As an avid drinker and a nine year resident of the city of New York, I have complicated relationships with many bars in this city. There are the now defunct bars that I hated at the time, but romaticize in the past (The corny MC Exchange that was the bar of my Dotcom, the truly awful Village Idiot that used to sell cheap pitchers when i lived in Manhattan). There are the bars that I used to haunt but am now too old and cranky to tolerate the young clientele (Blue and Gold, Soda). The bars from my old neighborhood (Enid's, Matchless) that I don't visit so much anymore. The places I went with co-workers, the places I went to meet up before concerts, and the places I just found myself all have complex histories, but none is more convoluted than my relationship to Nevada Smith's.
I'm sure I must have talked about Smith's at some point, but for a quick recap: Smith's is a bar in the nether zone that is niether the East Village nor quite Union Square. It is uniformly dark, not especially cheap, generally smells like an arm pit, and it's owner is a cranky old asshole of the highest order. It remains the only bar I've ever been thrown out of in my entire life...but I've probably at this point clocked more hours in this bar than any other in the world.
You see, Nevada Smith's is the bar to go to, to watch English Premeire League Soccer. If my team's game isn't being shown on cable, it's basically my only option, and I am a devoted enough fan that I am willing to go to a bar at 730 AM if need be (for a 1230 kick off in London). This means that no matter how much I may hate this place, no matter how many times I've sworn that I'll never step foot in that place again...as long as EPL games aren't all on TV, I'll be forced to go (Well, "Forced").
But as I was there on Saturday to watch Arsenal beat Portsmouth, I stopped to realize how much the place had changed in the five years I had been there. When I first started attending, a heart broken young man looking for an excuse to drink in the mornings and finding it in soccer, the place was almost exclusively attended by Brits. We Americans were the intruders, the interlopers who would never really understand the sport. There were many colorful charcaters and even more colorful language. The Arsenal corner was ruled by a Frenchman named Andre who was always there and knew more profanity than the devil himself. Andre once broke his hand pounding on the bar during a frustrating match.
Gradually through the years a new type of patron began attending who was niether us nor them: NYU students looking for a place to keep an all night bender going or to kick start the day with beer. They knew the place was open at 7AM, and if the abuse of a few brits was the price to be paid then so be it...but gradually these obnoxious kids picked up the sport, and in a step me and my friends didn't even take, the culture.
I was struck by this moment on Saturday, when I realized that there was just as much singing as always in Smith's but not a single one of the singers was british. These kids had learned the songs and taken up the mantle, but had also driven their British teachers away. It was an odd moment, on one hand seeing American's embracing soccer and "football culture" was a source of pride, on the other it's sad to see the old replaced by the obnoxious new. I certainly left with my complicated relationship with Smith's even more complicated than ever.
Anyway, I get the deal with Times New Viking, they play catchy garage rock, but recorded at earbusting levels so that it seems that their engineer has no clue what they are doing. This is the same trick that has gone on since The Beatles first learned to use feedback, i.e. cover something sugary in so much noise that the listener has to dig to find the sweetness. Usually I'm a fan of this strategy, but frankly, to further put on my old man hat, I just think the sonic mess is too great...it just sounds badly recorded...and not even a "recorded in a dumpster" way that The Thermals sometimes pull, but in a "I can't hear the actual song" way that I just don't care for.
Kids these days!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
April Showers - Secret Agent Gel - No Floor - 2006
Well, I'm back from my Christmas hiatus in the land of sweatpants and melted cheese and I managed to come back relatively unscathed. However...
For various reasons, I decided to rent a car and drive to visit my parents this winter. By and large this was a good decision that I do not regret, with one exception.
The drive from NYC to Cincinnati is about 11 hours long, and despite getting a late start and the fact that NYC got snow on the day before, our trips were relatively uneventful. 11 hours in a car can be a test on even the best of relationships, but my lady and I managed just fine enjoying the music and the sites and the road food. All was good.
The drive from my parents house in Cincy to my grandparents house in butt-fuck Indiana (Poland, IN, if you want to get technical about it) is typically about 2.5 to 3 hours. Shortly before we got to Indianapolis traffic began slowing down due to the freezing rain on the highway. By the time I pulled onto 465 (Indy's bipass) I was gliding through curves and clutching the wheel to make sure I stayed on track. Just west of Indy I got on 70 and stopped at the rest stop (which would later prove to be a great idea). Within ten minutes we were in completely stopped traffic. Between the hours of 430 and 1130 we moved about a mile and a half. I have to say both of us kept our temper pretty well (and hats off to my diabetic girlfriend for making it through without a potty break...or killing me). It wasn't until about 830 that I really started throwing my shit out the window (so to speak). For the first couple of hours you just sit there thinking "Well, this is annoying, but I'm just going to hang out with my grandparents, nothing that I can't be late for...surely it'll clear up any minute" And then it doesn't...and it doesn't...and it doesn't.
Even when we finally started moving again the roads were so icy that not much progress was being made. The fifteen mile drive to the next exit took an hour, when we finally got there we immediately went flying to the gas station bathroom and then went looking for hotel. Despite the fact that we were only 15 miles from my grandparents house, it was well after midnight and I wasn't sure I could navigate the country roads in the ice. However, the fact that all 4 hotels in the truckstop town were completely filled (People were even sleeping in the hallways and lobby) meant that I had to try my luck.
By the time I finally arrived at my grandparents it was 1:30...so it actually took me an hour longer to drive from Cincy to Poland, IN than it did from NYC to Cincy. But on the plus side, it's all over now.
This is my buddy Corey performing as Secret Agent Gel. His music is a bit more dancey and electronica-y than my usual taste, but I've gotta give my man credit for sound quality on this stuff and, as always, for having the hussle to produce his own work. That's more energy than I generally exert.
For various reasons, I decided to rent a car and drive to visit my parents this winter. By and large this was a good decision that I do not regret, with one exception.
The drive from NYC to Cincinnati is about 11 hours long, and despite getting a late start and the fact that NYC got snow on the day before, our trips were relatively uneventful. 11 hours in a car can be a test on even the best of relationships, but my lady and I managed just fine enjoying the music and the sites and the road food. All was good.
The drive from my parents house in Cincy to my grandparents house in butt-fuck Indiana (Poland, IN, if you want to get technical about it) is typically about 2.5 to 3 hours. Shortly before we got to Indianapolis traffic began slowing down due to the freezing rain on the highway. By the time I pulled onto 465 (Indy's bipass) I was gliding through curves and clutching the wheel to make sure I stayed on track. Just west of Indy I got on 70 and stopped at the rest stop (which would later prove to be a great idea). Within ten minutes we were in completely stopped traffic. Between the hours of 430 and 1130 we moved about a mile and a half. I have to say both of us kept our temper pretty well (and hats off to my diabetic girlfriend for making it through without a potty break...or killing me). It wasn't until about 830 that I really started throwing my shit out the window (so to speak). For the first couple of hours you just sit there thinking "Well, this is annoying, but I'm just going to hang out with my grandparents, nothing that I can't be late for...surely it'll clear up any minute" And then it doesn't...and it doesn't...and it doesn't.
Even when we finally started moving again the roads were so icy that not much progress was being made. The fifteen mile drive to the next exit took an hour, when we finally got there we immediately went flying to the gas station bathroom and then went looking for hotel. Despite the fact that we were only 15 miles from my grandparents house, it was well after midnight and I wasn't sure I could navigate the country roads in the ice. However, the fact that all 4 hotels in the truckstop town were completely filled (People were even sleeping in the hallways and lobby) meant that I had to try my luck.
By the time I finally arrived at my grandparents it was 1:30...so it actually took me an hour longer to drive from Cincy to Poland, IN than it did from NYC to Cincy. But on the plus side, it's all over now.
This is my buddy Corey performing as Secret Agent Gel. His music is a bit more dancey and electronica-y than my usual taste, but I've gotta give my man credit for sound quality on this stuff and, as always, for having the hussle to produce his own work. That's more energy than I generally exert.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Apres Moi - Regina Spektor - Begin to Hope - 2006
Okay, I will totally admit it...I don't often listen to music just cause the musician is hot, but I have Ms. Spektor on my iPod for two reasons (no, I'm not going for THAT crass of a joke): 1 I really think Fidelity is a good song, and 2 I'm a sucker for busty russian jews...hey, everybody has their thing.
Approaching Pavonis Mons by Balloon - The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots - 2002
Even in an instrumental, The Flaming Lips manage to squeeze some acid damaged goofiness in by giving the song an absurd (and somewhat dirty sounding title).
A filler track on what may stand as the last good Lips album.
A filler track on what may stand as the last good Lips album.
Approaching Lightspeed - Wolfsheim - Casting Shadows - 2003
So I was riding the elevator in my office downstairs to buy a soft drink, when it stopped on the third floor to pick up a passenger. To the best of my knowledge this was the first time I'd seen the 3rd floor of my building, and I noted with some curiosity that it was an empty floor, completely gutted.
This reminded me of something that I hadn't thought of in a good while. Back when I worked for my crazy dotcom in the financial district in the early part of this decade, there was a similarly gutted and vacant floor in our building that the young men of the company adopted as "the clubhouse".
Due to the fact that we were all over worked and underpaid (and all the bars in the financial district are either ungodly expensive or meant for fire fighters and construction workers) we'd go down to the local delis and pick up six packs (which were equally inflated - $11 for a 6 of Bud, $14 for imports) and go hang out on this abandoned floor, drink and smoke and play baseball with a broken mop handle and the company's branded stressballs that we had in droves. It was nice to have a cheap hang out, in a city where space is at a premium and watchful eyes are everywhere.
I'm certainly guilty of romanticizing this period of my life on a basically daily basis, but tell me that it doesn't sound appealing. An empty floor of a an office building, a bunch of guys, a few six packs, and a game...what more could a man ask for at the end of a hard day of work?
Anyway, this is more German electropop. Not bad and a little more energetic than their previous entry.
This reminded me of something that I hadn't thought of in a good while. Back when I worked for my crazy dotcom in the financial district in the early part of this decade, there was a similarly gutted and vacant floor in our building that the young men of the company adopted as "the clubhouse".
Due to the fact that we were all over worked and underpaid (and all the bars in the financial district are either ungodly expensive or meant for fire fighters and construction workers) we'd go down to the local delis and pick up six packs (which were equally inflated - $11 for a 6 of Bud, $14 for imports) and go hang out on this abandoned floor, drink and smoke and play baseball with a broken mop handle and the company's branded stressballs that we had in droves. It was nice to have a cheap hang out, in a city where space is at a premium and watchful eyes are everywhere.
I'm certainly guilty of romanticizing this period of my life on a basically daily basis, but tell me that it doesn't sound appealing. An empty floor of a an office building, a bunch of guys, a few six packs, and a game...what more could a man ask for at the end of a hard day of work?
Anyway, this is more German electropop. Not bad and a little more energetic than their previous entry.
Apply Some Pressure - Maximo Park - A Certain Trigger
Of all of the post-Libertine's bands to come flooding out of England in the middle part of this decade, Maximo Park seemed like the forgotten middle child. They lacked the spikey ferocity and politcal savvy of Bloc Party, but weren't as monotonous as one song wonders like The Cribs or The Fratellis. But as Bloc Party has released two underwhelming follow ups that have takent he bloom off their rose (and the other two bands have released lack luster follow ups that confirmed them as one trick ponies) the Gang of Four-esque pop of these Newcastle lads seems more and more appealing by the day.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Apples in the Trees - Mirah - Advisory Comittee - 2001
If you read this blog, you probably know that I am a fairly cynical person. (Actually, if you read this blog, you probably actually KNOW ME...so that's probably an unneccesary statement). I dislike forced sentimentality or any easy play on my emotions. I find traditions for traditions sake appalling, and I find the state of modern religion to be horrifying.
Having said all that, it might come as something of a surprise that I am a sucker for Christmas. And no, not cause of gifts, I rarely get many. No, I love the whole thing...okay, that's not true either, I hate the crass commercialism of the current incarnation. But I love the spirit of Christmas. The idea of a day in which we celebrate the possibility of good, of charity and love and hope in our darkest hour, the idea that God sent someone to help us...all of this fills me with warmth. I love the lights and the songs and the good cheer. I even love fucking egg nog.
And perhaps absurdly I love A Christmas Carol...and in particular the 1984 made for TV version with the incomporable George C. Scott, which I watched on TV last night.
I remember the Christmas of 1984 when it ran on TV laying on the floor of the living room of my grandmother's house with the other grandchildren (of which I'm the oldest) watching in awe and comforting the younger kids (I was all of 9) during the "scary" parts. And this became a tradition for the may years in which they continued to run it. I remember reading and re-reading the little leather bound copy my grandmother had on her book shelf. To me, this movie is Christmas.
It's memorable for many reasons, probably most for Scott's performance which is never cartoony and just campy enough to be vastly entertaining. You have all of the Dickensian/Victorian trappings...God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Here We Come a Wassaling, bed curtains, Jacob Marley's chains, Mr. Fezzywhig, Belle's punch, Scrooge's maid...and of course Tiny Tim's RIDICULOUS British lisp.
The thing that really struck me the most in this viewing though was that...viewing the film now, as an adult, the reactions of the various characters to the reformed Scrooge are really wonderful. To them, without the benifits of specteral holiday visitors, it must have seemed as if Scrooge has had a stroke and accidentally emerged a better man. They look at him out of the side of their eyes, as if expecting at any moment for the miserable old fuck they knew for all these years to emerge, only to still be talking to this strangely jolly old man. Fred Hollywell can't even figure out why he'd be at the front door. The men from the orphanage wait for the moment where he reveals he's fucking with them, only for it never to come. Bob Cratchit assumes he's about to be fired at any minute.
Really really good stuff, and all in the holiday spirit...and we certainly need that these days. Between world events and the fact that it is 443 PM and already pitchblack here in NYC...we could use a little of the Ghost of Christmas present with his bright torch and jolly ways.
Anyway, this in no way connects to Mirah and her hippie Portland lesbian ways...but while I prefer You Think It's Like This...to the more adventuresome and less succesful Advisory Comittee, this is one of the better songs on the album.
Having said all that, it might come as something of a surprise that I am a sucker for Christmas. And no, not cause of gifts, I rarely get many. No, I love the whole thing...okay, that's not true either, I hate the crass commercialism of the current incarnation. But I love the spirit of Christmas. The idea of a day in which we celebrate the possibility of good, of charity and love and hope in our darkest hour, the idea that God sent someone to help us...all of this fills me with warmth. I love the lights and the songs and the good cheer. I even love fucking egg nog.
And perhaps absurdly I love A Christmas Carol...and in particular the 1984 made for TV version with the incomporable George C. Scott, which I watched on TV last night.
I remember the Christmas of 1984 when it ran on TV laying on the floor of the living room of my grandmother's house with the other grandchildren (of which I'm the oldest) watching in awe and comforting the younger kids (I was all of 9) during the "scary" parts. And this became a tradition for the may years in which they continued to run it. I remember reading and re-reading the little leather bound copy my grandmother had on her book shelf. To me, this movie is Christmas.
It's memorable for many reasons, probably most for Scott's performance which is never cartoony and just campy enough to be vastly entertaining. You have all of the Dickensian/Victorian trappings...God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Here We Come a Wassaling, bed curtains, Jacob Marley's chains, Mr. Fezzywhig, Belle's punch, Scrooge's maid...and of course Tiny Tim's RIDICULOUS British lisp.
The thing that really struck me the most in this viewing though was that...viewing the film now, as an adult, the reactions of the various characters to the reformed Scrooge are really wonderful. To them, without the benifits of specteral holiday visitors, it must have seemed as if Scrooge has had a stroke and accidentally emerged a better man. They look at him out of the side of their eyes, as if expecting at any moment for the miserable old fuck they knew for all these years to emerge, only to still be talking to this strangely jolly old man. Fred Hollywell can't even figure out why he'd be at the front door. The men from the orphanage wait for the moment where he reveals he's fucking with them, only for it never to come. Bob Cratchit assumes he's about to be fired at any minute.
Really really good stuff, and all in the holiday spirit...and we certainly need that these days. Between world events and the fact that it is 443 PM and already pitchblack here in NYC...we could use a little of the Ghost of Christmas present with his bright torch and jolly ways.
Anyway, this in no way connects to Mirah and her hippie Portland lesbian ways...but while I prefer You Think It's Like This...to the more adventuresome and less succesful Advisory Comittee, this is one of the better songs on the album.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Apple Tree - Wolfmother - Wolfmother - 2005
So my buddy Rance and I went out to a new-ish bar in Brooklyn and discovered quite a gem (Ok, fair credit to Rance, he went there first). But the Draft Barn is tucked away on the industrial wasteland of 3rd Ave and 12th St...which is of course becoming less of a wasteland by the day.
It's a big German style (well Austro-Hungarian actually) bar with standing tables at the front and proper booths at the back. The Russian bar tender, who I believe is also part owner, was very enthused about the place and knew his beers. In fact he knew them so well that Rance and I didn't walk out of there so much as stagger...but hey, that's why you go to a beer hall.
