Monday, June 19, 2017

Pop Backstory, Chapter 7: Charles Ives, His Experiments, and My Limits

Like this, only looser, more unconventional.
"It's all right to do that, Charles, if you know what you're doing,"
- George Ives
George Ives was the father of Charles Ives, one of the first purely American composers of classical music, as in born, bred, and trained entirely States-side. I keep talking about classical composers that might feel off in a series devoted to American popular music, but Charles Ives’ music fits into the popular American musical tradition with only a little friction. It’s his spirit of his approach to music, more than the music itself, that makes that possible. While capable of producing delicate, harmonious compositions, he favored complexity and experimentation, aural effects like dissonance (just glance at the notes in the early parts of the first song here), and narrative interpretation.

That yen for innovation came from his father, George, an avid lover of music and musician who Richard Crawford evocatively described as a “Yankee tinker” in An Introduction to American Music. Crawford noted experiments by George Ives like suspending weights at the end of violin strings in order to stretch quarter notes out of them; a good website I found on Ives relates other experiments:
“George Ives would have his boys sing in one key while he accompanied in another; he built instruments to play quarter-tones (see?); he played his cornet over a pond so Charlie could gauge the effect of space; he set two bands marching around a park blaring different tunes, to see what it sounded like when they approached and passed.”
Another concept, and one with more direct bearing with this project, was George Ives’ sincere appreciation for people who couldn’t “sing,” or pull off anything about music, in the traditional sense. Charles Ives recalled a conversation he was had with his father about a stonemason who sang in the local choir. From Crawford:
“’You can you stand it to hear old John Bell sing?’ Father said, ‘He is a supreme musician.’ The young man (nice and educated) was horrified – ‘Why he sings off the key, the wrong notes and everything – and that horrible, raucous voice – and he bellows out and hits notes no one else does – it’s awful!’ Father said, ‘Watch him closely and reverently, look into his face and hear the music of the ages. Don’t pay too much attention to the sounds – for if you do, you may miss the music.’”

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Judge My Playlist, Volume 9: Oldies, Volume 1

Look, has anyone told you that age is mostly a lie?
For anyone following this series, I have to think that this particular volume feels like a stretch. That’s because, in this chapter, I finally let me very particular “freak flag” fly – e.g. my particular love of “Super-Oldies,” as in the songs that all good people counted as “square” back when my parents' parents decided what was hip. And, honestly, not one song named below constitutes “hip” or forward-looking in any but the very first decades of the 20th century – i.e., a time before all of the songs below were written and popularized.

For all that, outside the tracks I included as “WTF” curiosities – and I’ll flag those below - I genuinely love some of them. By that I mean, a good pop song is a good pop song, so don’t over-think it.

OK, before the usual process of picking through what belongs (and what belongs as a “WTF” song), the backstory on this is mildly amusing. I used to work at the Harvard Archives and, as a going away present, my co-workers gave me a gift card to some music store off Harvard Square. I was walking around wondering what to buy when I spotted “Memories Are Made of This,” a 10-CD collection of songs made popular between the (roughly) 1940s and the (roughly, and I’m guessing early) 1960s. My wife would later donate those CDs to one of her old folks homes…seems like a good place for them, at least for the next 10-20 years.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

New to Me: Esme Patterson, We Were Wild

I dunno. I like it. Challenges the songs...
[Editor’s Note: This starts yet another series within this project, one that will feature newer music by newer artists; that’s as opposed to talking about all the stuff I already have, like I do in the One Last Pick Through the Bins series. My streaming service of choice, as well as other outlets like Seattle’s KEXP, NPR’s music show, and even Song Exploder, introduce me to at least 30 new songs each week. It’s just that song, though, which always leaves me wondering what the rest of the album sounds like – especially when the song really hooks me. And that’s what I’ll do with these posts/this series: listen to that whole album and let people know what I think of it.]

[Editor’s Follow-up Note: This was actually the original intent for this entire site – just talking about what I was listening to. But I wanted to give people a little context for the kind of music I listen to and like…so I started the Bins project. I guess I wanted people to know where I was coming from when I turned to this stuff. True Story.]

