Let's go for a walk in the woods, shall we?
As I've made it abundantly clear in past posts, there is a great deal of culture from the 90s that I adore. While I have shown great admiration for music and cartoons from my formative years, there are occasionally cultural blank spots that need to be filled in. There have also been a fair number of posts here about Lost and Silent Hill. The common influence both of my long-standing favorites share is rooted back at the beginning of the 90s, in today's Spooky Month subject matter - Twin Peaks.
I was too young to have experienced the pop culture zeitgeist of Twin Peaks when it first aired. David Lynch's groundbreaking multi-genre show was notorious for quite a few good reasons, among them the surreal imagery and whodunit that ran central to the short lived series. From what my history books and parents have told me, it was one of the first water-cooler shows, something everyone was discussing the next day. It was popular and remarkable enough that I was able to pick up hints and shadows of the bizarre series in other forms. As it permeated the pop-culture lexicon, it laid the groundwork for some of my most-loved things, like the previously mentioned cult show Lost and the extremely Twin Peaks influenced Silent Hill series. It was only fitting then, that I trace the roots of these things back to the source. So when I was unable to sleep in the weeks approaching my wedding this past summer, I passed the nights by devouring the TV legend.
Immediately I was struck by the atmosphere and distinct personality of the series, the clearly identifiable Lynch hallmarks of surreal images, whipsaw mood changes and the undercurrent of the strange and abnormal. It was also immediately apparent that I was hooked on the series, chewing through the episodes as fast as I could, but savoring them in the understanding that it would only be two short seasons of this weird and wonderful show. I confess, I loved everything about it, even when the quality dipped (as the common reputation holds) in the second season. The first season, though - unparalleled.
Everything about the show was amazing to my tastes - it felt like the series had been made just for me, only to lie in wait while the stars slowly aligned to bring me to Twin Peaks. I love the dreary, cool atmosphere of the Northwestern setting, having lived there in my late teens. Angelo Badalamenti's noir and jazz based score added to the ambiance in an undeniable way. The absolutely quirky and uniquely drawn characters in their soap-opera parodies and grim circumstances. It was all a strange and enthralling mix that I immediately was hooked on. The iconic images of Lynch's dreamworlds only drew me deeper to the odd, short lived tale. It was exhilarating to see things that had made such impressions on culture for the first time, the scenes feeling at once alive and alien yet somehow familiar, a sense of "Oh, this is what that meant" coming over me more than once.
It's no wonder this amazing series is such a legend in popular culture - it set the bar higher than its imitators could hope to clear. Others have come close, but watching this show at night in the quiet dark while waiting to fall asleep...man, what a memorable week. The common thread running through some of my favorite things suddenly stood much clearer to me, having been lain bare by tracing it back to the source. If you want to relive an exciting time in TV history it's available on Netflix or from kind friends on DVD. It's eerie, spooky stuff that's perfect drama for this time of year. Makes me want a cup of dark coffee and a slice of pie, too, come to think of it.
I can't tell if I want Halloween to happen already, or never arrive.
The build up to the holiday of the dead is just as awesome as the day itself, in my opinion. In fact, the day itself could even be a let down, the way I build it up. I love it, if you weren't able to tell by the whole Spooky Month thing. As the day gets closer and closer, my better half likes to indulge my juvenile obsession. This involves both a plethora of candy and the annual observance of fittingly themed cartoons. It used to only be Treehouse of Horror episodes, but as the years have gone by I've started to sneak in the occasional South Park episode into the mix. While the Colorado kids might not have as many Halloween themed episodes in their canon, there are a few make their own indelible mark on my pop-cultural lexicon. One of my favorite is the season three outing, 'Korn's Groovy Pirate Ghost Mystery'.
South Park is all too often dismissed as nothing more than vulgarity and offensive crassness wrapped up in an elementary school setting. This dismissal couldn't be farther off base - it is, in fact, a thought-provoking and nuanced show with a wicked sense of humor that pulls no punches. The term South Park Republican? This is where it comes from. They've done multi-episode arcs that are scathing examinations not only of other shows but their own standing in relation to their TV peers. They've pushed political buttons with the best of them. They've broken all kinds of censorship taboos. They've also done a phenomenal job with this Halloween parody of my childhood favorite, Scooby Doo. So I'm asking you to look past any prejudices you might have (wrong that they are) and check out this episode that's over 10 years old. When you get down to the core of this episode, it's really just a solid, somewhat unremarkable example of South Park in its nascent prime. There's no long-standing political message to make it a human, relate-able tale. There's no hallmark celebrity-bashing or scathing pop-culture take-downs. All it is, really, is a firmly tongue-in-cheek take on the old Scooby Doo, mystery solving, Halloween story.
There is so much about this episode that could be labeled as arbitrarily silly and nonsensical. There's no heavy drama or high stakes. I think this light and indulgent episode is enjoyable for just those reasons - no big message, just a goofy Halloween-centered story. Fifth graders are tormenting Cartman, Kyle, Kenny and Stan on the approach of Halloween with tales of Pirate Ghosts. To get back at the fifth grade bullies, the boys dig up the corpse of Stan's grandmother to use as a scare-tactic. Korn, for arbitrary promotional reasons, are driving their Mystery Machine style van through town and crash when they see Pirate Ghosts. Everyone teams up to investigate these hauntings that are happening at the pier in South Park, where the local radio station is set to hold their big costume contest. That's all that happens - pretty light and fluffy compared to where the show is now. What ensues is both an awesome riff on Scooby Doo and a series of grotesque necrophilia jokes, naturally.
