She says I am the one
Just now, for the first time ever, I heard the hard “K” in “kid”. And by extension, I was able to pretend I heard a “D”.
All my life, I’ve heard the line as “but the chair is not my son”.
You’re the man, Zarak!
The Doors’ three middle albums each exemplify one aspect of the band, to the detriment of the other two; it’s not until LA Woman that they explore everything and arrive where they started, more mature for the meandering.
- Waiting For the Sun is their “pop” album. Listenable, polished radio stuff. Vapid.
- Soft Parade is their “progressive” album, where they try to make something more than mere pop music. Pretentious.
- Morrison Hotel is their “blues” album, where they dig for “roots” that aren’t really theirs. Embarrassing.
When the Doors are at their best, they are bluesy, poppy, and progressive without thinking about any of it. Their sound comes from who they are: a classical pianist, a jazz drummer, a flamenco guitarst, and a poet.
Of the three middle albums, I find Waiting for the Sun most tolerable. Although it’s shallow, it’s shallow in an organic way; they just were lazy. They fell into a pattern. The next two albums, they consciously tried to react against that and be more “real”. Which meant they were kind of fake.
The final album, they didn’t give a shit anymore. They just went about making something good. So that’s what they got.
Juste “Like Alucard” Belmont, indeed.
Hell. I’m going to do a track-by-track commentary on the Harmony of Dissonance score. I’m going through the sound test here (which doesn’t always have the actual title of the piece — though I’ve mostly got them, too).
title screen – “title screen”
Adequate. Tense, symphonic. It sets the right tone, ending on something of an uncertain chord. Higher-quality samples than used in most of the score. This is part of what clued me into thinking the samples used in most of the in-game music were chosen intentionally. A couple of later pieces are of even a higher quality; they sound like they might even be digital recordings. That seems unlikely, considering how much space that would waste. Either way, it seems odd these high-res samples (or the space for them) were just sitting around, and not used.
name entry – “name entry 2k2”
Yes, this is a piece of weird genius. It’s a heavy reimaging of the name entry theme from the FDS version of Akumajou Dracula, put through a Willy Wonka hallucination. Notice the warbling instruments and strange intervals used in the intro. Add to those the flitting, spinning, up-and-down flute noise and the pedal tone in the background. Bring in the stumbling, crunchy drums, and the jagged, clashing organ chords. Leave the bass to mumble underneath, while the parts on top start to scream, whine, and argue with each other. The tension builds. What really strikes me here, and in future pieces, is how much the individual parts actually talk to each other. They’re speaking, responding, building on what came before. Sometimes misunderstanding, causing even more friction. It’s really organic stuff. Unpleasant in a sense because it brings to mind all of the really bad arguments we’ve had. All of the misunderstandings, all of the nightmares where everything seems completely out of our control. And we’re just left spinning, trying to get through it all.
Then it all drops out, and we’re back to the bass intro. We’ve made a cycle. The tension drops away. We feel relieved. Vivified. And we’re ready to go for another spin.
intro – “prologue (theme of maxim kischine)”
This is, for me, the least interesting piece in the game. And it shows up thrice in this sound test alone, with different titles. With its monotonous, off-kilter Victorian formality, it works all right in Juste’s “decorating room”. As a character theme, though? It feels out-of-place. The thing which I find most interesting about “prologue” is how stuffy it is. Musty. It makes me think of the wallpaper in an old, creepy house.
entrance – “successor of fate (theme of juste)”
One of the major centerpieces of the score. In some ways, it’s the most traditional Castlevania piece in the game. It can sit along other major game and character themes, and not seem too out of place. It’s got more going on, though. I hardly know where to begin.
The first thing I note about it is the detached introduction. After the ornamental organ intro, we get an almost proud, formal strike with those reedy chords. The entire piece is a little more aloof than usual. A little more classical. A little more structured. A little more noble-sounding, while still accessible. In other words, it’s Juste right.
