The Left Banke “Goodbye Holly” “I Haven’t Got The Nerve”

Continuing the post-/sub-Beatles theme, here’s another not-quite-forgotten but out-of-print American pop group that took the Fabs (and, in this case, the Zombies also) as a template for their work. The Left Banke’s moody, strings-soaked sound had folks calling their music “chamber pop,” a tag since laid on modern groups like Belle & Sebastian and the Pernice Bros.

The oft-covered “Walk Away Renee” and “Pretty Ballerina” were mid-60s hits–both expressions of some rock ‘n’ roll soap opera where songwriter Michael Brown fell in love with the bass player’s lady friend. Those songs are in pretty wide circulation out there, so I thought I’d spotlight my third- and fourth-favorite Left Banke songs.

“I Haven’t Got The Nerve,” from the same debut record as the group’s two hits, is driven by a funky harpsichord(!) riff that’s really the song’s primary hook. (I was going to say that part is begging to be sampled, but Google reminds me that Lou Barlow/John Davis collab Folk Implosion appropriated it in the chorus of their chart entry, “Natural One.”) The vocal melody sticks too, although the singers come on a little stronger than the sort of passive-aggressive broken heart tale the lyrics tell. Very of its era, and totally great.

“Goodbye Holly,” from the group’s second full-length, is steps away from pop nirvana, marred only by some dopey lyrics that might indicate a leaning toward brown-acid psychedelia. (The opening gambit: “She came into my life on the wings of a lavender eagle.”)

It’s cut from a bit different cloth than the band’s typical style–it’s sunny and uptempo, with a standard pop-rock arrangement of guitar jangle, groovy McCartney-style bass and happily swinging drums. As it turns out, “Goodbye Holly” is composed solely by Tom Feher, a songwriting collaborator of Brown’s who was not officially a member of the band and picked up the writing slack after Brown’s departure from the Banke.

Anyhow, the band’s entire output fits on one disc, and while not all their tunes were top-notch–some others feel insubstantial and draggy, cruising on mood and atmosphere alone–I thought I’d share another couple reasons why it’s such a shame their disc is out of print in the U.S.

The comp There’s Gonna Be a Storm is, once again, ridonkulously expensive, but you can keep your eyes out for a more reasonably priced import/maybe-bootleg titled The Left Banke, or hope somebody re-releases this stuff, I guess.

Emitt Rhodes “You Should Be Ashamed”

So I wanted to take myself up on the “post something fake” challenge I sort of off-handedly set down at the end of yesterday’s post. Some sort of critique of the obsession with “authenticity,” an ode to disposability, etc. Except, really, who am I to pass that kind of judgement on the emotional content of art? Or at least, when I do, I usually can’t find anything else to love. Either way, I fell flat on that front.

Instead, here’s SoCal 70s cult popster Emitt Rhodes doing a great Macca impersonation. It’s probably part of some larger radical subjectivity thing, but I wonder sometimes how come some stuff’s “derivative” and you just gotta hate on it–it’s too early for hate on the West Coast, so pick yr own example–and some stuff just gets a pass on the copycat front ’cause it feels so wonderful.

In other words, what separates the “pastiche” or “homage” from the “ripoff”?

Whatever that spark is that makes the difference, E. Rhodes had it. Either it doesn’t matter to me that his chosen style imitates the Beatles, or I enjoy his music as a Beatles imitation. Admittedly, part of it is extra-musical–as a solo artist he was an O.G. home recordist and played all the instruments on some tunes, earning him extra points in my book.

But really, I don’t think about that when I listen to “You Should Be Ashamed,” my favorite song by him. It’s a really dynamic tune that takes you to places in only 2:38 or so. There’s the piano-led open augmented by some subtle (yes) Harrison-esque guitar noodles, really harnessing the sadness and betrayal of which Rhodes sings. The backing vox come in for a build-up just this side of epic leading to… a jaunty part that really moves, working a fine line between the lyrics’ boast, “I’m so glad it’s over now,” and the undertow set up by the other parts.

