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Then send me this mix tape:
side one
"Oh Comely" Neutral Milk Hotel Start with the saddest song ever. A few minutes of mourning a lover, a friend, whatever it is that has gotten Jeff Magnum all wordy and distraught. There is loss here already, even before the third verse and its Anne Frank death scene. Then the most plaintive horns you've ever heard fall in, after 5 or 6 minutes of sparse acoustic guitar and vocals too high for the singer's range, only to be wiped away by an epilogue in which our dear narrator is being slowly digested in the belly of some forest beast.
Know all your enemies. We know who our enemies are.
"Wouldn't It Be Nice?" The Beach Boys See, I *am* older now. Brian Wilson's WAY older. And the song's still the same. A hymn to teenage yearning has, forty years later, become a eulogy to a dream deferred. It's truly a rare and precious piece of art that can change its very meaning as time passes; and when Wilson's dead, when his entire generation no more exists as anything but a footnote in history; the song will live on and change still, and touch the lives of those as yet unborn. It matters, and we don't: that's the legacy of this song (and several other Beach Boys numbers). Songs like this really make it clear how small we are.
Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long.
"Caring Is Creepy" The Shins This song sounds as much like the Beach Boys as any other song I've ever heard. At the same time, it sounds nothing like the Beach Boys. The Shins garnered a degree of fame with their presence on the Garden State soundtrack, and one can understand why. There are, from time to time, records that are so immediately recognizable that they stick with you. Then, after a few more listens, after humming the tunes in your head for a week, something else sinks in, a new recognition, a sense of importance in your life. That's my relation to "Caring Is Creepy" -- as Bob Dylan once wrote, "every one of them words rang true and glowed like burnin' coal."
This is way beyond my remote concern of being condescending.
"Underdog" Sly and the Family Stone Even before their second album, Sylvester Stewart et. al. had proven themselves equal to the task of mounting a full-out frontal assault on the pop music status quo, be it rock or soul. A truly integrated band, both in the racial makeup of the musicians and in the styles of music they played, the Family here unleashes a funky rave-up that attacks the societal barriers facing the poor and black in America. But this is about more than race, it's about more than class; it's about being stuck WHEREVER you are, in whatever situation, and being unable to rise above your circumstances. This song is about futility, man, the very state of being always behind, always outside, always less than what you wanna be. We've all felt that way sometimes, I know I sure as hell have, and that's why this is here.
I know how it feels to expect to get a fair shake, but they won't let you forget that you're the underdog and you've got to be twice as good.
"Dear God" XTC The loss of faith is a traumatic moment for many. It doesn't even have to be a loss of faith in God, it could be a human betrayal. But we have all at one point or another been in that place where we have put ourselves, our lives, in the hands of another... only to be betrayed. "Dear God" is not the epistle of a lifelong atheist, otherwise it would lack the emotional directness. No, these are the words of someone who was taught to believe, who tried to believe, who *wanted* to believe; but has seen and felt so much that he cannot. "I wish there were a god," Andy Partridge seems to be saying, "and the realization that there isn't hurts even more than all those things which led me to that realization." He punches a tree in the video, so you know he's really upset.
And if you're up there, you perceive that my heart's here upon my sleeve; if there's one thing I don't believe in, it's you.
"Crazy" Patsy Cline Not much to say here. Willie Nelson's best song, delivered by one of the finest pairs of vocal cords this country has ever produced. We've all been there.
Crazy for thinkin' that my love could hold you. I'm crazy for tryin' and I'm crazy for cryin' and I'm crazy for loving you.
"The Only One" Billy Bragg I listened to a lot of Billy Bragg in high school. I also had a hell of a time falling in love with the right girl in high school (that is to say, it didn't happen). Bragg's reputation as the socialist with the heart of gold had been nurtured over two albums and several EPs by 1988, but that year's Worker's Playtime, despite its title, really strayed toward the over-the-top lost love songs. "The Only One" struck a chord with me at a time when I was pining for a girl who lived a two hours' drive away -- and besides, she really didn't want me, anyway.
I long to let our love run free, yet here I am, a victim of geography.
