Songs of the Week 01/26/2024

Guess who’s back! Would you guys like to read about what I was listening to in November? Vacations are great, but this sort of content constipation means I’ve had some of today’s picks locked and loaded for actual months now. If XTC is feeling a bit too cheery for January, it’s because I was riding my birthday high when I slated it—don’t worry, the other four songs will turn that cheery to dreary. That’s right, new year, same drear :(

SENSES WORKING OVERTIME | XTC Shinto texts assert that the processes of nature cannot be evil, and XTC says “And birds might fall from black skies / And bullies might give you black eyes / And buses might skid on black ice / But to me they're very, very beautiful,” which makes them as close as lemons and limes—at least, that’s the consensus of most internet analysts, which I’ve never once found untrustworthy. Like, you guys trust me, right? While I’m still flip-flopping on its meaning, I’m absolutely certain that “Senses Working Overtime” fucking slaps like it was hand-crafted for my taste specifically—well, my taste and Oingo Boingo’s and ELO’s and Adam Ant’s and Julian Cope’s and They Might Be Giants’ and Shayfer James’s, apparently, because this is the prima materia they’re all riffing on. Maybe I’m overselling another hooky art-rock hit (and if that’s a crime, then put this ol’ buttkisser behind bars), but when I say this piece is packed with musical and lyrical brilliance, I really do mean packed—looking closely at every unassuming verse just makes me love it more.

What I wouldn’t give to be in the room when Andy Partridge was penning this song—probably no more than an even fifty dollars, if I’m being real, because Annie’s mac and cheese has forgotten its place and is asking for almost two bucks a pop now, but I think fifty’s still a generous offer for someone in my income bracket, right? Reading interviews, it’s clear that the creative craftsmanship behind this song is something to aspire to—it connects so many dots, concepts, and keys so seamlessly that it’s disguised as easy listening. Musically alone, it’s hard to miss the escalation of this song from almost bardic, trilling acoustic to an electric, new-wave rock chorus that demands the crowd to dance. That bardic sound wasn’t a coincidence, as Partridge recalls writing the first verse as though it were sung by medieval serfs working the fields.

“I’ll make the verse kind of like these little figures tilling the land, and cutting hedgerows, and stuff – I’ll make it as if it’s their woes, and their worries, and the things that they’d be singing about – or the things they’d be fantasizing about.”

That’s already the brand of quirked-up you’d expect from this band of white boys, but it’s an especially novel choice to begin a song inspired by Manfred Mann’s psychedelic rock “5-4-3-2-1.” Genres aside, there’s a musical reason these two sections are a clashing match—the serf verse is in the key of E, while the chorus is in A (and before you ask how I’m suddenly so musically literate, I literally just googled). The two wouldn’t be remotely compatible were it not for the climbing pre-chorus in B—something that, from a layman listener’s perspective, is still so exciting in preparation for the even-higher chorus. What makes this pre-chorus so miraculous, at least to me, is that even though it fits perfectly between the verse and chorus like American racial prejudices getting between a united working class party, it was actually transposed from an entirely different song. While I’ve certainly experienced that sort hybridizing of different projects when writing, it’s rare for such disparate pieces to come together like they were always family. That’s part of why I’m so impressed with “Senses Working Overtime”—you’d never know its genius with a surface listen, but you’d feel how fun it is all the same.

