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On Dan’s Turntable: Don’t Do Me Like That / Tom Petty & The Hearthbreakers

Jul 092012

Don’t Do Me Like That, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

It was summer and I was ten and twiggy and on a baseball team, the Cardinals, with my friend and neighbor. His dad, Jay, coached. Every practice, every game, Jay drove us in his black truck. Heavy catcher’s equipment and bats tossed in the bed like stones. This was around the time I was being weaned off of Weird Al Yankovic, and instead beginning to hum Michael Jackson and Jimmy Cliff tunes out in right field, a dandelion held under-chin.

The youth baseball season seems endless to a kid generally uninterested. It begins even before the snow has fully melted, when you can still see your breath blow through your glove, and is bestowed no mercy later in mid-summer’s swelter. Shifting weight in the hungry backseat’s heat, black leather on the way to practice, I slowly picked up on a sound that season with the Cardinals. It came from the truck speakers in all different forms: at times defiant, dreamy at others. Mostly, it made baseball enjoyable – out in right field, my lips mirrored the nasally lyrics and the twanging guitar’s gritty smile.

One night on the way back from practice at Page Field, the buggiest of the ballparks, I worked up the courage to ask Jay what it was we always listened to, whose words were making so much sense in my ears. I leaned into the front cabin from the back, asked, and waited for deliverance.

Jay told me, but his answer was drowned out by the very voice he named. I nodded as if I knew and slunk into the heat again. Then popped my head back up. “Who?” Again, Jay told me: nothing but a driving guitar keeping time with the temperature. We were at my house now, and I was supposed to get out. Door open, harmonica rippling like humidity out the sidespeakers, I slunk from the truck. My glove drug like a slug on my hand in the heat.

Walking away, a voice lolled from behind, “You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down.” Turning, I stuck my head into Jay’s driver-side window and asked him one more time. He told me, and I finally heard Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers. They’ve been one of my favorite bands ever since – good ‘ol American classic rock. Here’s a short but sweet one, “Don’t Do Me Like That.” Hope you enjoy.

On John’s Turntable: North Side Gal / JD McPherson

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Jul 072012

North Side Gal, JD McPherson

When I first heard this song on my favorite local radio station, I expected the DJ to say: “That was a deep cut from Big Joe Turners’ 1956 album Boss of the Blues.”

Imagine my surprise when he said it was a new track from JD McPherson’s album Signs & Signifiers. JD McPherson? What record vault did they dig him out of? I thought. The sound of “North Side Gal” so successfully channels the late ‘50s sound that I bought into McPherson then and there.

The most immediately arresting thing about the record is McPherson’s voice. His timbre, right from the first line, is spot-on. It’s warm and brassy but at the same time brittle and ragged—reminiscent of a tenor sax. He sounds like a man on the edge, the way Ray Charles, Joe Turner, and a host of forgotten greats from the late ‘50’s sounded. Until McPherson, I’ve never heard a modern singer who has been able to so perfectly replicate—consciously or not—the tone of those recordings, and I suspect that McPherson isn’t disguising his singing voice in any way. It’s simply how he sounds, and he sounds great.

Everything else is spot on for a fantastic early rock & roll/rhythm & blues track. Great tenor sax solo? Check. Horn hits? Got ‘em. Sparse, Ringo-esque drumming? Also there. Although the instrumental performances are repetitive, they have an undeniable motion that propels the song from the opening drum roll. It’s a seriously fun song that immediately evokes images of tailfins, soda fountains, and those weird poodle skirts.

In some ways, McPherson reminds me a lot of Pokey LaFarge—both channel a vintage sensibility in music, dress, and stage persona, which I enjoy but occasionally find troublesome (is it more about playing dress-up than making music?).

Nevertheless, McPherson has taken all of the best elements of a single decade of American music and wrapped them up into a 2:31 package that’s one of the most authentic and most fun performances you’ll hear this summer.

On John’s Turntable: The Great Filling Station Holdup / Jimmy Buffett

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Jun 162012

Jimmy Buffett, The Great Filling Station Holdup

Say what you will about country music in general, and rant away about Jimmy Buffett in particular, but please concede this point: a certain tribe of country singer-songwriter (of which Buffett, Lyle Lovett, and Guy Clark are members) can tell a damn good story without reverting to the “dog died and/or my truck broke down before/after my woman left me” stereotype.

“The Great Filling Station Holdup,” the first track on the 1973 album A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean (the title is a send-up of Marty Robbin’s 1957 hit “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation”) tells the story of two dumb-as-life criminals who rob a gas station and then quickly repair to a nearby bar to celebrate: “We’re wanted men/we’ll strike again/but first let’s have a beer.” Buffett apparently wrote the song after reading a news item in the local police blotter, again proving that truth is indeed stranger than fiction.

