So anyway, I thought I’d try my hand at something similar, not so much because I believe that anyone gives a shit what I think about music, but because I want to write and music is a handy topic; so this site’s existence seems providential. Or something.
A couple of weeks ago I read a soundbite from Thom Yorke, about how maybe albums are a things of the past, what with mp3s and iTunes and everyone putting together songlists to suit their own tastes rather than putting themselves at the mercy of the artist for the length of a CD. Whether that’s true or not, I couldn’t say; I do know that I listen to self-made compilations as much as, and maybe more than, actual albums.
One of my most favorite recent compilations has “Simple Minds Mix Disc” written on it with a marker. It doesn’t contain a single Simple Minds song; rather, it’s a collection of the original songs that Simple Minds covered on their rather inadvisable 2001 album Neon Lights, for which the word “hubris” might have been coined. Don’t get me wrong; I like Simple Minds just fine, but they were in over their balding, greying heads. However, they (or maybe just Jim Kerr) proved rather brilliant at sequencing the tracks, and I followed their lead when I burned a CD with only twelve tracks on it, as follows:
1. Them, “Gloria”
Since none of the other songs sound anything like this, which is too primitive to even be called blues, it’s a good idea to start off the album with it. Actually, I’m wrong; that organ line during the break (probably nicked from Alan Price) is both insistent and melodic, and on its own could even account for a good deal of 70s art-rock and proto-electronica, which is what makes up the majority of the rest of this list. But that great grungy guitar (nicked from Dave Davies), stomping beat (nicked from the Dave Clark 5) and Van Morrison’s unearthly growl (nicked from Howlin’ Wolf) all combine to create somethin thrilling and maybe even unsettling. I can’t imagine what upright parents must have thought in 1964 hearing “and she come to my house/she knock upon my door/then she come to my room/ah she make me feel awright.” It must have sounded like the collapse of civilization. No matter how pseudo-mystical Morrison got later, he would never equal this combination of pure raunch and implied holiness (“gloria in excelsis”).
2. David Bowie, “The Man Who Sold the World”
That superb, understated guitar line cuts cleanly across the frenzy which just ended, and we’re in a different world now, Bowie’s world. I first heard this song (like most people my age) when Nirvana covered it; I was lying on my bed in Antigua Guatemala, listening to an American-rock station on the local radio. For preference, I might have to give Kurt Cobain’s rendition the edge, because there are no phased vocals. On the other hand, there’s no butch chorale either; call it a tie. It’s one of Bowie’s best-written songs, even if it is sub-Dylan gibberish; Harlan Ellison must be green with envy just from the title.
3. Pete Shelley, “Homosapien”
I hadn’t heard this song before attempting this collection, though the Buzzcocks were one of my favorite bands; shamingly, I hadn’t even known Pete Shelley did any solo stuff. Of course it’s got a zippy melody, some great double and treble rhymes which Cole Porter (not to mention Elvis Costello) could be proud of, and even better: it’s about homosexuality! And there’s Eighties keyboards and drum machines instead of spiky guitars and that underrated Buzzcocks drumming. I like the song quite a lot, enough to sing along when no one else is around. I’d love to hear it play at one of those miserable 80’s nostalgia clubs and watch the floor clear.
4. Patti Smith, “Dancing Barefoot”
This is just about the only Patti Smith song which wasn’t a hit single (yes, I know she only had the one) that I’ve found tolerable. Even the spoken-word bit at the end sounds less self-indulgent and stringing-words-together-at-random than usual, and more as though it means something. If (as I suppose) the song’s pronouns he, she, and you refer to Christ, Mary, and God, then I can definitely say that I’ve read worse poetry from more orthodox sources, and that on the whole I prefer this.
5. Kraftwerk, “Neon Lights”
Wow, a Kraftwerk song with words. In English. That mean something. And that are actually almost interesting. Of course, the entire lyric is “Neon lights/Shimmering neon lights/And at the fall of night/This city’s made of light,” but with Kraftwerk you take what you can get. It’s an eight-minute song, so it can test the patience of pop fanatics, but for my money there’s enough variety in the melody/counterpoint/rhythm/whatever it is they do that it’s a welcome companion. I may not be paying much attention to it, but it is soothing as well as rhythmic, with some almost Eastern accents, and it’s a good palate-cleanser to usher us into the second half of the compilation.
6. The Doors, “Hello, I Love You”
One of Jim Morrison’s throw-off songs which became a hit so everyone knows it. You could make some point about interracial love from the song if you wanted to, I guess (“do you hope to pluck this dusky jewel”), but it’s obviously too slight a work to support any kind of theoretical structure. It shares with “Gloria” the correlation between thrashing instruments and sexual heat, but it’s clearly the work of more articulate, sophisticated musicians, as well as of a singer who believed more in himself than in the power of either music or sex. Still, a good song (narcissists are often great artists and lousy human beings); I specially love the bluesy harpsichord intro.
7. Echo & The Bunnymen, “Bring on the Dancing Horses”
This was one of those songs that I’d heard about for some time (the title has a way of sticking in the memory) but never heard; when I finally got hold of it and listened to it, I realized that I had heard it before, though I couldn’t tell you where. Anyway, I love its swooning, chiming quality, a more ethereal U2 without the bombast. It’s also the most recent of the songs on this compilation, and the only one released after Simple Minds had made it big; the reason for its inclusion is perfectly obvious if you’ve heard any post-80s Simple Minds. It all sounds like this song. The lyrics are mystic hand-me-downs from William Blake, but it’s wonderfully evocative of a certain kind of religious experience (though not a very noteworthy kind) nonetheless.
