Rock Star Hour

Songs in the Key of Cara



1. Your Favorite Song -- I don't know that I have a favorite song. "Hit or Miss" by New Found Glory was one for a long time. Still near the top. Then, I could think of a crapload of Weezer songs. But then, I thought of this one, which I spent lots of time listening to on repeat in the summer of 2007, and many times since:
"Smoke" by Ben Folds

2. Least Favorite Song -- I did not include this in the mix. I will probably get some boos for this, but, it's my least favorite song on the album. However, I LOVE the Shins' cover on the EP that came out before the album. P.S. not saying it's a bad song, just my least favorite. Decided not to include it in the mix, though.
"We Will Become Silhouettes" by The Postal Service

3. A Song That Makes You Happy -- I probably could have picked any song on this album. I've got so many great memories associated with this band, not to mention the album rules!
"Undone (The Sweater Song" by Weezer

4. A Song That Makes You Sad -- Took me a moment, but I thought of the Little Earthquakes album. And then that reminded me of being an angsty teenager/early college student. And then I remembered this song, the chorus, the beautiful but heartwrenching piano line. I had to look up the title; it's been that long since I'd heard it. And then I listened to it and you know what? Same effect it's always had. That is so rare for a song.
"Mother" by Tori Amos

5. A Song That Reminds You of Someone -- You know how some couples own songs and it's like Whatev. Songs belong to no one. Well, this song belongs to me and someone. Every time I hear it I think of listening to it in the car and singing it loudly and laughing for like no reason other than I'm the happiest I've ever been in my whole life.
"The Underdog" by Spoon

6. A Song That Reminds You of Somewhere -- There are so many songs about places. They taught me why setting is important. Setting in plays. Setting in films. Setting in life. Setting is so important to me. Setting is beautiful, and so often overlooked, as a process. As an influence. This song makes me laugh. Songs about places are great in general, but take on new meaning when you've actually been there. I remember when I went to Washington and someone told me I had to hear this song. On a trip to Seattle via a ferry I caught in Bremerton, I bought the album:
"Move to Bremerton" by MXPX

7. A Song That Reminds You of a Certain Event -- This song reminds me of September 2007, when I told my Mom all I wanted for my birthday was tickets to go see Incubus. And I brought Angie, and we went with Joe and James. We all wore our orange camp t-shirts. I had such a blast that night. I particularly enjoyed this song of many. It has reminded me of that concert every time ever since:
"Wish You Were Here" by Incubus

8. A Song That You Know All the Words To -- Tons. Too many. But I can play this one, too:
"Something Vague" by Bright Eyes

9. Song That You Can Dance To -- Like Ed said, there are lots of songs you can dance to. I almost got nostalgic for a minute and listened to a few YouTube versions of "Pictures of You" by the Cure. But changed my mind and decided to go with this, because you can't help moving when you hear it. I know you can't.
"Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand

10. A Song That Makes You Fall Asleep -- This song is not boring to me. And it's probably not your typical falling asleep song. But to me it's not very intrusive and it's very pleasant sounding. I have put it on repeat and gone to sleep many times:
"One of These Things" by Nick Drake

11. A Song From Your Favorite Band -- I don't know if they're my favorite, but I can never find anything wrong with the Beatles, nor am I ever not in the mood to listen to them. In fact, no matter what mood I'm in, I'm pretty sure I can put them on and become happy instantly. There's not a single song of theirs I dislike. I love every album, all of their phases, everything in between.
"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" by The Beatles

12. A Song from a Band You Hate -- I don't really hate this band, I guess. I don't really like them either, persay. But I like two of their songs. "Anthem," and this one:
"Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" by Good Charlotte

13. A Song That is a Guilty Pleasure -- What? He is talented.
"One Time" by Justin Bieber

14. A Song That No One Would Expect You To Love -- Well, maybe you would. But you may not know the extent that I love Bon Jovi. BON JOVI!!!!! Yeah!
"Living on a Prayer" by Bon Jovi

15. A Song That Describes You -- Can't think of a whole song but I just remembered that line "She has trouble acting normal when she's nervous." Which, maybe that's everyone. But definitely true in my case.
"Round Here" by Counting Crows

16. A Song That You Used to Love But Now Hate -- I can't think of anything. Nope. Nothing. Every song I've ever loved is awesome. Still.