The entire story feels appropriately drawn from life, with humor and tragedy side-by-side, something that my favorite lyricists have always been able to do. You can see that contrast right in the chorus, where Buffett sings: “That Great Filling Station Holdup/It cost me two good years.” There’s the inherent humor of referring to the failed petty crime as “great” right next to the bitterness of losing two years of his life in jail. This is essentially a fable: entertainment and a nugget of morality.

Buffett’s lyrics take precedence, but let’s not neglect the ensemble. Doyle Greshamn’s pedal steel guitar is the standout here, as it can whine and chuckle right along with Buffett’s lyrics. The classic “huck-a-puck” harmonica part in the intro is also great.

Look past “Margaritaville,” everyone, and dig one of America’s best storytellers.

On John’s Turntable: Wild West End / Dire Straits

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Jan 282012

Wild West End, Dire Straits

God knows it’s sometimes tough to get posts up here on Turntablr during the semester. But I absolutely have to gush over Dire Straits, and I don’t mind staying up just a little later to do it. “Wild West End” sits among an album of spectacularly lean and muscular songs, which only serves to make its early Sunday morning groove feel even fresher. From the opening strums of the resonator to Mark Knopfler’s orchestral opening lick, this song feels warm and utterly relaxed.

Perhaps it’s the major key, or Knopfler’s ability to find lyrical beauty in the mundane: “My conductress on the number nineteen, she was a honey…/Greasy greasy hair, easy smile/made me feel nineteen for a while.” You can hear him smile in the vocal delivery. Knopfler doesn’t show off his full guitar hero chops here, and every note he plays is perfectly placed and perfectly tasteful, which is something I admire even more than an ability to play fast. Dig the last few seconds of the track (from about 4:35)—how else could it possibly end?

As I said, this song sounds like a perfect Sunday morning—maybe it’s because Knopfler starts by singing about “Stepping out to Angelucci’s/for my coffee beans,” but I bet it has more to do with the instrumental performances: understated, they are simultaneously incredibly dry and expansive sounding. Most of all, they sound clean. If my adjectives are a little hard to identify with, it’s because this song appeals to me on a purely sonic level, and I might not hear “dry” the same way you do.

This is one of those songs where I almost hate to write about it, because I fear that analyzing it will rob it of its magic. Maybe you should have just started reading this review here, but I wanted to share it with you, because “just ain’t no way/you and me, we can beat/ Walkin’ in the Wild West End.” Enjoy.

On Jack’s Turntable: We Take Care of Our Own / Bruce Spingsteen

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Jan 192012

Bruce-Springsteen-We-Take-Care-Of-Our-Own-608x608

We Take Care of Our Own, Bruce Springsteen
I can only start this review by admitting my lifelong love of Bruce Springsteen’s music. I personally believe that he’s the strongest lyrically-focused songwriter of Rock’s first three decades (’50s, ’60s and ’70s), and that Josh Ritter is probably the only writer who has been able to match up to him since his emergence in 1973. Obviously these bold claims rely heavily on my personal affection for imagery and narrative, but I’d be willing to argue that mastery of those styles truly sets the great lyricists apart from the rest.

Over the course of his career I’ve noticed that Springsteen writes his best songs when he focuses intently on a specific subject, whether it’s the state of America in the wake of 9/11 (The Rising), his complicated relationship with the shoreline towns of Jersey (his first 3 albums) or the collapse of his first marriage (Tunnel of Love). Unfortunately not all of his albums have had such specific and passionate motivating subjects, leaving us with duds like Human Touch/Lucky Town and most of the tracks on Born in the USA. After this aimlessness spoiled his last two releases, the uninspired Magic and the half-baked Working on a Dream, I can’t help but feel apprehensive about the newly-announced Wrecking Ball, and having listened to the patricarchally-titled single We Take Care of Our Own, I can’t say this apprehension has eased any.

Musically, this new track feels like a return to Rising-era ambition, with its prevalent violin riff, layered background vocals and heavily-present drums. I’m happy about the departure from the guitar-laden sound that producer Brendan O’Brien seemed to favor on the last two albums. I’ve heard whisperings of new textures to come on this new album, which I can see bringing welcome freshness and challenges to Bruce’s style, but this track stays solidly within his established comfort zone. The composition and form of “We Take Care of Our Own” are similarly reminiscent of his Rising songs, especially with the repeated lines in the refrain and towards the end of the track. Its rallying-cry nature should make for some fantastic live performances on tour this spring, so look forward to that.

