The Factual Opinion

Music of the Weak: Unfinished Business

For those of you who have been wondering, these are the Top 5 albums from 1983:

5.  ESG – Come Away With Me

4.  Minor Threat – Out of Step

3.  U2 – War

2.  R.E.M. – Murmur

1.  Metallica – Kill ‘Em All

Now:  You’re looking at those five albums, and you’re thinking a couple of things.  First of all, you’re thinking that this is a pretty fucking badass top five for any year.  But then, once your brain has released the images of Tucker and I dressed in full purple suede suits with feathers in our hats and aquarium shoes (we’re pimps, see) that you’ve conjured because there is NO better Top 5 for 1983, unless you count Violent Femmes’ debut album, which you can’t because it was released in 1982, suckas, you’re asking yourself why the fuck did they count down (or almost count down, as it were) the Top 25 Albums of 1983 in the first place.  And that’s a good question.

This is not a topic Tucker and I have actually discussed much on the site, despite the fact that there have been four (4!) album countdowns in TFO’s short history, and that’s not counting the Top 25 Albums of 2000 list that Tucker published in his proto-Factual writing space.  The categories are taking up a pretty satisfying little section of that sidebar to your right, and if we have our way there will be more.  Plus, prior to the unveiling of Music of the Weak, my participation here at The Factual Opinion headquarters, aside from the occasional liturgy on the brilliance of Spank Rock’s sex pulse, was relegated to these countdowns.  So, while it pains me to admit that you, dear reader, deserve to know the who, what and why on me—the list-loving, Norwegian-baiting douchenozzle that’s skimming the new releases and mp3 blogs and riffing on music he finds interesting and/or irritating—perhaps taking a look at our somewhat healthy list-obsession will give you a bit of insight into Music of the Weak, and hopefully get you pumped for the next countdown event.

First, let’s look at why these five albums ended up at the top of our list:  Each one is absolutely unreplicatable; each of them were unprecedented in their time; each still sound mind blowing today; each of them make good on their far-reaching ambition; and, finally, we doubt that any one of you readers has heard every single one of them.  Those first three criteria—unreplicatability, unprecedentedness, and ambition—are incredibly important.  They’re essentially what make timeless music, and the reason you should still listen to music from 1983—not because of any historical significance (though it’s interesting to note that 4.4 of those artists are still releasing music), but because it’s actually Really Fucking Good.  Most people intuit that picking up Kill ‘Em All would give them endless amounts more pleasure than Death Magnetic, but how many people actually follow through on that?  We would like to encourage you in that direction.

So, great, you’re going to start listening to more of the good old shit.  But there’s a second step in the process, and this is where I feel like our countdowns of years past really put us in the game.  For years, the pop/rock canon has been dictated by a small number of publications.  In the broadest possible terms:  Rolling Stone, then SPIN, then Pitchfork.  Again in the broadest possible terms:  Rolling Stone rooted their canon in “classic” rock, SPIN in “alternative” rock, and Pitchfork in “indie” rock.  I’m not going to digress into nitpicking each publication’s point-of-view, mostly because I don’t disagree with any of them, but I will say that the word “rock” appears in that last sentence three times, which gives you one idea of the problems of having a limited canonical perspective.

We’re in an age where multiple voices (alright, maybe too many voices) speak out about what’s good presently, but very few voices are talking about what’s good historically in popular music.  Artists like Metallica and ESG deserve to be part of the discussion, not just relegated to the ghettos of their genres.  You deserve to be reminded that U2 have actual great music in their catalog, not just overplayed shit.  Minor Threat deserve to be heard, not just name-dropped.  And, though everyone seems to agree that Murmur is a stellar album, we’re guessing that only a few of you have actually listened to it—and even fewer have listened to it lately, since for ten years R.E.M. have seemed intent on dismantling the good will they built up in the fifteen before that.  The real fun starts with the artists even further down the list—everyone should at least be able to consider lining up John Cougar Mellencamp between James Blood Ulmer and The P-Funk Allstars in their iPods.  (And, while we’re at it, Uh-Huh, Odyssey and Urban Dancefloor Guerillas are all in serious need of some re-release.)

This kind of shit circles back to the artists—if you don’t think artists are reading Pitchfork, you’re fucking crazy.  And that means a couple of things—yeah, they’re getting steered in the direction of some great music, but they’re also learning to adapt their sound toward getting a good review.  When there’s only one strong voice in music criticism, it’s easy to do that.  Now more than ever, it’s one big circle from us to you to the artists back to us (the circle also runs in reverse.  Physics!)  Tucker and I aren’t necessarily going to start any revolutions here, but we might open a couple of doors you might not have known were there.  If you start listening to better music, it’s better for all of us.  These things are important.