So much of the insanity in this episode is hilariously unspoken. Pirate ghosts. Haunting a pier in South Park. In the middle of Colorado. Korn's unflappable optimism and cheery attitude in the face of their dreary and angst-ridden music. The four boys being so cavalier and unquestioning of their own grave-robbing. The inclusion of Niblett, the pitch-perfect parody of the 70s Hanna Barbera mascot/sidekick kid-friendly...thing...that accompanies the group. Kenny's amazing and over the top ED-209 costume. Wendy Testaberger winning the costume contest in the requisite Chewbacca costume.
When you get down to it, it's a stupid, silly story that has no real purpose, other than to entertain you for 20 minutes. Considering how life can be so overwhelming and demanding at times, sometimes I just want to relax and laugh at some inanity and enjoy the Halloween build-up. No disturbing visuals, no unnerving horrors. Just a simple, stupid cartoon to help me unwind. I can hardly wait for Halloween. Spooky Month isn't all depressing horror and disturbing content - just some of the time.
Evening, all.
Yesterday's post was on a Halloween special that scarred me as a small child. I found, in talking to people last night, that I was not the only person who was severely traumatized by it. Today's piece, in the interest of Spooky Month and a week of TV specials, was something that had a similar effect, only this time I was way too old for the movie. For your entertainment, however, I'll tell the tale.
I can swear that I was completely sober at the time. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was no more than 17 or 18 when this viewing experience occurred. Like many of my Warm Fuzzy Viewings, this was something I saw while hiding from the world in my parent's basement, in their house out in the woods. It was late at night, I think maybe a Sunday night. I was flipping through the channels in the days before DVRs and net-delivered content. This was also back at a time when AMC was more about old movies than the amazing shows they provide now. What they were showing late at night caught my eye and immediately gave me the willies. I had to watch, despite my discomfort. It was Mad Monster Party.
Mad Monster Party is one of the old Rankin/Bass animated pictures, in the vein of their famous Christmas specials and holiday features. All stop-motion little puppets, a sort of ancient precursor to the shenanigans of Robot Chicken. Done with these posed figures, they tell the story of Baron Von Frankenstein hosting a convention of the classic movie monsters at his castle. He makes an announcement of his retirement and plans for succession involving his nebbish nephew, which the monsters find unacceptable. Shenanigans ensue, to say the least.
What I think threw me for a loop about Mad Monster Party was the uncanny aspect of the presentation when coupled with the ghoulish imagery. Obviously it was aimed at kids when it was produced and released, but seeing it late at night, not really knowing the nature of the beast, I was kind of transfixed. Something about how the characters moved in their lifeless yet animated manner creeped me out on a subconscious level. The dead eyes. The seemingly-kooky-and-fun-but-really-kind-of-creepy ambiance. Maybe it was just that I wasn't expecting it when I was flipping through the channels, waiting for South Park to come back from a commercial break.
I say it was creepy, and it was. But Mad Monster Party still has a certain charm you should check out. It's on Netflix Instant, and trailers and clips are on YouTube. The retro kitsch is kind of awesome. I just get the willies from the stop motion. Keep reading Spooky Month for more TV themed stuff tomorrow!
Spooky Month can never die!
We're switching gears again, kids. No more auditory evils, no more mixes for costume parties, no more ambient soundtracks. We're delving into Spooky TV shows and specials, the kind of stuff that either gets under your skin or celebrates my favorite of all holidays. Today, we're starting back at the beginning. Let's look at something from my childhood that scared the bejesus out of me - Garfield's Halloween Adventure.
I could see where this would be an innocuous thing. I could see how the execs and artistic talent behind this animated special from 1985 could make the assumption that everything presented here would be just fine and dandy for a children's Halloween special. That lazy, lasagna loving cat goes trick-or-treating with Odie and they have a bit of an adventure, a fright or two, throw in a couple musical numbers and a couple commercial breaks, you got yourself some advertising bucks. What ensued still gives me chills. I remember the white-knuckle terror of watching this as a small child, my brain melting at the twisted visuals that were stealthily presented in this cartoon.
One in a series of holiday specials from Garfield, the 80s and childhood staple, this half-hour cartoon was charming and simple on the surface. Garfield experiences Halloween. Jon gets him to carve a pumpkin. Garfield and Odie look for costumes in the attic, then go trick-or-treating. They see a house in the distance, across a river. Taking a rowboat, they find it's an old house that is home to what is clearly a disturbed old man. He tells a tale of pirates who are due to return from the grave that night to reclaim buried treasure. He steals the pair's boat and the two animals hide in the cupboards from some amazingly terrifying ghosts. That is when my brain promptly melted and oozed out of my ears.
Once I reached adolescence, I found reliving the childhood terrors a bit of a thrill. Surprisingly it still gives me the willies. I have to say, the style of animation and the manner in which it so innocuously creeps into what was expected to be a pleasant animated outing is effectively unnerving. I know I love the macabre and the surreal, but just Googling the images for today's post got my heart to race a bit. Some stereo effects kicked in at the wrong moment in my headphones and my pulse skipped a beat. How can this cartoon have had such an intense effect on me at such a young age? It must have been the shattered premise of peace and safety. I guess it was my first experience of the dangers that can come in seemingly innocent packages.
Good gravy, just one post about Spooky TV and already I need a drink. Tell you what, I'll come up for more modern fare for tomorrow's post and you try exposing your kids to the unexpected terrors of Garfield's Halloween Adventure on Youtube. Scar them like I was, it'll put hair on their chest and a surprise in their diapers. Spooky Month never dies!
Spooky Month gets funky.
