Pulp – "Common People" (1995)

She came from Greece

She had a thirst for knowledge

She studied sculpture at Saint Martins College

“Common People” is a snarky song about a Greek art student that Blur frontman Jarvis Cocker wanted to sleep with.  Unfortunately for Cocker, the woman had no desire to sleep with him.

If she had slept with him, I’m pretty sure the song would have been quite a bit less snarky.

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Cocker met the woman in 1988 while both were students at the Central St. Martins College of Art and Design in London.

The woman told him that her father was very wealthy, but that she wanted to move to Hackney – which was a very sketchy neighborhood at the time – and “live like the common people.”

The singer in “Common People” tells the woman that even if she rents a crummy, cockroach-infested flat and spends all her time dancing, drinking, and screwing, she’ll never truly be one of the common people because “[i]f you called your dad, he could stop it all.”

Cocker – whose father had deserted the family when he was seven – knew that people with rich daddies will never have a clue what life among the “common people” was really like.  His song heaps scorn on “class tourists” like the Greek art student who “think that [being] poor is cool.”   

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“Common People” is considered by many to be the greatest of all the records that came out of the Britpop movement of the 1990s.  (My personal Britpop favorite is Blur’s “Parklife.”)

The producers of a 2006 BBC documentary about “Common People” went through Central St. Martins enrollment records in an unsuccessful attempt to ascertain just who the Greek art student in the song was.  (They thought they had identified the woman in question, but Cocker told them they were wrong after watching a video interview of her.)

In 2015, a Greek newspaper concluded that a different female artist was the subject of the song, but that woman – who was the daughter of a textile magnate and went to Central St. Martins at the right time – has neither confirmed or denied the rumor.

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Click here to watch the official music video for “Common People.”  (It’s dreamy!)

Click here to buy “Common People” from Amazon.

 

Beatles – Rubber Soul (1965)

I thought I knew you

What did I know?

Oy vey!  Who knew that I would have to listen to so much kvetching when I didn’t include a Beatles album in my list of the greatest albums of rock music’s “Golden Decade”?  

(Like I don’t have enough tsuris in my life already!)

Some of you nudniks have a real mishegas when it comes to the Beatles.  So I’m going to give in and add a Beatles album to my list.  

But which Beatles album?

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Some of you think that Sgt. Pepper should have been on my list.  

Are you kidding me?  When it has dreck like “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” “She’s Leaving Home,” “For the Benefit of Mr. Kite,” and especially “When I’m Sixty-Four,” which may be Paul McCartney’s worst song ever?  

Others of you have nominated Abbey Road.  

Side two of that album is pretty great.  But side one has “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” “Oh! Darling,” and “Octopus’s Garden” – all of which are horrible!  (And let’s be honest: “Something” kind of blows as well.)

How about The Beatles – a/k/a/ “The White Album”?  

I’m willing to cut the Beatles some slack on this one because it’s a double album.  But there are sooooo many bad tracks on The Beatles.  “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill,” “Rocky Raccoon,” “Don’t Pass Me By,” “Yer Blues,” “Mother Nature’s Son,” “Honey Pie” . . . need I go on?

Let It Be?  Spare me!  Other than “Get Back,” Let It Be reminds me of one of those collections of B-sides and unreleased tracks that record companies put out to squeeze every last dollar out of a group’s fans. 

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That leaves Rubber Soul and Revolver.  (The earlier Beatles albums aren’t really albums – they’re just agglomerations containing a few hit singles and some filler  . . . which is what most LPs were back in the day.) 

If I absolutely have to include a Beatles album in my list, I could live with either of those.

Unfortunately, Rubber Soul is marred by the truly execrable “Michelle.”  But otherwise the album represents the Beatles when they were at the height of their greatest-boy-band-ever powers – it’s chock full of perfect little two-minute-plus pop songs like “I’ve Just Seen a Face,” “Think for Yourself,” and “Run for Your Life.”

