Demolition

Radio Bliss '67: 3 ½ Years of Audio Mayhem

2010-01-02T16:29:00.001-05:00

In the fall of 1999, I set foot on Indiana University’s Bloomington campus for the first time as an enrolled student. To the little country boy from BFE, Indiana, it was a total culture shock. Different races everywhere you looked. New friends, new modes of transportation, a whole new way of life. Total Culture Shock.

But, we human learn to adapt quickly, and I was no exception. I quickly had a new group of friends, and I never, ever wanted to leave. I also learned how to spread the word and communicate with your fellow college students: sidewalk chalk. Every fall and spring, hell, every day at IU, the sidewalks are covered with messages – join us tonight for the annual Korean Christian BBQ, don’t miss Dr. Lear’s lecture tomorrow at 8 pm at Ballantine Hall, come see Danagas and Homonculus throw down at the Bluebird this Saturday night!, and so on.

One such message caught my eye that fall – want to be a college rock DJ? Why, yes… yes I do. And thus I found myself in a lecture hall days before my first college class had even started – signing up to be one of the many, the not so proud – the DJs of WIUS, AM 1570 Student Radio.

Little known fact at the time: newbies get the short end of the schedule stick. There are only so many spots available, divided into two hour timeslots. I was the lucky winner of one of those time slots – only after at least one person passed on it before me. The time? Tuesday mornings… 4 AM to 6 AM.

That was ok – I was a Freshman, which meant my first class every Tuesday was a 8 AM anyway. Rudimentary Music Theory, as it was – literally M100. This wasn’t Music 101. It was Music 100. But you see, I had a class of my own to teach – lecture time from 4 AM to 6 AM, every Tuesday morning.

And thus my career as a DJ at WIUS began. Two things to remember about this first semester as a DJ: one, fall turns into winter, and two, WIUS doesn’t have the best broadcast radius nor listener base, not even on campus (the yuppy lite-pop FM station, that completely sucked, took those honors).

So, the first thing. When fall became winter, 4 AM became hard. Have you ever been on campus in Bloomington? The studio was a good 10 minute walk from Wright Quad, the dorm where I was staying. And that’s in sunny weather. In the winter, in the cold black of night with snow on the ground? Or worse? Total hell to get from Wright to the station house. Once there, it was up the creaky metal staircase on the outside of the building to the studio loft on the second floor, where you had to bang on the window to get let in – if you were lucky. No keys or codes for the peons – bang on the window, hope for the best, pray you don’t freeze while the 2 AM guy is jamming out to whatever tripe he was listening to. Oh, and the studio isn’t really that heated…

Second, WIUS was AM 1570, and had a transmission radius of a few miles. Basically, on campus, maybe a few streets north or south, but not too much farther. If you were at the mall, or over by the rec center, or ever on Fountain Square… you weren’t hearing much. On campus, it really wasn’t much better. Sure, we had a channel on the campus cable system – WIUS played as background noise as a slide show of announcements went by – but the only people who listened were your friends (hopefully) and other people that had shows at the station (if they weren’t dickheads, which was about a 50/50 chance).

So, cold as hell temperatures, early morning timeslot, no one listening. Can you guess how many shows I didn’t show up for? None. Not a single one. In my whole time, not just that semester, as a DJ for WIUS, I never missed a single show. I loved being on the radio that much, and besides, I had the face for it. My friend Rob sometimes got up and joined me, and we talked about “emonauts” and “sorostitutes” and played bad music. And so it went that first year.

Long story short (or at least, shorter), I made it through fall semester, and the spring. Later, my sophomore year, I was caught up in a delimma – still considered a peon, and with too many returning DJs (who always get first crack at show times), I was left with a choice. I could either take another bad time slot – something in the 2 AM to 8 AM range – or accept a slot in tandem with another DJ (and either splitting the timeslot, or doing the show together).

The poor bastard on the other end that got offered this same opportunity must have pissed off the student station manager. Josh was a Senior, and he still got asked to share/split a time slot? Really? I took the opportunity – it meant a 10 to Noon timeslot, on Wednesday afternoon – and so did he. And so I met Josh, Senior IUB student, lover of jam rock (Phish, Dead, moe., etc.), and my new partner in crime.

Josh and I had almost completely different tastes in the rock and roll spectrum. I loved grunge, alternative rock, metal, blues. He loved jam bands and electronic music.

It ended up being a match made in heaven (sigh). We combined our powers to introduce each other to so much new music. It was almost as if we were playing the radio show for ourselves (which, essentially, we were). Our friends dropped by, and some days we had a collection of hangers-on in the studio – girlfriends, roomies, musicians we played with – and other days it was just us. A full year of the buddy system. It worked, it worked gloriously, and it was the best of my time at WIUS.

One day, early on during the first semester of my Sophomore year, we were in the studio, on the air (as in, speaking during a break in the music), bantering back and forth. We were looking at the schedule, at the names of the other DJs’ radio shows. We had been requested to provide a name for our show – so far it just said “Dusty and Josh’s show.” That was lame. We needed a name. A cool name.

That day’s show was spent, trying to think of a name. We were getting nowhere, both on and off the air. Then, during one on-air break, Josh commented on one of tracks we had just listened to. “That was radio bliss,” he said.

“Wait, that’s it!,” I said. His quizzical look drew forth my explanation. “That’s the name of the show – Radio Bliss.”

“I like it,” he said. “But it’s missing something.”

“How about a number?,” I asked. “You know, like White Zombie’s ‘Thunder Kiss ’65.’ Something like that.”

“69 is too conspicuous,” Josh said. “Split the difference?”

And there you have it – the birth of this beautiful monster we called Radio Bliss ’67.

It all culminated during Finals Week (cue loud, intimidating drums), when the station didn’t go offline so much as control of it was turned over to “DJs by Committee” – all time slots were open, and you could sign up for any time. Josh was graduating and wanted one more giant crack at the mic, the turntable and the disc player. Was I in? Bet your ass I was in. And so, the last blast of Radio Bliss ’67 (at this point, in the year of oh-one) went out over the airwaves – on a Thursday night/ Friday morning – 11 PM to 5 AM. No rules – the FCC technically wasn’t listening between the hours of 1 AM and 5 AM. Lots of guests/friends/hangers-on. Six hours of Radio Bliss… and then it was all over. I asked if I could keep the name, and Josh of course said yes. Then, just like that (blows wind off of fingers…)… he was gone.

I carried on, of course. I had other friends help out – Cory, Katey the Radio Mime, and Robbo. The next year saw the birth of Radio Bliss ’67, Part 2: Revenge of the Emonauts. My Senior year, it was just Radio Bliss ’67 (part 3).
But the bliss rolled on and on. I had discovered so much new music, stuff I never would have dreamed of were it not for that strange college rock radio station.

One of the duties of being a DJ at WIUS was to play both “Top Shelf” material – the latest and greatest independent records, usually reviewed and recommend in several indie magazines and the wonderful College Music Journal (at the time, the best read in indie rock) – and plenty of “Local” bands.

“Top Shelf” was about 80% crap, and 20% great stuff. It was here I found Guided By Voices, via their Hold On Hope EP. But most of the stuff was bad – lots of British electronica and weird bands from Nebraska who farted on snare drums.

The Local section was a different story, thanks mostly to some really amazing bands in town, and the fact that the Secretly Canadian record label was headquartered in Bloomington, making all of their bands “local.” This would start my obsession with Songs: Ohia.

The there was the in-studio library – a few shelves of the best of the best indie rock (and, I am convinced, the worst of the worst). That was just the beginning – the upstairs library was incredible, if not organized at all.

Then of course there was the legendary TDs CDs and LPs – literally a hole in the wall, or rather floor, basement record store. It’s probably smaller than your master bathroom. Tom Donahue was the nicest man, who made you deals, always smiled and always had a great story or three, and who had absolutely ANY underground record you could think of. If he didn’t have it, he’d find it.

This was bad. I came to college with about 150-200 CDs. I left with about 650-750 CDs, and probably 50 or so 33s and 20 or so 45s (records, people – viva la vinyl) and the turntable to go with them. No shit – my record collection (I call all of my stuff, CDs and LPs, my records) grew and grew and grew. Of course, All Ears record store didn’t make it any easier, or Tracks, or the Den… hell, even the Borders by the mall played it’s part.

Friends at the station introduced me to new bands. The aforementioned CMJ was always a bastion of knowledge, and was clear enough to know which bands I would like and which ones I would think sucked.

There were shows at the station house and the yearly Culture Shock festival. Lots of shows, from local bands and visiting indie bands – Bloomington had great luck in landing even nationally known recording acts big and small. Local bands set up and played during tailgate parties at the football games, and afterwards at house parties. The Taste of Bloomington Festival and Lotus World Music Festival were two other great opportunities to hear new music.

Campus was alive with music. And I did my best to stay right in the middle of it. I kept collecting records, I became the jazz beat reporter for the Indiana Daily Student (among other writing opportunities), I played in bands on and off campus, and of course was right there for the explosion of Napster and lesser-known but much-better AudioGalaxy. It was all at my fingertips, and I ate it up.

So now, as the decade that introduced me to so much music comes to a close, I celebrate the time with my definitive collection of the music that started it all. I have second-guessed my second guesses for tracks to be included, and watched the project grow from two discs to three, and still feel like I have missed so much, and forgotten more.

But, the fact remains that if you had turned on your television to the campus updates channel, or were listening over the internet (even in those days – we were pioneers! – except it only worked about 30% off the time), or just happened to be flipping through the AM channels on your car stereo while driving through campus during one of my shows, this is what you would’ve heard.

The chronicler in me demanded there be some order to these discs, so they are presented here in like-minded format – these songs sound like one another, or close enough for comfort. The truly enterprising among you are welcomed to cut these up and rearrange them however you like. Certainly, putting all three discs’ worth of songs on “random” would more like approximate the sound of Radio Bliss ’67 – especially if you can somehow find some snippets of Indiana University WIUS Public Service Announcements, and either me or Cory singing the weather, and some crappy, trendy indie rock band’s hit at the time, and the spoof of the song “Scrubs” by TLC used as station identification.

This is it. This is the best of the best of Radio Bliss ’67. If I am feeling up to it – and I most likely will at some point – I might even make up a cutting room floor disc, the songs that got left behind, were to weird or unlike any of the others to make it in, or some of the more mainstream stuff I played on the radio program. But, barring that now semi-promised jewel, this is it. The Platinum Collection.

3 ½ Years of Audio Mayhem.

A Decade of Consequences.

The Best of Radio Bliss ’67.

As always, happy listening and good lucking hunting for these gems.

This one’s for all you Emonauts out there listenin’. We are so bringing the rock. And remember to always, ALWAYS play with their minds.

Peace,

Dusty

Radio Bliss '67: Disc One

2010-01-02T16:27:00.000-05:00

01. "In Circles" - Sunny Day Real Estate – It’s perhaps a bit cliché to start with a song widely recognized as one of this seminal underground band’s greatest and most-cherished songs – but that would then belittle the fact that such praise is merited. Where as bands like Rites of Spring and Minor Threat are credited with being the precursors to the indie rock sound that became known as “emo,” it was Sunny Day Real Estate who would become the first true emo band. Don’t despair – this isn’t tight jeans and guyliner rock. This was the first wave, true, passionate, emotional rock and roll, played at eardrum-bursting and whisper quiet volumes, full of vocal acrobatics and guitar heroics. Punk’s energy fused with stadium rock’s amplifiers, with some very light salting of metal and progressive rock, and of course, the heart on the sleeve lyrics to lead the way.

02. "Signal" - The Appleseed Cast – I can directly attribute my knowledge of this band to the drummer in my first college band, Frank Vernon. He was obsessed with them (what drummer wouldn’t like all of this cacophony?), and likewise, so became I. This is from their two volume opus, Low Level Owl, a suite of interconnected songs that weave together and create an enthralling tapestry. Unfortunately, most songs from those albums do not translate well to a mix-tape, but rather are meant to be heard in sequence. Nonetheless, this track stands out as one of the best on two album’s worth of stellar musicianship and songwriting, and a breathtaking etherealness that U2 only wishes it could achieve.

03. "A Dethroned King" - Starflyer 59 – Another band I heard about from our drummer. You’d find Starflyer 59 records in a Christian book store, and yet they don’t follow the mold of most godrock bands – copy the latest alterna-rock craze and cash in. At least not on this record. Here, you find a band following their own muse, mixing pop, alternative rock, and “shoegaze” to great effect, rocking hard without being preachy. Too bad more godrock isn’t this damned good.

04. "Target" – Snapcase – Credit here goes to the lead singer and good friend Wes Erwin, who was obsessed with hardcore bands and – no joke – Brittney Spears. No “hit me baby” here, though. Just pure energy, like a rocket taking off – in your face. The way this music sounds, it’s almost athletic. It’s in your face nonstop, it has a message, it goes for the throat and never quits.

05. "High Noon" – Juno – I discovered Juno (on the CD and favorite track below) by accident – looking for the band Joan of Arc. Browsing the CD bins at TD’s CDs and LPs (rest in peace, Tom!), I came upon an awesome album cover, and the rest was history. This track made it easy to play an awesome band I loved, without killing 10 minutes of my Radio Bliss (see below).

06. "Modern Gang Reader" – Ativin – I discovered Ativin in the “local bands” section of our in-studio library at WIUS. I pulled out a disc, dropped it in, hit play. What I found was some weird-ass angular skronk – on the fringes of “math rock,” perhaps, but something more. It’s sinister at times. Melodic at others. They were on Secretly Canadian at the time, and they were students/former students at IU. And they were some of the nicest guys you’ll every meet. I remember interviewing Chris Carothers for a project for one of my journalism classes, and came away with an entirely new level of respect for the band. Some of these gents will show up in a band later, but this was my introduction to Ativin, and is by far my favorite track under this name.

07. "8" - Sunny Day Real Estate – You’ll notice a few repeat bands scattered throughout these albums. Note these as the very important ones, and you’ll do well at the test at the end of the class. I just can’t say enough about SDRE. Wes was instrumental in getting me into this song, off the album LP2, also known as the “pink album.” They broke up after releasing the pink album, with lead singer Jeremy Enigk announcing he had become a born-again Christian. It didn’t effect the glorious results of the music. And, thankfully, the band would reunite soon, and record more great music. This track stands out as one of my all-time faves by this classically underrated band. Of interesting note – my first college band “formed” on the way home from a SDRE show in Cincinnati. After an amazing performance, Wes, Frank and I made our minds up to form a band, to play this kind of music. Our friend Rob Chamness was kind enough to put up with our ramblings, then later helped us get our first gig. He was never the official road manager, but he might as well have been. The genesis was all right here, in the car ride back to Bloomington on a cold winter’s evening, with the echoes of amplifiers still ringing in our ears, and the warmth of one of the greatest concerts any of us had ever seen still burning in our hearts. Yeah, I make it seem sugary and poetic, but it can’t be said enough – this band was amazing, and there has never been a band labeled “emo” or otherwise that could come anywhere near close to touching the greatness and grandeur that was Sunny Day Real Estate.

08. "Christmas Steps" - Mogwai – Instrumental math rock from Scotland. They like to play a while. There is something so beautiful in the way they build their songs. This track in particular is a magnum opus. I found Mogwai in the studio, and intrigued by the name, gave them a spin. It’s amazing how much music I discovered, in the studio and at TDs and All Ears, based on the title of the band or record or the artwork of the disc alone. The scope of records in my collection that were bought “sight unheard,” as I like to say, is amazing. Even more amazing is the fact that maybe 3% off those records sucked – the rest were solid gold. Anyway, Mogwai was a good band, and was an excellent way to kill time in the studio – put this 10+ minutes track on and go looking for more stuff to play! I do sincerely love this track, though – it has great feeling.

09. "Only Shallow" - My Bloody Valentine – MBV are usually credited with beginning the “shoegaze” movement – so called because the members of the bands rarely looked up and out into the audience, but rather stayed transfixed on the floor or on their instruments and gear. This is the opening track off of the band’s definitive record, Loveless. The recording budget for this one record alone bankrupted the label they were on, and they never built on the promise of this amazing record – they have still yet to record a follow up record. Most figure that band leader/guitar maestro Kevin Shields couldn’t face the prospect of trying to live up to such a critically acclaimed record. It deserves all of the praise it gets – from Bob Mould, he of Husker Du and Sugar fame, to more lesser known acts such as Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins and Kurt Cobain from Nirvana. Eh? EH?!? You’re putting the pieces together in your head right now, aren’t you? The fuzzy feedback squeals all over In Utero? The complex army of layered guitars on Siamese Dream? None of it possible without Loveless by My Bloody Valentine. Before you dismiss this as samplers, synthesizers and studio trickery, remember one thing – none of those things are true. What you have here is four people, playing guitar, bass, and drums, and singing. Sure, there may be a keyboard here and there, but not as many as you’d think. No, the orchestral swells and symphonic strings are all the results of guitar work – standing as close to a large stack of amplifiers, cranked up as loud as they could go, and painting soundscapes. Which explains the other reason Kevin Shields never recorded a follow-up – he was nearly deaf after recording this album and taking the masterwork on tour.

10. "The Sound of Waves" - Seki – This was one of those rare “top shelf” finds. I discovered “The Sound of Waves” and didn’t look back – it became a staple of my show that first year. I often dedicated to my friend Amanda, my first college crush. Smart, funny, sexy – she was everything a guy like me wanted… that is, until Rush Week. Sorority girls. Damn. Lost another one, another good fight ends in defeat. Regardless, this shares the same qualities as Ativin and Mogwai, and truth be told was likely my doorway into those bands. Dense and textured, it’s another piece of music that feels truly built and orchestrated – not just three chords and a song in the heart, but rather a vision of madness brought to stunning life.

11. "Blueprint" - Fugazi – The flagship Do It Yourself (DIY) band. Fugazi set the stage for thousands upon thousands of independent bands to record and print up their own records, organize their own tours, and do things their own way. Plus, Fugazi never – EVER – sold out. Their mixture of dub/reggae rhythms, punk rock, and hardcore spirit still resonates with youth today, and the brilliant interplay of the musicians is typically jaw-dropping. Never ones to mince words, the band delivered message after message to their fans to stand up for their rights, don’t sell out, and be your own person. Featuring members of both seminal hardcore (and pre-emo) bands Rites of Spring and Minor Threat, Fugazi was like an indie rock super band – one that always lived up to its top billing.

12. "I Would Hurt A Fly" - Built To Spill – Somewhere in a small Idaho farm town sits Doug Martsh, crafting ungodly works of staggering guitar genius. Another band that was simply brutal in concert (God, I love how many of these guys I actually got to see in their heyday!), Built to Spill was really just one man. That man plays the hell out of a guitar. Perfect From Now Own is a holy grail in the indie rock world, with good reason – no one else had yet took the blueprint that Neil Young set down with “Cortez The Killer” and ran with it.

13. "JC Auto" - Sugar – After recording “File Under: Easy Listening” with his new band Sugar, Bob Mould had some left over tracks (one of these things is not like the others!) that needed an outlet. Where as FU:EL was packed full of punk-pop gems, the Beaster EP was a return to Mould’s previous form in Husker Du. What you got was one hell of an incendiary guitar tone, and a lot of attitude. I love the chorus, where Mould does his best Frank Black impression and shrieks his way through - "I'm not your Jesus Christ - I know, I know, I know, I know!" The song takes you for a strong ride, never letting up until Mould has shrieked his last please that he is not, in fact, your Jesus Christ. I know. And now, so do you, if you found a way to survive the buzzsaw guitar.

14. "The Sea Looked Like Lead" - Juno - I have mentioned Juno previously - see track 5, on this here disc 1 - and here, they go to great lengths to please the masses of epic, sprawling guitar rock with this 8+ minute album closer. From the aforementioned album I bought on cool-looking cover alone - This is the Way It Goes & Goes & Goes. I like the way this song tells a story of betrayal, all calm and serene at first, until all hell breaks loose at the end. The band ends up cresting like a tsunami wave, never letting up until the bitter, arching, and epic end. My first band, Endolori, had a song like this - "Ocean of Ash, Dust, and Stars" - directly influenced by this track. I didn't quite pull it off, but the feeling was almost there. God what I wouldn't give for the chance to play and record music this epic, carefree, and devestating.

15. "Bleeding Orange" - Snapcase - If you are angry at work, then this is the song for you. Work for yourself. Another split lip, another message delivered with savage fury. And that damned walking bassline in the intro kills me every time. These guys killed - KILLED - in concert, even when half the band had the flu and they only played a nine song set. They played this. I went nuts. Never was a big hardcore fan, but in my humble and now admittedly revealed not fully formed opinion, there was no better hardcore band than Snapcase. How they create these textures, this anger, this righteousness, I don't know. I know only that many, many hardcore bands fail to catch the thread, and sound like cheap pussy knockoffs.

16. "Waterfront Park" - Killwatthours - This may or may not have been a Top Shelf find. It may or may not have been a sight unheard purchase. Either way, it was in the studio, and I did play the hell out of it. I so wanted this band to do more - I loved the interplay of the guitar and the piano. They remind me a bit of The Appleseed Cast. It's great driving music, or lounging around music, or cleaning house, or taking a nap music. It just... fits. Again, another band that out U2's U2.

Radio Bliss '67: Disc Two

2010-01-02T16:24:00.000-05:00

01. "Stereo" - Pavement - Silly, irreverant, very relavent, all relative - Pavement was one of independent rock's heavyweights. Grand purveyors of slacker rock - the were lazy, sloppy, brilliant. This was one of my very favorite tracks, partly because of the zaniness, and partly because it rocks. But mostly because "the voice of Geddy Lee." I dare you not to sing along with that line - it'll get you every time.

02. "Bulldog Skin" - Guided By Voices - THE GREATEST FUCKING INDIE ROCK BAND EVER. You better believe it. From the early lo-fi days up through their electrifying conclusion just a few years ago, no one did it better than Guided By Voices. Several line-up changes never tripped up the prolific Robert Pollard, who released countless other records through pseudonyms, side projects, his own name, and more, in addition to the GBV franchise. This was from the transition from "lo-fi" to "hi-fi" (read: GBV sold out, but it didn't f-ing matter, they still rocked balls), Mag Earwig. The transition wasn't seamless, and they got panned for the first album after this, produced by Ric Ocasek of The Cars fame. Didn't matter. Don't you understand? This is the greatest, most prolific, greatest drunken american bar rock band of all time. What more do you need to know? Crank it.

03. "Naomi" - The Mr. T Experience – There are two ways into the track. The first was Robbo, via College Music Journal magazine. The second was my friend Liz, a Chicago native who I met in my first Journalism class (J144?), who was a complete Mr. T Exp. nut. Either way, you can’t deny the catchiness of this tune. Sure, the vocals sometimes sound a little off key, but who cares? The joy, the fun, the silly lyrics, the sing-along chorus… what’s there not to like? Quit your complaining and sing, bounce, have fun!

04. "Happiness Is All The Rage" - The Promise Ring – The Promise Ring, to me, is the Holy Grail of punk-pop indie-rock bands. So many bands, great and terrible, would be nowhere without this band, and without this record, the unforgettable Very Emergency. Every song on the record is amazing. It’s full of energy, joy, wit, humor, and, yes, energy (again). Singer Davey Von Bohlen seems to have a bit of a lisp at times, but to me this just adds to the overall charm. Also, you trendy rockers out there might recognize this voice from those dorky scenesters, Jimmy Eat World, on whose record Bleed American Davey makes a cameo. And yes, JEW were almost just as important as The Promise Ring – the record Clarity is yet another holy grail of indie-rock, but someone has my copy. If you have my copy, damn it, bring it back! Go buy your own! And, while you’re at it, pick up a copy of Very Emergency – trust me, you will thank me a thousand times over.

05. "The Company Dime" - The Get Up Kids – Obviously, this second disc has it’s own theme, and pop-fueled punk-influenced rock is the name of the game here. The Get Up Kids just had a sound that got into your skull. Something to Write Home About was another one of those records that was nearly perfect from end to end, start to finish. This was a studio find, I think. What’s funny was how many records I bought after I found them at the studio… and I would bring them with me to my show. I always carried a backpack on campus (which is probably why I still have a bag – a pack, a man-purse, or whatever, to this day), and on the day of my show, my pack was always filled with records. We’re talking 20-30 CDs… even ones that I knew were in the studio. I would also write down my set lists, and would occasionally tape the shows, too. Sorry, back on topic… The Get Up Kids really rocked. They’ll pop up later – sort of – on another disc…

06. "Moving Trucks" - Bob Mould – Bob Mould showed up on disc one, with the band Sugar. Here he plies his trade on his own. This was a Top Shelf selection (ok, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as I remembered… but then again, I was there for four years and the Top Shelf changed every two weeks or so, so there was bound to be some gems in amongst the crap, right?). I was immediately hooked. This song, and this record, The Last Dog and Pony Show, lead me to all kinds of Bob’s goodness. I am a fan – hell, I even stole the title of one of his records as a primary, oft-repeated lines in one of my songs. Mostly, though, I love his guitar sound, and those devastatingly personal lyrics. The songs sound like chainsaws, but that’s actually the safe outer coating – it’s the words that really cut to the bone.

07. "Artificial Light" - Rainer Maria – Alternative rock in the ‘90’s wasn’t rife with girl bands, or bands fronted by women. Indie rock, though, was filled with them, and many of them were excellent. Rainer Marie – named for poet Rainer Maria Rilke – was one such female-fronted, excellent bands. This song captured me from the get go. And yes, I think this was also a Top Shelf selection. But I love the driving sound of this song. The band made really beautiful, powerful music. Plus, Rainer Maria really kicked ass in concert. We saw them at the same Sunny Day Real Estate show that caused the formation of Endolori. Great band, great show!

08. "Longwall" - Early Day Miners – Another local band – this one related to Ativin. Contains members of both bands. I think I grew to love Early Day Miners more and more. The created such atmosphere – like Ativin, but a different, more subdued and ethereal kind of atmosphere. This track was originally on disc one, but found it’s way here to give disc two some space and room to breathe. And really, that best describes this song – space, and room to breathe.

09. "Is Patience Still Waiting?" - The Juliana Theory – This was another band I heard about from Rob. Another Christian act to. And, I believe Wes and Frank knew about them, all around the same time. We became fans. I think this song has a great sound. The breakdown, the bridge or whatever you’d like to call it, is awesome. It adds a great gravity to the song. Another band who could mix drop dead gorgeous pop melodies with wall of Marshalls guitar sounds.

