Thursday, September 13, 2007
five times forever and you'll never get lost
download: Pavement - We Dance
The other day I had a debate with my girlfriend, where I contended that I didn't care about the cultural context of a piece of music. In fact, I think I made the assertion that it didn't matter at all. Before anyone goes and tells me that I'm wholly wrong, I'll tell you that I'm already aware of that. I get wrapped in an argument sometimes, what can I say? At any rate, while it would be foolhardy to proclaim that any piece of art can exist in the vacuum, I will stand by the statement that - at least when it comes to music (and I don't pretend to know much about anything else) - the cultural context is much less important than the personal one.
There are times when cultural and personal importance overlap. If you ask anyone who grew up in the 60s about the Beatles, they can attest to that. But, especially amongst hardcore music fans, there's often a special place in one's heart that's reserved for songs that haven't made a lasting impact on a wide range of people, but have made an important impact on you. "We Dance" is one of those songs for me.
If you took a poll of Pavement fans, chances are that the first track from Wowee Zowee might rank as some people's favourite, and it would probably crack the top 10 with a lot of listeners. It isn't however, consistently ranked amongst their "seminal" compositions. It's not "Summer Babe," "Range Life," or "Shady Lane." And it certainly wasn't the minor hit that "Cut Your Hair" was. In fact, I don't think it was even a single. None of that matters.
While we do - sometimes to her chagrin - end up seeing a lot of live music together, my girlfriend and I have a surprising lack of overlap when it comes to the music we enjoy. Pavement, however, is one of those bands that we can both profess at least some sort of fandom for. They were - and she might come and correct me here - one of the first bands that she was really into. They were also one of the first bands that sent me down the path that led to listening to more than hip hop and the radio. So, when I indulged in the cliche music dork pastime of crafting her a mixtape for the first time, I made sure to voice my affection through Stephen Malkmus' awkward lyrics, by tracking down the alternate mix of "We Dance" (which really isn't all that different from the original).
Back to the debate... once I'd been put on the defensive (which happens often in such situations), I conceded that cultural criticism is much more interesting than some expression about one's personal attachment. The way you personally connect with a song can make it a hundred times more meaningful than the way that piece of music fits into the larger picture, but it's much harder to articulate the personal connection to a wider audience in any sort of interesting way. So, sorry if this was boring for you, but really, what are blogs for, if not self-absorbed writing that only interests a few people. Hopefully, this little diatribe interested at least one person other than me.
Happy Birthday, Regan.
now playing: the Fiery Furnaces - Duplexes of the Dead
Sunday, June 25, 2006
for the single young professionals, who find the neighbourhood hip and charmingWorld City
download: Geoff Berner - That's What Keeps The Rent Down, Baby (via GeoffBerner.com)
I hadn't actually heard Geoff Berner until he was invited on stage during Jolie Holland's recent show. And, I never would've figured out who the guy who blew me away with his accordion driven song was, if it weren't for a kind soul who enlightened me in the comments of my recap of that show (thanks apl!). Since then, because of the wonders of the internet, I've been listening to this tune ad nauseum. The song, taken from Geoff's 2004 Live in Oslo record, may not end up amongst my favourites five/ten/howevermany years from now, but for now it's on near permanent repeat. And, on a weekend that saw the "W" plucked off of the Woodward's building, not to be replaced until the top floor houses a million dollar suite in 2009, it's timely.
Songs stick with you for a variety of reasons. Some of them just resonate for reasons unknown. Some of them are attached to certain feelings or individual moments or places. And, some are attached to certain times. This is very much one of the latter. Here I am, fresh out of University and looking for gainful employment, and watching the city I love as it slips further and further away from affordability for any of my peers. Renting, of course, while still getting expensive, is much different than buying. And, it's still possible to set up shop in an East Van apartment/basement when you're just eeking out a living. But, with expensive lofts popping up in Strathcona and Chinatown, and high end condos going up in the Downtown Eastside, there are fewer and fewer places within Vancouver's borders that "nobody wants to live in."
"That's What Keeps The Rent Down, Baby" is the perfect Vancouver rallying cry against every condo that sits purchased and empty, every rich WASP that moves from Kits to South Main because it's trendy, and every building full of lofts that "retains its original character" but gains $400k in price.
Featuring only accordion, fiddle, and Berner's voice - relaxed and conversational at one moment, epic and theatrical the next - the song is musically stunning, in addition to its apt lyrics. Based on the instrumentation, there's an unsurprisingly old time feel to the song, which juxtaposes nicely with the very modern lament. The accordion pushes and pulls laying the groundwork, while violin lines twist in and out at just the right moments.
Next time you find yourself in the Eastside, and notice shiny new condos cozying up to decrepit old buildings, this will be your soundtrack.
