Yearly Archives: 2012

“Cola” by Lana Del Rey Rules

Last night I stopped by the record store after imbibing in a few pints of adult libations.  While browsing, I spotted Lana Del Rey’s new album PARADISE and picked it up, mostly to make fun of it.  I turned the CD over and the first thing I noticed was the song “Cola.”  I really like that word for some reason and I thought it was a strange word to title a song.  Was this song about soda?  Did the word cola actually in the song?  Theses and many other questions entered my mind.

This woman is a genius.

This woman is a genius.

I immediately announced that I was going to listen to this song when I got home.  Of course, I forgot because I had a bunch of other stuff going on, but just before I went to bed I recalled Lana Del Rey and her soda-song.  I fired up my Spotify app and played “Cola.”

I didn’t know what to expect when I hit play but I certainly wasn’t expecting “My pussy tastes like Pepsi cola, my eyes are wide like cherry pies, I gots [sic] a taste for men who are older.”  I burst out laughing and hit rewind so I could listen again. When the song was over I played it again.   Then I played it again. I texted my friend and told him he had to listen to “Cola,” that it was too funny/strange to dismiss.

Once the initial shock/glee of hearing a young woman breathlessly sing about how her pussy tastes like Pepsi cola wore off, I started to get angry.  Why was this woman famous? Her image and album are everywhere! She’s a hack/phony/fraud.  I thought about all the really great singers out there who would kill to have her level of exposure and how much better their songs probably are.  It made me sick.

Then I sat back and tried to think about why I was so angry.  Is it because “Cola” is a bad song? Well, no.  “Cola” is actually a really good song, despite the strangeness of it. Then I thought, is it because she’s a bad singer?  Again, no.  Lana Del Rey may not be the world’s greatest singer, but she does have a unique, breathy-vocal style that isn’t unpleasant to hear.  And in a world where everyone in the music business is trying to sound exactly the same, Lana Del Rey definitely has a unique sound.  When one hears Lana Del Rey they immediately recognize that’s whom they’re hearing.

I realized that my confused feelings were the result of only one thing: art-pop.  Lana Del Rey catches a lot of flack because she’s been marketed to us all as Adele when that’s not who she is.  This is art-college let’s-all-shave-our-heads kind of stuff.  As soon as I realized this, I started to wonder if her less-than-stellar SNL performance wasn’t some sort of performance-art stunt.

Now, I’m not saying that Lana Del Rey is some kind of genius.  Don’t get me wrong, being weird for the sake of being weird can be lame and tiresome, but in small doses it’s fun.  And that’s what “Cola” is, it’s a four minute dose of weird.  I’m sure somewhere someone can explain her message, man. Al I know is, Lana Del Rey somehow convinced a lot of people to release a song in which she sings about how her pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola: if for no other reason that should earn her our respect.  Fun fact, this song reached #22 on Billboards rock charts.

Awesome. Lana, you go girl.

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“Cola” by Lana Del Rey Sucks

For the past few weeks, every time I go anywhere that sells music I see Lana Del Rey.  She stares at me, seductively, from the cover of her album PARADISE.  The only thing I knew about Lana Del Rey was that she was super-polarizing and that her appearance on SNL a while back was much maligned.  I saw that performance and didn’t think it was as bad as everyone said, but then again I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face.

Like. Pepsi. Cola.

Like. Pepsi. Cola.

Anyway, last night I was stumbling through my local record store and for some reason I decided to pick up PARADISE.  I turned it over and was amused that one of the tracks was titled “Cola.”  I told my friend who was with me at the time that I was going to listen to this song when I got home.

And so, a few hours later, just before I went to bed I entered the world of Lana Del Rey.  I fired up Spotify and gave “Cola” and most of PARADISE a listen.  I picked “Cola” because that word seemed so odd on the back of a CD, especially on the back of one with such an enigmatic person on the front.

