Parliament Funkadelic - Flashlight

When I was a young twerp working at Cisco, I turned to my cube mate, Lou Anthony, and told him how much I enjoyed the music from Pulp Fiction, which I had recently seen. I was especially enamored with the song "Jungle Boogie" by Kool and the Gang. The groovy beats and grunting made my ass twitch and wiggle. I compared it to a middle-part of the song "Echoes" by Pink Floyd, where Roger Waters lays on a B major vamp while David Gilmour's guitar screams, Rick Wright played jazz chords and Nick Mason kept a four-on-the-floor beat with syncopated hi-hat going strong. He said I was developing a taste for funk.

I didn't have the slightest idea what "funk" was at the time. You could have played me something by James Taylor, and I could have said, "Ooh, funky!"

Lou Anthony was an office-jockey by day and a DJ by night. He came to work the next day with a 90 minute cassette titled "UNCUT FUNK," which was a hodgepodge of tracks taken from his extensive vinyl collection. I remember putting it on, and being utterly, utterly confused. The sounds blipped, popped and screeched over thick and intricate bass lines and intense drumming.

I have to say that the first thing I noticed was that a lot of it was familiar. The grooves were the original tracks of samples taken for (at the time) current-day hip hop. "Atomic Dog" by George Clinton stood out at first, and I recognized a loop I heard in Snoop Dogg's "What's My Name."

One song made me stop and rewind more than any other, and that was Parliament's opus, "Flashlight." The funky chorus dug a barbed hook into my mouth, but George Clinton's delivery of these lyrics struck me in the gut:

"Can I get it on my good foot? Good God!
'Bout time I got down, one time!"

Oddly enough, even long after I knew what funk sounded like, I still didn't know what it was. Then, one day, while working at the Apple Store in the Stanford Shopping Center, I met Emille O'Connor.

Emille O'Connor was a man larger than life. Standing about 6' 6" tall, and weighing in at about 280 pounds, with bulbous features and impossibly tan, considering the fact that he was black. He wore a bowler hat on his curly head, a tartan scarf and a beige vest with buttons holding on for dear life. I used to see him riding his bike up and down Sand Hill Road, behind Stanford University; an iPod boombox strapped to his handlebars. On the day he introduced himself to me, he had ridden this bike straight up to the entrance of the store, PUMPING "Boogie On, Raggae Woman" by Stevie Wonder on his modern day ghetto blaster.

He immediately went up to one of the most powerful computers and pulled up a mathematics application I am only somewhat familiar with, then turns around and asks me something I could barely decipher. Something about a polynomial database, or along those lines. I told him I was unaware, but maybe we could look something up on Google... He wasn't interested, and proceeded to tell me he wanted to have something that would analyze his formulas. To this day, I don't know if he was serious, or just a little ill in the head. One thing he told me, and I was able to confirm: he was the session drummer. THE session drummer. He worked with Stevie Wonder (from the track he was playing on the bicycle contraption!), James Brown, and, of course, Parliament. I spent about twenty minutes talking to him, with most of the concepts he was trying to convey flying right over my head.

While what he was saying wasn't making much sense, I did learn what funk really was. It wasn't anything he said, but I immediately knew the truth from standing so close to him: Funk is *not* music. Funk is a smell. A very distinctive smell. I went back to my old funk recordings (which I had been collecting since that first casette from Lou Anthony piqued my interest), and listened again. Indeed, the sound was distinctive, but the only thing that the tracks all had in common was a sensation beyond the audible. It tickled my nose, like a tuft of wet dog fur stuck in my sinus. From that point on, I classify the genre by the following rule:

If you can't smell it, it ain't funky.

David Bowie - Candidate (demo)

In 1973, David Bowie composed the album Diamond Dogs, a concept musical about the George Orwell novel 1984. One of the songs written for the album, Candidate, was drastically changed before its release. The "demo" version of this song was not actually published until a 1990 reissue of Diamond Dogs.

One can hardly call the original version a demo, however. It is composed and produced with full accompaniment, and holds its own as a finished piece.

In the typical style of Bowie, the things that make this song so acoustically fascinating is his skillful use of chord progression and cadence, as well as a mastery of the lyrical form. The rhythm bounces along with a confident marching lilt, while Bowie proclaims...

