metal!
Three words: Abominable fucking snowman.
I don’t know about you people, but I’m buying some Mastodon CDs the first chance I get. And, using a Flying-V to vanquish whatever foes I might have. Before I GNAW ON THEIR FEMURS!!!
Of Montreal is for me one of those bands where a little goes a long way. Not to say that I don’t like/really like Of Montreal; I do. But as I recently discovered, unless I am in a very specific mood, only one or two OM songs is plenty to quench my thirst.
For the uninitiated, Of Montreal is a band driven mostly by one guy, Kevin Barnes, who by all accounts is pretty effing weird. (That’s him in the red cummerbund, FYI.) Anyway, they’re one of the Elephant 6 bands that emerged from Athens, GA in the 1990s, along with Elf Power, Neutral Milk Hotel, and the Olivia Tremor Control. All of these groups embrace psychedelia and whimsy in varying degrees, but Of Montreal takes both to new extremes. Consider for example the band’s fourth full-length studio album, Coquelicot Asleep in the Poppies: A Variety of Whimsical Verse. It’s a loose concept record about … well, I’ll let ol’ KevBar explain it in his own words.
“Coquelicot is an Efeblum. An Efeblum is a fairy-like creature who is employed by the Efeneties (loving spirits) to place bells inside people’s hearts. When a person has a bell in their heart they are able to create works of art, fall in love and feel at peace with the world. Coquelicot, during one of her trips to Earth, decides to discard her bells and experience life as a human. Instead of living in “reality” she decides to experience life in a sleeping unconscious/conscious state. It is in this subconscious world that she meets Claude and Lecithin the inventor. They do all sorts of crazy stuff together like having incredible battles with evergreens and satellites, getting chased by psychotic zombies, playing with Lecithin’s inventions and eventually moving away together to a deserted frozen island. In time, Coquelicot feels remorseful about neglecting her responsibilities as an Efeblum and decides to return to her work. She can’t bear the thought of leaving her two new best friends so she invites them to come along with her. They happily accept and join her as honorary Efeblums.”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. You see what I mean? I wish I could find a video on youtube of one of the tracks on Coquelicot, but no luck. You’ll just have to trust me.
Not all of Of Montreal’s material is so very odd; some of it is fairly straightforward indie pop. On their most recent album, Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?(a little whimsy goes a long way KevBar, you freak), they even get a little dirgy and angry. Oooooh!!! Makes me wanna holla! But for whatever they lack in true musical range, they make up for in volume. Since hitting the scene in 1997, the band has amassed 9 full-length albums (many with bonus tracks on certain editions), 8 compilations of various songs, 5 EPs, and around a dozen singles. And when you consider that many of the albums have 16+ songs on them (Coquelicot clocks in with 22), you realize that this guy literally creates a new song every time he exhales. I’m not joking. Granted, many of the songs are less than two minutes long, and some are spoken-word or purely abstract, but still. Someone’s been taking their adderall.
Anyway, a few weeks ago I decided to spend a day or two listening to nothing but Of Montreal while working in the yard. I have around 10 releases by them; 9 albums and a collection of early recordings. Altogether, it amounts to almost 140 songs and clocks in at just under 7 hours. So, iPod in hand, I ventured out to the yard to pull weeds and try to figure out this enigmatic band.
Suffice to say that I made it about 4 hours before I had to switch to something else. Of Montreal’s later recordings are much more straightforward (relative to their earlier material, anyway), but since I had my Of Montreal playlist sorted by year, I plowed through the old material first. The collection of early recordings I mentioned earlier? It consists of 16 songs, all of whose titles mention the actor Dustin Hoffman. In fact, if you read the titles in order, it tells a story. A story about Mr. Hoffman taking a bath, eating his bathtub, having his tongue seized by the police, wetting himself, and climbing a tree. Seriously … WHAT … THE … FUCK. Oh, and none of the songs are actually Dustin Hoffman or any of the events described in the song titles. Damn.
Anyway, after deciding to give Of Montreal another try, I punched play on their 2005 album The Sunlandic Twins. The first track is called “Requiem for O.M.M.2″ and as you might have guessed, is the subject of this post. You can watch the video below.
Pretty good, huh? Damn catchy, even. This is the Of Montreal that I like. Firmly grounded in Beatlesque pop without all the whimsical crap. After listening to hours upon hours of songs about miniature philosophers and happy yellow bumblebees, it was a welcome surprise.
