Sounds Delightful #12: Wistful Thinking

Posted on by kristen

Wistfulness and pop music are made for each other. There’s something abut the small scale of a pop song — its few-minute length, the intimacy with which we relate to the singer — that pairs so well with an emotion that’s subtler and vaguer than all-out sadness. It’s hard to imagine a wistful symphony. Wistfulness can be about about longing, regret, nostalgia — often for the past, but sometimes for things that haven’t even happened yet. And because it can be conveyed so easily through melody, it can also work its way into the fabric of songs that seem cheerful on their surface, just a nagging suspicion that all is not as it seems. The songs on this month’s mix all fall somewhere on that wistfulness spectrum, giving it an overall thoughtful and yearning quality, but still with a variety of pop tempos and textures from indie folk to ’70s soft rock to modern balladry.

Spotify link

1. First Aid Kit — “Stay Gold” (2014) There’s such a great mix of textures on this song, from the slow balladry of the verse to the sped-up patter of the chorus and the lushness of the string arrangements that drop to almost nothing after the middle eight. The melody is outstanding too, especially on “What if to love and be loved’s not enough?” It’s an arrow straight to the heart.

2. BANNERS — “Someone to You” (2017) BANNERS should count his appearance as an all-star duet partner on American Idol as a success, as he’s gained at least one new fan in me. “Someone to You” takes the best of first-album Colplay, then mixes in a trendy shouty chorus and some really solid hooks. Unlike First Aid Kit, BANNERS doesn’t seem to doubt for the moment that to love and be loved will be more than enough.

3. Paul McCartney — “Young Boy” (1997) Is there anything more unfashionable than a 1997 Paul McCartney album? That’s actually an irrelevant question, because post-Beatles Paul has never been about being cool. He’s about writing stunning, timeless melodies with the ease that you or I might write a grocery list. On the opening line “He’s just a young boy looking for a way to find love,” it’s that slightly lower note on the word “find” that takes it to the next level. It’s also worth noting that there are only two people credited on this song. One is Paul doing most everything. The other is Steve Miller, chipping in guitar and backing vocals. These two harmonize really well!

4. Aimee Mann — “Fifty Years After the Fair” (1993) A longtime favorite song of mine, “Fifty Years After the Fair” appeared in the top 10 of my Top 90 of the ‘90s list and in a separate essay I wrote comparing it with Donald Fagen’s “I.G.Y.” Mann uses the 1939 World’s War to contrast the boundless hope of the WWII generation with a post-modern disappointment. Roger McGuinn contributes some lovely guitar playing.

5 .Stephen Bishop — “Sinking in an Ocean of Tears” (1976) I’m developing an inadvertent theme here of celebrity guest guitarists. That’s Eric Clapton playing the solo on this one. It’s unclear how ’70s soft rock obscurity Stephen Bishop managed to record a debut album that featured Clapton, Art Garfunkel, and Chaka Khan, but good for him. “Sinking in an Ocean of Tears” is pretty much everything that’s great about the genre, including a smooth vocal, classy horn section, and catchy chorus. This is actually the most rockin’ song on Bishop’s Careless album and, honestly, it’s probably a bit too jaunty for the melodramatic title, but it works.

6. The Fratellis — “Star Crossed Losers” (2018) Definitely smoother and more sophisticated than what I’d expect from the Fratellis (although I haven’t listened to them much since their debut, so I have no idea if this is a trend or an anomaly). There’s some excellent storytelling going on about two people who can’t quite make it work. It’s idiosyncratic enough that I don’t necessarily understand everything about the relationship being described, but I’d count that as a plus. There’s also a few really great, suggestive lines including “It started out as nothing in the strangest sense” and “He was in denial in his own backyard.” The falsetto on the chorus is about as close to a keen as it can get while still being listenable.

7. Paul Williams — “Someday Man” (1970) I was going to write that this song sounds like it could have been a lost Monkees track. Then I looked it up on Wikipedia and found that it is! It was a b-side to a non-album single that I’m fairly certain I’ve never heard before. So there’s proof positive that Monkees songs have a readily identifiable sound — cheerful, but with that touch of wistfulness underneath. Williams co-wrote this one for The Monkees, then released his own version on his debut album. He also wrote “Rainy Days and Mondays” and “Rainbow Connection,” so apparently he’s someone I really should have known about.

8. Sloan — “The Day Will be Mine” (2018) “One day I’ll wake up new and knowing/That the sun will shine/And the day will be mine.” I can’t think of many other lines that are more believably motivational. He’s not going to take over the world or become a superstar — he’s just going to turn it around. This is a classic Patrick Pentland track — heavy melodicism and a wall of guitars, with almost every line a hook. How Sloan keeps being this good after so long is a secret that many other bands must covet.

9. The Hollies — “I Can’t Let Go” (1966) The top reason to listen to The Hollies has got to be Graham Nash’s high harmonies and this one is exemplary. I can’t stop thinking about a comment in Bob Stanley’s book Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! where he says that for years he mistook Nash’s vocal on this song for a top note trumpet. Totally believable.

10. Prince — “Nothing Compares 2 U” (1984) Prince’s original recording of “Nothing Compares 2 U” was released from his vault a couple weeks ago. It takes no getting used to whatsoever — from the first listen, it’s as if this version had been with us since 1984. It’s astounding to me that Price would record something this good and this polished and not even bother to release it. I’m not generally that excited about things like demos and rarities, but Prince would be an exception.

11. Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko — “Stay” (2012) Listening to this ballad is like watching one of those glass blower demonstrations. I just can’t believe they’re going to pull off something so gorgeous and delicate without it breaking off and smashing into a thousand pieces. But Rihanna does it. I think she’s at her best when she’s doing songs that are more stripped down and classic like this one.

12. Chris Stamey — “Something Came Over Me” (1991) When it comes to The Dbs, I’ve always been more of a Holsapple fan, finding Stamey’s melodies to be a bit too spiky and experimental for my classic pop tastes. But on “Something Came Over Me,” he captures something pure and crystalline and breathtaking. Lyrically, the song describes a moment of falling in love, but there’s something about the tune and the overall atmosphere that suggests a tinge of sadness, as if this is a memory of something lost, rather than a celebration of something recently found.

Two songs about science and hope

Posted on by kristen
The Trylon and Perisphere at the 1939 New York World's Fair.
The Trylon and Perisphere at the 1939 New York World’s Fair.

There are not that many pop songs about science, so I find it remarkable that two of my favorites address the topic in such a similar way. Donald Fagen’s “I.G.Y.” and Aimee Mann’s “Fifty Years After the Fair” talk about science not from a technical perspective, but from a societal one. They’re about science as a proxy for hope and progress, science as a vision of a better future. And they’re about what happens when that vision breaks down.

Fagen’s song title refers to the International Geophysical Year, a real series of scientific collaborations that took place from 1957-58. It’s perfectly at home on The Nightfly, a loose concept album that describes the world from the perspective of a boy growing up in New York City during the 1950s. “I.G.Y.” opens with otherworldly synths, followed by a disco beat and an ascending sax riff. It sounds clean and modern, the kind of thing you might hear in the waiting room of a spaceship. The sonic atmosphere supports the song’s conceit, a vivid, 1950s imagining of the kind of future that will be made possible by the miracle of science. Fagen paints this picture so well, offering up a world of “graphite and glitter,” a “wheel in space,” and “Spandex jackets, one for everyone.” There’s an outlandish beauty to these images, and it’s possible to be seduced by them sincerely, in the way that young Fagen presumably would have been.

Of course there’s a layer of irony too, all the more subtle because “I.G.Y.” makes no reference to it all. The incongruity comes from the listener’s own knowledge that the world portrayed in this song is not our present reality. While “I.G.Y” estimates that “By ’76, we’ll be A-OK,” the song was released in 1982, thereby eliminating any hope that these goals would be met. The irony is reinforced by the cheesily idealistic refrain “What a beautiful world this will be/What a glorious time to be free,” which evokes clueless optimism and post-war patriotism. What modern listener would ever think, let alone say such things out loud?

