The Dark End of the Street - Percy Sledge

The Dark End of the Street


If Dave brought us two (very different) versions of the same street story, then I would like to present a third telling in this little romantic Rashomon: Percy Sledge's "The Dark End of the Street."

Bill Withers has just stomped by with Percy's girl. Percy has tried to give Withers the stare down, but he doesn't have it in him. Percy's a lover, not a fighter. Look at that man over there. A man with curls like that isn't worried about posturing because while you're flexing down at the corner bar, tapping your feet to Arthur Conley, he's busy whispering sweet nothings in your girl's ear. This is a man who has only ever curled his fist around a microphone.

But Withers' return look, a dead-eyed look of unnamable recriminations, stops Percy cold in the street. He watches Withers walk away with his girl, listening to him ask her pointed questions. Who is he to her!? Only her truest love! Then, the strings begin to tighten around the girl in question and Withers' massive arm pulls her closer. That tambourine sounds ominously like a fist being punched into the palm of his hand. Someone's seeing the business end of that fist tonight, dadgumit.

Percy's paralyzed. He feels his heart breaking as their history together on this very street comes back in the wavy notes of a guitar. Here, on this street, at the dark end down there, he used to meet her. They didn't belong there, but then again they didn't belong anywhere. Now here come the waves of guilt. Percy might be a ladies man, but he's right with Jesus. Everything he has done in the name of love is framed as erotic iniquity. His paranoia threatens to get the best of this lover man: Withers knows, his wife knows, everyone down at Muscle Shoals First Baptist Church knows. And they're going to find Percy and his girl. And it's going to end. With some of the unbrassiest horn backing in all of soul, Percy almost loses it.

But a voice rises up from the graveyard organ haunting Percy's song. A voice so sonorous and pure that it can only be the lonely call of his girl. She's still in if he is! He won't give up. He won't be a martyr for love. Percy ain't going to let Bill 'The Cuckold' Withers stand in his way. This man has a plan. Should this happen again, she is to be cool. She is to be much cooler than she was today ("Clearing your throat? Are you kidding me!?"). Just walk on by. Don't give anything away. Don't cry because we'll meet later. We'll work on your excuse. We'll meet down at the dark end of the street, and then we've got the world open before us.

Bode

Julianna Barwick "Bode"


Every six to eight months I wake up totally uninterested in guitars. I don't want to hear them strummed; I don't want to hear them belt out impressive solos. Shit, I don't really even want to hear someone even accompany a guitar. This lasts, at most, for a week or two or three. I woke up 4 days ago with this feeling. I have no interest in listening to guitar-based music. Which is unfortunate because I was planning on writing about VU's "Oh Sweet Nuthin'."

The last time this happened, I ended up stumbling upon Julianna Barwick's Florine EP, which contains this stunner. My most recent discovery is something entirely different, but it's going to require a thesis-level analysis before I'm ready to present it. Honestly. This post, which I'll throw up some time this weekend (maybe even tomorrow night), is probably going to be epic.

Aside from the one moment of textual interpretation needed (I think the lone lyric is "I'm going to take you on," a uniquely beautiful sentiment in its own right), there's basically nothing that needs to be said about this song. You should know, I guess, that all the sounds are generated by recording and/or processing Barwick's voice (the song works best on headphones, by the way). That's nice to know because it makes this epically beautiful song more humble. I'm actually afraid to talk about this song too much because it's like dissecting a joke or describing a flower: the more attention paid to it only ruins it. Just let it be said, then, that these are the prettiest (and I mean every syllable of that word) 5 minutes of music I've heard all year.

