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The Kinks – The Kink Kronikles – Classic Music Review

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Compilation albums rarely make anyone happy. Read the reviews of any compilation album on Amazon and you’ll read stuff like, “How could they have left off X?” or “The idiots used the live version, which is crap!” and similar complaints. Compilation albums are the blonde who looks hot as she whizzes by in her convertible, but when you pull up next to her at the stoplight, she never turns out to be the girl of your dreams.*

Unless you’re talking about The Kink Kronikles. The blonde turns out to be Lana Turner in her prime. Oh, you can argue that they should have included “Strangers” instead of “Get Back in Line,” just like you could argue that Lana might look a bit better in the tight jet black sweater instead of the midnight blue. Who cares? It’s Lana Turner! Who cares? This is The Kinks in their prime!

The collection features songs from the bulk of their golden era, from Face to Face to Lola. It features all the hits from that period, a handful of B-sides, several excellent album tracks and a few gems that had been tucked away in the vaults. It’s a remarkably delightful listening experience that feels surprisingly unified. If you’re going to introduce a neophyte to the wonders of The Kinks, this is the album I would recommend.

I’ve already reviewed the songs that appeared on their studio albums (links below, after the full track listing), so this review will focus on the B-sides and (at the time) previously unreleased tracks.

“Berkeley Mews”: Douglas MacCutcheon wrote a funny little piece on searching for this London street on Songplaces.com. Wherever the real encounter took place, Ray’s dig at the pseudo-intellectuals who sprung up all over the world to impart wisdom to the masses in the 1960’s is both brilliant satire and a very strong piece of music. I take exception to Mr. MacCutcheon’s characterization of the rock segments as “a typical rock & roll back beat,” because the statement implies something played in a pedestrian manner. Au contraire! The Kinks kick ass on this song, and the burlesque sections make the rock sections even more powerful in contrast. There is a debate over the actual lyrics in the crucial line, “I staggered through your _____ dining room . . . ” Mendelsohn’s original liner notes say “shitty,” MacCutcheon hears “chilly,” and I hear a compromise, “chitty.” I like mine because it could have been a way to get past the censors, but I’ll take any of the three options. The bridge features some surprising chord changes before finding resolution, and the band handles those and the stutter-stop rhythm linking the bridge with the verse with great finesse. One of my favorite lost Kinks songs!

“Willesden Green”: I wrote in my review of Muswell Hillbillies that The Kinks didn’t do country all that well, but this track from Percy may be the exception to the rule. The only Kinks song not to feature a Davies brother as lead singer, “Willesden Green” works primarily because John Dalton makes it work with a vocal that combines a little bit of Conway Twitty with a whole lot of tongue in cheek. The spoken verse is a hoot-and-a-half, delivered with the face-saving defiance of a man who couldn’t make it in the city and is headed back to the burbs. Nice warm background vocals, too.

“This Is Where I Belong”: A relatively rare (for The Kinks) love song, I love it for the strength of the melody, Mick Avory’s strong drumming and Dave Davies’ memorable filler riff. The recording sounds a bit primitive but I actually rather like that, as the recording doesn’t distort the sincere emotions with fluff or syrup. I tend to trust expressions of love more when there’s an almost uncontrollable force behind them that can’t be bound by shy squeamishness, and The Kinks’ show of force here suits me just fine.

“Dead End Street”: No witty social satire here—this is a clarion call to draw attention to the extent of urban poverty and class discrimination in the UK. The intensity The Kinks bring to this track stands in stark contrast to the more lyrical feel of other songs during this period, further intensifying the urgency of the message. The double-tracking on the “What are we living for?” lines gives more emphasis to the point of the song: shouldn’t we have a greater purpose than survival? The lyrics are painfully direct and to the point; there’s no Dickensian juicy joint of lamb on the Sunday dinner table to welcome a happy family:

There’s a crack up in the ceiling,
And the kitchen sink is leaking.
Out of work and got no money,
A Sunday joint of bread and honey.

