Available - The National - Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers - 2002

I keep waiting for the The National to release an album that sounds like they do on this song. Every National album has 2-3 tracks like this that prove to the world that they know how to rock. These songs are invariably the singles and the songs that produce the most excitement when played live, but a deep dive into any National album will also show you that surrounding these 2-3 songs are usually 10 other songs that drift on through a fog of red wine and the inherent disappointment of adult relationships. These songs are often quite good, and at worst are just dull...but taken in total can make an album drag and drag. Much as loved 2007's The Boxer, it could have easily cut 3-4 of it's dirges, and replaced even one of them with another rocker in this vein and they would have had a perfect album on their hands.

Instead we must make due with the little bits of adrenaline that The National deign to serve to us between bouts of melancholia. Not that this song is without its share of darkness, in fact the bitter tale the lyrics spins is one of the uglier tales in band rife with them. A familiar tale for anyone acquainted with The National's catalog or single life in NYC, it tells of the story of man consistently compelled by liquor and sex to keep coming back to the same hopeless dysfunctional relationship...punctuated by Matt Beringer's wonderful parlour trick scream.

He uses that scream twice on this album (the other time on the equally great Slipping Husband), but since has seemed reluctant to pull it out again...but the effect that occurs when Beringer goes from his deep, honeyed baritone to a throat shredding screech of frustration is jaw dropping. Coupled with the lyrics "Why do you dress me down and liquor me up?!?" it presents the picture of a man who hates this woman for using such low methods to manipulate him, and hates himself more for allowing himself to be manipulated by them. Damn near note perfect.

Astral - Calla - Televise - 2002

Jesus...Televise, much like Half Smiles of the Decomposed seems to be like 90% composed of songs beginning with "A". Didn't I just write about Calla? It's like they did it on purpose. Anyway, more of the usual sluggish churn of Calla, though this one is a little better than most.

Anyway, this will be my last post on the now nearly two months old vacation...so, I hope you've enjoyed it all. I tried to make it as entertaining as the experience was.

After our adventures in Lord Nelson, we stopped in a deli to pick up some truly awful prepackaged sandwiches and then headed back to the hotel. Since I hadn't slept at all in the car, I was out shortly thereafter. I'd like to thank Anand and Rance for not drawing a fake moustache on me and taking compromising pictures of me.

The alarm clock went off at 700AM and I was not a happy camper. A week of partying had pretty much owed me a hangover, and here it was loud and screaming clear at 7AM. And I had to get to Heathrow for a 1030 flight.

Fortunately, the theory that you must get to the airport 2 hours before an international flight doesn't really hold that true on a winter Wednesday. I was through customs in a matter of minutes and had nearly two hours to kill with a raging hang over and about 5 pounds. I bought a bottle of water and some Internet time, but mostly I just sat in a corner and moaned.

My flight was largely uneventful. I sat next to an older British couple that I tried to be as inoffensive to as possible. I wanted to do my best to stay awake to avoid jetlag, so I only slept for maybe an hour and a half.

I watched quite possibly the worst movie I've ever seen. In The Name of the King. I mean, I'm all for a good D&D movie, but Jesus Christ...anytime you are involving Burt Reynolds in a fantasy movie...and don't even get me started on Ray Liotta. Or why everyone had a different accent. Not even LeeLee Sobieski's (sadly fully clothed) breasts could save this movie. Wow...just unbelievably bad. Now I understand why people were willing to box Ule Bowe. I chased it with the slightly saccerine but at least totally competant Walk the Line just to clense my pallate. Though it was remarkably hard to take seriously having seen "Walk Hard", but that's no fault of the movie itself.

And then I was home and that was it. I ate lots of fresh veggies that night and saw my girl, happy to be home, but sorry that it was over.

Ashes of an American Flag - Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - 2002

I'm going to take a quick break from talking about my trip, so that I can talk about St. Patrick's Day...there is probably no day on the planet that I am more conflicted about than the day we celebrate my heritage.

On Saturday I was in Central Bar watching Arsenal give a tremendous 4-0 whipping to Blackburn...the match wrapped up about 1 and I went to go grab some food, only to find that the streets of the East Village were flooded with NYU students in green t-shirts and ridiculous plastic hats. They jammed every bar with their obnoxious behavior and loud boisterous ignorance. I realize I'm shaking my fist like an old man (which I am) at the kids these days...it just seems as if...