10. "Leaving Ohio" - Brandtson – Pop-punk abandon at it’s finest. Brandtson went from being a heavier, early Emo-tinged punk rock band to a poppier punkier alternative band, to a moody, absolutely fantastic post-rock band, to something more electronic and stranger all together. This song is from their poppier, punkier period. They obviously had a fantastic sound. I love the story-like nature of the song: “I got a letter saying I’m doing it all wrong. I think that I’ll write back, and find out how it’s done.” And I am in love with this lyric: “We all fall down, so pick yourself up from the dirt, because after all, you take a bitter fall but it’s the getting up that hurts.” After all of my bittersweet love stories about Ohio (seriously, Ohio and my love life just never mixed, and I think Ohio should be dismissed from the United States), this song can be considered somewhat of an anthem for me. I always return to it when I am down, and it always picks me back up and helps me get back on the right track.

11. "Sugarcube" - Yo La Tengo – Yo La Tengo are deserved heavyweights of the indie-rock world. They were another band that could reinvent themselves when necessary or desired. I found this song on a Matador records compilation – in fact, five songs in this collection come from that compilation, Everything is Nice, though I own most of the recordings in some other format (in fact, several of the “cutting room floor” tracks were also taken from that same compilation). Regardless, Yo La Tengo got played on the radio, probably a lot at WIUS. This was one of my favorite tracks by the band.

12. "Flowers" - Cibo Matto – I discovered this band, oddly enough, thanks to the song “I Know My Chicken,” courtesy again of Rob and CMJ mag. I ignored them for the most part, until Rob, his freshman dorm roommate Aaron, and I went up to Indianapolis during that first freshman semester to see the band Live play at the Murat Temple. Not at all sure why, because their music has literally nothing in common with each other, but Cibo Matto was the opener on that leg of The Distance To Here tour. These two tiny Japanese women, backed up by Sean Lennon of all people, came out and rocked the shit out of the crowd. I was blown away. So I went home and purchased both of their records on Amazon. Then I found said records in the studio, and… whatever. Their music is this odd amalgam of pop, funk, hip-hop, rock, metal, and other stuff. Not so surprising if you’ve heard other Japanese bands – they don’t quite suffer from the same pigeonholed mind set as American bands and record labels. Also, fun fact: the band’s first album was mostly about food, and it is rumored that this was because the two primaries (the tiny Asian girls) didn’t speak English quite so well, but loved food, so they simply sang about what they knew. I know my chicken, you’ve got to know your chicken.

13. "Mr. Raven" - MC Lars – I feel like little explanation is needed here. MC Lars put out a simple little six song EP, songs he made on his laptop while going to school in England. The songs all kicked ass. This song is obviously a novelty, but who cares? It’s catchy as all hell, it’s wittier than anything you’ll ever hear on a normal radio station, it sticks surprisingly well, lyrically, to the Edgar Allen Poe classic… I mean, this is English Lit 101 put to good use, people. Celebrate and sing along – I dare you not to.

14. "Race For The Prize" - The Flaming Lips – This was one of those songs you couldn’t escape at the station house. The Lips were a heralded underground band, this album was considered their masterpiece, and even ordinary rock fans recognized the band thanks to their one-off alternative rock radio hit, “She Don’t Use Jelly.” Obviously, this song puts in to perspective how one-off that one song was – The Flaming Lips were capable of creating sonic masterpieces. I know this song gets a little repetitive, but if you listen closely, in those repeated passages are little aural gems, an instrument changing octaves here, or a different instrument playing a different harmony here and there. It’s really quite something, but it’s so listener-friendly that you might never notice – and therein lies the beauty of this song.

15. "In Open Plains" - For Stars – I bought this album after going back and listening to tapes of my shows, and trying to track down some of the bands I hadn’t bought any records of while I was in school. This song is a great example of why so much of independent rock stays independent – the singer’s “twee” voice, for instance, or the strange, off-balance time signatures here and there throughout this song. Still, I find this track an enjoyable listen, and, after all, I did play it on my show, because I obviously tracked this band down at some point.

16. "Cross Bones Style" - Cat Power – A strange, lilting tune, this song could almost be an Irish folk song in another life. You can hear it if you listen hard… but that’s always been a part of Chan Marshall’s charm. Under the name of Cat Power, she’s challenged conventional thinking time and again (her covers records can be quite brilliant). This track was another one off of Everything is Nice.

17. "You And A Girl" - Marine Research – Funny story about Marine Research: I actually picked up this disc from my local Karma Records store in Mooresville, Indiana. It was a freebie, picked it up on my way out of the store (probably after buying a shitty-quality Pearl Jam bootleg CD – this was back before they released all those amazing, professional “bootlegs” of their shows). Low and behold, I found the record at the station, and having thrown my copy in a pile somewhere and never having listened to it before, I gave the studio copy a spin. I fell in love with this particular song, less for the Brit-Pop vocals and much more for that angular, angry guitar and bass interplay that closes the track out.

18. "For The Love Of My Country" - Poor Old Lu – Frank the drummer was responsible for me loving this band. He put this song on a mix CD he made for me (we did this a lot back then), and I really dug this song. I bought a “career retrospective” disc down at TDs, and fell in love with all kinds of tracks from the band. They were another Christian act, which was fine by me. Better yet, their pedigree has spread – there are all kinds of links to this band and the fellows in this band. Best of all, the music just rocks. The crashing, reckless nature of parts of this song brings me so much joy – it sounds like a band that really enjoys playing together.

19. "Eye On The Finish Line" - Pedro The Lion – Like much of the music on this disc, this was in the studio, but I knew of it because of Wes and Frank. Yet another so-called Christian band, one that certainly went beyond just simple messages. There has always been plenty of meaning in Pedro The Lion’s lyrics. This tune comes from Winners Never Quit, a concept album about a pair of brothers – one, an alcoholic screw-up, and the other the golden son politician who cheats to win his office then kills his wife when she finds out and threatens to blow the lid on the scandal. So, you know, good Godly-themed music. No, this is mature music for mature people, and thinking man’s lyrics aside, the band rocks, too.

20. "The Official Ironman Rally Song" - Guided By Voices – From Under The Bushes, Under The Stars, this was GBVs last collective gasp from the “golden years” lineup featuring Tobin Sprout, Mitch Mitchell, and Kevin Fennell. This wasn’t quite yet the hi-fi GBV of later years, but nor was it the lo-fi band of Propeller or Bee Thousand. It’s somewhere in between, which is also where this song is – it’s a balance of hi- and lo-fi, a balance of indie sensibilities and a big rock sound. The song does in fact sound like a rally cry. In truth, this whole record could’ve been one GBV song after another – I play them enough to merit that, and I’ve been an ever-growing fan since then. Don’t ever try to get into Guided By Voices without a guide – there are hundreds, yes, hundreds of releases by this band and other pseudonyms. If you want more, just ask.

21. "Emergency! Emergency!" - The Promise Ring – It feels like to include two Promise Rings tracks. If the song before didn’t convince you this band was great, then this song should. This song illustrates everything great about this band. This WILL get stuck in your head if you give it even half a chance. This song, even more than Guided By Voices, truly defines the music on this disc. Truly, this song could probably define this entire collection. The Promise Ring were the perfect band for this era – an escape from the direness of grunge and the shittiness of boy bands and Brittney Spears. This song is the call to arms for a great generation of underground rock and roll.

Radio Bliss '67: Disc Three

2010-01-02T16:18:00.001-05:00

01. "Sick Of Goodbyes" - Sparklehorse – Mark Linkous, he of Sparklehorse, defines weirdness, even on songs like this, a cover of a Cracker song. Battling illnesses, putting out strange records and stranger EPs, and being a bit reclusive, one could see Linkous as a mad genius. Either way, he had a knack for writing a melody, and his weird outlook and strange lyrics never got in the way of a great song.

02. "Catching On" - Son Volt – Rising from the ashes of Uncle Tupelo, the band largely credited with creating No Depression/Alternative Country (whatever that means), Son Volt was primary Uncle writer Jay Farrar’s next band. Picking up where he left off in UT, Farrar and Son Volt crafted warm tales of life on the road and life in the boring-ass Midwest. A perfect mixture of rock, country and blues, Farrar’s music came to life under the expert musicianship of the Boquist brothers. Whereas Farrar’s partner in crime in UT, Jeff Tweedy, would go on to be a critic’s darling while Farrar stayed the course, didn’t sell out, and came closest to capturing real true-blue cosmic American music.

03. "Blue" - The Jayhawks – The Jayhawks were my first foray into Alternative Country (whatever that is). If I remember correctly, this album (Tomorrow The Green Grass) was bought at Borders, in the bargain bin, one of those discs with the “Best Value!” stickers on it. I am almost certain that I had this in high school, though I am not sure how I would’ve got connected to this kind of music back then. Regardless, this song is great. The vocal harmonies alone are enough to break your heart into a million pieces. That is reason enough alone for me to listen.

04. "Fall On Me" - R.E.M. – I was obsessed with R.E.M. in college. They epitomized college rock – they literally were college rock, the very definition of college rock. Though they would achieve worldwide fame and break into the mainstream, the band still had a solid following in the indie-rock world, and I became a huge fan of the band. We still spun R.E.M. vinyl at the studio, which was good, since we have crates of it. I always found this song sad but not in a terrible way. It’s very resigned and beautiful, and it really captures R.E.M. at their early creative peak.

05. "Can't Stand It" - Wilco – Jeff Tweedy was shocked when Jay Farrar left Uncle Tupelo, and he and the remaining members – who, at the point, were record company appointed studio musicians – picked up the pieces and formed Wilco. As Uncle Tupelo was about to gain more than a small degree of notoriety, Farrar took off with Son Volt to stick with the roots rock tradition. Tweedy and Wilco would eventually go on to sell out and become utter corporate rock whores (it’s true and you know it). But for a few albums, the eased their way away from Alternative Country (whatever that is) and towards being the record company’s bitches and total rock and roll tragedy stories, complete with the drugs and failed relationships. Before their epic face-plant/total hosejob/career defining and critic’s darling work Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, they actually committed the last good music of their career to tape on their third album, Summerteeth. This was thanks in no small part to the late Jay Bennett (r.i.p.), who took the band from being also-rans to near superstars. “Can’t Stand It” is an epic, reaching, grand-sweeping track. It also stands as the last great song Wilco would do, before completely putting their mouths of the cocks of critics everywhere and selling out faster than an American Idol contestant. God, I hate this band. But dammit… I really, really love this song.

06. "I Only Play 4 Money" - The Frogs – It wouldn’t be college rock without humor, and bands like the Frogs brought humor in spades. These brothers – rumored to be gay and sexually involved with each other – spun tales of rape, sex in the park with geriatrics, bondage with sailors, and their grandparents’ genitals. If you couldn’t laugh at them, you were most likely disgusted. Otherwise, though, they could write a melody, and not all of the songs were so gross as to be unenjoyable. Take this tasty track – alliteration aside – and really realize that rock and roll was made to have a sense of humor. This is like Spinal Tap, only these amps go past eleven.

07. "Advice to Aces" - Songs: Ohia – I found Songs: Ohia right where I should have, in the Locals section of the studio. On the Bloomington-based Secretly Canadian records, Songs: Ohia, really just a name for Jason Molina, told bleak tales of Midwestern woe and eerie stories of living in the tip of the conservative bible belt. A true working-class hero kind of band. Molina could switch from acoustic to electric pretty quickly. Some records were sparse and very open, while others were dense organ-drenched affairs. Above all, though, they were good. This quick song captures the typical, one voice and guitar structure of so many of Molina’s songs, and is as good as any place to start appreciating a truly unrecognized Midwestern talent’s work.

08. "Slate" - Uncle Tupelo – This captures the true beauty of the No Depression movement – the loneliness and ache, the fire and defiance. Uncle Tupelo was a herald of great things to come. They melded ripping guitars and punk energy with country’s lyrical content and working class values. Though none of the songs on this disc showcase the louder side of Tupelo, the band broke ground. Then, once they amped things up, they turned things down and went acoustic. Along the way, they recorded some of the best batch of Americana music you’ll ever here. This is simply a primer song, one of their greatest and yet just a window into the soul and sound of a fantastic American band. Everything – from the harmonies to the traditional instruments to the strange lyrics that just sound right – is perfect here. This would be their swan song, but what a song it is.

09. "Glory & Consequence" - Ben Harper – Harper wasn’t quite the well-known artist he would become yet when he released the album The Will To Live. A songwriter who could capture rage and anger in the same breath as love and wanting, and convey them both back at you in equal parts, Harper’s songwriting is strong throughout this album, and peaks with “Glory & Consequence,” which also captures one of his most scorching guitar solos, a truly breathtaking piece of work that reaches for the stars and actually gets there.

10. "Goodbye" - The New Amsterdams – Matt Pryor didn’t quit his day job as the frontman for the Get Up Kids when he made his first album under the name of the New Amsterdams. But, he almost could have, as good as the record was. You can see the similarities between the two bands – same voice, same songwriting – but the quieter, reflective material here lends itself well to the acoustic and personal nature of the whole project. And the New Amsterdams are, to this day, my preferred of the singer’s projects.

11. "Sweeter" = Julie Doiron and Wooden Stars – This track was one of those miracle discoveries – walking through the studio library, I was pulling out records I thought looked like they might be fun to play. I wasn’t prepared for the gulf of emotions in this song – nor the harmonic contrast between the two singers. “Sweeter” is possibly the greatest sad love song ever written. It somehow perfectly captures the feeling of being paralyzed when you bump into an ex-lover that you are still madly in love with. The bittersweetness, the hurt and hopelessness, the gripping, cold fear in your heart, and the melancholy joy of seeing your loved one again… it’s all right here.

12. "The Black Crow" - Songs: Ohia – Dark, lonely, epic. Before Jason Molina went full Alternative Country (whatever that is)/Americana on us, he was mining coal out of the Appalachia Valley hills. Cold is color in his world. Desperation is a fragrance. There is barely warmth enough to keep the bones from freezing, barely light enough to keep the wolves away during this song. But the ride it takes you on is well forth the feeling you go through along the way.

13. "Jagged" - Old 97's – As ragged as Neil Young and as tuneful as R.E.M., the Old 97’s mixed grit and swagger with their melodic country rock. The band knew how to write a hook, and that was the stock they dealt in throughout their career. They were a great solid favorite of the second wave of Alternative Country (whatever that is). Rhett Miller, lead singer and primary songwriter, has gone on to have a mildly successful solo career on pop/AOR radio (“Come Around” is one of the best songs you’ve heard but can’t remember where or why).

14. "Ten Second News" - Son Volt – Son Volt’s first album, Trace, was the perfect marriage of country and folk acoustics with classic southern rock’s electric sound. But it was on “Ten Second News” that the band broke new sonic ground – the kind that bands like Califone, Red House Painters, and others would go on to perfect in the years prior. Jay Farrar found ways to wrap his abstract tales around piercingly deep, spacious and simple grooves that get lodged in the head. His knack for real lyrical imagery is fairly unmatched in music today, popular or otherwise. He can tell you a story that you don’t understand, but it won’t matter, because the depth and feeling of his lyrics delivered by his emotive and plaintive voice is enough to keep you listening, over and over again.

15. "Black Eye" - Uncle Tupelo – If I am at all honest, I must admit that it is this song, sung by Jeff Tweedy, that introduced me to the No Depression sound and movement, and helped me discover the fertile fields of Alternative Country (whatever that is). This achingly simple song is so good, so sweet. So plain, yet it conveys a depth of emotion (sadly lacking from the majority of Wilco’s later work). It’s youthful and earnest, to it’s very core… and as like as good an introduction to the world beneath your local country radio’s airwaves as any. Uncle Tupelo proved time and time again that great country music doesn’t have to be made in Nashville, TN, nor does it belong to it.

16. "Dry The Rain" - The Beta Band – Movies play a large role in music, and vice versa. It was the movie High Fidelity that introduced this song to my musical vocabulary (via the famous “I will now sell 5 copies of the Beta Band EP by The Beta Band” scene). This song captures the folk-tronic movement before it even began. The Beta Band were doing this kind of folk rock mixed with electronic beats long before the latest craze of bands in Britain and the States were. And, quite frankly, they did it better. The original is usually better than the imitators, and so… folk-bop away, intrepid listeners.

17. "Carlisle Wall" - Alisdair Roberts and Jason Molina – There is something breathtaking about this simple song. Irish folk, done to perfection, in my eyes. Ali Roberts not only played with band Appendix Out (who do some pretty sweet folk stuff of their own – again, a “cutting room floor” casualty), but was a frequent conspirator of Jason Molina during the days of this recording – something in the early ‘00’s (say that as “ots” – it’ll make you feel good). I had been dying, dying to see Songs: Ohia play. Despite being based in Bloomington at the time, Molina rarely played around town. Alas, on a chance visit to TDs CDs and LPs, I found my chance to see S:O/ Molina. Tom, the owner, told me about a house show, happening that night, as I bought the new S:O/ Scout Niblett 7”. Told me the place and time. I rounded up my girlfriend and best friend (what’s up, Cory), and off to the house show we went. They had, predictably, started early. Alasdair Roberts was playing when we got there… and we caught the end of his set, during which he played this song with help from Molina. And, by “this song,” I mean THIS ACTUAL RECORDING. We were there, I was there, when this piece was performed and recorded. It was hot and stuffy in that cramped little house, and so Molina decided to play on the porch… and so drug an amplifier out on the porch, plugged in an electric guitar, and played about 25 minutes for about 10 people, under the stars on a hot summer night. To this day, it was one of the coolest performances I’ve ever attended – an artists nowhere near his peak but most certainly on his way there, in a casual environment, acting like this was nothing more than a get together of friends (which, aside from a few outsiders like us who had heard of the show through word of mouth that day, it probably was), and playing some beautiful music. Was I naïve and dumb enough to ask Molina to sing the 7” record I had just bought that day? Of course I was… and you’d not meet a nice, finer fellow, who even had the time to tell me that his song on the record wasn’t very good, but that I should really pay attention to Scout, an up and coming artist. What a cool hot summer night.

18. "Sandusky" - Uncle Tupelo – If one song ever lead me to pick up a mandolin and banjo, among other various Appalachian folk instruments, it was this. I have done you, avid listener, a disservice by not including the raging punk-country that Uncle Tupelo did so well, and that directly lead to the creation of the No Depression/Alternative Country (whatever that is) label for that brand of roots rock music. But the acoustic work of Uncle Tupelo is easily some of their best. This track, without ever saying a word, captures the essence and power of the band. These guys – Farrar and Tweedy, and drummer Heindorn – had a knack for melody. There was no denying the songwriting talent. Beyond that, they were able to craft great songs, even on instruments that really could barely play. It was all for our enjoyment. “Sandusky” has been used in movies and television a time or two, and for good reason – it’s obviously a very visual song. Melodic, moving and gorgeous, it aptly summarizes the band responsible for the biggest dreams and internal song monologues of this artist.

19. "Say Goodbye Good" - The Promise Ring – This song has always reminded me of a closing – be it the close of the year, the end of something sweet and great, the end of an era. In a way, it was… for this was the Promise Ring’s last hurrah. Many fans and critics panned the band for their last album, Wood/Water, when it was a complete departure from the sound the band had made its calling card throughout its career. But to me, a band that knows how to mature and grow is a band worth knowing and loving. After having an aneurysm after massive touring behind Very Emergency, singer Davey Von Bohlen had a new lease on life and a new perspective. The band grew up… and it spelled the end for them. So, unwittingly, or then again maybe so, The Promise Ring waved goodbye with this last classic tune. With the slow, steady build throughout the song culminating in the sing-along chorus and gospel fervor of the ending, it perfectly caps the three discs of music representing my college radio career. I couldn’t think of a better song to wind things down than this. This is the close of the year, the end of an era. I hope when I look back, I will have been able to say goodbye in a good way, and still see something I am so proud of, and proud to have done. This has been but a capsule of my life, but in putting it together has really helped me realize just how much this time in my life was “my formative years,” where my musical foundations were laid, and my future self was made. I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much I have. Say goodbye good.

Waxed: Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago

2009-04-19T19:28:00.002-04:00

I was a little late to the Bon Iver party. While everyone was raving and ranting, I was busy listening to other things. When For Emma, Forever Ago began appearing on the "best of the year" lists for 2008, I started to take notice. When Daytrotter trotted out an excellent few recordings, and a very interesting and enjoyable article to boot, I decided it was time to listen.

Unfortunately, I shared an office with someone who's musical tastes didn't exactly mirror mine. And since Bon Iver were not American Idol finalists, the first strains of the Daytrotter session that I began playing one day were met with fierce disapproval. Rather than try to listen through the haze of discontented slurs, shouts, and verbal dismissals, I bowed out. And then I went down to my local record store (I love you, LUNA!) and bought For Emma, Forever Ago. If this many people loved it... well, it didn't have to be good. The people are sometimes very, very wrong (I am looking at you, Rolling Stone magazine, and you, American Idol viewers and listeners).

But sometimes, the masses are right. Granted, most of the "masses" that I was listening to for recommendations are places like Heather and her Fuel for Friends blog, and Aquarium Drunkard, and of course Daytrotter. These are valued and reputable sources for good music, at least so aligned with my tastes. And in this case, my trusty sources lead me not astray. Bon Iver is the real deal, and For Emma, Forever Ago is by far one of the best releases of 2008.

My first listen, in my car, left me intrigued. Not yet impressed or excited, but very intrigued. It wasn't until I got home, put the record on a shelf, and returned to it. It might have been a cold, rainy day, and if it wasn't, it should've been. When I put the disc in my home stereo and hit play, that was when the record grabbed me. It hasn't let go since.

When that first rising crest of harmonized vocals in "The Wolves" hit, I was hooked. From the opening strums of "Flume" to the acoustic guitar fading out on album closer "Re: Stacks," For Emma, Forever Ago is a classic album. The album cover, with its wintery, dirty window look, is a perfect picture of what's inside, of the haunting melodies and found sounds and gentle acoustic strums that will soon grace your ears. Hipsters might call this Indie-Folk. I just call it great.

"Flume" begins the record with that gentle acoustic, along with slight keyboard flourishes and a strange, warbling sound that sounds like a stringed instrument being manipulated with a magnet. And of course, that voice, familiar and haunting, quiet and whispery and passionate. All manner of aural treats make this record a pleasure to listen to, be it buzzing strings or gorgeous and fresh-sounding vocal harmonies. It is a very organic record.

There are many twists and turns throughout the album, like the buzzing instrumental break in "Flume" or the lilting voices and volume swells in "Lump Sum." It's full of organic sounds. It is a folk record through and through, but something more new than old. It borrows from the rich folk lineage of American song, but not the songs themselves, as is so common with folk releases. Here are new tales of love and the cold and the Midwest. "And I told you to be patient, and I told you to be fine, and I told you to be balanced, and I told you to be kind," sings Justin Vernon (who is Bon Iver de facto) in "Skinny Love." "Who will love you, who will fight?" Is he singing to a lover who jilted him, or is he singing to himself? Doesn't matter, because it is affecting and effective either way.

I wish I could highlight a favorite track for you, dear readers, but I can't. I can't because every track seems to be my favorite - I feel like a kid in an aural candy store. Or an addict, and Bon Iver is my dealer of sweet nothings and electric highs. I wonder along with Mr. Vernon as he sings "What might have been lost?"

Who knows, really. All I know is that I am glad Justin Vernon retreated to cabin in Wisconsin to write and record this gritty collection of songs. Bon Iver - a mispelling in French of the term "good winter" - weaves tale after tale, in dulcet and majestic acoustic tones. The hushed vocals of "Blindsided" make is sound as if we're hearing a fairy tale, just one on one, in a room with the storyteller. The soft drums, chirping guitar, and drifting vocals are deceptive in "Creature Fear," as the chorus explodes (for this record, anyway) in a swell of chugging guitars and driving snare. There's even a hint of fuzzy electric guitar and bass in there to drive things along as the song segues into the track "Team."

For Emma, Forever Ago stays mostly quiet and reserved, it's nine songs much like a journey, like a walk outside to clear your head on a cool and crisp winter day, the cold biting at the tip of your nose, but your thoughts warm and comforting in your head. Other times, the music sounds like the perfect companion to brandy and a fireplace. Even when, in "For Emma," Justin sings "go find another lover to bring up, to string along," there's a warmth and joy built into the music. The horns accompanying "For Emma" remind me a little of "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea" by Neutral Milk Hotel, and the comparison isn't a bad one - if you like Neutral Milk Hotel, you'll find some common ground here as well.

"Re: Stacks" might be one of the most straightforward songs on the album, but is also one of the best, a strong, vibrant piece of songwriting that breathes with energy and emotion, even as it is relaxed and reserved. It pleasantly reminds me of walking down cold Columbus, Ohio streets in winter, hand in hand with my lover, watching the world unfurl around us.

And I could say that for the whole record - it's like a cold walk with a loved on, or a warm fireplace by yourself, wondering why you are alone but not really worried how. It is a record of reflection and remembering. It is also a record worth owning, and listening to, over and over. After listening to it almost every day for the past two weeks, and a bit before that, too, I can tell you it's a record that reveals itself slowly, and only gets better the more your listen to it.

This isn't a record for your winter (or summer) of discontent. It's a warm, soulful record for walks and drives, for rainy days at home, for your own reflection. See yourself in For Emma, Forever Ago, and go and see the world through the eyes of a dirty, wintery window. It's about life and living it, and this makes for part of an excellent soundtrack to that great journey.

Waxed: Jason Isbell's Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

2009-04-14T18:42:00.002-04:00

The first time I listened to Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, the newest release from ex-Drive-By Truckers guitarist/singer/songwriter Jason Isbell, I have to admit, I wasn't all that impressed. At first listen, I thought his latest record lacked the fire of his first solo release, 2007's Sirens In The Ditch. But headphones don't lie. It wasn't until I gave the record another chance, sitting at my desk at work with my headphones on, that the beauty, power, and stunning grace of the record readily became apparent. Songs like "Sunstroke" and "Cigarettes and Wine" are slow simmers, songs you need to be immersed in for them to take hold. Much like the south where Isbell hails from.

I don't want to saddle Isbell with the same agenda that Trucker's captain Patterson Hood seems to push - the whole "dichotomy of the southern thing" deal, which is charming and lends his songs a kind of launching point for understanding. Isbell doesn't seem to be making such a claim or even functioning from trying to explain how or why the south works. Rather, he just seems to be writing about what he sees, where he lives, what those people do. It's not clear how much of the characters on Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit are from Jason Isbell's own life, and how many have just been observed or created, but they all feel real. Which makes the record feel real, dirty and gritty.

The album also rocks harder, but in a more subtle way. "However Long," "Good," and "Soldiers Get Strange" all have a fiery burn. This isn't Truckers-style stomp, but a more relaxed, bluesier sound. I recall when the record first came out, the first review I read of it was on the Onion's A.V. Club, where the folks who comment get a little rowdy, there's a thousand trolls, and most people either act like hipsters or make fun of acting like hipsters. The greatest stone thrown at the new record was that it wasn't as good as the DBT's, or as good as Isbell's first record, or wasn't alt-country enough. Someone compared Isbell to Ryan Adams, but only to say we already had one Ryan Adams, and he's a better songwriter, and this kind of music wasn't good enough to need competitors. And they all seemed to lack the clarity of thought that might had come with time - with giving a record time.

Sometimes I review new records a month or more after their release. Sometimes it's much more than that. Some records take longer to get comfortable with. And, to me, that's an accomplishment by artist, to make an album that isn't just an immediate pay off, but one that grows on you and has a life of its own. Some records are about impact - but Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit is a sleeper. Isbell's new record is also a keeper.

Isbell chooses to end the record with "The Last Song I Will Write," a slow burning ballad with some nice guitar work and some lingering, floating instruments in the solo break, and Isbell's typical everyman lyrical understanding. It's as good as some of the great songs he wrote while in the Drive-By Truckers. And it's great in its own right, too. A perfect closer, it manages to capture the entire feel of the album, as well as Isbell's career so far, and looks to the promise of more to come (or so we hope - I certainly hope it isn't the last song he will write, nor think that it should be). The warmth and fire of the whole record is brought home by the song's coda, ringing out with crashing cymbals and warm, earthy guitars and organ.

Much like Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit's tales of lovers wronged, work to be done, and everyday people, Isbell has a long way yet to go to establish himself as a premier songwriter and performer in today's musical climate. Thankfully, though, with records like this one, it'll be more of a matter of getting heard, rather than creating great material. Because albums like this one are keepers.

Now if the tour would only stop in Indiana...

Waxed: Bob Mould's Life and Times

2009-04-08T19:49:00.002-04:00

The first time I heard "I'm Sorry, Baby, But You Can't Stand In My Light Anymore," I knew I was going to buy the new Bob Mould album Life and Times the day it came out. The moment I put it in the cd player, and "Life and Times," the title track and first song on the record, started up, I knew the record has great. I let the album spin, getting a first taste, a first impression. Little bits kept catching my attention - a sharp lyric here, a trademark guitar lick there, that unmistakeable voice, now even more mature and wise, and those unspeakably wonderful guitar tones, acoustic and electric.

From the first percussive snaps of acoustic guitar in "Life and Times," are just a precursor to the emotional fury that is coming, both in the first song and the whole album. "You're taking me back to the places I've left behind," Mould sings, "the old life and times." By now, Mould has mastered taking on old, festering romantic wound and turning it into expert pop songcraft. "Life and Times" kicks of this album with a bang.

"I know Superman couldn't stop the rain from find it's way in," Bob sings on "The Breach," and the hits just keep on coming. If you are looking for a mature album dealing with loss and heartbreak, you'd be hard pressed to find a better new release than Life and Times.

The album seems to borrow on all of Bob's career post-Husker Du. The acoustic songcraft of Workbook, the charged up electric alternative rock of Sugar, and the electronic sounds of Modulate and parts of his more recent records are all here. "City Lights (Days Go By)" benefits with the swirling keyboard accents that color the chorus. In fact, the song is a beautiful amalgamation of the best of Mould's talents. "City Lights" even contains a bit of the buried vocals we've come to know and love from Mould's best work, but so much as they were in the past.

The album benefits from a quick pace that keeps it surging forward, picking up steam as it goes. "MM 17" keeps things up, but "Argos" sounds like a lost Sugar gem, and has some of the Husker Du energy. It's pure pop-punk ecstacy, and at 2:03, it's the shortest song on the album. You're going to want to repeat it several times - it's that good.

"Bad Blood Better" begins with electronic string swells before quickly switching into acoustic ballad mode. "You deny that there's a problem," Bob sings, "you left your hand print on my face." The message gets through - when this is all the love you've got, "bad's blood better than no blood at all." The emotions Mould wrings from his old soul, and mature voice, makes this song hit you everywhere - the head, the heart, the gut, the groin. When you're hoping to God you die happy... it's as real and as personal as it gets. The Bob let's us in this close is astonishing, daring, and brilliant. He tops off the song with an energetic, angry blast of a guitar solo.

Life and Times really sounds like a mature, full, and important work - a statement. The type of things a younger or less experienced songwriter might be embarrassed to say, Mould shouts and whispers, out front and in your face. As dark as the record is - and it is, it is hard and dark and cold and rough like hate-sex - it's still punctuated by Mould's own very survival. The fact that he lives these cataclysmic heartbreaks, and keeps walking upright and proud (at least, after awhile...), this is where the hope and positive energy is in this record. Trust me, as off as that might sound, that Mould has survived to keep writing these diary entry and sniper shot songs makes you swell with pride. The two-punch blast of "Wasted World" and "Spiraling Down" reinforce this notion - the musical peaks and valleys of the record not only keep it moving along, but keeps it interesting from a storytelling standpoint, too.

By the time you get to "I'm Sorry, Baby, But You Can't Stand In My Light Anymore," you're ready to admit all your failed love affairs, too. The internal reflection Bob brings to light in this song is staggering - it's an anthem for any lover, any where, who's ever been sad, broken, jilted, left behind, or moving on... just about anyone who isn't at this moment in a perfect relationship can relate. And those of us wistful individuals who like to hold on to our paths, it's a siren song call-to-arms. "Why I always find the broken ones, what does this say about me?" - he cuts to the bone. "I tried to heal you, I tried to fix you, I tried to show you compassion... I tried to listen, I tried to love you even though you were broken." It might be the most honest song of his career, a lifetime full of honest, heart-wrenching songs.

The record comes full circle with the closing track, "Lifetime." It is the longest and most electronic-sounding song on the album, but creates a unique atmosphere with it's fuzzy keyboard swells and xylophone pings. It's another brave step forward for an artist who never shies from taking chances with his art. The whole album builds to this moment - a lifetime of heartache, heartbreak, loneliness... and trying again, starting over, and moving on.

The last impression after several listens to Bob Mould's Life and Times is that is more than just a mature work by a mature artist. It's more like a cross section of an artist's tortured soul. There is nothing here to pity, nothing here to raise up emotionally - it's a factual statement. This is what love can do to you - it's part and parcel of throwing yourself out there to see what happens. The matter-of-fact nature of the lyrics and Mould's delivery and sincerity make it a joy and pleasure to not only listen to, but recollect and reflect with, too. Musically, it's one of Mould's strongest efforts - it sounds unrushed and comfortable while sounding fresh and energetic. If this record isn't proof that Mould isn't one of the greatest songwriters walking the earth, I don't know what is.

Do yourself a favor, buy it. Burn a copy for your car and for work. Just in case. Keep it for those trying, emotional days. Turn it up, way fucking loud, and revel in the fact that there's another soul out there like you who wants love, doesn't understand it, and keeps fighting for it tooth and nail. And when times are good, know you'll always have a friend waiting if they crash, a friend called Life and Times.

I'm Sorry Baby, But You Can't Stand In My Light Anymore - The Genius of Bob Mould

2009-04-06T18:15:00.000-04:00

What makes a songwriter so good? What bit of their personality and their life experience makes their particularl brand of songcraft go beyond good to brilliant?

Rarely if ever do I consider my influences. Most of the time, it is much easier - and truthfully to the point - to just say I am influenced by any and all music I hear. After all, if I hate a song, I am not likely to copy it or borrow from it, and if I do, I'll be changing it in a way that allows me to not hate the part I steal. But, rarely do I discuss in depth some real influence, whether apparent or not, that reaches beyond just words and fingers on a fretboard, and mixes with the soul.

Nick Hornby, in the beginning of his collection of essay entitled Songbook, begins describing a way of discussing music that transcends and is apart from emotion (or so it seems - I haven't finished the book). In a way, Hornby seems to suggest that the best music is not temporal - it exists as an expertly crafted tune aside from and without our personal experience and memories attached to it. He even goes so far as to say that people who only like a song for its way of helping them recall a particular memory or moment or feeling, don't truly like music at all. They just like to be reminded of that moment.

I like Hornby the writer, but for the most part think that the last part of that statement, that people who like a song for emotional or temporal reasons don't really like music, is dead wrong, stupid, prickish, elitist and pompous (which describes most of the way people think about me and my music elitism, by the way). I think songs can be great because of our emotions and connections to memories. And yes, maybe that makes writing about them more memoir than discussion of what a collection of aural instances combine to make one excellent-no-matter-how-I-feel almight fuck of a rock song (or blues, jazz, whatever). But we need emotion, and music is one of the best forms of communicating human emotion and humanity itself - love, loss, and so on.

It struck me today as I listened to Workbook, The Last Dog and Pony Show, and Besides - all albums by Bob Mould or one of his groups (in this case, Sugar) - that Bob Mould is a huge influence on me and my music. My next thought was of Hornby's book, though, and what my emotional connection to Bob Mould's music was. And I realized that one of the points that Hornby makes was spot on - music is truly great when it transcends our emotions and temporal connections to it, and becomes great to us all the time. And that is when I realized: Bob Mould is a fucking fantastic songwriter, all broken bones and stomped on hearts and rage and fury. But for me, despite how much I really relate to his music, his music is timeless, not temporal. And I now realize how big of an influence on my songwriting he truly is, and how great his music really is, on a scale that can't be measured by how I feel or felt when I listen/listened to it for the first/current time.

Let me explain another way: Pearl Jam is my favorite band of all time. I have made this statement a half a dozen million times. And, frankly, it might still be true. But it might not be, either. Because, for some of Peal Jam's music, it just doesn't do anything for me anymore. Ten sounds dated to me now - I still love it, but it is attached to my memories of a time and place. Vitalogy, on the other hand, is a remarkable album that has stuck with me. Yes, it is a hard album, and I find it uplifting because its sound of struggle. I do have memories wrapped around the first time I heard it, my discussions with friends about it, and so on and so forth... but those aren't the first things that come to my mind when I hear those songs. My first thought is to turn it up. Loud.

The same can be said for No Code and Pearl Jam's self-titled record (or, if you will, "Avacado"). Or Son Volt's Trace, or "When the Levee Breaks" by Led Zeppelin, or "Castles Made of Sand" by Hendrix. Some Beatles songs remind me of my ex-fiance. Some remind me of their greatness and nothing else. (quite a few make me miss Lennon.)

I discovered Bob Mould via The Last Dog and Pony Show (LDPS from here on in), sitting in the "Top Shelf" rack at WIUS AM 1570 Student Radio at the campus of Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana. There it was, mixed in with so much thoughtless music - sugary pop, avant noise rock, the latest indie darlings. Don't get me wrong, some of that "top shelf" was really good. I met a lot of bands there that I still have a love affair with today. I also met a lot of bands that I would've revoked their right to make "music" right then and there. Anyway... there it was. The Last Dog and Pony Show. Supposedly the last big, loud Bob Mould album. I didn't even know who this guy was. But I found out, and right quick, too. It wasn't long before Beaster by Sugar was in constant rotation on my radio show, and other treats by Mould, Sugar, and Husker Du.

Beaster and LDPS enchanted me. I loved the songs, loved the guitar sound - God, that guitar sound! - loved the open nature of the lyrics. It was emotional, visceral, real. Real human pain, real human triumph, real human glory, real human struggle. And I soaked it all in. The sad thing was, like most records I love, these weaved their way in and out of my life. I loved it when I remembered them... but my constant diet of new music left me putting them back on my shelf, usually only to be retrieved whenever I might hear a tune on the radio or hear about a new release.

As time has moved on, though, my record collection has grown, and I've added to it some important Bob Mould albums. Copper Blue, Workbook, Besides, and File Under: Easy Listening are all there to be listened to in my collection. I've been searching out Husker Du records, trying to find ones that aren't listed at $18.99 or $19.99 (this is hard to do, by the way - apparently wanting to listen to older music from Minneapolis has it's price - The Replacements' records seem to have this problem, as well. No word as of yet on old Soul Asylum.). Bob Mould's new solo record, Life and Times, is pre-ordered and should hit my doorstep sometime this week.

But it was Nick Hornby's opening essay in Songbook, and the first single off of Life and Times, "I'm Sorry Baby, But You Can't Stand In My Light Anymore," that really made me reconsider Bob Mould and his music in a different light. As in, not just enjoyable pop music, or genre-changing cornerstones, or part-inventor of alternative rock. But as an influence, as a major influence, and as music that has stayed relevant and important since the day I heard it. And I can't deny it anymore. There is no emotional involvement for me with this music. As emotional and soul-baring as it is, I've never made that personal connection. BUT, despite that - maybe even because of it - this is one of my favorite songwriters of all time. Bob Mould is a major influence, a fantastic songwriter, a musical icon and more. His songs do hit home, and hit home hard. It's just that I've never really used his music to "get through" anything. It's too good for that. It's too good to just borrow to deal with pain or swoon with love, and then discard once I've internalized or moved on from whatever situation merited the need for some serious emotional ass-kicking. "Moving Trucks" could have been the greatest song for moving my ex-girlfriend out (or for her, as she was moving out). But it wasn't, because it was too good for that.

There are happier songwriters, better singers, more technically gifted guitarists. Still, the stew that Mould has cooked up for us as listeners time and time again is superior than so much music out there.

I'm not sure what makes it a cut above the rest, exactly. Maybe all things that are transcendent are that way - that's why they transcend, because we can't describe why, or how, or what. They're just great. And Bob Mould is just great. In whatever moment you find yourself in - personal or otherwise.

Waxed: Whiskeytown's Stranger's Almanac

2009-04-05T15:01:00.004-04:00

From the opening notes - hell, from the first little hammer-on - of "Inn Town," you just know something special has arrived. Let's not even get into the fiddle strains and sparse guitar. For God's sakes, we've got a classic on our hands before the little shit even starts singing...

That's bound to be your reaction to Stranger's Almanac if you have any good music sense at all. Whiskeytown released this classic alternative country album on the world in 1997, and if you haven't heard it yet, you don't know what you're missing. There is just something, some sound that Ryan Adams, Caitlin Cary, and Phil Wandscher make together, that is priceless, timeless and perfect. Here the trio of singers/songwriters/musicians do their best to break your own heart tonight, and I'll be damned if they don't do it on every song.

Starting with the instant classic "Inn Town" is a good way to start. The aforementioned beginning doesn't even speak to how incredible this song is - musically, lyrically, totally. How could a kid, a young punk like Ryan Adams was at the time, write a song this good? "Parking lot, movie screen/ I can't feel anything/ Cigarette, beat up t.v./I can't feel anything," he sings, and you feel it. THEN the harmony vocals kick in, and suddenly you're a Whiskeytown fan... for life. If you can find a better tale of broken, lonely small town life, I'd be impressed. But you won't. "I can't say anything without dreaming," Adams casually tosses out, before returning to that perfect harmony chorus - "Now that I'm Inn Town."

It get's better. "Excuse Me While I Break My Own Heart Tonight" is so much more than a broken down country song, and that's before you find out it's a duet with ace Texas singer/songwriter Alejandro Escovedo. Not to mention the incredible steel guitar playing - Adams, Cary, and Wandscher benefitted greatly from the cast of studio musicians that helped record the album, in between bands as the trio that was the backbone of Whiskeytown was. And with lines like, "Well excuse me if I break my own heart tonight/ some things are born too strong, they have to learn how to fight/ the situation keeps me drinking every goddamn day and night," there's a deep maturity to the heartbroken hard country of the song.

It is a shame that most of us didn't catch on to Whiskeytown and their cache of excellent albums until after the band dissolved and Adams went on to do his solo career. Songs like "Yesterday's News," pure Stones-y rock from Wandscher mixed with Adams' pure songteller sensibilities explode with both energy and innocence that frankly is missing from the latter's solo work, at least in such staggering quantity and quality as is found on Whiskeytown's brief, precious output.

"Got sixteen days/ fifteen of those nights/can't sleep when the bedsheet fights/ it's way back to your side," Adams sings on "16 Days." Somehow, the three culprits of this criminally excellent music managed to mix their superb musicianship and warm vocal harmonies around this boy-wonder's songs that are far too good, and far too lived-in, for his age. "Well your ghost has got me runnin' away from you." The album maintains it's strong start right through "Everything I Do," a forlorn lover's tale and an expert mixture of country ballad and soulful rocker. In fact, the way Whiskeytown mixes several genres of music can't be overstated. In some ways, they are as much a Rosetta Stone for the alternative country genre/culture as Uncle Tupelo and the Jayhawks. And just as deserving of praise.

"Houses on the Hill" is somber and sweet and tired and aching, the three singers voices intertwining in just the right places. It's the sound Ryan would mine almost exclusively for his first so album Heartbreaker, but instead of the intensely personal, this song is a story about somebody else's life, and that what makes it so sad and relatable. We've all known a broken widow, a woman left without because of some other man's war. "Turn Around" starts out gentle enough before churning into a raging storm of a rocker. It's also as good a place as any to sit back and just enjoy guitarist Phil Wandscher's excellent guitar playing, as well as the myriad tones he strangles out of his instrument throughout the record. His playing takes a simple folk song and makes it something extraordinary. Adams hasn't had a sideman or co-contributor as gifted as Wandscher since Whiskeytown, and that's evident here.

"Dancing with the Women at the Bar" is another song Adams should be too young to write, but he does it anyway. He's proven himself an expert at capturing human emotion at it's gritty best and worst, and this song is no exception. Not to be overlooked, either, is Caitlin Cary's solid contribution. I'm waiting for the day that Adams and Cary cut a record together, supporting each other and meeting on common ground. I might be waiting a while, but if it happens, the flashes of brilliance on this record proves it'll be worth the wait.

Stranger's Almanac continues its excellent song cycle on "Waiting to Derail," and open, cascading tune, reminiscent of U2 without being derivative. While Adams solo work frequently gets compared to other artists and he is sometimes called a copycat, it's hard to saddle Whiskeytown with such a claim - they manage to make their songs sound uniquely like Whiskeytown, whether because of the myriad of styles they've mastered or the unique gifts, tones, and sounds each of the three primary members contributes.

Adams refered to "Avenues" as "everyone's favorite Whiskeytown song" in an interview in No Depression magazine, and it's no slouch of a song, for sure. It's sweet and self-assured, a soft tune full of warmth and a bit of innocence that Adams could still convincingly deliver, and contains his trademark haphazard bad language that litters his later work. But "Losering" is the tune I return to time and time again. Whether because of the off-kilter nature of the song, or the harmony vocals, or just the strange way it builds, trickling at first and never becoming a full raging river, it's a favorite. Maybe it's Cary's violin playing, which I can never seem to get enough of. Maybe it's just because there's no such word as "losering." No matter, it sets a great mood for the end of the album, beginning the bookend to an excellent statement by a young, up and coming band.

"Somebody Remembers the Rose" returns to the slow, melodic country-rock burn this band does so well early on, hooky and full of ear candy without overpowering the affecting, simple tune. The atmospheric strains that kick of "Not Home Anymore," the albums closing track, borrow from the eerie mood of "Losering" in a familiar way, and the song wraps up everything great about Stranger's Almanac - the expert violin touches, the tasteful guitar tones and elegant playing, the harmonies to die for, and the finely crafted touches of the studio musicians who helped round out the lineup for the recording of the album. It's not the surefire hit that some of the other songs would be in a perfect world, but it's a competent and fitting album closer, more like an accessory to a great gift than the gift itself. It does speak to some of Ryan's later work, especially the low key moody rock he would explore fully on Love is Hell.

It's rumored that the band recorded over 30 songs for Stranger's Almanac, and I have to wonder, what haven't we heard? What would we have heard had this great band survived to record not one more, but half a dozen more albums? Would the talents and contributions of Cary and Wandscher have been enough to temper the mad genius of Adams, into making more concentrated, fleshed-out and complete songs as are evident here? Looks like we'll never know. But for what it is worth, Stranger's Almanac is one hell of an album, for Whiskeytown, Ryan Adams, alt-country, and/or otherwise. Give it a spin and welcome yourself to a whole world of deep, passionate music you might be missing. You won't regret it.

Kings of Leon's Only By The Night

2009-03-29T21:02:00.003-04:00

On my first listen to the Kings of Leon, I have to admit, I wasn't too impressed. It wasn't that they were bad. They just didn't strike me in a lasting way. You know how sometimes the moment or context in which you hear a band makes a difference in how you view or think about or feel about that band? You could say the first time I heard the Kings of Leon, at least the first time that mattered, was surrounded by a case of context, or rather, a lack there of.

As is occasionally wont to happen, however, another time came when it was of use to me to hear Kings of Leon. And maybe even listen to them. Of course, it was because of a girl. She recommended I check the band out. So I bought the first album that broke them to a large audience, Aha Shake Heartbreak. I gave it a spin in my car, but again wasn't very struck by any lasting impression. I was told by my lady friend, however, to try their latest, Only by the Night.

This time, something clicked.

It may have been the two songs she recommended, that we listened to on the way home from dinner, "Notion" and "Sex On Fire." It may have been her. Hell, who knows. For whatever reason, I got it, finally.

My first impression was that this band had found some cross section of .38 Special, U2, and white-boy Stones soul. The sound of Only by the Night is recognizable, familiar to a fan of rock and roll. The singer's voice recalls someone, I'm not sure who, and that might be the point - it's familiar enough to sound comfortable, and different enough to sound engaging.

The album kicks off with "Closer," a song that reminds me musically of something R.E.M. would have done on New Adventures In The Hi-Fi, and I mean that in a good way (it reminds me a bit of the siren call keyboard wail present in "Leave" from that album). The guitars echo U2 (pun intended) and singer Caleb Followill does his best soul impressions. "Crawl" harkens back to later-era Led Zep, funky and a bit synthy-sounding. The album's first outstanding track is it's third one, though: "Sex On Fire."

The opening, off-kilter guitar notes turn into a funky, danceable rhythm that drives the song forward to it's first anthemic chorus. Wailed vocals couple with the driving rhythms and reverb-drenched guitars that soar in the way that the best work from The Edge does. The lyrics match, vaguely describing sex in an open, echoing kind of way, capturing more the feeling of being wrapped up in someone physically than the physical sex acts one might perform or experience during the process. This anthemic quality continues on the next track, "Use Somebody." It's apparent that the Kings deliberately continued their shift from garage rock to a more accessible sound, but that sound serves them very well, especially on "Use Somebody." It may be dipping far too shamelessly into the U2 well, but that matters little when the results sound this good. "Use Somebody" builds on the quality of "Sex On Fire" with a thunderous, rousing torchsong. The lyrics are again vague, but to great effect here - the lack of detail makes the song easy to relate to, easy to get cozy with. Everyone can connect with the feeling of wanting someone, and further needing to feel wanted. The song mixes things up appropriately with a small bridge and a nice, if basic, guitar solo - again, the kind of fret work you'd expect from the Edge - before closing out the song.

The rest of the album follows these trends. There's little to match them to their garage roots, and more to point towards modern contemporaries like Coldplay, just with less keyboards/piano. This strikes me as odd, now, given my initial .38 Special comparison, which seems kind of knee-jerk after repeated listens.

What may speak loudly for the universal enjoyment of the record, though, may be this: a colleague of mine (from my day/real job) has recently become intranced with the band's music, particularly Only by the Night. Of course, it's because of a boy (and no, certainly not me). Some sweet something passed her a copy of the record. She listened and fell in love. Now our office, a large room with several cubicles, is filled daily with the sounds of Kings of Leon, sometimes hearing this most recent record two or three times in one day. I quickly passed my co-worker Aha Shake Heartbreak and Because of the Times, in hopes of getting some variety mixed in. To wit, that hasn't happened yet, but that still hasn't dulled my interest and enjoyment in the band.

So if someone with complete opposite tastes than mine can get into it, it's got to be good, right? There are other great songs on the record, particularly "Revelry," "Notion," and "Be Somebody" and "Cold Desert," the tracks that aptly close the album. Only by the Night has a certain coldness to it - the wet, swampy reverb sound of Pink Floyd, just icier at times. Thankfully, it also has a bit of old school warmth to it, as well, in the soulful vocals as well as obvious classical (as in classic rock) elements of the music. If you wanted to listen to the Kings of Leon, this is the album to get. It's an enjoyable and at times moving listen, and far more deserving of the damning review websites like Pitchfork gave it. Yes, Kings of Leon may be a trendy pick of hipsters everywhere, but they ruin everything - just don't let them ruin your appreciation of a fine album by a truly good band.

The End is the Beginning is the End - Ten Lives On

2009-03-25T18:07:00.003-04:00

The end is the beginning is the end. That's how it goes sometimes. In relationships,

in life, in work and play. And in music.

“I’ll ride the wave where it takes me,” Eddie Vedder sings in “Release,” the closing tune from Pearl Jam’s debut album, Ten. “I’ll hold the pain/ release me.” As the band rises and falls like the waves of an unbound, unchained ocean, so does Vedder’s voice, carrying with it hope, pain, love, loss, life.

I’ll never forget the first time I heard this record. I was, what, 14 years old? I had heard “the buzz” about Pearl Jam as I had first begun to discover rock music. My first records were common Top 40 fare at the time, some of it good and some bad – Clapton’s Unplugged being good, All 4 One the bad, and the Spin Doctors somewhere comfortably in between.

Then I heard kids at school talking about Nirvana and Metallica, Soundgarden and Pearl Jam. So I listened. And while Pearl Jam was not my first entry into grunge/alternative/’90’s rock, they would grow to become my favorite band, slowly and surely. And it all started with Ten.

My mother and I had cooked up some cockamamie scheme to join those wonderful by-mail music clubs, BMG and Columbia House. I joined one, she joined the other, and the crux of the deal was that if her club had something I wanted, she would order that, and I would order something she wanted from my club.

What I wanted was Ten and Vs. (She, justifiably so, wanted Patsy Cline’s Greatest Hits. You go mom.) So we ordered them. And I waited.

And waited. And, in a move that quietly mirrored the rest of my life to come, I grew impatient. So… I rushed out and bought a whole slew of “singles” at Wal-Mart. For a short while in the ‘90’s, you could buy actual singles from a band at Wal-Mart. Now bands don’t even put them out, it seems. But most of the big alternative/grunge bands did. Nirvana, Soundgarden, and Pearl Jam were all waiting with mini two and three and four song samplers, mixed in there with the Boyz II Men and All 4 One and Madonna and other pop records in the Singles section of the Wal-Mart Music Department.

I couldn’t wait. I bought the singles to “Oceans” and “Jeremy,” both off of Ten, and "Daughter,” off of Vs. I wanted the “Even Flow” single, but they were sold out. It and

“Alive” and “Go” and “Animal” and “Dissident” would all come later.

For now, I listened to these songs, the live versions of “Why Go” and “Alive” and “Deep” (all off of the “Oceans” single), and “Yellow Ledbetter” and “Footsteps,” b-sides from “Jeremy” that have become legendary in the Pearl Jam catalog, “Yellow Ledbetter” especially. I literally soaked my soul in these songs. I devoured them with the hunger that only a 14 year old knows when they first discover love, emotional and physical, and time, and reason, and… music.

So it was with some excitement when those CDs finally arrived. I checked the mailbox everyday, hoping they would come before we left for our summer vacation to go horseback riding and camping in Brown County Stare Park. I was overjoyed when, on a whim, I asked dad to let me check the mail as we were pulling out of the driveway, horses and camper in tow, on our way to Brown County, Indiana.

And there, in the mailbox, was the cardboard box containing my prize, my treasures. I think I put in Vs. first, truth be told, and I listened to it over and over again on my Sony Discman. The drive from our place in Mooresville to Brown County was about two hours or so. When we arrived, the headphones came off and I had to help set up camp.

By the time we were finished, nighttime was falling. As we were always wont to do, my family planned vacations with other families who had horses, usually the folks that we showed horses with during the summers (and 4-H). As it were, my first crush and by this time my first girlfriend was among the families we showed and camped with. And, with our camp set up, and set about doing another haunting habit that rests with me still: waiting for her to show up.

Now, this was about a year before I started playing guitar, so there wasn’t much to do other than kick around rocks, ride a horse, or listen to my headphones. The choice was easy. I popped in Ten, pressed play, and walked up to the guard/registration house at the opening of the campgrounds. I found a picnic table, sat down and waited. It was there that I first heard the opening notes of “Even Flow.”

Since then, I’ve been hooked. Like the opening “song,” “Master/Slave,” a strange drum and bass tune that ebbs and flows with bristling, concealed energy, like some sultry temptation, so has my life and love of Pearl Jam.

“Once upon a time, I could control myself,” Vedder sings as guitarist Stone Gossard pumps out one of his trademark slinky, funk-based riffs, like water sliding over glass, then cascading into the band charging through the chorus of “Once”. This eventually gives way to Mike McCready, the band’s lead guitarist who’s work instantly defines nearly every song he plays on. His fiery guitar solo on “Once” announced that Pearl Jam was squarely in the classic rock tradition, that their heroes were the icons of the seventies like Zeppelin, Kiss, Sabbath, The Who, and Hendrix.

“Even Flow” set such a standard for the band, the funk-based riffery, liquid guitar leads and driving bass all as much a hallmark of the PJ sound as Vedder’s soaring and sometime incomprehensible lyrical delivery. And this from a band that hadn’t yet fulfilled its potential, and had barely had time to solidify its lineup. Drummers would come and go over the next few years, but this mattered little, so strong were Gossard, bassist Jeff Ament, and Vedder’s stranglehold on the band’s signature sound.

All of that came to a head on the album’s most celebrated song, the anthem “Alive.” Though this song is ultimately about incest and confusion, it was widely misinterpreted as a claxon-like call for survival for Gen-Xers in the rough and tumble, rapidly changing 1990’s. It’s call of “I’m still alive” can still be heard echoing wherever the band plays live. Over the years, the song took on a life of it’s own, with even Vedder acquiescing to his fans over the anthem-like quality, bring more positive energy to the song than ever before. What was a semi-autobiographical story for him became the rallying cry for legions of confused twenty-somethings.

“Why Go” was anchored by Ament’s thunderous bass, and used the trademark liquid riffs coupled with big open guitar chords to fine effect as Vedder vamped about a troubled teen locked away. It also continued McCready’s string of stinging, blues-influenced lead guitar solos.

But it was “Black” that I found myself coming back to, again and again, in my later teenage years and into college, when heartbreak had come a-knockin’ on my door. This ballad in E (wink wink for those of you in the know…) showcased not only the melodic, softer side of the band, but also Vedder’s terrific writing skills. While most of the protagonists in Pearl Jam’s songs have battles to fight or wounds to tend, they usually tended to have hope. In “Black” Vedder deviates from the hope-saves-us-all formula to turn in one of the few songs that ever truly captures the emptiness that comes from lost love. It certainly doesn’t hurt that his voice echoes each painful stroke of the lyrics with its own dripping passion and anguish.

“Jeremy” would be another hit for a band that was looking more and more like a hit-making machine. When the dynamic, visually grabbing video was put into regular rotation on MTV, it would help skyrocket the band to success. The tale of the schoolboy seeking solace in his only escape is both harrowing, and yet, still told with a strange grain of hope – Jeremy does get the last word, after all.

“Oceans” would find the band again quieting down, this time for a ballad that expertly captures that wateriness of the song’s titled. A favorite of mine since I began listening, “Oceans” almost sounds like waves, or sometimes air, and its story of lovers longing to touch is one any adolescent teen – or lonely college boy, or adult man looking for answers – can relate to.

Another concert favorite would be delivered in “Porch,” a song that when performed live (on SNL and MTV’s Unplugged) Vedder would use to deliver whatever message was on his mind at the moment. Though it has changed over the years, it’s still a favorite, and features more push-and-pull tactics from the band, combining their ‘70’s rock influences with the elasticity of funk and rhythm and blues. All this, and still sounding like modern alternative rock.

On “Garden,” the band would use clean, hushed verses to build ambiance, then thunder in with big choruses. The floating guitar interplay between Stone and Mike would foretell many great guitar moments to come – Pearl Jam are nothing if not masters of wonderful musical bridges – and provided more pyrotechnics after the already dynamic and charging “Porch.”

Vedder would tackle drug use and it’s various consequences on “Deep,” a scorch, warbling rocker with a trademark off-kilter Stone riff driving the song along. It provided yet one more moment for McCready to show off his command of the guitar, straining and pulling and squawking emotion from the instrument as Vedder did the same with his vocals.

“Release” drew the album to a close with it’s hushed tones and wave-like structure, cresting and drawing listeners in, and sending them on. A reprise of “Master/Slave” bookends the record nicely, drawing the whole experience to a close.

My teenage self is perpetually wrapped up in the album, all awkward emotion and hormonal rush. Each of the songs off of it have been a favorite over time, with “Alive” and “Deep” being my favorites of all early on, and in later years, “Release” and “Oceans” being two of my most treasured of Pearl Jam’s songs.

Nothing sounded like Ten on the radio when it was released, and really, nothing else has sounded like it since then, either. It’s combination of arean-ready rock and roll anthems, generation X issues and problems, and nods to classic rock, punk, and blues hasn’t been duplicated by any band since. What Pearl Jam achieved wasn’t grunge and really wasn’t alternative rock, either. It was a seamless melding of 1970’s rock and roll, it’s glitz and glam and fire and fury. Coupled with a deep understanding of societal issues and deep-seated familial and emotional issues, the album was a torchlight for any who were troubled and needed release. It was a siren call, a warning sign, and a war march all in one.

Pearl Jam would go on to answer the call they made with this first record, with the fiery Vs. and the hellbent Vitalogy, and that triptych of albums stand as a testament to the power and grace of one of the 1990’s, and truly all of rock and roll’s, most important bands. They would challenge listeners even as the comforted. It was rock music with purpose, the kind of music that saves the soul.

That period of the band’s existence would end of course, as all things do. They would mature, grow as musicians, find new subjects to tackle. They would fight stardom and themselves, their own personal demons, feuds with other bands, and more. Hope, pain, love, loss, and life would never be far from them, but their maturity would grant them different looks on these familiar topics, as it would to us all.

But for one shining moment, here was a band that understood. They were our awkward champions, and they fought with every once of energy they had. And we were all better for it.

Life is a circle. Loss follows love. Hope follows pain. Life happens while you’re living it.

I’m just happy I have a kick-ass soundtrack to help it move along.

The Hold Steady (Almost) Saved Me

2009-03-13T16:14:00.001-04:00

Life can kind of be bitch sometimes. And, other times, it’s a big party. There always seems to be a new song that can get us through either situation. For those of us lucky enough to live in the Midwest, there’s another “state of being” that maybe is more consistently present than the previous two – the state of being bored.

Truly clever is the rock band who can sing about that. And still do the other two.

There is not a gluttony of great Midwestern rock bands. Sure, there are some. Chicago bands do not count, though, because Chi-town is far too cosmopolitan and big a city to be/feel truly Midwest.

A lot of the Midwest’s other bands don’t quite rock. John Mellencamp is great, but not reckless. Over The Rhine? Amazing songwriters, amazing music, but not quite rock. Not quite rock at all.

I’m looking California… but feeling Minnesota. Specifically, Minneapolis.

(Yes, Dayton has Guided By Voices, Kentucky has My Morning Jacket, Indianapolis has Margot and the Nuclear So & So’s, Belleville, Illinois has Uncle Tupelo. There are several examples. Just humor me, damnit)

Here there be Midwestern rock heroes and gods. Husker Du, Sugar, Bob Mould. The Replacements. Soul Asylum, maybe? But, for my purposes here… The Hold Steady.

Has there been a better Midwestern rock and roll band than The Hold Steady? (And piss on you if you think they are disqualified because they moved to Brooklyn. Their music is FIRMLY ROOTED in the Midwest.) Maybe it’s Craig Finn’s spoken vocal delivery, or the low register of his voice. Maybe it’s the energy in the band – one that suggests there’s nothing better to do than just rock the fuck out.

When I listen to The Hold Steady, one of two things happen: I want to be a character in their songs, or I have been a character in one of their songs. And while my official youth/young adulthood/party years lasted roughly from April 2003 until Summer of 2005 (not a good run, by any stretch – 22 and a half to 24 and a half? Really?), I still kind of crave, feel, and relate to the stories in The Hold Steady’s songs.

Their songs are sing-along psalms, and they mean that.

In a way, The Hold Steady remind me of my own wasted youth, and more so, my continued occasional affairs with that youth.

You see, I have spent from age 19 on thinking I would be married by 21, making babies by 25 or so, doing the whole house-wife-kids-white picket fence thing. Um, yeah. Update: I missed that boat, some 10-8-5 years ago. Despite my utter failure to secure my Midwestern dreams, though, I still kind of live and function like that. Not sure why. My friends seem driven more to discuss music, movies, and art. We drink and carry on, but more with ourselves than with others.

Meeting women is a strange concept to me; I suck at it. Dating? I suck at that too. I would probably suck at sex – and probably do – if it weren’t for dating a bat-shit crazy girl who spelled her name with Y’s and K’s. Lord knows I am out of practice.

So maybe I live vicariously through the characters in The Hold Steady’s songs, in the universe so created by their incredible, intelligent music. “Boys and girls in America, they have such a sad time together…” Finn sings in “Stuck Between Stations.” “Crushing one another with colossal expectations.” If that’s not my life, or at least the most accurate take on my relationships with the opposite sex, I don’t know what is.

I feel some kind of kinship with this band; it’s like we were meant for each other. One thing is for damn sure: they make me want to put down my acoustic guitar and pick up the electric, and stop writing songs about heartbreak and start writing songs about not caring/causing heartbreak/drinking beer/wasting a Saturday night with people drinking beer-causing heartbreak-not caring.

I’ve got to stay positive, they remind me. And I try. Maybe… maybe The Hold Steady almost saved me. Maybe it’s not too late – is 28 too late to be a delinquent? To be young? To get drunk, high, wasted, lazy, irresponsible?

“Most people in the world don’t believe that rock and roll can save your soul,” says a random fan smoking a cigarette in the new Hold Steady DVD, A Positive Rage. “I don’t think any one of those people have seen The Hold Steady.”

Fuck yeah.

So, as I count down the days until I see them in Bloomington, after missing the last opportunities, I will be ready for a few positive jams. I’m ready for a unified scene.

Mostly I am ready to grow up already, and act like the adolescent idiot my hormones and Midwest boredom tell me to be.

I Scream, you Scream, we all Scream for the death of Chris Cornell...

2009-03-12T16:54:00.001-04:00

I had a friend in high school who always said "opinions are like assholes; everybody's got one." It was kind of his way of saying, "we have to agree to disagree." We would argue frequently, and this was his way of ending arguments. So, when I say that the '90's were the hidden second "golden age" of guitar rock, and you disagree... well then, opinions are like assholes. And you are one. An asshole.

The 1990's, and the rock music that came with it - not just "alternative" or "grunge," but a lot of rock music at the time - owed a great deal to the music that came not a decade before it, but two to three decades before it. Black Sabbath's metal, Led Zeppelin's proto-metal blues-rock, The Who's arena rock, and The Beatles psychadelia all played a huge role in the guitar-drive rock of the '90's. So too did punk pioneers like the Clash, the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and more obscure acts like Television, X, and the Damned. Add in a dash of brontosaurus rock like Neil Young, and some NWBHM (new wave of British Heavy Metal) like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, the Scorpions and UFO (not necessarily British), even bands like Motorhead and T-Rex and David Bowie... and you mix it all up. Welcome to '90's rock.

Like many of the great bands from the '70's, many of the '90's bands were modeled after the "dynamic frontman" and "lead guitar player with mystique." Plant had his Page. Ozzy had his Iommi. Tyler had Perry, Bowie had Ronson, Jagger had Richards, Daltrey had Townshend. And, in the the great detritus of '90's grunge rock, Cornell had his Thayil.

More metal and less punk than their peers, and more experimental to boot, Soundgarden mined the same ore that Sabbath and Led Zep made famous, though a bit less bluesy. As their career progressed, the Kiss and Sabbath metalisms of guitarist Kim Thayil gave more and more way to the John Lennon/Beatlesisms of lead singer Chris Cornell. While Cornell was, without argument, the strongest set of pipes in '90's music, owing vocally more to Robert Plant and Ozzy than Lennon or Mac or Harrison, musically Cornell drew heavily from the Beatles.

Never was this more evident than on Soundgarden's last two albums, Superunknown and Down On The Upside. Literally all of the Cornell-penned tracks can draw a comparison to the Beatles, particularly Lennon's work. Add this to the band's already experimental side and their heavier-than-thou sound, and Cornell's own wail-of-a-wounded-banshee vocals, and Soundgarden was without a doubt one of the strongest and best musical acts from the 1990's and the grunge era.

There is no finer album from that era than Superuknown. It is quite possibly the best album from the '90's. The follow-up, and that band's swan song, contained songs that really highlighted Cornell's Lennon-esque obsessions ("Blow Up The Outside World," anyone?). Strangeness and despair, musical experimentation, it was all there. And Cornell helmed the great and mighty ship.

I was sad when the band called it quits. And excited when Cornell released his first solo record, the criminally under-appreciated Euphoria Morning. "Preaching the End of the World" might be one of his best songs, and showed a tender side not really seen before. "Pillow of Your Bones" and "Mission" harkened back to his days in Soundgarden. "When I'm Down" and "Wave Goodbye" broke new sonic ground - hell, the whole album did - for Cornell as an artist. It was a statement. Critics hated it because it was different; fans hated it because it wasn't like Soundgarden. And I, typically, loved it.

I didn't buy his second solo album, for really no reasons other than I had moved on and was emmersed in Americana by that point. What I heard off of it, I enjoyed. I even enjoyed his Casino Royale theme song. I liked it a bit. Of course, between those, we had Audioslave, Cornell's collaborative efforts with ex-Rage Against The Machine members Tom Morello, Brad Wilk, and TimY2K-whatever the fuck his name is. And... when the first demos leaked online, I heard them, and was excited. When the project was mired in record-label problems, I was disappointed. When the first album came out, I liked it, even loved most of it. The following albums had incredible moments. All in all, Audioslave was not great overall, but was pretty good, and that was enough, especially when compared to the rest of the shit music that ruled rock radio by that point. I'll take Audioslave over Three Days Grace and Nickleback any day of the week, and twice on Sundays, thank you very much. At least we got to hear that banshee-wail again!

The point being, Cornell is a damn rock-vocalist god. He fucking rules, owns, and then some. The man has the pipes of a gorram demon and angel, all wrapped up in one.

And his new song makes me want to scream.

"Ground Zero," the first single off of Chris Cornell's new album, Scream, is the sound of a demon getting kicked square in the nuts, then booted out of Hell for being a pussy. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen" doesn't even begin to do this piece of crap song justice, nor the height of the man who is singing, nor how far he has fallen. Produced by Timbaland? Really? What the fuck for?

My rage is nearly uncontrollable, my mind and heart inconsolable. Why, Chris... why? From the spoken dialog at the track's beginning, coupled with pseudo-James Brown funky "ahs!", to the melancholy acoustic outro/segue to surely some other trashy number, this song sucks. Beginning to end. It sounds exactly what you would fear something would sound like when you pair the voice of an entire rock era with the producer from an entire era of hip-hop.

Let's take a moment to breath. This worked with Aerosmith and Run-DMC, right? I've already written hear about Cornell's vocal and song-writing prowess; Timbaland, though involved in music I generally don't like, is no slouch either. The man can write, create beats, and produce. He's produced a number of prominent hip-hop, pop, and rap artists, including Jay-Z, Missy Elliot, Snoop Dogg, Ludacris, The Fray, and Justin Timberlake. None of them may be your (or my) particular cup of tea, but that partial list is pretty damn good; it's a damned who's who in pop, hip-hop and rap music. So it's not like Timbaland is a bad producer.

I watched a myspace music interview with these two several months ago, and to be honest, I was scared shitless when I heard they were working together. Then I watched that little video, and thought to myself, "maybe this will work!" It sounded promising - they spent the entire time complimenting each other, blowing sunshine up each other's asses, but generally making it seem like they were enthused to be A) working together and B) working on this material, and proud of it. They shouldn't be; they should feel disgraced. It doesn't neither artist nor producer any favors. It's laughable. It's the downfall of not only a GREAT artist, but one of the most famous pop producers of our time.

So, if you've read so far, you know I have made a judgement on one entire album based on one song, "Ground Zero." The thing is, the internets is in revolt over this damned Scream album. The A.V. Club is having a puke-fest. Allmusic.com might have gave it 1.5 stars (out of 5), or none at all - I can't tell. I don't even want to check what Pitchfork says - they normally crush my soul with their heartless, plastic reviews anyway. I can't stand to see what they'd say about the man with the golden ticket set of pipes, falling from such a great height. So, it is safe to say... this album is going to suck. "Ground Zero" sucks.

I know that no artist wants to be pigeon-holed into one style or genre, but for the love of Christ... Chris Cornell, please announce that after this tour you're doing a Soundgarden reunion tour. Or Audioslave. Or a Great Expectations soundtrack reunion tour. Something, anything, to make up for this. Bring us back the banshee wail, backed by the hammer of Zeus. Ditch the hip-pop tripe, and get back to what you do best.

Waxed: Drive-By Truckers' The Dirty South

2008-12-18T08:04:00.007-05:00

As a friend of mine recently said, "Drive-By Truckers, where have you been all my life?" Such is expected, though, when one first hears the opening stomp of "Where The Devil Don't Stay," the opening track from the Trucker's classic album The Dirty South. Except it doesn't stop there - that's just the hook to draw you in.

In 2004-2005 (memory is a little hazy as to the exact date), when I was engrossed in the wonderful Alt-Country (whatever that is) magazine No Depression, I kept hearing about this band called the Drive-By Truckers. I think I read a live concert review of one of the band's shows, or maybe a record review. I wanted to check it out, but didn't really want to make a blind purchase at the time - as all my friends can attest to, if I don't want to listen to something new, it ain't gonna happen. So, I did the next best thing to taking a chance on it - I convinced a friend to buy it.

There in the parking lot of the Shelbyville Wal-Mart, my friend (and, oddly and presciently enough, pastor) Andy popped the CD into his DiscMan (with the whole jury-rigged tape device to listen to CDs) and the opening notes of "Where The Devil Don't Stay" kicked up. Then the slide guitar hit. And then... by the end of the second track, "Tornadoes," I knew I had made a mistake. I should've bought that CD, not Andrew. I didn't let the mistake linger. I had my own copy of the record within a week. Such is the nature of The Dirty South.

Full of "y'alls" and out of tune and sometimes tuneless vocals, some out of tune instruments, with bad grammer, and fairly schizophrenic - except for the overall arching darkness that shrouds the record - The Dirty South is not a summer drive record, or a pleasant, warm winter listen. No, it is Southern Gothic Darkness personified by a band of vagrants tough enough to turn goat piss into gasoline, and just as caustic. Imagine, if you can, the best southern rock band meeting the tunesmith abilities of the great '70's songwriters. Kind of like a plane wreck/motorcycle accident between Skynyrd and the Allmans, but only if Billy Joel and Elton John were on the plane and James Taylor was on the back of the bike... and Elvis, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee, and The Man In Black were all standing on the crossroads of the devil, right there where the accident happened.

You can attribute that notion to the strength of not one, not two, but three ace songwriters/singers/guitarists/multi-instrumentalists - Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley, the founders of the band, and relative newcomer Jason Isbell. Isbell made his debut on the band's previous album, Decoration Day, and made his departure on the album preceeding this one, A Blessing And A Curse. I am sure there are many who would argue the point with me, but this is the period of the band that I like to refer to as "Classic Truckers."

It is precisely because of that bevy of songwriting talent that this is my favorite DBT's album. While the Truckers have always been Patterson Hood's primary vehicle, the addition of Isbell and the emergence of Cooley makes this record one tough cookie, with nary a bad song or even a well-meaning dud in sight. In fact, I could probably write an entry on each song - it's that damn good. As I don't have that kind of time or patience, and likely as you probably aren't that interested, I'll stick to just one long-ass review, and the best of the best songs on the album.

"The only blood that's any cleaner/ is the blood that's blue or greener/ without either you just get meaner/ and the blood you gave gives you away." This stanza ends the last verse of "Where The Devil Don't Stay," an opening salvo of a song that both long-time Trucker fans and newcomers should instantly love. Cooley's voice and lyrics rip through this swamp-stomp of a rocker, with Isbell's slide guitar eating up line after nasty line, propelling this dark prohibition story from the soul to the grave to Hell itself. There is no quite easy way to describe this song. It was the first I ever heard, and to be honest, it took a long time to adjust to the fact that not every song the DBT's write and play sounds like this. There's not anything like this tune. It screams, kicks, hollers, pulls, tugs, fights for every inch, and pulls you down with it, laughing as you choke on the duality of the hard life of the south.

Still, even after such a dramatic opener, nothing quite prepares you for the beauty, grace, and power of "Tornadoes," Hood's first track on the album. Chorusy acoustic guitars, echoing piano chords, reverb-drench slide guitar, and Hood's "lower-register" voice all adding atmosphere that builds until the bridge. You might think this is where all hell breaks loose, but you'd be wrong. For those who have ever been in a tornado, you'll always remember that eerie half-silence, half buzz that comes right before it hits. Somehow, the DBT's manage to capture that sound on record perfectly. Buzzing piano, eerie guitar, distant vocals ("pieces of that truckstop littered the highway, I've been told/ and I hear that missing trucker ended up in Kansas/ or maybe it was Oz) ... it's perfect, absolutely strange and enough to make your hair stand up. "I can still remember the sound of their applause in the rain," Hood sings as his band plays an outdoor concert in their hometown. "As it echoed through them storm clouds, I swear it sounded like a train."

The expert story telling continues on Isbell's first tune on the album, "The Day John Henry Died," and goes on through Hood's "Puttin' People on the Moon" and Cooley's "Carl Perkins' Cadillac," the band navigating hard southern rock and low-key swampy dirge with equal grace and power. "The Sands of Iwo Jima" finds Hood spinning yet another spellbinding tale of the south, this one about a family man war veteran, who could afford a new car but always drove what was available, and still believed in God and Country, because "things was just that way." The off-kilter banjo and churning guitars lend this back porch tale a serene, reverent beauty, and it's the type of tale that Hood tells best.

Jason Isbell follows up Hood's acoustic tale with one of his own, the lullaby-like "Danko/Manuel." The gently loping drums and softly played acoustic guitar complement Isbell's tired drawl as he sings, "I ain't living like I should." The repetiveness of the song is one of its best assets, drawing you in and holding you while it tells its tale, like being held by a grandmother in a rocking chair. The subtle electric guitars and gentle horns punch up the chorus just enough. "First they make you out to be/ the only pirate on the sea/ they say Danko would've sound just like me/ is that the man I wanna be?" Isbell sings with quiet passion, and continues to draw you down into the dark southern soul of this record. Even the solo section, with it's twangy steels, echoy electrics and chiming keyboards, adds to this twisted lullaby. "Can you hear that singing, sounds like gold/ maybe I can hear poor Richard from the grave/ singing where to reap and where to sow/ when you've found another home you have to leave/ something else you can't believe."

Hood speak-sings his way through "The Boys From Alabama," a late blooming rocker that ups the ante as the Truckers introduce a small tryptich of songs concerning Alabama Sheriff Buford Pusser and his efforts to clean up a dry county. Cooley steals the show here, though, with "Cottonseed," a deceptively simple, calm song with lyrics as deep as a mile wide ditch and as dark as the stories preachers use to scare children straight. Told from the perspective of a criminal that the system just can't beat and keep locked away, Cooley sings "They say every sin is deadly but I believe they may be wrong/ I'm guilty of all seven and I don't feel too bad at all." The impact of this song can't be measured without listening to it. A scathing reprisal of law and church and champions the criminal's way. "I used to have a wad of hundred dollar bills in the back pocket of my suit/I had a .45 underneath my coat and another one in my boat/ I drove a big ol' Cadillac, bought a new one anytime I pleased/ and I put more lawmen in the ground than Alabama put cottonseed." This is real true blue outlaw stuff, the kinds dark western legends and ancient religious tales are made from. Hood follows it up with the powerful "The Buford Stick," a song whose grindy guitars kick the band into full ass-kicking mode.