As much as I like the sentiment of the lyrics, I think the writing feels awkward and clunky in a lot of places. Especially when accompanied by the written lyrics as in the official YouTube release, the phrasing lacks intuitive flow in several lines. There are annoying little jagged edges all over the place, like the extra syllable in “the road to good intentions has gone dry as a bone” or the forced rhyming between words like “home” and “blowin’” in the second verse. It comes off as unpolished and somewhat careless, which I hate to see from a writer who spent over six months re-writing and perfecting the words to Born to Run‘s title track alone.

I’m not giving up on this album yet, especially considering the promises of new stylistic textures and the inclusion of formidable tracks like the anthemic live-staple “Land of Hope and Dreams,” but I admit to being a little bit worried. I’m both confident and glad that the rest of the album won’t sound like this track, because even though it’s on the right track, this song definitely falls short of Bruce’s creative potential.

On Jack’s Turntable: Mahna Mahna / Cake

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Nov 232011

Mahna Mahna, Cake
I’ve been waiting for a long time for today. That’s right, its the opening day of The Muppets, Jason Segel’s revival of my favorite old TV show, the Muppet Show. In honor of this very exciting day I’m sharing with all of you Cake’s fantastically funky cover of the iconic Mahna Mahna, which originally aired as a skit on the very first episode of The Muppet Show. Originally performed by a character (appropriately) named Mahna Mahna and his backup singers The Snowths, Cake replaces some of the television silliness with their own brand of white-guy funk. The lead guitar tone in this song knocks me out every time, starting out crystal clear in the intro and getting progressively rauchier and more experimental as the track develops. Covering a song like this takes a certain amount of playfulness and lightheartedness, and Cake certainly includes that with background laughter and whooping, traffic whistles and a loose, fun atmosphere. From a more musically legitimate side though, the simple melody and call-and-response form offer tons of room for creativity, and Cake takes full advantage of that.

In short, go see The Muppets.

On Dan L’s Turntable: Untitled/Pagan Dawn / Liturgy

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Nov 212011

Untitled, Liturgy

Pagan Dawn, Liturgy

Black Metal recieves a bad reputation around the world for the activities surrounding it in Scandanavia, specically Norway, where this extreme form of music takes root. Its bad reputation comes mostly from a few radical bands responsible for LITTLE things (you know, like murders and church burnings and stuff) but when it comes down to the music, there is perhaps nothing more intriguing. Behind the corpse paint and bloody stage props (just head over to YouTube and watch some videos of Gorgoroth playing live in Poland) there is an oddly epic, almost majestic sound inhabiting the genre. Looking at pictures of the Norwegian landscape one can understand the origin of such dark, intrense soundscapes. Black Metal elitists frequently discount all American Black Metal as being illegitimate and fake, but Brooklyn band Liturgy takes that accusation of weakness and inferiority and throws it out the window. They display an intesity that I haven’t seen in the other Black Metal bands I’ve heard. Their 2009 debut “Renihilation” reveals a style dominated by barriers of guitar drones and blast beats that is entirely insurmountable. This wall of sorts is accent by insidious taunting in the most frightening of voices that I have ever heard. From growls to near screeches guitarist/vocalist Hunter Hunt-Hendrix (author of a “manifesto” which we will discuss later) ups the intensity tenfold. Ther debut begins with an untitled track comprised of layered vocal harmonies. Over the tracks near two minute duration the wall of sound crescendoes until (when the first track ends) it is interrupted by a snare drum fill transferring the intensity from voice to full band as the droning and surging begin.The second track, “Pagan Dawn,” slips in and out of drones and pulsating sections that drive and make one feel as if they were being chased by some mystical creature through a dormant, snowy forest. Of course the resolution of the songs feels quite triumphant as, as though the beast in hunt was slain by a brave warrior of the Frozen North and one can’t resist the urge to throw his hands in the air and scream!
Despite Interesting songwriting and beautiful execution of the black metal aesthetic the band is frequently dismissed as “pretentious.” Most of this pretense surrounds Hunter Hunt-Hendrix’s manifesto about “transcendental black metal.” He claims that the band’s brand of metal is different because it doesn’t focus on the “grim” aspects of black metal… Hmm… I can unserstand why purists would disagree with this, seeing as Liturgy’s music is almost identical to other Black Metal bands. I personally find it strange that the only influences they list on their Facebook page are composers. I don’t see how such a musical creation can be extrapolated from classical music, no matter how dark, but that’s just my opinion.