Geoff plays Rime at 9pm on June 29th, as part of the JazzFest.
now playing: the Verve - Sonnet
Monday, May 15, 2006
in the fire of my youth, we were racing with the sun
download: the Constantines - On To You
If you had asked me 6 months ago to name my favourite song by the Constantines, I would've probably said "Arizona" or maybe "Soon Enough." I don't know exactly what struck me last January during the Cons' two night stand in Vancouver, but for some reason this track, that I've always thought was one of the bands finer moments, transcended the rest of their glorious catalogue during those shows.
If for nothing other than the fact that the Springsteen comparisons that follow around Bry Webb like a lost puppy are so very apt during the song's four and a half minutes, it sounds immediately like the Constantines. At the same time though, there are so many subtle differences that make it an anomoly when put side by side with the rest of their work. "On To You" has those (Fugazi) trademark (infringing) dueling, hard panned guitars, but rather than cut at eachother, the dynamic riffs seem to speed along together, bound by Dallas Wherle's growling bass lines. And, while they've never sounded out of place, Wil Kidman's keys are absolutely perfect on Shine A Light's seventh track. The nature of the song, in essence a power ballad, so easily invites itself to be drenched in rich organ. It's restraint, however, that produces such winning results; a restraint that only breaks open at the songs end, finishing things off with a deep hum. And then there's those backing vocals. It's not that they haven't utilized extra voices before, but here they sound "pop" in the finest essence of the word. The Cons have always had an amiable ragged quality to them, and those "oohs" and "sha-la-las" that pop up throughout "On To You" are like the backups of some joyfilled teenage boys who didn't get the memo that they couldn't be a girl group.
I've read different interpretations of the lyrics, but most seem to conclude that its "romantic." Judging by Bry's usual live intro of, "I've got girrrrlllll trouble, out the ass," I'm not sure "romantic" is the correct descriptor, though. It's a love song, for sure - a love song that's sung with an almost ferocious, yet ironically subdued, tenacity - but it seems like the sound of failure, or impending failure. That last set of vocal lines, especially - when they crash over the chugging guitars - seem to dwell on the past: "I knew a righteous woman."
In retrospect, I think I do know what it was about January that pulled me towards "On To You." I was in the midst of "relationship" of sorts, though I have friends who would probably object to the term. But that's just it. We both wanted it to work, and it probably should have. But it just wouldn't. There's a process that leads two people to come to that sort of realization...
Ohhhh, I'm on to you.
now playing: the Constantines - On To You
Monday, March 20, 2006
decorate, round the base, all the graves of our lost loves
download: Final Fantasy: The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead
I like to share a lot of music. I'm constantly either sending songs to, or shoving headphones in the hands of friends with the exclaimation, "you've got to hear this!" And, I didn't realize just how great this song was until I started sharing it with a lot of people. You see, I'm a huge sucker for violins, so initially, I chalked up some of my affection for the centre piece of Owen Pallet's glorious debut LP to that unquivocal love of the instrument. I'm sure a lot of the .mp3s I've inflicted on friends go unlistened, and I'm certain a lot of the mixCD tracks get skipped, but this song almost always illicits a positive reaction... "thanks for the CD, that 'CN Tower' song is amazing." It's even more amazing, because it's so very, well, weird. There are, of course, pop sensibilities buried in the track's three and a half odd minutes, but Owen's love of Xiu Xiu and Destroyer is evident in both the off-kilter delivery and story telling. That being said, you're never going to sell everyone on "Crank Heart," but for some reason "The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead" seems to click in the minds of the majority who are lucky enough to hear it.
Andrew Bird may still be independent music's most celebrated track looping fiddler, but he also, for better or worse, fills out his sound with guitar, xylophone, his awe inspiring whistling, and Nora O'Connor's very sweet croon. Conversely, while Pallett will sometimes be joined on stage by a drummer or string quartet, on record, he truly stretches a single instrument to its limits. "Bass" lines, descending pizzacato melodies, layer upon layer of bowed lines, and even an uncanny mimicry of a drum machine are all coaxed out of a violin throughout "Has A Good Home." And, while not all of the elements that pop up on the album are present on "The CN Tower...," it may be the best example of how each part builds to make the final, glorious, whole.
