Not to ride in on the coat tails of Pitchfork too much, but this probably was the best song of 2007. The rest of the Battles album has it's charms, but this was the clear winner with it's absolutely propulsive drum beats, piston engine guitars and nonsense vocorder singing that somehow doesn't get annoying after 7 minutes.
As usual, it's always harder to write about a song I really like than one I totally hate. This song rocks, and it's great for driving in the summer or taking the subway home at night. Cheers!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Atlantis to Interzone - Klaxons - Xan Valleys EP - 2006
So I guess I've strung you guys along long enough with the tale of the third guy who broke his hand punching me in the face...incidentally, this was also the last time I was punched in the face.
As I've probably mentioned on this blog before (I'm too lazy to check) I worked as a summer camp counselor for several summers in my late teens/early twenties. My second summer there, I was twenty and was generally having a pretty great time. For those that have never worked at a summer camp, you are basically locked into a 24 hour a day, 6 day a week microcosm with a lot of hormonally overdriven other teenagers and given the responsibility to care for children. You get nearly no sleep and even less pay, but on the plus side you spend a lot of time with hot and sweaty college girls.
One of the girls at the camp was a crazy Irish girl who drove most of the boys mad. She was a mess of curly hair and long freakled legs and evil manipulations, she knew all the boys wanted her and that she could get whatever she wanted without giving much in return...and mostly what she wanted was attention.
So one day, her non-camp employed boyfriend came tearing into camp on a motorcycle, convinced (not unreasonably) that his girl was not being entirely faithful to him. Much drama ensued and at the end of the fight, the guy swore that if she didn't follow him out, he was going to kill himself. When she refused to acqueise, he tore off on his motorcycle, making a rather sad show of ditching it in the gravel to give some authenticity to his "suicide" attempt.
Now this is where it gets complicated...for insurance reasons, because he had made a suicide attempt on city property, the camp was not allowed to let him leave the premises until the paramedics arrived to examine him, but because he had tried to commit suicide on 2 prior occassions (Probably each time with the same level of seriousness) one more reported attempt meant that he would have to stay at an inpatient pysch facility for 2 weeks for evaluation. For this reason, he certainly did not want to be detained for long enough for the authorities to arrive.
To prevent his leaving, the camp director gathered the 4 biggest guys in the camp...of which I was one (ok, I was the smallest of the 4, but I still made the list) and had us surround him to keep him from getting back on his bike. Now keep in mind that 3 of the 4 of us had some kind of history with the crazy girl...so we weren't exactly viewing this douchebag as a guy to be respected. Seeing that he was surrounded, he decided to try to fight his way out...and the way to go was through the smallest of the 4 guys. Unfortunately for him, his punch landed right on the point of my chin breaking three fingers in the process. The pretty much put an end to the fight.
Incidentally, I ended up running into the crazy Irish girl years later in NYC. Not much had changed. We had a 6 month spell of quasi-dating/sexually charged friendship that ended in a bar fight...but that's a story for another time.
I enjoy the energy of Klaxons...you definitely don't want to listen to them before you've had your first cup of coffee...but they'll get you going.
As I've probably mentioned on this blog before (I'm too lazy to check) I worked as a summer camp counselor for several summers in my late teens/early twenties. My second summer there, I was twenty and was generally having a pretty great time. For those that have never worked at a summer camp, you are basically locked into a 24 hour a day, 6 day a week microcosm with a lot of hormonally overdriven other teenagers and given the responsibility to care for children. You get nearly no sleep and even less pay, but on the plus side you spend a lot of time with hot and sweaty college girls.
One of the girls at the camp was a crazy Irish girl who drove most of the boys mad. She was a mess of curly hair and long freakled legs and evil manipulations, she knew all the boys wanted her and that she could get whatever she wanted without giving much in return...and mostly what she wanted was attention.