"I'll make it a thing,
When I'm on my own,
To relieve myself
I'll make it a thing,
When I gazelle on stage,
To believe in myself
I'll make it a thing,
To glance at window panes
And look pleased with myself"

The Beatles - A Day In the Life

After the Beatles' manager Brian Epstein died of an apparent drug overdose, the Beatles took a few years off. They hid from the public for a while, grew beards, and each pursued individual endeavors (with the possible exception of Ringo, who never changed much).

They had already made the decision to stop touring, saying that it was counterproductive to the music. When the Beatles played live, they could barely hear themselves over the screaming hordes of fans, and the schedule interfered with their ability to write new music in peace.

After a few years hiatus, Paul McCartney had an idea. Write and record an album that would go "on tour" as proxy for the band. This is arguably the birth of the first rock & roll "concept album."

Most of the songs on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band were written by Paul. John made a few contributions, but seemed to want to hold less influence in the band at this point. Yoko was coming on the scene at this time...

Despite the fact that John was not the main player on Sgt. Pepper's, he was there, alright. In fact, one of the greatest Beatles songs, perhaps one of the greatest songs of all time, was also probably the last composition truly written by both Lennon and McCartney; however, unlike "A Hard Day's Night," where the two teamed up to write a song, this particular song was one on which they wrote their parts separately and merged them on the recording.

As the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (reprise) comes to an end, the "encore" begins to fade in. It is just John Lennon, his guitar and maracas, joined by Paul's piano. The first verse goes like this:

I read the news today, oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph
He blew his mind out in a car
He didn't notice that the lights had changed
A crowed of people stood and stared
They'd seen his face before
Nobody was really sure if he was from a House of Lords

This is probably one of the greatest lyrical turns in all of music. The words John juxtaposes are simple and powerful, creating a melancholy atmosphere.

"I read the news today, oh boy" is beguiling. You can hear the sad sarcasm in his voice.
"About a lucky man who made the grade" paints a picture of fortune, a person judged to be worthy by his achievements.
"And though the news was rather sad" clues us into the fact that this story may not end so well...
"Well I just had to laugh" lifts us out of the dark mood cast by the last line, as though to showcase the range of human emotion, before we know what really happened.
"I saw the photograph" puts us in his head, behind John's eyes, as we imagine holding a newspaper in our hands, perhaps over morning tea, finding something at least partially recognizable in the picture.
"He blew his mind out in a car" is one of the most interesting turns of phrase, seeming to imply some sort of vehicular suicide; however the phrase, "blew his mind" is also vernacular for a surprising epiphany.
"He didn't notice the lights had changed" leads the listener to think that the mind blowing event might have been a traffic accident, or was it? It could be a metaphor, riding the line that separates reality.
"A crowd of people stood and stared" as people will do when confronted with horror, either physical or mental.
"They'd seen his face before, nobody was really sure if he was from a House of Lords" is the great equalizer. When, in death, at that moment you are as effectual as the most powerful beings who ever existed; that is to say, not at all effectual, not any longer.

The rest of the song develops into a psychedelic trip of orchestral crescendos, alarm clocks, Paul's hurried musings on morning routine and the irony of the world's minutia.

I cannot think of another piece of music that effects me so deeply every time I hear it.

The Rolling Stones - Sympathy for the Devil

When the album Beggar's Banquet was released in 1968, the Rolling Stones already had a bad-boy reputation. Their last album, "Their Satanic Majesties Request" was taking heat for promoting satanism, and what's more--they wore corduroys and cursed! Oh my!

I remember hearing an interview on the radio years ago talking about the origins of "Sympathy for the Devil," that at the time Mick Jagger was drawing inspiration from intellectuals in the London art scene. Mick said that the inspiration might have been the French poet Charles Baudeliere, but a friend of mine told me that Mick might have been confusing Baudeliere with Bulgakov, since the character of Lucifer bears a striking resemblance to the character of Mr. Woland from Mikhail Bulgakov's Soviet-banned novel, "The Master and Margarita." It begins with an introduction from a mysterious figure who appears in Moscow one day, telling a detailed story of being present as Pilate sentenced Jesus Christ to death. Beyond the literary inspiration, the song adds verses about more current events, such as WWII the recent assassination of Bobby Kennedy.