The song begins with a sonar-ping like set of stacatto notes that are soon joined by a deeper bowed figure that creeps underneath. Then comes Owen's voice, dried out almost to the point where it sounds like he's being recorded through a radio or telephone, mingling with further flourishes of violin. The whole thing builds remarkably fast, but it isn't until the two-minute mark that the song really hits its stride. It's then when a descending violin streaks in, then another, then another; a torrent of strings all threatening to collapse on eachother. And, just when you think the swirl of notes just might fall apart, it all ends just as it began, settling back down to earth with a lone violin.
now playing: Final Fantasy - The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
late breaking story on the CBCWorld Nation
download: The Tragically Hip - Wheat Kings
After a recent Stylus article posited that the Tragically Hip's mass appeal on this side of the 49th may be largely due to the fact that they are quintissentially Canadian, I had a debate with a friend of mine on the very subject. She countered that their popularity here might be due, in large part, to the fact that they never caught on South of the border. There's certainly something to that argument. Canucks are apt to distance ourselves from our American brethren in any way that we can. However, there is a significant part of the Hip's catalogue that, in all likelihood, will resonate with the kid from Kingston (Churchill, Prince George, Amherst, etc) more than it will with someone born and raised in Houston or Chicago. "You said you didn't give a fuck about hockey, well I've never heard someone say that before," is a line that probably comes off as some sort of ironic joke in Kentucky. Similar tales of of on-ice legend, historical references, and distinctly Canadian cultural and political themes seep their way into much of Gord Downie's brilliant, often dense, lyricism, producing songs that, for lack of a better phrase, hit close to home for those brought up in the true North, strong and free. "Wheat Kings" is one of those songs.
David Milgaard's wrongful conviction, and his ensuing fight to clear his name, is a drama that is engrained in this Nation's consciousness. And, as with Dylan's chronicling of Hurricane Carter's struggle for justice, "Wheat Kings" creates a snapshot, not only of events, but of how the events fit into the socio-political landscape. There is, however, much more to the song than the history, as Downie's retelling weaves its way around imagery that conjures up, quite fittingly, both the hope and hopelessness that pervades through the expanse of the Prairies. At the same time, whether it be Saskatoon or Toronto (or any place East, West, or in between), "Wheat Kings" is one of those rare tunes that manages to strike an even rarer chord, hitting on the very fragile pan-Canadian sense of identity that, quite infrequently, shows itself. Perhaps I'm at the tail end of the last generation who can relate to walls "lined all yellow, grey, and sinister, hung with pictures of our parents Prime Minister." But, the phrasing still evokes memories of mine: doddling through underfunded public elementary school buildings, looking up at Turner, Diefenbaker, Trudeau, at the time just anonymous old men to me. More than anything, Downie's lyrics create in the listener, the feeling of so many parts that add up to become the natural whole of a typical Canadian upbringing. Those lyrics, however, have always been underpinned by the Hip's collective, very underrated, musicianship.
Without the band, Gord would still be quite the poet. But, if it's his words that draw the picture, it's the instrumentation that fills in the colour. A couple of acoustic guitars, bass, drums, and a subdued recording culled from the prairie wilderness, "Wheat Kings" is remarkable, not for what it does, but what it doesn't do. There is nothing showy. The solo and leadlines are tasteful, adding to, but never overshadowing the whole. The entire peice is so politely restrained. How very Canadian.
now playing: The Tragically Hip - Wheat Kings
Saturday, February 11, 2006
if you walk away, i'll walk away
download: Bright Eyes - Landlocked Blues
I never "got" Conor Oberst before 2005. Sure, he had a great tune in him here or there, but the overemotional crap and the vocal "quirks" that peppered the material between every "Make War" and "Lover, I Don't Have To Love" were a little too much for my liking. He's always been divisive. Either he's the next Dylan in your eyes, or you think he's a complete write off, and by in large, I fell into the latter camp. I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning changed all of that.
I actually remember ribbing a friend who went out to pick up the record the day of it's release, even before I'd heard it. (sorry Shea) It was just another Bright Eyes record, right? Not quite. I'm Wide Awake... was consistent; consistentally strong, in fact. All those things that annoyed me about Oberst before (mostly how "emotion" translated into a gutteral wail) were gone. And, while it's still hyperbole, those Dylan comparisons weren't totally laughable anymore. I fell in love with the entire album, in fact, I'm listening to it right now, and I listened to it yesterday, and once the day before that. The record is great as a whole, but it's track 8, three songs from the end, that makes this album. That song is "Landlocked Blues."
The structure is a simple one, but it's also got that feel to it. It's simple in the way that "The Time They Are A Changin'" or "Ringing of Revolution" (Phil Ochs) or "Helpless" is simple. There's no Brian Wilsonesque genius chord changes, but the sound is undeniably classic. The lyrics seem effortless, instinctual even, but at the same time so carefully and meticulously crafted - deeply personal, but with some strangely wide scope, personal and political, with a feeling of loss that ties them both together - all crammed into five and a half odd minutes. Whenever I sit down with my guitar, this is the kind of song I wish I could write, but I never do. It's the type of song that could stand alone as just guitar and vocals, but the arrangement is very much a part of the larger, glorious, whole.