After the main theme repeats a couple of times, there’s a bridge where the uncertain qualities present in most of the music here build up a little. Questions. Anxietes. Before they can get too far, though, the main theme comes back in and stomps them down with a firm, yet gentle thud. And as if to say, hey, don’t worry, Juste really knows what he’s doing, and it’ll be okay, the rest of the notes of that phrase are synchopated a bit, and a warm bass begins to bubble underneath. The corners of the tune’s mouth turn up just a little. That’s my favorite part.
marble corridor – “offense and defense”
Here’s the meat. I’ve written about this before. This is the one piece which would make the score for me, even if everything else stank. I’m not going into detail. It’s too complex. Just listen to how the parts speak to each other, particularly the highs and the lows. Listen to how they spiral. How the tensions get woven and unwoven and lead to new anxieties. This piece is pure paranoia. It’s relentless. Ruthless. It makes me shiver, it makes my eyes water, it makes me clamp my jaw, it makes me very uncomfortable. It’s possibly the most moving piece of chip music I’ve heard.
Hell, I just noticed the piece’s title. That pretty much sums it up, compositionally.
shrine of the apostates – “approach of deplore”
A nice little piece. It doesn’t stand out much, at first. It does grow on a person, though. I like its start-and-stop nature, as if it’s constantly pausing to collect its thoughts. Some interesting chords here. Some nice things going on in the background if you listen closely. One of the lighter, least offensive pieces in the game. And as with many pieces in this score, the bass work is worth noting.
luminous cavern – “luminous caverns”
This seems like an experiment in ominous chords. It’s got some potential, especially after the drums come in. It sounds like it’s building to something rather grand. Unfortunately, it never really evolves. More and more things just get layered on top, making the piece kind of monotonous in the end. That in itself is kind of effective, though, when you add in the throbbing drums. It eats away at the mind. I think I’d trade this specific flavor of torment for something a little more interesting to listen to for its own sake, though. This is maybe a bit too expressionist for me, even.
aqueduct of dragons – “aqueduct of dragons”
Almost a relief after “Luminous Caverns”. As with “Approach of Deplore”, this strikes me as more of an album track than a single. It carries on the tone well, and explores its own slight variations. The best part here is the rhythm. I kind of want it to evolve more, though. I feel like it has more to say that it never quite gets around to, leaving me with a nice little sketch.
chapel in the sky – “chapel of dissonance”
Another standout track, though not quite as multifaceted as the earlier ones. This one’s a crowd-pleaser. It kind of covers the same ground as “offense and defense”, though on less disturbing and difficult a level. It strikes me as maybe a little too obvious how the light, untroubled intro gets contrasted wth the angsty latter half.
clock tower – “clock tower”
Yet another major piece. Up until the tension takes over, the thing which most strikes me is the drum and bass work, and the way everything else feeds off that, rhythmically. Again, I wish it had more space to work with its ideas.
skeleton cave – “skeleton den”
Pure atmosphere. This is filler, really. Doesn’t even attempt to be melodic. It tries a few tonal and rhythmic experiments, particularly toward the end. Nothing exceptional, though. Strikes me as a scratch track that someone shrugged and threw into the game because it held up well enough.
castle – “to the center of the demoniac castle”
This must play more than any piece in the game. It’s the main roaming music, so it has to hold up and be kind of middle-of-the-road, while maintaining a certain tension. And that’s what it does. It’s anxious. It wants to get moving and find what it’s there for, so it can get out of this foul place. It really does help in keeping up the sensation that something is happening, or is about to happen, until you actually get where you’re going.
theme of death – “dark covenant”
I don’t know what’s up with these brooding, unmelodic themes. I don’t understand it in film scores, either. You’d think if you were to assign a theme to a character, you would want something more than just a sprawling mood piece. Something like this just doesn’t strike me as a theme, as such. It is adequate background music for slogging through text boxes, though.
boss (loop patterns a-c) – “Archenemy” (?), “Dark Door” (?), “Knight Head” (?)
I’m not sure if these titles actually goes to these pieces. These are all variants of an okay boss theme. Pretty traditional. Lets you know something is actually happening, for once. I think a boss battle is a pretty good time to kick the player in the face and wake him up. This does it, while still fitting into the general theme of the score.
epilogue 1 – “epilogue 1”
Reminds me of “Prologue”. Funny, that. Puts my mind in a fog.
game over – “game over”
I just about fell over when I heard this the first time. “HAR, HAR”, I said. And meant it. I then added a “Ho Ho!” It still makes me giggle a little, even though I know it’s there. I just forget.
theme of dracula – “incarnation of darkness”
See above comments about Death’s theme.
