Is That an Air Guitar in Your Pocket, or are You Just Happy to See Me?
When I was a kid, the radio airwaves were just a little bit cooler. Okay, fuck it, radio was a million times cooler. Radio stations still had DJ’s that played records and not some pre-recorded package. DJ’s could take requests and actually play those requests. I lived to take my $1.06 down to the local record store and buy a 45″ record for the week. My first purchase ever was Paul McCartney and Wings’ “Listen to What the Man Said.” Which despite some dippy kissing sound to illustrate “Soldier boy kisses girl (Smack!)” was still a nifty little pop tune. I will never be able to wipe from my memory what the single resembled after having been left in the sun. My precious song now resembled some odd elementary school art project, all bent and ribbed wax that only a parent could love! What mattered is that I couldn’t play the damn thing, and that mattered a LOT to a kid whose sanctuary was his room, radio, Jacques Cousteau encycyclopedias, and nerf hoop. I guess I learned the hard way that these 45″ singles were anything but indestructible, and that I should have learned after my sweet little hamster Tiger sizzled in his habitrail tube, that really, no matter what sandal clad sun worshipper claimed - the fiery orb is noone’s friend and that I would now have to be forever vigilante to protect all that I love from its unforgiving hellfire.
I bought “My Sharona” without having heard the song. It was displayed at our town’s Wherehouse Records (R.I.P.) in a prominent locale designated for Today’s Top Hits! I can’t remember if my piece of wax had the pouty t-shirt tart on its cover as seen above. Didn’t matter. No matter why Crosby, Stills, and Nash got into Rock and Roll (the chicks, Man….), The Knack made no bones, with beats fed on hormonal overdrive; Rock and Roll music was sex. Nevermind that I had barely kissed a girl, let alone pushed the illicit buttons described in Feiger’s horndog rave-up “Good Girls Don’t,” I understood it, I got it, this was heaven, and it meant loud guitars and big drums all wrapped in power pop perfection.
It’s easier if The Knack were indeed the punch-line most people want them to be. Fact is, they were a power pop band on par with The Paul Collins Beat, The Shoes, and The Plimsouls. Perhaps their success relegated them to the trivial one hit wonder status, when perhaps without it, they’d receive the same sort of cult reverance given to the aforementioned bands.
Which brings us to the sad point of this post…The Knack’s lead singer, songwriter and presidential figurehead for horny rock n’ roll the world wide over, Doug Fieger, has passed. The news is a few weeks old at this point with the cause being cancer. Fieger continued to use the The Knack’s name at odd junctures long past the band’s heyday. Many gave the quartet credit only for it’s debut Get the Knack. The band’s coming out party was an immaculate blast of immediate lust and anxious energy. To the discerning listener, every song a hit. “Let Me Out” and “Your Number or Your Name” herald an onslaught of angst and melody similar to the Kink’s eighties output. Mod moves and pop rocks influenced by punk movers on both coasts. “My Sharona” rescued radio from disco beats and a calvalcade of squishy lifeless sounds no one dared called rock. “Frustrated” was the first song off the album I called my favorite - though I couldn’t wrap my head around Fieger crooning some overheated thing about Chicken Delight that sounded like a bad cousin to Tuna Casserole. Step away from the kitchen Doug, and put those busy hands back in your pants.
Years back when Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction set the standard for indie cinema, a promo only interview disc was issued to push the soundtrack. The most compelling track is included below. Tarantino, being his typical endearingly hyper self reflects on how badly he had wanted to use The Knack’s “My Sharona” for the Pawn Shop Basement Sequence. It would be a crime to try and explain any more, Tarantino is the master storyteller here.
So long Doug Fieger, thanks for the great music. I don’t care what anyone says about …But the Little Girls Understand. That’s a damn good record. The thing is, you managed in your short time on this planet to create something that should surely last into the next century. Get the Knack should find just as many dedicated listeners as any Tom Petty record - though with one artist, it’s about the doobies, and the other is just another orgasm addict. God Bless ‘em.
Quentin Tarantino Talks The Knack and Comanche
When There’s No Other Choice but to Believe
I have been perhaps the most lax blogger in the short history of blogging. Blogging can sometimes appear analogous to the whole ‘If a Tree Fell in a Forest” and no one was present to witness; what does it all mean anyway? Then again, writing a blog for anything other than the pleasure of writing, might be delusional - unless of course one has made some serious connections and inroads in a post-Pitchfork impacted field, meaning advertising dollars and promo CDs. Of course these things usually happen because of hard work on the blog creator’s part not out of crazy luck.
I think what might be the most interesting thing to note is that the blogs may be our only hope for the truly legit, meaningful Rock and Roll Critique. Recently I happened to page through, reading chunks of Lester Bangs’ Psychotic Reactoins and Carbuerator Dung and Mainlines, Blood Feasts, and Bad Taste. I have read these collections of Bangs’ musings several times, but this was the first time I really l had a revelation as to the sorry state of music criticism. What made Bangs’ voice as loud as, and sometimes louder than the music he wrote of, was that he was able to inject all of his sentences, paragraphs, and pages with a wicked imagination that was an art all to itself. Instead of the ’straight’ review, he connected the songs and albums he cared for to the world at large and other accomplishments in the literary and art worlds.
