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June 29, 2007
Prepare Yourselves
As loyal readers already know, next weekend will see the Brooklyn debut of the Neon Lights Presents... concert series. We're taking over Union Hall for a two night Friday and Saturday stand, and bringing in acts from all over the place to assure memorability. As is my custom, I will provide an in-depth look at each and every band on either bill next week. Links, reviews, mp3's, you name it. As we've got eight bands to discuss (in addition to our regularly scheduled posts and features) it's going to be a busy week.
For now, those of you who trust me explicitly can just buy tickets through Ticket Web already;
- Friday, July 6th - HERE
- Saturday, July 7th - HERE
You skeptical bastards who need to be reminded of our stellar track record are invited to go over to the website for Public Radio International's Fair Game program to listen to (and download) a 4 song session from distinguished NL alumnus, A Sunny Day in Glasgow. The session benefits from a cleanly recorded studio set-up that gives the band a sparser, crisper sound without completely losing the fuzz that we hold so dear. Particularly benefitting from the pare down is Scribble Mural Comic Journal's, "A Mundane Phone Call to Jack Parsons." Ben Daniels dueting, and occasionally talking under, a lone present sister is brighter and clearer than previous renditions. With the sonic clatter swept up a bit, it's much easier to focus on the lyrics, which are actually quite amusing, as it turns out.
A Sunny Day in Glasgow - "A Mundane Phone Call to Jack Parsons" (Fair Game Session)
Matt Fluxblog recently pointed out that the session's version of the song "Hugs and Kisses" (from the band's July Tout New Age EP) is also quite nice. To hear its recorded counterpart, with piano assistance from the kids' mother, go here.
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 04:30 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 28, 2007
Numerology: When You're Twenty-One, You're No Fun? A Rebuttal...
by David Klein
Twenty-one is the name of a popular card game and the number of shots in a famous “gun salute,” but no good song has ever been written about either of those things. To most westerners the number 21 signifies the age of 21, and a number of songs have been written on that subject. After all, reaching the age of 21 is a very specific plateau for human beings in these parts—full-fledged adulthood. It’s no surprise that there is no shortage of songs with 21 in their titles, but what song truly captures the essence?
Clearly one of the most luminous mentions of 21 in pop music occurs in the Who’s “1921,” a song that pretty much sends the whole Tommy story into orbit with one little line: “What about the boy?/He saw it all.” The song begins with a stirring, hopeful melody, and then Pete Townshend comes in, proclaiming, “Got a feeling twenty-one is gonna be a good year.” Nevertheless, it is my sad task, dear Who fanatics, to point out that, as angelically as Pete pronounces the numeral in question, “1921” is ineligible to vie for the 21 spot because of the 19 Rule, i.e., that year songs (e.g., “1999”) cannot shrug off their nineteen-ical moorings and declare themselves a shorter, more-convenient-for-this-list number. One thousand nineteen hundred twenty one? The Who owns it like a pair of tight pants that fit only the collective Who (just imagine such a splendid pair of pants for one second, will you?) but this number needs to be won, and won decisively.
I love “Tram 21” by Electrelane. Sounding a sonically Stereolab-like note, it rolls along a solid rhythm track, emitting long blasts of farfisa organ, and slowly building up a head of steam so that by the time the soaring vocals come in, we imagine some kind of party-train caravan traveling through purple mountains. We also envision the number 21 emblazoned on a tattered flag that flickers in the breeze, but envisioning the number is not the same as having it mentioned in the song. And it’s an instrumental to boot, so farewell, sweet tram of coolness.
“Death Trip 21” by Irish rockers Ash is the huge, crazed monster that swipes Electrelane’s tram off its tracks with one bat of its huge paw. Making great use of an evil-sounding shrieking siren sample that the Chemical Bros. also used at least once, this one is not an instrumental, but none of the lyrics make that crucial distinction between Death Trip 21 and how it differs from Death Trip 14 or 37. It’s arbitrary and this list eschews arbitrary. 50 Cent’s “Twenty One Questions” is numerically accurate and reaches pure poetry with the line, “I love you like a fat kid love cake,” but it’s just a little too pimp-centric to speak to the universality of the 21 experience.
Spanning the ‘70s, ‘80s, and ‘90s, the Eagles, the Alarm, and cranky Irish couch sitters the Cranberries all had songs called “21,” while the regrettable U.S. outfit Marry Me Jane got all contrary with “I’m Not 21,” which I must confess, once played in my head on a snowy birthday night, as I scurried along St. Mark’s Place to retrieve something of critical importance from my Astor Place apartment. With snow and beer pixelating my senses, the song’s melancholy melody seemed the perfect soundtrack for both my ill-advised excursion and for turning a year older, yet now I cringe to think of it, even as I gain a certain peace in divulging the episode. A pair of lesser known, first-wave English punk bands also weigh in on 21: The Adverts give us “No Time to Be 21,” which offers the cheery assessment, “No chances/no plans/I think I’ll be somebody else/or else a madman” and “We’re 21 Today” by Toy Dolls, which doesn’t even last 21 seconds. Modern-day punks the Paddingtons charted in the UK with the snide and sassy “21,” while Bobby Conn, a Chicago native and a member of the exclusive ex-convict school of rock (see Leadbelly, Johnny Cash, et al) offers up some sweet, brass-tinged porno funk in his song named for today’s numeral.
“Just Twenty One,” by Scottish prog rock outfit Beggar’s Opera, is what happens when young guys in the early ‘70s—moved to make the complex arty music of their heroes—utterly fail. It takes a certain level of skill to make progressive rock lyrics work, and Beggar’s Opera ensured that they would never make it to the next celestial stratosphere with earthbound lyrics like, “There’s a woman/looks like over 30/But she’s just 21/Aint that a pity?” The song’s raunchy Zappa-esque groove is similarly at odds with the spacey, drum-less excursion in the middle, which is really the only proggy thing about it. Listening to this track gave me a renewed respect for classic prog rock’s fine lyrical tradition, a tradition that tells that mountains do occasionally come out of the sky, and they stand there. But only if you really listen. Also from the ‘70s comes Marc Bolan’s “21st Century,” which is no “20th Century Boy,” and King Crimson’s party favorite, “21st Century Schizoid Man.” And lest we forget, just last year the Red Hot Chlli Peppers made their own “21st Century.”
We can thank our lucky stars that there is indeed a 21 song that is solid in every respect and makes sense on every level. It was released the same year as “Mr. Twenty-One” by the Orlons, a sort of “16 Candles” sung for a 21-year-old who is now old enough to get hitched. But to the singer of the 21-slot winner, turning 21 has far less virtuous implications than the Orlons song. Which is how it should be, for what does turning 21 signify? Adulthood. And what does adulthood signify? That’s right. Sex. What song by a classic group says, “21 is when I get to do what I want, with whom I want, whenever I want?” That would be “Twenty One” by the Shirelles.
