Archive for the ‘Retro Classics’ Category

‘Frankie Teardrop’ – Suicide, 1977

Friday, December 19th, 2008

Suicide are a band hailing from New York and consists of Alan Vega and Martin Rev. While not achieving much critical acclaim in the late 70’s and early 80’s, their stock has risen significantly these past few years and they no longer remain within the depths of the underground scene. You can read more about the band here.

Suicide were first brought to my attention after seeing a Bruce Springsteen acoustic show here in Dublin a few years ago in The Point. I think it was when he was on tour promoting the Devil’s and Dust album and it was the first time I had seen him sans the E street band. Anyway the reason I’m telling you this is because Bruce closed the show with a brilliant rendition of another Suicide song called Dream Baby Dream. A fan in the audience kindly pointed out to me that it was a cover of these guys and that is how I got listening to Suicide – Better late than never as they say…

The song Frankie Teardrop is taken from their first studio album, incidentally also called Suicide and is the 6th song on that album. Coming in over 10 minutes long, the song is a lot longer that what I would normally listen too but believe me it’s worth it. The song deals with a young man’s struggle to survive in a bleak world and support his wife and kid. In the end it all got too much for him and he kills his 6 month old baby and his wife before finally pulling the gun on himself.

If the above sounds disturbing and distressing to you then wait until you hear the song ! it’s the most agonising and tormented ten minute song you will ever hear. Frankly if your not prepared for it or if your alone listening to the song for the first time, it will scare the bejaysus out of you – no joke. To give you an idea of the song and how minimalist the lyrics (and the music for that matter)  is, check out the lyrics below

Pointed at the six month old in the crib
Oh Frankie
(scream)
Frankie looked at his wifeShot her
(screams)
“Oh what have I done?”
Let’s hear it for FrankieFrankie teardrop
Frankie put the gun to his head
(screams)
Frankie’s dead

What’s great about the entire album is that it was released around the time in New York and also the UK when punk was the big time in music. This album is nothing like a punk album, even the length of this song will tell you that and must have, in some way, led to the whole synthesizer explosion in popular music that occurred in the 80’s maybe not as much as kraftwerk has but it must have had some influence. I mentioned earlier that Bruce Springsteen often plays one of their songs live (song is not on this album) so he’s obviously a fan, I wonder if the song state trooper and a character called Frankie in that song has its origins in this song? Here is a video of the song

‘Sunflower’ – Paul Weller, 1993

Thursday, December 18th, 2008

After The Jam and The Style Council (the former the biggest band in England in their heyday, the latter an oft-misunderstood genre-hopping collective who released records to declining returns in the ’80s), Weller decided to go back to roots.

Roots for Paul Weller means the ’60s. Mining the guitar licks of The Small Faces and Traffic, and marrying it to lyrics about pastoral yearning and changing seasons (influenced strongly by Nick Drake), Weller created a career resurgence that broke the rules for aging ex-rock stars.

1993’s Wild Wood album brought Weller a whole new generation of fans, and as those fans travelled backwards (as was the style in the retro-worshipping mid-90s), they too discovered The Jam. And to a lesser extent The Style Council. Wild Wood‘’s themes of rural escape (mountains, sun, hayfields, etc.) struck a big chord with a generation raised on the ‘greed is good’ philosophy of Thatcherite England, and paved the way for the coming Britpop explosion.

‘Sunflower’, the first single off of the album, starts with a descending guitar arpeggio, which is a common theme of Weller openers. The theme is lost love and the quest to recapture what was once pure but now lost, as Weller remembers days of innocence:

I’d run my fingers through your hair,
Hair like a wheat field I’d run through

Musically, it’s a hundred light years away from the antiseptic karaoke soul that Weller was peddling in the late 80s. For a man so involved with the left wing of British politics, Weller’s music latter half of that decade was awful.

The Style Council started out promisingly, but albums like The Cost of Loving and Confessions of a Pop Group were out of step with what The Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, The Smiths and other decent indie groups of the time were doing. Their last album, A Decade of Modernism, was just a collection of directionless acid house tracks with minimal involvement from Weller. The album was so bad that The Style Council were dropped by their label.

So Weller picked up the guitar again and went back to his old records for inspiration – and it shows. Everything is acoustic, organic, real. There is no synthesised drum machine, no twinkling little keyboard rinky-dink, no heavily processed guitar. Just Weller and his mates rocking out.

