Sexual Healing, The Hot 8 Brass Band
I love ridiculous covers, and this one is about as ridiculous as they come. On this radical re-interpretation, the Hot 8 Brass Band turns Marvin Gaye’s seminal classic completely upside-down, contrasting the original in every possible way like Bizarro and Superman. On “Sexual Healing,” Marvin is liquid smooth, intimate, gentle, delicate and tender; the Hot 8 Band are lively, boisterous, bold, excited and loud. Despite this seeming paradox, the cover actually succeeds in its own unique ways. The iconic bass line takes a more prominent position, played by the tubas, while an army of trumpets blast out the vocal melody during the head. The vocal section has a freewheeling, polyrhythmic feel to it, borrowing musical conventions from African-American spirituals. A few ripping solos come after that, keeping the energy up throughout. This track was the perfect pick-me-up last week when I was up late studying, and now it has become an ideal victory anthem having finished the semester. Hopefully anyone still toiling will find it as helpful as I did.
Thinking About You, Frank Ocean
I’ve proclaimed my appreciation (okay, love) for Frank Ocean before on this site, but this weekend I watched the official Youtube footage of his Cochella performance, and this song hit me way harder than I expected it to. I downloaded this track when it surfaced at the end of last year, but until I saw him perform it live I never fully appreciated its genius. “Thinking About You” is a return to late ’80s and ’90s pop conventions, reviving a style that has attracted significant publicity in the past few months with the death of Whitney Houston, who basically perfected the art of the pop ballad. This art has largely been lost over the past decade, as hip-hop and pop have gradually been stirred together, creating Flo Rida and Ke$ha. While this song certainly contains elements of hip-hop (insert obligatory OFWGKTA reference here), Ocean’s lyrics and performance maintain a feeling of gravitas absent from most of today’s shallow pop and R&B.
With Frank working as a songwriter for other artists as well as his own projects, this version is actually a demo that he recorded to show the eventual recipient of this song, Bridget Kelly, the nuances of the vocal melody. Being a demo, Ocean’s vocal track was never intended to be heard by the public, which would have been a shame because its amazing. I have no qualms with the audio quality, and his dejected, sometimes lethargic delivery has so much more emotion and sentiment than the comparatively sterile and processed-sounding final version. Even though the gut-wrenching chorus seems obviously intended for a female vocalist, Ocean’s falsetto somehow fits perfectly, straining just enough to give it an extra punch of believable emotion but not so much that it sounds unpleasant. He also cruises the deadpan parts of the verses at just the right speed and level of enthusiasm. That being said, I’d love to hear Mariah Carey cover this, she would absolutely tear it apart. The song’s lyrics hover right on the edge of universal appeal and specificity, describing situations that easily could have happened to Frank personally while staying relatable for all listeners who have ever tried to balance short and long-term happiness. In almost every way, this song is vintage pop gold. Give it a listen, and if you’re curious check out Bridget Kelly’s final version here.
I’ve been thinking about you, do you think about me still?
Or do you not think so far ahead, ’cause I been thinking about forever
Gotye, Somebody That I Used To Know
After I listened to Walk off the Earth’s innovative cover of this song with a guitar-playing friend of mine, we both decided to check out Belgian-Australian* artist Gotye’s original version. Turns out it’s just as good as Walk off the Earth’s cover, which is a testament to both the original and the cover.
This track is off his 2011 album Making Mirrors, and I think I mostly dig it for the same reasons I like Zero 7’s “In the Waiting Line”: it’s got a solid acoustic guitar background coupled with some electronic flourishes that meld together the organic and the synthetic pretty successfully. Gotye’s voice is raw and emotive enough to inject a real current of longing into the lyrics, which contrasts very nicely with New Zealand singer Kimbra’s detached vocal delivery. The most hear-wrenching line? “No you didn’t have to stoop so low/have your friends pick up your records and then change your number.” Images of John Cusack in High Fidelity can’t help but leap to mind.
