Fascist Rock
One of fascism’s most insidious tendencies is to warp history with revisionist interpretations. The National Review’s recent list of the 50 conservative rock songs of all time is a contemptible attempt to claim protest music for the forces of reaction. Freedom is, indeed, slavery and rock is Republican if you believe these pinheads. I see no more than twelve actually conservative rock songs here (and that’s being generous with Sammy Hagar’s weenie complaint about the “nanny state,” “I Can’t Drive 55”).
Some of the 50 are non-political songs given a right-wing spin by the magazine, like the Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?,” an innocent song about dopey teenagers daydreaming about living together which National Review interprets as a paean to marriage and abstinence. My filthy mind interprets it as a post-coital parting of two teenage lovers who would rather spend the night together than sneak back home. Similarly, where National Review hears a “law-and-order classic” in “I Fought the Law,” it sounds more like an anti-establishment classic when covered by the Clash and Dead Kennedys.
Context is crucial, but the National Review ignores and obscures context when reinterpreting these songs. Sure, the Band sang “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” from a Confederate perspective, but it’s storytelling. On the same record, they also sang from a pro-farmworkers union perspective on “King Harvest,” declaring “I’m a union man all the way!” And to declare Bowie’s “Heroes” as some kind of anti-Communist ballad is to ignore the prominent quotation marks around the song’s title, signaling Bowie’s ironic detachment (Jakob Dylan made the same grave error in his overly earnest cover).
Most galling is the usurpation of the Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” as the #1 “conservative” rock song of all time. Pete Townshend’s “pox on both your houses” fury has been particularly misinterpreted since it became a staple of post-9/11 airplay. The context of the song is that it comes after the British elections of 1970, when the Conservatives defeated the Labour Party, whom Townshend had supported and in whose leadership he was disappointed for acting just like the Conservatives and squandering their opportunity. (“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.”) A rank-and-file complaint about the Labour Party not being left-wing enough is a bit of a stretch as a “conservative” anthem.
Further stretching brings the Rolling Stones of the 1960’s into the conservative ranks. Nevermind that young Mick Jagger had a political conscience and compass and was mulling a run for Parliament as a Labour Party candidate at this time, because clearly his playing the role of the Devil is a clever use of moral relativism to to critique…um, er, Bolshevism! And “what you need” in “You Can’t Always get What You Want” is apparently neo-liberal hegemony, and not a break-up with your girlfriend, Marianne Faithfull, the one with the bloodstained hands from her drug-induced miscarriage.
Bloody fetuses abound on this list. Graham Parker’s frankly gruesome “You Can’t Be Too Strong” (“Did they tear it out with talons of steel, and give you a shot so that you wouldn’t feel?”) is mistaken for a criticism of the right to choose. No, he’s just calling a spade a spade, much like his current labelmate, Jon Langford’s band the Mekons who exclaimed “Chop That Child in Half!” twenty years ago, before updating the song as the less ambiguously pro-choice “Born to Choose.”
The Sex Pistols’ anti-abortion anthem, “Bodies,” is one of the genuinely conservative songs on the list. What a pisser that the only explicitly political song of the flagship band of the punk era had to be reactionary. Blame Johnny Rotten’s Irish Catholic upbringing.
The Beatles’ “Taxman” is also pretty fucking reactionary. A bunch of pampered rockstars whining about too much of their vast fortune being taxed to pay for universal health care and social security? Boo-fucking-hoo.
Skynnard’s “Sweet Home Alabama” is undeniably reactionary. But who has the nerve to be proud of segregation and Gov. Wallace?
The one elegantly conservative song on the list is the Kinks’ “20th Century Man.” Ray Davies is a curmudgeon, the kind who can complain about the government razing bombed-out tenements to make room for inhabitable new homes, but he is still eloquent when he sings about tradition and history and fears or too much artificial change. He is a genuine conservative, not some lying, deceitful right-winger. If there were more of him, the National Review could fill out a proper list without stealing from the left.
Catching Up With 2005
Although list-averse (or else simply VH1-phobic), I would normally constrict a best records of the year list around now. Poverty and nagging unemployment, alas, put a real crimp in my record shopping for 2005. There are still at least a dozen releases that I must hear before I could properly judge. However, I am catching up. So here are some notes on 2005 releases that are new to me.
