I've been working on this off and on for weeks now, whenever the mood strikes me, writing about songs that make me want to write about them, that just make me want to *write*. Reading Nick Hornby's "Songbook" (thoughtfully purchased for me by Erin) has just made me think about tunes even more. Anyway, here it is. Hope it's not too pretentious. Sorry in advance if it is. I'll probably post more of these at some point.
# Silence Is Easy (Starsailor) Produced by Phil Spector before things went pear shaped, Silence Is Easy is a true stomper, the sort of song that makes a person want to just get up, grab a microphone and belt out a tune. The piano-led spine of the song and the slightly metallic, imperfect yet epic production recall Spector's understated yet effective work on the first couple of John Lennon's solo records. The entire package is nothing short of majestic, and finally allows Starsailor to sound utterly confident and to shed, if only for one song, the notion that they're nothing but professional, hypersensitive mopesters.
# Grace Under Pressure (Elbow) Guy Garvey never fails to sound like Peter Gabriel on sedatives, which is actually an asset, not the coma inducer it sounds like. On this song, he repeatedly intones the same four line stanza, almost as a devotional hymn. Garvey's bandmates weave him an aural bed that's part indie soundcheck, part gospel chorus, and part Brazilian drum group. While it's not as traditionally epic and heart-stopping as my mind had built it up to be when I heard about it pre-release, the song's outro features the crowd at this summer's Glastonbury faintly chanting "we still believe in love, so fuck you" as Elbow lull you into a trance with the interplay of deep rhythms, treated organ, and what sounds like a mellotron misplaying a violin solo. The effect is almost primal -- it's certainly beautiful.
# More Than This (Roxy Music) Why is it that listening to this song inevitably makes me want to listen to it again, and then again and again? Why would I want to listen to Bryan Ferry be middle-aged seductive? Why would I want to listen to that pathetic 4/4 drumbeat so many times? Is Phil Manzanera's guitar in the intro & outro *that* fascinating? Apparently the answers to all of those questions are "because", and "yes". Seriously, by this time, all of the art had vaporized from the Roxy blueprint, leaving the listener with little more than slick, well-written faux-romance. But of course, my saying all of that is just a front. This is a brilliant song, a modern standard if there ever was one. Ferry had been, could be, and would go on to be one smarmy bastard, but on More Than This, he gets the formula just right. It's smooth, it's somehow romantic, and it has some indescribable quality that turns it into pure musical crack.
# She Goes On (Crowded House) Gentle acoustic guitars, a spacious, almost impromptu recording, and the gorgeous harmonizing of the brothers Finn give life to this ode to the passing of an old friend, or perhaps even a lover from decades past. Neil's lyrics are a fitting tribute -- memories of the small yet most important things we remember about people. You, the listener, don't even know the woman in question. But this song will make you choke up like you *did*.
# The Beautiful Occupation (Travis) You have to give Fran Healy credit for this one. He's built a career on writing melancholy, vaguely formless jangle pop. He could've coasted on that for the rest of his life, pumping out another dozen amalgams of "The Man Who" and "The Invisible Band". The Beautiful Occupation trades the requisite introspection for a world view. Sure, this attack on the unjustness of the Iraqi invasion, as well as on domestic and personal complacency towards the same isn't particularly eloquent. In fact, the lyrics are kind of cringe inducing, hamfisted even. But they're sincere. This is a track penned without regard to marketability or really, what anyone else thinks at all. True, the track is musically very strong, featuring trademark Travis jangle giving way to hammering guitars and counterpoint vocals. But the overall effect is easier to admire than to love. But that's alright, because this is Healy's protest, his daring to voice an opinion. The latest Travis LP "12 Memories" is filled with stuff like this -- thoughts on domestic abuse, war & peace, never getting out of your own personal comfort zone, and just plain indecision. It'll likely kill the band's career, for as beautiful as the music is, and as ambitious as the words are, this isn't what people want from their Travis. But it's alright, because I'd rather have one swansong with a band following its heart than a thousand more of just going through the motions.
# The Company (Fish) The man they call Fish was challenged to write a modern drinking song, and this was his result. It's a classic accompaniment to a night of booze, all "raise your glasses", but also stressing the importance of who you keep close, and who remains by your side during good times and especially during bad times. I recall seeing the big guy perform this song in concert, at an out of the way theater in Atlanta nearly four years ago. I remember the sense of community that welled up from the crowd as the song hit its chorus. It struck me how everyone didn't need a drink in hand to recognize the community they were all part of. It was a sublime communal moment, one that I'm not sure I've ever bettered. A few years after that show, I found myself in Scotland, at a converted farmhouse having a drink with one of my best pals and Mr. Fish himself. We sat there drinking red wine, watching the Simpsons on satellite, and talking. I don't mention this to name drop, but instead to say how amazing it was that the man welcomed me into his home, not as a fan (which wasn't really mentioned, incidentally, he didn't remember briefly meeting me in America years prior), but as a weary traveller and in a sense of "any friend of Bill's is a friend of mine". We later went to the pub in the nearby village, where he proceeded to drink me under the table. Talk about hospitality.