Who Was That?

apologies for missing my last post. we're in the midst of an apartment renovation, and truth be told, i ought be patching plaster. however, there is no electricity in the apartment right now, and the lack of the light would make mixing ratios a gamble. i can't even continue research for components, as i'm really tired of looking at ceiling fans--the final frontier for modern design...

i've been cursing my music library of late, with everything feeling tired and me being shy the time to find new stuff (this blog has been a nice gift, with clinic entering the mix). i also noted that i initiated my contributions with the white stripes and the misfits, which while thoroughly enjoyable, don't exactly provide a wide glimpse at what i'm listening to. so, having cursed at my ipod's selections, i was hit with some bill withers, and he suggested a paired offering that will provide us with many opportunities to say "pips" in an earnest fashion. breath 'bated, we carry on.

on to bill withers. i love bill withers. this guy repeated the words "i know" 26 times in a row, and we ate it up. you ask people "how many times does bill withers say "i know" in "ain't no sunshine"?" people often offer in the low teens. twelve, thirteen times, maybe fifteen...that's what we assume to be the longest repetition endurable before terming it "droning" or "grating." bill withers can double you up on that. (footnote: thom yorke and his 46 "the raindrops" are sitting smugly, stage right.) bill withers was making toilet seats for 747's when he consumed a jack lemon movie and crapped a grammy. and he refused to resign his job at the toilet factory. that's bill withers. al green and d'angelo covered his song and it's still his.
so we got bill withers.

and we got gladys knight and the pips. a girl, her brother, and two of their cousins. an institution in cleveland assures us that they could craft a pop song. "midnight train to georgia" is in the grammy hall of fame. the wu-tang catalog would be thinner minus the pips. if you ask gladys knight, she'll tell you that diana ross herself removed the pips as the supremes opening act on tour in '68 because they were too good.
so we got gladys knight and the pips.

this may not have the headlines of otis vs. aretha, but we're in for good times with gender roles.

bill gets right to it. the driving bass sets him off like a shark. a guy on the street gives bill the stinkeye, and he checks his girl. he looks at her and the strings come in to send a shiver up MY spine. she's sunk. it's bad enough that his woman is sneakin around on him, but damn, life at the toilet seat factory is tough enough without having dudes in the neighborhood flexin on him due to no fault of his own. this is gonna stop right now. bill withers will not be played.
the assured sing song in his "(i don't know who he is) but i think that YOU DOOOO" makes me laugh, but not her. no, she is gonna share her information. now. do not play the coincidence card. the throat thing? that was cute. do you think bill doesn't know that game? still, dadgummit, he's a respectful man. you will have an opportunity to explain.

break for the bass. he is cirlcing tighter, nosing closer.

he comes in with a mathematic puzzler to show how calculating he can be. he stretches out the "i get confuuuused" because her math is so much more advanced than his and to rhyme it off the aforementioned playground "you DOOOOO". bill's subtle. he gets crafty with homonyms, using exasperation to set up his own punchline--she's "too much...for one man but not enough for two." he throws her snides back at her. he may be a dumb ol' baloo of a man, but he's got enough intuition to know what she's up to. this girl knows he isn't dumb, and convincing herself otherwise hasn't worked to convince him of it. so it's in the room now, or on the street as it were, which leads to a big finish: "Before you leave your old home / be certain of the new." dadgummit, bill will maintain his dignity. do you have any? who was he, and what is he to you?


given the origins of the song, gladys will henceforth face comparison with bill. such is the nature of the cover song. where bill withers is smooth, gladys and the pips are sassy. bill's in the song at 8 seconds. there are 36 pips before gladys makes an appearsnce. here, the drum and high hat set it off like a pair of heels on sidewalk and the bass throws some hips on it. they build something funky while gladys tries to compose herself. the organ whines an "aw HELL no" just before she starts hyperventilating words. there is potential for hunt-like explosion here, but she is in control. (at least until vocal pips at 55 seconds make me giggle.) the something in her heart seems a little bigger than bill's, a little closer to the clutch in her neck, so she clears her throat at his cue.

she plays it pitch perfect around 1:50, letting go of a yell that releases into a sob and an exhalation.

gladys can figure sums, too. there's a bit more separation between her "i think you do" and her arithmetic confusion, so rather than bill's elongated smugness, she is going to play her 1+1=3 with a grinned "hm". this woman is acutely pissed. her "dadgummit," gets an "mmhmm" as a comma, indicating it is not an exclamation so much as an interjection, a breath before an eruption. then she lets loose with the question at hand, a "who the fuck is THAT bitch?!" that would make ice cube smile. there are times when i wish the pips had stopped squeaking in here and punctuated gladys with some horns.

