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Iggy Pop and James Williamson – Kill City

Recorded in the aftermath of The Stooges’ collapse, Kill Ciy captures Iggy Pop in a rare moment of vulnerability and offers a glimpse of the front man at his most heartfelt.

Raw Power guitarist James Williamson supplanted the visceral bombast of the Stooges with a blend of tender ballads and gritty, Stones-like riffs in a last-ditch bid to focus Iggy’s flagging career. Continue Reading »

Popularity: 3% [?]

[audio http://www.iol.ie/~pippen33/Define a Transparent Dream.mp3]

The Olivia Tremor Control – Define a Transparent Dream

Few bands would openly attempt to recreate the disjointed aesthetic of The White Album on their debut, but over a decade after its release …Dusk At Cubist Castle has endured as a 27-track lysergic opus. Continue Reading »

Popularity: 1% [?]

“The White Album” may seem like a peculiar choice to represent the best of the Beatles, or indeed a See What You Hear Classic Album, given the issues of cohesion and the presence of several questionable tracks. But the bottom line is that, despite its faults, this album represents the Beatles’ finest hour in a number of ways. For one, it’s become somewhat of an enigma, each song developing its own folklore that has been debated about ever since it was first released. Should it have been made as just one stellar record? Were there really secrets meanings carefully embedded in its darker moments? Regardless of the answers, there has never been anything like it: a double album from the world’s most famous band that takes in every genre of music, flirting with insanity, slipping into a dimension that was slightly more haunting than it was cheery, and yet still managing to be filled with some of their greatest songs.

Written and recorded during a tumultuous period in the bands career – a time taking in the death of Brian Epstein, the temporary resignation of Ringo, and their stay in India meditating with the Maharishi – “The White Album” sees the four band-mates literally heading in separate directions, often simultaneously recording their contributions in different studios within Abbey Road. The cracks may have been beginning to show, but the results are hypnotically alluring.

Starting off with “Back in the USSR,” McCartney gets the blood pumping with an authorised send-up of the Beach Boys, its tempo making for a perfect tune to start the day. Just as its jet engines fade into the sky, “Dear Prudence” descends with a breathy, childlike incantation, finger picking its way along with an irresistible ease. Originally meant to entice Prudence Farrow out of her room in Rishikesh, the way the track builds itself up brilliantly, culminating in some excellent “look around, ’round, ’round” harmonies, making it one of the album’s brightest numbers.

While “Glass Onion” features a particularly interesting and unusual arrangement, Lennon delves into self-referencing, culling the words from previous songs in order to take this opportunity to make a point about imbuing their work with life that isn’t there. “Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da,” recently voted the worst song of all time, begins a trend of quirky, story-based McCartney contributions in the form of a swaying, catchy take on reggae that leaves most people divided.

“Wild Honey Pie,” though only a minute long, is one of the Beatles’ most strangest and warped cuts of all – even for The White Album. Even still, it’s an ingenious little nugget that would have been unlike anything else at the time, and it should have come as no surprise when the Pixies decided to cover it over two decades later. While “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill” (another song inspired by events in India) seems like Lennon’s take on the kind of format of song McCartney was inclined towards, it’s merely a fun and light-hearted excursion before the heavyweights of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” and “Happiness is a Warm Gun” step in.

” Frequently cited as many people’s favourite White Album track, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” was George Harrison’s time to shine. Brooding into resignation, Eric Clapton’s guitar cuts into the heavy, falling chords, wailing dramatically either side of the almost elegiac chorus in what is one of the album’s most stunning pieces. Similarly, Lennon’s harrowing “Happiness…” is an extraordinary five-piece suite that continually shifts its dynamic. Beginning with an almost depressed whisper, digging into a string of jagged, feverish imagery, the magnetic drone of the woozy guitar that accompanies the lines “I need a fix, ’cause I’m goin’ down…” is simply one of the most effective moments on The White Album. Finding another burst of energy, Lennon swings the song into a final commanding turn, “bang bang, shoot shoot” being piped out sweetly as he shakes out the closing lines dramatically. Though “I’m So Tired” is one of the more straightforward tracks on the album, Lennon uses its funk tinged blues to paint a remarkably lucid picture of a restless night, stamping his energy into a scene of midnight cigarette butts and relationship anxiety. With “Blackbird,” McCartney takes a moment to get serious and produce a beautifully stripped down arrangement that’s indisputably one of the highlights of his career. Essentially a solo recording, the song has widely been interpreted as being inspired by the struggle of African-Americans to attain civil rights, but was also infamously misinterpreted as part of Charles Manson’s reading of “The White Album” – an analysis that, as we shall see, would lead to deadly consequences.

