Fingertips

Free and legal MP3: Bob Mould (hard-driving yet friendly)

Bob Mould arrives in 2019 like a sudden gust of wind rearranging the porch furniture.

“Sunshine Rock” – Bob Mould

Pop culture is a cruel mistress; the one uniting and unavoidable fact of life, that we all grow old, is precisely what our culture will not accept, forever worshipping the latest crop of young and pretty people at the expense of those previously worshipped, never mind those artists creating works of lasting quality. The internet has aggravated this already aggravating tendency, creating new categories of veneration (YouTuber, influencer, et al.) in which the generative talent seems mostly to do with an ability to capture attention in an age rife with attention deficits, and to do so most often in a way that older people can’t fathom and/or don’t care about. In a way it may be fitting that in this virtual age of ours the demand for an actual creative product is brushed aside for the pleasure of simply focusing on one evanescent screen moment for some uninterrupted amount of minutes (or seconds); in any case, youth worship is firmly reiterated in the process.

Bob Mould arrives on such a scene like a sudden gust of wind rearranging the porch furniture. The Hüsker Dü founder, now 58, has wandered his way through a varied career, intermittently touching base with the kind of blistering rock’n’roll for which his first band was known, other times venturing into more electronic enterprises. Here, with “Sunshine Rock,” guitars crash and ring, suspended chords suspend, a firm, stuttering beat establishes itself, and Mould comes at us with that yearning but muffled voice of his, a voice that forever sounds like it’s singing in an empty room with maybe one folding chair in it. The melody is clipped and snappy, with cascading resolutions in the verses and one or two spiffy chord changes in the chorus. It’s both hard-driving and friendly.

Now then, the title and the energetic pace suggest something optimistic, as do the strings that materialize most notably in an affirmative flourish at the end of the song. But the Bob Mould vibe is never entirely sunshine-y—even when he, by all accounts, thinks he’s being sunny (“I’m trying to keep things brighter these days as a way to stay alive,” Mould says in an accompanying press release, not the sunniest of sunny statements if you think about it). To my ears, however, to the extent that the lyrics are decipherable, “Sunshine Rock” presents as an “enjoy what you have while you have it because nothing lasts very long” kind of song, Mould singing more with fortitude than delight. In 2019, that passes for sunny.

“Sunshine Rock” is the title track from Mould’s forthcoming album, to be released next month on Merge Records. MP3 via the good folks at KEXP. This is the third time Mould has been featured here, but the first time since 2009; neither of his previous tracks are still available as free and legal downloads.

Free and legal MP3: Dear Euphoria (delicate musing on love and loss)

Over a peaceful, arpeggiated bed of boops and bips, “Our Time” unfolds as a graceful, melancholy ballad, celebrating love in the face of loss.

“Our Time” – Dear Euphoria

Over a peaceful, arpeggiated bed of boops and bips, “Our Time” unfolds as a graceful and melancholy ballad, celebrating love in the face of loss. Singer Elina Johannsen processes her voice in a way that strikes the ear as both slippery and central, with the elusiveness of the effect mirroring the ambivalent emotional circumstance the song presents.

And yes, for the record, I do not reject all vocal processing, by any means; what I’ve always objected to was the combination of faddishness and thoughtlessness propelling the technique (epitomized by Auto-Tune) for so many years. What should be obvious but, it seems, hasn’t been, is this: be human, be compassionate, be inventive, and all manner of musical and technological expression is open to you. Someone like Björk has known this for years. Prop up shallow idiocies with formulaic songwriting and production methods in pursuit of big streaming numbers and okay, have fun, but I’m not interested.

Meanwhile, Johannsen is tackling the big subject here, with a directness leavened by the sweetness of her tone, the delicacy of her declarations, and the soothing melody. I am assuming the loss she is singing about is a loss occasioned by death, and she seems to be singing from the perspective of the dying person; but, it works if the subject is a less permanent loss as well. She employs simple, mostly one-syllable words throughout, which has the subtle effect of amplifying both the gravity and the sublimity of the situation. The vibe is at once uncomplicated and stimulating, with a number of engaging touches along the way, from the life-support electronic pulse that accompanies two-thirds of the song (listen to how it decamps at 1:52), to the brief but wonderful guitar or guitar-like distortion at 1:03, to the all-out false ending at 2:29. And, a trait not to be underestimated, the song doesn’t overstay its welcome, wrapping up in a concise 3:06, easily inviting repeat listens.

