Posts by kristen

Sounds Delightful Melodic Mix #7 – December 2017

Posted on by kristen

This month’s mix turned out to be a classics sandwich on 2017 bread. I usually like to have more integration between old and new stuff, but this one just seemed to flow best this way.

(Listen on Spotify instead.)

1. Public Access T.V. — “Metrotech” (2017) A catchy, funky new single with a definite BADII vibe, which of course I love.

2. Taylor Swift — “Call It What You Want” (2017) I don’t really have a fully-formed opinion about Taylor Swift’s new album. I didn’t like the first single, and I haven’t listened to the whole thing yet. But I do like at least this one song, which is little more in the vein of 1989. It has a sparse backing track similar to “Wildest Dreams” and a catchy chorus. The line “My baby’s fly like a jet stream” is also very good.

3. Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds — “She Taught Me How to Fly” (2017) Noel’s new album, Who Built the Moon?, has proven quite a success. “She Taught Me How to Fly” is probably one of my two favorite tracks. The B part is the purest Noel Gallagher melody on the album, particularly the line “I see you praying all the time.” I’m not sure how to describe what’s going on there, but it’s the kind of thing that hits you right in the chest.

4. Teleman — “Bone China Face” (2017) I really like this group, they manage to mix melody and compelling lyrics with a modern electro sound.

5. Eddie Kendricks — “Son of Sagittarius” (1974) This song is a teaser for a larger project I’m working on that involves listening to a lot of songs from 1974. Kendricks was one of the lead singers of the Temptations, and he had a reasonably good solo career in the ‘70s. He’s got an awesome falsetto, and one has to imagine this track sounded a lot more modern and cool than the Temptations concurrent mix of increasingly clunky message songs and bland balladry.

5. The Doobie Brothers — Long Train Runnin’ (1973) I have a theory that music listening goes through three stages: 1) The naive stage where you just hear songs and like them without much reflection; 2) The self-aware stage where you start rejecting songs for being too mainstream or accessible; and 3) The full-circle stage where you begin to really understand that some of the songs you rejected are in fact good, despite the fact that they regularly get played at the grocery store. I’m definitely at Stage 3 when it comes to classic rock, and I have an unexpected new appreciation for the Doobie Brothers. “Long Train Runnin’” rocks pretty hard and it’s got a killer harmonica solo.

6. Fountains of Wayne — “Supercollider” (2003) One of my favorite bands (Fountains of Wayne) doing a straight-up pastiche of one of my other favorite bands (Oasis). It’s a wonder it took me so long to realize it. I wrote a more in-depth discussion of this critical issue earlier this month.

7. Allo Darlin’ — “We Come From the Same Place”(2014) I really miss Allo Darlin’. I recently listened to their final album for the first time in a while and was reminded of how much I love their ability to be open and vulnerable in their music. I was lucky enough to see them perform in Chapel Hill, NC, when they played to a crowd of about 30 people on a Monday night. Singer Elizabeth Morris had a self-possession about her that was very striking — I suppose you need that to write the kind of songs she does.

8. The Seekers — “Georgy Girl” (1966) Do you ever have this experience where there’s a song that’s sort of on the periphery of your listening universe, but you dismiss it until you learn that someone whose taste you respect really likes it. Then it just explodes into your consciousness like, “Oh right, this is good.” That’s what happened to me with “Georgy Girl” after reading about it in Scott Miller’s Music: What Happened?

9. Adam Schmitt — “Can’t Get You On My Mind” (1991) Adam Schmitt is a mainstay of power pop comps for a reason. “Can’t Get You On My Mind” is a classic of the genre both in terms of melody and the way the titles flips a cliche. I came across it on a random thing called “Power Pop Box” that’s on Spotify. It’s got quite a good track list and is also a steal on Amazon ($8.99 for 47 songs) if you’re still the buying type.

10. The Magic Gang — “Alright” (2017) This band can’t lose. They’re continuing proof that basic rock music still works as long as the hooks are there.

11. Sparks — “What the Hell is It This Time?” (2017) “What the Hell is it This Time?” is a great title for a song regardless of what it’s about. But of course Sparks come through in that respect. I love the idea that God is sitting around getting irritated at people’s low-priority prayers: “If Arsenal wins, he really don’t care.”

What’s the Story Interstate Managers?

Posted on by kristen

A few months ago, I was listening to Fountains of Wayne’s Welcome Interstate Managers — a favorite album since its release nearly 15 years ago — and for the first time I realized that it’s hugely influenced by Oasis’s (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?. Since then, I can’t stop making this connection. It’s not exactly a revelation, as cursory Googling reveals that many initial reviews of Interstate Managers remarked on the similarity, and various Oasis fan forums have some chatter about the topic as well. Still there’s no definitive analysis of the phenomenon, so I figured why not provide one?

Mashup of What's the Story Morning Glory and Welcome Interstate Managers album coversThe most obvious example of the FoW-Oasis connection is “Supercollider.” This song is such a clear Oasis homage that I can’t believe I listened to it for over a decade without realizing it. (I suppose my excuse is that I wasn’t thinking much about Oasis from about 2003-2013.) The title references “Champagne Supernova” and “Supersonic,” the opening acoustic guitar sounds a lot like the opening to “Wonderwall,” and Chris Collingwood’s vocals are amazingly similar to Liam Gallagher’s when he wants them to be. But what really makes this homage pop is the way that “Supercollider” captures the feel of an Oasis song. It evokes a kind of grand emotional landscape, despite being mostly nonsense.

Most of Interstate Managers’ more rockin’ tracks repeat this trick to varying extents. “Bought for a Song,” “Elevator Up,” and “Little Red Light” all borrow a bit of Noel’s guitar tone and Liam’s snarl — just listen to the line “It may be time to pay up and gee-ohh,” on “Elevator Up.”

Of course the two bands are very different in a lot of ways. Oasis is brasher and more straightforward in their rock sound, and they’re also known for being obnoxious louts. Fountains of Wayne favor a suburban naturalism defined by ironic story-songs and polished arrangements. Still, even in a song like “Fire Island,” which is classic FoW in every respect, a little bit of Oasis influence sneaks in. The middle eight features a guitar solo that owes much to Noel’s playing on “Champagne Supernova” or “Don’t Look Back in Anger.” It has that burbling quality, like beads of oil rising up through a jar of water.

And maybe the connection isn’t that surprising after all. The gorgeous muted trumpet that starts out the middle eight on “Fire Island”’ is certainly influenced by some mid-century, easy-listening Bacharach — a sound that Noel Gallagher has unsubtly embraced on Oasis’s b-sides. And really, Fountains of Wayne and Oasis are both bands whose raison d’être is creating songs that sound good and that people will like. Morning Glory and Interstate Managers are like pop twin stars — one British, opaque, and defiant; the other American, witty, and glossy — united  by a devotion to great melodies above all else. Fountains of Wayne may have been emulating Oasis on Interstate Managers, but both bands likely share many of the same influences and have worn different paths from the same pop truth.