I didn’t know what to expect when I hit play but I certainly wasn’t expecting “My pussy tastes like Pepsi cola, my eyes are wide like cherry pies, I gots [sic] a taste for men who are older.”  I guess my first thought was Gee, this song should be titled “Pepsi Cola” and then I realized that there was no way in hell Pepsi would let her get away with that. The song is dark, brooding, and kinda sexy…but they lyrics are atrociously stupid.  The kind of vapid non-sense girls AND boys in creative writing classes the globe over churn endlessly churn out.

On just about every level, I can’t imagine who this song is supposed to appeal to.  Is “Cola” a four-minute joke?  Is Lana Del Rey making fun of us for making fun of her by releasing a song this absurd? I don’t know and I’m not sure I really care. As I get older I find my patience for this sort of thing gets shorter and shorter.  I really wanted to give Lana Del Rey a fair shake, but “Cola” made it virtually impossible for me to do that, it’s just too ridiculous. 

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FERAL by New Fad Zoo

When it comes to finding new, awesome music, I try to be as proactive as possible.  I’ve checked out bands/albums because of reviews I’ve read in magazines (both positive and negative), TV appearances, ads online, and even patches on jackets I see at concerts.  One thing that I am notoriously bad about, however, is taking personal recommendations.

I’m a notorious reader and my office is filled with books that people have given me that I simply “must read.”  I try to get around to them eventually, but I’m fickle when it comes to doing things I “have” or “must” do.  It goes the same way with music.  Since starting DAR, I’ve had more than a few people I both know and don’t know try to give me music I “must” hear.  There’s only a handful of people who can tell me to listen to something that’ll actually convince me drop what I’m doing and put headphones on: one is an Uncle in Tennessee.

Anyway, I was on Facebook and a friend of a friend that I’m somehow friends with (ah, the digital age) posted a link to a Kickstarter fundraiser for his brother’s band. They wanted to go on tour and were trying to raise funds.  I like the idea of Kickstarter, even though I’ve only contributed to one (now two) so I checked out the link.  And thus, I was indoctrinated into the world of New Fad Zoo.

new fad zoo

“I’m what happens when shooting stars and Mars meet, with the Big-Bang theory heartbeat, in High School I hung out with bullies and smart geeks, stoners and jocks, slut goths and car freaks, I ain’t fitting in I’m an artist.”

People are always surprised when they find out I listen to rap (or country for that matter) but the truth is there isn’t a genre of music I don’t like or listen to.  I will say that I’m not as much an authority on rap as I am on rock, pop, and blues.  But I do like rap, in fact, many current readers might be surprised to know that the very first album review posted on this blog was a review of The Beastie Boys HOT SAUCE COMMITTEE PART TWO.

But I digress.  New Fad Zoo are a quartet of dudes living in Atlanta whose first album, FERAL is the real deal.   What sets New Fad Zoo apart from the mob of pretenders is a knack for strong hooks and a razor sharp wit.  I was  blown away by how musically diverse/textured FERAL is.   Now, I realize that today’s generation of rappers are just as likely to know music and/or play an instrument, but I still feel like many (especially in the underground) still don’t place enough emphasis on music.  A beat is important, but if you can create a musical hook equal or greater to a lyrical hook—then you have a million dollar song.

New_Fad_Zoo_Feral-front-large

New Fad Zoo doesn’t just have a few million dollar songs—they have a couple of billion dollar ones, too.  The heart-felt “Smile 4 Me,” the club-thumping “Ima Needa,” and “Love is Wild.”  I would like to go on record and say that “Love is Wild” is a number 1 record.   Period.  The record industry is all screwed up today, so it might not happen, but some savvy film producer or commercial director place that song in their film/ad it would sell 5 million units on iTunes.  “No Such Utopia” and “Me Against The World” take a break from the fun and are poignant, painfully honest songs about grief, fear, and anger.  In the context of the album, these harder-edged, serious songs provide much needed balance that many artists fail to achieve.

This balance only further underscores the fact that New Fad Zoo are a serious music force.  One that not only gets your head bobbing, but is able to get their songs implanted deep into your brain.