They can't all be paranoid little pieces about haunting, ambient music and personal memories of leaves crunching on the ground, can they? Nah, I ought to switch things up. Stay fresh. Get moving. How about instead of a nostalgic bit on eerie tunes I give you a sonic blast of Halloween-themed goodness? Let's get a little funky. No, not horror-core. That's just bad all around. I'm talking about the furious funk of 'I'm Your Boogie Man'. Yeah, that kind of funk. To be honest, as much as I love the original flavor by KC & The Sunshine Band (with bonus points for being the soundtrack to the scene in Watchmen when The Comedian and Nightowl tame a riot) the version I want to put out the good word for is the insane re-grind by White Zombie.
White Zombie are...were...crazy. Largely the brainchild of Rob Zombie, the band made a pretty dynamic series of evolutions from a groove metal group in the late 80s to become the industrial funk outfit they were most known as by the time they dissolved in 1996. They had mainstream success with their last album, Astro-Creep: 2000, which of course unleashed the massive 'More Human Than Human' on the public. One of their last offerings to the masses before their dissolution (Rob Zombie spinning off to become a distilled entity of the band on his own) was this cover for the soundtrack to City of Angels, the disappointing sequel to The Crow. In one shot they sent out a blast of funky, grinding spooky madness that I make sure to include in any Halloween playlist/mix/partymusicwhathaveyou. I loved blasting this song, for example, while gearing up for the recent mess that was the Zombie Pub Crawl. Good times in grease paint and fake blood? Rob himself would be proud.
Kicking off with a dirty bit of distorted wah-wah guitar, 'I'm Your Boogie Man' jumps right into the thick of it with a heavy, somehow danceable combination of drums and minor bass notes that build the core of the song. Mr. Zombie layers on discordant keys and a chorus of excited kids screaming "The boogie man is coming! He's gonna get you" to build atmosphere and just be freaky in general. The verse rips open with a searing guitar to match the bassline while Rob's voice growls the words in an almost inhuman wash of distortion. Like the band or not, there's no denying they do this kind of thing incredibly well. I adore the synth lines that come in before the chorus that ape the horns in the original version. When the song breaks loose and tears into the hook, it's insanely heavy. The blasts of guitar and bass while Zombie screams the hook are full of menace and Halloween cheer, both dangerous and fun. Somehow it's totally danceable despite the madness comprising the tune.
Like I said, I love this crazy cover and throw it into any October entertaining I do. Not like a sit-down, wine glasses and fancy cheeses kind of thing, but more of going to a scary movie or having people over before a midnight screening at the Uptown Theater. White Zombie may have called it quits soon after releasing this cover but I'm glad they let us have this one before they did. It's Monster Mash, for sure.
Let's get less political and more fictional, eh?
Yesterday's Spooky Month post got a little to real for me. I know, I wrote it - I should be able to reign it in. So how's about a whole soundtrack to my favorite month and a bit of cultural zeitgeist from days past? Instead of just a spooky single, let's take a look at a creepy collection of music, one that works from ambiance and subtle hints rather than hit-you-on-the-head heavy handedness. I want to tell you about the musical companion piece to the old cult hit The X-Files, Songs In The Key of X.
There was a time in the mid 90s where my older brother was part of a CD Club. Do those even exist anymore? For those of you too young to know, you join this organization that gets you a whole slew of cheap CDs the first month, then kind of auto-mails you the next CD every month after. Usually people singed up for the crazy deal (20 CDs for 20 cents!) and then got a crummy CD mailed to them every month at cost because they were too lazy to cancel. Not us, though. We got in, got our music and got out. He got tons of good music and let me pick a couple albums with him, then we had to order I think two or three at retail price to get the full discount. He had nothing on his wish list he wanted, so I sorted through the catalog to see if anything stood out. See how quaint this was? Man, iTunes was such a game changer. Anyway, I saw a compilation that listed among its entries Foo Fighters, Filter, Rob Zombie, The Meat Puppets and R.E.M. I was also big into The X Files at the time, so I filled out the paperwork (yeah, I know) and it arrived a couple weeks later as the leaves were turning. Both the impending Fall and the tone of the album have inextricably tied Songs In The Key of X to Halloween for me, and this time every year I find myself putting it on for both enjoyment and nostalgia. Turns out it still holds up, if it appeals in any way.
The thing about this album is that it's not really a proper soundtrack to the wonderfully twisted TV show. It's more a loose collection of songs that fit in theme or tone to the paranoid and twisted, the conspiracies and cover ups. The iconic theme song, haunting as ever, opens the album. From there, though, it branches out into appropriately weird territory. Alterative legends Soul Coughing turn in the fun and bizarre 'Unmarked Helicopters', a buzzer of a song that bears all the signs of the decade. Sheryl Crow sings the heartbreaking 'Standing On The Outside', which creates an air of noirish isolation with sparse, reverb-drenched guitars and walls of harmony. It's actually a beautiful, if mournful, tune. Foo Fighters cover 'Down In The Dark' by Gary Numan, adding to the paranoia and weirdness with the hypnotic head-bobber of a track. Filter, then still known more for 'Hey Man Nice Shot' than 'Take My Picture', offer a strange and squiggly little acoustic number with 'Thanks Bro'. Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds make their indelible mark with the always spooky 'Red Right Hand'. This song screams Halloween, with its chimes, plucked strings and dark, dramatic vocals.
