Monthly Archives: June 2011

Non-Album Tracks #4: ‘Soul to Squeeze’

The fourth edition of my Non-Album Tracks series, in which my enthusiasm for writing intro blurbs slowly wanes…

Red Hot Chili Peppers – ‘Soul to Squeeze’

B-Side to:
‘Under the Bridge’ [1992]

Red Hot Chili Peppers - 'Under the Bridge'

Also available on:

Coneheads [Soundtrack - 1993]
‘Soul to Squeeze’ [Single - 1993]
Greatest Hits [Compilation - 2003] 

If my now fairly hazy memories of watching MTV back in the early 1991/1992 are accurate the channel had only about 10 videos which were all constantly in rotation. Half of those were singles from Guns N’ Roses’ Use Your Illusion albums. There was ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’, ‘Losing My Religion’ and Pearl Jam’s ‘Jeremy’. And then there were these two:

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I always enjoyed the first. It was wild, wacky, funny. As for the second one: whenever it came on, I always got depressed. Nothing to do with the lyrical content or the themes or anything. Of course not: nine-year-old me didn’t know/care about heroin abuse. No. Nine-year-old me found the song just so slow and boring. I usually changed the channel before that single shot of John Frusciante’s intro ended (at that age, 30 seconds is an eternity).

But anytime I got past the intro, I almost always stayed watching till the end. I liked the bits with Anthony Kiedis hanging out on the streets of L.A.  I was a bit perplexed, but intrigued by the shots of Flea hanging out literally under a bridge. Then it kicked off towards the end and Kiedis was running in slow motion towards the camera and it looked cool. Then it ended back on Frusciante and I’d kind of forgiven him at that point. I’m sure the quality of the song had a lot to do with it.

The video for ‘Breaking the Girl’, another Blood Sugar Sex Magik single, made an impression on me too, but it wasn’t nearly as omnipresent. Then Frusciante left. They kind of disappeared off my radar. I don’t really remember experiencing the Dave Navarro era stuff, with the exception of the animated video for their cover of ‘Love Rollercoaster’.

It wasn’t until Frusciante Jesused back that my awareness of them returned. I think this was the case for most of the world. The Californication album was massive. It was everywhere. This coincided with me getting my first proper instrument (a bass guitar) and was integral in my musical development. A couple of years later, the superior (yes, I said it) By the Way appeared and they were still everywhere. And all this time they were touring like crazy. It seemed like they were playing in Ireland every single summer. Stadium Arcadium appeared in 2006, but by that point, people’s enthusiasm for them seemed to have waned. Which is unfortunate, since Stadium Arcadium is a damn good album. Then they took a break, Frusciante has since left (again). Their next album comes out later this year.

Where does ‘Soul to Squeeze’ fit into this? Well, the song was recorded during the making of the Blood Sugar Sex Magik album, as chronicled brilliantly in the film Funky Monks. [If you're into music at all, even if you're not that into the Chili Peppers, I highly recommend watching it. It's absolutely brilliant - mainly for all the Frusciante-related bits. These are mostly him talking like a crazy starchild, but also bits of musical brilliance. Like this.] It was the b-side to ‘Under the Bridge’, but then got “upgraded” and was released as a single, due to its inclusion on the soundtrack to Coneheads.

They made a video for it too:

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I have vague recollections of seeing the video back then – the image of Kiedis’s head covered in snakes is a fairly arresting one. But it certainly didn’t lodge itself in my consciousness like the ones above. Is this the song’s fault? I wouldn’t like to think so, because the song is absolutely brilliant. Perhaps nine-/ten-year-old me thought it was too slow and boring? It just wasn’t immediate enough?  The intro to ‘Under the Bridge’ is 30 seconds long – this one’s 45.

Perhaps, with ‘Under the Bridge’ and ‘I Could Have Lied’, they felt they’d filled the album’s soft/slow/ballad quotient – and this is why they left it off? I have a feeling decisions like these were because, Frusciante, although clearly an exceptionally gifted player, didn’t have much sway in the band at the time (evident in the documentary).  The reason By the Way turned out so well is because Frusciante is all over it: the lush arrangements, the melodies, all those harmonizing vocals. Of course nine-year-old me would have hated By the Way. But who cares about him?

