Earlier entries of this series can be found here: http://www.acclaimedmusic.net/forums/vi ... ive#p45337
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hang the DJ/ Hang the DJ/ Hang the DJ”
94. The Smiths - Panic
The facts:
Year: 1986.
Genre: Independent rock.
Country: United Kingdom.
Released as a single.
Acclaimed Music ranking: #976.
Song ranking on Acclaimed Music in the artist’s discography: 5th.
Ranks higher than Love in Vain by Robert Johnson, but lower than Gangsters by The Specials.
Place in the Acclaimed Music Song Poll 2015: Unranked.
The people:
Written by Johnny Marr & Morrisey.
Produced by John Porter.
Vocals by Morrisey.
Lead guitar by Johnny Marr.
Rhythm guitar by Craig Cannon.
Drums by Mike Joyce.
Bass by Andy Rourke.
The opinion:
“There is panic on the street of London”, so begins Panic. Is this a sequel of London Calling, done by The Smiths? Not quite; though The Clash’ line “Phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust” wouldn’t feel out of place here, the Smith’s song deals with mostly less apocalyptic problems than The Clash classic. Or does it?
What causes the panic on the streets of London (as well as Birmingham, Grasmere, Carlisle, Dublin, Dundee and Humberside) is music. Disco music, music on the radio, music that “says nothing about my life”. This is a common complaint, that may have existed for a long time, but became more prominent after the sixties, when a the sensation of a revolutionary kind of music made way once again to more happy (some would say “complacent”) sounds. There is always a group of people bitter about mainstream music’s supposed bitterness. I should know, because in my darker moods I feel like one of them.
Though bitterness is probably not an unfamiliar quality to Morrisey, his lyrics here are mostly comic, even if it is dark humour he uses. His offered solution for the fake music that ruins the airwaves is not to buy and listen to other music instead (by, say, The Smiths), but to burn down the disco and to hang the “blessed” DJ. That’ll teach them.
The song is very short at 2:20 and very to the point lyrically. I want to say that it speaks for itself, but apparently this wasn’t the case in 1986. In fact, it drew some controversy. The attack on disco was seen by some as an obvious racist and homophobic call to arms. Wait? What? When I first read this I had to scratch my head, because I couldn’t quite see how these lyrics could be seen as against blacks or gays. To understand it, we have to go back in time a little further.
The golden age of disco, in the second half of the seventies was a difficult one for rock fans. It seemed as if the raw and revolutionary power of rock was replaced by simplistic, feel good music with little lyrical, emotional or musical depth. Especially punks came down hard on disco. Eventually a campaign named Disco Sucks was launched by a couple of rock DJ’s around 1979, which led to a public event named Disco Demolition Night in Chicago where disco records were blown up. It all got out of hand somehow and a riot ensued. No discos were harmed during this riot, but the baseball stadium that hosted the Disco Sucks event was heavily damaged and people were arrested.
This is all very silly in hindsight, but some people saw hidden meanings in these actions. Though in the year 1979 disco was very mainstream, it’s roots weren’t. It all started in underground clubs, where it was mostly popular with gay and black people. As such, in its early days the music was very much associated with the lifestyles of minorities. Of course, the music got really big suddenly when the very white and very heterosexual Bee Gees brought it to masses through the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. Disco had become such a huge force I would personally say it had lost its meaning as purely black or gay music by 1979, but some people thought differently. Disco Demolition Night was interpreted by some as first and foremost the demolition of minority influences in mainstream music (that rock itself comes from black music is ignored in this argument).
Make of that what you will, seven years after the Disco Sucks movement had its day, Panic was released and again bad memories of those times returned to people. Burning down discos wasn’t simply a call to burn down houses that play popular music, but a militant rally to destroy vestiges of gay and black life. So a sly middle finger to songs The Smiths didn’t like became something different altogether.
I find all this very odd. Maybe it’s a generational thing, as I was born later and grew up with disco’s as just being hip places where they played the newest dance tracks. I’m very used to this music being called shallow and that these buildings are basically the bastions of mainstream taste. Dance music – regardless if it’s really disco or not – has lost most of its specific connotations of gayness and blackness. Through my ears The Smiths were clearly attacking music that says nothing to them, as they literally state. Perhaps in 1986 the memories of the origins of disco were stronger. Maybe disco’s didn’t play as big a variety of styles as they do now.
The Smiths themselves were taken aback by these accusations. In an interview with NME in 1987 Johnny Marr claimed that the song was inspired by a very specific radio moment. BBC Radio DJ Steve Wright (whom Morrisey already despised) announced the Chernobyl nuclear disaster on his show and went on to play the incongruous I’m You’re Man by Wham!. Morrisey and Marr were angered by the stupidity of playing such a meaningless song after such devastating news. “What the fuck does this got to do with people's lives?”, asked Marr. "We hear about Chernobyl, then, seconds later, we're expected to jump around to 'I'm Your Man'"
Whether this event really led to Panic is sometimes disputed, but it makes a good story and it gets the point of the song across: down with shallow music! Ironically, it was one of the bigger hits of The Smiths. They might have anticipated it as it is also arguably their most hooky and catchy song. Heck, the singalong quality is basically made literal when on the repeated lines of “Hang the DJ” Morrisey gets accompanied by a group of young children. These kids go uncredited, which is probably just as well, though between this and Another Brick in the Wall Part 2 by Pink Floyd and Paper Planes by M.I.A. I wonder what the secret art of getting children to sing creepy lyrics is.
The band openly admitted that the song was basically their own redo of the T. Rex track Metal Guru, which Morrisey wanted to cover at the time. The homage is subtle, but can be heard if you pay close attention. It all helps to make Panic stand out in The Smith’s discography, along the more melancholy tracks and more jangly efforts. Really, this is almost conventional for this group, but that only adds to the bite. Personally, my favourite element is that sudden, short, loud guitar solo that forms the break between the ominous first verses and the jolly appeal to burn the disco. It’s creates a small moment of tension release before the whole thing goes full-on nutty.
Whether you agree with critics that claim The Smiths should have been more specific about their targets (I don’t really, but I look from a distance), what stands now is that The Smiths with Panic have made one of their most easily enjoyable and perhaps most shallow songs. Oh yes, the irony, but what do you expect from a song that’s basically a criticism of other people’s favourite music? That is an act of shallowness of itself, but at least is done in good humour.
7/10
Other versions:
There have only been a couple of covers of Panic, some renaming the song Hang the DJ, a better title. Two of them are great: Tiffany’s electronic take matches the bite of The Smiths and the band named Kitten are also not as soft as their name implies. Both are original takes musically, while still getting the point across.
Even more original is the jingle-bell styles of The Puppini Sisters. I fail completely to see the point of such a happy take, unless it is irony beyond ironies. I still prefer it to the sincere, Celtic interpretation by The Bad Shepherds. I mean, Celtic string music is so outside of normal pop considerations that I can’t even fathom why they would even bother about the disco, but this is also not a song that begs for a serious, heartfelt approach. This is comedy, you see. The group plays well it should be said, but it doesn’t work.
After that, there is a lame half-assed hard-rock cover by Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine and another electronic version by Exposition that just fails to catch my attention. This is all preferable over the extremely lame, demo-style recordings by Winston K. and Eggshell Boy. Finally, the punks inevitably got their hands on it too: as The Business proves. It’s not as much fun as you should hope.
The playlist: