Beautiful Song Of The Week

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The term “staycation” may not have surfaced until 2003, but the dynamic songwriting duo of Rodgers & Hart captured the idea perfectly with this 1925 gem.

The song tells of the exploits of a young couple who decide against vacationing in a faraway place, but instead “save their fares” and explore their own backyard. They indulge in New York’s simpler (aka cheaper) delights – Mott Street! Delancey! Baloney on Coney Island! – and turn Manhattan into an isle of joy.

Staycations are highly recommended. No passport, no lineups, baggage optional. Admittedly, if you’re seeking adventure in your own backyard, those who live in Manhattan are at a clear advantage over most of us. But I love the song’s message; some of life’s best adventures are free, and right around the corner.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. Lorenz Hart’s clever lyrics. My favourites are in the first and last lines. In the first line he rhymes “Niagara” with the first half of the word “aggravate”, and in the last line he gives himself the chance to throw in a New York accent by rhyming “spoil” with “goyl”.

2. While the tempo of other versions are more foxtrot-friendly, this one is ideal strolling speed.

3. The voice and strings are very far forward in the mix, but the drummer is back there somewhere, about 50 feet in the background, waiting for the session to be over so he can go chill in his hammock.

Recommended listening activity:

Pretending your bike is a train, and embarking on a glamorous trip across the continent.

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Southern Hemisphere Month here at BSOTW continues with New Zealand’s eccentric Kimbra. You may remember her from her contribution to this song, but there’s much more to this fascinating pop songstress than body paint and partial nudity.

In fact, she reminds me of Janelle Monae in a lot of ways: she’s pop enough to be catchy, but different enough to be interesting. Her videos often have a 1920s esthetic, and her musical maturity is incredible, given that she’s barely in her twenties.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. She uses her voice in wonderful ways. At various points in the song, her voice does the job of percussion, bass, strings, and a horn section.

2. She proves that pop doesn’t have to be fluff. While other singers her age contemplate what words rhyme with “baby”, Kimbra deals poetically with relationships, domesticity, and the gap between childhood fantasy and adult reality.

3. She gave it a video that’s as interesting as the song. It’s got creepy dolls, imagery straight out of Mad Men, and kids who can do the Charleston. What more could you want?

Recommended listening activity:

Predicting your future by playing MASH.

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Here are five things that I didn’t know about the iconic French crooner Yves Montand:

• He’s not French. (He was born in Italy.)
• His name’s not Yves Montand. (It’s Ivo Livi.)
• His speaking voice was imitated to create a Looney Tunes character. (The skunk, Pepe Le Pew.)
• He had a fling with Marilyn Monroe. (And several other women.)
• He died of a heart attack. (On the set of a movie about a man who dies of a heart attack.)

I have to admit that this style of music isn’t something I could listen to for days on end, but this song has a special history. It was Edith Piaf’s signature tune, and it was thanks to Piaf that Montand made it in the entertainment business; she discovered him, made him part of her act, even had a brief affair with him for good measure.

As you know if you’ve seen any of the various movies about her, Edith Piaf’s life was pretty tragic. The love of her life died in a plane crash two years after she wrote this song. She never recovered, and she spiraled self-destructively downwards until succumbing to liver cancer at the age of 47.

Montand, who idolized Piaf as his mentor, recorded and released this version of her song in 1964, the year after her death.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. The tempo. Like a lot of songs of its era, this one strolls along like a sloth through honey. It’s got the great no-hurry feel of an aimless walk along the Seine.

2. The lyrics. As I said before, Piaf’s life was hard. Her parents abandoned her. She was blind from age three to age seven. She was raised for a while in a brothel. With this in mind, the joy in her lyrics, along with this track’s title (which translates to something like “Life Through Rose-Coloured Glasses”) makes it feel like an anthem to optimism.

3. The end. Before finally resolving, the last cadence shifts unexpectedly to a “borrowed chord“- a flat six. The Piaf version doesn’t do it, and I think it adds something slightly unsettled, yet pretty, to the song’s final moments.

Recommended listening activity:

Buying a baguette.

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Camille is strange.

But it’s a good strange. It’s the kind of strange that draws you in against your better judgment. Like the lure of a hole in a fence around a construction site. Or the pull of a person who, according to your friends, is no good for you.

As a singer, Camille sounds alternately like Bjork, Coeur De Pirate, Sarah Slean, Bobby McFerrin, and occasionally an angry pterodactyl. And I mean that in the best possible way; she uses her voice in such a variety of ways that there’s something in her work for everyone. This song features her “soft and friendly” voice, which is nice for people like me, who shy away from angry pterodactyl music.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. The sustained note. If you listen closely, you can hear her voice holding a B throughout the whole track. And if B is your favourite note, you’re in luck: the note is held for the entirety of “Le Fil”, the album that this song comes from.

