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#1192: Wilco – She’s a Jar

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Wilco’s Summerteeth was the second of the band’s that I listened to in full. Besteveralbums.com showed that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was considered to be the group’s best work, and when I’d heard that and grown familiar with it, the logical step was to move onto the record that was apparently considered to be their next best. Think it was a couple of years or so between Yankee and Summerteeth that I decided to listen to the latter. For what reason, I don’t know. Things just get in the way to prevent you from listening to albums on the regular. But I distinctly remember doing so when I was interning at a music magazine in 2015/16. It was in either of those two years. And I think ‘She’s a Jar’, the second song on the album, was one that I liked quite a bit after only the first hearing.

Coming after the somewhat groovy and spirited opener of ‘Can’t Stand It’, a song I would have written about had I known it at the time the C’s were going on. ‘Candyfloss’ too, while we’re at it. ‘She’s a Jar’ brings the album into a more reflective, slower mood. To this day I haven’t got my head around the lyrics all too well, but from what I can gather it’s from the perspective of someone in a relationship who’s essentially laying down an examination of their other half to the listener. A lot of lyrical metaphors are in there, so it’s difficult to properly suss out. At least to me. And there’s generally many words in there to remember. And I think to compensate for that, the song has something of a very easy structure that it keeps to. Each verse almost runs into the next, utilising the same vocal melody over a three-chord progression, before that eventually changes up for the “Just climb aboard” choruses that are capped off with a memorable harmonica “solo”.

And while the musicality of the track may be considered to be quite easily understood, multi-instrumentalist Jay Bennett’s work on the keyboards and Mellotron is a different conversation. While Jeff Tweedy, John Stiratt and Ken Coomer lay down the song’s foundation, Bennett’s magic on the keys is the highlight, very much taking the majority of the soundscape filling in the would-be empty spaces with fills and melodic riffs that take the proceedings to another level. The song’s also known for its ending in which the song’s first verse is repeated but with the devastating switch-up on the very last line. “She begs me not to miss her” all of a sudden becomes “She begs me not to hit her”. It’s a bit of a “Hold up, what?” moment, for sure. But Jeff Tweedy once said we should consider that it isn’t actually the narrator enacting the physical violence. I can get with that. I have no large opinion on it. I just think it’s a good song.

#1183: Wu-Tang Clan – Shame on a Nigga

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A representative from one of the greatest hip-hop albums of all time. Shame – no pun intended – that this will probably be the only track from Enter the Wu Tang that I cover on here. But my appreciation for the LP goes a long way. 2013 was the 20th anniversary of the album’s release, and around the same time was when I first heard the thing in full. It’s a wonder how Wu-Tang is even a thing that continues to this day. You’d think a group of nine strong-minded individuals, all with their respective wants, styles, etc, would come to blows and wouldn’t remain stable for any length of time. But, bonded by family, the borough of Staten Island, an interest in martial arts films, and an obvious appreciation for hip-hop, the Wu gave us their debut and shot to legendary status almost immediately.

You might have already heard this song if you were intrigued by the post I made a couple of days ago. But if not, well, here it is. Before it was covered by System of a Down some years later under the name ‘Shame’, ‘Shame on a Nigga’ was released, appearing as the second song on Wu-Tang Clan’s 1993 debut album. Though if you were offended by the ‘rude’ language, a radio version of the track was also made entitled, ‘Shame on a Nuh’. Over a beat that features samples from Syl Johnson to Thelonius Monk, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Method Man and Raekwon the Chef deliver respective verses in which they more or less tell the listener why people will fail if ever they step up to them, either in an aggressive way or when it comes to rap. When it comes to rap, they’ll lose because of their lack of skill. If things get violent, they’ll get shit. And that’s how it goes. As the song progresses, a new rapper’s brought into the frame just to add their own distinct voice to the mix. Makes the song that more engaging to listen to. And Ol’ Dirty closes the track off with the longest verse in which he again tells us why he isn’t the one to pick a duel with while referencing that old film The Warriors and telling us that he had gonorrhea sometime in the past. It’s a funny verse.

