the sunday superlative - 3/29/09

This Week: Catharsis!



Everyone hits rough patches. It's all part of life's rich pageant. One of the most miraculous things that music can do for a person is provide an outlet for all of those negative emotions. Sometimes it may take a while to find the right outlet, that one song that just does it for you, but rest assured when that happens that the song will immediately become part of you and never leave.

Such is the way of these three songs, each of which has stood the test of time (my history with all of these dates back to middle school, and I haven't lost an ounce of love for any of them) and have snugly found their place among my favorite songs ever. In other words, yeah, this is probably the most "legit" Sunday Superlative post in a long time, in that it really is showcasing what I believe is some of the most exemplary, powerful music I have heard. Of course, everyone is different and I can't guarantee that anyone else will find these as deeply cathartic as I do. I could never stop you from trying, though.

The Cure - "Disintegration" (mp3|7.63MB)
For those of you who may not have gotten the memo, The Cure's Disintegration is far and away, without question, my favorite album of all-time. There's no competition. What they accomplish with those 72 minutes is gorgeous, shattering, and utterly perfect. And yet, as tremendous as every song is, not a single one has ever been as viscerally powerful for me as the title track. Extremely few songs can lay claim to having brought me to tears. Even fewer can boast of having that effect on me pretty much every single time (in fact, we may have just narrowed it down to this song). The secret ingredient is a mystery even to me: it's eight solid minutes of swirling, drone-dance hell with Robert Smith wailing some of his most painfully personal lyrics ever, and somehow it just works (the closest analogy I can think of is Of Montreal's similarly wonderful "The Past Is a Grotesque Animal," on which this must've been a huge influence). More than that: it transcends. It becomes by some force of nature a receptacle for all of the misery and depression and suffering in the world, and in the process emerges as one of the most powerful pieces of music ever set to tape.
(from the 1989 album Disintegration)

Nine Inch Nails - "Mr. Self Destruct" (mp3|4.12MB)
Trent Reznor has always been very hit-or-miss with me. Some of his songs are great, while others just seem to miss the mark entirely. When he hits, though, he has the power to hit hard. "Mr. Self Destruct" is an exceedingly abrasive song, and I have no doubt that's what gives it such an overpowering force. When I am inhumanly, furiously mad, there is no greater song in the universe. It strikes all the perfect nerves: Reznor's bitterly antagonistic lyrics, the frenetic, chugging rhythm that gets punctuated with bursts of vicious screaming and noise, the eerie and murderously calm eye of the hurricane wherein you're still pissed as fuck and want to kill something but are disturbingly relaxed about it. By all accounts, it is an anger spell in musical form. It is the only song I can think of that has ever managed to capture every nuance of that particular emotion, and for that I cannot give it enough credit. No, this isn't the sort of thing I can freely listen to at any time (or even often), but when I can it's nothing short of sublime.
(from the 1994 album The Downward Spiral)

Tears for Fears - "Shout" (mp3|5.96MB)
Tears for Fears' place in the grand scheme of rock music is not something that should ever be underestimated. No, they never made a great album, and yes, their output worthy of "required listening" can pretty easily be consolidated into a list of about a half-dozen songs, but ... have you heard those songs?! They're better than not only the majority of 80s pop music, but the majority of music in general. "Shout" is a fine example. Of their myriad hits, this is probably the most famous and recognizable, but it possesses a startling power that is conspicuously absent from almost all other mainstream music. It's an angry song, but it doesn't express that anger with screaming and waves of corrosive noise like plenty of others -- Mr. Reznor included -- would. Instead, it opts for a steady, gradual crescendo that begins as relatively composed and ends almost like some great war cry. When that searing guitar comes in at around 4:30, I just want to raise my fists to the sky and do exactly what the song tells me to. Maximum volume required.
(from the 1985 album Songs from the Big Chair)

The end! I'll try my hardest to be back next week, possibly with something a little cheerier. We'll see. Take care, folks.

the sunday superlative - 10/12/08

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Chris.


("Hello, Chris.")
A couple days ago, I was approached by the proprietess of this particular blog and asked if I would contribute a weekly feature. I, being as incurable a music junkie as she, leaped at the opportunity. The goal as I understand it is to ultimately make Friday Five Radio a daily event, with each day representing a different alliterative theme that slowly but surely builds up to the aforementioned end-of-week motherlode. When asked, I was quick to suggest the Sunday Superlative. A couple emails, a greenlight, and -- at least in her case -- a few intoxicants with trust-inducing side effects later, here I am.