“Honeycomb” by Frank Black
In between victory laps with the Pixies, Black headed to Nashville to record a classicist country record. The experience and competence of the session players, plus Frank Black’s smokey baritone make “Honeycomb” work not just as a country record but as a reminder of just how high the bar should be set for a new Pixies record. The unfamiliar country soundscape allows Black’s lyrics (like “mommy killed a puppy and she thought it was asleep / she put it on the table but it was still meat / she forgot the sugar again”) to sound vital again, at once strange and familiar. Could a new Pixies disc do the same?
“Blinking Lights and Other Revelations” by eels
This album is a stunner, even if it does seem a blatant attempt to revisit (and best) previous triumphs. This is another meditation on death and survival, this time totaling two discs with a running instrumental theme. After 30 or 40 listens, it’s still hard to tell if all those “blinking lights” interludes are extra padding or an essential part of the whole. But there are enough solid songs here to be worth the price of admission, including theme songs for your next exisential crisis (“Old Shit / New Shit” – “I’m tired of the old shit / let the new shit begin”), lovesick mixtape (“Lick Your Boots” – “people spend their days / trying to find new ways / to put you down all over town / but they’re not fit / to lick your boots”) or last will and testament (“Things the Grandchildren Should Know” – “i knew true love and i knew passion / and the difference between the two / and i had some regrets / but if i had to do it all again / well, it’s something i’d like to do”).
Senior Smoke, by Electric Six
More of a joke record than “Fire,” this disc only really scores with “Vibrator” and the cover of “Radio Gaga” (which loses something without Dick Valentine’s video impersonation of Freddy Mercury).
The Modern Sounds of, the Knitters
Twenty years later, X’s delightful musical chairs side project (substitute Dave Alvin for Billy Zoom, put Johnny Ray Bartel on upright bass and slide John Doe over to slide and acoustic guitar) release a follow-up to their beloved “Poor Little Critter on the Road.” Too much of this material is warmed over country hash. “In This House That I Call Home” (haunting and superior) and “Burning House of Love” (better “Unclogged”) are X covering X. “(Why Don’t We Even) Try Anymore” was better on Bloodshot’s Knitters cover record. “Wreckin Ball” is a disappointing retread, as is “Skin Deep Town.” The few new tunes suggest what a wasted opportunity this was. I missed the Knitters when they came to town this summer. I’m sure they were awesome. I did catch X a few weeks back, and they certainly were. I have no desire to see these old punks become an oldies act. I breathlessly await new material that is truly new.
Road to Rouen, by Supergrass
It’s a brief record, and a bit of a sleeper following their recent best-of. Supergrass continues to grow, now that they are 11.
Living Things, by Matthew Sweet
Firmly ensconced in his cult-hero status, Matthew Sweet seems to emulate a new hero for each new record. After dabbling in Spector-esque Wall of Sound production on 1999’s “In Reverse,” Sweet now teams with Brian Wilson collaborator Van Dyke Parks for Beach Boys-y harmony. I miss Robert Quine more than ever.
So Jealous, by Tegan and Sara
When I first saw this duo open for the Old 97’s about five years ago, they were all kinds of Indigo (Girls). Thankfully, they’re still adorable, but now they rock. This could be the power pop record of the year (I won’t know until I get that new New Pornographers). This is a great, hooky record with solid writing. “i feel like / you wouldn’t like me / if you met me” is the kind of line that could make anyone so jealous.
Freedom and Weep, by the Waco Brothers
The good folks at Bloodshot records were kind enough to send me a promo of this disc during the summer. I sat on it, hoping to find a home for a proper review. I failed, but I’m grateful for the presence of Marc Durante’s loser sing-a-long “Join the Club” in my dying Toyota during my most desperate days. Elsewhere, Deano Schlobowske dominates the disc, with his ragged “Nothing At All” opening, and his post-election blues, “Rest of the World,” penultimating (“champaign’s still on ice – might as well down it tonight – it’s won’t last four more years / nor will your rights”).
A Ghost if Born, by Wilco
Jeff Tweedy quickly and definitely proved his need for strong collaborators by releasing this prog rock hogwash immediately after canning Jay Bennett. How long will it be until Tweedy and Jay Farrar realize that they need each other?