Using a similar approach but with more layers, Mann’s “Fifty Years After the Fair” addresses another iconic scientific and cultural event, the 1939 New York World’s Fair. With this song, Mann first reflects on the hope of a generation who created exhibits like “Tomorrow Town” and dreamt of technicolor dishwashers and robot dogs.1 She celebrates the spectacle of the fair, with its famous buildings, the Trylon and Perisphere: “That for me was the finest of scenes/The perfect world across the River in Queens.” Reflecting this imagery, “Fifty Years” features a bright melody and a ringing, climbing 12-string guitar riff courtesy of Roger McGuinn.

But, as in most of Mann’s songs, these lovely sounds soon give way to a darker set of lyrics. Unlike “I.G.Y.,” “Fifty Years” explicitly jumps between past and future perspectives. Mann sings, “But it does no good to compare/‘Cause nothing ever measures up.” And what could measure up to a generation who “conceived of a future with no hope in sight”? She’s mourning not necessarily a failure of execution (we do have robot dogs after all), but the death of a worldview. It’s not only that this generation had such high hopes, it’s that they had these hopes despite living through the Great Depression and seeing the start of a second World War. Rather than romanticizing the past, Mann just feels a bitter disappointment: “It hurts to even think of those days/The damage we do by the hopes that we raise.”

“I.G.Y.” and “Fifty Years After the Fair” both use real historical scientific events to contrast the hope of the early 20th Century with modern-day disappointment. Fagen’s song is ironic, but it can’t help but get a little caught up in its own fantasies, perhaps reminding us that there is still value to imagining that we could one day be eternally free and eternally young. We might not create a Utopia, but if we achieve even some of our goals, it’s a small victory. Mann’s disillusionment is much harsher. Should we never have hope, because we will only do too much damage when our dreams fail to deliver? I don’t believe that as a rule, but this song plays to the part of me that is at times depressed and discouraged.

Like most things in life, hope is not binary. We can feel its pull even as we realize that it’s preposterous or misplaced or overambitious. “I.G.Y.” and “Fifty Years” fall somewhere on that continuum between hope and despair — and never in the same place each time I hear them. They illustrate the messy mix of hope, longing, nostalgia, excitement, and sadness that’s always present in the world in fluid proportions.

A Beginner’s Guide to Sparks

Posted on by kristen

Ron and Russell Mael of SparksWhen a band has released 23 albums since 1971, where do you start? That question is especially pertinent when the band is Sparks, a cult duo known for singing about 75 percent of their material in a camp operatic style, composing bizarre narratives about topics like blackmail and funeral speeches, and cramming improbable numbers of notes and words in every hyper-melodic line. But fear not because, despite existing outside of any dominant musical precedent of the last 50 years, Sparks are still indisputably pop and a lot of fun.

I’ve been listening to a ton of Sparks lately, so I decided to pull together a very short list of the songs I like the most, spanning their entire career. I’ve by no means heard every Sparks song, and I haven’t even listened to most of their albums all the way through. But honestly, with so many songs, Sparks can be a little uneven, and they’re a band best heard by cherry-picking the best bits across the years. If you know nothing about Sparks and listen to these songs, you should walk away with a decent sense of what the band is about and whether you might like them.

“This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us” (1974)

If you only listen to one Sparks song, this should be it. It’s one of their best and most well-known, typifying what their classic period was all about. Keyboardist and main songwriter Ron Mael delivers an arc that starts slow and ponderous, but quickly builds to a frantic pace, the aural equivalent of when the cartoon Roadrunner’s legs start going so fast they become a circular blur. Brother Russell’s falsetto is so indefinable that my husband had to ask me if the singer was a man or a woman. Lyrically, Sparks’ main obsession tends to be sexual politics, and this track fits that mold, albeit obliquely, presumably caricaturing some kind of male preening behavior. “This Town” comes from the album Kimono My House, probably Sparks’ best album and one that’s worth a full listen. Lots of famous people love this album, including Morrissey, and it’s widely accepted that Sparks basically created the prototype for Queen’s sound with their early work.

“High C” (1971)

Sparks’ debut album is not that consistently Sparks-like, but “High C,” one of my favorites, was an early step toward their signature sound. Despite being a story about seducing an opera singer on the decline, it actually doesn’t use Russell’s higher register, opting instead for a kind of sleazy, music hall tone. I love the way Russell unnecessarily rolls his Rs and pronounces “Vienna” as “Vie-enna,” resulting an a kind of fake, dramatized accent. Pretty much every line is a hook, and the best of them all is when the song slips into the jauntiest little “whoo-hoo-hoo” that I’ve ever heard. Seriously, if I could whistle, I’d whistle that part non-stop until my friends and family decided to band together and murder me.

“Over the Summer” (1976)

After Kimono My House, Sparks slipped into a short down period that was less critically acclaimed. I don’t have a real solid grasp on this era, but I know there’s at least one great song: “Over the Summer” from the 1978’s ironically-titled Introducing Sparks. A Beach Boys pastiche, it’s not actually that representative of Sparks, and the lyrics — celebrating a mousy girl’s transformation into a bombshell — represent the bands occasional turns toward the sophomoric. But melody conquers all, as do Russell’s captivatingly odd vocals. “July, you were the plainest of Janes” stands out as the best line to me, with its suitably weird pronunciation of “Jew-lye.”

“When Do I Get to Sing ‘My Way?’” (1994)

Sparks restored their reputation in the late ‘70s when they teamed up with Giorgio Moroder on No. 1 in Heaven and a few other albums. Their embrace of an electronic, danceable, disco sound was surprisingly successful. They continued in this vein for quite a while, up through 1994’s Gratuitous Sax and Senseless Violins, which features the excellent “When Do I Get to Sing ‘My Way?’” What I like about this song is that it’s lightly mocking of its subject, who dreams of making it big with his rendition of the titular song, but at the same time it still works as a ballad itself. When Russell sings, “When do I get to sing ‘My Way?” / When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt?” I feel the hunger and longing of this character more than I want to laugh at him. It might be something of a first for Sparks, and they continue to build on that shift in later years. The Sinatra/Sid Vicious dichotomy is brilliant as well. It seems so obvious, but did you think of it?

“Dick Around” (2006)

Jumping forward to the 2000s, Sparks shapeshifted once again to a more symphonic sound. To my entirely untrained ear, “Dick Around” is one of the more credible attempts to combine rock and classical music. Rather than the typical verse-chorus of a pop song, it flows through a series of movements that mirror the ambitious narrator’s moods as he breaks up with his girlfriend and descends into a life of slackerdom. Ominous, jaunty, angry, sad, triumphant — a full range of emotions is on display. The balance of classical instruments with some borderline heavy metal guitar is particularly effective during the angry sections. The experimental nature of the composition doesn’t mean a lack of hooks either.

“Edith Piaf Said it Better Than Me” (2017)

Possibly the most astounding thing about Sparks’ 2017 LP Hippopotamus is the fact that, at the time of its release, Ron Mael was 72 and Russell Mael 69, thus proving that one can make a great pop record at any age. It helps that Sparks’ music is so unusual that they never sound like they’re trying to recapture a bygone era or cash in on trends that aren’t rightly theirs. The writing here reaches a kind of literary height, with many of the songs telling full, subtle stories in a relatively economical space. Another benefit of age is that we get lots of interesting reflections about topics like decline, regret, and death — elements of the human experience that are generally underrepresented in pop music. “Edith Piaf Said It Better Than Me” is a perfect example, telling the story of man who has lived a boring, risk-free life. He repurposes Piaf’s line “Je ne regrette rien,” regretting nothing in a literal sense, because he’s never done anything to regret. There’s some great one-liners in here too, like “There’s no poem, just prose” and “Few amours, feu or not.” Musically, the record is a synthesis of previous Sparks sounds — some opera, some classical, some rock, some pop — but the pace has become a bit more reflective and the emotions more real.

Further listening

I have a personal Spotify playlist of my favorite Sparks tracks, which includes all of the songs above.

Sparks have an official “Essential Sparks” playlist on Spotify that features 101 songs and is six hours long. I find this works well for shuffling and discovering new songs.

Sparks appeared on Brian Turner’s show on WFMU in October 2017. They played live and Brian played a good array of Sparks tracks, as well as some crazy vintage commercials.

Sounds Delightful #11: If I wore your shades could I share your point of view?

Posted on by kristen

Another mix of melodic, ready-to-enjoy pop music. This month’s mix does have a couple political songs, but not ones that get too preachy. There’s also a good variety including bubblegum, classic rock, show tunes, and the usual pure pop.

