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#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.

#990: Simon & Garfunkel – The Only Living Boy in New York

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Upon going through Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge over Troubled Water album in about 2012/13, there were two clear highlights, at least to me, that stuck out on that first listen. Those were ‘Keep the Customer Satisfied’ and today’s song ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’. Sure, the title track is right there. But it’s never been one that I’ve wilfully gone out of my way to listen to. Probably ever. The rest of the album tracks all have their moments. But it’s always been those two for me. And since I’ve written the post about ‘Customer’, well, I better start going on about this one.

‘…Living Boy…’ was written by Paul Simon during a time when singing partner Art Garfunkel took an acting role and had to travel to Mexico for a lengthy period in order to shoot his scenes. Simon, overcome with these feelings of loneliness, transferred all of this emotion the best way he could into song. He wishes his partner the best of luck and wishes him well; he addresses him as ‘Tom’, which is what Garfunkel would go under when the pair performed as ‘Tom and Jerry’ in their early years. He gets some delight from the mundane things like checking out the weather report for the latest news. Still, the separation doesn’t stop Simon from feeling like the only person existing in the big city of New York. There’s a subtle hint of conflict too, as it seems Simon knows that this acting bit is something that Art is really into. He pleas to him that if he wants to follow through with it, then he should just tell him instead of making excuses. It’s a bit of a turbulent affair, and it would all end when the act broke up and went their separate ways some time after the album’s release.

However the lyrics are interpreted, it doesn’t get in the way of how comforting a listen this track always is. Simon takes the lead vocal here, double-tracked and maybe singing really close to the microphone. I don’t know what it is, maybe he’s using a certain type of mic, maybe it’s an effect, but whatever is used gives his vocal a real close and intimate feel. Like he’s singing you to sleep or something. It’s a gentle delivery with a fine melody with a backdrop of acoustic guitars and a skipping bassline. The whole track delivers for the most part, but then comes that glorious moment when those glorious harmonies from the two singers enter the frame, brought in effect by performing those vocals in an echo chamber and multi-tracking it around eight times. They’re heavenly moments, like lights at the end of the tunnel. It’s at these parts where I guess Garfunkel appears in front of Simon after everything’s happened, telling him to not worry because “Here I am.” Maybe that’s looking too deep. All in all, like a few other songs on Trouble Water, ‘…Living Boy…’ is another personal look into what made those two guys tick.

#989: Weezer – Only in Dreams

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2006 was the year that I listened through Weezer’s Blue Album for the first time. I was 11 years old and had somehow stumbled upon ‘Buddy Holly’, ‘Undone’ and ‘Say It Ain’t So’ through the TV and music video sites that weren’t YouTube. I liked all three. It only made sense to own the album they were on, so I could listen to them whenever I wanted. Every track on there was instantly memorable. The guitars, good. The harmonies, good. The choruses, very nice. And coming through the decked-out speakers my uncle installed for the XP computer, it certainly made for an experience. But at that age, I still didn’t have quite the attention span. My eye had caught the just-about eight minute length of the final track ‘Only in Dreams’ on Windows Media Player. Not to say that everything I had heard depended on how it ended, but a kid doesn’t usually have the patience to sit through that long a song. The wall of feedback at the end of ‘Holiday’ left a brief period of silence, and then the bass guitar riff of ‘…Dreams’ started. And I was pretty much entranced from that point onward. Very hypnotic way to start, which makes those guitar entrances for the choruses really special.

The track is one in which Rivers Cuomo, or at the least the nameless narrator here, is detailing this alluring, mystical lady who he just can’t get his mind off. She seems to be the perfect woman. He’s written the lyric with a second-person narrative, as if addressing the listener. You know, “you can’t resist her, she’s in your bones”. But taking into account the observational takes of women that would be a constant through the band’s discography, I think it’s fair to say it’s all coming from a very personal experience. Cuomo details a fairytale of a man and woman holding hands and floating into the ether, only to wake up, realise that it’s all been a dream and be left disappointed by a lonely reality. Hey, it’s relatable stuff. Could say it may suffer from little sappy. But goodness, the crunch of those guitars that come in during the choruses add so much emotional weight that anything else that happens during this song is justified.

