After seeing the absolutely amazing C.W. Stoneking a few months ago (in a tiny church, which was pretty much the best show I’ve ever been to. No exaggeration, literally the best show I’ve ever been to. Even months later, I’m in awe.), I started to wonder about some of his direct influences. I knew that some of the songs on his Jungle Blues must be covers, but since we don’t get liner notes anymore (sigh), I hadn’t yet looked into any of the original artists.

During the show, Stoneking mentioned a few who I hope to research eventually, but the song that’s always intrigued me on that record is “Son of America”, the very odd calypso ode to General MacArthur. I’d assumed it was a bit of a joke, a serious subject done so bizarrely intensely that it’s hilarious. I had no idea it was an old song.

The original artist is one Wilmoth Houdini (to the right in the photo above), a calypso singer from Trinidad who eventually became known as “The Calypso King of New York”. After singing in Trinidad and traveling the world working on ocean freighters, Houdini landed in New York and, apparently, went to town making calypso records. Between his arrival in New York in the late 1920s and the 1940s, Houdini recorded over a hundred songs and supposedly wrote over a thousand. Even though I’m pretty crazy about the ones I’ve heard, the sheer volume of these recordings might explain why a lot of them are a bit same-y.

In 1946, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan and His Tympani Five recorded a version of Houdini’s “He Had It Coming” as “Stone Cold Dead In The Market”. Their version was a hit R&B single and even had some crossover success. This gave Houdini the boost he needed to create calypso events all over the city, helping to popularize the style for the masses.

Although Houdini’s songs are an absolute joy – just try to listen to “Rum and Coca-Cola” and not get up and dance – here’s the really funny part of the story. Apparently, Houdini’s calypso colleagues back in Trinidad started to see him as, well, a bit of a sell-out, watering down their calypso for the American (ahem, white) audience. This seems to have started pretty early on, because Houdini answered these allegations in his 1934 track “Declaration of War”. Oh, snap! Diss songs, old-school stylee. Truthfully, his come-back is a little weak – he basically accuses them of being jealous ’cause he so fly. Not the most creative retort ever. The thing is though, I hate to say it, but I kind of see what they meant. From the first time I listened to Houdini, before I’d researched his career, I couldn’t help but wonder who these songs were meant for. I mean, ‘Oh, Frankie Sinatra … you have the perfect voice to sing calypso’ and songs about how great it was when the Yankees came to Trinidad, spending American money and dating their daughters – it sure seems like these lyrics were meant to appeal to the white record-buying audience. Not that I can blame him for it – the music business has never been an easy one, especially for black artists – but you can’t help but see what his fellow musicians were saying.

Even so, Wilmoth Houdini is a sadly forgotten artist today – I’d have never heard of him if it weren’t for C.W. Stoneking – and 1930s-1950s calypso isn’t a style we talk about often. Shame really, because these are some really wonderful pop songs. Grab yourself a collection of Houdini’s recordings at emusic.

When I’m able, I like to watch the UK Top 40 on Monday nights – you know, to keep up with what those crazy kids are listening to these days. If I consider each song on its own, I’m pretty much ok with chart music right now. No one song is so bad that I really hate it*, some are even catchy as hell.

On the other hand, I look at the chart as a whole and I’m all, ‘Wha’ happen?!’ Since when is a single sound represented in the charts? And I mean that almost literally: during a recent countdown, I counted about 6 songs out of 40 that did not use the same clubby dance beat. And on top of that, the beat kind of makes them all sing the same – to the point where choruses actually do all sound the same, note-wise. And what’s weird is that it’s almost as if artists are now afraid not to sound exactly like everyone else, if recent tracks by Snoop Dogg (ahem) and Flo Rida are anything to go by. I know that chart music is not always the most diverse, and every old fart like myself says it was better in their day, but seriously – this is out of hand. It’s like unique-ness is now a flaw in an artist, no longer their potential selling point.

While thinking about all this important stuff, I’ve also noticed something else weird (and same-y) about chart songs right now: they’re all about partying, getting wasted, dancing all night, having the night of our lives. Last Friday Night, Party Rock Anthem, On The Floor, Don’t Stop The Party. There are few artists that even pretend they’re offering any substance right now. Tracy Chapman, Aloe Blacc, and even Adele feel very out of place when you watch along on MTV. Doesn’t anyone have an opinion about anything anymore? Don’t these artists think about stuff? I really wish the youth of today had something to say that wasn’t about partying but – based on the charts, at least – I’m really not sure they do. Which is pretty much the most depressing thing ever.

