Friday, February 20, 2009

February 20, 2009 Earworm



Reminding me of the (primarily) innocent times of high school roller skating (where is Ursula Vinson?) and a tawdry kiss stolen in the most unlikely of places, Diana Ross' "Upside Down" also makes me feel dizzy and head over heels. Fortunately, it's never put me flat on my back.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

February 19, 2008 Earworm



As Morrissey sang himself into the chorus of "Something Is Squeezing My Skull", the first track of his latest, "Years Of Refusal", I picked up my jaw long enough to ask myself, "Where did he get that voice?" A minute later he told me and the answer made me laugh. I'm still laughing three days later as different pieces of the lyric creep forward to take a bow - my current favorite being "The motion of taxis now excites me; will you peel it back and bite me".

I'm also amused by the sudden butch persona our formerly fey hero has on display. The cover of "Years of Refusal" shows Morrissey looking far more buff than we'd expect, the buttons of his shirt straining slightly, while he holds a small child: Morrissey is now a Daddy! His current band pumps up the muscle to the point that I'm now anxiously awaiting the possibility of a duet with Rob Halford.

Morrissey has officially become this charming Man so, should you find yourself unsaddled by a punctured bicycle, you may want to think carefully about getting into his taxi.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

February 18, 2009 Earworm



I've long suspected the choice of "Rain" as a single was clearly an attempt at damage control after Madonna's vagina had been given free rein during the "Erotica" period. As with any of her albums, the first two singles - "Erotica" and "Deeper And Deeper" - did well, but "Bad Girl", perhaps too confessional, broke her string of top twenty hits. As the unsold copies of "Erotica" began their return to the distributors, "Sex" continued to be a punchline and the debacle of "Body of Evidence" sank: it was beginning to look like a major crisis for the newly christened multimedia company, Maverick.

Taking the most commercial track from the album, track ten - which was exactly where the long winded album should have ended - and stripping it of its low moaning synth lines at the bottom - the tension of the unfulfilled, replacing it's beautiful strings with what sounds suspiciously like elements of "Crazy For You", and dropping the internal dialog found in the recitation on the album version, a remix was created that was as sterile as the double bagged. As dull as it became, it worked and back in the top twenty she went with what sounded like a typical ballad of love in which no one notices lyrics like "I will raise you from the ground (everything strange) and without a sound you'll appear (everything wild) and surrender to me". In other words, all the things that suggested the unsafe, all the things that made "Rain" one of her most interesting records to date, and all the things that sometimes still choke me up a bit when I hear it.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

February 17, 2009 Earworm


I've been going steady with Everything But The Girl for twenty-five years now, yet I often find myself surprised by the effect the opening guitars of "When All's Well" begin; my chest tightens it's hold on my heart and I feel like I'm falling in love all over again. Tracey sings "we are not pure, we are not true, we are not right" and her words fill my head with the memories of all the times I walked away from someone until they are pushed aside by the memories that came from the time that I didn't and I, too, feel my love is like cathedral bells.

Of course, there's that caveat of "when all's well": a detail I could never work out all those years ago...

Monday, February 16, 2009

February 16, 2009 Earworm



Wow...
I learned that I'm surrounded by quite a few bah humbuggers this Valentine's Day. I'm not sure which is worse: those in a relationship who shrug the whole thing off or those who are single. While I'm not big on the grand statements suggested by advertisements, I've never been one to shy away from the chance to give/receive inexpensive sentiment sheathed in vivid red with a side of chocolate. Call me easy.



While running out to pick a card for my own personal heart holder, I planned to listen to Ultra Vivid Scene during the drive but accidentally pulled Tracey Ullman's "You Broke My Heart In Seventeen Places". Thinking, "Why not?", I went with it. As with most pastiche, the album hasn't aged well but it does have it's moments and one of them is "They Don't Know". Tracey's singing career was more of a lark - hilariously documented in her "Live And Exposed" show from 2005 - but the choice of Kirsty MacColl's "They Don't Know" as her second single - following the surprise success of her debut, an almost serious cover of "Breakway" with a high camp video that was still being played at The Hippo two years ago - showed a sense of savvy on someone's part. MacColl's own version was released by Stiff four years earlier and gained substantial UK airplay but, due to a distributors strike that hindered the record making it into stores, failed to chart. Not the type to hold a grudge, Kirsty can be heard on background vocals on Tracey's version.

The difference between the two records is striking: Kirsty's version sounds as though she will ignore the words of her friends but knows the whole thing will end in tears while Tracey - taking tongue out of cheek - actually sounds as though she believes that her fantasies will come true. Although Tracey's record is obviously routed in nostalgia - synthetic bells recall "Chapel Of Love" and castanets conjure Spector - it's second hand nostalgia as though channeled through a revival of "Grease" and somehow comes across as thoroughly modern for its time. Its time, of course, was steeped in retro deconstruction.

"They Don't Know" holds a special place in my heart as the closing song for nights spent dancing ourselves silly, closing the bar and packing too many teenage boys and girls into a car for a race to Baltimore's Block for hot dogs and then stopping into the seedy magazine stores to pack ourselves into booths to laugh at the peepshow porn offered for twenty-five cents a pop until the owners threw us out. An ever present mix tape would be fast forwarded to the song as we approached Mt. Vernon and we would fall out at the driver's apartment door to dance our last dance before drifting off to our respective beds and our own romantic dreams.