Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Harvey Danger - Little Round Mirrors EP



            Though the bass has always been my passion, like every other cocky musician, I have occasionally attempted to widen my musical horizons via other instruments. During my senior year of high school, I once climbed behind a drum kit onstage to accompany a friend in covering “Little Round Mirrors” by Harvey Danger. I was able to hold a steady beat through to the end of the song, and my friend killed it on the piano, but a lack of monitors (and practice) made our performance rather unlistenable. Needless to say, I have since avoided drumming for an audience.
            Although I may have butchered it in the past, “Little Round Mirrors” remains an incredible song in my mind (when Harvey Danger is performing it, of course), and my favorite tune off of their final LP, Little by Little....[1] When I discovered the band had previously assembled an EP around that very track, I roamed the internet until I could purchase a physical copy. Three weeks later, I popped the disc into my car’s CD player and began exploring this small collection of music that speaks volumes about one of my favorite artists.
            Unlike most EPs, the tracks that make up Little Round Mirrors have been collected from multiple recording sessions and live performances, forming a sort of Harvey Danger collage. Rather than a single image, this record presents a larger impression of Harvey Danger during the time period of recording their final LP, Little By Little… As well as the title track, Little Round Mirrors includes a live David Bowie cover, an original composition with a reorganized lineup, and two live cuts of songs from Where Have the Merrymakers Gone? which feature reimagined arrangements and altered lyrics. 

            On paper, the track list looks like a pile of tunes thrown together at the last minute, but as one spin will tell you, there is method infused in the maddening shape of Little Round Mirrors.  Every piece is focused in a soft light, letting the energy flow from emotion rather than performance, a fact complemented by the prominent presence of keys in every song. Unifying the sound in such a manner lets each tune stand apart, giving its own view of Harvey Danger through a different lens: “We Drew the Maps” focuses on the contributions of bassist Aaron Huffman outside of his usual role, while “Oh! You Pretty Things” shows us the band working in the frame of another artist’s songwriting while spotlighting their newly-added organist, Rob Knop (who ostensibly does Bowie’s piece justice). Similarly, the last two tracks are old HD tunes reinterpreted by the band at a more mature moment in their timeline, fearlessly filtering the past into the present.
            Obviously, Harvey Danger grabs a whole handful of risk in releasing such a collection of music, but as Nelson puts it, “The only reason to be in Harvey Danger is for the pleasure we ourselves derive from it.”[2] Indeed, their audacity presents us with some exciting new perspectives, especially on the penultimate track “Wrecking Ball.” Although the song remains as quiet as its initial release on Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?, the instrumentation has been completely rearranged. Drums and bass have been swapped for a full but simple piano, and the cello dominates the atmosphere, sweeping through harmonies that bring the sadness in the song to life. This new instrumental background lets Sean Nelson’s vocal tap into the deepest reaches of sorrow, so that his lamentation of “Liberties I’ve taken take me nowhere” rings like the very voice of Grief itself.[3] This version of “Wrecking Ball” takes the ideas of a young, brash Harvey Danger and imbues it with the trials, mistakes, and lessons of their years as a band, giving the song both new meaning and new life.
            There are a ton of aspects to explore on this record, but no song stands more multifaceted than the opening track. Emphatically kicking off the EP, “Little Round Mirrors” is a dynamo of sound and sentiment that Nelson calls “one of the best things [Harvey Danger] ever did.”[4] Jeff Lin’s piano rolls like quiet waves over Michael Welke’s driving drums, while Aaron and a complementary horn section texture the piece with harmony and countermelodies against Nelson’s emphatic vocal. The lyrics of the song are deftly descriptive, as Nelson dissects the ideas of celebrity and worship in the music scene. He bites at the idea of fame, marking those “shooting star[s]” we fixate on as “hardly even worth footnotes in your memoir.” His opening image of a teenaged fan lying “all alone on the floor,” simply listening to “bands practicing” without ever being part of one, resonates as a reminder to avoid the “surrogate connection” to music and instead take part in it, or otherwise the floor is “where you’re going to stay.”[5] As both centerpiece and namesake, “Little Round Mirrors” sets the tone for this EP in instrumentation and emotion, and with one spin, I think you will understand why I was willing to embarrass myself behind the drum kit just to be part of it. 

