Abbey Road - The Beatles

It had to happen at some point. There are twenty-five goddamn Beatles' albums in the basket. And so as last week's post was my love letter to Tom Waits (and if you haven't bought his new album, Bad As Me, shame on you), it's B's turn to carry on like a pork chop about Lennon and McCartney this week. I accept the songs are good but god I hate The Beatles.

Taking the laptop from L, I point out that The Beatles only released 13 albums (four are in the basket). Considering all were written in a seven-year period, I consider this to be the richest period of artistic creation in the history of humanity.

Writing about Abbey Road is like reviewing the Bible. Fortunately, we have the cojones to do so. (Incidentally, our review of the Bible would consist of five words - "could do with an edit").

Come Together is one of those Beatles songs which is so omniscient you forget how brilliant it is. It doesn't sound like any other Beatles song - it's all drums and percussions and funk. It wears its jeans so tight it needs to do the fly up with pliers and would be (re: is) cool in any era.

There's not much to say about Something, except that it's perfect. It has never been bested. Period. Until you hear Here Comes the Sun. It's a Harrison one-two knockout punch that leaves you lying on the canvas, bruised and breathless.

This album is the most polished of all Beatles releases. The songs in themselves are pure, breathtaking genius. But the production polishes them up until they are flawless diamonds. It verges on over-production, but never crosses the line, with harmonies and string sent in just at the right moment to rocket the songs into the stratosphere.

I reckon if someone challenged God to write a pop song, he would write Oh Darling. The piano riff is textbook 50s-Jerry-Lee Lewis-Little Richard rock and roll, but the plaintive plea of the chorus is sung with such raw passion it sounds like it's tearing McCartney's vocal chords to shreds.

As all readers would know, after Because, side two is seamless, with each song segueing into the next. This is not easily done, particularly considering Lennon and McCartney had stopped writing together. McCartney and George Martin took the fragments of unfinished songs and melded them into an incredible medley. Some of these songs fully formed would have been the pinnacle of another songwriter's career, but for The Beatles, they are the leftovers spooned onto a plate and microwaved to make a meal.

The album is McCartney's from this point on. You Never Give Me Your Money starts with a quintessential McCartney minor key, brooding, melody describing his boredom with daily life and then jumps into a rocking anthem about the thrill of escape when "one sweet dream came true today".

My favourite song on the album is She Came in Through the Bathroom Window. The bassline is funky and the verses are exhilarating. McCartney is wonderfully skilful at capturing suburban mundanity with lines like "Sunday's on the phone to Monday, Tuesday's on the phone to me."

The climax is all four Beatles singing "boy, you're going to carry that weight a long time"; it sounds like the encore to the best concert you never went to. Brilliantly, it reverts back to You Never Give Me You Your Money and then segues into The End, which sounds like a victory lap, with the band throwing flowers into the crowd.

There's really no way to describe Abbey Road and do it justice. Put it on and let it take your breath away. And with Queen Elizabeth in town, enjoy the final line of "I want to tell her that I love her a lot, but I gotta get a belly full of wine, Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl and someday I'm gonna make her mine."

Even L admits that she doesn't mind the album by the end, although she does note that my hyperbole-filled post has failed to mention Octopus's Garden....

Closing Time - Tom Waits

I've been waiting patiently for this album to be pulled out of the basket. Tom Waits' first album from 1973, Closing Time, is my favourite. It was before he shredded his vocal chords so it's very accessible, however, it still has the tragic, romantic and lonesome themes of the rest of his canon.

Even though Waits was in his early twenties when this was released, you'd believe he was an old man sitting drunk at the bar. Similar to Bruce Springsteen, Waits sings stories of people - their fears, hopes and dreams.

Sadly, B doesn't find Waits' voice on his later albums - described as being "soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car" - as seductive as I do so this album is played more than his other work at our house. It is also one of 'our' albums, which together with the aforementioned Springsteen reference should provide you with adequate forewarning, dear reader, of the painful mush to come in this post.

Early in our 'courting days' B & I took a 'sick day' and just hung out. Martha Wainwright was being interviewed on triple j about her favourite songs and she played I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love With You. We both listened gobsmacked by the beauty of the song; the clarity of Waits' voice and the vivid picture it painted in our minds. We were both pretending not to be in love with one another but knowing damn well where it was headed.

Martha of course, played Martha next. Alone in our imaginations, we speculated about forty years down the track when our relationship - which hadn't really started - hadn't actually worked out, as an old Tom Frost wonders what might have been with Martha. In order to avoid this fate, B would argue I stuck my claws in at this very point and haven't let up...

