George Harrison: When He Was Fab

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I recently saw George Harrison: Living in the Material World, Martin Scorsese’s lovely and comprehensive documentary about the former Beatle, and it inspired me to investigate Harrison’s songbook at length. Working in the shadow of John Lennon and Paul McCartney throughout his tenure with The Beatles, Harrison nevertheless established an indelible identity for himself within the band – he was the quiet, droll, spiritual one – that carried over into his noteworthy solo career. His catalogue is full of graceful knockouts that have earwormed their way into my daily life as of late, and the following five tracks exemplify why.

“Taxman” (1966)

Not the first Harrison song to grace a Beatles album, but maybe the first Beatles classic written by him. Outraged at the time by England’s 95% supertax on top earners (which included him), Harrison penned this satirical rebuke, which is sung from the tax collector’s point of view. The jabs are clever and succinct (“If you take a walk, I’ll tax your feet.”), and the musicianship is on point: the song features both a rare McCartney guitar solo, and one of his most supple bass lines. With “Taxman,” Harrison’s emergence as a formidable songwriting force within the band was complete, and not only did it turn out to be a seminal track from a seminal album, it also became the de facto anthem for one of the most reviled days of the year.

“Here Comes the Sun” (1969)

Of all the songs Harrison wrote and recorded with The Beatles, this one is my personal favorite. It is surely one of his high points with the band. The day he wrote it, he was supposed to be attending a business meeting at Apple Corps headquarters. Instead, Harrison played hooky and went to Eric Clapton‘s house, where they wandered around the garden together, noodling away on their guitars, until this song began to take shape. Thank God he decided to take the day off: Harrison cemented his Beatles legacy on yet another seminal album by the band, and the world got one of the loveliest, most upbeat songs ever recorded about both seasonal and personal renewal. If that’s not a ringing endorsement for taking a personal day every now and then, I don’t know what is.

“Run of the Mill” (1970)

1970 was a notorious year for The Beatles: the band officially broke up, but still managed to release two albums anyway; and, all four members started releasing solo albums of their own on top of that. Harrison’s solo debut, All Things Must Pass, was a massive triple LP stockpiled with songs that never made it onto any Beatles albums. “Run of the Mill,” which closed out the first LP, highlights both the band’s end stage acrimony and Harrison’s emerging spiritual philosophy. As he writes in the opening lyrics:

Everyone has choice
When to or not to raise their voices
It’s you that decides

Armchair psychologists have been interpreting this song for decades, but one thing seems clear: the business of being in The Beatles had taken its toll on Harrison. On the flip side, a creative detour he’d taken to visit Bob Dylan and The Band in Woodstock back in 1968 had also made an impression: their mojo had seeped into Harrison’s songwriting, and “Run of the Mill” is a lovely, elegant example of the gestalt of those experiences during that turbulent time.

“When We Was Fab” (1987)

During the early 1980s, Harrison put his music career on hold while he explored other interests (like becoming a well-respected movie producer). But. by the second half of the decade, he was ready to jump back into the pop music fray. He recruited Electric Light Orchestra ringleader (and Beatles superfan) Jeff Lynne to co-produce a new album: the result was Cloud Nine, his strongest solo effort since All Things Must Pass. One of the standout tracks was the overtly Beatlesque “When We Was Fab,” a tribute to his days in the Fab Four. Things come full circle for Harrison here: he subtly references one of his former hits while waxing nostalgic about the good old days (“Back when income tax was all we had”), and Ringo Starr shows up to plays drums (both on the track, and in the accompanying video). Harrison sounds like he’s having more fun here than…well, since “Long time ago when we was fab,” as the song goes, and the same can be said about the entire Cloud Nine album. It was a happy return to form that thrust Harrison right back into the spotlight.

“Handle With Care” (1988)

One year after the release of Cloud Nine, Harrison and Jeff Lynne unveiled their second collaboration together: The Traveling Wilburys Vol. 1, the surprising debut of the eponymous tongue-in-cheek supergroup, which consisted of Harrison, Lynne, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison, and Bob Dylan (all under assumed band identities). As the acknowledged leader of the group, Harrison wrote the music for the band’s debut single, “Handle With Care,” then tag-teamed the lyric writing with the rest of the group around Dylan’s kitchen table. Working with a crew this strong (and, also, as a graduate of the Fab Four finishing school), is it any surprise that “Handle With Care” turned out to be one of Harrison’s strongest post-Beatles tracks? Whether he liked it or not, the former Beatle thrived whenever he worked with artists who were at least as good as him (if not better), and the entire Traveling Wilburys project was (and still is) a glorious, delightful reminder of that.