Tasteful acoustic leads fill in the space between the verses, and those magnificent sounding horns blare out what sounds like "Taps," which isn't so much odd, as it is incredibly fitting. And then there's Emmylou Harris. I've read some people opine that the country Miss took away from this song (that was widely known via live recordings before it's official release), but, if you ask me, the ragged harmony that she provides is the final bit of icing on the cake.
now playing: Bright Eyes - Landlocked Blues
Sunday, November 27, 2005
we dance to all the wrong songs
download: Refused - New Noise
The first two tunes in what's now a regular feature here have been fairly down tempo, morose, little numbers, so I figured I'd change it up a bit and talk about the very loudest of my favourite songs.
You may now know the members of Refused from the (International) Noise Conspiracy and Text. But, before Dennis split to make "garage rock," and the other three guys made do with what they had left, the foursome were the closest thing to some kind of real progress in hardcore that you could find. "New Noise," is without question, their finest moment.
The opening riff is razor sharp, starting alone, and being joined by another guitar and thundering drums, before the drums pull back and everything stops dead, save for a spare keyboard effect. Then Dennis' voice breaks through with, "Can I Scream???" - making you wonder why he asked in the first place. From there it alternates... a sort of subdued half spoken word and then a strained yell. This goes on til about 3:30, when one of my favourite bridges in rock n' roll (which was unfortunately stolen by those hacks in Hoobastank) leads into another call to arms ("here we go!) and a wash of crowd noise and guitar. By the time it gets to the outro, it's enough to concuss you. And to top it all off, it ends with a polite, "thank you."
Crank this one up.
On an entirely unrelated note... anybody been to The Met on a Saturday? Or alternately, have any suggestions for a place to go? I'm looking for a birthday party venue in the next couple of weeks... I wanted to go to the Arch, but apparently they're closed due to a flood.
now playing: Refused - New Noise
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
they don't love you like i love you
download: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps
I remember reading an interview with Yeah Yeah Yeahs lead singer, Karen O, where she said that when the band put out their first full length, Fever to Tell, they wouldn't have cared if the record flopped, as long as people got to hear "Maps." Which is an odd thing, when you think about the fact that it's the one song in the band's repetoire that seems to stick out like a sore thumb. For one thing, Karen actually sings, her combination yelp/growl, nowhere to be found. "Modern Romance" may come close with the softened vocals, but the plodding guitar is nothing like the swirling notes that Nick Zinner coaxes out of his guitar on "Maps." At the same time, the drums - thundering toms - keep all those guitar lines from flying too far.
Then there's the lyrics. Simple, somewhat nonsensical during the verses. Just what the hell is she trying to say? There's some vague sense of loss, of longing, of regrets. It's only obstuse sounding til the chorus. "Wait. They don't love you like I love you." There's nothing subtle there.
"Maps" is near perfect in its own right. But there's also the juxtiposition that it creates with the rest of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs catalogue. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are rough sounding: just guitar, drums, and often primal sounding vocals. On the other hand, those qualities - those abrasive sounds - are the kind you can hide behind. By contrast, the drums on "Maps" are big and epic, the guitars delayed and layered all over eachother, and the vocals are soft and restrained. And, ironically, it's the band at its most raw. Songs like "Art Star" and "Date With A Night" can pummel you into submission, but not "Maps." "Maps" is the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at their most vulnerable, and arguably that vulnerability puts them at their very best.
now playing: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps
Saturday, October 22, 2005
and the birds all singin' blue
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: Ryan Adams - Call Me On Your Way Back Home
This is my favourite song ever. I hate to admit something like this in print, but I listen to this whenever I break up with someone, which is embarrassingly often. On the surface there is nothing particularly special about it. Guys with guitars and softened southern drawls have been writing about heartbreak for years. Ryan has made a bit of a career out of it himself. This is his finest moment though. In fact, it's about as fine a moment as you'll find in music.
There's the production; how you can hear him exhale before the first line, exactly like the way you exhale before you finally break bad news to someone. It's how you exhale as you reflect on a bad hangover and a head full of alcohol damaged memories of brand new mistakes. His voice, simultaneously hushed and forceful, haunts its way over a lone battered guitar, while strings creep in and out. And those strings... I was never a huge fan of string arrangements - they're a lazy way to force grandiose emotion into something - and these ones could have killed this recording. They're too perfect sounding, all cold and sterile. But, during the main part of the song, they're just restrained enough, and at the end when they swell up they ground the clumsy imperfection of the harmonica, itself weeping uncontrollably... if an instrument could. It's the moment just before that is the kicker though; that final set of vocal lines.
"Yeah I just wanna die without you. Without you, honey, I ain't nothin' new"
And, you can almost see the handful of pills and the bottle of cheap wine.
now playing: Saturday Looks Good To Me - If You Ask
five times forever and you'll never get lost
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: Pavement - We Dance
The other day I had a debate with my girlfriend, where I contended that I didn't care about the cultural context of a piece of music. In fact, I think I made the assertion that it didn't matter at all. Before anyone goes and tells me that I'm wholly wrong, I'll tell you that I'm already aware of that. I get wrapped in an argument sometimes, what can I say? At any rate, while it would be foolhardy to proclaim that any piece of art can exist in the vacuum, I will stand by the statement that - at least when it comes to music (and I don't pretend to know much about anything else) - the cultural context is much less important than the personal one.