Also, the beer crutons are simultaneously the best and worst bar food ever invented. Old bread, dipped in beer then deep fried and covered in salt is exactly what you want to eat when you are drinking tons of beer, and damn are they addictive...however I was still full until about noon today. Also, the made-especially-for-this-restaurant sausage was fantastic.
Anyway, this is Wolfmother doing their best Sabbath impression, and as always doing it fairly well.
It's a big German style (well Austro-Hungarian actually) bar with standing tables at the front and proper booths at the back. The Russian bar tender, who I believe is also part owner, was very enthused about the place and knew his beers. In fact he knew them so well that Rance and I didn't walk out of there so much as stagger...but hey, that's why you go to a beer hall.
Also, the beer crutons are simultaneously the best and worst bar food ever invented. Old bread, dipped in beer then deep fried and covered in salt is exactly what you want to eat when you are drinking tons of beer, and damn are they addictive...however I was still full until about noon today. Also, the made-especially-for-this-restaurant sausage was fantastic.
Anyway, this is Wolfmother doing their best Sabbath impression, and as always doing it fairly well.
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Apple Tree - Peter and the Wolf - Lightness - 2006
Popular music (along with any art, commerce, politics, etc, etc) seems to be in a constant struggle between it's more conservative elements and the promises of a new and technological society. The argument is at least as old as the furor around "Dylan goes electric", and probably reached it's apotheosis during the grunge heyday when Vedder and Cobain (backed by Grampa Neil Young) were shouting from the roof tops that drum machines and studio trickery were soulless and not worthy of being called rock music.
It seems like the current version of this debate takes place between the increasingly collage and sample based electronica that has become more and more a staple of the Pitchfork scene, and this...it's almost diametrical opposite. If Grunge longed for the analog world of late 60's early, 70's metal...this stuff seems to pine for the days before amplification was even invented. A sort of O'Brother Where Art Thou chic. Of course the argument could easily be pushed back even further to state that the music is being "polluted" by the technology of recording. The only truly pure music would be entirely acoustic and performed live...like in the good old days. Hell, maybe we should push back and say musical instruments are themselves a corruption...nothing but acapella music. Viva Bobby McPharin!
But on the flip side, it's really hard to get a madrigal choir to fit in your ear buds...and trust me, I've tried.
It seems like the current version of this debate takes place between the increasingly collage and sample based electronica that has become more and more a staple of the Pitchfork scene, and this...it's almost diametrical opposite. If Grunge longed for the analog world of late 60's early, 70's metal...this stuff seems to pine for the days before amplification was even invented. A sort of O'Brother Where Art Thou chic. Of course the argument could easily be pushed back even further to state that the music is being "polluted" by the technology of recording. The only truly pure music would be entirely acoustic and performed live...like in the good old days. Hell, maybe we should push back and say musical instruments are themselves a corruption...nothing but acapella music. Viva Bobby McPharin!
But on the flip side, it's really hard to get a madrigal choir to fit in your ear buds...and trust me, I've tried.
Apple Bed - Sparklehorse - It's A Wonderful Life - 2001
So, it's been a good long while since I've had a proper rant at the MTA. Figure it's about time. Sure, sure I could go on and on about how their bad management means that we are going to have to deal with even more price increases and somehow LESS services next year...but enough has been said about the economy, that I can only be so mad at the MTA for being a part of it.
No, I'm going to bitch about how long it took me to get to and from Astoria this weekend. Now for those of you who don't know...this is a relatively lengthy trip from Brooklyn to Queens even during the best of times. Since the majority of trains are designed to route people from the outer borroughs to and from Manhattan, getting from one outer borrough to the other usually requires some work. The trip should probably take slightly less than an hour.
But this weekend the MTA decided to do a ton of construction (on the weekend before Thanksgiving?!?!) So the trip actually involved taking 4 trains and nearly an hour and 45 minutes. Q to Union Square, N to TImes square (Yes, I know I could have stayed on the Q...but I didn't know the N was terminating in Times Square)...the fucking ancient 7 train to another section of the N that was running just between Queensboro plaza and Astoria. On top of this, it was also the first bitterly cold weekend of this late fall...which meant standing on the above ground platforms in Queens (right next to the east river) was both painful and tedious.
Seriously...are the MTA just bound and determined to make our lives miserable?
Anyway, this is Sparklehorse from the album where all the songs are about post modern cowboys. I like this album when it's upbeat and like it less when it's in it's sort of vicodan coma that Mark Linkous loves so much. This is a slower song, but it's one of the ones I like better. That's about it.
No, I'm going to bitch about how long it took me to get to and from Astoria this weekend. Now for those of you who don't know...this is a relatively lengthy trip from Brooklyn to Queens even during the best of times. Since the majority of trains are designed to route people from the outer borroughs to and from Manhattan, getting from one outer borrough to the other usually requires some work. The trip should probably take slightly less than an hour.
But this weekend the MTA decided to do a ton of construction (on the weekend before Thanksgiving?!?!) So the trip actually involved taking 4 trains and nearly an hour and 45 minutes. Q to Union Square, N to TImes square (Yes, I know I could have stayed on the Q...but I didn't know the N was terminating in Times Square)...the fucking ancient 7 train to another section of the N that was running just between Queensboro plaza and Astoria. On top of this, it was also the first bitterly cold weekend of this late fall...which meant standing on the above ground platforms in Queens (right next to the east river) was both painful and tedious.
Seriously...are the MTA just bound and determined to make our lives miserable?
Anyway, this is Sparklehorse from the album where all the songs are about post modern cowboys. I like this album when it's upbeat and like it less when it's in it's sort of vicodan coma that Mark Linkous loves so much. This is a slower song, but it's one of the ones I like better. That's about it.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Appeasement - J.L. Weill - Tales from the Cold War - 2007
So I went out drinking with my coworkers last night for a couple of birthdays we had last week. After a while I broke out one of my favorite party tricks which is to find the person least likely to turn down a free drink and offer to buy them the most disgusting drink on the menu.
In this case, at The Soho Room, the drink was The Bubbletini...sadly, the drink did not involve Tapioca balls...which I was hoping it would, as this would vastly increase the fun of making the poor guy drink this concoction...but sadly it was just Pomegranite Infused Vodka, Orange Juice, and some other fruity liquer. Which basically raises the question...why call this the Bubbletini? There's nothing bubbly about it.
Additionally, the evening was made more entertaining by the fact that some new rum was having a promotion and we were basically teh only customers in the bar. The shot girls told us that they were not allowed to hand out more than one shot per person, but that they could leave trays of shots on the bar, and if we happened to come up and take them...so be it...
So there were a lot of fruity rum shots in my evening.
Anyway, this is a song by one of my closest friends, (and occasional blog commentator) so I don't know that I can be objective about it. He and his wife Torie sing very well together and the arrangement is really quite good and adds to the melencholy atmosphere that he's aiming to create. I give Josh a hard time that he doesn't "rock" enough for my taste...but I've always respected his ability to write a good melody, and this song is no exception.
In this case, at The Soho Room, the drink was The Bubbletini...sadly, the drink did not involve Tapioca balls...which I was hoping it would, as this would vastly increase the fun of making the poor guy drink this concoction...but sadly it was just Pomegranite Infused Vodka, Orange Juice, and some other fruity liquer. Which basically raises the question...why call this the Bubbletini? There's nothing bubbly about it.
Additionally, the evening was made more entertaining by the fact that some new rum was having a promotion and we were basically teh only customers in the bar. The shot girls told us that they were not allowed to hand out more than one shot per person, but that they could leave trays of shots on the bar, and if we happened to come up and take them...so be it...
So there were a lot of fruity rum shots in my evening.
Anyway, this is a song by one of my closest friends, (and occasional blog commentator) so I don't know that I can be objective about it. He and his wife Torie sing very well together and the arrangement is really quite good and adds to the melencholy atmosphere that he's aiming to create. I give Josh a hard time that he doesn't "rock" enough for my taste...but I've always respected his ability to write a good melody, and this song is no exception.
Apology Song - The Decemberists - 5 Songs EP - 2003
And speaking of obnoxiously literate people...I generally find the 5 Songs EP (on which this is the 6th song) to be the least annoying of The Decemberists' albums, but this is the most annoying song on it...though there are some moments of great comedy on it. Essientially, the apology in question is regarding a bicycle that the narrator was asked to watch while it's owner was in England. While in his care the bicycle was stolen.
The humor comes mostly (well other than the subject as a whole) from Meloy's attempt to imagine the fate of the bicycle ("I bet it's at the bottom of some French town's pond, rudely abused as some Hesher's joyride")...but the problem with this, along with most funny songs is, once the humor has worn off...you are left with a goofy obnoxious song.
The humor comes mostly (well other than the subject as a whole) from Meloy's attempt to imagine the fate of the bicycle ("I bet it's at the bottom of some French town's pond, rudely abused as some Hesher's joyride")...but the problem with this, along with most funny songs is, once the humor has worn off...you are left with a goofy obnoxious song.
Apology - The Posies - Dear 23 - 1990
Okay, one thing I definitely need to remember...just cause my gym gets a hold of some new exercise equipment does not mean that I need to try it out. I looked at all the shiny new back exercise machines and thought "Yeah, I could strengthen my back...maybe that'd help my posture..."
Now my back is a solid cape of sore muscles...not pleasant at all.
Anyway, here is another obnoxiously literate song from the Posies first real album. Words and phrases featured in this song: Disenchantment, Running Rampant, If it Illustrates the Nonesuch Nomenclature, "And The Stones Will Weep, in a Modest Fashion, but Don't Expect Too Much You Might be Disappointed."
With a vocabulary like that and a need to show it off, no wonder everyone hated me as an 18 year old.
This song is also an unfortunate example of a song whose verses are better than it's chorus...the chorus becomes something of a let down. But still The Posies sharp harmonies and Beatlesque melodies make the song at least somewhat worthwhile.
Now my back is a solid cape of sore muscles...not pleasant at all.
Anyway, here is another obnoxiously literate song from the Posies first real album. Words and phrases featured in this song: Disenchantment, Running Rampant, If it Illustrates the Nonesuch Nomenclature, "And The Stones Will Weep, in a Modest Fashion, but Don't Expect Too Much You Might be Disappointed."
With a vocabulary like that and a need to show it off, no wonder everyone hated me as an 18 year old.
This song is also an unfortunate example of a song whose verses are better than it's chorus...the chorus becomes something of a let down. But still The Posies sharp harmonies and Beatlesque melodies make the song at least somewhat worthwhile.
The Apologist - R.E.M. - Up - 1998
So anyway, we watch this Girltalk show after giving up on being down in the elbow fest that was the ground floor we decided to head up to the much more sedate second floor. The show wraps up and we head for the coat check...which is also on the second floor, so we get a relatively decent place in line.
Now, it was a cold night, and Girltalk is the kind of show that chicks dance at...so most people had worn heavy coats and then checked them into the coat check. The problem was, people show up in trickles...but they all want to leave at the same time. The coat check line quickly decended into chaos, and our place in line was of little importance.
Finally after easily 20 minutes of waiting, we make it to the front of the line. My lady friend had suggested that we give all five coat tickets to one of her friends, as she could lead with her cleavage. Seeing the wisdom of this plan, I turned over the tickets. However, when she collected the coats, she turned to me and said "They lost Anne's coat..."
So, I make my way up to the front to check out the situation, and at this point my temper was on edge. I talk to the floppy haired douchebag behind the counter and he tells me that he needs a description. So I say "It's a small woman's pea coat".
"Dude, I don't know what the hell a peacoat is."
Okay...now maybe I could have been more polite at this point, but I really was in no mood for this shit, so I responded with "It's the same fucking black boxy coat with the big anchor buttons that every fucking chick in New York City wears in the winter!"
At this point, Anne's friends pulled me away from the window, figuring the cleavage would do more good than my incohate rage. So they call Anne to come to the front to help identify it, but the problem is there is a bouncer in between her and the coat check window. And this tiny little prick decides that the only thing he can do in his futile effort at crowd control is to stop my tiny 108 pound girlfriend from claiming her lost coat.
"Sorry ma'am you are just going to have wait until everyone else clears out, I can't let you go up there."
It was at this moment that I basically went bat shit. He was considerably smaller than me, younger than me, and in over his head...so I just went in with both feet and started going off on the dude. Phrases that left my mouth included:
"Look, she's my girlfriend and she wants to stand up here so she can help sort out this mess, what exact problem do you think she's going to cause?"
"What are you going to do, escort me from the building? Try it."
"We paid you to watch our coats, and you incompetant fucks couldn't even handle that job right...I want her coat and I want it now."
"It's a Sunday night, I have to work tomorrow, I want to go home and get some sleep, and now because you all screwed up, I have to wait till this clusterfuck clears up to claim my girlfriend's coat. That's bullshit"
The floppy haired douchebag came out at this point and opinied (sadly, correctly) "this guy is a total asshole"
Finally they got their manager to come out, who actually spoke to me like a reasonable person and allowed Anne to find her coat. He even thanked me for being reasonable at the end of the night.
I suppose I could make a connection to The Apologist by saying something about oweing the staff of Terminal 5's coat check an apology, but frankly fuck those guys hard with both fists.
The song itself, is another decent track from REM's last decent album. Not my favorite on the album, but they've made far worse.
Now, it was a cold night, and Girltalk is the kind of show that chicks dance at...so most people had worn heavy coats and then checked them into the coat check. The problem was, people show up in trickles...but they all want to leave at the same time. The coat check line quickly decended into chaos, and our place in line was of little importance.
Finally after easily 20 minutes of waiting, we make it to the front of the line. My lady friend had suggested that we give all five coat tickets to one of her friends, as she could lead with her cleavage. Seeing the wisdom of this plan, I turned over the tickets. However, when she collected the coats, she turned to me and said "They lost Anne's coat..."
So, I make my way up to the front to check out the situation, and at this point my temper was on edge. I talk to the floppy haired douchebag behind the counter and he tells me that he needs a description. So I say "It's a small woman's pea coat".
"Dude, I don't know what the hell a peacoat is."
Okay...now maybe I could have been more polite at this point, but I really was in no mood for this shit, so I responded with "It's the same fucking black boxy coat with the big anchor buttons that every fucking chick in New York City wears in the winter!"
At this point, Anne's friends pulled me away from the window, figuring the cleavage would do more good than my incohate rage. So they call Anne to come to the front to help identify it, but the problem is there is a bouncer in between her and the coat check window. And this tiny little prick decides that the only thing he can do in his futile effort at crowd control is to stop my tiny 108 pound girlfriend from claiming her lost coat.
"Sorry ma'am you are just going to have wait until everyone else clears out, I can't let you go up there."
It was at this moment that I basically went bat shit. He was considerably smaller than me, younger than me, and in over his head...so I just went in with both feet and started going off on the dude. Phrases that left my mouth included:
"Look, she's my girlfriend and she wants to stand up here so she can help sort out this mess, what exact problem do you think she's going to cause?"
"What are you going to do, escort me from the building? Try it."
"We paid you to watch our coats, and you incompetant fucks couldn't even handle that job right...I want her coat and I want it now."
"It's a Sunday night, I have to work tomorrow, I want to go home and get some sleep, and now because you all screwed up, I have to wait till this clusterfuck clears up to claim my girlfriend's coat. That's bullshit"
The floppy haired douchebag came out at this point and opinied (sadly, correctly) "this guy is a total asshole"
Finally they got their manager to come out, who actually spoke to me like a reasonable person and allowed Anne to find her coat. He even thanked me for being reasonable at the end of the night.
I suppose I could make a connection to The Apologist by saying something about oweing the staff of Terminal 5's coat check an apology, but frankly fuck those guys hard with both fists.
The song itself, is another decent track from REM's last decent album. Not my favorite on the album, but they've made far worse.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Apocalypso - Mew - Mew and the Glass Handed Kites - 2005
So I went with my lady friend to see the Girltalk show at Terminal Five last weekend. I went in totally expecting to feel like the oldest person on the planet, and was not really disappointed on that front. But the night turned out to be a lot more eventful than merely me getting drunk and feeling like a codger. (It certainly helped that my lady friend and her mid-twenties friends were ALSO on the older side of the crowd).
We're at the show, and the girls all take their group trip to the bathroom, leaving me to hit the bar. I'm standing in the middle of the long bar, trying to get the bar tender's attention. I look behind me and realize there is a girl standing uncomfortably close to me on my left. I quickly turn back around, avoiding eye contact. On top of the fact that she was really not my type (willowy blonde) my girlfriend was also going to be back from the bathroom any second and this was really not the time for me to be making small talk with some sweet young thing.
But the lady is persistant and starts making conversation with me. Starting with the ubiquitous "Where are you from?" I could smell that something was up...she clearly wanted something other than some conversation from a tall dark stranger. So after a few awkward exchanges she finally cut to the chase. "See, I'd really like to get a vodka cranberry, but I have this problem with my wristband..."
Now, as I've stated here before, I don't really have a problem with underage drinking, but I was not about to get into this situation. Buying an underage (for drinking) girl a drink at an all ages show with my girlfriend seconds from returning was all kinds of trouble I was not looking to get in. So I politely decline and wish her luck. At which point she shakes my hand and says "Indiana breeds very moral people. I commend you"...
