Tag Archives: you

#1360: Ween – Things You Already Know

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In the space of two weeks in October 2015, I went from having one full downloaded album by Ween on my laptop to having seven. That time, the Autumn/Winter of that year into 2016, was when I fell deep into the work of misters Gene and Dean Ween and found myself having a “new” band to fawn over. The stars were aligning too. It was during that period the band got back together after Gene had left the band in 2012 to focus on his sobriety. It was like someone out there wanted me to start listening to them to prepare me for good times ahead. Once I’d gone through their studio albums, I found myself wanting more. Very luckily, Ween are one of those bands who literally have hundreds and hundreds of songs recorded that never made it onto albums. A noteworthy compilation of some of these is The Caesar Demos, originally shared on Facebook by Dean Ween in August 2011, containing cutting-room-floor tunes and demos made around the time the band were working on their 2003 album Quebec. That compilation is the source of today’s subject.

‘Things You Already Know’ is a song about that good, old situation of unrequited love. Or to put it simply for today’s generation, it’s about a simp. The narrator in ‘Things…’ wishes to woo their subject of interest by diffusing a mob, sailing them around the world in a yacht and promising them the moon and stars. A set of seemingly impossible tasks. It’s not meant to be taken literally, these are all just ways of saying that they’ll do anything to win the heart of this other person. It’s an obsession, one where the narrator seems to think that the other party is aware of the narrator’s advances when it’s very likely that this isn’t the case at all. The narrator takes it personally when, in the final verse, they see their crush with another man, trying to deflect it as a “Your loss, you didn’t get with me” type of deal when inside they’re hurting bad. Thinking about it now, it’s really the “grown-up” version of ‘Nan’ from the band’s first album. Both songs follow an obsessed narrator, who detail their misguided fascinations on a lady before facing reality and feeling slighted as a result. Both very entertaining in their own respective ways.

Had the song been fleshed out, I’m sure it would have been a shoe-in for the final tracklist of Quebec. But it wasn’t. I guess you could say it’s a little repetitive. The melodies are the same from verse to verse, chorus to chorus. The dualling guitar solo mirrors them. It’s anchored by the bouncing drum machine pattern. But it all sounds so good. And Gene Ween sings it in earnest too. It goes down as one of the great Ween tunes left on the cutting room floor. Those Ween fans who know about ‘Things…’ love the track, and I think I had an instant attraction to it when I heard it that first time. I have a memory of sitting behind an iMac at work and listening through this video of The Caesar Demos while doing something else. I went and downloaded the second “disc” of the compilation on 24th October 2015, mainly ’cause of the trifecta of ‘Eulogy for David Anderson’, this track, and ‘Hello Johnny’ on there. Those three alone can make my day. There’s still so much more on that compilation that displays the range of Ween’s creativity in that relatively small two-year span it took to make one of their most popular albums.

#1343: The Beatles – Tell Me What You See

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Hey, everybody. Merry Christmas. Hope you all get what you want and have people around you for this time of year. This blog keeps rolling on, and today’s featured track is ‘Tell Me What You See’ by The Beatles. Not a very festive one in itself, but I don’t think there ever has been one whenever a post for this is up on this day. This and George Harrison’s ‘You Like Me Too Much’, both on the Help! album, are two songs that I honestly think are deemed as forgettable by a lot of Beatles fans with no sort of pushback to the opinion. The latter I’ve always thought was just okay too, personally. But I do remember hearing ‘Tell Me What You See’ and thinking it was really, really nice the first time I heard it. Paul McCartney himself described it as ‘not one of the better songs’, more or less saying it was good because it was needed to fill up the side of an album. And I get it, the guy’s done a lot of other stuff that you can unanimously agree trumps this one. But, I mean… it’s got less plays than ‘Dizzy Miss Lizzy’ on Spotify, and I know people hate that one. Make it all make sense to me.

