Day 27: Radiohead, “The Bends”

When: Released February 27, 1995

Why? The only Radiohead song I’ve ever heard is “Creep,” from the band’s first album, “Pablo Honey.” This album is consistently ranked among the best Radiohead albums. 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die describes it as Radiohead’s “rock masterwork.”

What? Twelve songs, 49 minutes. This is Radiohead’s second album. In many ways, it is a reaction to “Creep”’s sudden success, their unexpectedly fast rise to fame (hence, the bends), and their frustrations with how that earlier hit defined them for their new audience as well as their record company.

First Impressions: There is an air of melancholy that persists throughout the songs on this album, heightened, perhaps, by Thom Yorke’s plaintive voice, which frequently breaks into soft, yearning falsetto.

Lyrics focus on frustration, disappointment, fraught relationships, and the sad state of the modern world. These can be big ideas. Yet, oddly, I found the songs unmemorable. I even ended up listening to this one three times because I had such a hard time remembering anything about it after each listen. I believe the fault lies—if it is a fault—in the verse melodies and the vocal performances, which are so similar across the album that none of the songs stand out as distinctive on their owen. In addition, too many songs have the same mid-tempo feel. I found no hooks to hold onto, no songs I had to listen to again because they so captured my attention or imagination. Even though I was touched by many of the lyrics as I listened, the emotional connection was fleeting; this album had a way of washing over me without leaving any lasting impression. In other words, I remember what the songs were about; I just don’t remember the songs.

I don’t think there’s a bad song on the album. For me, though, the weaker tracks would include opener “Planet Telex” (although the chorus is beautiful and highlights one of the album’s themes: “Everything is broken / Everyone is broken”), “High and Dry” (again, a beautiful chorus melody but lyrics that shift from literal to cryptic and, eventually, nonsensical), and “Bullet Proof…I Wish I Was.” Favorites include: “The Bends,” “Fake Plastic Trees,” “Just,” “My Iron Lung,” and “Black Star.”

So? To view this album as Radiohead’s “rock masterwork” may require familiarity with the rest of the band’s output. On its own, it is rewarding in the moment, but it didn’t linger with me. While I appreciate that this album is so listener-friendly, I wish I were listening repeatedly because I loved the songs or was intrigued by the content, not because I couldn’t remember what anything sounded like.

Day 26: XTC, “Skylarking”

When: Released October 27, 1986

Why? I know absolutely nothing about this band, yet they are occasionally mentioned as inspirations in artist interviews. This album is included in the book 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. My only connection is having heard the song “Dear God,” which was added to this album after its initial release, in a cover version by Sarah McLachlan.

What? Fifteen songs, 49 minutes. Apple Music categorizes this album as “alternative,” but it also has appeared in lists of 80s pop that I’ve seen.

First Impressions: What a delightful surprise. Harmonies, melodies, and instrumentation echo some of my favorite songs by such artists as Godley & Creme, Klaatu, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, Bowie, and Todd Rundgren, who produced this album with XTC. (I was convinced “That’s Really Super, Supergirl” was actually written by Rundgren, it sounded so much like him. I was wrong.) And the songs themselves are, for the most part, captivating.

XTC, at this point, were vocalist/guitarist/primary songwriter Andy Partridge, vocalist/bassist/secondary songwriter Colin Moulding, and vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Dave Gregory. Drums were recorded separately, played by studio drummer Prairie Prince. “Dear God” features a guest female vocal from 8-year-old Jasmine Veillette. (Oddly, the accompanying music video features a boy lip-syncing Veillette’s part.)

The lyrics are poetic, ranging from poignant to playful: “Trees are dancing, drunk with nectar / Grass is waving underwater / Please don’t pull me out / This is how I would want to go,” the narrator sings in opener “Summer’s Cauldron.” The playful side comes in on “Grass”: “Shocked me too, the things we used to do on grass…. / Over and over we flatten the clover.”

