Fluxblog 534: 11 songs from the 70s
Classic songs by Steely Dan, David Bowie, Talking Heads, Carole King, Roxy Music, Fleetwood Mac, The Velvet Underground, and more
Screen Out The Sorrow
Steely Dan “Black Cow”
Music is an abstract medium, but “Black Cow” sounds unmistakably like midtown Manhattan, or at least a somewhat romantic notion of it. There’s just something in the sway of it, the architecture of the chords, the way the tones evoke chrome, neon, and concrete. It insinuates classiness and grime in equal measures. It just matches.
The lyrics of “Black Cow” are firmly rooted in Manhattan, and are just as vivid as the sounds. Donald Fagen’s character in this song is a put-upon guy who’s trying to get out of a toxic relationship with some party girl with ambiguous addictions and a lot of other dudes on the side. Or so he says – Fagen’s men are unreliable narrators, and I think we should take it as a given that this dude is insecure and upset. The song is asking you to give him the benefit of the doubt, so let’s just roll with that.
Fagen’s lyrics draw a lot out of his characters with only a few careful details. The song starts out with the guy noticing her at Rudy’s, a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen that actually still exists. She’s high again, and he’s disappointed in her, but he quickly ends up back at her place, where his issues with her are right there on the counter – her little black book, and her “remedies.” I think he’s jealous, sure, but I think the main frustration comes out later in the song: “I’m the one who must make everything right / talk it out till daylight.” He’s exhausted by having to take care of her, and the benefits of that – the sex, really – isn’t the draw that it used to be.
In the chorus, he takes her to a diner and breaks up with her, admitting that he doesn’t care anymore why she’s doing any of this. He’s not angry, just tired and bored. I like that there’s so little contempt for the woman in this song – the worst you get is just weary condescension. I get the impression that even if he thinks she’s being weak or self-destructive, he respects her and kinda wishes he was like her. The whole song is like that shrug older people have to do around the youngish: “Yeah, that all sounds like fun, but I’ve got to be responsible and go to work.” He knows it’s time to call it off when the vicarious thrill of being around a hot young trainwreck is gone.
[February 24 2016]
Somehow That Sounds Nice
The Doobie Brothers “Minute By Minute”
“Minute By Minute” opens with a keyboard intro that moves frantically but has a very chill tone, an appropriate overture for a song about trying to play it cool despite very fraught emotions. Michael McDonald and the Doobie Brothers aim for a classic Motown feel and structure but filtered through their style and the cutting edge studio technology of the late ’70s the music takes on a slightly stiff and neurotic vibe. It still swings, but only so much. It’s perfect for getting across the mood of the guy in this song, who’s struggling with a lot of contradictions.
Hey, don’t worry, I’ve been lied to
I’ve been here many times before
He’s putting on armor from the start. He’s trying to tell you that he’s hardened by his past experience and has a lot of options, that the stakes are actually pretty low and he doesn’t have a lot of expectations. But what you really hear in McDonald’s phrasing is a guy who’s been hurt before and is hurting right now, but he’s playing it off as no big deal but not doing a great job of it.
Girl, don’t you worry, I know where I stand
I don’t need this love, I don’t need your hand
He’s trying to make it sound like he’s not a sucker, and that he’s not broken the rules by catching real feelings. It’s very “doth protest too much.”
I know I could turn, blink, and you’d be gone
Then I must be prepared any time to carry on
But minute by minute by minute
I’ll keep holding on
And there it is. He knows he’s playing a game he can’t win, but he loves to play it and is just trying to prolong this game for as long as she’ll allow it. He can’t have what he really wants with her, but what he has in the moment is close enough. He can imagine a better situation, but he can’t imagine someone better than her.
You will stay just to watch me, darlin’
Wilt away on lies from you
Here’s where the bitterness comes through. He’s playing the victim, but also swearing that he won’t give her the satisfaction of getting one over on him. He’s trying to get any kind of upper hand in the situation. McDonald’s phrasing gets a little more strained here, making him sound kinda pissy in the most soulful way possible.
Can’t stop the habit of livin’ on the run
I take it all for granted like you’re the only one
This ties back to “It Keeps You Runnin’,” a previous song with The Doobie Brothers that sounds like it’s written about the same situationship from earlier on the timeline. It’s pretty much the same emotional dynamic, but written with more hope that he can persuade her to settle down. Not a lot more hope, though – as much as he’s exasperated by her willingness to be lonely, there’s no end to her “running” in sight.
Livin’ on my own
Somehow that sounds nice
I love the way McDonald sings “somehow that sounds nice” like he’s muttering an aside to himself, as though he’s just in that moment considering something that might be good for him.
