Song of the Week!

Earlier this week, I wrote about Green Day's foray into theater, and why Broadway might be punker than punk. What I forgot to mention was my initial reaction upon hearing that American Idiot would be made into a Broadway show: "I should've seen this coming."

Song of the Week: Green Day "Before the Lobotomy"

The "punk + pop + politics" formula of American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown earned Green Day critical acclaim, an even broader audience, and ample Clash comparisons. The comparisons are well-grounded: you can hear the Clash's influence in the politically-charged lyrics, the muscular songwriting, Billy Joe's sneering vocal stylings, etc. Green Day's always worn that label proudly, and well.

But I heard a different band as the primary influence for American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown (the two albums that have been adapted for Broadway): Queen.

You heard me. Queen.

Before American Idiot, Green Day's strength was the four-minute pop song. Their best music was accessible, uber-melodic, tightly written, and small in scope. With American Idiot--a loosely narrative and stunning concept album--everything changed. Two of its (best) songs are over nine minutes long. 21st Century Breakdown took this method to the next level. Songs swing wildly from section to section, one track bleeds into the next, melodies reference other songs and foreshadow those to come, preludes and reprisals bookend the album, etc. Each individual song is a huge planet in an interconnected universe. Both albums create worlds, detail vast urban wastelands, juggle multiple plots, introduce recurring characters, interweave both musical and lyrical themes, all within the vehicle of epic, mercurial pop songwriting.

In other words, this isn't "London Calling"; it's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

The proof is obvious:



Listen and try not to picture it onstage. A pale, single spotlight shines on our antihero, alone on an otherwise pitch-black room. It's a soliloquy, a rare moment of solemn quiet in our chaotic story. Then, at the 1:21 mark, guitars kick in. Lights blast the theater. Dozens of extras begin a raucously (ehem, rockously?) choreographed dance number.

It writes itself.

There's an undeniably operatic quality to "Before the Lobotomy," and it's not even one of the nine-minute epics. Both albums are true rock operas--the kind Queen perfected but rarely tried, and the kind the Who often tried but never perfected.

In fact, many of pop's biggest and best albums share this quality. With Sgt. Pepper, the Beatles were overtly theatrical; with Abbey Road, they dabbled with extended-form songwriting. Led Zeppelin's work was operatic in scope and principle, but not in execution; they were too "live," or unscripted, to be fully operatic. Pearl Jam's Ten also works: Eddie's vocal style, the narrative lyrics, the anthemic choruses, the carefully-scripted themes ("Master/Slave" piece that opens and closes the album), etc. And Thriller--with its epic songwriting, choreographed videos and ethereal iconography--might be the best example.

All of this got me thinking: what are some other famous rock albums that could hit Broadway? What are some of your favorite rock-opera albums? And what's your favorite song from American Idiot or 21st Century Breakdown?

Hit up the comments and add to the list!

(Postscript: Between Monday's post and this one, "American Idiot" debuted on Broadway and earned a rave review in the NYTimes. Check it out.)

Songs for June

Several months back, I described February as "the coldest, bleakest, grayest, quietest, ugliest, most depressing month of the year." Some months, for better or worse, are easily characterized. Some, like June, are not.

June isn't the in-between chapter of May, and it isn't the mid-summer constancy of July. It's summer, but not definitively. It's somewhere between the last season and your future plans. Late spring ushers in energy, anticipation, restlessness. By July, you've settle into a routine (maybe in a new place, maybe in a summer destination, maybe some makeshift vacation, etc.). But June is the summer's pliant middleground. It is, simply, whatever the hell you want it to be.

If you're like me, it can (and will be) nearly anything, so long as it doesn't let up.

Here now are thirty songs of heat and wind, downshifting and sidewinding wherever they want, going--fast--without any particular destination in mind. Here, now, are:

30 Songs for June!

(Note: I'm actually doing 31 songs. I'm trying a new trick where I let my iTunes randomly pick a song from my entire musical library and see if I can't make its case. The iTunes Pick will come at the end.)

(Note #2: No iMeem playlist this month, because iMeem's changed what can and can't be added to a playlist. I'll have a playlist handy when I find a new platform, or when The Man is finally defeated. Whichever comes first. Meantime, just search on Songza.)