18-year-old me knew By the Way was great, just as 18-year-old me was able to recognize the seeds of that greatness in ‘Soul to Squeeze’. True, there are no Frusciante vocals – but it doesn’t need them; it’s very much a “solitary” kind of lyric. And it is much too sparse to be considered lush – but again, the sparseness suits it. But the melody: that’s there alright. The guitar parts chime and jangle and weave around unintrusively. That’s when they’re present – for a significant parts of the song they aren’t there. The bass carries the song, bouncing throughout while staying grounded. There is a very subtle mellotron (?) part which comes in the latter half of the song, adding texture. And the ever-dependable Chad Smith holds the fort.

I know fans of the band (in the early nineties) probably would have preferred to hear them doing their louder funkier more in-your-face rap-type ‘Give It Away’ thing. And I understand that – it’s a lot more instant; a lot more fun. But ‘Soul to Squeeze’ is just on a higher level. Even though it’s much more restrained, it achieves so much more.

It will be interesting to see how this year’s new, Frusciante-less album will fare. Will his influence outlast his presence? I hope so.

Shared Name/Shared Love #1: ‘Machine Gun’

Welcome to Shared Name/Shared Love. In each edition of this series, I will highlight two identically-named, but otherwise different, songs – both of which I happen to like very much. To make things more competitive/interesting, you can vote for the one you like best in the poll below – after you read my waffle, of course.

First up:

Slowdive – ‘Machine Gun’
from:
Souvlaki [1993]Slowdive - Souvlaki
Portishead – ‘Machine Gun’
from:
Third [2008]Portishead - Third

Slowdive were part of the whole British “shoegaze” thing around the late-80s/early-90s, along with My Bloody Valentine and Ride. I missed this scene altogether at the time, as I was deep into my Guns N’ Roses phase. I wouldn’t get into My Bloody Valentine until 2002 or thereabouts. I loved their stuff, but it didn’t really spur me on to delving into the works of their contemporaries. My friend Eoin got Ride’s Nowhere and lent it to me. Yes, it was good, but it was no Loveless. It seemed MBV were going to be my one and only foray into the scene.

In the summer of 2008, I moved from Nagasaki to Hiroshima. The first musical ally I made there was Mr Jeremy Logue. During my time there, we had many sessions, performed live a few times and talked a LOT about music. In one of those numerous conversations, shoegaze was discussed. I was big into MBV and had never listened to Slowdive. He was the opposite, or thereabouts. Or maybe he had listened to MBV and didn’t like them that much. Or maybe he loved them. The main thing was he was (or had been) really into Slowdive – the Souvlaki album in particular. So I decided to give it a listen.

The album’s first song, ‘Alison’, was mentioned as the highlight in a couple of reviews I’d read. I was decidedly underwhelmed. Perhaps I was (unfairly) expecting to be bowled over ‘Only Shallow’-style. If that was the case, ‘Alison’ was destined to fail for me. Perhaps it was a reversal of expectations that then allowed me to be utterly blown away by ‘Machine Gun’. Or perhaps it’s just because it’s a fucking awesome track:

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That massive, wide open sound at the start. Layers of Rachel Goswell’s vocals washing over me like in broad strokes across a grey sky. Or some other epic-sounding metaphor. And you couldn’t make out what she was singing, but it didn’t matter at all because it was just gorgeous. And then it changes. Quite radically, actually, but without diverging too much. An acoustic (?) guitar comes chugging in, matching the pulsating bass. Neil Halstead comes in, singing only slightly more comprehensible lyrics, then there’s this harmonious-but-still-jarring chord change, as he sings, “it’s all I need, yeah.” Then the wide open sound returns, with an overdriven electric guitar, later rejoined by Goswell’s multiple vocals.

The two parts go back and forth once more. Both are refrains/choruses of sorts. Each contribute something very different, but I can’t imagine the song being without either. They come together majestically. Transcendent.

Portishead, I was aware of more-or-less from the start, though I kept a bit of distance. I remember Dummy winning the Mercury Prize. I didn’t get the album then, though the song ‘Glory Box’ did manage to stick with me for a long time. I didn’t pay any attention when their second album came out, so, when they went on this long hiatus, nothing really changed as far as I was concerned. Around 2004, I was given a Portishead mix-CD which contained selections from the first two albums. I gave it a few listens. I liked it, too, though it all seemed quite same-y. I definitely wasn’t able to distinguish which songs were from which album – although, in fairness, the same could be said for songs from many bands’ first two albums.

