Hey, Yeah...

Time for a lullaby, kids.


I'm spent. I had a busy, productive day at the office, followed by dinner out at my favorite restaurant (hi Fuji Ya!) and spent some time packing boxes. We're moving out of our first place together, into a bigger and better home. We're both excited, but are already feeling the pressure of condensing four years of life plus the recent wedding into boxes and a U-haul. It's fun, but draining. Exhilarating, but exhausting. Sleep is a blissful thing, but last night was only the restless kind that comes with unshakable concerns of the waking life. Sometimes you need a good lullaby to put you out. I love Obadiah Parker's cover of 'Hey Ya' by Outkast. Always does the trick.

For some, it might not be the most desired praise, to label a song as something to put you to sleep. In this case, I'd strongly disagree. The soothing, soulful singer-songwriter type, Parker (not his real name) made a name for himself online a few years back with this serene version of the frenetic dance track. He took what was already a phenomenal club song possessing an vintage flair for passion and dance-ability and flipped it inside out. Turns out the bones of Oukast's pop smash from the turn of the millennium is a great song from the core, not just studio finesse. Parker's version is just him and his guitar, softly strumming and singing the lyrics, which in this light become much more bittersweet and soul-baring. It's an amazing effect to see. 

On a night you feel stressed, worn out or simply can't sleep, songs like these are a blessing. It's sweet and soothing, a beautiful rendition of a song that works as a dichotomous work. I love the original for its uncontrollable energy. I love this version for the warm towel it wraps around my mind. I think sometimes I can actually feel my pulse and blood pressure drop when I listen to it. Tell you what - you go download this song. I have to turn in for the night. No way can I keep my eyes open any longer. Drifting off.

Monster? Mash!

Spooky Month gets funky.

They can't all be paranoid little pieces about haunting, ambient music and personal memories of leaves crunching on the ground, can they? Nah, I ought to switch things up. Stay fresh. Get moving. How about instead of a nostalgic bit on eerie tunes I give you a sonic blast of Halloween-themed goodness? Let's get a little funky. No, not horror-core. That's just bad all around. I'm talking about the furious funk of 'I'm Your Boogie Man'. Yeah, that kind of funk. To be honest, as much as I love the original flavor by KC & The Sunshine Band (with bonus points for being the soundtrack to the scene in Watchmen when The Comedian and Nightowl tame a riot) the version I want to put out the good word for is the insane re-grind by White Zombie.

White Zombie are...were...crazy. Largely the brainchild of Rob Zombie, the band made a pretty dynamic series of evolutions from a groove metal group in the late 80s to become the industrial funk outfit they were most known as by the time they dissolved in 1996. They had mainstream success with their last album, Astro-Creep: 2000, which of course unleashed the massive 'More Human Than Human' on the public. One of their last offerings to the masses before their dissolution (Rob Zombie spinning off to become a distilled entity of the band on his own) was this cover for the soundtrack to City of Angels, the disappointing sequel to The Crow. In one shot they sent out a blast of funky, grinding spooky madness that I make sure to include in any Halloween playlist/mix/partymusicwhathaveyou. I loved blasting this song, for example, while gearing up for the recent mess that was the Zombie Pub Crawl. Good times in grease paint and fake blood? Rob himself would be proud.

Kicking off with a dirty bit of distorted wah-wah guitar, 'I'm Your Boogie Man' jumps right into the thick of it with a heavy, somehow danceable combination of drums and minor bass notes that build the core of the song. Mr. Zombie layers on discordant keys and a chorus of excited kids screaming "The boogie man is coming! He's gonna get you" to build atmosphere and just be freaky in general. The verse rips open with a searing guitar to match the bassline while Rob's voice growls the words in an almost inhuman wash of distortion. Like the band or not, there's no denying they do this kind of thing incredibly well. I adore the synth lines that come in before the chorus that ape the horns in the original version. When the song breaks loose and tears into the hook, it's insanely heavy. The blasts of guitar and bass while Zombie screams the hook are full of menace and Halloween cheer, both dangerous and fun. Somehow it's totally danceable despite the madness comprising the tune.

Like I said, I love this crazy cover and throw it into any October entertaining I do. Not like a sit-down, wine glasses and fancy cheeses kind of thing, but more of going to a scary movie or having people over before a midnight screening at the Uptown Theater. White Zombie may have called it quits soon after releasing this cover but I'm glad they let us have this one before they did. It's Monster Mash, for sure. 

Citizen Suspicions

Evening, all.


I write this with a bit of trepidation, as I feel it warrants a fair bit of justification in order to include it under the umbrella of Spooky Month Music. You know, though? I'm going for it. Why should I have to apologize for a track in a playlist? I'm not trying to offend, just throwing mental spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks. So it is with mixed levels of confidence and wariness that I make today's Spooky Month recommendation. I'm Afraid of Americans.


Who wouldn't be? We're huge. We are the elephant in the room. We barge in at any social (global) event and make it about us. We're teenagers on a global scale, why wouldn't we? That's what we do, and for better or worse we do it well. By and large we've been responsible for some amazing things in the last 200+ years we've existed. We've also been present for, and caused, some of the most horrible things you could fathom. Being an American, at least in my own short existence in the post-modern age, has been a dichotomous one - pride in being a powerful, prosperous nation (at least five years ago, anyway) yet shame in our heavy handed, ego-centric approach to some of the more nuanced issues. Lest I delve any further into the issue and start actively and irreparably shoving my foot into my mouth, I will say that this understanding of American citizenship helps shape my context of David Bowie's killer single, remixed by Trent Reznor.