17. A Song That You Hear Often on the Radio -- I don't really listed to the radio, which is weird because how did Justin Bieber get on this mix then? I don't know. I guess with all the social media, TV, Internet, pop culture just sorta permeates everything in your life, whether you want it to or not.

18. A Song That You Wish You Heard on the Radio -- I don't know. I liked a lot of albums I reviewed my last year in college, and none of them are on the radio. I wish more people knew about them, though. Lemme see if I can find one ...
"Baker Lake" by Sera Cahoone

19. A Song from Your Favorite Album -- I don't know if I have a favorite album, but my favorite Radiohead album has been and always will be The Bends. I'm sure that says something about me, but I'll leave it for you to figure out. Great songs. Great album. Here's one:
"High and Dry" by Radiohead

20. A Song That You Listen to When You Are Angry -- I don't know. Maybe something by Ani D. or Rage Against the Machine. Hmm. Not exactly angry sounding, but ...
"Your Next Bold Move" by Ani DiFranco

21. A Song That You Listen to When You're Happy -- This one's easy!
"A Praise Chorus" by Jimmy Eat World

22. A Song That You Listen to When You're Sad -- This is one that always cheers me up, no matter my mood:
"All That I Know" by The Get Up Kids

23. A Song That You Want to Play at Your Wedding -- We didn't play any music at our wedding. Just the sounds of the wind and the San Francisco Bay

24. A Song That You Want to Play at Your Funeral -- That's kind of morbid.
"Dead Flowers" by the Rolling Stones

25. A Song That Makes You Laugh -- I'm going to go with the Moldy Peaches. I was just thinking about them the other day! Lemme see what I can find ...Yes! They have it:
"Who's Got the Crack?" by the Moldy Peaches

26. A Song That You Can Play on an Instrument
"One" -- the Johnny Cash version

27. A Song That You Wish You Could Play -- Too many ... If I were at home I could look through my stack of music and pick one!
"The Absence of God" by Rilo Kiley

28. A Song That Makes You Feel Guilty -- meh. Don't feel like sharing!

29. A Song from Your Childhood -- I swear this one the best song ever when I was like five:
"Into the Groove" by Madonna

30. Your Favorite Song from This Time Last Year -- You mean I get to include another one? Yay! Hmm, lemme think ... I was listening to a lot of JC's stuff this time last year.
"Bittersweet" by Jason Consolacion

Labels: Music

Different Names for the Same Things

I miss when Death Cab used to be good.

I must have heard "I Will Possess Your Heart" on the radio at least 10,000 times in L.A. -- almost enough times to make me like it all right.

But man, every time something off Transatlanticism or Plans plays on my Jango station, I think, now there's a band I know and love. I don't think I've ever felt so nostalgic about something that seemed to so effortlessly flood the present air.

Still, I was in a SoCal Macy's and I heard a much older song of theirs -- one I'd heard a thousand times but couldn't remember. It was like seeing the face of someone you knew a long time ago and forgetting their name, only to realize you were best friends in second grade.

Labels: Death Cab, Music

To Begin at the Beginning

It's 2009. The beginning of a new year, for once for me, it is also the beginning of something else.

It is the beginning of my life in many ways. A rebirth. A time to dream. A time to look toward the future with excitement. A time, the first time, my mind is truly at peace and I am bursting with happiness inside and out.

It has been a long, hard road. Sometimes I get down when I think about all the things I could have been, but that is less and less, when I think about how young I still am and how many things are possible, and that I can be who I am and end up exactly where I want to be.

The rest of my life is coming, and it begins today and yesterday. For the first time, I truly feel I could fill it with whatever I want.

Just over two years ago, I remember sitting on a cold bed in a jail cell and crying, feeling as though my life had ended.

It had in many ways, but it took the last two years to work on healing and to own my mistakes.

I didn't feel I had much to look forward to, but I tried anyway. Still, I didn't care enough about myself; I still did not know how to live life, to own my life, rather than create situations and react to things that happened to me, while many of the things that happened to me were my own doing.

My mind and my heart had been crushed by experience. Existence was something I thought I knew as some kind of tortured artist.

I had not much less than sad songs to play, and solitude much of the time. Not being able to see straight. Not being able to relate to the world like I wanted. Not being able to find my place in it.

Then a year later, my mother got sick. This changed me. I knew I had to be strong, knew I had to get myself right.

