Record #97: Charles Mingus - Oh Yeah (1962)

On Mingus’ The Clown, I referred to the composer/bandleader’s ability to balance beauty and chaos. On Oh Yeah, he eschews both the more pleasant side of that balance and his upright bass, leading a sort of post-apocalyptic blues album from piano. Now freed to be as chaotic as he wants, Mingus also frees up his voice, allowing his absurdist sense of humor to flow freely. The result is songs like Lord, Don’t Let Them Drop That Atomic Bomb On Me, a tongue-in-cheek negro spiritual for the post-nuclear age, and Eat That Chicken, a rip-rolling, dadaist rollick. Even when he’s not attached to discernible lyrics, Mingus whoops and hollers and hums and “oh yeah!”s passionately, adding a savage fury here not found on many other jazz albums. Beyond Mingus himself, the musicians he surrounds himself with excel both at traditional playing styles as well as coming as unhinged as their fearless leader requires, at times sounding much more numerous than the seven members on record. 

Record #96: Charles Mingus - The Clown (1957)

Given that I’m not entirely sure how to best describe the perfect combination of chaos and beauty that is typical of Charles Mingus’ works, I’ll just leave this video of Haitian Fight Song, the best and most famous of the tracks here. Enjoy. 

Record #95: Caveman - CoCo Beware (2011)

If you listen with a cynical ear, it would be easy to dismiss Caveman as just another Brooklyn based indie band playing mid-tempo jangly guitar rock with some keyboards thrown in for good measure. But among the throngs of indie-rock/psych-folk groups that found their genesis in the wake of Grizzly Bear’s success, Caveman stands a full head taller, and they were the only one I featured on my end-of-the-year list last year.

First, there’s the song craft. Eschewing the typical verse-chorus-bridge structure, the band isn’t afraid to skip a refrain, replacing it instead with an instrumental or with wordless vocalizations. Likewise, there are songs where the only vocal section that exists is a chorus that is only sung once, embedded in what is otherwise an instrumental track. 

Second, there’s the way those songs are played. While the band employs a typical lineup of rhythm guitar, lead guitar, keyboard, bass, and drums, they manner in which they play those instruments keeps the record sounding fresh. Instead of always riffing alongside the rhythm guitar, the lead guitarist will often utilize only the sounds coming out of his effects pedals (see: Easy Water, where he plays only the oscillating feedback of an analog delay). Likewise, the keyboardist usually drones over the chord changes instead of following them chord-for-chord. Then, there’s the drums. My word, the drums. If there were no other reason for the group to be called Caveman, it would be for the drummer. Instead of the cymbals, he keeps time on the toms, pounding away with a tribal furor that takes the record from the mountain of albums released by Brooklyn indie bands and into the annals of year-end lists and repeated listens. Despite its repeat-begging brevity (its ten tracks are finished in 36 minutes), I have a feeling that as the years wear on, CoCo Beware will never be too far from my turntable.

Record #94: Cat Stevens - Foreigner (1973)

Sometimes, my wife says it best. About eight minutes into the side-long Foreigner suite, she remarked, “Well, in terms of hit or miss, this is definitely a miss.” I asked her what she meant, and she gave me a number of answers, along the lines of, “it’s cheesy” and “it sounds like the music for some Sims Medieval video game.” She went on to remark, “it makes me want to listen to Flight of the Conchords, because they do stuff like this as a joke.” 

And that about gets it right, and the rest of the record doesn’t get much better. Stevens howls and strains his words, backed by a horn section, or pounding piano, or synthesizer solo. There are some moments of familiarity and warmth (like the final movement of Foreigner, which Coldplay was needlessly sued for plagiarism concerning the song Viva la Vida), but the bulk of the record is best described as “white soul,” resulting in a record that’s a far cry from the hushed folk that most people still mean when they say they like Cat Stevens.

According to Wikipedia, Stevens realized that the music he loved when he was young was mostly “black music,” and while one of the most emotive and intimate folk singer-songwriters of his era is certainly allowed to have an appreciation for funk and soul, there’s a big difference between being influenced by something and emulating it. While his earlier records were aided by Stevens’ vocal prowess, Foreigner is carried by it. Make no mistake, Cat Stevens can definitely carry a record on the strength of his voice, but paired with a much more ambitious production style, it loses the intimacy and tenderness of his folk material. This isn’t to say that folk artists aren’t allowed to abandon the formula of folk music (I’d be a huge hypocrite), but if you’re going to lose the intimacy that made you so attractive in the first place, you’d better replace it with something just as compelling. And on Foreigner, Cat Stevens fails to do so. 