Always enough to get me singing along, head nodding.

The compilation this came from, Listen, Listen, is out of print and ridonkulously expensive as a result, but there’s an import of Rhodes’ album American Dreams, cheapest at Newbury Comics.

,or Fighting the Stephin Merritt Factor?

Jaguar Wright “The What If’s”

Just to change things up, here’s a little bit of (relatively obscure?) neo-soul from 2002.

In my brief and former life as a minor freelance rockcrit hack (documented elsewhere around this site) I ended up on the mailing list to receive promos for either the crappiest of the mainstream acts who were presumably critic-proof (hello, Puddle of Mudd) or acts who were apparently being back-burnered for publicity by their labels.

Jaguar Wright’s debut disc seemed to fall in the latter category, and was easily the best discovery out of the Era of the Promo Whore. Ms. Wright has gotten her propers as a member of the Roots’ crew, although I think it’s fair to say she’s been overshadowed within her niche by the likes of Jill Scott and Badu.

It’s a shame that Denials, Delusions and Decisions was overlooked–it’s got singing that’s emotive without being too show-offy, and a breezy, classic feel that splits the difference between brand new and retro, all supporting some solid songcraft.

On the other hand, it’s also ridiculously front-loaded, mainly in that the first track, “The What If’s” comes on so fierce (and I don’t mean that in the Tyra Banks sense) that what follows it feels a little sedate.

I don’t know that I’ve heard another “man-done-me-wrong” song in this mode. It’s a litany of accusations, with anger bordering on righteous indignation, but tempered by a measure of sympathy for “the other woman” and the implicit question, “What the hell’s wrong with me for letting you do this?” Backing, you get some minor-key niceness anchored by the booming, jazz-nodding support you’d expect from the Roots.

Between Jag’s plainspoken lyrics and the fire in her delivery, it’s a stunner. I’m probably overusing this word lately, but it feels real.

Maybe I’ll post something I love that’s really fake tomorrow.

Denials, Delusions and Decisions at Newbury Comics.

Wilco “Venus Stopped The Train (Demo)”
Jay Bennett & Edward Burch “Venus Stopped The Train”

When Jay Bennett split from country-rock chameleons Wilco, he was apparently awarded a couple of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot outtakes in the divorce. For comparison today we have Bennett’s version, from his and buddy Edward Burch’s record The Palace at 4am (Part I), and the Wilco demo, sung by the band’s frontman, Jeff Tweedy.

Both feature piano prominently, but Bennett’s take is more layered (admittedly it’s not a demo), both with typical pop-rock accessories–lumbering bass, mellow drums, organ drone–and with some weirder stuff, like swamp chirp sound effects and backing vox that sound like they’ve been put through a Leslie speaker.

Other than the storm break at the opening–a nod to Black Sabbath? or Flipper?–and harmony vocals, the Wilco version is more of a piano ballad, leaving the song relatively bare.

Tweedy’s a singer-songwriter bandleader type who, according to all evidence, ultimately had the reins on YHF, and the demo’s keep-it-simple starkness may reflect this. Bennett can write a helluva tune himself, but he’s much more of a studio rat/multi-instro one-man-band in the mold of a Jon Brion, and while there’s nothing “maximal” about his album track, it does demonstrate the love of little details that can come out of a kitchen-sink approach.

I’m not really positing this as a competition, ’cause I can’t pick a favorite between the two, although the demo feels more precious for its being marginally harder to get ahold of.

I guess I really wanted to spotlight a song I love. A lot of “Venus Stopped The Train”’s appeal comes from its darkness and mixed emotions.

The song tells of a burnt-out, damaged gurl, tracing back the drug haze, the delinquency, the grasping need to be loved, to the abuse of a powerful father–”the light striking terror” as he opened her bedroom door and “reached out to her/while her mother slept.”

