Sonic Lager For Lucid Minds

Your Smile Has Stopped The Hands Of Time (2002) – Roddy Frame

2008-03-07T21:43:00.000-08:00

There was a time when innocence was intact. Girls were classmates playing in schoolyards. Boys would watch with wonder under the spells cast by the pre-pubescent princesses cavorting before them. And then, there was the lonely girl who deemed herself unfit for such frolic. She was the one whose lonesome introspection enabled her to cultivate the alluring qualities that blossomed as she matured. Aztec Camera mastermind Roddy Frame recalls this girl from his youth, whom he recognized was so much more special than even she knew. He vividly remembers her smile from all those years back, anchoring them in that time, and he is a boy admiring her reclusiveness from afar.

Even now, he wants to invite her in from the peripheries of the playground.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Stormbringer (1974) – Deep Purple

2008-03-07T21:29:00.001-08:00

Deep Purple come riding in on an insistent, bare bones head-banging riff, as David Coverdale heralds the destruction that Stormbringer—a mythological representation of a tornado’s fury depicted on the album cover as a runaway white stallion in the sky—will wreak upon anything unfortunate enough to be in its path.

Listen to "Stormbringer" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Hard Rain (2007) – Shout Out Louds

2008-03-06T23:43:00.000-08:00

He thought it about time to confess to her what should have been fairly obvious. But if it was, she had never let on. So he composed a dramatic proclamation of devotion and placed on her car a written potpourri of laconic prose and excerpted Smiths lyrics which invited her to step outside her door at 11:00 p.m. that evening. He would be waiting to elucidate the jumbled mess of passion and stoicism that had so awkwardly come together on paper. The minutes crept slowly toward the designated moment of rendezvous. Finally, he heard footsteps from inside her house descending the stairs. . . .

Piecing together the tragic remnants of a phantom romance, the likes of which was quintessentially glorified in eighties pop culture, “Hard Rain” hits with full force in succinct phrases of profoundness: Adam Olenius mumbles with enough pithiness to qualify as Morrissey’s heir apparent for the aughts. Sharing the same musical sensibilities as The Killers—although closer in spirit to The Cure than the former—and with the anachronistic air of authenticity that informed the music of My Favorite, Shout Out Louds successfully evoke the era of ill-conceived letters scribbled from behind the emboldening uniform of black trenchcoats and Walkmen™, hairspray and eyeliner.

The song’s lively arrangement misrepresents its rueful essence. Olenius culls together tempestuous similes and concrete sensorial impressions to capsulize the pathos of the pivotal moment when an infatuation is professed and consequently rejected with silence. Spectral voices rain down in pelting sheets of remorse as the world begins to collapse around him. Bebban Stenborg interjects with deadpan detachment, perhaps as the rational voice of his psyche, perhaps as the girl vexed by his faux pas. At high volume, the typhoon of guitars that begins to build at 4:28 culminates in one of this decade’s more impressive recorded moments, a maelstrom of inner tumult ensuing from the lapse of judgment, intensifying until it disintegrates into particles of abject failure.

Listen to "Hard Rain" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Give It Up (1980) – The Jacksons

2008-02-23T12:09:00.000-08:00

The penultimate track on the Jacksons’ masterpiece Triumph crafts something wonderfully fresh out of the familiar. The lyrics reflect the most basic of pop song sentiments: a giddy optimism of romantic reciprocation and capitulation. The musical arrangement, on the other hand, represents an innovative vision in composition circa 1980. One’s sense of curiosity is piqued and then escorted by a jaunty piano tramp through an entryway where harp glissandos dart by, as discoballs begin to twirl to a post-disco groove on the dancefloor. The two distinct musical motifs intertwine throughout, as the mood alternates between guardedness and delectation. Marlon lends co-lead vocals which, along with Michael’s fragile falsetto, emit enough goodwill to fill a VW van on the way to a Little Miss Sunshine competition. The boogie segues into a color guard of cellos leading a military snare march toward the dawning of a new day with globules of crystalline synth dripping from above. As the smoke from the fog machines clears, there is little use in anything other than falling in line.

Listen to "Give It Up" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

I Just Really Miss You (2007) – Miranda Lambert

2008-02-17T21:01:00.000-08:00

They typically signify gloom: dark clouds, sad songs, the hard wind. Yet Nashville Star Season 1 finalist Miranda Lambert extracts from such clichéd metaphors a moving despondency that overwhelms the listener with empathy. As a Target™ exclusive track, “I Just Really Miss You” proves that not all such addendums are throwaways—the occasional ace in the hole awaits discovery. Lambert has secreted this surprise through limited availability; perhaps she is unsure whether she wants to expose such nakedness to a lowest common denominator, instead rewarding devoted fans who make the extra effort to obtain it. Or, maybe she just succumbed to a cheap marketing ploy designed to sell more copies. Regardless, the song stuns with its simplicity, both lyrically and musically, Lambert hanging her vulnerabilities bare like laundry on a clothesline, letting the rain and wind have their cathartic way so that she can begin anew once the inclemency subsides. The vestiges of a relationship that could not survive still clutter her head and burden her heart, as she reconciles the infeasibilities that compelled them to part. A couple of soul-steering chord changes underscore the perverted celebration inherent in misery, an appreciation of the piquancy of life’s pain.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Witchcraft Tips (2002) – Dame Darcy

2007-10-31T06:46:00.000-07:00

Perhaps in a secret cove nestled somewhere between Disneyland’s New Orleans Square and Frontierland is an attraction which finds Dame Darcy propagating her predilection for gothic neo-Victorian aesthetics in the guise of a witch. “Witchcraft Tips” could be a lo-fi field recording of Darcy preparing the soundtrack for said attraction, spontaneously culling together audio snippets in the nature of an impromptu performance art piece. Tossed into her cauldron: suspenseful dissonance straight out of Elvira’s Movie Macabre; blustery wind effects followed by Gold Rush Era gaiety one might hear in the Haunted Mansion and on Mark Twain’s Riverboat, respectively; simulated pseudo-echoes (you know, like when you pretended you were a baseball announcer as a kid); patent cassette tape manipulation qua crude sampler; tortured banshee wailing; the chorus from Donovan’s “Season Of The Witch”; the whir of a spacecraft preparing to lift off. Her manner of phrasing deliberately affected, Darcy touts her soothsaying powers and comprehensive sorcery courtesy of the E.Z. Bake Coven (which, in cyberspace, is Darcy’s informal association of like-minded artisans of the female persuasion). With the inventiveness of imaginative role-playing in which children engage, this intriguing concoction casts a spell both droll and . . . wait for it . . . bewitching.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Crop Circles (2006) – Visionaries

2007-10-24T16:06:00.000-07:00

When I was a junior high student in the ‘80s, there were two eminent trendsetters who were: (a) taller than the rest of us; (b) better-looking than most of us; and (c) breakdancers—a combination that netted them überpopularity. One of them was John Baker, of whom I have written about elsewhere; the other was Kikuo Nishi. While John went on to play bass in indie rock bands, Kikuo focused his efforts on hip-hop.

Now known as KeyKool, Nishi is currently a member of Visionaries, a multi-cultural rap collective. While lyrically “Crop Circles” is not mind-blowing or soul-stirring, it is bounce-inducing, boasting a pretty persuasive beat and dexterous scratching courtesy of Rhettmatic. Overall, it’s one of the more amusingly entertaining jointz I’ve heard—especially because their earnest tone is a bit inapposite to the lyrical upshot. From 2Mex’s nearly unintelligible babble to the refrain that proposes the ridiculously awesome concept of leaving crop circles on the dance floor, the net effect is one of comedic ingenuity, leaving its imprint ingrained in the crop fields of your consciousness.

Listen to "Crop Circles" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

A Little Kiss Is A Kiss Is A Kiss (1960) – Connie Stevens

2007-10-24T16:01:00.000-07:00

“A Little Kiss Is A Kiss Is A Kiss” is Connie Stevens exulting in the physiological manifestations and inexplicable flightiness of a teenage crush. Her voice lilts with a perky flirtatiousness that rivals Shelley Fabares and Ann-Margret in their unsullied juvenescence. The chirpy vocal vivacity; the pollyannaish orchestration; the giddy la la las that ring out in a realm of copious reverb—it all amounts to the vintage prototype for modern-day twee pop.

Listen to "A Little Kiss Is A Kiss Is A Kiss" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

June 18, 1976 (2000) – Pedro The Lion

2007-10-23T12:45:00.000-07:00

Had Lux Lisbon of Jeffrey Eugenides’ The Virgin Suicides not ended her own life with her sisters, it’s almost inevitable she would have done so eventually. Promiscuous beauty that she was, though, she would likely have gotten pregnant first. Given that The Virgin Suicides was set in the mid-1970s, “June 18, 1976” could conceivably be about Lux and the moments preceding her death, as David Bazan breaks the news in bard-like fashion to Lux’s child.

In an egregious case of post-partum depression, a girl who just gave birth bids a final farewell to her newborn before leaping from the top of the hospital rooftop. While her suicide could be viewed as an allegory for young women who sacrifice the suppleness of their nubile bodies for the sake of bearing children, the narrative’s crux is reflected in the impact upon the bystanders who discern the calm gracefulness of her plunge, conveying her belief that she is plummeting toward peace, which enables them to reconcile the violent fate of one so lovely and yet so inextricably sad. In this regard, the song channels the essence of American Beauty, as where Wes Bentley’s character, Ricky, takes in the horrific poignancy reflected in Kevin Spacey’s expression as the blood oozes from his skull, as if Ricky understands Spacey’s character is, at that moment, reliving the most beautiful moments of his life as his soul passes to its state of permanence.

Sometimes tragedy and beauty are necessary counterparts.

Listen to "June 18, 1976" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Biggest Part of Me (1980) – Ambrosia

2007-10-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

Lead singer David Pack includes enough variety in his vocal tones, and the Doobie Brothersesque multi-part harmonies add enough warmth, to make this otherwise saccharine avowal of adoration appealing. But Joe Puerta makes this song exceptional with perhaps the most meaningful bass line to be found in soft-rock, reminiscent of Verdine White’s masterpiece on “That’s The Way Of The World.”

Listen to "Biggest Part Of Me" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Crisis King (1997) – Helmet

2007-10-19T15:23:00.000-07:00

After the inconsistency of the at-times mundane offerings on 1994’s Betty, Helmet’s 1997 release, Aftertaste, was a desirable return, at least in part, to the menacing disembowelment of dentigerous dropped-D riffs and Page Hamilton’s raspy gnarl that raged rampant on 1990’s Strap It On. Befitting the lyrical personification of tribulation as a fiendish despot who overwhelms with sadistic tyranny, Hamilton’s guitars alternate between metal riffs, slight dissonance and ominous chromatic scales, all emanating with Mesa/Boogie crunch in double-tracked amplitude over John Stanier’s moshable drum gallop to render album-closer “Crisis King” a brouhaha between sovereign and subject. The abrupt metric sleight of hand that tweaks the momentum at 1:34 sends the band careening roughshod through the kingdom with reckless disregard for the welfare of bystanders, who recoil from the anathema of crisis come calling.

Listen to "Crisis King" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Nothin’ Like The Summer (2007) – Carmen Rasmusen

2007-10-06T11:34:00.000-07:00

Carmen Rasmusen is the only American Idol contestant I have ever voted for. (That is, until Season 7 when Kristy Lee Cook and Kady Malloy made the Top 24.) My selectiveness proved to be well-founded: not only will “Nothin’ Like The Summer” stand as a timeless summer song, but also as the best single by an Idol contestant to date.

“Nothin’” finds Carmen’s fresh-faced persona smack dab in the dog days of small-town America, idle and innocent. Romance is on the agenda, as she ruminates over the hallmarks of the season where recreation and pastime are preludes to canoodling at the county fair. The song doesn’t rely on a catchy hook so much as it does an umbrella of well-crafted lyrics, an easy-going melody, and a relaxed pace. What impresses even more is that Rasmusen co-wrote this song, whereas other Idol contestants have launched songs assembled by producers from a team of songwriters.

A budding artistry is evident in her lyrics. While the “flip-flops”/”tic-toc” rhyme could have been corny, in context it smartly evokes the seasonal laze where the golden rules hammered into the brain during school are stashed away in favor of life’s leisurely pursuits and love’s geometry. Contemporary country music too often abuses descriptive literal narratives without regard for the listener’s ability to interpolate a lyric’s meaning. While Rasmusen constructs her estival ode with picturesque descriptions, she affords the listener sufficient leeway to import their own experience: the enterprise of the lemonade stand; the dizzying swoon of flirtation on the Ferris wheel; the dusk-‘till-dawn adventures by the lake; the stardust lounge of the backyard barbeque.

Perhaps the four-year layover between the height of her Idol fame and eventual album release allowed Rasmusen to address the vocal tendencies which so many had criticized while she was a contestant; they are barely discernable now, if at all. Carmen’s vocals unfurl with controlled dynamics and expressive warmth, a picnic blanket on which to recline as she basks in the festival of her senses. And, as evidenced here and elsewhere on her debut album, Rasmusen’s voice charms most endearingly when it sails into its falsetto.

As far as the most celebrated Idol alumnae go, Kelly Clarkson’s biggest hits were moderately catchy, but largely a product of pre-packaged songwriting that never rose above the One Tree Hill demographic at which they were aimed. Carrie Underwood, with her pop-tinged voice, is miscast as a country artist, which makes her success in that industry mind-boggling. Carmen Rasmusen will probably never reach the commercial milestones Clarkson and Underwood have enjoyed, but her success lies in making a memorable splash long after the ship of Season 2 Idol hoopla left the harbor. With the strength of “Nothin’ Like The Summer” as her lead-off single, if “Stranded” and “Keep Me Forever Falling” are released as follow-ups, she may yet score a ride on a luxury liner.

