Subliminal Plastic Motives (1995)

 

Subliminal Plastic Motives

Artist: Self
Release Year: 1995

Rating: 8/10

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Track Listing: 1) Borateen; 2) Sophomore Jinx; 3) Stewardess; 4) So Low; 5) Marathon Shirt; 6) Lucid Anne; 7) Cannon; 8) Missed the Friction; 9) Superstar; 10) Mother Nature's Fault; 11) Big Important Nothing; 12) Lost My Senses.

Matt Mahaffey was undoubtedly the valedictorian AND the class clown.  I can't be convinced otherwise after hearing this.

This album is like if you had, as a rebellious preteen, grabbed a pop-rock song out of a claw machine on a summer afternoon, mashed it together with whatever sound chips you dug out of your electronic toys, ran it over on your bike, and then soaked it in both Nickelodeon slime and whatever week-old piss beer you smuggled out of your parents' clutches.  It's a weird, wacky, youthful-yet-literate, clunky-yet-smooth, sunny-yet-cynical mess of rock, electronic, and even jazzy influences that threatens to come apart at the seams but never does.  

Listen to all the switch-ups in the likes of "Marathon Shirt" or "Cannon", or all the chromatic chords in "Sophomore Jinx", or the freaking 11/8 time signature of "Lost My Senses" for evidence enough of Mahaffey's sharp knowledge and command of music theory.  The beats feel like they could be part of a hip-hop record or even a jazz suite, yet the vibe is pure Nineties alt-rock.  The hooks are bizarre but unforgettable.  The production is so full of electronic bleeps, murmuring samples, fuzzy guitars, sneering vocals,  snappy pianos, and a hundred other things, while still focusing on the melodies, and I don't know how they did it.  And I almost don't want to know, because Matt Mahaffey deserves a monopoly on this sound.

Now, for some highlights.  The bouncy "North-east-ern-south-west-Mississippi" hook is so audacious as to be brilliant enough to maybe win over that titular "Stewardess", and the same goes for the "I wish I was dead, with a knife in my chest and a bullet through my head" in the next track.  It's all teenage jeering and mockery, yet still manages to be good-natured enough to avoid upsetting any (rational) person.  My favorites come next, though: the jazzy breakdown that comes out of nowhere in "Marathon Shirt" only makes me love the immaculate, endless-summer chorus even more, and to follow that song with the smoothly offbeat groove of "Lucid Anne" was a stroke of genius.

Those aside, everything on here screams of thumbing one's nose at everyone and everything, in a way that only a brilliant Nineties rocker and producer could, and I don't need much else on a summer afternoon when I want to forget my age.  But could something like this be released yet today, or is this sort of cynicism and rejection insufficiently harsh to land today?  Hard to tell.  Have the nostalgia goggles become permanently attached to me yet?

Please Please Me (1963)

 

Please Please Me

Artist: The Beatles
Release Year: 1963

Rating: 7/10

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Track Listing: 1) I Saw Her Standing There; 2) Misery; 3) Anna (Go to Him); 4) Chains; 5) Boys; 6) Ask Me Why; 7) Please Please Me; 8) Love Me Do; 9) PS I Love You; 10) Baby It's You; 11) Do You Want to Know a Secret; 12) A Taste of Honey; 13) There's a Place; 14) Twist and Shout.

Here it is, the very first Beatles record, from a time before anyone knew what they would become, and I don't find it odd to summarize it as "charming, but quaint".  There's a certain…well, "dustiness" isn't quite the word, but it is close.  It's clear that although the Beatles had established their studio prowess and songwriting expertise right from the beginning, they hadn't yet fully stood apart from their contemporaries in terms of style.  This album sure sounds like 1963, and is probably the one that still sounds the most dated today.  Listen to the stretch from "Love Me Do" to "A Taste of Honey" and try telling me that no one else could have done those (well, technically, some of those are covers, so someone else literally did do those).  So why don't I color those tracks red?  Because the Beatles still make them sound so damned good!

Yeah, we find a whole six covers on this album, which is typical for 1963, but still somewhat of a damper-- but that's not to say that the harbingers of future greatness cannot be heard here.  "I Saw Her Standing There" is just about the best way they could have announced themselves to the world, from the opening count-in to the earnest delivery of the verses, to the weird "miii-IIIINE" falsetto in the pre-chorus that could only fly before about 1966, to the frantic, swaggering rockabilly solo delivered by a very young George.  "Misery" and the title track, on the other hand, are much more traditional sounding, but no less likeable, with all the same boyish energy and harmony going into those immaculate hooks from the beginning-- not to mention the double entendres in the title track that set the stage for John's usual wit later on.  And of course, there's the cover of "Twist and Shout" that manages to out-rock the original so much as to eclipse it.  

The best part of this album, though, is the incredible, professional quality control and consistency displayed by the band from the very beginning.  There are no stupid outtakes like The Beach Boys were including at the time, for instance.  Just fourteen solid tracks, all lain down in a single marathon session on a cold day while everyone was sick.  Sometimes tenacity does pay off, doesn't it?  At least when you've got George Martin on your side from the beginning.

Tarkus (1971)

 

Tarkus

Artist: Emerson, Lake & Palmer
Release Year: 1971

Rating: 8/10

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Track Listing: 1) Tarkus; 2) Jeremy Bender; 3) Bitches Crystal; 4) The Only Way (Hymn); 5) Infinite Space; 6) A Time and a Place; 7) Are You Ready Eddy.

Oh man, right from the beginning you know the titular suite is going to be epic-- I mean, what else could those bubbling, meandering-but-ultimately-ascending organ and synth lines suggest?  Then we get the portentous hymn-like "Stones of Years" segment that sets the stage nicely for the next "battle" section, before heading into that outstanding "weaver in the web that he made!" hook that I love so much.  Following that, we get more synth-and-drum-fests that manage to remain interesting the whole way through, before the obligatory "war is hell" conclusion and "profound rebirth and reprise" theme that was all the rage in those days.  

Yes, the opening "Tarkus" suite is possibly the best thing this band ever did, and I'm always here for it.  Why am I so emphatically onboard with this one, despite my usual complaints about ELP?  Simple: because the complexity arises from the interesting idea, and not the other way around.  Very little of "Tarkus" is overbearing or headache-inducing.  It all flows so well between cool and catchy motifs, and the dissonant parts are well-placed and meaningful in context.  Greg Lake's vocals are in top form, emotionally and sonically, and the suite even includes just enough Gilmour-esque guitar stings throughout to keep someone like me engaged.  Oh, and did I mention that this whole thing is supposed to depict a series of battles between an armadillo tank and other animal-machine chimeras?  Yeah, good luck deciphering that without the gatefold in front of you, but whatever.  This is prog, man!

So…what comes next?  Well, nothing quite as good, but at least the momentum keeps up.  "Jeremy Bender" is a charming little barroom singalong (yep, handclaps and all), and then there's the frantic boogie-turned-ominous rager "Bitches Crystal", in which you'll hear Greg Lake screaming his brains out, demonstrating again why I love his work so much.

"The Only Way" resumes the ironic-religious-hymn motif that suggests a bit more profundity and weight than I care to stomach, but at least the melody is nicely plaintive and accompanied by nice piano chops.  Heh...I can only imagine the kind of all-caps tirades to be witnessed today over a line like "Why did He lose six million Jews?"  Anyway, the rest is largely a rehash of what's come before on the album, but that's fine.  Now, do I want to listen to more of this sort of thing again after Tarkus is over?  Well, not really, but this one's great while it lasts.

The Beatles (1968)

 

The Beatles

Artist: The Beatles
Release Year: 1968

Rating: 9/10

Disc 1: 1) Back in the USSR; 2) Dear Prudence; 3) Glass Onion; 4) Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da; 5) Wild Honey Pie; 6) The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill; 7) While My Guitar Gently Weeps; 8) Happiness Is a Warm Gun; 9) Martha My Dear; 10) I'm So Tired; 11) Blackbird; 12) Piggies; 13) Rocky Raccoon; 14) Don't Pass Me By; 15) Why Don't We Do It in the Road; 16) I Will; 17) Julia.

