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.
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.
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:
My (life in) music lists 