Listen to "Nothin' Like The Summer" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Heimdalsgate Like A Promethean Curse (2007) – Of Montreal

2007-10-06T11:31:00.000-07:00

Before boarding the loopy carnival ride of medication, Kevin Barnes exhorts his chemical imbalance to achieve equilibrium without the crutch of antidepressants. Atop a blithe synthpop arrangement at odds with the helplessness he feels, Barnes’ quirky vocals rue the psychological morass that has time and again sapped him of creativity, incapacitated him, and strained his marriage. Hopefully, the inevitable infusion he administers to his cerebral synapses will benignly effectuate a synthetic synergism upon his reservoir of neurotransmitters—a pharmacological panacea, the Heracles to his Promethean punishment.

Listen to "Heimdalsgate Like A Promethean Curse" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Channel One Suite (1997) – Buddy Rich and the Buddy Rich Big Band (produced by Neil Peart)

2007-10-06T11:27:00.000-07:00

Although one could focus on the technical wizardry evident in the legendary Buddy Rich’s actual drumming incorporated into this re-working of Rich’s “Channel 1 Suite,” what proves to be just as entertaining is the parade of euphemisms the string of big band singers concoct in the second movement to acknowledge that Buddy Rich was a grade-A asshole. The sincerity with which they pay tribute while simultaneously maligning him is artful.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Da Mystery Of Chessboxin’ (1993) – Wu Tang Clan

2007-10-06T11:14:00.000-07:00

Under the auspices of Wu-Tang, RZA enters the combat chamber, throwing down kung-fu cinema snippets and his trademark dynamically flat rudimentary beats, as guttural grunts plod in the background. Armed with raspy voice and audacity, U-God calls out the pretenders in unadorned fashion. Citing ghetto origins as the foundation for his incorrigibility, Inspectah Deck ups the ante with a more accomplished flow, a more captivating voice. Momentarily altering the lyrical rhythm, Raekwon takes the verbal baton to wax philosophical about the virtues of middle-tier materialism via street economics, denigrating chumps caught up in conspicuous consumption. Method Man dishes the call-out hook, inciting support from the spectator degenerates. Exiled from his precinct, Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s inebriated bluster is overheard from a neighboring village before his 25½ bars proper arrive, whereupon he stumbles in to bewilder with his beloved buffoonery. Wielding the formidable dual weapons of hyperactive rhyme and overbearing whine, Ghostface Killah slices through the rice paper walls with erumpent energy to recount his vanquishment of lesser foes before exiting to victorious Wu-Tang chants. Masta Killa wraps up the tourney by detailing the insidious demise unsuccessful challengers will suffer at his hands.

Step off, bow out, and go cry to your McDojo, son.

Listen to "Da Mystery of Chessboxin'" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Tomorrow (2004) – Emma Bunton

2007-08-04T18:16:00.000-07:00

Beneath the pigtails and babydoll dresses, Emma Bunton was the most comely member of the Spice Girls, innocently cloaking the group’s inherent raunchiness with her Baby Spice persona. But it would behoove many to regulate as a controlled substance the pleasurable seduction in her delicate, coquettish wisp of a voice in order to curtail mania by audio intoxication. With “Tomorrow,” Bunton tries on for size the role as long-overdue heiress to Olivia Newton-John’s throne and, at least for this moment in time, she is sitting pretty. Her breathy vocal quality imparts a gossamer sheen unto a lilting melody that evokes ‘60s mod sensibilities to puffs of horns à la Bacharach, elongated plumes of strings on loan from Percy Faith’s orchestra, and a lazy bossa nova worthy of Jobim’s blessings. Bunton’s tale of guiding her man through bouts of self-doubt and depression with the panacea of amorous affection even recalls the gender roles of a different era—more “Stand By Your Man” than “Independent Women, Part I”—and a far cry from Girl Power.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Life Is Like A Star (1983) – Sandie Shaw (Ilona Kish/Phil Sawyer/Sandie Shaw)

2007-08-04T18:14:00.000-07:00

“Life Is Like A Star” is the one song that would have been more appropriate than “Magic” playing in the background while Olivia Newton-John glided across the floor of what would eventually become Xanadu. Like an errant vestige of the bygone era of rollerskating pinball wizards, it skirts along the cusp of memories that are actually figments, perforating apertures of familiarity in that which is foreign. Sprightly echoes of staccato Rhodes piano radiate into psychotropic chord transitions that probably violate some theory of juxtaposition, frolicking to a nifty 15/8 time signature before settling into an easy disco sashay. In lyrically conjuring images of streaking celestial bodies sparking the colors of the universe and meshing to create “a richly woven symmetry of illusion,” the song betrays its likely genesis in the heavy use of hallucinogens, a de facto endorsement of under-the-influence creativity.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Xanadu (1980) – Electric Light Orchestra featuring Olivia Newton-John

2007-08-04T18:12:00.000-07:00

As part of the closing montage for the 1980 box office bomb, it channels the inspiration of a muse, creating a synergy of renewal between dreams gone by and dreams on the wane, fusing to breathe new life into a deserted building. The ultimate ode to a glorified rollerskating rink, “Xanadu” exploits Olivia Newton-John’s gift for altering sensorial perception through melody. From the opening synthesizer glissando, ELO’s conspicuous chord changes lay down the steps upon which Olivia’s voice perambulates, unlocking the realms of fantasy to the groove of the bassline’s gyrations. Electric piano, strings and Jeff Lynne’s trademark multi-part vocals purfle a kaleidoscopic arrangement as luminescent as the neon lights—and as celebratory as the protagonists’ triumphs—of which its lyrics speak.

As payoff for enduring a dog of a movie and a tedious choreographed scene to commemorate the grand opening of Xanadu, Olivia emerges onto the screen to perform the title song in her final bow as a muse, having never looked more radiant in threatening to turn the viewer into a pillar of salt. Unforgivably, there’s a dearth of shots focusing on her, director Robert Greenwald’s shortsighted blunder preserved on film: you just don’t squander the opportunity to showcase such a natural beauty.

Listen to "Xanadu" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

See also "Magic" (1980) – Olivia Newton-John

Dumb Job (1993) – Oiler

2007-07-19T13:33:00.000-07:00

About 14 years ago, I was stopped at a red light in my hometown. A former classmate, John Baker, pulled up beside me and we exchanged salutations. He told me to come and see his band, Oiler, play. (Regrettably, I never did.) A few days later, I went to my favorite independent record shop for a weekly replenishment and saw an Oiler/Rig split 7”. I purchased it and went home, eager to listen. Oiler’s contribution to the single, “Asphalt Field,” fit right in with the Amphetamine Reptile brand of noisecore I was immersed in at the time—more Helios Creed than Helmet, but enjoyably raucous nonetheless.

Let me back up a little, for my musical proclivities owe a great debt to said Mr. Baker.

I was a lonely loser in seventh grade. I was the guy who had signs taped on his back by cruel pranksters. I had one friend, and he was privy to the “in” crowd, so I had always hoped that, being one step removed, I could eventually qualify for inclusion in their exclusivity. In eighth grade, John, a member of the “in” crowd, was kind enough to at least acknowledge my existence and associate with me on a friendly level. I felt as though he took me under his wing, if not out of pity, then perhaps out of human decency.

He was always one step ahead of the crowd, extremely bright, handsome, popular, and, quite frankly, I don’t think he even gave a fuck. I suppose that’s why he extended a hand of friendship to me: he saw a pathetic figure who needed someone to show the way when others wouldn’t. From there, I idolized John’s stylistic sense, and took a cue from his musical outlook and academic pursuits. We would pound out the urban beats of “Planet Rock” and “Looking For The Perfect Beat” on our desks, yet he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the glamorous Duran Duran was rad. When I wanted to take Japanese or French, he coaxed me into taking Latin (which believe it or not, came to have its benefits). We were both going to be brain surgeons, you see. And I say that without the least bit of sarcasm. Well, at least HE was smart enough to become a brain surgeon.

He was a fan of what were at the time relatively cutting-edge bands like The Cure, Echo and The Bunnymen and Dead Kennedys, while I proclaimed on my Pee-Chee All-Season Portfolio an allegiance to radio-friendly new wave like Berlin, A Flock of Seagulls, Missing Persons and Billy Idol. He sported extreme and colorful skull-adornment choices before I ever dared to gallivant with my approximations of Robert Smith or Ian McCulloch gravity-defying hairstyles.

My high school years proved to be rich with drama, each fanciful misstep enhanced and exacerbated by the backdrop of what was then known as “alternative” music. But, I may never have ventured out of the mainstream were it not for John’s waywardness by example. I aspired to his exhibitionism in calling attention to oneself through flagrance, and his inscrutableness in caring fuck-all about what people thought. He influenced me both in terms of cultural tastes and self-esteem.

Although we drifted apart in high school—he went full-on hardcore punk, while I sank into the depths of quasi-gothdom—he opened my mind to music that eschewed the popular conventions that were polluting my classmates’ minds. And, I was reminded of his excellence when he wandered down the auditorium aisle all zombified, cutting a Sid Vicious-like figure covered in stage-blood in the senior class’s humanities production of Dante’s The Divine Comedy. This dude was awesome.

At one point during junior high, John and I had briefly traded basses—I have to believe he did this out of benevolence, as I had a crappy Rowland (not misspelled) bass, and he had, if I recall correctly, a candy-red Fender P-bass. It’s not surprising that he eventually came to play bass for Oiler.

On “Dumb Job,” my favorite Oiler track, John doesn’t threaten to eclipse Geddy Lee’s virtuosity by any means, instead adopting the modus operandi of indie musicians: hawk attitude as an aesthetic over ostentation. Here, the bass plays a standard part, anchoring the low-end in workmanlike fashion, laboring beneath a constant slab of guitar fuzz and clanging sheet-metal percussion. Female vocals, courtesy of “Beth,” air the grievances of a proletariat with singer potential, alternating between antagonistic Wicked Witch of the West growls and Moon Unit Zappa valley girl jadedness. Clocking in at a shade under two minutes, it fits the bill as a smoke break anthem for misfits with a mall job.

After briefly speaking with John in the early nineties at a rehearsal studio, at a record store, and then at the traffic intersection, I saw him on the cover of a local ‘zine as a member of Charles Brown Superstar (with Benett). Then, I lost track of him. Someone had spotted him at a computer convention, and a couple of years ago, my father briefly spoke with his mother at a community event. But I suppose the fact that I haven’t seen him in 14 years perpetuates his status as cult hero in my mind.

John, if for some reason you ever come across this, I would like to thank you for planting the seeds of enlightenment in a hobbledehoy who longed to ditch pariahdom. You really made a difference in my life.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Come Back Margaret (2006) – Camera Obscura

2007-05-29T00:59:00.000-07:00

Flourishing a swooning string section befitting a Romanian gymnastics floor exercise routine, “Come Back Margaret” provides a maudlin accompaniment for Tracyanne Campbell as her heart goes through its tumbling routine (metaphorical abuse acknowledged). Drums echo in a chamber of Psychocandy-era Bobby Gillespie floor tom/snare minimalism, sonar signals to calculate the emptiness that haunts Campbell’s heart. The lusterless production quality that pervades Camera Obscura’s brilliant 2006 release, Let’s Get Out Of This Country, suitably emulates the raw resourcefulness of someone capturing an inspired moment on a hand-held tape recorder off a Summer Olympics television broadcast. And, it’s the parturient idleness of summer that inspires Campbell to confess her bi-curious attraction towards an itinerant girl. She obscures her fantasies behind the facade of a distasteful heterosexual relationship and a winsome melody, all the while longing to woo Margaret into staying with the pining in her voice. Ultimately, though, Campbell’s tears are merely incidental to the compulsories of competition, as the world and its romance vie for Margaret’s affections as well. Perhaps Tracyanne will finally win her over before the next sojourn’s end.

Listen to "Come Back Margaret" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

200 Songs and Runnin'

2007-05-21T16:20:00.000-07:00

Sugarland’s “Settlin’” marks the 200^th song posting. Sonic Lager For Lucid Minds has been a rewarding outlet when I find the inspiration to write. Thanks for reading.

Settlin’ (2006) – Sugarland

2007-05-21T15:21:00.000-07:00

As it incorporated elements of rock and pop, country music came to fill the role that Top 40 radio once played in the ‘80s: an accessible, family friendly, song-oriented means of commemorating the week. While country music continues to be sidestepped and written off by a large contingent of music fans, it should occur to them that this is about as mindlessly fun as it gets nowadays. With indie music having become a function of blog repute and torrent traffic, sometimes it’s nice to blissfully ignore indie cred, let go of pretensions, and appreciate music that’s meant to get in your face with uncouth shamelessness. Head on down to your local Wal★Mart and Sugarland’s Enjoy The Ride awaits you in abundance. The album’s second #1 single, “Settlin’,” features Jennifer Nettles’ voice in exemplary form, its flat, pronounced twang inelegant enough to immediately chafe listeners as it grates into the consciousness like a bleating sheep, yet unassuming in its down-home congeniality, at times exhibiting a soulful warmth that incites the inner hombre into firing the six-shooter skyward in celebration. Nettles’ resolution to aspire to nothing less than excellence in love and life culminates in a chorus that is apt to hijack the hippocampus in boardroom meetings, finding an ally in economical guitar riffs that stab with adamance as if Rick Springfield showed up at the session to hitch a ride to the top of the charts. Indeed, there’s room for everyone on this country bandwagon, if only for want of willing passengers.

Listen to "Settlin'" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Mr. Nigga (1999) – Mos Def featuring Q-Tip

2007-05-17T00:16:00.000-07:00

Given the recently revived debate on removing certain words from the vocabulary of entertainment, is banning the use of the “N-word” an efficacious step in reshaping race relations? As Michael Richards’ Laugh Factory diatribe suggests, it’s not his use of the word per se that was deplorable, it was his underlying premise of supremacy in denigrating the African-American audience members who had dared to heckle a white man, drawing upon U.S. historical transgressions in reminding them that they were “privileged” to be allowed to speak freely in today’s society, whereas once they would have been lynched for doing so. Sure, he was speaking primarily out of frustration, but he obviously had a preconceived notion of racial status in this country, and the humiliation of being disrespected on stage caused the ugliness to surface.

So would it make a difference if this particular racial slur/term of endearment is banished from the lexicon?

According to Mos Def, it probably wouldn’t. He lets us know that, even having found success as a rap artist and Hollywood actor, despite the luxuries he can confer upon his loved ones, at the end of the day he’ll still be Mr. Nigga. In his guest appearance, Q-Tip brings along a variation of the concise refrain from A Tribe Called Quest’s “Sucka Nigga,” which itself explored the use of the word.

Mos brings it back down to the clichéd, but epidemic, common denominators that plague young black men: to the officer, you’re a criminal, guilty of DWB; to the flight attendant, you errantly stumbled into first class; to the landlord, you are the tenant whom nobody wants as a neighbor; to fellow Rodeo Drive shoppers, you couldn’t possibly be anything other than an employee; to airport security worldwide, you are a drug smuggler. His attempt to analogize Woody Allen’s seduction of Soon-Yi Previn to Michael Jackson’s alleged pedophilia and O.J. Simpson’s alleged double homicide misses the mark, but his frustration with society’s apparent ostracization double standard is duly noted.

In the end, even those who think they are liberal might be surprised when their actions reveal latent prejudices. Despite lip-service to equality and civil rights, it doesn’t matter to Mos if you use the word, or merely think it, if your actions ultimately reflect it.

Perhaps at times there’s an obnoxious defiance in the conspicuous consumption of young black athletes or entertainers who hit a financial goldmine, but they’re just celebrating and asserting themselves in ways their forefathers couldn’t—in ways that probably piss off Michael Richards.

Listen to "Mr. Nigga" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Anywhere The Wind Blows (1999) – Melora Hardin (Lauren Christy)

2007-05-17T00:14:00.000-07:00

Currently best known as Jan Levinson on NBC’s The Office, Melora Hardin in fact possesses a lovely singing voice (and has recorded two albums). She was able to display this talent in the 1999 film Seven Girlfriends in a scene where she casually plays an abbreviated version of “Anywhere The Wind Blows” on a piano (alongside Tim Daly’s character, Jesse, who displays an uncanny knack for impromptu harmonies upon hearing the chorus once). Melora’s mellifluous voice emits with bare delicateness as she confesses a craving for a little precariousness in otherwise stale surroundings, willing to surrender as a tabula rasa to the caprice of life’s quirks. While the full version sung by songwriter Lauren Christy over the end credits comes properly with polished arrangement, it’s Hardin’s unadorned performance that embodies the song’s capitulatory gist. Most will read the foregoing and sneer with disdain, but those yearning to be uprooted from their daily grind may find “Anywhere” to be an inspirational impetus.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

No. 13 Baby (1989) – Pixies

2007-04-13T20:39:00.000-07:00

The number 13, especially when it coincides with Friday, has unlucky connotations in many cultures. The girl who so entices Charles Thompson IV (a.k.a. Black Francis a.k.a. Frank Black) scoffs at such superstitions, flashing a “tatooed tit” which bears the maligned integer. In turn, Thompson is inspired to renounce blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty for the carnal feistiness of the brown-eyed chola who has caught his attention, guitars spitting out ferocious flares to fortify Black Francis’ shrill squeals of wantonness. “Viva! . . . La loma,” he exclaims as he eyes her offerings.

Although of lecherous distinction, “No. 13 Baby” comes off as an other-side-of-the-tracks awakening of sorts wherein the social boundaries of race, class and culture melt into meaninglessness in the heat of desire. Guitarist Joey Santiago tastefully lays down intervals and arpeggios as the rest of the band escorts the instrumental latter half of the song into the tequila sunset. Presumably, the temptress is gallivanting off to fresh territory, fully expecting to attract scores of new admirers to worship her. Triskaidekaphobics need not apply.

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Attends Ou Va-T‘En (1965) – France Gall (Serge Gainsbourg)

2007-04-13T18:29:00.000-07:00

The best pop music is constructed of elements with universal appeal. Even for those of us who don’t understand the French language, France Gall’s brand of yé-yé girl pop exemplified in “Attends Ou Va-T‘En” conveys a familiar air of apprehension. One recognizes the melodica’s latent distress imparted with doleful notes, Gall’s anxiety seeping through the opacity of a troubled melody, set to a locomotive canter that traverses the countryside en route to a hook that portends the dénouement.

As the muse and model for April March decades later, Gall lent a voice apropos to the songwriting brilliance of Serge Gainsbourg that transcended the barriers of language. (Unfortunately, her career also suffered as a result of being artistically exploited by Gainsbourg.) With a title that translates as “Wait for me, or get lost,” it’s any English-only listener’s guess as to what presently concerns the song’s protagonist, but the pathos of a fait accompli is easily absorbed.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

It Changes (from Snoopy, Come Home) (1972) – Guy Pohlman as Charlie Brown (Robert Sherman/Richard Sherman)

2007-03-17T10:39:00.000-07:00

Forlorn sentiment encumbers Charlie Brown as he mopes amid orchestral flourishes and a pendulous melody that dwells in minor key somberness, underscoring the abandonment he feels as he laments his beloved pet’s decision to return to live with a prior owner, Lila. But the bigger picture is that he has experienced such disruptions in his life before when others leave; he has deemed it a recurring pattern and has resigned himself to the vicissitudes that always upend his sense of stability. In particular, Charlie Brown would empathize with Morrissey in brooding: “My Is A Succession of People Saying Goodbye.”

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

My Life Is A Succession Of People Saying Goodbye (2004) – Morrissey

2007-03-17T10:37:00.000-07:00

Morrissey’s gripe about the revolving door through which acquaintances pass with regularity is symptomatic of his broader complaint—being left behind with nothing of real substance to validate the opportunities he has squandered. Even superficial materialism which might temporarily console him in hedonistic gratification is unattainable. In soporific anesthetization, a hypnotic sequence of harp arpeggios disorients as it draws us further into the morass of Morrissey’s struggle to cope with life’s passing parade. He and Charlie Brown, both.

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Scorpio (1982) – Grand Master Flash & The Furious Five

2007-03-17T10:33:00.000-07:00

Sharing its title with the moniker of one of the Furious Five, “Scorpio” is a minacious creature: spasmodic synth-prickles palpitate as a portly bassline writhes like a wounded scorpion impaled over spikes of electro-percussion; Melle Mel issues directives to infuse the funk in the always-cool camouflage of a vocoder; sporadic bursts of lasers discharge with futuristic import. The effect is one of a galactic ceremony at which an alien arachnid despot commands its subjects to get down before being exterminated.

In the early ‘80s, there was hardly a more compelling jam to be heard blaring from ghetto blasters, instantly inciting the robotic seizures of poppers, lockers and breakers who were helpless to resist the command to “show no shame.”

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I Remember You (1993) – Björk (Johnny Mercer/Victor Schertzinger)

2007-02-14T00:50:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – An Anachronistic Remembrance)

How often does a modern day artist render inferior the vintage performances of a classic song? Presumably, only once in a blue moon. In that case, then, cerulean lunar luminescence bathed Björk when she recorded “I Remember You,” accompanied simply by a sole harpist, an angel at her shoulder. Despite the wistfulness in her voice—at times fragile and soothing, at times powerful and anguished—the song is actually about a nascent romance forged “a few kisses ago.” She is looking ahead to the afterlife, writing her history in advance, certain that when she is allowed to reflect back, the one thing that she will recall as the most precious gift was the thrill of the moment when she fell in love. It is a poignant testament to the infatuation in which she is immersed, and a glowing endorsement of the optimism her future holds.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

He Stopped Loving Her Today (1980) – George Jones (Bobby Braddock/Curly Putman)

2007-02-14T00:48:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – A Tragic Obsession)

Take undying devotion to its logical extreme and it becomes a tale of lifelong fixation that ceases only upon death. Add in the country drawl of George Jones and the deliberate pace of a funeral procession, and you have the pathetic irony of “He Stopped Loving Her Today.” Although she left him all those years ago, this gentleman was unable to get over the love of his life, clinging to mementos that prolonged his hope that she’d return. He had vowed to love her till he died. On the day that she finally came to see him one last time, that vow can no longer be broken.

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Try Again (1983) – Champaign (Michael Day/Rocky Maffitt/Dana Walden)

2007-02-14T00:40:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – A Second Chance)

“Try Again” voices the regret of a man who took his woman for granted. Instead of expressing his appreciation through romantic gestures and tender moments, he told her he needed space. But her absence has exposed his foolish neglect; now he understands the intimacy for which she yearned, and he intends to apply his lesson learned. Fortunately for him, the momentary key change at the second “try” in the chorus causes the heart to swoon, increasing the chances that his overtures will be met with little resistance tonight.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

The Heart Remains A Child (1996) – Everything But The Girl

2007-02-14T00:35:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – Stuck In Love’s Sandbox)

Tracy Thorn explores the psyche of a woman who still dreams of her ex from time to time. Although she is occasionally tempted to try and contact him, she isn’t sure that she wants to hear that he has since moved on. Instead, a part of her hopes that he is fairly miserable and misses her. Despite this selfishness, she hints that she is disappointed at how begrudgingly she accepts the idea that he might be happy, that her ego prevents her from wishing him the best. Ben Watt’s cadenced loop-based arrangement evokes a metropolitan walk among the skyscrapers downtown, where Thorn, her alto warm and soothing, can sort through her conflicted feelings. But, like a child who pouts when things don’t go her way, her heart is unable to overcome her feelings of inadequacy and rejection, her unfulfilled need to feel loved, and the likelihood that he is better off without her.

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Kim (2000) – Eminem

2007-02-14T00:29:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – Caught In The Grip Of A Jealous Rage a.k.a. The O.J. Syndrome)

If one gets past the bloodcurdling misogynistic violence depicted in “Kim” (which is really of the variety one would expect to see in a Wes Craven movie), what emerges is Marshall Mathers’ songwriting talent. His conversational delivery flows naturally like movie script dialogue written in rhyme, blending the distinction between rapping and speaking (well, in this case, screaming) by infusing histrionics into well-crafted meter. After cooing over his toddler daughter, Eminem resumes the abduction of his ex-wife. He murdered her new husband and his four-year old son, but is going to make it appear that she was responsible and committed suicide. All the while he rants like a lunatic, portraying both the raging assailant and his whimpering victim, avowing that if he can’t have her, he must kill her—which he ultimately does by slitting her throat. The venom with which Eminem expectorates his vituperation is enough to repulse the average listener, and even the most seasoned rap fan is apt to be a little uncomfortable. Yet, despite this graphic homicidal fantasy preserved for posterity, the rumor is that Kim and Marshall are engaged for a third time. Looks like they really want to give that “’till death do us part” vow one more shot.

Listen to "Kim" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Smile (2007) – Lily Allen

2007-02-14T00:28:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – The Passive Vindictive)

To see an ex wallow in misery and then spurn his efforts to reconcile is probably the dream of every woman who has been cheated on. Lily Allen lives out this fantasy with the faux-reggae/ska rollick of “Smile,” her schadenfreude evident in the gleeful way her drawn out “cry-y-y,” “smi-i-ile” and “whi-i-le” plummet as if his belongings are being tossed out from a third-story window. Armed with the playfulness of Nelly Furtado, the melodic soprano of Corinne Bailey Rae, and the gumption of Gwen Stefani, Allen’s gloating comes off with enough charm to make us forget that her callousness was forged from heartache.

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I Confess (1982) – The English Beat

2007-02-14T00:25:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – The Adulterer Who Knows No Contrition)

What otherwise seems like a breezy calypso on a sunny tropical island is really the account of a man who reveals his infidelity to his wife. However, rather than feeling contrition, he turns a bit vindictive. Dave Wakeling admits that this declaration of apathy is done “out of spite,” that he is indifferent to the fact that the marriage is over because it has been dead for a while. In fact, he wouldn’t even care about who he hurt with his indiscretions were it not for the fact that it will affect him (alimony, child support, loss of custody). The romanticist within him was always “searching for paradise” with new women, even though he risked ruining three lives: his, his wife’s, and, presumably, his child’s. Although he acknowledges that he was wrong for his philandering ways, he is numb to the aftermath. His confession, then, is threefold: he’s guilty of adultery, he feels no remorse, and he doesn’t care what happens next. In doing so, he neutralizes any emotional vengeance she might attempt to inflict upon him, selfish to the end.

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When You Live Life Alone (2002) – Sarah Shannon

2007-02-14T00:24:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – The Unlikely Resignation To Table For One Reservations)

The sparse piano plinks, melodramatic strings and guileless vocals which adorn “When You Live Life Alone” brought criticism upon Sarah Shannon for exhibiting Barbra Streisand tendencies. Damn, that’s harsh. No, no. Instead, let’s entertain the notion that a woman of Sarah’s obvious charms could somehow find herself alone with no willing suitors. Once we suspend disbelief, we can indulge her tale of patiently waiting for a whirlwind romance that ends with an untimely parting and consequent somberness in solitude. Sure, the song plays like a musical adaptation of a Lifetime channel movie—I’m seeing Kelly Preston and Tim Daly, or if you want to go a little younger, maybe Chyler Leigh and Chad Michael Murray—but, so what? It’s a showcase for Shannon’s exceptional soprano, technically perfect and rich with feeling. She finds her notes and sustains them to fill the spaciousness of the uncluttered arrangement, instead of trying to abuse the opportunity with recklessly ostentatious vocal runs.

It was daring of Shannon to record a song pregnant with such pathos, having come from indie noise pop darlings Velocity Girl. And, while she may have alienated those who became detractors, others appreciate the risk she took in her willingness to expose a more sensitive Sarah in pursuit of new musical directions that stir the empathies of the tragic romantic within.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Once I Smiled (1968) – Leonard Nimoy (Charles R. Grean/Leonard Nimoy)

2007-02-14T00:23:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – Wistfulness On Other Worlds)

A heavenly backdrop of pastoral orchestration wafts in to lay down the lilting ambiance for Spock to get sentimental. As if hearing Nimoy reminisce in his wavering baritone about a childhood romance with a golden-haired lass wasn’t rewarding enough, the fact that he co-wrote this song makes it that much more appealing. When, in describing the giddiness of love, he recalls days he “swung from trees like a monkey pup,” there’s a burst of innate joy that accompanies the reflexive guffaw. And the concise Spock narrative/croon about his resolve to never love again makes it official: all the elements of “awesome” are present and accounted for.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

See also "Amphibious Assault" (1968) - Leonard Nimoy.

