Feats of Strength

Feats of Strength: Soundgarden

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Soundgarden released several deluxe reissues of their classic album Superunknown today, and along with their recent rollicking performance of the album in full, it seems like now is the perfect time to spotlight the band for our Feats of Strength examination.  When discussing the brilliance of Soundgarden, it is absolutely required that one mentions the sheer musical talent of each person in the group, and how each contributed significantly to the group’s unique sound.  From Chris Cornell’s dynamic and immense vocal range, to Kim Thayil’s distinctive and exhilarating leads, to Ben Shepherd’s dark and groovy basslines, and to Matt Cameron’s complex patterns and fills, each member represents some of the finest talent to ever pick up an instrument.  For the young musicians out there, any one of those guys would serve as a fine role model for your playing.

The point of that glowing introduction was to illustrate that it would be pretty easy to point to just about any song in Soundgarden’s deep catalog and use it to show off a particular strength of the group.  Oh, you want an idea of Chris Cornell’s range?  Check out that ending to “Slaves and Bulldozers”.  You’re doubting Kim Thayil’s ability to shred?  I have no idea how you managed this, but somehow you’ve apparently ignored rock radio over the last twenty years completely, and so have completely avoided “Spoonman” or “Black Hole Sun”.  However, those examples are the kinds of displays of technical prowess that should be obvious to anyone with ears; you don’t need someone like me to point them out.  Instead, I’ve chosen to highlight something much simpler and easy to overlook over the first few listens.

As I mentioned before, Matt Cameron is known for some complex drum patterns, such as the one used for “The Day I Tried to Live”; part of that was unintentional, and the result of fitting odd riffs to a workable drum beat.  However, the one used for “Limo Wreck” [embedded above] is one of the most basic drum beats in music: the waltz.  Step-two-three, step-two-three; boom-chk-chk, boom-chk-chk.  The genius is not in the selection of the pattern itself, but its use as support for the lyrics.  The waltz pattern, with its echoes of stuffy and old high society, provides the perfect ironic backdrop to lyrics that celebrate the imminent demise of the gaudy and materialistic upper classes.

It took several listens over the years before I noticed this pattern; the waltz is not clearly telegraphed, as is often the case (either in title or in the opening drumbeat).  But now it’s often the first thing I think of when I listen to this song, and it provides an indelible image in my mind of a snooty ballroom dance, with each participant oblivious to the crumbling of society around them.  And while the band has claimed before that they often don’t think of time signatures when writing a piece, I can’t imagine that this subtle touch was spontaneous, but instead planned to perfection.

Feats of Strength: The Avalanches

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Every year brings some new rumor that The Avalanches are working on a new album, and each year we hold out hope that one day these rumors hold true.  It’s perfectly understandable, considering how beloved their debut (and so far only) album Since I Left You was.  I remember they first grabbed my attention with the memorable video for “Frontier Psychiatrist”, from back in the days when MTV2 showed music videos (yes, I’m of that rare age where I mourn the philosophical changes of both MTV (Original Recipe) and MTV2).  The concept was simple but genius: have each sample, no matter how esoteric or outlandish, performed by live actors as if part of some bizarre variety show.

It wasn’t until years later that I found out that they created another music video, this one for the title track.  While “Frontier Psychiatrist” has its charms and still makes me chuckle after all these years, in terms of sheer brilliance “Since I Left You” has it beat.  It begins with two coal miners stuck deep underground, when the faint strains of distant music begin to drift in, guiding the miners to a passageway out of the shaft.  The visual component perfectly captures the audio shift in the song, as the moment the miners open the trap door, the music swells to fully envelop the room.  We are then transported from a bleak world of gritty black-and-white to a much more modern dance style full of vibrancy and life, as the miners are greeted by two lovely female ballet dancer counterparts.

It’s at this point that we get to the main action of the video, as one of the miners seizes the moment and begins to perform an intricate and elegant dance, belying the expectations one would expect from his gruff appearance.  In that sense, it bears more than a passing resemblance to the Fatboy Slim video “Weapon of Choice”, which was released a few months before.  The dance of the miner captures the elation felt in both the music and the vocals; though the lyrics are “since I left you, I found the world so new”, the action focuses on the euphoric emotion and not the specific act (at least at first).

Everything seems to be going so well, but unfortunately reality has to intrude.  The other miner who stays on the sidelines begins to fade out, and he has to leave his friend behind.  The video ends with the epilogue of the returned miner informing us “Three days later, they dug me out; I never saw Arthur again.  But I’ll bet wherever he’s gone, he’s having a damn good time.”  It’s a melancholic twist that nonetheless maintains a certain sweetness, because even though his friend is gone, he can still remember that last moment of bliss.

