ronin rock

Walking the Line with Chris Isaak: Beyond the Sun

2012-02-10T23:25:00.000-08:00

From his pompadour to his mirror ball suit, Chris Isaak has never been shy about standing on the shoulders of rock and roll giants. Beyond the Sun finds him moving from their shoulders to their living rooms as he takes up residence in Memphis' Sun Studios and tackles the legacies of Elvis, Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and more. This double disc set* allows Isaak a place in which he can embrace, without restraint, all the things that make him an American institution in his own right. His rockabilly swagger might be short on innovation here but it's steeped in reverance and really, who needs innovation with a songbook like this?

The definitive songs of three great American originals are here as Isaak covers Roy Orbison's "Oh, Pretty Woman," Jerry Lee Lewis' "Great Balls of Fire" and Johnny Cash's one two punch of "Ring of Fire" and "I Walk the Line." Compared to the possessed insanity of Jerry Lee Lewis or the unassailable gravitas of Johnny Cash, however, Isaak's vocals seem more suitable to Presley. Elvis' songs account for more than a lion's share of the tracklisting here and, unsurprisingly, his mellifluous vocal taste and refinement is golden throated honey on "Can't Help Falling in Love." All the other Presley tracks that follow suit (particularly the idiomatic "Love Me" on disc 2) can only hint at the impact that a young Elvis had. In the hands of Isaak, though, it's easier to imagine.

There's a certain joy, though, in listening to Isaak throw such vocal restraint to the wind. The Jimmy Wages song "Miss Pearl" sees the man and his band ripping loose: he howls his vocals like a man possessed through a clamor of frenzied guitar work and booming organ solos. It's a welcomed reminder of what a crack band Silvertone is and what they're capable of- rave ups with blistering guitar work and impassioned solos. It's a passion that carries over to Isaak originals like "Live It Up" and "Lovely Loretta." Undoubtedly, Beyond the Sun offers some of the best guitar work of the last year that, guaranteed, you won't hear from anyone else.

Beyond the Sun feels like such an obvious stroke of genius, it's amazing it hadn't been attempted before. Certainly, it's not Isaak's first cover on record: Heart Shaped World featured Bo Diddley's "Diddley Daddy" and San Francisco Days closed out with the ultimate rendition of Neil Young's "Solitary Man." 1996's Baja Sessions, anchored by Roy Orbison's "Only the Lonely," featured numerous covers. But none of that mitigates the sheer joy of listening to (or recording, I imagine) this collection of American originals. Jerry Lee Lewis' "Lucky Old Sun," the number that closes disc two, is as stirring a song as one could hope for from Lewis. But here, sung with all the cool heart and soul of Isaak's tenor, the song becomes more of a benediction as the listener starts to feel like the lucky one.

*Sure, there's a one disc edition of this but why would you want that? Disc 1 may have "Ring of Fire," "Great Balls of Fire," "Can't Help Falling in Love," "Miss Pearl" and "I Walk the Line" but disc 2 has "Pretty Woman," "Love Me," "Lucky Old Sun" and a number of other unlikely songs that are every bit as incredible as the obvious hits.

Leap Year: Ronin Rock's 2011 Bitchin' Mixtape

2012-02-03T01:13:00.000-08:00

As we settle into February, it's more than obvious (and overdue) to recognize the new year. December was a prodigous whirlwind of creative energy for me and I tried to carry as much of that over to January as possible. The result: numerous short pieces focusing on a handful of albums from 2011 and a few (much) longer pieces on music that holds great value to me as an artist, consumer and fan of music. It was a great opportunity for me to stretch out as a writer and test my personal limits. Hopefully, this revealed more efficient methods in which to deliver content as well as shortcomings that can be addressed in order to make me a stronger writer all around.

Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read. I hope you found something here that touched your hearts, minds and/or memories. It's a crazy thing to realize that someone out there is receiving what you thought were just random messages, bottled away for distant shores. But, like I said, thank you for reading. It's nice to be validated on occasion.

December is always a cross between self congratulations, holiday marketing and hopeless nostalgia when it comes to creative industries. We read all the grandiose best of lists, which are about as subjective as subjective can be, and buy large for Christmas. Screw that noise. Very little comes out in January because most of the good stuff was released in December and even then, it's not like we throw 2011's baby out with the bathwater. With that in mind, I present my bitchin' mixtape for 2011. Because new stuff (Craig Finn, Ingrid Michaelson and who is this Lana Del Rey person?) is starting to trickle in and because there are a few things I'm only now managing to wrap my head around (the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, the Roots).

Because really. You were still listening to the best that last year had to offer anyways.
So enjoy.

"The Devil is in the Beats" by the Chemical Brothers- My favorite piece of audio acid from the Chemical Brothers' warped score to Hanna, this is the sound of that soundtrack as heard through the looking glass. Bouncy, catchy and weird, this song is an amalgamation of everything I loved about the soundtrack.

"Gucci Gucci" by Kreayshawn- Undoubtedly the strangest thing I've heard in the last year, this little slice of hip hop weirdness is as infectious and memorable as it is offputting. This has me concerned for and excited about the state of hip hop in equal measures.

"Milkman" by EMA- Industrially poppish, this song is probably the most accessible piece from EMA's Past Life Martyred Saints. Incredibly naive but fearless, it was equal parts Pink Floyd, Nine Inch Nails and the Cureit and probably the most compelling thing I heard all year.

"Pumped Up Kicks" by Foster the People- Combining Danger Mouse's lo-fi Gorillaz production sense with the whistles of Peter Bjorn and John? Genius! Pathologically violent and adolescent lyrics? By the time people notice, they'll already be hooked. And am I the only suddenly nostalgic for Reeboks?

"Sail" by AWOLNation- I have no idea what this song is actually about, but it's paranoid, dark and funky enough that I don't mind. It's incredible what a laptop and a little adderall can do, yes?

"Immigrant Song" by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross, featuring Karen 0- Opening up David Fincher's Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, this Led Zeppelin classic seemed to be a bit *points to nose*. But Fincher, returning to his roots as a video director, makes such a thrilling opening that the Stockholme Syndrome is instantaneous.

"Breaking Down" by Florence + the Machine- Defying sophomoritis, Ceremonials rocked the face off its predecessor despite no obvious "Dog Days"like single. This song was equipped with just the right amount of drums, piano and a lilting melody from Florence that evokes the most graceful and powerful of Siouxsie Sioux comparisons.

"Cold Comfort Flowers" by Fountains of Wayne- There's always been a whistful side to Fountains of Wayne, but Sky Full of Holes placed it front and center. That doesn't mean they skimped on the psychedelic harmonies or singalong melodies, though, and the intro to this song alone will be stuck in your head for weeks to come.

"Uberlin" by R.E.M.- There's an innate tension to this song that suggests a narrator hiding behind the facade of routine. There's also a sense of impending finality as the song's transcendent choruses take flight. A change is taking place, at the very least internally, and only the listener bears witness. This makes me miss R.E.M. that much more and they've barely left.

"Introdiction" by Scroobius Pip- Scroobius Pip returns without Dan LeSac and boy, does he sound grouchy. Produced by NIN's Danny Lohner with drums by Travis Barker and backing vocals by Milla Jovovich, this is the most compelling rhyme Pip has dropped since "Thou Shalt Always Kill."

"Give Up the Ghost" by Radiohead- Hidden behind an unassailable collection of digital audio madness, Radiohead starts to deliver actual songs halfway through King of Limbs. This haunted lullabye is the prettiest song they've made in years and well worth the wait to hear Thom Yorke actually sing a melody.

"The Beginning of the End" by the Twilight Singers- Nobody makes music more cinematic than Greg Dulli (in any of his groups) and this is no exception. Explosive, longing and remorseful, Dulli opens the song big before settling into hushed crooning and back again. This is one last blast before the curtain call and it's everything I love about this band.

"Your Past Life is a Blast" by Okkervil River- Okkervil River, typical of the weird that is Austin, has always been too literate to be easily defined. They're not loud enough, fast enough, catchy enough, country enough or anything enough to be anything but Okkervil River. That being said, I Am Very Far caught me off guard- not just by how good it was but by it's sheer existence. And this song stands out as a particular sentimal favorite for me.

"Map of Tasmania" by Amanda Palmer featuring Young Punx- Yes. It is a song about... well, pubes. But it also happens to be a helluva lotta fun. So just let it all hang out,... as it were.

"Under Cover of Darkness" by the Strokes- While Angles lacked the cohesion of their last three albums, this song was a pretty damn good reminder of why we all loved them in the first place. With everyone in their right place, this was the Strokes proper- Julian Casablancas' crooning, Albert Hammond's inimitable rhythm style and a searing lead from Nick Valensi. Just don't make us wait so long for number five, guys.

"Open and Honest" by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones- It's amazing what the Bosstones can do when they put their minds to it. This is from their third release (Magic of Youth) since they reconvened a few years ago and it's got all the Mighty Mighty hallmarks. From Dicky Barrett's cheery Henry Rollins via Joe Strummer everyman vibe to the reverb drenched guitar skank, this is magic indeed.

"This is Home" by Blink 182- From the triumphant return of Neighborhoods, this song is a perfect evocation of youth in all it's follies. Unfettered, fearless and hungry, this song is a great reminder about what it feels like to be young and free in a dangerous world.

"Rolling in the Deep" by Adele- Sure, Adele's got a powerhouse of a voice but it's all the old school stomping going on in the background that's really got me excited. The quarter note piano hammers and the floor toms are all brilliant but it's the handclaps that sealed the deal for me.

"I Walk the Line" by Chris Isaak- Chris Isaak covers all of the Sun Studios greats with Beyond the Sun but it takes a certain gravitas to take on the Man in Black. And here, Isaak delivers in full and then some. I mean, really, it's Chris Isaak covering Johnny Cash. What the hell else do you need?

"Norteno Lights" by Mariachi El Bronx- Most of Mariachi El Bronx (II) comes off like the soundtrack to a Robert Rodriguez movie (which is great if it's your cup of tea). This little love song, on the other hand, is everything that you love or hate about mariachi: that worldly polka beat with a frenetic accordion and horns. I love it to death and want nothing more than to turn it up to full blast at three in the morning, thus pissing off the rest of the neighborhood.

"All the Sand in the Sea" by Devotchka- This is the sound of Lorca scored by Ennio Morricone and spiked with red wine. That's not the first time I've said that and it won't be the last. But I certainly will never say it better. In a perfect world, this would be a starmaking song for this little Denver band.

"Down All the Days" by U2- I know what it sounds like (and you will too if you get the chance to hear this song). But what this song really is is the perfect summation of U2's gravelly throated desperation and exuberant sonic ambition amidst the studio sessions that made Achtung Baby. Pound for pound, the band has never sounded better than at this point in time.

Reflections From 2011 the Pearl Jam Edition: Vs./Vitalogy/Live from the Orpheum Theater/20

2012-01-27T01:17:00.000-08:00

2011 was a year of numerous anniversaries. U2 celebrated Achtung Baby's twentieth anniversary. BloodSugarSexMagic by the Red Hot Chili Peppers should have. The Strokes' Is This It is offically ten years old. But one band seemed to be more celebratory than the others. Pearl Jam released 20, a documentary with an accompanying soundtrack and book as well as the re-issues of Vs., Vitalogy and the heretofore unreleased Live at the Orpheum Theater, Boston, April 12, 1994. As such, that's a lot of material to cover and material that should be covered wholesale, not piecemeal. As a band, they took the longview and in order to truly appreciate it, you should too.

I myself saw Pearl Jam live four times over the course of their first ten years. I can easily say that two of those shows were brilliant- better, even, than most bands have a right to be. The other two were quite possibly some of the most incredible experiences I've ever witnessed. One because of the fans. The other because it changed my life. That was October 1993. I was a freshman in high school. Vs. had just come out and I, like a lot of my peers, would start a garage band not much later.

At times, it's hard to explain the view we held of Seattle. You kind of had to be there and even if you were, chances were good you couldn't stand me or my ilk. Still, Seattle came to be a cultural mecca for a generation of us garage brats as we were convinced that it was natural, a right even, to have local scenes. Additionally, we were convinced that scenes were built to be co-ops in which all bands took an interest in seeing it succeed. Competition was encouraged, sure, but so was solidarity and brotherhood and communion.

It's close to twenty years later, and even though I spend less and less time in the garage, I'm still clearly affected by this time in my life. I hear it in the isolated but gleeful ennui of James Murphy's LCD Soundsystem. I feel it in the kick drums of Gogol Bordello's gypsy punk. I drink to it with every beer soaked chorus by the Hold Steady. For better or worse, Pearl Jam and their comtemporaries fixed an ideal in my head and my heart as to what music was supposed to be. For better or worse, they made music my religion and I, for better or worse, am still devoted.

Unlike my other obsessions (see U2, R.E.M., the Clash), I witnessed the construction of the mythology from the ground floor up. There was no catching up to the current album or navelgazing about missing the band after the fact. Pearl Jam was, by comparison, a contagion for which we had no anti-bodies and I caught the fever for the first album just in time to get excited about the second one. With twenty years hindsight, it seems more like being on hand to watch a controlled demolition in reverse. With Vs. and Vitalogy, of course, being the dynamite and blasting caps.

Given the monolithic enormity of Ten's impact, it's easy to forget what a fireball of an album Vs. really was. Looking back, though, it's easy to see how this album reperesented any number of things; a band on top of the world but uncomfortable with their position, a band unwilling to sell out or compromise, a band determined to grow something sustainable out of a fleeting opportunity. More than anything, however, this was a furious and defiant reckoning for the lost souls that populated Ten. Where Ten sought guidance, Vs. offered only retribution and a settling of scores. The old ways didn't work anymore and the only way forward was armed with youth and hope. Eddie Vedder would go on to say as much on "Leash."

"Delight in our youth," he snarled just breaths after screaming "Drop the leash, we are young, get out of my fucking face." As missions statements go, it was less than taciturn. But as anthems go, it was the feathered cap for an album full of anthems written by a band at war with everything. From the first invocation of Nemesis in "Go," the band rails at each other ("Animal"), conservative politics ("Glorified G"), the establishment ("WMA"), our parents ("Daughter"), the media ("Blood"), human nature ("Rats") and the past ("Rearviewmirror").

None of this would have been possible if not for the addition of drummer Dave Abbruzzese. His style was more refined than predecessor Dave Krusen and more explosive than successor Jack Irons. Only (current drummer) Matt Cameron has ever offered so much potential and, even then, it's impossible to imagine another drummer who could have filled the kit so capably when Pearl Jam lived with their backs to the wall.

The addition of Brendan O'Brien as a producer is also worth noting here. He brought a clarity and focus to these records that was missing from Ten. Whereas Ten opened with the murky "Music for Cows" before exploding into "Once," Vs. started immediately with a muscular hi-hat/snare workout by Abbruzzese. Propulsively taut, it clearly defined the agenda for the next twelve tracks.

Lyrically, however, the old modus operandi of Ten would still rear its head from time to time. "Daughter," certainly the biggest song from the album, underscored the wounded isolation of adolescence with a knowing sense that liberation comes with time. Given the longing regret of "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town," however, one had to wonder if that sense was wrong. But the most compelling character of the album had to be Vedder himself as he defined his agenda (and that of the band's) in "Indifference."

"How much difference does it make," he asked repeatedly to no consequence. The question was rhetorical as "Indifference" was not an ode to apathy. It was a clear manifesto that no matter what he endured, he would not be stopped, he would be heard. It was as defiant as "Leash" before it in the knowledge that youth's optimism trumps all if you demand it.

Vitalogy arrived doggedly on the heels of Vs. at little more than a year later. In this time, Kurt Cobain's body was found dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound. With Nirvana effectively ended, expectations from the media and fans grew to epic proportions and nobody bore the brunt of this more than Pearl Jam. Vitalogy delivered a lyrical meditation on mortality, suffused with religious and historical imagery that bore heavy implications of temptation and personal loss. It was impossible at the time to ignore the spectre of Kobain and, to a large degree, Seattle as a scene.

Despite being Pearl Jam's strongest debut yet, the album was deemed more dour than usual and the band seemed more miserable. One couldn't help but start to wonder if the engine was throwing rods. Initially, what seemed like a creative struggle between Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament on Vs. soon turned out to be friction between Vedder and Abbruzzese. And while that conflict defined Vs. in combustive ways, it was starting to wear thin.

It was starting to become clear that this wasn't a band. It was a creative warzone with the largest conflict taking place between Eddie and the world at large. Pushing back against the demands of fame, Vedder's lyrics centered around individuality and self determination. Musically, he was just as determined to confound when he pushed the band's hard but radio friendly sound straight into hardcore abrasiveness.

The effectiveness of "Spin the Black Circle" and "Tremor Christ," a split lead-off single, invited scrutiny. But as a harbinger of the weirdness to come, their efficacy left no doubt. "Spin the Black Circle" was a hardcore thrash anthem to the lost love of vinyl and "Tremor Christ" was built around serrated guitar chords, martial drum beats and Mephistophelian imagery. Nevermind that there were actual ballads on the album like "Betterman." Who needed a hit when you had song sketches like "Pry To," "Bugs," "Aye Davenita" and "Foxymophandlemama?"

Unlike later experiments that would reveal Vedder as a hidden Talking Heads fan, these songs were solely disruptive- they were the sound of the band pumping the brakes on their rocket to stardom. Had theses songs actually been excised, Vitalogy could have been a truly dynamic modern rock masterpiece. Balanced between their "man" ballads ("Better" and "Nothing"), their full throttle rockers ("Spin the Black Circle," the pro-choice "Whipping") and their anti-fame anthems ("Not For You" and "Courdoroy"), Vitalogy could have easily lived up to the 1-2 punch of their first two records.

Internally, this was the true emergence of Eddie the guitarist. The possibility of Pearl Jam as a three headed guitar monster had been suggested on Vs. with "Rearviewmirror" but Vitalogy made that a reality with Vedder deciding more of the band's direction. Morose, anti-social and just plain weird, his agenda seemed clear: find another bandwagon, posers, this one is being circled by the pure of heart, the punk rock faithful, the kids. And as erratic as his direction may have seemed at the time, he revealed it to be more than petulance in album's defining anthem "Not For You."

"All that's sacred comes from youth," he sang half pleading, half testifying, "dedications, naive and true... I still remember. Why don't you?"

The fifteen year old in me took this to heart and still remembers. As a result, this is the Pearl Jam that I remember most fondly- the one that took herculean efforts to keep the world at bay while simultaneously shouldering all of its burdens and occasionally bitching about it. This is the Pearl Jam that changed my life, that set the expectation to be young and daring. And while I mean no disrespect to the group or their subsequent artistic visions, this was a dangerous, unpredictable and inspirational Pearl Jam. Which is why, of course, they couldn't last. Abbruzzese was fired, Jack Irons was hired, Jack Irons quit, Matt Cameron joined and a few albums were made that never came close to selling what they used to. But for a time, they got to be the Who.

Live at the Orpheum Theatre is a pretty accurate reflection of that band. It's also a pretty accurate reflection of how I and many other music obsessed, angst riddled teens remember that band in our hearts. As teens, we voraciously traded bootleg after bootleg amongst ourselves and the inclusion of both "Sonic Reducer" and "Fucking Up" is a gracious mea culpa to that. They may not be studio versions, but beggars can hardly be choosers, especially when those beggars have rubbed the heads off their old tape decks.

Pearl Jam has always been a phenomenal live experience and there are numerous live albums that will testify to that much. But this is the crucible that made them so. And while most bands aspire to playing as if their lives depend on it, this is one of the few bands that I actually believed were. Certainly, they were the only ones that I worried about afterward. Their playing was violently cathartic, like kids pushing their joyride into the red and beyond. They pushed on regardless of whether or not they could turn the corner, forget about what was beyond it. As high wire acts go, they were the most thrilling one out there and, now, all the more so for having survived the experience.

As such, Live at the Orpheum Theatre is a nice postcard from the bootlegs that defined my adolescence almost as much as the music that was on them. Recorded between Vs. and Vitalogy, it covers a period of the band that has never really been captured on their live releases to date. Pearl Jam's major label live release was more like a greatest hits package live and the band was still a few years away from recording and releasing bootlegs of their own shows.

When they made the decision to record and commercially release their own shows, they effectively legitimized the bootleg culture in a way that not even the Grateful Dead had managed to. As a result, Cameron Crowe's love letter to the band, 20, had an incredibly deep well to draw from for live recordings.

Crowe's love affair with the group goes way back to their beginning. He interviewed the band for their first Rolling Stone cover and this was after he cast them as Citizen Dick in Singles. Emotionally invested from the start, Crowe makes 20 more than a soundtrack to its namesake documentary and book. Stocked with live performances and demos, it could easily be seen as the ultimate insider's bootleg. But Crowe, their biggest and oldest fan, goes beyond that to lovingly deliver the ultimate mixtape to his brethren.

As an overview, 20 becomes the Mother Teresa of lost singles as it makes compelling case after case for songs that may have fallen flat or just to the side on previous records. In particular, Binaural's live take on "Nothing As It Seems" opens up in a smoldering fashion. "Faithful," "Thumbing My Way" and "Just Breathe" show a mature band capable of functioning without the sturm und drang that they once made so fashionable. Every fan has a favorite that never got the proper time or attention and Cameron Crowe has compiled them all here.

It would be cynical to suggest "Crown of Thorns" as the obvious selling point for 20 but, then again, it would be naive not to. There's a certain mythological wish fulfillment that arrives with Vedder singing the most celebrated song of the tragic MotherLoveBone. Frankly, they were never my cup of tea to begin with as I was too young to see the irony of Andrew Wood's GnR rock poses. That being said, "Crown of Thorns" is the obvious sellling point here. It's the only performance you'll find of Vedder singing the song and it serves as a nice reminder of what a nuanced singer he is.

The other song that jumps out on this collection is "Black" from their appearance on MTV Unplugged. It's opening chords are instantly memorable as that specific performance is well weathered and burned into my brain. What was Michael Stipe mumbleese on record became very clear and real in performance if not absolutely gutwrenching. Here was a man, ripping his heart out and baring for all to see as he wailed "we belong together." In one heartbreaking performance, he brought a sincere if not cathartic pathos to a whole generation. The ideal of how not to sell out was congealed in our hormone addled, confused and collective consciousness.

I imagine it was a turning point for them as artists as much as it was for me as a listener. The eventual payoff of playing Unplugged is easy to hear in the anthems of "Daughter," "Elderly Woman in a Small Town" and the Sweet Relief rarity "Crazy Mary." This was grunge?

Looking back on the records that I loved as a teen makes me think back to the joy of discovering my father's old records. It makes me wonder if there's a comparable joy to teens today. And I don't mean to gloat, but then a part of me wonders if they're capable of handling our old records at all or if their little teenage hearts would be atomised by the rampant emotion of it all. Mine was. And because I remember the power of hearing those records for the first time, it still is.

BLACKOUT

2012-01-18T13:22:00.000-08:00

Hi. I know today is a pretty contentious day for a lot of us that live here on the internet. So let's speak plainly for a moment.

I like stuff. A lot of stuff. A lot of weird stuff as some of you who have been reading here can probably attest to. And I pay for all of it. All of it.

Why? Glad you asked.

Because I like my weird stuff. Let me use a recent subject as an example: the Twilight Singers. Chances are, a good portion of you are here because you followed a link to my page from their Facebook feed (for which, I thank you Twilight Singers and thank you internet for all the love). I anxiously look forward to every release Greg Dulli and company put out- whether its the Twilights, the Gutter Twins, the Afghan Whigs or some other project. I know its going to be an enjoyable allocation of my resources. And because I made my contribution to the cause, its a little more likely that everyone doesn't have to go back to a shitty dayjob. They get to make music a little longer and I get to enjoy it and so on and so forth. Its like the opposite of a vicious cycle. Its like, let's say, an awesome cycle.

So. Do it. Buy the download, buy the album, buy the t-shirt. You're investing in something you love.

End of lecture.

As for the government: please, do not be so disingenuous as to think that any of us believe you're doing this for anybody other than big money interests. Nobody believes, for a moment, that this is going to be beneficial to the "artistic" class (or any other class for that matter) that has garnered so much attention with Occupy Wall Street, et al. You have stacked one more card in favor of those that already have unimaginable amounts of power. You have turned our country into a "battleground." You are legislating the populace to death. And you have been lucky that the populace has been patient.

But I have to ask, what have you done FOR us, lately?

More Reflections from 2011, the R.E.M. Edition: Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, Part Garbage 1982-2011

2012-01-18T00:37:00.000-08:00

I hesitate to start off by committing assault and battery on a dead horse but, honestly, digression has never been my strong suit.

The manner in which R.E.M. broke up earlier this year has yet to cease shocking and amazing me but, more to the point, it horrifies me beyond belief. It's the music nerd equivalent to the existential crisis that is watching one of your parents die peacefully after a long and happy life. As opposed to the usual acrimony that is a band's breakup, this is not the long and drawn out divorce that takes place long after the homefires have cooled and the knives have been drawn. Even in the face of diminishing sales, we always assume that our most beloved of bands will simply fade into the ether at some point, returning only to release a new album once or twice a decade before they trot out "Satisfaction" for the umpteenth time on the road.

The truth is, it never even occurred to me that bands can amicably shake hands, call it a day and have dinner later without the impetus of a business disguised as music. It's a gutsy thing, to be sure, and all the more daring because it doesn't involve holding out to the last breath when nobody cares and everybody hates each other. But more than that, it sets a troubling precedent for this fan who likes a number of bands with longer careers behind them than in front. One can only imagine that U2 is somewhere in Dublin releasing a huge sigh of relief.

