For The Record by Sal Moriarty

Note: the thoughts put down here are about records, which are different than songs.

The idea of taking a song, envisioning the overall sound in my head, and then bringing the arrangement to life in the studio...well, that gives me satisfaction like nothing else. Brian Wilson

Mornin' Glory / Bobbie Gentry and Glen Campbell / 1968

This record is a master course in laid-back. A few drum licks to open, then that sweet Ovation guitar. I have not checked the credits, but that's Glen Campbell playing. Then the first words, and his flawless tenor, crooning:

Good mornin', mornin' glory

Good mornin', what's your story?

The production is lush, lots of strings, but set back. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was just impossible to overpower these two vocalists. When Campbell winds down his part in a low cry, Gentry eases in with that breathy voice. her stock-in-trade.

Oh, good mornin', sleepy baby

You know, I'm thiinkin' maybe

I love you even more today

It's all about atmosphere. Close your eyes, tell everyone around you to shut up, and be transported. It has similarities to the great Dionne Warwick/Burt Bacharach records from the same era. Sounded sophisticated to me as a kid. Still does.

Something in the Way / Nirvana / 1991

Like many things surrounding Nirvana frontman, Kurt Cobain, this song has mystery attached. What is it about? Best I can tell, it's the story – not a particularly linear one – of Cobain being homeless as a teen. There's much debate, in such circles, about the bridge mentioned in the lyrics. Evidently, it is important to some to know the exact bridge he is referring to; few things are more detrimental to art than literalists.

Nirvana, often purveyors of the loud-quiet-loud style of playing, where you start out banging away, settle down, then start banging away again (think Smells Like Teen Spirit or, of course, any number of songs by the Pixies). This record ain't that. They ramp up the intensity on the deceptively simple chorus, but there's no banging away on this record.

Cobain's guitar is raggedly exacting. Grohl plays sparse on drums. Same with Novoselic's bass. The harmonies are mournful. Kirk Canning's cello? No idea who came up with that, but the record would sound radically different without it. A masterstroke.

The lyrics are not abstract, just vague. The animals he traps, all become his pets. It's OK to eat fish, Cobain intones, cause they don't have any feelings. This record is it's own thing. You get the hint of where he's coming from, but much is left unsaid. For me, it makes for a compelling record.

Bring It On Home To Me / Sam Cooke / 1962

My favorite single record of all time.

The intro? I don't know who's playing the ostensibly simple piano, but he ain't tickling no ivories. Emphatic percussion. The stage is set. You're about to hear a grown man howl for the love he has to win back, and not just any man: The Great Sam Cooke. How could it get better? Well, throw Lou Rawls in there, singing like a soul possessed behind, and with, Cooke.

The vocals are stupefying. Obviously, gospel influenced stylistically. They ain't fooling around. Sam's gotta get that girl back and Lou is there to help in any way he can. You have to hear it.

The lyrics?

You know I'll always be your slave

Till I'm buried

Buried in my grave

Oh, honey

Bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Been there? Well, these titans are singing for you, brother.

The song ends with Cooke and Rawls wailing the word “yeah” back and forth, over and over and over. That alone is worth the price of admission. Powerful, powerful stuff. I don't wave my hands in the air much, but this song can do it for me.

I wouldn't trust a man not awed by this epic piece of American art.