Ok first of all, St. Patrick's Day was on Tuesday not Saturday. If you are going to celebrate, celebrate on the actual day. You're college student's for fuck's sake...I'm an adult with a job and I still went out and drank on a Tuesday night. What excuse do you have? Second of all, again, you're college students...why do you need an excuse to get hammered? Just go out and get drunk, you don't have to do it in asinine green costumes that make you look like an asshole and makes my people look like drunken fuck-wits. It's exactly like my argument against Halloween, if you want to dress like an idiot or a whore...just dress like and idiot or a whore, why do you need a holiday for it?

But on the flipside, I must acknowledge that it is a nice thing to have a day celebrating Irish heritage...even aside of my own since of cultural aggrandizement, the Irish have played a significant part in the building of this nation. We've worked in it's police departments and firehouses, we've acted in films and plays, we've sang in bars and concert halls alike, we've built skyscrapers and railroads, and we've even had one of our own become one of the greatest president's this nation has seen. It's just a shame that our holiday is also mingled with so many idiots and amateurs who just want an excuse for public urination.

It is both oddly appropriate and wildly ridiculous that I'm attaching this rant to Ashes of an American Flag. Wilco's celebration/lament for modern American culture has also become one of the touch stones of liberal reaction to the Bush years...and to this day it's haunting atmospherics, oblique lyrics, and world weary tone still ring true. We may have a new found hope, but we are still digging out from the ashes of the past, and no hurdles are encountered everyday...AIG for instance. It's a tough old world, but the only place to go is up...right?

As Quick As It Comes/Carrera - Calla - Televise - 2002

We stayed at The White Swan for a couple of hours, eating the shitty British pub food and drinking beers. Our perspective was changed somewhat by the fact that Arsenal drew the match 0-0. On one hand, we didn't miss much by not going to the match or seeing it on TV...on the other hand, our team did not win.

We then headed back to the hotel to meet up with my friend Matt C. Matt, though originally from Yorkshire had spent a year in NYC on a work study program with a financial firm. When his program ended he looked high and low for ways to stay in the USA, but without luck. I felt bad for Matty, but on the flipside, it was nice to have a friend to show us around some of the cooler parts of London.

We started out at fancy cocktail place in Shoreditch called Lover's Lounge. Anand and I made the mistake of ordering martini's forgetting that the Europeans actually consider vermouth to be an ingrediant in a martini and not just a faint flavor. They were pretty nasty. Rance got a mint julep, which as a Kentuckian he approved of, though he was tempted to give the bar tender mixing tips.

From there we went to a standard issue British pub and had a few pints, before Matt took us to a rather cool (For London) underground bar where I had whiskey and discussed the failings of British women. To venture into sexist territory for a bit, with the rare exception (Kate Winslet) White British women are not attractive. It's really depressing going from the cornacopia of women that is NYC to the total dead end of London. The one thing they have going for them is their total willingness to make up for their short comings by totally slutting out in the wardrobe department. Doesn't matter the weather, low cut blouses and high skirts are always in abundance. But at the end of the day, it's still a bad toothed, bad skinned, bland and flat British girl in all the slut-wear.

When we finished up our drinks, Matt pointed us in a few directions for more bars and headed off to party of his own, leaving us with a few more hours to kill in London.

Calla...Calla is one of those bands that I want to like more than I do. There is just something so lethargic about this band that I can't quite get past. Every once in a while they'll play a song that has some real energy to it though...this is not one of those songs.

Are You A Hypnotist? - The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots - 2002

So the other day, my friend Corey asked me about The Flaming Lips. His taste tend to run a bit more to the dancey and electronica-y, so he wasn't quite familiar with why the Lips are held in such high regard. And these days, now that they've sort of ossified into...well if not quite a self-parody...a band that is fine with falling back on reliable tricks...which they never used to be.

But in telling the whole story to Corey, I remembered what a truly great yarn it is, and it reminded me of how visionary The Lips were. Formed in the mid 80's by a group of Oklahoma white trash who loved nothing more than dropping acid, playing sidelot football, and listening to punk rock, The Lips began as a noise rock band with little in the way of the bitter sweet melodicism or acid head philosophy that would characterize their later work.

By the early 90's they were starting to gel, their live shows were already the stuff of legend and lead singer Wayne Coyne was beginging to find his songwriting (and singing) voice. However, just as they were about to make the leap to the big leagues, their most (technically) talented member, guitar player Jonathan Donohue left the band to concentrate on Mercury Rev full time, also their drummer departed...this was inexplicably the best thing that could have happened to them.