It's two great flavors that taste great together. Bowie, with his British style and refinement, writing a biting, insightful track about our omnipresence in the world with the help of genius Brian Eno. Reznor, all American dramatics and angst, deconstructing and re-contextualizing the established order to create a fresh, biting sound. These two, working on the song from Bowie's 1997 album Earthling, crafted tune that not only forces the listener to question assumptions but also makes a Hell of an ominous, funky little ditty to have throbbing in the background while entertaining. It's the kind of song that I like to include as part of my Halloween/cocktail-hour playlists in iTunes because not only is it a killer song with a killer vibe but those who hear it and get Bowie's message might think about how the world is a dangerous place, even here in America. It's spooky music, not in the ghouls and goblins sense, but in the mood established through tone and message, a song full of paranoia and malice. 


The track, with its Reznor-requisite beeps, buzzes and fuzz, is also bolstered by the crazy video produced for it. One must bear in mind, though, that it was created back in a pre-9/11 world wherein criticizing the U.S. was a much different thing than it is today. Seeing Bowie chased through New York by a menacing Reznor and kids with finger-guns was both odd and amusing. It was cool to see the two, a pairing of kindred artists, making a bit of a statement about our gun-obsessed culture and our lack of tact. Now it seems even more odd and somehow more provocative in light of our political landscape. 

See how I get off on tangents when I get going on geo-political topics? It's not a Halloween song like the Addams Family theme or the Monster Mash, but it's a track with teeth, a darkly toned grind of a song that Bowie delivers with unflappable cool. Reznor's influence is just icing on the cake. Sneak it into a mix and see if anyone picks up on it. It's like a musical Rorschach test for Halloween.

Bleed Out

We're switching gears!


Spooky Month is now going to be focusing on music for the morbid, tunes for the twisted, metal of the macabre! Other puns! Bad descriptions! It's going to be a week of creepy, freaky deeky music, the kind of stuff you would really only want to play on Halloween but I play all month long because...well...I love Halloween.


So...Slipknot. Yeah. They're insane. They're kind of nuts. Like, they're a band I have little-to-no interest in pursuing much further beyond this single. I'm too old and soft to be into such aggro, antagonistic metal. There's like 9 guys in the band and they do all sorts of weird things during their shows, injuring themselves and I don't know what all. I know I sound like an old, writing this, but it's beyond the realm of my give-a-crap. I'm just saying, I'm all for the spectacle of Marilyn Manson, but these guys are nuts.

So why do I bother writing this? Cause their single 'Wait and Bleed' from 2001 is actually pretty decent for horror-themed tunes. It's got all the right moves for a nasty, grimy track that gets under your skin. The vocals (depending on the mix you hear) vacillate between anguished howls and grunts to a sing-songy, pleasant voice that almost seems out of place in such a furious tune. The low bass riding under the refrain gives a slinky, evil feel to the softer vocals; the buzzsaw guitar riffs in the verses add machismo and malice to near-indecipherable lyrics. It's antagonistic and pained, but man if it isn't catchy.

Like I said, not a huge fan of this band. I dig 'Wait and Bleed' for the things their fans probably hate. Parts of it have a cool melody. The verses show what they're know for. It's unnerving stuff for Spooky Month. Let's find some more palatable music tomorrow, eh?

No Reason

Sometimes these things come out of the ether like ghosts rising from the grave.

I love Garbage. Most of what they have released has been really solid, thought provoking music. They've had some great albums, a collection of artistically unique videos and one mammoth greatest hits collection. I love their sound, in general - all the churning electro elements and post-grunge guitars mashed together by a group of renowned producers, all of which compliment vocalist Shirley Manson's distinct voice incredibly well. It's a shame that they've mostly been going in spurts and sputters for the last decade, because I would always love to have more from them. Their last official album, Bleed Like Me, came in a series of fits and false starts after the lukewarm album that proceeded it. Beautiful Garbage was too slick and soulless for their own good - they went from taking the p out of pop music to becoming robots themselves. Bleed Like Me brought all the warts back in (mostly) the right places. As I have admitted in previous pieces on the band, they have yet to hit the heights of their earlier work, but there is a really great song that stands out on Bleed Like Me. 

When the band released the patchwork tune that is 'Why Do You Love Me' as the lead-in single to the album, they came out with both barrels blazing. The only problem was they ran out of ammo -it's easily the best, most memorable song on an album that runs out of steam. This song, though, is a monster. The opening guitar licks are massive, the tone so fat and raucous it hardly feels like a guitar. Abruptly, the song switches gears for what will be the first of a few distinct sections. The verses are skittering and light as Manson sings of not being a Barbie doll or "as pretty as those girls in magazines". It could easily come off as trite riot grrl posturing of yesteryear but the band and Manson sell it with such conviction you're willing to buy it at face value. The band's distinct use of layered guitar lines build in to the chorus, where the song breaks wide open. Over squealing guitars and pounding drums, Manson wails the title of the track over and over, making it into an obsessive accusation as much as a derisive rhetorical question. As a segueway the same over-stuffed guitars pop back in to transition to another verse. It also shows up in a quiet little break wherein Manson coos about suspicions of a cheating mate, the separate pieces of the song making a bit more sense as they repeat. 

This single, released in 2004, felt oddly out of time when I first heard it. Not in the structure of the song, mind you, but in its tone. Other than the layers of polish granted by modern tech, it could easily have been written and released back in the band's early period when they were full of drive. Here, though, it's a welcome reminder that not all music in the 90s was dour grunge and flannel - there were, and are, bands that can play with energy and conviction beyond the indie scene. In fact, in a curious move, this single has none of the trademark electronic bells and whistles of their typical sound. I'm sure, given the sources, that the guitars and drums are twisted and tweaked beyond any natural existence, but you'd hardly know it without any blatantly artificial noises. 

I wish the rest of Bleed Like Me was written out of the pieces they were stringing together to make this track. It feels a bit like there's a whole album crammed in to this one single. The rest of the album, while not a waste by any means, fails to live up to this high point. There are some solid rockers and an interesting breather or two, but at best it's a bit of a let down, just reminding the listener of how good they used to be. Considering that Beautiful Garbage was such a mess, I was surprised Bleed Like Me was this good, to be honest. It's not the best of their career, but if you're into them I would recommend checking it out. There's some good stuff hidden in it.   

No Saving

Singles are a strange thing. Or, rather, they used to be.


Now it's not a problem at all to pick cafeteria-style from the world at large. The album format is the oddity, where the single used to be a funny little thing. It seems so rare and note-worthy to listen to an album all the way through - not only is it a sign of dedication to an artist (or maybe not paying attention to my soundtrack) but a sign the artist is talented enough to carry an idea through more than just a handful of songs. Maybe it's just my modern age, technologically induced ADD that keeps me from even wanting to hear an album's worth of material. When I wrote about the double album Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness it felt like such an act of endurance and even an accomplishment to have listened to two hours of music, despite being split up over the course of two days. I guess that's more of a statement on the pace of our lives than the capability of an artist and the changing state of a medium, I suppose.

Back before the proliferation of digital distribution, singles were more of a vexing thing. If I was into a song, I couldn't rely on the single-minded nature and limited playlists of the local radio stations. MTV was already phasing out videos in favor of teen-centric marketing. If I dug something I could either plunk down a couple bones for a single, and then have to constantly be swapping discs out when I wanted to hear it, or go for gusto and buy the whole damn album, hoping the (minor) investment would pay off. Sometimes these purchases paid off, like with Fiona Apple's excellent sophomore effort or the rare stealth gem like Everclear's Sparkle And Fade. Other times, it was a frustrating disappointment, no matter how good the single was.

Take The Cranberries and their 1996 album To The Faithful Departed. Following the huge success that was their second album, No Need To Argue, one would expect them to keep on with their interesting mix of alt rock and politically aware, socially focused writing. Instead, they put out an album that just kind of fell flat, despite one or two decent singles. Personally, I loved 'Salvation', with its frantic pace and rising-and-falling melody, all doo-doo-doo-doo-doo's and hum-able lines. From the way it fell off the charts (and reading reviews in hindsight) it becomes apparent why I was frustrated with the album - it just wasn't that good. I was smitten with that particular single, yet the other 12 (12!) songs were just meh. Even the other singles were uninteresting to me, having been hooked by the thought of more aggressive tunes on the album. I had put out good money in the hopes of some good luck, instead I got a dreary album full of songs that sounded like they just weren't written with any passion. Judging by the way the band's career petered out after this album, it's possible they were running out of creative steam. I don't mean to slag them, but every artist or group has a high point; this was not that high point for The Cranberries.

Despite my harsh words, I do still dig 'Salvation'. I know it's preachy and heavy handed, the way singer Dolores O'Riordan rails against substance abuse. It's still an uptempo number that hits the right parts of my mind, hooking it in with the tightly constructed soundscape. I love the rush of it, the panic pervading through the track. Too bad it was the lone energetic track on the album. I've really tried to go back and listen to the album, to give it a second, third, fourth chance. I should have bought the single, instead.

Hello Self

This is not unlike my internal conflict regarding U2.

I have, in general terms, no concern for Madonna. Why would I, really? Her music was never targeted to me and I never connected with what she was saying. Her impact on music - pop, dance, club and electro - is undeniable, though. Just because I didn't care for it didn't mean I didn't appreciate her legacy and influence. She changed the cultural landscape with her hyper-sexualized image and dace-centered tunes. She's had tons of hit songs and sold millions of albums. We just were never on the same plane, musically. I'm fine with that; there are plenty of artists whom I respect but don't bother with. I won't name names but legendary status doesn't necessitate patronage. In other words, I wasn't into what she was putting out. There was one single, though, that broke through the malaise.

It was fall of 1998. I think it was my freshman year of high school, which was also kind of a weird year in music. There was kind of a lull in music I dug - I had run the gamut of 90s alt rockers, draining the well of anything I found pleasure in. There was nothing to be passionate about. I remember feeling this terrible pall wash over me as I began to realize high school was going to be a worse, older version of middle school, at least for the foreseeable future. Same kids. Same town. Same teasing. I was unhappy but struggled to express or resolve the issues I was facing. I kind of wanted something melancholy to help see me through the fog affecting me. Had I known about Portishead and Bjork at the time, I would have been all about it, their albums of the time being longtime favorites of mine once I discovered them. I recall listening to Adore a lot, curiously exploring the subtle electronic undertones. The world was slowly growing colder and my mood dampened each day. I was your typical py teenager, all awkward skinny limbs and poor temperament. 

