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Jon Quijano

The website of St. Croix Valley photographer and storyteller Jon Quijano

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70. "Don't Lose My Number" by Phil Collins

Phil Collins came out of the 1970s progressive rock tradition, but by the '80s his name became synonymous with the most polished, catchy pop music available on the open market. It's almost like he grew impatient with prog rock's sprawling arrangements and endlessly indulgent muscianship and felt like doing something akin to musical bonzai for him. And so he crafted, and he crafted some more. And when he had clipped everything away, he had the sound of the '80s sitting in front of him. The prog rock people call him a sellout. I call him Phil Collins. Because that's his name, sheesh. And "Phil Collins" writes fantastic pop. Sue him. Or better, divorce him; he will write another classic song about it. 

The song form is tight, the verse chord progressions still quite complex comapred to today's chart pop but all highly functional, all the changes building to cathartic, defined choruses. Phil Collins wrote some of the best middle bridges ever, and this song is no exception - he even turns in a bonus guitar solo before going back for a fiery third verse.

If you want truly forward-looking pop drum sound, here it is for you. The '80s synths raise their hands for the roll call. Phil Collins, perpetually in that small room echo, gives a vintage intense vocal.

tags: Phil Collins, music, Music writing, 365 day music challenge
categories: Music writing
Wednesday 03.29.17
Posted by Jon Quijano
 

69. "Disarm" by Smashing Pumpkins

Not bad.

tags: Smashing Pumpkins, music, Music writing, 365 day music challenge
categories: Music writing
Wednesday 03.29.17
Posted by Jon Quijano
 

68. "Diamond Bollocks" by Beck

Before media players, we had compact discs. These items contained a single album apiece. An album, as a reminder, was a collection of songs by an artist representing a tonally unified conceptual mission or a specific chronological period of creative output. Well, these compact discs (CDs for short) weren't that much different than the vinyl records that preceded them, other than sound quality - and one other key detail: Unlike a record, you could not see the grooves of sound etched into a CD. That meant that, on the album's final track, if you included an unlisted "secret" recording after a period of silence, there is no way anyone could tell just by looking at the disc. Listeners would find this track simply by letting their CD play on some lazy Saturday afternoon, forgetting to immediately eject the disc after the completion of the final listed track, and abruptly hearing a personal little encore in their kitchen.

Not only are secret songs impossible now, but they are philosophically obsolete, as no musician would simply give away a track of music these days, when single track sales are the only thing that music is. You don't realize how old you're going to be until time starts passing.

In my opinion, the clear greatest secret song of the secret song era is "Diamond Bollocks" by Beck, stashed on his Mutations album.

Most secret songs were throwaway half-ideas, jokes, studio jams, or some other type of novelty. Beck's secret song was one of the greatest songs he's ever written. A 6-minute-long, multi-section epic composition. Hidden. On a concept album that sounds absolutely nothing like it. Mutations is an acoustic-based surreal folk album. "Diamond Bollocks" is an electric fuzz bombast attack.

Beck has sadly faded from many people's memories, but to those even who remember him, even who are endeared to him, it may be surprising to think of him as a hard rock musician. Folk musician, sure. Rapper, fine. Alternative dance and funk song maestro, of course. A producer of alien sounds and, how shall we say it? Obtainer of rare antiquities.

But he can also rock a place to the ground.

Here we have him, on his folk record, absolutely decimating things in his secret song. I won't go into extreme detail, but I do want to point out my favorite moment of the song.

The song has come through a jaunty harpsichord-based introduction and a pounding verse that crests with long singing harmonies. Then the song freaks out into a ridiculous thrashfest, the drumming stupidly out of control, a flailing bass, and a tremolo guitar having an over-oscillated breakdown. That part is great, and then the progression intensifies into its heaviest moment. It is a classic principle of heaviness: Two notes, large interval. Beck knows his heaviness. Note one is fuzzed-out guitar with a suddenly focused, driving drum part. Note two is a dastardly ugly interval down, and this should be the most savage part of the whole thing. But it only lasts for two beats.

Then (spoilers) the whole song jump-cuts to nothing but the sound of a bird chirping, for five eternal seconds. 

All the fine heaviness he spent so much of his craft developing for that peak moment. And he flippantly destroys it with the most hilarious, inappropriate sample - the most appropriate. The bird is extinguished with a burst back into the driving heaviness at an even lower note, and you think maybe you're back on track. The music builds.

Then the build undercuts the conventions of builds, ending after only four short beats and rushing us unready into a goofy downbeat section featuring a harpsichord solo. Typical. 

It's not enough to just know the conventions and obstruct them with weirdness. This song is fantastically cool-sounding. Everything that is conceptually challenging is, I think, also just great music.

Okay, and there is my other other favorite moment, the last sweet melody of the song and the words sung in that soft moment, repeating on irregular groupings of four beats: "Looking back on some dead world that looks so new."

Why did he hide this song? I guess if you're gonna use a bird sample, better do it right.

tags: Beck, music, Music writing, 365 day music challenge
categories: Music writing
Wednesday 03.29.17
Posted by Jon Quijano
 

67. "Dear Prudence" by the Beatles

Nice drumming on this song - not Ringo's! It was Paul, as Ringo had quit the Beatles at the time of recording. 

I love the melody. I love the guitar parts, acoustic and electric. I love the bass line. 

It's a serene little song that blooms by the end. Maybe the best song on the White Album.

tags: The Beatles, music, Music writing, 365 day music challenge
categories: Music writing
Wednesday 03.29.17
Posted by Jon Quijano
 

66. "Dear Ol' Dad" by Blind Melon

If your one experience with Blind Melon is the cute (admittedly great) "No Rain," then prepare to really hear Blind Melon for the first time.

That insane voice of Shannon Hoon's, flying all over the place... He was a natural talent, with almost no musical experience before graduating high school, leaving home, and forming Blind Melon in Los Angeles. The first song he ever wrote is on their debut album, which is just a practical joke of probability.

Hoon stands out, but the musicianship all around in this band begs recognition. The drumming by Glen Graham is deft and thoughtful, a worthy modernization of Mitch Mitchell.

What this song really benefits from is its writing. This isn't some funky jam band clicking a muted minor 7 chord and expecting us to shimmy until the power runs out. "Dear Ol' Dad" is a first-rate composition. From the sudden opening, this song is in its own cool blues place. The chorus gets beyond blues/funk standard concepts to really shape some unique sound, and then they finish with the guitars droning a tasty, heavy phrase in 7/8. After the second verse, rather than a second chorus, they head straight into a dark, expansive development with complex guitar laying and a classical technique solo.

The transition from this to the third verse is something very non-lazy, something so rare. The best transitions can probably be songs on their own if properly expanded, but hardworking songwriters will offer them up for sacrifice as bridges between sections sometimes appearing for only a matter of moments.

The last third of the song, after the second chorus does come, is its own unique section, really hitting hard on the funk before a second guitar solo (a second guitar solo! the song is only three minutes long!), this time much more aggressive, brings us to the end.

In three minutes, due to some major efficiency and compression in composition, this song covers a ton of excellent territory. A badge of songwriting honor.

Hard rock and artistry. There is always that possibility.

tags: Blind Melon, music, Music writing, 365 day music challenge
categories: Music writing
Wednesday 03.29.17
Posted by Jon Quijano
 
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