April Fools! | Songs of the Week 07/14/2023 (coming to you from 07/21/2023)
...so I lied. What?? As I said last week: folks, my music taste is just too good, and that means it's also too good for me to keep my promises with any new schedules. I guess after talking about five songs every week (more or less) for almost a year now, when I listened to this week's picks back-to-back, I was literally fighting writing about them. At that point, it's just like... why bother stopping if I'm excited about all of these? Plus, I've got enough time on my hands to sustain work on my other projects and stuff like this, so why bother adhering to some miserable, minimalist schedule if I'm able to do more? In the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy these songs as much as I do.
LOVE ROLLERCOASTER | Ohio Players God, I love funk. You guys like funk, right? God, I love funk. I'm such a funk poser, though, because when I say "I love funk," what I really mean is "I love the five or so funk songs I've heard, which, based on my statistical analyses, is an accurate representation of the genre's entire span." It's not, and I know that it's not, but because I'm lazy or stupid or just unfunky, I just cannot catch the funk train. My booty remains in a stifling prison of corporate, khaki unfunk, yet it yearns to be freed. Even despite being cursed to roam the earth without a glittering cape and peacock-feathered fedora, though, I've been loving the hell out of Ohio Players' classic song "Love Rollercoaster" since at least mid-May, and there's almost too much for me to sing my praises for in a single post. Some things I love about "Love Rollercoaster" lore, in no particular order:
For Damn Near Twenty-Two Years, I Was Listening to the Wrong (and Dubiously Official) Version of "Love Rollercoaster": So, picture yourself as my Dad, in 2010: your beard is short, as is your son, and so is your Ohio Players collection on iTunes. So far as I can tell, Ohio Players only dropped their album Honey on streaming recently, meaning my Dad had to find his funk fix elsewhere. Thanks to mysterious benefactors Driving Hits of the 70s! Vol. 1-8, for a time, we had our discount Ohio Players. The flat, blue background and the car-clipart cover should've been my tipoff that maybe this was more like the Infatuation Bumper Car, though, because this version sounds stiff enough to have been cobbled together with mere midi instruments and a dream. I'm still quite nostalgic for this version, even though I'm very happy to have found the superior original recording, but looking back, I can't find the Driving Hits of the 70s! take anywhere on Apple Music these days—Volumes 1, 3, and 8 all have Luther Ingram's "(If Loving You Is Wrong) Then I Don't Want To Be Right," Ambrosia's "Holdin' On To Yesterday," and Fortune's "Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again" on them, though, so either they're running out of ideas or—and you can say I'm not feeling the Love Rollercoaster, but it's just a thought—they're replacing tracks that were once there but have since been copyright claimed. Just a thought.
This Goofy Fun-Time Funk Track Features a Murdered Woman's Scream as Backup Vocals—On Accident, I Guess: If you find this song anywhere with a comments section, you're bound to hear that apparently, cover model Ester Cordet was either a) murdered in an alleyway outside the studio while "Love Rollercoaster" was being recorded, or b) murdered literally inside the recording booth and they just...kept rolling? Most of these comments nostalgically recognize this as nothing more than an urban legend that was whispered between curious kids, but honestly, I choose to believe this is true. Like, imagine feeling the funk so hard that you can't stop the jam when a woman is audibly murdered. Imagine hearing her dying shriek hit exactly the right spot before the breakdown, and everyone looks at each other uncomfortably, and then at the soundboard, all silently signing some mutual pact to never speak of what you have seen, but to still keep it in your new album's single, because god damn, it does sound good, right? You can actually hear some version of the scream twice in the song, so far as I can tell—at 0:09 and, as is most often cited, at 2:32—which would mean Cordet hit that death note so hard that they had to use it twice (rest in peace, though). After doing some digging, it seems that this old rumor has gained so much notoriety that it can be found on the Wikipedia page for Honey, along with another rumor that the titular honey on the album cover ruined Cordet's skin and derailed her modeling career. I just think it's wild that hauntings like this crop up in the least creepy places—I find nothing but joy in this song, but to think others might have these superstitious associations with it is crazy to me.