Besterberg, Where’s the Resterberg?
What a disappointing decade and a half it’s been for fans of Paul Westerberg. The mercurial former lead singer for the mighty Replacements moved from glossy pop rock to over-produced singer-songwriter navelgazing to under-produced home recording reclusiveness, from major label “next big thing” to indie label “has been,” from sober to drinking again.
Westerberg’s cult status is consecrated, to an extent, by the Rhino collection, “BESTerberg: The Best of Paul Westerberg,” a curious 20 song collection culled from six of his nine albums, plus assorted extras, that feels like a condensed version of what should have been a three record set. B-sides and soundtrack contributions, like his anemic cover of “Nowhere Man” and the AIDS-themed rocker “Stain Yer Blood” (finally available without the “witty banter” from the tv show “Friends”) properly belong on a fuller collection of odds and sods (call it “RESTerberg”), along with some good stuff that didn’t make the cut, like his covers of “Make Your Own Kind of Music” and “Sunshine,” as well as the Danish bonus track, “33rd of July.” Ponderous clunkers like “A Star is Bored” and “Man Without Ties,” however, are more properly classified as “WORSTerberg.”
What’s good on here are mostly some mid-tempo ballads filled with regret and ennui, like “Things” and “Once Around the Weekend” (presented here in a too-busy alternate mix). The wistful “Love Untold” manages to overcome not only a slightly saccharine flavor, but makes a line about wearing clean underwear “just in case” sound charming and romantic. “It’s a Wonderful Lie” sounds like the sadly resigned flip side to the old Mats’ song, “Talent Show,” while “Lookin’ Out Forever” still sounds ragged and desperate, if a bit too much like Tom Petty.
Paul Westerberg stands now on the precipice of the peculiar variety of following his own muse that Alex Chilton rode to artistic oblivion. The next 15 years could be fascinating, or they could be a ridiculous train wreck.
Telegraphing the Tension Through the Title
The tension between solo work and band work is sometimes palpable, as is the resentment of the post-breakup competition. Sometimes it’s laid right out in the album title. Here are my five favorite pissed-off, post (or pre)-breakup album titles. Or at least, the first five that occurred to me while writing this.
5. Bach’s Bottom by Alex Chilton. The mercurial lead singer of Big Star has had some pretty confounding output as a solo artist. His first almost-complete record mostly consists of covers (fans would eventually get used to this). His nervy and needy cover of “Can’t Seem to Make You Mine” is the best ever, while his original “Bangkok” features a double entendre that would make AC/DC’s eyes roll. Alex was in a band called the Box Tops, y’see, before Big Star. See, bad puns abound!
4. Rigor Mortis Sets In by John Entwistle. The Who’s bassist, the writer behind “Whiskeyman” and “Boris the Spider” (which, for the record, was Jimi Hendrix’ favorite Who song), dabbled in a solo career as Townsend the artiste started hogging entire records with his damn “operas.” I guess even the Ox had to admit that his creative juices weren’t quite flowing the way they used to by the time of his third record.
3. I’ve Got My Own Record To Do by Ron Wood. Rod Stewart used to be cool, back when he was in the Faces. He was still a bit of a prick, though, as he cultivated his solo career at the expense of his band. “I’ve got my own record to do,” was his excuse for skipping band sessions. Wood, the Faces’ guitarist, decided to use his time off productively, cutting a record with none other than Keith Richards. By the time Rod the Mod announced that he was through with the Faces, Woody had a better job lined up.
2. Congratulations, I’m Sorry by the Gin Blossoms. Your band has just scored a string of hits on “alternative” radio, but your principal songwriter (who is not the singer) has a huge heroin problem. How to deal? Kick him out of the band, but be sure to buy his rights to the songwriting royalties. Now, how do you apologize when he spends all that money on heroin, and then blows his brains out? Do it in the follow-up album title.
1. 75% Less Fat by Chris Mars. Mars was the drummer for the fabulously fucked-up Replacements. He was “replaced” for their last record and tour. Two years later, when he returned to recorded music, Mars decided to play the whole album himself. The Mats were a quartet. Do the math.