For Your Consideration: Honorary Oscar 2020

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Earlier this month, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced their roster of honorees for this year’s Governors Awards – a.k.a. the Academy’s trio of lifetime achievement trophies: the Honorary Oscar, the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award, or the Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award – and they’ve chosen another group of deserving recipients. Over the course of the past decade, the Academy’s Board of Governors has been especially sharp in their selections for these awards, which are given for “extraordinary distinction in lifetime achievement, exceptional contributions to the state of motion picture arts and sciences, or for outstanding service to the Academy.” Some of my favorite honorees from recent years include Lauren Bacall, Gordon Willis, Eli Wallach, James Earl Jones, Hal Needham, Angela Lansbury, Steve Martin, Hayao Miyazaki, Spike Lee, Gena Rowlands, Jackie Chan, Lynn Stalmaster, and Donald Sutherland. It’s as if the Academy has finally started paying closer attention to those creatives who have carved out a truly distinctive career for themselves, as well as those whom audiences actually care about.

The history of the Academy Awards is littered with deserving artists who never won a competitive Oscar. The Academy has done its best over the years to correct such oversights by handing out their Honorary Awards. That’s how countless past masters finally got their due: I’m thinking of Alfred Hitchcock, Sidney Lumet, Cary Grant, Judy Garland, and Peter O’Toole, off the top of my head, but the list goes on and on.

But, there have also been the non-winners who never even even got an Honorary Oscar (i.e. Richard Burton), and the legends who were kept out of the mix for both an Honorary Oscar and a competitive one (i.e. Marilyn Monroe). One could literally write a book about the Academy’s blind spots on both fronts.

With that said, I humbly submit the following candidates for Honorary Oscar consideration in 2020. All five have established themselves firmly in the field over the years, and have built up substantial goodwill with filmgoing audiences around the world.

Kevin Bacon

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Kevin Bacon in Tremors (1990)

Bacon has reinvented himself countless times, shown remarkable career longevity, and he never phones it in. And, what does he have to show for it? Nary a single Oscar nomination. Dear Academy: are you kidding me? Did you see Murder in the First? Let me put it this way: even my wife – who thinks the Oscars are self-congratulatory show biz nonsense, and truly could not care less about them – even she was outraged when I told her Bacon had never been nominated. That’s how ridiculous his career-long omission is. Plus, he’s been around so long, and is so popular with audiences, there’s a game named after him. Who else can say that?

Annette Bening

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Annette Bening in American Beauty (1999)

Always a bridesmaid at the Oscars, but never the bride – yet. It never quite seems to be Bening’s year. She’s been nominated four times over the past two decades, and been thwarted by her Oscar kryptonite, Hilary Swank, on two of those occasions. She’s built an impressive resume that has established her as one of the strongest actors of the modern era, and she’s well-connected: Bening previously served as one of the Actors Branch representatives on the Academy’s Board of Governors, so they quite literally know her. How stupid will they feel twenty years from now when they realize it took them so long to give her the Honorary Oscar?

Glenn Close

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Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons (1988)

Talk about someone who has reinvented themselves countless times, shown remarkable career longevity, and, like Kevin Bacon, also never phones it in. In an alternate universe, Close would be as critically lauded as Meryl Streep, and she’d have the hardware to show for it. The buzz around Close when she first hit in the early 1980s made it seem like such an outcome was inevitable. Nearly 40 years and seven Oscar nominations later, however, she remains winless. That makes her the current record-holder among living actors for most nods without a win. (Was I the only person who thought she would finally win for The Wife?) It seems inconceivable that someone as respected, versatile, and ballsy as Close would still be empty-handed, but here we are. Dear Academy, I ask you: what else does she have to do?

Harrison Ford

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Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

Come on, now. He is both Han Solo and Indiana Jones, for Christ’s sake. He has made a bundle of money for the studios. And, he’s only been nominated for an Oscar once, for his splendid performance in Witness. The $64,000 question is: how was he not nominated for playing two of the most iconic characters in film history?! In hindsight, those omissions seem absurd, especially considering how often he’s imitated (after all, he did help create the template for the modern action movie hero). Best of all: he doesn’t actually give a damn – about accolades, or much else to do with show biz. Still, Ford is that rare movie star who remains both influential and bankable after five decades in the industry. He is long overdue for some recognition.

