Hardly the first successful song to take its musical inspiration from a Beatles number. I would choose to listen to it over "Across the Universe" almost every time.

A key track from Julian Cope's fragmentary second solo album, 1984's Fried, "Bill Drummond Said" is the only song on the album that resembles the swirling psych-pop of his old band the Teardrop Explodes. This is no doubt intentional, as the lyrics take aim at the group's former manager, Bill Drummond (later half of the Timelords, the KLF, and the JAMS), albeit in a typically vague way. The lyrics are skeletal enough that several interpretations might be brought to them, but they seem to recount a dream in which Cope witnesses his former manager in the act of strangling an unidentified woman to death. In contrast to the vaguely unpleasant lyrics, this is by far the catchiest and sweetest tune on Fried, with a dreamy folk-rock sound to its ringing 12-string guitar riffs and breathy harmonies. Coming between more disjointed and edgy tracks like the bizarre fairy tale "Reynard the Fox" and the Syd Barrett-like ramble "Laughing Boy," "Bill Drummond Said" sounds downright bubblegummy. Unsurprisingly, the always combative Drummond got in the last word with his answer song, "Julian Cope Is Dead," a sarcastically folky acoustic tune from his odd 1986 solo album The Man in which Drummond claims that in the waning days of the Teardrop Explodes, he had suggested that Cope commit suicide to make the band famous and laments that the singer didn't take him up on it.
(AMG)

Great brooding mid-60s melodrama from this obscure British girl singer. A terrific stomping number dealing with the age-old teenage theme of heartbreak. "Burning in the background of my mind/are memories/and they seem to haunt me."

The one bright spot among the dismal stain on Mowai's career, the album known as Come On, Die Young. A web of brooding guitars initially mesmerizes you, before throwing you into an ominous and chaotic crescendo. It's the ideal soundtrack for driving alone on an open straightaway at night, going faster than you should be, and not at all caring...

Starts out quietly, acoustic guitar playing the theme, joined quickly by discreet electric piano and stand-up bass, then Martyn's low, growly-yet-soulful voice starts repeating the chorus ("I don't wanna know about evil/Only want to know about love") like a mantra. Halfway through, the rhythm section kicks in, and you find yourself singing along to said mantra. Highly effective and very memorable.

The first line says it all: "I've gone as far/as I can go with this crap". A classically lush pop tale of infidelity. This bitter duet featuring Emma Pollock of the Delgados has a brooding feel reminiscent of great orchestral pop of the past, especially that of Barry and Bacharach.

This is one of those odd discoveries: a track on a CD I've owned for about 8 years, but which I had somehow overlooked. I buy a lot of CDs, and I guess is one of the later tracks on a long compilation cd. Still, that's not much of an excuse, is it!

This is a slow, groovy instrumental (well, with wordless vocals) with funky drums, some fine fuzz guitar work, nice spiky brass and some very pleasing chord changes. It is strongly reminiscent of similar work of the time by people like Johnny Harris. I have a few tracks by completely different artists with a very similar feel/orchestration and closely related chord sequences. It's simultaneously very hip sounding yet quite square with the choir and strings. I love it, obviously.

Masterful. Beautiful arrangement, building up very effectively as the song progresses. Lyrically eloquent, with a brooding anger which betrays the influence of Elvis Costello, and is none the worse for it. Why on earth didn't this band have more commercial impact? The album is very stylistically varied and interesting. (Perhaps I just answered my own question).

