The house on Sandusky

I only lived there for about eighteen months. My first real "home" in Tulsa after moving there in 1980. Built in the 1930s and featuring a black glass art deco fireplace surround, my strongest memories of living there revolve around the music that I was listening to at that time. As a frame of reference consider Talking Heads - Remain In Light; EC and the Attractions - Trust; the Police - Zenyattà Mondatta.

At the time a little-known Kiwi band was making some noise in the US. Split Enz got some radio traffic with their 1980 single I've Got You. In 1981 their LP Waiata was released and immediately got some music videos playing on that new-fangled MTV channel. I was (and still am) very enamoured by that record. In fact I don't believe they ever released a better record. The radio hit One Step Ahead is a standout, but there are at least half a dozen other songs of equal quality on that album.

Which brings me to I Don't Wanna Dance, which appears snuggly in the middle of side one. The opening salvo of synths and drums leads to the first verse in which songwriter and vocalist Tim Finn makes the complex melody line seem simple. At 2:20 Neil Finn lets loose with an intense guitar solo that does not let up until the end of the song, and the complexion of the song changes dramatically. The angst inherent in the lyrics come front and center as the synthesizer chords build and build. The chorus returns and when repeated a second time, at just about 2:51, a moment of transfiguration occurs when the harmony is changed and Mr. Finn sings the line "I don't wanna dance.... tonight....". It is that rare moment in pop music where the perfect chord, the perfectly sung lyric, and the emotion of the moment take this song into another realm.

I drove by that house at the corner of Sandusky and 12th in the summer of 2009 and was happy to see that the current owners have spruced it up. I wonder if they kept the art deco fireplace, and what sort of music they listen to.

Why you want to keep these lies on parade

Back on the subject of Heatmiser, Elliott Smith wrote some sparkling gems during his end of days in that band. Mic City Sons was released in 1996 and for me is their most fully realized effort, with both songwriters (Smith and Neil Gust) really hitting their stride.

The Fix Is In begins with a quietly lovely electronic piano accompaniment. Always attuned to emotional violence, Smith practically whispers the warning of the opening verse:

You want every day to be like that magic first
When she took shape in your eyes and you in hers
You're going down to see her, it's a big mistake
She got ice she don't want anyone to break

Then at 1:46 the guitar ratchets up the volume just a bit as he makes it clear he is heading down a path against his will:

I fit the perfect picture that you want for all
The fix is in I'm going where I don't belong

Mr. Smith would go on to perfect his little world of sad, lonely songs sung by a singer too tired and emotionally drained to fight back. But this earlier effort still hits me right in the gut.

You may write the perfect song

Elliott Smith was a founding member of Heatmiser, a great Portland band from the early to mid 90s. Elliott's began his solo career in 1994, then the band broke up in 1996. He was nominated for an Academy Award for best song - Miss Misery - from the Gus Van Sant film Good Will Hunting. He moved to Los Angeles and there were rumored bad vibes left behind, possibly due to his self destructive behaviors and drug abuse.

Sam Coomes, the bass player in Heatmiser, went on as the frontman for Quasi. Several Quasi songs have links to Elliott. He played bass on several tunes on Quasi's Field Studies (1999). Lyrics to several Quasi songs certainly seem to be aimed at him, including Little Lord Fontleroy from Sword of God.

Perhaps the most poignant and biting is The Poisoned Well. It is unclear whether the lyrics are self reflective or aimed at another. But given the circumstances of Mr. Smith's death, there is certainly a haunting truth to several lines.

A Tale of Two Interpretations

I have always been somewhat of a fan of the songwriting of Bachrach/David, especially those songs they farmed out to Dusty Springfield and Dionne Warwick. There is often a hint of real pathos in the lyrics, which are somewhat sweetened by the never ending progression of 9th and 11th chords. In 1966 they wrote songs for the soundtrack to What's New Pussycat? and among the odds and ends is an odd little minor key ditty named My Little Red Book. From the point of view of the gentlemen with the little red book, he has met his match with one particular girl. This swinging sixties dude realizes that she is the real deal, but unfortunately for him she has moved on.

So here are two versions of the song. The first, performed by Manfred Mann, starts off with an awesome piano pounding. The second - only a link here as there is no embed available - is Love's transmogrification and perhaps one of the oddest and most endearing relics of that transitional period between pop rock and psychedelia, with some garage rock thrown in for good measure. It starts much simpler, with a thudding repeated bass note. The minor key is discarded for a less fussy yet almost atonal harmonic structure. This video of the original Love line-up is perhaps their only filmed testament.

I know which version I prefer but will leave it to you to decide for yourself.

All I did was talk about you
Hear your name and I'd start to cry
There's just no getting over you... oh, no...

There ain't no girl in my little red book
Who could ever replace your charms
And each girl in my little red book
Knows you're the one I'm thinkin' of
Oh won't you please come back
Without your precious love I can't go on
Where can love be I need you so much




My Little Red Book-Love

Keep On Rollin' On

A really odd thing happened with the demise of The Easybeats. After years as the number one rock'n'roll band in Australia, in 1967 they moved lock stock and barrel to London in hopes of becoming a worldwide sensation. And sure enough their first effort - Friday On My Mind - was an international smash hit. But the big followup never came. They made some great music but it never caught on with the public. When things came apart in 1969, George Young and Harry Vanda made some demos which ended up being released by the record company as the final Easybeats LP.

Never really considered a part of the Easybeats canon, some of the music on the Friends LP is top notch. There is one little nugget that just pops my chops everytime I hear it. Rock and Roll Boogie is a joyous excursion that celebrates the title in every way - a real tribute to the power of rock'n'roll. Some songs just have a"sound" and wow, does this ever have that chugging late 60's groove. The guitar lines throughout are pure genius. Nothing flashy or overpowering, just some of the tastiest licks ever put down on vinyl. Add to that the off kilter drumming, awesome bass lines, and some great syncopations and you have one hell of a tune that really makes me want to get up and dance.

Tulsa Time

The summer of 1975 my Tulsa homeboys Dwight Twilley Band hit the national charts with the power-pop-tastic I'm On Fire. It has every element that a hit single should have - a monster guitar riff, cool harmonies, great drumming, rockabilly lead vocals and a closing chorale over the top of the chorus. With a top 20 hit on their hands, their record company was in shambles and by the time the followup album appeared ten months later the group was already forgotten. Mr. Twilley is somewhat of a god in power pop circles and has been making music pretty much continuously with a real renaissance in the last ten years.

Since you are here, give a listen to the tunes on Dwight's just-released Green Blimp. The Turtles-ish Me and Melanie and the gorgeous beyond belief Let It Rain are just stupendous.

Never bring me down

There once was a quartet of young women from Los Angeles who wrote and performed wonderful music in the vein of The Byrds and The Beatles. They released an EP and a LP of incredibly charming power pop and the future looked bright. Then the worst that could happen happened. Their talent got them noticed and they became popular with their third release. And it was all downhill after that.

The Bangs become Bangles. The girls who had previously shared singing and songwriting duties turned into a front for the girl singled out by the record company as the "lead" singer and they began to have hits with songs by outside writers. Their own material was miles above the dreck that was foisted on them - the wonderful Prince-ly Manic Monday notwithstanding.

But enough on what went wrong. Those first two releases have nothing but right on them. Here is their first single from the EP Bangles released in 1982. The Real World is a miraculous reincarnation of the 1964 Byrds, with a dash of harpsichord to boot. When the harmonies come in I just swoon!