Category: tunes

Music. Bands. Songs. Concerts.

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the yes bus & my prog hard-on


Sunday night and I guess I did another one about music. I offer advanced apology to all you straights.

Had the afternoon pretty much to myself, used the time to do a whole lot of nothing but for washing dishes and tidying up here and there. With my time, I watched a 1958 movie called “The Brain Eaters,” about little fury parasitic creatures that bore their way up from the center of the Earth to attach to the back of human heads and eat their brains, controlling them “as if they were robuts,” of course, while doing so. It was just plain awesome. When Keaton woke up, we turned off the TV (it rots your brain, you know) and turned on some music instead. We read some books and I fed her dinner, and we played rocking-horse and blanket-fort until Mom got home.

Well, that’s enough lead-in, here’s what I wrote for today.

I always consider myself to have “grown up” or “come of age” during the years I spent in Florida. The town we lived in wasn’t really a “small” town, but it wasn’t a sprawling metropolis either. As I’ve mentioned before, sometime around the tender age of thirteen or so, I began throwing myself headlong into the music, ideas, and culture of a time two decades before the one I was presently teen-aging in. You’ll need these two bits of information together to appreciate the story of the “Yes bus,” which I’m writing to both plain-out tell the story and also as a nice segue into a piece on the band.

Seeing as, at the time, we (myself and the crew I ran with) were busy prototyping ourselves after the teenagers of twenty years past (making sure to temper with plenty of 90s-style teenage sneery-middle-finger-disdain), we were super sensitive to all things “summer of love.” And, in our town, there happened to be a fine rolling example of the nouveau-hippy never-let-go attitude: the Yes bus.

The Yes bus was, as you might expect, a Volkswagen bus (from the cherry pre-’68 T1 years) which had been (fairly skillfully) tricked-out with a full psychedelic paintjob. And, while the entire body of the vehicle was covered in multicolored swirls and flowers, the true “coolness” of the thing came from the two huge band logos decorating either of the broad sides.

One one side, it was the Doors logo, font-perfect down to the two-half Os and four-piece S; on the opposite side, the Yes logo, also skillfully copied in its familiar Roger Dean toothpaste-squirt glory. As self-proclaimed students of the 60s, we were of course drawn to this glorious machine like bees to honey (nevermind that we likely didn’t realize Yes’ career was nearly entirely 70s-based).

Surely the guys piloting this bus were some of the coolest people our midsized burg had to offer, we thought, as we tried to surreptitiously follow them around on our bikes to find out where they “crashed.” Maybe we were hoping to find a tucked-away Utopian society that never quite made the mental move off the muddy fields of Yasgur’s farm, and was still championing our storied image of the decade: free love, fun drugs, philanthropy, and the communal celebration of great, great music.

At the time, it was fairly chic to be “into” the Doors, as, for some reason, it is during those early sights-set-on-stoner teenage years. The band had recently been given the Hollywood treatment, and the girls we hung out with were requesting volumes of Morrison’s “poetry” for Christmas, convinced he was surely an overlooked-Laureate denied by a generation too square to “tune in.” Which, as an aside, is I think a big part of why I sometimes poo-poo the band’s output as having a not-insignificant element of novelty/frivolity to it… but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, the point is that The Doors were hot (well, amongst us proto-burnouts, at least). I always thought it was cool that these guys had put the Doors logo on the bus. The Yes logo, on the other hand, was something a little less familiar to me.

It would be at least another summer or so before I’d have my great prog-rock awakening, dabbling toes first with things like ELP’s “Lucky Man,” “Knife Edge”, moving onto the wonder of hearing Fragile for the first time, and finally even coming to appreciate the more hardcore stuff (ahem, Tarkus). (For whatever reason, I didn’t get into King Crimson until just some years ago, shame on me for not following that family tree back to its roots long ago.) I always thought it was a cool logo, I just kind of wondered why they hadn’t chosen a more “suitable” band to display opposite the Doors. And, at the time, I would’ve likely meant “suitable” as The Beatles.

Now then, over the past few years, I have become a complete nut for nearly every scrap and tear of Yes’ “classic period” output. I’ve come to be in awe of their post-Fragile catalog, up through about Relayer, and have decided they likely made some of the most ingenious and enjoyable music of the early 1970s. And now, looking back, I bet those Yes bus guys were even cooler than I figured them for. Yes is kind of like Rush, or maybe Dylan, in the super-binary love/hate dichotomous followings they inspire. Typically, you either hate Yes, or you love Yes (allowing, as any discerning fan must, for favoring one incarnation, period, or lineup over others). Me, I learned only recently that I’m a lover, not a hater.