Samuel L. Jackson

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Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction (1994)

Like Harrison Ford, Jackson has only been nominated once, for his legendary, career-defining performance in Pulp Fiction. Also, like Ford, this is such a no-brainer, I feel as if it doesn’t have to be explained or justified, so I’ll just say this: he’s been both a Jedi and Senor Love Daddy, he has battled snakes on a plane, he assembled the most popular team of superheroes on Earth, and he’s also Mr. Glass. He is extraordinarily popular with audiences and knows which projects to hitch his wagon to: as of this writing, the total box office gross of his collective filmography make Jackson the highest-grossing film actor of all time. In other words, he can – and will – do anything. Show the man some respect.

Tony Awards Pre-Gaming

With the Tony Awards coming up this weekend, it’s time to do a little pre-gaming in preparation for Broadway’s biggest night. Every year, there are at least a couple of magnificent excerpts from the nominated shows featured on the Tony broadcast, so we’ll have to wait until Sunday to see who gives this season’s breakout performances. In the meantime, allow me to take you on a guided tour of some of my favorite numbers from the past.

“We’ll Take a Glass Together” from Grand Hotel (1990)

Musical numbers have been featured at the Tony Awards since the ceremony’s broadcast television debut in 1967, but this is the number that raised the bar for all such performances moving forward. What is it about this one in particular? Tommy Tune‘s simple-but-inventive staging, for one thing (using a ballet barre as the bar: perfection). Also, Michael Jeter‘s joyously loose-limbed performance as Kringelein, the fatally ill accountant who wants to live his remaining days in luxury. In a Broadway season that had been dominated by Cy Coleman and David Zippel’s smash musical hit City of Angels, the surprising verve of this number took the 1990 Tony ceremony by storm and helped Grand Hotel stake its claim on the territory. The show took home five Tonys that night, including two for Tommy Tune’s direction and choreography, and a well-earned award for Jeter as Best Featured Actor in a Musical.

“Circle of Life” from The Lion King (1998)

The Lion King was the beginning of Disney’s foray into Broadway theater, and the big question was: how are they going to do a live-action version of anything from this movie? Viewers quickly got the answer at the 1998 Tony ceremony, as director Julie Taymor, a former doyenne of downtown New York theater, revealed her stunning creation. Watching it now, it’s clear from the outset that her signature style (which favors the use of masks and puppets) is perfect for this material. The Lion King won the Tony for Best Musical, Taymor became the first woman to win the Tony for Best Direction of a Musical, and this landmark production ushered in a new era of Broadway design.

Viola Davis in King Hedley II (2001)

Once upon a time, excerpts from plays also used to get airtime on the Tony Awards broadcast, and Viola Davis‘ fierce performance in August Wilson‘s King Hedley II is one of the reasons why. As Tonya, the beleaguered spouse of the title character, she lays into her husband about why she aborted the child that he so desperately wanted. Talking about such a hot-button issue so openly on a live award show was (and still is) daring, but, as is evident from this clip, Davis sells it with conviction. It’s easy to see why this performance launched her career, and earned her that year’s Tony for Best Featured Actress in a Play.

“Life in Living Color” / “Don’t Break the Rules” from Catch Me if You Can (2011)

The surprise showstopper of the 2011 Tony broadcast. Trey Parker and Matt Stone‘s musical juggernaut, The Book of Mormon, was the heavy favorite to win everything that year (and, for the most part, it did), so no one was paying much attention to Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman‘s musical adaptation of Steven Spielberg’s hit biopic (itself adapted from former con artist Frank Abagnale Jr.’s memoir). It was, therefore, doubly astonishing to see this high energy number – led by the irrepressible Norbert Leo Butz, no less, as FBI agent Carl Hanratty – steal the show. Catch Me if You Can shocked the Tonys a second time later that night when Butz pulled off an upset victory as Best Actor in a Musical. (Take that, Book of Mormon!)