Listen on Spotify

The Orion Experience — “Emerald Eyes” (2011)

Musically, the Orion Experience embrace the immediate pop giddiness of 1970s bubblegum. On one hand, they’re quite clever with their lyrical updates, which project a kind of urban, hipster feel. On the other, I can easily imagine that if someone hears this song in 40 years time, they’ll say, “Getting a guy’s name tattooed on your wrist? That’s so 2010s.”

Paul Kelly — “Before Too Long” (1986)

This Aussie gem is power pop perfection in the interplay between guitar and piano, the strong melody, and the harmonizing with the female vocalist near the end. And how about that middle eight? It’s not showy, but it does everything that a good middle eight should. It ups the emotional ante a bit and the sproingy guitar flourishes add a not unpleasing discordant touch.

Bleachers — “Alfie’s Song” (2018)

I’ve kept an eye on Bleachers, mainly because of Jack Antonoff’s involvement with the dearly departed fun.. And while they’ve had a few good songs, there’s an almost aggressive quality to their ’80s tribute-ness that I find off-putting — too many huge drums and shouty, staccato vocals. But “Alfie’s Song” is something different. It’s still retro, but with a wider and better range of influences. There’s a Paul Simon calypso quality, as well as a admirably restrained Clarance Clemmons-style sax. As usual, the mode is triumphant, but the prettier instrumentation and wash of “ahh-ahh-ahh” backing vocals tone it all down a bit. More of this, please!

Bob Seger — “Still the Same” (1978)

Here’s this month’s obligatory classic rock song that people will scoff at, yet I will insist is good if you give it a chance. The hook is simple, but unforgettable. And Seger’s portrait of an unrepentant gambler is just vague enough that nearly everyone can read someone they know into the story. I’ve always particularly liked the “only bluff you couldn’t fake” line, as it implies some kind of vulnerability to this otherwise cold-blooded character. Shout out to the ladies singing back-up vocals on this: Venetta Fields, Clydie King, and Sherlie Matthews. They were some of the best in the business at that time.

The Killers — “Run for Cover” (2018)

I always forget whether The Killers are British or American, but this Springsteen pastiche leaves no doubt. It’s a big, hooky, sing-along anthem — The Killers’ bread and butter. There’s some political stuff in there, including the reference to “fake news” and the line “Are your excuses any better than your senator’s?” But I get the sense that the song is more personal, perhaps only hinting that that bad behavior of politicians has begun to seep into our own relationships.

Kirsty MacColl — “Free World”

Kirsty MacColl’s “Free World” is so perfectly melodic, beautifully sung, and lyrically sharp that it actually makes me like a political song. It helps that “Free World” doesn’t feel like a lecture, but rather an impressionistic dystopia brought about by credit cards and free trade. The high note on “I wouldn’t tell you/if I didn’t care” is gorgeous, as is the way she lets it linger even as the next chorus kicks back in. That’s Johnny Marr on guitar too.

Frank Turner — “1933” (2018)

Again, political songs work best when they’re not lecturing you. Frank Turner avoids this on “1933” by mixing anger with a kind of throwing up of hands. What is there to do but hit the bar? I like the bit about the Greatest Generation being pissed at recent events, and I’ve often had a similar thought myself — though I suspect that’s mainly wishful thinking. If nothing else, the anger gives Frank something to get riled up about, a good turn around from his slightly boring previous album. Compositionally he’s spot on as always, with hooks that would make Brittney Spears proud, dressed down in punk camouflage.

Mike D’Abo — “King Herod’s Song (Try It and See)”

This is such a weird song to like. Despite not being a practicing Catholic for many years, I feel somehow disrespectful enjoying this musical interpretation of Herod mocking Jesus. Yet, I’ve been listening to it all the time lately, along with other highlights from the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack. Translating Herod into the modern archetype of a sleazy, overly-tanned rich guy who treats Jesus like a performing seal is just one example of why the whole Superstar thing works. The vaudeville idiom hammers home the sideshow vibe, in addition to being super catchy. (By the way, I’ve been working on this mix for a while, and it’s a total coincidence that I finished it on Easter. I will be DVRing the live Superstar tonight to see how Alice Cooper does with this one.)

The Cleaners from Venus — “Clarendon Lane” (2000?)

Just a jaunty little tune conjuring up a psychedelic streetscape circa 1968. What I like about Martin Newell is that he’s an underground figure, but the chief quality of his songs that they’re readily enjoyable.

Sloan — “Right to Roam” (2018)

Every song written by Sloan’s Jay Ferguson has the dusty glow of a sunbeam streaming through an open window. “Right to Roam,” from Sloan’s upcoming 12th album, has an easy melody, Anglo-pastoral themes, and some great handclaps. You’ve got to love a song that can incorporate the words “Marquess of Anglesey.”

Blossoms — “I Can’t Stand It” (2018)

Blossoms are kind of just your basic Brit rock band wearing a lot of ’80s and ’90s influences on their sleeves. But as usual their strong melody writing and perfect arrangements result in an infectious, classic-sounding track.

Sheryl Crow — “The First Cut is the Deepest” (2003)

“The First Cut is the Deepest,” written by Cat Stevens and recorded by countless others, has a melody that conveys sadness so much more viscerally and directly than its somewhat confusing lyrics ever could. I like Crow’s version, because her vocals have a straightforwardness that doesn’t rely on theatrics to get the point across, which is what this song needs. She’s probably one of the most underappreciated artists of the ‘90s.

fun. — “Why Am I the One?” (2012)

While it has its virtues, fun.’s Some Nights album has already begun to sound dated — the one exception being this blessedly auto-tune free ballad. It’s the song from the album that wouldn’t have been completely out of place on either of Nate Ruess’s previous pop opuses, and it’s almost certainly near the top of my best of the 2010s list (a list I am uniquely unqualified to write). The melody is one for the ages, the arrangements bring the right amount of drama, and the middle eight so good that I’m always mad it doesn’t get fully repeated when that little teaser comes at the end. To paraphrase Nick Hornby, it’s the kind of big, emotional ballad that makes you want to sing with your eyes closed, and I’m glad Fun had one last chance to write the kind of uncool, revealing track I love them for.

Top 90 of the ’90s

Posted on by kristen
New Radicals - "You Get What You Give"
The ’90s, what a time for hats.

My husband and I always talk about our “top 90 of the ‘90s” lists, a concept that up until now has been largely theoretical. It’s really easy to say, “Oh yeah, ‘Santa Monica?’ That’s definitely on my list, top 10 for sure.” It’s unclear exactly how many songs have been verbally named to my list at this point, but it’s likely that the top 10 and top 20 now represent mathematical impossibilities.

So I finally decided to sit down and write out my real top 90. As I began this exercise, one thing became immediately clear: it’s impossible. Sure, it’s easy to name 90 great ’90s songs, but it’s also easy to name more than 90 great ’90s songs, so cutting down the list is hard. Then there’s the fact that ranking the songs is so difficult as to border on meaningless. Do I like “You Get What You Give” or “Flagpole Sitta” better? It’s really hard to say. I resorted to a thought exercise where I imagined myself driving my car on a beautiful, sunny day, flipping around the radio. Two songs I’m trying to rank are each playing on a different station. Which one do I pick? That tactic actually helped a lot.

Oasis
Young Oasis, with Liam wearing a very ’90s shirt.

Then there’s the tension between representing personal favorite songs and the best songs of the ’90s. I decided I wanted my list to be the former, but this dichotomy still presented a challenge. I realized that I have a strong mental divide between “songs I like that happen to be from the 90s” and “90s songs.” The first category tends more toward indie, non-hits, and deep cuts. The second category is heavier on one-hit wonders and songs that embody some concept of “90s-ness.” I tend to regard the ’90s category as separate, something I only listen to when I’m deliberately going for a nostalgia trip, so it was hard to integrate them into my “real” favorites. I also struggled with my love for Oasis. They’re my favorite band that was most active in the ’90s, but including, like, 20 Oasis songs in the list just didn’t feel right. So I limited myself to three, though they are all ranked pretty highly.

In the end, I found the most effective strategy was to just do it and not care too much about the finer points of the rankings. I’m sure if I did this again next week or next year, I’d end up with something different. But if nothing else, the result is a list of 90 great songs from the ‘90s that I’d be happy to listen to any time.