While the paranormal and off-kilter exist in harmony here, things sometimes get more off kilter than paranormal. Show-casing the more quirky side of the show are numbers by P.M. Dawn, R.E.M.'s collaboration with William S. Burroughs or Screamin' Jay Hawkins. The Meat Puppets are all alt-pop with their lyrically relevant but sonically cheery 'Unexplained'. Elvis Costello pairs up with the ambient genius Brian Eno to make a wonderfully weird addition with 'My Dark Life', which fits both in tone and theme. Rob Zombie teamed up with progenitor Alice Cooper to deliver some blisteringly evil metal with 'Hands of Death', showing how the student became the master in their shared genre. Also, in another bizarre sign of the show's influence, rewinding the album behind the first track brought out two more songs, another from Nick Cave and Mark Snow. This under-utilized trick of the medium blew my mind when I first discovered it back in 1996, just as Chris Carter would have wanted it to.
This album, while not a soundtrack in the proper sense, is nonetheless a soundtrack to my Fall and Halloween every year. I adore the creeping and strange sounds, the light and the dark of the pop and alt, the sad and upbeat sounds playing off each other so well. The tunes may not all have appeared in the paranormal procedural but they fit the tone in spirit, creating an air of mystery for my favorite time of year. If you miss this iconic show or just want some music to give you pause while you walk through the leaves collecting on the sidewalk, go dig up this gem. There's an artist for everyone here, I guarantee it.
Evening, all.
I write this with a bit of trepidation, as I feel it warrants a fair bit of justification in order to include it under the umbrella of Spooky Month Music. You know, though? I'm going for it. Why should I have to apologize for a track in a playlist? I'm not trying to offend, just throwing mental spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks. So it is with mixed levels of confidence and wariness that I make today's Spooky Month recommendation. I'm Afraid of Americans.
Who wouldn't be? We're huge. We are the elephant in the room. We barge in at any social (global) event and make it about us. We're teenagers on a global scale, why wouldn't we? That's what we do, and for better or worse we do it well. By and large we've been responsible for some amazing things in the last 200+ years we've existed. We've also been present for, and caused, some of the most horrible things you could fathom. Being an American, at least in my own short existence in the post-modern age, has been a dichotomous one - pride in being a powerful, prosperous nation (at least five years ago, anyway) yet shame in our heavy handed, ego-centric approach to some of the more nuanced issues. Lest I delve any further into the issue and start actively and irreparably shoving my foot into my mouth, I will say that this understanding of American citizenship helps shape my context of David Bowie's killer single, remixed by Trent Reznor.
It's two great flavors that taste great together. Bowie, with his British style and refinement, writing a biting, insightful track about our omnipresence in the world with the help of genius Brian Eno. Reznor, all American dramatics and angst, deconstructing and re-contextualizing the established order to create a fresh, biting sound. These two, working on the song from Bowie's 1997 album Earthling, crafted tune that not only forces the listener to question assumptions but also makes a Hell of an ominous, funky little ditty to have throbbing in the background while entertaining. It's the kind of song that I like to include as part of my Halloween/cocktail-hour playlists in iTunes because not only is it a killer song with a killer vibe but those who hear it and get Bowie's message might think about how the world is a dangerous place, even here in America. It's spooky music, not in the ghouls and goblins sense, but in the mood established through tone and message, a song full of paranoia and malice.
The track, with its Reznor-requisite beeps, buzzes and fuzz, is also bolstered by the crazy video produced for it. One must bear in mind, though, that it was created back in a pre-9/11 world wherein criticizing the U.S. was a much different thing than it is today. Seeing Bowie chased through New York by a menacing Reznor and kids with finger-guns was both odd and amusing. It was cool to see the two, a pairing of kindred artists, making a bit of a statement about our gun-obsessed culture and our lack of tact. Now it seems even more odd and somehow more provocative in light of our political landscape.
See how I get off on tangents when I get going on geo-political topics? It's not a Halloween song like the Addams Family theme or the Monster Mash, but it's a track with teeth, a darkly toned grind of a song that Bowie delivers with unflappable cool. Reznor's influence is just icing on the cake. Sneak it into a mix and see if anyone picks up on it. It's like a musical Rorschach test for Halloween.
Last book of the month, kids.
Spooky Month has been full of freaky deeky books. There's been children's books that made a lasting impression, comics to make a visual spectacle, some gnarly stories about zombies and plenty of Stephen King. To finish out the week in circuitous fashion, how about a look at my favorite collection of King's short stories? Sound good? All right, then - Skeleton Crew. Published back in 85, the collection is a series of shorts that were all written and published early in the horror writer's career when he was apparently bursting with ideas, this book following on the heels of the collection Night Shift and the novella-grouping of Different Seasons. Skeleton Crew is King at his best, writing bursts of characterization and tossing out horrendous and even offensive ideas, doing so with inspired bits of creativity giving them life.
I first read this book back in 1997, actually on the recommendation of me darling mum. She had recapped a fairly edited and cleaned up version of one of the more remarkable tales in the book, about a man who finds himself stranded on a tiny island with no food and only a bit of water. When pressed for details, instead of relating the grisly bits she drove me to the library. As I mentioned in another King-focused post, it didn't matter what I read, so long as I kept my mind moving. So I checked out Skeleton Crew and devoured it - it quickly became my personal favorite of his short stories collection. Full to the brim with his signature style, the stories here are perfect for getting under your skin for Halloween.