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The Most Embarrassing Record I Own

One of the best parts of starting this blog has been all the new friends I’ve made.  One of the first regular rock-blogs I bookmarked (after my own) was Every Record Tells A Story.  I’ve always been jealous of that name, because I think it’s so true.  Whereas I’m a neurotic, weekend-warrior, my friend over at ERTAS is the real-deal.  His posts are both plentiful and of the highest quality, which is a rare in the blog-o-sphere.

When a blogging award was justly bestowed upon his site, he singled out Defending Axl Rose as one of 5 he enjoys.  For me there could be no higher honor, because I really admire the work that he does over at Every Record Tells A Story.  For spreading the love around to me and my humble blog, I thank him.

The question was asked “What is the most embarrassing record you own?” and I didn’t have to think very hard OR very long to come up with a response.  Would you believe that the most embarrassing record I own is SGT. PEPPER’S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND?  No, not the good one…

Dear God, this record is a holy terror: the greatest songs of all-time bathed in the worst of the 70s.

The greatest songs of all-time splattered with the worst shit of the 70s.

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Crossfire Hurricane & Becoming A Better Stones Fan

I love documentaries.  I really love them.  I don’t think I’ve seen a bad documentary, per say.  I subscribe to the theory that at the very least, a documentary will tell or show you something you didn’t know, and thus it wasn’t a complete waste of time.  Some are better than others.  The Martin Scorsese film on Bob Dylan, for example, is a damn good documentary.  Recently, I sat down and watched HBO’s Rolling Stones documentary Crossfire Hurricane, which while not as good as Scorsese’s No Direction Home, was entertaining.

crossfire hurricane poster

And how could anything about the Rolling Stones not be entertaining? As far as legendary bands go, the Stones are tops when it comes to drugs, debauchery, death, and deceit.  All the makings of a compelling documentary, right?  Well Crossfire Hurricane covers all the major points in the band’s storied career, but doesn’t really dig in very deep.  Some of it felt rushed and major chapters in the band’s career are glossed over. It wasn’t until the credits started to roll (and I thought, “That’s it?”) that I saw what the problem was: the band were the producers.

So Crossfire Hurricane is really the whitewashed version of the Stones as told by the Stones. If you’re super-fan, you’re not going to necessarily gain any new insights, but the backstage/behind-the-scenes footage is worth seeing.  We see the Stones at the height of their success doing drugs and running around half (or totally) naked backstage.  It’s all very cheeky and fun.

I really wanted to recommend Crossfire Hurricane as THE Stones documentary to see…but it’s not.  The real story is what happened after the credits had rolled: the next morning, all I could think about were the tunes.  I fired up Spotify and started skipping around in the band’s massive back catalogue. And then a funny thing happened: I discovered my all-time favorite Stones song.

STICKY FINGERS, compliments of Andy Warhol.

STICKY FINGERS, compliments of Andy Warhol.

I was listening to STICKY FINGERS while doing my laundry, when I heard “Bitch.”  I’d of course heard it before, but I didn’t hear it until this week.  The cocky, self-assured Jagger vocals, the brilliant Keef guitar lick…it was your standard-issue Stones song until the horns kicked in.  Holy shit, the horns take “Bitch” from good to fantastic. It was like hearing “Satisfaction” for the first time: I was blown away.

Which got me thinking, if a great never-played-on-the-radio song like “Bitch” could hit me like a bolt of lightning—what other astoundingly great Stones songs am I missing out on? Suddenly being a more causal Stones fan doesn’t seem so cool.  There is only one course of action: I must listen to everything by the Stones to ensure that I’m not missing out on any other gems.