Madonna had seen a big success in her album Ray of Light, which was only on my radar due to the high volume of MTV I consumed at the time. Not of any interest to me, it didn't even register beyond its pervasive singles on pop radio. That changed, though, with the single 'The Power of Goodbye'. Unlike the many times I've been unable to cite an attraction to a song, this time I could break it down on a scientific level. I loved the ambient sounds, the electronic burbling the production. The chord progression was one of absolute satisfaction and resolution - I got such a sense of peace from the way the softly played tones shifted from one chord to the next. Madonna's self-aggrandizing nature and (mediocre) singing had been toned down, making it much more palatable to my fickle taste. Even the video for the song, which by that point in MTV's life span was receiving little play, was all mournful blues and agony over the ending of a relationship. Basically I loved everything about the song.

Except for what it was. 

As much as I loved 'The Power of Goodbye' it was (at least in my mind) totally unacceptable that I enjoyed it, especially among my peers. I already took enough abuse at school about looking and acting different than the standard high school, small town dude - blasting some sentimental Madonna tune would have brought on more torment than it would have been worth. So I never really got to enjoy it, as I always felt guilty for liking something so feminine and graceful. Now, of course, I know better. Forget all that noise - I love the things I love for exactly the reasons they're awesome. I've certainly shown in my posts here that I make no bones about my adoration for atypical pieces. I embrace my quirks and the ensuing results. Including this song. 

Now, as fall rolls in again, I find myself wanting to hear the song and remember what growing up was like. The feeling in the air at the time, the memories of where I was at that point in my life. I'm glad I've come to a point in my life where I have the confidence to be who I want, even if that gets the occasional eye-roll from my better half. 

Big Box

Welcome back.

I wrote a thing yesterday about box sets and how difficult it was to acquire rare or obscure material from artists whose canon was too brief. To act as a counterpoint, today's piece is about the overwhelming volume of material released by The Smashing Pumpkins during their Mellon Collie era. I've previously looked at the double album in two separate posts, taking the time to really examine what each disc contained and what the songs suggested in their grouping. As an act of self-loathing, let's dive into the box set I loved so dearly as a teenager, the massive five disc singles collection The Aeroplane Flies High. Rather than spread this business out over five days, I'm going for gusto here and running them all in one shot. 

The five singles were all excellent in their own right, songs that I reviewed in my posts on Mellon Collie. The Pumpkins had recorded a wealth of material during the sessions for Mellon Collie, well over the amount necessary even for a double album. When it came time to pick b-sides for the singles, Corgan and co. began releasing some of the unused tracks on the singles when the tone of the songs matched up. Where most artists tack on a live track or another mediocre album track, The Pumpkins ended up releasing an additional two album's worth of content with the singles. Their record label saw an opportunity to cash in on the multitude of music and decided for the Christmas season of 1996 they would release a 45-style box set of the singles, compiling all five singles (along with a neat-o book with pictures and lyrics) into a rad retro box. As a huge SP fan (then and now) I was in heaven. 

Interestingly the first single off the album, 'Bullet With Butterfly Wings', only had a single b-side, a soft ballad sung by guitarist James Iha and Nina Gordon of Veruca Salt. It's a lovely little tune, but Corgan wanted to go deluxe with the box set, so when this single was set for inclusion the band recorded covers of some of their favorite artists. Added to the CD were 'You're All I've Got Tonight' by The Cars, 'Clones (We're All)' by Alice Cooper, 'A Night Like This' by The Cure, 'Destination Unknown' by Missing Persons and 'Dreaming' by Blondie. These covers were an interesting look into the history of The Pumpkins as well as nice twists on the originals. The Cars cover saw the band get a little loose and rootsy, 'Destination Unknown' saw them mine their burgeoning techno and electro elements. Corgan feels totally at home ripping into Alice Cooper's 'Clones' with its manic little guitar lines and buzzing drone. I think their version of Blondie's 'Dreaming', with a rare vocal outing from bassist D'arcy Wretzky, is a great reinvention of the New Wave number, turning it into a sleepy, ethereal trip hop song. 

The second single, '1979', had the band show-casing their pop song craft instead of the angsty guitar-driven alt rock they were known for. The songs included on the single followed suit, being more reserved and introspective. 'Ugly' is just a drum click and some delayed guitars beneath Corgan singing about self loathing. 'The Boy' is a shiny pop song by Iha, with fuzzy little chords that fill the song with light. Iha also donated the peaceful 'Believe' to the single, a quiet acoustic song seems so fragile it might break under its arrangement. 'Cherry' is a slowed down almost to the point of spinning out tune that feels sad but really is rather optimistic. I love the twang on the guitar parts. One of my favorite songs ever is the haunting and subtle 'Set The Ray to Jerry'. Just a bubbling bass line and some solitary, sparse guitar leads, there's not much to this song. The air it creates, though, make it so unique and strange to me. I love how it changes a cool fall night when I hear it through some headphones. It's a great soundscape. 