It’s a good, good song. Much different from how System of a Down provided it, for very obvious reasons. And even though that cover was the iteration of the track I heard before hearing the original, I’d say I’ve liked both on an equal level for a while at this point. You may ask why this song will be the only song from 36 Chambers that I’ll write about on here. I said that in the first paragraph. Well, ‘Clan in da Front’ was one I added when I think I’d already all the ‘C’ songs. And the obvious ones like ‘C.R.E.A.M.’ and ‘Method Man’ I got tired of due to my old iPhone seemingly playing those two nearly every day, even when I had all my songs on shuffle. I know those two are classics, but I could go a long while without hearing them again. But I’ll always have a lot of love for Wu-Tang. It’s for the children, as that old saying goes. The group’s music’s one thing. When you bring all the respective members’ solo material into it, it’s a different ballgame altogether. So, you know, if you never knew Wu-Tang before, the time to get to know them is now.

#1126: Brakes – Ring a Ding Ding

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No more Brakes after this one. Some of you may read this post and think, “So?” Maybe this is the first song you would have ever heard by the band. Well, if that’s the case, this would be a good place to start. ‘Ring a Ding Ding’ is the first song on the band’s debut album Give Blood, released back in 2005. The first song I’d ever heard by this band was ‘All Night Disco Party’, which you can listen to and read about via clicking on the title name. That’s a fun one. It’s also on the same album. Choruses come at you fast throughout the record, in styles ranging from country to disco to punk, no time to dwell on verses, and it all begins with this track right here. There’s an official music video for this song, which for some reason isn’t on YouTube. You can see it on Apple Music, though.

‘Ring’ opens with a small “woo”, a confident strumming of an F-sharp chord and some guitar feedback before the band come in altogether with Eamon Hamilton’s gravelly vocal. The narrator here describes the messed-up state he’s in brought about by the nonsensical, surreal things that are happening around him. There’s a cowboy in the court who’s singing to the monkey macaroni (which I think is meant to be a dance of some kind) and he finds solace in Super Skipper Sue who he hopes will provide some comfort to him. What I take the song to be is a big metaphor of going to work, just being sick of the people and different characters you have to deal with on a daily basis, and them coming home to your girlfriend/wife/significant other who makes things better when you walk through the door. But going literal with the lyrics wouldn’t make it that interesting, would it? After a passing mention of the phrase from which the album gets its name from, the song ends abruptly, leaving you hanging for a short while before proceedings continue on the following track.

Yeah, BrakesBrakesBrakes. They were a good band. They are a good band. Still not sure whether they’ve split up or not. The band’s Touchdown is their most recent album to date, and it was released 15 years ago. Not looking like there’s any new music on the horizon, which is a shame. But like so many of those UK indie bands from the 2000s, they just seemed to fade away. Pitchfork described Give Blood as ‘a gift to short attention spans everywhere’, and that is very much a sentiment that could be carried for the other two albums that make up what I guess you would call a trilogy. Don’t think things got as unpredictable as they were on Give Blood, which is why I would say it’s my favourite of the three. You can find the band on your local streaming platform. Can’t go wrong with any album you start with.

#1007: Radiohead – Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box

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It’s P time. Everytime I start a new section of this, I’m always weary of the amount of typing that I’ve gotta go through. But it has to be done. I’ve had this voice in my head telling me to have this done by the time I’m 30. That gives me just over two years. Maybe that’s pushing it. There’s still so many songs to go. But it’s worth a try. So let’s get restarted.

‘Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box’ is the opening track on Radiohead’s 2001 Amnesiac album, the second in the group’s iconic – for lack of a better word – left-turn experimental phase after Kid A preceded it a few months before. I want to say that it acted as a bit of a message on part of the band that if people who thought Kid A was strange, then they had no idea. No better way to start of an album with looping metallic chimes and electronic bleep-bloops to keep rock fans on their side. As I’ve come to know it though, that wait for some sort of melody or settled rhythm to kick in is well worth it once those (keys? synths?) come in at 36 seconds.

I’ll always remember where I was when I ‘listened’ to Amnesiac for the first time. ‘Listened’ being in quotation marks because I was asleep for the majority of it. It was a tiring day after A-Level preparation in year 13 days, I think I may have been feeling down at that point too, and Spotify had this free trial offer going on. Though I more or less missed the middle part of the record, I remember still being sort of awake during ‘Packt…’ and digging Thom Yorke’s pitch-corrected vocals and the overall glitchy vibe of the entire thing. Then my consciousness faded away gradually, but then suddenly perked up when ‘Life in a Glasshouse’ started. As a result, those two tracks were the ones from the album that I considered its highlights for some time. I’ve come to appreciate a couple more songs from it, but the record isn’t up there in my personal Radiohead album ranking, to be frank. Doesn’t have that good a flow, I feel.

