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(Hut, 1993)
A single yanked from the Drop Nineteens’ second (and last) album, “Limp” takes a more rock-minded approach – check them aggressive vocals! – than the band’s earlier material, though the shoegaze influence remains quite apparent in the nicely wonky guitar work. Still, file it under “Alt” and approach with caution. The Pixie-esque “Tempest” and “Sea Rock” give us some more oddball gtr-FX goofiness, but both are prototypical B-sides, loose throwaways better for a chuckle (“Tempest,” with its overbaked howls, almost seems to be a Nirvana parody at times) than much else. LP number one, Delaware, offers a more sedate noise-swell and does a far better job of satisfying with its inoffensive aping of early-’90s Britgaze. These guys were purely second-stringers.
(Elektra, 1971)Listening to the Doors always gives me ample reason to cringe, because, like any lame-brained teenager of the last couple decades, there were a few middle-school years there where I eagerly immersed myself in the embarrassing, pseudo-intellectual mythology that draws young morons everywhere to the band (and remember that just as guilty as Morrison for all of that silliness is long-winded necrophiliac Ray Manzarek, who has been shamelessly flogging the horse since 1971). Yes, I even owned and dug ol’ Jim’s two volumes of, ahem, “poetry,” within which I pretended to perceive and receive some real Heavy Truths. But even then, thick as I was, I was clued-in enough to realize that Morrison Hotel and L.A. Woman were both horseshit, the self-parodic work of a washed-up group desperately grasping for bluesy authenticity after its one true attempt at stretching out – the bizarre lounge act of Soft Parade, which happens to be my favorite Doors LP – nearly got it laughed out of the big leagues. The upbeat “Love Her Madly,” however, is a rare bright spot on L.A. Woman, begging as it does for chart action and pop recognition while dropping most of the dreary pretensions that had consumed the band. The dumb-dumb lyrics (“Don’t you love her madly / Want to meet her daddy”) and cheery tack piano are a welcome return to the relative frivolity of earlier material like “Hello I Love You,” though Morrison’s deep vocal is distractingly hammy. It’s amusing to note that while the song is already concise on the album, here the label chops another 30 seconds off for the single release – shame Bruce Botnik couldn’t get anyone to take that same ax to the endless “Riders on the Storm” or the LP’s title track. As for the sub-bar-band, Manzarek-sung Willie Dixon cover on the B-side – “(You Need Meat) Don’t Go No Further” – let’s just say that it serves as a depressingly accurate preview for the two dire post-Morrison records to come.
(Epic, 1967)In the grand scheme of such things, the ever-underappreciated Donovan doesn’t get his due. I’m not sure that there’s a meaningful musical link to be found between his work and that of today’s kiddies, but he’s clearly an influence visually and in a general spiritual/philosophical sense: There’s a definite air of Donovan-ness to freak-folk and pop guys like Devendra Banhart, MGMT, and, heck, Joanna Newsom. It’s a shame that no one in the mainstream is outright copping his musical moves, though, because Donovan’s psychedelic phase resulted in plenty of weird, memorable moments that deserve to be internalized by at least a few scene newies. The non-LP “Epistle to Dippy” is one of the best from this period, a lysergic, almost Barrett-esque single with sproingy guitars, sawing cellos, and a harpsichord break. Even though some of the lyrics are, uh, dated (“Look on yonder misty mountain / See the young monk meditating,” “Elevator in the brain hotel,” etc.), give it a pass for its great arrangement, great spaced-out vocal, and great melody; this is easily in the same league as killers “Hurdy Gurdy Man” and “Sunshine Superman.” Donovan’s psychedelic pop – “Dippy” in particular – seems to be the reference point for the Rolling Stones’ strange attempts at the form in 1967: “Dandelion” and “We Love You” take more from records such as this one than they do any, say, Beatles disc.Switching gears, it’s a jazzy beatnik trip on the other side, as “Preachin’ Love” is all tinkling pianos, brushed cymbals, and saxes accompanying Donovan’s rhythmic vocal delivery. Interesting as a contrast to the A-side and as a display of his considerable musical range, but not worth more than a play or two.
