Title: Deacon Blues
Artist: Steely Dan
Year: 1977
Album: Aja
Forcing myself to write a quick, short blog post tonight so I can hang out with my friend and guest blogger Erik Schlosser (see post #360). We decided to feature one of our favorite songs from Aja, the brilliant "Deacon Blues."
Rarely does a singer sing about a character this pathetic in the first person. From the outset of the song, Donald Fagen describes a gluttonous man in the most grandiose of terms:
This is the age of the expanding man That shape is my shade, there where I used to stand.
The song continues down a dark path of gambling, drinking, sex and—worst of all—saxophone playing. The chorus separates the winners and losers of life and it's clear where this dude stands:
I'll learn to work the saxophone I'll play just what I feel Drink Scotch whisky all night long And die behind the wheel They got a name for the winners in the world I want a name when I lose They call Alabama the Crimson Tide Call me Deacon Blues
In the end, Erik and I debated whether this was a celebration of the degenerate lifestyle or a suicide note(!). We couldn't decide and Fagen isn't telling. What do YOU think?
Title: Anarchy in the U.K. Title: White Riot Artist: The Sex Pistols Artist: The Clash
Year: 1977 Year: 1977 Album: Never Mind the Bollocks, Album: The Clash
Here's the Sex Pistols
Nineteen seventy-seven was the year that punk rock became a sensation in the English-speaking world. The New York-based Ramones had already established themselves as a driving force, releasing their third album, Rocket to Russia, which provided their greatest success to date. California punk bands such as The Germs and X were gaining greater prominence. And in Australia, The Saints became the first band to release punk record outside of the United States (thank you Wikipedia—I give credit).
But in England, punk rock was developing into something much bigger than a minor musical movement, gaining prominence—perhaps more accurately, notoriety— in the mainstream. And while the musical influence of the Ramones was obvious, the lyrics dealt with socio-political issues rather than dancing and school. Debut albums by The Sex Pistols and The Clash aimed to incite action, even violence, from those who would listen and were considered shocking and revolting by older generations.
The two bands apparently had very different goals, at least as evidenced in their musical styles and approach. In "Anarchy in the U.K.", (comma outside the parentheses in honor of the subjects!) Johnny Rotten (née John Lydon) provocatively declares himself an "anti-Christ" in an over-enunciated snarl that is as insistent as his demands are vague. Readily admitting in the lyric that he "don't know what (he) want(s)", Rotten eventually makes a scant political point when name-dropping the MPLA, UDA and IRA (organizations I know little about and don't wish to research at the moment!). The crude instrumentation and performance perfectly compliment Rotten's vitriol and the infectious energy of the track is irresistible to anyone with even a passing interest in the musical genre.
The Clash on the other hand seem to have a long-term strategy. "White Riot" shows a level of maturity that would not jibe with the bratty antics of John Lydon and Co. Faster and more reflective of the NYC bands who influenced them, the track opens with sophisticated guitar work and a real vocal hook in the chorus. The lyrics are clever and impactful ("Are you taking over/Or are you taking orders? Are you going backwards/Or are you going forwards?") and the song itself is organized in a way that almost makes it the antithesis of "Anarchy in the U.K." It's so efficient that it makes its point about economic inequality, dares the listener to take action, gives you eight choruses to sing along to (as well as two guitar solos) and still clocks in under two minutes! This is a band with their sights on the long game even as they're just beginning, so it should be no wonder that they went on to release five more studio albums (including the excessively brilliant London Calling) while The Sex Pistols had disbanded less than a year later.
Title: She's a Rainbow Artist: The Rolling Stones Year: 1967 Album: Their Satanic Majesties Request
I've always been a bit amused by the "Who's better, The Beatles or The Stones?" debate which is almost always begun by someone whose answer is the latter. It's like a built-in inferiority complex or an underdog syndrome—I'm not sure—but I've always seen it as kind of a pointless discussion. I must confess I haven't heard it for some time but it was quite prevalent when I was a kid and The Beatles weren't such a distant memory.
But in the late 1960s, there was certainly some talk of a rivalry between the two whether real or imagined. The bands seemed to get on okay, with McCartney and Lennon even showing up to contribute some backing vocals to a couple of songs on the Stones' second album of 1967, Their Satanic Majesties Request, which was frequently touted as their answer to The Beatles' landmark Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. But at a time when The Beatles were relying even more heavily on their longtime producer George Martin, The Rolling Stones found themselves without one after longtime manager/producer Andrew Loog Oldham resigned over frustration with the band's increasingly decadent lifestyle, which had led to recent drug busts and a lack of focus in the recording studio.
But the record that Keith Richards would later describe as "a load of crap" did produce "She's a Rainbow," which arguably does meet the standard set by Revolver and Sgt. Pepper's... With a string arrangement by Led Zeppelin's John Paul Jones and stylish Baroque piano playing by Nicky Hopkins, the song boasts one of the more creative arrangements to appear on a Stones record. The tempo fluctuations and childlike backing vocals contribute to a colorful setting in support of lyrics that may or may not be blue. The cacophonic conclusion is not dissimilar to moments present on the next Beatles record, the so-called "White Album." A moment of clever invention during a difficult time for the so-called "anti-Beatles."
Title: I Think We're Alone Now Artist: Tommy James and the Shondells Year: 1967 Album: I Think We're Alone Now
Uh-oh, my readership is dipping. Too much talk of the Muslim influence on Spanish flamenco music during my "White Rabbit" discussion? Okay, maybe I strayed a bit.
I think if someone asked me which artist has had his/her songs covered in the most atrocious manner without any positive residual effects on that artist's own career trajectory, I would choose Tommy James and The Shondells. At least, I would today because that's who I want to write about. During the 1980s, Tommy James and the rest of the world had to suffer through terrible renditions of "Mony, Mony" (Billy Idol), "Crimson and Clover" (Joan Jett), and of course Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now."—each one devoid of any soul whatsoever. These cover songs are the reason the phrase "crimes against humanity" was coined.
In its original form, "I Think We're Alone Now" is such a clever little teenage love song. It tells the tale of two kids whose parents don't approve of their relationship, forcing them to sneak around to see one another. The premise itself is so easily relatable to anyone who has ever dealt with a lack of approval over their choice of a boyfriend or girlfriend.
But it's the details of the arrangement that work to make this a "bubblegum apotheosis," as described rock critic Lester Bangs. I love how the song shifts into overdrive during the line running just as fast as we can by placing the snare on every downbeat and changing the bass guitar rhythm from straight eighths to a gallop. The rasp in James's voice on the line trying to get away into the night over a bVII in the harmony is a favorite moment for me. But the pièce de resistance and most important musical decision made in the performance and production is to turn the chorus into a whisper by removing the rhythm. This makes perfect sense with the lyric—I think we're alone now/there doesn't seem to be anyone around now—and highlights just how clueless the Tiffany rendition is. (Yes, I know it went to #1—there was a lot of cocaine ingestion in the 80s.) The heartbeat and crickets are a cute touch but it's really the drop in dynamic at the outset of the chorus that makes the moment. Brilliant song.
P.S. Just for fun, here's the original cover for the album I Think We're Alone Now. Consider this: it was considered too suggestive and subsequent pressings were issued with a picture of the band instead. In 1967! Crazy.
Title: White Rabbit Title: Saeta
Artist: Jefferson Airplane Artist: Miles Davis
Year: 1967 Year: 1960
Album: Surrealistic Pillow Album: Sketches of Spain
"White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane has such a unique structure for a pop song that it's worth examining not just the composition itself, but the influences that led to its creation. Rarely do we experience a song that is essentially one long crescendo, beginning from nothing and rising in a straight line dynamically with no discernable arc. The most obvious comparison, as informed by the rhythmic ostinato present throughout the entirety of the piece, is to Ravel's Bolero, classical music's equivalent, which has the same dynamic structure (albeit across eight minutes instead of two-and-a-half) but surprisingly less of the pseudo-Phrygian tonality so strongly associated with Spanish music.
In interviews, songwriter Grace Slick makes mention of a "bolero" that influenced her writing as the one "used by Miles Davis and Gil Evans on their 1960 album Sketches of Spain." She is most assuredly referring to the song "Saeta," which is not a bolero but has tonal and rhythmic characteristics similar to Slick's composition, including the aforementioned Phrygian tonality (marked by a semitone at the beginning of the scale—in this case F#-G), a melismatic style of performance (heard in Slick's singing and in the bassoon that opens "Saeta"), and a similar rhythmic cadence in the snare drums of each track. "Saeta" sets its melodies over a sustained drone whereas "White Rabbit" utilizes a chord progression more suited to popular music.
For the sake of knowledge (and that's what we're all here for, right?), saeta is a form of religious song from the southern region of Spain which serves as the basis for the cante flamenco, performed by the singer in Flamenco music. Emanating from a region that was ruled by an Islamic empire for over half a millenium before falling under Christian rule, the songs seem obviously influenced by the intonation found in Muslim prayer. While I am certainly not an expert on the subject, I came to this realization while attending a remarkable flamenco performance in Seville immediately after witnessing the ever-strong Moorish influence on the surrounding areas. The most startling (and beautiful!) evidence of this influence can be found in the grand mosque/cathedral (yes, I know that is a weird word combo) in the town of Córdoba.
