Category: 366 Songs

Posted on

366 Songs 307: Kissin’ Time

Despite officially being a Marianne Faithfull song – appearing on her album of the same name – this is, to all intents and purposes a late-period Blur song, falling between 13 and Think Tank and bearing all manner of similarities not only to some Damon Albarn material from Gorillaz, but also – and particularly – “Black Book,” the b-side of 2000’s “Music is My Radar” single.

Both songs have a swampy quality, and a feeling that the lyrics (as revelatory as they may be, and I think in both cases, they are – Moreso than Albarn intended, perhaps) are somehow less important to the overall sound of the whole thing, leading to a lot of repetition and the voice as instrument rather than focal point. Repetition is big in both songs, but perhaps especially “Kissin’ Time”; the song becomes little more than a loop of itself by halfway through, with the song falling to and fading into one more chorus and then a slow, hypnotic, somewhat beautiful degradation. It’s a song that only makes sense with a fade out; it’s a narcotic, an inescapable thing that would make an end feel insincere and unreal. Your time will come, the song goes, but that almost seems like a… a threat, maybe? A promise? Something to taunt, either way, something to make that time seem unattainable because you’ll always be within this particular moment.

Posted on

366 Songs 306: Ponderosa

I’ve written elsewhere about how important 1997 was to me when it came to understanding and accepting music that wasn’t just “white boys with jangly guitars,” but listening to this again for the first time in some years, I realize that Tricky’s Maxinquaye album came even earlier and laid the groundwork. Listen to the backing of this song, and revel in how un-pop it actually is. Here, I’ll make it easier for you:

There’s a lot going on in there; it’s wonderfully layered, percussion playing off percussion to create something akin to melody at times, even when the organ sample isn’t leading you in the background to where it wants you to be. But by the time you get to the sampled, looped “Hey man” in the second half, followed by the piano loop sounding just a little bit off (Too fast, a little manic, especially when it gets overdubbed by itself, just a little out of synch), there’s an entire atmosphere to this track, a biosphere of story and feeling that’s punctuated with noises that come from places that we might not recognize as music elsewhere (The… what, roar of something that follows the piano?).

It’s a brave choice to put as the second track on a debut album (Especially considering that “Overcome,” the first track, is far more traditional in its construction and instrumentation – The pan pipes almost sound accidentally comedic now – and less abrasive to the untrained ear; It was the first single off the album, as far as I remember, although I may be wrong), but it works as the following track nonetheless, and serves as a warning and tease for what’s to follow: “If you like this, then there’s more to come,” if you will.

There’s something seductive about it, as music, even before you get to Tricky and Martina Topley Bird’s vocals on top. Again, this is Martina’s show, with beautifully scratchy, casual vocals that sound playful and sexy (That laugh at 2:36!) while Tricky’s murmuring behind her sounds like an ugliness hidden under the surface, some scary monster and super freak that’s on the same level as the animalistic roar/squawk, ready to jump out and bite when you let your guard down. The illusion of confusion, reflected from lyric to sound to feeling. The track as a holistic experience, disorienting and welcoming all at the same time: An invitation and reminder that it’s okay not to be certain and convinced of what’s to come.

Posted on

366 Songs 305: Frankenstein

And, after I complain about Hallowe’en, I go for a monster-themed song. What can I say? I’ve been in a particularly Hallowe’en-y mood all day because of a thing I’ve written for Newsarama that will hopefully go up today, despite everything. Even so: I love Edgar Winters’ “Frankenstein” for the following reasons:

  • That riff is awesome.
  • There is something ridiculously wonderful about the way that the organ at 0:16 reminds me of the theme to Taxi.
  • The extended freak-out from 2:22 through to 3:54 is arguably the greatest argument against prog-rock ever recorded.

    • (Actually, this live version is even greater for the progginess of the whole thing:

    As they used to say on The Fast Show: “Nice.”)

    I actually discovered the song in the 1990s, through They Might Be Giants, and I have to admit, I may still prefer their version –

    – and yet, in whatever form it takes, there’s no denying that “Frankenstein” is one seriously weird, wonderful and stupid song that demonstrates in its own way the value of not caring what anyone thinks and following your bliss. Even if your bliss is a spectacularly grindy song that seemingly never ends.

    Posted on

    366 Songs 304: The Imperial March

    What can I say? It seemed appropriate for a day when people lose their shit over Lucasfilm being bought by Disney and a new Star Wars movie was announced, instead of, you know, continuing to lose their shit about a hurricane – Sorry, “super storm” – decimating the East Coast. But, putting aside the timeliness and the “Really, Internet? Really?” nature of things, there’s no getting away from the fact that John Williams’ “Imperial March” is kind of a spectacular piece of music. Even if it wasn’t amazingly evocative and nostalgic for anyone who’s seen the original Star Wars trilogy, there’s such a narrative power in this music: You listen to it, and you can hear an epic grandeur, a militaristic element and a growing intensity – The bit at 2:49! – throughout, and you can imagine a story, even if it’s not necessarily the story of Star Wars. Williams is famous for his well-known themes to Star Wars, Superman and Indiana Jones amongst many others, but it’s this piece of music that will always make me love his work without any doubt.

    Poh, hee. Poh, hee.

    Posted on

    366 Songs 303: Dolphins

    Terry Callier died this weekend. I never really knew his work, but this duet with Beth Orton, covering Fred Neil’s “Dolphins,” remains one of my favorite recordings ever made; there’s something about his vocals in here, how comforting, how rich and warm they sound. Orton’s own vocals dance around Callier’s; he grounds the performance, and provides the world for her to return to.

