Tag Archives: my ipod

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

Leave a reply

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)

Leave a reply

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.

#1246: Blur – Song 2

Leave a reply

Going into this, I was really thinking, “Wouldn’t it be funny if I just typed ‘Woo-hoo’ for the post and nothing else?” A little part of me still wants to as I type this. But I reckon it would be a bit of a cop out if I did. I would have been two years of age when Blur’s ‘Song 2’ up and around as the second single from the band’s self-titled album from 1997. And as a result, I think I really missed how inescapable the song was during its heyday. But even when I first saw the video/heard the song in 2005 or something, it sounded like a tune I must have heard a hundred times before. It’s Blur’s most well-known song, even by people who don’t know who the band is, and to this day if you were to see the band live, ‘Song 2’ is a guaranteed play because I don’t think they’re allowed to leave the stage without performing it.

The story that people tend to agree upon with the song is that it was written to parody American grunge music, with the whole soft verse/loud chorus with the lyrics that make no sense thing going on. The real story is Damon Albarn originally had the track demoed in a slower, acoustic arrangement with the “woo-hoos” originally being wolf-whistles. Something quite similar to this, actually. Graham Coxon heard it, suggested to mess it up and make it nastier. And so, Albarn laid the vocal track in the control room while Coxon, bassist Alex James and drummer Dave Rowntree rocked out in the live space. The placeholder lyrics Albarn originally ended up as the final thing. He had actual lyrics he wanted to lay down, but they didn’t seem right. The guide vocal track which was meant to be recorded over stuck too. And made as a joke to freak out the label representatives, the joke fell flat because the people at the label ended up loving it and backed its potential as an actual single.

I must have heard this tune over a few hundred times now, surely. And you know, it’s a repetitive, sure. It’s got the “woohoo” thing going on. The lyrics are a bunch of nonsense. It’s over before you even realize. But I swear, every time the band comes in on that first “woohoo” with the riff and the double-tracked bass, it’s an automatic screwed face on my part. I just can’t help it. This a great song, just in terms of the feel of it all. Sometimes you do want to shout melodically about the most random of things, and ‘Song 2’ is the prime example that allows you to do that without thinking too much about it. Sometimes I think it’d be nice for a lot of other Blur songs to have at least half of the popularity ‘Song 2’ does. They’ve got some nice songs to their name. But then I think, if it’s gonna be one, why not ‘Song 2’? What it doesn’t have in substance, it makes up for in feel and attitude. And that’s all right with me.

#1245: The La’s – Son of a Gun

Leave a reply

The shimmering notes from an acoustic guitar are the first things you hear if you were to press play/lay the needle on the record after obtaining The La’s self-titled/debut/only album from 1990. First time I heard ‘Son of a Gun’ the opening reminded me of Rusted Root’s ‘Send Me on My Way’, even if though that song was released some years after. Maybe there’s some influence there, I don’t know. But it goes to show, if you can get the right tone on the strings of an acoustic guitar, people will start falling at your feet. Even before Lee Mavers started singing, I was really into the rhythm and the sound of that sole acoustic, so even when he did, I was already under its spell.

“If you want, I’ll sell you a life story” are the first words Mavers delivers on the microphone, and that’s what ‘Son of a Gun’ is. It’s a tale about a man who lives with his demons, but also recognises that he’s not like a lot of other people out there and takes great pride in that aspect. With Lee Mavers being the ever elusive, reclusive man he is, I think ‘Son of a Gun’ is the one song by him that provides an insight into how the guy felt about life. There might be another La’s tune that does it better, please direct me to it. But for me, it’s the clearest ‘song about myself under the guise of someone else’ that I can think of right now as I’m writing to you. Lifts the haze on that sense of mystique, which I think is quite cool.

Lee Mavers didn’t like the sound of The La’s when the album eventually came out in 1990. The band had spent a couple years trying to get the album down, but Mavers was never happy with any of the results. There are many different versions of the songs from the record that you’ll be able to find online. Personally, I think the final version we all know mixed and produced by Steve Lillywhite showcased the best treatment any of those tracks got as recordings. It is interesting to hear other producers’ takes though. ‘Son of a Gun’ by Mike Hedges is in a higher key, utlises more electric guitar and has a bounce to it via added bass drum. A John Porter version has a monoaural mix. I could go through them all. It’s a lot to explore.

#1244: Hot Club de Paris – Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother

Leave a reply

‘Sometimes It’s Better Not to Stick Bits of Each Other in Each Other for Each Other’ was the first single released by Hot Club de Paris in the good days of 2006. One of the longest titles for a song that I’ve come across. It’s officially stylized as one word, according to the album packaging, so I’ve gone ahead and labelled it that way too. But when I first became aware of the track, when its video showed up out of the blue on MTV2 one day, the little notice that showed the artist/song name had it under the name ‘Sometimes It’s Better’. And that’s how I knew it until I was told otherwise. It was the first song by the band I heard by them. It’s the last time they’ll appear in this series thing.

What I like about this song is it doesn’t really have any verses. Maybe one. But the rest is all hooks and choruses and instrumental breakdowns. All jumped-up like and erratic, delivered in just over two minutes. I’m all for it. Hot Club de Paris have a little math rock thing going in their music, and that’s all present here. From what I can tell, the intro is in 11/8, the drummer calls out “9, 10” to bring the guitarists out of the short break, the choruses are in 4/4, and then the verse and instrumental break are in 6/8. Time signatures all over the gaff. But while the rhythms are shifting, the lyrical content is compact and direct and usually repetitive. The way it’s all sung and performed makes it a very memorable one for sure.

As to what the song’s about, your guess is as good as mine. I don’t think it’s really about anything. Seems to me like it was a product of getting some phrases down and setting them against the bustling music. And there’s nothing wrong with that, loads of other people do it too. It sounds good to me, so I’m not complaining. When the track was released on the band’s debut album, listeners were surprised with the inclusion of an additional outro added to the song. Alongside a 5/8 guitar lick, the band harmonise “All the way, away, away” until it fades out. It’s a nice thing going on there. I think it’s to do with the fact that it’s the last track on the first side of the album if you had it on vinyl, so it’s a bit of a goodbye moment before flipping the record over for side 2. I listen to the single version which omits all that, but it’s cool to have the option.