But, if you think back a-ways, this isn’t actually new, it’s just a little worse than before. Here’s a weird little thought that’s been floating around in my head for years: there were a lot of songs about dancing in the 80s. Seriously, a lot – everybody just dancing all the time.

Lionel was dancing on the ceiling:

while Bruce danced in the dark:

and Billy danced with himself** :

Whitney wanted to dance with somebody who loved her:

but David was inviting us all to just dance already:

And, of course, Madonna was into the groove, Michael Sembello told us the story of the maniac on the floor, Kenny Loggins got footloose … the list goes on. Maybe we just always loved dancing and always will. Maybe, just maybe, there’s still some hope for those kids out there right now.

After all, we all turned out ok, right?

* Other than that godawful Snoop Dogg song that’s popular right now. It’s so crap I can’t even be bothered to check the title. Please stop playing it. Seriously. Please stop.

** And some zombies, apparently. What the hell is going on in this video?!

Do you remember The Soup Dragons? If you’re from the UK and / or of a certain age (the certain age that means you actually remember buying albums on cassette), you probably do. If not, this band probably passed you by completely. Which would be a shame because, while Hotwired isn’t necessarily one of the very best albums ever, it’s a classic of my 1990s and can definitely still stand up tall today.

Although I only really listened to Hotwired, a little research shows that The Soup Dragons were more than I realized – or, at least, here in the UK they were. Nevermind that they were already six years old by the time I heard of them, or that Hotwired was actually their third LP – they’d also had a pretty decent hit in the UK with “I’m Free” in 1990. The Wikipedia says that single charted higher on the U.S. Modern Rock chart, whatever that is, but I definitely don’t remember it being a presence. I do, however, know every note of it, though I couldn’t have even told you it existed before yesterday. Isn’t it weird how that happens sometimes, as if you just absorb songs somehow without ever consciously hearing them?

Anyway, it turns out that the band had had some indie-world success even earlier than that, and – enough to secure their place in indie music history alone – were included on the NME’s legendary C86 cassette compilation. If you don’t know about that cassette, check out this great post from Indie-MP3. (Also, you can still download the whole compilation from Stupid and Contagious, though I can’t promise for how long.) The track included on C86 is wildly different from how we came to know them on Hotwired in 1992 – very much a Buzzcocks-inspired messy-punky-poppy sound which is very pleasant but, honestly, not terribly unique. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great track, but I doubt I’d have remembered it if I didn’t already love them from their later work.

I don’t know exactly what caused the change in sound, other than just the change of times and trends, but when they hit upon the sound featured on Hotwired, they made a classic album. Personally, I had no idea The Soup Dragons existed before “Divine Thing” came along and rocked my MTV. I didn’t know from baggy, or rave culture, or C86. I had no concept of British music being cool or anything in particular; I’d never heard of The Stone Roses or the NME. But I do remember this album soundtracking the summer of 1992 (along with Stereo MCs’ Connected). And you know what? It’s actually still pretty great. The sound might be a little bit dated, but not nearly as much as I’d expect after nearly 20 years – and even if it is a little dated, it’s in a wonderfully nostalgic way (rather than a cringey embarrassing way). These guys deserve to remembered fondly.

For many, many years, I’ve claimed that Pearl Jam’s Ten was my first album purchase but it recently occurred to me – holy crap! – have I been lying about that all this time?!

Not that my real #1, now that I see my mistake, isn’t just as cool. My deception was accidental, I assure you – I promise I was not trying to look cooler than I am. Please. I freely admit I adored New Kids On The Block. The cool ship has sailed.

So anyway, I recently went on a miniature album shopping spree and, at the last minute, threw The B-52′s Cosmic Thing into my cart. It was by the register and stuff. Listening to it the next day, I couldn’t get over how fresh, fun, and surprisingly not dated it sounded. Honestly, I bought it thinking it would be a nostalgic giggle and not much more. “Love Shack”, anyone? But that never was the best track on Cosmic Thing and I should’ve remembered that.