So one day, her non-camp employed boyfriend came tearing into camp on a motorcycle, convinced (not unreasonably) that his girl was not being entirely faithful to him. Much drama ensued and at the end of the fight, the guy swore that if she didn't follow him out, he was going to kill himself. When she refused to acqueise, he tore off on his motorcycle, making a rather sad show of ditching it in the gravel to give some authenticity to his "suicide" attempt.
Now this is where it gets complicated...for insurance reasons, because he had made a suicide attempt on city property, the camp was not allowed to let him leave the premises until the paramedics arrived to examine him, but because he had tried to commit suicide on 2 prior occassions (Probably each time with the same level of seriousness) one more reported attempt meant that he would have to stay at an inpatient pysch facility for 2 weeks for evaluation. For this reason, he certainly did not want to be detained for long enough for the authorities to arrive.
To prevent his leaving, the camp director gathered the 4 biggest guys in the camp...of which I was one (ok, I was the smallest of the 4, but I still made the list) and had us surround him to keep him from getting back on his bike. Now keep in mind that 3 of the 4 of us had some kind of history with the crazy girl...so we weren't exactly viewing this douchebag as a guy to be respected. Seeing that he was surrounded, he decided to try to fight his way out...and the way to go was through the smallest of the 4 guys. Unfortunately for him, his punch landed right on the point of my chin breaking three fingers in the process. The pretty much put an end to the fight.
Incidentally, I ended up running into the crazy Irish girl years later in NYC. Not much had changed. We had a 6 month spell of quasi-dating/sexually charged friendship that ended in a bar fight...but that's a story for another time.
I enjoy the energy of Klaxons...you definitely don't want to listen to them before you've had your first cup of coffee...but they'll get you going.
Atlantic City - The Hold Steady - War Child: Heroes Vol I - 2009
The Hold Steady try an interesting approach to covering a song that, if you read my previous entry you'll know, I find near impossible to improve upon. They take what The Boss did with a guitar, harmonica and one hell of a killer hook...and perform it as if the song had been on Born In The USA with the full E-Street Band backing it up. There's the tinkling piano, the harmonic squelling guitar solo, the Jersey Shore sax that may very well be played by the Big Man, the female background singer to hammer home that hook, and synchopated stop to a chanted chorus before a big kick back in.
I may have my issues with The Hold Steady, and I certainly don't prefer this version, but I have to give them credit for turning what sounded dull on paper into a solid reinterpretation. Well played boys, well played.
I may have my issues with The Hold Steady, and I certainly don't prefer this version, but I have to give them credit for turning what sounded dull on paper into a solid reinterpretation. Well played boys, well played.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Atlantic City - Bruce Springsteen - Nebraska - 1982
Well, I'm going to take a small detour before giving you all the third punched in the face story, mostly because I need to talk about this song...
Springsteen, when he is at his best (Which he unquestionably is in this song), captures the frustration of being stuck in a working class life while tormented by bigger ambitions. He's most remembered for his moments of triumphant catharsis through escape ("Tramps like us, baby we were born to run!" "This town's full of losers, and I'm pulling out of here to win!") but the real drama comes from the sense that those escapes are false hopes and dead ends. His characters are doomed Calvinist, already damned from birth and the protagonist of this song is no different.
If anything his plight is worse, he holds no false hope of redemption. He knows the choice he makes when says "last night I met this guy and I'm going to do a little favor for him" will bring no redemption, only temporary relief before a greater hell.
Springsteen was always a great admirer of Dylan, and the entirety of the Nebraska is an attempt to wed the sonic sensibilities of a pre-electric Dylan to the Jersey Shore narratives (along with a healthy dose of Charlie Starkweather) for which the Boss was already quite famous by 82. The strategy doesn't always work, some of the songs can seem overly sparse, and other meandering...but when it does work, it is amazing...
