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#1172: 1990s – See You at the Lights

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1990s. A band I’d be surprised anyone would know. If you were to comment and say, “Hey, don’t be so sure”, then, nice. You’re one of the few. I couldn’t say I have much of an opinion on the band though. First time I’d heard of them was back in 2007 or something. That was the ripe time for indie bands in the UK, those mid-2000s. And watching MTV2 in those days, there was always something new around the corner. 1990s showed up occasionally on the channel with the video, ‘You’re Supposed to Be My Friend’. That tune, I thought, was all right. What struck me was how both old and young the band looked, all at the same time. Then a few months down the line, the video for ‘See You at the Lights’ came round and the song became an instant hit to me. Lot of time was spent trying to figure out the usual time slot that the video was usually shown in. But then YouTube became available and I could watch/listen anytime I wanted.

It all begins with that beginning wordless hook. If that doesn’t get you singing along, then there’s not much point listening to the rest of the song. It always come back to it. But when it doesn’t, the song concerns a narrator who’s going out with a lady and basically has nothing to say but good things about her. She could be the one. He sees the light in her. This time in the relationship appears to be taking place around Christmas time too, hence the references to snow, stepping into the ‘white’ and the obviously clue, the mention of a Christmas tree. I’ve always liked the general tone of the music in this too. I’ve always envisioned a busy city centre at nighttime with all these bright lights everywhere when I hear this song, which I think the song is going for. It all comes from the lyrics, brings about a lot of vivid imagery.

The music video in itself is very endearing too. It’s an animated one. Quite dated in today’s world. It looked quite dated back in 2007 too. But there’s no denying it’s a bit of fun to watch. It features an animated version of the band, sitting on the ledge of a giant building in Glasgow, staring at the moon and lip-syncing to the song. With each verse, they get up to slightly different antics, from bobbing to the music in the first verse to singer Jackie McKeown jumping onto the drummer’s heard during the last one. It’s all pretty simple stuff, but has a lot of charm. I never really followed up with 1990s after this, though. I do know that you can find this song the album Cookies, and they released another record a couple years after. If you happen to like both of them, I’m glad I could be of service.

#1171: They Might Be Giants – See the Constellation

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Apollo 18‘s one of my favourites out of the first four They Might Be Giants albums, which consisted of just John Flansburgh and John Linnell backed by a synthesized rhythm section while the two handled their respective guitar and accordion. It’s got a real rocking feel throughout, with the usual fake drums and bass sounding much less so than they did in albums before. Plus, the theme of space is very much reinforced by the packaging, the LP’s title and a few of the songs on there. Makes it feel quite complete in that regard.

‘See the Constellation’ is one of those numbers that lean into the whole space theme the album has going for itself and might just be one of the harder, pepped-up rockers the band have in their whole discography. Quite psychedelic too. Starting off with a guitar riff paying homage to The Monkees’ ‘Pleasant Valley Sunday’, the track soldiers on with a smacking snare drum punctuated by chopped up samples of Dee Dee Ramone doing count-ins for Ramones songs. Tremolo’d guitars come in during instrumental breaks, there are these twangy synth sitar strums that arrive in the mix too. The psychedelia is laid on thick. But it works tremendously well.

Lyrically, there’s not a lot of fat to chew, but the imagery’s very nice. The first verse is directly inspired by a promotional photo of an artist who was on the same label as the Giants at the time. The second is a short snippet of a memory of the narrator trying to look up at the sky past the city lights. And the third and final verse seems to come from the constellation itself, the guy made of dots and lines, the figure to whom which the whole song is dedicated. John Flansburgh signs off with the psychedelic question, “Can you hear what I see in the sky?” And after a moment of calm, with Dee Dee Ramone still chirping at the back, the track blasts off with an explosive instrumental coda that trails off into the night. This is a very fun one. And there’s more to come from this album in the future.

#1165: Coldplay – The Scientist

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I was sort of around when this song first came around. Aware of the things going on around me and all that goodness. Coldplay’s ‘The Scientist’ was a single from the band’s A Rush of Blood to the Head album, just over 20 years ago in 2002. That would mean I was seven at the time. I have a very, very vivid memory when it comes to this track. I remember being in the playground of my primary school and singing the song out loud. Not to anyone in particular, just for my own entertainment’s sake. Must have seen the video somewhere at some point and the melody got stuck in that young head of mine. It was time to go back inside for lessons, and as I was in the line going inside, singing “Noobody saaid it was eeaaasyyyyyy”, this other kid holding the door letting everyone through overheard me and spontaneously started singing along. Looked me dead in the eyes and everything. We became good friends throughout those primary school years. Haven’t seen him since I left, though. Just the way things go.

So, yeah, I’ve liked ‘The Scientist’ for the longest time. Even before I realised that the song had the title and wasn’t called ‘Going Back to the Start’ or any other lyrics that appears in the track. The song’s one that everyone knows exists somehow. Even if you haven’t really listened to it in full, you would have heard it somewhere or at least think you did. I’m sure, like a lot of other casual music listeners at the time, the music video for the track is what really brought round the song’s attention. The plot of the thing is backwards. Chris Martin had to learn how to sing the lyric backwards in order to get the desired effect, which apparently took a month to do. As we see, above, Martin starts off on a randomly placed mattress and wanders through the streets and other miscellaneous places, all on his lonesome. Then he gets into a car, with a lady lying next to it, and the viewers witnesses why he’s been by himself up to that point. Martin and the lady were involved in a car accident, and the latter flew through the windshield because she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. For a song all about ‘going back to the start’, the video does very well to fulfill Martin’s wish.

