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By Reuben Ham

March 22, 2004

Rock Star Quote of the Week:

“Who wants politics in music? I find politics the single most uninspiring, unemotional, insensitive activity on this planet.”

-- Adam Ant

For anyone who's ever been stretched out in room ten-o-nine, drunk in an alleyway, or headed cross-country For A Girl, Reuben Ham presents Mixtape For A Friend: The Soundtrack to Ridiculous Romantic Idealism; or, 'VELVET really is a music column. Honest.' Plus! Reader mail!

Dear C.,

You need these tracks right now.

Why?

THE ROLLING STONES – Shine A Light, Exile On Main St. (1972)

Because you convinced me to listen to Exile a second time and find the tunes. Because now I can't stop listening to this penultimate number, and still can't decide whether it's a white-robed gospel love-in, a sordid tryst on a bar-room floor, or a little of both. Because you've been a 'late-night friend'. Because I've left you 'in the cold grey dawn'. Because crypto-literary philosophical nonsense will always be bettered by a I-IV-V chord progression, sneering guitars, anachronistic choirs and a grimily-haloed frontman with a shit-spattered rose between his teeth.

DROP NINETEENS – Angel, Delaware (1992)

Because it's the greatest cover of a Madonna song ever. Because everything here is played/sung through a mouthful of steel-wool. Because it's so utterly, deliriously over-the-top and out-of-control—with its Halen-esque gee-tar runs and MY BLOODY VALENTINE vox-worship, its simultaneous sense of urgency and apathy, its 'aww, how sweet' melody, its delicious use of the word 'baby', its squealing, weeping fuzzboxes coming apart during the coda, and its boyishly Zen plea to an 'angel' in the midst of all the waves and the noise and the filth and the drama. Because I'm hoping that NYC is like this for you. Because more people should know about this album. Because shoegaze must make a comeback and we shall form the vanguard, because you will be drafted into my band so as to look pretty onstage and stomp on pedals. Guitar proficiency negotiable.

LEONARD COHEN – First We Take Manhattan, I'm Your Man (1988)

Because its stutter-stop shuffle provides ample opportunity to perform 'the robot' and other dance moves loaded with gravitas and cheap beer. Because Lenny is very serious and all and we should not giggle at his intention to 'take Manhattan' and conquer the world with love and poetry and cigarettes and cheesy girly backing singers. Because this song does everything possible to make itself a laughing-stock and succeeds, contrarily, in kicking voluminous ass, in being sleazy, dangerous, sincere, socially-conscious, tongue-in-cheek, joyous and broken all at once. Because you are in NYC and I'm being obvious and lazy.

TOM WAITS – I'll Take New York, Franks Wild Years (1987)

Because my lazy obviousness knows no bounds. Because this is Tom doing his impression of a drunken Sinatra, and since drunkenness and Sinatra are two of my favourite things, the result is, frankly, gorgeous. Because you should indulge and sing along, 'I want the moon and stars but I'll take New York' being the best lyric you've never sung along to. Because I know you're treating the city to a brand of decadence unlike anything detailed here—so much more subtle and sinister. Because you should admit that you are a Bacchic rogue, that Milton's Satan dresses in tweed and listens to THE GO-GO'S.

BELINDA CARLISLE – Heaven Is A Place On Earth, Heaven On Earth (1988)

Because, as you should know by now, this is a brilliant, underappreciated, misunderstood pop song. Because there is more going on here than 'You're pretty / Jump on me'; because it's fraught with ontological angst, seduced by the hedonistic promise of the present, happy to fuck in cemeteries, to rut in sweat and dirt without fear of the worm, happy to be with him/her in paradise for three minutes now than for eternity later—because this is the very essence of rock'n'fuckingroll. Because the melody is sweet. Because Belinda is cute. Because you taught me, to an even greater extent, that there is nothing wrong with pop, with a good time, with over-analyzing cheesy arena-gum songs. Because our band shall cover this.

TEENAGE FANCLUB – Don't Look Back, Grand Prix (1995)

Because this is possibly the best power-pop song since 'September Gurls'. Because you don't give these bliss-dealing Scots enough credit. Because you shouldn't turn to gaze at the pillar of salt that is Mississippi. Because one could die happy in a city destroyed by fire from the sky with this candy-rain bursting from one's headphones. Because the only thing better than a perfect chord-change is a pretty girl. Because the only thing better than a pretty girl is a pretty girl set to a perfect chord-change.

THE SUNDAYS – She, Static & Silence (1997)

Because sometimes Harriet Wheeler's childlike coo and David Gavurin's endlessly chiming guitar are all that is needed to constitute happiness. Because people need things to write about—evenings when 'she can't speak with the lights so low', when 'shoes grind kick like crazy & arms tangl[e] up with hair'—in order to produce songs such as this one. Because I want those things for you. Because listening to THE SUNDAYS doesn't exclude one from drinking Jack Daniel's and wrestling bears. Because we'll be okay.

WILCO – A Shot In The Arm, Summerteeth (1999)

Because 'We fell in love in the key of C / You followed me down the neck to D' seems like you. Because 'Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm / Something in my veins / Bloodier than blood' also seems like you. Because 'What you once were isn't what / You want to be any more' really seems like you. Because it's a great popsong and I needed an excuse to include WILCO in this list, and consequently searched for lyrical parallels between Jeff Tweedy's life and yours. Because this record isn't as lauded as much as Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and should be. Because WILCO are a power-pop band. Because you don't get to argue.