Here’s the list! Listen to these songs on Spotify

90. Right Said Fred — “I’m Too Sexy” (1991)
89. Coolio — “1-2-3-4 (Sumpin’ New)” (1996)
88. Lightning Seeds — “Lucky You” (1994)
87. Imperial Drag — “‘Breakfast’ By Tiger” (1996)
86. LFO — “Girl on TV” (1999)
85. Lisa Loeb — “Stay (I Missed You)” (1994)
84. Jimmie’s Chicken Shack — “Do Right” (1999)
83. R.E.M. — “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?” (1994)
82. Finley Quaye — “Sunday Shining” (1997)
81. Soul Coughing — “True Dreams of Wichita” (1994)
80. Sloan — “The Lines You Amend” (1996)
79. Super Furry Animals — “Something 4 the Weekend” (1996)
78. Spin Doctors — “Two Princes” (1993)
77. Sparks — “When Do I Get to Sing ‘My Way’?” (1994)
76. Citizen King — “Better Days (And the Bottom Drops Out)” (1999)
75. Nerf Herder — “Sorry” (19996)
74. Seal — “Kiss From a Rose” (1994)
73. The Lemonheads — “If I Could Talk I’d Tell You” (1996)
72. Martin Newell — “She Rings the Changes” (1990)
71. BMX Bandits — “Serious Drugs” (1993)
70. Michael Penn — “I Can Tell” (1997)
69. Old 97s — “19″ (1999)
68. Freedy Johnston — “Bad Reputation” (1994)
67. Deee-Lite — “Groove is in the Heart” (1990)
66. Blind Melon — “No Rain” (1993)
65. The Cardigans — “Lovefool” (1996)
64. Alice in Chains — “No Excuses” (1994)
63. Blur — “Coffee and TV” (1999)
62. Weezer — “El Scorcho” (1996)
61. Foo Fighters — “Big Me” (1996)
60. Skee-Lo — “I Wish” (1995)
59. Jason Faulkner — “Revelation” (1999)
58. Pavement — “Cut Your Hair” (1994)
57. Belle and Sebastian — “She’s Losing It” (1996)
56. Matthew Sweet — “Sick of Myself” (1995)
55. Presidents of the United States of America — “Peaches” (1996)
54. Bend Folds Five — “Philosophy” (1995)
53. Spacehog — “In the Meantime” (1996)
52. Stone Temple Pilots — “Big Bang Baby” (1996)
51. Blur — “Charmless Man” (1995)
50. Cotton Mather — “Lost My Motto” (1994)
49. Third Eye Blind — “Semi-Charmed Life” (1997)
48. Nirvana — “All Apologies” (1993)
47. XTC — “The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead” (1992)
46. The Wonders — “That Thing You Do!” (1996)
45. Pulp — “Common People” (1995)
44. Stroke 9 — “Little Black Backpack” (1999)
43. James — “Laid” (1993)
42. Hootie and the Blowfish — “Only Wanna Be With You” (1994)
41. The Lightning Seeds — “Pure” (1990)
40. Ben Folds Five — “Army” (1999)
39. Blessid Union of Souls — “Hey Leonardo (She Likes Me For Me)” (1999)
38. Polaris — “Hey Sandy” (1993)
37. Jamiroquai — “Canned Heat” (1999)
36. Pernice Brothers — “Overcome by Happiness” (1998)
35. Cornershop — “Brimful of Asha” (1997)
34. Hole — “Celebrity Skin” (1998)
33. Fountains of Wayne — “Radiation Vibe” (1996)
32. Belle and Sebastian — “The Boy With the Arab Strap” (1998)
31. Soup Dragons — “Divine Thing” (1992)
30. Mariah Carey — “Fantasy” (1995)
29. Sixpence None the Richer — “Kiss Me” (1998)
28. Guns N’ Roses — “November Rain” (1992)
27. Teenage Fanclub — “Alcoholiday” (1991)
26. Mary J. Blige — “Real Love” (1992)
25. They Might Be Giants — “Birdhouse in Your Soul” (1990)
24. White Town — “Your Woman” (1997)
23. Backstreet Boys — “I Want it That Way” (1999)
22. Jellyfish — “Baby’s Coming Back” (1990)
21. John Wesley Harding — “The Devil in Me” (1990)
20. Fastball — “The Way” (1998)
19. Sheryl Crow — “Everyday is a Winding Road” (1996)
18. Fountains of Wayne — “Troubled Times” (1999)
17. Harvey Danger — “Flagpole Sitta” (1997)
16. New Radicals — “You Get What You Give” (1998)
15. Oasis — “The Masterplan” (1995)
14. P.M. Dawn — “Art Deco Halos” (1998)
13. Pulp — “Disco 2000” (1995)
12. Macy Gray — “I Try” (1999)
11. Big Audio Dynamite II — “Rush” (1990)
10. Oasis — “Don’t Look Back in Anger” (1995)
9. Aimee Mann — “Fifty Years After the Fair” (1993)
8. XTC — “I’d Like That” (1999)
7. Barenaked Ladies — “It’s All Been Done” (1998)
6. Violent Femmes — “American Music” (1991)
5. Hedwig and the Angy Inch Original Cast — “Wig in a Box” (1998)
4. Blackstreet — “No Diggity” (1996)
3. Everclear — “Santa Monica” (1995)
2. Jellyfish — “Joining a Fanclub” (1993)
1. Oasis — “Whatever” (1994)

Billboard Excavation 1974: Reflections

Posted on by kristen

Disco Tex and his Sex-O-LettesRecently I decided to listen to every song that made the Billboard Hot 100 in 1974. I got the idea from hearing the occasional rerun of Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 on the local oldies station. Casey likes to build up the songs with long, meandering stories or crazy teasers like, “Next up, a man who started beating his wife two months ago.”1 But, surprisingly often, when the payoff comes along, it’s a letdown because I’ve never heard the song before. That experience made me realize that, for any given year, there is a lot of music that was once popular, but for some reason hasn’t survived in the public consciousness.

I decided I wanted to learn more about these forgotten songs and possibly unearth some treasures. I chose a year — 1974 — for no real reason other than that I’m into the ’70s right now. My goal was to put together a one-hour mixtape that highlights lost classics of that year. I envisioned it being like a bizarro version of the hits compilations I used to listen to with my parents when I was a kid. But instead of the same old songs that everyone already knows, it would be filled with songs that sound fresh and new, while still capturing the spirit of the time. You can find that mix, along with notes about each of the songs, on a separate blog post.

As a side effect of this exercise, I learned a lot about 1974 and spent a lot of time reflecting on the nature of hits and the Billboard charts. This companion article shares some observations about the boogie-filled, politically tumulus year that was 1974, as well as some big theories on what makes music endure.

Methodology

To do this project, I used Billboard’s excellent online Hot 100 charts, which let you page through each week of chart history and are visually quite well designed. I started with the week of January 5, 1974, scanned through the chart, and added every song I wasn’t already familiar with to a “new to me” playlist on Spotify (or bookmarked it on YouTube, if it wasn’t available). For the first week, 77 out of 100 songs weren’t familiar to me — quite a high percentage, and probably more than I was expecting. I listened to all the songs and copied any that I liked to a second, “would hear again” playlist. That first week, there were 12 songs that made the cut.

From there on out, things got easier. For each new week, I just had to scan the chart and look for new entries. I ended up with probably 5-10 new songs to hear for each Billboard week. I didn’t keep detailed stats on how it all broke down, but in the end, I listened to 419 songs on Spotify, and maybe another 40-50 on YouTube. Of these, 63 were good enough to hear again. I chose 16 for my final mix, all songs that had their chart peaks in 1974. 2

As an outcome of my method, the definition of “lost classic” became “song Kristen has never heard before.” Who’s to say these songs are really that obscure? I didn’t live through the 70s, and someone who did may end up knowing many of them already. All I can say is that I’ve listened to a lot of oldies and classic rock radio in my life, and I’m very alert to incidental music in my environment. I have a pretty good feel for what’s well-known and what’s not. As a check, I played this mix for my husband, and he didn’t know any of them either, so I think my instincts were sound.

