Journey Through The Unheard: The Unheardening

Hey Look! It’s Another Column about the gratuitous amount of music I’ve purchased but haven’t listened to. Part I can be found here.

To paraphrase the immortal David Coverdale, here I go again, on my own, listening to unheard records that I own¹. And since we last convened, I have been putting in the work, whittling down the backlog to a mere 1,316 albums. In the past six months alone I have gone through thirty-seven of them. And these aren’t cursory listens. I make sure to give each record a proper once over, not pulling it from my playlist until I’ve absorbed every track at least five or six times (sometimes double that if it’s an album I’m really digging).

The problem is, in that same six month period, I bought one hundred and eighty-eight more albums for the war chest. With some simple calculations², one can see that over that time period, I actually ADDED .83 albums per day. That rate of consumption does not bode well to me actually getting through them all. For the math-averse, note the diagram below.

The point at which the vector crosses the x-axis represents when I will expect to reduce the backlog to exactly zero unheard albums. The fact that they will never cross is, needless to say, less than ideal.

I recognize the cognitive dissonance of wanting to catch up on my music but buying more than I can reasonably take in…I just choose to ignore it. And if you could go ahead and keep to yourself the fact that even if I never bought another album it would still take me almost eighteen years to get through everything at this rate, that’d be great (*extreme Bill Lumbergh voice).

Enough preamble. Let’s do this.

Did you know that rock stars like to drink? Apparently that’s a thing and in the late 70s, Alice Cooper was no exception. In fact, according to an interview he did with Dutch TV, he was perpetually on a “golden buzz” during this time. In order to kick the habit, he checked himself into a sanitarium and the cast of characters he encountered there was excellent fodder for this loose concept record. There’s the oversexed party girl featured in straight ahead rocker “Wish I Were Born In Beverly Hills,” the ultra-horny priest obsessed over “Nurse Rozetta” and “Jackknife Johnny,” the strung out Vietnam War vet admonished for coming home with a V.C. girl. “Millie and Billie,” a duet with Marcella Detroit, showcases a lovely couple locked up for some murderin’ and dismemberment. “For Veronica’s Sake” is about a dog.

The narrative also occasionally narrows in on Alice himself. On the title track he laments how the hard-livin’ rock and roll lifestyle had put him on the brink of self-destruction while on the proto-power ballad “How You Gonna See Me Now?” he wonders if the world would even accept a sober Alice Cooper. The question he really should have asked at the time is will the world accept a sober Alice that doesn’t sound like “golden buzz” Alice. And the answer to that question was a resounding no. The album flopped harder than a European footballer, perhaps due to the lack of a single as immediate as “No More Mr. Nice Guy” or “I’m Eighteen,” but also because of the over-glossed production. The aforementioned “Beverly Hills” sounds like a watered-down Boston. “Nurse Rozetta” brings to mind Billy Joel’s “The Stranger” and album closer “Inmates (We’re All Crazy)” seemingly inspired³ Chicago’s monster hit “You’re The Inspiration.” Add to that the lyrical influence of Bernie Taupin, Elton John’s main songwriting partner, and you get a breezy, fun record that unfortunately misses the dangerous sleaze of Cooper’s best work.

Speaking of dangerous sleaze, has anybody ever rode the back of questionable lyrical content to the top of the charts better than The Weeknd? I sincerely doubt it. We’re talking about a man was nominated for a Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Award for a song about the bliss associated with cocaine-induced facial numbness⁴. Sex, drugs, nihilism, drugs, misogyny, drugs, and disenfranchisement with fame and fortune are his purview. Oh, and drugs.

Wallowing in such murky waters would generally be considered loathsome, repugnant or even downright icky. But that is The Weeknd’s genius. Women want him even though they know deep down he’s bad for them. Men want to be him even though they know deep down they ain’t built for that life. Nonetheless he convinces us to join him in the cesspool with a combination of charisma and a batch of songs that straight up slap⁵. Seriously, have you heard “Blinding Lights”? What am I saying? Of course you have, even if you haven’t intentionally sought it out. It is everywhere. It’s in your car, on your phone, at the supermarket. Hell, it was even at this year’s Super Bowl. And with good reason. It is 100% perfect pop. It has that indescribable quality of being familiar the first time you hear it. Perhaps it’s due to that “Take On Me” aping synth roll⁶. Or that beat that could make a catatonic shake. Or maybe it’s that “I said, ooooooh…” earworm of a chorus. Maybe it’s all of it.

