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#1361: The Beatles – Think for Yourself

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Seeing as we’ve had a few last representatives on the blog lately, I had the thought the same would apply for ‘Think for Yourself’ on The Beatles’ Rubber Soul. It’s not the case. There are two songs left I’ve yet to cover. Have had a lot of love for the album for years now, but it didn’t start out that way. Back in 2009, when I was going through a massive Beatles discovery phase, it was announced that Rubber Soul was to be one of three full Beatles albums used as DLC on The Beatles: Rock Band, alongside Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Abbey Road. The last two I understood. But being the Revolver fan I was, I didn’t understand why it was shafted for this “Rubber Soul“, which I hadn’t yet heard but thought couldn’t possibly be better. I write all this to say my first experience with the album was, I’m very sure, through watching the Rock Band “dreamscapes” for each song on YouTube. Had to admit, Rubber Soul, solid choice for the game. I’m still Revolver all the way, generally.

Rubber Soul is usually seen as the album where the Beatles turned from boys to men and stepped up their game in terms of songwriting. The Lennon-McCartney train kept on rolling. George Harrison had his imposed two-song per album quota, which started proper on Help!, but the point stands when considering he contributed ‘If I Needed Someone’ and today’s subject, ‘Think for Yourself’, the fifth song on Rubber Soul. In his autobiography, Harrison couldn’t recall much regarding the inspiration behind the tune, but said his intention was to “target narrow-minded thinking”. And it may also have something to do with the British government. Overall, it is about not wanting anything to do with another person, leaving them at that fork in the road where they go one way and you the other because you can’t support the things they stand for. And for a song inspired by those kinds of sour situations, it still manages to be catchy as anything.

For me, it’s all about that fuzz bass guitar, played by Paul McCartney, that plays the role of lead guitar in the track. It was an unprecedented move recording a bass guitar through a fuzzbox, as well as including that fuzz-affected bass alongside the standard one. It’s a process one wouldn’t think twice about now, but in November 1965, this was a crazy, crazy idea. The results are very nice. That downward scale played by the basses during the verses, you’ll know what I mean if you listen to the track, swiftly followed by the emphatic harmonies of the three vocalists during the verses make up the best seconds of the entire tune. It’s a little steamroller of a number. The verse flows into the chorus which flows into the verse, and so on, until it ends. No bridge, no instrumental break. And sometimes that’s all it takes. There’s a 15-minute audio clip of Lennon, McCartney and Harrison recording overdubs. Lennon and McCartney, working on a Harrisong, don’t take it all that seriously. Go ahead and have a listen.

#1346: Fleetwood Mac – That’s All for Everyone

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In January 2014, it was officially announced Christine McVie would be rejoining Fleetwood Mac after leaving the group 15 years earlier to pursue this nice little thing called retirement. I was working as the host on my radio show back in university and used that news to slide in a Fleetwood Mac song into its playlist, specifically ‘Think About Me’ which McVie wrote and took lead vocals on. I write all this to say I must have listened through Tusk in order to get to know that song and the one that’s the subject of today’s post. When exactly I downloaded the band’s 1979 double album is something I can’t tell. All the info is on my old, very, very slow laptop whose monitor doesn’t turn on and that I have to connect to the TV in order to see what’s going on. I’ll get back to you on that one. I do have a hazy memory of being sat at my desk in my room and hearing ‘That’s All for Everyone’ and liking it then and there. But I need those dates to be sure.*

Of the first 10 tracks of Tusk, half of them were written by guitarist and vocalist Lindsey Buckingham. It’s no secret the guy took the reins after the band’s success with Rumours, insisting the band go in a different direction to avoid creating a virtual sequel. He cut his hair. He was reportedly lying down on the ground in strange positions while laying down vocals. He was certainly inspired. ‘That’s All for Everyone’ got me because… man, I could just sink into a bed while listening to it. The whole production behind it is so light and tasteful. Gentle charango strumming, a kind of lute that I never knew was used in this song until writing this. John McVie’s bass guitar working those lines. The kalimba playing those downward scales at various points. And of course the harmonies by all three songwriters. My favourite part of the entire track comes in the form of those wordless vocalizations that come in at 1:42, where you’d probably expect something like a guitar solo. An absolute moment of euphoria right there.