One caveat: I didn’t usually listen to songs that I already knew, since I wouldn’t be considering them for my final mix. But I did notice a lot of what was on the charts, and it’s definitely informed my perception of the year. I also want to acknowledge that there are plenty of great songs from 1974 that were not hits, and many of those may be ironically more well-known now than some of my lost classics. (Big Star’s Radio City came out in ’74, for instance.) And there are probably a lot of great, lost non-hits as well. But the Hot 100 served as a convenient bucket of songs that at least a few people must have liked at some point, and it helped me put some boundaries around the project.

The sounds of ’74

Eddie Kendricks

There’s no question the dominant musical trend of 1974 was soul. The chart was absolutely filled with all variety of soul from slow jams to funk to early disco. Stevie was literate and melodic on “Living for the City,” Marvin smooth on “Let’s Get it On,” James Brown defiant on a track brilliantly titled “Papa Don’t Take No Mess.” Disco Tex turned out the gloriously shambolic “Get Dancin’” and First Class pioneered some powerful, female-led dance tracks. It was also a breakout year for soul artists gone solo. Eddie Kendricks of the Temptations had a big album yielding multiple hits, and as did Motown songwriter Lamont Dozier.

For all that, soul also demonstrated a pattern that held true across genres. For every great track with original melodic and lyrical ideas, there were two or three songs that were straight up dull. Not technically bad or incompetent, just lacking hooks and inspiration, content to coast along sounding mostly like a lot of other songs that were popular at the same time. These songs tended to follow trite romantic conventions like “Sexy Mama” or “Bring Back the Love of Yesterday.” Occasionally, a few artists went off the rails just enough to be noticeable, usually on the lyrical end of things. The sometimes-excellent Chi-Lites turned out two notable clunkers: “Homely Girl” and “There Will Never Be Any Peace (Until God is Seated at the Conference Table).” Oof.

From a rock perspective, 1974 is usually seen as a post-Beatles, pre-punk doldrums, and there’s certainly some validity to that. I found it difficult to represent rock music on my final mix, largely because all rock songs seemed to disqualify themselves in one of two ways. Some were awesome mega-hits that everyone still knows: “Jet,” “Bennie and the Jets,” “D’yer Maker,” “Rikki Don’t Lose that Number” — you get the picture. Everything else was pretty uniformly bad, tending toward boring medium-hard rock by Grand Funk imitators or phone-ins by the already-famous, including Dylan and Ringo. One rare bright spot was “Candy’s Going Bad,” a lesser hit by Golden Earring from the same album as “Radar Love.”

A few other genres made a respectable showing in 1974. Country music was a consistent presence on the charts and demonstrated a good deal of heart and humor, without the overly slick, faux-redneck crap that would mar it in the ’90s. You had lovable simpletons like Tom T. Hall, classy guys like Glen Campbell and Hoyt Axton, and great singer-interpreters like Linda Ronstadt. Novelties were also huge, particularly those by Dickie Goodman, who interspersed fake news interviews with borderline nonsensical responses culled from popular songs. Q: “Mr. President, what really caused the energy crisis?” A: “Smokin’ in the boys room.” Hilarious? Maybe. Finally, bubblegum and light rock continued to have their day. Seals and Crofts turned out pretty, delicate harmonies on “The King of Nothing,” Blue Swede created their immortal “ooga-chaka” backing vocals on “Hooked on a Feeling,” and Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods deliver a surprisingly acidic anti-war message on “Billy Don’t be a Hero.”

On the whole, however, there was nothing on the charts that felt particularly unique or revolutionary. It was a perfectly ordinary year filled with some great songs that that distinguished themselves on craft and performance, lots of mediocre songs that coasted in their wake, and only a small handful of truly awful tracks.3

The wider world

Listening to the music of 1974 opened a window into what was happening in the world at that time, from politics to social trends. Sometime in the February charts, Dickie Goodman’s “Energy Crisis ’74” appeared, followed shortly after by NRBQ’s “Get that Gasoline Blues” and Jerry Reed’s “The Crude Oil Blues.” The degree of humor afforded to the energy crisis is hard to contextualize, because I think people really were panicked at the time, but they also seemed to be laughing about it. It’s probably more apt to compare these songs to today’s YouTube videos and late night comedy sketches than anything on the current pop charts. Parody of world events is still a constant, it’s just changed venues.

After two years of Watergate controversy, Nixon finally resigned in the summer of 1974. While Goodman released his trademark interview send-up, a lot of songs treated these events more seriously. Lamont Dozier’s “Fish Ain’t Bitin’” is eloquent and direct in its hopelessness, ending with the plea, “Tricky Dick, stop your shit.” James Brown, who I sometimes think should have just released a series of song titles and called it a day, turned his attention to Gerald Ford in “Funky President (People It’s Bad).” The song encourages a range of dubiously helpful behaviors from “Get on your good foot, change it!” to “Turn on your funk motor.” Less cogent, perhaps, but equally urgent.

Perhaps directly related to these events is a slew of songs about patriotism. Some are presumably meant to be a conservative backlash to public opinion about the president. However, 1974 conservatism seems borderline liberal by today’s standards. Case in point: Donna Fargo’s “U.S. of A.,” which delivers the unsubtle message, “And when one of/My brothers makes a mistake/Be he peasant or a President/I will try to treat him/As I would want to be treated/With compassion and understanding.” And, yet, the very next lines are “And I will continue to be proud/To pay taxes for the opportunity to live/In the greatest nation in the world.” 4 Jud Strunk’s song-poem “My Country” has a similar mix of now-incompatible views, extolling nature, the Kennedys, veterans, and Jesus, before declaring, “And I don’t stand for everything my country is about/But I am willing to stand for my country.” Despite these moderately refreshing attitudes, all of these songs are pure schmaltz musically and unlistenable except as historical curiosities.

On the lighter side, 1974 was peak streaking, with Ray Stevens’s novelty “The Streak” hitting number one and staying there for three weeks. This song is not very good, and I can’t imagine anyone enjoyed seeing a bunch of random naked people all that much either. 1974 was also the ramp-up to peak boogie, with everyone from rockers to soul singers to country balladeers working this word into their songs with a complete lack of irony. No one sums up the boogieing craze — and perhaps 1974 itself — better than Brownsville Station on the opening to their song “Kings of the Party”: “You can always count on about one hundred to five hundred people/Down at the very front row screaming one word/At the top of their lungs/BOOGIE!!”

What makes a hit endure?

When I started this project, the big question I wanted to answer was “What makes a hit endure?” Having done it, the trait I’d say most correlates with a song’s longevity is it’s memorableness. In many cases, this can be roughly equated with quality, which is a good thing. Songs that have great hooks and melodies, powerful vocal performances, or virtuosic playing tend to be memorable. “The Joker,” “Waterloo,” “Jungle Boogie,” “Rebel, Rebel,” — everyone knows these songs and they hold up. Memorableness can also be the result of more ambiguous sources, including gimmicks, weirdness (how many times do I have to reference Blue Swede?), and even badness. People love to make lists of bad songs, and one of 1974’s biggest hits, Paul Anka’s “(You’re) Having My Baby,” has been a frequent contender for one of the worst songs of all time, even decades after its original release.

This theory is consistent with the 1974 lost classic mix I put together. I’ve really enjoyed listening to the tracks I selected and I think the overall quality is on par with many more famous songs of the day. But I will say that many of these songs took me several listens to really appreciate. Joni Mitchell’s “Free Man in Paris” is a good example. The melody is gorgeous, but I didn’t catch on to it immediately. Contrast this with Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi,” which was actually less successful on the charts, but more remembered today. The instantly memorable “don’t it always seem to go” line is a big reason why. Without an immediate hook, songs seem to stand less of a chance of making it to household name status.

Another factor in the endurance equation is the commercial structures that deliver music to our ears. You can hear music from 1974 on oldies and classic rock stations, but in either case it’s only a sliver of what was actually popular at the time. Since these stations are generally covering the better part of three decades, it makes sense that they play a only few songs from each year and that they choose songs that people like best — determined by extensive market research. One perhaps unintended outcome of this structure is a pro-rock bias. It’s not surprising, since classic rock has an entire radio format of it’s own, while I’ve never encountered, say, a classic soul station.5 I’d hypothesize that this bias is a result of the demographics of U.S. listeners, and even more so the demographics of U.S. radio station owners and executives. The end result that that rock gets a lot of air time and thus is better remembered, while genres like soul, vocal pop, bubblegum, classic country, and comedy must always share their exposure with rock, at least in the mainstream.

