#970: Arctic Monkeys – Old Yellow Bricks

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Looking back to 2007, I would consider myself to have been a fully functioning human being. I was 12 years old, so not all there just yet, but I had a sense of what was going on. One thing I remember clearly was the buzz around Favourite Worst Nightmare, Arctic Monkeys’ second album, released not too long after the ground-breaking debut the previous year. ‘Brianstorm’ was the first single. It was a bop, got to number two in the charts (beaten by Shakira and Beyoncé), and I got that album from my nearest Woolworth store not too soon after it was out.

Things changed for Arctic Monkeys in between the release of their first and second albums. Their logo for one, which I remember thinking “Why’d they have to go and do that for?” Didn’t think it fit at all. I learned not too care so much about it pretty quickly. But probably more importantly, original bassist Andy Nicholson had left the band and was replaced by Nick O’Malley. He was only meant to be a temporary replacement, but when it became clear that Nicholson wasn’t coming back, O’Malley was in it for the long haul. And this has been the Arctic Monkeys that a lot of people have grown accustomed to. It’s long been a rumour that ‘Old Yellow Bricks’ is about the whole Nicholson situation. I don’t think it’s ever been confirmed by anyone in the band. But at the very least it addresses a situation where someone wants to leave home for someone that’s supposed to be better, but then realises that that somewhere better isn’t all it’s meant to be and there is truly no place like home. A lot like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.

There was a brief moment when this track was considered to be the fourth single from Favourite Worst Nightmare. At least I remember that the Wikipedia page had been changed to show that it would be an upcoming release, so it may not have been true at all. It was actually that Wikipedia edit that made me listen to ‘Old Yellow…’ a few more times. That, and I think my sister thought it was good too. I sort of remember that first listen of the album and don’t think it made a huge impact initially. But after hearing it again and again, yeah, sure, I don’t see why it couldn’t have been a single. Stomping intro with a memorable riff is a bit of an Arctic Monkeys standard, and that’s here. But I especially like the sort of weeping, swelling guitars that enter the frame during the choruses. Kinda makes things sound sad just for those moments before going into the busier verses. And then there’s the breakdown where things get a bit manic. Slotted in that penultimate placement on the album, it could be one that new listeners may gloss over that first time. But like me, you’ve just got to give it a few more chances. It might just be my favourite on there.

#969: Pavement – Old to Begin

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Stephen Malkmus turned 30 years old in the spring of ’96, and, you know, turning 30 is supposed to be a big change in your life. Meant to be a time of reflection. Have you grown to be the person you thought you would when you were a kid? What’s next? Or is this all there is? I’m getting there, so the existential crisis hasn’t hit just yet. But I think Malkmus had one in his own way, and his concerns and feelings about the milestone were somewhat detailed in Pavement’s 1997 album Brighten the Corners. In his own cryptic, surreal and sarcastic style as always. The music reflected it too. A bit of switch-up from the winding and unpredictable nature of 95’s Wowee Zowee, Brighten… was much more straighter and somewhat digestible. No less entertaining though.

After offering observational takes on the music industry and touring respectively with ‘Stereo’ and ‘Transport Is Arranged’ and contemplating about settling down in ‘Shady Lane’, Malkmus puts the focus of aging within the lyric for ‘Old to Begin’. ‘Embrace the senile genius, watch him reinvent the wheel’ is the song’s first line, which I’ve always thought was a funny way to start things off. Considering he’s probably writing about himself, it couldn’t be a more self-deprecating statement for a guy that was seen as this indie prince-god-man to a lot of adulating fans. From there he puts in an idea of ‘feeling like a fixture set in 1966’, referencing the year that he was born, and in the track’s final verse utlises a list of things that you sort of begin to worry about once you hit the big 3-0, like credit cards, back problems and general stress. I’m telling you, once he hit that age, Malkmus started to feel the hands of time creep up on him a bit. Although, I could very much be wrong and be spewing a bunch of nothing. It’s my take, is all.

