I recognise not one piece of music from this thread. I may have heard the Cat Stevens :(
P.O.S., Stand Up. Crank the volume. Maybe hop in a car and crank the volume.
Pure Reason Revolution, Apogee. The first 1:03 of the song is basically a trap that lures you into some weird alternate universe remake of Logan’s Run soundtrack or something.
My songs that gobsmacked me are classic tales, as common and as understandable as American apple pie.
Both will need a little context.
Let’s us flash back about 25 years, huh? Back around 1987-88, times were really tough for record companies. The CD revolution was still a year or so away from really catching on fully and saving their bacon…so folks at record labels were in the stages of desperation. The “old standby” artists weren’t making million-sellers any more, and while there were tales of great artists lurking in the wilderness of underground music, only a handful had figured out a way to make money. It was a weird environment, with labels routinely promising artists the moon, and then delivering zilch.
For our first story we’ll head up to Boston. In the mid-1980’s, one of those labels promising the Moon (and stars, planets, comets, and everything else in the firmament) was a label called Big Time. Big Time had visions of grandeur for themselves–as a label they boasted a roster that included Love & Rockets, The Hoodoo Gurus, Redd Kross, and Alex Chilton among others. Indie labels had a tough time, pre-internet, getting records and cd’s into stores. Big Time distinguished themselves by having a distribution deal with RCA. Big Time actually sold a lot of records.
…and a lot of that money apparently was going straight up the nose of the label’s founder and president. As a business, the label was generating tons of revenue…but none of that revenue was seeing flow-through to the bottom line. Into this very poisonous atmosphere stepped a band from Boston called Dumptruck.
Dumptruck already had an m.o. of creating music that sounded jangly and happy, but which possessed amazingly downcast and depressing lyrics. After two mildly successful albums in college radio, Big Time promised them, well, the Big Time. All it would take was a renegotiation of their deal, one which would prove ruinous. Big Time got the band studio time with hot producer Hugh Jones over in Wales; in exchange, the label acquired publishing rights to Dumptruck’s song catalog, as well as got the band to essentially advance their own money to pay for the incredibly expensive sessions coming up to record that third album with Jones. The contract stipulated that once this third album sold a threshhold number of copies, publishing rights would revert to the band and the label would reimburse the recording fee as well to the group, and the band would also earn a ludicrous 1.00 per unit moved, a ridiculously high fee back then (artists routinely got .10 per unit in the best contracts back then.)
Problem: the cocaine-addled label head got the band to sign and then immediately (unknown to the group) re-sold those publishing rights to satisfy a creditor. The band didn’t know the label was teetering on the verge of liquidation when they signed the deal, but the group’s co-founder, Kirk Swan, suspected something was hinky. He and the group’s other frontman, Seth Tiven, had a heated and angry exchange that resulted in Swan quitting the band. The group headed over to Wales to record that album with a new lineup, and things didn’t go well. At his best, Seth Tiven is a prickly perfectionist; at his worst, he’s a complete asshole. In Wales, he was a complete asshole, but he had reasons. He was hearing from other Big Time artists that there was no product in stores. Apparently the label was having trouble paying for album pressings, and was owing RCA money, and all sorts of nonsense. Tiven smelled a rat by this point, and realized that the recording session his band was in over in Wales was going to be financially ruining. He discovered that the label had sold not only his publishing rights, but also rights to the master tapes of his recordings including the rights to the album they were still recording and which he was paying for out of pocket…and apparently due to a contract loophole, it was all sort of quasi-legal. The realization of how awful a situation he was in set in; the departure of a bandmate, the difficult sessions, the realization of personal financial and career collapse…it all hit home with stunning finality for Tiven. With their remaining session time, he and his band recorded what would be the opening track on that final (until a much-later reunion) Dumptruck album, a song called “Island”.
The big mistake you can make with “Island” is to hear the sweet melody and Tiven’s boyish tenor voice and think “this is a nice song”. It isn’t. “Island” is one of the most bitter, angry rants against the cruelties of life you’ll ever hear. Tiven had originally written it after breaking up a longtime relationship, but had scrapped the tune for being too bleak. He and the band went back and recorded it, and poured all their own anger into the song. Hugh Jones–who produced Echo & The Bunnymen, The Damned, and Simple Minds among others called it the most disturbing session he’d ever helmed.