Sounds Delightful Melodic Mix #6 – November 2017

Posted on by kristen

November’s Sounds Delightful mix developed an unplanned theme that might be best expressed by the title of one of its tracks — what is hip? Is it a band created solely for a TV show that became an enduring cultural force? Is it an established rock musician coming out with an upbeat joyfest that’s been compared to Ricky Martin? Is it a very ’90s mix of country and dance? Is it a band that unabashedly embraces gentleness? None of these things might typically called hip, but they all make for wonderful pop music.

(Listen on Spotify)

Sparks — “I Wish You Were Fun” (2017)

The central theme of “I Wish You Were Fun” is pretty much what it says on the tin. What makes it great is the way Sparks cycle through so many rationalizations for why this lack of fun is not a problem: “No one ever changes/Why even bring it up,” “You know she’s from somewhere where/Authority ruled supreme,” “And maybe you’re fun in subtle ways/Too subtle for me.” But in the end it’s no good. To add insult to injury, the song itself, with its jaunty piano and “la la las,” is most definitely fun. The thought of either of the Maels ending up in this un-fun relationship is — to allude to another song on their new album Hippopotamus — a bummer.

The Monkees — “Take a Giant Step” (1966)

A Goffin/King deep cut from the Monkees’ first album. “Take a Giant Step” follows in the footsteps of songs like The Beatles “There’s a Place” and The Beach Boys’ “In My Room,” which take pop music to a more self-aware and reflective place.

Parthenon Huxley — “Bazooka Joe” (1994)

This month I broke out one of the classic Yellow Pills compilations for the first time in a while. Straight up power pop is not a genre that’s generally aged well for me, but when the melodies and lyrics are strong, it’s still pretty great. “Bazooka Joe” scores on both counts. The melody is lovely and plaintive. Similarly, the words are searching and bittersweet, pondering the ways that “We find convenient truth/in whatever we choose” — whether that be a gum wrapper or perhaps, metaphorically speaking, pop music itself.

Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds — “Holy Mountain” (2017)

Noel has been promising that his next album will be a rocker, and the first single delivers. “Holy Mountain” has got a wall of horns, whistling, some “ooh ooh ooh” backing vocals, and it’s all about the glory of love. Apparently some fans are mad that the chorus bears a similarity to the Ricky Martin song “She Bangs.” I have no problem with that.

Tower of Power — “What is Hip?” (1973)

I remember hearing “What is Hip?” during my high school days listening to Vin Scesla’s Idiot’s Delight. I don’t know a lot about Tower of Power, but I like the fact that Wikipedia describes them as “an American R&B-based horn section and band” rather than the other way around. The early ‘70s were clearly a peak time for horns. The title question of this song also resonates with me, as evidenced in the themes of this blog.

Shania Twain — “That Don’t Impress Me Much (Dance Remix)” (1997)

“That Don’t Impress Me Much” hit its peak on the Billboard Hot 100 in June 1999, when I was sixteen. That’s an age when even songs you don’t particularly care about lodge themselves permanently in your brain. A couple weeks ago, I listened to a HAIM cover version. I thought it was kind of an inspired choice, so I went and listened to the original. While I could sing along with every word, I was not prepared for the ridiculous ‘90s dance backing track! It’s like Cher’s “Believe” meets something just barely country, yet the abundance of hooks and Shania’s performance make it work. There’s no way that her little trick of letting her vocal slide from singing into talking hasn’t been a huge influence on Taylor Swift. (Edit: This is actually a dance remix, not the original track.)

The Bee Gees — “I Can’t Let You Go” (1974)

I finally reviewed my favorite Bee Gees album, Mr. Natural, earlier this month. “I Can’t Let You Go” has probably the most compelling melody on the a whole album, with a kind of vortex effect that mirrors the nature of this obsessive love affair.

Elvis Costello and the Attractions — “Party Girl” (1979)

This deep cut from the excellent Armed Forces album is an embarrassment of songwriting riches. There are literally only three lines repeated in the whole song, and the rest is bursting with words and wordplay — from the juxtaposition of “party girl” and “party, girl” to the inversion of “grip-like vice.” It’s also totally catchy and wonderfully produced by Nick Lowe.

Belle and Sebastian — “I’ll Be Your Pilot” (2017)

“I’ll Be Your Pilot” is one of the singles from Belle and Sebastian’s forthcoming 3-EP set, the awesomely titled How to Solve our Human Problems. I think it might be advice given by a parent to a child, but in any case, it’s tone of gentle comfort seems to fit in well with Stuart Murdoch’s statements about the project being a statement against anger. I continue to be amazed by the way these guys stay relevant and keep up the high level of quality.

Scott Gagner — “Someone” (2017)

A classic pop sound, totally carried by the quality of the songwriting. Same goes for Gagner’s full album, Pins & Needles. The female backing singer, whose name I couldn’t find, deserves some serious credit for the success of this project as well.

Martin Newell — “Wow! Look at That Old Man” (2007)

I’ve been enjoying Martin’s Newell’s “Oddcast” on Mixcloud. It’s very eclectic, and Newell is as charming as you’d expect him to be. He shares a great story about “Wow! Look at That Old Man” in episode 15, which details how a small child saw him riding his bike and said those words. The song has a bit of a ‘50s doo-wop vibe and a hammy vocal, and it’s a lot of fun.

The Commodores — “Easy” (1977)

I’ve only just realized how much I love this song. Lionel Richie can be forgiven pretty much any ’80s absurdity for giving us the wistful dignity of “Easy.” The middle eight is the high point of the song. It takes it up to another level of emotion and features a great, slightly feedback-y guitar solo. If you normally hear “Easy” on the radio, make sure to stick it out for the full album version. It’s got a little key change on the final chorus that’s missing from the radio edit, and it totally makes the ending.

Pop Masterpiece: Mr. Natural by The Bee Gees

Posted on by kristen

I see the Bee Gees two best albums — Mr. Natural and Main Course — as having a yin and yang relationship. Main Course was The Bee Gee’s first foray into the R&B/disco sound that eventually made them superstars, but it still retained touch of their old vocal harmony roots. Its predecessor, Mr. Natural, is a gentler album that features a touch of soul, but still tips the scale toward the easy-listening vocal pop that had defined The Bee Gees’ career thus far. But Mr. Natural is also an eclectic album that shows the group searching for a new sound, incorporating a wider range of influences, and all the while remaining completely themselves.

The title track is easily the standout, and it’s got the kind of opening I adore. After just a few bars, Robin’s voice comes right in, warm and clear and high in the mix. He’s got that unmistakable Kermit the Frog quality that’s odd and appealing all at once. The lyrics are unique and vivid, especially the lead-in to the second verse: “Rusty rainbows/that’s how the pain goes.” The chorus is a triumph as well, featuring some gorgeous harmonies and a lovely, natural falsetto on the “cry, cry, cry” lyric. “Mr. Natural” also uses that great pop conceit of hiding one’s tears by going out in the rain. It’s one of the great mysteries of pop that a song can take something ridiculous that no real person would ever do, and make it seem so poignant and emotionally true.