Now knowing the full context of the video, the events depicted take on a new meaning.  It’s almost certain that the miraculous discovery of the secret portal is representative of the moment that the two miners lose consciousness, and that the events depicted in the dance studio are some sort of hallucination.  Even though this is purely in the realm of the imaginary, there are still touches that help ground the scene and keep it as realistic as possible.  One example is the inclusion of the two judges, who act as both witnesses to the events and as an audience surrogate.  Unlike the Christopher Walken/Fatboy Slim video, it seems in this case that there seems to be an interaction with the outside world.

However, it is when you consider the hallucination framing that you realize the  true extent of the heartbreaking nature of the surviving minor.  Notice how unsure he is of himself and his reluctance to join in, even though it’s clear he feels a strong urge to participate.  Even when the beautiful girl comes over to provide some gentle encouragement, he still can’t get over his self-doubt to fully join in and instead remains on the sideline providing the occasional tambourine beat.  This means that even in his fantasies, the surviving miner still retains all his insecurities and can’t indulge in his desire to be happy.  For some people, this hits a little close to home.

Even considering this probability, one can still take the ending as a joyous one if the lyrics are considered once again–“since I left you, I found the world so new.”  We can hope that as the surviving miner went on to live long after the events depicted in the video, that perhaps he took to heart the lesson that his departed friend taught him, that to find happiness one must take the opportunity and seize it.  It’s not just his friend that’s having a damn good time, but hopefully the survivor as well.

Feats of Strength: Parquet Courts

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One of our favorite albums here at RIJR from 2013 was Light Up Gold from Parquet Courts; in fact, it finished in a tie at the number 9 slot (we’ll set aside the fact that it had a limited release in 2012, because nobody you know bought the original limited-distribution release).  The album blows by at a blistering pace with 15 songs in 33 minutes, all delivered in a quick, witty punk style that first captures your attention with witty hooks, but then keeps you smiling as you listen to the hilarious lyrics.  I think the best description I came up with is if the guys from Pavement decided that they wanted to do an album of Minutemen songs; now that I think about it, that sounds like a great idea in and of itself–Stephen Malkmus, you should probably get on that.

The one exception to the hit-’em-and-then-quit-it rapid-fire approach to songwriting on the album was the song “Stoned and Starving”; on the album where two songs edge over three minutes and many are only a minute-or-so in length, “Stoned and Starving” seems positively epic by clocking in at over five minutes (with the live version posted above being around seven minutes).  And what subject is worthy of such intense scrutiny?  Parquet Courts analyzed such subjects as mental health in two minutes (“No Ideas”) or the shitty economy in one (“Careers in Combat”), so whatever the topic is it has to be pretty complex and subject to nuanced interpretation, right?  Well, the title of the track says it all–it’s about a guy who is stoned and is starving.

It is the extremely trivial nature of the narrator’s task at hand juxtaposed with the epic scope of the track that makes the song so brilliant.  The consistent, driving bassline gives the song a constant forward-motion, evoking our hero’s dogged quest to rectify his problem.  The looping, repeating guitar riffs mirror the circles in which our protagonist is travelling, as he continually finds himself in Ridgewood, Queens and flipping through magazines.  There are many philosophical questions that are confronted–are these ingredients actually safe to eat, would Swedish Fish, roasted peanuts, or licorice accomplish the task with the greatest efficiency, and would the money be better spent on cigarettes even though smoking kills?  At some point, our narrator clearly wanders off, as evidenced by the meandering guitar solo that tapers off over the last two minutes of the song, fading out into feedback; but the bassline and the rhythm guitar part continue, indicating that the quest likely went unfulfilled.  What hath become of our hero?  Who knows, but maybe we as an audience can learn from the failures of this particular journey, and meanwhile listen to some kickass punk rock.

Feats of Strength: Modest Mouse

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Modest Mouse will be returning next week as they launch a new tour in Portland, though we are still uncertain whether this is a signal that they will soon be releasing a follow-up to 2007’s We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank.  To mark the occasion, we decided to share a brilliant music video that you may have missed when it was first released.  Here, the band uses the familiar trick of playing the video in reverse, but here the technique serves to emphasize the emotional impact of the end.  It’s a real testament to the production that one would know exactly how the video will end, but still end up intensely moved.  So, fair warning: you may cry at the end.