As if they needed any greater testament to their rock & roll bona fides, the Shirelles, a quartet of young women who in the early ‘60s made hits out of songs by a young Burt Bacharach and the great Goffin-King, among others, were a favorite of the Beatles, who covered the Shirelles twice on their first LP, with “Boys” and “Baby It’s You.”
It’s true that women don’t generally save themselves until they reach 21 anymore, but there’s something about the undisguised desires being expressed herein that render this song timeless. Anyway, all you have to do is substitute a much lower number for 21 for “Twenty-One,” which was released in 1961, to make 21st century sense. True to its era, the song’s final verse tamps down the air of sexual excitement —the singer imagines having a daughter and telling her she must also wait till she’s 21—but the overriding sentiment is the one packed into the first verses, namely, When I’m 21, I’m gonna have some grown-up fun. And I can’t wait.
Can’t go steady, can’t even have a date/21How in the world will I ever find a mate?/21
One of these days I’ll be 21
Look out boys, here I come
Wo wo wo wo wo
21.
Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. The plague of self absorbed twenty-something songwriters should see him through for now, but there are rough times ahead.
Previously: No. 1, 2-4, 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:25 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
June 27, 2007
Retrohump Day: Three Imaginary Clips
The only time I've been able to include early footage of the Cure in this column was to point out how disappointing it was, so I'm grading slightly on a curve. Not for the material, mind you. I will argue to my last breath that the Three Imaginary Boys era was the band's finest. Even without the extra pop hits that were shoehorned into the American version, Boys Don't Cry, it's gotta be the desert island Cure record. When they start aping Joy Division more directly on albums like Pornography you lose so much charm that any increased depth or texture just isn't worth the trade off. The later syrupy pop hits don't have enough edge to them to rate higher. It's an easy call.
Good concert footage from these years is still kind of scarce, though. So, you'll have to deal with a really dumb decision to edit this 1980 Boston concert in a "psychedelic" fashion.
It's as inappropriate and annoying as it sounds.
the Cure - "Fire in Cairo"
(Boston, 1980)
This clip proves the musical quality of the performance, amping up the intensity and the synth level on a mellow classic. But it's here that the lameness of the "groovy" vid manifests itself most clearly. For one, we're robbed of getting a sociological survey of what a Cure audience circa 1980 actually looked like. Did the make-up and the tear stained eyes come first, or did Rob dictate that himself? Are these shiny happy pop kids drunk on the sharp hooks, or intuitively depressive proto goths? I'd like to know.
I'd also like to know if there's a false ending right before the final minute, or if the video effects master tacked on :50 seconds of recycled footage. The fact that I'm guessing is pretty damning, visually.
the Cure - "Killing an Arab"
(Boston, 1980)
This performance destroys the flabby Paris show that was mentioned earlier as a disappointment. It's as aggressive and nervous as the subject matter demands. The acid casualty light show isn't quite as distracting in this one either.
the Cure - "Three Imaginary Boys"
The title track from TIB is my very favorite song of the band's entire career, so I'm thrilled that pre-00's footage of it is finally available. But thanks to the contextless YouTube post, we have no clue what year this might be. Since Smith doesn't yet resemble Edward Scissorhands, it has to be relatively early. The size of the crowd and venue suggest that they probably have a few albums under their belt, however. Anyone out there feel qualified to offer an educated guess?
As to the footage, it's pretty unambiguously great. I could do without the mic echo probably, but when the lights go down and the goosebump epidemic that is the late guitar solo kicks in, all is most definitely well.
the Cure - "Three Imaginary Boys"
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 05:10 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Confessions of a would-be hater?
I know short posts are not our style, but, here it goes. I have a feeling I am going to dislike Kanye West's new album... a lot. The "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger"-sampling song is very bad, and I feel I cannot suffer through one more lyric about the irony about being spiritual, but succumbing to material goods. My lords! Get over it.
[UPDATE: Here is the video for the song in question - M.S.]
Kanye West - "Stronger"
Posted by Keith O'Brien at 02:45 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
June 26, 2007
Summer Six Pack Redux
Since I only trotted out this six pack format once about a year ago, I figure it's not too repetitive to give it another go. By comparing the two, you'll notice I'm much more zen than I was last year, which I attribute entirely to a lower '07 humidity level.
Hopefully I haven't jinxed our run of exemplary NYC weather too badly by acknowledging this fact.
Avril Lavigne f. Lil' Mama - "Girlfriend" (Remix)
I was shocked by how enjoyable this song was. I mean, the original is fairly bullshit. Even if you can get past the clunky lyrics and just average singing, Avril's main character is a total jerk. She's out to blatantly steal another girl's boyfriend on a whim. Perhaps not a new wrinkle in teen pop songwriting, but sure as shit not a sympathetic position. So it was an extremely smart move from Lavigne's management, roping in an accomplice far more likable for a wildly superior remix where she's given center stage. Lil' Mama is pretty great, if you weren't aware.
Mama's voice is the first you hear on the track, a cartoony "Lil' Mama and Avril Laveeeeeeen" already charming you as the stomping beat further wears you down. Then here comes the the chorus, still un-subtle, but punchier when held aloft by the relentless rhythm section and improved by the tacked on "Lil' Mama be you girlfriend, Lil' Mama be your girlfriend..." murmurs. When LM finally starts rapping, it's obvious who the song belongs to. At times her rapid fire flow and easy charisma makes it sound like pink suits and platinum wigs weren't outre enough fashion statements anymore, and Andre 3000 has now taken to disguising himself as a 17 year old Brooklyn girl.
Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Shielding your iPod window from the voyeuristic hipster judgment parade that is the ice cold summer L train.
I should state for the record that Sissy's other jam "Float" is superior to this one, so if you're basking in ignorance of this Norweigan lass, do your self a favor and go here first.
O.K., now that we got rid of that square, let's dive into another treat from her latest album, Beauties Never Die. The production is busy and interesting, but the real selling point is how our girl backs up her own impossibly high pop vocal register with excited shouting, reminiscent of Scandi joy-punks Love is All, fleshing out the titular letters ("do what they say!"). Listening to the first half may lead to the conclusion that Sissy is much better when the music rises and the chorus takes off, and not so good on the down tempo. Then you get to the slow burn bridge, with its triumphant screaming climax, and you just don't know what to believe anymore.
Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Just kickin' it. Possibly kickin' it live.
Junior Boys' Jeremy Greenspan pitched in on the composition of this track, though his golden throat and slick dance beats are mainly subliminal. It's all Dan Snaith's show, and the Caribou mastermind easily proves that he deserves such top notch stagehands. String swells, synth swells, by the seashore.
Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Lying in a public park and playing "she loves me not" repeatedly until a daisy with a fortuitous number of pedals can be located.