[Editor’s Last Note, Swear to God: This will be the only time I do a preamble for these things. Promise. OK, here goes…]

One of the first songs that Spotify’s Discover Weekly delivered to me that I later fixated on was Esme Patterson’s “Feel Right.” With a blistering tempo, tightly-packed plucked guitar playing over frantic rhythm guitar, and her belting out anthemic theories on how the heart gets to know what it wants, it’s an easy track to love. Having grown in the post-MTV, deciding to see what she looked like, and what she’s all about came pretty naturally; the inter-relation between “Feel Right’s” lightly-provocative lyrics and the lightly-provocative cover art for Patterson’s 2016 release, We Were Wild, only goosed my curiosity a little more.

Monday, June 12, 2017

Judge My Playlist, Volume 8: Just Rawk

The first remotely relevant image I found googling "rock guys."

Think I’ve done the drill often enough by now – i.e., below is a list of songs I put on a CD back when, and that I’ve now put on a Spotify playlist. Feel free to judge, ridicule, amend, append, celebrate, etc. Again, I’m not expecting any takers. I think it’s the spirit of the exercise that counts…

I called this one “Just Rawk,” and that title’s suggestive. All I wanted to do here was stuff a CD full of songs that just…rocked. I had no specific artist I wanted to get onto something I would listen to again and again; I don’t think I repeated a band/singer once on this one, and that’s rare (wait…nope, Fitz of Depression made it on twice…fair play; damn good band, that). At any rate, what’s that Latin phrase I love so well – “the thing speaks for itself”? (Oh yeah, res ipsa loquitur).

OK, songs and rationale for/defense of their inclusion are below. This time around, people are free to ask, “you think that rocks?”

One Last Pick Through the Bins, Volume 29: Hammerbox, The Gits, And My Initial, Limited Grasp of the Exotic

Sometimes, you lose too much when you only focus on the plumage.
I first became aware of Hammerbox by way of a happy version of the ominous whisperings that start a fantasy movie – basically, along the lines of people “hearing tell” about something strange passing through a familiar world. There was nothing ominous about them, of course: the words was that the band’s lead singer, Carrie Akre, could sing – I mean, actually sing. If that sounds like an odd thing to say about any lead singer in a band, time and place had a lot to do with it. Also, just about anyone who heard the comment immediately understood its meaning.

A lead singer has to command a stage – that’s the barest prerequisite, no matter the genre – but Akre really did stand out because so much of what I listened to (and still listen to) accepts of lot of shortcuts around a clean, strong, powerful set of pipes. Carrying a tune, or expressing/manifesting an attitude or persona…just so does the trick often enough. Akre’s voice cleared the “clear, strong” bar without even one thread of her dress touching it (and I always remember her in dresses, and the way she danced while not singing; it worked), and, until this week, I rated their music highly enough to pick up their eponymous debut about five years ago, but I didn’t have to pay for it, either (seems relevant).

I don’t have a lot to say about Hammerbox after that. I liked them, even went to see shows they featured in mostly to see them, but the only song of theirs that I carried in my head from past to picking up Hammerbox again was “Texas Ain’t So Bad, Really.” Some other songs came back when I listened again – “Bred,” “Under the Moon” (which should have stuck, because, good tune; gratifying video, too, because it gives a taste of them live), and “Ask Why” – and I’m glad to kinda/sorta have them again – that is, Spotify doesn’t have Hammerbox’s debut album, but I can always stare at the mpegs in the folder on my desktop (that I can’t play), or find the songs on Youtube (as I did above). Then again, something about having a goddamn large music store in my back pocket (a smartphone and Spotify) and at least a galaxy’s worth of music to explore turns that tiny little barrier into the Great Wall of China…only one built to undercut effort instead repelling Mongols.