This is a song that never fails to move me; it not only reminds me how good I have it in contrast but also to continue my modest efforts to rid the world of the cancer of poverty. Alex DiBlasi has written a superb and more detailed analysis of “Dead End Street” you can read on KindaKinks.net. The second half of his treatise deals entirely with the promotional film shown here:

“Autumn Almanac”: I know several loyal Kinks fans who absolutely despise this song. It does have a rather jaunty feel to it that some may find annoying. As a character sketch, though, it’s superb, a dramatic monologue about a chap who likes his routines, feels tremendous loyalty to his neighborhood and wants to stay where he is—not out of conditioning as in “Shangri-La,” but out of choice:

This is my street, and I’m never gonna to leave it,
And I’m always gonna to stay here
If I live to be ninety-nine,
‘Cause all the people I meet
Seem to come from my street
And I can’t get away,
Because it’s calling me, (come on home)
Hear it calling me, (come on home)

There’s a part of me that wishes for that kind of life; it’s the life I had in San Francisco before education, economics and value conflicts sent my boot heels to be wanderin’. Neighborhoods matter! Continuity is as vital as change! The bouncy music reflects an empathy for someone who is happy with a life that others might find dreadfully boring. And kudos to Ray for mentioning Armagnac, the under-appreciated relative of our more famous Cognac. Vive la France!

“Did You See His Name?”: One of the best examples of Ray Davies’ gift of poetic economy, this song relates a modern tragedy with astonishing impact in less than two minutes. A man steals a tin of beans from a grocery store and finds his name and address published in the paper, excluding him for employment and companionship. I’ve never understood how media publication of any crime can be reconciled with our alleged belief in rehabilitation, for the primary effect of media coverage is to significantly reduce the chances of the accused or the guilty of ever finding a place in society (unless you’re as wealthy as Martha Stewart). In this case, the character snuffs out his life in his cramped maisonette. So much for Christian forgiveness.

“Wonderboy”: Hmm. John Lennon was obsessed with this song, according to Ray’s story in X-Ray, and lo and behold, it is very, very similar to “Beautiful Boy” in terms of subject matter and tone. I’ve never wanted babies or been particularly fond of them, so both songs are closed books for me. If I had to choose, I’d take this one for its more interesting melody.

“King Kong”: This “Apeman” doppelgänger rocks pretty hard in spots, and I think if they’d committed to it all the way through, this song would have turned out much better. First, it would have meant a more prominent role for Dave Davies, whose solo here feels truncated. Second, the “la, la, la, la, la” sequences break the flow and seem completely out-of-place. It’s like having a guy on top of me banging away with all his might suddenly pulling out, jumping off the bed, pulling a bouquet of posies out of thin air and crying, “You’re my forever valentine, snookie ookums!” Son of a bitch wouldn’t get out of that room alive.

“Mr. Pleasant”: “A Well Respected Man” dealt with old money; “Mr. Pleasant” deals with the nouveau riche. The message is the same: greed is a virulent disease that corrodes other human values, like honesty in relationships. The Kinks are very good at working the music hall genre, and the melody here is certainly catchy. It may not have the impact of its progenitor, but one thing I like about Ray Davies is he has a clear sense of artistic priorities. “Mr. Pleasant” is a nice addition to his work on social and economic corruption.

“God’s Children”: I can’t listen to music with religious overtones very well, so I’ll limit my comments to say this song from Percy has a lovely melody. ‘Nuff ced (a phrase chosen to honor Red Sox fans with a sense of baseball history).

“Mindless Child of Motherhood”: Don’t care for this one either. The title is a mouthful to sing and makes the chorus very clunky. The lyrics seem to indicate that Dave is searching for a woman who gave birth to a “bastard child,” and is willing to do the right thing, but what does he mean by the “mindless child of motherhood” at whom he directs his frustration? This is a song best described as “labored,” pun intended. Dave’s guitar work, though, is excellent. How about an instrumental version, folks?