"That's it," Larry Mullen is exclaiming as he wipes the sweat from his brow, "They've done it. We can quit now!"

Admittedly, R.E.M. failed to pack the punch they used to both commercially and creatively. But even their duff albums had more gems than most and it's a sad reality now that I can no longer look forward to discovering them. As sad as I feel about this, the far reaching implications are even more grim. R.E.M. paved a number of paths in their career. People forget that they're the band that made it cool to be indie, made it okay to sell out and made sense out of touring only when they wanted to. Now, they're the band that have made it okay to call it a day for no reason other than wanting to. Could U2, who have blazed a very parallel path, be far behind? Could Radiohead and Pearl Jam, both bands that took notes on the self determination of the Athens Four, also see the point in calling it quits? As a music fan who came of age in the Alternative market boom, R.E.M.'s retirement looms apocalyptically large over my record collection.

As a lovely parting gift, however, they've left us with Part Lies Part Heart Part Truth Part Garbage 1982-2011. It spans forty tracks, thirty-seven of which have been previously released and three that have not. It follows them from their independent days at I.R.S. to their last hurrahs at Warner Bros. And as hard as it is to sum up their career succinctly, seeing the YouTube promo alone gave me hope. All the familiar guitar riffs, drum fills and hooks are there with the appropriately iconic imagery. As such, the respective collection turns out to be a well rounded look back at a career full of hits, near misses and left turns.

What follows are forty thoughts for forty songs. Numbers respectively represent tracklisting placement and disc one or two.

Part Lies
7/1. "Driver 8" - Fables of the Reconstruction has long been reputed to be an album of Southern legends. Recorded in London by a homesick R.E.M., this song proves it to be less Dixie mythology and more the sound of a band lost at sea.
9/1. "Begin the Begin" - Singing "the insurgency began and you missed it," Stipe may as well have been addressing audiences which were beginning to swell beyond their college demographic. Truth was, with producer Don Gehman's mainstream studio polish, the insurgency was just beginning.
10/1. "Fall on Me" - Accompanied by a video in heavy rotation, this was often credited as the first big environmental song. This is most likely apocryphal, even if global warming is just the new acid rain.
11/1. "Finest Worksong" - Known mainly for the jangly sound of his early playing, Peter Buck turned in a heroic punk rock effort with the neo-liberal angst that filled Document. As manifestos go, few bands could do better and this was the first shot fired across the boughs.
13/1. "The One I Love" - Proving that people don't actually listen to lyrics, this was a wedding reception staple for years. I'm guessing they missed that part where Stipe refers to his love as "a simple prop to occupy my time." Or maybe people did listen to they lyrics, you never know.
18/1. "Losing My Religion" - Universally misunderstood, conventional wisdom pegged this song as a crisis of faith. Apparently, it's just a southern expression for an infatuation so bad that it seems to test your faith.
19/1. "Country Feedback" - The sour that defines the sweet on R.E.M.'s true mainstream breakthrough, Out of Time. Layered in waves of pedal steel guitar, Stipe's sublime and mellifluous voice rings through with the desperate exasperation of love's failings.
20/1. "Shiny Happy People" - Long since dismissed by the band as a fluffy piece of pop naff, I endured childhood through the Reagan eighties and still refuse to frame it in my mind as anything other than a riposte to such superficial times.
2/2. "Man on the Moon" - Forget the drummer jokes, Bill Berry was a large contributor to R.E.M.'s songwriting process. Both "Man on the Moon" and "Everybody Hurts" were said to be instigated by Berry and his departure in '98 made reinvention essential, not preferable.
9/2. "Imitation of Life" - Imitation of R.E.M. was more like it. Building off of the classic formula set by "the Great Beyond," this was the obvious single for Reveal. In retrospect, the album bore more sonic resemblence to the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds than anything in R.E.M.'s catalog. And as obvious as this single was, there's still a gloriously symphonic beauty to all the electronic bells and whistles added here, especially that low synth sound in the bridge.

Part Heart
3/1. "Talk About the Passion" - Curious after Out of Time and hooked after Automatic for the People, I became obsessed after my best friend in mid-school gave me the I.R.S. retrospective Eponymous. I gorged on it during a visit to my grandparents place not long after. As a result, this song always sounds like traveling through the Ozark countryside of Arkansas to me- it sounds like a distant home.
5/1. "So. Central Rain" - Even though the rest of the song makes little to no sense for me, there's that chorus of "I'm sorry" that comes through clear as day. Like most angst filled teenagers, I'm sure I felt that deeply even without any idea of what I had to be sorry for. Kids.
6/1. "(Don't Go Back to) Rockville" - We used to cover this in one of my old bands years ago. We replaced the honkytonk piano with a dirty Social D sorta guitar sound, so I guess our redneck requirements were met. Which means, for a few years, friends thought we wrote it. I wish.
8/1. "Life and How to Live It" - One Christmas, shortly after Automatic had come out, my brother gave me a copy of Fables of the Reconstruction. Good thing, too, as I'm not sure my high school self would have bought it. And then I would have missed out on this and "Wendell Gee."
1/2. "Everybody Hurts" - Based on the video for this song alone, this song quickly became parody bait. But still, it was a sweet thought from Stipe to generation angst and, lest you forget, John Paul Jones (the bloke from Led Zeppelin that didn't play guitar, sing or die) arranged the strings for this.
3/2. "Nightswimming" - Haunting, beautiful and simple, this song dwells on the threshold of the past. Listening to it always creates a sense of phantom nostalgia for me and I really wish, a band or two ago, we'd learned to cover it.
5/2. "New Test Leper" - This song, which revolves around love, decency and hypocrisy, sums up every anxiety and personal conflict I've ever felt about being religious (or not) that I've felt in thirty plus years. And it does so gorgeously in five and a half minutes.
11/2. "Leaving New York" - An ode to post 9/11 New York City, there's a mournful quality here that recognizes grieving, even in the face of futility. And even more brilliantly, it does so without mentioning 9/11. This song came to me at a time when I really needed it.
13/2. "Supernatural Superserious" - Between those bare Joe Strummer-like guitar chords and Stipe's lyrical waxing, it's too easy to think of this song as the sound of adolescence. But really, it's the sound of how we wished were in adolescence- articulate, heartfelt and hungry.
14/2. "Uberlin" - One of my favorite songs to come out this last year. Period. And I'm very glad they chose to include it here. I'm not sure if the narrator in this song is falling apart from the inside or just needs a nap, but I imagine the sight of his exhausted reflection in the mirror before he heads out into the world for the day.

Part Truth
1/1. "Gardening at Night" - People forget, assuming they knew in the first place, that R.E.M. carried the torch for American music in the eighties. Of course, there was always Bruce, Madonna and Prince but they were the emphatic part of the eighties. R.E.M. was the part that inspired a bazillion garage bands with jangly guitars and poor enunciation. That starts here with this song.
2/1. "Radio Free Europe" - Along with "Gardening at Night," this was the face that launched a thousand ships. More than any other song in their catalog, this brought R.E.M. as close to actual punk as they would ever be. At the same time, this also solidified numerous characteristics that became synonomous with R.E.M.: indecipherable lyrics, Byrds on speed guitars and staccato bass lines.
12/1. "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)" - Like every other high schooler who was an R.E.M. fan, I knew every single word of this at one point. It didn't help me in karaoke, though. They had the wrong words! Still, I never change the radio when this comes on.
17/1. "Orange Crush" - Using a call and response vocal attack, they took what could have another one of Green's memorable pop songs and dipped it in menace. This was the end result: an agit pop indictment of the military industrial complex that poisoned its own forces with Agent Orange. Of course, I'm not sure how many people remember that now.
4/2. "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" - I remember the first time I heard a backwards guitar solo. It was in "London Calling" and I found myself wondering what the hell had just happened to my ears. A close friend explained that the guitar solo had been written and then recorded in reverse. That way, when they flipped the recording, it sounded like an underwater missile. Knowing that, I still find myself wondering what's happened to me every time I hear this song and. that. solo.
6/2. "Electrolite" - As the closing song on New Adventures in Hi-Fi, Stipe's last refrain of "I'm outta here" always seemed more cheeky than prophetic (drummer Bill Berry would not return for the next album). Still, that little moment has always been one of my favorite vocal moments ever and was my voice mail greeting for a good year or so.
12/2. "Living Well is the Best Revenge" - After Up's sullen ambience and the midtempo sunshine of Reveal, surely the arrival of Bill Rieflin (of Ministry fame) on Around the Sun meant a rockin' record, right? Well, at least they got there on Accelerate and nowhere was that more apparent than this opening shot. Still a thrill to hear, even amongst all these other hits.
15/2. "Oh My Heart" - Apocalyptic landscapes have long been a recurring theme in Stipe's lyrics. It wasn't until Hurricane Katrina that he had a real one to write about. And he hardly seems fine.
18/2. "We All Go Back to Where We Belong" - A look back filled with memories, dreams and other imaginings. It's unclear if this is simply reminiscence or an actual parting of ways but Stipe's voice is so sweet it hardly matters.
19/2. "Hallelujah" - It would be all too easy to record another version of Leonard Cohen's classic via Jeff Buckley via Rufus Wainwright. Instead, the band throws everything they have (acoustic and electric guitar, strings, Mike Mills' backing vocals and whatever other weird sounds they can find) before one final chorus that soars. "Amen" is more like it.

Part Garbage
4/1. "Sitting Still" - Due, I'm sure, to the numerous qualities they share, this song has always seemed to be eclipsed by "Radio Free Europe." That being said, I still get caught up on that chorus of "Up to par and katie bar."
14/1. "Stand" - I was still a few years away from being a fan when I first heard this and I remember, even then, finding it quite odd. Even at that age, I could recognize something different taking place. By the time they used it as the theme song for a Chris Elliott sitcom, I was devoted. But I still regret it's association with Chris Elliott in my mind.
15/1. "Pop Song 89" - This tests even my love for R.E.M. cheese. It's so embarassingly catchy it makes me uncomfortable. But I guarantee you'll still catch me singing along if I'm not thinking about it.
16/1. "Get Up" - Another one of their unabashed pop songs, this one seems to somehow skirt the cheese factor. I'm not sure if its the way Peter Buck counterbalances his guitar hits against the backing vocals or the deliriously daft chimes in the bridge. Either way, this song has always seemed criminally underrated next other singles off of Green, such as "Stand" or "Orange Crush."
21/1. "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight" - Featuring one of the band's more interesting chord progressions as Stipe apes the classic "Lion Sleeps Tonight." There's talk of black eyed peas, the cat in the hat and a phone booth and... wha...? The sidewinder is a homeless woman?
7/2. "At My Most Beautiful" - Off the incredibly underrated and unfairly maligned Up. Had that album been by a new band, it would have been huge. This is the one song I skip when I listen to that album as it's straighforward arrangement makes it a little out of place on a lo-fi electronic record. But here, it fits in perfectly.
8/2. "The Great Beyond" - A redux of Automatic's "Man on the Moon," this was written for the Andy Kaufman bio-pic of the same name. As such, they straddled the line between Up's ambient beauty and Reveal's sunny melodicism. In doing so, they defined a "classic R.E.M." sound that many found lacking from the rest of their output at the time. To their credit, however, it would have been easy to write a dozen of these every four years and cash in on the tour but the band resisted.
10/2. "Bad Day" - As a throw-away single for their Warner Bros. retrospective In Time, this gave fans hope that the next album would be all furious fists and memorable hooks. Sadly, that was not the case but it was fun for the four minutes that this song lasted.
16/2. "Alligator_Aviator_Autopilot_Antimatter" - One last blast of the whirling dervish word vomit that R.E.M. did so well, with Peaches on the backing vocals no less. If they'd been this much fun on Monster seventeen years prior, I would not be explaining to younger friends why this band is such a treasure.
38/2. "A Month of Saturdays" - Sometimes, the sillier this band is, the more I love them. Their silliest song since "Chance," an Automatic for the People era b-side. When Stipe sings "I wanna take all the Saturdays, I wanna stay up late," I imagine this is the sound of retirement and it sounds like fun.

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Dynamite Steps/Live in New York by the Twilight Singers

2012-01-06T01:00:00.000-08:00

Long gone are the days when the Twilight Singers seemed like a consolation prize to fans distraught over the dissolution of the Afghan Whigs. Originally conceived as an outlet for Greg Dulli between records, it became the singer songwriter's focal point immediately following the breakup of the Whigs. Five albums in now, Dynamite Steps presents a seemingly small but significant shift in artistic vision. If Dulli's modus operandi has been, up to this point, to create audio equivalents to indie crime flicks, then this is his most accessible effort yet. It's popcorn Dulli writ large: a widescreen cinematic vision that's everything you ever loved about the Twilights and then some.

Elements from throughout their multi-faceted career can be found here: the smoky electronic ambiance of Twilight as played by..., the bleak nihilism of Blackberry Belle, the reeling introspection of Powder Burns. More than any of that, however, there' s the virtuostic soulman swagger of She Loves You. Dulli's trouble man punk rock persona is pushed up to eleven here but only for affectation. Instead of being the usual clearinghouse for Dulli's demons, Dynamite Steps really comes off much more as a celebratory showcase for his band. Road tested, rock hard and true, a genuine band seems to have emerged after years of going out and touring these songs night after night. Even though the usual suspects (Mark Lanegan, Petra Haden and Ani Difranco) all still abide, the true glory belongs to this crack team of musicians that have evolved into a fit and trim fighting unit over the last decade.

And while Dynamite Steps is a vastly effective diorama of the Twilight's strong points, their road tested cohesion translates better to Live in New York. Unlike the smouldering to incendiary performances that backed 2006's Powder Burns, this is a band on fire. Punching like a boxer running out of time, they play as if their lives depend on it with the knowledge that any fight may be their last. If Dynamite Steps was an implied threat then Live in New York is their roiling suckerpunch.

"Whenever you're here you're alive," Dulli coos over the simple piano refrain that starts the album, "the devil says you can do what you like." It's "the Last Night in Town" and the simplest sort of exhortation that lies at the heart of his career: do what you want, damn the consequences, damn the torpedoes. And like that, they're off for the next nineteen tracks. It's a marathon sprint through their career, played with more ferocity and deftness than most young bands muster these days. Almost as if to say, they're the motherfucking Twilight Singers and they're not above reminding you every chance they get.

Such self assuredness hardly comes as a shock to anyone familiar with Dulli's career but here it carries over to more than the recording. The sound quality, raw and lacking studio polish, brings a feeling of actually being in the club. And while the lack of overdubs guarantees that flubs are preserved forever, there is a more genuine feeling of who this band is- blemishes and all. That is the epitome of self assuredness.

essential listening:

Dynamite Steps-
Last Night in Town
Blackbird and the Fox
The Beginning of the End

Live in New York-
She Was Stolen
Candy Cane Crawl
Teenage Wristband

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Sky Full of Holes by Fountains of Wayne

2011-12-29T01:00:00.000-08:00

Bruce will always have Nebraska. Bowie will always have Berlin. But Fountains of Wayne have always seemed to be perpetually stuck in suburban America. 2007's Traffic & Weather lingered on protagonists who tragically rushed through their lives without ever getting anywhere. 2003's Welcome Interstate Managers was an ode to suburbanites trapped in the cubicleland of middlemanagement hell. Sky Full of Holes, however, is a new and novel take for this band on the subject: it's the suburban disseration on mortality. Tuneful but passingly morbid, it's their rumination on life, death and all the rest. It's their own American Prayer; a reimagining in which Jim Morrison wears short sleeved button down shirts for his accounting job. It's a powerpop Automatic for the People that trades the gothic austerity of Athens, Georgia, for the simple pleasures of Jersey Shore.

Which is not to say that Sky Full of Holes is a glum affair. It's still a FOW album, after all, and nobody makes the mundane more spectacular than Fountains of Wayne. Their brilliance has always been their ability to find the humanity of a song skirted between the accelerated delivery of comedy and the nuanced languor of tragedy. Sky Full of Holes, their most straighforward effort since 1999's Utopia Parkway, has plenty of characters that offer both.

There's the hare brained losers of "Richie and Ruben," the roadsick musician of "Roadsong," and the despondent girlfriend in "Hate to See You Like This." At first glance, there aren't a lot of thoughts here on the surface that linger towards morbid fascination. But spread across the whole album, there is a a pervasive unease that comes with the realization that time is oppressively encroaching upon all of us. "Workingman's Hands" concerns itself with saving money "for a hole in the ground, a black car and a long wall of roses" while "Cold Comfort Flowers," with it's psychadelic harmonies, states it's affair much more plainly with the chorus of "cold comfort flowers will bloom and decay."

Given this newfound morbidity, it's not hard to understand the mordant ennui of the the girlfriend in "Hate to See You Like This." The haplessly bored sister of "The Summer Place" feels it, too. She daydreams about feeling half as alive as she felt when she was a shoplifting teen. The Walter Mitty-esque protagonist of "Action Hero" finds himself in the midst of a medical scare that's soon to be an existential crisis. "Cemetary Guns" is a sermon for the "blue war widow in the grey raincoat." Bloom and decay, indeed.

Lacking the Steve Miller-esque sheen of their last album or the new wave hooks that propelled "Stacy's Mom" to public consciousness, it would be all too easy to write off Sky Full of Holes as an excercise in solemnity. But FOW keep the arrangements simple and let singer Chris Collingwood's vocals do the heavy lifting. Their typical snarky flare is traded for a more subtle delivery as they let their impeccable songwriting and nuanced melodicism do all the talking. The end result is still unmistakably Fountains of Wayne: even with the softer touch and slower delivery, everybody still sings along.

essential listening:

Action Hero
Cold Comfort Flowers
Cemetary Guns
*the Story in Your Eyes (amazon exclusive)

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Ceremonials by Florence + the Machine

2011-12-23T13:13:00.000-08:00

As a group, Florence + the Machine's sound could best be described in one word: elemental. Singer Florence Welch's voice was a hurricane amongst the ethereal atmospherics of their debut album Lungs. Ceremonials, on the other hand, is delivered with an earthiness only hinted at in prior efforts. With it's solid piano hits and bombastic drumming, it's an album that revolves around the tasteful reserve of the band's musicianship versus the release of Welch's full throated vocal throttle.

Given the oversize melodies and theatrics of the songs, it's easy to reimagine Welch as a mainstream hook laden diva in another life. But with such a powerful voice at her command, it's inane to campare her to any of her female contemporaries. Forget Britney, Christina or any of their clonified proteges. Welch is a supernatural talent who bears more resemblance to mythical creatures of lore- think sirens and banshees. One banshee, in particular, comes to mind: Siouxsie Sioux.

Whereas the Yeah Yeah Yeah's Karen O always conveyed more of Sioux's vocal DNA as unrestrained id, Welch flips the coin by instead appropriating her deft sense of glamour and restrained elegance. It's there in the anthemic chorus of "Only If For a Night." It's there in the hushed melody of "Breaking Down." It's there in the haunting anguish of "Seven Devils." Welch's voice, a supernatural wonder of massive destruction and beauty, is a lethal alterna-punk sleeper amongst the soft mainstream divas.

But the real challenge for Florence + the Machine has got to be finding songs that allow the band to define their singer as much as she defines them. Lungs suffered from a severe case of debuitis in which the young band threw everything, possibly including the kitchen sink, at arrangements. But Ceremonials, with it's diverse offerings, is a more tasteful display. There's a strong sense of deliberation at play here- they allow the arrangements more room to breathe while the supporting cast choses the best moments to reveal their best parts. This allows them to shine instead of crowding the picture as the songs luxuriate in the ambiance they've created.

essential listening:
Breaking Down
Shake It Out
Lover to Lover

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Hanna Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

2011-12-23T00:38:00.000-08:00

As composed by the Chemical Brothers, there is a remarkable amount of music box whimsy that accompanies the original motion picture soundtrack to Hanna. Laced especially through "Hanna's Theme," "the Devil is in the Details" and their respective variations, it's the perfect sound for the youthful naivete that comes with the protracted and protective isolation of childhood. Alternately, action scenes are delivered with digital loop de loops where layer upon layers of synth sounds spiral into kaleidoscopic new sounds.

As a score, it brings the Chemical Brothers to an arena in which they can explore dynamic shifts and ambient subtleties usually disallowed within the realm of techno. Scenes such as "Car Chase (Arp Worship)" fire off with a contained urgency and an appropriate amount of time to build tension before spilling over with an arena ready drum sound and then suddenly coaslescing into a hushed breath of a bridge. As it's own musical entity, it's compelling. As a score, it's so strong that it just comes short of overpowering the movie it was written for.

None of which is to say that the Chemical Brothers have completely abandoned form. "Escape Wavefold"s swaggering bass is a phenomenal reminder of where these composer's originally hail from. And "Container Park" shows the Chemical Brothers digging deep into their bag of techno tricks as the music lulls in and out of time and phase.

As an independent piece of work, Hanna stops just short of being a true album. There are too many snippets that stop short of being true songs. Additionally, there are also themes that bear repeated variations (though none so good as the demented electro clash "the Devil is in the Beats"). But as a score, it's undeniably captivating. It's an audio equivalent to Alice in Wonderland: a Dali-esque melting slideshow of childhood's journey as it's informed by the treacherous shadows of adulthood's lingering expectations and the surreality of a world formed beyond one's control or influence.

essential listening:
the Devil is in the Beats
Container Park
Escape Wavefold

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: 100 Lovers by Devotchka

2011-12-22T00:08:00.000-08:00

Opening with the gently swelling strings and piano of "the Alley," 100 Lovers arrives like the gently sweeping sands of a desert oasis. It's exudes a feeling so calm and serene that it's almost impossible not to imagine the majestic expanse of the desert in its still and silent beauty. It's not until the propulsive opening bars of the second song, "All the Sand in All the Sea," that the album starts to feel more like the center of a dust devil.

Welcome to Devotchka's sixth studio album. It's an album rich with inspired visions of the desert, tastefully impressive musicianship and a production sense so epic that its cinematic. It's an album that sounds like a Lorca play scored by Ennio Morricone and spiked with red wine.

It's also probable that it's the most romantic piece of work you'll hear all year. Whistfully poppy at turns, elegantly strident at others, their usual blend of ambitious world music is bolstered here by a production ethic that enhances it's accessibility without sacrificing it's diversity. They veer effortlessly from flamenco ("Bad Luck Heels") to spaghetti western bombast ("the Man From San Sebastion") while still managing to cover all points points in between. The success of this approach, whether it's the infectiously breezy pop of "100 Other Lovers" and "Exhaustible" or the arena ready urgency of "All the Sand in All the Sea" and "The Common Good," is self evident.

Musically, Devotchka tower. And even though the songs don't sound like it, they are deceptively straightforward. They live within the simple skeleton framework of pop music songwriting (verse chorus verse and so on) but every devilish little deatil, whether it's Thomas Hagerman's violin work or Nick Urata's double duty with the theramin, take the songwriting from dependable to spellbinding. It wouldn't be hard to argue that Devotchka may be the most literate band out there but this is still a helluva ruckus for four musicians who look more like a book club.

essential listening:

All the Sand in All the Sea
100 Other Lovers
the Common Good

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Collapse Into Now by R.E.M.

2011-12-13T13:22:00.000-08:00

How simple it all seems with time. Collapse Into Now, R.E.M.'s final album on contract with Warner Brothers, was declared by many as a return to form and the band's most listenable effort in more than a decade and a half. What a bittersweet affair, then, that this record has turned out to be now that they've announced their retirement, effective immediately. Using Collapse as their exit strategy, they knowingly crafted a love letter of an album. It's a fond farewell to each other, to their legacy as a band and more than anything, to their (some would say long-suffering) fans. And in the process, they reminded us why we all loved them so much to begin with and why, ultimately, we'll miss them so much down the road.

And all they had to do was sound like R.E.M.

All facets of R.E.M. are on display here: the elegiac beauty of Automatic for the People, the up-tempo strumminess of Out of Time, the anarchic fuzzbox glee of Monster. Stipe's vocals are worth the price of admission alone as he veers from personality to personality with ease. He goes from mournful crooning to ecstatic wordplay (word vomit as he's called it in past interviews) to defiant pronouncements as if he's covering the whole of his career in just one disc.

Unlike a lot of bands, R.E.M. has never successfully recouped on tensions within the group. At their best, they defined themselves with a cohesive artistic vision- whether it was the acoustic Out of Time or the 90's glam Monster. And while past efforts may have seemed chronically laborious for both the band and listeners, this album feels more like a joyuous rediscovery of all the best that the band has always had to offer. They sound at ease with themselves, as though they're unburdened of the baggage of being R.E.M. and finally able to just enjoy it for what it is.

It's almost as if they're finally throwing themselves that apocalyptic party they've always wanted to.

essential listening:
Uberlin
All the Best
Mine Smell Like Honey

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: I Am Very Far by Okkervil River

2011-12-08T01:00:00.001-08:00

I Am Very Fary, Okkervil River's sixth album, is a Mad Max dystopia of a record. Unlike Okkervil's past efforts, which is marked by a languid sort of patience, this record surges with an unprecedented menace that's oppressively urgent at one moment and dreadfully quiet the next. It's a record of extremes- a controlled descent into madness where every ray of sunlight is defined by the shadows that grow dark around them. It's littered with wide open soundscapes populated by every doom and gloom pronouncement lead singer Will Sheff can make.

The majority of I Am Very Far is akin to releasing a beast of an Okkervil River that's only been hinted at on prior releases. It makes a move away from the band's usual high minded works of literate deliberation and towards a more freewheeling sound where the id runs rampant for better or worse. Only on "Lay of the Last Survivor" do we get truly close to a traditional Okkervil sound: quiet, reflective and reserved with more than a little sadness for its subject. The rest of the album is shot through with rampant paranoia and desparation as it goes places that one knows better but can't resist.

