Songs with the best endings – well, maybe eight of ‘em
"Eastern to Mountain, third-party call..."
While there are thousands of songs I consider “great”, there are very few that end in a manner that escalates their greatness. There’s nothing wrong with the traditional structure of the modern pop song (intro/verse/chorus/verse/chorus/bridge/ending chorus/etc). However, it is a rare event when a song transcends its pop constraints, stops to let you to take a breath (how thoughtful), and then fires a proverbial curveball, directly at your head. While there had to be other occasions where I noticed this endearing phenomenon, it wasn’t until I popped Van Halen into the dual-cassette recorder (C30 C60 C90 Go!), and experienced the magic of “I’m The One” – which, much like the guy responsible for George Benson’s “Turn Your Love Around”, is so awesome that Diamond Dave & Co. could have quit music after writing the tune, specifically to invent Bernie Madoff, artificial turf and Rick Astley, and they’d still be eligible for the Great Americans hall of fame (when it exists). “I’m The One” begins with a Masters’-level course on the guitar-solo/riff intro, throws a verse and chorus our way, then a solo in a completely new chord progression, back to verse and chorus, to a repeat of the same solo, only to drop into…a barbershop-quartet doo-wop breakdown!?[i]
In tribute to that great moment, here are eight songs with finales that almost rival VH. While I know there are serious omissions, I am working without any prior research, violating many of my writing guidelines, but seeking an honest representation of the songs that stand out in my memory. I figure if I did not include it, maybe I am unaware of its greatness. Feel free to throw me a message in the comments. As my previous topic, Armond White, told Slashfilm, “Enthusiasm is not proper criticism.” Sorry Armond, no criticism will be found here – I’ll apologize in advance for what will seem like the hyper notebook scribbles of a high-school freshman.
“So. Central Rain” – R.E.M. While lyrically bitter, Stipe manages to contain his intense sadness through three verses that utilize a dark-sounding chord progression, only to return to a trad-country bass-walk to start the next transition, almost like he’s trying to trick us into thinking that everything is OK. After the third chorus, a final wail of “I’m sorry!”, Stipe finally lets us in on his truel feelings, as he howls above an increasingly dissonant soundscape that echoes his vocals as effectively as humanly possible (you heard me!).
“The National Anthem” – Radiohead / “A Day In The Life” – The Beatles. I know – how DARE I compare the best band of all-time with a minor outfit that included the guy responsible for “Whoa whoa, whoa whoa, my love does it good!” Screw y’all McCartney haters – if you toss aside the dreck, he has a double-LP worth of great solo material, including the “The Mess”, which was unfortunately castigated to the B-side of the aforementioned “My Love”. These two songs share the same spirit, although they take wildly-differing paths to arrive at their similar conclusions. Perhaps the crazy orchestral stabs of “Anthem”, reminiscent of The Noise of Trevor Horn’s Art (or whatever he called his “band”), serve as musical interpretations of the sardonic lyrics of the Beatles subversive tune. For both of these songs, the ending is a slow crescendo to a climax, where a multitude of notes fight with one another for space within their respective wavelengths. As Gil Hicks from Mallrats would say, “You’re not the same…you’re changed!”
My intention of limiting each artist to one entry required the elimination of “All You Need Is Love”, where a simple repetition of the tonic chord is overlayed by 1) La Marseillaise 2) 2-part inversion in F by Bach, 3) Greensleeves (in the correct Dorian mode – you gotta raise that 6th a half-step, fcukers!), 4) In the Mood, 5) She Loves You, and finally 6) Prince of Denmark’s March by Jeremiah Clarke. No word if Ringo was still on the ceiling (“…look at ‘im scoot!”)
“What She Came For” – Franz Ferdinand. More Brits, and by Brits, I mean Scots. Prior to their 2009 release, one of the 4,356 albums called Tonight, Franz Ferdinand placed “Darts of Pleasure”, which concludes with a musical breakdown and rebuild, as the singers recite “Ich heiße super fantastische! Ich trinke Schampus mit lachsfisch! Ich heiße suuupeeeer fantastiiiiiische!” until the train derails. “What She Came For” absolutely tops it, and can claim the mantle for best ending of the decade. Following a few minutes of an awesome dance-rock song (buoyed by a bassline that Bootsy Collins and John Deacon would bite dust for), the tempo starts to dr_a_g, a la the finishing notes of “Darts of Pleasure”. But then, ka-POW! Here comes the gravy pipe! Raw Power-era Stooges, with the thrash ending, and nice work – now you’re forced to re-organize your apartment. Who said a La-Z-Boy didn’t know how to slamdance?