I realize that it's a douche-y move to quote yourself, but I was really pleased with my final review line for this lovely electro-shoegaze hybrid;
"Don’t let this record falls into the hands of ecstasy soused teens, lest we be plagued by a series of tragic mass huggings."
Meant as a compliment, of course...
Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Outside porch, dead of night, light breeze, if not stars then street lamps or a Manhattan skyline.
Liars new self-titled album will often be described as straightforward guitar pop, though only the folks who have completely submerged themselves in the band's warped aestheitc will probably think so. Drum hsn't kicked the bucket yet, cymbals thrashing to the last. Angus Andrew's constant chanting style stays intact as well. Rocking out on guitar seems to suit him better than he remembered. "Why does this feel so appealing? I am overwhelmed..." he states, kick pedal bomb clusters exploding around him. Tough to get into the head of an twelve foot tall Ocker wildman, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the validation one gets from completely chucking one beloved style (with a short shelf life), developing a new sound in the face of harsh criticism, having your original evolution impulse completely critically validated by a further refined follow up album, and then totally ditching that to just come back and write a ripping punk song or two.
Seems pretty appealing to the layman observer...
Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity:Bashing a cold beer against your head repeatedly, figuring that either loose beer or lost blood will cool you down eventually.
On No Age's upcoming singles compilation, Weirdo Rippers they use an odd structural technique. Songs as short as 3 minutes are given extended preambles, behaving as if they had all the time in the world, before snapping to and attacking their unwasted minute with a manic furor. For 1:40 of this three and a half minute smolder, we get nothing but barely melodic fuzz. Then, when drums finally saunter in, they kill some more time, thirty seconds or so, before the vocal line enters. Though these words are slightly inaudible, they echo the very familiar (for 90's indie fans) nasal melody from Built to Spill's "Twin Falls." As sand slips further down the hips of the hour glass, the Los Angelinos suddenly wake up, and for the last thirty seconds hit like a freaked out mid 80's Lee Renaldo song.
You'd think a long wait for such little beef would be off putting, but you'd be wrong. Again.
Appropriate Corresponding Summer Activity: Coming to after a fainting spell, peering out through bleary eyes, beads of sweat pooling. Stomach tumbling, but ears sharp, ever sharp...
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 04:30 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 25, 2007
Feist - Live @ Boulder Theatre, Boulder, CO - 6.22.07
Along with Emily Haines (Metric) Leslie Feist is probably best known for sharing female vocal duties with Canadian collective Broken Social Scene. She goes simply as Feist when on her own and on her own is where you will find Feist at the moment. Unlike the lyrical themes of Feist's songs - never settled, thus never having time to love - the troubadour lifestyle she is known for has gained her a rapt following. Holding fort atop one of 2007's most critically praised albums, The Reminder has captured the imagination of many with an irresistible combination of sparse indie-pop framed by her raspy and seductive vocals. Words like adorable, pretty, clever, intelligent, sweet and endearing form just part of the wonky dissections of praise heaved onto Feist. If you think this build up is a cunning set up before I introduce the dreaded 'o' word (hint:rhymes with "rover ate it") then friends, I'm afraid to say it is not. Chalk up the Merry Swankster as another convert adding to the growing write ups focused on Feist's magical ability to do no wrong and just about everything right.
Friday night Feist headlined a sold out Boulder theater packed with an adoring crowd. Grizzly Bear were scheduled to open but had to cancel at the last minute after suffering from vehicular dysfunction after the previous show in Minneapolis. Because of an early tip to M.S. HQ regarding this unlucky situation we were able to substitute a tasty dinner of tapas and cocktails in place of the warm up act. Of course this also meant I have nothing to report on the provisional act doing the filling in at the Boulder theater. Word on the street was that Feist's band performed a set. No idea, but I can recommend several excellent small plate selections, hot and cold, from a restaurant that will remain nameless until that Merry Swankster branded food blog ever takes off. Still though, it came as unfortunate news to the Merry Swankster crew. That being said, and with no disrespect towards Grizzly Bear, by the end of the night we were so enamored by Feist's incredible show that our denial of a Grizzly fix was but an afterthought. Sorry fellas! Trust that we yelled loudly for you on that voicemail (more on this later).
Listening to The Reminder on record and one cannot be faulted for thinking a live Feist show might fall flat. Potential is always there for washy mixes hiding the nuances of her fluttery voice or loud crowds spoiling the optimal listening environment. On a less critical note there is also the expectation that you'll experience, for lack of a better term, a boring show. Such are the reasons live shows are the wondrous events they are. Perceived misconceptions shattered in the pure escapade of the artist to listener experience. The pace of songs and showmanship by Feist and her band struck all criterion points like a mystic dart repeatedly nailing bulls-eyes all night long. During a particularly beautiful sans-band solo performance, Feist was onstage all by her lonesome sounding like she channeled the living ghosts of Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - I think it was on the "The Park." Exuding a unique hushed atmospheric feel on these quieter tunes that at first appear meager until riches of heartbreaking feeling and stunning tone get discovered.
[Continued with pictures, MP3, and video after the jump]
Crowd pleasing lines like "I want to win the war" on "I Feel it All" provided the big cheers. Forget the fact that the song is completely non-political -- rather a stand against losing control of the strings that keep her heart together -- the fact emphasis was added on that specific line at all gives credence to theories of her purposefully injecting poignancy as it relate to other events in the world. Or maybe those words were just enunciated better than the others. Either way she clearly had fun with it while the party atmosphere in Boulder was heating up.
There was more evidence of the fun, party side of Feist. None more obvious then when she invited a young woman from the crowd to sing along on a song. Looking like a Joss Stone look-alike from my angle, the girl danced onstage alongside Feist and instantly neutralized the expected disaster of this surprise karaoke invite with every note she effortlessly sang along too. Embarrassment for her never materialized as everyone in the Boulder Theater, including Feist and band, was taken aback by the rich voice of this unknown talent plucked from the crowd. Later we learned her name was Jessica as Feist thanked her by requesting suitors from the crowd. Jessica wherever you are - great job. Let us know if a love connection was made. No doubt an unforgettable moment for Jessica and an incredibly warm one for the rest of us witnessing a little piece of live magic.
[Jessica & Feist]
Ending the set with the addictive first single from The Reminder, "1234" segued to a raucous chorus of cheers from the frenzied crowd. Positively peaking in passion for their hero they stomped the foundations of the theater, or at least it felt as such, until the spirited request for an encore was honored. Back onstage Feist reprised the disappointment of Grizzly Bear's absence by calling Ed Droste's cell phone. While leaving a message noting what how much Colorado missed them she ended with "see you in Seattle" as the escalating crowd noise completely took over. See vid:
Feist calls Grizzly Bear's Ed Droste
Not limited by mobile gadgets as props, the night continued with tap-dancing accompaniment for The Reminder stand out: "Sea Lion Woman." The tribal rhythm punctuated by hand claps and spiced vocals was just terrific. Touches of guitar shredding by Feist for good measure and finished off with soul sister accents. "See that woman" indeed.
Feist - "Sea Lion Woman"
Remaining Tour Dates
06-25 Portland, OR - The Crystal Ballroom*
06-26 San Francisco, CA - The Fillmore*
06-27 San Francisco, CA - The Fillmore*
06-29 Los Angeles, CA - The Wiltern*
07-17 Portsmouth, England - Wedgewood Rooms
07-19 Manchester, England - Academy 3
07-22 Birmingham, England - Glee Club
07-24 London, England - Scala
07-28 Mt. Fuji, Japan - Fuji Rock Festival
*w/Grizzly Bear
Posted by Merry Swankster at 10:12 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
June 24, 2007
Video: T. Rex - "20th Century Boy"
T. Rex - "20th Century Boy"
Numerology inspired homage to big haired Marc Bolan.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:38 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 23, 2007
with your opinion which is of [much] consequence
In a photo-like finish, Paranoid Android is your next tournament champion (defeating Idioteque 66-64). The readers and interlopers of MerrySwankster.com have decreed: it is the best song in Radiohead's catalogue, as determined by a 65-team bracket.
Paranoid Android
OK Computer
1
We have some ideas for our next tournament, but, I must ask, "Do you?" In the comments, please.
Posted by Keith O'Brien at 11:01 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 22, 2007
Trouble...
Seriously, this news bit reeks of trouble. Start laying the groundwork for your alibis right now everyone. Tonight at the much loved Lotus Lounge, our very own lovably obsessive D. Klein (or DJ in Decline to be theatrical) will once again be spinning vintage vinyl. Also, there will be naked women.
Should I have lead with that?
Dave will start playing obscurities starting around 10, and maintain until very late. The burlesque is unveiled at 11 (and fellas, if you're trying to make the hard sell to a significant other, go with the term "burlesque" instead of "nudie dancing"). Lotus is, as always, located on the lower east side of Manhattan at the corners of Clinton and Stanton. And you thought your high quality obscure music and scantily clad women fetishes would never be fully integrated. We just call that a Friday night around here, friends.
Some tracks to make you, and maybe just maybe a delightful young performer, shimmy indecently:
Goldfrapp - "Ooh La La" (Phones Re-edit)
the Bostweeds - "Faster, Pussycat Kill! Kill!"
the Cramps - "Human Fly"
T. Rex - "Dandy in the Underworld"
P.S. I can hardly believe this, but apparently the first man or woman with enough self confidence to walk up to the bar and say, with a straight face, "the Swankster sent me," will receive a free Mojito for their trouble.
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 02:15 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
A Fifth
Well all, we're one fifth of the way through Numerology. It would almost be sad if there weren't like 80 digits left to go. If you've joined us at some point since the feature's inception, here's your chance to catch up (besides, you know, clicking through to the archives). Here, as determined by David Klein's irrefutable scientific process, are the end all be all numero-musical selections for each and every digit 1 through 20.
Those of you who just jumped on to raid our mp3 cupboard, take note and read up. Click on the numeral itself for the specific written deliberations, and on the song title to listen to the winners.
There will be a test.
01: Sparks - "the No. 1 Song in Heaven"
02:the Fall - "Two Librans"
03:Wire - "Three Girl Rhumba"
04:Public Image Limited - "Radio 4"
05:Iggy Pop - "5'1'' "
06:Liz Phair - "6'1" "
07:Echo & the Bunnymen - "Seven Seas"
08:the Beatles - "Eight Days a Week"
09:the Temptations - "Cloud Nine"
10:Led Zeppelin - "Ten Years Gone"
11:Blondie - "11:59"
12:the Strokes - "12:51"
13:Pixies - "No. 13 Baby"
14:the Television Personalities - "14th Floor"
15:Wire - "the 15th"
16:KISS - "Christine Sixteen"
17:Stevie Nicks - "Edge of Seventeen"
18:Alice Cooper - "I'm Eighteen"
19:the Rolling Stones - "19th Nervous Breakdown"
20:T - Rex - "20th Century Boy"
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 11:36 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Radiohead song tournament final
You stuck around this long, so why not chose the winner? Anything else would be un-American.
Voting ends 5pm Friday.
Paranoid Android
OK Computer
1
Approbations:
NME - Greatest Tracks from 1996-2006
#3
Rolling Stone list of "500 Greatest Songs of All Time"
#256
Q Magazine greatest songs of all-time (Aug, 2006)
10
VS
Idioteque
Kid A
2
Posted by Keith O'Brien at 08:14 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 21, 2007
Numerology: 20 Questions
by David Klein
When Neil Young declared, “You can’t be 20/on Sugar Mountain” he seemed to mean that 20 is something to leave behind. And in the context of this list, I’d have to agree with him. On its own, the number 20 feels incomplete. Think about that horrible song, “In the Year 2525.” It could have been titled 2929, or 2424, but even Zager & freakin’ Evans realized that an extra beat was required to make 20 work in a song. As we sashay through this Land of Twenty together, you’ll see that the best songs in the region feature tri-syllabic forms of the numerals in their titles. Honest, you will.
Let’s dispense with the also-rans: Placebo’s “Twenty Years” could inspire suicidal thoughts in a misguided teenager or anyone with an active aversion to Brian Molko’s nasal delivery. Crosby Stills & Nash’s “4 & 20” is about suicidal thoughts, and it is a spare masterpiece, sung and played entirely by Stephen Stills. I remember hearing the song as a child when a particularly cerebral babysitter with the memorable moniker of Andy Pfeffer played it for my siblings and me. Andy insisted that we quiet down before he played it, because, he explained, it’s the kind of song you need to be quiet for. And it is, but since the song’s title refers to the singer’s age, 24, it really can’t be the 20 song, now can it? Additionally, I’m trying to avoid suicide songs on this list, (which doesn’t bode well for Joy Division’s “24 Hours.”) For obscurity’s sake, let’s mention the New York outfit The Van Pelt’s “Turning Twenty into Two.” There, now that felt good.
So where does that leave us?
Eddie Cochran’s “Twenty Flight Rock” is a brisk, rhythmic treat. Cochran, who died at the impossibly young age of 21, was best known for “Summertime Blues.” Although his songs have been covered by the Who, the Stones, and even the Sex Pistols, Cochran is generally seen as having less depth, originality, irony and grace than the greats of his era. It’s true—he wasn’t the artist that Buddy Holly was, or the singer Elvis was, or the musical innovator that Chuck Berry was, but he was an excellent guitar player, having begun his career as a session player, and the man could sure as hell sing. His performance of “Twenty Flight Rock” in the Jayne Mansfield vehicle The Girl Can’t Help It (1956) launched him to his brief fame. In fact, a pre-Quarrymen Paul McCartney played “Twenty Flight Rock” for his future songwriting partner to impress him, which makes sense because the song requires a performer to be fleet of both tongue and fingers.
Had Eddie Cochran even made it to 27, the proper age to die a young rock star, there’s no telling what kind of songs he would have written. I have to disagree with harsh rock critic Dave Marsh’s assessment that “Eddie Cochran undoubtedly stands as the most overrated fifties rocker, benefiting enormously from that the fact that he looked the part more perfectly than anybody but Elvis, and from the circumstances of his death, which occurred not just in a traffic accident, but in a car crash while riding with Gene Vincent. In England, where Elvis himself never toured. Had he lived, it’s hard to believe that Cochran would be regarded as one of the handful of rockabilly greats.”
To which I say: A guy with genuine musical talent who, yeah, looks the part, and who goes out and makes it as a session guitarist (like Jimmy Page) before going off and doing his own thing, and who gives the world two classic singles in “Summertime Blues” and “C’Mon Everybody” by the ripe age of 21, deserves a far less damning appraisal than Marsh’s. Like Holly and Valens, Cochran was a real teenager, writing music for teenagers, about being a teenager. In the musical void that was the pre-Beatles ‘60s, the music industry was quick to invent its own stars and supply these “idols” with squeaky-clean material that wouldn’t offend anybody. But for a couple of years toward the end of the ‘50s, before Elvis joined the Army, before Chuck Berry was jailed for violating the Mann Act, before Little Richard found God and Jerry Lee Lewis disgraced himself, these people were creating the basic template for rock & roll, and Eddie Cochran made real contributions to that template, in addition to earning his place in the mythology of rock & roll through his tragic death.
On the numerical tip, working against 20FR is the fact that Eddie only says the number once, but in its defense, the song is otherwise chockfull of digits: “Well she lives on the 20th floor uptown/the elevator’s broken down/so I walk 1, 2 flight, 3 flight, 4/5, 6, 7 flight/8 flight more/up on the 12th I’m startin’ to drag/15th floor I’m a ready to sag/Get to the top/I’m too tired to rock.”
It’s worth noting that Television Personalities, this list’s 14-slot winners, reprised 20FR’s general lyrical sentiment about 20 years later. In the rudimentarily sublime “14th Floor,” a weary British youth laments his crappy job and the fact that he has to climb 14 floors just to get home. In contrast, Eddie Cochran’s prototypical broken elevator song is more a teenager’s exaggerated complaint than a cry of frustration and defeat. In Eddie’s version, although he has six more flights to climb, there’s always the possibility that, once he catches his breath, some rocking just might get done. Whereas in the TVP song, there is no silver lining; he’ll just have to do the same depressing thing tomorrow. Taken together, this pair of songs can be seen as an object lesson in how the bright-eyed optimism of the ‘50s gave way to ‘80s cynicism and ennui.
Eddie Cohran - "Twenty Flight Rock"
Random fact about Eddie Cochran: Shortly after his death in 1960, Eddie Cochran was lauded in a slightly creepy tribute song—“Just Like Eddie” by Heinz, produced by the eventually murderous producer Joe Meek—just as he himself had done for Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper three years earlier, with the definitely creepy “Three Stars.” Speaking of things macabre, the last line of “Twenty Flight Rock” is pretty creepy in light of Eddie’s violent demise: “They’ll find my corpse draped over a rail.”
A few years back the overlords of the rock press declared that “louche” was a pretty cool word, one that worked especially well in articles about Jarvis Cocker, Bryan Ferry, and Jim Morrison. So please bear with me when I describe “Twentieth Century Fox” as another of Jim’s louche love songs. I don’t think it’s blasphemy to say that the Doors’ ultimate psychedelic love song was “Light My Fire” and that later songs written about women never reached that same level of audaciousness. “Touch Me,” with its bombastic Vegas horns, has never done it for me, and “Twentieth Century Fox” strikes me as a clever enough pun but not exactly a genius turn of phrase. I’m not knocking it; there’s much to admire about the song. From that slow, hip-grinding blues lick and those Manzarek keys that signal you’re in Doorsland, it sports a powerful chorus, a fine set of handclaps, and at 2:30 it’s a model of concision for a band whose songs grew longer in tandem with its lead singer’s beard. I’ve always wondered though, why the “fashionably lean, fashionably late” fox in question, who has the world “locked up inside a plastic box,” will “never break a date.” Most foxes I’ve known have had a marked propensity for doing just that. But then again, I am a far cry from the Lizard King.
Marc Bolan is a much closer cry to the Lizard King. Look what they have in common: rock stardom, androgynous good looks, early deaths, and “20” songs. They’re practically the same person. In a head-to-head contest, T. Rex’s 20th Century Boy” easily takes “20th Century Fox,” and I’m going to say that it wins out over Eddie Cochran, by a nose, because this exuberant come-on has to rank among Mr. Bolan & Company’s finest moments. I’ve never seen a T. Rex best-of (and they are legion) that didn’t have it. It even inspired a crunchy 7-inch tribute by Edinburgh punkers the Thermometers (anyone? anyone?) on Fokker Records (hello?) called "20th Century Girl." It has handclaps too. In fact 20CB has just about everything a killer single is supposed to have. With a simple yet catchy melody given lush vocal treatment, the song is built around a pile-driving riff that would sound right in any era. It’s easy to imagine this kind of ballsy riff in the Nevermind era, on an industrial record or on something released last month. Here it is, in its once and future glory.
Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. He'll probably coast on teen angst for awhile, but there are rough times ahead.
Previously: No. 1, 2-4, 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18, 19
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 08:25 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
June 20, 2007
Retrohump Day: Fire Engines
Since last week's Orange Juice clip was so lovely, I decided to stay in kilt-ville. Another member of the thriving early eighties scene that spawned the Juice, Josef K and too many others to count, were the wild Fire Engines. Though the band put out a frustrating live tracks and rarities disc called Codex Teenage Premonition not too long ago, there hasn't been a complete document of their studio output since 1992's Fond compilation went out of print. Those of us still waiting for the proper re-issue of their 1981 debut, Lubricate Your Living Room (Background Music for Action People!), are not advised to hold our breaths.
The You Tube selections for such an obscure group are about as spotty as one might expect, but there are gold flecks among the pebbles. Also, myriad videos of fire trucks racing down the street. We'll leave you to find the best of those...
Fire Engines - "Candyskin"
(fan made video)
Fire Engines were more volatile than their slightly more famous countrymen. While there were danceable beats grounding most songs, the skronking No Wave guitars place them closer to James Chance and the Contortions (James White and the Blacks if you're nasty). "Candyskin" is the exception. With up front vocals, a great guitar hook and giddy bursts of "la la la," it's the one certified pop arrow in the band's quiver.
