Canon Fodder #10: Lying's Just A Habit, John

Lungfish - Talking Songs For Walking

I’ve been vocal about wanting this Lungfish album for a while, and goddamn was I delighted by a sponsored ad on Instagram from Dischord Records (I think? Maybe it was just a post, but I swear…) informing me they had new copies on vinyl available for a Bandcamp Friday. The CD and digital versions come with the band's debut EP attached, and no thanks. It’s not terrible, but I wanted a copy of Talking that starts with “Friend To Friend In Endtime,” lurches and snarls for eight more tracks, then ends with “Put Your Hand In My Hand.” I don’t want an earlier EP after to remind me this album didn’t just burst from the head of producer Ian MacKaye without prelude. Post-hardcore so deliberate, streamlined and authoritative it makes 13 Songs sound like…showbiz.

Joe Tex - I've Got To Do A Little Bit Better

Tex had such a chatty, improvisatory, sermon-like singing style that I’m still surprised that his only church experience was singing in the choir. But his music is so matter-of-fact and earthly in its aspirations and wisdom, that it’s not surprising he took whatever he stagecraft he saw from the pews and went right to the talent show. As profuse, surreal and wry as his advice and storytelling can be, the message boils down to “find somebody worth loving, and try not to be distracted by anything else.” This collection of hit singles and such starts off with six self-written slices of wisdom, including that being a “tramp” is family tradition (“why can’t I be like my daddy?/low-down and nasty"). Granted, by the end of side one, he’s singing “lying’s just a habit, John/ you can make it if you try” to the tune of “Twistin’ The Night Away,” so you’ll be forgiven if you think his perspective is underthought. Side two actually confirms it, Tex admitting he's got room for improvement on the title cut. But his love's forgiven him by the next track, and on the third, her letters are inspiring him to be a more effective, lethal soldier. A pair of covers (including Roger Miller!) negatively underscore how idiosyncratic a singer-songwriter he is, with the closing “S.Y.S.L.J.F.M. (The Letter Song)” a positive case in point. Tex may have been less stirring an R&B showman than Brown, Redding or Pickett, which helps explain his relative stature. But you’d have to go to a David Lee Roth interview to find a singer who loved holding court as much as Tex. And Tex did it on wax.

Jerry Butler - The Power Of Love

There’s a good chance I overrate Jerry Butler’s 70s albums. They’re not on Spotify, so it’s not like I can put five of them on a playlist and get brutal and specific breaking down just how much of his Ice Man shtick I need. But I love the way he exploits bombastic post-Motown backdrops (James Jamerson and other Funk Brothers are all over this thing) to make his anguished, full-throated holler seem conversational, and his deep cuts get eccentric rather than generic. When I’m looking at the back covers of cheap used records I haven’t heard by reliable artists, I take a lot of stock in colorful song titles. Only Joe Tex beats Butler for me, with The Power Of Love featuring “What Do You Do On A Sunday Afternoon,” “Too Many Danger Signs” and a smooth version of “That’s How Heartaches Are Made.” Johnny Bristol produces, Terry Callier & Larry Wade contributed to the songwriting. I’m sure this album felt familiar and downright MOR coming out the same year as Let’s Get It On, Innervisions and Call Me. While no individual track here could compete with the highlights of those albums, the whole of Power Of Love sounds remarkably accomplished and luscious today.

The Mekons - So Good It Hurts

So Good It Hurts often feels sold as the least essential album of the Mekons’ college-rock period, and I can see why. It's definitely familiar: another album with acidic but whimsical lyrics, pointed political slogans and pull-quotes from philosophers in the liners. And there's a relative lack of aggression in the music. It’s the wind up to The Mekons’ Rock & Roll, establishing how assured their sound had become before swinging for the big leagues. But it’s only in that context of abundance that this is anything other than a welcome, boisterous platter of proof that socio-economic awareness doesn’t have to get in the way of a good time. If there’s a few more island grooves for the rhythm section instead of spoken word interludes? I’m not mad about that. Compared to Vampire Weekend, those grooves are still punk as fuck.

Joni Mitchell - The Hissing Of Summer Lawns

I totally respect Mitchell’s decision to leave Spotify. If anything, I wish she and Neil Young would use their stature to help less powerful major label acts earn the right to leave as well! But only having access to Mitchell's work on cheap used vinyl means I haven’t had as many opportunities to engage with her work on a song-by-song basis. So far this album hasn’t hit me as hard as Court And Spark before it or Hejira after, but it’s a lovely, logical chapter in between, musically and lyrically suggesting a restless urge to break free of the LA milieu preceding the next album's weary road trip. While I’ve lost my passive-aggressive punk adolescent disdain for her mezzo-soprano voice and jazz-folk settings, glints of humorlessness and blinkered, judgmental piety still chafe. I sure don’t need an art-rock (ARP-rock?) chorale about about the “mythical devil of ever-present laws,” and I’m surprised more haven’t interrogated “The Jungle Line” - with its “cannibals of shuck and jive” - from an intersectional perspective, especially considering her dress-up on Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter. But critiques of boomer bravado and second-wave feminist cliches aside, this is so striking a soundscape I can’t blame her for feeling underappreciated.