I like the overall vocal dynamic that happens throughout the song. John Lennon sings the first line with McCartney’s harmony over the top. McCartney responds with the second line. This call-response occurs for the next two lines, and then they both sing the melody in unison for what Genius labels as the bridge, where the song’s title is mentioned. This is done again for the next verse, which then culminates in the “Telll meee whaaaat yoou see” refrain – very cathartic – which is followed by the resolving electric piano that brings everything back around and, eventually, closes out the entire song itself. What’s the song about? Another love one, no doubt. Looking deeper into it, I think it captures a relationship that’s just about starting and is a reassurance from the narrator that, no matter what happens, they will be there for the other person involved. There’s no need for them to be afraid and keep their eyes shut, because the narrator will be there to make them happy and take those doubts away when they open their eyes. It’s an uplifting sentiment. And I don’t think there’s an act behind it. So that’s a thumbs-up from me.

Well, uh, I guess that’s all I have to say about it, really. The track was mainly written by McCartney, both he and Lennon said so once upon a time, and we all know how good he is at getting a memorable melody down. ‘Tell Me What You See’ is filled with a lot of those. At least, I think it is. The people who don’t care for it as much would think otherwise. But I think people should start caring for it. There’s this video for a remix of the song done by the user who uploaded it. Says there’s a lost George Harrison harmony that’s revealed in it, referring to the middle “tell me what you see” vocal during the refrains. You can hear it pretty clearly in the original recording anyway. It also might not be George Harrison. So, you know, just think about that before going into that link. So those are my thoughts on this tune. This is probably the most anyone’s thought to written about it for a long time, so I hope this does some justice.

#1298: U2 – Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of

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1,298 songs in, and we reach the first U2 song. It’ll be the only one, though, sorry. There are people out there who despise the band, mostly because they don’t like Bono. Me? I don’t have anything massive against them. I’m neither here nor there. I can’t say I’m the biggest fan. But they do have some fine, fine songs. When I really started getting into alternative/rock music in about 2004, it was during a time when the video for ‘Vertigo’ was playing almost every day on MTV2. The How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb era. And nine-year-old me thought it was a cool song. So I can sort of thank U2 for getting me into the genre a little more. But today’s song isn’t from that era of the band. It’s from the one that preceded it a good four years earlier. In 2000, U2 returned from an experimental phase during the ’90s with a back-to-basics rock album in All That You Can’t Leave Behind, and ‘Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of’ – the second song on there – was released as its second single in 2001.

And this is one of those occasions where I have a clear, clear memory of seeing its music video on TV during that time, even though I would have only been five years old. It was playing on The Box, which was kinda the mainstream UK pop music video channel of the time, and there was Bono on the TV screen rolling around on the floor over and over again. And because I was a child and still had years until my voice dropped, whenever I tried to sing, “Stuck in a moment and you can’t get out of it,” that “can’t get out of it” part was too low for my register. I didn’t have the diaphragm for it yet. For the longest time, in the back of my mind, I thought that if I was able to sing that phrase, it must have meant that the process of puberty had finally happened. I can gladly say at the age of 30, I can sing along to the track just fine. It wasn’t until a few years back that I revisited the song, gave it a few more listens with that core memory flashing in the brain and realized that I liked it a bunch.

Think it’s common knowledge that the track was written as a tribute to Michael Hutchence, a good friend of Bono’s, who was famously known for being the original lead singer for the rock band INXS. Hutchence passed away in 1997 through suicide, the action of which is kind of alluded to by Bono in the song’s bridge (“I was unconscious, half asleep” / “I wasn’t jumping, for me it was a fall” / “It’s a long way down to nothing at all”). Bono, saddened by what happened, wrote ‘Stuck in a Moment…’ as a things-he-wished-he-could-have-said song. He expresses his admiration for Hutchence and is still effected by him even with absence, but wishes he could have told him that whatever tough times he was going through, they would eventually pass and there was no need to feel so down. Guitarist The Edge also gets a moment on the lead vocal near the song’s end with the falsetto on the “And if the night runs over…” section. Though funnily, it gets pushed back into the mix to make way for Bono’s adlibbing. I like this one a lot. A track that reminds you to reach out to your friends in times of trouble. Or just on a frequent basis. ‘Cause you never know what could be happening.