Then, all of a sudden, they were back. Third came out in the spring of 2008, preceded by this beast:

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If ‘Machine Gun’ had been on that mix-CD, I definitely would have spotted its strange origin. Beth Gibbons’s voice had gone from sultry – even jazzy to an extent- to …terrified(?) and verging operatic. If that wasn’t change enough, the music she was singing over was violently different. There was no scratchy vinyl-sounding drums; no strings; no brass; no “band”. In their place were this harsh, stuttering, crushing, electronic beats, pounding relentlessly. The percussion carries, as Gibbons tries to cling on.

When her vocal ends, the sound changes abruptly. Not the structure of the beat – but the sounds themselves. Like changing the font of a piece of text. The content is the exactly same, but so many other things change. And then they switch it again. And again. And that’s when the synths come in, playing us out like the outro music of some Blade Runner-esque sci-fi film. And then it ends.

The whole experience was – and remains – compelling. It’s a track built on tension. And it works. It also works well the title. More obviously than Slowdive’s does.

As for the tracks themselves, I’m not sure if I could choose between the two [which is funny, because I'm asking you to...]. They have very different places in my consciousness. The shoegazers’ might just have the edge. Listening to the two back to back, its sheer, expansive beauty sings to me more than the Portishead track’s taut claustrophobia. But that might just be because it’s late and I’m sleepy. It could be the other way come morning…

Honourable Mentions:

Lionel Richie’s old band Commodores released their first album in 1974. It was called Machine Gun and so was its instrumental first track (and single). It was first brought to my attention in the late 1990s, when it was used in Paul Thomas Anderson’s fantastic Boogie Nights - appropriately in a dance sequence. Fantastic tune indeed.

Jimi Hendrix also had a track called ‘Machine Gun’. It was first brought to my attention today, when I did an online search for other songs also named ‘Machine Gun’. Completely off my radar as I’m not a Hendrix fan. Not that I don’t like him, I’ve just never really listened to him. Kind of how I wouldn’t be a Pink Floyd or Smiths fan – just haven’t really given them a good listen. Yet. Anyway, I just listened to the Hendrix track. It seems quite epic. Perhaps I should give the man more of a chance.

Anyway, I’m leaving these other guns off the table for now. The choice is between the first two. Take your pick:


Self-Retrospect #4: ‘Tiburón’

The fourth installment of Self-Retrospect, an ongoing series looking back at my past musical efforts and their respective evolutions – and pompously going on and on about them.

‘Shark’ was the name I gave to a little piece I lay down on the morning of Sunday, 16 December, 2001. It was a surfy-sounding instrumental, based around a bass line I had come up with the previous day:

shark bass

The bass part was directly inspired by a groovy, bluesy track Chris, Bebhinn and I had done. However, while that one had a bit of an upbeat bounce to it, this was in a minor key and had a somewhat darker, moodier feel. Over this bass I recorded an improvised guitar part. This was based on a minor blues scale I’d learned – the same scale I’d get further milage out of later on a song called ‘Yours Truly’, which ended up becoming part of the Das Glitch (band I was in in university) repertoire. A live rendition of that can be found here.

Actually, I recorded one guitar part – and then decided to do another take. But, for some reason, I didn’t use headphones – or I had the headphones up stupidly loud – so the first take can still be heard underneath:

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[download 'Shark (Demo)' mp3]

So yeah, I called it ‘Shark’. Actually, I called in ‘Shark (demo)’, even though I didn’t – at the time – have any plans to do a “proper” version. I think I just used ‘(demo)’ because it was a very rough, loose recording – although, in retrospect, it’s not much rougher or looser than the “proper” stuff I was doing at that time. I don’t really know where ‘Shark’ came from. It might have been something to do with the aforementioned surfy sound. Or maybe the bass sounded like/represented a shark (?).

Either way, it was ‘Shark’. Then the song that it later spawned (recorded in March 2002) retained the name. But ‘Shark’ didn’t sound quite right, so I did what any pretentious teenager would do in the same situation: I translated it into a different language. Never too skilled in foreign tongues, I relied on an online dictionary to try out a couple of different ones. The Spanish just looked/sounded the coolest, so I went with that.