2. The arpeggios. They’re the only thing dictating the song’s tempo or chord structure, and the way they dance around the sustained B is lovely.

3. The ambiguous meaning. Most internet translations/interpretations suggest that the song is about letting go of love, but whether she’s singing from the wreckage of an ended relationship or the death of a loved one remains unclear.

Recommended listening activity:

Putting new laces in an old pair of shoes.

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This time last year, I recommended clearing your schedule and watching all the James Bond movies. If you still haven’t gotten around to doing that, I’m a bit mad at you, but it’s okay. Instead of re-stating the benefits of making your way through those 22 bits of movie magic, I’ll just ask you to listen to this fun little song by Nancy Sinatra.

This track was the theme for the fifth Bond installment, in which 007 finds himself womanizing, shooting bad guys, and delivering snappy one-liners in Japan. After recording a demo of this song featuring vocalist Julie Rodgers, Nancy Sinatra was brought in to record the final version. Sinatra, already famous for singing “These Boots Were Made For Walking” and for having the last name Sinatra, was evidently a bit nervous about recording the song; she needed 25 takes to finish a song that requires about 2 minutes of singing.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. The opening violin line. It’s positively gigantic, emerging from the song’s first few seconds and attacking your ears like a fire-eagle bearing down on a mouse. If you’re a Robbie Williams fan, you probably recognize the melody. (If you’re not a Robbie Williams fan, don’t worry; you’re not missing much.)

2. There’s a hint of east-Asian influence. Composer John Barry found Japanese music “elegant”, and wanted his soundtrack to echo that elegance. This was the mid-1960s, so the probability of musical stereotyping was high, but thankfully, Barry kept his parallel fifths to a minimum (you can hear some at 0:20) and managed to create a song that was a tribute to, rather than a caricature of, Japanese music.

3. Nancy Sinatra’s voice. It’s not as powerful as your typical 20^th-century singer’s voice would be, and that may be the reason she was so nervous to record it. But I like her tentative approach to the song, whether she meant it to sound that way or not. It’s endearing. She’s not belting it out like Shirley Bassey on “Goldfinger”, but singing as if she’s holding back just a little bit. A reluctant diva.

Recommended listening activity:

Purchasing an item of clothing that is way more glamorous than what you usually go for.

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When I was six, I had a girlfriend named Natalia.

Of course, when you’re six, you have no idea what a girlfriend is. All you know is that this person is fun to be around, their clothes and hair are different from yours, and people giggle at you when they say, “she’s your girl-friend!”

Natalia and I had some great times together. We’d collect rocks on the playground, run around in no particular direction, and my brother would read us scary stories, which I really liked because Natalia would hold my hand when she got scared.

Eventually, our friendship ended when Natalia moved away. I don’t know where she went, only that it was “two highways away,” and that I would never see her again. I remember watching her wave goodbye from her car and wondering to myself how long “never” was. In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t fully understand it, because it probably would have been more painful that way…but being six, it didn’t affect me much. It just meant that I had to collect rocks by myself for a while.

And now, for lack of a better segue, I’d like to tell you about a sweet little song on the subject of girls leaving, by British songwriter Charlie Winston.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. Ambiguous lyrics. On the surface, it seems like the song’s main character just up and left one day, leaving her old life behind with little more than a goodbye note. But if you listen to it as a suicide song or a break-up song, there’s room for those interpretations as well. Maybe when she returns at the end, it’s just in the narrator’s mind, or in a dream, or maybe he’s just okay with her being gone.

2. Sparse instrumentation. By the time the second chorus is over, part of me expects a string section or a gospel choir, but Winston keeps it simple. And I love the little “oooh” that he throws in at 2:30.

3. Like the main character’s departure, the song ends quietly. No big final chorus, just a half-verse that ends on a tiny “sorry”.

Recommended listening activity:

Watching the rearview mirror as something fades into the distance.

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In the same way that Erato enjoyed 15 minutes of internet stardom by putting a creative twist on Robyn’s “Call Your Girlfriend”, the independent band Walk Off The Earth made a clever video cover of this song that you’ve probably already seen via every one of your friends on Facebook, or possibly attached to an email with the subject line: “I don’t usually forward videos, but this is *amazing*!!!”

While I appreciate the creativity of the Walk Off The Earth version, I think the original (which has a pretty creative video of its own, by the way) wins out.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. The xylophone. Everything about the first minute of the song is delicate- the voice, the guitar, the percussion –but the xylophone is the best part. And I can’t help singing “baa-baa black sheep” in my head whenever I hear it.

