"Pittsburgh's No. 1" (1985)

Sorry for the delays again: the blog has been put on a short li'l hiatus while I move to the City of Champions, aka Pittsburgh, PA. Packing all of my essential goods into the back of a Ford Taurus, searching for an apartment, and trying to break into the job market have taken enough of my time, so I haven't been able to consider music the way I'd really like to. Rest assured, I haven't given up on TWS; the coming weeks will bring exciting entries about the likes of Elvis Presley and Talk Talk, among others.

For now, we'll have to content ourselves with this gem. In 1985, Pittsburgh was voted the most livable city in America. This designation provided fodder for two musical developments: it became the name of the Pittsburgh-based group the 1985s (featuring local indie celebrity Randy Costanza), and it led to the commissioning of this beautiful number by a now-unknown artist. Pittsburgh was awarded this honor once again last year; we can only hope that this return to the number one spot will inspire a work of art somewhere remotely close to this

Youtube Link: Pittsburgh's No. 1

The Free Design - "I Found Love" (1968)

A bias in my aesthetic should be pretty apparent by now: I’m a sucker for 60s pop. This is only the fifth entry here, and the third one to feature an AM Gold track from 40 years ago. I can appreciate almost any genre of music (except rap and country, lolz), but nothing gets my attention quite like lush orchestration, tight vocal harmonies, and complex musicianship; and The Free Design have no shortage of any of that. Now that the bias is exposed, I feel I should say that I’m not just going to focus on any song found on your grandparents’ favorite station; Herb Alpert was good and all, but I don’t think I could say come up with more than three sentences about him, let alone a few paragraphs. “I Found Love,” on the other hand, has something to it.

The first thing that grabs my attention about it is that it’s a love song to love. Never is there a mention of someone else. Who’d the Dedrick siblings fall in love with? Which one fell in love, even? It’s impossible to say, because they’re not as concerned with that aspect as they are with the feelings that are associated with love: the giddiness, the excitement, the sense of adventure and awakening. Perhaps I’m forgetting something obvious, but I can’t think of any other love songs to love. The best I can come up with are songs about looking for love (like Brenda Lee’s “I Want To Be Wanted”). Even “All You Need Is Love” is more didactic than celebratory. By not naming a subject, The Free Design succeed in describing something universal. It’s innocent and genuine, but more than anything else, it’s sincere; I find it hard to critique the song as being sappy or overly twee because it broadcasts such honesty.

I once had a conversation with Travis Morrison while he was selling merch after a Dismemberment Plan concert. He told me that he had just been to an exhibition of Norman Rockwell’s work in DC, and that with all of that work collected in one place, he got a sense that Norman Rockwell was trying to cheer up America throughout the Depression and the wars. He then asked me if I was going to buy anything, and I quickly made an excuse about needing to use the bathroom. My point is, when it comes to shitty years, 1968 was no slouch: The Viet Nam war was raging, Dr. King and Robert Kennedy were assassinated, race relations were tenuous, The Cincinnati Bengals were formed. Things were touchy for Chris Dedrick, The Free Design’s principal songwriter, too: his cousin was killed in action in Viet Nam and his career wasn’t progressing. I don’t want to speculate on Dedrick’s actual motivations behind “I Found Love”, but an interesting reading of it, much like the Rockwell interpretation, is that it’s an attempt to cheer up himself and the country. It’s a song to remind everyone of better times. The lack of a human subject is a way of suggesting that it doesn’t matter who or what you love, as long as you love. That’s gotta be better than rioting, or at the very least, playing football in Ohio.