So, Yes bus guys, I’m sorry I naively thought you’d chosen the wrong rockband logo to adorn your vehicle. In the end, I was wrong. In fact, were you erased from my memory and I saw you drive by for the first time tomorrow, I’d likely silently nod in approval at your decision to proclaim your identification with the difficultly dense Yes, while simultaneously chuckling inside at the obviousness of you’re being a Doors fan. What? You like Zeppelin and the Sex Pistols too? Man, you must be cool. Ahhh… how I’ve grown. Age truly does bring with it wisdom.

And, making for a nice transition from the above topic: Lately I’ve had a huge prog hard-on, and have been littering the still-has-so-much-room 160GB iPod with the likes of The Nice, Gentle Giant, Van der Graaf Generator, Harmonium, Atomic Rooter, and early Genesis (sitting alongside the “first run” bands that already had a home thereon, like ELP, Yes, and King Crimson). That’s one good thing about the new humongous iPods… you can really delve deep into the multi-fingered rock ‘n’ roll family tree, keeping genre-representative playlists all the way.

Was that OK? Took me a while to write, so I hope so.

Goodnight my friends, goodnight.

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you’re all in my chest


Wednesday night kinda crept up on me this week. I’ll be honest up-front tonight and admit that I’m not really in much of a blogging mood. It’s the first night in a couple weeks that I hadn’t already picked and mentally half-written my next day’s topic before sitting down with the laptop. I guess that’s bad, because now I’m here writing about not knowing what to write again. But, I’ve got the house to myself (Keaton’s sleeping, Sharaun out) and the iPod is on shuffle… so maybe the words will come.

Speaking of the iPod, I have this new obsession with my “Unplayed” smart-playlist. That’s the playlist where any song that’s never been listened to (at least, not since have to reset all my play-counts to zero) goes. Right now, it’s sitting at eleven-thousand some-odd songs, and I listen to it every day to try and reduce the number. I want to get that sucker to zero unplayed tracks. Today, the thing played a trick on my by shuffling up the near thirty-minute version of “Dark Star” the Dead played at Woodstock in 1969. The Dead’s entire mega-historical Woodstock set has been around for along time on bootleg, I even bought one back in college, but the sources were always really poor audience tapes that sounded awful. So, when the actual soundboard-sourced recording leaked a few years back, I was totally excited. Thirty minutes per track, however, don’t make for quick work on zeroing that playlist…

Anyway, I won’t bore you with all that. I might as well get to what you’ve been waiting for anyway… the one-week update to my month-long Enzyte Challenge. First, before I get to the results (which you can probably already see on the screen below anyway), I wanted to document some of my initial impressions:

 

  1. These pills do nothing.

 

OK, that’s done. Let’s move onto the results:

(Learn how to interpret this chart here.)

Yeah, those little Daves are both exactly the same height (and width). I’m serious. Print it out and draw lines on it to prove it to yourself if you doubt me. That’s a one-week total change of zero in both dimensions, not even a single centimeter (which I’d have chalked up to noise anyway).

But folks, I’ve only been on the pills for nine days now, so it’s probably a little premature to be calling results already. In fact, when I made the call to Enzyte “nutraceuticals” headquarters the other day to ensure my free sample doesn’t conveniently auto-renew for another $60 month, they told me I was too early to cancel – that they wanted me to at least “experience the solution” for a couple weeks, and that my no-charge grace period actually lasts until such-and-such a date (I made a reminder on my phone so I’ll remember to call back).

As an aside, I’m fairly certain Enzyte-HQ call center (at least the “discontinue me” ward) is staffed by females only. It didn’t bother me, but I bet some men would have a hard time answering the “And may I ask why you’d like to discontinue use of the product, sir?” question with, “Uhhh… my wang is just as small as ever…” Good psychology Enzyte, bravo.

Anyway, I’m not gonna be too rough on this particular nutraceutical just yet. I’m willing to give it a fair thirty-day shake. So, stay tuned… and we’ll see. Hopefully this one-week update wasn’t too terribly anti-climactic.

Goodnight my friends, you’re all in my chest.

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youthwise


Sunday, Sharaun’s out shopping and Keaton’s asleep. So far, naptime sans pacifier has proven more difficult than bedtime – Keaton not seeming to mind its absence at all at night, yet having a hard time missing it during her afternoon naps. Yesterday I couldn’t get her to go down at all, and eventually brought her back out into the living room having caught nary a wink. Today, however, I decided to get serious, and, when she was once again playing and talking to herself instead of napping, went in and rocked her for about fifteen minutes in the glider. Once her deep, ragged breathing convinced me she’d fallen asleep on my shoulder, I transferred her to the crib, where I’m happy to say she’s still slumbering peacefully. On the whole, I’d say operation pacifiers-be-gone is moving along quite well.