I probably need not explain much more about why I like this song; given my previous complaints about Of Montreal, the contrast should be obvious enough. As a extra added bonus, The Sunlandic Twins also features a song called “Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and Other Games),” which boasts the memorable chorus “Let’s pretend we don’t exist/Let’s pretend we’re in Antarctica.” Watch the video for it below.
Also very good and catchy. But then Of Montreal sold out and licensed the song to Outback Steakhouse for this commercial. Terrible crass awful. I won’t even in-line the video.
Anyway, the moment passed weeks ago, but I wanted to preserve “Requiem for O.M.M.2″ as my Song of the Moment. Enjoy.
I have mixed feelings about ________. Sometimes I really enjoy hearing ________ but other times it absolutely puts me in a funk. The reason why I am using ________ to describe what I’m talking about is that I don’t know what else to call it. I could use the term electroclash, but that doesn’t appear to fit well with the type of music I have in mind. Electro-pop or indie electronic (or electronica) work pretty well too, but seem overly broad. So instead of trying to describe the style of music I’m thinking of, I’ll give you an example: Ladytron.
First, what a great name. Ladytron has to be one of the most appropriately named bands I’ve ever heard. (The B-52s are another example of that.) The band has a strong female presence and sounds very mechanized, though not always in a dispassionate way. Robotish though they are, the band can rock. I’ve had a collection of Ladytron mp3s in my library for quite some time now, but have only recently gotten around to spending any time with them. In fact, I have all of their full-length albums (604, Light & Magic, and Witching Hour), but none of their EPs, singles, or remixes. (Click here for an exhaustive list of their releases.) I must confess that I’ve bought none of their albums; all were obtained from friends. I suppose if the band ever comes to Memphis, I should buy them dinner to make up for my largesse. Anyway, after spending a day or two at the office listening to Ladytron as I grade papers or manipulate data in SAS, I can honestly say that I like the band. The vocals are really wonderful and the instrumentation elegantly walks the fine line between programmed keyboards and the feel of a live band.
So why the mixed feelings? Part of it is that I don’t care much for many of the bands that were pioneers in that style of music. Sure, I love New Order, but I’ve never been much for Joy Division, Depeche Mode, or Gary Numan (catchy hits excepted.) There’s something lost for me in the sound. A little iciness goes a long way, I guess. But mostly it’s the, well, bleakness in it all. I realize I’m painting with really broad brush strokes here, so forgive me if I oversimplify, but the combination of electronic or programmed instrumentation (by itself just fine) with bleak lyrics and minor keys is a real downer. Not that I need a spoonful of sugary pop in order to make a song palatable (I do like New Order, remember?), but some semblance of something other than utter despair is nice. (Again, broad brush strokes.)
Further, I’ve always been very easily affected emotionally by whatever music happens to be on at the time. Sad music makes me sad, and profoundly so. I remember walking around Home Depot one morning on some errand and one of those gawd awful 80s ballads came on - something about break-ups or love lost, probably by Phil Collins - and I very rapidly felt very sad, despite the fact that I have a strong marriage and a wonderful wife. I mean, really. Verklempt in the lumber aisle. Sheesh.
All of this is prelude to my most recent Song of the Moment, “Sugar” by Ladytron. It’s off their third album, Witching Hour, and its just gorgeous. Watch the video after the jump.
I’m a big fan of serendipity (or is it synchronicity?) when it comes to the happenings of a particular moment and whatever song would best complement the moment. Put less awkwardly, I love it when the perfect song arrives at the perfect time. This can happen because of artful jukebox-programming, particularly fortunate random shuffling in one’s song list (or CD player, for those hopelessly clinging to the 20th century), or just dumb luck. As an example, I remember many years ago at one of the now-legendary Halloween parties my apartment complex in Decatur used to host, someone had tossed Run-DMC’s greatest hits CD in the changer. This of course was back before we had DJs or bands (or iPods, for that matter) provide the entertainment, and had to rely on our CD collections and some democratic process for disk rotation. Anyway, just as the party was swelling with revelers, just as the beer was making everyone prettier and more entertaining, just as the night was peaking, “It’s Tricky” came up in the mix. Maybe I was the only one that felt it, how the energy and drunkenness and the song seemed to converge and multiply, but it really made me appreciate how one song, and often only one song, can complete a moment. When this happens, when that perfect song arrives, it is as though the gods themselves were programming the great celestial jukebox. Of course, it can leave one perpetually searching for that perfect song and in the process missing the moment the song is to accompany. But this post is about one search perfect song, not missed opportunities.