"Human Hands" Elvis Costello and the Attractions The early '80s was a fine time for the bespectacled Elvis. Great record seemed to follow great record at least once or twice a year. Rarely has the Angry Young Man been so direct, though. There's no metaphor here, no lyrical bravado, just a scared little boy too weak to say what he means in any form other than a song that she won't hear anyway, 'cause he'll only sing it sitting on the edge of his bed in the middle of the night. Or on stage in front of thousands. Six of one.
Do I have to draw you a diagram?
"If there Is Something" Roxy Music I absolutely adore early Roxy. But why does this song make the cut? Why is this the most emotionally arresting song Bryan Ferry has ever been responsible for? It's not the lyrics, not the music -- on paper, "Sea Breezes," "Chance Meeting," or "Strictly Confidential" are far sadder songs. The answer lies in a single note played upon Andy MacKaye's clarinet. So high that it stretches the boundaries of the instrument's register, it quivers for a second in the stratosphere before breathlessly faltering and collapsing into Ferry's piano and yearning coda.
Pick up your feet and put them on the ground you used to walk upon when you were young.
"Death of a Thought Returns" Great Plains Anyone who knows me knows that I have to include a band from Columbus, OH on every compilation. Well, here they are, Dr. Demento's favorite "straight" act. Ron House is known for lyrics that are clever, witty, subversive -- but not generally passionate and raw. Not often is House suspected of putting too much of his own vulnerabilities (other than his inability to sing even remotely well) into a song, and perhaps he's not here... but if not, it's a hell of an act. This is the aftermath of betrayal stripped bare, and with the singer taking half the responsibility for being betrayed upon himself. Maybe he is at fault. Maybe he dumped her before he "seen her with him." After all, he admits that he "can't follow things to their ends." That doesn't mean it hurts any less to know that she's going home with him.
I can't talk while I fuck, but I can talk about you.
"Think" Curtis Mayfield An instrumental from the Superfly soundtrack. If the building layers (guitar, then drums, then piano, then full band and sax lead) don't get me, the flute vibrato at the end will.
side two
"Here Comes the Summer" Fiery Furnaces Chicago natives Eleanor and Matthew Friedberger have garnered quite a following among the "kool kids," and it's easy to see why. She's got a killer voice; and he can play any instrument ever invented, and write some of the weirdest pop songs you've ever heard. That's the real genius of the Furnaces, no matter whether the song in question came from Matt's or Eleanor's fevered brain: they are instantly accessible, radio-friendly sing-alongs; but the nursery rhyme lyrics and unorthodox rhythms and bizarre instrumentation keep the listener constantly off-guard. This is a hymn to nostalgia. Nostalgia for the future. And therefore reminds one of the Buzzcocks, which is always a good thing. Eleanor's singing is very direct and heartfelt, and the lyrics have nothing to do with pirates or dogs or the plague -- they're just honest.
It'll be so long until it's soon. It'll be too long until it's June.
"Madame George" Van Morrison What could be more fucking depressing than "Candy Says?" The same song, turned into a 10-minute dirge by an Irishman.
Outside they're makin' all the stops, kids out in the street collecting bottle-tops, gone for cigarettes and matches in the shops....
"Talk of the Town" The Pretenders The "oops" moment. When distant admiration reveals itself not only to the object of your affection, but to everybody. Holding on to hope that you might, just maybe, be wanted in return (but you know you won't be). The laughter and whispering that follows. Everyone knows he/she is out of your league. Maybe you're too poor. Too ugly. Too stupid. Maybe you're an asshole who is unworthy of being loved. I don't know, but you have no right to feel the way you do. Doesn't change the fact, though.
Such a drag to want something sometimes; one thing leads to another, I know.
"Into My Arms" Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds I've got my own reasons. Sometimes things don't go according to plans.
