This just another group of ten, with no attempt at being comprehensive. Just ten I immediately think of, or that are playing in my head at any given time.
But it’s better that way. This isn’t something I should have to think too hard about.
Oh, and the number of artists is ludicrously low. My mind is usually all over the place, but in this case these solos have gotten all the way into the lizard part of my brain. I’ll do another post if I make it back out to the monkey part.
Television:
Supposedly punks because of their intensity, they actually know how to play their instruments. Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd are both great guitar players.
There’s all kinds of loveliness on their second album, but it’s the first one that shook the world.
“See No Evil”:
The first guitar bangs out a primitive rhythm in a low register. The next one plays a repeating pattern that can only be described as snarling, this time in a higher register. Then Tom Verlaine chokes out - in yet a higher register - the words What I want, I want now! so you know these guys really mean business.
But it’s not quite fast enough to let the soloist just coast. It’s setting a level of intensity that will have to be heightened or it will all be for nothing. But Richard Lloyd's solo finds exactly the right space by going up yet another register, but not too high. Not yet. He plays a simple riff but builds the notes and the speed until there’s nowhere else to go, at which point he ends it with a descent (or is it an ascent?) into supremely controlled chaos.
“Marquee Moon”:
Nine minutes long, with dueling guitar solos taking up the middle, this one reminds me of climbing a mountain. Slow at first, but gradually increasing the intensity until it’s at a fever pitch.
It climaxes with a rush to the top of the mountain where you can feel the wide open space and even hear some (prehistoric?) birds. (You always risk sounding like an idiot when writing about rock and roll, don’t you?)
It was the song playing when a life change occurred. Friend and then Roommate Mike was moving to Europe.
While we shared an apartment, he and I would stay up all night drinking, talking and listening to music. On the day he left, I put this album on as he was getting ready. I picked it because we both loved it, and knew it would be the last one we’d listen to together.
He was all packed and waiting for the ride when this song came on, and it really felt like we were climbing that mountain. At the end, Mike put on his wings and jumped off the top, and I stayed behind because that’s what I do.
After the climax, it starts all over again. On the original vinyl, Tom Verlaine gets out a couple of lines of the verse before it fades out at 10:08, leaving you with the feeling that it continues on forever while you (but most likely me) have to head back down the mountain to face real life again, or perhaps the cemetery that they mention earlier in the song.
Crosby Stills Nash and Young:
Yeah, who would have thought?
“Carry On” (Live Version):
In theory, this long live version of a pretty tight studio song should suck. But I’ve got it basically memorized. Sloppy, self-indulgent but brilliant nonetheless. The singing doesn’t even try to match the polished harmonies on the original, but that is more than made up for by the passion. Again, dueling guitars - this time courtesy of primal Neil Young and fluid Stephen Stills - that are worthy of the Allman Brothers, Grateful Dead and Eric Clapton. Who said more isn’t better?
Eric Clapton:
And speaking of this idiot, I like to recall the time when he could do no wrong (music-wise, that is):
“Let it Rain”
It helps that this is a very pretty song with a chord progression that just encourages a guitar hero to go nuts. But on the studio version, Eric manages to balance control, passion and invention. I used to love when it came on the radio when my Led Zeppelin-loving friends were around.
“Crossroads”
Yeah, I know that it’s been spliced together from several performances but as a piece of recorded art it’s astounding. There are so many shifts of phrasing, tone and angle of attack that it simply can’t be absorbed all at one time. You have to pick the part to pay attention to or risk exhaustion.
“Badge”
Who knew Cream could do a perfect pop song? But here it is. Beautifully vague but evocative lyrics, emotional singing, George Harrison’s lovely guitar and then Eric's solo. In terms of compression, emotion and technique this might be his best.
“Sitting on Top of the World”
From Goodbye this is an overlooked masterpiece. It’s rough and raw with at least two changes in tone. But he is all over it. Intense as hell.