last battle – “last battle”
Appropriate. Reminds me a little of Phantasy Star series final boss music. There is a certain grandness to it, melodically. A feeling of earnest struggle against something way too strong. It wants to be victorious. It just can’t… quite… reach… the knife. It’s in a bad spot. And this is do or die. Etcetera. It’s satisfying.
epilogue 2 – “beloved person (variation)”
Reminds me of the opening sequence to Castle of Illusion.
credits – “successor of fate (variation)”
JESUS CHRIST HOW WHAT WHY? So, yeah. I guess the soundtrack COULD have been like this. I’m glad it’s not, though.
extra stage music 1 & 2
Boss rush music. What do you want? It’s not written like the rest of the score. That’s because Michiru Yamane did it. Or so I recall.
extra stage music 3 – “vk2k2 (vampire killer 2002)”
One of the only versions of Vampire Killer since the original that I actually like. I enjoy how it gets transposed up a notch after the first repeat. And I like how the “DUNDUNDUNDUN!” bit is handled, with everything dropping out of the background. Sort of weird how it transitions into Clockwork. It works all right, I guess — though it makes looping harder than it should be.
extra stage music 4
Cute. This didn’t surprise me as much as the Dracula Denetsu game over music, though.
theme of merchant – “seller of fine goods”
Fun! I love how low-res it is. Gives it character.
theme of maxim kischine – “prologue”
Argh!
theme of lydie elranger – “beloved person”
It’s back again.
item collection room – “prologue”
Argh!
First-Place Pathos
The success music in Excitebike is oddly touching.
This seems to come mostly from the interval between notes three and four. Or perhaps it’s just the leap up to the third note, and the need to resolve that somewhere. Yet, what an unusual place to resolve.
To then resolve that measure into the syncopated riff of measure two — well. There’s something going on here.
After that point, Hip Tanaka just winds the piece up into a crisp, early-NES victory burble. That part is disposable.
The first part, though:
There is some sense of victory, or weak recognition of joy — yet it comes through a conflicted filter. Even winning is not enough to heal the deep emotional wounds our heroic racer has faced. Now it is time for him to walk off into fate and the sunset, his mission complete. We will never see him again — though sometimes, when the smell of nitro arrives on a summer breeze, we shall remember.
Someone remix it for me, please, and bring this quality out.
Great Ex-Spectorations
So I’ve got a copy of Let It Be… Naked, now.
And. It sounds good. There are the obvious tracks like “The Long and Winding Road”. Yes, yes. What impresses me more is the difference in sound quality and general engineering decisions with pieces like “I’ve Got a Feeling”. What a difference dynamic range and tonal saturation can make.
Hell. Did you know there was an organ in the background? In theory, it sustains most of the tension while Paul goes all Helter Skelter on top of it. In Phil Spector’s version, it’s not there! Well, barely. Now that I’m listening for it I can hear its faint buzz, way in the back. It almost sounds more like feedback than an instrumental voice.
Similarly, the opening chord — at first glance, it sounds like the top note is entirely different. I thought the new mix must run at a different tape speed (as with “Across the Universe”). No; it’s just that Spector was a dumbass and cut off almost the entire upper end of the spectrum. That’s why the entire album sounds like it’s being played from inside a tin can.
Well, that’s repaired. Forgotten details (like backing vocals) have been brought back to the foreground and balanced properly. We’ve got intelligent stereo separation. All of the meaningless, cute banter has been stripped away and (where it seemed salvageable) thrown onto disc two.
The effect is that this indeed does sound like a live (and often accoustic) performance — in comparison to some ancient, faded, muddy artifact dug out of a deep hole and dressed up with a string arrangement. It’s got warmth. And. The songs have some impact that they didn’t have before. Heck, now I understand what the guitars are doing. In many cases, they were an inpenetrable fog. It seems there is, however, musicianship at work. How interesting!
And yes, “The Long and Winding Road” has become listenable. Now I might not skip it. Not every time.
Consider this: George’s picture on the front isn’t as frightening anymore. I think that says… well, what does it say? Before he leered at John with inhuman teeth. Now he looks depressed. I suppose you could call that an improvement. I’d try to relate it to the fact that the man is dead, if it weren’t that I just watched him play Pac-Man not much over six months ago.
On another note, here’s a quote from the inside of the traycard:
Thank you for buying this music and for supporting the artists, songwriters, musicians, and nothers who’ve created it and made it possible.