Spotify does have Hammerbox’s second album, Numb, but that one didn’t grab me the same way their debut album still does. Whoever made it carried “When 3 is 2” forward from Hammerbox, but Numb feels less varied overall, almost as if the band’s trying to fill an artistic space that’s at least half commercial (i.e., it sounds like branding). At any rate, Akre left after that album to form Goodness, and the only thing I’ve heard by them is the song they recorded for Schoolhouse Rocks Rocks! (cute song!). That would literally be all I had to say for this post…if I didn’t spend all of last week, when I supposed to focus on Hammerbox, thinking about The Gits.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

One Last Pick Through the Bins, Volume 28: Kanye West: The Dreamer Versus The Dream

Yes, even Kanye floats....
I spent more time wrapping my head around Kanye West than I have done with most artists in this series. Based on the intensity of some of his fandom (a person, who shall go unnamed, but who swears he wouldn’t cry if he broke up with his girlfriend, figured he would cry the first time he saw Kanye). People as invested as that might hear a little voice in his/her head telling him/her that Kanye’s music just makes me, a middle-aged white-guy, uncomfortable. That’s true, but only a one specific level:

A lot of people view West as a genius…and I can’t get there. On that level, I'm uncomfortable. Or awkward with it, really.

Unlike a lot of acts I’ve reviewed over the 27 prior volumes in this series, a lot of Kanye’s music just doesn’t stick for me. When I walk away from it for a while, I don’t get a lot of, “damn, this track? Why haven’t I listened to this since last [insert fondly remembered moment of your choosing]?” when I come back. Still, I’m impressed by Kanye’s body of work, deeply too, and I like a lot of his work. I don’t think that he’s ever made a bad song. He’s only made songs that I don’t like. Or even hate sometimes. And, more often than not, that’s an issue with the subject matter. There’s this song, “Blood on the Leaves,” and it just gets under my…

Kidding! To pick up the actual thread, one song on The Life of Pablo plays for me as Kanye Distilled: “I Love Kanye.” Self-referential, self-obsessed, and aggrieved: that’s what actually bugs me about Kanye. At his best, he projects those meditations outward; overall, though, he seems to wallow more and more in his grievances as he ages, and that’s doubly-weird, for me, precisely because he’s so revered. 

Still, I’m fascinated by “I Love Kanye.” I read a couple different reviews earlier this week (first one feels relevant, somehow) – and about a very different song – and, outside that, I tracked some of the comments on the notes that run over the songs playing on Spotify (and Kanye gets more of those than any artist reviewed so far; see general notes on adulation), and a clear argument runs through it. The idea is that fans and the smarter critics understand that he’s in on the joke that is the performance of his ego. Viewed through that frame, “I Love Kanye” comes off as a “fuck-you” masterpiece, a thoroughly self-aware prank on everyone who cringes at that performance of ego.

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Judge My Playlist, Volume 7: All 60s, All Good

The fifth image in a Google images search? Seriously?

Dredged up another semi-ancient playlist for those willing to dissect (no takers so far; not really expecting any at this point).

This one’s actually more straightforward than the rest (again, what I’m doing here), because this CD didn’t have to fit a theme. I had to keep my wife occupied during road trips. Long story short, her personal limit for consecutive songs she doesn’t know stops somewhere between six and eight songs, depending on the day, and, as such, I tried to make a CD that she would know all the songs on, and one that wouldn’t make me crazy from boredom/repetition. She knows most of the same songs from the 60s that most people our age know, so, for me, I made some effort to step away from each of the artist’s easiest choices. Not saying I succeeded (again, fight me), but I did have some restrictions (my wife had to know it). And, again, I think all the relevant artists recorded each of the songs in the 60s…the late, late 60s sometimes.

Also, if you notice a couple names popping up more often than you’d expect – say, Elvis Presley – yeah, a lot of this had to do with making sure some of my favorite Elvis tracks made it onto a CD I could hear with some regularity. This was also an attempt to get The Doors the rest of the way out of my system.

OK, songs and rationale for their inclusion below. Again, I was mostly looking for songs just ONE step away from the tediously familiar. And all songs should have been recorded in the 1960s.

One Last Pick Through the Bins Volume 27: Liz Phair, and Corporate Rock Sucks

But not these guys....
For me, Liz Phair started more as concept than performer: a raunchy, female indie (still pop, but still indie) – artist. I came to understand her as a type before I knew her as a musician…and I’d say that’s on me, except I had only nice things to say about this Liz Phair. And then “Supernova” hit the airwaves (my mind still flashes to rowers when I hear that song), and I continued to think, “yeah, Liz Phair’s all right.” And “you fuck like a volcano” confirmed the raunchy thing.

Next, I heard (the fucking brilliant*) “Stratford-on-Guy” during all those looped listens of The Greatest Music Compilation of All Time. I can still play that song twice in a row to this day (*I just can’t explain why I find it brilliant).

And then about, oh, 10 years later, maybe 12, I spotted a couple Liz Phair albums on a hunting expedition – Exile in Guyville and Funstyle (bookended the career – yes!) - and I picked those up and, holy shit, infatuation, a full month’s worth of listens, etc. I fell that fast, that hard; I’d wake up in the morning, wondering what Liz was up to, what she had to say, that kind of thing. It only hits me now why that might be: my favorite song from each of those albums does something very different. Just a glance at the song’s titles (“The Divorce Song” (that link sucks, but I just found the original Girlysound recording - NEAT-o! (reference, what's Girlysound?); still like the official version) and “Beat Is Up”) should signal to the discerning listener that she should expect two very different songs.

And yet they’re not such different songs, at least thematically. The musical inspiration, sound, instrumentation couldn’t be more different – especially given that she wrote them both – but Liz Phair sounds comfortable with both approaches. When she’s being, writing and singing as herself, she comes off as authentic, and that makes the clear reaches on Funstyle come off. She has an ear for expression, for matching tone and theme; she’s neither perfect, nor universal, but she has a strong personality/persona/personal narrative that tells a good and interesting story, and I think a lot of people related to it. I know I can spend days on her songs (if more her lyrics than her music, though I’m thinking more about the latter after this week). That time she wasn’t herself, though…man, oh, holy shit. Dude, like, it wasn’t good…

Saturday, May 27, 2017

Pop Backstory, Chapter 6 - Louis Moreau Gottschalk: Loiusianan, American

Partying actually has to adjust less than inflation over time...
I’m going to start this post with what might feel like a random confession: I fucking love America.

I understand that there are a couple different “Americas,” even and especially within the United States of America, and I love one of them very much. Louis Moreau Gottschalk, the subject of this post and the first born-and-bred American composer of real consequence to bring our culture’s best, particular quirks to the Old World, draws the divide vividly with this:

“’Music,’ Gottschalk remarks in his journal, ‘is a thing eminently sensuous. Certain combinations move us, not because they are ingenious, but because they move our nervous systems in a certain way. I have a horror of musical Puritans. They are arid natures, deprived of sensibility, generally hypocrites, incapable of understanding two phrases in music.’"
Amen, brother. (Also, that’s a refreshing break from his frequent resort to fruit metaphors.)

America, at its best, celebrates actual freedom, especially the right to stand down from formality; Gottschalk’s notes on the “Puritans” gets at what I find worst and stifling in American culture. Americans are at their best when they stick closer to the “freedom” vein, not least because dogma, reverence of tradition, and even nostalgia, are the enemies of innovation. Given his dabbling in subtly new musical forms and his, as I’ll detail later, bent toward sensuality, Gottschalk makes for something like the perfect ambassador to sell that specific variety of Americanism back to the Old Country. Or Old Countries because, as noted in this delightfully long and occasionally salacious website, the man got all the way around.

In the last chapter, I wrote about the Old Germania Society’s arrival in the States and how they, along with French conductor, Louis Jullien, didn’t so much expand America’s musical repertoire (though they did), as they set a certain bar for technical expertise. When I typed that post, there was a quote I tried and failed to find in Richard Crawford’s America’s Musical Life: A History. The quote I had in mind popped up in his chapter about Gottschalk, as it happens, and it deals with another particular tension in American musical history.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Judge My Playlist, Volume 6: Matters Transcendent

Pour one out...
I’ve decided to change my approach on these posts a bit. I still want people to judge them – seriously, I’ll provide the wet wipes as needed – because, again, I always, always fuck up this kind of thing. And, to take care of housekeeping, I link to Youtube videos for all the songs in this post, and I’m posting a playlist through Spotify. Uh, that’s that.

Instead of dropping some kind of context – except those cases where it totally makes sense – I’m just going to list the songs on the one-CD/now-playlist and make my best case for why it matches the title/concept. Got it? Do you…never mind, just listen to the damn songs. Hope you like ‘em!