Stephen Stills:
“Go Back Home”
From the first Stephen Stills record, but it’s Eric Clapton who solos on this. Apparently recorded in the middle of his heroin addiction, he didn’t even remember doing it.
It starts off slow and easy but then halfway through Clapton jumps in and there is just no turning back. Another example of him improving a song without completely taking it over.
And as long as we’re talking about guitarists who are all over someone else’s record….
Derek and the Dominos:
“Why Does Love Have to Be So Sad?”
This is really all about Duane, and I must add that it’s not just the solo, but also the frantic pace of the damned thing. And then there are his fills that only tighten the screws further. So the bar is set very high when it’s time for the solo. And Duane doesn’t let us down. He matches the blistering pace and then some.
Clapton does his level best to keep up (and without Duane his would have been a perfectly good solo) but he may as well just be playing rhythm. And in a way, he kind of is.
And that’s it for now.
Okay, I know I left a lot out but since I limited myself to ten, my conscience is clear.
Like the first two One or Two Hundreds which were about voices and melodies and emotions, these guitar players provide the same thing without saying a word.
But I’m sure you can think of a zillion records I left out.
Come at me, bro!
Showing posts with label Top One or Two Hundred Whatevers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Top One or Two Hundred Whatevers. Show all posts
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Tenth Anniversary, More or Less: Top One or Two Hundred Whatevers, Part Two
I made a rather random start to this back in 2014.
It was inspired by an hour killing time in a Starbucks in Philadelphia. We were waiting to see my daughter in a show there, and I was having one of their overrated hot chocolates. But they more than made up for it with their musical selections, which were - as the kids say - bangin’.
Within that hour they managed to press so many of my buttons that my wife and son couldn’t for the life of them understand why I was getting so choked up.
Which inspired my 200th post.
At the time, I only managed to list ten, and I promised a follow-up, but the parameters of the thing were so all over the place that I’d never really come up with a comprehensive list. Even when I tried to impose some order on it and break it into sections, I could never be sure I was remembering everything I wanted to remember.
But I did want to put a few more songs together, and eventually found ten more from that old reliable decade: the 1960s. It’s a cop out I know. But at least I’ll clear them out of my head, which will allow me to move onto other things. I’ve already started my 1970s list, and who knows? I may even be able to come up with ten songs from my least favorite musical decade: the 1980s! (Yeah, you heard me, 1980s lovers!)
And, no, it’s not my 300th post, in case you were wondering. Think of it as my 10th Anniversary, since my first post was in September of 2007:
So here goes. Ten miscellaneous, but brilliant, songs from the 1960s, in no particular order:
Downtown - Petulia Clark:
When I was about six me and my family would sometimes visit my Uncle Frank’s bar, and he’d throw a bunch of quarters in the jukebox to keep us kids entertained.
My recollection is that he just punched in the same record over and over again. I concluded that this was how you were supposed to use a jukebox, and for years I’d do the same thing, until people begged me (around when “Winchester Cathedral” came out) to stop.
I vividly remember the first time my uncle did this, which was for this song. And the effect on me was electrifying.
So let me pick it apart and try not to ruin it in the process:
First, the lyrics are totally of the time. Britain as finally coming out of its post-WWII depression. I’m sure the words spoke to a lot of lower class folks struggling to make ends meet. And most Americans could identify, too, even if we were doing better than they were.
The message of forgetting your troubles for a while was pretty universal, if not revolutionary. So how do you put that across in a memorable way? Let’s look at the melody.
The first two lines (“When you’re alone and life is making you lonely…”) use the same melodic phrase. It’s quite good, so why not repeat it?
The next two (“Just listen to the music…) have a different repeated melodic phrase line. It’s a bit more conventional than the first, but it goes into a higher register and so builds the tension. In other words a perfectly good setup for the chorus of a perfectly good pop song.
But that’s not what happens. The singer’s friend is still not convinced. Maybe her troubles aren’t trivial. A perfectly good pop song just won’t do.