Let me back up here. To clarify my point, one may read Spin and check the album reviews at the back of the magazine. A year ago, Spin had boasted of expanding its review section. While that may have been true, the quality of the reviews now suffer The paragraph blurbs work as clumsy advertisement, sometimes remaining indistinct as to whether or not its author even liked the music. Furthermore, these reviews are so brief that they leave little room for the personality and pulse of the author. As an apt comparison, Pitchfork’s featured daily music reviews spend much time communicating to readers as to why a certain album will change the listener’s life, or forever be relegated to the .99 cent bin of used music stores. When consumerism becomes the legislative guide over art - even the art of critique will suffer.
If you have yet to pick up any of Bangs’ collections, make it a priority. It might be impossible to find a critic whose love of music pushed him or her to the hilarious, and compelling extremes that Lester Bangs’ writing encompassed. His legendary love/hate critic/artist relationship with Lou Reed is legend.
Sam’s the Man
So - finding a reason to write, a reason to care. . . I will tell you what made me care these last couple months of 2009 and our young 2010. On October 8th our son Sam Archer was born, and thus filling our household with the most beautiful sounds a person could wish for; between his newborn baby cooing (and grunting) and his older brother’s ever increasing volume with voice, laughing, and wild energy. There is simply no greater adventure in life than witnessing the growing and ever expanding lives of your children.
A Kingdom Lost, A Kingdom Found
The end of October saw the return of NBA Basketball and my Sacramento Kings. The last few years had been depressing with the revolving door of coaches - Adelman (should not have been let go - ask Houston!), Eric Musselman (could not relate to the players), Reggie Theus (a good coach that deserved time when his team was not decimated by injuries to prove his mettle), and interim coach upon Theus’ firing, Kenny Natt (why did he keep Diogu on the bench!). Enter Paul Westphal - whom was not my choice, as I was pretty sure Kurt Rambis was the guy. I was happy to be proven wrong almost immediately. Besides the fact that Westphal was a great hire, General Manager Geoff Petrie once again donned the genius hat and drafted Jon Brockman, Omri Casspi (pictured above - and Israel’s first NBA player), but most importantly chose Tyreke Evans of Memphis with the number four pick. Behind the inspiring leadership of rookie Evans, The Kings began the year as an exciting, enthused bunch that were fun to watch and reminded the viewer of watching the Kings when Webber and Vlade commanded the court. The Kings were competitive against everybody; beating teams with better records, and taking the Lakers (twice!) and Cavaliers to the wire before losing. They did all this of course, without whom some would call their best player, Kevin Martin, now 11 games into his return from injury, has proved ineffective. Once considered a franchise player, Martin is thought by some to be on the trading block.
That’s Beautiful!
Being a Kings fan, I thought automatically made one a Grant Napear fan. Or maybe that was just me. Behind Doug Christie, I declared my favorite member of the Kings was announcer Grant Napear. I have always enjoyed his play-by-play for the Kings in that the man is knowledgeable and unafraid to call it like he sees it. His speaking voice is sharp, intelligent, and one I thought that author James Ellroy would admire in the ‘musicality’ it possesses. His demeanor, wit, and tone seem to derive much from his New York City roots. Napear does not suffer fools easily. His afternoon radio show on Sacramento’s KTHK Sports Radio often finds callers fumbling for words as Napear verbally eviscerates them for their stupidity (usually deserved) and most importantly, my entertainment. While that may make me a sadist, I don’t think I will be calling soon to give myself up to the sword of righteousness. I love what Grant Napear does, and like Lester Bangs, but his world being that of Sports - here is a man, that is simply the best in his field. Napear!
Begin Again 2010
2010 is already revealing itself a great year in music . . . Spoon’s Transference is an unpredictable sideways move from Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga proving as fun as anything the band has done. Future months hold releases from Quasi, Frightened Rabbit, The Strange Boys, Liars, Ted Leo, and the National to name a few . . .A few of my discoveries in this young year include bands whom drew attention in 2009 and will no doubt draw more in the coming year.
The Mantles - I don’t know much here, except they come from San Francisco and carry the garage rock tag. “Don’t Lie” is perhaps the jangliest thing I have heard since early R.E.M. - Imagine if the Hindu Love Gods were actually GOOD - and you have The Mantles
Grass Widow - Kill Rock Stars Employees gave this band much recognition in their year end lists, so I had to check them out. Like the Mantles, Grass Widow is from S.F..This trio of women employ folk rock harmonies with driving, reverb heavy guitars. No other band sounds like GW - and truly, every song I have heard thus far, has been pure magic.
Beach Fossils - One guy from NYC whom seems to be a part of the Woodsist Records scene (He released a 7″ through the label). Whether an impending full length goes through Woodsist remains to be seen. Beach Fossils reminds of so many other bands and yet retains its own sound. Think lo-fi jangle cousins of Radio Dept. and East River Pipe. As of now, BF is a charming little secret that is too good to remain under the radar.