Springsteen, when he is at his best (Which he unquestionably is in this song), captures the frustration of being stuck in a working class life while tormented by bigger ambitions. He's most remembered for his moments of triumphant catharsis through escape ("Tramps like us, baby we were born to run!" "This town's full of losers, and I'm pulling out of here to win!") but the real drama comes from the sense that those escapes are false hopes and dead ends. His characters are doomed Calvinist, already damned from birth and the protagonist of this song is no different.
If anything his plight is worse, he holds no false hope of redemption. He knows the choice he makes when says "last night I met this guy and I'm going to do a little favor for him" will bring no redemption, only temporary relief before a greater hell.
Springsteen was always a great admirer of Dylan, and the entirety of the Nebraska is an attempt to wed the sonic sensibilities of a pre-electric Dylan to the Jersey Shore narratives (along with a healthy dose of Charlie Starkweather) for which the Boss was already quite famous by 82. The strategy doesn't always work, some of the songs can seem overly sparse, and other meandering...but when it does work, it is amazing...
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Athelete - Erland Oye - Unrest - 2003
The thing is, I had considered fighting Aaron before...but there's just no winning a fight with a tiny dude. You beat the crap out of him, and you look like a bully...he beats the crap out of you, and you look like a pansy. So my strategy was essientially to avoid contact with him.
This is why his hit and run while I was on a date was particularly annoying...but once he'd thrown the punch, I knew he was going to have to engage. The punch hadn't particularly hurt so much as jarred me, but it had stalled me long enough that every girl in school had surrounded "poor little Aaron" and gotten him as far from me as possible.
So a couple of interesting things happened in the aftermath. The punch hadn't really done much damage to me. Catching me right on the top of the cheek bone (Remember he jumped up to punch me and threw the punch downwards), I had little more than a little red dot on my cheek to show for the excitement. Aaron on the other hand had broken his first two fingers, his wrist and his arm to the elbow.
This had all happened on a Friday night.
Monday, for reasons that were honestly completely unrelated to the incident, I had foolishly decided to play hooky on the Monday afterwards. Not yet familiar with the intricacies of the high school rumor mill, I was shocked to discover that the word on the street was that he had shattered my eye socket and walked around the school all day on Monday, at long last the bad ass that he wished he could be. Needless to say, he was not happy to see me back and relatively unscathed on Tuesday.
We shared a class, 6th Period Spanish. The teacher, in what I am 100% certain was an effort to look up more plaid skirts of my female classmates, had arranged the desks in the class into two banks of three rows that faced each other and as luck would have it, he sat directly across the aisle from me. So I had to look at him all day. And in his misguided attempt to make himself seem tougher would spend the bulk of spanish class bashing himself in the skull with the cast on his arm...which he would follow up with a "manly" grunt and "fierce" eyes.
It must be really hard to be a short guy...fortunately I wouldn't know.
Kings of Convenience's Quiet is the New Loud is one of my all time favorite hangover albums. Having said that, I don't know that I ever need to have another album by the Norwegian folkies. There is only so much that sound can do. One of the members of Kings, Erland Oye attracted my interest when I heard his stuff was more electronica based...however it is still just as soft and delicate. The skill with melody is still there, but the acoustic guitars have simply been replaced by the bleeps and bloops of Scandanavian Electro-pop. It's nice enough, but a bit of a snooze fest.
This is why his hit and run while I was on a date was particularly annoying...but once he'd thrown the punch, I knew he was going to have to engage. The punch hadn't particularly hurt so much as jarred me, but it had stalled me long enough that every girl in school had surrounded "poor little Aaron" and gotten him as far from me as possible.
So a couple of interesting things happened in the aftermath. The punch hadn't really done much damage to me. Catching me right on the top of the cheek bone (Remember he jumped up to punch me and threw the punch downwards), I had little more than a little red dot on my cheek to show for the excitement. Aaron on the other hand had broken his first two fingers, his wrist and his arm to the elbow.
This had all happened on a Friday night.