Which isn't to say that this is a wholly brand new model for the band. A lot of the intent here is the same. It's just the palette of colors that isn't. The ideas here, musical or otherwise, are still grandiose and deceptively expansive in ways not often found in the typical rock canon. "We Need a Myth" sees the band shifting dynamics and instrumentation in a manner akin to 2007's "John Allyn Smith Sails" while "Rider" features an up-tempo dynamic that would not have been out of place on the Stand Ins. It just takes a song like "White Shadow Waltz" to see that this is still the same Okkervil, it just happens to be through Brian Wilson's acid tinted lenses.

essential listening:
The Valley
Your Past Life as a Blast
The Rise

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Past Life Martyred Saints by EMA

2011-12-05T01:00:00.001-08:00

Past Life Martyred Saints is not so much an album as it is a sound collage with occasional bursts of melody, rhythm and harmony. As artistic statements go, it's a piece of work so histrionic in it's honesty that it becomes epic fiction. Much of this is due to EMA's almost Reznorian taste for lo-fi white noise production. The songs range from industrial stomp rave-ups ("Milkman") to pulpit bullyings ("California") but really, most of the songs here are just the fevered beginnings of incredible imaginings. They start off gently before before unspooling into epochal sonic journeys to the afterlife and back. The opening "Grey Ship" alone is enough to start garnering comparisons to a post modern Dark Side of the Moon.

Coupled with a dash of Karen O's vocal verve, EMA shows a keen instinct for attacking a song while at the same time abandoning traditional song structure in ways that only a young person can. The lyrics convey an artist who's not just in conflict with herself- she's at war. She covers with a frighteningly stark and emotional honesty the goalposts of affection, obsession and all points in between: second chances gone wrong, substance abuse, depression, mutilation and every other source of angst out there.

"You were goth in high school," she sings, as if self immolation ever really goes out of style. Not only is it still fashionable here, it's an act of defiant, conflicted beauty. Especially when tempered by the longing in lyrics like "If this time through, we don't get it right, I'll come back to you in another life."

Past Life Martyred Saints is not the easiest album you'll hear this year (or ever for that matter). There are moments that veer from choral to atonal before haphazardly embracing both elements. There aren't many hooks. And there isn't a lot of leeway for casual listeners. It demands proper attention and respect from listeners in the hopes that they'll take the time to really take in the tragic beauty of the burn that's happening before their ears. In short, it's the sort of record that makes one wish they'd never heard music before just so they could obsessively fall in love with music for the first time... again.

Essential listening:
Grey Ship
California
Milkman

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: King of Limbs by Radiohead

2011-12-02T00:47:00.001-08:00

Long past the guitar histrionics of Radiohead's 90's output, every new release becomes an excercise in Schrodinger's rock: all albums are possible until it's finally released. Their latest, King of Limbs, alludes to ghostly trees and Eurocentric mythology but the sound is more akin to Japanese horror-pop cinema.

Not only are the songs here ghosts in the machine- they are the machine. They're cold, detached and methodically haunting. Sounds creep in and out of familiarity before contorting into hyperpixelated landscapes of ghostly melodies and rhythms. At one moment, they're a spectral glimpse of a song waiting to happen. Then, they're melting into inside out shapes of themselves like a glitchy sample stuck on repeat. Lost amid the stir of echoes here is Thom Yorke's crooning falsetto. Here, he sounds at home swept away in a stream of sounds equivalent to some seriously corrupted signal.

And then something really confusing happens. Starting with "Lotus Flower," the album's midway point, conventional songs start to appear. A more commercial artist would have used this material to sequence a hushed meditative album that melts into a Dali-esque slice of audio acid. Instead, the rhythms straighten themselves out and melodies start to cohere. "Codex" and "Give up the Ghost" bring a welcomed but unexpected quality to the album: hushed codas. "Separator" is as straighforward a song as Radiohead makes these days and an excellent send off that leaves the listener perplexed as to what comes next.

Essential Listening:
Morning Mr Magpie
Lotus Flower
Give Up the Ghost

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Neighborhoods by Blink-182

2011-11-30T00:03:00.001-08:00

Opening up like a turbo charged millenial version of the Cure's "Disintegration," Blink-182 sets the tone with "Ghost on the Dance Floor." It's all swirling keyboards and punk rock drum fills before settling into a melodic dystopia that's more Brave New World than 1984. If Blink-182's music used to represent the heady buzz of 90's punk pop then this is the hangover. The rays of their once sunny southern California punk pop is now shot through with streams of darkness.

Conceived as a reconciliation of sorts, Neighborhoods is an excercise in bridging common grounds from what used to be enemy territory. Propelled by Tom Delonge's arena sized sonic ambitions, the album is anchored by Mark Hoppus' austere faith to the church of punk and its ability to keep the band's reach from exceeding its grasp. The real star here, however, is Travis Barker. Honoring a progressive tradition in old school punk that predates hardcore, he manages to mine punk for more stylistic advancements than Topper Headon, Stewart Copeland and Chris Frantz combined. His presence ultimately takes this album from an ambitious statement of artistic intent to a lazer guided missile of execution. And while Neighborhoods displays neither the stylistic expansiveness nor the loose limbed ambition of its eponymous predecessor, it still succeeds with it's disparate but singular vision.

essential listening:
Ghost on the Dance Floor
After Midnight
Snakecharmer*
This is Home

*denotes deluxe edition track

RetroActive: Achtung Baby by U2

2011-10-23T22:07:00.000-07:00

With all the hoopla surrounding the twentieth anniversary of this album, I thought I'd dig out an old piece I'd written on it. Of course, this won't stop me from writing a new piece on it and why it's still a relevant piece of work today.

With the addition of Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno as producers on 1985's Unforgettable Fire, U2 proceeded to make emotionally geographic albums. These were albums that evoked a sense of place and time in the listener, a trait that made them both iconic and timeless. I remember the first time I heard The Joshua Tree and this certainly ain't it. This was better; darker, funkier and dirtier. The journey from the deserts of The Joshua Tree to the musical heartland discovered in Rattle and Hum was nowhere to be found on this disc. Instead, this was the musical Heart of Darkness, only if Conrad's classic novel was set in the darkest and dankest of underground metropolitan dance clubs populated by the most desperate hedonists this side of the new testament.

U2 set their stalls out immediately with the industrial groove of "Zoo Station." A hedonistic call to arms, this song makes a declaration to get lost- damn the consequences. Leaning on the reliable swagger of Adam Clayton's bass, they create a groove unheard since the earliest of their albums. Following up on any promise of anarchic glee, they move into "Even Better Than the Real Thing" in which Bono channels Jim Morrison at his poetically sleaziest. Exhorting the listener repeatedly for "one last chance," Bono plies for a rendevouz at the end of the world. Such promises and exhortations rarely come without consequence, however. Track three, the tragically misunderstood "One," quickly cuts to the real gristle and bone of the album. A more sincere and accurate portrayal of relationships would be difficult to find. Suckered in by the opening hedonism of the album, the themes of the album begin to surface quickly and brutally; love, betrayal, uncertainty, accusation and doubt. Whether it's the conversation taking place between Jesus and Judas in "At the End of the World" or the self recrimination of "Acrobat," no one gets out unscathed. Fear not, however, there is still plenty of fun hedonism to be found whether it's the contrarian mantras of "The Fly" or the mythic fascination of "Mysterious Ways." Ending with the dark, languid "Love is Blindness," this album sports every facet of romantic warfare and should not ever, ever be listened to during a break up. Unfortunately, due to its incredible breadth, it will be and it will hurt some feelings.

Best Moments: "Acrobat," in which Bono spurns the two predominant stereotypical associations made with his band; the church and Irish political movements. Or the opening guitar funk that opens the album in "Zoo Station."

The rest of their 90's Catalog? Zooropa, which featured the band at their most experimental in terms of song structure. At the same time, it also contained one of their prettiest songs; "Stay (Far Away, So Close!)."
and
Pop, Giant lemons be damned. This was an awesome album and the ultimate result of their experimentation during the 90's. Or at least, it would have been if they took the time to finish it properly. Nonetheless, if this was the debut effort by a new band, it would have crushed the world.

Up All Night with Blink -182: Neighborhoods

2011-09-29T00:47:00.000-07:00

If the video for "Up All Night" is any indication, Blink-182's worldview is one still sorely lacking of adults. Unlike the sunny disposition of their earlier California punk pop, however, this worldview is no adolescent fantasy of poop jokes and porn stars. Instead, Neighborhoods, their first new release in eight years, is almost dystopic in its darkness: it's filled to the brim with menace and an almost subtle dread that could be ironic for a band that's so loud.

Viewed as an extension of 2003's Blink-182, such grandiose grimness could easily be excused. The eponymous release featured a more mature sound as the band experimented with larger sonic palettes. They embraced larger arrangements, punishing precision and a wide range of post punk influences that veered from new wave keyboards to hardcore brutality. Even the Cure's Robert Smith stopped by to join in the fun for a song. And by "the fun" I can only mean an almost romantic sense of yearning for a world beyond the stifling growing pains of adulthood. Anyone hoping for a reason to stop being turned off by Blink's meandering sense of juvenalia could only be happily suprised if not highly enthusiastic about this turn of face.

Eight years later, we're treated to Neighborhoods, an album that serves as a reminder as well as a rejuvenation. And while long time fans are celebrating this as proof of the band's renewed existence, skeptics should celebrate too. This is a second chance for the band that never really got to stretch and enjoy the confident new footing they found in growing up.

Of course, the adolescent pangs of loneliness, guilt and aimless drift are still there. "The universe has left me without a place to go," they sing in "Ghost on the Dance Floor." But there's also a doggedness to Neighborhoods that goes beyond any previous yearnings. Vocally, the songs are delivered with the confident defiance that arrives only with age and survival. Tom Delonge, in particular, sounds years older. His vocals are delivered with pained youthful optimism but he backs it up with the conviction of an older soul who knows its true worth. Mark Hoppus, the band's more conventional vocalist, is the ballast of the record as he locks into step with Delonge. At moments on the last album, he seemed in danger of falling behind in his band's more "emo" conversion. But here, his vocals pinball off his partner in kinetic little phrases that still manage to be hummable. And hummable is good when the majority of your songs take place in the vast emotional wasteland of late night isolation where the only company you keep is your own thoughts.

Still, there's a solidarity to Neighborhoods that could never come close to telling the story of Blink-182's last eight years. Check off any "behind the music" style checklist, it's all there: band tensions, hiatuses and eventual break ups, communication breakdowns, addiction, hit and miss side projects, public divorces and a very high profile airplane crash that almost killed one member. And eventually, the final renciliation. Instead of sullying the new material with a jaded bitterness, however, the trials of the last eight years has simply justified their grit.

Travis Barker, whose near death experience spurred the reconciliation into action, brings more grit than anyone. The precision and style of his drumming is more than artistic achievement, it's a physical feat and one that he consistently performs through the whole of the record. Whether its ambient keyboard flourishes or long drawn out guitar notes drenched in reverb (at moments, it's hard not to imagine Delonge dressed in black with lipstick as he sits in his room and listens to old vinyl), there's Barker pushing the songs along like the Cure's Disintegration on hi-speed dubbing. Just by presence alone, Barker manages to make the record feel like a celebration and reaffirmation of life. Especially if your idea of celebrating involves sprinting a marathon after a head on collision. And while Neighborhoods doesn't possess the stylistic breadth of it's eponymous predecessor, it still manages to make both the marathon and the collision pretty damned thrilling.

Living Well is the Best Revenge

2011-09-22T00:53:00.000-07:00

After 31 years and 15 albums, R.E.M. called it quits today.

To put it mildly, I was shocked. And, possibly, a touch sad. R.E.M. has been a perennial presence throughout my life. From the WTFness of their "PopSong '89" video to their emergence as alt rock royalty amongst the flannel and converse crew, they informed my adolescence in innumerable ways. Their second life, without drummer and songwriter Bill Berry, has not been without its touching moments either. I'm very fond of the last two records and Up, their first without Berry, still jumps out at me as a hauntingly pretty piece of work.

But really, this news makes me happy in a lot of ways.

In April, I wrote an afterward on this year's Collapse Into Now . In it, I mentioned the album's resemblence to Document and the coincidence that they both fulfilled their respective record contracts. At the time, I wondered "What's next?" It seems I was not the only one.

Granted, as thrilling as it would have been to see them take control of their career in the same manner that their progeny have (see Pearl Jam, Radiohead), the challenge that presented had to have been daunting. But not nearly as daunting as the possibility of them losing the plot again. This year's Collapse Into Now and it's predecessor, Accelerate, have been thrilling albums to be sure. But both of the albums they followed, Reveal and Around the Sun, yielded lots of shaky ground. Going out now allows them to go out with an incredibly tuneful and fun disc. They get to go out with a win, which is nice and probably a lot better than waiting for death (U2, we're looking at you).

Also, 31 years and 15 albums. Do the math.

As much as we take for granted and treat our favorite artists like natural resources, they don't owe me or anyone a damned thing. They've made more than a handful of my favorite records (which I'm sure I will extol the virtues of later). The only thing I'll truly be missing is the anticipation of what a new record holds.

So kudos to you, R.E.M., I tip my whiskey back in your honor. You've managed to make a catalog of good to truly brilliant records and ended it on a positive note. Thanks for that.

And it's not like, y'know, you can never change your mind.

RetroActive: Pearl Jam is My Hot Rod

2011-09-19T23:35:00.001-07:00

In honor of Pearl Jam 20 coming out, I decided to pull this piece out of the past. It was originally written on May 7, 2006 as a reaction to the release of their self titled album (or, as you may know it, "Avocado." So sure, the review is a little old. But I like it because, at moments, it captures a huge catalyst of my adolescent life pretty well. Enjoy.

1993 saw the release of pearl jam's sophomore effort, Vs., and the resulting launch of the band's profile into the stratosphere. with the inevitable touring to follow, the band seemed scrappy and ready to take on the world. by the end of the tour, they had headlined the united states and opened for both U2 and Bob Dylan in europe. a learning experience to be sure.

as 1991 surely saw the floodgates open on a new demographic of music listeners, it was an exciting time to be a music lover and listener. even in albuquerque. touring behind Vs., pearl jam pulled into the albuquerque convention center in the fall of '93. while not my first concert ever, it was certainly the catalyst for something bigger in my life. washed out in hot red lighting, the band took to the stage and furiously bashed out their opening number, "animal." frenetic and furious, the band were a daunting proposition to watch. the whole hall seemed as if it could break out into a riot of catharsis amidst the guitars and screaming.

ultimately, this is what sealed my allegiance to music. realizing that lyrics could be poetry and music could be freedom, if only for three and a half minutes. as far as adolescent experiences go, this beats out losing my virginity by a long shot. while intimacy usually just gets better after your first time, this concert has seldomly been topped (but i am looking at you david byrne).

but pearl jam's career since then has been frequently messy, confounding and occasionally transcendental. always a brilliant live act(and one i'll never pass up), i've never seen them in this fighting form since. their albums have often opted for the difficult and unexplored way out; definitely a frustrating proposition for anyone expecting ten mk.II.

having followed them as a fan since their first appearance on saturday night live, however, i've come to appreciate this. i'm older. they're older. do we really need the same old song and dance that posers like scott stapp have so successfully co-opted? i think not. make mistakes. i'm sure they've got the money to. let the live wires dangle and make your dangerous pronouncements as you bully the pulpit of rock and roll.

the biggest frustration for fans, however, has got to be the overwhelming feeling that they stopped writing as a group about halfway through vitalogy. so what are we to make of their new eponymous cd?

quite a bit, methinks.

there's been quite a bit of noise over the fact that the band wrote, recorded and arranged this record together. immediately, there is an overwhelming feeling of greater cohesion to this record sonically. there is a lot of railing to be done by vedder here, whose voice is not nearly the rambled and bellowed creature it was on their first two records. instead, he seems to be reaching through emotions and melody in an attempt towards whatever his next destination is as a singer.

vedder, however, is not on his own here. the guitar work on the album is certainly sharper than the last few albums as stone gossard and mike mccready seem to be more in focus and more in step with their band. matt cameron's drums can only be described as being matt cameron-ish. if you don't know what that means, go listen to some soundgarden you hippy freaks. it's good for you. some of the most sublime moment's, however, belong to bassist jeff ament as he uses haunting but subtle basslines in the quieter moments of the record (mostly leaning towards the second half of the record).

there are songs (again, closer to the second half of the album) that almost sound like pearl jam aping the old stax records soul sounds before ripping the songs' arrangements open like only they can. in fact, the biggest surprise may not be how nice it is to hear such a ruckus from an older band. the real surprise here is how consistantly melodic vedder has become. in a manner not unlike a second coming, vedder (and the band by extension) reinvents himself as older, wiser, better but still vital. befitting the self title of this record, it's almost like a scrapbook of my favorite moments this band has had since vitalogy.

The Twilight Singers Play the Clubhouse in Tempe, 28 May 2011

2011-09-16T01:12:00.000-07:00

Taking to the stage awash in a sea of red light, there's a disconcerting look firing up Greg Dulli's eyes. He looks like a wolf in the wild as he surveils the audience and it's hard to tell exactly what's fueling this look of menace. Is this Dulli the killer of Blackberry Belle or the penitant from Powder Burns? Maybe he's the doomed narrator whispering hushed confessions from 2000's Twilight as Played by...

Actually, scratch that.

The band, dressed to the black nines like some sort of Johnny Cash army, hardly looks like they're here to whisper any damned thing to any damned person. They prove as much when they open with the new album's "Last Night in Town." The song starts Dynamite Steps with a haunted piano refrain over which Dulli makes his latest exhortations to the rock and roll devil. But here, live and in person, the band plugs in and hits a full throttle from the get go. Powered by the jet fuel that is the rhythm section, this band isn't interested in haunting anyone. Instead, they rip open, reimagine and reinvent their catalog with a heady brew of muscular rock that's amphetamined with punk but tapered with soul.

Unlike the desparately introspective band that toured behind 2006's Powder Burns, this group wastes little time romancing the audience. The 2006 tour seemd like a high stakes excorcism in which Dulli played like his life and soul were on the line. But these Twilights play with the cocksure swagger of Steve McQueen behind the wheel: their playing is tight, focused and unsafe at all speeds but thrilling nonetheless. This is a brilliant band and they play like they know it.

Of course, this heady self awareness should hardly be shocking as it's been a hallmark of Greg Dulli's career. As the main instigator (singer/songwriter/producer) of the Afghan Whigs and now the Twilight Singers, he projected himself as the last of the great rock soulmen- a true alt rock lothario. No longer that svelte or young, the middle age spread of his frame now does little to diminish that power though. He, and his band by extension, play with the ferocity and precision of boxers past their prime but still primed to dangerous capability. Even the music acknowledges this when they open the smoky "Bonnie Brae." Easily one of the most trancendant songs of their catalog, they rope-a-dope it with a sad and sweet violin opening before the rest of the band kicks in with an almost martial explosiveness.

That volatility and the band's ability to control it through an entire set revealed a new and heretofore unseen identity of the Twilight Singers to me: survivors. Older and possibly wiser, they played with the precision and ferocity to let us know that still, even now, to this day, they can still fuck us up. And the audience still begged for more.

This weekend marks the end of the Twilight Singer's tour in San Francisco as they play 2003's Blackberry Belle with Mark Lanegan and Petra Haden in tow. I really wish I were there. Instead, I decided to publish this long overdue review from May. Special thanks to Travis Lewis who did a little post work on the photos.

"mary jane*"

2011-09-08T01:08:00.000-07:00

When night falls, I drive out to the middle of the desert and watch as the stars creep in over the dusk. Stretching my fingers out, I believe I can almost touch them as they invade our reality.

For every star I see, I imagine a planet just like ours- far away but close enough to the light to support life. Except, there, I get to be someone else.

I think about how most ancient cultures predicate their calenders on the return of their gods. Like little girls, they dreamt of a prince charming who will sweep in and save us, save the day... awaken us with a kiss.

But every morning, I wake up under that huge desert sky knowing this- no one is coming to save us. It is up to us to save ourselves.

"hardy*"

2011-09-02T00:22:00.000-07:00

*taken from the life and death of w.j.hardy

Pushing yourself to an (un)natural extreme is not about wanting to die. It's about wanting to not die. Or rather, it's about proving to yourself that you won't die... until you do. But the things that will actually kill you are few and far between and in that space there's a lot of life to be lived.

And once we know that we won't die, we scream for a little mercy between the beating of our hearts.

So enjoy it, this moment in time, because it's all we get.. Live. Love. Take that punch to the face. Because there's always farther to fall.

Priorities: I haz them!

2011-08-08T00:40:00.000-07:00

Lately, this front has been quiet as I've been trying to push my life along in other areas. One of which has been searching out a new day job. My job now pays more than the mall and, as someone who's held down plenty of those jobs, I'm grateful. Still, even in this economy, I've had the feeling for a while now that I can find something a little more satisfactory.

It occurred to me tonight that, even though I was never offered the job, the most promising lead I got this year was one based on my writing. I wonder if that's supposed to mean anything...

RetroActive*: Cool'n Out with the Mighty Joe Strumm

2011-08-02T01:16:00.000-07:00

*This piece was originally written and unleashed on the world on December 26, 2005. So it's safe to assume that I was probably plied with nothing but time, whiskey and records. Still, I had to go digging cause there was something in here that resonates for me still, to this day. Enjoy.

Steel yourself citizens, this just might be a little more myopic navel-gazing than you're used to. But, for whatever reason, this has been on my mind a lot in the last week or so. Maybe it's the notable dates of this month weighting heavily on my mind. Maybe it's a resurging interest in Jeff Buckley and soul music. Maybe it's just a need for the thristfully honest music that only Joe Strummer could make. And while I'm not sure what brought this train of thought on, I know this much: I'm still bummed we didn't get more music out of Joe Strummer.

We never got a chance to get disillusioned with his post glory days output like say,... Johnny Rotten (that's Lydon to us), Rollins(yeah, I said it... but can anybody tell me what the album after Come In and Burn was?) or even Joe's Clash compatriot Mick Jones. True, Mr. Strummer released three albums on Hellcat Records before driving that great big cadillac in the sky, but i never felt disillusioned by them.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I believe it was about halfway through his sophomore effort, Global A Go-Go that I realized the Clash were never coming back. And god forbid, if they did, they should've been making a reggae record. But still, once you got past the initial shock of Strummer sans Jones, these were good records. Truly global music as they incorporated his gutter folk music vibe with a little punk, a little hip-hop and whatever else his band could throw at the wall.

And then, there was that voice. I always joked with my friends that you knew who was singing for the Clash by how intelligible the words were. But underneath that, there was always this voice screaming for a little more humanity in the world. A voice that would threaten to hobble the hippie for, despite wanting the same goals, not being hard core enough. In a different time, it would have been interesting to see if Strummer would have been a Communist or a Socialist(i.e. guns vs. no guns).

Nonetheless, Strummer's Hellcat output featured an older, more somber and wise voice that at moments seemed to want to escape the weight of the Clash legend. At turns however, his voice still seemed to brilliantly rage with the intonation of "I AM Joe Strummer, dammit!" That uncontrollable fire- I think that's the sort of thing I miss the most. Strummer always held a gravitas that most others could only aspire to. Like Eddie Vedder. Does anybody else miss Mr. Vedder's wino antics?

I am saddened to think that I've only these three Hellcat records but happy at the same time that I've got them at all. It may just be time to move on to Bruce Springsteen. It could be argued that Strummer is what Springsteen would have been were he English. It could be argued that Springsteen is what Strummer would have been if you could understand his words. It could be argued... but I'm not sure I'm ready to understand the words.

If I Made the Magic 8-Ball...

2011-07-22T00:57:00.000-07:00

You would shake it and it would say:

"All signs point to doing something brilliant, doing something stupid."

I probably wouldn't sell very many. Still...

*shakes magic 8-Ball*

More Than the Blur

2011-06-23T23:52:00.000-07:00

Life has been pretty hectic lately. I've found myself spinning a lot more plates to their inevitable conclusion than I would have thought right now. But somewhere in that chaos, I can still remember to take the time to find the beauty in life. Cause it can go by pretty fast and I want to remember more than the blur.

So tonight, I'm sipping on a little Jamie and listening to new millenium music. New millenium music, eh? You betcha.

Every music magazine that has ever made a list of the 100 most essential albums tends to skew towards my father's record collection, not mine. Sure the Beatles and the Stones and the Beach Boys are all great. But when the Clash are the youngest act second to Nirvana (and sometimes Radiohead), its time to hit the refresh button.

Hence, new millenium music. Nothing with a release date before '00.

Hence, Modest Mouse. Blink 182. Franz Ferdinand. Regina Spektor. Even a little Black Eyed Peas. Maybe at some point soon, I'll actually sit down and write a list. But for now, I'm just as comfortable asking you what your new classics are. Drop me a line if it moves you.

How I Spent My Memorial Day Weekend

2011-06-02T01:15:00.000-07:00

The Twilight Singers at the Clubhouse in Tempe.

I'll follow up with a few words soon. Then I can spare you all the the incessant Twilight Singery going on in my head lately.

Your Bitchin' Mixtape: the Twilight Singers

2011-05-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

In celebration of our small road trip this weekend to see Greg Dulli and his Twilight Singers, I thought it best to come up with a new bitchin' mixtape. Here are your essential ingredients:

*2011's Dynamite Steps
#2006's A Stitch in Time (EP)
^2006's Powder Burns
+2004's She Loves You
~2003's Blackberry Belle

As usual, everything is sequenced to listen like the most killer of killer concerts you could hope to see. That means first act, long encore, small final encore. All restrained to the 80 minute confine of a CD. Tracks are sequenced for maximum flowability with the best songs weighted to the backend.

And now...
Your bitchin' Twilight Singers mixtape.

1.*Last Night in Town
2.~Teenage Wristband
3.^Forty Dollars
4.~Fat City (Slight Return)
5.+Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair
6.*Blackbird and the Fox
7.^Candy Cane Crawl
8.*Gunshots
9.^There's Been an Accident
10.^Bonnie Brae
11.*The Beginning of the End

12.+Feeling of Gaze
13.#Sublime
14.*Get Lucky
15.#The Lure Would Prove Too Much
16.~Number Nine

17.#Live With Me
18.^Underneath the Waves
19.~Follow Me Down

For best results, burn it onto a CD, pour yourself a nice scotch or irish blend and turn up the volume up. Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

the hardest part

2011-05-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

The hardest part is the admission to yourself that you somehow lost your nerve. That somehow, you are failing yourself. Again.

So stop worrying about the road not taken and just choose a road, any road. Too many people don't and the end result is the same. They never get anywhere.

For me, that means kicking open some of the doors I've worked really hard to get to. Now is not the time for losing nerve. Take your chances, make your mistakes and laugh about it later.

Because honestly, I've been so exhausted and stressed to the point of breaking over the last few months, I lost my nerve. It's as simple as that. And when you do that, you lose your ability to dream big.

So, it's time to get out of my own way and change my life for the better.

indie

2011-05-18T01:30:00.000-07:00

What, in this day and age, does it mean to be indie?

First person to tell me that I wouldn't get it gets socked in the face with a can of PBR as I defile their sweatervest and skinny jeans.

Indie used to mean something. Even after Nirvana was poached by Geffen records. Even after R.E.M. left IRS for Warner Brothers.

But in this day and age, where books can be published on demand (a tool, mind you, that is completely underutilized by comic publishers), what does that mean for artists? More artistic autonomy. A larger slice of the pie. A smaller pie.

Technology is moving faster than we can keep up. So what does that mean for content distribution in both the digital and tactile realms? How capable will artists actually be in delivering their message independently of corporate interference?

So, legitimately, I'm asking: What does indie mean to you?

I'd ask Joe Strummer but he killed punk the day he signed to CBS.

Stories That We Share Without a Word

2011-04-29T01:33:00.000-07:00

"It was a funny thing, it was a sad thing," she sighed, "about that thing that happened."

Nervously, I contemplated deep and heavy looks over the rim of my glass as I stared away from the direction of her voice. The rocks in my whiskey had melted down to pebblish icy flotsam congregating at the top.

She reached for the cigarettes between us. Cigarette lit, she blew smoky rings into the air above us as they dispersed into the jazzy air of the club around us.

"But ultimately, we all know the truth. About that thing. That happened."

I nodded half heartedly.

"She had some pretty strange relationships, y'know."

Again, I nodded. Let my silence be my complicity.

The Ronin is NOT Out.

2011-04-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

But the Ronin has been busy working on a number of things. More business than pleasure, really, but new reviews for DeVotchKa, the Strokes and Radiohead are pending and due soon. Also on the horizon: a re-examination of the Pharcyde's first two records, a new bitchin' mixtape for the Hold Steady, for Gogol Bordello and more hijinx waiting to ensue.

Until then, I leave you with Chicken Jr!

Ten Quick Thoughts Leftover From Collapse Into Now

2011-04-05T23:44:00.000-07:00

1. I am really enjoying this album. Even after Accelerate, which was a really nice showing for a bunch of old guys.

2. Speaking of which, I also tend to really enjoy the majority of their second career doldrums. See the following thoughts.

3. UP gets a bad rap. If that album had been a debut for a new band, it would have destroyed the marketplace. (See also Pop by U2)

4. Around the Sun was also quite enjoyable for me. "Ascent of Man," "Aftermath," "Boy in the Well" and "Leaving New York" all got a lot of play in my home.

5. Reveal was... okay. I wasn't so crazy about that one.

6. While we're at it, beyond "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" there's nothing on Monster I'd kill for either.

7. I wasted about a thousand words trying to figure out that last review. Some of you probably feel I could have wasted more. You're probably right.

8. Automatic for the People and Document are still the best albums this band has ever made.

9. Reviewing Collapse Into Now, I compared it to Document. Interestingly, and I could be wrong (but I don't think so), these are both contract fulfilling albums. What's next for our indie stalwart heroes?

10. People forget that R.E.M. were the most important American band of the Eighties. These guys were real punk rock in the sense that they showed anyone could do it. And from the Eighties to the Nineties, they inspired a lot of people to try. God bless.

Collapse into Now by R.E.M.

2011-04-02T10:54:00.000-07:00

The tall shadow that has engulfed R.E.M.'s career is just that- their career. The first half of it was a thrilling ascension of critical and commercial acclaim as they managed to release Document, Green, Out of Time and Automatic for the People in the span of six years. Only U2 could stake an equal claim to alternative music's blueprint. The second half has been steeped in thematic missteps and crises of confidence.

With the release of Collapse into Now, the tallest shadow looming over the band has to be 1987's Document and this is a good, if not great, sign. The opening track alone, “Discoverer,” is oddly reminiscent of Document's opening call to arms, “Finest Worksong.” Its urgent, its anthemic, and its a dare to listen further. Following up with less than a breath's space to pause, “All the Best” shows the band moving at full tilt as they deliver their own brand of pop punk cheekiness. Easily, this one two punch, full of vim and vigor, is the best opening they've put on an album in more than a decade.

Not content to rest on their laurels, though, the band switches attacks as they move into the elegiac tracks of “Uberlin” and “Oh My Heart.” And so it goes as they rifle through their bag of tricks, borrowing from Out of Time's rural country flare at one moment and Automatic for the People's mournful balladry the next.

Unlike the majority of the last decade's output, Collapse into Now shows a confident understanding of what was missing from the other albums: abandon, sometimes reckless and sometimes not. The title alone makes the suggestion to give in to the moment and as the band does, they've managed to make an album that sprawls thematically but is musically engaging nonetheless.

This is the sound of a band in full control of their creative arsenal. They draw confidently upon the best of their tricks (such as the Out of Time like “Me, Marlon Brando, Marlon Brando and I”). They knowingly improve upon their faults and missteps (like speeding up Around the Sun's country pluck for this album's “Uberlin”).

Few examples could be more indicative of this than the closing “Blue.” With Patti Smith in tow crooning over walls of guitar feedback squallor, the obvious swipe here is New Adventures' “E-Bow the Letter.” But Stipe's vocals, which sound as though they're being delivered via bullhorn from a soapbox, is much more of an appropriation of Out of Time's “Country Feedback.” Stealing from either would be inspired, but here, it's genius.

As is Stipe's voice, the obvious but potent anchor to R.E.M.'s music. It's everything you want it to be here as he hooks choruses into your brain for days to come. Whether it's “Mine Smell Like Honey” or “Alligator_Aviator_Autopilot_Antimatter,” Stipe's gleefully anarchic vocals mainline the bratty energy of “It's the End of the World (and I feel fine).” It's not afraid and it dares you to sing along.

Your Bitchin' Mixtape: DeVotchKa!

2011-03-30T23:30:00.000-07:00

Your essential ingredients:

*2011's 100 Lovers
^2008's A Mad & Faithful Telling
+2004's How It Ends

Because of the way I hear things in my head, everything is sequenced like the most killer concert you could hope to see. Which translates into first act, long encore, small and final encore. All restrained to the 80 minute confine of a CD. Tracks are also sequenced for maximum flowability with the best songs being weighted towards the end.

Yes, I know this is sad even for a music nerd of my stature. But this is what I like and I've been doing it for so long it's almost effortless.

And now...
Your bitchin' DeVotchKa mixtape.

1.^Basso Profundo
2.*Contrabanda
3.+The Enemy Guns
4.+Twenty-Six Temptations
5.^Head Honcho
6.*All the Sand in the Sea
7.*The Common Good
8.^Undone
9.+This Place is Haunted
10.+Viens Avec Moi

11.*100 Other Lovers
12.+Such a Lovely Thing
13.*Exhaustible
14.*The Man from San Sebastian
15.^The Clockwise Witness

16.+How It Ends
17.^Transliterator

For best results, burn it onto a CD, play it in your car, turn the volume up and then drive off into the desert.

Future Portends

2011-03-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

As is the mantra for all great things in life, I can only say this: "Blame Tyler."

We were discussing new stories, new projects, new ideas. His pitch was simple: "Your next story should be a comic. Just go for it. And here's your subject- Space Pirates."

Thus, a long thought process has been unfolding for me in which I've spent more time than a person should thinking about quantum suicide and Heisenberg's principle of uncertainty, repeaters, Goldfrapp's first album, bad 2001: Space Odyssey jokes, time travel, couples who obviously don't belong together except nobody else will take them and yes, astro zombie pirates. No irony intended. I'm going to write a love story about time travel, quantum physics and astro zombie pirates.

Other things to ~~make you close your laptop in disgust~~ look forward to: I'm working out different brain muscles this year. I've set the goal to review twelve albums, ten by bands I know and love and two by artists I have no real subjective connection to. This was a dare from best friend Travis. The first, Dynamite Steps as performed by the Twilight Singers has been up for a few weeks already. Up next: Collapse into Now by R.E.M. And later? Devotchka, the Strokes and RadioHead.

Beyond that, I'm working on tying up a few loose projects here and there as Tyler Kent and I do our best to create movement on This is Not a Love Song. I'd like to play Twenty Questions with some of my more fascinating friends and update this blog. Maybe some new stories here, new songs there or at least a picture or two. Who knows?

As always, take care of each other.

Isolation

2011-03-09T01:23:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting at my desk listening to Sponge's excellent cover of John Lennon's "Isolation." Every once in a while, I steal a sip of Bushmills from the rocks glass to my right. I lean back and let the flavor melt into my palette as I think about Mike Starr and what his death means to me.

For those of you who don't know, which I'm sure is disproportionately larger than those who do, Mike Starr was the founding bassist for 90's stalwarts Alice in Chains. His body was found in his Salt Lake City home. He was 44.

No cause of death has been released yet, but for those who followed his chronic difficulties with substance abuse, it will most likely be a short line from point A to point B.

Its been the better part of a decade and a half since Starr was a member of Alice in Chains. Still, this has to come as a blow to fans who cut their fanatical eyeteeth on Dirt. The sad and slow death of singer Layne Staley would have been well documented had he done anything other than heroin. Instead, he dropped out and shot up, never to be seen ever again until his body was found after one last eightball.

Admittedly, I was never a fan of Alice in Chains. Which is not meant to put them down. Out of all the Seattle bands, their music seemed friendliest to lost metalheads adrift in a sea of alternative music. Even Soundgarden, probably their closest kin in terms of metal cross-over, seemed cerebral next to the inherent primality of their work.

And I suppose its that primal element to their work that makes them a hard listen for me. In a lot of ways, their music reminds me of losses in my own life that bear no resemblence save a similar shaped darkness.

A toast to absent friends, then.

Dynamite Steps as performed by the Twilight Singers

2011-03-08T00:45:00.000-08:00

Never known for his subtlety, Twilight auteur Greg Dulli served notice on the world earlier this year when “On the Corner” started to circulate the net in advance of his new album. “All rise with me,” he crooned in his proto-punk soul tenor, “all take your place.” His message, it seemed, was clear: the Greg Dulli gospel tabernacle and choir is back in session.

Of course, most of the gospel in Dulli's work is confined to his music. Few artists have enjoyed the balance between the sacred and profane quite like he has. 2000's Twilight as Performed by the Twilight Singers was powered by a quiet and introspective resignation unseen up to that point. 2003's Blackberry Belle was the sound of him blacking out the windows before 2005's Powder Burns shot them out. What does that make Dynamite Steps? Is it a reconstruction effort? A rejuvenation? A rebirth?

Well, if Powder Burns saw Dulli starting to stir after the blackout, then Dynamite Steps finds our protagonist in a contemplative mood after a decade spent on and off the rails. Hushed codas abound here, as if confession, not conflagration, reign supreme. Dulli indulges both the angel and the devil on his shoulders. “Baby, I've come to take you under,” he sings in the opener “Last Night in Town.” Just a few lines later though, he implores, “Love, take me now.” Like most of the album that follows, the song yields longing and regret in equal measures.

Like the best of Dulli's catalog, the album is best when he's forced to turn his gaze upon himself. “Get Lucky,” with its austere piano and vocal opening, shows Dulli coming to terms with himself. The band swells into a lush arrangement as he sings “I get lucky sometimes.” Its the sound of a man shocked by the revelations of his own confession and its easily the standout moment of standout moments.

Musically, it must be said that the Twilight Singers tower. The band, as a studio entity, has long been an excuse for Dulli to make records with whoever catches his fancy. Old faces Mark Lanegan and Ani DiFranco appear to help out vocally. But more than that, its revealing (although less than surprising) that his main choice of conspirators is his touring band. They've been at this gig long enough to deliver their trademark smoky soul groove with panache and precision. They are their own genre of music: a smoky, soul infused guitar band built around the moral ambiguity of noir cinema as much as the freedom of punk rock.

In fact, the manner in which this disc seems to musically touch upon all aspects of the Twilight's recording career almost makes it the best of retrospectives- bracingly familiar and yet thrillingly new. All the hallmarks of previous albums are here: the electro-folk of Twilight, the dark majesty of Blackberry Belle, and the revelatory grandeur of Powder Burns.

It would appear that we all get lucky sometimes.

The First Fair Warning of 2011

2011-03-07T01:00:00.000-08:00

Albums by bands you probably got sick of if you spent too much time ~~hanging around with, driving with, drinking with, corresponding with, and/or~~ simply acknowledging me:

This is Happening by LCD Soundsystem. Easily my favorite record of the year.

Heaven is Whenever by the Hold Steady. I wasn't sure at first but it really grew on me.

Lustre by perenially underrated Ed Harcourt. Probably my second favorite album of the year. Guaranteed to cause the least amount of disruption in my household.

Trans-Continental Shuffle by Gogol Bordello. This album is a more romantic and sexier beast than prior albums. It didn't quite fit into my emotionally nihilistic gypsy-punk worldview. This year, however, it's a really nice listen.

Head First by Goldfrapp. Returning to their more club oriented sound, they made the best Abba/Olivia Newton John record in decades.

Albums you should be prepared to get sick of hearing me talk about this year:

100 Lovers by Devotchka. Beautiful, gorgeous, lush. But I still wish they'd play "Transliterator" live.

Dynamite Steps by the Twilight Singers. Because a new Greg Dulli album is always to be celebrated.

Collapse Into Nothing by R.E.M. Which upon hearing, I will either declare the album a return to form or pine for the days in which everybody hurt.

Angles by the Strokes. See R.E.M. Add booze.

The King of Limbs by Radiohead. See R.E.M. See the Strokes. Add confusion.

Consider yourselves warned.

*But seriously, I'll have a review posted of the new Twilights record this Tuesday in honor of Mardi Gras.

statisticalities

2011-02-24T01:22:00.000-08:00

Wisdom imparted to us by Run-D.M.C.: it's like that and that's the way it is.

The way it's been for me is fairly busy as Ty and I wrapped up our initial manuscript and revisions for the novel. It's fairly busy as I determine what the next big project is. It's fairly busy as I try to maintain a dayjob, a personal life and write.

All that being said, it's a goal to see more new material up here on a regular basis. More live show reviews, some old reviews that were never posted and should have been, record write ups, and hopefully a chat with a friend or two.

These are all things I've been wanting to do more and more lately. But then I went and looked at stats for this site over the last year. The internet is a funny thing. You think you're spitballing in silence but...
some of you just keep coming back.

Huh.

Well, thanks in any and all ways.

And now I leave you with StapleSaurusRex.

This is Not a Love Song- Split Singles, the Spirit of '91 & Rock and Roll String Theory

2011-02-09T12:53:00.000-08:00

Stories come from a strange place. They start out as simple ideas or emotions that, for whatever reason, resonate a little louder than the world surrounding them. And when you key in on that, they go from simple ideas and emotions to vast conspiracies in the heart, the head, the spirit. To say that the relation between the original idea and the finished project is tenuous, at best, is often a kind understatement.

To that end, I should say that this is about a story I wrote in collusion with the often imitated but never matched Tyler Kent. We titled it “This is Not a Love Song.” We're big fans of it. But how could we not be? Besides penning it, it's about our favorite things: beer, girls and the Clash. In short, it's about friendship.

But that's not where the story started for me. The story started for me with the phantom whispers of October 1991.

Nirvana's “Smells Like Teen Spirit” debuted on MTV's 120 Minutes and was placed into regular daytime rotation not long after. The unmistakeable death that hair metal suffered was almost instantaneous and I remember it well. The heshers on my bus couldn't talk about anything else.

“...and then the audience climbs out of the bleachers and starts moshing with the band. They start throwing stuff around. Everything is destroyed. It was wicked rad.”

True story. I swear.

By the end of the year, Nirvana was selling 300,000 copies a week.

Released around the same time, August 1991 to be more precise, Pearl Jam's Ten didn't see the immediate success of their cross town rival. But by the second half of 1992, it was just as pervasive. Later, lead singer Eddie Vedder was splashed across the cover of Time magazine for an article he didn't take part and the band made their first appearance on Saturday Night Live. My preppie neighbor's excitement was more than palpable.

This defined the rift between Nirvana fans and Pearl Jam fans. And make no mistake. There was a rift and it was huge, maaaan.

Ten was short on the anarchic glee that made Nevermind so enjoyable for so many. It's stories were dark and somber, short on irony but stacked in melodrama. It's influences were unabashedly classic rock even when tempered by Vedder's punk rock ethos. It was criticized by many, including Kurt Cobain, as a corporate shilled placebo for the alternative nation. Nonetheless, it's success, both commercially and culturally, was rivaled only by Nevermind.

It could be argued that these two albums and the bands they represented were symbolic of the dynamic tension between the collective id and ego of American teens at the time. In retrospect, it's reminiscent of the same way that the Sex Pistols and the Clash had represented the malcontent youth of England a decade and a half before. Nirvana held court as the movement's nihilist jester while Pearl Jam stole from the rock and roll canon to make something of their own.

The instant celebrity thrust upon Pearl Jam formed them into a fierce and fighting combat ready unit. If there was ever a more confrontational sophomore effort from a band than Vs., I haven't heard it. Railing against the world at large, the album wasn't so much a shot across society's boughs as a declaration of war upon the world at large. This galvanizing effect never really happened for Nirvana, though.

Instead, Cobain satirized his celebrity status (and the “grunge” movement as a whole) with the venomously titled “I Hate Myself and Want to Die.” Contributed to the Beavis and Butthead Experience, the song was, at one point, slated to be the title track to their followup album In Utero. Fearful that the faithful masses would miss the irony of it all, they removed the song and it's title from the album. Sadly, by April 1994, the song title didn't seem so ironic.

On the surface, Cobain's suicide seemed an inevitable indictment of the turbulence of the times. The ensuing overdoses of Hole's Kristen Pfaff and Blind Melon's Shannon Hoon only confirmed this. Pearl Jam was already under siege from the demands of their own career and would soon withdraw. They'd re-evaluate and re-imagine their career trajectory with no less than Neil Young acting as their consigliere. The spirit of '91 had given way to something much darker: a rock and roll machine that ate its young.

The larger implications, both personal and public, were lost on teenage me. I didn't realize until a few months ago how commonplace all of this seemed to us as kids. My parents would gnash their teeth and wring their hands as they wept about the “darkness of the old days and how it was all happening again.” They had their Hendrix, their Joplin, their Morrison. We had Kurt. It seemed a given to us, in that day and age, that death was just a part of the gig. Looking back now, it makes me sad to think of how cynical and desensitized that seems.

In the space of less than four years, it felt like a whole decade had come and gone. We spent the rest of the nineties huffing the vapors of those first few years as we chased the dragon from grunge to alternative to brit-pop to electronica. Still, it has to be said: what a magnificent dragon it was.

In 1993, it wasn't uncommon to see Living Colour, 10,000 Maniacs, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Soul Asylum, Bjork, and yes, even the Spin Doctors marketed in the same section of the record store. This was the epic greatness that was Alternative music- even if the label seemed like an oxymoron or an anachronism. To me, it's hard to imagine a period in music freer from the constraints of style or form.

And yet, it's harder to imagine a larger disappointment than Cobain's death. In that single moment, the direction of Alternative rock changed forever. As a fan of music, its hard not to engage in Rock and Roll String Theory. The what ifs and coulda, shoulda, woulda's will forever commandeer late night last call pub conversations and stoner talk.

My own personal Rock and Roll String Theory revolves around closing the gap between Nirvana fans and Pearl Jam fans. In my alternate reality, Nirvana and Pearl Jam reached out to one another at the height of the public frenzy. They hunker down in Bad Animals studio and produce a split single.

Yes, Virginia, they solve their differences with a piece of vinyl. Nirvana does two songs on side A with Pearl Jam doing two songs on side B. (In my alternate reality, I play the shit out of side B.) But larger than the idea of the collector's item they create, I'm fascinated with the idea that two titanic singular voices come together to produce a piece of art that says, “Fuckit. We are music. Turn us up.” And the kids do. Much to their parents' displeasure.

And now you see how a simple idea, like a split single that never happened (and probably never could), spins out into a thousand plus words that you've just slogged through.

I wrote a novel. The title is This is Not a Love Song. I wrote it with Tyler Kent because, like that split single that I always wanted, I wanted a novel out there with two distinct voices and like a sucker, he agreed. I wrote it with Tyler Kent because it's about friendship and loyalty and the sanctity of youth and a rockin' soundtrack to boot. Its about the music we love, the girls we don't want to love and the friends that hold us steady in between.

Maybe it is a love song after all.

We Wanted our Rock Stars Dead

2011-01-06T01:14:00.001-08:00

I've been revising the novel at a clip of about 10-12 pages a day. Until I got to a chapter we excised in favor of a much shorter, much more vitriolic rant. That's taken me about three days just to get my head around what actually needed to be said. I understand a lot better now as seeing the screed on screen, it makes me uncomfortable... for whatever reasons.

"We demanded our rock stars dead. And with a needle in one hand and a shotgun in the other, they obliged us so we applauded. We played from our fucking hearts. So keep your pain and keep your emotions. We've seen it all and we see through you like the cheap plastic you are."

And yes, this is what happens when you mix equal parts Bill Hicks, Joe Strummer and Jameson 12 year together.

Confirmation of Everything I've Ever Known

2010-11-30T01:19:00.000-08:00

Adding space as an adjective really does just make it... y'know, MORE.

Somebody needs to finish his book already.

For the Pseudo Ivy League Punters in the Audience

2010-11-10T00:56:00.000-08:00

As Pete Townshend once said, "Sit down or stand up but shut up. It's a fucking rock and roll concert, not a tea party!"

So yes, my self important pretentious co-audience members who complained about everything before and during the Hold Steady's set tonight, shut up. Your sophisticated tweed jacket did nothing to cover up the personal failings of your shitty attitude.

But know this: I screamed a lot louder, jumped around a lot harder and sang way more often just to piss you off. And that, for me, made an already enjoyable evening that much sweeter. Because it's rock and roll, man, not book club.

things that i think about

2010-10-10T01:21:00.000-07:00

Undoubtedly, I haven't had much time to work on music this year. I sincerely hope this changes soon as I've a few projects to finish, a few projects to start.

I was on a quick run yesterday listening to the new Tricky album (Mixed Race) when I could finally articulate what I want out of my next stage piece:

"I want it to sound like Aaron Copeland hanging out with Frank Lloyd Wright in some shitty underground dance club in downtown Chicago and they're doing death drugs."

I hope I never forget that.

So tired, blah...

2010-08-30T00:20:00.000-07:00

So. In the last week, Jwest produced his first night of standup comedy, Vicki from the Old School produced a new human being (with help from her awesome hubby Robbo) and Bex finally made Seany an honest man (as honest as he's capable of being anyhow). Seriously, Congrats go out to all of them. They're all awesome.

This week we're gonna go see Ray Lamontagne and David Gray at the Santa Fe Opera House. Then we're gonna throw Tyler a bachelor party. Then a rehearsal dinner. And finally, on Saturday, he impacts Poor Cheryl's life like a meteor landing in dino-land.

So no book writing tonight. I gots speeches to write, yo!

what's on radio free pennington this week?

2010-08-24T23:35:00.001-07:00

This week, I'm listening to random albums in their entirety. Which is my occasional way of returning to the album as an art form- beginning to end, a listenable wholesale piece of art.

I grew up listening to cassette tapes in my walkman. There was no real skip option unless you wanted to spend half your life holding buttons. Instead, you just listened to better music. That way, you didn't want to skip a thing.

Somedays, in this Apple media world, I really miss albums.

In the queue this week:

Annetenna by Annetenna- there were Ednaswap, they got sacked, some of them regrouped, made this kickass album and still got sacked by Columbia records. Goddammit.

Angles by Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip- beat hop as I refer to it. Dan Le Sac throws out various electro clash shapes for Pip to rhyme over. Worth it solely for "Thou Shalt Always Kill" and the Radiohead sampled "Letter to God."

Heaven is Whenever by the Hold Steady- more tuneful than previous records, the knee jerk reaction is to think of this as THS slipping soft rock into the set. Numerous listens unfold an album of simple truths, beauties and time providing, a new direction for the band's next few years.

LCD Soundsystem by LCD Soundsystem- the first record, as buoyed by "Daft Punk is Playing at My House." "Tribulations" gave me vertigo the first time I heard it. Literally. Now I find myself chasing the dragon.

No Line on the Horizon by U2- not my favorite record by any means, but I find myself returning to the songs I found so challenging a year ago. I like to listen to it at work a lot, too.

No One's First and You're Next by Modest Mouse- it meanders a bit but offers subtle joys left off other albums. "Satellite Skin" and "I've Got It All (Most)" do that scrappy underdog emo thing they do so well down to a tee.

No Said Date by Masta Killa- the debut from the admitted ninth member of the bunch. Old school Wu-Tang with cameo's from every one in the Clan, there's beauty in simplicity. Especially when RZA rides shotgun on "School" and "Old Man."

Room on Fire by the Strokes- like the first album except tighter and better written. True, nothing on the record punches with the immediacy of "Last Night," but I could listen to this nonstop for a year. Wait. Already did. My last year of college.

Powder Burns by the Twilight Singers- Greg Dulli seems to churn out one self loathing masterpiece a decade and this is the last one's. Unlike the Afghan Whigs' Black Love, this album turns inward as Dulli comes to jesus with himself. But never more hauntingly so than "Bonnie Brae" or "Candy Cane Crawl."

This is Happening by LCD Soundsystem- by far the most listened album in my head so far this year, I keep thinking back to James Murphy's comments about the band being a forum for his commentary on music. Moreso with each album, it seems to become more of a commentary on his feelings about his age and its relationship to music. I put "Home" on repeat and ran for three miles the other day. It was haunting.

Streetcore by Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros- Joe's final hurrah, it was full of barn burning rockers like "Coma Girl," "All in a Day" and "Arms Aloft." But that shouldn't betray the beautiful simplicity of Strummer's take on "Redemption Song" or the post 9-11 lament of "Ramshackle Day Parade."

Strangers by Ed Harcourt- the sound of Harcourt firing on all cylinders, he balances rockers like "the Storm is Coming" and "Born in the 70's" perfectly with gorgous down played moments like "Only Happy When You're High." Nothing beats the morose sexiness of "Black Dress," though.

Tedious Bliss by Feels Like Sunday- admittedly, I've been playing this one a lot lately. Spurred on by how much I miss their presence in Albuquerque and the fact that Joni was always a gutsier singer than I could ever be, this is my favorite "you had to be there" sorta moment. "Photographs" still slays me all these years later.

Sound of Silver by LCD Soundsystem- because you never forget your first one.

thank you, A.L.H.

2010-08-17T00:35:00.000-07:00

You owned a promo copy of the Grosse Pointe Blank soundtrack, vol. II. Maybe you just don't love it like I will. Maybe you needed some extra scratch. Maybe you needed some extra space. Maybe you were burnt out on being a dj or college music journalist or whatever.

I found your cd used online and now it is mine. Sadly, I've waited years for this. I am a simple but sick man. With an awesome music collection.

Poetry in Emotion

2010-08-05T00:40:00.000-07:00

Was out tonight hashing out ideas over a possible new project and it's unbelievable the things you remember in the moment. How is it possible, I ask myself, to forget the good that comes of a night out on the patio with drinks and a friend and a million stories to tell. These nights out at the pub are tantamount to an oil change for the writer brain.

Which reminds me of Bud Brixey. Bud was my mentor in academic decathlon oh sooo many years ago. The one thing Bud taught me that no person could ever replace: the true meaning of poetry.

"Prose," he said, "Is words in the best order."

Simple, yeah?

"Poetry," he continued, "Is the best words in the best order."

And that was Bud's genius. Because poetry, by those standards, could jazz you about anything. A person blogging about the sublimeness of sushi could stir my soul just as much as Langston Hughes.

But only if it's the best words in the best order on the subject.

So maybe it's time to put a little more poetry out there into the world?

serving notice

2010-07-20T00:51:00.001-07:00

Hello all. Today seems like just as good as any other day to remind you all to remind the world that you're brilliant.

Give 'em love, truth, beauty. Whatever. Give 'em hell if you want. Just give 'em something to talk about in hushed and excited tones.

first report from santa fe's 8 july 2010 Hold Steady show

2010-07-09T01:18:00.001-07:00

In what was neither the first nor the last occurrance of this happening, I jacked a concert poster. I've done this so many times its not even funny. This one, however, I think I shall have framed.

The Whigs were great. The Hold Steady were prolific and incredible. On behalf of Santa Fe, New Mexico and Santa Fe Brewing Co., I just want to apologize.

More on that later. With video. Phenomenal incredible video.

Most People Are DJs: the Ronin Rock guide to the Hold Steady Pt. 2

2010-07-05T14:43:00.000-07:00

Thursday, a small caravan of us are making our way 40 minutes north to catch the Hold Steady right outside of Santa Fe. The venue, Santa Fe Brewing Co., is new to me. Pressed to guess, however, I'm gonna say it will be small and intimate. A club to be sure, and therefore, the perfect place to catch the Hold Steady. I saw this band two times last year when TK and I were lucky enough to jailbreak for SXSW in Austin. There was copious amounts of singing along to be had. A gorgeous affair was had by all.

In that spirit, here is my bitchin' mixtape for the rest of the week as I prepare myself for the pending awesomeosity that this show promises to be.

Almost Killed Me

French Kiss records 2004

"Positive Jam"

While I'm not sure that I would normally put this song on a bitchin' mixtape, it works really well live. Vocalist Craig Finn gets to stretch out his literary pretense before the band delivers a holy hell of a ruckus. I saw it at the Mohawk in Austin and it was good, man.

"The Swish" & "Barfruit Blues"

I don't recall seeing these two numbers live, but after listening to last year's live album, Positive Rage, I really wish that I had. Between Tad Kubler's impending chords of doom on the former song and Finn's rambling conversational vocals on the latter, these two tracks sum up the best of the band at their rowdiest. "Most People Are DJs," with its misleading Afghan Whigs-like opening also rules my heart but this is a mixtape and space is essential, natch.

"Killer Parties"

The closing number. Always. Interestingly, this song catches the band at their most haunting and yearning. Additionally, the band plays with an ambiance here not often touched upon in other songs. It's the hard luck broken heart beating underneath the ragged exterior of the rest of their catalogue.

Separation Sunday

French Kiss records 2005

"Your Little Hoodrat Friend"

One of the Hold Steady's best known songs with one of Finn's best lyrics- "It burns being broke, hurts to be heartbroken and always being both must be a drag." With the requisite alt rock dynamics perfected by the Pixie's and cemented by Nirvana (hint: quiet loud quiet), Finn has all the space in the world to extol his most perfect teen angst melodrama.

"Charlamagne in Sweatpants," "Stevie Nix" and "Chicago Seemed Tired Last Night"

Admittedly, one of my largest problems with Separation Sunday as a whole is the way that all the songs eventually blended into one another and became one song. Granted, its a great song, but it forces me to choose between listening to this album as a whole or choosing my favorite versions of the song. "Charlamagne" has a great slow burn with the opening organ working its mojo. "Stevie Nix" on the other hand, goes straight for the rock jugular with its muscular Clash-like chords before settling into a rambling bridge. "Chicago Seemed Tired Last Night" is just plain demented. We'll be lucky if we get to see any of these songs on Thursday and I think we will.

Boys and Girls in America

Vagrant records 2006

"Stuck Between Stations"

Easily, hands down, one of their best songs ever. From Kubler's opening riffs to Franz Nikolay's arpeggiated piano underneath it all, this is everything one could ever hope for from the Hold Steady. Also, Finn paints a picture of literary America from beatnik ramblings to John Berryman's tragic flight at the end of his life. Finally, this song features one of the greatest bridges ever. EVER!

"Party Pit"

Another epic in which Finn sings the about the tragic aftermath of a youth spent too fast. The central character, a burnout who promises to "walk around and drink some more," is a great reflection of innocence lost and beauty destroyed by self destructive decadence. The end is always a rousing sing along in which the audience echoes the earlier promise.

"Massive Nights"

This exuberant blast of youthful indiscretion is the flip side. In a world where "everyone was funny & everyone was pretty," this song serves as a paean to simpler times where the biggest concerns revolved around beer runs and dodging chaperones. Coupled with that loping bassline, it's almost impossible not to shout along even if you don't know how.

"Citrus"

"Hey, citrus," Finn sings, "Hey liquor, I love it when you touch each other." Amidst the downplayed sadnesss of pubs across this world, Finn writes a solitary anthem for the casual barroom observer. The Hold Steady rarely sound this hushed or transcendent.

"Southtown Girls"

Closing out Boys and Girls in America, this anthem trades ambition for love and hits every Springsteenish pose it can on its way out. The only part of it more brilliant than the guitar solo was the high five shared between Kubler and Finn when I saw them play it at the Mohawk. Also, Franz Nikolay steps away from the keyboard for a moment to deliver the final piece of Americana in a nimble little harmonica solo.

Stay Positive

Vagrant records 2008

"Constructive Summer"

A turbo charged ode to summer, beer and friends, this has been my summertime anthem... basically, since its been released. In it, Finn celebrates double whiskey and St. Joe Strummer as he decides to build something "this summer." Despite frustration and disappointment with all institutions, he begs for a reminder that "we can all be something bigger" and "we are our only saviors." When he calls for a toast to St. Joe Strummer, my fist will definitely be in the air.

"Sequestered in Memphis"

A story of when to keep your mouth shut, Finn stills spins a story of braggadocio in which no one should be bragging. All the characters are tired, desparate and just a little more than destitute. In essence, it's a perfect Hold Steady song. "Subpoena'd in Texas, Sequestered in Memphis," the chorus sings as Finn apologizes, "I went there on business."

"Stay Positive"

The further into this album you get, the more you get called back to the ghosts of previous albums. No more so than this song. Finn looks back on both the failed hopes and desparate realizations of album's past with more than a little introspection. "It's one thing to start with a positive jam," he implores, "And it's another thing to see it through. We gotta stay positive."

"Joke About Jamaica"

A joke about Led Zeppelin's joke about Jamaica leads off this song as the band revisits another familiar face. Except in this song, your little hoodrat friend is a few years older and a little worse for the wear as everyone's teenage dreams butt up hard against mature reality. The classic rock aspirations come full circle with Kubler's great talkbox guitar solo. No one will be asking if it's fuckin' Frampton.

"Slapped Actress"

Closing out an album that almost serves as a retrospective of their career so far, this song takes us back to the Ybor City of Almost Killed Me's "Killer Parties." Sung like a conspiracy in the making, Finn informs us that "some nights it's just entertainment and some other nights its work." Luckily, one never gets that feeling watching this band.

*EXTRAS*EXTRAS*EXTRAS*

As per usual, I always say take out the one or two or even three tracks you don't like and replace them b-sides and rarities to be cooler than your friends.

"Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window"

This little gem comes from the I'm Not There soundtrack. The Hold Steady doing Bob Dylan? Nothing but net.

"Girls Like Status"

I first heard this on the band's live album, A Positive Rage. I hear rumors of a studio version on the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie soundtrack but it's unsubstantiated at this point due to the fact that it's an album only download. Boo.

"You Gotta Dance With Who You Came to the Dance With"

This came off of Indie Rock Prom but I just downloaded it off of amazon. Totally worth finding and totally delicious.

Additionally, I'm holding judgement on the new songs til I hear them live. So far, I'm enjoying the new album but there is no doubt that Stay Positive was the last act in their original story. Heaven is Whenever has more space to breathe and the band has certainly had to adjust with the departure of keyboardist Franz Nikolay. Nonetheless, I've very much enjoyed the urgency of "The Weekenders" and the old school raga of "Barely Breathing."

But really, more on that later, to be sure.

dial m for nihilism

2010-06-29T01:43:00.000-07:00

It would seem that it's time for the final push into my bumbling epic This is Not a Love Song with one Tyler Kent. A month from now, we should be doing final edits and get submission packets together. I just read Mr. McGowan's notes on TK's half and whooboy, am I ashamed of what mine contains. Looks like we'll be dialing up the nihilism in my half. We'll get one thing straight right off the bat, though, my character is not a raging alcoholic. He's a raging asshole. Alcohol is just one element of his arsenal.

All told, it will be great to be done. But it is bloody frightening to go back for one last go round. A lot of truth and a lot beauty took place in the half life that the first draft was done in. Accordingly, certain parts seem radioactive to me now as I've been like four different people in that time.

On the other hand, how often do you read a book whose first line is "Why is there a hammer in the wall?"

Killer Parties: the Ronin Rock guide to the Hold Steady part 1

2010-06-27T01:11:00.000-07:00

Originally, this post was meant to be for Travis. I wanted him to get a small glimmer of what these guys are about before we see them in Santa Fe (July 8, Santa Fe Brewing Co- we'll be there in force). But then, it also had to be for Seany and Bex who forced this band into my life. Also, I kind of wanted it to be Dusty who doesn't think they're nearly as cool as I do. At the same time, I could never leave out Tyler, Victoria, Rob or Brooke who've all seen this band with me. Ultimately, it is a bit of a primer for anyone and everyone who's even remotely interested in enjoying this band in any way, shape or form. For old fans, hopefully it opens up fun discourse/dissent to be nerded over with likeminded music snobs. For new fans, hopefully it provides a sense of context that adds to the overall listening experience.

And away we go.

First, it has to be said that I initially didn't like this band. With no basis whatsoever, I took one look at them and arbitrarily decided they had nothing to offer me. And by arbitrarily, I mean I took one look at their photo and said to myself, "Look at those guys. What could they possibly know about rocking?"

The first photo above is the second one of theirs I ever saw. Let's break it down for a quick moment. First, there's guitarist Tad Kubler. On a simple sartorial basis, his dress sense is embarassingly reminiscent of every middle aged father white America has ever produced. Of course, most of them dress like that, it's just Kubler's yellow tinted glasses that seal it for me. Bassist Galen Polivka and drummer Bobby Drake actually look like pretty normal guys. You'd be hard pressed not to imagine them more at home in line at Home Depot than melting faces on a stage. Keyboard player Franz Nicolay wears a handlebar mustache. Handlebar for pete's sake! And then there's singer/guitarist Craig Finn, receding hairline in place and possessed of the fashion sense of your high school shop teacher.

I won't even get into the first picture I ever saw of them. We'll just note that I saw it in Q's "Bands to Watch This Year" feature and the picture made them look even schlubbier. What's worse, it made them look like Parisian buskers. Picture me- not impressed.

I mean, who the hell are these guys and what could they possibly know of rocking out? This, I thought to myself, is what rock and roll has come to? Pass. Passpasspass. I'll hang out with my Clash records, thank you very much. Suffice to say, I was about to have my little world rocked.

Flash forward a few months. It was the annual Double Matt Birthday Bash. I was eagerly unwrapping a package just handed to me by Seany and Bex. It was a copy of Boys and Girls in America, the Hold Steady's third and most critically acclaimed album yet. I could never tell Seany and Bex that I'd already written off this band (I mean, a handlebar mustache! And male pattern baldness!). Mostly because, if they were giving me this record, it had to worth exploring. At the very least. More likely, it was going to be incredible (Seany- we were banking on your credity here more than anything else. Sorry, Bex).

Travis and I played it on the drive home. Mostly, I remember it sounded like it was recorded underwater. This was undoubtedly due to my incredibly inebriated state. But I came back around to it within a week or two. I found a song I liked. Then two. Then five. Then the whole damn album. Hence, your first two lessons:

1.Thou shalt not judge thy band by their mediocre sartorial sense. Unless they're Japanese or want to be Japanese, because let's face it, those guys are all ridiculous.

2.Some albums are slow burners. They may take a while to hit, but when they do, they do so a tsunami. see Enter the Wu-Tang, Black Love, Rain Dogs, Disintegration.

Having had a little time to take in the Hold Steady now, I was familiar with their rep, their mythology, their lore. The basic rap sheet?

1.They've kindasorta got a Springsteen thing goin'.

Yes. But I always think of them as more of an amalgamation of Bruce Springsteen's and Elvis Costello's drunken nephews who never quite got over punk. Sure, they've got that sweaty all American epic rock feel to their sound. It all comes down to the instrumentation- two guitars, bass, drums and keyboards to fill out the sound. Occasionally, there's even a sax solo. But don't forget, they grew up in the time and place of the Replacements and Husker Du, so punk is still going to figure in. No more so than Craig Finn's vox/guitars.

2.Their audience will kill you for them without thinking twice.

Also, yes. But they'd rather not. Everybody there is just there to enjoy some music, some beer and some friendship. Still, they are a slavishly devoted crowd that knows all the right times to sing along and you should too (see Party Pit, Constructive Summer, Stay Positive).

3.They write about drinking. A lot.

Guilty as charged. I saw them play at the Mohawk in Austin. Bassist Polivka blew out the amp head on his bass cabinet. When he finally got it replaced with another one, he placed his Lone Star tallboy on it on a sign that read "DO NOT PLACE DRINKS HERE!!!" I may have pictures. Also, I think Nicolay drank a whole bottle of red wine by himself.

4.They write about drugs. A lot.

Also guilty. Bruce wrote about the hard working American dream crashing into reality. Elvis wrote about, well, whatever Elvis wrote about. These guys spend a lot of time writing about Post Meth America.

5.There's also a lot of writing about awkward sex between really young people.
Where there's smoke, there's fire. Consider that when you reread numbers 3 & 4. It's also worth noting that most people have really awkward sex. Except everybody here, of course.

6.But there's also a lot of religious symbolism- what gives?

Like there's ever been a better dramatic backdrop for Post Meth America? Craig Finn does use a lot of biblical imagery. It makes a great contrast for all the messed up stuff that surrounds the inhabitents of his songs. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of Samuel L Jackson in Pulp Fiction.

7.Really, though, it's mostly all about being young and stupid, right?

Sex, drugs and rock & roll, right? While their music has never actually been that simple or that narrow in scape, Finn certainly uses indiscretionate youth as the context from which he spins most of his stories. This is fairly true to life, however, when you realize that the majority of people's stories are survival tales from their own teenage wastelands. Most of our simple complexities come from being young in America while you sort yourself out. Accordingly, some of Finn's characters figure it out and some don't. When asked about, do as Finn says and say something vague.

Also, the characters that survive often return in numerous songs over the span of many albums. Their reflections on their past lives reveal subtle beauties and truths that only become apparent to us in light of the past. The album Stay Positive, in particular, is great about this.

Ultimately, this music is a heady mix of biblical imagery and sexual buffoonery set against the back drop of post Meth America. And while you don't have to be a reformed dealer/skinhead/skank to appreciate, you will smile if you're young enough to remember but old enough to know better.

*the second picture posted is one I took at the Mohawk in Austin. of special note should be Tad Kubler who somewhere along the way turned into a lean mass of rock monster. which is the second reason why I don't feel bad about bashing this band on their appearances. i was so obviously wrong, its embarassing.

Today's Thought on Fear

2010-06-24T00:30:00.000-07:00

It's no secret to me- I thrive much better with my back to the wall. Forced into situations where I have to execute with no safety net, I tend to think that my record speaks pretty well for me.

White knuckled optimism is always nice but nothing beats work, yeah?

Without the uhh... motivation of complete failure or death, I can slide into slovenly laziness pretty rapidly. I know this. My attention span turns crappy pretty quickly and I lose interest... I know, I know.

The rub, however, is that anything that requires a safety net usually requires lots of practice. Which, even though I suck at it, I still try to maintain. Furthermore, even though there's a net, it doesn't mean I don't hurt myself getting there.

And maybe this makes sense or it doesn't, but this is how I'm looking at the last year of my life:

It's time to remove the nets, man.

and then... twenty ten

2010-06-19T13:20:00.001-07:00

Wow. Anybody else notice that we're, like, almost halfway through this year? I reiterate. Wow.

So then. Maybe I've been a leeeeetle busy. 2010 in a nutshell.

I went to DC to hang out with my brother and his lovely, lovely wife who, despite our warnings, married into the family anyways. We're lucky to have her. A short excursion into Baltimore was made where we watched Devotchka open for Gogol Bordello. Whiskey was poured later. Three out of four heads passed out on the drive back home. It was good. And for once, my flight home was not delayed. Score one for me.

Some people got married. Parties were thrown. Drinks were imbibed. Cake happened. Dancing happened. Later, in the fall, some more people will get married. I will be forcibly involved, but thankfully at this moment, not be the one getting married. WashRinseRepeat.

Then...

The Beginning of this month saw me return to the stage in a manner of speaking. At the request of one very astonishing Jacqueline Garcia, I helped her hammer out some text to accompany her latest show The Dust Vignettes- Four Tales of an Immaculate Heart. Then we pulled Tyler in to do the acting in what basically amounted to a one man show interspersed in a dance show. They were all phenomenal. And while I've said that at the beginning its not how I would have chosen to do things, I can honestly say at the end of the day that I wouldn't choose any other way for things to have gone.

And now we're more than halfway through June. Which means I've been slavishly devoted to the NBA Championships. I was asked earlier who my favorite team is. When pressed, I'd probably have to go with Barkley's Suns. They were great. Beyond that, its whoever plays with the most heart and the most game. Asking me to choose a favorite ball club is like asking me to choose a favorite band. That being said, it was incredible to see the Celtics play this post season. Every single time they were counted out of contention, they came back to prove the doubters wrong. They were like some freakish force of raving hardwood id. I hope they're back next year because the way those finals ended... just didn't cut it for me. I won't even get into my colossal distaste for the Lakers. It's not fair to the world at large. We have bigger things to worry over.

Like World Cup Soccer. The US is sooo close. Even with what was patently diseastrous officiating in our match with Slovenia. Ok. I'm leaving it alone.

Tomorrow, I'm going to see the Cowboy Junkies at the NHCC. July will see me in Santa Fe for the Hold Steady and again at the end of August for Ray Lamontagne and David Grey. That should all be really exciting. And as much as I hope to get into the last few month's adventures in more detail, I hope I'm on point enough to write about what's coming up as well.

That being said, I'll be posting a look at the upcoming Hold Steady show with suggestions to my comrades in arms as to what songs to listen to in preparation. Feel free to toss your own thoughts my way. At the very least, it should provide for interesting discourse.

What RadioFreePennington is jamming today: the Class of '10-
Lustre by Ed Harcourt, HeadFirst by Goldfrapp, This is Happening by LCDSoundsystem, Heaven is Whenever by the Hold Steady, TransContinental Hustle by Gogol Bordello, Of the Blue Colour of the Sky by OkGo and Tonight by Franz Ferdinand (I know its 2009 but I just got it and far prefer it so far to You Could Have It So Much Better).

Put that in your pipe and playlist it.

i used to know you

2010-05-25T01:12:00.000-07:00

Of the other things floating around in my brain, I've felt myself somewhat craving Albuquerque rock more than usual lately. Polyester Blues by Oh, Ranger! has always been a favorite. Ditto for Tedious Bliss by Feels Like Sunday. I've even been thinking about digging up some Hollis Wake to listen to. I miss these bands. Not quite like I miss being 22 but awfully damn close. And it makes me sad because I have to wonder:

Whatever Happened to All of These Guys?

miss you all.

namaste

2010-05-25T00:57:00.000-07:00

Like everyone else on the planet, I have thoughts about LOST. With every apology in the world to one of my best mates, I'm glad its over. There's a certain beauty to finality. To be able to step back, wipe your brow and whistle, "Sure glad we survived that," that's a beautiful thing.

But was it any good? Glad you asked.

Because, while I would hate to get writerly on anyone, the finale stirred up thoughts on the craft for me more than anything else. Yes, there were plot threads left dangling so negligently that OSHA inspectors everywhere are spontaneously bursting into flame. We don't know what [insert your biggest nagging question on what the island is or how it works here] is and now we never will. Losties will be arguing over the more vague elements of this show's mythology for years to come.

And I'm okay with this. I don't need to know every single why there is out there. Life comes at a pretty fast clip for all of us and most of the time, we don't get an explanation as to how or why. What defines us and our character is how we react to that. And in that light, I thought the finale was pretty damn resonant emotionally.* Had they left characters dangling, I might be singin a different tune.

Of course, if we're being honest, I am an admitted David Lynch fan. And, if nothing else, that's taught me that the questions are and always will be far more important than the answers.

A True Devotchka

2010-05-04T22:45:00.000-07:00

Back from a week's vacation. And now back to work. Which means I won't be able to blog the last week's happenings for a few more days. Instead, I leave you this shot from a Gogol Bordello + Devotchka + Jesse Malin show in Baltimore.

picture by Aaron Pennington

That Space Between Your Ears

2010-04-24T12:31:00.000-07:00

I don't know that I realized until this year just how important it is to have the space and time to yourself just to think. To be left alone with nothing but your thoughts, your noise, your static- it's become very premium to me. I'd always heard how important it was, but never felt it until this year. Maybe, because, in the past I had all the time in the world. At least, that's how it seemed. But the demands of 2010 seem to have piled up faster than I can account for and even though I have no idea how I'll do it, I know that I will do it. That, I tell myself, is what the stimulants are for. That... and the wordy juice.

dancing in my head

2010-04-16T00:47:00.001-07:00

When I write, I often start by listening to music. It lets my mind drift off to the far unknown reaches of my subconscious. Music does this thing in my brain, mind you, it's almost like it flips on a projector. And oftentimes, it plays out like scenes from a movie in my head. Sometimes, it's horrible. Earlier today, I imagined the transgendered Bob Dylan that is Cate Blanchett singing "I Wanna Be Your Lover, Baby" to a man. (And it wasn't sensational, it was Shakespeare, mannnn...) And sometimes, it's scenes from a movie on some alternate planet.