Closing off the first disc, Lennon records his own contender for a career best; another solo acoustic piece, “Julia” catches him at a rare moment of vulnerable but spellbinding openness, paying tribute to his deceased mother. Halfway through, and it’s as if Lennon and McCartney are trying to outshine each other, producing the goods pound for pound.

Starting the second disc off with a burst of energy, “Birthday” is as playful as it is pounding, the band stomping (and clapping) their way through one of the album’s sillier, light-hearted numbers. A cooler, smoother outing, the rollicking pump of “Yer Blues” is a tongue-in-cheek send-up of the Englishman’s take on the genre, but it can’t help but be a bloated feast of droning guitar bending none the less.

An acoustic sweetener, “Mother Nature’s Son” is in much the same vein of some of Paul’s other White Album tunes, doot-dooing and foot tapping away until a light, streaming accompaniment of horns and strings lifts things off – it’s a veritable McCartney signature.

Written about the sense of disillusionment that the band experienced after the Maharishi came under fire for a series of sexual abuse claims, the slinking piano of “Sexy Sadie” makes for one of the more concentrated and rewarding listens in the White Album experience.

“Helter Skelter,” on the other hand, epitomises that experience, its haunting legacy almost single-handedly defining the mythos of the release as a whole. An absolute juggernaut of adrenalin, its pummelling sound has even been credited with inventing Heavy Metal. Its lyrics, however, were another focal point (along with “Blackbird” and “Piggies”) of Charles Manson’s skewered philosophy, its associations tainted forever when it formed a backdrop to a series of brutal murders in 1969, including Roman Polanski’s pregnant wife Sharon Tate.

Perhaps one of the Beatles’ most recognisable tunes from the latter stages of their career (possibly from featuring in advertisements), “Revolution 1″ is one of the most straightforward tracks on the White Album, sounding so like typical 60s rock fare that, arguably, it may sound out of place here. “Honey Pie” retreats further back down the time scale, McCartney conjuring up an oompah of war-time, show band gold, proclaiming “I like this kind of music!” almost defensively as he mixes the eclecticism of the album up to a dizzying degree. Harrison’s “Savoy Truffle” is loaded with the kind of sweeping pomp one would have found on the funk of the Atlantic label, only its lyrics are a virtual tour guide through the contents of a box of chocolates, of all things.

The imaginative “Cry Baby Cry” is Lennon’s last hurrah on the album, putting any question of a songwriting competition between the band mates beyond all doubt. Its infectious paddle is injected with brilliant squeals of electric guitar and clinking piano keys before McCartney makes a final bid to steal the show with what is my favourite moment on the entire release: a simple sing-along coda sung softly and only lasting for a number of seconds, the ease with which “Can you take me back…where I came from” fades out is a magnetic addition. It may be tacked on as a mere afterthought, but it sums up exactly where the band were at this point of their career: they were plucking these haunting melodies out of the air for fun.