And so yeah, “Islands” begins with a gorgeous, languorous melody and Tiven’s vocals, and you’re thinking, “what a lovely tune” if you’re not listening to the lyrics. Then the first verse finishes, and where a chorus should be, there’s instead a music bridge in which new guitarist (and future sessionman/guitar god) Kevin Salem plays a mournful winding melody…and through which Shawn “King” Devlin–one of the great lost drummers of all time–beats out a frantic 4/4 beat on his snare, hitting every 1-2-3-4 with increased insistent aggressiveness on the cymbal. Drummers don’t usually hit every beat like that (usually it’s on the 2-4 or 1-3). It creates an amazing amount of dramatic tension…
…and when Tiven comes in on the second verse, you notice his vocals. Sure, they’ve got a rather lovely aspect to them…but they sound, well, different than you’d expect. There’s something off about them. By the end of the second verse you can almost picture Tiven, eyes glassed over with rage, veins popping in his neck, just spitting his own words out in a voice so laconic and dredged of emotion that he sounds like that dangerous dude in a movie who you know is a millisecond away from snapping and just destroying everything. By the time they get to the bleak, bleak chorus of the song, the whole band–despite Hugh Jones trying to carefully orchestrate them into sounding pleasant and nice and hold them within the confines of his signature, clean studio sound–sound as if they’re reducing their instruments to kindling, with Devlin all but attacking his drums and Salem and Tiven trading lead guitar figures that sound alternately mournful and rage-ful.
It’s been two or three years since I heard this song, but while cleaning I found my original CD (one of about a thousand that actually made it into stores, although since then Tiven finally acquired his own music after a 20-year court battle and reissued his back catalogue a few years ago.) Listening to it, I was indeed gobsmacked. I guess I always knew how angry to the point of violence Tiven & company sounded on “Island”, but hearing it again, you can just hear what sounds like a fellow at the far end of his tether, a guy who has totally realized how fucked he is, and who has given up completely but not first without flipping everyone off.
…and for part deux, and as something of a corollary, there’s the tale of Scott Miller. Scott’s life would seem to make him a natural among QT3’ers–he started a band while finishing his degree in computer science at Cal-Davis. Scott’s best friend heard that group’s music (back then Miller’s band was called Alternate Learning, but they’d eventually settle on the name Game Theory), and figured the group’s blend of The Cars, Bowie, and a little Big Star might find purchase in the music biz. Scott’s friend–who’d recently graduated with a law degree–offered to get Miller’s band signed to a record label. In exchange, since Scott had no money, Miller would cede publishing rights to Game Theory’s music to his friend so he could earn back some sort of fee when the group got signed and started making hits. That was agreeable to Scott, and Game Theory signed a big contract to record for Enigma Records.
Enigma was an indie label with illusions of grandeur; they were home to a real hitmaker in the metal band Poison, but also had The Smithereens, Mojo Nixon & Skid Roper, Agent Orange, and pre-Stacey Q band SSQ on their wide-ranging roster. Enigma’s big problem was that they kept pouring money into signing new artists and expanding their distribution model. When Poison and The Smithereens moved on to major lables (EMI/Capitol), Enigma made only a fraction of the money they should have. They needed to have their artists sell some records, move some units.
…and Scott Miller’s band, Game Theory, probably wasn’t a band to do that. Miller’s unapologetic high-register voice (which he self-deprecatingly refers to as his “miserable whine”) wasn’t the stuff of mainstream success, and Miller had no aspirations for that, anyway. He peppered the band’s first two releases with Joyce-ean wordplay and complicated if gorgeous melodies that wended their way to odd finishes. Miller’s band was constantly in flux too–it took him five years to get a permanent lineup, one that included his girlfriend, a beautiful bombshell of a girl named Donnette Thayer, who happened to be Scott Miller’s steady girlfriend. That permanent lineup recorded one of the most amazing and ambitious artistic statement-type albums of all time, a sprawling two-record set called Lolita Nation. This time the focus wasn’t Joyce, but rather T. S. Eliot; peppering his songs with weird references (including the best Star Trek reference song ever recorded, “One More For St. Michael”), the album was a critical success, but didn’t exactly move the kind of units that Enigma, or Scott’s buddy, thought.
The band went into the studio to record a follow-up to Lolita Nation, and things fell apart. Promising a more “commercial” sound this time, the band first had to deal with Donnette Thayer being unavailable to record at first, due to being on tour as a solo artist with The Church. When she returned, the sessions were pretty much over, although she did put down some guitar and a lot of vocal tracks.
But things got worse for Our Scott. The label informed Miller that the record he was working on would likely need to be a runaway mainstream hit, or the label was going to be in trouble financially. Although Miller’s contract with Enigma called for one more double album after the current one they were working on, the label politely informed him that:
- there was no money to record that double album, and
- they were thusly going to just release a “greatest hits” package and press only enough copies to satisfy their contractual obligations.
Miller didn’t want that, but discovered that his old buddy was in cahoots with the label. He’d greenlighted the “greatest hits” thing, and furthermore was invoking a clause to retain Miller’s publishing rights into perpetuity (Scott still does not own his songs or any recorded versions of them.) The label also informed Scott that they were out of money for the current recording session. Finish up whatever songs you’re working on and let’s press it and put it in stores.
To add to all that, Thayer informed Miller that she was ending their long-term relationship because she was with Church frontman Steve Kilbey now.