I get a personal kick out of the introduction, myself. One guitar strum is followed by a climbing bass guitar chord progression, followed by a synth that imitates the bass, followed by a guitar that plays the same chord progression again before the drums enter and everyone comes in together. It’s an engaging way to start things off for a track that has a real mid-tempo, slow-moving feel to it. For a guy who knows that he can’t sing strong enough, Malkmus can certainly reach those chesty high notes when he wants. His ability to sing low and quiet before suddenly putting some power into his vocal as he does in the verses here is not an easy feat for any vocalist. But he’s able to do so with ease, and it all culminates with the track’s cathartic ending where the intensity ramps up and he’s roaring some “la-la”‘s in your ears. It’s not a track that a lot of Pavement fans will seek out, but it does the job for this guy typing.

#968: They Might Be Giants – Old Pine Box

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‘Old Pine Box’ arrives as the third track on They Might Be Giants’ 2011 album Join Us and is also the first time that listeners will hear the sweet, sweet voice of John Flansburgh on there, due to the preceding two numbers being primarily sung by John Linnell. In my case, I was somewhat accustomed to the track as it had been available to hear on a four-song EP, released by the band about three months in advance of the album’s official release. The track brings another of those instances where I can’t exactly remember where I was and how I felt on that first listen. I do want to say that I would have heard it on YouTube first though. I do recall being generally excited for Join Us to arrive. The previous two albums had been tailored towards children, so to hear new adult-oriented music by the band… just felt like everything was making sense again.

As stated by Flansburgh in 2011, the song is “about a burnout but it’s not sung by a burnout.” And reading the lyrics, that sounds about right. It’s from the perspective of someone looking in at another person who just doesn’t know when to call it quits. This ‘old pine box’ goes around punching policemen, unnecessarily pulling fire alarms and generally engaging in behaviour that’s just not right for someone of their time. And still, there’s still something you’ve got to admire about them. At no point in the track does Flansburgh make this character out to be an ass. Their mother thinks they’re a bit crazy, but otherwise it’s a case where people just kinda watch and admire the energy this person has. I feel like there could possibly be a bit of self-commentary hidden in there somewhere. At that point TMBG were approaching 30 years as a band. Maybe Flansburgh was writing about himself in another person’s eyes. Just speculation.

It’s a mainly acoustic number, but produced in a way that the acoustic guitars have this large presence in the mix and provide a proper warm feeling to the proceedings. A nice boom-boom-clap “We Will Rock You” type rhythm comes in to give the track some oomph. And if you listen hard enough, you’ll make out a bass guitar that’s really low in the mix, but it has just enough of a frequency to it that you can make out some of its melodies. Things slow down for the bridge where some vocoder comes in alongside a rapid drum roll, before returning to the boom-clap of the earlier verses and fading out. The track truly does all it needs to in the minute and 50 seconds it lasts for. In the context of the album, it keeps things rolling along smoothly. On its own, just a delightful treat to pass the time.

#967: The Raconteurs – Old Enough

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Consolers of the Lonely is an album that I didn’t give an honest chance to for too long. I initially wanted it just so I could listen to ‘Salute Your Solution’ on repeat. So, when I turned 13 and got the album as a gift, all of my focus went onto that track and I shamelessly disregarded everything else. I do remember thinking ‘You Don’t Understand Me’ was quite good too. Years later I would have my iTunes library open with all the songs on shuffle while playing FIFA when I got bored of the game’s soundtrack. Whenever songs from Consolers… popped up, they were always the tracks that immediately caught my ears, which made me wonder how I had this great album up on my shelf all this time. But I was a kid, really. The mind can’t concentrate on albums at that age. At least mine couldn’t. Was all about the singles with me.