I called this one “Matters Transcendent.” The theme was songs that speak to the biggest questions, the most abstracted ways of being.

Or they just sounded stoner-trippy. OK, the songs…

1. Lady Stardust – David Bowie
(Circles around the essence of experiencing something perfectly.)

2. Metaphysical – Handsome Boy Modeling School
(Inspired the CD/playlist, really. Sounds trippy, though? And the title, right?)

3. Stratford-on-Guy – Liz Phair
(Now we’re talking; flight, closely examined, severely detached; this was the goal)

4. Jane of the Waking Universe – Guided by Voices
(Won’t lie, looked up the lyrics; it’ll take at least 3 reads to make that shit make sense; like Kant)

5. I’m Always Touched By Your Presence - Blondie (like this version)
(GUYS, mind-reading? Telepathy? The…those…the energy line things. The grid. Right?)

6. Talisman – Air
(OK, straight face: this song communicates an incredible weariness; just…music matches theme)

7. Magnetizing – Handsome Boy Modeling School
(It’s a pretty standard, “I’m the best” raps, but vaguely futuristic)

8. Arms & Hearts – The Hold Steady
(“She ascended into Heaven dripping wet.” Think that takes care of it…then the chorus)

9. Another Girl, Another Planet – The Only Ones
(Outer space was sufficient....I guess? Half-assed this one.)

10. Ce matin-la – Air
(Like driving through the brightest dawn you’ve ever seen; lived that once…amazing)

11. Stephanie Says – Velvet Underground
(Living with existential pain is tough shit, and it sounds pretty)

12. All I Wanna Do – Snoop Dogg
(A man with a purpose. Buddhist…insofar as that fits with “pound that pussy down”)
(Also, link only….Tidal? AGAIN!? Closest I could get...pretty awesome.)

13. Body Movin’ – Beastie Boys
(Can’t explain it…there’s an Our Future Overlords vibe to this one…the voice-over plays puppet-master?))

14. Impacilla Carpisung – The Ting Tings
(What I think stoned rambling under a heat lamp sounds like…yeah, yeah, specific)

15. Honestly…no clue
(This song won’t play on any medium I have. I thought it was something from Air’s Moon Safari, but, no dice. Moved on to Source Material…nope. I have 213 FILES in my active music collection and I haven’t even touched those yet. Call Track 15 this posts Unknown Soldier.)

16. Ballrooms of Mars – T. Rex
(See title; I mean, what else is there? Also, if you don’t know this band…just, you should.)

17. Americana – Thin White Rope
(An existential meltdown in a trailer park on the edge of a desert)

18. Cosmic Dancer – T. Rex
(Death/rebirth…in DANCE!!)

19. Greenfields – The Beverley Sisters
(The sound of walking across your own grave I’m pretty sure. So. Fucking. Creepy.)

Hopefully this is more…satisfying. I guess. Win some, lose some, y’know. OK, have at it.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

One Last Pick Through the Bins, Volume 26: Japandroids, Rock's Sneaky Party Band

Yep, those two hooked up...
For once, I don’t need to lard this volume back-story/personal history (and I’m working on minimizing that part, too; it’s about the music, kid). I picked up Vancouver B.C.’s Japandroids album Celebration Rock because I caught their name in The Portland Mercury, thought it was neat and/or clever, etc. I listened to that album a few times and liked it well enough, but nothing about it really lit my fire, so I tucked it away and forgot about it until something made me go back to it. This project, actually. (And, in case you’re wondering, yeah, this about half the motivation – i.e., spelunking around my own music collection for lightly-neglected, sometimes forgotten, nooks and crannies.)

Only one song stuck from those first several listens: “Adrenaline Nightshift.” By that I mean, unlike the rest, I immediately recognized it when I listened to Celebration Rock over the past week. Even so, it’s hard to imagine “Adrenaline Nightshift” as some guy’s all-time favorite song, or as the doorway to some complicated girl’s soul. It’s a rock song, and a decent one, but there’s nothing special to the sound or deep or poignant in the lyrics. It rocks and…that’s it, it just rocks.