"Daddy's Cup" is Cooley's tale of racing, in a southern man's blood, and is followed by "Never Gonna Change," a rocker by Isbell that feels like a straight kick to the gut for anyone putting the southern man down, and "Lookout Mountain," which contains the most monster guitar riff on the album, sounding like some kind of monstrous combo of Metallica, pure electric blues, and Skynyrd. It also features some of the tastiest guitar licks on an album full of them.

But it's Jason Isbell's "Goddamn Lonely Love" that closes the album, and closes it so well. The lyrics, melody, and damn-near everything else about the song aches with broken beauty, from the warbling intro to the last notes. "I've got green and I've got blues/ and every day there's a little less different between the two," Isbell sings. "I belly up and disappear/ well I ain't really drowning 'cause I see the beach from here." He continues, " I could take a Greyhound home/ and when I got there it'd be gone/ along with everything a home is made up of/ so I'll take two of what you're having/ and I'll take all of what you got/ to kill this goddamn lonely, goddamn lonely love." This sad lament is somehow classic Truckers, and Classic Country all at once. It's visceral, dark, and hard, while being so descriptive you can feel the words as much as see them. Passionate sex is followed by bad regrets and hard drinking. It's a tale of loss and brokeness anyone can relate to, and Isbell delivers it with such passion and gravity that you'll likely be left with a bit of a broken heart yourself.

While I haven't explore later era Truckers as much as I should, and haven't touched early releases like Pizza Deliverance, I think I can still say that, so far, The Dirty South stands as an incredible band's best album. And, at the risk of starting arguments, I wonder if the band will ever get this level of greatness back with Jason Isbell. By now you've probably figured I am an Isbell fan, and you'd be correct. I was and am enthralled with his first solo album, Sirens Of The Ditch, an eclectic rock tour-de-force with nary a bad tune to be found. Still, the promise of Hood, Cooley and Isbell together is what made The Dirty South so amazing, so deep and so dark and visceral and emotional.

For the uninitiated, do yourself a favor, and stop by your favorite local record store and pick up a copy of The Dirty South, and drown your worries in the dark and lonely tales of the broken South. Just be sure thank me later, and don't forget who your friends really are.

Waxed: Ryan Adams + The Cardinals' Cardinology

2008-12-16T13:06:00.005-05:00

Every once in a while, you'll come across an album that grabs you - not completely, but just enough to tug on you, bring you back, and keep you coming back until it grows on you. These are the albums you learn to love - not immediate successes per se, but the type of albums you want with you on a cold lonely night or a sunny summer drive with the top down.

When your name is Ryan Adams, you aren't afforded much leeway. Your albums are expected to showers, not growers, so to speak. Your career has been littered with hits and misses. Some folks call you a genius, some an idiot, and most a copy-cat artist, a musical con man. With each album you put out, you confuse and delight and annoy and exalt, all at once and all the time. But, for those of us who love you (yes, I love me some Ryan Adams), we love you precisely because you're a nut job, a delightful temper-tantrum tornado that spins out blissfully sounding melodies and heart-wrenching lyrics as often as you spew foul-mouth tirades and (not quite so often) ordinary sounding tunes that are too basic to be memorable.

Cardinology, Adams' latest effort with his superb backing band the Cardinals, is a grower, not a shower. The record does start with an attention grabber, with the hard acoustic riff of "Born into a Light" reaching right out of the speakers and pulling the listener's ear close, and harkening to a return of the excellent sound Adams and crew mined on Cold Roses. But be careful - the song and all it's wonderful steel guitar, driving acoustics, and lazy-casual vocals goes by fast, maybe too fast. "We were born into a light," Adams sings, and this birth is a quick one.

"Go Easy" is pleasant enough, but every time I hear it, I expect to hear "Halloweenhead" from Adams' last record, Easy Tiger. Something about the chords reminds me of that latter song, but the tune is quite listenable regardless of what it calls to mind (again, for a reason I can't explain, the song also reminds of the Eagles, and part of me hopes that they would cover it. Such hopes are baseless and retarded, but hey, it's fun to dream). The song ends with Adams singing, "you gotta go, you gotta go now" repeatedly, and ends almost as quickly as the first track. In fact, the first four songs, and six of the album's twelve, clock in under three minutes.

"Fix It" slides in and continues the Cold Roses vibe, but with a distinct Neil Young feel, complete with ragged chopping guitar and slightly accusatory, revealing lyrics. The albums first real departure from the collective vibe comes next in "Magick," which is... simply bad-ass. Any song about a record just gets my blood going. The Cardinals doing a phenominal job of capturing the nasty sound of Rock N Roll-era Adams. Lyrically, Adams follows suit: "Everything you touch burns, scorched earth," sounds like a perfect line from that garage rock record.

I originally thought that "Cobwebs" was the song that held this release back from being a Shower - the song at first sounds a bit too bland. Even though it reminds me a my favorite Adams album - Love Is Hell - it just seemed... amateur. For Ryan Adams, anyway. But the song is sticky, and gets better with time, especially when you give it a spin listening to headphones. It's not perfect - Adams wailing at the end of the track doesn't really do anything positive for me, and kind of makes me long for the beginning of the song - but it is full of little ear candy, a guitar or steel guitar lick hidden here and there for your listening pleasure.

"Let Us Down Easy" is quintessential Adams and The Cardinals, if such a thing exists, all laziness and melody and a few stretches that keep it from being too samey. But "Crossed Out Name" really jumps out, starting with just Ryan's voice and a dual chugging acoustic guitars. "When I close my eyes, I feel like a page with a crossed out name," he sings, as piano chords fall in. "I wish I could tell you just how I am hurt," and the hits keep on coming. This song is fantastic - all mood and melody, heart on sleeve, scalpel in one hand and guitar pic in the other. It's an instant Adams classic.

The Cold Roses feel continues (which I consider a good thing) on "Natural Ghost," which features a great groove. It's also not the first song where Adams' voice brings to mind Willie Nelson, certainly in tone if not in phrasing (Willie is the coolest jazz cat around who isn't really a jazz cat, after all, and his odd ways of lyrical phrasing are totally unique and pretty hard to cop. the southern wispy drawl, however, lends itself well here to borrowing). The band then settles gently into the groovy "Sink Ships." You might wonder if Ryan is really saying anything here, other than his usual territory of love and growing up and living as a musical genius and misunderstood poet (because, you know, that is so hard), and to be honest, I am not sure he is. Lyrically, the album sounds pleasant without being too confrontational or too thought-provoking - there's enough buzz phrases ("the war is over") to keep it interesting, and the occasional triumph like "Crossed Out Name," but for the most part this is standard fare. And that isn't always a bad thing, especially when it leaves plenty of room for the amazing musicianship of the Cardinals, which is a very good thing.

"Evergreen lopes around at a nice, lazy country-jazz pace, with echoy steel guitar and a few flourishes of honky tonk piano. The easy vibe continues on "Like Yesterday," which gets awfully close to swarmy tripe '70's pop, closer than Adams has come before, as he continues to push his vocals into flowery falsetto ranges - not his best work, for sure. But the song isn't so bad as to bring the album down.

Cardinology ends with the pretty "Stop," a song that starts with just Ryan, singing and playing piano. It sounds all wounded and vulnerable - the way the best Ryan Adams song do. When the cymbals slowly chiming in and the pianos slow, we get typical Adams' lyrics: "Slow down/ you don't have to talk/ lie down/ breathe/ stop/ slow down/ it's not your fault," and what seems pretty simple and basic usually ends up endearing in Adams' hands. Strings creep in and almost overwhelm the last verse and chorus. Is it pretensious? Of course, it's Ryan Adams, but as a whole, Cardinology avoids some of the worst trappings that Adams falls into while staying neatly nestled into the things he does best - namely, solid tunecraft with a little emotional vulnerability and very hummable hooks.

Cardinology probably isn't going to win Ryan Adams any new fans, and it might only give his old ones enough of a taste of his best work to satisfy them for only so long, but it isn't a bad record. I'm not sure it meets the grand expectations that come with any Adams release, but it's a likeable, pleasant listen, with a few grabbers, a few toe-tappers, and a dud or two. And really, that's ok. It's ok to be a grower, not a shower. After all, so many of us can relate.

Waxed: Hayes Carll's Trouble In Mind

2008-12-16T12:58:00.002-05:00

Thank God for Hayes Carll.

From the opening violin run of “Drunken Poet’s Dream” to the last notes of the Americana Music Association’s Song of the Year, “She Left Me For Jesus,” Hayes Carll’s new album Trouble In Mind is a refreshing gust of familiar wind in a current culture of tired retreads, pop country, and fly-by-night television reality show stars.

Carll keeps his tongue planted firmly in cheek on most of Trouble In Mind, his third album and first for Lost Highway. And while the record brings to mind obvious influences (Steve Earle, Townes Van Zandt, et al), Carll manages to make his songs his own – as well as a few covers, too.

While it was hard to miss “She Left Me For Jesus,” it’s the song that opens the album, “Drunken Poet’s Dream,” that may be the best treat. Amidst traditional country instrumentation and Nashville swing, Carll delivers the kind of wry wit that Texas singer-songwriters are known for. The expert musicianship of producer/instrumentalist Brad Jones and the assorted veteran players compliments Carll’s Texas drawl and well-crafted lyrics so well that nothing ever detracts from the whole, and on the first track, that allows Hayes devilish story to unfold with earnest humor and infections, catching energy. When he sings, “I’ve got a woman she’s wild as Rome/ She likes to lay naked and be gazed upon,” you can’t help but listen, watch in your mind’s eye, and smile. This is a return to the carousing country music your parents warned you about, far from the sugary-sweetness of Nashville’s pop music machine.

Carll wrote or co-wrote 12 of the 14 tracks on the album, and on first listen you’ll have to try hard to not grasp his natural talent for songwriting. Though Carll visits familiar themes like love lost and solace in good (or bad) liquor, he delivers lyrics with fresh new twists that keep the listener tuned in to hear what is coming next, be it heartbreak or humor.

Hayes picks excellent covers for Trouble, too; “Bad Liver And A Broken Heart” rocks like the best country rock, sounding like The Eagles, The Stones, and, well, Hayes Carll, all at once. You wouldn’t expect it to be a song penned by Scott Nolan if you weren’t familiar with that songwriter’s work, Carll so expertly makes it his own. It takes guts to cover Tom Waits, and much more than that to do that artist’s songs justice, but Carll and his wonderful backing band do just that on Waits’ “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up.”

This record stands as a testament to real Country music, real Rock and Roll… real American music. Much of that comes from the well-documented dues Carll paid playing and living hard for his music. Nowhere is that more apparently and more pleasantly portrayed, than in “I Got A Gig.” The autobiographical tune is filled with Carll’s enjoyable wit and humor, but also with a real grit that lends it the weight of truth. Once again, the expert cast of musicians makes the tune sound like old friends who’ve been on the road forever, playing their version of the blues behind old chicken wire.

The best thing about Trouble is how damned good it is – there’s nary a miscue to be found. This is music for music lovers, the kind of record that makes its way to your car stereo, home theater, or trusty iPod, and stays there for a while. It’s a record that sounds lived in, and is meant to be lived in.

Of course, I’d be remiss to not mention the reason you might have heard of Hayes Carll to begin with – “She Left Me For Jesus.”

To be honest, the first time I heard the song, I got a kick out of it but it didn’t really stick with me until I bought the record and discovered the rest of the excellent tunes (I am an admitted newcomer to Hayes Carll) and, more importantly, Hayes’ impeccable wit and knack with a song. What sounded like fun kitsch became so much more, simply because so many examples of Hayes humor and intelligent word craft are scattered throughout Trouble In Mind.

It’s a great song to end a great record, and truth be told, the lyrics are a perfect wink-wink that true music fans should get (and apparently did, as evident by the AMA’s Song of the Year award). “She’s givin’ up whiskey and taken up wine/ She prays for his troubles and forgot about mine,” Carll sings, “I’m a gonna get even, I can’t handle the shame/ Why the last time we made love, she even called out his name.”

The song moves through the story of lost love in the verses to the punch line choruses with equal aplomb, Hayes joyfully singing with mock sadness. “She left me for Jesus, and that just ain’t fair/ She says that he’s perfect, how could I compare/ She says I should find him, and I’ll know peace at last/ But if I ever find Jesus, I’m kickin’ his ass.” The song even ends with the Amen cadence, so commonly heard at the end of church hymns, but with the lyric sheet delivering yet one more sly wink, as Hayes and singing out, “Ahhh, man.” It’s one last perfect step, a look both forward and back, to close this excellent record.

As they say, though, the proof is in the puddin’, but you’d be hard pressed to find a better Americana record this year than Hayes Carll’s Trouble In Mind. Give it a listen, and I am sure you’ll be singing along with these hell raising tunes in no time.

Under The Knife: Do You See The Way That Tree Bends?

2008-12-04T10:24:00.003-05:00

Long time, no post... I know. I'm workin' on it all, so get off my back. Without further delay:

From the first opening notes, the chiming melody played on an electric guitar, there is a hint that "Present Tense" is going to be a very special song.

Before it, there weren't many songs in the Pearl Jam catalog that started with just one spare and lonely electric guitar, and one vocal melody. Two tracks, two sounds, alone in a room, communicating.

The song is so different from everything before it, just like the album it comes from, 1996's No Code. A break from the stylistic mode of '90's grunge and alternative rock that Pearl Jam helped create, No Code is a stunning departure for a band who, had they chosen to play the part scripted them, would be on top of the world. As it were, though, Eddie Vedder and company decided to pull back - sticking to their no vidoes policy, thus shunning MTV's massive publicity machine. They also became less and less accessible to the media, pretty much shutting out the press entirely. No marketing campaigns. No interviews. No videos. Just music.

Because of the intense celebrity media attention they received at the outset of the alternative revolution, which became even more intense when Kurt Cobain committed suicide, Pearl Jam became increasingly introspective with thier music, as well. Some would call them anit-social, and hellbent on committing career suicide. No one knew then what we know now - that they are the elder statesmen of rock, less a grunge or alternative band and more just an incredibly good and sincere rock band. The missing link between the massive media explosion after Ten and the current lean classic rock machine and stadium-dominating tour-happy Jam we see now, then, is undoubtedly No Code.

As you may have guessed, I could go on and on about the music contained on this album. It is such a wonderful collective piece of music, and is essential to the band's lengthy and decorated career, not only for being perceived as a giant letdown to record lables and media pundits (and for some fans), but also for stretching the band into new and uncharted realms (for them and their music), stretches that would ultimately to some of their later experimentation and some of their strongest songwriting ever. The good thing about No Code is that all the experiments work, and in and of themselves are incredible gifts of song.

And for me, the greatest of these is the song "Present Tense."

"Do you see the way that tree bends? Does it inspire? Leaning out to catch the suns rays... a lesson to be applied." Eddie starts by asking these simple questions and offering this wonderful, achingly honest observation - after a half decade of pressure and trying to flee fame, maybe it was better to be positive, thankful, better to reach out, be inspired? He ends the first verse, with Mike McCready's chiming, mellow, ethereal guitar stretching out behind the vocals, with another question. "Are we getting something out of this all-encompassing trip?"

To a casual fan, this could just be an introspective mantra, and it is, but it's also so much more. This is a band wrestling with thier demons, their mercurial lead singer giving voice to frustration, disappointment, disillusionment. "You can spend your time alone, redigesting past regrets," Vedder sings in the chorus. "Or you can come to terms and realize you're the only one who cannot forgive yourself." The words are so effortless, so penetrating, both so personal and yet so universal. "Makes much more sense to live in the present tense."

I won't let, the song itself has been like a prayer for me, from the day I heard up until now, and I am sure, going forward. The words always seem to penetrating whatever I am going through. They are always meaningful, always relevant.

We're treated to a little more instrumentation in the second verse, as it builds with a beautiful acoustic guitar accompanyment. The words, again, are intoxicating in their beauty. The song sounds so much more like a conversation between close friends than just... lyrics.

" Have you ideas on how this life ends? Checked your hands and studied the lines. Have you the belief that the road ahead, ascends off into the light? Seems that needlessly it's getting harder too find an approach and a way to live. Are we getting something out of this all-encompassing trip?" This builds to another sparse chorus, this one more forceful, as drums creep in cymbal washes and the chiming guitar carries throughout the rest of the chorus. It's emotive and emotional. It just has the je ne sais quois. And that's all before...

The jam. One thing Pearl Jam has always done - Stone and Jeff were doing it back in their Mother Love Bone days, actually - is write incredible bridges and musical interludes. Often these are purely instrumental, and some close some of the best songs the band has written. "Present Tense" gets this magic-bridge treatment, and to wonderous effect. Out of the chorus, the band launches into one of their trademark grooves - heavy on the classic rock funk of the '70's. Vedder adds some chanting, but in this case it adds to the real treat - a monster jam thrown down by Jeff, Stone, Mike and the drummer Jack Irons. They ride a simple chord like a wave, and then let it crest, becoming bigger and bigger until it breaks.

The song ends like a wave breaking, crashing down into something beautiful, as the chiming guitar from the very first notes of the song returns, bringing with it its sweet melody. This time bass, drums, and another chiming guitar adding a strong, sweeping arppegiated counter-melody come along for the ride. Together the instruments lock up and ride the gentle drift back to shore, slowly fading out.

If that sounds a little melodramatic, as a description of a song, well, trust me, it isn't. The song is damn-near perfect, emotional and sweeping, epic by less-is-more, soaring in the way the Pearl Jam make a song do so well. Those familiar with the lost treasure "Hard To Imagine" might instantly see the connection between these two songs. Where "Hard To Imagine" wouldn't fit the stylistic tone of early Pearl Jam on Vs., here the band has created an album where "Perfect Tense" is the perfect fit, and an excellent way to sum up the entire No Code experience. For an album that was so named because it was "full of code," said Vedder, this song stands as a striking example to the tongues the band was speaking in, and the full effect they could have on a listener who really listened, who got involved with the music. The experience of hearing this song live only makes it that much sweeter. All the power and epic-quality of the tune is magnified in the live setting, McCready's excellent fret work and Vedder's soaring vocals taking the song, and fans, to another realm entirely.

And while No Code, and "Present Tense," may not make many critics "best of" lists, you'll find many a hardcore Pearl Jam fan that points to this album as the band's true Rosetta Stone. It holds the keys to understand their personalities, their struggles, their failures and their victories, their weaknesses and their strenghts, and most important of all, their humanity.

Miller High Lite: It's a conspiracy by the Man?

2008-10-14T21:24:00.008-04:00

Recently in a poll conducted by VIBE magazine, Eminem was voted the Best Rapper Alive beating out the likes of Jay-Z, Mos Def, and everyone who just got recognized on the Hip Hop Honors. Em not only won, but by a 61%-39% margin. It wasn't even close. Everything I read about it sounded as if people were stunned that this was the case. Not only that, but it really seemed to be racially motivated amazement. This poses a strange conundrum...can a white boy really hold this title?

The roots of rap music, or hip hop depending on what you want to call it, date pretty far back. Whether you're talking about the oral histories passed down from African tribe to tribe, or the social commentaries rhythmically spoken over back beats in the early 70s, hip hop has been predominately a way for African Americans to express themselves, pass down tradition, and empower their listeners and peers to make a difference. Groups like Public Enemy and KRS One called out to make changes in their communities and in the country as a whole. They spoke of the abilities everyone had to make a difference. It was also a way for these musicians to speak of the hardships that they faced growin up in a society that looked down upon them.

In the 80s a new message began to immerge. It was one of sex, violence, and drugs. The genre known as "Gangsta Rap" was born. Artists like NWA wrote about gang violence, abusing alcohol, and treating women as objects. Artists like 2 Live Crew took the later even further and rhymed almost entirely about promiscuity and sexual deviance. The messages had changed from empowerment to excess and glorifying a life of illegality.

The 90s than ushered in a time of straight decadence. Violence was replaced with money, money, and more money. It was all about living a lifestyle. More cars, more money, and more women. The one with the most toys ruled the roost. The issues discussed in the 70s and 80s were still around, just not nearly as visible in the forefront of the genre. Rap music changed and morphed and grew just like any other style.

So then, where does the white man fit into this music born of social exile and struggle. Historically the white man has always stolen from so-called "black music" to make themselves stars. Rock-n-Roll was amped up blues. The whole Elvis thing is an entire post of it's own, but it's a great example of that. The things is though, we're not stealing the music and making something different persay, we're just making the same kind of music. So the real question is, is it a mockery of what made Hip Hop so special to have white boys doing it?

Now over time there has definitely been attempts at rap music by white boys that have left much to be desired. The whole Vanilla Ice debacle really put a stain on the possibilities of white rappers. He was such a farce and really made it look like we were mocking the struggles of those who had paved the way for Hip Hop. There have been highlights though over the years that began to show a unity of races and a general acceptance of white man's involvement. Enter the "cross-over". The two biggest cross-overs being of course Anthrax/Public Enemy and Aerosmith/Run DMC. These musical ballets showed the correlation of Rock music and Rap music and showed the two could exist harmoniously together. The other big step into this realm was The Beasti Boys. Three jewish, white kids from New York who took their punk roots and slowly turned them into one of the biggest and most respected hip hop careers of all time. They set precedences for sampling with Paul's Boutique and just generally made some of the most inventive music to hit the scene.

So now what? Guys like Beastie Boys and House of Pain came along and said hey, we can do this too. The genre said, yes, you can. Now the door was open. Well, one of the things that happened was an eruption of what has generally referred to as Rip Rock, for lack of a better term. This is what artists like Limp Bizkit, Korn, 311, and Rage Against The Machine kind of fell into. It was again the mix of rock music with lyrics rapped over it. But yet again, this is a topic for a different post. The other thing that happened though was one of the most respected producers and MCs of our time, Dr. Dre, stumbled across this little white kid from Detroit by the name of Marshal. He fell in love and put his reputation on the line by saying this kid is the next big thing.

Was Em really that different from those who came before him though? Born into poverty, abused by his mother and his peers, struggled with drugs, and struggled with relationships. He found something he loved in Hip Hop and used it to release all his angst and emotions and did so with much more intellect and speed than a lot of those making millions doing the same thing. He was innovative and still is. He has an industry hard hitter in Dre behind him. He has his group D12 to give him street cred. And to top it all off he still has baby-mama drama. All of these things aside, he's one of the top-selling artists of over the last 10 years in any genre. He has a succesful clothing line. And he's done what no one else has done before him and that's make a legitimate name for white rappers. You simply can't deny him his place in the history of Hip Hop.

But is he the "Best Alive"? I don't know, I couldn't say. But could he be? Why not? Does him being white really make that much of a difference? It shouldn't.

Waxed: Marah's If You Didn't Laugh You'd Cry

2008-10-09T14:47:00.004-04:00

A few years back, I got myself into this interesting little relationship with a girl from Pittsburgh that ended up being not so little. One of the best things about this tryst was her passion for music. Even though we didn’t have the exact same tastes, her passion for music was the closest I have ever seen anyone come to my own.

It was a good deal for building a relationship. We made each other mixtapes like crazy, and it became a big game to find something new, special, and mind-blowing to show to the other person. Released on October 18th, 2005, Marah’s If You Didn’t Laugh You’d Cry was one such album I discovered on this quest for finding the perfect songs to share with my lover.

I reviewed it in February 2006 on my Xanga blog, now just a repository of old memories. We had just seen the band in concert, and the two of us were incredibly blown away. It was in this really quiet, small townie bar in Columbus, Ohio. Fuck if it wasn’t the loudest show I have ever been to, maybe outside of Sunny Day Real Estate. I always felt bad about this show; confession: we sat in chairs for most of the show. By we, I mean most of the entire audience, us included. The bad grew visibly annoyed throughout the set until, towards the end of their performance, they broke down, and pretty much walked off the stage and started pulling people up, motioning along the small bar floor for us all to stand. We obliged (we being her and I) and a few more people did as well, and they returned and finished their set. It’s a sad story to relate – my gal and I had been walking all day, and that’s our best excuse – because they seriously rocked hard. I mean, HARD.

Anyway, I reviewed If You Didn’t Laugh You’d Cry in February 2006, and compared it to some of the greatest rock and roll albums ever: Exile On Main Street, The White Album, and Highway 61 Revisited. Here, damn near two and half years later and three years after its release, I can say with some meager authority that this blog and my history as a rock and roll, uh, historian, that this album deserves to be placed alongside those bastions of the rock pantheon. It’s an old dinosaur of an album, in all of the best ways.

The album has this little theme running through it – a little musical interlude that opens and “closes” the album (that is, besides the hidden track that really closes the album). It also blossoms into it’s own song, “Sooner or Later,” which is what I call the theme – the “Sooner or Later theme,” which I will now paraphrase from now on out at the “SoLt.” It is one of the most catchy pieces of music you’ll ever hear, and it is even sweeter in its song form.

There has always been something about this album that resonates with me. This is a heart album, a chest album – full of emotion and feeling. It is, for me, forever linked to that period of my life, that of the interesting little relationship that wasn’t so little. Maybe that’s why I put it on such a high pedestal. Honestly, I have played the album for several other people, including people who I think know their way around music, and I am always astonished when they don’t proclaim it the best fucking thing they’ve heard in years (or even months or weeks). I view it as nothing short of spectacular.

“So What if We’re Outta Tune (W/The Rest of the World)” was one of those tunes that made it on one of those mix CDs. With lines like, “ooh, lover, I only sing for you,” I found it wonderfully romantic. And, it is. It’s one of those “we’re all alone but we’re together” type of songs. Musically, it pairs a sweet finger-picked guitar with a gentle banjo, and adds little flourishes here and there, like finger snaps and swelling background vocals.

But I digress. The album kicks off with the “SoLt,” then kicks into high gear with “The Closer.” Yes, I do consider it pure genius to name the opening song on your album “The Closer,” but this track is more than just a name. And yes, I do mean kicks into high gear. Frantic guitar and drums meet spit-fire vocals and silly nonsensical lyrics. You immediately are infected with… fun. “Barbeque chips like me, I spot the jelly inside your Crispy Crème!” and “Put a Mississippi pickle in your Brooklyn Buns for free, says me!” are just some of the fun lyrics in the song, which also includes a phone call conversation, between David Bielanko and someone – does it matter who it is? This song is simply infectious, and rocks hard.

The feeling of fun continues on “The Hustle,” the second track. It continues the loud, brash, bar-band assault of the opener, ending in an angular, melodic slash-n-burn guitar solo that – no joke – turns into a disco rave up. As the bass pounds out the 2 a.m. plus dance beats, the guitar continues its caterwaul and crawls to a jolting thump. The song also illustrates David’s street-wise poet lyrics. “I heard a rumor that time, is really just a light in a box in your mind,” he sings, and I’m not sure what the means, but damn I want it. His alternately sung/spit/shouted vocal delivery carries each tune, even as the music gets catchier and catchier. His voice is the thread that sews it all up, though the music contributions of Serge Bielanko (Dave’s brother, who also plays guitar, sings, writes, and plays multiple other instruments), guitarist Adam Garbinski, drummer Dave Peterson, and bass-man/keyboardist Kirk Henderson can not be understated.

The album really begins to represent itself, though, on the third track, “City of Dreams.” Not much on this album brings to mind summer. It, to me, is a squarely fall/winter album. Again, this perception may be wrapped up in my own wintry biography surrounding the album, but objectivity be damned; this is a winter album. “City of Dreams” is light, almost jaunty, and uplifting. It always reminds me of walking in Columbus, with my girl, bundled up and holding hands, walking from downtown into the section nearby the university. Perhaps that’s why the wintery feel of this album begins with this song. “City of dreams, you don’t know what it means… to only dream about it, I know, I know…” It may not mean much at first, but this song, like so many on this album, pulls at the heartstrings, and again, as elsewhere, the interplay of the music, vocals, and lyrics on “City of Dreams” is perfectly complimentary.

It doesn’t end there, that wintery feel, but it goes on the back-burner for another barn-burner of a song: “Fat Boy.” This song is akin to the first two. Reckless fun and silliness ensue, along with some tasty slide guitar and hand claps. There sound’s like there’s some harmonica going to town in there, too. It feels like you’ve stumbled into the greatest bar party ever. Opening with a request to cut the current noise the band is making and a 1-2-3 count-off, and ending with a wonderful rave-up, crash-landing-type ending, the song fits neatly within the fun and joyous spirit of the album. Which may be better described as musical salvation. Some music makes you happy, some sad, some sorrowful and depressed, and others angry. This album, as a whole, is the kind of save-your-soul rock and roll that bands only dream about writing and playing. The emotions contained are myriad, but overall the hopeful feel of the entire album lends it this messianic quality.

The listener is next greeted with “Sooner or Later,” big brother to the “SoLt,” an another acoustic song. “Don’t expect much these days buddy, a couple of beers and life is so funny,” singer Dave Bielanko sings. “You’ll be coming back sooner or later, and we’ll be waiting for you.” The stick drumming, slide guitar, hoots and hollers throughout the tune add to its already considerable charm. It sounds like something that old friends and bandmates would play on a tour bus late at night, or at someone’s place after the show – the places where drunken fun and honest music just ooze out. It is also roots music at its finest. Marah is one of those all-American bands, whose music encompasses a wide variety of influences and tends to get labeled as Americana or Roots Rock or even Alternative Country.

That brings us back to “So What If We’re Outta Tune,” where something magical happens. When compact discs were invented, someone figured out you could put sound on the album in negative seconds. The trend tended to die off quickly I though. But Marah resurrects it here, before this song, to embedded a pump/church organ piece that introduces “So What…” quite well. Again, not enough can be said about this song. It serves as the middle of the album, and as the centerpiece as well. That feeling of being hard-up, but at least you have your sweetheart, and the continued feeling of it being a lonely, cold song, vividly bring to mind winter.

“The Demon of White Sadness” begins with another one of those “hidden track,” negative seconds pieces – this time a harmony-vocal chorus piece. It’s striking and a great addition to the most lyrically tough songs on the album. The “demon” sounds like a drug dealer at first, and maybe later the drugs themselves. The song lends Dave’s lyrics a wonderful romanticism that can only be understood by those having either been addicted to a drug themselves, or to the family of those who have been through it. The music, while not acoustic, still has that wistful winter sound, and that’s part of what lends the song its romantic vibe. Great piano throughout the track, too.

Serge makes his singing debut on the album with “The Dishwasher’s Dream.” “Dream” is squarely in the Dylan singer-songwriter tradition, with chugging, driving acoustic guitars, rollicking piano, brushed drums and harmonica, and lyrics that tell a story about, well, a dishwasher and a nightmare he and his lover share. “I recall to a time when hope was our friend, instead of this bitch that we hate,” Serge sings as the Dishwasher, speaking to his love. The song is quite descriptive. I’ll never forget the first time I heard it, crossing the border from West Virginia into Pennsylvania, in the middle of a snow-storm, as I drove out to see my baby. Again, the personal connect to winter exists for me because of all the little anecdotal stories that I remember when listening to If You Didn’t Laugh, You’d Cry, but the current of sad hope that this album floats on is too close to comfort to not feel like the cycle of death and rebirth that takes hold in winter.

“We should not be living this life like this,” Dave bellows in “Poor People,” another street-poet story, an increasingly poignant one. The current economic crisis makes this song ring truer than ever before. The bad ass music – a return to the jovial bar band noise of earlier tunes on the album – picks you up and begins the comfortable, cycle towards then end of this magnificent album, the lead guitar licks becoming cyclical themselves. The little jam at the end of the song adds to the friendly, in-on-the-secret-of-the-best-barband-in-town-sound of the whole record.

If you needed any more proof that this is a winter album, the largest nail in that coffin comes in the next tract, “Walt Whitman Bridge,” a personal favorite track that always picks me up. Despite the hard luck situation of the song’s protagonist, there’s a sincere hope when Dave sings, “Far away from these winter streets, on a cloudless day, your memory blows away from me.” Talk of coffee and cigarettes are just some of the graphic detail of life for the down-and-out character. The band magnificent weaves a tapestry around Dave’s voice and acoustic guitar, with piano, steel guitar, and cascading electric guitar adding substance to another perfect storytelling song. This is a song you should really listen to, over and over, to soak up every little nuance, because they are all perfect and perfectly wonderful.

Now, if you needed even more proof that this is a winter album, AND a story-tellers album, “The Apartment” should put all the women and children to bed for you. Case closed. A road song that could only be written by a musician on tour, missing his lover, “The Apartment” is heartbreaking in its sadness and amazing warm in its heartfelt love. Not to mention those bad ass mariachi horns! “I hear your name in the pumping of gas,” Serge sings (this being his second, and last, lead vocal spot on the album). “Tonight I just want to come back to our apartment in the city.” More of the rootsy instrumentation makes this tune shine. If you’re not a fan of this band by the end of this album, you must be a musical idiot, because there aren’t many bands left, American or otherwise, who can cover so much musical and emotional territory as this band.

The album ends with “The End,” appropriately, which at first seems like it’s just a return to the “SoLt.” That in and of itself would’ve been a fine end to this amazing album, but it isn’t the end. A few seconds after it fades out, the closing song creeps in, pumping guitar and volume swells. The lyrics are my favorite from the album… hell, the whole song is my favorite thing about this album. It combines everything perfectly. This song will get you all worked up. “Maybe its this time, when we’ll make somebody smile,” and “Ever since I saw your face, I have been a star in space, shining down on your street.” It’s so perfect… the brilliant lead guitar work, the harmony vocals, the driving rhythm section. Fuck. This band breaks my heart. And it breaks my heart that you aren’t listening to them. So go buy this album – right now. Put it on, in your car or at home with a glass of red wine or a nice heavy beer, smoke a cigarette, and relive every great romantic and meaningful moment of your life.

Yeah, they’re kind of like that.

PS – if you need more proof, damnit, go read Heather’s excellent post about these guys, over on the I Am Fuel, You Are Friends music blog. She’s smart and knows her shit (aside from the occasional Wilco hiccup, but I will forgive that because, you know, the blatant Pearl Jam worship) and has lead me to so much wonderful music in the past few years. If I can’t set you straight on Marah with a 2,500 word count review of If You Didn’t Laugh, You’d Cry, well, maybe you’ll listen to her.

Marah post from January 2006

I Am Fuel, You Are Friends general site

Waxed: Say Anything's ... Is A Real Boy

2008-10-03T14:54:00.002-04:00

“Eat… sleep, fuck, and flee… in four words, that’s me.”

These lines, which come courtesy of Say Anything songwriter/mad ringleader Max Bemis, have pretty much been lodged in my brain since the moment I heard them. They seem to perfectly capture the “generation millennium” attitude towards relationships, and life in general.

These lines are preceded by this missive: “Shit! Nothing makes sense, so I won’t think about it. I’ll go with the ignorance.” Insert the “eat, sleep, fuck and flee” line here, and wrap it up with: “I am full of indifference.” There is a stanza custom made for a generation of fuck-and-fleers, a spoiled generation raised with anything – information, communication, money, cell phones, video games, drugs and alcohol - they ever wanted at the tips of their fingers. I know, because I am one of them (born 1980, graduated high school in ’99, college in 2003).

I still remember the first time I heard Say Anything’s …Is A Real Boy, in my buddy Rob’s car. Listening to anything in the car with Rob is an exercise in patience that ends in futility. Rob constantly changes songs, and CDs (and later iPod tracks – one of the reasons I hate iPods, they make it too easy to NOT listen). If you make it completely through one whole tune, with no skipping ahead to a guitar solo, rewinding to hear some Iron Maiden-esque scream, or skipping ahead to a complete new song or album, you’d consider yourself lucky.

As such, with my first exposure to Say Anything coming in this way… all I heard was “fuck” and “shit” and a lot of bad words. Now, I can swear like a sailor, and sometimes (often?) do – but I’ve always held that music shouldn’t need to be vulgar to make a point. A little here and there for color is wonderful, but when every other word is something you’d get your mouth washed out with soap for saying, it’s a little out of hand. And, based on my lightening quick, skip ahead/behind, RVC introduction to Say Anything, I dismissed Max Bemis as just another whiny emo punk who needed a mouth full of Dawn liquid dish detergent.

And then I heard it again, a few years later. And I heard the line, “Eat… sleep, fuck and flee… in four words that’s me.” And I was hooked.

If I may be a little metaphysically critical of my writing here, one of the weaknesses that I have noticed in my latest writings on music has been a tendency to not explore as deeply the lyrics of the music I am reviewing. I thought of this last night, as I listened to the album I (sort of) reviewed yesterday. When I thought, “hey, I’d like to focus a review on lyrics; what would be a good album to review based on lyics?,” I quickly came up with Say Anything’s debut.

And the record begins with a song of rebellion.

Say Anything – which, at the point of this recording, is really just Bemis playing most everything, and a friend on drums – kick things off with the heavy, punky “Belt.” The song spans quite a few genres, musically speaking. But it’s the cathartic chorus that really jumps out and grabs you, with the shouted, “Hey, this is something I have to do for myself!” The song IS a song of rebellion. “I ignored the sheep and shepherds on the way,” Bemis snarls/speaks. His sarcastic, spitting delivery propels the song through inventive verses and chorus until the song’s coda, “what’s say you and all your friends step up to my friends in the alley tonight?”

The inventive music – an amalgam of so many styles, from punk to 50’s surf rock, continues to impress on “Woe,” but again the lyrics stand out. “All the words in my mouth, that the scene deemed unworthy of letting out, banded together to form a makeshift militia and burrowed bloodily through my tongue and my teeth.” You get the distinct impression that Max Bemis is one VERY damaged individual – picked on, picked at, angry and ready to explode.

One of the best things about the musical mood swings of Say Anything is the flat-out bad-ass rock that accompanies lyrics that beg you to sing along. If you’re not screaming along to every chorus and coda, then you’ve never felt down and out, left out, heart-broken, depressed of left behind. This is music to go to emotional and sexual war to.

You can pull great, dagger-like one liners from any song on this album. “The Writhing South” provides us this gem: “Across the room, across the room, I hope to watch you writhe again.” Bemis seems like the type of guy who wants to get laid, needs to get laid, gets laid, and hates the girls he has sex with. Hate isn’t even the best word. Loathe is more appropriate. But, in a refreshing twist from the “woe is me” self loathing of most modern “emo” bands, Bemis’ loathing is pointed at others – sexual conquests, sexual rejects, authority figures, fake scenesters, et al.

It’s also readily apparent, from the end of “The Writhing South” and into the mock ‘50’s beginning of “Alive with the Glory of Love,” that Bemis doesn’t take himself too seriously. In fact, it is so apparent that he does has a sense of humor that sometimes it is hard to separate what is a scathing attack on something or someone from a tongue-in-cheek joke. However, you might be having so much fun reveling in it all that you won’t give a fuck.

“Alive…” shows off the band’s considerable chops, and Bemis’ melodies really jump out. It should be noted that the guitar playing on this album is fucking incredible. The whole of the music, actually, is quite striking. If you’ve only heard of or seen Say Anything at your local Hot Topic or from trendy teens wearing trendy teen t-shirts, then you’ve missed out on the genius of Say Anything: that they managed to infect the modern music post-emo scene with music that only barely resembles the flavor-of-the-day nature of that scene. I guarantee that 90% of the bands that the Hot Topic kids worship can’t play half as good as Bemis, or write music as driving, catchy, and intoxicating as this.

My favorite song on the record has been, since I bought it and first heard this song, “Yellow Cat (Slash) Red Cat.” “The feline war” is on in this one, as Bemis spins a tale that is strange but so relatable. The protagonist is who he is – observer, toiling away. “These are my days, this is how they stay,” he says. “I watch this guy dude each night, same table,” Bemis rattles on. “He feeds me quotes, that lonely goat… I will not stop him when he rambles, I’m becoming one myself.” The twisted tale doesn’t just end there – between friends needing sex for healing and getting high, we get this scathing review of life: “As I look back at countless crossroads and the middle where I stay, right up the beaten path to boredom where the fakest fucks get laid by the faux-finest finds; It’s been that way and god damn you, how you stay with every scrummy crummy hour of the scrummy, crummy day.”

“The Futile” arrives and delivers our favorite observation on modern relationships, full of fucking and fleeing and whining and growing old and, of course, how futile it all is. “Spidersong” takes a predatory twist on the modern dating scene, making it seem like sex is so wanted and apparently so close, only to reveal that our hero is “too stoned to leave my bed. I’ll write this song to win your kiss but stay asleep instead.”

This album is nothing if not desperate. Song after song peals away layers of self-consciousness, fear of death, desire for lustful sex, fear of rejection, and more. It doesn’t approach this with as much self-loathing as you’d think, though, as I said earlier. At times, there’s an air of casual, “this is the way it is” acceptance. At other times, it’s fueled by anger and lust. The lyrics also share more with the lyrics of grunge-era rock and roll, filled with stories of struggle but of little to no surrender. And, when there is surrender, you get the sense it was done in order to hurt someone else.

Let me put it another way: …Is A Real Boy is the ultimate hate-fuck album.

Don’t believe me? Take one listen to “Every Man has a Molly.” It is fucking brilliant. It’s the sound of an ended relationship – all in your head, the way things get twisted, the way you hurt yourself thinking. “Molly Connolly just broke up with me over the revealing nature of the songs,” Bemis sings. “I can’t stop thinking about what she did wrong to me,” the song gleefully exclaims in the end. “I can’t figure out just what I did wrong. I’ll kill myself thinking about the things that you did to me.”

It is disturbed, but sometimes so gleefully disturbed that you don’t know whether to sing along and dance, or cry and shut it off. Thankfully, the music becomes so infectious that you forget that the lyrics of “Slowly, Through a Vector” are so graphic that they’re distasteful. You soon will also be singing “I watch them cut, I watch them touch.”

This is unrelenting, stream-of-conscious, not fit for the psychologist’s couch but fit for late night conversations with your fucked up friends, nuclear holocaust kind of warfare. The more you listen to the lyrics and embedded yourself in the music and the album as a whole, you realize that you invested not in a good time or good tunes, but in some kind of musical therapy. This is the type of album you don’t want your parents to find or hear. Your Christian friends would piss down their leg, curse you as Satan, and run away after hearing many of these songs. And me… I love it all. The violence, the scars, the loathing, the cathartic release.

“I Want to Know Your Plans” turns in one of the albums softest spots. It is an effecting ballad that reassures you that this mad genius Bemis has a heart, even if it so far has been twisted and black. This song is hopeful, and comes as a breath of fresh air, a moment’s respite right before Bemis loads up his last bullet and pulls the trigger.

In the album’s closing track, “Admit It!!!,” Bemis points the finger at his listeners. Where before he leads his minions through their pains and trials and tribulations, here he asks, “what do you have to say for yourself?” He spits barb after barb at the trendiness of the hipster culture, the emo culture, even his own band and “celebrated.” He takes aim at the geeks that bitch about jocks and make fun of so-called normal people. He unleashes on his primary audience, then rips out a manifesto, before cranking up a sarcastic, damning self-critique. He returns to his declaration of pride in his accomplishments, and leads us through more musical sweetness, and leaves us with one last missive. “When I’m dead, I’ll rest, I’ll rest!”

And like that, the album ends with a song of rebellion, with nothing but ashes left in its wake. It’s a damn fine way to go out, and one helluva ride along the way.

The Rising Tide

2008-10-02T15:49:00.007-04:00

Editor's Note: Not so much an album review as a biographical story. Still bad ass, though, so read away...

Sunny Day Real Estate is responsible for me forming my first real band.

It was a cool morning in October (October 24, 2000, to be exact), three friends (Rob, Wes, and Cory) loaded into one of our cars and began the decently-distant trek to the Midwestern Mecca of underage rock and roll: Bogarts in Cincinnati.

In Indiana, you can’t get into any clubs or bars until you are of legal drinking age, but in Ohio, you could get into clubs if you were 18 or older. Bogarts became the place to go to see your favorite bands play. When we heard Sunny Day Real Estate was coming through Cinci, we bought tickets and planned a trip around the Tuesday night show. I remember having an exam the next day, and I knew it would be a long day. Still, the temptation of seeing the legendary SDRE was far too great to pass this up.

I started going to school at Indiana University in Bloomington, IN, in the fall of 1999. After arriving on campus, I became involved with two organizations that would both heavily impact my musical journey and overall life: WIUS 1570 AM, the campus radio station, and Campus Crusade for Christ, a Christian fellowship organization. I soon was a deejay at WIUS, and a guitar-player in the praise band at IUCCC.

By my senior year, I would not be involved with either org – 19 credit hours a semester was a reason, disillusionment with my judgmental “brothers and sisters” would be another, and missing the deadline to be on the airwaves yet another – but for the first three years of college, both organizations played a central role in much of what I did on and off campus.

I met Wes and Cory through Rob. Cory was from Rob’s hometown. Wes was the singer in the praise band at IUCCC, and Rob was the fellow who brought me, along with my future ex-fiance, to IUCCC. Rob lived on the same floor as I did in our dorm (Wright Quad – holla, rowdy Rollins!). Soon after my first visit to IUCCC, I got involved with the band, and so began playing music with Wes.

At the same time, I was spending one day a week spinning records on WIUS. I started off with a terrible time slot – 4 to 6 in the morning – that I would love to have back. It was amazing. Later, I was able to get an afternoon time slot. Rob would frequently join me on these winter trips all the across campus to get to the studio, and, frozen, we invaded the airwaves with our brand of rock and roll. Slowly, though, we picked through records that looked interesting or that we have heard about it, and we found more and more interesting music.

Bloomington is a virtual paradise for music lovers – of all kinds. Classical and Jazz have legs there, great legs, thanks to the school of music and the myriad venues available to perform and listen to those types of music. But, there is also a seedy underbelly to Bloomington – a whole slew of record stores, venues, bands, artists, and radio stations that deal in Indie Rock and underground music. This is indie rock as independent rock – small record labels, unheard of bands, local talent, etc. – not the label used to describe a certain style of music, though those kind of bands certainly were around back then.

In this musical paradise, I discovered a slowly-growing form of music that came to be known as “emo.” Now, before you throw up, use profanity, piss on your computer, or take some other drastic action just because of the mere mention of that term, please realize that back then, that term wasn’t loaded like it is today. It described a form of music that sounds nothing like the music, bands, people and culture it is used to describe today.

There are usually two bands that are credited with the creation of the old-term kind of “emo” as a genre of music: Rites of Spring and Sunny Day Real Estate.

Sitting in the studios at WIUS, a discovered an odd-looking CD, something with fantastic artwork, including some odd orange-red sunburst thing on black matte background, and full of strange images and neatly scribed lyrics. It was the album How It Feels To Be Something On, by Sunny Day Real Estate. We had this rating system at WIUS, where a song got one to four stars, based on how “good” it was in the eyes/ears of the reviewer, with four being the best. The first song on the record, “Pillars,” had been rated a four. I played that song, and instantly fell in love with the band.

After that first play, SDRE became a staple of my radio shows, with “Pillars,” “How It Feels To Be Something On,” “Every Shining Time You Arrive,” “8,” “In Circles,” “Seven,” and more all becoming favorite tracks. SDRE served as a bridge into several other bands and albums. But nothing really ever came close to matching their sound: churning guitars and chiming melodies, whisper-to-scream-to-angelic vocals, elliptical and poetic lyrics, pounding poly-rhythms. They were (and still are) unlike any other band I had ever heard. They were singular, and singularly amazing.

So when the new album The Rising Tide came out, we all bought it. When the tour was announced and tickets went on sale, we got tickets to the show in Cinci. And we stood three rows of people back from the loudest concert I have ever been to. The volume isn’t even describable… and yet the sound cut through, too. You could hear each instrument, could here the vocals cut through the mix.

The band’s history is well-documented. The break-ups, the line-up shifts, the early singles, the no-shows-in-California stance. Their music grew, changed. What started like a hurricane became tempered with time, but no less forceful, powerful, emotional, and passionate.

With every album, Sunny Day’s passionate fans would both decry and uphold the albums. Each album has its supporters and detractors. It is telling that their albums have been so different, certainly if one compares the last one with the first one. Still, most fans embraced every incarnation of the band and its majestic sound.

Even with this, though, the last album, The Rising Tide, was seen by some as a sell-out, with softer songs, less anger, and the appearance of synthesizers on my songs. It became a point to question what was going on with this album. It was the album that most fans pointed to as their least favorite, at least at first (check out concert reviews from 2000 – fans are still questioning the album and its impact then, proof that it wasn’t seen as an immediate success). This line of thinking was, in a word, wrong.

The first song off of The Rising Tide was quintessential Sunny Day. “Killed By An Angel” had propulsive driving, crashing guitars, and Jeremy Enigk’s trademark vocals. It was merely the first shot of a one-two punch that would open an album that would be the most lush, majestic, and opulent one would create. “One,” the second track, would continue the aggressive nature of the first song, albeit in a more major-key way. Still, the presence of “major 7” chords, long another trademark staple of the Sunny Day sound, were present everywhere on this track.

“Rain Song” was the first quiet, more pop-oriented song. At first listen, it does sound quite distant from this band’s normally loud, thunderous songwriting, but it did fit nicely with what Enigk had done on his first solo album, Return of the Frog King. Still, the song showed a depth of songwriting, a step further from some of the ballads on How It Feels…, and it would serve as a brief interlude between the first two blistering tracks and the next two.

“Disappear” took a disjointed, Eastern-sounding scale riff and built on it a song that ebbed, flowed, built into a tidal wave and broke into a melodic fury that the band rode out for the rest of the song. “Snide” was a song drenched in synths, but one that still exhibited the stomp and thunder of typical old SDRE songs.

“The Ocean,” though, sounds to me like the band’s biggest – and best – leap forward. Here, cascading drums meet melodies that roll and tumble, evoking the song’s namesake. The song again showed a depth in songwriting that wasn’t present on the band’s first albums, one that they had cultivated from How It Feels… to charming effect. Keyboards and strings added much to the album’s overall sound, and are quite evident here.

On The Rising Tide, Sunny Day Real Estate were at their most Led Zeppelin. They combined their previously heavy, raging efforts with both a more acoustic sound and an ear towards the music of other cultures. Like “Disappear,” the song “Fool In The Photograph” sounded distinctly Eastern at times, and even U2-ish in the bridge, marrying melody with atmosphere.

“Tearing In My Heart” continued this album’s use of effecting ballads, which is truly a wonderful thing given how gifted a singer Enigk is. While the entire album showcases drummer William Goldsmith’s percussive genius and guitarist Dan Hoerner’s way with riffs that sound at once both heavy and harmonic, Jeremy Enigk’s voice is the show-stopper here.

“Television” was also another somewhat pop-oriented song, but much more U2- and Police-influenced, and still yet propulsive and driving in the best senses. The lyrics compare sex and love in a dream-like nature that reminds the protagonist of television. To this day, the song remains a perfect metaphor, for such things – the dreamlike nature of deep love and lust, especially over something that you can only touch those dreams. The song builds to an inspired crescendo, and again, here synths add to the climax of this powerful band.

The album ends as strongly as it begins, with arguably the two best tracks. It is as if the band managed to wrap everything about the first nine songs into the last two – each one exhibits traits from the others – the band’s way with melodies that absolutely soar, the uplifting nature of the lyrics across the entire album, the masterful use of percussion, strings and keyboards to color every corner, the anthemic, chiming guitars, the Eastern influences, and that sweet angelic voice that can become so unhinged, so quickly.

“Faces In Disguise” is another building-block track, one that stacks melodies and counter-melodies atop one another, layering its way to an explosive climax with Enigk’s soaring voice as ringleader. As throughout the album, the lyrics remain confessional and conversational, in a personal way. The song approaches a weight and depth that would be even more powerful when played live. It demonstrated the clear, dense sound the band explored from start to finish on this album.

The album wouldn’t be complete without the title track that ends it, though. Here, every sweet detailed trick that was used to color all the songs before is used to great effect, to create a swirling, cathartic blast of joyous noise. Notes clash and crash off each other while Enigk’s vocal lines float effortlessly over the music. “The Rising Tide” is also one of the album’s most dynamic songs, trading in the loud, anthemic quality of the verses for simple piano-and-voice choruses – backwards from the way most songs are arranged. The song is a masterful assassin, throwing killing blows time after time, repeatedly drawing the listener into its world.

The tidal motives throughout the album, as well as the dream references, serve as a wonderful metaphor on how to describe the work. It sounds like an accomplished band setting out to make something that stands on its own, and the band’s experience, the quality of the production, and the masterful songs make the album sound timeless.

It would be a fitting swan song, leaving joy and disappointment, too, that something this grand could be accomplished. Best of all, it sounds nothing like what “emo” sounds like today.