There’s deep, deep sympathy here, but also a revulsion at what the victim’s become, the regret over the price the speaker isn’t willing to pay for letting her love him. It’s not pretty–it’s complicated, it’s human, and it’s real.

P.S., and on a more light-hearted note, Jeff Tweedy doesn’t want yr kisses while he’s playing his music. (1:10)

The Palace at 4am (Part I) at Newbury Comics.
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot at Target.

When In Rome “The Promise”
Depeche Mode “Enjoy The Silence (Single Mix)”
Thompson Twins “Hold Me Now”

In honor of the fixing of my broken synth, today we have three of my favorite synthpop tunes. Pardon me if the choices are a tad bit lazy, but this is a celebration.

There’s surprisingly little information out there about When In Rome. It seems that they were sent to give us one nigh-perfect pop song then disappear. Say what you will, but that’s a noble goddamn calling.

I remember wandering the streets of San Francisco with friends, full of mushroom pizza and microbrew, and passing a park where “The Promise” was playing on a boombox. The hook was stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Its verse is melodically sedate, in huge contrast to the more dynamic chorus–sort of the presage to the soft-loud dynamic that got us through the early 90s. Somehow they managed to combine yearning and uplift, joy in abandonment and submission, a moment so powerful you grasp for words.

Sometimes I just feel fey and dramatic. OK?

I’m sorry to say that my interest in Depeche Mode is only the most superficial. Or maybe the song choice gave me away–I’m one of those people who really likes “Enjoy The Silence.” But I really, really like it.

I guess I dig the irony of someone going on at lenth about how “words are very/ unnecessary.” Or I get swept up in the romance of someone swearing, “all I ever needed/is here in my arms.” Of course, things can’t be that perfect if the speaker’s so busy obsessing about broken vows and empty words…

I was mulling over which version of this song to post and realized that the Cure-ish guitar part that links the chorus back to the verse is a key part of the song’s catchiness. There’s a solo harmonium version around that’s kinda morose and gothier, but doesn’t have that.

Bad cover idea no. 12,324: I always thought someone shoulda done a really doomy grunge cover of this song, with a crazy loud distorted-guitar chorus. This reveals my unsteady, and sometimes quite underdeveloped relationship with irony, I’ll admit. The band Failure came close, but, well, you know…

(Incidentally, the little lady tells me that D.M. on the Faith & Devotion tour was her first concert. I think mine was Stone Temple Pilots at the New Haven Civic Center, with Jawbox and the Meat Puppets opening, for what it’s worth.)

My affection for the Thompson Twins‘ tune “Hold Me Now” dates back to grade school. I have distinct memories of a cassette comp with a bright green cover featuring this song and Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me,” although I can’t remember what else was on it.

Twenty-odd years later, I’m still not sick of the song. In particular, the desperation in the lead dude’s voice when he gets to the final verse, “so I sing you a new song/please don’t cry anymore,” accented by some moody piano, then switching to a sort of deadpan bitterness, “and I’ll ask your forgiveness/though I don’t know just what I’m asking it for”… it hits me just like it did when I was too young to know better.

And let’s face facts, it takes balls just to attempt the ultrafalsetto counterpoint vox during the coda. Even though it doesn’t sound like it.

I feel like there’s a tinge of reggae to “Hold Me Now,” although I don’t know if I’m hearing the accents of the synth bass, noticing the percussion that puncuates every other bar in the verse or remembering a natty dread in the group along with the drugged-out-looking pale couple.

/Checks google.

OK, they were more like braids than dreads. And in my memory, the pasty dude looks more like a member of JAMC than like Corey Hart. I prefer the memory.

I had a bad cover idea for this song too: acoustic emo with serious yowling on the chorus. If someone pulls this off, I want points.

In closing, you must respect a band whose haircuts double as a logo. Witness:

When in Rome at Target.
D.M.’s Violator at Newbury Comics.
TT’s Greatest Hits at Newbury Comics.