The Cribs, “Mirror Kissers”
This literal band of brothers work their British fingers to the bone and shred their vocal chords in this ode to…well, mirror kissers I guess. I’m not quite sure if it’s about narcissism or snorting that booger sugar but I do know that the ragged guitars, bassless breakdown and the spot-on chorus shouting is enough to keep my ears happy as I kiss Oregon goodbye. Note: I saw these guys live a couple months ago and they were horrible--stick to the records if you’re interested.
The Remains, “Don’t Look Back”
This song makes me wanna drive fast until 1:05 when it deviates from its original course and changes up to a call and response preacher-man rant. Not to worry, the band returns to form at about 1:55, kicking into high gear and bashing away on the simple riff and title line.
The Tammys, “Egyptian Shumba”
This old girl-group tune is really strange but, it’s totally awesome pandemonium. These chicks wanna dance Egyptian style (whatever that means) and though I can’t see their dance, I imagine it as sort of an uninhibited shaking with no real sense of form or style--a glorious, liberated mess oblivious to any and all consequence. Shrieking in joy, like sexed-up monkeys over a calliope-style keyboard phrase, they go bananas and take this willing listener along for the ride. It’s their party and they’ll scream if they want to. I might do the same.
The Rolling Stones, “Monkey Man”
Some say that Let it Bleed was the high point of the Stones’ career, the creative and cultural culmination of their sound. With the passing of Brian Jones a couple months before the album’s release, that argument is valid. Exactly what this song is about is anyone’s guess, but what’s undeniable is the shift at 2:32 in which the band unites around an infectious groove and lays back as Keith Richards works the slide on his guitar and sets up Nicky Hopkins for a beautiful piano solo. This is one of those moments that defies explanation; it is what it is.
Charlatans, “Codine”
A dragging sense of lo-fi fatigue is communicated by the fuzzy, echoing guitar and the wearily sung words on this old tune. I’m picking up what this dude’s putting down and when he sings “I feel like I’m dying, and I wish I was dead,” I believe him.
The Groupies, “Primitive”
Like a creeping cad peering through squinted eyes, the singer on this song skulks across the track and claims to ‘love and live’ in a primitive manner. The way he says it, in a leering whine, is cool enough. But if it weren’t for the discreetly magnificent guitar work, unobtrusive harmonica, shaking percussion and inconspicuous bass (with a treble-laden laxity), the song would be decidedly unremarkable.