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Classic Album Review: The Queen Is Dead – Smiths [1986, Rough Trade Records]

Posted on November 16, 2010 by Allison in Classic Albums, Music | Leave a comment

After a long self-imposed hiatus that no one appears to have noticed, the Classic Album Review is back, and this week’s is a doozy.

Firstly, I have somewhat conflicted feelings about including this album at all. As a collective album, I am not sure if it has necessarily stood the test of time given my gargantuan initial appraisal (masterpiece, numero uno, and thrillingly deep all came to mind). As a series of fragmented songs, many of them continue to hold up very nicely.

But then, there is the element of “that was then, this is now,” that plagues much of the music and books I enjoyed in my early teens. When you are a teenager, even discounting the fact that being depressed is very much considered en vogue, there is a definitive end all and be all element to everything you experience in art and hold dear to your heart. The Queen Is Dead is pretty much the epitome of such gnawing emotional tsunami, and for better or for worse represents some embarrassing times for me. No wonder I hardly listen to it anymore. It’s like when you remember sobbing uncontrollably to The Joy Luck Club and thinking that was a pinnacle.

That said, there are some gems on here that will always represent the magic of powerhouse songwriting. The album achieves several coveted things in music:

  1. Distinct atmosphere and era – No doubt due to Morrissey’s album cover choices, love of sophisticated 60’s actors, and the general hollow feel. Listening to this again I realize how underrated Mike Joyce’s drumming is.
  2. Powerful storytelling – So many of the songs from this album derive their impact with the skilled simplicity with which the lyrics construct everything. Frankly, Mr. Shankly is still the ultimate letter of resignation. I’ll get onto the others in a moment.
  3. Intrigue and directness – The best songs on the album create a brilliant dual counterintuitive effect: being direct while creating intrigue. When I use words like “simple” and “plain” stories and ideas, this is the ultimate form of praise. (Almost) everyone is striving for clarity; not everyone manages to achieve it. The uncomplicated potency of these songs just makes us want to know more. And yes, I think Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others means exactly what its title implies.
  4. Humanity – I’m hard pressed to think of an album that might parallel The Queen Is Dead in terms of staunch, raw feelings. Even the sunnier-composed songs (Cemetry Gates, The Boy with the Thorn in His Side) carry an anchor-weight to them and considering the number of times I played it in completion from start to finish, uninterrupted, I wonder how much of the joy in the listening experience is distilled from the wonder of feelings, nothing more than feelings. One of the reasons I think The Queen Is Dead resonates so strongly with teenagers is because everything is heightened…after all, hormones make for technicolor emotions.

BEST

  1. I Know It’s Over – An exploration in self-hatred, human fear and loathing. This song really swims in everyone’s greatest fear: loneliness. But at the core of its being is inspirational optimism for how everyone should be striving to live a better life. This song is a shining example of why the Smiths are a wonderful role model for the young and ought not be thought of as a suicide-making machine. Can you really think of a better general message than, “it’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate…it takes guts to be gentle and kind”? With messages like this, it’s amazing to think Morrissey has never been a guest star on Sesame Street.
  2. The Boy with the Thorn in His Side – Probably tied for my favorite song of the album and the strongest demonstration of what Marr, Joyce, and Rourke contributed to the livelihood of the Smiths and live energy. I still find it difficult to listen to this without scream-singing at the absolute top of my lungs because it’s just so damned easy to listen to. One day children, this song will be considered “adult contemporary” and “easy listening.” Mark my words.
  3. There Is a Light That Never Goes Out – Maybe the most memorable in terms of maudlin thoughts and feelings. After all, it’s all about undying, everlasting, over-the-top love. This song could very well have a subtitle of “a million and one painful ways to die while running away,” yet in spite of all its pyrotechnic dramatism, it  somehow works. Probably the most treasured song of my adolescence, bar none.

Also, does anyone else think that that last song is all about a teenage boy coming out of the closet, running away from his gay bashing parents, and meeting his lover on the way? Just sayin’.