All this time, I’ve never thought about what the song means. But without even having to look the lyrics up, it’s easy to understand that it’s possibly about a relationship ending, the regret that can come along with that situation and wanting to go back to the time when it all started and everything was coming up roses. Musically, ‘The Scientist’ is generally a really easy one to get into. Even if you’re not really paying attention to it, I think Chris Martin’s melody throughout does enough to have you singing along to it without realising. It’s very easy to remember, almost got a lullaby-like quality to it. Martin sings it really well. But I’d like to give a nod to those subtle string bends by Jonny Buckland in the guitar during the song’s outro too. There’s a slight intensity to that whole part which sweetly dissolves in the song’s last chord. It’s one of Coldplay’s most popular songs, and for very good reasons. It’s the last from A Rush of Blood to the Head you’ll see on hear, though. The singles are favourite songs on it.

#1161: Pink Floyd – The Scarecrow

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This track’s a relatively recent add to the music storage on the phone. It was back in 2021 or so. I can’t remember what made me do it. I was mostly likely on a Pink Floyd binge as a fan of Pink Floyd may do on occasion, came across the promotional video for ‘The Scarecrow’ (above) and liked it enough that it made sense to add it to the library. It was one of the last few songs I synced onto my phone before I made the decision to stop adding ‘new’ music, otherwise I’d end up never finishing this series. Or at least I would, but at a much further time than I think I would want it to go on for.

And with ‘The Scarecrow’ comes the only representation of the band’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn album that you’ll see on here. It’s not my favourite LP by the band. But with that being said, the Syd Barrett-era of Pink Floyd is an interesting, interesting one. Though I don’t think anyone will complain about any of the music that followed after his departure, it’s songs (for me) like ‘Arnold Layne’, ‘The Gnome’, ‘Bike’ and ‘See Emily Play’ (which’ll get a post on here fairly soon) that make me wonder how things would have gone for Barrett and the group had he not fried his brain with LSD and suffered a complete mental breakdown. It’s one of those great questions that’ll never be answered.

So, what’s ‘The Scarecrow’ about? Well, it’s in the title. Which specific scarecrow caught Barrett’s eye is anyone’s guess. But he saw it, and the sight of it was fascinating enough that it inspired him enough to write a song. There’s nothing to work out when it comes to the lyricism, which is a case when it comes to a lot of songs penned by Barrett. They’re written in a way that, really, a child could understand, which I say with no intention to undermine them. The accompanying music, I feel, reinforces this childlike wonder. You get this clip-clopping percussion and a wandering organ that separates the verses. I think Barrett comes in a bar or two earlier when singing the second verse. All nice and psychedelic. And then this majestic ending with swooping strings and 12-string guitar suddenly comes in from out of nowhere, fading out before you have time to process it. Could listen to that part on an infinite loop. But it’s a genius move. To end this song in such a way that leaves you wanting more after starting off so unassumingly. And that’s just one reason why I respect Syd Barrett’s craft.

#1156: Simon & Garfunkel – Save the Life of My Child

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A pre-Spotify/streaming service website used to exist back in the day. We7.com it was called. It allowed you to play a bunch of music in full, for free, without registration. And I came across it in early 2009, I think because Green Day’s 21st Century Breakdown had just been released and there it was, available to listen to, out in the open. The website doesn’t exist anymore, but when it did I got to hear a lot of the music I listen to now for the first time. And that’s where Simon & Garfunkel’s ‘Save the Life of My Child’ comes in. The track played on the site’s internet radio feature one day. Though I’m sure I would have heard ‘The Sound of Silence’ way before then, or ‘Bridge over Troubled Water’, I do believe it’s ‘Save…’ that was properly the first S&G track I’d fully paid attention with headphones at hand.

And the fat synthesizer that opens the song up is not what I was expecting on that initial hearing. I wonder how listeners back in 1968 would have felt too. It’s such a contrast compared to the usual acoustic numbers the duo did, and especially coming right after the light introduction that opens Bookends, the album on which ‘Save the Life…’ can be found. The track is one of the very first ever to utilise the Moog synthesizer, used predominantly for the bassline, and Paul Simon chugs away on the acoustic guitar while singing from the different perspectives of different people witnessing a boy sitting on the ledge of a high building, contemplating suicide. It’s a busy, busy scene. Passersby speculate, newspapers are rolling out with the story, the cops are called, and when one does arrive, they offer no considerable help in the slightest. Spotlights are put on the kid who, in that moment, decides to fall. That’s how the song ends.

I’ve always felt that the song is in some way providing a wider commentary than what’s being portrayed within. I wasn’t around in the ’60s, but from what I’ve gleaned by just reading around, things were much different in the America of 1968 than it was in ’67. The summer of love had long gone, and people wanted politicians to answer for poor decisions. Looking to musicians to provide some solidarity in their art. It was a general time of unrest. And that unrest is very much captured in the performance and general feel of ‘Save the Life…’. The song’s bridge includes an unsettling use of the duo’s aforementioned ‘Sound of Silence’ which, in context, I think symbolises a kind of momentary yearning for those young and innocent days before being abruptly brought back into reality, with the state of affairs of the then-current days being summed up in the final lines as the boy falls to the ground: “Oh, my grace, I got no hiding place.”