            Whatever you take from it, there is no denying that Little Round Mirrors is a record with character. It offers to the listener an unusual approach to the band’s music, presenting a group of songs originally set to stand apart and unifying them through dynamic, instrumentation, and passion. The boldness of such a decision borders on impudence, but as Nelson points out, “there’s a conscience in our music,”[6] and one listen will prove that humanity to be an essential ingredient in the sound of Harvey Danger. So whether you’re a long-time fan or hold but a vague appreciation for “FlagpoleSitta,” consider each resonating note of this EP as an invitation to view the world of Harvey Danger from a perspective few artists are willing to acknowledge, and even fewer willing to share. 

Tunes to Check Out: 
1) Little Round Mirrors
2) Radio Silence (live)
3) Oh! You Pretty Things (live)

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Song Spotlight: The Beatles' "I Want You (She's So Heavy)"



            There are only a few songs that give me “the shakes,” whose melodies or riffs literally cause me to involuntarily shiver in delight. These songs demand my complete attention when I listen to them, forcing their way to the forefront of my consciousness and remaining there from the first tone to the last. Most of the tunes on that short list have some emotional or nostalgic connection to my life, and it is likely that those “shakes” are derived from a younger self internally knocking to the beat of the tune. But on the rare occasion, a song I’ve never given a second thought to will just pop up and slap me in the face. One such song is “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” by The Beatles, which over the past two months has repeatedly emerged from the ether, demanding to be heard, and I find that I cannot help but heed its call. 
            Though I’d been aware of the song for years, the tolling guitars and punchy bass that define “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” hadn’t really caught my attention until recently, when the song insisted on appearing in my shuffle almost daily. The thundering 6/8 section that is the centerpiece marches like a funeral procession; the strings meld into one dark portrait of a chord progression that defines the “heavy” in the song’s title. Betwixt these stomping choruses is inserted a gentle grooving verse, which strolls along a blues feel before stomping into Paul McCartney’s aggressive bassline. The band alternates between soft and loud, relaxed and heavy, until John Lennon’s final, throat-cracking scream of “Yeah!” drives the band into the perpetual loop of the main theme, continually adding noise and insanity before abruptly cutting off, denying the listener any semblance of resolve or finality.


            After repeatedly hearing it, I am baffled as to how I hadn’t noticed sooner the sheer force of this tune. With “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” the band wrecks of every definition the public has since attempted to mold over them, making it everything The Beatles are usually not. The most immediate difference lies in the instrumentation; the rampant elements of freeform jazz stand as the focus of the song, while the fourteen words that form the lyrics feel more like another instrument than any language at all. Secondly, this tune is damn long, with the original master reaching just over 8 minutes.[1] But the most blatant difference is how unrepentantly dark it is, embodying a feeling that, at the time, music had yet to really touch upon. There is a remarkable contrast between the A and B sections, a haunting trudge placed against a bluesy jaunt, and the seamless way they slip into one another is almost disturbing.
            The shadow leaking from between the notes in this song douses the lyrics as well. Written by John Lennon about his love for Yoko Ono,[2] the song’s minimal lyrics somehow manage to grasp the entire spectrum inherent in the idea of love. His simple statement of “I want you / I want you so bad / It’s driving me mad” is simultaneously romantic, sexual, and creepy—the words of a husband, a lover, and a stalker all at once. And as for the line “she’s so heavy,” Lennon cryptically told Rolling Stone: “When you're drowning, you don't say, 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me.' You just scream."[3] With only fourteen words, John Lennon completely encompasses the ups and downs, rapture and suffering inherent in a relationship, saying the bare minimum in words so that the poignant A-B structure of the instrumentation can nail his message home.[4]
            To attack such a world-pervading concept with such complexity is a feat in itself, but what is more remarkable is how little The Beatles do to reach that echelon of consciousness in “I Want You (She’s So Heavy).” Other than a few bass flourishes marking the changes, there really is very little to the tune. Ringo Starr’s drumming is hardly more than the basics, and George’s accompaniment on guitar and synth amounts to the chord progression. Even John’s leads are little more than an embellished echo of his vocal melody. There is so little to this tune, yet it manages to encompass endless interpretations and implications, a fact that simultaneously pisses me off and leaves me in awe.
            “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” is not a song that just slinks into my ears—it possesses me, drooling through my veins in a delightfully unsettling manner. There is a weight to every note, every whispered word, that makes my consciousness stand at attention. “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” breaks my understanding of the world’s most well-known band, forcing me to consider them in a newer, dimmer light with every listen, and reminding me just why they, to this day, continue to command the respect of millions.