An Album For Every Year I've Been Alive: 1983

1983

The Full Roster:

Cock Sparrer, Shock Troops
Bob Dylan, Infidels
The Kinks, State of Confusion
Madness, Madness
Pink Floyd, The Final Cut
Pink Floyd, Works
Violent Femmes, Violent Femmes
Tom Waits, Swordfishtrombones

There are a few more albums to choose from in 1983, but like the year before there's a pretty clear winner nonetheless. Both Madness and Works are compilations of songs, and not "proper" albums, and so the purist in me must reject them from consideration. Not a big deal in either case; while they're both good in their own way, only Madness has a collection of songs that would even come close to rivaling the frontrunners. The Final Cut is, in all honesty, pretty bad, and I'm having a hard time figuring out why it is still in my library. State of Confusion is similar to It's Hard in being a mediocre late-period effort by a once-great band, but in this case it's got enough competition to see it safely avoid Honorable Mention status.

Favorite Album: Violent Femmes, Violent Femmes

An early alternative-rock classic, Violent Femmes is the runaway winner for this year. The debut album from Milwaukee's finest starts off incredibly strong, stringing together five songs that could or should rightly be considered hits: "Blister In the Sun," "Kiss Off," the under-rated "Please Do Not Go," "Add It Up," and "Confessions." That's half the album right there, and though the rest of it doesn't quite hit the same highs ("Gone Daddy Gone" excepted), it's not as if songs like "Promise" and "To the Kill" are boring filler. The only thing I can find slightly wrong with the album is that "Good Feeling" is a bit of a disappointing close, slowing down the momentum ever so slightly right at the end; this would be rectified on the CD re-release, which tacks on "Ugly" and the excellent "Gimme the Car" at the end.

It might be a product of aging, but the Violent Femmes would never again be able to capture the same spirit of snotty, youthful angst that they did on their debut. Brian Ritchie's sloppy bass stylings still resonate, complimenting Gordon Gano's digressions and complaints perfectly. "Blister In the Sun" and "Gone Daddy Gone" (later covered by Gnarls Barkley) have gone on to overshadow the rest of this album, which is a shame, because there's plenty of quality to go around here.



Honorable Mention: Tom Waits, Swordfishtrombones

Swordfishtrombones is the kind of album that can sneak up on me. It's not my favorite album by Tom Waits, and while I often remember liking it, it's not until I actually listen to it that I remember just how much I do. I can hear individual songs from it out of context--when I'm shuffling my iPod, for example--and I'll enjoy them, but I don't get a real "wow" factor out of any of them. But put them together and listen to them as a whole, and all of a sudden Swordfishtrombones seems worthy of all the praise it gets from rock critic-types. I suppose in a way that's the whole idea of an "album" in the first place, but I never said I was uncommonly perceptive.

Swordfishtrombones is like a perfect beverage--wholly satisfying and enjoyable in the consumption, with no aftertaste. Probably due to its somewhat experimental nature--odd bits of instrumentation, Waits' signature howl/growl--the album doesn't necessarily stick in your brain and refuse to let go, but it does take you on a pleasurable little journey while it's playing. "Underground" begins things with a gruff, off-kilter introduction to the netherworld, and from there Mr. Waits spins tales about shooting at crows ("16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought Six"), an arson brought about by a chihuahua ("Frank's Wild Years"), and (of course) a cuckolded drunk ("Gin Soaked Boy"). Meanwhile, "In the Neighborhood" paints an amusingly bleak portrait of said neighborhood, and "Swordfishtrombone" serves as an ideal title track, combining all the disparate elements of the album into a trademark Waitsian half-sung, half-spoken tall tale.



Narrow Miss: Cock Sparrer, Shock Troops

I bought this album for one reason: "Take 'em All," the song whose chorus is sung with gusto by the Brougham End at Sounders matches. When I discovered that this gleefully, incongruously violent anthem ("Take 'em all / Take 'em all / Put 'em up against the wall and shoot 'em") was the product of a somewhat unknown '70s British punk band, I was intrigued. So I tracked down this album--the band's debut, despite having been a going concern for quite some time by 1983--and was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't just a one-song pony. I'm about as punk as Steve Urkel, but I'm also a sucker for this kind of music. And no, there isn't anything incongruous about blasting stripped-down, no-nonsense punk rock while I'm staying up late updating my blog.



Most Ridiculous Song: The Kinks, "Cliches of the World (B Movie)," from the album State of Confusion

State of Confusion is aptly named, as it find the Kinks struggling to stick to one distinct identity. Half the album finds them straining to be a big arena rock band like The Who had become, with disastrous results; the other half finds them more at ease with Ray Davies' trademark sketch-songs set to more traditional or pop-based arrangements. "Heart of Gold" is a shining example of the latter, and the album's title track a woeful example of the former. But by far the most ridiculous byproduct of this confusion is "Cliches of the World (B Movie)," which attempts to marry the heavy guitar riffs and pounding keyboards of '80s arena rock with Ray Davies' regrettable late-career fascination with rock-opera-style lyrics. By the time "Cliches of the World" reaches the break mid-way through the song wherein Davies speaks about the protagonist dreaming of aliens from outer space taking him away, I can't help but feel like that would be a lucky escape indeed.



(8 of 111)