The song was inspired by that universal moment when the house lights come on at the end of an event and it’s time for everyone to go home. But there’s also a very human feeling about the song that I think everyone can relate to. That feeling of ‘that’s enough’ / ‘I’m done’… that feeling of just letting it all go and having a solid inner peace that comes along with it. At least that’s what I get when I hear this specific combination of words and music. It’s very mantra-like. Something to recite to yourself when trying to find that state of relaxation. Meditative is the word, it’s a very meditative track. I appreciate it a lot. It’s sort of undercut by the rocking, in-your-face number – also by Buckingham – that follows it on the album, but I’m sure that’s done very purposely. But that point is neither here nor there. ‘That’s All for Everyone’ is a fine track. Tame Impala did a cover of it a while back. I guess that’s all right. It’s all about the original for me.

*So I looked, and I downloaded the album on the 30th December 2013. That means I would have been home for the holidays. I certainly listened to it at uni, though.

#1329: The Rolling Stones – Sympathy for the Devil

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Years and years ago, back when I was going to secondary school, I’d be getting changed into my uniform with the TV going on in the background. It’d usually be on Channel 4. Whatever years that channel had the TV show According to Jim in the mornings was when I became aware of the subject of today’s post, completely by accident. In the episode, there was a scene where Jim (played by Jim Belushi, younger brother of John) is visited by an apparition of the devil, played by some actor who I think also played his friend in the show, I can’t remember, it wasn’t A-grade TV. The devil-person appears and says to Jim, “Please allow me to introduce myself…” Jim interrupts and says, “Let me guess, you’re a man of wealth and taste.” Canned audience laughter cues. And I thought, “That must be in some kind of song or something.” The line sounded very familiar. I think I Googled it, just to make sure I wasn’t making things up in my head. Surely it wasn’t an original thing the writers of that show came up with.

And the Google results proved me right. The line is the very first lyric in ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ by the Rolling Stones, the opening track on the band’s 1968 album Beggars Banquet. That particular LP marked a return to a back-to-basics blues rock approach by the band after their psychedelic turn on Their Satanic Majesties Request the previous year and began a run of studio albums up to 1972’s Exile on Main Street that many a fan see as the band at the peak of their powers. On ‘Sympathy…’, Mick Jagger sings from the point of view of Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, however you prefer to address the Devil, noting how he’s been around for a lot of bad things that have happened in the world up to the time the song was written. Where the ‘sympathy’ part comes in is where, you know, people will say it’s because of evil forces that these atrocities and murders and the like happen. But it’s us as humans who do it. It doesn’t happen for no reason other than human decision. I’d think this was quite the shocking song to put out there, especially in ’68. From what I’ve read, that year was a rough time.

You know, I think most listeners would point to Jagger as the highlight of the whole track just for the showy, very spirited vocal that gradually ramps up in intensity as the track goes on. I’d like to make a note on the piano in the right ear played by the most dependable session player, Nicky Hopkins. Those piano chords behind Jagger’s vocals in the opening moments are very tasty. That climbing scale behind the “man of wealth and taste” line is exquisite. And just like Jagger, he heightens that intensity when he starts thundering on the keys at the beginning of the second verse. Those train whistle-like “woo-woos” come in for the third verse, staying there for the remainder of the song and that’s when the whole track becomes a party. You just want to form a conga line to the samba atmosphere of it all, even if it’s from the perspective of the fallen angel. It’s a fine way to start the album. I’d say it doesn’t get much better than it from that point onward. But it’s always good to have a bold statement from the jump, and ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ isn’t anything but that.

Ahhhh, and that’s it. The ‘S’ section is done. That’s definitely the longest one I’ve done so far. Spent a whole year on it. I’ll be back on the ‘T’ journey sometime soon. But I need a break. I’m sure you guys understand. So take care of yourselves. Catch you on the flipside.