Record #93: Cat Stevens - Teaser and the Firecat (1971)

Yesterday, I noted how much like a fairy tale Cat Stevens’ Tea for the Tillerman seemed. It’s ironic then that, while it shares a name with a children’s book written by Stevens, Teaser and the Firecat lacks the easy, story-like quality of its predecessor. This album is rather the disappointment of growing up. The narrator has left his parents’ arms and is now walking on his own, and he’s quickly being jaded by what he sees, all the while fighting to stay hopeful. Nowhere is this more clear than on the closer, the legendary Peace Train, which serves as a thematic microcosm for the rest of the record. In different verses, he sings “I’ve been smiling lately, thinking about the world as one,” and “I’ve been crying lately, thinking about the world as it is.” These two lines encapsulate the whole of Teaser and the Firecat, as Stevens, no longer a child, comes to terms with the world around him. 

Record #92: Cat Stevens - Tea for the Tillerman (1970)

There are albums that are kind of like a spouse: you’ve played them so many times that you have every sound memorized, and you love them completely. Then, there are albums that are more like a crush: you love the idea of them, and every time you hear them, you fall in love, but you’re unfamiliar enough with them that it still surprises you. I definitely have a crush on Tea for the Tillerman. But I’d definitely be down for getting a few cups of coffee with it to get to know it a little better. It’s a simple enough record—most of it is Cat Stevens with his acoustic guitar, and he may be accompanied by a piano or drum or bass guitar (the first time I listened to it, I had to turn the bass down. This album bumps gently along). And even on songs with a bit more production to them, said production is downplayed enough to match the intimate, stripped down atmosphere of the record.  

The record’s power, however, comes from not from the production or the arrangements, but from Stevens himself. His voice effortlessly moves between soothing and snarling. But truth be told, the tendency is much more towards the softer, and rightly so: many of his songs are almost fairy tales in their purity. And the feelings evoked by this record are similar to those conjured by a fairy tale—childlike, comforting, and warm, like you’re drifting to sleep in your parents’ arms as they carry you. 

Record #91: The Cars - Heartbeat City (1984)

I have mentioned before my music snob roommate in Chicago. Truth be told though, I benefited more from his snoot than it was a detriment to me. The Cars is among the best examples. We were at a used media shop one day and he said to me, “There’s a copy of The Cars’ Heartbeat City over there for two dollars. If you don’t buy it, you hate your life.” And so, partially to keep him off my back, I gave it a shot. And it opened the door to the Cars’ entire discography, which I am, for the most part (I’m looking at you, Panorama), a huge fan. And this was the record that piqued my curiosity.

While most of their records are a balancing act between their pop sensibilities and more avant-garde tendencies, Heartbeat City is more pop driven, with their penchant for art rock informing the atmospheres the songs exist in. It’s not as delicate a balance as their debut, but its effect is largely the same. And for someone who used to disparage pop music, it’s proof that in the right hands, pop music can be a force to be reckoned with. 

So Kriss, on the off chance that you’re stalking my blog, thank you. And say hi sometime.

Record #90: The Cars - Shake It Up (1981)

And then, the Cars returned to making pop music with new-wave and art-rock influences, rather than art-rock with pop influences. It seems a wise choice, since their greatest triumph was in their debut’s ability to walk the line between pop sensibility and avant-garde experimentation like it was a tightrope. And while Shake It Up might not match the finesse and memorability of the first classic, it easily leapfrogs over Panorama with radio-ready singles as well as paranoid, freakout tracks. 

Record #89: The Cars - Panorama (1980)

As the saying goes, nothing gold can stay. Like their spiritual heir apparent Weezer a decade and a half later, after two winning albums, the Cars fell into a bit of a slump. Their debut showed the group deftly walking the line between pop-friendly New Wave and avant-garde art rock. Candy-o showed that they could do either end of that spectrum well. Panorama shows that Ocasek & Co. might not be experts at self evaluation. And while at its best, it may have some excellent playing and some intriguing experimentation, and at it’s worst, it may not be entirely unlistenable (rest assured, at times it definitely is), it never approaches the hem of the Debut’s robe. It never even seems to try. The few times it returns to Just What I Needed’s straight 4 4 pop beat, it pairs it with forgettable synths and Ocasek’s nonsense rambling. 

And to be fair, I don’t hate this record as much as I did the last time I listened to it (probably two years ago). There really are some enjoyable moments, and the lead guitar that winds through the record is inventive and refreshing. The synthesizers often abandon the cheesy rhythm strings for glitchy lead lines and freakouts (and I’m all about that). But when stacked against the rest of their discography, Panorama doesn’t stand anywhere near as tall as its peers.