Xanadu (1980) – Electric Light Orchestra featuring Olivia Newton-John

As part of the closing montage for the 1980 box office bomb, it channels the inspiration of a muse, creating a synergy of renewal between dreams gone by and dreams on the wane, fusing to breathe new life into a deserted building. The ultimate ode to a glorified rollerskating rink, “Xanadu” exploits Olivia Newton-John’s gift for altering sensorial perception through melody. From the opening synthesizer glissando, ELO’s conspicuous chord changes lay down the steps upon which Olivia’s voice perambulates, unlocking the realms of fantasy to the groove of the bassline’s gyrations. Electric piano, strings and Jeff Lynne’s trademark multi-part vocals purfle a kaleidoscopic arrangement as luminescent as the neon lights—and as celebratory as the protagonists’ triumphs—of which its lyrics speak.

As payoff for enduring a dog of a movie and a tedious choreographed scene to commemorate the grand opening of Xanadu, Olivia emerges onto the screen to perform the title song in her final bow as a muse, having never looked more radiant in threatening to turn the viewer into a pillar of salt. Unforgivably, there’s a dearth of shots focusing on her, director Robert Greenwald’s shortsighted blunder preserved on film: you just don’t squander the opportunity to showcase such a natural beauty.

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See also "Magic" (1980) – Olivia Newton-John

Once I Smiled (1968) – Leonard Nimoy (Charles R. Grean/Leonard Nimoy)

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – Wistfulness On Other Worlds)

A heavenly backdrop of pastoral orchestration wafts in to lay down the lilting ambiance for Spock to get sentimental. As if hearing Nimoy reminisce in his wavering baritone about a childhood romance with a golden-haired lass wasn’t rewarding enough, the fact that he co-wrote this song makes it that much more appealing. When, in describing the giddiness of love, he recalls days he “swung from trees like a monkey pup,” there’s a burst of innate joy that accompanies the reflexive guffaw. And the concise Spock narrative/croon about his resolve to never love again makes it official: all the elements of “awesome” are present and accounted for.

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See also "Amphibious Assault" (1968) - Leonard Nimoy.

The Bones Of An Idol (2005) – The New Pornographers

With melody mystical and imagery allegorical, The New Pornographers revisit a mythology that once inspired a quest for something seemingly unattainable. When reasons to continue the endeavor are no longer apparent, introspection can resurrect a dream laid to rest, renewing purpose. The yen for worldly renown has lain dormant for some time, but the thirst of aspiration has not been completely quenched. Like a talisman of reinvigoration with which Indiana Jones would abscond, remains of forgotten zeal are excavated, but the opportunities for exploitation have dwindled from disuse.

Needless to say, any song graced with Neko Case’s vocals already enjoys an eminent distinction. And, from its hammering eighth-note piano chords that chisel away over a bedrock of steadily advancing drums, to the elastic guitar refrain that warps gently in lieu of a chorus and the vocal layers that overlap to preserve the finds, “Bones” spurs an expedition that unearths sought-after relics of ambition. The bones of an idol are once again becoming comfortable in this skin.

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Straight Out Of Canton (2004) – The Notorious M.S.G.

With the opening, “Yeah, east side Chinatown, bitch! / You gonna die. . . .,” The Notorious M.S.G. throw down the gauntlet, daring you to venture into their ‘hood. Armed with chopsocky bravado, M.S.G. drag the listener through alleyways and slums to reveal the seedy Mahjong parlor at the back of the restaurant that is their world. Employing caricaturishly thick—yet credibly authentic—Chinese accents, M.S.G. celebrate their culture by parlaying it into a shtick that actually empowers them—a sort of pre-emptive slag off, if you will: we’re making you laugh with us, not at us. Instead of degrading themselves into objects of ridicule, they turn stereotypes, particularly involving food, into rallying cries or exploit puns and double entendres: “Wanna beef with us? / Get WOKKED! That’s right!”; “I like the ladies with the big wontons!” Sharply produced backing tracks, replete with liberal doses of scratching, spotlight the engaging swagger of Hong Kong Fever, the mosquito-like darts of Down-Lo Mein, and the incoherent mumblings of Funky Buddha. Rather than being a source of opprobrium, M.S.G.’s spicy brand of gangsta mirth instills a perverse sense of ethnic pride by having fun with notorious stereotypes.

[Despite reports that Funky Buddha was slain outside a Chinese restaurant while making a take-out delivery, there is some debate about whether that is a hoax. A clue that the “murder” is a hoax lies in the interview in a restaurant kitchen that M.S.G. gave regarding Funky Buddha’s demise. Hong Kong Fever never breaks character, even vowing “it’s time for revenge, you mutha bitch!” You decide whether they seem as if they are in mourning.]

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Hot In Herre (2002) – Nelly

Keyboards puckishly escort the listener into Mephistopheles’ den of unadulterated debauchery, shameless depravity and downright lewdness. “Hot In Herre” is a reflection of present-day decadence sporting an infectious groove that’s near impossible to resist. Drums, guitar and keyboard offset each other on alternating beats, interlacing into a solid foundation which induces the head bobs; syncopated cowbell and programmed hi-hats spark the foot-taps; Nelly’s rhythmic hollering spurs the shimmy. Sure, it’s easy to decry the distinguished literary gems he spews out about bodacious ass, the oh, so subtle invitation to strip, or the eminently eloquent thrust grunts. Harder to resist, though, is sitting still while voicing such condemnation.