Now was she a Jump Street cop? Or just the most self possessed 19 year old ever? I have no clue...but it was definitely an odd begining to an even more odd night.
To be continued...
Oh, and this is Mew doing it's usual Scandanavian arena rock with indie rock charm bit. Totally fun, if not life changing.
We're at the show, and the girls all take their group trip to the bathroom, leaving me to hit the bar. I'm standing in the middle of the long bar, trying to get the bar tender's attention. I look behind me and realize there is a girl standing uncomfortably close to me on my left. I quickly turn back around, avoiding eye contact. On top of the fact that she was really not my type (willowy blonde) my girlfriend was also going to be back from the bathroom any second and this was really not the time for me to be making small talk with some sweet young thing.
But the lady is persistant and starts making conversation with me. Starting with the ubiquitous "Where are you from?" I could smell that something was up...she clearly wanted something other than some conversation from a tall dark stranger. So after a few awkward exchanges she finally cut to the chase. "See, I'd really like to get a vodka cranberry, but I have this problem with my wristband..."
Now, as I've stated here before, I don't really have a problem with underage drinking, but I was not about to get into this situation. Buying an underage (for drinking) girl a drink at an all ages show with my girlfriend seconds from returning was all kinds of trouble I was not looking to get in. So I politely decline and wish her luck. At which point she shakes my hand and says "Indiana breeds very moral people. I commend you"...
Now was she a Jump Street cop? Or just the most self possessed 19 year old ever? I have no clue...but it was definitely an odd begining to an even more odd night.
To be continued...
Oh, and this is Mew doing it's usual Scandanavian arena rock with indie rock charm bit. Totally fun, if not life changing.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Apartment Story - The National - Boxer - 2007
Despite my vote for Boxer as the best album of 2007, The National remain a band that I wish were better. The problem is, songs like this prove they are capable of being more than a maudlin band full of existiental urban angst...songs like this prove they can actually rock and still keep their philosophical bent.
I will need a little more time before I decide if this song is really worthy of being called perfect, but...between the hypnotic, all snare, drumming, the churning bassline, the haunting organ, and the restrained, buzz-saw guitars, the song manages to mix whimsy and dread in equal parts, while Matt Beringer's lyrics tell a tale that could be about a couple riding out a blizzard trapped in their apartment, or perhaps it's the apocalypse, who can say?
Not to try and be the "I was with this band way back then" guy...but honestly, the parrallels between this band and me are rather noteworthy and lead to me getting into them around the time of their first album. Like me Beringer is from relatively small town Indiana, came to Cincinnati to try to do things better...found that place woefully inadequate and came to New York during the dotcom boom. Now they, like me, call Brooklyn their home. Honestly, I love this band...I just wish their gloomy world view wasn't always so mirred in lethargic rhythms.
I will need a little more time before I decide if this song is really worthy of being called perfect, but...between the hypnotic, all snare, drumming, the churning bassline, the haunting organ, and the restrained, buzz-saw guitars, the song manages to mix whimsy and dread in equal parts, while Matt Beringer's lyrics tell a tale that could be about a couple riding out a blizzard trapped in their apartment, or perhaps it's the apocalypse, who can say?
Not to try and be the "I was with this band way back then" guy...but honestly, the parrallels between this band and me are rather noteworthy and lead to me getting into them around the time of their first album. Like me Beringer is from relatively small town Indiana, came to Cincinnati to try to do things better...found that place woefully inadequate and came to New York during the dotcom boom. Now they, like me, call Brooklyn their home. Honestly, I love this band...I just wish their gloomy world view wasn't always so mirred in lethargic rhythms.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Anytown Graffiti - Pela - Anytown Graffiti - 2007
Every once in a while my REALLY nerdy side rears its ugly head and I'll watch a really bad sword and sandalls kind of movie. And I have to say, I watched an atrotiously bad one earlier this week that reminded me of what a broad spectrum of nerds there are in this world.
Keep in mind the Venn diagram of nerddom that was required to produce a film specifically geared towards the intersection of fans of the Roman Empire, specifically Britain during the Roman occupation and the attempts to find some historicity in the Arthurian Legend during this period. Throw in an absurdly large laddle fall of rabid anglophilia, Ben Kingsley as a proto-Merlin with an absolutely hack Welsh accent, Colin Firth looking in no way embarrassed, a hot indian chick inexplicably kicking everone's ass, and some of those great moments where a telling line of dialouge is followed by a pregnant pause so that the brain dead audience can get the inference (for instance, Colin Firth lays dying on a battle field and the 10 year old exiled emperor of Rome approaches him to tell him he fought "like a dragon", Colin Firth then says "And you fought like the son of a dragon"...que pregnant pause so that the audience, who is nerdy enough to know that Pendragon means "Son of the Dragon" can absorb the fact that he has just been christened and will one day be Arthur's father...just first rate shit).
Anyway, it was a really bad movie...and there are probably people who loved it.
Much like this song...actually this song isn't that bad, it's just kind of bland...and there are probably people that love it.
Keep in mind the Venn diagram of nerddom that was required to produce a film specifically geared towards the intersection of fans of the Roman Empire, specifically Britain during the Roman occupation and the attempts to find some historicity in the Arthurian Legend during this period. Throw in an absurdly large laddle fall of rabid anglophilia, Ben Kingsley as a proto-Merlin with an absolutely hack Welsh accent, Colin Firth looking in no way embarrassed, a hot indian chick inexplicably kicking everone's ass, and some of those great moments where a telling line of dialouge is followed by a pregnant pause so that the brain dead audience can get the inference (for instance, Colin Firth lays dying on a battle field and the 10 year old exiled emperor of Rome approaches him to tell him he fought "like a dragon", Colin Firth then says "And you fought like the son of a dragon"...que pregnant pause so that the audience, who is nerdy enough to know that Pendragon means "Son of the Dragon" can absorb the fact that he has just been christened and will one day be Arthur's father...just first rate shit).
Anyway, it was a really bad movie...and there are probably people who loved it.
Much like this song...actually this song isn't that bad, it's just kind of bland...and there are probably people that love it.
Anything You Want - Spoon - Girls Can Tell - 2000
Ok, so I have a category for perfect songs, and I can hardly think of a better entry for it than this little gem from Spoon. At a spry 2:17 it is unbelievably short, but still seems to pack the same punch as a longer song all the while managing to be both remarkably laid back and heartbreakingly romantic.
In terms of sound, this song prefigures the musical choices that would become more quintessentially Spoon on later albums, primarily in the use of sonic vacuums to suggest the space in which other instruments would later appear. Take the piano riff that serves as the songs primary bass line (There is a bass part, but it's pretty innocuous). The first measure is played at regular volume whereas the second measure is played in hushed and subdued manner...once you are somewhat familiar with the song this space in the second measure is identifiable as the place in which the guitar will appear in the second pass through. Spoon want you to see how their songs are put together, so they show you the place in between the instruments.
Beyond that...the lyrics are...that wonderful mix of nonchalant and lovelorn. Somehow, the line "I'll be in the back room drinking my half of the beer" ends up sounding like the sexiest come on line ever, and the amazing one-breath delivery of "You know you're the one and that that hasn't changed since you were 19 and still in school waiting on the light at the corner by Sound Exchange" becomes a pledge of eternal devotion.
Like I said, perfect song.
In terms of sound, this song prefigures the musical choices that would become more quintessentially Spoon on later albums, primarily in the use of sonic vacuums to suggest the space in which other instruments would later appear. Take the piano riff that serves as the songs primary bass line (There is a bass part, but it's pretty innocuous). The first measure is played at regular volume whereas the second measure is played in hushed and subdued manner...once you are somewhat familiar with the song this space in the second measure is identifiable as the place in which the guitar will appear in the second pass through. Spoon want you to see how their songs are put together, so they show you the place in between the instruments.
Beyond that...the lyrics are...that wonderful mix of nonchalant and lovelorn. Somehow, the line "I'll be in the back room drinking my half of the beer" ends up sounding like the sexiest come on line ever, and the amazing one-breath delivery of "You know you're the one and that that hasn't changed since you were 19 and still in school waiting on the light at the corner by Sound Exchange" becomes a pledge of eternal devotion.
Like I said, perfect song.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Anything You Want - Britt Daniel - Solo Acoustic at WNYU - 2001
Here's Britt doing a solo acoustic version of one of the sweetest (in the real sense of the word) songs ever. I'll talk more about it when I talk about the album version.
Anything Goes - Guns N Roses - Appetite for Destruction - 1987
I remember the tempest in a tea cup that followed GnR's initial success was largely focused on this song (before One In A Million two years later would overshadow it). In hindsite, the line "your panties round your knees and your ass in debris" does seem slightly misogynistic...but the barrage of raunch that we've seen in the...gulp...21 years since this album, has almost made that line seem quant and romantic.
Either way, this was never my favorite song off AFD...kinda monotonous and not that interesting. I'll take Rocket Queen any day of the week.
Either way, this was never my favorite song off AFD...kinda monotonous and not that interesting. I'll take Rocket Queen any day of the week.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Any Place Is Paradise - Elvis Presley - Elvis - 1956
People tend to think there are only two Elvis'...young rock-a-billy Elvis in his black leather coat, and old Vegas Elvis in his white sequined jump suit...but in reality Elvis contained multitudes. There was Country Elvis, Gospel Elvis, Soul Elvis, Beach Elvis, Army Elvis, Gay Elvis, Asian Elvis (okay, I'm making shit up)...but most striking of all, to me, is there was the Elvis who was not drastically different (in the music he made) than Dean Martin...it's so strange, with the benefit of hindsite, to see how little difference there was between the early rock and roll that parents got so upset about, and the very music that they were listening too.
Anyway, not a bad song.
Anyway, not a bad song.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Anyone Who's Anyone - Sloan - One Chord to Another - 1997
Ok, sorry for the lack of updates last week. It was a hectic week for me, both personally and professionally. Hopefully, the semi-regular service will resume now.
So, to resume the bitching...I was out during my lunch break and realized that I didn't have enough cash. I swung into a Duane Reade where they have Chase ATMs. An old Russian woman and her daughter were at the machine and there was one guy in front of me, so nothing too bad...except that old russian woman stayed at the machine for easily ten minutes. It was ridiculous...adn this is an ATM in a drug store...it's not like she could do balance transfers and deposits. She was taking 10 minutes (with her 30 something daughter's help) to WITHDRAWAL CASH. Seriouly, if you can't handle the complicated technology in a freaking ATM machine, it's time to move out of The Big Apple and down to Florida. You're holding the rest of us up.
The problem with multi-singer songwriter bands is frequently that not all the songwriters are on the same level of skill. Some of your writers could be John or Paul, others Ringo. I've never liked Sloan enough to try to discern which of it's 4 songwriters are which, but whichever one this is...he's the Ringo...though honestly, he's a little better than Ringo. I mean, this is no Octopus' Garden, but it's certainly much weaker than the other material on this not coincidentally Beatle-esque album. Other than the uncharacteristically abrassive sonics, this is pretty dull stuff on an otherwise decent album.
So, to resume the bitching...I was out during my lunch break and realized that I didn't have enough cash. I swung into a Duane Reade where they have Chase ATMs. An old Russian woman and her daughter were at the machine and there was one guy in front of me, so nothing too bad...except that old russian woman stayed at the machine for easily ten minutes. It was ridiculous...adn this is an ATM in a drug store...it's not like she could do balance transfers and deposits. She was taking 10 minutes (with her 30 something daughter's help) to WITHDRAWAL CASH. Seriouly, if you can't handle the complicated technology in a freaking ATM machine, it's time to move out of The Big Apple and down to Florida. You're holding the rest of us up.
The problem with multi-singer songwriter bands is frequently that not all the songwriters are on the same level of skill. Some of your writers could be John or Paul, others Ringo. I've never liked Sloan enough to try to discern which of it's 4 songwriters are which, but whichever one this is...he's the Ringo...though honestly, he's a little better than Ringo. I mean, this is no Octopus' Garden, but it's certainly much weaker than the other material on this not coincidentally Beatle-esque album. Other than the uncharacteristically abrassive sonics, this is pretty dull stuff on an otherwise decent album.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Anyone Can Play Guitar - Radiohead - Pablo Honey - 1993
Taking a half day from work today for my buddy Anand's birthday. In less than an hour I will be eating ribs, getting my drink on, and then heading out to watch Arsenal (hopefully) whip Tottenham today.
Pablo Honey continues to hold an odd place in the Radiohead Canon. It's not that it's a bad album, in fact there are probably more good songs than bad or indifferent, it's just that it can't escape what it is. Riding the wave of Nirvana (though the band will deny it) they were really the first band on the Alternative Nation bandwagon. Creep, with it's atonal touches and alienated lyrics, seemed like a perfect follow up to Smell's Like Teen Spirit (Incidentally, I saw Teen Spirit Deodarant in the deli downstairs this AM...didn't even know they still made it and can't believe they stuck with that name). The album shamelessly bleeds their Pixies influence, and it is unapologeticaly catchy (a quality that would seem like a sin to the band for a good while). But still you can't dismiss it.
First of all, it proves that a band can escape the chains of being a one hit wonder. Tons and tons of bands got consigned to the dollar bin after breaking a Nirvana clone hit, but a very select few, with Radiohead at the forefront, went on to do genuinely good work...and that has to give people hope.
Beyond that, too many of the songs, trapped in the amber of the early 90's as they are, are just enjoyable. They may not have the timeless quality of a Street Spirit or Karma Police...they are undeniably part of the Alterna-revolution, but they still have the bits of talent the band would put to better use down the road. This song is no exception. You can certainly hear Thom's smirk in full effect in the way he says "Jim Morrison" or through the general sense of derision that permeates the song. You can hear Johnny already experimenting with sound and frustrated by the limits of the guitar. And you can hear the band as a whole showing off their love of a good soundscape in the opening bits.
Sure, it's not the "Art" they would later produce, but it's still worth a listen.
Pablo Honey continues to hold an odd place in the Radiohead Canon. It's not that it's a bad album, in fact there are probably more good songs than bad or indifferent, it's just that it can't escape what it is. Riding the wave of Nirvana (though the band will deny it) they were really the first band on the Alternative Nation bandwagon. Creep, with it's atonal touches and alienated lyrics, seemed like a perfect follow up to Smell's Like Teen Spirit (Incidentally, I saw Teen Spirit Deodarant in the deli downstairs this AM...didn't even know they still made it and can't believe they stuck with that name). The album shamelessly bleeds their Pixies influence, and it is unapologeticaly catchy (a quality that would seem like a sin to the band for a good while). But still you can't dismiss it.
First of all, it proves that a band can escape the chains of being a one hit wonder. Tons and tons of bands got consigned to the dollar bin after breaking a Nirvana clone hit, but a very select few, with Radiohead at the forefront, went on to do genuinely good work...and that has to give people hope.
Beyond that, too many of the songs, trapped in the amber of the early 90's as they are, are just enjoyable. They may not have the timeless quality of a Street Spirit or Karma Police...they are undeniably part of the Alterna-revolution, but they still have the bits of talent the band would put to better use down the road. This song is no exception. You can certainly hear Thom's smirk in full effect in the way he says "Jim Morrison" or through the general sense of derision that permeates the song. You can hear Johnny already experimenting with sound and frustrated by the limits of the guitar. And you can hear the band as a whole showing off their love of a good soundscape in the opening bits.
Sure, it's not the "Art" they would later produce, but it's still worth a listen.
Anyway You Want Me (That's How I Will Be) - Elvis Presley - The Sun Sessions - 2005 (Recorded 1953-4)
One of my ex-girlfriends had this great story about the time she visited Graceland. Apparently, there was a hard core WT Canadian family with a 7 or 8 year old son that she was stuck in the same tour group with. As the tour guide led them to the jungle room, she gestured at the giant ashtray in the center of the room and explained how Elvis had designed this himself and that the ashtray could accomodate up to 50 cigarettes at once.
The small boy was troubled by this, and asked his parents, presumably with an adorable gap toothed lisp, "Mommy, Daddy...did Elvis smoke?"
The father then took to a single knee and held his sons hand. He replied, without even a hint of a smirk, "Son, Elvis didn't smoke...he didn't drink...and he didn't do drugs, no matter what they say about him. Elvis was pure of heart and spirit. He was the king."
Parents are shameless, and people are very very strange...
The small boy was troubled by this, and asked his parents, presumably with an adorable gap toothed lisp, "Mommy, Daddy...did Elvis smoke?"
The father then took to a single knee and held his sons hand. He replied, without even a hint of a smirk, "Son, Elvis didn't smoke...he didn't drink...and he didn't do drugs, no matter what they say about him. Elvis was pure of heart and spirit. He was the king."
Parents are shameless, and people are very very strange...
Anyway You Want It - Journey - Departure - 1980
"Hey Everybody! We're all gonna get laid!"
Seriously, are there many more perfect examples of mindless, flat-out stupid, summer time bliss than "Anyway You Want It?"
And in the pantheon of just plain dumb rock lyrics you'd have to include "She Loves to Move/She Loves to Grove/She Loves the Loving Things"
Seriously, are there many more perfect examples of mindless, flat-out stupid, summer time bliss than "Anyway You Want It?"