"Mirage" was the first single taken from Siouxsie & the Banshees' first album, 1978's The Scream, and while it's not as uncharacteristically poppy as the group's debut 7", "Hong Kong Garden," it's still about as close to accessible as the group got in the early days. A tightly wound song built on John McKay's slashing, distorted guitar and a pounding, prominent drumbeat (the sort of near-tribal galloping beat that Kenny Morris' replacement, Budgie, would do much better on later singles like "Spellbound" and "Fireworks"; Morris simply wasn't good enough a drummer to impart the kind of urgency this song requires), "Mirage" builds a forward momentum underneath Siouxsie Sioux's yowling vocals, which obscure bassist Steve Severin's lyrics to the point that only occasional words and phrases are decipherable.
(AMG)

Opening with a brat beating bass and melody that is scarily reminiscent of some late 70s euro disco pathos, it�s only when Brian James� raunchy guitar kicks in that you know you�re well away from the lights of that dance floor and in the grips of a very different master. A hedonistic web of Bators� beloved conspiracy theorizing, the logical successor to the Wanderers� paranoia-packed repertoire, �Open Your Eyes� previewed a closet of horrors that embraced organized religion, the impending World Tour of Pope John Paul II, Bolshevik plots and Ronald Reagan�s apparent rush towards nuclear Armageddon. With session man Matt Black�s synthesizers giving the whole thing a classic rock feel that merged edgily with the band�s own punkish sensibilities, it was, as always, Bators� viperous lyrics that brought the whole thing into the twilight zone of pre-Internet intrigue. The 80s politicking of Margaret Thatcher�s Britain and Reagan�s cold war America pretty much ensured that both sides were far happier not having to open their eyes. A gleeful Bators was there, though, to make sure they did.
(AMG)

Lyrics:

Please remedy my confusion
And thrust me back to the day
The silence of your seclusion
Brings night into all you say

Pull me down again
And guide me into pain

I'm counting nocturnal hours
Drowned visions in haunted sleep
Faint flickering of your power
Leaks out to show what you keep

Pull me down again
And guide me into...

There is failure inside
This test I can't persist
Kept back by the enigma
No criteria demanded here

Deadly patterns made my wreath
Prosperous in your ways
Pale ghost in the corner
Pouring a caress on your shoulder

Puzzled by shrewd innocence
Runs a thick tide beneath
Ushered into inner graves
Nails bleeding from the struggle

It is the end for the weak at heart always the same
A lullaby for the ones who've lost all reeling inside
My gleaming eye in your necklace reflects stare of primal regrets
You turn your back and you walk away never again

Spiraling to the ground below
Like Autumn leaves left in the wake to fade away
Waking up to your sound again
And lapse into the ways of misery.

This song is the embodiment of Opeth's sound, and one of the most powerful to me from an emotional perspective in the entire catalog.

"The Witch" was the Sonics' debut single, released on Etiquette, the Tacoma, WA-based label owned and operated by local hero Buck Ormsby, member of garage rock pioneers the Wailers, who are known for unearthing the obscure R&B song "Louie, Louie." Reworking the tunes of Little Richard and Bo Diddley, the Sonics worked the local teen-hop circuit as a rock & roll cover band until eventually coming up with some original material with "The Witch" and what would become the flip side to the single, "Psycho." After revamping the lineup, taking on various members of the Searchers, Gerry Roslie commandeered the vocal duties with a bracing blues shouter style that would become the group's trademark. "The Witch," roughly recorded in mono, is a brooding rocker based around a revved-up blues progression with quivering guitar and a basic sax line holding down a simple riff, drums kicking away in the background. Roslie belts his cautionary tale, sagely advising all to steer clear of "evil chicks," with vocal-chord-shredding wails: "So you know the little girl/Who's new in town/Well you better watch out now/Or she'll put you down/'Cause she's an evil chick/Say, she's the witch, oww!" The band barrels on, lacking any semblance of finesse, stomping into a tempo shift and doubling the speed as Roslie howls, "Well she walks around/Late at night/Most other people sleepin' tight/If you hear her knockin' on your door/You better say get away/Wha whoo!" Guitarist Andy Parypa lets loose a note-stumbling guitar solo in a style similar to Dave Davies of the the Kinks. "The Witch" would become a regional hit, receiving extensive airplay on the powerful Seattle AM station KJR, but the Sonics would never break nationally, most of the country not yet ready for the extremely aggressive attach of the group's rough-and-tumble music.
(AMG)

An absolute masterpiece whose deceptive simplicity always moves.