“Down the Road” is probably the closest to rocking that The Bee Gees ever came, and there’s a definite Lindsey Buckingham vibe on Barry’s vocals and the guitar. There’s also a swagger to Barry’s vocal performance that really had no precedent in the group’s catalog. I love the lyric “I don’t care/I’d show my feelings anywhere.” That line might be the crux of The Bee Gees whole career for me. They’re a band who’s never shied away from being openly emotional, but suddenly on Mr. Natural, that emotion comes bursting out in new ways.

On “Dogs,” it sounds like Barry’s been listening to a lot of Elton John. This is primarily a piano ballad, and both the verse and chorus feature Barry singing largely without backing harmonies. There’s a little pre-course wedged in, though, that’s pure Bee Gees, full of glorious, intense harmonies. “Dogs” is also one of the group’s last great story-songs, describing the relationship between a son and his derelict, alcoholic father. As songwriters, they’re great that that kind of thing, turning out expressive lines like, “You now he’s lived a thousand years from day to day.”

The award for best tune on Mr. Natural goes to “I Can’t Let you Go.” The minor key melody is like a vortex, especially on the chorus, which kind of swirls around for a bit then builds to a crescendo, before circling back around like it could start all over again, and that would be just fine. It’s the song on this album that I’m most likely to wake up with in my head in the middle of the night. There’s a nice horn arrangement and some rather good guitar playing as well.

Mr. Natural contains plenty of other great tracks: the delicate love balladry of “Charade,” the folky “Voices,” the slight twang of “Lost in Your Love,” and Robin’s gorgeous high harmonies on “Give a Hand, Take a Hand.” The variety of approaches and influences makes the record work as a whole — it’s never too same-y and there’s always something to look forward too. It’s also remarkably consistent in quality. There’s only one bum note on the whole thing, and that’s “Heavy Breathing,” an attempt at the kind of R&B-influenced sound they would embrace more successfully on Main Course. You can tell it’s a bit of a clunker just from the title, and the group is probably better off sticking to singing about the chaste virgin queens of “I Can’t Let You Go” than this panting mess. I will note that I never skip it, though.

Taken as a whole, Mr. Natural is an album that is in some ways is inseparable from Main Course and in some ways its opposite. Both albums represent a group at the peak of its vocal and compositional prowess, and both were flawlessly produced by Arif Mardin. One leans more classic pop with a touch of R&B, and the other swaps the proportions, both to great success. But what makes Mr. Natural unique for me is a  freewheeling pop eclecticism that no other Bee Gees record really has. I’d have to say it’s my favorite.

Past loves (part 2)

Posted on by kristen

A couple weeks ago, I began writing about the bands I’ve previously had intense infatuations with. Here’s the promised part two of that article.

The Format/fun.

Height of infatuation: 2011-2012 (ages 28-29)

Then: I’ve combined these two bands because my infatuation was mainly for two albums that shared certain people and elements. The Format’s final album, Dog Problems, and fun.’s first, Aim + Ignite, both combined the talents of singer Nate Ruess, producer Steven Shane MacDonald, and arranger Roger Joseph Manning, Jr. And both albums amalgamated a wide range of pop influences usually too square for the 2000s: the melodicism of Harry Nilsson, the bombast of Queen, the baroque arrangements of ELO.

These bands also marked a reentry into music fandom for me. The years between the end of college and this period found me stagnating a bit, mostly listening to favorites or new-to-mes like XTC. But 2010 also marked the start of a streaming music service called Rdio that made me care about music again. It came out a bit before Spotify in the US, and it’s social features were still the best I’ve seen in this type of service. I managed to make a bunch of internet friends who shared playlists and chatted about music. I heard fun.’s song “Light a Roman Candle With Me” on one of these playlists and suddenly felt like new music had something to offer me again.

fun. pintrest meme" So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side."
fun. writes the kind of songs that people make into Pintrest memes.

Special soulmate: I’m a borderline Millennial, and Nate Ruess is very close to my age. He’s probably the first Millennial songwriter I’ve loved and the first who has a sensibility and set of experiences that felt more like real life than a fantasy. Nate is almost uncool in the way he sings about things like loving his parents (“Snails” and “The Gambler”) and a kind of earnest need for self discovery (“But between MTV and Mr. O’Reilly/I’ve come to find, that I cant be defined”). Unlike many pop stars, he seems less interested in rebellion or provocation than in being a good person and doing the right thing.

Now: fun.’s Some Nights album was a big change in direction. It was produced by Jeff Bhasker, who has produced for people like Beyonce and Kanye West. As such, it had a much trendier sound, full of autotune and hip-hop influences. Some Nights was still a pretty good album and continued many of Nate Ruess’s favorite lyrical themes, but it definitely marked the end of the old pop sound. It hasn’t helped that fun. have not released anything since. Still, I consider Aim + Ignite and Dog Problems to be two off my all-time favorite albums, and I continue to listen to them regularly. I also haven’t stopped dreaming of a reunion of either band with their production/arranging dream team.

Oasis

Height of infatuation: 2013-2016 (ages 30-33)

Then: Oasis is a strange one, because my infatuation with them developed after nearly two decades of passing acquaintanceship. I bought (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? back in 1995 during the height of Oasis’s U.S. popularity. I saw them as being a bit like the Beatles — a melodic British rock band out the conquer the states. My middle school interest didn’t last long, but I have a crystal clear memory of putting on Morning Glory near the end of high school and being blindsided by the mix of familiarity and freshness upon hearing it again — my first brush with nostalgia. It was such a strong sensation that I immediately bought Definitely Maybe and rekindled a casual interest in the band.

Fastforward to 2013. My husband rented us a copy of a documentary called Live Forever. It’s not about Oasis per se, but about the Britpop phenomenon more generally. It featured extensive interviews with the major players, and it was love at first sight for me and Noel (or at least me). I hadn’t realized that he was so funny and insightful. I started listening to Definitely Maybe and Morning Glory again and expanding into the rest of the Oasis catalog. The next thing I knew, I was buying old CD singles so I could have all their b-sides and reading cheesy-looking (but actually good) books about the Gallaghers’ childhoods.

Cover of the book Brothers: From Childhood to Oasis, by Paul Gallagher
My husband bought me this Oasis book as a joke. I loved it.

Special soulmate: Noel Gallagher is one of the best ever melodic songwriters, and his compositions radiate a kind of pure emotion that makes me feel understood in a non-verbal way. Noel is also a compelling figure to me because of the contrast between his rude, curmudgeonly exterior and the sensitive, wistful nature of his music (and occasionally his comments when he stops being snarky). Oasis as a band is cut from the same pattern. They’re known for being big, dumb, and loud, but actually I think most people who love them do so because of the way Noel lets that soft underbelly peek out.

Now: I’d say my Oasis infatuation ended shortly after I saw Noel Gallagher live in July 2016. I kind of knew it would happen. The infatuation had been too strong for too long to really hold for much longer, and the live show provided a capstone to the whole experience. I still love the band and listen to them a lot more moderately. There’s obviously still a spark there, since the release of Noel’s new single has got me excited for his new album and U.S. tour.