Originally written as a folk tune, Keith Richards added additional percussion that turned the song into more of a samba rhythm. The classic, "Woo-Woo!" heard throughout the second half of the song was actually Mick's girlfriend and her cadre of hangers-on in the studio, and was not invented by anyone in the band.

The guitar solo is one of the most scorching pieces of musical movement ever committed to tape. It was recorded on a 1957 Les Paul with three pickups, which runs a very strong signal, causing the tone to sound extremely overdriven and hot. It sounds almost thin at most parts, but every once in a while, Keith would hit two strings at once and it would break into a scream.

Sympathy for the Devil (lyric excerpts)
by The Rolling Stones

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for long, long years
Stole many man's soul and faith

And I was 'round when Jesus Christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate

I stuck around St. Petersburg
When I saw it was a time for a change
Killed the Czar and his ministers
Anastasia screamed in vain

I rode a tank
Held a general's rank
When the blitzkrieg raged
And the bodies stank

I watched with glee
While your kings and queens
Fought for ten decades
For the gods they made

I shouted out,
"Who killed the Kennedys?"
When after all
It was you and me

Let me please introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I laid traps for troubadours
Who get killed before they reached Bombay

Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Lucifer
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your soul to waste

Bob Dylan - The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll

Lyrics to songs can be anything, but most of the time, we listen because they tell stories.

A poem recited over melody is one thing, clever twists of phrase is what makes lyrics great. I remember the first verse of "A Day In the Life," written by John Lennon, as being especially representative of juxtaposing words of a story so well. I'll write about that someday soon.

No one will deny that Bob Dylan wrote great lyrics. Many of the songs we know by Dylan are known as much for the words he used as the tunes he hung them on. Digging deeper into Dylan's catalog than I ever had, I stumbled across a song I'm sure I had heard before, but equally sure I had not properly listened to, either.

In classic Bob Dylan style, it's just his singing, an acoustic guitar and the harmonica solo. His voice is at it's peak of it's emotion, his breath is under perfect control. It is a true story, so straightforward and rich with imagery, it actually requires no other explanation for itself.

William Devereux "Billy" Zantzinger passed away on January 3rd, 2009.


The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
by Bob Dylan

William Zantzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'
And the cops was called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zantzinger for first-degree murder
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears

William Zantzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize fears,
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears

Hattie Carroll was a maid in the kitchen
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle
And she never done nothing to William Zantzinger
And you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears

In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears

Buffalo Springfield - For What It's Worth

Probably one of the most recognizable opening notes in music history and lyrics that call attention to massive upheaval in society, For What It's Worth is a masterpiece of music from the Vietnam era.

The beat is very relaxed, with a bass locked into the drums and acoustic guitar strumming the rhythm. In spite of such a laid-back accompaniment, the twangy tremolo electric guitar lays a bead of tension from the start.

The ultimate protest song, the imagery of young people standing up to the creeping oppression of the state is unmistakable and quite literal.

Stephen Stills' vocal is my favorite blend of innocent and haunting. An interesting quirk in the recording caused a word, probably "people," to be dropped.

"What a field day for the heat,
A thousand ______ in the street"

Because it so prominent, I suppose some people might think this was on purpose, but in my experience it was probably a bit of noise in the studio, or an unfortunately timed microphone pop on an otherwise flawless take.

Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal

Some songs take time to grow on you, and those you seem to love most of all, but there is always something special about a song with a hook you recognize instantly, even though you've never heard it before. I stumbled across this track, White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes, and was blown away by the beautiful harmonies and simple, straightforward structure. As basic as it is, the a capella recitations juxtaposed with a lavish Specter-esque wall-of-sound encasing the haunting melody is worth putting on repeat to study the textures–if you're into that sort of thing.

The lyrics have a quality of innocent darkness about them that's pleasantly disturbing. A chorus sings in major key, with a chilling climb to minor:

I was following the pack
All swallowed in their coats
With scarfs of red tied 'round their throats
To keep their little heads
From falling in the snow
And I turned 'round and there you go
And Michael you would fall
And turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime