Strangely, after yesterday’s morning music, I’ve had “The Book I Read” going through my mind. Catchy tune. Anyway, let’s just move on to the first truly great Talking Heads album, More Songs About Buildings and Food. It’s the one that had a reasonably big hit: their cover Al Green’s “Take Me to the River.” I like it, but I think it succeeds more because of Brian Eno’s production than anything else.

Yesterday, I avoided “Don’t Worry About the Government” — a song that is widely misinterpreted. Today, I want to highlight another song that is widely misinterpreted, “The Big Country.” On it’s surface, it is an attack on rural and suburban America with the chorus, “I wouldn’t live there if you paid me.” But if that were the point of the song, it would be trivial — and offensive. It is the view from seven miles up from an elitist who really knows nothing of the people he is — literally and figuratively — looking down on.

It’s only in the third verse that the song gets to the point. The singer lacks a community. His attitude about the way “those people” live their lives has caused him to be cut off. His life lacks meaning. The song is ultimately, an attack on that kind of adolescent rejection of everything that is “normal.” And the singer makes a breakthrough, “I’m tired of traveling; I want to be somewhere.”

It speaks to Byrne’s weakness as a writer that he doesn’t manage to rework the chorus of “The Big Country” to integrate his epiphany. But far worse would have been to simply repeat the chorus. So instead, they go into a coda where he sings, “Goo goo ga ga ga” — which I believe means nothing at all. Still, the song works and the music is beautiful.

When I was young, I loved Talking Heads. And I think I have a lot to say about them. The truth is that I haven’t listened to anything since Little Creatures. And in fact, I thought that Speaking in Tongues marked the end of the band as a truly creative force. There is a problem when people get good enough to do the kind of art they always wanted to. Talking Heads always wanted to be a funk band. On the first two albums, they totally failed at that. In the next two albums, they had created a bizarre kind of funk. That was all great! Then they actually became a funk band and they just weren’t very interesting.

But let’s start with the first album, Talking Heads 77. It is clearly the weakest of the four great albums. And I’m not sure if I would even say that it is a great album. Certainly any Ramones album from this period puts it to shame. Still, it is an excellent album — and extremely consistent. The classics from it are, of course, “Psycho Killer” and “Don’t Worry About the Government.” The latter song has always bothered me in that almost everyone seems to think it is meant as satire, when I’m pretty sure they are deadly earnest.

But I want to highlight the first song on the album, “Uh-Oh, Love Comes to Town.” It is probably the song that most screams funk. And I love that bass line, which is damned hard to play over and over again — especially when you have hands the size of Tina Weymouth’s. It also has some lovely minimalist synth work by Jerry Harrison. And top it off with what are very funny lyrics. The truth is that love is very disruptive. “Jet pilot gone out of control, ship captain run aground; stock broker make a bad investment when love has come to town!” Tell me about it!

There was one final Jules and the Polar Bears album, Bad for Business. I have heard it, but it was years ago and I didn’t much like it. It’s a lot like Fenêtîks (Phonetics) — but more so. So I want to feature a live set that the band did, about the time of the first album. And that, I believe, is Peter Gabriel introducing them. This would be during the time when Gabriel was doing his very best work. (I love those first three albums!)

What’s interesting here is that the live version of these songs sound very much like they do on Got No Breading. You just don’t need that much to create great music: start with a great songwriter, add a great band, and leave them alone. (One thing: the vocal harmonies are sometimes on the far side of embarrassing.) Of course, it doesn’t sound like the audience is terribly excited. Hard to tell. But it wouldn’t be the first time that an audience was clueless that they were being treated to something amazing. And admittedly: look at Jules Shear — he’s a crazy man.

And then there are things like the opening of “Driftwood From Disaster” where Shear totally blows it. This was apparently not unusual. From what I’ve heard, Jules and the Polar Bears itself was not that interested in performing live and rarely took it seriously. But this is where I tend to break with most people on music. I’d rather hear something that is real and uneven than something polished and dead. Although we must give the band its due. Other than the harmonies (which are often quite good, but uneven), they are very good. In particular, listen Richard Bredice on lead guitar! Wow. But they are all excellent, including the bass player (David White) who was not listed on the first two albums.