So, there’s that little line “How can you lose?", where the melody pauses its ascent, and seems in danger of trailing off, as if the singer is still desperately trying to find a way to persuade her friend to go.
But then she finds her inspiration with the next two lines (“The lights are much brighter there…”). The melody is still struggling to break free, and with the next line (“You can forget all your troubles…”) it does.
The chorus, of course, is wonderful - everybody recognizes it - but it’s kind of simple too, and it wouldn’t be nearly as powerful if that little interlude of struggle and resolve wasn’t there to make the victory all the sweeter.
It’s the chorus I noticed when I was six, but it’s that little interlude that gets me now. That interlude - so packed with emotion and melancholy - is like a prayer. When the chorus comes you can practically hear Britain transitioning from post-war black and white into sixties technicolor.
I would normally despise an arrangement that is so packed to the gills with brass, singers and even - to my surprise - Jimmy Page on guitar. But maybe the very glitziness of it is there to remind you that this joy will be temporary. That you still have to go home to your troubles and cares the next day.
But still, it makes you glad you’re alive.
98.6 - Keith
Another British record with an orchestra instead of a rock and roll band, but I don’t care.
I alluded to my love for this song here but I don’t think I quite put it across.
The couplet that gets me is:
My baby’s got me on another kind of highway,
I want to go to where it takes me.
Now that could just be an obvious drug reference, but to me, it’s about how the person you love can change you profoundly for the good. I’m pretty skeptical about people changing so when you convince me, that’s saying something.
There’s also something about Keith’s singing - modesty, maybe - that adds to the impact. A more accomplished singer would have ruined it.
Not convinced? Well then forget about the next one.
Western Union - The Five Americans
Again, referenced in the same post as 98.6, because of two lines that get to me.
After singing about heartbreak he drops these hopeful lines
I'll be on my way, 'cause
There's another girl for me
And it’s like watching the end of The Tramp.
Society’s Child - Janis Ian
This is a hit-you-over-the-head message song, so I’ll be brief.
This one’s got:
and what all great songs have:
Both Sides Now - Judy Collins
Yeah, I know. It’s a glossy pop record and thus has less “integrity” than any other version.
And god knows, I blame Judy for practically giving me a depression, with her versions of “Send in the Clowns” and “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” (meaning they were that good) but she absolutely nails it here.
Her voice captures and exploits every single hook, melodic turn and lyric and the strings do what they’re meant to do - underline the emotion. And they do it without getting schmaltzy. A great pop record.
Things I Want to Say - New Colony Six
Prior to this year, I might have heard this record twice - once when it first came out, and then again in the early 1980s when me and the Mrs. were first going out.
I didn’t know the title or the band, and so wandered in the wilderness for forty years or so before I finally managed to mentally assemble a line of lyric, which I then googled. And there it was!
When I played it again I feared it wouldn’t have the same impact that it did originally. But no. It was all there.
Another heartbreak song. In this one, she dumps him, but the guy reacts by wishing her well. (And I thought I was super passive-aggressive with my “I’m the better person” act!)
But seriously, this one effortlessly gets to my feels via a canny use of some minor chords and a melody that avoids going too sweet, which would have ruined it.
Moon River - Audrey Hepburn
As a young victim of “The Andy Williams Show”, I got to hear the first line of this song every week for years. But that line - really just the words “moon river” all by themselves - are merely pretty. The kind of pretty a rock n roll lover like me despised for years.
That was until I saw "Breakfast at Tiffany’s" and heard the whole song. Those two words by themselves gave away nothing about the melancholy to follow. What was Andy thinking?
The melody is pretty good, but it’s the pairing of it with the chord changes that are exquisite and deeply moving.
Not rock and roll and I don’t care.
Daydream Believer - The Monkees
I went through several Monkees phases. First, there was the clueless fandom of an eight-year-old.
But what was worse was the desperate need to be cool of a thirteen-year-old. My friend and I came across a 45 of this song and proceeded to destroy it. We convinced ourselves we’d never want to hear that song (that I secretly loved) ever again.