'Zero' brings the band back into their guitar-shredding wheelhouse. 'God', with its furious riffs and declamatory lyrics, is Corgan ranting and railing against the world at his best, all gnashing teeth and huge sounds. 'Mouths of Babes' could easily have been a Siamese Dream-era b-side with its Quiet-aping central riff and mid-tempo beat. I love harmony in the guitar lines. The band's tribute to Johnny Winter (titled as such) is a series of blistering solos and show-casing, a fun one-off track that feels like the band is blowing off steam in appreciation of a music legend. 'Marquis in Spades' is an aggressive, hit-you-over-the-head number that has Corgan mixing sonic guitar blasts and licks with vocals that segue from whispers to wails. Somehow it works, despite any subtly. The country twang of 'Pennies' seems out of place on this single, but it's still a darling little song coiled around a catchy riff. At the end we have the 23 minute marathon titled 'Pastichio Medley', which takes just about every fragment and idea the band had between Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie and highlights a bit from each one. Citing over 50 songs, it's an exercise in endurance to listen to them all but there are definitely some fascinating bits in there, like a studio version of the live-staple Jackboot, bizarro takes on Cherub Rock's riff and my personal favorite - the long lost Depresso. 

Interestingly 'Tonight, Tonight' served as a jumping off point for a collection of acoustic and pared-down songs instead of more pomp and grandeur. It feels, from this point on in the box set, like the band is beginning to channel an old-timey music group from the 20s. The twine and stomp of 'Meladori Magpie' is strange, but a fun change of pace for the alt-rockers. 'Rotten Apples' is of similar execution but more somber and downbeat (and a bit more in step with their canon). 'Medellia of the Gray Skies' is ornate and fussy, but worth it once it gets to its lush chorus. The three solo-acoustic songs here are Corgan at his finest. 'Blank' is simple and earnest, a plea to be something other than himself. 'Jupiter's Lament' is a beautifully strummed number that he had higher aspirations for, but ended up keeping as a stripped down demo. 'Tonite Reprise' is just what the title says, a brief, bare bones reprise of the album's codifier. Here, though, it becomes much more intimate and personal with all the orchestrations removed. Corgan's voice cracks and breaks in parts, but it makes it so much more human. I love to hear the difference of the two versions. 

The last disc in the box set shows the band going farther to their extremes. Both 'Thirty-three' and 'The Last Song' are wonderfully written wistful songs, but they're a starting point from which we see two bands emerge. One, of the eventual Adore, is broken and healing, creating songs like the soft and loving 'The Bells' and the old-time standard of 'My Blue Heaven'. The other, a hidden dragon, is lying in wait for Machina, peeking out in the menacing death-pop of 'Transformer' and the long-form assault that is the eponymous 'The Aeroplane Flies High'. Eventually both aspects of the band would see their respective sides exposed in proper albums. Here, though, it was a clever (if unnoticed) hint as to what the future would hold. At the time I couldn't reconcile the two personalities of The Smashing Pumpkins. In hindsight it's apparent why - they were two different growth spurts that had yet to happen, ideas only roughly taking shape. 

If you're a fan of the band, this box set was mana from heaven. It was a non-stop stream of material from the band's most prolific (and some would arugue highest quality) period of work. Coupled with the album that spawned it, the Aeroplane Box Set raised the total output for the era to a staggering 56 songs, all mixed and polished to a professional standard. That's impressive for any artist, let alone a multi-million selling group known for their complex arrangements and agonizing over production. It's a fascinating insight into the recording process and creative process for a group. These days you can cherry-pick the songs off of any online source; back then, though, you had to have the box set. It was a cool piece of memorabilia to have, one I still dig through every now and then. Do yourself a favor and sift through this massive box - there's some real treasure in it. Just don't go all in, you'll get lost in the depths. 

Boxer

Hey, howdy, how are you?


You have no idea how good you have it now, do you? Things are so conveniently available to the masses that its not even a question of whether or not you can get something, it's just assumed you can. Even before the advent of iTunes and Amazon and Bit-torrents, you had Napster and Kazaa and Blubster, all those horrible, unchecked file sharing services. Before all that existed, if you wanted anything even the slightest bit elusive or rare you were S.O.L. Imported?  Tough cookies. Out of print? Don't even bother. Now? It's assumed not only does it exist, it ought to be free. I get scoffed at by my friends (many of whom are in non-traditional, performing arts careers, mind you) for paying for music. I saw the writing on the wall, that the RIAA was going after anyone and everyone who downloaded anything, whether or not the cause was rational. 


So I stopped. No more shady downloads. I've never fried a hard drive or picked up a Trojan or gotten Lemon Partied. So scoff, amigos, but there are tons of artists putting out free music that is super sick, like Das Racist's first two mixtapes - they were so good I had to shell out for their first proper album (pertinent review pending, it's a thick album to unpack). When I was 14 I would have prayed and slobbered for file sharing, just to track down the rare things I desired. The best I could do were expensive box sets. I used to love the physical weight and tangibility of a box set, knowing there was so much rare gold in them. Before I delve into the massive and daunting Smashing Pumpkins box set I thought I'd take a look at my first box set, Nirvana's Singles.

I've written of my love for Nirvana before, not so surprisingly about their rumored lost tracks. While I had no means of contacting bootleggers and tape traders in my youth, I was able to drop some lawn-mowing/snow-shoveling cash on the collection of singles from their two major label albums, Nevermind and In Utero. As the back of the cardboard sleeve explained, there were 11 fresh tracks contained within, six of which were studio songs and not just more live tracks (which were always mediocre at best). When a band has such a short time of creation as Nirvana, every spare track counted. To have fresh content after their premature dissolution was amazing to me then and even now. I still love these songs, both for what they were and what they represented.

