With the posts and planning I've done for this blog much
of the focus has been on discussing albums. For me, it’s sometimes easier to
analyze certain songs in that context than on their own, because whole albums
provide a larger framework to analyze their pieces. Sometimes there just isn't much to say about a song outside of how it relates to the others that accompany
it and a bigger story can come out of those relationships. Hell, that’s also a
big reason why I like the idea of doing artist retrospectives, because you can
do the same thing over the course of a career.
But I've never completely counted out the idea of
highlighting individual songs. It was only a matter of “when” and “how,” which
brings me to this new feature of sorts Singled Out where I will do exactly
that. I didn’t want to attach strict rules in terms of era or artist to Singled
Out. The song only needs to send me on a long enough ramble to qualify. Simple.
From there you can probably tell how it eventually led to other strict rules
going out the window and my recent decision to merge Cover to Cover, Ear to Earwith V&B.
Now, I realize that this further interrupts my Franz
Ferdinand retrospective, but when an idea strikes I think you just have to run
with it. I will find a way to tie today’s discussion and themes with the FF
retrospective. I’m hoping to also do a couple Singled Out posts for some Franz
songs that don’t make it into the full album posts.
We’ll get there all in good time, I promise.
Okay? Okay! Let’s get to it…
Part of me wants to make a hipster-y joke about how you
probably haven’t heard the Monkees’ “Tapioca Tundra,” but I honestly have no
idea what counts as an obscure Monkees track. I guess I tend to assume that
anything that isn't “Daydream Believer” or “I’m a Believer” counts as such. I
could very well be wrong. I could also be wrong in my perception that Tapioca’s
one of those songs you either love or hate. I used to listen to a radio DJ who would
proudly proclaim this to be his favorite Monkees song; while others dismiss it,
such as a lovely comment on a lyric site that claimed the song is “absurd”
and “plagued with unnecessary stupidity.” If anything should
be called unnecessary it’s such harshness, because Tapioca’s far deeper and
self-aware than one might initially think.
“Tapioca Tundra” (penned by
Monkee Mike Nesmith) was initially released as a b-side to the single “Valleri”
and eventually made its way onto The
Birds, the Bees, & the Monkees released April 22, 1968. The
Monkees were certainly not alone in their musical experimentation with much of pop and rock deep in the era of psychedelia;
BBM’s release occurred just a few months before The Beatles’ White Album and
all its kooky absurdity. The Monkees’ catalog contains many instances of
psychedelia and experimentation, such as “Daily Nightly,” “Star Collector,” “Auntie’s
Municipal Court.” Not to mention moments of defiance that not only contrasted
with their bubblegum image, but frankly, put some so-called “authentic” acts to
shame, such as “Zor and Zam” and “Mommy and Daddy.” I can’t help but wonder if
the dismissal of Tapioca is born out of an attitude that the Monkees somehow aren't allowed to do such things. Honestly, that’s not really for me to
speculate here, but what I can speculate about is the song itself.
Let me be clear, I don’t object to calling “Tapioca
Tundra” absurd. I have ears. It is
weird. I object to calling it absurd as a pejorative. Too often words like
“surreal,” “absurd,” and “nonsense” become synonymous with “bad,” which is just
incorrect. Alice’s Adventures in
Wonderland is pure nonsense and one of the most enjoyable reading
experiences one can have, I believe. In the realm of music absurdity usually
comes in the form of lyrics where the punch found in the rhythm of the words takes
precedence over any overarching, coherent meaning. Most artists have a lyric or
song this applies to, while others, such as Beck, basically make it part of
their Thing. Until recently, I’d pegged “Tapioca Tundra” as such a song due to
the (seemingly) deliberately obtuse lyrics and the fact that it came from the
same time period as “Daily Nightly,” Nesmith’s other major psychedelic track.
I was wrong, but not off track. One could even say that
the lyrics are about writing such a
song.
After a slow, whistling introduction, Nesmith sings, ”Reasoned
verse, some prose or rhyme lose themselves in other times and waiting hopes
cast silent spells that speak in clouded clues.” Allow me a brief moment of
fangirl squee, because these opening lines are brilliant. There’s so much to unpack and as someone who thrives on
close reading, such lines are my bread and butter. As for the lines themselves,
they speak to how lyrics can get lost amid the musical time that surrounds.
Even the most well-crafted or thoughtful lyrics can “lose themselves” and their
meaning in an arrangement that overwhelms them or distracts the listener’s
attention. There are also listeners who ignore the lyrics on purpose (“I don’t
care about lyrics, I just like the beat,” etc.), but even so, Nesmith doesn't let himself off the hook. He has “waiting hopes” that he can move others with his
“silent spells,” but they may also move in ways that he didn't intend. He
acknowledges that expressing himself through metaphor (“clouded clues”)
contributes to these misunderstandings as well as making it difficult to
connect to the audience and fully express himself.
The second verse begins with the line “Careful plays on
fields that seem to vanish when they’re in between,” which could refer to both
audience and artist. For the audience, the meaning of a lyric can vanish if too
obtuse or indirect. For the artist, no matter how carefully constructed they
can still end up feeling as though they just barely missed the mark in getting
their point across. The verse continues, “And softly as I walk away in freshly
tattered shoes, it cannot be a part of me for now it’s part of you.” Once a
piece is complete the artist has gotten all they could out of that particular “field,”
it’s worn out and useless to them now. They must move on and let it live as
“part of you,” the audience.
“Tapioca Tundra” doesn't have what many may strictly
consider a proper chorus or hook, but it does have lyrics that repeat. One such
line includes, “Silhouettes and figures stay close to what he had to say and
one more time the faded dream is saddened by the news,” which also touches on
the idea of an artist barely missing the mark. All the literary technique and
musical prowess they possess can come close to expressing what the writer is
feeling or thinking and yet the song as they hear it in their head may not come
to fruition perfectly. However, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Franz
Ferdinand front man Alex Kapranos has made multiple comments about
dissatisfaction and how that keeps an artist going. And while I certainly can’t
read his mind, Mike Nesmith also seems propelled by similar creative
dissatisfaction. In the past he’s recorded multiple reworkings of songs
(including “Tapioca Tundra”) and acknowledged his tendency to not let a song
just be and “noodle” too long on it.
Often it seems like abstract lyrics such as “Tapioca
Tundra” are either seen as alienating or dismissed as pretentious, which while
understandable, can sometimes lead to missing out on a real gem. Bizarre,
possibly off-putting title aside, the dissatisfaction conveyed in “Tapioca
Tundra” never feels directed outward to the audience in an angry way. I don’t
think this particular song crosses the line into arrogant you-just-don’t-get-me
posturing, because Nesmith recognizes the gaps between intentions, art, and how
an audience may perceive it - gaps that always exist, even for the most direct
of artists. Sure, there’s the idea that some might miss the point, but the main
dissatisfaction lies in the knowledge that not any one song could be enough to
fully convey one’s inner thoughts. And maybe, in a way, it’s up to the audience
to bridge those gaps, because someone is bound to pick up on those clouded
clues and at least attempt to make sense of them.
In summation, “Tapioca Tundra,” a seemingly obtuse song
about obtuse songs and how any song can feel unsatisfactory to the artist, but they
must let it go in the hopes that the next will be The One. Yet, even if a song
is the magical one to perfectly convey and encapsulate an artist’s feelings once
written it no longer belongs to its writer, but to the audience.
Brilliant.
Just don’t ask me why “midnight looks right.”
(If you want to hear “Tapioca Tundra” as well as any future Singled Out tracks you can subscribe to this Spotify playlist.)