2. The verse sung by Kimbra. I find that when songs follow the he-sings-she-sings format they either turn out being poignant or supremely lame. For me, the “she-sings” verse of this song is effective because you don’t see it coming. It interrupts what you thought was going to be a brokenhearted rant and reminds us that there are two sides to every story.

3. The sudden ending. Perhaps Gotye’s way of implying that the best way to end it is with a clean break.

Recommended listening activity:

Cleansing your inbox by deleting messages you’d rather not read again.

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Sometimes, denial can be a good thing.

Today, for example, I am going to deny that it is February. I am going to turn the heat up in my house until it is hot enough to wear shorts. I am going to put on flip-flops. I am going to put on sunscreen. I am going to swat away imaginary mosquitoes. Then I am going to put a beach chair in the middle of my living room, fan myself with a newspaper, and listen to “Old Cape Cod” by Patti Page.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. The harmonies. They are so, so good. And perfectly executed, decades before anybody had heard of Auto-Tune.

2. The lyrics. “If you like the taste of a lobster stew/Served by a window with an ocean view…” No multi-sensory mental image does a better job helping you deny the presence of winter.

3. The piano. There’s so much focus on the vocals that it’s easy to forget that there are instruments in the background. But give a listen to the nice little flourish the pianist gives us at 2:02.

Recommended listening activity:

Having a drink that comes with a mini-umbrella in it.

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If there was ever proof that less is more, this song is it.

A charming re-working of a decidedly mediocre song by pop star Robyn, this song, performed by Swedish vocal group Erato, does what all good cover songs do: it takes the original song, strips it down to its basic strengths, and fills the gaps with something completely new.

A clip of Erato (well, three of them anyway) singing the song became internet wildfire a couple weeks ago, and the simplicity of the video just adds to the song’s charm. Shot in black and white on a cheap camera in their cramped Swedish kitchen, it proves that beauty doesn’t need a big budget. (Robyn’s video, in case you were wondering, is an awkward combination of Flashdance and Napoleon Dynamite. You probably don’t need to see it, but if you’re curious and you enjoy feeling slightly uncomfortable, go for it.)

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. The percussion. Erato trades in Robyn’s highly produced sound for used cottage cheese containers. No word yet on whether the success of the YouTube clip has boosted cottage cheese sales in Stockholm.

2. The three-part harmonies. Okay, this might contradict my “less is more” argument, but Erato’s vocal arrangement is gorgeous.

3. The lyrics. To be fair to Robyn, she gave Erato some good lyrics to work with. This is an interesting take on the break-up song; a plea for compassion from the “other woman”, making her case that honesty is the only approach to a complicated situation…that’s good stuff. Robyn’s come a long way since “Show Me Love”.

Recommended listening activity:

Building a castle out of Tupperware.

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If you’re looking for something to do with your next 22 evenings, I highly recommend watching the James Bond films. In chronological order, if possible. Apart from being a history of the last fifty years of filmmaking, the series is full of great music, including this great and unexpectedly beautiful song by Louis Armstrong.

The movie it comes from, 1969’s “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”, is a bit unexpected itself, in that it ends with Bond doing something you’d never think he would do: getting married. After leaving the ceremony, he stops on the side of the road with his new wife to enjoy a scenic view (spoiler alert!) when the bad guys drive by and spray the car with bullets, killing his bride but leaving Bond unscathed. He gets in the car and cradles her body as the music starts, saying, “it’s alright, she’s just resting. There’s no rush…we have all the time in the world.” A tear wells up in Bond’s eye, and the movie ends. Wow.

For a movie franchise that usually relies on gratuitous womanizing and lame one-liners, it’s an incredibly touching moment. Couple that with the fact that this was the last piece of music Armstrong recorded as his health faded away, and the song becomes a poignant statement about the brevity of love and the inevitability of death.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. Louis’ voice. One of the most recognizable voices in history. I always thought he sounded a bit like a muppet with a sore throat. Not a formula for success in the singing world, but it works. What I love best about his voice is that it always sounds like he’s smiling while he sings.

2. The mini-guitar solo after each time Louis sings “nothing more, nothing less, only love”. If this was done on an electric guitar, it would be a real face-melter. But as it is, it’s much more relaxed.

3. The trumpet solo. It’s restrained, it sounds like grocery store music, and it’s not Armstrong (he was too sick to play it). But that’s okay. It just helps ensure that Armstrong’s voice is the highlight.

Recommended listening activity:

Holding hands with someone by linking pinkies.