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Achin’ to Be — The Replacements’ Story

With the temperature finally feeling appropriate for the month — a hopeful indication I can leave behind the art of sweating while standing still for another season (along with “corralling my swimsuit muffin” or “hoping the Cubs might make the playoffs”) — thought I’d stop in and heat things up again a bit with a band from the land o’ lakes — which aside from giving us a bounty of delicious butter also gave us one of my all-time favorite bands. The band is the beloved Replacements, the land is Minnesota, and the timeframe is the late 70s.

The band’s origin story is almost as mythic as their eventual excess — janitor Paul Westerberg walks by a house every night in Minneapolis on his walk home where he hears an almighty ruckus being raised in the basement. Said ruckus is courtesy of guitarist Bob Stinson, drummer Chris Mars, and an 11 year old bassist, Stinson’s brother Tommy.  The threesome are wailing away making rock music so loud you could hear them several blocks away (hence Westerberg’s initial echolocation, drawn to the “sheer volume and the wild thunder,” he said.)  Westerberg listens from the bushes, likes what he hears night after night, and eventually meets and joins the band, taking their songs (and their unhinged alcoholic antics) to new heights over the course of the next decade.

That part of the story is legendary, too.  Upon joining Westerberg shifts the band’s sound to incorporate the high energy punk vibe beginning to explode in the early 80s before abandoning that later in the decade for a more heartfelt indie sound.  Along the way the band gives notoriously raucous shows, consumes more alcohol than the entire European continent the past six centuries, and flirts time and again with becoming superstars.  Unfortunately, they never quite get there — despite almost single-handedly being responsible for a huge chunk of the 90s’ alternative scene (and writing a string of incredible, timeless anthems), outside of music critics and misanthropic kids like myself, most people have never heard of these guys. (As Westerberg says, the band was always “five years ahead and ten years behind.”)

The reason why was the final part of the legend.  My understanding as I grew up listening to them was that the band was never really supported by their labels and that was why they’d never broken through. (Remember this was the 90s when labels were evil and a band’s signing to a major one could immediately torpedo their standing for having “sold out,” so the whims of the labels still had enormous sway.) Forget that the band were raging alcoholics and unrepentant rebels with severe authority issues. The band was constantly being pressured by the label to produce singles, forcing them to over-polish their albums in that single-minded quest, while never promoting them the way they should have — that’s why these guys weren’t household names.

Unfortunately the portrait journalist Bob Mehr paints in his outstanding Trouble Boys – The True Story of the Replacements places much more of the blame on the boys from butterville.  What Mehr lays out in his book is not a case of criminal neglect on the part of the labels, but rather a gut-wrenching pattern of self-sabotage — one fueled by alcohol, insecurity, and adolescent instincts — often in the face of incredibly supportive producers, promoters, and labels.  Seemingly any time one of these entities gives the band an option to break in a bigger way — whether by crossing into television via music videos (remember how all powerful these used to be at the time) or by reaching a bigger audience via radio shows, in-store promotions, or opening for bigger acts on tour — the band’s response is to act out by either playing terribly, showing up late/leaving early/not going at all, and/or telling the person/audience to go fuck themselves (literally or figuratively). Often it was all of the above.

Time and again in Mehr’s book he recounts performances packed with key industry people or sitdowns with potential benefactors that the band recognizes for what they are — golden opportunities to potentially achieve that elusive fame and recognition — and then immediately goes about destroying.  Seeing it in this light is heartbreaking — not only because it dooms an amazing band to a life of relative obscurity, but moreso because a sizeable portion of it seems fueled by their worst instincts (ie the booze, depression, and authority issues acquired from their difficult formative years), things that could have been corrected/changed if they’d acknowledged/accepted them in time.

Unfortunately that was not to be, though. Those demons ultimately drove the band apart (they disbanded in 1991 after the “traveling wake” in support of their seventh album, All Shook Down), broke the brother-like bond among several of the members (Bob Stinson was famously fired from the band he formed, Mars was booted several years later, and even the Gutter Twins, Westerberg and Tommy, still don’t speak for years at a time), and led one of them to an early grave. (Bob Stinson died in 1995 after years of drug and alcohol abuse.) All of which somehow makes you love the band even more — the legend of the mistreated misfits certainly was enough to win many fans’ hearts (along with those amazing songs), but knowing the intricacies of their histories and faults makes you pull for them even harder; makes you wish they’d gotten the help they needed before the flaws became fatal; and makes you appreciate the songs they made in spite of those deficiencies even more.

Mehr’s book is full of fantastic details — from Westerberg’s chronic consumption of clam chowder in the band’s early years to some of the band’s lesser known drunken antics (which while often self-defeating could also at times just be hilarious, like their Keystone Kops effort to steal the master tapes back from their label’s offices, when they spray painted their new tour manager’s $3000 Armani suit bright yellow within minutes of meeting him, or when the Gutter Twins abruptly left a recording session and returned hours later with their faces covered in grease and parking cones on their heads.) There’s the interactions with legends of an earlier generation, which are a vintage cocktail of playful mischief and unnecessary antagonism in the face of open generosity. (The band pokes fun at one of Tom Petty’s hits, singing “Running Down the Drain” before insulting his audience and playing awfully when opening for him on tour, while doing much the same to Bob Dylan, yelling “Hey fucker! Those are two bucks!” when he tries to take one of their beers before ridiculing “Like a Rolling Stone” as he stands next to them during a studio visit.)

There’s the friendship (and rivalry) with contemporaries REM, who Westerberg would frustratingly watch slowly break and then become global superstars while his band continued to toil. (Saying essentially, “they’re as fucked up as we are!?”) There’s tons of stories about their knife’s edge gigs — sometimes glorious concentrations of attitude and energy, sometimes inglorious episodes of drunken destruction. There’s the times they switch instruments mid-set or switch outfits before encores (or on SNL).  There’s the times they destroyed buses or vans (or studios or hotel rooms or stages or waiting rooms…)  Or the time they all shaved their eyebrows.

One passage distills everything down to the band’s essence — it’s from their time up in the woods trying to record their fifth album, Don’t Tell a Soul. It was at the height of their alcoholism and friction within the band, and the initial sessions hadn’t been going well as a result. Mehr (by way of Tommy) takes over from there — “Every night we’d go to one of the cottages and start playing ‘Dodge Knife.’ That’s like dodgeball, but with knives.  It got…very troubling.” One night [guitarist Slim] Dunlap drunkenly spread cream cheese all over the raw pine walls of his cottage. According to [producer Tony] Berg, “They had car accidents, They trashed the studio. They trashed the living quarters. They were on medication that you would normally prescribe for horses and bears. They were just a mess.”

Ugly, funny, off-putting, endearing — they’re all wrapped up in the mix, and rarely do you get one in isolation — but that volatile blend yielded some of the best songs of the decade (and some of the best I’ve yet to hear). I still remember the first time I heard the band back in middle school.  A girl I had a crush on gave me a tape one day in class with the band’s name and the word “Tim” on it.  That being my name I had the characteristic adolescent rush of emotions — “Oh my gosh, she gave me a tape — does this mean she likes me too? Are we dating now? Should I make HER a tape? What should I put on it? OH MY GOD SHE PUT MY NAME ON THE TAAAAAPE!”

I rushed home to listen to it, not knowing it was simply the name of the album and NOT an indication of her undying love. Her lack of interest turned out not to matter, though, as what she gave me was infinitely better — an album I would listen to hundreds of times in the intervening years and a band I would love as I thought I might her (only for thirty years and counting now).  Dan Baird, frontman for the Georgia Satellites (one of the band’s many partners in crime from its years on the road), spoke to the band’s special quality and how their quest for a hit and recognition (the one that was “an albatross around Westerberg’s neck” according to Mehr) missed the point.  “You don’t get to choose. There are people who’ll tell me ‘Oh, you wrote “Hands”… that is such a cute song.’ And they’ll come up to Paul and talk about ten different songs: ‘That one broke my heart; this other one tore me up; that song hit me where I lived.’ Not many people get that kind of response.”

And that’s the truth — the vast majority of people may not know who the Replacements are. They may never have had a bunch of hits or been as famous as the blogosphere and critics thought they should be.  But enough people know, and those who do tend to love this band — both the insouciant attitude and the heartbreaking earnestness, and the lasting impact each had — and be more than willing to share.  One blog post and eight readers at a time.

Here’s the gateway — I’ve got the usual Spotify channel with some of my handpicked favorites, as well as this one, my day to day anthem. When Westerberg roars, “I’m so! I’m so! Unsatisfied!” at the end, it’s as perfect a distillation of my everyday feeling as I can muster.  (And has been for decades.) So jump on in and enjoy the swim…

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We’ll throw in a freebie since I had the pleasure of seeing another beloved band, Built to Spill, on its 20th anniversary tour for its classic Keep it Like a Secret album last night. Doug was rolling with a different backing band (I didn’t recognize any of the guys actually), but had an extra guitar in the mix so was great to see him have a little extra room to ramble, rather than having to do guitars and vocals himself. This one in particular sounded great, so lean back, crank it up, and bliss out for a bit…

–BS

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Terrible Human Beings –Rightfully Ignored or Wrongly Exiled?

After another fun week of service and subsequent spiritual satisfaction, wanted to revisit the topic of a post from a few weeks ago, that of my beloved Orwells’ quietly dropping a new album, and what the right response is in light of the serious allegations against three-fifths of the band. The reasons for revisiting are twofold — 1) it’s a good album, one I’ve listened to dozens of times since that post, including this morning when I woke up with its “Silver Medal” in my head. (That one’s opening lines — “Not a fan of making up this time, got a lack of training. Go ahead and keep me out of mind, no one hears what you’re saying” — sports a clever homonym possibly referring to the broader allegations, indicating “no one here’s what you’re saying.”) That one’s almost beside the point, though — good, bad, love it, hate it, those feelings are almost irrelevant because of 2) the double standard regarding how we handle these artists and situations, as we partly discussed before.

This latter one feeds off the first and reared its head as the weeks passed with me waiting for reviews from the various blogs and magazines. In addition to discussing the music, I hoped they might have additional information on the broader situation to help me figure out the “what’s the right response?” question. Unfortunately, despite over six weeks elapsing I have yet to find a single review on any of the normal outlets — nothing on Allmusic, Pitchfork, or Stereogum — or anywhere else for that matter.  This is the part that I find slightly annoying — the opaque, inconsistently applied criteria for how they (and we as a broader society) handle these things.

It’s almost certainly not attributable to their not knowing about the release — these sites regularly catch such hard breaking news stories as Moby’s new neck tattoo, the Twitter beef between Tool’s Maynard James Keenan and Justin Bieber, and the time David Hasselhoff covered the Jesus and Mary Chain. And those are just some of the ridiculous ones I noted this month — so there has to have been a conscious decision made to not acknowledge and/or review the release, which is where the frustrating double standard comes in.  These sites continue to cover similarly troubled/accused artists — R Kelly, Michael Jackson, and Chris Brown being but three giant examples, each accused, tried, and/or convicted of sexual abuse. (Repeatedly.) And yet they remain acceptable topics to cover and/or play — why?

What’s the line for who gets talked about and who gets shunned?  Allmusic has reviews on each of those artists’ albums, as well as questionable/convicted scumbags of yesteryear (who also happen to be incredibly talented musically).  There’s a lot of them — Ike Turner (beat his wife, the inimitable Tina), James Brown (beat his wives, possible rape), Miles Davis (beat his wives), Elvis (questionable relations with young girls, including his future wife Priscilla who was 14 when she met him (he was 24) and was subsequently left for another 14 year old after the birth of their first child), Chuck Berry (went to prison for sex with a 14 year old), Jerry Lee Lewis (married his 13 year old cousin, attempted murder).  There’s plenty more, but all of these remain “safe” in the eyes of broader society — both to listen to and/or write about.  (Oh they’re also OK to reward with accolades, as all of them have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, among other honors.)

So why do those artists get the pass while others like the Orwells are exiled and no longer acknowledged? The allegations, amount of evidence behind them, and legal repercussions faced as a result are similar, if not weaker, than most of those examples.  (There’s still no reports of charges being brought or evidence outside of that infamous, partly anonymous Google Doc.) And yet those artists remain in the light while the Orwells have been cast into the darkness, ghosts in an age where virtually everything seems acceptable enough to discuss on the internet.

This is not an attempt to dismiss the charges against the three band members or argue away their awfulness — if true they should all be prosecuted and do time for their crimes.  Nor is it an argument to say the value of the art outweighs (or excuses) the bad behavior. These guys were always a questionable cocktail of dickishness and mischievous — both were invariably in there, you just couldn’t tell quite what the balance was and how much was an act and how much was sincere. (The last time I saw them Mario spit on, and then wiped his ass with, my beloved Chicago flag, for example, which is enough to get pounded for on the best of days.)

This is, however, an argument for clarity and consistency.  I think we need to be clear in what our criteria are for handling these types of things — whether for bands like the Orwells, comedians like Louis CK, actors like Kevin Spacey, or public figures like Joe Biden, Al Franken, and the President (among dozens of others) — and consistent in their application.  All things being similar, if the allegations and evidence are comparable, then so should our response be to the accused. And there should be no question over why — because we’ve made clear what our standards are for handling these types of situations: what’s acceptable, what’s inexcusable, and what’s still in the gray in between.  To not do so creates confusion, a double standard, and an unacceptable acceptance of some people’s wrongdoings.

Alright, enough serious stuff — let’s lighten things a bit with some fresh catches from the previous weeks, first with a brief parody video starring the Black Keys.  It’s a spoof of the online MasterClass series that offers “online courses taught by the world’s greatest minds.” This one has Pat and Dan being deadpan pretentious rock stars and it shows they, like fellow rocker (and guy I’d love to have a beer with) Dave Grohl, have a pretty good sense of humor.  It’s a good palate cleanser from the above — check it out here:

Next we’ll shift to another long time face from this page, that of Austin indie legends Spoon, who recently released an outtake from their 1998 sessions for their second album, A Series of Sneaks. It’s somewhat surprising it didn’t make the cut — it’s in line with their more straightforward, rocking sound of the time and a solid song.  Makes you wonder what other gems they’ve got stashed away.  Check out “Shake it Off” here:

We’ll move to the land of hippity hop for a bit, first with the latest single from the relentlessly productive Drake (he just released a double album, Scorpion, last year).  This time he’s dropping a song for the British show Top Boy that he’s apparently a big fan of. (Season three is airing on Netflix now.) Unlike most of that last album, it’s a solid song — good beat providing a backdrop for Drake to talk about his usual fare of “Rs and Vs and Os” and his endless material vices (Versace, Nobu, Milan, etc).  Substantively might not break any new ground, but still a good listen.  See what’s “Behind Barz” here:

Next we’ll check in with the wildly eccentric (or eccentrically wild?) Danny Brown, whose new album (uknowhatimsayin?, due 4 Oct) is being produced by none other than hip hop legend Q-Tip.  I’ve cooled on Brown a bit since his debut (Old landed at #9 on that year’s list) and the pairing with Tip is curious, but this single does right by both parties, marrying Brown’s manic delivery with a vintage old school sample that easily could’ve landed on a Tribe album.  It’ll be interesting to hear how the rest of the album shapes up — give “Best Life” a try in the meantime:

We’ll end our trip through hiphoplandia with a surprise release, the first single from the legendary Gang Starr in sixteen years (!), which features a new verse from Guru (sadly gone for ten years now (!!) and a guest verse from J Cole, all over another vintage beat from DJ Premier.  Called “Family & Loyalty,” it doesn’t appear to be attached to any specific project (no box set or rarities album upcoming, sadly), but that doesn’t diminish the enjoyment in the slightest.  These guys remain a criminally overlooked outfit (their 1998 album Moment of Truth is but one of many classics in their catalog that I’ve worn out over the years) so it’s a thrill to get something new.  Give it a listen (and dive back into those old albums immediately after) here:

We’ll head back to indieville for our final entries, first a deep cut from the latest Lumineers album, III.  The album is a bit of a departure for the band — it’s the first since the departure of founding member Neyla Pekarek, whose cello and voice featured so prominently (and beautifully) on their first outings, and also the first to delve wholeheartedly into less than lovey dovey matters lyrically.  This one (the band’s third) tells the story of three characters over three song cycles (hence the title) — Gloria, Junior, and Jimmy Sparks — only instead of soaring, sunny songs, this time the tracks deal with things like alcoholism, drug abuse, and gambling addiction.  Still, frontman Wesley Schultz and drummer Jeremiah Fraites weave a lovely web without sounding maudlin or overly morose.  Case in point the closing “Salt and the Sea,” which showcases both the storytelling and songwriting well.  Give it a ride here:

We’ll close the same way we started this section, with a little levity to accompany a new find — this one from hometown heroes Wilco whose new album, Ode to Joy, is due out next week.  We highlighted the lead single, “Love is Everywhere (Beware),” a few weeks ago and the latest, “Everyone Hides,” is another solid outing.  What’s unique is that the video almost outshines the song — I hardly ever watch videos these days (I honestly couldn’t tell you the last one worth remembering), but this one shows a game of hide and seek as the band members comically spread out in my (our) beloved city by the lake.  Take a look here:

Until next time, amici… –BS

 

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A Sunday Six-Pack: Solo Cups and Screams

With the temperature finally cooling off and giving us a brief preview of fall, thought it was appropriate to pop in and heat things up a little with some recent finds.  First comes the latest single from Alabama Shakes frontwoman Brittany Howard’s upcoming solo debut, Jaime. I had a chance to see her perform the album in its entirety a week or so ago and despite the undeniable presence (and skill) Howard has on stage, it still left me a little underwhelmed.  Hewing more towards the R&B side of things that the last Shakes album sported (which landed at #2 on that year’s 2015 list) instead of the more vintage soul sounds of their debut, the songs just didn’t resonate as strongly despite Howard’s energy and effort.  Which is not to say the songs are bad — if R&B is your thing I think you’ll actually quite like them as they’re honest, well-crafted tunes — it just doesn’t grab me the same way those Stax style songs do.  It’s the equivalent of Michael Jordan’s baseball era — you know he’s talented enough to not embarrass himself, hope he’s happy and succeeds, but simultaneously wish he’d just hurry up and go back to playing basketball because he’s so singularly talented at that.  Same goes for Brittany — her titanic, emotive voice is just so well suited for those crackling, retro soul sounds it’s a shame to see it dedicated to anything else.  Regardless, I’m glad musicians like her are out there — we’re better off for it.  Until she rejoins with the Shakes, here’s one of those vintage sounding gems from her upcoming debut, “Stay High:”

We’ll follow with another retro sounding song, this one from a fellow frontman on hiatus from his former group (probably permanently in this case, sadly), Liam Gallagher of Oasis fame.  Gallagher is priming the release of his second solo album, Why Me? Why Not. (due 20 Sept) and has released several singles to this point (I posted one of them here a few weeks back).  So far they’ve been solid, in line with the songs from his debut, which landed at #11 on the 2017 list here. This one’s got a bit of a gospel vibe with the backup singers sounding like Sunday service at the end.  (It also allegedly has Yeah Yeah Yeahs guitarist Nick Zinner on it, but you’d never know if they didn’t tell you — gone like Oasis is the fiery, noisy guitarist I fell in love with in that band’s early years, apparently.)  It’s a good follow on to Brittany’s feel good vibe — give “One of Us” a whirl here:

Next we’ll changes gears, but just slightly — we’ll shift from the sunny Sunday vibe to a more melancholic tone, but stay with the theme of singularly voiced singers on solo missions, this time from Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke. Having already released his soundtrack to the movie Anima earlier this year, Thom keeps up his cinematic sprint offering a song for Ed Norton’s upcoming Motherless Brooklyn.  As with most that he records there’s a somber sadness to it (if Brittany’s voice is synonymous with the sun, Thom’s is definitely the rain), but also an aching beauty that draws you in. It’s a powerful spell, just that voice and a piano.  (Chili Peppers bassist Flea also allegedly plays on the track, but either someone turned his amp off or he’s playing the trumpet.)  Similar to Brittany we’ve thankfully got no indications Thom is not planning on returning to his primary gig soon, this being one of the many side projects he nips off to in between that legendary band’s outings, so enjoy this in the meantime. Check out “Daily Battles” here:

We’ll veer into more aggressive territory now (us sadly being on the cusp of another rewarding work week), first with a track from Pusha T.  This one was allegedly recorded at the same time as his Daytona album in that flurry of five EPs in five weeks that he, Kanye, Nas, and others made last summer in Wyoming.  The stark beat is reminiscent of “Numbers on the Board” (never a bad thing) with Pusha extolling the virtues of his lady as only he can. (It also sports a couple grin inducing moments regarding charcuterie and his impression of the beat.) He may not burn quite as bright as he once did (the cocaine and Chanel raps have grown a little tired for me), but he’s still got some fire in him — give “Sociopath” a ride here:

Next we’ll meander over to the UK again and the gritty sounding IDLES, who I posted about a couple weeks ago here. On the heels of their nomination for the 2019 Mercury Prize I went back to their album to see if maybe I’d missed the bus, but I still don’t think it merits all the praise.  There are a couple of good tracks, similar to their debut, but other times they veer towards typical punky excess — noise and yelling at the expense of melody.  When everything’s in sync, though, these guys can pack a wallop.  None moreso than on the aptly titled “Colossus,” which is the sonic equivalent of that titular entity pounding you into paste.  This is the band channeling my beloved Jesus Lizard and absolutely nailing it — menacing bass and guitar building to a furious explosion, with frontman Joe Talbot loudly shouting lyrics that don’t make a ton of sense on the surface but nonetheless satisfy (“fuuuull ooooooof PIIIIIIIIIINS!”) It’s even got a creepy video to boot — what’s not to love!  Turn it up (way up) and see what’s in store:

We’ll close with the return that broke the internet this week — first just for appearing and then for not meeting what seem to be the insanely high standards of its fans — the return of Tool and their album Fear Inoculum. It’s the band’s first in 13 years, and despite being close to 90 minutes long folks seem really unhappy with the results.  Sure, of the 10 tracks there’s only six actual songs (the remainder are ambient instrumentals and a five minute drum solo — not kidding), but each of those stretches on for over ten minutes (“7empest” is barking on 16′ long). And while frontman Maynard James Keenan’s lyrics undeniably veer towards cliched metal tropes at times (there’s talk of warriors and spirits and similar nonsense sprinkled throughout), the band itself — bassist Justin Chancellor, guitarist Adam Jones, and thundering drum god Danny Carey — sound amazing here.  Do the songs meander, perhaps longer than they should?  Maybe. Do they sound more Perfect Circle-y and restrained at times than the fiery roar I prefer from their early years? Sure. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t a lot of really good moments on those six songs — riffs from Jones or Chancellor that make you nod and grin or rhythms from Carey that just decimate your brain.  It’s a little like Lord of the Rings (aside from the warrior/spirit talk) — yes, there’s a shitton of travel and scenes with Sam and Frodo endlessly blathering — but there’s also some reaaaaaally badass battle scenes (and the Balrog!), so on balance comes out ahead.  All in all, a pretty strong album — check out the opening title track (which actually would be a pretty rad soundtrack to a LOTR style battle) here:

That’s all for now — until next time, amici… –BS

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What Right Looks Like — Finding Clarity (and Forgiveness?) in the Fog

It’s not often I find myself in this position, but I’m not sure what the right thing to do is.

And while I’m not turning to the internet for the answer (I may as well ask my mechanic about Nordic salmon populations or a teetotaler whether I should have another beer), I am throwing this out there to talk it through.  Because even if I WAS turning to the internet for answers there aren’t a ton out there. (OK I looked — so sue me. I’ll let you know what Ben thinks about the salmon next post.) And this is finally hitting me in a way I can’t avoid anymore, so need to figure out where I land.

The source of the uncertainty is what we’re supposed to do when artists you enjoy are accused of wrongdoing? (It actually slips and slides out from there — what about non-artists? What kind of wrongdoing? Does it matter how long ago? — but we’ll start there for now).  I’ve grappled with this a little intellectually the past few years in the wake of the #MeToo reckoning, but never really in a meaningful way because it never hit me this close to home. I don’t think Woody Allen is funny, Charlie Rose always struck me as a bit of a blowhard (don’t get wifey started on this one), and Harvey Weinstein seems every bit the sleazy dirtbag he’s been accused of being. (Over 80 women have accused him thus far, which is as appalling and repellent as it sounds.)

It might’ve rattled the cage a little occasionally — I thought Louis CK was funny sometimes, liked Aziz Ansari back in the Parks and Rec days, and thought Kevin Spacey was a really good actor — but they were never top shelf entries in my perpetual lists of obsessions so it was easy to keep them at a distance. I felt terrible for the scores of women who’d been victimized and hoped that the perpetrators would face justice for what they’d done, but aside from that I felt somewhat detached from the proceedings — like news of a bombing in another country (or yet another shooting here).  I didn’t know any of the victims and didn’t really understand what drove the perpetrators’ actions, so felt somewhat removed. Sure, I grew up loving Michael Jackson’s songs, but I’m not a kid anymore and am never going to say to wifey, “Hey, babes — let’s crack a bottle of carmenere and put Bad on while we cook.”

The closest it came was with Bill Cosby, whose show I grew up watching (like virtually everyone else in America, it seemed) and whose comedy records were favorites of my old man’s, so would listen to them routinely.  I even read his books and saw his standup a couple times and always found them funny.  But when the evidence brought against him became overwhelming and he was eventually convicted, I knew the right thing to do was walk away. “I am no longer a Bill Cosby fan.” Clear and definitive.  It wasn’t easy — it’s still sort of painful to reconcile the person who seemed to be one thing and who gave you so much happiness growing up with the person found guilty of all these horrible things — but it was a little easier because he never once acknowledged or apologized for his wrongdoing and that’s fucking sad and gross.

Now, however, I’m confronted with the unavoidable — a top shelf entity I still actively love who’s been accused of horrible things, yet admits no wrong — and the path is not as clear. This time the accused are my beloved Orwells, who I’m sure the eight of you know are a huge favorite — if landing at #8 on the 2014 list or #1 on the 2017 one wasn’t enough of an indication, I’ve also seen them a dozen times (including one of the best nights of my recent history, the free hometown show that found me delirious in the pit) and play them all the time for people (including probably each of you several times over) to share the excellence.  However, as I mentioned late last year three of the band’s members were accused of rape and sexual misconduct last August and the charges were damning enough that the band’s hometown show at the Metro was canceled, their label dropped them, and the band broke up.  All within a week of the first allegations appearing online.

This was a blow — not only because I love the music so much, but because rape is not an accusation people throw out (or should respond to) lightly.  It’s not like calling someone an idiot or saying you think a band/song sucks.  This is serious fucking business and something you assume (or at least hope) people aren’t doing without merit.  (Rest assured when I call you an idiot or say your band/song sucks, I will continue to provide evidence.) So when 60% of your band is suddenly facing those charges, that’s a real problem.

And yet I was still able to avoid really deciding what the right thing to do was after those revelations.  I already owned all their music and could still listen to them as they came on (right?) — maybe not as readily as before because of the cloud hanging over them, but I wouldn’t have to grapple with the ethics of giving them money for a show or new album because that wouldn’t be happening — until now.  That’s because I learned on Friday that the band quietly released a new album last month — self-recorded and -released because they still have no label — but one that’s available on iTunes and ready for purchase.

And thus the conundrum posed at the outset.  What is the right thing to do here? Thus far, despite the terrible things they stand accused of, no charges have currently been brought against any of the band members.  Is that an indication of guilt, though, or of the inadequacies of our legal system?  The band members “emphatically deny the baseless allegations,” but is that an indication of innocence or of belligerence? And even if they are guilty of the charges, what’s the appropriate response — take away their livelihood (ie don’t buy their album, Bobby) or take away their existence (ie don’t listen to them or talk about them — essentially try to Eternal Sunshine them from your memory banks.)

If you look at the veeeeeeeeeeeeeery long list of people accused of these types of things, there’s no clear answer apparent to me.  Outside the Cosbys of the world who admit no wrongdoing, but have been convicted for those crimes, where’s the line? Louis CK admitted he’d done the things he was accused of and apologized for his actions — so is it OK to like him again? (Or pay to see his standup or watch his shows?) Kevin Spacey denied the allegations in a weird video that seemed tone deaf and creepy  — but then some of the charges against him were recently dropped, so does that mean it’s ok to let him back in?  Casey Affleck settled with his two accusers out of court — was that an admission of guilt or a decision to pay money to allow yourself to move past the topic, and if it’s the latter is that ok? What’s the key component?

Is it the number of accusers?  Is there some tally past which — charges and/or conviction or not — guilt becomes a foregone conclusion?  Despite being an almost certain monster (you could ask 80 people in this country whether snow is white and not get this level of agreement), Harvey Weinstein still hasn’t been convicted of anything — so does that mean we should delay judgment? Charlie Rose has been accused by nearly 30 women, but still denies it — is that incontrovertible? Jeremy Piven’s count stands at 7 — is that still in the land of plausible deniability?

