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August 03, 2007

Numerology: Late Twenties Limbo

by David Klein

You probably suspected that somewhere along the line the pickings were going to get a little thin. Ladies and gentlemen, that time is now, for we have officially entered the valley of the crooked numbers. Twenty-six has no discernible meaning or significance for the average person, thus, very few people have seen fit to include it in a song, as a title or even as a lyric. Up to now, certain unexciting numbers have squeaked by on the strength of one strong cut (I’m thinking of “14th Floor” by Television Personalities) but 26 poses even greater problems. Who writes a song with 26 in the title? As I was conceiving this endeavor I saw the great chasm that opens up at 26, and realized that something had to change at this juncture. And so it does: from here on in, any good song that has a number in its title is eligible to win, regardless of whether the number is part of the lyrics. At the outset, with the choices so abundant, it made sense to apply some rules, just to weed the pack out a bit, but at this point there just aren’t enough songs to go around to justify enforcing that rule. It’s not just because Stereolab’s “Olv 26” is such a delight, but if you’re going to break the rules, let it be for something like this.

It’s not meant as a slight, but “Olv 26” sounds like every other great Stereolab track, with those burbling beats, earnest yet blasé bocals, and Marxist slogans, all in perfect, slightly off-kilter harmony. As far as I can tell, Olv might stand for ‘our lady victory,’ but I am far too dense to comprehend lyrics like, “Depuis le temps que c'est promis
nous irons tous au paradis,” which appear to be in some kind of foreign language.

Stereolab - "Olv 26"

A few other brave souls decided that no. 26 was a good, evocative numeral to use in song. The Pretty Things do some sloganeering of their own on “October 26,” (seemingly inspired by Russia’s October Revolution) a languorous, shape-shifting thing from the Parachute LP (1970) that would have sounded at home squeezed into the medley from side 2 of the Beatles’ Abbey Road. The song’s refrain, “Revolution/is all that it can be/If you find your own solution/than that’s all right with me” demonstrates the bad effect that good politics can have on music, here, serving to move the scruffy-sounding Pretty Things to trade in their earthy lyrics for groovy ‘70s platitudes. Nevertheless, the song is first-rate, with lovely harmonies and a true, mature-Beatles sound via producer Norman Smith (who also produced Pink Floyd and scored a no. 3 hit in America as Hurricane Smith a few years later, with “Oh Babe, What Would You Say?”).

One of the last official gasps of Pavement was captured on the 1999 At Home With the Groovebox compilation, on which a roster of mostly Grand Royal artists each wrote a song utilizing vintage ‘80s synths. “Robyn Turns 26” is pretty much a Malkmusian effort, with his ladyfriend in the Yoko Ono role, providing some guest rapping. It’s got piss-take written all over it, but the man is incapable of writing a song without a few caustically hilarious lines, e.g., “Kick it with the Trustafarians/ Colorado College! /Are they Sega or Atarians?” and the highly numerical, "got 20 camel lights, a six pack of brew/ that's 26 friends...” Plus, sampling an Indian rain dance chant for comic effect, as opposed to doing it as an act of reverence, is refreshing. I think 1999 was the year I O.D’d on Native American motifs in electronica.

And then there’s “Pattern 26,” from the Fire Records compilation I Wouldn’t Piss On It if It Was On Fire. Manifesto was a short-lived outfit fronted by D.C. hardcore vet Michael Hampton, a guitarist and singer who played in bands with both Henry Rollins (when he was still known as Henry Garfield) and Ian McKaye, among others, making Hampton the undisputed Zelig/Forrest Gump of the D.C. hardcore scene. This agreeably crunchy number has more in common with British indie guitar rock circa 1992 than with the in-your-face thrash of Hampton’s earlier bands.

And that’s really it for 26. Honest. You can check for yourself if you want to.

While 26 lacks any meaningful association, 27 has a resounding significance in these parts. Twenty-seven is the age at which certain rock stars have died and gained “immortality.” Or, to paraphrase Kurt Cobain’s mother, 27 is the age that you join “that stupid club.” I point this out in hindsight, for it took an unexpected musical discovery for me to make this association. But finding a song that captures 27’s dark ethos has renewed my faith in the seat-of-the-pants approach to life that I favor.