-Martin Brown, 2008

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #6

X
More Fun In The New World

Fun—the first tenant in X’s album title declarative (which could have used an exclamation point, by the way)—in X’s hands becomes simultaneously sincere and tongue in cheek.  More Fun In The New World (which, work with me here, would have been totally even more fun as More Fun In The New World!) alternates party stompers like “We’re Having Much More Fun” and “Make The Music Go Bang” with bittersweet portraits of seemingly mundane, secretly poignant moments like “The New World” and “Poor Girl”—a song that tempers its empathy for the title character with admonitions like “Don’t feel sorry for her,” and “Don’t cry when you kiss her.”  As for The New World, when John Doe rattles off a series of city names, “Route 66”-style, on More Fun In The New World’s opening track, he paints an industrial working class picture of America, dominated by the automobile: “Flint Ford Auto; Mobile, Alabama; windshield wipers; Buffalo, New York; Gary, Indiana; don’t forget the Motor City.”  His narrator obsesses over honesty—giving a vagrant a quarter because he doesn’t want to lie about not having one—and repeatedly declares, “It was better before, before they voted for Whatshisname.”  Even if that last sentiment sounds familiar (if no longer urgent) in 2007, the rest of “The New World” firmly roots X’s sensibility in the 1950’s.  Yet, the lyrics flow over a churning rhythm and swooning counter-melody that could only have evolved from punk rock.  At the time, X got a lot of propers for blending punk elements with other genres—country, surf rock, rockabilly—but, in retrospect, similar praise has been heaped upon just about every punk band that has remained in the cultural/critical canon.  What no one could have possibly noted at the time was how timeless X’s anachronistic qualities would prove.  The president dig in “The New World” resonates now, and likely will again, and it’s not too much of a stretch to imagine that it would have resonated in the 50’s culture the lyrics evoke.  X’s New World is also that world; it’s also this world; it’ll probably be the next world; let’s have more fun.

-Marty Brown, 2007

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #7

Madonna
Madonna

Yep, this was her debut album, yep, it came out this year, and yes, that means next year is her 25th anniversary.  Which means if you're not a fan, or if you're merely someone who gives her the grudging respect due a woman who's career has far outlasted the bubblegum that formed her beginnings, it might be time to take that trip to the country that doesn't care about her music, or at least doesn't play it very often.  Just make sure she's not there adopting someone else's children.  (That leaves out Africa, but at this point, Antarctica looks pretty clean.  It's only open for something like four months though, so make friends in Iceland.  They only listen to Sigur Ros & Bjork.)

It's not "inexplicable" that Madonna has been around as long as she has--the woman knows this business better than all of those recent singers who've showed up on TMZ in the last two years.  Unlike most older bands who survive solely on their core fanbase, or whatever niche market they've cornered, she's adapted, she's set trends, and she's added more fans to replace those who she leaves behind.  That doesn't mean you have to like her, or her music--it doesn't mean you have to respect her as a person either--but it does mean that you have to give her the props due her as a businesswoman.  All the contempt and derision that gets thrown out regarding her embrace of religion and sexuality, her omnipresence on MTV (when that mattered) doesn't really make sense when thrown against the stark contrast with which none of those exact same behaviors worked for any of the thousands of artists who did the same--nearly every mildly attractive pop singer has shown you her naked flesh, and she still hasn't come out with anything that sold as well as "Like A Prayer."  While she may have not nailed the same amount of success in fashion or film, it's absurd to compare her to any of the tripe that claim themselves as her contemporary--Spears, Aguilera, Stefani, Knowles, or whomever, there's nobody like Madonna.  Yes, there's plenty who have vocal chops that outshine Madonna, but when you're playing around this field of pop music, that's barely a concern. 

It's unlikely that anybody involved with this album knew what was coming--after all, it was a dance album that had already gone through three producers, with simple vocals by a young woman who, while certainly pretty enough, didn't look that much different than any other New York club girl from the time period.  Her voice, which critics referred to as a "girlish hiccup" wasn't the sort of thing that anybody could have expected to have lasting appeal.  If anything, it was another 80's compilation of songs, some written by the singer and others the rejects of prior pop artists that would end up earning some royalties for all involved.

Except this was Madonna, and she, as simply as it can be put, doesn't lose.  For every Body of Evidence, she's got an Evita, for every American Pie, she's got Confessions on a Dance Floor.  It started here, with 8 songs.  That's it.  "Holiday," "Borderline," "Lucky Star," and "Burning Up" are four of them.  What else can you say about that?  You could say you don't like them--hell, this writer isn't sure how he feels about them, as object de artiste.  But you can still, if you're so inclined, dance to them.  Twenty-four years later, what other bubblegum pop can say that?