Taken aback by how much I still loved it, and not in a kitschy sort of way at all, I looked it up and – wha?! – found out that it was released in 1989. That’s a whole TWO years before Pearl Jam released the amazingness that is Ten. Even if my 9-year-old self took a while to catch on and buy Cosmic Thing, it still came first. Whoopsie. Sorry I lied to y’all for so long.

When I thought about it a bit more, I actually remembered the exact day I bought it – on cassette! From Phar-Mor!! I had a little pocket money I’d gotten as a gift or something, I’d guess around $10, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted some specific Barbie or the B-52′s album. I guess I wasn’t really your typical 9-year-old girl. I must’ve been dimly aware that I’d already prolonged the decision-making process out to a near-painful point, because I remember choosing the Barbie, in part, just to be done with it so my father and I could go home already. I was known for this type of separation anxiety when it came to my pocket money. But, perhaps predictably, I regretted it almost immediately and was in quiet, trying-to-hold-them-back tears by the time we got home a few minutes later. I wonder if I’d have done the same if I’d gone the other way in the store? I guess not, because Dad was crazy nice about it and took me back to exchange the Barbie (though he really must’ve wanted to shake me silly by that point) and I never looked back. I mean, I totally still played with Barbies, but I didn’t want one more than I wanted that album. I guess I was a budding music dork long before I knew what that meant.

But back to the album. Maybe not as ass-kicking as Pearl Jam, but Cosmic Thing is still – after 22 years, that’s a scary thought – a really great album. It feels just like the time, but also like it totally could’ve come out this year – both nostalgic and timeless somehow. Fred Schneider’s freaky speak-singing really should be annoying or gimmicky, but it fits here, alongside Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson’s angelic harmonies, to make something unusual and pretty, poppy and alternative. “Roam” is still my favorite track, it’s just too dreamy, though I have always loved the quirkiness of “Junebug”. Whatever, the whole album’s classic – get it yourself right here.

It’s no secret that I love Cornershop. Yeah, I say I’m a big fan of a lot of bands, and it’s always true, but this is special. Like on equal footing with how I feel about the Beatles. One of those rare, one-in-a-million bands whose music you love so much it almost makes you feel a little sick to your stomach.

Me and Cornershop go way back. In fact, I remember the day – like most people, I got into the band via “Brimful of Asha”, just as it was turning into a monster single, and it was my night out with my friends for my 18th birthday. A little silly on the bus ride home, my friends and I couldn’t stop singing the ‘on a 45′ bit of that song, it being the only part we really knew yet. It didn’t take long for me to get myself When I Was Born For The 7th Time and, as they say, I’ve never looked back. I would pledge my undying love to Cornershop’s music (erm, if I had to for some reason), so 8 pounds seems like nothing.

Cornershop is asking us, their listeners, to pledge as little as 8 pounds to get a minimum of a pre-order of the new album they’re working on with – my heart just stopped a little – Bubbley Kaur. She of the magical single “Topknot”, one of my most beloved songs of all time. In fact, this new album seems to be based around the amazing results of that recording, finally turning it into a full-length LP. For 8 pounds you’ll get yourself the album and the knowledge that you had a little part in making it happen. For more money, you’ll get more stuff, but the list of possibilities is pretty fun to look through so I’ll let you check it out yourself.

This pledging / investing-in-the-making-of-albums isn’t really brand spanking new; I’ve seen similar offers by other bands. It’s a really interesting thing going on, releasing bands from big labels who don’t seem to give much of a crap about the bands they represent nor the listeners who pay for the music. Wouldn’t you much rather give your money directly to a band you care about and have a wee hand in helping get an album made? Cornershop is the first band to do this that I do feel that strongly about, and I will definitely be making my pledge asap, – how about you? There’s only 27 days remaining so have a think about how great it will be to hear Cornershop and The Double ‘O’ Groove Of for the first time and get pledging.

Hear Tjinder and Ben tell you all about it themselves, and find out more about the pledge options over at PledgeMusic – and remind yourself how amazing this band has always been below.

