NONALIGNMENT PACT

And discovering and rediscovering a few things recently that I probably should have discovered long ago:

01 Nonalignment Pact

Whoever picked the name of this blog picked a fine musical model for this sort of fractured approach. Only recently, thanks to my band’s new drummer Mike Dank (who can in fact be referred to simply as mikedank, one briefly uttered word), have I discovered the at-times-brilliant-at-times-unlistenable world of Pere Ubu. The combined video-game-esque and sawmill-gone-wrong sounds make a lot of sense in my head during this song, even though other noisy tracks on the same album just don’t cut it for me. Dave Thomas has the distinction of being the most confused-sounding singer in my current collection. Like he’s constantly chasing a mouse around the floor while he’s singing. I can get with that.

06 Making Plans For Nigel

I am not certain how many times this question has been asked, but it frankly doesn’t matter, because I’m going to ask again. Why the hell weren’t XTC at least 9086 times more popular than The Police? Granted I am a bass player so I feel a little funny in a good way every time I hear “The Mayor of Simpleton.” So there’s that. And it’s not like I hate The Police. But seriously, how does this song get relegated to the fringes of the pop music pantheon of hits? The industry makes me sad.

10 Sky Starts Falling

I will admit it: if I need a swift kick in the ass to get going in the morning, I will more often than not turn to this track. It’s not my favorite song ever, but it hits me just right. Just right.

08 Tormenta Blvd.

I will admit it: if I have an ear infection in my right ear, this is usually what I use to clear it out.

And finally, if you’ll indulge me a bit longer on this, I did not actually own the final Sparklehorse album until recently. While I was a big fan of the sleek, symphonic sound of It’s a Wonderful Life, I did occasionally miss the extra static and noise of the earlier recordings and wasn’t sure I wanted to follow the trajectory all the way to Dreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain. Linkous’ death made the album purchase imperative, and I found that indeed Linkous does continue the trajectory toward a less fragmented, more put-together sound. It’s a testament to Linkous’ developing production chops, not always a positive development. But in this case, I don’t mind one bit.

11 It’s Not So Hard

The short, sharp rocker remains in Linkous’ repertoire. This track, second-to-last on the album, is a great juxtaposition for the final, dreary 10-minute instrumental. And the strained screaming vocals fit the driving rhythm guitars perfectly.

04 See the Light

Here the fluid bass line carries the loping melodies and guitars on a wave of refracted bright morning sunlight. Not experimental but completely brilliant.

06 Some Sweet Day

The C-minor switches in other contexts might read like standard pop tropes, but here they are bitter tears in your coffee.

10 Knives of Summertime

Rattles around the edges while the keyboards cut in and out like car alarms.

No, there is nothing earth-shattering about this album. Except that it is beautiful and warm in a way other artists could only halfway aspire to. Even as it strives for more studio sheen, it is Sparklehorse through and through; completely human and imperfect.

Oneway
Bootsy lays it out for you.

Wotay
Some people are using classical music as a deterrent. It seems like they could find better music to drive people away. I’m betting this would send people running. Unless they were me.

Reethay
Come to think of it, maybe this is the thing get rid of the undesirables hanging out on your corner.

On March 17, 1999, Jeremy Hart and I were at Rudyard’s in Houston watching the spindly, angular-looking Mark Linkous lead Sparklehorse through another chillingly poignant set. Mark and the band completed a version of “Saturday”

07 Saturday

and an audience member loudly muttered “Fuckin’ beautiful…” in the most gruff rocker growl you can imagine. It didn’t seem entirely out of place in the smoky upstairs at Rudz (back when you could smoke…*sigh*), though you could be forgiven for laughing just a bit at the tone if you know anything about Sparklehorse’s tetched, hazy, delicate song catalog.

I’m sure the same thing went through Linkous’ head at the same time it went through mine, but his response was quicker. He went right to the mike and said “Fuckin’ thank you.”

I envision – perhaps wrongly – Linkous’ life, and especially his creative life, as a lengthy series of tightrope walks just like this. I’m sure Linkous appreciated the praise as much as he could, but he could not help but fight against the trappings of the touring existence, something he talks about here near the end of an interview. I’m sure the shorter, noisier, less poppy, less coherent tracks on Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot were to counteract any impression that Linkous was even beholden to the standard structures of indie rock/pop. The Tom Waits track “Dog Door” in the midst of the gorgeous, symphonic masterpiece It’s a Wonderful Life is a big middle finger in an album that has several smaller ones, not least the title track, according to the artist himself.

What I hope Linkous realized even as he took his own life is that behind the “fuckin’ beautiful” and other various praises thrown his way was a genuine love for the heart-achingly gorgeous yet raw music and imagery that marked his Sparklehorse career. Because in the end, that phrase simply and aptly described everything Linkous tried to achieve.

