Ever have one of those days where the person in the gaudy car cuts you off with an illegal driving tactic despite you doing the speed limit?
Ever feel like you're content just being average because you know how to be happy with being modest?
Well, as a guy who runs www.GHOSTBUSTING.net and dressing like a Ghostbusters ever so often,for things like Halloween, it might be a little hard to believe that I am happy with being modest and working with what is average.
Anywoo, tonight I present to you a song by a band called Dredg. See, a year ago I was transferred with my job and ended up bumping into a childhood friend of my older brother. Buddy and I have some stories that go way back and other stories; well I embellished a lot on the past experiences that Buddy and I had from getting kicked out of Sunday School to getting wounded in the face with a Ninja Turtles' pizza thrower. Since I was working with Buddy for a while, I got to pick up on some of his tastes in music and honestly, I'm rather jealous of the amazing collection of bands that he has in his playlist.
One of them being Dredg. And Dredg has an amazing song about modesty and being content.
I'm very dark and poetic; sometimes gothic. I'm sure Sean would second that statement about me. I mean, my music collection goes from Stabbing Westward to Gravity Kills or Depeche Mode to The Cure or Kill Hannah to The Birthday Massacre.
But sometimes, sometimes, I can be happy. Like I might toss on something to my playlist that has nothing to do with being sad. Can you imagine that?
Well, she just happened to cross my mind. The powerful sound of ska from The Mighty, Mighty Bosstones just happened.
I'm at my desk, listening to Sound Opinions (soundopinions.org). This week's program is about sophomore albums that WORK. Usually, a band succumbs to the dreaded sophomore slump. It could be for various reasons. My gut reaction is that a band's first album is an album that has to be made for the band. The band will oftentimes have to drudge through their day or night shift jobs, sink their money or non-money (credit cards) into making the album. These albums inevitably showcase a band at their hungriest.
Then, if they're lucky, success happens. In some cases, they don't have anything left to say. It's the same thing that hangs across great writers - as great as they are, they may only have one album in them. In other cases, a band gets lazy or complacent. They go from selling t-shirts at the back of their cars to pay for the gas to go to the next town, to having everything handed to them. And with the inevitable record contract comes the burden of releasing an album out of obligation.
But some artists are able to transcend this sophomore slump. Think Radiohead's The Bends, think Cowboy Junkies The Trinity Sessions, think Morphine's Cure For Pain, and think A Tribe Called Quest's The Low End Theory. Two great genres separated by a huge generation gap, jazz and hip-hop, find a great marriage with The Low End Theory. "Check The Rhyme" is one of those songs that if anyone hates hip-hop, I defy them to listen to it and not be at least partially swayed to not discredit the entire genre. Sophisticated, flawlessly executed and just plain fun, "Check the Rhyme" is a high point in '90s hip-hop.
The raspy vocals Mark Oliver Everett are an instrument in themselves but the lo-fi band known as The Eels is more than just Everett's vocals. So with that part said, I'm going to move to the next part and actually introduce today's SoL; which is obviously going to be from The Eels. The song? Well, it's "I'm Going To Stop Pretending That I Didn't Break Your Heart."
One of the great things I love about The Eels is the fact that their songs always keep up the same consistency of Everett's vocals, the plucking of guitar strings, and melancholy.
Anyway, sorry about the short posts and lack of involvement lately - getting ready and pumped up for a series of comic book conventions and the year anniversary of www.GHOSTBUSTING.net!
Say what you want about Fiona Apple. She's flighty. She's moody. She's erratic. But pity the person who underestimates her.
Apple of course entered the pop culture psyche with the eerie, voyeuristic video "Criminal." It had a nice hook. But a girl with a piano - Tori Amos already had that angle covered. As if anyone would tell a dude who picked up a guitar "Sorry, Springsteen's already filling that niche."
The best songwriters have easily-identifiable talents. You hear a Fountains of Wayne song, you're probably going to hear a tale of "7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m." cubicle woes. A u2 song will probably be about something...big. A Pavement song will be about...whatever the hell it's supposed to be about.
But as for Fiona Apple, chances are, a metaphor will be front and center. On the vague "Extraordinary Machine", Apple sings about taking whatever people say or think about her, and making the most out of it. On "Paper Bag", a perceived bird turns out to be a paper bag. However, as a certain notable movie showed us in that year, a bag could be a thing of beauty.
Her metaphor streak first showed up on "Shadowboxer", from her album Tidal. In that song, her significant (or soon to be ex-significant) other has turned into a sparring partner, as his actions - be it verbal or not - are treated as jabs. "I wanna be ready for what you do," Apple sings in a weary voice that almost seems like an act for a teenager. But when she sings "But I'll be sure to stay wary of you, love / to save the pain of once my flame and twice my burn" - you know it's the real deal.
Sorry for the lateness on this one. Battling a fever and a stomach virus.
In the late '80s and early '90s, rap was famously known as "The black CNN." But growing up in the late '80s and early '90s, I saw a lot of well-to-do high schoolers blasting NWA from their BMWs. And to be honest, I think a lot of rappers took advantage of this suburban type of urban fantasy by embellishing some of their bios. It's not different than what some outlaw country artists did a few decades before.
But Ice Cube was a different story. I wasn't too keen on gangsta rap in early '90s for its incessant posturing. But one listen to Ice Cube's "Today Was A Good Day" changed my outlook almost instantly. Instead of hearing stories about drive-bys and revenge, we heard Ice Cube detailing an utterly normal day to middle America, but a rarity for someone who is actually living in the environment Ice Cube routinely painted.
Cube expertly weaves in a few monotonous details - watching Yo MTV Raps, getting a fat burger at two in the morning and not getting pulled over by the cops. Cube also weaves in more poignant details - "plus nobody I know got killed in South Central L.A." Cube's frank delivery gave that line a stark realism that was missing in more than 90 percent of gangsta rap at that time. It was one of the few times where the information felt more like a letter from a warzone than a Grand Theft Auto fantasy.
A couple years ago, I had the joy of having to borrow my a friend's car while my car was in the shop for repairs. During that horrible three day marathon driving, I was stuck with a radio; and no CD player or mp3 input devices. I was cursed with FM stations. And out of nowhere, there was something airborne and toxic going through the frequencies. No, not Britney Spears either.
It was some type of airborne toxic event going on. In fact, it was sometime around midnight. It started with a stringed orchestra, a mellow rock sound, and an emotional vocalist with just as emotional lyrics. Oh, this was The Airborne Toxic Event and it was Sometime Around Midnight. I pulled myself over to make sure to scribble that information down when I got home. I would then spend the next couple weeks of 2008 awaiting for August to come so I get this debut album for this band.
So fast forward, the album comes out literally right before I have to be sent away for job training and while I should be looking for the last bits of what I need to travel, I am instead hunting down this album for such a small and unknown band. Finally found it and rip it straight into iTunes so I can make it portable for this long flight to Texas from New Jersey. All I can do is hope that the rest of the album is half as good as their one song.
The Airborne Toxic Event failed to disappoint. "This Is Nowhere" became one of my favorite songs and this CD would end up living in my CD player for that car for the next year and rarely would be taken out. Literally, I could listen to this album 6 hours straight and still fall in love with each time I listened.
So I present to you, "This Is Nowhere" and tell you, it's the only song I know that uses the word, accoutrements. And it also makes you question things.
File Under Easy Listening has been maligned for being too similar to Copper Blue. And no doubt, I'm in that camp. Whenever I see this album on Amazon, I see it in the one-cent ghetto. In local record stores, it's usually on that huge wall of CDs that's marked "3 for $3", along with CDs from Deadeye Dick and a Backstreet Boys single.
But like most of Bob Mould's post-Husker Du output (at least before he dabbled into techno), there was at least a genuine stab at creating a truly great pop song. That was Bob Mould's Moby Dick. Yes, there were tons of moments on albums like Zen Arcade that had Mould screaming at the top of his lungs amidst a wall of ear-piercing feedback, but he also had an amazing sense of rhythm, which was accentuated on the brilliant New Day Rising.
So, I've spent the last couple of weeks transferring any remaining CDs that didn't make it to my removable hard drive...to my removable hard drive. It's a great way to rediscover some works that have been gathering some serious dust (see Virgin Suicides soundtrack, Smashing Pumpkins' "Zero" maxi-single, complete with a 20-minute plus song). Sure enough, File Under Easy Listening came up.
The album is no Copper Blue, but it certainly doesn't deserved to be left with stacks of other forgotten CDs at a failing record store. If only for the song "Gee Angel." It's pure Sugar - watery guitar riffs, Mould's driving vocals and a chorus that's difficult to shake.
The video is also a great snapshot of mid-90s nostalgia. The video's effects are so dated, they take on an endearing quality. The cartoons in the video are great - utterly familiar...you've seen these things before, but for the life of you, you don't remember where. They're not Warner Bros. They're not Hanna Barbara, they're not Disney, but you swear you've seen them sometime before - maybe on a cheap, locally-produced Sunday morning entertainment show for kids to watch while their moms and dad's get dressed up for church.
There are several songs that kind of are a wake up call to you, the listener. This one, particularly, is the defining song of a band called Low vs Diamond. In 2008, Rolling Stone credited these Americans with the being one of the six bands that are defining pop and rock. So today, I present to you, "This Is Your Life."
With guitars that belong out of a Travis album, Low vs Diamond instantly captivates my attention with their sound of melancholily. A slow drumbeat matches the stings and sets the pace as frontman Lucas Field's vocals dig deeply into you when you listen to the lyrics. It's a perfect audial concept that is executed by a band that may, perhaps, be going nowhere.
Greatly written lyrical lines such as, "You reached for the sun; afraid of the day." make up the chorus with other great lines such as:
And after work you are so tired but still a star
So I waited all day by your side
It's starting to wear on my pride
So go do what you want
I won't ask why
'Cause I'm leaving all this by my side
And I'm starting to wear all my pride
This song is clearly, about someone no longer willing to be manipulated or controlled but not wishing to fight with the oppressor.
The debut album from Low vs Diamond is their only published work; with very little reason elsewhere to believe that there could be a second album since the release of their self-titled album in 2008. They were amazing when I saw them live in 2009 with Jack's Mannequin and Matt Nathanson.
Honestly, with this indie band from California, I'd like to see them pair up with New York's Longwave for a tour.
I spent a good amount of this weekend ignoring the political posturing and the outrage about the anything but Christian preacher burning the Koran and the mosque debate and went back to the source for all of this. I watched the first full hour of coverage from that Tuesday morning on MSNBC. Then, I sat glued to the History Channel, feeling all sorts of helpless and depressed as I saw the videos from people who were watching this for the first time - those who are without a media filter - so their reactions, no matter how many times you've seen those burning towers, still tear through you.
Then, I switched to YouTube and went back to Ryan Adams video "New York New York." It was shot in one entire day in New York City. It was initially an unremarkable video - an entire day in New York. Flashes of traffic going by, people zooming through the sidewalks, and that view of Ryan Adams in front of the Twin Towers.
That Saturday, that footage probably went to a mixer. 72 hours later, the Twin Towers would be gone.
There are literally hundreds of videos that are better than "New York New York." There were probably a dozen superior videos in 2001. But in my opinion, this took "Video of the Year" honors - without question. Yes, there were other videos that were technically better, there were other videos that were far more original. But no video affected me like this one as it is one of the most gripping snapshots of a 9/10 world.
I wanted to write about Interpol today, but unfortunately a jingle lodged in my ear. "Marconi plays the mamba" from what Blender deemed the worst song of all time.
Starship's "We Built This City"
Readers, feel free to visit another site now. And I apologize for bringing this one up, but as Stuck On Loop pledges, we examine the music that we can't get out of our head. Good and bad.
I'll sum this up for younger readers. Jefferson Starship was a counterculture '60s band that sang about drug use ("White Rabbit") and lust ("Somebody to Love") amongst other rock and roll topics. Then, creative differences and drug use sank the band. But like so many bands of the '60s, they cleaned up their act and like so many '60s figures of the '80s, found a way to make gobs of money in the Reagan era. They changed their name a few times. Added some synth. And threw in some American jingoism at the height of Rambo/Rocky mania.
The song purports to be a celebration of the rebellious spirit of rock and roll, but it couldn't be further from the truth. As Jefferson Airplane stemmed from San Francisco, "We Built This City", according to songwriter Bernie Taupin, was about Los Angeles. Grace Slick, once the face of the counterculture, was now mugging in front of the camera, '80s perm and all. As Blender aptly sums up the song, it sounds like it was written in a lab.
Driving home today, desperate to get the song out of my head, I thought of an episode of House. In the episode, one of the doctors said a patient's levels were only off by one percent. House shoots back "If her DNA was off by one percent, she'd be a dolphin."
Which, inevitably gets me back to "We Built This City." We know how much this song sucks, but I'm all about finding some sort of raw material to salvage in the garbage heap. For this song, it's one, amazingly stupid, but towering chorus: "Marconi plays the mamba." Forget the rest. Just keep that phrase. It's amazingly stupid, but it has a towering buildup that would make Oasis envious. It's also a phrase stupid enough to get a pass by AC/DC. Hell, if AC/DC used that line in a song about building a city out of rock and roll, critics would call them brilliant.
The other salvageable item of the song is the premises of building a city out of rock and roll. Strip away the keyboards, the sanitized vocals, and the amazingly hypocritical anti-corporation spiel, transport Los Angeles to the depressed city of Detroit and you've got a basis of a song that blues worshipers The White Stripes or The Black Keys could have penned.
But you can't strip away the gloss from Starship's song. It made them a ton of money. And for all its awfulness and its representation of all things that sucked in the '80s, it still serves a purpose. Kids, if you're lucky enough to make a living with your art, keep your head on straight or you may have to resort to writing a song like this to pay the bills.
There's always this eerie chill of cosmic coldness that pierces my skin and makes me shiver when I hear this spacey riffs from The Catherine Wheel's song, "Black Metallic." Like I can have on my iTunes with Shuffle Mode on and not hear a single song in the background of what I am doing but the second the chords are started, I feel the coldness overcome inside me my insides vibrate with feeling and awareness.
The vocals of Rob Dickinson, as always, are nothing short of greatness. The song itself has been interpreted several times but the popular one seems to be that Rob is singing about someone who he is trying to emotionally connect to but to no avail. The black metallic part is either referencing a black shiny stone or a black car, hence the metallic part.
It's odd though, with the echoing of sound of the Catherine Wheel making me cold, I feel energized and alive during this song. And to think, when I was younger, I hated this song but I supposed I never understood it.
I was a fan of Black Mountain's In the Future album. As a hard rock fan, it was bracing to hear a newer hard rock band that didn't have a vocalist that sounded like Cookie Monster or a dentist drill.
When the release date of their latest album, Wilderness Heart was announced, I quickly put it up on my "Most Anticipated of 2010" list.
Unfortunately, the first song, the unfortunately-titled "The Hair Song", is giving me much reason to celebrate. Gone is the King Crimson-sized ambition of the band's previous album. In its stead is some serious-indebted sounds of the '70s. The riffs sound like recycled Led Zep riffs.
But the hook does stick with you. And Amber Webber's vocals definitely are easy to the ear. So, despite its worst inclinations, the song does remain, like a McDonald's value meal that you consume at lunch, knowing full and well you'll be asleep at your keyboard in two hours.
Time for another English band to talked about by me. And this time, it's a crusty-punk band from West Yorkshire. With several visas denied resulting in many cancelled tours, New Model Army is quite the interesting band.