'Survivor Type', I should explain, is just as remarkable and horrible as I was lead to believe. Related in a series of broken journal entries, the tale of a h smuggler gone wrong is captivating and without an ounce of fat on it. It's a lean, fast-paced story that cuts right to the chase and sucks you in, creating repulsive images in your head as you read. I love just regaling friends with the concept of what happens in it and watching them squirm. Fun cocktail party stuff, for sure. Another iconic tale in the collection, 'The Monkey', evokes more of an inescapable terror but in a more mystical sense. Your classic children's toy becomes an unshakeable omen in impending doom, to the terror of a young man. It seems to have been the inspiration to more than a couple episodes of television, from The X Files to b-movies in MST3K. 'The Jaunt' sees King veering out of his comfort zone into science fiction. In typical fashion, though, he uses the genre as a launching point for some creative concepts and horrible, mind-bending results. The basic premise involves a future in which a form of teleportation has become common practice. The only catch to the revolutionary manner of travel is that the traveler must be unconscious for the jaunt. To be awake would...well, you'll have to read the story to find out, but I have to say, it's one that has always stood out as a high point in short-form fiction. I particularly loved the portion where King relates the scientist creating the technology and experimenting with mice to varying degrees of success.
I would be remiss if I were to discuss Skeleton Crew without talking about the heavyweight in the bunch - The Mist. This has to be one of my favorite bits of fiction by King, ever. It's one of those things that is somehow able to suggest so much from so little. To long to be a short, too short to be a novel, King leads off the book with this fascinating tale of military experiments gone wrong. Actually, that's never really confirmed in the story, only rumored. You see, there's a man who's community endures a terrible storm. Afterwords, while he waits with his son to get some groceries and supplies while the power is out, a heavy and pervasive mist rolls through, blanketing everything. He and everyone in the store are curious but cautious at this strange development - it's not fog, so what is it? A man bursts in, in a panic, screaming about monsters, things, in the mist. They soon find out he's right. The paranoia and survival instinct-driven mob mentalities that follow are harrowing. King is scarily effective at conjuring up the worst in people who are under the worst circumstances. The hints we get of the creatures and their potential origins are horrifying and fascinating, some of the most memorable fiction I've read.
So you've stuck with me for the first leg of Spooky Month. You've got plenty of fodder for the rest of the month - something for your kids (but only if they can handle it), something for lighter fare, and some longer stuff to chew through. If you want some quick shots of nasty, bizarre horror - look no further than Skeleton Crew. It's King at his best, when he was young and full of vinegar. Stay tuned for more Spooky stuff.
Alright, here's the thing.
I fully intended on writing up a piece on some of the most disturbing books I read as a kid, all in the name of Spooky Month and this book themed week. I did some research, I looked some stuff up on the ol' Google. Then I started to remember why I blocked out my experiences of reading the books. Then the pictures showed me why I couldn't just post a bunch of them and wipe my hands of this. They were actually really disturbing.
If you were a kid in the last, say, 30 years who enjoyed reading, the odds are you came across Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark. When I was a child the collected Urban Legends and folk tales were spine chilling. Now I find them to be enjoyable slices of lore that distill what unnerves us. The drawings that accompanied them were as disturbing then as they are now, to the point that just seeing pictures of them online brings me back to the discomfort and terror I felt as a child. Having read other people's recollections of their experiences and their disbelief at how the images compare with any other children's books, I am obviously just one of many who have been traumatized by this short lived series.
Written and compiled by Alvin Schwartz, the books all tell tales that are brief and to the point. There are classic Urban Legends like the Man with the Hook Hand or the Unseen Hitchhiker in the Backseat or the Roommate who was Dead All Along. There are folktales of the uncanny and the taboo - tales of songs and chants and things to ward off evil. Again, these are not the most bone-chilling reads as an adult, more capsular versions of our horror movies. As a child - I slept more than a night or two on the floor of my parents room, feeling safe in their presence.
The illustrations accompanying the collected writings are by Stephen Gammell, who has a long and celebrated career as an illustrator for children's books. Having over fifty books to his name, it's a bit of a wonder this series stands out the way it does in his career. Once you see them, though, it becomes a question of forgetting them rather than remembering them. The surreal and deformed, decaying figures are uncanny in the worst possible way. They are things of remarkable artistry, there is no question of that - they are so well made, though, that you can't help but shudder just a bit as you see some of the more...inspired...creations.
These books terrified me. If you think your kids can handle it, by all means let them have at them. But please, err on the side of safety. If you read them as a kid, conquer one of your old fears. Spooky Month!
Sometimes I'm too stupid for my own good.
I remember being in 8th grade at my dilapidated middle school. It was Fall and the day was almost over. Everyone was grabbing their homework and throwing on jackets and backpacks. A friend of mine had a copy of Third Eye Blind's first album sitting on her desk, having borrowed it from a friend. Being a misanthropic little teenage snot, I started giving her grief over listening to such a blatantly poppy, radio friendly band. How dare she go out of her way to listen to music she actually enjoys, and on top of that it's popular! The horrors! Well, she stood up for herself (as she rightly should have) and I shrugged it off to go be opinionated about something else. Hindsight proved me to be pretty off the mark on that album - it was full of really catchy, strong songs. Even now, in the midst of my all-too-often played list of 90s songs, there are no less than three singles from that one album. 'Semi Charmed Life', 'Jumper' and 'How's It Gonna Be' are all insanely catchy, well written pop songs that, while not the hardest rocking tunes ever, are still satisfying. They've held up a lot better than some of the crud I was listening to at the time.
Sometime later, I think about halfway through high school or perhaps more, I found myself in the flipside of that situation. I found myself becoming obsessed with popular culture and the joys of mass appeal. I'd gone from being judgmental to feeling sheepish over diving in too far. Third Eye Blind's sophomore album was getting really strong reviews and the single 'Never Let You Go' was on heavy rotation on the radio. In stride with the struggles over single-versus-album debate that I've written about before, I decided to throw caution to the wind and buy the album on the recommendation of a popular magazine. Maybe it was an attempt to feel like part of the youth culture I always seemed separated from. Maybe I didn't have sufficiently strong or well formed opinions of what I liked or would like. Who knows. Point is, I never learened my lesson about buying singles. So I bought Blue by Third Eye Blind. It seemed...alright. I wasn't blown away by it at the time. Looking back, even with my desire to fit in and be one of the popular kids, I wanted music with teeth. I still dug Marilyn Manson, NOFX and Method Man & Redman. I still liked weird music. I was, in essence, trying to find a balance between my indulgent pop side and my indulgent art-rock side. Eventually, years later as I settle into a life I understand and out of which can make some semblance of sense, I think I've found that balance. In doing so I've come to appreciate that album.