Please remember that this recording and artwork are protected by copyright law. Since you don’t own the copyright, it’s not yours to distribute. Please don’t use Internet services that promote the illegal distribution of copyrighted music, give away illegal copies of discs or lend discs to others for copying. It’s hurting the artists who created the music. It has the same effect as stealing a disc from a store without paying for it.
Well! That’s a different tactic.
EDIT: I like the last paragraph here.
Those a’ nae the jaws of which I speak, lass.
I still taste the bread from a submarine sandwich that I ate over twelve hours ago. Talk about value for your dollar!
My toy symphony, as it were, is beginning to find some kind of direction for itself. I’ve come to the conclusion, however, that I need a good sample or two which comfortably sit in the bass range. As one might anticipate, were one to pay attention to such spectral issues, all of these dinky instruments and knicknacks tend to be pretty strong on the high end, but they generally cut off somewhere within the midrange.
Maybe I can fudge a bit by introducing a couple of pure waves; square and triangle, say. They’ll sound cheesy, and yet honest and warm enough that they might not clash as an overly synthetic addition.
Plus, they can be cleanly downsampled as much as I care to do so.
I really am not fond of square waves when used in the mid-range; I’ve known this for a long while. They just sound hollow. But my word, do they make good bass patches. They even have some neat uses in the higher registers, as a chirpy kind of seasoning.
Wind Waker is sitting in my Gamecube, very close to completion (as it has been for a few days) — but I return to it joylessly at this point. I suppose I might as well just get the darned thing over with. If I didn’t have a review to write, I don’t think I’d have the motivation to finish.
Today has been a day of crankiness. Perhaps repeating another three or four boss battles is just the cap that I need.
Theramin power!
I’ve concluded that a large part of the power of Metroid Prime’s main theme comes from its use of its time signature. It took a while for me to lock into what it was doing, rhythmically, as it works perfectly well when jammed into a 2/4 meter.
For those of you who’re following me out there, you probably know where I’m going next with this.
That’s right. In reality, it’s set to 6/8. This explains a large part of everything, as far as I’m concerned.
Allow me to illustrate.
Time signatures of a multiple of three (waltz time) are inherently circular. Unlike even beats (2/2, 4/4), which can be considered “square”, there is a constant, swirly, forward motion to threes. (You can ponder the logistics as to why, on your own. It can get pretty deep.)
The thing is about 6/8 — which, incidentally, is not one of the most common signatures out there (although it’s not all that odd either; it’s just underused) — is that it’s a hybrid of sorts. You’ve got the circular motion from its 3/4 element, and you’ve got an even-sided, comprehensible measure with its 2/4 qualities.
It’s the best of both worlds, to a certain extent — and if it’s used well.
The inherent possibilities of this meter are as follows.
You have a square measure which is split down the middle, into two round halves. Intuitively, in order to create forward motion, you need the halves to roll into each other in a balanced way.
One roll to set up; one roll to conclude. And it goes on like this. Pressure, release, pressure, release. Like an inchworm, or a heartbeat. The music seems to live. And it yanks the listener forward in an unusually powerful way.
And what’s more — because of the circular nature of the music, it has the potential to loop pretty seamlessly. Heh.
I have to go.
Cell division
Legally, I must comment that Metroid Prime has the best music in the world.
Something weird comes over me, just sitting and listening to the theme which plays behind the game options menu (one button-press past the title screen).
Game music has done odd things with my emotions on numerous previous occasions. It has ever since the original Legend of Zelda, where the first time I placed the game into my NES I simply stared at the TV for what might have been half an hour for all I know, listening to Kondo’s lilting title theme and watching the item scroll. It does when I watch the opening FMV to the first Sonic Adventure. The Phantasy Star II score has done mountains for me.
But even in the best game scores — Jet Set Radio, Streets of Rage, Ninja Gaiden II — generally the best that happens is that they impress the hell out of me and then that’s that. And even in the cases where I’ve been struck more deeply (for one reason or another), generally it’s been a single blow — often a manipulative one — in an otherwise so-so score.
Frankly, the reason the intro to Sonic Adventure does a weird job with my chest lies more in the direction of the intro sequence and my own personal share of nostalgia than anything about the music on its own. Heck, I’m not even very fond of half of the music in that game for its own merit. What music I do like well is mostly from Kumatani Fumie’s end of the stick rather than that of Jun Senoue.