Also, "Love Rollercoaster" Really Slaps: Even with those two fun facts aside, how am I supposed to contain my "Love Rollercoaster" rave to a single paragraph? Aside from how criminally catchy that opening riff is, there's so much here to shout out, from the smooth side commentary ("say what?" I don't know, man, but I'm sure glad you said something), to the startlingly low baritone backup vocals, to the the harmonizing horns. All of this and more culminates in an organ-and-horn freakout that magnificently dissolves away from the tight tempo. It was probably skull-shattering back in the day if you were hitting that hippie pipe, and even sober, hearing those outro "love rollercoaster" vocals just feels like something to behold. It's exactly the bombastic, unabashed fun that funk was made for, and it always puts some brightness into my days. Thanks, Ohio Players.
Pairs Well With: "Flashlight" (Parliament), "Fantastic Voyage" (Lakeside), "Jungle Boogie" (Kool & The Gang)
SHE'S FINE, SHE'S MINE | Spoon covering Bo Diddley One of my many, many past musical mistakes (I don't make them anymore, don't worry) back in high school was assuming Spoon was a one-note band. I must have mistook the uptightness in their style and the tightness in their performance for something formulaic—odd to think that having such a strong identity could lead to anyone assuming you're a one-trick pony, but I suppose when you don't sound like anyone else, the only thing you can be compared to is yourself. Either way, it wasn't long before this grave misunderstanding was ameliorated when I was talked into seeing Spoon live. This is where I talk you into seeing Spoon live too, by the way—I know I always rave about witnessing a seasoned band control the chaos of a good jam, but I don't think I've ever seen a show where even the wildest solos were accompanied like they were always part of the plan. Also, Britt Daniel pointed at me during "My Mathematical Mind" last time I saw them and I haven't gotten over it. Not because it was cool (it was), but because I pointed back at myself and gave him a weird look like I was a gorilla gaining self-awareness. He definitely didn't know what to do with it. I have the tapes. Sorry I'm like this, Britt.
https://www.youtube.com/embed/kPdS5aH_N6Y
Basically, Spoon is incredible live—they've put on some of the best concerts I've been to in my life, no hyperbole—and once I'd seen them in action, I realized how versatile their well-defined style is, even wearing others' music. I've only had a chance to do a full listen of Lucifer on the Sofa once, but some of these tracks, as well as some preceding singles like "No Bullets Spent" and "Shake it Off" (not that one), really hammer this home. One of my favorite songs from this period of recording sessions comes not from the main album, but from the accompanying EP Memory Dust—a cover of Bo Diddley's blues classic "She's Fine, She's Mine." This won't be the first time in this post I recklessly dunk on a musical pioneer like I'm also in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (no biggie), but for the record, I've never really felt Bo Diddley's music—something that's pretty important in the blues (or rock, or whatever, it was all one amorphous lump of appropriated rebellion at that point). Bo's (I don't want to call him Diddley) importance to the rock scene cannot be overstated, and yet unlike the funk above or the blues we've spoken on in the past, something about his composition seems emotionally flat. I'm not sure I have a read on how blasphemous this will be, but my hot take for tonight is that Spoon's cover of "She's Fine, She's Mine" is far superior. Shifted into a slightly higher key, this version sounds just as sharp as the original is grimy without losing any of its vintage hitches. It's so jerky that I often imagine its strings are being played with a rusty knife, with Daniel's rasping howls completing the scratched picture perfectly. Somehow, there's not a second of this song that doesn't sound organically Spoon—if it weren't for the dated lyrics, I'd never have known this was a cover. For all their uptightness, Spoon was made for the blues, and I'd love to hear them cover even more genres to see just how well their style might integrate them.
Pairs Well With: "Milk Cow Blues" (The Kinks covering Kokomo Arnold), "She Said She Said" (The Black Keys covering The Beatles) "What'd I Do Wrong" (Betty Harris)
MAKEBA | Jain Bro, I'm so behind the curve, I had to witness this song getting popular twice before I finally let myself like it. Do you guys remember that Levi's Commercial they would play in theaters where they focused way too much on everyone's butt? Okay, that probably doesn't narrow it down. The one you saw circa 2018... perhaps in theaters for the groundbreaking LGBTQ+ representation in The Crimes of Grindelwald? No, that would be embarrassing. I sure wasn't there, but if I hypothetically was, I'd remember clenching my teeth to it, stubborn and seething that I really, really wanted to like the commercial. It was all grainy and faux-authentic, filming communities of all ages with calculated imperfection as they circled together and let loose, united by their love of deni—uh, dance, and the worst part was that I was sort of buying into it. Obviously, I have nothing against Mr. Levi personally, but I find this sort of advertising deeply repugnant, and it gets worse with age—it's almost as if maturing enough to see the beauty in community and spontaneity and dance makes it all the more sinister when consumerism tries to nuzzle in between those values as though it was always part of the gang. The problem was, of course, that whoever was DJing this totally organic freedom dance was doing a great job, and I didn't want to admit it—not yet, anyways.
