Song #141 of 9999 Title: Butterflies Artist: Toad The Wet Sprocket Year: 1991 Album: Fear
Santa Barbara band Toad The Wet Sprocket always seemed a little too laid back for their own good as far I was concerned. I still liked them and bought all their records because their melodies were so good and Glen Phillips' reedy baritone agreed with me. But I think they never achieved greatness because they lacked an edge that even as gentle a band as Crowded House could summon once in a while.
Which is why I like the song "Butterflies" so much. I mean, yes, it is called "Butterflies" but there's a drive to the song seldom heard on their records. There's also some pretty cool melodic and rhythmic dissonance that pervades the track. I remember being so excited about the moment at 2:40 when Phillips sings an augmented fourth against the busy bass line. An exciting performance of an interesting song.
Song #140 of 9999 Title: Squeeze Me Macaroni Artist: Mr. Bungle Year: 1991 Album: Mr. Bungle
This is probably mostly a guy thing, but did you ever have a friend who, whenever you see him or her, you become instantly silly? Maybe you even make up funny songs or maybe you're even a little catty, making fun of other people behind their backs or whatever. For me, much of eighth grade was spent making up terrible (I mean, awesome!) parody songs a là Weird Al Yankovic. (Think "Detergent" in place of Foreigner's "Urgent." See, hilarious!) Later, in high school, I co-wrote many a ridiculous song, including an over-the-top Christian metal song called "Kill For God," never thinking "Christian metal" could actually become a real thing.
Mr. Bungle is a band made up of high school chums who managed to make a career out of this tomfoolery, although they lean much more toward the foul and scatological than I ever did. Fronted by mad genius Mike Patton, they released several albums, but none quite as acrid as their 1991 debut. Patton had already explored some of this territory as a member of Faith No More, but here he allows himself to be completely uncensored in the way one can only be completely at ease around family members. It's outrageous in the truest sense of the word.
Why does it work? Are you kidding? Listen to these guys play. Influenced by John Zorn, who was influenced by Carl Stalling, Mr. Bungle shifts gears at high speed, moving in and out of new tempos (and even styles) like flipping a switch. This is not entirely uncharted territory—Frank Zappa did it 15 years earlier with a similar caliber of musician and just as much raunchiness. Nothing about this record is for the faint-hearted but, if you let yourself be in on the joke, you're guaranteed to have a good time.
Last week, I laid out my theory about how you can find an artist's most intriguing (not necessarily best) album by going to the record that marks their commercial peak and subtracting one. I cited several examples including The Joshua Tree by U2 as the high point and the previous year's The Unforgettable Fire as the better album. If I had a bigger readership (or maybe just a more motivated one ;), someone would have taken me to task for that analysis and cited Achtung Baby as proof of my foolishness.
Achtung Baby is a great example of art emerging from conflict. By 1991, U2 were superstars, having made their mark worldwide with The Joshua Tree. But they had also received some (rightfully) negative reviews for their follow-up Rattle and Hum, which seemed self-indulgent and misguided. So there was a lot of pressure and tension as the band entered the studio with producers Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, who had helped them achieve their pre-Rattle success. Apparently, the writing and recording was hard, prompting the near dissolution of the band.
But the end result is remarkable as the band revamped their sound, juxtaposing melody and noise into a very accessible record. As the novelty of The Edge's guitar sound had worn off and Bono's voice had lost some of its clarity from excessive touring, the band was forced to turn their attention to writing great songs instead of making great recordings. The album spawned several hits, including "One," "Mysterious Ways," and "Even Better Than the Real Thing." I chose to feature "Acrobat" tonight for two reasons: 1) I think it's one of the best full band performances on a U2 record, thrilling as it nearly spins out of control in fast 3/4 time; and 2) because I think my friend Jeff's cover of the song is one of the highlights of his 2003 reworking of THE ENTIRE ALBUM. If you like it, you should check out the rest of the tracks HERE. It's a superb reinterpretation of a classic album that makes me jealous every time I listen to it.
Song #137 of 9999 Title: Losing My Religion Artist: R.E.M. Year: 1991 Album: Out of Time
There are actually a number of really good songs from 1991 so I thought I would get one of the giants out of the way first. If you haven't heard this song for a while, try it out with some fresh ears.
It's always interesting when a musical artist brings some attention to the characteristics of their hometown or region. Whether it's Woody Guthrie singing about the dust storms of Oklahoma or Bruce Springsteen singing about the Jersey Shore, these artists offer a glimpse of a life most people will never experience. When it's done well, it can be very effective because it makes the subject of the song so much more tangible. Billy Joel's "Allentown," for example, paints a vivid picture of a town facing a recession while Frank Zappa's "Valley Girl" introduced an entirely new vocabulary to millions of teenagers living well outside of Southern California.
R.E.M.'s Michael Stipe took a simple colloquialism of the south and turned it into a song about longing and unrequited love. "Losing my religion" means to lose one's temper or to be at the end of one's rope. It's a really cool phrase that I certainly had never heard before this song was released, not having grown up in Georgia. The phrase anchors Stipe's otherwise (typically) cryptic lyrics and he cleverly taps the religion concept for the related phrase "choosing my confessions." Indeed, the whole song reads like a confession and I think these are some of Stipe's most engaging lyrics.
The arrangement also contributes a lot to the emotional resonance of the song. Peter Buck's I-just-learned-how-to-play-the-mandolin riff jangles amidst strings and acoustic guitars playing a simple minor chord progression. For me, the most ingenious moment of the song occurs in the break right before the final verse (around the 3:15 mark). The progression moves to the III chord (C Major) for the first (and only) time when Stipe sings "That was just a dream" and it's like the clouds suddenly part to let some sunlight through. It's a neat moment and a good example of how effective a single chord change can be.
Song #136 of 9999 Title: Girls on Film Artist: Duran Duran Year: 1981 Album: Duran Duran
I thought I'd close out my survey of 1981 songs with a song I wasn't very fond of as a kid and, frankly, I'm not that crazy about it now. But it's worth acknowledging for the impact that bassist John Taylor had on my development as a musician.
1981 is right around the time I learned how to play the bass guitar. I was in a band and we played progressive rock, so I became pretty good right away, learning all those Rush and Led Zeppelin riffs in assorted time signatures. My girlfriend at the time was pretty into Duran Duran, A Flock of Seagulls, The Jam, etc. (in retrospect, she was much hipper than me for the times) while I pretty much avoided the whole new wave scene. Eventually, though, if you want to play in a band that actually has gigs, you have to learn songs that people want to hear, which generally doesn't include Iron Maiden's "Number of the Beast."
It probably wasn't until 1983 (coincidentally, the year Duran Duran was re-released in America to capitalize on Rio's success) that I really had to start learning these songs and, man, were they eye-opening. Taylor's style was busy and funky (as funky as an Englishman can be, anyway) and I really enjoyed learning how to play this way. The songs were challenging but not impossible and served as a great primer to a style I really had no experience with at the time. So thanks John Taylor!
Song #135 of 9999 Title: Who's Crying Now Artist: Journey Year: 1981 Album: Escape
Tonight, I thought I'd write about an unsung hero. Occasionally, a band has to make a personnel change and the results can have a significant impact. Sometimes for the better (goodbye Pete Best, hello Ringo), sometimes for the worse (so long David Lee, hello Sammy). Journey made two major changes in their early years that transformed them from Santana Lite to Gods of the Power Ballad. The obvious change—bringing Steve Perry to the band as the primary singer—was significant and completely altered their sound. But it was the addition of keyboardist Jonathan Cain that catapulted them to superstardom.
If you were never more than a casual Journey fan, you may not even know who Jonathan Cain is. Cain played with John Waite in The Babys, co-writing several of their hits. When The Babys toured with Journey as an opening act, Cain caught the attention of the headliner and soon replaced original singer/keyboardist Gregg Rolie. With Journey, Cain wrote or co-wrote every one of the band's biggest hits, including "Don't Stop Believin'," "Open Arms," "Faithfully," and "Who's Crying Now."
Even though the other songs I mentioned were bigger hits, I chose to feature "Who's Crying Now" because it's an excellent example of the band and the engineer Mike Stone working together to create a really slick pop song. The arrangement is so full and lush. You can hear the acoustic guitar during the chorus and the vocal harmonies shimmer at the end of the chorus. Every bass and drum fill is rhythmically coordinated. There's a cool little synth string descant in the second half of the second chorus. I love the sound of the bass which is equalized in a way that keeps it from getting lost among the left hand piano. Perry turns in a smoky vocal performance and Neal Schon's outro guitar solo is restrained and melodic. A perfect recording of one of Journey's best tracks.
Earlier in the week, I profiled the Police, featuring three songs from their groundbreaking Ghost in the Machine LP. The Police are one of those bands that, in my opinion, are so much more than the sum of their parts. All three of them have had solo careers since the dissolution of the band but, despite Sting's immense success, those projects never produced anything as exciting as the music they made together. (Dream of the Blue Turtles comes close.)
Talking Heads, on the other hand, has members who made startlingly creative music alone and with others when not engaged in their primary band. In 1981, David Byrne made his foray into experimental music with producer/musician Brian Eno, while spouses Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz explored the dance scene as Tom Tom Club. (Even Jerry Harrison released a solo record in 1981, but it sounds a little too much like watered-down Talking Heads to feature here. He fared better with 1988's Casual Gods.)
I can't really explain what makes "Genius of Love" good. The synth chirps, funky guitar (thank you, Adrian Belew) and percussion breaks all contribute but, in the end, I think it's really about the layered vocal track with its persistent three-part harmony throughout. Definitely not the lyrics. "Qu'ran" couldn't be more different in mood as it sets a reading of the Qu'ran by Algerian Muslims over a slow funk groove. This is one of the earliest examples of the significant use of sampling on a record; in fact, all of the tracks on My Life in the Bush of Ghosts employ the technique of pairing a sampled vocal track (from a variety of sources) with original music, including some inspired guitar work from Robert Fripp. Incidentally, "Qu'ran" was left off of the 2006 remaster of the record, reminding us how times have changed in the thirty years since its release.
Whether or not you like these tracks, they're worth acknowledging as being very very progressive for the time. I'll bring back the pop tomorrow.
