Hindsight Being 20/20

Hello again, fair readers. 

I remember very clearly where I was when I heard Michael Jackson died. It was almost three years ago, if that seems at all possible. I was locking the doors for the day at my office when my boss told me with no preamble or warning - just a very matter-of-fact "Michael Jackson died", a hint of gossipy glee barely masked in his voice. Of course, being at work I had no access to the proper channels and was most likely one of the last to know. I had been a fan of his work like anyone in the world, but I had fallen out of touch with his music. When I was young, absolutely no question about it, he was the alpha and omega of music, the King of Pop. Then things went down in the 90s and he became the living embodiment of tired jokes and I completely forgot about how great his music was. I was all into angsty, guitar driven alternative and electronica and Michael Jackson was some outdated, weirdo stuff. Sad how wrong I was.

 In college my better half and I had a series of long, long road trips to get her moved into her apartment at her university. With the advent of iPods we were able to play name that tune and play music that was, in my opinion, much better than whatever was on the radio. So while we were laughing about the snippets of soundtrack from The Simpsons that would occasionally pop up or grooving along to Brother Ali's still-amazing Shadows On The Sun, there was an unexpected moment when the shuffle feature brought us to an unexpectedly jarring sound. It was the opening crashes of Jackson's better-than-it-has-any-right-to-be smash 'The Way You Make Me Feel'. I instantly went from jokey exuberance to sitting back in my seat, staring into the distance and listening intently. 

"Oh my god" I mused. 

"What?" she asked, concerned. 

I shook my head. "This is good," I said. "Like, really, really good" 

She shrugged and kept driving, acknowledging "Yeah. It's Michael Jackson," as if saying "and you're just realizing this now?" 

I had completely forgotten how mind-blowingly good he was. I made her endure working through everything of his she had on her ipod after that. The whole time we were singing along, jamming in the car and snapping our fingers. I copied all her music of his, as I hadn't downloaded any of his up to that point and I didn't have any CDs either. From then on, I listened to him more often but it was still this sheepish, guilty pleasure. My friends would often give me guff for it, like it wasn't normal for a guy to listen to it, but I would just let it play and if I'd ask them later they would cop to loving it as well. Jokes about his legal history or not, dude was awesome, plain and simple. 

When Jackson passed away in 2009 the world lost its mind for just a bit. My better half happened to be passing through Times Square that night and she still talks about the surreal spectacle or people out in the streets paying tribute to him. I had listened to his established hits, the number one singles, plenty of times. So when I kept hearing about the later work he did and how some of it was actually quite good, my curiosity got the best of me and I bought a couple tracks, including the dark and disturbing song 'Morphine'. 

If enough people had heard this track when it was first released, one would almost think he would still be alive, today. 

Almost. 

The song is angry and grinding, some of the most visceral stuff he ever released. Composed of broken drum samples and pounding synths, the song serves as a backdrop for Jackson to work out some pent-up aggression over his increasingly demanding drug addiction. It's honestly a bit scary to hear Jackson scream the refrain, wailing "You're doing morphine!" over and over. When the song switches modes halfway through to that of a piano-driven ballad, he starts to sing about the very Demerol that killed him, even scarier in hindsight. It's quite haunting and disturbing, but worst of all its incredibly catchy and well written, a sign of a truly talented artist in the clutches of narcotics. Maybe I'm wrong about all of this, but you have to ask whether his dwindling audiences heard the cries of a man in need of serious help. Unfortunately Jackson was too isolated and cutoff from reality to get the help he needed. Hey, trying to quit these very drugs could have killed him as well, so what do I know? 

It's a terrible shame that we lost such a talented artist to such a preventable thing, but then again we tend to get the world we deserve and not the one we want. Still, I'm glad I took the chance on digging into some of his lesser known work, just to get some insight into the demons that plagued him.

Solid Tangentials

Hola, kids. 

In doing these daily articles on music and my appreciation for forgotten or neglected works, I have expressed my share of love for admittedly flawed material. You could chalk this up to my apologist nature or maybe just bad taste. Either way, I really dig (or dug) some sub par stuff. That does not mean, however, that the artist is not talented or that I should feel badly about it - quite the contrary, it is this basic appreciation for the unappreciated that motivated me to start this whole project in the first place. Rather than spending the course of a night out with friends explaining just why it is that you need to listen to Akira Yamaoka or why watching Lost in chronological order is a revelatory experience, I can collect my thoughts and publish them here. Doing so not only allows for a clearer, more concise train of thought but also retains them for posterity (or however much of that exists in this digital world). So why the preamble? Why the preemptive defense of my bad taste? Because today's post is related to the divisive, guilty-pleasure band that is Blink 182. I say related, though, because it's not really about them, but a side project that shed light on their career and mind set, so let's take a look at the Blink 182 related group Box Car Racer and their single, eponymous release. 