The Soft Pack - It’s easy to get hung up on the whole, “They should never have changed their name!” thing - okay, they did it - They are not called The Muslims any longer . . .The players - the song remains the same. The band released its debut full length on Kemado on February 2nd. The Soft Pack occupies the strange limbo land between The Black Lips and The Replacements. The simple word = great songs, great band.
The Greatest Song Ever That I Can Never Play For My Class!
I teach fifth grade. School begins in three days. Anxious stomach and headaches began three days ago. A teacher’s comedown from the long sweet summer is a vicious withdrawl of its own. One could safely assume this withdrawl lacks vomit and shitting of the britches; but gone are the days of sleeping in (six a.m.!), reading tons of books, and taking my son for walks in his wagon in the comfort of a morning breeze. Teachers work crazy hours and take on more stress than the human heart is surely designed for during the school year, so that the summer hours have been built by their own design; and the best part, guilt free.
I work at a school where I feel very, very happy. I love whom I work with, and enjoy the kids. There is usually very little superfluous meeting to have meetings, and bureaucratic nonsense. Any teacher that has quit the trade will usually tell you the reason had nothing to do with the kids, but everything to do with what other adults inflict on the profession. Unfortunately, the profession that should make the most sense, education, often makes the least. Welcome to one of life’s many cruel ironies. I would recommend anyone in college that has not found the adult world already riddled with hypocrisy take a naive leap into the gaping yaw and become an educator.
In its purest form, to be a teacher is a privelege, a gift. It is because of what the kids bring. It is their eyes, mind, and heart that make being in the classroom, the one best, most true place to spend one’s workday. It never ceases to amaze me that with my strict work policies, and high expectations for behavior, even those that have crossed the line and had consequences dealt their way, still love school, and remarkably stll think I am a pretty great guy to be around. What is it in the adult world that irons this out of us. What teaches us to judge every situtation and stranger with a skeptical eye instead of the smiling goodwill of a ten year old’s overflowing heart.
Maybe this is why I love Tilly & the Wall’s “Nights of the Living Dead” so incredibly. The song celebrates what it means to be young with such immediacy and power it resonates far beyond the average pop song. “Nights” is a promise, a vow to not let a moment pass without calling it one’s own and cherishing whatever follows. Carpe Dium of course, and all that jazz - but it is true, we take on layers of armor for what we consider adulthood, and learn through practice how to stifle our heart’s most natural instincts which are usually kind and welcoming. Why?
The words, the melody - the entire construction of the song recall the limitless possibility of youth. The first part of the song paints an exuberant picture of a teenager’s friday night in the city. Aimless, with friends, drifting wherever the mood, and wine command. The latter half of the song warns of the dangers of becoming complicit and essentially ‘lining’ up on a great ‘black highway’ to face our own mortality; forgetting all the joys, all the time, because afterall, we have lives, responsibilities, and are clearly adults. We know what is expected of us.
The end of the song gives me goosebumps every single time I hear it. This is saying alot, since I have listened to this song probably over 10,000 times already. Over cheerful acoustic strums, and tapdanced percussion, the band sings, “I want to fuck it up! I want to fuck it up.” Which in turn, leads into the one emotion that could follow such a bold proclamation; “And I feel so alive . . . I feel so goddamn real!”
We built this city on rock and roll. So let’s tear it all down to build it all up again because rock and roll was never powered by skeptics, but by dreamers. Much like any ten year old fifth grade student.
Too bad I can’t play my students Tilly & the Wall’s “Nights of the Living Dead” because of numerous swear words bellowed with gusto. If the lyrics escaped their young minds, surely they’d find the feeling.
Tilly & the Wall - Nights of the Living Dead
Four Times Ten = JTC
Jason Cassidy is the kind of guy that would give you the shirt off his back, the skin off his frame, the enamel from his teeth . . .you get the idea. The guy has never heard the word selfish. To be able to call Jason a friend means everything, as here is a person that values people, and through his actions, shows it beyond any kind words people might promise. He doesn’t promise, he simply does.
I met Jason Cassidy over twenty years ago. He was a friend of a girl I was dating. Her name was Amy C., and her dad was our school doctor, meaning my old lady’s dad fondled my balls so I could go out for basketball and NOT make the team after raising money by shooting five hundred free throws . . . So yes, thanks to Amy C. I met a friend I would know for twenty some odd years and growing. A friend unafraid of new adventures and always willing to enter them with a positive plan in mind.
I feel proud that Jason met his wife through me, but I don’t even know if I can take credit for that. I am a firm believer that he and his wife Connie, being two generously kind, warm individuals, probably would have gravitated towards one another somehow . . .Throughout their marriage, our friendship only blossomed. We became closer, performing in bands, putting on shows, and music festivals.