Whether as a reaction to the self-indulgent whingery of grunge, or as a reaction to the androgynous glam-racket stompings of Suede and their ilk, Weller’s comeback worked brilliantly, and paid off in spades. Always at his best when swimming against the tide or under some external pressure (see All Mod Cons), Weller delivered the goods.

Here’s the video to ‘Sunflower’, Weller’s soft crooning replaced by a gruff pleading voice that seems like the reminiscing of a man from the bottom of a bottle. If you like this song, check out the Wild Wood album, and also the Paul Weller solo album that came before it.

‘Brilliant Mistake’ – Elvis Costello, 1986

Tuesday, December 16th, 2008

On his tour of America in 1979, a brash young songwriter by the name of Declan MacManus made some unfortunate comments about James Brown and Ray Charles while out drinking. Costello’s statement that Charles was nothing but a “blind, ignorant nigger” was intended to provoke Stephen Stills’ entourage, whom Costello and bass player Bruce Thomas had encountered in a hotel bar. But when one of Stills’ crew went to the papers, and Costello displayed an abrasive attitude and unwillingness to apologise at a subsequent press conference, his Stateside career was over. Albums continued to be released, but to diminishing returns.

Seven years later, after a couple of duds, Costello returned with the King of America album. The opener, ‘Brilliant Mistake’, is a classic Costello song, albeit in a polished 1980s production. The opening lines seem to recount Costello’s ego and the pride before the fall:

“He thought he was the King of America,
Where they pour Coca-Cola just like vintage wine”

Mixed in with this reflection of past glories is the lovesickness that defines early- and mid-period Costello:

“I wish that I could push a button,
And talk in the past and not the present tense”

As usual, his lyrics are poetic and strong on turn-of-phrase. Musically, the standout instrument is acoustic guitar, which drives the song along in a way that’s very similar to Dylan’s ‘Tangled Up In Blue’. In fact ‘Brilliant Mistake’ shares a lot with Dylan’s classic, with a regretful backward glance betrayed in the need to keep looking forward. Drums, a nice bassline (always important to me) and some accordion that gives the song a C&W feeling to it.

As the song concludes, Elvis gets comfortable with a career on the margins (or ‘the ditch’, as Neil Young put it), and sums up his position:

“I was a fine idea at the time,
Now I’m a brilliant mistake”

Here’s the best video I can find of it on YouTube. Check Last.fm, or just download it.

‘Baltimore’- Randy Newman, 1977

Tuesday, December 9th, 2008

The Wire provided some excellent tv for me towards the end of this year and provided a great substitute for The Soprano’s. The tv program is set in the city of Baltimore, Maryland which is the reason this song perked my interest as I had done a search for the word Baltimore in my music collection  and came up with a few songs of but I think this is the best of the bunch.

The song is taken from his sixth studio album called Little Criminals from which backed by Glenn Frey of The Eagles fame and other members of that band contribute some of the music. Before this I only knew the song Political Science by Newman and the shed load of covers that other musician’s have done of his work including Tom Jones.

This album came out in the late 70’s around the time that punk rock was taking off in a big way but this song is so different its not funny. To me it has a real 80’s feel to it but it does stand the test of time. The narrative of the song provides a great description of the city that sounds pretty depressing but then again it’s pretty much the same for any relatively large city anywhere in the world. Here’s is the second and third verse to give you a taste

‘Hard times in the city
In a hard town by the sea
Ain’t nowhere to run to
There ain’t nothin’ here for free

Hooker on the corner
Waitin’ for a train
Drunk lyin’ on the sidewalk
Sleepin’ in the rain’

Later in the song he talks about escaping from city life and moving to the country as he has had enough of the city

Get my sister Sandy
And my little brother Ray
Buy a big old wagon
Gonna haul us all awayLivin’ in the country
Where the mountain’s high
Never comin’ back here
‘Til the day I die

Overall the song is really goog from both a lyrical and musical point of view and is really worth checking out. Nina Simone also does a pretty cover of the song although I do have a hard accepting the crossover from male to female covers and vica versa. Check out the song here.

‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ – The Beatles, 1967

Tuesday, November 25th, 2008

It’s hard to believe The Beatles graduated from wanting to hold your hand in 1963 to this just four years later. No matter what is written about career progression and evolution, nothing beats this metamorphosis.

As much a product of the times as the synth and mullet was to the ’80s, ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ (Wikipedia page) was nonetheless revolutionary. The Beatles were always slightly outside the whole ‘hippie’ developments of the 1960s, and yet they led the trend for all other bands to follow.