If you've been able to stitch together a loose chronology from the content of these posts, you'll notice a consistent streak of shamefully poppy music running through my life's musical growth. While I can swear up and down that I love trip hop, electronica and indie hip hop, there's still some bald-faced popular music in there. One such example is my Blink 182 phase. I can attest that it was, indeed, a phase due to the fact that the music no longer does it for me - it can temporarily take me back to that time and place but I longer get the same effect from it. Both the subject matter and audience are not aimed at me; it's all a callback to my time in junior high and high school, when girls and tests were the biggest problems I faced (supposedly). Looking back from my current position in life I can see what the appeal was, though. I am still a sucker for a simple, catchy guitar riff over the right bass notes, and that's basically what the band did well. The songs were simple, the vocals and lyrics un-challenging and the length was nonexistent, but songs like Dammit, Pathetic, Man Overboard and Anthem Pt. 2 were all songs that had great riffs to prop them up. At the time I was into them I caught tons of flak for it, establishing my apologist nature from an early age. 

As the band grew older, like anything else, they changed and struggled with identity and limitations. From what I've read Blink 182 had internal strife and conflict about what direction they were headed, as does any band that achieves any sort of mainstream success. What they did, though, was a brave move - they just went separate ways. Instead of permanently breaking up they just went off on other projects to express their unique ideas. For bassist/singer Mark Hoppus...I'm not sure what it was, but I didn't have the interest. Honestly I find something about him grating, like he would have been smug and obnoxious if I'd known him. It propbably sounds very knee-jerk, armchair-quarterback to say it, but from the glimpses of his day-to-day persona, he always seemed like he was kind of a jerk. Maybe it's just me, or someone I knew that reminded me of him. Vague associations. Whatever. It's beside the point, really. What I did have an interest in, though, was guitarist Tom Delonge's first solo effort, titled Box Car Racer, because while Hoppus seemed to sing and write all the soft, easy, round parts for the band, anything angular and interesting seemed to come from Delonge. That could be completely missing the mark, but it was always my impression that there were two distinct voices constantly trying to assert dominance over Travis Barker's impeccable drumming. Seriously, Barker is an unparalleled drummer, no caveats here, and his intense playing is the glue holding all this music together. Without his tight drumming this could all have sounded sloppy and tired, but he brings his A game every single time. 

Shortly after it's release, I heard the album in a music store somewhere I can't recall. I just remember it was at a time in my life flush with flux, uncertaintiy looming around the bend, which I think drove me back to musical comfort food. The sound on Box Car Racer's self titled album was like a modified, more intelligent Blink 182, only distilled down to Tom's voice and style. Hearing an album that was all Delonge's creation was where I really realized the earlier distinction in their writing styles that I was pointing out - it does sound like Blink 182, but without a significant portion of the poppier elements and about-a-girl pop-punk subject matter. Free to write whatever he wanted, Delonge took the opportunity to write about bigger, grander concepts like poverty, power and the reasons we feel helpless in society. There are multiple references to wanting to destroy the CIA headquarters in Langely and the cover-up of UFO's by the government, all stuff that would be largely out of place on a Blink album at the time. Songs deal with darker subject matter like suicides, addiction and loss & regret, showing that Tom was taking small steps into a more adult world. Granted, at times it certainly comes across as mawkish or heavy handed, but it was a step in the right direction. What was most telling was the absence of any juvenilia whatsoever - not a single fart joke to be found. Of particular note is one of my favorite songs about an unfathomable subject. Elevator deals explicitly with the imagery we were subjected to on September 11th, expressing the thoughts of a jaded viewer unnervingly well.

Overall the album seems to be just bit heavier and bleaker than anything Blink 182 had released up until that point, which is why I think I can still appreciate more so than his other work. There's almost an element of legitimacy or gravity he fosters in Box Car Racer, which makes it a shame he's never done anything else under the moniker. Instead we have him reteaming with Hoppus to resurrect the Blink banner once again. Still, I'm glad I gave this album a chance - it's been a unique source of pleasure over the years, even if it's of the guilty variety. 

Going Back To Work

So the weekend ends this way, with another grill out and a little sunshine. Much better than the weekend before, eh?


Just a short bit tonight, as I'm shot after another busy weekend. Looking back I don't seem to have many restful, rejuvenating weekends, just the kind that are filled with tasks and obligations. At least this time I got to see some friends and get a little sun, which is about all a man can ask for these days.


I've written before about my love of Colin Hay's solo efforts. While his album 'Going Somewhere' is a great piece of work, start to finish, he does have other songs that are equally worthy. But while I love some of the songs on his collection Man @ Work, it seems to be an uneven affair with a range in quality. 

A collection of disparate tracks, the 2003 release is less an album than a collection of work. Tracks vary from original compositions to re-recordings of his Men At Work hits to acoustic rearrangements of his hits. There's a little bit of everything here, but not all of it is of the highest caliber. Don't get me wrong - I still very much enjoy the album, it's just that as a whole, its a bit more uneven than Going Somewhere. Clear standout tracks from this collection include more of Hays' sublime acoustic work, his playing soft and dynamic with his distinctive vocal stylings. One of my favorite tracks of the 80s, 'Down Under', sounds excellent as a stripped down number. The song takes on a whole new feel as a result, becoming more contemplative and almost mournful, somehow. 'Who Can It Be Now?', another big hit by Men At Work, gains that same level of introspection and curiously subdued nature from a paring of the elements. The central hook sounds just as great on an acoustic as it did on a sax in the original. The version of the wonderful 'Waiting for My Real Life to Begin' is the same here as it is on Going Somewhere - still great and heartbreaking, just the same version.

The best track, though, has to be the acoustic rendition of the Men At Work song 'Overkill'. What was once an up-tempo number becomes a beautiful, haunting number about second guessing and obsessive recollection. It's an amazing song and Hays' voice sounds superb when he sings it. The song is simply a great bit of writing that sounds fantastic in his hands.


There are still a handful of tracks unaccounted for in this post, which I won't examine in depth. It's not that I don't like them, they're fine as they are, but they're just not for me. There's something about probably half the songs on this album that just don't work for me, but I think that's me and not Hay's production. Maybe other people, his fanatics, really love them. I just know there are some clear, strong tracks in comparison. Regardless, if you want some of the better tracks you can cherry-pick them on iTunes or another service. They're really solid. Just not the entire album. Still, Hay is a great performer with a distinct, appealing sound that shouldn't be missed.

Multiple Incarnations

Ladies and gentlemen, it's the weekend.


It's also cold and rainy, but given our spring this year that's no surprise.


What is a surprise is Toussaint Morrison. This local rapper/musician is stunningly talented and ready for big things. 


I had been attending shows by some friends of mine (relevant post pending) who were repeatedly splitting the bill with Morrison, who would perform under alternating incarnations - either with his backing band The Blend or as a member of Lazlo Supreme. Either way, it was impressive stuff, the kind of music where you sit up and take notice. It's saying something when you are going somewhere to see your friends and another act starts to really draw your attention, and Toussaint Morrison has done just that. 

Harnessing the energy of his splintered personalities, Morrison handles the mic with a deftness and dexterity few emcees possess. His wordplay is complex and free flowing, working with the music rather than against it. Unlike a lot of the rappers who only wish they could, Morrison can carry a tune as well, so his hooks and performances have a greater range than your average hip hop show. His energy and professional craftsmanship are of the caliber that when you find yourself greeting friends and reconnecting, one of his songs will start and everyone stops what they were doing to watch the stage. When the beats start to bang your head starts to nod, instinctively. I had seen Toussaint Morrison perform a handful of times when, during one of his sets, I turned to a friend and realized aloud "Damn, he's really good, isn't he?" I got a knowing nod and grin in response. Imagine my excitement, then, when Morrison started tweeting about the release of his excellently overwhelming mixtape Toussaint Morrison Is Not My Homeboy.


Spanning 12 tracks and running a breathless, relentless 45 minutes, the mixtape is a series of genius samples and intricately worded lyrics, courtesy of Morrison and partner in crime Dr. Wylie. In the first track alone I caught references to subjects close to my heart like Left 4 Dead, Suicide Booths, Streets of Rage, Hand Over Fist, Zelda and Hyrule, all followed by a chip-tuned outro to the song. I have to admit, I'd heard the track live and it bangs, no doubt. But to hear the words so clear as to realize all the references he'd been making, it made my head explode at his wit and pop-cultural name-checks. An entire track devoted to exploring the themes of Marvel's Civil War? Done. A come-and-get-it confrontational about Street Fighter? Yup. Nerd love aside, the guy writes lyrics that are heartfelt and honest, as well, like on the sentimental 'Lady & The Vamp' which makes great use of a Passion Pit sampling. Other tracks use great source material as well, like Modest Mouse and Franz Ferdinand. Seriously, trying to unpack this dense mixtape is like playing spot-the-reference, not just in lyric but music as well.

