State Songs

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Title: State Songs
By: Linnell, John
Released by: Rounder/Zoe
Released on: 1999
Rating (out of 10): 9
Date: 06/07/2001

John Linnell to World: "Hi. I'm White."

I like to think of They Might Be Giants as that wonderful combination of peanut butter and jelly. In this vision of mine, John Linnell is the peanut butter—complex, hearty, and not always flashy, but reliably satisfying time and time again. John Flansburgh is the jelly—kinda fruity, and not too substantial, but nonetheless very sweet and enjoyable in its own way. It goes without saying (although here I am saying it) that the two great tastes complement each other like, uh, peanut butter and jelly.

But how do they stand up on their own? A nutty, bold entity that never spreads itself too thin but always sticks to one's palate—versus an entity that's so anxious to please that it seeps through the bread (and out of the sides of one's sandwich), leaving one saying "Hey, what happened to my sandwich?"

The theme of today's pithy causerie is John Linnell's 1999 solo album, State Songs. It's not his first solo effort—the first incarnation of this record was an EP released in 1994 through the band's old CD-of-the-month-club, Hello. Through Hello, he also released the House of Mayors mini-album, a theme record much like State Songs that featured a gaggle of pop songs, gaslight melodies, and experimental tone-poems, all related to Mayors Through History ("Dewitt Clinton" is my personal favorite).

So far, though, State Songs is Linnell's only solo collection to be freshened up and given a proper release, on Rounder Records' Zoe imprint. Linnell says this is volume one of an ongoing series of compact-disc recordings relating to These United States, but given TMBG's never-ending slew of projects, I wouldn't expect to see a volume two for a good 10 years (they'll still be together, trust me—they're a cultural given, a part of the collective unconscious, like Dan Rather; we never think about Dan Rather, but if he ever died, the natural order of the world would be thrown into total pandemonium—think about it).

Let me tell you how much I enjoy State Songs. Since I bought it, not long after its release date, I have played it at least once a week. Sometimes once a day. It's a quicker-picker-upper, a stress reliever, an album that brings me a smile when I need one.

I don't apologize for the unabashed geeky love with which I approach this album. It's my favorite Giants release since Flood (1990), even if it's not an all-Giant affair. Of the current two-John, three-Dan (four Dans if you include Dan Levine) lineup, the State Songs band includes one John and three Dans. And a Brian. And three Marks. And a Kate, and a Jay. Most of the instruments are played by the one John, though.

As all the reviews and press releases can tell you, there are 16 tracks on State Songs, and 15 of them are named after states. The remaining track, "The Songs of the 50 States," serves as a theme song for the rest of the album. As all the reviews and press releases can tell you, these songs named after states don't have much to do with the states themselves at all.

Don't wet yourself sitting there trying to uncover what the songs are about—they're about something, but no mere mortal (perhaps not even Linnell himself) is smart enough to figure it out. That's how I justify the pure silliness of the themes and characters of State Songs—I'd rather attribute the nonsense to a much loftier goal, and not write it off as intellectual laziness. I may be wrong, though.

If you're looking for information about states, the liner notes won't help you much either. Each state is given a short blurb with a few encyclopaedic facts (state flower, state flag), but the blurbs take a sharp right turn into Linnell's brain:

Montana:

Montanans can choose between two Official Gemstones: Sapphire and Agate. And owing to her vastness Montana requires two separate heads of state: the Governor, and his nemesis the anti-Governor.

New Hampshire:

The Granite State is the only state with an official State State. The State State of New Hampshire is New Hampshire. If you want to take that away from them you'll have to pry it from their cold, dead fingers.

Idaho (incidentally, the title of my least favorite State Song):

Her vast hydroelectric dams produce enough power to deep-fry each of her potatoes millions of times over. Idaho can also claim one of the world's deepest gorges, Hell's Canyon, a worthy serving bowl for such a feast of french fries!

