THE BLANK GENERATION

(Introduction provided here.)

Gastr del Sol resides on the shelf between Gang of Four’s Entertainment! and Giddy Motors’ Make It Pop.

Before the days of current freak-folkers like Devendra Banhart and post-rockers like Grand Ulena or Volta Do Mar, there was a trio of Chicago labels that released the best and brightest of the Louisville music scene, from Slint and Rodan to Palace and today’s subject, Gastr del Sol. This group was the chicken that hatched the egg. And Gastr del Sol was most definitely the strangest and most abstract of the bunch, which might explain why I don’t feel compelled to listen to their records today.

That’s no knock on the three albums I still own—Crookt, Crackt, or Fly; Mirror Repair; and Upgrade & Afterlife. But, if there’s a single soul out there that owns three Gastr del Sol records and feels compelled to return to them on a regular basis, please stand up. The group is a fascinating listen, but their songs are like fractured limbs that haven't healed correctly—their use is limited and they're sore on the eyes. The end result is a collection of work that, while engaging, is also confrontational and certainly not the easiest of listens. Since I haven't listened to any of these albums in a while, I'm going to revisit all three.

But first, a little more background on Gastr del Sol. The group began as David Grubbs’ project, and he fielded a host of session musicians including Tortoise’s John McEntire and Bundy K. Brown. But for all practical purposes, after the release of the band’s first album, the group consisted solely of songwriters Grubbs and fellow oddball Jim O’Rourke. Both were accomplished musicians in their own right. Grubbs got his start in the seminal Squirrel Bait during the mid-‘80s. They jumpstarted the Louisville music scene that would soon spawn Slint, taking post-hardcore to a new level in the process. He later performed with Bastro and Bitch Magnet before turning his focus to Gastr del Sol. O’Rourke was a member of both Brise-Glace, the incredibly abrasive and bizarre post-hardcore group, and Gastr del Sol in the early-to-mid-‘90s. O’Rourke later went on to release some noteworthy solo recordings after Gastr del Sol split, and most recently collaborated with Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy in the group Loose Fur.

While Gastr del Sol combined electronic elements like tape manipulations and a massive array of effects pedals, they also utilized traditional instruments like acoustic guitar and piano to a large degree. Their sonic explorations could best be described as nonsensical, often-improvised affairs that spent a good deal of time obsessed with tones, patterns, and loosely defined “riffs”. If that fails to resonate with you, don’t worry. The music is mostly better than the words I can come up with to describe it.


Crookt, Crackt, or Fly

We’ll begin chronologically with Crookt, Crackt, or Fly, which was released in 1994 on Drag City, the same home as the other two albums. It begins with “Wedding in the Park," one of Grubbs’ usual suspects—a brief, idiosyncratic acoustic song that goes absolutely nowhere in a minute. It features a common trait for Grubbs, too—his poetic rambling, which often shadows the odd structure of his compositions.

I arrived too late for a wedding in the park.
The had already
taken one another’s name
& fixed them in solution.

The guests had all
cleft a lean trail.

Names are for whom easier than faces?
Mountebank or sciolist.

Huh?

“Work from Smoke” is a 13-minute epic and probably the album’s most engaging composition. Highlighting the superb guitar-playing of Grubbs and O’Rourke, who can both work over an acoustic guitar with the best of ‘em, “Work from Smoke” really is the blueprint for a lot of Gastr del Sol’s work. Instead of wasting my breath describing it, I’ll leave it to Ned Raggett and excerpt his write-up for Allmusic:

Anyone expecting, say, the fluid genre hopping of John Fahey or the more abrupt but still uncategorizable leaps of the Sun City Girls will find Crookt a different experience. Generally, there are abrupt, quick chord runs or soft, repetitive figures, often with plenty of pauses, over which Grubbs and O'Rourke do or don't quietly sing, as the mood takes them.

If you can imagine having the portion of your brain that attempts to make sense of sounds, that categorizes and identifies with notes and files away that information for future reference, being tugged in 20 different directions in the course of but one song, that is what “Work from Smoke” accomplishes. Disorienting, check mate. Spooky, unfamiliar and downright disconcerting, most definitely. The only portion of the song that remains consistent for longer than a couple minutes is a howling, ringing soundscape that reminds me of the creaking hull of a submerged luxury liner.

Why not follow that up with a dirty little piano ditty before segueing back into a lengthy acoustic guitar composition? “Every Five Miles” is full of abrupt, ferocious, frantic fretboard runs that eventually dissolve in your eardrums like a steady warm rain beating down on a helpless snowman.

After another shorter, beheaded blues number, Gastr del Sol strap on electric guitars for rowdy stomp that revisits Squirrel Bait territory. McEntire joins the duo on drums as all three reek havoc for a minute and change. “The C in Cake” (a humorous reference to McEntire’s more popular and accessible project), is a mostly mellow affair that utilizes silence and an eerie soundscape to cause the listener to feel uneasy.

The album closes with the 15-minute marathon that is “The Wrong Soundings.” A boisterous, amplified, electric affair complete with drums introduces the song before we’re set drift through minutes of empty sound. Eventually, we reconvene in a Rodan-like dirge that eventually deconstructs itself before transitioning into a lengthy, repetitive discourse between electric guitars and drums. It’s hardly easy on the ears, and predates the noise we've come to expect from both Yona Kit and U.S. Maple. And that, folks, is Crookt, Crackt, or Fly.


Mirror Repair

By comparison, Mirror Repair is like a walk in the park. Released less than a year later, this EP features shorter compositions that, while still unpredictable, are at least easier to swallow. The brevity of the songs also places more emphasis on Grubb’s arcane lyrics. How he came up with this, I don’t know:

Who?
Relieves You?
That a raccoon ate the first.
Ate eight digits followed by a gland.
Ate four pair of knuckles dragging one swollen testicle.
The zoo was skeptical.

Bookended are the EP's two lengthier songs, “Eight Corners” and “Dictionary of Handwriting.” The first features some saccharine piano doodling colored at times by sonic bleeps and burps. The overall effect is, actually, pleasing to the ear. Meanwhile, “Dictionary of Handwriting” features an electric guitar hook that fans of Polvo would probably think was pretty alright. McEntire joins on drums again as the song digresses into a more dense mixture of acoustic and electric guitars coupled with tape manipulation. The mess melds itself back onto the original riff as the guitars are sent into a panicked rumble that probably sounds close to what vertigo actually feels like. The song then takes a full minute to unwind itself, as guitars run out of steam before being suddenly silenced.


Upgrade & Afterlife

Released in 1996, Upgrade & Afterlife was the next-to-last album for Gastr del Sol. About the time of its release, I saw the group for the first and only time in Chicago at the Congress Theater in an excellent bill that included The For Carnation, Shellac and Dianogah. On this record, the duo’s appreciation for the works of John Fahey became all the more obvious. (They spent some banter time in concert singing his praises, which eventually led me to purchase some of his work.) On this record, they cover “Dry Bones in the Valley (I Saw the Light Come Shining ‘Round and ‘Round),” which Fahey recorded in 1975. (For those of you unfamiliar with the late Fahey, read this.)

The albums begins with the ethereal “Our Exquisite Replica of ‘Eternity’,” with takes the spaghetti western genre in a whole new otherworldly direction. “Rebecca Sylvester” returns us to common ground, featuring a fairly tame acoustic guitar progression that Grubbs talk-sings over the top of. As a twist, the song’s coda is a melodic lullaby of the lyric “Why did the sharks watch him drown?”

“The Sea Uncertain” combines the whistle of a tea kettle with Grubbs’ plodding piano lines and a mix-match of random static noise. That’s child’s play compared to “Hello Spiral,” which ups the ante several times over with bursts of squelching noise. The noise dissipates to allow the “song” to begin. Another of Grubb’s typical acoustic vignettes gives way to the bulk of the composition, which focuses once again on repetitive interplay between electric guitars and drums before climaxing with the infusion of more static manipulation.

The highlight of the album is the Fahey cover. Not to take away from the grandness of O’Rourke and Grubbs’ original work, but Fahey’s composition is simply too rich in depth and melody to not prevail. It easily distances itself from the balance of the album, which is probably why they chose it as the closer. The duo are such fine musicians, a feat that can go unnoticed thanks to the strangeness of their compositions. However, in this more straightforward (and that could only be said by comparison) Fahey blues composition, their ability to milk the guitars for all their worth is entirely evident. Having not heard the original, I can’t vouch for how warped their cover is. But, the addition of avant-garde composer Tony Conrad on violin adds a delightfully hypnotic element to the song as it stretches its legs around the six minute mark with a wandering, droning passage that explores different tones before wrapping up at twelve minutes.

I have to say that after this initial review of all three albums, I enjoy Crookt the least, despite a few highlights. And, while I think I could part with Upgrade & Afterlife, I think it’s the most realized of the trio. Mirror Repair is definitely the most accessible. So, I think I’ll give them each another spin in the near future, and likely sell Crookt. That is, if—and that’s a big if—I can find a taker.

N/P—Joanna Newsom, The Milk-Eyed Mender

As I near the start of month two of my "Year Without Music," I'm beginning to feel it all slip away. I sold another two records on eBay this week, a copy of CocoRosie's recent and a Xiu Xiu album. That netted me $17, of which I recently spent $9 on the new Black Mountain album. Having heard the whole record now, it's safe to say that I now believe the hype. It's quite good, and very diverse, too. I'll write more on it later.