In all honesty I don't know why I feel this strange, persistent pull to Blue. It was a bit of a flop, frankly. Maybe it's the fact that Third Eye Blind's first album broke so big and this one was so small that makes it appealing, like I can only rationalize enjoying the album if it's not ultra mainstream. Then again, I bought it in the anticipation of it being a big success, so what do I know about my own justification? Whatever my subconsciousness tries to tell me is really beside the point - there's something that makes me spin through these tracks every couple years and just see what shakes out.
While it's not the great neglected album that, say, Neutral Milk Hotel can claim as their own, there are definately some superb little secrets here. The song most people would know from this album, the aforementioned 'Never Let You Go', is a pretty solid single, but not the best here. I'd make a passionate case for the likes of the shorter but sweeter and more punchy '10 Days Late', with its burbling bass line and snapping guitar chords, it's a great song about the terrors of unplanned p and how we cope with it. Another great, seemingly overlooked song is the wide open and airy 'Wounded'. It has some wonderful bits of echoed and reverberated guitars. 'Deep Inside of You', which I oddly remember being on the soundtrack to Me, Myself & Irene, is your typical millenium-era acoustic radio ballad. You know what, though? I don't care - sometimes I want to embrace some commercial-grade radio rock. It's easy on the ears and is really relaxing. I like singer Stephan Jenkins' voice. They're nice songs that don't stress me out.
Gun to my head, why do I like this album? I think the accessibility. The songs are strong, not mindblowing, but strong and enjoyable. Nice, poppy stuff for a bright and sunny day. That's what I was way off base about, back in middle school. I made the mistaken assumption that only (perceived) depth mattered. My pretentious angst-rock wasn't any fun for anyone but me - something I learned once I started driving and had control of the tunes in my car. You have to embrace what you enjoy, no matter who gives you guff. Within reason. We all have to have some accountability. Maybe I'm rambling. I'm rambling.
The more the years go by, the more I see the influence of my father in my life.
Sure, this seems painfully obvious to an outsider observing two inherently link specimens, one the genetic and causal result of the other. But to one of the animals inside the experiment, the nature of the situation is not so readily apparent. Furthermore, the opening statement could be more appropriately phrased as: The more the years go by, the more I see how my life is shaped from what I take from my father. This understanding has come into sharper focus for me in the more recent years, but most identifiably as I read through a book he had picked up over the course of my wedding weekend. The book, Fire and Rain by David Browne, is a look at the state of the world of popular music in 1970 and how it shaped and was shaped by four entities - The Beatles, CSNY, Simon & Garfunkel and James Taylor. My experience in reading the book was no doubt shaped by my relationship with my father; my understanding of it colored not only how I perceived the music but how I perceived the reading experience itself. Both were revelatory, but I gained more from my burgeoning clarity than I did from the book.
Don't get me wrong - Fire and Rain is an interesting read, it just lacks teeth at times. It was fascinating for me to gain an understanding and clearer perspective on things that I had little or unfocused comprehension. While in town for my wedding, my dad decided to pass a rare lull in the action by wandering around a book store, something I'm more than a little pleased to see is an inherited trait. Having an appreciation for the artists studied in this book (like anyone his age, one could fathom) he picked it up as some light reading material for the evening and finished it while I was off on my honeymoon. When I visited them earlier this fall, he casually mentioned it as entertaining and insightful, not too challenging given the wide scope of the book. Always looking for more fodder, as well as a chance to share something with my father, I took him up on it and read through it this past week. As I said, it was an interesting, if light, read - pretty much his take on it, from what he's told me.
To be honest, sitting on the bus and reading his book 100 miles away gave me the same feeling I got from pinching his record collection when I went off to college. A neighbor of mine left me a gently used, but still serviceable, stereo that actually had a turntable built in with its modern components. Knowing his LPs weren't getting much action at home, I MAY have asked to borrow them. They also may have just ridden along with my stuff that was still boxed up from freshman year. The point is, I had been listening to his vinyl since I was about 14 and had first gotten the itch to figure out what this Led Zepplin business was all about, anyway. Some of my favorite times in college were spent sitting in my apartment with my then-girlfriend-now-wife and other friends, goofing off and drinking while spinning his original pressings by The Stones, CSNY, Eric Clapton and even Kool & The Gang. They really did sound different from the horrible, pirated mp3s we'd all grown accustomed to, and it was a distinct badge of honor to answer questions of origin with "Oh these? These are all my dad's records."
In addition to the sense of connection I gained from reading David Browne's book, I also gained a much stronger understanding of the world of music that I took for granted. It sounds foolish but with so many revered bands existing around the same time, it was strange to think of them as having overlapping careers. To read that Bridge Over Troubled Water came out the same year as James Taylor's Sweet Baby James kind of made sense when you hear them on the radio; to know that came out the same year The Beatles dissolved was a fresh context, though. Further, I found it surprising to realize the Kent State shootings happened and that CSNY's 'Ohio' was written almost immediately in response - the freewheeling 60s had come to an abrupt end and that song seemed to legendary to be almost dashed-off in a matter of less than 20 minutes. I had no idea that James Taylor, the gentle artist he always was, had not only had debilitating d a but also had himself committed on several occasions. Those kind of realizations change the way you see an artist as well as their canon of work. It became much more apparent why CSNY barely held together, as well as the notion that The Beatles had no choice but to pack it in, they didn't function as a unit anymore. Also? Not necessarily Yoko's fault. Shows you what old punch-lines and cliches really teach you.