I’m going to leave Jules Shear for now. I’d like to get into his later adult contemporary work, but I’ll do that later. I’ve got something else to do for the next week.

I am sad to report that the second Jules and the Polar Bears album, Fenêtîks (Phonetics) is not as good as its predecessor. It’s not Jules Shear. The songs are as great as ever. I’m sure the record company went to the band and said, “The first album didn’t sell well, so let’s add a bunch of synthesizers!” Not that they needed the push. A very young Stephen Hague was just waiting to do that. And clearly, Shear himself was kind of clueless about production. But he did learn that less is more, and it isn’t surprising that he went on to be one of the main people behind MTV Unplugged.

Another problem is throughout Fenêtîks (Phonetics), there just seems to be too much production. And that is just a problem when you the core of band is one of the greatest living songwriters. So I’m going to offer up a song that actually sounds more typical of Got No Breeding, “Fate.” There are some others that are strong — or at least that’s how I remember them. But not much off this album is available on the internet. So we are stuck with “Fate.” And that isn’t bad, because the song really does work.

The melody is attractive, if perhaps too forceful. And the lyrics are typically clever, with things like, “You cut off your nerves just to spite your love.” Check it out.

Since our hacker friend Dzz screwed up both our morning posts yesterday, I thought we would take a very quick break from Jules Shear and talk briefly about opera. I understand: pretty much no one I know likes opera. I used to be the same way. But when I was still in high school, I had a piano teacher. He was also a singer, and he taught singing to some of the talented young people in the area. He was not a very pleasant man — he terrified me. But one day he told me that a student of his was going be giving a recital at the local college. So I went.

The singer was a soprano — perhaps 19 years old. And she was accompanied by my teacher on the piano. And I was blown away. It was only then that I heard the human voice as a musical instrument and not just something for communicating with. So I enjoyed the performance the same way I would have enjoyed a violin recital. And ever since then, I’ve taken it for granted that opera is beautiful and worthy. And it still shocks me to hear someone say, “I don’t like opera.” To me, that sounds like, “I don’t like music.”

But in addition, opera is theater. I remember reading something that Mozart had written about a performance of Hamlet. And he nailed everything that was wrong in the play. The greatest opera composers were also great theater technicians. I thought about this because this morning, I was listening to Carmen. I came upon the following clip from the Royal Opera House production of it. It is, arguably, the most famous song from Carmen, the “Habanera” or “Love Is a Rebellious Bird.” (It’s hard to say, because the music from Carmen is incredibly well known, and you probably could sing at least five of its main melodies.)

This production is everything that opera can be — and indeed very often is these days. Broadway musicals try to do this kind of stuff and almost always fail miserably by comparison. You can well imagine that a man would desert the army and his bride for Anna Caterina Antonacci in this short scene. I remember a line from Amadeus, “Only opera can do this!” I quite agree.

Opera Afterword

Think about this: every one in that chorus is an incredibly good — even great — singer. That kind of thing always amazes me. The talent of humanity is amazing.

Today, I want to highlight a Jules Shear song that makes me kind of weepy — but in a good way. It is “The Soul of Many Places.” It’s a full tilt love song — but a wise one. It has lines like, “I will not invade you like a warrior or a preacher; I will not approve you like a butcher or a teacher.” Ah, that is something that most 26 year olds don’t know about love; that’s something that most people of any age don’t know about love: you have to accept people as they are if you plan to be around them a lot.

Of course, what I most love about “The Soul of Many Places” is one word: starving. The refrain is all leading up to that word. She touches the soul of places in him that he is starving to touch in her. I do remember feeling this way. And even as I felt it, I understood the tragic nature of it: love doesn’t work that way. Yes: you are touched in ways that you cannot explain. Yes: you wish to touch the object of your affection in the same way. But no: it never works out that way.

There is a great strength and joy to “The Soul of Many Places.” One could, I suppose read the song in a positive way, but that isn’t my nature. The singer understands the tragedy but is going to embrace what is ultimately a losing proposition. The funny thing is, the one time that I was ever in this situation, I did exactly the same thing. But the brave embrace of my feelings only lasted for so long. Then I fell apart. For a decade or so. But then, I’m a slow learner — good, but slow.

