366 Songs 244/245/246: Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End

If you look past the growly vocal from Paul McCartney, there’s a sense of age evident in the final three tracks from the final Beatles album (Except, in both cases, not really; although recorded last, Abbey Road was followed by Let It Be in terms of release, and “Her Majesty” follows “The End” on the album, anyway); it’s in the grandiose orchestral arrangement of “Carry That Weight,” with the horns parping their importance before the song segues into an unbilled reprise of “You Never Give Me Your Money” from earlier in the album, or the strings surrounding the band as they sing “You’re gonna carry that weight, a long time” afterwards, like some John Barry Bond theme gone wrong. There’s a syrup-y sound here, something that feels at odds with the way the band had treated their arrangements before this point.

The age thing makes itself apparent in the lyrics, too; “Once there was a way/To get back homewards/Once there was a way/To get back home,” McCartney sings, with the clear implication that that’s not there anymore. Everyone joins in to remind themselves that they’re gonna carry that weight a long time, and McCartney goes on to admit, “In the middle of the celebrations/I break down…”

(That the “Boy! You’re gonna carry that weight” part is a group vocal has always made me wonder whether it’s meant to be supportive or taunting, the sound of the Beatles talking to Paul with disdain or understanding. Chances are, even McCartney himself didn’t know when he wrote it, so complicated were his relationships with the band at the time.)

And then, before everything gets too maudlin – because this is a sad suite, a collection of melancholy and loss, of the bad kind of nostalgia where you look back with regret that things aren’t the way they used to be – “The End” kicks in. Oh yeah! Alright!

Here, let’s listen to the track as released on the Anthology album decades later, without the “Oh yeah!” introduction, just to hear the band jam their little hearts out, but also with the orchestral elements more noticeable (And, yes, the final chord from “A Day In The Life” added at the end):

I love “The End,” in either version. Again, it’s very un-Beatles in a lot of ways, because when did they do solos like this? Because, at its heart, that’s what “The End” is: A collection of solos, whether it’s Ringo’s drum solo to start off, before John, George and Paul trade lead guitar lines as the race to the vocal pay-off. There’s a sense of playfulness, of trying to outdo each other with the music, of fun, in “The End” that almost balances out the sense of loss in the earlier two chapters of this medley; despite everything, they can still communicate through song. And then, the lyrics, again the work of someone feeling old, addressing a conclusion. What makes the end of “The End” so emotional for me, though, isn’t the “And in the end/The love you take/Is equal to/The love you make” by itself, but the harmonies immediately following, soaring upwards. It’s so sad, and so optimistic, at the same time.

I love that above animation (from the end of the Beatles Rock Band videogame); it’s very informed by the iconography of the ’60s and of the Beatles themselves, but it’s also… I don’t know. Empty enough, silent enough, to get something about the melancholy present even in those final notes across in a beautifully subtle way.

366 Songs 243: Nighttime

It took years – Genuinely, more than a decade – to realize that Alex Chilton sings “Air goes cool” in this song, one of the more fragile and beautiful from the mythical third album from Big Star. This song is one of those that changes as I get older, and what originally sounded haunted and upset when I heard the song for the first time in my early twenties now sounds peaceful and contented years later. There’s a feeling that this is a song unwinding, breathing slowly and softly and enjoying the lack of horror and anger that happens in each of the other songs that surround it on the album. There are worse songs to listen to as the sun sets and you find yourself wandering through the city on a summer evening.

366 Songs 242: Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Pelvis

As far as I’m concerned, this is the shining moment of Jarvis Cocker’s career, and it happens on a guest shot for someone else’s album. Officially, this song is credited to Barry Adamson, upon whose Oedipus Schmoedipus this comes from. But, whether it’s the spectacular arrangement behind Cocker – The vibes! The “Rocks”-esque drums! The thudding of the bass guitar! The strings! The choir! – the wonderfully desperate lyrics (“So please/So please/Don’t leave me alone in this double bed/It smells of damp towels and asthma inhalers,” while the choir plead for sexual release without masturbation, “Save me from my own hand!”) or just Cocker’s breathless performance, at once pathetic and (faux-)seductive, “Set The Controls For The Heart of The Pelvis” has long been the best thing Cocker has ever done, the fulfillment of all the promise of his Pulp themes performed with far more verve, gusto and humor than that band ever managed to achieve by themselves. It’s a very specific experience, this song, and one that may only appeal to those with furtive teenage sexual fumblings and unrequited desires, and yet… Yeah. This song is the real thing, for me.

366 Songs 241: Oh! You Pretty Things

Another of those songs that sounds to me like some kind of pop perfection, “Oh! You Pretty Things” is about way that vocals play off each other in the chorus; it was the first thing that caught my attention, the call-and-response, the swinging of the lead against the sturdiness of the backing vocals (The way that “Driving your mommas and papas” builds to support the landing of Bowie’s swoop, mirroring the fall of their earlier “Oh, you pretty things” as it climbs down). Even before my attention was sworn by the words being sung (“Homo sapiens have outgrown their use,” indeed) or the piano instrumentation that collapses into full band for the chorus. There’s a lovely balance of delicateness and swagger in this song that I find irresistible, but even cover versions that pretty significantly change the sound of the song make me swoon more than slightly:

366 Songs 240: Gimme Some

First off, I apologize for the video. Scroll down and ignore its terrible flashing.

Secondly: Holy crap. This is Nina channeling Ray Charles, isn’t it? The call-and-response, the freak-out at 0:59, the arrangement that sees horns and electric guitars in the background, the vamping in the background at 1:51, the breathless vocal in general… It’s all weirdly Ray Charles-esque, whether intentional or not.