It was to be the soundtrack to fall semester 2000 at Indiana University for me and many of my friends. We all became enchanted with it. And so when Wes, Cory, Rob and I loaded into that car to drive to Cincinnati, we were traveling with baited breath, waiting to final hear and see what this band could do in concert.

The concert was amazing. Just as dynamic live as they were in the studio, the band tore through classic songs and new ones alike with aplomb, joy, and verve. The audience gleefully played along, and the night felt more like a celebration than a concert. It was the church of rock and roll, but of a positive, uplifting sort.

The band played so many good songs, many of the aforementioned of my favorites, some I hadn’t paid much attention to before but now found exciting. And the band seemed to have so much fun playing. Each of us at that show was in the midst of a religious experience – every review I read of the show all pointed to this, how powerful the band was live. It must have also been gratifying to the band that some of the most powerful songs of the night, the real show-stealers, were the ones from the new album. If “Faces In Disguise” and “The Rising Tide” were majestic on the album, they were even more so live. “Disappear” became menacing, “One” was a total affirmation with the entire sound crying “everything and everyone, and in the end we all are one, truth will not be denied.”

Hours later, we made our way home. We walked back to the car in nearly stunned silence. The experience was so breathtaking that it was hard to find the words. Then… we began to talk.

Rob was the odd man out – he didn’t play an instrument or sing, but was our biggest fan and supporter. There, on the ride home, Cory and Wes and I decided to form a band. We would return to IU and recruit a drummer, Frank, and a bassist, Nate. Wes would sing, and Cory and I would play guitar. And we sucked at first, as all bands do.

But there was something amazing about the way we came together. We tried to replicate that majestic sound, that anthemic sound, and of course failed, but we also grew. In a few years, with graduation upon us, and our drummer (who, like Sunny Day’s, was an important, integral part of our sound) moved away, and we became Spinal Tap when it came to bass players, we hung up our rock and roll spurs. The band, called Endolori (which was a French word meaning “sore or tender” – an appropriate emo name then and now), called it quits.

And that was the end of the story.

Until Frank returned from whatever wooded purgatory he had banished his hippie-self to, and made a phone call. Before long, we were practicing in his basement, him and I, and, before long, Wes and Cory were on board again as well. Our friend Chris played bass before he had to move away due to marriage and work. Another friend Mike picked up the reigns of the bassist duties and… Yesterday The Siren was born.

Nowadays, Yesterday The Siren is defunct, but I am proud of what we did for the few years we were together. Wes, Cory and I took upon the seeds that were planted on that fateful October night, and we grew what we could. We never achieved anything I would call majestic, but we damn sure did write a few anthems. And played with as much passion as we saw that night, with joyous and reckless abandon.

If it weren’t for Sunny Day Real Estate, I don’t know if I would’ve ever been motivated enough to really form a band, and to really work at it and push my friends to be the best we could be. By the time Yesterday The Siren rolled around, hard work was our middle name – we all put in as much as we could afford to, with families, work, and other considerations taking our time. We still made rock and roll of an anthemic spirit, the spirit of one of the greatest bands to ever grace the stage.

So, reflecting on that moment almost eight years ago, I am so thankful I had the opportunity to go. And so thankful that music could mean that much to people – to the men in Sunny Day, to my friends that went with me, to the crowd, to the guys in the bands I have played in since.

We were riding the rising tide. And I’ve been riding it ever since.

(all photos credit: deathmuppets@cs.com --- retrieved from "In The Blue" SDRE fan site)

Waxed: The Appleseed Cast's Low Level Owl: Volume 1 and Low Level Owl: Volume 2

2008-09-18T10:16:00.002-04:00

There’s a brief moment, amidst all the swirling sounds, keyboard collages and chiming guitars all, where the gentle rustle of the wind blowing leaves comes through your speakers, and only one word can describe it: bliss.

But, bliss best describes The Appleseed Cast’s magnum opus, Low Level Owl (volumes 1 and 2 – which we will from now after refer to as Owl 1 and Owl 2). Back in those college years, when I had not yet become half of the music aficionado that I am today. A friend and fellow musician turned me on to Owl 1. We went to the record store (TD’s CDs and LPs, for those of you Bloomingtonian residents), and there dug around until we found it.

“There’s a volume two?,” I asked. My friend Frank just nodded his head. “Even better than the first one,” he said.

It only took me another five to six years to test out that theory, but Frank may have been right. Regardless, the best way to experience Owl 1 and Owl 2 is to listen to them back to back – as they were intended.

The Appleseed Cast had been an “emo” band, one of the many similar sounding bands on the Deep Elm record label. Not that this was a band thing – Deep Elm at the time had a rich, talented roster of bands, and was well-known in indie circles. Still, the leap from The End of the Ring Wars to Low Level Owl: Volume I is drastic – and a great step in a new, fantastic direction.

From the opening notes of “The Waking of Pertelotte” though “View of a Burning City” and “View of a Burning City (reprise),” which end Owl 1 and begin Owl 2, respectively, and on until the last track of Owl 2, “Confession,” you are on a seamless aural ride.

Some might consider it a stretch, but really, Radiohead never did anything this good. The Appleseed Cast was labeled as “America’s closest thing to Radiohead” after these albums dropped in August and October of 2001, but the comparison is unjust in many ways. To me, these albums sound like what Roger Waters, David Gilmour, and the whole Pink Floyd gang would’ve made, had they grown up and came of age in the late ‘90’s. In terms of sheer depth, timbre, and feel, Low Level Owl has much more in common with Dark Side of the Moon than O.K. Computer.

In the land of post-rock (a label the Cast has again been pigeonholed into) and post-emo, these two records stand alone, on their own merits. There may be better bands, and better albums, in post-rock, underground indie rock, psychadelia, and instrumental rock, but the way these two albums flow together, and take the listener on an inner journey, can’t seem to possibly be topped, except maybe by Sigur Ros, and then… it’s a coin flip.

There are vocals on many of the tracks, but you may not know what they are exactly unless you sit down with the album booklet and read through them as you listen. That’s not a half-bad idea, either, if you want to know what’s being said, but it might be even better to just turn off the lights, lay back on your bed, or hell, even your living room floor, and just listen.

When “The Waking of Pertelotte” turns into “On Reflection,” you know you have arrived at a sweet musical experience. The snapping, echoing snare hits and the bubbly guitar arpeggios are like dessert. And that’s just the beginning.

The completely masterful soundscapes that this band create over the course of two albums could draw comparisons to Mogwai, Pelican, Sigur Ros, and Explosions in the Sky. What sets them apart is the way the albums fit together, song after song leading into the next experiment.

Small tracks like “A Tree for Trails” link up songs like “Convict” and “Signal” (both of which are among the best tracks on the albums, especially “Signal”). When “Sunset Drama King” repeats musical and lyrical melody lines other songs, it reminds you how pleasant this experience has been, and at well over an hour into the journey, it may be the first time you’re reminded of just how seamless these albums are.

Certain listeners may find the songs to be too repetitive, too samey for their tastes. While generally I like a lot of variety in my music, it really doesn’t stand out that much for me with Owl 1 and Owl 2. In fact, there are many, many peaks and valleys in the music presented here. Even though they do all sound of the same mood and the same mold, the listening experience in total is so unique and fresh-sounding as to not notice, or rather to be bothered by, the explicit continuity between songs and albums.

Even as the album winds down, with “The Argument” again recalling an earlier song, the tiredness of that track feels so natural as to seem, well, just plain right. It makes the perfect beginning of the end, just before “Reaction,” with feedback-laden guitars washing noise around the melodies of songs long since come and gone.

The brief moment of space – of no sound – just before “Reaction” immediately draws your attention to it. It literally breaks the hypnotic spell the album has put over your. The break announces the end, and brings with it another magnificent song, this one with the lyrics a little more upfront. It still matches the overall tone of the album, but almost sounds as if you’ve come out from a tunnel, or as if you had been listening underwater, and now your head has crested the surface, and your gasping for air.

Who knows and who cares if you have been drowning all this time. “Confession” begins its slow, winding drive towards home, towards the end, and you can here the drip of water in the sink, the sound of it hitting the beach, the gulls taking flight, the sounds of the strangeness of the real world creeping back in.

Do yourself a favor. Go to the local record store, buy Low Level Owl: Volume 1 and Low Level Owl: Volume 2. If you burn them on your iPod, that’s ok, but do yourself this one favor – promise yourself to listen to them, back to back, twice: once with headphones, and once without, with the volume turned up and the walls shaking. If you’re the type of personal who likes musical journeys, you won’t regret it.

Miller High Lite: Lips of An Angel...Vagina of the Devil

2008-09-15T19:02:00.008-04:00

The other day Dusty and I were talking about Hinder and particularly their number one, chart topping, radio blanketing, super smash hit, Lips of An Angel...and why I hate it. Obvious reasons would be radio over-saturation, douche bag band members, and outright cock-rockery. Let's look past that for a moment and get to the real heart of the problem. One that plagues many top 40 radio staples...I say plague as if it's the song that suffers and not us...and makes every sucker singing along that much more of a mindless host for the Viacom parasite. I speak of *fanfare*...lyrical content.

We all know that the key to a great pop song is the hook. People want to sing along, they want something they can get into right away and feel like they know the words already after a minute and a half of the song. If there's anything that pop music has proven is that it doesn't actually matter what those words are. Forget for a moment that this is a anger spewing diatribe of hate and think about that. Regardless of what the words are, we remember that tune. We hum it in our heads, sort of half mumble it under our breath, whistle it was we walk our dogs, and often times even get the words wrong. So remember all you aspiring artists out there...if you want to make it in "the biz", write a catchy tune. You can write the words later...or never at all (read: Scatman).

Let's face it, there's only one Bob Dylan, there's only one Neil Young, there's only one Tom Waits....you are not them. If you want to make it as a musician you may just have to give up those dreams of being this profound, ground breaking voice of a generation *gasp!*. I'm not saying give up your artistic integrity and sell out, I'm just saying give a little. You're not going anywhere being a pompous, pretentious a-hole. Write a few songs people can get into, that they can relate to, and then fill the rest of your album with your heartbreak and views on politics and the economy and how much you hate the president.

Now to the real perpetrator. Maybe more than the horrible lyrics and underlying theme of the song, it's the mob of young women in every bar, and every cheerleading practice, and every sleepover that belt out every god awful word that I despise. Hordes of girls love this song, love it. And why? Because he misses this girl? This is where the whole thing really gets to me. No one takes the time to really listen to the whole song. The song is about a guy who's with a girl and gets a late night phone call from his ex. She's upset and tells him she misses him and he precedes to tell her the same. They can't be too loud because his current girl is in the next room and it could start a fight between her and her current man. Every girl thinks it's so sweet that he misses this girl and he has all these great things to say about her. News flash! - You are not the girl on the phone...you are the girl in the other room. And even if you're not...do you really want to be with this guy that can't make up his mind and really just wants to get back with you for a few steamy gropefests in the dressing room at the mall, only to have him call the other girl two weeks later and sing the same damn song to her, telling her how much he misses her "lips of an angel"? Not to mention you have a significant other as well. Soooo, you want to cheat on him...and be with a guy who will cheat on his girlfriend? Sounds like a formula for life-long happiness. "girl you make it hard to be faithful"

Alright, let's calm down...we'll move on and let you mull that over later.

Let's look at some other classic examples of pop songs that people tend to belt out without really thinking about what they're singing. We'll start with an easy obvious one:

Every Breath You Take - The Police
Before Puffy got a hold of it and numbed the minds of an entire generation it was hit single by good old Sting. The song is, at the core, a song about a stalker. The character in the song is stalking this woman..."oh can't you see...you belong to me" Creepy when you think about it...so think about it. It's not some great love song about longing and desire. It's super-creepers.

867-5309 (Jenny) - Tommy Tutone
No one will ever, ever, ever, ever forget this phone number. One of the biggest pop tunes of our time and it's a phone number. It's just that easy kids.
(see also: 25 or 6 to 4 - Chicago)

Ironic - Alanis Morrisette
Not a goddam thing in the song is ironic...wait...isn't that ironic?

Like A Virgin - Madonna
Just do yourself and favor and rent Reservoir Dogs...nuff said

Crash - Dave Matthews Band
Not only is this song about (unprotected) sex, but a little S and M action, a little voyeurism, and some nocturnal emissions. How many little college freshmen, drinking their Natty Light, playing Corn Hole do you think even know what voyeurism or nocturnal emission means? Trust me, go read the lyrics and see what I mean, too many examples to list.
(see also: Sweet Dreams - Eurythmics)

Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm - Crash Test Dummies
They took all the hard work out and just made the chorus humming. Of course with as low as Brad Robert's voice gets half the time, he could be saying something and it just sounds like a bass hum.
(see also: MmmBop - Hanson)

There are so many more and I won't sit here and list them all. You're all smart kids, next time you find yourself singing along to whatever's on the radio, on the TV, secretly hidden on your iPod, or just stuck in your head from 10 years ago...pay attention. Trust me, we're all guilty, so until next time....
All I want to do is *bang* *bang* *bang* *bang*
and a *click* *ching*
take all your money

REMY

Personal Reactions to Waxed: Vitalogy

2008-09-05T15:21:00.002-04:00

In cleaning up the article I wrote about Vitalogy and Pearl Jam, from 3 years ago, I learned a few things and had a few interesting thoughts I think I should share.

First and foremost: that is terrible writing. But, it was written in two parts on a weblog that I had to be careful on - didn't want to offend any friends, didn't want anyone to know anything I didn't want them to know, but I am a bit of a storyteller, a bit long-winded, and I like to wear my heart on my sleeve.

While the review was reaction to that aforementioned Bill Simmons article on ESPN.com's Page 2, it wasn't my first reaction to it. Prior to that, I wrote a deeply personal account of why I loved Vitalogy so much - because it was, in effect, the soundtrack to my first heartbreak.

Looking back on that blog entry fills me with joy, happiness, sadness, and energy. That fall was an interesting time in my life. I didn't know it yet, but I was about to go on another rollercoaster ride of a relationship, one filled with love, passion, sex, lust, and discovery, and later filled with sadness, hurt, loss, mistrust, and missed opportunities. It's as if I can draw a line from that first big heartbreak to the next, and the next, and the next.

Thing is, there is always a soundtrack - to the heartbreak, and to the love in between and afterwards. Some of those soundtracks haven't stood the test of time - the albums that got me through the end of 2006 and beginning of 2007 aren't bad, but are hardly classics, either. None of the "heartbreak" albums, then, stand up to the test of time, and the internal test of importance and meaning, as Vitalogy does, still today.

The complete, wreckless nature of its sounds, the fury of its lyrics and vocals, to this day fill me with so many emotions, but most of all, energy and hope.

While creating it's own bleak and dark imagery, the album's hope cracks through, like a lighthouse on the shore, a lantern in the dark woods.

While times have changed, my tastes of changed, and I've grown up and grown out of many things, one of the things that remains constant is the emotional impact music has on my life, and in particular how important Vitalogy was to a 15 year old heartbroken kid, a 22 year old heartbroken young adult, and a 26 year old heartbroken young man.

Vitalogy is the lighthouse of hope, visible from where ever you are in the dark waters.

That, Bill Simmons, is why it is the defining album of the 1990's. And why it remains one of my favorite albums ever to this day.

Waxed: Pearl Jam's Vitalogy

2008-09-05T14:30:00.004-04:00

(Editor’s Note: I wrote this article in September of 2005. I have edited it for posterity, to fix a few mistakes, and other editorial type of things. The spirit, overall feel, and mindset of the piece remains the same. The piece was actually written in response to an article written by Bill Simmons and Chuck Klosterman, where Simmons took the position that Vitalogy sucked, and Klosterman vehemently disagreed. It should be noted that both Bill Simmons and Chuck Klosterman are favorite writers of mine, and each in their own way are a huge influence on my pop culture meanderings. Here, then, is my response to Simmons claiming that Vitalogy was a mailed in effort, the “Spin The Black Circle” was a terrible song, that Pearl Jam had missed its mark. Obviously, in my opinion, this was the only album they could’ve made, and it quite possibly saved the band, the whole ‘90’s alternative-rock movement, and thousands of lost teens, 20- and 30-somethings that the music of Seattle spoke to.)

Yes. I did actually graduate from college, from one of the best public journalism schools in the nation, with a magazine writing concentration to boot. I was born to write. And yes, in all fairness, I should reveal my deeply ingrained opinion that Pearl Jam is my favorite rock and roll band, and possibly will be the greatest rock and roll band of all time, first. But - Bill wants real journalism. So, I claim: Vitalogy is the defining album of the '90's.

Set the stage in the late '80's: a small handful of good pop metal bands - Guns 'N' Roses, and... um... Guns 'N' Roses - and way too many craptastic pop metal bands - Warrant, Trixster, L.A. Guns, Kix, etc. - were dominanting rock and roll and pop charts. Most bands moved to Los Angeles to make it or break it in the big bad music biz.

Enter a sleepy little town in Washington state. A dreary, rainy place known for coffee. Seattle. And in this city? The Melvins. Soundgarden. Green River. Mother Love Bone. Mudhoney. And yes, Bill, I know that Green River splintered off into MLB and MH - but did you know that GR's drummer went back to school to be a lawyer? NO?!? Yes. Mother Love Bone. And... the first Seattle drug casuality, Andrew Wood.

Lucky for us, Cameron Crowe was hanging with wife Nancy Wilson in the rain-soaked north and got to witness the aftermath of Wood's overdose. Including the musicians. Who, lucky for us, decided it was time for a tribute a short time later. Chris Cornell and Matt Cameron from Soundgarden got together with Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard from MLBone, and Mike McCready jumped on board, and then, Eddie Vedder appears from nowhere (well, from friend and current Red Hot Chili Pepper drummer Jack Irons) and... Temple of the Dog is born. Pain, love, memories, rejoicing. ROCK.

Vedder was auditioning for Jeff and Stone's new project. Mike had joined. Jack was recruited as a drummer, but didn't want to leave the Peppers (though he shortly would, when then Peppers guitarist Hillel Slovak died of an overdose months later). Jack did hook up the three with Vedder, they found a drummer and what resulted was an album called Ten. ROCK.

Soon, Pearl Jam was born... and soon, they joined a then-unknown band from their hometown named Nirvana, and the two bands joined the Smashing Pumpkins on a tour. And then... all hell broke loose. Nirvana and Pearl Jam simultaneously became the two biggest bands in the world, long before anyone outside of college towns knew who U2 was.

Nevermind and Ten went head to head on the rock charts, and bedrooms everywhere were plastered with posters celebrating the bands. Vs., Pearl Jam's second offering, sold 1.1 million copies in it's debut week - shattering the record, then held by Garth Brooks' album Ropin' The Wind. Nirvana released the then-critically dogged, unbelievably harsh, and undeniably cool and rockin' In Utero. More rock chart wars. Wars in the press. Words and music, money, fame, teenage wasteland. It's only teenage wasteland.

Then... in the midst of the "alternative revolution," in the midst of Time magazine covers and Rolling Stone interviews and rampant drug use and skyrocketing superstardom... Kurt Cobain took his life.

Suddenly, now there was but one. Pearl Jam was the biggest band in the world – the last band standing as the voice of a generation, the voice of millions. Fighting Ticketmaster over high ticket prices - the band took a substantial cut in personal profit - and struggling with their own demons, both private and personal... suddenly, there was only one.

They stop making videos (actually... they did that around Vs. release). They shirk from the public eye. They stop touring. They return to Seattle, hide in the recording studio... and make an album some people have suggested is the '90's equivalent of the Beatles' White Album. The last remaining "voice of a generation" was about to scream a rallying call, a deafening blast of hope, pain, and survival for all of '90's teenage wasteland:

lives opened and trashed..."look ma, watch me crash"...
no time to question...why'd nothing last...
grasp and hold on...we're dyin' fast!
soon be over...and i will relent!!!

The shotgun blast heard 'round the world rang quite loud in Seattle, throughout a community of musicians whose struggles with fame, drugs, and more were suddenly brought to the forefront of American culture. One of the two major people in the community, Kurt Cobain, had committed suicide. One "voice of our generation" was dead, unable to handle the pressures of his super-stardom. The other remaining voice, Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder, suddenly became the most famous Seattle voice... no more battles between bands. Worse... how would He Answer? How would the band ever answer?

Maybe you don't think of these things when you play an album - the history surrounding it, the personalities contained within, the meaning behind each and every song on a record. Nonetheless, they play a role. And here, laid bare in the music, was the soul of a band, damaged, bloodied, but not beaten. Vitalogy was Pearl Jam's answer to being the biggest band in the world and the voice of millions of lost twenty-somethings and teenagers.

The funky faux-jazz that starts the record quickly fades into the blistering opening track, "Last Exit." "Lives opened and trashed... look, ma, watch me crash… no time to question why'd nothing last... we're dying fast..." The lyrics were so direct - this would be a fight for survival. Even the music - in an off-kilter beat, 5/4 - would seem driving, maddening, but be propelled to succeed, to overcome. How would the battle for young souls be won, especially when one of their heroes lay dead by his own hands?

"Spin the Black Circle" would answer: music. The black circle - a record - would spin out tunes, and the music and words would comfort. What Bill Simmons thinks is a silly, throwaway song is really just instructions that answer the "Survive!" rallying cry of "Last Exit." Survive! How? Listen! It was an ode to vinyl, an ode to plastic spitting out melody and harmony... and spinning in bliss. It was also light-hearted - a way of saying "we'll be o.k."

But that wouldn't last for long. "Restless soul, enjoy your youth," rang out the opening words of track three, "Not For You," a blistering take on what musicians were being used for - their fame would sell records, sell clothes, sell MTV awards shows. "There is something sacred about youth, and the song is about how youth is being sold and exploited," Vedder had said of the song. "I think I felt like I had become part of that too." "This is not for you... fuck you!" Eddie would scream, while the band pounded out an instantly memorable beat. You can see Stone grooving in a corner in a studio, while Mike shreds an electric 12-string, wringing every emotion he could get out of wood and steel.

"Take my time - not my life," would be the message in "Tremor Christ," a song about a relationship gone bad. Was "she" just another girl, or... was "she" the record buying public? Was "she" the mass media machine using the "Alternative Revolution" to sell torn up jeans and flannel shirts for $74.99 a piece at The Gap? Whatever "she" was, it was obvious that the protagonist was hurt - "wounded was the organ he left all bloodied on the shore." And while she drowns "in his wake," the smallest oceans still got the big, big waves. A sea-sick dirge of a song, it remains one of Pearl Jam's most visceral tracks - and a testament to all bands that think "heavy" means "loud and detuned." The song feels like the weight of the human condition... and by track four on the album, you wonder... will we survive, after all?

"Nothingman" was a song that had been around a while, according to the band. A story of love and loss... and the feelings of loneliness and nothingness when something so sacred is let go, and can't be taken back. The quiet, introspective ballad was the first musical relief on the album - and lyrically, it seems lost and hurting. Like a dog licking a wounded paw. And you still wondered... will... we...

"Don't mean to push, but i'm being shoved! Ohh, i'm just like you, think we've had enough!" Vedder and the band blaze through "The Whipping" - the previous lull being just that, a brief respite for the ears, and a rest for the mind (at the expense of the heart). "Whipping" pulls no punches - the original lyrics are written on a petition for the Clinton administration to investigate a recent rise in bombings at abortion clinics. It went for the jugular, literally leaving the listener reeling. The song even won an award at the MTV Music Awards, to which Vedder said, "This award, it really doesn't mean a thing."

"p-r-i-v-a-c-y is priceless to me" was the only lyric in the next song, "Pry, To."

The booklet for the next song featured an x-ray of teeth - instead of a lyric sheet. "It is about a relationship but not between two people. It's more one person's relationship with a million people. In fact, that song's almost a little too obvious for me. That's why instead of a lyric sheet we put in an X-ray of my teeth from last January and they are all in very bad shape, which was analogous to my head at the time." Vedder and the band struck pay-dirt though - the song is arguably one of the greatest rock and roll songs of all time. "Corduroy" was born - and a million PJ fans would never be the same.

"Bugs" would showcase an accordian, in a carnival-type insane waltz. The bugs in the head were obviously the reporters constantly hounding the band. Such a very weird song - a song of fear of what would happen if the band let down its guard.

"Satan's Bed" would roar to life after a few whipcracks, before the lyrics would once again deride fame and fortune. Vedder screams, "Already... in love!" and the band drives home yet another rocker. For a band seemingly known for their ballads, Pearl Jam spent most of Vitalogy raising hell and not giving a damn who got in the way. This song could easily be the "Paris Hilton Anti-Anthem."

"Betterman" was another song about a messed up relationship. A song from one of Eddie's old bands, it would rocket up the charts and dominate rock radio. It would be parodied when PJ cancelled shows later due to illness - "can't find the Vedderman." A song of abuse and hopelessness - that ignorant fans the world round would propose to - until the band let them all in on the secret, and tell 'em to read the lyrics...

"Aye Davanita" would provide another small respite - in the form of a band jam session, complete with chanting and wondering basslines - courtesy of Jeff, whose bass work is stellar throughout the album. Again, the respite would be brief - for the album's darkest tune would follow next.

vacate is the word...vengeance has no place on me or her
cannot find the comfort in this world
artificial tear...vessel stabbed...next up, volunteers
vulnerable, wisdom can't adhere...
a truant finds home...and a wish to hold on...
but there's a trapdoor in the sun...immortality...
as privileged as a whore...victims in demand for public show
swept out through the cracks beneath the door
holier than thou, how?
surrendered...executed anyhow
scrawl dissolved, cigar box on the floor...
a truant finds home...and a wish to hold on too...
he saw the trapdoor in the sun...
immortality...
i cannot stop the thought...i'm running in the dark...
coming up a which way sign...all good truants must decide...
oh, stripped and sold, mom...auctioned forearm...
and whiskers in the sink...
truants move on...cannot stay long
some die just to live...ohh...

"Immortality" was the tale of the other voice of the generation - the one that couldn't stay long, and felt like he had to die, just to live. Featuring a lazy melody, a beautiful 12-string acoustic guitar solo from Mike, and what would become a Pearl Jam trademark, the full band jam at the end of the song... "Immortality," became an instant classic. Of the many songs on the album that are quintessential Pearl Jam, and required listening alt-rock, this tune would stand alongside of "Corduroy" as one of the best and most honest songs the band would ever write. The lyrics try to hide but become so transparent - with the "cigar box on the floor" being where Cobain had left it, moments before he took his life.

