the great songs (xxv) - the cutter

What sadness attends this final post in the series! But The Cutter by Echo & The Bunnymen almost makes me want to start a sub-genre: songs I'd love to sing on a karaoke night. (Just for the record, I've never been to one....)

There are lots of reasons I'm including this here. The sheer energy of the playing; grand, but not grandiose. The singing that just about stays this side of histrionic, pummeling the emotions out of their shell. And the intriguing lyrics: will I still be soiled when the dirt is off? Hmm.

They had a great run of singles in the mid 80s - I first sat up and took notice with the charting of The Back Of Love and fell head over heels in love with The Killing Moon (which would be a worthy substitute for The Cutter - check out the All Night version here; more memories of confined evenings in a Doncaster bedsit in '84, with Kid Jensen on the evening Radio 1 slot). And Never Stop was an unusually-affecting song, falling between the Porcupine and Ocean Rain albums.

Sure, they were overblown and maybe took themselves too seriously but they were young and so were we. Who isn't guilty?

One final reason for choosing this one: the memory of the song playing on the jukebox in the Cov Poly Student Union bar one night and a couple looking into each other's eyes and singing, 'Not just another drop in the ocean'.

I've often wondered whether they went the distance.

the great songs (xxiv) - rhinestone cowboy

Well, many weeks back I was convinced I'd have to include Glen Campbell's Wichita Lineman in this list but then I heard Rhinestone Cowboy on the radio and knew straightaway the latter had supplanted the former. Not because it's a better song, per se - I think Lineman has one of the all-time great lyrical couplets ('And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time'). It's a truly worthy, special love song, of the old fashioned variety. They justifiably call it sophisticatiion. So why did RC win the day?

I think it's down to the overall singalong quality of the song - it's got great momentum from the off; once heard, never forgotten. But, perhaps moreso, it's down to the memories it evokes, memories that are touched with the deep sadness of loss right now: life at 41 Y Ddol in Pwllheli; listening to Mam's radio in the kitchen, watching Top Of The Pops, lying on the floor doing homework. Mid 70s homelife.

And I think, too, that the lyrics were deep enough to spark some thoughts in my 12 year old brain. Thoughts about life being less than straightforward. About compromise. About the hope of redemption.

(Really worth checking-out is his 2008 album, Meet Glen Campbell, with some great cover versions and other stuff. Go, Glen; long may you run)

the great songs (xxiii) - i believe in you

This selection was very difficult. In some ways, I think that Can't Get You Out Of My Head is a better song and a more compelling performance. It captures so well the obessession that masquerades as love, in every aspect. The whole feel of the song is of the densest suffocation. (Incidentally, the mashup with Blue Monday is a cracking listen, too).

But I'm opting to choose I Believe In You by Kylie (any need for a surname?). I've opted for it (I think) because it's the more positive of the two. Less compelling writing but a great peformance and the one of the best-ever deliveries of a closing line; the sweetness is almost unbearably near.

In many ways, the finest culmination of the whole S-A-W influence on popular music.

But in neither case am I recommending the videos, let it be said.

the great songs (xxii) - romeo & juliet

From their album Making Movies this is Dire Straits at their best. Great musicianship, songwriting and, more unusually, singing. And if I remember rightly, a pretty decent video, too.

Romeo and Juliet is, of course, based on the original play (and, less so, its retelling as West Side Story). Two star-crossed young lovers; did anyone ever capture it as well in song as Knopfler here? Six minutes of sheer class.

A love-struck Romeo sings a streetsuss serenade,
laying everybody low with a love song that he made;
finds a streetlight, steps out of the shade
says something like, 'You and me babe, how about it?'

Juliet says, 'Hey it's Romeo! You nearly gimme a heart attack';
he's underneath the window, she's singing, 'Hey-la my boyfriend's back';
'You shoudn't come around here singing up to people like that.
Anyway, what you gonna do about it?'

"Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start
and I bet, and you exploded in my heart
and I forget, I forget the movie song;
when you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?"

"Come up on different streets, they both were streets of shame;
both dirty, both mean - yes, and the dream was just the same.
And I dreamed your dream for you and now your dream is real;
how can you look at me as if I was just another one of your deals?"

