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Imagine it is 1990. You will be graduating from high school in a few days. It is late at night, and you find yourself at some party in a house in the woods. Some person hands you a mixed cassette tape. You head out to the car, light a cigarette, and slap the tape in your car’s cassette player. As you slowly roll down blackened country roads, the music begins to ooze from the speakers. You hear the influence of The Cure and Joy Division in great bass lines and some sprinklings of early Siouxsie and the Banshees minimalism. You smile. Some songs evoke motifs from 1980s goth bands, but it all sounds fresh. Nothing is overproduced. It all sounds very DIY, but all the tracks are recorded well. Occasionally, you hear male and female voices dueting on songs, which you’ve always had a soft spot for. Most of the lyrics seems solid. There is a continuity in the sound of the mixed tape, which is sort of shocking because the tape is full of 10 different bands you’ve never heard of.
Above, I have described exactly what it felt like the first time I ever heard Songs from Under the Floorboards Vol. 1. The story above actually happened to me, except the cassette tape was a demo by the band Naming Mary, as opposed to a compilation by Accident Prone Records. Nevertheless, it felt the same.
All the bands on this record are contemporary, but I’ve never heard a compilation that sounded so late 1980s underground in my life. It is derivative, but it sounds authentic. How did Green Noise find so many good underground “goth” bands to fill this compilation? It’s fucking crazy. I loved this record instantly, and I am not a push-over for the myriad of “goth” bands that bore me to death. Did I mention that Mike Watt even shows up on this record? This compilation also feels a little punk rock. I love it.
We headed to Maui for a nice summer vacation break. What would we be listening to? Kani ka pila! (Hawaiian for play music).
Monday: The music of George Helm—Hawaiian music fueled by slack key guitar, ukulele, and mellow moods. Listening to his compilation on Spotify sounds almost religious in a sense. George Helm, who I didn’t know much about, had quite the scene working. He has one of the most unbelievable falsetto voices I have ever heard. Some cursory research revealed that he was an activist. In the 1970s, he and some buddies were incensed by the U.S military bombing practice on the smallest of the Hawaiian Islands, Kahoʻolawe. They protested the destruction of what was a beautiful island. At one point, he was concerned about a couple of his activist friends who were hiding from the U.S. military on the island for over 35 days. He set off from Maui on a surfboard to try and help find them. He was injured and disappeared into the ocean, never to be seen again. But this music lives on, slack key guitar supporting his amazing singing, recorded in some local bar. Pretty incredible and a great way to set up this vacation week. From the lanai of this condo, I can see the island of Kahoʻolawe, undeveloped and uninhabited today, ravaged by the U.S. military and littered with unexploded munitions everywhere. Mahalo George Helm, thanks for the efforts.
It’s Friday now, and I haven’t written anything about this trip all week. There’s something about this place called Maui, not sure what it is, but there’s a tendency to just sort of check out and not really want to do anything. Its freaking beautiful. Go to the beach, go to the pool, take a walk, sleep in, take a nap, or even just sit somewhere outside and stare at the greatness of the ocean. When I was here with my father right before he died, that’s what we often did. He was pretty sick with brain tumors. But, he was still happy, and why wouldn’t he be, here he was at the end of it all—he had arrived. We just sat and talked. I remember he remarked how Maui was “such a gentle place.” Yes indeed, you can feel it. You can hear it especially. Maybe this is the soundtrack of this trip after all, the crash of the waves, the birds chirping, the doves cooing, and the wind rustling the palms. Easy sounds—sounds of comfort and memories. Is that what music is about? I don’t know. But I do know this, this island “music” are the sounds that remind me of my dad and the time we had. I can see his smile. As I look over Napili Bay, a soft rain falls, bringing a new sound in the air. Mahalo.
What would he be listening to? “Superstition” by Stevie Wonder. My dad always liked Stevie Wonder, who was big when he was in college. Plus, my dad’s name was Stephen, so “Stevie” seem to be an appropriate nickname—at least as far as the Delta Tau Delta’s at Texas Tech were concerned. This song was a collaboration between Stevie and the great guitarist (albeit maligned) Jeff Beck. What a song it is. It reached number one on the Billboard 100 in 1973. It is goddamn funky, a quality Stevie was accused of for most of his career.
What I would have played next? “Visions” by Stevie Wonder from the Innervisions album. Lyrically, the irony of both these tracks is palpable. Think about it, he was freaking blind! His whole world might have seemed like a superstitious vision for god’s sake. But somehow in all his talent, he was able to cut through and communicate his experience in a great soulful way. This was a great album, he really started to hit his stride and experiment with what he could do as a musician.
“…today’s not yesterday, and all things have an ending…”
It feels pretty eerie being this close to Lahaina (we were staying just north) as the community is still reeling from the fires that burned the town to the ground last August. You drive around and see memorials everywhere. You still cannot enter the town almost a year later, as military-style checkpoints line the entry points, pedestrians and cars are banned. What you can see is horrifying, foundations are the only thing standing in neighborhoods. There are random stoplights outside the city limits so truck after truck can continue to move out the debris. This was a horrible tragedy. We heard on the news they had just identified another body in the rubble. The total lives lost are over one hundred. You can feel the heartbreak in the air. This disaster will reverberate for years to come.