I used to aid this with the help of a tasty beverage- usually Jameson, cola and lime. I call it a Boston Rush (all the trainspotters in my life know why). I don't do this as much as I used to. Empty bottles of Canadian Club and Segrams strewn about your workspace only works for so long. But I always enjoyed the process of throwing monkey wrenches into the mental process and seeing what sort of darwinistic germs rose to the surface. The pure, the true ideas, I figured would float to the surface and present themselves cause if ever they were gonna make a jailbreak, this was it.

I don't use these methodologies like I used to. Work and life and relationships don't allow it. Time is at a premium and until I get paid to do this for a living, it's going to continue to be this way. I won't lie. Some nights, I really miss it.

But know that tonight, I am blasted and obliviously dancing away on some crappy underground dancefloor in Berlin somewhere where the dj is playing crappy American lo-fi techno- even if only in my head.

exodus interuptus

2010-04-15T01:24:00.000-07:00

I swear it, I'm almost out of the desert here. I know it's been a looong time since I posted anything but the time off has been healthy, positive and productive. Things are to be wrapped up on This Is Not a Love Song by Kent vs Pennington soon, with other projects to be announced. One of which should bring me back to the stage in some form or another.

Lots of good new music around the corner including Gogol Bordello, LCD Soundsystem and the Holdsteady, all of whom have new records arriving soon. There will be a Cowboy Junkies show at the National Hispanic Cultural Center and hopefully something at the Santa Fe opera that I'll talk about when I do or don't get tickets.

Lots of thoughts going on in regards to how I want to comport myself with this blog when it does actually return. Since the virtual ghosting of MySpace, there's no reason to really blog there other than storage. And while I haven't been blogging lately, I do miss the speaking out loud of things no person should say sort of quality to it. So I'm expecting to do more ramblage damage around here real soon, of a more varied and possibly personal nature.

And like everything else I've typed on this keyboard tonight, I've used a lot of words to say not much indefinitely. I'm officially ridiculous. Goodnight, teenyboppers, it's way past your bedtime.

Things I Wouldn't Mind...

2009-09-30T01:32:00.001-07:00

Having a new post or two up next week covering sides 3 & 4 of the Sandinista Project.

Ruminative pieces, possibly on No Doubt and/or Third Eye Blind (as the digital device holding all my notes on both of those shows this year has completely and totally crashed with no hopes of recovery).

Not having to go into oral surgery in less than two days.

Oh well, let's see what sort of word magic we can turn out in the next few days, yeah?

In the meantime, I'm curious. I've been pondering what songs will define this year for me as the year crosses over into a new calender.

What's the soundtrack of your life this year?

Please. Don't be shy and do tell me.

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt. 3 Side 2

2009-09-08T20:54:00.000-07:00

"Seeking Out a Rhythm That Could Take the Tension On..."

TRACK 1:
"Rebel Waltz"
The Clash vs. Ruby on the Vine

-Take 1:
I remember the first time I listened to this song. I hated it. It meanders aimlessly amidst all the dreadful guitar noodling from Mick Jones. And then there's all that warbly dub reverb... Don't even start me on that... And where are the damn Clash guitars that we all showed up for anyways? I think then I started skipping to tracks like "the Leader" or "Police on my Back." Then, eventually, I started to forget skipping it altogether as I got used to it and found myself digging on the... uh... waltz time. Now, listening to it in a new light (for me, anyhow) as the first song on what was/is side 2, it's sequencing starts to make sense. The opening, at first seeming over indulgent, takes on a newfound majesty as I imagine what it's like to flip the record over, drop the needle and wait in anticipation. More than anything, I find myself digging into Joe Strummer's lyrics as he dreams of humanity amidst a horror like civil war.

-Take 2:
Ruby on the Vine's bluegrass interpretation of the song showcases Strummer's lyrics more adroitly and articulately then he ever could. Besides being free of Strummer's adenoidal delivery, the song is stripped down to its basics and played straightforward without the hindrance of a dub mix and the sonic calamity that can ensue. Musically speaking, the effort is technically sound but does little to burn down any barns. What makes it shine, however, is the warmth and whistfulness of vocalist Myrna Marcarian.

WIN GOES TO:
While it's always great to listen to Strummer in his element, I think the win has to go to Ruby on the Vine here. If only for the sonic clarity and gravitas they bring to the song.

Track 2:
"Look Here"
The Clash vs. Jim Duffy

-Take 1:
Going back and taking a renewed and reinvigorated look at Sandinista as a whole has revealed a lot of old prejudices and new insights as to why they exist. And personally, I've come to the conclusion that side 2 may be one of the biggest hindrances to set as a whole. At least, taken as a two cd set. Side 1 shows the Clash at their sprawling and overreaching best. A hot mess, to be sure. Side 2, kicking off with "Rebel Waltz" and following up with "Look Here," quickly sapped any and all interest until I got to the parts with the songs I knew from Clash on Broadway. Just horrible, I know. With the not quite scatting vocals of "Look Here," this song comes off as just a tad bit overcooked and never sure where it wants to go. Again, my teenage self wanted to know where those Clash guitars were...

-Take 2:
Of course, then again, there's this take here by Jim Duffy. Which I kinda happen to love. Again, the Clash are outmastered with a quarter century's worth of hindsight and a knack to keep it traditional. In their own time, the Clash were thought of as being politically and musically progressive, a hodgepodge of ideas (none of which were all that new) thrown into one pot and poured out as a miscegenation of what the future could be if all were willing. They should be forgiven for occasionally overreaching their grasp if some of their songs didn't work. Here, quite simply, Jim Duffy makes the song a hot one by just keeping it simple.

WIN GOES TO:
Jim Duffy for keeping it simple, traditional and swingin'. Although, much like "Rebel Waltz," re-examining the music has brought a new found appreciation to the original.

Track 3:
"The Crooked Beat"
The Clash vs. Wreckless Eric

-Take 1:
Cynically, it's hard to imagine this song as much more than "Guns of Brixton, mk. II." But if the band's insistent dabbling with dub was going to work for anyone in the group, it would have to be bassist Paul Simonon. The song's spare arrangement turns out to be more of a success than most of the album's attempts at dub as Simonon sounds like he's finally finding his stride. Once again, Simonon showed the world who the real reggae afficionado in punk rock was.

-Take 2:
The difference's between Simonon's original and Wreckless Eric's cover are diminuitive, at best. In fact, if nothing else, it should be said that Wreckless Eric manages to keep all the essential pieces that make the interpretation a faithful one; especially that bassline. But by turning up the guitars, even if only barely, he manages to make the song his own at the same time. The dub mix used here keeps it minimal for the most part except when tweaking the occasional reverb effect up to an absurd level.

WIN GOES TO:
One of Wreckless Eric's largest boons on this song is that he doesn't (as if anyone ever does) sound like Paul Simonon. Even then, win goes to the Clash... 'cause it's Paul Simonon.

Track 4:
"Somebody Got Murdered"
the Clash vs. Matthew Ryan

-Take 1:
Easily, this is the best song on this side and definitely one of the best of the whole record. At one moment, this song typifies everything that was ever great about the Clash: great songwriting by Mick Jones, his guitarwork and arrangement held up dynamically by Topper Headon and the humanist poetry of Joe Strummer riding over the top. At the same time, it manages to sound completely different from everything else that they had recorded. Sonically, it carries itself with an ambiance seldom heard in the Clash. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this song is the blueprint for more than a fair share of the college/alternative music that would arrive by the end of the decade. Sonically, they manage to come up with a sound that is anthemic enough for use in the cinema but at the same time human enough that it packs a wallop on any record that it graces. One could almost say that this is the blueprint for every U2 song from the Joshua Tree onward. And I most definitely mean that as a compliment, which makes the Clash's eventual crash and burn all the sadder for me. Ultimately, the song's a good blueprint to follow with Jones plaintively singing a Strummer tale about random violence and the moral ambiguity that follows.

-Take 2:
If the Clash laid down the blueprint for the post new-wave college/alternative music of the late 80's and early 90's, then Matthew Ryan has taken the song and molded it into its late 90's early 00's spawn. Ryan's take turns away from the original's sense of sonic adventure and instead focuses on the solid structure of Mick Jone's tunesmith work. By doing so, he highlights both the plaintive and melodic nature of Strummer's contribution and makes it work with his raspy baritone. Ultimately, it embodies the best of post grunge work by bands like Pearl Jam- all song, no bombast.

WIN GOES TO:
The Clash for coming up with the blueprint to almost every record I've ever loved. I still feel giddy when that wall of guitar noise kicks in at 24 seconds.

Track 5:
"One More Time"
the Clash vs. Haale vs. Ted Harris

-Take 1:
Despite featuring one of the few lyrics in which Joe Strummer's humanist reach exceeds it's grasp, this song still manages to succeed for some reason. Unlike Simonon compositions like "Guns of Brixton" or "the Crooked Beat," which often seem to ride the songwriter's hipster coattails, this song is more akin to the apocalyptic "Armagideon Times," the explosive "White Man (in Hammersmith Palais)" or the grandiose but misguided "Bankrobber." That is to say, this song embodies a dark, funky, paranoid sort of skank that only the Clash could ever pull off. It manages to be urgent but listenable despite Strummer's daft metaphors and loosely connected truisms.

-Take 2:
The largest problem I have with Haale's take on this song is probably what would make any and every other composition she touches brilliant. Like the Clash, she manages to throw a wide disparate spate of influences into a pot and make it her own. Her voice, full and emotive, comes through too clear and as a result feels a bit contrived. The guitars explode into guitar solos guaranteed to give you a third degree burn and the mix offers a lot of interesting sounds to sift through with your heaphones on. So why doesn't this work? The original song offers an insistent if somewhat quiet dread. This interpretation may just be a little too explosive, a little too dynamic in comparison.

-Take 3:
Ted Harris' take on the song comes off as being far more faithful to the original song as well as the album as a whole. Sonically, he layers the vocals one right over the other, at moments utilizing three different vox tracks as he seems to shovel dirt over all of them. Mastering the dub vibe of the project without letting reverb overwhelm the whole of the piece, instruments come in and drone out with the drums starting and stopping just as suddenly. And while the vibe of the piece does seem to lack the urgency of the original, a more subtle paranoia seems to have creeped in, rendering the piece almost downright spooky.

WIN GOES TO:
Despite lyrical gaffes that not even Joe Strummer can get away with (right?), points go to the Clash for creating an apocalyptic rocker in which the music of the band towers over everything else. Moreso than musical cousins like "Armegiddeon Times, " "One More Time" is infused with an urgent sense of dread that never once comes off as blinkered or daft.

Track 6:
"One More Dub"
the Clash vs. Haale

-Take 1:
Initially, I remember listening to this album as a whole and feeling that this track reeked of all filler/no killer. It was obviously redundant as a result of being a dub remix of the previous track. Additionally, it jumped out as an afterthought on an album noteworthy for afterthoughts (see later track "Washing Bullets" et, al for further demonstration of this) in which the Clash threw everything they had on tape at the wall, regardless of whether or not it was going to stick. As hubris goes, this track was exhibit A in the alphabet of self indulgences and a clear foreboding of what was to come, especially in the last few tracks of the album as a whole. Listening to the song with fresh ears, and more to the point a fresh mind, this song becomes fully realized when you place it as the last song on a piece of vinyl with the intention of cleansing your dub heavy palette. And that's a whole different kind of alright.

-Take 2:
Despite my misgivings about Haale's take on "One More Time," all the characteristics I marked as being a bane to the artist's contribution work in spades here. Where the composition for "One More Time" seemed claustrophobic, the dub/remix nature of the original track opens up and lets Haale's genius breathe openly and freely. In fact, the quiet dread that her work on "One More Time" was missing seems to have shown up here in force and in style.

WIN GOES TO:
Haale takes all of the brilliance that crowded and clustered her composition of the original and lets it breathe. Granted, the Clash's version comes off as being an afterthought, but Haale manages to make it a piece of art in its' own right.

FINAL TALLY:
The Clash versus everyone else- 3 to 3, once again.
Cumulative Tally:
A lot like the final tally for this side and last side's- a dead heat. Whether this is indicative of the first piece of vinyl in this set remains to be seen.
On to Side 3!
e.m.p.

your monthly apology

2009-08-31T00:55:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I do need sleep and rest and relaxation. But after taking the last month to reconnect old bonds and make new ones, it's time to get things moving again.

As usual, apologies abound as activity here has not been so great. But great things are around the corner. Which means kicking the old stuff out of the queue. Hence, around the corner we've got more of breaking down the Clash's Sandinista! and its tribute album, the months delayed reviews for live shows from No Doubt and Third Eye Blind and more general meandering on music that nobody but me cares about.

After that, however? I'm looking forward to shows from Huey Lewis and the News, U2 and Gogol Bordello. Stick around, it should be fun. We'll have some internet Clash up tomorrow.

Tower of Song

2009-08-12T22:38:00.000-07:00

Seeing as I knew I was going to be completely and utterly devoid of creative worth tonight, I set out on a productivity of a different kind. I decided to try and clean my room a little. If nothing else, I figured I could integrate all the new music I've bought over the last season into my shelves.

Holy crap. I've bought a lot of new music lately.

A run down of my latest additions and why.

music from the miramax motion picture: Beautiful Girls

I found this in a Hastings clearance bin for 97 cents. It turned out to be exactly the kind of compilation that you'd expect from executive producers Ted Demme and Greg Dulli: some Howlin' Maggie, Chris Isaak and Neil Diamond. I bought it for the soul music covers that Dulli's Afghan Whigs provided but the real treasure turned out to be "Could It Be That I'm Falling In Love" by the Spinners. Which made me wonder why I don't have any Spinners albums.

the Sandinista! Project: A Tribute to the Clash

I found this one night during one of my characteristically drunk Amazoning marathons. Inspired by the blinkered giddyness of it all, I told myself I'd wait for sobriety and order it the next day. Then I ordered it anyways. Beyond that, I think it hardly requires any introduction as I'm currently in the process of giving it a deep and blogful analysis. I would like to say, however, that I am totally enjoying it and finding it to be a more than worthy tribute to the original article. Thanks, Jimmy G.

East Infection by Gogol Bordello

I discovered this ep lunchtime shopping at Borders one day in a vain attempt to escape from work. Sadly/thankfully, I'm still employed but at least I've got this little disc. Six songs long, it features alternate versions of of "Ave. B" and "Strange Uncles From Abroad." The real gem, however, is a cover of Manu Chao's "Mala Vida" in which Hutz and co. show you what the Gypsy Kings on crystal meth might sound like. It's really way better than it sounds.

Red by Patty Griffin

Tyler passed this one on to me back in April. But I'm a bad friend cause I haven't given it a spin yet. Mostly in favor of all the other stuff he gave me, like Ingrid Michaelson and Okkervil River and Old '97's. But don't tell him.

From Every Sphere/Here Be Monsters/Strangers/Until Tomorrow Then (the Best of...) by Ed Harcourt

Ed Harcourt was one of those artists that Ty and I did our damnedest to see back at SxSw. Every night, he'd have a set and every night, we'd miss it for some reason. Until the last night when we were lucky enough to catch him at the convention center with Victoria, Rob and Brook. I believe that all five of us stood and appreciated the show in slack jawed awe. Since then, I bought the limited edition two disc best of Until Tomorrow Then. I didn't realize that it was a gateway drug for Strangers (my favorite so far) and then Here Be Monsters and now From Every Sphere. Next? Beautiful Lie, most likely. Still, a darker, sexier music I haven't found since Greg Dulli's Twilight Singers.

A Positive Rage/Separation Sunday by the Hold Steady

Speaking of SxSw obsessions, I went to Austin this year convinced of little more than a chance to see the 'Steady. As noted elsewhere on this blog, I saw them not once but twice on the same day, treated to two totally different setlists. For an encore? I picked up A Positive Rage which shows the boys in transition before their excellent Stay Positive came out. Sadly, this means that this live disc is light of the more musical fare of their latest album. Gladly, it is chock full of their old school barroom stompers and a few cuts not found on their regular albums.

Going back to Separation Sunday, on the other hand, is just requisite reading for any devoted fan of the band. Especially as most of us caught on around the time of Boys and Girls in America. Less tuneful that it's successor, Sunday makes up for it in sonic squallor and sheer psychosis. Totally worth it for "Your Little Hoodrat Friend" and the monster riffage that guitarist Tad Kubler throws down.

Honeysuckle Strange by Howlin' Maggie

Another Hastings dollar bin bargain, I bought this for Harold Chistester. Besides providing the most gorgeous keyboards on the Afghan Whig's Black Love and 1965, he was also one of the artists involved in Greg Dulli's first Twilight's record, Twilight as Recorded by the Twilight Singers. I'm greatly ashamed that I haven't listened to this yet, but, if the Maggie's contribution to Beautiful Girls is any indication, it should be good (and doubly shameful) when I finally do.

No One's First, and You're Next by Modest Mouse

This little ep came out with little to no fanfare other the Heath Ledger directed video for "King Rat" and caught me a little by surprise. What wasn't surprising was a small disc of tuneful songs that just didn't seem to fit in anywhere else. Looking over the credits, it's obvious that this is an odd's 'n sod's album, comprised of outtakes from other records. The lead-off track, "Satellite Skin," shows songwriter Isaac Brock at his most melodically dogged. Still, as I was listening to this the other night, it did make me wonder: if Space Ghost's Brak formed an indie band, is this what they would sound like?

The Stand Ins by Okkervil River

The one band we didn't get to see at SxSw that I haven't been able to make up for, the Okkervil was originally ingrained into me by Tyler over many a night at the Anodyne's pool tables. With Stage Names' brilliant "John Allyn Smith Sails" and this year's "Lost Coastlines" off of Stand Ins, however, I can count myself amongs the faithful. In some of their more languid numbers, they can ramble a bit. But at their most rollicking, they show a real rocking potential kindred to Counting Crows.

Feeling Strangely Fine by Semisonic

Admittedly, I already owned this record. But it should be said that I've practically burned a hole through my last copy so it was time to replace it. Pound for pound, one of the strongest albums I've ever heard and full of more hooks than a bait shop, it's sweet enough to make your teeth go bad. Especially the second half. I can never skip "This Will Be My Year" (my anthem every year) or "California." Go now. Buy. Kill if you must.

Music From the Motion Picture: SLIVER

I cannot stress how crappy this album is. Really, it's horrible and I should be ashamed. It's full of early nineties electronic schlock that makes me cringe for remembering the early nineties. I might as well be listening to A Night at the Roxbury, right? But, I used to always steal this from my brother when I was younger. For UB40 doing that gimmicky UB40 thing they do to Elvis' "Can't Help Falling in Love?" Sure. But, there's also Massive Attack, Shaggy (before he was Mr. Boombastic) and the Verve. And just to be clear, dollar bargain bins are evil. EVIL.

Spiders by Space

Speaking of evil dollar bargain bins and useless nostalgia... I used to always love "Female of the Species." Moving right along...

Far by Regina Spektor

This album seems to rest somewhere between her major label debut Soviet Kitsch and it's followup, Begin to Hope. Featuring more fleshed out arrangements than Kitsch, it still lacks Hope's giddy experimental nature. Featuring work from four different producers, it does highlight an insanely charismatic knack that Spektor has for pop hooks. Personally, I can't get enough of "The Calculation," "Dance Anthem of the 80's" and "One More Time With Feeling." "Folding Chair," however, breaks my heart with sheer joy every time I hear it, no matter how little it makes sense.

No Line on the Horizon by U2

For a band that understands the art form of album sequencing so well, this collection of songs falls incredibly flat. Personally, I found the album prone to getting stuck in ruts more often than not. On a lark, I decided to rework the order of the songs (I know how much this annoys some of my friends) and have since found myself not only enjoying the album as a whole so much more, but I've found that I like all the songs. For an album full of so many potential peaks and valleys, U2's original sequence grouped the songs into monotonous stages. Now, thanks to the genius of the ipod, I'm looking forward to seeing all of these songs in October.

Women in Technology by White Town

In regards to the why, see my entry on Space. In regards to how the album sounds as a whole, also see the entry on Space... Moving right along...

It's Blitz! by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Honestly, I'm a bit torn on this. None of their releases have matched the raw id of their debut, Fever to Tell. And while Show Your Bones saw them stretching in some interesting directions, I still prefer the tracks on here that sound like the old Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Mostly meaning, the drummer hits things really hard, the guitarist brings the motherfucking ruckus and Karen O stretches her voice as far as it will go. I enjoyed this record so much more than Show Your Bones but still, you never forget your first time.

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt.2 SIDE A

2009-08-08T01:25:00.000-07:00

"You Gotta Give the People Something Good to Read On a Sunday."

-The Leader

TRACK 1:

"The Magnificent Seven"

The Clash vs. Joe Grushecky and the Houserockers

-Take 1:

This is probably the most notable contribution to the Clash's canon from this album. Notable for, if nothing else, being the Clash's first stab at rap music before Old School, New School and Brownie McGee. Obviously, their time spent in New York was not spent in sequestration. Also worth taking note of here is Norman Watt Roy's contribution at the bass spot. Standing in for Paul Simonon, his work with Topper Headon provides an almost martial beat for Joe Strummer to jump off of with lyrics topical, political and inane. Sometimes, as "Vacuum cleaner sucks up budgie {gerbil}" proves, he comes close to all of them at once. Still, this was Strummer's ode/lament to the working man.

-Take 2:

Immediately, this track jumps right out at the listener, if for no other reason than the way the drums are tastefully compressed. They're clean, tight and unencumbered by the mammoth sound of the bassline. This gives the listener a second or two to settle into the groove before the pandemonium starts. Compared to the original, the original seems unnecessarily drenched in reverb and chorus. Of course, it should be pointed out that the original came well before the 90's when lo-fi actually became an important artistic decision.

Still, this arrangement manages to be tight and loose at the same time. Most of this is due to the mixer's choice to separate the guitars to left and right ears while mixing everything else straight down the middle. What really makes this work is the sense of swagger this imbues the song with. The martial feel of the original serves it well considering the topic, but this song is loose limbed and furious, leaving the listener with an impression of what the song could be live... especially with Simonon in tow.

WIN GOES TO:

The Clash. The tribute is great at presenting a sonic squallor worthy of the Clash but... unfortunately, no one can swagger with the charisma that Strummer did. Especially when it comes to his unique take on hip hop.

Track 2:

"HitsVille U.K."

The Clash vs. Katrina Leskanich

-Take 1:

Artistically speaking, there's a number of adjectives that can and have been used to describe this song, I'm sure: dubious, inspiring, maddening. I'm going to go with puzzling. When faced with the choice of Joe Strummer's bombastic charisma or Mick Jones's hard luck doggedness, the Clash choose to underpin a choral effect with Mick Jones at his fayest, thus removing the effectiveness of either one of their songwriting stars. Which, on a three lp magnum opus, should come as neither a shock or suprise. But for track two? Talk about setting your stall out early.

Eventually, what comes to bear in the memory of the listener is the old Motown indebted bassline (not to mention title) and accompanying guitar part which snaps over the syncopations of the snare. It shows a Mick Jones more enamored with that old Motown song than was ever hinted on London Calling's "Train in Vain."

-Take 2:

Katrina Leskanich (of Katrina and the Waves fame) uses this song to bridge a gap between soul and punk that no one had taken up since the Who (or Pearl Jam after them) covered Holland/Dozer/Holland's "Leaving Here." It almost owes more to a mid tempo Ramones than anything else. But as guitar pop/punk pieces go, it's influences are instantly recognizable and new at the same time. The listener can sit and enjoy the simple but rocking arrangement, even the Thin Lizzy double guitar lead solo.

WIN GOES TO:

Katrina Leskanich for showing the true immediacy and beauty of the songwriting. Sure, the Clash were experimenting with various forms of songwriting and production on this record, but more than anything, the original track shows a group losing sight of a songwriting team second only to the OG's that were Lennon/McCartney. So sue me.

Track 3:

"Junco Partner"

The Clash vs. Jon Langford & Sally Timms w/Ship & Pilot

-Take 1:

Personally, if this record didn't originally go off the rails with a second track that featured none of the hallmarks of a great Clash song... this song had me pushing the skip button. In a renewed light, I have grown to appreciate the livewire nature of Strummer's performance here and the musicality of the group playing a traditional arrangement. But let's be honest, yeah? We know that Joe Strummer loved Dylan and the Guthries and a bunch of other proto-hippie troubador ramblers. And we know that he had that snarl. And... we know that he lived in the moment of the song more than anyone had up til that point. But... BUT. This is Strummer and his eccentric tastes at their most indecipherable.

As a dyed in the wool Clash fan and Strummer acolyte, I've grown to appreciate this song so much more than I used to. Without the context of folk/traditional music or a love for either, this song becomes Joe Strummer mushmouth gibberish drenched in a reverb heavy dub arrangement. Completely worthless to anyone waiting for "Clash City Rockers" or even, say, "Spanish Bombs."

-Take 2:

Jon Langford takes this song back to its roots by using a simple arrangement of brushed drums and guitars. Using Sally Timms to back up on the vocals also gives it a nice sing along effect more consistant with the populist slant of folk music.

WIN GOES TO:

Jon Langford and co. As a Clash fan, this becomes more and more daunting by the song. But, if we're being honest here, Langford's spare arrangement brings to the fore the beauty of the song that gets lost in the Clash's dub heavy arrangement. Beyond providing an idea of what Strummer saw in the song, this interpretation provides an actual understanding of what the song is actually about. Because Strummer, much as I love the man, was never known for his stellar annunciation. Yeah, I said it. But Langford provides a great song and story that I've grown more and more fond of with every listen. Even stopping to listen to the Clash's version when I can.

Track 4:

"Ivan Meets G.I.Joe"

the Clash vs. Jason Ringenberg and Kristi Rose

-Take 1:

There's no reason why this track shouldn't work. Unfortunately, there's also no reason why it does. With Topper Headon providing lead vocals, it seems most likely that he also contributed the bulk of the songwriting on this track. Unlike the hit that became "Rock the Casbah," one has no reason to believe that Joe Strummer contributed lyrics and it's a truism that he didn't contribute lead vocals. Headon's vocals, while not cringeworthy, are symptomatic of the rest of song: workmanlike but ultimately flat and uninspiring. It may be the topicality of the subject matter or the fact that he pales in comparison to three other vocalists in the group. Ultimately, at the end of the day, I want this song to work and believe that it could with a massive overhaul of a remix. But the artifact, as it is, remains to be laregely uncompelling and bloodless. It lacks that spark. Of course, even Headon has admitted in interviews since then that he was doing mostly snare and hat work on the drum kit as a result of his growing substance abuse problem.

-Take 2:

I remember hearing this anecdote in class once, and though it may be apocryphal, I think it speaks to the problem of this track here. Kruschev once took Kennedy to task for the political bent of American cinema. When pressed for clarification, Kruschev responded with the idea that American movies always featured refrigerators that, when opened, were full of food. Nothing, he explained to JFK, could be more political.

Keeping that in mind, one would think that there is no more political form of songwriting than country music. Not the reheated leftovers of the Eagles that the current Nashville has become, mind you, but the real deal of songwriting and storytelling. That being said, this is the first song on the compilation that seems to fall flat. But really, doesn't the original as well? Sadly, I blame Topper here as I've tried really hard to be enamored with the original and have failed. Honestly, this track had no chance. Not without providing a super bass heavy remix and a few tabs of e.

WIN GOES TO:

No one. Not even the listener. Okay, win goes to Jason Ringenberg and Kristi Rose for taking on an unenviable task and taking it to completion. Topper's original track should've been a barnburner of a club hit with it's highly syncopated hi-hat and snare pattern. Even with it's oddly bent political slant, it still would've fit in with any number of 80's anthems. But no. It just runs flat. And that doesn't leave a lot for the tribute performer to work with, does it?

Track 5:

"The Leader"

The Clash vs. Amy Rigby

-Take 1:

From the opening tease of Mick Jones' guitar to the full swagger of the band once the song kicks in, few songs deliver on the promise of the Clash like this song does. The rhythm section provides a true rollickin' backbeat as Mick Jones lays layer upon layer of guitar awesomeosity over it. But the true star here is Joe Strummer. Delivering with his usual charisma, he provides us with a satirical/conspiratorial take on the shadow bureaucracy of government workings and its opportunistic relationship to the press. And not once does he skip on the sense of humor, an aspect often lost to music historians. My favorite line? "He wore a leather mask for his dinner guests/totally nude and with deep respect." Not even Eddie Vedder gets to be that funny. One of my favorite Clash songs ever as it features the whole of the band doing what they all do best: rock while rocking the boat.

-Take 2:

Forsaking the guitar forplay of the original, Amy Rigby's take on the song here reinforces what becomes one of the most obvious draws of the Clash: (yeah... this word again) SWAGGER. The song starts out with the drums before letting the guitars rip in. Honestly, it becomes a much more traditionally punk number in this manner, but never once does it lose the lyrical or melodic punch of what the song was supposed to be. By changing up the structure for the last verse, Rigby manages to do something not often seen on this compilation: be faithful and original at the same time. This is, in all sincerity, a incredibly great cover of an incredibly great song.

WIN GOES TO:

The Clash. Sad as it may be, one must punch their own weight and, in light of this song, the Clash are in a class all their own. Still, Amy Rigby's take on this song is one of the best on the album. And what's more, her energetic verve has made me a fan. That's a win-win-win.

Track 6:

"Something About England"

The Clash vs. The Coal Porters

-Take 1:

Originally, I thought this song was Mick Jones' at his thinnest of vocal stretches. Now, I think this is Joe Strummer at his storytelling finest as he and Mick switch off on narrative voices. Also, for the last few years, I've pondered how I could make Sandinista! into a vehicle worthy of a true rock and roll spectactle (i.e. musical). This song makes the strongest case for that, both musically and lyrically. Like "The Leader" before it, this song features the Clash at their best as Mick gets to drop in with one of his most grandiose arrangements (almost readymade for Broadway) and Joe gets to tell one hell of a story about war and its effects on society. What makes the song perfect, though, is how through the whole narrative, Strummer never loses sight of what makes his work both compelling and vital: his unblinkered sense of humanity. Especially when told through the eyes of a vagrant charting the failed path of warfare and its ravaging effects on society.

-Take 2:

This is a great take on a great song that features a lot more in common with the original than at first suggested. However, for a song title "Something About England," it does little to evoke visions of 'Ol Blighty." Musicianship and presentation do very little to fail this presentation of the song, but they also do very little to challenge the original vision of the song.

WIN GOES TO:

Joe Strummer. For evoking the misery of living through war and its ensuing gloom. Sure, the grandiose arrangement and presentation of the music helped immensely, but its Strummer's incredibly compelling sense of righteously indignant humanity that imbue this song with its impact and gravitas. Like Amy Rigby before this track, covering this song is thankless and destined to pale in comparison.

FINAL TALLY:

The Clash versus Everyone Else- 3 to 3. It's a dead heat on side one.

Cumulative Tally:

A lot like the final tally.

And now? On to side 2!

-e.m.p.

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt. 1

2009-08-03T20:11:00.000-07:00

"F***ing long, innit?"

-Joe Strummer at the end of the Magnificent Seven

Initially, the idea was to break down Sandinista! and it's tribute, the Sandinista! Project, side versus side and song versus song.

This was mostly due to necessity.

Because, quite simply, there are a few choice words to describe the scope of any project that requires a body to go over thirty six tracks, any number of which are impenetrable to begin with. Those words would be: completely and totally blinkered.

And here I am deciding to do it twice. Again, completely and totally blinkered, right? But there are certain things that you just have to do. Because, being a fan of the Clash is a beautiful and wondrous thing in and unto itself. Like the Who before them, being a fan of the Clash is often more than a passion: it's an effing obligation, man. Because once again, like the Who before them, being a fan of the Clash is being a part of a secret society.

We talk in our own language, where the songs and the albums and the vainglorious anecdotes (apochryphal though they may or may not be) are our secret handshakes and codewords and secret decoder rings. I've actually been at the barbeque, a few of them to be honest, where the hypothetical thunderdome of the Who versus Led Zeppelin came up (for the record, the Who usually wins this one). And I mention this only to put into context how being a fan of the Clash goes beyond the pale of your normal insanity. But, as usual, I must digresss... or this will go nowhere but into visions of the Westway to the world and fedoras and Jackson Pollack...

Really, I could do this all night.

And so, the decision was made to break the albums down and compare them side by side, song versus song. This allowed me the opportunity to re-examine each song in a renewed and objective light. To listen, as it is, as something more than a newbie Clash fan (which I kind of was when I originially bought this album), disappointed and titillated at the same time that this album was not London Calling mk. II.

In that initial listening response, I imagine I wasn't alone.

Additionally, in the process of grouping the songs together, I remembered something so plainly obvious that it became embarassing. I remembered what it felt like to listen to vinyl.

I remembered, for the first time in ages, the sublime perfection with which U2 blended "Bullet the Blue Sky" into "Running to Stand Still" and the anticipation I felt when I used to flip the record over into the opening arpeggio's of "Red Hill Mining Town." I remembered the spirit of '91, in which Pearl Jam and the Red Hot Chili Peppers both delivered incredibly career defining albums, both mixed for vinyl, trapped on cd. They indelibly bled song into song, stopping only for the space in which you would flip the record over (between "Jeremy" and "Oceans" on Ten and "Give It Away" and "Blood Sugar Sex Magic" on, uh... Blood Sugar Sex Magic).

That these artists thought in terms of sides A and B led me to the first revelation of The Sandinista! Project and its namesake for which it was made: Originally, this was a three lp project. That means, three side A's and three side B's.

An act of hubris on the part of the Clash? To be sure. Especially when considering that it was one of those "dinosaur moves" that punk rock was supposed to eliminate altogether. Complicated and messy and beautiful? Also, to be sure.

But what I really realized was that I'd been listening to Sandinista! wrong all along. I'd been listening to it as a double cd. At my worst, I'd mixed it down to a more manageable hip-hop 70 minutes. So, of course, the original article never stood a chance. If, for one reason more than all the others put together, I'd never heard the original article.

Since U2's aforementioned Joshua Tree, tracklisting has become a formulaic excercise in record making. Like U2 before them, most artists these days frontload their albums, making sure that it's impossible to stop the record for at least the first three songs. Until ambivalence sets in, anyhow.

But this, Sandinista! is something different altogether. Viewing it as six songs by six sides, what seemed like dubious tracklisting instantly became more understandable. The artist's vision opened up and revealed itself to me.

By breaking the work down into two wholes as opposed to the original three, the vision of the artist became difficult, muddy and unsympathetic. Grouping that work back into sides A and B, as opposed to disc 1 and 2, restores the original balance even if just a little.

Which is completely necessary when dealing with 36 songs. Twice.

Armed with this revelation, Sandinista! has already become less daunting and less of a taxing prospect. Now, its more of a beautiful proposition, wide open for interpretation and discovery.

With that in mind, here's the docket for Sandinista! and its tribute:

DISC ONE:
Side A.
-the Magnificent Seven
-Hitsville U.K.
-Junco Partner
-Ivan Meets G.I.Joe
-the Leader
-Something About England

Side B.
-Rebel Waltz
-Look Here
-The Crooked Beat
-Somebody Got Murdered
-One More Time
-One More Dub

***with the inclusion of "One More Dub" at the end here, this is obviously the safest of the three lp's. While not necessarily a barn burner of a charting record, this lp provides the safest and most reliable of songwriting on all three records. "One More Dub" is, at most, like the bonus remix track on most marketable records these days. Back then, they dubbed. Now, we remix.
Tomatoe... Tomahtoe...

DISC TWO:
Side A.
-Lightning Strikes (Not Once but Twice)
-Up In Heaven (Not Only Here)
-Corner Soul
-Let's Go Crazy
-If Music Could Talk
-The Sound of Sinners

Side B.
-Police on My Back
-Midnight Log
-The Equalizer
-The Call Up
-Washington Bullets
-Broadway

***In modern marketing terms, this would be a b-sides and rarities sorta disc. Most likely, a collection of oddities featuring songs as strong as most of their singles but lacking the cohesion to be included in the main event. But really, most of my favorite songs are on this disc and they feature the Clash stretching out at their craziest.

DISC THREE:
Side A.
-Lose This Skin
-Charlie Don't Surf
-Mensforth Hill
-Junkie Slip
-Kingston Advice
-The Street Parade

Side B.
-Version City
-Living in Fame
-Silicone on Sapphire
-Version Pardner
-Career Opportunities
-Shepherds Delight

***Again, in modern marketing terms, this would be the remix disc that the record company would trot out in order to get you to buy the record for... the third time. Half lazy, half inspired remixes? Check. Haphazard arrangements that showed more forethough put into the drug of choice? Check.... But don't be fooled. There is some crazy brilliant stuff on this lp. Its just hard to find because so much of it is just so... crazy.

Alright, now that we've mapped out the genome of this monster, let's get on to the actuall reviewin', yeah?

Reserving the Right to Make Mistakes

2009-07-27T23:12:00.000-07:00

(speaking of mistakes, bear with me- blogger has apparently decided that me using anything like line breaks or indentations is not allowed. sorry.)

Reserving the right to make mistakes is one of the biggest principles I hold dear. Sincerely, I really mean that. Because no one on this planet can claim infallibility or perfection. And the fact that we still strive to be something larger than the random moments we string together is honey on the tongue to me.

In that process, however, sometimes mistakes get made. Mistakes made in such spectacular and ambitious gestures that there hasn't been a scale invented yet to measure it. Not even by the Canadians, and they use the metric system. But in the hubris of those mistakes, sometimes, we also get moments of unimaginable beauty. Contrary, messy and complicated these moments may be, but a real beauty to behold nonetheless.

And I love these moments because they are quite often the most sincere and real that you'll ever get. And honestly? I'm often relieved to see that someone has the balls to fail on such spectacular scales. That someone is willing to fail in the name of taking life, art and everything in between farther, man.

Which brings me to tonights subject: The Sandinista! Project.

It's a track by track tribute album devoted to Sandinista! by the Clash. Why Sandinista!, you ask. Why indeed?

First off, let me say that at least the Clash were willing to fail. The closest U2 ever came was climbing out of a lemon. Which is not to say that U2 has never taken risks. Just never as blinkeringly straighforward as the Clash. That they've succeeded may be the Clash's biggest success... Because somebody learned their lessons well. But I digress.

Sandinista! was neither the revolutionary album that London Calling was nor was it the pop radio rope-a- dope that became Combat Rock. No. Sandinista! is the problematic record in an otherwise brilliant back catalog full of classic albums. In three lp's (that means six sides of vinyl, do the math), the Clash managed to not only make no decisions at all, they managed to make all the decisions at once. The album veers wildly from their love of dub and reggae to motown and rockabilly. Refusing to make a soul record or a dub record or a straight ahead rock record, they instead opted to make all of the records at once. One can imagine the band playing as fast as the engineers could put the tapes on reel, pausing only every once in a while to get St. Joe Strummer out of his "spliff bunker."

Plainly said, the album is a big hot sticky mess. And problematic for almost all of its fans. It's that friend who laughs out to loud at all the wrong jokes. You don't know why you love it, but you do.

Which is why someone actually had the gall to put together a track by track tribute album for it.

In it's own way, this should be a helluva hot sticky mess.

And I'm gonna review it, break it down, track by track to see how it stacks up. And I hope you're here to see it. Because, I think, the only way to do this proper is by reviewing it against the original article, track by track.

So here's the plan, Stan. Six sides of six songs each. I'm going to review side 1, track versus track. Then side 2 and so on.

It'll be my own little Sandinista Project. But nowhere near as beautiful as the original objects.
Be well. Take care of each other.

-e.m.

rudi, a message to you (a personal note)

2009-07-19T16:13:00.000-07:00

Actually, this message goes out to Cody more than anyone because he's been the first to call shenenigans on me.

So... yeah. Not a lot of updateage going on here as of late. So first off, apologies to anyone and everyone who has stopped by as of late to check in and see new material. I can see that you're out there. Thanks for stopping by. I hope to have a lot of new material up in the beginning of August if not sooner.

Truthfully, however, life has been busy as Tyler and I have worked pretty diligently to get a rough draft of our novel done. The work for me was pretty intense as I wrote myself into a corner or two and failed to discuss it with anyone. The moment I did, Tyler set me straight and work began again in earnest.

And so it happents that the stone has been lifted from the quarry. Now, Tyler will chisel it into some sort of magnificent statue. I, most likely, will just draw funny mustaches and anatomically incorrect doodles. So, fingers crossed, we'll have a draft to submit to all the right people very soon. The day will come, soon enough, that we'll all be begging you to buy a copy of it. It will be called This is Not a Love Song. I think it's gonna be hhhaawwwt. We hope you dig it.

Since finishing my portion of the roughie, I've also started writing a new piece. It's short and I hope to find a home for it. More details on that will be forthcoming soon enough, one way or the other. Who knows, I might even let you read it, yeah?

Also, work should begin on Pike St.'s Radio Silence. Yes. It's been two years since I worked on it in earnest. See a few paragraphs ago. The part about writing a novel. But yeah, here's hoping that Raf and I can get back in there soon and turn the mutha out. As I've recently stopped smoking, it's been a real trip finding out where my new voice is.

As for Ronin Rock?

I hope to have new posts up soon detailing the greatness that I've seen lately. Namely, No Doubt's re-introduction to America and Third Eye Blind reigning supreme at the Sunshine. Probably a few stray thoughts about the passing of MJ and possibly, maybe, I hope, a guest blogger or two.

Finally, one last reason (or rationalization) as to why the long silence. Finishing the rough draft of the album has been a great experience. I've literally grown to a place where I just feel better when I'm writing. Looking at this year's output on music, in itself, has been a great experiment. To see where my ability is in terms of writing music journalism, to see where my failing's and my successes are... It's been fun.

But it dawned on me over the last few shows that I've seen that I can offer better writing if I take it in a more personal direction and adhere just a little less to the parameters of typical music journalism. This is a shift that I think will take a little getting used to and I didn't want to just jump into it as I was finishing a much larger body of work. So please, come back, check it out, lemmeno what you think.

Thanks for reading.

Tripping the night fantastic-
e.m.pennington

i swear i'm not jumping the gun here

2009-06-24T00:41:00.001-07:00

but i'm really excited about this as the light is starting to creep in from the end of the tunnel. anyone who doesn't get this post... will. really soon. nonetheless, your bitchin' mixtape for pennington's half.

this is not a love song by annetenna
you only live once by the strokes
photograph by the verve pipe
found a job by the talking heads
johnny appleseed by joe strummer and the mescaleroes
she just happened by the mighty mighty bosstones
glamorous indie rock and roll by the killers
debaser by the pixies
myxomatosis(judge jury & executioner) by radiohead
let it dive by ...and you will know us by the trail of dead
bonnie brae by the twilight singers
ooh la la by goldfrapp
here it goes again by ok go
village idiots by catatonia
the righteous & the wicked by the red hot chili peppers
so much for the afterglow by everclear
all my friends by lcd soundsystem
problems & bigger ones by harvey danger
stuck between stations by the holdsteady
new routine by fountains of wayne
naked in the city again by hot hot heat
float on by modest mouse

ok... looking at this, i realize this is an impossibly hip list of songs that maybe only seany will appreciate. but i swear it's all great.

ciao.

M Ward at the Sunshine Theater, Albuquerque 20 April 2009

2009-05-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

"He knows one of our songs!"

And thus the story is told by one half of the Watson Twins as to how they met M Ward. The end result being their presence here in Albuquerque opening for him. The song in question is called "Southern Manners." Ripping into it with laid back ease and laden with soul and blues, they let their harmonies plead gently but intensely over the top of the song.

During the course of their set, they switch off on guitar duty with the other doing either percussion and/or backing vocals. It leads one to interesting questions over division of labor. They keep their set spare and minimal, only employing a keyboard player to keep up with them. The rest is kept pared down to guitar, melody and harmony with an occasional stab of small percussion like tamborine.

The effects, instantly both haunting and soothing, speak for themselves. Having provided the Duke City with enough peaceful vibes to soothe a herd of angry elephants, they thank the audience as they leave us to wait for M Ward.

Not long after, Ward takes to the stage in soft, subdued lighting which instantly renders him unrecognizable and evokes thoughts of him solely as "Him" from She and Him fame. The second guitarist runs a steady rhythm on acoustic as Ward tosses off one hot bluesy lick after another. Finishing the song, Ward starts to sing "I want it all" as the light kicks up, but just a little. He leads the band into a rambling blues number that shuffles and swaggers with the most rollicking of folk flavor. He sets the tone early by becoming a grab bag of disparate old school flavors.

Keeping the shuffle but opting for more force, the band kicks into the next song with a definite Bo Diddley beat. Preferring business to foreplay, Ward's band has now launched into three songs with very little time taken up in between. By the start of the fourth, though, Ward finally says hi to Albuquerque as he dives into a ditty somewhere between Charlie Daniels, Social D and the Beach Boys. He's not vintage so much as he is what vintage was coined to cover up: thrift store. His reach becomes more eclectic with each song selection.

The whole time, he belts out rugged, throaty vocals that shouldn't work. Not only do they work, but once you've heard them, you can't imagine them any other way. His voice rings out like a time warp transmission, echoing messages from the past through vintage speakers that distort the sound as they're unable to contain what pours out of them. In this way, his voice is perfectly suited to the music he plays.

When digging into a poppier, more contemporary vein, Ward lets the drummer take over as the bass drum starts to throb with the opening salvo of "Never Had Nobody Like You." Ward sings about seeing the dark side of the moon with a deft touch of contrition but more of a sly wink. As he moves into the next song, Ward finally tilts his hand for those that are watching. Played by any other band, the song would be pure rockabilly, but Ward deftly weaves in and out of genres like a musicologist David Bowie, chameolonically shifting from musical folklore to folklore.

The band slows the pace down a bit as Ward plays his first ballad of the evening. It comes out atmospheric and bluesy as Ward takes his time to really tease out leads. Keeping with this pace, Ward sits at the piano and lets his band do the heavy lifting for another slow burn ballad. A girl somewhere in the audience screams out for the song "Chinese Translation."

Ward stops and lookes to the audience with more self assuredness than most people have in a lifetime. "That will come soon enough," he gently responds, "First, I thought I'd play a few other songs until we get to that one." The audience cheers in approval as Ward has won them over with what is (now) obviously not a shy demeanor.

The band proceeds to take an Appalachian love song and turn it into an extended jam tinged with psychedelia. Upon completion, Ward and his band decide to stretch out as the drummer plays a simple four to the floor beat for the next few songs and the band rocks out accordingly. I always seem to hear a lot about the "new Nashville." I can't imagine it sounds anything like this and it makes me sad as Ward rips out another lead from his bag of vintage, this one somewhere between surf and bluegrass.

The band continues to rip into one style to the next as they go from power chord country to taking on Chuck Berry's over annunciated brand of blues with "Roll Over, Beethoven." A great way to end the normal set, really.

Returning to the stage, the bands dives straight into a honkytonk tornado before immediately launching into their heaviest number yet, courtesy of Ward's hammering piano skills. A style, of course, borrowed from the original killer, Jerry Lee Lewis. Standing up bars before the song is over, Ward bows to the audience and leaves just as anonymously as he arrived.

SXSW: the Hold Steady at Club DeVille

2009-05-20T23:44:00.000-07:00

Worries persist as to whether or not we're going to be able to get in to see the Hold Steady at the Mohawk. Obviously, since we're without wristbands, the evening ahead could be hardy work. So we decide to start the day, at four p.m., in the dining room at Stubb's. Having put off nourishment for most of the day, we have nothing but barbecue on our minds. We eat in silence as plates of ribs get demolished. Sated (decimated is more like it), we contentedly walk outside to face the afternoon Austin sunshine and the metaphorical music should getting in to see the Hold Steady prove an impossibility.

Then it hits me: the sound of somebody playing the 'Steady's "Sequestered in Memphis" at top volume. I hum along as I think about how excited somebody must be to be playing it so early in the evening. Suddenly, the realization drops in on me: could that actually be the band playing?

Hurriedly, we wander over to a tented parking lot and peer through the chain link fence. Yes, indeedy, it would seem I'm watching the one band I took on faith was going to be here at SXSW this year. We watch through the fence for a song or two when Tyler nudges my arm. I turn to see that there is no line to get in. And miracle of all miracles, the show is free.

We enter the venue after one of us argues with some poor girl handing out promotional materials for Saucony. Not to sound defensive, but she did call us losers. I laugh at the whole experience and start inching my way towards the stage. The band plays a handful of older songs that I'm not yet familiar with as well as perennial live favorites like "Party Pit" and "Stuck Between Stations."

Craig Finn is all jittery and spastic nerves as he veers between singing and hitting those Joe Strummer chords on the guitar that he seems to so rarely use. His face seems to be torn between the emotions of intense euphorical joy and being completely overwhelmed at the enormity of it all.

Tad Kubler, the heavy metal guitarist stuck in a Springsteen band, looks different than I expected. In old photos, he looks doughy and bookish, as though he's entirely succumbed to middle age spread and its mentality. On stage, he is a lean rock and roll animal, adorned in a hip black polo with white trim. His arms, covered in rock ink, bash out lean heavy riffs while Finn does his best to preach to the choir.

On the opposite side of the stage, Galen Polivka and Franz Nicolay hold their own court. Polivka just bobs around as he holds the beat down for the rest of the band. In a few hours, I'll watch him blow out his bass amp at the Mohawk. He'll fidget with it for a few numbers before switching it out altogether for a different amp. Then he'll spend the rest of the evening drinking Lone Star tall boys and placing them on top of a sign on the amp. The sign will read "No Drinks Here!"

Nicolay, at both shows, jumps up and down in a furious pogo as he hits the keys with one hand. Refusing to be your typical keyboard player, he's dressed to the tee in a sharp white three piece suit and proves to be just as dynamic as their singer. That and he rocks a handlebar mustache. Hard to argue with that.

Finn prowls the stage, screaming and twitching and singing to audience- half the time without the mic. His joy is uncontainable as he encourages the audience to clap and sing along. It's great to hear so many voices sing "I'm gonna walk around and drink some more." Objectively, it's a sad line that speaks to the lost. Here, however, it's truly inspiring to hear the audience carry the song.

When it comes time to toast "St. Joe Strummer," Finn screams at the audience to "get 'em up!" Obligingly, a hundred fists pump up and down in unison to the beat. In this light, it's obvious that Finn and his crew are exactly where they belong: fans of the music preaching to their choir. The only difference between the band and their fans being the stage, everyone leaves with their faith renewed in this moment of pure rock and roll bliss.

your bitchin' mixtape for the hold steady at the mohawk:*

Positive Jam

Constructive Summer

unknown song

Sequestered in Memphis

Multitude of Casualties

Stevie Nix

One for the Cutters

Stuck Between Stations

Massive Nights

Party Pit

You Can Make Him Like You

Your Hoodrat Friend

Stay Positive

Southtown Girls

Slapped Actress

unknown song/Killer Parties

*as always, unknown songs should be replaced by your favorites.

SXSW: James Harries with Nellie McKay

2009-05-19T22:29:00.000-07:00

There's a little amount of anxiety present as we shuffle into line at St. David's. After all, as completely unaware as we were the previous night, we can't help but appreciate the cosmic sense of irony at starting our evening in a church. For the second evening in a row.