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1963 (1987) – New Order

Tucked away as the B-side to “True Faith,” and as the last song on Disc 2 of Substance, “1963” is a beautiful convergence of elegant storytelling and bittersweet melancholy. Featuring some of Bernard Sumner’s most stirring vocal melodies, the verse conveys a fond reminiscence, the transition is filled with suspicion, and the chorus becomes a desperate plea for mercy. “1963” continues New Order’s flair for the memorable drum intro in the tradition of “Blue Monday,” “Thieves Like Us,” and “Confusion.” Throughout, majestic synthesizers flutter, stab and spring about in nimble dartles. In deference to these orchestral maneuvers, (yes, I know . . .) the guitar strikes an identical chord four times before retiring, and Peter Hook’s signature flanged bass makes a cameo only at the very end.

According to several internet sources, Sumner claims to have written this song based on a theory that John F. Kennedy had hired a hitman to kill Jackie so that he could be with Marilyn Monroe, but instead the bullet(s) hit him. If this theory is indeed floating out there, it suffers from a major logical flaw—Marilyn died on August 5, 1962; Kennedy was assassinated over a year later on November 22, 1963. Moreover, whether or not Sumner actually did write the lyrics based on a Marilyn/Kennedy/Jackie love triangle, it is difficult—indeed, ridiculous—to envision the President of the United States killing his wife at point-blank range.

Instead, here’s a suggested backstory:

At the age of 19, Johnny was sent to Vietnam in 1962, during the initial stages of the conflict. It is well-documented that the War ruined the lives of many soldiers, who either paid with their lives, their bodies and/or their minds. Johnny was no exception. While in Vietnam, the trauma of killing children strapped with explosives caused him to crack, losing the ability to discern wrong from right, reality from delusion. In the midst of his despair, he fell in love with a Vietnamese girl, married her, and intended to bring her to the States when the war was over. However, his tour of duty was relatively short and he soon returned back to the United States, where his waiting American wife needed to be disposed of. The song commemorates Johnny’s homecoming, told from the perspective of his wife as she realizes that he is not the same man he once was, especially once he points a pistol in her face. At the moment before her death, she exhorts her husband to spare her with a plea for mercy—words that become her epitaph.

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Cars (1979) – Gary Numan

Viewed as a metaphor for increasing isolation in private spaces, “Cars” portends a loss of humanity. Rather than rely on austere computerized minimalism, Gary Numan instead utilizes rigid musicality to create a futuristic environment. Even before his mechanical singsong vocals activate, Numan successfully evokes robotism through a rigid MiniMoog riff that fidgets in tandem with the bassline. A cutting Polymoog serves as hovercraft escort to the gates of the city, where we soon become privy to an automaton extolling the virtues of life within his vehicle. Or is it the voice of a mad scientist who creates cyborgs, yearning for human interaction? Dual synthesizers coalesce and bifurcate, bathed in vintage analog warmth. Sustained notes, ever-so-slightly dissonant, leave the listener suspended in anticipation of their ascending and descending musical divergence.

A soundtrack for a reclusive future, “Cars” pervades your pearl white Audi RSQ, as I, Robot chases you through the streets of downtown metropolis.

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Amphibious Assault (1968) – Leonard Nimoy

Inextricably intertwined with his persona as Star Trek’s Mr. Spock, and gifted with one of the greatest voices in entertainment, Leonard Nimoy embraced his Vulcan alter-ego in such recordings as “Highly Illogical,” “The Difference Between Us,” and “Where It’s At.” “Amphibious Assault,” an anti-Vietnam War commentary, remains pertinent even today, given the general lack of serious protest against the war in Iraq by a privileged society that carries on with its own concerns. It could easily be a narrative by Spock—the First Officer—or Nimoy—the recording artist; either way, “Amphibious Assault” commandeers the imagination with its surrealistic whimsy.

A military scenario opens the vignette, Nimoy’s stoic elocution impressing the gravity of the situation. Regal French horns, a Vox-amped guitar, and a military snare stamp an insignia of ‘60s primetime drama. An amphibious craft prepares to attack enemy shores. Oddly enough, on that same craft, a soirée for high-ranking military officers is in full swing. Cue cocktail music, serving as a backdrop for mingling socialites. A hydraulic ramp lowers to release a lone soldier, momentarily diverting the attention of the partygoers, who watch the soldier run laboriously onto the beach, his heavy breathing filled with purpose and fear. A single gunshot rings out . . . silence. The military fanfare, lounge band, and conviviality resume, as the warcraft abandons the slain soldier on the beach–a sacrificial deposit in the name of democracy.

Delightfully bizarre.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

See also "Once I Smiled" (1968) - Leonard Nimoy

Magic (1980) – Olivia Newton-John

Olivia Newton-John’s silky smooth voice remains one of the purest in the history of pop music, suffused with a delicate charm that triggers synaptic euphoria. As such, “Magic” is apt to conjure mental snapshots imprinted years ago, perhaps of sauntering the mall as if in Xanadu, stopping to grab an Orange Julius and a slice of Perry’s Pizza before placing quarters across the top of the Dragon’s Lair console, maybe roller skating later at the rink with an ice cold Tab in hand. This soundtrack for carefree summer days exploits some of the most lethal chord changes ever committed to tape, perplexing in their cunning asymmetry amid a slithering hi-hat, a bass line that slinks around the root note, and a guitar that slings notes exotic to the chord. With its fluid melody, the verse weaves through a labyrinth, oozing mysticism and seduction, whilst Olivia coaxes us to overcome our myopia in seeking to fulfill our aspirations; she is the muse come to inspire us with her perspicacity, to actualize our dreams. Tom-toms scurry across the path before us—mischievous creatures scampering to conceal themselves in the fringes. The soul swoons and scales the auricular topography in a melodious migration of chromatic alchemy. Finally, we reach our destination to see if she makes good on her promises.

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