Man, and I haven’t even gotten to those lyrics—just as delightfully biting and bizarre as I’ve come to expect from a writer like Partridge. Much like Elvis Costello’s “New Amsterdam” [Reviewed 12/08/2023], this is one of those songs that makes every line stick, so much so that I’m not sure where to start. After skimming the internet’s opinions of “Senses Working Overtime,” I did find it odd how the song’s seemingly satirical entitlement never came up. I love lines like “And all the world is football shaped / it’s just for me to kick in space,” the altered “And all the world is biscuit shaped / it’s just for me to feed my face,” and the opening “Hey-hey, the clouds are whey […] My my, the sun is pie” because they seem so Oingo Boingo-sarcastic about western consumption. It feels especially fitting when paired with “senses working overtime / tryna taste the difference ‘tween a lemon and a lime,” which is just an exquisite metaphor for missing the bigger picture while caught in pedantic squabbling. Lyrics like those I started with, though, seem to suggest otherwise, especially with how the first and second verses imply a harmony to life at large wherein things work themselves out. I’ve read a lot recently about how, in many religions outside of the zoroastrian circle, God is in everything in creation, and therefore everything in creation is godly—good and evil, cruelty and kindness. This song seems to be expressing the same sentiment, saying that the world feeds its thirsty and rewards its thinkers with everything they could ever need, for God—or, literally speaking, wonder, fulfillment, and purpose—is the pearl gnarled in all that is mundane. Even the subtleties differentiating a lemon and a lime are worth savoring and experiencing, because existence itself is a miracle, and we can’t let ourselves miss the preciousness of every moment. I love that sentiment—hard as it is to remember sometimes—but I’m not sure I’m convinced that it’s the thesis of “Senses Working Overtime.” Maybe I’m still in the college fog, but I can’t shake off that consumerist cynicism angle, because it just fits too well, but I’d much rather be reminded of the miracle of life than the manacles of capitalism (cue applause), so I’ll take what I can get. Either way, I’m left with a fantastic song, and that’s enough for me.

Pairs Well With: “Stand and Deliver” (Adam & The Ants), “Fool’s Paradise,” (Oingo Boingo),  “Big Time” (Peter Gabriel)

TURN TO DUST | Wolf Alice From what little Wolf Alice I’ve listened to, I’d assumed they predictably played hard indie rock… and were American… but a song like “Turn to Dust” has helped me reexamine my biases from multiple angles. Upon hearing such ruminating, moody lyrics, encroaching percussion, and ethereal vocals, I immediately realized how robbed we were of a Dark sequence set to this song—if nothing else, it’s a perfect pairing with Fever Ray’s incredible “Keep the Streets Empty for Me,” but really, we could’ve had it all. Much like scattering motes, “Turn to Dust” is sparse, but what little instrumentation there is fills space excellently, coming to a goosebumps-inducing conclusion with sirens that still jump-scare me while driving no matter how many times I hear them. Also, this is the most British I’ve heard Wolf Alice sound, and I feel rather dense that it took her saying “British” for me to even notice.

Pairs Well With: “Keep the Streets Empty for Me” (Fever Ray) [Reviewed 05/05/2023], “Firestarter” (Torre Florim covering The Prodigy), “American Flag” (Cat Power)

WALKING THE COW | TV on the Radio covering Daniel Johnston I may act all alternative, but at the end of the day, my indie card’s been suspended until I can fully appreciate Daniel Johnston. It’s not for a lack of trying, or that I don’t appreciate his work—hell, I’d even say I’m deeply affected by every Johnston song I’ve heard—but much like the absolute soulkiller Sparklehorse, what frail beauty exists in his music seems to me defined by the unfathomable confusion of wounded psychosis lurking in the white space of every note. For those that don’t know, despite his Kurt Cobain-fueled fame in the nineties (which should probably tell you everything you need to know…), Johnston was institutionalized multiple times for manic psychotic episodes, and you can hear it in his music. I by no means want to come across as ableist when I talk like this—I don’t mean to insinuate that his art was corrupted, hindered, or created by his condition, or that it’s any less valid in this context—but even before learning this background, I felt so much raw turmoil in the periphery of what many call Johnston’s childlike or pure music. Much like the pure ending of the grueling “Everywhere at the End of Time”—meant to depict the sudden, cutting clarity during the final stages of dementia—there’s something so pink, delicate, and flinching about the truths in Johnston’s music that is defined in contrast to the pain around it. Maybe that’s the beauty that touches so many people—a single, flickering flame still burning in spite of the darkness—but unlike the cosmic resonance that other truth-speakers like Peter Gabriel or Kate Bush bring, there’s an inherent hurt that’s hard to ignore. It’s a gift to be able to bear one’s soul so honestly, but as a sensitive snowflake crybaby guy, I find Johnston’s brand of emotional distillation unhealthily overpowering.