“Ring of Keys” from Fun Home (2015)

In Lisa Kron and Jeanine Tesori‘s musical adaptation of the Alison Bechdel graphic novel, the protagonist (none other than Bechdel herself) reckons with her own sexual discovery and her father’s mysterious life at three different ages in her history. The youngest version, Small Alison, has a memorable moment of self-discovery in this striking number, as she encounters a butch lesbian for the first time. Kron and Tesori’s songwriting here is exemplary, and Sydney Lucas‘ lovely performance hits all of the right notes, as she swerves from startled unease to jubilation. The result was one of the most moving Tony performances from recent years, and the capstone of Fun Home‘s march towards that year’s Tony Award for Best Musical.

“History Has Its Eyes on You” / “Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)” from Hamilton (2016)

The musical number that shook the 2016 Tony broadcast. Lin-Manuel Miranda‘s landmark musical adaptation of Ron Chernow’s definitive biography took New York by storm the moment it opened. Everyone had been talking about the show for months, and Hamilton‘s performance at the Tonys was the first time the world-at-large got a good look at it. Could a show with that much buzz around it live up to all that hype? Never fear. Miranda & Co. delivered the goods, and then some. Everything that makes this show a phenomenon – the brilliant score, genius casting, humor, epic sweep, inventive staging and choreography – is all in this number: it’s an all-in-one Hamilton primer. This performance cemented the show’s legacy in the public eye, and served as its victory lap, as well: the production took home 11 Tony Awards, including the trophy for Best Musical.

Aretha Steals Your Song

When Aretha Franklin died last summer, I was struck by the realization that, for my money, she was probably the greatest interpretive singer I’ve ever heard. Nobody could cover someone else’s song the way Aretha could. She could steal your song right out from under you and own it so hard you’d be lucky to get it back. And, like many other interpretive singers of yesteryear (i.e. Sinatra, Streisand, Rosemary Clooney, etc.), Aretha made a career of singing other people’s songs: her discography is full of covers, from the traditional Tin Pan Alley and R&B standards that define her early albums for Columbia Records to the legendary pop/rock/soul tracks she cut for Atlantic Records that made her the Queen of Soul. In my view, she never met a song she couldn’t cover, and she had a keen sense of how to make every tune work for her, even those that didn’t seem like a good fit at first glance. But, that was part of Aretha’s genius: she could reveal new layers of meaning in a song while boldly transforming it to suit her needs.

There are countless examples of such brilliance throughout Aretha’s voluminous catalogue, and here are five of my favorites. For me, they exemplify her singular flair for song interpretation so completely that they pass the ultimate listening test: I prefer her versions over the originals.

“Respect” (1967)

Aretha owns this song so thoroughly that it’s easy to forget her version is a cover: the original was written and performed by Otis Redding in 1965. Otis’ version is a straightforward plea to his woman: please just give me a little respect when I come home from work. Fair enough. Otis was no slouch, but his “Respect” sounds positively pedestrian compared to Aretha’s, which started as a bit of a lark. According to Dave Marsh‘s essay about “Respect” in The Heart of Rock & Soul: The 1001 Greatest Singles Ever Made, Aretha and her sister Carolyn were “merely fiddling” with Otis’ song, “pulling threads of tempo and phrasing together in a way that suggested putting them on tape.” From such humble beginnings came not only one of popular music’s crowning achievements, but a rousing anthem for the civil rights era. Aretha flips the script with the lyrics, turning it into a proclamation to her man: all I want is some respect from you when you come home. To paraphrase Marsh, the song’s genius (especially in Aretha’s case) is that it applies a fundamental tenet of the civil rights movement to everyone’s sex life.

Then, there’s the arrangement, which adds a bridge (using chords borrowed from Sam and Dave’s “When Something is Wrong With My Baby”), a power trio of backup singers (sisters Carolyn and Erma, and session powerhouse Cissy Houston), and the hard southern soul mastery of the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section. Everything Aretha knows – about singing, arranging, applying her gospel background to pop music, creative musical savvy, maximizing studio resources and recording time, you name it – is all here. No wonder “Respect” went No. 1 on the U.S. Top 40.

