Jellyfish was an awesome band, but don’t take my word for it:
Last winter I saw the King of Rock ‘n Roll. It’s pretty hard to believe that he’s still alive, let alone still performing, but it’s true. Once a month Chuck Berry plays a concert at a place called Blueberry Hill here in St. Louis. It’s a kitschy restaurant full of dusty memorabilia cases and old arcade games. There’s two bars, one upstairs and another in the basement which is called The Duck Room. Named after Berry’s signature dance move (you’ve seen it even if you didn’t know what it was called, Michael J. Fox does it at the end of BACK TO THE FUTURE) The Duck Room is not a glamorous place, it looks exactly like the basement of a restaurant. Only with a bar and a funny ha-ha duck decor. Blue Berry Hill has quite a few concerts down in the Duck Room, I’ve seen a few acts there–but the only time I’ve ever seen the place sell-out is when Chuck Berry plays.
Usually The Duck Room is a standing-room-only affair, but for Berry they owners brought out a few crappy chairs. The audience was mixed, young and old, there were more than a few people pushing 70 in the crowd. Which seems about right considering Berry himself is 85 years old. A serviceable cover band opened the show (sorry I can’t remember their name) and once they finished, Chuck Berry’s band, which consists of his children and family friends, took to the tiny stage. After a little intro music a very tall, very spry man shuffled up onto the stage. He was wearing a white captains hat and had a guitar. If you’ve ever seen a picture of Chuck Berry, from any year, then you know what he looks like to this very day. It’s amazing how some people age…and how others don’t. I’d like to think that in Berry’s case, it’s rock ‘n roll that’s kept him young.
Seeing Chuck Berry play songs like “Sweet Little Sixteen,” “No Particular Place To Go,” “You Never Can Tell,” and yes “Johnny B. Goode,” was akin to the times I saw Paul McCartney and The Rolling Stones. It still doesn’t feel real to me that I’ve been in the same room as them. And as amazing as they were, Berry is in a whole class to himself. Open up Keith Richards (excellent) autobiography LIFE. Go ahead, open up that massive book to just about any page and chances are you’ll see Chuck Berry’s name–he talks about Berry endlessly. I’ve read more than one rock biography or interview where Berry’s name was spoken as though he were a living, breathing God. We sort of take it for granted now, but once there was a time when there was no rock music. White people liked really boring big band music (or whatever) and black people played blues music for each other. Berry didn’t invent rock ‘n roll, that suggests that he plucked it out of thin air or that it’s components didn’t already exist. No, Berry took rhythm and blues music and he distilled it like Jack Daniels, into the potent concoction we know today.
It’s pretty amazing that Berry is still alive and even more amazing that he still performs regularly. I feel honored to live in the same city as the man who changed pop music forever. The rest of St. Louis feels the same way because recently a monument was built in Berry’s honor. Located directly across the street from Blueberry Hill (and a stones throw from Vintage Vinyl, the city’s best record store), the monument features Berry’s lyrics carved into the ground, an illuminated wall that displays the musical notes for “Johnny B. Good,” and an 8-foot bronze statue of the man himself. All hail the King of Rock ‘N Roll! Long live the king.
Lately I’ve hit a bit of a rough patch. I’m not depressed, per say, but I’m definitely bummed out. Nothing really big and terrible has happened, it’s just a bunch of little things all adding to a larger pile of misery. While wallowing last week, a friend of mine asked me if I wanted to see Morrissey in New York this October. Of course I had to say “no” (Defending Axl Rose hasn’t made me a millionaire yet). She’s never seen Morrissey live and as someone who has I encouraged her to go without me.
That conversation got me thinking about Morrissey and why I love him so much. His band The Smiths were super influential and anyone even thinking about writing songs (happy or sad) should definitely check out the work of The Smiths. But Morrissey’s specialty is really sad songs. I can’t think of another human being who (at least on the surface) is more depressed than Morrissey. God help us all if Morrissey ever finds happiness. In fact, as terrible as it is, I truly do not wish happiness upon ‘ol Moz. I don’t think he could handle it.
Is Morrissey gay? Is Morrissey straight? Will he get back with The Smiths? I could care less about these tabloid questions that so obsess the British media. All I care is he’s fucking miserable and recording music. I guess I’m old fashioned.
