We iz on a roll.
"Fade Into You", by J Mascis.
I'll now say a thing I never imagined saying: J Mascis appears to be
growing old gracefully. Here, he tackles the Mazzy Star standard, and just for now you can't imagine it being done any other way.
"Diamond Dogs", by Beck. I can't quite
make up my mind about this version. Still. Bowie, y'know?
"TV Set", by Spoon. Being the
third in our little trilogy of cover versions, this time Britt Daniel does a
mighty fine Lux Interior impersonation. In fact, I would have a hard trouble
identifying this as Spoon in a blind tasting test.
"What She's Done To Your Mind",
by The Rain Parade. The first, self-released (or so it is said), single by Dave
Roback's earlier band (see "Fade Into You", above). It still sounds
as fresh as a daisy. Oh boy the world was ready for jangly guitars in
1982. (See also, in another part of the same continent, REM, and, on the other
side of the world, The Smiths.)
"I Know You Rider", by White
Eyes. And this is the type of music that those latter-day exponents of the
jangle might have been listening to: except that this, though it was recorded
in 1969, wasn't actually released until 2015. No, I can't believe it either.
(Curiously, delayed release (not quite that delayed, though) also happened with
The Byrds' version of this same song, which didn't appear until 1987.) Download
(at time of writing, anyway) still available here.
"Super Cool Funky Lady", by Laid
Back. Not doing a whole lot that's positive for the cause of feminism,
admittedly, but you can't deny the groove.
"I Can't Kick This Feelin' When It
Hits", by Moodymann. There is a song in here. It has been submerged by
unseen forces. Every so often it channels all its strength and pushes its way
to the surface, only to be knocked under again. On and on it goes. Will the
song drown? Will it survive? Will it survive but be traumatised for life,
spending large chunks of its disposable income thereafter on therapy sessions? It's a
worry.
"Black Dot (The Horrors' Tom Furse
Remix)", by Seeland. Seeland sits somewhere on the periphery of the Ghost
Box alternate universe. One of its members used to be in Broadcast. Some of its
record covers have been designed by Julian House, aka The Focus Group. You know
how it is.
"Aruarian Dance", by Nujabes. I
probably wouldn't have given this piece of gossamer a second listen had I not
fallen head over heels, some years ago, for a mashup of (what I now know to be)
it with Amerie's "1 Thing". They were made for each other. (YouTube comment of the month: "Is this
shit the wii console music?")
"Humpty Dumpty", by Placebo. Can
you add what sounds like a wah-wah effect to a Fender Rhodes? The heck you can.
You can also add a horn section for good measure. Go right ahead. Nobody's going
to get hurt.
"Elevator Operator", by Courtney
Barnett. If this was 25 years ago, I would be all over Courtney Barnett like
some kind of unpleasant skin condition. So I'm happy for her success, because
"kids these days" deserve the chance to be influenced by the kind of
small-scale but big-hearted music that was such an influence on me all those
years ago. (Sigh.) But I do worry about what her unexpected worldwide success
means for what she does. (We all saw what happened when Peter Jackson tried to
turn "The Hobbit" into something it was never meant to be.) Still,
for now we can be thankful for small mercies like "Elevator
Operator", a song about the elevators in the Nicholas Building. In the
mid-1980s Russell, Roger and I rented some office space on (if memory serves)
the fifth floor, and kitted it out as a studio/rehearsal space (but we were only allowed to use it on weekends). I fell by the wayside fairly early on, but the
others went on to make some really pretty good music there. (My main memory,
and perhaps a cause of my demise, was of standing around for hours on end as
the other two tinkered with equipment.) The building, back then, was tenanted
by small businesses in the nature of jewellery repairers, coin and stamp
merchants, and, you wouldn't have been surprised to find, private investigators
wearing trilby hats and chain smoking. The elevators were truly frightening:
metal cages that rattled and clanked their interminable way between floors. You
felt compelled to thank your lucky stars when you reached your destination in one piece. (There
was also the equally frightening Pipe Records, and its clientele, in the corner
of the arcade. We were still, at heart, innocent boys from the country.) Unlike the protagonist in this song, I
don't think we ever went up to the roof.
"Mainline", by Black Ivory. The
kind of string-sodden disco epic I can never get enough of. If The Bee Gees hadn't taken out a monopoly,
this could easily have found a place on the "Saturday Night Fever"
soundtrack.
"Home Is Where The Hatred Is", by
Esther Phillips. Can a song as harrowing as this also be beautiful? It would
appear so. Written by Gil Scott-Heron.
"Poupee De Cire Poupee De Son",
by France Gall. Next stop Eurovision!
"The House", by Le Volume Courbe.
I thought I could hear echoes of My Bloody Valentine's "Soon" within
the veins of this song, so it should have been no surprise when further
research revealed that Kevin Shields did indeed have some kind of a hand in it.
Nevertheless, it is a song that can be appreciated on its own terms.
"Juggernaut", by Stan Hubbs. What
sounds like an emergent transmission from the depths of some mid-seventies
drugs haze turns out to have actually been made in 1982. It was released by way of
what is now called the "private press", and disappeared without
trace. (Understandably, though; who in their right (or wrong) mind would have
wanted to hear this in 1982? (See Rain Parade entry, above.)) It goes to show that what goes around does indeed
come around: this song fits the current, ahem, zeitgeist like a slightly dishevelled glove. Bonus: album cover of the month. Obviously.
"Everywhere", by Fleetwood Mac.
It is easy to forget that Fleetwood Mac continued to release records after
"Tusk". Here is a reminder. (Warning: contains
high-eighties production values.)
"Imperfect", by Perez Prado.
Moogs on the loose. (The YouTube gives you a bonus track, "Ciliegi
Rosa", with which you may be familiar, and which is crazy crazy.)