“I Say a Little Prayer” (1968)

Allegedly, composer Burt Bacharach didn’t like the speedy tempo of Dionne Warwick‘s original 1967 recording (which was still a big hit, regardless: it peaked at No. 4 on the U.S. Top 40). Aretha’s version fixed that, slowing down the tempo just a hair. It’s barely perceptible on its own, but when you listen to both recordings back-to-back, it really stands out. Aretha’s version leads with the piano, and uses it as a rhythmic anchor within the arrangement, much like one would use the bass and drums: linking the piano to the tempo like this immediately lays a warm foundation. By contrast, the easy listening brass-and-strings of Warwick’s original makes her version sound like a trunk song from Promises, Promises.

The real standout of Aretha’s version is the vocal arrangement, and how she splits the duties with her backup singers (none other than The Sweet Inspirations, which were founded and led by Dionne Warwick’s aunt, Cissy Houston). They echo Aretha on key words and phrases throughout the song, emerging like the thoughts that are too emotional for Aretha to give voice to herself (i.e. the chorus, which Cissy & Co. practically carry all on their own). Lyricist Hal David intended this tune to “convey
a woman’s concern for her man who’s serving in the Vietnam War,”
but that never really comes across. The lyrics invite many different interpretations, including the one that Aretha’s performance inspires: the joy of loving (or, at least, having loved) someone who is no longer there.

(Did I mention that Aretha’s version went top 10 as a B-side, and nearly charted as high as the A-side it accompanied? Tell me that’s not a master flex.)

“The Weight” (1969)

Knowing that the films of Ingmar Bergman and Luis Bunuel, as well as the experience of being in a band with Levon Helm, inspired Robbie Robertson to write “The Weight” explains why it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Dave Marsh’s book describes The Band’s 1968 original as “Populated by weirdnesses…The words are bizarre but the meaning that the singers bring to them has an everyday concreteness and that’s the contradiction that the music fights to resolve.” That dichotomy has helped make “The Weight” a terrific enduring classic, and The Band’s signature song.

Aretha’s version takes Marsh’s sentiment and runs with it, beating Robertson and The Band at their own game by proving that it’s really her game instead. She takes the songs Biblical imagery and its random threads of Americana, and activates them with another one of her patented home-cooked southern soul arrangements and a blazing, jubilant vocal performance. Does this song make any more sense in her hands? No way. But, it sounds like it does, and that’s Aretha’s triumph. She turns “The Weight” into a hymn and makes it sound like the gospel. It also doesn’t hurt that she’s backed up by Duane Allman‘s slide guitar (dripping with deep south flavor), King Curtis‘ horns, and a quorum of returning Muscle Shoals sidemen. Everyone is in their element here, and they know exactly what to do with this song.

(Further proof of Aretha’s dominance and mastery: her version of “The Weight” hit No. 19 on the U.S. Top 40; The Band’s original never even cracked the chart. Say thank you, Robbie.)

“Eleanor Rigby” (1969)

Aretha completely reinvents this song by taking it to church. Recorded during the same sessions that produced her cover of “The Weight,” she doesn’t even try to imitate the classical experimentation of The Beatles’ iconic 1966 original. Instead, she brings “Eleanor Rigby” onto her turf, and makes it work on her terms. Aretha’s gospel background is especially prominent here (also fitting, considering the song’s lyrics), influencing both her vocals and the arrangement. Her “Eleanor Rigby” is warm and uptempo, a joyful noise that you can also shake your ass to.

Even more striking is Aretha’s decision to change the song’s point of view from third person to first: “I’m Eleanor Rigby,” she declares at the outset, instantly making this a story that cuts closer to the bone than when Paul McCartney tells it. But then, after cruising through the added-on bridge, Aretha switches back to third person to announce the title character’s death – a bold interpretive choice that almost plays as a formal nullification of the character’s existence – and closes out the song by belting out our heroine’s name over and over again, as if serenading her off into the sweet hereafter. In a word: amazing.

(P.S. Both Aretha’s version and The Beatles’ original went top 20 on the U.S. Top 40: the former hit No. 17, while the latter peaked at No. 11.)

“Jumpin’ Jack Flash” (1986)

By the mid-1980s, Aretha was going through a full-blown professional comeback (after a notable career lull earlier that decade), thanks in part to a new record label (she left Atlantic and signed with Arista) and a newer, fresher sound. By contrast, Keith Richards was in professional flux: his working relationship with Mick Jagger had become so fractious that The Rolling Stones went on indefinite hiatus, and Mick’s subsequent solo album and tour kickstarted rumors that the Stones might actually break up.

