“Two Princes” (Spin Doctors) vs “Remedy” (The Band)
Prime vs Past Prime
The Spin Doctors started as a side project for Blues Traveler’s John Popper, who eventually recruited his Princeton, NJ high school chum Chris Barron on vocals. The gigged extensively around New York, playing long jam-filled sets that filled the open revanchist hippie space between the emergence of alternative rock and the long fade out of boomer-dominated classic rock. Their 1991 debut took a while to get going, but by 1993 had gone Triple Platinum and eventually sold over five million copies in the U.S. They appeared on Saturday Night Live and Sesame Street, where “Two Princess” was modified to be about sharing.
The Band reformed again in the early ‘90s, 15 years after the most fabulous going-away party in rock history, The Last Waltz. This version of the group was a second attempt by original members Levon Helm, Rick Danko, and Garth Hudson to get it going without Robbie Robertson, who was off in Hollywood and was a successful solo artist despite being the fifth best singer in The Band. Keyboardist Richard Manuel committed suicide in a Florida motel room on one of those ‘80s tours. The ‘90s version, without Manuel and Robertson, was short on lyricists, which is why 1993’s “Jericho” sources songs from old blues numbers and covers of Bruce Springsteen’s “Atlantic City” and old pal Bob Dylan (“Blind Willie McTell”). “Remedy,” the lead track on the album, was co-written by guitarist Jim Weider, who had joined the band in their 1983 reformation.
Instant Listenability
“Two Princes” is awfully catchy. Guitarist Eric Shenkman cranks through an unhurried, bar-rocking riff that’s as distorted as what you’d hear from a punk rock garage band. (Bonus Canadian Content: Shenkman, like 4/5s of the original lineup of The Band, is Canadian.) What separates the song from so, so many Stones-y rockers is a surprisingly busy rhythm section that adds some wiggle to the songs ambling tempo. The thumb-slapping bassline and seductively lazy snare give the song are why the song can still fill a shake-it-like-a-white-girl dancefloor. Barron’s limited vocal range benefits from the repetition of lines like “go ahead now,” a lyrical device that allows him to vary his sprechgesang vocal phrasings for maximum charm.
“Remedy” also has the groove of a bar rocker. Helm does the heavy lifting, laying down a slyly funky groove and pushing his trademark vocal tone through otherwise static verses. “Two Princes” sounds very early ‘90s -- the overabundance of guitar distortion, the thumb-slap bass. “Remedy” likewise sounds very much of its time, but not in a good way. Blues records of the time had a squeaky clean sound that put a gloss on individual musicianship at the expense of grit and groove. Compare Robertson’s jagged Last Waltz sound to Weider’s, which sounds like a factory present for “blues.” The production has a we’ll-fix-it-in post quality to it. Danko’s bass is barely audible. Hudson’s horns barge in as if from another song. Where the best of The Band felt simultaneously old-timey and weirdly original, “Remedy” sounds like a pastiche.
Winner: The Spin Doctors
Lifetime Listenability
The catchiness of “Two Princes” cuts both ways. Repeating what works, be it a guitar riff or a vocal hook, is what makes radio hits and party bangers. Your results may vary, but after the first couple dozen times Barron wheeses his “go ahead now,” the charm has worn off. Still, If that’s all there were to the lyrics, the song would be better for it. The song is an extended Patchouli-drenched play for a woman’s affections, contrasting the scruffy Barron self-insert with the other titular “prince,” a strawman whose disqualifying feature seems to be that he’s employable. This is where the song ages particularly poorly. The cliche that free spirits are more soulful gives credence to the chorus’s closing sales pitch: “I know what a prince and lover ought to be.” That’s just a cliche -- a bit too self-satisfied and coy, but fine, we’ll allow it. What’s unbearable over time is that the POV is less boho poet than dating-app troll. The whole thing is just “I guess you don’t like nice guys” in song form.
“Remedy” has one huge advantage, and that’s Levon Helm. There’s a reason why drummer nerds wax rhapsodic about the guy; he plays the drums. His groove slips and slides around the pocket without ever falling out. You don’t even have to listen that closely to what he’s doing to feel its effect; that slinky, propulsive beat pulls all your attention. Similarly, the Arkansas bark in his vocals remains compelling, melding with Danko for off-kilter harmonies in the choruses and adding a lilt to otherwise sodden verses. What’s mediocre about the song eventually waffs off and you forgive it for not being nearly matching the best of The Band. One way to measure an artist’s greatness is by how far their rise above their material. Helm makes a forgettable song eminently listenable.
Winner: The Band
The Verdict
Rolling Stone’s January 1993 Spin Doctors cover story whistles past what’s reductive in their music with “The Doctors aren't trying to blaze new trails... But the proof -- plenty of it -- is in the party." That glib nonsense is more reflective of Stone’s own midlife crisis than what made the band so popular, but it does raise a point: What happens when the party’s over? “Two Princes” is really catchy (an achievement!) but is mostly a tuneless vamp, which the everyman quality of Barron’s voice only accentuates. When the lights come up and the party’s over, what’s left? A cool riff, an ace rhythm section, and artless vocals’ unremitting repetition of “go ahead now.”
The Band had their grand party with the Martin Scorsese-directed The Last Waltz. What happens then the party’s over is “Remedy” -- a once-great group feeling their way through to find what works now. They don’t quite get there, and the production does the song no favors. Like “Two Princes,” the song is meant to be a simple toe-tapper, but it is more of a song, with a tune and a singer that can carry it. It won’t grab your attention, but it’s also much slower to wear out its welcome. And if nothing else, you get to hear another reason why Levon Helm was a national treasure.
The Verdict: The Band
About the author
Scott Frampton is a Knicks fan, wine lover, husband and father, who has written about music for Esquire, CMJ and many other publications. He may have invented “RIYL” (Recommended iI You Like) for album reviews and can be found via his excellent Substack, The Best Song Ever (This Week).