Sunday, December 30, 2012

The Best Songs of the 50s and 60s

(this one goes out to my cousins, Joanne and Celesta.  Once upon a time, they started me on a musical journey that has lasted to and past this day. They introduced me to the Bee Gees and Bruce Springsteen, although I initially balked.  They told my parents what albums to get me for Christmas. They bought me the first and last Beatles albums in honor of my parents doing the same.  They lent me the "Saturday Night Fever" soundtrack so often, I wonder if they've ever heard it.)

Most “best of” lists that deal in or contain 50s & 60s music (roughly pop/rock’s pre-teen years) will contain works from Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Frank Sinatra,  The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan or Motown.  And why not? SPIN magazine even once did a list that was entitled “The Best Albums from the 1960s That Weren’t Recorded by The Beatles, The Rolling Stones or Bob Dylan” – but that was so they could put The Velvet Underground at the top with no fear of backlash (like saying The Velvet Underground and Nico is better than Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band is somehow sacrilegious.)*

Anyway, I have a list of songs from that time that don’t include any of the above acts and still represent it fairly well; they’re in chronological order.  And there may be a few ringers.  And why not?
  1. “Jamaica Farewell”, Harry Belafonte (1957) –I’ve always said that the 1980s would have been a much different decade musically if Bob Marley hadn’t died so early on; I truly believe what we call “world music” would have given burgeoning hip-hop a struggle or at the very least another influence.  Well, “world music” had been making inroads into pop music since the mid-50s thanks to this guy.  Now, most of us born after the Beatles arrived know Belafonte mainly from “Day-O” and “Jump in the Line” thanks to the movies, but this song is actually the best of the three.  An impossibly beautiful meditation on a traveler’s lost love in Jamaica, it deepens its theme by multi-tracking his vocals in the chorus, suggesting that it is all men’s fate to be so seduced.
  2. “Pretend You Don’t See Her”, Jerry Vale (1957) – Most people I know of Italian-American descent grew up with Sinatra in the house.  I didn’t, for some reason, though I would eventually learn the deficit and deficiency that comes with THAT. (“Summer Wind” and “It Was a Very Good Year” would, for sure, make it onto any list it qualifies for.) However, my parents listened to Jerry Vale ad infinitum, with a good chunk of Tony Bennett and Jimmy Roselli for good measure.  This was purely a political move, as my father disapproved of Sinatra’s.  This track epitomizes everything that is wonderful of pre-Beatle pop music – gorgeous production, impassioned vocals and a grand melody.
  3. “The Good Life”, Tony Bennett (1963) – Sinatra is easily one of the greatest vocalists of the 20th Century; that doesn’t mean that he sings the definitive versions of everything.  Just like Streisand, who would place higher than Ol’ Blue Eyes on that list, fails when she sings Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind”, no one can touch Tony on this one.  All too briefly, Bennett admonishes a lover, but says he’ll be there for her, while making an airtight case for rejecting the very lifestyle in which Sinatra lived and whose music served as the soundtrack.  Deft….subtle….masterpiece.
  4. “Walk On By”, Dionne Warwick (1964) – the one song on this list that could hold its own even if every act listed in the intro was allowed in, no doubt.  An interesting take on an emotional blowout, as Dionne shows strength by accepting her weakness.  Plus, that devastating piano chord, which rivals the one sustained at the end of the lads’ “A Day in the Life”.   I heard that chord as a little boy, didn’t know what it meant until I got my heart broken the first time and it taught me a lesson I’d hold for the rest of my life.
  5. “I Got You Babe”, Sonny and Cher (1965) – As a recording, this one beats the living daylights out of most pop songs in any year, from then til 100 years from now.  An incredible confection of pure pop magic, the charms of this song only deepen over time.  Sonny shows what he learned from working for“Wall of Sound” Phil Spector; he piles on the layers and it never even shows signs of crumbling down.  Bonus points for this, too: Cher is easily one the most limited singers in history and Sonny ranks 10 notches higher on the same list, yet they make it work.  Cher said of Sonny, after his death that he was the love of her life; she must have been thinking of this song when she said that, because only that kind of affection could  have inspired this song.