“Polly”: While I like the music, I have to take exception to the lyrics, which treat a young woman’s liberation as a fleeting period in her life that she will eventually regret to return to hearth and home. Polly “had to break the chains,” and kick up her heels, as did her mama in her time—the old myth of “she needs to get it out of her system before she settles down.” Unfortunately, Polly repents, returns home with her tail between her legs and “Mummy’s proud ’cause Polly’s still in chains,” implying that women are aiders and abettors of female repression. The line might have been ironic had not the narrator emphasized three times, “I think that pretty Polly should have stayed at home.” Ray, I love the idea of preservation, but don’t try to apply it to “preserving the old ways” that left my sisters and me second-class citizens. Harrumph!

“Big Black Smoke”: Another song about a poor young country lass corrupted by the city, this one has more ambiguity and color than “Polly.” This nameless young lass indulges in sophisticated pleasures like cigarettes and Dexamyl (purple hearts) and is exploited by a loser guy who takes all her money and drags her down into the hellish world of the Big Black Smoke. The Kinks give an energetic performance, and the opening bells indicate that it could have been headed for a slot on Face to Face, but didn’t make the cut. It wound up as a B-side to “Dead End Street,” which makes for the ultimate anti-urban single.

“Susannah’s Still Alive”: Originally released as a Dave Davies’ single as the follow-up to “Death of a Clown,” this song belongs in the Rock Lyrics Hall of Fame solely for the use of the word “bedraggled” in the opening line. Although the story takes a couple of detours, it’s a vivid picture of a girl compensating for the absence of her soldier boy by sharing her bed with bottles of whisky or gin. Given such a bleak reality, it’s an oddly cheerful-sounding song, but I wind up forgiving the inconsistency and enjoying Dave’s enthusiasm and the catchy chorus.

“She’s Got Everything”: If this song seems out-of-place, it’s because it is! The recording precedes Face to Face and was only pulled from the vault because they needed a B-side for “Days.” The song is okay, but they don’t sound particularly committed to it. Its value is in demonstrating how dramatically The Kinks had progressed from their early period.

“Days”: As noted above, Ray Davies didn’t write too many love songs, but when he did, he came as close to perfection as you can get. “Days” and “The Way Love Used to Be” belong in any list of great modern love songs. “Days” has an unusually quick tempo for a romantic number, with quick chord shifts on the off-beats that reflect the heart-skip that accompanies the excitement of a romantic encounter. The opening key only applies to the verses; both the chorus and bridge are in different keys. Despite the rhythmic variations and the key changes, there are few songs I’ve heard that flow so well, thanks to Mick Avory’s steadiness.

The Kink Kronikles is loaded with great songs, as you’ll see in the track listing below. It is testament to the consistent excellence of The Kinks and to Ray Davies, one of the greatest songwriters of his generation. While it’s great to listen to the individual albums for their themes and moods, sometimes it’s nice to look at the big picture so you can see how damned good The Kinks really were.

The Kink Kronikles Track Listing

Disc: 1
1. Victoria
2. The Village Green Preservation Society
3. Berkeley Mews
4. Holiday In Waikiki
5. Willesden Green
6. This Is Where I Belong
7. Waterloo Sunset
8. David Watts
9. Deadend Street
10. Shangri-La
11. Autumn Almanac
12. Sunny Afternoon
13. Get Back In Line
14. Did You See His Name?
Disc: 2
1. Fancy
2. Wonderboy
3. Apeman
4. King Kong
5. Mr. Pleasant
6. God’s Children
7. Death Of A Clown
8. Lola
9. Mindless Child Of Motherhood
10. Polly
11. Big Black Smoke
12. Susannah’s Still Alive
13. She’s Got Everything
14. Days

*Yes, guys, bisexual girls feel the same sting of disappointment you do.

The Kinks – Schoolboys in Disgrace – Classic Music Review

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Voted one of the worst covers ever, but the record inside is will make you forget about it. Click to buy.