she regroups. gets control. she reminds him of his cracks on her intuitive skills, and she slaps him with a brisk "ISTHATREALLYWHATYOUTHINK?" "HMM!?" to remind the dumb motherfucker that she is no exception to the commonly held regard for women's intuitive abilities. and when it comes to the send off, she lets loose with a dismissive "boy" to remind him to respect his home and his mama. coming from an atlanta-based group in the 70s...ouch. she will chase him away before she is walked over.

bill withers carries his song with a quiet strength, but gladys is full of head-shakin, wrist-wavin punch. i ended up listening to these songs all night, and i'm up beyond bedtime, so, to bring this back around to home renovation, i provide this pairing as eye candy.

a: the pips



b: a fan from the modern fan company's "ball hugger collection"

"Who Was That Man (And What Is He to You)"

"Who Was That Girl (And What Is She to You)"

A Sadies Sampler

Wolf Tones


The Land Between


The Trial


As far as I'm concerned, this is the most underrated band going today. As in, I think they kick a tremendous amount of ass, but no one seems to have heard of them. But, you've probably listened to them before—they're the backing band for Neko Case, or at least they used to be. They've got a legitimately unique sound. I guess you could say that they fit loosely into whatever is left of alt-country, but it's really more surf-country—or something like that. Like if Dick Dale had scored a Sergio Leone film. Still, it ranges a decent bit—from sweeping instrumentals to more desolate pieces where you can almost hear a tumbleweed passing through. Then there's a lot of CS&N or Byrds influence—of the legit and non-sucky sort, Blitzen Trapper, you self-important, hippie-chic, blowhards. Anyway, I'm a fan.

Dungeon Family- "Follow the Light"

Follow The Light

Even In Darkness, 2001

Less than a year after Stankonia, OutKast got back together with some of their formative friends, including Goodie Mob, to record this ridiculous gem of an album. I put it on any 2001 Best Of list, which is shocking considering how these types of 'here's where I came from records' (D12?) usually fare (they are awful- there's a reason some of them made it and some didn't).

The album is full of amazing songs, including this one, "Crooked Booty," "Trans DF Express," "Excalibur"... I chose "Follow the Light" almost entirely on Cee-Lo's ridiculous turn (in case you don't know his voice, he comes in around 2:30) by saying "Ever so eloquently..." The best line of the whole verse? "Jesus is my older brother evidently." The off-hand way he finishes by saying, "Follow the light," and then laughing is truly excellent.

Of course Big Boi delivers, and Big Gipp's turn is excellent... and I think those are the only three on this one. Which is kind of surprising given most of the other tracks feature half a dozen routinely. Is it the religious overtones of the track? I don't know, but that would be my guess. Then again, every time I think it's a call to religion it becomes so problematic (exhibit A: Big Gipp declaring, "I want to be remembered in infamy.") that I just ignore it. I mean, obviously it is. Big Boi asks us to "follow the Ten Commandments." This from a guy with a stripper's pole in his basement. Who cares?

Those shimmery notes behind what is a deceptively simple beat carry the song along. This is the era when every OutKast track could not be stopped- each one had such propulsive quality. It's amazing to me that they had so much good material at that time (and other people were releasing classic hip-hop left and right) that Even in Darkness got swept under the table. It should be a classic.

how will you meet your end- a.a. bondy

how will you meet your end


American Hearts (2007)

Sometimes I get into this kind of music. Murder folk music. A. A. Bondy does a lot of it, and he's pretty damn good at it. He sings sweet songs, too, but I much prefer the murder ballads and the pseudo-Biblical tunes.
"How Will You Meet Your End" is the first song off American Hearts (great album title), and I dig the sounds he forces out of the strings-- it's like he's sharpening his guitar. It's frightening. The rattling, too, sounds like a storm's a'comin'. But what I really love about this song is how patient it is. Bondy's in no hurry. It's all going to come. And what comes has great economy and evocative phrasing. "And Hell upon the breeze," is a great line.
Bondy writes excellent lyrics, but he's a master of tone. He creates these songs laden with meaning before you even start listening to the words. Besides the aforementioned geetar strop, there's the notes themselves, the hard repeat and then they almost drift off into dust. The percussion sounds mostly like knee slapping, guitar tapping, and hand clapping, but less corny than those rhymes make them sound on (virtual) paper.
Bondy has a new album, When the Devil's Loose, that's more of a full-band affair, which I haven't listened to a whole ton yet.