What a fool was I! The song would only come back to haunt me.
And now, I'm in my third phase as a geezer who simply cannot deny the brilliance of this and many other Monkees songs
But you don’t need me to tell you how beautiful this one is, so ‘nuff said.
Pleasant Valley Sunday - The Monkees
I was at a friend’s house one summer’s day and they had this single. We spent the afternoon playing side B(!), which was “Words” (quite a good song). Over and over again. All afternoon.
Why? Because we thought it was Side A. After all, it had been featured in the show recently, not “Pleasant Valley Sunday”. (Did I mention this in my stupid moments in Rock History post? I should have.)
PVS uses a speeded-up version of the guitar riff from the Beatles “I Want to Tell You” and I must admit that the Monkees made it - dare I say it? - better.
Again, an obvious choice, even if Carol King didn’t like their version.
Sometime in the Morning - The Monkees
Thanks to old friend Billy (whose house we were in for “Pleasant Valley Sunday”) who pointed out how great this song was.
I hear a bit of “Cousin Kevin” from Tommy in the guitar. But their secret weapons here are writer Carole King and singer Micky Dolenz.
This song will bring back childhood memories like no other. One of their very, very best.
So there you have it. Ten more Great Moments, or Whatevers. And more to come in, oh, five years or so...
It was inspired by an hour killing time in a Starbucks in Philadelphia. We were waiting to see my daughter in a show there, and I was having one of their overrated hot chocolates. But they more than made up for it with their musical selections, which were - as the kids say - bangin’.
Within that hour they managed to press so many of my buttons that my wife and son couldn’t for the life of them understand why I was getting so choked up.
Which inspired my 200th post.
At the time, I only managed to list ten, and I promised a follow-up, but the parameters of the thing were so all over the place that I’d never really come up with a comprehensive list. Even when I tried to impose some order on it and break it into sections, I could never be sure I was remembering everything I wanted to remember.
But I did want to put a few more songs together, and eventually found ten more from that old reliable decade: the 1960s. It’s a cop out I know. But at least I’ll clear them out of my head, which will allow me to move onto other things. I’ve already started my 1970s list, and who knows? I may even be able to come up with ten songs from my least favorite musical decade: the 1980s! (Yeah, you heard me, 1980s lovers!)
And, no, it’s not my 300th post, in case you were wondering. Think of it as my 10th Anniversary, since my first post was in September of 2007:
So here goes. Ten miscellaneous, but brilliant, songs from the 1960s, in no particular order:
Downtown - Petulia Clark:
When I was about six me and my family would sometimes visit my Uncle Frank’s bar, and he’d throw a bunch of quarters in the jukebox to keep us kids entertained.
My recollection is that he just punched in the same record over and over again. I concluded that this was how you were supposed to use a jukebox, and for years I’d do the same thing, until people begged me (around when “Winchester Cathedral” came out) to stop.
I vividly remember the first time my uncle did this, which was for this song. And the effect on me was electrifying.
So let me pick it apart and try not to ruin it in the process:
First, the lyrics are totally of the time. Britain as finally coming out of its post-WWII depression. I’m sure the words spoke to a lot of lower class folks struggling to make ends meet. And most Americans could identify, too, even if we were doing better than they were.
The message of forgetting your troubles for a while was pretty universal, if not revolutionary. So how do you put that across in a memorable way? Let’s look at the melody.
The first two lines (“When you’re alone and life is making you lonely…”) use the same melodic phrase. It’s quite good, so why not repeat it?
The next two (“Just listen to the music…) have a different repeated melodic phrase line. It’s a bit more conventional than the first, but it goes into a higher register and so builds the tension. In other words a perfectly good setup for the chorus of a perfectly good pop song.
But that’s not what happens. The singer’s friend is still not convinced. Maybe her troubles aren’t trivial. A perfectly good pop song just won’t do.
