The Number Of The Beast (1982) – Iron Maiden

At the height of Iron Maiden’s popularity, this metal anthem was so polemic because, at first blush, it seems like a spiritually depraved tribute to Satan. At least that’s how it appeared to a 12 year-old who was admonished by the religious community that such hellraisers as Styx, Journey and Rush were satanic. Man, do I miss the days of backmasking witch hunts! On that front, “The Number Of The Beast” is everything heavy metal aspires to be, instilling fear into the hearts and minds of parents, teachers and church leaders quick to judge a book by its cover—or in this case, an album by its depiction of the devil as puppet master of man set against a background of a lake of fire consuming forsaken souls. Go figure.

Anyhoo. . . . Out of the void, an ominous voice rumbles in dead-on foreboding Vincent Price resonance, reciting a paraphrase of Revelations 12:12 and 13:18 that warns of the devil’s finite rampage on earth. Undeniable eeriness gives way to Marshall stacks unleashing spirited guitar riffing like the Four Horsemen come to herald the Apocalypse. In a soaring tenor tumid with theatrical vibrato, singer Bruce Dickinson assumes the role of a seer coming to terms with his gift of prophecy on the cusp of Armageddon, trying to discern whether his sinister visions are more than just dreams. The ensuing scream that erupts from the bowels of Dickinson’s soul is just awesome, lasting over ten measures, hurling him from his vespertine visions into a living hell.

Supposedly based in part on bassist Steve Harris’ nightmares after he watched Damien: Omen II, “Number” is really no more demonic than a horror film or T.V. series that pits Mephistopheles’ minions against soldiers of God. Hmmm. Anyone watch Fox’s short-lived Point Pleasant about Satan’s daughter slowly understanding her role as the Antichrist? Had it not been prematurely aborted, it conceivably could have followed this song’s plotline: the mark of the beast has now been embraced by the legion who gather to ritualistically sacrifice in the name of Satan; even those who are antagonistic to the Antichrist will eventually succumb. The distinction between revelation and reality no longer exists.

Okay, so eventually he actually assumes the voice of Beelzebub himself, but, like any form of entertainment that implicates spiritual warfare, “Number” has the effect of underscoring the weighty question of salvation. It also makes for compelling theatre as well—Lucifer running rampant before his 1000-year imprisonment.

And, yes, this was posted to coincide with the numerical convergence of 6/6/06.

Listen to "The Number Of The Beast" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

At Seventeen (1975) – Janis Ian

In its glorification of self-pity, “At Seventeen” represents songwriting at its best: a sympathetic topic, a melody that broods, well-crafted rhymes, complex sentence structure, profound symbolism and vivid imagery. Ian recalls the desolation of her adolescence, when she deemed herself unattractive, unpopular, unwanted—living vicariously through her pitiable fantasies. Bereft of self-worth, Ian concludes that beauty is the elixir of the teenage elite and the charmed circles of adulthood. She paints the portrait of a girl suffering from self-esteem deficiency who perceived herself to be ugly, unwanted, unloved, reviled. To assuage her bitterness, she regards vapid small-town complacency as comeuppance. Indeed, the former beauty queens do not count the costs of their sheltered lives that beget scarce rewards. As foil to the lyrical hostility, gently plucked acoustic guitar figures lead a samba of bass and percussion, finding respite in a soothing trumpet and trombone duet before resuming the jeremiad.

As an adult, Ian recognizes that the loneliness and pain she endured at seventeen were creative catalysts that unlocked her imagination and gave her wealth in artistry. All too often, the most brilliant artists owe their profound insight, expression and enlightenment to miserable existences.

Listen to "At Seventeen" and purchaser from iTunes Music Store.

Black Korea (1991) – Ice Cube

As depicted in Spike Lee’s 1989 film Do The Right Thing, Korean-owned liquor stores in African-American neighborhoods set the stage for confrontations born of racial tension and resentment. In March 1991, this strife culminated in the publicized Latasha Harlins slaying in Los Angeles by a Korean liquor store owner over the perceived shoplifting of a bottle of orange juice, in a climate of gang member death threats previously made against the owner’s son. For killing Harlins, Soon Ja Du received a voluntary manslaughter conviction, 5 years probation, 400 hours community service and a $500 fine, despite the jury’s recommendation of a 16-year jail sentence. The black community took this as justice’s measure of the worth of an African-American’s life: one could shoot a 15-year old girl in the back of the head and get off scot-free.

Seven months later, Ice Cube released Death Certificate—universally recognized as a manifesto of misogynistic, racist, hedonistic obloquy, invective and bravado. Fed up with being prejudged as a thief who draws the scrutiny of store owners, Cube counters racist treatment with racist statements in “Black Korea.” Well—upon closer inspection, they’re not so much racist statements, as they are indignant conniptions. In fact, all things considered, Cube refrains from outright slurs, opting instead for a flippant food stereotype peppered in with retaliatory economic threats.

In a mere 46 seconds, Cube voices a community’s grievances, epitomizes its ire, and demands respect as a condition precedent to a tolerable co-existence of cultures colliding for the sake of forty ounces.

Listen to "Black Korea" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Reckless (Club Mix) (1984) – Ice-T, Chris “The Glove” Taylor & Dave E. Storrs

In a genre whose songs tend to dull as they age, the Club Mix of “Reckless” continues to electrify, due largely to the programming skills of Dave Storrs. Building upon the solid foundation of the old standby “Planet Rock/Numbers” beat, a punchy kick drum, crisp tommy-gunning snare and skittering hi-hats propel the tempo. Auxiliary percussion bustles within the mix: clattering hand claps and a clacking wood block boomerang across channels, overlaying subtle percussive plinking. Ice-T’s vocal presentation is relatively restrained, avoiding histrionics or affectation that risk antiquation. As well, the lyrics have avoided becoming passé by shunning catchphrases and slang, instead extolling the trio in relatively benign, straightforward terms. The Glove implements his scratching in a musical manner with select turntable samples, judiciously laced with stereo delay (the “grunt” scratch about 2 minutes in is the ace up his sleeve). The Club Mix adds hints of reverse echo, and an unexpected panning stutter of Ice-T’s “reckless, reckless, reck, reck, reck, reckless!” Overall, the production is clean and creative, introducing sonic whooshes and surges at strategic moments.

The highlight, however, is the pulsating sequenced bassline that ricochets about during the second scratching break, augmented by a haunted house organ. Rhythmically complex, musical and percussive, it defines the song and ensures its continued relevance in the annals of electro-funk.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.