Youtube Link: The Free Design - I Found Love

Armand Van Helden - "I Want Your Soul" (2007)

In Dan Savage’s book, The Kid, there’s a scene where he and his partner are about to set off across the country, and Dan puts in a Björk CD. Immediately, his partner groans about how pointless it is to listen to dance music outside of a club. I can’t help but think that his partner’s a bit of a musical moron (can you imagine actually dancing to most Björk songs in a club?), but I used to agree with the general sentiment: listening to music designed to make you dance seems silly when you’re stuck in a chair. Perhaps I should mention the fact that when I thought that way, my concept of dance music didn’t extend far beyond the Venga Boys. It still doesn’t make sense to me to listen to the Venga Boys outside of a club, but it no longer makes sense to listen to them inside a club, either. Most other dance music, though, has been challenging pop’s ground in an interesting way.

See, back in the day, I was a “serious” fan of “serious” music. I liked pop, and I liked artistic statements in music. Dance music had its place, but it wasn’t art: it was hedonistic, good-timey music. I had my head too far up my ass to appreciate the irony. Pop music, of course, has hedonism down to a science: you’ve got the hook, and then whatever verse is concocted to make people miss said hook. Sometimes, if that’s not enough, a pre-chorus and bridge are thrown in to fool listeners into thinking that it’s time for the chorus when it’s still a good 10 seconds away. Musicians can be as eloquent, erudite, and engaging as humanly possible, but if they deviate too far from this form, or if they don’t have a catchy enough chorus, no one will care about them (see also: Momus).

Armand Van Helden understands this better than most of us ever will. “I Want Your Soul” follows the format perfectly and does so with such economy that it’s astounding. The song is essentially based around a ten second sample of Siedah Garrett’s “Do You Want It Right Now?”. Armand takes little more than those ten seconds and crafts a three-and-a-half-minute dance track that includes an intro, verse, chorus and a bridge and sounds as engrossing as any standard pop song. What’s amazing is not only that he’s able to craft so much out of so little without sounding repetitive, but also that when you go back and listen to Garrett’s original, it ends up sounding lengthy and bloated. I don’t care about her prechorus or verse: I just want her to tell me that she wants me so, damn it, and that’s where Armand gets it right. Check it out for yourself: listen to both, and see which would be more fun on a cross-country drive with your same-sex partner to pick up your newly-adopted child. I can almost guarantee that even Savage’s partner would choose the dance music here.

Youtube Link: Armand Van Helden - I Want Your Soul

Youtube Link: Siedah Garrett - Do You Want It Right Now?

Lio - "You Go To My Head" (1980)

Sorry, readers, for missing an update during the busy holiday season. I know how hard it must have been when you realized an update wasn’t coming: after slaving in the kitchen for hours, the meatloaf had gone cold and I hadn’t even bothered to call and say there wouldn’t be a new song review. It was inconsiderate, but I’ve got an entry that will make up for that: the Belgian pop sensation of 1980, Lio.

At a quick glance, Lio’s catalogue seems rife with frivolous throwaways. The songs on her debut address such crucial topics as banana splits, baby vampires, and Speedy Gonzales, but in the tradition of bubblegum pop, there’s a lot of depth to her music. Like the Monkees and many others before her, her silly songs are backed by an impressive roster of songwriters: her first two albums were produced by Telex and Sparks, respectively. And while most of Premier Album, her debut, may be about teenage nonsense, “You Go To My Head” demonstrates a maturity that belies its context on the album.

Before I go on about how amazing this track is, I want to speak for a second about word painting. Word painting is, basically, the art of using music to mirror the emotions or imagery set forward by the lyrics in a song. The example I always think up is Prince’s “Joy in Repetition.” In the song’s narrative, the subject goes to a nightclub, is entranced by the singer, and pulls her off the stage and out the side door to get to know her better. As they head out, it starts to rain; in fact, the line is, “In the alley over by the curb he said tell me what's your name / she only said the words again and it started to rain.” At the end of the line, Prince overdubs himself and adds backing vocals that say “Rain, rain, rain…” The back-ups are meant to further the image of the rain starting to fall, drop by drop. See? Word painting can be as easy as that. Though the compositional technique is almost as old as the concept of setting words to music, it’s hardly used today in an application more complex than making a sad song minor and slow and the happy songs major and fast.