It’s Too Late (1971) – Carole King

2007-02-14T00:22:00.001-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – The Disillusioned And The Discarded)

Set to a gentle saunter befitting coffeehouse bohemianism, “It’s Too Late” offers a rational assessment of the realities that spell the imminent dissolution of a deflated relationship. The listlessness that hangs heavily throughout the day precedes the emptiness of night. Knowing that attempts to resurrect the romance would be futile—or at least not worth the effort—Carole King decides to call it a day with a chorus that strikes a chord of resignation. She confirms that there’s no animosity, no acrimonious parting, only a nod of gratitude as she chalks this one up to experience and moves on.

Listen to "It's Too Late" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Do You Love Me (1976) – KISS

2007-02-14T00:22:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – Insecurity Amid Indulgence)

Paul Stanley has all the trappings of rock ‘n roll stardom: inexhaustible wealth, the jet-setting ways, the fast-living groupies. Yet, for all the extravagance he enjoys, he still wonders whether his girl’s affections are sincere or a sham. Would she split if he could no longer provide this profligate lifestyle? The earnestness of Stanley’s inquisition is reflected in the rhythm section’s unyielding stomp and power chords that ring out with enough intensity to fill an arena. Despite basking in the glamour of rock stardom, at the end of the day he still craves something more than just superficial debauchery. To be sure, though, legions of young men would gladly take his place without any such misgivings.

Listen to "Do You Love Me" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

The Only One (1983) – Lionel Richie (David Foster/Lionel Ritchie)

2007-02-14T00:21:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – A Formulaic Devotion)

There’s only one reason why anyone even gives a crap about Nicole Richie: her daddy’s success as a songwriter enabled her to befriend the similarly useless-without-money Paris Hilton, which they parlayed into The Simple Life and a notorious beef before making-up again as BFFs. While “All Night Long” and “Brick House” were big hits, most of daddy’s money flowed from his ballads. And although a ballad is a ballad is a ballad, “The Only One” was co-written with the master of all balladeers, David Foster. Together, Foster and Richie crafted a song of soul mate affirmation which wields a chorus capable of so stirring one’s embrace of monogamy that, in a moment of weakness, one is apt to forgive Richie his transgressions in raising a spoiled socialite.

Listen to "The Only One" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Make Out Club (1993) – Unrest

2007-02-14T00:20:00.001-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – Props To Puppy Love)

In “Make Out Club,” TeenBeat proprietor Mark Robinson brings all the earnestness of a young Shaun Cassidy to the meeting, his jittery guitar clips commingling with the skittish rhythm laid down by bassist Bridget Cross and drummer Phil Krauth to incite a frenzy among pledges eager to undertake the rites of initiation. Decoder rings are distributed, secret handshakes are exchanged and passwords recited to gain admittance to the clubhouse, where Robinson shares an innocent tribute to a first love. By the time he smears his suave crooning harmonies over the chorus, the kids are swooning, anxious to validate their memberships.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

I Must Be In Love (1978) – The Rutles

2007-02-14T00:19:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – A Fabulous Infatuation)

The Rutles were much more than a parody of The Beatles. While there is humor and wit in their lyrics, the true ingenuity is reflected in Neil Innes’ songwriting ability to distill the characteristics of Beatles songs into an amalgam that sounds very familiar, yet completely original. “I Must Be In Love” evokes the head-wagging arrangement of ”A Hard Day’s Night,” borrows the guitar jangle of “You Can’t Do That,” and slips in the “ooooh” from “I Saw Her Standing There.” Emulating the simplicity of early Beatles hits, the elementary lyrics portray the discombobulating nature of love that causes one to vacillate between extremes. Melodically, Innes captures the halcyon days of infectious pop with a teenager’s verve. Cry “blasphemy” if you will, but “I Must Be In Love” would rank among the best McCartney/Lennon compositions of their early years.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

He’s So Strange (1982) – The Go Go’s

2007-02-14T00:18:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – The Stalking Victim . . . and Zombies)

In B-movie horror story fashion, “He’s So Strange” depicts the plight of any girl or woman who has been friendly to a socially inept classmate or co-worker only to find herself the object (or target) of his obsessive affections. The lovable loser has gone all creepy, haunting Belinda Carlisle’s living nightmare as a stalker. The band revives the watusi and the frug with the intrigue of a beatnik detective’s theme, authenticated by Charlotte Caffey’s B-52’s Farfisa organ kitsch. It appears that the freak of whom Thom Yorke sang on Radiohead’s breakout hit has resorted to the time-honored practices of car stakeouts, obscene phone calls, and burning candles at photographic shrines.

Listen to "He's So Strange" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Somebody Hurt You (2004) – A Girl Called Eddy

2007-02-14T00:17:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – Pining For Something More Than Just Platonic)

Channeling the melancholy muse that informs Cat Power’s Chan Marshall, Erin Moran (not the one who loves Chachi), reveals a languishing crush. Her fragile voice seeps with tenderness over a gorgeously sedate arrangement that lingers in a diaphanous blue haze; in her quavering upper register, her compassion becomes evident. His eyes betray a sadness he carries with him, the remnant of a broken heart. She hopes to show him that she understands his misgivings, that their past heartbreaks are shards of history which cast them along similar paths to where they now stand: apart, yet two jagged halves of a weary whole.

Listen to "Somebody Hurt You" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Stories Of Old (1984) – Depeche Mode

2007-02-14T00:16:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – The Uncompromising Bachelor)

As the mouthpiece for Martin Gore’s lyrics, Dave Gahan remains resolute in his refusal to compromise for the sake of the relationship, decrying the downfall of men throughout history who have changed for a woman. He is equally as forthright about his lustful intentions as he is about his steadfastness in nonaccommodation. A moody synthesized clarinet/accordion phrase slinks with Parisian adventiousness through the synth-pop streets of a bazaar in Bangladesh. With all the indicia of adamancy in his warnings, let there be no misunderstanding—there are no strings attached when gallivanting with Gahan or Gore.

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I Want To Be Wanted (Per Tutta La Vita) (1960) – Brenda Lee (Kim Gannon/Giuseppe Spotti/Alberto Testa)

2007-02-14T00:15:00.000-08:00

(The Cupid Chronicles: Complexions of Love – The Lonely Damsel)

With all the yearning Olivia Newton-John exuded in “Hopelessly Devoted To You,” Brenda Lee makes no bones about her desperation to find someone who desires her in the way she deserves to be loved. “I Want To Be Wanted” lays bare Lee’s longing borne of loneliness with such pangs of pining that it draws the listener into her mire, be they sympathetic or similarly situated. Strings straight out of Mantovani’s orchestra and cooing background vocals escort Lee to the 6/8 time signature sway of faint piano and guitar, brushed drums and double bass. Winding chord combinations reach a subtly surprising key shift that nudges the heart with just enough tenderness to sustain hope that each day will bring her closer to realizing her idealized romance.

Listen to "I Want To Be Wanted (Per Tutta La Vita)" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Phantom Limb (2007) – The Shins

2007-02-05T00:50:00.000-08:00

The specters that inhabited Oh, Inverted World inform the ethereal “Phantom Limb,” a song that might bring a new level of understanding to a wider audience; the song that arguably solidifies The Shins’ place in the mainstream’s conscience, yet which will retain its appeal even after you’ve heard it appropriated for some network television show an umpteenth time. Its flowing pace gently transitions in haunting gradations, navigated by James Mercer’s Brian Wilsonesque rudders of entrancing chord progressions and melodic maneuvering over jangle-fuzz reminiscent of The Jesus & Mary Chain’s “Some Candy Talking” softer side, recorded in The Clientele’s realm of lush pensiveness. Mercer’s oblique allusions flesh out the malaise of a lesbian couple who endure a small town’s conservative prejudices by remaining inconspicuous. Their impulses to publicly display their affection never manifest; instead, their appendages meet with imaginary caresses, hoping to avoid the harassment of an illiberal society; their dreams of enlightening the community by flaunting their relationship in the face of ignorance are no more real than a phantom limb’s illusory flail to knock down a barrier.

On the strength of “Phantom Limb” as its first single, Wincing The Night Away debuted at number two on the Billboard 200 chart, and even the least pretentious indie kid had to have been a little conflicted. Sure, you were happy for the band. But, it also confirmed that the seeds which had been planted in Garden State when Sam shared “New Slang” with Andrew had officially germinated into the mainstream’s full-fledged embrace of The Shins. (The band even obliged by playing the song on their January 13, 2007 Saturday Night Live appearance instead of a second track off of Wincing.) Hell, if people were actually buying the album, that must mean people outside the file-sharing demographic dig The Shins. You know—old people. Thirty and forty-somethings. All those sales which set the historic mark for Sub Pop indicate a slippery slope that threatens further industry exposure and possible market oversaturation. And—not that the kids’ love of the band would cease—but everyone knows that it’s only a matter of time before your local Ryan Seacrest-affiliated radio station is spinning their disc on American Top 40 alongside The Killers. Then, the bloom is off the rose.

So, the tempered reactions, the tepid reviews that are begrudgingly conferred, the upheaval wrought upon the indie press—whether intended or not, these act to preserve the indie cachet of Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow by denigrating Wincing The Night Away. Sorry guys, but The Shins are everyone’s band to enjoy now.

Listen to "Phantom Limb" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Born With It (1996) – Steve Azar and Brett Favre (Steve Azar/McNeel, K./Kim Venable)

2007-02-01T13:33:00.000-08:00

Yes, that Brett Favre. This ain’t no Super Bowl Shuffle, though. Recorded before he won his Super Bowl ring, the bluesy country-rock of “Born With It” would be equally effective in a commercial endorsing Chevy Trucks, Coors Light, Musk Fragrance or Herbal Essence Shampoo. This is kick off your boots, fling your Stetson, grab your girl and jump on the sin wagon music. The Mississippi born and bred Favre is a natural fit for the genre. He carries a tune just fine with a southern twang and country whine, and is not asked to do too much here. An up-and-coming artist at the time, Steve Azar handles the slight majority of the vocals on this ode to a beguiling gal who possess that inherent je ne sais quoi which inspires truckers, construction workers and cowboys to get up off the couch, forgo the game, and take up ballroom dancing, soak in an art show, partake of fine French cuisine, or attend the theatre. Or, maybe she’s just a glorified tramp who enjoys making ‘em horny.

More than simply just a novelty recording, “Born With It” celebrates a time when a one-off such as this was Favre’s fanfare, the NFL’s only three-time league MVP reveling in the height of his popularity, rather than the croaking swan song of an also-ran athlete.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Spaceship (2005) – Kanye West

2007-01-29T22:37:00.000-08:00

(Part Six of the Damned If You Work and Damned If You Don’t hexology)

Like “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” Kanye’s tale of escapism
takes us back to the past through a black-colored prism
Mall job, face accusations of theft and embezzlement
He ain’t robbed nobody, don’t know where the cash and them khakis went
He workin’ them late hours reserved for the black folks
Ignoring rules, hittin’ chronic and nicotine smokes
They won’t fire him, tho’; management need a bro’
to fill a racist racial quota for the front of they sto’
A disgruntled Gap employee who just biding his time
‘till the day Jay-Z gon’ need inventive beats for his rhymes
And when that day come, Kanye gon’ bid them goodbye
GLC singing ‘bout when his spaceship arrives
Mr. West at his best when concocting the tracks
that sell records. Got signed, now he drivin’ Maybachs

Consequence takes the mic
talks about street knowledge and strife
and the constant motivation to achieve more in life
Hard work, overtime to keep the pain off his mind
of losing loved ones, of why he ain’t signed
And educational shortcomings lead to lifestyles of crime
Hip-hop culture ain’t forgiving when you run out of time
Just waiting for your options to materialize
is like waiting for that spaceship to emerge from the skies

Kanye’s back. When no one wants to hear your music
it can damage your frail self-esteem
but success is circumscribed by how boldly you dream
So excuse Kanye West if his ego has grown
‘cause when his raps were unwanted he kept folding them clothes
for a wage. Now he gettin’ paid
We speak of his music in appreciative tones
So, it’s clear his metaphorical spaceship has flown. . . .

Listen to "Spaceship" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Agenda Suicide (2001) – The Faint

2007-01-28T20:23:00.000-08:00

(Part Five of the Damned If You Work and Damned If You Don’t hexology)

The Faint’s implements of demoralization—ominous bass synth, fidgeting scrapes of guitar, mechanical beat, snide vocals—approximate a gothic Duran Duran grown intolerant of bourgeois materialism. The Faint mean to admonish that being a slave to an agenda as a means to the end of affording a quaint home in the suburbs is tantamount to spiritual death. Emboldened by the discharge of grainy sawtooth synth and hissing hi-hats, vocalist Todd Fink sneeringly pronounces his ideology: working primarily to sustain an idealized standard of living is foolish, and living solely for one’s job is ultimately futile; accepting one’s fungible role in a characterless workforce renders one’s life no more substantial than a “cast shadow.” There’s a fine line, though, between senseless burnout and industrious virtue. To the extent Fink means to disparage a productive work ethic, his hyperbolic assailment probably deserves all the credence of an unemployed career guidance counselor’s advice.

Listen to "Agenda Suicide" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Synchronicity II (1983) – The Police

2007-01-28T14:40:00.000-08:00

(Part Four of the Damned If You Work and Damned If You Don’t hexology)

Beginning with the interminable racket he endures every morning at the breakfast table before trudging off to the job he loathes, Daddy is teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He’s grown numb to the nerve-racking discord that permeates his day—at home, during his commute, at the office. Nowadays, even the comely secretaries no longer stimulate his prurient interest, his desires having long ago been squashed by the periodic degradation he suffers at the whim of his domineering boss.

