Sunday, October 7th, 2007 // Paperhouse
In an interview with Playboy in 1980, John Lennon talked about writing the song “Nowhere Man”; “I’d spent five hours that morning trying to write a song that was meaningful and good, and I finally gave up and lay down,” he said. “Then ‘Nowhere Man’ came, words and music, the whole damn thing as I lay down.”
When we talk about John Lennon, we often recognize him as being one of the greatest songwriters in the history of rock music. But for those five hours, even in 1965, at the height of the success of the Beatles — he couldn’t write a good song. For that matter, after Imagine in 1971, Lennon seems to have lost his genius: He spent the last nine years of his life writing mediocre, unimpressive pop. This doesn’t seem to make sense. During those nine years and especially during those five hours, Lennon had everything he needed to write pure pop perfection. He had experience, he had written good songs countless times before, and he knew more about songwriting than anyone. But it wasn’t enough.
Inconsistencies like this abound in pop music. All too often, bands create one immaculate album and then go on to release several sub-par ones. I’ve probably listened to The Strokes album Is This It? over 50 times; yet I’ve only listened to the band’s next two albums once or twice. How did Weezer go from the brilliance of The Blue Album and Pinkerton to the lamentable Green Album? Another issue: In bands with two guitarists — both players then equally suited to songwriting — one guitarist often winds up writing all of the songs. Finally, there’s also the problem of one-hit wonders, where the gift of songwriting enters into a musician for just a few hours or days, leaving him as quickly as it came. The answer to all of these problems lies in one thing: vocal melody.
Melody is quite often the most important element of a pop song. It’s what you sing along to; it’s what attracts you and makes you come back for more. Without well-crafted melodies, pop songs tend to fall apart. Unfortunately for songwriters, this most important element is also the most elusive. Writing melodies cannot be taught; melodies must be summoned, and quite often they just don’t come. The best songwriters know what things lead to a good melody: certain chord changes (although too much theory can be detrimental), experimentation, and practice in general; but none of these strategies will ever guarantee that one will come.
To be sure, all art involves this inconsistency. There is no “formula” for great literature, painting, poetry, or film, yet melody is somehow different. Your brain undergoes an instinctual “yes/no” reaction when it hears a melody, while these other art forms usually leave room for a “maybe.” Melodies can neither hide nor argue.
Give some credit then to those few bands that are capable of putting out one solid album after the next. Still, don’t be surprised if their next record bombs; even John Lennon couldn’t keep it going forever.
Sunday, September 30th, 2007 // Paperhouse
London is electronic music. Jungle, dubstep, IDM, electronica, glitch, ambient, and (sadly) trance all had roots in the United Kingdom’s capital city. While these genres may catalyze a spectrum of thoughts (between falling asleep and dancing for 15 solid hours, then waking up in a hospital bed wondering what happened to your missing wallet), they all have one thing in common: The music is created by nerds.
Mentally place yourself in Brooklyn, New York — quite possibly the epicenter of the scenester universe. Everyone in your cone of vision is wearing jeans that grab so much crotch, there is literally no chance of future procreation. Odds are you will bump into a self-proclaimed visionary artist or poet, whose work is more amateurish than the garbage you turned out during an unnecessarily emotional high school breakup. (As a side-note, they’re probably drinking Red Stripe.) You’re standing in line at Studio B — one of the newer clubs set in the middle of a warehouse district. While a little shaky about the prospect of getting mugged, the shocking plethora of free parking manages to overshadow your nervousness. You’re there to see Simian Mobile Disco: a British electro-dance production duo from the coastal town of Bristol. From what you’ve heard, you’ve painted a picture in your head of a pair of waifs, dressed in a “Frankie Says Relax” T-shirt paired with the aforementioned size-zero women’s jeans.
But when the band hits the stage, you find you were completely wrong. These two gentlemen are no trendier than your run-of-the-mill Linux-running, occasionally showering, Carnegie Mellon computer science major. Huge white-guy afro, Nirvana-era ripped jeans, and middle-aged physique. They don’t mix with turntables and they have presumably never touched a traditional instrument. They use laptops, beat samplers, and patch bays (basically, panels full of circuits).