These were musicians I've heard my whole life, through my dad playing them in the house (or the car, more likely) or from oldies stations. Knowing that they were real people, not just legends already on pedestals, made them (and their music, of course) much more relatable. Reading about Paul Simon fretting over his premature hair loss was endearing and humanizing. Learning that James Taylor was kind of nuts made him more appealing as an artist, frankly. I've only known him as the balding and gruff old man who plays folk songs. Getting a sense of who he was as a young man (and the troubles he endured) deepened my appreciation greatly. Reading all this knowing that Black Sabbath, Led Zepplin and Devo were right around the corner was just as illuminating as anything else in the book.
It's all about context. The history in the book, my relationship with my father, whatever you do in life. Understanding the larger picture makes such a monumental difference. My father is a man of self-discipline who still reads for pleasure - I've always read voraciously but only in the last few years has my control over my life really come into shape. My love of running absolutely ties back into his. Funnily enough, he hardly ever spoke of it, he just did it every morning. That seems to be a more effective way to ingrain a lesson into your kids - no lectures, just show 'em how it's done. He's told me before of his love of a good harmony, a peculiarity I also share with him (thus the CSNY, I guess). My musical roots fall squarely into his domain, as well. Reading this book helped me understand that. I'm glad he let me borrow it - unlike his records, I plan on returning it.
Back at the wheel.
Over the weekend was the anniversary of Nevermind by Nirvana. Ask anyone and they'll tell you all about how it was such an influential record and it changed everything and yeah, yeah, yeah. At a certain point it becomes noise. I love that album, if it hasn't become apparent from related subjects. It is, indeed, fantastic - not a bad song on there, in fact. But while Nevermind gets all the clout, no one seems to give any props to the follow up.
In Utero, released in 1993, is a more interesting album, one could argue. Nevermind was the band breaking big with fairly simply songs that just go verse-chorus-verse (to borrow an oft-used phrase from the singer himself) with repeated lyrics. As great as it is, there's not a lot of depth beyond that which we assign to it. In Utero, with its broader sounds and more twisted lyrics, becomes a more unique experience as years go by. It's a great album that always seems to be a "oh, yeah, that one too" inclusion in the band's canon, where it should be seen for the important evolution it signified. While we have these albums frozen in time to remind us of what a sea-change the band's breakthrough was, it's the wonder of what could have been that fascinates me. Where would Nirvana have gone to, had they not been abruptly halted? This album gives subtle indication of that elusive, unattainable alternate reality where Cobain persevered and made more music.
Impossibly high hopes no doubt affected how the album was written. Nevermind was so omnipresent and adored that any meaningful following efforts would pale in comparison to the mega-seller. Cobain, being his normal difficult and confrontational self, made an album that was intentionally challenging and jarring. Nevermind was slick and polished, ready for the radio. In Utero was harsh, discordant a series of broken guitars and thudding drum and bass arrangements. For every accessible single like 'All Apologies' there was a bleating fury from the likes of 'Scentless Apprentice', which comes to such an unpleasant close that anyone but the most diehard fans are put off. There's the disarmed Beatles-inspired 'Dumb' juxtaposed with the band falling apart at the seams in 'Radio Friendly Unit Shifter'. When you try to find a common ground between all the tracks on In Utero, the closest you could come would most likely be the dynamic start-and-stop fury of 'Milk It'. The sounds in this song are carried throughout the album - the weirdly atonal little licks of clean guitars, the indistinct yet bobbing bassline and the absolutely massive drums parts. Elements of this sonic essence are found in 'Heart Shaped Box', 'Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle' and 'Rape Me.'
While the record is definitely a challenge to get acquainted with, there are certainly pop elements that were emerging in Cobain's writing as his career edged towards the end. 'Dumb' is practically sedated in it's demeanor. 'Pennyroyal Tea' was a genuine radio-friendly single with its power pop chorus. The melody and riff in 'Very Ape' are, at their heart, quite catchy and hypnotic - they're just hidden under a layer of distortion and aggression. Had the album opener 'Serve the Servants' been played in their Unplugged concert it would have been almost too upbeat for the band.
I feel like all of these signs pointed towards a band in mid-evolution, one that no matter the outcome would be unrecognizable in short time. Considering the change they experienced from the sludge of their debut album Bleach to their still-stunning Unplugged album, they were hardly a one trick pony. It's easy to forget this when all anyone talks about is the punk-meets-heavy metal grunge of Nevermind. They had their nuances, they were just overlooked in favor of their commercial successes. Had they been able to carry on, we most likely would have seen more of this weirdly experimental pop side to the band, Cobain becoming more and more comfortable with his softer side as his career went on. Instead, we have a band whose canon is heavily slanted towards negative energy and painful wailing, something that really only showed a part of their personality. Granted, they excelled at it. But that doesn't mean they couldn't write interesting, engaging pop songs. We'll just never know what would have been.
We would also (most likely) never have gotten the legendary Foo Fighters out of it either. Maybe that's more important.
Singles are a strange thing. Or, rather, they used to be.
