Loud Family - Music: What Happened?

1977
by Scott Miller

"Janie Jones" - The Clash
Punk rock was the biggest music movement in my mature experience. To the extent that punk rock had a populist, revolutionary esprit de corps, the Clash were its ministry of information. As time went on, I found it more and more mysterious that their critical and popular acclaim grew so huge, but in the early days when gorging on JEM indie 45s was in its first flush of pure satisfaction, the Clash were right up there: "White Riot," "City of the Dead," "White Man In Hammersmith Palais"—and this, first song, first album. They could write music, and they had an instinct for entertainment: just try not to sing along with "really tell the boss/Gonna really let him know exactly how he feels/It's pretty baad!"

"Aliens In Our Midst" - Twinkeyz
Writing one punk song proved I didn't quite personally fit in, but soon enough I found two Sacramento groups that did, well enough: one was the Twinkeyz. They all worked at local record stores where I hung out, so I was able to absorb the mechanics of pressing the disk, getting it in a little upright display on key record store counters, playing bar off-nights and weirdo thrown-together shows. I've never since gone a day without considering this little single a top-tier DIY classic.

"Ca Plane Pour Moi" - Plastic Bertrand
"New wave" could at first be loosely defined as "the Sex Pistols minus some or other key elements." These amped-up Belgians perfected the angle focusing on Chuck-Berry-based guitar and speedy, fuzzy, hot production. I once did guest vocals on this with the band Christmas, you guessed it, making up fake French as I went along—that must prove the dumb fun is right where it should be.

"Reuters" - Wire
This is the whole opposite side of new wave, that would evolve into the equally mysteriously named "post-punk": depressive, arty, singer chewing syllables. The Pink Flag album had quite a few moments, but to me 1979's 154 is where Wire really became themselves.

"Go Your Own Way" - Fleetwood Mac
I don't recall giving this song enough of a chance until deciding at the time of Tusk that Lindsey Buckingham was at some level my kind of troublemaker. But what exactly did I then give a chance? Almost all the words and tune are pedestrian, and the recording has a bad enough case of mid-seventies tired sound: too clean in a fizzy way, too many overdubs, too many tracks played back seven hundred times. I don't think I know for certain whether the song actually wants or doesn't want "you" to go "your" own way. In the end nothing triumphs here for me but several above-average singers saying the words "go your own way" together in a way I infer must be emotionally engaging for some hypothetical third party. Weird that in music, that's sometimes all you need.

"Bored Teenagers" - The Adverts
The not quite as good (and tacky) A-Side was "Gary Gilmore's Eyes." This tune points to one of punk rock's many benefits: prog-rock ideas tend to get corraled together in one cost-effective, drama-packed bridge section because you daren't say boo in the verse or chorus.

"Hanging Around" - Stranglers
Ordinarily more than one minute of instrumental improv is going to have one of two effects on a song with respect to this selection exercise: (1) get it axed, or (2) in the case of an exceptionally good song, get it edited. Hugh Cornwell's and Dave Greenfield's splendid guitar and keyboard interplay is a rare exception: it's the listening highlight of a track that is high quality in every other way as well.

"I Feel Love" - Donna Summer
Giorgio Moroder's riveting all-synthesizer production is, but for no more than a handful of generally lesser imitations, the first and last disco or techno record I feel has notable artistic merit. I'm even at something of a loss to explain why, as indebted to Kraftwerk as it is, I like this better than I like Kraftwerk.

"Wuthering Heights" - Kate Bush
Everyone has the same thought after the first line of "Wuthering Heights": "What the hell?" Ms. Bush by all indications deliberately hops on stage with a somewhat screechy character voice (the Bronte's Catherine to Heathcliff)—in her own way announcing her intention to be as uncompromising as any punk artist. The singing gets a little more normal into the song, the better not to distract from the tune's flat-out gorgeousness; this is truly the poster child for: "oh, that song? I love that song!"

"Where the Fun Is" - Chris Stamey
As adept and nuanced as anything from Richard Rodgers or Van Dyke Parks, this B-Side from an underground New York scenester single is not even a diamond in the rough, it's a diamond, period—a big rock. It's Stamey and producer Alex Chilton—sounding very much the Big Star Third Alex—playing all the instruments, and it's the perfect combination of studio chaos and off-the-scale sophistication. What a shame an accomplishment like this can simply fall off the edge of the world.

"What In the World" - David Bowie
There's something very special about Low. For starters, the snare drum sound—regenerating harmonizer—is undoubtedly the most important inspiration for 80s gated reverb (or tied with Peter Gabriel's "The Intruder"), only—how does one put this delicately?—without being horrible. It not only instantly positioned Bowie to survive punk/new wave unscathed, but it lives on as the epitome of artistic reinvigoration. I guess the snare in combination with Carlos Alomar's nasally, bracingly fresh guitar and Eno's ear for the new account for something like half the story. The lyrics come at you with relative simplicity, from unexpected angles: "I'm just a little bit afraid of you, 'cause love won't make you cry." When Bowie reminds you he's in contention for best lyricist going, he does it with a disconcerting lack of ceremony.