Johannsen is based in Stockholm. Dear Euphoria was previously featured on Fingertips all the way back in 2007; the MP3 to that track, “Falling Behind,” is no longer available. “Our Time” is the second single released to date from an album due out in the spring. Thanks to Johannsen for the MP3.

Free and legal MP3: Amanda Palmer (theatrical cry for justice)

While piano-based, the song’s musical palette expands in all directions, with textures both rough and intimate, accompanying a lyrical bombardment that feels all too real and up-to-the-minute, painting a picture of a culture on the brink of physical and emotional self-destruction.

“Drowning in the Sound” – Amanda Palmer

As an artist, Amanda Palmer is such an deft navigator of our brave not-so-new social media world that it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that she is a dynamic and gifted musician. The relentless energy with which she shares herself online in multi-faceted ways—creating one of the only robust and truly successful (both emotionally and financially) artist-fan communities of the 21st-century to date in the process—is as admirable as it is, to me, if I’m honest, exhausting-sounding. I can’t imagine how she manages a life that includes paying heed to 12,000 active online patrons, and would be skeptical if not outright cynical about her efforts were it not for that previously stated reality: she is a top-notch singer/songwriter/musician, and somehow (somehow) doesn’t let the potentially immolating realities of an artistic life lived on social media derail or cheapen her creative output.

Here’s her latest: a song, called “Drowning in the Sound,” that is as raw and scintillating as her best music can be, with an added wrinkle: the song was initially crowd-sourced, with the lyrical ideas and inspiration coming from 600 of her Patreon supporters. Oh, and she wrote it as part of a two-day songwriting exercise in August 2017. While piano-based, the song’s musical palette expands in all directions, with textures both rough and intimate, accompanying a lyrical bombardment that feels all too real and up-to-the-minute, painting a picture of a culture on the brink of physical and emotional self-destruction. It’s not fun, no; but the music, with its sophisticated, stop-start dynamics and Bush-ian theatricality, engages the spirit. Palmer’s voice, an agile alto with a spoken-word quality, is more than up to the wide-ranging performance, which includes portions rendered in falsetto, as if things weren’t dramatic enough. I guess if I’m going to hear about the end of the world, I’d rather it come from a song than from cable news: there’s something in the singing and the craft of it that manages yet to inspire hope, which is a crucial element in any effort any of us can take to rescue humanity from prospects that here in 2019 look on the dim side.

“Drowning in the Sound” was originally released in September 2017 as a fund-raiser for victims of Hurricane Harvey. The song has resurfaced recently as a lead single for Palmer’s first album in six years, There Will Be No Intermission, which will be released on March 8, 2019, which is International Women’s Day. MP3 via KEXP.

Useless, like fists

Eclectic Playlist Series 6.01 – Jan. 2019

There’s no such thing as the “greatest song of all time,” right? I mean, you can’t possibly narrow it down to one song. But if you could (which you can’t), I might just elect “Don’t Worry Baby.” I’m always surprised to remember that this song came out in 1964; it seems to come from another universe of inspiration than, say, the lead track on the Shut Down Volume 2 album, which was the faddy, frilly “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Certainly it hinted strongly at the richness of Brian Wilson’s creative imagination, and greatness to come.

Favorite song of the year is at least a little easier to select, and for my money, I’m going with “Mistake,” from the Australian trio Middle Kids. This entire album, Lost Friends, is the kind of thing everyone would have been listening to and talking about in an age when people paid more attention to albums and had fewer cultural artifacts bombarding their senses by the hour. If you’re inclined to listen to an actual album in real time, go check it out (Bandcamp link, for your convenience: https://middlekids.bandcamp.com/album/lost-friends). There isn’t a weak song in the bunch.

A few more notes of note:

* Michael Penn doesn’t get enough credit. That is all.

* I had entirely forgotten about this Ultravox song until I heard it during a long stretch of 1980s programming on WXPN back in November. How had I let this one slip away? Lament was the last top-notch Ultravox album in their New Romantic, Midge Ure era, and it holds up pretty well.