I’m surprised that the longest song on Revolver is barely three minutes long.  The arrangements on that album are much more layered and complex than those on Rubber Soul, but most of the songs on Revolver have relatively simple and straightforward structures.  (There’s nothing comparable to “A Day in the Life.”)

Revolver marks George Harrison’s coming of age – “I Want to Tell You” and especially “Taxman” are exceptional songs.  

Lennon and McCartney contributed some winners – e.g., John’s “She Said She Said” and “Tomorrow Never Knows” and Paul’s “Got to Get You Into My Life” – but also a few losers.  (“Here, There, and Everywhere” is a waste of time, and my life would have been better if I had never had to listen to “Yellow Submarine.”)

I think Rubber Soul represents the high point of the Beatles’ existence as a group.  Things started to get complicated for the Beatles after the release of Rubber Soul.  They stopped functioning as  a cohesive unit – John and Paul became rivals instead of partners, and George sort of went his own way.  Drug use began to be a real problem.  

Revolver may have higher highs but it also has lower lows – and it’s less of a Beatles album than it is a Lennon-McCartney-Harrison album. 

If I could pick and choose individual tracks, I’d go with Revolver.  But if I had to listen to one of those albums straight through, I’d choose Rubber Soul.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

Since the concept behind this year’s 28 Posts in 28 Days is albums in their entirety – we’re looking at the whole, not the sum of the parts – that means Rubber Soul gets the nod.

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Click here to listen to Rubber Soul.

Click here to buy the UK version of the album from Amazon.  (For some reason, Amazon doesn’t sell the U.S. version of the album in digital form.)

     

Monks – Black Monk Time (1966)

Cuckoo, cuckoo

Who’s got the cuckoo?

So far, this year’s “28 Posts in 28 Days” has been a bit of a yawner.  

It’s hardly surprising that I included records like Pet Sounds and Led Zeppelin I and Tommy and Let It Bleed in my list of ten great “Golden Decade” albums.  No one with a lick of musical taste would question those choices.  But they’re a bit predictable.

So I decided to shake things up with the last of my picks.

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Admit it, you’ve never heard of the Monks and their one and only album, Black Monk Time.  And you would have almost certainly gone the rest of your life without becoming acquainted with the amazing songs on that record were it not for my wildly successful little blog.

The Black Monk Time album cover

But it’s your lucky day!  Bow down before the one you serve – you are not going to get what deserve!  Because 2 or 3 lines is a merciful blogger.  You who have been walking in darkness are about to have that darkness turned into light.

And while I’m at it, I’m also going to make the rough places smooth . . . no charge!

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The five Monks were American soldiers who met in 1964 when they were all stationed in Germany.

The band’s look – they tonsured their hair, and dressed up in robes and rope belts like medieval monks – was weird enough.  But the songs on Black Monk Time are a thousand times weirder than the group’s appearance.  

The Monks getting tonsured

The Monks started out playing covers of American rock-and-roll hits for other GIs at bars near the army base where they were stationed.  

In 1965, they showed up at the door of Polydor Records with an LP’s worth of original songs.  It’s amazing to me that a major label agreed to release an album of such radical music, but that’s exactly what happened.

The band toured West Germany to promote the Black Monk Time, but it did not sell well.  

After a two-week mini-tour of Sweden in early 1967, the Monks learned that Polydor had decided not to release their album in the United States.  Apparently, the antiwar sentiments expressed in some of the songs on Black Monk Time were considered too controversial for American tastes.

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Before you poo-pooh the record company’s decision, you might want to listen to the album’s first track, “Monk Time,” which kicks off with a demented-sounding spoken rant by Monks frontman Gary Burger:  

All right, my name’s Gary!  Let’s go, it’s beat time, it’s hop time, it’s monk time!  

You know we don’t like the army.  What army?  Who cares what army?  Why do you kill all those kids over there in Vietnam?  My brother died in Vietnam!  

