FEATURE:
A Guiding Light
Television’s Marquee Moon at Forty-Five
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IT is difficult to know…
IN THIS PHOTO: Television in 1977. Left to right: Billy Ficca, Richard Lloyd, Tom Verlaine and Fred Smith
where to start when it comes to Television’s remarkable and hugely influential debut album, Marquee Moon. Released only a few days after Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, this extraordinary album came into the world on 8th February, 1977. Ahead of its forty-fifth anniversary, I wanted to bring in some reviews and features that tell the story of Marquee Moon and why it is such a special album. The New York band, led by the songwriting brilliance and musical virtuosity of Tom Verlaine, produced this masterpiece. One would think it would be easy for Television to get a record deal and get noticed. I guess, at a time when there were no bands that sounded like them, there was hesitation. Classic Album Sundays revisited Marquee Moon for a feature that explored the roots of one of the best albums ever:
“The band and its members wove themselves into the fabric of downtown music. Brian Eno produced demos while the band were being courted by Island Records although this failed to result in a signing. Hell’s frantic stage antics began to seem increasingly out of sync with the other band member’s growing musical virtuosity and eventually the band refused to play his songs. This led Hell to leave and form The Heartbreakers featuring former New York Dolls Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan.
Hell was replaced by former Blondie bassist Fred Smith and Verlaine recalled, “At the first rehearsal me and Lloyd were looking at each other and thinking, ‘God this is a real relief’. It was like having a lightning rod you could spark around. Something was there that wasn’t there before. Fred could follow stuff. I remember starting up in the longer songs and being able to do stuff that wouldn’t throw everybody.”
Another early CB’s and Max’s stalwart was Patti Smith who had a soaring talent matched with a relentless drive that propelled her to be everywhere all at once. She performed for and wrote with playwright Sam Shepard, roomed with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, recited her poetry with the St. Mark’s Poetry Project, wrote songs for Blue Oyster Cult and took a turn in rock journalism writing for Rolling Stone and Creem. Like Verlaine, she was inspired by the poetry of Arthur Rimbaud, and this passion helped unite them both romantically and professionally.
Smith championed Television as the real deal; authenticity in the face of a penchant of style over substance. After experiencing Television live at CBGB’s she wrote, “As the band played on you could hear the whack of pool cue hitting the balls, the saluki [Hilly’s dog] barking, bottles clinking, the sound of the scene emerging. Though no one knew it, the stars were aligning, the angels were calling.”
Smith’s championing of the group, her unique form of PR and her alliance with Verlaine helped grow Television’s fan base possibly more for which she may have been given credit. And of course Smith also enjoyed kudos and support flowing from the other direction. She formed her own group with Lenny Kaye and for her first album ‘Horses’ recorded ‘Break It Up’, a composition she penned with Verlaine.
The growing significance of the downtown music scene saw A&R scouts flocking to the Bowery and many of the acts such as The Patti Smith Group, The Ramones and Blondie were getting snapped up by the major record labels. But despite being courted by Island Records and being touted as the forefathers of the now critically hailed CB’s scene, Television were still waiting to get signed. Ramones manager and downtown kingpin Danny Fields lamented, “Why are the labels so slow in grabbing Television? Everybody raves about how great the Velvet Underground was, and here is another great New York band that musically picks up where the Velvet Underground left off.”
However, even groundbreaking alternative underground scenes have their own set of rules, and Television broke nearly all of them. Rather than wait for a record label, Television followed Smith’s lead in releasing an independent single on their friend Terry Ork’s label in the hopes of perking interest. But what they released did not translate into the type of pop-rock-punk single that was making noise at the time.
Instead, they released “Little Johnny Jewel”, a song in two parts that ran seven minutes and had more in common with free jazz. A decade earlier, Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” reached number two in the charts despite clocking in at 6:13, three minutes over the standard pop single. Television would not enjoy the same success.
Finally, Television signed to Elektra Records and released their debut album ‘Marquee Moon’. By the time of the record’s release in 1977, punk rock had somewhat become a caricature of itself and thankfully Television did not follow suit. Onstage they had a similar snarl, but rather than performing theatrical stage antics in the manner of The Sex Pistols, Television preferred to remain cooly detached from their audience.
They also benefitted from years of developing their unique musical style through their live shows and the record revealed a confident artistic maturity not often found on debut records. Unlike many punk musicians, they were not embarrassed to play their instruments well, slipped in references to jazz, prog rock, and psychedelia with lengthy solos and elected a cleaner, more sophisticated sound. Inject this musical fusion with lyrics that revealed literary prowess and a love of poets Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine, and we may be able to understand why Television puzzled audiences.
The album was not a commercial success, selling only 80,000 copies in the USA. (That ‘only’ is put into context when we consider that 2013’s top selling vinyl album in the USA was Daft Punk’s ‘Random Access Memories’ with 49,000 sold. Oh how times have changed.) Alas they followed in the wake of some of the groups to which they paid homage, VU and Love, and other massive talents such as Nick Drake, in that their popularity and significance grew after they stopped recording. Like Arthur Russell, another cross-pollinating artist from that era’s lower Manhattan music scene, Television’s blended sonic styles drawing not only from rock but also funk and the minimalism of Steve Reich. This breakdown of musical boundaries has since become a defining characteristic of ‘Downtown Music”.
It is well worth getting Television's Marquee Moon - 33 1/3 book by Bryan Waterman. It provides great detail about a sensational album. Before coming to reviews, there is another in-depth article about Marquee Moon that caught my eye. Soundblab took us inside Television’s 1977 magnum opus for a feature in 2019. They provide a bit of an overview and review:
“Isn’t amazing how the birth of indie rock can be traced all the way back to 1977? The 70s were already the genesis (and to some, apex) of punk music and all of its subsequent offshoots. During the 70s there was no shortage of legendary acts churning out would-be classics at a rapid-fire rate: Iggy Pop delivered four LPs that would change the face of punk music, two with the Stooges, and two solo efforts; Joy Division would birth post-punk and goth rock with Unknown Pleasures, The Ramones were banging out repeated young anthems and lets not forget the Clash released their three most revered albums at the tail end of the decade. Yes, the 1970s were THAT great.
On the American side of things, the New York music scene was responsible for a lot of the sounds and feels we get from punk music today nationally. It’s where it all funneled through to determine success - pioneering clubs like CBGB housed future leaders of the genre, and while these acts didn’t extend much further sometimes, their place in history is cemented to this day with their short but bountiful discographies.
This isn’t a history lesson though. If you want to learn about punk, and post-punk, and proto-punk, and skate-punk, and horror punk - Google it. This is space is reserved specifically for the all-time classic Marquee Moon, but the short-lived NYC four-piece Television. Originally consisting of Tom Verlaine, Billy Ficca, and Richard Hell, and calling themselves The Neon Boys, Television set out to define what makes a legend. Hell would leave over disputes and whatnot, eventually forming The Heartbreakers, and then Richard Hell and the Voidoids. Before that, they’d bring in Richard Lloyd as a second guitarist, and to replace Hell they’d bring in Fred Smith for bass. In 1975, they achieved cult status in NYC which lead to the eventual recording of their most notable album Marquee Moon.
To review Marquee Moon, one has to consider just how daring it was in 1977. Punk was on the rise, and the scene was redefining youth culture. But Television weren’t “punks.” Television was just a group of musicians who didn’t adhere to labels, even when performing they made sure it was a group effort. The title track alone is evidence of this comradery, this homogenous idea of a band, as the rhythm and lead guitars weave into each other over the course of the 10-minute epic. It’s this approach that makes Television, most specifically on Marquee Moon that much of a revelation. Today’s music often highlights enigmatic frontman, lavishly pouring over their antics in positive and negative ways. It’s not the case with Television. Verlaine may be the lead vocalist, but everyone plays a part strongly on Marquee Moon.
