Wichita Lineman - Glen Campbell
A flat, country road in the Oklahoma panhandle bore the idea for one of the world’s most celebrated songs: Wichita Lineman. From Beach Boy to country-rock star, Glen Campbell managed to make a name for himself along with the other reputable western-inspired artists of the time, with the likes of the Eagles, Johnny Cash, Neil Young. Although, what makes Wichita Lineman stand out is the ability to take a bleak story about a government electrical employee into a moving, romance ballad with theatrical orchestra in the distance. Writer Jimmy Webb conquers uncharted territory in tracktime of 3:07, and Wichita Lineman is the tip of the iceberg into a musical ballad’s embodiment of the 70s: romantic, hazy, and most importantly, authentic.
No Time to Die - Billie Eilish
While ‘No Time to Die’ wasn’t composed by John Barry, Hans Zimmer doesn’t shy away from leaning into the typical “Bond sound” established by the movie-music legend in the 1960s. Together, Billie Eilish and Zimmer created a slightly-altered take on Adele’s ‘Skyfall’, also a breathy Bond theme with building brass. Considering the circumstances surrounding the song’s release: it had to survive as a stand-alone single for nearly a year, Eilish’s success speaks for itself. Is it original? Absolutely not. Is it still great? Outstanding. The people love a James Bond-esque tune and it turns out they especially love it when it's done by Billie Eilish.
Tomorrow Never Knows - Beatles
It goes without saying that the Beatles’ legacy is more than just acid-tripping of the 60s, but to say that drugs don’t play a part would be fallacy. The scope of their talent is what has etched their name into history: within a year, they went from making the Beatlemania founding-sound of Help! to dabbling in psychedelics and channeling the Dalai Lama in Revolver. In writing Tomorrow Never Knows, John Lennon reflected on the sense of self (a drug-induced reflection nevertheless), inevitably leading to the chaotic, complex loops stacked on the droning, Indian tambura. Revolver’s closing track serves as a preview into some of their most reality-altering musical ventures to come: Sgt. Pepper’s and Magical Mystery Tour.
Velvet Underground
When you look into the backstories of the Velvet Underground’s founding members, it sounds like the beginning of a punchline: what do you get when you mix two pretentious Syracuse students, a blonde German actress, a classical musician and a small, androgynous drummer? They didn’t mix. It wasn’t easy or flowing or anything of the sort: in fact, it was syncretic. With the mixing of their different styles, including a managing Andy Warhol, it’s no wonder that their debut album was a clashing, noisy attempt at an LP. Financially, it was a trainwreck, but what it did outstandingly well was send ripples around the music community.
On record number two, lead man Lou Reed’s ego was evident. The Gift is simply a Reed monologue over music. This fuzziness carries over into their third studio album, The Velvet Underground. After two extremely noisy records, the band settled down and reflected on personal journeys. I’m Set Free insinuates a change with “I’m set free to find a new illusion”.
By their fourth record, actress Nico is long gone. Drummer Moe Tucker is taking maternity leave and John Cale, the classical violist, is also out of the picture leaving just Sterling Morrison and Reed. The duo had to do some growing up to make the shift that Loaded depicts: a snapshot of a group that has shaken off the grime of New York City extremity and has decided to finally play nice.
Happy Mondays
The Happy Mondays, however paramount they were in putting the “mad” in Madchester, faced a similar fate to other Britpop bands of the era: epically addicted, burnt out, and with some serious brother issues. It's only appropriate that they had a resurgence in the noughties, striking inspiration from Blur’s Damon Albarn who had just maintained tip-top relevance with the success of Gorillaz’ Demon Days. Releasing 13 tracks of pure nostalgia, Uncle Dysfunktional was Happy Monday’s final homage to their prime. The BBC reviewed the album as a “perfectly decent, high-head-holdingly respectable return”, and knowing anything about the Mondays, the most offensive thing they could have been coined was respectable. Maybe this is why Uncle Dysfunktional is the last album they’ve released, or maybe, like their Britpop cohorts, the flame just burned out.