I bring this up because “You Go To My Head” is an amazing example of word painting. Though the music doesn’t underscore the words as precisely as the Prince example, there’s clearly a great deal of thought about the meaning of the song and the emotions behind the lyrics. The song is about the uncomfortable act of falling in love with someone who might not reciprocate your feelings, and the lyrics oscillate between describing the excitement of this new, positive feeling and chiding the narrator for getting caught up in what’s likely to be a hopeless situation. The reverb-drenched keyboards approximate the drunken feeling of stumbling into love, while the throbbing bass provides a sinister anchor to underscore the haunting sensation described in the opening line. Most songs about love only address the positive or negative, but Haven Gillespie’s lyrics remind us that amidst the pleasurable feelings, love, especially when unrequited, can be frustrating if you can’t get your mind off the other person. Telex amplifies this theme with the juxtaposition of these two keyboard lines. As the song progresses, they continue to explore the emotional dissonance by layering a lush orchestra (vaguely reminiscent of the Sinatra version) over the synths, combining the organic with the inorganic.

It’s easier for Telex’s musical take to stand out to a listener than it is for Lio’s vocals. Why? Well, most musical performances of this song in the past have been quite standard and a bit bland, acting only as a vehicle for classic vocal performers. The interpretations have been left up to, say, Sinatra or Billie Holiday or Ella Fitzgerald or any other master of song of the 20^th century that performed this song. It’s possible that Telex upped their game on this track, realizing that they were putting Lio in a position of direct comparison to these greats. Lio couldn’t possibly top her predecessors, so the music really had to shine.

If Lio had no chance of topping the likes of Ella, it’s not for lack of trying. She delivers an interesting and unique take on the lyrics, delivering them as plainly as possible. Her voice sounds matter-of-fact, and not giddy, as she runs through the emotions her object of desire’s making her feel. The chorus of “I say to myself / ‘Get a hold of yourself! / Can’t you see that it never can be?’” makes it apparent that she’s trying to force herself to get over this guy. The only emotion in the song is during the bridge; she sounds positively delighted as she sings “Though I’m certain that this heart of mine / hasn’t a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance.” It’s ironic, and feels as if she’s knows that she’s kidding herself.

As it stands, Lio’s catalog doesn’t seem to be in print in the US. Hopefully, the trendy resurrection of Italo and other synth-heavy music from the 80s might force America to unearth this gem and allow it to shine within the canon of intelligent bubblegum pop.

YouTube Link: Lio - You Go To My Head

The Beach Boys - "Why Do Fools Fall In Love?" (1964)

It’s way too easy to overlook this Beach Boys track. It was recorded for the first of four Beach Boys albums released in 1964 and was handily overshadowed by the genius of Pet Sounds and the SMiLE sessions. It even gets lost among the other tracks on Shut Down, Vol. II. How can it compete against songs like “Don’t Worry, Baby” or “The Warmth of The Sun”? Who would think that such a powerful song would be wedged between such middle of the album filler as “This Car of Mine” and “Pom Pom Playgirl”? All these factors may make “Why Do Fools Fall In Love?” easy to overlook, but you’d be cheating yourself if you didn’t give it a solid listen.

The production immediately grabs you. It’s no secret that Brian Wilson’s production style was heavily informed by the work of Phil Spector, but this song sounds so close, it’s almost plagiarism. You can tell from the highly reverberated snare hit that kick starts the song that this is a direct descendant of the wall of sound. If that isn’t enough to convince you, the jangling tambourine and rolling acoustic guitars should change your opinion.

All of this is not to say that the song is derivative, though; on the contrary, Wilson plays with the format that Spector perfected. Tradition dictates that after the second verse, some awful Baritone Sax has to take over with an unnecessary solo. Wilson correctly thought it would be wiser to bury the horns in the mix. The listener’s left hanging for a good three measures, wondering why the song feels so empty, when the Beach Boys suddenly jump back in with their famous five-part harmonies. They even add a slight key modulation not found in Frankie Lymon’s original, for an added bonus.

