THE LIBERTINES
Up the Bracket
You could say that The Libertines, with their English accents, clever lyrics, and simple arrangements, were carrying on the noble tradition of British music begun by Ray Davies and The Kinks, but they're too punk for that. Their nearest relatives (unsurprisingly, when you consider who produced both of their albums), as far as I can tell, are in fact The Clash. Pinpointing which period of The Clash The Libertines are most attracted to musically is impossible, since there is none. They have the raw energy of Strummer and Co's 1977 debut album, but they're missing all the anger and politics. And they have the dynamics and scope of the 1979 masterpiece London Calling, but they're missing the musical eclecticism (That is not an insult. If the Libertines dabbled in reggae, I would be scared of the result).
So it seems that comparing The Libertines to other bands is ultimately fruitless, since their debut album is only slightly unlike anything heard in rock before. It's all there in opening track "Vertigo": a down and dirty guitar riff segues into some paranoid, ominous verses, which almost immediately transition into a fist-pumping punk rock pre-chorus that ultimately leads to the short, infectious chorus. Structure wise, it sounds almost like a slightly less revolutionary "Smells Like Teen Spirit", eh?
The next song boasts an even better guitar riff and an even catchier chorus, and things play out from there, with each song more impressive than the last. Perhaps the best of the bunch is "Time For Heroes", a short, simple punk anthem that comes across as a throwaway track on first listen, but gets more powerful and more infectious with each subsequent one. Boasting their most poignant melody until "Can't Stand Me Now", "Time For Heroes" was never really going to be a big hit, but it remains a fan favorite. Next comes "Radio America", an actual throwaway track that seems to be included here only because, when you're in a rock band, you just have to have a fun little acoustic song on your debut album. Even if that wasn't the case and Doherty actually wanted it on the album, it's still not very good.
But then things begin to pick up steam with another mini-masterpiece, "Boys In the Band". Perhaps it could be construed to be a bit egotistical of them, if they're speaking of their own band, so it's still catchy as heck, so perhaps they have a right to be egotistical. Next comes the title track, with its iconic opening scream and an opening riff that, for some reason, has always reminded me of the early Police (another 1977 reference on the album). The remaining five songs are generally brilliant as well, with "The Boy Looked at Johnny" being The Libs at their most punk and "I Get Along" bookening the album nicely at a chugging pace.
Upon finishing the album, one is left with: a. a sense of how good it was, and b. a lingering feeling of mild disappointment, brought about by the feeling that perhaps The Libertines could have been a bit more eclectic or a bit less repetitive or a bit more dynamic with tempo. Upon seriously studying the album, these concerns are revealed to be ill-founded and largely psychological, since The Libertines often prove to be rather dynamic in the individual songs themselves (the memorable solo in "Time For Heroes" that completely rips "You're Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile" from Annie, and the angelic chorus of the otherwise raw "The Boy Looked At Johnny"). I won't deny that the record is not very complex or eclectic, and they would eventually get to complexity and eclecticism (at least, a little bit more of it) on their self-titled sophomore swan song, but then again, it's not really supposed to be, and if it was supposed to be, I'm predicting the results would be disastrous.
So, in the end, Up the Bracket is arguably a punk classic. It is both a homage to classic punk bands and a rebuttal of them, a revolutionary album and a back-to-basics, minor one, and, perhaps most of all, it functions as both an obituary for nu metal and rap rock and the beginning of a brief revival for the original rock and roll aesthetics. And that revival will forever be home to The Libertines place in rock history.
THE SMITHS
Meat Is Murder
There's a club if you'd like to go
you could meet somebody who really loves you
so you go, and you stand on your own
and you leave on your own
and you go home, and you cry
and you want to die
Nobody really loves Morrissey. I'm not making that up, it came
directly from the man himself. And sure, all the people who actually go
to clubs for the sole purpose of standing on their own, waiting to go
home and throw a pity party may relate to this verse and cry about it
themselves, but the rest of us at the club will just chuckle, sincerely
glad that we're not Morrissey. Surely, Morrissey is the only
multi-millionaire indie rock legend that nobody would really want to be.
Other "serious" songs that you'll have a hard time suppressing giggles
over include "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore" (Still sounds funny to me,
Moz), "Barbarianism Begins At Home", and "Meat Is Murder".
And it's not just the lyrics that serve as the impetus for the
"funniest rock band ever" claim. I challenge any person (with a good
sense of humor) to stifle the laughs that will no doubt ensue from Andy
Rourke's goofy bass lines. You will fail. Same with Mike Joyce's drum
parts, probably the only aspect of the otherwise vintage sound of The
Smiths that would ever clue anyone to the unavoidable fact that they
were an 80s band.
Perhaps the only serious member of the band (without the seriousness
coming across as funny) is indie virtuoso (if you've heard a single
note of indie rock, you'd know that that's not saying too much) Johnny
Marr. Indeed, his distorted, pedal-driven power chords are in many ways
the only things keeping "How Soon Is Now?" from being labeled "comedy
rock". The truth is, without him, Morrissey (or The Smiths, for that
matter) wouldn't have a legacy, as evidenced by his (Morrissey's) solo
career, which relied on fey, 80s pop songs to complement his usually
brilliant lyrics. "The Queen Is Dead" is almost universally considered
The Smiths' all-around peak. This claim, while perfectly valid, is
something I have always disagreed with since I first heard The Smiths.
Instead, I would opt for their debut album to be considered Morrissey's
lyrical peak, and their sophomore Johnny Marr's musical
one. The musical transitions that songs like "That Joke Isn't Funny
Anymore" are able to get away with is astounding in a way that rock
music rarely is.
That
leads us to my next point: are The Smiths really "rock music" in the
traditional sense? The answer is indisputably "no", but neither is the
music of The Ramones, U2, R.E.M., Nirvana, Radiohead, David Bowie, or
(gasp!) The Beatles. As most rock fans know, rock n' roll is what we
call, you know, the kind of stuff Little Richard did in the 50s. Take
off the "roll" and it becomes a genre almost impossible to define, as it
feels like almost everyone can be labeled "rock" these days. For all
practical purposes, let's just assume that "rock" is a
genre characterized by loud vocals, tight arrangements, a bare-bones
vocals-guitar-bass-drum lineup, power chords, leather jackets,
scandalous album covers and stupid guitar solos. Well, then again,
perhaps Nirvana do fall into the "rock" category...
The point is, The Smiths never technically "rocked", but I think
that most of us can agree that the closest they ever got to it is a
little album called Meat Is Murder. It's all there in the first
track, "The Headmaster Ritual": Johnny Marr never stops playing his
guitar as his rhythm section takes care of the "rock". Morrissey, on
the other hand, sounds more like a country crooner, at least in the
half-brilliant, half-cringeworthy chorus. The lyrics are a
not-so-subtle tirade against education in Morrissey's typical
melodramatic style. Oh, and they're also really great.
There's not much to be said on the next two tracks: they won't make
you dance, but they sure as heck won't make your ears bleed. The album
really starts to take off with The Smith's first ever attempt at a
rocker, "What She Said", which includes the unforgettable line that
should surely be the motto of Morrissey disciples everywhere: "I smoke
cause I'm hoping for an early death". "How Soon Is Now?" (the single
that should have been on the British version) is another keeper, even if
the instrumental drags on for a bit too long and there are 46 verses
too few. "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore", my favorite from the album,
is something that must be experienced to understand it.
We'll just skip the next three tracks, since no one really likes
them anyway, and head straight to the epic finish: "Meat Is Murder". A
laughably sincere lament over all the dead animals that could have
(should have, argues Morrissey) been saved from the eternal pit that is
the stomach of a human being, a human being far crueler than the animals
that Morrissey sympathizes with, this one is the reason why everybody
hates this album. As with "How Soon Is Now?", the track goes on for far
too long (these guys are really pushing the limit to how long it takes
to sit through ten tracks), but the two
minutes where Morrissey is talking are pleasant enough, and I can't
think of a better way to end the album.
Some people (I won't mention names) consider Meat Is Murder to be
The Smiths worst album. I say poppycock. It's probably their best.
Their debut was witty, The Queen Is Dead was era-defining, and
Strangeways, Here We Come was eclectic, but Meat Is Murder was (is) all
these things and more, making it completely useless to get all the other
ones. Save your money (and time) on those silly albums you were told
were the three best. Because, to sum up Morrissey's entire career in 5
words, "All you need is Meat."
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