It’s funny that there are certain people in my life (real people who’ve made an impression on me, not just pop idols) who I still dream about, despite not having seen them for years. I think when you have that true connection, it never really leaves you. Silly as it may sound, I seem to have that connection, one-sided though it may be, with Noel Gallagher. (Like seriously, I just had a dream that I told Noel about my favorite restaurant in Raleigh. He seemed really interested and said he’d check it out.)

The Bee Gees

Height of infatuation: 2017-Present (ages 34-?)

Then/Now: The Bee Gees have been my current obsession, and they’re a good one. They have a lot of albums, and they’ve worked in a wide range of styles, so there’s plenty to delve into. I began getting into The Bee Gees mainly because of Noel Gallagher’s endorsement of their early work. Then, I read the excellent Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! by Bob Stanely, which contains an entire chapter that’s basically a paean to the band. That really set me off, and I’ve been getting to know their catalog over the past year.

The Bee Gees synthesize a lot of what I love about the other bands listed here: the melodicism of the Beatles, the uncoolness of fun., the obtuse yet emotional lyrics (and brotherly dynamics) of Oasis, and occasionally even the country-pop hybrid of the Old 97’s. There’s a passage in Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! where Stanley contemplates his favorite bands. He lists the The Bee Gees as a contender, but ultimately concludes, “Too much to explain.” I actually kind of like how hard it is to explain the disconnect between the band’s popular image as avatars of disco excess and the real wealth of diversity that actually marks their catalog. Like my initial discovery of The Beatles, I feel once again that I’ve discovered a treasure trove that only the privileged few appreciate.

Barry Gibb at a Grammy Salute to The Bee Gees
Barry is moved by his recent Grammy salute.

Special soulmate: As much as I’d like it to be Robin, who I think is well under appreciated, Barry is the Bee Gee I think about most. It’s a little hard to say that he’s The Bee Gee’s best song writer, as Maurice and especially Robin were such essential contributors to the band’s compositions. It’s more a collection of compelling things about him. He’s certainly got a swagger, as evidenced in the Stayin’ Alive video, as well as a sense of humor. (Read  almost any Wikipedia entry for a Bee Gees song for some great Barry quotes). It makes me happy that he’s been married for 47 years and has a zillion kids and grandkids. He’s also a bit of a tragic figure at this point. I watched a recent Grammy Salute to The Bee Gees, and it was super sad to see Barry stand up and talk about how all three of his brothers are gone, leaving him to accept the honor on his own. But he also seemed genuinely touched at the celebration of his music, and it really made me like him.

Final thoughts

I’ve read that infatuation is a useful tool because it gets you to fall in love with someone and (theoretically) reproduce. But you can’t stay at that level of obsession forever, because you’d never get anything done. Either the relationship ends or it settles into a much more manageable level of enjoyment and commitment — often known as love. Looking over these bands I’ve been infatuated with, I’m pleased to see that most of have settled down into that mature love state.

I remember once a teacher in high school telling our class that a long term relationship has its ebbs and flows. Sometimes things between her and her husband were fine, and other times they felt like teenagers again. That reflection stuck with me. I see these waves reflected in my relationships to my favorite bands as well. Once the initial infatuation has passed, I’ll experience periods of stability and of renewed interest.

That said, I do still enjoy the fact that new infatuations come along from time to time. It’s exciting to get to relive the feeling of falling in love with a band. And as long as it keeps happening to me, I continue to feel alive and young as a music fan. I hope that I always will.

Sounds Delightful Melodic Mix #5 – October 2017

Posted on by kristen

I’m pleased with this month’s mix. I think it has a nice flow, and it brings together many  of the things that I’ve been enjoying — and that have been influencing my music listening — this month: Scott Miller’s book, Music: What Happened?, the return of Pseu’s Thing with a Hook, the great BoJack Horseman on Netflix, and finally some new contenders for favorite album of 2017.

Listen on Mixcloud:

or on Spotify.

Beck — “Up All Night” (2017)

I’m glad that Beck is willing to release a pice of candy like “Up All Night.” It’s hooky with a disco beat and synth strings straight out of “Call Me Maybe.” The middle eight is even reminiscent of the middle eight from Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off.” I was also amused that a DJ on our local alternative station (I believe seriously) suggested this track as “Song of the Fall.”

Alvvays — “Lollipop (Ode to Jim)” (2017)

Alvvays’s new album, Antisocialites has turned out to be a really good start-to-finish listen. “Lollipop” is a shimmering, frantic piece of power pop. It’s in part an “Alex Chilton”-like ode to Jim Reid of The Jesus and Mary Chain, and the song opens with a little bit of feedback as a fitting tribute. It also seems to describe a chaotic relationship, and it’s got some striking, idiosyncratic lines that really jump out, like “You grabbed my wrist and said you liked my keychain.”

Skeeter Davis — “Let Me Get Close to You” (1964)

I’ve been slowly making my way through Scott Miller’s book, Music: What Happened? (It takes a while when you end up listening to every song.) As I make my way through the ’60s, I’m discovering some gems — a real treat, since I already consider myself pretty well-versed on that era. Miller describes this song as “sweet, charmingly plain,” but with a “mysterious lure.” One of the things I like about his commentary is that he often seems to struggle just as much as me to put his finger on what makes one song sparkle, while another one falls flat. There’s no doubt this one is a winner though.

Old 97’s — “Roller Skate Skinny” (2001)

Writing my post about past musical loves inspired me to listen to some Old 97’s this month. “Roller Skate Skinny” really holds up well. It’s twangy, yet poppy, and is filled with more clever, vivid lyrics than any one song really has a right to. This one deserves a top 5 best lines:

5. I believe in love, but it don’t believe in me
4. You’re gonna wake up with a ghost instead of a guy
3. Love feels good when it sits right down, puts it feet up on a table, and it sends a bowl around
2. Every other day is a kick in the shins/Every other day it’s like the day just wins
1. Do you wanna meet up at the Pickwick Bowl/We can knock nine down and leave one in the hole

The Sneetches — “Over Round Each Other” (1991)

One of the best things that’s happened so far this fall is the return of Pseu’s Thing with a Hook on WFMU! This show really influenced me to do my radio show and to continue with this blog. Power pop is only one component of Pseu’s show, but when she plays it, she always manages to find some gems that transcend the sometimes-boring confines of the genre. This song from ‘80s/‘90s obscurities The Sneetches has a spiraling quality to its lyrics and melody, balanced by not one, but two great middle eights. Jangle perfection.

The Lemon Twigs — “Why Didn’t You Say That?” (2017)

The Lemon Twigs are the most recent torchbearers for the kind of exuberant, baroque arrangements embraced by Jellyfish and early fun. Their melodies can be a little spotty, which prevented me from really loving their debut as a whole. But this track from their forthcoming second album manages to get the hooks right, along with some fanfare and a nice minor-key middle eight.

