#293. Black Metallic by Catherine Wheel

From the album Ferment (Fontana, 1992)

It is endlessly fun to point out the fact that Rob Dickinson of Catherine Wheel and Bruce Dickinson of Iron Maiden are brothers.  Both of them elected to name their respective bands after medieval torture devices.  However, a Catherine Wheel is also a pin-wheel firework, suggesting a duality of meaning.   Death and torture, brightness and joy.  Catherine Wheel songs seem to straddle this line.  Iron Maiden does not.  Iron Maiden, elderstatemen of “demonic heavy metal” is just comic book death and murder, usually stupid, and maybe fun at times.  And that’s one fast bass player, which is admirable.

 So what’s it like when Bruce and Rob (each pictured above) get together and jam at family gatherings or what have you?  Do they argue?  Does Rob roll his eyes and or humour Bruce’s head-banging and overwrought metal vocals?  It kind of reminds me of Spielberg teaming up with Lucus.  Spielberg is a genius and Lucas peddles pap, and hence we are insulted with Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, or whatever that abomination was called.

[I just youtubed a few Maiden videos to check back on my memories.  I have not listened to a Maiden song in eons.  I can totally see why my 14 year old self might be attracted to this, which is exactly why it is so bad to listen to today.  Mayhem! Demons!  Dripping Blood!  ARRRGGHH!  How ridiculous. I feel comforted knowing that I was also listening to The Clash and The The, and that I never actually purchased metal records]

Rob Dickinson and Catherine Wheel were a serious band.  Maybe too serious.  And they were co-leaders of the poorly named shoegaze movement in the early 90s that produced some transcendental music (cf. My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Ride, etc.).  The song that broke them in North America, #293 on the Top 500, is “Black Metallic”. 

This is a seven minute epic of a song, quintessential of the genre with soft, dreamy vocals over top of quiet droning guitar ruminations alternating with blasts of technicolored, walls of sound.  Whatever Dickinson is singing about is made profound by a delivery that alternates the subtle with the mammoth – it comes at you in big, relentless waves, and threatens to take you away.  But I don’t know what he’s singing about.  Dickinson has said it’s about a car, which is disappointing but also makes little lyrical sense, except for the chorus.  I hope he is fucking with us.  I prefer to believe he is singing about a person that is sealed up emotionally.  Impenetrable. Can't get under that skin sort of idea.  Just feels more refined and artistic than a car reference.

 

My own personal Catherine Wheel story is one of disappointment.  The band was slated to appear at a small hall at the University of Guelph.  This was surreal.  The idea of exotic British artists touring little towns in Southwestern Ontario was strange, but somehow Catherine Wheel were coming.  (This also happened with a double bill of The Jazz Butcher and Blue Aeroplanes, which was a fabulous night because we snuck back stage and met Pat Fish and the very weird Blue Aeroplanes singer.  I also fell off the end of a couch, because I was so loaded, which was embarrassing).  Until of course they cancelled.  Apparently they were not treated well and decided to bail.  I was rather devastated and I have never seen them live.  Black Metallic remains up there as one of the best songs I could have, but did not, witness live. 

Classical Angst and the Top 500

The Top 500 is under attack from an indignant (albeit devil's advocate) classical front.  Well, not a front, really - a couple of people who have noted the conspicuous absence of classical music from the list.  I have to decide whether or not to capitulate or fight on.  I think a bit of both.

What goes without saying will now be said:  The Top 500 is obviously circumscribed by the songs I have actually heard in my lifetime.  This is the main reason why the list is thin on classical (and jazz).  Much of my lack of exposure is self-directed and I have my reasons, but classical was also absent in the home from the get-go.  My family was extremely musical -- my Dad was an accomplished guitarist and recording engineer and my mom a genuine Canadian singing star in the late 50's.  But their niches were not classical.  Dad liked country and a bit of jazz and my mom sang pre-rock pop standards (and now likes that sort of smooth jazz, easy listening of Diana Krall and Norah Jones).

My Mom, Jean Hames, on the right.  The other two lovely ladies are my Aunts, Norma and Majorie.  This album is now rare Canadiana.  Best song: "Fantasy".  The rest isn't really my cup of tea. 

My exposure to classical was thus limited to strings class  (I can remember Pachebel's "Canon in D" and the theme to Excalibur. Does the song "Fumble Fingers" count as "classical"?  Denise Silverstone, help me out here).  So it is with a certain degree of shame and low-brow embarrassment that I acknowledge my rather pedestrian knowledge of the classical genre.  What I am familiar with now is mostly through cultural osmosis and movies.

So why not dispense with classical music all together?  Why not circumvent the problem by throwing out the few songs that are of the classical ilk [and freeing up some much needed space] and calling the list...um...calling the list....shit.  What the hell would it I call it?  As soon as a genre is removed wholesale, some sort of caveat or definitional decision must be made, no?  Top 500 Rock Songs?  Sorry, that just will not work.   This is all beside the point, anyway.  I summarily refuse to exclude Ennio Morricone's "Gabriel's Oboe" from my Top 500 list in order to make the list....cleaner? 

This is rubbing people the wrong way.  The presence of "Gabriel's Oboe", Paul Pott's "Time to Say Goodbye", and Vince Guauraldi's "Linus and Lucy" alerts the reader to breadth of this list -- any song can qualify.  OF COURSE any song can qualify, as these are my favorite songs.  I have also said elsewhere that the Top 500 is composed of THE best songs and I intend to convince you of this fact.  I'm lying of course, as we all know that this is a bullshit proposition.  But its quite fun to make this assertion, and to do so means I'm in trouble with the classical contingent (let's forget similar consternation from the jazz people for awhile, shall we)

So then...where is Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky....?  How can I possibly not include some of these on the Top 500?  A friend, Mike Hotta, put it this way after I noted that Beethoven said, in reference to the popularity of Moonlight Sonata, "Surely, I've written better things".

The omission of even one classical piece has to be based on taste, as this is an "All Time Best of" list, no? As Beethoven commented above, wouldn't he be equally aghast that none of his "better" compositions made the cut (I can picture him in some majestic rehearsal space, throwing large piles of sheet music up in the air, after reading the final 500th spot and not seeing his name)? And based solely on your criteria, shouldn't Moonlight Sonata, or even a Luciano Pavarotti (or an equivalent operatic performance) eclipse Paul Potts (one of a few sore spots on your list)?

The Top 500 is not a list of the most important songs...if it were, we would see greater attention to the history of music and certainly a lot more of the classical, jazz, blues, and other early pop music forms.  This discussion has been well done elsewhere and although I am know a lot about music, I am no musicologist..  Historical importance fits into my criteria as mentioned in another piece but much more is required for a song to reach Top 500 glory.  

[As for Pavarotti versus Potts, yes, of course, Luciano eats Paul for breakfast.  But the song in question is "Time to Say Goodbye" not "Nessun Dorma" which is a fabulous song, but lying outside the list.  I do not know if Pavorotti has ever sung "Time to Say Goodbye" but I do prefer the Potts version over Bocelli/Brightman].

So if the list is not populated by the most important songs and is necessarily limited to what I have actually heard, then the pool of inclusion is shallow indeed.  What am I left with?...the detritus of many brilliant classical works completely degraded, destroyed, and hopelessly tainted by superficial pop culture associations.  I went through the Top 100 of the most well known classical compositions of all time (according to someone like me who likes classical) and recognized all but one. (I am also suspicious that beyond this list I doubt I know that much more, and none by name).  What was distressing is that pretty much all the pieces have been ruined for me and it is completely impossible to discern if I ever would have liked these songs in the first place.  Classical music, due its age, is in the public domain.  Anyone can use it.  Here are the Top 25 and their usually unfortunate associations (click to enlarge).  Go to http://www.kickassclassical.com/classical-music-popular-famous-best-top-100-list.html to listen to clips.