Check out Toussaint Morrison's free mixtape here, and peep the video for the excellent 'Walk Thru The Wall' here. The artist also keeps a blog of his thoughts and writings here. If you have a chance to see the man live, do yourself a favor and go! His live shows hooked me, they'll get you too.

Second Time Around

Well, well, well.

Can't keep a good site down, eh?

After some difficulties yesterday with servers and outages, my schedule is  back on. I had written yesterday's post well within the time limit and published it, only for Blogspot to short out on me. After many refreshes and head scratching, here we are back in business. Feels good. Additionally, since the post was written and published (but not updated to circumstances beyond my control) I'm going to count the streak as unbroken. Where does that leave me? Something like 133 days, straight, of fresh content? Right-o, let's keep the ball rolling, shall we?

I didn't get Akira the first time I saw it. 


This is not to say I couldn't follow the plot, although some spotty dubbing and a rinky-dink TV didn't help any. I mean, I got it and all. It just didn't click with me right away. What I hadn't realized, though, is that scene is just as important for the viewer as the director.

I had picked up the movie after seeing (and loving) Spirited Away. Wanting more anime to satisfy a burgeoning curiosity, I picked up the 1987 release on DVD shortly after seeing Spirited Away, assuming it's reputation as a landmark, touchstone film would guarantee a prized place among movies I owned and cherished. All I knew at that point was: it was anime, it was highly regarded, it was about a post-war Tokyo set in the future and there was a motorcycle. That pretty much summed up my a priori knowledge. I suppose it was only slightly racist, then. After an initial viewing I was left a bit befuddled and unsure of what I'd seen. I understood the nuts and bolts of the plot yet still was asking myself "What was all that about, then?" Like Homer awakening to the horrors of Poochy, I asked myself "At least I liked it, didn't' I?" 

I can say now, after subsequent viewings, that the answer is an emphatic yes. However, in contrast to my experience with Spirited Away (and countless other anime movies I have since consumed) I found that my personal scene for viewing the movie was a detriment to the process of taking in the movie. Whereas that experience was almost serendipitous in its ambience, this movie, I found, required intentional and deliberate scene setting in order to enjoy it.

As I said earlier, my initial viewing experience was not ideal, not just for this movie but for any. It was a sunny afternoon after my lectures were done for the day, I was in my college apartment and the TV I was using was probably no bigger than the monitor on which this is being read. Not exactly the best way to experience a movie known for it's distinct imagery and massive scope. Details were vague, characters started to become interchangeable and the impact of large set pieces and scenes was lost. Still, despite my unintentional scene, I enjoyed the movie and a few years later I decided to revisit it, really watch it again but under much more cinematic circumstances. 

My (impending) father-in-law is a man who approaches life with the attitude "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right." This includes his approach to media consumption. So one day while visiting his house with my better half, I was afforded a span of time with which I would be able to view a movie on his massive TV in a private screening room. Despite this being just in advance of the proliferation of Blu-Ray, it was about as ideal a viewing experience as I could have asked for - a massive (like, 70-plus inch) TV, artificially darkened room with a great sound system and no disturbances whatsoever. My phone was off and I was isolated, seated, most likely, much to close to the TV.

It was revelatory.

My entire understanding of the movie had changed as a result - characters whose features and design seemed indistinct were suddenly illuminated. I found myself realizing "Oh, it's that guy!" whenever a small but recurring role popped up. Epic city-wide shots seemed more transporting and somehow 'real' than they had previously. The vital, dangerous energy of the action sequences and chase scenes was almost dizzying due to the perspectives and size of the screen. A plot whose players seemed at time non-descript suddenly was crystal clear (although this was obviously aided by a repeat viewing) and an ending that had been almost under whelming the first time around was now intense and unrelentingly powerful.  Basically watching the movie in my own personal theater completely changed the film for me - it went from a 'pretty okay' in my book to 'Holy Hannah, that was good'. Seeing it under those circumstances made me wonder how it's reputation had propelled from the theaters into viewer's homes, and how insane it must have been to see it in the first theatrical run. 

To be perfectly frank there is a lesson I've taken from this whole experience (other than give unusual art second chances). That lesson is that unless the circumstances are right, I shouldn't consume media via small screens unless I really need to. I'll absolutely watch something on my phone, say, on the bus or on a plane, but the ipad is such a step up over that. If I don't have to use the ipad, I won't - these devices allow me to make it portable but I don't use them as the only means of consumption. Basically I want every viewing experience to be as close to ideal as possible, at least on the first pass for a movie or show. If I went to bed early - sure, I'll watch a bit of a movie just for something novel, but I'd rather do it on a widescreen. 


Of course, I say all this with the admission that I won't follow my own advice.

Concentric Concerns

Almost there, gang. Almost there.

I've written a lately about the manner in which we're exposed to music. Additionally I have examined the nature of what sticks and what doesn't - the question of why we choose the things we do and why advice can go unheeded. Along these lines, today's post springs from the central problem of yesterday's post, namely the disappearing problem of forgetting music or not having the facts when we want them. Sit a spell, won't you?

As I kvetched in yesterday's post, I grew up in the world on the cusp of the Jetsonsonian world we now inhabit. Unless you had a VCR running, brother, you weren't going to see that episode again until syndication. Can't recall the name of an actor when you're talking about a movie? In the days before the proliferation of the IMDB you could think yourself right into a stroke. Most frustrating of all would be hearing a great song on the radio and the DJ, whom you already despise because they're a DJ, won't say a lick about it. Drove me up the wall. (Sidebar here - that may be the most negative thing I've written here, to date) The flip side to this problem, however, is that with proper skills or the attachment of sufficient significance, you could circumvent this problem. 

My older brother had occasionally mentioned Sunny Day Real Estate as being a great band I would like. Being a young adolescent in that culture that pre-dated instant-informational-gratification, I never had a chance to find out what he was talking about. Despite their reputation as avant garde, meta-conscious artists who appeared in Gap ads in masks, Sunny Day Real Estate's videos were never played when I was watching MTV, or at least I didn't pay sufficient enough attention. I did know, though, that members went on to work with Dave Grohl in the legendary Foo Fighters, so I had that asterix next to their name in my mental data banks. The local radio stations in my home town were limited to Top 40, Oldies, Country, More Oldies, More Country, Even More Country, Classical and I Still Can't Believe It's More Country. No modern rock for young guys like us, nuffin' at all. 

It wasn't until I was living in Tacoma for the brief span between high school and college that I had the briefest of snippets of SDRE to experience. I had been working at my uncle's restaurant in West End, saving money and spending all my free time wandering the city or reading on his deck. It was an enjoyably solitary time, but that's beside the point. Point is I was driving home one afternoon, most likely worrying about the impending social crises awaiting me at St. Thomas. Thinking I should be up on not just th music I loved, but popular mass-appeal music as well, I switched from CD to the modern rock station in Seattle. While I was expecting something terrible, like the formerly prominent Papa Roach, I instead heard something cut through the speakers like a buzz saw right into my brain. I vividly recall sitting up in the seat and cocking my head to figure out what I was hearing. Distorted circles of guitar licks, a singer wailing about "Running down" while someone moaned "...in circles" behind them. I was hooked. Unfortunately I had no idea who it was, so I listened patiently, eased only by the fact that I knew the next song, so when the DJ came on to actually tell the audience what they played for a change, I had context. "Alright, that was another set of songs from blah blah blah, some Everclear, Jimmy Eat World - The Middle, In Circles by Sunny Day Real Estate and What It's Like by Everlast. Keep it right here on..." My mind locked in on the name and I smirked, realizing I should have known that song, had I just branched out before. I only got to hear about the last minute of the tune though, so I filed it away in the back of my mind to seek it out in the future.

Time passed, I moved to the dorms and started college, a little too busy with other things like life to start investigating immediately. An open Saturday afternoon early in the semester found me with some time on my hands after downloading the regionally popular file sharing program. After loading up on stuff I knew I had to have immediately, I started free associating, letting old or obscure songs come to mind, almost as a test to my own self and the network. Like a lightbulb over my head, Sunny Day Real Estate popped in and I eagerly searched. I had impressed myself with the tenacity of my own memory. Having only heard a snippet of the song months before, I had actually had the mental wherewithal to summon the track from the ether. It was there - not a hugely popular song, but not impossibly obscure, either. So I did the wrong thing and downloaded it. As soon as it was ready, I opened it in iTunes and clicked play. 

I realized right away I should have listened to what I was told when I was younger. This band was a group out of time, making a sound that basically established emo (of which I was unabashedly enamored at the time) and rode parallel to the alternative wave of the 90s. The band was long gone, but thanks to a random bit on the radio and the freedom of crowd-sourcing data, there was just one more person falling in love with their anguished sound. I loved the back and forth dynamics, the loud and soft. The way vocalist Dan Hoerner sang soft and sweet in the verses, only to howl when the chorus came in. Rather than feeling formulaic, it was vital and fresh for me - I had missed the song the first time it went around and had only been introduced to it most likely from a sorting algorithm or bit of nostalgia from a DJ. Here I am now, with 'In Circles' still making regular appearances in my playlists, in the world of the Jetsons. 

12 Gracious Melodies

Hey, hey, what do you know? 

My older brother, as I've written before, has been directly responsible for introducing me to most of the music that I love. By either overhearing his stereo around the house or simply pilfering his collection I was exposed to a great deal of choice music. Had it not been for his influence I would have no doubt been cast adrift into a sea of mediocre pop punk with no context for anything and no appreciation for anything that came before my time. Granted I say this with the knowledge that he is just barely two years older than me, but there was a bit of a generational divide, as well as an understanding of what we were just coming out on the other side of in the 1990s. While we both endured the ubiquity of Alanis Morissette and Hootie & the Blowfish at their respective career highs, he was savvy enough to have picked up on, say, Faith No More's sadly forgotten but nonetheless monster tune 'Epic'. Right there is an example of a song that throngs of people adore, yet no one really had heard when I was off at college. It was one of those songs that, when it would play on my ipod, people would cock their heads and grin a little bit, like they knew the song but were only then realizing how awesome it was. That was the kind of thing I was constantly witnessing due to the influence of the older brother. 


As we grew older and he eventually went to college while I finished high school, we found we had similar but divergent tastes. We both were all about the single 'Got You Where I Want You' by The Flys, but he couldn't stand when I got into the likes of The Deftones and Fenix Tx. He loved Guster, I loved Method Man, we both loved The Living End. There was so little rhyme or reason to it. One band that has always been an easy call for the both of us, though? Stone Temple Pilots. As much as we both love guitar driven alterna-rock from the mid 90s, this band was a special highlight, a group that just wrote songs a certain way with which we both clicked. 

While the dreary grunge of Core is energizing and the experimentation of Tiny Music... is boundary pushing, the sweet spot, the creme de la creme, has to be their sophomore effort, which was initially untitled. Eventually dubbed Purple, due to the Mandarin character featured on the cover, the album saw Stone Temple Pilots realizing what would become viewed as their sound, the signature style of writing and delivery. There's a mix of the heavy riffage of Core, but only the best elements and citations. There are hints of the out-there experiments from Tiny Music..., but reigned in just enough to be engaging and unique. Tying these elements together is the fact that, while notoriously troubled frontman Scott Weiland may have been under the influence of heroin at the time of writing, the music created by the band was fantastically hooky and capturing. The guitar and bass players, brothers Dean and Rob Deleo, are chiefly responsible for the actual music, with Weiland supplying lyrics and melodies. What the band created here within that dynamic is fantastic. 

You almost wouldn't know it was happening, though, from the dirge of an opener that is 'Meatplow'. It's a powerful riff and a decent song, but melodically there's not much indication that the band would be doing new things here. It's only when the next track kicks in, the insanely syncopated 'Vaseline', that we get a sense of what the band is capable of. All behind-the-beat rhythms and off-kilter swing notes, the riff is an instant head bobber, while Weiland sings an infectious melody over the top. It's here you realize that Core was the band finding their feet, this album was them finding their voice. 'Lounge Fly' splits the difference of the first two tracks - the verses are fairly rote but the chorus is moving and heavy, with Weiland's vocals driving the song alongside Dean Deleo's expressive guitar accents. The stand out of the album by far, though, is obviously the mega hit 'Interstate Love Song', a song whose feeling and atmosphere conjures different things for different people. I've always found the melody and chord changes to be a bit sad and melancholic, with a hint of nostalgia balancing the equation. For others it seems to be more upbeat, for some it's about the end of a relationship. I can't put my finger on what it is, but I know that it is a phenomenally written song with a killer hook. If one knows the words, its almost impossible not to sing along. The guitar lick that drives the song is memorable and instantly recognizable, a sure sign of a great riff. 

The rest of the album continues to be excellent like the first half. 'Still Remains' is a shimmering, rolling piece of music that washes out of your speakers in waves. The band, having seen unanticipated success with their Unplugged show, tried their hand at an acoustic number, the gorgeously haunting and simple 'Pretty Penny'. The juggernaut riff that lies central to the massive 'Silvergun Superman' is a heavy, driving affair. Showing their talent and knack for writing, the band balances out the metal of the verses with a poppy, wistful chorus that would feel mismatched by any other band. A proven hit from their unplugged performance, 'Big Empty' is another piece of superb, somber music balanced out by dynamic shifts. The verses are almost morose bits, with bluesy steel guitars sliding over Em and C7 chords. The chorus, though, is a lovely set of chords that shifts the tone of the song to a more uplifting key but maintains the same underlying sense of sadness. 'Kitchenware & Candybars' closes the album with an intriguing acoustic riff that amps up when plugged in (no pun intended). 