Initially, it's hard not to feel like we got a bit of the shaft. We came for Nellie McKay. But she's being billed as a special guest to this James Harries guy. Whoodat?

He stands at the mic with an acoustic guitar in hand and emotes his way through a few songs. His voice is strong and resonant. His songs take on a haunting quality that lazy journalists would compare to Jeff Buckley. But that's too easy. And too obvious given the singer's disheveled hair.

Still, at moments, it seems apt as when the singer brings his voice to a whisper, it's clear that he doesn't need the mic. He wrings every emotional atom possible out of every sung syllable. He changes his range at the drop of a dime and goes from hushedly quiet to an earth shattering vibrato. Clearly, Jeff Buckley would be proud. As would other other obvious comparisons like Thom Yorke and Chris Cornell. After just a few numbers, Mr. Harries hurries off the stage. This can only mean one thing: It's McKay time.

Nellie McKay enters the room to thunderous applause, nods humbly and sits down at the piano. Teasing chords out of it before ripping into the meat of the song, she sings about being secondhand and namechecks Joe the Plumber, a man she claims to "abhor." With no pause given or warranted, she launches into the next song with a little more sultry smokiness and a lot less whimsy.

Clearly, this audience loves her as they thunderously applaud. She strums the keys of her piano with all the laconic ease of a functionally alcoholic lounge singer: effortless and aloof. Taking this aloofness to another level, she rambles on through a monologue that takes on an air of pure ditz. She does it so well, one wonders if it's an act at all. Maybe it's just the way she introduces the song, "Ghost of Yesterdays."

Interestingly, this audience that loves her so seems to be filled with artists from the festival as noted by the numerous wrists sporting green artists wristbands. Even Franz Nicolay from the Hold Steady will be spotted after the show as the audience peters out.

Playing what seems to be a pastiche of a character of hers, she finishes one of her songs played in a mousy voice. Using the same voice, she follows up by announcing the next number as one of her angriest. It's an announcement hard to take in that tiny little voice. Tearing into the song at about a million words per second, she (in her own words) fucks up the solo, announces it, does a dance and rips right back into the song without missing a beat. The audience is delighted.

She switches up her cutesiness by taking a moment to play a ukulele song but before long she is back at the ivories. She announces the next three songs as one before making a playful comment about learning cliches from cowboys. Combined, the next three songs are played with a quiet glee and sophistication that would place her somewhere just a little more aloof than contempororaries like Regina Spektor. Never one to let the playful moment go by, she sings a quick song about scat before launching into a quick cover/parody (it's hard to tell) of Patsy Cline's "Walking After Midnight."

When she stops playing for laughs and rips loose, her voice, at times intentionally thin and mousey, becomes a real force to behold. Of course, watching her play for laughs is every bit its own joy to behold.

Apologies

2009-05-18T21:19:00.000-07:00

Apologies to everyone. I've been slacking in my own bloggage due to a variety of circumstances. Most of which make for poor excuses and are no excuse for the lack of activity here.

So... Over the next week, I'll be doing my best to post all the stuff that I've written and just failed to put up here.

Starting with a dump of all the South by Southwest reviews. Then MWard. In the next few weeks, we can hope to see accounts of upcoming shows like No Doubt and Third Eye Blind.

So, hope you're still out there cause I'm still here.

Additionally, at the prodding of my father, I changed the look around a bit to make easier to read. Any thoughts? Do we look pretty?

SXSW: Fastball at Aces

2009-03-30T00:51:00.000-07:00

Granted, Fastball are a local act, but the audience is jazzed to see them all the same. And why not? There's a tendency to use SXSW as a launching pad for all the new exciting things you'll be listening to in the hot summer funtime.

If Fastball's opening number is any indication of the comeback they're hoping to make, then they're certainly going to do it with gusto, Thin Lizzy guitar solos and all. They bring with them to the stage a certain sense of professionalism as evidenced their use of the most effective opening number and the minutes spent tuning beforehand.

Tellingly, they slink into their second song with a little more swagger and a little less force. Due to sound problems, they've had to abandon any use of their keyboard and relegated it as a prop leaning against the wall in the background. Still, one wonders what sort of sublime beauty is going to be missed as a result during the quieter moments.

As a resounding answer, they begin to play "Out of My Head," probably their second biggest single. Keyboard or no, they are determined not to be stopped as the lead guitarist pulls off a sweltering solo. Having dispenced all keyboard doubts, they roll right on into funkier territory as they play their next song with just a hint of cheekiness. They may be the band with the worst haircuts, but tonight they are owning the moment as they slip from song to song, sometimes even seguing from one to the next.

Placed on a stage with a bar between them and the audience, the band takes a moment to chat up the bartenders and lose all momentum. Theis seems to work for them, however, as the next song smolders a little before taking off into their more familiar uptempo Fastball territory. Once familiar footing is achieved, they take it back to really familiar territory.

Opening the next song, the drummer fidgets with his kit as the technical difficulties are not quite finished for the evening. The lead guitarist, decked out in his leather jacket and some really nice spats, takes the moment to connect with the audience as he strums the opening chords of their once ubiquitous single, "The Way." All this despite the rest of the band's concerns over how much time they have left. With just this last song to go, they start out harmoniously before shifting from crunchy power chords to ambient solo time. Teasing out the end of the song for all they can, they end as they began: taking the moment for all its worth without excess.

Prepare Soul for Departure pt. 2: Thou Shalt Not Always Necessarily Kill

2009-03-25T01:08:00.000-07:00

Sadly, it looks as though thous shalt not always kill. Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip are the first casualties of the South By SouthWest Music Conference as it's already been announced that Mssr. Le Sac is waylaid by illness and won't make it stateside.

Scroobius Pip, of course, will be hosting some event or another but, sadly, no music. Were the Holdsteady not playing, I'd be destitute, devastated and getting ready to John Berryman myself if I could only find a bridge and a blizzard. Still, I consider going just for the majestic sight of Pip's beard.

I imagine myself as that woman in the bible: so lonely, so desparate... so convinced of JC's power that she's satisfied just to touch the hem of his garment. Jesus, touched by her faith, grants her his grace.

Possibly. Maybe... If I touch Scroobius' beard, I, too, can be loquacious?

Incandescent?

English?

Possibly?

Maybe?

I ponder this before ordering another whiskey.

prepare soul for departure part 1

2009-03-25T01:00:00.000-07:00

It's time. Fog has crippled the Houston airport. My flight's been cancelled. I'm funneled to an earlier flight and placed next to an older gentleman incapable of using words like "excuse me" or "please." Common usage may or may include phrases like, "Excuse me, I believe your sitting in my seat." i wonder if this is a tactic espoused by the Ted Turner biography that his clumsy middle management hands thumb through so voraciously.

I imagine him as one of those bonus recipients that our great new presidenet Obama is so publicly shaming right now. I imagine a whole section of the plane devoted to him and his ilk. Coach. 1st class. Asshat. He's grossly impatient. I hear him mention a board meeting in Houston. Somehow, being brusque will get us there faster.

I want to turn to him and say, "Dude. Sir. I realize that you feel like you're a very important person and all. But. Seriously. Are you trying to make this flight feel eight hours longer?"

I imagine his stunned reaction as someone actually tells him face to face, "Sort your shit out. Dude. Sir."

That's right, mofo. It's e.m.pennington, word ronin extraordinaire versus your blood pressure medication.

And then I realize, as we are inflight to Houston to Austin for South By SouthWest, that the adventure is only beginning.

Wheee!

Ronin Rock Gets to the Heart of the Matter

2009-03-16T00:22:00.000-07:00

The heart of the music is more like it. This week I will be taking off for the fair city of Austin, Texas where I will be indulging in the annual South by Southwest Music Conference. For those of you in the know, of course, its SXSW and will be referred to as such from now on.

There are really only two bands that I wanted to see this year: Gogol Bordello and the Holdsteady. Having gotten my Gogol in, its time for some Holdsteady. Which I hope to catch in Austin. Additional highlights will hopefully include Dan LeSac vs. Scroobius Pip, Third Eye Blind and Okkervelle River. Its a real exciting time for me.

Thanks go out to E and Travis for making this happen (especially E for helping me with so much beforehand and during), Tyler for being my partner in crime, Vic and her husband for putting up with us and Lauren for much of the same. If I can get my cellular service to stop being failure, I might even get to twitter it at pennifuzzbox@twitter.com. High hopes. I know. But you never do know, really.

Thanks for being here. Hope to have fun exciting stuff to bring back to you all.

Floating On with Modest Mouse at the Sunshine Theatre 26 February 2009

2009-03-16T00:08:00.000-07:00

Typically, you hear an air raid siren, it’s time to run. That’s when trouble starts. Tonight however, is different because it signals that Modest Mouse has taken the stage. Isaac Brock, clad in the obligatory Pacific Northwestern garb of jeans, t-shirt and flannel, takes to the moment to announce, "Hey, we’re the rock band!" Without another word, the band launches into Good News’ "Satin in a Coffin." The audience sings along to every word.

When Modest Mouse first announced itself to the world at large with their epic bad time sing along "Float On," it seemed as though the rock and roll deadpool gained a new candidate in Brock. In interviews he came off as sullen and aloof. And those were the interviews where Brock wasn’t dogged by (if not completely indulging in) the constant rumors of drunken mania and possible psychosis in a reputation he couldn’t or didn’t seem to want to shake. Coupled with the hushed and sprawling majesty of Modest Mouse’s aptly titled Good News for People who Love Bad News, one could be forgiven for expecting the worst.

With the release of their follow up, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank, a new Modest Mouse emerged. Paired with Johnny Marr (of Smith’s fame), the new album was muscular and focused where its predecessor was epic and lush. Brock also appeared more focused in the media, as though he was taking his place in the rock pantheon seriously. Still, Brock has often come off as a songwriter at war with himself. He knows how to write the songs with the catchy melodies but never actually seems to indulge in them.Tonight, as the lights dimmed and the crowd chanted the band’s name in anticipation, the question lingered: which Brock was going to show up?

Fans concerned with whether or not the band sold out to the mainstream are almost instantly gratified as the band steamrolls into a song from their earlier indie catalog. Taking care of their newer fans, they shift just as quickly into "Dashboard," the first single from their last album.

While the band has always centered around Brock, drummer Jeremiah Green and bassist Eric Judy, there is no doubt that Brock is the band’s super-ego. The band has done their best to set up the stage to accommodate the three of them plus another guitar player (who is not Johnny Marr), a keyboard player and a percussionist. Still, Brock is consistently just a little more well lit than the others. It’s a part of being the singer songwriter and Brock seems to accept it just a little grudgingly.

In fact, Brock does very little to promote the idea of the lead singer as rock god. He spends very little time indulging in stage banter and when he does, it’s often to talk about the constant tuning he’ll do over the course of the evening. It’s almost as if he’s bantering to the soundguy. In fact, the whole band seems oblivious to the audience’s presence as they gravitate towards one another in the more orgasmic parts of their set. The music is where they live and if you want to see a band that lives only for the music, you came to the right show.

Brock, in particular, does his best impression of a live wire dangling on the floor. Starting with the first song of the show, he often sings into a separate mike, rigged to sound like a bullhorn, as though his life depends on it. At one point during the evening, he’ll even serenade the pickups on his guitar.

Slowing the pace of the show down a little, the band plays "Missed the Boat," We Were Dead’s answer to "Float On. Flaunting the sort of musical proficiency that will pervade the evening, bassist Eric Judy switches to acoustic guitar as the keyboard player moves to an upright bass. Afterwards, Brock indulges one of his few rock star moments of the show and implores the audience to show him their tits. The male audience, that is. Of course, the guys comply.

Moving onto "Wild Pack of Family Dogs" and "the View," Brock finally seems to be warming up to the audience. Then he indulges in the band’s other rock star moment of the evening.
Halting the band midway through "Paper Thin Walls," he declares, "It’s kind of a bullshit song. The second half is exactly the same as the first. You just play it twice." He asks the audience if they want to hear it again and they indulge him. Although it’s obviously a showbiz stunt (and another helping of self deprecation), the band stops and starts the song with an admirable proficiency.

As the band rips through "Bukowski" and another old school jam lost on fans of their major label catalog, the audience has got to be getting antsy in anticipation of "that song." That song that showed up on Guitar Hero even. Will "Float On" be the rousing bar singalong originally promised when it was first released as a single? The band pays no mind to these sorts of thoughts as they rip into another old school number with a muscular riff and a juicy chorus before taking their encore break.

Returning to the stage, the percussionist starts off by tapping some bongos. As the band suddenly lifts into "Float On," the sing along is hardly disappointing as everyone raises their voices. While it should be inspiring to see an audience so united in a "moment," it hardly is as Brock seems unwilling to indulge in any more time spent on the song than the original recording allowed. The band provides solace for old school fans as they tear into "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes" and "Cowboy Dan."

Finishing the set with "Spitting venom," Brock turns to the audience to apologize. "We’d like to play more," he admonishes the audience, "But we have to finish by a certain time here." Possibly an inference to a last minute venue and time change for the show, it seems more likely that an apology for having to cut short a band exactly where it wants to be. Playing its music.

your bitchin' mixtape
(Substitute the songs I didn't recognize for your favorites that they missed. Personally, I'll be putting "Light It Up" in there.)

Satin in a Coffin
unknown song
Dashboard
Black Cadillacs
the Good Times are Killing Me
3rd Planet
Invisible
unknown song
Missed the Boat
Wild Pack of Family Dogs
The View
Paper Thin Walls
Bukowski
unknown song
unknown song
encore break
Float On
Tiny Cities Made of Ashes
Cowboy Dan
Spitting Venom

A Brilliant Thriller to Say the Least

2009-01-26T21:59:00.000-08:00

According to Rollingstone.com, talks are underway to bring Michael Jackson's Thriller to the stage. To which I say: Brilliant!

What's not to love? There be zombies, werewolves and a stunningly nubile young woman at the heart of it all.

So, without further delay, here are my ideas on how to make it not suck:

1)Use all the music from Thriller. It's one of the best albums ever. Ever. Justin Timberlake goes to bed dreaming about how to remake this album. To say that the producers would be sitting on an embarassment of riches is an understatement. And any writer who really just wants to tell a great story could find a way to make it work.

2)Along those lines, the story is simple. It's a boy who versus the world sort of story but a boy versus himself story as well. Boy meets girl. Boy has to compete with other boys for her affection. But boy also has to control the beast within or all is lost.

3)Thinking about putting new music in to pad the time of the piece? That's dicey. MJ has a huge catalog of great music to dig from, so I'd start there. But if you're gonna produce new music, go to the source. Get MJ. Get Quincy Jones. See what they can do before exploring any other options.

4)Three words: Zombies, Zombies, ZOMBIES. Man!

sure, it smells like teen spirit, but what is it really?

2009-01-19T19:50:00.000-08:00

Yeah. I'm a thirty year old, grown man who likes to write about pop music. Not necessarily the Michael Jackson, Justin Timberlake vein of pop music (which is not without its validity), but pop music nonetheless. Pop music that's simply an artist following their own vision, even if that vision means *gasp!* being accessible to normal people. People who like to sing along.

Music is a young man's game. No doubt about it. Everybody from Little Richard right on up to My Chemical Romance has started their careers writing music about being young and, more often than not, disenfranchised. What would the Beatles have been without the mass hysteria of the screaming young masses and the global parental freakout that followed? Great damn songwriters, really. But sometimes it's hard to see past those moptops or the drugs.

Somewhere after that magical age of twenty five (i.e. not a college freshman but really shining off adulthood), you have to acknowledge that your taste in music is probably veering far off the course of the musical mainstream. And that, in its own way, is a golden thing. No longer bound by the tastemakers of modern corporate (or should I say conglomerate) radio, you're free to find your real muse. You're free to find music that is what it is, as opposed to music that plays like a pantomime of teenage rebellion and disenfranchizement. You're free to find yourself somewhere that is, preferably, far away from Nickleback.

And that's where I found LCD Soundsystem and their wonderful album, Sound of Silver. Initially, I'd read about them in a glowing write up at Slate.com where the author of the article raved about the song "All My Friends." An anthem for the aging disenfranchised, "All My Friends" sang about what it was like to grow up: putting on the favorite albums of your youth, staying up way too late, regretting the things that you said and realizing that you don't do it nearly often enough. Poignant, moving and funny, its underlined by an unalarming sense of dread as opposed to the sunny, cheerier feelings invoked by most summer time pop.

I was twenty eight when I found this. Certainly, the chorus of "You spend the first five years trying to get with the plan and the next five years trying to be with your friends again" certainly hit me as I watched friends move away, settle down into careers/relationships or all of the above. I couldn't help but feel like I'd found the self help seminar I'd always needed. I should be with my friends tonight. Dammit!

My girlfriend at the time, in one of her typical and frequent outbursts of kindness, bought the album for me. Possibly because she was tired of me cranking Franz Ferdinand's cover and raving that it was so New Order! What I found inside that cd case was nothing short of a musical leviathan in my life. Filled to the brim with songs of melancholic glee, it touched on the empty promises of nostalgia ("Sound of Silver"), death ("Someone Great") and even such adultly concerns as gentrification ("New York, I Love You"). I felt like I'd even found my anthem as a pub crawling twenty something in the song "North American Scum." Screw the Lost Boys. I'm part of the Lost Generation and we drink our way in.

super taranta-ta! at the 9:30 club with gogol bordello

2009-01-07T22:15:00.000-08:00

Shirtless, sweaty and sporting more facial than I've accumulated in my entire life, Gogol Bordello frontman Eugene Hutz sighed as he prepared to drop some knowledge on his faithful audience.

"The economy is down," he frowned and huffed, "But good music is up."

With that he shrugged his shoulders and blitzed into another fierce gypsy punk masterpiece with his band. The audience, ever faithful and devoted, jumped, danced and slammed along as they did to every number the band played that night. One would never have known to look at them as the doors opened earlier that evening.

Congregated towards the front of the stage, the hardcore fans waited patiently for the band to take the stage. Looking around the rest of the club, one could find everything from teenyboppers decked out in the latest mall wear to club kids resembling those of the ska-daze of yore. Even the demographic of a certain age were going to be accounted for as evidenced by the guy to my right discussing his organic diet with his date. Looking to the back of the club, one could even find the sound guy, looking bored in his fuzzy Elmer Fudd headwear.

Eventually, a dj takes the stage and starts to mix dub for the patient and the faithful. The audience mills about in some sort of half appreciation. Because tonight is Gogol Bordello's night and they create their own unique brand of ruckus; a heady dub that owes as much to the Clash as it does traditional Romany music. Most of the audience seems curious, at best. But if Gogol Bordello's reputation for chaotic and unpredictable live shows is to be believed, one can rest assured, that won't last long.

And as the dj leaves the stage, one can feel the audience start to catalyze. It's like the tension on a rubber band as its strained to its breaking point. Draped over the stage is a large Gogol Bordello banner adorned with the black and yellow logo of a slingshot and its hard to imagine a better metaphor for this increasingly impatient audience: they need to shoot and they need to shoot now.

Fortunately, Eugene Hutz (clad in a Ramones 3/4 tee) and Gogol Bordello takes the stage, acknowledges the audience and the proceeds to rip directly into Sally, the opener from their first album, Gypsy Punk. Nothing less than completely and totally psyched, the audience starts to dance as Hutz starts with his scat and is then followed in by the violin and guitar work. What follows can be described as nothing less than a molotov cocktail of a show. The audience sings along with every chorus, pogoing and slamming as they go. Refusing to lose momentum, the band rips into Not a Crime as they keep the audience moving like an unstable gas molecule.

The danger of forcing Gogol Bordello upon those closest to you is one of misconception; that somehow Eugene Hutz' thick Ukranian brogue and lunatic demeanor is played up for commodity, for gimmick. But watching this band play live should allay all those fears. For those that only know Hutz as that guy from Everything is Illuminated or that guy that hangs out with Madonna, have no doubt, this is a BAND. And what a band they are.

There is, of course, the typical constraints of a modern rock band: the singer with his guitar, the underappreciated guitarist off to the side working dutifully as he lays down the real monster riffs of the show, the bassist who moves as fluidly as his basslines and the drummer holding it all together in the back. But Gogol Bordello is not a modern rock band. They also keep both a violinist and accordian player who bring the more traditional elements of their music to the band. And then there's the percussionist, a delightful suprise to anyone who hasn't seen the band live. Acting as a true Flava Flav hype man to Hutz' Chuck D, he jumps to the front of the stage to supply backing vocals as well as toasting the audience when the song calls for it. A true showman, one can tell that if he weren't so busy keeping Hutz on his toes, he'd easily be fronting his own band and killing at will. Some are born for the stage and in a strange way, he balances Hutz' goofy aloofness with an indomitable force of will to just have fun, man.

And then there are the dancers. At times, they seem like the most gimmicky aspect of Gogol Bordello but their connection and appreciation for the audience is never in question as they bang their cymbals and drum. In fact, few bands have ever come off as more grateful in front of the crowd. At more than one point, everyone save the drummer could be seen at the front of the stage connecting with the audience.

And how the audience responded in kind. Through every number, they jumped when the song called for it and slammed knowingly as the songs kicked into high gear. They danced when the band decided to bring it down a bit and play the instrumental number Mishto! And by bringing it down, I mean making every ass in the house shake. When the chanting parts of the songs came up, every fist in the house pumped the air as voices shouted along.

Taking the stage for their encore, Hutz appeared in a big fuzzy bear hat as the band strolled through the opening chords of Start Wearing Purple. Teasing the opening of the song (and not for the first time that evening), they stretched it out into one long gypsy punk jam. Eventually tearing into the song, voices carried as everyone in the audience sang along. To finish the evening, they lauched into the opening chords of Think Locally/Fuck Globally, but instead Hutz and his hypeman chose to exchange toasting verses in what eventually became a cover of Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall. With that madness done, they really launched into Think Locally as the audience clapped along with every overpunctuated beat. Whipping up a maelstrom of a ruckus at the end the song, Hutz put his trademark fire bucket on top of his mike and drummed out his own little solo. Building to crescendo, Hutz removed the bucket and held it out over the audience as the band teased out the end of the song. Reaching out to the audience, Hutz mimed the action of picking as he plucked energy from the audience to fill his bucket with. Adding a dash of red wine and the microphone, he ended the show much like his music starts- taking a little bit of everything he likes and shaking, not stirring.

your bitchin' mixtape (setlist)

sally
not a crime
supertheory of supereverything/immigrant punk
dogs were barking
wanderlust king
mishto!
60 revolutions
american wedding
ultimate
tribal connection
santa marinella
oh no?/sally/underdog world strike/forces of victory
Intermission
start wearing purple
? (feat. another brick in the wall)
think locally/fuck globally

ronin rock

Walking the Line with Chris Isaak: Beyond the Sun

Leap Year: Ronin Rock's 2011 Bitchin' Mixtape

Reflections From 2011 the Pearl Jam Edition: Vs./Vitalogy/Live from the Orpheum Theater/20

BLACKOUT

More Reflections from 2011, the R.E.M. Edition: Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, Part Garbage 1982-2011

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Dynamite Steps/Live in New York by the Twilight Singers

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Sky Full of Holes by Fountains of Wayne

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Ceremonials by Florence + the Machine

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Hanna Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: 100 Lovers by Devotchka

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Collapse Into Now by R.E.M.

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: I Am Very Far by Okkervil River

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Past Life Martyred Saints by EMA

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: King of Limbs by Radiohead

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Neighborhoods by Blink-182

RetroActive: Achtung Baby by U2

Up All Night with Blink -182: Neighborhoods

Living Well is the Best Revenge

RetroActive: Pearl Jam is My Hot Rod

The Twilight Singers Play the Clubhouse in Tempe, 28 May 2011

"mary jane*"

"hardy*"

Priorities: I haz them!

RetroActive*: Cool'n Out with the Mighty Joe Strumm

If I Made the Magic 8-Ball...

More Than the Blur

How I Spent My Memorial Day Weekend

Your Bitchin' Mixtape: the Twilight Singers

the hardest part

indie

Stories That We Share Without a Word

The Ronin is NOT Out.

Ten Quick Thoughts Leftover From Collapse Into Now

Collapse into Now by R.E.M.

Your Bitchin' Mixtape: DeVotchKa!

Future Portends

Isolation

Dynamite Steps as performed by the Twilight Singers

The First Fair Warning of 2011

statisticalities

This is Not a Love Song- Split Singles, the Spirit of '91 & Rock and Roll String Theory

We Wanted our Rock Stars Dead

Confirmation of Everything I've Ever Known

For the Pseudo Ivy League Punters in the Audience

more thoughts on where stories come from

things that i think about

So tired, blah...

what's on radio free pennington this week?

thank you, A.L.H.

Poetry in Emotion

serving notice

first report from santa fe's 8 july 2010 Hold Steady show

Most People Are DJs: the Ronin Rock guide to the Hold Steady Pt. 2

dial m for nihilism

Killer Parties: the Ronin Rock guide to the Hold Steady part 1

Today's Thought on Fear

and then... twenty ten

i used to know you

namaste

A True Devotchka

That Space Between Your Ears

dancing in my head

exodus interuptus

Things I Wouldn't Mind...

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt. 3 Side 2

your monthly apology

Tower of Song

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt.2 SIDE A

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt. 1

Reserving the Right to Make Mistakes

rudi, a message to you (a personal note)

i swear i'm not jumping the gun here

M Ward at the Sunshine Theater, Albuquerque 20 April 2009

SXSW: the Hold Steady at Club DeVille

SXSW: James Harries with Nellie McKay

Apologies

SXSW: Fastball at Aces

Prepare Soul for Departure pt. 2: Thou Shalt Not Always Necessarily Kill

prepare soul for departure part 1