Almost all of these songs are rich, complex motifs representing compositional and melodic genius -- and I hate them.  DESPISE them.  Because this art has not been protected.  It has been exploited in the worst way and the result is ruination.  I could put Vivaldi's "Spring" over top of video of me shaving my back and no one could apply any sort of copyright to stop me (don't worry, I won't.  Probably won't). 

So, within this shallow pool, what are my favorite classical songs? Here are two Top 5 lists, divided into classic classical (pre-1940s) and modern classical (all thereafter).


Top 5 Classic Classical Songs

1. "Ode to Joy" - Beethoven, favorite version conducted by Andre Rieu, live in Tuscany, with soprano Carmen Monarca, mezzo-soprano Carla Malfioletti, who fucking blow my mind.  I tend to hate the more common male German voicings, which are too low, and weird. And ridiculous.  The Nagano Olympics version was also great.  But I really have a soft spot for the bluegrass version from the Raising Arizona soundtrack and Wendy Carlos' psychotic synth version from A Clockwork Orange.
2. "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" - Strauss, best known for it's pairing with 2001: A Space Odyssey (Herbert von Karajan with the Vienna Philharmonic).  I think this might be my 2nd all-time favorite matching of music to cinema, where the profundity of the scene is fully represented in the music - a sunrise in space, the dawn of tool use and weaponry (#1 is "The Host of Seraphim" by Dead Can Dance in the film Baraka -- a scene that breaks my heart into little crumbly pieces).This "song" is actually the first minute and a half of a 30 minute piece of work.  Strauss has been reduced to a sound bite.  But understandably.... this simple combination of rising notes and percussion sounds like the birth of the world, wondrous and terrible.  Or, it reminds me of that Rogers commercial where the hapless dude can't acquire a cellular signal.
3. "Cello Suite #1 in G Major" by Bach.  Reminds me, not negatively, of The Hunger and David Bowie.  Intricate and austere solo cello piece that almost loses its itself on the way to crescendo.
4. "Flower Duet" by Delibes.  So, if I can get the cream cheese commercial or whatever it is out of my mind, this is a beautiful and almost teasing little operatic piece.  I have to focus to wash away the elitist, Victorian image baggage, but when I can, it is crushingly pretty.  I assume it's about flowers.  I don't want to know what the lyrics are.
5. "O Fortuna" by Carl Orff.  From Camina Burana, an opera that is not that old (circa 1936).  This one remains in the Top 5, but has been losing ground because of that fucking Rickard's Red commercial.  This piece capture, dramatizes, and romanticizes warfare or other sublime moments of violence and/or triumph like no other song.  If I had this song playing on my Ipod, I could probably defeat 10 Orcs in hand to hand combat.  Not much more than 10 though.

But the fact of the matter is....none of the Top 5 Classic Classical make it into the Top 500.  Ode to Joy would have been close...very close...but sorry Ludwig, no cigar.

Top 5 Modern Classical Songs:

1. The Host of Seraphim - Dead Can Dance
2. Gabriel's Oboe - Ennio Morricone 
3. Time to Say Goodbye - Paul Potts
4. Lullaby - George Winston
5. Prelude for Time Feelers - Eluvium

I guess...I guess these are my Top 5 "modern classical" songs.  But I'm not sure I know or care what that definition is.  Classical traditions, tropes, structures, instrumentation....all these things have been absorbed by the rock/pop and post-rock genres.  And this is why it is ridiculous to conclude "I am not a fan of classical music".  I most certainly am.  I am not a fan, it would seem, of a genre category circumscribed and jealously guarded by its contemporary high-brow proponents.  

Elements of classical thread through so much of what I listen to...from straight up orchestral pop structures of the Beatles, Spiritualized, and Arcade Fire to the minimalist drones and sequences  of Godspeed! You Black Emperor,  Brian Eno, and Sigur Ros (inspired by alt-classical composers Glenn Branca, LaMonte Young, Phillip Glass, Steve Reich, etc).  

I am suspicious that there is a massive amount of neo-classical that I would love and have missed.  One day, I will get there.

#2 "I Believe (When I Fall In Love It Will Be Forever)" VS "I Just Called to Say I Love You"

I feel a bit sheepish saying that "High Fidelity" is one of my all-time favorite movies (and my favorite book) because that's terribly predictable and about a million record geeks have said the same thing. But it speaks to us (I had to force myself to say "us"). Technically, its my SECOND favorite movie, as first place is reserved for Brazil. If we remove apocalyptic sci-fi black comedies from the running, High Fidelity comes out on top.

The movie has special relevance to my #2 selection of the Top 500.  Our battered protagonist, Rob Gordon (Fleming in the book), has reconciled with is girlfriend and is making a mixed tape for (a tradition of romantic communication):

"I started to make a tape, in my head, for Laura. Full of stuff she'd like.  Full of stuff that would make her happy.  For the first time I can sorta see how that's done"

....and then the record button is pressed, the volume pumps up, Rob fades out of our lives, replaced by the verse-to-chorus glory of "I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever)".  Maybe the best chorus ever penned and performed for a love song.  Its not without a significant amount of embarrassment that I admit that I did not become fully cognizant of how great a song this was until High Fidelity.  I will avoid details of my relationship to early disco/soul/funk artists, other than to say it came much later in my life.  I do not like this song because it appears in my 2nd favorite movie, or because I want to be like Rob Gordon (even if I am like him) -- I love it because it is hands down one of the best love songs ever recorded.  Admittedly, it was also well placed in the film. 

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[Sidebar: Evidence that I don't have an artificial and pathetic need to emulate Rob Gordon...

In the movie (actually in a deleted scene) he was asked to select his Top 5 records of all time. This, of course tormented him.  A larger list of candidates were anxiously thrown about.  Actual songs named in these discussions included:

• Sin City - The Flying Burrito Brothers
• New Rose -The Damned
• Hit It and Quit It - Funkadelic
• Shipbuilding - Elvis Costello
• Mystery Train - Elvis Presley
• Spaced Cowboy - Sly and the Family Stone
  
• Summertime Blues - Blue Cheer
• The Upsetter - Lee "Scratch" Perry
• Let's Get it On - Marvin Gaye
• Bill Withers - Grandma's Hands
• Sound and Vision - David Bowie
• Omaha - Moby Grape
• Dancing Barefoot - Patti Smith
• Me and Baby Brother - War
• Dirty Water - The Standells

Of this list of 15 songs exactly ONE is on my list (at #97, "New Rose" by The Damned).  In fact, in addition to New Rose, I only have 4 other songs from Rob's list represented in my personal collection. 

**Whoever picks the correct four will get a free MP3 DVD of the entire Top 500 mailed to them as a prize.

Clearly there is a strange lack of overlap with my taste and fictional Rob's, at least as it applies to his all-time favorites.  This is disconcerting in one sense, and comforting in another.  But I am getting off topic.  End sidebar.
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The inclusion of "I Believe" to play out the end scene and credits is an important counterpoint and maybe a conciliatory apology to Stevie Wonder.  (Note:  you know how upon introducing a person in journalism, it is then safe to use their last name when referring to them?  It doesn't work -- or doesn't feel comfortable -- in this case.  I can't call Stevie Wonder merely "Wonder".  It's weird).  Rob is putting this song on Laura's tape and we know his personality is NOT such that he can include a song that he himself does not find brilliant in some way.  He will not, for example, include a Simple Minds song ("the #1 band to be shot in the coming musical revolution") merely because she would appreciate it.  The intent in this scene is that he is incorporating her tastes, rather than expecting (demanding, almost) that she enjoy old Chess Records blues singles.  In addition to the narrative closure that this scene provides, the screenplay also exonerates Stevie Wonder for a crime perpetrated in the 80s and recounted earlier in the movie.



I completely empathize with Barry the indie snob in this scene, although I think he is a total asshole about it and he needs his ass kicked (in this fictional universe).  But let's repeat his concern:

"Rob, top five musical crimes perpetrated by Stevie Wonder in the '80s and '90s. Go. Sub-question: is it in fact unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins; is it better to burn out than to fade away?"
 