Update: I’m bumping up this post from last week, which was just a little nod to a group I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, in tribute to Mary Travers, who died yesterday at the age of 72. The New York Times has a very nice obituary here and there’s not much I can add to it except to say that I was terribly saddened by the news. As I mentioned below, bedtime lullabies were my introduction to Peter, Paul and Mary, and I’ve listened to them ever since. As I got older, I gravitated towards more grown-up songs like “If I Had My Way” and their version of Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright”, but I’ve never not loved their music. As much as they are amazing as a whole, Mary Travers’ voice was the one that you really heard, clear and strong, and – simply put – it’s a damn shame that we’ve lost that.

Peter, Paul and Mary’s 1962 self-titled debut album is a 60s folk classic. Actually, just a classic. Something that could almost for sure never happen today, this album stayed in the Billboard Top One Hundred for over three years. Plus, “If I Had A Hammer”, the album’s lead single, won Grammys in both folk and pop categories. The album also had two singles in the Billboard Pop Chart, one in the top 10. And despite being a basically manufactured band à la The Monkees, the trio doesn’t seem to have had to deal with any accusations of not being ‘real’ musicians, or at least not that I’ve ever heard about. Their voices are all the proof anyone would’ve needed – I’m not sure even Gram and Emmylou sounded this great together.

It’s a shame that the trio is best known now for a lighter, children-friendly sound, most obviously heard on “Puff The Magic Dragon”, probably my least favorite Peter, Paul and Mary song. (Though I do have fond memories of my mother singing it to me as a little girl, so I guess “Puff … ” does have its merits after all.) When they got going, they could sound positively fierce. Just listen to “If I Had My Way” below, and see if it doesn’t get your foot stomping by the end.

I was messing around in iTunes and when I mess around in iTunes without a purpose there are a few songs I end up playing. “React” is one of them. Which then sent me to YouTube to dig up some EPMD videos.

As a result of my excursions you get the video of the EPMD Golden Age of Hip Hop classic “Strictly Business”, Erick Sermon’s 2002 single “React”, and a reminder about EPMD if you a) didn’t know about them (shame on you) and b) forgot about them (seriously, dude, shame on you).

The laid back flow of “Strictly Business” isn’t for everyone and the production value is shocking compared to the technical wizardry Just Blaze cranks out for “React”. But, even 20 years later “Strictly Business” and the album it fronted are lauded as part of a critical surge for rap and hip hop.

The Bean may have just vomited in her mouth a little bit. Klaus Meine may be insanely short. The outfits the band wore 20 years ago look out of place anywhere outside the Blue Oyster Bar (Google it). I care not. If you were in your late teens or early twenties in 1991, then you remember “Wind of Change” – a power ballad extraordinaire that captured the sentiment of political and social change in Eastern Europe between 1989-1991.

I graduated from high school in 1991 and was ready to study history at university. How fortunate was I to be living and aware in such a momentous time. Even from the limited perspective such a young age affords, you couldn’t misinterpret how fantastically gargantuan the changes going on around us were. Scorpions captured the feeling perfectly, as only a band formed by members of the first post-War generation of Germans and Europeans could, finding their feet in the midst of the Cold War in the heartland of Europe.

You may not like power ballads. You may not like Scorpions. But, listen to the song. Think of the excitement driving it. The relief that change has finally come. Only then can you truly appreciate the strength of the “Wind of Change” and rock hard.

Cornershop is one my most beloved bands and it’s been far too long since we last heard from them. In honor of their first full-length album in seven (7!) years (Judy Sucks A Lemon For Breakfast, out on July 27th), have yourself a listen to my very favorite Cornershop jam, “Topknot”.

Like most Cornershop releases, “Topknot” (the A-side to a one-off single back in 2004) kind of came out of nowhere, and (also like most Cornershop releases) was totally under-appreciated. I can’t find out anything about the elusive Ms. Bubbley Kaur – not even a photo – but her voice is magic. I also have no idea about the song itself (a quick search for lyric translation brings up nothing) – she could be singing about absolutely anything. But it sounds like sunshine, doesn’t it?

About a month ago, while watching a documentary I think was called Folk America on BBC4, I decided I’d actually follow up on something I’ve considered on and off for quite some time – learn to play the banjo. While I was still in the cooling off stage prior to ordering (the week or so from idea to actually spending duckets in order not to end up with one of those things you ask yourself why you bought), the Bean recommended I read Guitar Man for inspiration (reviewed by the Bean in 2006).