Musically, the arrangements are consistently fresh, often defying my expectations for typical pop songs. For example, there are frequent moments in “Summer’s Cauldron” where the accompaniment teases, seemingly leading up to big moments that never come. “1000 Umbrellas” is a beautiful breakup song propelled entirely by a powerful string arrangement that hints at “Eleanor Rigby,” the fadeout of “Glass Onion,” even Bernard Herrmann’s “Psycho” strings. “Earn Enough for Us” is upbeat pop that belies the desperation running through the lyrics. “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul” gives us smoky, early-1960s beatnik jazz.

With one exception, I found myself responding more positively to the songs written by Andy Partridge than those by Colin Moulding. Highlights include “Summer’s Cauldron,” “Grass” (by Moulding), “That’s Really Super, Supergirl,” “1000 Umbrellas,” “Season Cycle,” “Earn Enough for Us,” “Big Day,” “Another Satellite,” and “Dear God,” which ended up being tacked on to subsequent releases once it had become an underground hit on American college radio. (It had been deemed too controversial—especially for conservative US audiences—for the original album.) While closing with “Dear God” does not necessarily make sense within the carefully plotted sequencing of this album’s tracks, I think it provides a stronger end to the album than the now-penultimate “Sacrificial Bonfire,” which was my least favorite song.

So? By all accounts, this was a difficult record to make, due to in-studio conflicts between Andy Partridge and Todd Rundgren, as well as between bandmates Partridge and Moulding. There were disagreements about the song selections, arrangements, even how to approach the recording process. Yet the results speak for themselves. Despite the behind-the-scenes frustrations—or, perhaps, because of them—this is a highly enjoyable album packed with musical creativity. This one will be listened to again and again.

Day 25: Sleater-Kinney, “The Woods”

When: Released May 24, 2005

Why? Just about anywhere that indie bands are seriously discussed (particularly within the pages of Tape Op magazine), Sleater-Kinney’s name comes up. I have never heard a Sleater-Kinney song, and I know nothing about the band or their music.

What? Ten songs, just over 48 minutes.

First Impressions: While this album was critically praised when released—it apparently signaled a new direction for the band—the fan response was mixed. The most negative review I found gave “The Woods” a rating of 0 on a scale of 1 to 10, calling it “scalding, abrasive, and chaotic.” I agree that all of those words apply. Nevertheless, I found this album a powerful—if exhausting—listen. Your mileage may vary.

The problem—or feature, depending on your perspective—is the way the band have completely embraced the sound of digital distortion/clipping here, working with Producer, Engineer, and Mixer Dave Fridmann. Digital distortion—produced when a recording computer (or peripheral) is unable to adequately process an overly hot signal, and so information from that signal is “clipped” or removed—is typically something to be avoided; it is harsh, brittle, and lacking the musical warmth and pleasing harmonics that come with analog distortion. Here, the harshness of a clipped signal is being celebrated (along with extreme amounts of compression), and the results are often hard to listen to.

Nowhere is harshness more evident than in the first moments of opener “The Fox,” which, on paper, reads like something out of Beatrix Potter: “On the day the duck was born / The fox was watching all along / He said, ‘Land ho!’ when he saw the duck / ‘Land Ho!’ and the duck saw him too.” In reality, “It’s loud and it thrashes and [vocalist Corin] Tucker shouts to be heard over the din. It’s ferociously uninviting, but it works both as a context-providing preface to the nine songs that follow and as a deterrent for weak-eared listeners,” wrote Stephen M. Deusner in a Pitchfork.com review. “Those who make it to ‘Wilderness’ [the second track] will have passed a test of sorts,” he says.

That was my experience in a nutshell. There was nothing about “The Fox” that encouraged me to keep listening. And I wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t already committed to “The Woods” as my next album. Thankfully, things improved after this first track (with one exception).

Here, Sleater-Kinney—Corin Tucker on vocals and guitar, Carrie Brownstein on guitars and vocals, and Janet Weiss on drums—brings a very punk sensibility to hard-hitting lyrics that touch on politics, consumerism, the music industry, modern relationships, and a culture where entertainment trumps all.