To be fair, “Bitch” was a B-side to “Brown Sugar” so it wasn’t cast off into complete obscurity, but with B-sides like this who knows what awesome deep-cuts I’m missing out on.  These are the problems of a true music-nerd.  There are too many great bands with too many great songs left undiscovered.  Whenever I find a blank spot on my musical map, I try to fill it in.  That a band like the Rolling Stones has so many blank spots on my map is embarrassing, to be sure.  So even though I’m pretty sure I could die a happy rock-enthusiast without hearing the entirety of the Rolling Stones 80’s output—I’m gonna listen to it all.  Just knowing the singles and key albums is good, but the odds ‘n sods/deep-cuts are what keep me going, both as a fan and as a human being.

That endless quest for my next favorite song, that’s the very essence of what DEFENDING AXL ROSE is all about.  In the coming days, weeks, and months, I’ll post more about my travels in the Stones back catalogue.

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Orion: The Man Who Would Be King

The truth, it is often said, is stranger than fiction.  The strange tale of Jimmy “Orion” Ellis is one of the stories that’s so bizarre it can only be real.  Showbiz is a creepy place, filled with unsavory characters that basically earn a living preying on the dreams of vulnerable people.  This story begins with the death of a legend: on August 16, 1977 the King of Rock ‘n Roll, Elvis Aaron Presley died in his Tennessee mansion.

Jimmy Ellis was born ten years after Elvis in 1945, in Mississippi. Ironically, Jimmy’s mother was named Gladys—the same name as Elvis’ mother. Jimmy was blessed (or cursed depending on how you look at it) with a voice that sounded nearly identical to the King of Rock.  While Elvis was alive, Ellis struggled to make it as a singer who just happened to sound exactly like the world’s biggest music star.  One of his early single’s was actually called “I’m Not Trying To Be Like Elvis.”

A record produced named Shelby Singleton bought the legendary Sun Records in 1969 from Sam Phillips.  Sun Records is the recording studio/label where Elvis first hit it big.  In strange move, Singleton signed Jimmy Ellis to his Sun Records. The first thing Singleton did was to release two Elvis covers that Ellis had recorded back in 1972, “That’s Alright Mama” and “Blue Moon of Kentucky.”  Singleton was no fool, though, he knew that people wouldn’t really be interested in hearing some unknown singer from Mississippi re-record two Elvis songs—no matter how much he sounded like the King—so Singleton had the songs released with a question mark on the cover.  Thus neither Elvis nor Ellis was credited for the songs, though it was just an unsavory marketing gimmick, the releases fueled growing speculation that Elvis was, in fact, not dead. This trick was used again on a Jerry Lee Lewis duets album, in which Ellis sang with Jerry Lee on “Save the Last Dance for Me.”  Again, no credits were attributed to either Elvis or Ellis leaving many to think that the King had somehow magically come back from the dead to sing.

The biggest mystery surrounding Orion? Where he got that snazzy mask.

So far this is pretty incredible story, right?  Can you believe I haven’t even told you the weird part yet?  I often wondered why exactly people love to believe that Elvis is still alive.  I’m sure that a lot of it has to do with the disbelief that such an amazing talent could really, truly be gone.  When our heroes die it reminds us all of our own mortality, and some people can’t really handle that I guess.  But what I find so incredible about the myth/legend surrounding Elvis’ death is that all of these tales spread and grew before the Internet.  Mass media as we know it was still in its infancy, how were these tales of Elvis’ life-after-death spread? Unscrupulous businessmen like Shelby Singleton no doubt helped to stoke the fires of conspiracy enthusiasts/despondent Elvis fans, but can you believe it was a housewife from Georgia that kicked the Elvis-is-Alive phenomenon off?

When the king died in 1977, Gail Brewer-Giorgio wrote a book about a Southern rock singer who decided to escape from the limelight by faking his own death.  The name of the book? ORION.  In the book the singer wears a mask on stage to cover his face, which is what Jimmy Ellis started to do when he performed on stage under the name Orion. Putting on the mask was no doubt so that people in the audience were left guessing whether or not Ellis was Elvis, however the strange part is that Jimmy Ellis never said he was Elvis.  He also wasn’t an Elvis impersonator; the songs he sang were for the most part songs that weren’t Elis songs.  Amazingly, Ellis charted 9 times on the country music charts as Orion. In 1981 Cash Box Magazine (a magazine dedicated to the coin-operated music industry) named Orion one of three most promising country music acts.