There are times when cultural and personal importance overlap. If you ask anyone who grew up in the 60s about the Beatles, they can attest to that. But, especially amongst hardcore music fans, there's often a special place in one's heart that's reserved for songs that haven't made a lasting impact on a wide range of people, but have made an important impact on you. "We Dance" is one of those songs for me.
If you took a poll of Pavement fans, chances are that the first track from Wowee Zowee might rank as some people's favourite, and it would probably crack the top 10 with a lot of listeners. It isn't however, consistently ranked amongst their "seminal" compositions. It's not "Summer Babe," "Range Life," or "Shady Lane." And it certainly wasn't the minor hit that "Cut Your Hair" was. In fact, I don't think it was even a single. None of that matters.
While we do - sometimes to her chagrin - end up seeing a lot of live music together, my girlfriend and I have a surprising lack of overlap when it comes to the music we enjoy. Pavement, however, is one of those bands that we can both profess at least some sort of fandom for. They were - and she might come and correct me here - one of the first bands that she was really into. They were also one of the first bands that sent me down the path that led to listening to more than hip hop and the radio. So, when I indulged in the cliche music dork pastime of crafting her a mixtape for the first time, I made sure to voice my affection through Stephen Malkmus' awkward lyrics, by tracking down the alternate mix of "We Dance" (which really isn't all that different from the original).
Back to the debate... once I'd been put on the defensive (which happens often in such situations), I conceded that cultural criticism is much more interesting than some expression about one's personal attachment. The way you personally connect with a song can make it a hundred times more meaningful than the way that piece of music fits into the larger picture, but it's much harder to articulate the personal connection to a wider audience in any sort of interesting way. So, sorry if this was boring for you, but really, what are blogs for, if not self-absorbed writing that only interests a few people. Hopefully, this little diatribe interested at least one person other than me.
Happy Birthday, Regan.
now playing: the Fiery Furnaces - Duplexes of the Dead
Sunday, June 25, 2006
for the single young professionals, who find the neighbourhood hip and charming
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect
download: Geoff Berner - That's What Keeps The Rent Down, Baby (via GeoffBerner.com)
I hadn't actually heard Geoff Berner until he was invited on stage during Jolie Holland's recent show. And, I never would've figured out who the guy who blew me away with his accordion driven song was, if it weren't for a kind soul who enlightened me in the comments of my recap of that show (thanks apl!). Since then, because of the wonders of the internet, I've been listening to this tune ad nauseum. The song, taken from Geoff's 2004 Live in Oslo record, may not end up amongst my favourites five/ten/howevermany years from now, but for now it's on near permanent repeat. And, on a weekend that saw the "W" plucked off of the Woodward's building, not to be replaced until the top floor houses a million dollar suite in 2009, it's timely.
Songs stick with you for a variety of reasons. Some of them just resonate for reasons unknown. Some of them are attached to certain feelings or individual moments or places. And, some are attached to certain times. This is very much one of the latter. Here I am, fresh out of University and looking for gainful employment, and watching the city I love as it slips further and further away from affordability for any of my peers. Renting, of course, while still getting expensive, is much different than buying. And, it's still possible to set up shop in an East Van apartment/basement when you're just eeking out a living. But, with expensive lofts popping up in Strathcona and Chinatown, and high end condos going up in the Downtown Eastside, there are fewer and fewer places within Vancouver's borders that "nobody wants to live in."
"That's What Keeps The Rent Down, Baby" is the perfect Vancouver rallying cry against every condo that sits purchased and empty, every rich WASP that moves from Kits to South Main because it's trendy, and every building full of lofts that "retains its original character" but gains $400k in price.
Featuring only accordion, fiddle, and Berner's voice - relaxed and conversational at one moment, epic and theatrical the next - the song is musically stunning, in addition to its apt lyrics. Based on the instrumentation, there's an unsurprisingly old time feel to the song, which juxtaposes nicely with the very modern lament. The accordion pushes and pulls laying the groundwork, while violin lines twist in and out at just the right moments.
Next time you find yourself in the Eastside, and notice shiny new condos cozying up to decrepit old buildings, this will be your soundtrack.
Geoff plays Rime at 9pm on June 29th, as part of the JazzFest.
now playing: the Verve - Sonnet
Labels: geoff berner, one song
Monday, May 15, 2006
in the fire of my youth, we were racing with the sun
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: the Constantines - On To You
If you had asked me 6 months ago to name my favourite song by the Constantines, I would've probably said "Arizona" or maybe "Soon Enough." I don't know exactly what struck me last January during the Cons' two night stand in Vancouver, but for some reason this track, that I've always thought was one of the bands finer moments, transcended the rest of their glorious catalogue during those shows.
