No matter which gym you belong to, you are undoubtedly surrounded by a handful of weirdoes. They’re everywhere: The fifty-year-old woman whose triple-D implants account for half her body weight, the ginormous Russian body-builder who does pirouettes as he moves from one weight apparatus to another, the guy in the locker room who wants to talk about just how much the Raiders suck while his penis dangles inches from your face, the elderly man who seems to jerk and hyperextend every muscle in his body as he does seated-rows, the meathead who screams and grunts way too loud after every bicep curl. I’m one of those weirdoes too.
It’s not entirely my fault. I’m not conscious of what I’m doing. It’s early. I’m surrounded by strangers. And my headphones seem to alter reality. With music blasting in my ears, I lose the casual awareness that others are around me, possibly observing me. And so I dance. Not like club dancing. There’s neither a bump nor a grind - just awkward white boy nodding of head, tapping of feet. Sometimes I look in the mirror and catch myself playing air guitar, air bass, or air drumming… obviously not at the same time. Note: I do not ever play air piano, that’s not weird, it’s borderline psychotic.
In addition to my air-playing and my body rocking, I’m prone to silently mouthing along to the lyrics. When I work out, I primarily listen to hip-hop, so singing along consists of me moving my lips very fast and taking great care to avoid mouthing the N-word. Despite my political correctness, I look like a creep. It’s not on purpose. It just happens. The noise canceling headphones have the affect that driving in your car has on your sense of privacy – well almost… you won’t find me picking my nose at the gym. That would just be silly.
And while we’re on the subject of the gym, here’s my sixty-minute workout mix.
10 Minute Warm-up:
Aphex Twin – Film (nice, easy, chill, good to start)
Crazy – Gnarls Barkley (pick up the pace, but not too much)
Queen Bee – Medeski, Martin, and Wood (chill and then it explodes in the last minute)
40 Minute Work-out:
The Rooster – Big Boi (This will wake you up)
Heavy Metal – Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (upbeat, rockin’)
Float On – Modest Mouse (upbeat, rockin’ +1)
December 4th – DJ Danger Mouse (Shift to hip-hop through the Beatles and Jay-Z)
Get By – Talib Kweli (Upbeat, awesome)
The Seed – The Roots (more upbeat, more awesomeness)
Organ Donor – DJ Shadow (I dare you not to sweat to this song)
Never Let Me Down – Kanye West (Just when you think the song is ending, Jay-Z comes back for an encore verse)
Deceptacon – Le Tigre (The peak, just when you need it)
10 Minute Warm-down:
Umi Says – Mos Def (ramp into something chill)
No Woman, No Cry – Fugees (and we’re done)
Showing posts with label Indie Rock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Indie Rock. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
My Own Self-Satisfaction Mix
I like throwing parties for one reason and one reason alone: I get to make the playlist. I can’t begin to tell you how often I go to parties and there is virtually no thought given to the music getting played. Okay, that may be an exaggeration. I rarely get invited to parties, but often, when my neighbors throw them and I walk by, I can tell the music sucks and I’m happy they didn’t invite me, because I don’t need to go to their really fun, raucous party if they’re going to play lame music. Screw them.
Anyway, Christine and I had a little shindig this past weekend. (I won’t call it a barbeque, because my Southern friend, James, pointed out, that if I’m not smoking the meat, I’m just “grilling out.”) From what I remember, it was a pretty good time. My memory is poor though. I used a margarita recipe my friend Katie recommended: one can of frozen concentrated limeade, one can of tequila, and three light beers… originally it was two, but I had to dilute it somehow. That surprisingly tasty and obviously strong recipe, which I nicknamed “the marga-ruffie,” along with my playlist pretty much ensured that I was going to have fun even if no one else did.
The way you shape a playlist depends on the type of atmosphere you’re trying to set. If you’re having a wine and cheese Christmas party, perhaps jazz and/or bossa nova is more appropriate than hardcore rap. In the case of a late afternoon/evening bbq (fuck James, I’m not from the South), you’re looking for music chill enough that people can talk, but interesting and upbeat enough to keep people drinking and having fun. Songs longer than five minutes are automatically excluded. As are songs with long intros or outros (think Wu Tang Clan’s Method Man intro… it’s torture mother fucker if you have to listen to that at a party). Instrumental music is something I love, but another no-no for party mixes.
My bbq mix was about 40% hip-hop (The Roots, A Tribe Called Quest, Common, Kanye West, Blackstar, Jay-Z, etc.) Maybe 25% of the mix is high energy indie rock (Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, The White Stripes, Modest Mouse, The Fiery Furnaces, The Arcade Fire, etc.) The remaining third of the playlist is split up evenly between ska/reggae (The Slackers, Bob Andy, Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff, etc.), classics (Bob Dylan, The Police, The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, etc.) and a variety of stuff I was hoping people had never heard, but would be impressed enough to ask you about. (I’ve mentioned many of these bands in the past, but: Aberfeldy, Le Tigre, Andrew Bird, Darrel Scott, Little Brother, Ms. Dynamite, Okerrvil River, Pinback, Sergio Mendes, Vic Ruggerio, etc.) (With that setup, I could pretty much leave my iPod on shuffle and feel confident that the music would flow nicely all night.)
Whether or not anyone liked the music enough to ask me about it or just enjoyed the music at all, is unclear. Again, “marga-ruffies” lead to trouble, trouble which I have very little recollection of. But that was the goal, and whether or not anyone else enjoyed the music as much as I did, I’m fairly confident that I spent a good part of the night nodding along to the music in that way that white boys who truly lack rhythm always do. And the neighbors, who were invited, but were apparently too cool to show up, were very jealous and sad that they didn't come by… at least in my head.
Anyway, Christine and I had a little shindig this past weekend. (I won’t call it a barbeque, because my Southern friend, James, pointed out, that if I’m not smoking the meat, I’m just “grilling out.”) From what I remember, it was a pretty good time. My memory is poor though. I used a margarita recipe my friend Katie recommended: one can of frozen concentrated limeade, one can of tequila, and three light beers… originally it was two, but I had to dilute it somehow. That surprisingly tasty and obviously strong recipe, which I nicknamed “the marga-ruffie,” along with my playlist pretty much ensured that I was going to have fun even if no one else did.
The way you shape a playlist depends on the type of atmosphere you’re trying to set. If you’re having a wine and cheese Christmas party, perhaps jazz and/or bossa nova is more appropriate than hardcore rap. In the case of a late afternoon/evening bbq (fuck James, I’m not from the South), you’re looking for music chill enough that people can talk, but interesting and upbeat enough to keep people drinking and having fun. Songs longer than five minutes are automatically excluded. As are songs with long intros or outros (think Wu Tang Clan’s Method Man intro… it’s torture mother fucker if you have to listen to that at a party). Instrumental music is something I love, but another no-no for party mixes.
My bbq mix was about 40% hip-hop (The Roots, A Tribe Called Quest, Common, Kanye West, Blackstar, Jay-Z, etc.) Maybe 25% of the mix is high energy indie rock (Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, The White Stripes, Modest Mouse, The Fiery Furnaces, The Arcade Fire, etc.) The remaining third of the playlist is split up evenly between ska/reggae (The Slackers, Bob Andy, Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff, etc.), classics (Bob Dylan, The Police, The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, etc.) and a variety of stuff I was hoping people had never heard, but would be impressed enough to ask you about. (I’ve mentioned many of these bands in the past, but: Aberfeldy, Le Tigre, Andrew Bird, Darrel Scott, Little Brother, Ms. Dynamite, Okerrvil River, Pinback, Sergio Mendes, Vic Ruggerio, etc.) (With that setup, I could pretty much leave my iPod on shuffle and feel confident that the music would flow nicely all night.)
Whether or not anyone liked the music enough to ask me about it or just enjoyed the music at all, is unclear. Again, “marga-ruffies” lead to trouble, trouble which I have very little recollection of. But that was the goal, and whether or not anyone else enjoyed the music as much as I did, I’m fairly confident that I spent a good part of the night nodding along to the music in that way that white boys who truly lack rhythm always do. And the neighbors, who were invited, but were apparently too cool to show up, were very jealous and sad that they didn't come by… at least in my head.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The Sweet Smell of Burnt Cocaine
Okay, this is totally late, but I don’t care. I can’t think of anything else to write about and it’s totally worth talking about.
Christine and I went to the Hollywood Bowl a few weeks ago and caught The Decemberists playing with the LA Philharmonic. And it was awesome! More on that shortly.
First, the Hollywood Bowl is the coolest place in the world to see a large, outdoor concert. This I’m convinced of, despite having only been to maybe a dozen or so outdoor concert venues. It’s so fucking cool though! We parked at Hollywood and Highland (where the Academy Awards are held), walked through the heart of tourist central Hollywood and arrived at the bowl, a veritable oasis in the heart of urban tourist sprawl. Before taking our seats, we sat with some of Christine’s friends and chatted with them at a picnic table while they drank wine and ate tasty snacks. Then we walked to our seats, opened the bottle of Chianti we brought, and dug into our picnic dinner. Apparently, if the LA Philharmonic is present, you can bring wine and beer into the Hollywood Bowl, no questions asked. And that is so fucking cool! Plus you’re in this amazing, gigantic, yet somehow intimate concert space, and there’s virtually no indication that you’re anywhere near Hollywood. It’s just hills and trees and vegetation surrounding you. You quickly forget where you are and manage to focus all your senses on tasty wine and fantastic music. I love the Hollywood Bowl. I can’t stress that enough.
A Band Of Horses was the first opener. They’re good. Christine likes them a lot. I thought the Bowl was too big of a venue for them, but they were nice. I honestly don’t have too much to say about them. They seemed good (I know I said that already), but I was focused on wine and picnic dinners and people watching and taking in the sheer beauty of the bowl. I can’t stress how cool it is there.
Next up was Andrew Bird. A guy I worked with when I first came out to LA, was kind enough to make me an incredible mix that featured a Andrew Bird song on it, so I got to be really cool, and tell everyone ahead of time how excited I was to see him, even though I’d only heard about a half-dozen of his songs. I was right though. He’s ridiculous. If you haven’t heard Andrew Bird, you should… especially if you can catch him live. He plays alongside a drummer and bass player (or at least he did on this night). Andrew Bird plays the violin (incredibly well), loops it with a foot petal, whistles , loops that with a foot petal, then picks up the guitar and plays that. Then puts down the guitar and picks back up the violin. Then he whistles some more and somewhere along the ride, he sings too. And he does it all so well. I have trouble describing his style. To say he’s a singer/songwriter who plays violin and loops samples just doesn’t seem to do him justice. To say that after seeing him perform a 45 minute set, I was convinced there was no way The Decemberists playing with the LA Philharmonic could possibly be as impressive as he was, probably is a better testament to how awesome he was. If you don’t believe me, check this out.
I was wrong by the way. The whole, ‘there’s no way The Decemeberists could be as good as Andrew Bird’ thing. Yeah, I was an idiot, because The Decemberists with the LA Philharmonic was one of the coolest things, I’ve ever seen or heard. I’m not going to go song by song and explain every nuance of the show, just a few highlights instead.
They opened with “The Crane Wife, parts 1 and 2.” From the first few notes that the Philharmonic played, I knew I was in for a treat. And moments later when I heard several string players hit a chord in unison and the big bassy French horn kick in, I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. It’s so rare that music surprises me, tickles me, touches me. Watching an incredible band play really sophisticated songs with the help of one of the nations best symphonies is a quite simply a treat, and I wasn’t quite ready for what I was about to hear. The songs were so well-orchestrated, so layered, so pleasing to my ears, I couldn’t help but laugh and laugh; it seemed the only sensible thing to do.
My other favorite moment of the show came when the crowd greeted the band with raucous approval as they launched into “Los Angeles, I’m Yours.” For those of you not to familiar with The Decemberists, “Lose Angeles, I’m Yours” is perhaps the single most beautiful tribute to the city I call home; it also happens to be a scathing rant about everything that makes LA such a deplorable place. Christine informed me that people in LA love songs about how awful LA is. And why not? Everyone here is from somewhere else, there’s no attachment to this city, no hometown pride; it’s cool to turn up our collective noses at a city a renowned for neon dreams, materialism, and greed. On this night, some 17,000 fans collectively celebrated our home by cheering along to a song that actively shits on it.
In the past I’ve written about the things I enjoy in live music: technical virtuosity, energy, hearing something unique – something that may never be recreated, and surprises. Suffice to say, this show had it all. (Here’s a link to a video of them playing “The Infanta.” I don’t think it quite does the sound justice… although it pretty well mimics my view.) Did I mention I love the Hollywood Bowl?
Christine and I went to the Hollywood Bowl a few weeks ago and caught The Decemberists playing with the LA Philharmonic. And it was awesome! More on that shortly.
First, the Hollywood Bowl is the coolest place in the world to see a large, outdoor concert. This I’m convinced of, despite having only been to maybe a dozen or so outdoor concert venues. It’s so fucking cool though! We parked at Hollywood and Highland (where the Academy Awards are held), walked through the heart of tourist central Hollywood and arrived at the bowl, a veritable oasis in the heart of urban tourist sprawl. Before taking our seats, we sat with some of Christine’s friends and chatted with them at a picnic table while they drank wine and ate tasty snacks. Then we walked to our seats, opened the bottle of Chianti we brought, and dug into our picnic dinner. Apparently, if the LA Philharmonic is present, you can bring wine and beer into the Hollywood Bowl, no questions asked. And that is so fucking cool! Plus you’re in this amazing, gigantic, yet somehow intimate concert space, and there’s virtually no indication that you’re anywhere near Hollywood. It’s just hills and trees and vegetation surrounding you. You quickly forget where you are and manage to focus all your senses on tasty wine and fantastic music. I love the Hollywood Bowl. I can’t stress that enough.
A Band Of Horses was the first opener. They’re good. Christine likes them a lot. I thought the Bowl was too big of a venue for them, but they were nice. I honestly don’t have too much to say about them. They seemed good (I know I said that already), but I was focused on wine and picnic dinners and people watching and taking in the sheer beauty of the bowl. I can’t stress how cool it is there.
Next up was Andrew Bird. A guy I worked with when I first came out to LA, was kind enough to make me an incredible mix that featured a Andrew Bird song on it, so I got to be really cool, and tell everyone ahead of time how excited I was to see him, even though I’d only heard about a half-dozen of his songs. I was right though. He’s ridiculous. If you haven’t heard Andrew Bird, you should… especially if you can catch him live. He plays alongside a drummer and bass player (or at least he did on this night). Andrew Bird plays the violin (incredibly well), loops it with a foot petal, whistles , loops that with a foot petal, then picks up the guitar and plays that. Then puts down the guitar and picks back up the violin. Then he whistles some more and somewhere along the ride, he sings too. And he does it all so well. I have trouble describing his style. To say he’s a singer/songwriter who plays violin and loops samples just doesn’t seem to do him justice. To say that after seeing him perform a 45 minute set, I was convinced there was no way The Decemberists playing with the LA Philharmonic could possibly be as impressive as he was, probably is a better testament to how awesome he was. If you don’t believe me, check this out.
I was wrong by the way. The whole, ‘there’s no way The Decemeberists could be as good as Andrew Bird’ thing. Yeah, I was an idiot, because The Decemberists with the LA Philharmonic was one of the coolest things, I’ve ever seen or heard. I’m not going to go song by song and explain every nuance of the show, just a few highlights instead.
They opened with “The Crane Wife, parts 1 and 2.” From the first few notes that the Philharmonic played, I knew I was in for a treat. And moments later when I heard several string players hit a chord in unison and the big bassy French horn kick in, I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. It’s so rare that music surprises me, tickles me, touches me. Watching an incredible band play really sophisticated songs with the help of one of the nations best symphonies is a quite simply a treat, and I wasn’t quite ready for what I was about to hear. The songs were so well-orchestrated, so layered, so pleasing to my ears, I couldn’t help but laugh and laugh; it seemed the only sensible thing to do.
My other favorite moment of the show came when the crowd greeted the band with raucous approval as they launched into “Los Angeles, I’m Yours.” For those of you not to familiar with The Decemberists, “Lose Angeles, I’m Yours” is perhaps the single most beautiful tribute to the city I call home; it also happens to be a scathing rant about everything that makes LA such a deplorable place. Christine informed me that people in LA love songs about how awful LA is. And why not? Everyone here is from somewhere else, there’s no attachment to this city, no hometown pride; it’s cool to turn up our collective noses at a city a renowned for neon dreams, materialism, and greed. On this night, some 17,000 fans collectively celebrated our home by cheering along to a song that actively shits on it.
In the past I’ve written about the things I enjoy in live music: technical virtuosity, energy, hearing something unique – something that may never be recreated, and surprises. Suffice to say, this show had it all. (Here’s a link to a video of them playing “The Infanta.” I don’t think it quite does the sound justice… although it pretty well mimics my view.) Did I mention I love the Hollywood Bowl?
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Emmit Otter's Jug Band Christmas
Christine and I drove up the coast, along Highway 1, to San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. If you live in California and you’ve never done this drive I highly recommend it. The scenery, especially around Big Sur, humbled me. Prior to the scenic stretch of the drive, Christine and I entertained ourselves with a surprisingly fun game, that I was unsurprisingly bad at. We tuned my Sirius satellite radio to the indie rock station and played a modified version of “Name That Tune.” Christine, who listens to “Morning Becomes Eclectic” on a near daily basis, kicked my ass. But the surprising thing was how much music neither of us had ever heard of. I mean for every Decembrists or Modest Mouse song, there seemed to be three or four by artists like Art Brut (eh), Bear Hands (Modest Mousy), Bees (Really chill, cool stuff), Kings of Leon (Big ups Anthony – you were right, really good stuff), and a handful of other indie bands I’ve never heard and can’t remember. So aside from keeping Christine awake and laughing at my ignorance, we both ended up getting a pretty good education.