But that’s not all this 80s-inspired, neon-glow of a record offers. The Metro Boomin’ produced “Heartless” is a celebration of the bad-boy lifestyle that bobbles heads and curls upper lips into cocky little snarls. “Escape From L.A.” expertly weaves⁷ not one but two Keanu Reeves movie references into a perverse tale of modern urban anti-love. And I defy you not to drop whatever you’re doing to get up and dance when your hit with the back to back bangers “In Your Eyes” and “Save Your Tears.” That they are 75% as catchy as “Blinding Lights” only means they are 200% catchier than your average pop hit. Despite no Grammy nod, After Hours was definitely one of 2020’s best albums. Play it often.

From a Grammy snub we go to a Grammy darling. And from one synth-heavy, 80s inspired pop record we go to a…synth-heavy, 80s inspired pop record. To this you might say “I thought this is a Beck record? Isn’t his music more of a folky funk/alternative hybrid?” And to that I’d say, “did you get a look at that cover? He’s wearing a Miami Vice suit in front of an mid-80s Toyota Celica for Pete’s sake. What did you expect?”

After allowing you sufficient time to accept your own obtuseness, I would then acknowledge that yes, Beck is associated with a folky, funky, alternative sound. Think “Loser”. Think “Where It’s At.” But he also can go electronic like Guero‘s “Girl.” Or he can go all melancholy singer/songwriter like on 2002’s stupendous Sea Change. He’s a musical chameleon; a modern day Bowie, just not as good⁸. And on Hyperspace he goes modern pop, viewed through an 80s prism, just as much of our nostalgia-driven culture has these past few years. He even enlisted super-producer Pharrell on much of the record. And I’ll be honest, I resisted this Beck upon the first few spins. Slowly, though, the professional songcraft wore me down.

On “Die Waiting,” Beck sings “I don’t care what I have to do. Know that I’m gonna wait on you,” like he knows that we won’t instantly give in to this electro-bounce, but eventually the expert construction will prevail. “See Through” leans on a playful, tropical-infused beat to weaken your resistance. “Chemical” and “Stratosphere” both trade in atmospherics, with Beck’s vocals floating to the listener from some distant land of hallucinogenics and synthesizers. First single “Saw Lightning”, though, is probably the track that best melds all of Beck’s ostensibly disparate styles into one tidy package. It begins with a “Loser”-esque acoustic guitar slide before shifting into a skittering, dancefloor-ready groove equipped with harmonica, some falsetto akin to It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia‘s “Night Man”, and a little bit of rapping to top things off. I know it sounds a bit messy, but it’s not. It’s just Beck.

And this is just Cash, or at least the Cash that was unearthed when Rick Rubin came into the picture. If you ain’t in the know, by ’94 an aging Johnny Cash had been pretty much written off by the recording industry and the public at large. His 1991 album The Mystery of Life came and went without making an impact at radio or on the sales charts. A follow-up Christmas record similarly bombed. But Rubin, known for producing nearly every hip hop and metal album that mattered in the era⁹, saw something that in the country legend that everyone else had overlooked. And that something was that he still maintained that monolithic yet achy, battle-scarred yet triumphant, fallible yet God-like baritone. Paired with simple, acoustic arrangements of originals, traditional folk, and contemporary covers, he knew Cash could still be money.

Rubin and Cash’s marriage spawned six largely successful studio albums that followed this blueprint beginning with 1994’s American Recordings through the posthumously-released American VI: Ain’t No Grave in 2010. Solitary Man, which dropped in 2000, had been the only one I hadn’t spun yet but I knew essentially what I’d be getting. The contemporary covers featured here (Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down”, U2’s “One”, Nick Cave’s “The Mercy Seat”) are completely transformed from their originals. While Petty sounded strong and defiant, Cash’s older, craggy take comes off less assured. In “One”, his wisened and experienced tone amplifies the profundity in Bono’s words that never resonated before. And in “Nobody” (which dates back to 1905) and “Country Trash” (a Cash original) he is able to elicit an empathy for the forgotten and downtrodden that I’m not sure anyone else could.

Others may not view these records the same way and that’s fine. They may find the simple arrangements colorless, the delivery too raw and ragged, the vocal range too narrow. But I view them as essential canon to not only a Johnny Cash fan, but to a fan of music in general. My only regret when listening to these masterworks is that Rubin never got a chance to provide a late career renaissance to one of Cash’s old Sun Records labelmates; Elvis Presley.

My only regret as it pertains to the Foo’s new record, Medicine At Midnight, is that it’s just ok. Being such a massive fan of Dave Grohl, you have no idea how much it pains me to say that. I’ve never met the man, but he seems like a genuinely good guy and he and his bandmates have produced some of my most beloved music of the past twenty-five years. I even enjoyed Probot, Grohl’s heavy metal one-off side project from way back in ’04. This record, though, might be my least favorite in their discography since 2005’s bloated double-album In Your Honour.

So, why is it just ok? I guess it all boils down to the fact that there’s nothing here that, as a fan, I’m dying to hear live. Probably not opening track “Making A Fire” due to the somewhat grating “naa-naa-nana-nana-naa-naa” backing vocals. Nor am I that interested in hearing “Love Dies Young” and its penchant for repeating the song’s title every four or five seconds lest you forget it. And unfortunately, “No Son Of Mine” is not a cover of the classic Genesis tune or else that certainly would have made the cut.

There are a couple of maybes among the remaining songs. “Holding Poison” might be worthwhile mainly due to the killer guitar solo that comes in around the three-minute mark, even if the main riff leans a little too closely to The Presidents of The United States of America’s “Lump.” How “Waiting On A War” slowly builds from a jangly little acoustic number and crescendos as a hard-charging rocker makes it a contender. The swinging “Cloudspotter” features some decent aggro vocals à la “Breakout” or “All My Life.”

But even if this album had been completely devoid of charm (which it’s not. It’s pleasant and somewhat danceable, just ultimately a little forgettable), the Foos, and especially Dave Grohl, have still had themselves one hell of a last year or so. First, Grohl had a well-publicized and heartwarming series of video drum-offs with a ten-year old British girl. Then he and the band released an EP under the pseudonym Dee Gees that consists of live versions of Medicine At Midnight tracks and yep, five Bee Gees covers¹⁰. And to top it off, a few months back they performed one of the tunes, the timeless “You Should Be Dancing,” from the flatbed of a truck outside of one the Westboro Baptist Church’s hate-rallies. Dave Grohl? More like Dave Trohl.

And I’d be willing to bet when you scrolled down and saw Mr. Bolotin’s¹¹ Greek God locks and that self-serious expression that I was now trolling you. But I assure you, I am not. And when I say that this monument to late-eighties excess is actually kinda great, I say it with the utmost sincerity. No, seriously.

Stop acting so surprised! This record may be stuffed front to back with impossibly slick production, vocal histrionics and mountains of cheese, but they are all of the highest caliber. Just check the receipts; six times platinum in the U.S., five (count ’em, FIVE!) top 40 hits, and countless instances of slightly buzzed and overly confident karaoke singers trying and failing to approximate the “How Am I Supposed To Live Without You” high-notes.

The reason you cringe at that cover and doubt the veracity of my stance is that history has not been kind to Bolton or to his ilk. He’s been branded a “no-talent assclown” and relegated to the bargain bin of your local music store (if you still have one) instead of celebrated as one of the most dynamic singers of his era. Listen to his rendition of “Georgia On My Mind” again and tell me that if he rolled up on The Voice tomorrow and popped that shit that you wouldn’t be retweeting it and saying something like “OMG!!! This Fabio-looking dude just tore the roof off!!!” You know you would.

So, take some time and listen with fresh ears. You’ll be surprised that “You Wouldn’t Know Love” and “How Can We Be Lovers” rock a little more than you remember and that deep cuts like “It’s Only My Heart” and Stand Up For Love” linger far longer than your average album filler. And if you think this record’s glowing review is at all influenced by nostalgia for a simpler time when eight-year old me heard these songs from the backseat of a blue Taurus wagon on Q95.5 FM and my only concern in the world was whether I should get McNuggets or a cheeseburger in my Happy Meal…you may be right¹².