Well, today's a holiday and I'll keep this one short.
To all those who blame the unions for everything from outsourcing woes to our failing school system, all I can say is that I hope to see you at your desk or your workstation on Monday. Yes, unions can be corrupt, but in general, you can thank your union man for having a 40-hour work week, if you're 14, you can thank a union person for child labor laws and if you work in a factory, you can thank a union person for having a decent set of safety rules.
For union sympathizers, few can touch Boston's Dropkick Murphys. As a fan of the Clash, and I hope Scott won't disfriend me for saying this, Dropkick Murphys may be the closest thing America has to The Clash right now, moreso than even in Rancid's heyday. Like The Clash, they are decidedly blue collar. Like The Clash, they have a sense of rhythm that varies from punk to ska to ale-raising pub anthems. And like The Clash, they are not afraid to let their feelings be known.
So workers of the world, unite and enjoy a free Monday by adding Dropkick Murphys to your soundtrack.
For two solid summers, I, like millions of folks, have worried about where my next paycheck is coming. Is it from my job, or the unemployment line? Luckily this year has been far more rooted in security than last summer. Still, I can remember where summer was spent working part-time jobs, enjoying a few months off from school and going to sleep when you felt like it (unless you had to work the morning shift).
There is a lot to be said for having security in numbers. And in the case of college, that security was roommates. You could work part-time because you had maybe two or three other people to split the utilities. Summer was like a three-month security blanket. Like a summer movie to entertain you for at least two hours.
And speaking of security blankets, enter Temple of the Dog's "All Night Thing." The opening chords and Chris Cornell's soothing voice "She motioned to me" hits your ears seem to automatically put you at ease. For those too young to remember, Temple of the Dog was a band that was formed to pay tribute to Andy Wood, who died of a heroin overdose. The members of Soundgarden and Pearl Jam made an album that totally complemented each other's styles. It gave Soundgarden a lyrical and poetic depth and it provided some metal to Pearl Jam's sound.
The song is self-explanatory. Something will happen between two people that will result in "an all night thing." With the piano backdrop, the song feels like it could be played on your local NPR's "last call" jazz program before switching on to BBC news. The circumstances surrounding the making of the album are anything but serene, but Cornell's warm vocals wrap around you like a blanket on a brisk autumn night.
Honestly, is there a better artist out there than Bob Dylan when it comes to delivering a great kiss-off to an ex, or even to someone you would have hoped to get to a stage that you could call him/her an ex?
Sure, you have the screamo champions out there, yelling at the top of their lungs about how a girl just stomped their heart into the ground. And for an older folk like me, it was Trent Reznor, singing about how he's now a "fading f*%*ing reminder of who I used to be" thanks to a woman in "Something I Can Never Have." And of course, if you're REALLY ticked off, your garden variety gangsta rap song will do for some quick catharsis.
But, to steal the cliche, time does heal wounds. And what would make a woman or man who wronged you angrier: Someone who is yelling and screaming in tears on the phone about how they ruined their life, or someone saying flatly, almost logically "You just kinda wasted my precious time..."
"Sugar Baby" is the second "epic" closer in Bob Dylan's phenomenal one-two punch (Time Out of Mind and Love And Theft) in the late '90s/early '00s. In "Highlands", the character summed up "the sun is beginning to shine on me, but it's not like the sun that used to be." On "Sugar Baby", the character has his back to the sun because "the light is too intense."
True, if they were sung by a lesser artist, critics wouldn't give a pass to a chorus like "Sugar baby get on down the road / you ain't got no brains nohow / you went years without me / 'might as well keep going now." But Dylan's grizzled, haunted voice, which sounds like wind whistling through the floorboards, packs a whallop.
Dylan's got bigger themes to tackle than just a breakup. Even if you're not a Dylan fan, I challenge anyone not to nod in agreement after a horrible day in their life when he says "every moment of existence seems like some dirty trick." He holds on to "dirty", giving it a bit of a growl. Then he flatly says "Happiness can come suddenly then leave just as quick."
