108. Spanish Tide

Family: Fearless (United Artists, 1971);
composed by Charlie Whitney & Roger Chapman

What most annoys me about the notion of “classic rock” – apart from it being yet another opportunity for nostalgic white boomers to congratulate themselves and bemoan the cultural poverty of the present day – is that it does not accurately describe a period when “rock” really did provide an avenue to all sorts of ambitious and genuinely heterodox gambits, because no one was really sure what it was supposed to sound like – even as late as 1971. Prog was just the all-too-obvious high-concept version of this hustle. More interesting were bands like this one: five Brits in a seemingly conventional rock-band configuration, except that the vocalist, Roger Chapman, sounded like he was having a seizure whenever he revved up, and Charlie Whitney’s music kept zinging in a different direction every few bars without losing overall focus or taking on any untoward symphonic airs. Or jazzy ones, for that matter, although you could tell these guys had the ears for it. John Wetton left to join King Crimson a year later, but he never sounded better with anyone than he did here – supplementing Chapman with his own foggy hoot and doubling up on bass and 12-string. But Crimson never sounded better, either.

Note: Secular essays about individual songs, each one exactly 200 words long, appearing one per day (or at least regularly) until Donald goes away.

107. 106 Beats That

Wire: Pink Flag (Harvest, 1977);
composed by Colin Newman & Graham Lewis

“Primitive” is an ill-informed value judgment; “primitivism” is an artistic strategy. How few informational elements can you place in proximity to each other such that they still generate a charge? That is what punk was – or came out of – and it is also what post-punk was, which is why what distinguished them (or not) had nothing to do with chronology. Wire’s debut was an art project comprising twenty-one songs running about thirty-six minutes, each of which addressed this question with minimal drums, overdriven guitar noise, and a snarl sounding alternately sardonic and terror-stricken. The title of this track – which runs a minute and twelve seconds - refers to the number of words in the lyrics: a third-person vignette of some irritating arty type. When the words run out, the song simply stops. Notwithstanding this formal stricture, almost half of it – splitting the words into two discrete blocks - is given over to one of the most sinister rave-ups in the music, moving from the simplest descending single line tracing the notes of the major chord, and then quickly doubling to a chorded barrage that instantly feels like it is coming through your bones. People dick around while the world ends.

Note: Secular essays about individual songs, each one exactly 200 words long, appearing one per day (on average) until Donald goes away.

106. Prayer

D’Angelo & The Vanguard: Black Messiah (RCA, 2014);
composed by Michael Eugene Archer

All of D’Angelo’s studio albums freak me out, but the fact that he has released only three of them in thirty years is the aspect that actually freaks me out the least. Every time I hear this track from the last album he put out after a decade of silence – (reportedly, Prince had written him a letter the entire text of which was “Well?”) – my first reaction is the same: “How did they get the chiming bells in tune?” Maybe no one cares, but tubular bells have so many overtones that they always sound sour to me. No less so than the brief section of actual tubular bells on Mike Oldfield’s “Tubular Bells.” Or Chic’s “I Want Your Love.” Not here. The tonality of the sound centers the whole track. Which suggests that D'Angelo did not get the bell in tune with the track; rather, he got the track in tune with the bell, overtones and all. What sounds like the most basic of drum shuffles by Questlove is glued to a murky electronic wash under which D’Angelo prays for his own sanity. Proof of any pudding is in the eating, but that goes double when the pudding eats you.

Note: Secular essays about individual songs, each one exactly 200 words long, appearing one per day (on average) until Donald goes away.