I wanted to put forth my (fundamental and all-encompassing) distaste for "I Just Called To Say I loved You", although a quick scan of the web will show that this has been done before.  It's been done before because High Fidelity popularized the sentiment to a broad constituency of indie snobs. I googled the song title along with “crap” and received a tremendous amount of blog hits where contributors reigned against the tune as a horrible moment in pop music history. In fact, the widespread critical panning of the song goes back to the days of its release and exemplifies those instances where popular and critical opinion are separated by a mysterious, nonsensical chasm of taste.

And here I thought Nick Hornby was being unique and insightful. To my surprise, Barry’s sentiments had been well articulated long before his verbal abuse of that hapless “middle-aged square”. The now-classic scene precipitated an avalanche of parroting by arm-chair taste critics.

I’m going to be another parrot. But I have a slightly different intent (slightly). I wish to examine Barry’s presupposition more directly: 

Stevie Wonder: “Once Great Artist” as represented by “I Believe (When I Fall In Love It Will Be Forever)”

Versus

Stevie Wonder: “Latter Day Sinner” as represented by “I Just Called to Say I Love You”

I have this great need to articulate the differences because recently a friend (it’s you, Sherry McGee) expressed mild disgust (or at least confusion) at my all time #2 selection, “I Believe” . The implication was that “I Believe” was hokey, syrupy, and lame, which is what I think of  “I Just Called”.  I admit, I immediately got my back up. My argument at the time was thin and unformed -- something like “I Believe” is fucking awesome and “I Just Called” is total garbage. This ate away at me a little bit afterward. I had not heard “I Just Called” for about a decade (I’m guessing). They are both mid-tempo love songs by the same artist. How different could they be? More importantly, how different must they be to warrant one being my SECOND FAVORITE SONG OF ALL TIME and the other responsible for rising bile, spitting, and full-on musical hatred?

[We interrupt this program for a quick list consultation. I had a quick look at my Top 500 just now to see if there are any other examples of this “once great, now shit” chasm. Of course, every band has its share of clunkers (U2 and the Stones have a lot to answer for)....but this is not about comparing great early songs to mediocre later songs. This is about comparing an absolutely amazing song to another song of the same artist that runs completely counter to the artistic integrity of said artist – the result being so fundamentally divergent that one can only shake their head in disbelief. I could find no examples that were as “chasmic” (note this neologism – this should be a word.  It is heretofore copyrighted by me) as the Stevie Wonder case study. In fact I had to go all they way down the Top 500 to #168 “Only Son” by Liz Phair before finding anything remotely similar. Liz Phair was the intelligent indie sexpot of the late 90s. She wrote great, incisive pop songs and her indie cred was unassailable. Suddenly, in 2005, Miss Phair has decided to reinvent herself as some sort of late 30s Avril Lavigne. The song "Extraordinary" is the case in point. STILL...the change from Only Son to "Extraordinary" is NOTHING compared to the difference between the two Stevie songs under consideration]

Let's examine them, shall we:

First, "I Just Called".  The video might be too biasing, and in fact serves as another fine reason to abhor the song, because he sings into a phone.  Close your eyes.  Drink it in.  Try not to hurl on your keyboard:



Okay...sorry if that ruined your mood, or in some cases, your entire day.  If you like the song, you should probably move on to another website, perhaps something to do with crafts or crocheting.  Now, let's move back in time, roughly a decade, and compare Stevie's 80's sin to another love song:



As far as pop songs go, I think that "I Believe" is a profoundly moving and authentic piece of work. When I like a song, I often (carelessly, perhaps) throw the term "authenticity" around as a counterpoint to opposing terms, such as "formulaic", "derivative", "banal", or "pile of shit".  None of these terms reference any objective or otherwise sensory characteristics of the song in question.  On the contrary, calling a song "soulful" (a useful synonym for authentic) or calling a song "cheesy" or "lame" is not referring to any directly apprehendable quality but to the emotional impact on the listener.  This is an endemic problem of any art criticism.  I might find a painting "transcendent" but saying so has no clear relationship to colour composition, subject matter or even to the symbolic meaning that might be derived from the image.  In other words, talking about why a song is "good" is difficult work because it is laborious -- it takes some time to make the interpretive connections between a song's sonic qualities and constituent parts with meaning and history and context and....yeah, all that.  That's why so many people don't bother and are happy to just feel it.  I can't say I blame them.  Why intellectualize something that touches your soul?

Because inquiring minds want to fucking know.  How could Stevie Wonder create joyous, glorious, perfect pop in 1972 and then follow up in 1984 with such an abomination?  But that's not the real question at all, is it?  The real question is Why do I believe that "I Believe" is a great song and why do I believe that "I Just Called" is a terrible song.  And in answering that question I am learning something about music (and aligning myself with record snobs like the fictional Barry, and distancing myself from the pop masses, i.e., the gazillions of people who bought and fawned over "I Just Called to Say I Love You").


[Sidebar, dear reader and listener:  This second, I am listening to the song  "What Would I Want? Sky" by Animal Collective and I think you should all go out and get this song, and play it, and love it, and become enraptured by the simplicity of a single flower, and maybe crab walk for the rest of the day, and......yeah.]

Let's get ready to ramble...the lyrical comparison

I want to start by saying that the lyrical component of these two songs are not as important as you might think (click to enlarge lyrics).  In fact, if you somehow were able switch the lyrics of each song to the music of the other, "I Just Called" would be drastically improved by the music and "I Believe" would still be awful, but not quite as awful as before, because the lyrics help the cause.

[Curious observation:  The stanzas could TOTALLY be exchanged in terms of rhythm, meter, and phrasing - there are only minor differences due to the number of syllables.  This makes our comparison even more urgent.  These songs are essentially structured the same way...yet differ fundamentally]

The lyrical differences, however, are obvious.  "I Just Called" is bloated with superficial sentiment.  "I Believe" is also sentimental, but with a narrative that runs much deeper.  The latter's lyrics are not profound (Stevie is no Leonard Cohen) but sweetly dignified.  You know, as opposed to nauseating.

Forget the verses of both songs, all you need to know is embedded in the choruses:

I believe when I fall in love with you it will be forever
I believe when I fall in love this time it will be forever

vs.

I just called to say I love you
I just called to say how much I cared
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it (wait for it) from the bottom of my heart

"I Just Called" suffers from a soul destroying mundanity.  Interestingly, it is the mundanity of life that Stevie hopes to spruce up with his...his "IDEA".  Just call someone, any old day, and say you love them.  Why?  Because its sweet and unexpected.  This is the sort of shit that makes mothers swoon and spinsters slow dance with their Swiffers.  This is the Cosby Show ethos.  Observe:



The studio audience goes wild.  Have you ever witnessed  someone - a friend, let's say - call someone else "just to say I love you?"  I have too.  Its annoying and embarrassing.  Mostly.  Unless you're really over-the-top fucked up in love, in which case I say it's okay.  But Stevie Wonder wants to promote this as best practices in relationships, all relationships, all the time.  This is a picture of life enshrined in a mass produced Hallmark Card.

"I Believe" on the other hand is dramatic.  This song tells the story of individual who has loved and lost, who is alone, set adrift, who exhibits a mournful emptiness.  But there is vindication, there is deliverance from darkness, there is HOPE.  And this is the hope we place in love, in the newness...THIS TIME, I have it right, I BELIEVE!!  This song is about salvation.  (Unfortunately (for me) Stevie takes salvation a bit far and starts talking about God, but never mind that).  All this works because the lyrics are supported and driven by some fine songwriting and sonic decisions.

I just called to say I'm singing a really bad song

I would just like to make the quick observation that Stevie Wonder sounds WAYYYY better when there's a bit of angst in his voice -- a bit of loss followed by a bit of redemption.  Have you heard "Big Brother?".  Stevie is singing about some serious socio-economic, political shit.  And it works.  There is passion.  There is no passion present in "I Just Called" - I could get more worked up over a tepid bowl of oatmeal.  In "I Believe", Stevie wears his pain, and then his redemption, on his sleeve.  But the power comes from the six or so vocal parts that coalesce as the outro of the song.  This is a full-on celebration here and the listener believes, believes, believes, as the vocal lines feed and bounce off each other. I'm inspired every time (and its been a lot of times).