In a matter of weeks, Miller had:
- Lost his record deal,
- Lost his girlfriend,
- Lost his best friend, and
- Lost the chance to ever make money off his music.
With studio time running spare, Miller and band poured out one more song, a tune called “Throwing The Election”. The song opens with a jarring, Deep Purple-ish organ figure, before settling into a lovely, mid-tempo melody in which Miller sings about…well…Watergate? The second verse is even more cryptic–as it seems to be about…Happy Days (the tv series).
Taken together, though, those first two verses are about betrayal and loneliness, respectively, if a little oblique about each (although seriously, how cool/interesting is it to frame betrayal as a Watergate scenario? “There’s a light on the 19th floor tonight” indeed.)
But neither of those parts of the song gobsmacked me when I listened to this song for the first time in a long while during the same cleaning binge last week. It’s the final vocal coda that does it. Miller lays his cards on the table with surprising clarity, and all the pain that had been inflicted on him is laid bare:
“I’ve got a feeling it’s all rigged
I’ve got a feeling it ended a long time ago
And nobody tells me
I’ve got a feeling it’s over now
I’ve got a feeling it’s over now”
And then comes one of the most killer song couplets I’m aware of:
“I’ve got a feeling the votes are in and I got none
And all I want is one.”
Something about the way Miller’s voice quavers on the final word “one” there that just actually gobsmacks me. There’s hurt, anger, defiance, and real honest pain in the way he sings that final line. In a band used to making one oblique reference after another (hell, even oblique in the first parts of this very song), you get a moment of almost painfully honest clarity.
What really gobsmacks me though is this: there’s also hope in the way he sings that line. There’s a knowledge imparted here that even with the pain and anguish that he’s still not fucking giving up. The rug’s been pulled from under Miller’s feet, and you can hear it, but you can also hear a sense of “I’m not done yet,” and I love that feeling in the song.
(Fun postscript: Scott wasn’t done with heartache. He got married and saw his first wife run off with his then-friend producer/musician Mitch Easter, prompting one of the more harrowing albums Miller would ever record, a downcast and angry opus called, wryly Interbabe Concern…but then things got better. Miller married again, settled down, and while his job as a computer programmer pays the bills, he still occasionally records (amid rumors of an album with adoring peers like Aimee Mann or Jon Brion) while raising two beautiful kids.)
tries to slip past that suffocating avalanche of words to make some space for my ears and the actual songs
I know quite a few people who got all fired up for that song. I like both the song and the video a lot more than I would expect, but it didn’t do it for me the way it did some others.
A couple of disparate songs I’ve discovered lately and been surprised by:
First is Melody 6 by Tera Melos. These guys started out as a pretty melodic and musical instrumental math rock band (which is what this is) and have been morphing into a more spastic and electronic-focused band with lyrics. I prefer their earlier material.
Second is Gimmeakiss by The Avett Brothers. A charming bit of Americana, they are a non-traditional bluegrass band with some punk influence. It’s just three guys – guitar, banjo, and upright bass – but this song in particular is really high energy and I’m a sucker for a certain kind of scream. I’ll link the Google search because I don’t know of a reliable way to hear the whole thing. iLike has a YouTube that’s good, but you can’t really hear the bass.
Dunno about gobsmacked, but the last one that made me prick up my ears was “Bombs Away” by The Layaways.
I had to go off an look up the name of the song in question to answer this. You know, long ago, when we were all CD collectors, I always seemed to find time to spin a disc, plant my back against a wall, and pore over the album sleeves and/or lyrics inserts. These days of gigabytes of MP3s, I am increasingly divorced from the names of the songs. I also have little knowledge of the albums that are supposed to confederate the songs.
Anyway, the song is called Darlin’ (Christmas is Coming) by an Ohio-based band called Over the Rhine. (Hoping that link works, Lala has the only CD-version of it I spotted. All the Youtube stuff is live performances.) They specialize in midwestern Americana, even sporting an entire album of torchsongs. This track is from the album Snow Angels; all Christmas-inspired music.
It’s the second-to-last CD I ever bought. Popped it into my car’s player, and shortly into my trip that song comes on. It’s #2 on the track list. Most songs take a few plays to grow into favorites, but this one jumped right out at me. What hit me was how magnificent singer Karin Bergquist’s vocal control was. She is always a smoky and soulful singer. But here she manages to shift registers inside of words. When she does it in a refrain that repeats later, it set up an anticipation in me that forced me to hang on every word.
When the song finished, I tracked backward and played it again. And again. And again. I arrived at work, and when I left that evening I played it some more. I couldn’t get enough of it. And I still can’t.
In a manner similar to Tom, I was listening to some older music and Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song” came on and damned if it didn’t give me chills for some reason.
Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle” has gotten me ever since I’ve had my son.
Last song to gobsmack me is probably Genesis’ “Supper’s Ready”. Somehow while growing up I missed out on Gabriel-era Genesis. I’ve since fixed that situation.
So about a year and a half ago I get home after an insuffereably long week of work on my thesis. Not the most inspiring of stuff at the best time, endlessly running test suites and collecting data. It’s fucking Finland in December, I have hardly seen the sun in months, not slept nearly enough, and worked far too much. Not conductive to a cheery mood at the best of times, and to make matters worse I’d just discovered a screw up, and that I’d have to repeat the whole tedious process all over again. I’m in as foul a mood as I’ve ever been.
There’s only one rational recourse, and that’s to get my drink on. Oh, there will be wine and beer and more then again. Actually, that’s a misquote isn’t it? I’m sure of it. And because I’m drunk and have internet access, I have to find out what it’s misquote of.
Eventually, I find CSS - Let’s Make Love And Listen To Death From Above. After it’s over, I play it again. And again. And again. And slowly I start smiling.
All that shittiness is no match for that bouncy synth and nonsense lyrics. Soon, I’ve bought the album on itunes, all is right with the world again and the weekend is saved.
Fucking Gillen is right, music is magic.
The most recent example I remember was listening to Primus’s “Jerry Was A Racecar Driver” for the first time (yeah, yeah, late to that party). Link for reference:
Now, at about 2:00 into the song (about Jerry, y’know, who drives fast), Les say “Go!” and it goes into a headbanging instrumental that brings to mind images of screeching cars doing badass race moves. Awesome, I’m thinking. Then at around 3:00 in, the lyrics say Jerry crashed, and then it goes into the same instrumental. Only this time, you’re thinking of a visceral car crash, fire, and twisted metal.
It worked for me, anyway.
“Chicago Promenade”, by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit.
I caught Isbell on a night when was thoroughly pissed off; the local indie paper has marked his show as a “skip it” for some idiot reason or other. I think the reviewer felt that Isbell didn’t have enough post-DriveBy Truckers material on par with “Danko/Manuel” and “Outfit”, which is a lot like saying “Don’t go see Albert Pujols play because he doesn’t hit a home run every time up.”
In any case, Isbell and the band were fired up and drinking hard throughout the show, and when it came to “Chicago Promenade” they damn near blew the back wall off the theater.
And then the song ended, and for about three seconds you could literally hear the sweat dripping off the musicians before the place just erupted. Magic.
Tired, bored & waiting for the machine to figure something out before I grab 2 hours of sleep, I decided to click some of all these links for once. Glad I did. This is fucking brilliant :)
A few months ago, I was doing old time surfing and about the 5th or 6th link, I was watching an Amazing video on a bicycle thrasher and got entranced by the sampling in the middle of the song playing in the background - Nosebleed section by the Hilltop Hoods.
A few searches and clicks later and I was listening to the full song “People in the Front Row” by Melanie Safka. Wow, what a great voice. She’s got quite the discography.
The last thing that blew my mind wasn’t strictly music, because it was accompanied by a music video that just took the music to a whole other level.
If you want the last thing that was actually just music, then I’ll go with Stella, by Kashiwa Daisuke. Charles linked to this about a year ago, but it’s blown my mind unlike any piece of music since.
If you don’t give it at least 5 minutes, you’re not giving it a fair shake. But you’d best listen to the whole piece if you want all the goodness.
Damnit, links don’t work. Not the full 35 minutes of the song. Gonna try and find it elsewhere.
Okay, so the first 10 minutes are here on youtube. If you want to audition the whole song without feeling like a pirate, there’s a link to an MP3 of it in the description of the video. If you launch it within your browser, you won’t feel like you just downloaded it.
I can’t seem to find any copies of this album to buy though, which is a little bit of a bummer.
It occurs to me too late that this is one of Tom’s games, but I’m still glad that triggercut made an appearance, because I’ve found new music to listen to. Cheers, dude!
Uprising, by Muse.
It made me realize I needed to still pay attention to new music as I age. Singing along with it when it was played at the Super Bowl when the Saints won was ridiculously awesome.
I’ll hit 50 posts someday.
I can echo the Nina Simone ‘Feeling Good’ love, as that song is awesome.
I’m kind of ashamed to say that lately I’ve been constantly playing ‘Nine in the Afternoon’ by Panic at the Disco.
‘Windmills’ and ‘Pray Your Gods’ by Toad the Wet Sprocket always move me.
Others that have captivated me recently are ‘Semi-Charmed Kind of Life’ and ‘No Heaven’
Jacques Brel performing “Amsterdam” live - this can not be beat.
Also, there is a rare version of Calexico’s cover of Dylan’s “Señor (Tales of Yankee Power)” done with Joe Henry rather than Willie Nelson. Joe Henry’s vocals and Calexico’s horns make the song new.