Great rock and roll has a history of undecipherable lyrics, predating even Dylan - say, Little Richard. You don't need to understand the lyrics of this one from the Archers' debut Icky Mettle to get the sheer youth exuberance. Which is what this kind of music is all about, right?
It boasts Pixies/Pavement angular guitars, let's just call it the Television influence and get it over with. And college-rock emotionally-distant-yet-energetically-driven vocals. But why analyze it to death? This song will just make you feel great about your present hangups and make you wish you had enough drive and talent to form your own band just so you could rip them off. Something I'm sure happened a lot during their heyday (which I admit I missed - 1993, I was coming off Lou Reed and rediscovering fifties rock and roll and sixties soul).
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Mott The Hoople - "Ballad Of Mott" (1973)
You might remember them as a one hit wonder, but "All The Young Dudes" defined its short-lived era of glam-rock teenage rebellion and still gets airplay thirty years later. And though "Dudes" was presented to the band by David Bowie, with "Ballad Of Mott", Mott head honcho Ian Hunter proved he could write an anthem just as good - and from my tunnel-visioned eyes, even better. And what's more, according to the album credits, he probably wrote it before Mott The Hoople even recorded "All The Young Dudes".
There is a sort of a history of self-referential songs in rock and roll. I guess the Beatles started it with John Lennon quoting his own lyrics on "I Am The Walrus" and "Glass Onion" but these pale beside other ancendents such as the Rolling Stones' "Jigsaw Puzzle" and "Torn And Frayed". Though my favorite moment in this obscure genre is the Mekons' Rock 'N' Roll, which included not only an obvious candidate like "Club Mekon" but lines like "the battles we fought were long and hard - not to be consumed by rock and roll". But "Ballad Of Mott" is the best because it cuts to the bone while retaining a sense of rock grandeur only the early seventies Stones could have matched.
Musically, it's just a rock ballad with a few touches that date it, f'rinstance that fat, dramatic guitar. But what's behind the surface embellishment is Ian Hunter picking at every scab the band had ever picked up during its ever-stalling career. He's bitter and pissed off and embellishes his failures with every verbal taunt and dramatic flair he can think of. And it works because his bitterness and sense of resigned loss have a way of cutting through his literary pretensions. Not to mention, it helps that his pretensions have sense of poetic rhythm to them and that the music has a lolling, dramatic beat that captivates and lives up to his scathing flatullence.
There is a sort of a history of self-referential songs in rock and roll. I guess the Beatles started it with John Lennon quoting his own lyrics on "I Am The Walrus" and "Glass Onion" but these pale beside other ancendents such as the Rolling Stones' "Jigsaw Puzzle" and "Torn And Frayed". Though my favorite moment in this obscure genre is the Mekons' Rock 'N' Roll, which included not only an obvious candidate like "Club Mekon" but lines like "the battles we fought were long and hard - not to be consumed by rock and roll". But "Ballad Of Mott" is the best because it cuts to the bone while retaining a sense of rock grandeur only the early seventies Stones could have matched.
Musically, it's just a rock ballad with a few touches that date it, f'rinstance that fat, dramatic guitar. But what's behind the surface embellishment is Ian Hunter picking at every scab the band had ever picked up during its ever-stalling career. He's bitter and pissed off and embellishes his failures with every verbal taunt and dramatic flair he can think of. And it works because his bitterness and sense of resigned loss have a way of cutting through his literary pretensions. Not to mention, it helps that his pretensions have sense of poetic rhythm to them and that the music has a lolling, dramatic beat that captivates and lives up to his scathing flatullence.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The Rolling Stones - "Jigsaw Puzzle" (1968)
This is the epitome of Mick Jagger's effected, manneristic 1960's singing style (as opposed to his over-the-top, manneristic of the late 80's and on). Also, his most Dylanesque lyrics, as though, after several years of trying to rip off the Beatles, he'd been listening too much to Blonde On Blonde.