Synthetic beats, 80's Synths, and that annoying Cha Cha Cha

So, no, its not necessary to deconstruct all the specific machinations of both songs.  But there are some clear points of divergence that help crystallize the lame-awesome divide.  One is the bass.  The bass in "I Just Called" starts as a beautiful drone to undergird the darkness of the first verse, but when the song kicks into the chorus the bass up-scales to bright funk-bass notes that jog alongside Stevie's vocals.  That sound!!  That 70's funk bass sound kills me every time!.  We're so used to it chugging along inside an upbeat danceable rhythm but in this case its all mid-tempo and thick and resonant and bouyant -- like you could lie across the notes and they'd keep you afloat and carry you to your lover.  I'm fucking serious, stop laughing at me.

Go back now and listen to "I Just Called".  I don't even have to go back, I can just switch on my old Kawai 1985 Electronic Keyboard, select "Mersey Beat", and hit the autochord feature.  This gives me THE EXACT bass rhythm and chord progression as Stevie.  This is deeply disturbing.

Stevie also does not use his gorgeous grand piano sound or his funkadelic Moog synthesizers -- he is using something else, and that something else is embarrassing -- its thin, and chimy and is about as soulful as a vacuum cleaner.  To add egregious insult to devastating injury, Stevie uses the dreaded "Cha Cha Cha" device to end the song, where a triplet chord is snugly fit into two beats.  Listen - you know what I mean. This is exactly what canned synthesizer rhythms are programmed to do when you push the "end" or "finish" or "shoot me in head" button.

This is what I mean by authenticity - or lack thereof.  And I don't really fault Stevie Wonder.  The man has enough cred  from the 60s and 70s to carry him to his deathbed as far as I am concerned.  Something strange happened in the 80s, and Stevie was not the only victim. There was a new technology as analog moved to digital and as MIDI became an accepted way to generate sounds.  The new sounds of the day were novel and exciting and different.  This is why Howard Jones or the Thompson Twins were taken semi-seriously for exactly 3 years.  Because they were on the dull cutting edge of 80's sound generation.

People discovered pretty quick (somehow...it's very mysterious) that these synthetic sounds lacked something.  The sounds were thin and invariant.  There was no natural resonance, no analog warmth, no....intimacy.  Now I would say that this is fine for certain types of songs.  It worked for Depeche Mode, or Devo, or Blancmange, because those bands were not about intimacy, they were about detachment and distance and fabrication.  Stevie, however, was a soul singer.  Match a soul singer with clear, untouched (non-experimental, unironic) synthesizer tones of an 80's pedigree and you have the ULTIMATE shallow and prefabricated pop song -- the perfect recipe for superficiality, the antithesis of authenticity.  Stevie didn't mean to do it!  The equipment was new.  It all seemed like innovation (or at least keeping up with the times).  He wasn't the only one, either.  "Jump" by Van Halen tells a similar story.

These synthesizer tones also have the unfortunate by-product of clearly dating a song to an era -- its like aural carbon dating that is accurate within 1.5 years.  "That keyboard sound...that sounds about 1984".  And what do we remember from the 80s?  Well that depends on who you ask, but I remember pastels, blazers, REALLY bad hair, and egocentric excesses of the silliest type.  This was the "me generation".  It was also probably the worst decade of music.  This unwelcome imagery makes "I Just Called" all the more insufferable.

"I Believe" in contrast was classically constructed.  In addition to the fabulous bass tone you have the rich piano lead and reverbed/flanged electric guitar providing all sorts of lovely harmonics.  The drums are understated, but the eighth note "tak tak tak tak" throughout the chorus separates it from the verses and brings an energy that matches the redemptive sentiment.  Or something.  I can't say enough about it, really.

So what did I learn?  Something about lyrics, vocal execution, sonics and production driving authenticity.  As in the above conversation.  I have to stop now because this has forced me to listen to "I Just Called" far too many times than is recommended.  Luckily, I have also listened "I Believe" many, many times to write this, which helped cleanse me as I was dirtied.  In fact, I was afraid that the two songs, so close together on my stereo, might annihilate one another.

Okay, I promise future points won't be so drawn out -- got a little crazy this time.

New Besnard Lakes! A Top 500 endorsement

I knew this would happen. The list is fully established and then I am tormented by new music that arrives at my ears. It is not my intention to turn this blog into a new music review depot, but occasionally I'll have to. In the present case, for example, the Besnard Lakes have put out a new single which totally kills and (I fear) may eventually top the existing 'Lakes song on the list: #436 "For Agent 13".

Download it here:
Besnard Lakes - Albatross

Viewer Mail - "More than a feeling?"

I've been getting some very welcome feedback on the blog and a recent exchange was worth repeating. I've narrowed the "Mike" in question down to two people. I decided I don't have to know which one it is to reply.

Mike said...

This is truly astounding Jay. I have always considered myself as very "into music" and fairly opinionated on the topic but your undertaking here has left me feeling like a exclusively top 40 radio listener. It's actually a bit intimidating. I feel like anyone who has gone to this much effort must A)care more about music than I do and B)have a more informed opinion than I do. Probably true on both counts (although music is huge part of my life).

I can't help feel though that there is something a bit "wrong" about the whole enterprise. I like your example of the Bob Dylan/Corey Hart issue. It is true that I feel that some music is much much better than other music. I think though that the operative word here is "feel". I either like something or I don't and I think it is much more of a feeling than a decision. This feeling is based on a number of factors but how I judge the song is based on the feeling, not the factors. It's a reaction to it, whether it pumps me up, brings me down, makes me think about or remember something or all those things at once. You may even say it's "More Than a Feeling". Something indescribable. That is what makes music beautiful. It's mostly unquantifiable for me. I just don't know if the "goodness" of a song is something that one can have any kind of sensible argument about. I think you would agree that a song is much much more than the sum of it's parts (as is a band)so breaking it down into its constituent virtues doesn't capture it for me. It's the reason I don't read record reviews very carefully and the reason I don't spend much time thinking about what it is I like about a painting. I either like it or I don't and I think that should be enough.

Don't get me wrong it's not that I don't care that much. I just think that it is a unbelievably difficult endeavor to have an argument that can come anywhere close to resolution about THE top 500 songs, but I guess that is not the point. I suspect that it is not the destination you are interested in but the journey. Journey is on the list somewhere right? Anyway, like I said kudos for the undertaking man. Truly impressive. I'll be interested to read the witty exchanges that are sure to ensue.

My reply...

Jay said...

I have no illusions about the hopelessness of the endeavour. You're absolutely right, the joy is in the journey not the destination. At the end of the day nothing definitive can actually be said (although, goddammit, a lot of good arguments will be tabled) -- but the fun is in the trying. As Elvis Costello once said, "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture". My response to that is, "Yes, YES! Let me see you dance about architecture and we will see what we can learn!". I also think that this...this "thing" I got going on is a combined consequence of....

1. a personality type: the "collector", a need for conceptual order
2. my training as a social scientist, researcher, and appreciative inquirer
3. the object under study: the passion and love for music itself
   

Re: quantifying music. I am giving rough proportions of what is important to me in a song, and percentages seemed the most transparent way to do that. But within the categories it is purely qualitative judgment and the categories interact in qualitative ways. This comprises "the feel", which I also have, of course. My goal is to articulate these things. I want to examine the feeling. I get tired of calling something "authentic" and something else "cliched and insipid", and not really being able to say why. And the reason why I have a need to articulate these things is something I find very difficult to escape (whereas other people don't give a shit). It is simply this: I am CERTAIN that London Calling is a "better album" than Green Day's Dookie. And so are you! You ARE! So...why? WHY? WHY? You may not care to answer that with anything other than "its just a feeling I get". But that's simply not good enough for me.