Obviously based on concepts and ideas developed by Lennon in the midst of an LSD trip, the song juxtaposes Olde Englishe whimsy with a surrealism that rivals Picasso and Dali, and was to be taken to its logical conclusion with ‘I Am The Walrus’. In Strawberry Fields (in reality a Salvation Army house in Liverpool), reality is just another side of the the illusion, yet there’s “nothing to get hung about”. The lyrics resemble the random, idiosyncratic conversation that takes place on such drugs. On a couple of occasions, Lennon tries to make a point about growing up, togetherness and society, but then backs away with a carefree “It doesn’t matter much to me”.

Musically, ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ is a revelation, quite unlike anything the Beatles had heretofore recorded. Although 1966’s Revolver album had given us songs like ‘I’m Only Sleeping’ and ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’, with ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ Lennon left us in no doubt as to what he’d been taking.

The intro starts with a mellotron, and the song is composed in an unusual key with some unorthodox chords – quite difficult to play on the guitar. Certain chord progressions are avoided, leaving the listener with a sense that things really are not quite what they seem. Several elements of the song – the softly-played guitar, Ringo’s phased drums, vari-speeded multiple takes and Lennon’s breathy vocal – all contribute to a feeling of time slowing down slightly…

‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ has, of course, long since become a standard. I think I first heard it sung in a playground when I was four or five. It says a lot about the Fab Four that such a subsersive song can be accepted so readily into popular culture. But listening to this song with fresh ears is a real revelation, and if you’re one of those people who say they’re “not that gone on The Beatles”, then maybe it’s time you had a fresh listen to this (nice video too).

‘In Dreams’ – Roy Orbison, 1963

Wednesday, November 19th, 2008

Now fifties music isn’t my “bag” at all, but having recently re-visited David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, I found myself cheerfully humming this unsettling Roy Orbison piece on a regular basis. Released in a time before JFK regretted a visit to Dallas, and pretty much pre-Beatles, this is one of the few American pop songs of the era that I rate.

And I’m not sure if I’d have listened as closely had I not seen the disturbing and brilliant Blue Velvet, had not watched the villainous Frank Booth (the frankly crazy Dennis Hopper) clench his teeth and contort his face while listening to this song.

Blue Velvet focuses on the dark side of a suburbia that could have been set in the ’50s or the ’80s (it came out in 1986). Cars show off their chrome, and the music is decidedly doo-wop, but there’s a cynicism there that could only have come from “the mullet decade”. It’s like an America that has gone backwards, and the cultural reference points are beehive hairdos, oversized Buicks and Roy Orbison.

For its time, the song’s structure is very innovative. It comes together in two or three pieces that are not repeated, giving the piece an orchestral feel that is made more apparent by the gushing strings. Yet there’s something very restrained about it. Orbison cannot have the woman he wants in his waking hours – but wait until the “candy-coloured clown they call the Sandman” sends him to sleep, and then he can possess her.

The use of the song in the film is a famous moment in indie film, and one that was pretty much improvised by Dean Stockwell: karaoke to the song with a torch as a microphone, giving Stockwell’s face a ghostly glow. It’s a bravura performance, and one that obviously affects Frank deeply, while Kyle MacLachlan wonders how he got invited to the house party from hell.

Here’s the video of the complete scene, culminating in the abovementioned performance of ‘Blue Velvet’. Listen closely at the start of the video – it’s a great ad for obscure American beer Pabst Blue Ribbon, and one of those silly scenes from movies that always gets me chuckling.

‘Spancil Hill’ – Shane McGowan & Christy Moore, 1994

Tuesday, November 18th, 2008

The Late Late Show is a very long running tv show in Ireland. For over 30 years Gay Byrne was the host and regardless of what people say about the program, and it does vary greatly from person to person but one thing that is undeniable is that it did do a lot to increase people’s awareness of local musicians, I know I was introduced to Mick Flannery, Jack L and Sinead O’Connor this way.

Today’s song features a marvellous duet between Christy Moore and Shane McGowan during an episode aired in 1994 when there was a special tribute to Christy Moore who is a famous Irish folk singer and is largely responsible for keeping traditional Irish folk music in the mainstream for the last 30 years. Shane McGowan probably needs no introduction.

Spancil Hill is a traditional song written in the 19th Centuary and reflects on life in Ireland in that time whereby many family members went abroad to look for work thus leaving family and friends at home. Some never came home again. In the subject of the song, he dreams of coming back home to see what the place would be like and wondering what it would be like to meet those neighbours and friends again.