But if the Rolling Stones would not have been quite as successful with a less flamboyant frontman, Jagger himself would never have made it if he wasn't backed by such a stellar band, laid back enough to offset his extroverted tendencies on stage and in the studio. And it's the music that that makes this one of the best tracks of their career.
Forget any notions of the Stones being merely purveyors of elemental three chord, blues based rock. "Jigsaw Puzzle", like all of the Stones greatest recordings, may be raw, but it is magnificent music that turns country blues into a space age symphony with no pretensions barring the lyrics. And actually, as is often the case with the Stones, the music redeems the lyrics, turning the line about the guitar players being "outcasts all their lives" into an obituary for Brian Jones before the fact.
Like all of the music on Beggars Banquet, "Jigsaw Puzzle" is based on Keith Richards' explorations of open chord tuning, which is widely documented in interviews and which I admittedly don't understand much about, not being a guitar player myself. But you don't have to be a musician to feel the creative boost these explorations injected in him and you only need to have any ears at all to get the laid back groove of Charlie Watts' drumming or the fat sound of the bass - one of their best recorded parts and rumored to be Keith and not Bill Wyman. But best of all are lilting, almost surrealistic bottleneck guitars, which literally turn into a tribal drone by the time we get to the verse about the twenty thousand grandmas and the queen (see what I meant by Dylanesque?).
With all that going on, Jagger himself sounds quite good, actually.
But if the Rolling Stones would not have been quite as successful with a less flamboyant frontman, Jagger himself would never have made it if he wasn't backed by such a stellar band, laid back enough to offset his extroverted tendencies on stage and in the studio. And it's the music that that makes this one of the best tracks of their career.
Forget any notions of the Stones being merely purveyors of elemental three chord, blues based rock. "Jigsaw Puzzle", like all of the Stones greatest recordings, may be raw, but it is magnificent music that turns country blues into a space age symphony with no pretensions barring the lyrics. And actually, as is often the case with the Stones, the music redeems the lyrics, turning the line about the guitar players being "outcasts all their lives" into an obituary for Brian Jones before the fact.
Like all of the music on Beggars Banquet, "Jigsaw Puzzle" is based on Keith Richards' explorations of open chord tuning, which is widely documented in interviews and which I admittedly don't understand much about, not being a guitar player myself. But you don't have to be a musician to feel the creative boost these explorations injected in him and you only need to have any ears at all to get the laid back groove of Charlie Watts' drumming or the fat sound of the bass - one of their best recorded parts and rumored to be Keith and not Bill Wyman. But best of all are lilting, almost surrealistic bottleneck guitars, which literally turn into a tribal drone by the time we get to the verse about the twenty thousand grandmas and the queen (see what I meant by Dylanesque?).
With all that going on, Jagger himself sounds quite good, actually.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Dick Dale and Stevie Ray Vaughn - "Pipeline" (1987)
Two grand myths of surf music cross paths with blue-eyes blues.
Dick Dale was a ground-breaking innovator on guitar, largely forgotten today due to surf music's lowly image. He was actually an avid surfer and he tried to make his music depict the physical sensatons of riding the waves. That physicality, combined with the electronic and studio possibilities of the instrument that he explored are his unique contributions. And honorable mention is due his use of exotic, eastern motifs, which might make him the first world musician, cf. "Misirlou" (the instrumental track from the opening credits of Pulp Fiction), which borrows the melody from a Lebanese song.
Stevie Ray Vaughn is more famous but he really never intersected with my interests so you'll just have to look him up yourself.
"Pipeline", originally a hit for the Chantays in 1962, is one of the classic surf instrumentals, which doesn't so much convey the act of mastering the board as much as being pulled down by an undertow, with the eerie threat of the melody carried on guitars played and mixed almost like a bass guitar, all bottom. Dale and Vaughn's version, on the other hand, sounds like a tidal wave, with Dale supplying the muscle and effects and taking off for the stratosphere while Vaughn plays the bluesy licks that bring it down to earth again.
