Open/Close: Closing Time

Semisonic: Closing Time
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One reason that people love listening to music, particularly older music, is that songs, like smells, can evoke past memories. My wife, for example, regularly talks about how specific songs remind her of camp, or high school, or college, and I’ve written before about this phenomenon. I’ve also written about how certain songs remind me of specific people, often my friend Chris, with whom I explored music in high school and attended many memorable shows. And there are songs that make me think about my kids, which I have also written about. Today’s song, Semisonic’s "Closing Time," is another that reminds me of my son, who introduced me to this song back in 1998, when he was about 8 years old.

Semisonic was a band out of Minneapolis, fronted by Dan Wilson, and featuring John Munson and Jacob Slichter that formed out of the ashes of the band Trip Shakespeare, which included Wilson, Munson and Wilson’s brother Matt, among others. Both Wilsons and Slichter attended Harvard, but despite being a proud Tiger, I won’t hold that against them. I sort of group Semisonic in my mind with bands like Toad the Wet Sprocket and Gin Blossoms, who made melodic, power-poppy albums in the 90s, which were radio friendly (for a slice of radio that still existed back then), although I was a bigger fan of those other two bands. Other reviews compare Semisonic (generally unfavorably) to Ben Folds Five, or even Matthew Sweet.

“Closing Time” is a catchy track that, on its surface, seems to be about the end of the night at a bar, a/k/a last call, and the patrons are being forced to decide whether to go home, and if not, where, and with whom, if anyone. It’s a time of both possibility and disappointment, and the song considers both options. Interestingly, Dan Wilson has said that the song is also about his impending fatherhood. He said:

The guys wanted a new song to close our sets with. I thought 'Closing Time' would be a good title. We had spent seven years of our lives at that point, four nights a week entertaining people. That was our life. Some bouncers yelling things, closing time coming, all that imagery, literally, that's how the song started and then when I was halfway done, I started realizing the whole thing was a pun about being born, so I just made sure that the rest of the thing could ride with that double meaning, but nobody got the joke and I didn't bother to explain. I thought everyone would get it. 

The song reached number one on the US Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart, did well internationally, and got a Grammy nomination for Best Rock Song, losing to Alanis Morissette’s “Uninvited.” It’s been used in TV shows and movies, usually when there’s a scene at bar at closing time. Of course. Although two other singles from the album did OK, the followup album, which wasn’t released until 2001 (and even included a contribution from Carole King), was not successful, and the band went on hiatus, reuniting a few times in recent years for shows in the Twin Cities.

Dan Wilson, who is also apparently an accomplished visual artist, has released a bunch of solo albums, and also has written or co-written songs for others, including the Dixie Chicks’ “Not Ready to Make Nice,” and “Someone Like You,” with Adele. Munson continues to play with bands in the Minneapolis area and teaches, and Slichter wrote a book about being a rock musician and teaches, including in the MFA writing program at Sarah Lawrence College, where my daughter-in-law got her degree. She said she knew Slichter, but never took a course from him. To bring this piece to a satisfying "close," she’s married to the son I wrote about in the "open."

Fake Bands: Ming Tea

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I’m not exactly sure why KKafa took offense at my characterization that The Monkees were a fake band—in fact, as I wrote, some would argue that they turned into a real band. And argue he did. It isn’t a bad argument—although initially The Monkees didn’t, for the most part, write their own music or play their own instruments, as time went on, they did do more of both.

But I’m writing about a band that sort of evolved in the opposite way—starting out as sort of a real band, then gaining fame because they were in a movie. When Mike Myers left Saturday Night Live he formed a band with Matthew Sweet and ex-Bangle Susanna Hoffs to play 60s style music, which they called Ming Tea, after a fake company from the 1965 Ursula Andress movie, The 10th Victim. They decided to perform under pseudonyms: Sweet as Sid Belvedere, Hoffs as Jillian Shagwell and Myers as Austin Powers. I think you can see where this is going.

Myers’ wife at that time was Robin Ruzan (whose mother, Linda Richman, was the inspiration for Myers’ “Coffee Talk” SNL sketches, suggested that Myers write a film based on this new “Austin Powers” character. And thus was born Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. Keeping things in the family, Myers asked Hoffs’ husband, Jay Roach (who had directed one movie at that point) to direct the film. This launched Roach’s career, as well as vaulting Myers’ into movie stardom.

Ming Tea appeared throughout the film, augmented by actor Stuart Johnson as Manny Stixman (on drums, of course) and songwriter Christopher Ward as Trevor Aigburth, the lead guitarist. And they played “BBC” over the closing credits. The band performed on some talk shows to promote the film, and in the second sequel, Austin Powers in Goldmember, they performed “Daddy Wasn’t There.”

There appears to be some evidence on the interwebs of some later gigs, but no video. Sweet and Hoffs went on to do a series of cover albums together, among other things, and there are rumors of another Austin Powers sequel, so we may get another serving of Ming Tea. And that would certainly be groovy.