The stuff that wasn't live was great. The 'Teen Spirit' single had two like-minded rockers, the punk edge of 'Even In His Youth' and the dirty, grimy 'Aneurysm' which showcased Dave Grohl's drumming. The 'Come As You Are' single had an encapsulated version of the hidden one-off jam 'Endless Nameless', which brought their energy and impulsive nature to the Nevermind sessions. 'Lithium' was backed by the off-kilter and wobbly 'Curmudgeon', a song that vacillated between rolling verses and aggro-choruses. The 'All Apologies' single saw the band at their wit's end as they mucked around on the intentionally off-putting 'MV', whose embryonic roots were the basis for 'You Know You're Right'.

There was no hidden, great single in the bunch. No magical untapped genius - just a collection of one-offs and b-sides that meant the actual albums weren't the end of the band. There was this secret little trove of finished songs that extended their canon just that crucial bit, a way of prolonging their life in my mind. Now you can pull them all off iTunes or Amazon in any order you want. I like having a playlist of all their collected gems in one spot, as if verifying my collection's scope. This particular box set opened the door for me. I'll look at another tomorrow.

Food Shelter

What's good?


Coming back to the work week is always hard after a weekend like the one I had. It was full of productivity followed by relaxation, a great one-two punch for relieving stress. I ate tons of curry and home-baked sweets. I shared some wine with my better half. I ran for an hour every day. Then I get to the office this morning and our kitchen sinks spewed foul, black matter onto the floor. I'm always amazed at how people can watch something happen and not intervene. Had I known immediately (and not been on the phone with building maintenance) I would have gotten to it as soon as possible. It took another intrepid coworker to strap plastic bags to her feet and lug some waste baskets over to the sinks to catch the funk. I'm grateful for her ability to act, it kept a bad situation from getting worse. It's the unexpected trouble that throws us; it's also the unexpected treats that put us back into balance. Having not been on Twitter as much as I normally am, I missed the release of the new single from Homeless, 'Epic Meal Time'.

I know I've written a great deal on this whip-smart and motivated rapper before - I'll keep doing it as long as he's on his grind. When you find an artist who possesses such conviction and talent, you can't help but throw your momentum in with theirs, drawing strength from it in a Captain Planet-style combination of positivity and ambition. What I'm trying to say is the guy is good and keeps getting better. I just want the world at large to have advance warning of his Minnesota-grown talents. They owe it to themselves to hear his latest salvo of cultural analysis packaged inside a shuffling soul beat.

'Epic Meal Time' is another offering from Homeless that shows his concern for our well being along with his frustration at the world he's forced to face. In the track he raps about our mental malnutrition as our youth tries to find nourishment in the vapidity of mass media. The hook has Homeless venting his anxiety over losing his drive from lack of positivity in the world and perseverance in the face of stupidity. How many rappers do you, indie or otherwise, who work so hard at reminding us of the wonders in the world and how we need to appreciate them? I can write about the silly exuberance of Das Racist all I want but I don't get sustenance from it like I do from this.

Homeless is still putting it down, line by line, track by track with Big Cats, New Tera and anyone fitting the similar ethos he embodies. Go download it and see what I mean. Here's hoping he keeps his momentum in this unforgiving world - we need more of his kind.

Jackson Track

This shouldn't even work.


According to all logic, Das Racist shouldn't be able to make music this good. They often get dismissed as joke-rap or weed-rap, some cats from New York just clowning around and making mixtapes for the hipster scene. Well, they finally did one up proper and released their first actual album Relax. I was, sadly, dumb enough to hesitate and not download the finished product as soon as it was available. While I wait for it to come through my iTunes for a proper review, I've been listening to their single from the album, 'Michael Jackson', non stop. It is sick.

I find myself wanting to deconstruct 'Michael Jackson' and try to make some larger sense of it, yet I am fundamentally unable to do so. In a sense, it is exactly what it presents itself to be -  an insanely catch single with a heady, lolling beat that wraps you in with every repetition. MCs Heems and Kool A.D. spit verses that verge on antagonistic calling-out over the beat, rapping about how they're perceived by the community that gave rise to their popularity and then following that with verses about nonsensical non-sequiters about drinking carbonated water by the quarter gallon. In a way this dichotomy defines the group, their dual nature of absurdest rap coupled with their intelligent and nuanced awareness of social and political culture, despite both tones being delivered in a laid-back, almost dismissive delivery. It's awesomely flippant and modern, a sign of the times in its commitment to the inability to commit to an idea or belief. 

The hook is as deep as is it is shallow - "Michael Jackson. A million dollars. You feel me? Holler." I asked my better half what she thought of the refrain and what Das Racist might be trying to convey with it. Her response? "Aren't these the same guys who made a name for themselves rapping about Pizza Hut and Taco Bell?" Touche, my dear. It's as provocative as it is dada-ist. It would seem, from their name-drops and samples, that MJ is just as sacred to them as he was to the rest of us, so it's hard to assume they're being flippant, more that they're making pigeon-holing statements about getting a crowd on your side in a song. Here's awesome things, you dig? I dig.

The rest of the album is on the way, cued up for a series of repeat listens to see just where the rap crew is headed. If their two unparalleled post-modern mixtapes are any indication - we're in for an interesting ride. Get in while it's good. Jam to it. I'll see you manana.