Dick Dale was a ground-breaking innovator on guitar, largely forgotten today due to surf music's lowly image. He was actually an avid surfer and he tried to make his music depict the physical sensatons of riding the waves. That physicality, combined with the electronic and studio possibilities of the instrument that he explored are his unique contributions. And honorable mention is due his use of exotic, eastern motifs, which might make him the first world musician, cf. "Misirlou" (the instrumental track from the opening credits of Pulp Fiction), which borrows the melody from a Lebanese song.
Stevie Ray Vaughn is more famous but he really never intersected with my interests so you'll just have to look him up yourself.
"Pipeline", originally a hit for the Chantays in 1962, is one of the classic surf instrumentals, which doesn't so much convey the act of mastering the board as much as being pulled down by an undertow, with the eerie threat of the melody carried on guitars played and mixed almost like a bass guitar, all bottom. Dale and Vaughn's version, on the other hand, sounds like a tidal wave, with Dale supplying the muscle and effects and taking off for the stratosphere while Vaughn plays the bluesy licks that bring it down to earth again.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Rod Stewart - "Cut Across Shorty" (1970)
I'm a huge fan of prime Stewart, by which I mean his first four solo albums. A cocky, womanizing mod out to conquer the world, with a sensitive eye for detail and that famous, grainy voice as well as the intelligence and intuition to apply it and sound knowing, wily and vital, as soulful as his idol Sam Cooke. Not to mention, he put together this amazing band. Not the Faces, which were okay but somehow never excited me, but the band he built around Ron Wood, Martin Quittenton and Mick Waller for his solo albums. Like Cooke, what he was really after was fame, fortune and pussy - which he eventually got - and like Cooke, he sang his heart out on the way and for a while, it seemed he could do no wrong.
He was an underrated songwriter in those days, sometimes on his own, usually in musical collaboration with Wood or Quittenton but he also had a penchant for either choosing unlikely songs to cover or going after a classic and making it his own. Even when he covered Dylan he reinvented forgotten gems, and how many singers could have eked out meaning and class out of an Elton John song (cf. "Country Comfort")?. Here he covers an Eddie Cochran oldie though in his hands and mouth it sounds like a re-discovered folk song, a hairy dog story about a rich dude racing a poor guy for the right to marry the woman both men covet, who of course proceeds to help the poor guy cheat and win the race.
As usual, Rod sings the song with a merry cackle that invests the story with far more meaning than it rightfully deserves. It's as obvious as a sledgehammer who he's bet his shillings on but there's really no reason to search for any deeper meaning beyond his sly delivery edging the band towards an acoustic-rock majesty as he rides their groove as effortlessly as Cooke and Elvis did in their heyday.
Despite the presence of bass, acoustic guitars, mandolin and a fiddle, it is Mick Waller's drumkit that somehow winds up being the lead instrument, sort of like Keith Moon in the Who, except Waller's drumwork has a sense of space and timing that owes a lot more to California sessionman Hal Blaine. Here he sounds like he's keeping time with an internal clock no one else can hear but him, raw, tribal thumps booming out of his subconscious in the most unlikely moments. It's one of my favorite drum parts of all time and is the key ingredient in Stewart's magical stew.
He was an underrated songwriter in those days, sometimes on his own, usually in musical collaboration with Wood or Quittenton but he also had a penchant for either choosing unlikely songs to cover or going after a classic and making it his own. Even when he covered Dylan he reinvented forgotten gems, and how many singers could have eked out meaning and class out of an Elton John song (cf. "Country Comfort")?. Here he covers an Eddie Cochran oldie though in his hands and mouth it sounds like a re-discovered folk song, a hairy dog story about a rich dude racing a poor guy for the right to marry the woman both men covet, who of course proceeds to help the poor guy cheat and win the race.
As usual, Rod sings the song with a merry cackle that invests the story with far more meaning than it rightfully deserves. It's as obvious as a sledgehammer who he's bet his shillings on but there's really no reason to search for any deeper meaning beyond his sly delivery edging the band towards an acoustic-rock majesty as he rides their groove as effortlessly as Cooke and Elvis did in their heyday.