You think I’m your fool
Well, you may just be right
These days you’d probably call yourself a simp instead of a fool, but it’s all the same. He’s so enamored of her that he can’t make any sort of good decision despite knowing better. If this is what a simp believes, how do the simps survive?
Call my name and I’ll be gone
You’ll reach out and I won’t be there
The key changes on the bridge, pushing McDonald towards a higher pitch and more strident tone and he imagines a consequence to her stringing him along. It’s a spiteful fantasy of withholding the thing he wants so much once she decides she wants it too.
Just my luck, you’ll realize
You should spend your life with someone
You could spend spend your life with someone
Oh, did you have someone in mind?
[January 9th 2024]
Trying Not To Lose
David Bowie “Win”
“Win” is one of David Bowie’s finest love songs, though it seems he didn’t really think of it that way, describing it in 1975 as more of a message to people who lack his dedication and work ethic. “It was written about an impression left on me by people who don’t work very hard, or do anything much, or think very hard – like don’t blame me ‘cause I’m in the habit of working hard,” he told NME. “You know, it’s easy – all you got to do is win.”
But that’s just the chorus. The verses are far more interesting, with Bowie – something of an unknowable ice queen himself – prodding someone else to open up and be vulnerable with him. “Slow down, let someone love you,” he sings, sounding handsome and mildly bemused. “I’ve never touched you since I started to feel.” Their distance and reluctance is an obstacle to his desire, yes, but I think this is also him feeling like he’s opened up and is now inviting a similarly aloof person into his life. It’s a bit “come on in, the water’s fine.”
“Win” sounds light and airy even when it goes a bit bombastic and theatrical. Bowie plays it cool in vocal performance and delegates projecting warmth to his R&B back up singers and David Sanborn’s fluttering saxophone. But despite that, he’s not devoid of passion. There’s a real conviction in his voice on the chorus, a genuine belief in both himself and the person he’s addressing. The song is essentially a pep talk, but Bowie’s doing that thing where one’s advice boils down to “just do everything I did, and it’ll all go fine.” He’s urging you to love David Bowie, because he loves David Bowie. He’s telling you that all you have to do is win because he’s David Bowie in the mid 1970s, and he’s become well acquainted with that outcome. His voice, his words, the music – he’s seducing you. And of course, this is David Bowie in the mid 1970s, so it works. He wins.
[April 9th 2019]
Nothing Happening At All
The Velvet Underground “Rock and Roll”
You know how if you put a seashell to your ear you can “hear the ocean” in its hollow? The guitar chords of “Rock & Roll” are sorta like that, but the space between strums contains faint echoes of the Manhattan of the late 1960s. You can feel it in the tone, and in the attack – a hustling groove, but played with a bit of “so what?” slack. I’ve never been to that version of Manhattan, but I’m certain that’s the sound of it. It sounds just like it.
“Rock & Roll” is meant to do this. It’s designed to evoke New York City, and conjure a romanticized vision of a space full of exciting people where you’re not, but could someday be. The entire song is about the way sound can take you where you need to go, if only you can just hear it. The girl in the song, a stand-in for Lou Reed as a young man, finds love and life and meaning on the radio. The “New York station” is a beacon for everyone in range of its transmission.
When Lou Reed wrote “her life was saved by rock & roll,” that sentiment was not the corny Pinterest cliché it is today. The need for escape was far more urgent, the stakes were much higher. “Rock & Roll” expresses the joy of finding your people, even if you haven’t really met them yet. The sound is a map, and it takes you to a place. In this case, it’s Manhattan and it’s 1969.
[July 31st 2018]
We Really Did Try To Make It
Carole King “It’s Too Late”
If you’re like me and you grew up listening to adult contemporary and lite FM radio, you know this song backwards and forwards, maybe without even realizing it. It’s an absolutely stunning composition, the sort of stealth pop song that is pretty much perfect on every conceivable level without calling attention to its brilliance. This solo performance by Carole King boils her song down to its essential components, but somehow doesn’t come across too differently from the polished, beautifully nuanced studio arrangement on Tapestry. It’s all in the craft, really — it’s subtly stylish and sophisticated, and designed for a precise effect. King had it all down to a science, without losing the heart necessary to pull off a heartbreaking ballad.
Like most great pop radio staples, “It’s Too Late” pulls off a neat trick — it is highly effective at conjuring a specific, affecting emotion that is instantly and universally understood, but can also easily slip into the background of your life while you work, drive, shop, or go to the doctor’s office. This is actually the ideal context for “It’s Too Late.” Basically, it’s a song about going through something extremely painful — the slow dissolution of long-term relationship — with the awareness that the situation is actually quite mundane. King embraces that prosaic sadness, and articulates it in such a way that its mix of regret, resignation, and well-adjusted gratitude is deliberately understated, and it feels like a sort of musical cinéma-vérité. It’s not the big dramatic moment, but rather the time after ever tear has been cried out, and there’s no choice but to go about your life while processing the trauma. You know — working, driving, shopping, going to the doctor’s office.