Not that that’s a bad thing, and yet… There’s something weirdly off about Simone doing this; she was enough of an individual that such imitation seems beneath her, somehow. It’s like when you hear her “Revolution” from 1969 and feeling as if it’s just ripping off the Beatles song of the same name the year before:

I feel like a bad pop fan, thinking such things. One of the things I genuinely love about pop music is that everyone steals, and then twists things and turns them into something else, and so seeing Nina obviously take on some influence or another should feel like something to approve of. Maybe my problem is that I can see the original all too clearly in each of these two cases…?

366 Songs 239: I’ve Been Trying

DJ Shadow is someone whom I continually find frustratingly uneven; so much of his work feels self-indulgent and lacking the presence and beat that I want from it, and then he’ll turn out something like this, one of the lead-in tracks from his 2011 album The Less You Know, The Better. There’s a freshness and simplicity to this song that always appeals, a sound that sounds under-produced and almost live-to-tape despite being constructed entirely from samples, combined with a lyric that’s at once lovelorn and funny. “I’ve been trying/To get you to love me/I’ve been trying/To get you to care/Put forth a lot of effort,” the unnamed vocalist complains, sounding as if it’s been a chore trying to woo his unrequited beloved, the unspoken sense of “C’mon, you owe me” just under the surface.

Add to that the more produced parts of the song – By the time the flute enters around 1:51, I am always inexplicably reminded of Hall and Oates; I wish I could understand why – and this becomes a wonderfully unexpected comedy track of sorts, set off with the “Hi, kitten. This one’s for you” smarmy sample that comes in just before the vocal begins. When Shadow is on – and it feels as if he’s definitely on in this song, which works on multiple levels – he can be fantastic. I just wish he was on more often.

366 Songs 328: Ain’t Got No, I Got Life

Purely because the last track reminded me how powerful the piano/fucking awesome singer combo could be, here’s Nina Simone singing the hell out of a song from Hair, backed by a band that is apparently 100% in tune with what she wanted to do with the track. Sadly, this video lacks the coda to the track that’s available on some releases, where post-song, Nina comments “That should be good,” and the producer can be heard, raving over the intercom, “That’s groovy.”

It really is, and in a way that feels timeless, as opposed to forever linked to the 1960s or ’70s.

366 Songs 237: The Truth

As wonderful as Roisin Murphy’s vocal is on this track from the first Handsome Boy Modeling School album may be – and it is, haunted and fragile and knowing all at once, alternatively icey and pleading, sometimes switching between the two in a single line (Her “But in your present state/You may as well not be here at all” is a line that makes me wish that Murphy got better material than she normally does; it’s just an amazing reading, as is her “Baby, I’ll die/Without you by side” at 3:50) – there’s almost no way to hear this without just wanting to bow down to the sampled, looped piano, the way that it continually builds tension by ramping up the performance and then returns to the beginning of the sample, over and over again, jittery and uneven in all the best ways. It’s a beautifully simple loop to build the song around, and deceptively dramatic at the same time. There’s no real release in the song, it just builds and drops and builds and drops. Add to that the messy drums, and even such a spectacular vocal as Murphy’s finds itself eclipsed by the music surrounding it.

(I’m not ignoring the J-Live rap, as much as not having much to say about it; it’s relatively dull by comparison to the Murphy vocal or the sample, which is a shame. It has an important and necessary place in the song, but it doesn’t really do anything worthwhile with it, I think.)

366 Songs 326: Sunflower

It’s unsubtle, unoriginal and overproduced, but I love Paul Weller’s “Sunflower.” Honestly, I’m not sure if I could really explain why, beyond the fact that I always find myself singing along to the chorus, and that I like the way it sounds – by which I mean, the actual sound of the instruments, the gruffness of the guitar at points, the thud of the drums in the chorus, the way the flute sounds and producer Brendan Lynch’s random beeps – but it’s a song that I always find creeping up on me when I hear it, overpowering my intent to sneer because it so blatantly rips off not just one, but two of Weller’s major influences during this period of his career. I mean, anyone with a passing similarity with the Beatles will think that “Dear Prudence” lives on in the draped guitar of this song –

– and, it does, I guess, but really, the guitar really comes from ELO’s “10538 Overture,” which took “Dear Prudence” and made it a little heavier. I mean, listen to that riff:

It’s a riff so nice that Weller used it again on his next album, even more shamelessly:

Suuuuuure you’re the changing man, Paul (I still love that video, though).

366 Songs 235: Goodbye Mr. A

This song always translates into the death of my father, in my head; it was on constant rotation on the music television channels in the UK at the time I was there as he was getting sicker, getting worse and not coming back, and I had those channels on a lot for some reason. Background noise that didn’t talk to me too much, I guess.

It’s weird, because musically the song is about something else entirely; it’s Britpop if Britpop had worshipped ELO instead of the Kinks and the Beatles – Listen to that organ, or those swooning backing vocals, and you’ll know it’s true. There’s something very generic about the song despite that, though – outside of those two touches, it could be anything or come from anywhere; it’s as if the band had listened to “Mr. Blue Sky” on repeat for a day before recording this, but not learned enough about what made that song so worthwhile – There’s not enough worth remembering in this song beyond the particularly ELO-influenced sections, as if the Hoosiers could only make the catchiness work when they weren’t thieving the life out’ve Jeff Lynne’s most-well-known song.

Somehow, I’ve ended up having a deeper appreciation of ELO as a result of revisiting this song. I have no idea if that’s a good thing or not.