It was against this backdrop that Aretha and Keith joined forces for an unlikely collaboration that nobody saw coming: a cover of one of the most famous Stones tracks – sung by Aretha, produced by Keith – in support of a Whoopi Goldberg comedy of the same name. On paper, it’s a head-scratcher of an enterprise, to be sure. But, Aretha quickly dispels any doubts and proves, once again, that she is never to be underestimated. She takes what could have easily been one of the most unnecessary covers of all time, and turns it into a statement of purpose for her mid-career resurgence. Aided by both Keith and fellow Stones bandmate Ron Wood on guitar (as well as the heavyweight sideman trio of Chuck Leavell, Steve Jordan, and Randy Jackson on keyboards, drums, and bass, respectively) Aretha rips through this track like nobody’s business. There’s no denying that her reading of the song’s classic opening line – “I was born in a crossfire hurricane!” – gives it the necessary jolt of authentic life experience that the Stones simply did not have when they first recorded it.

Aretha’s version of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” peaked at No. 21 on the U.S. Top 40, and was one of five singles she released in 1986 (which was the highest volume of singles she’d issued within a 12-month span since 1971). In other words: Aretha was back.

Bonus Track: “96 Tears” (1967)

Wait, what? On second thought, it’s better not to ask why Aretha covered this garage rock classic by punk rock precursors ? and the Mysterians. Just take a listen, and marvel at how effortlessly she owns it.

De La Soul: Good Enough to Steal

Early last month, Aaron Williams over at Uproxx reminded us that De La Soul’s debut album, 3 Feet High and Rising, came out 30 years ago. Oh, man. This was one of the classic albums from my high school years. Even though it was released just three months shy of graduation, it made a seismic impression on both me and my fellow seniors. It seemed like we all had a copy, and it got played at every party we went to until the end of the school year. It was the ubiquitous, smart, feelgood party record from the spring of 1989.

How good is this album? About a month after I first bought it, a friend borrowed it for a party she was going to, then had to sheepishly tell me the next day that someone had swiped it while she wasn’t looking.

That’s how good 3 Feet High and Rising is: it’s good enough to steal. I can’t say that about any other album from my high school years.

But, of course, there’s much more to this record than just that.

For my buddy, Derek, a fellow De La fan from way back, 3 Feet High and Rising appeared at an equally impressionable time – the back end of middle school in his native Baltimore – and made an immediate impact on him. The songs struck him as more intricate and melodic than other hip-hop from that era, built more along the melodies of the samples being used. Case in point: “Say No Go” and “Eye Know,” both of which introduced a new generation of music fans to Hall & Oates and Steely Dan, respectively.

Derek remembers when there used to be many different kinds of hip-hop personas on the scene – some defined by hard beats, flowing rhymes, and overt political themes – and De La Soul (along with their colleagues from the Native Tongues collective) pioneered a new one: it was nerdier, wittier, and funnier – and atypical of their contemporaries. The group summed themselves up perfectly on one of 3 Feet‘s signature tracks, “Buddy,” when they said, “De La Soul, from the soul / Black medallions, no gold.” Derek loved how they made easygoing Afrocentrism an acceptable hip-hop personality.

So did I. For me, 3 Feet remains fun and sunny, an album made in an emblematic emotional major key, and one that also features a more positive, humble, wide-ranging worldview than the prevailing hip-hop from that era. The record’s smooth beats and its sense of rhythm and syncopation are more akin to jazz, but its still just as funky and danceable as one expects hip-hop to be. (The Dean himself, Robert Christgau, said it best in his review of the album: “…they’re new wave to Public Enemy’s punk.”)

3 Feet High and Rising‘s effect on hip-hop was significant and immediate: The Village Voice‘s annual Pazz & Jop Critics Poll crowned it the best album of 1989. By the mid-1990s, De La Soul’s influence could be heard in the music of Arrested Development, Digable Planets, Us3, Jurassic 5, The Pharcyde, and about five million other hip-hop groups. (For a more in-depth and objective take, check out Jeff Chang’s appraisal at Pitchfork.) And, in 2010, the Library of Congress added 3 Feet to their National Recording Registry of recordings deemed socially, culturally, or artistically important.

For me and Derek, it’s easily one of the top 10 greatest hip-hop albums of all-time. Hands down, no question.