My righteous fury must not have been the most furious, because I forgot both my feelings and the song for years until I saw a reel (🤢) of Bill Hader's straight devious "Alan" dance put to a familiar song:
Incidentally, these were the same circumstances under which millions of listeners found "Makeba" for a second time, in some re-edited form or another. Look, you guys know how I feel about TikTok songs, but since I'm just as much of a sheeple (sheeperson?) as everybody else this time around, I won't waste any time on hipster whining. "Makeba" is a pretty awesome song on all levels, from its polyglot lyrics to its historical origins to its creatively catchy sound. While I can't isolate exactly what first caught my ear, I'm certain that fantastic hook—supposedly a quotation of Hamilton Bohannon's "Me and the Gang," thought it doesn't sound like a sample to me—had something to do with it. Not as pop-happy as you'd expect a TikTok hit to sound, the emotion here is hard to isolate, almost sounding curious with its jangling percussion, sturdy bass, and tribal cries. There's a lot of little musical oddities in here that make me happy, like this creepy little descending note on a muted trumpet at 2:03. It's the sort of sound that only got in here because this pop song got its luggage swapped with a horror score at baggage claim, but like the slightly-altered version of Superorganism's "Something For Your M.I.N.D." featured in Legion (I know I've talked about it before, let me finish), this sudden sting of uneasiness adds such a unique flavor. As for the backup cries, though they're traditional, they're from neither language seamlessly woven into the lyrics—"Makeba / Makeba ma que bella / can I get an (oowe) / Makeba / makes my body dance for ya" may not be saying much, but as wordplay, it sounds fantastically smooth.
Of course, "Makeba" sounds like neither English nor French, and my twitter leftist eyebrow raised skeptically when white, French singer Jain mentioned "Mama Africa," but rather than running aground in a Yamasuki Singers disaster, "Makeba" actually gave me a history lesson. Instead of mindlessly appropriating, this song pays tribute to Miriam Makeba, AKA "Mama Africa," an Afropop, Jazz, and World Music sensation and civil rights activist during Apartheid. As for why Jain is singing about Makeba, she lived out her teen years in Congo-Brazzaville, which she credits as being crucial to her musical development—she almost certainly grew up in the aftershocks left by Makeba. I suppose now is a good time to say I'm sorry I get so trigger-happy about this stuff—as much as I seem ready to pounce on people who smell like appropriation, I'm not trying to be some sort of online vigilante of racial justice or something. Still, it's important to me to discern theft from inspiration, especially as someone who's still learning. Like with a certain pair of jeans that shouldn't be in focus, the idea that art is to be owned is once again consumerism cozying up with more human values. At the same time, using one's societal standing to take from those without a voice and receive all the credit is obviously wrong, so... I don't know, tread carefully.
Oh, and one more thing—the music video for "Makeba" is so cool, dude. Aside from some fun, surreal shots, there's a lot of powerful imagery here. Some of my favorite bits are the tribal warrior's breathing transitioning into the dancing boy's breathing, and also that same boy's reflection intersecting with the profile of the old man. I don't know how deep these are, especially paired with slapstick shots like Jain painting the stripes on a zebra, but at the very least, it looks fun. Grammy nominee and whatnot.
https://www.youtube.com/embed/59Q_lhgGANc
Pairs Well With: "Sila" (A Tribe Called Red & The Halluci Nation feat. Tanya Tagaq), "Me and the Gang" (Hamilton Bohannon) "Love Rollercoaster" (Ohio Players)
BENDING HECTIC | The Smile Boy, uh... eight minutes, huh? Does it ever get happy during that time? In all seriousness, I'm still sitting with this one, even for the months that this has been out. Just over a year since the release of their debut album, A Light for Attracting Attention, Radiohead spinoff The Smile has been teasing a followup for quite some time—far before, even, when I caught them live last December. Much as I'm excited for where The Smile goes next, I'm still not quite sure where I stand on this one—it's exactly the sort of weird and cacophonous I'd hope a new single might bring, but even after multiple listens, I'm not sure I'm connecting to the emotionality here. For how cool this slow-burn song is, with its discordant strings, explosive crunch, and always-mournful vocals from Yorke, I'm certain it's a me problem this time. I'll get back to you when I inevitably flip on this song.