I probably could have come up with a more suitable title. I suppose ‘Shark’ could be linked – tenuously - to the words that I eventually wrote. A bit of a stretch. I’m not sure who the ‘shark’ would be – the narrator person or the person to whom it’s directed? Probably the latter. Though I suppose it could be either – it’s that kind of arty ambiguity everyone loves. (It is highly likely I went through this exact same thought process way back then…)

What’s the song about? Well, it’s fairly obvious, straightforward person-lusts-after-other-person stuff. I guess it was an important step for me to take at the time. There wasn’t any jokey self-deprecation nor vague metaphors or to hide behind. It was pretty raw. And when your audience consists of, well… your mates – people who actually know you – it’s sort of weird to be sharing those kinds of thoughts or feelings.

tiburón lyrics

But the risk appeared to pay off. People liked the song. Or at least they told me they did. At first I thought their reaction was because of the bass part. I still felt this was the standout element in the song. But when I played it live – which usually didn’t involve a bassist – it also seemed to get quite a good response. Maybe I just fluked an actual decent song? Have a listen, tell me what you think:

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[download 'Tiburón' mp3]

It  evolved considerably live. Of my “old” stuff, it’s probably the song that has benefitted most from how my confidence in singing developed over the years. On the recorded version above, the words were just spoken, whereas with each live performance I’ve been able to sing it out more. Now, perhaps the original delivery was appropriate for the material (even if it might have come across a bit stalker-y) – but it feels better to put more into it. Maybe I feel it more; I’ve grown into it – it’s like the opposite of ‘Flare’.

Unfortunately I don’t have any recordings of the most recent performances of it. The best I can do is an acoustic version from April 2007. I ran through a whole bunch of songs on a quiet night at Crazy Horse in Nagasaki, in advance of a gig I was doing there a weekend or two after – to see what songs worked and what didn’t. I thought this one worked…

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[download 'Tiburón (Acoustic Live Rehearsal)' mp3]

two covers

On Saturday I threw together covers of two of my favouritest songs.

david ding - two covers

You can download both via this link, or have a listen right here:

‘what we had’ (originally by Handsome Furs, from their first album Plague Park)

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‘policy of truth’ (by Depeche Mode, from Violator)

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Top Ten Albums of 2000-2009: #7 – Two Suns

And so we get to number 7 on my top ten albums of the last decade. This time it’s another British female artist of Asian extraction: Natasha Khan – a.k.a. Bat for Lashes. Unlike M.I.A.’s debut, this album – Khan’s second – is quite ethereal and otherworldly, something reflected quite literally in its lyrical content and imagery. Even its title…

#7
Bat for Lashes
Two Suns
[2009]

Bat for Lashes - Two Suns

No matter how many times we learn that appearances and first impressions can be deceiving – often from our own experiences – we still regularly end up judging books by their covers. Perhaps some do it more than others. I don’t know whereabouts in the cover-judging spectrum I’d fall, but I do know it’s what I did when had my first encountered with Ms Khan in March 2009.

Had I not moved to Japan in 2006, chances are I would have come across Bat for Lashes earlier, sometime during the life-cycle of her first album Fur and Gold. It seems the majority of people came to know her through that album’s fourth single ‘What’s a Girl to Do?’ and its stupendously good video. But that slipped me by. A quick Gmail search reveals two separate mentions of her from two friends (Jeremy M. and Mike B.V.) in early 2008, which I obviously did not follow-up on. Had I done so at the time, would I have reacted differently? Who knows.

What was my reaction? Well, as I said, this was in March 2009, just after the video for ‘Daniel’, the first single from Two Suns was released. I saw it mentioned – in a positive light – on some music site. So I decided I’d have a look:

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How long did you last before moving to this sentence? Okay, well, you’re probably already familiar with it. I think I lasted about 30 seconds before I turned it off. I took what now seems like a highly irrational instantaneous dislike to the video and to the artist. Perhaps it wasn’t that irrational, but it was still pretty bad. I didn’t even give her a chance. What turned me off was, well, just about everything you see in that first half-minute: the hoodie with the logo, the slow revealing pan around her, her hair, the way she looked up at the camera. It just felt so… ugh. She instantly struck me as having some kind of gothy vibe – and goth stuff is always going to be fairly pants, right?