#1248: Queens of the Stone Age – A Song for the Deaf

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So, I didn’t realise this until getting ready to type this out, but depending on whatever copy of Songs for the Deaf you have, this song’s either listed as ‘Song for the Deaf’ or ‘A Song for the Deaf’ on the tracklist. Same going for the ‘Dead’ song too. Just think that’s mildly interesting. All this time, I’ve been used to listing both with ‘A’ at the beginning in the various music libraries and stuff, and so I thought Spotify were just being lazy. They’re both correct. But being set in my ways, I’m not changing the title for anything, so the ‘A’ is staying. The big climactic finish to Songs for the Deaf, the almost title-track takes the listener through the final leg of the trip through the California desert, which the whole radio concept of the record is built around. It’s not necessarily a happy end. Things take a very dark and gloomy turn here. Does the driver even make it to the end of the journey? I think it’s up in the air.

The song’s a twisted waltz, its tempo set out by the menacing bass riff that’s then continued on by Josh Homme’s guitars. Written by both Homme and Mark Lanegan, the song’s a showcase of the contrast between two’s vocal styles – the smoother tones of the former mixed with the deeper, gravelly sounds of the latter – and I think it’s very suitable that the last big vocal contributions we hear from Nick Oliveri before he was fired from the band are the manic and hysterical screams that pan from side to side in the bridge before the final chorus. It may have the least plays out of all the songs on the album, at least on Spotify – and by quite a large margin too, I don’t understand – but I think the track exhibits one of the best performances by the band on the entire LP. There’s a reason why people think of the Homme – Oliveri – Lanegan – Grohl line-up of Queens as the golden era of the group, and this song is just of one many of them.

First time I heard Songs for the Deaf in full, I was in primary school and a friend of my sister’s loaned the album to her. The tracks were playing out of the loudspeaker in the living room. It wasn’t very active listening on my part, but I think I was about 10 so cut me some slack. But the very vivid memory I have of the experience was hearing the guitars at the end of ‘A Song of the Deaf’ all kind of feeding back in that wall of noise before it sounds like their souls are taken from them with a ghostly echo. Me and my sister looked at each other, both sort of stunned, and all she said was “Whoa.” We hadn’t heard anything like it before. Since then I’ve always thought of this track as the one with the spooky ending.

#1247: Bloc Party – Song for Clay (Disappear Here)

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Been a long while since I listened through Bloc Party’s A Weekend in the City in full. I’ve got a physical copy of it sitting on the shelf upstairs in my room, the special edition that included ‘Flux’ after that song was released as a single way after the album’s original copies that excluded it. And back in those days, that’s really all I got albums for. Just so I could have easy access to the singles. ‘Song for Clay (Disappear Here)’ wasn’t released as one of those. After knowing all these years, I’ve thought it had the potential to be one. Instead it has the important role of being the album opener, introducing the themes that are to be explored throughout the rest of the record.

Kele Okereke’s voice is the very first thing you hear when that CD/record starts spinning, and I think it’s meant to be a bit of a symbolic choice. Weekend marked a change in Okereke’s vocal style where he wasn’t melodically yelping like he did on Silent Alarm, but properly singing from the diaphragm and stuff. It sort of began with ‘Two More Years’. But it’s on full show throughout the album. Maybe he got some vocal lessons in between the two album cycles. And even though he goes a little sharp on the second “I am tryiiiiing” and the falsetto he introduces is a little shaky, the delivery gets much more confident and in the bag when the rest of the band eventually enter the frame.

Bloc Party had a new, heavier sound to them, aided by the production of Jacknife Lee who makes the guitars of Okereke and Russell Lissack sound like industrial machines, which is a perfect match for the ominous “times of today” lyrical content. The narrator of the song is a person living in the East London of 2007, getting their fair share of action on the weekend, and not really enjoying anything of what they see and experience before them. Talk of ordering foie gras and eating it with complete disdain. Trying to look cool on a dancefloor by showing no emotion whatsoever. These are things that get the narrator down. And the drama of the lyrics are heightened by sinister backing vocals from Gordon Moakes and the overarching minor key-ness of the music. The song comes to a close, a loud ringing leads into the next song and the album continues. I’ll go back to A Weekend… one of these days. It’s easy to fall into the “Silent Alarm was the best and everything else was never as good” crowd. And the statement may even be true. But I at least need to check again.