Kenji Yamamoto has done something different here. I can’t explain it rationally. But it fucks with my head. The more I listen to it, the more this becomes true.
I’m afraid I’m going to develop a nervous condition, playing this game.
A bigger one, I mean.
I find this interesting, as I’ve honestly never been as impressed with the Super Metroid score as just about everyone else on the planet. It didn’t come near to Hip Tanaka’s original vision, or even the chirpy B-ambience of Return of Samus (a soundtrack which I still contend has never gotten its proper due). Super Metroid‘s music was appropriate, well-written, and… there. It suited the game, and sounded Metroidy.
But this? Ye god.
…
Again, I feel more or less exactly as I felt when I was eight and Zelda was new. And this fact is all the more peculiar just because I’m no longer eight years old. Zelda isn’t new. Metroid isn’t new. I’ve played so many games. I’ve seen so many conventions. Cleverness and skill and joy and wonder are about the best I can expect. That anyone can expect who has been around as long as I have.
There just isn’t a lot out there which feels new anymore. There aren’t any more revelations. There’s no new life to discover.
But perhaps there is.
And perhaps it’s not in Japan?
Who would have thought.
It’s not that this game is anything so totally original that it should — taken as a mass of parts — be as much of a breakthrough as Zelda. We’ve seen most of the elements here in at least some form before, for years on end. Some of the incarnations perhaps aren’t even all that different.
Half-Life was a step away from its FPS roots, and toward a more evolved gaming sensibility — and look at where that got it. Metroid Prime, I suppose, a person could consider the next logical step in this direction. Except that when you pull its laces, this is something else entirely.
I guess the way one could put it is that what this game feels like is something close to a culmination of what we’ve learned over the past thirty years of game design. Someone managed to boil it down and make The Game — or something like it. After all of the struggling since the last checkpoint, suddenly we’ve got progress. And we’re allowed to move on.
I’ve not played Eternal Darkness yet, but it’s worth noting again that this game was developed by an American studio, with aid from Nintendo. I imagine it’s got its flaws, but it still sounds like that game did a hell of a lot more right than most games have been doing lately. And like it had a solid vision to it.
Edit:
Nintendo has been doing a lot for the industry lately. They’ve gone through some pretty huge changes in attitude since the glory days of the NES, and now seem to be pretty much content to be Nintendo. I keep harping on that Q-fund thing of Yamauchi’s, but I feel it’s a lot more important than it looks. It fits right in with the recent “apprenticeship” system of game design that Miyamoto’s been pioneering, and what Nintendo’s been doing with second and third parties.
They’ve got the money and the expertise, so they’re investing it in the next generation. They won’t have it forever. Miyamoto won’t be around forever. Nintendo won’t be. But the art will remain, the skills will flourish. And maybe someone else will march on to victory, birthed from the seeds of that knowledge and support.
Sure, Nintendo is acting in Nintendo’s best interest — but they don’t have to do it in such an enlightened way. The fact that they are, says mountains to me and sets a tremendous example for the rest of the industry.
I think we’re closing in on a new era here. And it’s not going to come from where we expect. The old guard is starting to break down. The entire old infrastructure.
Just look at all of the shit happening in the industry right now. If you’re clinging to the old ways, it’s bad news. And it’s pretty scary. But there’s a new wind in the air, and just about everyone is clueless about it so far. If there’s any time to block one’s sails, I think this is it.
And dammit, I want a copy of this soundtrack.
Fragility
Agh! Ah! ho, ho, ho! ooo! hah! oh, my. Yes. Oh, jeez. This is incredible. The Fragile, I mean — eek. Holy…
The downward spiral and this album are a mobius strip. The Fragile succeeds amazingly in breaking from the “nin formula” and exploring new territory, the occasional subtle reference thrown in to what has come before. It begins where TDS left off, with some gradual recovery, followed by a re-breakdown of sorts. Finally, there’s a very ominous ending, as at the end of a fatalistic movie, bringing the listener back to the beginning of TDS again.
I swear I’ve never heard anything like this. Chamber music about the nature of futility.
I’m… shivering.
Dream Date
Trent Reznor appeared twice last night on Mtv — I tolerated the channel long enough to tape both performances, as well as any few Janeane Garofolo frames which popped up in between (hey, the tape was already in there) and the three or four Dreamcast commercials which aired.