Monday, for reasons that were honestly completely unrelated to the incident, I had foolishly decided to play hooky on the Monday afterwards. Not yet familiar with the intricacies of the high school rumor mill, I was shocked to discover that the word on the street was that he had shattered my eye socket and walked around the school all day on Monday, at long last the bad ass that he wished he could be. Needless to say, he was not happy to see me back and relatively unscathed on Tuesday.
We shared a class, 6th Period Spanish. The teacher, in what I am 100% certain was an effort to look up more plaid skirts of my female classmates, had arranged the desks in the class into two banks of three rows that faced each other and as luck would have it, he sat directly across the aisle from me. So I had to look at him all day. And in his misguided attempt to make himself seem tougher would spend the bulk of spanish class bashing himself in the skull with the cast on his arm...which he would follow up with a "manly" grunt and "fierce" eyes.
It must be really hard to be a short guy...fortunately I wouldn't know.
Kings of Convenience's Quiet is the New Loud is one of my all time favorite hangover albums. Having said that, I don't know that I ever need to have another album by the Norwegian folkies. There is only so much that sound can do. One of the members of Kings, Erland Oye attracted my interest when I heard his stuff was more electronica based...however it is still just as soft and delicate. The skill with melody is still there, but the acoustic guitars have simply been replaced by the bleeps and bloops of Scandanavian Electro-pop. It's nice enough, but a bit of a snooze fest.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Ate It Twice - Boston Spaceships - Brown Submarine - 2008
So, the second time a guy broke his hand on my face, I was 15, and if time #3 is the better story...then time #2 is the stranger one.
I was a freshman in highschool and was just starting to get comfortable with this notion of having a friend who was a girl (as comfortable as any man ever can be with it) and I had a friend named Jen. She was a shy, bookish girl who would later go on to become a doctor and we had a sort of low key lunch table friendship that was helped by the fact that she wasn't particularly my type. Now the problem was this kid named Aaron.
Aaron was a very particular midwest type...short, scrawny and even whiter than me Aaron adopted the pose of the "Bad Ass". He kept his head shaved and wore combat boots every single day and was convinced that he could kick the shit out of anyone who got in his way. He ran with a dopey flunky, who's name I can no longer remember (though we called him Wing Nut). Anyway, Aaron and his flunky would frequently make stops at my lunch table to toss game at Jen.
Now at the time, I found the notion of him and Jen together ridiculous. As I said, she was studiuos and shy and in my mind was so far above that little twirp that she shouldn't have even given him the time of day...I was too inexperienced to realize that women will often date men wildly beneath them. So I spent the entirity of Aaron's visits belittling him while he was trying to get his groove on. And I was a smartass, so my belittling was probably fairly brutal...but even then I was six inches taller and probably 40 pounds heavier than the kid. This started a sort of mini-cold war between me and Aaron, with me constantly ripping on him while he seethed and postured. This goes on for a few weeks.
So one Friday night, I'm on a date...one that was already disastoriously bad BEFORE the violence erupted. My friend Bryan, who was immune to shame and as such always had dates lined up, had fixed me up with the friend of whoever his current girl was. And as usual in this arrangement it was a terribly bad match, because the friend was always a shy quiet girl...so we'd both sit in awkward silence while Bryan pawed his girl.
That particular night we'd also chosen a particularly bad venue for our date...the school play. Now granted, there isn't a ton of stuff you can do on a high school date in the Midwest, and even less before you can drive...but still, the school production of Little Shop of Horrors was probably a bad call. And it was an even worse call for me, because the sole reason I was attending was because I had a massive ungodly brutal crush on the senior who was the lead in the play...my date was so little the object of my attention at that play that I even forgot her name (Incidentally, it was also Jennifer, a fact that I'll never forget NOW).
So anyway, the play lets out, my date is going horribly and I'm standing on the corner with my friend and the girl's waiting for Bryan's mom to pick us up. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around. At that point, Aaron grabs a hold of my shoulder and uses this to leverage himself to jump up and punch me in the face.
To Be Continued...