What about whether they’re convicted? R Kelly’s been charged and acquitted several times the past few decades — so does that mean the latest round is somehow invalidated?  What if we’re beyond the statute of limitations for the alleged crimes? Michael Jackson’s been accused for a similarly prolonged span and also been acquitted once — does that mean the latest accusations are meritless? (Also, he’s dead, so does that change things?) What if you seemingly acknowledge some, but not all of the charges? Charlie Rose settled with three of his accusers — what does that mean for the remainder?  Does the alleged crime matter most?  Tom Brokaw was accused of unwanted advances and Jamie Foxx was accused of smacking a woman in the face with his penis — are those excusable offenses if true? And what if there never are charges at all?  Most of the men on that list have never faced formal charges — does that mean there’s nothing left to answer for?

The last few examples take us to the aforementioned question of non-artists — does it matter more who the alleged perpetrator is? Senator Al Franken was accused of similar things to Brokaw and was forced to step down, but Brokaw still shows up on TV from time to time. Same for Morgan Freeman — he still makes movies.  Are the rules different for politicians, but for actors and musicians it falls into the acceptable world of creative expression and “sex, drugs, and rock and roll?” (Not necessarily, as evidenced by Vice President Biden who’s a presidential frontrunner despite accusations of his unwanted advances, while our current one took no hit for his alleged affairs with porn stars and his pussy grabbing “locker room talk.”)

All of which takes us back to the Orwells — there’s accusations, but no charges and no admissions, and there’s two band members who stand accused of nothing at all.  Is the right answer total elimination or only because three are accused and two aren’t — if the count was 3-2 the other way would it be different? Or if anyone is accused (and the allegations are true) it’s guilt by association and they all suffer the same consequences?  What’s the right response?

As a kid I was taught you were judged by the company you keep, so if someone you’re friends with or otherwise associate with does something wrong, you’re going to bear the same consequences.  I still remember getting grounded for my idiot friend stealing something when I was hanging out with him and thinking how unfair that was — I hadn’t even realized he’d taken anything — but it certainly was a powerful reminder to be aware of what folks around you are doing because you bear some culpability. That said, I was also taught to forgive and forget — to let things go, particularly if someone does something wrong and apologizes — so does that apply in these scenarios?  Or only if they apologize, otherwise it’s smiting and excommunication?  Or not even then because some crimes are inexcusable?

I honestly don’t know.  Even after talking things through and spelunking on the intertubes I’m not sure what the right call is.  I can see how paying for the album could be a red line to some because I’m rewarding them with green.  Is it different if I only stream the album?  Because I’ll admit, I listened to it at least five times yesterday.  And even worse, despite it breaking Sunshine’s cardinal rule — literally from the opening notes — and inexplicably/inexcusably adding synths on a couple tracks, I still kinda like it (or at least better than half of it so far). Is streaming the album different than paying for it? Is money the key distinguisher?  Or if neither is acceptable, what is the right amount of time to wait before it does become OK (if ever) — if there are never any charges pressed, is there some point where it’s safe to wade back in? Several of the aforementioned men have attempted to come back into the limelight, so should we be shunning some/all of them, as well as these guys, or only the ones that don’t demonstrate an appropriate level of penitence?

I’m still not sure.  After all the back and forth I think I’m realizing the “right” answer is probably the universally despised one of “it depends.” I think each of the above factors and situations need to be considered and a thoughtful path of action taken as a result. If they do result in formal charges and convictions, then the path becomes clearer — but the ambiguity that fills the space short of that does not exonerate us from responsibility or reflection. What I’m sure of is that the allegations against each of these guys are serious and that as much uncertainty or unease as they (and I) may face in response is equaled if not vastly surpassed by that of the victims, so being cognizant of and sympathetic to that reality is important. After that, I think we’ve got to feel it out.

So in this case, I think I’m gonna stream for now — stream and wait, see what the band says around the release, see if that informs my opinion one way or another.  (They’re definitely not shying away from the topic — they don’t address it head on, but several songs reference being made a villain or having “no apologies,” while the album’s cover almost blames the victims for their current state/lack of artwork.) Or maybe the comments of those in response to the release do.  Either way, I’m going to keep searching for what the right path is on these things — because two years in the number of incidents may have (thankfully) slowed, but they haven’t gone away, so I think it’s a conversation we’re going to need to continue until consensus is achieved.

–BS

 

 

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No Guidance — David Berman, Wilco, and a UK Triple Play

Wanted to start today after a brief jaunt to the crazy streets of Wildwood to highlight another discovery, one that unfortunately comes concurrent with that chapter’s sad ending.  The discovery — twenty years past apparently everyone else’s unearthing — was of David Berman, singer/songwriter for the Silver Jews.  I found him because the music sites were working themselves into a lather back in May with a flurry of headlines extolling his return — “Surprise single” from “reclusive”/”infamous” David Berman of the “legendary” Silver Jews, “returns with first new music in 11 years.” All of it accompanied by photos of this guy with a dark aviators, an occasional trucker hat, and wispy dark hair, looking something of a cross between Judah from 30 Rock and a bearded Nick Cave.

It seemed like a lot of interest (and superlatives) for someone I’d never heard of, so I started reading up and listening to the music.  The story was intriguing — gifted songwriter whose lyrics are cited by some of indie’s leading lights as inspiration starts a band with Pavement pal Stephen Malkmus the same year they release their debut, gets pissed because it was described as a “Pavement side project,” fires both Pavement pals and releases his second album without them, eventually lets them back in for the rave reviewed/”instant classic” third, then spends the next ten years releasing three more albums (sometimes with them, sometimes without them) while increasingly struggling with depression, drugs, and suicide (all dealt with openly and pointedly in his lyrics, as well as an infamous Fader article), refusing to do almost any interviews or even tour before calling it all off in 2009 and disappearing completely from public view. Cue 10-plus years where the legend/mystery grows before suddenly reappearing in May with that “surprise single” from his new band, Purple Mountains.

Said single was the effervescently titled “All My Happiness is Gone,” whose opening verse grabs you from the outset:

Friends are warmer than gold when you’re old
And keeping them is harder than you might suppose
Lately, I tend to make strangers wherever I go
Some of them were once people I was happy to know

Cast off with what turns out to be Berman’s deadpan baritone, you almost miss the sadness packed into those words amidst the sunny melody.  By the time you get to the end of the second verse, though, you understand just how dire the situation is (if the title wasn’t enough of a clue) — “Feels like something really wrong has happened/And I confess I’m barely hanging on.”  The rest of the album stays in that vein — lyrics like “Humbled by the void, most of my faith has been destroyed” or “The light of my life is going out tonight without a flicker of regret” butt up against song titles like “Darkness and Cold,” “Maybe I’m the Only One for Me,” and the aforementioned single. Which is not to say it’s a dour, mopey affair — backed by former faves Woods there’s a sonic brightness that belies the lyrical darkness, and Berman’s sense of humor remains subtle, yet sharp. (The songs “She’s Making Friends, I’m Turning Stranger,” “Margaritas at the Mall,” and the aforementioned “Only One” being but a few examples.) That latter piece is similar to Built to Spill’s Doug Martsch, who Berman occasionally sounds like on his early Silver Jews records.

Unfortunately, it seems the inspiration for those words — whether recent events (Berman apparently separated from his wife/bandmate of 20 years this year and was living in the apartment above his label’s offices in Chicago) or a lifetime of struggling — became too much to bear as Berman took his own life this week.  It’s a sad end to what has been an engaging catalog of songs — as I plowed through his latest album I also dived back into his former band’s offerings and have found plenty to enjoy.  Berman has a gift for writing some memorable lines (again similar to Martsch in that aspect) and that third album in particular has some really good songs. (“Random Rules,” “Smith & Jones Forever,” among others)

In the wake of his passing Pitchfork posted their 15 favorites, which span his career (and include those two).  I’d start with “Random,” not only because it’s a solid song, but because the video was shot in my old neighborhood and it’s always good to see what’s at the end of the Rainbo, site of many a late night (and cheap beer). Give it (and the rest) a listen, and pay your respects for another gifted life ended too soon as you do. (And as we did after the passing of Anthony Bourdain and Scott Hutchison, if you know anyone struggling with depression or in need of help, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1.800.273.8255) or click here to chat with someone online.)