What's left to say about "White Rabbit"? I'm not going to get into all the Alice in Wonderland stuff, even though I do think it is interesting and creative for the time period. Slick's voice is perfectly suited for this style and song, capable of great power or delicateness when necessary. To me, the most shocking thing about the song is how short it is, which probably says more about the time period than anything as record companies were caught in-between the age of three-minute singles on 45RPMs and the dawn of album-oriented rock just on the horizon.
Title: Waterloo Sunset
Artist: The Kinks
Year: 1967
Album: Something Else By The Kinks
Disclaimer: I am allowing myself only 20 minutes to write this post this evening—one minute for each year Pirates fans suffered waiting for tonight. Let's go Bucs.
I'm not much of a Kinks fan. I never really got the whole Village Green Preservation Society stuff and I can't just chalk it up to cultural differences. If the songs were awesome, I would like it, right?
So you write them off and then you hear a song like "Waterloo Sunset" and your jaw just drops at the charming simplicity of it all. And while I'd probably rather hear it sung by Elliott Smith, the Kinks' original version has its charms with its quirky backing vocals and McCartney-esque falsetto on the line And I don't need no friends. When I really pay attention to the lyrics, it's Ray Davies I want to hear because, with tongue practically sewn into his cheek, he's much more adept at pulling off lines like Chilly, chilly is the evening time. More earnest versions turn awkward at that moment.
So what's going on with this cascading melody that makes it so damn beautiful? I believe the answer is in the dissonance and resolution of the chordal sixth that occurs just before each chord change. Here's the melody with the sixth highlighted and chord changes below:
dirty old river / must you keep rolling / flowing in to the night
c# b e c#—b g# f# b g#—f# c# b g# f#—e c#
E B A
That the melody is pentatonic helps keep everything nice and open and breathable by not including those sticky semi-tones. This adds to the free and easy descent of the melodic sequence. To me, it's one of the most remarkable melodies in all of pop music history. I just love it. And I'm out of time. Go Bucs!
Title: You Keep Me Hangin' On Title: You Keep Me Hangin' On
Artist: The Supremes Artist: Vanilla Fudge
Year: 1967 Year: 1967
Album: The Supremes Sing Holland–Dozier–Holland Album: Vanilla Fudge
Here's the story of one act's career slowly grinding to a halt while another's is just getting started. And how a song can transcend and overcome trends in pop music.
By 1967, the stellar songwriting/production team known as Holland-Dozier-Holland (H-D-H) was engaged in a dispute with Motown founder Gordy Berry over royalties. H-D-H was responsible for writing and producing almost every record The Supremes released while at Motown, including "Where Did Our Love Go," "Baby Love," "Come See About Me," "Stop! In the Name of Love," "Back in My Arms Again," "I Hear a Symphony," "You Can't Hurry Love," and "You Keep Me Hangin' On"—eight #1 singles in just over two years! The dispute with Motown resulted in a deliberate work slowdown and, by 1968, they were gone. And while The Supremes continued to have moderate success, they found it harder and harder to crack the Top 20 without their writing team. Soon after, Diana Ross left the group and they never had another number one again.
In the meantime, psychedelic rock was gaining a foothold beyond California and bands with names like Moby Grape, the Electric Prunes, Strawberry Alarm Clock, and Vanilla Fudge starting popping up. (Did it just get hungry in here?) And while most were composing their own lengthy compositions, the Long Island band Vanilla Fudge decided to tap into their influences and record heavy, organ-tinged arrangements of the pop songs they enjoyed. And so just a year after The Supremes hit the charts with "You Keep Me Hangin' On" (in 1966, technically), Vanilla Fudge scored with their pumped-up version form their eponymous debut. (I'm featuring the album-length cut here, but a single version was released for radio airplay.)
While slower and driven by Carmine Appice's forceful drumming, it's actually kind of startling how true to the original Vanilla Fudge's version is. They don't just maintain the Morse-code like ostinato but build upon it later in the song for maximum musical impact. The spoken word break, delivered with cute exasperation by Diana Ross, isn't nearly as awkward as I expected it to be, with Mark Stein sounding both hopeless and helpless. In the end, Vanilla Fudge's version sounds very much like the male counterpoint to The Supremes' version—kudos for keeping the backing vox, which helps a lot in making the connection—and I have more than a little fun imagining that they are singing about one another.
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