Miscellaneous - February 2010

  by Lisa Torem

published: 13 / 1 / 2010

intro

In 'Rock Salt Row', Lisa Torem debates each month with another writer about a different issue in rock. In this episode, she and Mark Rowland talk about the irresistibility of hope in songs

Two Writers Season One Historic Moment Over the past few months Rock Salt Row cohorts and I have wept about heartache, fantasized about souped-up engines, exalted religious motivations, analyzed dreams and lamented the ironies of sabotage while referencing revelatory songs that spoke to us on those mostly delicate, but sometimes rough-hewn topics And ,although we may have been like nervous teens on a first date at the beginning of the conversation, by the end we felt as in-sync and indestructible as an old, silver-haired married couple (or at least I did!). But, even as we toast to the first measures of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ in the New Year, and reflect back on the misgivings and tribulations of the past, we realize that “really deep thoughts” must continue in the coming year – and to that end, more rows must be raged. LISA Coldplay wrote these lyrics for ‘Speed of Sound’ ‘How long, before you decide Before I know, what it feels like? Where do I go? If you never try, then you’ll never know How long do I have to climb up on the side Of this mountain of mine?’ ‘The birds go flying at the speed of sound To show you how it all began The birds keep flying from the underground If you could see it then you’d understand. I like these lyrics because they’re not too salty and not too sweet - instead they’re just right. They explore the nature of re-discovering what’s all around us - that which, should not be taken for granted. Some events happen every day and we just neglect how wonderful they are unless some apocalyptic event brushes them away. Musically, the song has a minor tinge - it’s not filled to the nauseating brim with cheery modulations and predictable progressions that hotwire our snooze alarms. Other songs, however, embrace the merits of change and I also see how change can allow us to break away from the bondage of our often laborious routines. The lyrics in ‘Sunrise’ by Duran Duran are explicit: "Only change will bring you out of the darkness/In this moment everything is born again/Reach up for the sunrise/Put your hands up in the big sky/Reach up for the sunrise/Bring a new day into your life." The Muzac Corp from South Carolina is a company, which in the 1930s began supplying elevator music to businesses. But, the popular music chosen would eventually end up becoming the butt of American jokes. Advertisers used this type of sterile music to dull the senses of consumers thereby freeing them up to buy more, more and more. Kenny G and Karen Carpenter fit in well with the cause – their music was catchy, but not too hot and not too cold. I remember hearing McCartney’s ‘Yesterday’ in an elevator and thinking that the poor man’s career would soon be coming to an end. As ‘Yesterday’ had a predictable chord structure and pleasant melody, it, however, didn’t seem too much of a stretch that it had been chosen. Still… Speaking of my dear Fab Four, I love the predominantly optimistic ‘Getting Better’, although it sets the bar a bit low. “I used to be mad at my woman/I beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved./Man, I was mean, but I’m changing my scene.” Yes, Paul, I’m glad you changed your scene and sounds like things did get better, but then again, could they have gotten any worse? (Of course, the truly sardonic Lennon shared my thoughts, as well, in his backing vocals). ‘Good Day Sunshine’ was a hopeful enough choice to be blasted off with the NASA astronauts It’s that rare bird of a song that remains completely joyful throughout – there’s no contrasting reflective or depressing bridge which qualifies why the bloke is so excited – we just know the protagonist is truly engaged in his own private world of bliss and ecstacy. It’s got a great driving beat, plenty of percussion, lush vocals and - enough said - a definite ‘to be buried in a time capsule’ memoir. Alice Cooper singing, “I’m eighteen and I can do what I want!” and “School’s out for summer/School’s out forever” makes me want to balance a hula hoop on my nose. How empowering it is to feel eighteen - despite your age – and to feel the world is completely open to you forever and always. How great it is to awaken in the morning and think, “School, work - Pshaw! ..Nope, don’t want it, don’t need it, next?” Those early songs - which are now considered post-feminist classics, ‘These Boots are Made for Walking’ - made famous by Nancy Sinatra - are about as much fun and full of hope as you can get. Of course, if I were the lad she wanted to walk all over, I might not feel such glee. ‘Respect’ by Aretha Franklin is another one as is Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ and Carole King’s ‘Natural Woman’ and the wonderfully optimistic ‘You’ve Got A Friend.’ Uplifting songs must be authentically performed. Think Jerry Lee Lewis singing ‘Great Balls of Fire’ or Elvis crooning, “just want to be your teddy bear.” A solid, quirky, repetitive bass line doesn’t hurt nor does raw primitive drumming. The Pet Shop Boys actually exhibited some dark content in ‘West End Boys’ but those images are easy to dismiss since the clangy effects, infectious pulse and well-executed percussion make us want to exuberantly celebrate all that’s right with the world. Tom Waits wrote completely ludicrous lyrics for ‘The Piano Has Been Drinking’ and it’s that unexpected peculiarity that makes the song so irresistible and oddly optimistic. MARK There have been a number of songs and bands that I can rely on to lift my spirits. There’s been a couple more specific to this year –e.g. ‘Girls’ by Animal Collective, ‘Two Weeks’ by Grizzly Bear, the whole of Panda Bear’s ‘Person Pitch’ album (which actually came out last year). In terms of bands that always put a smile on my face, I can always go back to the Beatles, Beach Boys and the Kinks, the Flaming Lips, Pavement, Blur, Pulp, De La Soul/A Tribe Called Quest/NWA (hip hop in general) really, though exactly what depends on my mood at the time), Sly and the Family Stone, Parliament/Funkadelic, Otis Redding, general Stax/Motown, and, perhaps perversely, Radiohead and the Smiths. Listening to ‘The Best of David Bowie’ almost never fails to life my spirits. Same goes for ‘Transformer’ by Lou Reed, the Moldy Peaches record, and Magnetic Fields ’69 Love Songs.’ Daniel Johnston’s music has the ability to make me laugh and cry in equal measures. In terms of optimism in music in general, media labeling of upbeat music as ‘twee’ really irks me. It’s almost saying that any music with a sunny disposition is not quite as ‘worthy’ as an album full of miserable or angry tracks. It’s a very dismissive term, one that irritates the bands associated with it and the people who like the music. Music at its core is about creating an emotional connection with the listener. That can just be pure enjoyment, or something more complex. That doesn’t mean that songs expressing something simple are any less valid than the complex ones. In fact, a lot of the time it’s the songs with the simple message that stay with you the longest. Looking at it from a broader point of view, your point about ‘supermarket music’ is an interesting one. Personally, I can’t stand that sort of saccharine, plastic music that gets snapped up by the armfuls in supermarkets. Predominantly, I’m thinking the ‘American Idol’/’X Factor ‘sort of stuff, the sort broad-brush, sickly crap that gets sold to the ‘mums’ market, but also a lot of the general pop (and rock) that gets really popular. To me, it sounds strangely emotionless, and as a result, I find it difficult to connect with it. But a lot of people do find a message in there that they can relate to –otherwise why would it be so popular? So, I’m going to pose a question back to you: Just because it sounds like crap to most music obsessives, does it make that music any less valid, if so many seem to like it? I’ll also pose you another: Can you pinpoint what it is about a song that makes it so uplifting to you? LISA When you say, Mark, that a “lot of people do find a message in there that they can relate to,” I think you’re right. What is the message? I think it can be a very simple message sent from the brain to the body. It can be something like, “This beat is so catchy it makes me want to run and catch the bus for work” or “Wow, these words rhyme, I like that.” Even the most primitive beat can stimulate the most reptilian human brain and make us snap our fingers like a Pavlovian dog, but is it memorable in any other way? But, what makes a song uplifting is not simply the beat or instrumentation, but some kind of philosophy. Grant-Lee Phillip’s ‘Good Morning, Happiness’ (‘Little Moon’) has an industrious beat, and catchy riffs, but also a clear and embracing message. ‘Good morning, happiness/It’s a fine day” is how it starts and subsequent verses begin “Gonna wake up with the birds.” I think it’s the entire package, though, not just the lyrics or beat which make it highly spirited. ‘The Happy Phantom’ by Tori Amos is a delightful song in that the chords are wildly inventive and unpredictable. The lyrics are whimsical and fantastical. Oddly, enough, there is a contrasting section that is written in a minor mode, but the main theme is so strong melodically, that you barely notice it at all. Also, like with most uplifting songs, it takes you away somewhere very special. It takes you away from the monotony of life and makes you dream. Writing seriously is easier than writing humorously. We’re fascinated by tragedy. When you’re happy, do you want to stop what you’re doing, examine deep thoughts, and put pen to paper? And, when we walk around in blind bliss, won’t the muses find us dull?. MARK All of your choices are good – they either make you dance or smile, which is all you can hope for from an uplifting song. To try to take this discussion further, I want to pick up on something you said – “Uplifting songs must be authentically performed.” Now that, for me, is a must in all music that I listen to - I like music that seems like the band or artist was really feeling it when they played those notes or sung those words. I think it’s something that, for most lovers of music, is really, really important - nothing turns a music obsessive off more than a soulless piece of music. But what makes no sense at all is that a lot of the stuff that music fans identify as soulless often has many more fans than the music that they identify as authentic. I’m talking people like Celine Dion, whatever music is produced as a result of a god-awful reality show (that’s my pet hate anyway). Perhaps ‘Muzak’ is the greater evil, but a lot of stuff that to me sounds indisputably terrible is incredibly popular with millions of people. This could mean one of two things; one, and this is my first instinct, is that millions of people have crap for brains, and wouldn’t know a decent tune if one cut them up on the motorway in a vehicle sporting the bumper sticker ‘Great melody on board.’ In short, a surprising amount of people have no taste. The other, far more sensible explanation, is that our idea of what is ‘authentic’ and ‘great’ differs from a large number of people, despite the fact that as a group we music obsessives have record collections that span vast swathes of eras, genres and social movements. Although I accept, as most sensible people do, that everyone has different tastes in music (like people have different tastes in everything), there are some acts out there where try as I might, I just cannot understand why their music is so damned popular. It makes absolutely no sense, my mind cannot compute it. Any ideas? LISA Is there a chemistry between an individual and his/her musical tastes that is pre-disposed; similar to an affinity for certain languages? Does early exposure to a particular type of rhythm or melody influence our musical tastes thereafter? I can’t enjoy most rap. I had no exposure to it as a child. Perhaps that’s why I find it loud and full of annoying messages. In my household the piano, played by both parents, was the dominant instrument. Maybe certain melodies and harmonies take me back there. Perhaps the harmonies of American standards predisposed me to what I like now. Many psychologists claim that our personalities are formed by seven. How about our musical tastes? The UK document, ‘7 Up’ chronicled the lives of several people every seven years, starting at seven, to illustrate possible changes in their philosophies and goals. Surprisingly, each character’s personality changed little. One despondent gentleman, a morose child, ended up poverty-stricken in his 40s. It’s as though the die had been long ago cast. Some say there’s a “happy gene.” A song may feel uplifting on a subconscious level. Some words, some sounds, some chord progressions feel happy maybe because of one’s culture and adaptation to certain scales and vocal nuances. Put me in a foreign or sci-fi culture where expressions and types of instrumentation vary from mine and perhaps I couldn’t identify a “happy” song at all. Maybe beneath our psyches, despite our “sophisticated tastes”, we all have uncontrollable visceral reactions. Perhaps, like a mantra, the most simple things make us happy. Let’s put this “row” in another context, Mark. One person feels happiness because he enjoys the aroma of freshly-baked banana bread and another only gets turned on by the fragrance of a French delicacy requiring hours of preparation. Is person one less intelligent than the second? Which scent makes one intrinsically happier and how do we measure this? The French chef might ask the same question. Why does person one like such simple “crap” when there’s so much more out there? I think it does come down to individual tastes, conditioning and past experiences. Once when I asked a friend to the beach, she said that she hated sand in-between her toes, the harsh feel of sea-shells and getting her hair wet. I was very astonished. I’d never before met anyone who didn’t like the beach. Wasn’t this a universally pleasant experience? Of course, consider the paradox of Lennon-McCartney’s ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun?’ MARK The point you make about our personalities being fully formed at seven is a very interesting concept, and there is probably a lot of truth to it – I expect a lot of your ingrained likes and dislikes, if you are a generally positive or negative person, outgoing and sociable, quite and private, are likely to be pretty much fully formed by the time you reach that age. But taste? I’m not so sure. I think your tastes must be influenced by your upbringing to some degree, particularly when it comes to food, although perhaps that is more your attitude to food, or even music, art, film and literature, rather than what appeals to you. All I can talk about is my experiences, which generally indicates that my tastes developed as I grew up, and are constantly developing now. Take music as an example; until the age of eleven, I didn’t have any massive interest in music. I enjoyed it, sure, or at least some of it, but I never felt a huge connection to it – it was just there. When I was eleven, the world of music suddenly opened up to me, and I couldn’t get enough of it. Despite that, my taste in music was still limited to Brit pop, grunge, punk and heavy metal, and some really bad examples of those genres as well as the good. It took time for me to appreciate other styles of music from different eras, and I think that my taste is still expanding to this day. It’s the same way my actual sense of taste has developed – when I was nineteen I would drink mainly vodka and Cokes and pints of Fosters, but these days I’m more likely to have a pint of bitter, bottle of wine, or a nice whiskey. Perhaps this means I’ve become a bit of an old man before my time, but it does demonstrate that my taste has changed over time. So is this a dormant part of a personality that was fully formed at seven years old, or something else entirely? If you overanalyse it, that fact that we can gain so much pleasure and meaning about a collection of sounds, or sights, or smells or tastes is something amazing in itself. Human beings took what they sensed around them into forms of art; an almost intangible skill created purely for our enjoyment. We don’t just hear sounds, we hear music; we understand it, and we know how to make it. The same goes for our other senses; there is at least one art form attached to each of them. These things are now intrinsically linked to our society; that to imagine a world before them is almost brain-meltingly difficult. I’m not really sure what my point is anymore. I’m just wondering how our tastes fit with our personality and upbringing. I suspect that the best answer to that question would be “it just is.” Music’s not really meant to be analysed anyway; it’s supposed to be enjoyed (or at the very least appreciated). LISA Arrgghh! You’re right, Mark. Pass the vodka.