-Tucker Stone, 2007 isn't remotely sorry for filling the first two paragraphs with links, so it would be a waste of time to complain.  Instead, try to find the link that takes you to the Church of Satan.  It's there!

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #8

AC/DC
Flick of the Switch

It says something that at multiple points during the list-making process, one of the Factual's writers seriously considered this album as a possible contender for the number one spot.  (It says that writer may need to grow up a little bit, and accept that just because an album is a non-stop joy-fest, a milkshake made solely out of the devil and raw sugar, that doesn't mean it's an artistic masterpiece.)  Flick of the Switch is considered one of AC/DC's lesser works--few of these songs are played live, only three were released as singles, and neither of those went on to the heights reached by "Highway to Hell" or "You Shook Me All Night Long."  In an even nastier slight, the album (combined with the still painful memories of Bon Scott's 1980 demise) earned the band the "8th biggest disappointment" award from notable music publication Kerrang. 

Wait a second--Kerrang is a terrible publication that caters to idiots who like Korn.  Anything they hate is clearly quite good.  Let's reassess.

In recent years, Flick has finally started to get some of the appreciation it deserves.  A self-produced album full of incredibly powerful, timeless rock anthems that have never been utilized as the NBA highlight reel soundtracks they were born for:  We're talking about a song called "This House Is On Fire" that will make you question whether your house is really on FIRE, because, as Angus informs us, the "Flame is gonna burn in."  We're talking about cop with a gun who's running around insane in Belgium--were you planning on taking a trip to the home of the Dutch?  Angus thinks its a bad idea, and he wrote a song about it.  It's called "Bedlam in Belgium."  On top of that, if you've ever craved a non-stop rock fest that's explicitly designed around the theory that women crave men who are premature ejaculators that will not only brag about this usually embarrassing trait, but said women will allow themselves to be "dictated" too, by "big dictators" after one finishes up in a scant matter of seconds, than "Guns for Hire" is probably the only track that will fit the bill.  (Before you start mentioning Jason Mraz, remember that the description said non-STOP rock fest, not a ballad.)  AC/DC was never a band that either contributor expected in the top 25 albums, much less cresting the top ten--but here it is, and it's a ridiculously fun throwback to a time period where this sort of music wasn't enjoyed as a guilty pleasure, but as a party prerequisite. 

-Tucker Stone, 2007

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #9

The Fall
Perverted By Language

Let’s step out of the Wayback Machine for a minute and ask this: Has Mark E. Smith ever had a better year than 2007?  He’s dropped two albums himself:  the well-publicized-for-a-Fall-album Reformation Post T.L.C and, as Von Südenfed, a bananafied Mouse On Mars collaboration Tromatic Reflexxxions.  Plus, The Fall’s sticky influence gets nasty all over Yeah Yeah Yeah’s Is Is EP and Liars’ incredible self-titled album, and (something remarkably like) his voice is showing up on some of the best albums and singles of the year—from LCD Soundsystem to Prinzhorn Dance School to Grinderman.  We at The Factual Opinion would like to say: Word.  You, the TFO Faithful, know that, up here in the Factual Central Offices, we love us some careerists—the Waitses and the Costellos and the Dylans.  So it should come as no surprise that Mr. Smith has carved himself a nice little place in that company.  Nor should it surprise you that he’s cuddled up right next to perennial Factual homeboy Tom Waits on our 1983 countdown.

What with all The Fall’s cultural seepage, you probably already have a good idea of what Perverted By Language sounds like—Smith shout-singing manic poetry over intrusive rock grooves—and the album also has its fair share of crafty surprises (one of my favorites is the sequence in album-opener “Eat Y’Self Fitter” where Smith rants, “Where's the cursor?/ Where's the eraser?/ G-O-H-O-H-O-I-O/ G-O-H-O-H-O-I-O/ G-O-H-O-H-O-I-O/ H-O-I-O-G-O-H-O/ What's a computer?”)  But the real pleasure in doing these countdowns is the fun you have seeing rock history through the prism of now, and no one this side of Bruce Springsteen has more cultural cache right now than Mark E. Smith—which makes this YOUR perfect opportunity to go back to the source.  Hit it.