I think we can all agree that the highlight of the entire track is the breakdown that happens about five minutes in. By that point, the singing has finished – you won’t hear Cuomo’s voice again. And starting with the bass guitar again, the track solo rises in intensity with Patrick Wilson smacking on the drums and cymbals and dueling guitar lines, courtesy of Cuomo. This section seems to go on and on, there’s a huge build in tension. You wonder where it’s gonna go. And the release happens when all the guitars fall in, playing the bass guitar riff in unison. It’s a glorious moment, capped off with a spectacular solo, coming to an end in the comedown with Matt Sharp’s bass – just like the track started. That’s how the whole album ends. And that’s how Weezer introduced themselves to the world. Talk about a way to start things off.

#980: Talking Heads – Once in a Lifetime

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One of the greatest memories I have associated with this track is when I was at Glastonbury in 2016 vibing at a silent disco really late in the night. ‘Once in a Lifetime’ came on, and it was clear that this stranger close to me was listening to it too. We were both high as anything, miming along to the words, mimicking David Byrne’s dance moves from the music video. A lot of shaking hands and laughing occurred; it was a good time. I sometimes get the slightest feeling that he was mostly surprised that here was this Black dude who was into Talking Heads. Gotta face it sometimes. But that slight negativity has always been overshadowed by that memory of acting like a fool and bonding through a fantastic song.

I have to tip my metaphorical hat to the music video. I’m sure that’s how I came across the song in the first place. It’s an example of those videos that somehow manage to enhance the music, or at least provide the perfect visual experience to accompany the music. Byrne is a lanky, jerky, sweating machine by the end of it and for good reason. Those are some moves he’s got going there, alongside some actions where he looks like he’s going through some severe muscle spasms, mainly conjured up by himself with some streamlining advised by choreographer Toni Basil.

So, no beating around the bush here, I think ‘Once in a Lifetime’ is one of the best songs of all time. Every time I hear it, a sense of wonderment always arises within me. This was recorded just over 40 years ago, but it transcends through time. Could be released this Friday or two years from now and would still turn heads and puzzle people like I’m sure it did all that time ago. In so many ways, it shouldn’t work. Amidst this bustling groove established by a two-note bassline, off-kilter drums and a bubbling keyboard soundscape, David Byrne preaches to the listener, telling us things that we might say to ourselves, places we may end up living in, marital situations that may puzzle us as we go through our lives only to then burst out into one of the most memorable singalong choruses ever, a move which I think is meant to symbolise that it’s fine to have all these moments of existential dread as it’s something that has gone on through generations. Just like water flowing underground or the days going into the next. Like Byrne says in its closing moments, time isn’t slowing down or something to be feared, it’s just this thing that remains constant, so the best thing we can all do is let it happen. Coming from someone as neurotic as David Byrne was in those days, I’d say that’s a lesson to be learned.

#953: Cloud Nothings – Now Hear In

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‘Now Hear In’ stands as the first song I ever heard by Cloud Nothings. Attack on Memory had passed me by, and it was in 2014 when Here and Nowhere Else was released and got an 8.7 on Pitchfork that I thought this may be an album I could get behind. I don’t think I listened to the whole thing at once. I remember it being quite late at night. But ‘Now Hear In’ was right there, so it only made sense to at least hear one song before going to bed. The opening riff sounded inviting enough. Then Dylan Baldi begins singing a really accessible melody. Alongside the rough guitars and grimy rhythm section, the track made sense then and there.

I’ve written about a few songs from this album now. One quite recently as a matter of fact, so I’m at the risk of repeating a lot of things I say in those other posts here too. You can have a look back. I know what I’m about to mention is in almost all of them and that’s Jayson Gerycz’s drumming. All throughout the album, he plays at what feels like a beat earlier than all the guitars around him. Adds a sense of urgency and provides a solid rush throughout the whole album. As the first song I’d ever heard, it was strange hearing the drums being played this way. But as the naïve 18-year-old I was, it certainly scratched a mental itch that I hadn’t known existed up to that point.

I’d like to think I’ve got a grip about what this track is about. Maybe it’s not as clear-cut as I think it is. But I’ve always seen it as song about an apathetic person who’s thinks life is all right, trying to find the exciting stuff in it, but it’s mostly the same experiences each day. They’ve got a friend or a significant other who pretty much feel the same way, and it’s with that common link that they get along with each other than most other people. All in all though, they’re not very impressed with a lot that goes on. The lyrics do introduce a theme of living in the now, but the track itself doesn’t resolve that theme in the most positive way. That’s not until the album’s final track. And it’s with that uncertainty that we’re left with a fine album opener. Always have a good time with this one.