The Kinks The Kinks is kind of similar to The Rolling Stones debut. It has a bunch of cover songs done almost in the same style. But, The
Kinks offer more originals and with a little more flair.
Apparently, in the U.S. this album was called You Really Got
Me and had three less songs.
“You Really Got Me” is definitely the star here and I can
see how hearing this in 1964 would have caused a lot of people to lose their
shit! Here’s a mind F. "You Relly Got Me" turns 50 next year!
I really like the Chuck Berry song that kicks this one off,
“Beautiful Delilah,” but let’s focus in on the Ray Davies penned tracks. “So
Mystifying,” “Revenge,” and “Just Can’t Go To Sleep” demonstrate The Kinks potential to rock the fuck out! While “I Took My Baby Home,” and “Stop Your
Sobbing,” are pure 60's bubblegum pop.
I got the reissue, which includes their go at “Long Tall
Sally” and it doesn’t hold a candle to the version by the boys from Liverpool .
I don’t wanna end on a sour note though, so “You Really Got
Me,” alone, is an accomplishment that has endured 50 years!
I have a weird relationship with The Beach Boys. As a little
kid, to me, they were the Oldies California Surfing Band, I thought that was their only shtick.
I didn't know the whole Brian Wilson story. I never owned any of their albums. And then when I was in high school they put out “Kokomo.”
Soon after Frank Black released his first solo
album, in 1993, with a cover of “Hang On
To Your Ego,” (AKA “I Know There’s An Answer.”) I started hearing all these
stories about how brilliant Brian Wilson was, how influential he was, and what a
shame he’s locked away in a room and some doctor is draining his bank accounts. Plus, The Beach Boys that played after minor league baseball games every summer was a bastardized version of the band!
Somewhere there in the middle of the 90's it got real fucking cool to talk about how much you loved The Beach Boys.
I’m going to be quite honest here. If a Beach Boys’ song isn't about surfing, or chicks, or surfing with chicks, or old ladies from Southern California towns, then they usually freak me
out.
Perfect example of this is the use of “God Only Knows” for the opening
theme of Big Love. Fucking creepy! Not creepy in a pervy way, but in an eerie
life is short and our mortality is stalking us kind of way. Somehow, the lyrics
peer too much into my soul that it makes me uncomfortable. The
songs are too “something” for me.
Then there's the production. Sparse and weird. The reverb on the vocals, the harmonies, the tinkling pianos, the horns, the drums and the echoing are too chilling and haunting. This record sounds like it was recorded by lunatics in the rec room of the asylum. Pajama wearing geniuses with demented minds that know something. What do they know?!
I don’t know if this is coming from the fact that I just
listened to the Talking Heads' debut album with “Psycho Killer,” but “I’m
Waiting For The Day,” from Pet Sounds, is definitely somehow a cousin to "Psycho Killer's" sentiment.
"I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times,” doesn’t speak to me at all. “Hang
On To Your Ego,” apparently was about dropping acid and checking out, and I
kinda get that. Get ready for a story.
Brad Maybe’s First Acid Trip
In the spring of 1992 I went to a college party where half
the people there were tripping and the other half were drunk. I was both.
At some point in the
middle of the party a fat guy puked on Crybaby Tim and half the party left. Where are those joints now, Crybaby Tim? WHERE ARE THEY? (You have to read yesterday's post to get that reference.)
I
spent the next hour begging the host to put The Queen Is Dead on and when he
finally did, I collapsed into a euphoric state on the couch. This is the first time that I saw sound. The phenomenon will only happen to me one more time in my life, six months later.
At about four in the morning, the host had crashed and there was only two other people left at this party. Chris
Prospero, who just got off work and was swinging by because there was still gallons of beer in the keg, and some prissy little dork I will call "Nancy." A girl I would later find out was a toilet paper hoarder.
Well, the three of us shot the shit for a couple hours and then as the sun was coming up, Chris left. He was getting a definite hook up vibe off of me and "Nancy" and I'm gonna be quite honest, I thought I was gonna need the condom he slipped me as he walked out.
Alone, we instantly kissed. I would compare that kiss to licking a dog's butthole. I said as much, she slapped me and I as ran out the door I was praying I could catch up to Chris so he could give me a ride home. I missed him and as I took the twenty minute walk back to the dorms I thought to myself, "leggo my eggo." Cause it was breakfast time and that commercial campaign was still running.
In conclusion, Pet Sounds sucks... to me.
The same guy that told me to spend more time with Two Door
Cinema Club told me that he really loves The Maccabees.
I tried to get into this album about a year ago when it came
out. It got a lot of press, but it’s just white noise to me.
I love a band
called Doves. The Maccabees are like Doves, if Doves didn't have any talent and sucked. I'm not being anti-Semitic when I say that, right? Cause I love the Jews!
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