"Oh Babe" - Van Duren
Van Duren is an odd case. Like Alex Chilton, he was a Memphis singer-songwriter who relocated to New York in the late seventies—there are some interesting overlapping sound elements—and like Alex, he occasionally reveals immense talent. Though not in the same league as Alex for lifetime achievements, Van does earn his mention in the same breath, and was from 1977 to 1978 not inconceivably the best male pop vocalist on the planet. If one wonders what eventually went wrong, it's tempting to point to a dire susceptibility to drifting toward schlock, but "Oh Babe" shows just how beautifully things could at times align: sapidly nostalgic lyrics, crack arrangement, a souped-up
easy listening style veering between "Thank You Friends" and "Marquee Moon."

"Dogs" [edit] - Pink Floyd
I've confessed to editing long songs, and this is my masterpiece: the side-long Animals opus edited to—are you sitting down?—five minutes and 45 seconds. And I'm fairly convinced most people relatively familiar with the song would not actually notice. I give
you "Weener Dogs." It has all the stuff one really needs: the bit about picking up the easy meat with the club tie, the harmony guitar lead, enough of the harmonizer dog barking to say "we were there," and all of that "born in a house full of pain" section—untouchable as the only time Roger ever sounded better on vocals than David Gilmour. It doesn't have the "sad old man dying of cancer" verse, but if I may whisper it between us, I think Roger thought that was an absolute zinger, as if people get cancer because they deserve it.

"Sixteen" - Iggy Pop
Iggy didn't cruise to post-1977 acceptance; the story twist was that Bowie corrupted him with art-damage or some such nonsense. I want to say Rolling Stone gave Lust For Life two out of five stars at the time of release—at any rate, something that contributed to my impression that they were putting their effort to prove themselves morons in high gear. The second and better of the two '77 Bowie collaboration records also contained the scalding "Lust For Life," "Some Weird Sin," and "The Passenger"; there's something about the lacerating guitar of "Sixteen" coupled with the "funky bar [where] everybody's so fine and they don't need me" that for me gives it the edge. "Now baby, I know, that's not normal..."

"Father Christmas" - The Kinks
The relatively elderly Kinks embarrassed themselves not one tiny bit with this bruising think-punk single. To think they could have probably been rocking this hard for years but for lack of just the right nudge.

"'Heroes'" - David Bowie
No one needs to be sold on "Heroes," right? (Or do I mean "'Heroes'"?) You know, though, I should put in a good word for "Helden." He released French and German language retakes, and the French is valueless, but the German has some sort of special fury to it. I'm breaking my rule against artist double-inclusion here. If you ever put out Low and Heroes in one year, I'll do it for you.

"Watching the Detectives" - Elvis Costello and the Attractions
The remaining four songs represent something very close to a resurrection of pop music from death. It wasn't for lack of talent or good intentions that pop was dying, just something like alcoholism: one day more of a good thing—longer songs, more tracks, bigger recording budgets—just started hitting diminishing returns. Then a few brilliant small combo acts turned things around—did it with honest talent on next to zero tracks in next to zero takes. The Attractions certainly came in with a bang. Elvis with Clover was just fine, but this high-octane reggae with the well-too-creepy lyrics brought a sudden end to the possibility of sitting complecently in the same room with it.

"Psycho Killer" - Talking Heads
David Byrne is a treasure. The hook of naive fascination with everyday experience kept a lot of flavor for a good long time, and he was a true and passionate music person, too: loved making a guitar stretch its role. Another great and economical small combo, their secret weapons were a deep mastery of R&B, and the intelligence and precision of Tina Weymouth's bass playing. She keeps it simple on "Psycho Killer," but little decisions like the staccato pulse, and downward walk at the start of the chorus push it into the realm of greatness.

"Venus" - Television
I remember bonding with Susanna Hoffs over this song at a show in 1983. I love "Little Johnny Jewel," but the advance from that to this is breathtaking. They are suddenly a bold and confident outfit. You like the crowed vocal or you don't—I definitely do—but there can't be any such thing as not liking the guitar work, cascades of panoramic, spine-tingling lusciousness from the first note to the last.

"God Save the Queen" - Sex Pistols
I'm very glad I got this when it came out; I'd otherwise be tempted to consider myself swayed by later public opinion. I was the very first person to buy one of five import singles made available in a tiny pile on the floor near the rear exit of Tower Records, and when I got it home and played it, it was like sparks were coming out of it. I'd seen a TV news item the treated the Pistols as a joke, which in fact remained their reputation among arena rock fans: ha ha, guys with joke names who can't really play their instruments! A shot of Lydon doing a studio take sounded awful. It somehow felt like something I needed to check out. Mercy. Lydon is so very terribly freaking good on this, it's scary. His pitch, his ability to go from singerly to defiant, the way his voice responds to punishing levels of overdrive, are all fantastically successful. The guitar and drums are phenomenal, and both have at least a couple of very fancy moments, too. You heard less and less about the funny Sex Pistols as band after band probably had occasion to A-B the Pistols' joke music with their own good, powerful music, and have it flung hard to the back wall. I've never been exactly comfortable with the apparent fact of the Sex Pistols' power being ultimately a result of willingness to side with offenders against the offended (in a word, to victimize), but I think they hang on philosophically by a thread, that thread being a strain of morality impervious to authority and authority-haters alike. Surely no unruly mob ever rallied around "Bodies."