Morrissey — “Spent the Day in Bed” (2017)

Morissey’s new single is an ode to the mental health day, but it’s got a serious side as well. His advice to “Stop watching the news!/Because the news contrives to frighten you/To make you feel small and alone/To make you feel that your mind isn’t your own” is one of the most piecing and relevant things I’ve heard in a song recently.

Orange Juice — “Rip It Up” (1982)

“Rip It Up” is an amalgamation several great elements that you wouldn’t necessarily think would work together: funky Genus of Love synths, an over-the-top ’80s sax solo, and a slightly gloomy post-punk vocal.

ABC — “When Smokey Sings” (1987)

Sometimes I think it’s easy to call something cheesy as a way of distancing oneself from an expression of emotion that is so personal and unguarded that it’s actually a bit embarrassing. “When Smokey Sings” falls into this category. How can you really describe the feelings you experience when you hear you favorite music? It’s hard, and you might resort to saying something slightly ridiculous like “I hear violins.” I applaud ABC for recoding something so revealing and doing it with such panache.

Jane Krakowski and Colman Domingo — “I Will Always Think of You” (2017)

One of the best things about the current Golden Age of Television is that it gives us shows like BoJack Horseman that can be funny, inappropriate, absurd, existential, and sad — all while remaining completely watchable. Then, just to polish it off, the show’s like, “Let’s just have our writers come up with a little original song and get two broadway stars to sing it perfectly. No problem.” “I Will Always Think of You,” which appears in a Season 4 episode that flashes back to BoJack’s grandparents during World War II, sounds like it could have come right out of that time period, and it’s lovely. The episode it’s part of is exquisite as well.

Hector and the Leaves — “Call You Up” (2017)

I got a chance to interview Tom Hector, the man behind Hector and the Leaves, for my old radio show a couple years ago. One of the things that stuck with me from our conversation  was how much he likes making EPs, because they feel like a better space for playing around with things like little instrumentals and demo-ish bits of songs. Tom’s new EP, Interiors, definitely has this feel. “Call You Up” is probably the most polished track on the EP, which I tend to like, but the whole thing’s got great melodies and an Elliot Smith vibe.

The Go-Betweens — “Quiet Heart” (1988)

I wish I had the vocabulary to explain how a melody can so effectively convey a feeling of longing. No matter how many times I hear the wistful beauty of “Quiet Heart,” — well, for lack of a better explanation — I hear violins. Literally, in this case, as the song has a lovely string section. It’s also got a mournful harmonica solo that rounds out the overall mood.

The Clientele — “Museum of Fog” (2017)

The Clientele’s Music for the Age of Miracles is another new album I’ve been enjoying. “Museum of Fog” is a spoken word piece, and its story has a dreamlike quality that’s kind of like a gentler David Lynch movie. Some of the phrases just sound wonderful spoken in a soft British voice: “I left the towpath as the light began to fade,” “The jukebox still boasted a 45 by Twinkle, thirty years after it dropped out of the charts.” The background music is a dreamy wash of sound, with some chiming, plucked guitar notes coming through. The overall effect is that doesn’t exactly make sense, but still means something.

Past loves (part 1)

Posted on by kristen

Relationships with bands can be a lot like relationships with people. Some are pleasant acquaintances who you like, but only seem to run into once in a while. Beck, for example, is someone I want to get to know better, but I just don’t meet him often enough. Others are more like friends in particular circumstances. Like co-worker who’s always up for a coffee break, Real Estate is a band I only listen to when I need something to make my work day a little more bearable, without completely derailing productivity. And then there are the steady, lifelong friends — the ones I can always reconnect with, no matter how long it’s been since we last hung out. Belle and Sebastian, Fountains of Wayne, John Wesley Harding, The Zombies — they have been some of my constant musical companions.

But I can also fall in love with a band, the way I’d fall in love with a person. These relationships are true infatuations. I start neglecting my other musical interests to listen to the beloved band all the time. I find myself thinking about them during work meetings or before falling asleep at night. I develop a conviction that I would connect with a certain songwriter on a deep, personal level, should we ever meet.

These infatuations usually last a couple years, and they always end at some point. Recently I was chatting with an friend about The Old 97’s, a band that we both loved in college, but who I never listen to anymore. It got me thinking about some of these past loves and the way my relationships with them have evolved over time. While the height of infatuation can never last, the experience of being in love with a band leaves its mark, just as it does with people.

The Beatles

Height of infatuation: 1995-circa 1997 (ages 12-14)

Super '60s John
Super ’60s John

Then: I’ve already covered my Beatles obsession quite extensively in a previous post, so I’ll be brief here. The Beatles Anthology television show, which aired in 1995, kicked off my first real music infatuation, which lasted for at least the rest of my middle school years.

Special soulmate: At the time, I suppose it was John. He was the leader, the clever one, the symbol. And he was dead, which somehow made him seem more romantic. My connection to him was vague and immature, but I remember it had something to do with an idealized vision of the 1960s, a time period I became obsessed with after discovering The Beatles. It was a fantasy world of peace and meditation, Agent 99 dresses, and the best music being the most popular. I liked to imagine I had been born in the wrong time, and this perhaps tied into my general feeling of not always fitting in at school. John let me believe I was different in a good way, and that gave me comfort.

Now: While I still love the Beatles, I only listen to them occasionally. I’ve heard their songs so many times that it’s almost like I can’t hear them anymore. But once in a while, I still catch a particular album just right and enjoy it in a fresh way. And I still think about them. I adopted Paul as my true favorite Beatle a while ago, and recently, for the first time ever, I decided on a favorite Beatles song — “She Came in Through the Bathroom Window.” It so perfectly encapsulates Paul’s melodicism, coupled with nonsense lyrics that nonetheless seem to convey wistful depths on lines like “She could steal, but she could not rob.” Most certainly an influence on Oasis and my future love for Oasis.

The Old 97’s

Height of infatuation: 2001-2005 (ages 18-22)

Then: The first Old 97’s song I heard was “What We Talk About” from 1999’s Fight Songs album. DJ Vin Scelsa played it on his Idiot’s Delight radio program, one of my early gateways into non-mainstream pop. I liked the song, but didn’t get fully into The Old 97’s until their next album, Satellite Rides, came out in 2001, a few months before I graduated high school.

In contrast to my previous obsession with the Beatles and the ’60s, I now loved a band whose creative peak matched the peak of my infatuation. Between 2002 and 2005, I saw The Old 97’s or Rhett Miller about a dozen times, always accompanied by my friend Tom. I remember he told me that I smiled in a different way during these shows, a way that he didn’t really see during my everyday activities. I take this as an indicator that I was enjoying the band in an unselfconscious way that only true love could inspire.

My signed copy of Rhett's first solo album
My signed copy of Rhett’s first solo album

Special soulmate: It didn’t hurt that the Old 97’s lead singer, Rhett Miller, was exactly the kind of frontman that I could without hesitation or embarrassment describe as a dreamboat. (Which I once did, memorably, at a meeting of my college newspaper staff. I think people were surprised, because I’m not usually emotionally demonstrative.) Rhett looked like a model, but and his music was a perfect melding of pop melodies, sex, and literary references. “Rollerskate Skinny” is probably the apotheosis of this combination, from the title allusion to the line “Let’s knock nine down and leave on in the hole.”