Sparklehorse albums and songs aren’t coherent narratives or even incoherent ones. They are a series of vivid, stark, often graphic, occasionally heartwarming ideas and images that paint a thorough but disjointed picture of Linkous’ psyche, damaged all over, exceedingly fragile in the intact areas, but capable of creative flights beyond the reach of most. Sparklehorse was about finding the beauty in the everyday, the tragic, the unknown, in all its most natural and pure forms, uncolored by extraneous lyrics, unorganized and uncategorized. “Stars will always hang in summer’s bleeding fang”…”I can’t seem to breathe with rusted metal heart”…Songs were like laundry lists of Linkous’ unresolved dreams/nightmares. It was Linkous’ heart and mind, recorded and distributed throughout the country, nearly unedited, certainly unsorted. Just his heart and mind, right out there on the table for you and me.

That never happens. And for a man who had a previous brush with death, who fought against mental illness and addiction his entire life, that he brought and understood so much beauty was his gift to all of us. And these gifts I treasure above the others:

04 Rainmaker

The near-classic-rock stride comes in right off the bat, then bass and drums confidently strutting until the 0:16 mark when Linkous’ voice quavers right over the top. Yes, that’s right, this will be no ordinary indie rock album. It will be a hazy, sunlight-tinged, earthen-toned, buried gem of a heartbreak.

05 Spirit Ditch

“I want my records back
and that motorcycle gas tank that I spray-painted black.
The owls have been talking to me
but I’m sworn to secrecy.”

This song hits you immediately with the above stanza, possibly the greatest non sequitur in the history of modern pop music. Linkous pulls it off with the sincerity and innocence of a child – and then follows it up with recordings of his mother describing dreams of him as a child. There is something utterly beautiful about how honest and forthright this all is for him.

Amidst the loping arpeggiated banjos and wheezing harmonicas, images like “snakes eating their own tails,” “queen of nails,” and “murders of crows” build up to initially wordless choruses of rousing guitar and billowing bass that open up like daffodils on perfect spring days. Eventually, the words come into play – “pretty girl, milking a cow” – and simply repeat. Yet it manages to sound heartbreakingly good, like there’s more to it when, honestly, there may not be…it is some of Linkous’ best and most cryptic work.

02 Painbirds

The lonely duet of the muted trumpet and the heavily tremolo effect on the guitar – it takes over at 1:33 – brings the mournful aspect of this song way up and dials the menace way down. But the two in tension with each other is where the true beauty comes through. Also, when Linkous undertakes his own faint duet in the final verse, with the two previous verses juxtaposed against each other, it fairly melts me.

11 Maria’s Little Elbows

It is not in any way the most innovative work Linkous ever did, but this song paints a stark and glorious picture of self-hatred, punctuated with loneliness kicking at the door and a trip to a gas station bathroom to be sick. Just another beautiful Saturday night in the Virginia countryside.

12 Cruel Sun

Here, it’s once again how the universe simply expands in every chorus on this too-short-but-likely-intentionally-short song. Linkous understood the relationship of the bass to the rest of the band and exploited it deftly. Every time. Speaking of

03 Piano Fire

Sheer beauty here: PJ Harvey having her harmony part match the descending bass line on the choruses. Pure awareness of an effect that emphasizes without being too obvious. Yet music dorks like me noticed and love Linkous and Harvey for it.

12 Comfort Me

Again, a juxtaposition right off the bat between the natural glow of the pedal steel and the metallic sheen of the drum machine. The simplistic accents provided by the actual drums. Only what’s needed, plus the pillowing fog of bass, make a perfect backdrop for a plea for comfort.

02 Gold Day

And then this song. What’s my rock’n'roll dream? Learning to play the French horn, recruiting two other French horn players, and playing only the ending harmonies on this song. But that’s just one of so many pure moments of beauty, from the “electronic birds” to Nina Persson’s vocals. It makes me cry. Honestly.

You could say Linkous entered my life during a relatively lonely era and kept me company throughout. I knew if I needed company on the outer fringes of my sequestered imagination, I knew Linkous was always there. And he most assuredly will be, even as he has been through my better times. What I am having a tough time imagining is that we may have heard the last Sparklehorse album. Because no one captured a fragmented existence quite like Mark Linkous, and no one ever will.

Still, if there’s anyone who can lead me through the next uncertain phase of my existence – which promises to be plenty lonely – with an eye on what’s truly beautiful, it is Linkous. And if he ever had any doubt about the legacy he might leave, I am here to bear witness that his mark on the world, his addition to the world’s off-kilter grace, is intact. And fuckin’ beautiful.

1984 was the year I made that first fateful turn of the radio dial from KRWG 90.7 FM, the local NPR station in Las Cruces, NM over to B94 FM, the El Paso station that would carry me through my formative transition out of classical. Much of the early stuff I heard is consigned exclusively to the memory bin, only to be unpacked for retrospective time-capsule-esque posts such as this. I take perverse pleasure in the idea of Rockwell’s music returning to any form of prominence:

The disinterest and effects here are frankly as funny as anything I’ve seen in a while, along with the “25 leading ladies that time forgot” caption above (question: does this represent one or three of these leading ladies?):

Among the first cassette tapes I owned was the one that contained this single:

So you can see there was a long way up from here, and really no other direction to go. Outside of these three and some Kool and the Gang abomination that I simply refuse to post here, I don’t remember much at all. But from time to time, one band re-enters my consciousness at a more prominent level than the many others who made quick appearances and then faded. Certainly they had a more visual aspect to them than many others (witness their videos compared to the Pointer Sisters’, um, performance above), and coming at a time when MTV could actually be counted upon to show videos, this played a role in their impact and possibly their imprint upon my memory of that time. But I have to say it’s a sight deeper than that. Yeah, I’d have to say I was and remain a fan:

04 Hungry Like the Wolf

Even this Duran Duran track, maybe the most popular but my least favorite with its humdrum verse and bridge, has the good pop sense to throw in a chorus that introduces key signature uncertainly and variety. It has all the ’80s trappings you could imagine – flanged-out guitar, heavy synth wash, reverb sheen in every corner – but it is the less obvious touches that propel it better than many of its counterparts. The attention to detail comes in especially around the emphasis on delay. Take the 2 and 4 snare beats. From the beginning, John Taylor on bass follows Roger Taylor’s drum parts exactly, hitting 2 and 4 to emphasize that what happens on this song is always delayed. This includes Simon Lebon’s entrance to the chorus, which is always about a half-verse later than you might expect. It’s that generated delay that provides a sense of anticipation and perhaps is even a reference to the chase underway, a way to indicate something is just behind. That’s not the work of a rock-by-numbers glam band.

Nor is this:

01 Rio

Unlike the previous track, this song never stops moving forward, thanks to the sixteenth-note hi-hats and the driving bass line that launched a thousand unsuccessful careers like mine. Even Andy Taylor’s crunchy guitar slides simply propel the song further forward, delayed though they are until nearly the second half of each bar. No, not even an obligatory alto sax blast can slow the momentum, although it certainly goes on long enough. And it’s the juxtaposition of the E-minor verses and the E-major choruses that provide opposite sides of the same coin — the recognition of the excess and the focus on image juxtaposed against the idyllic chant of the chorus.

Of course, the song that laid the groundwork for that is worth mentioning:

01 Girls on Film

What’s the subtlety here? Well, that’s an interesting word. I suppose you can point to the 1:12-1:15 and 1:32-1:35 marks where the harmonies call into question the key signature entirely; when the rest of the band doesn’t move with the vocals, it can have the effect of either emphasizing or completely burying the harmony. If you are paying attention, however, and listening for it, it can be a particularly rewarding moment. I think beyond this, the bridging of the gap between punk and the “pop-funk” Duran Duran and particularly John Taylor practice is complete. It’s like a handoff during the relay race, asking the popsters Duran Duran to take over for the previous — and much more punk — incarnation of the band. It’s as if they were making the transition to pop stars from punk/glam up-and-comers a few years earlier (and a good bit more successfully) than the Psychedelic Furs were. Whatever the case, this track hints at the greatness further down the road.

From there through Rio to the at-times satisfying Seven and the Ragged Tiger is a long and winding path. But interestingly, after a long period of excess and rumored substance abuse and bouts with each other and the music, they came out with something that is such an utter mess, it’s instantly brilliant:

02 The Reflex

Where do you begin on a colossal track like this? I remember disliking a number of the tropes in it, like the remixed vocals, some of the bizarre vocal effects, intonation issues – many of which are discussed here in this fascinating article in Sound on Sound magazine about the recording of “The Reflex.” However, the overall effect still is of a band trying to make sense of and push beyond their initial sound. They are literally throwing everything – every vocal style, every harmony, every synth sound – at the wall to see what sticks. I commend a band that is this successful and this far along in its career for becoming ambitious enough to create something this messy. And even 26 years on, the result is as strangely alluring as it was when it was first released (to much fanfare on MTV).

But I do like a band in control of its craft as well, and there are few better examples than this track:

08 Save a Prayer

Haunting even with its now-dated sound, the synth leads us directly into the night sky for a liaison between two people looking for a connection – perhaps based on sex, perhaps more. Uncertainty rules this track as well, capped by the unexpected modulation down a step and a half to another minor key for the chorus. And it’s the reinforcement of the minor key that keeps this track melodically creepy and haunting in a way you might expect a song about temporal unions to be. Roger Taylor’s stuttering cross-stick effect keeps the song off-balance as well until the last verse, where the point seems to be to push out as much emotion as possible without resolving the essential conundrum of what the couple means or meant to each other.

I’d venture to say, at the risk of sounding curmudgeonly, that I think these tracks are without modern equal in the top 40. There isn’t very much on that chart that seeks to use instruments or rhythm as communication tools, as Duran Duran did. Harmonies and rhythmic decisions, much less lyrical decisions, are simply not practiced in the modern top 40 market. Unfortunate but true.

So when I hear where we’ve come from and how that might once again impart wisdom on our musicians/artists, perhaps then I will be ready for harder work and the family chores besides. So that I can spend some more quality time with Duran Duran in search of the next cover. And I can hearken back to the days in my room, basketball hoop on the door, playing noisy rounds of horse at top volume. Soon you may simply have to pay off the hearing…

———-
As I was researching Duran Duran over the past couple of weeks, I did hear tell of Warren Cuccurullo, a former guitarist with Missing Persons (who I respected quite a bit), being a porn star and a 9/11 truther. I said no way.

Way.