By 1983, Ellis was weary of the Orion act and wanted to be taken seriously as an artist.  During a live appearance he angrily took off his mask and refused to put it on again.  Despite being a talented singer and having achieved moderate success in the world of country music, Orion’s career never recovered.  The cat was truly out of the bag: Jimmy Ellis was Orion not Elvis Presley.  Ellis left Sun Records and pretty much faded from the music biz.  On December 12, 1998 Jimmy Ellis was murdered in his Alabama pawnshop during a robbery gone bad.

I cannot believe someone has not made the story of Jimmy Ellis into a film because it has all the makings of a really great movie.  Perhaps there have been attempts to bring Ellis’ story to the big screen but they’ve failed due to the outlandish nature of his story.  I know I was skeptical when I first heard all of this.  Orion’s musical career had the negative side effect of helping to keep Elvis Presley off of US postage stamps.  The rule for celebrities/public figures to appear on United States postage is that they must be dead for at least 10 years—the uncertainty created by Orion and conspiracy theorists kept Elvis’ image from appearing on US postage until 1993.

Orion’s 1979 album REBORN is available on Spotify and I’ve been listening to it trying to figure out if it’s the single greatest or worst thing.  It’s one thing to be inspired by or influenced by a singer or band…but Orion is another thing entirely.  Musically, I guess you could call Orion a tribute act but even that feels wrong.  A lot of people have made millions of dollars off of Elvis and his tragic death; most of them are vultures, parasites of the music industry. I can’t really put Jimmy Ellis into that category though.  True he was complicit in a sort-of-conspiracy that in hindsight seems really tacky, but he was also a victim.  Dreams are a powerful carrot, and people will do strange and terrible things to achieve them.  I can’t fault Ellis for trying to make it as a singer, by any means necessary.

I think the ultimate irony would be if someone out there started performing as Orion.  But that would just be crazy, right?

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Classic Albums Revisited: The Greatest Living Englishman

I’m sure 99.999% have never heard of Martin Newell and The Cleaners From Venus.  They’re not household names.  Newell formed The Cleaners in 1980 and put out a couple of really fantastic, old-school 1960’s-esque British pop albums.  They were all released on cassette and put out via a West German label.  Here in the States, the Cleaners two RCA albums have been re-released on CD a few times, but with little fanfare.  I strongly urge you to seek out GOING TO ENGLAND, it’s a fantastic album.   England, that dreariest of islands, has an incredible ability to churn out super-talented songwriters.  Mr. Martin Newell is such a songwriter.  Though the Cleaners albums were all shoddily recorded,  I’m always amazed at how his songs pop and rise above the limitations of their production.

Ah! Just look at that healthy, British complexion.

It wasn’t very cool to like The Beatles in the 1980s, especially in England.  Punk and New Wave were all about going forward, not looking back.   I suspect that this is part of the reason Newell & The Cleaners From Venus were never able to hit it big.  Steeped heavily in 60’s pop, Newell worships at the alter of Lennon which is  evident the first time you hear his songs.  And just like Lennon, Newell is big on melody, wit, and cynicism.

By 1993 Newell had given up on The Cleaners of Venus and decided to start a solo career.  His solo debut, THE GREATEST LIVING ENGLISHMAN, got a major boost when XTC frontman Andy Partridge agreed to produce the record (and play drums).  Like Newell, Partridge was a Beatle-fan at a time when being Beatle-fan wasn’t in vogue, the two were musical blood-brothers. And while XTC was by no means the world’s most popular band, they’d had enough success worldwide that Partridge’s involvement in THE GREATEST LIVING ENGLISHMAN helped boost interest in the album get heard over here in the U.S.