The Bee GeesFinally, you can’t discount the role of luck in a song becoming a hit, much less becoming an enduring classic. I recently read a novel called Shadowbahn that explores this idea by imagining that Elvis had never been born. Without Elvis, the Beatles never made it big, and rock/pop fizzled completely as a genre. So one element of luck is the existence of a genealogy of previous music all leading up to your moment, allowing your vision to succeed because the groundwork has been laid. You can see this in the chronology of The Bee Gees. Their 1974 album, Mr. Natural, while incorporating subtle soul elements, didn’t make it big, perhaps because it didn’t sound enough like the zeitgeist. Their next album, Main Course, was a stunning success, maybe because their ideas were more fully realized, but also because they struck while the disco iron was hot.

Big Star’s Radio City was another classic example of bad luck in 1974. It got good reviews, but the band’s record label ran into distribution problems, so copies of the record simply could not be sold. However, attention from music critics in later years has resulted in Radio City ultimately becoming better remembered — at least by a certain crowd — than songs that were hits at the time. You could even say that Big Star’s early obscurity has contributed to their mystique, enhancing their cult status even more. These are factors that no artist can control, yet they have great impact on their trajectory in the public memory.

It’s only natural, given all of these factors, that many deserving hits have been forgotten. But there’s a big bright spot for lost classics, and that’s the current greatness of the internet as a music platform. Even 10 years ago, it would have been very difficult for me to listen to all of these songs without spending an enormous amount of time and money. I probably would never have done it. But thanks to Spotify, YouTube, Mixcloud, and other services, anyone can go back in time, dig up hidden treasure, shine it up, and share it with the world. If nothing else, this project has been a testament to the depth of the pop era and power it still has for renewal and rediscovery.

Sounds Delightful #10: Billboard Excavation 1974

Posted on by kristen

I made this mix of 1974 lost classics by systematically listening to every Billboard Hot 100 single of that year and picking the best songs I had never heard before.  I was inspired by Casey Kasem’s American Top 40, which always seems to be full of once-popular songs that no one remembers. These 16 songs, which all had their chart peak in 1974, sound just as good as the better known hits, plus they feel shiny and new!

1. Disco Tex and the Sex-O-Lettes — “Get Dancin’”
Chart peak: #68, December 7, 1974

It’s a shambolic, early disco mess, but the main hook of the chorus — “TRUCKIN’ with his Sex-O-Lettes” — is terrific, especially with the little harmony overlaid on that line. Tex’s “real” name was Sir Monti Rock III, and he was a celebrity hairdresser turned staple of ’70s New York, appearing frequently on Johnny Carson and Merv Griffin. I love his call outs, especially “Nobody cares how you wear your hair, darling!”

2. Hoyt Axton — “When the Morning Comes”
Chart peak #54, June 29, 1974

The perfect example of the kind of smooth, classy country that could be found the ’70s. There’s a gentle humor that’s very appealing as well. The female singer here is Linda Ronstadt, shining on her solo and harmony vocals. More of a country staple, Axton is perhaps best known in the pop world for writing “Joy to the World” for Three Dog Night.

3. William DeVaughn — “Be Thankful for What You’ve Got”
Chart peak: #4, June 29, 1974

“Be Thankful for What You’ve Got” went to #4 — the biggest hit on this mix — so I’m surprised I’d never heard it. The lines “Diamond in the back/Sunroof top/Diggin’ the scene/With a gangsta lean/Ooh-ooh” are the centerpiece of the song and an excellent hook despite being almost an afterthought to the chorus. And while it’s not a radio staple, this song has clearly been an influence on R&B and hip-hop. It may be one of the earlier uses of the word “gangsta” in a song and the phrase “diggin’ the scene” has also made its way into the lexicon, notably on TLC’s “Creep.”

4. The Bee Gees — “Mr. Natural”
Chart peak: #93, March 23, 1974

This is my one cheat for this mix, as “Mr. Natural” is a song that I’ve grown to love in the past year. However, it barely squeaked into the Hot 100 and the only reason I know it is because I fell in love with The Bee Gees and decided to actively listen to all their albums. I’ve never heard it in the wild. 1974 was really The Bee Gees’ forgotten year, coming right before their transition to disco superstars. But “Mr. Natural” and its eponymous album are fantastic and deserve to be more well-known. I’ve already covered this topic extensively on my blog, so let me just sum it up here: hooks, melody, harmony, pop perfection.

5. Joni Mitchell — “Free Man in Paris”
Chart peak: #22, September 28, 1974

“Free Man in Paris” was Joni Mitchell’s second biggest chart hit, even bigger than “Big Yellow Taxi.” It just goes to show that sometimes the charts are a bad predictor of which songs make the jump to mass culture. This one was a grower for me, but after two or three listens, I found myself really enjoying the melody of the chorus, particularly the “star-maker machinery” line. It’s beautifully produced by Mitchell herself, with lots of clear, bright instrumentation and subtle backing vocals by David Crosby and Graham Nash. I like how the male perspective (based on her friend David Geffen) breaks down the expectation that a first-person song necessarily has to express the direct experiences of the singer.

6. Golden Earring — “Candy’s Going Bad”
Chart peak: #91, November 2, 1974

I struggled to include rock music on this mix, and “Candy’s Going Bad” was the only song that made the cut. My theory is that a pro-rock bias has resulted in almost every good rock song of 1974 being fairly well-remembered today, leaving mainly the dregs as potential lost classics. Golden Earring are actually pretty good English lyricists for being Dutch. Individual phrases like “champagne desert” or “the studs and mares of the night” conjure a seedy alternate reality. The instrumental outro is intriguingly moody.

7. Tom T. Hall — “I Love”
Chart peak: #12, March 2, 1974

I challenge you to listen to this song all the way through without smiling. Go on, try it. If you’re not grinning like an idiot by the time you get to “little fuzzy pups,” you might want to take a serious look at your ability to enjoy life. Actually, “I Love” is deceptively good lyrically, ostensibly sung from the perspective of some kind of simpleton, but employing a perfectly balanced mix of country life, cute animals, non-sequiturs (“onions”??), and a few more adult pleasures (“bourbon in a glass and grass,” a line that was actually censored). Musically the strings are a bit schmaltzy, but overall an enjoyable and unique song.

8. Eddie Kendricks — “Son of Sagittarius”
Chart peak: #28, June 15, 1974

Kendricks, one of the original Temptations, was known for his falsetto, and it’s a great one, especially in conjunction with the backing vocalists. Good songwriting here too, by dark horse Motown player Frank Wilson and a couple others. The minor key and planetary/astrological references give it an air of mystery.

9. Seals and Crofts — “King of Nothing”
Chart peak: #60, June 22, 1974

“King of Nothing” starts out as an jangly, acoustic pop ditty, but has a surprising build around the midpoint with the horn arrangement taking on depth and some nice key changes, too. The trumpet is superb throughout. I also find the lyrics really relatable. I think it’s easy as a young person to assume your life will naturally develop into something incredible, only to come to terms with your relative ordinariness as you get a bit older. The switch from minor to major key between the verse and chorus suggests there can be a joy and freedom that comes with this realization.

10. Barbra Streisand — “All in Love is Fair”
Chart peak: #63, April 20, 1974

You have to give ’74 Babs some credit for song choice. (Seriously, you need to hear her version of Bowie’s “Life on Mars?” recorded later that same year, but unfortunately not a hit.) This Stevie Wonder ballad is great any way you slice it, and Streisand adds her trademark melodrama and vocal flourishes. There’s a certain iciness to the vocal that’s not inappropriate for the subject matter, but it does make me miss the warmth of the original just a little.

11. Lamont Dozier — “Fish Ain’t Bitin’”
Chart peak: #26, July 27, 1974

One-third of the legendary Holland-Dozier-Holland Motown songwriting team, Lamont Dozier had some solo chart success in the mid-70s. “Fish Ain’t Bitin’” is explicitly political, addressing itself directly to “Tricky Dick,” but it still has plenty of hooks and a great arrangement with lots of pre-disco strings.

12. Jerry Reed — “Crude Oil Blues”
Chart peak: #91, March 9, 1974

Along with Nixon resigning, the energy crisis was one of the major national news stories of 1974. It had a surprising impact on the charts, with three energy-crisis themed songs making the Hot 100. “The Crude Oil Blues” is probably the best of them. It’s undeniably silly, but catchy and good-humored. And as someone who hates being cold, I respond deeply to the line “Honey, when you’re cold, you’re cold.”

