With their second album, Origin Of Symmetry, Muse shook off most of the Radiohead comparisons by releasing a hard, prog-infused record that stood heads and shoulders above their debut, Showbiz. The band added a nice twist by making a cover of the Anthony Newley/Leslies Bricusse chestnut “Feeling Good,” best known as the signature song of Nina Simone. The band makes the song their own with a thunderously crunching rhythm section, while singer/guitarist Matthew Bellamy’s operatic vocals positively soar over the instrumental bed. Kudos to Muse for taking an overly familiar song and infusing it with such new life.
After the breakup of the Sex Pistols, John Lydon (a/k/a Johnny Rotten) formed Public Image Ltd., and in 1979, they released their creative masterpiece Metal Box, consisting of 3 12″ 45 rpm singles packaged together in a round metal canister. Repackaged for the USA as the 2 LP set Second Edition, PiL waved goodbye to Lydon’s punk roots with a mesmerizing collection of dark, dubby tracks that opened the floodgates for the possibilities of the post-punk era. On “Memories” (the 2nd single from the album), Lydon’s punk sneer is replaced by a sadly yearning vocal wail that floats across the entrancing groove. Lydon is currently celebrating the 30th anniversary of the album with his first PiL tour in more than 20 years, coming to US clubs and festivals in the spring of 2010.
Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want The Smiths
Label: Warner Bros.
Released: 1984
For people who were in high school in the ’80s, John Hughes was one of our mentors. We looked to his movies for crazy characters and situations with which we could identify in all our awkwardness and alienation. For some, he was also like the older brother who introduced us to a treasure trove of music we’d never heard of: OMD, Simple Minds, Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, and others. “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths was used in Pretty In Pink. As it plays, Duckie is on his bed, throwing playing cards into a hat as Blaine and Andie have a roll in the hay. The lyrics told the story. John Hughes—who passed away suddenly yesterday—crystallized a moment in time in many of our lives, and we thank him for that collective memory.
With the release of his first solo album, Morrissey had a lot to prove—mainly that he could be a compelling artist outside of The Smiths without Johnny Marr. In that respect, he was very successful with his first single, “Suedehead,” which charted higher in the U.K. than any of The Smiths’ singles. The sound of solo Morrissey isn’t that far removed from the last Smiths records, with his sardonic humor and slow, almost heavy vocal delivery. “I Know Very Well How I Got My Name” found the light of day as the B-side on the 7-inch single for “Suedehead.” Morrissey, once again, assumes the oh-woe-is-me role, reflecting on a long-lost love, set to a sparse acoustic guitar with minimal arrangement from some strings and another guitar. It surfaces digitally for the first time as part of Rhino’s Digital 45 series, digital reissues of the original 45 rpm singles (A and B sides).
Whereas in London the literate pretended to be illiterate and claimed that “the truth (was) only known by guttersnipes,” there were no such art/class hang-ups on the early New York punk scene. Richard Hell—often credited with being the model upon which Malcolm McLaren hijacked the punk sensibility and imported it to London—was an unabashed aesthete, with a convulsive cerebrality, as can be heard on this elegant rumination upon time. Between Robert Quine’s viciously lyrical guitar runs, he can barely fit all the words in. Hell seemed to lose interest in the music racket pretty quickly and wisely dropped out of the game with his dignity intact, with no compromising latter-day attempts at reviving his musical career to his discredit.
Critics have described Black Love as the soundtrack to an epic film of betrayal and doom. If that’s the case, then closer “Faded” is redemption after all the blood’s been spilled, a cleansing eight-plus minutes that absolve all sin. Greg Dulli kneels in the candlelit cathedral, confessing his fears, licking his wounds. “Lord, lift me out of the night,” the good boy/bad boy pleads. “Come on uptown and see the mess I’m in tonight.” Salvation finally arrives in an explosion of wah-wah hooks and instrumental fury that leaves only the falling remnants of brittle ivory to finish the tale. The Whigs often closed shows with “Faded”—its brutal finality is hard to follow.
What comes to mind when you see the name Van Dyke Parks? Perhaps The Beach Boys—he served as lyricist on the infamous Smile—or his own cult classics, Song Cycle and Discover America. Youngsters might cite his trademark orchestrations for Rufus Wainwright and Joanna Newsom. But Saint Etienne? Sure enough, in 1993 the U.K. trio tapped him to arrange a single selection on their sophomore LP, So Tough. “Hobart Paving” opens on a naked stage, just echo-drenched piano and singer Sarah Cracknell at her most wistful. Gradually, isolated strings, organ, and harpsichord waft in and out as the song snowballs toward its dreamy chorus. When Cracknell breaks for a breather, Parks switches gears, cuing woodwinds and pizzicato strings that whirl lazily around the lingering melody, like Vivaldi on valium. A little-known gem for devotees of baroque, bittersweet pop.
Thanks to the success of Nevermind, eager-beaver major labels swept through the Pacific Northwest in the early ’90s, contracts in hand, advances at the ready. Among their more interesting procurements was Nirvana’s Aberdeen, Washington, neighbors (and Kurt Cobain fave), the Melvins, a trio who gorged on Black Sabbath sludge, buzzsaw punk, and acid flashbacks. Lucky Atlantic! The band recorded three albums on that deep-pocket dime, each more abrasive than the last (their final disc, Stag, was a defiant statement so jaw-droppingly weird that the arrangement was doomed); Stoner Witch is their hevvy (heavy’s for pikers) peak, highlighted by the stripped-brake van rock of “Revolve.” Buzz Osborne’s menacing riffs rattle mountains, Dale Crover’s skin-taps stab holes in the Earth—you’d better get your ears checked after they’re done with you.
Indie stalwarts didn’t seem to flinch when Seattle’s Death Cab For Cutie signed with Atlantic Records for their fifth full-length, 2005’s Plans. Perhaps it was because the band’s consistency in delivering top-notch material was so high. Hardly the work of sellouts, Plans was arguably the band’s strongest offering to date. “Summer Skin,” too downbeat to be a single, is a sparse September lament wherein singer/principal songwriter Ben Gibbard showcases his unequaled talent for lyrical imagery: “I don’t recall a single care / Just greenery and humid air / Then Labor Day came and went / And we shed what was left of our summer skin”. Anyone who’s felt the sting of a fling that was supposed to go gently, this one’s for you.
