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October 28, 2007
Numerology: 32 Bits
After the scanty offerings that 31 offered, it came as a happy surprise to find 32 a veritable wellspring by comparison. Maybe that was to be expected: as any mathematician will tell you, there’s a world of difference between an obstinate prime like 31, and 32, the fifth power of two; something like a longshoreman standing next to Veronica Lake. Thirty-two is a high-profile numeral; it has a publicist. Water freezes at 32 degrees F; there are 32 teeth in the mouth of adult homo sapiens, and lest we forget, there’s the 32 caliber revolver. Ice, chewing and shooting: what more do you want?
Genesis - "The Chamber of 32 Doors"
The wizards behind Genesis had their reasons for choosing 32 as the number of doors in exceedingly Merlin-esque “The Chamber of 32 Doors,” from The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. The deeper meanings of this lushly designed two-disc concept album set have always eluded me, even as Genesis-loving friends of mine insisted it was the band’s magnum opus. The Lamb was supposed to be about the spiritual journey of a graffiti-scribbling Puerto Rican youth named Rael, but that made no sense, because all of Genesis music emanates from a fog-enshrouded glade in Avalon, right? How could the reedy voice of Peter Gabriel, intoning lines like, “I’d rather trust a country man than a town man” amid a sea of treated keyboards, ever evoke Times Square? To this day, it remains a mystery known only to the robed art rock gods on high.
They Might Be Giants - "32 Footsteps"
They Might Be Giants on the other hand, couldn’t evoke a glade if they (might be) tried. You can’t be wearing pleated pants in a glade and live, and certainly not with those nasal voices and hyper-literate songs about Belgian painters and birdhouses. Although the duo was capable of straightforwardness, “32 Footsteps,” from their eponymous 1986 debut, is the kind of song they’re known for: tricky rhythms, a skewed sensibility and a lot of detail squeezed into a musical miniature. But if you listen closely, you realize it’s just a nerd’s version of a love song.
And then there’s Van Morrison’s “Thirty Two.” You’re probably not familiar with it, which is better for you. When Van was under contract to Bang Records in 1967, he somehow “made good” on his contract by cranking out a bunch of spoken-word crapola that is as devoid of merit as anything ever produced by someone of Van the Man’s stature. Worse by a mile than anything on Dylan’s Self Portrait or the Stones’ Emotional Rescue. Not fascinating, though. Just bad. Similarly spoken-word but far less heinous is Beat poet Kenneth Rexroth’s “State & 32nd,” which still proves more than definitively just why poets should avoid fronting bands, unless they’re Patti Smith or the guy from Prinzhorn Dance School. It’s actually not bad. Rexroth’s voice, aptly described as “crabby” in a review I read, has a sly way with lines like: “Dice girls going home. Whores eating chop suey/Pimps eat chile mac/Drowsy flatfeet/ham and eggs.” And the band is first-rate; it’s just a bit short on hooks.
So is Ani DiFranco’s entire ouevre, voluminous though it may be. In fact, it would almost be surprising if she hadn’t recorded a song with 32 in it. In any case, while I respect the work and the DIY attitude, I’ve never really enjoyed Ani’s music much. Besides, the winner of the 31 spot, “31 Flavors” is all the flavors we need right for awhile.
I enjoy reading about the failures of others as much as the next guy, but the reports of Pete Doherty’s travails are just depressing. Like most people stateside, I am more familiar with this perennial screw-up’s exploits than his music. “32nd December,” by Doherty’s band Babyshambles, sounds as off-the-cuff, apathetic, and definitively English as one would expect, but at least it’s good-natured.
So much has been said about Robert Johnson that it forces one to choose his words carefully. In that respect, he has a lot more in common with Pete Doherty than I initially suspected. In typically dire fashion, Johnson’s “32-20 Blues” is a tale of vengeance, a cocky boast of the damage a big bullet will do to an unfaithful woman. No wonder the Stones covered it.
If I send for my baby, man, and she don't come /All the doctors in Hot Springs sure can't help her noneIf she gets unruly thinks she don't wan do
Take my 32-20 now and cut her half in two
Robert Johnson - "32-20 Blues"
The proud sons of Hicksville, WV, known as Karma to Burn, had a song called “32” on Wild Wonderful Purgatory (1999), which consisted solely of numerically named instrumentals, each as fierce as Stephen King’s possessed lawnmower.
But I never even considered any of these songs. The 32 slot has always belonged to The House of Love. When I first encountered the band’s second eponymous CD (the one with the butterfly on it, with “Shine On” and “The Beatles and the Stones”) it struck me as one of the most gorgeous guitar records ever to grace my bright yellow Sony Walkman. Those guitars: a perfect combination of fuzzy and sweet, wailing but warm; and the dark, anguished vocals of Guy Chadwick. Even the name Guy Chadwick was something I considered surpassingly cool.
“32nd Floor” begins with silence and then, like a dropped match that ignites the drapes, roars to glowing life. Ringing guitar lines circle each other in a sensuous two-step, a chin-bobbing beat takes hold, and Guy Chadwick burnished baritone comes in. The words might seem heavy-handed on their own, but in the song they make such perfect sense (in a Ben Hur) kind of way, that you don’t even notice that “mind” rhymes with “mind.”
Money is the heartache, moral is the shameDuty comes to those who love the numbers and the name
So find the State of Israel, find the State of Rome
Crush the fools, in huts of clay, there's danger in the garden
Take me to your Station, take me through your mind
Drop that code you give me, just let me feel your mind
Take me through the evening, on my 32nd floor
And I'll never ask for more
The years have not diminished the music for me. Nor have the critical summaries I have come across recently, saying the band amounted to a brief fad, a quick flash of chiming guitars before the acid house/rave scene and grunge changed the musical landscape. Maybe so, but guitars that flash this brilliantly will always paint purple-hued visions in my mind’s eye, set my chin bobbing and spread a sly grin on my face. And I’ll never ask for more.
Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. It's starting to get a bit tricky.
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, 26/27, 28 , 29 , 30, 30 (counterpoint), 31
Posted by David Klein at October 28, 2007 08:20 PM
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Comments
On the songs presented:
Phew, I guess I can scratch the Lamb Lies Down on Broadway off the lists of albums I'm supposed to give a chance, but can't imagine they're any good.
TMBG have some deceptively good songs, but this one is just painfully, painfully bad.
I'll start liking the blues when a blues song sounds like something other than every blues song I've ever heard. Nice enough, but a soul doesn't buy you what it used to, with inflation and all.
House of Love track is quite lovely, actually.
Unsolicited snark, over.
Posted by: Jeff K at October 29, 2007 11:13 AM
Can't argue with any of that--esp., TMBG, who are in especially annoying form on thie one. But I'm glad you can see the beauty in "32nd Floor." Had you snarked about that one I'd have been upset.
Posted by: david at October 29, 2007 11:58 AM