Guitar Man is the autobiographical account of music journalist Will Hodgkinson learning the guitar, with a central theme of learning to play the eccentric folk guitarist Davey Graham’s “Anji”, a blues-folk piece Hodgkinson (and apparently many others) consider especially challenging. In a nutshell, a guitar classic. I couldn’t readily find a Davey Graham’s rendition, but I did find an interpretation by another well-known guitarist, Bert Jansch, who, incidentially, is also featured in Guitar Man alongside Graham.

If you’ve never listened to “Anji” (or, in the case of the Jansch version, “Angie”), give yourself a treat. My understanding is all of that finger action is one acoustic guitar. The complex melody and rhythm must be maintained by the artist him or herself. Hence, the challenge, especially for a beginner like Hodgkinson.

And for the truly curious, here’s a recording of Hodgkinson playing “Anji” after six months of learning the guitar.

As for my own banjo adventure, well, it’s only just begun. I still need to get into the groove of regular practice. Once I do, I imagine I’ll be sharing my progress with the folks hangin’ out in 100b.

The beginning of the noughties saw the emergence of what was called the ‘New Rock Revolution’ or the ‘Garage Rock Revival’. Whatever it was called it was an exciting time that put mostly unknown sixties influenced garage rock bands in the spotlight. They repackaged the old sound and spirit of proto-punk bands in a new and exhillirating way. The ‘movement’ was fronted by such wonderful bands like The Strokes, The White Stripes and The Libertines, and a whole slew of what were known as ‘The’ bands followed. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (still known to us as the loudest live band ever) was one of the few bands related to that time that didn’t start with ‘The’.

Though my personal favorite album of theirs is the significantly more Americana-sounding Howl, I have to admit that their droning, reverb-heavy, feedbacky debut B.R.M.C. had the biggest impact when it first came out in 2001. Especially the two stand out tracks “Whatever Happened To My Rock ‘N Roll” and “Spread Your Love” became big belt-out anthems that still capture the scintillatingly rebellious essence of the so-called revolution. The first song epitomizes the frustration some of us had with the chart topping bands of the late nineties when there seemed to be nothing to choose from other than smooth pretty pop bands and post-grunge-y Nickelback type bands. “Spread Your Love” is just a big throbbing ball of sensual fuzz with a hippie message. Both songs announced themselves with such passion and fervor that they could not be ignored.

While music television and radio were dominated by the sounds of Technotronic, Lenny Kravitz, Madonna, Soul II Soul, Milli Vanilli, The B-52s and The The among others – and I was exiting The U2 Phase and settling into my now life-long Hip Hop Phase – a band from Washington, D.C. packaged up the output from their 1988 and 1989 EPs and released them as 13 Songs.

That band, as most of you would probably already know even if I hadn’t given it away above, was the now legendary Fugazi, a band that started a musical revolution still providing enjoyment decades later for fans of both the original sound and those bands carrying the sound forward. 13 Songs brings together the Fugazi and Margin Walker EPs and numerous now classic tracks, especially among the first seven originally from Fugazi.

Last year I bought a few Fugazi albums to see what I missed the first time around. It’s easy to say – though not necessarily accurate much of the time – that tracks this well-worn sound as crisp and fresh today as they must have back in the day. For Fugazi, this is certainly so very true. Considering the musical landscape two decades ago, for those inclined to fall into the style for one reason or another, Fugazi must have absolutely blown them away.

For the uninitiated you now have the opportunity to hear the monumental opening track of the original EP, Fugazi and 13 Songs.

The Score blew up in 1996 and there was no looking back for Wyclef Jean, Lauryn Hill, and Pras Michel. The Fugees’ second album flowed out of speakers around the world with a combination of superb bass drops, verbal hijinks, and unparalleled class that simply left weakass hip hop in the past and helped propel the genre into a new century.

I have no research to back me up, but I imagine few albums have been career-makers or-propellants to the extent The Score was for the three members of The Fugees. Even the runt of the trio – Pras – parlayed the success of this monumental album into side-projects and exposure. The Score is that good.

Refresh your memory with one of the non-single tracks, “How Many Mics”, a track that lets the rhymes and flow shine without the distraction of pumped up production and little sampling (only The Moody Blues’ “Twilight Time”).