Ironically, what comes next is the most despised of all Beatles’ songs, the experimental “Revolution 9.” Long before the likes of The Books were making artistic collages of sound samples, The Beatles raised more than a few eyebrows with a reckless rampage through archives of stock sound files, weaved together by the tittering narration of John Lennon and a spinning voice simply repeating “Number 9,” over and over. If you have ever seen the episode of The Simpsons where the direction of Homer’s barbershop quartet is hijacked by Barney and his new Japanese girlfriend with their belching “Number Eight” song (in fact, the entire episode is a hilarious summation of the Beatles’ career), that moment should make even more sense now. Closing things out is the Ringo-penned, “Goodnight,” floating away with a serenading, fairytale quality, capping off what is the most controversial part of the band’s career. It’s something that just has to be heard to be believed…

Many people have agreed with George Martin’s claim that The White Album should have just been condensed down to one spectacular disc, and on the 30th Anniversary of its release, MOJO Magazine ran a feature on the highly debated permutations of what that one disc would be comprised of. And therein lies a charm that other albums just can’t offer – it’s so disjointed and head-spinning that you can make your own mix of the album and be guaranteed an amazing listen.

Artist / Group:
The Beatles
Album:
The White Album
Label:
EMI
Released:
1968

Popularity: 1% [?]

            As the first mainstream act to integrate not only both sexes, but different racial backgrounds, by reaching their creative peak amidst the crumbling ideology of the Sixties, Sly and the Family Stone ensured that their breakthrough to a mainstream audience was a timely one. When the sweeping harmonies of the title track open the album with a burst of rousing, motivational niceties, one would be forgiven for thinking that “Stand!” is going to be the wishy-washy sentiments of a bunch of soulful happy campers. Yet when the song suddenly closes out on a loaded funk break, cruising into the considerably risqué (for the time) “Don’t Call Me Nigger, Whitey,” it soon becomes clear that the group’s funkified rhythms can make the switch from anthems of good vibes to edgy social commentary at the drop of a hat.

              Saturated with Wah, its pumping horns stabbing away behind the simplest of refrains, “Don’t Call Me…” is one of those songs that will have you singing along the first time you hear it. Being one of the more jam-orientated tracks on the album, however, it’s guilty of building up to an unnecessary climax, dragging itself on when it would have been more effective as a track half its length. On the other hand, if a track like “I Want to Take You Higher” runs long, no one will be complaining. As three different vocalists deliver their lines one after the other, the combination of a dirty, distorted bass-line and the excited whispers of “boom-acka-lacka-lacka-boom” provide the song with a chugging momentum, becoming a rip-roaring display of funk that shifts the gear of the album up once more.

              The two-step dynamic of moving from the light and dreamy to spectacular breakbeats repeats anew when the simple, pleasant charm of “Somebody’s Watching You” paves the way for “Sing a Simple Song.” Along with Funkadelic’s “Can You Get to That?”, this has to be one of the greatest funk songs of all time, and easily considered an icon of the genre. Its springy riff is as recognisable as it is infectious, rolling along while the entire track is infused with an energetic array of different elements: the clean Blues sound to the twanging guitar, the stretching wheeze of the jazz horns, the Gospel-like interplay of the vocals – it all adds up to something that’s indisputably funky.

              Next up is the even more identifiable “Everyday People,” its uplifting shimmer made famous not only by Arrested Development’s hit cover version, but by its frequent placement in television commercials. With its positive, sing-along quality feeling like it’s come from the pages of a preacher’s sermon book, this song typifies the softer, smiley side to “Stand!”. In contrast, “Sex Machine” could not be any more different. A sprawling, gritty instrumental, Sly Stone rides its coasting, repetitive groove with a sound that appears to be his vocals being fed through a harmonica before filtered by a guitar talk box. Notching a track time upwards of fifteen minutes, it does something to send the album’s peak into a sharp comedown, leaving you wishing that climax could be drawn out – ironic, given that the song itself is designed to be a soundtrack to love making (and wouldn’t seem out of place in a porno).

              Finishing with “You Can Make It If You Try,” “Stand!” would appear to be book-ended by another heartening message, but the track actually forms a hybrid of the album’s two templates. While having the same spirit of the elevating “Stand!” and “Everyday People,” the song is also punctuated brilliantly every now and again with mouth-watering breakdowns – the kind that would be sampled countless times by hip-hop outfits ever since. Though James Brown is the only other act that could be credited with the birth of funk more so than Sly and the Family Stone, the latter’s polished form of songcraft gave way to a more widespread appeal, inspiring even the likes of Miles Davis…and that level of influence speaks for itself.