Hygiene Imperatives

What's up kids? 


 I'm on the road at the moment. Visiting some in laws up in northern Minnesota. Staying in a hotel room. I do not care for hotel rooms. They make me all kinds of nervous. I could go further into this, but to do so would only exacerbate my nervous nature. Tell you what I'll do instead - I'll recommend a good get-down track for your Saturday night and leave it at that, while I drown my sorrows in hotel-related snacks like pistachios and bananas. I'll eat my feelings like a freshman in college - deal? Deal. 

Recently I was looking through my iTunes and assembling different playlists out of my existing tracks. One of the lists I made was an ad hoc soundtrack to Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3. Turns out I have a bunch of those tracks already, by coincidence. it just so happens that I acquired something like half the soundtrack through my normal inclinations and tastes. There was one song I loved that I didn't have though. I was honestly kind of bummed I didn't have it, so after a quick justification to myself I just shelled out the buck and downloaded it. Totally worth it.

Del the Funky Homosapien is a rapper with a distinct voice, one that is unmistakably unique. When you hear his raps, you know it's him immediately, without question. So no doubt that when I heard his track on THPS3, 'If You Must', I knew I had to hear more of it. I loved grinding away to this song, the bouncing, steady bassline getting in my head and hypnotizing me. The track from his 200 album Both Sides of the Brain is actually a really funny look at some nasty, grody people Del has to deal with - he raps in clever turns of phrase about the various hygiene maladies this character suffers, and how he has to put up with his unpleasant personal funk. Verses tolling the perils of lax grooming habits give way to a chorus that's both funky and amusingly sincere, the main refrain being "You gotta wash your ayyass, if you must. You gotta wash your hair if you must. You gotta brush your teeth, if you must or else you'll be funkayyy!" Its so goofy and sincere I can't help but love it. This track? Totally dance-able and catchy. Forgot about it for years after hearing it sooo many times. 

It's funny how you have to justify these little purchases but I'm really glad I spent that dollar. The song makes me think back to all the fun I had back in high school, waiting out snowstorms in my parents basement. Now, as I sit in a hotel room, it gets my mind off of anxieties I wish to ignore. I only wish I could play some THPS3 and skate around to this track. Hopefully you can use it to shake it loose and get funkayy. Enjoy!

First Impressions

Can I be honest with you?

I mean can I get a little real and personal? Maybe this is your first time here, reading about some of the awesome things we've forgotten about as a group. Probably not. I'm guessing that by this point you're familiar with what the general tone is and the kind of things I write about. So in the interest of honesty and promoting the very theme of this site, I'm going to admit a deep, dark truth. I really enjoy The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.

Why this feels like a guilty admission is beyond me, frankly. I remember getting a first glimpse at the band as they cameo-ed in Clueless, being distinctly du jour in their famous plaid suits. They seemed fun and...I dunno...different than other bands. I hadn't really heard of ska in 1994. I was sheltered.

When they made their biggest album to date, 1997's Let's Face It, the world (for a time) embraced the Bosstones and their ska-punk sound. Propelling the album to larger and larger audiences was the massively popular single 'The Impression That I Get', a catchy major-key number about being grateful for your good fortune. Unfortunately the sounds of ska (and its more punchy cousin ska punk) were deemed very niche and too 90s, too unabashedly enthusiastic and optimistic to possess pop cultural longevity. Not long after the band popped, I began to sense people rolling their eyes at the energy and sincerity in the music. They really shouldn't have.

For me, The Bosstones will always be a harbinger of summer. I remember how hot it was when I picked up their album and how brightly the sun was shining. I had gone to Borders (miss you, bookstore!) with my mom. I think it was someones birthday. I picked up a couple books and this album. Walking out of the store to her Aurora (strange car, right?) the day was bright and clear. I had been a miserable teenager - bright, clear skies like on that day were a rare thing that could break my demeanor. That same weather, coupled with the vibrant, energetic goodness of 'The Impression That I Get', broke through my teenage malaise in a major way. It was as though the world was shown in a different light, my moody mind realizing "Hey, the world can be a sunny, happy place sometimes" even when I felt miserable. It was a great album for the summer, the peppy numbers good for goofing around, the slower numbers good for relaxing and vegging on the couch.

A lot of time has passed since then. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones have released a number of albums since then, having broken up and reconvened in that time. They grind away for a devoted audience. There are some songs of theirs that are really fantastic, even if they haven't gotten major airplay on the radio or whatever mass medium we would judge by, these days. At some point in those years, I got the impression that it was kind of (okay a lot of) un-hip to really dig this band. Why? Says who? Hipsters? Forget 'em. Embrace sincerity. Sing along and sing loud. Tomorrow's the weekend. I'll see you there.

Suck Up

Hey kids, how goes it?


For me, it goes pretty well. Long day at the office, but then after a three day weekend they're all long. The upside is that the week is shorter. Yesterday's post was a little intense, right? A little to much of a look into my personal side and not just an advocacy for awesome things we've forgotten. How's about we fix that with the opposite, something poppy, bubble-gummy and easy to sing along to, with none of the guilt that comes with socio-political factors and grand-scale machinations? Let's cut to the heart of the issue.