(Note #3: Don't forget to comment below and give me your Songs for June!)

Jack White, "Great High Mountain"
Because every trip's gotta start somewhere. This song sounds like a lazy river that refuses to pick up speed.

Green Day, "Holiday"
And, just like that, we've kicked it into fourth gear.
(Side note: After I get several listens, I'll post a review of the new Green Day record. For now, I'll say that if it had come out before my March Madness series, Green Day might've gone even further.)

The Hold Steady, "Constructive Summer"
It's interesting to me that the Hold Steady see summer as a time of productivity and self-improvement. For me, that's fall. Either way, the song's so chock-full of energy and earnest optimism, I'm sold.


The Who, "Can't Explain"
Long before the rockoperas and doublealbumepics, The Who proved that simple can be great, too.

Bob Dylan & The Band, "Apple Suckling Tree"
June, done right, is a gorgeous mess. "Apple Suckling Tree" is one of the finest, messy, basement jams in American music--still true to its foundation, but made better by its deviations.

The Beatles, "And Your Bird Can Sing"
The middle-Beatles statement: yes, we still harmonize better than the Byrds; yes, we still roll better than the Stones; and yes, we still like Buddy Holly better than the rest of you chumps. The sound alone matches the month, but I love it for John's biting-but-never-malicious lyric.

Lucero, "She's Just That Kind of Girl"
Here's hoping that the new Lucero has plenty more of wherever this came from.

White Stripes, "Forever For Her (Is Over For Me)"
Mr. White makes his second appearance with something of an autobiographical pick. This record came out in the summer and I have inescapable June-related memories attached to this tune. It'll always remind me of the summer after graduation, after moving back to Memphis, before moving back to Nashville, driving for hours in the steamroom air, stuck to the driver's seat, always at a red-light, not quite in the past, never near the future.

MGMT, "Electric Feel"
The lone "summer-song" on a record full of bizarre, coldweather music. Through all the swirling, multi-track, instrumental confusion, it's a glorified dance record. And a good one, at that.

Wilco, "Say You Miss Me Too"
Because it's too early to admit it, but you're already missing whatever you said goodbye to in May.

Cory Branan, "Tame"
Something about that dry, warm guitar tone sounds lonely, bemused, and a little evil to me. Like most of Branan's best songs.

Led Zeppelin, "Going to California"
Because at some point, you need a destination. Also, bonus points for the vocal delivery of "telling myself it's not as hard as it seems." If Plant ever had a finer moment, I haven't heard it.

Smokey Robinson, "Ohh Baby Baby"
To be honest, I have no idea. I can't stop listening to this song.


Beta Band, "Dry the Rain"
"I will now sell five copies of The Three EPs by The Beta Band."
"Go for it."

Rolling Stones, "I Just Wanna See His Face"
One of rock's finest interludes, it stumbles and plods along surreptitiously, like it's repositioning itself for a counterattack and doesn't want you to notice. A perfect song for the middle of the month, when you're road-weary and sunburnt and dehydrated and time-blurred.

Lyle Lovett, "LA County"
The checklist for a great Lyle Lovett song:
--Perfect for driving? Check.
--Simple and immediately likable? Check.
--Weirder and scarier the more closely you listen? Check.

The Thrills, "Big Sur"
As with May, songs about California are a motif. Not necessarily for the destination itself, but for the idea of a place at the end of the road, a place that might provide some respite. Or, with any luck, a place that won't.

Paul Simon, "Gumboots"
I appropriately rediscovered Graceland recently when I raided the Brother's record collection. I say "appropriately" because I can't hear this album outside the summer. I'm pretty sure it's illegal. Anyway, a classic Paul Simon song that makes little-to-no sense, makes you resent him for pulling it off by being "quirky" and "suggestive," and makes you like it because its one cohesive moment ("You don't feel you could love me...") somehow delivers. Sometimes the melody's all that matters.

Tinted Windows, "Nothing To Me"
You're damn right I put Taylor Hanson on the playlist. Seriously, listen to this song, then chalk up yet another contemporary band referencing Big Star to great affect.


Phantom Planet, "Hey Now Girl"
Speaking of Big Star disciples...

