For a couple of weeks last month, my life* revolved around Ottawa’s Bluesfest, the local big music festival and arguably one of the biggest in Canada. I’ve been attending this shindig to some extent for the past fifteen years or so and have seen some amazing acts in the process. In fact, one of the things I love most about it, besides discovering new bands, is how it has made it possible for me to see a litany of acts that I likely wouldn’t have otherwise seen. Green Day is a band that fits into this latter category from this year’s edition, a band that I’ve known for decades but never really actively followed and would never have bought a concert ticket to just see them. But man, they did put on a great show and played pretty much every song I would have wanted to hear, including this one.
I first heard of the punk trio from California with the release of “Dookie”, the band’s major label debut. A number of the singles from that album got regular play on CFNY in 1994 and given that that was the radio station of choice for me, I heard quite a bit of them, their songs were ear worms that stuck with me, in spite of me. Later on, that summer, I distinctly remember watching footage of their legendary performance at Woodstock ‘94, the mud fight that ensued, and my appreciation for the band grew. The following fall, my university friend Craig loaned me his CD copy of “Dookie” one day while giving me a ride back to my basement apartment north of the city. I recorded it to cassette and it entered into history as part of my soundtrack for second year university.
I stopped actively following Green Day after that though, and am pretty certain that I haven’t listened to any of the eleven studio albums since “Dookie” in full. However, as I discovered at their show, I’ve still been indirectly exposed to a lot of their material. I was amazed but shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was at the crowd that they drew**. And it occurred to me as I sang along with the masses at how well they have transitioned from the punk pranksters of their youth to a crowd pleasing stadium rock band and seemingly managed to keep their integrity intact.
“Peel me off this Velcro seat
And get me moving
I sure as hell can’t do it by myself”
“Longview” was among the songs they played at the show that I was able to and happily sang along with. It was the first song that I ever heard by Green Day and is still quite simply my favourite by the group. The themes of boredom and lethargy definitely rang true for me back in the day, especially when I thought I was going to be stuck in my small hometown forever, and the memories have me wistfully smiling every time I hear the words. That loping drum intro and out for a stroll bass line gets me every time and when it jumps into overdrive at the chorus, I’m right there with the band. Yeah, it plays that loud-quiet-loud card, giving you downtime between explosions to catch your breath. This is perfect gen X power chord punk.
*And my wife will tell you hers too despite not attending at all this year.
**Rumour has it that was the best attended night of the festival this year and possibly, any of the years yet.
For the rest of the Best tunes of 1994 list, click here.
I started this particular countdown and mini-series back near the end of May and if you’ve been following along, you might have guessed this album would end up at the top, simply by the glaring absence of its mention thus far. “Violator” by Depeche Mode is quite simply, no question, my favourite album of 1990. And if it isn’t yours also, it should be. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more.
I’ve written about this album, and a handful of the songs it contained, many times over on this blog, so I will do my best not to repeat myself too much here. Indeed, I even decided just before sitting down to write this post to change up the original three requisite picks that I had previously selected, partially because a couple of them were obvious, but also because “Personal Jesus” and “Enjoy the silence” had both already received their own posts and also joined “Waiting for the night” in a post that counted down my top five favourite Depeche Mode tunes from the 1990s. So yeah, if you’re math is en pointe, three of my favourite tunes during the band’s (arguably) most popular decade in existence are on “Violator”, not too shabby for an album with only 9 songs. And for me, it wasn’t at all difficult, to find three replacements. It’s a solid album from open to close.
Produced by Flood and recorded in a handful of studios in Europe in the latter part of 1989, “Violator” marked a shift in the way in which the band recorded. It was more collaborative. The demos provided by principal songwriter Martin Gore were less complete, which allowed for more input by the rest of the band. The results were a bigger sound. Some might point out that it has a more pop bent and that it was more radio friendly and hit ready. Indeed, many of the tracks were released as singles and received airplay on both sides of the Atlantic. However, I would rather like to think that it was just that the buying public had finally caught up to what the quartet from Basildon, England had been peddling all along.