And in the pantheon of just plain dumb rock lyrics you'd have to include "She Loves to Move/She Loves to Grove/She Loves the Loving Things"
Any Several Sundays - Lilys - Selected EP - 2000
As I think I've mentioned previously there is a yuppie-fied new ice cream shop/coffee shop around the corner from my apartment in my slightly ghetto neighborhood. So, I was in there Friday morning and basically saw a scene that made me miss the days when the whole block was covered in chicken bones and broken glass.
When I first arrived there was only one other customer in the store, a middle aged, probably single woman, and she was boring the tubby goth barrista with talks of the yarn festival she had attended the previous weekend and the things she'd be knitting this fall. Fortunately, she cleared out fairly quickly before I bit through my cheeks to keep from laughing at her...but she was replaced by a stern looking woman in her mid thirties and her 5-ish daughter. The little girl was adorable, all blonde curls and little pink plastic rain coat...and the girl just wanted a bagel with cream cheese. But her mother proceeded to berate her for not doing her choirs (this is a five year old here) and then told her that "papa didn't even want to let you have dress down Friday because of the way you've been acting".
This of course made me wonder what exactly the girl would be forced to wear on days of the week that were not Friday...and more to the point, what kind of sad messed up life this little girl was going to have growing up under Hester Prynne there.
The yuppiefication of my neighborhood continues to problematic.
This is another track by Lilys during their 60's psychedelia phase. Worth a listen.
When I first arrived there was only one other customer in the store, a middle aged, probably single woman, and she was boring the tubby goth barrista with talks of the yarn festival she had attended the previous weekend and the things she'd be knitting this fall. Fortunately, she cleared out fairly quickly before I bit through my cheeks to keep from laughing at her...but she was replaced by a stern looking woman in her mid thirties and her 5-ish daughter. The little girl was adorable, all blonde curls and little pink plastic rain coat...and the girl just wanted a bagel with cream cheese. But her mother proceeded to berate her for not doing her choirs (this is a five year old here) and then told her that "papa didn't even want to let you have dress down Friday because of the way you've been acting".
This of course made me wonder what exactly the girl would be forced to wear on days of the week that were not Friday...and more to the point, what kind of sad messed up life this little girl was going to have growing up under Hester Prynne there.
The yuppiefication of my neighborhood continues to problematic.
This is another track by Lilys during their 60's psychedelia phase. Worth a listen.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Any Other Way - The Posies - Dear 23 - 1990
Met up with my buddy Rance in Park Slope for some Guinness last night. Much as I am not a fan of the coming cold weather, it is kinda nice to wear a sweater and drink some tasty stout. I mean, who the hell wants one of those things when it's 90 degrees out? But when there's a nice crisp chill in the air, there are few things better.
If you want a concise picture of what I was like as a 19 year old, you could do worse than this song. Hyperarticulate, but perpetually heartbroken. Snide and snarky, as method to mask the crippling pain of adolescent "love" (It's telling that the one line in the song that is not said sarcastically is the plaintive wail of "She Left Me Alone!!!"), but still self-aware enough to know that it's all ridiculous and to have a gallows-humor laugh at the pain.
For instance:
"She Left Me Alone/Could you believe we ran out of things to fight about
I was crushed of course/but at least I have something I can write about
I guess that I'm just so proud of my contempt/it gets paid for having nothing good to say
And even though it doesn't pay the rent/I wouldn't have it any other way."
Ahhhhh, it's all so freaking smug...
This song pretty much wraps up everything I loved about The Posies as a teenager, the clever word-play, the heart on the sleave, the pitch perfect harmonies...and it also sums up most of the things I'm embarrassed about in my youth. Kinda makes me want to go find my teenage counterpart and shake some sense into him.
If you want a concise picture of what I was like as a 19 year old, you could do worse than this song. Hyperarticulate, but perpetually heartbroken. Snide and snarky, as method to mask the crippling pain of adolescent "love" (It's telling that the one line in the song that is not said sarcastically is the plaintive wail of "She Left Me Alone!!!"), but still self-aware enough to know that it's all ridiculous and to have a gallows-humor laugh at the pain.
For instance:
"She Left Me Alone/Could you believe we ran out of things to fight about
I was crushed of course/but at least I have something I can write about
I guess that I'm just so proud of my contempt/it gets paid for having nothing good to say
And even though it doesn't pay the rent/I wouldn't have it any other way."
Ahhhhh, it's all so freaking smug...
This song pretty much wraps up everything I loved about The Posies as a teenager, the clever word-play, the heart on the sleave, the pitch perfect harmonies...and it also sums up most of the things I'm embarrassed about in my youth. Kinda makes me want to go find my teenage counterpart and shake some sense into him.
Any Color You Like - Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon - 1973
So my ladyfriend and I did the diabetes walk yesterday, as we both have a fair number of family members that are affected by this. All in all, it was a quick and easy five miles and they gave us lots of snacks. The walk was basically just from the South Street Seaport up to the Brooklyn Bridge, over the bridge, around the courthouse, and back. We both took a great deal of amusement at the number of guides positioned on the other side of the bridge, basically at every corner, to make sure timid Manhattanites didn't get lost in the "horror" of downtown Brooklyn. But hands down the funniest bit of the day occured when we were walking back.
Being the impatient NYC-ers that we are, we didn't wait for the starting gun, but instead just started walking. This meant that we were coming back over the Brooklyn Bridge just as the bulk of the walkers were heading over. Standing in the middle of the observation deck at the midpoint of the bridge was a smallish camera crew. The object of what they were shooting was standing a few feet away; a perma-tanned russian girl in booty shorts and a frilly top. She was standing on top of an equipment case and attempting to lip synch through whatever bad euro-tech song she was trying to shoot a video for...however, niether her nor her crew seemed to be aware that today might have been a bad day to shoot a video on the bridge. The waves of people coming over the bridge seemed to terrify her and annoy the camera crew to no end. I didn't even make an effort to not step in front of the camera when I passed...cause seriously...fuck those guys.
Anyway, Pink Floyd doing an instrumental from Dark Side...either you like it or you don't.
Being the impatient NYC-ers that we are, we didn't wait for the starting gun, but instead just started walking. This meant that we were coming back over the Brooklyn Bridge just as the bulk of the walkers were heading over. Standing in the middle of the observation deck at the midpoint of the bridge was a smallish camera crew. The object of what they were shooting was standing a few feet away; a perma-tanned russian girl in booty shorts and a frilly top. She was standing on top of an equipment case and attempting to lip synch through whatever bad euro-tech song she was trying to shoot a video for...however, niether her nor her crew seemed to be aware that today might have been a bad day to shoot a video on the bridge. The waves of people coming over the bridge seemed to terrify her and annoy the camera crew to no end. I didn't even make an effort to not step in front of the camera when I passed...cause seriously...fuck those guys.
Anyway, Pink Floyd doing an instrumental from Dark Side...either you like it or you don't.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Anvil - Tapes n Tapes - Walk it Off - 2008
So my boss took me and my department to lunch today at a semi-swanky Thai place in Soho. The food was good (though Thai food, much like Indian food is always the same, regardless of how nice the ambience) but the most notable things about the place where the bathrooms.
The back wall of the restaurant was a wall of mirrors in which two descrete doors were located. When you entered the single stall bathrooms you discover that the mirrors are all two way. This means that when the door is shut, the people on the outside see a mirror, but you actually see it as a window. So, even if you are consciously aware that the people out eating their lunch can't actually see you...it still subconsciously feels like you are peeing with your back to an audience. And I can't imagine being a girl, sitting down to an entire audience in front of you...
Why exactly is this a desirable feature in a bathroom?
Tapes n Tapes first album had a few moments of inspiration. They're second album nearly defines the term sophomore slump. Which is a shame, because I had high hopes for the work of producer Dave Fridmann. But yeah, this album blows.
The back wall of the restaurant was a wall of mirrors in which two descrete doors were located. When you entered the single stall bathrooms you discover that the mirrors are all two way. This means that when the door is shut, the people on the outside see a mirror, but you actually see it as a window. So, even if you are consciously aware that the people out eating their lunch can't actually see you...it still subconsciously feels like you are peeing with your back to an audience. And I can't imagine being a girl, sitting down to an entire audience in front of you...
Why exactly is this a desirable feature in a bathroom?
Tapes n Tapes first album had a few moments of inspiration. They're second album nearly defines the term sophomore slump. Which is a shame, because I had high hopes for the work of producer Dave Fridmann. But yeah, this album blows.
Ants - P.O.S. - Ipecac Neat - 2004
So my girlfriend made a couple of efforts about 3-4 months into our relationship to get me into Hip Hop and made me a couple of mixes before realizing that I was never going to be 100% okay with listening to it. People will often apologize to me in cars or hanging out in parties when hip hop is playing, usually with a "I know you don't like hip hop"...which isn't actually true. I sort of like this song for instance...it's more a matter of I will never be okay being a hip hop fan.
I realize the cultural baggage is mostly my own, but I still have it. My relationship to hip hop needs to be taken in context. My first exposure to it was relatively late, and that depends on whether or not you count The Beastie Boys first album. I was a teenager at the time when MTV (back when it actually showed music) was starting to play hip hop to the exclusion of rock music. This pitted me in a sort of cultural war...Hip Hop was "winning" and I didn't much care for what that meant for the music I like. Beyond that as a person who started first and foremost as a fan of Beatle-esque pop, early 90's hip hop was the very antithesis of that. Virtually without melody, it was beats and rhymes set to clunky rhythms. It was all poise and posture, and no "Art" as my 16 year old brain defined it.
But beyond that, my reticence springs more from the racial issue...ah the dreaded racial issue. To me, where I grew up, you were belittled by both sides for listening to hip hop. You of course got your racist red neck Hoosiers who claimed you were betraying your people by listening to "Black People Music"...but what effected me more (I can always ignore redneck idiots) was the perception by the few African-Americans in my town that any white person listening to hip hop was doing so to appropriate "blackness" as a way of being cool, that as we had done with Jazz, Blues, and Rock before we were co-opting their style cause our own was too lame.
Well, now a new generation has come of age, one that exists after the culture war has been lost and the appropriation is mostly complete. Most hip hop concerts these days are too pricey for anyone but white suburbanites to go too, and it's harder edges have been replaced by cartoon thugs and jesters. The world's relationship to Hip Hop is in a different place, but I will never be able to shake the feeling that if the person next to me on the subway heard what was coming out of my iPod headphones they're thought would be "Jesus, what a fucking poser".
I realize the cultural baggage is mostly my own, but I still have it. My relationship to hip hop needs to be taken in context. My first exposure to it was relatively late, and that depends on whether or not you count The Beastie Boys first album. I was a teenager at the time when MTV (back when it actually showed music) was starting to play hip hop to the exclusion of rock music. This pitted me in a sort of cultural war...Hip Hop was "winning" and I didn't much care for what that meant for the music I like. Beyond that as a person who started first and foremost as a fan of Beatle-esque pop, early 90's hip hop was the very antithesis of that. Virtually without melody, it was beats and rhymes set to clunky rhythms. It was all poise and posture, and no "Art" as my 16 year old brain defined it.
But beyond that, my reticence springs more from the racial issue...ah the dreaded racial issue. To me, where I grew up, you were belittled by both sides for listening to hip hop. You of course got your racist red neck Hoosiers who claimed you were betraying your people by listening to "Black People Music"...but what effected me more (I can always ignore redneck idiots) was the perception by the few African-Americans in my town that any white person listening to hip hop was doing so to appropriate "blackness" as a way of being cool, that as we had done with Jazz, Blues, and Rock before we were co-opting their style cause our own was too lame.
Well, now a new generation has come of age, one that exists after the culture war has been lost and the appropriation is mostly complete. Most hip hop concerts these days are too pricey for anyone but white suburbanites to go too, and it's harder edges have been replaced by cartoon thugs and jesters. The world's relationship to Hip Hop is in a different place, but I will never be able to shake the feeling that if the person next to me on the subway heard what was coming out of my iPod headphones they're thought would be "Jesus, what a fucking poser".
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Anticipation - Cut City - Mammoth - 2007
Here in New York it is CMJ week. For those of you not familiar, allow me to explain. CMJ weeks is sort of the music business equivalent of sweeps week. For one week all of the music press and record label talent scouts descend down onto New York City. In order to accommodate all of the bands that will clamour for the attention of these music industry luminaries, every single bar that has anything remotely resembling a stage books bands all day long. Indie record labels book the bigger clubs in order to showcase their talent stable, and smaller bars take the unsigned masses.
This will be my 9th CMJ week since moving here. My attitude towards the festival has evolved in stages characterized thusly:
Stage 1 - "CMJ is one of the best parts about living in this city! I can't believe I get to check out all of these awesome bands"
Stage 2 - "These CMJ shows are kind of a pain in the ass...you have to deal with a truck load of tools, drinks are expensive, and the band you want to see is going to play a short set cause they gotta fit in those other bands. But I really want to see this band, so I guess I'll deal.
Stage 3 - "There is no fucking way I'm going to a CMJ show"
Stage 4 - "Fine, I'll go to a CMJ show, but I'm showing up five minutes before the band I want to see and leaving immediately after"
So, Wednesday night my roommate had talked me into going out to Southpaw and seeing his friends' band. Now Southpaw is in reasonable walking distance to our apartment and the show was at 830 so I figured it wouldn't be too bad for a cold Wednesday night's entertainment. But we showed up only to discover that there was a $20 cover. Okay...now I've been here long enough to know that everything is more expensive than you think it should be...but seriously, if you want to attract attention to your band, making people pay $20 just to walk in the door is not the way to do it. Alex and I decided the only appropriate response was "fuck that noise" and we went and got a few beers at a local bar. It was the only reasonable solution to that.
This is that band that I thought was Interpol and is not. I still like it better than Interpol.
This will be my 9th CMJ week since moving here. My attitude towards the festival has evolved in stages characterized thusly:
Stage 1 - "CMJ is one of the best parts about living in this city! I can't believe I get to check out all of these awesome bands"
Stage 2 - "These CMJ shows are kind of a pain in the ass...you have to deal with a truck load of tools, drinks are expensive, and the band you want to see is going to play a short set cause they gotta fit in those other bands. But I really want to see this band, so I guess I'll deal.
Stage 3 - "There is no fucking way I'm going to a CMJ show"
Stage 4 - "Fine, I'll go to a CMJ show, but I'm showing up five minutes before the band I want to see and leaving immediately after"
So, Wednesday night my roommate had talked me into going out to Southpaw and seeing his friends' band. Now Southpaw is in reasonable walking distance to our apartment and the show was at 830 so I figured it wouldn't be too bad for a cold Wednesday night's entertainment. But we showed up only to discover that there was a $20 cover. Okay...now I've been here long enough to know that everything is more expensive than you think it should be...but seriously, if you want to attract attention to your band, making people pay $20 just to walk in the door is not the way to do it. Alex and I decided the only appropriate response was "fuck that noise" and we went and got a few beers at a local bar. It was the only reasonable solution to that.
This is that band that I thought was Interpol and is not. I still like it better than Interpol.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
(Antichrist Television Blues) - The Arcade Fire - Neon Bible - 2007
I spent enough time in crazy midwestern churches to know what the contemporary Christian idea of the Antichrist is...what they believe he will be. And while Joe Simpson, doesn't really fit that mold, I can't think of a better symbol (nor can Win Butler, apparently) for everything that is wrong with modern American Christianity than this despicable douchebag.
Despite loudly espousing a religion that at it's core explicitly decries the love of money as the root of all evil, he seeks nothing more than wealth. Despite extolling the virtues of "purity" he makes soft core prostitues of both of his daughters, who spent their youth defining "technical viriginity" while dropping their tits all over MTV, forciing both of them into early and at least in one case disastorous marriages to reconcile their sex drives with their belief system. Despite vocally supporting our troops, our president, and our country, he supports policies that destroy our country all for the sake of a tax break.
His first daughter, for all of her pnuematic stupidity has been rebranded time and time again to suit the needs of a market place that needed virginal teen idols, and then a model wife, and then a jilted sex pot, and now...apparently looking to fill the country shoes (and bra) of Dolly Parton.
His younger daughter attempted to be different (granted in a lame way) to step out from her sister's shadow and was eventually forced to abandon this to countless turns under the knife to become the same sort of hollow barbie doll.
And to answer the question posed by the "fictional" Mr. Simpson in Win's song...you may not be THE Antichrist, but you are certainly anti-everything that Christian values were supposed to mean before they were co-opted by the Republican party.
Despite loudly espousing a religion that at it's core explicitly decries the love of money as the root of all evil, he seeks nothing more than wealth. Despite extolling the virtues of "purity" he makes soft core prostitues of both of his daughters, who spent their youth defining "technical viriginity" while dropping their tits all over MTV, forciing both of them into early and at least in one case disastorous marriages to reconcile their sex drives with their belief system. Despite vocally supporting our troops, our president, and our country, he supports policies that destroy our country all for the sake of a tax break.
His first daughter, for all of her pnuematic stupidity has been rebranded time and time again to suit the needs of a market place that needed virginal teen idols, and then a model wife, and then a jilted sex pot, and now...apparently looking to fill the country shoes (and bra) of Dolly Parton.