This weekend, I decided it was high time I worked a bit on all the more obscure BitTorrent downloads that’ve been piling up in my downloads directory, un-listened to and unloved. In line with my laziness, I often leave the “hardest” downloads for last. For my downloading habits, the “hardest” albums are the rare live stuff I love to collect, but hate to sit down and figure out the details on so I can properly organize it, tag it, and merge it into my general collection. It may sound easy, but tracking down the details of that live Jefferson Starship jam I grabbed one day because it looked interesting when the only thing I have to go on is a folder in my “unprocessed” directory called “starship73_SBD_matrix1” is sometimes hard to do. But, I persevered, and Saturday I used Keaton’s naptime to process I whopping ~15GB of rare live FLAC audio. In fact, I’ve snipped in the resulting anally-organized list is below for your perusal, because I know you value this stuff as much as I do, right?

I’m gonna do a general interest bit for nerds now, you can turn your head if you’d like to remain cool.

When I was a kid, I read with gusto a book called Big Secrets by William Poundstone. I’ve written about the book before here on sounds familiar, in the context of my youthwise obsession with backwards audio. The book, was filled with all sorts of cool stuff. One of the coolest, in fact, was the section on mysterious shortwave radio “number stations.” I think (dad, correct me if I’m wrong) that my pop used to mess around with shortwave, and I kind of remember this being partly why I was interested in that particular chapter.

Anyway, numbers stations are an “unexplained” global radio phenomenon, in which a string of random numbers and/or letters is broadcast on a given radio frequency with no explanation, the general consensus being that they are coded communiques intended for participants international espionage community. Some stations have been broadcasting these cryptic strings of numbers since back around the time of World War I. Enticed by the mystery, amateur hammers have, on occasion, turned armchair secret-agents and attempted to triangulate signals and hunt down the broadcast locations. Reading it all back then, I was fascinated. It was like some real-life Hardy Boys thing to me… and I dreamed about getting a radio, studying the signals, and breaking the code…

Anyway, if you’re interested in this type of “cloak and dagger” type stuff, Wikipedia has a great article on numbers stations here, and you can read about the “outing” of one of my favorites from Poundstone’s book, the “Russian Woodpecker,” right here (also via the great Wikipedia). For further reading, this page keeps a list of actively transmitting numbers stations (with sound samples), and even has some cool video of radio-nuts tracking down the transmitting antennas.

I’m sorry if that was boring, but I enjoyed writing it, so you, dear reader, can suck it.

Before I go, a tip of my babymakin’ hat to friends Erik and Kristi for the birth of their strapping young buck, Colton. Way to go guys, he and Keaton can be best friends until they’re around fourteen, then they’re forbidden from seeing each other until they’re twenty-three.

Goodnight.

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I’m no parent, or anything


Hi. Happy Wednesday.

To start, let’s do a couple barely-introspective paragraphs:

You may remember (although, you’d be quickly forgiven if you didn’t) that we had houseguests back in September. While they were here, we set them up with five-star accommodations (read: the air mattress in the former computer-room now nothing-room). And, as a testament to my laziness and general apathy, I’m sad to admit that I just today deflated that mattress and folded/stored all the bedding. Oh yeah, some three-and-a-half months later.

It was all part of this “assess and purge” sort of cleaning kick I’m suddenly on, taking stock of what we have and how it’s stored, and getting rid of non-essentials wherever possible. We’ve got a ton of junk we don’t use or need, and it’s time to start getting rid of it – donating, selling, or just junking altogether. It feels good to free up space and organize, even if it does drive Sharaun a bit mad when I get a little OCD like this. Sometimes, I just reach a breaking point and go all flip-out neat-and-tidy crazy… this is one of those times.

Next, let’s do a music paragraph:

Over the Christmas free-download period (it’s customary for some of the online music-enabling sites I frequent to offer “free” downloads over the holiday season), I somehow ended up grabbing a copy of The Pretty Things’ 1968 album, S.F. Sorrow. Before just a few weeks ago, I’d never even heard of the album, didn’t even know it existed. But, as soon as the first song came over the speakers I knew I’d stumbled onto something special. Let me tell you now, I absolutely love “finding” amazing albums I’ve never heard of. Having somewhat of a big head about the amount of the “important music” canon I’m familiar with, these UFO gems always seem so special. This is some sort of under-the-radar psychedelic rock-opera masterpiece, apparently recorded at Abbey Road during the same time the Beatles and Floyd were in-house recording Sgt. Pepper and Piper, respectively. Man, what the heck was in the water at Abbey Road that year? Anyway, the album itself is immediately likable and interesting… and I’m really glad I “discovered” it, forty years after it was made.