   The Fugees – How Many Mics

   Johnny Cash & June Carter Cash – Will The Circle Be Unbroken
]]> http://onehundredb.com/2008/11/25/classics-can-the-circle-be-unbroken/feed/ 1 Tam http://onehundredb.com/2008/11/10/classics-velvet-underground-venus-in-furs/ http://onehundredb.com/2008/11/10/classics-velvet-underground-venus-in-furs/#comments Mon, 10 Nov 2008 15:12:51 +0000 Julie http://100b.wordpress.com/?p=922 ]]>

It’s hard to believe that “Venus In Furs” was recorded as early as 1967, it feels like it should be at least a decade later than that. It’s hardly an original opinion, but The Velvet Underground were so far ahead of their time, it’s like they were from a different world. In fact, “Venus In Furs” kind of sounds like it was recorded in some time separate from ours altogether. Dark, brooding and sinister, “Venus In Furs” sounds like beginning of the end and is the perfect soundtrack for a spooky, windy day like today.

   The Velvet Underground – Venus In Furs

Based on its commercial success, the public cuddled up to it. Which, as we know, probably means critics would hate it. And they did. Say what you want, Electric Mud, the great Muddy Waters’ foray into blues-slash-pyschodelic rock is a classic album – even if Waters, by his own admission, didn’t play much guitar on it.

While Electric Mud is certainly not a reflection of Chicago Blues, by virtue of its ability to bring the genre to a mass audience (it reached a respectable #127 on the Billboard Charts) and its attempt to ride the zeitgiest of the late-1960s, the album has an ability, for me at least, to continue to remain interesting and entertaining. As a product of the experimental soup of the era, how could so many have lambasted it for being, essentially, good for nothing?

Give the classic “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man” a listen. Then, tell me if it somehow doesn’t work as an ugly step-child of blues and psychedelic rock.

   Muddy Waters – I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man

   Radiohead – Just

Plus, it’s got one of the best videos the 90s had to offer – I’m still wondering what was going on with this poor guy (but it would ruin the whole thing if we knew, don’t you think?):

Editor’s Note: Tamboosh has been incredibly busy with a new money-making venture the past week and the Bean has been experiencing Internet service troubles (again and again, over and over). So, I’ve been holding down the fort as best I can. No complaining.

It was 13 years ago, but when I spin Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill I realize just how classic an album it really is. A classic album can be identified when its sound really defines a time in our lives. Whether or you liked Jagged Little Pill or not, there’s no denying it provided the soundtrack to 1995, 1996 and some of 1997 and beyond based on its big singles alone.

It was positively monumental in its success. Only Thriller and Falling Into You (that’s Celine Dion) managed to stay in our fickle imaginations long enough to keep an album in the Billboard Top 10 for more than a year. A year. Think about all the great songs and albums that burned brightly for weeks or even months and then faded away as quickly as the rose. Jagged Little Pill was a Top 10 album for longer than it takes to conceive and give birth to a child. According to the Wikipedia (citing Media Traffic), the album is the tenth best-selling album of all time and through 2005 has gone 30x platinum (that’s U.S. platinum, or one million units sold). This album swept across the world like a virus before the Internets.

There are many noteworthy tracks on the album. Let’s bring the memories back with “All I Really Want,” one of my favorite.

   Alanis Morissette – All I Really Want

“Spanish Bombs” from their third iconic album London Calling, is not my favorite by The Clash, but it is the one that lingers in my head after listening to it. Not just because the chorus is so catchy, but I always think, ‘I should learn about the Spanish Civil War …’, ’cause I have no idea what they’re talking about. It’s written by Joe Strummer after he had a discussion about the ETA (the Basque nationalist seperatist organisation), who had their bloodiest, most deadly period between 1978 and 1980 – around the time the song was written.

The lyrics reveal details like different cities that were bombed and communist and anarchist symbolism. He crams so much information in the song that it almost feels a bit too full, especially for such a seemingly upbeat punk single. There’s a story that frames the historical data as well; the protagonist is on a plane to Spain with his lover. On his way to the holiday destination he recalls the tragic events of the Civil War in 1939, on top of that he relates it to the ETA and IRA bombings at the time. I’m not here to give you a history lesson, but the little I picked up getting ready for this post about the detail steeped in every line, made me admire the band even more for putting so much depth in three minutes of punky goodness.

   The Clash – Spanish Bombs