Somehow, unbeknown to me, such equipment combined with the direction of two nerdy dudes produced some of the most dance-able music I’ve heard to date — ironic, considering neither member of the duo could dance to save their lives. The show is mesmerizing — a veritable mindfuck of light and sound.
The topical music genre, which I colloquially address as “Nerd Dance,” has been on the rise over the past few years. Rewind to Pittsburgh last summer: Girl Talk, a 26-year-old biomedical engineering graduate from Case Western Reserve, was published in the College Music Journal and Rolling Stone, both of which had a musically induced orgasm over his first major release Night Ripper. Gregg Gillis (Girl Talk’s human name) mastered the art of mash-up dance, somehow successfully mixing Ying Yang Twins with Elton John. That being said, Gillis is just shy of 6’3”, has an extremely pronounced Adam’s apple, and sports a dance routine which ultimately resembles an epileptic giraffe. A nerd.
Consider this a call to arms for music-loving dorks everywhere — your era is now. Groups like Daft Punk, Alan Braxe and Friends, Justice, and Digitalism are all rocking sold-out shows and packed nightclubs. Grab your computers, circuitry toolkits, and an 808 and perhaps someday, you could be the next Simian Mobile Disco or Girl Talk.
Sunday, September 23rd, 2007 // Paperhouse
Slicing, broiling, chewing, and swallowing are such natural processes that singing about them is just as natural. Eating is one of life’s purest visceral pleasures, so I present to you a list of songs about food (at least in name).
Cibo Matto — “Artichoke” “Artichoke” is off of the Cibo Matto’s magnum opus, Viva! La Woman, in which Cibo Matto presents to us a number of food-themed songs. “Artichoke” is the most “serious” food and song on the album, beginning with a crumple and a clatter over a clunky piano. It’s definitely not a fast food track — it oozes all over, and Hatori’s voice glides along the distorted instruments. “Can you squeeze a lemon on me?”
REM — “Orange Crush” Orange Crush is a deliciously sweet soda, and I’ve always had a thing for this classic REM tune, in part because it refers to something so lighthearted as a soft drink. At least, that’s what I used to think — according to Wikipedia, “Orange Crush” is talking about Agent Orange. Huh. Well, at least this song, secretly about Vietnam, has the fun fizz of the soda. (There’s also a far more depressing version: the recent cover by Editors.)
Wiley — “Pies” Wiley is a British rapper who produced a subgenre of Grime he calls “Eski,” as in Eskimo, because his beats are so icy. The beats on “Pies” sound like they were created by hitting massive icicles with mallets, so Wiley channels strangely serious hip-hop as he sings: “Who ate all the pies? (pies) / Who ate all the pies? (pies) / There goes Wiley, there goes Wiley, he ate all the pies, boy.” Clearly, “Pies” is an incisive exposé on urban life in London.
Coil — “Broccoli” You might think a song called “Broccoli” would be silly, and the gloomy clicking and chanting are so over the top that it is at least smirk-worthy. That is, until you realize the band is talking about the death of your parents, saying: “Wise words from the departing: Eat your greens, especially broccoli. Always wear sensible shoes.” Beyond creepy.
Smashing Pumpkins — “Mayonaise” I love mayonnaise, the condiment. Many people find it absolutely disgusting, but there’s something fabulous about its semi-gelatinous giggle smothered all over French fries. There’s also something fabulous about Corgan’s voice smothered all over “Mayonaise” [sic]. “Mayonaise” presents a shockingly perfect balance of breathiness, guitar distortion, and indulgent, adolescent angst. Fans adore it, along with the better-known tracks off Siamese Dream like “Disarm” and “Cherub Rock.” It’s almost depressing to listen to the overdramatic, whiny new Pumpkins album — alongside the intricate, sensitive Siamese Dream — but that’s a different column entirely.
