Tag Archives: in

#623: Radiohead – In Limbo

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It wasn’t too long ago that I wrote about another song from Kid A. If you read that post, you’ll know how I came to listen it and what my initial reactions were. If not, I heard it for the first time in 2012. Only liked a few songs from it and went about my days. I came back to it in 2015, gave it a good listen with good headphones and found it was amazing. It was on that second listen that I realised how great of a track ‘In Limbo’ is.

‘In Limbo’ is the seventh song on the album. It starts with a lone fumbling keyboard lick before plunging into the depths with reverbed out guitars, booming drums and Thom Yorke’s buried vocals. Like other songs on Kid A, I believe that this song’s lyrics were randomly put together via the selection of phrases from a hat. Together, they build a vivid image of loneliness and isolation. It’s one of the most unsettling pieces to listen to. I love it though. The guitars play in a swirling triplet rhythm whilst Phil Selway plays this constant standard time groove like some machine. I’ve always enjoyed the fact that with good headphones this song sounds massive, yet really calming. Almost like floating. I like that weird vocal distortion that echoes after every ‘You are living in a fantasy world’ lyric. The whole package when blended together can send you into a trance.

Then just when things seem okay, everything starts falling apart. The track begins to fold in on itself and basically warps out of existence, left as some weird glitchy noises before hurriedly going into the next song. The last 30 seconds are arguably the freakiest that Radiohead ever put down on tape. I remember listening to it and thinking my headphones were breaking or a virus had messed my computer up, no joke. The track isn’t on that’s talked about a lot. If you really listen, it can definitely get a hold on you.

#622: Supergrass – In It for the Money

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So after Supergrass gained a ton of praise from their debut album I Should Coco in 1995, helped tremendously by their most recognisable hit and youth anthem ‘Alright‘, Steven Spielberg approached the band in an effort to make a television series with them based on that of The Monkees. The group declined, instead choosing to record their second album. This was most definitely the better route to take. Coco was a burst of sharp wit and energy. Its production made all the instruments sound very tight, like they were playing together in a tiny, tiny room. In It for the Money took a totally different direction.

Instead of carrying on with the usual breakneck velocity, Money is made of songs that are allowed to breathe. Take a breeze and chill with some slower tempos. The tracks also sound expansive. There’s also a wider variety of instruments. But the group never lost their playfulness and knack for great tunes. The title track shows it all in the three minutes it lasts for and is a fantastic taster for what’s to come It opens the album with an creepy organ drone that transitions into a heavy Beatles-like arpeggiated riff and Gaz Coombes’ vocal.

“Here I see a time to go and leave it all behind/And you know it’s wrong to fall/We’re in it for the money” are three lyrics that when put read together like that don’t seem to make much sense, though Coombes and bassist Mick Quinn on higher harmony deliver them with a power and confidence that make them sound like a formal declaration. There’s a musical build as the last phrase is repeated before the song explodes into its main refrain. The track takes another turn as it leads into another verse of repeated lines, accompanied with a beautiful guitar line and descending bass groove. A glorious fanfare of horns appear. It’s beautiful stuff.

It comes to a very abrupt halt but you have to listen to the album from front to back to understand the effect of that production decision. Summing it up, this was the introduction to a new Supergrass back in ’97 – definitely not a case of the sophomore slump.

#621: They Might Be Giants – In Fact

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To any They Might Be Giants fan who may be reading this, hello. There are dozens of us. It’s hard for TMBG fans to agree which album is the group’s best. I have my personal favourite (their debut), people may suggest Apollo 18, some Factory Showroom, really you can’t go wrong. I believe though that Join Us released in 2011, and their first ‘adult’ album in four years at the time, is one of their best and I can’t believe that it’s been almost ten years since it’s been out. I was sixteen, just finished my GCSEs, went on holiday to the USA and it was released during my time there. I think I had heard samples of all the songs somewhere before. And ‘Can’t Keep Johnny Down‘ had premiered a few months prior. It was a good time to be alive.

