#46: Television - Marquee Moon

In Delaware in the Sixties, there were two kids named Richard Meyers and Thomas Miller. They decided school had served its purpose, so they hopped in a car, skipped town, and managed to set fire to a field in Alabama and get themselves arrested. In retrospect, it's pretty obvious which one started it.

The two would later meet up again in New York City, this time with the names Richard Hell and Tom Verlaine. Verlaine joined Hell in a band called the Neon Boys, which would later become Television. Hell bailed after a while to form the Heartbreakers, the famed junkie supergroup, and would later ditch that to form the Voidoids. Verlaine stuck with Television, and subsequently released Marquee Moon, universally hailed as one of the more mature records to come out of the late Seventies scene in New York.

Despite the obvious differences in sound between the two's work after their divergence - the Voidoids being a pioneering group that proved there was room for literacy in punk as well as being a smartass, and Television birthing a style of guitar-driven art rock - the first thing that struck me about Marquee Moon is how much it reminded me of the Voidoids' Blank Generation, also released in 1977.

To my ear, Marquee Moon sounds like Blank Generation without the slightly yelpy vocal delivery and more of an ear for melody and instrumental proficiency. Speed up any of these songs and make the lyrics a little more street-level, and you end up with two sibling records.

That said, my pre-existing affinity for the more abrasive warbling of Hell and Co. somehow steers me a little away from Television's more refined sound, especially after the glasses-and-beard types prattling on about the band's greatness. But I did enjoy a good bit of Marquee Moon, even if it wasn't the parts I expected to.

The album's two most storied songs are "Venus," perhaps the most oft-referenced song by people reminiscing about the scene at CBGBs, and the over ten-minute title track, usually considered one of the finest displays of guitar playing from the era. While I didn't find either to be particularly bothersome, any interest they held for me was washed away when the instantly memorable "Elevation" came on, and especially the tremendously bleak (which in my book is often synonymous with tremendously awesome) "Torn Curtain," the latter of which sounds like music that John Cale - their predecessor by more than ten years - wouldn't be writing for another twenty-five after this. I don't think Radiohead would have written "Exit Music (For a Film)" without it.

I'm really happy those two tracks surprised me, because while there's nothing off-putting on the rest of the record, it does have the overall feel of an album I'd probably only put on when I wanted to feel like some superior music dickhead rather than picking out something I'd fully enjoy. But because of those tracks, I'll be giving the rest of the album more of a chance, and hopefully the others will grow on me. I bet they will.