Disc 2: 18) Birthday; 19) Yer Blues; 20) Mother Nature's Son; 21) Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey; 22) Sexy Sadie; 23) Helter Skelter; 24) Long, Long, Long; 25) Revolution 1; 26) Honey Pie; 27) Savoy Truffle; 28) Cry Baby Cry; 29) Revolution 9; 30) Good Night.

I don't like double albums.  Have you ever heard one that sustains its runtime the whole way through?  I haven't, and that includes the almighty White Album.  That's right--not even The Beatles can get away with this!  But they do come closer than most.

No doubt that by now, we've reached the late stage of the band's career.  Each member was developing into his own style as a musician and as a person, and the cracks were starting to show.  In fact, most of these songs sound more like solo John or solo Paul or solo George, with the other three simply making guest appearances.  Is it crass, though, to call Eric Clapton’s guitar solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” the best of these?

There are at least ten other different genres on here, all done anywhere from adequately to brilliantly.  Now, most of these genres were already well-established when this album was recorded, so there's not much ammunition to be had against Piero Scaruffi this time around; but I'll take another chance to spit on him anyway, because these songs are mostly outstanding.  We'd be here all day if I talked about every single song, but let me at least point out some highlights.  

Who can resist a rockin' party like "Back in the USSR", with the stinging guitar lines from George and the Beach Boys-style "wooo-ooh" backing vocals?  What about the gorgeous folk of "Dear Prudence" that somehow culminates in that stellar drumming during the last minute?  Who decided to switch genres and time signatures about five times in "Happiness Is a Warm Gun", yet managed to make the whole thing flow so well?  

How does "Martha My Dear" manage to feel so fresh and engaging despite being a 1920s-style music hall sendup, tuba and all?  Why is "Julia" so haunting and lovely in the midst of all those weird chord changes?  And why does everyone forget about the dusky atmosphere of "Cry Baby Cry" that somehow manages to speak to both my childhood wonder and my adult sense of dread at the same time, like a Grimm's fairy tale with hidden undertones or something?  

There are misfires, sure: for instance, the unnecessary kiddie song about Bungalow Bill, with mostly dumb lyrics.  John can't call out Paul's "granny shit" any more after this!  "Yer Blues" may be tongue-in-cheek enough to pass as a semi-joke, but that doesn't mean I want to sit through the whole thing, and then there's the matter of "Revolution 9".  Sure, the thing is an interesting mark of the times (and of John's growing obsession with Yoko), but a sound collage doesn't need to be eight minutes long, never mind how well it was composed.  

For all the variety here, the production is more stripped-down compared to the big and lush sound of the previous two albums, and that only furthers the rough-edged, unpolished, messy-sheaf-of-papers vibe of this record.  Now, anyone who knows me may suspect that the loss of cohesion would be a large black mark on an album, but somehow, this one just manages to hang together by a few essential threads that I find hard to pin down.  Maybe it's the fact that we finally hear each member jump through unapologetically, allowing some kind of personal evolution to come through.  Maybe it's the way the messy, ideas-before-structure tone prevents the listener from demanding the same cohesion we heard before on Sgt. Pepper.  Maybe it's just because the unparalleled songcraft of the Beatles made the individual tracks so great that they work as a collage rather than as a single, grand mural.  I don't know, and maybe that mystery only adds to the allure.

Duke (1980)

 

Duke

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1980

Rating: 6/10

Track Listing: 1) Behind the Lines; 2) Duchess; 3) Guide Vocal; 4) Man of Our Times; 5) Misunderstanding; 6) Heathaze; 7) Turn It On Again; 8) Alone Tonight; 9) Cul De Sac; 10) Please Don’t Ask; 11) Duke’s Travels; 12) Duke’s End.

First of all, Duke was supposed to be a concept album, but the story came out in only about half the songs.  Look at that album cover and tell me what you think the story is about.  If you’re anything like me, that depressingly accurate prediction of 2010s corporate-Memphis-style minimalism is the quintessential depiction of midlife crisis: a fat, hunched-over, defeated man looks longingly out the window at a world that’s ostensibly waiting for him; yet, the moon clearly indicates it’s too late to do much.  Again, this universal tragedy only officially made it into a handful of the tracks, but the mood pervades throughout.  This album screams “beige waiting room” more than anything before it, and no amount of bright, shimmery production will override that feeling.  So then, why do I still give it a decent rating?  Why do I still listen to this one more than several of its predecessors?  Well, that’s hard to pin down, but I’ll try my best.