‘In Fact’ is the eighth track on Join Us. Sung by John Flansburgh, it’s another playful tune on the album that takes a lot of strange musical turns. A blaring trumpet – played by Curt Ramm – begins it all and wilts away before a train-like rhythm gets going and the lyrics come in. I’ve always appreciated the little details in this song. The little climbing guitar line that plays while Flansburgh sings, that *bink-bink* noise that you can hear in every other line, the way Marty Beller improvises his percussion at some parts. It’s a great song to enjoy listening to. There is a large presence of horns as well, if you like those.

Like many other TMBG songs it’s understandable to not be able to quite understand what either John Linnell or Flansburgh are specifically singing about in their songs, just because of the wordplay and surreal imagery they tend to use in their lyrics. It is no different here. What it comes down to, I think, is that the narrator is ‘a mess’ and ‘isn’t right’ (as is repeated throughout) and Flansburgh uses all of this imagery of chess pieces and mice to illustrate the absurdity of it all. I think that’s a good way to look at it. And just when you think the song is over it turns into this huge 6/8 groove with guitar feedback and a horn freak-out ending which comes out of nowhere. (It’s actually foreshadowed by the lone trumpet right at the beginning) All of this in two minutes and twenty seconds.

#620: The Cure – In Between Days

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I heard this song in an advert way before I even knew who The Cure were. Possibly in about 2003. I was eight years old. If I can remember correctly, it was an advert for ‘best driving songs’ CD or something along those lines. It had to do with a car. Only about 15 seconds of the song were played; those seconds consisted of the rushing guitar and synths from the song’s intro. It would be many years later that I would listen to the whole song, purely by coincidence when it’s video played on the television one day. Just exactly when, I can’t say.

‘In Between Days’ is the song’s name. Performed by The Cure, as I have mentioned already, it opens the group’s 1985 album The Head on the Door – arguably their most accessible effort just because of the catchy and immediate all of the songs are. ‘Between Days’ is a bit of a rush. Very quick, propelled by brisk acoustic guitars and a strong rhythm. It’s done just as soon as you’re getting into it, I feel. But it still has a lot going for it that you’re not let down when it comes to the eventual fade out.

It’s another of those where I’ve never bothered to overtly analyse the lyrics again, but I always assumed it was about getting older and losing touch with someone you felt deeply for. That’s just from the first verse and a few lines in the chorus. He would actually focus on that subject emphatically on Disintegration I’ve seen interpretations saying it’s about an affair and Robert Smith’s asking for his true love to come back after she finds out. That could be true. I just like the music to be honest. I’ve always gathered a happy but sad mood from its tone.

#619: The Band – In a Station

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I’m not a massive follower of The Band. I do have to admit that their self-titled album from 1969 is great though. Has a lot of great songs on there that I haven’t talked about but will in the future. Until last year that was the only album of theirs that I listened to. Music from Big Pink, the album that today’s song is taken from, is all right in my eyes. The follow-up is much better. Though it must be said that Big Pink is probably one of the most important releases of the 60s. A lot of contemporaneous groups were influenced by its organic qualities and noted it as a way forward in music following the heavy psychedelia of 1967.

‘In a Station’ is the third number on here, written and sung by the band’s pianist Richard Manuel. The Band had three main singers: Manuel, drummer Levon Helm, and bassist Rick Danko. Out of the three, Manuel arguably had the best voice. He had a lot of soul in it. Very vulnerable and his delivery could be devastatingly heartbreaking on some songs. That’s not too different here. Manuel sings about walking through a station, noting what he sees and what he hears and wonders if the people he witnesses would ever care to have any sort of personal interaction with him. It’s quite an existential track topped with vivid imagery and quasi-philosophical lyricism.

The main focus musically is all in that centre channel where Manuel’s vocal is along with those rich keyboards by Garth Hudson and the rhythm section. Then Danko and Helm join in for some fantastic harmonies in the choruses. Robbie Robertson’s acoustic guitar is on the right and Manuel’s rhythm keyboard is on the left but they’re really hard to notice when you’re listening to the melodies in the vocal. It’s a very sincere song; it can really take you out of yourself for a few minutes.