Once upon a time there was a naughty little schoolboy. He and his gang were always playing tricks on the teachers and bullying other children in the school. One day he got himself into very serious trouble with a naughty schoolgirl and he was sent to the Headmaster who decided to disgrace the naughty boy and his gang in front of the whole school.

After this punishment the boy turned into a hard and bitter character. Perhaps it was not the punishment that changed him but the fact that he realised people in authority would always be there to kick him down and the Establishment would always put him in his place. He knew that he could not change the past but he vowed that in the future he would always get what he wanted. The naughty little boy grew up . . . into Mr Flash.

The liner notes quoted above set the stage for Schoolboys in Disgrace, the final chapter in The Kinks’ theatrical period. Pretty much devoid of the musical theatre flourishes that marked Soap Opera, it is probably the most accessible of the three theatrical works—a feature born of compromise. Ray Davies had given into bandmate demands for something closer to a real Kinks album while still holding on to his desire to produce one more themed extravaganza. Stephen Erlewine criticized his approach in his review on AllMusic.com, describing it as “pulling in two separate ways.” I can understand his point of view, for there are moments when Ray steps out of character and we’re not sure if we’re hearing Flash or Ray Davies, but Schoolboys in Disgrace does tell a coherent and linear story. While the liner notes would have you believe that humiliation by The Establishment is what turned Flash into a greed-driven, me-first leader, that aspect of the story is more surface than substance. What really gives birth to Flash and millions like him is a rotten educational system that teaches blind obedience instead of personal responsibility and ignores the real needs of the population it is supposed to be serving.

In Ringing True, that marvelous book by Robert Morrow, the philosophy at the core of the story tells us that we all have three basic responsibilities in life: responsibility to self, responsibility to others and a responsibility to the community. That model provides us with a powerful lens through which we can consider Flash. Any sense of responsibility in Flash’s soul was devoted to the preservation of self. He couldn’t have cared less about other people and had no sense of community whatsoever. This is the tragic flaw that leads to his downfall in Preservation: his complete inability to accept responsibility for the effects his actions have on other people and on the society at large. This is the real story of Schoolboys in Disgrace.

The play opens with Flash singing “Schooldays,” where the arpeggiated chords and harmonies harken back to the 1950’s, when Flash was entering puberty. The song is strongly nostalgic, despite the fact that most of his memories are decidedly unpleasant:

Schooldays were the happiest days

Though at the time they filled me with dismay

We only remember what we choose to remember

When I was a schoolboy I loathed regulations and rules

I hated my textbooks and my school uniform

‘Cos it made me conform

And teachers were always disobeyed

But I’d go back if I could only find a way.

Well, sure he’d go back—he’s probably writing this from a cell where he’s guarded by Mr. Black’s Shepherds of the Nation! The bizarre nostalgia he experiences feels even more bizarre when the first memory he recounts is the delightful experience of being cruel to a thick classmate, as described in “Jack the Idiot Dunce.” In two songs, Ray Davies has captured one key aspect of Flash’s personality: this is a man with no capacity for self-awareness.

Flash now begins to reflect on what he sees as one of the causes of his ruin: the British educational system. This is where the “pulling in two separate ways” is most obvious. The first half of the song doesn’t sound like Flash; it sounds like Ray Davies, social critic. Flash re-inhabits Ray’s body with the sneering lines that begin with “Thanks to all the mathematicians and the inventors with their high IQ’s.” Despite the confusion of character, the indictment of an educational system that relies a learning theory based on compliance and rote method seems to identify one of the contributing factors that spawned a defiant, self-absorbed character like Flash. I say “seems” because it’s only half the story. The other pattern that becomes clear here is that Flash will blame anyone but himself for what happened to him: “the system made me do it.” Ray Davies holds that both things are true: the educational system is corrupt and corrupting, but we all have a choice about how we deal with it.