Artist / Group:
Sly and the Family Stone
Album:
Stand!
Label:
Epic
Released:
1969

Popularity: 1% [?]

           Releasing his second album only months after his first, Neil Young swiftly followed on from his debut as if to completely retract that direction and start anew. Gone is the polished country-folk that fades out on every track, and in its place arrives a rougher, jagged sound capable of unfolding into a blistering epic at any moment.

             If there’s one song in Young’s entire repertoire that’s perfectly suited to ringing in such a dramatic change, it’s “Cinnamon Girl.” Tearing the album open with the drive of its gravely, masticating riff, it also aptly announces the first appearance of Crazy Horse (formerly known as The Rockets”) behind Young, beginning a fruitful and extremely successful relationship that would continue to present day. Stomping along with the simplicity and effectiveness of other much-beloved classic rock gems such as “Sunshine of Your Love,” it’s an introduction made all the more breathtaking with one of the greatest endings to a song ever recorded. A solo, electric coda twiddles its way out of nowhere, capping things off with a sweep of remarkable style.

             The title song, meanwhile, attempts to speak for the transition undertaken from the simpler life of living in the open country to the superficial hustle and bustle of a modern metropolis such as L.A. (a move Young himself had recently undergone). Consequently, the apparent easy-going pace of the song is punctuated with a string of eschewing “sha-la-las,” intertwined with the thinly veiled cynicism of “everybody knows, everybody knows,” as the protagonist longs for his former lifestyle. A duet with Robin Lane, the slow dirge of “Round & Round (It Won’t Be long)” is exactly the kind of evocative, mournful craft of song-writing that Young would later perfect on “After the Goldrush.” Although such tender lines as “Round and round and round we spin / To weave a wall to hem us in,” sit slightly out of step with the brunt of the album, its presence attests to the more expressive range Young was after with “Everybody Knows This is Nowhere,” and is key to balancing out the force of its three-pronged strike.

             “Down by the River” is very much the centrepiece of that force; adapting the age-old story of a crime of passion at the waterside, Young makes it his own with unmistakable prowess. A far cry from the multi-layered, short but sweet structures that made up much of his previous release, the key to this song is its loose, live feel: as it drifts along, the interplay (both vocally and musically) between Young and guitarist Danny Whitten is exceptional, and the gaps left for the band are filled out in such a way that it would practically define the path of their careers. From the quiet strum of the opening chords, to an amazing solo that begins simply with the same note being strummed thirty-six times, digging into the song like barbed wire, its dramatic, mesmerising quality never dips for an instant.

             Where Whitten’s backup shined on “Down by the River,” Billy Talbot’s bass takes hold of the reins for the second epic, “Cowgirl in the Sand,” which eclipses the former’s already lengthy track time by extending to just over ten minutes. Meditating on the unobtainability of a dream girl (“When so many love you, is it the same?”), the song provides another platform for the newly discovered magic between Crazy Horse and Young to take centre stage, yet it’s the floating harmonies that follow Young’s leading lines (“Hello cowgirl in the sand… Hello ruby in the dust… Hello woman of my dreams”) that strengthen a song where not a single note has been wasted.

             The only problem with “Everybody Knows This is Nowhere” is that the power of its heavyweight trio means that the material in between is completely overshadowed, causing “The Losing End (When You’re On)” and “Running Dry (Requiem For The Rockets)” to appear as mere country-tinged filler when they would have normally been regarded as much more than mere solid, well-rounded efforts. However, the fact that three of its seven songs are arguably amongst Neil Young’s all-time top five is enough to secure it a place in the canon of rock’s masterpieces. On the other hand, its significance doesn’t quite end there: although the accessibility of “After the Goldrush” makes it a popular contender for Young’s most classic album, this is both his and Crazy Horse’s finest hour. It not only contains his defining moments, but by moving into new, groundbreaking territory, its continuing influence has since earned Young the title “Godfather of Grunge.”

Artist / Group:
Neil Young & Crazy Horse
Album:
Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere
Label:
Reprise
Released:
May 1969

Popularity: 1% [?]