I would almost say that it’s still worth stealing, but the stone cold truth is that 3 Feet High and Rising is even better than that: it’s worth shelling out your hard-earned ducats to pay full list price for. I can’t say that about most other albums from my high school years.

Introducing Perfect Album Sides

The concept of the perfect album side is not a new one. I was first introduced to it by the radio station of my youth: 102.7 WNEW-FM, billed as “the place were rock lives.” Mondays through Fridays at midnight, they would play a different album side by listener request (this was back in the days when albums had actual sides). It was such a fun, cool way to learn about rock music in a way that allowed for a deeper dive into a given artist’s work, one that covered more than just their well-known hits (although there were still plenty of those to go around). This was how I got introduced to a slew of back catalogue surprises, weird curiosities, and some new favorites, sometimes all within the same week.

The midnight Perfect Album Side was one of my favorite features on WNEW, so I’m reviving it here as Strictly Back Catalogue‘s leadoff recurring column.

First up: side two of The Police’s classic 1983 album, Synchronicity. In my view, this is a great example of a perfect album side. It has thematic and tonal consistency, exemplary songwriting, and strong musicianship. There are catchy hooks galore here – all the more impressive since it may also be one of the most dour and idiosyncratic albums to ever go multi-platinum. The Police faced multiple obstacles during recording: Sting’s first marriage had just fallen apart, tensions within the band had reached a breaking point (and, sure enough, they broke up for good after an 8-month world tour), and they chose some puzzling sources of inspiration for the album: Arthur Koestler’s book about parapsychology, The Roots of Coincidence, and Carl Jung’s theory of synchronicity. Not your typical pop music jumping-off points.

And yet, The Police managed to create a striking, powerful, hypnotic work out of disparate elements that would have usually bored a lecture hall full of college freshman and ended more than a few friendships, respectively. Synchronicity‘s best qualities are on full display on side two. Check it:

“Every Breath You Take”

Robert Christgau called this one “the single of the summer,” which it was: it spent eight consecutive weeks at No. 1 on the U.S. Top 40 in the middle of Thriller-mania, which was no small feat. In his book The Heart of Rock & Soul: The 1,001 Greatest Singles Ever Made, Dave Marsh wrote that “Every Breath You Take” announces itself as a classic from the get-go (which could be said about this entire album). It works as both political allegory and a treatise on romantic and sexual obsession. Marsh initially heard the song as the former, even though it was inspired by more personal events: the aforementioned dissolution of Sting’s marriage. (In hindsight, though, Sting has come to agree more with Marsh’s interpretation.) However one hears it, “Every Breath You Take” remains a haunting, enduring work, a standout of The Police’s catalogue and a compositional high point for Sting.

“King of Pain”

Another haunting track that went Top 10 (peak position: No. 3 on the U.S. Top 40). The lyrics make more sense within the context of Sting’s volatile emotional state at the time, but it’s the feeling and the sound of “King of Pain” that carries it: the reverb on Stewart Copeland’s drums, the minor key piano opening coupled with Andy Summers’ janky guitar pluckings, the song’s upbeat final chorus in which Sting joyously declares “I will always be king of pain!” A broody, contemplative miracle from start to finish.

“Wrapped Around Your Finger”

Yet another pensive earworm, but also another Top 10 hit for the band (peak position: No. 8 on the U.S. Top 40). This is the one where Sting works out the power dynamics of the song’s vindictive apprentice finally one-upping his master (he called it a “spiteful song about turning the tables on someone who had been in charge” in a 1985 interview for the now-defunct Musician magazine). Once again, though, the strength is in the atmospherics: Andy Summers’ distant, echoey guitar part moves through the song like a snake, and Sting’s melody is one of the most tenacious he’s ever written.

“Tea in the Sahara”

This is the real sneak preview of what Sting’s soon-to-be solo career would be like: earnest and a little self-important, but sonically and musically ambitious. Despite this song’s literary origins (it’s inspired by a Paul Bowles novel), it feels like a cool breeze that provides respite from the thick melancholy on the rest of the side. It’s airy and has a bit of grand, cinematic sweep, but is also a deeply weird find on a hit album that sold over 8 million copies worldwide. But, then again, that’s how good The Police were: they could get away with a track like this on the biggest album of their career.