In this tale of foreboding, Sting’s impassioned vocals peal over his solid no-frills bass fortification; Andy Summers campaigns the consciousness with economical guitar phrases; Stewart Copeland cracks his snare and beats his kick drum with authoritative aggression, his crispy hi-hats and pinging ride cymbals punctuating the air like efficient stenographers.

Having reached his breaking point, Daddy returns home with a migraine and a surly disposition. Meanwhile, the Loch Ness Monster (hey, Sting’s idea, not mine), which has slowly been surfacing from its lake in Scotland, emerges upon the shore, about to reveal itself to the world, symbolic of the major paradigm shift that is about to transpire in synchronicity. Beginning tonight, Daddy’s dominion and Nessie’s existence will no longer be subject to debate.

Listen to "Synchronicity II" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Workin’ At The Car Wash Blues (1973) – Jim Croce

2007-01-28T11:40:00.000-08:00

(Part Three of the Damned If You Work and Damned If You Don’t hexology)

Although he envisions inevitable white-collar success if given the chance, his daily grind is strictly blue-collar tedium. Such is Jim Croce’s plight in “Workin’ At The Car Wash Blues,” the grousing of a man who paints a not-so-sympathetic picture of himself with a palette of country blues boogie: he’s shirked his spousal/child-support obligations; he’d loaf as an executive and hassle his secretaries. To be sure, he’s incredulous that his untapped genius is wasted doing such menial work, that his just deserts elude him for the time being. But, despite the fanciful outlook of his reveries, it’s the string of adjectives he strews in the song’s hook that convey the depths of his “steadily depressin’, low-down, mind-messin’, workin’ at the car wash blues.”

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

I’ll Take Anything (1990) – Blake Babies

2007-01-27T23:02:00.000-08:00

(Part Two of the Damned If You Work and Damned If You Don’t hexology)

Ennui and inertia are on the day’s agenda for Juliana Hatfield as she surveys the stagnation that has become her lifestyle. Disheveled and down to the last dollar her parents sent earlier in the month, she thinks a lot about getting up off her duff to look for a job, but soap operas, sulking and sleep are currently much more inviting. While she professes a growing desperation, she still practices slothfulness. Those days not long ago when she had ambition were days she knew she was destined for greater things than her friends and family could even imagine. But now she hides her head under the covers of John Strohm’s blankets of ringing guitar, springing an array of buoyant full-toned notes that reveal Hatfield’s underrated sensibilities as a bassist. Freda Love’s pounding floor toms are a throbbing hangover headache; her tumbling drum fills, an inelegant stumble out of bed. Eventually, Strohm attempts to perk up the pity party with a solo of the variety that inspires an afternoon drive to clear one’s head. Together, the trio concoct just enough of a palliative to stave off the doldrums for another day.

Listen to "I'll Take Anything" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Father To Son (1985) – The Alarm

2007-01-27T21:07:00.000-08:00

(Part One of the Damned If You Work and Damned If You Don’t hexology)

Mike Peters portrays the angst of a teenager whose father expects him to find a sensible job, perhaps in the steel mill that paid the family’s living wage for so many years. The boy refuses to accept the same dead-end routine that eviscerated his father’s spirit. Instead, with dreams of making a name for himself, he plans to move to the big city. However, his family expects him to provide financial support, especially in light of his father’s impending retirement and the dire state of the economy. Impetuously, the boy leaves town against his father’s wishes for the auspicious embrace of metropolis. Once there, he finds his opportunities meager; his future, less than stellar. So, he heads elsewhere. This soon becomes a pattern of pavement-pounding futility and itinerate frustration. Realizing that his aspirations of fame and fortune were overambitious, he’s now desperate to find anything that would approximate even the modest standard of living to which he was accustomed back home. With Dave Sharp’s restless guitar protesting in the right channel, and a piano/bass-heavy march that would do Madness proud, “Father To Son” soberly cautions risk-takers that the old adage, “You can do anything if you put your mind to it,” sometimes proves to be the stuff of old wives’ tales.

Listen to "Father To Son" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

His Lamest Flame (1998) – Mary Lou Lord

2007-01-26T00:29:00.000-08:00

Arguably, “His Lamest Flame” is Mary Lou Lord’s catchiest song (“His Indie World” being her wittiest), largely because of its irresistible chiming jangle-guitar/“na na na na na na na na na” refrain. The song’s title is a play on Elvis Presley’s “(Marie’s The Name) His Latest Flame”: Lord, whose delicate voice sounds similar to Juliana Hatfield’s, acknowledges that she shares the same black hair and green eyes, but not the name, as the lass Elvis lost. This time, however, it’s the girl who fails to stoke the fire of passion. She senses that there is not much fuel left in the flicker, as the outlook on her romantic future grows dim. In fact, her woefully low self-esteem and passive acceptance of her beau’s waning interest all but ensure that the flame—effete and lame—will be extinguished by her own suffocating self-pity.

Listen to "His Lamest Flame" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

(Marie’s The Name) His Latest Flame (1961) – Elvis Presley (Doc Pomus/Mort Shuman)

2007-01-26T00:26:00.000-08:00

“His Latest Flame” finds Elvis burned by the bane of every small town’s quasi-incestuous circle of acquaintances who recycle partners amongst themselves. (And, as evidenced on The Smiths’ Rank, it segues quite seamlessly into “Rusholme Ruffians.”) The bustling beat, the catchy melody, the words of congratulation—all belie his envious heartache as he attempts to keep a brave face despite learning that a former love has recently hooked up with an old friend. There’s a palpable sense of loss and resignation in his voice; he remembers the goodness of what once was his to enjoy.

Listen to "(Marie's The Name) His Latest Flame" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

American Terrorist (2006) – Lupe Fiasco

2007-01-24T15:54:00.000-08:00

Adding to the flurry of post-Katrina salvos, Lupe Fiasco takes Kanye West’s infamous “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” gripe a step further, accusing the U.S. Government of practicing terrorism against the disadvantaged throughout history by hoodwinking or outright bullying, and then supressing, certain segments of society: steal their land, deprive them of quality education, quash their protests, create distractions to occupy them, exploit ‘em and keep ‘em down. He suggests that manipulation of the economy has inflicted unintended collateral damage across racial boundaries: even the blue-collar Klansman ain’t whistling Dixie as loudly anymore—the price of gas has made cross-burning a costly pastime.

Although his flow at times lacks fluidity, Lupe’s indictment runneth over with bile as he charges the White man with transporting over the smallpox epidemic which eradicated some Indian tribes, importing and lynching slaves, and now bringing terrorism upon the U.S. because of foreign policy regarding Israel. Also, in his eyes, a byproduct of racial injustice has been the stratification of rich and poor, as a government designed to protect its wealthy injects poison, either overtly or insidiously, into certain communities to perpetuate the oppression: casinos and liquor spell gambling addictions and alcoholism for the Native Americans; guns and drugs facilitate the Black man’s unknowing quest to destroy his own people.

It’s unclear why Lupe included the reference to mid-1800s era Chinese railroad laborers and gold miners—they came to America in search of a better life. But in doing so, he missed out on an opportunity to chime in on the current illegal immigration debate. He could’ve dropped a couple more lines in the coda like: “Give brown man keys, park the car / Keep grass short, clean the yard / Raise them kids, mind the crib / but don’t sneak past Border Guard.” Feel free to use ‘em for the remix, Lup!

Listen to "American Terrorist" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

If I Had Only Known (1991) – Reba McEntire (Jana Stanfield/Craig Morris)

2007-01-22T23:44:00.000-08:00

Consider a day when someone you love perishes suddenly: no prolonged illness or suffering, no death bed farewell, not even a coma or life support limbo—just snatched from your life. Then, imagine that you were given a chance to go back to the day before their passing to say goodbye. Reflect upon what you would share with this person, their qualities and traits you would remember as a lasting impression, the place you would want to spend your final moments together. Yes, it’s heart-rending to think about. Amazing then is the fact that, indulging this notion, Reba McEntire was able to record without a crack in her voice this ballad in memory of eight members of her musical family who died in a plane crash earlier that year. (Hey, Michael Jackson couldn’t even keep it together for “She’s Out Of My Life,” and, knowing what we know now, he probably wasn’t even all that sad about it.)

With her feelings of regret laid bare, Reba’s grace in bereavement reminds us that the opportunities to cherish those in our lives are too often opportunities squandered, chancing inevitable regret.

Listen to "If I Had Only Known" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

365 Days and 162 Songs Later. . . .

2007-01-21T23:54:00.000-08:00

On this 21st day of January, three posts to celebrate one year of existence. ↓

I Broke Up (SJ) (2002) – Xiu Xiu

2007-01-21T23:24:00.000-08:00

A voice whimpers feebly in schizophrenic delusions over the steady throbbing of synthetic percussion and strummed bass chords until Jamie Stewart, so epicene in his petulance, shrieks with maniacal abandon, “Don’t fuck with me! DON’T FUCK WITH ME!” thereby unleashing a brief torrent of discordant pings, screeches and bleats drenched in distorted saturation that stabs the brain with shards of sonic shrapnel. The whole debacle reprises in a seething froth of dementia, Stewart throws another hissy fit, and the hemorrhaging cacophony is sewn up with a hasty suture.

Listen to "I Broke Up (SJ)" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Chemicals React (2006) – Aly and AJ

2007-01-21T20:48:00.000-08:00

One might be quick to dismiss any musical offering by Disney-songstress sisters Aly and AJ Michalka as teeny-bopper fluff. However, one would be careless in doing so. “Chemicals React” is the song that has been hinted at for quite some time now by the likes of Kelly Clarkson and Avril Lavigne. But this blows away anything Clarkson or Lavigne has offered in terms of emotional impact. “Chemicals” is superior in terms of lyrics, musicality and structure: the guitars here ring sweeter and buzz heavier, the hook kicks harder and the melody resonates deeper, the words speak poetically and more convincingly, and the dynamic arrangement impels to the verge of wooziness this burst of energy that savors the disorienting thrill of a new romance. Consequently, the apparent pitch-correction slathered on their voices can be forgiven. And if you can admit you like “Since U Been Gone,” then why discriminate against these Cow Belles?

Listen to "Chemicals React" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Little Johnny Jewel (Parts 1 & 2) (1977) – Television

2007-01-21T17:10:00.000-08:00

Little Johnny Jewel was a victim of the duality: the creative icon who was “just trying to tell a vision” (pun obviously intended), encouraged to go for it without the restrictions of responsibility; the strung-out drug addict whose wealth of avant-garde ideas came at the expense of his lucidity. In this tale of an artist going vacant, Tom Verlaine champions JJ, whose drug habit has him living permanently in flux between consciousness, hallucination and dreams.

In batches of intermittent punctuation between Verlaine’s atonal yelps, Fred Smith’s drooping three-note bass riff dollops in chunky clicks over the drizzle and hiss of hi-hats and jittery kick drum palpitating with arrhythmic rapidity, as prickles of guitar teeter and lurch errantly. As the band hits its stride, Richard Lloyd’s ambling guitar chords strike a counterbalance to Verlaine’s soloing paroxysms—symptomatic manifestations of an obsessive compulsive disorder, feverishly scrubbing and scraping the fretboard clean of its notes before yielding for the moral of the story.

In the end, all Johnny Jewel wants is for us to acknowledge his sacrifice in the name of art. “[H]e’s paid the price,” the least we can do is count the cost.

Listen to "Little Johnny Jewel (Parts 1 & 2)" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

A New England (Extended Version) (1984) – Kirsty MacColl (Billy Bragg)

2006-12-31T11:00:00.000-08:00

In the ‘80s, the best remixes and extended versions transcended the original mixes not merely by prolonging their duration, but by stripping them down to their compositional rudiments, illuminating something that was previously buried beneath the mix, introducing adscititious elements that furthered the song’s spirit, recasting the components in an arrangement that emerged metamorphosed to reward the listener with a new musical perspective. New Order’s Extended Version of “The Perfect Kiss,” Walter Turbitt’s Mystery Mix of Big Country’s “The Teacher,” and Julian Mendelssohn’s The Full Horror mix of Pet Shop Boys’ “Suburbia” are but a few which exemplify this ideal. Arguably at the top of the list are Shep Pettibone’s Extended Dance Remix of New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle,” and Steve Lillywhite’s Extended Version of his late former wife Kirsty MacColl’s “A New England.” So richly does Lillywhite’s re-imagining reverberate in the sensibilities of astute reconfiguration, that it seems apropos to consider the evolution of the song from Billy Bragg composition to MacColl cover to Lillywhite remix in order to understand the value added.

Bragg’s words betray a crisis at the cusp of adulthood that finds him at once defensive about his stagnancy and pitiable in his disappointments. To cope with his loneliness, he tries to debase the girl least likely to love him by recasting her as the university harlot he graciously dismisses. He ambivalently mulls over the letters he occasionally receives from her, like paltry consolation prizes. Still, he wonders why, amidst his desperation to move forward, what little he desires continues to elude him: he’s not seeking sweeping social or political change, he just wants to find someone to take his mind off of her.

Whereas Bragg underscores his desolation with the accompaniment of a lone hollowbody electric guitar, MacColl proclaims her bitterness amid a full-fledged kinetic arrangement. Bragg penned additional lyrics specifically for MacColl, as caustic as they are clever. MacColl becomes Bragg’s counterpart—the girl who haunts him, yet who is unable to rid herself of the vestiges of their erstwhile relationship. One is free to choose the protagonist with whom to empathize in this bifurcated saga.

In turn, Lillywhite’s reworking salvages Bragg’s despair and MacColl’s resentment, restoring them to triumphant effect. The programmed drum patterns pound more resolutely, as if in defiance of the radio-friendly limits imposed by a 7” slab of vinyl. Generously lavished reverb carries the dilatant momentum of regal guitars and MacColl’s canorous multi-part vocals across the sonic expanse. The frenetic digital-delayed guitar riff camouflaged in the single mix now flutters briskly in the spotlight over stepping stones of gritty bass flouncing like henchmen with an agenda, eventually yielding to a ringing tapestry of meticulously-picked Marresque Rickenbacker jangle. Previously unused and latent vocal harmonies are given new life apart from the main vocal melody, pleasantly revealing untapped complexions. The expanded instrumental break evokes a springtime Carnival in Rio de Janeiro, complete with joyous puffs of panpipe. For all its inherent dissatisfaction and drama, the song becomes an affair more celebratory than sour.

