a coherent collection of random statements regarding God, words and tunes

No need to sell if you're homeward bound....

This should easily be the shortest review in the bunch. Basically, because 1) I don’t want to go song-for-song on a double album (and as opposed to PiL, we’re talking the standard two-dozen songs here), and 2) It’s been done exhaustively — and I mean exHAUSTively — elsewhere.

Seriously: How many “annotated” albums are YOU aware of? 

But let me first ask the musical question to whet yr appetite — what band, really, dominated the musical charts in the 1980s? Especially when you take into consideration albums by the actual band, the solo albums by the original lead singer, the solo albums by his replacement, not to mention various and sundry side projects from other and/or former band members? Seriously, if at least one of these permutations didn’t represent them on the charts for at least three-quarters of the 1980s, I’d be surprised. 

No, dummies, not Van Halen. 

(P.S. As a fun exercise in futility, I actually tried to figure it out said percentage. I can't get anything entirely conclusive, but from the evidence I'd have to say that my estimate was, in fact, pretty conservative. The band, alone, accounted for nearly five years' worth of chartage. And then there's that other guy, who got five years out of one album alone...  )

Would it help if I mentioned that the band’s musical peak was in the early ‘70s? 

 

I SAID…. not Van Halen. 

Besides, that was the LATE ‘70s. Now put down that joint and THINK before responding this time…. C’mon, overblown-to-bizarre stage productions, instrumental chops that ranged from bloody brilliant to pure wankery….

No,no, NO. How many times do I have to SAY — NOT VAN HALEN….??? 

And no, not Yes, either. But you’re getting way warmer now…. 

 

I direct you to a couple of the aforementioned links, including the
annotated one: http://www.rawbw.com/~marka/music/lamb.html, or http://www.tranglos.com/marek/yes/tr_77.html. 

For the lazy among you… well, you probably don’t want to get involved with an album like this to begin with, then, DO you? But here it is, anyway: 

#6. Genesis — The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. 

A conundrum, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a band at each other’s throats (which apparently was the only thing keeping them from flying apart at the seams), wrapped in some of the most inventive musical and lyrical creation you’re ever going to hear on this planet. 

Is it about death? rebirth? reincarnation? salvation? nirvanaesque obliteration of self? pure self-indulgence? all and/or none of the above? Apparently, even the creators (particularly one Peter Gabriel, who pretty much forced the concept on the band for one last album together) aren’t entirely sure, although the phrase “Pilgrim’s Progress” has come up in interviews.  No-one’s gonna mistake this for John Bunyan, though (go find Neal Morse’s Testimony if that’s what you hanker after, prog-boys ).

One thing is for sure: Take one step into this odd and thoroughly self-contained world for two healthy-sized albums (even by 21^st-Century standards), and you’ll come out different on the other side. 

Again, rather than break down this album into bite-sized pieces, here’s some random thoughts to chew on instead: 

1) I wonder how Genesis fans of 1974 — up to this point, accustomed to more pastoral (if fanciful, if not downright weird) images in their tuneage — first responded to the punk-bravado mal mots of “Back in N.Y.C.”: “I'm not full of shit… No time for romantic escape / When your fluffy heart is ready for rape… Who needs illusions / of love and affection / When you're out walking the streets / with your mainline connection?” I mean, yeesh, you’d think I was still writing about the Velvets here.

2) I suppose similar thoughts could be directed toward “Counting Out Time,” the-almost-sex-by-numbers ditty, although that sounds somewhat more like pre-Lamb Genesis pushing the envelope. “Erogenous zones, I love you… / Without you, mankind handkinds through the blues.” Classic, if a tad eeky.

3) Continuing even further along those lines, note your visceral reactions to “The Lamia” and Doktor Dyper’s subsequent “solution” in “The Colony of Slippermen.” I suspect those reactions, and “what would I do” answers, will vary wildly. 

4) Anybody else getting the impression that Mr. Gabriel was in a rather, um, sexually overdriven frame of mind as he composed this?

5) To more serious matters…. Huge props to whoever was most responsible for the musical composition here (I’m thinking Tony Banks gets the lion’s share here, although I’m gathering Gabriel had more than a hand in this side of things as well, as did rock’s ubiquitous guest (in the early-mid ‘70s, anyway) Brian Eno). The way the musical themes effortlessly wind in and out of this album speaks of something other than simple rock and roll (which tends more to whack you over the head with said themes, as if y’r incapable of getting it any other way — see the afore-bashed Tommy from last week; heck, even other “classical-rock” bands of the era [cough, ELP, cough, cough]). In contrast/complement to the rough and strange odyssey of The Lamb’s “hero” Rael, there’s a gracefulness and a coherency to the music here that’s seldom found anywhere else. 