They were replaced by Ronald Jones and Steven Drozd. Jones was one of the most unique guitar players of the 90's, with a style that is still quite unlike anyone else. His use of a slide in conjunction with an array of effects pedals gave him a rich gliding tone that sounded gigantic (and not nearly as bluesy as the slide would seem). His tone gave novelty hit "She Don't Use Jelly" it's bite, but for a real glimpse at what he was capable of check out "Psychiatric Explorations of the Fetus With Needles" from Clouds Taste Metalic. Jones would leave the band after two albums, never to be heard from again, unable to cope with the rock life style and his growing paranoia over his bandmate's drug use...

But Steven Drozd was the real story. Growing up in a family of musicians, Steven is a prodigy. Hardly limited to the drums, he would prove that he can play anything, and play it well. His reedy voice, while not quite interesting enough to hold down a lead spot, was useful in combination with his perfect pitch, in creating the choir of background voices The Lips would later become known for. In short, Steven enabled all of Wayne's wacky visions to be brought to full color and virtuoso-esque life. But...and this is a big but, Steven had a bitch of a smack problem, that would lead to the departure of Jones.

(incidentally, all of this can be discovered in the really quite excellent documentary Fearless Freaks...including an amazing scene where Steven describes how heroin has destroyed his life...his mouth tells the story seemingly unaware the entire time that his hands are cooking up a shot and injecting it)

With Steven at his side, Wayne's projects became more and more ambitious, including the infamous parkinglot symphony...where a parking lot full of cars played tapes of instrumental parts, turning them off and on as conducted by Mr. Coyne and Zaireeka the album that was meant to be played by playing four different CD's simultaneously.

Following Zaireeka, the band had several brushes with death...Steven's drug use was a daily reminder that he could die at any time, bassist Micheal Ivans was in a near fatal car crash, and most importantly, Wayne Coyne's father died. In the aftermath of these events The Soft Bulletin was born. An orchestral pop album of incredible sonic density and wonderful melody, it also featured serious ruminations on the nature of mortality, and the inevitability of death. It has been routinely voted by many publications and websites (and me) as one of the best albums of the 90's.

But it seems as if that is where The Lips have stopped. 2002's Yoshima, from which this decent, but not exceptional, track comes was more of the same. It managed to catch some of the magic of TSB, but still felt like a bit of a retread. Their most recent album promised a return to rock, but managed mostly to be noticed for it's dopey (if sincere) anti-Bush, anti-war lyrics. Hey, I hate the Neocons too, and have oppossed this war from the start...but seriously, these lyrics are just dumb.

I hope that a man as smart as Wayne Coyne and as talented as he and Drozd are together, can pull their way out of this creative slump...but I certainly won't be lining up for their new release in quite the same way.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Already Dead - Beck - Sea Change - 2002

I've never been that big of a Beck fan, preferring the moody Mutations to the goofy, sample happy Beck that so many are quick to praise. But in the winter of 2002-2003, Sea Change simply blew my mind. It helped in part that the album was produced by long time Radiohead producer and unofficial sixth member Nigel Godrich. It also helped that it was Beck at his moodiest, without even a whiff of the "get crazy with the cheese whiz" dude.

But mostly I loved this album, cause I, like Mr. Hansen, was going through the most painful break up of my life at the time. And this album is one of the key reasons that I did not drink myself to death during that time (I also had some very wonderful friends and family to help me out, but you know...Beck helped too). The downside to that is that while I think this album is amazing, I rarely want to listen to it.

Alpha and Omega - Boards of Canada - Geogaddi - 2002

I had something of hellish Saturday night. My British friend and former co-worker Pip turned 40 and we took him out for a good time. After a lovely dinner and a pleasant time at the first couple of bars things began to take a turn for the worse...

Pip, like many of his countrymen, simply doesn't have an off switch when it comes to booze. Now, I'm sure you've noticed by now that I like the occasional drink or two...but I'm rarely out of control. Pip will keep driving right into the wall. Soon it became messy...and worse still, I had volunteered to let the man crash on my couch.

Shortly after he got us thrown out of O'Connor's (A feat I never thought was possible) I had to basically carry him home down Flatbush. What would normally be a 15 minute walk became a 45 minute walk...but the true nadir came when he insisted on trying to walk himself and then almost immediately fell backwards and head first down a flight of stairs. There was honestly 5-10 seconds in which I thought he was actually dead. And I was going to have to tell his wife that his son was an orphan...it was ugly.

Fortunately Pip was a bit banged up, but otherwise fine...I had to endure a fair amount of anti-Irish sentiment, but I can take that.

Anyway, Boards of Canada making blippy music. Perfectly acceptable

Almost Crimes (Radio Kills Remix) - Broken Social Scene - You Forget It In People - 2002

They say that music, along with scents, is one of the biggest triggers for memory...which is certainly one of the reasons I love music. But I can distinctly remember the first time I heard this song. Nothing extraodrinary happened, and it's not like the hearing of this song was a life changing experience. I mean, I like this song but...it's not like it "changed my life" or anything.

I was sitting in what was then my new apartment in Greenpoint in 2003. It was before I would come to realize what a total clusterfuck that place would be, so I was still excited about my new pad. My friend who is also named Josh came over and put this album on the stereo. The first couple of songs are mellow atmospheric pieces but this song comes along with it's 30 second tune up...and then that drum beat kicks in.

I find this album very hit and miss, but when it hits...it hits just right.

All You Need Is Hate - Delgados - Hate - 2002

I really feel like I should like Delgados. They seem like they should be up my alley, dense orchestral pop with a slight country tinge...Scottish, bitterly depressed (is that redundant?). I keep trying. And they just never really grab hold of me in anyway.

At best, they are blandly pleasant...at worst, just out and out boring. This song however, isn't so bad. Plus the general concept (and implicit Beatles joke, complete with a guitar line that seems to reference the earlier song) amuse me a bit.

Was tempted to delete this, but I'll keep it around.

All We Have Is Now - The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots - 2002

For those that follow such things, the story behind The Soft Bulletin is pretty well known. For those that don't here is a short version: Wayne Coyne lead singer and cult leader behind The Lips experienced the death of his father in the late 90's. While this was going on his drummer, a musical savant who basically ended up playing most of the instruments on the album, was in the throes of one hell of a heroin habit. Coyne, in his acid head way, was struck by the profundity of human mortality and together with his smacked out genius put together an orchestral psych pop album that was one of the high points of the 90's.

However by 2002's Yoshimi album...this focus on themes of our short span on this earth and lush keyboard instrumentation was getting a little tired. There are good songs on Yoshimi, but this isn't really one of them. Though I am sort of amused by the DEEP TALKING VOICE on the chorus.

All Di Gal Com - Stereotyp - My Sound - 2002

This is what is great about project managing an IT group...the hard drive on which I store the back up for my iPod went belly up. In addition to my music collection (among other collections) there is also a fair amount of my personal writing stored on this thing. The idea of losing all of this did not appeal to me.

I'm telling my team about this and they suggest I bring in the drive and they'll take a look. They realize that they cannot open the case...I assume that this will be the end of the story...but no, my guys decide that this marks a challange. Soon specific tools are being sought to open the case. It might have taken them a couple of days of doing this inbetween real work, but they did finally get it open.

So the moral of the story, it's good to have tech nerds on your side...just never take them anywhere where they might meet women.

My buddy Corey is much more electronica/dance music savy than I. This was his attempt to broaden my horizons. I don't mind the music, I just can't quite take myself seriously listening to it.

Alacran - Calla - Televise - 2002

So this is a less than 90 second instrumental by Calla...not much to say here, so how about a little wisdom from Jack Burton.

You just listen to the ol' Pork Chop Express an' take his advice on a dark and stormy night. When somewild-eyed eight-foot tall maniac grabs your neck an' taps the back of your favorite head up against a barroom wall. An' he looks you crooked in the eye an' he asks if you've paid your dues. You look right back at that big sucker an' remember what Jack Burton always says at times like that. "Haveyou paid your dues, Jack" "Yes sir, the check is in the mail."

Words to live by Jack.

After the Rain - John Coltrane - Legacy 1 - Harmonic & Melodic Disc - 2002

Sadly, this is not the Nelson song of the same name.

Actually, it's super cool Coltrane, but you know the rule about jazz.

After the Laugher - ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Our Dead - Sources, Tags, and Codes - 2002

So, I was walking in front of this woman yesterday on my walk to the corner store. She was on her phone and at first I thought she said "I just got offered a position at Wookie Magazine". Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) the person she was speaking to didn't hear her either so she had to repeat "I got offered a position with LUCKY magazine". So this got my thinking, Wookie Magazine! Why doesn't this exist? I would totally subscribe to Wookie.

Actually, now that I think about this, there probably is a Wookie Magazine and it's probably for gay men that like "bears". Let me state that I would categorically never subscribe to Wookie Magazine, and I'm offended that you thought I would. Just cause I lived in Chelsea for a year and a half...

Anyway, this is really just an interstitial piece from Trail of the Dead. It sounds old timey and doesn't really do anything.