I don’t know, it’s just a bummer, man, but I want to like it—let me tell you, the pressure’s on, considering everyone I like and their mother was apparently influenced by Johnston. Built to Spill, Car Seat Headrest, Shakey Graves, and Wilco are just a few of the sporadic names that start to make sense with Johnston as the connective tissue, and that’s not even including the absolute Piñata of an album The Late Great Daniel Johnston: Discovered Covered. Some inclusions—Gordon Gano of the Violent Femmes, the Eels, Death Cab for Cutie, The Flaming Lips, and our favorite heart-ripper Sparklehorse—make perfect sense, while others—Calvin Johnson of the Halo Benders, Nick Zinner of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Beck, and Starlight Mints—seem more out of left field, but the last band I expected to see in this company was TV on the Radio.

Much like Beck last November, I’m a little shocked we haven’t talked TV on the Radio even once on Max Todd Dot Com (Max! Todd! Dot! Com!) despite just how many of their bangers are regulars on my shuffle. Maybe that’s because I blew through most of their greatest hits before I’d turned sixteen, or maybe it’s because they haven’t released anything since 2015’s Seeds (and it’s been making me very nervous for almost a decade), but no matter the cause, it’s well past time we talked TVOTR. While I’d normally call a cover like this a bad place to start with such a unique band, this take on “Walking the Cow” is both a perfect sampler of TV on the Radio’s style and an oddly faithful adaptation of Johnston’s original.

Again, TV on the Radio was probably the last band I’d have lumped in with all of these other wavery, nasally, scratchy-voiced sad boys, even though this company makes perfect sense in retrospect. Though singer Tunde Adebimpe has a knack for slightly misaligning his vocal tracks to create an unsteady, frizzy sound that feels right at home with Johnston, I wouldn’t have noticed without this direct comparison because he’s burdened with a very impressive vocal range. I’m not fronting on the endearing voice cracks of Gano, Tweedy, Toledo and the like—I sure as hell couldn’t do any better—but Adebimpe undeniably has some pipes, no matter how hard he tries to distort them, and it gives his music a more assuring depth even at its most delicate. Compounded with David Andrew Sitek’s heavy synth and jungle-dense production, there’s just more atmosphere to float assuredly into that these other bands don’t always capture.

Waving that atmosphere aside, however, reveals just what close kin TV on the Radio and Johnston are, both emotionally and sonically. “Walking the Cow,” a song inspired by the Bluebell Ice Cream logo, is a clever metaphor for carrying on during depression—trying to lead an unwilling animal to water—which is an emotional landscape TV on the Radio certainly seems familiar with. While I really enjoy the inconsistent tempo and toy-keyboard graininess Johnston’s original (and can even imagine a cartoon cow tugging against its rope as the notes stumble on), it was a genius move to slow this beat down to a plodding, piano pace. Even if it loses the hazy resistance that the original grapples with, this cover sounds much more like trudging through the muck at a steady pace, even if the protagonist can’t stand a second of it. Of course, I can stand many more seconds of it to come, which is why it’s been on constant replay—it may have a sad subject matter, but in TVOTR (and Johnston) spirit, this take on “Walking the Cow” is a really hooky song.

Though they’re an unlikely couple, I’m not surprised to find this one paired with Shakey Graves’s “Business Lunch,” considering he just covered another Johnston classic—“True Love Will Find You In the End”—with Jess Williamson. Although it’s just a smidge past my twang threshold… a smidge or two… it led me down this rabbit hole in the first place, so check that one out as well.

Pairs Well With: “Staring at the Sun” (TV on the Radio), “Business Lunch” (Shakey Graves), “Bleed” (George Clanton) [Reviewed 01/13/2023]