After reading about the band – fidelity to a DIY ethic, their struggles to get signed and related near break-ups, touring like goddamn maniacs, a “health emergency”* - it’s almost impossible not to pull for them (*and, yes, that last one makes really makes me feel like an asshole). For all that, I can’t bring myself to sell them as a band anyone needs to hear; they’re nothing revelatory musically; Japandroids sound like their influences (more later), but with enough twist that anyone who knows them can pick out a song as theirs – probably by the vocals (not their long suit, really). And maybe that has to do with their long struggle to make a paying gig out of music (but, again, how many bands I like except the biggest ones do that for long?).

Something about Japandroids - and this only comes through their music, not deep research - makes me think they’d take all the above in stride. Having listened to nearly everything they’ve put out (just four full albums, plus some random shit I just found; song I've heard from them...damn), they come across as guys doing this shit fer kicks. Their lyrics, at least so far as I’ve teased them out, revel in everything about youth – the bingo-ball-bin way people come together, living in the moment like nothing else matters, and, when it’s all over, remembering those times with (giddy, drunken) reverence (see, “Younger Us”). Japandroids don’t only talk about “drinking and smoking” (see, “The Nights of Wine and Roses”), but those come up as subjects a lot, even if not so blatantly. Broadly, Japandroids approach to music leans heavily into wall-of-sound guitar – some shimmer, mostly drone – lots of anthem/chorus hooks and all of it more or less up-tempo. Their Wikipedia page (link above; see “reading about the band”) lists their influences as “one part classic rock, and one part punk.” Mmm, I’m less sold on that. As much as anything, they sound like alt-rock from around the time the 80s bent into the 90s. Or they did at least.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Pop Backstory, Chapter 5: The Germania Musical Society, Europe's First Invasion

Artist, suffering.
“On the morning of the 2d of August, 1848, the good packet ship “Diadem” sailed out of its London dock, bearing to the New World, in the midst of much other more or less precious freight, a group of German musicians.”
That group of musicians included 24 members. They called themselves the Germania Musicl Society, and they took the United States of America by whatever counts as the 19th-century equivalent of “by storm.” But that story starts with a back-story. And a premise.

It’s safe to call the United States of America, as a country, self-assured. That better-than-healthy ego has spurred its shares of accomplishments and atrocities, but it has carried the country through a lot and generally left it whole and, let’s face it, fat and wealthy. Americans like to think of themselves as leaders – or, if not that, sort of “alpha people,” better than your average [insert name/nickname of nationality of your choice] (also, keep it clean, dammit).

Inevitably, there are areas where that self-belief trips up a little. I’d say classical music, as an art, sits at the heart of one of those areas. I don’t know much about classical music, certainly not enough to state with any confidence that the U.S. has never produced a classical composer of any renown, but I’m also reasonably confident that only a vanishingly small number of Americans could name an American composer in a street-ambush interview, never mind one of any real consequence. Even as several American cities have resident symphonies, classic music doesn’t move the zeitgeist so much these days, and, if it ever did, I don’t know about it.

At the same time, Richard Crawford’s, America’s Musical Life: A History (as well as its “lightly” annotated version, now owned by the author, An Introduction to America’s Music) makes clear that classical music mattered. A proud lineage of, frankly, cultural high-brows has championed classical music since the U.S. has been a country. Crawford wrote a brilliant line about one of America’s more idealistic evangels, Theodore Thomas:
“Where most performers were obliged to respect audience taste enough to gratify it, Thomas worked to elevate public taste to a point where it would be worth gratifying.”
That’s as eloquent a way as I can think of to describe the specific tension between lowbrow and high in just about any art form. Because this series focuses on popular music, I don’t want to write much about classical music. I also believe that classical music counts as a clear and particular manifestation of the argument that Europe has “culture” whereas America does not. Not a little of what I read in Crawford, annotated or otherwise, confirms that. At the same time, classical compositions lent some artistic spine to what live performances occurred in mid-to-late 19th century America – and those performances, being live and attended by some amount of the public therefore count as “popular.” Because what is popular, after all, if not something people pay to listen to and look at?

And now I’m back to the Germania Music Society.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Judge My Playlist Volume 5: "Light Bulb"

Yeah, what the hell?
Oh, man. This CD came early. I think it’s first inspiration was The Velvet Underground’s “Beginning to See the Light.” And, for the record, I’m now confused all over again about The Velvets, because I picked up Legs McNeil’s and Gillian McCain’s Please Kill Me…by which I mean, I think I just reached the break-point where The Exploding Plastic Inevitable morphed into The Velvet Underground most of us know, and with the idea that, as Ronnie Cutrone put it, “Lou was trying to become commercial.”

And, again, I’m shit for timelines. I have no idea what The Velvets sounded like between 1966 and 1967 – i.e., the period when they functioned as part of The Exploding Plastic Inevitable. It’s just that I’m guessing that “Beginning to See the Light” came after the whole “commercial” thing happened.

Also, I love that freakin’ song. As in, all of it. I can see how “There are problems in these times, but – whoo! – none of them are mine” comes like an anthem to privilege. I see it more as half-Buddhist release. If of the most Western variety.

The overarching thought of what I wound up calling “The Light Bulb” CD grows from that – e.g., the animating logic of the Serenity Prayer – or the opposite thereof, see Janis Joplin’s “Mercedes Benz,” one of your better anthems of fatalism. But isn't that just the flipside of contentment? Call it an homage to the idea that we are, everyone one of us, what we do in the world, and for good or ill.

Saturday, May 13, 2017

One Last Pick Through the Bins Volume 25: Lou Reed, A Decade in a Man

I love this picture. Something reaching the other side.
Among the musical legends to have died recently, Lou Reed occupies a curious space. That’s fitting in a lot of ways. A couple passed as icons – Prince and David Bowie, particularly – prompting a couple days’ worth of widespread reflection on their place in our culture (hmm...sensing a theme) and hours upon hours of reliving their music (Prince made it harder). It’s not that I didn’t see tributes to Lou Reed – this song, about the bond between artist and admirer, ranks with anything I heard or read about Bowie or Prince – but they showed up in fewer and smaller spaces.

That’s a function of specificity, in my mind. Over a long career, Lou Reed wrote and played music that appealed to a certain kind of person. His voice doesn’t sound right, and he talks about weird shit and in an off-kilter way. For instance, pop music obsesses about sex, but it mostly on the level of love, beauty, and infatuation; for Lou Reed, sex was identity, liberation, something unattainable or even self-destructive. Then again, this is the guy who, per Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain, would end a conversation by asking someone if they wanted to go to his place so he could shit in his/her mouth. Can’t remember the gender on that one (and I can’t find the quote), and that’s also fitting.

For some reason, I want to start digging into Lou Reed’s music by talking about New York, an album he put out well past his prime. It felt less like a comeback than a resurrection. Lou Reed never completely went away – he produced a couple albums through the mid-80s (and this after an entire, crazy productive decade in the 70s) – but New York seemed to revive interest in him in a way that wasn’t possible for a while. Basically, New York dropped at the beginning of the cultural moment when, as the awful phrase had it, “the alternative went mainstream.” The concept of “mainstream” has slipped a little – or maybe even a lot – now that everyone can burrow into his/her highly-specific pop culture niches, but, basically, a cultural space opened up around that time that was receptive to independent, off-beat, and, again, specific voices.

Dirty Blvd.” would probably be the song most people would remember from New York, and both the song and the album grew out of the time. “Dirty Blvd.,” along with a couple others (e.g., “Strawman,” “There Is No Time,” and “Last Great American Whale”) recall New York City’s crime infestation, but from an angle of broken families and social injustice, and both with a nod to a broad undercurrent of racism. It’s a decent album, full of the honesty and integrity one expects out of Lou Reed, but it’s also something I don’t believe he, along with a lot of artists, isn’t particularly good at: political. Between the guitar work and song structure, it also sounds closer to…I’ll call it generic rock, something vaguely exhausted.

It wasn’t the Lou Reed I knew, either.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Judge My Playlist, Volume 4: Future Panic

Jesus! So insufferably blue/gray.
Another week, another playlist…

“Future Panic” came about because I wanted to preserve the post-apocalyptic essence of some of my favorite songs by Gorillaz (no “the,” huh?). I only picked three songs by them in the end, but that’s a lot about me being rigidly democratic on my playlists. In other words, if I’m going to make a playlist, the thing is going to be mixed.

