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December 06, 2007
Numerology...Enters the 36th Chamber
One doesn’t have to search far and wide to find a prominent instance of the number 36 in popular music. Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) is one of the most celebrated recordings of the past 20 years, its name derived from the seminal kung fu flick 36 Chambers of Shaolin. But in absence of a numerical song title, I can only tip my hat meekly and say rules are rules. When Hall of Fame pitcher Gaylord Perry tipped his cap, he had to avoid smearing the Vaseline he kept on the inside, to keep batters swinging and missing. He was no big fan of the rules, but the Giants still retired no. 36 in honor of the crafty hurler, the first man to win the Cy Young Award in both leagues. I realize the connection to 36 is tenuous at best, but you don’t have to be a baseball fan to appreciate that 36 is the golden mean of women’s breast size.
the Violent Femmes - "36-24-36"
According to a week’s worth of research, 36 is the dimension at which songwriters begin writing songs explicitly about measurements. Put it this way: there are zero songs that celebrate the measurements “35-24-36,” but I’ve found half a dozen or so that begin with 36. “36-24-36” by the Violent Femmes, an early track included in the band’s exhaustive career retrospective Add it Up, is a cheerfully libidinous ode to the meaning of life as manifest in breast, hips, and waist size. The Shadows have a typically twang-tastic instrumental with the same title, while Bobby “Blue” Bland (or, as he’s introduced in “36-22-36,” “the man, I mean the MAN, the sensational, the incomparable, the dynamic” Bobby…Bobby Bland!”) clearly liked his ladies a little leaner than the Femmes. His sly ode is imbued with the palpable joy and vocal tremble that only true lasciviousness can bring. ZZ Top prefer the same dimensions advocated by Professor Bland, although on the refrain, the hirsute trio amend the title phrase winkingly to “Thirty-six eighteeen thirty-six!” Now, that would be something to see. Listening to Billy Gibbons’s guitar, though, so thick and nasty you can practically taste bilgewater, it struck me that the line between these guys and cooler-than-cool outfits like Queens of the Stone Age is not as clear as one would think.
Searching for songs with 36 in their titles has yielded more than its share of aural oddities, like “Prep Gwarlek 36” from Aphex Twin’s prolix collection Drukqs, which is as weird an unapproachable as it sounds, and Killing Joke’s “S.0.36,” from the band’s self-named 1980 debut. A spiky colossus of a song, “S.O.36” is a good representation of the sound of Killing Joke, described by its original drummer as “the sound of the earth vomiting.” Still, when it comes to eruptions from the bowels of the earth, Carly Simon said it best: nobody does it better [than Killing Joke.] I know that was weird, but I just had a strong urge to juxtapose Carly Simon and ‘bowels of the earth.’
I know there are some Placebo fans out there chomping at the bit for “36 Degrees” to snatch up the 36 crown, but I can’t let that happen. I’ll never get used to the voice of Molko, and the over-serious way he delivers lines like ‘Shoulders toes and knees/I’m 36 degrees,” which simply takes all the fun out of exercising to this song in the first place.
Os Mutantes have been called the Beatles of Brazil, and seen in that light, “Dia 36” clearly demonstrates how even the (actual) Beatles’ most negligible efforts, dreary pap like “Blue Jay Way,” had a global influence. Closer to home, the emphatic “Thirty-Six” by Brooklyn’s Man in Gray makes me want to smash stuff up. Something about vocalist Christina Da Costa’s seen-it-all snarl recalls the great unheralded Columbus, Ohio, trio Scrawl. If only I could figure out what it has to do with 36...
It doesn’t really matter. I’ve had a 36 song picked out for a long time. It comes to us from one of the best albums of the new wave era, Nick Lowe’s Jesus of Cool, or as it was known in the U.S., Pure Pop for Now People. When he released his first LP, Nick Lowe was already a bona fide force, a guy who could pull off calling a solo record Jesus of Cool and not get laughed at. A key figure in the English pub rock movement, which predated punk and in some ways served as a model of punk’s DIY spirit, then the in-house producer for Stiff Records, where he produced critical early releases by bands like the Damned, Elvis Costello and the Pretenders, Lowe was primed to flex his muscles as a truly ace songwriter in 1978, with a take on pure pop that was well attuned to the charms of ‘60s radio and yet also highly insolent.