[May 16th 2008]
What’s Real And What’s Make Believe?
Roxy Music “Virginia Plain”
“Virginia Plain” is basically Bryan Ferry willing Roxy Music into existence. It’s all magical thinking – he states his desire for success, he imagines a glamorous life, and the song itself makes it all real. Or as real as it could be, anyway. Ferry’s vision of glamour is specific but also quite dream-like and surreal. The lyrics in the second half of the song are like a vision board of cool things and sexy aesthetics; he’s giving us a loose outline of a better world he wants to insinuate himself into or create from scratch.
The song still sounds incredibly stylish and fresh nearly 50 years after its release. I think that mostly comes down to how obviously excited these guys are to be playing the song. Brian Eno plays his synths with the playful glee of a kid breaking rules for the first time, and Phil Manzanera’s guitar parts are loose and gestural, scribbled out with the confidence of someone completely at ease with following their instinct. Ferry’s voice is somehow goofy AND debonair. Everything in “Virginia Plain” sounds like it’s just a bit faster than it should be, like they’re all too excited to get to the next part to take their time. And why shouldn’t they be? They’re all in a hurry to live in the new reality they’re inventing.
[October 11th 2018]
The Building That I Want To Live In
Talking Heads “Don’t Worry About the Government”
My listening habits naturally cycle familiar catalogs in and out of rotation, and in some cases I can go a very long time before coming back around to particular artists. A lot of what brings me back to an artist is based on whim or chance, I think in the case of David Byrne and Talking Heads just recently it was sparked by Byrne drastically changing the setlist of his Broadway show and including a few songs from Look Into the Eyeball, which is basically tied with Remain In Light as my favorite record in his body of work. (I know this is an uncommon take.)
I’ve spent a lot of the past few weeks moving to a new apartment, to the point that I found myself walking around the other day trying to get my head into ideas for writing but finding I didn’t really have many active emotions to engage with. I’d been so focused on tasks that I wasn’t really feeling much, or at least not much that would connect to art. And then in a moment of perfect coincidence I heard “Don’t Worry About the Government,” a song that expressed my actual thoughts: “my building has every convenience, it’s gonna make life easy for me, it’s gonna be easy to get things done.”
There’s often a tension in David Byrne’s lyrics between a guileless banality and the insinuation of ironic distance. If you want to hear “Don’t Worry About the Government” as snidely judgmental of a conformist character who does not question his lifestyle it would make a lot of sense, but I think the song works because what he’s saying about the routines of working and living in the world are things most people actually relate to. The character isn’t judging this, everything just is. He feels lucky and blessed to live in a good building, he acknowledges tensions in the world but focuses on the elements of infrastructure that work, and the civil servants who do their jobs well. The music feels like a pleasant equilibrium, the sentiment is all benign neutrality. It’s tremendously effective as a compelling piece of music that approaches feelings and ideas most would consider too dull for music.
[January 6th 2022]
They Don’t Know What You’ve Done For Me
Syreeta “I Love Every Little Thing About You”
“I Love Every Little Thing About You” is a Stevie Wonder song, a cover produced by Wonder himself and released only a few months after his own recording of the song on Music of My Mind in 1972. Syreeta was married to Wonder at the time the song was written and recorded, but their marriage had ended before either recording was released. This is tremendously ironic, as both versions radiate such a pure feeling of warmth and love that it’s very hard to imagine the spell these two people were under would break so soon after making this music together.
I strongly prefer Syreeta’s version of “I Love Every Little Thing About You.” Wonder’s is fine but for my taste the arrangement is a little too airy and the hooks don’t land quite as well. The Syreeta recording has a funkier groove and sounds very grounded, which works well for the song when her vocal is the part of the song that feels lighter. The contrast makes her sound like she’s rising up and transcending her physical being through this love, or at least feeling the intoxicating rush of chemicals that go along with love. The other major difference between the two recordings is that the Syreeta version sounds far more modern, to the point that it’s actually kind of amazing to think this was released 50 years ago. Some of it is in Wonder’s relatively minimal arrangement and tonal palette, but a lot of it is just that this music feels like it’s staking out a middle ground between traditional R&B sounds and more electronic textures that simply became a default territory for this music down the line.