In this arid region, almost anything with a 27 has to be considered, even musical versions of Psalm 27, albeit briefly. At first all I had was an avant-jazzy whatsit with no words, no discernable melody, and a 27 tacked on to it (“Discipline 27” by Sun Ra) and a high school reminiscence from Doughty of Soul Coughing (“27 Jennifers”), a man whose singing voice never failed to impede my enjoyment of his records. Finally I turned up a song I could live with.

The 3Ds were a solid New Zealand band on the Flying Nun label, whose limited output (just an EP and two LPs) was due to various band members’ juggling other higher-profile gigs. Although “Vector 27” comes from their last and not best record, it still has the fierce attack and no-frills angst that is perhaps the only element common to the sprawling genre dubbed NZ indie rock. Now, given the paucity of songs in this slot, I had my money on the 3Ds, thinking, here’s a good band, a pretty good song, and for 27 that will just have to do. But folks, the beauty of this endeavor is that it leads to unexpected outcomes. I not only discovered a 27 song that I can really get behind, I’ve also got a new band to dig.

Coltrane Motion - "Twenty-Seven"

“Twenty-Seven,” by the Chicago-area duo known as Coltrane Motion, comes on with a bees’ nest hum before establishing a slinky beat and static-laden drone, shot through with shards of feedback, harmonics, and velvety mellotron toots, all in service of an insinuating melody. It adds up to a deeply catchy and alluring cocktail, equal parts euphoria and danger, just like the rock-star phenomenon the song depicts. According to Michael Bond, the group’s leader who also heads up the bands’ record label, Datawaslost, “Twenty-Seven” is “a song about writing songs about how you're going to die, and sort of flipping the musician-as-martyr thing a bit.” In the first verse, [it] “takes the ‘fame = early death’ equation to ludicrous lengths.”

“Don't clap your hands or I'll die in a plane crash

Don't sing along or I'll overdose

I know you want me / wrapped in plastic

What a shame, I've got their first album, I loved that song where he went

I'm going to fall apart

in a sea of broken synthesizers

I'm going to walk out while it's still playing

kick drum, snare drum, kick drum, snare drum”

Listening to Coltrane Motion, it’s immediately apparent that these are clever guys with really good record collections. But behind the knowing song titles (“Ex-Girlfriend in a Coma,” “I Guess the Kids Are OK”) and references to 4-track tape hiss is an abiding belief in the inspirational power of rock & roll. The title of the recently released Songs About Music is neither obtuse nor ironic; it’s actually a straightforward declaration of the muse that inspires Bond and his band mate, Matt Denewitz (synths). And what inspires them is the last 40 years of pop music. “Twenty Seven” sounds a familiar feedback-drenched note that recalls such initialized UK acts as JMC, MBV and BRMC (I was trying to see if I could avoid writing the word “shoegazing” this week), while “Come to Me” is sunshine pop that evokes the simple joys of ‘60s radio, and “Summertime” is pure American garage rock that sounds like something off Children of Nuggets. Several songs have a certain ramshackle quality in the spirit of lo-fi masters like Beck and Guided By Voices, but Coltrane Motion do more than ape their unimpeachable influences; you can hear the influences, but the band manages to leave its own musical thumbprint on these 12 songs. Maybe it’s because they write their own sound software. In any case, I doff my cap to Coltrane Motion for writing a song that this column desperately needed, and I highly recommend Songs About Music to anyone who relishes dense layers of feedback and plenty of kick drum, snare drum, kick drum snare drum…

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, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25

Posted by Jeff Klingman at August 3, 2007 09:10 AM

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Comments

Posted by: Randall Monty at August 3, 2007 11:52 AM

Posted by: david's brother jonny at August 3, 2007 12:02 PM

Posted by: david at August 3, 2007 12:45 PM

Posted by: Randall Monty at August 3, 2007 01:54 PM

Posted by: david at August 6, 2007 01:17 PM

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