The sharing of verses between Moore and McGowan is amongst the best duets I have heard either live or on an album and they complement each other so well. What probably helps a lot is the fact that these two were used to singing the old folk songs. I actually remember this recording all those years ago. You can check the video here. Doesn’t Shane McGowan looking really young? By the way the guy shouting approval at the end is Gay Byrne.

‘I Believe In You’ – Talk Talk, 1988

Monday, November 17th, 2008

I always overplay my favourite songs, but this song is different. This song will always be a five-star to me. Always.

Coming from the Spirit of Eden album, a record that I have considered my favourite for a couple of years now, this gem of a song was released as the only single from an album that would never appeal to the masses.

If you don’t know about Talk Talk, read their Wikipedia biography. If you’re still reading, you’ve likely heard the song already. If not, here’s a YouTube clip of the video. This is one of the least likely candidates for a single ever, and that’s why I love it so much.

First thing you’ll notice – doesn’t sound like an ‘80’s tune. Rippling cymbal swooshes, an echoed guitar entrance, a bit of piano. Hollis’ unmistakeable voice doesn’t enter until nearly a minute in, and he’s telling us he’s “seen heroin for myself”. Details are shady on whether this is autobiographical, and I don’t want to know. Hollis paints a beautifully solemn picture of tragic wasted youth, decay, and ultimately death, and that’s all that matters.

The song ends with redemption, Hollis intoning “Spirit – How Long?” over one of the most beautiful soundscapes I’ve ever heard – soft cymbals, brush drums, distant acoustic guitar, muted piano and a children’s choir.

I initially wrote a much longer post about this song, but had to edit it down. As with all the best music, words don’t do justice. Listen now. If you like this, I strongly recommend Spirit of Eden, Laughing Stock, and Mark Hollis’ eponymous solo album. Apparently he’s now retired – such a loss to true music lovers the world over. Here’s the link to the video on YouTube, because my words could never do this song (and the whole Spirit of Eden album) justice

‘I’d Like to Walk Around in Your Mind’ – Vashti Bunyan, 1970

Thursday, November 13th, 2008

I love the title of this song – at some stage wouldn’t everybody like to know what the hell is going on in someones mind when they come out with, what one would perceive to be, total madness. I had one of these occasions at work the other day and I went walking away in disbelief shaking the head which in turn reminded me of this song that was written and performed by Vashti Bunyan in the late 60’s. she could probably be favourable be compared to Joanna Newsome, although for some reason she always reminds me of Robin Hood and Sherwood forest.

I’m guessing when she wrote the song she was probably infatuated with some person, This I get from listening to the first few lines

‘I’d like to walk around in your mind someday
I’d like to walk all over the things you say to me
I’d like to run and jump on your solitude
I’d like to rearrange your attitude to me’

The song also reminds me of the film starring Mel Gibson called What Women Want whereby he knows what women are thinking. Anyway the song is a very folky and mellow song reminisicant of a lot of the folk songs that came out at that time. The arrangment largely consists of an acoustic guitar melody with some nice string work and harmonica action thrown in, which really add to the soft and spongy Bunyan voice. She has the kind of voice that would make ( me, at least) want to find out more about the person owning it. Check out a live version taken recently.

‘My Human Gets Me Blues’ – Captain Beefheart, 1969

Wednesday, November 12th, 2008

I confess. I’m including this song primarily because of one line in this song.

Beefheart is an unusual character, and that’s putting it very mildly. His Trout Mask Replica album (sure, you’d know from the title) is one of the strangest I’ve ever heard, and puts Tom Waits to shame for sheer guttural weirdness.

Big cymbal crash, and then the kind of music you’d hear Jabba the Hutt’s house band play on Return of the Jedi. One of the guitars plays the same dumb riff pretty much through the whole song, while the other one appears to undergo electroshock therapy. I don’t hear much of a bass. As an instrumental, it sounds like a band on either speed, or LSD, or (most likely) way too much of both.

Over that, and keeping absolutely no time whatsoever with the music, Beefheart roars, snipes, and coughs lyrics about some girl who has gone crazy from dancing. He throws out some great lines, the second best of which is

“I knew you were under duress, I knew you were under your dress”

Very cute. The rest of Trout Mask Replica is very similar to this, and is very much an acquired taste. But Tom Waits has cited this as a major influence on his classic Swordfishtrombones album – he had to, it was so obvious.

And the best line? It’s the one where he growls:

“You were afraid you’d be the Devil’s red wife”

Listen to the video on YouTube and you’ll understand. Always brings a chuckle.