Category: 366 Songs

Posted on

366 Songs 327: Thank You, Friends

“Thank you, friends. Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

There was a point where I was convinced that Alex Chilton was singing this song sarcastically; after all, I reasoned, the rest of Third/Sister Lovers, the album it comes from, is a damaged and bitter and scared thing, and this is something else entirely; if it’s not sarcastic, then it felt out of step with everything and I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Years later – More than a decade after I first heard the album and was confused by this song as much as I loved it (It’s got a great melody, after all, and there’s something about the “Do Do“s of the backing vocals that makes you want to sing along; there’s also no denying that Chilton is rocking his preacher mode when he performs it here, with the “I said all!”s), I’ve come around to it. It’s not sarcasm, and it’s not out of place. It’s a survivor’s song, and one filled with surprised gratitude that he really has made it through all of the badness and the weirdness and everything in between. Sure, there’s some showmanship and insincerity in there, but that’s a result of everything else that’s gone on; the core of the song, though, is exactly what it says it is: Someone thanking those important to him for reasons he doesn’t necessarily understand, for all the things they did that matter in ways that he doesn’t necessarily understand. Years later, I can understand that feeling just a little bit more.

Happy Thanksgiving, world. And thank you, friends.

Posted on

366 Songs 326: Braindead

Ignore the video; I chose this basically because it’s how I feel today, at the end of a marathon of working. But it’s not a total loss; this was a song I was obsessed with back in… 1995, I think? Perhaps 1996, but it was around about the same time I was discovering Portishead and the whole Trip Hop thing, and this was somewhere close to that in my head. Justin Warfield’s pop-culture-laden rapping, I’ve covered before, and its appeal then is still the case here, but just listening to this again right now, it strikes me that this song is all about the bassline, which unfurls slowly and somewhat scuzzily. There’s something seductive about it, but also something dirty, somehow. Back when I was twenty-one, that kind of thing was fascinating to me, because I didn’t understand why that would be, and what would make that kind of thing attractive. Now, I just hear it and think, “Yeah, there’s that bass again…”

Posted on

366 Songs 325: New Orleans Wins The War

Viewed from the cynic’s point of view, “New Orleans Wins The War” is everything Randy Newman cliche in one place; listen to that plinky-plonk piano and the ragtime band, after all. But, for me, this is a song that’s all about Newman’s ability to tell stories in song. The lyrics of “New Orleans” are so evocative, whether its in painting the setting of his autobio tale (“Momma used to wheel me past an ice cream wagon/One side for White and one side for Colored,” with its casual racism dating the period and explaining the fucked-up world that was Louisiana – and America – at the time) or the wonderful way that Newman explains his father’s rejection of the New Orleans party and religion dichotomy culture that the family moved from:

Daddy said, “I’m gonna get this boy out of this place
Bound to sap his strength
People have fun here, and I think that they should
But nobody from here every come to no good
They’re gonna pickle him in brandy and tell him he’s saved
Then throw fireworks all ’round his grave”

Add to that, the odd coda that feels somewhat out of place, both in terms of subject and prettiness (“You got someone to love you/Who could ask for more?”), and what you have is a song that’s one of my favorites, despite the numerous ways it just underscores the cliche of Newman’s output.

Posted on

366 Songs 324: Le Festin

I’ve written before about my love for Camille, and this song – written by Michael Giacchino for the soundtrack of the Pixar movie Ratatouille – is a wonderful example of what she brings to the table as a singer without all her spectacular songwriting quirks. Just listen to the way she swings from note to note, fearless as she swoops up and down the song with such pleasure and enjoyment that it’s infectious. As nice as the song itself is, with a fun arrangement that allows for an accordion solo that doesn’t sound as cliched as it really should, considering the Parisian tone they’re going for, Camille’s voice is the star of this particular show, bringing it to life in a way that other singers wouldn’t even have the first clue how to manage. How can you hear this and not smile…?

Posted on

366 Songs 323: Hazy Shade of Winter

Those first six seconds. Those first six seconds. I could just listen to those on a loop forever, even though it’s a coiled spring preparing you for the dual harmonied “Time, time, time/See what’s become of me” that follows. That’s the story of this song, in short: The tension between the vocals and the arrangement they’re on top of; one is calming and beautiful, the other tetchy and tense (with such a great riff). That neither side wins, as such – The song just stops, wonderfully – makes it even more compelling.

Amusingly, when I tweeted this song the other day, someone (Hi, Adam) responded by saying that he felt guilty for preferring the Bangles version of the song:

Considering the Bangles take that riff and make it work as hard as it can, I don’t think there’s anything to feel guilty about at all. This is a great version, if one that forgoes the tension of the Simon & Garfunkel original for something more immediate and glossy. Wish they’d worked in that final “HA!” at the end, though…

Posted on

366 Songs 322: Magic Doors

I still remember the first time I heard “Magic Doors,” and realized that Portishead had somehow managed to refine its sound from the cliche of Trip Hop, and yet remain emotionally consistent with everything that had come before. There is such sorrow and melancholy in this track; it’s not just Beth Gibbons’ voice, or the words she’s singing (“I can’t deny or hide from me/I don’t know who I’m meant to be”). Is it the constantly-downward synthetic strings, or the finality of the piano when it appears? I don’t know; whereas earlier Portishead had a retro cool to it, this song – and a lot of Third, the album it comes from – is purposefully dissonant and awkward in its beauty. The opening tone that crashes into the drums… It’s utterly compelling, but somehow difficult to listen to at the same time. You struggle through this song, in a way, but in such a way that the entire thing feels curiously enriching nonetheless.