Although lasting nearly 8 minutes, rather than overextending itself, Lillywhite’s treatment leaves the impression that the single version was in a hurry, anxious to find direction in a course of uncertainty. Given time to explore, “A New England” discovers in its protracted form where it means to go.

Listen to "A New England" (Extended Version) and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Perfect Christmas (2000) – S Club 7

2006-12-22T01:46:00.000-08:00

The classic picturesque Winter Wonderland—one-horse sleigh, bells jingling, special someone, freshly-roasted chestnuts, ice-skating rink straight out of Serendipity—finds a modern-day soundtrack. Although an easy target of criticism, given that S Club 7 was sired by Spice Girls/American Idol magnate Simon Fuller, “Perfect Christmas” proves to be holiday pop at its peak: sweet enough to indulge in pleasurably, yet temperate enough with the sappy sentiment that grimaces do not abound. Radio-friendly R&B-lite vocals and a classic Motown-esque melody mosey into a rising and falling chorus that leaps to its spires, then retreats a few steps, gradually climbing in progressively chromatic fashion a spiral staircase of beat-locked-bass and Shasta-sheen strings. The S Clubbers saunter sonorously along the snow-paved sidewalks of tealight-illuminated Candy Cane Lane, all for the sake of punctuating their wish list with an asterisk: *Eliminate the “unrequited” and “long-distance” in the relationship. This winter brew concocted by songwriters Cathy Dennis and Simon Ellis goes down all smooth and buttery, like the creamiest of rum eggnogs, tapping into the alchemic wonder of the holiday season to spark visions of perennial munificence that melt away with the conclusion of winter break.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Elevator Love Letter (2003) – Stars

2006-11-22T23:29:00.000-08:00

Frigidity gets an audit in “Elevator Love Letter,” the avowal of a fashionably aloof career woman who flourishes in the boardroom and founders in the bedroom. Amy Millan is a girl unattainable behind a facade of ambition and achievement, who keeps confidants and would-be suitors at bay with a temperament that lies somewhere between the irksome neurosis of Ally McBeal and the off-putting Oscar Wilde-isms of Ling Woo. Isolated by the aftereffects of her corporate ascent, she still secretly yearns for intimacy. To that end, Millan’s voice has never sounded sweeter as it glides leniently, smooth as honey, yet tempered by the burden of a weary detachment. To assist her, Evan Cranley devises a lolloping bassline that fits so perfectly in the pocket, lingering on the root before joining the guitar through the chord progression, that its dynamic allure magnetizes the soul to do its bidding. Torquil Campbell is the aspirant from accounting come to deliver her from the ivory tower of a downtown high-rise. Although he realizes she’s out of his league, he’ll be dusting off the John Hughes-inspired lines tonight, hoping to charm her inner Molly Ringwald. Perhaps she capitulates in a moment of weakness, only to return to the environment that obscures her apathy beneath the humming of printers, copiers and fax machines, illuminates her loneliness in the radiation of a computer monitor.

Listen to "Elevator Love Letter" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Ye Olde Sweet Shoppe: A Farewell To Tower Records (1960 - 2006)

2006-11-18T10:55:00.000-08:00

A part of my life is marching towards a slow, certain death. The Going-Out-Of-Business Sale signs have gone up at all Tower Records, as the entire chain is slated to meet an imminent demise, its assets having been sold off in bankruptcy to the highest bidder who has no intentions of salvaging the company. While many may barely bat an eye at the news, or even take sadistic pleasure in such a fate, some understand its significance, while others share in my despondency.

To me, the closures symbolize the waning days of a lifestyle in which I once reveled—a pastime known as record-shopping. One of the biggest independent record stores in the country, Amoeba, still exists a 30-minute drive away from home; my visits there will probably become more frequent, if not more costly. But no longer can I run out on a whim on a Saturday night to the neighborhood Tower Records a few blocks from my home to check out the sale prices on new releases, hunt for back catalog, and take inventory of the gaps in my collection. (Why I prefer not to download, take copied music from others, or order CDs online is an entirely different discussion.)

Admittedly, Tower’s regular prices were ridiculously high, which—aside from the backlash from music fans against the record industry in general—surely contributed to its financial woes. Still, Tower’s redeeming qualities were its encyclopedic selection that dwarfed those of Best Buy or Circuit City, and its convenient suburban locations (Virgin Megastores are too sparsely disbursed and their prices are just as prohibitive). Also, Tower’s sale prices were competitive, and its prices on back catalog were often reasonable. True, Target’s new release prices are excellent, but its limited product selection eventually rotates out of stock. Walmart sells censored versions of its music—which pretty much makes purchasing rap at Walmart an exercise in meaninglessness. Granted, the exclusive bonus track deals that Best Buy has been able to secure are an alluring, if not cunning, tactic to force completists like me to buy new releases there; I had already begun buying fewer new releases from Tower on that basis alone.

Above all else, though, I had a history with Tower—a stalwart that survived when Licorice Pizza, Musicland, The Wherehouse, Music Plus and numerous others could not. It was a destination devoted entirely to the pursuit of musical discovery (augmented by DVDs, books, magazines—even collectibles in its later years). In high school, I walked its aisles after class to search for a new theme song for the weekend’s exploits. CDs were sold in cardboard long-boxes back then, and albums were actually released on vinyl a few weeks before the CD. Although things have since changed a bit, nearly twenty years later on Saturday nights I would regularly visit Tower Records, a mistress in whose aisles I could find comfort and rediscover forgotten pleasures as well as seek out new experiences until midnight.

Yesterday, I made one last visit to a local Tower store: bargain-hunting shoppers gleefully rummaged through the dwindling inventory at the liquidation sale, disinterested vultures in an opportunistic spree. In the midst of all the bustling activity, I took a reflective look around, my heart wistful as I bid a final farewell.

It may be pathetic and silly to mourn the death of a record-store chain that was short on bargains, to wax maudlin over a format that creeps toward obsolescence. But, God-willing, when I am old and the hearing is not what it once was, when the discretionary purchases have yielded to what the pension doles my way and retirement savings allots, I will recall the countless hours spent at records stores in general and Tower Records in particular, riffling through the bins, soaking in the delicious smell of shrink-wrapped vinyl—later replaced by the clacking of compact-disc cases—that became the scents and sounds en route to discovering the soundtrack of my life, audio snapshots to preserve the visceral impact of my memories. Although the delights of youth—Christmas morning, birthday parties, trick-or-treating—disappear with age, when I was browsing the bins of Tower Records, I was in a candy store, a kid who knew no surfeit.

Tears On My Pillow (1958) – Little Anthony & The Imperials (Sylvester Bradford/Al Lewis)

2006-11-11T22:27:00.000-08:00

Little Anthony takes a slow rhythmic stroll upon a moonlit terrace of disconsolation, his alto piercing the lonely night with a wistful wail that carries over a crestfallen chord progression and the lament of doo-wop vocals, before retiring to languish in the pool of tears he fashions for himself every evening. He still holds out hope for a second chance—foolishly perhaps, but without the delusion of expectation.

Listen to "Tears On My Pillow" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Boris The Spider (1966) – The Who

2006-10-31T00:17:00.000-08:00

Much as the urban legend of mentally disturbed individuals who began placing razor blades, pins and needles in candy withered the once thriving neighborhood traditions of Halloween, John Entwistle’s monomaniacal fascination with a spider likewise depicts fiendishness incarnate . . . well, at least from an entomological perspective.

A thumping bass line yo-yos about like an arachnid on its silken web, bobbing in carefree locomotion as Entwistle describes his fixation on the little critter which makes its way across the room. With a guttural growl he dubs it Boris, mimicking its “creepy, crawly” movement in a puckish falsetto. Yet, despite Entwistle’s engrossment, poor Boris meets a grim fate, squashed flat, courtesy of a good old-fashioned book-slammin’.

Around these parts, the streets were never again bustling with trick-or-treaters, either.

Listen to "Boris The Spider" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Brooklyn Roads (1968) – Neil Diamond

2006-09-30T18:09:00.000-07:00

There comes a day when one’s childhood seems to have transpired during an entirely different lifetime, a day when one is free to re-construct monuments from the shards of what at the time were perceived shortcomings. Neil Diamond pensively captures this moment of resolution in “Brooklyn Roads,” a rapt recollection of days spent struggling to find academic bearings in the midst of an overwhelming imagination that caused him to flounder at school. He recalls the scents and sounds of apartment life, the comfort of his father’s beard, the fantasies he would indulge to escape his life of mediocrity. Throughout, a somber brume of French horns, strings and melodica underscores the ebb of auld lang syne—as when one, upon awakening from a nap, gasps in the acute realization that death is certain, and the past, irretrievable. The mind reaches back to rummage for what the heart craves, perhaps finding vicarious consolation in the belief that Home still redeems the fanciful reveries of youth.

Listen to "Brooklyn Roads" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

See also "Shilo" (1968) – Neil Diamond.

A Thugz Mansion In Heaven’s Ghetto: Tupac Shakur—10 Years Gone

2006-09-13T12:50:00.000-07:00

While it is fun to speculate as to whether or not he is really dead, today—September 13, 2006—marks the 10th anniversary of Tupac Amaru Shakur’s death.

Although for practically that entire decade I could have cared less about Tupac—believing his music said nothing to me about my life (to borrow from Morrissey)—I recently came to realize that his lyrics reflect a poetic truth about the human condition. In his music, conflicting emotions, values and beliefs collide in a fusion of rage, bravado, and compassion, yet flow out in terms that not only the mind understands, but the heart embraces. He was blessed with a distinctive voice, a prolific pen, an uncanny ear for rhythmic wiles, a perspicuous lyrical style that seamlessly blurred the line between reality and fiction, and profound insight into the interplay between his own desires, fears, joys, pain, anxieties, strife, triumphs, and failures, as well as those he could see in his community and society in general. Plus, the beatz is bangin’.

Despite his thug persona, Tupac’s oeuvre evinces an irrepressible artist’s sensitivity as much as it does a ruffian’s weary worldview, allowing others to understand his ambitionz az a ridah. We picture you rollin’, ‘Pac.

See also "If I Die 2Nite" (1996) — 2Pac.

Love Goes On! (1988) – The Go-Betweens

2006-08-29T23:16:00.000-07:00

One of many pearls left behind by the recently departed Grant McLennan (12th February 1958 – 6th May 2006), “Love Goes On” conveys its yearning in strides constructed of the happy-go-lucky buoyancy of twee pop, burdened with the gravity of carnivorous longing. With drums and bass buried far below in the mix, percussive showers of acoustic guitar carry the insistent rhythm which flaunts a melody that pines for want of experience, elevated by the optimism of its “badabopbopbadadabow!”s and a violin jig that recalls the fingered birdsong of a flute. McLennan understands the theoretical paradigm of love, but he is also familiar with love’s sinister complexion. He knows that despite its incongruities, love goes on.

Listen to "Love Goes On!" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Thank You For The Music (1978) – ABBA

2006-08-06T00:28:00.000-07:00

In the tradition of Barry Manilow’s “I Write The Songs” and Yes’ “Our Song,” “Thank You For The Music” relishes the performer’s perspective, celebrating the power of music to transform the entertainer and enhance one’s joie de vivre. Although Agnetha Fältskogat’s sentiments are at times silly and self-absorbed, “Thank You For The Music” regales as it builds from a reflective stroll across a stage to a vaudevillian chorus line. Playful figures of upright piano meander and gallivant throughout like marionettes, while mandolin trills and vivid keyboards grace a chorus built around a chord progression composed equally of melancholy and gratitude, mirroring the realization that music is the sine qua non of life, such that to be without it is truly an impoverished existence.

Listen to "Thank You For The Music" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

See also "Dancing Queen" (1978) – ABBA.

I’m Ready (1980) – Kano

2006-07-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

From the dancefloor of an interplanetary discotheque emanate handclaps and an undulating synth intro (that later anchored Tag Team’s 1993 party anthem, “Whoomp! There It Is”), in pulses sent out as signals to notify other life forms that a boogie of cosmic import is forthcoming. In accordance therewith, razor-crisp drums kick in, escorting nipping keyboard pecks into the atmosphere as a shoveling bassline arrives to scoop in and progressively dig out a subterranean groove from deep within the host planets’ cores. As extraterrestrials boogie alongside humanoids, they partake of the funk that orbits in spheroids of falsetto/baritone voices, filter-swept and LFO synthesizers, and a periodic vocoder refrain that announces its standby status in anticipation of robotic missions. In an amicable space-disco invasion, “I’m Ready” spreads infectious intergalactic goodwill while dispersing its sonic probes in colonization of uncharted star systems.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

The Bones Of An Idol (2005) – The New Pornographers

2006-07-14T22:11:00.000-07:00

With melody mystical and imagery allegorical, The New Pornographers revisit a mythology that once inspired a quest for something seemingly unattainable. When reasons to continue the endeavor are no longer apparent, introspection can resurrect a dream laid to rest, renewing purpose. The yen for worldly renown has lain dormant for some time, but the thirst of aspiration has not been completely quenched. Like a talisman of reinvigoration with which Indiana Jones would abscond, remains of forgotten zeal are excavated, but the opportunities for exploitation have dwindled from disuse.

Needless to say, any song graced with Neko Case’s vocals already enjoys an eminent distinction. And, from its hammering eighth-note piano chords that chisel away over a bedrock of steadily advancing drums, to the elastic guitar refrain that warps gently in lieu of a chorus and the vocal layers that overlap to preserve the finds, “Bones” spurs an expedition that unearths sought-after relics of ambition. The bones of an idol are once again becoming comfortable in this skin.