The one song not written or co-written by Lowe on that collection is a truly odd thing called “36 Inches High,” by the singer-songwriter Jim Ford, whom Lowe cites as his biggest influence. I checked out some of a recent reissue of Ford’s work, and can see what Lowe sees in this under-the-radar original, namely, a rootsy, authentic quality and a strange sense of humor. Originally an academic, Ford had the good sense to pitch that career choice and hit San Francisco in the golden year of 1966. Soon his songwriting abilities came to the notice of an enterprising record company owner. His recorded work made nary a ripple, but Ford’s songs were recorded by some of the greats and several very-very goods, including Bobby Womack, Aretha Franklin, The Ventures, Ron Wood, and Dave Edmunds. Ford moved in some interesting circles; he dated Bobbie Gentry of “Ode to Billie Joe” fame (Ford claimed he wrote the song), hung out with Sly Stone during the most mad years of the Family Stone, and produced exactly one record—1969’s Harlan County, a long-time cult item, re-released this year with a slew of extra tracks, under the title The Sounds of Our Time.
Fact is, though, if it weren’t for this column I probably wouldn’t have tracked down the original “36 Inches High.” I’m glad I did. Ford does “36 High” almost a capella; there’s just some steel guitar, a touch of strumming and picking, and his plangent tenor, while Lowe’s cover adds a turgid rhythm pattern and some interesting sonic touches. For the first two verses, “36 Inches High” seems to be saying something pretty deep, offering tersely detailed sketches of an epic life. Then, in the end, we see it’s all an elaborate ruse designed to give flight to the joke-y third verse. It’s one of those crazy jumps in logic that songs sometimes take that leave you going ‘What the hell just happened?’ even after you’ve heard them a million times. Like in “Band of Gold” when Freda Payne goes from new bride to sleeping on the couch in the time it takes to take a breath. I give the nod to Nick’s version because it succeeds as an inventive cover, adding flesh to the bare-bones song, as well as being part of a critical run of songs on a classic LP, but I tip my cap to Jim Ford for writing this deeply singular musical conundrum.
Once I was a soldierl rode on a big white horse
Silver pistols at my side
Carryin' the flags of war
And I Iost track of the men who fell
In the cannon's roar
I never got over bein' a soldier
Once I was a tax manCollectin' dollars and dimes
I heard the rich man grumble
I heard the poor man cry
Some few couldn't afford to pay
Were put to a shackle and key
I never got over bein' a tax man
Once I was a rulerAbout twelve inches long
Three times me made a yardstick
36 inches high
36 inches high was I
36 inches high
I never got over 36 inches high
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, 32, 33, 34, 35
Posted by David Klein at December 6, 2007 10:10 AM
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Comments
Sir Mix-a-Lot just emailed to say he's gonna pop a cap in my ass for neglecting to include his critical 36 reference in "Baby's Got Back": "36-24-36. Haha.. Only if she's 5'3"" I must have been tripping to miss that. No disrespect intended, Mix-a-Lot. I still think you have mad flow.
Posted by: david at December 6, 2007 12:08 PM
I'm sure the Sir would forgive you. Now if you miss "Seventy-Six Trombones" for the #76 post I don't think Meredith Wilson will be so forgiving :)
Posted by: Kelli Douglas at December 6, 2007 12:17 PM
It's funny that Sir-Mix-Alot tried to be both a gangsta and a cartoony babe hound. Plus he was trying to rep the mean streets of Seattle. Northwesterners might know that it has its rough patches, but that just doesn't sound right to the world at large.
Good choices. I really didn't know any of them...
Posted by: Jeff K at December 6, 2007 12:40 PM
Wasn't Mix just trying to capitalize on the then-trendy Seattle scene?
Posted by: Randall Monty at December 7, 2007 12:27 PM
Yup...thanks for the Man In Gray tip. i am a sucker for seen-it-all world-weariness (esp. female) delivered with a snarl...
I think ZZ Top are due for a critical reassessment/rehabilitation. You're right, though, that if QOTSA "rock", then ZZ Top "kill". Hands down. And there drummer was named Beard, and he didnt have one.
Scrawl mention...check. Aphex...check. Me old pals Killing Joke...your eclecticism is showing.
I've been listening to KJ's eponymous 2003 LP...incredible. Seeing Red makes me want to break stuff....
You are a sweet sweet man. Thank you.
Posted by: queerusjay at December 25, 2007 12:15 AM