THE GREATEST LIVING ENGLISHMAN is a fantastic record, dripping with catchy hooks.  The music is very Beatle-esque with a Kinks-like lyrical slant.  This is a very, very British record.  The album opener, the sublime “Goodbye Dreaming Fields,” recalls Ray Davies waxing nostalgic for the village green—although for Newell it’s a dancehall that he mourns.  The snappy “She Rings The Changes” feels like a long lost single from 1969, as one listens to THE GREATEST LIVING ENGLISHMAN the sense of musical déjà vu can become overwhelming.  These songs are so good and seem so catchy you’ll swear you’ve heard them before.

And  though it’s a very upbeat, fun album, I really appreciate the way Newell snarkily attacks aspects of the socio-economic inequality in England.  This is particularly evident on “We’ll Build A House” which addresses poverty and the inability for many young people to have something so basic as a home.  In a similar vein, “A Street Called Prospect” paints an incredibly detailed sound-picture of life on a very shabby English street called Prospect.  The first time I heard this song I laughed because there’s a street called Prospect in the town where I’m from…and it’s a piece of shit too.  “The Jangling Man,” like “We’ll Build A House” describes the gulf between the wealthy older class and the “poor starving children.” It’s a terribly bitter, angry song, and yet Newell’s pop sensibilities manage to keep the track from sounding bitter or angry.

“Before The Hurricane” tackles British country life, specifically the head-in-the-sand attitude of those living in rural British communities.  Bombs and hurricanes can come, but nothing really changes anything for them.   “Home Counties Boy” offers a glimpse into Newell’s country upbringing and disdain for working in the city.  Both songs remind me of the Kink’s in both their quaintness and  in the interesting duality of both their yearning and disdain for rural life.

I’ve always loved British fatalism and Newell has it in spades.  My favorite track on the record, “Tribute To The Greatest Living Englishman” is about falling from the good graces of the public—and how much we like to see a public figure fall.  I like Newell’s song because the song’s narrator (it can’t be about him, he never rose high enough to fall) attitude towards the loss of his champagne wishes is a shrug and “it would have been mad not to try.”  I can certainly see how this sort of music would not be for everyone, but it’s like catnip for a pop-fan like me.  THE GREATEST LIVING ENGLISHMAN is the best Martin Newell record (solo or otherwise) and thankfully, it’s the easiest to come by these days.  I heartily recommend this album if you like cheeky, catchy pop.

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The Genius of Warren Zevon Distilled To 48 Seconds

I think I may have mentioned it a time or two, but I really love Warren Zevon.  I’m always trying to convince people that he’s amazing.  I’m like Johnny-Appleseed, but instead of apples I spread my love of Warren’s music.  And instead of walking across America (committing eco-terrorism) I say things like “Warren Zevon is my all-time favorite songwriter” at parties and I write on this blog about Warren, when I can.

Writing about Warren’s music is tricky without falling victim to clichés like: tortured genius.  Clichés don’t do much in terms of convincing people the songwriter they’ve never heard of is worth their time.  A lot of people write funny songs and a lot of people have heartbreakingly sincere ones.  One of the things that made Warren so special was that often his songs were both.

“He was a genius.”

I’ve been trying to figure out what is the track to play for people when I’m ranting and raving about Zevon.  There are so many really good ones, too many really.  The cheap shot or most obvious choice is “Werewolves of London” which, to be fair, was the first Zevon song I ever heard.  But I figure that most people have probably heard that classic rock staple (even if they didn’t know it was Warren) so I didn’t even consider it.  It’s a good song, but most people consider it, wrongly, as a novelty song.  Then there are his really lovely love songs, some of which are so heartfelt they can reduce you to tears…but without knowing the sarcastic-edge of Zevon I find that these songs don’t have the same impact.

Which brings me to “I Need A Truck.”