The Beach Boys, like most other bands from the early 60s, had their share of missteps. Their covers of 50s hits songs like “Do You Wanna Dance?” and “Louie, Louie” immediately spring to mind as perfect examples. At face value, this might look like it’s cut from the same mold as those two, but don’t be...well...fooled – “Why Do Fools Fall In Love?” presents the Beach Boys on the verge of something big, taking their influence from the past and synthesizing it with the sound of the present to make the music destined to shape the future of pop.

Youtube Link: The Beach Boys - Why Do Fools Fall In Love?

Chad and Jeremy - "I'm In Love Again" (1965)

When it comes to creepy songs, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to. What mainstream songs pass for creepy these days? ICP? R. Kelly? That’s absolutely nothing compared to Gary Pucket or Serge Gainsbourg. Even the wholesome artists of yore naively slipped into darker territory every now and then: Stevie Wonder comes off as a stalker on My Cherie Amour (“In a cafe or sometimes on a crowded street / I've been near you, but you never notice me.”) and Brian Wilson sounds a tad incestuous when giving advice to his sister’s boyfriend on “Don’t Hurt My Little Sister” (“Why don’t you love her / like her big brother?”).

But Pucket’s pedophilia or Stevie’s stalking doesn’t really compare to the ironically or otherwise accidentally disturbing songs from the 60s. Usually, these are AM Gold tracks by artists like Sergio Mendes or The Association. These are tracks so sincere that they sound as if the artist’s trying to slip you a sonic love knife. Hollywood’s used such songs to add an edge to a number of big budget horror movies (off the top of my head, 1408 borrows “We’ve Only Just Begun” by the Carpenters and Final Destination 3 uses The Vogues’ “Turn Around, Look At Me”), but the songs don’t need a scary atmosphere to do the trick. Case in point? Within seconds of playing Chad and Jeremy’s “I’m In Love Again” for a friend, he immediately shot me a confused look and said, “You know this is psycho killer music, right?”

The song seems innocuous enough. It’s a warm, 60s pop ballad about love. Sure, these gents are a bit melodramatic at times, but most songs from this era are, yeah? The thing that rubs me the wrong way about this song is the diction. They openly admit they “can’t help [themselves],” and the delivery on “Can’t you see / I’m more than just a friend” sounds as if they’re trying too hard to convince this girl that she should love them. I see it as the kid in sweatpants that sat behind you in Chemistry class who told you that marriage was in your future after you let him borrow a sheet of paper. The lines “Never mind / the other girls I left behind / One look at you, and now I find / I can’t live without you” seems a bit ominous, too. Are you picturing a pile of murdered ex-girlfriends piled up in Jeremy Clyde’s basement? Maybe I’m alone on that one.

I’d be lying if I said my only appreciation of the song was based around this offbeat interpretation of the lyrics. There’s a reason that this group had a string of hits in the early 60’s: they’ve got amazing voices backed by Chad Stuart’s brilliant arrangements.

Also, they truly understand how to shape a pop song. There are a number of elements (the strings, horns, acoustic guitar, drums, vocals), and each is given its moment to shine without having to struggle to get your attention. The guitar run at 1:01 is a perfect example: it’s squeezed into a tight little space just at the end of the verse, but it doesn’t sound forced or thrown away. It’s a wonderful display of musicianship that helps to calm the song down from the almost bombastic chorus to the sedated verse.

So is this song the next Catcher In The Rye? Will this song end up on the iPods of future high-profile assassins? I hope that this song doesn’t actually become the stuff of psycho killing, but if it does, I’ll have to commend those killers for having such good musical taste.

YouTube Link: Chad And Jeremy - I'm In Love Again