13. The Main Ingredient — “California My Way”
Chart peak #75, November 30, 1974

This song has so many brilliant little flourishes in the interplay between the main vocalist and back-up singers. Among the best ones: the low and high “yeahs” on the line “I’ve got my bags packed, yeah (yeah),” the whoa-oh after “any day”/“right away,” and the comic “Hollywoooood.” Another stellar trumpet line here too. There’s an earlier recording of this song by the Fifth Dimension provides a useful counterpoint to illustrate just how cool and smooth this version really is.

14. The Wombles — “Wombling Summer Party”
Chart peak #55, August 31, 1974

It’s a good thing “Wombling Summer Party” is fun and catchy, because it would have been very hard for me not to include it. For some reason, I cannot seem to avoid the Wombles in my life. I first became aware of them through a WFMU-produced DVD of bubblegum performances on ’70s variety shows. Then, I became obsessed with a car in my neighborhood with a “Wombles” license plate. Then, I traveled to England and ended up at an AFC Wimbledon football match — their mascot is a Womble! For Americans, The Wombles are British children’s book characters. They are mole-like creatures that live on Wimbledon common and clean up trash and recycle it. In the ’70s, they got translated into a bubblegum group, churning out decently well-crafted Womble-themed songs. This one is a straight-up Beach Boys pastiche, impressive for its ability use the word “Womble” in nearly every line.

15. First Choice — “The Player”
Chart peak: #70, October 19 1974

First Choice was turning out fully-formed disco throughout 1974. It’s a shame they were a little early, because they represent the genre at it’s best: powerhouse vocals, extravagant horn and string arrangements, plenty of hi-hat.

16. The Isley Brothers — “What It Comes Down To”
Chart peak: #55, March 2, 1974

It’s instructive that my favorite soul group, The Isley Brothers, made a cottage industry out of recording transformative  covers of soft-rock hits in early ’70s. Their music takes some of the melody and lightness of the Laurel Canyon sound and marries it to rhythm, dynamic vocals, and the extraordinary, burbling guitar sound of Ernie Isley. This lesser-known original ticks all the same boxes. I especially love how Ronald Isley’s vocal on the affected low notes (“I got moi-ine”) picks up something of the tone of the guitar.

Sounds Delightful Melodic Mix #9 – February 2018

Posted on by kristen

Lately I’ve been feeling more excited about unearthing gems from the past than finding brand new songs, and this mix reflects that. The ’70s have really risen to the top, and I’ve got a couple ’80s forgotten favorites too. There’s something intoxicating about hearing a song you know well, but haven’t heard for a long time. It’s a perfect mix of familiarity and novelty at once. Maybe you will experience that here.

(Spotify)

1. Plastic Bertrand — “Ça Plane Pour Moi” (1977) I heard this song in two unrelated contexts in the span of a few days earlier this month. How had I never heard it before? It’s pure, inane glee with a super sax riff, a “whoo-ooo-ooo-ooo” vocal hook, and nonsense French lyrics. Reading attempted translations on the internet is pretty fun.

2. They Might Be Giants — “All Time What” (2018) I got to see TMBG live in January, and at this point I consider them a better live band than anything else. They played this track from their new album, and its hooky, power-pop sound was pretty rockin’.

3. Dean Friedman — “Ariel” (1977) Another 1977 lost classic, Dean Friedman’s “Ariel” seems like it has to have been an influence on They Might be Giants, Fountains of Wayne, Ben Folds, and other power-poppers who are able to successfully incorporate quirky humor into their lyrics. Each verse ends with an impeccably delivered punchline. Musically, the soaring chorus and rock ’n’ roll sax solo make this more than just a novelty.

4. John Fogerty — “Rock and Roll Girls” (1985) I’ve been sold on the concept of Fogerty as pop for a while, thanks to this excellent compilation, which kicks off with his lesser-known track “Almost Saturday Night.” “Rock and Roll Girls” might not be quite as good, especially the chorus, which just feels like it needs a little something more. But the melody on the verse, especially yelp/yodel on the high note (“ro-DE-oh,” ra-“DE-oh”), just about makes up for it.

5 .Rick Springfield — “I’ve Done Everything for You” (1981) I saw the name of this song printed somewhere and the whole thing just came flooding back to me in big rush. It’s odd because I have absolutely no recollection of a time in my life when I was listening to it regularly, but apparently I must have been because I know all the words. I think it’s straight up better than “Jessie’s Girl,” but then again it might just be benefiting from not being overplayed for years. Bonus trivia: This song was written and originally performed by Sammy Hagar.

6. Belle and Sebastian — “The Same Star” (2018) “The Same Star” is probably the best track to come from B&S’s recent EP series. I love Sarah Martin songs, and this one has her trademark vocals that are lovely and dreamy, but not slight.

7. P.M. Dawn — “Art Deco Halos” (1998) While I’d say that Spotify has had a net positive effect on my music listening, one of the downsides is that songs and albums not available on the service tend to fall out of my listening rotation. That’s particularly sad in the case of “Art Deco Halos,” which is one of my longest-lived favorite songs, dating back to when I used to listen to a radio show called Idiot’s Delight with Vin Scelsa. While P.M. Dawn is known as a hip-hop act, this track is a perfect mixture of soul and pop, with its T. Rex sample, danceable beat, and catchy chorus. I particularly remember host Vin playing this in a set with The Bongo’s cover of “Mambo Sun” and “I Wanna Be Like You” from The Jungle Book. Luckily, “Art Deco Halos” is back on Spotify and on a whole playlist of music from this era of my life.

8. ELO — “Rockaria!” (1976) For all I know this could be an abomination to opera lovers everywhere, but I find Jeff Lynn’s ability to combine not only rock and classical, but also country, disco, and just about everything else good about the pop era into a single song exhilarating. I’ve been having a bit of a renaissance for A New World Record in general. It maintains this remarkably high level of quality throughout.

9. The Kinks —“(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman” (1979) Low Budget is actually an awesome, under-appreciated Kinks album. Like a lot of rockers in 1978-79, the Kinks found a little disco influence on “Superman,” and it really works for them. The song opens with that great buffeting riff that can also be heard on “Edge of Seventeen” and “Eye of the Tiger.” (Is this the earliest use of that? I’m not sure.) Ray’s dry, everyman humor is a treat as well: “I want to fly, but I can’t even swim.”

10. Sylvan Esso — “The Glow” (2017) I’d venture to say “The Glow” is up there with “Alex Chilton” in terms of songs that capture the feeling of truly loving music. It’s apparently about an album by the band The Microphones, who I’m not familiar with, but the warmth and joy it conveys could equally well describe any formative music listening experience. That huge, low keyboard note is like a sonic hug, and the line “I remember the glow/Not from a phone” give it just the right twist of nostalgia.

11. Marmalade — “Reflections of My Life” (1969) It’s a pretty gutsy move to write a pop song with the lyrics “The world is/A bad place/A bad place/A terrible place to live/Oh, but I don’t want to die.” It suggests that the world is so depressing that wanting to die is kind a given — and thus conveys a default nobility in the act of just staying alive. There’s a depth here that goes beyond an overwrought pop ballad. The minor key vocal harmonies really up the poignancy levels too.

12. Billy Joel — “Rosalinda’s Eyes” (1978) Freaks and Geeks has the best soundtrack of any television show I can think of. The songs chosen are never the ones that I would pick, yet they work perfectly, giving the show and its music a highly personal quality. “Rosalinda’s Eyes” is a deep cut from 52nd Street and one of three Billy Joel songs that appear in the episode “Carded and Discarded.” It plays as the geeks spend an enchanted afternoon with Maureen, a fun and pretty new girl they’ve befriended, but who they know is too cool to stay friends with them for long. I’m honestly hard pressed to say exactly why the song fits the scene so well, but it’s got a kind of crisp, open quality the seems to match the blue-skied day, as well as a lurking hint of something unattainable. The whole package is about as close as you can get to feeling what music means to someone else.