The first three songs establish a pattern of denial that serves as Flash’s primary character trait. The next song introduces us to the subplot that describes how that trait will play out when faced with life’s painful choices. “The First Time We Fall in Love” opens with over-the-top doo-wop with an Elvis-imitator vocal in verse one and a classic falsetto in verse two. The opening nostalgia is total bullshit; it’s Flash again trying to repaint the picture of the past into something prettier than it really was. The more honest feelings arrive with a bitter explosion halfway through the song:

The first time I fell out of love, it knocked me through the floor.

My world came crashing down, it shook me to the core.

I was unprepared ‘cos I was only a kid

And I was much too young and I wasn’t equipped

For the emotional pressures and stresses of it.

Notice that he’s talking about falling out of love, because (as we will soon learn) his feelings of love were tragically ephemeral.

“The First Time We Fall in Love” is a set-up for a three-song suite that comprises one of the most powerful sequences on any Kinks album: “I’m in Disgrace,” “Headmaster” and “The Hard Way.” The music and arrangements on all three songs are exceptionally strong and clear, and emphatically demonstrate that The Kinks still knew where the power switch is located—in Dave Davies’ amazing fingers. Dave had been generally relegated to the background in Preservation and Soap Opera (though his solos on that album are first-rate), but here his unique and underrated guitar attack is on center stage. On “I’m in Disgrace,” his counterpoint and brief solo are remarkable, but his rhythmic touches are brilliant; somehow he manages to become the rhythmic focus and creates a situation where the notes he doesn’t play provide the most powerful moments, as if we’ve developed an addiction to his guitar. On “Headmaster” he takes over mid-stream with a complex solo that I’d love to see charted; the way he unexpectedly cuts and stretches the length of the notes in the most unexpected ways is mesmerizing. And on “Hard Way,” he just kicks fucking ass with his attack and fills.

But our focus here is Flash, and this is a boy in serious trouble. The opening piano runs of “I’m in Disgrace” provide a reflective backdrop that take us through Flash’s logic in building an answer to the question, “How could this happen to me?” “This” is getting a girl pregnant, and the most important word in the question I just posed is “me.” Flash’s version that he was another man in a long line of men who have fallen prey to those evil, seductive temptresses. Men have blamed the broad for everything since Adam and Eve, and Flash is not the kind of guy to turn down a gimme when it provides him with some cover. “You captured me in your embrace!” he cries, and we can imagine the snakelike arms of the whore slowly winding around his unsoiled body as she forces him to give her the only thing we whores really want.

Pigboy!

“Headmaster” opens with a longer piano (in the meaning of “soft”) passage as Flash tries to convince the headmaster of what he’s already convinced himself:

I’ve been with those naughty little girls again,

Now those naughty little girls are going to put me to shame.

I wish that I’d been born with a little more sense,

This time it’s a serious offense.

The music builds beautifully into a forte (loud) explosion of pathetic frustration:

I feel like an innocent victim,

I feel that I just can’t win.

The rest of the confession is a lame attempt to avoid a caning. The girl raped him! Of course! He didn’t know what he was doing! He’s young! He’s innocent! Can’t ya cut a guy a break?

Flash will get what he allegedly deserves, but first the headmaster has some sadistic venom to spew in “The Hard Way.” The verbal abuse and debasement is just as sadistic and psychologically damaging as the expected caning. After listening to this rant, you have to wonder, “What on earth does this have to do with education?” I’m sure that’s exactly the question Ray Davies hoped we would ask:

I’m wastin’ my vocation teachin’ you to write neat

When you’re only fit to sweep the streets!

Your intellect is such that it requires a killer’s touch:

So I’m gonna play it your way:

You can take the hard way.

Ray’s leap into soprano on the word “killer” is a truly chilling moment and reveals all we need to know: the headmaster takes great delight in caning and in the senseless use of power; the soprano leap sounds like he’s had a sudden orgasm. British school officials had abused children long before Dickens’ Wackford Squeers entered into public consciousness; the practice did not disappear until it was banned in private schools in England and Wales in 1999. Corporal punishment in this context is a means of satisfying the sadistic urges of the headmaster; the punishment Flash receives bears no relation to the crime and makes no rational sense. If boys like Flash are “born to waste” and “much too dumb to educate,” why bother with the cane? What is he going to learn from that? Will that teach him to take personal responsibility for what he did? All of these questions would have fallen on deaf ears, for tradition trumps common sense and the passion for order trumps learning. The punishment is rendered even more ironic because the sadism expressed by the headmaster is no different from the sadism Flash reveals in his own character when he and his mates abuse The Idiot Dunce. The culture revels in the cruel aspects of sadism.