“Murder by Numbers”

A true bonus track: it was only originally available on the cassette release, not the vinyl LP. I had the vinyl version growing up, and consequently didn’t hear this track until years later. I never sought it out because, for me, side two of Synchronicity was already perfect as it was. But, this song does add a little kick, and is more of a proper final track. One can hear the band’s jazz chops more obviously, and they sound more relaxed here than at any other point on the album. It’s up to the listener to decide which of the final two songs is the actual closer.

Stanley Donen: Full of Joy

When Stanley Donen died late last month, the world lost one of the last remaining film directors of Hollywood’s Golden Age. He was almost never mentioned in the same sentence with his peers from that hallowed era – Hitchcock, Hawks, Huston, Welles, Chaplin, Wilder, Kazan, to name a few – probably because he specialized in a genre that has seldom been taken seriously: the big-budget movie musical. I dare say, however, that he was, in his own way, just as talented, accomplished, and influential as his more revered colleagues. After all, he did co-direct one of the universally acknowledged greatest films of all time, a rare distinction for a musical.

One look at Donen’s filmography reveals his strengths and interests, best summarized by Tad Friend of The New Yorker in a 2003 profile of the director: “He made the world of champagne fountains and pillbox hats look enchanting, which is much harder than it sounds.” The signature stars of Donen’s most well-known films – Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Cary Grant, and Audrey Hepburn – exemplify that ethos of charming, witty refinement perfectly.

But, a closer look at Donen’s films also reveals another overarching theme: joy, of all stripes, as evidenced by some of my favorite moments from his films:

“You’re All the World to Me,” Royal Wedding (1951)

The musical number that personifies the phrase “movie magic.” It’s got everything, starting with Fred Astaire’s Tom Bowen being so in love that he momentarily turns into Spider-Man. Donen and Astaire do such an incredible job on this number that the audience never thinks twice about it being completely stylistically different from the rest of the movie. Instead, it is simply proof positive that once the singing and dancing start, anything can happen in a musical. It’s genre that is built for this kind of whimsy, and Donen clearly loves that.

“Good Morning,” Singin’ in the Rain (1952)

Here is Donen the craftsman showing off in his own subtle way: with terrific framing and composition, great camera movement, and a minimum of cuts. Donen uses maximum shot lengths in order to let the performers fully do their thing, and the choreography complements both them and the plot. Every move that Kelly, Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor make here is appropriate for this particular point in the story. This is the joy of watching three top-notch triple threats in peak form.

“Make ‘Em Laugh,” Singin’ in the Rain

A musical number that perfectly introduces and defines a character. We know exactly who Donald O’Connor’s Cosmo is after this, and we carry that knowledge with us for the rest of the movie: anytime he shows up, we know he could potentially be this funny, nimble, and charming at any moment. It’s no coincidence that this number is both inventive and hilarious and also tailored to O’Connor’s strengths. This is another moment from the Donen filmography where we revel in the joy of watching a expert performer operating at the highest level.

“Sunday Jumps,” Royal Wedding

My mom’s first question after I told her I’d recently watched this movie again: “Is that the one where he dances with the hat rack?” Please note that she did not ask “Is that the one where he dances on the ceiling?” That’s how good this number is. Donen and Fred Astaire take a potentially lame idea – dancing solo with a room full of inanimate objects – and activate it the fullest. This is a prime example of Donen’s and Astaire’s inventiveness, and another great illustration of character development through dance: Astaire’s Tom Bowen is both resourceful and a workaholic.

Jo Stockton’s Bohemian Dance, Funny Face (1957)

There are so many reasons why Funny Face is one of Donen’s best musicals, and most of them can be found in this number. Yet again, we have a dance that is tailored to a performer’s strengths, and also defines character. Audrey Hepburn’s Jo Stockton is thrilled to be out in Paris meeting the bohemian intelligentsia, and this dance is how she expresses that. It’s a great showcase for both Hepburn’s latent dance skills and her goofy sense of humor. Plus, the mise-en-scene is off the charts.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention another highlight from Funny Face: two of the greatest shots of Audrey Hepburn ever put on film. Donen clearly loved working with A-list movie stars, and often did everything he could to make sure they looked their glamorous best. I would bet that no one ever looked as fabulous in any of his movies as Hepburn does here. Case in point: skip forward to the 3:29 point in this number and the 5:53 point in this sequence, and you will see Hepburn being even more photogenic and iconic than usual. (She must have liked working with Donen, as well: they went on to make two more movies together.)