So, there’s that little line “How can you lose?", where the melody pauses its ascent, and seems in danger of trailing off, as if the singer is still desperately trying to find a way to persuade her friend to go.
But then she finds her inspiration with the next two lines (“The lights are much brighter there…”). The melody is still struggling to break free, and with the next line (“You can forget all your troubles…”) it does.
The chorus, of course, is wonderful - everybody recognizes it - but it’s kind of simple too, and it wouldn’t be nearly as powerful if that little interlude of struggle and resolve wasn’t there to make the victory all the sweeter.
It’s the chorus I noticed when I was six, but it’s that little interlude that gets me now. That interlude - so packed with emotion and melancholy - is like a prayer. When the chorus comes you can practically hear Britain transitioning from post-war black and white into sixties technicolor.
I would normally despise an arrangement that is so packed to the gills with brass, singers and even - to my surprise - Jimmy Page on guitar. But maybe the very glitziness of it is there to remind you that this joy will be temporary. That you still have to go home to your troubles and cares the next day.
But still, it makes you glad you’re alive.
98.6 - Keith
Another British record with an orchestra instead of a rock and roll band, but I don’t care.
I alluded to my love for this song here but I don’t think I quite put it across.
The couplet that gets me is:
My baby’s got me on another kind of highway,
I want to go to where it takes me.
Now that could just be an obvious drug reference, but to me, it’s about how the person you love can change you profoundly for the good. I’m pretty skeptical about people changing so when you convince me, that’s saying something.
There’s also something about Keith’s singing - modesty, maybe - that adds to the impact. A more accomplished singer would have ruined it.
Not convinced? Well then forget about the next one.
Western Union - The Five Americans
Again, referenced in the same post as 98.6, because of two lines that get to me.
After singing about heartbreak he drops these hopeful lines
I'll be on my way, 'cause
There's another girl for me
And it’s like watching the end of The Tramp.
Society’s Child - Janis Ian
This is a hit-you-over-the-head message song, so I’ll be brief.
This one’s got:
- Heartbreaking lyrics
- A soulful vocal
- Hooks galore
and what all great songs have:
- An unhappy ending
Both Sides Now - Judy Collins
Yeah, I know. It’s a glossy pop record and thus has less “integrity” than any other version.
And god knows, I blame Judy for practically giving me a depression, with her versions of “Send in the Clowns” and “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” (meaning they were that good) but she absolutely nails it here.
Her voice captures and exploits every single hook, melodic turn and lyric and the strings do what they’re meant to do - underline the emotion. And they do it without getting schmaltzy. A great pop record.
Things I Want to Say - New Colony Six
Prior to this year, I might have heard this record twice - once when it first came out, and then again in the early 1980s when me and the Mrs. were first going out.
I didn’t know the title or the band, and so wandered in the wilderness for forty years or so before I finally managed to mentally assemble a line of lyric, which I then googled. And there it was!
When I played it again I feared it wouldn’t have the same impact that it did originally. But no. It was all there.
Another heartbreak song. In this one, she dumps him, but the guy reacts by wishing her well. (And I thought I was super passive-aggressive with my “I’m the better person” act!)
But seriously, this one effortlessly gets to my feels via a canny use of some minor chords and a melody that avoids going too sweet, which would have ruined it.
Moon River - Audrey Hepburn
As a young victim of “The Andy Williams Show”, I got to hear the first line of this song every week for years. But that line - really just the words “moon river” all by themselves - are merely pretty. The kind of pretty a rock n roll lover like me despised for years.
That was until I saw "Breakfast at Tiffany’s" and heard the whole song. Those two words by themselves gave away nothing about the melancholy to follow. What was Andy thinking?
The melody is pretty good, but it’s the pairing of it with the chord changes that are exquisite and deeply moving.
Not rock and roll and I don’t care.
Daydream Believer - The Monkees
I went through several Monkees phases. First, there was the clueless fandom of an eight-year-old.
But what was worse was the desperate need to be cool of a thirteen-year-old. My friend and I came across a 45 of this song and proceeded to destroy it. We convinced ourselves we’d never want to hear that song (that I secretly loved) ever again.
What a fool was I! The song would only come back to haunt me.
And now, I'm in my third phase as a geezer who simply cannot deny the brilliance of this and many other Monkees songs
But you don’t need me to tell you how beautiful this one is, so ‘nuff said.
Pleasant Valley Sunday - The Monkees
I was at a friend’s house one summer’s day and they had this single. We spent the afternoon playing side B(!), which was “Words” (quite a good song). Over and over again. All afternoon.
Why? Because we thought it was Side A. After all, it had been featured in the show recently, not “Pleasant Valley Sunday”. (Did I mention this in my stupid moments in Rock History post? I should have.)
PVS uses a speeded-up version of the guitar riff from the Beatles “I Want to Tell You” and I must admit that the Monkees made it - dare I say it? - better.
Again, an obvious choice, even if Carol King didn’t like their version.
Sometime in the Morning - The Monkees
Thanks to old friend Billy (whose house we were in for “Pleasant Valley Sunday”) who pointed out how great this song was.
I hear a bit of “Cousin Kevin” from Tommy in the guitar. But their secret weapons here are writer Carole King and singer Micky Dolenz.
This song will bring back childhood memories like no other. One of their very, very best.
So there you have it. Ten more Great Moments, or Whatevers. And more to come in, oh, five years or so...
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Top One or Two Hundred All Time Whatevers
Act One of my One Act Play:
You: Happy 200th post Jaybee!
Me: Thanks! Hey, wait a minute! That means I completely forgot about commemorating my 100th post. Why didn’t you remind me?
You, contrite: Sorry Jaybee!
Me, gracious as always: That’s okay.
THE END
Ooops! I Missed a Spot Post!
So what the hell happened to my #100 post? If I’m counting correctly, this is it.
Nothing special, but theoretically appropriate in that it covers the year I was 15 years old. That’s supposedly when your brain gets permanently wired for the music you’re going to love all your life.
Not true for me though. In my case, it was when I was six (Beatles) and then again when I was twenty-one (punk).
So I really dropped the ball on that one.
Some Sound, Not Much Fury, Signifying Meh:
So, does 100 or 200 of anything have a special significance for me?
Well, my 100th album seems to be 4-Way Street, which is indicative of nothing except that it was in 1974, when I was starting to buy lots of records.
My 200th album was Warren Zevon, which I got right around the our nation’s 200th Anniversary. Ooooh!
I was hoping for something poetic/resonant/thematic here, but will settle for this eerie yet boring coincidence.
So before I get distracted again, and forget that this is my #200 post, I thought I’d make up for my prior omission by doing something special. Something so ambitious, and yet so unstructured and drawn out as to - as Saddam Hussein once said - astound my friends and terrify my enemies. The Mother of All Lists, if you will.
We’re all fond of describing things as the Best/Worst (fill in the blank) Ever. Well, at least Comic Book Guy is. He can be a little too specific for me, so I’m leaving myself some wiggle room.
I was going to call this “The One Or Two Hundred All-time Coolest Happenings Ever” but the acronym for that is TOOTHACHE, so instead, let’s call it “The One or Two Hundred of the Greatest Things Ever: Songs, Records, Guitar Solos, Whatever. Not Albums, though, because I’m always talking about albums. Not people, either.” (TOOTHOTGTE, etc.... seems pretty safe.)
I’ll even include the odd non-music related thing, if indeed, such a thing exists.
My Head Exploded, But in a Good Way
One criteria for making the list is that the thing threatens to make your head explode, but in the nice way. You know what I’m talking about. It’s like a form of good bumps, only it happens on your scalp. And you brain doesn’t splatter the sidewalk.
And when it happens several times in succession, as it did for me recently - twice(!) in public(!!) - you either react in an embarrassing manner (see below) or create a list like this.
Positive music experiences in public rarely happen to me. So when they do, I sit up and take notice. My hope is to just not get pissed off at what I’m hearing. Actually enjoying myself is a small miracle. These two occasions were that and much more.
The first time was at a Starbucks in Philadelphia. We walked in, got our hot chocolates, sat down and suddenly it was as though they were trying to chase out anyone under 50 years old. Usually, it’s the other way around. Anyway, they play Joni Mitchell’s “The Circle Game” and bunch of other songs I keep on a CD labeled “Miserable”, which I burned after a very depressing election.
Perhaps because I’d been softened up the night before by watching the American Masters episode about Phil Ochs, one song after another hit some deep emotional button to the point that I had to get up and leave on the pretext of getting a crossword puzzle from the van. Crying in public is not cool when you’re in your fifties.
And then it happened again later that year at The Mermaid’s Inn in the East Village. This time things were poppier but no less powerful. I realized that there are some songs that weren’t just great. They were part of me.
So this will be my outlet - those songs, records, Moments that Just. Kill. Me.
Worst. Best of Lists. Ever.
I have no intention of reaching or limiting myself to 100 or 200. If I stretch it out enough I should finish by about post 300, which will be my excuse to continue this futile exercise that I’m only doing because, as Louie says, God is Dead and We’re Alone.
I make no claim that this will matter to you one bit. These are merely transcendent (to me) moments. They are what keep me alive. What makes my agnostic soul believe with all my heart.
By the way, the numbers are not rankings. They just help me keep count. Young people can blog up stuff like this at a moment’s notice. I just don't have the energy.
And really, how wrong can I be? Every day I see another stupid Best of article:
- Rolling Stones albums that didn’t include Aftermath in the top 10.
- A Top 5 Dylan list that didn’t include Blonde on Blonde or John Wesley Harding.
- A Worst-to-Best REM list that had Out of Time as an almost-worst.
- A Best Scorsese movie list that placed After Hours above The Departed. (Are You Freaking Kidding Me?)
- And finally, an “Embarrassing Moments” list where what qualified were songs by rockers who momentarily drop their guard and show some real emotion.
So, as I say, how wrong can I be?
So here goes.
First Ten:
But why not start at the top I say?
Starting with the Chord of the F*cking Century (not exactly but so what?) moving on to characteristically energetic singing by John of a virtually one note melody. But that’s okay, the chord changes do all the work, shifting around as the song charges forward.
And then.
And then.
It Comes.
What may be the Greatest Moment In The History of Western Civilization:
When Paul comes in to sing the first line of the bridge (When I’m home..), kicking it all up a notch immediately by virtue of his higher vocal range. But that’s not enough. The second line takes the melody even higher, and still higher, until “Baby you’re holding me tight, Tight!”, which as philosophical statement beats the hell out of any ism we’ve come up with so far.
The Sixties had officially begun.
I will generally stay away from the Beatles for this list, but sometimes it’s like trying to stay away from breathing…
Not a complicated melody by any stretch, but the chord changes that accompany it are so dramatic they take your breath away. The lyrics are just vague enough to keep you wondering what the hell it’s about. And the strings are never overbearing, never cheesy. But a so-so vocal would have wasted it all. Instead Glen sings with such conviction and longing that I will fight anyone to the death who laughs. I’ve demanded silence in shopping malls when it’s played there.
And I get it.
3. September Gurls:
Okay, I know. I keep harping on this song. And even if you’ve heard it, you like the Bangles version. But you’re wrong. The Bs do a fine job of emulating middle-period Beatles with that speeded up guitar solo that serves to remind you of the speeded up piano solo of “In My Life”. It is “excellent”!
But “excellent” just isn’t good enough for this list.