PS. Journey did not make the list. Do you want to know why?

What’s in a List? Musings on the Top 500 Song Criteria...

For a long time I fantasized (is that too strong a word?) about having an authoritative Top 500 list. I am not sure why now, in 2010, the time was right. Maybe it has to do with a certain birthday I just had. Maybe I finally felt confident (i.e., arrogant) enough in my perspective on the world of music that I was ready to engage in the most difficult and complex ranking exercise I have ever undertaken. Initially the idea was Top 1000, but my wife suggested that I was avoiding the hardest decisions. My critical pride could not weather this position and I conceded that a Top 500 list was more honorable.

I have been asked on several occasions to describe what my criteria are for song inclusion. I cannot say I had the time or inclination to apply any sort of formal ranking equation. See John Sellers’ fairly interesting book Perfect From Now On, for a bonafide equation to quantify the relative awesomeness of bands. Perhaps it should be done for songs as well. In any case, an intuitive process has been occurring in my head. And this process is paramount for proper defense of and debate about the Top 500. In other words, I am not proclaiming this list to merely be “My Top 500 favorite songs”. I am proclaiming this list as a candidate list for “THE Top 500 Best Songs”. Not that a proclamation such as this could ever be “ratified” as true (this is, after all, a tongue-in-cheek proposition)…but I will give you my reasons, and loudly so.

Let’s examine this a bit more. A friend suggested that a list like this cannot “fail”, it cannot be wrong, because it is MY list of favorite songs. A song is highly rated because I said so, because I love it, end of story. I vigorously challenge this intepretation. I did not construct a mammoth Top 500 list only to defend it with purely relativist arguments about art. Because to concede this position is to suggest that the Beatles can be equated with the Backstreet Boys.

[Note: Some VJ asswipe on MuchMusic ACTUALLY made this comparison in an interview with the Backstreet Boys. Or at least suggested, without a tinge of irony, that people were making such comparsions and that this was reasonable. If I hate the Backstreet Boys for one reason, it is because the lead jackass Boy who was responding DIDN’T say “Are your out of your mind? The Beatles? Please don’t embarrass yourself”. No, without a shred of self-consciousness, he neither accepted or denied this comparison, which essentially allowed its validity]

“But everyone is entitled to their opinion!”

There is not a more detestable sentiment, in my mind. Not because it is untrue – everyone IS entitled to their opinion, as we are free (generally) to say whatever the fuck we want. It is detestable because it is used as a warrant to make an argument that the opinion in question should be at least equally valued and, horrifyingly, “respected”. The “my opinion” argument is a lazy strategy to participate in debate without having anything to say. If this criticism sounds elitist, it’s because it IS elitist. Which I don’t mind in the least. I didn’t spend my entire life immersed in the immense beauty and vast world of music to have some hosebag lumber in with the opinion that “Van Halen rules”.

["They totally rule, man! They ROCK! They kick the ASS of the fag music you listen to. What is that band…Joy Divison? That’s shit. That’s not music. HALEN is music, dude"]

Subjectivity is in the details. If your favorite song on Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde is “Visions of Johanna” and mine is “Just Like a Woman”, there is a very little information available that could aid us in discerning “who is right”, and nor should we try – we can happily agree to disagree. However, if you proclaim that Corey Hart is a better artist than Bob Dylan then I will argue the point. The fact that your preference for Corey Hart’s crybaby rock balladry is based on your own opinion will not save you. You are entitled to your opinion, but that doesn’t mean your opinion is an informed and defensible one. Now of course I am not suggesting that taste can be somehow objectively legislated – Corey Hart lovers can happily lap up his pabulum all they like. But if you are going to engage in any sort of argument about “relative worth” or “merit” then you better have more to go on than your mere unregulated opinion.

The Top 500 Ranking Criteria – A Recipe for Aural Goodness

And so here I have 8 criteria that help my muddled brain sift through the reasons why a song is great, Top 500 worthy, and better than other songs that are also quite good. The percentages are rough weightings.

1. Overall Sense of Awesomeness – 25%
2. Melody and Hookiness – 25%
3. Vocal Execution – 15%
4. Sonics & Production – 10%
5. Lyrical Quality – 10%
6. Autobiographical Import - 10%
7. Historical Import – 5%
8. Uniqueness – up to +5% innovation bonus.

1. Overall Sense of Awesomeness

While all criteria are necessarily subjective, this one is especially so, because I am not attaching it to any specific dimension. If I tend to listen to a song a lot, especially over time, if I know it intimately, if it appears over and over on mixes for friends, and so on, it has a high level of awesomeness. These are the intangible, intuitive perceptions of a song. When I get backed into a corner about comparing a song I love to a song that I love less, this criterion may be applied. This is why, for example, I can happily select a #1 song that scarcely anyone has heard before.

2. Melody and Hookiness

This element is the most important song dimension. You would think it would go without saying, but it must be said. To me, a song survives or dies based on its melody and that intangible quality called “catchiness”. Songs suck because they have low melodic character. The centrality of melody is the main explanation of why I have a general dislike of rap and hip hop, many forms of jazz, and many forms of classical (this will be elaborated in another posting, at some point). All this said, melody alone rarely wins the day because several of the other criteria can completely compromise a good melody. The best songs in the world sung by Whitney Houston or Celine Dion quickly become awful loads of shit. What exactly constitutes a “good melody” is a mystery of the art. I’m not sure we’ll ever quite know, even if we can identify a few compelling devices that can be used to great melodic effect (e.g. a prolonged delay in resolving a chord progression, a rising key change coming out of bridge, etc.).

3. Vocal Execution

Vocal execution can make or break a song. Somehow, when vocal approaches become recycled recipes for pop stardom, I land on the side of dislike. I question myself all the time if I am being an elitist outsider. Am I disliking a vocal because the masses love it? I can’t be. My reaction is visceral and automatically negative when I hear vocals of modern alternative, 80s heavy metal, overwrought pop balladry, and twangy new country. The fact that these pop categories sell millions of records is not my problem. So does Radiohead, and Thom Yorke’s vocal execution, within the band’s oeuvre, is transcendent.

To use an example, I am of the opinion that Celine Dion is objectively terrible because her communicated vocal intent is so saccharine, so insipid, so overwrought, that she loses all artistic credibility. It’s like telling someone you love them with a recycled Hallmark card – its cliched emotional larceny, and it should be stopped. To say I hate Celine Dion’s voice, however, is a complicated position to take, since she obviously sings in tune and can belt out a song like nobody’s business. She is techically expert. She also makes me want to stab ice picks into my ear drums. This criterion is not about “vocal talent” but execution, which is remarkably different. Execution refers to style and emotional intent, rather than professionally developed talent that returns the same genre category regardless of who is emoting. This is, essentially, the difference between the raw beauty of unestablished folk music and the commodified, formulaic singing we find in American Idol.

It’s the difference between Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel (above) and, say, Michael Buble. Mangum has an authenticity in his vocal execution that is so alarmingly personal and powerful that it makes Buble embarrassing to even acknowledge. It does not matter that Mangum is sometimes flat, and sometimes can’t hit the high notes. In fact, the high end vocal cracks add to the fragile emotional character. It’s the difference between Becky Stark of Lavender Diamond (above, at right) – who is technically wobbly at times but who can bring me to tears – and Beyonce, who can sing, but bores me with her warmed over pap.

4. Sonics and production

Sonic decisions – decisions about sound, instrumentation, arrangements – must be tormenting for some artists. As a musician myself, being confronted with 10x10 (100) MIDI synthesizer options or guitar effects can be downright paralyzing. Some artists stick to a recipe of sound that defines them, which is comforting (if sometimes limiting). For example, Elliot Brood sticks to the two guitars, banjo, and a basic drum set up, ensuring a consistent flow of dark cowpunk anthems. Others embrace electicism, like the Flaming Lips and Yo La Tengo, which translates into cross-genre hopping and diverse sonic outcomes. Whether under a directive of consistency or eclecticism, these decisions are crucial. Deciding to transmit the backdrop melody via a vibraphone or steel drum has drastically different sonic consequences than doing so via electric guitar or hammond organ. Great bands make great decisions, and the Top 500 represent the best of these decisions. You need only listen to the array of inferior cover versions of your favorite songs for this point to sink in.

