Day 2: Choose a song with a number in the title.
From the 1990s list: "Fifty-Eight" by The Prayer Chain
One of the only songs by anyone that successfully and effortlessly captured the feel of 5/8 time in a song, "Fifty-Eight" was actually named such because of the time signature. "Precious Man" was the working title of a song about longing for the one that left you.
Take my fist and hold it in your hand
Take my rage and bury my pain
Why won't he love me
Why won't he hold me
Even outside of the angst-ridden '90s alternative scene, this kind of topic needed a place in a song somewhere. The cliche of fathers leaving their families is so widespread that even if one has never had to experience it, they've known someone who has.
This was the first TPC song that made me sit up and take thoughtful notice. As a musician, I immediately recognized the off-center time signature and really enjoyed how well they put the song together (anthropologically speaking, the demo version found on So Close . . . Yet So Far sheds some interesting light on how much the song had changed from inception to final product). The work of putting a song like that through the paces can be tiring, as I know from experience, but when the end result is so fluid like this, it makes it all worthwhile.
This seems to be one of the most beloved songs of the band by their fans, and one of the staples of their live shows. Andrew Prickett's guitar rings and fills up the track with a wall of sound that allows the music to soar, supporting Tim Tabor's bronze vocal. All of it was given fuel from Wayne Everett's spot-on drumming, providing the very heartbeat the song needed to keep churning.
Bass was good, too. Good job, Eric.
Off the list: "One Thousand Years" by The Violet Burning
The Violet Burning was one of those often-overlooked bands from the '90s and 2000s who made phenomenal rock with a slight alternative bent. Michael Pritzl could go from gentle worship that invokes visions of the Holy One to scorching screams that thunder down your spine.
"One Thousand Years" sits right in the middle of those two furious poles, a yawning worship epic that follows a wide parabolic curve. It's one of the worship songs I forget about because it's not on a worship album like Faith and Devotions of a Satellite Heart. The refrains of "Yeah, You're my heart, You're my home" at the end of the tune tie together a stream-of-consciousness ride through one man's journey of praise.
I needed to forgive you
I needed to throw it down
Into the depth of the sea that forgets these things
Beneath the walls of sound
That sing for all us sinners
Sing for all our lives
Wrap this song around our hearts
May it bind us tight
If you're looking for an excuse to hear more from this band, look no further than Drop-Dead, the album this song closes, and I guarantee you'll feel the worship flow out of the experience of listening.
No. Don't stop. Rewind.
There Is No Box.
Zach
One of the only songs by anyone that successfully and effortlessly captured the feel of 5/8 time in a song, "Fifty-Eight" was actually named such because of the time signature. "Precious Man" was the working title of a song about longing for the one that left you.
Take my fist and hold it in your hand
Take my rage and bury my pain
Why won't he love me
Why won't he hold me
Even outside of the angst-ridden '90s alternative scene, this kind of topic needed a place in a song somewhere. The cliche of fathers leaving their families is so widespread that even if one has never had to experience it, they've known someone who has.
This was the first TPC song that made me sit up and take thoughtful notice. As a musician, I immediately recognized the off-center time signature and really enjoyed how well they put the song together (anthropologically speaking, the demo version found on So Close . . . Yet So Far sheds some interesting light on how much the song had changed from inception to final product). The work of putting a song like that through the paces can be tiring, as I know from experience, but when the end result is so fluid like this, it makes it all worthwhile.
This seems to be one of the most beloved songs of the band by their fans, and one of the staples of their live shows. Andrew Prickett's guitar rings and fills up the track with a wall of sound that allows the music to soar, supporting Tim Tabor's bronze vocal. All of it was given fuel from Wayne Everett's spot-on drumming, providing the very heartbeat the song needed to keep churning.
Bass was good, too. Good job, Eric.
The Violet Burning was one of those often-overlooked bands from the '90s and 2000s who made phenomenal rock with a slight alternative bent. Michael Pritzl could go from gentle worship that invokes visions of the Holy One to scorching screams that thunder down your spine.
"One Thousand Years" sits right in the middle of those two furious poles, a yawning worship epic that follows a wide parabolic curve. It's one of the worship songs I forget about because it's not on a worship album like Faith and Devotions of a Satellite Heart. The refrains of "Yeah, You're my heart, You're my home" at the end of the tune tie together a stream-of-consciousness ride through one man's journey of praise.
I needed to forgive you
I needed to throw it down
Into the depth of the sea that forgets these things
Beneath the walls of sound
That sing for all us sinners
Sing for all our lives
Wrap this song around our hearts
May it bind us tight
If you're looking for an excuse to hear more from this band, look no further than Drop-Dead, the album this song closes, and I guarantee you'll feel the worship flow out of the experience of listening.
No. Don't stop. Rewind.
There Is No Box.
Zach
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