8. Neil Young, “The Needle and the Damage Done”
This is, of course, one of the most beautiful songs about drug addiction and loss ever. The spare guitar, the high quaver, the lyrics that cut like wire through ice. Thanks to the magic of basic Windows software, I was able to cut out the crowd noise at the end of the track, which (for me) rudely interrupts the elegaic mood with which Young closes the song. Of course, because I chopped it out, the album jumps right into the next track.
9. Roxy Music “For Your Pleasure”
Apparently regarded as a minor Roxy track. I read (I think on allmusic.com) that this song is slight and boring, and that Bryan Ferry & co. really only opened it up and let it shine on a live album which I haven’t heard. It works just fine for me as it is: Brian Eno is in full everything-but-the-kitchen-sink-oh-what-the-hell-we’ll-throw-it-in-too mode throughout the song, and really shines in the extended rave-up which ends the song. It doesn’t seem to be about anything in particular, but who cares? Just listen to Ferry croak “watch me walk away, ta ra,” and try not to smile. Okay, maybe you weren’t supposed to smile, but if Roxy Music didn’t want to spill over into camp at times, they shouldn’t have walked that particular tightrope.
10. The Velvet Underground & Nico “All Tomorrow’s Parties”
This is really the only “difficult” track on the album; that is, it’s the only track which would prompt a golden oldies listener to growl “what the hell is that racket?” in a discouraging tone. John Cale and Lou Reed do make an unholy noise behind Nico’s deadpan reading of the lines, but the real star of the song is Mo Tucker’s plodding drumline. (Actually, come to think of it, that’s really what sticks in my mind overall about the Velvet Underground, the martial rhythms, even more than the discord. It clearly states “this is not music to do the watusi to.”) It was the second Underground track I heard (after “Heroin”), and has always been one of my favorites, even when I realized that Nico sang two octaves lower than I had imagined she would.
11. The Human League “Being Boiled”
I still don’t feel as if I’ve really got a grasp on this song, even after listening to this disc for a couple weeks. Apparently, when David Bowie heard this track in 1978, he called it the future of music. I suppose I can hear the building blocks of synthpop and industrial music, and maybe house, but mostly I hear A Flock of Seagulls listening to this and saying “let’s do stuff like that, then.” The lyrics don’t help: “Listen to the voice of Buddha”? They’re not serious, are they? If they are, how could they possibly turn into the Human League we all know and mildly dislike? Look, I’m as fascinated as anyone by that brief span of time (1976-1980) which transformed and energized pop music by grafting various kinds of experimentalism (punk, electronic, no-wave, bohemian)onto the 60s’ template before dying a horrible death of Frankie Goes to Hollywood, but I just can’t hear what’s so important about this track. Sorry.
12. Joy Division “Love Will Tear Us Apart”
Now this song I love, although I suspect I love it for different reasons than those that changed a million pallid teenagers’ lives in 1980. First of all, the opening guitar riff references the opening of “Pinball Wizard.” Second, the synth line (which I’ve heard described variously as “icy” and “doom-laden” by people who were there when) is, in 2003, positively cheerful. Third, Ian Curtis sounds like a Muppet; the frowning blue bird guy, to be precise. I suppose I’ve disallowed myself entry into the postpunk elite, but I like this song not because it’s gloomy and scary and indicative of new trends in music (although I do enjoy Interpol), but because it’s a good pop song, like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones used to write. And if it’s not shiny and happy, well, neither are “I’m So Tired” or “Lady Jane,” but they’re good pop songs too, and I love them just as much. But here’s the difference: you can hear the Beatles and the Rolling Stones on oldies radio. I doubt you’ll ever hear Joy Division there, even though they were never as shocking as Lennon and Jagger in their prime. And that’s a shame.
So what’s the connecting thread behind these songs, apart from the fact that Simple Minds like them all? A good deal of them reference religion, and the Minds are into world religions these days, I gather. But many of them don’t (unless you can parse more out of Kraftwerk than I can). Plenty of them represent a sort of decadence that popular music has never really achieved since, no matter how postmodern and ironic the 90s were. But several of them are also primal, instinctive, or even (shudder) thoughtful. Ultimately, I guess, they share a specific kind of mood; or at least, a mood is created by their juxtaposition that couldn’t be created with any other set of songs. Listening to this album (because after enough spins, it becomes an album in my mind, and not just a compilation) makes me want to visit Germany again; and it makes me feel not so bad about being single; and it reminds me that life is hard and painful and ugly, but that there are consolations in art and in religion; and it makes me want to walk down lonely concrete streets in the rain. I don’t know how much is implicit in the songs, and how much I bring to them, but I wouldn’t have missed hearing this collection for the world.
As I found out while reading Songbook, reading about songs you haven’t heard is irritating at best; I hope, therefore that if you’ve made it this far, then you’ve heard these songs, or intend to. They’re good stuff, as near to art as pop music can get without disappearing up its own ass, or maybe as near to pop as art music can get without playing to the gallery. Split the difference. Plus, you can dance to many of them. And no matter how hip your music-store friend with all the tattoos is, they’ll respect you if you play this CD at a party.
Simple Minds: they may not be able to make good music anymore, but they sure as hell know how to put together a mixtape.