“I Need A Truck” was not issued as an album track.  In fact, the song is really just a 48-second demo that was recorded during the sessions for his third album EXCITABLE BOY.  I heard the track when it was finally released as bonus material on the 2007 reissue of the album.  There is no music, just Warren singing.  It’s a funny song about needing a series truck to haul away life’s problems.  Guns, women, bad thoughts, Percodan, and gin—all of these things need their own truck.  The song goes from humorous to philosophical when Warren concludes by singing “And I need a truck to haul all my trucks in.”

It’s a tossed-off scrap, but “I Need A Truck” is a perfect microcosm for all the best Warren Zevon songs.  There is no bullshit to the song, nothing to get in between the new-listener and Zevon**. There is nothing but Warren, his wit, and his demons. You want to know why I love Warren Zevon so much?  Listen to “I Need A Truck.”

 

 

** When you find someone to have and hold, don’t let nothing come between you.

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“So High” by Guided By Voices

Have you ever fallen deeply in love with a song?  I think we all have at some point in our lives.  I’ve been head-over heels in love with “So High” by Guided By Voices for months now.  It’s not on any of their albums, but rather was released as a B-side to the “Doughnut For A Snowman” single.  I found it one day while trolling around on Spotify, as I often do to kill time.

GBV is one of my all-time favorite bands, so it shouldn’t come as too big a surprise that I feel so strongly about one of their songs…but my love for“So High” feels strange because the song is less than one minute long.  If you know anything about lead singer/songwriter Robert Pollard, you know that length is not one of his strengths.  His tunes, which are catchy as hell, are nearly always tragically too short.  In fact, the rather tossed off, unfinished nature of the band’s songs is probably the #1 reason they’re not a household name.

“So High” indeed.

The A-side of the single, “Doughnut For A Snowman,” appears on the band’s first comeback album LET’S GO EAT THE FACTORY, which came out earlier this year (side note: can you believe has put out 3 awesome albums this year?).  That song begins with a gradual fade-in of what is actually the tail end of “So High.”   For whatever reason, “So High” didn’t make it onto the album.  The song seems to be related to “Doughnut For A Snowman,” so why was it left off the record? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

Anyway, maybe it’s my love of cast-off, discarded things, but strange fact that a (very) small part of the song is on the record really piqued my interest.  So I listened to “So High” probably 10 times in a row, and before I realized it: I was in love with it.  The song has a cozy, campfire feel.  I love the cheap, plastic recorder/flute in the song, I think it’s adorable.

The lyrics, while nonsensical are also very charming and full of warmth.  As you’re hearing it, the song seems to be about something, something really philosophical and important.  But it’s not.  Which is pretty funny because that’s kinda what it’s like to actually be so high.

Dashed off in under a minute, Pollard’s “So High” is like a short hug from a long lost friend I never knew I always missed.   The song is like roasting marshmallows on the banks of a glow-in-the-dark lake with your best friend while John Lennon drunkenly plays you an unfinished Beatles song.  It’s chocolate cake on the beach.  It’s probably my favorite song of 2012.  It’s 43-seconds long.

Please take a listen:

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PSYCHEDELIC PILL by Neil Young & Crazy Horse

Short and sweet. There’s something to be said about a masterful economy of length.  Long things, whether they are books, films, or albums tend to intimidate us.  Our lives are all so busy and hectic, there doesn’t seem to be time for anything substantial anymore.  Short can be sweet, but sometimes you have to kick back and ramble.

Psychedelic Pill: like trippy Pony Express.

At 67 years old, Neil Young should be slowing down.  He should be basking in the glory of his recently published memoir, WAGING HEAVY PEACE.  Young should be doing greatest hits concerts for $150 a pop to a sea of balding, gray heads.  But Neil Young wouldn’t be Neil Young if he didn’t have a bit more on his agenda. I can’t believe it, but in 2012 Neil Young has released his finest record.

