Again, a curiously busy day has left me tired, and without the words that I want to write here (Really, just without the time to write those words; the spirit is willing, the flesh would like to not be in front of the computer for a little while today, sadly). No wonder this song comes to mind, especially given the last Elvis Costello song. I found this on a Best Of that I’d received one Christmas, and amidst the usual colors and melancholy of that period, this song stood out in particular, with the lovely strings backing Costello trying his best to make his voice soar. Listening to it again, more than a decade later and almost that long since I’d last thought of it if I were honest, it’s just as resonant, if for entirely different reasons. After all, on a day when your brain is filled with the emptiness that comes from writing stuff for an ever-demanding, never-thankful internet, few things sum up a mindset better than “I’ve given you the awful truth/Now give me my rest.”
366 Songs 170: The Other Side Of Summer
There’s a running joke here in Portland that the good weather only really gets started after Independence Day. Judging by today’s glorious weather – there’s not a cloud in the sky – I’m tempted to believe them, and so this song has been in my head all day; I may be misremembering, but I’m pretty sure that it’s the first Elvis Costello song that I really knew, as opposed to just hearing and not paying attention to, and it led me to my first Elvis Costello purchase. Looking back, that feels like I was suckered in by some ill-tempered gateway drug, the faux-Beach Boys stylings covering up a happily grumpy song about the downside of showbiz glamor. I still love the bitterness of lines like “Was it a millionaire who said ‘Imagine no possessions’?/A poor little schoolboy who said ‘We don’t need no lessons’?” heading after some traditional sacred cows.
Goodnight, God bless and kiss goodbye to the Earth, indeed.
366 Songs 169: Independence Day
Another song that has little to do with the holiday it’s named for, but it’s been tradition for me ever since I arrived in the US a decade ago that I’d listen to this song on July 4 nonetheless. Clearly, I just like the train-like drums, or the electric piano making this sound like it belongs in the 1970s, as well as the “ah-ah” harmonies in the back, and the wistfulness of Elliott Smith’s “Everybody knows/Everybody knows/Everybody knows/That you only live a day/But it’s brilliant anyway.”
Everybody knows.
366 Songs 168: 4th of July
I was a big Aimee Mann fan, back around the time of her first solo album. I can remember seeing her live, in Aberdeen during my first year of art school, and just being… smitten, perhaps? Being very wowed by the whole experience, the quieter folky-songs like this, and the more power poppy numbers that ripped off the Byrds so gleefully and openly. Listening to this again, years later, I find myself focusing on the oddness of her voice and how melancholy the song is, how little it has to do with the Fourth of July aside from the wonderful “What a waste of gunpowder and sky” line.
366 Songs 167: Teardrop
Yes, it’s the theme song to House, in its instrumental form, with the lovely, fragile music falling and climbing as piano chords interfere, crashing heavily and providing some structure to the whole thing. But without the vocals from Liz Frazer, this is just a pretty tune that hints at foreboding; what makes “Teardrop” so wonderful are the words, for me.
“Love/Love is a verb/Love is a doing word,” she sings at the start, the most direct lyrics in a song full of hint and tease. We can guess from the lyric and delivery that “It’s tumbling down” isn’t something good, sure, but what exactly does “Teardrop on the fire/Of a confession/Fearless on my breath” mean, exactly? The same with “Water is my eye/Most faithful mirror.” It’s all emotional echolalia, in a way; words coming out, repeated, and they all mean something but that meaning isn’t clear. That adds to the weight of the song, though; the idea of tragedy that you not only can’t prevent (“It’s tumbling down!”), but can’t even grasp fully.
That most people now – myself included – can’t hear the start of the song without thinking of House is a shame. It deserves better.
Here’s a really nice cover version, to send you on your way, from Jose Gonzalez:
366 Songs 166: Bug Powder Dust
As far as I’m concerned, this remains one of the greatest rap tracks ever recorded: Justin Warfield’s hilarious, pop-culture-reference filled rap (“Top of the Pops, like the Lulu show/I take a walk on Abbey Road/With my shoes off, so”) in a track with such an insanely unforgiving bass sample (from this free jazz song, which makes me think of little as much as the jingles that played between sketches on Sesame Street), topped with the William S. Burroughs inspired title? Seriously, how anyone could resist, I have no idea.