(All other positives aside, have I mentioned that WYSIWYG is an utter fallacy with this here editing program?)

6) Ergo, this album really is a speed freak’s dream. (Not that I’m recommending this route to anyone—just been there, done that, is all. A good cup of coffee, which is something Colorado does quite well, may be readily substituted.) There’s enough in these grooves (vinyl, laser, or otherwise) to have you thinking/feeling/reeling for days on end, and years down the line. Heck, the thing’s already old enough to have grandchildren if it started early enough (and again, given Gabriel’s state of mind here, don’t rule that one out). 

7) So, is this album really the way out from the endless scene, or just an entrance to another dream? Is it hope for the dope? Or is it only knock and know-all (but I like it)? Go find out for yourselves. And look across the mirror, sonny, before you choose (de cide).

Posted by: burninglight at 18:15 | link | comments

Say Hello to Never

 

Man·i·chae·ism — A dualistic philosophy dividing the world between good and evil principles, or regarding matter as intrinsically evil and mind as intrinsically good.

Back to depression…. Kind of. 

I’ll cut right to it this week. Our next selection:

          

            #7. The Velvet Underground — The Velvet Underground.

             Not to be confused with the Velvets’ first album (…and Nico). Nope, this is the third one. Gone are both Nico and Andy Warhol—one really disturbing landmark album and out (and 25 years later, I still can’t listen to “Venus in Furs”). Gone also by now is the lovely and talented John Cale, following the Velvets’ second landmark album, the recorded-in-six-hours feedback-laden glorious noisefest otherwise known as White Light White Heat.

             Having thus inspired three generations of musicians inside of two years, we now get a mostly quiet, danged near unassuming album that doesn’t feel it needs to prove anything to anyone, but says a remarkable amount anyway.

             In Cale’s place is…. Doug Yule??? We won’t get into that—because frankly, it matters not a whit at this point in the Velvets’ career (Loaded and beyond, of course, is another matter).

             Although after those first two albums, one might well wonder if this is the same band. It is (well, three-quarters of it is), and it isn’t.  On the surface, this might well be the Velvet Underground’s most benign album (arguably even more so than the radio-friendly Loaded that immediately follows, since what we have here is a kinder, gentler—heck, folkier—Lou Reed… at least for now…).

             Beneath that surface, however, lies a depth of profundity. And where there’s depth, there’s darkness. But again, there’s also light, which gets further confused by the fact that the character(s) here kinda find their light in the darkness. It’s no coincidence that the most winsome/wistful statement on the entire album is “If you close the door, the night could last forever…”

             I’m not sure this idea has been expounded on elsewhere, although it wouldn’t surprise me if it were…. but considering its emergence during the Tommy age (which really should have been the Arthur age, but I digress…), it’s not at all difficult to frame this as Lou Reed’s first real concept album — a Berlin with table manners, if you will. Picture, if you will once more, a musical story arc that methodically works its way through self-disenchantment, spiritual discovery and subsequent spiritual disenchantment, involving real people and real issues rather than a deaf, dumb and blind kid who people think is a messiah because he plays a mean pinball.

             Then follow along with me….

              Our album opens with a song of both self-loathing and self-searching (“Candy Says”) — sung by our good friend Mr. Yule, no less (whose “indoor voice” is actually very similar to Lou’s). The song’s protagonist is quietly desperate, longing for transcendence….

Candy says 
I’ve come to hate my body 
And all that it requires, in this world… 
What do you think I’d see 
If I could walk away from me?  

            The pace picks up with the next song “What Goes On,” a song of re-assurance and curiosity driven by some classic Velvets rhythm guitar, capped off with a great instrumental break (which later becomes the coda) which, between a truly spiffy guitar solo and the soaring organ sounds, makes you feel like you just stumbled into church off the street. And a really good church, too. Nearly five minutes go by and you wish there were at least five more (but you’d have to pick up Live 1969 — one of the truly great live albums out there, egregious cover art not withstanding — to hear that extended version).

               What there is instead is a portrait of self-punctured-self-aggrandization, the rhythmic and eminently quotable narrative “Some Kinda Love”:

“Some kinds of love,”
Marguerita told Tom 
“Between thought and expression
There lies a lifetime
Situations arise 
Because of the weather
And no kinds of love
Are better than others…”

"And some kinds of love
The possibilities are endless
And for me to miss one
Would seem to be groundless…”

”I heard what you said.”
Marguerita heard Tom.
”And of course, you’re a bore
But in that, you’re not charmless
’Cause a bore is but a straight line
That finds a wealth in division
And some kinds of love
Are mistaken for visions.”

