This past Tuesday night, my wife and I went to the USANA Amphitheater here in Utah to watch the Dave Matthews Band perform. They walked on stage at about fifteen after eight and didn't finish the set (with a quick wait for the encore) until about 10:30. It was a fantastic night, filled with some of their oldest songs (including my always-and-forever favorite, "Satellite", a song I didn't think I'd ever see them perform live because, well…let's be honest, they're probably pretty darn sick of it) as well as something from basically every album, and a handful from their new one, Come Tomorrow. As a result, I felt like I should pick up where I left off in my analysis of Before These Crowded Streets. However, the next track on the album is "Halloween", which is a…weird…entry. When I was a kid and listening to this album, I didn't think too much about how incongruous it is with the rest of the philosophy that undergirds Before These Crowded Streets, most particularly with the profanities and contrary message to songs like "Pantala Naga Pampa" and "Pig". The upshot was that I really didn't know how to tackle this one. Much of the guidance that I use for my look at the music comes from the 1998 guitar and vocal tablature book published by Cherry Hill, and the vocal section has an asterisk at the beginning of the ninth measure, when the singing begins: "The lyrics to this song have been intentionally omitted." At first, in my Mormonism-explains-the-entire-world thinking, I figured it was because it swore. It didn't really sound like swearing, of course (I had this problem identifying the f-bomb being dropped in "Lounge Fly" on Stone Temple Pilot's Purple album, which, when I finally recognized it, made me sad, because it was one of my favorite songs on the disc), so I rationalized that it's all so growly and scream-o that you'd be hard pressed to hear the swears. And, while it could be true that, in 1998, publishing a guitar book with swear words in it was considered a risky move, I think the better answer is probably that the band--which doesn't have the lyrics to "Halloween" printed in the liner notes--didn't want the lyrics published. I have heard alternatives to this song, including the acoustic-only version with Tim Reynolds from the Live at Luthor College two-disc set, and though the lyrics are similar to what's on Before These Crowded Streets, they're different enough for me to guess that Dave Matthews prefers to have some sort of flexibility with what he sings in this rage-a-thon song. So, what are the lyrics? Here we go: Hey little dreamer's eyes open and staring up at me Listening to the song again with the lyrics in front of me, I'd have to say that I feel like much of what's written is conjectural. "Love this I'll tame you" sounds right, but only if you see the line and then heard it sung, almost as if the suggestion is sufficient to getting the "right" response.
Still, these are close enough, and I think it's safe to call them the "official" lyrics, even if there is this weird gap in the liner notes and my music book. What's to make of these lyrics, then? Well, it's not a particularly pretty picture. There's a sense of predation, stalking, rage, substituting lust for love, and an overall impression of malintent. Much like in "Don't Drink the Water", Matthews has taken on a persona for the song (at least, I'd like to think that he's not someone who believes in stalking a "little girl" and stealing her soul), perhaps the concept of the spirit of the holiday of Halloween. If the lyrics as written are conjectural, surely so is this interpretation. These are thoughts that fit better into a Slipknot song than the Dave Matthews Band. Maybe there's something in the music that can help shed light on what's going on here? In terms of its verse, it's a three-chord song, with an F to B to C progress, repeated again and again. When the chorus comes in, it walks down a diatonic tetrachord progression, starting at A (on the guitar, it's an A5 power chord that's used) and then G, F, and E at the end. There's a bridge that uses an Asus2 and a B minor in it (at the "Why do you run around here" part), but those eight measures don't come back in for the rest of the song. And with the heavy, simple chord progression (the exact same chord progression as what Green Day uses in "Brain Stew", which came out a couple of years before the Dave Matthews Band released Before These Crowded Streets) of the chorus--a descending scale so familiar that I only had to google the notes and I could find out the name of it--there's only the verse to look at for the song's unique flavor. Well, that may be overstating it: There is something slightly eerie about having a IV to I chord progression that's off-set by including the half-step down from the I chord (in this case, using a B before the C). There is no natural B in an F major scale, so the note jars with what might otherwise be expected. In this, at least, the music mirrors the overall impression of the song--it jars and doesn't do what I would expect a song on this album to do. Taken into account the content of the lyrics, that seems to be--to some degree, at least--a reasonable interpretation of what's going on here. There's more, however, than just the guitar part. The song's rhythm section is driving and aggressive--much more so than is