Feats of Strength: Dinosaur Jr.

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Dinosaur Jr. is one of the greatest bands to come out of the American underground in the last thirty years, first rising up as some of the first heroes of Alternative Nation, and then years later defying convention by mounting a comeback that has seen their recent output matching (and in some cases surpassing) their work from their early golden years.  Over the course of their career, most of the attention has understandably been given to guitarist and lead singer J Mascis, as his incredible guitar playing convinced a generation of punks that hey, it’s cool to know how to play your instrument, and his slacker-ish whine was imitated by scores of other bands.  Bassist Lou Barlow also received a share of the spotlight, both for his unique and innovative bass playing as well as his engaging and combative personality.  In addition, Barlow has been recognized for his notable post-Dinosaur Jr. career, with his work in Sebadoh and Folk Implosion providing the spark for the lo-fi revolution in the 90’s.

Today, however, we’re going to highlight an under-appreciated aspect of the Dinosaur Jr. sound with our focus on the contribution of long-time drummer Murph.  Though he has begun to receive more credit through the years, and is rightfully considered one of the primary reasons why Dinosaur Jr.’s recent work has been so strong, his earlier work has not received as much attention.  To an extent, that was reflected within the band itself, as Green Thumb only had Murph drumming on a couple of tracks–a sign of the future when J would take over full-time for a couple of albums.

“Thumb” is one of the few ballads in the Dino catalog, with a memorable mellotron riff that flutters above the melody for the duration of the song.  It has a nice elliptical chord progression, and J’s trademark plaintive whine fits the longing nature of the lyrics.  But for me, the real key to this song is the pure power from the kick and snare drum, which give an extra bitterness to J’s lyrics.  Lines like “an excuse is all you’re in for, the abuse is all you crave” take on an extra snarl when it’s emphasized with those syncopated big hits.  Murph switches the rhythm for the chorus, and by throwing in a couple of either unexpected hits or rests, it complements the ambivalent sentiment of lines like “Pretty good, not feeling that fine–getting up most every day”.

But for the most part it’s the simple force behind the drums that make the song truly stand out, making it an organic version of a “power ballad”.  You can feel the intensity through the speakers, especially in lines like the fill that leads into the second chorus.  As a result, “Thumb” is one of the few Dinosaur Jr. songs that I’ll air drum instead of air guitar–though when the solo kicks in at the end, I try to do both.

Feats of Strength: Beck

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We’re really excited for the release of Beck’s new album Morning Phase next week, so we’re going to be taking a closer look at one of the greatest musical talents of the last twenty years.  It’s pretty amazing that Beck has consistently produced great music for such a long time–sure, people knew that the guy behind “Loser” had a genius instinct, but who knew that it would lead to a sustainable career?  In preparation for an extended look at the career of Beck coming up soon on this site, we’ve decided to whet your appetite with this quick look at one of Beck’s most well-known but least-understood strength.

Back in the 90’s, we were all about BREAKING THE RULES and TEARING DOWN BOUNDARIES and you know what GENRES DON’T EVEN MATTER ANY MORE, MAAAN.  In many ways, one of the catalysts for this movement was Beck’s own “Loser”, which in tearing new folkies a new one by attaching a hip-hop beat to hilarious ramblings, inspired many to mix-and-match musical styles as they saw fit.  Of course, this was a dangerous power that left in the incapable hands of neophytes could reign terror across the land (See: the rise of late-90’s “rap-rock”).  Or it could just be kind of shitty (See: almost every single “mash-up” since 2000).

The difference with Beck was that he didn’t mix genres just for the sake of the mix; he instead found the connections between them, and built on those to create a new sound.  Take for example the section of “Where It’s At”, from 3:11-3:32 (we’re using the original track because this section was edited from the video version).  Beck in this post-chorus bridge is about to lead into a repeat of the first verse, and begins by singing with a distorted voice with a hilarious non sequitur of “Make Out City is a two-horse town” (which is generally pretty true if you think about it).  It’s followed by the sample “That’s beautiful, Dad”, which in juxtaposition with the original vocal provides a hilarious response to Beck’s original…suggestion (really, it’s the “Dad” part that seals it).  It then moves into a sublimely slinky sax solo, which captures the mood of the entire exchange.  Underneath this jazzy solo, Beck uses a similar guitar figure to the one that’s been used throughout the rest of the song (at least in terms of tone), that groovy country-tinged blues line that is immediately recognizable.  Except now the rhythm has shifted a bit, and now it’s a more laid-back feel.  All of these elements together, while representing different genres and styles, are mixed together to create a new sound.