After this song, both Warfield and Bomb The Bass kind of disappeared, as if their jobs were done. The BTB album that followed this track, Clear, was a great one with all manner of guests (including novelist Will Self) and a sound that sounded like dirtier trip-hop, but the next album didn’t appear for another thirteen years, and with a significantly different sound. Warfield, too, put out an album that followed this (with early remixed by David Holmes, of all people) before disappearing from view and reappearing as the lead singer of She Wants Revenge, sounding like this:
Let’s just say that “Bug Powder Dust” may have broken everyone involved, shall we?
366 Songs 165: BOB (Bombs Over Baghdad)
This was my first exposure to Outkast; I’m pretty sure I heard it somewhere on Radio 1, and was entirely blown away by it; soon after, “Miss Jackson” came out and I was hilariously put off by it. Even now, it seems depressingly weak after this, and too much of a sop towards mainstream tastes and singalong styles. Quite where my prejudices come from, I have no idea.
(I seem to remember, but could be wrong, that this song was banned from the BBC following the Iraq war in 2002; it’s possible I’m getting that mixed up with the earlier blanket ban on anything by the band Bomb The Bass during the 1990s Iraq War, for similar “Don’t say bomb!” reasons.)
366 Songs 164: Idlewild Blue
Outkast’s Idlewild album, ostensibly the soundtrack to their movie of the same name, was depressingly uneven and a disappointment considering the hidden gem that the movie itself is. But Andre 3000’s various contributions to the endeavor, rooting further into a particularly American musical tradition that his earlier massive “Hey Ya!”, were well worth paying attention to. “Y’all know about the blues, don’tcha?” he asks at one point in “Idlewild Blue,” and it’s kind of amazing to think that this song’s very structured, syncopated version of the traditional blues riffs (both musical – listen to that guitar – and lyrical, with the whole “I live a life/But it just ain’t mine” posturing) might actually be their introduction to the blues. If so, it’s an easy entry point; the doo-woppy backing vocals and upbeat detournment of the downbeat genre sweeten what the blues have to offer, but still give enough of a taste of what the blues are to tease the ears of those who get it. After hearing this, there’s a lot of temptation to wish for a straight-up blues song from Andre, just to hear what he’d bring to it.
366 Songs 163: Do Ya Thing
As part of my dream last night, I dreamt that there was another new Gorillaz song to accompany this one – a truly wonderful, can’t-keep-yourself-still-when-you-listen, collaboration between Damon Albarn, LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy and Andre 3000, whose contribution is just blindingly awesome (“New word: onomatopoeia” indeed, before he goes on to rap using onomatopeic verses. Seriously, holy crap), and something that might be the final Gorillaz release ever, given the apparent falling out between Albarn and partner Jamie Hewlett. If it is, it’s a great way to go out, all blips and blops and something that shouldn’t work at all, but does, gloriously… Kind of like the project in general, really.
(The new song in my dream sounded great, although I can’t remember what it sounded like now, of course.)
Bonus: The full 13 minute version of “Do Ya Thing,” which has never been officially released but is worth it just for Andre’s freeform craziness.
366 Songs 162: Only A Northern Song
For all that “Only A Northern Song” devolves into aimless free jazz noodling and one of George Harrison’s most dirgy melodies (I think it’s really his particularly flat vocal that makes it feel that way; it almost sounds as if it was recorded and then slowed down, oddly enough), there are two things that make his song worth keeping on your digital music device of choice. The lyrics, obviously, are one; somewhere between sarcastic good natured ribbing and bitter meanness about the Lennon/McCartney dominance of the band’s songwriting chores (“Northern Songs” being the publishing company that took care of songs by the two during their Beatles output, for those who didn’t make the connection through the lyrics alone). Suddenly, lines like “If you’re listening to this song/You may think the chords are going wrong/But they’re not/He just wrote them like that” and the much more bitter “It doesn’t really matter what chords I play/What words I say or time of day it is/When it’s only a Northern Song” make a little more sense, right…?
Less meta and more groovy is the second reason: Listen to that spectacular opening.
Man, work that organ. Both of Harrison’s original contributions to the Yellow Submarine soundtrack have this same thing going on: Unworked, somewhat ramshackle songs with absolutely blinding openings. And as great as “Only A Northern Song” is, I’m seriously not sure if many other Beatles song had an opening quite as wonderful as “It’s All Too Much”:
Seriously. The first 45 seconds of that song.