Despite subsequent occasional, but brief, aural onslaughts, I actually enjoyed hearing what the band had to say. The tracks feature incisive lyrics with engaging imagery and powerful vocals from both Tucker and Brownstein. I most enjoyed “Wilderness,” “Jumpers” (despite the subject matter), the satiric bite of “Modern Girl” (set against a perfectly realized musical backdrop), and “Night Light.”

“Let’s Call It Love” is the one exception I alluded to above. At 11 minutes long, it is the longest track on the album and the hardest to endure. The off-kilter timing of the verses is engaging, but the chorus vocals come close to being little more than shrieking. Once the lyrics end, at about the halfway point, the song turns into tuneless noise for the remainder of its running time, broken only by a return to melody in its final seconds as it segues into “Night Light.” (Admittedly, at this point in my 1-a-Day project, I’ve lost patience for this kind of “song.”)

So? I found much to like here during my listen. But nothing is calling me back. I think that’s due to a sparsity of memorable melodies, along with arrangements that seem to favor noise over interesting variety or engagement. Add in the band’s off-putting recording/mixing choices, and it makes a second listen feel more and more like a slog. While I’m curious to hear how this album compares to others in Sleater-Kinney’s discography, I will not go out of my way to venture back into “The Woods.”

Day 24: Rush, “Moving Pictures”

When: Released February 12, 1981

Why? I’ve never heard a Rush album and am only familiar with some of the radio singles.

What? Seven songs, 40 minutes. This is Rush’s 8th studio album, and it is consistently ranked among the top five of all Rush albums. It includes two hit singles, “Tom Sawyer” and “Limelight.”

First Impressions: This was a really enjoyable—and surprising—listen. Enjoyable because the musicianship on display here is next-level and the lyrics are thoughtful and evocative. Surprising because I thought I could peg the band after the first two tracks, “Tom Sawyer” and “Red Barchetta”—jazz-tinged progressive rock built on science-fiction themes—only to have them move on to the challenges of fame, a street-level (and perfectly realized) portrait of two contrasting cities, the terrifying power of people who are “confident their ways are best,” and a reggae-influenced take on conformity and individuality. Add to that an instrumental dedicated to their home airport in Canada, and you have a decidely varied album of songs.

I liked every song here. The one I think I liked the least, though, is the album’s most popular track, “Tom Sawyer.” It’s well-written, and it’s no surprise that it has become the band’s signature song. I just don’t believe it works well within the context of this album. For me, the lyrics in “Tom Sawyer,” the only co-write here between drummer Neil Peart and nonmember Pye Dubois, stand out as too different in style from the other Peart- and band-written songs on the album. That said, it would be fair to point out that the subject matter of “Tom Sawyer,” with its focus on individualism and noncomformity, perfectly bookends the album with closer “Vital Signs.” So maybe that’s reason enough for its inclusion…?

Setting aside “Tom Sawyer,” each of the tracks here pulls its weight, delivering intriguing story-based or slice-of-life lyrics along with inventive musical arrangements, punctuated by tasteful synthesizer work. I was happily caught off-guard by the reggae influences on “Vital Signs.”

Vocalist and bassist Geddy Lee has said in at least one interview that the band gets bored sticking to one time signature for more than a couple of measures, and that’s certainly on display here; while the constant time changes help to keep things fresh, sometimes they do feel like they’re being done just to be done, that they don’t necessarily serve the song.

After hearing Rush singles for decades, Geddy Lee’s high-pitched vocals no longer annoy me (and I was glad to hear him drop down into a more normal vocal range for most of the album), his bass work is enthusiastic, Alex Lifeson’s guitars can go from understated to soaring, and I generally appreciated Neil Peart’s drumming (although, by the end of the album, his frequent tom rolls felt overly repetitive and predictable).

Favorite tracks include “YYZ,” “Limelight,” The Camera Eye,” and “Vital Signs.” Despite “The Camera Eye” being the longest track here, at just over 10 minutes, it never felt bloated or excessive to me; I was invested in its journey.