Our last night in San Francisco, my friend Marcia took us out to a wonderful hole-in-the-wall, in the Mission District. It was the Tamale Lady’s birthday party. Who is the Tamale Lady you ask? Well, apparently around the Mission and Lower Haight, she’s pretty famous for dropping by bars late night and selling tamales to drunk, hungry patrons. To honor her, we paid ten bucks for dinner and a few hours of some (all you could drink) tasty San Fran microbrew (whose name escapes me, although let me recommend almost anything by Russian River, especially Pliny the Elder, and also the Racer 5 IPA). To top the evening off, the birthday celebration, which took place mostly outside on an expansive patio, featured a jug band.
An honest to god, real life, actual jug band. Complete with jug player, washboard percussion, spoons, kazoo, and washtub bass. It was quite a sight for these drunken eyes, and surprisingly enjoyable to listen to with these drunken ears. The kind of music I wanted to hoot and holler to. And you know what? I did. Stood up and clapped and banged around, and then promptly sat down when I realized I was the only one doing it. It was a good trip.
Our last night in San Francisco, my friend Marcia took us out to a wonderful hole-in-the-wall, in the Mission District. It was the Tamale Lady’s birthday party. Who is the Tamale Lady you ask? Well, apparently around the Mission and Lower Haight, she’s pretty famous for dropping by bars late night and selling tamales to drunk, hungry patrons. To honor her, we paid ten bucks for dinner and a few hours of some (all you could drink) tasty San Fran microbrew (whose name escapes me, although let me recommend almost anything by Russian River, especially Pliny the Elder, and also the Racer 5 IPA). To top the evening off, the birthday celebration, which took place mostly outside on an expansive patio, featured a jug band.
An honest to god, real life, actual jug band. Complete with jug player, washboard percussion, spoons, kazoo, and washtub bass. It was quite a sight for these drunken eyes, and surprisingly enjoyable to listen to with these drunken ears. The kind of music I wanted to hoot and holler to. And you know what? I did. Stood up and clapped and banged around, and then promptly sat down when I realized I was the only one doing it. It was a good trip.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Commercial Music
Many, many, many moons ago, The Black Eyed Peas rapped, “I see you try to diss our function by stating that we can’t rap. Is it cause we don’t wear Tommy Hilfiger or baseball caps. We don’t use dollars to represent. We just use our inner sense and talent.” Forget for a moment, that these are some of the worst rhyming, most awful rap lyrics ever created, in a song (“Falling Up”) dedicated entirely to how well they can rap. Rappers who write shitty lyrics are like writers who wear ugly clothes: it’s to be expected. The Black Eyed Peas, like many hip-hop groups, are full of awful lyrics, but that’s not what bugs me about them. It’s the way they denounced selling out on their first two albums (Bridging The Gaps and Behind The Front), constantly calling out other groups for being “fake,” shortly before they did a mass-market Dr. Pepper commercial campaign. Soon after, Fergie became a prominent member of the band, and they were off and running, doing every commercial you can possibly imagine.
It was sad seeing one of my early favorite hip-hop groups (pre-Fergie) sell out like that. The Black Eyed Peas were at the forefront of turning hip-hop into commercial music (For the purpose of this entry, commercial music refers to music actually appearing in commercials). The commercialization of hip-hop, something that had flourished outside of MTV and network television prior to the ‘Peas and a few others, was a disturbing trend.
Perhaps my own arrogance and desire to be “hip” wouldn’t allow me to listen to music that had been embraced by the masses. People are stupid. That’s not a gross generalization; I’m fairly certain that if you picked ten people at random between the ages of 12 and 55, from across the United States, a majority of them would watch American Idol. I repeat: People are stupid. And my disgust for mainstream stupid people often leads me to hold stupid opinions of my own, just so I can be different than the masses. It was the mainstream, frat boy success, of talented groups like The Dave Matthews Band, which led me away from rock and towards hip-hop in the first place. Now that hip-hop was mainstream, I found myself running blindly towards a genre which prided itself on having a plethora of bands that most people would never hear: indie rock.
I began to explore indie music, sifting through tons of shit, searching for those elusive incredible bands. Generally when I found them and bragged to my friends, they were already myspace friends with them. For the first time in years, I felt like I was behind the curve on what was hip. In many ways, this only resulted in getting me more interested in the genre. I wanted to be the one cluing my friends into which bands they should be checking out. Unfortunately, advertisers have made sure that will never happen.
A few weeks ago, I begged people on this blog to check out a French group called Nouvelle Vague. I thought I’d discovered a talented, obscure band that I could finally share with my friends. A few days later, I heard their cover of “I Melt With You” on a GMC commercial. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of all the indie rock suddenly appearing in mainstream television commercials. Bands like The Postal Service, The Shins, Modest Mouse, and Peter Bjorn and John (who will henceforth be known as PB&J per my friend Lauren), were appearing in commercials for UPS, McDonalds, Nissan, Pontiac, AT&T, and (ironically?) Napster.
At first, I thought my disgust was purely selfish. The fact that savvy advertisers were smart enough to hire young people with good taste in music to pick the songs for their commercials, would surely be good for indie rock. The added exposure to cutting edge bands and artists, might inform consumers, schooling them on things they should be checking out. That was certainly the case with those catchy Target ads that feature the chorus, “a little bit more… a little bit more… a little bit more… a little bit more…” After some research, I discovered the song was written by Jamie Lidell; I checked out some of his stuff and it was quite good. The fact that I was getting musical advice from a Target ad wounded my pride, but I tried to set aside my ego and focus on the music.
Then the ads kept running and I heard the music over and over and over again. I mean, that’s the point of an advertisement right? Product branding. If you see a product over and over and over again, and it becomes imbedded in your brain, then you’re more likely to spend your money on it. Using catchy music to sell a product is nothing new; jingles have been around… forever? A while anyway. Catchy indie rocks songs are even better though. Jingles are commercials… you don’t hear them unless you’re watching tv or listening to the radio. Indie songs are everywhere, and if the advertisers do their jobs correctly, every time you hear the 5,6,7,8’s “Woo Hoo” you’ll think of Vonage. That’s the power of branding.
So now, my grievance is far from not being on the cutting edge, has nothing to do with the guile of advertisers trying to educate me on what I should listen to, but rather, commercial music is destroying a genre that I’ve grown to love yet again. Commercial branding is so much worse than the Dave Matthews Band frat boy craze phenomenon… a catchy song/band getting overplayed and becoming irritating from that over-saturation. It’s just a matter of time before I see Tide commercials using The Cold War Kids’ (big ups Preeti) “Hang Me Out To Dry” in one of their commercials. And in doing so, Tide, like every other company that uses an indie rock song to promote it’s product, will help ruin a genre of music which prided itself on being anything but commercial.
It was sad seeing one of my early favorite hip-hop groups (pre-Fergie) sell out like that. The Black Eyed Peas were at the forefront of turning hip-hop into commercial music (For the purpose of this entry, commercial music refers to music actually appearing in commercials). The commercialization of hip-hop, something that had flourished outside of MTV and network television prior to the ‘Peas and a few others, was a disturbing trend.
Perhaps my own arrogance and desire to be “hip” wouldn’t allow me to listen to music that had been embraced by the masses. People are stupid. That’s not a gross generalization; I’m fairly certain that if you picked ten people at random between the ages of 12 and 55, from across the United States, a majority of them would watch American Idol. I repeat: People are stupid. And my disgust for mainstream stupid people often leads me to hold stupid opinions of my own, just so I can be different than the masses. It was the mainstream, frat boy success, of talented groups like The Dave Matthews Band, which led me away from rock and towards hip-hop in the first place. Now that hip-hop was mainstream, I found myself running blindly towards a genre which prided itself on having a plethora of bands that most people would never hear: indie rock.
I began to explore indie music, sifting through tons of shit, searching for those elusive incredible bands. Generally when I found them and bragged to my friends, they were already myspace friends with them. For the first time in years, I felt like I was behind the curve on what was hip. In many ways, this only resulted in getting me more interested in the genre. I wanted to be the one cluing my friends into which bands they should be checking out. Unfortunately, advertisers have made sure that will never happen.
A few weeks ago, I begged people on this blog to check out a French group called Nouvelle Vague. I thought I’d discovered a talented, obscure band that I could finally share with my friends. A few days later, I heard their cover of “I Melt With You” on a GMC commercial. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of all the indie rock suddenly appearing in mainstream television commercials. Bands like The Postal Service, The Shins, Modest Mouse, and Peter Bjorn and John (who will henceforth be known as PB&J per my friend Lauren), were appearing in commercials for UPS, McDonalds, Nissan, Pontiac, AT&T, and (ironically?) Napster.
At first, I thought my disgust was purely selfish. The fact that savvy advertisers were smart enough to hire young people with good taste in music to pick the songs for their commercials, would surely be good for indie rock. The added exposure to cutting edge bands and artists, might inform consumers, schooling them on things they should be checking out. That was certainly the case with those catchy Target ads that feature the chorus, “a little bit more… a little bit more… a little bit more… a little bit more…” After some research, I discovered the song was written by Jamie Lidell; I checked out some of his stuff and it was quite good. The fact that I was getting musical advice from a Target ad wounded my pride, but I tried to set aside my ego and focus on the music.
Then the ads kept running and I heard the music over and over and over again. I mean, that’s the point of an advertisement right? Product branding. If you see a product over and over and over again, and it becomes imbedded in your brain, then you’re more likely to spend your money on it. Using catchy music to sell a product is nothing new; jingles have been around… forever? A while anyway. Catchy indie rocks songs are even better though. Jingles are commercials… you don’t hear them unless you’re watching tv or listening to the radio. Indie songs are everywhere, and if the advertisers do their jobs correctly, every time you hear the 5,6,7,8’s “Woo Hoo” you’ll think of Vonage. That’s the power of branding.
So now, my grievance is far from not being on the cutting edge, has nothing to do with the guile of advertisers trying to educate me on what I should listen to, but rather, commercial music is destroying a genre that I’ve grown to love yet again. Commercial branding is so much worse than the Dave Matthews Band frat boy craze phenomenon… a catchy song/band getting overplayed and becoming irritating from that over-saturation. It’s just a matter of time before I see Tide commercials using The Cold War Kids’ (big ups Preeti) “Hang Me Out To Dry” in one of their commercials. And in doing so, Tide, like every other company that uses an indie rock song to promote it’s product, will help ruin a genre of music which prided itself on being anything but commercial.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Nirvana: Unplugged
Allow me to recount a few memories from the oh-so-awkward days of puberty. Most of them, I’ve repressed. Like many people, middle school was the worst part of my life. And I had it pretty good. I was relatively popular, played sports, had a couple of girlfriends, even touched a boob. Despite all those accomplishments, I was constantly worried about being cool and accepted. In an effort to fit in, I sacrificed what little integrity and values I had, and shit on anyone the kids I desperately wanted to be accepted by, felt like being mean to that week. It was kill or be killed and I was such an incredibly good follower, I was only subconsciously aware of what I was doing.
So much of who I was and what I did makes me ashamed. When I watch movies like “Mean Girls” or “Thirteen” I can’t help but think I contributed to kids behaving like that. I try to never reminisce about that time, because quite frankly there’s very little to be nostalgic about. I was a mean, shallow, spineless person, and I’ll always feel guilty about the way I treated my peers.
Despite all that, I want to travel down those old halls for a bit. If I try really hard, bits and pieces come back to me. Mrs. Devour’s deodorant checks, wall ball and butts up outside the school, passing elaborately folded notes in between classes, Airwalks, being punched in the back of my head by Alex Doughty, trapper keepers, my girl-like long hair, smoking cigarettes in the back of Fast Break, spending six months learning how to inhale, aggressive rollerblading, wearing my only long sleeve tee-shirt every day underneath a Grateful Dead tie dye two sizes two big, and of course the music.
I remember sitting on the floor of Dan Freshman’s bedroom, playing Magic: The Gathering (which, let me assure you, was cool at my middle school… seriously, I know that might be hard to believe, but it was), listening to Pearl Jam, Phish, Sound Garden, Stone Temple Pilots, Bush, and of course, Nirvana. And I remember the day Dan got Nirvana “Unplugged” and we sat anxiously listening to it. I remember being disappointed on that first listen. I didn’t know the songs, couldn’t head bang to them, wasn’t sure why they didn’t play, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Heart Shaped Box.” But in one of my prouder memories, I refused to give up on the band I loved so much. We played it again and again, and after countless games of Magic and numerous listens, we came to appreciate and love the album. And for a year or so, I can’t remember liking any album as much as I liked Nirvana “Unplugged.” I don’t know if I knew why I loved the album, but it’s as pleasant a middle school memory as I have.
In high school I got into Phish and other jam bands and left poor Nirvana “Unplugged” to collect dust in my steadily growing CD collection. It did just that, until my freshman year of college. I went up to Quebec to protest the Summit of the Americas. On my drive back, someone in my affinity group, popped in the CD. There were four of us, a white upper middle class hippie female ultimate frisbee player, a black lower middle class lesbian rugby player, and white middle class male Marxist grad student, and myself. Our ages, backgrounds, and foregrounds were all different, but when that album came on, we all had something in common. Everyone of us could sing along to every song on the album.
From that point on the CD was always in constant rotation in my CD player. I hadn’t listened to it in a few months, until this morning, when I blasted it on my car stereo as I drove in to work. I can still sing along to all the songs and was more than happy to do so. Listening and singing along, it became clear to me for the first time, just why I love this album so much as an awkward adolescent. There was something about Kurt Cobain’s voice that tapped into teen angst better than anything I’ve ever heard.
As I sang this morning, I was overcome with that same angst. A bit of nervousness, sadness, self-loathing, fear, cockiness, naivety, and anger seems to be imbedded in various combinations in each of the songs. I was transported back to those awful days of middle school, terrified at first, but then comforted by the songs that had brought me there. In a time when I was so desperate to have cool friends, and my cool friends were so desperate to remain cool, one of the few things I could count on was Nirvana. All the anger and frustration and fear I was feeling, could be unloaded as I sang along to good old Nirvana “Unplugged.”
If this album was a part of your life at some point and you’ve lost touch, I urge you to pull it out and listen to it. It remains one of my all-time favorite albums. And I could go on and on about each individual track, but that’s not what this is about. Listening to the album was about understanding who I was at a time in my life, when I had no idea what I was doing or why. It’s about coming to terms with the fact that I can’t change the awful way I treated people; I can only vow to never behave like that again. It’s about taking stock of my life and appreciating just how good it is these days. And most of all, it’s about learning to appreciate and enjoy the worst of times and in doing so, coming to terms with my past.
So much of who I was and what I did makes me ashamed. When I watch movies like “Mean Girls” or “Thirteen” I can’t help but think I contributed to kids behaving like that. I try to never reminisce about that time, because quite frankly there’s very little to be nostalgic about. I was a mean, shallow, spineless person, and I’ll always feel guilty about the way I treated my peers.
Despite all that, I want to travel down those old halls for a bit. If I try really hard, bits and pieces come back to me. Mrs. Devour’s deodorant checks, wall ball and butts up outside the school, passing elaborately folded notes in between classes, Airwalks, being punched in the back of my head by Alex Doughty, trapper keepers, my girl-like long hair, smoking cigarettes in the back of Fast Break, spending six months learning how to inhale, aggressive rollerblading, wearing my only long sleeve tee-shirt every day underneath a Grateful Dead tie dye two sizes two big, and of course the music.
I remember sitting on the floor of Dan Freshman’s bedroom, playing Magic: The Gathering (which, let me assure you, was cool at my middle school… seriously, I know that might be hard to believe, but it was), listening to Pearl Jam, Phish, Sound Garden, Stone Temple Pilots, Bush, and of course, Nirvana. And I remember the day Dan got Nirvana “Unplugged” and we sat anxiously listening to it. I remember being disappointed on that first listen. I didn’t know the songs, couldn’t head bang to them, wasn’t sure why they didn’t play, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Heart Shaped Box.” But in one of my prouder memories, I refused to give up on the band I loved so much. We played it again and again, and after countless games of Magic and numerous listens, we came to appreciate and love the album. And for a year or so, I can’t remember liking any album as much as I liked Nirvana “Unplugged.” I don’t know if I knew why I loved the album, but it’s as pleasant a middle school memory as I have.
In high school I got into Phish and other jam bands and left poor Nirvana “Unplugged” to collect dust in my steadily growing CD collection. It did just that, until my freshman year of college. I went up to Quebec to protest the Summit of the Americas. On my drive back, someone in my affinity group, popped in the CD. There were four of us, a white upper middle class hippie female ultimate frisbee player, a black lower middle class lesbian rugby player, and white middle class male Marxist grad student, and myself. Our ages, backgrounds, and foregrounds were all different, but when that album came on, we all had something in common. Everyone of us could sing along to every song on the album.
From that point on the CD was always in constant rotation in my CD player. I hadn’t listened to it in a few months, until this morning, when I blasted it on my car stereo as I drove in to work. I can still sing along to all the songs and was more than happy to do so. Listening and singing along, it became clear to me for the first time, just why I love this album so much as an awkward adolescent. There was something about Kurt Cobain’s voice that tapped into teen angst better than anything I’ve ever heard.
As I sang this morning, I was overcome with that same angst. A bit of nervousness, sadness, self-loathing, fear, cockiness, naivety, and anger seems to be imbedded in various combinations in each of the songs. I was transported back to those awful days of middle school, terrified at first, but then comforted by the songs that had brought me there. In a time when I was so desperate to have cool friends, and my cool friends were so desperate to remain cool, one of the few things I could count on was Nirvana. All the anger and frustration and fear I was feeling, could be unloaded as I sang along to good old Nirvana “Unplugged.”
If this album was a part of your life at some point and you’ve lost touch, I urge you to pull it out and listen to it. It remains one of my all-time favorite albums. And I could go on and on about each individual track, but that’s not what this is about. Listening to the album was about understanding who I was at a time in my life, when I had no idea what I was doing or why. It’s about coming to terms with the fact that I can’t change the awful way I treated people; I can only vow to never behave like that again. It’s about taking stock of my life and appreciating just how good it is these days. And most of all, it’s about learning to appreciate and enjoy the worst of times and in doing so, coming to terms with my past.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
My Favorite Album to Come Out in the Past Year...
I don’t listen to quite enough music to declare TV On the Radio’s “Return To Cookie Mountain” the best album to come out last year, but it’s certainly my favorite. I can’t vouch for a TV On the Radio live show, but the band seems to embody what I love most about music: the proper coupling of talent and innovation. “Return To Cookie Mountain” is not only a joy to listen to, but like nothing I’ve ever heard before.
The album’s opening track, “If I Was a Lover,” sets the tone for the album. Insane, manic instrumental beats punctuate lyrics without a true chorus, horns blare, electronica blasts, and once they’ve grabbed your attention, the song opens into a piano-led, sweet, softer section. The beautiful voices of the lead singers, Tunde Adebimpe and the throatier Kyp Malone, blend together perfectly and diverge just as gracefully. I was three minutes into this song the first time I listened to this album and I knew what would follow was going to be special.
“Hours” picks up the tempo a little bit. With a heavy snare hook and a truly unique two-part harmony, the song distinguishes itself in a variety of pleasing ways, but somehow stays in touch with the entire feel of the album.
“Province” is softer, introducing the “ooo ooo ooo ooo’s” that characterize much of the album. Like nearly every track on the album, it’s so beautifully layered. Drums, keyboards, horns, vocals, guitar, bass, electronic loops, and noises I don’t understand and can’t begin to describe, blend together in a beautiful, complicated little package. The whole being so much greater than the sum of its parts.
“Playhouses” is dueling vocals layered over a steady snare and cymbal beat with a grinder-like synthesizer noise being sucked through a vacuum in the background. Slight fluctuations in the surrounding instrumentation subtly raise and lower the tension of the song in very pleasing ways.
“Wolf Like Me” is the closest thing this album has to a real single. You may have heard it on MTV, often times played in between shite reality shows. It’s snare/bass beat is foot stomping catchy goodness. The song builds in pace, only to reach a slower, haunting oasis in the center, where it once again abruptly picks up the pace. The seamless transitions between sections of the song(s) continue to astound me listen after listen.
I could go on and on and write a snippet about each track, but instead, I intend I hope to entice you to go out and get this album, and I’m afraid a seemingly endless stream of praise will bore the reader. So I’ll close quickly… it’s late and I don’t have too much energy to write anyway. This album is simply a joy to listen. And it gets better and better with each listen as I untangle layer after layer of sound. It can be enjoyed on so many levels, from the casual listen to the meticulous ears of a phony music snob like myself. Get it. Listen to it. If you don’t agree, give me shit, but I’ll be shocked if you don’t enjoy it.
Listen Here
The album’s opening track, “If I Was a Lover,” sets the tone for the album. Insane, manic instrumental beats punctuate lyrics without a true chorus, horns blare, electronica blasts, and once they’ve grabbed your attention, the song opens into a piano-led, sweet, softer section. The beautiful voices of the lead singers, Tunde Adebimpe and the throatier Kyp Malone, blend together perfectly and diverge just as gracefully. I was three minutes into this song the first time I listened to this album and I knew what would follow was going to be special.
“Hours” picks up the tempo a little bit. With a heavy snare hook and a truly unique two-part harmony, the song distinguishes itself in a variety of pleasing ways, but somehow stays in touch with the entire feel of the album.
“Province” is softer, introducing the “ooo ooo ooo ooo’s” that characterize much of the album. Like nearly every track on the album, it’s so beautifully layered. Drums, keyboards, horns, vocals, guitar, bass, electronic loops, and noises I don’t understand and can’t begin to describe, blend together in a beautiful, complicated little package. The whole being so much greater than the sum of its parts.
“Playhouses” is dueling vocals layered over a steady snare and cymbal beat with a grinder-like synthesizer noise being sucked through a vacuum in the background. Slight fluctuations in the surrounding instrumentation subtly raise and lower the tension of the song in very pleasing ways.
“Wolf Like Me” is the closest thing this album has to a real single. You may have heard it on MTV, often times played in between shite reality shows. It’s snare/bass beat is foot stomping catchy goodness. The song builds in pace, only to reach a slower, haunting oasis in the center, where it once again abruptly picks up the pace. The seamless transitions between sections of the song(s) continue to astound me listen after listen.
I could go on and on and write a snippet about each track, but instead, I intend I hope to entice you to go out and get this album, and I’m afraid a seemingly endless stream of praise will bore the reader. So I’ll close quickly… it’s late and I don’t have too much energy to write anyway. This album is simply a joy to listen. And it gets better and better with each listen as I untangle layer after layer of sound. It can be enjoyed on so many levels, from the casual listen to the meticulous ears of a phony music snob like myself. Get it. Listen to it. If you don’t agree, give me shit, but I’ll be shocked if you don’t enjoy it.
Listen Here
Friday, March 9, 2007
The Breakup Mix
Breakups are the worst! Specifically, having someone break up with you is the worst. Fortunately, very few girls have ever been interested in anything besides a friendship with me, so I’ve only been broken up with once. Win-Win. Right?
I’m no stranger to heart break though. I’ve watched far too many Syracuse basketball games in my life not to know what it’s like to have your heart ripped out of your body, smashed with a rusty hammer, and then defecated on. Syracuse is that girl, sexy as hell, but treats you like shit. Every time you start to give up on her, she sucks you back in, only to inexplicably blow a 14 point lead with less than ten minutes to go in the second half. No matter how bad she treats me, how much suffering she causes me, how hard she punches me in the gut, I’ll never breakup with Syracuse.
It’s March though. And that means we’re about to embark on the greatest annual sporting event on the planet – the NCAA men’s basketball tournament. Syracuse is seemingly a lock for the tournament, but knowing my luck, they’ll either be excluded which would cause me to become enraged or they’ll exit early in some humiliating, agonizing way. Either way, I’m going to need something to comfort me.
Enter “Zidane’s Kick-Ass Breakup Mix.” When you’ve had a bad breakup and/or are a SU fan, there’s nothing like a good mix to flesh out everything you’re feeling: pain, suffering, jealousy, cynicism, bitterness, agony, longing, and more pain. Fortunately, when you’re done, you’re a stronger person (at least that’s what I tell myself after every season). Music helps you get there. Trust me. The four things that got me through my lone breakup were reading Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity” (it taught me I wasn’t crazy), watching “Swingers,” talking about what I was going through, and music. One of the best things to do is blast some Rage Against the Machine and dance away the pain. And when I say dance, I mean wildly punching the air as you thrash around the room. Seriously, try dancing to three songs in a row, you’ll get a lot of anger out and by the time you’re done, you’ll be tired to be depressed. It’s healthy. In addition to Rage, everyone needs some music to flesh out those open wounds and eventually heal them. I recommend the following mix (in no real particular order):
(Note: Before I get started, I should probably mention that I know nothing about how women deal with breakups. This is based on my suffering as a man and a basketball fanatic. Nearly every song on this list is written by a man. I know there are plenty of great female breakup songs, but somehow Janis Joplin’s “Take Another Piece Of My Heart” or any of the other great female breakup songs, didn’t really seem to speak to what I was going through. I don’t know if these songs will speak to the females who read this. All I know is that they were compelling to me.)
1. (“Wasted Days” – The Slackers) I keep bringing up the Slackers in as many posts as possible. Maybe somebody, other than my buddy Vein who turned me onto them, will realize just how kick-ass they are. This is the breakup anthem. “What have I done wrong that I should be sorry? You broke my heart, you left in no hurry. What I'm sorry for, is all those wasted days and all those wasted ways that I loved you.”
2. (“It Makes No Difference” – The Band) This song captures that post breakup feeling about as well as any I’ve ever heard. You know what I’m talking about. After that realization that it’s really over, but long before you’ve started coming to terms with things. By the way, if you don’t own The Band’s “The Last Waltz” go out and buy it. It’s one of the best live albums ever released. Period.
3. (“Ain’t No Sunshine” – Bill Whithers) It’s beautiful and haunting but I can’t help but feel the song ends a bit prematurely. But hey, so do relationships. And 1987 National Championship games. “We didn’t lose; we jus ran out of time.”
4. (“For No One” – The Beatles) They have a song for every feeling and occasion, so obviously the greatest band in the history of rock was going to be on this list. Excluding songs like, “I Want You,” “I’m Looking Through You,” and “Girl” was not easy, but “For No One” is quite simply a perfect song. If you don’t make a point to listen to a Beatles’ album at least once a month, you should start. I’m currently in the middle of another period of falling in love with them for like the fifth time.