His younger daughter attempted to be different (granted in a lame way) to step out from her sister's shadow and was eventually forced to abandon this to countless turns under the knife to become the same sort of hollow barbie doll.
And to answer the question posed by the "fictional" Mr. Simpson in Win's song...you may not be THE Antichrist, but you are certainly anti-everything that Christian values were supposed to mean before they were co-opted by the Republican party.
Anti-Anti - Snowden - Anti-Anti - 2006
I remember reading an article on Pitchfork sometime towards the end of 2006. The article itself was not about Snowden, but rather some newer Dan Deacon/Girltalk kinda album, but this record was mentioned of as an example of an album that was not particularly innovative but simply decent. I'm paraphrasing but I believe it said something like "If Snowden's Anti-Anti was your favorite album of last year then you are still stuck in the rockist era of 2002, old man!"
I have an uncle, my mother's youngest brother who is only 17 years older than me. When I was a baby, he was frequently my sitter...and later on, as the oldest child, he was frequently my "big brother". He spent his entire life with severe diabetis that eventually caused him to go blind at 27.
During my Junior High School days, when I was a weird, too-smart, and obnoxious teenager he was frequently my best friend...and one of the things he passed on to me was his love of rock music and thus my encyclopedic knowledge of 60's and 70's classic rock.
The thing is, my uncle had always been a charmer. When I watch the movie Dazed and Confused, one of the reasons to love it, is how much my uncle seems to have been almost exactly like Randy "Pink" Floyd...the smart jock that everyone liked...so going blind at 27 was crushing to him. His life, in effect, stopped. And his only friends were the members of the crazy church he attended, hoping to be cured of his blindness (Note: He didn't just go blind, he had his eyes removed), and a tubby 13 year old without a positive male influence in his life.
I was able to keep my uncle in touch with music for a bit and my brother picked up where I left off...but gradually it became unavoidable that he was stuck in his own heyday. He could take things that were close to his own experience, the obviously 70's influenced stomp of grunge, or the Pink Floyd-isness of Perfect from Now On era Built to Spill, but the glitchy post-Kid A Radiohead and it's ilk were a bridge too far.
I tried making him mixes with bands that were obviously still mired in the music he loved, the southern boogie of My Morning Jacket or the Neil Young thrust of Magnolia Electric Company, but in the end I'd return to see my uncle obsessing over the latest Allman Brothers bootleg he'd found at the Karma. Even a man without kids, without a job, who gets most of his pleasure from sitting in a garage, chain smoking, and listening to rock music, still experienced that same paralysis in time. For him, the best music would always be the music they made in 1976.
The point is, I live in fear of this...the point at which my tastes atrophy. I can already feel it happening, that my tastes have basically locked down somewhere between 2003-2005 with the sweet spot actually being 1998. I continue to like new albums, but I find that the ones I like the best are those steeped in what I'm familiar with. Too much of what is being made now is too referential, too reliant on juxtaposing pop culture I find disposable without really adding anything to the equation...or worse, too gentle and inoffensive, rife with the softness of a suburban generation, and without the nihilist urges I feel to burn to this irreperably flawed world to the ground and start from scratch.
The battle to stay young and relevant permeates our botox ridden society. It's a fight that everyone loses, but I think it's the manner in which you go down fighting that matters. It's all about the manner in which we face our own mortality, I suppose.
I have an uncle, my mother's youngest brother who is only 17 years older than me. When I was a baby, he was frequently my sitter...and later on, as the oldest child, he was frequently my "big brother". He spent his entire life with severe diabetis that eventually caused him to go blind at 27.
During my Junior High School days, when I was a weird, too-smart, and obnoxious teenager he was frequently my best friend...and one of the things he passed on to me was his love of rock music and thus my encyclopedic knowledge of 60's and 70's classic rock.
The thing is, my uncle had always been a charmer. When I watch the movie Dazed and Confused, one of the reasons to love it, is how much my uncle seems to have been almost exactly like Randy "Pink" Floyd...the smart jock that everyone liked...so going blind at 27 was crushing to him. His life, in effect, stopped. And his only friends were the members of the crazy church he attended, hoping to be cured of his blindness (Note: He didn't just go blind, he had his eyes removed), and a tubby 13 year old without a positive male influence in his life.
I was able to keep my uncle in touch with music for a bit and my brother picked up where I left off...but gradually it became unavoidable that he was stuck in his own heyday. He could take things that were close to his own experience, the obviously 70's influenced stomp of grunge, or the Pink Floyd-isness of Perfect from Now On era Built to Spill, but the glitchy post-Kid A Radiohead and it's ilk were a bridge too far.
I tried making him mixes with bands that were obviously still mired in the music he loved, the southern boogie of My Morning Jacket or the Neil Young thrust of Magnolia Electric Company, but in the end I'd return to see my uncle obsessing over the latest Allman Brothers bootleg he'd found at the Karma. Even a man without kids, without a job, who gets most of his pleasure from sitting in a garage, chain smoking, and listening to rock music, still experienced that same paralysis in time. For him, the best music would always be the music they made in 1976.
The point is, I live in fear of this...the point at which my tastes atrophy. I can already feel it happening, that my tastes have basically locked down somewhere between 2003-2005 with the sweet spot actually being 1998. I continue to like new albums, but I find that the ones I like the best are those steeped in what I'm familiar with. Too much of what is being made now is too referential, too reliant on juxtaposing pop culture I find disposable without really adding anything to the equation...or worse, too gentle and inoffensive, rife with the softness of a suburban generation, and without the nihilist urges I feel to burn to this irreperably flawed world to the ground and start from scratch.
The battle to stay young and relevant permeates our botox ridden society. It's a fight that everyone loses, but I think it's the manner in which you go down fighting that matters. It's all about the manner in which we face our own mortality, I suppose.
Anthony Boy - Chuck Berry - The Ultimate Collection - 1959
I have a little bit of a cold, so my head is too foggy to give you much in the way of coherent blog postings these days.
Not that I have much to say about this Chuck Berry nugget, other than a mild amusement at the blatant Italian stereotypes on display here and Berry's brief attempt to impersonate the accent. Otherwise, it's all pretty cut and dry.
Anyway, back to watching my lungs fill with fluid.
Not that I have much to say about this Chuck Berry nugget, other than a mild amusement at the blatant Italian stereotypes on display here and Berry's brief attempt to impersonate the accent. Otherwise, it's all pretty cut and dry.
Anyway, back to watching my lungs fill with fluid.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Anthems for Seventeen Year Old Girls - Broken Social Scene - You Forget It In People - 2002
It was probably this song that really cemented the idea that Broken Social Scene was more than a weird Canadian hippy collective. It shouldn't work on any level, all of the elements should be terrible. Emily Haines effects an appropriately girly voice to chant the sing-songy lyrics with their hypnotic rhythm, while the backing track consists almost entirely of a banjo and violin until the end when the drum and guitar kick in. Girly voice! Strings! BANJO! This sounds terrible, right?
But it's absolutely hypnotic and nearly perfect. And beyond that, without being salacious or judgemental, it actually paints a fairly realistic portrait of whatever the hell goes on in the minds of teenage girls, by simply chanting a few phrases over and over. By the time she reaches "Park that car/Drop that phone/Sleep on the floor/Dream about me" you totally get it.
But it's absolutely hypnotic and nearly perfect. And beyond that, without being salacious or judgemental, it actually paints a fairly realistic portrait of whatever the hell goes on in the minds of teenage girls, by simply chanting a few phrases over and over. By the time she reaches "Park that car/Drop that phone/Sleep on the floor/Dream about me" you totally get it.
Anthems for the Already Defeated - Rock Plaza Central - Are We Not Horses? - 2006
So my office held a party last night, nothing too big just a few after work cocktails on a thursday, something they say will be a weekly occurance. But as always the draw was the free booze...which was restricted to beer and wine, but hey who's complaining? Anyway when we realized that all of the other guests had left, me and two of the guys I work with decided that it was our job to finish up the remaining liquor. This took us till about 1030 and involved me drinking champaigne straight from the bottle.
I won't claim that it's been a while since I've been drunk. Hell that's about all I did in Mexico, but...it's been a while since I've gotten drunk without meaning to. I thought I was just grabbing a drink or two, taking advantage of the free booze...only to be sucker punched by the evening. When I got home, I ended up eating wings and fries from the chinese place on my corner and laughing uproariously at a Daily Show episode that I can no longer tell you a thing about. And of course the morning was something of a blur. Good times.
Anyway, several bands have been herralded as the next Neutral Milk Hotel, probably The Decemberists and The Arcade Fire most notably. And while the labels weren't completely without merit they generally meant either unconventional instrumentation and quirkiness (The Decemberist) or unbridled overpowering emotionalism (Arcade Fire)...but Rock Plaza Central is the first band I've heard that just tries the approach of ACTUALLY SOUNDING LIKE the band...of course those are big shoes to fill, and these guys aren't that good...but they do alright.
I won't claim that it's been a while since I've been drunk. Hell that's about all I did in Mexico, but...it's been a while since I've gotten drunk without meaning to. I thought I was just grabbing a drink or two, taking advantage of the free booze...only to be sucker punched by the evening. When I got home, I ended up eating wings and fries from the chinese place on my corner and laughing uproariously at a Daily Show episode that I can no longer tell you a thing about. And of course the morning was something of a blur. Good times.
Anyway, several bands have been herralded as the next Neutral Milk Hotel, probably The Decemberists and The Arcade Fire most notably. And while the labels weren't completely without merit they generally meant either unconventional instrumentation and quirkiness (The Decemberist) or unbridled overpowering emotionalism (Arcade Fire)...but Rock Plaza Central is the first band I've heard that just tries the approach of ACTUALLY SOUNDING LIKE the band...of course those are big shoes to fill, and these guys aren't that good...but they do alright.
Answering Machine - The Replacements - Let It Be - 1984
Oh the answering machine...it's rather quickly become a dinosaur hasn't it? With people increasingly relying on cell phones, and those that still have land lines switching to telecarrier operated voicemail the beat up old tape recorder has basically become a thing of the past. It's kinda sad in a way. Granted voicemail is 10 billion times more useful, but don't you miss being able to screen calls live? Like hearing someone on the other end saying "Joshua, I know you're there, just pick up the goddamn phone" and being able to say "No, I'm not going to do it. You can't make me, you can go fuck yourself, Mom"
And thus passes another era.
None of that changes the unquestionable power of this song though. Granted singing "I hate your Vooooooiiiiiiiccccceeeee Maiiiiiiiillllll" wouldn't have quite the same ring, but it still doesn't change the feeling of needing to talk to someone and instead talking to a recording. How do you say "Good night", "I'm Ok", "I Love You", "I Miss You", or "I'm Lonely" to an answering machine? Voicemail may have given us a better technology, but it hasn't given us a better answer to those questions Paul...bless you're high functioning-alcoholic, constantly broken heart.
And thus passes another era.
None of that changes the unquestionable power of this song though. Granted singing "I hate your Vooooooiiiiiiiccccceeeee Maiiiiiiiillllll" wouldn't have quite the same ring, but it still doesn't change the feeling of needing to talk to someone and instead talking to a recording. How do you say "Good night", "I'm Ok", "I Love You", "I Miss You", or "I'm Lonely" to an answering machine? Voicemail may have given us a better technology, but it hasn't given us a better answer to those questions Paul...bless you're high functioning-alcoholic, constantly broken heart.
Another Way In - The Rosebuds - Life Like - 2008
Funny thing...I just bought and added this album to my iPod this AM, just in time for this song to jump to the head of the line. So this is a super fresh perspective.
Typically on any Rosebuds album Kelly Crisp will sing 2-3 songs, and this is one of them. Though she'll never be blessed with either the pipes or the chops of her husband, there is a certain charm to her deadpan vocals. Additionally, her songwriting (assuming she writes the songs she sings) has improved making her songs a bit more interesting. This song continues in the same dark vein as her songs on Night of the Furies.
I haven't listened to the whole record, but if Ivan Howard continues the shoegaze-y guitar playing he demonstrates in the second half of this song throughout the album, then that can only be a good thing.
Typically on any Rosebuds album Kelly Crisp will sing 2-3 songs, and this is one of them. Though she'll never be blessed with either the pipes or the chops of her husband, there is a certain charm to her deadpan vocals. Additionally, her songwriting (assuming she writes the songs she sings) has improved making her songs a bit more interesting. This song continues in the same dark vein as her songs on Night of the Furies.
I haven't listened to the whole record, but if Ivan Howard continues the shoegaze-y guitar playing he demonstrates in the second half of this song throughout the album, then that can only be a good thing.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Another The Letter - Wire - Chairs Missing - 1978
I went to go see TV on the Radio at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple last night. First of all, it was a venue I'd never been to before and it had many things to recommend it. Most importantly, it was a mere 10 minute walk from my apartment, but more to the point it was surprisingly small for a TVotR show, about the same size (and feel) as Bowery with more balcony space, but possibly less floor space. It made the show unexpectedly intimate.
There were of course downsides. They insisted on doing that annoying "buy a ticket, to buy a beer" system that they do at all ages shows here...cause god forbid a teenager get a beer. And the size and newness of the venue combined with the popularity of the band made their crowd control efforts somewhat clumsy and futile.
But all in all it was a positive experience and TVotR is a deceptively interesting live band. They are probably at their best when re-interpreting material, which is why their best songs can sometimes be disappointing. I don't want "Wolf Like Me" or "Staring at the Sun" re-interpreted...they are basically note perfect pop songs with elaborate and involved orchestration...but a less noteworthy song like "Dirtywhirl", "Young Liars" or "Love Dogs" can seem revelatory...like you didn't even know the song was that good no matter how many times you'd heard it previously....
They also welcomed a 4 piece horn section (Brooklyn's Finest Horns) onto the stage for about 2/3's of the show. Which was somewhat of a mixed blessing, on some songs they were amazing...on others they were over powering or out of place. Additionally, they blocked my view of Dave Sitek who is easily the most technically gifted member of the band. But if nothing else they were a site to see. 3 of the 4 were ordinary Brooklyn dudes, but the fourth, the tenor sax player, appeared to have been lifted straight of out The Revolution (Prince's old backing band, not, you know, some Che Guevara thing...cause that wouldn't really be out of place at all)...she wore Ray Bans, a black cocktail dress and big hair like nobody's business. My ladyfriend asked if she was Wendy or Lisa.
I've seen them twice before, in two drastically different situations...once at the beginnings of their fame in a tiny loft in South Williamsburg and once right before the release of Cookie Mountain at the Prospect Park Bandshell...but despite the cool points for the first show (and the way it turned out) the smallish midsize club is definitely the way to go with these guys.
Anyway, this is Wire, which really has nothing to do with TVotR...but I don't have one of their TVotR's songs coming up, and this song is only 1:06 long...what the hell was I supposed to talk about?
There were of course downsides. They insisted on doing that annoying "buy a ticket, to buy a beer" system that they do at all ages shows here...cause god forbid a teenager get a beer. And the size and newness of the venue combined with the popularity of the band made their crowd control efforts somewhat clumsy and futile.
But all in all it was a positive experience and TVotR is a deceptively interesting live band. They are probably at their best when re-interpreting material, which is why their best songs can sometimes be disappointing. I don't want "Wolf Like Me" or "Staring at the Sun" re-interpreted...they are basically note perfect pop songs with elaborate and involved orchestration...but a less noteworthy song like "Dirtywhirl", "Young Liars" or "Love Dogs" can seem revelatory...like you didn't even know the song was that good no matter how many times you'd heard it previously....
They also welcomed a 4 piece horn section (Brooklyn's Finest Horns) onto the stage for about 2/3's of the show. Which was somewhat of a mixed blessing, on some songs they were amazing...on others they were over powering or out of place. Additionally, they blocked my view of Dave Sitek who is easily the most technically gifted member of the band. But if nothing else they were a site to see. 3 of the 4 were ordinary Brooklyn dudes, but the fourth, the tenor sax player, appeared to have been lifted straight of out The Revolution (Prince's old backing band, not, you know, some Che Guevara thing...cause that wouldn't really be out of place at all)...she wore Ray Bans, a black cocktail dress and big hair like nobody's business. My ladyfriend asked if she was Wendy or Lisa.
I've seen them twice before, in two drastically different situations...once at the beginnings of their fame in a tiny loft in South Williamsburg and once right before the release of Cookie Mountain at the Prospect Park Bandshell...but despite the cool points for the first show (and the way it turned out) the smallish midsize club is definitely the way to go with these guys.
Anyway, this is Wire, which really has nothing to do with TVotR...but I don't have one of their TVotR's songs coming up, and this song is only 1:06 long...what the hell was I supposed to talk about?
Another Sunny Day - Belle and Sebastian - The Life Pursuit - 2006
Ahhh, my iPod just went gay all the sudden. I generally found The Life Pursuit to be the most interesting album B&S put out since Tigermilk, and that it actually possessed some energy, rather than just coasting on Stuart Murdoch's considerable charm and word play.
But this song is one of the throw backs that wouldn't have seemed out of place on the lackluster Fold Your Hands or Dear Catastrophe Waitress...
Meh
But this song is one of the throw backs that wouldn't have seemed out of place on the lackluster Fold Your Hands or Dear Catastrophe Waitress...
