Golden Chile's 'Song of the Day' Vol. 1

am cheating here. In addition to Nirvana's brilliant unplugged cover of the Meat Puppet's "Lake of Fire," I want to bring attention --for the hermits and unawares -- to their cover of David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold the World."

Kurt Cobain's tortured vocals leave his shredded larynx like the nightmarish cries of the pit while simultaneously lending a dash of innocence to his childlike musings. The lyrics are of course the usual fare of loneliness and death, light versus dark. Think a redneck blues version of the Beatles's "Eleanor Rigby." But like their cover of "the Man Who Sold The World," the melodies and delivery are instantly memorable, making you feel like these songs have been around forever. In my case, I am 21, that's about right.

The earliest Rammstein masterpiece dating back all the way to their lukewarm 1993 debut "Herzeleid." This song set the blueprint for all future ballads Rammstein would ever record and more often than not with surprisingly pleasing results. The blue tones and distant whistles of "Klavier;" the bitter brine of "Mutter;" and the schmaltzy strings swelling insincerely like a gust of polyester rose petals on "Ohne Dich" provide simple but effective veils to clothe the obvious skeleton recycled cleverly from their first and most successful stab at an epic ballad. And at no point do I consider this a bad thing.

"Seemann" is a powerful dirge of deceptively simple dynamics. A lovely golden bass motif opens the song over a backdrop of echoed, tuneless whistles as Till Lindemann delivers an imperfect but totally endearing vocal performance before the tsunami of distorted guitars crash against the rocks and set his love adrift. It helps if you know German. If you don't, well, its about a lonely sailor who courts a local hooker who denies his pleas of "Komm in mein Boot" and the song ends real sad and cold. Its all done very epically, so its all good!

The Madcap Laughs, the record on which "Golden Hair" is housed, was recorded as Syd Barret's mental health was steadily declining. The erratic, inconsistent nature of the recordings give the album a terrifying feeling of voyeuristic paranoia and uncertainty. Its as if Barret was fully aware of his deteriorating sanity but was challenging us to sit though his tortured performances regardless. "Golden Hair" is nothing less than the album's sole respite from the unabashed madness that infects it. The words came originally from a James Joyce poem, treated musically here like a dreamy meditation frozen in time. It feels like the song is rebooting and reliving itself after every verse, filling every bar with ghostly nuances that demand repeated listens to fully appreciate.

Cobwebby and dreamy, like the title suggests, Cuckoo Cocoon is by far the most delicate track on Genesis's 1974 conceptual double-album The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. And its also the most heart-rendering. Cooing nervously through a filtered warble, Peter Gabriel commences:

Wrapped up in some powdered wool - I guess I'm losing touch
Don't tell me this is dying, 'cos I ain't changed that much
The only sound is water drops, I wonder where the hell I am
Some kind of jam ?
Cuckoo cocoon have I come too, too soon for you ?

Clocking in at just over two minutes, Cuckoo Cocoon easily epitomizes the humid, paranoid, womb-like claustrophobia of the sprawling record.

I know next to nothing about the band Theatre of Hate other than its role as an experimental launch pad for Kirk Brandon's sound building and song craft that would culminate with the formation of his next band Spear of Destiny. But one thing is undeniable, this song f*cking rocks! The lyrics describe a tragic tale in the old west ( I presume) that makes little sense on paper but absolutely soars in the studio. Kirk Brandon wails like a powerful banshee in the song's post-chorus explosion and repeats the process about four more times during the song's five minute lifespan without ever becoming redundant or diminished. Sadly the studio cut of "Westworld" mixes down Brandon's wail during the aforementioned catharsis and therefore makes it necessary to hunt down several live versions to experience all the dimensions boiling underneath the surface of this sparingly produced masterpiece.

"The Carnival Is Over" appears on Dead Can Dance's first record to receive a major label release in the US, 1993's 'Into the Labyrinth." And it is by far the most commercial number on the album besides their hit single 'The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove.' This haunting song is a nostalgia laden snapshot of Brendan Perry's childhood where his father brings him to the local Carnival. In many ways, this is Dead can Dance's sound crystallized into one song: frosted strings washing over Brendan Perry's fractured, morning baritone generating momentum line by line as more instruments lend their melodic anguish to the landscape, all culminating into an early emotional peak. Rendering with power and brevity rather with volume and theatrics. But the music keeps moving on indifferently, always shifting no matter what inward upheavals our protagonist has suffered. When Perry's voice rejoins us after the song's half-way mark, his crooning flays away into the powerful conclusion of his memory "The procession moved on the shouting is over/The fabulous freaks are leaving town/They are driven by a strange desire/Unseen by the human eye/The carnival is over/We sat and watched/As the moon rose again/For the very first time..." and settles the storm like shimmering drops of hope landing gently on the blackened soil.

Outside
The storm clouds gathering,
Moved silently along the dusty boulevard.
Where flowers turning crane their fragile necks
So they can in turn
Reach up and kiss the sky.

They are driven by a strange desire
Unseen by the human eye
Someone is calling.

I remember when you held my hand
In the park we would play when the circus came to town.
Look! Over here.

Outside
The circus gathering
Moved silently along the rainswept boulevard.
The procession moved on the shouting is over
The fabulous freaks are leaving town.

They are driven by a strange desire
Unseen by the human eye.
The carnival is over.

We sat and watched
As the moon rose again
For the very first time.

by Dead Can Dance

The Sundays' debut single is a shimmering slice of 90's dream pop, bittersweet and haunting. So saturated with sunshine dust and childhood whimsy, its difficult to resist the pure ear-candy appeal of this song. Its simply gorgeous. David Gavurin's arpeggiated melodies float down delicately like a placid sunshower over Harriet Wheeler's tender yelps. The simple drum pattern gets a heavier and more propulsive treatment in the song's live incarnation giving it an ominous boom sounding like a seething apocalypse. So, if you like this offering, be wise and get the Sunday's 1990 debut album "Reading-Writing and Arithmetic" because half of the songs included are as good as "Can't Be Sure."

Here's a taste of their words, read em as you play the video below!

Can't Be Sure

give me a story and give me a bed
give me possessions
oh love luck and money they go to my head like wildfire
it's good to have something to live for you'll find
live for tomorrow
live for a job and a perfect behind, high time
England my country the home of the free, such miserable weather
but England's as happy as England can be
why cry

and did you know desire's a terrible thing
the worst that I could find
and did you know desire's a terrible thing
but I rely on mine, a-ah

England my country the home of the free, such miserable weather
but England's as happy as England can be
why cry

and did you know desire's a terrible thing
the worst that I could find
and did you know desire's a terrible thing
but I rely on mine
did you know desire's a terrible thing
it makes the world go blind
but if desire, desire's a terrible thing
you know that I really don't mind

and it's my life
and though I can't be sure what I want any more
it will come to me later
well it's my life.... and it's my life
and though I can't be sure if I want any more
it will come to me later... ah, yeah