5. (“My Girl” – Nirvana – Unplugged) I think this is my favorite song from one of my favorite classic adolescent albums. Have you listened to “Unplugged” lately? It’s incredible. You can taste the bitterness in Curt Cobain’s voice when he gets to that final chorus. “In the pines. The PINES. SUN. SHINE. I shiver… the whole… night THROUGH!” Still gives me chills every time I listen to it.
6. (“You Are My Sunshine” – Norman Blake) As a child I remember singing this in pre-school. How in the fuck was this ever made into a kid’s song? It’s unequivocally one of the most morose songs I’ve ever heard. Don’t believe me? Check out the LYRICS By the time you’re through with this song (along with the previous 5), you’ll be thoroughly depressed. Sometimes after a breakup, that’s exactly how you want to feel. But if you want a pick up, there’s…
7. (“Song For Dumped” – Ben Folds Five) This will get the energy going. Nothing like bitterness to divert from the feeling of anguish. And this is the quintessential bitter boyfriend who just got fucked over rant. My Freshman roommate, Brian, told me he drove around with one his recently dumped high school buddies blasting this over and over again all night. I can see how that would therapeutic.
8. (“I used To Love Her” – Guns and Roses) And if bitterness isn’t working, maybe try a little cynicism. “I used to love her, but I had to kill her. I had to put her, six feet under. And I can still hear her complain…” Misogynistic? Probably. But if you’ve just had your heart ripped out, who really cares?
9. (“Can’t Stand Losing You” – The Police) I had a tough time picking my Police song. “Hole In My Life,” “So Lonely,” “My Bed’s Too Big Without You,” and “Message In Bottle” get honorable mentions for the list. My man-crush on Sting was born during my breakup. The emotion he sang with echoed all the things I was feeling. “I Can’t Stand Losing You” is darkly humorous. “I guess you’d call it suicide, but I’m too full to swallow my pride…” Things were bad, but never this bad. Listening to it, always helped me laugh at myself and keep things in perspective.
10. (“Tell Me Why” – Los Lonely Boys) I know they’re a bit smooth, but I’ve seen Los Lonely Boys in person and they’re shockingly good live. I don’t know if this one can hold a candle to “Ain’t No Sunshine” or some of the previous songs, but I don’t care. I like it. It taps into that time when the breakup is imminent, but you’re still in denial.
11. (“Pictures of Me” – Elliot Smith) Either/Or was and remains not only one of the greatest breakup albums of all time, but one of my all-time top five desert island favorite albums. Picking a single song off it was next to impossible for me. The album is sad, haunting, beautiful, and the best reminder I have of being broken up with. Go buy this album. If you get broken up with, it will be one of your closest companions. And in times of happiness, you’ll appreciate how chillingly magnificent it is.
12. (“My Girl” (acoustic, live) – Weezer) You have to get the live-acoustic version of this. I know some people who think it’s sexist. “I want a girl who will laugh for no one else. When I’m away, she puts her make up on the shelf. When I’m away, she never leaves the house…” Listen to this version and I guarantee that you’ll understand. It’s about a guy whose girlfriend is a cheater and it’s killing him. On this you can hear the suffering in his voice. It taps into that awful, awful jealousy you feel in a way that no other song I’ve ever heard does.
13. (“A Man Needs A Maid” – Neil Young) This is another song that people often confuse as being misogynistic. “I was thinking that maybe I’d get a maid. Find a place nearby for her to stay. Just someone to keep my house clean. Fix my meals and go away.” I know that sounds horrible, but you’ve got to understand the back-story. Young wrote it about his wife, Carrie Snodgress, who cared for him after a back injury. It’s unclear whether or not it’s supposed to be a tribute to her (Young called her his “Maid Marion”). It doesn’t really matter though. I’ve always envisioned the Ethan Frome-like scene of Young bedridden, being taking care of by this woman who hates him, trapped in a loveless marriage.
14. (“How Can You Mend A Broken Heart” – Al Green) Obviously Al Green was going to be on this list. He’s another person, who, if you don’t own one of his CD’s, you need to go out and buy one right away. Whether he’s singing about love or pain, Al’s voice and passion seems to be a mainline to your soul.
15. (“Deceptacon” – Le Tigre) Okay, this defiantly isn’t one of the 20 best breakup songs of all time. I don’t know if it’s a break up song, but I’ve been dying to write about it since I started the blog. The Vein made me a mix and this was the first song on it. It’s awesome! Le Tigre is this female punk band that rocks. Every time it comes on Christine dances like a madwoman. People in the cars around us stare, but she doesn’t care. She can’t help it out, she’s got to wow out and I can’t blame her. It makes the list because there’s a strong touch of bitterness in the lyrics and so much energy, you’ll dance that depression away.
16. (“One Cup of Coffee” – Bob Marley) This is old-school Bob Marley. One of my favorite Bob songs. “One cup of coffee, then I’ll go; though I just dropped by to let you know, that I’m leaving you tomorrow. I’ll cause you no more sorrow. One cup of coffee, then I’ll go.” Part of breaking up is expressing some regret. Even if you’re the victim, you should still be able to look back on the relationship and know you should’ve done some things different. Believing that Nichols, Roberts, and Watkins might lead SU back to the Final Four is regrettable.
17. (“Mysterons” – Portishead) Thinking about that regret, makes me depressed. If you feel like being depressed, there’s always Portishead. The saddest music I know. It’s dark and beautiful and the perfect thing to blast when you feel like being despondent.
18. (“Cry Me A River” – Justin Timberlake) I know it’s Justin Timberlake, but a wise man named Moody taught me all about his brilliance while we were in London together. And this song is one of the ultimate “fuck-you, I’m over you now” songs in the history of music. And good for Justin. Look at Britney these days. She’s a fucking mess. JT is the king of pop. He broke up with Cameron Diaz. He’s the fucking man.
19. (“Stepping Stones” – G Love and Special Sauce) And here’s a bit more of that. Upbeat music, realizing you’re better off without her. But eventually you have to come to terms with the breakup. And when you do, there’s the greatest songwriter of them all…
20. (“Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” – Bob Dylan) This song is about turning the corner. If you’re ever really stuck in a rut and feel like you’re never going to get out, listen to this song. “I’m walkin’ down that long , lonesome road, babe. Where I’m bound, I can’t tell. But goodbye’s too good a word, gal. So I’ll just say fare thee well. I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind. You could have done better but I don’t mind. You just kinda wasted my precious time. But don’t think twice, it’s all right.” No matter how deep a funk you’re in, you’ll claw your way out, just a matter of time. And when you do, brace yourself to it all over again. After all, a new season is just around the bend.
So there you have it, “Zidane’s Kick-Ass Breakup Mix.” Any glaring omissions? Post a comment, let me know. I’ve got one… it was just a little too long to fit on the mix, but The Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post” from their Fillmore Shows album has to be one of the greatest versions of one of the greatest songs in the history of rock. When I listen to the LYRICS, I can’t help but wonder if Gregg Allman was a Syracuse fan too.
I’m no stranger to heart break though. I’ve watched far too many Syracuse basketball games in my life not to know what it’s like to have your heart ripped out of your body, smashed with a rusty hammer, and then defecated on. Syracuse is that girl, sexy as hell, but treats you like shit. Every time you start to give up on her, she sucks you back in, only to inexplicably blow a 14 point lead with less than ten minutes to go in the second half. No matter how bad she treats me, how much suffering she causes me, how hard she punches me in the gut, I’ll never breakup with Syracuse.
It’s March though. And that means we’re about to embark on the greatest annual sporting event on the planet – the NCAA men’s basketball tournament. Syracuse is seemingly a lock for the tournament, but knowing my luck, they’ll either be excluded which would cause me to become enraged or they’ll exit early in some humiliating, agonizing way. Either way, I’m going to need something to comfort me.
Enter “Zidane’s Kick-Ass Breakup Mix.” When you’ve had a bad breakup and/or are a SU fan, there’s nothing like a good mix to flesh out everything you’re feeling: pain, suffering, jealousy, cynicism, bitterness, agony, longing, and more pain. Fortunately, when you’re done, you’re a stronger person (at least that’s what I tell myself after every season). Music helps you get there. Trust me. The four things that got me through my lone breakup were reading Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity” (it taught me I wasn’t crazy), watching “Swingers,” talking about what I was going through, and music. One of the best things to do is blast some Rage Against the Machine and dance away the pain. And when I say dance, I mean wildly punching the air as you thrash around the room. Seriously, try dancing to three songs in a row, you’ll get a lot of anger out and by the time you’re done, you’ll be tired to be depressed. It’s healthy. In addition to Rage, everyone needs some music to flesh out those open wounds and eventually heal them. I recommend the following mix (in no real particular order):
(Note: Before I get started, I should probably mention that I know nothing about how women deal with breakups. This is based on my suffering as a man and a basketball fanatic. Nearly every song on this list is written by a man. I know there are plenty of great female breakup songs, but somehow Janis Joplin’s “Take Another Piece Of My Heart” or any of the other great female breakup songs, didn’t really seem to speak to what I was going through. I don’t know if these songs will speak to the females who read this. All I know is that they were compelling to me.)
1. (“Wasted Days” – The Slackers) I keep bringing up the Slackers in as many posts as possible. Maybe somebody, other than my buddy Vein who turned me onto them, will realize just how kick-ass they are. This is the breakup anthem. “What have I done wrong that I should be sorry? You broke my heart, you left in no hurry. What I'm sorry for, is all those wasted days and all those wasted ways that I loved you.”
2. (“It Makes No Difference” – The Band) This song captures that post breakup feeling about as well as any I’ve ever heard. You know what I’m talking about. After that realization that it’s really over, but long before you’ve started coming to terms with things. By the way, if you don’t own The Band’s “The Last Waltz” go out and buy it. It’s one of the best live albums ever released. Period.
3. (“Ain’t No Sunshine” – Bill Whithers) It’s beautiful and haunting but I can’t help but feel the song ends a bit prematurely. But hey, so do relationships. And 1987 National Championship games. “We didn’t lose; we jus ran out of time.”
4. (“For No One” – The Beatles) They have a song for every feeling and occasion, so obviously the greatest band in the history of rock was going to be on this list. Excluding songs like, “I Want You,” “I’m Looking Through You,” and “Girl” was not easy, but “For No One” is quite simply a perfect song. If you don’t make a point to listen to a Beatles’ album at least once a month, you should start. I’m currently in the middle of another period of falling in love with them for like the fifth time.
5. (“My Girl” – Nirvana – Unplugged) I think this is my favorite song from one of my favorite classic adolescent albums. Have you listened to “Unplugged” lately? It’s incredible. You can taste the bitterness in Curt Cobain’s voice when he gets to that final chorus. “In the pines. The PINES. SUN. SHINE. I shiver… the whole… night THROUGH!” Still gives me chills every time I listen to it.
6. (“You Are My Sunshine” – Norman Blake) As a child I remember singing this in pre-school. How in the fuck was this ever made into a kid’s song? It’s unequivocally one of the most morose songs I’ve ever heard. Don’t believe me? Check out the LYRICS By the time you’re through with this song (along with the previous 5), you’ll be thoroughly depressed. Sometimes after a breakup, that’s exactly how you want to feel. But if you want a pick up, there’s…
7. (“Song For Dumped” – Ben Folds Five) This will get the energy going. Nothing like bitterness to divert from the feeling of anguish. And this is the quintessential bitter boyfriend who just got fucked over rant. My Freshman roommate, Brian, told me he drove around with one his recently dumped high school buddies blasting this over and over again all night. I can see how that would therapeutic.
8. (“I used To Love Her” – Guns and Roses) And if bitterness isn’t working, maybe try a little cynicism. “I used to love her, but I had to kill her. I had to put her, six feet under. And I can still hear her complain…” Misogynistic? Probably. But if you’ve just had your heart ripped out, who really cares?
9. (“Can’t Stand Losing You” – The Police) I had a tough time picking my Police song. “Hole In My Life,” “So Lonely,” “My Bed’s Too Big Without You,” and “Message In Bottle” get honorable mentions for the list. My man-crush on Sting was born during my breakup. The emotion he sang with echoed all the things I was feeling. “I Can’t Stand Losing You” is darkly humorous. “I guess you’d call it suicide, but I’m too full to swallow my pride…” Things were bad, but never this bad. Listening to it, always helped me laugh at myself and keep things in perspective.
10. (“Tell Me Why” – Los Lonely Boys) I know they’re a bit smooth, but I’ve seen Los Lonely Boys in person and they’re shockingly good live. I don’t know if this one can hold a candle to “Ain’t No Sunshine” or some of the previous songs, but I don’t care. I like it. It taps into that time when the breakup is imminent, but you’re still in denial.
11. (“Pictures of Me” – Elliot Smith) Either/Or was and remains not only one of the greatest breakup albums of all time, but one of my all-time top five desert island favorite albums. Picking a single song off it was next to impossible for me. The album is sad, haunting, beautiful, and the best reminder I have of being broken up with. Go buy this album. If you get broken up with, it will be one of your closest companions. And in times of happiness, you’ll appreciate how chillingly magnificent it is.
12. (“My Girl” (acoustic, live) – Weezer) You have to get the live-acoustic version of this. I know some people who think it’s sexist. “I want a girl who will laugh for no one else. When I’m away, she puts her make up on the shelf. When I’m away, she never leaves the house…” Listen to this version and I guarantee that you’ll understand. It’s about a guy whose girlfriend is a cheater and it’s killing him. On this you can hear the suffering in his voice. It taps into that awful, awful jealousy you feel in a way that no other song I’ve ever heard does.
13. (“A Man Needs A Maid” – Neil Young) This is another song that people often confuse as being misogynistic. “I was thinking that maybe I’d get a maid. Find a place nearby for her to stay. Just someone to keep my house clean. Fix my meals and go away.” I know that sounds horrible, but you’ve got to understand the back-story. Young wrote it about his wife, Carrie Snodgress, who cared for him after a back injury. It’s unclear whether or not it’s supposed to be a tribute to her (Young called her his “Maid Marion”). It doesn’t really matter though. I’ve always envisioned the Ethan Frome-like scene of Young bedridden, being taking care of by this woman who hates him, trapped in a loveless marriage.
14. (“How Can You Mend A Broken Heart” – Al Green) Obviously Al Green was going to be on this list. He’s another person, who, if you don’t own one of his CD’s, you need to go out and buy one right away. Whether he’s singing about love or pain, Al’s voice and passion seems to be a mainline to your soul.
15. (“Deceptacon” – Le Tigre) Okay, this defiantly isn’t one of the 20 best breakup songs of all time. I don’t know if it’s a break up song, but I’ve been dying to write about it since I started the blog. The Vein made me a mix and this was the first song on it. It’s awesome! Le Tigre is this female punk band that rocks. Every time it comes on Christine dances like a madwoman. People in the cars around us stare, but she doesn’t care. She can’t help it out, she’s got to wow out and I can’t blame her. It makes the list because there’s a strong touch of bitterness in the lyrics and so much energy, you’ll dance that depression away.
16. (“One Cup of Coffee” – Bob Marley) This is old-school Bob Marley. One of my favorite Bob songs. “One cup of coffee, then I’ll go; though I just dropped by to let you know, that I’m leaving you tomorrow. I’ll cause you no more sorrow. One cup of coffee, then I’ll go.” Part of breaking up is expressing some regret. Even if you’re the victim, you should still be able to look back on the relationship and know you should’ve done some things different. Believing that Nichols, Roberts, and Watkins might lead SU back to the Final Four is regrettable.
17. (“Mysterons” – Portishead) Thinking about that regret, makes me depressed. If you feel like being depressed, there’s always Portishead. The saddest music I know. It’s dark and beautiful and the perfect thing to blast when you feel like being despondent.
18. (“Cry Me A River” – Justin Timberlake) I know it’s Justin Timberlake, but a wise man named Moody taught me all about his brilliance while we were in London together. And this song is one of the ultimate “fuck-you, I’m over you now” songs in the history of music. And good for Justin. Look at Britney these days. She’s a fucking mess. JT is the king of pop. He broke up with Cameron Diaz. He’s the fucking man.
19. (“Stepping Stones” – G Love and Special Sauce) And here’s a bit more of that. Upbeat music, realizing you’re better off without her. But eventually you have to come to terms with the breakup. And when you do, there’s the greatest songwriter of them all…
20. (“Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” – Bob Dylan) This song is about turning the corner. If you’re ever really stuck in a rut and feel like you’re never going to get out, listen to this song. “I’m walkin’ down that long , lonesome road, babe. Where I’m bound, I can’t tell. But goodbye’s too good a word, gal. So I’ll just say fare thee well. I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind. You could have done better but I don’t mind. You just kinda wasted my precious time. But don’t think twice, it’s all right.” No matter how deep a funk you’re in, you’ll claw your way out, just a matter of time. And when you do, brace yourself to it all over again. After all, a new season is just around the bend.
So there you have it, “Zidane’s Kick-Ass Breakup Mix.” Any glaring omissions? Post a comment, let me know. I’ve got one… it was just a little too long to fit on the mix, but The Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post” from their Fillmore Shows album has to be one of the greatest versions of one of the greatest songs in the history of rock. When I listen to the LYRICS, I can’t help but wonder if Gregg Allman was a Syracuse fan too.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Hippies and Hipsters:The Worst! (Part 2 - Hipsters)
First, I just wanted to say how much I’m enjoying doing this – especially getting emails from people and seeing comments. I think college was the last time that I was really inundated with a wide variety of music. So it’s cool to get suggestions and have discussions and I encourage people to post more comments or even submit posts. I had fairly selfish intentions when I started (wasting time), but I would love for this to be a place where people can discover and discuss new music.
