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Eighties’ best 100 redux: #81 Leonard Cohen “Everybody knows” (1988)

<< #82    |    #80 >>

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be Mark Hunter, aka “Hard Harry”. Much like the character portrayed by Christian Slater in the 1990 film “Pump up the volume”, I spent most of high school painfully shy and socially awkward. And though working with the high school drama club did draw me out of my shell, especially during my fourth and fifth years, I still identified with the character and found the story appealing.

In the film, the teenaged protagonist creates the persona of “Hard Harry” out of boredom and starts to broadcast a pirate radio show out of his parents’ basement. It starts out all fun, crude teen jokes and self-amusement, not knowing whether or not anyone was listening. But in truth, he was gaining listeners amongst his peers in his small, sleepy suburban town. During the shows, he reads and responds to letters that start to arrive in the P.O. box he sets up and things begin to turn serious when one of his listeners asks whether or not he should kill himself.

When it comes out the next morning that the listener actually went through with the suicide, things start to unravel. Mark realizes people are listening and that his words have weight and consequences. Of course, school staff, the police, and the FCC realize it too and the witch hunt begins. The rest of the movie is an internal struggle on whether to give it up or continue on, all with a love interest in Samantha Mathis (with dyed black hair) thrown in for good measure.

The reason I dredge up this long forgotten film treasure* today is because, amongst all the great music played and hinted at through shots of record spines and posters, the 1988 Leonard Cohen track “Everybody knows” was used by Mark Hunter as his show’s theme music and of course, the song was played prominently throughout the film**.

Leonard Cohen should need no introduction to most. The Montreal-born poet and folk singer/songwriter started his music career in the late 60s and he immediately contributed a number of future classics to the folk canon. In 1988, Cohen released his 8th studio album, “I’m your man”, which saw the musician further evolve his sound from his strictly folk and organic sound to something more austere and synthetic, allowing him to put even more emphasis on this words. “Everybody knows” was the fifth single to be released off “I’m your man” and was decently received at the time. But its use in “Pump up the volume” exposed the song and its performer to a wider audience. It certainly was my first exposure to Cohen, at least the first exposure that I was conscious of.

“Everybody knows” is five and a half minutes of haunting and driving synthesized strings and a seemingly synthesized Spanish guitar flitting about, while Cohen does his sing-speak poetry reading thing in his deep, deep voice. Frequent collaborator Sharon Robinson adds female backing vocals at the chorus, harmonizing and bringing a human touch to the otherwise, otherworldly sound. The words are intelligent and biting, as Cohen’s lyrics frequently are, marked by a repetition of the song’s title and what it actually is that everybody knows.

Original Eighties best 100 position: n/a

Favourite lyric: “Everybody knows that you’ve been faithful / Ah, give or take a night or two” Classic Leonard Cohen stuff.

Where are they now?: Leonard Cohen sadly passed away in 2016 at the age of 82 from many health issues.

*Long forgotten to likely many but not to me

**Instead of Cohen’s original version, the film’s soundtrack featured Concrete Blonde’s cover, which also played during the film’s closing credits.

For the rest of the Eighties’ best 100 redux list, click here.

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Best tunes of 2003: #10 The Postal Service “Nothing better”

<< #11    |    #9 >>

If memory serves, it was Jezreel, a former call center colleague and friend, that got me into The Postal Service.

I had, up to then, only just discovered Death Cab for Cutie, Ben Gibbard’s primary outfit, and their recent album “Transatlanticism”. Posters of the telltale crow pulling on a strand of yarn from its cover was, for a time, plastering the windows of ‘Record Runner’, the indie music store I had taken to frequenting after relocating to Ottawa a few years before. The name and the image had piqued my curiousity enough to get me hunting down tracks on the Internet and then borrowing a copy of the CD from the main branch of the public library, which was how I discovered music I couldn’t afford to buy back then. Some time shortly after, Jez handed me a burnt CD* one day at work with the words “Postal Service” and “Give up” chicken-scratch-scrawled on it in blue marker. Taking it home, I recognized the voice but found the sound very different from the Death Cab songs I had been becoming infatuated with. Nonetheless, all ten tracks were ear worms and I was hooked.

The Postal Service was a collaboration between the aforementioned Gibbard and electronic artist Jimmy Tamborello, who also performed under the moniker Dntel. Their work together happened over a period of months during a time when Death Cab were inactive and their future uncertain. The two artists would send ideas back and forth on CDRs through the mail two and three songs at a time, which is where they got the idea for their name. Melodies would be layered on melodies, vocals layered on rhythms. The two really only worked together in the studio during the final mixing stage, the rest being done in isolation, collaboration and communication and conversation done old school but the end result was very futuristic in sound.

“Give up” is the project’s one and only proper album, released on Sub Pop records early on in 2003. They had discussed working together again after the album’s unexpected success and indeed, recorded a handful of tracks a couple of years later, but in the end, it was decided that the one album would have to stand. Its magical moment couldn’t be repeated, no matter how much they forced it, and magical it was. But though there’s been no new material to speak of, Ben and Jimmy have gotten the ‘band’ back together every ten years since and toured to celebrate the anniversary of the album’s release**.

“Would someone please call a surgeon
Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart
That you’re deserting for better company?”

“Nothing better” was never released as a single for the album but it grew to become one of my favourites nonetheless, reminding me of Human League’s “Don’t you want me”***, which was evidently a big inspiration for this song. The Postal Service track, much like elsewhere on “Give up”, hearkens back to the synthpop genesis of the late 70s and early 80s but with an ear to modern computer sounds, retro futurism, so to speak. It is distorted church organs echoing through a wind tunnel, rife with blowing snow, and then the twitches begin, computer glitches and erratic rhythms, all conspiring to get the body moving. Then, bass synths with LED spotlights do the rest. All the while, Ben Gibbard is plaintively trying to convince the object of his affection not to leave him, dressing up their relationship in optimism and hope, viewing things through technicolour tinted glass. Of course, like “Don’t you want me”, the vocals are call and response, two sides to every story. Seattle indie rock musician, and close friend to Gibbard, Jen Wood channels Susan Ann Sulley, and explains that there are reasons for her departure and that it really is the only course of action. Beautiful and real endearing stuff.

“You’ve got allure I can’t deny
But you’ve had your chance, so say goodbye
Say goodbye”

*The other way we got and traded music.

**I was lucky enough to get to see them perform the album at the 20th year mark.

***One of my first ever exposures to modern music, more on that another time.

For the rest of the Best tunes of 2003 list, click here.

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100 best covers: #36 Sinéad O’Connor “Ode to Billy Joe”

<< #37    |    #35 >>

This wasn’t going to be next post. In fact, it wasn’t even supposed to be any of the next few posts. However, I was recently contacted by email (once again) by someone who mentioned they were enjoying the list and asked after the rest of it. And of course, I had to explain (yet again) how I am still working my way through it.

To be fair, I did start counting down this list of my favourite 100 covers over eight years ago and I’m not quite three quarters of the way through yet. I’ve always happily noticed that these posts attract attention whenever a new one goes up and can attest that a number of the pieces in the series are among the most popular that I’ve done. So I guess I owe it to those of you who have been following along to get to number one sooner, rather than later. Thus, I give you number thirty-six on my list of the best 100 cover songs (according to me): Sinéad O’Connor’s take on “Ode to Billy Joe”.

Originally recorded by Bobbie Gentry as a demo only, the song was meant to be sold for someone else to sing. Instead, strings were added to a re-recording, just as stripped down as the original, and it was released as a single by Gentry herself to wide success. It has since been listed as one of the greatest songs of all time.

“Ode to Billie (Billy) Joe” is a first person narrative account, mostly of a family dinnertime conversation, where it is mentioned that a young man, well known to the narrator, has committed suicide and many in the family dismiss the news as unworthy of further thought. Like many of Gentry’s other tunes, especially on that first album, the song is inspired by her own memories of events growing up in Mississippi. It is skillfully written and contains a number of nuggets that fans over the years have picked at and ultimately surmised further connection between the young man and the narrator, something that Gentry has never properly confirmed or denied, the mystery of it all adding to the song’s allure. The song and its story became so popular that a film adaptation was made in 1975 fleshing out the narrative.

I know the original quite well because it was a favourite of my father’s. Whenever it would come on the oldies radio station in the station wagon (and later, the van), he would turn it up and sing along under his breath. Not sure if my mother loved it as much but she definitely enjoyed the Max (“Jethro”) Baer Jr directed adaptation, which I’ve also seen but I only vaguely remember it.

Sinéad O’Connor’s cover of the song was recorded back in 1995 for the Help Warchild album, a compilation that I’ve mentioned a few times on these pages and a handful of whose songs* have already appeared on this list. The compilation was recorded in the mid 90s as a benefit to raise funds for war torn Bosnia and Herzegovina and was recorded all in one day, mixed the next, and released to the buying public the day after that. Legend has it that O’Connor’s recording arrived by courier just as the finishing touches were being put to the track list and production. Technically past the deadline for inclusion, the song moved the War Child folks so much, they bent their own rules.

Like Gentry’s version, O’Connor’s is sparse in instrumentation, each allowing its singer’s voice to foment and stretch out for maximum effect. But where the original has for its backbone a bluesy acoustic guitar riff, this particular cover is percussion heavy, punctuated with bass and piano riffs and true to O’Connor’s roots, it is decorated with Celtic flute throughout. And interestingly, she adds a sample of a baby cry after the lyrics “she and Billie Joe was throwing somethin’ off the Tallahatchie Bridge”, playing upon another theory about what it was that was actually thrown off the bridge.

Which one do I prefer? It’s hard to argue with the beauty and emotion of the original so I won’t. But I do love this cover.

Cover:

Original:

*Other tracks have appeared at the #100, #74, and #53 positions on this list.

For the rest of the 100 best covers list, click here.