“Somebody That I Used To Know” succeeds with a great mix of varied instrumentation (acoustic guitar, xylophone, synths, etc.) and an expansive production that makes the track sound like it was recorded in some weird aquarium. My buddy and I decided there’s kind of a Peter Gabriel vibe at work, which Wikipedia seems to agree with, though I like this a lot better than Peter Gabriel.
This is gonna be a hot song this summer—look for it.
*On a side note, can anyone name me another Belgian-Australian musician? Preferably a famous one? This guy’s got quite niche carved out.
Why Even Try (RAC Remix), Theophilus London
I liked the original version of this track for the most part when I first heard it last summer, but I found its overly-pronounced growly ‘80s bass line distracting, and honestly a little bit ugly. Lo and behold, the mighty Remix Artists Collective agreed with me, replacing the dirty bass part with a twinkling piano melody on their own remix of the track. This step towards pleasant bounciness completely rescues the track in my opinion. It stays just as danceable, but it opens up a sense of shimmering wonder that really feels great, especially through a pair of decent earbuds. This has become one of my favorite tracks to walk around the city to, especially as the nights start getting milder here in Dublin. The tempo magically seems to match up its quarter notes with the length of my stride, turning walking into a type of secret dance that I randomly perform on the sidewalks, unbeknownst to my fellow pedestrians. The glissando in Sara Quin’s hook does get a little bit schmaltzy, but London’s crisp verses and backing vocals make that a small concern. Cheers to RAC for making a slightly flawed track into an immensely more enjoyable remix.
Patron Saint, Garret Baker
One of the most interesting discoveries I’ve made since coming over to Ireland has been a series of gatherings where Dublin’s Ukulele players congregate above a pub and swap songs for a few hours every month. Garret Baker, a singer-songwriter from the Dublin folk scene, is a regular at these events, and his songs alone have made attending these nights mandatory in my mind. After the last Uke Night I, unbeknownst to Garret, purchased his album The Magpie on Bandcamp and I’ve been enjoying it all month. He writes simple, approachable lyrics and has a penchant for dextrous fingerpicking, which you can hear on this track but shines even more without the production elements of this specific recording. In many ways, “Patron Saint” is a quintessentially Irish song- it has a sense of self-awareness and personal dejection that combines with the central Christian metaphor to capture feelings that the Irish have struggled with for the past few centuries of their history. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes and lost souls, and the lyrics of this song reflect the contradictory nature of praying for a cause that seems fundamentally futile. The reverent irony in the track is supported by a generally introspective, tranquil sound that comes from the effects on his Ben Gibbard-esque voice and the gentle ukulele riff, which is interrupted only for the section of the song that actually takes the form of a prayer. The whole tune has a simple and depressing sense of beauty to it, mostly deriving from the images of personal difficulty, conflicted feelings and “pale-skinned wraiths.” It also has one of the most jarring first lines I’ve heard in awhile, immediately grabbing the listener’s attention and keeping it from the very beginning. Its well-crafted lyrically and musically- I look forward to the next Uke gathering to hear more of his material.
Check out more music from Garret here.
Don’t Think Twice (Dylan Tribute), J.Period & K’naan
A spectacular collaboration between Brooklyn-based producer J.Period and Somali rapper K’naan, here is Don’t Think Twice. The song is one of the duo’s best off their trilogy of albums, a series called The Messengers, tributes to Fela Kuti, Bob Marley, and, in this case, Bob Dylan. All interspliced up with personality and interviews from the man in question, this amiable recreation of Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” uses the original chorus, and includes original verses by K’naan, as well. Purty verses, at that.
Lyrically and stylistically, K’naan’s contribution to the song is sizable. Both stanzas start with a sizzling couplet, such as, “Daybreak elevates the fear of heartbreaks / Embrace with the chase we all got to taste,” and “He spoke like the poets, Baldwin and Byron / And all his woman heard was a siren.” K’naan’s flow is unmistakable, as is his accent. Distinct in the way he draws out certain words to fit the verse, K’naan is, in a way, is very much like Dylan. Like if you tried to sing it yourself, it wouldn’t work. In terms of the song, it sounds less like irony than harmony.