Son Volt, "Drown"
Alt-country's biggest hit in the mid-90's, and the only Son Volt song that I always want to hear. Bonus points for being one of the greatest Mix Transition Songs of all-time (i.e., no matter where you put this song on a mix, it will make for a great transition.)

Ryan Adams, "So Alive"
Bypass the monotonous verses and the occasional falsetto: it's the hook that matters, and the energy of the season. Windows down, speed up. Watch it go.

Kings of Leon, "Ragoo"
Because maybe somewhere in the meandering and philandering month you met a girl that caught you off-guard. And maybe that's all KOL write about.

Wilco & Billy Bragg, "Secrets of the Sea"
Some of Mermaid Avenue's (the double album of Woody Guthrie songs Wilco and Billy Bragg adapted) best takes are the ones that don't stay true to Guthrie at all. A great song's a great song, and Woody doesn't have to sound like Woody for his songs to be great.

Buddy Holly, "Not Fade Away"
One of the best bootlegs I've ever heard is from a Bob Dylan concert several years ago. He and the band close the show with a breathtaking, retooled, fully orchestrated version of "Not Fade Away." But for June, I prefer Holly's original: raw, vulnerable, bouncy, and streamlined. He says what he says, and he's gone as quick as he came.
***Bonus points for one of the best opening lines in rock history: "I'm gonna tell you how it's gonna be/you're gonna give your love to me."


Beach Boys, "Don't Worry Baby"
You knew it was coming.

Pearl Jam, "Parachutes"
Exhibit Q in the ongoing Case for Stone Gossard; I can't think of a guitarist/songwriter who can do more things well, and make all of them look effortless. Also, some autobiographical June-heavy connections to this song.

Jimmy Cliff, "The Harder They Come"
Because the rest of the year you very, very slowly forget how great he is. Because it's warm-weather music. Because when June comes around you dust him off and hit play. Because he never fails, in that moment, to completely knock you out.

Tom Petty, "Mind With a Heart of Its Own"
I don't know who wrote this song first: Tom Petty, or U2 when they called it "Desire." Frankly, I don't care. Always moving, occasionally without direction, it's quintessential June music.

My Morning Jacket, "Phone Went West"
It's a song that tells a story and foreshadows its own bittersweet conclusion. We can't see the end yet, but we know where it's going. By the end of June, I usually do, too.

And now....the Bonus Pick! I'm going to let iTunes randomly select a Song for June. Let's see what the machine thinks.

Drumroll....

Johnnie Taylor, "Somebody's Sleeping In My Bed"
You've gotta be kidding me. I've been doing this for four months. I just spent the last two hours compiling a list of Songs for June. Songs about leaving something/someone behind. Songs about the journey and an unknown destination. Songs that sound like urgency, like movement, like fierce, misguided energy.

I do all of that, and iTunes picks THE PERFECT SONG about what's happening back home, what's going on while you're away. It picked the one song that tells the other half of the story.

I quit. Til next month.

But...WHAT ARE YOUR SONGS FOR JUNE?

That's a bad thing to say but it's the truth,
CM

Somebody Scream

Sometimes it's too much. Sometimes it's too frustrating, too exhilarating, too much to contain. Sometimes words won't do, and it bubbles up from your chest and explodes from your lungs, then out your mouth like a cannonball. Sometimes it's wordless. Sometimes it's the guttural, purist form of one right word.

Sometimes you gotta scream, Blogworld.

Here now, in an alternative to YouTube Wednesday, is a list of Rock's Greatest Screams.

This list is by no means comprehensive, just several of my favorite screams in the history of pop/rock. Join in and let me know your favorites, and what I'm missing out on!

Rock's Greatest Screams!

The Beatles, "Long Tall Sally" (0:32)
In later years, Paul's rockabilly remixes were a sincerely schlocky form of flattery, but the Beatles' early covers are some of the best we have, and some of Paul's sharpest vocals. Little Richard's original is controlled chaos, wonderful and exuberant and unpredictable; the Beatles' cover is a glorified riot, pushing the song as high and as fast as it can go. Paul's up to the challenge. It's his scream leading into the first solo that marks the song's first departure from the original: Paul simply can't help himself. He's having too much fun. What follows is a sound of pure, unbridled joy. Late "rocker" vocals by Paul would be endearing self-parodies. But in this scream you can hear what made the Beatles THE BEATLES: before the hits, the American invasion, the hoopla, and the superstardom, they were four consummate musicians who loved playing rock music.