One of my favorite songs I’ve ever heard him sing is a cover of the Patti Smith song “Redondo Beach.” It’s a tragic song about two lovers one of whom (spoiler) kills herself after the couple has a fight near Redondo Beach. Morrissey released a live cover of “Redondo Beach” in 2004 in support of his LIVE AT EARLS COURT album. As songs go, it’s good even though it is pretty melodramatic. The song’s narrator sings about how he got in a “quarrel” with “you” (his lover) who he now can’t seem to find. In a seemingly unrelated bit of news a girl has washed up on Redondo Beach…and in the end it his love is gone forever because:
Down by the ocean
It was so dismal
I was just standing
With shock on my face though
The hearse pulled away
And the girl that had died it was you
Shakespeare this isn’t, but the tragedy, especially when Morrissey (our main-man of depression) is singing it I can’t help but feel bad. And I like that. I guess the same part of us that likes to watch scary movies is the same part that likes to hear sad songs. I don’t know about you, but when I’m sad I like to hear sad songs. I can’t imagine trying to hear something super-happy and upbeat when I’m feeling down.
Morrissey’s built an entire career around this sort of emo-music (please kill me in the comments for calling Morrissey “emo”) and even though it might seem a bit strange he provides a service humanity really needs. I highly recommend anyone feeling depressed, blue, disenfranchised, pissed off, confused, or otherwise unsatisfied to check out the massive library of awesomely depressing music recorded by Morrissey.
Morrissey Depression Super-Mix
1. “Let Me Kiss You” from YOU ARE THE QUARRY
2. “Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me” from STRANGEWAYS, HERE WE COME
3. “Redondo Beach” from LIVE AT EARLS COURT
4. “Satan Rejected My Soul” from MALADJUSTED
5. “One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell” from YEARS OF REFUSAL
This song, by Ringo Deathstarr, is from their album COLOUR TRIP (euro-spelling so you know it’s good!):
Check out this awesome song by Gringo Star, off their album COUNT YER LUCKY STARS:
Last night I went on a Magical Mystery Tour deep within the bowels of Spotify. I do this thing I call “band hopping” where I’ll listen to something and then let Spotify recommend something. After I’m done listening to that I let it recommend something to me based on THAT song…pretty soon I’m completely and utterly lost. I wish I could remember what led me to down the weird rabbit-hole of bands named in honor of ex-Beatle Ringo Starr, I bet the trajectory of songs was pretty interesting, but alas…I was in offline mode and my listens were not recorded.
But I digress. The important thing is there are two really awesome rock bands with Ringo-inspired names. The first of these bands that I happened upon was Atlanta-based Gringo Star. What do you think of when you read that name? I bet you think Gringo Star is a Beatles-inspired pop-rock band, right? I know that’s what I was thinking. Turns out Gringo Star is a really cool rock band with some British-invasion influences, but mostly is a bit like the UK’s Supergrass. The band’s latest album COUNT YER LUCKY STARS is a pretty tight collection of rock songs with a lot of “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.”**
The album opener “Shadow” invokes both the aforementioned Supergrass as well as Oasis, Blur, with just a hint of Dr. Dog (great harmonies). The album is full of great songs, but I really like the spanish-influenced “Esmerelda” and the dreamy album-closer “Mexican Coma.” That last song in particular sounds like it could have been a hit in 1966 by song little-know, post-Beatles invasion-era rock band. I can almost see the vinyl copy of “Mexican Coma” by The Mudd Turtles or some such thing. It’s a really nice summer chill-out song, with a super-cool guitar solo. But the song the changed my lust to love was “Got It,” which sounds like an early Kinks single. It’s got a real nice, super-catchy hook that just digs into your brain and won’t let go. Right now “Got It” is near the top of the list of best songs I’ve heard this summer (woah! It’s only June) .
From Gringo Star I ended up listening to a band called Ringo Deathstarr. As far as jokey names go, Ringo Deathstarr beats Gringo Star hands-down. Besides having the proper number of “R’s” in “Starr” the band’s name is also a freaking STAR WARS pun.
Now Ringo Deathstarr is a COMPLETELY different animal. For one thing, their album COLOUR TRIP is more acid/reverb drenched than Gringo Star’s super-crisp rock. Hailing from Texas, Ringo Deathstarr sounds a bit like The Flaming Lips by way of The Cure. The band is a girl-and-guy “shoegaze” band that I have to reluctantly admit to being a sucker for. COLOUR TRIP opens with the spaced out “Imagine Hearts” which is a joyous bit of pop. The album’s best track is “So High,” which sounds how a whacked-out day at the beach feels. The gentle “Other Things” closes the album with bittersweet introspection. It’s the kind of song that’s easy to get lost inside. Some bands exist in space and other create it, and Ringo Deathstarr definitely create their own space–COLOUR TRIP is best enjoyed alone with headphones.