What fascinates me the most about Marquee Moon is how fresh it still sounds in 2019. The boom of post-punk revival in the early 2000s brought us countless imitators, some good, some bad. But no one’s ever truly been able to mimic the grand explosiveness of Marquee Moon, not even Television themselves as their follow-up, 1978’s Adventure, is often forgotten about because of how much it lacks compared to their debut. At only 45 minutes, and 8 songs, Marquee Moon sets the bar for epic, without droning on as prog rock does. Instead, outside of the title track, tracks are kept to reasonable standards. This allows a more digestible listen for those uninitiated.
Obviously, the most commanding thing about Marquee Moon is its title track. Still a magnificent feat by today’s standards, the opus tackles so much in it’s near 11 minutes.
Recorded in one take, “Marquee Moon” transcends the typical paranoia of the 70s with a powerful intro, balanced perfectly by Verlaine’s vocals. Having rehearsed it and played it so often before recording, Television’s greatest moment feels so natural in the studio - something rarely replicated by modern bands. It’s equal parts jazz, post-punk, punk, and alt-rock, “Marquee Moon” defies the standards of what makes a great single. Released as the lead single, it’s hard to fathom any edited version of “Marquee Moon” being worthwhile. Its massive nature is booming, it towers over the rest of the album, and acts as that warm center of the album. It never overstays its welcome, even halfway through it still keeps your attention thanks to the innovative jamming from Verlaine and Lloyd.
Thankfully, the rest of Marquee Moon is no slouch either. Often overlooked because of how tremendous it’s centerpiece is, Marquee Moon’s other seven tracks range in playful proverbs like “See No Evil” to double entendres like “Friction.” But if listening to Marquee Moon for the first time is the approach, all of these songs fall to the wayside. There’s plenty to come back to on the album, the imagery that “Venus” conjures up is relatable to anyone aimlessly wandering the streets of their city with a tiny bit of angst hiding behind their eyes. The pensiveness of “Elevation,” the weariness of “Guiding Light,” all make Marquee Moon one of the quintessential albums of the 70s, if not all time. It’s a mass representation of identity in an ever-changing landscape. Those last 3-4 years of the decade saw so much transition, not just for the scene, but the country saw the reverberations of the Vietnam War shocked the nation. Jimmy Carter struggled as the 39th president of the country, due to some questionable pardonings he did early on, as well as the malaise of corrupt officials took hold.
So not only is Marquee Moon a landmark album for all of its associated genres, it’s a time capsule of life in the 1970s amidst turmoil and the evolving culture around them. Television was short-lived, breaking up after Adventure and laying low until the early 90s for a reunion album. Every member would find their place in other projects, but thanks to the internet, Television have resurfaced in the 21st century to play their iconic album in full at festivals and various venues on the Eastern United States. The feeling of hearing “Marquee Moon” performed live is something everyone should bear witness to. It’s life-altering and offers a comforting blanket to these relevant times. Television were never able to escape Marquee Moon, nor did they need to. It’s timeless, even in 2019, it still sounds crisp. The true definition of a classic”.
There is one more feature that I want to include. In 2019, Spectrum Culture proclaimed Marquee Moon the best guitar album ever. One cannot argue against what Nathan Stevens observes throughout:
“Venus” provided the first detour into romanticism. In contrast to the youthful corruption of “See No Evil,” “Venus” matched Verlaine’s mumbled musings on apathy, giddiness and love. The emotive solo and cascading chorus lick made it a dead ringer for a proper power ballad. Second half duo “Guiding Light” and “Prove It” carried on those lush feelings, making the guitar interweave with piano until they couldn’t be separated. “Guiding Light” could have been Bob Seeger on amphetamines and “Prove It” unfurled from a jaunty surf-rock tune into an expansive, proto-Modest Mouse sprawl. Add the gothic closer “Torn Curtain” and Television were playing with all of the dark arts that would soon envelope Post-Punk. All of it narrated by these little silvery aliens, burbling in your ear.