Bob Pollard's Boston Spaceships seems to be the closest thing we'll get to a "return to form" from Uncle Bob. Stripped of his prog rock leanings that he's cultivated over his past few solo albums (and the last few GBV albums), he returns to straight ahead guitar rock and by and large it serves him well. I haven't enjoyed a Pollard Release this much since...well at least since Half Smiles of the Decomposed.
I was a freshman in highschool and was just starting to get comfortable with this notion of having a friend who was a girl (as comfortable as any man ever can be with it) and I had a friend named Jen. She was a shy, bookish girl who would later go on to become a doctor and we had a sort of low key lunch table friendship that was helped by the fact that she wasn't particularly my type. Now the problem was this kid named Aaron.
Aaron was a very particular midwest type...short, scrawny and even whiter than me Aaron adopted the pose of the "Bad Ass". He kept his head shaved and wore combat boots every single day and was convinced that he could kick the shit out of anyone who got in his way. He ran with a dopey flunky, who's name I can no longer remember (though we called him Wing Nut). Anyway, Aaron and his flunky would frequently make stops at my lunch table to toss game at Jen.
Now at the time, I found the notion of him and Jen together ridiculous. As I said, she was studiuos and shy and in my mind was so far above that little twirp that she shouldn't have even given him the time of day...I was too inexperienced to realize that women will often date men wildly beneath them. So I spent the entirity of Aaron's visits belittling him while he was trying to get his groove on. And I was a smartass, so my belittling was probably fairly brutal...but even then I was six inches taller and probably 40 pounds heavier than the kid. This started a sort of mini-cold war between me and Aaron, with me constantly ripping on him while he seethed and postured. This goes on for a few weeks.
So one Friday night, I'm on a date...one that was already disastoriously bad BEFORE the violence erupted. My friend Bryan, who was immune to shame and as such always had dates lined up, had fixed me up with the friend of whoever his current girl was. And as usual in this arrangement it was a terribly bad match, because the friend was always a shy quiet girl...so we'd both sit in awkward silence while Bryan pawed his girl.
That particular night we'd also chosen a particularly bad venue for our date...the school play. Now granted, there isn't a ton of stuff you can do on a high school date in the Midwest, and even less before you can drive...but still, the school production of Little Shop of Horrors was probably a bad call. And it was an even worse call for me, because the sole reason I was attending was because I had a massive ungodly brutal crush on the senior who was the lead in the play...my date was so little the object of my attention at that play that I even forgot her name (Incidentally, it was also Jennifer, a fact that I'll never forget NOW).
So anyway, the play lets out, my date is going horribly and I'm standing on the corner with my friend and the girl's waiting for Bryan's mom to pick us up. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around. At that point, Aaron grabs a hold of my shoulder and uses this to leverage himself to jump up and punch me in the face.
To Be Continued...
Bob Pollard's Boston Spaceships seems to be the closest thing we'll get to a "return to form" from Uncle Bob. Stripped of his prog rock leanings that he's cultivated over his past few solo albums (and the last few GBV albums), he returns to straight ahead guitar rock and by and large it serves him well. I haven't enjoyed a Pollard Release this much since...well at least since Half Smiles of the Decomposed.
At What Point Did You Stop Believing In Me - Bound Stems - Appreciation Night - 2006
As I was hanging out with my friends the other night, I off-handedly mentioned that I have had 3 different people break their hand while punching me in the face. Like most of the details of ones own life it didn't occur to me that this was odd until after I thought about it (For instance I have a friend who has been shot 5 times and probably doesn't think about it much). In telling what I thought were just the routine stories from my youth (all 3 incidents happened to me in my teens...the last one occurring when i was 20) I realized that it probably was a bit unusual.
The first time was easily the least interesting...when I was 13 I reached a point where I began walking the 2.5 miles home from school rather than taking the bus. This actually started a trend that would carry over through most of my life...I'd far rather just walk than wait on inefficient public transportation to ferry me home. Anyway, I was walking along when several slightly older kids from a neighboring rougher school jumped me for my pocket money. I was in my catholic school uniform, so I'm sure I was clearly an easy mark. A kid on my left started yelling stuff at me to distract me...when I turned back around, my right cheek was met with a fist punching me three times in quick succession.