NO SENSE | Cat Power Of course, no conversation about dreary nineties songs would be complete without Cat Power—especially since XTC’s evil twin song is right there, right? You all know by now how the right sadgirl song can put me in fetal position—Cat Power’s own cover of “Sea of Love” being exhibit A—but in her defense, her music is far from just depressing. Much like with Johnston’s music, I’m often guilty of detecting sadness where there is none, or where it’s at least not intended to be kryptonite-lethal. This often means I’ve blacklisted songs that others simply find mellow or tender despite leaving a seriously melancholy taste. On the first listen, “No Sense” certainly hit me that way, but with some repetition, I’ve really come to hear how this sound might seem not sad, but serene. Much like how Arlo Parks’s “Caroline,” skirted just past the mournfulness of its lyrics by having a fascinating, hazy beat, Cat Power’s guitar is just too lustrous to be totally downcast. While not quite as interesting as “American Flag”—my favorite song on her seminal album Moon Pix by a long shot—I’ve been appreciating said guitar in “No Sense” lately, and how it somehow brightens such a bluesy song. Certainly, it’s a dark piece, trudging like a dirge, but Power’s rich guitar sounds almost high-contrast, like a photo so black it makes the white spots brighter. To me, there’s almost a shrouding, sleepy feeling to it, much like the brain-buzz of driving home past midnight after talking to friends for far too long (don’t drive buzzed, though, kids). I know Moon Pix doesn’t predate powerhouses like Liz Phair or Sonic Youth, but whenever I hear Snail Mail and that same guitar sound, it’s Cat Power I have to thank. That, or Justin Bieber and Travis Scott.

Pairs Well With: “American Flag” (Cat Power), “Dirt” (Snail Mail), “Caroline” (Arlo Parks) [Reviewed 09/01/2023]

HEY JOE | Charlotte Gainsbourg covering Billy Roberts While I haven’t sat through five hours and twenty-five minutes of Nymph()maniac (though I’m curious if Willem Dafoe’s Antichrist double got work again), I absolutely have seen Fargo’s fifth season, and man…

…what a needle drop, right?! While this past season was as fantastic as expected, I did come away disappointed that, with a few notable exceptions, the music wasn’t used quite as artfully as Fargo usually guarantees. In Hawley’s defense, though, Dot’s episode 1 dream sequence scored with Charlotte Gainsbourg’s cover of “Hey Joe” was exactly the sort of scene-setter that makes me love Fargo in the first place—it’s thematically relevant, it sets a moody tempo while the visuals fall into perfect place, and most of all, the song itself is fucking great. Whether it ends Nymph()maniac or begins Fargo Season 5, Gainsbourg’s take on “Hey Joe” stands on its own as an eerie, airy revitalization of a classic blues song I once thought tired. Um, except when my Dad tears up the solo at guitar jams. Thursdays at the Wild Game, everybody, don’t miss it!

Of course, to “revitalize” implies that there’s a standard for this song set in stone by an original version—something “Hey Joe” doesn’t concretely have. While it’s often attributed to Billy Roberts, he’s simply the greedy fucker who first sought to copyright it in 1962, even then fighting Dino Valenti for writing credits. I understand clawing for credit—I’m about as territorial as they come with creative work—but that’s exactly why I won’t let Roberts off the hook for this one, seeing as it most likely began as a folk song and had already been riffed on for at least a decade prior. No matter who “Hey Joe” came from, Roberts can still claim its first-ever recording, and it’s… well, this take could be 9/11 for men in their midlife crisis blues phase… it’s not the best, and I thought that even before I went all moralistic liberal about this whole thing. I don’t say that as someone who can’t enjoy old recordings—in fact, I love the best of old, grainy blues—but this song’s grim, western premise and powerhouse guitar solo deserves a less-flat delivery. To be fair, once Jimi Hendrix got his huge, Midas hands on “Hey Joe,” he arguably galvanized the song into the rock treasure it is today—the version which has become stale again after a flood of adoring covers. While my music theory illiteracy is once again crippling me, there’s one factor that I’m certain keeps these many iterations from greatness: for lack of a better word, soul. Everyone’s soul is different, sure, so this might be a me problem, but what Hendrix uniquely brings to “Hey Joe” is his trademark heaviness, which not only turns the song appropriately darker, but also gives it this artificial momentum that I just don’t feel in most other covers. Sure, soul isn’t exactly quantifiable, but my layman’s guess as to how it comes about in a cover is performing it your own way—don’t try to feel the song any way besides how you’d feel it.