And I may be crazy for saying that this is one of my favorite records of the year. And before you even say it, no…it is NOT because the cover features a naked Taylor Momsen on a slab of marble. I would argue, in fact, that the cover is one of the weakest attributes of this record¹³. Its suggestive of a band lacking confidence in the music’s ability to draw people in and instead relying on sex and shock factor. The irony is that the band sounds MORE assured on this batch of songs then they have at any point in their eleven-plus years.

The title track leads things off, exploding through the speakers with big guitars and pummeling drums while a defiant Momsen lays down her mission statement: she will live fast, and she will live hard and if a premature death is a consequence of that behavior, so be it. While the loud-quiet-loud verse structure is a tad derivative of previous hit “Heaven Knows” and the premise of the song isn’t exactly a novel one, it still works. Next comes “Only Love Can Save Me Now,” slithering along through sludgier, murkier waters aided by grunge masters Matt Cameron and Kim Thayil of Soundgarden. The Reckless had been tourmates with Soundgarden in 2017 when lead singer and Rock God Chris Cornell ended his own life (it doesn’t take a genius to see that may have had an influence on this record’s preoccupation with death).

After “And So It Went”, another hard charging rocker featuring some lilting, angelic vocals in the bridge before a blistering, chaotic Tom Morello guitar solo, we get the first sense that one cannot just live hard and fast forever. The tempo slows significantly for the brilliant “25” which was not featured in the latest James Bond movie, but the lyrics suggest it absolutely was intended to¹⁴. The clever little allusions to the film series are amusing, but I was really impressed with the Beatle-esque bouncy, piano-driven bridge. Then things really settle in with the poppy, acoustic “Got So High.” The easy confidence in Momsen’s soaring voice belies her words, describing herself as “turned out wasted, confused, complacent.” And if there was still any doubt that this was a more mature Taylor and band, the triumphant “Standing At The Wall” ahould put them to bed. You don’t drop a string-laden ballad fit with a “Mama, I’m Coming Home” aping bridge if you are lacking in confidence. You do that when you’re comfortable in your own skin.

Death once again serves as a primary muse on the final two tracks. “Rock and Roll Heaven” is a fine little countrified ode to the 27 Club’s¹⁵ “Jimi, Janis and Morrison” but “Harley Darling,” the album-closing tribute to a dear friend of the band who perished in a motorcycle accident is where Momsen seems to have found some peace amongst all the pain. She’s still sad, but hope in her voice suggesting she sees herself racing down a very long, very dark tunnel towards a sliver of light and not naked on a cold, hard slab of rock.

1. See how I rhymed the word “own” with itself? Hopefully the Pulitzer people are taking notice.
2. Total number of albums= initial number + (pandemic boredom x refunded cash from cancelled concerts burning a hole in my pocket).
3. The song also covers a lot of the same ground as Pink Floyd’s “The Trial” which ends The Wall, a record that was released a year after From The Inside. Hmmm.
4. Yeah, that happened. 2016. “Can’t Feel My Face.”
5. I wanted to say this at least once before the kids decide it’s no longer cool. Wait. Do the kids still call cool stuff cool?
6. Do you think the first time The Weeknd heard that synth he said “A-ha!”?
7. Keanu Weaves?
8. This is no slight to Beck. None of us are as good as Bowie.
9. Seriously. Run-DMC’s Raising Hell, Beastie’s License to Ill, Slayer’s Reign In Blood, Black Crowes’ Shake Your Moneymaker, RHCP’s Blood Sugar Sex Magik...
10. No, seriously. And the record is called Hail Satin. Brilliant.
11. Not a typo. His actual last name is Bolotin.
12. (Extreme Billy Joel voice).
13. As a married man, I am contractually obligated to say this.
14. I’ll give you one guess as to how many James Bond movies there are.
15. Rockers who never made it to 28. Rolling Stone Brian Jones, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse are other notable club members.

Art design: Erik Belcarz. Credits: alice cooper, ralph arvesen; sourced at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Alice_Cooper_2015_(cropped).jpg. the weeknd, btheweeknd, sourced at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Weeknd_with_band_SNL_2020.jpg. taylor momsen, chicks with guns magazine, sourced at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Taylor_Momsen_-Warped_Tour_Kickoff(2).jpg.