Pairs Well With: "Burn the Witch" (Radiohead), "Art of Almost" (Wilco) "13 Angels Standing Guard 'Round The Side of Your Bed" (Silver Mt. Zion)
GOTTA GET UP | Harry Nilsson Nilsson schmilsson, amiright? Shit, wait—did he already use that?! Okay, while I have my interns formulate another snappy dismissal, let me come clean about my Harry Nilsson hangup: I saw his acid-inspired kids' movie The Point, and everything was downhill from there. For full transparency, my unironic adoration for The Point is undoubtedly skewed—I watched it with my girlfriend on a whim the same night I told her I liked her almost three years ago now, and those memories will forever be set to this soundtrack. Yes, it may be a Yellow Submarine ripoff, and yes, its profundity may or may not be dependent on intoxication, but this movie has so much hippie heart and art that I can't deny it. Just check out the scene my girlfriend showed to sell me on it:
https://www.youtube.com/embed/guqFqcV4Po0
But after ascending The Point's peak, a fall was inevitable, and for me, Nilsson's was swift and decisive, like a stab in the back: bro wrote "Coconut." Asterisk, footnote: Okay, before all 35,000 people who liked this song on Youtube come for my neck, it's a pretty cool song, but I have a vague memory of visceral annoyance hearing somebody singing "she put the lime in the coconut" in a stupid voice when I was a kid and it has never left me, so take that. In all seriousness, as much as "Coconut" reflects some of Nilsson's best, it also has plenty of what I'd consider his worst, goofiest cheese. Okay, why is that not kosher but Thomas Dolby is? Man, I don't know, but I have a feeling it has to do with sincerity. I know this might be a little slanderous given what a classic album Nilsson Schmilsson is—you know, Reservoir Dogs and all that—but after skimming through the whole thing in the midst of a pretty bad Covid slump (I wanted more The Point and I wondered if Wilco's wonderful Schmilco was inspired by this title), not one song hooked me in the first fifteen seconds or so, which is pretty much all you need to hear before you decide if you like a song forever, wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
So, anyways, clearly that's not true, because here we are, talking about the opening track of Schmilsson (and also of Russian Doll, I guess). Let it be known: whether or not I like Harry Nilsson's persona (dude is just Schoolhouse Rock for stoners), "Gotta Get Up" unequivocally rocks. A drunken, tilted, twist on a cheerful morning montage, this song expertly rides the line between gratingly cheerful and hypnotically neurotic. Between the upbeat, almost Broadway piano in the opening and the descending, angry horns at the end of every stanza, it's a wonder this song doesn't give in to the chaos it should theoretically create, never erupting beyond an anxious whimsy. Songs like "Gotta Get Up" make me reconsider the preconceived associations I have with certain keys, progressions, and styles—many of us, myself very much included, feel the associations in sounds so deeply that we often forget that they were culturally reinforced. It's a nature vs. nurture puzzle I'm not sure I'm equipped to argue either way, although I have a hard time believing that culture arbitrarily assigns emotions to sounds as if there isn't already some biological (or, dare I say it, spiritual) resonance with said sounds. Either way, music that confuses these associations seamlessly within the confines of a pop song has my immediate admiration, and just as it asks listeners to reconsider certain sounds, "Gotta Get Up" once again has me reconsidering my harsh Harry Nilsson takes.
Pairs Well With: "Poli High" (Harry Nilsson), "Mean Mr. Mustard" (The Beatles), "Log" (Tall Dwarfs) [Bonus: try this one next to Björk's "Army of Me," because it's also a pop song with very unorthodox composition, and everything logically should say it's a terrible fit, but it popped into my head, and it's... not bad?]
While I haven't seen Carlos Mérida's "El Verano" in person, I spotted some of his other work on display in the Denver Art Museum's traveling exhibit on Mexican Modernism, and especially given Spoon's already cubist-leaning art style for Lucifer on the Sofa, I felt it might be a good fit. Cubism doesn't often hit a sweet spot for me, but I'm a really big fan of the proportions in a lot of Mérida's work—where I don't often see the heart or humanity in some of this geometric decomposition, I really love the personality of some of these subjects that comes through in their coloration and their strange faces. At least, I see a face with a long, Minecraft villager nose at the top of this one. You guys see that too, right? ...right?