  6. “California Dreaming”, The Mamas and the Papas (1966) – Many have written of the enduring charms and influence of The Beach Boys; many cherish their music.  And then there’s me.  If nothing else, this song puts a sinister twist on Brian Wilson’s con job of West Coast bliss (setting the stage for America’s “Ventura Highway”, a few years later) AND made a monster hit.  But the vocals and harmonies would show to be even more influential over time.  For an extra treat, check out Jose Feliciano’s (yes) version.
  7. “Run On”, Elvis Presley (1967) – done right before the ’68 comeback, this is one of the greatest “inspirational” songs ever.  Elvis plays the role of a man saved by the good word and lets the rest of the congregation know what’s in store for them if they waver from the path set forth. More rockabilly than gospel, the King was rarely better.  What makes the song kill is the questionable moral hierarchy it suggests; trying to sleep with your neighbor’s wife is bad, but him killing you is justified? Funny.
  8. “I Was Made to Love Her”, Stevie Wonder (1967) – Pure ringer – a Motown from (arguably) THE Motown artist.  But this is Stevie Wonder as we’ve forgotten him…this is Little Stevie, the one who had yet to declare (quite deservedly, to be sure) artistic freedom from the Motown “machine”.  Where do we start with this song? How about the line “I was made to love her…throw my world all around her”, as he drops his register in the second half; you can SEE him throwing his hands down to defend his love; this is hip-hop boasting 15 years ahead of its time. How about the realization that the song is being sung as an “I told you” as the childhood sweethearts made good on that boast?  How about every time I hear this, I want it to be 20 minutes long and hear a succession of ad-libbed vocals on the playout?
  9. “Witchita Lineman”, Glen Campbell (1968) – Okay, Dad may not have brought the Sinatra (or anything else from the 60s), but he had THIS.  Oh, this is amazement.  Songwriter Jimmy Webb tells a tale heard over and over in pop music – how to balance love and work.  But there are so many touches that elevate it to unique status.  A man who basically controls power is unable to be with the woman he adores. Yes, adores.  And that’s stronger than love, as evidenced by the line, “And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time.” That is just one of those lines; putting it in the mouth of an average Joe suggests that the soul of a poet resides in all of us. And that’s what the best pop music is all about – making the personal universal.
  10. “Elenore”, The Turtles (1968) – This one just makes me grin like an idiot.  A little wiki-lore for you all (I’ve tried to avoid it) – this comes from a concept album** called The Turtles Present The Battle of the Bands, in which the group played songs of differing styles, each with their own band name!  Clever, really.  But what makes this one stand out, not just from the album, but over those 13 years, is the layers it piles on.  Basically, it’s a simple pop song, with the “moon-June-spoon” lyrical structure that Dylan and The Beatles killed off, but sung, played and produced in Beatlesque fashion.  Dig a little deeper, though, and you see the barbs…”even though your folks hate me”, “you’re my pride and joy, et cetera”…nothing like biting the hands that influenced you. Plus, I’ve never heard a line written to rhyme its first syllable with its last (“Elenore, gee, I think you’re swell”). Brilliant, especially since they wrote the thing to twist on and say “fuck you” to the record company that hounded them for another “Happy Together”.  This is the better song, hands down.  No wonder Frank Zappa loved these guys.
* We’ll talk someday about how it is LOGICALLY impossible for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band to be the greatest album of all time.

**We’ll also talk about concept albums.  Remind me.


Tuesday, July 28, 2009

VHS Suicide Run

Starting today, I'm going to potentially sacrifice 7 VHS tapes. Let me explain - my VCR...

I'm sorry...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vhs

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/VCR

OK, let's go, children of the 21st century...

...my VCR is old and has started to eat tapes at random, possibly in some response to the fact that we have 17 DVD players in a two-bedroom apartment. But I don't feel like spending money to upgrade these until they are no longer playable, so into the kite-eating tree, I mean tape-eating VCR we go!