We’ll stay in my beloved city by the lake with another Berman collaborator (and another gifted lyricist who’s candidly struggled with drugs and depression in the past), Jeff Tweedy. His band Wilco recently released the first single from their upcoming release Ode to Joy (due 4 Oct), their first since 2016’s Schmilco (which landed at #9 on that year’s annual wrapup). It’s another lovely little shuffle, similar in tone to Tweedy’s solo album WARM (which landed at #15 on last year’s list). If history is any guide I’m sure the rest of the album will follow suit — check “Love is Everywhere (Beware)” out in the meantime:

We’ll leave the lake and jump across the pond to the UK and the latest from Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds.  Their last EP was a little too synthy for me — which shouldn’t be a surprise as the eight of you are well aware of my hatred for unnecessary (ie all) synths — but the lead single from their second EP of the same name, This is the Place, is more reminiscent of the cinematic songs from his previous outings.  (Including 2017’s Who Built the Moon?, which landed at #11 on that year’s list here.) Hopefully the rest of the EP keeps this up:

We’ll stay in the UK and post the latest from another band whose recent offering tripped my antitheSYNTH campaign, that of the Foals and their Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost — Part 1, which came out earlier this year.  It was a bit underwhelming at first, but has grown on me in subsequent listens — still not going to be a favorite, but there are a couple good tracks on there.  (And just to prove I don’t know what I’m talking about, it just made the shortlist for the 2019 Mercury prize.) Thankfully Part 2 is supposed to be a return to form, restoring the power (literally and figuratively) of Jimmy Smith’s guitar, which was so muted in Part 1.  Lead single “Black Bull” is a promising sign, an unvarnished ripper in the vein of the band’s more aggressive approach on What Went Down (which landed at #7 on 2015’s list here).  Crank it up and give it a spin — rest of the album should drop 18 October:

We’ll close with a final kick in the can, this from UK punks IDLES (whose album was ALSO just nominated for the 2019 Mercury prize).  It’s the B-side to their latest single and while I may not know exactly what they’re talking about (I dream guillotine?), there’s something oddly satisfying with frontman Joe Talbot shouting “all aboard the cocaine ghost train” over and over again at the end. A solid back end to the Foals track and a modest way to try moving past the posts’s sad start:

Hang in there, everyone — until next time… –BS

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Let Your Feet Stomp: The Wu, In Two (Documentaries)

Had a chance to watch a couple documentaries lately while baseball was on its all-star break, both chronicling the golden era of hip hop (note to millenials — we are currently NOT in it, despite your breathless claims for folks like Migos, Future, the A$APs, etc) — one focused on a single entity from that time, the legendary Wu-tang Clan, the other on an overlooked (at least for those of us not living in/around New York) playhouse for some of that scene’s biggest names, the Stretch and Bobbito show.  To paraphrase the departed Dirt Dog, though, first things first we shall fuck with the worst and talk through Showtime’s documentary on the Wu.

Cleverly named Of Mics and Men, it’s a four hour look at the gang of New Yorkers and the music they’ve made over the years, from their legendary debut to more recent offerings like the single copy disc sold for oodles of cash to pharma-felon Martin Shkreli.  Despite getting a lot of insight into each of the members and their personal lives (family makeups, early experiences in NY projects in the 80s, etc) and the dynamics of the group (who seems to get along, who butts heads (or butts in), etc), what’s notably (and inexcusably, in my opinion) absent from this series is the one thing that makes knowing those things matter — THE MUSIC.  If the basic test all music docs face is whether it will make an uninitiated viewer want to listen to that band’s/person’s music by the end, this one fails miserably. (Assessment tested/confirmed with wifey, who while aware of the Wu is not a fan and said she did not become one by the end of this “boring” endeavor.)

So instead of getting a ton of reflection on (or insight into) the group’s classic debut, for example — how the songs came together, how the recording went, etc — or how that quickly spawned the first batch of equally lethal solo albums, we get a ton of background on RZA’s philosophical perspectives, how they tried to market the group/albums, what contracts the guys signed (and when), how the logo was designed, etc etc etc. We got nearly 45 minutes on the aforementioned Shkreli scandal — tabloid frothing over an album that virtually nobody has heard and appears to not actually be an official Wu-tang album after all the fuss — while only briefly touching on the debut or their double album return (we get a little discussion of “Protect Ya Neck,” “C.R.E.A.M.,” and “Reunited,” but not much else), while completely ignoring the classic run of solo albums (outside of spending two minutes on the cover art for ODB’s, that is) that millions of people love.  It’s a shame, because those albums form a big piece of that golden age catalog (and STILL are great, as you can see for yourself shortly).

Contrast that four hour slog with the hour and forty minute party that is Stretch and Bobbito: Radio that Changed Lives (available on Netflix) — it passes that aforementioned music doc test with flying colors.  Not only do I think it would make the uninitiated viewer want to listen to hip hop (wifey was sequestered in another town eating single breakfast tacos and online shopping for clothes and body clamps, so couldn’t confirm), it makes the existing fan rediscover why they loved that band/person/style so much in the first place.  It tells the tale of the titular lads — two DJs who had the graveyard shift on a small college radio station in New York and somehow turned it into THE launchpad for some of the era’s biggest names — Biggie, Nas, Jay-Z, Busta, the Wu, etc. The pair would not only play songs that hadn’t broken anywhere else yet, they would host freestyle sessions that apparently became appointment listening for folks at the time.

The stories of people recording the shows on cassettes and passing/mailing them around were pretty great (note to millenials — cassettes were things old people used to use to record music off the radio so they could listen to it again (side note to millenials — the radio was a thing that people used to have in their house that was one of the only ways to listen to music when not in your car)), but the clips they show of the aforementioned individuals spitting verses off the tops of their head are what really makes this a fun watch. It really takes you back to that time, reminding you of just how much incredible music was being made and how much excitement there was about it, while also giving you additional appreciation for the craft (the skill and precision these guys show in their verses and albums come in stark relief to the disposable bullshit passed off as contemporary versions of that music today).  It’s a great watch — aside from the killer music, Stretch and Bobbito are pretty funny cats, too — so fire it up and pump up the volume.

And when you’re done, feel free to give this a listen, my antidote to the disappointment of the first offering — Sunshine’s curated playlist of Wu-tang songs.  I’ve done my best to pick the choicest selections from the numerous band albums and side projects — the only exceptions being the band’s debut and the first five solo albums (Meth’s Tical, Rae’s Cuban Linx, Ghost’s Ironman, Dirty’s Return to the 36 Chambers, and GZA’s Liquid Swords), which are included in their entirety as they are virtually flawless.  It amounts to around 15 hours’ worth of music, which should more than give you a sense of why this group has made so many fans over the years.  Yes, the quality suffered with each successive album — only GZA and Ghost fought off the trend and released second albums that were almost as good as the first (both of which are almost entirely included below) — but when you consider HOW good those debuts were, and add in a string of songs spread across five or six group albums (depending on how you count) and multiple solo albums from the ten members, you’re left with an impressive body of work.  I picked my favorites below, so give a listen and see what you think.  If you approve, just be sure to give a “SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUE!” so we can hear you.

We’ll close with a couple quickies — first the latest single from Bon Iver’s upcoming album, i,i, “Faith.” He continues his 50-50 trend so far as this marks the fourth release from the album, but only the second that I really enjoy (along with “Hey Ma,” which we previously posted) — maybe the others will make more sense in the context of the broader album.  In the meantime, enjoy the latest one here and see what you think:

Lastly comes an interview with Frightened Rabbit drummer Grant Hutchison from Stereogum on the eve of the band’s release of the Midnight Organ Fight cover album.  It’s a pretty rough read — the author clearly is a fan who acknowledges how hard it has been (and still is) to listen to the band’s music since frontman Scott’s suicide last year, a sentiment I share and have written about here — and Grant speaks to his own difficulties dealing with his brother’s death.  The positive news (other than his ability to start moving on, which I hope others in the band share) is that the band had recorded a bunch of songs before Scott passed, so we will likely have one more batch of his singular, heartfelt lyrics to enjoy.  Until then, enjoy this one — one of the many gems from that masterful Midnight:

Until next time… –BS

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Around the World — Canadians, Brits, and a Bunch of Swedes (Plus a Couple of Yanks)

Since I’m home with a sick pup whose recovery plan includes sleeping on my lap in as unbroken a stretch as possible (bathroom breaks and beverage refills be DAMNED!), thought I’d capitalize on the stasis to throw out some songs that got caught in my snatches since last time.  First, in honor of his beloved Toronto Raptors beating the broken down Warriors to win their first NBA title, superfan Drake dropped a couple new tracks last week, the best of which finds him teaming with Rick Ross again on the thumping “Money in the Grave.” Drake’s been prolific yet sporadic the past few years, dropping albums and mixtapes on the regular, which unfortunately are mostly mediocre in quality, minus a few choice hits.  Same principle applies here — “Omerta” is a throwaway, but “Money” lives up to its name, particularly when the big man shows up.  Give it a ride here:

Next, in honor of his upcoming performance at Glastonbury, former Oasis frontman Liam Gallagher dropped a new single from his forthcoming follow-on to As You Were ( a debut that landed at #11 in last year’s rundown here).  Thankfully we didn’t have to travel to the festival to hear it (the thought of camping out at a farm with 100,000 people sweltering in 100 degree heat sounds about as much fun as doing hot yoga naked in front of your entire family). Sonically it’s in line with the songs found on his debut (and not far from those of his former band) — solid guitar riff, ominous bass line, and sturdy rhythm all chugging alongside Gallagher’s ever-stellar voice as it soars into the chorus. (“I’ve been waaaaaiiting so looooooong for you dooooooooown by the rivaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…”)  It’s a strong song — let’s hope the rest of the album continues the trend when it arrives.  Give “The River (Why Me? Why Not)” a listen in the interim:

Up third is the return of the one thing I (for one) have been most craving lately, with the string of underwhelming releases from beloved bands (the National, Silversuns, Foals, Vampire Weekend, Raconteurs, etc etc etc) — a balls out, unabashed rocker intent on delivering a much-needed kick to the ass of anyone it meets.  No synthesizers, no gimmicky schtick (“Now with LADIES!”), just guitars, energy, and attitude.  And who better to deliver than the notoriously riotous Swedes?  That’s right, the superficially staid and polite purveyors of crisp, clean interior design elements and small, sauced spheres of meat are also home to one of the most raucous, entertaining bands of the last 20 years — Howling Pelle Almqvist and his gang of garage rocking rebels in the Hives.  They’re back just in the nick of time, too, with one hell of little ripper.  It’s the back (front?) half of the “double A-side” release this week (classic Hives swagger there — “we don’t do B-sides — everything we do is an A!”) and the better of the two by far, hearkening back to their glory days of Veni Vidi Vicious and Tyrannosaurus Hives.  Howlin’ Pelle may say he’s “not the answer to your problems,” but you sure could fool me — if more of this is in store we just might have found the antidote we so desperately need.