Classic Song Review: Move Any Mountain – The Shamen [1990, One Little Indian]

Posted on October 6, 2010 by Allison in Albums, Article Series, Classic Albums, Everything, Music, Reviews | 3 Comments

Every once in awhile, some unidentifiable thing will trigger a sudden memory for me. Whether it be a smell, sound, image, or whatever, it is always completely random, and usually something from childhood. I had one such backflash late on Monday evening as I was perusing YouTube videos and was struck by the following chorus: “I can move, move, move any mountain”. It was kind of like the “burnt toast, I smell burnt toast” Canadian Heritage Minute.

A quick Google search later, and the autocomplete function reveals a whole lot of other people have been remembering this song, too. What was it, and who was it by, anyway? Besides the incredibly catchy chorus, I couldn’t remember much else.

But then I watched this video

…and it all came flooding back to me.

The song is Move Any Mountain, and the group is a techno-infused-acid-house outfit out of the Aberdeen Scotland (Groundskeeper Willie’s hotly disputed place of origin) called The Shamen that spanned throughout the 80’s and 90’s.  Josh informs me that they were one of his favorite bands from back in the day, openly admitting that he has 10+ copies of the En-Tact album (in case of natural disaster, we might presume he would strategically place these in different residences and locations).  As wonderfully cheesy as the video may be (it has it all–a twirling descent of bodies on a dated graphic, kareoke-video-like ocean footage, an appropriately poofy looking duo against scenic mountain backdrops), and as painful as the short rap run-ons might get, Move Any Mountain is still a fantastic song reminding me of the schitzophrenic ranges of highs and lows a song can take you to.

Unfortunately, one half of the creative duo met an untimely demise after heading to Tenerlife Spain to tape the video for Move Any Mountain. I believe it was the guy with the dreads, but am not really sure. They enjoyed some modest success in the U.K., and irregardless of their tragic end, have managed to record some other good tunes in their time and I really enjoyed Possible Worlds. There’s a little Primal Scream, a little bit of Soup Dragons, predating that flash in the pan rock/dance thing with EMF and Jesus Jones. There’s some guilty pleasure in enjoying this stuff I suppose, but despite what some folks may think, I am not a music snob.

Classic Song Review: These Things Happen – Action Painting! [1990, Sarah Records]

Posted on September 27, 2010 by Allison in Article Series, Classic Albums | 1 Comment

I’ve gotten a bit lazy with the full on Classic Album Reviews lately, so today I’m giving you a truncated version by doing a classic song review. I might do this with a few forgotten songs.

Action Painting! was a Sarah Records band coming out of Brighton that is apparently unworthy of even a Wikipedia page. Sarah Records is yet another anomaly demonstrating the superior tastes of the late 80’s U.K., probably best known for being the label that launched The Field Mice. I don’t think that Action Painting! ever released a full-length before disintegrating into mysterious musical spores, but These Things Happen is a residual of my mid-90’s mix tape trading days (Mark’s recent post about the evolution of sound mediums prompted me to remember what a big part of my life these once were). In 1995 and 1996 I had one of those goofy personal Geocities deals where I would talk about band I liked and shows I’d been to (a 15-year precursor to the blogs of today that I think a lot of bored kids imbibed in).

Little did I know, the thirst for taste comradery was rampant. Not just amongst dumb teenagers like myself, but amongst older people too (again, the widespread use of MP3 sharing has changed all that). People started emailing me asking to tape trade, and message boards were full of people wanting to do the same. Making a first mix tape for someone you don’t know is really just a shot in the dark, but after a few rounds, would become a refined exchange. You get a handle and feel for what someone might like, and you’re usually right. It’s a musical pen pal program, and unbeknownst to me at the time, would become have huge impact in shaping my tastes. Maybe it’s because there was more of a “here you go” pretext instead of a hard flog. Action Painting! was on one of these tapes along with bands like Sea & Cake, Orange Juice, Husker Du, Mission of Burma, Galaxie 500, Slowdive, the Go-Betweens, American Music Club, Greg Sage and the Wipers, and Half String. For the record, the guy who gave me the best series of tapes was a linguistics professor in Scotland.

What makes These Things Happen a classic song? It has a bright shininess that never seems to fade, and is in that category of songs that I can listen to around 20 consecutive times on repeat and still never ever tire of. There is a crystal clear simplicity I hear in the music that has nothing to do with the lyrics (which could lump it into that category of apology love songs)…it’s an uncomplicated little composition with some sweet acoustic guitar strumming, but is elegant just the same.