But, ah, the song. What is ‘Packt…’ about? Well, if you’ve been a longtime reader here, you may have come across a few posts where I’ve flat out stated that I’m not much of a lyrics guy. Even when it comes to writing these, I usually see what other people have said and see whether I agree with it or not. In rare cases, there are some tracks where I’ve felt I got the meaning down, which makes sense to me. This isn’t one of those times. Knowing that during the making of Kid A/Amnesiac, Thom Yorke utilised a method of cutting up lyrics and randomly linking them together, there’s a good chance that there isn’t a truly deep meaning to pick up from these sets of lyrics at all. They do sound great together, though, which to me is really all that matters. Oh, actually the main message is Thom Yorke wants some peace – leave him alone. There we go.

#984: John Lennon – One Day (At a Time)

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Just a note to take into account before you read this. This track isn’t actually six minutes and 36 seconds long. There are two versions of this song in it, but I’m really only talking about the first 3 minutes in there or so. If you want to carry on listening after, that’s up to you. Cool. That’s out of the way.*

When I was really getting into the Beatles at the beginning of the tail-end of the 00s, I came across this project online called Everyday Chemistry. The website where you could download it provided the backstory. This was an album created in a parallel universe where the Beatles never broke up in 1970 that somehow made its way to our planet. Quite the way to get people interested. Really, it’s just a mashup album created by a fan using solo Beatles work. In the vein of the official Beatles LOVE record. And it wasn’t actually bad. In fact, it was this project that got me thinking about listening to the Beatles solo projects and songs. One track on there that struck my ear immediately was ‘Anybody Else’, which was a mashup of McCartney’s track ‘Somedays’, Ringo Starr’s ‘Monkey See – Monkey Do’, and an alternate take of John Lennon’s ‘One Day (At a Time)’ taken from the 1998 Anthology compilation. The latter was the anchor of this song, providing the bassline and what is essentially the main riff. So it only made sense to seek out the original and see what was going on.

‘One Day (At a Time)’ was written and recorded during a period when John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s marriage was on the rocks, just before they properly separated and Lennon went on an 18-month bender in Los Angeles. I feel the track is meant to act as something of a statement from Lennon to Ono as to why they should stay together. With he being the fish to her sea, the bee to her honey and so on and so forth, he feels they’re two people who complete each other. Any trouble arises then taking things day by day should be the way to right any wrongs. As mentioned before, that route didn’t work out. But man, this track makes for some truly comfortable listening. Probably the coziest recording Lennon ever made. This is bare bones, made up of Lennon’s cool vocal, a keyboard, bass guitar and drums played with brushes rather than sticks, and a twinkling guitar that provides a backdrop during the verses. It’s like the the musicians are playing right in front of you in this dark lounge, smoke in the room, people wearing shades. It’s magic stuff. So relaxing, so warm. You listen to those first three minutes up there. You’d think that take could have been on an official album, right?

Well, wrong. With some advice on Ono’s part to sing the vocal in a falsetto range, and the addition of backing vocalists and maybe a steel pedal guitar, the track was released in its ‘final form’ on Lennon’s Mind Games album in 1973. I don’t like this version as much. Not a lot, to be honest. With the alternate Anthology take, Lennon singing in his natural range provided so much more sincerity, in my opinion. The decision to go falsetto on the album doesn’t sit right with me. I guess by doing so he’s meant to sound like some innocent child or something. Maybe meant so sound more vulnerable? I don’t know. To me it comes off as if he’s making fun of the entire thing. Considering it was Ono’s idea, he probably didn’t want to do it that way. Think the backing singers and the added instrumentation is a bit extra too. But hey, that’s just me. I’ll stick to the Anthology. Listen to the album version for yourself and decide.

*06/10/24 – This was written at a point where the original video was completely different. Now, with the Mind Games reissue, the actual version I prefer is up.