typical for the band--and the orchestral arrangements, unusual instruments, ethereal and threatening outro (complete with Alanis Morrisette's uncredited shrieking and surprise f-bombs) all combine to make an unhappy, brooding, antagonistic track. "Halloween" focuses on primal anger, shunting away any positivity that may be lingering in the album this far. In fact, with the sharp snare, going off like a pistol shot at the beginning of the song, whatever residual tranquility "Stay (Wasting Time)" may have left us is gone, driven away by the growling, incoherent singing/wailing of the lyrics and the off-putting musical composition. The shrill shriek of Boyd Tinsely's violin arrangement acts almost like a sonic allusion to the theme from Psycho, pushing the song deeper into a horror-movie vibe. At this point in his career, Matthews hadn't used an electric guitar for any of his songs. (And, considering the bizarre attempt at something heavier in their 2005 album with the song "Hunger for the Great Light", it's probably fair to say that most of the time, Matthews probably wouldn't have handled "Halloween" much better.) Yet with its refusal to use almost any open chords (only the E major and Asus2 are open), Matthews seems to have written a rock song. If anything, it should've been heavily distorted and the guitars dialed up higher than the rest of the album. Instead, it tries to split the difference, which leaves me, at least, a bit unsettled. And, honestly, I kind of think that was the point. The Dave Matthews Band's Before These Crowded Streets did not always have radio-friendly singles. Significant trimming had to happen with "Crush", for example, and their more intricate songs like "Spoon" and "Pig" never got airtime. "Don't Drink the Water" was, if I recall correctly, also abbreviated for the radio. "Stay (Wasting Time)" did see airplay and it is one of the few times I feel that the song was better abbreviated. The ebullient energy of the song wears me out. By the time the closing riff is performed for its twenty-second (!) time, I'm definitely ready to go--not something that you want from a song called "Stay", though it does feel fitting for the "(Wasting Time)" part of it. If this makes it sound as if I don't like this song, you're jumping to conclusions. I do enjoy "Stay", albeit in a more abbreviated form. Repetition has always been a hallmark of Dave Matthews' music--you don't get 15 minute long jam-sessions when playing live if you aren't repeating at least some of the musical motif--and it has varying degrees of success. I think the circular patterns of "Satellite" and "Rhyme and Reason" (both from the band's Under the Table and Dreaming album) utilize the repetition in a way that emphasizes the different themes of the songs while also providing room for texture and reinterpretation throughout the repeats. "Stay" has many delightful textures and movements…it just takes too long at the end, repeating again and again the same enthusiastic mandate to "Stay on in!" and insisting that it "Makes you wanna, makes you wanna…stay!" That's the ending of the song, however: The rest of the song is a joy. Opening with a crisp, unabashed B flat, "Stay" introduces the primary guitar part--beautifully doubled to allow a more compact version of the chord progression to be embellished and emphasized by an alternative fingering pattern. Songs in B flat don't allow for a lot of open notes on a standard-tuned guitar, and while Matthews may have tuned down a half-step for this song, it wouldn't be necessary. (Watching the music video, I'm almost positive that he didn't play a tuned-down guitar; seeing him live, he doesn't change out his instrument unless going from a six-string to a twelve-string or a bass.) This leads me to assume that he simply keeps control of his strings, rather than letting an open note come through and ruin his jam. For a guitarist as sloppy as I am, part of what I like about playing this song is the tightness. I can punch the B flat 5 or the more robust B flat major chord and both sound good, if in different ways. The song builds off of the chord progression steadily, adding the bass, drums, and then the bigger sounds of the saxophone and subtle strains of the violin. This consistent layering builds the euphoria of the song, which in turn enhances the lyrics. I find it interesting that the chorus steps back from the energy of the intro and verse--fewer chords are strummed and the pickwork is also reduced. The chord progression is simple (E flat to F to E flat to C and so on), but the voicing is peculiar: Instead of playing an E flat major, Matthews elects to play an "Ebmaj7(no3rd)" (which looks like nonsense to me; one of the reasons, I suppose, I'm stuck playing tabs instead of sight reading real music) and an Fsus4. In other words, the slight variations on his chords help to maintain the lightness that the chorus is supposed to allow. Much like a roller coaster that needs to take the cart back to the top of the hill, the chorus goes easy on us so that we can be pushed back into the more frenetic verse. The interlude's saxophone riff is one of my favorites of the band's repertoire, not only for its apparent simplicity, but its overall attitude. I just…dig it. It's groovy, staccato and precise, clean and memorable. Normally, if there's going to be an