Have to listen here.

Classic Album Review: Steve McQueen – Prefab Sprout [1985, Kitchenware]

Posted on September 10, 2010 by Allison in Article Series, Classic Albums | Leave a comment

With Prefab Sprout‘s Steve McQueen, we have another stellar example of how sophisticated the 80’s U.K. charts really were (as mentioned a couple of reviews ago, Lloyd Cole and the Commotions’ Rattlesnakes is another modest chart success anomaly). Most North Americans would probably think Prefab Sprout is the latest frozen vegetable medley from Arctic Gardens and that Paddy McAloon is an Irish beer.

One of the reasons I’m so motivated to keep this article series going is because I can finally share the rationale behind why something is great. It’s partly a self-revelatory exercise; partly flogging who I perceive to be the under appreciated; partly indulgent nostalgia; partly an opportunity to sit down and listen to something in-depth from start to finish. As I have previously mentioned, so much of the beauty behind older albums has more to do with my amazement at the pulse of popular music, sans internet, particularly in the U.K.. Pop music has changed a lot since then, and so has the path to fame and recognition. Not saying this is good or bad (who among us can argue against the internet’s role in properly exposing great talent), it’s just very very different. More flashes in the pan (which I think is a positive thing for artistic freedom’s sake), more saturation, but I feel too, less emotional intensity. Maybe the word I’m looking for here is soul.

A shorter journey has a lot of implications.

I’m not going to get derailed by the “paying your dues” argument, anyway. What I will say is that Steve McQueen packs more emotional punch in two songs than most albums are remotely capable of, easily containing the most beautiful love songs ever recorded in the history of modern music. How to describe the specific style they pack that punch is a far greater challenge. Let me just start off by saying Prefab Sprout is definitely not for everyone. Nothing good ever is, and originality / genre crossing only detracts from the ratio of folks that I think will like them versus those who will not maybe vaguely reminiscent to the same way people might feel about the Housemartins. If forced, I’d say PS is sophisticated adult contemporary with flashes of western, lounge, and most importantly, show tunes. Lyrically, they’re just weird. Example from Movin’ the River: “But I’m turkey hungry. I’m chicken free! And I can’t break dance on your knee!” Vocally, they’re impassioned and beautiful.

The best showcase of the album’s soulfulness stems from the two love songs I was talking about earlier. The first is Bonny, a poetic lament about losing someone. The lament part is double-underlined here, and one of the most poignant feelings that I think McAloon best communicates is the fact that he feels losing someone cost him something. I sometimes feel like no one wants to admit that we sometimes give up what we want, but we all do. Everything about this song goes down like a sophisticated drink–probably a sidecar. From its memorable muted lead-in to the cascading chorus, Bonny always brings me to my knees.

When Love Breaks Down is the second. It’s a lot more delicate than Bonny, but even more powerful due to its derivation from Paddy’s own life. Everything about it is supposed to scream melodramatic, “The lies we tell / They only serve to fool ourselves / When love breaks down / The things you do / To stop the truth from hurtin’ you” but the sincerity saves it from deteriorating into dripiness.

“It is a very personal song. It’s not that far removed from personal experience. I’ve worked so hard, it’s been to the detriment of other things. Relationships have suffered, I don’t mind saying that. But I know if I don’t work hard I won’t get that golden moment. I know I can go even further but to do that I have to narrow down my interests.” – Paddy McAloon, Melody Maker, June 1, 1985

There are a host of other surprises that make Steve McQueen a timeless album. Toe-tappin’ soul in Goodbye Lucille #1, the bizarre show tuney Movin’ the River (above all, this is just a damn fine vocal showcase), the country and westernish Faron Young (ANTIQUES!), the mambo (yes, MAMBO) in Horsin’ Around, seamlessly transitioning to more bitter heartbreak and kiss off in Desire As. It is all topped off with When the Angels, another one reminiscent of an 80’s musical score.

Oddly enough though, Steve McQueen doesn’t really feel like an “80’s” album at all. Maybe because it falls under such a wide swash of pop, or maybe because it’s just a damn fine album.

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