Volcano! - Africa Just Wants to Have Fun

One of my favorite music traditions is the diss track. Hip hop has a pretty firm hold on this genre. I mean, "Ether," "Takeover," "No Vaseline," "Hit 'Em Up," "The Bridge is Over," "Fuck Wit Dre Day." Please.

But rock has its own less prominent tradition. Rock's diss tracks tend to be a little slighter, a little humorless. They are usually aimed at ex-lovers. There are some, however, that target more interesting subjects. Think of "Positively 4th Street." Or "Range Life." Or Okkervil River's "Singer Songwriter." Now, let me introduce you to Volcano! and their epic and masterful (and hilarious and techincally amazing) diss track "Africa Just Wants to Have Fun."



Download:
Africa Just Wants to Have Fun


The song pretty much speaks for itself. But let it be said that Bono deserves every note of this song. He's been inviting this kind of criticism for some time now. His level of righteousness is out of control, and I admire the fact that a little band from Chicago has the set to call Bono out on his bullshit.

For those of you (us) who struggle with lyrics, they're impossible without a lyric sheet (as you're no doubt learning at this moment). I've taken this from the band's website because the lyrics are amazing:

CHORUS
Sick of your crucificool
Cootchy-coo, look at you, cootchy-coo,
look at you, and you're a
Heck of a champion too
Hands to god, 'rena rock,
hold the poor, in your heart, flash'em the
Shades and the leather perfume
Smell of God, martyr fool,
win their hearts, king of tools, king of the
Philantharopicacool
'Mericans, Africans,
holding hands, buying pants


VERSE 1
I'm on top of the new new thing
Gonna get the new line of bling, and I'll
Shine shine shine shine like a white god
natives gonna worship me
I woulda done it anyhow, so I'll
Buy it up buy it all right now, because
Africa just wants to have some fun


BRIDGE
In the land where nothing grows, nobody even knows
Nobody knows that it's a Chrissamuss, What do they do without the Chrissamuss, ooh
Lets go on a safari, show these jungle cats how to party
This desert is so beautiful, hey lets make a music video, yeah
Me and the natives will be singin' holdin' hands we gonna stop all the violence in this land
I'm gonna set this world straight, I'm suckin' dick at the G-8, but
I'm not the only one lickin' choads at this safari party
Clear channel men fellatiate me, censor me and proliferate me


CHORUS 2
VERSE 2 (yelled)
Where'd ya get that jacket, Bo-no?
Where'd ya get those shades, Robo-Cop?
You and your little booby Bobby,
Sellin' the new Spanish gold


BRIDGE
Everyone out on the floor
Its supergroup pop for the poor
Savin' our souls at the store
Savin' us all from the horror
Let your martryrs arms
Bear the winds
Of the wind machine, wind machine


CHORUS 3
OUTRO
Gonna get a little drunka tonight, gonna get a little drunka tonight, gonna get a little
Gonna get fucked up tonight, gonna get fucked up tonight ee-aigh-ee-aight,
Me and the kids are pickin' fun at you, we're pickin' fun pickin' fun pickin' fun at you
Cuz when you're actin' like Christ on the cross, you look ridiculous OOHH
I admit it I don't know what to do, I don't know I don't know what to do
But I know what not to do, and I know the smell of your leather perfume, it smells like
Death to me, smells like piss on a fire, smells like toxic fumes at a maquiladora
Where'd ya get that shirt asshole
Whncha make Whncha make up your mind
Are you bored Are you bored or inspired? Well either way
You just came to shoot your load off the stage
A pacifier for a nation of beige
After your concert and at the G-8
You came to party yeah you came to get laid