They both sing about lost love with a certain knowing. Dylan, confident in rhythm: “It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe, / If ’in you don’t know by now / An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe, / It’ll never do some how.” K’naan, sad but matter of fact: “It’s no one’s fault, sometimes love falters, / Alters the state and you feel mortars / Exploding inside your hardened heart / And you thought you’d be fine apart.”
With its rich, soothing sound, this song is the balm. J.Period inflates the song with even more fullness in the single version, but his tracks are clear here. From the guitar that pops almost synthetically but wholly soulful, to the humming bass, to the snappy drum rolling the song along – actually a sample of Paul Simon’s “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” which Kid Cudi also kinda covered.
This song represents one of the most holistic collaborations between K’naan’s spittin, the trubte artist’s participation, and J.Period’s manipulation amongst The Messengers trilogy. Don’t think twice, and download the rest of it fo free!
When We Were Happy, Rob Giles
One of the most beautiful and emotionally crippling things about language is how some short phrases can have such huge connotations hidden in their phrasing. My favorite example of this idea comes from Sam Beam’s lyrics to his song “The Trapeze Swinger,” when he says “someone told me you’re still pretty” in the second verse. I’m always amazed at how clearly this short phrase so concisely presents such a complicated situation- the verb tense alone carries more emotional weight than most entire songs. Somehow those six words tell an entire story, without any need for detail or explanation. It might just be the best-written sentence I’ve even encountered. The title/refrain of this song by Rob Giles of The Rescues might come close though. With two less words, the phrase “When We Were Happy” rivals the connotative pregnancy of that Iron and Wine quote, immediately explaining the entire song before you even hear it. That phrase, which is also the title of Rob’s new solo album, quite literally says it all. As one could easily extrapolate from the title, the track centers on a painful romantic breakup, delving into the immensely complicated emotions that fill the void when happiness fades away in a relationship. Giles has fantastically expressive vocal style, and the simple guitar and bass parts have a painful throbbing to them that reflects the sentiment of the lyrics. The recurring string theme adds just enough beauty and tragic elegance to the situation, sonically capturing the feelings that Rob must have been struggling with when he wrote this song. Lyrics like these can only come from fresh painful experience, and the clarity in the title of this song alone is the mark of a great writer.
I want you, but I want you to be happy, the way we were happy, when were happy
Even though we’re well into February, we still don’t have much snow in Central New York, so maybe this post is a little ironic. Actually, in case you can’t understand the lyrics, take my word for it: it’s ironic. The name of the song translates as “February,” and the lyrics are sort of a free-wheeling association of all things wintery, from “February, little red nose/Februrary, a bit drunk” to “Febuary, lose your gloves/February, on skis.”
In three minutes, Vallières provides a great ode to “the little month that never ends” backed by strong handclaps and some random whooping. The song sounds like something he recorded in the midst of a booze-soaked night with a bunch of friends in a cabin—natural, and above all, fun. It’s an incredibly simple mix of musical elements that just works. There’s definitely a little sense of humor in thrown in too: from the cough in the background at 0:35 that accompanies the lyric “Frileux et gripé” (roughly translated as “chilly and sick”) to the low whistle that sounds when Vallières mentions “le vent du nord” (“the north wind”) at 0:39.
Perhaps the reason why I enjoy this song so much is because I can actually understand the lyrics—it’s tough sometimes to appreciate songs in foreign languages, especially if you’re big into lyrics, although I hope you’ll get a kick out of this nonetheless.
DISCLAIMER: My love for Quebecois music is entirely the fault of one of my high school French teachers, so if you’re reading, Ms. Noll, merci beaucoup!