So far, the damage for this year has been five albums in less than a month. Yes, I've only spent $11 of actual paycheck money; the dollars for the remaining four records came from eBay ventures. However, five albums in one month is more than I envisioned ever buying in any given month this year. The fact that I haven't cut myself off from my usual media routine has meant that I'm still finding lots of records that I wish I owned. That's led me to sell records, which is something I didn't really think I'd do that much of. All said, I've still got a stack of 12 albums that I'd like to sell, but honestly I don't think I'll find any takers. Four of them I couldn't get any bites on via eBay. So, maybe the well has dried up in that regard. Or, maybe I'll just dig deeper into my collection.

As for February, I know I want to get the Dead Meadow record, and M. Ward is also on my list. I still have eBay money left over ($8 and change) to buy the second album, but that only sends me down the throat of consumerism for the second month in a row. I'm weak, help!

Not to change the subject, but I've got a question to pose for you, the loyal reader. Who knows anything about mp3 hosting and would care to recommend a provider/site to look into. I'm looking for a small amount of space so that over the course of a month I can post 10-20 mp3s to my site (and later replace them with others). I'm not hoping to spend more than $10-15 per month to do so. Anyone have a suggestion? Bueller? Bueller?

Post something to the comments section or e-mail me (see my profile). Thanks in advance.

N/P—Jens Lekman, "A Higher Power"

M. Ward is one suspicious fellow that I should have looked into some time ago, like, say 2003, when he released Transfiguration of Vincent. 2003 was a busy record-purchasing year for me, and despite lots of positive press, I never made it a priority to pick up Ward's album. That was a mistake.

Patrick recently swapped some digital skin with me, burning me several releases from 2003 that I didn't get a chance to hear in exchange for a mix of artists from my 2004 Best Of list. I also received some other goodies from Patrick that I'm anxious to listen to, like Grandaddy, The Handsome Family and John Cale.

But, back to M. Ward. He's a bit of an oddball, which I adore. Picking an acoustic guitar, often with miminal backing instrumentation (occasional organ, drums or lead guitar), Ward strikes me as a rootsy blend of Nick Drake and Tom Waits, with a teeny bit of Ron Sexsmith's gorgeous flair thrown in for good measure. On paper, that doesn't make much sense, as Drake and Waits are polar opposites, but it transcribes well in sound. Ward's eclecticism is obvious here, from his melancholic adaptation of Bowie's "Let's Dance" to the spooky, Cajun blues of "Sad, Sad Song" to mellow, Skip Spence-influenced tunes like "Undertaker".

Ward's personality often trumps his talented songwriting, which is what I enjoy most about him. Here's a good example:

Oh a playful little kitten met a playful little bird,
and then off with it's head, off with it's head, oh my!
And a breeze met a blossom in a winter embrace
and then off with it's head, off with it's head, oh my!

Am I outta my head, am I outta my head my love?
Am I outta my head or is this real life?

There's absolutely nothing "everyday" about Ward's perspective, which is so refreshing. Modernists might say he resembles Devendra Banhart or even Sam Coomes in this regard, but to these ears he really sounds like the second-coming of Nick Drake (possibly with a bit more of a sense of humor).

All in all, Transfiguration of Vincent was a pleasant surprise, and hopefully this year I can pick up a copy of the actual album. His new release, Transistor Radio, drops in a month on Matador.

N/P—Bonnie "Prince" Billy & Matt Sweeney, Superwolf

I swear that I'm not just buying into the hype with this new Bright Eyes record. I'm not even a Bright Eyes fan, really. I have Lifted, Bright Eyes' previous album. But, it's never really sunk in. I've never given it much of a chance to. Because of the hype that preceeded it. Because of the rave reviews that followed it. Because of my own laziness or distraction or preconceptions.

So, why did I rush to the record store on Tuesday to get Conor Oberst's (aka Bright Eyes) new album, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning? Well, I guess I fell for everything that I didn't fall for with his previous release. I fell for the hype; there's been talk about this album being his tour de force for some time now. And, I fell for the press' tongue-bath, going against even my gut feeling from previous conclusions drawn about zines like Pitchfork, who gave the record an 8.7.




But, I also did some research, checking out a couple samples from the label's site, which nudged me into taking the risk even though the samples turned out to be the album's weaker offerings. And, my research also led me to the conclusion that Bright Eyes' other new offering, Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, was probably not going to be my cup of tea.

As I discuss this album, understand that I have little history with Conor Oberst. I don't know much about his past records, or his past. Other than the usual "boy wunderkind" tag that seems to have permanently attached itself to Oberst, even though he's now in his mid-20s. So, my opinion of his work is, for the most part, not tainted. No, I couldn't sit on a jury if Oberst was to be tried for manslaughter tomorrow. I know more than some. But, it does seem that Oberst is trying to be convicted of manslaughter with the release of Wide Awake. It's a record that on the surface seems more mature, more supple, more of a discussion with the listener, more of this earth. More "Americana," as they say. It seems he's attempting to slay his prior demons, the boyishness and crudeness that has dogged him throughout his career. He's certainly created a record that will have a greater appeal.

Wide Awake was supposedly written while the Omaha kid was hanging out in the Big Apple. Seems like an odd setting to compose a record of countrified folk songs. Seems like an odd place to try to connect with your inner-Dylan. Then again, NYC is also where Dylan connected with his inner-self on multiple occasions, so what do I know?

I've given this record exactly three spins. That might seem like too few to pass judgment, but I believe that the first impression is often the lasting impression—and for good reason—when it comes to music. I don't want my brain (or further literature) to muddy-up what my the rest of my body is telling me. And the rest of my body is telling me that this is a great record. Not monumental. Not without its doubts. Maybe not even career-defining. But, possibly, career-redefining.

On the opener, "At the Bottom of Everything," Oberst takes us through an uncomfortable, spoken-word intro to set up a tale of our eventual meeting with our maker. The song kicks off much like the opener to Ryan Adam's Heartbreaker, except in a completely different tone. The tune itself is an acoustic, mandolin-led ditty that would sound totally comfortable on Wilco/Billy Bragg's two odes to Woody Guthrie. As a bonus, My Morning Jacket's Jim James lends his voice to the song's chorus. (I didn't even recognize him stripped of all his usual reverb.) The song's soul-searching lyrics—which conclude "I found out I am really no one"—are infused with Oberst's childlike enthusiasm, which (for the first time) I realize reminds me to some degree of Jad Fair. Taken in this context, I'm not as turned off by Oberst's hyperactivity or his gentle naiveté. I'm also not sure that I could have said that three or four years ago. But, as I've grown older, I have created more space for sincerity, and increased the rent on sarcasm and cynicism. So, where once a voice like Oberst's might have been refused a couch to crash on, he's now taken in and fed.

"We Are Nowhere and It's Now" is one giant rhetorical question: "Why are you scared to dream of God, when it's salvation that you want?" A favorite lyric appears, too: "Like stars that clear have been dead for years, but the idea still lives on." The song itself is an uncluttered acoustic tune, spliced together with drum fills, piano embellishments, and flourishes of trumpet. And, most importantly, the weary background vocals of Emmylou Harris, who makes the first of three appearances. Harris lends the song her expert touch, providing a vibrant backdrop and interesting contrast to Oberst's warbly, youthful voice.




"Old Soul Song (for the New World Order)" is a melancholic, pedal-steel number for the headphones that swirls into a wall-of-sound whose cacophony reflects the song's lyrics: "We walked for forty blocks to the middle of the place we heard that everything would be. And there were barricades to keep us off the street. But the crowd kept pushing foward 'til they swallowed the police. They went wild...". As the song's confidence builds, the dueling drummers increase their intensity, the background vocals blend with the drone of the pedal steel and the trumpet sails over the whole mass. It's the record's first rocking moment, and it's a memorable one.

Oberst promptly brings the lights down for the follow-up, "Lua," choosing to provide us with only his acoustic guitar and voice. The decision fits the introspective, travelling-light ballad to a T. "Train Under Water" is another mid-tempo ballad, this time in the model of Gram Parsons and the Byrds. It brings us to Wide Awake's center; with only five songs remaining, we've been treated to a mellow affair thus far.

"First Day of My Life," which would have been a great selection for the mix I did for Mary and her newborn son, keeps the mood relaxed. It's actually about the sense of rebirth we can feel when falling in love. And as I type this, I am aware that this sounds cheesy. And, I won't deny that it is. But if Journey is Velveeta, then this tune would have to be brie. It's a more eloquent sort of emo than, say, Dashboard Confessional. Ultimately, I could do without it, though.

But "Another Travelin' Song," I could do with more of. The album's first rocker from the get-go, it's a straightforward Johnny Cash country-rocker blessed by more pedal steel, vibrating organ, again a pair of drummers and Emmylou's sweet backing vocals. But it's just a teaser to the magnificent, Dylan-esque "Landlocked Blues," which features Emmylou in a duet that reminds me—in such a good way—of an update on the traditional ballad Emmylou would do with Gram (or for a more modern reference, see the fabulous Chitlin' Fooks). Oberst hits a handful of lyrical home runs on this one, including this dandy: "A good woman will pick you apart. A box full of suggestions for your possible heart. And you may be offended and you may be afraid, but don't walk away, don't walk away." But, ultimately, that's just what he does. This sense of the wandering stranger addled by drugs seems critical to Oberst's definition of himself at the current juncture. He seems wiser, but unable to fully realize, afraid to commit, and uneasy with the thought of growing old.

"Poison Oak" strikes me as more of dusty, stark, Springsteen ballad. Again, it grapples with a feeling of restlessness that inspires confusion masquerading as spite, the fuel that drives this young soul. "Road to Joy" brings the album to a close. Moreso than any other song on the album, this particular one paints Oberst as the vocal minority of his country's bewildered youth: "So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing, it's best to join the side that's going to win. And no one's sure how all of this got started. But we're going to make them goddamn certain how it's going to end." While it's not quite his own "Masters of War," Oberst gets an A for effort. He ends the song by hitting the nail squarely on the head: "Failure's always sounded better, so let's fuck it up boys. Make some noise!"

By all accounts that I've read, Wide Awake is superior to Digital Ash in terms of songwriting and execution. I suspect Digital Ash will receive more kudos from the youth brigade, however, as its been Postal Serviced in comparison to this album. But, I do think that this album will be of more interest to the aged sect, which is probably what Oberst had in mind when he recruited Emmylou and Jim James and set out to record a country record. I can see this album appealing to fans of Okkervil River, in particular, which is a poor reference point as there are far fewer fans of OR than BE, and OR basically took BE's schtick and ran with it. So, maybe I should say "Recommended if you like Ryan Adams, but with more 'tude and lewd." Nah, that doesn't quite nail it either. Well, I'm not going to say that Bright Eyes is the second coming of Dylan. That's laughable. So, let's just say he's on to something good here. If you felt like you couldn't quite get into Lifted—maybe you were turned off by his bratty attitude or his lack of clarity—or you simply steered clear of Bright Eyes until now, then it's likely that you'll be surprised by this record. Conor Oberst definitely snuck up on me.


N/P—The Carter Family, "Single Girl, Married Girl"

Fred from D.C. sent me a copy of the DFA Comp #2 that was all the rave last year. I'm only through the first two (of three) discs, but I already feel nauseated at the thought of continuing any further. I just don't get electronica, even the fucked-up, creative variety (like most of this comp). It hurts my brain to think about this style of music, it bothers my ears to listen to it, and in general, it perplexes me as to why this style of music earns such praise. Curse Moby!

There's some good stuff here, for sure. LCD Soundsystem's "Yeah," despite its lengthy run time, manages to maintain my interest for the most part (even through the abrasive ending). And The Rapture remix of "Sister Saviour" is fun in a Duran Duran-gone-techno sorta way.

But fuck, I just don't find this disc to be the shiznit. Maybe that's because I can't dance. So, I have no interest in music that one dances to, at least in the modern sense of the word "dances". Yet, in the past, I have enjoyed me some electronica, from B. Fleischmann to Kruder & Dorfmeister to Aphex Twin. I've even stomached an Oval concert (one man+laptop), as my curiosity ripped apart my innards and choked me with my own intestines. (Actually, Oval was pretty cool—like an hour's worth of screeching white noise. I'm certain that he turned up the shock value a few notches seeing as he was playing for a handful of Midwesterners.)

So, in the past I've at least enjoyed a smattering of electronica, or whatever in the fuck it's called these days. But, nowadays, I just ain't having none of it. Give me some guitars and amplifiers, or give me death.

Fred, bless his heart, also sent me a copy of Smile, which I have yet to hear in its entirety. I'm guessing that I'm gonna dig it a little more.

N/P—Jon's "Black Mass" mix CD

News today is Bush wants another $80B for the war, and that the new estimate is that the U.S.ofA. will rack up $855B in debt over the next decade, excluding the overhaul to the social security plan and the expense of the war(s).

The sad fact is that all this debt might not be the most disgusting, lasting effect of the Bush administration. That honor might be reserved for the decisions Bush has made concerning who to put in power, and the negative impact they have on our society.

Ole Judge Rehnquist is about ready to kick the bucket, and experts say that Ole Judge Scalia is the shoo-in to replace Rehnquist as high roller. Of course, it's never too soon to brace for our forthcoming violent smack across the face due to arrive when Bush puts forth his recommendation for a newbie to the Almighty Court.

Meanwhile, Salon posted the following nugget yesterday. I really shouldn't be surprised anymore by what I read concerning Bush and his ability to pat those on the back who have served him well in the past. I don't find that, in and of itself, to be despicable. (After all, in politics the practice is all too common.) But, in Bush's case, he keeps poor company in the first place. Read up, with thanks to Mark Follman for posting this originally.

Newsweek's Michael Isikoff reports that the nominee for attorney general may have helped President Bush escape jury duty in a drunken-driving case involving a dancer at an Austin strip club in 1996, in order to protect Bush from disclosing his own 1976 conviction for driving under the influence of alcohol.

The Newsweek report is based on Gonzales' recent testimony during Senate confirmation hearings, and follow-up interviews with Travis County Judge David Crain and lawyers involved in the case.

"In separate interviews, Crain -- along with [defense attorney] Wahlberg and prosecutor John Lastovica -- told NEWSWEEK that, before the case began, Gonzales asked to have an off-the-record conference in the judge's chambers. Gonzales then asked Crain to 'consider' striking Bush from the jury, making the novel 'conflict of interest' argument that the Texas governor might one day be asked to pardon the defendant (who worked at an Austin nightclub called Sugar's), the judge said. 'He [Gonzales] raised the issue,' Crain said. Crain said he found Gonzales's argument surprising, since it was 'extremely unlikely' that a drunken-driving conviction would ever lead to a pardon petition to Bush. But 'out of deference' to the governor, Crain said, the other lawyers went along. Wahlberg said he agreed to make the motion striking Bush because he didn't want the hard-line governor on his jury anyway. But there was little doubt among the participants as to what was going on.

"'In public, they were making a big show of how he was prepared to serve,' said Crain. 'In the back room, they were trying to get him off.'"

You scratch my hairy back, and I'll scratch yours.


N/P—Samples from the new Bright Eyes albums (I'ma gonna be gettin' me one of 'em.)

I've stumbled upon some good stuff recently, and it's only polite to share.

For starters, try out this Weird War song. WW is Ian Svenonius' new band, he of Make-Up/Scene Creamers/Nation of Ulysses fame. I don't really know that much about his new project; in all honesty, I haven't really followed him since The Make-Up. In WW, he couples with Royal Trux's Neil Hagerty. But, this song is rad. And, if you dig it, check this one out, too.

A couple new Arcade Fire tunes are available here, including a cover of The Magnetic Fields' "Born on a Train." Singer Win Butler claims the song is responsible for the Arcade Fire signing to Merge. It's an okay cover, nothing special, as Butler's voice sounds shredded, as if he's doing a poor Tom Waits impersonation. They were recorded live on a radio station. (FYI, I spotted this on the blog Mystical Beast, which I'd recommend working into your regular browsing rotation.)

Jon over at Unfinished Novellas recently peaked my interest with his brief write-up of the Swedish band Witchcraft for his Best of '04 list. I found a sample of these Sabbath-cum-Roky Erickson nerds here and here.

Finally, Jens Lekman, whom I've written about plenty on this site, has posted a slew of unreleased songs—some interesting, others a bore—on his label's site. I can't wait to see him in Bloomington, Indiana in a little over a month!

N/P—Jose Gonzalez, Veneer

(Introduction provided here.)

Brigitte Fontaine and Areski's L' Incendie resides on the shelf in between Flying Saucer Attack's Mirror and The For Carnation's Fight Songs.

This about tops the list of CDs that I don’t listen to very often. I don’t remember exactly when or where I purchased this album (although I suspect Other Music around 1996), and I’m fairly certain that this is the first time that I've given it a spin in well over a year. Before I get into whether it was worth that spin, allow me to provide you with a bit of background info on this strange French chanteuse.

Brigitte Fontaine was a peer of Francoise Hardy during the early-1970s French music scene and the heralded diva of France's underground music scene. While Hardy was more of a rose-colored glasses sort-of pop singer, Fontaine was a kaleidoscope, full of fractured colors and intriguing geometry. Fontaine collaborated with a variety of arrangers and songwriters during the ‘70s, most notably Serge Gainsbourg. But, her consistent sidekick—both in her personal and musical life—was a man named Areski Belkacem, an experimental folk singer whose passionate, worn voice provided an interesting counterpoint to Fontaine’s more polished set of pipes. At the time of this album's release, Fontaine was a political creature prone to periods of self-imposed exile. If for any reason her name rings a bell, it’s likely due to her recent collaborations with Sonic Youth, who guested on her 2001 album, Kekeland. Both Fontaine and Areski also collaborated with the Youth on their SYR6 album.

I don’t have any of Fontaine’s albums proper other than this, L’ Incendie, her second or third (?) collaboration with Areski that was originally released in 1974. To say that the duo filtered world music through a distinctly European folk filter would do this record justice. But, it would also be selling the album mysteriously short. After all, just what in the fuck does “world music filtered through a distinctly European folk filter” sound like? One imagines a sort of drab tapestry of sounds both antiquated and sophisticated. Possibly, a record that is completely unapproachable?

Well, it’s not. Areski was of Algerian heritage, and hence there’s a good deal of North African influence on this record which comes through at various times in edgy, almost-tribal percussion, unpredictable instrumentation (thumb pianos, odd woodwinds, and tympani), and unusual key signatures. The music is often murky and troubled, sinking to soul-searching depths as if the duo took pleasure from their sadomasochistic ways. Other times, it’s playfully psychedelic or shockingly stark, drawing from Middle Eastern influences as well.

Take the song “Les Borgias,” in which hand drums grapple with a flute and upright bass in a sort of cosmic warfare that would probably give Sun Ra a chubby. Areski takes the lead on this song, and his vocal approach reminds of a wandering, homeless minstrel. “Declaration de Sinistre,” meanwhile, borrows nicely from Eno’s electric piano experimental soundscapes of the mid-to-late-‘70s. Over a restless smattering of notes, Fontaine sings—of what, sadly I don’t know—as if she’s just had her heart stomped to death. “Les Murailles” features the aforementioned thumb pianos, as notes splatter like raindrops on a sidewalk. Fontaine’s backing track is cut-up into hiccups for added effect, while Areski handles the lead vocal duties again. A dash of medieval folk only adds to the record’s weirdness in “L’ Abeille,” while “Apres la Guerre” finds Fontaine speaking over a hypnotic guitar track. Closing song “Le Chant des Chants” is a bit of torch song gone awry. “L’ Engourdie” is one of the album’s few stabs at a pop song. While Fontaine’s gorgeous vocals are straightforward, the song is slathered in backward electric guitar and the acoustic guitar track dances from left to right in the headphones.


Fontaine and Areski

For those seeking an easy listen, L’ Incendie is far from it. But, rewarding it is. It’s safe to say I have nothing else in my collection that sounds like this. And, I wish I did. I’m sure that at the time I purchased this album—when I was snatching up French pop records by the likes of Jacques Brel, Jacques Dutronc, Gainsbourg and Hardy—that this was a bit more of a mindfuck than I had bargained for. (Which is why this record sat on the shelf for a long time.) I’m not certain that it’s an album that I’ll ever feel compelled to listen to on a regular basis; it’s simply too bizarre, at turns tempting and aggressive. But, I’m glad I did give it an in-depth listen today. I won’t be parting with it, that’s for sure. I can see myself growing old with this record, enjoying it more as it ages. (Or, maybe it’s simply me that needs to do the aging.)

Order your own copy from Forced Exposure or Other Music.

Watching the Illini narrowly defeat the Hawkeyes tonight reminded me yet again of why I absolutely love college basketball. Does it get any better than two hours of sweaty palms? It sure does! In tonight's game, I received a bonus 30 minutes in the form of an overtime period. Gotta say, the Illini looked stiff and tentative on offense. Part of that is due to some stellar D on the behalf of Iowa. But, why oh why did we continue to feed the post when it was obvious that James Augustine and Roger Powell simply did not have it going on this eve? They missed several gimmes close to the hoop.

And, what’s up with Deron Williams? I really have a problem with this kid’s play so far this season. Earlier in the season he was forcing up shots and missing open looks; now, he’s reverted back to his freshman form in looking to create open shots for others. The later is fine, except at times we need him to be more of a scoring threat, like the way he put the team on his shoulders last year in our big win at home against Illinois State. Thanks to the inconsistent play from our big men and Dee Brown's foul troubles, tonight was one of those times. Instead of driving toward the basket and dishing the ball off to Augustine or Powell (who were a combined 3-for-21 in the game), Williams needed to pull up for a few mid-range jumpers. Of everyone on this team, Williams seems to be forcing the action (and possibly his agenda) more so than anyone else, instead of simply playing fluid ball and using his noggin. He’s capable of more production—and if we’re going to make it to St. Louis by year’s end, he’ll need to start delivering night in and night out.

That said, tonight was a huge win. There was nothing trademark about the victory—it wasn’t raining threes, there were few transition buckets, our defense was uncharacteristically poor at times, we didn’t pass (or catch) the ball as well as we usually do, and open looks were few and far between. So, I guess that goes to show that this team just has “it,” that ability to pull out a victory from the hands of defeat, in any way possible. However, if this was a road game, it would probably have been our first “L” of the year.

But, getting back to fandom, last night’s benefit concert—the debut of The Living Blue (aka The Blackouts)—was a lot of fun. It was my first time on a stage since my theater days in college. I (and the other DJs, too) was really more of a sideshow distraction than a main act, so being on the stage was a bit odd and also made me a bit of a nervous Nelly (or is it Nellie?). The highlight of my set was when Damon, drummer for The Situation, decided to test the mic on his snare drum in time with “TNT”. That was good for a laugh, for at least the two of us. But the real fun was had when I was off the stage, enjoying some fine sets from local bands and some fine company from a few friends that I rarely get a chance to see, from Erik to Damon to Steve to Luke to Rob.

Some gossip was shared, as usual. I learned that American Minor has completed work on their forthcoming full length, which is due to drop in May. All that’s left is the mixing and completion of the artwork. Rob reports that there will be a couple ballads among the bunch; I secretly hope that “Something You Ain’t Got” is one of them, but I didn’t ask. And The Living Blue will be in the studio in late February working on their debut for Minty Fresh. World-class producer/partier Adam Schmitt will be doing the honors once again, but this time they’ll be recording in a Chicago studio instead of in Champaign. The band is anxious to wrap up the record and hit the road. They debuted several new songs last night, and introduced a new tempo with their closing number, which was a welcome change. Joe, the maddest axeman this side of the Mississippi, still needs to turn his ass up in the mix, while the rest of the band could stand to come down a bit. But, I feel I’m beating a dead horse in making that suggestion yet again. I really haven’t heard the band outside of this town in a while, so maybe they sound a bit different on other stages in other locations. But the sound people in C-U seem fixated on pushing everything into the red (possibly at the band’s bequest), and that can work against a band like The Living Blue, who really could utilize a bit of clarity considering that each of their guitar parts (and bass) is worth hearing in all its detail. Not to mention, Steve's a pretty damn good vocalist. Blah blah blah, I’m certainly no expert on mixing a live band. So, I should probably just shut up.

The turnout at the benefit was sort-of crappy. Lately there has been a bit of debate around town between fans and promoters: the fans want better touring artists in town, while the promoters want more people in attendance. It’s a catch-22, of course, because the better the bands, the better the turnout. But, when promoters can’t afford the risk inherent in a $500-plus guarantee considering how flaky turnout can be, it’s difficult for them to put their paycheck on the line and give the fans what they want. To the promoter’s credit, we’ve had some good shows recently (Magnolia Electric Co, The Arcade Fire), but they haven’t been frequent enough. And, as last night might have indicated, locals might be fed up with seeing local bands—even the best—as many of them play out once or more per month.

Plenty of locals yearn for the days of the early-to-mid ‘90s, when C-U was hopping thanks to several C-U bands firmly planted on the national map and the desire of touring acts to play in town. The scene, as most agree, was firing on all cylinders then. Things have been on the upswing as of late, with American Minor signing to Jive and due to make a big splash soon, The Living Blue earning their nation-wide stripes (5-outta-5 review from Alternative Press, who has named them a “band to watch” in ‘05), The Headlights providing a steady backbeat, The Beauty Shop earning rave reviews overseas, and original bands like Terminus Victor rounding out the scene. But, it’s not quite on par with the scene of a decade ago, when the Poster Children, Braid, Menthol, Suede Chain, Castor, Adam Schmitt, etc. were making huge waves. It’s quite possible that C-U will never return to those glory days, as there were certainly unique circumstances on the national level—a healthier music landscape across the nation, for starters, thanks to the search for the “next big Nirvana”—that led to a small town like Champaign, which really had no musical history of significant note, popping up on the nation’s radar.

Regardless, for whatever reason, it seems like banking on the kind of turnout that promoters received at that time is probably not a wise bet for today’s promoters. And that, unfortunately, makes it frustrating to be a music fan living in C-U. Our expectations have been lowered to the point where we can only hope for a handful of shows each year that really get our spirits up. If we show up en masse to shows that we don’t really want to see, and pay the modest cover expected of us, maybe we can provide the necessary confidence to local promoters needed to see a few of today’s next big Nirvanas within city limits. But I, for one, just don’t have the drive needed to make that a reality. Maybe I’m not as big of a fan in general as I used to be, when going to two or three concerts a week seemed normal (even if I didn’t know the band or wasn’t particularly interested in them). Certainly, my priorities as well as my internal clock have changed over the past few years. I don’t recover from a late-night out the way I used to, and I now have to be alert at 8 in the morning, five days a week.

So, my comfort zone has shrunk to the confines of my apartment on most evenings. That probably makes me uncool in the eyes of some, or selfish in the eyes of others. But, I’m only human, and even my style of intense fandom has its limits. I’m not much of a risk-taker anymore. Part of that I’d like to credit to the fact that my taste has evolved to the point where I don’t find enjoyment in seeing bands that are simply bland and acceptable, even if they are in fact considered good by many. I readily admit that the style of bands that get me off now, more so than ever, fall under the category of “niche market”. And that only feeds my frustration, as my niche isn’t being serviced by the promoters in town at an acceptable frequency. That’s ultimately my problem, though, not their’s. Their job is to book bands that, while unique in the sense of being a group that has not played in C-U over-and-over again, have a more mainstream or widespread appeal. That’s common sense. Unfortunately, those bands usually don’t interest me.

Alas, hopefully I’ll rid myself of this problem by eventually moving to a larger city. Or, at least moving to a town that’s within closer proximity to a larger city. In the meantime, I’ll continue to cross my fingers and hope for the best, both in terms of the roster of bands that play in town and the success of the No. 1 Illini. At least one of the two seems to be worth fretting over this year.

N/P—The Fall, "Eat Y'self Fitter"

Today, on Day 19, I scored my first haul of the year, purchasing the three albums that I talked about yesterday (Magnolia Electric Co, The Misunderstood, and T. Rex). I took an extra half-hour over lunch, parked the car in an empty lot, and listened to The Misunderstood. "Children of the Sun," their contribution to Nuggets, is by far the best of the first six songs that were recorded in England late in the band's brief tenure from 1965-66. (I don't recall if it's on Box 1 or 2, as they were technically a California band that briefly flirted with the UK. So, I suppose the Nuggets folks could have included them on either.) But, I can easily see why Richie Unterberger, among others, has made such a big deal out of them. After all, it's not often that you find a steel guitarist running his shit through pedals in a raga-influenced, psychedelic blues band. The band's history is fascinating, too, from their initial involvement with a pre-BBC John Peel to the bizarre circumstances of their break-up to their fascination with music-as-holistic-healing/light show. Read up. But, the record is a bit of let-down. (Then again, I haven't even finished the sucker, so I should withhold judgment.)

