Mary McCartney – If These Walls Could Sing

 

Mary McCartney – If These Walls Could Sing

By

Jesse E. Mullen

 

With a recording studio as famous as Abbey Road, there is as much mystique as there is history. After attending an advance screening of Mary McCartney’s If These Walls Could Sing, I was reminded of that old adage “the recording studio doesn’t make the artist, the artist makes the studio.”

While that isn’t strictly true – there are numerous excerpts regarding the unique timbre of Studio 2 – it is the unique cast of characters who recorded at Abbey Road which make it the name it is today. The Beatles, Cliff Richard, Pink Floyd to name a few.

It is to McCartney’s credit as a director that she gives ample focus to the players, both through interviews and archival footage/recordings, while also reminding viewers of the omnipotent force that is the studio itself.

She uses beautiful shots of the studio rooms empty in modern times, which flow nicely into the archival footage. The interviews were especially popular with the audience, with a Liam Gallagher segment regarding Oasis’ ill-fated Be Here Now recording sessions drawing a lot of laughs.

The one complaint I have is that at 90 minutes, it almost felt too short. McCartney stated in a post-viewing audience Q&A that her initial rough cut was two and a half hours long. I said to her afterwards that I would love to see more of this material released. (Maybe a podcast is in the cards?)

If Walls is about crediting artists for making the most of their surroundings and drawing influence from those that came before, then I think we must credit Mary McCartney for making a great film using the same methods. I can only hope that this is just the first in a series of music films from McCartney, and not a one-off. If These Walls Could Sing premieres December 16^th on Disney+.

 

The Sundays – Blind

 

The Sundays – Blind

By

Jesse E. Mullen

 

You’ve led a moderately successful dreampop band for a few years now. You’ve gotten in the charts with a pair of successful singles and released a debut album to high critical praise. But what happens when you try to follow that album with another one? Do you create something more successful, or do you flounder?

So was the story of The Sundays in 1992. The Bristol, UK quartet cast themselves as cult favorites with the singles “Can’t Be Sure” and “Here’s Where The Story Ends.” Their debut album – 1990’s Reading, Writing and Arithmetic – established them as a group with a knack for shimmering melodies, murky basslines, and soaring vocals.

But the band had laid dormant for a few years since the release of the record. And though they had performed a few new tracks on the supporting tour in 1990, rumors began to swirl that the band had split. However, this is not all that uncommon for a young band.

Sophomore albums are a difficult task for many bands and musicians. Artists will often spend several years shaping and developing a debut record until it is perfect. But then when it comes time to record a second one – often after a long tour – inspiration dries up.

The Sundays eventually began work on a second album in 1992. As on the debut, songwriting and production duties were handled by singer Harriet Wheeler and guitarist David Gavurin. Gavurin and Wheeler – who formed the group at Bristol University – had a special connection beyond the music. They were – and still are – a married couple.

Wheeler’s immense talents as a vocalist were immediately recognizable on the band’s debut single “Can’t Be Sure” released in 1989. Her lyrics about desire causing people to lose sight of the bigger picture (“it makes the world go blind”) are given poignance by her delivery, reaching for high notes and hitting every single one.

Gavurin’s shimmering guitar playing – which combined Johnny Marr’s jangle with Robert Smith’s murkiness – was also given a great showing. Being the only guitar player in the group, Gavurin had to function somewhere between a lead and rhythm guitarist. Forming chords and playing lead melodies is no easy task. But Gavurin nailed it every time.

The lyrics also play an interesting role in The Sundays equation. Rather than using lyrics to form a coherent narrative, as Gavurin and Wheeler said on MTV’s 120 Minutes in 1990, the words were “a collection of images” and “impressionistic.”

However, not all of their lyrics stuck to this rule. Songs such as “Hideous Towns” and “I Kicked A Boy” took the impressionistic lyrical approach and wrapped them around a narrative.  “Hideous Towns” features funny one-liners about being bored in one’s hometown (“hideous towns make me throw up”).

On the other hand, “I Kicked A Boy” deals with refusing accountability in a relationship (“think about the time I kicked a boy till he cried […] I could’ve been wrong, but I don’t think I was”). Impressionistic or not, Wheeler and Gavurin’s lyrics display a common theme of avoiding discomfort.

The contrast between these lyrics, Gavurin’s bright major key melodies, and Wheeler’s sincere delivery made The Sundays the greatest masters of sardonic indiepop since The Smiths. As a creative partnership, they frequently drew comparisons to Morrissey and Marr. That’s not to say that the rhythm section wasn’t equally as important, however.