Here's the festival lineup:

Tequila Sunrise (1988, Robert Towne)
Mystery Train (1989, Jim Jarmusch)
My Beautiful Laundrette (1985, Stephen Frears)
Broadcast News (1987, James L. Brooks)
Midnight Run (1988, Martin Brest)
She's Gotta Have It (1986, Spike Lee)
The Spanish Prisoner (1998, David Mamet)

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Chimes of memory

As seen on my Twitter feed yesterday, I got the Steely Dan jones thing goin' on and decided that I was going to listen to all of the first wave (1972-1980) of their output. Decided to go alphabetical for a change-up; a little jarring - I've listened to them for a good 6 months out of the year every year since 1987, so at the end of a track, I'm thinking of the next album track. I know, I should have real problems, right?

But anyway, what invariably happens when I set myself a reading/watching/listening project is that something else comes up as a memory sync. This is why I pull my DVDs in 3s (more on that next week.)

So, about halfway through the listen, I start thinking of Pavement, that awesome alt-rock band from the 1990s. Why? At first blush, you'd think that they have nothing in common, right? Well, how about an idiosyncratic lead singer and inscrutable lyrics?

But another way that they chime each other for me is that both acts get a bad rap for being elitist or snobby.

And I just don't get that, especially in the case of Steely Dan. Despite the jazz inflection, the aforementioned lyrical bent, the aversion to feeding the pop machine, everything these guys did was to serve the song.

But the thrust of this post is to ask, what movies/songs/books/comics/etc. chime each other in your mind?

Here's two of mine - let me know yours:

When I watch Soderbergh's sex, lies and videotape, after Peter Gallagher beats up James Spader, throws him out of his own house and starts to watch the tape of Andie MacDowell, watching him stand there, about to have truth revealed to him, I automatically think of Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, when Dave Bowman unplugs HAL and the pre-recorded message kicks in, revealing the true nature of their mission.

Also, at the beginning of Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, there is an image of flame reflected in someone's eye. That connects to Tony (Ridley's brother, as it turns out) Scott's Revenge when Anthony Quinn burns down Kevin Costner's cabin and the flames are reflected in his sunglasses.

What have you?

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Sequencing is the trick

(Don't ask where I've been for the last 3 months. I'm back and you're in for a good summer's worth of posts...)

It's been said that editing and score are post-production procedures that can make or break a movie. I'd like to think that good acting, direction by a storyteller rather than a moneymaker and hey, what about a great script to kick the project off all rank in there somewhere as well.

When comes to albums (collections of songs, folks), sequencing really helps as well. Most people who like The Smiths huzzah The Queen is Dead over the other studio albums, but the pacing doesn't work for me as well as let's say, Meat is Murder. But that's just me.

As I was rummaging through some old albums and box sets, I stumbled upon Paul Simon's 1964-1993 that was put out right around the time he was doing some career retrospective shows at the Paramount Theater in NYC.

The box is a good collection - although, quite sacrilegiously, they offer a live "Still Crazy After All These Years" vastly inferior to the original. But there is a sequence of tracks on Disc One that is simply breathtaking. It's so well done that it can't help but call attenttion to itself and you think on it and say, "Wow - there's the hand of something stronger at work here." And like all good things should, it demands that you review your thoughts on the subject and pay more attention the next time around. If anyone wants me to, I can "get" the tracks to you so you can decide on your own.

"Bridge Over Troubled Water" (demo) - Paul sings this demo - it's got different lyrics. And as the case is when we hear demos retroactively, we can simultaneously see where the official version came from and marvel at the changes production can wring.


"Bridge Over Troubled Water" - the masterwork, from their 1970 swansong album. I believe it's the most covered song from the latter half of the 1960s, though I need citations, please. Garfunkel's voice is angelic, for sure, but Paul coming in to share the final verse puts this one right over the top. The song of healing the 1960s needed after Woodstock begat Altamont.

"The Breakup" - a humorous little piece of studiosity from 1973, this finds Garfunkel (with recording room punch-ins from Simon) attempting to explain the necessity of their dissolved partnership.

"Hey Little Schoolgirl" - and then, we're slammed back to 1957 for the earliest recorded track of their career, when they were known only as 'Tom and Jerry'.

"My Little Town" - hard jump 20 years to the 'comeback' single from 1975, a lyrically dissonant ode to hating the town you come from. Oddly (or maybe not so oddly) not about Queens... Interesting to note how the entire song is sung by the two in unison.

And there you have it, a time-hopping abbreviated history of the duo.