Friday afternoon, grabbing a few groceries at the Napili Market for our final weekend here, what’s on the speaker?
“Rocky Mountain Way” by Joe Walsh. (Speaking of 1973) I’d say this was a pretty good choice, especially seeing how I was visiting from Colorado. This is a pretty great “Colorado” song. Walsh is one of those super talented session guys whose successes in a few different band iterations were not surprising to anyone. Initially blowing up with the James Gang (check out tracks such as “Funk #49” and “Walk Away”), he was one of those guys who, once he got going, never really stopped. Well, at least until he finally dried out, probably saving his life. He sure had an epic career though. This is the guy who played the guitar solo on one of the most played rock songs ever, “Hotel California,” along with Don Felder. I did a bit of digging and discovered Walsh lived in Boulder for a little while. He was one of the first musicians to record at Caribou Studios up near Nederland. Caribou was a renowned studio where several artists went to the mountains to record albums, including the lesser-known Elton John album Caribou. Walsh had a young child who died in an accident, and I guess that was about it for his Boulder career stop. Caribou Studios later burned to the ground in 1985. I got to give it to Walsh though, enjoyable catalog and some great guitar licks.
“Working My Way Back to You” by the Spinners. This version was a cover of the original hit by the Four Seasons back in the 1960s. It was pretty popular and might have charted higher than the original. I can tell you one thing about this song: This guy has really fucked up this relationship. I mean, when you have to “work your way back,” you are deep in the shit for sure. I guess this song would be a fun way to get back in the mix with this lady, but the tone is just a little too jovial. Maybe it would help if he sounded a bit remorseful or sad? But he just seems like whatever he did is not really a big deal. It’s a strong choice to have that bass vocal line come in on the line “been paying everyday.” I’m still not giving this guy much of a chance. The Spinners are pretty cool, I guess. Check out the songs: “I’ll Be Around,” “Could It Be I’m Falling in Love,” and “One of a Kind Time (Love Affair).” I’m glad they had this comeback hit. Not really my top in the R&B game however, as they are a bit too “poppy” and lacking in funk. The real question I have: Was Frankie Valli able to “work his way back?” This song makes me think he was probably a pretty good philanderer. His solo track “My Eyes Adore You” is pretty solid.
“Infatuation” by Rod Stewart. Here’s some classic 1980s Rod Stewart, tailor made for chart topping even though it seems such tracks of this era don’t have much of a heart. “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” would be another example. It just feels like he’s checking off the boxes as he’s writing these songs. I probably wouldn’t be so dour if I wasn’t such a fan of his earlier stuff. Songs from his earlier albums (The Rod Stewart Album, Never a Dull Moment, and An Old Raincoat won’t ever let you down) are deep with the passion (listen to “Lost Paraguayos” and “Handbags and Gladrags”). On these albums, he sounds enmeshed in being authentic and really letting in all out in the studio. The mid-career albums are fun and probably made a pile of cash, but at what point of “just because you can do it, doesn’t mean you should do it” thinking creep in. What I’m trying to say is, I’m glad he made that money and probably had a great time with the cocaine, but I wish he would have done an album with Joe Walsh instead.
Back home in Colorado, on Wednesday, I sit and reflect on our trip. It’s pretty exhausting getting back but whatever. In my fatigue, I feel grateful for the chance to experience Hawaii once again. Don’t have much to say about this trip; Hawaii sort of consumes you. You just try to be present with the magic of this island paradise. Waking up in the morning, plunging in Napili Bay, floating as the sun rises—this is what it’s about. A chill rolls up my spine as I write this; everything seems alright in the world.
What song is in my head?
“Cheap Silver” by Silverada. These guys used to be Mike and the Moonpies, but they recently changed their name. Bold move, let’s see how it plays out. I loved this song when it came out a couple of years ago on their album Cheap Silver and Solid Country Gold. This is just a country song done right; everything is working for these guys on this one. The string section is a great production choice, as it makes everything smooth and nice. This is a song that really nails what it’s like getting old, for me anyway.
I hear the lyrics. I feel the music. In the silence of this morning, I think of my dad, the spirit of Aloha in my heart.
Just to clear up some potential confusion, The Virgin Suicides has essentially two great albums related to the film. First, there is the brilliant score made by the French ambient band Air, officially known as The Virgin Suicides (Score). It is excellent. Second, there is The Virgin Suicides (Music from the Motion Picture), which is comprised of various artists. Though both are great in their own right, I will be referring to the second, Music from the Motion Picture.