Sadly, there's no genuine live footage of the song from its original era. The best we can muster is this clever fan-vid, by someone called suburbanbatherson who seems to do this sort of thing all the time. The clip consists of chopped and screwed old footage from what looks like either a particularly zany British soap from the seventies or a horror film from Hammer Studios. There's been a murder at the blind school! Or something. The melodramatic gnashed teeth and wooden postures are manipulated via non intrusive pauses and rewinds until our players are almost cutting a rug. A rug of pain! The tone is perfect, and the shoddy techniques and technologies that would have been available at this very early date in music video almost certainly would not have done better.
Here's the mp3...
...but actually this version from a 1981 edition of the John Peel show, which has a cleaner sound and loses the soggy string section, is the better recording. One of my all time playlist staples, by the way.
Fire Engines - "Candyskin" (John Peel session, 1981)
Fire Engines - "Get Up and Use Me"
See what I mean about crummy old no budget videos? This official clip has choppy repetitions like the fan entry, and if you squint just right you can make the band out, but I don't think anyone could really call this the more entertaining or inspired vid. Not a bad song though, sitting squarely in the James Chance zone.
Fire Engines - "Get Up and Use Me"
Fire Engines - "Big Gold Dream"
(BBC2 1982)
You see more of the band in this dodgy 1982 BBC clip. Perhaps more than you want. The band decided to make one of their catchiest numbers more abrasive through sheer barechested-ness (and the black pants with white socks aren't helping). There are times when you're not sure if the video cassette transfer is warped, or if it's a cumulative snowblindness effect of studio lights bouncing off pale Scottish flesh. The boys look so gawky, that you have to wonder what's going on with the torso of their one shirted member? Why would he alone refuse? Irregular chest hair pattern? Stamos-esque freak belly button? Perhaps his pitch to keep his blouse on was that a full shirtless assault would make the shoulder pad brigade they brought in to sing back up a wee bit uncomfortable.
For the record I'm glad the ladies have tops as well. Towering hairspray levels negate eroticism, as any teen boy stumbling across an 80's copy of Playboy well knows.
Fire Engines - "Big Gold Dream"
Fire Engines - "Hungry Beat"
(Edinburgh, Scotland 2006)
A much cooler performance comes from last year, after the band was unearthed by their acolytes Franz Ferdinand. Not much more relaxed but surely more comfortable in their thankfully not displayed skin, the old gents rip through a version of oldie "Hungry Beat." With singer Davey Henderson's nasal voice given some gravity by age, the band sound akin to Tom Verlaine writing a disco song. Which is to say, awesome. If such a thing had existed in the actual Television oeuvre, you have to think that Alex Kapranos' public Marquee Moon bitching would never have come to pass.
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 03:00 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 19, 2007
So this is awesome - Arcade Fire & LCD Soundsystem playing Red Rocks
So, this is happening:
Arcade Fire & LCD Soundsystem - Red Rocks Amphitheatre - 9.17.07
This is two days after Monolith by the way...which is also pretty awesome. Hooray for late summer redemption of an otherwise lackluster summer schedule (Daft Punk & Beastie Boys excluded)!
Posted by Merry Swankster at 05:43 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
New (old) Yeah Yeah Yeahs songs totally prove my point
Several months back, I questioned whether or not it was poor tracklisting that made Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Show Your Bones seem like a bit of a letdown for longtime fans. The object of my focus at that point was the track "Sealings," which later popped up on the soundtrack for the not-as-bad-as -advertised-but-almost Spiderman 3. But there was so much material from that time, widely known and bootlegged, that would have given SYB a needed kick in its sleepy pants.
In July, wrapped up in a neat little bow, will see the release of the Isis EP and most of these misplaced songs. Guess what? Almost all sound simultaneously rawer, subtler, and better assembled than the majority of their album bound successors. Why would a band revisit 2003-2004 material now, long after the decisions have been made and the style boat has mainly sailed? Second thoughts? Regret? Lack of progress moving forward with a new sound? Tough to say. It is safe to speculate that somebody realized that shelving kernals of the band's best material was a questionable decision. Thank you, I give mysef full credit as well.
You can decide for yourself by downloading "Down Boy" and "Kiss Kiss" at Candy Beans.
Also, some prime footage of the stuff before "the band" (cough, Karen O, cough) apparently got sick of it...
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - "Down Boy"
(Hoboken, NJ. August 2003)
I reviewed another faux-newbie, "10 x 10," on Prefix yesterday morning, and it's perhaps the best of the bunch. Certainly would have been worth a footnote in the 10 edition of Numerology had it been uncaged in a timely manner. Which is perhaps the delayed release's cruelest repercussion of all.
Oh, by the way, I've been posting daily track reviews on the 'fix every morning for the past few weeks. Reviews, on a new Liars track and one of the leaked Animal Collective for example. Possibly I should have mentioned this weeks ago...
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 03:50 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 18, 2007
the joy of repetition really is in you
[Photo cred]
Hot Chip are five nerdy dudes lined up behind an arsenal of keyboards. In spite of the non-traditional set up they somehow pull off an entertaining show. Last night they played Denver's Gothic theater and this song brought the house down. Feel the heat!
Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:19 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Something Else to Mull Over...
I'm heavy on the announcements lately, though this one is a complete tease...
After the Jump Music Festival
august twenty-fifth, two thousand and seven
line-up to be announced shortlyCurated by the People Behind:
themusicslut . batteringroom . disconap . earfarm . ryspace . irockiroll . musicsnobbery . merryswankster . softcommunication . theunderratedblog . sitdownstandup . watercoolergossip . bumpershine . themodernage . productshopnyc . yetidontdance . slapyouinpublic . subinev . punkphoto . poptartssucktoasted . stereoactivenyc . fingeronthepulse
for more information, please email:
booking: booking@afterthejumpfest.com
charity: charity@afterthejumpfest.com
sponsors: sponsors@afterthejumpfest.com
publicity: publicity@afterthejumpfest.com
Much more on this later, from every corner of the internet...
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:45 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 17, 2007
Video: Brakesbrakesbrakes - "Porcupine or Pineapple"
This was buried, so it bears repeating.
Brakesbrakesbrakes - "Pineapple or Porcupine"
Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:38 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 16, 2007
(Not at all) New Videos
I felt like posting these, what are you gonna do about it? Huh?
That's what I thought...
Portishead - "Sour Times"
Animal Collective - "Winter's Love"
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 01:57 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 15, 2007
From the taking things completely out of context files: Pitchfork prefers Britney to the Strokes
"As a member of the press, I know we all need stuff to latch on to," Pitchfork's [senior news editor] Amy Phillips said. "But honestly, I'd much rather listen to most Britney Spears songs than most Strokes songs." (Denver Post)
End quote.
Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:32 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Brakesbrakesbrakes - Live @ Hi-Dive, Denver, CO - 6.7.07
Brakesbrakesbrakes are a band from England - a far and distant land where people drive on the other side of the road, say obscenities like “cunt” without sounding as bad as Americans, and where the band's name is 66.6% shorter in length. Turns out another band calls itself the Brakes in the US so Brakes became Brakesbrakesbrakes when they crossed the pond. Not an unprecedented occurrence as previous groups like Charlatans UK, et al, can attest. America’s colonial history with Britain is too littered with such examples. Countless towns, cities and even states are named in a similarly boring manner. All one has to do is look at a map of the eastern seaboard. New England and New York are just a few examples. Anyway, truncated and clean is how the Merry Swankster likes things, so I will refer to the band as they’re known at home for the purpose of this dispatch.
Last week saw the Brakes trudge through a late spring snowstorm in the high country of Colorado before safely arriving into Denver. I'm still a fairly recent Denver transplant so I tend to forget how the unpredictable temperament of Mother Nature armed with mountain conditions effects incoming travelers from the west. Though Denver's elevation may be a mile high, the perception of it being in the mountains is incorrect. The city marks the beginning of the plains - when traveling eastbound, end of the plains when heading west – with the majestic Rocky Mountain Front Range dominating western vistas and dictating Denver’s meteorological status. Sometimes changing by the hour. The popular saying ‘round these parts, “if you don’t like the weather, wait 30 minutes.” The diametric opposite of this profile would be Los Angeles, with no weather or seasons known by her well tanned residents (fires, earthquakes and landslides notwithstanding). Together, the two contrasting cities create a sort of universal macro balance, leveling things out in the grand scheme of things.
Despite fourteener sized obstacles, the Brakes endured the conditions to present fans a fantastic evening of their signature punk via-the-pub rock music at S. Broadway's Hi-Dive. While in the mercy of wild weather that produces snowfall in June, lead Brake Eamon Hamilton told a tale of looking forward to a meeting with this Dave character while driving through the mountains. Upon arriving and learning there was no Dave he was disappointed (a typo on the tour itinerary referred to the June 6 gig at a nonexistent “Hi-Dave”), an anecdote he would refer back to throughout the evening. Most memorably when he stood stoically at the edge of the low stage and momentarily stared blankly towards the corner of the room waving his right hand, looking like a cult leader on a Kool-Aid rush. With a hint of madness in his glazed over eyes he greeted his imaginary friend, “Hi Dave.”
[Continued Here with pictures, MP3, and more]
The Brakes set consisted of furiously played songs with bursting energy and flair for the (lyrically) absurd. Many were left with an off putting feeling by the abruptness of song endings. You had to be careful with the timing of neighborly conversations due to the hard stops of the Brakes (no pun intended). Lest you get caught yelling above the previously loud music during an unexpected volume cut while discussing that stubborn rash to a friend. Flushed with embarrassment and now painfully aware that everyone in the bar knows about your ordeal. Whoops!
Highlights included a short number about war fatigue expressed through mischievous questioning in the Dadaist titled “Pineapple and Porcupine.” Drawing inspiration from an overflowing vat of anger the song hides behind prickly non sequiturs of spiny rodents and delicious fruit. Spiky yes, and pointedly simple – “Who won the war/was it worth fighting for…OUCH!” Indeed.
I imagined the political message of this song marinating in a brine of obviousness and absurdity, designed for baiting smug dismissal from someone with opposing views. Someone incensed and likely offended by the notion of such silliness impeding on a very serious topic. "Shut up and sing," they might say. Ignoring this impossible task it is safe to assume such a person is immune to comic relief. Someone who later, during a regrettable lapse of restraint, might drop down from their high road to unreservedly engage debate. Spiky...spiky.
In case our extraordinarily good looking readers think the Brakes are all face value low-brow and analytical high-brow I should tell you about the “Cheney” song, a 7-second micro burst of righteousness concluding with the entirely unoriginal statement about America's #2 that wins in both brevity and wickedness. Full lyrics: “CHENEY CHENEY CHENEY – Stop being such a dick!” Served the purpose of one of those “he’s saying what we’re all thinking moment,” the perfect blend of hilarious and shocking that I love.
[Setlist scan]
-- -- --
Brakesbrakesbrakes – “Hold Me in the River”
The Brakes are frequently compared to the Pixies. Although not the first band that comes to my mind I do get how someone can make the comparison. Both bands create music using clean and adventurous sounds from guitars while marrying arrangements to a fairly straightforward rock structure. “Hold Me in the River is a great example of this.
Brakesbrakesbrakes – “Spring Chicken” (Youtube)
If someone crossed Nirvana’s “Aneurysm” with the best day Alec Ounsworth’s vocals ever had you get this playful song.
Going the Eddie Argos route into the crowd.
-- -- --
Brakesbrakesbrakes - "Pineapple or Porcupine"
Brakesbrakesbrakes in NYC this weekend
06-15 Hoboken, NJ - Maxwell's*
06-16 New York, NY - Mercury Lounge*
06-17 New York, NY - Mercury Lounge*
*w/ Pela and Electric Soft Parade
//Brakesbrakesbrakes - site
//Brakesbrakesbrakes - Myspace
//Brakesbrakesbrakes - The Beatific Visions - buy
Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:53 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 14, 2007
Numerology: 19, it's only 19 for God's Sake
by David Klein
Let’s get this clear: songs named after years (e.g., “1999,” “Paris 1919”) do not qualify as candidates for the “19” trophy. If I’m mad enough to keep pursuing this exercise in musical OCD onward for the remainder of my human existence, then I assure you that His Royal Purple Badness will have sole possession of the vaunted “1,999” spot, and that John Cale will perch regally atop “1,919,” perhaps wearing a jester’s hat. But I’m trying to impose a bit of order here, and I feel it’s imperative to strictly interpret the meaning of a number unless circumstances force me to do otherwise. Since I have unearthed a small basket of “19” songs, I feel no need to open up the floodgates for the likes of Messrs Cale and Rogers Nelson, not to mention Iggy (“1970”), Smashing Pumpkins (“1979”), Robyn Hitchcock (“1974”), Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons (“December 1963 (Oh, What a Night”) and many, many more. Where would it end?
The Rolling Stones’ “19th Nervous Breakdown” is the obvious frontrunner here: classic song, classic band, classic period of the Stones’ career. But let’s consider the field. Steely Dan’s “Hey Nineteen” is also a classic. Certainly one of the smoothest and slyest songs in the Dan’s oeuvre, this is the tale of an aging Lothario who laments that the teenage girl he’s trying to woo doesn’t even know who Aretha Franklin is. Resolution comes in the form of the old reliable—marijuana and tequila—but it’s the song’s leisurely, slinky groove that really intoxicates. In 1976, a mega-selling band like Steely Dan could get away with a hit song extolling the virtues of Cuervo Gold and “fine Colombian.’ It would take almost 10 years before Tipper Gore and her cronies started putting warning labels on records. And you have to admire Fagen and Becker’s prescient use of product placement—a full decade before Sigue Sigue Sputnik sold advertising space between songs on Flaunt It.. I’m sure the Cuervo people would have licensed the song had it not been for the reefer reference.
The Eagles of Death Metal’s “I Got a Feeling (Just Nineteen)” is a pumped-up, pre-coital victory dance built around a couple of sludgy chords, Jesse “The Devil” Hughes’s campy falsetto vocals, and the band’s signature “stripper drum beats.” While this competitive field forces me to award it best original screenplay and not best picture, special kudos goes to EODM for one of the best numerically titled rockers of recent years. Additionally, just to be exhaustive, the numerically monikered Old ‘97s of Dallas share something in common with Warped Tour veterans Buck-O-Nine, Thin Lizzy vocalist Phil Lynott, and lo-fi kingpin Smog: namely, songs called “Nineteen.” How about that?
Meanwhile, in the bizarro universe, Paul Hardcastle’s “19” grabbed the top spot, despite having one of the most unlikely opening lines of any major musical hit: “In 1965, Vietnam seemed like just another foreign war, but it wasn’t.” Not quite “Well, since my baby left me/I found a new place to dwell,” now, is it? Nevertheless, bizarro music columnist D Kleinfelder argued that the sample-happy “19,” based on words from a TV documentary about war veterans, incorporated an audacious use of then-novel sampling technology, constituted a serious attempt—and a danceable one, no less—to raise consciousness about post-traumatic stress disorder, and hewed closer to numerical definitiveness than the Stones song, with its “19th.” Kleinfelder also stated that “19” sounded better coming out of Bryan Adams’ “18 ‘Til I Die” than the Stones, as well as better leading in to Lee Ann Womack’s “Twenty Years and Two Husbands Ago.”
As you can plainly see, Mick & Keith and the boys have to win this one. During a brief but fertile few years in the mid-‘60s, Stones songs were imbued with an unmistakable Englishness. This record comes from that brief but bracing era. By the end of the decade, the distinctly English locale of Out of Our Heads (‘65) through Flowers (’67) had been replaced by the “ballrooms and smelly bordellos/and dressing rooms filled with parasites” of Exile on Main Street (1970). But for a few years it was all Lady Jane and St. John’s Wood, windscreens and Union Jacks. Not that the music was genteel or anything; the narrative viewpoint was occasionally tender, but more often downright nasty.
the Rolling Stones - "19th Nervous Breakdown"
The venomous “19th Nervous Breakdown” is as mean-hearted as any of the best misogynistic Stones songs. It was apparently inspired by the same woman (Chrissie Shrimpton, the sister of the model Jean) who inspired musical hate notes like “Stupid Girl” and “Under My Thumb.” Mick eviscerates her on all fronts, from her childhood to her current status in London society. It’s a harsh takedown of a woman who could only be English, by a man who could only be English.
And what a slice of sheer perfection it is, from that very first alchemical explosion at the beginning, when one guitar line slices in for two bars before being joined by a second phrase (which I imagine would have made a great riff for the doorbell at Keith Richards’ castle), to create an intricately knotted loop of sound. Bass and drums kick in, and the song hurtles forward. Aided and abetted by Charlie Watts’ jittery cymbals, that jarring corkscrew lick right before “Here it comes,” the marvelous middle eight (“Oh, who’s to blame/That girl’s just insane…”) and Bill Wyman’s dive-bombing bass runs in the fadeout, it’s safe to say that character assassination has rarely sounded this good.
Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. He'll probably coast on teen angst for awhile, but there are rough times ahead.
Previously: No. 1, 2-4, 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 07:30 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
June 13, 2007
Retrohump Day: Dada with Juice
Scots indie pop pioneers Orange Juice have been covered twice by this column already. If this footage wasn't of one of their best songs, or if it didn't have such a head scratching backstory, or if it weren't so dang goofy, I might have been content to leave well enough alone. But here we are...
Orange Juice - "Simply Thrilled Honey"
(Dada With Juice, UK Channel 5, 1985)
This clip is taken from a 1985 Channel 5 special (from their Mirror Image concert series) and subsequent Polydor video release, called Dada With Juice. Though the title suggests madcap weirdness, it was actually a pretty straightforward concert film of the band's performing at the famous Hammersmith Palais. Occasionally, as with "Simply Thrilled Honey," an amateurish music video would accompany live footage. While seeing Edwyn Collins done up in Laverne and Shirley garb is slightly jarring and it does seem odd that food packaging employees would be so chipper, the idea to set an Orange Juice song in an orange juice factory is hardly the work of a master surrealist.
What's weirdest about this thing is that it exists at all. By 1985, Orange Juice was considered a complete failure in the eyes of Polydor. Their sublime 1982 album, You Can't Hide Your Love Forever, failed to make a dent in the charts. Its funkified successor, Rip it Up, despite its top ten Motown homage "I Can't Help Myself," wasn't much more successful. 1984's the Orange Juice , was a complete failure commercially and artistically. So much so that the label would eventually drop the band and retain the services of only their drummer, Zeke Manyika (which is never a good idea, see: Phil Collins). So why put out a costly video production for a band who they couldn't stand and didn't want? That mystery is our gain. The band wasn't quite as sharp in these late days, but this gem of a song is hard to mangle.
Of course, the soft disco Dada version can't match the windswept romance of this recording, one of the legendary Postcard label's very best...
Orange Juice - "Simply Thrilled Honey"
Posted by Jeff Klingman at 04:40 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
blink...blink...ON!
You know the sense of nervous dread you've been carrying around? The feeling that even though there hasn't been a Neon Lights Presents... show on US soil in the past four months, that you'll never be truly safe from unexpected attacks of awesome? Well, your most paranoid fantasies have been confirmed.
D and I have been nefariously plotting away indeed, and the time to unleash our evil schemes is at hand...
![neonlightsV2_sized[1].jpg](http://www.merryswankster.com/images/neonlightsV2_sized%5B1%5D.jpg)
On Friday, July 6th, Neon Lights will make its Brooklyn debut, bringing a stellar line-up to the stage of Park Slope's Union Hall. Here is said line-up:
De Novo Dahl 11 PM
Mancino 10 PM
Thrushes 9 PM
El Jezel 8 PM
OK, so that's swell, right? You're gonna head on down for a some great bands, cheap drinks, and the bloodsport that is an ongoing DJ battle between Matt Earfarm and Danny, guitarist for the Big Sleep. Then you'll strut back home, catch your breath and wait for us to emerge again...
Like we will on Saturday, July 7th, perhaps?
Oh, snap!
They gve us an inch, and we took the whole weekend. Saturday's bill:
Ola Podrida 11 PM
Via Audio 10 PM
Tacks, the Boy Disaster 9 PM
Botany Bay 8 PM
Providing vinyl wallpaper for this vaguely Austin themed evening will be our favorite Texas ex-pats, Cindy Hotpoint and Pinkie von Bloom of the Rich Girls are Weeping.
Now how much would you pay?
Well, you're gonna pay 10 bucks a pop, so that answers that. Because we