             From there we go to self-induced fallenness and heartbreak, with the gorgeous love-and-loss song “Pale Blue Eyes.” If you’ve never heard it, I’m not gonna give away the punch line here. But those who have heard it tend to remember their first time. It’s a pretty devastating moment.

              So where to turn from there? Well, to (“self-enforced”? I say that only to be fair) repentance, of course. “Jesus” is a straightforward prayer (“Jesus—help me find my proper place / Help me in my weakness, ‘cause I’ve fallen out of grace / Jesus / Jesus”), and I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be. Regardless of where the writer comes down, the singer’s in a quiet, solemn moment where he’s pleading for help. You have to give Lou credit for staying in character here, if nothing else. Some lovely background vocals add to the moment, as Side One closes.

              Side Two opens with a hallelujah that ends in disillusion. “Beginning to See the Light” is joyful, goofy, bittersweet, and arguably tragic, all in the same song.  Plus, it’s a great little piece of rock-and-roll. As the final line’s repeated over and over, “How does it feel— to be loved?” you’re able to interpret it in a different way each time it comes around.

             By the next song, “I’m Set Free,” the disillusion has become full-blown, complete with its almost mock-gospel chorus: “I’m set free-eeeeeee / I’m set free-eeeeeee / I’m set free to find — a new illusion”).

            With the countryish “That’s the Story of My Life,” the disillusion has degenerated into blithely self-mocking cynicism, as captured in the song’s one and only verse:

That's the story of my life
That's the difference between wrong and right
But Billy said, both those words are dead
That's the story of my life.

             With nowhere left to go, on we go anyway — to a song that sounds like a lot more like the first two Velvets albums, as well as the antithesis of everything that’s occurred so far on this one. “The Murder Mystery” is experimental, eery, flat-out annoying, and sounds for all the world like the voices in one’s head contradicting one another for damn near nine minutes. In short, the chaos that had been kept at bay for three-quarters of an album, back with a vengeance.

            So how does one bring this tragic-opera to an end? Why, an acoustic skiffle showtune, of course. Sung by drummer Maureen “Mo” Tucker—who, maybe appropriately, sounds more like a little boy here — “Afterhours” is a sweet, positively disarming little song that ties everything here together and sends everyone home happy. Sort of.

 If you close —the door
The night could last forever 
Leave the sunshine out 
And say hello to never… 
Oh, someday I know, someone will look into my eyes 
And say, “Hello—you’re my very special one.” 
But if you close — the door 
I’ll never have to see the day again.

            And thus closes Lou’s first novelette — or murder mystery, as it were. That’s my theory, anyway. And it’s called a theory for a reason. But it works for me.

Posted by: burninglight at 17:40 | link | comments (5)

The Joy Is in the Journey

     Back to business….

     I know, I know, it’s been a depressing list so far (OK, Television’s not THAT depressing, but nonetheless dark…) As was the Pedro sidebar. And heck, we all know about Tim (although that’s more a roller-coaster ride than a terminal down).

     And it will be depressing again.

     But not this week.

      To continue on a few minor thoughts byrnes and I have been sharing in the background here: While the selections so far have at least some faint glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, they’re defined more by the tunnel than the light. Maybe the thing is, darkness is often more palpable than light. There’s no disputing its reality, unless y’r in denial (which an awful lot of people are). And let’s face it, it just gets easier and easier to find.           

     Thus, the reason there’s not as much genuine “up” stuff here is that it’s simply rarer. Or perhaps we take it so much for granted that it takes an absolute fireball to get us to sit up and take notice.

     Anyway, bottom line: It’s more precious when we DO see it full-force.

     That all said: Our (that is, me, myself and I’s) next selection is one of those rare albums that’s both real and (there’s no other word for it—for the overall product anyway) joyous. It’s not defined by the sad or angry moments here (and those are here), but by the sense of wonder that frames the entire thing and leaps out and gives you a big “bun-yeh” hug and wrestles you to the floor in the dead center of it. Plus, it features the finest and most creative uses of whooping to ever hit vinyl, digital, etc.

     So, without further ado, I give you:

     #8. The Waterboys — Fisherman’s Blues

     Mike Scott has always been a spiritual enigma (emphasis equal on both words). It’s probably easiest to use Van Morrison as a reference point to try define the lyrical outlook here (i.e., love God, hate religion, borrow from Christian and/or biblical imagery exhaustively but declare that whatever affinity he has is entirely due to being born in a “Christian” land). To my mind, there’s a quite a bit of baby-bathwater switch-off going on there; others will no doubt think he’s dead-on. I certainly won’t argue that he’s right about some secondary matters that my more orthodox brothers or sisters are dead wrong on.