Listen to "The Bones Of An Idol" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Stay (Faraway, So Close!) (1993) – U2

2006-07-14T22:05:00.000-07:00

Embedded on 1993’s underrated Zooropa, “Stay” yields one of U2’s more persuasive moments post-The Joshua Tree. The Edge’s curtailed flecks of guitar and Adam Clayton’s creeping bassline intertwine like gear cogs that apply torque to the vectorial plod of Larry Mullin, Jr.’s drums, as they forge ahead through the somnolence. Drenched in drowsy reverb that carries to the furthest reaches of night, Bono’s punchdrunken drawl emits gently as it professes messianic intentions. “Stay” loiters in the parking lots of seedy vacant motels, hanging around in a stale milieu of urban decay, a sprawl of psychological blight, a cesspool of spiritual decadence. Bono commiserates with a young woman who has become apathetic toward, and incapable of, human interaction, preferring instead to experience life through the filter of commercial media. A Rorschach blot of nebulous guitar slowly crescendos in a subtle accretion of soporific reverb. As he projects arcs of e-bow, The Edge lofts background vocals that plummet from escarpments carved of emotional erosion. Bono fancies himself a savior who would deliver the damsel from her stagnancy. However, his self-assuredness fails to stave off another evening of escapist depravity that trips her up in a tangle of intoxication.

Listen to "Stay (Faraway, So Close!)" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Reunion (1999) – Korea Girl

2006-07-09T16:34:00.000-07:00

Although sharing a title and subject matter with a Stars song, whereas Torquil Campbell attends his high school reunion with an agenda, Elizabeth Yi throws her invitation away in the trash, but continues to haul around the debris of high-school alienation. Yi knows that she hasn’t achieved in ten years what the corporate sell-outs will announce with the badges of their BMWs and Benzes, hasn’t given up on her dreams by starting a family like the ones her classmates will proudly display in photos. Yet, her band hasn’t achieved the indie recognition she had counted on to compensate for eschewing a charmed yuppie life. In short, her social status vis-à-vis her popular classmates remains unchanged—they will still sneer at her with superciliousness, condescendingly feign interest in her life, then whisper snide remarks behind her back. Nor has her contempt for them waned: “Why would I spend more time / with people that I hate, couldn’t wait to leave behind?” To break the tension, guitarist Tobin provides a warm-fuzzy solo from the school of Dean Wareham. While Yi concludes with a tinge of sarcasm, there’s also a hint of envy in her voice: “Beautiful / you were / popular / in school / So cool.” She hasn’t yet given up on the American dream; it’s just that hers was crafted on cassette tapes in bedrooms, rather than predetermined by career guidance counselors and Ivy League educations.

Listen to "Reunion" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

The End Of The World (1963) – Skeeter Davis (Sylvia Dee/Arthur Kent)

2006-07-09T16:32:00.000-07:00

A piano revolves sullenly on an axis of heartbreak as Skeeter Davis plaintively ponders how life can be so insensitive to her misery, carrying on unabated when she no longer has anything to live for. A heavyhearted Davis sinks under the weight of her melodramatic millstone, happening upon a bridge that solicits consolation with classic country woe-is-me-ism, crying steel guitar tears that are dried with wipes of violin. Despite its exaggerated sense of calamity, the egocentric self-pity that pervades “The End of the World” is one that is globally understood, and at some point or another, universally suffered.

Listen to "The End Of The World" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Underwater (2006) - Ghostface Killah

2006-07-08T18:29:00.000-07:00

Ghostface Killah, Wu-Tang Clan’s prolific assassin, portrays a drug smuggler shot during an offshore trafficking exchange gone wrong, who falls overboard and begins a phantasmagorical descent toward his spiritual fate. Guided by “mermaids with Halle Berry haircuts,” he witnesses a chimerical world of mergirls sporting pearls and Gucci belts, Spongebob in a Bentley Coupe (whose girl checks out Ghostface, prompting Spongebob to bitch-slap her), treasures and vessels (including Noah’s Ark and relics from the Titanic), finally reaching Atlantis where Muslims worship, welcoming him with Qur’ans and Torahs—the respective religious texts of Islam and Judaism, whose followers on earth are diametrically opposed politically. Producer MF Doom (of Madvillain) conjures a mysterious dragnet of Charlie’s Angelesque flute samples (from “Just A Love Child” by Bobbi Humphrey) and a spectral mermaid voice. It’s fitting that Ghostface depicts an aquatic scene: his album’s title, Fishscale, refers to Peruvian Fishscale—a form of cocaine—bridging the drug reference with the fishscales of a mermaid’s tail. Although he eventually reaches the promised land, it’s unclear whether he means to suggest that the Islamic religion is the only true one, or whether it, and Judaism, are as illusory as the underwater hallucinatory scene he just witnessed.

Listen to "Underwater" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

4th of July (1987) – X

2006-07-03T10:36:00.000-07:00

(Part One of the From Matrimony To Alimony trilogy)

In this country-tinged round of barroom rock, John Doe deplores a loveless marriage with the same blue-collar strife and pregnant details that Springsteen brings to the table. Doe can’t identify the exact moment of defeat, only the entirety of the ebb. As he reflects upon their quandary, he is reminded of the carefree trivialities that once enlivened their relationship. Perhaps she can remember as well. He goads her to partake of the Fourth of July festivities, hoping to tap into the celebratory spirit abounding and alleviate the symptoms, if not cure the malady. He just hopes this isn’t the day she declares her independence.

Listen to "4th of July" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Just Because It’s Dying (2002) – Jenny Toomey with Franklin Bruno

2006-07-03T10:24:00.000-07:00

(Part Two of the From Matrimony To Alimony trilogy)

Along with Stephen Merritt, Franklin Bruno is one of the modern-day American songwriters who excels in vivid metaphors and clever wordplay that appease the intellect. His colleague and occasional collaborator, Jenny Toomey (of Tsunami/Grenadine/Liquorice/Simple Machines/Slack/Geek/solo fame), undertook to record renditions of twelve old and new Bruno compositions. One of the highlights of this association, “Just Because It’s Dying” (from Bruno’s 2000 release Kiss Without Makeup) offers encouragement to those who have lost the passion in their relationship and are on the fence as to whether it’s time to cut ties.

When the heat of July just gets you more sweaty than steamy, it’s time to rediscover the sparks that once flew: “When you see the fireworks fizzle / hit the lake, and start to sizzle / don’t you wish for one last missile / to illuminate the sky? / So do I.” Depicting love as tangible, Bruno appeals to the rational side of the debate that promotes salvaging over scrapping, knowing that rash decisions grounded in emotion are more likely to be erroneous ones. Toomey sings with empathetic compassion, backed by Bruno himself, former-Tsunami member Amy Domingues, and members of Calexico, who lay down a blanket of sauntering acoustic chamber pop. Aside from their lyrical wit, Bruno’s songs cast memorable melodic hooks as well: Toomey’s swooning inflection (“do you?” and “to you”) bait the heart, while tender moments of gently nudged melody in the transitional refrain reel it in. Once landed, Bruno’s not inclined to throw it back just yet.

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Theme From A Summer Place (1960) – Percy Faith and His Orchestra

2006-07-03T10:18:00.000-07:00

If you were born in the ‘50s, ‘60s, or even ‘70s, there’s a good chance you heard this playing at an outdoor mall while shopping with your mother, or wafting from a transistor radio in the kitchen while she whipped up some Toll House cookies. This July 4th, why not make “Theme From A Summer Place” the theme for your summer place while you grill tasty treats for your friends and family to enjoy? With its leisurely rhythmic waltz, dreamy flutes and French horns, and strings swaying gracefully in the breeze, “Theme From A Summer Place” is sure to soothe and delight your guests as they lounge by the pool, nursing tall, cool refreshments in anticipation of the evening’s fireworks display your neighbors are sure to put on at the block party! “Theme From A Summer Place”—no mid-summer’s backyard barbeque is complete without it!

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John Riley and the Housewives Who Love Him (2003) – Baskervilles

2006-07-03T10:07:00.000-07:00

(Part Three of the From Matrimony To Alimony trilogy)

In “John Riley and the Housewives Who Love Him,” Baskervilles don their Belle & Sebastian cap, as singer/guitarist Rob Keith pouts sardonically to the strains of haunting chamber pop. Notably, Craig Van Orsdale’s sweetly sibilant hi-hats and richly pinging ride cymbal sparkle in exceptionally recorded brilliance. Anti-climactic one-two jabs of guitar and tom-tom punctuation following the refrain reflect the songs theme of unmet expectations. Keith depicts John Riley as a Hugh Grant-type that women daydream about and men resent, waiting for him to slip up so that the tabloids can humiliate him. Keith reduces Riley’s accomplishments to how many gossip rags he moves at the checkout stand. But, Riley’s true appeal lies in providing a daily diversion for women who live vicariously through his publicized affairs as they sleepwalk through stale marriages. Keyboardist/violinist/vocalist Stephanie Finucane chimes in to explain women’s idolization of John: “Reading about him beats the doldrums that set in / Glad we’re not alone even though romance has gone,” to which Keith retorts sarcastically on behalf of their husbands: “That’s right. I mean, why work hard / when it’s ‘til death do we part? / Our love life can’t compare to John’s.” Although men may teem with cynicism and sarcasm, the irony is that, quite possibly, they covet as much as they contemn.

Listen to "John Riley and the Housewives Who Love Him" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Overture/Going Through The Motions (2001) – Sarah Michelle Gellar (Joss Whedon)

2006-07-02T19:04:00.000-07:00

There’s ennui in the vampire slayer business and Buffy Summers has come down with a case of the blahs. While Buffy The Vampire Slayer’s musical episode, Once More With Feeling, boasts more complex and entertaining fare (“I’ve Got A Feeling/Bunnies/If We’re Together,” “I’ll Never Tell,” “Something To Sing About”), opening number “Going Through The Motions” whets the appetite by alluding to the puns, visual gags, and inside jokes that cater to viewers’ knowledge, as well as showcase Buffy creator Joss Whedon’s surprising brilliance as a songwriter with a knack for the tongue-in-cheek musical jocularity of The Simpsons. With its refined orchestration, and in true Hollywood soundtrack tradition, the overture foreshadows a central theme to be revisited later in the episode (“Something To Sing About”). The episode itself weaves in the series’ ongoing storyline, and this song in particular epitomizes Buffy’s chronic grievance as she kicks vampire and demon ass while nonchalantly strolling through the cemetery, yearning for a deeper purpose in life.

Sure, Sarah Michelle Gellar is no more accomplished a singer than, say, Winona Ryder is an actress. But hey, at least Sarah’s chosen profession isn’t singing. (Sorry, Noni—loved ya in Beetlejuice, Heathers, and to a lesser extent Edward Scissorhands, but it’s been all downhill since then). Gellar’s voice is tenuous, unsophisticated, nasally, and comes off like that of a girl starring in a backyard play—endearing qualities all. But, importantly, she is able to remain fairly within the neighborhood of the twin suburbs called timing and tune, where Buffy vanquishes the undead as she strolls down the boulevard, cutting a svelte figure that has a promising spot as musical guest on Sesame Street singing a duet with Count Von Count.

Listen to "Overture/Going Through The Motions" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

In My Time Of Dying (1975) – Led Zeppelin

2006-07-02T17:05:00.000-07:00

Robert Plant, half-drunk with bottle of whiskey in hand, attempts to cajole his way into Heaven, hoping that his hard-living ways will not bar his entry. Jimmy Page, on the other hand, loafs on the devil’s porch, knowing his obsession with the occult has already sealed his fate. What begins as a bluesy spiritual that takes its time in winding down the bayou to reach the levee, soon ruptures into a slide guitar wankfest featuring the lambasting that drummer John Bonham inflicts upon his kit—igniting his hi-hats in a fiery sizzle, cudgeling his kick drum in rhythmic knocks that pound on Heaven’s door, launching assaults on his snare that outright try to bust the door down. All the while Page tries to sear a hole in the guarded portal with a howling, crowing, squalling conflagration of dirty slide guitar. The interplay between Bonham and Page that feeds the inferno does nothing in furtherance of their admission through the Pearly Gates, but they make a devilishly convincing case to be Hell’s house band.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Snowden (2005) – Doves

2006-07-02T16:59:00.000-07:00

On 2005’s Some Cities, Doves out-Coldplay, Coldplay. While the latter’s 2005 release, X & Y, indicates an artistic dégringolade—between appropriating wholesale Kraftwerk’s “Computer Love” riff (down to the key) and Chris Martin’s apparent relinquishment of lyric-writing duties to Gwyneth, or just as likely, daughter Apple—Doves take aim at the soar-core crown, exploiting the timbral similarity of Jimi Goodwin’s dampened intonation to Martin’s.

The song’s title references a character from Joseph Heller’s novel, Catch-22, whose rather gruesome death as a World War II fighter pilot was pivotal to the developmental crisis of the main character, Yossarian, transforming Yossarian’s attitude toward fighting in the war from patriotism to survival. At first, Goodwin assumes the roles of both men: Snowden, as he hemorrhages to death; Yossarian, as he realizes the futility of his life-saving efforts. The song dilates in epic scope, building from simple acoustic guitar strums and mermaid cove atmospherics, to disembarkment onto the shore, then a purposeful stride across the hinterland towards a dubious fate. Goodwin expands his perspective to soldiers who must go off to fight wars manufactured by their country’s government, muttering gripes beneath their breath as they sit stationed overseas. A sirenic choir of ghostly voices and Mellotronic strings coalesce in gothic beauty, serving as a soaring hook in lieu of a chorus, as mortaring drums forge ahead with clanging cymbals, escorting platoons to certain death. A squadron of troweling guitar, sinewy bass and clinking glockenspiel disintegrates into lo-fi flares of fuzz, detonating across a battlefield, followed by sustained echoes of guitar squeal that peal across the sky like wounded fighter jets emitting plumes of smoke as they plummet toward earth. Goodwin cuts back to the troops pondering their fate as they are thrown to the wolves: “If this will be our last summer / then why should we care?” However, it’s probably not concern for their own life which they are forsaking; rather, it’s more likely the justification for war that will cause them to desert the scheme of their orchestrated demise.

