This Song Has Had Me in a Chokehold Since 2000

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Everywhere I go, I’ve noticed that there’s a sort of resurgence happening around everything 00s. From the most obvious — fashion — to tech, music, and even graphic design. I’m not ashamed to admit that I thoroughly enjoy watching more than one video (because I subconsciously go down the YouTube/Wikipedia rabbit hole far too often) where the different aesthetic names of the era are explained. Hello, Frutiger Aero, anyone?! This one always reminds me of the end scene of The Beach. I don’t know why — maybe it’s the internet café.

However, here’s the thing: back in the day, you weren’t thinking about putting a label on everything, or even necessarily aware of which “aesthetic” you were most drawn to. These things just existed, and somehow you became a sort of mirror reflection of that look… ethos… feel… whatever you want to call it. (Ironic, I know.)

As much as I support the comeback of certain aspects of my childhood and early teens — because, honestly, it is comforting — I can’t help but think that something is missing. A certain quality that goes beyond a look, a touch, our toys, our baggy jeans. The real feel of the 00s just isn’t quite there.

And I think I’ve pinpointed what it is. At least for me.

I’m going to try my best to explain it the best I can. Ahem.

When I was young, I vividly remember thinking, “I don’t want to grow up.” Not in the Peter Pan sort of sense, but because I genuinely felt that my younger years were the best years of my life. There was still an underlying sadness to that feeling, though, because I knew that one day it would all end.

Needless to say, I’ve always considered myself a melancholic person. In retrospect, I was definitely a melancholic child too. Not sad. Not down all the time. Just… content with my melancholy. Or, at the very least, at peace with it.

And that, to me, is the key point.

The late 90s and early 00s felt melancholic.

It’s no wonder my favourite autumn playlists involve a lot of grunge, alt-rock, and moody electronica. Aaahhhh, moody electronica. I love when a track gives me the feeling that I’m slowly going up an escalator to heaven. (It’s the cyclical quality of the 4/4 beat and those warm synths, man!)

For me, anyway.

It wasn’t because it looked or sounded cool. It was a definite feeling. A kind of melancholy and nostalgia for the present — however much of an oxymoron that might be.

Because, collectively, we knew that an era was coming to an end. And we optimistically looked forward to the new one beginning. The future that was being sold to us looked bright. Really bright.

Again, look up Frutiger Aero or Y2K Futurism. Maybe watch The Fifth Element. And if you were a Disney child like me, remember Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century?

The future was shiny. It was optimistic. It was going to be better.

And that’s the key.

The sadness of the era was a positive sadness. Like watching the perfect sunset. You know it’s beautiful precisely because you know it’s about to disappear.

That’s what this era was: a beautiful last sunset before the dark of night.

But I digress.

In keeping with the sunset analogy, and that particular melancholic feeling, the song that has had me in a chokehold for 26 years (cue Kevin Hart: “DAMN!”) is “Pure Shores” by All Saints, written by All Saints member Shaznay Lewis and produced by the now-late, great William Orbit.

If I were to dissect what I think is one of the best, if not THE best, girl-band pop songs of all time (sorry, Spice Girls, although they have their bangers too, of course!), I’d need… at least one more page to write about it. But in this short-attention-span day and age, who’s really got the time? I’m going to lean healthily into my toxic trait this time and believe that “you know most of this already.”

To begin with, the track starts off with sublime synth chords that carry the main melodic hook throughout the instrumentation, with a sonic characteristic that I can only describe as resembling an old-school phone dial. Although this gives the track its immediate recognition, to me, the most interesting part is the arpeggiated electric guitar. Interestingly enough, it doesn’t change chords to match the rest of the instrumentation. It just holds it down.

The rhythm section sounds to me like it is comprised of 808 hits, or similar drum machines, treated with lush reverbs and delays, especially the snare, which gives a rolling sense to every hit, attributing an ethereal quality to the composition. The hi-hats are then layered with a tambourine on each hit by the time we reach the chorus, elevating the energy of the piece.

The bass starts off as what seems to be a simple, drone-like line: long, subdued notes that simply fill the low-end space. This remains the main bass part throughout each verse, changing once we get into the chorus to eighth notes, giving it a more driven rhythm.

OK! I can sense you drifting off. I went on a nerdy tangent; I apologise. But now that that’s over, here’s the really interesting bit of this song, and perhaps the reason why I think this track is so brilliant.

Everything within this song seems intentional to me, which I believe is the genius of Orbit. It is more than just “catching a vibe”. The specific types of reverbs and delays are used for a reason; the old-school telephone-dial characteristic of the main hook, which I can only explain as being “filtered”, has a purpose; and the guitars throughout, which I will talk about in more depth in a second, are KEY to the overall aesthetic and theme of the track.

The main clue as to why I believe every single choice in this song is deliberate and in keeping with the story and feel of Danny Boyle’s The Beach — oh, have I mentioned it’s a track made for the film? No? …anyways — is the specific moment in which the track is used. The song accompanies an underwater montage in which two of the main characters connect emotionally. The filtered effects, reverbs and delays therefore contribute to the overall underwater, ethereal quality of the track, complementing the scene itself.

But the true genius, for me, is in the guitars.

Orbit uses the guitars and their effects to simulate underwater wildlife. The sweeping sounds of guitar slides up and down the neck seem to evoke the singing of whales or dolphins, while the strumming, which I believe is treated with LFOs, evokes the sensation of bubbling underwater.

Simply put… GENIUS.

Every time I listen to the song, I discover a different layer that I may not have noticed before. Very recently, for example, I heard the distorted guitars sitting in the background, giving the track more lift while simultaneously providing the edge that it needs. You see, even though Orbit was renowned for his electronic tracks and remixes, he incorporated a lot of rock elements into his work — most notably distorted guitars — and he was damn good at it.

However, let’s not downplay another element of the song that is equally as brilliant: Shaznay’s lyrics.

They are a beautiful summing-up of the entirety of the plot, which is ironic because, according to the story, she was given a 40-second clip of the film — specifically the underwater section — and was essentially told, “OK, GO,” to write the song. Shaznay herself has said that she read the first half of the book before writing it, but to me, the lyrics are so perfectly aligned with the central storyline that it feels as though she had read it countless times and absorbed the story through osmosis.

Let’s take, for example, the lyric: “the place where I want to be, is the place I can call mine”. If you are familiar with the story, you’ll know that this line tells you almost everything you need to know. The protagonists are searching, looking, and eventually finding something that is theirs: a hidden gem that is both beautiful and dangerous, a secret that should be protected at all costs.

An interesting anecdote about her time writing the lyrics is that she was writing them on her way to LA to work with Orbit and realised upon arriving at the hotel that she had lost them. Little things like this make me think that sometimes things are simply meant to be. But I do wonder what the original lyrics were. Would they have been as good? We will never know.

Touching back upon my initial points, before I went on a rant about the nostalgia and feel of the late ’90s/early ’00s, my emotional connection to this song is one of exactly that: nostalgia. But not simply because it is now what we would call a “classic”. Rather, I feel that nostalgia is embedded within its overall sonic identity. It has always made me feel that way, even when it first came out.

I would go as far as to say that this song isn’t daytime summer to me; it is dusk, or autumn. In a way, that makes sense with the storyline. Autumn and dusk both evoke a kind of happy sadness, as I alluded to previously. It is the general “vibe” of those times: sad, but optimistic.

In his review for PopMatters, Richard Folland describes Pure Shores as being “buoyed by a lyric promising a bright future.” I agree; however, I would go as far as to say that it isn’t just the lyrics that create this sense of optimism, but the composition and production too.

All of these reasons are what make this track a top 10 for me. If I had written this, I would have called it a day, in all honesty. I would have thought, “Yep, I’ve outdone myself here”. And if you haven’t heard it — which, I think, is very difficult to imagine anyone who hasn’t by now — I really do encourage you to check it out. You will not be disappointed. Oh, and check the film out too. It’s weird!

Source

Richard Folland, “ALL SAINTS: Red Flag”, PopMatters, [5th of May 2016]. [https://www.popmatters.com/all-saints-red-flag1-2495434956.html]