Paul Brindley’s murky, gothic basslines gave The Sundays a Cure-like ambience. Patrick "Patch" Hannan’s tight, metronomic drumming recalled Stanley Demeski’s work with The Feelies (and later Luna). With tight chemistry and a strong songwriting team, things looked to be up for The Sundays.

So, when The Sundays finally released their new album Blind in October 1992, expectations had to be high. But could the band live up to them? Would they continue their upward trajectory? Or would they cave like so many other English bands of yore?

The album opens with “I Feel.” A gentle acoustic guitar and Wheeler’s most soothing vocals to date introduce the track. It is a vast improvement over “Skin & Bones” the previous album’s opener. While there was nothing wrong with that track, it was the least melodically enchanting song on the album.

“I Feel,” however takes the experimental nature of “Skin & Bones” and marries it to a strong rising and falling melody. When Wheeler comes in at the start of the verses, she is singing in almost a whisper. But when the chorus hits, she is singing with full fire.

She also uses much more vibrato than she had on any previous track. The track seems to be made up of a series of edits, with brief pauses between sections. In this sense, it brings to mind what Fleetwood Mac did on their standout song “The Chain,” which was recorded in a similar manner.

Gavurin mostly sticks to acoustic guitar on the track. However, it does sound as though he overdubbed some electric guitar onto the choruses when the rhythm section enters. A very fine start, while remaining consistent with the band’s previous work.

The second track “Goodbye” is almost a sequel to “I Won” from the debut, both musically and lyrically – with a few more years of wisdom. Rather than expressing regret over her part in an argument, Wheeler acknowledges the end of a relationship. She goes as far as to “vow that it’s goodbye” making the relationship sound more like an addiction than a romance.

The rhythm section of Brindley and Hannan lock into a tight groove, allowing Gavurin space for one of his best murky and repetitive guitar leads. Towards the end of the track, the riff changes and Wheeler sings in a higher key, quite literally ending the song on a high note.

Elsewhere, “More” uses rain as a metaphor for sex while also addressing a relationship itself. Wheeler asks, “tell me boys are you out there?” whilst saying she’s “wet and wet through” despite wanting more. It’s a fascinating topic – a relationship that has become toxic, like an addiction – but the protagonist of the song can’t leave.

Musically, the track starts out in a murky, dreamy haze. Brindley’s reverberated bass and Hannan’s syncopated drumming come in with Wheeler’s angelic voice. But when the chorus hits, Gavurin plays a more aggressive, post-punky riff high on the neck of his guitar, which contrasts nicely with the sweetness in Wheeler’s voice.

Meanwhile, “God Made Me” is a completely different animal. The track begins with the washed out sounds of Gavurin’s guitar and Brindley’s melodic bassline. The duo become locked in perfect harmony as Hannan’s drums come in. It is over a minute until Wheeler’s voice enters, and the listener is in heaven.

Wheeler sings about “looking for an insult” and “waiting […] with a bottle in my hand.” It’s clear that she’s hiding behind a mask, but it isn’t clear yet what that mask is. It does however become clearer towards the end of the song.

In the last chorus, Wheeler sings the title, before singing “that’s what they told me before/who knows what they’re saying today?” She also sings “imagine my eyes when I first saw we can do what we want.”

This could be a doubt over the existence of God but combing these lines with earlier lyrics tell a different tale. It would appear that Wheeler is criticizing those who hide behind the mask of organized religion to justify their flaws.

Taking the song out of a religious context, it would appear to be a metaphor for hypocrisy at large. Lyrics which call work a “labor of love” compare a relationship to punching a clock. Marrying such a barbed sentiment to one of the groups most angelic melodies feels like a career peak.

Wheeler’s vocal is also one of her most skilled to date. Her use of vibrato on the lyrics “but how was I supposed to know that?” leading into the chorus give the song an added emotional resonance. This contrasts nicely with Wheeler’s reticent delivery in the verses.  

The US version of the album closes with the band’s cover of “Wild Horses” by The Rolling Stones. Originally a mournful country ballad, The Sundays succeed in turning it into a mournful dreampop ballad. While the original is a stone-cold classic, The Sundays still manage to make it sound like their own.

Gavurin plays acoustic guitar during the verses, and overdubs some heavily delayed lead guitar onto the choruses. Wheeler sings powerful high notes on lines where Jagger originally used the bottom of his register. Her vocal stylings put emphasis on the lyrics “make me feel bitter/Or treat you unkind” and give the chorus an angelic coo.

While the album wasn’t the critical success that The Sundays would have hoped for – it got somewhat mixed reviews upon release – time has been kind to Blind. At the time, critics negatively compared it to the debut album, stating it wasn’t enough of a progression from the former.