Lost Classic: Dean Friedman S/T

Posted on by kristen

A few days ago, a song called “Ariel” popped up on for me some randomized Spotify playlist. It was by an artist I wasn’t familiar with, Dean Friedman. Knowing nothing about this song, my initial assumption was that it was from the ’90s. It had a slightly camp vocal and the kind of specific, narrative humor that I’d associate with groups like Fountains of Wayne or even Nerf Herder. The album cover was no help either. Sure, this guy looks a bit like my dad in certain pictures from the ’70s, but he could just as easily be a hipster parody from anytime in the last 20 or so years. If there was one clue that this song was older, it was the lyrical reference to Channel 2 signing off the air.

It turns out that “Ariel” is from Friedman’s 1977 self-titled debut album. Having continued to enjoy the song after a few more listens, I decided to spin the whole thing. This is something I do a lot: hear a random good song, wonder if it’s just the tip of some amazing pop iceberg, listen to the full album, become very disappointed. But in this case, I wasn’t disappointed! I turns out that Dean Friedman is actually a really good album. Friedman is able to make the kind of direct, memorable connection with the listener that is the mark the of successful singer-songwriter. Even after one listen, musical and lyrical ideas from these songs stuck in my head and made me want to listen again.

“Ariel” is in fact the standout track. It was a minor hit, peaking at #26 on the Billboard Hot 100 in June 1977. It’s got a fantastic pop chorus comprised entirely of the name “Ariel” sung repeatedly with layers of soaring harmonies. The verses are where you get the humor, as Friedman tells how he falls in love with a beautiful stoner girl who he meets at the mall in Paramus, New Jersey. The joke that begins “I said hi” is an exemplar of comic delivery in song; he absolutely nails the punchline. There’s also a nice rock’n’ roll-style saxophone solo, not terribly different from something you might hear on a Springsteen record from the same era, but enjoyable and not too dated. All in all, a true lost classic of the type I always hope to discover.

The rest of Dean Friedman is not as overtly funny as “Ariel,” but there’s definitely a sardonic wit that underlies the whole thing. On “Company,” Friedman wonders if “maybe one day I’ll be a famous man with an L.A. tan/A million fans, and a catamaran floating movie stars.” The story of a mother’s suicide on “Song For My Mother” is really sad, but the last line has a dark and surprising humor to it. And “Solitaire” has some great lines too, particularly “If the lies don’t do it, then the honesty will.” The melodic fall of this phrase is great, and the combination of big piano, smart-aleck vocal style, and clever songwriting remind me strongly of Ben Folds.

Another theme running through the album is Friedman’s New Jersey upbringing. But unlike working-class hero Springsteen, Friedman gives us a much more suburban take, prefiguring Fountains of Wayne. There are the references to Paramus in “Ariel,” (the only time the word “Paramus” has occurred in a Top 40 hit, per Wikipedia), as well as callouts to apple cider and donuts, New York radio station WBAI, taking the train into the city, and more. While Friedman’s album predates my teenage years by more than two decades, there’s still a lot about its setting that feels familiar to me as a native of the New York City exurbs.

Friedman is also capable of real feeling, and the album’s other standout track, “The Letter,” shows off his philosophical side. It’s the story of a friend or lover who’s gone off to find herself, leaving those close to her to wonder about this journey of self-discovery. The song has a great arrangement, building from simple piano on the verse to swelling strings and a multi-tracked vocal on the chorus. It’s got a yearning feeling, heightened by lyrics like “Freckles still misses you/She always sleeps on the floor in your room” and a mournful trumpet solo. There’s also narrative complexity, as Friedman both romanticizes the journey and wonders if it’s all it’s cracked up to be.

If you need any further convincing to listen to this album, let me just tell you that I wrote this review after hearing most of these songs only two or three times. There are albums that I like well enough, but that I’ve heard a dozen times without being able to single out some of the tracks. Dean Friedman’s immediacy and originality of voice makes it compelling from the first listen, and at 35 minutes it’s tight and filler-free. The possibility of digging up gems like this is why I stay obsessed with pop.

Sounds Delightful #8: 2017 Year in Review

Posted on by kristen

When I first thought about doing a top songs of 2017 post, I was a bit underwhelmed. I felt like my list focused two much on late career albums from artists I already liked, and there was a dearth of full albums that really blew me away. Still I made a list anyway and realized I wasn’t completely right in my assessment. My top ten included tracks by Portugal. The Man, Alvvays, and Ed Sheeran. Plus, some of those late career albums are really good, especially Sparks and Noel Gallagher. In the end, when I listened to the playlist, I really enjoyed it.

I also realized that 2017 was very much a year of pop music discovery for me, even if it wasn’t always new. I read Bob Stanley’s Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!, as well as a third of Scott Miller’s Music: What Happened? Both of these unearthed lots of older songs that I hadn’t heard before. 2017 was also my Year of the Bee Gees, and I can’t think of any two albums I enjoyed so much as Mr. Natural and Main Course. So I added a “side 2” to my playlist that includes my top ten new-to-me tracks for the year. With that in place, it felt better, fuller representation of my year.

So here are my top tracks of the year, along with one-sentence mini-reviews for each one. The Spotify links are for expanded playlists that include my top 20 in each category.

Best New Songs of 2017

1. Portugal. The Man “Feel It Still”: Commercial but deserving, “Feel it Still” was instantly identifiable as a hit — and it makes me happy to know that a hit song can still be a good song.

2. Lindsey Buckingham and Christine McVie “Feel About You”: There’s a lot to love, but possibly the best touch is the little two-note guitar build up to the chorus (runner up: marimba solo).

3. Alvvays “Dreams Tonite”: The line “Counting motorbikes/On the turnpike/One of Eisenhower’s” evokes a wistful blend of nostalgia and infrastructure.

4. Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds “She Taught Me How to Fly”: I’m still obsessed with the melody on the lines “It doesn’t matter what your faith is/I see you praying all the time” — it’s also classic atheist Noel singing about God.

5. Sparks “I Wish You Were Fun”: Super catchy and humorous, but with a hint of darkness that bubbles up in a few minor key piano notes.

6. Wesley Stace “The Wilderness Years”: The line “Open your eyes up to love” achieves a musical opening up that feels like the heart of the song.

7. Josh Ritter “Showboat”: Josh Ritter is simply a pro; witness the hooks, the conceit, and the powerhouse coda on “Showboat” if you have doubts.

8. Circa Waves “Stuck”: This is a great, angry pop vocal, especially the snarl on the line “I fucked it up so much.”

9. Ed Sheeran “Galway Girl”: Cheesy, maybe, but Ed Sheeran has a way of connecting with the listener on each and every song, and that’s probably the key to his success.

10. Morrissey: “Spent the Day in Bed”: “Life ends in death/So there’s nothing wrong with being good to yourself/Be good to yourself for once.” Thanks for the reminder, Morrissey.

Listen on Spotify

Best New-To-Me Songs of 2017

1. The Bee Gees “Mr. Natural” (1974): The Bee Gees have pretty much ruined me for harmonizing by most other groups — just listen to the word “again” in the chorus of this song.

2. The Isley Brothers “Summer Breeze” (1973): I love the Seals and Crofts version, but the Isley Brothers electrify it literally and metaphorically.

3. Danny Wilson “Mary’s Prayer” (1987): The start of the second verse sounds like the clouds parting and the sun streaming in.

4. Steely Dan “My Old School” (1973): Among the many, many achievements Steely Dan should be lauded for is their excellent use of backup singers — the “whoa no” at the start of the chorus is tremendous.

5. Gilbert O’Sullivan “Out of the Question” (1972): O’Sullivan has a way with phrasing that really comes through on lines like “Don’t think that I don’t know/I do” — you can absolutely picture that line accompanied by raised eyebrows and a tilt of the head to one side.

6. Barry Ryan “Eloise” (1969): So emotional that’s it’s embarrassing, but glorious nonetheless.

7. Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson “I Know Him So Well” (1985): This song makes me want to pound my chest like Celine Dion while singing along.

8. The Bee Gees “Come on Over” (1975): I’ve really grown to love a Robin lead vocal: weird, tenuous, beautiful.

9. Prefab Sprout “Appetite” (1985): Super smooth, great backing vocals, and evocative lyrics: “Wishes she could call him heartache/But it’s not a boy’s name.”

10. Kylie Minogue “Step Back in Time” (1990): More than just nostalgia, this song celebrates the fact that our musical past is always there for us; the lines “Remember the old days/Remember the O’Jays” have real warmth and joy to them.

Listen on Spotify