The band we spent the most time playing music in together was called Cowboy. I pitched Mangina as a name, but somehow Jason’s wife Connie was not keen on the idea, so Cowboy it was! When I joined, they had already been a three piece. Guitar, Drums, and Voice. They were incredible. Nik Abodeely was one of those drummers that usually stole the show with incredibly playing, and enough flair to draw all eyes his direction. Jason’s guitar was a Fender Mustang, and it had the typical wonderful clanging sound the vintage Fender’s often had when used in a particular fashion. Jason’s fashion was extremely loud, and sonically ambitious with dollops of feedback, heavy chording, and jangly chiming pop. Really, it was a miracle that Connie’s sweet voice could be heard above the din. It was, and it worked. So, I felt a bit self-conscious joining what already worked and worked quite well. Let me put it this way, it was a real blow to my ego when the presence of a bass in the band was ignored and perhaps upset the town of Olympia, Washington . . . or at least the guy that had offered to record the band for free when they were a three piece.
Pat Maley, of the band Courtney Love and Yo-Yo-A-Go-Go Recording Studios fame had offered to record Cowboy for free when he caught them at a party in Olympia on a previous tour. When they arrived to record at the Capitol Theatre, I, being the bass player was now part of the package. Pat did not look all that excited, even though I had brought a bottle of Barbara Streisand wine to woo his favor. I made clever conversation, I joked, I asked Olympia Rock History questions, and also bought a yo-yo from Pat. I don’t think Pat liked me. I was the bottom end and was kind of being treated like a bottom end . . .I survived. Maley’s an okay guy. And Cowboy went forth to . . . do something!
Before Cowboy called it quits after a few years, we issued a full-length Explosion and Collapse, did a couple tours to the Pacific Northwest, played with the Murder City Devils, Kinski, Versus, and many more bands that came through town. We also spent time recording with the amazing John Croslin at SF’s Tiny Telephone Studios. This was a big deal to me as Croslin had been the leader of a favorite band of mine, Austin’s Reivers. The Reivers put out at least two incredible, unforgettable albums; Translate Slowly and Always Saturday. Besides Croslin’s charming humor and great take on recording, the studio had a talking Jar Jar Binks model that proved to be hours of bad entertainment - translation (slowly), hours of laughing at the offensive toy.
“Large” is the Cowboy song included below this posting, simply because it is the song we played the most times. I think it might have been Jason’s favorite song to play, or it was a song people might have liked to hear at the shows. We recorded the basic tracks of this in Olympia, WA with Maley, and later added newer member Brad Nabor’s guitar and some other business at some studio here in Chico. The song for some reason reminds me of Stereolab, and I can’t quite tell you why.
Jason continues to play music in Chico. His last endeavor was called MURDER! with fellow journalist Mark Lore on drums. The band was exciting and made live shows an event with plastic curtains splattered with red. Their debut was an opening slot for New Jersey Rock Geniuses Titus Andronicus. The show was one of the best in recent memory. Before this band, Jason spent much time playing, and recording an idea he held as sort of a rotating collective with a core. It was called The Party. He used communist imagery and the color red as a means of advertising the project. The band issued it’s sole release a few years ago, and though it may be something impossible to find in record stores, with a little luck, perhaps it will be on Itunes in the near future. The song included here is a rag tag march of shuffling drums, playfully strummed guitar, and charming banjo lines. Here, Jason Cassidy’s yelps (not unlike Isaac Brock’s) ride the shambolic wave and push it with enough passion and vigor to inspire all listeners’ hearts to rise. The song itself is tangible proof of how Cassidy sees the power of music and invokes its gifts.
I could construct so many more chapters detailing all and everything Jason Cassidy has done for his friends, and for his town . . . I think a whole other entry will have to be given for our Superwinners Summer Rock Academy . . . I know that there will be so much more he has to give, and will give. People with hearts this big are rare, and important to celebrate, to let them know that all they do from little to momentous is important and noticed. I know that anyone reading this will identify and know a similar person in their sphere and be able to relate. These people make towns click, and generate electricity.
The Porpoise is not a Manatee, but it is what Jason’s wife thought whenever I called him The Porpoise. I called him The Porpoise as he was always chipper, dynamic, and up for anything - a demeanor that reminded me of the buoyancy of these sea creatures. Connie always responded negatively whenever I tossed this nickname his way. I thought it cheerful, she thought it depressing and not very charitable. You see, she saw in her mind the Manatee whenever I called him Porpoise. I understood. As sweet as a Manatee appears, they also look like sluggish elephant dolphins that munch raw sewage near the seashores . . . I understood. Needless to say, Connie and I’s friendship took a positive step forward when she remembered what a porpoise really looked like.
Burnin’ Up
I cannot wrap my head around it. Earlier in the week I was reading the newspaper and noticed Thurston Moore’s birthday amidst other celebrities as he was turning fifty-one. Unbelievable. But then again some might say it is also unbelievable how this band remains so vital in a cutlure whose landscape changes on whims and passing trends, Sonic Youth maintains a voice that matters. With most of its members past the fifty year mark, I don’t think it presumptous to suppose the band might still be making gorgeous racket into their senior citizen years. Dinners at 4 p.m., shows at 8.
Sonic Youth plays Oakland’s Fox Theater on Sunday August 2nd, and we were there. Albeit a bit late, and missing openers Awesome Color. Note to self, Sunday shows require earlier departure times as many folks from San Francisco and the Bay Area use the weekend to get up to the mountains and Tahoe, therefore their return in massive numbers made for slow, slow moving traffic for much of our journey. The only saving grace is that I had seen Awesome Color twice before and was not impressed. Given Thurston Moore’s seal of approval and a spot on his Ecstatic Peace Record Label, meant I had to give the Awesome Color a chance no matter how many Stooges references I waded through. I caught them on the Rather Ripped tour in Sacramento and Reno. Both shows saw the trio deliver a few inspired moments, other than that I could only day dream of all the bands that might have opened; Magik Markers? Dinosaur Jr? Blonde Redhead? Deerhunter? Okay, we missed Awesome Color, and I assured my friend and traveling buddy that he would survive this minor setback. We had been at the Fox Theater for not even seven minutes and Sonic Youth was taking the stage.
Sonic Youth introduced “No Way” off of The Eternal with “This is a song about love!” Drum sticks click, band hits opening chord and comes to a grinding halt. Thurston: “Okay, what I meant to say is . . . This is a song about hate!” This time of course, the band hits it and keeps on punishing the number in a manner that breathes new life into a song that is pretty good on the album, and live, a classic.
Thurston seemed a bit subdued this evening, While his guitar playing and performance were energetic as usual, his silly jokes, and hilarious comments were notably absent. Look, I realize people did not pay tickets to see Carrot Top, but nonetheless, I love Thurston’s crazed humor between the songs. I really missed it this time around. I would imagine that touring means an individual is not going to be gregarious, charming, and full of piss and vinegar 365 days a year. Let the guy be a human being. That said, out of the thirteen times I have seen the band, this show easily ranked as one of the top three. The last time I had caught the band was during The Daydream Nation tour where they played the double album from start to finish at a UC Berkeley Hall. That show might have been my least favorite of Sonic Youth’s as the format demanded the band ‘play the album’ - while there were some moments of improvisation and spontaneity, they were few and far between. It felt like the band started breathing again when they came back for the encore and played a bunch of songs of Rather Ripped, joking and having fun.
Sunday’s show featured most every song off The Eternal. Highlight’s included “Calming the Snake”, “Sacred Trickster”, “Anti-Orgasm”, “No Way”, “Leaky Lifeboat”, and “Antenna”. One of the oddest things to see was Thurston Moore sitting down with an acoustic guitar for the entirity of “Massage the History” - which worked massively well; it’s hypnotic passages winding, uncoiling, and falling into another one of those glorious noise meltdowns that Sonic Youth surely have trademarked as their own. Euphoric and perfect.
From their back catalog, most was saved for the encores. The band brought new energy and dynamism to “The Sprawl” and “Cross the Breeze” from Daydream Nation. Admittedly, I have never really cared for those songs on record, but this very evening, live, they made me a believer. The way in which the band performed these songs was anything but perfunctory - it was evident, the band cared and enjoyed these songs themselves. When a band displays this sort of ‘buy-in’ it is always evident to the audience and they in turn are carried with the moment.
Evol is perhaps my very favorite Sonic Youth album. Some of that might be because this was the album I was exposed to first. The band played “Tom Violence” earlier in the set to an enthusiastic crowd. The song never fails to impress with its monolithic, towering chords; “…left home for experience, carved ‘Suk for Honesty’ on my chest.” “Tom Violence” is one mysterious dark dark dream. “Shadow of a Doubt” was also played. As much as I love it on album, I think the live version they are performing on this tour proves even more compelling. The delicacy in which the band took this one was as if a veil had fallen, cutting through the audience’s drunk chatter, and forcing one’s attention on the harmonics and hush that wrapped up the song. As beautiful as the song registered, it still seemed a bit too haunted for the lovey couples around us to be kissing, whispering, fondling. I wanted to tap a pair of star crossed lovers on the shouder and recommend they rent Alfred Hitchock’s “Strangers On a Train” - and oh yeah, your swapping spit to a murder ballad my friends.
Sonic Youth - White Kross Live ‘87
The World’s Finest Indie Rock Record Label Gives Us Something to Believe In
My history with Merge Records is virtually as long as the the lifespan of the label itself. There was a time when there were a few labels out there such as Merge and Matador that could be counted on for every single release. If you loved three of the label’s releases, it would usually reason you would like 99.9% of what they would offer. Today, Merge still holds that impossibly high batting average. Even if I have not heard of the band (Broken West, Telekinesis) a roll of the dice would usually yield something I would appreciate and might even love. But usually, every single thing thrilled me . . . David Kilgour, Spent, Spoon, Butterglory, Arcade Fire, and The Clean. Then, there were the bands whose music, and live shows changed my whole life in the way I would look at adventureous music and beautiful art; Polvo, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Superchunk.