* Todd Rundgren doesn’t get enough credit either, and by the way, for those who care about such things, belongs in the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame already, I mean sheesh.

* I’m pretty sure no one’s ever segued October Project into the Buzzcocks before, and maybe no one will again. RIP Pete Shelley.

* And how about that Laws family? You may possibly know about brothers Hubert (flutist) and Ronnie (sax); but there were also sisters Eloise and Debra, who both have had careers as vocalists.

Oh, and an overall logistical reminder: I operate under the self-imposed limit of not featuring any one individual artist on an Eclectic Playlist Series mix more than once in a calendar year. January wipes the slate clean; all artists are available. And yet, even so, 14 of the 20 artists on this month’s playlist were not before featured even once this past five years. Nature loves diversity; why shouldn’t we?

Full playlist below the widget.

“In Little Ways” – Let’s Active (Big Plans For Everybody, 1986)
“Mistake” – Middle Kids (Lost Friends, 2018)
“Love Factory” – Eloise Laws (single, 1973)
“A Violent Yet Flammable World” – Au Revoir Simone (The Bird of Music, 2007)
“Don’t Worry Baby” – The Beach Boys (Shut Down Volume 2, 1964)
“One of Our Girls Has Gone Missing” – A.C. Marias (One of Our Girls (Has Gone Missing), 1989)
“Some Birds” – Jeff Tweedy (Warm, 2018)
“Strange Season” – Michael Penn (Free-For-All, 1992)
“Smack Dab in the Middle” – Ray Charles (Have a Smile With Me, 1964)
“To The East” – Electrelane (No Shouts, No Calls, 2006)
“Love of the Common Man” – Todd Rundgren (Faithful, 1976)
“Love is to Die” – Warpaint (Warpaint, 2014)
“One Small Day” – Ultravox (Lament, 1984)
“From Out of Nowhere” – George Wydell (b-side, 1966)
“Gotta Get Back” – Shelby Lynne (I Am Shelby Lynne, 2000)
“Sunday Morning Yellow Sky” – October Project (Falling Farther In, 1995)
“What Do I Get?” – Buzzcocks (Singles Going Steady, 1979)
“Turbo” – Kenny Dorham (The Arrival of Kenny Dorham, 1960)
“You Tell Me” – Paul McCartney (Memory Almost Full, 2007)
“Titanic Days” – Kirsty MacColl (Titanic Days, 1993)

Free and legal MP3: San Mei

Hazy, guitar-laced

“Wonder” – San Mei

Stately, hazy, guitar-laced, and ear-worm-y (in a good way), “Wonder” nods at some of contemporary pop’s aural trimmings while delivering songcraft and instrumentation unlike what our 2010s popsters tend to busy themselves with. San Mei—the stage name for Australian singer/songwriter/guitarist Emily Hamilton—is committed unabashedly to the guitar, so that’s an ear-opening contrast to today’s music scene right there. And yet, with its somewhat processed, clipped ambiance, this doesn’t sound like anyone’s father’s rock’n’roll either.

And, I have to say, one of the song’s ongoing pleasures is hearing Hamilton’s light and agile voice—which one can with no difficulty imagine layered over an electronic beat, with an easily conjured battery of back-up dancers—fronting a song that drapes its pop-inflected fabric over a sturdy body of guitar squonks and sirens. The opening testifies to what we’re in for: first, a hint of shimmery electronics, but, no, what’s really happening is the guitars are warming up (listen for the subtle scratch of electric guitar strings at 0:05). “Wonder” proceeds to launch off an honest-to-goodness guitar riff, and is driven throughout via a creative variety of electric guitar tones and etchings, including something of a psychedelic freakout at 2:23.

But there is more than guitar worship going on here. “Wonder” is structurally impressive, with its double-time tag in the verse, balanced by a pre-chorus slowdown, all leading to a chorus so solidly chorded that I’m tempted to call it anthemic were it not also so effortlessly presented—a kind of “Who, me?” approach to anthemic rock’n’roll.

San Mei was born as a laptop-based bedroom pop project, but Hamilton soon aimed her sights on a larger instrumental palette than a MIDI keyboard offered—by which of course I mean guitars: fuzzy, intersecting, drony guitars. After a debut EP in 2017. San Mei returned this year with the four-song Heaven EP, released in September. You can hear the whole thing over on SoundCloud.