Now: The end of college, along with a couple less than perfect albums, spelled the end of my romance with the Old 97’s. I sill love Fight Songs and Satellite Rides, as well as much of their early catalog, but they haven’t had an album I’ve really gotten into since then. On the whole, I’d have to say that The Old 97’s are the past love that I engage with least these days. That’s a little sad to contemplate, but it doesn’t undo the great times I had with the band and what they gave me. They helped me understand the value of country music, discover the transcendence that can be found in a live show, and begin listening to a greater variety of music.

XTC

Height of infatuation: 2008-2010 (Ages 25-27)

Then: XTC was a band who I never got, until I did. As I began to define my music taste more deliberately, I found that I could identify bands I might like using terms like “power pop” or “melodic pop.” XTC always came up as something I should like. I bought a couple of their albums at some point — I think Oranges & Lemons and Wasp Star — but I never really got into them. They sat on the shelf for quite a while.

My interest in XTC was renewed by two events that would prove to be pretty influential in my life. First, I moved in with my then-boyfriend, now-husband Josh, who owned and liked the album Skylarking. Second, we started DVRing 120 Minutes on VH1 Classic. The second item might seem trivial, but Josh and I still watch these music videos together today, and they have been the source for countless music discoveries over the past decade. I think it was “Mayor of Simpleton” — a shimmering, gleeful romp — that resuscitated my interest in the band. From there, I got really into the albums from the second half of their career: Skylarking through Wasp Star.

Andy Partridge — silly and serious

Special soulmate: I think I needed to be a little bit older to appreciate Andy Partridge’s songwriting style. While he’s certainly capable of crafting the pure pop of “Mayor of Simpleton” or “Stupidly Happy,” he also comes closer to writing intelligently about the meaning of life than any other songwriter I can think of. “The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead” looks at the power of heroes, but also acknowledges that nobility potentially lies within all people. “Harvest Festival” beautifully conveys the sharpness of first love and the nostalgia of its contemplation. “The Wheel and the Maypole” captures the ever changing nature of existence and the futility of resisting this change. I couldn’t appreciate these sentiments until I had a little more life experience — and it may be a bit laughable to assume I’ve full appreciated them even still. The upside is that there will also be more meaning to find and contemplate in Andy’s songs.

Now: There was no one event that ended my XTC period, it just kind of faded out. The depth and emotional clarity of their songs still resonates for me, and I’d say I now listen to them a normal amount compared with other bands I like. In some ways, they are like an ex-boyfriend who actually manages to become a friend.

Note: This article got very long, so I’m breaking it up into two parts. Part two should be along soon.

Sounds Delightful Melodic Mix #4 – September 2017

Posted on by kristen

Or listen on Spotify

This has not been a banner month for blogging, as I was out of town 17 days between August 1 and today.  However, I did manage to scrounge up a monthly mix, held together with some great new singles and a number of favorites. I’m influenced this month by seeing Belle and Sebastian live, revisiting one hit wonders from Pilot and Macy Gray, and nurturing a burgeoning interest in songwriter Jimmy Webb. I’ve got one more trip left to go, then I hope return to more regular writing later in September. Until then, enjoy!

Culture Club — “Church of the Poison Mind” (1983)

My husband and I have developed an interesting shorthand for talking about a band’s hit songs. We call their most well-known single their “first song” and work our way down the line. “Church of the Poison Mind” is Culture Club’s “third song,” but based on quality it probably deserves to be their second — definitely ahead of “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” but ambiguous in relation to “Karma Chameleon.” In its favor, “Church of the Poison” mind is really catchy, it’s got a harmonica solo, and back-up vocalist Helen Terry basically steals the show.

Jellyfish — “Joining a Fan Club” (1993)

Jellyfish’s Spilt Milk album never gets old for me. “Joining a Fan Club” is everything that makes the band great: bombast, melody, and a great pop vocal. Lyrically the analogy between pop music and religion is brilliant. The top five lines from this song:

1. If you wanna go to heaven, all you gotta do is pay to pray
2. Filling my bathtub with t-shirts and 8x10s (or holy water and amens)
3. He turns me on when he wears that lampshade crown of thorns
4. I wished I’d loved him/Before fate crashed his car
5. I still get heartburn when I think about all of the stamps I ate.

Alvvays — “Dreams Tonite” (2017)

I was vaguely aware of this Canadian group’s debut a couple years ago, but the singles from their forthcoming second album have really caught my notice. “Dreams Tonite” has a slightly dreamy quality, but not so ethereal that it just drifts away. The middle eight especially is a little more weighty, with its short, punchy lines. Looking forward to this full album.

The Clientele — “Everyone You Meet” (2017)

The Clientele’s new singles have also been excellent. They too tend to play a pretty dreamy brand of pop, so this track is downright upbeat for them, with a great understated horn line.

Pilot — Magic (1974)

A “Mr. Blue Sky”-esque Beatles ripoff, “Magic” is simply a joy. It’s probably the best song that could ever appear on one of those solid gold hits of the ’70s compilations (which I love). I recently learned that Pilot actually has one other good song (“Just a Smile”), but this one really can’t be topped.

Belle and Sebastian — “The Boy With the Arab Strap” (1998)

One of the highlights from the Belle and Sebastian concert I attended last month (also the subject of the only blog post I managed to complete last month). It’s odd to hear a song this gentle named for a sexual device (you can look it up, it’s not gross or anything), but it’s not about that either. It’s got handclaps, a recorder solo, a jaunty piano, and a kind of shuffling beat. It’s also surprisingly good to dance to.

The Who — “The Quiet One” (1981)

I finally got around to listening to the full album of Face Dances. “You Better You Bet” is my favorite Who song (and one of my overall favorite songs), but the album itself it a bit of a mixed bag. “The Quiet One” is the next strongest track. It’s an introvert anthem, written and sung by John Entwistle. The Wikipedia article for the song features a great quote from Entwistle, who was apparently known for being the quiet one of the Who: “I wrote ‘Quiet One’ especially to replace ‘My Wife’ onstage. I had gotten tired of singing that and ‘Boris the Spider.’” I love how he could barely be bothered to write this song.

Josh Ritter — “Showboat” (2017)

This new single from Josh Ritter makes good use of the classic pop trope of hiding your tears in the rain. (See also The Everly Brothers’ “Crying in the Rain” and the Bee Gees’ “Mr. Natural,” which I’m now sort of wishing I had included on this mix.) I’ve gotten into this groove with Josh Ritter where end up liking one song from each of his albums. When he’s in this tight, poppy mode, he’s unstoppable. But his slower, folkier songs just don’t really do it for me. The coda is the best part of this song, and it reminds me a little of the middle eight from “Dreams Tonite.”