     Anyway, I come not to debate, just to try to explain the viewpoint and what will no doubt jump out to someone hearing Mike Scott’s music for the first (or 1,000^th) time. It’s also the best way to explain how the same writer can come up with album titles as seemingly disparate as A Pagan Place and A Rock in the Weary Land (both great albums, by the way, and it’s worth noting that the former’s the better of the two). And also to explain that there are moments in the considerable Waterboys catalogue where I just mentally check out (i.e., the Pan songs and most of Dream Harder).

     But by and large, Mike Scott has been one of the great conveyers of musical and spiritual passion our generation has seen. Picture Bono not forking off into activism (and away from great music) pretty much from “Pride in the Name of Love” on, and discovering those mandolins in Peter Buck’s closet, and you’re getting really close.

     Especially in the first three Waterboys albums, which echoed a lot of U2 (who they also toured with early on), especially the first album. Right down to the early single “I Will Not Follow,” an anti-war song that was a pure thump in the chest that matched early Bono passion for passion. Another great early song/reference song was “A Girl Named Johnny” a swinging saxophone-driven tribute/diatribe to yet another great artist working similarly non-religious yet deeply spiritual territory, Patti Smith.

     A Pagan Place followed, which I’d put as my favorite after Fisherman’s Blues. Tim’s already done a great review on this, so rather than waste space here I direct you to http://www.punkrockblues.motime.com/archive/2004-04 (you’ll need to scroll down a little). Needless to say, if tim re-reads his own comments he may need to reconsider his own Top 10 list.

     This Is the Sea was the would-be breakthrough album, featuring a transcendently great and downright Roy-Wood-like single in “The Whole of the Moon,” a great U2-ish (and again, anti-war) opener in “Don’t Bang the Drum,” the Dylanish rant “Be My Enemy,” and the epic title song, which closes the album and opens a whole lot of other things:

Now I hear there’s a train
It’s coming on down the line
It’s yours if you hurry
You’ve got still enough time
And you don’t need no ticket
And you don’t pay no fee
No you don’t need no ticket
You don’t pay no fee
Because that was the river
And this is the sea

Behold, the sea!

     Lyrically, the opening title song of Fisherman’s Blues picks up right where “This Is the Sea” left off:

Well I know I will be loosened
From bonds that hold me fast
That the chains all hung around me
Will fall away at last
And on that fine and fateful day
I will take me in my hands
I will ride on the train
I will be the fisherman
With light in my head
You in my arms
WOO-HOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

     Only, everything else is different. Like Dorothy waking up in Oz. The agony and intense soul-searching—and wall-of-sound guitars—that dominate the first three Waterboys album are suddenly replaced by upright basses, mandolins (as well as “fuzz mandolin”), fiddles, flutes, bouzouki, a setting that’s traditionally Irish in any number of places. And again, an overwhelming sense of joy. And wonder.  

     The band has also become twice its original size, although longtime Waterboys Steve Wickham (who’s traded in his violin for fiddle here), and bass/saxophonist Anthony Thistlethwaite (besides the fact that you can’t say his name three times fast, how cool is it to play simultaneously in both Mike Scott’s Waterboys AND Robyn Hitchcock’s Egyptians?) are still on board. Gone, however, is Karl Wallinger, to start his own band World Party (who probably went on to sell more albums than Scott purely on the strength of “Ship of Fools” from the first album). The split was apparently amicable (although you wouldn’t’ve guessed it from listening to the song “World Party” here on Fisherman’s Blues--but Wallinger co-wrote the thing, so who am I to argue?).

     Again, that’s not to say that all things are perfect in ScottWorld, even if he's clearly in a good place. “We Will Not Be Lovers”—carried propulsively if not violently by the fiddle/bass duo of Mssrs. Wickham & Thistlethwaite—for example, sure isn’t your typical song about fidelity:

How your eyes are like tortures
And your presence is bliss
I never knew time
Could speed and zip like this
The touch of your flesh
Is tough to resist
Planets collide, collide, collide
At the smack of your kiss
But you can kiss your brother 
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOO!!!!
We will NOT be lovers

     Again, the violence of the arrangement behind all this (kudos especially to Wickham’s crazed fiddling on the bridge) only amplifies the intensity of the "fleshly" struggle going on in the lyrics.

     Thankfully, we’re given a respite in the serene “Strange Boat,” a meditation on life that puts a more meaningful twist on the old “What a long, strange trip it’s been” Grateful Dead mantra: “We’re living in a strange time / Working for a strange goal / We’re turning flesh and body / Into soul.”

     Things return to their previous hairiness with the aforementioned “World Party.” Again, I’ll take everyone’s word that things are cool between Scott & Wallinger, but Scott’s sure pissed at SOMEBODY, as the guitars (or is that the “fuzz mandolin”?) screech in the background:

 Well it’s got nothing to do with anything that is real
You just believe in it and it’s true…
You’ve got dust in your eyeballs, you got mud in your mouth
But it’s your head, it ain’t mine
I’ve got a madman of my own to contend with
Cursing in the cave of my skull
Turn the other cheek
Find a new streak
Get yourself along to the world party (party!)
HOOOOOOOO!!!