Meh
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Another Step Away - A Place To Bury Strangers - A Place To Bury Strangers - 2007
Man was this album a breath of fresh air last year. I fear a world in which all of the good melodic music that's produced is the product of Sufjan like gentility. A world in which sweet melodies aren't covered in walls of noise to make their delicacy more palatable, a world in which raw anger is replaced by a blissed out numbness, and naked, earnest emotion is preferred to dense confusion and ambiguous dread...this is the fear that keeps me up at night.
But then a band like APTBS comes along and sounds as if they might want to tear the world down to it's foundations, and my faith in humanity is restored.
Keep rocking you W-burg guitar nerds, you're the only hope we got...
But then a band like APTBS comes along and sounds as if they might want to tear the world down to it's foundations, and my faith in humanity is restored.
Keep rocking you W-burg guitar nerds, you're the only hope we got...
Another Saturday Night - Sam Cooke - Single - 1963
So while my trip to Mexico was largely a success, the trip home was, by every definition of the word, a total clusterfuck. Short of missing our flight or being involved in a plane crash, pretty much everything that could go wrong did.
First we woke up to check out of the hotel and were actually a bit ahead of schedule. The first two nights of the cabana had been paid for in advance, so we only needed to settle up for the final night. This should have occured to me but, due to the bargin basement quality of our cabana (a trait I have to admit, we did chose ourselves) they didn't take cards. So Anne and I had to scrounge togther most of our dollars and pesos to pay for the last night on the spot...leaving us with only enough pesos to buy some coffee for the road.
Then during the drive to Cancun we a pretty big thunderstorm that basically forced me to drive at about 40 miles per hour, basically killing our spare time. To make matters worse, the airport exit to Cancun is not very clearly marked, so we drove right by it in the rain and drove around the town for another half an hour. We finally found it and returned the rental car, making it to the departures desk with a slim 25 minutes till boarding. And of course this is where we realized that I had no idea where my immigration forms were.
This required me to run down the hall to the immigration office and fill out a form and then return to the departures desk (the oddest thing is there was absolutely no vital information on this form...at least nothing they couldn't just pull off my plane ticket...it was a form for the sake of having a form). At the security line, we were of course hassled about the bottle of water my girlfriend had neglected to remove from her bag. Finally, we made it to the plane.
But then...Any time I have flown internationally it has been to Europe...which meant that my stop in the USA was JFK and then straight home. I had never transfered in an domestic airport that wasn't my final destination from an international flight. Apparently, you have to gather up your bags, go through customs and then re-check in. So, we stood at the customs baggage claim and waited for my bag...and waited...and waited...and waited.
Now dear readers, it is entirely possible that in packing up my bag I had "forgotten" not to throw away a few of the cigars that I had picked up in Mexico that may or may not have originated in a communist dictatorship in the Carribean. So, I'm standing in customs trying not to break into a blind panic...but I also figure if I was actually in trouble I would be approached by customs, not forced to stand there and wonder where the hell my bag was. So, I went to the baggage services dude to find out what the deal was. This being Miami, he didn't speak English so well...but I managed to determine that we should just catch our connecting flight and my bag would be sent to NYC.
So we go back through security, passing several ATM's on the way (remember that we have no cash). My girlfriend asks if we should use one, but I say that we should wait till we're on the other side of security so we don't miss our flight. We get done with security and make our way to the gate. I then leave my girl with the bags to get money. I hadn't eaten all day and it was now 3PM. I find out that there is only one ATM in the entire concourse and that it is currently out of service.
Seriously, I realize I come across as a spoiled NYC-er here...but what kind of backwards ass airport only has one ATM in the entire concourse? Even bumble fuck Indianapolis has one every few gates or so. Miami fucking sucks and I don't care who hears me say it!
Now, in addition to everything else, my apartment keys are in my checked bag as well. So, I go to call my roommate to make sure he'll be home to let me in only to discover that, despite being off all weekend, my cell phone is dead. And the charger...that's right...in the bag.
But I finally made it home about 830 that night, grabbed the spare keys and used my roommates phone charger, got myself a big greasy cheeseburger and fries and caught up on the news. My bag showed up (with contraband intact) about 2 the following day...so in the end all was well, but damn did that day suck.
Anyway, this is the incomparable Sam Cooke with one of his many, many fine songs sounding sad and lonely on a Saturday night.
First we woke up to check out of the hotel and were actually a bit ahead of schedule. The first two nights of the cabana had been paid for in advance, so we only needed to settle up for the final night. This should have occured to me but, due to the bargin basement quality of our cabana (a trait I have to admit, we did chose ourselves) they didn't take cards. So Anne and I had to scrounge togther most of our dollars and pesos to pay for the last night on the spot...leaving us with only enough pesos to buy some coffee for the road.
Then during the drive to Cancun we a pretty big thunderstorm that basically forced me to drive at about 40 miles per hour, basically killing our spare time. To make matters worse, the airport exit to Cancun is not very clearly marked, so we drove right by it in the rain and drove around the town for another half an hour. We finally found it and returned the rental car, making it to the departures desk with a slim 25 minutes till boarding. And of course this is where we realized that I had no idea where my immigration forms were.
This required me to run down the hall to the immigration office and fill out a form and then return to the departures desk (the oddest thing is there was absolutely no vital information on this form...at least nothing they couldn't just pull off my plane ticket...it was a form for the sake of having a form). At the security line, we were of course hassled about the bottle of water my girlfriend had neglected to remove from her bag. Finally, we made it to the plane.
But then...Any time I have flown internationally it has been to Europe...which meant that my stop in the USA was JFK and then straight home. I had never transfered in an domestic airport that wasn't my final destination from an international flight. Apparently, you have to gather up your bags, go through customs and then re-check in. So, we stood at the customs baggage claim and waited for my bag...and waited...and waited...and waited.
Now dear readers, it is entirely possible that in packing up my bag I had "forgotten" not to throw away a few of the cigars that I had picked up in Mexico that may or may not have originated in a communist dictatorship in the Carribean. So, I'm standing in customs trying not to break into a blind panic...but I also figure if I was actually in trouble I would be approached by customs, not forced to stand there and wonder where the hell my bag was. So, I went to the baggage services dude to find out what the deal was. This being Miami, he didn't speak English so well...but I managed to determine that we should just catch our connecting flight and my bag would be sent to NYC.
So we go back through security, passing several ATM's on the way (remember that we have no cash). My girlfriend asks if we should use one, but I say that we should wait till we're on the other side of security so we don't miss our flight. We get done with security and make our way to the gate. I then leave my girl with the bags to get money. I hadn't eaten all day and it was now 3PM. I find out that there is only one ATM in the entire concourse and that it is currently out of service.
Seriously, I realize I come across as a spoiled NYC-er here...but what kind of backwards ass airport only has one ATM in the entire concourse? Even bumble fuck Indianapolis has one every few gates or so. Miami fucking sucks and I don't care who hears me say it!
Now, in addition to everything else, my apartment keys are in my checked bag as well. So, I go to call my roommate to make sure he'll be home to let me in only to discover that, despite being off all weekend, my cell phone is dead. And the charger...that's right...in the bag.
But I finally made it home about 830 that night, grabbed the spare keys and used my roommates phone charger, got myself a big greasy cheeseburger and fries and caught up on the news. My bag showed up (with contraband intact) about 2 the following day...so in the end all was well, but damn did that day suck.
Anyway, this is the incomparable Sam Cooke with one of his many, many fine songs sounding sad and lonely on a Saturday night.
Another Saturday Night - Cat Stevens - Single - 1974
While Sam Cooke's original ached with the loneliness (or horniness, depending on how you read it) of a man in a strange place with no company, Cat Stevens makes the odd choice of making the song sound like it is taking place in a Mexican cantina. There is something sort of disingenous about hearing the phrase "I'm in an awful way" song over and over to the sound of a mariachi trumpet.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Another Planet - The Notwist - Shirk - 1998
Because I didn't travel much until I was in my mid to late twenties, I certainly had a lot of preconceived notions about what other countries would be like. I remember having a mindset (which many of my midwestern friends that still have never left the country seem to have adopted) that being abroad is a lot like being on another planet, but the truth of the matter is that it isn't that different. Sure, weather, topography, language, and culture might be somewhat different...but fundamental human nature does not change...niether about yourself, nor those you encounter.
This is why I find xenophobia so frustrating. The world is sometimes (or often) an indifferent place...but it's rarely as malicious as some would have you believe. But most people that I've met just want the same things I want. They want comfort and respect. They want entertainment and purpose. They want to be surrounded by those that love them and usually they don't wish strangers any ill. Perhaps, I am a bit deluded, living in a place where I'm constantly surrounded by tourists from all over the world...and perhaps I'm just spouting hippy nonesense of the "can't we all just get along" variety...but still, I don't find that...even in places I haven't had the best of times...that people are anything but decent.
But then I've never been to Afghanistan either.
I usually joke that The Notwist are just German Radiohead...but full credit to the Tuetonic gentlemen here...this album came out a full two years before Kid A and certainly shows all of the electronica meets melodic rock tendancies that the boys from Oxford would later make safe for the Luddite indie rock world.
This is why I find xenophobia so frustrating. The world is sometimes (or often) an indifferent place...but it's rarely as malicious as some would have you believe. But most people that I've met just want the same things I want. They want comfort and respect. They want entertainment and purpose. They want to be surrounded by those that love them and usually they don't wish strangers any ill. Perhaps, I am a bit deluded, living in a place where I'm constantly surrounded by tourists from all over the world...and perhaps I'm just spouting hippy nonesense of the "can't we all just get along" variety...but still, I don't find that...even in places I haven't had the best of times...that people are anything but decent.
But then I've never been to Afghanistan either.
I usually joke that The Notwist are just German Radiohead...but full credit to the Tuetonic gentlemen here...this album came out a full two years before Kid A and certainly shows all of the electronica meets melodic rock tendancies that the boys from Oxford would later make safe for the Luddite indie rock world.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Another Person - Jay Reatard - Night of Broken Glass - 2007
Let me tell you something about Mexico that I did not expect. It's really, really fucking hot. Sure, you think to yourself...haven't you ever seen a movie set in Mexico? But come on, it's October...I figured it would be hot during the day (perfect for the beach) and then cool off at night for some pleasant seaside sleeping.
No, this does not happen...despite being one of the most beautiful places I've ever been too, with pristine beaches and gorgeous skies...I couldn't help spending a little bit of my trip cranky, cause I just wasn't sleeping at night...cause it was just so muggy.
On our second day we took a hike to the maya ruins of Tulum, which are amazing...but within less than an hour both my lady friend and myself were covered in sweat, dehydrated and slightly confused. And of course, cause of the "don't drink the water thing" an ice cold glass of water or a coke were no where to be found. So you drink beer, even if you don't want it...cause it's the only cold thing they got.
All in all, it was a lovely trip...but when I got home, I drank a giant glass of water, straight from the tap...and then went to sleep in my own bed with the windows all the way open so that I could enjoy the cool of an NYC Autumn.
Jay Reatard doing his Devo meets Question Mark and the Mysterians thing. Not bad, but there are songs of his I prefer to this.
No, this does not happen...despite being one of the most beautiful places I've ever been too, with pristine beaches and gorgeous skies...I couldn't help spending a little bit of my trip cranky, cause I just wasn't sleeping at night...cause it was just so muggy.
On our second day we took a hike to the maya ruins of Tulum, which are amazing...but within less than an hour both my lady friend and myself were covered in sweat, dehydrated and slightly confused. And of course, cause of the "don't drink the water thing" an ice cold glass of water or a coke were no where to be found. So you drink beer, even if you don't want it...cause it's the only cold thing they got.
All in all, it was a lovely trip...but when I got home, I drank a giant glass of water, straight from the tap...and then went to sleep in my own bed with the windows all the way open so that I could enjoy the cool of an NYC Autumn.
Jay Reatard doing his Devo meets Question Mark and the Mysterians thing. Not bad, but there are songs of his I prefer to this.
Another One Goes By - The Walkmen - A Hundred Miles Off - 2006
Here's The Walkmen covering that Mazarin song. Hamilton Leithauser's creakier voice gives the song a somewhat more rough-and-tumble feel than the original, but otherwise it's pretty much a dead on cover.
Another One Goes By - Mazarin - We're Already There - 2005
Sorry if updates are even laxer than usual this week. I leave for a little vacation to Mexico Thursday morning, so my mind is most definitely elsewhere. Anyway...
It seems appropriate that I'd be writing about this song today anyway. It's the first really autumnal day we've had this season, and this song just screams fall. Without really sounding in anyway like R.E.M.'s Reckoning it has the same sense of turning leaves and breezes with a hint of frost in them.
I suppose it's fair to say that the fall is the most contemplative of seasons. With the end of the shining summer, and the inevitable approach of cold and gray winter, it's easy to think of the impermenance of everything. Of human life, obviously, but somewhat less morosely of any good thing. From the way that every milkshake has a last sip, to the way that the passion of young love eventually mellows into the warm affection and concern of a relationship, Autumn speaks to both the passing of time, and to sucking the last bit of sweetness from the well.
I've listened to the song over and over to try to determine what it is about the song (which if I haven't made it perfectly clear, I think is damn near perfect) that makes it seem so fall-like. Perhaps it's the general sad yet laid back vibe, or perhaps he combination of the piano and the strummed dulcimer also work well to create the sense of a cold wind through dying leaves, or Quintin Stotzfus' Brian Wilson-esque vocals. All in all, it's a really wonderful construction.
It seems appropriate that I'd be writing about this song today anyway. It's the first really autumnal day we've had this season, and this song just screams fall. Without really sounding in anyway like R.E.M.'s Reckoning it has the same sense of turning leaves and breezes with a hint of frost in them.
I suppose it's fair to say that the fall is the most contemplative of seasons. With the end of the shining summer, and the inevitable approach of cold and gray winter, it's easy to think of the impermenance of everything. Of human life, obviously, but somewhat less morosely of any good thing. From the way that every milkshake has a last sip, to the way that the passion of young love eventually mellows into the warm affection and concern of a relationship, Autumn speaks to both the passing of time, and to sucking the last bit of sweetness from the well.
I've listened to the song over and over to try to determine what it is about the song (which if I haven't made it perfectly clear, I think is damn near perfect) that makes it seem so fall-like. Perhaps it's the general sad yet laid back vibe, or perhaps he combination of the piano and the strummed dulcimer also work well to create the sense of a cold wind through dying leaves, or Quintin Stotzfus' Brian Wilson-esque vocals. All in all, it's a really wonderful construction.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Another One Bites The Dust - Queen - The Game - 1980
Sure, Freddy Mercury is gay as all hell. And this song is basically funk. And it was a favorite of Michael Jackson...but I still kinda like it. Honestly, it's Mercury's vocal that make the song totally work. He doesn't croon or do his usual theatrical melisima shit. He just sings the song with a kind of viciousness, particularly after the first chorus, where he nearly screams. It's a kind of staccato vocal assualt that would be mimiced by countless others down the line. 90's industrial of the NIN stripe would use it a lot. Thom Yorke, an embarrassed but avid Queen fan, apes it in soft/loud songs like My Iron Lung and the second half of 2+2=5. Cobain also was a noted Queen fan, though it would be hard to think of two more different male vocalists, so it's sorta hard to tell where his influence lies...easier to look to Brian May for that.
Anyway....
Anyway....
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Another Morning Stoner - And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead - Source Tags and Codes - 2002
In the long and sordid history of wake-and-bakes the story that stands out the most is probably about my ex-roommates girlfriend...who is now his wife. I lived out on the Bed-Stuy/East Williamsburg border in a desolate little block where they brought the chinatown buses at night to wash down.
Anyway, my roommate was hanging out with this social circle that had a regular friday night hang out at a bar in the village. He'd frequently come home late from this, and often with a friend to crash on our couch...but one showed up more than others. When she was first introduced to me, it was as a lesbian who was going through a particularly bad break up...as such she had moved back in with her folks in Long Island, but would crash on our couch when she had a late night in the city.
So it was sort of a ritual over the next few months for me to wake up and come out to the living room to find her on our couch on a saturday morning smoking up. Eventually, she stopped crashing on the couch and started crashing in my roommates bed, which eventually became more frequent than Friday nights. But our saturday morning ritual was pretty firmly in place. I'd go to Duncan Donuts (well, actually to the knock off Dunkin Donuts in our hood called the Donut Connection, which was just an abandoned Dunkin Donuts that had been reopened indepenedently...also, remember in your 20's when donuts for breakfast was totally acceptable...those were the days)...anyway...I'd go to the Donut Connection and come back with donuts and coffee for all of us and she'd be there with the bong.
It's so odd the way NYC forces you to form such unconventional families...but it's also one of the cities great charms. I type this as I head out to a dinner with one of my current unconventional families...a fact that makes me happy indeed.
Also, remember how excited everyone was when this album came out? Shame that it's the only trick Trail of the Dead had in their play book.
Anyway, my roommate was hanging out with this social circle that had a regular friday night hang out at a bar in the village. He'd frequently come home late from this, and often with a friend to crash on our couch...but one showed up more than others. When she was first introduced to me, it was as a lesbian who was going through a particularly bad break up...as such she had moved back in with her folks in Long Island, but would crash on our couch when she had a late night in the city.