The interview: Kurt Loder asked him about all of the background vocals on the album, and Trent explained that when they were working on the thing, at 12:00 at night, they’d just go across to the local bar and grab a bunch of drunk guys to yell and mumble into the microphones, creating an atonal mess.
“We assembled what I think is the most atonal group of females I’ve ever heard… I hope… they aren’t… they’re not watching this now, but they were… comically horrendous.”
David Bowie showed up, and gave quite a dignified speech. Janine Garofolo, as mentioned, was perpetually around. And the crowd was insane during Trent’s performance — just from the shouting, you’d think it’d be the Beatles playing. It was really kind of hard to hear the song, and the band weren’t entirely in sync, it seemed — like they only started practicing a week or two before. But all in all, it fell together pretty well.
The band, when they finally showed up, two and a half hours or so into the show, were introduced by Johnny Depp — though he didn’t give much of an intro. He was introduced by Chris Rock along with a mention of his appearance in the new Tim Burton movie. Immediately I guessed he was showing up to introduce nin — why else shove him out there? But all he did was stalk out on stage, say something to the effect of “here are nine inch nails,” and then immediately leave. huh.
Nin played what I presume to be “the fragile” — it didn’t sound too bad, from what I could tell. Trent seemed kinda’ nervous. Forgot the lyrics near the beginning and started laughing, but recovered, sorta’. Interesting setup, with large metal arms opening and closing around the band, zig-zags of flourescent lights affixed to their undersides. Lots of cellos and things in the background.
The Fragile (the song) is mostly a kinda’ quiet bit; about halfway through, at least in the live version, things started to get a bit tedious. I think Trent forgot the lyrics to a section altogether; he seemed to be getting a bit flustered; the music was getting softer, and the crowd was getting noisier. Plus it was an attempted live recreation — So it’s hard to tell.
These are the lyrics, to the best I can figure [and here are the correct ones]:
The Real Thing
My word — Trent’s new single is… accessible. It sounds at once more pop-metally than I’d ever associate with nin (other than in the PHM era) and portentous of something “important.” I’m really curious, now, about The Fragile.
Strictly on an associative standpoint, it almost sounds like Trent is playing Faith No More songs and being produced by Richard D. James — although I mean this in a better way than it sounds.
I like the splendid, ironic bitterness in Starfuckers, Inc., now that it’s actually sunk in. Hehe — he plays the part well, too. I was wondering why the heck he did put the Carly Simon reference in there. I missed entirely his sarcastic tone.
Hehe — probably his most obviously “political” song. It’s hilariously, bluntly witty, when I read the lyrics.
Hi, there.
Riders On the Storm
It’s strange how “last albums” always sound completely appropriate as such. You can hear what was going on, here. They sound tired, beaten down, burned-out. They sound like they’ve given up, and have pulled all of their remaining energy to make one last effort, to make one more really good album. I really like “Hyacinth House” — that shows, especially, what I mean.
This album is really good, in a resigned, tired, out-of-touch way. It doesn’t sound like the Doors, but then the Doors didn’t sound like the Doors at all anymore after the Soft Parade. It’s got a completely different vibe and musical focus than anything else they did. While early on, on the first three albums, they had a lot of energy and were focused on writing inventively, doing things which had never been done before, here, on L.A.Woman, they plod on in a constant, non-stop mumble of music which sounds only sloppy the first few times you listen to it.
But it’s different. There’s more to it than that — it’s just the listener is so used to the Doors jumping out, making a scene, and showing off their music, that when the doors turn inwards, blatantly ignore everyone around them, and huddle in a corner quietly, it’s a little bit of a jolt. You get to wonder what happened, what they’re doing. It doesn’t sound right to you. They should be coming to you — you shouldn’t have to go look for them. They should be on stage, and you have to go look around, only to find them tired out, sitting in a small room in some house somewhere on the other end of town, telling you to leave them alone.
After listening to the album about four or five times, it really begins to sink in.
Where everyone else ended, it seems, with some big bang of closure (the Beatles, with the second side of Abbey Road, culminating in a song titled “The End”) or just fizzled, it’s spooky, in context, to hear the final song on the final Doors album, “Riders on the Storm.” It’s such an unconventional album-closer for anyone, but most especially the bombastic, theatrical Doors.