    I love “Dolphins,” as a song, but often find the performances from various artists to be disappointing. Even Neil’s original doesn’t sound quite “right,” somehow. There’s something about the interplay of Callier and Orton’s voices, about the folk/jazz accompaniment (Those vibes!) that backs them up, that fulfills the song’s potential as nothing else I’ve heard actually managed. Maybe I should hunt down Callier’s earlier catalog and see what other favorites he worked his magic on, as well.

    Posted on

    366 Songs 302: Sharp Darts

    Mike Skinner is, let’s be honest, a kind of terrible rapper. He stumbles and mumbles over his delivery, and he sounds as embarrassed by what he’s saying as confident, more often than not. Despite that – because of that? – “Sharp Darts” is kind of wonderful. It’s an ugly, ungainly track, with the beat as stumbling as Skinner’s vocals, a musical bull in a china shop that’s not in the slightest bit worried about crashing into things or being polite. It’s also funny: “This one’s fat like your mother/Contains enough calories” is such a juvenile moment, it’s ridiculous, but I love that it’s in there nonetheless.

    This isn’t a track that wants to make you dance, or admire the lyrical prowess; it’s a track of selfishness and brutishness, of a particular mindset that really doesn’t give a fuck, and at 1:34, it’s short enough that you find yourself wanting to listen again when it’s over, to double-check that it actually happened like you remember. “Shut up, I’m the driver/You’re the passenger.”

    Posted on

    366 Songs 301: Ain’t That Love

    I was reading something, somewhere, recently about the way that gospel audiences were appalled by what they saw as the sexual nature of Ray Charles’ vocals in early releases; it was a strange moment for me, because I came to Charles at the end of his career where the innuendo one grunt could have was nothing compared with the tales the man had built up around himself, but listening to this early single, it make a bit more sense. “Ain’t That Love,” after all, has a very gospel structure with the call-and-response to it, something really emphasized by the tambourine, oddly enough. You listen to this and you can imagine a younger Charles singing songs of devotion amongst the faithful and raising spirits as well as temperatures with each note.

    (I love the chasteness of this song, too; “Oh, when you walk/I wanna walk with you” Charles says, asking “Ain’t that love?” and it is, albeit a particularly innocent, amusingly desexual idea of it.)

    Posted on

    366 Songs 300: Stacked Actors

    “Stacked Actors” shouldn’t work as a song, I think everytime I listen to it; it’s a car-crash of rock cliches, from the feedback that starts it to the scream before the guitar solo, and including the faux-lounge rock of the verses that sounds as much as anything like UK act Terrorvision’s appalling “Tequila” from the 1990s:

    And yet, it does. Is it the intensity of Dave Grohl’s vocals (For some reason, when his voice cracks on “truth” in the “All I want is the truth” at 3:39, that always gets me), or the lyrics that go from sly (“God bless/What a sensitive mess/But things aren’t always what they seem”) to outright bitter (“Stack dead actors/Stacked to the rafters/Line up the bastards/All I want is the truth”) and back to sly again (“We cry when they all dye blonde”)? Is it that the stomp of the chorus, heralded by that burst of feedback, is irresistible in a way that was later harnessed by “Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes?

    The answer may be all of the above, together with the fact that we want to like this song; there’s something weirdly underdoggish about it, and about the Foo Fighters in general. For triumphant rock, it’s particularly untriumphant and submissive, and there’s something appealing about that. It’s music that rages against a celebrity machine that it’s complicit in, and yet the contradiction oddly works in its favor. I’ve never quite worked out how they managed to pull that trick off, but it’s definitely a good one.

    Posted on

    366 Songs 299: 3030

    A true story: Years and years and decades ago, when rap first started appearing on British radio and the pop charts, I remember my dad being weirdly excited about the potential of the genre; he talked about it being a way to make poetry more accessible to young people, and the ways in which it was really just spoken word performance coming alive again. That lasted… ehh, months, at best? And then he defaulted to the old man position of it being noise, not people singing just talking, and the like, for the rest of his life. He was won over by the conservative position and the fear of a culture alien to him, depressingly.

    I always think about that when listening to “3030,” or any track from the Deltron 3030 album. Del tha Funkee Homosapien’s performance on these tracks feels like something that may have convinced my dad to default to his earlier position. There is poetry here, smart and funny and wonderfully strong in the way it introduces and evolves narrative while still working as individual tracks for the casual listener. It’s wonderfully complex and evocative, helped along by the grandiose production of Dan the Automator, who provides wonderfully grandiose music to act as backdrop, pushing memories of epic science fiction space operas and classic classical music to the forefront with the orchestral and choral sweep of the whole thing.

    I never got to play Deltron 3030 for my dad; I have no idea whether he would have gotten it or not. But I like to pretend that he would, even so.

    Posted on

    366 Songs 298: Doing The Do

    “It’s me again/Yes, how did you guess?”

    There is little as weirdly comedic, with hindsight, as late 1980s/early 1990s crossover rap music. Today, “Doing the Do” sounds ridiculous, like some amateur idea of what dance music should sound like with all the vocal “Ooh Ooh” samples and particularly synthetic instumentation. Back when this was released, though, this song was awesome. I remember the fifteen year old me fancying Betty Boo herself, and thinking that this was a great little pop song (I still love the “I’m sorry/If I upset ya” bit, I have to admit) that was wonderfully contemporary, a feeling brought on, I’m sure, by said crush. I was wrong, but to my credit, Betty eventually got to pop nirvana with later releases: