John Fahey :: I am the Resurrection
Fall isn’t the time we usually talk about resurrection; everything’s folding up now, getting tucked away. But it’s also the harvest, what was buried or sheathed is brought to a new life as sustenance for other living things. So I guess we’re on the cusp of a resurrection even if it’s not the Jesus kind. There are no lyrics in this song, and I’m not sure I’d feel the same weight of I am the Resurrection if it wasn’t titled so. I’ve been trying to figure out what this little ditty means to me beyond conjuring up the stuff I learned in Sunday School. Among other things, I’ve decided it sounds like a year in the midwest. I am the Resurrection quietly plods and plucks through winter and into April when the frost breaks. The tempo picks up then slows again when we realize we still can’t leave the house without a coat. In June, things really start to move, ratcheting forward through summer until abruptly ending in a deliberate and exhausted October that quickly resolves to fade back into winter.
Ah, the old familiar cycle of life. Summer came and went too fast, but I’m itching for some crisp new school clothes and cider. The air is charged with promise, the promise that things will change. For better or worse that remains to be seen. Our financial institutions are crumbling, this year’s presidential election is more about who made the most gaffes than anything real, we’re in an endless war and the weather is going totally nutzo. Our small seasons, our puny planet: if it doesn’t work out for us, maybe we can be resurrected in spirit, we can be fuel for the next cycle until the universe sets itself right. But before I get too doom and gloom and start preparing myself for the apocalypse, I know I can put on a sweater and soothe my spirit with a little steel-strung guitar.
I am the Resurrection (3.2MB MP3)
John Fahey (wikipedia)
Weezer :: Say It Ain’t So
One of my favorite dudes in the universe is my seven year old cousin. The middle son of my mother’s youngest brother, B is hopelessly enthralled with High School Musical and 90s alternative rock (thanks to Guitar Hero). Every time I go out west to visit family, I spend some time at my uncle’s house in what I can only describe as “the room of awesome.” It’s pretty much just a regular living room, but with an excellent sound system and a huge flat screen of perpetual Wii, karaoke and cartoons. Also in this room, my oldest cousin J (age 15, super into prog, color me proud), B’s brother, is pretty handy on the old family computer machine as most kids are today, and creates music playlists for his brothers including the littlest one, N (5 years old, into metal).
The last time I visited, I was greeted at the door by B yelling, “Kelly! Kelly! Come listen to my favorite song!” He dragged me to the computer and played Say it Ain’t So. I was all, “whaaaa? How do you know this song?! This is my favorite song!” to which he replied, “how do you know this song?!” My explanation and the concept of me being alive in 1994 or ever being 14 totally blew his mind. He played me some of his other favorite songs (most of which were from the 90s), and we were both pretty impressed with each other.
That simple little exchange made me think a lot about nature vs. nurture: how much I have in common with my uncle (age 47, into Talking Heads and Elvis Costello) and cousins, musically and otherwise, even though I’ve spent very little actual time with them. Do the bonds of blood transfer to musical taste? Is a predilection for certain sounds written into our DNA? B just liked the music, he didn’t know I used to listen to Say it Ain’t So as a young teenager, lamenting the past and lamenting my own future as a potential alcoholic. When the Blue Album came out, my father had indeed “cleaned up, found Jesus,” so I was immediately drawn to this song and its literal connection to my own life. I almost hoped that my step-father at the time would become an alcoholic so I could identify with the song even more. I’m the son! I’m drowning in the flood! This song is meeeee! Ah, youth, angsty alienated youth. I even tried beer (not just because of the song) to see if I’d fall in love with it. When I didn’t and hid the bottle in my closet after a few sips, I was relieved and perhaps slightly disappointed.
I’ve met plenty of people who consider Say it Ain’t So a favorite. Barring any literal or emotional connections with the song, I think its basic appeal lies in the sound and earnestness of the lyrics and their delivery. It’s a shame that Weezer turned into a hit-making machine, but it’s really pleasant to find that Rivers’ old brand of earnestness can still be recognized and appreciated, even by a seven year old.
Say It Ain’t So (5MB MP3)
Weezer (homepage, video)
Yes :: And You and I
I wrote a bunch of junk about this song (stuff like: 1972, moog, mini-moog, mellotron, leslie speakers, neo-Wagnerian, blah blah blah, etc. etc), and realized it was boring. So, I’ll just say that And You and I makes me happy. I like the beginning where it seems like they’re just figuring out chords and creating it as they go and then BLAMMO, a ten minute epic is in the bag.
My favorite part is close to eight minutes in when there’s a little turn and a full on jam ensues. Unfortunately, I’m incapable of accurately describing the capabilities of Yes or any other band/musician that can orchestrate such complicated musical structures, but the geek in me is totally appreciative. Even though I’ve been listening to the lo-fi brilliance of Jay Reatard all week and loving it, I still get a big kick out of Yes and all their production and time changes.
If I could do what they do, I would. Armed with a piece of shit acoustic guitar, I once made up a sprawling epic involving my cat George going on a journey to find an amulet (of power); certain elements of the sound and lyrics at the end of And You and I encapsulate the tone I was going for:
And you and I climb, crossing the shapes of the morning.
And you and I reach over the sun for the river.
And you and I climb, clearer, towards the movement.
And you and I called over valleys of endless seas.
Just beautiful. My song was pretty difficult to ‘write’, as I don’t know how to play guitar and was only strumming and droning on about mountains and…wizards(!), so it’s probably a good thing I forgot how it went exactly. I’ll leave that sort of thing to the people who can handle it, I suppose.
Anyhow, even though I’m not sure what it’s about (God? A boy and his dog? A fisherman and the sea? A father and son? George and I? Preachers and teachers? Barb’s mom?), this song sounds like life and nature and humans and growing and traveling and making things, and it lifts my spirits when I’m feeling down.
And You and I (13.9MB MP3)
Yes (homepage)
The Purple Underground :: Count Back
Count Back makes me picture nattily dressed mop-topped teenagers wiggling and jerking around in front of an even more nattily dressed band, shaking out their hormones, feeling their youth, basking in Day Glo angst. On a beach, I hope.
Considering The Purple Underground came out of Winter Haven, Florida, it’s a safe bet this might have happened. Formerly known as The Spades, it appears they were around from about 1964 to 1971; unfortunately information on these dudes is pretty spotty. As far as I can tell from the handful of web pages (pages, not even whole sites) I discovered, they had a fair amount of local popularity and even did a Florida tour (as The Spades) with the Zombies, but never really made it. A label out of San Francisco called Boss put out the Count Back record, but it’s long out of print. Besides the blog where I found it, the song’s on a few compilations: the most common one being Garage Beat ‘66 Vol. 3: Feeling Zero, put out by Sundazed Music Inc. in 2004.
Most of the lyrics are indiscernible, but from what I can hear, these guys seem to be upset/enthralled with a lady. The beat is fast, the guitars are surfy spacey, and the vocal delivery reminds me of Stiv Bators. The singer leaves crooning behind for a growling kind of cant, not often uttered before in popular music. I’m pretty sure they’re shaking a shoebox full of broken glass and spoons too, but that could just be my awful speakers. This isn’t Beach Blanket Bingo, Count Back stuck out like a sore thumb next to the other songs featured on the compilations I waded through. At the end, any semblance of a melody devolves into a creepy psychedelic pile of noise that probably scared the shit out of people back then. Psychedelic creep outs are one of my favorite things; so, to me, that part’s just the cream cheese icing on an already delicious cake.
It’s a shame there isn’t more documentation on this band, but this song is a great example of the derivation and experimentation in rock and roll that gave birth to some of my favorite genres and sub-genres, and of a sound that people are still trying to emulate today.
This is a call to the universe! Somebody find this on vinyl! Re-issue and reunion tour to follow! Or maybe they could play just once on the beach so I can close my eyes and have my mop-topped fantasy for real.
Count Back (3.6MB MP3)
Purple Underground (answers.com), podcast including Count Back, more info
Love :: Alone Again Or
Love is a famous band, this song is famous, and it’s from a famous album. A simple google of “Love (the band)” will tell you everything you ever wanted to know and more, so I’ll be brief. Wes Anderson, as you might recall, used Alone Again or in Bottle Rocket to great effect. That precious bastard, his taste is impeccable! Some would argue his creations have become too self-conscious these days, but shit like this makes you remember where he started and forgive him his over-developed acumen.
The song begins beautifully then urgently bursts into a pop chorus with lyrics as dark they are bright. It’s sarcastic and vague, but celebratory. It’s melancholy that you can dance to. I’m a sucker for the Moody Blues, (I could listen to Nights in White Satin a hundred times in a row and never tire) and Alone Again or captures that orchestral sound and emotional weight without getting too sappy. The addition of a mariachi band (borrowed from a Tijuana Brass album), injects exuberance to an otherwise heavy-hearted song. Those horns and that pling plang plung of the guitar remind me of being a kid in New Mexico, when mariachi equaled party time: bonfires, good food, dancing, staying up past your bedtime.
Meaty chunks of nostalgia are packed in so tight with this song that I couldn’t not love Love. The happy little ranch girl meets the sullen sentient and everyone’s pleased. Pick your point of view and listen accordingly.
Alone Again Or
Love (wikipedia)
a clip from Bottle Rocket, The Damned, covering
Beck :: Puttin’ It Down
Leave it to Beck to capture the bitterness of rejection in such plain sweet words. Puttin it Down is about eagerness, apathy and disappointment. When he sings “I don’t wanna be funny,” it’s the prettiest heart-breakinest thing I ever heard. While listening to my playlist in alphabetical order recently, this song stuck out and poked me in the brain, jostling out dormant memories of being a 14 year old freshman during that magic time in the 90s — when people were weird because they were weird and it was easy to be shocked, when ugly became attractive and we didn’t know why. Beck released three different albums on three different labels that year. I only knew about Mellow Gold back then, but it was perfect, and enough to hook me forever.
My first real deal high school crush loved Beck too. We were in a beginning art class together and I’d sit nearby and listen to him talk about music with an Armenian kid he’d befriended and dubbed ‘Rasputin’. His name was Matt and he was 17 or 18, a senior, hilarious, and a dork. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, had an out of style haircut, and wore fitted jeans when everyone else’s were baggy. Seeing the actual shape of a teenage boy’s body, day after day, left me both confused and titillated. He dunked his head in the water of our classroom’s paint-clogged utility sink once, just because, and I was smitten.
I never spoke to him until the day he was talking about a show Beck did at the Detroit Science Center. (My aunt had almost taken me, but she was middle-aged and I was absurdly self-conscious about strangers thinking I was a loser… pun not intended, irony noted). Out croaked, “I was supposed to go to that,” and Rasputin sneered, “yeah right”. But Matt *sigh* said, “you should’ve gone, it was awesome.” In subsequent weeks, we became friendly, and were frequently reprimanded for “having too much fun,” though I remained ever-awkward. At the end of the year he invited me over to his house for cookies and kool-aid, and to study for finals. I declined because I was a coward. He offered me a ride home when he saw me waiting outside the school in my band clothes after his graduation, but I looked at him with his tie wrapped around his head and said, “no, thanks, my mom’s picking me up.” I sat waiting for my mother for almost an hour after that, cursing her and God and myself until a fellow band nerd straggler offered to take me home.
I didn’t see him again until 1997, the day of my own graduation. Beck was a superstar and high school was over; the world was wide open. In the school parking lot, in my uncle’s car, off to celebrate at Macaroni Grill with my family, I caught a glimpse of Matt bounding off the football field. His head was shaved, he was a bit fatter, and he was covered in mud. But it was too late, the car was moving. So I cursed my uncle and I cursed myself and I burned that God damned Macaroni Grill to the ground!
Puttin’ It Down
Beck (homepage)
Neutral Milk Hotel :: Ghost
I know many of you have been listening to and singing or playing Neutral Milk Hotel for years; it’s nothing new so I won’t analyze. I ask you humbly to listen again, repeatedly (if necessary) and purposefully. I chose this song for the end of winter. Today is the first day of spring, but there’ll be snow tomorrow (last week to you, dear readers). The land has cracked and thawed enough for me to smell the stink of the city again and the cold has left my bones, but we need that extra push: a triumphant song of life and death and ghosts and never being afraid… with trumpets that bear down and the kind of beat that grandmothers and Baptist preachers warn you about. The devil’s beat, the beat that works against and with our natural rhythm. We need our blood to pump and boil so the collective heat of our beating hearts will finally force the end of this godforsaken winter. Spring will rise again! The ghosts of winter will spook us no more! The world will turn into a wonderland where people roam free without the tethers of coats and boots! I bought flip flops yesterday! Let’s do this!
Ghost
Neutral Milk Hotel (Elephant Six site)
Dr. Dog :: The Girl
I don’t know anything technical about music beyond what I learned in high school symphony band, but here goes my first effort writing about a song I like very much.
Dr. Dog is one of those bands I had to listen to a few times before I could even form an opinion about them. The Girl is the kind of song I didn’t even hear until about the third or fourth play. It’s steeped in what I’d like to call 80’s “dad pop”, easily getting lost amongst the folksy goodtime/bad-time 70’s throwback tracks that fill out the rest of We All Belong.
And so it begins with a jangly repetition of “one, two, one-two-three-four”, evoking those psychedelic Sesame Street number counting segments that feature rolling marbles and disco lights. What follows is gritty, dare I say… Don Henley gritty: the melody sways like a pendulum through lyrics like, “living dirty lies” and “break into the church to burglarize the father”. It sounds dangerous, almost sinister… until, by way of the chorus, the title “girl” in question appears and shines a light through the protagonist’s darkness. Usually a happy chorus plunked into what I think starts off as a perfectly good dirge pisses me off (i.e. every single hit by The Police), but this one’s chock-full of harmony and capped off by an awful yowl that brings you back down into the grime before things get too sugary.
After one of my favorite lines (“diggin’ up the dead and expecting them to dance, dance, dance”) leads into the second chorus, spare percussion and delicate piano tinkling gives way to a horn-like wail that jerks you into outer space. The guitar (and keyboard?) parts wrap around each other and slither into a sexy smooth riff that sounds like it belongs in a particularly dramatic episode of 21 Jump Street. It makes me want to slip on a jean jacket and step into the night with the seemingly hundreds of layered voices that enter and end the song with an anthemic march.
In conclusion, The Girl rules.
the Girl
Dr. Dog (homepage)