NICK DRAKE – Northern Sky, Bryter Layter (1970)

Because this is so ludicrously perfect (for you, now) that you've probably already turned to it in recent days. Because I don't listen to Nick anywhere near as much as I should, and this track is reason enough for me to stop playing Exile for a moment. Because talking about Drake is going to become very sad very quickly. Because we have beer—and pop, gorgeous pop—for this reason. Because it's a wonderful lead-in to…

LOU REED – Perfect Day, Transformer (1972)

Because it's a cliché, and one that you should embrace. Because someone from the other side of the world once sent me this on a mixtape and I wasted a year of my life. Because at least I wasted it to a good soundtrack. Because I will make you drink sangria in a park (on a bench) someday. Because you are the friend that 'keeps me hangin' on' with more tenacity than any other. Because that is, in a sense, occasion for melancholy. And smacked-out piano ballads. And beer.

BIG STAR – I'm In Love With A Girl, Radio City (1974)

Because I actually did fall in love with my girl to this song. Because it's been a good fucking omen for me. Because our mutual BIG STAR-worship drew me to you. Because Alex Chilton's naked, bejeweled paean is one of the most earnest, disarmingly beautiful declarations of intent in the history of songs-about-girls. Because the thought of Alex Chilton naked is funny. Because this article is supposed to be sort-of-serious.

THE ROLLING STONES – Rocks Off, Exile On Main St. (1972)

Because, like all ridiculous romantic idealists, I suspect that—when no music is playing—we both 'only get [our] rocks off while [we're] sleeping'. Because an exception might be made in the case of indulgence in beer/yellow jackets. Because rock'n'roll will always distract us…

xo

-R.

MAIL HIGHLIGHTS

'Malone' writes: I feel you've overlooked THE BIG LEBOWSKI, both in the amount of times the word "fuck" was said during the movie, and for the catchy and more often than not hilarious dialogue. Everyone has certain movies they love to quote, and there are movies out there that set the standard. THE BREAKFAST CLUB, WEIRD SCIENCE, and THE BIG LEBOWSKI...all very quotable.

RH: I knew someone would call me on the lack of Coenage in the piece. I'm actually [ASBESTOS]not a big fan of the Brothers' work[/ASBESTOS], but LEBOWSKI is by far their best that I've witnessed. As for its claim to the 'King of Fuck' title—281 times in 117 minutes, or 2.4 times per minute. An impressive showing, but no match for MADE's 274 in 94 minutes, closer to 3 times per minute.

Paul Devlin writes: 'Loved the piece, finally I find there is someone out there who liked MADE. In Britain it was probably seen by about 20 people, myself included, and I'm the only one who laughed. I'm a film critic on these shores and am desperately trying to get my friends to watch more talkie-movies but always end up with the same complaint, "But nothing happens, they just talk at each other." I despair.'

RH: Nothing happens? RESERVOIR DOGS has blood! MADE has tits! CONTE D'ETE has... okay, you got me.

'Anyway, here's a couple that I think would nicely complement your list.

RUSHMORE.

Clipped dialogue it may have but Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson always manage to get a laugh.

RH: I fall all over myself for that film. Love it with a faintly creepy intensity. BOTTLE ROCKET is distinctly underwhelming, THE ROYAL TENEBAUMS asphyxiates upon its own quirkiness, and RUSHMORE is maybe one of the best ten films. Ever. Game over. Gotta love your Wes. I almost mentioned his crowning achievement in the piece, but decided it was so much more than a 'dialogue movie'. A sacred writ? A way of life?

'BEAUTIFUL GIRLS

Scott Rosenberg at his best (KANGAROO JACK - why?!). Men talk about girls in a surprisingly insightful way, while still getting beered up and fighting.'

RH: I remember it as good, not great. It is, however, a glittering milestone in my unrequited romance with Natalie Portman.

'Keep up the good work'

RH: Keep reading, man.

'Liam' writes: 'I enjoyed reading your article today and a movie you haven't listed came to mind. Its called GHOST WORLD... that one about the two nerdy teenage cynics and one falls in love with Steve Buscemi?'

RH: I like Buscemi, but hate the film. Just loathe it. Sorry. Something about those two sullen, unexceptional girls sitting with all four thumbs up their asses criticizing everything for not being as disenchantedly mediocre as themselves just annoys the fuck out of me. If I wanted to be around this, I'd hang out with Slipknot fans. Also: Scarlett Johansson as a nerd? Yeah, and Rachael Leigh Cook was like totally ugly in SHE'S ALL THAT until she lost the glasses.

Andrew Garda writes: 'First – yes, this movie [MADE] kicks ass and no, enough people don’t give it props. That said, have you ever watched it with director’s commentary? I ask for two reasons – 1) They got a telestrator. So they draw all over the screen. Which leads to 2) during one scene (I believe it’s the one between Vince and Favs in the penguin house, which I think is where you took your dialogue clip from) they use the telestrator to count the ‘fucks’.'

RH: Okay, this caused me to become entirely too excited. I popped in my DVD again, prepared to cue the commentary, and... shit. My Region 4 copy of MADE sports many things—featurettes, outtakes, deleted scenes, and... a distinctly commentary-shaped hole.

'Genius.'

RH: Region 1-dwelling bastard.

Send love, profanity, beer, and Region 1 copies of movies I already have in Region 4 format to the man with the poetically mysterious e-mail alias at shadowrain@hotmail.com.

© Reuben Ham

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