On Jack’s Turntable: A Little Bit of Everything / Dawes

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Oct 282011

A Little Bit of Everything, Dawes
Starting from the first solemn piano notes this track carries an emotional weight that any listener can relate to. I first heard it played by frontman Taylor Goldsmith by himself on an acoustic guitar in a YouTube video, so when I first heard the formal and almost military salute-style intro I saw the song in a completely different light. In some ways the idea of salute fits the song, as it pays tribute to three individuals who each face the crushing weight that builds up on all of us at times in our lives, occasionally leading to internal crises like these.
The first anecdote sets the grave tone with the story of a man about to commit suicide on the Golden Gate Bridge, explaining his motivation as a combination of all the little things that he just can’t take anymore. Its really heavy and serious, so much so that the first verse sometimes distracts me from listening to the rest of the lyrics. In the second vignette Goldsmith turns to a less extreme and more relateable scenario, as an elderly man is suddenly struck with nostalgia and regret while waiting in line for a buffet. As he wrestles with the missed opportunities of his life he finally finds a glorious little spark of ambition, symbolically asking for everything the way he regrets not doing earlier in life. While the things he ultimately recieves are limited to food (because he’s at a restaurant), the idea of just going for it and striving still fells very satisfying. At this point Taylor takes a very nice guitar solo, then turns to the third episode. The last part is the mushiest and most uplifting, as a bride-to-be explains to her future husband in detail why she’s so excited to be married, even in the face of stressful wedding planning. Its a beautiful explanation and ode to love.
I’ve just started listening to Dawes after seeing Taylor play with Middle Brother this summer, but he’s quickly becoming one of my favorite lyricists, and charming songs like this one are exactly why.

On Jack’s Turntable : Star Star (Live) / The Frames

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Oct 242011

Star Star, The Frames
There are a few sure-fire ways to win me over as a music listener, and Glen Hansard seems to know all of them. Not only does he write subtle, beautiful and emotional songs but he proves himself as a music fan by frequently covering and teasing other artists’ songs that he likes. This track includes both of those things, and also deserves bonus points for being one of the most pristine live recordings I’ve ever heard. Either the crowd was perfectly silent during the performance or whoever recorded this has some damn impressive microphones.

Songs about the stars always appeal to me, as someone who has spent many hours looking into the night sky. They’re an aspect of the natural world that can be immensely difficult to describe verbally, and Glen does a phenomenal job. The song itself has a really intimate quality to it, perfectly capturing the stillness and serenity of a starry night. The first live surprise comes when The Frames drop out completely and let their violinist play the iconic melody of “Pure Imagination” from Willy Wonka, then joining him for the first line, pointing at a feeling of purity, whimsy and innocence, all of which relate to the lullaby qualities of the song. After a passionate chorus the band drops out again, and through the silence Glen and another vocalist start percussively chanting the lyrics of a song that I didn’t recognize at first, but discovered to be “Hotel Lounge (Be the Death of Me)” by the Belgian alt-grunge band dEUS, which offers a perspective of disillusionment that contrasts the Wonka tease but still relates to the song thematically. Looking at the stars can be both an act of childlike wonder or adult escape, appealing to these larger celestial entities out of either curiosity or desperation, and this medley captures that beautifully.

On Jack’s Turntable: Blame the Dogs / Montezumas

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Sep 152011

Blame the Dogs, Montezumas
You probably know Kristian Matsson. Better known as The Tallest Man on Earth, Matsson has established himself as one of the leading voices in indie folk music, bringing his room-filing rasp and rough, jangly guitar to clubs and theaters all across America. About two years ago I saw him hive and subsequently went though a phase of Tallest Man addiction, and in my obsession I came across this song. Montezumas was Kristian’s rock band back in Sweden, which he fronted before going solo and getting famous. While I’m glad to have his acoustic records, its a tragedy that this band ended. They really are awesome as you’d expect. Matsson’s dramatic singing and is just as present here as on the Tallest Man records, but he’s matched by an absolutely fantastic drummer and a bass player that sounds average at first but unleashes during the chorus. As much as I love it, Kristian’s solo work doesn’t always hold my attention, and that’s because it doesn’t have the sense of fun that Montezumas just overflows with. The band also brings out the best in Matsson as a performer, letting him feed off the song’s frantic energy and let loose in ways he doesn’t onstage by himself. “Blame the Dogs” captures a spirit and a sense of youth that few other bands can match, exploding in calculated bursts and then reeling everything back in. I’d even say that the rawness of the recording adds to its charm, much like the Mountain Goat’s early “boombox” recordings. Every Tallest man fan should know this song, if nothing else to see Kristian’s roots and hear him sing in a different context. I’d love to see this band tour the U.S., I’d go see them in a second.