Monday, July 20, 2009

A Quick One from 7-11

Took my little one to 7-11 to get some ice cream and was looking at the Slurpee promotional for the G.I. Joe film coming out in August and was reminded of the fact that someone had said to me a few months back, "What the fuck is Dennis Quaid doing, making a G.I. Joe movie?"

Typically, I'd lob back, "Well, everyone's gotta take one for the mortgage." But I was in a charitable mood and decided to go somewhat the higher road. So, respectfully, I submitted that it looked like it was a fun movie to make and that he probably had a fun time making it. Furthermore (and moreover, to boot), it looked like it was going to make some money, which would in turn make some money for Mr. Quaid.

And I was also reminded that over 20 years ago, when Who Framed Roger Rabbit was about to come out, that I said to myself and all around me, "What the fuck is Bob Hoskins doing, making a half-animated Disney film?" I mean, I had seen him in A Prayer for the Dying with Mickey Rourke, a good drama with some things to think on. And he'd been in Mona Lisa, as good a film as the 1980s British film renaissance produced (you can throw in The Long Good Friday and I won't argue.) Hell, he was in Brazil, one of the best movies EVER. So you can see where I was coming from.

Of course,
Who Framed Roger Rabbit came out, did monster business and even better, got great notices for Hoskins' performance, leading him to make some more good movies. (Another "Of course", of course, is that he went on to make Super Mario Brothers, which TOTALLY screws my thesis in more than one way here. Shhhh.)

But it taught me something - Bob Hoskins is smarter than me. That's why he gets to MAKE movies and I just have to WATCH them.

And now we're back to Dennis Quaid. Can't wait to watch this one.

Friday, April 17, 2009

"The Boys of Summer" and that line

Once again, I'd like to take the opportunity to mention that this is the 25th anniversary of 1984, the greatest year for music ever.

One of the many, many great releases from that year was Don Henley's "The Boys of Summer" from Building the Perfect Beast. The album has plenty of high points besides this single, although it's not as good as his 1982 debut, I Can't Stand Still. Henley was one of my two first musical heroes (along with Lindsey Buckingham), years before I discovered Springsteen, Prince and the fact that heroes eventually suck almost as much as having heroes (a lesson brought on by most of Henley's post-1984 material among other things)

The linchpin of the single is, of course, the line "Out on the road today, I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac", a line so indelibly brilliant, it even eclipses the fact that he needed to explain it in the following line. I invite any of you reading this to produce a line as good or better than that.

Now, in 2003, a band called The Ataris covered the song, changing the key line to "...a Black Flag sticker on a Cadillac", which doesn't work the same for me. But what it does achieve is this and follow me 'round the horn here:
  • Don Henley rises to fame in a band called the Eagles. Said band comes to represent for many the corporatization of rock music, leading those many to become...
  • ...punk rockers! Punk goes through many phases and guises over 15 years until Nirvana breaks through, paving the way for the recombinant bastard called (by me, at least) "corporate punk", epitomized by bands like, well, The Ataris, who pay homage to Don Henley, instead of, I don't know, maybe Joe Strummer, Joey Ramone or even John Lydon.
  • Kurt Cobain wonders if he should have pulled the trigger instead of continuing on in the path he opened with Unplugged in New York, which was in 1994 as "punk as fuck" as "punk as fuck" got.
All of this was brought on by driving behind a Hyundai Santa Fe with a Descendants sticker on the back today.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Marc spends over a month away from his blog, and when he returns it's for a stupid joke

There's a playlist on my iPod (which is called "Marc's iPod") called "Marc's Songs", filled with songs that don't fit into other lists. Every once in a while, I'll just think of a whole bunch of songs and load 'em on.

The other day I threw on Snow's "Informer" from 1992 and it's still a great track. But of course, it got me thinking.

The album it came from was called 12 Inches of Snow. That title works on a number of levels - a play on a weather report, a reference to the fact that vinyl albums were 12" in diameter and of course, a brag about the size of his...wedding favors?

That's cool, being that Snow's a hip-hop act and they're usually known for their sexual braggadocio. BUT, the album came out WELL into the CD era...

I guess 5 Inches of Snow wouldn't have helped his street cred.