Work has prohibited me from listening to much of either T. Rex or Magnolia, so I'll have to provide a recap on those two later. But, I do want to further discuss Black Mountain, which Jon @ Unfinished Novellas has taken the liberty of hyping ad-nausea (along with the fact that he's not on a record-purchasing diet like the proprietor of this blog). You bitch. =)

Anyway, I located another Black Mountain mp3 here (a brief, painless registery process is required) for a third song not featured on the label's site. Wow! "Don't Run Our Hearts Around" finds Black Mountain as good as advertised. Check it out.

On a closing note, if you're in Champaign-Urbana tonight, do head up to The Highdive for the tsunami benefit. I'm now spinning after The Living Blue at the group's bequest. I guess they realized that they can't possibly top my set, so why try? Hardy-har-har. Show up, buy me a beer, and tell me to my face how foolish this whole "Year Without Music" endeavor really is.


N/P—Magnolia Electric Co, Trials & Errors

How funny is this? Open auditions! My friend found this lingering on a Chicago venue's web site:

Sunday, 2/6/2005

Mark Burnett Productions and INXS
are searching for
A Rock Superstar
To be the new Singer of the World Class Rock Band
INXS
Open Call Auditions
8:00 a.m. - 4:00 p.m.
Men and women ages 21 an up. Be prepared to sing 3 songs (INXS songs are
NOT required). You may perform to track or with musical instrument.
For more info. e-mail music@markburnettprod.com

It's every karaoke star's wet dream! Let's see, do I sing "Guns in the Sky," "Suicide Blonde," or "Original Sin"? Oooo, or better yet, I should do "Never Tear Us Apart" with live accompaniment to see if the sax player has the chops for the solo.


N/P (in my head)—INXS, "New Sensation" (w/Noiseboy on vocals)

People don't really count sheep to fall asleep, despite what the mattress commercials will have you believe. If your mind is as busy as mine, you're likely preoccupied with whatever random thoughts usually clutter your mind. For me—especially lately—those thoughts have revolved around what album(s) I will purchase this month. Per my new agreement with myself, my "Year Without Music", I can purchase only 12 records this year, or one per month. I do have a loophole, which M thinks is ridiculous, that allows me to purchase additional records if I sell current records first. I'm not very keen on selling records, so I felt like this loophole would probably not be exercised to a great degree. (And so far, in my Howdy Stranger series, I've failed to find anything to trade in.) But, I did have a few records that have been sitting on the shelf for months, awaiting their eventual auction. And this month, I decided to find them new homes.

For the most part, my recent eBay auctions have been a bust, as three records failed to sell despite two attempts, and the five that did sell only netted me $35 total. But, that's $35 that I can spend on welcome additions to the collection. And that means that I can purchase three albums in addition to my allotted one for this month. So, now you can see why my mind was racing last night as I tried to fall asleep with visions of Tyrannosaurus Rex dancing in my head.

Three of my new additions have been decided, and they are as follows:

1) T. Rex's Prophets, Seers, and Sages,

2) The Misunderstood's Before the Dream Faded, and

3) Magnolia Electric Co.'s The Dark Don't Hide It, which I had forgotten about but is an absolute must so that I can once again behold the glory of the almighty savior of old school rock and roll, Jason Molina. (For song samples, go here and click on the MP3s link.) It's a live album, which is usually a turn-off for me; but having witnessed Molina and Co. in the flesh late last year, I can safely say I'm ready for a second-coming.

The fourth selection is up for grabs at this point. In consideration is the debut album by Black Mountain, which Pitchfork raved about yesterday. As we all know, though, Pitchfork can't always be trusted to be the arbiter of exquisite taste. Like any publication, they sometimes assign reviews to whomever is the biggest fan of that particular artist or genre. (And that, friends, can lead to a kegger on top of a mountain of hype.)

So, sticking with my adjusted priorities, instead of leaping at the opportunity to purchase Black Mountain sight-unseen, I'm doing some legwork first. Pitchfork claims that I'll love their album if I was also enthralled by recent ventures from My Morning Jacket and Comets on Fire. (And yes, I was!) But, I'd like to hear what others say first, because the two songs I listened to on the label's site didn't blow me away on first listen. (All this said, it's probably worth owning, as Jon over at Unfinished Novellas raved to me about the group, too, and I usually agree with his taste in music.)

But, I could also choose to store this extra record-purchasing token away for next month, as I already know that there's another new record coming out that I'm gonna get by Dead Meadow. The song sample provided on Matador's site shows the band traversing down a different thrill-seeking path, so I'm quite excited to hear the record, Feathers, in its entirety.

To spend or not to spend, that is the question...


N/P—Dead Meadow, "At Her Open Door"

Mary is going to give birth any day now to her first child, a bouncing baby boy. She’s a “statistic,” as she says—a single mother. But, to me she’s a lot more than just a statistic; she’s a friend that I’ve known since high school. And even though we don’t keep in close touch anymore, I do still think about her often. She was a big part of my life during my high school and early college years, as we both enjoyed each other’s taste in music and senses of humor. We went to several concerts together, and she holds the distinction of remaining in my mother’s disdain to this very day because she accompanied me on a trip to Iowa to see Nirvana in 1993. (Long story short, I attempted to skip school—without telling my parents—to see Nirvana. The plan succeeded in so much as I got to see Nirvana. It failed miserably, though, on the cover-up end of things. In retrospect, I guess it wasn’t such a good idea to have my friend Dustin call in sick for me as my dad, especially when my mom worked at the school and was easily accessible to the disbelieving school receptionist. My mom panicked, pulling my friends out of class to question them on my whereabouts. Poor Mary was guilty by association and marked for life.)

So, she qualifies for one of what I hope is many mix tapes in 2005 to be delivered to my friends around the country that I don’t keep up with as I probably should. But, why do a mix just for her? Won’t the kid feel dissed if he’s not a recipient, too? So, I decided to attempt to do a mix that would appeal to both of them. That was a challenge.

For starters, like most childless adults, I don’t have a lot of music that kids would dig, especially newborns. But, thinking about this mix as something the kid might enjoy for a few years down the road opened up some new possibilities. The trick was to make the mix enjoyable for Mary, too. The music had to be “childish” or “kid-themed,” but at the same time be something that a parent could tolerate, or even enjoy. Plus, I wanted to include some songs that were geared specifically toward her son, while also incorporating songs that were written more from a mother’s point of view. After scouring my collection, it became abundantly clear that there really haven’t been a lot of songs (at least decent ones that I would own) written from the point of view of a parent or a baby. Nor did I own a lot of “kiddy” songs. Matter of fact, if not for Jonathan Richman, I’d be nearly doomed in that regard. And most songs that feature the word “baby” use it in reference to a lover, not a child. Luckily, in some instances, the usage of “baby” in the context of the song is ambiguous enough to make it inclusive to either child or lover.

Anyway, here’s what I came up with and titled A Reminder: Boy’s Don’t Cry.

01 Superman Intro

A humorous little tidbit taken from this old Superman comic I have that was one of those read-along seven-inch dealies. Superman saves a boy from a skateboarding accident and proceeds to tell him the story of his life.

02 The Meters, “Tippi-Toes”

How could a kid not love this song, with its loopy bass line, groovy organ, and funky rhythm guitar? It puts a smile on my face every time I hear it, and I’m 28. I think there’ll be some crib-shaking boogieing going on to this number.

03 The Delmonas, “That Boy of Mine”

“I don’t care if the sun don’t shine, as long as I can see that boy of mine.” Okay, so this one kinda skirts the whole not appropriate for a mother-child song issue, but whatever. The chorus is spot-on, and The Delmonas treatment of the girl-group classic is fun.

04 The Ramones, “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up”

“When I’m lying in my bed at night, I don’t wanna grow up.” Don’t become a jaded, cynical fuck like the rest of us. Stay young, youngster!

05 The Coasters, “Yakety Yak”

Obligatory kid song. Is this what the poor boy has to look forward to?

06 The Modern Lovers, “Rockin’ Rockin’ Leprechauns”

I could have easily chosen Jonathan Richman songs for the entire mix. If you’ve got kids and you haven’t introduced them to Richman yet, well, then shame on you. This particular song is just a personal fave. “Mother nature’s leprechauns have come back to rock and roll. See them rockin’ and a rolling, and they’re wobbling and a wiggling, and they’re fumbling and a gigglin’. They’re here to rock and roll!”

07 Dr. West’s Medicine Show & Junk Band, “The Circus Left Town Today”

Norman Greenbaum—who would go on to release “Spirit in the Sky” in the ‘70s—gives us a melancholic wave goodbye to the big top. I hope the circus never goes out of style for the young’uns.

08 The Beatles, “Blackbird”

This is more an inspiring song for the mother than the son, although the kid may get a kick outta the bird chirping in the background. “You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

09 Simon & Garfunkel, “At the Zoo”

It IS all happening at the zoo! You’re never too young to start dreaming of wild, exotic animals, are you? I love this song, even if it uses words that are too big for any nine year-old to understand, let alone an infant.

10 T. Rex, “Cosmic Dancer”

“Danced myself right out the womb…Is it strange to dance so soon?” I’m sure Mary will wish this kid danced himself right out the womb.

11 Winnie the Pooh segue

Did you know that Winnie the Pooh considers his author, A.A. Milne, to be his “fauther”? Now you do.