Production is another facet of sonic decisions, but is more fundamental. Production decisions may subsume many sonic decisions but they are also concerned with the overall Gestalt of the song. A great song with great sonic decisions, fabulous melody and vocal execution, etc., can still be compromised by ill-advised production and mastering decisions. A favorite example is the “Phil Spector-ing” of The Beatles’ Let it Be – classical string and choral additives made “Across the Universe” a very different song for the final mix. Some argue that Spector ruined it. I’m undecided, but what a different feel the song has on the untouched Past Masters!

The question for the Top 500 is, what constitutes superior sonics and production, all other elements assumed equal? This is a pretty personalized thing…I suppose I feel that there are extreme, oversized examples where its alllllll wronngggg – comprised of mostly Top 40 radio. But then within the parameters of more flexible and independent music it is highly subjective. For example, I think we should all agree that Creed and Nickelback have a consistent sonic and production quality that is extremely tired and featureless – we should all reject the sound as unredeeming and lame. But then if you find a particular Sufjan Stevens song a little too neo-classical and busy, well, that’s your issue and I don’t care to quibble with you. I also won’t mind if you find Times New Viking too fuzzy and abrasive. They are, and its not for everyone. Fucking love it though.


5. Lyrical quality

I have a strange relationship with lyrics. The impact of lyrics on how much I like song is like an elongated “U” distribution, seen below (please click to enlarge):

For the most part, lyrics that are approaching good or approaching bad do not have much an impact on the extent to which I like or dislike a song. I can be fairly indifferent (represented, predictably, by the “Zone of Lyrical Indifference” in the graphic). Only once lyrics start to become “Great” do they really figure into the equation. Conversely, lyrics that approach “Awful” can begin to totally fuck a song. For example, when I was a teen I remember initially liking “Sky Pilot” by The Animals. Then I started to pay attention to some of the lyrics. Eric Burdon, a legend to most classic rockers, has the lyrical aptitude of a fourth grader. Here is a cardinal sin: never, EVER, rhyme “cry” with “die” (or “sigh”), unless you're Morrissey.

He smiles at the young soldiers
Tells them its all right
He knows of their fear in the forthcoming fight
Soon there'll be blood and many will die
Mothers and fathers, back home they will cry
Sky pilot.....sky pilot
How high can you fly?
You'll never, never, never reach the sky

The “Mothers and fathers, back home they will cry” line has Yoda-esque syntax, obviously constructed to get that crucial “die” rhyme down along to the end of the stanza. It’s embarrassing, and the lyrical impotence of this anti-war song otherwise destroyed a fairly good melody.

Conversely, the song “Suzanne” by Leonard Cohen is so rich with metaphor I am still discovering meanings in it 20 years later. The song itself is understated, with a basic acoustic guitar line and an anachronistic (but lovely) 60’s backing vocal. The melody is wonderful, but I wonder where this song would sit in the Top 500 without the lyrical wonder. Suzanne is #10 on my all-time list, and as represented in the graph, when a song has astounding (“sublime”) lyrics, the overall liking function grows exponentially. Here’s the second stanza:

And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

Entire doctoral dissertations could be written around these lines.

In any case, I think intentionality also plays a role in my appraisal of lyrics.  The Doors wrote poor lyrics because Morrison fancied himself a mystical sage or something and his profundity fell short 95% of the time.  If he stuck to "Light My Fire" type lyrics, I wouldn't begrudge him a thing and the Doors would probably fall in my Zone of Lyrical Indifference.  Camper Van Beethoven do not suffer in the least for writing about skinheads and dogs flying away to the moon.  There are no grandiose intentions and so there is no need to make judgments against them.  That's why pop love songs are so often abhorrent...love should be profound or at least clever, but too much has been said about it, and we are forced to endure lyrical oatmeal.  But when you aim for transcendence and attain it?  The lyrics become the epicenter -- a half decent melody will often mean a superior song.

Incidentally, here are my Top 5 lyricists:

1. Billy Bragg
2. Matt Johnston (The The)
3. John Darnielle (The Mountain Goats)
4. Leonard Cohen
5. Stephen Merritt (Magnetic Fields)

Autobiographical Import

There are certain songs that were playing during critical times in my life, songs that are so inseparable from me and from my identity, that I have absolutely no hope of stepping outside of them and judging their merit. This is more than just being “too close” to a song. This about the song having intermixed with your DNA somehow -- you are genetically altered to respond to it. Interestingly, this need not suggest that the songs in question are your favorite songs. Rather, it is merely the case that a song is so autobiographically important, so essential to your person, that it is artificially improved in your estimation, even if that improvement doesn't translate into "favorite song" status.  Armageddon by Prism comes to mind or that ridiculous song by Aldo Nova ("Fantasy"?). These are bad songs made tolerable and occasionally enjoyable by nostalgia. On my critieria, they'd get high Autobiographical Import points, but not much else.

There are some songs that would stand on their own regardless – “Uncertain Smile” by The The is autobiographically crucial to me, which makes me love it all the more. But I think I know that it is a good song regardless.

Sometimes a song can exist as a favorite even though you are fairly certain you would otherwise hate it (or be indifferent to it) if you were to hear it today for the first time. My quintessential example is “Riverboat Fantasy” by David Wilcox. This style of bluesy frat-rock is abhorrent to me. Wilcox is a dolt and his kind of stuff is tripe. But I fucking love "Riverboat Fantasy", because it was playing all the time (to my consternation) on our dorm floor in first year university. This was a great year, a wonderful time of my life. Fond, fond memories have been encoded in the song, which I had internalized despite myself. I hear the song the way Wilcox intended – with carefree abandon. Hell, yeah! "Riverboat Fantasy" did not make the Top 500 on the grounds that if I removed it from my biography, I would actively dislike it. Another example is the theme song “Free To Be You and Me” by Marlo Thomas– a nostalgia trip every time.

I should mention that autobiographical effects can sometimes work in the other direction. I might be inclined to reject a song that I would otherwise like because of its place in my own history. I’m looking at you, “Stairway to Heaven”. Historical Import (described below), of which Stairway to Heaven has buckets, is always trumped by Autobiographical Import.

Historical Import

There are some songs that deserve added consideration because of their place in the pantheon of rock music. There are a number of examples that moved up the ranks for this reason. “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who, “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen, “Let it Be” by the Beatles and “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd were all initially placed lower than their final positions. Why? Because I completed the list, looked at it, and then became uncomfortable or even disgusted with how poorly I treated these Rock MONOLITHS. How could “Won’t Get Fooled Again” not get into the Top 50? Similar to Autobiographical Import, it is hard to separate the song from historical context -- suddenly the song has historical “rights” that one is required to respect.

I experienced Historical Import most profoundly when I was deciding how to represent The Byrds. The Byrds were an important band – the words jingle and jangle would be less potent without them. But the Byrds can also be accused of standing on the shoulders of giants. Many of their hits were reworkings of other luminaries – the filching from Dylan was legendary. As I poured over my favorite Byrds songs, I felt only one would need representing and I landed on “Turn! Turn! Turn!” This song, originating from Pete Seeger, is so engrained in popular 60’s counterculture, so iconic, epic even, that there was no other choice. I flirted with

 “Eight Miles High” and “Chimes of Freedom”, but they are pale comparators to this giant of a song. Now, of course I love the soaring harmonies of this gem, of course I do, but it is the Historical Import that pushes the song into Top 500 contention. Because frankly I find the sentiment of the song itself (filched not from Dylan but from Ecclesiastes 3:1) to be silly, trite, and possibly offensive. There is a time for hate! When is that, King Solomon!? When is that Pete Seeger!? I suppose it doesn’t matter when Roger McGuinn, David Crosby, and Gene Clark are weaving their harmonies.