Despite the presence of bass, acoustic guitars, mandolin and a fiddle, it is Mick Waller's drumkit that somehow winds up being the lead instrument, sort of like Keith Moon in the Who, except Waller's drumwork has a sense of space and timing that owes a lot more to California sessionman Hal Blaine. Here he sounds like he's keeping time with an internal clock no one else can hear but him, raw, tribal thumps booming out of his subconscious in the most unlikely moments. It's one of my favorite drum parts of all time and is the key ingredient in Stewart's magical stew.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Lou Reed - "Hooky Wooky" (1996)
Lou Reed's albums have been too wordy since 1988's New York (which at least was more than redeemed by the guitar work) but once in a decade he can come up with a catchy pop number which recalls his early days as a sweatshop songwriter. Here he mixes 50's rock and roll and doo-wop to capture the essance of Manhatten street life in a song wrongly overlooked in 1996's Set The Twilight Reeling. It's the album's loosest and best track and Lou probably hasn't had this much fun since the days of "Sweet Jane".
Friday, March 7, 2008
Van Morrison - "Crazy Love" (1970)
I hadn't listened to this song in years but it was a favorite of mine some twenty years ago and it was always fairly successful for me in romantic situations. It comes from 1969's Moondance, y'know, the album with the schmaltzy, jazzy title track, which was one of Van's few commercial successes.
Morrison usually sings in a gruff, soulful voice but here he is actually reminiscent of Smokey Robinson more than anything else, crooning softly in falsetto, which is an approach he didn't attempt very often. Despite the acoustic guitar settings, somewhere between folk and country blues, the changes and atmosphere recalls late sixties Motown ballads, especially the inventive, melodic bass part and the subtle vibes.
What I really love about the performance - and this is something I wasn't sensitive enough to notice in my early twenties - is how despite the crooning, laid back, relaxed vocals, Van can hardly contain his excitement and enthusiasm as he describes his woman's love.
Morrison usually sings in a gruff, soulful voice but here he is actually reminiscent of Smokey Robinson more than anything else, crooning softly in falsetto, which is an approach he didn't attempt very often. Despite the acoustic guitar settings, somewhere between folk and country blues, the changes and atmosphere recalls late sixties Motown ballads, especially the inventive, melodic bass part and the subtle vibes.
What I really love about the performance - and this is something I wasn't sensitive enough to notice in my early twenties - is how despite the crooning, laid back, relaxed vocals, Van can hardly contain his excitement and enthusiasm as he describes his woman's love.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Jerry Lee Lewis - "Money" (1964)
This was already a classic when Jerry Lee Lewis cut it live in 1964 in Germany (on Live At The Star Club, Hamburg, you can thank me later for the recommendation). Since the Barrett Strong's original single kicked off Berry Gordy's Motown empire in 1960, just about everyone covered it from the Rolling Stones to the Kingsmen to the Beatles, who cut the definitive version. Until Jerry Lee came along, anyway. I still think the Beatles' version is the classic, but Lewis manages to dig a new groove and drenge new meanings and transforms into it into virtually a new song by making the familiar piano riff even more desperate, every drawl and lewd breath describing exactly what kind of freedom he seeks.
Now you could call him a showoff when he goes into his patented stomps on the piano, bullheaded, orgasmic, flashing piano keys like jacknives, confident his talent and charisma will win him the world. Yeah, it's true he tried to transform every song he performed in the fifties and early sixties into "Whole Lotta Shaking" and that not every song could withstand that treatment. But when it works it's because he manages to find Jerry Lee inside the song and his utter self-belief wore true: others mastered the style, even the swagger, none could muster quite the same self-confidence.
Now you could call him a showoff when he goes into his patented stomps on the piano, bullheaded, orgasmic, flashing piano keys like jacknives, confident his talent and charisma will win him the world. Yeah, it's true he tried to transform every song he performed in the fifties and early sixties into "Whole Lotta Shaking" and that not every song could withstand that treatment. But when it works it's because he manages to find Jerry Lee inside the song and his utter self-belief wore true: others mastered the style, even the swagger, none could muster quite the same self-confidence.
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