Both bands (and albums) are pretty awesome, and despite sharing similarities in their name they’re pretty far apart sonically. For me, Gringo Star has the better songs and Ringo Deathstarr has the better vibes. Is that a cop-out? I guess, but it’s really like comparing apples to oranges. Check ’em both out and tell me what you think.
FOOTNOTES:
**TANGENT: I think that modern music needs more “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.” Go back and listen to music, from all genres, of the last 50 years and you’ll hear a ton of “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.” But with only a few notable exceptions, COUNT YER LUCKY STARS being one of them, I can’t recall very many bands/albums today that use “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.”
Check out this awesome track from Boxer The Horse:
I first discovered Canadian Indie-rockers Boxer The Horse last year while browsing eMusic. I really dug their awesome first album WOULD YOU PLEASE, especially the song “Bad Apples” which was one of the best songs I heard last year. I played it countless times (so many times I literally lost count). So as you can imagine I was pretty stoked when I found out that the band released a new album this week. Boxer The Horse is a bit like the films of Wes Anderson–you’ll either dig their somewhat twee-sensibilities or you’ll loath it. Their songs are carefully constructed, literate, and despite having a shiny-pop veneer are often pretty dark.
FRENCH RESIDENCY finds the band improving and growing in just about every sense–the songs are better, the hooks are hookier, and the songs are longer/more fleshed out. One of the things I really like about Boxer The Horse is how diverse their albums sound. They do spooky-indie pop (“Me & Steve McQueen”), straight out rockers (“Rattle Your Cage”), a kind of neo-folk (“Tough Luck”), and punk (“Bridge To The USA”). I think it’s cool that the band does what they want genre/conventions be damned. That said, I can see how this might come across as a bit schizophrenic to some, and might even be considered a weakness for those who need everything carefully slotted into neat categories. Regardless, I find it refreshing and I’m sure this diversity makes them one helluva live act.
The best song on FRENCH RESIDENCY is “Rattle Your Cage.” It’s that awesome brand of hard-charing pop song the radio used to adore when we were kids, it’s shocking how good it is. It reminds me of ROOM ON FIRE-era Strokes (that’s a good thing). I love the hook, the guitars, and the awesome way the song collapses at the end. “Rattle Your Cage” is the sort of song that demands to be played in an arena. On the other end of the spectrum is “Me & Steve McQueen” which is quiet and intimate, almost anti-arena rock song. It’s a murky, mysterious ballad that materializes and then quickly vaporizes like a ghost. It’s less than 2 minutes of bliss.
I love that the laid-back “Tough Luck” leads into the aggressive “Bridge To The USA.” It’s a thoughtful bit of album construction that you don’t see much of these days. The song “T. Rex” won me over as I was typing this review with the hilariously spot-on lyric: “don’t look so depressed on a Sunday morning /well don’t act like such a slut on Saturday night.” That’s a Fagen & Becker-ish bit of cattiness I can’t help but love. The album is filled with little nuggets and flourishes that really impress and reward repeat listens. I’m also intrigued by the fact that there’s a darkness lurking just under the surface throughout FRENCH RESIDENCY. It reminds me of the way a lot of John Lennon’s solo albums felt.
That’s not to say that everything is perfect on FRENCH RESIDENCY, it’s not. There are a few tracks that only-half work for me, the biggest offender being the Vampire Weekend-like “Party Saturday.” It’s a bit too cute, even for me (though it does have a nice guitar solo). “Karen Silkwood” is the other song on the record I just can’t get behind. It’s so damn bizarre, lyrically, that I think I’m going to have to listen to it a few more times before I can figure out what it’s trying to say (if it’s trying to say anything). A quick Google search reveals that Karen Silkwood was an Oklahoma labor activist who died under mysterious circumstances in 1974. With that in mind, the song “Karen Silkwood” opens thusly: “I’m in the car when Karen Silkwood was killed / Texas Ranger won’t you marry me still?” I’m all for complex lyrics and interesting narratives, but that’s just strange to be strange, right? Speaking of odd things, I noticed after a few listens that there are multiple references to blood and bleeding scattered throughout the album. I can’t say for certain, but I think this might be a subconscious-tic on the part of the band. I know that as a writer there are some words and phrases I will use repeatedly if I’m not careful. I wouldn’t be surprised if no one in the band was aware of this.
Historically, the second album is the one that separates the men from the boys. FRENCH RESIDENCY is not a just an excellent sophomore album, it’s an excellent album in general. It proves that WOULD YOU PLEASE wasn’t a fluke, but rather the beginning of an exciting career.