instrumental solo of some sort, I prefer the guitar--I've a bias, you see--but I think part of what I love about this song is how perfectly the sax fits into this piece. Playing it acoustically--which is how I listen to most of this album nowadays--it is much less satisfying to plunk out the fifteen or so notes than hearing that brassy hoot running down the scale. And, though I prefer to incorporate the whole song rather than the abbreviated music video--and going against everything I said at the beginning of this essay--I do regret not having the powerful, enthusiastic final note of the song ring out. This song isn't designed to fade out…it ends as emphatically as it begins. I guess that shows you can't have it all. The lyrics are as follows: We were walking Unlike the politically charged accusations and satire of the previous two songs, "Stay" is very much an afternoon in New Orleans (or, at least, I feel that it works so well in the music video to have the pre-Katrina New Orleans dancing and parading in the streets that I assume that the song takes place there). Matthews' most frequent muse--romance, flirtation, love, sexuality--comes to play throughout the song. As far as a counterpoint to "Don't Drink the Water" and running into the darkness of "Halloween", "Stay" almost feels out of place were it not for the fact that it's the exact sort of reprieve the heavier material requires. Much like "Pantala Naga Pampa" and "Rapunzel", "Stay is a lighthearted affair. It's about incredible moments that feel like they're instantaneously too short while lasting forever. "For a moment this good time would never end" is beautifully paradoxical and part of the reason why the song is constructed the way it is (even if I get bored in the final twenty measures).
Lyrically, there isn't a lot of symbolism or depth, I would argue: It's pretty much on the surface. Still, the descriptions rendered are interesting. I particularly enjoy the image of a hot day's back being broken by rain clouds, in part because I used to live in Miami. There were days--many days, I should say--where the heat would be so oppressive and thick that all I wanted was some rain. Of course, the rain would never last, so the heat would return after the storm, making everything muggier and hotter than it was before. Still, the reprieve, while it was there, was a beautiful thing. While on the topic of the lyrics: I don't think Matthews necessarily has a fascination or obsession with sweat, though I do find it strange to see it here and, a few years later, in their Stand Up album, as part of the lyrics in "Dreamgirl". And, from a practical and hygienic point of view, the opening verse is not something that I personally find romantic. What may work, though, is the responsibility-free moments we occasionally get with those whom we love. For me, I see this entire song about taking advantage of a rare, wonderful day where things are just the way they ought to be. That's the kind of world in which we'd willingly waste some time…where we just want to stay. To say that the fourth track on Dave Matthews Band's Before These Crowded Streets is anti-imperialist is as uncreative as coming up with a band name like "the Dave Matthews Band". In my mind, however, this song's power is not just in its message but also in its delivery--its simplicity is its power; its complexity is its worth. To start off, "Don't Drink the Water" has to be looked at from an African point of view--and by that I mean a Southern African point of view. Dave Matthews was born in Johannesburg, South Africa, and spent time, off and on in his childhood, in that country. In other interviews (which I couldn't find right away, so this may be hearsay), Matthews acknowledged that the sonic tapestry of South Africa influenced him throughout his life, and Carter Beauford, the band's drummer, locks into that pulsating rhythm in the song. The drum line--a couple of bass kicks and then some distinct snares--is the guitar line. Matthews's earlier work didn't see a lot of unique tunings--no capos, no open tunings, and until Everyday, he didn't use electric (or baritone) guitars--so this song was, reportedly, called "Drop-D"* during the production of the album, as it's the first to really feature this alternative tuning (though "Crush" is also in drop-D). This is how the guitar and the drum end up as the rhythm section: Matthews' striking of the low D is in time with Beauford's kick and Stefan Lessard's bass D. Instead of allowing those three parts of the band to break into lead guitar, bass, and drums (the last two often being the rhythm section), the song pulsates with all three instruments marching along in tandem. Despite this potentially static beat--written in 4/4 time and a scant 84 bpm in the album version--the intricacies of the bass line (freed up to be more melodic and riff-laden than the guitar part, for once), the droning of the violin, and the contributions of both LeRoi Moore's saxophone and guest-artist Bela Fleck's banjo all interweave in such a way that the music becomes layered and complex. One could pick a specific instrument and pay exclusive attention to it each time one listened and glean new musical connections. During the third verse, an electric guitar with distortion and a way hammers on harmonics, again providing texture and variability in what is, for most of the guitar part at least, a one-chord song. In fact, the majority of "Don't Drink the Water" is a D5 - G5 - B minor affair, with the verse running through the D5 until the pre-chorus begins ("So you will lay your arms down" is the first one) by playing the G5. The droning effect of this song makes the shift from D5 to G5 striking and refreshing--as if the brooding groove of the verse can only pound on the listener for so long before relief needs to come in. However, it's only two measures before it's back the D5--this is repeated throughout the pre-chorus--and then the verse returns. It isn't until the chorus (finally dragging in at 2:08) that a new chord is added to the vocabulary, the B minor. Though the guitar brings this in for a couple of measures to change that drone, it's only for two measures before it returns to the G5 to D5 progression. The point of all of this is to say that the guitar is painfully simple throughout almost all of the song, yet it remains captivating despite all of that. The album version of the song (used above; the music video is an interesting, abbreviated version that's worth looking at) goes at a slower, more inexorable pace than the live versions (also worth hearing). This slower pace turns the thudding of the rhythmic triad into a pounding wall of inevitability, one that underscores and enhances the theme of the track. That leads me to the lyrics of "Don't Drink the Water": Come out come out At the beginning, I pointed out that it's clear that the song is anti-imperialist. Phrases like "All I can say to you my new neighbor / Is you must move on or I will bury you" make it pretty clear what's going on. But the way these lyrics are constructed is what fascinates me: Matthews has taken on a persona of a colonizer, of a greedy conquistador. Rather than speaking about imperialism, he's speaking from it. Though I can't be certain, I feel like growing up in apartheid Africa surely gave Matthews a different lens through which this song is being cast. The Dave Matthews Band, at the time of this album's creation, was a five-man band--two white guys (Dave Matthews, guitar; and Stefan Lessard, bass) and three Black (Boyd Tinsley, violin; Leroi Moore, saxophone and others; Carter Beauford, drums). Racially and musically diverse, the Dave Matthews Band is, in many ways, a repudiation of the world that Matthews knew growing up. I don't know when I started to view imperialism with skepticism, though I'm certain songs like this were instrumental** in changing my assumption that the course of history was blameless. The music video of "Don't Drink the Water" puts us in an Amazonian flavor, but the song applies to Manifest Destiny--the way I used to take it, when I was younger and bothered to think about anything--as well as any other example of greed-as-motive-for-atrocities. I feel like the Manifest Destiny interpretation is one that I, as an American living in the West, am most responsible for and benefit the most from. As I've driven around my state, looking at the scrub oak and the variability of the Wasatch, the acres of farmland and the quiet cold of snow-swept mountains, I have thought back to the earlier inhabitants. As urban sprawl swallows up more miles of "empty" land, I can't help but think of the lines "And here I will spread my wings / Yes, I will call this home." The chilling dismissal of concerns ("What's this you say? You feel a right to remain? / Then stay and I will bury you" and "I have no time to justify to you / Fool, you're blind. Fool, move aside for me" are two quick examples) exemplifies what I hear in the rhetoric about imperial Europe. Progress, of course, is the banner under which these behaviors and beliefs live, and anyone who's blind to progress must be moved aside…or so the story goes. Which pushes me to the outro--the part where, particularly live, Matthews' anger at the injustice which he has been satirizing boils over--and the complete dropping of pretense. (I should say that, on occasion, Matthews will play the chorus one extra time, substituting his words for some of the lyrics of "This Land Is My Land", the effect of which is a haunting condemnation because of the context that surrounds it.) As the last chorus ends, Matthews sings, "I can breathe my own air / And I can sleep more soundly / Upon these poor souls / I'll build heaven and call it home / 'Cause you're all dead now." Atrocities like the Trail of Tears and recent injustices like Standing Rock are, in my mind, sudden snapshots of would-be ghosts, a people that has gone nowhere but here and were moved aside for the expansion of the imperialists. For a second time, here are the lyrics of the outro: I live with my justice The rank honesty--the mask of satire has slipped into outright scorn--is shocking. The musical effect here is striking as well: Alanis Morissette sings the melody with Matthews, though an octave higher, to provide an eerie doubling effect. More than that, however, a new chord is introduced, one which jabs at what Matthews is singing here. Instead of a D5 chord (with that 6th string still thumping away), he modulates the 5th note (usually an A) and slides it up a half-step (to a B flat). This discordant chord (try it out on an instrument and see how grating it is) is the crime of imperialism. It doesn't look like anything is too wrong; it's really close to a resolved chord. But it's completely jarring. It grinds away, creating an antagonistic clash to go along with the naked error that pushed so many millions into forgotten graves. Whose justice reigns? My justice. What's the motive? My frenzied feeding and greedy need. Why are they doing this? Hatred. Jealousy. These dark emotions are spat out, as if we could perhaps excise them if we were only to try hard enough.