Uniqueness

I pay attention to innovation, to experimentation, to songs that challenge the listener in some way. If this is done in the pop format and does not sacrifice other criteria, this makes a song stand above the overly crowded pop landscape. For example, the sonic/production of Animal Collective are trailblazing a whole new genre and this translates into a high level of Uniqueness, making them one of my Top 5 bands of the new millenium. Some recent examples of envelope-pushing in the pop format are the Dirty Projectors and Dan Deacon.

Okay, stay tuned till next time when I answer a question posed by Barry from High Fidelity.

The Top 500 List and the Problem with the Beatles

Back in the 1980s, hockey pools – those competitions to see who could draft the best fantasy hockey team – were required to institute some variation on the “Wayne Gretzky Rule”. Wayne Gretzky was so skilled, so fundamentally superior, he was either removed as a draftee or he was severely handicapped (e.g., -80 points) so as to give the other teams a fighting chance. Wayne Gretzky, if included in competition and not handicapped, would almost certainly guarantee a victory.




This notion of handicapping needed to be applied in some fashion to the Greatest Band of All Time – The Beatles – when creating the Top 500 list. The Beatles are terribly problematic when creating pretty much any sort of popular music Top List that encompasses their phenomenal, improbable run from 1963 to 1970.

All lists are inaccurate or at least disingenuous when it comes to art. Think of the best albums of all time, your absolute favorites in your point of view. Let’s say The Clash London Calling, 1979. If I was honest, I would say my Top 10 list for 1979 would have to include the following as contenders:

• London Calling
• Spanish Bombs
• Clampdown
• Rudie Can’t Fail
• Guns of Brixton
• Death or Glory
• Revolution Rock
• The Card Cheat
• Train in Vain

Pink Floyd The Wall, however, would be fighting for some contention with “Comfortably Numb”, “Nobody Home” and “Mother”. The Boomtown Rats' “Someone’s Looking at You” and “I Don’t Like Mondays” would be vying for spots. Single entries from The Damned (“Love Song”), XTC (“Life Begins at the Hop”), Supertramp (“The Logical Song”), The Specials (“A Message to You Rudy”), and Led Zeppelin (“Fool in the Rain”) would deserve consideration. Neil Young’s “Pocohontas” would enter in the Top 3.

But if I was completely honest, at least SIX songs would be from London Calling. What kind of list is that? A “Top 10 Songs of the Year” list that has one band responsible for over half of the songs is boring, featureless, and banal – it paints the author as not a fan of music, but a fan of a particular band. How can one critique such a list? What if an individual did a Top 10 list for the year 1983 and it was dominated by Def Leppard’s Pyromania? I would say “you, bad-haired Sir, are a Def Leppard fan, and I feel sorry for you, and why did I waste my time even glancing at your pathetic list”. London Calling is surely a better album, but an “All London Calling” Top 10 list would be indefensible in much the same way. But if this pyromaniac list maker only included “Photograph” and “Rock of Ages”, but ALSO included REM’s “Radio Free Europe”, something from the Violent Femmes and U2’s War, and maybe some Tears for Fears, then we would have a bonafide LIST – that is to say, we would have a critically defensible list that denotes “thoughtful music fan” (not that a list from 1983 must include these entries...mine would, but some sort of variation is the point). Variety is indeed the spice of life.

(Note: a diehard, true-blue Def Leppard fan is the type of person who would eat the bones of a Tears for Fears fan out of principle. People who adore Def Leppard – sorry I can’t say “adore”, that is unmasculine – people who fucking dig Def Leppard, who think they “rule”, usually aren’t music fans. At least as far as I can tell).

The Beatles were so powerful a musical entity that they created serious trouble for the construction of the Top 500. In a mere seven years, they OWNED the kingdom of music. The talent was irrepressible, their vision unsurpassed. They trail-blazed modern recording and experimentation, they defined mulitple genres and were prescient of many more. They could produce a number one hit that was as complex as a symphony, yet as catchy as nursery rhyme. Too much has been written about them, I will say no more.

The Beatles needed to be handicapped somehow. Initially I instituted a general rule that no band in the list would be given more than five spots total. One exception is Swervedriver – not the greatest band in the world, but my most favorite, a distinction which in itself deserves an essay. Swervedriver was given as many spots as intuitively necessary, which turned out to be nine songs. The Beatles were not given an exception. This was an awful mistake.

In my initial run, I gave the Beatles FOUR songs. FOUR! These four were, as I understood it in my head at the time, my most sacred and personal Beatles songs. They were:

#8. Dear Prudence
#52 Here Comes the Sun
#108 Blackbird
#429 Tomorrow Never Knows.

To all music fans, I apologize for this atrocious decision. My handicap was unjust. I came to this conclusion when I listened to the remastered box set, beginning to end. This remastering job is more than exceptional. It is the greatest sonic restoration in the history of our modern music age. It is like having John Lennon on your lap with Ringo boinking you on the head like a floor tom. Wow. Crazy.

This of course led me to listen to the entire catalogue, beginning to end. I suddenly realized that I indeed needed to handicap the Beatles, but not to this ridiculous extent. I had thrown out too many crucial pieces of the cannon. If I was to be truly honest about how the Beatles should fit into the Top 500, they would probably garner about 80 songs. I’m not kidding – 80 songs would deserve serious consideration and quite easily bump an equivalent number of other artists/songs from the list. As I listened, I was horrified to acknowledge that I dismissed “A Day in the Life” and “Let it Be”. What was I, some kind of complete idiot? AM I ARGUING THAT “Happy Hour” by The Housemartins, is a BETTER SONG THAN “Let it Be”? I should have been fined, perhaps flogged, for such indiscretion.

However, my Top 500 was already created, and so many valuable, worthy songs had already been screened out. What could I afford to include while not sacrificing diversity – all those singularly fabulous songs that made the initial grade? The eventual outcome was nine songs (tying Swervedriver) accorded to the Beatles:

#8. Dear Prudence
#20. Let It Be
#34. A Day in the Life
#54. Here Comes the Sun
#63. Hey Jude
#111. Blackbird
#150. Strawberry Fields Forever.
#212. You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away
#434. Tomorrow Never Knows

While I knew my Top 500 was not a truly honest (i.e., accurate) one, this reconsideration of the Beatles laid the issue bare. When it came down to positioning the new entries, I realized that two of the new ones were higher than three of the initial four. This does not reflect well on my methods – you would assume that initially rejected songs should land in the 400-hundreds range upon reintroduction. Nope. "Let It Be" is so classic, so obviously foundational to the history of popular music, that it deserved "All-Time Top 20" status. "A Day in the Life" was not far behind. "Tomorrow Never Knows" was beaten out by all the new entries, yet it was one of the initial inclusions, which makes little sense. It was fairly devastating to exclude “I Am the Walrus”, “Norwegian Wood” and “Lucy in the Sky”. But it had to be done.

Why? There is a lesson in all this. My methodology (if we can call this subjective process by such a term of rigor) is flawed. But it is only flawed in that it forces diversity. Yes, I know the Beatles catalogue exemplied diversity in its own right, but there is still a need for diversity of other artists and their songs. Because without such diversity you lose beauty and history and the vicissitudes of genre formation and reformation. You would fail to capture the fullness of the landscape under question. This is why I really enjoy special installations of historically important painters at an Art Gallery, yet always drift to the general collection to get some much needed variety. Really, does anyone have party and exclusively play the Beatles all night? You might, if it was a special, Beatles-themed party, but generally not. Why not? Everyone loves the Beatles, right? Yes, they do (and if you don’t like the Beatles, you are strange and problematic creature). But Beatles domination cannot stand, as domination generally cannot.