"When you can fall for chains of silver, you can fall for chains of gold,
you can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold;
you promised me everything, you promised me thick and thin, yeah,
now you just say 'Oh Romeo, yeah you know i used to have a scene with him.'"

"Juliet when we made love you used to cry
you said, 'I love you like the stars above, I'll love you till I die.'
There's a place for us, you know the movie song;
when you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?"

"I can't do the talk, like they talk on TV.
And I can't do a love song like the way it's meant to be;
I can't do everything but I'd do anything for you,
I can't do anything 'cept be in love with you."

"And all I do is miss you and the way we used to be,
all I do is keep the beat and bad company;
all I do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme -
Julie I'd do the stars with you any time."

"Juliet, when we made love you used to cry
you said 'I love you like the stars above, I'll love you till I die.'
There's a place for us, you know the movie song
when you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?"

And a love-struck Romeo sings a streetsuss serenade
laying everybody low with a love song that he made;
finds a convenient streetlight steps out of the shade
says something like, 'You and me babe how about it?'

'You and me babe, how about it?'

the great songs (xxi) - summer of '69

For some, this is probably all the proof they need that a list like this is principally nostalgic - not because Summer of '69 looms large in my own musical history tour but because of its theme ('those were the best days of my life').

But it isn't nostalgia that brings us here. It's the energy, the feelgood mood and the up-the-volume-and-move-those-feet dynamic of one of Bryan Adams' signature songs.

Play VERY LOUD.

the great songs (xx) - cloudbusting

I'll happily confess I have very little grasp of what dear Kate Bush is singing about in this song....but I love it. I love the way it meanders and yet seems to gain momentum as it goes; I love the singing; I love the whole feel of it.

It's from her 1985 album The Hounds of Love and is one of a number of really strong tracks on there (mainly those released as singles). A bit of a comeback for her at the time following the mild disaster that was The Dreaming.

Pleased to have it in this list and in my collection.

I still dream of Orgonon.
I wake up crying.
You're making rain,
And you're just in reach,
When you and sleep escape me.

You're like my yo-yo
That glowed in the dark.
What made it special
Made it dangerous,
So I bury it
And forget.

But every time it rains,
You're here in my head,
Like the sun coming out--
Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen.
And I don't know when,
But just saying it could even make it happen.

On top of the world,
Looking over the edge,
You could see them coming.
You looked too small
In their big, black car,
To be a threat to the men in power.

I hid my yo-yo
In the garden.
I can't hide you
From the government.
Oh, God, Daddy--
I won't forget,

cause every time it rains,
You're here in my head,
Like the sun coming out -
Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen.
And I dont know when,
But just saying it could even make it happen.

The sun's coming out.
Your son's coming out.

the great songs (xix) - light my fire

Light My Fire by The Doors just bursts open from the very first note and delivers in spades. For once, I'm not going to comment on the words, they mean very little to me in this case (and are far more direct than most Doors lyrics, not being written by Morrison).

What I will mention is the music - surely one of the greatest instrumental sections in all popular music (far too long to be called an interlude, lasting from just over a minute in, right through to the latter part of the 6th minute of the song). I love the organ and its almost hypnotic effect and the cool sweep of the guitar. Yes, Morrison's singing helps it along but, in truth, it isn't his best and isn't the decisive factor in the song's greatness. It's the playing that carries all before it.

To be played loud.

the great songs (xviii) - mother

I realise this is an extremely hard song to listen to, for all sorts of people and for all sorts of reasons. I'm not including it here because it entertains (it clearly doesn't) but because of its cathartic honesty.

Mother was the opening track to the first post-beatles album by John Lennon (John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band). Both John and Yoko had been exposed to Arthur Janov's primal therapy and the natural outcome was music that reflected their experiences (Yoko's response was the twin album, Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band).

The opening tolling of bells has been seen as signalling the passing of the Beatles-era for Lennon, a topic he addresses on the song God later on the album. Whether intentional or not, the effect is palpable. But even more they signal the sense of loss and rejection that the song goes on to handle, as indeed does the whole album in various ways.

A rewarding listen, but not an easy one.

the great songs (xvii) - the river

The River was among the first Bruce Springsteen tracks I remember hearing, along with Hungry Heart and Sherry Darling off the same album. I guess it must have been '81 and the album had a decidely lukewarm reception in NME (my reference point in those days).

It isn't necessarily the greatest individual song that the Boss ever recorded (although one of the finest on that album) but it's certainly representative of his expansive, storytelling style. And the lyrics inhabit familiar territory - the early death of idealism and the premature acceptance of an almost cynical realism, with the merest hints of a possible shot at redemption (the almost mythical river into which they'd dive) and the despairing realisation that the river is dry. It paints a stark picture of an ailing nation and of a failing humanity.

The question asked by the narrator, 'Is a dream a lie if it don't come true or is it something worse?' is worth pondering as a prime example of Springsteen's lyrical gift. But the lyrics deserve to be seen in full, so here they are:

I come from down in the valley, where mister when you're young
They bring you up to do like your daddy done
Me and Mary we met in high school, when she was just seventeen
We'd ride out of that valley down to where the fields were green

We'd go down to the river
And into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we'd ride

Then I got Mary pregnant, and man that was all she wrote
And for my nineteenth birthday I got a union card and a wedding coat
We went down to the courthouse
And the judge put it all to rest
No wedding day smiles no walk down the aisle
No flowers no wedding dress

That night we went down to the river
And into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we did ride

I got a job working construction for the Johnstown Company
But lately there ain't been much work on account of the economy
Now all them things that seemed so important
Well mister they vanished right into the air
Now I just act like I don't remember, Mary acts like she don't care

But I remember us riding in my brother's car
Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir
At night on them banks I'd lie awake
And pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take
Now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse
Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse
That sends me down to the river, though I know the river is dry
That sends me down to the river tonight
Down to the river, my baby and I
Oh down to the river we ride

the great songs (xvi) - the scientist

I know Coldplay come in for a lot of (sometimes deserved) criticism - taking themselves too seriously, overblown and underwhelming. But when they get it right, musically and lyrically, they get it well right.

The Scientist doesn't need much explanation, nor commendation; it's qualities shine through from first hearing onwards. It's simple, yet not simplistic. It is heartfelt, yet without angst. And the singing is probably Chris Martin's best.

Questions of science
Science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart

So: enjoy.

the great songs (xv) - i want you to be my love

This song is deceptively simple and potentially inconsequential. It doesn't mean to deceive; it isn't a set-up or a falsification. But it will only really make its presence deeply felt in the light of what preceded it: the breaking-point marital tension of Ohio. You can read about the trauma here but you'll only feel it by listening (without company) to Ohio.

And then coming to I Want You To Be My Love becomes what it always was for its makers: fresh, vibrant satisfaction in the solidarity of tested love.

the great songs (xiv) - and i love her

Well, who would have thought this would have been the first Beatles track to feature on these lists? Many others could have been chosen (Hey Jude is almost without peer). But a choice is made and it is this. You could do yourself a favour and buy A Hard Day's Night; then you'll not only get this superb McCartney love song but more fab songs than you can shake one of Ringo's drumsticks at.

And I Love Her is a simple enough song but that's probably its greatest asset. As simple as, say, Here, There & Everywhere (on Revolver) but this has something extra. Being in love can be a hugely difficult thing; songs like this are what blokes like me have always needed in traversing those choppy seas.

One particular memory is stirred by this song: lying awake in my room at college, late at night, early months of 1982, listening in the dark to Radio 2 (probably dear old Brian Matthews) and they played this song. In the stillness of the night, its simple purity struck me for the first time. But not the last.

the great songs (xiii) - the winner takes it all

There was a time when I would never have admitted to having a song like this in amongst my favourite tracks...but no longer. August 1980 was a halcyon month in the charts - ABBA and David Bowie vying for the number 1 slot with this song and Ashes to Ashes respectively before The Jam took over in early September with Start! Heady days, if we had but known it.

The Winner Takes It All famously documents the marriage breakdowns within the band (although they denied it was quite so explicit). In doing so, they crafted the perfect pop song: great melodies (as ever), perfect singing, lyrics that resonate with people like us, a video that laid bare the emotional traumas being sung and the final, desperate vulnerability in the singing of the lines,

I apologise if it makes you feel bad,
seeing me so tense, no self-confidence
but, you see, the winner takes it all.

ABBA were a great gift in the 70s and early days of the 80s.

the great songs (xii) - raise the roof

I could have populated this list with a number of songs by Everything But The Girl (possibly Apron Strings or maybe Mirrorball or Flipside) but I'm going to go for one of Tracey Thorn's solo offerings, Raise The Roof (off her 2007 album Out Of The Woods). Again, she could have featured more than once on this list - I have an intense love for Too Happy, the song that closed her short-but-sweet debut solo 1982 album A Distant Shore.

But I've chosen this one because of its instantaneous impact, the infectious beat and the (as always) gorgeous singing - it's got it all really. A song that guarantees I'll be dancing round the kitchen. Play it loud!

Put the music on
put the music on
put the music on
they all wanna dance....

And you do it with love!

I guess I ought to apologise to the kitchen.

the great songs (xi) - tears in heaven

It's only recently that I've come to appreciate Eric Clapton - in particular, his albums Slowhand and 461 Ocean Boulevard are hugely enjoyable and full of class. This song is not his usual milieu but is worthy of any list.

The background to the song is well-known (the death of his young son in an accident) and it may well be that such a harrowing genesis puts the listener in a difficult position: to dismiss the song could be thought heartless, and to enjoy it, macabre. In that way it bears some resemblance to Yoko Ono's work Season Of Glass.

Well, it isn't enjoyable and it ought not to be dismissed. It is harrowing and painful. It asks profoundly difficult questions. Isn't that what music ought to do, if it is being honest? This is not art as artifice; it is the expression of life on fetid ground, within a stained cosmos and in search of genuine hope.

The question, 'Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?' is heavy with pathos; how could a parent bear an answer that was negative? And his observation, 'I know I don't belong here in heaven', is searing. Why not? Because your life is not yet ended? Or because it is a place of innocence and innocents and you know you're neither? It is a comment that ought to compell all gospel servants to stand alongside the broken and lost.

Too profound for a list like this.

Too important not to be on it.

thhe great songs (x) - thrasher

Agricultural mechanisation as metaphor for the challenge of time and change in personal relationships? It could only be Neil Young.

His 1979 offering, Rust Never Sleeps, marries one side of acoustic material with one side of full-out rock. It opens and closes with the same track, giving the album its thematic cohesion but the two tracks that ultimately define the album and corral its essence are Thrasher (acoustic) and Powderfinger (electric). Both are worthy of appearing in this list (and checking-out on Spotify) but the former will have to suffice.

Many have seen references in the song to Young's relationship with the other members of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and it's hard not to see their shadows in its lines:

I searched out my companions
who were lost in crystal canyons,
when the aimless blade of science
slashed the pearly gates.
It was then that I knew I'd had enough
burned my credit card for fuel;
headed-out to where the pavement turns to sand.
With a one-way ticket to the land of truth
and my suitcase in my hand
how I lost my friends
I still don't understand.
They had the best selection;
they were poisoned with protection.
There was nothing that they needed,
nothing left to find.
They were lost in rock formations
or became park bench mutations;
on the sidewalks and in the stations
they were waiting, waiting.
So I got bored and left them there;
they were just dead weight to me.
Bbetter down the road
without that load.

And yet the song is not merely personal; the metaphors work well and burrow deep. Time works ravages - for persons and societies. Not all progress is really so. And a day will come when hands will be raised, no longer in resistance and yet not in surrender; rather, they will be raised one final time to herald the end with dignity:

And when the thrasher comes
I'll be stuck in the sun,
like the dinosaurs in shrines.
But I'll know the time has come
to give what's mine.

A long, rambling song, fit for a long and rambling life. Long may you run, Neil.

the great songs (ix) - pressing on

This great song is off the much-vilified Bob Dylan album, Saved. Because of his declared Christian faith, many people disliked the previous album Slow Train Coming but it seemed to fare better in the review-stakes than its successor did. But I've always had a soft spot for it and this song in particular (I ought to add that I only came to know it much later than when it first appeared in about 1980).

What I like is the intensity of the song and the way it builds & builds. I also love the observation,

Temptation's not an easy thing,
Adam given the devil rein;
cos he sinned I got no choice,
it run in my veins...
but 'm pressing on.

That's what I want to do, too.

the great songs (viii) - a man is in love

For years, all I knew of The Waterboys was the monumental Whole Of The Moon and that they employed a big music sound.