While the first two songs of the suite begin quietly, there’s no messing around in “The Hard Way.” It’s a kick-ass rock song from the get-go, proving that The Kinks were still a great rock ‘n’ roll band and that Ray Davies had fabulous command of the microphone:

The story stops briefly at “The Last Assembly,” where Flash fights back “tears in the back of my eyes” that are a combination of sadness to be leaving his mates and unspeakable resentment towards the educational system. The musical might have ended at that juncture, but Ray Davies has one more point to make, and he makes it brilliantly in “No More Looking Back,” which takes place some years after graduation while Flash is trying to make his way in the world. While walking along a crowded street, he sees her: his first love, the girl he impregnated. The effect on Flash is powerful and troubling:

But lately, I’ve been going to

All the places that we once knew

And just when I think that I am free of you

I keep seeing the things that remind me of you

And just when I think you’re out of my head

I hear a song that you sang or see a book that you read

Then you’re in every bar, you’re in every café

You’re driving every car, I see you everyday

But you’re not really there because you belong to yesterday.

The question the listener must consider is, “Why her?” If the real punch line to the story is Flash vs. The Establishment (as implied by the liner notes), why does his memory drift back to the woman he blamed for his early downfall? Go back to “The First Time We Fall in Love” and you’ll find the answer. Flash described the experience as one that “shook me to the core” and admits he was not prepared for the “emotional pressures and the stresses of it.” Why was that? Because the adults in his life wouldn’t help him deal with it. While there’s no reference to his parents in the story, we can assume that the overwhelming emotions attached to the discovery of sexual desire were not a topic for discussion at the dinner table. The response of the educational system to this natural stage in human development was to beat the hell out of him. The point Ray Davies makes with this trip down memory lane is that repression distorts the personality. It creates an unbearable tension that must be resolved, and if we fail to teach our children to accept sexual desire as part of what it is to be human, that tension will distort the desire into a very ugly thing. Flash has neither the capacity nor the self-awareness to try to deal with these feelings openly and honestly, so it’s “no more looking back” for him. Just as George Victor’s psychological analysis of Hitler revealed repressed sexuality as one of the causes for his distorted personality, Ray Davies is pointing to both sexual repression and the strange denial of nascent feelings of love as a cause for Flash’s descent into arrogance and destructive greed. “Got to be hard,” he reminds himself, echoing Hitler’s obsession with the necessity to “steel” the German spirit.

“No More Looking Back” is also one hell of a song from a musical perspective. Dave Davies’ complex counterpoint guitar and fills are again superb, and both the chord structure and melody are surprisingly rich. The groove of the song lies somewhere between soul, pop and light jazz, giving the song a sophisticated, urban feel. Ray’s vocal covers an impressive vertical range and his tone ranges from resignation to deeply held emotion. It’s a remarkable creation that grows on you the more you listen to it:

Our story ends with “Finale,” a reprise of the chorus in “Education.” Of course it does. We have learned in Schoolboys in Disgrace that education has become a system that is insensitive to the needs of the children it is supposed to serve. Parents have delegated the function of education to the state, which is ill-equipped to help adolescents deal with the process of becoming an adult. Sir Ken Robinson spoke eloquently and perceptively on this subject in a TED talk:

In the end, Flash is the victim he imagined himself to be, and the question Ray Davies leaves us with in Schoolboys in Disgrace is “Do we really want to live with a system that is designed to create victims with no capacity to accept personal responsibility for their lives?” If you look at the havoc that system has wrought, you have to answer that question emphatically in the negative.

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