As far as I know, Funky Kings produced a second album, but the record company refused to released it and the band split up. This would not be the last time such a thing would happen to Jules Shear. But I find it interesting. It reminds me of William Goldman’s maxim about Hollywood, “Nobody knows anything.” Here were these amazingly talented guys who would all go on to great success, but the “experts” at the record company couldn’t see it. Anyway, without a band, Jules Shear started Jules and the Polar Bears.

Their first album is so great that I’m going to spend two days on it, Got No Breading. Every song on it is a gem. For years, when Jules Shear was producing “new wave” albums how I wished that he would just get a plain old rock band and kill it as he had on this album. His writing has always been stellar, so it is usually just a question of whether or not it is properly accompanied.

Today, we are going to listen to the first Jules and the Polar Bears song I ever heard, “Lovers By Rote.” I wrote about this almost two years ago, How I Discovered Jules Shear. In that article, I tell the story of being in a band with an older guy who was constantly telling me that this or that just couldn’t be done. In one case, it was that I had placed a chanting section smack in the middle of what was, by my standards, a rocker. Well, a couple of days later, this older guy excitedly shared with me “Lovers By Rote.” Since someone on an album had done what I was doing (Four years earlier!) then it must be okay.

So this was my introduction to Jules and the Polar Bears. But it’s interesting because now I’m not especially fond of the song. It’s great. But it’s also somewhat preachy. But it’s got great lyrics like these:

Anyway, day one of Jules and the Polar Bears:

Afterword: the Chant

The chant is hard to understand. Here it is:

Also: stupid questions about love really are the stupidest questions of them all.

I thought I might do a week of Jules Shear. He is one of my favorite artists of all time — I feel like I grew up with him. He got his start in a kind of super band, Funky Kings. They only put out one album, Funky Kings, in 1976. Even at the age of 24, Shear totally dominates that album. And that is with some pretty amazing people in the band: Jack Tempchin and Richard Stekol. It’s really amazing to me, because what talent ever showed up in my life came about some time last week. Anyway, overall the album is good. I bought it many years ago when it was almost impossible to find. I don’t think it has been released on CD — in the US anyway. And you would think an early album featuring three musicians who would go on to write big hits would at least deserve a CD.

Jules Shear’s work on Funky Kings leads very clearly to his next band, Jules and the Polar Bears. But in that band, he goes insane. And their first album continues to be one I listen to often. It is an unquestionably great album. But overall, I listen more to his later work. What can I say? We’ve aged together and we are both more mellow now. But we’ll get to that over time.

Today, let’s listen to Jules Shear’s most mellow track of the album, “So Easy to Begin.” The other two tunes sound too much like what he did with the Polar Bears. But this song shows why the album wasn’t successful: it’s too diverse. The album also includes the original country-tinged Slow Dancing, which was a monster hit for Johnny Rivers just a year later.

I told you we were going to do another day of Tim Curry’s album, Read My Lips. (Can you believe it is not available on CD or even digitally?!) How could we not do his version of Bacharach & David’s “Anyone Who Had a Heart”? I’ll be honest, I could easily do every track of the album. There’s a lot to talk about. But I just don’t have the time to focus on something like that. So you are getting these quick notes about whatever the hell comes into my mind.

“Anyone Who Had a Heart” was originally performed by Dionne Warwick. In fact, it was written for her. I’ve always thought she had an amazing voice. But I find her version weak. What’s more, Bacharach and David also produced it, and it sounds like it. They were not producers. The Tim Curry version proves that Bob Ezrin really could do anything. The production is mythic without being silly.

Let me say something that might not be nice given that Phil Spector is rotting in jail, but I have always found the “wall of sound” to be awful. And it is also an awful idea. What makes for great production is variety. If you want straight maximum rock-n-roll, great! But people seemed to think that songs like “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin'” and “The Long and Winding Road” sound good. They don’t! They sound like the muddled messes that they are.

With a Bob Ezrin production, there can be excesses (Some of The Wall misses.) but everything has a reason. Every note has a purpose. And “Anyone Who Had a Heart” pulses with passion, pulling the listener along just like unstoppable attraction. It makes the song far better than it ever was all by itself. It’s amazing to listen to. It’s the best version that’s ever been recorded — at least that I’ve heard, and I’ve heard a lot of different versions. This is the one.

