#not that i can picture a redneck casually browsing tumblr

[stopmeifyouvealreadyheardthisone]

History: America’s Greatest Hits

After a brief (and by “brief”, I mean “about 72 hours”) interlude, during which I attempted to figure out what was causing the strange double-tracked drums and vocals, I’m finally back. It turns out that something about the fact that I plugged the turntable into the “mic in” port instead of the “line in” port was causing it to play back twice, with a delay of a few milliseconds between each play. I’m kind of disappointed that ABBA didn’t sound like that all the time, to be honest. 

Tragically, I was attempting to write another post when I noticed that it was time to go to bed. I clicked “save as draft”, but apparently Tumblr requires you to confirm that you want to save your work (shoutout to poor design) after telling it that you wanted to save your work. So when I turned my computer off for the night, I lost the whole post. So let’s pretend that it contained anything worth reading and have a brief moment of wordless animal shrieking to mourn its passing. 

There, didn’t that feel good? Don’t you just feel clean on the inside? Just (he said, shoehorning-it-in-ingly) like the album cover on the outside?

Anyway... on to, I guess, the record. I seem to remember talking shit about California and by extension, Warner Bros. for putting a picture of Burbank on the center label. And the phrase, “Burbank: If You Have to Ask, You Can’t Afford to Live Here”. Because I know very little about California. Burbank in the 70s could be a mine-laden hellscape for all I know. I like that idea better than a paradise, actually. Roving gangs of rival record company executives careening through the streets in armored cars, swerving around bombed-out buildings, taking potshots at anyone with a boombox. 

It’s just what they want you to see! 

The cover has a little brown stain in the corner, but it doesn’t seem to have touched even the inner sleeve, which was a welcome surprise after how warped that ABBA record was. I have hope for this collection again. The vinyl is still in pretty good shape, with a smudged fingerprint or something on it, but no scratches or anything. I don’t know why I’m grading it when I should be listening to it, though. 

There’s really no point in reviewing “A Horse with No Name”. Trying to pretend I’ve never heard it would be impossible. I grew up on classic rock radio, so this song has been part of my life since I was a kid. But for those of you who grew up in Saudi Arabia (i.e. under Iraq), “A Horse with No Name” is a sort of swirly, trippy song. I’m trying to avoid the obvious desert, but this is such a West Coast kind of song that it’s really difficult. It seems to deal with a loss of identity in isolation. 

“I Need You” departs from the parched, wide-open wasteland almost immediately with a lush piano/guitar arrangement and a pretty love song. I’m not sure if it’s become a cliche because of this song, or if it’s been a cliche since Ol’ Billy Shakes was trying to get into womens’ petticoats, but I rather enjoy the mournful chorus: 

“I need you

Like the flower needs the rain

You know, I need you

Guess I’ll start it all again”

I can’t help but feel that it’s excessively literal there, because “You know, I need you/Guess I’ll start it all again/You know, I need you” is the backbone of the entire chorus, repeated so many times that it overshadows the much more interesting lines. 

Up next is a “by special request” song. What does that mean? Did a sick fan send the label a letter begging them to put “Sandman” on the record? Did the band really like this song? It’s certainly not bad. Keeps up the melancholy vibe from “I Need You”, but occasionally dives into jaunty pickin’ sessions. I’m reminded of a cartoon hillbilly who punctuates his stories with lightning-quick banjo rolls instead of spitting tobacco juice. 

You know, because kids might think spitting black slime is cool (spoiler: it totally is. Who do you think was the dinosaur all the kids loved in Jurassic Park? The T. rex? The velociraptor? Fuck no, it’s the one that eats Newman.)

“Ventura Highway” is the first America song I ever heard and bothered to look up. I heard it as a breakbeat remix, which fits the uneasy, shaky rhythm of the song strangely well. I’m just noticing that the entire band seems to be singing, as well as the fact that they make some mention of alligators flying... for some reason... surely nothing to do with California’s role as a hotspot for the American counterculture in the 60s and 70s. They seem to make a precognitive dig at Prince changing his name, as well. 

“Wishin’ on a falling star

Watchin’ for the early train

Sorry boy, but I’ve been hit by 

Purple rain

Aw, come on Joe, you can always

Change your name

Thanks a lot son, just the same.”

Is this album called History, or Prophecy?

“Don’t Cross the River” picks up the pace again, this time with a kind of folksy, bluegrass-y banjo reel courtesy of a one Henry Diltz. Whoever that is, I hope he made a decent chunk of change off of this one, because it wouldn’t be anywhere near as chippper without his pluckin’. I’m noticing that almost all of the tracks on here are credited to different people, with America mostly appearing as “all other instruments”. Was the name America a sort of play on the general population of their instrumental section? 

Another thing I’m noticing looking at the sleeve is that all of these songs were remixed by George Martin. I’m not sure if it’s the George Martin, but if it is, then his version of “Only in Your Heart” makes me wonder how he really felt about the breakup of the Beatles three years earlier. From the plunky piano to the group harmonies to the simple message about sticking with the one you love. Until the song seems to end, and with a slinky guitar dive, it segues into a gorgeously thick electric guitar solo that takes us out of Side 1. 