"Immortality" was the answer to the question - and the answer was that Vedder and Pearl Jam were just as confused and heart-broken as everyone else. The final jam would be the hope at the end of the tunnel, as the music itself seemed to celebrate life and survival and goodness and hope. The times had changed... but we would survive, not the same, but not finished or done in, by any means. There was hope.

"Hey foxymophandlemama, that's me!" would end the album. Again considered a strange, wasted experimental throw away like "Bugs," it was more like Pearl Jam's version of the Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" - a song deep within the scariest, lost places of the mind. A look at the lyric sheet is disturbing... and perfectly captures the disturbing nature of the entire album. The album ends as lost as it began...

Vitalogy was a testament to the will to move on, to survive - made by a band that was itself dying. After the release of the album, Pearl Jam would go on full retreat, away from the public consciousness. They gave their answer - which was, don't look to rock stars for answers, 'cause we're just as messed up as you are. But here... have hope, live on, and rock out for the hell of it. "Ain't it s'posed to be just fun?"

At this point, in this time, when crisis had struck... well, no. Life is hard. But you've got to live it.

Pearl Jam knew that better than anyone. They would persevere, just as the hints they left for their listeners would encourage them to persevere as well. Vitalogy is the pillar of that “being lost but fighting on” mentality. It answered little, questioned much, but most importantly, blazed a trail of hope and strength for those who dared to wonder what life was all about and what it was worth.

Waxed: Guided By Voices' Under The Bushes Under The Stars

2008-08-29T14:19:00.003-04:00

Under The Bushes Under The Stars was the last Guided By Voices with the “classic” lineup: Robert Pollard, Tobin Sprout, Mitch Mitchell, Greg Demos and Kevin Fennell. Some would say it was the last “true” Guided By Voices albums.

Released in 1996, it is the sound of a band changing in some respects, but maybe it is really a more realized effort of a band hitting its stride. No one should argue that Bee Thousand isn’t GBV’s finest album to date (except for Pollard, the group’s mercurial leader who claimed that Half Smiles of the Decomposed, the last album he recorded under the GBV moniker, was the album he truly always wanted to make, and that with it completed, he was hanging up the GBV name…), and that’s true. Bee Thousand is Guided By Voices finest work, but many an album comes close. With such a wealth of material, it is amazingly worthwhile to check out whatever you can – and especially some of the albums panned by fans or critics, or both.

Under The Bushes Under The Stars would largely retain the lo-fi sound of earlier GBV records, though it had been recorded in the most professional of settings the band had worked in yet. There are a few tracks that sound more polished, but by and large, tracks like “Cut-Out Witch” and “Man Called Aerodynamics” and “To Remake The Young Flyer” still have the lo-fi charm and sensibility that GBV were known for.

One of the reasons I have always like Under The Bushes is the wealth of good songs versus the lack of strange little sound collages and unfinished ideas. Now, to be a GBV is to love the strange little sound collages and unfinished ideas, and believe me, I do. Besides, some of what you would think might fall into those categories are blissful, beautiful little 90-second pop songs, unique and wonderful and eerie all at once. But, I won’t lie – I’ve also been on the receiving end of finding one of the rare early e.p.s or an import disc and being so excited to get my hands on new GBV, only to be confused and sometimes let down by the lack of the really catchy 90-second indie rock I love so much.

Under The Bushes delivers on the promise of Pollard and Co., though, and does so in spades. Over 24 tracks – only three longer than 3:00 – GBV delivers the goods again, and again, and again.

One of the highlights are the back-to-back “The Official Ironmen Rally Song” and “To Remake The Young Flyer.” Where “Ironmen” is chimey Brit-rock channeled through a little R.E.M., “Flyer” is more moody, introspective rocker. Where “Ironmen” charges ahead, “Flyer” is restrained. Pollard gets his British kicks on, while Tobin writes a small journey that sounds like a story. I would pay good money to hear The Who cover the first, and The Beatles cover the second.

“No Sky” continues the tradition of incredibly catchy power-pop-styled rock wrapped up in lo-fi charm. “You Name Is Wild” doesn’t do such a job of hiding it’s treats – it jumps right out at you, grabs you by the throat and takes you along for the ride, even with the rough-sounding production (which isn’t really that rough).

In fact, “No Sky” kicks off a set of classic Guided By Voices material – short, strange lo-fi songs that pull you in, and with some real gems scattered throughout, like the aforementioned “Your Name Is Wild” and the punky “Ghosts of a Different Dream.”

“Look At Them” segues into a nice Sprout-penned sound collage, “The Perfect Life.” The instantly-recognizable GBV guitar sounds pulls us from that instrumental into the irresistible “Underwater Explosions.” The next track, another Tobin Sprout tune called “Atom Eyes,” sounds a bit in the guitars like a precursor for “Unspirited” from Isolation Drills. And that is the beauty of Pollard and his crew’s craft – the pen familiar, hummable, kick ass rock songs.

King Shit and the Golden Boys crop up on “Don’t Stop Now,” and by this point in the disc, if you haven’t learned to love the terse arrangements and the many songs that are gems on this disc, you’re probably not going to be much of a Guided By Voices fan.

The charm of Under The Bushes is the way it takes the best attributes of Guided By Voices early years and classic lineup and maximizes them, while minimizing the weaknesses of the band. It’s also really interesting to think of what this album might have sounded in the hands of the Cobra Verde-backed version of Guided By Voices. A song like “Big Boring Wedding” would’ve turned into a massive arena rock anthem, but would’ve lost a lot of its charm. Songs like “It’s Like Soul Man” and “To Remake The Young Flyer” and “Atom Eyes” wouldn’t exist without Tobin Sprout, who really stands out as a fine, accomplished songwriter alongside Bob Pollard here – part of the reason why Bob wanted to reinvent the band, position himself as the sole creative force.

The overall sound of the record sounds like a band trying to make a play for some radio airplay, perhaps, but as I said, this does a lot to maximize some of this band’s best qualities. It truly is a fine “closing statement” for the classic lineup. And it still doesn’t sound quite fit for radio, anyway… the production was still lo-fi enough to attract long-time fans, but fresh enough to attract new ears, too.

After writing this, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not doing this record justice. Under The Bushes Under The Stars is special because it encapsulates a time in the history of Guided By Voices where big change was on the horizon, and everyone in the band knew it. Pollard wanted to taste some form of superstardom, and this was the best he was going to get out of the current band he had backing him up. And... it wasn't going to be good enough.

One of the best things about playing in a band is playing with your friends, your drinking buddies. Being holed up in the garage or basement and bashing out tune after tune. There's a camaraderie there that is unmatched and is really special. This version of Guided By Voices was comprised of Pollard's drinking buddies.

But, as with any relationship, there is tension, and sometimes things change and the relationship has to end. Here, on Under The Bushes Under The Stars, the tension leads to a more cohesive and structured album than GBV had done before. This one just flat out rocks.

It's the end of an era for the greatest indie rock band that was. They end it with style. This is another one of those GBV albums that points both forward and back - it fits nicely in the middle of the band's vast catalog of great albums. Often forgotten about, it's a masterpiece in it's own right.

So grab a sixer and let Dayton's true poet laurette spin you little tales of woe, joy, beer, women, and teaching grade schoolers. All while backed by the best drinking buddies a guy could have.

Primer: Guided By Voices and the Hold On Hope e.p.

2008-08-28T13:05:00.001-04:00

From the opening ringing notes of “Underground Initiations,” you are immediately hooked. This is your underground initiation, your golden ticket to Bob Pollard’s magical and twisted, melodious world of mayhem. In just two minutes and three seconds, you are transported… and you become an instant fan. Hold On Hope by Guided By Voices has that effect on you.

Immediate. Direct. Like a kick in the teeth, but from over-amped guitars, fake British accents, vocal harmonies, and solid rhythm.

There’s something about Guided By Voices that suggests before. You’ve heard something kind of like this before… but not this way, not this skewed, and not this good.

“Interest Position” picks up right where “Underground Initiations” leaves off: frantic paced and catchy as hell. For a compact disc e.p., Hold On Hope’s only crime is it’s shortness. With nine songs and only weighing in at under 19 total minutes in length, it kicks the door in, gets the job done, and then gets the hell out. There’s only one track, the last one, that is longer than 2:30.

It’s also the perfect place to start listening to Guided By Voices and the prolific Mr. Pollard, a grade school English teacher gone horribly and wonderfully awry.

The bouncy pop of “Fly Into Ashes” begs you to sing along, and you will… you will. You’ll be singing with Bob right through most of this e.p. “Tropical Robots” measures in as the shortest track on the record, at just 51 seconds. You will sing along to this. You cannot resist singing along to this track, and you too wish that the “Alabama policeman” in question would let them go on their way, and that he won’t spoil YOUR fun.

“A Crick Uphill” mixes the two styles we’ve had for the first part of the album – frantic guitar rock reminiscent of The Who, and effervescent pop related to The Beatles. It’s fun to sing with, fun to dig into, and rocks like a ’68 Camaro.

The next song in the cycle, “Idiot Princess,” has that lo-fi indie charm that was GBV’s early calling card. It chugs along in its own little world. It also serves as a fine precursor to the e.p.’s best song, “Avalanche Aminos.”

“Avalanche Aminos” arrives with one of the best, catchiest little guitar riffs you’ve ever heard. And… it keeps it going, and builds a whole song around it. The whole song keeps up the frenetic charming chug, pushing and pulling at the seems while Bob sings perfect pop melodies over the top. Then the end of the song arrives and wraps everything up so nice and tight.

“Do The Collapse,” which would have been the title track on the album of the same name, if it had made the cut, is a tasty little instrumental. Nothing incredibly special, but it fits in so well with these songs – songs that, if we’re honest, we’re the castaways from the Do The Collapse album (all except the last track, for which the e.p. is named).

Let’s think about that for a minute. This is a collection of b-sides and cutting room floor outtakes that didn’t make an album, one album. One listen to this and you will ask, “wait, if these are the throwaways… the how fucking good is that album?” I’ll tell you… Do The Collapse is good, very good… but Hold On Hope is great. I might be tempted to call it perfect… and it certainly is the best introduction to Guided By Voices. You get songs that just sound like hit after hit after hit, if we lived in a parallel universe where record execs weren’t dicks, artists took real chances, and American Idol got shit-canned after the first three episodes. It’s a parallel universe I want to live in.

Finally – I know, it’s been like 15 minutes! – we arrive at the final track, “Hold On Hope.” If you like perfectly constructed, perfectly executed pop songs, then you have arrived at your own personal nirvana.

“Hold On Hope” begins with an understated acoustic guitar and piano, and an organ creeps in as Bob begins to sing. The first verse ends with a jangly guitar, a little dirtier version of George Harrison’s best licks, and then the band kicks. The song builds like this throughout the first half, adding more and more, until we get to the last verse/chorus, complete with strings. Yes, damnit, strings, in a Guided By Voices song.

You can say they sold out, and many people did after the Do The Collapse album. Most hardcore fans gave you the impression that they hated it – gone was the original GBV line-up (and completely gone, not here and there in a few spots), and with the new band, formerly Cobra Verde, came a new pop-polish sheen. There was a new, produced sound. Songs were longer and more thought out, more complex.

And, to be honest, taking away the bumps and bruises of GBV kind of makes it not GBV. But, if any other band had made Do The Collapse, it would’ve been hailed as a slice of power-pop-indie-rock heaven.

Thankfully, a few tracks made it off the cutting room floor to remind us the this IS Robert Pollard, after all, and he does kick ass and take names. A guy that has written over a thousand songs will do that to you.

“Hold On Hope” is a slice of the perfect pop heaven, but Hold On Hope is a slice of perfect indie rock perfection. In total, it takes you on a ride and leaves you breathless for more. It also serves as a great introduction to the greatest indie band of all time, Guided By Voices, and gives you a starting point to go both forward and back – to go both lo-fi and hi-fi, to make your way into Bee Thousand and into Isolation Drills.

If you can find it, buy it. Then thank me later.

What To Get Next: Bee Thousand, and then Isolation Drills
Recommended If You Like: The Who, The Beatles, Pavement, Matthew Sweet, Badfinger, good music

Welcome: Cory M., also known as Remy

2008-08-27T14:37:00.003-04:00

Welcome to our first guest author, Remy. Good times should follow:

Best Bands You Never Heard: Guided By Voices

2008-08-26T14:39:00.003-04:00

Why Guided By Voices? It’s not easy enough to say, “why not?” Not this time. Here you sit, your iTunes-addled mind reeling with choices, song after song after song available for this band that you’ve only heard about. But oh my, the things you have heard.

Prepare yourself – to get into Guided By Voices at this juncture is to be kicked as hard as possible between the legs. The band doesn’t exist anymore, even though Pollard still releases material and tours. And yeah… “still releases material” is kind of an in-joke with GBV fans. To call Pollard prolific would be a disservice, probably. The man is a walking encyclopedia of song, and then some.

My introduction to Guided By Voices came via Bloomington, Indiana’s, own beacon of Indie Rock radio – WIUS, 1570 am. Hey, I thought it would be cool to have my own radio show, so I signed up… and immediately discovered that my ‘90’s corporate rock tastes wouldn’t fly. Well, Mudhoney would fly… but not Pearl Jam or Soundgarden.

So there in the early hours of my musical discovery I sat, at the old piece of shit soundboard, the two crappy compact disc players on my left, the short stack of top shelf playlist material on my right. I’ve got to tell you… through four years of radio deejaying at WIUS, the top shelf material was 90% shit. I’m not being crude just to be crude – this was not music, but rather obscure artists farting on snare drums while dipping their junk in ketchup and dancing with microphones on their feet. Or something like that. So much of what was in that stack was Experimental Noise Pop, or Bulgarian Punk Metal, or Norwegian Death Classic Trip-Hop, or any number of incredibly bad combinations.

But… there were exceptions. Terror Twilight by Pavement. The Soft Bulletin by the Flaming Lips. Anything by Frank Black and the Catholics. And… a little e.p. called Hold On Hope by a little band from Dayton, Ohio, known as Guided By Voices.

Wouldn’t you know it, I played Hold On Hope, including the song “Hold On Hope,” and I’ll be damned if I didn’t fall in love with Guided By Voices. Then… a trip to TD’s CDs and LPs later… my nuts, in a vice grip, pain, pain, pain, pain.

There were so many, so very many CDs to choose from (and it would get worse when my then-girlfriend would by me a record player for Christmas). However, after sweating and searching and cursing and wasting about three hours, I decided that the Hold On Hope e.p. would be a good start, along with a Matador Records compilation disc, Everything Is Nice. Thus, I plunged myself into the world of Indie Rock.

At this point, the diehard Guided By Voices fan reading over your shoulder is screaming your ear off not to listen to me, because my introduction to the band was via Hold On Hope, which is derived from the sessions for Do The Collapse, which is sometimes referred to as the album where Pollard flipped his shit and canned most of what made Guided By Voices great. Lo-fi sound production, general silliness, 30 to 90 second long songs, and a bunch of drunken idiots for a band (including Pollard) were traded in for high quality studio production, more serious-sounding songs, song lengths reaching 3, 4, or even 5 minutes, and a new, arena-reading rock band and the sound that comes with them.

The diehards hate this album. Maybe rightly so. Because, honestly, everything I have ever heard from the band is filtered through Hold On Hope, which could be in my eyes the greatest recording of songs since Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Pet Sounds. There’s not one wasted note on the whole damn thing. And, diehards, take note – it is quintessential GBV, just without the pops and cracks and lo-fi production. Silly, short, and oh so fun, Hold On Hope is perfect, and was to my then indie-virgin ears.

Then, I started buying other GBV and GBV-related items. And then I got confused, so I started reading, and found out my favorite new band was a different kind of animal than I had ever encountered before. I read, and read, and read, and listened, and listened, and listened. Some things I bought were kind of horrible, and I didn’t like them (at first) – they were so under-produced! Unlistenable, or so I thought. Other albums, like Mag Earwig!, Isolation Drills, and Universal Truths and Cycles caught a hold of my attention.

Soon… I had to go back. I had to go back and listen. And THAT is when GBV truly started to make sense… sitting in my dorm room with Bee Thousand or with any of the LPs in the Box set, or any of the various little e.p.s and 45s I picked up. Fast Forward… and I’ve got the first Suitcase, but not the second, but plenty of other CDs and LPs and boxed sets. Not all, goodness, not all… but enough to say I am more than a casual fan.

Enough about me. Back to you, and your iTunes-addled mind. You’re tired of Duffy, the Flobots, Lil Wayne, and that guy from the Strokes. You’re looking for something to break the monotony of your everyday existence. You’re looking for some substance, or something exciting, or something that doesn’t sound like anything else.

Actually, if you’re reading this, you probably aren’t listening to Duffy or Lil Wayne, unless you are Cory, and then all bets are off. Anyway… you’re still looking for something exciting, and you know you don’t have the $1000+ it’s gonna cost to collect all this wonderful Guided By Voices that you’ve heard of but never heard. So what do you do? Where do you begin?

If you’re lucky enough, you live in Indiana, and, in that case, you drive your ass down (or up, but in Indiana, we always say “we’re going down to…” even if we’re driving north, east or west) to Luna Records in either Broad Ripple or downtown Indianapolis. Luna Records is the distributor of GBV and GBV-related material. They have a deal with the business side of Pollard’s music, and have damn near all you could ever want or need, and certainly enough to get you started listening to GBV.

Be prepared for: great melodies, fake british accents, sometimes fuzzes and pops and cracks, amazing guitar moments, puzzling whirring noises that sometimes are entire songs, rampant alcoholism, psychedelia-tinged everything. This band, and Robert Pollard in general, has a deep, deep love of all things Beatles and The Who. Within your first few listens, this will become readily apparent – this band really loves The Who and The Beatles.

“Damnit, Dusty!,” you’re saying now. “Tell me which albums to get already!” But no… you must be ready for what you’re getting into. You want to know “Why Guided By Voices,” right?

All of the aforementioned reasons are why. The band is a cerebral, visceral, fun, meaningless and touching testament… all at once. There is a story to this band. If this band was a girl, she’d best be described as smoky, dangerous, mysterious, and that kind of batshit-crazy-fun that has wrecked so many of my relationships.

Guided By Voices is more than a band – it’s an institution… and institution of rock.

Stay tuned for the following GBV-centric features:

Primed: Hold On Hope ep
Waxed: Bee Thousand
Waxed: Under The Bushes Under The Stars
Waxed: Propeller
Waxed: Isolation Drills
Tracks of the Damned: “Jane of the Waking Universe”

Primer: Dashboard Confessional and The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most

2008-08-21T14:15:00.001-04:00

So… you’re no longer an under-20 emo-girl, or, if you’re lucky, never were. You missed SpiderMan 2, you missed MTV unplugged, you missed the performance of all-R.E.M. material. You’ve heard about this whiny band that all the kids like, but couldn’t ever bring yourself to try them out during their commercial heyday – you know, two years ago. You’d like to think you were invincible, but… now you’re still wondering, “so who is this Dashboard Confessional guy, anyway?”

Well, this Dashboard Confessional guy is called Chris Carrabba. And now that some of the hype has died down and there aren’t a million pre-frat-boy guys strumming acoustic guitars on the step of your college dormitory, claiming that Dashboard Confessional is the greatest band you’ve never heard, it’s time to revisit them, and him, and take a look at whether or not they did anything worthy of your attention, teenage girl singalongs on MTV be damned.

Where do you start? I suggest The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most, as good a place to start as any in the DC catalog, since it contains a few well-known tunes, some tunes that all of the kids loved, and can be picked up for $5 in the used section of your favorite CD store.

Opening with “The Brilliant Dance,” the record announces itself in the hushed acoustic tones and slightly-whiny, heart on the sleeve vocals that were Carrabba’s stock in trade for much of DC’s early years. It is worth nothing that the band’s/Carrabba’s first release, Swiss Army Romance, was recorded sans band – just the man behind the band and his guitar. However, since the band would grow into the next coming of Journey in the last few years, writing and recording loud, anthemic, and ringing guitar pop/emo rock, it’s good to see the band stripped down, but not completely bare.

This is why “Screaming Infidelities” might have been shocking when the album was released (“Percussion? Oh NO!”). But, with MTV video in tow, soon the teens began discovering what the pre-frat-boys already knew – Carrabba had a way with words, and could put into melodic song all of our worst fears and heartbreaks. By the time “Screaming Infidelities” ends, you’ll be screaming along when Carrabba comes unhinged, singing “your hair is everywhere, screaming infidelities is taking its wear!”

The percussion and other full band amenities actually help this record out a great deal by keeping things from being too samey. The break up the monotonous tone of Carrabba’s strummed guitar and voice that mark and carry every song. Because of the change in occasional pace, “The Best Deceptions” and “Saints and Sailors” stick out from the early songs, and “Again I Go Unnoticed” keeps things interesting in the later stages.

With lyrics like “does he ever get the girl,” and “you can’t fake it hard enough to please,” and lots of talk of letters and being out of touch and out of time, well… sometimes things get a little cringe-worthy. There was a reason all the teens from 2002-2003 loved this band, because this is high-school poetry at its best, or worst, depending on how you see high-school poetry.

The guitar playing is fairly good when it is not folky, such as the innovative open-tuning chord movements in “Screaming Infidelities” and in other places. Some of the more hushed songs, though, feature the more folk-styled angry strumming. His voice varies between very singalongable to screamy whine that most people who hate Dashboard site as the reason that they hate Dashboard. Really tough, this only gets really annoying on “This Bitter Pill,” the closing track.

Still, if you’ve just been dumped or are having one of those rainy days when all the memories come flooding back and a tear slips into your morning coffee, The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most will help get you through your day. It’s a great place to start if you’re interested in the band.

What To Get Next: A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar
Recommended If You Like: The New Amsterdams, The Get Up Kids, acoustic Fall Out Boy or Jimmy Eat World, Elvis Costello, R.E.M.

Primer: Ryan Adams and Demolition

2008-08-21T14:00:00.003-04:00

The problem with Ryan Adams is also the best part about Ryan Adams: there is such a wealth of material. For the uninitiated, it can be a daunting task trying to find out where to begin, with multiple online-only songs, secret projects, bootlegged “unreleased” material, and other bands such as Whiskeytown all offering worthy listening experiences. Whiskeytown in and of itself deserves its own separate entries.

Though Adams is not-nearly as prolific and release-happy as Robert Pollard of Guided By Voices, the comparison is mostly just – here lies a brilliant songwriter, who releases a multitude of material that makes diehard fans squeal with joy, casual fans confused, and newcomers scared of where to begin.

Thankfully, Adams provides a great starting point for listening to his solo material with Demolition. Released after Adams’ best-selling and arguably most popular album to date, Gold, the Demolition album is the product of the prolific Adams writing and recording a reported four albums’ worth of material. Though it was originally his plan to release all of this material as a boxed set, the record company execs came in and asked him nicely to pare it down (not the first time the record execs would make a request to change Adams’ plan – the most publicized change having to do with the Love Is Hell and Rock N Roll albums, which we will surely get to later). The result was Demolition.

One might ask why a record of demos, half-finished songs and b-side material that Adams decided not to use (or rather that the record company decided needed to be pared down into a more listenable and commercially viable chunk) would be a great place to start. The primary is because on Demolition, we get a glimpse of the myriad forms Adams’ music can take.

On “Nuclear,” the album’s opening tune, is quintessential Ryan Adams: alt-country overtones, acoustic guitar and electric guitar rhythms, a pissed off and anthemic chorus, great lyrics, Adams’ alternately breathy and snarling vocals, and most of all, a kind of relaxed, lazy detachment that Adams best songs always have.

“Hallelujah” comes next, this time without the punky distorted guitars, but with that passionate-yet-uninterested singing, supported by some of Adams’ most gorgeous lyrics, great background vocals, a comfortably familiar harmonica, and Americana chord structures. It contains one of my favorite Adams’ lyrics: “I’d only trade you in for Mary Magdalene.” I love you sweetie, but hey, you know, she was kind of important, he seems to say – again, passion with a detachment that any 20-something growing up in American can relate to.

While some critics panned the barebones structural nature of some of the songs, the minimal accompaniment of “You Will Always Be The Same” lends it a storyteller’s charm, and lends it familiarity with Adams’ first solo album, Heartbreaker. By contrast, “Starting to Hurt” points directly to the take on modern rock and the garage rock revival that Adams would perfect on Rock N Roll.

To my ears, the first 6 songs are solid gold, some of Adams’ best songwriting. The perfectly capture his irreverent, irresponsible, and completely understandable look at the world, love, and human interaction. A good deal of his material seems to deal with either growing up or breaking up. This compilation seems to capture that without being a lame greatest hits package.

The astute listener will love the interplay between the guitar and piano on “Cry on Demand,” the steel guitar on “Nuclear,” the laid-back vibe of “Tennessee Sucks.” The listener seeking emotional content will likely find something tasteful and relatable on every track. To me, “She Wants to Play Hearts” is a little lacking, and the second half of the album doesn’t capture me as much as the first.

Perhaps the best thing about starting off your Ryan Adams collection with Demolition is that the next album you purchase by Adams should seem familiar, no matter which one it is. It seems like all of his many styles are captured on this one album, from the country of Jacksonville City Nights to the dark introspection and indie rock trappings of Love Is Hell.

With an artist as prolific and polarizing as Adams, there are bound to be those who vehemently disagree with Demolition as a primer to Adams’ music, but for my money it is a worthy addition to any record collection and a great doorway into Adams’ superb solo work. It may be his least consistent-throughout album, but it is a great place to start.

What To Get Next: Love Is Hell is damn-near perfect, but of the newer stuff, Easy Tiger is a great listen, too
Recommended If You Like: The Jayhawks, Whiskeytown, The Strokes, Jeff Buckley (kind of), folk rock, outlaw country

Mission Statement

2008-08-21T13:51:00.004-04:00

To discuss musical artists, their albums, and their songs, with intelligence and style. To help the wary reader confidently approach music they are unfamiliar with. To answer readers' questions and research new artists on behalf of those wishing to listen to them, but not knowing where to start. To do away with the idea of artists as "singles" artists, and focus on those who create consistently good music, not just one hit song that gets hot on iTunes. To destroy the American Idol culture of pop music. To destroy the iTunes nation. To bring back listening to music as an experience, like dropping the needle down on a record and letting it go. To debunk some musical myths and feed the frenzy on others. To write about what we are most passionate about.