Free and legal MP3: Laura Gibson

Song as languorous dream

“Tenderness” – Laura Gibson

Framed on top of a sparse but expressive rhythm section—buoyant bass riff meets stark tom-tom beat—“Tenderness” unfolds without haste, as a languorous dream. Gibson sings in a warm, rounded tone, augmented by an almost Holiday-esque ache, suggesting someone at once too shy to speak and yet brave enough to sing. “Don’t wake a swarm of bees beneath me,” she coos, not as fragile as she might sound.

The song supports her both musically and symbolically, employing sturdy sonic structures as almost aural sleight of hand—you don’t notice the droning guitars we get hints of in the background, but you feel them. And the strings: yes, you hear the strings, but really listen to them and feel what they’re doing, too—as for instance the intuited pathos of their downward-sliding notes (1:25 presents an example). In Gibson’s hands, even the straightforward idea of backing vocals feels freighted, unnerving; she asks, in the chorus, “Do you want tenderness?” and the lack of certainty over whether she’s still singing to the man she’d been initially addressing or now singing to herself is intensified by answering background voices so in sync with her idiosyncrasies (it’s all her, after all) that they register as the personification of voices in her own head, manifesting the depth of her interpersonal turmoil. (She proceeds, in the first chorus, from “Kiss your mouth for tenderness” to, in later iterations, “Curse your name for tenderness,” and then, “Break your leg for tenderness”; ouch.)

With its simple sway, “Tenderness” doesn’t break a sweat as much as glue you to your seat. More is revealed with repeated listening. I suggest not losing yourself too much in Gibson’s vocal tone to forget to listen to her phrasing, which can stun. Hear, for instance, how she sings the words “model of” in the lyric “You’re a model of reason,” at 0:47: I can’t quite absorb what she’s doing there or how she’s doing it. Or, listen to the upward swerve she effects in both the second and third verses, at the same moment in the fourth line of each—on the word “men” at 1:46, and “face” at 3:15. These are not moments you are necessarily supposed to notice, which makes noticing them all the more potent. And not all moments here are vocal. Maybe my favorite is the abrupt shutdown of the strings at 1:44, a muted reinforcement of the fierce words that have preceded it:

I’ve been taught, I should wait to be chosen
That I haven’t known love
Until I’ve been destroyed by love

“Tenderness” is a track from Goners, Gibson’s fifth album, which was released on Barsuk Records in October. Gibson’s song “La Grande” was featured on Fingertips in November 2011, and her song “Harmless” made its way into a playlist in May 2016. MP3 via Barsuk, where you can also buy the album, in vinyl, CD, FLAC, or MP3 format. Or go to Bandcamp, where you can listen in full before you buy the digital version.

photo: Timothy O’Connell/Fader

Free and legal MP3: Christine Fellows

Joyful/serious protest

“Unleashed” – Christine Fellows

The plucky ukulele riff that opens this one, as steadfast and persistent as ukulele riffs often are, hints not at the muscular romp to follow. But after the intro and a preliminary uke-backed verse, the band kicks in, and drives “Unleashed” forward with a gleeful vigor. That terrific bit of syncopation she dishes out at the end of each short verse—spelled out first in the ukulele prelude, starting at 0:20—adds to both the glee and the vigor.

“Unleashed” appears to be about rising up in resistance to injustice, and if so, it is surely one of the friendlier-sounding protest songs I’ve heard. The ukulele helps, to begin with. But Fellows herself has one of those congenial singing voices, a singing voice with the approachable tone of a speaking voice. It’s actually perfect for a protest song; she makes you inherently want to join in.

The lyrics add to the welcoming vibe. She positions resistance to tyranny as not merely humane but joyful; one line that stands out, both for its tone and its content, is: “We enrage our enemies/With rousing elegies.” I could not help but think of President Obama here, how the right wing extremists could listen to his eloquent calls for justice and respond only with unheeding rage. Fellows frames this crazy-making situation with such good-natured zest that it reinforces the important idea that we are not responsible for the reactions of others, only for our own actions. Which means: keep it up with the rousing elegies.