Listen to "Snowden" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Tonight You Belong To Me (1956) – Patience and Prudence

2006-07-02T01:06:00.000-07:00

Immortalized by the ukulele-toting Steve Martin and cornet-wielding Bernadette Peters in The Jerk, “Tonight You Belong To Me” was a #4 hit for Patience and Prudence McIntyre. They were only 10 and 13 when they recorded this jaunty promenade about a romance that exists only in one’s dreams, making it as creepy as it is endearing, especially given that it sounds like the Lolitaesque siren song of a pair of Talking Tinas. Yet, endearing it is, with its irresistibly precious ambulatory two-part vocal harmonies that, like The Jackson 5’s “I’ll Be There,” make you forget the singers are probably without the benefit of life experience to inform their melodic musings.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Acoustic Guitar (1999) – The Magnetic Fields

2006-07-02T00:59:00.000-07:00

Quite simply one of the most clever songs ever written, “Acoustic Guitar” personifies said instrument, imploring it to “bring me back my girl,” alternating between bribery, wheedling, and threats. In between, the song ascribes virtues to the guitar, while acknowledging personal shortcomings, and humorously recalling the ex’s idiosyncrasies.

To the uninitiated listener, the song is either a tender gender bender or lesbian lament due to Claudia Gonson’s reference to her girl. It’s even more endearing, however, when one realizes that a man wrote this song, as if he is hiding behind a female voice and a guitar to further distance himself from his inadequacies. Yet, in another twist, songwriter Stephen Merritt is gay. The genius, then, is that the song succeeds despite the fact that, in order to personally relate, most listeners will impute to it characteristics which it possesses neither in form, nor in substance—the perspective of a straight male.

Listen to "Acoustic Guitar" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Achy Breaky Heart (1992) – Billy Ray Cyrus (Don Von Tress)

2006-07-02T00:52:00.000-07:00

Before his lead stint in PAX TV’s Doc, his cameo in David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, or his role on Disney Channel’s Hannah Montana as father to his real-life daughter, Miley, Billy Ray Cyrus was most loved (and mostly reviled) for this line-dance-inducing ditty. His ridiculous physical maneuvers on stage were actually something to behold in their embarrassing awkwardness, wherein he would punctuate his performance of this song with farcical air punches and swivel to and fro with hands held aloft above head, prancing about with the grace of a tow truck driver. It’s obvious he recognized, yet decided to embrace, the song’s frivolousness—how could he not, singing such drivel. And therein lies this song’s worth: the ability to be at once so base, yet so annoyingly catchy, is an accomplishment worthy of recognition (due to Don Von Tress’ sly songwriting). The fact that he often references “Achy Breaky Heart” in Hannah Montana is all the more reason to give him props for acknowledging what it did for his career. The fact that Sonic Lager knows that he often references this song in Hannah Montana is, admittedly, all the more reason to stop reading this blog.

Listen to "Achy Breaky Heart" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

14 Zero Zero (1998) – Console

2006-07-02T00:51:00.000-07:00

As the side project of The Notwist’s Martin Gretschmann, Console reinterpreted Katacombo’s 1979 Goo-era Sonic Youthesque post-punk din, transforming it from a prototypical Kim Gordon atonal blare-fest into a precisely-programmed computer diatribe. (Interestingly, the lyrics from the original version appear to have survived almost wholly intact 20 years later, with very minor tweaks to reflect modern computer terminology.) The re-imagined “14 Zero Zero” is a dynamic Roland TR-808-driven sequence of cascading, undulating, modulating portamento pulses, bleeps, arcade blips and analog polyphony executed via modular patch-bays, MIDI-chains and SCSI conduits. With terse mockery and scorn, a software-synthesized simulated voice sarcastically contemns its user for his technological dependency and addiction. As a final parting shot, 14 0 0 taunts its user’s garbage in, gospel out mentality by spitting forth a value judgment in a catchy refrain: “i got my hard disk / with all that hard disk trash inside.”

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Bag Lady (2000) – Erykah Badu

2006-07-02T00:42:00.000-07:00

With deadpan metaphorical quips, Erykah Badu chides women who haul so much emotional baggage around that they are doomed to perpetuate a vicious cycle of overbearing co-dependency that drives men away. Badu uses hobo imagery and street dialect to signify the morass of an emotional ghetto that traps in self-defeating insecurity, bereft of hope for personal advancement unless a woman first gets things right within herself. Highlighted by the classic signature of Fender Rhodes panning suitcase vibrato, the arrangement is primarily bolstered by brawny 5-string bass, sinuous blaxploitation guitar, syncopated bongos taps, and military snare rudiments. Although she acknowledges that the root of the problem lies in past betrayals, Badu encourages her sisters to ditch the bags, abandon the shopping cart, and escape the housing projects of the heart.

Listen to "Bag Lady" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Sharks & Sailors (1997) – June of 44

2006-07-02T00:02:00.000-07:00

(Part Four of the Mine Ears Have Heard The Glory of the Banging of the Drum tetralogy)

Guitars grate, scratch, plink, hum and buzz in the waters of “Sharks & Sailors,” while a bottom-dwelling bass trolls its depths. Ex-Rodan guitarist/vocalist Jeff Mueller snarls a chantey of bemusement, but his vocals serve as punctuation to the true featured player—drummer Doug Scharin. Spurred by stretches of unconventional time signatures, Scharin lobs tom-rolls that tumble a shade earlier and a trace longer than expected. During the quieter passages, he casts a net of highly-controlled double stroke, accent and roll combinations, culminating in tom and snare hits on unforeseen offbeats. To further catch the listener unawares, the toms are tuned and mic’d in such a way that renders them devoid of resonance, like taut sails being struck. The drum monsoon that arrives 9 minutes and 7 seconds into the song is stunning. Via his atypical tom and snare strikes meshed with one-handed rolls, Scharin adds his name to the pantheon of drumming with an innovative, yet musical, non-solo performance.

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Souvenir (1981) – Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark

2006-07-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

(Part One of the Gorgeousness and Gloom tetralogy)

As a small consolation to its victims, had “Souvenir” been playing on the Titanic as it succumbed to the icy waters of the North Atlantic, at least the sound of heaven would have accompanied them to their watery graves. Dabs of choppy keyboard bob beneath a sublime motif emanating in exquisite patterns that lap against a vessel of sinusoidal waveforms adrift on an oceanic soundscape of ethereal synthesized voice pads. A beat thumps starkly as Paul Humphreys vacillates laconically in dichotomies—volition vs. vicissitude, infatuation vs. indifference—in an attempt to resolve his confusion. His angst endures as a memento of his desire, impairing his sense of reason and confounding his emotions in a state of discombobulation.

Listen to "Souvenir" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Me and the Bees (2000) – The Softies

2006-07-01T23:59:00.000-07:00

(Part Two of the Gorgeousness and Gloom tetralogy)

Twee-pop icon Rose Melberg and fellow indie pop cohort Jen Sbragia susurrate in sotto voce with the dejection of girls sent to their room. A piano pensively picks out notes while a guitar gently strums crestfallenly, as the girls mope in forsaken aimlessness, given to the caprice of nature (“Now it’s just me / and the bees / in a cyclone of fallen leaves”), as love lost blows away in diaphanous traces, blue with heartache and longing.

Listen to "Me and the Bees" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Someplace (But Not This Place) (Window Gardens Remix) (2001) – Brittle Stars

2006-07-01T23:57:00.000-07:00

(Part Three of the Gorgeousness and Gloom tetralogy)

Despite her hints that she’s close to calling off the relationship, she’s still not taken seriously. So vocalist Estelle sighs wearily about being patronized: “But you said ‘Sleep on this’ / That’s what my dad would say.” She knows the nagging discomfiture portends unhappiness. While the original version lulls in its simply stated sedateness, the Window Gardens Remix restores the lush elegance implicit in the original by adding astral synthesized strings and chiming guitar, pushing the band further back in the mix, and increasing the reverb while clarifying the vocals—treatments that enhance the disconsolate beauty of an inevitable adieu.

Listen to "Someplace (But Not This Place)(Window Gardens Remix)" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

Out Walking (2003) – Britta Phillips and Dean Wareham

2006-07-01T23:54:00.000-07:00

(Part Four of the Gorgeousness and Gloom tetralogy)

Yes, she provided the singing voice of Jem, served as singer for Belltower, co-starred with Julia Roberts and Justine Bateman in Satisfaction, and became Luna’s foxiest bassist. But, whatever Britta Phillips did up until the day she recorded “Out Walking” pales in comparison. For, on that day, she approached ne plus ultra.

Phillips’ sensual, aching purr drifts in a narcotic aura of disorienting beauty, wafting in slow oscillatory gradations between melodic zeniths and nadirs with the cigarette-distressed beguilement of a femme fatale. She describes a couple’s weary apathy—his rote, her remove. On occasion, however, their romance sporadically awakens in sparks of rejuvenation, as when an old song brings those feelings flooding back.

Spectral reverb and toasty compression envelope Phillips’ breathy emissions that wash over a substratum of Mellotron string drones, roundwound bass string heft (both courtesy of famed David Bowie producer Toni Visconti), and pendulating drum lethargy. Fellow Luna bandmate/leader Dean Wareham loiters off to the side, sparingly dispensing subtle thrums of guitar. Gliding on a draft of Mellotron flute, tintinnabulating sleighbells, and morsels of vibraphone, the instrumental break captures the enchanting otherworldliness of a winter evening in Reykjavík. Britta winds up by recalling her quondam life as the person she was referring to, at one point finessing the word “from” with such absolutely gorgeous expressiveness that it triggers shivers of synaptic bliss, suffusing the being with holistic euphoria.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Communication (2004) – The Cardigans

2006-07-01T23:49:00.000-07:00

(Epilogue to the Gorgeousness and Gloom tetralogy)

Despite its odd and enigmatic ambiguity, “Communication” is Nina Persson’s moment of pure vocal perfection wherein she radiates the quintessence of beauty. It unfurls slowly like a country ballad playing on the jukebox of a lonely roadhouse in the purlieus of Twin Peaks. Its warm tube compression and lush reverb cradle Persson’s silken, slightly smoky voice that lingers on notes, caressing each measure with pathos (including a heart-rending, tear-welling massaging of “eye” in the second verse).

Portraying a woman who has searched unsuccessfully for intimacy, she finally discovers a promising soul mate. The details of their circumstance slowly begin to unfold: soon after they met, she discovered their shared heroin addiction; unbeknownst to him, she fell in love—unrequited—but at least in those moments when they were shooting-up together, they were simpatico. However, she died from an overdose. She lives on in his memories, but the presence he sometimes feels is, in fact, her supernatural attempts to let him know she is there. From her heavenly vantage point, she still believes he’ll one day realize how she felt about him, and maybe he’ll reciprocate, at least metaphysically. But, to her dismay, as difficult as conveying her feelings to him seemed in life, they are nearly impossible in the hereafter, given his unwillingness to hold a séance or consult a Ouija board. So desperate has she become, that she tries to beckon him by planting suicidal thoughts as he sleeps. All she can do is wait for death, whenever that may occur (an overdose, perhaps?), to reunite them. Such futility exacerbates the frustration of a soul who, even without corporeal existence, craves elusive companionship.

Listen to "Communication" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

I Never Said Goodbye (1972) – Engelbert Humperdinck

2006-06-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

Death, despondency and regret seem to be a recurring theme here at Sonic Lager, perhaps because such pain illuminates what is important in life. Engelbert Humperdinck further heightens that awareness in this sorrowful tale. He and his wife had fought the day before, she fled upset, crashed her car, and died before he could reach her hospital bedside. Now he is haunted by phantoms and the vestiges she left behind (perfume, shoes, unmade bed, shopping list, apron)—traces that serve as reminders of how inconsequential their quarrel was in the grand scheme of things. He rues the opportunity he squandered, a chance to say what would become a final farewell to her when, instead, they parted in anger. Now, the remorse will torment him until, perchance, he is finally given an opportunity to reconcile with her in death.

Not available from iTunes Music Store.

Exhume To Consume (1989) - Carcass

2006-06-30T01:28:00.000-07:00

In a genre that, for all practical purposes, knows no dynamics and little differentiation, “Exhume To Consume” is grindcore at its finest . . . isn’t it? Quite frankly, it’s impossible to discern the unintelligible demon-dog snarls buried beneath the clamorous din, so one must take Carcass’ word that the lyrics reflect such high-minded rhetoric as: “I devour the pediculous corpse / Whetting my palate as I exhume / The festering stench of rotting flesh / makes me drool as I consume.” “Exhume” amuses like a soundtrack straight out of an Evil Dead 2 scene, with Ash as honorary guest at a deadites’ feast of putrefaction. Despite its morbid obsession, this is actually well-crafted poetry, paired with the tumultuous fury of . . . umm . . . Darth Vader raping the reanimated corpse of a wildebeest? One can only imagine Carcass smirking in the smugness of their wink-wink, nudge-nudge tongue-in-cheek jocularity. Like Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead chronicles, “Exhume To Consume” is over-the-top theatrical comedy that entertains as macabre burlesque.

Listen to "Exhume To Consume" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.

You Got It All (1986) – The Jets (Rupert Holmes)

2006-06-29T23:58:00.000-07:00

This tale of love upgraded though a replacement beau navigates a chord progression that sails through profound key changes, arousing emotions with the caprice of puberty. Harking back to the days of Sadie Hawkins dances, auditorium assemblies, and slam books, “You Got It All” roams the campus quad at lunchtime to explore the possibilities of recess romance. With its surprisingly breathtaking melody tenderly conveyed by Elizabeth Wolfgramm, the song is an emotional coup by songwriter Rupert Holmes—he of “Escape (The Piña Colada Song),” fame—that deserves to be enshrined in any iPod repository of slow jamz.

Listen to "You Got It All" and purchase from iTunes Music Store.