I don't believe in an interventionist god
But I know, darling, that you do
And if I did I would kneel down and ask him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if he felt he had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
"I've Been Loving You too Long to Stop Now" Otis Redding The Love Man with pain in his heart. This is one of the first "mature" relationship songs in the rock & soul era, the prototype for tunes such as Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes' "If You Don't Know Me by Now." This is not some flash-in-the-pan romance gone south, this is an affair of many years. This love is a drug. It's what keeps Otis going. She's gotten stuck in a rut, she doesn't feel the same passion she once did, but Otis can't accept that. He's gonna cling to every last second, he's gonna hold on to her till she gets a restraining order. He can't bear the thought of losing her any more than he can stop breathing. It's a warning to all of us: if you got something good, don't let it get boring.
I luhvya! I luhvya! I luhvya! Goodgodahmighty, I luhvya!
"Hurt" Johnny Cash Trent Reznor wrote the song as a twenty-something Gen-Xer in all his "look at me, I'm so miserable" glory. The Man in Black recorded it through the lens of seventy fuckin' years. Sick. Old. His beloved wife dying. I'm not trying to dis Reznor here, I can't get inside his head. Maybe the song was based in something real in his heart -- but my generation often has difficulty making it seem genuine. We're so MTVed that everything looks like a video. Pretense. A dog and pony show put out there to get some tail. Cash had gotten enough tail. He'd done enough drugs. He'd made enough money. He didn't need anything more. He only sang what mattered to him by this point. This performance is 100% real; and you must be utterly heartless if it doesn't move you, at least a little.
If I could start again, a million miles away....
"Bird Dream of the Olympus Mons" Pixies An odd choice, I admit. I used to sing this song to my little cockatiel, Entropy. Then she died. And I had nobody to sing it to any more (my other birds didn't give a shit whether or not I sang to them).
Into the mountain I will fall.
"Killing Me Softly with His Song" Roberta Flack Yeah, I know Lori Lieberman wrote it about Don McLean (Don fucking McLean?), but I don't care. This is Roberta's song, and she sings the hell out of it. More importantly, it sums up this whole theoretical compilation. I chose these songs for *my* pain, goddammit, I chose the songs that affect ME. That's how music touches us, it's when we can feel a song is *about* us and how we feel. "Singin' my life with his words," indeed.
I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud.
"Secret Fires" The Gun Club This is a song of struggle. Of losing everything except that one person -- lover, child, parent, friend -- one person who is all you have left that means anything. This isn't stereotypical Gun Club L.A. punk rock, this is Jeffrey Lee Pierce with an acoustic guitar and some high lonesome pedal steel. It's also probably the closest Jeff ever came to singing on-key. I know what it's like to be shit broke. To skip meals so my wife and kids could have something to eat that day. Many others have had these experiences, too. This song is about that struggle that so many of us have lived, looked at from some point in the future when the scene has changed. The special person isn't around any more, but what they shared will always resonate. Jeff's not around any more, either. But his songs still are.
Touch me through your screen door, I want to remeber you.
"You Set the Scene" Love Arthur Lee died late last year, and it really fucked me up. He had Leukemia. He'd spent the better part of the last decade in prison. And it had been almost 40 years since he'd made any viable art. But what he made is eternal. Possibly the most impeccably arranged song on the most impeccably arranged rock & roll album ever, "You Set the Scene" is the gold standard for playing mariachi horns against strings for full dramatic effect until the whole thing swells into a tuba-punctuated orchestral orgy that would make George Martin blush with envy. When an arrangement's this good, this soul-stirring, who even cares about the song? But the song's a killer, too. A Herrick-esque carpe diem poem following a paranoid 2-verse introduction wrapped around perhaps the most coherent musical structure ever conceived by a hippy. When the last "time" fades into the torrent of brass, remembering how I felt when Arthur died, it's hard enough to remain dry-eyed in that instant. Following the hour-plus of music that preceeds it here, I don't see how it would be possible.
This is the time in life that I am living
And I'll face each day with a smile
For the time that I've been given's such a little while
And the things that I must do consist of more than style
There'll be time for you to start all over
This is the time and this is the time and it is
Time time time time time time time time
So, dear DUers, this is my challenge to you. Post your own made-up mix tape. Give it a theme -- it doesn't have to make you cry, it can make you laugh. It can make you happy, it can make you angry. Just make it MEAN something to you. Make it matter. Tell us a little something about why you chose the songs you did. Share the love.
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