Now let’s do a random today at work paragraph:

Sometimes I just feel like I’m in the wrong place for the particular moment. I’ve written about the sensation before (but I can’t seem to find the link… lil’ help?). Today was a classic case of that type of day. I sat at work all morning knowing I should be at home instead of in my fuzzy-walled cubicle staring at my computer screen. I just felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there, and the draw to get where I was supposed to be was strong enough to be almost physical, a muscle-urge to actually pack up and walk out the door to be with my family. I’m not always sure what the catalyst is for such urges, they tend to seem pretty random, but there’s no denying the “push” accompanying them. Anyway, I sat there, listening to my iPod and dreaming away the morning – doing next to nothing for the shareholders, who, if they could’ve peeked in on me, would likely petition the board for my removal. I just wanted to be home, to be doing things other than the great-nothing of work. Hey, I like that… I might start calling work “the great nothing” instead of “the old sawmill” from now on… not a bad nomenclature. Anyway, the feeling eventually passed, or better faded into a general want to just head home and be done with it.

And some Keaton paragraphs:

This month, Sharaun and I decided we’d get to work on teaching Keaton how to use the potty. The myriad of advice on when to begin this parenting process is mixed, and to me it just seemed most logical to just do it when we felt we might be successful, gaging that percentage by the cues she’s giving us at the time. And, being that, for the past few weeks, she’s shown a marked interested in “the potty” and the whole potty-process, and has taken to announcing her pees and poos with “Keaton use(d) the potty!,” we figured the time might be right. I mean, I’m no parent, or anything… but the good Lord saw fit to put this child under my care – so I must’ve showed some sort of promise, or kernel of talent, or something… you’d think.

So, as of yesterday, when she makes her potty announcements, we march her into the bathroom and go through the process: 1) pull down your pants (she has a lot of trouble with this, and seems to want to pull her pants “up” instead… which I keep telling her won’t work the same at all), 2) we’ll take off your diaper (again, having a step in there that she can’t do herself seems bad… but I’m not ready to toss the diaper yet), 3) sit on potty and do the good stuff, 4) wipe, 5) wash hands.

Thinking about it as a child, it really is quite a complex process of human engineering to relieve oneself in-line with current Western thinking on hygiene. I mean, there’s like a whole symphony of events that have to align to make the execution flawless. How do you, for example, explain to a semi-verbal not-yet-two-year-old that her pee-hole isn’t even lined-up over the pee-receptacle? There are a hundred bits of minutiae like that, too. Heck, pondering it, I’m amazed I hit the blow as much as I do myself.

I’m happy to announce, though, that, today she made her first two pees in her little kid potty, and it was quite a moment for Sharaun and I. I’ll let ya know if we experience continued success.

Finally, the closing thing:

Goodnight, love your bodies.

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best of 2007


Man, this year really went fast, didn’t it? Seems like I’ve been saying that every year since I was about twenty, but it just seems like it doesn’t take as much time as it used to get around the sun.

I’m a year older, a year smarter, and have heard a year’s more music. And, because 1) I couldn’t think of anything to write tonight, and 2) I had the 2007 “best of” list already completed, you’re getting it today instead of Friday. Anyway, a Thursday post gets more exposure than a Friday one, after all. So, without further ado, I present my top thirteen (yes, thirteen) albums of 2007. Check it out:

13. The National – Boxer

‎‎Yes, people went crazy over Boxer. There’s good reason for it, as it’s a great album, to be sure; but it just wasn’t the album for me that it was for everyone else. I enjoy its lyricism, its somber fragility, and I even enjoyed seeing The National play it out in Orlando earlier this year. It’s an important album, and I do truly enjoy it, it was just always flying just below my radar and didn’t chart. Don’t let that turn you off.

Listen to The National at the Hype Machine.

12. Los Campesinos – Sticking Fingers Into Sockets EP

OK, so this might have crowned higher on the list were it a true “full length” album. I don’t know why I use that yardstick as a criteria, but I do. EPs don’t cut it. That being said, this is one solid lo-fi bedroom-produced party record. It’s the kind of music where you envision the band actually enjoying themselves while they make it, broad grins on everyone’s faces as the plod at the bass, pluck the guitar, or beat on the drums. Fun stuff, great for energizing a room or car-full of people, just a little lacking on the bottom-end. We’ll see if their forthcoming debut full-length LP can carry the weight.