Although it may be true that very little is different this time around, it doesn’t detract from the listening experience. In fact, it might be an even stronger release, given Wheeler’s expanded vocal technique and the maturation in the songwriting. The Sundays may not have set the world on fire at the time, but in retrospect Blind feels like a career peak.

DGC/1992

 

 

 

 

 

The Who – It’s Hard

 

The Who – It’s Hard

By

Jesse E. Mullen

 

You’ve achieved legendary status all over the world. You’ve released at least five albums which belong in anyone’s top 100 rock albums. And then the tragic loss of key member threatens to derail everything. How do you recover?

So was the story of The Who after 1978. Formed in London as The Detours in 1959, the group spent several years slugging it out on the club circuit before settling on a stable lineup, and a group dynamic that was all their own.

Of particular importance to the group dynamic was the tension between all of its members. Bassist John Entwistle didn’t play the traditional “backline” role but functioned as a de facto lead guitarist. His melodic lines worked against the pyrotechnics in human form bashing of drummer Keith Moon. And lead singer Roger Daltrey never got along with Townshend.

In spite of the tension – or perhaps because of it - The Who would go on to record classic after classic album of “Maximum R&B.” From the pirate radio tribute of 1967’s The Who Sell Out to the story of a troubled Mod in 1973’s Quadrophenia, the group were able to fully realize songwriter/guitarist Pete Townshend’s high concepts – thus taking rock ‘n’ roll in a more serious direction.

However, this is where things began to get messier. On the first night of the Quadrophenia tour, Moon collapsed onstage after overdosing on animal tranquilizers. The show went on – albeit with a fan behind the kit – but it was a harbinger of things to come.

Townshend was beginning to feel as if his glory years had passed him by. Despite only being 28 at the time, it appears that he was feeling middle-aged by rock standards. The next two albums – 1975’s Who By Numbers and 1978 Who Are You – reflected this weariness. Be it “However Much I Booze” or "Music Must Change," one can tell where Townshend’s headspace was. But none of this would compare to the difficulties which were yet to come.

On September 7^th, 1978 – just three weeks after the release of Who Are You – Keith Moon died from an accidental overdose of clomethiazole, a drug used to treat alcohol withdrawal. Moon’s death sent the group into a state of shock.

Ultimately, it was Daltrey who rallied the troops into carrying on, despite the loss of a seemingly irreplaceable drummer. After much deliberation, Moon’s replacement ultimately turned out to be Kenney Jones. The former drummer for Mod group Small Faces was also a drinking buddy of Pete Townshend’s.

Soon after Jones accepted the role, Phil Collins also offered his services. As no public announcement had been made, Collins assumed that he would be considered. Unfortunately for him, the role had already been filled.

With the drum stool settled, The Who were able to carry out their touring duties for Who Are You. At the conclusion of the tour, Pete Townshend recorded his first solo album of the new decade. Released in 1980, Empty Glass marked a shift in Townshend’s writing.

While still featuring classic elements of The Who’s sound – loud guitars, ringing melodies, choruses in a different tempo and key than the verse – it was very different than what was heard before. Musically, the tracks were influenced by the new wave movement of the time.

And while a weariness is still detectable in Townshend’s writing, he sounds almost settled here. There is the obligatory song dealing with Moon’s death – “Jools and Jim” – but Townshend seems to have found inner peace on the rest by looking inwardly.

Which isn’t to say that Townshend was “settled” in The Who. Their next album – 1981’s Face Dances – carried over some of the introspective elements of Empty Glass but received mixed reviews. And Daltrey’s relationship with Townshend was ever prickly, accusing the writer of saving his best songs for his solo albums.

With all of this in mind, The Who quickly entered the studio (in this case, Glyn Johns’ facilities) in June of 1982 to record another new album. But given their recent problems, how would this record sound? And could Townshend marry his new style of writing to The Who?

The ensuing album, It’s Hard was released in September 1982 on Polydor Records. From a production standpoint, it again featured the classic Who sound of loud guitars and clever synthesizer programming. And like Townshend’s recent work, it (again) featured songs dealing with more personal subject matter.

Opener “Athena” began its life as a song Townshend wrote called “Theresa.” The lyrics dealt with a situation at a Pink Floyd performance of The Wall, where Townshend’s advances towards actress Theresa Russell were rejected. However, the title was changed to “Athena,” a move Daltrey criticized as getting too far from the subject matter.

Nevertheless, it is a strong opener, with a bright major key melody played by Entwistle on the horn. Entwistle is omnipresent on the track, as his contributions on the bass are noteworthy as well. The rumbling, ping-ponging effect – which Rolling Stone noted upon release of the track – leads the song into its verse and back into its iconic “she’s a girl (she’s a bomb)” chorus.

