Great Halves of Albums (Part Three)
By: Christian Hagen
In a twist, I’ve chosen to continue and maintain this dusty series rather than settle for the admittedly short incarnations that have preceded to this point. The format will remain the same, but I feel I shoud remind readers of a particular caveat when reading the entirety of this list: The idea of this piece is not that these albums are only half great, or that the halves not highlighted are not worth listening to. This list is merely meant to shine a light on the art of the album by showcasing portions of albums that are especially impressive or well-made.
That caveat may be important to remember as you review this, the unexpected (maybe unnecessary) third part of this half-great series.
[And for the record, there are no Beatles tracks because even on Grooveshark, people are apparently afraid of Beatles litigation]
The Beatles, The Beatles (Disc One)
One of the most controversial, complicated, divisive, and brilliant works of the obviously revered Beatles catalogue, what many people sometimes forget when discussing this particular album is that, while extraordinary moments exist throughout, the arguably bloated double-album that is The Beatles (aka The White Album) is decidedly top heavy in terms of its most influential and interesting music. From the distant doppler effect of the plane which opens “Back in the U.S.S.R.,” the first three tracks of Disc One take the listener to places, both expected and not, where The Beatles showcase the artistic genius that made them the most popular band of all time. “U.S.S.R.” is a relatively straightforward rocker for its time, but it carries a wonderful punch, a tightness that belies the unrest beneath the music. The result is thrilling; immediately the listener is pulled in, awaiting the dazzling world of a band unfettered by its own success, having loosened the reigns of their chosen genre to find both its limitations and their own. From there, “Dear Prudence” is at once sweet and unnerving, with magical guitar picking and a quiet air of mystery that hides in the comfort of the lyrics. But by far the most startling of these early tracks is “Glass Onion.” Brash, loud, confrontational, self-referential, this was Lennon showing perhaps more strongly than ever before his distaste for his Beatles status and, to some extent, the fans that had consumed and idolized them. The relatively heavy guitar strumming, combined with the forcefulness of Lennon’s voice, seems a precurser to the punk movement, the established favorites that would later be viewed as symbols against which to rebel doing the job for the next generation, knocking down the walls of their palace from within.
It’s indicative of the split-personality nature of The Beatles at the time this album was recorded that arguably the most abrasive song to date in the band’s repertoire is followed by possibly its most blandly idiotic. Indeed, throughout the whole of the album, and most obviously on the first disc, the most challenging songs are almost all followed by songs that neither challenge or inspire. On the surface, this could be seen as a blatant attempt to quell the flames of mainstream listenership’s potential backlash against this new, artistically confrontational direction. But, considering the band’s perfectionist work ethic, it seems almost more likely, and more compelling, to consider this decision a very deliberate statement on the nature of their own music, as if using “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” after the intense yowl of an empassioned and frustrated John Lennon is meant to punctuate what they saw as the bland dreck many listeners associated the group with.
To describe every brilliant moment or song on The White Album would take a post much more ambitious than this. But consider the fact that for every “Blackbird” or “I Will” which people often remember from The Beatles’ time on the singles chart, there are songs like “Happiness is a Warm Gun,” the manically shifting, dark satire which is like a roadmap for the possibilities of sixties rock music. The fact that “Wild Honey Pie,” “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?”, and “Piggies” can sit with sweet melodies and loving odes like “Julia” is proof of the songwriting power that existed within this band, and the artfullness required to make such an incoherant collection of songs feel like a cohesive piece of music. That Disc Two relies more heavily on the genre conventions of the time with a few exceptions is no reason to disregard it, but to truly understand the impact that The Beatles made on music and popular culture, Disc One is required listening.
Jay-Z, The Black Album (The Middle)
Sean Carter is many things. He is an undoubted icon, a businessman, a truly great MC. But let it never be said of Mr. Carter that he is a humble man. In a genre where “self-congratulatory” is almost redundant at this point, Carter may have the largest head in the room. One of his many self-appointed nicknames even derives from the literal name of God. So it is hardly shocking that almost the entirety of the album which supposedly signaled Carter’s retirement from rap (a retirement that lasted just longer than the marriage of Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt) is essentially a love letter to himself. What is shocking is just how uninteresting some of it is. The first three tracks are so boring and derivative of his early work that it almost drags the whole production down without salvage.
Thankfully, track 4, the electrifying “Encore,” finds a glimmer of something beyond just making himself feel good; that track, like the best tracks on this seminal hip-hop album, makes him sound good. What elevates the center of this album is not simply Jay’s flow or his lyrics, but the fantastic production and beatmaking of the revolving cast of characters Jigga brought into the studio to help him. It’s moments like the pre-chorus of “99 Problems,” when, for a brief moment, Jay steps away from the mic and lets Rick Rubin’s intense rhythm track burst through the speakers, before he rushes back in to the focus where he so desperately loves to belong.
The middle portion of the album is full of extraordinary music; the breathlessness of “Dirt Off Your Shoulder,” the style and swagger of “Change Clothes,” the brilliantly energetic career summary of “Public Service Announcement,” it’s an example of one great song running into another until there is a string of excellence piled together and staggering the mind. It’s when the producers tried too hard for cleverness (the grating “Justify My Thug”) or over-sampled to the detriment of Hova’s abilities (“Lucifer”) that everything is brought back down, surrounding a wonderful pile of music in a circle of mediocrity that celebrates the star without showcasing his relevance.