12 The Beach Boys, “Don’t Worry Baby”

Single parenting can be a difficult task, if I’m to believe what I see on TV. But, I’m sure this kid is in good hands. Plus, he’s got Uncle Mike around, and he’s handy with the tools I’m told. (Just forget the lyric, “Oh what she does to me, when she makes love to me,” and this song is a no-brainer.)

13 Earle Mankey, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”

Mankey’s fucked-up rendition of this doo-wop hit from 1961 is a sure-fire cult classic with the kiddies in crib land. If you hate this song in its original (or Disneyfied) version, you may actually find this version intriguing.

14 Silicon Teens, “Oh Boy!”

“When you’re with me the world can see that you were meant for me.” This one actually works well as a mother-son “love song.” And you can really boogie to the Teens’ electronic adaptation from 1980.

15 The Coctails, “Cakewalk”

I knew my Coctails’ Songs for Children seven-inch would come in handy someday!

16 The Undertones, “Male Model”

This might be a bit rowdy for the crib, but whatever! The kid should know he’s got some options, and baby models get paid handsomely.

17 The Vaselines, “Son of a Gun”

He’s gonna be introduced to the fine art of guitar feedback sooner or later, so The Vaselines might as well steal his virginity. “The sun shines in in the bedroom when you play, and the rain it always starts when you go away.” In hindsight, it’s quite possible that the guitar/piano stabs that enter over the chorus might disturb the child or cause traumatic nightmares. Mary will have to keep us updated.

18 The Rolling Stones, “Time Is on My Side”

Well, it’s true. (Even if Mick wasn’t singing to an infant when he wrote these words.)

19 Joe Turner & His Blues Kings, “Shake, Rattle and Roll”

Get it? Rattle! Hahahaha…

20 The Ramones, “Rock ‘N’ Roll High School”

It’s never too soon to think about the boy’s education. A little brainwashing in the infant years can’t hurt, either.

21 “Cookie Disco” segue

Is Sesame Street still popular with the kids? This song—performed by Cookie Monster, of course—surely has to be. It’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard.

22 James Brown, “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World”

“…but it wouldn’t be nothing without a woman or a girl.” See, I’m making sure the boy gives his mom the proper respect from the get-go.

23 The English Beat, “Twist & Crawl”

I’m working the kid toward his first significant step.

24 Ray Charles, “Tell All the World About You”

“I wanna walk about and talk about and tell all the world about you.” Hopefully, Mary will feel like this more days than not.

25 The Who, “I’m a Boy”

Nothing like introducing a little androgyny into the kid’s life, although I’m pretty sure Mary will shy away from the color pink.

26 Big Star, “When My Baby’s Beside Me”

“Don’t need to talk to my doctor. Don’t need to talk to my shrink. …Because when my baby’s beside me I don’t worry…” They say that a newborn can have a calming affect on one’s soul.

27 The Modern Lovers, “The Wheels on the Bus”

Richman’s chorus makes his version far superior to others. Plus, there’s a monster—big surprise—on the bus in this version, which only adds to the song’s charm.

28 Os Mutantes, “Baby”

A nice Portuguese ballad to close the mix. (It was later re-recorded in English, but I don’t have that version.) I love love love this song, and when I looked up the transcribed lyrics, I actually found out that the verses were written from the point of view of a parent speaking to a child. “You need to learn what I know and more than I know… Baby, I love you.”

29 Superman Outro

We bring things full circle. After hearing Superman’s life-story, the boy learns not to ride his skateboard on city streets and is whisked “up and away” by the man in tights. A happy ending indeed.


N/P—A rather enlightening tape of one of my radio shows from college. Did I actually use a Lifetime song for my show's theme music?

Heading into a couple nights ago, it had been a long while since I had made a mix for anyone. (I made one for M on Monday while she was out having a drink with friends. See below...) I don't know why that is, as I used to be quite the mix-master. My first girlfriend out of high school was the beneficiary of several. Off and on over the first few years of our five-year relationship, we were a long-distance couple. So, making mix tapes for her seemed to be a soothing and mutually gratifying way to communicate. I do believe I made her at least 80 tapes over that time span, complete with cover art and what not. I used to consider myself to be quite good at putting one together, using found sound samples as intros and mining the depths of my collection for interesting songs.

But, for some reason, I've lost enthusiasm for making mixes. Part of the problem is the fact that I'm such a self-doubter that I don't think that any of the mixes I make are any good. (And yes, I do review every mix before passing it on.) So, frustration sets in. In reality, I'm quite good at it; after all, you don't get to be a DJ in a bar full of people if you can't spin the tunes. But my own standards are just too high, I suppose. And unlike in a bar setting, where I can gauge the success of my selection by the audience's reaction, there's no one in my living room to reassure me that the last cut was awesome.

Last year I kicked around the idea of starting a club full of nerds like myself who wanted to share their music with others. The thinking was simple: I make a mix once a month and send it to ONE other person in the club. That person does the same thing for someone else. You listen to the mix you receive, and on next month's creation you must choose a few songs from the mix you received to share with others. Eventually, everyone is sharing new music with each other and your mixes turn out to be more about these great new songs that were passed on to you than they are a reflection of your own collection.

Well, that idea never reached lift off.

Lately, though, I've been yearning to make a few mixes, probably because I've forced myself via New Year's resolution to pay more attention to my record collection and it's lonely members. I've been toying with the idea of making a mix for some of my old friends that I don't keep in touch with as much as I should, and filling each with music that reminds me of that person. Sort of a "sorry we've lost touch, but I still think about ya" mix. So, head's up...if you haven't heard from me in a while, you just might very soon.


N/P—M's Mix...

Beating a Dead Horse
01 Quasi, "When I'm Dead"
02 The Association, "Never My Love"
03 Claudine, "I Love How You Love Me"
04 The Animals, "We Gotta Get Outta This Place"
05 Belle & Sebastian, "Your Secrets"
06 Jandek, "Babe I Love You"
07 Woody Guthrie, "It Takes a Married Man to Sing a Worried Song"
08 The 6ths, "You You You You You"
09 Donovan, "Josie"
10 Ivor Cutler, "I'm Fixed"

Well, I've completed 10.5 successful days so far in my "Year Without Music" campaign. But, it seems like it's been ten times that. So, I figure it's a good time to sit back and reflect on just how wonderful my year has been so far in comparison to, say, the Godfather of Soul. (Keeping things in perspective always helps. And to my knowledge, no prior business associate is suing me for a rape at gunpoint which then caused the onset of Graves' Disease. So, it's been a good year.)

I've resisted the urge to purchase an album, filling that void in a variety of ways:

1) Going to the local library. We're lucky in the twin cities to have two worthwhile libraries that feature a healthy music collection, of which I can borrow 20 albums at a time. A quick scan of the Champaign library's R-Z turned up a Sonic Youth record I've yet to hear, the recent release by teenyboppers The Redwalls, and a couple recent Richard/Linda Thompson albums. Not a bad score for $0.

2) Listening to WFMU even more than usual thanks to iTunes on the work computer. Tuesdays are my favorite day as I get two superb programs back-to-back: "Three-Chord Monte" from 11-2, followed by Brian Turner's show, which takes me all the way to the "Yabba Dabba Dooo!" whistle-blow at 5pm. Turner's show is wildly eclectic, featuring found sound (motivational tapes, TV show cutouts, and the like), avant-garde rock, experimental ambient-noise, fucked-up jazz, and psych-punk. There's nothing else like it on the dial.

3) Purchasing a Parasol gift certificate to present to my friend Donovan for his b-day. (I can't recall the last time I walked in there and bought something for someone other than me.)

4) Selling some records on eBay (building expectations for a future purchase, as per the loophole in my "Year Without Music" plan): The Ponys ($7.26), a really bad Gary Jules record that I was duped into buying for his cover of "Mad World" ($7.25), and a Beach Boys box set ($18.49). All told, that's like $33 worth of spending cash that will surely net me three new albums in addition to my ONE allotted record for January.

5) Of course, revisiting records that I already own. Last night, I drank a cold beer and sat in a warm bath (good for the head cold?) and enjoyed Plush's debut album, More You Becomes You, which Robert Christgau graded at a C-plus. (I bet ole Bob just hasn't tried the beer-in-the-bathtub listening experience yet.) I give it an A. The album got me thinking about making a list of my ten favorite "obscure/underappreciated" records of the past decade. (Actually, it got me thinking about my favorite albums released over the first five years of the "oughts," of which that would make the list if not for the fact—unbeknownst to me at the time—that it was released in 1998. My, how time flies when you're in the bathtub.) I love making lists, which in today's post-High Fidelity world might seem clichéd, but I can't help my dorkiness.

6) Agreeing to DJ at the forthcoming tsunami benefit.

7) A renewed interest in my "Howdy Stranger" series, which should pick up the pace in the coming weeks. I'd like to get through my CDs by May, and move on to my records after that.

8) Cooking. (Well, at least attempting to feign an interest in it.)

9) Reading. I recently picked up a Phil Spector biography, which was penned mostly prior to Spector's 2003 alleged murder. That, coupled with all these new magazine subscriptions the household will soon be receiving thanks to M's airline miles, should keep my pre-bedtime reading marathon in constant motion. I'm looking forward to Dwell, especially. (One can dream, no?)

10) Actually doing work while at work. For some odd reason, I've been able to concentrate a little easier at work. Maybe this whole drive for clarity is actually working, at least at work.


N/P—WFMU

Do you recall my notes about the "Hip Hop Rots Your Brain" billboards that went up around Champaign-Urbana? Turns out that it was a hoax. The jokes on us.

The "Coalition of Responsible Attentive Parents," whose name graces the billboards, are actually a load of C.R.A.P. The billboards were put up by a local upstart hip-hop label, Up a Notch Records.