But the states represented on State Songs are not the main attraction. This album has a very specific sound to it—and that sound is owed to the Wurlitzer Band Organ (models 103 and 165, if you're curious)—an early 20th century carousel-style player-organ that "plays itself" based on hand-cut paper rolls of music fed to it by its operator. These band organs are cumbersome in size and expensive to maintain, but a few people, like Bob Stuhmer, who cut some of the rolls for this album, are dedicated to keeping its legacy alive.

The Wurlitzer is used to best effect on my favorite track, the 1-minute, 23-second instrumental opener, "Illinois." Once you get past the metronomic, mechanical carnival sound, you hear it as a real instrument, capable of bringing out a piece's musical architecture while robbing it of any human emotion the songwriter had in mind when composing the piece. With that, the Wurlitzer spits out the song with its own sinister brand of emotion.

You can really hear this happening in "Utah" and "New Hampshire"—two tracks that sound like the brain damage one would incur after being pushed down a flight of stairs by J.S. Bach and ending up in the arms of Anton LaVey, at the bottom. "New Hampshire" is made even more sinister when coupled with its chorus, sung by Linnell in a very innocent, unassuming voice:

Woman wonders "Who's your itchy friend?"
Woman says "I thought he was with you."
Woman says "I thought he was with you."
They slowly back away from him.

At best, he's very interesting.
His brushes with success were just
An accident
No one likes New Hampshire Man.

Not all of the tracks feature the band organ, but even the ones that don't seem to be caught up in the weighty weirdness of State Songs' overall tone. "Oregon" features accordion, saxophone, and electric piano—usually, these are instruments reserved for a more upbeat setting, but here they add to the song's evil-lurks-around-the-corner slow chromatic build-up.

And then some of the State Songs are just flavored with the same dorky new-wave-polka fun of the TMBG sound. "South Carolina"'s thumping, jerky beat and synths provide a backdrop for a happy little number about collecting punitive damages from a bicycle crash. "Iowa" uses the Wurlitzer 103, but in a way that makes it sound like a Farfisa-driven psych-rock dancealong by the likes of ? and the Mysterians.

An interesting thing about Linnell is that no matter what instruments he's writing for (and that has included entire brass orchestras), he always thinks like a keyboard player, writing very chord-based, polyphonic stuff. So a brass band will sound like just another one of Linnell's keyboard parts, and sometimes it's hard to tell which is which. I like that.

"Pennsylvania" and "Michigan" are pretty much straight polkas, with some cool contrapuntal playing between violin and what sounds like a sample of an accordion played back through a synthesizer (according to interviews I've read, many of the sounds produced for this low-budget record were done with the help of samplers, much like the first three or four Giants records).

The lyrics of "Michigan" (Michigan's State Bird, if you read the liner notes, is a "terrifying airborne car with gigantic metal talons") kick in after about a minute of double-time polka-punk madness: Linnell informs us, after calling the state "expansionist in spirit" and comparing it to a fish tank, that "we must eat Michigan's brain."

A couple of caveats: In addition to all the deliciously catchy tunes found inside the State Songs long-player, there's a good deal of instrumental music. So if you're the type that's bored by hearing an entire song with no one singing, you may wanna skip this one. Me, I have no patience for people like that. I've always been impressed by Linnell's skills as a musician and writer of music, and I'm glad this album gives him the room to show off a little.

The other caveat for State Songs is the final track, "Nevada"—which states its theme within the first minute (Linnell on accordion and voice, playing over the strains of a marching band passing by) and then goes off to take a leak or something, leaving the tape running for 7 more minutes, while the marching band continues playing its music, getting farther and farther away. So my caveat is "don't put the CD on shuffle."

I guess State Songs is considered a pretty minor sausage in the Giant chain, but I consider it one of the tastiest.

A better idea is not be had in all the 13 states.

© Copyright CultureDose.com 06/07/2001

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