If for nothing other than the fact that the Springsteen comparisons that follow around Bry Webb like a lost puppy are so very apt during the song's four and a half minutes, it sounds immediately like the Constantines. At the same time though, there are so many subtle differences that make it an anomoly when put side by side with the rest of their work. "On To You" has those (Fugazi) trademark (infringing) dueling, hard panned guitars, but rather than cut at eachother, the dynamic riffs seem to speed along together, bound by Dallas Wherle's growling bass lines. And, while they've never sounded out of place, Wil Kidman's keys are absolutely perfect on Shine A Light's seventh track. The nature of the song, in essence a power ballad, so easily invites itself to be drenched in rich organ. It's restraint, however, that produces such winning results; a restraint that only breaks open at the songs end, finishing things off with a deep hum. And then there's those backing vocals. It's not that they haven't utilized extra voices before, but here they sound "pop" in the finest essence of the word. The Cons have always had an amiable ragged quality to them, and those "oohs" and "sha-la-las" that pop up throughout "On To You" are like the backups of some joyfilled teenage boys who didn't get the memo that they couldn't be a girl group.
I've read different interpretations of the lyrics, but most seem to conclude that its "romantic." Judging by Bry's usual live intro of, "I've got girrrrlllll trouble, out the ass," I'm not sure "romantic" is the correct descriptor, though. It's a love song, for sure - a love song that's sung with an almost ferocious, yet ironically subdued, tenacity - but it seems like the sound of failure, or impending failure. That last set of vocal lines, especially - when they crash over the chugging guitars - seem to dwell on the past: "I knew a righteous woman."
In retrospect, I think I do know what it was about January that pulled me towards "On To You." I was in the midst of "relationship" of sorts, though I have friends who would probably object to the term. But that's just it. We both wanted it to work, and it probably should have. But it just wouldn't. There's a process that leads two people to come to that sort of realization...
Ohhhh, I'm on to you.
now playing: the Constantines - On To You
Labels: constantines, one song
Monday, March 20, 2006
decorate, round the base, all the graves of our lost loves
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: Final Fantasy: The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead
I like to share a lot of music. I'm constantly either sending songs to, or shoving headphones in the hands of friends with the exclaimation, "you've got to hear this!" And, I didn't realize just how great this song was until I started sharing it with a lot of people. You see, I'm a huge sucker for violins, so initially, I chalked up some of my affection for the centre piece of Owen Pallet's glorious debut LP to that unquivocal love of the instrument. I'm sure a lot of the .mp3s I've inflicted on friends go unlistened, and I'm certain a lot of the mixCD tracks get skipped, but this song almost always illicits a positive reaction... "thanks for the CD, that 'CN Tower' song is amazing." It's even more amazing, because it's so very, well, weird. There are, of course, pop sensibilities buried in the track's three and a half odd minutes, but Owen's love of Xiu Xiu and Destroyer is evident in both the off-kilter delivery and story telling. That being said, you're never going to sell everyone on "Crank Heart," but for some reason "The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead" seems to click in the minds of the majority who are lucky enough to hear it.
Andrew Bird may still be independent music's most celebrated track looping fiddler, but he also, for better or worse, fills out his sound with guitar, xylophone, his awe inspiring whistling, and Nora O'Connor's very sweet croon. Conversely, while Pallett will sometimes be joined on stage by a drummer or string quartet, on record, he truly stretches a single instrument to its limits. "Bass" lines, descending pizzacato melodies, layer upon layer of bowed lines, and even an uncanny mimicry of a drum machine are all coaxed out of a violin throughout "Has A Good Home." And, while not all of the elements that pop up on the album are present on "The CN Tower...," it may be the best example of how each part builds to make the final, glorious, whole.
The song begins with a sonar-ping like set of stacatto notes that are soon joined by a deeper bowed figure that creeps underneath. Then comes Owen's voice, dried out almost to the point where it sounds like he's being recorded through a radio or telephone, mingling with further flourishes of violin. The whole thing builds remarkably fast, but it isn't until the two-minute mark that the song really hits its stride. It's then when a descending violin streaks in, then another, then another; a torrent of strings all threatening to collapse on eachother. And, just when you think the swirl of notes just might fall apart, it all ends just as it began, settling back down to earth with a lone violin.
now playing: Final Fantasy - The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead
Labels: final fantasy, one song
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
late breaking story on the CBC
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect
download: The Tragically Hip - Wheat Kings
After a recent Stylus article posited that the Tragically Hip's mass appeal on this side of the 49th may be largely due to the fact that they are quintissentially Canadian, I had a debate with a friend of mine on the very subject. She countered that their popularity here might be due, in large part, to the fact that they never caught on South of the border. There's certainly something to that argument. Canucks are apt to distance ourselves from our American brethren in any way that we can. However, there is a significant part of the Hip's catalogue that, in all likelihood, will resonate with the kid from Kingston (Churchill, Prince George, Amherst, etc) more than it will with someone born and raised in Houston or Chicago. "You said you didn't give a fuck about hockey, well I've never heard someone say that before," is a line that probably comes off as some sort of ironic joke in Kentucky. Similar tales of of on-ice legend, historical references, and distinctly Canadian cultural and political themes seep their way into much of Gord Downie's brilliant, often dense, lyricism, producing songs that, for lack of a better phrase, hit close to home for those brought up in the true North, strong and free. "Wheat Kings" is one of those songs.