So it was sort of a ritual over the next few months for me to wake up and come out to the living room to find her on our couch on a saturday morning smoking up. Eventually, she stopped crashing on the couch and started crashing in my roommates bed, which eventually became more frequent than Friday nights. But our saturday morning ritual was pretty firmly in place. I'd go to Duncan Donuts (well, actually to the knock off Dunkin Donuts in our hood called the Donut Connection, which was just an abandoned Dunkin Donuts that had been reopened indepenedently...also, remember in your 20's when donuts for breakfast was totally acceptable...those were the days)...anyway...I'd go to the Donut Connection and come back with donuts and coffee for all of us and she'd be there with the bong.
It's so odd the way NYC forces you to form such unconventional families...but it's also one of the cities great charms. I type this as I head out to a dinner with one of my current unconventional families...a fact that makes me happy indeed.
Also, remember how excited everyone was when this album came out? Shame that it's the only trick Trail of the Dead had in their play book.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Another Girl, Another Planet - The Only Ones - The Only Ones - 1978
I was speaing to a friend earlier today about a place I had crashed for a while when I first moved to NYC. It was located on Bleeker St. in the days when that section was still somewhere in between Dylan's village and the attrocious alterna-mall it has since become...though it was already well on its way to being crap.
Anyway, as I'm fairly sure I've mentioned, when a person first moves to the city in their mid-twenties they are generally ungodly poor for at least the first year. Rents are astronomical, everything is expensive, and there is just SO MUCH TO DO and you don't want to miss a thing.
My girlfriend at the time had this sublet for the summer, and I was crashing with her while looking for my own apartment. She lived with another girl from her college that summer, and that girl also had a boyfriend that basically lived in the apartment too...so essientially there were two couples splitting a one bedroom on bleeker street and we were all flat broke. We had all pooled our money and gone down to the local grocery store and had bought the ingredients to make some sort of chicken noodle/cream of mushroom casserole sort of thing.
I spent the better portion of the evening cooking this thing, and then we took it out of the oven and sat it on top of the stove to cool. We then retreated to the living room/our bedroom to watch some tv while we anticipated our feasts. A few minutes later, we heard the crash and we all knew what it meant.
Like many NYC apartments, the floor was kind of slanted. This had caused our caserole to slowly, slowly slide forward off the stove. And there it was all over the kitchen floor.
The other guy and I took stock of the situation and immediately grabbed a pair of forks and squated on the floor and went to work. The ladies whoever stopped us. The girl who I was not dating was actually a rich upper west side girl (she had never taken the subway till that summer) "slumming" in the village, so she saw this as the excuse to whip out her mommy's "For emergencies only" credit card and bought us all chinese. To this day, I was still totally willing to eat the floor caserole.
Anyway, this classic by The Only Ones is sort of the Ur-text, along with "Lipstick" by the Buzzcocks, for a kind of punkish british power pop. To this day it's still a fairly amazing song, and has lost little of it's power.
Anyway, as I'm fairly sure I've mentioned, when a person first moves to the city in their mid-twenties they are generally ungodly poor for at least the first year. Rents are astronomical, everything is expensive, and there is just SO MUCH TO DO and you don't want to miss a thing.
My girlfriend at the time had this sublet for the summer, and I was crashing with her while looking for my own apartment. She lived with another girl from her college that summer, and that girl also had a boyfriend that basically lived in the apartment too...so essientially there were two couples splitting a one bedroom on bleeker street and we were all flat broke. We had all pooled our money and gone down to the local grocery store and had bought the ingredients to make some sort of chicken noodle/cream of mushroom casserole sort of thing.
I spent the better portion of the evening cooking this thing, and then we took it out of the oven and sat it on top of the stove to cool. We then retreated to the living room/our bedroom to watch some tv while we anticipated our feasts. A few minutes later, we heard the crash and we all knew what it meant.
Like many NYC apartments, the floor was kind of slanted. This had caused our caserole to slowly, slowly slide forward off the stove. And there it was all over the kitchen floor.
The other guy and I took stock of the situation and immediately grabbed a pair of forks and squated on the floor and went to work. The ladies whoever stopped us. The girl who I was not dating was actually a rich upper west side girl (she had never taken the subway till that summer) "slumming" in the village, so she saw this as the excuse to whip out her mommy's "For emergencies only" credit card and bought us all chinese. To this day, I was still totally willing to eat the floor caserole.
Anyway, this classic by The Only Ones is sort of the Ur-text, along with "Lipstick" by the Buzzcocks, for a kind of punkish british power pop. To this day it's still a fairly amazing song, and has lost little of it's power.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Another Girl - The Beatles - Help! - 1965
So I was hanging with my friend Shani on Thursday night. We went to check out this new bar in her hood called The Richardson. Decent place, definitely knocking back the Rat Pack vibe with it's faux-loungey decor and jukebox that ends at 1962. It's the kind of place where you are going to spend $9 on an old fashioned, but the old fashioned will have real Agostino bitters and a freshly muddled cherry at the bottom.
Sadly, what Shani ensured me was a quiet bar on other nights was on that particular night swarmed with a party for Urban Outfitters, and it was at that moment that I remembered that I detest humanity. What exactly goes through people's brains that they think that working in the ad design department for a mildly trendy clothing chain in some way makes you the coolest person in the world? The level of pretention in the place was just ridiculous. Shani and I made it through about two drinks, during which time we had to shout most of our conversation, before we just grabbed her roommate and went back to her place, where the drinks were cheap, the music controlable, and the conversation could be had at a managible level.
This is the Beatles, so I'm not obligated to say anything at all. But I will say, this is the rare Beatles song that isn't simply etched into my brain. I actually don't even know the words to this one. How refreshing.
Sadly, what Shani ensured me was a quiet bar on other nights was on that particular night swarmed with a party for Urban Outfitters, and it was at that moment that I remembered that I detest humanity. What exactly goes through people's brains that they think that working in the ad design department for a mildly trendy clothing chain in some way makes you the coolest person in the world? The level of pretention in the place was just ridiculous. Shani and I made it through about two drinks, during which time we had to shout most of our conversation, before we just grabbed her roommate and went back to her place, where the drinks were cheap, the music controlable, and the conversation could be had at a managible level.
This is the Beatles, so I'm not obligated to say anything at all. But I will say, this is the rare Beatles song that isn't simply etched into my brain. I actually don't even know the words to this one. How refreshing.
Another Fine Day - Golden Smog - Another Fine Day - 2006
I dearly loved Golden Smog's 1998 album Weird Tales, and their first record has its share of gems along with the dross. But by 2006 they primarily served as Gary Louris' band, like the Jayhawks Mark II...with the occassional cameo by Tweedy, just ensure that the band could keep it's "Super-band" status.
Having said all of that...this may be little more than a Jayhawks retread, but it's a fine Jayhawks retread with some effective ambient guitar and a decently catchy chorus. It's no "Until You Came Along" but it'll do.
Having said all of that...this may be little more than a Jayhawks retread, but it's a fine Jayhawks retread with some effective ambient guitar and a decently catchy chorus. It's no "Until You Came Along" but it'll do.
Another Day - Times New Viking - Rip It Off - 2008
The other night I was looking for dinner in my hood. I wasn't really feeling like cooking, but all of my usual neighborhood options were not appealing to me. I was sort of wandering around aimlessly when I remembered that my ex-girlfriend (who still lives in the hood) had pointed out to me that there was a deli on her block that makes really good sandwiches. I decided to investigate.
The deli was small, and clearly existed only for it's sandwich counter, as there weren't many groceries on display. And behind the counter was a small Dominican kid with wire rimmed glasses. After a few seconds of watching me consider my sandwich options, he asked if I'd like a recommendation. I said "sure" and the kid went into his schpiel.
"First, you gotta go with the honey roasted turkey" He held up the turkey breast as evidence. "Then...you like swiss cheese."
"Sure"
"Then...I've got just the thing for you...we've got this Guryere...aged 9 months. This is the Swiss Cheese of swiss cheeses. You gotta try this....a little tomato, a little onion, maybe some deli mustard."
I told the kid to make it happen. He even gave me samples as he was slicing. In this city it's so easy to get used to people being churlish or curt with you. You become custom to everyone having a "what the fuck do you want?" attitude. Sometimes it's nice to be surprised by legitimate enthusiasm, and honest conneisuership.
And honestly, it was a great fucking sandwich.
Sadly, this song isn't as good...it's mostly just loud. But thankfully it's less than 2 minutes long.
The deli was small, and clearly existed only for it's sandwich counter, as there weren't many groceries on display. And behind the counter was a small Dominican kid with wire rimmed glasses. After a few seconds of watching me consider my sandwich options, he asked if I'd like a recommendation. I said "sure" and the kid went into his schpiel.
"First, you gotta go with the honey roasted turkey" He held up the turkey breast as evidence. "Then...you like swiss cheese."
"Sure"
"Then...I've got just the thing for you...we've got this Guryere...aged 9 months. This is the Swiss Cheese of swiss cheeses. You gotta try this....a little tomato, a little onion, maybe some deli mustard."
I told the kid to make it happen. He even gave me samples as he was slicing. In this city it's so easy to get used to people being churlish or curt with you. You become custom to everyone having a "what the fuck do you want?" attitude. Sometimes it's nice to be surprised by legitimate enthusiasm, and honest conneisuership.
And honestly, it was a great fucking sandwich.
Sadly, this song isn't as good...it's mostly just loud. But thankfully it's less than 2 minutes long.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Another Brick in the Wall - Pink Floyd - The Wall - 1979
From 2000-2002 I worked for a small dot.com down in the financial district. Our boss/CEO was easily one of the most odd people I have ever encountered in my life. He was a former Israeli tank commander who kept photographs of the people he had killed on his desk. He was a rabid stoner, who would shut the door and smoke up in his office and then come out yelling and screaming that we weren't working hard enough. Despite having lived in this country for many years, his English was still awful and his spelling worse. I wrote most of his emails for him...and the ones I didn't write were nearly unreadable.
So one friday evening we were all sitting in his office with a six pack when he opened with one of his usual bizarre non-sequiters. He was speaking to the british salesman in our office and he says something to the effect of "Ehhhhhh (he always begin with a long "Eh") Chris! I feel bad for you British people...it's like, when you are school kids, ehhh, you have to walk into that thing that grinds you up. Makes you hamburger It seems very sad."
Now, to this day, I'm still not sure if he honestly believed that british school children had to walk into a meat grinder as part of some intiation, or if, he actually understood the metaphor (or even what a metaphor was) of the school system as part of british societies culture of repression but either way, it was an odd moment from an odd man.
So one friday evening we were all sitting in his office with a six pack when he opened with one of his usual bizarre non-sequiters. He was speaking to the british salesman in our office and he says something to the effect of "Ehhhhhh (he always begin with a long "Eh") Chris! I feel bad for you British people...it's like, when you are school kids, ehhh, you have to walk into that thing that grinds you up. Makes you hamburger It seems very sad."
Now, to this day, I'm still not sure if he honestly believed that british school children had to walk into a meat grinder as part of some intiation, or if, he actually understood the metaphor (or even what a metaphor was) of the school system as part of british societies culture of repression but either way, it was an odd moment from an odd man.
Anon - Low - The Curtain Hits The Cast - 1996
"Anon" was actually the answer to a NY Times crossword puzzle question this week. "Soon, poetically" was the clue...I came through for my work crossword team on that one.
Low, being low.
Low, being low.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Anodyne - Uncle Tupelo - Anodyne - 1993
I had to get up early this AM to make it in to work and prepare for a big meeting I was running for the first time, and it reminded me of a theory I've long had about the correlation between time and the amount of attractive women there are on the subway...(okay, I'm going back on the promise I made to my girlfriend about not writing about hot chicks ont the subway, but I'm letting myself slide on this one as I am not talking about a SPECIFIC hot chick on the subway, but rather hot chicks, or their scarcity, as a phenomenon). Basically the theory goes like this...despite all of our best intentions and desires for us to live in a better and egalatarian world, in New York, where absolutely everything is a competition, attractive women have first dibs on the jobs that start at 10AM. Granted, in many cases, these are lower paying publishing or media jobs...but none of this changes the fact that you will find almost no attractive women on the subway at 8AM. You will find a fair amount of large middle-aged women, and power-suited men...hot chicks, not so much.
No for those that wonder why I spend all this time thinking about this on my commute, instead of, you know...thinking about my job, praying/meditating, reading the great american (or otherwise) novel, sculpting...what have you. It's because, frankly, we all need inspiration to make it through the hellish and tedious slog we call life. And we all find inspiration in our own places.
Jay Farrar may have only had a brief window of inspiration: three or four years tops, but this song falls squarely in the middle of that window. So here's to you Jay, and a word of advice to you. Never ride the subway before 8:45.
No for those that wonder why I spend all this time thinking about this on my commute, instead of, you know...thinking about my job, praying/meditating, reading the great american (or otherwise) novel, sculpting...what have you. It's because, frankly, we all need inspiration to make it through the hellish and tedious slog we call life. And we all find inspiration in our own places.
Jay Farrar may have only had a brief window of inspiration: three or four years tops, but this song falls squarely in the middle of that window. So here's to you Jay, and a word of advice to you. Never ride the subway before 8:45.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Annie, Let's Not Wait - Guillemots - Through The Window Pane - 2006
As a man with a girl named Anne on his arm, I'm sort of predisposed to liking any song with her name in it...well, obviously minus "Annie's Song"...cause dear God, I'm not even diabetic, but exposure to that much saccherine would surely send me into some sort of coma. And with a title like that, it was really tempting to put it on during our early courtship period...but even aside of the obvious reasons, I really honestly like this song...and that's despite a number of things that I ordinarily wouldn't like: a children's choir, the sort of "world music" bass line, the tinkling piano riff, the general upbeat vibe of the song...but honestly. I just find if effective.
And, of course, my girlfriend...does not.
Ah well.
And, of course, my girlfriend...does not.
Ah well.
Annie - Elefant - Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid - 2003
So, I got a weird fever thing last week...no idea what it was or what it was from. No cough or respitory trouble, no, uh, "tummy trouble"...just a feeling that I was alternating between being absolutely freezing to death, and then 1/2 an hour later I'd be sweating so bad I thought I'd need to change my shirt. I had no energy at all, felt like my brain was in a fog, and I was treading through oatmeal. I went immediately home after work on Friday (surely a sign that something was wrong, if ever there was one) sat under 13 blankets, ate wonton soup, and watched Excalibur (which I got at Duane Reade for $4.99 that day). It felt like I was 10...and not in a good way.
Elefant is always going to sound like the skinniest hipster in the room circa 2003. You can almost hear the white jeans rubbing together as they play. But it isn't without it's charms.
Elefant is always going to sound like the skinniest hipster in the room circa 2003. You can almost hear the white jeans rubbing together as they play. But it isn't without it's charms.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Anna Maria - Peter and the Wolf - Lightness - 2006
So, I had a bit of a drink up with my main man, Anand last night and ended up crashing at a ridiculously early hour. I woke up about 1 and was grateful to discover that my girlfriend had left a glass of water, largely untouched, on the night stand from the night before.
Now granted, this glass of water had been sitting out for more than a day...and was certainly room temperature, even if it was a cool night, but at that moment, it was the best glass of water I'd ever had. It was like I was drinking from a river in Narnia or some shit. Really, seriously...amazing glass of water.
Anyway, this is that sort of...post Oh Brother, Where Art Though, intentionally old timey sounding stuff. It's a clever gimmick...but a gimmick nonetheless.
Now granted, this glass of water had been sitting out for more than a day...and was certainly room temperature, even if it was a cool night, but at that moment, it was the best glass of water I'd ever had. It was like I was drinking from a river in Narnia or some shit. Really, seriously...amazing glass of water.
Anyway, this is that sort of...post Oh Brother, Where Art Though, intentionally old timey sounding stuff. It's a clever gimmick...but a gimmick nonetheless.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Anna Lee (Dressed In New Lightning) - Grey Revell - Crazy Like An Ambush - 1999
So my crazy subway preacher was back yesterday. I see him about once or twice a month...but yesterday was the first time he'd ever directly addressed me. I had my headphones on and was walking towards the back of the train before I realized that he was pacing and preaching. I quickly backed into a doorway, audibly saying "Oh Boy" as I did. This clearly drew his ire. And for the rest of his ride I became his example of "white people".
I felt like pointing out that I work for an African-American owned company, that my boss is a black man, that my roommate is a black man, and that this hardly makes me a good example of "The Man"...but I have enough crazy preachers in my family to know that you just don't engage them.
One woman on the train that got on at Borough Hall, during his rant about judges and lawyers, decided to engage him...this was a mistake. She tried the "I agree with you, but do we have to do this now" tactic...which was a mistake, but at least got him off my case.
Anyway, this song is nice enough...but the guitar bit sounds a lot like Mirah's "Archepeligo". And I don't know, the dude with an acoustic guitar thing only goes so far.
I felt like pointing out that I work for an African-American owned company, that my boss is a black man, that my roommate is a black man, and that this hardly makes me a good example of "The Man"...but I have enough crazy preachers in my family to know that you just don't engage them.