The campaign is actually quite clever, a three-step process. Step One was plastering up the actual billboard, with the slogan and the logo, black text on a white background—nothing else. Of course, this generated a lot of buzz in town about who was behind the billboard and what they hoped to accomplish by making a statement that asinine. Enter Step Two: updating the billboards to make them look like they had been tagged by graffiti. A closer inspection reveals that it's actually fake graffiti that has been plastered onto the ad. But, driving by in a car, it's quite difficult to see that detail. Other billboards feature different graffiti, which lends to the believability of it all. One billboard, which is on a platform that could realistically be reached from the ground, features actual graffiti. On that particular billboard, the words "hip hop" were scratched out and replaced below by "Stereotypes, Racism, Ignorance." The label encouraged the University of Illinois' hip hop club to vandalize the billboard. Then, they left up the graffiti.




Step Three placed a big old stamp across most of the billboard announcing the label and their coming-out party at a local bar.

Not bad for an initial advertising campaign, eh? It's a creative way to get your billboard to stand out from the others. I wonder if the label will live up the hype?


N/P—Uncle Tupelo, Anodyne

You think you've seen it all, and then you see this. Or this. Or this or this or this or this. See, my little obsession isn't so strange, now is it?

Hit the "next blog" button at the top right of the screen if you've got a few minutes to kill and you don't mind peeping in someone else's window. I did this for about 15 minutes last night while I was waiting for my roasted peppers to cook. I actually thought I might stumble upon a cool site; but, no such luck. Maybe next time.


N/P—Todd Rundgren, "Rock and Roll Pussy"

I wish I was about to tell you about this great upcoming concert featuring the newly reformed, Jenny Toomey-fronted, Simple Machines band Tsunami. I was no fan of Tsunami, but surely that would rock, indie-style.

But, of course, Tsunami is still defunct, Toomey is still running the Future of Music Coalition, and I am referring to an upcoming benefit concert for Tsunami victims that will be held at The Highdive in sunny Champaign, Illinoise. Details follow:

TSUMANI RELIEF BENEFIT
Date: January 19
Time: 9:00 pm
Cover: $5.00
Details: DJ/Live Music

The Living Blue (headlining)
The Noiseboy
The Situation
DJ 2On2Out
Terminus Victor
DJ PBR
Ambitious Pie Party
DJ 2On2Out (opening)

That's right folks, I'll be spinning a brief 45-minute set inbetween local powerhouses The Situation and The Living Blue, whom you know as The Blackouts. For various reasons (legal/confusion), Champaign's Blackouts have decided to change their name upon signing a new record deal with Minty Fresh. Makes perfect sense, as K Records just last year reissued an album by '80s Seattle band The Blackouts. And, from our Blackouts point of view, they also just added a new bass player. So, a new name, and that's The Living Blue. I doubt that they'll have any difficulty keeping that one. Their new web site will be up and running sometime soon, and my interview with them in Skyscraper is a month-and-a-half away from dropping; I'll let ya know when that all happens. But for now, join us at The Highdive and enjoy their first set with their new name. You can say you were at The Living Blue's first-ever concert! How cool is that?

On a more serious note, I'm sure the door guy will accept more than $5, if you should feel so generous. Also, on a related note, Salon.com was running a special last week (not sure if it's still happening) in which they were donating your $35 joining fee (which waives the annoying ads) to the relief efforts. Plus, you get to choose from a few magazine subscriptions, including The New Yorker. Hard to beat that!

As for my set, I'm a bit nervous about it. Apparently, they're putting the DJs on the actual stage itself, which will seem odd. I'm used to being tucked away in the crow's nest at Mike & Molly's, out of harm's way (and sight lines). I better start fretting about what shirt to wear right now. As for the music, I ain't got no worries. I won't even have to disturb my freshly organized collection too much in order to fill 45 minutes. I've been spinning Richard & Linda Thompson to death as of late (after being inspired to pull out the record from a recent post over at Unfinished Novellas), and I'm most definitely going to work in "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight".


N/P—Swell Maps, Jane from Occupied Europe

(Introduction provided here.)

East River Pipe’s Mel resides on the shelf between Steve Earle’s Jerusalem and The Easybeats’ Friday on My Mind.

I’ve got too many East River Pipe albums. End of story. No one needs more than two, right? And I’ve got three, plus a bunch of seven inches. So, I went into this edition of Howdy Stranger with the mind set to force myself through the mental anguish that goes hand in hand with making life’s ultimate decisions, like which F.M. Cornog album needs to go.

The abridged East River Pipe bio reads like this:

An alcoholic, twenty-something, Hoboken bum named F.M. Cornog gets the pick-me-up of a lifetime from a woman who helps him get back on his feet. She stabilizes his life, becomes his girlfriend, funds the bedroom studio and the label that releases his earliest records, and allows him to pursue his passion—music. He names his one-man band after the pipe that dumps raw sewage into the local river basin. Fifteen years later, Cornog has released five albums, a compilation and several seven inches.

The story itself is remarkable, setting quite a high standard for the music. Cornog’s first proper full-length, Poor Fricky, was released over a decade ago on Merge. It’s the quintessential East River Pipe album, no doubt. Shining Hours in a Can collects all of his earlier singles, most of which are also spectacular (especially “My Life Is Wrong” and “She’s a Real Good Time”). I own both of those albums, and I’m not parting ways with them. Which brings us back to Mel, which was released right after Poor Fricky in 1995.

Mel is Poor Fricky’s soul mate, featuring similar, soothing synthesizer and ringing, hallucinatory guitar. While it lacks the knockout blow of Fricky (“Bring on the Loser,” “Ah Dictaphone” and “Keep All Your Windows Tight Tonight”), it’s got staying power and lasts the full twelve rounds. In fact, it’s quite same-songy when compared to its predecessor, which might work against it to some degree. But, when the songs are this good, we’re really comparing different years of the same Mercedes Benz model. Poor Fricky is a four-and-a-quarter stars album, and Mel gets three-and-three-quarters.

“The Club Isn’t Open” kicks off the album with those trademark ringing guitars, swelling background synth, and a staple drum machine beat. It’s catchy in a trippy, psychedelic way and ends before it really begins. “I am a Small Mistake” pours the ringing, wailing guitars on thick, which is probably why East River Pipe was so beloved by Sarah Records and the British press. At times, Cornog can musically conjure up the silhouette of Felt, The Field Mice, and other forlorn, melancholic British peers. Cornog sings, “I am a small mistake. I will correct it. I’ve got to leave this planet soon. ...This can all disappear for us so quickly. Get used to it.” On the more chirpy “Prettiest Whore,” a warm bass line ebbs underneath subdued synths and guitar, sounding a bit like Galaxie 500 gone electronica. In fact, Cornog’s coy sense of style and lyrical edginess reminds me often of Dean Wareham. Take “Whore,” for example: “I know you’re a whore, but you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Take care of yourself. You know, people always kill the most beautiful thing.”


F.M. Cornog

Cornog is most adept at tugging on our heartstrings with skill and precision. Beyond just the selection of chords and his capability to add shading and context to them, his gentle yet restless voice sounds entirely pedestrian in a comforting way. In so many ways, East Rive Pipe is the opposite of mainstream; he’s completely down-to-earth. We don’t often think of bums as sensitive, let alone human. But, Cornog proves that at our core, we're all struggling to achieve similar things.

I listened to this album four times over the past few days, and I definitely like it enough to keep it. Yes, it makes me want to return to Poor Fricky. And yes, I do like Poor Fricky better. But, in the end, I think I’ll just have to save some room on the shelf for Mel for a while longer.

This means I’m 0-for-the first five letters in the alphabet in terms of finding something to trade in or sell. I guess that means my collection is leaner and fitter than it used to be, because I don’t think the same could be said five years ago. Then again, we’ve still got 21 letters to go. I might find something yet.

Motorcycle Diaries, the film about Che Guevara's life-altering trip around South America, was an exhilarating slice of cinema and comes highly recommended. But, there's a different Motorcycle Diary that's peaked my interest lately. One involving Ewan McGregor, of all people.

Have you heard about the six-episode Bravo TV series, Long Way Round? It features McGregor and fellow actor Charley Boorman in a similarly-themed motorcycle jaunt from London east through Europe and Russia and Canada all the way to NYC. 20,000 miles in three-plus months. Sounds fascinating, and early reports are that the series is quite interesting (and often humorous). It's already available as a DVD in the UK, but not here in the States. I've missed Bravo's early screenings of it, but I'm on the lookout now.

There's an urge in most of us, I'd wager, to hop in a car and drive until we're in a land of unknowns. But, since most of us have a limited capacity to do so despite being "Born to Run," we'll have to settle with living vicariously through others. If you've seen the McGregor series, leave me a message and let me know whether you thought it was worth viewing.


N/P—iTunes radio: WFMU

The biggest scam to ever hit commercial radio appears to be on the out and out, reports Salon.

Under pressure from New York's nosy attorney general, who has already posted an impressive track record weeding out corporate fraud in other major industries, the (payola) system is finally collapsing -- or at least contracting -- from its own weight. In recent months, chain after chain of radio stations has announced it's cutting official ties with the middlemen or indies, who are now struggling to come to grips with the radically changed landscape around them.

But, that might not be a good thing for all, including indie labels who some thought would stand to benefit from such a collapse of the payola system. Nor does it mean that radio stations, that seem to prefer hedging their bets on a handful of predictable songs, will be expanding or diversifying playlists anytime soon.

Read up!


N/P—Pavement, "Here" (Peel Session)

I read Pitchfork daily. It's usually the first stop I make on my musical tangent through the world wide web that also includes Pop Matters and a few blogs. Their news section I admire (I sure don't have the kinda time to search that info out on my own), and their reviews are often worthwhile reads (even if I don't agree with their assessment or rating, which happens often). This is all to say, I respect what they do and how they go about doing it.

But, they are hardly the perfect savior of underground rock coverage, as some people see them. Yes, they do break bands from time to time. But the Chicago-based publication also occasionally sucks the teat of the British or east-coast press and raves about bands that while deserving, quickly become a mountain of hype that's difficult to sustain. When the avalanche begins as the group's next album is on the way, Pitchfork, like most others, partakes in hopping on that big old snowball until it gets a'rollin' at a mighty quick pace. Which is to say, like most professional publications that employ professional writers, Pitchfork tends to enjoy tearing down what they've built up. They suffer from the same susceptibility to "newness" that many—myself included—are inflicted with. (Of course, that's part of what I'm attempting to cure this year.) They play to our desires as consumers for the "next big thing," which feeds directly into the record industry's philosophy of "fuck developing bands, we're out to make a quick buck."

Still, despite this flaw, in the past I've found their "Best of" list to be fairly similar to mine. The differences were ones that I could rationalize for the most part. But this year's list was simply confounding for multiple reasons.

Starting at the top and working down, Arcade Fire was given the No. 1 slot. I don't agree with that, but I suspected (on these pages) that Pitchfork would turn over their top honor to the year's most-hyped indie rock band, just as they did last year with Interpol. I thought that Fiery Furnances would finish No. 2, considering how much attention and praise had been heaped on them by the site throughout the year; but, they fell to No. 4. Animal Collective and The Streets filled the gap at Nos. 2 and 3. I have a big problem with both. The Streets, from my listens to their singles, are hardly doing anything revolutionary, nor are they doing anything particularly well. (Maybe the non-singles are stronger, I don't know.) And Animal Collective, while intriguing, doesn't have the urgency or cohesion I'd expect from one of the year's best albums. Pitchfork did resist the urge to place Brian Wilson's Smile at No. 1, bucking the year's trend, but they couldn't keep the old eccentric out of the Top 5. I still haven't heard Smile in its entirety, so I'll reserve judgment.

We're only through the Top 5, but you can already see some trendy selections being made. Animal Collective faired quite well in year-end polls, garnering many publication's "obscure wunderkind" selection. And what publications didn't select them probably selected the Furnances. On a different level, The Streets were insanely popular this year, making good on the crossover appeal of their radio singles. But "popular" does not equate to "Top 3" in my mind, and judging from what I've heard of the group, I just don't "get it."

Joanna Newsom's The Milk-Eyed Mender (No. 10) and Devendra Banhart's Rejoicing in the Hands (No. 7) both appeared in the Top 10, too, and I won't argue those as I saved room for both in my Top 10. However, Banhart's second release, Nino Rojo, didn't appear in the Top 50, period. Now, this was the case in a lot of publication's "Best of" lists; Rejoicing, which broke Banhart, made the cut, while Nino was more of an afterthought and didn't appear. But, I hold the Fork to a higher standard than most, and not just because they raved about BOTH albums this year, giving Nino a rating of 8.0 to Rejoicing's 8.4. And, as I stated in my critique of each in my Top 30, there's hardly a discernable difference between the two in terms of content or quality (as Pitchfork's ratings would attest). So, if one makes No. 7 on your list, it's easy to deduce that the other would at least make an appearance somewhere. Either their writers missed the boat on Nino (less likely), or they decided as a whole that one album per artist would be the limit for this list (more likely, and ridiculous).

Continuing into the teens finds more popular records (Kayne West, No. 18; Sonic Youth, No. 11; Bjork, No. 19) that were adored by many and that I haven't heard. It's quite possible that Sonic Youth and Bjork made records that were this deserving; however, Dungen at No. 13 is a disgrace. That record blows away most competitor's in the rock field this year. I have a very hard time stomaching Pitchfork's assessment that this album falls that far from the top slot. But, then again, they only placed two "rock" albums (Sonic Youth and Arcade Fire) ahead of it, and one was their top choice. I'm willing to let this pass, I suppose—but I don't agree with the fact that an album that scored a 9.3 rating in its review isn't in the Top 10.

Then again, The Walkmen scored a 9.2 in their Pitchfork review, and ended up 40th on the site's year-end list. That's just stupid. These are a sampling of some of the artists that placed ahead of The Walkmen, along with their rankings and review ratings: Morrissey (No. 38, 8.9), The Futureheads (No. 33, 8.3), A.C. Newman (No. 29, 8.8), Interpol (No. 27, 8.5), Franz Ferdinand (No. 26, 9.1), TV on the Radio (No. 24, 7.8), Modest Mouse (No. 23, 7.9), and Air (No. 20, 8.3). It's quite possible that what we're seeing here is the difference between the critic's opinion and the fan's opinion. When critics review records, they take into account such things as originality and artistic merit; but when it comes down to listening to records in a casual sense, sometimes those aren't the qualities that are valued as highly. So, while critically we may feel like The Walkmen produced one of the year's best rock albums (as the rating would imply), we might have enjoyed listening to Air and The Futureheads more. If that's the case here (it wasn't for me), then the original rating should have been lower for The Walkmen. Essentially, Pitchfork told you when they reviewed the album that this was one of the year's best, but when it came down to compiling a list of the year's best they more or less concluded that, really, there were several other rock albums that were better.

Now, I know what you're going to say...the review was just one writer's opinion, whereas the list is a collection of opinions. Indeed, if I located the reviewer's individual list (see those lists here), he did place The Walkmen No. 2. But, when you peruse the rest of the lists, you'll see that the next highest rating it received from another individual was No. 23. In fact, of the 25 ballots, The Walkmen's Bows + Arrows appeared on only 10: Nos. 2, 23, 23, 28, 31, 36, 41, 42, 49, and 50. This is the fundamental problem with year-end lists—they often conflict with what the publication previously had to say about the album. If anyone else had reviewed The Walkmen other than the person who sat in the back of the class with his knees locked tight and his hand anxiously darting toward the ceiling when the professor said, "Who would like to review The Walkmen?", they probably would have been given a much more down-to-earth 8.0 rating that would become the record's resting spot in the list.

This is one of the flaw's of reading any particular magazine, and why as a whole it's best to read several reviews of an album (or better yet, listen to it yourself if possible) before making a decision to purchase it. Hype that comes from the individual is often tainted; hype that comes from a mass is sometimes warranted. It's also a good argument for doing away with ratings, which can only come back to haunt you.

Anyway, I still strongly disagree with the Fork's treatment of The Walkmen in their year-end list, and I also have problems with other records I thoroughly enjoyed this year that fell to the end of their list: Loretta Lynn (No. 48, 9.3), Comets on Fire (No. 47, 8.5), and Iron & Wine (No. 46, 8.6).

Meanwhile, a record like Fennesz' Venice, which I've heard no-one else rave about, finished No. 21 on their list. It made 11 of the 25 individual lists, placing in the teens three times and in the Top 6 four times. Their description of Fennesz leads me to believe that it's a one-man Parisian group along the lines of Lanterna, except more shoegazer and less ambient. Pitchfork has reviewed several records by Fennesz over the past few years, and like this one, which received an 8.6 rating, they've been received favorably. But, the magazine has failed to "break" the artist, in part because they chose to spin their hype machine in a different, possibly more accessible direction. This is why the Fork needs to supplement their review section with a features section, so they can profile these interesting artists and give us a more well-rounded definition of each. (Luckily, in 2005, they claim they're ready to do just that when their site relaunches in a week!)

The flaw with Pitchfork's poll appears to be their method of determining who ends up where, which is never an easy task when dealing with a large number of writers which have diverse opinions. They collected a Top 50 list from each of their 25 contributors. One would think that the numbers are simply plugged in and a spreadsheet is popped out and with a snap of the fingers they've got their list. But, that's not the case. Each listing on an individual's list can be weighted by a certain number of additional points, which were not included along with said lists. That seems suspect, to say the least. Does that mean that if I think that Joanna Newsom's album was clearly the year's best, I can give it an additional five points? If so, how do those points figure in to the overall rankings? This seems quite confusing, to say the least. It would not surprise me if Pitchfork allows for an "X-factor," so that the publication's editor can ensure that certain albums end up in certain places. (Maybe that's just the conspiracy theorist coming out in me.)

Take Arcade Fire, for example, their top album of '04. It appeared on 15 of the 25 lists with the following rankings: 1, 1, 1, 4, 5, 8, 15, 17, 18, 21, 32, 34, 41, 42, 45. So, without taking the time to do the math, I can see how this record might have grabbed No. 1, despite coming up M.I.A. on 10 people's lists. That is, until I repeated the exercise for Animal Collective, which finished No. 2 overall. It appeared on 15 lists, too. But, it's rankings were better overall: 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 11, 11, 13, 18, 18, 41, 43. Hmmm...it's clearly the victor, no? Except, we don't know about that pesky X-factor.

I'm sure someone with some serious time on their hands and a better grasp of math could further explore this subject, but if nothing else my simple evaluation proves my point: Pitchfork's list is somewhat flawed, misleading, and like any list should be taken with a grain of salt. Moreover, the reader should not put too much stock in their actual daily reviews and their subsequent rankings, as it's obvious that they are entirely misleading when considered in a larger context.

Did we learn anything today? No, probably not. So, sorry if I rambled or displayed my shocking "nerdiness"; old habits die hard, I suppose, if ever.


N/P—iTunes Radio: KEXP