My hmphs

Recently, the USA Network has been airing promos for the third season of the comedy crime show Psych (a very good show, BTW) featuring the two main characters, Shawn and Gus, performing a parody of Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder’s “Ebony & Ivory.” The parody is spot-on, down to the overenunciation of “piano (p’yah-no),” the oversized piano keys and silhouettes of the two hand-clapping.

The clip made me hunt down the original video from 1982, and somehow over 25 years, I’ve grown to hate the song. It was one of my favorites when it stood at the top of the Billboard charts for two months; but at age 13, I also liked Chicago, Styx and most other inoffensive white-bread artists. Looking back now, it represents McCartney near his creative nadir: While the tune and melody itself is rather pleasant, everything else is a mess.

First, the tempo seems plodding; the song can’t decide whether it’s a ballad or a dance number. McCartney aims for the middle of the road - always a safe place for him, but as Mr. Miyagi said in The Karate Kid, “Walk on road, hm? Walk left side, safe. Walk right side, safe. Walk middle, sooner or later get squish! just like grape.” The tempo is just - squishy.

Then there are the lyrics. Oh, God. “Ivory” does not rhyme with “harmony.” And “keyboard” with “Oh Lord”? That’s just wrong. Of course, the meaning of the entire song is so apparent and shallow - black keys, white keys, black people, white people, get it?

I’m a huge Paul McCartney fan. I think he’s the greatest living songwriter. But this song represents all that was wrong with him after his stint with the Beatles - safe songs that probably took 30 minutes to write, featuring inane and trite lyrics. Remember, this was the man who wrote such tripe as “With a Little Luck,” “Temporary Secretary” (Another bad rhyme) and would soon curse us with “The Girl is Mine” and possibly the worst song he ever wrote, “Pipes of Peace.”

Stevie Wonder, I’m sad to say, caught whatever possessed McCartney when he wrote the song and two years later gave us “I Just Called to Say I Love You,” which rivals “Ebony & Ivory” as worst song of the 1980s.

Sorry, Paul. I’ll work on a post about the genius that is “The Back Seat of My Car.”

Ebony & Ivory (1982) (YouTube)

Psych parody of “Ebony & Ivory” (YouTube)

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In 1997, the Icelandic group Sigur Ros released Von, a remarkable debut that gave a much needed boost to the experimental pop genre. Over the next 10 years, they gained followers worldwide with simple, beautiful sounds, each song layered with electronics and strings and building in intensity as lead singer Jónsi Birgisson’s unintelligible, childlike voice rang over the music.

During this time, Sigur Ros has been in its cocoon, biding its time and slowly waiting for some metamorphosis to occur. And with their new release, Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust (which in English means “With a Buzz in our Ears We Play Endlessly”), they have emerged with a glorious new sound that may alienate long-term fans but exposes the band to a whole new audience.

From the opening track, “Gobbledigook,” the change is apparent - acoustic guitars and a quick pounding drum are now the backdrop for Birgisson’s vocals. The group gets downright poppy with “Inní Mér Syngur Vitleysingur,” with a chiming piano keeping time with the percussion as Birgisson drops his voice an octave. They sound like - dare I say it? - Coldplay.

The album is not without its flashbacks - “Festival” hearkens to their more dream-pop roots, as does the simple, touching finale “All Alright” (their first song with English lyrics) - but it is by far their most accessible. Most songs are sung in Icelandic, but when sung at a glacial pace, with syllables spanning several measures - it’s probably still indecipherable to their fellow citizens. They also use words from their own made-up language, “Hopelandic,” which allows the music to take center stage.

Sigur Ros has mastered the art of setting a mood with not so much melody and harmony, but from their basic elements - pitch, dynamics and timbre. Now, by applying their craft to familiar pop/rock components - tempo, meter, guitar/drum combinations - they have created something special: familiar-sounding music that evokes the emotion of their older material.

It’s the perfect blend of the old Sigur Ros and the new Sigur Ros - one in which everyone should be satisfied.

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Throughout this whole era of Coldplay worship, something has bugged me about them. Maybe it was lead singer Chris Martin’s sinus issues (give that man a Kleenex before he sings!), the song “Yellow,” or their strong penchant for taking themselves way too seriously.

With their new release, Viva La Vida, I’ve finally nailed it: They’re boring!

Recently, the Travelodge hotel chain conducted a survey of 2,248 people in the UK to find out what artist helps them fall asleep. According to the poll, Coldplay beat out middle-of-the-road artists James Blunt and Norah Jones as an instant sedative: Not a good thing for a rock band.

On Coldplay’s new album, two out of my three previous theories listed above do make themselves apparent (hint: “Yellow” isn’t on this album), but throughout the 45 minutes of music, I found myself trying to find some memorable moments, and there were few.

The opening track, “Life in Technicolor,” is an instrumental, as if Coldplay were staging this is some kind of overture to an epic soundtrack. U2 tried this with “Where the Streets Have No Name,” but they had a memorable song to lead into. “Life in Technicolor” leads into “Cemeteries of London,” which…wait, let me go listen to it again…oh yeah. That one…I got nothin’.

That’s the problem with most of this CD: After repeated listenings, very few songs rise above the norm and stick in my head, save the title track, which is marvelous. You’ve probably heard it on Coldplay’s commercial for the album - upbeat, staccatoed strings accompanying a melodic vocal from Martin. It’s their second single, and for good reason; coming toward the end of the CD, it’s a welcome relief, and it will quickly become a Coldplay classic.

Other standout tracks are “hidden,” add-ons to other songs: “Chinese Sleep Chant” wakes up the song “Yes” with a wall of surging guitars, with Martin wailing in the background. It hearkens back to the early 90s and is one of the few times the band gets aggressive. “Reign of Love,” tacked on to the end of the sweeping “Lovers in Japan,” is a quiet, dreamy piano ballad.

Martin has said that the band spent hours in the studio trying to make everything perfect, and while the production is top-notch, at times it sounds pretentious. Their long instrumental breaks sound like some prog-rock band from the 70s.

It’s a shame, because I really wanted to like this CD. Coldplay, despite their flaws, are one of the strong hopes for saving pop music from marginally talented, overproduced artists dominating the charts today. With Viva la Vida, they seem to be confidently treading water.

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