Make Me A Mixtape

I was asked the dreaded question awhile back. I was bopping innocently along through a conversation with my best friend and then all of the sudden there's a pause and here it comes:

"What's your favorite song?"

This is nearly an impossible question for a music geek to answer, and an especially difficult one for me, who associates my life so closely with the music I'm listening to. People ask me how I feel, and I generally respond by telling them what I'm listening to. Due to this, it's hard to say exactly what my favorite song is at any given moment. I'll listen to things, and they'll grab me at the time because of something I'm going through, but pop it in later and cringe. You know what I'm talking about, of course. Music is so subjective.

Anyway, it occurred to me that for all the music-related blathering on this page, I've never actually sat down and though about what my favorite songs are (if indeed I have any, and after some careful consideration, I think I do), and why they are my favorite songs. I've done posts before where I've talked about different songs that I was obsessed with at the time (see "Tribute", "Suddenly Everything Has Changed", and nearly any long-winded post that mentions Radiohead for perfect examples of this). I remember writing a post on a message board last year, and I narrowed it down to five or six songs, I think, leaving out close to probably a hundred honorable mentions (songs which are equally as great but haven't had nearly as much permanent staying power, for whatever reasons). The amazing Dismemberment Plan (when they were still together) solved this problem neatly by posting a sidebar on their site, titled "The Top Ten Greatest Songs Of All Time (Right Now)," or something to that effect. This may be a future addition here; we'll see. Anyway, here we go with:

Six Songs I'm Reasonably Sure Are My Favorite Ever, And Why (In No Particular Order, Of Course):

The Promise Ring- "A Picture Postcard"
This song exemplifies what's best about early Promise Ring: amazing lyrics, interesting chord progressions, eminently hummable melodies, and a curiously booty-shaking beat (courtesy of their formidable rhythm section). Starting out with a light, chiming guitar underpinning an easygoing solo, it gradually builds to something only slightly more intense as the drums drop the smooth rhythm for something a little more insistent. You think the song is going to explode somewhere, but the boys wisely back off to let lead vocalist/charming lisper Davey VonBohlen's wobbly tenor take center stage.

The lyrics here, as with most early Promise Ring, are sparse and impressionistic, using a minimum of words to convey an incredible depth of emotion, and VonBohlen's plaintive "Couldn't you take the second bus home? Couldn't you just take me with you?" is nearly heartbreaking in its' gentle wistfulness. When the song finally does explode in its' own glorious, awkward-teenagers-in-love fashion (after returning to the first section and its' subsequent build-up again), it's perfectly right, everything you ever wanted to hear. Instead of letting the song end on a rocking note, however, the band pulls back again to the lone chiming guitar figure and lets VonBohlen deliver the last lines in a cracked, bewildered voice: "And I'm convinced that you're from Mars." And that's it for me: twenty-two years of relationship frustration summed up in a single line. Perfect.

New Order- “Regret”
I got into New Order by proxy: in elementary and middle school I’d hear their songs blasting out of my older brother’s room pretty much non-stop. Other kids would come to school singing what was on the radio; I’d be singing The Smiths' “William, It Was Really Nothing.” Imagine my delight when I, thinking I’d never really heard them, began seeking their stuff out and listening to it, only to find it strangely familiar. Even though I’d heard their stuff before, none of it ever really hit me as hard as “Regret.” As with the aforementioned Promise Ring track, “Regret” perfectly sums up New Order’s entire approach: not quite rock, and not quite dance, but with a solid pop foundation tying the two halves together.

The song starts with typically synthesized strings, which are abruptly cut in half by blasts of trebly guitar until the dance beat and the high melodic bass line, courtesy of Peter Hook (one of the best bassists ever, in my humble opinion, and a huge influence on my playing) take over. It’s an old trick for New Order (and most “dance” bands, technically speaking): put the melody in the bass/synth line and allow the guitar and drum to solidify the rhythm.

For me, what separates New Order from most bands are Bernard Sumner’s vocals. Whereas most dance acts are content to have detached, cold-sounding vocals (fitting an “electronic” background), Sumner’s are intimately warm , and delivered with a heart-wrenching sincerity that makes the cheesiest of lines (which is precisely the reason I won’t re-print most of them here) seem profound and believable.

Essentially a plea for a loved one to forgive him, the chorus is basically a list of things Sumner feels make him the best person for her now, though he freely admits he hasn’t been in the past. The ending phrase seems to sum up the title of the song, as Sumner admits that instead of talking to her or making things right, he’ll just wait until tomorrow, though he guesses “that’s what they all say, just before they fall apart.” The lyrics a wonderful combination of laziness, passive-aggressiveness and relationship anxiety that slaps me in the face every time I hear it and reminds me to get on with my life.

The Lassie Foundation- “El Rey”
If a sunset could be put to tape, this is what it would sound like.