Now it's not a problem at all to pick cafeteria-style from the world at large. The album format is the oddity, where the single used to be a funny little thing. It seems so rare and note-worthy to listen to an album all the way through - not only is it a sign of dedication to an artist (or maybe not paying attention to my soundtrack) but a sign the artist is talented enough to carry an idea through more than just a handful of songs. Maybe it's just my modern age, technologically induced ADD that keeps me from even wanting to hear an album's worth of material. When I wrote about the double album Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness it felt like such an act of endurance and even an accomplishment to have listened to two hours of music, despite being split up over the course of two days. I guess that's more of a statement on the pace of our lives than the capability of an artist and the changing state of a medium, I suppose.
Back before the proliferation of digital distribution, singles were more of a vexing thing. If I was into a song, I couldn't rely on the single-minded nature and limited playlists of the local radio stations. MTV was already phasing out videos in favor of teen-centric marketing. If I dug something I could either plunk down a couple bones for a single, and then have to constantly be swapping discs out when I wanted to hear it, or go for gusto and buy the whole damn album, hoping the (minor) investment would pay off. Sometimes these purchases paid off, like with Fiona Apple's excellent sophomore effort or the rare stealth gem like Everclear's Sparkle And Fade. Other times, it was a frustrating disappointment, no matter how good the single was.
Take The Cranberries and their 1996 album To The Faithful Departed. Following the huge success that was their second album, No Need To Argue, one would expect them to keep on with their interesting mix of alt rock and politically aware, socially focused writing. Instead, they put out an album that just kind of fell flat, despite one or two decent singles. Personally, I loved 'Salvation', with its frantic pace and rising-and-falling melody, all doo-doo-doo-doo-doo's and hum-able lines. From the way it fell off the charts (and reading reviews in hindsight) it becomes apparent why I was frustrated with the album - it just wasn't that good. I was smitten with that particular single, yet the other 12 (12!) songs were just meh. Even the other singles were uninteresting to me, having been hooked by the thought of more aggressive tunes on the album. I had put out good money in the hopes of some good luck, instead I got a dreary album full of songs that sounded like they just weren't written with any passion. Judging by the way the band's career petered out after this album, it's possible they were running out of creative steam. I don't mean to slag them, but every artist or group has a high point; this was not that high point for The Cranberries.
Despite my harsh words, I do still dig 'Salvation'. I know it's preachy and heavy handed, the way singer Dolores O'Riordan rails against substance abuse. It's still an uptempo number that hits the right parts of my mind, hooking it in with the tightly constructed soundscape. I love the rush of it, the panic pervading through the track. Too bad it was the lone energetic track on the album. I've really tried to go back and listen to the album, to give it a second, third, fourth chance. I should have bought the single, instead.
This is not unlike my internal conflict regarding U2.
I have, in general terms, no concern for Madonna. Why would I, really? Her music was never targeted to me and I never connected with what she was saying. Her impact on music - pop, dance, club and electro - is undeniable, though. Just because I didn't care for it didn't mean I didn't appreciate her legacy and influence. She changed the cultural landscape with her hyper-sexualized image and dace-centered tunes. She's had tons of hit songs and sold millions of albums. We just were never on the same plane, musically. I'm fine with that; there are plenty of artists whom I respect but don't bother with. I won't name names but legendary status doesn't necessitate patronage. In other words, I wasn't into what she was putting out. There was one single, though, that broke through the malaise.
It was fall of 1998. I think it was my freshman year of high school, which was also kind of a weird year in music. There was kind of a lull in music I dug - I had run the gamut of 90s alt rockers, draining the well of anything I found pleasure in. There was nothing to be passionate about. I remember feeling this terrible pall wash over me as I began to realize high school was going to be a worse, older version of middle school, at least for the foreseeable future. Same kids. Same town. Same teasing. I was unhappy but struggled to express or resolve the issues I was facing. I kind of wanted something melancholy to help see me through the fog affecting me. Had I known about Portishead and Bjork at the time, I would have been all about it, their albums of the time being longtime favorites of mine once I discovered them. I recall listening to Adore a lot, curiously exploring the subtle electronic undertones. The world was slowly growing colder and my mood dampened each day. I was your typical py teenager, all awkward skinny limbs and poor temperament.
Madonna had seen a big success in her album Ray of Light, which was only on my radar due to the high volume of MTV I consumed at the time. Not of any interest to me, it didn't even register beyond its pervasive singles on pop radio. That changed, though, with the single 'The Power of Goodbye'. Unlike the many times I've been unable to cite an attraction to a song, this time I could break it down on a scientific level. I loved the ambient sounds, the electronic burbling the production. The chord progression was one of absolute satisfaction and resolution - I got such a sense of peace from the way the softly played tones shifted from one chord to the next. Madonna's self-aggrandizing nature and (mediocre) singing had been toned down, making it much more palatable to my fickle taste. Even the video for the song, which by that point in MTV's life span was receiving little play, was all mournful blues and agony over the ending of a relationship. Basically I loved everything about the song.
Except for what it was.
As much as I loved 'The Power of Goodbye' it was (at least in my mind) totally unacceptable that I enjoyed it, especially among my peers. I already took enough abuse at school about looking and acting different than the standard high school, small town dude - blasting some sentimental Madonna tune would have brought on more torment than it would have been worth. So I never really got to enjoy it, as I always felt guilty for liking something so feminine and graceful. Now, of course, I know better. Forget all that noise - I love the things I love for exactly the reasons they're awesome. I've certainly shown in my posts here that I make no bones about my adoration for atypical pieces. I embrace my quirks and the ensuing results. Including this song.
Now, as fall rolls in again, I find myself wanting to hear the song and remember what growing up was like. The feeling in the air at the time, the memories of where I was at that point in my life. I'm glad I've come to a point in my life where I have the confidence to be who I want, even if that gets the occasional eye-roll from my better half.