Sometimes when describing why I do this, why I expend hundreds of words each day on something we've all moved past, I try of think of an example, something to codify what drives me. The subject of today's post is absolutely on the nose in regard to mt raison d'etre. You see, back in the mid 90s I had only a burgeoning internet set up - nothing even remotely close to how we're all spoiled today, where we can stream Netflix at 10,000 feet (but don't do that please, you ruin the in-flight wi-fi for everyone else). When I saw a video on MTV I had three options - never hear it again, pray it got airplay or just buy the song myself, which usually involved more cash than I could spare. Wanting the most bang for my buck, if I liked a band I would take a risk on the whole album and not just the single. A great band would reward me with an amazing album, like when hearing one Smashing Pumpkins song convinced me to buy the sprawling Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness. Other times, not so much.

Sometimes, as I've certainly shared, there have been songs that earned a week or two of buzz on MTV, only to disappear into the ether, to be summoned only when I hear them at a bar or a random spin through the iTunes store. I'm done pirating music - too many of my friends and family are musicians and artists for me to lie to myself about how it's okay and justifiable. It's simply not, no matter the reasoning. So every now and then a song pops into my head, summoned by some random stimuli, to bring me whooshing back to older days when I first hear them. This past weekend I was having lunch with at my in-laws abode, strumming on an acoustic guitar when I suddenly recalled a snippet of alt-rock I once loved. It was the flash-in-the-pan, gloriously conceived 'Sucked Out' by (sorry guys) one hit wonders Superdrag.

Being deigned 'Buzz Bin' worthy by MTV in the mid 90s earned them a bit of praise and attention for their major-label decrying single 'Sucked Out', which was a fantastically written little pop song about losing the feeling in purpose. It's a great song with a simple, accessible and hooky style that immediately grabs the listener and won't let go until you're singing along with the hook. The song (and accompanying video) have this great Kinks vibe to them, accentuating the clean guitar parts and retro feel to the track, which showed the promise that Superdrag had. Sadly, the band never hit the same heights, despite constant touring and subsequent albums. The took a hiatus in 2003, only to reconvene in 2009, to high praise.

I had totally forgotten this great song and how I wanted more of the video back when it would play sporadically on MTV. I hated the elusive nature of never being able to pin down songs and hear them more than once without shelling out more than a few dollars. Now I'm okay with 99 cents going towards having it forever. This band had a phenomenal hit that a ton of people loved and enjoyed, only now we forget that it was ever there. Hopefully you can remember why it was great. It really, really was.

Climb And Fall

So ends a lovely weekend, seemingly the first of the fall.

It was a gorgeous weekend, especially today. There was that crisp, clear feeling in the air where you know the leaves are going to change and people start to dress a little warmer. Fewer flip flops and more sweatshirts. I've been waiting for fall just to bust out my good sweaters. I love a good scarf.

I woke up early today. Took the rare day off to run around the lakes here, enjoying the morning sun and peace and quiet afforded by a dearth of crowds. When I walked them with my better half later in the day, there understandably was a crush of people - it was a beautiful day, why not? This morning though - I had my shuffle but didn't have it on the whole time. I listened to the day, my feet hitting the pavement, the leaves rustling in the wind, the occasional one falling in anticipation of the dreaded W word. Eventually my exercise got to be taxing enough of a task that I had to break the silence. I put on one song and really listened to it for the next 18 minutes as I wound around Lake Calhoun. It was The Decline. It was NOFX.

Say what you want about punk music - you can't deny that when a group applies itself, it can do impressive feats and make you think. The Fat Wreck Chords stalwarts have long been known for their flippant attitudes, punny wordplay and punchy songs that often clock in at under two minutes. Imagine my surprise then when they flipped all expectations on their head when they released the sprawling, 18 minute epic The Decline. In the track, NOFX tackle what they perceive to be the symptoms and causes of the American decline. Hopping from one subject to another, the band checks almost every box on the typical list of what ails America. It's a weird thing to listen to while on Labor Day, watching the sun rise as you zip around a gorgeous lake, but man if I wasn't paying rapt attention and following each leap in thought process. 

Regardless of where you stand in politics, I can at least break one preconceived notion you may have about this magnum opus - it has nothing to do with Bush or Obama. It was released back in 1999, in a world that preceded the game changer that was the attacks. The fact that the song was practically written in a political vacuum so far removed from today's vipers nest of rhetoric (from all sides) gives it more significance in my mind. It's not merely a commentary on where we currently find ourselves - it just so happens to have persistently relevant subject matter. The mini opera has suites in it that touch on everything from the fear of change to mindless agreement and stagnation to the basic inconsistencies of the judicial and prison system. Amazingly it hits all of them with insightful, melodic wit. I find, though, that the most affecting suite in the song isn't about politics but about personal suffering. The lines about serotonin being gone, giving up and drifting away to be relate-able and heartrendingly cold and clinical. Amid all the political discourse it's the most human element I connect to.

Sure, we can give Green Day all the credit in the world for reinventing their band and making large scale, multiple-staged arrangements, but NOFX beat them to the punch by half a decade. I'm sure a fair number of you will dismiss the song without hearing it, but you would benefit to hear it just to start the process of thinking "Am I aware of what goes on in a larger sense?" This is particularly relevant in light of the anniversary of the attacks on the horizon - our climate is filled with empty rhetoric on all sides. Why not hear an artfully arranged, cohesive and logical take on what we can do to improve things? At the least, you'll hear an amazing work of music. Fall is on the way. Just not society's.