Jake Bugg — “How Soon the Dawn” (2017)

I tried to like Jake Bugg’s previous two albums, but they never really took for me. This new single is very promising though. It’s closer to the new Clientele song — or maybe even to Donovan — than the harsher, Dylan-esque vocals of his earlier albums. The guitar playing is lovely too, and guitars are usually about the fifth thing I notice in a song.

The Junior League — “Please (I Need You To)” (2015)

A pure pop ditty with plenty of jangle and falsetto. I don’t know a lot about this group, but both Scott McCaughey (of the Minus 5) and Jay Ferguson (of Sloan) were involved with their album — some pretty good pop bonafides.

Macy Gray — “I Try” (2000)

Every time I hear this song I think to myself, “What a perfect song! What a perfect one hit wonder!” The arrangement is so smooth, especially the transition from the opening strings to the poppier notes of the first verse and that great little pause on the word “stop.” (With all due respect to Elvis Costello’s “Alison”). But despite all this, I then proceed to not hear the song again for the next five years. Why is it not on the hits station every day? Surely it could be played in place of, say, “I Want to Know What Love Is.” Maybe now I will to listen to it more.

The Monkees — “You and I” (1969)

Released after The Monkees tv show was cancelled and Peter Took quit the band, “You and I” manages to be remarkably good. Oh yeah, it also features Neil Young on guitar.

Johnny Maestro and the Brooklyn Bridge — “The Worst That Could Happen” (1969)

I’ve always loved this song. I have this really fond memory of hearing it and thinking to myself “I love this song.” Then about two seconds later, my dad said, “I love this song.” It somehow made me feel really close to him. I also recently learned that it was written by Jimmy Webb of “MacArthur Park” and “Wichita Lineman” fame. While it’s not as as weird as the former or as exquisite as the latter, it might still be my favorite Webb track. I like the mix of the blue-eyed soul vocals with the adult contemporary arrangement. It’s also lyrically compelling, though the singer comes off as a jerk. Webb is a guy who doesn’t shy away from writing an unlikable narrator, and it works for him.

Belle and Sebastian at the North Carolina Museum of Art

Posted on by kristen

When I saw an announcement, nearly six months ago, that Belle and Sebastian were going to be playing at the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh this summer, I had mixed emotions. Most were good. I love Belle and Sebastian. They’ve been one of my longest-lived favorite bands, and I’ve continued to buy and really enjoy their albums, even nine albums in to their 19-year career. There aren’t many bands who can keep up that standard. It’s also been 14 years since I last saw them live, at the Tower Theater near Philly, in 2003.1 I’d been hoping for years that I’d get a chance to see them again, but if setlist.fm is to be believed, they don’t exactly favor the American South — and this appears to be the first and only time they’ve ever visited North Carolina.

Belle and Sebastian concert tickets
Three Belle and Sebastian concert tickets. Saving the stubs was a lot more fun in the old days.

All good, right? Yes, but I had one major concern — the venue. The North Carolina Museum of Art is lovely, but as a general rule I don’t love the type of outdoor shows that tend to happen at that sort of venue. The biggest issue is that it’s almost too nice, thus attracting people who are only moderately enthusiastic about the actual concert. Instead, you get people who are like “Yeah, I kind of like this band, and wouldn’t it be great to sit outside in the grass and have a picnic and hear some music?” It would be great, but for me it also encourages a less vibrant environment than you might get in other settings. By contrast, not many people are going to go stand shoulder-to-shoulder in a crowd on a cement floor for several hours just because it sounds like a fun night out. (Well, maybe if they’re 19.) But, as a rule, at a more traditional club-type venue, you get a crowd that is there primarily because of the music.

The night of the show,  July 31, could only be described as charmed.  After several weeks of high 90s and oppressive humidity, the Raleigh weather was miraculously cool and dry. I attended the show with my husband and some of my favorite friends — two of whom brought chocolate cake. I purchased perhaps the nicest looking and best fitting concert t-shirt of my life. And the band was really good.

Belle and Sebastian — despite their advanced ages, which singer Stuart Murdoch joked about throughout the set — sounded great and appeared to be having a lot of fun. With nine albums to draw from, they were able to put together a really wonderful setlist. They favored their two best albums, Dear Catastrophe Waitress and The Life Pursuit, and played several of my favorite tracks from those two: the wordy, fast-paced “Sukie in the Graveyard,” the jaunty yet wry “I’m a Cuckoo,” and best of all, the acoustic ballad “Piazza, New York Catcher,” which manages to be both achingly beautiful and contain lines like “Piazza, New York catcher/Are you straight or are you gay?”2

Stuart Murdoch with keytar.
Stuart with keytar. I did not take this picture.

The band played a few lesser known tracks, including two new songs that will be on their upcoming album. New songs are always a hard sell at a live show, but if there’s one thing that will make people sit up and pay attention, it’s playing a keytar. Stuart broke his out for the brand new single “We Were Beautiful,” and it definitely caused me to poke my husband and say “Stand up, he’s playing a keytar!” It’s the first and only time I’ve seen one played live. I would recommend this approach to any band looking to garner some excitement for new songs at their shows.

The other best-represented album was The Boy with the Arab Strap, a disc I tend to forget about. But the band’s enthusiastic renditions reminded me of just how good those songs are. The title track was especially fun, as Stuart recruited a bunch of people from near the front to come up and dance on stage with the band, a scene that recalled all the kids dancing in A Charlie Brown Christmas. And, actually, the piano in “Arab Strap” is kind of reminiscent of “Linus and Lucy,” a connection I’ve never made before. It’s also a testament to the band’s skill and the sound quality of the show (as well as my increased pop knowledge) that for the first time I understood the line in “Seymour Stein”: “He reminded you of Johnny/Before he went electronic.”

So at this point, it sounds like my worries about the venue were unfounded. Not entirely. Despite the great music being played, the band’s obvious joy in performing, Stuart’s charming banter, and the overall idyllic setting, the vibe at the show was actually a little lame. Most people were sitting down, which dampens the excitement and poses a bit of a quandary. If you want to stand, are you being rude by blocking the view of those sitting behind you? Or should you say “screw it, this is a rock show!”? I went with the latter, though my self-consciousness at being the only one standing within a ten person radius resulted in a little less swagger than my internal dialogue might suggest. Not surprisingly, there were also a lot of people using their phones. This is a scourge of modern concert-going, regardless of venue, and I really cannot understand why people pay good money to see a show, and then spend a significant portion of it looking at Facebook, surely one of the least satisfying activities of modern life.

The overall effect of the crowd but a bit of a damper on my mood for while. I couldn’t help wishing that more people at the show were engaging with the music with a bit more abandon. However, my love for Belle and Sebastian’s music gradually overcame the subdued environment, and my enjoyment of the show grew — reaching a peak during the exemplary encore. The band came back out for two songs — an ideal number — and they were two of the best. “Party Line,” from their most recent LP, combines dance music with wit in a way that few bands have even attempted: “Don’t dance near the lights/Cause the bears eat the pretty ones.” And who doesn’t love hearing their favorite song played as the final number? “The Blues are Still Blue” is everything that’s great about Belle and Sebastian: clever and thoughtful, but also melodic and upbeat, with little falsetto bits and a hooky, sing-a-long chorus.