Martha is the best song on the album. But before you can feel sorry for the fool, there is plenty of male bravado. Old Shoes (& Pictures Postcards) is the cocky goodbye to a lover - "farewell to the girl with the sun in her eyes, I'm gonna kiss you and then I'll be gone". It's followed up by Midnight Lullaby which epitomises the mood of this album. You need to listen to it in a smokey club, with velvet drapes, nursing your joys or your sorrows over a whiskey at 2am.

The album veers from blues to swing. Virginia Avenue is Tom serenading the tired hooker who frequents the bar. The swing is particularly joyous on Ice Cream Man. Sung with a wink, it's a song that sparkles of show tunes.

Tom Waits music has remained interesting, challenging and brilliant since this debut. Waits is probably the most popular singer to be labelled a cult artist. A bit like Charles Bukowski whose poetry remains immensely popular too. Unlike most things 'cult' he is still releasing albums worth buying almost forty years later.

If you need to be introduced to Waits (and find his gravelly voice grating), then grab a copy of Closing Time. There are a few different women on this album and no doubt Waits loves them all and doesn't mean to break their hearts. But he does. And god he makes bloody beautiful music about it. And to finish off your evening, treat yourself by having a listening to Springsteen covering the best song ever written, Tom Waits' Jersey Girl.

Is This It - The Strokes

Is This It, the Strokes first, and best, album from 2001. The title track perfectly captures the disappointed nonchalance mood of the album. Who can be bothered including a question mark.

The second track, The Modern Age, was a floor-filler at indie kid parties. It's like the slacker protagonist of the first song finishes work at his shop assistant job, heads out with his friends and after a few drinks, finally feels alive for the first time that day. Crack a beer and turn this up loud and you'll understand.

The hyperbole that accompanied the release of this album was preposterous. It was like it was the first good rock and roll album to be released in five years. NME wet its pants and hailed the Strokes as the 'saviours' of rock and roll (considering Foo Fighters and U2 were dominating with MOR rock at the time, maybe it was fair...). All the hype turned me off at the time and it took a few months of constantly hearing it at parties, barbecues and bars before I finally gave in and bought it. It might not have been the only good rock and roll album released in five years, but it was undoubtedly the best.

The brilliance of the album is that while all the songs sound kind of the same - as if the Strokes only had one effect on their guitars and mic - each of them is still fresh, brilliant and exciting. Today as much as ten years ago (cue panic attack upon realisation that ten years have passed since we first heard this album). We all knew that it was faux-garage rock (because there was no room in the Strokes' parents garages amongst the Mercedes), but the simplicity of the songs and the production gives the album a rawness which feels like authenticity and sincerity.

The worst thing about the hype is that the Strokes became their image. They were the coolest band in the world, and they thought to be cool they had to nonchalant. I saw them at the Big Day Out and they sucked. It wasn't that they were bad, it was that they were so affected. They came onto stage, played theirs songs without moving or speaking, their faces completely expressionless. To play a song as exciting as like Last Nite without moving or expressing any emotion was a crime against the song. Sacrificing their music for their image is part of the reason their subsequent albums have been half-baked and mediocre. Some great songs, no doubt. But if there's only two good songs on the album, don't bother releasing it.

But back to their pinnacle - hot damn Last Nite is a good song. It's cruel though, because it makes you want to dance and there's no way to dance with dignity to that song. Put it on, let your limbs go and you'll know what we mean.

There's such a coherent mood to this album, rocking out while singing "baby, I feel so down, but I don't know why." The cavalier attitude towards the disappointment of modern life is wonderful and uplifting.

New York City Cops is our favourite song. It's degenerate and incendiary, with one of the most seditious sing-a-long choruses ever written. It was initially left off the American release of the album - after September 11, singing that New York City cops ain't so smart was not acceptable. September 11 had some strange impacts on music - the Strokes broke the big time with an album that didn't include its best song; Shihad changed its name to Pacifier and lost most of its fans; while Bruce Springsteen was inspired to make his best album in almost twenty years.

Trying Your Luck is the only weak moment on the album. Skip. Take It Or Leave It is a great closer though. Take it or leave it. No one cares.

The weather's warming up, so invite your friends over for a barbecue, make a Dry Manhattan (2 parts Bourbon; 1 part dry vermouth; dash of bitters; stir over ice; strain and serve with olives) and don't be afraid to put on an album that's ten years old because it's still the perfect rock and roll soundtrack.