Flak Magazine: Got No Songs on the Radio, Tracks 16-21, 01.31.03

It was quite a year for John Darnielle, the Mountain Goats' prime mover. In February, he released what two of the writers of this feature think is the year's best album, All Hail West Texas. Then three full-length CDs (two of them reissued) of singles, compilation appearances and rarities hit the stores, followed by Martial Arts Weekend, from a collaboration with Franklin Bruno, The Extra Glenns. In November, though, Darnielle put out perhaps his most courageous work, Tallahassee.

Like All Hail West Texas, Tallahassee is a concept album; it tells the story of a fictional, alcohol-loving couple known to Mountain Goats fans as the Alphas. But unlike All Hail, Tallahassee is a true studio album, with fancy Vaughn Oliver artwork, slick production and session musicians. Despite a radical departure from what's worked so well in the past for Darnielle, the album doesn't disappoint.

Clocking in at two minutes, "See America Right" flat out rocks. It juts out from the rest of Darnielle's catalog, packing potential in the same way that "Subterranean Homesick Blues" hinted there was a hell of a lot more to Bob Dylan than what fans heard before he went electric. Fellow Extra Glenn Bruno lays down garage rockin' guitar licks that aren't even hinted at on Martial Arts Weekend. Darnielle finishes the song with a terrific couplet, "My love is like a dark cloud full of rain/ It's always right there up above you," before punctuating the song with a, "Hey!" (another Moment) that gives way to a glorious Bruno guitar solo. It clocks in under two minutes and pummels the shit out of anything those overhyped New York bands will ever release. Did I mention Darnielle lives in Iowa? (— Eric Wittmershaus)

The same outcasts and underdogs who cherish Paul Westerberg's Replacements output know that when he's in top form, they also can find solace — or maybe someone they know — in his solo material.

"Got You Down" shows Westerberg making the most out of a basic premise. He isn't the first musician to write a song about an extramarital affair, but Westerberg makes "Got You Down" different by using deceptive lyrics, some of which can be interpreted a couple of ways — and both make perfect sense. The best example comes during the bridge, where "He knows you like the back of his hand" comes across like a cliché that's meant to be taken at face value. But given the context of the song — about an elusive guy playing mind games with his mistress, whom Westerberg is addressing — the line takes on a more abusive and physical connotation.

Armed only with an electric guitar, Westerberg sings in a voice so rough and wounded it's almost as though he's the one being victimized. But that's Westerberg — sincerity wrapped in self-doubt, humor, pessimism or astute observation is what fans expect from him. (— Chris M. Junior)

The pleading slide guitar, nimble banjo work and tentative lurch of acoustic strums featured on "Promising Light" constitute, yes, a beautiful arrangement that reflects and reiterates the regret of the boy-done-wrong lyrics. But they also present a smokescreen of rural traditionalism.

Home-recordist Sam Beam (who is Iron & Wine all by himself) whispers out ambivalence, wanderlust, loss and desperation that are very now, but also timeless. That is to say, he's not a throwback capable only of period pieces. He's a songwriter with a stunning gift for mood and melody who currently happens to dress his heartbreak pop in country finery (although one suspects the song would work as well cloaked in cocktail strings or a beatbox and a Moog). The sea chantey trappings of the libretto similarly serve as a red herring. At its crux this jam is the Ballad of the Repentant Commitmentphobe, e.g., "all you took/ only my freedom to fuck the whole world," spoken gently. Sounds pretty now, huh? (— Wayne Lewis)

Singer-songwriter Mason Jennings is heralded for his eclecticism. Like Beck, he's known for varying his sound appreciably from album to album. Further, he's an accomplished writer, and can glide from dopey romanticism to cynicism with ease. Century Spring finds him in a more romantic mood — the production, more polished than his previous albums, affirms this. "I believe if you fall in love, you should jump right in," he informs us on one track.

It's not all moonbeams and roses, though; "Bullet" finds him in a bitter spirit (and with Jennings, bitter is better.) "This is a bullet from a gun called what the fuck," Jennings begins over the bouncy country twang of his guitar. "Funny how goodbye can sound so sad sometimes/ Today it sounds happy, like a nursery rhyme/ And you're not Cinderella, so don't forget your shoes/ I've never been so lonely as when I was with you."

The song is suitably upbeat, catchy, and Jennings' vocals are direct and stinging. It helps that his leathery voice, like other great lyricists, is an acquired taste. It forces him to concentrate on his phrasing, and he does — each barb is wickedly surprising. (— Chris Hickman)

20. "Earthcrusher" | Mr. Lif | I, Phantom | Def Jux | 3:47

I, Phantom ends with three songs detailing the rise of mankind through technology, the nuclear holocaust that results and its grim aftermath. "Earthcrusher" is the second part of the trilogy, where producer Insight lays down a vicious apocalyptic beat while Lif raps poetic about the end of the world:

Napalm scorched your backs/ and you ask/ where your tax dollars went to/ So now they have sent you/ a demonstration/ devastation/ four billion degrees of presentation/ courtesy of some major corporations/ you might have had stock in ...

Lif spares no one in his blame-laying over the current sorry state of affairs before putting the coming disaster in perspective for anyone too self-centered/apathetic to get it:

In this atmosphere to which nobody adapts/ no more petty crimes, nickel sacks/ rap shows or raves/ sunshine or bullshit holidays/ just radiation and tidal waves

Each of Lif's verses concludes with the word "earthcrusher," which gives way to more of that terrific production work and a newscaster updating the tally of nations struck by nuclear weapons. But the song separates itself from the rest of Lif's work by calling the listener out:

We supported this through silence and complacency/ while our government ruled the world under masonry/ made every nation regret their adjacency

The album ends with Lif lashing out with a nuclear assault on the United States and Russia (which, of course, rhymes with "earthcrusher.") The song fades out as the sound of a growing mushroom cloud pairs with Insight's frenetic record scratching. (— Eric Wittmershaus)

21. "The Last DJ" | Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers | The Last DJ | Warner Bros. Records | 3:27

As we stated in the introduction to this feature, finding fault with commercial radio is as easy as getting heartburn from a big bowl of chili. And even though the state of the airwaves is such a rich topic for songwriters, not many bother to address it in their music.

And then there's Tom Petty, who doesn't bite his tongue when something related to the music industry gets under his skin. In "The Last DJ," he laments radio's current condition, singing about an air personality who longs for the old free-form days and won't adhere to his corporate-owned station's rigid play list and rules. Petty also takes a few shots at the "boys upstairs" for making consumers pay "for what you used to get for free" — i.e., satellite radio.

Petty's customary clarity and brevity are evident in "The Last DJ" — not once does he disrupt the breezy melody with an avalanche of wordy complaints. Even those who disagree with Petty's viewpoint would have a hard time not singing along. (— Chris M. Junior)

Introduction
Tracks 1-5 | Tracks 6-10
Tracks 11-15 | Tracks 16-21
Personal annotated mixes:
Lavina Lee | Wayne Lewis
Yancey Strickler | Eric Wittmershaus