Listen to Los Campesinos at the Hype Machine.

11. Panda Bear – Person Pitch

OK, go ahead. Heave the taunts of “frontrunner!,” “sunshine patriot!, “fairweather fan!,” whatever you’d like. I’ll admit that I just didn’t get this album at first. I even devoted an entire entry in this very lexiconical-compendium to the fact that the album just didn’t “work” for me. But, I never gave up. People kept pissing their pants about it, so I kept giving it a shot. And then, something happened. I listened to Person Pitch completely alone, in the dark.

I don’t tend to get a whole lot of “alone time.” I go to work, I go home, I enjoy my “together time” with my wife and daughter and friends. Sometimes, in between all the together time, I get a little piece of time to call my own. This year, I can recall a time when I was walking on the beach, not alone in truth, but alone enough for my noise-canceling headphones and this album cranked loud enough to make it seem blissfully so. I walked along listening to “Take Pills,” watching the sunlight glint off the water as it capped and frothed while forming swells. And I thought, for a minute, how cool it would be if it wasn’t glimmers of reflected sunlight at all, but thousands of little underwater people instead, blinking their tiny underwater flashlights or flashing the flashbulbs on their tiny underwater cameras.

Person Pitch was made for these snatches of “me time.” This is not an album you’d want to socialize too, unless you’re getting together with a bunch of your buddies at the opium den. This album is for your ears, and your ears only. Do them a favor and play it while you hide in a dark closet, removed from all other human interaction.

Listen to Panda Bear at the Hype Machine.

10. Caribou – Andorra

Andorra sat on my digital shelf for months after I’d acquired it, relatively unlistened-to and unloved. Then, a raving note from the brother of a friend persuaded me to pay it a little more attention. Giving it its first real evaluative spin in the car one morning on the way to work, the percussive-drive psychedelia of “Melody Day” as an album-opener cut through the post-sun fog grey and spoke right to my then-perked ears. Fitting right in the psych-pop theme I seem to have going on with 2007’s best-of, Caribou deliver a rollicking set of string-accompanied, pedal-slurred, falsetto-drenched, psychedelic goodness. What’s more, with just enough electronic bric-a-brac thrown in to modernize their revived-60s sound, Andorra comes of like a well-done reincarnation that post Summer Of Love sizzle that infused 1968. Recommended as a summer album, but would go well with winter drear I suppose. Get it either way, you won’t regret it.

Listen to Caribou at the Hype Machine.

9. BC Camplight – Blink Of A Nihilist

Whoa. A sleeper. I’m not sure I’ve ever even mentioned this album on the blog before now, and that’s a shame. BC Camplight is one dude, his music sounds a little like Ben Folds at times, or sometimes the Beach Boys maybe. I got deep into this album around the end of May, and it fit well with that summer mood. I remember playing it while we shared a meal with friends on the porch outside, having to go inside to skip over the too-oddball “I’ve Got A Bad Cold” so as not to frighten away our guests. But, for an album made by a mentally-unstable one-man-band, it’s got too many moment of pure pop bliss to pass over in the top ten. Go check it out.

Listen to BC Camplight at the Hype Machine.

8. Animal Collective – Strawberry Jam

Yes. I admit it. This album is good. Quite good.

Once again, I am forced to eat my words. Sometimes, when I’m grooving to this album, cranked up to insane volumes, I wonder, “Do I really like this?” If you’ve been reading here for a while, you’ll likely be familiar with my issue here. Did I just follow the other lemmings off the Animal Collective cliff? What happened between this entry and this list?! Well, for both Panda Bear and this record, I have to believe that I had some sort of awakening. Have to believe this, see, because, otherwise, I’m just a no-good poseur… and, I don’t want to be a no-good poseur.

But, you know what? The more I listened to this album, the more I realized how good it is. Yes, it’s different than what normally draws my ears, but that’s a good thing. It’s all “tingly” and full of seemingly misplaces warbles, bleeps, and unidentifiable noises – but it really pulls together into a nice bouncy pop record. You can actually bob you hear to the rhythm, scream along with the vocals, enjoy yourself. So, if you’re old like me, and perhaps set in your ways, I urge you to get this album and give it a fair chance. It’s good, I promise, despite what you think on your first, or second, or Nth listen… you’ll get it eventually.

In closing. Yes. I admit it. This album is good. Quite good.

And besides, in some small way, actually liking it (I do, right?) gives me renewed faith in both my youth and my golden-ear. So, there’s that too…

Listen to Animal Collective at the Hype Machine.

7. The Most Serene Republic – Population

So. Much. Sound.