I have a history with this label and its bands. I will never forget getting a response from Merge and Laura concerning a demo tape I had sent of a band of mine called Disaster Scrapbook. Not only had she listened to it but she took the time to comment. While she said that they loved the music, they simply could not get past our vocalist’s uncanny knack at sounding exactly like Peter Murphy. I had never thought this before this note, but it made me laugh, and I thought, yeah maybe . . .
Booking Neutral Milk Hotel to play Juanita’s in Chico was also a high point. Juanita’s was tiny, tiny, tiny. Bands usually played in the window on this raised floor. When one hundred people squeezed into this place, it became difficult to move without spilling beer on fellow showgoers, but the mood was perfect, chaotic, loud, with a sound that felt larger than life. Neutral Milk Hotel was touring behind On Avery Island and were fierce in their passion and live delivery. They didn’t just mean it, they lived it. Beautiful people as well, Julian had to be the most affable touring band person of all time, as he stayed with me when Chocolate U.S.A. was in town, and was nothing but wonderful conversation, genuine sincerity, and warmth. Jeff Mangum may have been quiet, but whenever engaged in conversation was more than willing to talk, and was also quite friendly. I still don’t know how he dealt with my roommate, whom loved the band, yelling “Neutralize Me! in between songs. He also politely fielded the question from my friend, if anyone ever referred to him as Mangum Force. No wonder the guy quit rock and roll. Whatever the case, it was after this tour that Neutral Milk delivered one of modern rock’s most surprising masterpieces with In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. I can honestly say the world is richer for having such songs, such stories, such heart all wrapped up in that unequaled album.
Superchunk Setting The Pace
Superchunk was a band that showed my friends and I how it was done. How to form a band, tour, and put out music that made so many bands pale in comparison, that was what Superchunk did. From their debut up until their most recent Leaves in the Gutter, the band has grown without compromise, and never let its trademark energy suffer. Before I even purchased the band’s debut album I was already trusting Matador to show me the way. I had purchased Slanted and Enchanted, Railroad Jerk’s debut, and Bettie Seervert’s Palomine, and positively knew that buying Superchunk’s debut self-titled would hold riches similar to the albums I had already purchased. I was not disappointed, and “Slack Motherfucker” was a classic the second it hit my ear.
When the band played Chico so many years ago, they played to a smallish crowd at The Burro Room. I drank about ten times what I normally did, and at the conclusion of the evening said dumb drunk guy things to the band (probably on how much I loved their music - hopefully I did not spit on anyone while sputtering this out) and promptly purchased a Superchunk shirt two sizes to small. The last thing I remember of that night was eating an omelette and climbing a tree. Did I mention how much I love Superchunk?
Those Mooney Stars
In an alternate universe where all is just, Butterglory would have been like the Rolling Stones of Indie Rock. Not that their music sounded even remotely like Mick and Keith, but Butterglory definitely deserved the attention, dedication, and reaction that our world gave to the Stones.
Butterglory was above the pomp and cirucmstance. In fact, their music seemed small and sweet, like a secret between fifth grade friends. And it felt that innocent . . . untouched by pretension and pose, Butterglory was charming in their honesty and execution. The band’s first single “Alexander Bends” is the evidence. The music is primitive (similar to Beat Happening) and playful in manner much like Pavement. Yes, Butterglory was Lo-Fi, and no the songs never ever suffered because of it. In some strange way, because of the lack of gloss and using only guitar and drums, it all lent Butterglory an air of authenticity that millions of dollars and two years in the studio could never purchase. Of course, you still have to have good songs, authenticy by itself does nothing. Butterglory had great songs.
When Butterglory toured behind Crumble I was lucky enough to catch them twice. Once was at a house party in Davis, CA, and the other show was at a club in Chico with Charm Fueled and Knapsack opening. The house party proved more fun, as the band was loose and having fun. The small room made for a festive atmosphere as the band ran through a set list that felt like I had drawn it up. Beautiful! The morning after their show in Chico, I had the opportunity to make pancakes for the band at my friends house. I was experimenting with mixing Sierra Nevada Porter Ale in the pancake batter, but god bless ‘em, Butterglory was having none of it . . . Butterglory apparently had as great a taste in food as they did in music. Crumbled and Downed (the band’s 7″s compiled) are essential. Buy them, you won’t be disappointed.
Polvo, Where Have You Been My Whole Life?
My discovering Polvo, was me discovering the ’sound’ my head and heart heard as my favorite music but had never found until then. The first time listening to Polvo is a bit like finding a five year old boldly coloring outside all the given lines of a coloring book. Polvo blurred all lines and challenged all preconceptions of what music had to sound like. In the process they delivered music that swooped, swooned, and exploded with dizzying energy while maintaining a Far Eastern Motif. No one sounded like Polvo, and Polvo sounded like no one.
Polvo became my favorite band with the release of Today’s Active Lifestyles. “Sure Shot” and “Lazy Comet” were not only surprising with their arrangment and aural pathways, but were out and out breathtaking in the passages played for beauty melting into the extremes of chaos and collapse. When Polvo played aggressive, it always proved just as weird which meant a whole new alien atmosphere that rock and roll had never experienced until this Chapel Hill, NC quartet.