First, in spite of the lethargy suggested by the overall product, there are some really strong moments on this album that provide just enough momentum to propel us through some of the more generic stretches.  “Behind the Lines” kicks things off with a peppy, bouncy verse with some nice twists and turns, and the “writ-ten in the book!” chorus hook is really solid.  “Guide Vocal” is short but heartfelt, and placing it after “Duchess” instead of before it only increases the sense of longing, as if the Duchess herself were left standing alone on a dark stage, her glory days forgotten.  “Heathaze” is heartfelt with great lyrics and tender melodic shifts to convey them, though it is marred by saccharine production: a harbinger of what’s to come on Side B.

Then there are the hits.  “Misunderstanding” is smarmy and cheeky but still catchy as hell, and I don’t mind it.  “Turn It On Again” is better, with the weird meter and driving chorus providing probably the biggest breath of air amid the blandness of the album.

Unfortunately, we also have a sea of synth-pop to wade through in between the high points, and although there’s not quite enough of that to turn me away from the album, it does come close.  “Man of Our Times” and “Alone Tonight” could have been great, especially with Phil’s excellent vocal performance in each desperate chorus, if not for that overproduction that plants us right back into that album cover.  Then, after the hits are over, “Cul-De-Sac” and “Please Don’t Ask” provide two entirely forgettable tracks, easily the worst part of this album; and finally, we come to twin songs “Duke’s Travels” and “Duke’s End”, which do hearken back to the old prog days, albeit more in their combined ten-minute structure than in actual feel.  It’s all glistening, shimmery, annoying synths for me, and that’s that.  Bleh.

So, again, we have some really great pop songwriting moments, driven into the ground by that infernal beast we call the Eighties.  Most of these songs would have been much, much greater as standalones or in another context, and without such synth-heavy production of course.  But, as it stands, this is a weird case of the collective product being far blander than its constituent molecules, if you will.  Phil sounds great on both the drums and on the mic, but of course, Tony Banks buries things in synths, and that’s what really grates on me.  And what of Mike Rutherford?  I assume he just kinda followed along, but what do I know?

Brain Salad Surgery (1973)

 

Brain Salad Surgery

Artist: Emerson, Lake & Palmer
Release Year: 1973

Rating: 5/10

Track Listing: 1) Jerusalem; 2) Toccata; 3) Still…You Turn Me On; 4) Benny the Bouncer; 5) Karn Evil 9: 1st Impression - Part 1; 6) Karn Evil 9: 1st Impression - Part 2; 7) Karn Evil 9: 2nd Impression; 8) Karn Evil 9: 3rd Impression.

"The show that never ends" sure sounds like an apt description for this kind of thing…or at least, that's what it feels like when I've listened to all the doodly-doodly synths and organs until my head hurts, only to realize I'm only halfway through this thing.  Yeah, these guys undoubtedly had chops, but that doesn't mean I need that proven to me over and over and over at the expense of melody.  I mean, who do they think they are, having "Toccata" devolve so quickly into a mess of electronic noise instead of just being, you know, a toccata?  Even when the catchy parts of "Karn Evil 9" crop up, they're annoyingly drowned out in dizzying, swirling keys, and that makes it really hard to focus on Greg Lake's excellent voice. 

The few places where the aforementioned annoyance doesn't happen, like on the ominous opener "Jerusalem" or the mysterious and beautiful baroque ballad "Still...You Turn Me On", are easily the high points for me, and I don't care what that says about me as a prog fan.  I don't want complexity just for its own sake, dammit!  But when they do throw in some really nice segments, like they do in that piano solo throughout "2nd Impression", I can get onboard a hundred percent.

Well, maybe ninety percent.

Anyway, not only do they show off more than not, but they also become card-carrying showoffs when they tout their show as "guaranteed to blow your head apart".  Ughh.  I'd much rather have that done by a guy like Robert Fripp, who never once claimed to be a genius.  He just trusted his audience to know that he is.