Posted on

366 Songs 321: Melody

Say what you like about Serge Gainsbourg, but L’histoire de Melody Nelson is one of those albums that is likely to just leave you reeling from greatness, and “Melody,” the lead track, something in particular that can’t be denied. Just listen to what really can be best described as a “groove,” with the bass guitar and shambling drums and spiraling guitar line, even before the strings sweep in and the whole thing becomes casually, breathtakingly epic.

(I also love spoken word tracks, if done well, and as far as I’m concerned, they don’t get any more well done than this, even if I can’t tell what Serge is actually saying.)

I first heard “Melody” when it was called “Don’t Die Just Yet,” from the David Holmes album Let’s Get Killed; he did a (very faithful) instrumental version of the track, re-titled after some graffiti he saw in New York. It’s a great track, albeit one that seems a little less impressive when you hear Gainsbourg’s original, but one that makes arguably more from that wonderful, wonderful bass line:

Those who haven’t tracked down either album, you should really go and fix that right now…

Posted on

366 Songs 320: Don’t Fence Me In

When in doubt of which version of a particular song is “definitive,” it’s always worth remembering that Bing beats most everyone, especially when backed by the Andrews Sisters.

Cole Porter, who wrote “Don’t Fence Me In,” is of course widely-recognized as a genius, and this song – while slight – is a fine example of that; there’s just such an ease to it, such a humor and relaxation to the lyrics and melody that it becomes irresistible surprisingly quickly.

It’s a wonderfully playful song, whether in the rhymes (“I want to ride to the ridge where the West commences/Gaze at the moon until I lose my senses/I can’t look at hovels and I can’t stand fences”) or the tune, which practically defines the term “jaunty.” It something that so clearly evokes a particular mood, but in such a way that doesn’t feel invasive or manipulative. Instead, you just feel yourself echoing the sentiment expressed, and feeling as if such freedom is a wonderful thing.

Posted on

366 Songs 319: The Ballad of El Goodo

“The Ballad of El Goodo” is one of those songs that almost dares you to listen to it, with a title that bad (I’ve never quite worked out whether or not “El Goodo” is meant to be a pun on the British “Good-o!” saying), but within seconds of it beginning, the title – which has nothing to do with the song at all, thankfully – is forgotten. Have guitars ever chimed as beautifully as they do at the start of this song? Is there a more wistful opening lyric than “Years ago, my heart was set to live/I’ve been trying hard against unbelievable odds”?

Even with the strength of Alex Chilton’s back catalog, it’s tempting to announce “Ballad” as his best work, or at least his most complete pop song; there’s something so simultaneously personal about the lyrics and so universal about them, too (Really, they’re so generic as to be almost meaningless, but somehow they work here), and the melody of the music hits that ideal note of sing-a-longable and surprising, familiar even on a first listen, yet in such a way that you want to stop listening. Add to that, the arrangement – the bloom of harmonies at 1:01, or acoustic guitar overlaid on top of electric to make the notes particularly crisp to the ear (Jody Stephens’ pretty fucking great on the drums on this one, too). Plus, you know, any song that ends with the band exhorting listeners to “hold on” over and over again… I may swoon.

(It’s been covered many times, but surprisingly, the covers are hard to find on YouTube. I did discover this, however, which is rather lovely:

Again, man: Those harmonies.)

Posted on

366 Songs 318: I’m Only Sleeping

If only this song had been released post-White Album, I could make a joke about this being what John Lennon did after he was so tired, but sadly reality doesn’t want to play along. It’s tempting to use the lightness of this song as an argument for whatever drug the Beatles were on at the time (Revolver, so I guess it was either the end of pot or the start of LSD?) against the heroin that was beginning to creep into their lives around the time of “I’m So Tired,” considering the contrasting natures of both songs. The track as recorded definitely overdoes the sound effects – potentially as a way of livening up what is actually a pretty simple, throwaway track that doesn’t have a lot of “there” there, as the saying goes – but it’s pretty much the definition of “lightweight and agreeable,” for that. If the intent when writing this song was to come up with something that feels as insubstantial as air, Lennon did a pretty good job with this one, let’s be honest.

Something somewhat unusual: The song was speeded up during mastering, which is why Lennon’s voice sounds as high as it does in the version above. Because it’s the Beatles, of course there’s a bootleg of the original version at the original speed…

And yet, the original demo for the song…? It’s back at the faster speed. Perhaps the band ended up recording it slower than Lennon intended for some reason, with the intent that they’d just fix things later…?