Something I’m noticing as I slice these recordings up (I’m recording a whole side at a time, then splitting up the tracks all at once) is that the songs on this record flow into each other with almost no gaps. That strikes me as odd for a greatest hits compilation, since the songs were sometimes recorded years apart. Just something odd that I found interesting.

And now for something that made me twitch a little bit. It’s off-center. It’s not properly aligned. It’s on the B-side. And it’s fucking upside-down. Ugh. Come on, Mom. I know it was legal for you to be shitfaced while you were getting ready to head off to college, but don’t embarrass yourself. 

Where to begin with “Muskrat Love”... What the fuck, guys? Honestly, who were you hoping to hide your teenage backseat power ballad from with this shit? At best, this song is about straight-up Discovery Channel animal porn. At worst, it’s... just weird. The singer can’t quite pull off a sexy baby-makin’ croon, and the harmonies just drive home the point that multiple people signed off on the lyrics to this song, and put real effort into the melody, and decided that it would be A-okay to veil the ordinary boy-meets-girl-and-they-bang-in-a-pile-of-hay-or-something romance behind a nature documentary. Bloodhound Gang only pulled it off because they also penned such lyrical epics as “New Vagina” and “Kiss Me Where It Smells Funny”. I’m so bewildered by the inclusion of this song that I missed half of the next one. 

“Tin Man” seems to be a return to sanity. Sort of. I don’t know what it’s talking about, except that the Tin Man got the short end of the stick in The Wizard of Oz. One verse, then two choruses. No solo. I don’t get it.

“Lonely People” might be a return to form. A toe-tapping tragedy for all the broken hearts out there. I’m not sure why they felt the need to go to London to record this one, because apart from losing some of the open, airy, jam-room quality of their earlier songs, I can’t hear much of a difference. Notably, this was produced and arranged from the beginning by George Martin. Perhaps this was his master plan for America: studio perfection.

A different singer comes in to take over lead vocal duties on the next song, a love song about a man desperately hoping to stay out of the dreaded Friend Zone, despite putting almost no effort into his relationship. Better luck next time, unnamed vocalist. Your voice would be better served standing outside “Sister Golden Hair”’s bedroom window than in the studio making a song with literal doo-wops in it. This is another George Martin joint. Produced and arranged. I’m starting to think that maybe George Martin should wait until they’ve recorded the music the way they want before he puts his polished pop hands on it. 

“Flyin’ me back to Memphis

Gotta find my Daisy Jane

Well the summer’s gone

And I hope she’s feelin’ the same

Well I left her just to roam the city

Thinkin’ it would ease the pain

I’m a crazy man and I’m playin’ my crazy game, game.”

You fucked up, man. That was unwise. Now Daisy Jane found another man and you just want her to keep the oven warm for you. Probably so you can put a single solitary bun in it. You wasteful piece of shit. Don’t you know there’s not-really-a-war going on?

The guitars in “Woman Tonight” can only be described in terms of that great classic, “Play That Funky Music”. As in, “they sound like ‘Play That Funky Music’.” There’s some little organ flourishes, but overall, the song is just another 70s bang-anthem. It seems that the gentlemen of America are much better at roamin’ and ramblin’ than they are at romancin’. At least this one has a happy ending. Or, I guess, a happy beginning/middle/end. Cuz it’s about bangin’. Although, reading a bit too far into the lyrics, this sounds like it could be a kind of toxic, jealous relationship. “I get the shivers up and down my spine/The only time I’m happy’s when I know she’s mine. So hold me, hold me tight. Hold me tight, woman tonight.” 

Mr. America, you have nothing to be insecure about. You have long hair, any one of three very snazzy 70s suits, and presumably own this place called Dirt-Pit Manor where you take all the women you bang. I think you can see one of them standing at the window, if I’m not mistaken. She seems to be standing in such a way as to not have full-frontal nudity on the inside sleeve of the album.  

Overall, I think I like America. There were some oddball choices for a Greatest Hits album, but since the oldest song on this record was only four years old at the time of pressing, I don’t think their career had really been long enough to actually warrant a Greatest Hits collection yet. It would be like Lorde doing one. Or Ed Sheeran, to use a more current example. Although, to my knowledge, Ed Sheeran started his career making music like this and then became a sad, ginger Irish cog in the American music factory. Oh, Ed. I think I stand alone in having an improved opinion of you after your Game of Thrones appearance. Because now you’ve been a part of something I enjoy, instead of just a bland, flabby pop song that plays on the radio literally everywhere in the known universe at least once per day. It is in-fucking-escapable. It makes me want to punch holes in infants. I cannot wait until they start promoting another musical equivalent of plain oatmeal so I can get sick of something new for a change.

Anyway... 

Music: chill vibes for long drives/10

Media: Dang it, Mom/10