Being that Polvo is my favorite band, it is hard to recommend an album over another. If pressed, I would have to say the previously mentioned album or Celebrate the New Dark Age EP would be great places to start. Though the band broke up over ten years ago, Polvo this year not only announced reforming to perform at festivals and to tour, but also revealed that an album of new songs will be released September 8th. It’s called In Prism and there is every reason in the world to expect it to hold true to the band’s singular legacy.
Rock scribes can search for superlatives, and toss around hyperbole, but ultimately what will prove Merge’s legacy wll be the music. CD and concert reviews are just words on paper. They won’t breathe life into the moment near as well as Merge Records’ roster of artists. Happy Birthday Merge Records. We love you and wish you at least one hundred more years of giving the world something worth dreaming on.
The Best Way to Spend One’s Summer Fun Money
In yesterday’s post regarding Surrogate and their new album Popular Mechanics, it is one of those albums that as a record store clerk I would call a sure thing. A can’t miss proposition. I guess if one’s calling was Scandanavian Dark Metal they might argue the point, or simply stab me to death and burn down a church in rebuttal.
Popular Mechanics works as an entire album from beginning to end. I will say that if Tooth and Nail has their wits about them, “Cynicism” should be the album’s first single with a video to help with promotion. “Cynicism” is the kind of song that will appeal to people of all musical tastes. While it reminds me of the melodies from Pedro the Lion’s “Control”, the song excells as its own creation, just as one may provide reference points to those that have not heard Surrogate, but ultimately, the band’s songs are strong enough to give this band its own individual voice.
Hopefully, I can quit listening to “Cynicism” so that I might enjoy the rest of the album. I don’t know…It’s sort of like finding a bottomless carton of the most delicious ice cream. Only a crazy person would stop eating…
Be sure and buy Surrogate’s Popular Mechanics. Released by Tooth and Nail, it should be available at most retail outlets.
On a side note, my posting this summer has been little and sporadic. I found myself inspired by little except for my toddler’s son’s laughs and excited outbursts whenever our cat Yoshi walks by….that is alot of beauty to have in one’s life, and for that I am very, very thankful. There’s no denying the part of me that wants to get excited by new music…and whether it was a down period, or I just wasn’t responding to it, I don’t know, but I was not loving the music out there this summer.
Lately, I am hearing bands such as Surrogate, The Intelligence, The Dodos and countless other new bands, and new releases, that all of a sudden life is good again! I think September is going to bring some incredible, incredible music with releases by Yo La Tengo, Health, Polvo, and a reissue of The Feelies The Good Earth to name a few…
. . . And The Reason Dear, Is You
I would like to believe that though my body is showing signs of age, my spirit denies its slow inevitable march into the infinite black sea . . . but being that I just don’t get out that often anymore to see live bands might say otherwise. Sure, the bands that I love seem to be bypassing our little town lately, and I see myself more than a little wistful for days when The Ponys, Times New Viking, Titus Andronicus, and HEALTH would roll on in to Chico, CA and turn the place upside down and inside out.
I have the most beautiful 19 month old boy, with another little one due in October, and surely big family changes can often change one’s social calendar. I will say I cannot wait until My boys are old enough for me to find an excuse to drag them to shows. Music is a constant in our household from the moment we rise at six a.m. on our summer schedule until our boy goes to bed around seven. So it only makes sense, I will have not one, but two sons that with a little luck will enjoy going to shows with Dad.
This summer has been a slow one for the release of exciting music, but I have finally found a reason to get enthusiastic about something besides the new Sonic Youth - the real surprise is that this band is from my hometown, and at one time, my band’s practice shed even. The band is Surrogate, and though I have not necessarily been a huge fan of all of Tooth and Nail Records’ bands, I believe having this band on their roster will make them look like genuises.
Surrogate has just released its second album Popular Mechanics and saying it is on par with Death Cab for Cutie, Pedro the Lion, and Nada Surf is an apt comparison as any. Guitarist/Vocalist Chris Keene spent time in Tooth and Nail’s Number One Gun, but it is with this band that his songwriting shows him to be as sharp a tunesmith as anybody writing sensitive, smart indie-pop today. Number One Gun was an exceptional pop punk band, but Surrogate songs nestle in and linger a bit longer than any initial adrenaline rush. The songs’ hooks and melodies intertwine and move in a manner that is at once comfortably familiar and yet never predictable. This is what makes Popular Mechanics work and essentially impossible to remove from one’s cd player.
Popular Mechanics was recorded by Keene with Jordan Mallory (Number One Gun) on drums. Live the band is joined by Daniel Martin (Guitar, Keyboards) and Daniel Taylor (Bass). This Friday July 24th, Surrogate will be performing in Chico at Duffy’s Tavern. The door runs five dollars and includes a copy of Popular Mechanics. Chico bands The Shimmies, and Zach Zeller open.
Sonic Youth: The MIchael Jordan of Indie Rock?
Sonic Youth is so good at what they do at this point in their career it is difficult to discuss with each new album exactly how it compares to their vast catalog. Sonic Youth albums never disappoint just as Meryl Streep’s acting never seems to be less than perfect, or Michael Jordan’s game was never anything but dominant. While I find Streep and Jordan boring because of their perfection and lack of surprise, Sonic Youth’s dominance in the underground rock sweepstakes never means they dial it in. Each new album in itself works as a whole (sterling arguments counter to the old ‘the album is dead!’ proclamation) harboring a multitude of thrills and unexpected avenues you suspected someone must have explored somewhere but didn’t.
The Eternal is Sonic Youth’s first album for Matador and a reunion of sorts with Gerard Cosloy whom issued the band’s seminal Bad Moon Rising. The album holds its own identity yet feeds from the playful looseness of Rather Ripped combined with the politico noise pop of Dirty. “Sacred Trixter” is a two minute rush with a breathless Kim Gordon working against grinding/sighing guitar strings. “Antenna” is a melancholic mess of chiming guitars and hooky lyrics much like “Disappearer”. ”What We Know” and “Walkin Blue” are Lee’s strongest songs in years.
Much was made of Jim O’Rourke’s time in Sonic Youth, but I would have to say the albums that have followed his residence are much stronger. Rather Ripped saw the original quartet serve up their best songs since Dirty. The Eternal is similarly focused, appearing as if the band’s core, the four, are what make the machine get up and go. Mark Ibold (Dustdevils, Pavement) plays bass for the band now, as he did on its last tour. Hard to tell from the liner notes if he contributed to the recording, though the bass line on Lee’s “What We Know” sounds decidedly different for the way the bass plays against Thurston and Lee’s guitars.The Eternal will stand as one of 2009’s best, but how do you rate a fantastic album in a fantastic band’s catalog? It’s all subjective - there’s no science - It’s all your heart. . . Ron Asheton forever indeed.
Sonic Youth - Antenna (Link Removed By Request)
ONE LAST NOTE: Concerning the removal of link - I was contacted by Matador with a polite notice to not post songs from Sonic Youth’s new album. Sonic Youth is my favorite band, and in no way was the post meant to hurt. As a record store employee might share a song with a customer is how I saw the post - regardless, I also see the point a small label has in calling it a pirate copy. I love the band, I love the label, I have zero problem removing any link that is asked to be removed. I can only say, go out and buy this album now as well as the Slash autobiography I am reading right now. What a great summer read!!! The Eternal might make the best soundtrack for Slash’s musings on teenage lust and Black Sabbath . . .
Mid-Week Power Pop Stop / Feedback Fridays / New Music!?!
It appears that YOUR NEW FAVORITE SONGS are ten to twenty years old . . . Truth be told, I do feel there is much out there forgotten, or never truly celebrated in the manner deserved. Therefore I have been posting bands and songs to the blog that don’t necessarily occupy the space and time we call today. I have been playing around with two themes each week…really, Feedback Fridays is the only theme I have been consistent with. The Mid-Week Power Pop Stop I have only posted once to. Honestly, I see that I will never post new music if I do both of these themes weekly. So, I think the solution is to post one or the other each week. Alternate between the two themes.
The Mid-Week Power Pop Stop is important to me because it was this genre that got me listening beyond the norm and digging beneath the surface. In the late 70’s, early eighties, on Showtime they would show music videos by bands. I happened to catch one by a band called The Shoes. My love of The Shoes led me to the Paul Collins’ Beat. Watching Nick Cage’s early performance in Valley Girl we saw him puke in the alley while Peter Case and his Plimsouls dished “The Oldest Story in the World”. Thanks to Valley Girl I was turned onto The Plimsouls and purchased Everywhere At Once which proved to be an almost perfect album . . . After some time, I realized, I never met a power pop band I didn’t like . . .
Feedback Fridays is so named for a characteristic of guitar playing that I love so and involves the musician using the noise from guitar and amp to color a composition in a way that no chords or notes might handle. Guitar feedback sounded very scary, and as a harbinger that something even scarier was just around the corner. My previous posts of Thin White Rope and The Dream Syndicate were of bands that thrived off of guitar feedback and always found richness in the chaos and the clamor.I can’t say what day posts will be exactly - but I can say there will be from two to three posts each week. If you have been reading the blog in the last month or so, you may have noticed that out of the three writers listed, I am the only one posting. Mark L has a fantastic blog called The Days of Lore that is a must read (He interviewed The Vaselines for Christ’s sake!) and is busy working and loving life in Portland, Oregon. As for Jason C., he is always busy, and though I would love nothing more than for him to post more often, I do understand how busy life can be and want to give him the same sort of understanding he has always cast in my direction. I just want him to join the fun! With the alternating of themes from week to week, I really hope to feature newer music. What? You say the Germs film is on Showtime this weekend?!! Shane West is Darby Crash?!?! We Got the Neutron Bomb indeed!