At the time I was wearing braces, so the punches tore up the inside of my cheek and caused me to have a mouth full of blood which I spit at my assailant...but amusingly enough he was in a lot more trouble than me. He lay on the ground clutching his hand and crying. Despite my opponents prone state, I quickly ran away and got myself home. My mother of course freaked the fuck out and called the police, but other than a sore jaw, I was relatively fine...and I had learned a valueable lesson. Never hit anyone with a closed fist...you'll break your hand.
Bound Stems is something of a hybrid between Pavement and Modest Mouse, combining the latters vocal style with the more lackadasical musical approach of the former. The album never really grabs me, but I generally enjoy it while it's on. The waving synths and the lady background singer both make this song a little more interesting than it would be otherwise.
The first time was easily the least interesting...when I was 13 I reached a point where I began walking the 2.5 miles home from school rather than taking the bus. This actually started a trend that would carry over through most of my life...I'd far rather just walk than wait on inefficient public transportation to ferry me home. Anyway, I was walking along when several slightly older kids from a neighboring rougher school jumped me for my pocket money. I was in my catholic school uniform, so I'm sure I was clearly an easy mark. A kid on my left started yelling stuff at me to distract me...when I turned back around, my right cheek was met with a fist punching me three times in quick succession.
At the time I was wearing braces, so the punches tore up the inside of my cheek and caused me to have a mouth full of blood which I spit at my assailant...but amusingly enough he was in a lot more trouble than me. He lay on the ground clutching his hand and crying. Despite my opponents prone state, I quickly ran away and got myself home. My mother of course freaked the fuck out and called the police, but other than a sore jaw, I was relatively fine...and I had learned a valueable lesson. Never hit anyone with a closed fist...you'll break your hand.
Bound Stems is something of a hybrid between Pavement and Modest Mouse, combining the latters vocal style with the more lackadasical musical approach of the former. The album never really grabs me, but I generally enjoy it while it's on. The waving synths and the lady background singer both make this song a little more interesting than it would be otherwise.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
At The Feast - The Congos - Heart of the Congos - 1977
Antartica, the bar that has the distinction of being about ten feet from my office has a curious phenomenon they call "name night". At the begining of every month they publish a calendar with a name assigned to every day of the week (except Sundays when they are closed). If you enter the bar on the night corresponding to your name you can drink that night until 11 free of charge. Granted, there are restrictions on what you can have...but still, it's free booze...and free booze served by very attractive and friendly ladies...so you can hardly turn that down.
So, I'm sure you've gathered by now that last night was Josh night, and honestly I have to say that I pulled it off with some aplomb. 3 Pints of Vodka and Soda, 1 Pint Rum and Coke, 2 vodka shots and 2 Stellas....all in all a good showing and with very little day after nastiness. Other than a powerful thirst, I was in good shape this morning. My friend Josh also came out to take advantage of the free booze, and lost his hat...literally, but hey...in war there are always casualties.
I've never been a huge reggea person...I tend to find it monotonous, but occassionally I try. My friend Corey put the Congos on my iPod...I keep them there for historical purposes.
So, I'm sure you've gathered by now that last night was Josh night, and honestly I have to say that I pulled it off with some aplomb. 3 Pints of Vodka and Soda, 1 Pint Rum and Coke, 2 vodka shots and 2 Stellas....all in all a good showing and with very little day after nastiness. Other than a powerful thirst, I was in good shape this morning. My friend Josh also came out to take advantage of the free booze, and lost his hat...literally, but hey...in war there are always casualties.
I've never been a huge reggea person...I tend to find it monotonous, but occassionally I try. My friend Corey put the Congos on my iPod...I keep them there for historical purposes.
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