Last up is a new discovery, one I stumbled on in my endless hunt through blogs and new release piles to find something to get excited about (see the aforementioned malaise from established acts and the unspoken dearth of good tunes from newbies (despite their rabid fanbases and elevated chart positions)).  The name and cover were enough to draw me in and the music was good enough to keep me — a mix of Sergio Leone style guitar riffs and Al Green style soul from two dudes down in Austin.  Said gentlemen are producer Adrian Quesada and singer/songwriter Eric Burton who linked up last year and recorded their debut after a run of well-received live performances deep in the heart of Texas.  It’s a really solid affair — laid back vibes riding along on the back of Burton’s silky voice with riffs that would sound at home in any retro rap song (or those Leone westerns).  It’s perfect for a lazy Sunday — give “Fire” a ride here:

We’ll close with a couple readers to round things out — first, this one from Pitchfork on Neutral Milk Hotel’s debut album, On Avery Island. The follow-on is the one that garners all the praise and is described as a modern classic (rightfully so), but this makes a compelling case for the debut.  Worth a read and revisit.

Next comes an interview in Entertainment Weekly with Black Keys frontman Dan Auerbach on the long-awaited return of that band this week and the inspirations behind the new album.  There’s some interesting inclusions in there — Vice Principals, as well as the Stooges and ZZ Top — that are worth checking out. We’ll see how the new album goes down and whether those are notable influences or not (early returns are ok — album sounds good, if not the barn-burning return I so desire (or is indicated might be forthcoming based on the title)).

Last comes a Stereogum interview with Spoon frontman Britt Daniel where he talks through some of the band’s biggest hits in anticipation of their upcoming greatest hits album.  (A phrase they, like me, likely never thought they’d hear anyone say.) It’s an interesting retrospective — the album goes all the way back to Girls Can Tell (probably still my favorite album of theirs), covering everything in between (but not their first two) — and hits a lot of the high notes. (I still might need to do a “One You Should Know” post/playlist for em soon because there’s a lot that’s left out…) It includes one new song, too, the track “No Bullets Spent,” which is a good cut — give it a listen here while you wait for that “OYSK:”

That’s all for now, my friends… — BS

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Wheel of Fortune — A Twelve Step Process

It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, hence the longer than usual (at least of late) delay from yours truly.  There’s been playoff runs in hockey and regular season baseball to watch, houses to inspect, things to paint, beer to brew, and jobs to investigate (cuz I gots ta get the f####################k outta here — ASAP (call me!)) all while continuing to work 50-60 hours a week in my totally rewarding (and not at all spirit demolishing) day job with Tio Samuel.  I’ve been keeping a tab on things flying out of the speakers, though, so wanted to pop in to share.  Since time’s short (gotta get back to that job hunt, son!) it feels appropriate to revive another fan favorite (the mail/tweets from the three of you have been overwhelming) and hold another round of Sunshine Speed Dating.  So without further ado….here we go!

DING! “Hi! What’s your name? Borild? How do you say that? Borild.  Borild. Is that right? It sounds like you’re saying “bored” — are you bored?  We’ve only been talking for seven seconds!  Seven seconds too long you say?  Ha ha — you’re funny…. (trails off, stares at his loafers)” First up meet the pop punk Beachheads, a four-way from Norway that apparently spawned out of the “black metal party band Kvelertak,” according to AllMusic (which is as intriguing a label as I’ve heard in a while).  Thankfully they play to the lighter side of those genres, harnessing the energy of their punk side while keeping the mood bright (sonically, at least — the lyrics on the lead single from their upcoming album are about the rise of fascism so……)  They’ve got some pretty catchy stuff — that lead single’s a good jumping off spot.  Check out “Death of a Nation” here:

Next! “Hey — good to see you again! What’s with the cherry red sex suit and cowboy hat?  Oh you’re getting over a divorce and struggling to deal with the trappings of fame? That’s what your latest album is about, too?  That sounds heavy — but where exactly does the outfit play into that?  Just working some things out, huh?  Well — I feel for ya.  I saw you guys live a few years back and you were one of the best shows of the festival.  You were performing in a sundress that time, though, so doesn’t seem like the divorce had much to do with the questionable wardrobe choices.  You do you, though — I just hope the leather breathes as much as that sundress.  Just shout if you’re feeling lightheaded — good luck out there!”  Back with their fifth studio album, the eclectic pack of Kentucky wildcats from Cage bring their usual wide-ranging mix of sounds to bear, this time throwing in some 80s and reggae elements to differing effect.  It’s a mixed bag, but the lead single “Ready to Let Go” is a winner — give it a ride here:

Neeeeeeeeeeeext! “Hello there — where are you from? DUBLIN, eh?  That’s lovely — Ireland’s a lovely country.  I got married there!  Yes, I know it’s weird for a married person to be at a speed dating event — how about you leave the judgment at the door there, pal? I don’t tell you what to do with your lucky charms, do I?  Anyway — what do you do for a living (other than get all up in other people’s business)?  Oh, you’re in a band, huh?  That’s cool — what’s its name? Silverbacks?  Isn’t that the shitty rock band that sang “How You Remind Me?” With the giant guy with the long, wavy blond hair singing?  I thought they were from Canada… Are you SURE that’s not you? Sounds like I’m not the only one who might have some explaining to do, huh, pal?”  Name similarity aside, I can confirm that this five piece is NOT from Canada and has never appeared on rock radio singing crappy songs like the aforementioned.  Unfortunately, that’s about all I can tell you — the band is Irish, has three guitarists, and a grand total of nine songs on their Bandcamp page (1 EP and 4 singles).  That’s about it — they’re all pretty solid, but my favorite is the single “Dunkirk,” whose jittery, sparse start builds to a satisfying release midway through.  Give it a spin here:

Next up — “Oh hi there — you must be from Philly!  How’d I guess?  You mean other than the fact that you, like every other person I know from Philly, have at least three pieces of green and/or Eagles gear visible at all times AND mention it within thirty seconds of meeting someone?  It must’ve been a lucky guess.  I do love Philly, though — I’d slap my grandma for a pork sandwich from Dinic’s.  You don’t have one on you, do you? Oh I just assumed you guys kept a couple spares in a cooler in your car, just in case you ever get stranded or need to barter once the zombie apocalypse hits.  I do with beefs from Porti’s so…might want to give it some thought…” Spirit of the Beehive is another five piece with not a ton out there right now — looks like they’ve got two albums out, but not a ton of press.  Their latest, Hypnic Jerks, is an interesting listen with some weird field recordings stitched between some psychedelic guitars.  It loses steam for me over the duration, but there’s a couple good songs before it does, including the title track, which you can listen to here:

DOUBLE TROUBLE ROUND! “Why hello!  Lemme guess — you’re from Philly, too, huh?  Oh I dunno — must’ve been the elaborate hand slaps and chest bumps you just exchanged with the last group as they were leaving. That or all the shouting about ‘the fuckin’ Birds!’ It’s ok, I was just telling the last crew how much I like that town — hey, you don’t happen to have anything to eat in that cooler, do you? Something pork-based perhaps? Nah nevermind — you can keep the sandwich.  Only a communist puts whiz on a steak and cheese and NO ONE thinks lettuce and tomato on a warm sandwich is a good idea.  I like where you’re head’s at writ large, though — gotta be ready for dem zombies.  Maybe THEY will think whiz and wilted lettuce are preferable to brains…” This latest batch of Philly fanatics are Hop Along and I stumbled on them at the end of the year as their latest, Bark Your Head Off, Dog, was on a few folks’ best of lists. It’s a pretty good listen, but what puts these guys over the top is lead singer Frances Quinlan’s voice — at times sweet and cooing, others raspy and roaring, it’s a powerful weapon that’s tough to ignore.  Check out “How Simple” here (bonus track on Sunshine Radio is “The Fox in Motion”):

NEXT! ” Howdy howdy — oh don’t tell me, you’re from Philly too?!? Baltimore!? Well why the hell were you high fiving and hand jiving those guys?! Yeah I know it’s fun, but you hate the Eagles!  So what if they’re both birds?!  I don’t think you understand how this works…  Anyway — I love B-mas, too, so guess I can see liking things from both places.  Lex Mark is the jam — not as good as Reading, but the people watching more than makes up for the gap in food offerings.  Just grab a sleeve of Berger’s cookies and watch the show!  We were there one time when the band started playing Bruno Mars and it was like someone just reanimated the dead — some maaaaaaaaaaaangy lookin’ cats just started spasming in the courtyard and didn’t stop for 20 minutes.  One lady was pole dancing with the column, another dude was provocatively dancing with a chain barrier, a tiny Asian lady with sunglasses on inside started freaking in place.  Amazing.  Does your music make people want to do that?  No?  More cry alone in their darkened bedroom?  Oh well I guess there’s a need for that too.   Hey are you even old enough to be in here? Whatever — have fun. Go birds!  (Wait…)” The underage interloper in this case is Lindsey Jordan, who was a whopping 16 years old when she released her debut EP Habit three years ago and a positively geriatric 18 when she released her full length Lush last year. I stumbled on this one same as I did the aforementioned Hop Along, traipsing thru peoples’ year end lists, and while her debut gets a little monotone by the end, Graham’s shimmery voice and dream-like aura has enough bright spots to get you coming back.  Try “Pristine” for a taste (bonus radio track here is “Thinning” from the EP):

NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXT! “Oh hi, Karen O!  I love your old band, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.  At least until they started getting all dancey and weird, that is.  Taking the fire out of Nick Zinner’s guitar is like taking the makeup off of KISS — it’s kind of sad and a little horrifying to look at.  I loved it when you guys were super raw and punky. I saw you back at the Showbox in Seattle for your debut album and it was amazing.  You poured beer all over yourself and were shouting at the crowd.  What are you doing now? Oh more dancey music?  Like a full on trippy disco album?  With Danger Mouse producing?  (ahgoddamnityouguys) Oh ok, well, I guess that’s cool too?  What’s in the past is past I suppose — I never thought disco was all that cool, but I DID wear baggy pleated pants and a gold rope chain so…..I guess we all have things we’ll want to forget.  Anyway, good luck with the side projects — tell Nick and Brian hi!”  So yeah — Karen O, Danger Mouse, disco music….it’s not what you wanted (or at least not what I wanted), but there are still a couple catchy moments.  Lead single “Woman” is a retro blast from the 60s, replete with a Motown shine and an empowering message.  Give it a go here (bonus track for Sunshine Radio is “Turn the Light”):

DING! “Oh hello, handsome — who are you?  BONES?  Well isn’t that positively ominous. How’d you get that nickname?  Because you’re tough as nails and eat bones for breakfast?  Because you’re a man of the street and survived by throwin’ dice?  Because you’re only good at two things — kicking ass and making love and it sounded kind of silly to name yourself after the first one? You know what, don’t tell me — the mystery is more alluring.  What kind of music do you play, Bones?  The blues, huh?  Another white boy playing the blues.  Well that’s original I guess — who else have you played with?  Bon Jovi?! And Kid Rock!? Oh christ — I’m not sure about this.  Eh, whatever — you’ve got a lot of tattoos and seem like a bad boy.  Why not — it feels so good to rebel…” This one comes from the mail bag and my old pal down in Texas who suggested ole Bones Owens recently.  And while on paper I shouldn’t like him (and in practice some of the songs do seem a little superficial, but maybe that’s just cuz I’m hating on a boy from Missouri not being able to sing the blues authentically), some of the songs get thru in spite of the resistance.  Try “Keep it Close” (bonus track for the radio is “Long Long Time”):

UK LIGHTNING ROUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUND! “Hi there! So you’re from England, eh?  Cool — I like Newcastle.  Excellent brown ale you’ve got there.  Pretty crappy soccer team, but one of my old favorite players used to play there, good old Obafemi Martins.  I used to love when he’d do backflips after scoring goals.  I tried doing that once, nearly landed myself in the hospital. Yeah, those kids were pretty horrified — I’m sure they’ll grow out of it.  Who remembers what happened at their 7th birthday party? Oh you do?  You got a bike?  And had a raspberry flavored cake?  And your friend Timmy got stung by a bee and wouldn’t stop crying?  Oh — well.  Bully for you, I guess.  Hope those kids don’t have the same recall — I lost six teeth and needed a transfusion from all the blood I lost…”

DING! “Hullo luv!  Isn’t that what they say in your country? I’m pretty sure.  So how are you — you’re from Newcastle too, huh?  That’s too funny! Do you know those last guys?  They’re also from there!  Delightful cunts.  I think you say that in your country, too, right?  I’m not sure why we don’t say it more here — it’s quite fun. Hey so you guys must really love Queens of the Stone Age to mimic them so closely — you sound just like their early stuff!  What do you mean you don’t understand — like, it’s uncanny.  I think you even rip a few of their riffs off verbatim.  It’s ok, I LOVE old Queens so am glad to hear some more songs like that since they’ve kinda left that sound behind a bit.  Oh come on — EVERYONE knows who Queens are.  Dave Grohl played with them, and Will Ferrell performed with them when they were on SNL before? Cmon — that’s like pretending you’ve never heard of ABBA or the Rolling Stones?!  Now see that’s unnecessary — when you call me a cunt it sounds really harsh.  Why are you being like this? Aw come back! CMON!”

DING! “Hey Yannis, great to see you again! You guys are one of my faves — I’ve seen you a bunch live and you’re always outstanding.  What’ve you been up to lately?  Oh you guys have TWO new albums coming out this year?  That’s fantastic!  Wait they’re about an apocalyptic future with a bunch of lyrics about foxes for some reason?  AND you wanted the sound to be a lot dancier than before?  LOTS of synths? (ahforfuckssake) Why’d you decide that was a good idea? Did you hear what I was telling Karen O about taking the piss out of Nick Zinner’s guitar?  It’s the same with Jimmy — his stuff is always super catchy and ornate.  Why does every band suddenly decide adding synths and going disco/dancey is a good fucking plan — I never once have thought, ‘You know what — tonight I’m gonna put on a silk shirt, throw a little mascara under my eyes, and just play keyboards all night.  That’s what I’ve been missing!’ Whatever — I’ve gotta go…”

DING! “Justin Vernon, what are you doing here, you’re not British?  Oh well that’s ok, you’re quirky and polite so I guess it’s fine.  I love it over there too so don’t blame you — yeah anyplace but here these days, right? Anyway —  I heard you’ve got some new music coming out, that’s exciting!  Oh it’s going to be a continuation of the stuff you did on your last album, a lot of weird electronic noises and erratic jazz outbursts?  And expand on the feel from the album you did with the guy from the National?  Equal parts Bruce Hornsby and dancing Thom Yorke? With no guitar.  Just TONS of keyboards.  Holy christ.  Ok.  I gotta go — I can’t take this anymore…”

We’ll close with a couple articles, first a recap of the recent Rapture reunion with a ranking of their best songs courtesy of Stereogum.  Similar to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs who hit around the same time, I loved these guys’ early albums — their marriage of punky brashness with danceable grooves was irresistible — and the list does a good job running through their best songs.  (Two key omissions are “Sister Saviour” and “Get Myself Into It,” but they get bonus points for picking “Ben” and “Out of the Races,” which are two sleeper faves.)  Last comes another one from the ‘Gum, this one an excellent piece on the 20th anniversary of the White Stripes’ debut (exhibit 7400 I am O.A.F.) — yet another band whose early stuff I adored before leaving that energy and fire behind for odder and odder flourishes. The article does a good job making the case for sincerity trumping pedigree in the debate for who can play what music (appropriate with the above discussion on Bones), as I always loved these guys — whether they were white kids from Detroit or true bluesmen/women from the Delta.  Their shit just ripped, and this was a great setup to their future power. Two faves not mentioned in the article are “Astro” and “Screwdriver” — we’ll add those to the radio, though.  In the meantime, give it a read and crank it up.

Until next time, amici… — BS

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Everything In Its Right Place: The Invasion of the Islanders (Plus the National)

Now that most of you have had time to recover from the War of Winter’s Bone or whatever the clash of dragons was called last weekend, wanted to pop in to give you some tunes before you have to go back to the realm on Sunday. Most of you probably missed it, between the Avengers opening and going full Yeezy to watch the aforementioned Throne, but the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Ceremony was televised last weekend, which for music nerds like me is an annual anticipation along the lines of Christmas (though with less socks and Poopourri). Unlike other “big nights in music” like the Grammies or the Super Bowl, though, this one doesn’t suck. I might be in the minority here, but I’ll take performances from bands that’ve been delivering for decades over the latest K-pop “sensation” or montage of 30-second snippets sung by a shirtless dude with a tattoo of his home state on his belly in case he gets lost on tour. Add in the speeches about (and by) the band, as well as the video retrospectives spanning their careers, and it’s always a great watch.  Whether you know (or like) the inductees, it’s the perfect place to learn a little about them, hear why you might want to pay attention (the speeches are often given by previous inductees or other music legends), and then watch them perform three of four of their biggest hits.

I always come away with a new appreciation for someone I might’ve followed on the margins (if at all) or a deeper love for bands I follow avidly, so it’s always an enjoyable time.  This year’s crop included acts like Roxy Music, Stevie Nicks, and Def Leppard in the former camp, along with The Cure and Radiohead in the latter. NIN frontman Trent Reznor’s speech inducting The Cure was good and Robert Smith was endearing as always in his response, and the band was sharp as ever in their subsequent performance. (It remains a bucket list moment getting to see them live years ago, walking up at sunset amidst a sea of people in my beloved city by the lake while the notes of “Pictures of You” rained down on us like dust from a comet.  I could have laid down and never gotten back up.)

Radiohead being Radiohead, though, was a different scenario.  Each of the members has made comments in the past of indifference verging on dismissive towards the Hall and their possible (and then actual) induction, so it was unclear who (if anyone) would show up and what level of shit-talking (if any) they might undertake.  Thankfully it wasn’t that bad — they weren’t no-shows (guitarist Ed O’Brien and drummer Phil Selway were there) and there was no shit-talking to be found (O’Brien and Selway seemed genuinely pleased to be getting inducted and were consummate Brits with their charming politeness).  Unfortunately since it was only the two of them that meant there was no performance, so we were left with the video montage spanning their career to satiate us.

That wasn’t enough for me, though, so thankfully for the nine of you out there I’m here to fill the void if you find yourself in similar straits. Now that we’ve launched Sunshine Radio to popular acclaim (#73 on the Lithuanian Top 100 station list!), I decided to start bringing back one of the things I used to do on the old site, my periodic “One You Should Know” posts profiling bands that — as the title implies — you should know.  Those were always better (in my opinion) than just popping a band into YouTube and listening to things on shuffle because these songs were hand picked by yours truly as the best they had to offer. (And if there’s one thing I think we can all agree on it’s that I have infallible taste — it’s why I associate with you clowns!) So we’ll revive that series here, combining my impeccable selections with the technology you kids know and love. (Similar to what we did last time for Wilco.)

In the coming months I’ll continue to dust off old OYSK posts and create substations for you on the Spotify so you can listen in ease (the old Sunshine was such a jerk — he made you look the songs up yourself!), but we’ll begin with one I created for the inductees. It spans each of their nine albums, as well as many of their EPs and singles, so should give you a good sense of why so many people love this band (including yours truly), even if they seem intent on driving you away some (most) times. At sixty-plus songs and nearly five hours in length, it should give you more than enough to chew on, charting their growth from more straightforward rockers to experimental cacti — and help you unearth at least one thing to enjoy.  So fire it up and give it a spin:

While you listen I figured since we set the interwebs on fire when we did this the last time, my “friend” named “Gabriel” and I would jump in again for another spirited debate of “WHO’S ON TOP!”  (cue applause) Last time we were debating the rankings of Wilco albums, so thought we’d go back to the well this time to examine the aforementioned inductees, Radiohead. Similar to last time we’re mostly in line with our choices, preferring earlier stuff to more recent material, quibbling over minor differences for what’s at the top, while agreeing (mostly) about what undeniably belongs on the bottom.  (NOBODY likes Pablo..) Also similar to last time, though, when I showed him my list he reacted like I took a dump on his porch and flipped out. (Side note: I DID take a dump on his porch — Summerteeth forever!)

My rationale for the top pick is similar to what made me pick the aforementioned album for Wilco — it was the last album of the band’s early period, before they shifted from a more unvarnished, open style of music to a more jagged, opaque one, and that direct, earnest approach still resonates with me all these years later.  The album that followed my top pick stylistically mirrors the one that did for Wilco — the first album of the new era, one where the band fused in electronic sounds and dissonance and delivered an instant classic, taking the band off on a new direction that they’ve never topped however many albums later.  (Everyone seizes on how different/great Kid A was — well, almost everyone:  Melody Maker called it “tubby, ostentatious, self-congratulatory, look-ma-I-can-suck-my-own-cock whiny old rubbish” in my hands-down favorite quote from an album review EVER — but they’d previewed the break in Computer and perfected it there.)

For Wilco the title fight (and resultant ranking) was between Summerteeth and Yankee Hotel — for Radiohead it’s The Bends and OK Computer.  Both amazing, both albums I’ve listened to hundreds of times since they came out, so picking between them is sort of like deciding which of your lungs is more valued — I kinda love both of them, but if you force me to choose…I’m going with My Iron Lung. (That’s my left one, if you’re curious.) See what you think as you listen to the mix — but here’s my list for how they stack up:

  1. The Bends
  2. OK Computer
  3. In Rainbows
  4. Kid A
  5. Amnesiac
  6. Hail to the Thief
  7. King of Limbs
  8. A Moon Shaped Pool
  9. Pablo Honey

And here’s “Gabriel’s”:

  1. OK Computer
  2. In Rainbows
  3. Kid A
  4. The Bends
  5. A Moon Shaped Pool
  6. King of Limbs
  7. Amnesiac
  8. Pablo Honey
  9. Hail to the Thief

Clearly he’s an idiot for putting Moon so high and Thief so low (what do you expect for a corn-eating mouthbreather from the Midwest?), but otherwise we’re pretty much in sync. As I hinted at above, at a certain point arguing over where to rank these albums very much is like arguing over which of your organs you like more — there’s no right answer and ideally you’d like to keep all of them in place, but it’s what the interweb is for — pointless arguments and fleeting senses of superiority.  So take that, “Gabriel” — I win again!

We’ll close with a couple one offs that crossed the threshold the past few weeks to round things out.  First comes the latest single from the Aussie Oddge, Courtney Barnett, back with another lovably languid little gem (replete with another laughably snarky title). She released it in honor of Record Day, so no word on whether she’s recording another full length yet (her last one landed at #14 here last year), but in the meantime we can still enjoy this one, “Everybody Here Hates You:”

Next is the back end of the single released a few weeks ago by fellow Aussies Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever and it’s another shimmering, sunlit float down the river.  These guys continue to drop solid track after solid track, so hopefully they keep the streak going in the coming months. (Their debut landed one slot higher than Barnett’s here last year.) Check out “Read my Mind” while we wait:

Speaking of streaks, next comes the latest in a long line of winners from the beloved National, back with another dour, lovely march through the darkness on “Hairpin Turns.” It’s the third single from their upcoming I Am Easy to Find (both of the previous songs, “Light Years” and “You Had Your Soul With You,” have shown up here) and it doesn’t do anything to shake the expectation that should be another year-long favorite. We’ll find out for sure in a couple of weeks (it’s due out 17 May), but in the interim bliss out in the blackness here:

We’ll close with a brash little attack to get us off the floor and thrashing around a bit (we gotta get you nerds ready for battle again Sunday night SOMEhow!) and this punky little gem from A. Swayze and the Ghosts, our final batch of Aussies whose debut single I stumbled on a few weeks back.  There’s not much out there on these guys — they’re four Tasmanian devils from the town of Hobart (which is here, if you’re curious like me) and this song is one of a whopping three they’ve released on the interwebs.  They’re all pretty catchy, but this one’s the definite winner — we’ll have to keep our eyes out for what comes next. For now, though, crank this puppy up and get movin’:

Until next time, amici!

— BS

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Let the Sunshine In: Roger, Wilco

I’ve been reading the fan mail lately and one of the things that’s consistently come up is a desire for more.  “Hey Bobby — your infrequent, random missives are super interesting. Totally not a worrisome window into a slightly deranged mind! Is there any way you could tell me what you think more, though? I really value the opinions of strangers on the internet!  Signed, Randy from Des Moines” or “Hey Sunshine! Your postings are great — I re-read them all the time and hang my favorites on the fridge! Is there any way you could figure out how to weave your unsolicited suggestions into my life even more, though? Alexa and Siri aren’t doing it for me anymore. Sincerely, Beth from Tulsa.”

Well lucky for all you Beths and Randys out there there is. And it’s only fitting that we choose a dark, rainy morning to announce the launch of Sunshine Radio — what I’m certain will be a constant ray of light in each of your lives from this point on. After talking to several millenials at a recent focus group (shout out to Bree and Spencer) I decided to leverage this “streaming” thing they kept talking about and level the site up again. (Coming soon, augmented reality goggles.)

What I’ve done below is take every song I’ve written about the past three years and drop em in a playlist on Spotify.  Singles are on there once, albums that made the year end lists get two entries, and “bands you should know” posts get several from the YouTube channels I created.  You can subscribe to the station and it’ll automatically update as I continue to add to it (either crawling further into the depths of the old site or adding new stuff as we move forward) and share it with your friends if you think it’s worth the time.  There’s over 300 songs on there already (20-plus hours of goodness!) — from rock to rap to electronica and beyond, everything you expect from my oddball collection of tastes — so plenty to keep you busy and (hopefully) interested.  And remember if you find something you like it means I wrote about it at some point, so go back to the pages to see what else there is to know.  I’ll also be going back to create playlists from the “bands you should know” posts so you can give those a listen in a more convenient way, but the main station will be the ever-evolving entity.  So sign up and see what you think — it’s a little angry, a little sweet, and a little weird.  Just like me!

Since it’s such an auspicious day, I thought I’d throw in an extra round of goodies for folks with the first of those “bands you should know” playlists — and since they hail from the number one place on the planet (#GPOE!), it’s only fitting they should be first out of the gate. So we’ll kick things off with the beloved band from my beloved city by the lake, Wilco.  It’s a perfect time since I had the pleasure of seeing Tweedy in concert this week (another fantastic show — the new material sounded great alongside the band classics) and he’s actually dropping ANOTHER new album today (vinyl only for now, unfortunately) in honor of Record Day.  He dropped the first single off it (“Family Ghost,” which sounded solid the other night) and recorded the album at the same time as Warm (which came out a whopping five months ago), so should be good. This review from Rolling Stone seems to think so. (And is written by someone I think I’d like to be friends with.)

All that goodness, as well as my last post, got me thinking about the band and how many great songs/albums they’ve had the past twenty odd years. So when one of my readers (we’ll call him “Gabriel” to protect his identity) started calling me an idiot for saying Summerteeth was my favorite album (“EVERYBODY knows it’s Yankee!”) I decided to come up with a playlist to see how things shook out.  Based on that (and some deep meditation at a Tibetan retreat), here’s what I came up with:

  1. Summerteeth
  2. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
  3. Being There
  4. Sky Blue Sky
  5. Wilco (The Album)
  6. A Ghost is Born
  7. Schmilco
  8. AM
  9. The Whole Love
  10. Star Wars

Out of curiosity I also asked “Gabriel” what HIS list would look like, and he came back with the following:

  1. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
  2. Sky Blue Sky
  3. A Ghost is Born
  4. Being There
  5. Wilco (The Album)
  6. Summerteeth
  7. AM
  8. Schmilco
  9. The Whole Love
  10. Star Wars

As you can see, they’re not too far off, despite his reacting like I called his kid ugly (which I’m sure he is — probably looks just like him) — consensus that we prefer the early material to some of the more recent stuff, that we think Yankee is amazing, and that we really don’t like Star Wars (the album — the movies are amazing. “Gabriel” actually said he regularly cosplays as Chewbacca on the weekends because he barely has to use makeup (just on the top of his head (ZING!)) and already speaks so similarly (DOUBLE ZING!))

The main distinction is where we put Summerteeth and Ghost — I stand by my love of Summer (I AM named after its top export after all), but will concede that Ghost was better than I remembered. Historically I tend to shy away from that one a little because you could tell some of Tweedy’s more destructive impulses were winning out (as confirmed in his recent biography when he describes being at the scary depths of his drug dependencies at this time).  Songs devolved into aimless noodling and/or pointless noise (two of the album’s tracks clock in at nearly half an hour combined) and lyrically you could tell he wasn’t in a good spot.  That said, there were still some beautiful melodies in there (“Hell is Chrome” and “Company in my Back” are but two examples) so while I still don’t rate it as highly as “Gabriel” (apparently he likes music that’s reminiscent of him — rambling and incoherent at times) it tightens that cluster in the middle of my list a little. See what you think as you listen to the below — and feel free to send me your rankings. There’s nothing the internet needs more than white people debating “important” issues!