     (Like I said, Mike’s real creative with the whooping here.)

     Next comes the centerpiece of the album, a cover of the Van Morrison classic “Sweet Thing.” Quick: How many covers do you know of that entirely blow the original out of the water? “All Along the Watertower,” and…. and….??? This version completely blows the hinges off the original, going places the single from Astral Weeks (another barely-missed-Top-10 album, BTW) only hinted at. The three-minute original has grown effortlessly to more than seven, without a dead or even less-than-alive moment to be found. Scott wails, cajoles, raptures along.

     And just when you thought it was time to come up for air, the music dies down and Scott recites the last thing you were expecting and the perfect thing all at once:

 Blackbird singing in the dead on night 
Take these broken wings and learn to fly…

     To call it a magical moment would almost be an insult.

     The original Side One stops here, but the CD gives us a bonus track, the instrumental “Jimmy Hickey’s Waltz.” It fits just great here. You needed to get your breath back after “Sweet Thing” anyway.

     Things turn more traditional on Side Two. “A Bang on the Ear,” one of the later singles from this, is a good-spirited romp through a long (perhaps a tad overly long-- guess Mike's been around ) series of relationships, and the places and times the singer associates with them.

     “Has Anybody Here Seen Hank?” is a drunken, three-in-the-morning Irish waltz-tribute-mourn to Hank Williams: “I don’t care what he did with his women / I don’t care what he did when he drank / I want to hear just one note / From his lonesome old throat / Has anybody here seen Hank?”

     “When Will We Be Married?” is about as deep into the traditional as this album ventures, right down to the old-time song itself. A “come away, my lass” kind of tune, as the band again balances precariously between tight and drunk, and almost manages to fall off the bandstand by the time the "big" ending comes.

     This would be a good time to share a theory I have, which is this: Every truly great album has a “sleeper” song—that song you don’t notice for months after you’ve bought it. You spend hundreds of times absorbing this wonderful album, then just when you think you’ve heard everything—POP goes the sleeper song. And you fall in love with the album all over again.

     On Fisherman’s Blues, that song is “When Ye Go Away.” A slow and profoundly sad song, and the virtual flip-side of “We Will Not Be Lovers.” The singer is still faithful here, but this time lamenting what might have been:

Your beauty is familiar
And your voice is like a key
It torches up my soul and lights a fire inside of me
Your coat is made of magic
And around your table angels play
But I will cry 
When you go away…

Somebody left his whiskey
And the night is very young 
I’ve got more to say and more to tell
The words will soon be spilling from my tongue
I will rave and I will ramble
I’ll do everything but make you stay
And I will cry
When ye go away

     Another brief interlude follows, “Dunford’s Fancy,” a catchy minute-long fiddle tune that lets you once more catch your breath before the big ending.

     And it’s nothing if not ambitious. “The Stolen Child” is a musical adaptation of the William Butler Yeats poem. Depending on what you think of Yeats to begin with, the lyrics are either delightful or goofy. But there’s no question that the arrangement captures the bittersweet tone and sense of wonder of the poem itself. Once again, over the next six-plus minutes, you’re transported to a different place as Mike croons/tempts/pleads:

Come away, human child
To the water, and the wild 
With a fairy, hand in hand 
From a world more full of weeping 
Than you can understand.

     And that’s it. Almost. The album fades in one last time with a brief version of “This Land Is Your Land,” only about a different land than the one Woody Guthrie sang of... 

This land is your land
This land is my land
From the Aran Islands
To the Liffey waters
From the Gouganebarra
To the Antrim Highlands
This land was made for you and me   

 

 

       ....then fades back out, as the party continues without us.

     It’s no mistake that I pull this CD out and play it the first day of Spring every year. There’s nothing else that quite feels like it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted by: burninglight at 20:19 | link | comments (2)

And now, for the REALLY important message….

             Punk Rock Blues: an incomprehendium of the 20^th-century byrnes, is now in shops everywhere! 

             OK, so it’s not in shops. But at least you finally can get a copy. It was a lot of hard work, over a year and a half, to get it done, but clean living prevailed. It was also a labor of love, and hopefully you’ll love the labor too. You should be able to locate it on tim’s lulu.com site any day now (and if not, I can make the dream real for you too J).   

            There’s 42 songs on the two disks here, so no, I won’t go track-by-track. But suffice to say that anyone who’s been a fan of Tim Byrnes’ writing on Punk Rock Blues (the blog) will also have cause to celebrate the music here. (If “celebrate” is the appropriate word, mind you. In any case, you’ll like it a lot.)   