So? I knew Rush could play—and play well; a life spent reading music magazines has made that clear. But I was heartened to discover that Rush is not just about futuristic science fiction and that their songs are so thoughtfully constructed. I will certainly be spending more time with this album.

Day 23: The Velvet Underground & Nico, “The Velvet Underground & Nico”

When: Released March 12, 1967

Why? Other than having seen its iconic sleeve, this album is completely unfamiliar to me. Regarding its impact, music producer Brian Eno told Billboard magazine in 1997: “I was talking to [Velvet Underground member] Lou Reed the other day, and he said that the first Velvet Underground record sold only 30,000 copies in its first five years. Yet, that was an enormously important record for so many people. I think everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band!” I’m eager to see if I can hear why that might be the case.

What? Eleven songs, 49 minutes. This is the first album by the Andy Warhol-managed Velvet Underground, with three songs featuring vocals by German singer and actress Nico (born Christa Päffgen).

First Impressions: Given what little I knew about the Velvet Underground and Warhol’s artistic aesthetic, I expected this to be a challenging listen, weird and off-putting. So I was pleasantly surprised when “Sunday Morning” began. I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t help writing down that this song felt like a warm embrace. It was an utterly unexpected opener which, along with the next two tracks, “I’m Waiting for the Man” and “Femme Fatale,” gives a pretty good summation of this album: well-crafted, slice-of-life pop alongside often grittier, lo-fi songs focusing on drugs, sex/relationships, and New York City’s late-Sixties downtown club scene.

Warhol funded the recording of this album but put surprisingly little money into it. It shows. The recording/production quality varies markedly throughout the album. Most songs were recorded in what has been described as a run-down studio in Manhattan. Three were rerecorded later—“I’m Waiting for the Man,” “Venus in Furs,” and “Heroin”—apparently under better conditions (although there are still guitar-tuning issues on “I’m Waiting…”). “Sunday Morning” was recorded even later, a last-minute addition. Those four songs sound better than anything else on the album.

On “Venus in Furs,” a song about S&M that was one of the more controversial tracks when the album was released, Indian-like drones, out-of-tune electric guitars, and John Cale’s strings underscore songwriter Lou Reed’s veiled lyrics.

“Heroin” is simply Reed’s description of taking the drug and its effects on him: “I don’t know just where I’m going / But I’m gonna try for the kingdom if I can / ’Cause it makes me feel like I’m a man / When I put a spike into my vein.” (The narrator describes the resulting high as “rushing on my run,” which echoes an earlier song, “Run, Run, Run,” suggesting that it too is about a desire for the drug. “I’m Waiting…” is about meeting a drug dealer.)

Nico’s voice caught me off-guard. Expecting a higher-pitched female voice, I got almost all the way through the album before I realized that she had been the singer of “Femme Fatale,” “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” and the haunting “I’ll Be Your Mirror.” (She also provides backing vocals on “Sunday Morning.”) I don’t dislike Lou Reed’s voice in any way, but it’s interesting to me that Nico sings on my three favorite tracks on the album.

Along with the traditional songcraft on display, there are experimental moments. Cale’s strings provide tension and accents as well as drones that sometimes mimic Indian instruments, sometimes shriek and wail like nothing else. They are just as likely to provide the instrumental breaks between song sections as the electric guitars—played by Reed and Sterling Morrison—which can go from melodic and rhythmic to “I’m going to randomly hit every possible string and fret until I find the note I’m looking for” time-wasting nonsense. Closer “European Son” offers a short lyrical passage before descending into perhaps six full minutes of sonic chaos.

So? I didn’t really vibe with the unintentionally poor quality of some of the recording here. Morrison’s bass playing and Maureen Tucker’s drumming provide a rhythmic foundation but not much more. And I believe Reed’s observational lyrics are so specific to his experiences and his environment at the time that they don’t lend themselves well to broader interpretations, making them difficult to relate to beyond mere travelogue. So I don’t see myself revisiting this album in its entirety. I will, however, be adding all of Nico’s songs to my playlists, along with “Sunday Morning.”