One woman on the train that got on at Borough Hall, during his rant about judges and lawyers, decided to engage him...this was a mistake. She tried the "I agree with you, but do we have to do this now" tactic...which was a mistake, but at least got him off my case.
Anyway, this song is nice enough...but the guitar bit sounds a lot like Mirah's "Archepeligo". And I don't know, the dude with an acoustic guitar thing only goes so far.
Animated Airplanes Over Germany - Superchunk - Here's Where The Strings Come In - 1995
I realized that I spent a lot of last week talking about 9/11...which is something I'm usually not given to do. Generally, I hate talking about it, and hate when I go home to Indiana that there is always some relative that wants to hear the story again...but it would be impossible to not talk about it in the context of this song.
Granted, this song was recorded a solid 6 years before those events, but it's hard to not see a weird reflection of them in the story of this song. Mac McCaughan has never been that much of a storyteller with his lyrics. He tends to write in impressionistic blurbs that paint a story in the details rather than in events. (Think of the way that a nation of kids took "Slack Motherfucker" as an anti-capitalist rant when in fact it was the opposite, a screed against a lazy co-worker)...but in this song the events are fairly concrete. A man is taking a flight over Europe, the plane starts to go down, the man picks up the phone in his seat and calls his wife/lover to say that he loves her one last time. The plane pulls out of the dive and the man thinks about his life and how close he came to losing it.
I also can't help but think about the person on the other end of that call. I think of the scene in David O Russell's Three Kings were Marky-mark calls home while he's chained up in an Iraqi prison. His wife is doing the dishes, tending to the baby, having a normal crappy day and having no idea how to respond to the fact that her husband is in so much more of a dramatic situation. Or for a more comedic example, there is John Landis' American Werewolf in London...when David Naughton, knowing that he's losing out to the wolf, calls home only to get his bratty 12 year old sister...who has no idea why her brother is tripping out and telling her he loves her. But with both of those scenes, and the scene depicted in this song, it's hard not to personalize it. To think of how confused and sad and horrified I'd be if my girlfriend called me to tell me that she loved me and that she'd be dead in a matter of seconds. Jesus.
Granted, this song was recorded a solid 6 years before those events, but it's hard to not see a weird reflection of them in the story of this song. Mac McCaughan has never been that much of a storyteller with his lyrics. He tends to write in impressionistic blurbs that paint a story in the details rather than in events. (Think of the way that a nation of kids took "Slack Motherfucker" as an anti-capitalist rant when in fact it was the opposite, a screed against a lazy co-worker)...but in this song the events are fairly concrete. A man is taking a flight over Europe, the plane starts to go down, the man picks up the phone in his seat and calls his wife/lover to say that he loves her one last time. The plane pulls out of the dive and the man thinks about his life and how close he came to losing it.
I also can't help but think about the person on the other end of that call. I think of the scene in David O Russell's Three Kings were Marky-mark calls home while he's chained up in an Iraqi prison. His wife is doing the dishes, tending to the baby, having a normal crappy day and having no idea how to respond to the fact that her husband is in so much more of a dramatic situation. Or for a more comedic example, there is John Landis' American Werewolf in London...when David Naughton, knowing that he's losing out to the wolf, calls home only to get his bratty 12 year old sister...who has no idea why her brother is tripping out and telling her he loves her. But with both of those scenes, and the scene depicted in this song, it's hard not to personalize it. To think of how confused and sad and horrified I'd be if my girlfriend called me to tell me that she loved me and that she'd be dead in a matter of seconds. Jesus.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Animals and Insects - The Stills - Logic Will Break Your Heart - 2003
I've only ever been to Montreal in August, but I can only imagine that this song is pretty good indicator of what the city must be like in the late fall/winter. There's just something about it that seems to evoke a day in which the sun sets at 3 in the afternoon and won't be back till 10 the next morning.
I don't know, it's been kind of a moody week for me in general...with all sorts of fun adult life stuff dropped into my lap. It would be really easy to sink into this mood, and with the sun setting earlier every day...SADD is only a month or so away. Ugghhhh.
I don't know, it's been kind of a moody week for me in general...with all sorts of fun adult life stuff dropped into my lap. It would be really easy to sink into this mood, and with the sun setting earlier every day...SADD is only a month or so away. Ugghhhh.
Animals - Talking Heads - Fear of Music - 1979
Ok, so this track is completely fucked...and no, not in the way David Byrne/Brian Eno meant. More in the I illegally downloaded a shitty copy from the net and it doesn't work way.
Deleting
Deleting
An Animal in Your Care - Wolf Parade - At Mount Zoomer - 2008
Well, I was hoping to make it to the "Anne's" today, since it is my six month anniversary with my lady friend...but I suppose this will do as a tribute.
Actually, it probably won't as we disagree on this song...oh, and also it seems to compare a dating relationship to owning a pet....but whatever.
But as with any of Spencer Krugs songs on the second WP album, the question is...does the song's strengths get drowned out in Krugs' idiosyncrasies. With this one in particular his vocal yelp is dialed down to a fairly manageable level, and as I said the lyrics, with it's comparison to the family dog as lover, are kinda fascinating. But most of all, it is the contrapuntal stomp that begins at 2:06 (nearly the exact midpoint of the song) that really brings the song home. It begins with a simple, almost Bach-ish piano line and slowly ads instruments to the rhythm until the band as a whole seems to be marching in step. Seeing it live certainly ads to the enjoyment of the song, as this outro section seems to boil over with tightly wound suspense.
Not my favorite song on Mt. Zoomer, but certainly one of the best.
Actually, it probably won't as we disagree on this song...oh, and also it seems to compare a dating relationship to owning a pet....but whatever.
But as with any of Spencer Krugs songs on the second WP album, the question is...does the song's strengths get drowned out in Krugs' idiosyncrasies. With this one in particular his vocal yelp is dialed down to a fairly manageable level, and as I said the lyrics, with it's comparison to the family dog as lover, are kinda fascinating. But most of all, it is the contrapuntal stomp that begins at 2:06 (nearly the exact midpoint of the song) that really brings the song home. It begins with a simple, almost Bach-ish piano line and slowly ads instruments to the rhythm until the band as a whole seems to be marching in step. Seeing it live certainly ads to the enjoyment of the song, as this outro section seems to boil over with tightly wound suspense.
Not my favorite song on Mt. Zoomer, but certainly one of the best.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Animal Farm - The Kinks - The Village Green Preservation Society - 1968
Last night, I met up with two of the guys I used to work with back in 2001. They are two of my best friends and I see them most weeks, so it's not like it was that rare of an event. But as we get older and our free time gets less, it is less often that the three of us hang out all together and without wives/girlfriends (in my case)/other friends present...and I think all three of us wanted a little moment. Much as we pretend to be gruff cynics...all of the reminders we got on the day couldn't help but make us think a bit about where we were 7 years ago.
At the end of a very very involved night of drinking, I split a cab back to Brooklyn with one of the two. Despite being in Alphabet City, we told the cab driver to take the battery tunnel so that we could swing down by the old site, where the twin light memorial was shining. We had lucked into a mini-van cab and it was definitely cool to lean back and look at the lights, with the moon caught between them, and think of happier times.
The Kinks knew a thing or two about Utopia...sadly, we seem further than ever from that kind of dream.
At the end of a very very involved night of drinking, I split a cab back to Brooklyn with one of the two. Despite being in Alphabet City, we told the cab driver to take the battery tunnel so that we could swing down by the old site, where the twin light memorial was shining. We had lucked into a mini-van cab and it was definitely cool to lean back and look at the lights, with the moon caught between them, and think of happier times.
The Kinks knew a thing or two about Utopia...sadly, we seem further than ever from that kind of dream.
Animal - Def Leppard - Hysteria - 1987
I cannot even begin to tell you how much my entire 7th grade class loved this album. Little did we know that every single song on this album would one day be a stripper anthem.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Anhoi Polloi - Most Serene Republic - Phages EP - 2006
There is a story in the New Testament that most Christians with any basic knowledge probably know, but few think about the realities of. On the week before his crucifixion, Jesus comes to Jerusalem to celebrate passover with his disciples. He enters the temple and almost immediately flips his shit. In this place that is supposed to be sacred, he sees commerce. Money changers are exchanging Roman currency for Jewish, animals are being sold for sacrifice at outrageous rates.
Well, the big JC does not take kindly to this and kinda flips his shit. He goes around knocking over tables and grabs a bull whip and drives them from the temple. Most scholars, when attempting to assess the historicity of the Gospels believe this was probably the act that got the guy in trouble with the Romans in the first place.
Anyway, I give you this little bit of bible study knowledge cause it most accurately sums up my feelings about 9/11. Working in the financial district at the time...I saw the tables set up a mere week later. Tables selling hats, and pins and commemorative crap with the two towers and eagles and flags...while the smell of burning flesh hung in the air. It was in that moment, for one of the few times since I've been in NYC that the phrase "What Would Jesus Do" actually held meaning for me. I would have gladly driven the money changers from the temple...except there were all these dudes with machine guns everywhere.
Anyway, Most Serene Republic is like a knock-off Broken Social Scene...they do alright, but nowhere near as good as the original.
Well, the big JC does not take kindly to this and kinda flips his shit. He goes around knocking over tables and grabs a bull whip and drives them from the temple. Most scholars, when attempting to assess the historicity of the Gospels believe this was probably the act that got the guy in trouble with the Romans in the first place.
Anyway, I give you this little bit of bible study knowledge cause it most accurately sums up my feelings about 9/11. Working in the financial district at the time...I saw the tables set up a mere week later. Tables selling hats, and pins and commemorative crap with the two towers and eagles and flags...while the smell of burning flesh hung in the air. It was in that moment, for one of the few times since I've been in NYC that the phrase "What Would Jesus Do" actually held meaning for me. I would have gladly driven the money changers from the temple...except there were all these dudes with machine guns everywhere.
Anyway, Most Serene Republic is like a knock-off Broken Social Scene...they do alright, but nowhere near as good as the original.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
An Angry Blade - Iron & Wine - The Creek Drank The Cradle - 2002
Over the course of our lives, there are a handful of days that change our perceptions. Some we never see coming, the day we meet that special someone, or the day that someone decides to walk out on us, or the day that terrorist decide to drop plans into buildings.
But other days we know about, we know for a fact that these days will change our lives. Wedding days, graduations, the birth of children. The first Iron & Wine album always reminds me of one of those days. It was my 29th birthday, and I was standing on the steps of The Natural History Museum waiting for a girl I was starting to date. My birthday fell on a Monday, so the party had been the Friday before. I had just finished a one year freelance gig with an investment bank, and was preparing to go to Europe for the first time with the money I'd saved. I'd shaved off a beard and gotten my hair cut.
My world was about to change, both for better and for worse...and it was an odd feeling, liberating and exhilirating. And I knew I'd never have another one quite like it.
But other days we know about, we know for a fact that these days will change our lives. Wedding days, graduations, the birth of children. The first Iron & Wine album always reminds me of one of those days. It was my 29th birthday, and I was standing on the steps of The Natural History Museum waiting for a girl I was starting to date. My birthday fell on a Monday, so the party had been the Friday before. I had just finished a one year freelance gig with an investment bank, and was preparing to go to Europe for the first time with the money I'd saved. I'd shaved off a beard and gotten my hair cut.
My world was about to change, both for better and for worse...and it was an odd feeling, liberating and exhilirating. And I knew I'd never have another one quite like it.
Angry Angel - Imogen Heap - I, Megaphone - 1998
Man, chicks were really pissed in the nineties.
Imogen Heap back when she was still trying to be P.J. Harvey, rather than Bjork.
Imogen Heap back when she was still trying to be P.J. Harvey, rather than Bjork.
(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes - Elvis Costello - My Aim Is True - 1977
You know it's really easy to think of Elvis Costello as a punk. He certainly had the attitude and came out of the same scene...but with the passing of time, it's easy to see past the attitude and the clever lyrics and see how in line with his contemporaries in the AOR scene. Often I'll listen to My Aim Is True and think "Wow, he sounded so much like Springsteen".
And everytime I hear the intro to this song? I think I'm about to hear a Tom Petty song. I mean sure, they both owe a debt to Roger McGuinn...but it's taken the passing of time to realize that they were cut from the same cloth. Yet try telling that to my fifty year old "rock and roll" uncle who loves Petty and dispises Costello as a wussy british dork in nerd glasses.
Great story about this...my uncle went to go see John Cougar Mellencamp in Indianapolis in the late 70's...he walked out of the concert because he couldn't stand the opening act...who was...Elvis Costello. This of course raises the bigger point, what the fuck was Elvis Costello doing opening up for Mellencamp (Back when he was Johnny Cougar) in Indianapolis?
And everytime I hear the intro to this song? I think I'm about to hear a Tom Petty song. I mean sure, they both owe a debt to Roger McGuinn...but it's taken the passing of time to realize that they were cut from the same cloth. Yet try telling that to my fifty year old "rock and roll" uncle who loves Petty and dispises Costello as a wussy british dork in nerd glasses.
Great story about this...my uncle went to go see John Cougar Mellencamp in Indianapolis in the late 70's...he walked out of the concert because he couldn't stand the opening act...who was...Elvis Costello. This of course raises the bigger point, what the fuck was Elvis Costello doing opening up for Mellencamp (Back when he was Johnny Cougar) in Indianapolis?
Angels vs Aliens - Mogwai - Ten Rapid - 1997
Ok, so here is the thing that never made sense to me: you can't feed the Mogwai after midnight...but until when? Dawn? 7AM? 9AM? Is there some kind of Mogwai clock?
Also, if a drop of water made them multiply, what did they drink? Was it just water that produced this response. What if you dropped some Jameson's on them, would you get drunk and surly Gremlins (Suddenly the Leprechaun films make more sense...yes even Leprechaun 6: Back 2 Da Hood). Were Mogwai in fact the only non-water based life form around? Or was the reason the other Mogwai wanted to turn into Gremlins just cause they were freaking thirsty?
Continuing on this line of thinking...the title of this song also suggests a new film franchise to me. Now that the Alien has succesfully faced off against The Predator, perhaps they need to take a shot at God's messengers. Angels vs Aliens: This time it's Holy War! I'm thinking the Rock as Michael the Angel general, with Vin Diesel as Gabriel, and Samuel L. Jackson as God. And of course, as always, James Earl Jones as the voice of the magic taco.
Thoughts for the ages.
Also, if a drop of water made them multiply, what did they drink? Was it just water that produced this response. What if you dropped some Jameson's on them, would you get drunk and surly Gremlins (Suddenly the Leprechaun films make more sense...yes even Leprechaun 6: Back 2 Da Hood). Were Mogwai in fact the only non-water based life form around? Or was the reason the other Mogwai wanted to turn into Gremlins just cause they were freaking thirsty?
Continuing on this line of thinking...the title of this song also suggests a new film franchise to me. Now that the Alien has succesfully faced off against The Predator, perhaps they need to take a shot at God's messengers. Angels vs Aliens: This time it's Holy War! I'm thinking the Rock as Michael the Angel general, with Vin Diesel as Gabriel, and Samuel L. Jackson as God. And of course, as always, James Earl Jones as the voice of the magic taco.
Thoughts for the ages.
The Angels of Sleep - Portastatic - A Slow Note From A Sinking Ship - 1995
When I was a little kid I used to try and catch my guardian angel. As a pre-schooler I had been subject to really traumatic nightmares. So, my sweet, caring, hopelessly naive grandmother had convinced me that I had a guardian angel watching over me and keeping me safe at night. This is probably what led to my weird religious phase.
But anyway, I believed that every time I closed my eyes the angel would appear...so I'd spend hours laying in bed trying to suddenly open my eyes in the hopes of catching the angel off guard. Two things about this story, first of all it speaks to the human need to prove that there is something beyond our experience in the world...that we are constantly looking for some proof that there is still some magic left in this science based world of ours...even when all signs point to there being very little.
And secondly, what kinda second-rate slacker-ass angel did I think I had if I thought it could be punked by a 7 year old boy. Clearly I already had shitty self-esteem if even my imaginary guardian angel was a fuck-up.
Anyway, here's the mighty Mac McCaughan (if you haven't noticed, the man is one of my personal heroes) with one of his earlier, low-fi Portastatic tracks, letting the quality of the song overcome the production, the playing, his nasal voice, etc...and still being absolute gem.
But anyway, I believed that every time I closed my eyes the angel would appear...so I'd spend hours laying in bed trying to suddenly open my eyes in the hopes of catching the angel off guard. Two things about this story, first of all it speaks to the human need to prove that there is something beyond our experience in the world...that we are constantly looking for some proof that there is still some magic left in this science based world of ours...even when all signs point to there being very little.
And secondly, what kinda second-rate slacker-ass angel did I think I had if I thought it could be punked by a 7 year old boy. Clearly I already had shitty self-esteem if even my imaginary guardian angel was a fuck-up.
Anyway, here's the mighty Mac McCaughan (if you haven't noticed, the man is one of my personal heroes) with one of his earlier, low-fi Portastatic tracks, letting the quality of the song overcome the production, the playing, his nasal voice, etc...and still being absolute gem.
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