            A couple general caveats and/or observations:  

1)     This is a decidedly lo-fi affair. And some of that –fi is even lo-wer than others. As everything here sat on home-recorded cassette tapes for anywhere from five to 20 years, it’s not unusual to come across some blur, hiss and the occasional missing left or right track in places. That said, there’s a wealth of great songwriting behind the, um, “sonic challenges.” 

2)     Tim is arguably even more preoccupied with God than I am. Which is not to say he’s anywhere near as complimentary about it. But if you can deal with some honest questioning—and yes, some snotty religious asides (sometimes deservedly so) as well—you won’t have any problems here. Anyone read my Pedro capsule just below? For the most part, it’s no worse than that.   

 

Everyone strapped in? Good. Let’s talk.  

 

Disk 1 (the early ‘80s) is just Tim with a guitar, and usually an acoustic one (and the occasional harmonica early on). None of the blistering solos you’ll find on his recent CD 1900 (or on Disk 2, for that matter)—just a boy and his songs. And they’re good ones. Some are post-Tension Envelopes (“Bless My Soul” and “Let’s Twist Again” being of special note); others were actually attempted but aren’t on any of the live Envelopes CDs that either are or will be circulated in the near future (“Crisis of Faith,” “Just Like Day One”); and the Springsteenian “The Mission” actually dates from the late ‘70s Ruta/Fraunberger (i.e., pre-Simmons/Hegger) Envelopes period.  

The collection opens, appropriately in any number of ways, with “For Sentimental Reasons,” a song that both captures a number of byrnesian preoccupations and takes pleasure in ripping them apart. After a lonely harmonica intro comes the introduction:  

 

You’re so Christlike when you’re sleeping 
                Dreaming visions you can’t face 
               Slashing knifelike in the daytime 
               Always messing up the place 
               Reading books that sound immortal 
               Advertising your good taste 
               As you read them, you’ll forget them 
               What a bloody ******* waste

                For sentimental reasons 
                For sentimental reasons 
                 For sentimental reasons 
                I let you live. 

               The next song, “Trouble on the Farm,” recently reappeared on the third installment of Elisha Dorfsmith’s Sediment series (as did Debut CD’s “Catholic as Hell” and “When the Brick Comes Through the Window” on Sediment 4. Details here: http://www.dorfsmith.com/Radiant%20Store/Radiant%20Store.html.) Another quieter harmonica-driven song, Tim is, as per usual, asking the hard questions:  

               What makes us think we’re really pleasing anyone? 
               What makes us think that anybody’s really watching us? 
               Can’t face the afternoon, it’s coming down too real now 
               This ain’t no magazine, 
               This ain’t no dream or theatre… 
               Show some hope for me, for me. 
               Show some hope for me.     

 

That’s a pretty good indicator of how Disk 1 goes. The last eight songs, it’s worth noting (and I don’t think Tim will object to my sharing this, since he’s probably done so at some point already) are part of an immediately-post-Envelopes suite called Psyched, written during a few-months’ stay in Jersey’s notorious Greystone Hospital after an attempted suicide. It’s pretty rough stuff—from hissing “No more stabs in my back / No more claws in my soul / No more prayers from the past or cheap **** rock-and-roll” to bemoaning, “I have no life” on the closer “Thursday,” to the song that Tim probably wishes I didn’t include here, “Envelopes Rest in Pieces.” It may not be nice, but it sure is honest:   

As days break, 
               The hurt mends, 
               Like shattered glass, the best of friends…. 
               And you’re so strong, and you’re so tough

You’ve turned off now, ‘cause times are rough 
               It can’t be helped, and that’s a fact. 
               Still, this ain’t the way 
               That I thought you’d 
               React. 
               React. 
               React. 

Confessional? Well, YEAH. Let’s move onto Disk 2 (mid-‘80s to late ‘90s), shall we?  

Maybe it’s because I’ve only had months rather than a couple decades to listen to most of the tracks here. Maybe it’s because there’s finally a plethora of (largely self-played) instruments here. In any case, I’m really digging on Disk 2 right now. 
               Variety abounds, from the eery, suitably apocalyptic, “The-Day-After”?-never-heard-of-it “Fostex” version of “Bless My Soul”….
                …to the ‘50s "platonic" love-song replete with saxophone solo (the one place where instrumentation is supplied by someone else), “Good Company”…  
                ….to the downright Syd-Barrett-like “Grandpa,” a somehow childlike and lovely song about the fall (or at least gross misdirection) of America…. 

…. to the dripping-with-Lou-Reed “Vietnam,” right down to the “Walk on the Wild Side” delivery over those crunching Blue Mask guitars…. 

