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Saturday, December 30, 2017

#0110: The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society

I could analyse the progressions, assess the significance of the words in the context of my experiences and extrapolate theories of their combined impact on my audio receptors.  I could do that.  If I had anything approximating an advanced education in pop culture, music psychology and whatever other poncy qualification one would need to explain why...

...I fucking love the Kinks.  It's as simple as that.

How have I gone all these years without getting into them?   From the opening circular jam with the stupid nouns and the weird theme, through the harbinger of Mr Blue Sky foot tappers to the fun filled, self mocking brass band analogues, these songs stand apart.  The arrangements are solid and the words are clever without being pretentious.

The little intricacies of the arrangements are tight as fuck, particularly on Do You Remember Walter.  Picture Book bounces us effortlessly along with its dominant bass line. 

Johnny Thunder is a slower track.  What I notice is the hooks have variable lengths so he avoids them sounding the same not just with key and mode but also rhythm and tempo.  That sounds obvious now I've written it down. but many just don't get it.

Last Of The Steam Powered Trains has that oom-pah bass line with a cheeky blues lick for a hook which the guitar and harmonica share.  It's all just fun then it accelerates as if the train is running away.  Great stuff and even at the climax, it's not a mess.  It snaps back into a reprise at a faster lick and I think everybody is actually up for another chorus.

Even All Of My Friends Were There is the most peculiar track, I think.  It's not what I'd call a good vocal but it's in character.  There's a track called Mother on The Police album Synchronicity and it's not sung well but I love it.  It's not supposed to be a good vocal.  Maybe I just don't like the instrumentation on this and that's why I can't accept the character of the song.  There's noises you like and noises you don't.  They're still notes, tho.  Other noises are just fucking shit.  Dylan, I'm looking at you.

The lasting moment for me tho was the realisation that yet another song I very much like turns out to have been written so many years ago.  What was particularly touching is that it was Kirsty MacColl's version that I knew first and I always feel a shiver of anguish when I'm reminded of her. 

Another cracking album from this bunch, tho.  4 stars.

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