A truly great soundtrack should be able to stand on its own, independent of any background knowledge of the film that birthed it. A truly great compilation, or soundtrack, should have some sense of continuity, or narrative, however vague it is bound to be. Like any great mixed tape, it should take one on a journey without necessarily announcing a departer or destination. Like any album I would label a masterpiece, it must evoke a bit of mystery and magic, as this is what drew me to become a person obsessed with the album as an art form. The Virgin Suicides (Music from the Motion Picture) is just such an album.
In 1993, Jeffrey Eugenides published his first novel, The Virgin Suicides. As a life-long fan of literature, I must admit that it is one of my favorite novels. It is haunting, and often other-worldly, yet it is also a brutal portrayal of adolescent longing, desire, and disappointment set in the 1970s in suburban Michigan. I found a great uneasiness in a text that examined sexism, economic class, voyeurism, and the seemingly endless cycle of empty consumerism in late-stage capitalism, American style. Like the absurdity inherent in such a system, there is a suffocating and subtle doom that pervades the text. The book is rife with subtext and begging for examination. There is a lot to un-pack in these 243 pages.
In 1999, Sofia Coppola made her directorial debut as she adapted the book to a film. Though, obviously not as detailed and dense as the novel, she made a masterpiece of a film. It is perfectly cast, and juggles the spring of puberty with the autumn of death.
Likewise, the soundtrack itself is a perfect combination of youthful lust and hopeless suffocation. It embodies the bipolar nature of teenage reality, half other-worldly daydreams, and fantasies curtailed by harsh realities.
Here’s the track list:
Heart, “Magic Man.”
The soundtrack includes two big hits from Heart’s debut album. Being born in the 1970s, I should be rather board of these radio hits, but somehow in the context and sequence of songs on the album, these familiar songs sound surprisingly fresh and urgent.
Todd Rundgren, “Hello It’s Me.”
Rundgren fell under my radar, but I do remember this song as a kid; however, I never realized how great it was—lazy summer loneliness.
Sloan, “Everything You’ve Done Wrong.”
These contemporary Canadian pop-rockers lighten the mood somewhat and keep the record flowing. Though it was a song recorded in 1996, it has the seventies all over it. It has horns bursting everywhere, which evokes a very strong Chicago vibe.
Air, “Ce Matin La.”
Air, who also provided the score of the film, deliver this instrumental dream-like song that sounds like it was born in the 1970s. Excellent horn work.
The Hollies, “The Air That I Breathe.”
This is a simply beautiful song that hits me ever since I first heard it as a child—dreamy.
Al Green, “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart.”
This is a classic that settles the emotional excitement for a moment and brings us back down to earth. It’s a slow burner.
Gilbert O’Sullivan, “Alone Again (Naturally).”
I vaguely remember this melody on the radio all those years ago, but I never really paid much attention to the lyrics. Now, listening to in more closely, I consider this a true masterpiece and one of the most beautifully depressing songs ever—remarkable and dark.
10CC, “I’m Not in Love.”
Similar to the Heart songs, I have heard this track a million times, but sandwiched in this soundtrack’s sequence of perfection, it takes on new meaning, life, and depth. Again, we are gone and dreaming in melancholia.
Todd Rundgren, “A Dream Goes on Forever.”
This song might be the least memorable on the record, melody wise, but it is good to have a few Todd Rundgren songs on heavy rotation. I’ve never fallen in love with his albums, but I do have musical heroes who love him.
Heart, “Crazy on You.”
I always loved this song, but it sounds the best on this soundtrack. It feels desperate and hungry.
Air, “Playground Love (Vibraphone Version).”
This is a good example of the mood and tone of the original score of the film. It’s mostly instrumental, thoroughly haunting, and yes, beautiful. As the “theme” of the film. It evokes a potpourri of emotion.
Styx, “Come Sail Away.”
I’m gonna just say it. This is one of the greatest songs ever written. It originally appeared on Styx’s The Grand Illusion album released in 1977. That album is a masterpiece in itself, but that is another discussion. Placing this song at the end of the soundtrack provides a climax to the dreamy isolation of the album. It feels like an orgasm, an exorcism, freedom, or, in this case, suicide. It marries a great escape with a painful “goodbye.” It is the ultimate triumph of failure. This song encapsulates the whole album, and it is the point where confusion arrives like goosebumps and the line between love and hate, or pleasure and pain, become indistinguishable. It pierces the heart of the unknowable, but does not answer any questions.
I lied. The fact that I love the book and the film do, in fact, influence my feelings about this collection of songs. For me, this soundtrack isn’t “standing on its own,” as I mentioned in the beginning of this review, as it is clearly wound up with my feeling of the novel and film. Even the album artwork gives me the feelies. However, I believe that it could stand on its own, as it is simply a great collection of songs that demand to be played over and over again. Then again, my normal disposition is melancholic.
I have listened to this album for days on end. I’ve put it away, rediscovered it, and listened to in once a day for weeks. It’s got a hold on me. It also allowed me to spend an extended period of time with songs I took for granted, or never really knew at all. This soundtrack can exist on its own like a found mix tape, but the movie helps.
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