David Milgaard's wrongful conviction, and his ensuing fight to clear his name, is a drama that is engrained in this Nation's consciousness. And, as with Dylan's chronicling of Hurricane Carter's struggle for justice, "Wheat Kings" creates a snapshot, not only of events, but of how the events fit into the socio-political landscape. There is, however, much more to the song than the history, as Downie's retelling weaves its way around imagery that conjures up, quite fittingly, both the hope and hopelessness that pervades through the expanse of the Prairies. At the same time, whether it be Saskatoon or Toronto (or any place East, West, or in between), "Wheat Kings" is one of those rare tunes that manages to strike an even rarer chord, hitting on the very fragile pan-Canadian sense of identity that, quite infrequently, shows itself. Perhaps I'm at the tail end of the last generation who can relate to walls "lined all yellow, grey, and sinister, hung with pictures of our parents Prime Minister." But, the phrasing still evokes memories of mine: doddling through underfunded public elementary school buildings, looking up at Turner, Diefenbaker, Trudeau, at the time just anonymous old men to me. More than anything, Downie's lyrics create in the listener, the feeling of so many parts that add up to become the natural whole of a typical Canadian upbringing. Those lyrics, however, have always been underpinned by the Hip's collective, very underrated, musicianship.
Without the band, Gord would still be quite the poet. But, if it's his words that draw the picture, it's the instrumentation that fills in the colour. A couple of acoustic guitars, bass, drums, and a subdued recording culled from the prairie wilderness, "Wheat Kings" is remarkable, not for what it does, but what it doesn't do. There is nothing showy. The solo and leadlines are tasteful, adding to, but never overshadowing the whole. The entire peice is so politely restrained. How very Canadian.
now playing: The Tragically Hip - Wheat Kings
Labels: one song, tragically hip
Saturday, February 11, 2006
if you walk away, i'll walk away
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: Bright Eyes - Landlocked Blues
I never "got" Conor Oberst before 2005. Sure, he had a great tune in him here or there, but the overemotional crap and the vocal "quirks" that peppered the material between every "Make War" and "Lover, I Don't Have To Love" were a little too much for my liking. He's always been divisive. Either he's the next Dylan in your eyes, or you think he's a complete write off, and by in large, I fell into the latter camp. I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning changed all of that.
I actually remember ribbing a friend who went out to pick up the record the day of it's release, even before I'd heard it. (sorry Shea) It was just another Bright Eyes record, right? Not quite. I'm Wide Awake... was consistent; consistentally strong, in fact. All those things that annoyed me about Oberst before (mostly how "emotion" translated into a gutteral wail) were gone. And, while it's still hyperbole, those Dylan comparisons weren't totally laughable anymore. I fell in love with the entire album, in fact, I'm listening to it right now, and I listened to it yesterday, and once the day before that. The record is great as a whole, but it's track 8, three songs from the end, that makes this album. That song is "Landlocked Blues."
The structure is a simple one, but it's also got that feel to it. It's simple in the way that "The Time They Are A Changin'" or "Ringing of Revolution" (Phil Ochs) or "Helpless" is simple. There's no Brian Wilsonesque genius chord changes, but the sound is undeniably classic. The lyrics seem effortless, instinctual even, but at the same time so carefully and meticulously crafted - deeply personal, but with some strangely wide scope, personal and political, with a feeling of loss that ties them both together - all crammed into five and a half odd minutes. Whenever I sit down with my guitar, this is the kind of song I wish I could write, but I never do. It's the type of song that could stand alone as just guitar and vocals, but the arrangement is very much a part of the larger, glorious, whole.
Tasteful acoustic leads fill in the space between the verses, and those magnificent sounding horns blare out what sounds like "Taps," which isn't so much odd, as it is incredibly fitting. And then there's Emmylou Harris. I've read some people opine that the country Miss took away from this song (that was widely known via live recordings before it's official release), but, if you ask me, the ragged harmony that she provides is the final bit of icing on the cake.
now playing: Bright Eyes - Landlocked Blues
Labels: bright eyes, one song
Sunday, November 27, 2005
we dance to all the wrong songs
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: Refused - New Noise
The first two tunes in what's now a regular feature here have been fairly down tempo, morose, little numbers, so I figured I'd change it up a bit and talk about the very loudest of my favourite songs.
