Tomorrow is Such A Long Time: 5 Songs About Long Nights
This week's songs are from Little Barrie & Malcom Catto, Haim, Townes Van Zandt, Jack White, and Hank Bee
RIP Willie Colón
A few weeks ago we celebrated Salsa music that inspired Bad Bunny. Willie Colón is mentioned in “NUEVAYoL” and is considered a giant of Afro-Caribbean music and a celebrated social activist. Here is “Skinny Papà” from Colón’s debut album. It has all the charm of a great oldies tune, and has a similar chord progression to “Louie, Louie.”
Following last week’s theme—it’s not just the dark and cold days that give the Winter Blues, but also the long nights. Towards the end of February there are little moments of levity—like leaving work while the sun is still out. But as is the case with winter storms on the East Coast, there is more winter to be had. Those long winter nights linger, even if we can sense Spring approaching. The renewal is close, but still feels so far away.
Here are 5 songs on long nights.
“You could say it’s more inspired by a kind of New Orleans thing, but flipped on its head in a weird time, and with a broken old keyboard that Malcolm found in the road on it, to change it up a little bit. But…there’s definitely a cinematic soundtrack feel.” - Barrie Cadogan
Little Barrie & Malcolm Catto - “Zero Sun”
You’d think if there were an artist who played with the Black Keys, Morrisey, Liam Gallagher, and the Chemical Brothers I would’ve heard of them before a month ago. But Barrie Cadogan escaped me until then. You can hear some of the early Black Keys on Electric War, but it sounds more like Can thanks to drummer Malcolm Catto, who Little Barrie has welcomed in following the passing of their original drummer. The whole album is worth a listen—it’s groove-driven psych-rock with a lot of soft edges. The lyrics are hard to make out, but on “Zero Sun”, he’s calling for “Zero sun / be my dawn.” The music sounds a bit like that guy wearing sunglasses inside at night, but is somehow pulling it off—it doesn’t care if you think it’s cool or not, its locked into its groove and sticking with it.
“Every time we came back to it we thought it needed another part. But whenever we wrote another part for it it didn't feel right. So it's almost like a hymn with one part repeated. The vocals were done in one take, an old take that I couldn't beat. So we kept it." – Danielle Haim
Haim - “Night So Long” (Live at the Greek)
Not to say that Haim’s retro-pop is maximalist, but there is an energy and glitter to much of their work; polyrhythms, harmonies—there’s a lot going on. So when they put together a sparse arrangement like this, and it matches what the song is about (loneliness), the weight of it lands a bit harder. There’s almost no difference between this live version and the studio version except the visual tricks (courtesy of director Paul Thomas Anderson) double down on everything I said above about the song itself—small choices; big impact. Fun fact: the Haim sisters’ mother was one of Anderson’s art teachers.
“I don’t think [my songs] are all that sad. I have a few that aren’t sad, they’re hopeless. About a totally hopeless situation. And the rest aren’t sad they’re just the way it goes, kinda. I mean, you know, you don’t think life’s sad?” - Townes Van Zandt
Townes Van Zandt - “I’ll Be Here in the Morning”
I’ll be real honest—I don’t really get the cult of Townes Van Zandt. If you’re in it, could you help me understand it? “Poncho and Lefty” is timeless, but like “Blowin’ in the Wind” it’s also pretty anonymous. Anyone can do a credible version. Sure, that credit goes to the writer. But most everything I hear from Van Zandt has that quality to it. There’s nothing distinct or captivating about his sound for me to grab on to and find interest in him as a performer. Again, this is an invitation to be shown how I’m wrong. I do have one way in: “I’ll Be Here in the Morning.”
Any time I’m trying to figure out why a melody really hits me in the melancholies, I find out it’s that change into an isolated minor chord in an A-B-A-B-C pattern. No musical knowledge required, you can here it executed perfectly in “I’ll Be Here in the Morning,” and you’ll know it when you hear it. The singer in the song is putting off everything about themselves to be there for their beloved, and is committed to that choice. But that minor chord lets you know they’re actually pretty sad about it, and one day they will betray their promise.
“We’re at a time right now where even making a rock ‘n’ roll record is like making a jazz record. It’s a wonder. ‘Are people down with this or not?’” - Jack White
Jack White - “Tonight (Was A Long Time Ago)”
I’m not alone in thinking there’s a certain kind of magic missing from Jack White’s solo work from that of the White Stripes. It’s not something you can fully attribute to Meg White’s drumming, either. There was a playfulness, a sense of fun and silliness. White’s solo stuff is all black leather jackets and ear-splitting guitars—a lot of dude shit. As much as No Name was a return to White Stripes form, it was still a lot of dick-and-balls. The White Stripes form on display was Jack’s primary contribution to the duo: maximum riffage. It sounds like Soundgarden with the low-end cut out (that’s a compliment).
“Tonight (Was A Long Time Ago)” is among the stand-outs from No Name because of that White Stripes-era riff of stuttering power chords. It’s loud. It’s simple. It’s a bit obnoxious. It’s pure rock and roll. It’s even got the “1-2-3-4” count-in.
“[It’s] a bittersweet song, a song about acceptance and the fact that there are so many things you can’t control.” - Hannah Brown
Hank Bee - “SFS”
Hannah Brown aka Hank Bee’s a sudden hankering EP is five excellent songs of varying styles and tones. The closest approximation to it is probably early 90s Liz Phair, especially “10:23” which sounds like a slowed down “Fuck and Run”; it’s doing neither, so it’s in no hurry. On “SFS” Brown finds herself at a piano, calling for morning to not just arrive, but push her out of the dark.
Morning, come meet me
Come seek me in the shadows
Come taunt me, implore me to take the risk
When writing the song, Brown said she’d had the piano parts, but took a lot of melodic mumbling to arrive at the words. The process shows (not a criticism), as the piano has a circular progression throughout, like it’s looking for somewhere to go, to be broken loose. It’s that thought repeating itself in your head, preventing you from falling asleep. The vocal parts, building on one another over the course of the song do just that.
Thanks for reading. Enjoy the listening.