-Marty Brown, 2007

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #10

Tom Waits
Swordfishtrombones

Tom Waits is on those short lists of human beings that comes up every time there's a freshman philosophy class that starts dealing with the ontological arguments for God's existence.  Considering how terrible most of the ontological arguments are, by the time most God-fearing men and women get to the 2 hour mark of discussing how the big G exists solely because the perfect description of the perfect being requires it's perfect existence, as necessitated by the descriptive term "perfect," it's not the faults of their pun-loving philosophy professor that they stumble drunkenly from class, to pub, to dorm room realizing that there mama was a liar, and there Sunday School teacher an over-bearing pederast.  Luckily for those who came of age post 83, all that was needed in their ears to caress the bottle of brandy in their grubby paws was a little "Sixteen Shells from a Thirty-Ought-Six," otherwise known as one of the 15 greatest songs of all time by one of the greatest singer-songwriters to walk the Earth--oh ye of little faith and massive torment that did live on the cursed ground before 1949 (the year of the saviors birth)--where is your 20 hour Burns mini-series, titled The Darkest Blackness: Life Before Tom Waits?  As it were, Waits was already a true American hero, born out of a junkyard monkey grinder, but until September of '83, he hadn't dropped the album that let everybody know what his DNA sounded like.  Until then, he was a singer-songwriter how dropped massively entertaining mixes of blues/vocal styling that wouldn't have been out of place on any intelligent national public radio program.  With Swordfishtrombones, he moved further into the freakier aspects of his personality while utilizing pianos and strings, instruments not exactly known for their hipster-freaky-deaky credentials, and succeeded in alienating any listener who was, because they were drunk, hoping he might sing more love ballads like Closing Time's "Martha."  His catalog leading to Swordfish wasn't shabby, not in the least, but from here everything was pure gold:  even at it's most off-putting, the man went on to embody that which terrifies 99% of music--Tom Waits is an artist, and his canvas is albums that stand in stark contrast with everything that surrounds him.  Bluntly: he's one of the names you come up with when you realized Descartes was a drunken fool--Tom Waits will make you buy into the Lord.

-Tucker Stone, 2007

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #12

The The
Soul Mining

What must life be like for the tender The The fan?  Do they cry out everytime Radiohead gets mentioned that The The was out there in the new wave days making Art Rock for people who hate Art Rock?  Does the Cure, another effete band with some seriously sentimental vocals, make The The fans blister with rage?  What about when people start talking about how completely over the top ridiculous that album Dusk was?  (Okay, that's insane.  Nobody who listened to Dusk doesn't already know how good Soul Mining is.)

That's the thing about Soul Mining--it's short as hell, and the band who made it is still around, furiously chugging gallons of spring water so they can keep urinating all over their memory--yet Soul Mining is so damn good that it doesn't matter.  (Since you probably don't know the album, imagine if Nickleback had recorded Appetite for Destruction, in it's entirety, before Guns N' Roses had.  And then everything else they made was just regular, shitty Nickleback recordings.)  That's what Soul Mining is like--it's not just better than The The's entire catalog, it's a damn perfect recording on it's own.

-Tucker Stone, 2007 would like to inform The The that they should handwrite a thank you card to the band !!! to thank them for coming up with the new champion in irritating ass band names to write down.

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #13

The Wipers
Over The Edge

For a dyed-in-the-wool pessimist, Wipers’ Greg Sage is a bit of a softie.  “Why do people hate each other?,” he sings on Over The Edge’s “What Is,” “Why can’t it be just brother and sister?”  But, while those questions may sound like direct descendants of the free love ideals of the late 60’s, in Sage’s hands they speak more about isolation and longing than about togetherness and harmony.  That angsty tug of desiring closeness—from a lover, from society, from one’s fellow man—and believing oneself unworthy or incapable of it pops up all over Wipers’ third album.  Over The Edge was the follow-up to their breakthrough, Youth Of America, and you could string the two album titles together to paint a pretty accurate portrait of the characters that populate Sage’s songs: Youth Of America Over The Edge.  Like Minor Threat’s Ian MacKaye, Sage sounds like an old soul trapped in a teenage mind-frame—on one song he’s “Living in Doom Town,” in another, “Only the good die young”—and, as a result, Over The Edge turns out an album-length skateboarding soundtrack.  Behind every kick-flip lurks the possibility of broken bones.

Largely forgotten among the indie rock and post-punk trailblazers of the early 80’s, Wipers proved chiefly instrumental in the development of the Seattle-based sound that became grunge in the late 80’s and early 90’s.  Mudhoney, Alice In Chains, and, yup, Nirvana all picked up both the innate longing for contact in Sage’s tunes, and his incredible ability to write what were essentially pop songs with a punk rock sensibility.  Amongst their 1983 peers, however, Wipers’ sullenness stands in stark contrast to the aggro punk that dominated the time.  It’s almost as if Sage predicted or pre-empted his own band’s outsider legacy.  On “The Lonely One,” for example, Sage practically lays out Wipers’ mission statement: “For all the lonely ones, who live life in the dreams/ It's so cold and lonely outside, so it seems./ So you keep on searching, anyway./ Maybe you'll find someone tomorrow, cuz you haven't today.”

-Marty Brown, 2007