Note that I didn’t say perfect or most commercial or the record I’d recommend to my friends; but PSYCHEDELIC PILL is without a doubt Neil Young’s finest record to date.  It’s a wild and wooly album, full of long and intricate songs that manages to perfectly instill the very essence of Young.  I don’t think that one double-album can totally encapsulate an artist as varied and masterly as Neil Young, but PSYCHEDELIC PILL does an amazing job showcasing why he still matters.  These are not gentle, old-man-telling-you-a-story-from-his-rocking-chair songs.   Neil Young & Crazy Horse are not in grandpa-mode at all on this album; PSYCHEDELIC PILL is a rocker.

One of the reasons it’s taken me so long to write about this album is because it’s long and intimidating. The album opens with “Drifting Back,” a 27 minute-long song that’s acts as a kind of sonic air lock, decompressing the listener into the album’s atmosphere.   Or perhaps a better metaphor would be that’s a time machine.  I like that better because PSYCHEDELIC PILL sounds like lost 1970’s record, with the lengthy “Drifting Back” serving as a trippy time tunnel to the past.  I can tell you that this album is a classic and will stand the test of time because it sounds neither vintage nor modern.  Listening to PSYCHEDELIC PILL, it’s impossible to really get a feel for when it was recorded, that’s the very epitome of timeless.

Immediately following the long “Drifting Back” we’re treated to the title cut, “Psychedelic Pill” which serves as a short palate cleanser of soaring, fuzzy guitar tones.  It’s a welcomed gulp of pop before Young plunges us back into the lengthy “Ramada Inn.”   That song, which focuses on the later years of an alcoholic, veers off into long tangents of guitar that walks the fine line between sublime and hypnotic. You either have the patience for this sort of stuff of you don’t.  One wonders how autobiographical “Ramada Inn” is (Young is now sober after years of drug and alcohol abuse).

Speaking of autobiographical, “Born in Ontario” and “Twisted Road” are two really great songs in which Young sings about his beginnings both as a young Canadian and as a newly minted songwriter hearing Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone.” Both songs have a breezy, confident feel to them.  “Twisted Road” has my favorite lyric of the album in which Young describes Dylan as Hank Williams “chewing bubble gum.” It’s a great line that never fails to make me smile, no matter how many times I hear it.  “Twisted Road” is a bit odd because it’s strange to think of Neil Young as a Bob Dylan fan.  Young and Dylan are like Gods, the thought of them being fans is a strange concept, though ultimately it’s very endearing.

The best song on the album, in my opinion, is the moody “Walk Like A Giant.”   Even though it clocks in at just over 16 minutes, I’ve listened to it dozens of times, and on each listen I’m blown away at how sonically diverse it is. In the song, Young sings “I want to walk like a giant on the land” as far as I’m concerned with PSYCHEDELIC PILL that’s just what Neil Young is—a giant, peerless and at the top of his game.   It’s one long, strange trip that’s already become one of my all-time favorite songs: how can this be? Maybe I wouldn’t be so over-the-moon floored by this album if I hadn’t long ago written Neil Young off.

Special mention should be made of Young’s famous backing band.  People have criticized Crazy Horse over the years as not being a very “good” band.  And to an extent I can understand that.  They’ve always been a loose, almost garage-band kind of entity that might not work for every occasion, but here the band fits the material like a glove.  I can’t imagine any of these songs without them, each track a beautiful sonic assault.  Crazy Horse may be a blunt instrument, but they’re an instrument nonetheless, and here they’re utilized to great effect.

Lastly, I’d like to encourage anyone reading this to give PSYCHEDELIC PILL a listen but keep a few things in mind.  This album is about as anti-iTunes as one can get.  This isn’t a take a few sips/try it out a little at a time kind of album, you need to commit to sitting down and listening to it.  Yes, some of the songs are really long.  Yes, it’s a bit indulgent in a few places (“Ramada Inn” and “Drifting Back” probably could have been trimmed a smidge).  But overall it’s a fantastic album that every rock fan should check out.  PSYCHEDELIC PILL should be heard in a dark room with headphones. There’s been much discussion of the lost art of album making, and I would argue that people have lost the ability to listen to an album.  This is life changing, earth-shattering rock; have the decency to give it your full attention.

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