You’ll notice that my reaction was all based on the visual. The song had even barely started at that point. Could I really have dismissed it so quickly? Granted, it didn’t do anything to grab my attention – or divert my attention from how stupid it looked. [It's possibly worth mentioning that the video edit of the song and the album version have significantly different intros. The album one is better, but I doubt it would've done much better, either.] So, I was pretty much done with Bat for Lashes. Or so I thought.

I can be unfairly dismissive of something with very little justification. However, this can be counteracted with my susceptibility to the Internet hype-machine. Not that I’m going to instantly love everything the blogs love (not that susceptible), but if everyone is talking about something – and saying good things – I’m bound to give it more attention than I would otherwise. That’s only natural. Thus, the buzz around Two Suns caused me to reconsider my initial snap judgement. Rather than revisit the ‘Daniel’ video, though, I decided to isolate sound from vision and gave the actual album a listen. And the very first track, ‘Glass’, just blew me away:

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It is an absolutely astonishing song. Starting with just her voice singing a biblical verse, the sounds of the city wash up around her and the percussion comes in, distant at first. And as she sings about finding “a thousand crystal towers” and “a hundred emerald cities”, these eerie, glassy sounds pierce the air around her. Then the bass kicks in and the drums pick up. It’s a phenomenal introduction, building and building till the snare drum finally comes, kicking in the chorus as her voice shoots up. Incredible. What’s great is that, although the song has so much power, it’s still very restrained – never over the top, in spite of the fantastical lyrics and the crazy sounds.

I actually didn’t get to the rest of the album for a while, as I went back and re-listened to that first song several times. I eventually played the whole thing through. None of the songs grabbed me quite as completely as ‘Glass’ had. But I could feel it had legs. I was even able to get past the 0:30 mark in ‘Daniel’! But yeah, the album went into heavy rotation for me, straight away. I found my first week with it on my Last.fm stats: looks like this.

I found some of the songs to be slower burners than others. But these often became more rewarding because of it. One track, in particular, took a while to get into, but then became my favourite – and probably still holds that position for me: track six, ‘Siren Song’. There are 11 songs on the record, so this puts it smack bang in the middle.  And it does hold it all together.  The album is very much about duality: it’s called Two Suns; there are songs called ‘Moon and Moon’ and ‘Two Planets’; and Khan inhabits two characters – the dark-haired, natural Natasha and the icy blonde femme fatale, Pearl. The majority of the songs lean towards one or the other of the characters, but ‘Siren Song’ is a direct clash between them:

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The song’s first verse is delicate, mostly just sparse piano notes and solo vocals, “till the siren comes calling” in the chorus part, which becomes more tense, grander, bolder as Pearl’s “blonde curls slice through your heart”. We get a respite with a second verse, which has some sweet harmonizing backing vocals, but is still very fragile. And when Pearl returns, she’s bigger than before. Chaotic drums come in, crashing all around as she explains that “it won’t be long until you’re running… ’cause [she's] evil”. Devastating.

I’m somewhat amused at the fact that I’ve focused on the use of alter-egos and the mythical images and such. This is exactly the kind of stuff I don’t go for. Maybe I really was just brainwashed by all those good reviews. I was just compelled to like it…  Anyway, for a visual representation of this duality at play you can (if you don’t have the album sleeve at hand – Natasha on one side, Pearl on the other), you can check out the video for the second single, ’Pearl’s Dream’:

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The duality concept really does permeate almost every aspect of the album. You could split the songs into Natasha and Pearl songs. But, on a more simple level, there are the slow songs and the more uptempo numbers. It’s hardly a novel idea to have half the songs on an album be fast and the other half not, but the execution here – the sequencing of the tracks and the quality of the songs themselves – is outstanding. Everything is tied together, even though the individual components could – in another context – come across as wildly disparate. Compare ‘Two Planets’ with ‘The Big Sleep’. The former is a tribal almost-rave-like song, while the latter is a haunting elegy, with Khan duetting with Scott Walker. Had they been directly side-by-side, I think the difference would be too jarring. But with ‘Travelling Woman’ positioned perfectly between them, it all comes together. Just like the whole album.

I’ll leave you with the video for the third single/track two, ’Sleep Alone’. Just because I didn’t mention it anywhere above, doesn’t mean I don’t love it, because I do. It’s great. Anyway, till next time…

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