‘Old Enough’ surely would have played during those FIFA days. But those days were so menial that trying to recall my first impressions of the songs would be pointless and probably exaggerated. Though as I type to you now, what I can say is that Consolers… is definitely my favorite Raconteurs album, and ‘Old Enough’ is one of my favourite tracks on there. The fourth number on the record, it showcases a folky/bluegrass influence – a significant change up from the hard rock one-two punch of the almost title track and ‘Salute’ and the piano ballad of ‘Understand’ – emphasised by a presence of acoustic guitars and fiddles. Even so, the band still provide a great rock groove behind it. Brendan Benson and Jack White have a bit of tag-team dynamic going on when it comes to the lead vocal, which is always appreciated. The song concerns a girl who maybe thinks they’re more important they she really is and acts as a bit of a know-it-all. Benson and White take on the narrative voices telling her that, like a lot of young people out there, she really doesn’t know anyhing, and once she actually lives and gains experience with age then she might actually feel a lot better about herself. I don’t think it’s about any girl in particular. Just the mention of a dress in the song’s first line gives me reason to believe it’s about one. Really, it’s a message for all teenagers and the like. They don’t know shit.

Personal audio highlights from the track? I think Benson and White’s vocal performances throughout. Benson comes through with the sort of softer tones to his voice with the verses with White coming with the stinging nasal tone during those bridges. It’s a great contrast. And even with these differences in tones, the two singers blend together so well when they harmonise. I like the melodic rundown on the ‘free’s and ‘see’s that are sung in the verses. Those maybe what got me hooked on those initial listens, but again, I really can’t remember. And that repeated guitar lines before the rapid “What you gonna do” middle section are so rousing, especially alongside that organ and the bass. So yeah, look out for those. Those are my feelings on ‘Old Enough’. And I haven’t listened to ‘Salute Your Solution’ in years. Go figure.

#966: David Bowie – Oh! You Pretty Things

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It was a sad day when David Bowie died. I remember it well. If you’re into hearing about that experience, I covered it in my post about ‘Life on Mars?’ some time ago. The story’s all there. His passing was something that came out of nowhere, and something of a trigger that set off the strange year that 2016 turned out to be. Bowie was gone, but the music remained, and the most logical thing to do was listen to his music just to feel good and listen to his voice. I most certainly did that. The Hunky Dory album had been in there ever since I got my laptop in 2013. However, ‘Changes’ and ‘Mars’ up to 2016 had been my favorites from that record, and I was sure that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. But Bowie died, and then I came across a 1972 live performance of Bowie singing ‘Oh! You Pretty Things’ on the BBC. It was watching that that made it properly set in that the man was gone. Also made me appreciate the song a lot more than I did before.

Well, I think the main thing to take note of is Bowie’s vocals throughout. The track is about a master race of some kind taking over the world, based on the ideals of Nietzche and Aleister Crowley. Quite dark origins. But Bowie turns it into something positive and relatable by basing the lyrics on the kids – the pretty things – of the ’70s who were into these strange new things that parents just weren’t able to understand. And Bowie sings about all of this right from the heart with the most sincerity. That delivery ‘put another log on the fire for me’ in the first verse, that hits the sweet spot. If the whole track had been just Bowie and the piano, I wouldn’t even mind, but it’s a very cathartic moment when the rest of the band enter on the first beat of the chorus. That sense of tension is all released in that burst of energy. And still, Bowie continues to blow the track away with his vocal. Joined along with Mick Ronson on the backing vocals, the chorus is the greatest opportunity for a singalong if ever there was one.

I don’t know what else to tell you, readers. Between the quieter contemplative verses with Bowie and the piano and the rousing choruses where the rest of the band joins in, I can’t find much fault with this song. Makes me wonder why it had to take Bowie’s passing to make me listen to it again. It was right there that whole time. But it’s nothing to work myself up about, I know. Same thing applies to a lot of people in that situation. I do wish I knew how to play the piano though. If I learned it enough, I could wow people by playing the intro/outro to this track. Not a lot of people did it better than Bowie though. What a wonder he was.