For my part, I am happy to give up the “I Am the Walrus” so that I can include Stereolab, Ladybug Transistor, and School of Seven Bells. None of these bands are even close to the Beatles’ level influence…but they have some damn fine songs, Top 500-worthy songs. To have them snowed under by the Giganticism of the Beatles would be a shame really.

Nine songs will have to do. I think the Beatles would agree.

Postcript:

My all time Top 20 Beatles songs are as follows:

1. Dear Prudence
2. Let It Be
3. A Day in the Life
4. Here Comes the Sun
5. Hey Jude
6. Blackbird
7. Strawberry Fields Forever
8. You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away
9. Tomorrow Never Knows
10. I Am the Walrus
11. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
12. Norwegian Wood
13. It's All Too Much
14. We Can Work It Out
15. With A Little Help From My Friends
16. Yesterday
17. All You Need Is Love
18. Ticket to Ride
19. Two of Us
20. Martha My Dear

The fact that #10 to #20 are not in the Top 500 is tragically necessary.

Favorite band that maybe I don't like....

Question:  What artist has the curious, possibly dubious, distinction of being responsible for the most albums in my collection WITHOUT having any representation whatsoever in the Top 500?  And...why?

I first thought about this upon ordering the the song representation by artist and seeing how well this matched my personal intuitions about my "favorite bands".  The analysis showed an excellent degree of alignment.  "Most Songs" - truly an honor in the Top 500 canon - go to:

• Swervedriver - 9 songs
• The Beatles - 9 songs
• The Clash - 7 songs
• REM - 7 songs
• U2 - 6 songs
• Pink Floyd - 6 songs
• Radiohead - 4 songs
• Arcade Fire, Led Zeppelin, Mercury Rev, Nick Drake, Simon & Garfunkel, Smashing Pumpkins, The Smiths - all at 4 songs each.

Swervedriver, Beatles, the Clash, REM, U2....yes it all makes sense...these are my most loved and cherished artists, and roughly in that order....even though U2 betrayed me to mediocrity many years ago.

I was a little surprised by Pink Floyd because it is very rare that I like a Pink Floyd album beginning to end. The Wall is the exception.  Rabid Floyders will cry a river about Darkside, but whatever -- yes it's great, but it never should have received the timeless accolades that it did.  I will never understand.  Radiohead and Zeppelin seem low to me, and I feel like an injustice has been done to them somehow.

What is also slightly surprising is how mainstream all these bands are (with Swervedriver as the one exception) - provided one is at least slightly aware of indie rock history in addition to regular rock radio.  I thought I was a little more obscure than this.  There might be a lesson here -- the greatest bands in rock history, from the point of view of the masses, are actually quite amazing, according to me.  Who would have guessed?

But then I started looking at my record collection.  It was difficult to miss the fact that I own 13 albums, EPs, and singles by Belle and Sebastian, but could only squeeze in one paltry song in the Top 500 (#396 "The Boy with the Arab Strap").  I love Belle and Sebastian!  Don't I?

So I looked again and asked the question:  From what artist do I own the most records with no Top 500 representation?

I have the answer.  I own 6 albums by the second-wave Elephant Six act and fuzzy psych-folkers, Elf Power.   Elf Power is like the JK Simmons of my music collection.  They are ubiquitous, usually pleasing and at least serviceable in their roles, but nothing to lose your mind over.

You know what it is, though?  I saw Elf Power open for the Olivia Tremor Control at the Horseshoe in Toronto and picked up their handmade, limited edition covers Ep Come On from their merch table.  When I got home I discovered there was no CD inside.  I called their label and they were gruff about it.  A band member eventually emailed me and said they would send out a replacement.  It never came.   I think I have negative feelings for them on a subconscious level for this reason, because they not only fucked me out of a record I paid for, they fucked me out of a rare, limited edition record.

Why did I keep buying Elf Power records?  Maybe I was looking for a band to replace the irreplaceable Neutral Milk Hotel.  Maybe I thought all E6 bands had that potential.  I kept buying the albums and I kept liking them alright.  But in retrospect, six is just too much.  And I should have seven.

Here. Have a listen to Elf Power.  They're great, almost, in an uninspiring sort of way. Although not Top 500 material.

#427. Duel by Swervedriver

From the album album Mezcal Head (Creation, 1993).

Let’s get something straight first. Swervedriver is my all-time favorite band, somehow taking over the 18 year reign of the Clash circa the new millenium. When I inform people of this, I usually get a “huh?” type reaction. “Who? SCREWdriver?” Most people believe I’m listening to some difficult, pummeling thrash outfit AND that I am picking them as my favorite band in order to be an esoteric ass with a perceived detachment from the mainstream (I might actually represent that descriptor at times, but that’s not why Swervedriver is my #1).

Okay, so, to those people who are presumptuous about my motivations, and suggest I am being a holier-than-thou indie snob: Shut it. Swervedriver is my favorite band because they earned the position. They worked their way (slowly and steadily I might add) into the heart of my musical consciousness over a period of ten years and took a firm, unshakeable hold over the musical crown. I suppose if Arcade Fire put out two new albums and a SLEW of EPs and singles with superior b-sides --- well, maybe they could challenge the title in 5 years, provided Swervedriver stay defunct. There are a total of nine Swervedriver songs on the Top 500 list, tying The Beatles and more than The Clash, REM, U2...so you know I’m serious.

So this is about Duel. Duel represented the commercial apex of Swervedriver and some would say the artistic apex as well. This is a matter of debate. Swervedriver fans are the most devoted I have ever seen, and also some of the coolest, nicest people you will ever have the pleasure of knowing. They also tend to disagree on the favorite album question. I would, however, suggest that the majority of Swervedriver fans place Mezcal Head as the “best” Swervedriver album, where it all came together into glorious triumph of swirling, psychedelic 90’s rock. (Incidently, I’m in the clear minority, favoring 99th Dream. This is upsetting to some people).

Duel was the first single off the album and got the band its first serious airplay, at a time when bad 80's metal had mutated into the 90’s grunge that took mainstream radio by storm. Radio didn’t know what the hell to do with all these bands that suddenly appeared on major labels and many dutifully switched formats as the dollar signs appeared. The labels themselves floundered about looking to sign the next big thing – akin to dragging a 10 mile-wide net through the ocean. Swervedriver were on the respectable, higher-end British indie label Creation (housing acts such as My Bloody Valentine, Ride, the Boo Radleys and, later, Oasis), and a subsequent deal with A&M gave them North American distribution, supported by tours with the Smashing Pumpkins and Soundgarden.

I provide all this early 90s context because, in retrospect, Duel stands out above so many of the admittedly great songs that came out in the early 90s. Put Duel up against radio hits of the time, like “Alive” by Pearl Jam, “Nearly Lost You” by Screaming Trees, or anything by Soundgarden or Alice in Chains – there is palpable difference. There is a complicated interplay between the guitars of vocalist Adam Franklin and his right-hand man, Jimmy Hartridge,that moves beyond sounds typical of “grunge”. Maybe its just one more step removed from the hard rock riff-based roots of some bands (like Soundgarden); but also removed from the sonic messiness of the more punk oriented outfits (like Mudhoney). Duel has straight up rock-pop chords, but the chorus, bridge, and outro demonstrate the elegance and attention of a calculated, layered psychedelia – it all ends in the soothing wash of seaside waves, backed by the clever call and repeat of Franklin and Hartridge’s guitar lines. There were some gigantic songs in 1993, but those in the hard rock/grunge family feel very dated to that era, and for the worse. Duel does not feel dated at all – it’s as fresh a sound as it ever was right here in 2010.

Other great tracks: I found it very difficult to narrow down my favorite Swervedriver tracks for this list and only Duel ultimately made the cut from Mezcal head. That said, the whole of Mezcal Head, skillfully produced by Alan Moulder, is highly recommended. “MM Abduction”, “Blowin’ Cool” and the epic “Duress” are stand outs.

Next up: Talk about a study in contrasts. Next up is #123. “Carefree Highway” by Canadian folk troubadour, Gordon Lightfoot.