Listen to Big Star’s version. You could mistake it for a merely great pop song until, oh, about thirty seconds in where you get the Chord of the F*cking Decade. (The 70s that is.) This will be followed by Alex Chilton’s completely unhinged guitar solo. Not technically brilliant, mind you. Just a few random strums, but completely un-self-consciously off the wall and purely emotional - unfiltered by “taste” or “intellect”.
Alex Chilton also sings it in a higher(!) key than the Bangles. He of "The Letter" fame! So he’s playing for bigger stakes than the Bs dare to, even with their sly lesbian angle. Alex is singing an autumnal song like an adolescent, convincingly!
Then he finishes it all off with an ever more seriously disturbed solo that doesn’t quite end when when song does.
And for that moment we see him. The artist Naked.
“Muriel’s Wedding” brought me dangerously close to getting sick of this song. But I recovered. Glitzy, over produced, utterly commercial. And stunningly beautiful. The part of the chorus beginning with “You can dance” rivals the bridge in "A Hard Day’s Night" in sheer joy.
Before I owned this record, coming upon it on the radio meant that whatever else was going on had to stop. I’m so glad it wasn’t playing in Labor and Delivery when my kids were born.
Now that I have the record, I do notice that the background singing isn’t as good as it could be and the sound could be a lot cleaner. And yet, I’m sure that if a version existed that addressed those problems, I wouldn’t love it nearly as much as I do the original.
And the words! It would have been nice to know them - the singer isn’t trying very hard to enunciate. But now that I know what they are, I realize the song is more effective without me knowing. An overwhelming emotion that can’t be expressed in mere words. They come close, though.
And the melody! Was it simply handed down from heaven to Michael Brown? The strings certainly were.
As much as I love rock and roll, I’d be the first to admit it’s very simple music and the musicians are not always up to even that. And yet, here we are in 1964 with Rod Argent playing a bitchin’ electric piano solo. And how about that pretty nifty melody in the verse, which suddenly switches to virtually a single note during the chorus, but there’s that harmony that works it and works it and works it. Along with the time shifts, key changes, and the breathless tempo.
Okay, maybe not transcendent, but thrilling.
It’s a disgrace that the first time I heard this 1966 song was the little snippet at the beginning of that song on Quadraphenia in 1973. Thanks a lot FM and AM radio! HUGE fail.
Anyway, when I finally caught up with it, I realized that Pete Townsend wasn’t a genius because he could do a rock opera. It was because he could write such a perfect pop song, which by the way, isn’t so because of the melody or the playing, even if the harmonies and Roger Daltrey’s vocal are perfect. It’s because of the lyrics.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard a song that better captures the insecurities, the camaraderie, the pain and the joy of being a teenager. The title, I think, is a f*ck you to adults who thought every teenager was a hoodlum. Pete always had their back. It’s “My Generation” again, only this time much sweeter.
Of working class themed songs, “Summertime Blues” is the funny one. FOMM however is the keeper. It’s just so damned intense. Maybe the most intense rock song ever.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the tempo is frantic.The key changes go higher and higher and the harmonies keep up with it. And great guitar riffs.
And the story: A working class guy who sounds like he’s right on the edge. When he promises to lose his head, you hope it’s in a good way. He bitches about his job, but for once, doesn’t take it out on his girlfriend, who he can’t wait to go out with.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bad version of this song. Even Buffy St. Marie (sort of) kicks ass with it. But I’ll give the edge to Joni Mitchell’s.
Like some of her other songs, its theme is trite, in theory anyway. But she fills them with such evocative words and perfectly matching melodies that you’re too stunned to notice.
10. Dying to Live
I know you don’t know this one. That’s why I put it here! I have nothing to say about it that you can’t hear yourself. We can all be forgiven for not realizing how much soul Edgar Winter has, but not after hearing this.
To Be Continued:
I’ll stop to take a breath now.
I’ll give the rest to you in bunches, or individually, as the mood, logic or alcohol dictates.
These songs are at such a level of perfection that you’re forced to stop whatever you’re doing and just let yourself be carried along with them.
I think it's what we mean when we say God.
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