The Oscars: Winona

Matthew Sweet: Winona
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Choosing a Matthew Sweet song would make it seem like I was heading back into the land of power pop again, since Sweet is one of the best in that genre, and Girlfriend, the album from which this song comes is a masterpiece, but no, “Winona” is a love ballad featuring an aching, very country sounding pedal steel part played by session man extraordinaire Greg Leisz (anyone who can play on albums by such diverse artists as Tiger Army, Avenged Sevenfold, The Jayhawks, Lucinda Williams, Wilco, Beck, Bad Religion, Chuck Prophet and Emmylou Harris, among many, many others, deserves that epithet).

Although the song is named after Winona Ryder, it was not written for her. Sweet wrote the song, with its line “Won’t you be my little movie star,” and Lloyd Cole, who played on the album, suggested that he call it “Winona” even though she is not mentioned in the lyrics. Sweet agreed, because he thought that it had the right “country” sound. Sweet has said that he didn’t think that Ryder was that famous at the time, and he didn’t think that anyone would care what he did or that anyone would think that he wrote the song for her. He was wrong. In any event, Ryder apparently liked the song.

Ryder has been nominated for two Academy Awards, for Best Supporting Actress for her role in “The Age of Innocence” and for Best Actress, for her role in “Little Women,” but she did not win either time. She has had an interesting career, although it seems like she peaked back in the ‘90s and her career suffered after her shoplifting arrest in 2001 (which is strange considering that performers with much less talent have flourished after much worse legal trouble). She has an interesting background—her godfather is Timothy Leary, and the author Philip K. Dick was a family friend (which I only mention because, coincidentally, I’m reading one of his books now).

The cover of the Girlfriend album is a picture of the actress Tuesday Weld, who also was nominated for a Best Supporting Actress award, for Looking for Mr. Goodbar, but did not win. After being told that her picture would be on the cover, she objected to the original name of the album, Nothing Lasts, so Sweet changed it.

Girlfriend has long been a family favorite of ours. I put songs from it on mixtapes that we used to listen to in the car, starting when my kids were young, in an attempt to limit the amount of awful children’s music that so many parents get sick of, and my son became a big fan (it was just before the era of good musicians making good children’s albums). A few months ago, Sweet, whose career never reached that peak again, despite a number of excellent post-Girlfriend albums, did a tour where he played Girlfriend in its entirety, followed by a set of some of his other tunes. We were lucky enough to see the show at the Tarrytown Music Hall, and it was one of the happiest shows I have been to. Not a bad song was played, and the crowd loved it.

Which makes me think about why I am O.K. with Sweet playing his greatest hits, or seeing a Graham Parker & the Rumour reunion show, but turn my nose up at, say, the Fleetwood Mac, Kiss or Eagles reunions. And the answer is that there is no rational reason. I want to see Sweet or GP and not the other ones. Remember what the man said, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds,” a quote that should be the credo of all critics.

1991: Girlfriend

Matthew Sweet: Girlfriend

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1991 was a weird year for me. I finished college December of the previous year, and was out on my own for really the first time. I moved into a depressing attic apartment, and spent a lot of time feeling lonely and sorry for myself.

As others have mentioned, 1991 was the year grunge broke. But for me, it was the year popular culture started to pass me by. I never got into grunge, and a look through my 1991 releases shows a lot of boxed sets, best-ofs, and a few new albums from "established" artists.

One album, however, was a breath of fresh air for me: Matthew Sweet's Girlfriend. It had melodies and harmonies, but it also rocked when it needed to. And with guitarists Richard Lloyd (Television) and Robert Quine (The Voidoids) on board, how could it not?

In retrospect, it was probably the album that hooked me on power pop.

It was hard for me to pick just one song to represent it. While the ballad "Winona" is probably my favorite song on the album, I'm going with the title track, a first-rate rocker.

Postage Paid: Care of Cell 44

The Zombies: Care of Cell 44

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The title of this song stretches the theme just a little bit. But the lyrics are the contents of a letter a guy is writing to his significant other, who is locked up in jail. Although the gender of the jailbird is never mentioned, one assumes it's a woman, which makes this a fairly unique pop song, even for 1968. As a single, it bombed.

"Care of Cell 44" is the opening track on the Zombies' magnum opus, Odessey and Oracle. The band's two hits, "She's Not There" and "Tell Her No" were several years old when the they recorded the album in 1967, and it was their final stab at making it big. Unfortunately, the album was pretty much ignored when it was released in the UK, and the band quickly broke up.

Then Al Kooper heard the album and convinced his label, Columbia, to release it stateside. "Time of the Season" was pulled from it as a single and became a huge hit in 1969.

The band (or 3/5 of it) cashed in on its surprise success by recording a follow-up album. In 1991.

Over the years, the rest of Odessey and Oracle has garnered a cult following, and now it's considered a masterpiece. With its sophisticated arrangements, beautiful melodies, and Beach Boys-like harmonies, I wholeheartedly agree.

Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs: Care of Cell #44

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A few years ago, Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs recorded an album of covers of some of their favorite songs from the '60s. Their version adds a number sign to the title and changes the gender of the narrator, with Susanna taking the lead.