James Bond, who was he?  Stop it!  Stop it!  I don't like it!  It’s too loud for my ears!  Pussy Galore’s comin’ down and we like it!  We don’t like the atomic bomb!  Stop it!  Stop it!  I don't like it!  Stop it!

Polydor released records by Jimi Hendrix and Cream that year, but the Monks were a little too much for them to handle.

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“Monk Time” is so bizarre that you might assume it’s not representative of Black Monk Time as a whole.

Take my word for it.  The other tracks on the album – which include “Boys Are Boys and Girls Are Choice,” “Higgle-Dy-Piggle-Dy,” “I Hate You,” “We Do Wie Du,” “Drunken Maria,” and (last but certainly not least) “Cuckoo” – are just as odd.

But in addition to being odd, the music on Black Monk Time is oddly compelling – and (dare I say) delightful.  

Give the entire album a listen.  I’ll bet that by the time you get to the end of it, you’ll think it’s delightful, too. 

Click here to listen to Black Monk Time, which finally released in the U.S. in 1997 – 30 years after it was recorded.

Click here to watch The Transatlantic Feedback, a 2006 documentary about the Monks, on Amazon.

Rolling Stones – Let It Bleed (1969)

Yes, I’m a sack of broken eggs

I always have an unmade bed

Don’t you?

In 2010, the Royal Mail – the British postal service – issued ten stamps that depicted classic album covers.

(NOTE: Did you know that the Royal Mail is owned by a wealthy Czech businessman?  That’s right – the Brits converted their postal service from a government-0wned-and-operated operated into a publicly-traded stock corporation in 2013.  Last year, that corporation was acquired by EP Group, a Czech-based company owned by Daniel Křetínský, for £3.57 billion.)

Not surprisingly, all the recording artists whose albums were chosen for the series are British.  But the music on those albums is quite varied, ranging from classic rock (Let it Bleed by the Stones, David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust, Led Zeppelin IV) to punk (London Calling by the Clash) to post-punk (New Order’s Power, Corruption & Lies) to Britpop (Blur’s Parklife).

I was pleased that Primal Scream’s genre-bending Screamadelica was included – it’s an amazing album.

But I was puzzled to see Pink Floyd’s The Division Bell and Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells on the Royal Mail’s list.

If you had to pick one Pink Floyd album to put on a stamp, would you pick The Division Bell?  (One critic wrote that “avarice is the only conceivable explanation for this glib, vacuous cipher of an album, which is notable primarily for its stomach-turning merger of progressive-rock pomposity and New Age noodling.”)

The Tubular Bells album cover

And Tubular Bells?  If its opening theme hadn’t been featured in The Exorcist, that album would have attracted little notice – it’s interesting, but more of a novelty than anything else.

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Eventually, it dawned on me that the Royal Mail didn’t choose these albums for their music.  They chose them for the visual appeal of their album covers. 

Given that, I suppose we should be thankful that a number of the albums in the series contain first-rate music – including, of course, Let It Bleed.

It wasn’t easy for me to choose just one Rolling Stones album for this year’s 28 Posts in 28 Days.  I thought about an out-of-the-box choice like Between the Buttons or Their Satanic Majesties Request.  But in the end I decide to play it safe and go with the ne plus ultra of Rolling Stones albums.

Why Let It Bleed?  Start with “Gimme Shelter” – which is only the G.O.A.T. of classic-rock album tracks, you know. 

Follow that up with “Live With Me” and “Monkey Man,” two little-known cuts that I think are the equals of “Jumping’ Jack Flash.”

“Let it Bleed” and “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” are classics, of course.  And then there’s “Midnight Rambler” – seven minutes of very scary stuff.  (It’s not quite as scary as “Stray Cat Blues,” but it comes close.)

The album’s cover is pretty cool, too – good choice, Royal Mail!

Click here to listen to Let It Bleed.

Click here to buy that album from Amazon.