Things move on. People change. They grow. So here is A Man Is In Love from their album, Room To Roam.

A delightful song, showcasing how great Irish folk music can be but, more than anything, I'm posting this one as a very, very fine example of that overlooked yet necessary genre: the love song.

Here is writing that displays great craft and music of joy and vibrancy. I don't think any more needs to be said.

the great songs (vii) - walking on thin ice

I've held back a little from this one but it had to come at some point. Yoko Ono's Walking On Thin Ice is an achievement that it has never been possible to dispassionately assess or appreciate separately from the circumstances in which it appeared.

This is the song John & Yoko were working on the night that Lennon was murdered. The value he placed on the song is seen in the comments about it that formed part of Yoko's statement that filled the back-cover of the single sleeve.

When John and Yoko said in the summer of 1980 that their new work was dance-oriented, some of us (me especially) lamented the impact of the disco genre on their work. What we didn't know was that the dance club scene of New York in those days was anything but disco. This is dance music of a different order.

There is so much that can and ought to be said, somewhere, about the musical art of Yoko Ono. This is undoubtedly not that place...but I'll happily add a little grist to that particular mill.

The title is resonant of a deep stream of imagery in Yoko's musical work. The images of glass and ice recur regularly and stand as metaphors of pain and of a suffocating quiesence, a use made all the more startling by the anger that often surfaces with its own jagged edges. The pairing of 'knife' and 'life' is also the expected one; only the bleeding is absent here.

Yoko's winter mileau may be due to being raised in Japan (one assumes it cold there) but, whatever the origin, it's the dominant season in her work - Winter Song; Is Winter Here To Stay? and Looking Over From My Hotel Window on the album Approximately Infinite Universe all trade in its currency.

And so it's no surprise that this girl is walking on thin ice. There is danger - imminent danger. There is freedom - but it is fragile and threatened. There is death - and it is inevitable and irreversible.

It's a long track and benefits from a return (in the middle & closing sections) to some of the non-verbal vocal expression that marked Yoko's earlier work (one reviewer of the album that followed that summer, Season of Glass, asked where the primal screaming was when we needed it most - a rather lame grasp of the nature of her grief, and of her art).

The guitar work on this song by John (the last he would ever record) has been celebrated and it is certainly in keeping with the song's vehement fragility. The song would never have fitted on either Double Fantasy, nor what would become the posthumous release Milk & Honey. It was always intended to be a single in its own right, with Yoko both A and B-side*. Rightly so.

They say the lake is as big as the ocean.
I wonder if she knew about it?

Its dimensions and depths were only just to be discovered.

I may cry some day
but the tears will dry, whichever way;
and when our hearts return to ashes
it'll be just a story
it'll be just a story.

*The actual B-side is an older song of Yoko's - It Happened opens here with dialogue recorded between John and Yoko on a stroll through Central Park. The song is both sweet and sad and carries, along with its A-side, an almost prophetic quality ("It happened at a time of my life when I least expected...and I know there's no return, no way").

nb: Happily, but unintentionally, this has been posted on Yoko's 76th birthday.

the great songs (vi) - goin' back

This track shares its title with the opener to Neil Young's Comes A Time, even down to the aspostrophe in Goin', but this is the earlier of the two and written by the celebrated duo of Goffin & King and sung, with incomparable greatness, by Dusty Springfield.

The song wasn't written for Dusty but it could easily have been, its themes were those that dominated her life. Maybe it's why she gave a performance suffused with an elemental empathy. Fittingly, she requested it to be played at her funeral.

I think I'm goin' back
To the things
I learned so well
In my youth

I think I'm returning to
Those days
When I was young enough
To know the truth

Now there are no games
To only pass the time
No more colouring books
No Christmas bells to chime

But thinking young
And growing older
Is no sin
And I can play
The game of life to win

I can recall the time
When I wasn't ashamed
To reach out to a friend
And now I think I've got
A lot more than
A skipping rope to lend

Now there's more to do
Than watch my sailboat glide
And everyday can be
My magic carpet ride
And I can play hide and seek with my fears
And live my days instead of counting my years

Let everyone debate the true reality
I'd rather see the world the way it used to be
A little bit of freedom's
All we lack
So catch me if you can
I'm goin' back