Oh, also, in response to a few people who posted about Phish, I’m inclined to agree that musical virtuosity doesn’t neccesarilly entail a good product, but perhaps that’s the joy of live Phish and improvisational music in general. Rather than reading a speech to the audience, the band attempts to have a conversation on stage; it may not be polished, often can be redundant or incomplete but every once in a while (See: “Wolfman’s Brother” on Slip, Stitch, and Pass), the back and forth between the musicians, creates something totally organic and unique, surprising even the band. To see musicians evolving before your very eyes and ears is something truly special. Improvisation at it’s finest is about just that. Now onto the hipsters:
I was wandering around Williamsburg, Brooklyn with my buddy Julian last year and we got to chatting about hipsters. For those of you who’ve never been there before, Williamsburg has become the gold standard in hipster hipness – Silver Lake, Wicker Park, and Portland are all jostling for the silver. Anyway, I asked Julian if he thought that a hipster would be insulted if you called them a hipster. He wasn’t sure, neither was I, but I think both of us shuddered at the thought of being considered one.
The hipster movement seems to parallel the Revenge of the Nerds trilogy. Think about it: hipsters were those kids in high school, who, having been ostracized by the jocks and cool kids, embraced non-conformity and developed their own funky style. Perhaps they suffered a bit in high school, but at least they had school musicals and tech. Then they went to college, and low and behold, lots of people in college weren’t the cool kids in high school. And much like the ending of the first two Revenge of the Nerds movies, the hipsters realized they outnumbered the cool kids and having that realization they were embraced by the masses, liberated, empowered, free to wear tight jeans and ugly sunglasses, and show off their tattoos. Then when hipsters graduated college, they congregated in hip little communities; they were now the cool kids. And much like Lewis in Revenge of the Nerds III (and the pigs in Animal Farm and pretty much any discriminated class that rises to power for that matter), now that the hipsters were cool, they turned up their noses and started shitting on all us regular Joes and Jills. Fucking hipsters.
That’s all well and good and I could really care less if I’m still a nerd and two years behind the fashion curve (It’s been that way since middle school). The problem is, hipsters are fucking up live music. Hippie music seems to be all about virtuoso musicians and jamming – innovation and originality seem to get lost along the way. Hipsters have the opposite problem. They put such a premium on unique, cutting edge music, that musicians seem to be focusing more on their sound then their abilities.
I’m not an indie rock junkie, but I’ve been to enough shows and listened to enough music over the past few years to both: really enjoy a band’s album and really hate them in concert. Live music is a beautiful thing when done right, but the indie rock scene (which prides itself on bands gaining a following due to their concerts) is helping to ruin it. Live music doesn’t have to be about improvisation, but it should at the very least cause me to have an emotional response to what I’m listening to. Whether it’s dancing, or a general sense of excitement, or being fired up, or being depressed – I should feel something at a concert. At far too many indie rocks shows, emotion is replaced with a dull swaying and numb feeling from drinking too many PBR’s.
The problem isn’t the music itself – it’s the people performing it. In a studio, with a producer and plenty of time, a band can with great vision but mediocre ability can achieve wonderful things. That same band struggles live. And yet the hipsters flock, rejoice, and proclaim their greatness… and then have the nerve to scoff at hippie and mainstream bands alike. Hipsters are perpetuating an environment where originality is valued and little else.
Now obviously there are exceptions to this. Christine got me into Built To Spill. Definitely an indie rock band, with an indie rock following, but the talent to put on a unique live show every night (My Morning Jacket is in the same vein). The ironic thing seems to be that if these much beloved hipster bands had a hippie following, hipsters would hate them (see the previous post for more on this).
I haven’t caught them live yet, but from what Christine and Vein and handful of other people tell me, the Decembrists manage to put on a great show, using a variety of theatrics and audience participation. I caught a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah show last year and was thoroughly impressed, not so much by their musicianship, but rather the sheer energy with which they played; it felt like seeing a real rock band, complete with a lead singer that had udder disdain for the crowd and was still beloved.
Still, a good live indie show seems few and far between. And maybe I’m demonstrating some serious ignorance here, after all, I don’t see enough shows and I’m probably not hip enough to know about some of the really cool bands. It’s hard you know, when you don’t have a myspace page and can’t become friends with three hundred indie bands. So perhaps this is more of a plea than anything else: please, educate my ignorant, un-cool ass. Show me some bands that will wow me if I see them live. If not, we’re approaching a scary time, one where I’d rather sit on my couch and listen to a band’s studio album, then go see them in concert.
Oh, also, in response to a few people who posted about Phish, I’m inclined to agree that musical virtuosity doesn’t neccesarilly entail a good product, but perhaps that’s the joy of live Phish and improvisational music in general. Rather than reading a speech to the audience, the band attempts to have a conversation on stage; it may not be polished, often can be redundant or incomplete but every once in a while (See: “Wolfman’s Brother” on Slip, Stitch, and Pass), the back and forth between the musicians, creates something totally organic and unique, surprising even the band. To see musicians evolving before your very eyes and ears is something truly special. Improvisation at it’s finest is about just that. Now onto the hipsters:
I was wandering around Williamsburg, Brooklyn with my buddy Julian last year and we got to chatting about hipsters. For those of you who’ve never been there before, Williamsburg has become the gold standard in hipster hipness – Silver Lake, Wicker Park, and Portland are all jostling for the silver. Anyway, I asked Julian if he thought that a hipster would be insulted if you called them a hipster. He wasn’t sure, neither was I, but I think both of us shuddered at the thought of being considered one.
The hipster movement seems to parallel the Revenge of the Nerds trilogy. Think about it: hipsters were those kids in high school, who, having been ostracized by the jocks and cool kids, embraced non-conformity and developed their own funky style. Perhaps they suffered a bit in high school, but at least they had school musicals and tech. Then they went to college, and low and behold, lots of people in college weren’t the cool kids in high school. And much like the ending of the first two Revenge of the Nerds movies, the hipsters realized they outnumbered the cool kids and having that realization they were embraced by the masses, liberated, empowered, free to wear tight jeans and ugly sunglasses, and show off their tattoos. Then when hipsters graduated college, they congregated in hip little communities; they were now the cool kids. And much like Lewis in Revenge of the Nerds III (and the pigs in Animal Farm and pretty much any discriminated class that rises to power for that matter), now that the hipsters were cool, they turned up their noses and started shitting on all us regular Joes and Jills. Fucking hipsters.
That’s all well and good and I could really care less if I’m still a nerd and two years behind the fashion curve (It’s been that way since middle school). The problem is, hipsters are fucking up live music. Hippie music seems to be all about virtuoso musicians and jamming – innovation and originality seem to get lost along the way. Hipsters have the opposite problem. They put such a premium on unique, cutting edge music, that musicians seem to be focusing more on their sound then their abilities.
I’m not an indie rock junkie, but I’ve been to enough shows and listened to enough music over the past few years to both: really enjoy a band’s album and really hate them in concert. Live music is a beautiful thing when done right, but the indie rock scene (which prides itself on bands gaining a following due to their concerts) is helping to ruin it. Live music doesn’t have to be about improvisation, but it should at the very least cause me to have an emotional response to what I’m listening to. Whether it’s dancing, or a general sense of excitement, or being fired up, or being depressed – I should feel something at a concert. At far too many indie rocks shows, emotion is replaced with a dull swaying and numb feeling from drinking too many PBR’s.
The problem isn’t the music itself – it’s the people performing it. In a studio, with a producer and plenty of time, a band can with great vision but mediocre ability can achieve wonderful things. That same band struggles live. And yet the hipsters flock, rejoice, and proclaim their greatness… and then have the nerve to scoff at hippie and mainstream bands alike. Hipsters are perpetuating an environment where originality is valued and little else.
Now obviously there are exceptions to this. Christine got me into Built To Spill. Definitely an indie rock band, with an indie rock following, but the talent to put on a unique live show every night (My Morning Jacket is in the same vein). The ironic thing seems to be that if these much beloved hipster bands had a hippie following, hipsters would hate them (see the previous post for more on this).
I haven’t caught them live yet, but from what Christine and Vein and handful of other people tell me, the Decembrists manage to put on a great show, using a variety of theatrics and audience participation. I caught a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah show last year and was thoroughly impressed, not so much by their musicianship, but rather the sheer energy with which they played; it felt like seeing a real rock band, complete with a lead singer that had udder disdain for the crowd and was still beloved.
Still, a good live indie show seems few and far between. And maybe I’m demonstrating some serious ignorance here, after all, I don’t see enough shows and I’m probably not hip enough to know about some of the really cool bands. It’s hard you know, when you don’t have a myspace page and can’t become friends with three hundred indie bands. So perhaps this is more of a plea than anything else: please, educate my ignorant, un-cool ass. Show me some bands that will wow me if I see them live. If not, we’re approaching a scary time, one where I’d rather sit on my couch and listen to a band’s studio album, then go see them in concert.
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