I think that’s why Gainsbourg’s original approach goes so hard, even if I found such a stark shift off-putting on the first listen. While I was definitely skeptical of the lighter key change, it quickly became apparent that this was a great artistic choice. Again, my music theory education isn’t doing me any favors, but this perceived shift upwards actually seems to force the bass and piano downwards towards notes so low that they sound more like rattling ambience than music. That piano in particular is an ingenious addition to this song’s instrumentation—much like Gainsbourg’s ethereal voice, it shifts “Hey Joe” into an almost classier sound that, more importantly, strays into ghostly territory. This softer, spacious atmosphere lets the lows hit lower, and gives space to some creepy guitar riffs which might otherwise be lost. Even when that unmistakable guitar solo punches in while the drums start to panic, there’s a faraway, foreboding quality that’s yet to pay off—a storm growing closer, but still too far to run from (and is that a choir of beloved producer Beck’s nasally voice(s) in the background?). All this, I think, from just a key change—all this to shift not only the song’s tone, but the context of the story it tells. Gainsbourg’s take suddenly has more sweeping, almost supernatural stakes—where the original feels like a story exchanged between outlaws in a dark corner of some saloon, this iteration is more like a confrontation with wronged spirits of the past—something Fargo’s Dot knows a thing or two about. Just like Hendrix, though, Gainsbourg’s delivery of “I shot her” is an undisputed bullseye—breathy, sharp, and wonderfully hair-raising.

If you’re looking for more in the same vein as “Hey Joe,” I’ve paired it with a few other covers of blues and classic rock that went in a similarly atmospheric direction—in particular, Warpaint’s cover of “Ashes to Ashes” sounds like it could’ve come from the same recording session, even if it can’t ever beat Bowie’s original.

Pairs Well With: “Ashes to Ashes” (Warpaint covering David Bowie), “Me and the Devil” (Soap&Skin covering Robert Johnson) [Reviewed 03/31/2023], “For the Damaged Coda” (Blonde Redhead)

BATMAN: GARGOYLE OF GOTHAM #1 | Rafael Grampá I’ve loved Rafael Grampá’s bold art since before Instagram was pink and orange, so when a trailer as sick as this dropped…

…my man chromosomes had no choice but to say “Hell yeah.”

You guys know how much I love Batman (but also, you guys have no idea how much I love Batman), but since I’m still riding the academic high of getting praise in english classes, I get pretty snobby about most portrayals of the caped crusader. To be sure Batman: Gargoyle of Gotham is far from Batman’s lowest lows, and I’m interested to see where it goes. As of now, though, it’s on track to tell a well-intentioned story that has become rote in recent years—a story that, while much-needed, has kept Batman running in place. Much like Chip Zdarsky’s current run on Batman in DC’s main continuity, it feels like post-The Batman, everyone has to obligatorily rehash the “remember that Batman is supposed to be compassionate? Remember that Batman is supposed to be human?” critique that, while I 100% champion as a return to form, doesn’t move the character forward. It sort of reminds me of how Biden has done so much damage control for Trump without actually going beyond him—like, sure, while I’m all about leaving behind the fascist wet dream Zack Snyder would have you believe is a hero, I think these critique stories still need a “and then what?” to feel truly like progress. I’m hopeful that “Gargoyle of Gotham” will get us there by its third volume, because it’s plenty creative with everything outside of Bruce’s arc—that blind Batmobile is awesome, and I’m intrigued by this new (but perhaps familiar?) Steamboat Willie-core villain, although I’m morbidly fascinated by Batman having a full set of teeth despite tanking three anvils to the face from this guy.

One thing that’s indisputably gorgeous, though, is Grampá’s slam-dunk art, which evokes the artful gnarl of Paul Pope’s Batman, but the hyperbolic clarity of Mike Allred’s. While I didn’t choose the best panel to exemplify this, it’s so cool to see how recognizable Grampá’s style is from just a silhouette—every pipe feels gritty with ink. There’s a cartoony, almost mind-bending quality here that I almost feel would work even better on a title like Doom Patrol or Cave Carson, but I can dream. In the meantime, I’m more than happy to see Grampá’s Batman any day (there’s a “Not your Grampá’s Batman” joke in there, too, but I’m not brave enough to work it in).