Tim Curry’s debut album, Read My Lips, was an amazing thing. Produced by Bob Ezrin with the same crew that did Lou Reed’s Berlin and Alice Cooper’s greatest work, it has an amazing musical core. But over the years, I’ve come to see Berlin as a deeply disappointing album because much of the writing is weak and then there is Lou Reed’s voice, which I will call bad when I’m feeling charitable. But here we have Tim Curry singing. How it isn’t a classic or at least a huge hit, I can’t say.

Of course, I feel this way a lot. Great work isn’t ignored by accident; it is ignored because it is great. I feel the same way about Jules and the Polar Bears’ first album, Got No Breeding — interestingly released the same year. But that was the year of the Bee Gees and Saturday Night Fever. Don’t get me wrong. I think there is some incredibly great disco music. I just don’t think that the Bee Gees made any of it.

One thing that doubtless would have killed Read My Lips even if it were produced to sell was the variety of the material. How’s this for a collection of songwriters: Paul McCartney, Roy Wood, Irving Berlin, Joni Mitchell, and Bacharach & David. I’ll get to that last one tomorrow. Today, we’ll listen to a song I assume was written especially for Curry by Ezrin and his frequent collaborator Michael Kamen, “Sloe Gin.” For those not into the art of mixology, sloe gin is a sweet liqueur that is used to make the kind of drinks consumed by people who are “so fucking lonely” that they feel like they’re gonna die. The song itself feels gin soaked. And I love the false ending. I don’t remember that police siren at the end, so maybe someone created that or the song was re-released or something?

Will was a bit miffed at me for saying that “Science Fiction Double Feature” was the best song from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. And we discussed “I’m Going Home.” And for a weak moment, I even said that as a song — without thought for content — it was probably a better song.

But is that true? It’s hard to say. The truth is that Tim Curry has such an amazing voice that he makes even mediocre songs sound great. And I’m afraid that’s really what’s going on in “I’m Going Home.” The truth is that the song seems unfinished. It wants to take off but it has no where to go. It has the feel of a Jim Steinman song. But Steinman is a much better writer than O’Brien is. So instead of the epic that “I’m Going Home” should be, it is a two minute ditty. He went away but found life off the farm to be unsatisfying and so is happy to be going home.

The song desperately needs a bridge. Obviously it needs it from a musical standpoint. As it is, the song doesn’t even go on long enough to transpose up a whole step and give it that big finish. But it also needs a bridge thematically. Traditionally, a bridge provides a song with a different angle on the subject. And certainly Frank N Furter has one! Yes, the great big world was a disappointment. But did it not also have its thrills? Didn’t he learn anything about life from his murder of Eddie? Didn’t he have it all once? It is supposed to be the show stopping number of the third act. But it just peters out.

But still, we have Tim Curry giving far more than the song deserves. But you know what they say: cards for sorrow; cards for pain (not that anyone knows what the hell it means).

When I was a teenager, my girlfriend forced me to go to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at least a dozen times. I hated it. I still think it is a film that could have been great, but is just silly in the most adolescent way imaginable. I read an interview with Richard O’Brien many years ago. In it, he said he wrote it in response to Jesus Christ Superstar. He said that a rock opera should not be about religion but about sex. Fair enough. But did it have to be a 14 year old boy’s idea of sex as he flips the pages of Playboy? But I always loved the opening, “Science Fiction Double Feature.”

What I like in the film is what most people miss: the parody of low budget science fiction and horror films of the 1940s and 1950s. Brad and Janet get stuck in the middle of nowhere when their car breaks down. So they go to the mansion nearby. And they find — Surprise! — a mad scientist. But not just any mad scientist, a “sweet transvestite.” It’s hysterical, but only in the context of oh so many films I’ve seen where this happened but the mad scientist wasn’t a transvestite.

Why “Science Fiction Double Feature” Is the Best Song

Given it is the old movie angle of the film that I like, it should come as no surprise, that my favorite song in the film is “Science Fiction Double Feature.” I still use the song to remember that Michael Rennie (a thoroughly forgettable actor) played Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still. I had thought about writing an article going over all the movie references, but Wikipedia has done a splendid job of it.

For the uninitiated, that was Richard O’Brien singing and Patricia Quinn’s lips. Quinn played Magenta in the film. But she also played the schoolmaster’s wife in the hilarious sex education skit in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life.