“The Big Money” – Rush / “Roundabout” – Yes. To prog-rock purists, it is blasphemy to compare the avatar of a genre to a radio-friendly keyboard-heavy rock song. Screw them! “Roundabout” pioneered the vocal breakdown to end a song, dropping all instruments so Jon Anderson, Chris Squire and Steve Howe can finish their proto-environmentalist message with the inscrutable “da-da-da-da daaa-daaa-daaa…”, imploring everyone (well, at least Vincent Gallo) to spend ten true summers asking, “What the hell does that mean?” The best element of it all? That one extra “dit” before Howe’s guitar closes the whole operation – was it a mistake that was forgotten amidst Jon’s rush to finish “We Have Heaven”, or did producer Eddy Offord tell them to knock off early so he could prepare for a future where he worked with real bands – you know, 311?
“Big Money” takes a different tack, but in a similar spirit (yeah I know I’ve already used that line). In perhaps the best pop moment of Rush’s career, a John Dos Passos novel comes to life in the kingly guise of an anti-ode to society’s scheming demons and their default-credit swaps. Guitarist Alex Lifeson, after a brief pause, cranks out three chords like he was turning on the lights at Maple Leaf Gardens. The triumphant ring of that “immovable do” rises above the clouds, as Geddy and Neil jump in afterward.
Hit It Run – Run DMC. As far as I know, this is the only recorded example of an artist including the entirety of one track (“Son of Byford”) into another (“Hit it Run”) on the same album (as if Led Zeppelin affixed “Friends” into “Since I’ve Been Loving You”, but still placing “Friends” on the record). Someone, I can’t recall who, asked me if the title should actually be “Hit it, Run”, allowing the comma to denote the appositive. I would imagine that such grammatical debate was a major issue betwixt Jam Master Jay and producer Russell Simmons, so I’ll try not to open old wounds here.
After Run is repeatedly asked to Hit It, on comes the beatboxing and Son of Byfording, serving as what classical music aficionados call a prelude. And it’s bad-ass as well.
The Beautiful Ones – Prince. As his most beautiful ballad nears a close, The Purple One throws a new chord progression into Lake Minnetonka, leaps into the chilly water, and lets loose some of the most insane falsetto screams placed on wax. A la So. Central Rain, Prince restrains his emotions until the end, leaving it all on the field. The soft keyboard rhythm recalls the third part of Yes’ “Close to the Edge”, which Mr. Nelson has never cited as an inspiration, unlike fellow Minneapolitan Bob Stinson of the Replacements. But it is impossible for me not to see the two songs as begging to be mashed up (fast-forward to 9:30 of this clip, and tell me you can’t hear Prince’s “Baby baby , baaa by!” in the background).
[i] Carl Barat of the Libertines was definitely taking notes.
You know, I never could square “The Big Money” with the rest of Rush’s unabashedly Ayn Randian work. “The Big Money” got no soul? How the HELL did that get past Neal Peart?
The Rand Era for Rush ended when Peart dove into works by Cervantes, Yeats and non-fiction historians in the mid-70s. I’ve always interpreted A Farewell To Kings to indicate their shedding of Randian philosophy, and a newfound embrace of the similar ethos that informed the punk and funk of 1977.
While they (and by “they”, I figure that Alex and Ged were on board with Neil’s ideas) still believed in the power of individuals – the multiple song titles with the structure “___Man” for example – their observance of the “a world of cold reality, and a look in the eyes of the hungry, awakened them” to what role such an individual could play in aiding others who were “dealt a losing hand”. Always on guard against state efforts to censor thought and expression, individuals will “rise and save us from ourselves”, sure. But now their lenses were open wider. While originally perceived as evil institutions that sought to lift the rest of society by outlawing individuality, Rush learned that government was far more complicated than that – and that initiatives such as Canadian single-payer health care were not, in fact, a covert attempt to denigrate their guitars as “simple toys that will help destroy the elder race of man”, but rather a way to “feed the people” and not “the machines”.
While a song like “The Trees” from 1978 could easily be read as an anti-communist ribbing on whiny underachievers, I think its meant to be a warning to the privileged that if they don’t share their light, the masses will take it by force.