MIRRORBALL

It's one of the most ubiquitous organ riffs of all time – ba da ba DA duh DUH duh da, ba da ba DA duh DUH da, laid down nice and smooth over a smooth, funky drumbeat, with that guitar stabbing in on the downbeat just so. You know it as soon as you hear it; it's been used to sell cars and mortgages and retirement plans and Vagisil and probably kidney transplants too. For some I'm sure it conjures up images of Kennedy-era kitsch – formica tables and Jackie bobs like my grandmother still wore in those old home movies from nearly a decade later and wood paneling and Kewpie dolls and the mountain of blasé pukey junk they sell along the interstate in Indiana.

It's a demonstratable fact that white people didn't listen to Stax Records releases back when Booker T & The MG's were beginning to hone their craft. The early 60s were the great rock n roll chasm between Elvis's last brilliant pre-war singles (he was more concerned with his assault on the box office in '62, anyways...at least his robotic clone was. Elvis died in Korea and you can't convince me otherwise) and the fast-approaching Beatle menace from the east, the year of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” for Chrissakes. This is the record, however, that put out their Chesterfields and got their clumsy asses on dance floors from Memphis to Montana and that launched the Stax label into the stratosphere, paving the way for the likes of Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, and Isaac Hayes. “Green Onions” was the first in a string of huge hits for the all-instrumental combo, who served as the house band for Stax from '62 up until organist Booker T Jones's departure from the label in 1971. Booker and company peaked at #3 on the Billboard Hot 100 with the song, and it went all the way to the top on the soul charts.

But for me, the album's title track conjures nothing but memories of flouride-scented dread and the prick of a numbing needle just behind your impacted molar. Yes, kids, the first time, the only time, I heard Green Onions was beneath the spectral whine of dentist equipment and the ferocious staleness of Dr. X's breath. So when I say that Green Onions sounds like an extended trip to my dentist's office, pay no heed; my biases are buried deep. But it remains a groovy and tasty thirty-five minute sojourne through the waiting room nonetheless. “Rinky Dink” has me remembering the receptionist's thunder thighs jiggling like Jello molds underneath her scrubs...funkily? (There's no saving that sentence.) “Stranger On The Shore” makes me think of the time when that crazy fish with the huge translucent bubble cheeks got sucked into the filter; I watched its frenzied struggles like Zeus snickering from the safety of Olympus. I find the stretch of three bluesy numbers in the middle of the record intoxicating, yet puzzling, like the horse puppet with huge white teeth that grinned at me from the corner of the room...many many nightmares...it always chased me with its fiery toothbrush and dental floss lasso of doooooooooooooo

Parts of Green Onions would also serve as the ideal soundtrack to a frenzied cab ride to the hospital with your wife, who happens to be in some serious labor throes (“You Can't Sit Down” really grates on those maternal instincts), or to your murder mystery-themed dinner party (toss back those brandy alexanders to “Comin' Home Baby” and see how many of your guests walk out that front door alive haha that's right NONE). These are just serving suggestions, however: with a record like Green Onions in your collection, you have the power to act out your own timelessly groovy manifest destiny anytime you please. Whether you're clambering over Antarctic glaciers in fishnets and bunny slippers or kicking back with your favorite escort-service representative in the confessional, you're sure to do it with panache when Booker and friends are on the Victrola. SEVEN OUT OF TEN.

Music From Big Pink (The Band)

Today I want to get off the 'final release for a band' train, and instead talk about the 'first release for The Band'.  And I'll get some of the negative out right away - I personally think Music From Big Pink is an overrated record, not terrible, but certainly not exciting and only occasionally moving.

One thing I will say in the Band's favor though.  They sound authentic, and never moreso than on this first recording.  Even when the writing isn't up to par, the band's vocal deliveries and ensemble sound keep things grounded in real human emotion.  And what about that ensemble sound?  These guys really do have a unique vibe all their own.  It is roots music, but the abundance of piano and organ, as well as the guitar and especially vocal style, gives it a distinctly soulful feel that I find missing in a lot of 'Americana'.  But when they get more adventurous with their arrangements on this record, I feel the results are spotty.  I genuinely love the twists and turns of "We Can Talk", but I hate the overblown organ intro to "Chest Fever", and repeating it in the middle of the song was a terrible, terrible idea.

The songwriting is similarly inconsistent.  The strongest songs for me, both melodically and lyrically, are when they clearly have Dylan's help:  I could listen to "Tears of Rage" a million times and still be riveted.  But when left to their own devices, they simply cannot deliver on the same level, despite some attempts like "The Weight" and "Lonesome Suzie".  These aren't bad songs, but they're both longer than they need to be.  Even some of the shorter songs tend to drag a bit ("In a Station" comes to mind).

When I think of Music From Big Pink as a whole, I must admit that it is a very cohesive record.  It has a sound all its own, while avoiding sounding particularly repetitive.  Nevertheless, it's also a fairly plodding record where the only real standouts occur because of outside influence.  And while the sound may be homely and authentic, it's not particularly grabbing or exciting.  But enough of my complaining, Dave claims to like this album a lot, so maybe he'll say something different.

This week I'm kind of continuing the theme of reviewing a band's final release.  This time I want to talk about what is probably my favorite overall Pavement record, Terror Twilight.

I spent a good while trying to decide why I like this album so much.  It's not as energetic as some of their earlier work, and nowhere near as diverse as Wowee Zowee.  The lyrics are no more or less decipherable than on any given Pavement album.  But one thing that occured to me was that this record is focused, and that's partly what makes it stand out.  There's no musical half-assery going on here; everything sounds like it was carefully considered and arranged.  The pop songs are tight and catchy, while some of the more expansive numbers feature very intricate guitar interplay.  But at the same time, the record does not sound sterile at all.  Oh sure, the production is sparkly clean as needed, but while the various musical twists and turns sound planned and rehearsed, they do NOT sound either forced or tame.

The writing is a big reason why.  Malkmus can come up with a catchy little set of chords and melody in his sleep, and he's no slouch at letting it all hang out with a heavier rock riff either.  And his vocal delivery makes sure that things never get boring; even when he sounds lethargic ("Major Leagues" comes to mind), the slight sarcasm is still there, proving he doesn't need to shout or warble out of tune anymore to get his "I really don't care what you think" attitude across.

For me, the standout song on the record that really highlights everything I love about it is "Speak, See, Remember".  It starts out as a catchy little jazz-pop thing, punctured by some sharp vocals over a pause or two, but in the middle it suddenly morphs into this beautiful jangly double-guitar heaven of melody.  But just when you're smiling all over, in comes the distorted guitar that breaks the formerly tight rhythm into a slacker-rock riff that builds with harmonizing guitars before crashing back into a small reprise of the beginning of the song.  These are all the things I love about Pavement - catchy chords, double guitar jangle, vocals that alternate between beautiful melody and sneering attitude, and a good slacker's riff every now and again - and they are all on display in a measured and mature fashion on this album.  Is it possible to call a "slacker's riff" mature?  Yeah - it means it's got the attitude without being obnoxious.  Like this record.