….to “Birthday,” a downright (and needless to say, uncharacteristically) happy pop song that would’ve fit quite nicely on R.E.M.’s Out of Time album…. 

…to “The Metamorphosis,” a Casio-driven doo-wop song ridiculing Kafka and anyone who reads him…. 

…to “The Spirit of Weakness,” a tribal sort of thing that wouldn’t’ve been entirely uncomfortable on Paul Simon’s Rhythm of the Saints…. 

…to…. You get the idea. 

Special note, however, does need to go to “Courtney Love Thing,” a six-minute passionfest where the singer’s simultaneously (and literally, for all I know) courting the song’s subject and talking her down from the edge all at once ("Baby please, put down the gun/That Courtney Love thing you think you got happenin' ain't impressin' anyone). The first minute of the song is almost shockingly pedestrian, then before you know it you’re in this big honkin’ swelling thing that’s about to burst. (And yes, I realize how that could be taken. And maybe it should be.) It’s got one of Tim’s best guitar solos, and arguably his best vocal ever. Passionate, raspy, and still the voice of reason amidst the rest of what’s going on in the song. Regardless of your views on alcohol (and Tim’s own dozen or so years of sobriety now), when byrnes screams/pleads, “Have another drink, baby!” you’re rooting for the girl to snap out of it and start chugging. (My understanding is that this’ll be the “single” on lulu.com, and so it should be.) 

I could go on about the Counting Crows-ish “Lester Bangs,” the even hairier guitar that accompanies “Troop 29,” or the catchy closer “Complicated Town.” But go discover it all for yourself, all right?

Posted by: burninglight at 19:31 | link | comments (4)

We interrupt this countdown for the following important messages….

  

            OK, so it's only one message this time around.

            We’ll lead off with the more “universal” one, then come back for what, after all, is really the more important message. But I think I’ll do them as separate message at this point, so we can get on with it…. 

Pedro delenda est.

  

            That’s right, people—Pedro the Lion, that bastion or bane (pick one) of all that is pure in the CCM world, is hanging up its claws. Of course, that’s a whole lot like Bill Mallonee “breaking up” Vigilantes of Love or Mike Scott “breaking up” The Waterboys, but clearly Dave Bazan wants to head in another direction. Of course, it would need to be something other than the lyrically incisive, musically sparse, and overall danged depressing material with lots of bad words amidst the declarations of belief that we’ve grown accustomed to, and frankly I don’t see that happening. But if makes you feel liberated saying you’re broken up, go for it, Dave. (The fact that T.W. Walsh, Dave’s longtime friend who figured prominently on what appears to be the final Pedro album, Achilles Heel, is going in a separate direction nowhere near qualifies this for me.)

            Anyway, if y’r unfamiliar with Pedro’s music and don’t mind a lot of mopiness and not a lot of musical arrangement with some remarkable lyrics that you won’t hear anywhere else in the “Christian music” pantheon (and with some cause, on occasion)—and either way, could see yourself buying an hypothetical album called More Songs About Doubt, Infidelity and Murder—go to jadetree.com and snag this stuff up.

            A relatively brief primer, for the uninitated:  

            Whole (EP) — The not-yet-ready-for-prime-time Pedro, which probably got this initial shot based on the lowered expectations of CCM. That said, no-one’ll be mistaking this for Eric Cartman’s “Faith + 1.” J A mini song suite about a junkie coming to Christ, it has its moments, like the opener “Nothing.” “Almost There” also has some significance, if only for the blood-curdling shrieks that pass for singing near the end.

            It's Hard To Find A Friend — The first full-length Pedro CD. And while the arrangements are almost nonexistent in places, the wit and wisdom of Dave Bazan really begins to emerge here, as do the themes that will occur regularly if not obsessively for the rest of Pedro’s run: infidelity (“Bad Diary Days”), male impotency of the emotional kind (“Big Trucks”), female impotency of the emotional kind (“When They Really Get to Know You, They Will Run”), and the song that really announces the brilliance of Dave Bazan to the world, “Secret of the Easy Yoke”:

I could hear the church bells ringing

They pealed aloud Your praise
The members’ faces were smiling
With their hands outstretched to shake
It's true they did not move me
My heart was hard and tired
Their perfect fire annoyed me
I could not find You anywhere

Could someone please tell me the story
Of sinners ransomed from the fall?
I still have never seen You, and some days
I don't love You at all

The devoted were wearing bracelets
To remind them why they came
Some concrete motivation
When the abstract could not do the same
But if all that's left is duty
Then I'm falling on my sword 
At least then, I would not serve 
An unseen distant Lord...