The song in question is “Ginger” by Lilys. (You can listen to a 30-second clip from the song here if you have Windows Media Player installed.) I don’t remember where I first heard of Lilys; perhaps emusic, perhaps friends. Regardless, after some time of sitting unlistened in my music library, I decided to give the band a try. As it happened, the songs were sorted by album, and the first album in the list was A Brief History of Amazing Letdowns. “Ginger” was the first song on the record. I can’t do a great job of describing the song, and a 30-second clip doesn’t do it justice (the song itself is over five minutes long), but I’ll try.
It begins with a slow crescendo of ride-cymbal taps and guitar riffing. Once the song begins the guitars swell and blend with the bass and drums into a near wall of sound, not unlike My Bloody Valentine’s poppier moments. The signature riff repeats throughout the song, both in the slower, quieter moments, and in the most exuberant. I don’t have the vocabulary to describe the riff, other than to say that it is pleasantly Sonic Youth-y and Yo La Tengo-y and all the other bands I love-y. (Unfortunately, you can’t hear the riff in the clip above.) The song returns repeatedly to the intro section, slowing a bit as it does. It is very repetitive, I admit, but maybe that’s why I like it. Plus the vocals are weirdly messy, which I also like.
Anyway, I don’t remember when I was first grabbed by the song, but since then, it’s figured into several moments of personal significance over the past few years. The greatest of those moments was my wedding date, back in 2006. OK, the song never actually made its way into the ceremony or the reception afterwards, but part of my unrealized musical plans for the weekend was to cue up “Ginger” just as Lauren and I were leaving for our honeymoon. This would have had to have happened in my car, as MARTA doesn’t have DJs, but since we took the train to the airport, it never transpired. Still, it would have been perfect, not least because the first line of the song is “When we leave it will be cold outside.” (Because we were married in March in Atlanta, it wasn’t cold at all, but still.)
To me the song sounds like the sound of the beginning of something, and not just a six-song EP. And for that, it is my Song of the Moment.
I’m an admitted devotee of Pitchfork, the online music magazine. In addition to providing information about new releases and tour dates for bands I already love, Pitchfork has established itself as an invaluable source of new bands for me to check out. Certainly, they do tend to crush out on certainbands for reasons I do not fully understand, but generally I agree with their editorial tastes. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t forward a link from my work email account to my personal address with news of upcoming releases on which to squander my money.
Honestly, the record industry writ large owes Pitchfork a great deal of gratitude, because despite the fact that the site does not exist in any physical form (unlike othermusic/culture magazines of the day), it has done more to invigorate my consumption of music than almost anyone else. Simply put, I buy more CDs than I would have did Pitchfork not exist. It’s almost as though I have a staff of snarky hipsters at the ready, whose sole purpose is to tell what sucks and what doesn’t. I mean, I pay numerous people to manage my money, why not my CD collection?
Anyway, it was through Pitchfork that I was first introduced to Caribou. For the uninitiated, Caribou is one among many bands that is basically one person, an auteur (Dan Snaith) who languishes in his/her basement or attic, producing music that follows only with his/her internal compass. For many reasons, I really like bands like that. Or, more accurately, I might not always appreciate the music produced by such artists, but I very much relish the combination of solo composition and internal integrity.
It was this review that first brought Caribou onto my musical radar. Given the glowing nature of the review, I decided to buy the record. It did not grab me immediately, as some other records have, but after a few listens I began to get it. The songs on Andorra sound as though they are from another time. I can hear so much of the 1960s in this music, and not the overwrought, hyper-earnest output of the Woodstock generation. Rather, I hear Brian Wilson, and Phil Spector, and the Beatles … artists who really began to elevate rock music from a crude sexual innuendo into an art form. The album is both retrogressive in influence and very much of the present. Snaith’s musical vocabulary is so comfortable to him, so much his native tongue, that he can speak in the same language as Pet Sounds or Rubber Soul without sounding like a mere impersonator.
All of the songs on Andorra are strong, but the one song to which I keep returning is the second on the record, “Sandy.” (You can hear the album version of the song here, accompanied by video shot in a car wash, or see Caribou performing the song live here.) The lead-in track, “Melody Day,” very much has an anthemic quality to it, as though it was the prelude to a greater work. (I’ve long felt the same way about the first song from Prince’s Dirty Mind.) “Sandy” begins with a humming guitar followed by shaken sleighbells and a drum beat straight out of the girl groups of the 1960s. (Or the Jesus and Mary Chain, for that matter.) A sound collage swirls in the background like swarming bees, never revealing a single identifiable sample or instrument, simply imbuing the song with an energy unique unto itself.