Feats of Strength: The National

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The National released one of the best albums of 2013 with Trouble Will Find Me.  This is no surprise, considering the excellent run that the band has been on–this is now four straight classic albums for the band.  Alligator, Boxer, High Violet, and now Trouble mark one of the greatest winning streaks in music history, and depending on the day you ask me, I’d rank any one of those as the band’s best work.  And just like their albums, it’s hard to elevate any member’s contributions over the other.  Everyone works together to make a cohesive sound, from the rich textures of the Dessners to the complex rhythms of the Devendorfs to the deep, expressive voice of Matt Berninger.

One of the great things about The National is the subtleties that reveal themselves over multiple listens.  On the initial lesson, you get a general feeling that sure, this is pleasant, with only slight variations in tempo signifying the difference between the bittersweet quick numbers from the melancholic slower numbers.  But with each successive listen, you get a better idea of the layers within each song, from different textures between instruments you didn’t pick up on the first time to certain dynamic swells that escaped notice the first time around.  Most impressively, The National prove that intensity doesn’t have to mean “loud” and “abrasive”.

And then when you get an appreciate all the different layers of their songs, you begin picking up on the lyrics, and find a ton of memorable lines.  The song “Pink Rabbits” is no exception, and there are several lines that stand out, ranging from the clever (“Now I only think about Los Angeles when the sound kicks out”) to the beautifully depressing (“You didn’t see me I was falling apart; I was a television version of a person with a broken heart”).  It’s not just the individual lines of the song that are noteworthy, but the way that they are structured as well.

Again, this is a detail that becomes apparent after multiple listens, but there are several songs that The National have written that don’t employ traditional verse-chorus-bridge-chorus structures.  There is the illusion of different choruses, but this is based more on melody and dynamics than a traditional structure.  For the most part, “Pink Rabbits” relies on the same four chords, but different sections have the effect of a chorus because of either a build-up (two-chord sections, marked by the lyrics “And everybody was gone, you were staring down the street cause you were trying not to crack up) or by a quick simple repetition.

The effect of this is we get linear progress as we proceed through this particular story of heartbreak, with momentary glances back at the past.  This is effectively complemented by the music which has a dragging rhythm as if the band is trying, but can only manage to trudge along.  This reinforces the narrative of a person confronting all the emotions that come with seeing an old love once again, though circumstances have changed.  The narrator is uncomfortable dragging up old feelings (“I’m so surprised you want to dance with me now, I was just getting used to living life without you around”) and feels bitter about encountering them once again (“You said it would be painless–it wasn’t that at all”).

There is a particular section where the particular melody line that Berninger matches up perfectly with the narrative.  When he sings the section that begins “I was solid gold, I was in the fight”, the melody lifts up and is ascending.  However, when the narrator meets the old love, the melody line begins to descend as he sings “I’m so surprised you want to dance with me now.”  From this moment on, the mood has permanently shifted, and the emotions come bubbling up to the surface.

Feats of Strength: The New Pornographers

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The New Pornographers have carved out a great career writing catchy, ambitious rock songs with great pop melodies.  A prime example of this is “The Bleeding Heart Show”, one of the highlights of my favorite album of theirs, Twin Cinema.  The rousing coda makes it easy to see why it’s a live favorite; it’s probably indie rock’s best answer to the second half of “Layla”.  I think it’s a fair comparison, because while both are certainly crowd-pleasers, I’m never quite sure if there is a real connection between the two sections.

But we’re here to celebrate, not bury the song.  I think it’s pretty apparent that the key part of the coda is the propulsive drumwork of Kurt Dahle.  It’s his shift to double-time that gives the music its lift, and it’s his fills that connect each repetition of the lament “we have arrived too late to play the bleeding heart show” that help pump up the listener.  He plays a different variation at the end of each phrase, propelling the band into the next go-around by progressively amping up the intensity and increasing the difficulty while never letting things get out of control.

While I love each of the fills, there is a very subtle pattern that Dahle uses that is in my mind the coolest part of the song.  It occurs about two bars after each fill (after the “too late” part), with the first instance at around the 3:16 mark.  It’s a quick two hits of the hi-hat on the off-beats, and it serves to both accent the “too late” of the lyrics, and to reset the drum pattern until the next fill.  It’s a little detail that’s easy to gloss over and escapes notice on the first few listens, but once it’s found, it becomes the highlight of the song.