The penultimate couplet--"I live with the notion / That I don't need anyone but me"--is such a withering indictment of the "rugged individualism" by which "the West was won" that I have a hard time really saying anything more than what's already there. Our founding as a nation is done because of our founding fathers; our country has been defended by our men and women in uniform--the notion that the individual I has created this world is clearly a false one, yet it is one of our more beloved lies. "Self-made man" is, actually, not a thing--John Donne was right: No man is an island. But there's another possibility--faint and unpleasant--that what Matthews' persona is pointing at, is the "me"…the "me" is the only one that even matters. "Me, yeah…" is how he drives toward the end of the song (after the ominous warning "Don't drink the water / There's blood in the water"), turning again to this monstrous concept of personal exceptionalism and Machiavellianism qua truth and justice--that the might of historical pressures and sundry conditions has made the right of the status quo. The cacophony with which the song ends--much like with "The Last Stop"--is a clash of cymbals, drum beats, screams, and warnings. Live, the song will pulse on for another couple of measures, ending where it begins but with the B flat/D chord jangling everything else. In the album version, the song winds down and slides into an interlude. However, the deep marks--the menacing history--that the song points us towards shouldn't do anything other than carve a new empathy for others, for what they've lost, for what we've gained. Interlude Almost as if we need something to cleanse our palate, we get a sixteen measure interlude. Different key, different time signature (the always-peculiar 5/8 time, until the last four measures, which are in 3/4 time). It's reminiscent of "#34" from Under the Table and Dreaming, with arpeggio chords and the entire band weaving their unique brand of music into the shifting chord progression. Of all the interludes of the album, this one is the most necessary (with "The Last Stop" being a close second), if only because its simplicity helps alleviate the weight of the previous song. Indeed, I think the interludes are one of the most crucial aspects of Before These Crowded Streets, giving a logical flow to the order of the songs, as well as emotional breaks from the intensity the music can create. So far as I know, the band never performs these snippets of music--and that's a real loss. Pieces of the songs are audible in other--sometimes earlier, sometimes later--works, but I'm not aware of any other Dave Matthews Band song that relies on the interlude for "Don't Drink the Water". --- * Tuning a guitar to a drop-D is simple: The sixth string--the low E--is detuned a full step so that its an open-D instead of an open-E. Because of how a guitar is tuned, this allows power chords (three note chords: an octave with a fifth in between) to be played more easily and aggressively. ** Pun most definitely intended. In the Cherry Lane Music songbook for Before These Crowded Streets, "Rapunzel" ends with a small note, Segue to "The Last Stop". On the album, a cellphone chirps and a conversation begins briefly in a swirl of Middle Eastern-inspired (for lack of a better name) sounds that ends with a "Hello?" Then the third track of the album, "The Last Stop", hits like a wall. Wailing, horns, drums, bass, and twelve-string guitar launch into a heavy rhythm. From a guitarist's point of view, the first measure is a simple affair of an F sharp major chord, strummed in time. If "Rapunzel" was less concerned with chords, the opposite is true of "The Last Stop"--which makes it an interesting choice for the next song on the album. While "Rapunzel" ends with the band weaving, jamming, and eventually coalescing on a tight ending, "The Last Stop" picks up at that same place (albeit in a different key, both musically and thematically) and then rushes into a song that will, eventually, spiral free and fade away. But I'm getting ahead of myself. "The Last Stop" (the video on this one doesn't have a live performance that I wanted, so it's the audio only of the album version) has long been one of my favorite songs of the album, in part because it's a more aggressive guitar part (which always mattered a lot to me, being the spastic teenager I was when I first learned to play this song). It also has a distinctive vibe to it, one that is, as I implied before, wrapped in an Arabic scale. This proves the foundation of the song, not just for the riff of the guitar and the bass, but for the melodic interpretations as well. Dave Matthews was born and raised in South Africa--which helps explain the rhythm of "Don't Drink the Water"--and has a broad vocabulary of musical influences that come through as a result of that. This song (as well as a track from their early album, Remember Two Things, called "Minarets") uses this--dare I say?--exotic scale to create a musical texture that, I believe, anyway, is designed to underscore the antiwar point that the band is attempting to drive home. By invoking the nebulous concept of "The Middle East" (and, perhaps, alluding to the last stop of crusaders in arriving in Jerusalem), the disgust and disdain for war--for its motives and its costs--points at a more specific example than a three-chord antiwar song (though those can be effective, too). Without the lyrics, however, the song's energy dilutes. Here are the lyrics, then: Fire By invoking this strong sonic imagery and matching it with the terrors of the seemingly endless warfare of the Middle East, a frustration is voiced. Politics of the area aside, few can deny that we have seen a great deal of bloodshed in the area of the world where the great religions of peace--Judaism and Islam--continue to battle. Even the idea that "The fire grows from the east" adds to this deliberate attunement to the crimes committed (and, yes, I think war is itself a crime, but now's not the place to discuss that). "How is this/Hate so deep? /Lead us all so blindly killing, killing" clearly demarcates the mindlessness, the illogic of war.
But perhaps the most stirring lines would have to be "A mother's cry/Is hate so deep?/Must my baby's bones/This hungry fire feed?" Significantly, the studio version has Stefan Lessard, the bassist, give an additional staccato slap on the line leading into it ("Your sins are washed enough"), almost as though drawing attention to the important emotion that Matthews is conjuring here. Though Matthews doesn't always preoccupy himself with rhyming often, there is a slant rhyme in "deep" and "feed"; slant rhymes often convey a sense of wrongness, that something is incorrect that the poem is trying to draw attention to. (Consider, for example, the way that Wilfred Owen uses them to such stunning effect in "Arms and the Boy".) In the case of "The Last Stop", what could be more distressing and baffling than the mother's cry, demanding to know--in effect--why her sacrifice is the way that hatred is to receive its payment. This same stanza has one of my favorite lines of the whole song immediately after the mother's unanswered--or, perhaps, too-easily answered--question: "As smoke clouds roll in the symphony of death." Wow. I mean, what an incredible way of describing fighting: This song about war makes note of the music of a battle, taking the chaos of fighting and translating it from the concussive waves of shells to the heavy throb of a bass-kick, the firing of guns to the snap of the snare. There's orchestration in a symphony as there is (ostensibly) in war, yet the chaos of the music is also an indication that the music is not, actually, under as much control as the conductor may wish. The clashing cymbals clatter as the cry of the mother is washed away by the smoky clouds of war. There's the disdain in Matthew's "Ha!" when, in the pre-chorus, an assertion is made: "Right is wrong now." Then a rebellious, "Shut up, you big lie." The big lie, of course, is that "war [is] the only way to peace"--another idea that Matthews rejects ("I don't fall for that"). That killing (killing) and hatred being the pathways to peace seem ludicrous, and the frustration of that illogic--that lethal illogic--is the engine of the song. The religious allusions here are worth noting: "Oh no/Gracious even God/Blooded on the cross/Your sins are washed enough" and, later, the lines "And there you are nailing good to a tree/And then saying forgive me" (followed by the high-pitched shriek, "Why?" to draw attention to the tension of the hypocrisy here). Both are clearly invoking Christ--in fact, in one of his live shows*, he replaces "good" with "God", as if the connection isn't clear enough. Why do this? Matthews' views on religion probably aren't widespread (I remember one interview where he said something along the lines of, "If there is a God, he doesn't have a plan"), but he isn't ignorant of the Christian tradition.** In this case, he seems to be laying blame for war on Christianity, too, pointing out the not so-subtle-hypocrisy of believing in a Prince of Peace and killing people in His name. Thus with his music he pulls (perhaps) the Palestinian-Israeli conflict and Christianity--vast swaths of the world--into an excoriation of warmongering and bloodlust. "Here, there's more than is showing up" is as good a way of pointing out that there is more to this song than what I've touched on here, but I think I'll leave off the lyrics and look at the music one last time. The song remains in F sharp throughout, as well as 4/4 time. There is one exception, and that is when Matthews switches to 6/4 upon singing "This is the last stop". The lyrics are five beats, which gives one beat to rest--a moment for the song to literally come to "the last stop". Even when moving into the bridge, where some more chords are introduced, Matthews keeps the key the same. For me (and I mean this interpretively, not intentionally on the band's part), this is symbolic of the idea that the arguments for war never really change, no matter how much we want to dress them up. Even the fact that the song is in F sharp major feels symbolic, as that particular key has