So, what is this? Well, as I said, I am addicted to music. Anyone who listens to enough of the stuff gradually accrues a lengthy list of favorites. The Sunday Superlative is my excuse to foist, three at a time, some of my all-time favorite songs onto the world. These, as with the Friday Five, will be presented in themes: best songs narrated by psycho stalkers (The Police's "Every Breath You Take," naturally), best songs about sexually ambiguous lovers (The Killers' "Somebody Told Me"), and so on.

This week's theme is very basic. We're just getting acquainted, you and I, so I think you should know in general where my tastes fall. My three favorite genres are modern indie-rock (my big favorite, and I'd be ostracized if it wasn't), dance/electronica, and late 70s/early 80s post-punk/New Wave stuff. What I've done this week is chosen three lesser-known songs that more or less adhere to each of these categories. Of course, music really becomes the most fun when it blurs genre boundaries, but we'll get to that later. I promise.

In addition, as with everybody, my favorites aren't equal. They don't all just hang out on a plateau together and have a Wow I'm On Chris' Plateau party (but certainly, were such a party to happen, they'd all be invited; "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" would be my bouncer). They're hierarchical. So, even though every song I will post in the Sunday Superlative will certainly be among my all-time favorite tracks, I want to distinguish the huge favorites. They'll pop up every now and again, each time with a little asterisk next to the title. Be on the lookout for those. Those are the true Desert Island Songs. In fact, if you look closely enough, you might see one tonight. Oooh.

Also: I'm wordy. Can you tell?

Without further ado, let's go!

Electronica:
*Apoptygma Berzerk - "Until the End of the World" (mp3|5.38MB)
This is where it all started. My rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth craving for dance music can be tracked right back to this song. I blame Lea. It's all on her shoulders. In summer 2004, I was already in the process of discovering electronica little by little via my dad's Kraftwerk albums and other oldschool bands like Tangerine Dream, but Lea asked me one night -- as she is wont to do -- if I had ever heard Apoptygma Berzerk. I probably said something like, "Bless you." But I checked them out. The first song I downloaded was this one. After listening to it just once, the point of no return had been reached. I have not returned, nor do I want to. This is a hard-hitting, pure adrenaline dance song. It conforms to pop song structure, but its pounding industrial influences are also capable of absolutely destroying a dance floor. As far as electronic music goes, I couldn't have dreamed of a more perfect introduction.
(from the 2002 album Harmonizer)

Post-punk/New Wave:
The Cure - "The Holy Hour" (mp3|4.05MB)
I don't think people fully grasp the importance of The Cure. To the devoted, they're the best band ever, bar none. To the casual observer, they're this depressing goth band that had a couple hits in the late 80s that they secretly like but will never admit it. But the thing no one ever recognizes is that Robert Smith and his band of not-so-merry men are just about the most versatile, chameleonic act this side of Zappa and Bowie. Take "The Holy Hour," just about the best cut from their 1981 album Faith. The band is still very much in Joy Division mode here -- the mopey bass, the robotic drums, the foggy wall-of-impending-doom atmosphere -- but think about it: does this sound anything like "Boys Don't Cry"? That song came out two years -- two years -- earlier. And does "Boys Don't Cry" sound anything like 1983's "The Lovecats"? It's impressive when you think about it (I mean, it's taken Axl Rose fifteen years to even get around to releasing Chinese Democracy, and yet Smith was able to reinvent himself at least twice in less than half a decade). What's even more impressive is that The Cure can tackle all of these styles seemingly without even trying. "The Holy Hour" is a delicious sampling of a style that, though unmistakably of its time, still resonates almost 30 years later. It's also a flashbulb of a band not in transition, but in a constant state of perpetual motion.
(from the 1981 album Faith)

Indie-rock:
Mew - "Am I Wry? No" (mp3|6.75 MB)
Mew is (are?) from Denmark. This may, in fact, make them the only Danish rock band in the history of time. I'm being facetious, of course, but it's easy to see why they're so big in their homeland. What's not so easy to see is why that success isn't shared the world over. These guys are good. I mean it. And as much as I hate the description of "Sigur Ros meets Queensryche" (thank you, webzine that wrote that -- you know who you are), that pretty much nails it. They're icy and melodic, but also have a distinct hard, arena-rock flavor that by all acounts should win them millions and millions of fans. "Am I Wry? No" is the first and best track from their phenomenal 2003 (or 2007, if you live west of the Atlantic) album Frengers, and -- intentionally or no -- it's a working example of everything the band excels at. One of the best memories I have of fall 2007 is doing 70 on a dark, empty road with the windows down and this song blaring. When the coda kicks in around 3:30, it's heaven on earth.
(from the 2003 album Frengers)

Until next week, Chris -- signing off!

Ha. "We Built This City" tries to get into my party. "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" is like, 'No, bitch! *FWAP!*'