Portland’s very own, The Thermals show up a lot on this one too, but I think the whole thing devolved into just…songs about…I dunno, outer space? Before I got finished with it?

As always, and per the project, let me know what you think if you wanna. Or just enjoy. Or ignore. Free country, and all that....

As always, I set up a playlist for all the above on Spotify, but I figure if they have them, Apple Music, etc. will as well. Links are embedded below for all the songs that didn’t show up on Spotify. And, won’t lie, feel guilty about swiping The Make Up’s (fucking) classic, “Born on the Floor,” because I sense that band is off Spotify for fairly specific reasons. In my defense, I view this as spreading some form of gospel. “Born on the Floor” is fucking genius.

One more thing: the distortion on some of this stuff broke my wife on a recent road trip. You’ve been warned.

Future Panic
1) Born on the Floor – The Make Up
2) Our Happiness Is Guaranteed – Quasi
3) Search & Destroy – Iggy & The Stooges
4) Specify Gravity – Man or Astro-Man
5) An Ear for Baby – The Thermals
6) Kids With Guns – Gorillaz
7) Remote Control – The Beastie Boys (I said vaguely dystopian)
8) Starman – David Bowie
9) Ted, Just Admit It – Jane’s Addiction
10) Dirty Harry – Gorillaz
11) 100 Individual Magnets- Man or Astro-Man
12) (Dawning of a) New Era – The Specials
13) Before the Earth Was Round – OK Go
14) Books About UFOs- Husker Du
15) Eclipse(?) – The Beta Band (look, typed the title in wrong…long back story. Just…good song)
16) An Endless Supply – The Thermals (shit…they have SUCH better songs)
17) Fire Coming Out of the Monkey’s Head – Gorillaz (bad fit; just…like the mythic element)
18) Like Clockwork – The Boomtown Rats
19) “A” Bomb in Wardour Street – The Jam
20) This Is Radio Clash – The Clash (and the sub-rosa motivation for the whole thing)

All for this week. Hope anyone who finds it likes it.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Judge My Playlist, Volume 3: Lovely, Lively

The vibe I was after...

Again, this little project is about just sharing a “playlist” – one that I slapped on a CD a few years back – that I’m posting here and on twitter to let people judge it, love it, deconstruct it, tell me where I went wrong, etc.

I titled this week’s selection Lovely, Lively. I went mostly, if not entirely, up-tempo and the songs trucked broadly in the giddiness of infatuation – though I definitely squeezed in a song or two, just because they kept up with the pace. Or talked about love, generally. Those are some personal favorites (see, "F.I.D.O"). If you do listen to this one, it shouldn't take you long to pick up a little "mission creep."

Then again, some songs made the cut because I wanted to get, say, a couple old Green Day songs onto a CD before I forgot about them. That actually applied most to the songs by The Dirtbombs and The Gories, both projects of the great and mighty Mick Collins. Man’s a goddamn genius, I tell you…

At any rate, the Lovely, Lively playlist is below. There was only one song that Spotify didn’t have, and there’s a link to a Youtube video next to that one. I also included a non-live version of The Buzzcocks “Love You More,” because I can’t make my ears accept recorded live music no matter how hard I try. Just doesn’t translate for me…

Lovely, Lively
1. La, La Love You – The Pixies
2. Black & White World – Elvis Costello
3. 1,000 Hours – Green Day
4. Keep You Around – The Ravishers
5. Nitroglycerine – The Gories
6. Hot on Your Heels – The Mint Chicks
7. I’m Your Torpedo – Eagles of Death Metal
8. Earthquake Heart – The Dirtbombs
9. Punk Rock Girl – The Dead Milkmen
10. Knock Me Down – Naked Raygun
11. F.I.D.O. – The Dirtbombs
12. Dancing the Night Away – The Motors (say…extended version; I like it! Slower pace, tho)
13. I’ve Just Seen a Face – Beatles
14. One Way or Another – Blondie
15. I’m Qualified to Satisfy You – The Dirtbombs
16. Turn a Square – The Shins
17. Dry Ice – Green Day
18. Love You More – Buzzcocks
19. You Gotta Sinned to Get Saved – Maria McKee