At the end, I suppose the question that I was left asking myself is “why go to a show?” Clearly people have different reasons: to hear music, to spend time with friends, to get out of the house. But for me, I think the answer is that it’s an opportunity to experience a bit of transcendence — to forget yourself, to give yourself over to music you love in a way you can’t in everyday life. It’s a high standard for a concert to meet, and many will fall short. There’s a degree of irony too, as this transcendence is a deeply personal experience, but also one that requires the cooperation of your fellow concert goers. It’s just easier to achieve when everyone around you is feeling it too.

While I enjoyed seeing Belle and Sebastian again after so long, I couldn’t help coming away from the show a little sad that it hadn’t matched the highs of some of my best concert experiences. Still, I never really regret seeing a band I love. And, hey, I got to sit outside in the grass with my friends, have a picnic, and hear some music that I loved — with maybe a few moments of near transcendence thrown in.

Sounds Delightful Melodic Mix #3 (August 2017)

Posted on by kristen

Or listen on Spotify

Janet Jackson — “Miss You Much” (1989)

Fantastic in every way: danceable, hooky, and making good use of some of fun pop tropes, like the stutter and spelling out of words. Despite the “miss you” sentiment, the overall feeling is more like triumph at having a lover so damn missable. My husband and I theorized that “Miss You Much” might actually be in the top five of songs by any Jackson. The music video is spectacular as well. The dancing of course is the highlight, but it’s also in that sweet spot where a mainstream video could be polished and classy without descending into bland slickness.

HAIM — “Little of Your Love” (2017)

The first three songs on the new HAIM album are all excellent (though it does become a little same-y after that). They have a way of squeezing a lot of words into the main hooks of their choruses that I really like. “Little of Your Love” has some creative touches, including the weirdly effective slowed down backing vocal and the a cappella breakdown near the end. A lot has been made of Fleetwood Mac’s influence on HAIM, but the little “ha”s that punctuate the song remind of nothing so much as the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe.”

Lindsey Buckingham and Christine McVie — “Feel About You” (2017)

It’s pretty unbelievable that these two could put out a new album in 2017 and have it be so listenable. “Feel About You” is a particular treat, joyous, romantic, sparkly, pure pop. This track is a good reminder that McVie might be the most underrated of the Fleetwood Mac songwriters — not as clever as Lindsey or a cultural signifier like Stevie. Yet she’s responsible for the monster hooks on songs like “Don’t Stop” and “Little Lies,” and she clearly hasn’t lost her ability to please. There’s some filler on the album, but it’s got a solid 3-4 really good songs in addition to this one.

Richard X. Heyman — “So What” (2017)

Richard X. Heyman’s classic rock-influenced tune is full of good cheer and humor. The bright trumpet and “so what” lyric combine their powers to deliver maximum exuberance. Richard tells listeners how they can learn from his example of what not to do when it comes to love — but he doesn’t sound too broken up about his past mistakes either. I also love the off-kilter little guitar solo about two-thirds through.

Fountains of Wayne — “I-95” (2007)

Only Fountains of Wayne could make the phrase “Guns ‘N’ Roses album covers” sound as good as it does here. And the second verse nearly lulls you into believing you’re experiencing something grand, the melody and the starry night sky opening up around you — until that van cuts you off and you realize you’re actually just on the highway after all. Their ability to write melodies is astounding, really, and their harmonies are just as good.

Declan McKenna — “Humongous” (2017)

“Humongous” is the latest single by Declan McKenna, an 18-year-old who is a bit of an indie sensation in the UK right now. His debut LP, What Do You Think About the Car?, was just released and hit number 11 on the British charts. “Humungous” is super melodic with the compelling hook “I’m big, humongous, enormous, and small/And it’s not fair.” The last minute or so is an unexpected synth freakout and brings in a totally new, equally good melody. His album isn’t quite up to this standard through, but it shows promise.

Cliff Hillis — “Superfluous” (2017)

“Superfluous” has a gentle sound, with almost a ’70s soft rock vibe at the beginning. The song has nice build, though, and by the end it feels a little meatier. Hillis is quite a good lyricist in general, and he has some fun with words here on the beginning of each chorus: “superfluous,” “magnanimous,” “fathomless.” This song is from a new EP called Many Happy Returns that’s full of thoughtful, singer-songwriter pop.

St. Vincent — “New York” (2017)

Despite her indie-level popularity, I really haven’t listened to much St. Vincent. When I first heard “New York,” I thought it was Sam Phillips (of Gilmore Girls “la-las” fame). So I have no idea if this song is consistent with her other work. But it’s really striking, with the chorus cutting like a machete through the sad and lush arrangement. It’s also a gem at 2:34. It seems you rarely hear anything that short anymore.

The Bee Gees — “I Started a Joke” (2017)

Eeerie, sappy, baroque, obtuse — “I Started a Joke” is the epitome of the early Bee Gees. Robin’s vocal is weird, but beautiful, and the lyrics only make sense on a kind of mythic, nonverbal level. I love it.

Gilbert O’Sullivan — “Out of the Question” (1972)

I discovered this track thanks to an artist playlist that singer-singer John Wesley Harding posted on Spotify. (These playlists can be serious treasure if you’re willing to dig for them. This feature is a great example of Spotify’s potential for human-driven music discovery and their lack of interest in doing more with it.) O’Sullivan has wonderful delivery and is, in a word, charming. The end bit has a “song that never ends” quality, spiraling around until you’ve lost track of where it even began. The lyric “She’s breaking my heart/Nearly every day/Not only in pieces/But every way” is actually kind of dark. I’m imagining some evil genius of heartbreaking coming up with ever elaborate plans to destroy poor Gilbert.

China Crisis — “Arizona Sky” (1986)

“Arizona Sky” seems to be at least in part a song about travel — a British band singing about Arizona, New York, Venice. I like the line “It took my breath away/That doesn’t happen every day.” It has a sincerity that’s possibly at odds with the chorus — “Decorate, paint it for the union/No reason to give up on the illusion. I can’t actually come up with a cogent interpretation of these lyrics, but musically the song’s tone is also a balance between cheery and melancholy. The horn arrangement is a nice mix of trumpet and saxophone.

Ricky Ross — “Soundtrack to the Summer” (2005)

Another discovery courtesy of people curating their favorite music on the internet — this one from a terrific Mixcloud show called Daily Robbo Radio. Ross is the singer from the Scottish band Deacon Blue. This is a nice twist on the idea of the summer song. No convertibles or bikinis here — only a wistful lyric and the saddest Brian Wilson harmonies.

Melanie C — “Independence Day” (2002)

I wrote about Mel C, my favorite Spice Girl, earlier this month. She’s had a number of good moments over the years, but this deep cut from the Bend It Like Beckham soundtrack is probably the best. It’s still girl power, but cast in a more shimmering, power pop light.