When I listen to “Sandy,” I hear a group that looks nothing like Dan Snaith or the touring version of Caribou. I see beautiful young people, clad in white, singing in harmony and accompanied by unseen instruments. There are cherry blossom petals flitting in the air like snow flurries, imparting the song with an organic chill. The pulse of the drums and bass are hypnotic, the instrumentation dizzying, the vocals breathy … and for that, it is my Song of the Moment. Enjoy.
Some time ago, I wrote an article for a local newspaper in Atlanta about my iPod and the abundance of musical choices it offered, as a way of commenting on the dizzying variety of consumer goods we face and how often, an excess of options prevents us from making decisions. The article was one in a series I wrote concerning politics, policy, culture, and so on, but one part of the article I submitted to my editor failed to make it past her proverbial red pen.
At the end of the article I included a list of the top ten songs in my iTunes library, as measured by Play Count. (As if my music nerdiness were not evident enough, I obsessively archive and organize my mp3 collection. If I have more than 2-3 songs by an artist, I usually create a “smart” playlist for that artist, so that, in the event that I add additional songs by the artist, the new songs can automatically join their brethren in the playlist. Additionally, I have smart playlists created for various genres, the year of release, songs with missing artist, album, or year information, and so on. And people wonder why my research efforts are so unproductive.) All the songs in my library with a Play Count value of 3 or greater are included in a smart playlist called “I FUCKING LOVE THIS SHIT,” which is sorted in descending order by Play Count. Thus, at the top, is my own personal top ten. I’m my own Casey Kasem.
So, for the purposes of this post, here is my top ten list, complete with title, artist, and Play Count value.
“Earn Enough for Us,” XTC, 177
“Rocks,” Primal Scream, 151
“Girls on Film,” Duran Duran, 116
“I Can’t Believe,” Apples in Stereo, 107
“24-Hour Party People,” Happy Mondays, 97
“Get Set to Fall Out,” Radio 4, 96
“Brown Sugar,” The Rolling Stones, 89
“Around the World,” Daft Punk v. Wyclef Jean, 88
“Ballroom Blitz,” Sweet, 87
“Now It’s On,” Grandaddy, 84
Yes, I’ve listened to “Earn Enough for Us” by XTC 177 times. (End-to-end, that adds up to over 8.5 hours of listening to one song, over and over and over again. Chilling.) And that’s just total listens since a) iTunes introduced the Play Count variable and allowed geeks like me to record how many times a song was played, and b) since I ripped my CD of Skylarking to mp3 and started listening only to the digital version. Including pre-Play Count listens and the number of times I listened to the song on CD, plus cassette listens, I’ve probably heard the song 300 times. All of this begs a question (several, actually).
First, have I ever been diagnosed with or treated for Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder? No. I’ve known people that were treated, or should have been, for OCD, and listening to a song over and over doesn’t really compare to, say, compulsively touching each control knob for the burners on the gas stove five times in order before leaving the house, to make sure that the stove really is turned off. (This is not made up. A woman I knew back in Atlanta did this. Won’t say who she was/is, but there were many reasons why we called her “Crazy Paula.”)
Second, why those songs? Well, I don’t have time to answer that question now, for all the songs anyway, but you might observe a few common characteristics among them. First, many of them have a prominent beat and are very … and I hate this descriptor … danceable. There. I said it. In fact, all but numbers 1 and 10 could be described as such. Second, there are strong Beatles influences, particularly on tracks 1 and 4, even though the Beatles themselves do not show up until position 71, with “Taxman” (37 listens). (Likely this is due to the fact that my days of heaviest Beatles obsession (there’s that word again) were in high school, well before mp3s, iTunes, and my iPod.) The Rolling Stones make an appearance at number 7, bested at number 2 by one of the most Rolling Stones-influenced songs ever recorded.
Third, why “Earn Enough for Us?” Clearly, it is the favorite, with more listens that 9 and 10 combined. If you’ve heard it, you know it’s a catchy, heavily Beatles-influenced song, and wouldn’t sound out of place on Revolver or Rubber Soul. But 177 listens? Isn’t that a bit much? Yes. Yes it is. It is waaaaay too much. And that’s why I’ve called you all here today, to hear a tribute to my “favorite” song of all time, “Earn Enough for Us,” by XTC.