If “Unleashed” is a resistance pep talk, the Winnipeg-based Fellows doesn’t, in the end, shy from somber reality. Her final words, over a portentous drone from the cello, are “And the tide is rising.” On the one hand, she may be referring to the tide of the resistance, but the words unflinchingly bring climate change to mind. In other words, the tide of resistance had better be rising, and soon. She can rouse us into action with a good-spirited zing of a song but let’s remember the stakes.

“Unleashed” is a track from Roses on the Vine, Fellows’ seventh album, in a recording career dating back to 2000. She was actually one of the earlier artists featured on Fingertips, appearing back in August 2004. Her new album, released last month, is available in name-your-price fashion via Bandcamp.

photo: Lesandra Dodson

I think there’s more of them like us (Eclectic Playlist Series 5.09 – Nov. 2018)

It’s hard to believe that after almost five years of these playlists, this is the first time I’ve managed to include a Neil Young song. Strange, but encouraging, as it goes to show how wide-ranging my concept here is, and how much, ongoingly, there is to explore. And yet the internet continues to force us into aural silos based on the reductive “if you like artist A, you’ll like artist B because they sound alike” model of listening. Then of course there’s the equally bankrupt “Listen to this because it’s got 49 million streams” model. Well, not here. As a matter of fact, reviewing this playlist, I realize that 13 of the first 14 tracks are from artists that haven’t had a song featured here previously. Music from the length of rock’n’roll history remains valid; you get nowhere in any pursuit either by acting as if the past doesn’t exist nor by denying the vitality of the present.

Some notes on this month’s mix:

* While I aim not to feature any one artist more than once in a calendar year, I’ve made no policy about songs, and as such, this month, I am featuring a song that was already on a playlist this year, performed by a different artist: that would be the fabulous and ever-relevant George Harrison song “Beware of Darkness.” George’s original landed in EPS 5.05, while here we get Marianne Faithfull’s nearly contemporary cover of the song, dating back to recording sessions she had in 1971, even as the tracks she made at that point didn’t see the light of day until 1985. Faithfull has always had exquisite taste in songs she chooses to cover, dating all the way back to her famous first hit single, “As Tears Go By.”

* If you don’t know Bruce Woolley & The Camera Club and have any fondness for rock’n’roll’s new wave moment, I’d urge you to check out the album. You can thank me later.

* A perceptive few of you may notice that I normally use the playlists to re-visit songs that have been previously reviewed on Fingertips; this month, there’s a batch of them, led by the Fauves marvelous, power-poppy “Dirt-Bike Option,” which was a 2000 EP track that resurfaced in 2007 on a compilation of this prolific Australian band’s B-sides and rarities and such. Another big-time Fingertips favorite is Shiv Hurrah’s “Oh Oh Oh,” a modestly-named tune combining DIY sensibility with one of the most satisfying melodies I’ve yet come across in my 15 years here.

* Gabriel Kahane’s song comes from his deep and touching 2018 album Book of Travelers. As a singer/songwriter who is also a contemporary classical music composer, his songs, however stripped-down instrumentally, employ musical complexities rarely heard in rock’n’roll. And what a fine singing voice he has, too. The album has a singular back story: right after the 2016 election, Kahane boarded a train and traveled nearly 9,000 miles over the course of two weeks, talking to people he encountered along the way, later turning their stories into a series of lovely if complex and often melancholy songs. Check it out via Bandcamp if you get a chance.

Full playlist below the widget.

“English Garden” – Bruce Woolley & The Camera Club (English Garden, 1980)
“Captain of Your Ship” – Reparata & the Delrons (single, 1968)
“Smart” – Nice Try (Nice Try, 2018)
“The Dirt-Bike Option” – The Fauves (Celebrate the Failure EP, 2000)
“Look Out For My Love” – Neil Young (Comes a Time, 1978)
“It Ain’t As Easy As That” – The Elektras (single, 1963)
“Oh Oh Oh” – Shiv Hurrah (Shiv Hurrah, 2010)
“When I Was a Boy” – Dar Williams (The Honesty Room, 1993)
“This Is The Day” – The The (Soul Mining, 1987)
“Body and Soul” – Erroll Garner (Gems. 1951)
“Bit of Tongue” – Mr. Gnome (Madness in Miniature, 2011)
“Window Pane” – The Real People (The Real People, 1991)
“Come Up” – Devics (Push the Heart, 2006)
“Long Away” – Queen (A Day at the Races, 1976)
“Love is Here and Now You’re Gone” – The Supremes (The Supremes Sing Holland-Dozier-Holland, 1967)
“Absolute Beginners” – David Bowie (single, 1986)
“The Trick is to Keep Breathing” – Garbage (Version 2.0, 1998)
“Baltimore” – Gabriel Kahane (Book of Travelers, 2018)
“Beware of Darkness” – Marianne Faithfull (Rich Kid Blues, recorded 1971; released 1985)
“Balloon Maker” – Midlake (Bamnan and Silvercork, 2004)

Free and legal MP3: Johnny Marr (irresistible minor-key goodness)

“Hi Hello” – Johnny Marr

Do you sometimes want to hear somebody just make music? Somebody who’s been around and knows what he or she is doing? Do you want to listen to someone who isn’t trying to be the latest sensation, who isn’t after clicks and follows? If so, try this one. It’s Johnny Marr, it glides along in a lovely and slightly dark way, it’s got guitars, it’s in a minor key. What more do you need?

Johnny Marr as I assume you know used to be in the Smiths, and as such was the architect of their distinctive, minor-key-jangly-chimey sound. “Hi Hello” works a bit of that ground, but here the ground is knowingly smoothed over—mellowed with age, perhaps, and/or not as concerned with sounding so rigorously different as the Smiths were. But hell, by now, Marr has spent a whole lot more time not being in the Smiths than he spent being in them. A good amount of that time found him landing as a guitarist in a series of previously existing bands (The Pretenders, The The, Modest Mouse, et al.); outside of a 2003 album credited to Johnny Marr & The Healers, the solo efforts have only recently been sprouting up—one in 2013, one in 2014, and this new one in 2018. Which is all to say he’s still relatively new to the front-man role, still finding his I’m-the-center-of-attention voice. He does a good job here expanding his vocal range with an effortless leap into and out of falsetto that kind of slyly turns into the song’s principal hook. And I could be entirely imagining this, but the short instrumental motif we hear at 1:48 sounds like an oblique reference to the old hymn “Hey Ho Nobody Home,” which itself might not be completely irrelevant to the title and lyrics here. Or I could be entirely imagining this.

“Hi Hello” is the fourth track from Marr’s album Call the Comet, which was released in June. MP3 via The Current.

(Note that MP3s from The Current are available in files that are 128kbps, which is below the iTunes standard of 192kbps, not to mention the higher-def standard of 320kbps. I personally don’t hear much difference on standard-quality equipment but if you are into high-end sound you’ll probably notice something. In any case I always encourage you to get the MP3 for the purposes of getting to know a song via a few listens; if you like it I still urge you to buy the music. It’s only right.)

Free and legal MP3: Calva Louise (ferocious & fantastic)

Concise and ferocious, “I Heard a Cry” is almost ridiculously appealing—two minutes and sixteen seconds of crunchy guitars, headlong momentum, and subtle craft.

“I Heard a Cry” – Calva Louise

Concise and ferocious, “I Heard a Cry” is almost ridiculously appealing—two minutes and sixteen seconds of crunchy guitars, headlong momentum, and subtle craft that can reaffirm one’s faith in humankind, if that doesn’t sound too grandiose. But what the heck: we need it right about now. To my ears, there’s something Clash-like in the brash meeting of power and grace on display here, with the added bounty of Jess Allanic’s arresting vocals, in their varied guises, from garage-rock yelping to soaring “ooh-oohs” to sultry asides and smartly articulated pronouncements.

At the center of the proceedings are two things: first, a sing-song-y guitar riff, which we hear initially in a searing, almost bag-pipe-y rendering and then later, to keep us on our toes, in an acoustic translation; second, the demarcated five-note melodic descent that the verse coalesces around (first heard at 0:26)—a moment that each time seems nearly to stop the song in its tracks but instead launches it into further commotion. Keep listening and you’ll hear all sorts of other touches, including unexpected forays into interlocking melodies, sudden interjections (check out Allanic’s “Hey!” at 0:49), ear-bending guitar effects, and, even, a brilliant chord change in the middle of where you’d never think to find it (1:40).

Calva Louise is a new-ish band from London, and all but the definition of a 21st-century power trio. This is their second single. A debut full-length album is expected in early 2019.