six (!) sharps in it. It's like a knife drawer on a musical scale. The outro for "The Last Stop" takes the first song ("Pantala Naga Pampa") and combines it with the third. It does this by beginning a chord progression that will be reprised at the end of the album. So, the first song's themes (which are lyrically recapitulated at the end of "Spoon") and the third song's chord progression (airily introduced for a few measures whilst Bela Fleck's banjo arrangement weaves deftly through them) are both foreshadowed within these two tracks. Additionally, the outro spills and spins away, with the passion and energy fading into the background as the outro takes over, dissipating what has come before it and trying to push towards--perhaps--a peaceful resolution. Unfortunately for that idea, Matthews is not finished condemning hatred. Marching like a drummer of death, "Don't Drink the Water" comes next. --- * "Go away and dream" is the way he sometimes sings the chorus live, instead of "Go ahead and dream". The dismissal is even clearer in the live version, in my estimation. It's no longer permission but instead rejection. ** He wrote "A Christmas Song", after all. Dave Matthews Band's third studio release, Before These Crowded Streets, is--in my mind--the best of what's around. I mentioned before that DMB made a tangible difference in my life: Without it, I don't know if I would have picked up the guitar and had all of the various positive experiences that knowing the instrument has afforded me. As is often the case with me, when I start to enjoy something, I get rather obsessive about it. If it's music, I play it on repeat and learn it on the guitar. If it's a video game, I play it to the exclusion of almost all else. If it's a book, I figure out how It has changed my life. If it's a piece of history, I want to incorporate as many pieces of it into my teaching as I can. Before These Crowded Streets is no exception; in fact, it's a case study of that very thing. So I've decided to do a deep dive into Dave Matthews Band's third album for a couple of reasons: One, it has the fewest songs (only eleven, and the first one--as you'll see--is so short as to be more of an introduction); two, it's musically and tonally diverse; and three, it's my favorite. A couple of things: I've included lyrics of the songs, as well as a the YouTube video. This is done to orientate you sonically and lyrically, both of which, I think, are important to the band's work. Unlike the music video essays, though, I'm not interested in seeing how music videos can influence an interpretive reading. Though I will pick a music video when I can, it won't always be that particular medium. In today's case, I picked the beginning of the Listener Supported concert/album combo. Just like on the CD, the first and second track are connected by a sonic tendon which lends it from one musical thought to another. So, rather than trying to tease the two apart--that, and there isn't a video of just "Pantala Naga Pampa", it's always segued into "Rapunzel"--I'm tackling both of them here. Without further ado, here's what I think about… "Pantala Naga Pampa" According to some random website, the song's title was a phrase that was shouted at Dave Matthews when he and an Indian cook worked together. While Matthews seemed to think it meant "Welcome to our Home", it really (again, according to this site) meant "There's a cobra in my pants". Maybe. The idea of the title notwithstanding, "Pantala Naga Pampa" is a short ditty. It doesn't even run to a full minute. Nevertheless, it's packed with some interesting musical ideas. The first nine or so measures have a peppy, D major chord progression. I can't remember where I heard this, but I've tended to agree with the idea that the D major chord is the "happiest" of the major chords (with D minor being the "saddest"). I don't know how you would scientifically prove that; in this case, it works well. The peppy, bright notes, intermixed with the occasional toots from LeRoi Moore's soprano (?) saxophone give a playful feeling throughout the intro of this intro. Some springy bass notes bopping through with the smoothness of the violin all contribute to, as it were, a dawning sense of possibility and optimism. Then, like a distant thunder, the drums roll through and crash into an E minor 7. The effect of this is, in my mind, a reminder of the theme of the entire album--one of optimism despite sadness, of loss and recovery, of hope in the face of despair. As if to drive that sentiment home, Matthews begins his crooning style of singing here in the E minor 7 chord--the first minor chord of the song--with the invitational verse that comprises the entirety of the song's lyrics: Come and relax now The words are hospitable and welcoming (overlaid as they are against the minor voicing of the chord), beckoning the listener to sit down and relax, to appreciate what's to come. It's energetic and hopeful, made all the more potent because of its brevity: It doesn't overstay its presence, running into the next song with only a measure's breath before "Rapunzel" comes in. Additionally, it is the "warm" to the end of the album's "cool" outro, which will reprise the idea in its own way--and which I'll look at in due time. "Pantala Naga Pampa" closes on a vibrant, open D chord, thereby ending as it