The Feelies
When I was living in Baltimore between 1987 and 1994, I would frequently visit a number of record shops. My mainstays were Record Theater on Liberty Road and Vinyl Discoveries on Bel Air. The latter had a bonus shop right next door called Playing By Ear, which was where I became enlightened by oddballs such as Armand Schaubroeck Steals and Bill Nelson’s Red Noise. Those were fun days I still recall fondly,
There was another record shop located in Mount Vernon, located in a a dumpy little basement across the street from the Walters Art Museum and within a short walking distance of the Peabody Institute. I don’t even know if the place had a name, as its only signage was a stencil reading “RECORDS AND TAPES” on the cast-iron railing protecting the front window.
Every now and then, I’d make the trek to that damp, mold-smelling basement and see what sort of goodies I could find. The shop featured mostly classical and jazz, and much of its stock was either preowned or promotional copies donated by local radio stations.
On one visit, I was sifting through whatever passed for a “folk music” section. I think I was looking to add some Phil Ochs or Leonard Cohen to my collection, but I came across a copy of The Good Earth by a New Jersey band called the Feelies. Maybe the owner(s) gave the album a perfunctory listen and, swayed by the strumming acoustic guitars and sepia-toned cover photo, deemed the Feelies to be some sort of 1960s revival group.
Whatever the case, their questionable sense of taxonomy was my victory. I snapped up the Feelies’ excellent second album that day for the price of one dollar. You read that right. One. Dollar. Best music investment I ever made.
Background
The Feelies formed in 1976 in Haledon, New Jersey, a town roughly an hour’s drive northwest from New York City. Led by guitarists Glenn Mercer and Bill Million, and originally featuring future Golden Palomino Anton Fier on drums, the band specialized in high tension guitar interplay coupled with intricate percussion and drone textures.
Also drawing inspiration from the Byrds, the Monkees, and Television, the Feelies’ primary reference point has always been the Velvet Underground. Instead of replicating the menacing cool of Lou Reed or the avant-garde tendencies of John Cale, however, the Feelies most embody the quiet intensity of VU drummer Mo Tucker.
Visually, the members of the Feelies resembled those nerdy kids from your school who got stuffed into lockers after gym class (I may or may not be speaking from experience). Musically, they combined the urgency of punk with the repetitious minimalism of Steve Reich. When Mercer or Million unleashed a two-note guitar solo at some blazing tempo, with all the percussion clicky-clacking behind them, the results were truly hypnotic.
The Feelies released a classic debut album in 1980 called Crazy Rhythms, then deconstructed for six years while Mercer and Million played in various permutations of the same band. They formed a sort of indie-rock chamber quartet called the Trypes, explored the softer tones of Neil Young as Yung Wu, and appeared in a Jonathan Demme movie as the Willies.
With Fier having long ago departed to join the Lounge Lizards, the Feelies were revived as a full time band with the addition of drummer Stan Demeski, bassist Brenda Sauter and percussionist Dave Weckerman. Peter Buck of R.E.M. co-produced The Good Earth, released in 1986 to critical raves. It is a richly atmospheric album that never loses its rock drive or sense of purpose, melding pastoral serenity with moments of pure adrenaline.
Tracks
Syncopated drumming and the confident strum of two acoustic guitars kick off “On the Roof,” the leading track on The Good Earth. As with most songs by the Feelies, Glenn Mercer’s cavalier vocals are present but secondary to the instrumental blend. Likewise the seemingly simple lyrics, which appear to hint at themes of great complexity: “From now one/ Sooner or later / Sing a new song / Call me when you’re better / Stop for a while / Talk about it.” Although those words read as simplistic or even banal, they retrain a terse meaning housed within the Feelies’ musical landscape.
“The High Road” features a deliciously evil guitar solo after the second verse, coupled with Weckerman’s inventive percussion. Although the tambourine has often been derided as nothing more than ornamentation, something for a female background singer to tap against her rump, in Weckerman’s skillful hands the tambourine is an essential component of the song structure.
A trickle of electric guitars open the “The Last Roundup,” resembling what might happen if a band like the Outlaws or Poco were produced by Mayo Thompson. The pace is a bit more heated but never frenetic, which the band saves for the crescendo of the marvelous “Slipping (Into Something).” This nearly six-minute opus begins with gentle guitars and percussion, while Mercer mumbles lines like “Does it make any sense?” and “Hardly worth waiting / And I don’t have the time.” Again, the lyrics hint at a more resonant truth being conveyed. The track’s payoff occurs in the final two minutes, when the pace quickens and all those guitars oscillate wildly in unison. As Mercer does his best Tom Verlaine imitation on a gritty solo, the band escalates to a satisfyingly sweaty climax.
That’s followed by “When Company Comes” to wrap up side one. Largely instrumental, this track employs a lightly strummed rotating riff accompanied by barking dogs, whistles, tambourines, what sounds like people having conversations in their backyard. There is some sort of lyrical content that begins with the band chanting “Sit around,” but at this point it really doesn’t matter what the lyrics mean or even say. The guitar figure that closes this track is hauntingly beautiful.
“Let’s Go” opens side two, and if you were to read the lyrics off a sheet you might genuinely start to wonder if the Feelies had anything to say about anything: “Well alight / Well alright / Let’s go / Let’s go / Let’s go / Let’s go / All night long / All night long.” The joke would be on you, however, given that this track contains some of the most wonderful acoustic music the 1980s had to offer. The guitar solo halfway through even features someone’s voice grumbling “I don’t understand” buried in the mix. Another winner on an album stacked with great moments.
“Two Rooms” sounds both rustic and sophisticated, perhaps due to the twin percussion attack and slightly flanged guitar drones. Listening to the track just now, the phrase “gentle math rock” came to mind. Feel free to use that.
The title track has a lovely relaxed feel, recalling the sound of friends sitting on a front porch reminiscing about the old days. There is menace in the lyrics, however, evidenced by such phrases as “I can’t stay / It’s got to be that way” and “I can’t get along / Take me back to where I belong.” Perhaps the song represents a sort of metaphor signifying the band’s mid-1980s resurrection, especially when Mercer seethes “Seven years way too long.” Except that he immediately closes this couplet with an aloof dare to “Call me up and I’ll be gone.” Who knows what despondency lurks in the minds of the Feelies?
That lyrics theme continues on “Tomorrow Today,” where Mercer sings “How can you go home?” There does appear to be a consistent theme of homecoming throughout the album, of dreams lost and expectations deflated. In that sense, The Good Earth reads like an old friend who doesn’t exactly know how to solve your problem, but understands you well enough to be a good listener. The guitars dart in and out of the mix, and remastered versions of the album feature multi-directional panning and other neat studio tricks.
“Slow Down” ends The Good Earth on a hopeful note: “Keep on trying / Slow down / You can make it / Try and make it.” The VU influence is particularly apparent here, and casual listeners might mistake this for a lost Loaded track. “Got a lot to learn,” Mercer says at the end. “Got a ways to go.” A simple acknowledgement shared among those living through complicated circumstances.
The Good Earth proves that the Feelies were one of the best bands of the 1980s. It’s my blog and that’s what I say. And if you’re listening to the album on Spotify, you get a bonus track of the Feelies adeptly covering “She Said She Said” by the Beatles. Seriously, you can’t lose.
Aftermath
Like much of the Feelies’ early work, The Good Earth was out of print until a 2009 reissue. I don’t know if my copy on the Coyote/Twin Tone label is considered rare, but their early albums were nearly impossible to find for quite a long time. It bears repeating that I purchased my copy for one dollar.
Although The Good Earth should have represented the Feelies’ graduation to full-blown “alternative rock” stardom, the band seemed reluctant to assume their well-earned position. Most of the band members kept their day jobs, even at the height of the Feelies’ exposure, and live gigs tended to occur only on weekends and holidays.
That appeared to change with their first major label release, Only Life, released in 1988 to effervescent praise from critics. This album represented a more mature effort, amplifying what the band already did well and adding new electric elements to the mix. By this point, the Feelies were regularly appearing on MTV’s “alternative rock” programming, and their few televised performances are worth seeking out on YouTube.
The band’s next and most varied album, Time for a Witness, was released in 1991. I saw them live at the Grog & Tankard that summer. It was a good show, despite the band’s awkward lack of anything resembling a stage presence. I also recall our group being irritated by a few Johns Hopkins students, who made several unsuccessful attempts to form a moshpit during the band’s speedier numbers. In those days, anything cool taking place in Baltimore risked being desecrated by some nitwit from Hopkins.
After Time for a Witness, the Feelies scored a few prime time slots and seemed poised for superstardom, In true Feelies fashion, however, they simply disappeared. Two decades passed before the release of Here Before in 2011. Their subsequent releases are proud additions to the canon, and the Feelies remain a semi-regular working band to this day. I’m just happy the Feelies continue to exist in any form, as we are all the better for it.
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