If this only a test
I hope that I'm passing, ‘cause I’m losing steam
But I still want to trust You

Peace, be still. 
Peace, be still. 
Peace, be still. 
Peace, be still.   

 

            The Only Reason I Feel Secure (Is That I’m Validated By My Peers) (originally EP; released by Jade Tree in longer form) — Being an EP, it’s more of a holding pattern, but has its moments: From the cover of "Be Thou My Vision," to the acerbic "Letter From a Concerned Follower," which seems more directed at the rest of the world than God:  "I hear that You don't change/ How do You expect to keep up with the trends?/ You won't survive the information age/ Unless You plan to change the truth to accommodate the brilliance of men/ the brilliance of men." 

 

            Winners Never Quit — Wherein Ugly Dave begins taking center stage. Another concept album, this time about the rise and fall of a “righteous” man, and the fall and fall of his “failure” brother, replete with politics, spousal abuse and murder, which crescendos with the absolutely terrifying “A Mind of Her Own,” wherein the tie-in between pride and violence hasn’t been this palpable since Lou Reed’s Berlin. The protagonist’s voice goes from patronizing:

                Dear, unlock the door 

            You're acting like a child 

                To pleading:  

                How dare you turn on me now 

                Right when I need you most  

                To self-righteous blustering: 

                I wish I could have seen their faces when they heard the news 
                Now that's the sort of smack that leaves a bruise  
                The victory is ours at last 
                I beat them at their own dirty game 
                They pervert the words of godly men 
                For their own selfish gain 
                I took their wrong and I took their lies 
                And I made them right
                I MADE THEM RIGHT

                To sarcasm:
                Oh, look who it is

                It's my supportive wife                

                And she thinks she's going to squeal 

                To, at last, all-out assault: 
                YOU PUT DOWN THAT TELEPHONE 
                YOU’RE NOT CALLING ANYONE
                YOU PUT DOWN THAT TELEPHONE 
                YOU’RE NOT CALLING ANYONE
                YOU PUT DOWN THAT TELEPHONE 
                YOU’RE NOT CALLING ANYONE

                YOU PUT DOWN THAT TELEPHONE 
                YOU’RE NOT CALLING ANYONE
                (over and over until the song finally crashes to an end). 

           Control — The CD that finally alienated Pedro from the CCM community once and for all. Another album-long rumination about an affair and its ultimate results (at least in the context of a given Pedro album). It starts bad (“I could never divorce you / Not without a good reason”), and only gets worse from there — i.e., they’re already doing it by the second song, “Rapture,” the very deliberate spiritual and lustful confusion of which were the final CCM straw:

This is how we multiply
Pity that it’s not my wife…
Our bodies working
To reach the goal

Oh, my sweet rapture 
I hear Jesus and the angels singing
Hallelujah
Calling me to enter
The Promised Land.

          AAAAIII-IIIIIIIII. You can practically hear the faithin' bedsprings squeaking along to the lyrics.  

          By the album’s end, the protagonist is settling for “Second Best,” which is followed by the again-this-is-Pedro inevitable, and is wrapped up tidily if depressingly in the penultimate song, “Priests and Paramedics”:    

Husband's lost a lot of blood
He wakes up screaming, “Oh, my god
Am I gonna die? Am I gonna die?”
As they strapped his arms down to the sides
Times like these they've been taught to lie
“Buddy just calm down—you'll be alright.”
Several friends came to his grave
His children were so well behaved
As the priest got up to speak
The assembly craved relief
But he himself had given up
So instead he offered them this bitter cup:
“You’re gonna die
We're all gonna die
Could be twenty years
Could be tonight
And lately I 
Have been wondering why
We go to so much trouble
To postpone the unavoidable
And prolong the pain of being alive.”

            Happy stuff.  

            Achilles Heel — The final Pedro album, and a rather uneven affair. Truthfully, it 
sounds like Dave running out of steam (although the backlash from Control certainly 
served to take some of the steam out). On the down side, “Keep Swinging” should have 
never been recorded by anyone, even privately, and several other songs here positively 
drag (I mean, even for a Pedro album). 
            On the positive side, some of the most upbeat tunes you’ll ever find on a Pedro 
album can also be found here, including “Start Without Me,” “The Fleecing,” and the 
cream of the crop, “Foregone Conclusions,” the single-that-never-was which did Dave 
even less favors with the CCM crowd but contains what’s so far the lyric of the 
millennium:

You were too busy steering the conversation toward the Lord
To hear the voice of the Spirit
Begging you to shut the **** up
You thought it must be the devil, trying to make you go astray
Besides, it couldn't have been the Lord 
Because you don't believe He talks that way

               Well, that's enough to go with or don't. Happy mopings, Dave, and see you on 
the other side.

Posted by: burninglight at 19:06 | link | comments