The Most Serene Republic has released two albums before Population, and each one has ended up on my year-end lists. So, in keeping with tradition (not my tradition of ranking them highly, rather their tradition of making outstanding music), here they are again. The Most Serene Republic’s music is like tightly controlled cacophony, melodies forced more by a tidal wave of sound rather than a single instrument. The busyness suits me well, but I know it tends to confuse and overwhelm some folks, which is why I think this band may often get ignored on a many otherwise respectable year-end lists. It is indeed awash in musical goings-on, but the tunes are brilliant, the themes are grand, the choirlike harmonies ring, and the horns are oh-so shiny and brass. Don’t let that limpwristed sentence fool you, either, this is rock record… for sure. Anyway, go get it… spend a few hours mentally unknotting the dense layers, you’ll be smarter and happier for it.

Listen to The Most Serene Republic at the Hype Machine.

6. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible

Back when I put Neon Bible on my half-best-of list, I wrote “This isn’t Funeral – it’s Neon Bible… it just sure ain’t Funeral.” Then, I wondered if perhaps I’d ruined the album by over-anticipating it. By dissecting each individual track as they slowly leaked one-by-one onto the web. I had. I’d ruined it. But, turns out, in retrospect, it was just a less-good album than the Fire’s superstellar untouchable debut. I won’t lie, I’ll admit that I thought Arcade Fire might be some amazing can-never-do-wrong outfit who’d surpass even the greatness that was Funeral on their second time out, I think a lot of people did. Didn’t happen. But, don’t let that dissuade you from this record. It’s still good. Good enough to sit in the top ten (for me, at least). It’s just not Funeral II.

Listen to The Arcade Fire at the Hype Machine.

5. Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga

Somewhere in my head, I’ve long known that Spoon was “kinda good.” Years ago, I got pretty hung up on the bouncy “Everything Hits At Once” from their 2001 Girls Can Tell album, and I’ll be the first to admit that I was guilty of undervaluing their last effort. With that in mind, I grabbed this new Spoon album determined to give it it’s fair chance. Turns out, I didn’t need a ton of convincing, as I could tell the record would be solid from the moment the needle locked into that 1st groove (or… the laser interprets that first “pit” as a 1 or 0… whatever). Britt Daniel’s raspy voice has always mated perfectly with the punchy guitars that punctuate the archetypal Spoon number, but on this record the guys mix it up with irresistible tracks like “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb,” and haunting little bits like “The Ghost of You Lingers,” this album has an eclecticism that’s hard to beat. If you’re into good music, you won’t want to miss it.

Listen to Spoon at the Hype Machine.

4. Andrew Bird – Armchair Apocrypha

I first got into Andrew Bird a couple years back when someone listed his previous album, Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs, as one of the best overlooked albums of that past year. Indeed, I was intrigued by that album, and ended up falling quite in love with Bird’s softer tunes and thoughtful lyrics. So, when I saw Armchair Apocrypha hit my favorite legal source for purchasing music with real currency (hahaha), I snapped it up in anticipation. Simply put: this album is gorgeous. I can recall the first time I put it on the headphones. I was flying to Oregon and had only loaded it on the iPod that morning. As we rocketed into the skies, the lead track, “Fiery Crash,” a song about envisioning a plane crash, seemed to know right where I was and what I was doing. Throughout the flight the album kept delivering, track after track – and, although on a plane may not be an appropriate location for everyone to have their first “Fiery Crash” experience – I recommend you track this down and pay attention.

Listen to Andrew Bird at the Hype Machine.

3. The Shins – Wincing the Night Away

So, the 2007 Shins album leaked waaay back in October of 2006, with a street-date of January 23, 2007. I first wrote about it here. In fact, this album gave me issues when I was working hard to compile last year’s top ten, as I had to constantly remind myself it was a 2007 album and shouldn’t rank with the other contenders, despite the fact that it was illicitly one of my favorite albums of calendar-year 2006. It’s hard for me now, actually, to get my head back where it was all those months ago and really understand the awesomeness I felt while first getting into this record. But, one reminiscent spin on the iPod and the joy comes flooding back. The Shins are one of the most consistently brilliant bands I’ve heard in a long time, and this album is no exception. Their music is fresh and wonderfully structured: just complex enough to delight music-o-philes with its interesting twists, turns, and hooks; yet “everyday good” enough to hook even the casual Top 40 minded listener. Give this a listen, and try not to swoon just a little bit at amazing moments like singular instance of a harmonized rise of “seaa legs” in “Sea Legs” – that’s a personal challenge.

Listen to The Shins at the Hype Machine.