#1243: Supergrass – Sometimes I Make You Sad

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In It for the Money is my favourite Supergrass album. I may have said that before in the posts for other songs from there. There’s no sort of concept you have to dig your brain into, or any kind of lyrical themes to take mind of. The record is just song after song of unforgettable bangers. Bangers with some slower tunes in between. …Money is grander in scale in comparison to I Should Coco, which was released a couple years prior, marked by a bigger production and a use of a wider variety of instrumentation, whilst still containing a lot of the playfulness and memorable melodies that endeared Supergrass to so many in the first place. Its final track, ‘Sometimes I Make You Sad’, is very playful and however stranger it may sound in comparison to the songs that come before it, it acts as the perfect way to bring the album to a close.

The track preceding ‘Sometimes…’ ends with this slow fade out of the band jamming. A few moments of silence arrive. Then ‘Sometimes…’ starts and you’re greeted with a gloomy Hammond organ and a beatbox loop performed by members of the band which apparently took a couple of hours to properly get down. The scary-circus ‘Benefit of Mr. Kite’ vibe the song has going for it wasn’t something I expected on that first time of listening, I tell you. But underneath the spooky atmosphere is a something of a motivational song, telling you to do what you like, go out into the world and explore. The ‘motivational’ part is somewhat negated though as the lyrics make sure to tell us that whatever you do, no one really cares all that much and there’s nothing out there that’s all that exciting anyway.

For the longest time, I assumed that bass guitarist Mick Quinn was the lead vocalist of the track. It obviously wasn’t Gaz Coombes, and Quinn does sometimes take the lead in a few Supergrass songs. But that assumption was laid to rest when, during a Twitter “album listening party” in the COVID times, Quinn mentioned that it was drummer Danny Goffey who sung the song, after a quick trip to the pub. So it turned out ‘Ghost of a Friend’ wasn’t the only Supergrass he was the lead on after all. The reason his voice is so high is because, and I’m guessing here, he recorded it while the track was playing at a slower speed, so when sped up it sounds like he ingested some helium before performing. That is the reason the guitar solo also sounds all spindly like it does. So why not apply the same technique for the voice? Thanks to the remastered deluxe edition that came out in ’21, I can now embed some moments that look into the making of the track. More specifically, the creation of the beatbox loop and Goffey’s guide vocal. Both comical in their own ways.

#1234: Blur – So You

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In 2012, Blur released a massive boxset to celebrate their 21st anniversary as a band. In it, you would get (almost) all of their albums remastered. With each album came a bonus disc compiling B-sides and other additional material from the respective eras. ‘So You’ can be found on the “Special Edition” of 13, explaining why you see that album’s cover in the video up top. Originally it was released as a B-side to ‘No Distance Left to Run’ when that song was released as the album’s final single in November 1999. But I didn’t know of its existence until summer 2013 when I went through Blur’s discography on a whim. Heard it then, it’s been on the iPhone ever since.

What we’ve got going on here is a Blur track with a groove. Alternating between C minor and B major chords for the majority of the song, Graham Coxon lays an ascending/descending riff over the top, Dave Rowntree puts down a drum take that feels a little late on the beat with fills that sound like boxes falling down the stairs. All very tastefully done. The lyrics on show go into a category that Damon Albarn started to explore in this particular era of Blur. And that was to come up with lyrics that they don’t seem to mean anything and are more or less words made to match the feel of the music rather than tell a story or detail any personal feelings. A bit of a predecessor to what was to come with Gorillaz, I guess you could say. There are two verses of these “abstract” lyrics, followed by a melodica solo that echoes as each note plays, and the hypnotizing groove continues on until the energy fizzles out and we’re left with studio chatter to close the track out.

If you ever wanted to see Blur working on a song in the studio, you’re in luck. The making of ‘So You’ was captured in an edition of British arts TV series The South Bank Show in which the band were the main focus. The whole episode is worth watching if you’re a fan. But luckily someone on YouTube clipped out the parts showing the band rehearsing and recording ‘So You’, so I’ll just go ahead and embed that at the bottom there. So interesting to see the song’s transformation. What starts off as a discussion of chord progressions and initial showing of ideas swiftly goes on to be this fully formed thing where all the band members are locked in together. It probably happened over a longer period than the six minutes the video lasts for. But it’s still cool to witness.