For my final haphazard catalogue of 2011, I offer Rubblebucket. I don’t know much about them, except that they used to go by Rubblebucket Orchestra, and that they’ve always been funky. Music ranging from alternative to pop, some indie and eclecticism, the band is hard to pin down. I’ve gotten lost listening to Rubblebucket. Intensely upbeat to ghostly visceral, all within the same song. Trumpets and sweety synths call to mind Triangular Daisies, right nextdoor there’sa turbulent Landing laying siege to your feeet! but it all ends up alright, as they end the album with a downhome Hommage.
Rubblebucket’s 2011 album Omega La La is, admittedly, not as swanky as the band’s past creations (i.e. the three in the prior paragraph). In context with the rest of the year’s music scene, however, it’s frigin intriguing. Omega La La is comprised of three remakes — Triangular Daisies, L’Homme, and Came Out of a Lady — from prior albums, and offers some of its own joys. Light renderings like Raining and Silly Fathers are sure to please, and when the party’s over you can curl up to Lifted/Weak Arms or a Pile of Rage. The headlining song, Rescue Ranger, is an adventure of its very own.
When the song pops, Kalmia Traver’s vocals both lead and trail the drum rolling steady to a bubbling bass line, heavy saxophone saturating your dance space. Excellently paced and sure to get a lift from your face, I think it’s because they play their instruments, rather than have a cpu crank em out, that makes Rubblebucket so visceral. Although, f’sho, they’re prettily “produced by Eric Broucek (LCD Soundsystem, !!!, Holy Ghost) & mastered by Joe Lambert (Animal Collective, Dirty Projectors, Herbie Hancock)” – thanks wiki. And thanks for your time. Espero te disfrute! More to come! I take requests!
Sometimes, all you want from your music is a background track to whatever you’re doing… whichformeismostlyhomework. It is this aesthetic that connects the two bands featured here: Youth Lagoon, who I know nearly nothing about, and schultzing, a German jazz quintet.
Youth Lagoon. Just one dude, 22, named Trevor Powers. Cool name. The 2011 album is The Year of Hibernation. So mysterious. Guaranteed forty-five minutes of either quality background tuneage or, depending on how into it you want to get, some very legitimate music. Alt-pop powered by layers of lacy synth, from piano to steel drum. His vocals hide in the low-fi and electric, but they bravely fade into Fleet Fox-ish cathedral paintings. I haven’t listened for the lyrics once. The songs stay dreamy, an “eerie yet nostalgic” vibe reminiscent of The XX about them until he drops the bass, when things can get pleasantly epic. Youth Lagoon’s true charm, I believe, is in his patient construction of each song, building it appreciably – if at times too safely – then delivering when the moment arises. Such as at 2:20 in Posters, the first in The Year of Hibernation.
A less safe embarkment would be for the shores of schultzing. One of my now-favorite bands and a refreshing break from the indie scene. Their seven-song 2011 album is federleicht (light as a feather) and it features Mateusz Smoczyński, a Polish jazz violinist, whose heavenly strings often synch with Hanna Jursch’s singing. Their lack of capitalization reflects the experimental nature of their jazz, from the twisted nine-minute jam they called Karawahn, to Ballade, a smoky song led along by two Peters — Schwebs’ stand-up bass and Ehwald’s tenor sax. Claremont, the song featured above, pretty perfectly epitomizes the light and featheriness federleicht suggests.
No schultzing song allows you to disengage from it the same way Youth Lagoon is susceptible to, but still I find myself able to fade from and study to it. (As well, of course, as get down to it.) Both have a certain levity, that I realize now may be from their shared lack of lyrical allure. What I mean is Youth Lagoon’s are unassuming, voice so shrouded in static distance; and because schultzing’s German is incomprehensible to me it slides from my brain like rain from a rock. For neither am I tied down in one part of my mind, following the words of the song; I’m free from understanding them in a literal way.
Let them do for you what you like, and happy studies!