Jim’s death was really timed well, also. It’s all very curious; there’s little question as to why such a mythology has built up around the band. Any way you look at it, the whole deal is just plain creepy. And Jim never even heard the album — the last thing he did which had anything to do with the Doors was sing the final vocal take to Riders on the Storm, which was not only the last track on the album but also the final track they had to record. And it was the final track on the last album they were obligated to make under their contract; with the recording of that track, they were free. Then he suddenly left for Paris right off, practically as soon as the track was recorded, not even hanging around so they could all finish up the album post-production together, something they had always done as a group. The album soon was a hit, only there was no Jim. While the other three doors did interviews and talked to the press and got excited about their success, and while they were preparing new material, suddenly re-energized, Jim was in Europe somewhere. But nobody seemed to notice. The other three Doors never said anything, because nobody really asked. Everyone just assumed Jim was hanging around somewhere, and never thought about it too much. Then he suddenly just… died. Only two people saw his body, and the physician gave only the vague diagnosis that “his heart stopped.” Not that he had a heart attack, but just that he was no longer alive. And he was buried there, in Paris, in a sealed coffin, an ocean away from where everyone thought he had been for the past few months.
It’s all very odd. It seems almost hard to believe, just from how everything was timed and the entire lack of details in some important places, with the details in the remaining places being out-of-character and strange. It’d be hard to write a more peculiar, creepy, and mysterious scenario for the end of a band.
It almost seems like some grand script was being acted out in real life by the band. 1971 almost seems manufactured, somehow, as if they all sat around somewhere saying “we’re not doing well right now — how can we make sure nobody will forget us? I know — we’ll kill Jim off, suddenly and mysteriously. But how do we make anyone care? Well, we have to scrape up the energy to write one more album — a good one, the way we used to make them. This one has to be great.” Then, being masters of dramatics, they composed the album not only well, but in exactly the right way that, in retrospect, it would send shivers up and down a person’s spine, even though until people heard of Jim’s death it would sound fresh and new, as if the Doors were finally back again, thereby creating enough of a huge sensation that people would be genuinely shocked when Jim turned up dead.
That whole period in American history was sort of strange, that way. It’s no wonder we have such a wacko-conspiracy culture these days, after having gone through those years.
The piece “L’America” is enjoyable for me, as well — that is another crucial track in establishing L.A.Woman as an unnerving album, just from its creepy “Night on Bald Mountain” tone, occasionally lapsing strangely into other musical styles.
Almost every track on the album is a variation on the “epic” theme they used to reserve for about one song per album (the closing track) earlier on. Almost all of them drone on at length, rather than consisting of tight, compact, efficiently-composed-and-arranged verses, choruses, and bridges. It all creates a similar blended, “here it all is — this is all the rest you’ll get out of us” effect that side two of Abbey Road, to compare that album again, makes, only in a much subtler way. The whole album of L.A.Woman is amazingly subtle in comparison to what someone would probably expect from the Doors. But then “Riders on the Storm” is suddenly tight, thoroughly thought-out, relatively short, and clear. And it just fades out with quiet noises of rain and some unnerving tones.
The lyrics to many of the songs on the album also allude to the resignation which followed the album and some of the problems the band were having anyway at that point.
“I need a brand new friend who doesn’t bother me. . .
I want a brand new friend who doesn’t need me. . .”“Riders on the storm —
Into this house we’re born,
into this world we’re thrown. . .like a dog without a bone,
an actor out on loan,
riders on the storm. . .”
We’re only here for a while, and then we have to return to there from whence we came.
It Comes Down To This
I just listened to the Sin and TPD singles again; I’ve not really listened to Trent Reznor in a few months. Whew — I’d almost forgotten how amazing a musician that man is. No wonder he spurred me into music. Just listening to PHM-era songs is akin to swimming in a river of inspiration and energy. His material is so ridiculously simple, yet impossibly effective, that all I can think when I hear a nin song is “I could do that,” and I really want to try, as well. I’ve strayed somewhat lately, but I guess I can’t help returning to nin as home base. . .
The contrast of nin and the Doors is great, as well — while Trent is all keyed-up and neurotically precise, as I am, Jim is all laid-back and more lenient, musically, while still not sparing any melodicism or rhythm. Then there’s Elfman, to amplify the inherent playfulness behind a lot of nin and Doors material.
It’s all fun. I’d forgotten about that. Music is fun.