2. Radiohead – In Rainbows

It’s hard for me to write objectively about Radiohead. I have such an admiration for the band, and I bucket them in that “untouchable” category where an artist can do no wrong. Sure, they’ve failed me to one degree or another over the years, but looking at it from an entire-catalog perspective, the percentage of tracks rated as “amazing” would certainly be unprecedentedly high – up there with something like early 70s Yes; unstoppable, unwavering, consistently brilliant and ahead of their time. In fact, I daresay that, in my opinion, Radiohead are the Beatles of our time – they are just that good. So, having laid out my everything-they-touch-turns-gold case, I’ll now try to convince you that this is an unbiased and deserving second-place finish.

Really though, when news broke on the ‘net that Radiohead were about to release what fans called “LP7” online, and that I could name my own price for it, and that it was coming out in ten days… it really threw me for a loop. I can remember putting on my headphones as I lay down for bed the night it was released, anxious to hear this new piece of work. Didn’t take but a few bars of “Nude” to make me realize that Thom and crew had done it again. In Rainbows is 100% Radiohead… and 100% deserving of the #2 spot on 2007’s list.

You have to have this album. When, after watching Behind the Music, the ‘00s on VH4 one day in 2024, your kids will want to know, “Dad (or Mom), did you used to like Radiohead? VH4 said they were ‘vanguards’ of your generation. Dad (or Mom), what’s a ‘vanguard?’”

The battle for #1 went the full ten rounds this year, but, in the end, the next album won out by narrow decision… Vegas oddsmakers still contest the controversial judgment. But there it is.

Listen to Radiohead at the Hype Machine.

1. Of Montreal – Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?

Hissing Fauna had to win; nothing else could. Nothing else released this year tells a story like this record does. Start to finish, you’re in it song-for-song.

This music makes me want to be something completely different than I am. Someone completely different, even. I hear the plodding rhythm of “The Past Is A Grotesque Animal” and I want to be this guy: floating through Scandinavia on the verge of breakdown, experimenting with drugs and sex, trying to figure out God and love and women. Timeless themes of good music, archetypal rock and roll struggles set to the bounciest glampop/rock that’s been put on wax in recent memory. I sometimes think, if I can just turn it up loud enough, it’ll somehow mix with the resultant blood from my ears and burrow into my head, where it can be my memories, where I can be the story. The brilliant neurosis of this lovesick nomad could be mine, could be me. I could’ve been there falling in love with Meg, flirting with Gods, battling for control of my own personality. It’s an inspired album, a story to get swept away in.

Get it. Bounce to the beats, but listen to the words too. You won’t be sorry.

Listen to Of Montreal at the Hype Machine.

Well, that’s it my friends. Another year gone and another year-end list done. This year, I made iPod playlists for all my past years lists, just to see how well my picks have weathered. I gotta say, not bad.

Hope you enjoyed it. Until next year’s list, keep listening. Goodnight.

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pardon the disappearance


Sorry folks, had a traveling week at work. Late nights and busy days make for bad blogging conditions. Anyway, last week is so last week. The real story here is the weekend. A weekend where I, your average American everydad, was left in charge of the baby all by myself. Yeah, that’s right. What’s more, I’m happy to report that, although it is Sunday, the third day of my four-day single-parent trails, Keaton’s managed to retain all her appendages, her original hair color, and her well-fed, robusto plumpness. In fact, I’ve really been enjoying my daddy-daughter time. I like feeling more solely responsible, it’s kind of empowering. Who knew I could nurture? Maybe I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, I suppose she could still end up down a well or something tomorrow. I better stay on my game.

Anyway, let’s get to this thing. It’s mostly about music today (well, the baby, too), and I’ll likely close out this week the same way, as I’m just about done with my “best albums” list for 2007 and should be ready to post it by Friday.

Today, while Keaton slept, the Sufjan’s song, “Casimir Pulaski Day” shuffled up on the iPod. I’ve long been in love with the song, and it effected me no less today than it ever does. Sure, I couldn’t listen to it with “my boys” in the car on the way to the bar after paintball or anything, but I still love it to death. Such an un-formulaic “sad song, the narrator laying out his heartbreaking case for being angry with God. Sufjan seems to alternate between extreme economy and verbosity with the words he uses to tell his stories, and this is one of the more straight-forward cases (hit up “Flint (For the Unemployed and Underpaid)” as an example of the former). Anyway, I don’t want to ruin it, but I do want you to listen to it. OK? Can you do that for me? Click here and tell me if it makes you want to cry (manly) tears the way it does me.