Radiohead, "Stop Whispering" (4:38)
I can't find the original Pablo Honey version in its entirety, so please enjoy the edited YouTube clip and iTune the song. Even without its climactic scream (at 4:38 on the actual record), "Stop Whispering" would still be one of Thom Yorke's hallmark vocal performances. His strength and control at the top of his vocal register would inspire hundreds of imitators in the next decade, most of them doomed to falsetto-laden antiheroics. At each refrain, Yorke sings "stop whispering/start shouting" at a delicate volume; as a listener you realize that, for the song to fulfill its promise, Yorke himself must shout at some point. The scream comes in the last refrain, but what makes it special is that it starts normally. Throughout the sustained note of "shoooout," Yorke gradually turns the normal note into a scream. You can actually hear--second by second--his vocal chords tearing themselves loose. It's a remarkable moment, and I've never heard anything else quite like it.

Led Zeppelin, "Whole Lotta Love" (2:43)
The scream in "Whole Lotta Love" is really a duet: in the song's unabashedly sexual breakdown, Plant and Page play off each other, calling and responding to each other's squeals, yelps, yells, and screams. There's no single legendary, sustained, primal call here--just a thrilling, spontaneous duet between the guitarist and singer, each pushing each other toward climax.

(Side note: I'm not an unconditional lover of Robert Plant. Zeppelin, at their best, were amazing blues improvisors and inventors. Unfortunately--and understandably--what we get on record wasn't always their best. Plant's work on Zeppelin I and Houses of the Holy are sometimes hard for me to hear, often bringing moments of masturbatory histrionics without anything truly new, or exciting, or memorable--like the breakdown in "Whole Lotta Love." To me, Robert Plant was a talent; Jimmy Page was The Talent.)

Pearl Jam, "Blood" (1:03)
In one of the most vulnerable vocals of the 90's, Vedder is audibly desperate, pained, and clawing his way out of it. The entire song features a screaming refrain ("It's my blooooood"), but at 1:03 the band drops out and let's Eddie's single, sustained scream do all the talking for them. In terms of sheer supernatural power, length, and violence, it's possibly rock's greatest scream. After eleven seconds of blood-curdling magic, perhaps the greatest (and most impressive) vocal moment is what comes next: a couplet sung in a pure, gentle, nearly-whispered style--a smooth, wholly unaffected vocal tone. No human should be able to follow that scream with that sound.

Nirvana, "Tourette's" (All)
The whole thing is such a blatant kiss-off, you can practically hear Cobain daring the mall-queens to like this. A moment of fearless punk on an album of iconic pop/rock.

The Who, "Won't Get Fooled Again" (7:44)
There's a reason this is an easy answer: it really is that great. Within the context of the song--an epic rock saga almost symphonic its phases--Daltrey's scream at the 7:44 mark means everything. It means more than the instrumental section it ends, more than the verses and choruses and bridges it succeeds, more than the outtro it catalyzes. Depending on the time of day or season or year, it could sound like the end of times, or a new beginning, a triumph or a downfall, victory or defeat. If rock at its best and purest is a wordless expression of freedom, then let Roger Daltrey's scream at 7:44 be one of rock's landmark moments. It is, above all else, free.

***And a Special Bonus! Rock's Worst Scream:
Switchfoot, "Meant to Live" (2:37)
There is a difference between singing and screaming, and there is a difference between yelling and screaming, and this is somehow none of the three. He clearly got to the mic and didn't have a clue which of the three he wanted to do. He should've yelled, because he can't sing there, and the song lacks the anger or believable joy to merit a legitimate scream. What we get instead is one of rock's biggest vocal abortions. This is what it sounds like when a man can't get it up. This is the sound of Man, Failing.

(Side note: I actually enjoy the song as a guilty pleasure. But this scream is unspeakably bad.)

What are your favorite screams? What am I missing? Hit up the comments and yell at me!

I tip my hat,
CM