“Friction,” meanwhile, could have just rode its prowling, bluey riff, but Verlaine let loose a colorful string of noir-ish melodies leading to his desperate plea of “gimme friction!” in his best Patti Smith. The threat of violence is incensed by the thrashing guitars, lurking behind Verlaine like mob goons. If Spider-Man had swung through this New York, he would have been swatted. It’s intoxicating danger, all tightrope licks and hinted bloodshed.
None of this is to dismiss Billy Ficca or Fred Smith. Ficca’s drumming was as impish as the guitars, a devilish mix of jittering disco flashes and heavy rock thwamp. And Smith seemed to be the only sane one in the studio. Between Verlaine’s yelps, the guitar maelstrom above and Ficca egging it all on, there’s a sense that without Smith’s impeccably in-pocket, rocksteady performance the whole thing would have collapsed under its own weight.
The shifting textures between exuberance and melodrama has a tome worth of music theory behind it. Verlaine was originally a saxophonist and it shows in (mostly) less nerdy ways, but he still had to notate a few of his solos. Lloyd also hefted more muscle unto the mix with clever overdubs. But getting too much into the weeds is useless for two reasons: it’s no fun, diminishing how the technical and emotive excellence is obvious without any music theory needed. And “Marquee Moon” was recorded in one take.
This sterling ascension, a true epic yet to be eclipsed in rock that unwound and exploded over 10 minutes, was done live. Sweet Strawberry-flavored Christ.
“Marquee Moon” is 10 percent of the time the greatest song ever recorded. It molded the guitars into voices, singing countermelodies and counterpoint to each other, rather than the usual layer of root to chord to solo. Lloyd and Verlaine traded rhythm, solos and melodic duties, the lead ping-ponging between guitars and channels. Verlaine’s iconic opening line, “I remembered how the darkness doubled/ Lightning struck itself,” was an accurate summation of the sound. It’s winding, yet precise. The ever-soaring chorus rising to glory out of the grime of the verse before lounging back into grit and asphalt. That’s before the nearly meandering solo takes every dynamic trick they’d pulled out into one gauntlet. It builds, and builds and builds from frayed ends until it reforms as Lloyd and Verlaine fuse again. Ending with a pastoral flickering of guitars and Verlaine staring up at the titular celestial body. And of course it had to be recorded in one take. The sparks of genius that had been showering that studio formed a bolt of brilliance that could only be contained in that one take.
The great guitar moments of the late 20th and early 21st centuries can all find some hint of residual DNA here. Johnny Greenwood’s flexible dread on “Paranoid Android,” St. Vincent’s serial-killer pop “Cruel” or Living Colour’s sensory destruction from “Cult of Personality” owe something to Marquee Moon. Hell, The Strokes’ entire guitar tone is right there in “Elevation.” But there’s a reason that the post-punk dejour of the modern age has stuck to the icepick stab of Gang of Four or Joy Division’s gloom. Television is just too damn hard to recreate. You don’t just need an understanding of Ornette Coleman that matches a devotion to “Cortez the Killer,” you’ve got to play it with a smile. And though Slint and Sonic Youth wouldn’t exist without this album, all of them could only grasp at fragments of the glorious whole.
Verlaine said he wanted the album to be made of “little moments of discovery.” And he succeeded, emphatically. Though it came at the end of a decade, Marquee Moon was an arrival, rather than a departure. It crafted new genres with one hand, created a generation of guitar nerds with the other. It’s an album of contradictions. Of Friction. No, the guitar wasn’t made for Television. They reinvented it”.
I wanted to look at and inside an album that has yet to be equalled or bettered in terms of its sound and influence. One of the defining releases of the Post-Punk era, there is no telling just how long Marquee Moon will resonate and inspire! It only takes a few seconds of See No Evil (the opening track) to understand that you are listening to…
A real classic.