[July 26th 2022]
Fate Takes Time
Fleetwood Mac “Walk A Thin Line”
Fleetwood Mac’s first two albums with Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham are so extraordinarily popular that it can be hard to feel like you have an intimate relationship with them – songs like “Dreams” or “Say You Love Me” may move you, but they belong to everyone. The relative commercial failure of Tusk, however, allows the audience to have a different connection with that music, and you can indulge yourself in the fantasy that you have access to amazing Fleetwood Mac music no one else knows about. The most recent deluxe reissue of Tusk really encourages that feeling, and gives us at least one alternate version of every song on the record, so you have the option of being the person whose favorite Fleetwood Mac tune is, like, the alternate take of a song from the 3rd side of the weird album after Rumours.
“Walk A Thin Line” is my favorite Fleetwood Mac song, and though I ultimately favor the original official studio version from Tusk, I am immensely grateful that I can hear the song in slightly different variations. The main difference between the recordings – there’s two alternate takes on this reissue, and there’s another arrangement without Buckingham on Mick Fleetwood’s solo album Visitor – comes down to tempo, the prominence of the wordless vocal hook, and how the instrumental bridge near the end is executed. The structure of the song never changes, and even the glossiest versions keep things very simple and focused on the simple, lovely elegance of Buckingham’s melody. This version, from “The Alternate Tusk” disc, sounds a bit sadder to me than the others. There’s something in Lindsey’s voice here that is just a bit more melancholy and defeated, and I like the way that brings out the lingering doubts in this song about going against everyone else and trusting your instincts. I love the mix of pride and paranoia in his voice, and despite everything, the way he conveys this unshakable faith in himself without seeming arrogant or foolish.
[December 29th 2015]
Red Hot Magneto
Peter Gabriel “Modern Love”
If you’re only familiar with Peter Gabriel’s most popular work – “In Your Eyes,” “Sledgehammer,” “Don’t Give Up,” “Games Without Frontiers,” “Biko” – it may come as a surprise that he actually rocked at one point in the late ‘70s. It was certainly a revelation to me, anyway.
“Modern Love” was released on Gabriel’s first solo album in 1977, which came out a few years after he departed from Genesis after touring for their definitive prog masterwork The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. I suppose some of that record ~rocks~, but certainly not in the lusty, thrusting, straightforward way that “Modern Love” rocks. It’s hard to imagine that this song wasn’t directly influenced by Led Zeppelin – the main riff feels very Houses of the Holy/Physical Graffiti-era Jimmy Page to me, and those records came out only a few years before this was recorded. The guitar part – played by Robert Fripp, of course! – is offset by an organ part that nods in the general direction of soul music. This all suits Gabriel’s voice very well, so it’s a shame he didn’t really explore this sound more after the late ‘70s.
Gabriel’s vocal performance is about as raw and passionate as he ever got on tape. He’s howling, he’s shouting, he’s rasping like he’s all tapped out but can’t stop going. There’s a lot of self-deprecating humor in this song, with him portraying himself as this grand romantic fool while dropping witty lines about Venus, Lady Godiva, and the Mona Lisa. This is basically a song about being exasperated by sexual frustration, and while that could be played straight, it’s a lot more sympathetic as a farce.
[February 16th 2016]
A Bandit And A Heartbreaker
Judee Sill “Jesus Was A Cross Maker”
“Jesus Was A Cross Maker” is an incredibly elegant bit of songwriting, with a gorgeous melody that rolls out gently over an arrangement that borrows from folk, gospel, and classical music without neatly fitting into any of those categories. The song has been covered many times over, and it’s funny to me how the most notable versions I’ve heard have trouble capturing the simple grace of Judee Sill’s original – Cass Elliot, The Hollies, and Warren Zevon all mess with the structure and lightly mangle the melody to highlight their particular vocal styles, while Frida Hyvönen‘s is faithful to the melody but pushes into a softer, sentimental tone that sacrifices the sober, clear-eyed quality that makes the Sill recordings so compelling.
There’s a lot of emotion in the song, but it’s presented in hindsight, with Sill reflecting on depression and an abusive relationship. The key feeling here is regret, but it’s more about a larger self-destructive tendency than anything in particular – she seems to be putting less blame on this guy, and more on herself for being so easily seduced. The “Jesus was a cross maker” line is brilliant, particularly in how she draws a comparison from this irony to her complicity in her own misery. Was Christ aware that he was building the very thing that would be used to execute him? Did it ever cross his mind that he could end up on one of these things as he made them? Sill has said that she wrote this song while entertaining thoughts of suicide, and died of a drug overdose eight years later. She seemed very aware of the cross she was making for herself.
[December 22nd 2017]
Really love the commentary on Carole King here