(Parasol, 1997)Cuddle-pop that definitely skews more towards jangle than power, the Doleful Lions make stylistic semi-peers such as the Apples In Stereo seem like bruisers in comparison. The hopelessly sappy “Hang Around In Your Head” is a bush-league effort that falls flat in its attempt at simple pop winsomeness; the necessary hooks simply aren’t there and it runs out of gas with shocking alacrity. A slower cough-syrup style ends up working out better for the band on “Motel Swim,” a sparse, summer-night cricket-chirper that has plenty in common with the decade’s legions of post-Galaxie 500 dream-poppers. On both, however, the nasal, wavering vocals are a major irritant. Still: To be fair (perhaps too fair), these are early demos on here, so I’m willing to take a chance someday and find out if things got any better on the group’s handful of subsequent studio albums – their MySpace tracks (which include a Negative Approach cover?!?!) suggest that this might indeed be the case.
(Park The Van, 2007)
A limited (is it really?) release that was sold on a 2007 tour and in a handful of retail shops, this Dr. Dog single pairs a remix by Beck with a remake of an Architecture In Helsinki song for seven star-studded inches of blog-wuss wetdream. And sure, yeah, it’s worth the spilling of at least a little seed, I suppose, particularly when it comes to the A side. The original version of “The Girl” on We All Belong is loping psych-pop whose fuzzy recording can’t disguise the Steely Dan professionalism behind some very savvy, accessible songwriting. Beck, true to his recent form, strips the track to its melodic core, emphasizes and enhances the rhythmic backing, and speeds the whole thing up. This isn’t necessarily better than the original, but it’s certainly catchy, lightweight fun that would have improved the similar-sounding Guero or The Information had it somehow been included on one of those records. Less noteworthy is the cover of “Heart it Races” on the other side, which thankfully jettisons the unfortunate world-music-meets-Animal-Collective head-slapisms of Architecture In Helsinki, going instead for a more basic “now”-style indie-bland that flirts with verywhiteboy funk in the low-end. It’s not all that exciting. But it’s not embarrassing, either. It just kinda… exists. A perfect song for the jukebox at your local young-person bar, you know?
And hey, speaking of “exciting” and “young people,” can you guess where I was last night? A boat!
(Laurie, 1958)
I’m no fan of the form, but this one was a real doo-fuckin-whopper of a hit for our buddy Dion back in ’58, so who am I to upturn my mod-struttin’ snoot? A bigshot snoot, my snoot, that snores because I’m coming down with a summertime cold. Ah-choo. See how dismissive I am? It’s a lively streetcorner toe-tapper, though, this “I Wonder Why.” Lively and BORING in your standard limp, non-rock vocal-putz way. Ah-choo. Was at least excited to turn the record over and hear what I THOUGHT was gonna be the classic “Teen Angel” (Like: “Teen angel, teen angel, say you’ll be mine” etc.) but WHOOPS I’m an idjit and it turns out that’s “EARTH Angel” by the good ol’ Penguins I was jonesing for, not “TEEN Angel” – our song here is a mawkish drool/drama-fest best suited for mid-century simps and dullards and Lou Reeds. But at least it’s short. Ah-cho—nevermind. Zzz.
(Swirling Worlds, 1992)
Shoegaze was mighty swell as far as gender stuff goes, what with every group in the land needing a lady onboard to provide vocals, and one quick listen to Difference Engine will make clear that these here folks were no trend-buckers, nosireeBOB: Dig those feminine pipes a-croonin’ just the way the formula says they oughta! Musically, the band goes for pretty-pretty in a Lush sense rather than noisy-pretty in a My Bloody Valentine sense, though there is a little edginess in the subtle electonics and guitarchurn bubbling underneath the dreaminess – the total package is kinda Moose-like, in fact, and that’s a comparison that should make any American whatevergaze second-waver feel 100% all-right. A nice disc; when the genre eventually scores its own Nuggets box, these guys better be repped. But for now, unfortunately, Difference Engine is about as obscure as it gets, so finding this single (and the slightly more common Breadmaker album on La-di-da, which is more of the luvly same) is gonna involve you putting on your record-hunting hat. The other 499 copies hafta be out there somewhere.
(Hut, 1993)