Way back in the day, before Keaton was born, I wrote an entry dedicated to what I had chosen to be her “first song.” Those who know me know that I tend to mark events, milestones, and the passage of time with musical memories (here are one, two, three, and four examples – and that was only from memory). From the minute I chose it, I knew her “first song” was the right one. The Beatles’ track (which is really more of a McCartney track) “I Will” is a simple, heartfelt, and soothing song. True to my idea, it was the first thing she heard on the way home from the hospital, I think we go through it twice in those few short minutes.

Now, every time I put her down, be it for a nap or at bedtime, I sing it to her as a lullaby. The brevity of it works well for this, as I can usually get through the pre-bedtime diaper change in right about the same time it takes to sing the thing through. The lyrics go like this:

Who knows how long I’ve loved you
You know I love you still
Will I wait a lonely lifetime
If you want me to, I will.

For if I ever saw you
I didn’t catch your name
But it never really mattered
I will always feel the same.

Love you forever and forever
Love you with all my heart
Love you whenever we’re together
Love you when we’re apart.

And when at last I find you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
For the things you do endear you me to
Ah you know I will
I will.

On that very last “I will” at the end there, Paul jumps up an entire octave and hits a high note to close out the song. Being a Beatles purist, I do my best imitation of this high-note as I finish off Keaton’s lullaby each night, my voice often breaking around the strain. Keaton has oviously learned to recognize this point in the song, because, at the past two night-night concertos, she’s squeaked out the high note right along with me at the end. At first I thought it might be a fluke, but now there’s no denying she knows the song enough to realize when that finale is coming, and hearing her little voice try to match my wavering attempt at alto completely melts my heart. Not only because we can share that “moment,” but also because… she knows the Beatles! Hehe.

Oh man, I have to tell you guys about this Led Zeppelin bootleg downloading spree I’ve been on. I don’t know why, but I just went nuts and started downloading all sorts of live ‘Zep recently. I actually think it started when all the hooplah about their recenr reunion show was boiling over on the internet. Anyway, I ended up finding a couple of simply amazing sounding “soundboard” shows. For those not acquainted with the terminology used to rate the sound quality of live music, soundboard means the show was recorded direct from the mixing board where the band’s engineer monitors all the audio sources and makes them sound good for the audience – it’s the best quality you can hope for in a live bootleg. Anyway, one of the shows is from Dallas in 1975 and one from Paris in 1969. Oh man, you gotta hear these shows… online bootlegging is the way of the future.

Oh, and, on the down-low, ‘Zep’s reunion show from last week has totally already leaked online… you should check it out tout-de-suite (look for the “slowburn” version until something better comes along).

Sorry it was all music. Goodnight.

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not cool eyebrows. not cool.


I should be packing right now. Had plans to be done early. Maybe sit around and write a little before going to bed early. But, the best laid… something… Things went askew when a friend dropped in and found some beers in the fridge (quite against the norm in my fridge, to be honest). He cajoled me into joining him for one, and we sat and gabbed for an hour or so. Not an hour of wasted time, by any means, but an hour I should’ve spent packing, or writing, or putting more CDs on Ebay. Alas, here it is now closing on nine o’clock and I’ve done nothing.

The kitchen is a wreck from dinner, my carry-on is still in the closet, and I’m only up to here on tonight’s blog. I leave for Oregon tomorrow. There for three-ish days for training. Up in the mountains, at some lodge in the snow. I’d be excited if I wasn’t going for a work seminar. Have a lead on some tickets to see the Shins in Portland on Wednesday night – hoping it materializes. I’ve seen them twice before and they always put on a good show. I don’t wanna pay double face-value though… I’m a discerning scalpee like that.

I had Keaton tonight, one of Sharaun’s twice-weekly volleyball games. I don’t mind, I enjoy spending time with her just us. In fact, this weekend, after I get back from up North (I should be packing right now), I’m gonna have her to myself for four whole days. My longest stretch as a single parent yet, as a matter of fact. Sharaun is going down San Diego way to volunteer her time and clean up the burned wreckage from the recent fires. So, while she’s off getting checkmarks by her name in Peter’s log, I’ll be here taking care of Keaton. Oh, I’ve got plans: We’re gonna go to the park (I’m gonna pull her in the wagon); we’re gonna go water the wheat outside (she loves that, I got her a little watering pail so she can help); we’re gonna walk down to the mailbox together (one of her favorite things to do) and I’ll let her turn the key. Yeah, it’s pretty much gonna be bombs.

Hey, eyebrows, what the stank is up with this?

C’mon. Really? You’re gonna do that to me?

Not cool, eyebrows. Not cool.

Goodnight.