The Lassie Foundation: one of those bands that hardly anyone has heard of, but should be required listening for anyone who likes pop music. "El Rey" is embodiment of lazy California cool, from the hazy feedback wrapping around the echoed guitar strumming to the reverbed-out drumming to the gentle falsetto vocals (the lyrics are as simple as this: “Hoo-ha/It won’t be long/She’s the sun/It won’t be long/Hoo-ha/Here she comes, walking right at you/Good day, El Rey”) to what has to be the laziest slide guitar solo ever written.

I’m not normally a “hard” person, but this song completely melts me in a way few things do. I have this fantasy that I’ll see the girl of my dreams and this song will be playing in the background. It goes like this: we’re at some sort of crowded social function, and I’m looking out across the crowd (most likely bored out of my wits, as I usually am at such things). Suddenly, the sea of people parts for just a moment, and there she is. We lock eyes, and I’m completely stunned, all the air sucked out of me by the weight of her stare and how beautiful she is. Time seems to stop as she puts down her drink and begins walking towards me (in slow motion, I think, although I can’t be sure). Oh, I am dying, I think, and the thought has never seemed so sweet.

Love- “Alone Again Or”
I first heard this song playing in the background of one of my favorite movies ever, Wes Anderson’s “Bottle Rocket,” and spent a few weeks trying to track down who it was (this particular song didn’t make the soundtrack, for some odd reason). When I finally found out who it was, I was just in time for the entire album the song originally appeared on (1967’s “Forever Changes”) to be reissued. I picked it up for that song, but soon came to love the album, as well.

This song is essentially the soundtrack to any desperate relationship. Beginning with a free minor-key flamenco guitar figure, the song soon adds a steady strumming and minimal set playing which ups the intensity, if not the tempo, tenfold. By the time Bryan MacLean comes in with the lead vocal (with principal Love songwriter Arthur Lee joining on harmony), you’re completely swept away by both the insistent pulse of the song as well as it’s exotic feel (augmented by strings and more layers of flamenco playing). The chorus feels like a triumph (albeit a bittersweet one) when it finally explodes with an instantly remember-able melody augmented by a very Spanish-sounding horn section. Among other things, it’s just very smartly-written song. It’s easy to see why it’s a classic.

The Magnetic Fields- "100,000 Fireflies”
I first heard The Magnetic Fields by proxy, as well: Superchunk did an excellent cover of “100,000 Fireflies” on their “Incidental Music” B-sides collection. I remember how weird it was to have such a sweet melody and sad lyrics set against such a punky backdrop. The song, however, was far from ruined: the amount of pop songwriting craft that had gone into it made the song amazing no matter what medium it was presented in.

Lyrically, the song is very simple (though perfectly, and I mean PERFECTLY, rhymed) and beautifully sung by vocalist (at the time) Susan Anyway. Her voice isn’t the best voice I’ve ever heard, but there’s an innocence and sense of hurt in her voice that conveys the meaning of the words far better than principal songwriter/musician Stephen Merritt’s crooning baritone would have.

Musically, the backing is lo-fi synth pop, sounding as if it was recorded on a karaoke machine in Merritt’s basement (which, for all I know, it might have been). Despite the overall tinny-ness of the sound, Merritt wrings some surprising depth out the instrumentation and his vocalist, pointing the way towards what he would soon become: one of the sharpest and most prolific songwriters of in the world of pop music; a modern-day Cole Porter.

The Cure- Friday I’m In Love
Just hearing the opening guitar riff of this song is enough to make me break into a huge grin as I’m transported back to a giddy, head-busting sixteen (not that long ago, I know) when it’s Friday afternoon and I’ve not got a thing to do the entire weekend and I’ve got that girl on my mind (you know the one I’m talking about). For the three-and-a-half-minutes of this song, everything is perfect and nothing in the world can go wrong.

The song is very reminiscent of New Order, in that same echo-ed dance-y pop vein. The Cure were never afraid of atmospherics, and this song definitely contains a fine amount, particularly from lead vocalist Robert Smith’s guitar. The song’s lyrics are atypically lighthearted compared to most Cure fare (and very lighthearted even compared to the album this excellent single came off), but perfectly support the giddy background. There are folks who think that The Cure’s pop material is by far their worst. Those people are idiots, and anyone who took one listen to this song would agree with me: this is pop perfection, plain and simple.

There you have it. Hope I didn't bore you too terribly. As always, if you're bored, please feel free to check out any of the links, and also feel free to do yourself a favor and get your hands on copies of these songs (the links usually show you how to do so). You won't be disappointed.

Honorable Mentions/Ties (Left Out to Make the Post Shorter):
The Magnetic Fields- The Saddest Story Ever Told
The Cure- Just Like Heaven

Also, look for a posted list of a compilation containing my six ever favorite songs (and six or eight other ones that are just pretty good.)

Peace.