I really can't tell you enough how great this album is. It's one of my favorite 'albums', not just a couple singles but rather how the whole thing plays together, the complete structure as opposed to peaks and valleys. To boot, it always makes me think of my older brother and what a great influence he's been. I'm lucky to have him in my life.

Microcosms

It's Monday, kids.

I woke up to a raging thunderstorm. Kind of a cool way to start the day, but only really great if you get to spend the remainder of the day in bed. It's dark out when it shouldn't be, and the rain is so soothing that you just want to curl up and turn over while sighing the peaceful sigh of someone falling back to sleep. Unfortunately like most Mondays, I was not able to do this. Instead, I simply got on with the day, making espresso and a couple of eggs, tying my tie and seeing the better half off to her car. I put my music on shuffle and headed out to work, umbrella threatening to fly out of my hand at any moment. The key part of today's post, though, is not the storm but the shuffling of the music, because it was through this shuffle that I heard a great song that I had forgotten about, and isn't that what this blog is really all about?

Total pop music confessional mode, here. If you've been following along with the blog thus far, you have more than an inkling about my not-secret-in-any-way love of pop music. This song, 'Your Woman' by one-man act White Town, was a sign post of my youth, a song that hit the charts one summer, then pretty much disappeared without a trace. For one summer this song was everywhere, then nowhere, almost like it never existed. That's really quite a shame, as it's actually a funky little dance-able number that holds up very well. Through both sunshine and summer storms I heard this song everywhere. I completely forgot about it for about ten years. Thanks to merging my iTunes with my those of my better half's, I once again have stumble upon a bit of nostalgic pop heaven.

Released in 1997, the song was the reworking and sampling of an old Bing Crosby song called 'My Woman' which featured in the movie Pennies From Heaven. Tweaked by one man under the name of his musical nom-de-plume White Town, Jyoti Prakash Mishra took the old classic and created a whole new number around it. According to Mishra the song was written with multiple viewpoints in mind, both being spoken from and to a man and woman, a woman and a man, two women, two men, or even people with differing political views. Mishra has never pulled any punches with regard to his personal politics, even in his music, but I won't dig into his lyrics in that sense. I'd rather focus on the sound of the song, the nature of the music itself.

I could have sworn, when I was younger (alright, even now) that the trumpet loop in this song is somehow a nod to The Imperial March from Star Wars. It's most likely, though, that it's a bit of contextual referentiality that just tickles the same part of my simple mind. That muted trumpet is a fantastic, underused musical trick for modern pop. Sure, Adele could pull it off, but in a dance track on some Top 40 business? No way. Anyway, this song is great. It's got this thumping little bass line, a bit of synth that feels like a vivisected piece of 1997, right from the part when Spice Girls were still big and Smash Mouth was making it waves. See how I took you back there? 

Right. 

Point is, this song is a compact little bit of dance music. There's something intrinsic in the arrangement that feels like a single serving dance party wrapped in plastic. The way the synth bubbles and creeps over the drum loop feels a bit dark and dangerous, yet somehow distinctly European to my Middle West ears. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something just a bit off kilter to 'Your Woman' that really intrigues me, like the pieces not quite lining up perfectly but fitting close enough that it works anyway. The progression, the song structure, the understated way the vocals are sung - all of these...off...elements add up to a discordant whole that I love, all these years later.

Give me flack if you want, but just know that if you see me nodding my head a bit and smirking to myself as I walk through Uptown, I may very well be rocking out to the sweet, sweet sounds of 1997. Just another bit of guilty pleasure pop, courtesy of the shuffle feature.

Ups/Downs

Alright, Sunday night is come and gone.

I sit here typing this with a long weekend's worth of errands behind me and very little unwinding to my credit. Frankly, I could use a good drink. Instead of that, though, I had a lot of good food, including the cook-out I mentioned in yesterday's post. I also finished off my peanut butter pretzels this morning, as I was walking out the door. But enough about me! Do you guys remember Blondie? 

Blondie, you guys!

Blondie.

I totally stumbled upon this amazing group back when I was a freshman in high school, a year which I will not cite for reasons of vanity. Somehow I discovered them while in a cultural vacuum - what use could my brain have for a New Wave/Punk band from the late 1970s while I was living in rural Middle West, circa 199x? Rather, to my brain's credit, what use couldn't I have for them? Like any teenager who listened to Blondie, I was required to be smitten by Debbie Harry. But what really hooked me, beyond her beguiling and dangerous beauty, was the amazing songs. In particular, the album Parallel Lines still sounds fantastic today.

Released in late 1978, the album was the biggest breakthrough for the band in their entire collected careers. Some of the band's biggest and most iconic hits came from this phenomenal, influential album. I had heard a couple songs before, really only picking up on the novelty hit 'Rapture' via VH1's Pop-Up Video, but that wasn't even from this album. What really hooked me on Blondie and this album was the ...ugh... disco single 'Heart of Glass'. I know that gets a fair bit of eye rolling and cultural poo-pooing, but I really dig that song. It's a four-on-the-floor, pumping single, one that feels more New Wave than disco. But you know what? I don't really care about the dreaded D-word. A good song's a good song. It's a lilting, alluring track that is catchy and hooky all the way through.

Other tracks are just as good, like the urgent, edgy 'Hangin On The Telephone'. I love the squealing, descending guitar lick the verses revolve around. The churning and fuzzy guitars that propel 'One Way or Another' are just as infectious. I feel like so many people today dismiss Blondie as an old pop band while they clearly were a driving, vital New Wave group that danced along the punk edge. They were fantastically vibrant and influential - countless groups have played with the format they forged. I won't name check bands that have aped their style or form, but we all know more than a handful of huge acts that could use a little asterix besides their name. 

Additionally, I feel like of all people, hipsters should be head-over-heels for this group. Doesn't the sound of the guitars and drums, the fashionable yet bizarre style of the group, the hot-as-hell lead singer, all seem to fit right into the hipster verve? But alas, mass appeal and familiarity are the antithesis of the hipster, so they remain free for all to love. Oh, well. Such is life. I'll have to continue living knowing that millions of people still love Blondie.

Music By Numbers

Saturday evening post, again.


Here I sit, freshly stuffed full of peanut butter pretzels, an off kilter end to a mini grill-session that involved one too many brats. Family came into town last week to hit the Dakota Jazz Club and we got to talking about jazz we knew and loved. A consensus among my generation of the family was a love of Minneapolis natives The Bad Plus. 


To my chagrin I had no idea they originated here. I simply stumbled across the album These Are The Vistas when my younger brother left it in his CD player he kept in the bathroom at my parents house. I was home on holiday from college and thought I'd play some tunes while getting ready for the day. Two tracks into the album and I had to pop open the tray to see who it was that sounded so good. Just a burned CD with Rudiger's handwriting scrawled across it, the name of the band and title of the album. While I had been more into punk and emo at the time, Rudiger was a big jazz fan, playing drums in his school's top rated jazz ensembles and flat-out being the best drummer I've ever had the fortune of playing with (sorry, Dan Olson, Rudiger wields more ferocity). Later that day I pestered him into burning me a copy to take back to my apartment in the Twin Cities. 

The Bad Plus are a trio of talented and unconventional musicians from the Twin Cities who had known each other and played together for years but only formally formed the group in 2000. After a well received debut album, they released my favorite of their albums, These Are The Vistas, in 2003. Since then they've gone on to release five more albums, each one receiving more critical and commercial acclaim. They command top dollar on tour, they've played atypical forums such as (the now defunct) Late Night with Conan O'Brien and have pretty much established a rocknroll reputation for what outsiders perceive as too intellectual or too stiff and stuffy. The Bad Plus are highly, highly regarded for their intelligence and insight in the music world, which might put off your more casual listener who'd rather listen to mindless, indulgent drivel. Believe me, I can get behind drivel - just look at some of my old posts. But a lot of people dismiss jazz like this for being to in-its-own-head to be enjoyed.


Nuts to that.


These guys are phenomenal. They swing. They hammer. In essence, they rock. This particular album features not only a gorgeous version of Aphex Twin's 'Flim', a hurtling, frenetic take on the Blondie single 'Heart of Glass' but also a bizarre, brooding take on Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' that actually is pretty interesting to hear. As great as these tongue-in-cheek covers are, though, their real meat is their original material. I am absolutely enamored to this day with the first track on the album, the ominous and dark 'Big Eater'. I love the dynamics, the ups-and-downs of it, the back and forth verve of the whole song. They're in great form here. 

Other albums have great things to offer, as well. More brooding and off kilter energy. Pixies covers. An album all about Prog Rock. You name it. I think as far as jazz goes, these guys are my far-and-away favorites, especially of this modern day. Give a listen and see if it doesn't hook you.