began. "Rapunzel" The first full track of the album, "Rapunzel" is one of many love songs in the Dave Matthews Band's repertoire, though it's more of the energetic, excited, infatuated sides of love than the more charismatic version we see in "Crush". It's first ear-catching motif is in its time signature: The beginning of the song is in 5/4 time, rather than the 4/4 time of "Pantala Naga Pampa". This extra beat gives the introduction an interesting syncopation that reminds me of the bouncy feeling of first having a relationship. (The fact that I met the woman who would one day become my wife while I was absorbed by this album is probably part of the reason I think this.) The song will settle into a more familiar 4/4 time for the verse--shifting back to 5/4 whenever the intro lick repeats, or 6/4 when necessary--and even find an 6/8 rhythm for the bridge. This gives "Rapunzel" the sort of impetuousness that mirrors the emotions that Matthews is trying to evoke. Musically, I personally find this an unexpected composition (though nothing quite like what the Everyday album has, particularly "When The World Ends"), as its D minor lick is single notes, most of them pounding on the D note. This fits in well with the ending of "Pantala Naga Pampa", creating that sonic tissue that binds the two songs together. Whereas the first track is in a major voicing, "Rapunzel" is in a D minor. Despite that minor voicing, the song is optimistic, in large part because the minor lick is offset by the simple chord progression of the verse. And that's part of what I really like about this song. Though I've played the entire album countless times, with or without the album playing along, "Rapunzel" never really sits comfortably in an acoustic-only version. The entire band's deliberate halting, jolting progress through the song--smoothed over as the music's theme builds on the simple skeleton of the chord progression--is necessary for the full flavor of the song to be felt. The doubling from the other instruments, the popcorn staccato of the drums, and the flat-heavy melody all combine in a way that makes this particular song a "band song", one that really derives its power from the entire ensemble. (This is in contrast to, say, songs like "Satellite" where the intricate cycle of guitar notes and melody can carry an entire acoustic rendition without issue.) Here are the lyrics: Ha, open wide, oh, so good I'll eat you, take me for a ride Matthews isn't being particularly delicate in what he's imagining here--though if you want to hear his argument for a one-night stand, you can listen to "Say Goodbye" to get a sense of how explicit he can get--though I stand by the idea that this is following after the early-relationship infatuations that are so charged with excitement and passion.
Perhaps, you could argue, the concept is one of easy access and hyperbolic expressions of romantic flattery. I won't deny that there's that possibility. However, the two bridges--which, again, switch to a slower 6/8 time--do a lot for the idea that Matthews is talking about a growing, potentially real sense of love. "I think the world of you/With all of my heart I do./This blood through my veins for you,/You alone have all of me./From you my strength is so full/To carry your burdens, too./I give my world to you." Again, sycophantic hyperbole to woe a woman into accepting him is certainly possible. But I think of my own experiences with love and I can't help but feel that this is true. I do give my heart to my wife, who alone has all of me. Her strength is what I rely on to help us through our bad times. And let's not kid ourselves: Being in love ought to be fun. It should be romantic and sexy and blasé and repetitious. Love is a lot of things. Energetic and happy are also parts of it. For what it's worth, I think Matthews gets that part of life right. Of course, the music is bouncing along with this theme until the dizzying saxophone solo by the late LeRoi Moore. It crashes and soars, squeaks and grooves along, giving time and space for the signature Dave Matthews Band jam-session feeling. As the song reaches its climax (which, yes, I think is a fitting description), the song drops away from its simple chord progression (in which it bounces from a C7 to an F9 to the C7 and then to a G, only to repeat the process for a dozen or more measures) and lands once more in the closing riff of the introduction, thereby tying off the musical and lyrical themes at the same time. Personal Thoughts While "Rapunzel" isn't my favorite of the album--probably for the aforementioned reason that it doesn't translate well to an acoustic-only version--I love its energy. The one-two punch of invitation and infatuation from "Pantala Naga Pampa" to "Rapunzel" is a joy, and the vibrancy of the emotion in those two songs provides one of the layers and textures that the album explores. Because Before These Crowded Streets explores the dual themes of lightness and darkness, it makes sense to have some songs, like this one, that revel in the joys of love, life, and hospitality. As the darkness of war ("The Last Stop"), grievous personal mistakes ("The Stone"), and existential dread ("Spoon") yet lurk in future songs, it's necessary, in some ways, for these two songs to open up the album. |
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