Actually, Entwistle is omnipresent throughout the album, contributing three compositions: “It’s Your Turn,” “Dangerous,” and the skipping rhythm of “One At A Time.” A strong case could be made that this was because of the quick turnover rate between 1981’s Face Dances and 1982’s It’s Hard, giving Townshend less time to write. But that doesn’t mean that Townshend’s songs aren’t uniformly excellent.

“A Man Is A Man” features spooky synths and gorgeous rising/falling vocal harmonies between Daltrey and Townshend in the chorus. “Cooks County” fuses pulsating synthesizers and passionate Daltrey vocal in the verses with up-tempo drumming and high harmonies from Townshend in the chorus.

The title track is also a blast. While not part of a rock opera, “It’s Hard” captures the feelings of The Who’s grandiose concept albums in one song. With lyrics such as “Any tough can fight/few can play” and “Any stud can reproduce/few can please” it would seem that Townshend was defending his honor as a songwriter after the criticism of Face Dances. (The fast chord changes also gave Townshend plenty of opportunity for windmilling when The Who played it on tour.)

“I’ve Known No War” features eerie tremolo guitars, pounding “Kashmir”-esque drums, and a passionate vocal from Daltrey. As both Daltrey and Townshend were born at the tail end of WWII, the subject matter fitting. Both the lyrics and the music echo the anxiety they must have felt in the Cold War-era of the early 1980s.

But Townshend’s best composition on the album is “Eminence Front.” An anxious pulsating synthesizer sample opens the track, before giving way to Jones’ drums and Townshend’s guitar riff grooving along at mid-tempo, followed by Townshend’s lengthy intro guitar solo. By the time Townshend steps up to the mic, a minute has gone by.

The lyrics deal with familiar territory for musicians – rockstar excesses, particularly cocaine. But whereas other songwriters (Lou Reed, Mick Jagger/Keith Richards) wrote about the effects of drugs, Townshend instead dealt with the idea of using drugs as a façade to hide behind – thus hiding “behind an eminence front.”

The song was both a huge commercial and critical success, reaching number 68 on the Billboard Hot 100 upon release. It was later ranked as the 10^th best Who song by Rolling Stone.

But perhaps the best song on the album is John Entwistle’s “It’s Your Turn.” The bassist writes from the perspective of an aging rockstar giving advice to a younger musician.

At first the lyrics appears to demonstrate the elder musician’s status and superiority over the younger one: “I was a face in a magazine/When you were still playin' with your plasticine."

But the elder soon realizes that by looking the younger artist in the eye, he sees a younger version of himself in the lad: “I know you young and dumb/I know where you're comin' from. Don't know where you're goin' to/But I been there same as you.”

The young artist takes it in stride, also realizing that the two aren’t all that different, saying that he has “made the same mistakes” that the elder made in his younger years.

By the end the veteran rocker has sympathized with the young buck, even offering a few words of wisdom: "It's your turn, step up and take it/If you've got the guts to hang on, you can make it"

Musically, the track bears a strong resemblance to “Behind The Lines” by Genesis, with some very tight drum fills by Kenney Jones and bing-bing-biiiiing synthesizers played by Entwistle. There are nice tempo shifts and key changes from the verses to the bridge and to the chorus, which give the track a nice sense of variety.

Unlike other Entwistle compositions, this one is sung by Roger Daltrey. And as with Townshend’s greatest compositions, Daltrey makes this one his own vocally. He grunts, pauses on just the syllables, and lets loose with his upper-register wail on the final “ooooh… TAKE IT!!!”

It’s easy to imagine Daltrey identifying with both characters in the song, having cemented his legendary status in rock by the mid-1960s, but singing these words in 1982. While Townshend had (mostly) settled down and gotten away from writing about where he fit into the “new” musical landscape of the 1980s, it must have been cathartic for Daltrey – and the rest of the group – to exorcise the demons one last time.

Which brings us to the present. In the 40 years that have followed It’s Hard, The Who have released just two albums, 2006’s Endless Wire and 2019’s WHO. They’ve broken up, reunited, broken up again, and reunited yet again. Townshend damaged his hearing and had a brief brush with the law.

Most significantly was the death of John Entwistle in 2002. As the last studio album featuring his contributions, It’s Hard is lent an extra poignance through his absence.

While The Who have made better records in the past, this was the last time that they felt like a “group.” It’s Hard might not get the acclaim of the earlier records, but it is better than most remember it being. And on that merit alone, it is worth checking out.

Polydor/1982