You may now know the members of Refused from the (International) Noise Conspiracy and Text. But, before Dennis split to make "garage rock," and the other three guys made do with what they had left, the foursome were the closest thing to some kind of real progress in hardcore that you could find. "New Noise," is without question, their finest moment.
The opening riff is razor sharp, starting alone, and being joined by another guitar and thundering drums, before the drums pull back and everything stops dead, save for a spare keyboard effect. Then Dennis' voice breaks through with, "Can I Scream???" - making you wonder why he asked in the first place. From there it alternates... a sort of subdued half spoken word and then a strained yell. This goes on til about 3:30, when one of my favourite bridges in rock n' roll (which was unfortunately stolen by those hacks in Hoobastank) leads into another call to arms ("here we go!) and a wash of crowd noise and guitar. By the time it gets to the outro, it's enough to concuss you. And to top it all off, it ends with a polite, "thank you."
Crank this one up.
On an entirely unrelated note... anybody been to The Met on a Saturday? Or alternately, have any suggestions for a place to go? I'm looking for a birthday party venue in the next couple of weeks... I wanted to go to the Arch, but apparently they're closed due to a flood.
now playing: Refused - New Noise
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
they don't love you like i love you
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps
I remember reading an interview with Yeah Yeah Yeahs lead singer, Karen O, where she said that when the band put out their first full length, Fever to Tell, they wouldn't have cared if the record flopped, as long as people got to hear "Maps." Which is an odd thing, when you think about the fact that it's the one song in the band's repetoire that seems to stick out like a sore thumb. For one thing, Karen actually sings, her combination yelp/growl, nowhere to be found. "Modern Romance" may come close with the softened vocals, but the plodding guitar is nothing like the swirling notes that Nick Zinner coaxes out of his guitar on "Maps." At the same time, the drums - thundering toms - keep all those guitar lines from flying too far.
Then there's the lyrics. Simple, somewhat nonsensical during the verses. Just what the hell is she trying to say? There's some vague sense of loss, of longing, of regrets. It's only obstuse sounding til the chorus. "Wait. They don't love you like I love you." There's nothing subtle there.
"Maps" is near perfect in its own right. But there's also the juxtiposition that it creates with the rest of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs catalogue. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are rough sounding: just guitar, drums, and often primal sounding vocals. On the other hand, those qualities - those abrasive sounds - are the kind you can hide behind. By contrast, the drums on "Maps" are big and epic, the guitars delayed and layered all over eachother, and the vocals are soft and restrained. And, ironically, it's the band at its most raw. Songs like "Art Star" and "Date With A Night" can pummel you into submission, but not "Maps." "Maps" is the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at their most vulnerable, and arguably that vulnerability puts them at their very best.
now playing: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps
Labels: one song, yeah yeah yeahs
Saturday, October 22, 2005
and the birds all singin' blue
So, in what may become something fairly regular here (on weekends, when news is slow), I've decided to blog about some of my absolute favourite songs. This was actually going to be a column idea for a paper I write for at school, but I'm terrible with word limits. Plus, I can post the mp3 here. This particular piece was already written with the intention of submitting to the paper, hence the reference to "print." Yes, I realize this is totally biting on Stylus' Perfect Moments in Pop, but what can you do?
One Song: Perfect Songs for an Imperfect World
download: Ryan Adams - Call Me On Your Way Back Home
This is my favourite song ever. I hate to admit something like this in print, but I listen to this whenever I break up with someone, which is embarrassingly often. On the surface there is nothing particularly special about it. Guys with guitars and softened southern drawls have been writing about heartbreak for years. Ryan has made a bit of a career out of it himself. This is his finest moment though. In fact, it's about as fine a moment as you'll find in music.
There's the production; how you can hear him exhale before the first line, exactly like the way you exhale before you finally break bad news to someone. It's how you exhale as you reflect on a bad hangover and a head full of alcohol damaged memories of brand new mistakes. His voice, simultaneously hushed and forceful, haunts its way over a lone battered guitar, while strings creep in and out. And those strings... I was never a huge fan of string arrangements - they're a lazy way to force grandiose emotion into something - and these ones could have killed this recording. They're too perfect sounding, all cold and sterile. But, during the main part of the song, they're just restrained enough, and at the end when they swell up they ground the clumsy imperfection of the harmonica, itself weeping uncontrollably... if an instrument could. It's the moment just before that is the kicker though; that final set of vocal lines.
"Yeah I just wanna die without you. Without you, honey, I ain't nothin' new"
And, you can almost see the handful of pills and the bottle of cheap wine.
now playing: Saturday Looks Good To Me - If You Ask
Labels: one song, ryan adams