“Violator” is where I came in. I had actually heard “Personal Jesus” (as well as “People are people”) before I knew who Depeche Mode were, the cassingle of which was passed to me by a short-lived girlfriend at the time. But then, my friend John dubbed his CD copies of “Violator” and “101”, the double live album for their previous would tour, to cassette and I fell in love with both. I played the hell out of those tapes, to the point where I can’t hear any of the songs on either without immediately after listening, starting to hum the beginning of the next song. “Violator” is one of the first albums I bought on CD and was definitely the first record by the band that I sought out* when I started collecting vinyl again ten years ago.
“Violator” is accessible but it’s also dark. You can put it on at a party and people will sing along and it also feels right at home when played in solitude, in a darkened room, candlelight catching glints off the glass of red wine. Each song is practically perfect. Orchestral in scope but almost completely electronic. It is full and intense but it is also quiet. It is majestic and beautiful. It is uplifting and heartbreaking. It has kept me company at many points my life like a good friend should.
If you’re familiar with “Violator”, you’ve probably been nodding along as you’ve read these words. If you’re new to this album, I almost envy the possibility of experiencing it now for the first time. You could listen to any of the nine tracks as a teaser or as I mentioned above, start with the three that I’ve selected for you (that I’ve yet to write about on these pages before). Enjoy.
“World in my eyes”: “Let me take you on a trip around the world and back, and you won’t have to move, you just sit still.” These are the lyrics that open “Violator”. It’s like the band knew, like they were warning their fans and other unsuspecting listeners that they were about to be taken on an unprecedented voyage. The fourth single to be released off the album is said to be a positive and uplifting one. Perhaps odd in the group’s catalogue in that it paints love and relationships in a positive light. Its austere and overpowering opening sets the tone for the album, electronic like their previous work, but a lot more tactile and immense. This is music that is made for earphones. And it really does fulfill the promise of those opening words. It transports you elsewhere, not necessarily where you expected to go but they make it worthwhile.
“Policy of truth”: “It’s time to face the consequence for delivering the proof, in the policy of truth.” The third single released off the record was another big hit for band but actually sold better in North America than it did back home, a rarity for Depeche Mode singles. The song employs the use of guitars, notably in the intro and more obviously the slide guitars at the chorus, but in each case, the sound is modified and fed through synthesizers, sounding by turns like drills and presses. The result is a rock song feel but one with nothing organic about it. Frontman Dave Gahan is undramatic in his delivery, honest and upfront about dishonesty and the pitfalls of truth. Bolstered by Martin Gore’s backing sonics, the vocals become a dichotomy, deep and full, drenching the austere with sweat and blood.
“Clean”: “I’ve broken my fall, put an end to it all. I’ve changed my routine now I’m clean.” If you haven’t felt haunted throughout “Violator” already, the closing number might just do the trick. The pounding rhythm sounds alternatively like a heavy footfall and the thumping of something heavy and inert being dragged down a long staircase, echoing into the abyss. Much like elsewhere, the environment is vacuous. The band seems to be performing on another plane. It’s a soulful blues piece performed for aliens and robots. The mists are so heavy, they are impossible to clear. The distorted monk drones provide a backbone for a sinner repenting but fully knowing he will offend again. He claims he’s clean but it’s empty. Hollow and haunting and plodding infinitely. And it’s oddly beautiful, breathtakingly so. Like this whole record. It begs to be played on repeat.
*But second one that I found and bought.
And so that ends another great countdown of great albums. In case you missed the previous posts, here are the previous albums in this list:
Now that Ottawa Bluesfest is over (and has been for almost a week), I’ve been doing my best to avoid festival withdrawal and part of my strategy now is to get back to our normal schedule of posts. Returning to the series counting down my favourite albums of 1990 is a good way to jump right back into it. Picking things up at the number two position on this list, here’s yet another album with which I am and have been intimately acquainted for years.
I’ve written before somewhere in these pages but it bears mentioning again that my second favourite album of 1990 came to me by way of a mixed tape made for me by a teen years friend that I’ve not seen or spoken to in decades. Elliott and I were getting into alternative music together from different directions on the musical spectrum: he from hardcore thrash and me from AM pop radio. He put together the tape from his new girlfriend’s CD collection and featured half of the tracks from “Some friendly”, though I didn’t know at the time that all of these amazing tracks by The Charlatans came from the same debut album, not from multiple LPs across an established outfit’s career.
The mixed tape was a constant fixture in my Walkman for months and I became enamoured with these tracks. So it wasn’t long before I was out tracking down anything I could find by The Charlatans on cassette. Imagine my glee when I learned all of these songs could be found in one place. Then, when I unwrapped the purchase, snapped the tape into place in my trusty golden yellow player, and slipped on my earphones, I proceeded to learn that Elliott’s selections weren’t the only great tracks on the album, and in some cases, he had even left off a few of the true diamonds.
“Some friendly” kicked off a long and storied career by a band that still exists* and is still one of my favourites today, though it must be said that they have lost a few members over the years and their creative output has diminished in quantity but not so much in quality. They have persevered through adversity, launching comeback album after comeback album and reinventing themselves in sound and aesthetic. As a debut, it received moderate critical reviews, more notable for its perceived influences than for its own voice, but the buying public loved it and often that matters more. It has since been looked upon more kindly as a classic of its time and place, as is often the case. Interestingly, it continues to be attributed to an and lumped in with the madchester scene, due to its proximity in sound, rather than their geographical location.
“Some friendly” is an album that will always remind me of the years at the end of high school and the beginning of university. It soundtracked so many walks around town and nights hanging out in my basement bedroom. Then, later, these were songs that would drag me out to the dance floor every time those familiar first sounds would materialize through which ever club or pub speakers I was frequenting on a given night. The Jon Brookes rhythms would get my knees bopping, the Rob Collin’s organs my heart racing, and those Tim Burgess vocals my mouth a smiling and lyric spouting.
All of these tracks on “Some friendly” are worth your time but the three I’ve picked for you below are a good place to start.
“Polar bear”: “Life’s a bag of Revels / And I’m looking for the orange one / She’s gone / And not for the first time.” Apparently, this track was originally titled “Looking for the orange one”, which is a great title, but I’m still partial to the final choice of title. Though, admittedly, the song lyrics don’t really have more meaning under the “Polar bear” moniker. I’ve never been sure at all what the song is meant to be about, in fact many of their songs are unclear and you get the feeling this was done on purpose. Some of the lines are seemingly so random that they are hilariously memorable. Still, even with such randomness, the lyrics do add to the feeling of the song, perhaps not so much as the haunting woodwind that wends and floats its way throughout its entirety. Dancing frostily, like tinkling icicles, in the misty air hanging heavily over the jaunty rhythm and the unwavering organ. It is a song that played loud in the dancehalls or over earphones is so undeniably massive.
“The only one I know”: “Everyone has been burned before / Everybody knows the pain.” The Charlatans’ second ever and highest charting single from “Some friendly” was actually meant to be an instrumental piece, so likely wouldn’t have seen such a wide release. I loved it from the first, seeing it as completely new and inventive but I would learn much later that the song borrowed lyrics from The Byrds and an organ riff from Deep Purple. Frontman Tim Burgess, himself, has always found its structure odd, unsure which parts are the chorus and which are the verses. He is, however, clear that the words were inspired about the confusion and uncertainty of being a teenager. For me, this song was always so high energy and uplifting and left me breathless at the end, even if I wasn’t dancing to it on a packed dance floor, though I did that often enough.
“Sproston green”: “This one knows she comes and goes, and when she goes she goes.” The final number on this debut album has borne mention a couple of times on this blog already – once, when it hit number two for my fave tunes of 1990 and another when I gave it the nod as my favourite ever Charlies tune – so forgive me if I repeat myself a bit here. Its epic breadth and scope, replete with a lengthy, slow-burning intro. The song builds perfectly from the echoing, just beyond earshot guitar intro to a more a solidified onslaught once the rest of the band joins in the fun. It never gives an inch, the drum beat, the bass line, and the “raise the goblet of rock” guitar riff are all in race to get you moving. It is pure ecstasy and mass hysteria at its climax. It’s no wonder that 35 years later, it’s still one of the band’s favourite tracks to close out their shows with.
*And in fact, they just announced the upcoming release of a new album, they’re 14th, due out in the fall.
We’ll be back in a handful of days with album #1. In the meantime, here are the previous albums in this list:
My (life in) music lists 