An Album For Every Year I've Been Alive: 1984

The Full Roster

Echo & the Bunnymen, Ocean Rain
The Fall, The Wonderful and Frightening World of the Fall
The Kinks, Word of Mouth
John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Milk and Honey
The Pogues, Red Roses For Me

Back to just a handful of albums this year, and yet again there is a clear and deserved winner. I can go ahead and tell you it's not John Lennon's posthumous effort, which despite being pretty good for a dead guy isn't an all-time classic by any means. Also note the debut from the Pogues, who should play a part in most of the '80s from here on out.

Favorite Album: Echo & the Bunnymen, Ocean Rain

And thus we have the first album on this list that could reliably hold its own against any other in my collection, no matter what year it's from. It's the band's fourth album, and of all of their albums that I own (missing only 1983's Porcupines, an oversight I should reconcile post-haste), it's my clear favorite. Certain members of my generation (or younger) might have first learned about Ocean Rain and/or Echo & the Bunnymen from the use of "The Killing Moon" at the beginning of the cult film Donnie Darko, but my own origin story involves a stolen CD (from my sister's room, naturally), the band Pavement, and their typically laid-back cover of the same song. So I owe discovering Ocean Rain to Stephen Malkmus instead of Jake Gyllenhaal; I'll take it.

"The Killing Moon" is the album's standout track, and probably its most famous; in this case, that fame is deserved, as it's a fantastic song. Echo & the Bunnymen incorporated a lot of strings on Ocean Rain, more so than they had previously, and while such developments are often a source of frustration for me, they work splendidly well--"The Killing Moon" being a fine example, with the classical instruments buttressing the song rather than dominating it. "My Kingdom" is probably the album's unsung hero, a fine example of both the band's skip-along melodies and singer Ian McCulloch's darkly oblique lyrics: "I've lost and I've gained. and while I was thinking / You cut off my hands when I wanted to twist / If you know how to dance to Boney Maroney / He's doing the ballet on both of his wrists." But honestly, pick any song from Ocean Rain, and you can't really go wrong. "Silver" and "Seven Seas" are nice, jaunty choices; "The Yo-Yo Man" will satisfy those looking for oddity, while "Nocturnal Me" will suit your gothic love-making quite nicely.

McCulloch once said that "The Killing Moon" is "the greatest song ever written." That wouldn't be the first (or even most) self-aggrandizing statement he's ever made, but it's probably the one I'd have the hardest time arguing about.



Honorable Mention: The Pogues, Red Roses For Me

I don't spend a lot of my time in fake Irish pubs, nor do I spend a lot of time drinking or dancing a jig. And yet I find the music of the Pogues, for the most part, irresistible. I can't chalk it up to any kind of Irish heritage because the last Irish person in my family was long dead before I was ever born, and I've certainly never been anywhere near the Emerald Isle in person. Red Roses For Me might be the most traditional of all the Pogues' albums, borrowing more from the traditional music of the Old Country than any of their subsequent efforts, but it doesn't hurt it one bit.

The tone is set early on, with "Transmetropolitan" deftly combining folk instrumentation with a punk tempo and Shane MacGowan's slurred lyrics of angry, drunken escapades. From there, it just gets better. "The Auld Triangle" is a straightforward cover of a lovely Brendan Behan folk tune--straightforward, that is, except for MacGowan's brogue-heavy wail. It's one of several re-interpretations of old Irish music on Red Roses For Me, but it's the "originals" that truly stand out. "Boys From the County Hell" touches on the Pogues hallmarks of violence and drink, "Streams of Whiskey" is self-explanatory, and even the relatively upbeat "Dark Streets of London" finds time to mention "drugged-up psychos / With death in their eyes." But perhaps no other song sums up the album's nihilistic glee like "Sea Shanty," which, on top of its familiar pirate-theme melody, drops this immortal quatrain: "A man's ambition must indeed be small / To write his name upon a shithouse wall / But before I die I'll add my regal scrawl / To show the world I'm left with sweet fuck-all."



Narrow Miss: The Fall, The Wonderful and Frightening World of the Fall

The Fall are a frustrating band to follow. Between an incomprehensible amount of releases, some official, some not, some inbetween; wildly varying quality from album to album; and the unavoidable fact that singer and chief songwriter Mark E. Smith is perhaps the music world's biggest asshole, listening to the Fall can be a tiresome endeavor. But not so with The Wonderful and Frightening World of the Fall, which on the surface would seem to bear all the hallmarks of a chore but is instead a pleasure. It's probably too long--over 70 minutes--and Smith isn't exactly bothered too much with his singing, but then again he never is. Though many of the songs carry the same, pounding tune, the album remains remarkably fresh, never getting dull or repetitive, although it might still put off the uninitiated. The class of the album is definitely "Oh! Brother," which owes much to a particularly popping bass line. "C.R.E.E.P." might be the closest the Fall has ever come to writing a pure pop song, and elsewhere Smith's Bob-Dylan-on-methadone delivery works wonders with songs like "2 x 4," "Draygo's Guilt," and "Clear Off!"



Most Ridiculous Song: The Pogues, "Down In the Ground Where the Dead Men Go," from the album Red Roses For Me

I'll be honest: there were a couple of Yoko Ono songs from Milk and Honey that could easily have won this honor. But, in light of her husband being murdered in front of her, I can forgive the mawkish sentimentality (in two languages, no less) of "Your Hands" and even the what-the-fuck-is-this?-ness of "You're the One." Plus, Yoko honestly gets a lot of shit, mostly for having the temerity to be a woman John Lennon liked more than the Beatles. So I'll give her a pass and instead happily present "Down In the Ground Where the Dead Men Go," which even by Pogues standards is fairly ridiculous. Any MacGowan song already starts with a leg up due to his voice, but from the moment the accordion and banjo fade in, dueling hyperactively, "Down In the Ground Where the Dead Men Go" is a delightfully delirious trip to the Underworld. MacGowan is joined by the slightly less incoherent Spider Stacy on vocals, and seemingly the whole band breaks into anguished wails of the damned for the song's final minute. A great wedding song if I've ever heard one.



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