It's funny how the biggest changes occur when you are not looking.

I worked hard. I tried to make my life better, but it is such a magical thing when you wake up one day and realize you've done it. That the inherent struggle you always saw in your life isn't necessarily inherent.

I fought myself out of poverty.

I fought myself out of a semi-long, semi-serious, unfulfilled relationship.

I fought my mind. I fought years and years of guilt and abuse, self-hatred, and came to terms as best as I could with the terms of my life, good and bad, the absence of my father, years and years of pain compounded on pain compounded on pain, and buried with tears and alcohol, fear and loathing.

Here we are. I've been at my job for a year. I got a 3.89 last semester, busted my ass and still managed to fall in love. I met the love of my life while I wasn't looking. He was right under my nose for months and when I found him all I had to do was allow myself to be happy, to give and receive love, something I'd always thought I wanted, but am finally capable of doing.

I got an internship this Spring doing PR for DiverseWorks. I am graduating in May.

I got to spend New Year's in Southern California and go to Disneyland and see the Rose Bowl Parade, and see Chinatown in San Francisco and the Pacific. I saw the fog in the air and the sun on the water. I saw the lights of L.A. from the airplane's window seat at night. I saw the stars on Hollywood Blvd. and walked among the tourists. I saw Santa Monica and Anaheim and Solvang, this little Dutch town lit up for Christmas.

I saw it all with a big warm hand in mine and a goofy grin on my face, and tried to take it all in whenever I could.

It's a new year, but it's a new life.

I wanted to say some other things. I wanted to say that for anyone who is still searching, for one's self or a love or a dream or for the tide to turn or for the season to change, or for an opportunity -- something someone once told me that I held on to half-heartedly while working as hard as I could mentally and emotionally to get there --

I can't find the right words. All I guess I really mean is something cliche about keeping one's head up, or like that Cursive line, "The Worst is Over," or how Ben Folds said for those who thought the past wasn't dead to stop and smell the smoke.

It can be smoke if you let it. Things do turn around. It's not immediate, but it does happen.

My mother is still ill and has to go through three months of chemo again beginning this month. My grandfather is not out of the woods yet. There are some things in life you can't control.

Obama is going to take his role in the White House soon and the whole world, those who voted and those who didn't, will be watching to see where he takes us. I am counting the days.

I could say a lot more. Happy New Year everyone.

Happy. New. Year.

Labels: Ben Folds, Cancer, Cursive, Dreams, Music, New Year's, Obama, Obstacles

Some Source of Life

Last night, it was really cold outside. It snowed! I decided to go to my other apartment and take a bubble bath in the central heat. I put on one of my favorite old mixtapes.

This one song I still like, by Bright Eyes and Son, Ambulance, was so, so sad. Oberst's voice is angsty, and the Son, Ambulance guy's so melancholy.

I sang along to the parts I remembered; the rhythm and melody and music parts are cool. I found myself singing little phrases like --

"You're always lookin' for somethin' to spit, smoke, or swallow!"

"Gotta find some source of life/ Gotta name some things you like/ Used to have such a longer list ..."

"You've gotta crawl from this bed you've made ..."

"'Cause you will never remember what you choose to forget."

Man, I sang. I jammed out. I did the crescendos. It was like hanging out with an old friend. That tape was four years old, and an old friend had given it to me. I thought of how many other people I know who love that song, or any of them, and they'd be like, "That rules."

This Desaparecidos song came on, reminding me how much I fucking love that band. Still, that album is so angry. He's talking about shopping bags and consumerism and marriage and houses and cars and white fences, and pretty much everything I hated when I was listening to it, too.

I couldn't help thinking, though, why does he hate them so much? Why is he so angry? Why is it so wrong to not be him? Then you think about the self-loathing in all his other songs, and it makes sense. He is crying out. He is angry because he is in pain -- immense pain -- and he doesn't understand how people can live out their daily lives and go to work, witnesses to all of it, like blind drones falling in line like cattle. Like emotionless, ignorant conformists. It's like when somebody dies and everyone goes to work and you're mourning, and you just want everything to stop.

That's how those appear to someone so miserable, and misery loves company, which is why I loved that tape, and so do so many, as someone else loved those songs and put them on that tape for me.

I thought about this girl I met not long ago. She's dating a friend of mine, and was trying to get him to switch from his Irish punk music to her music. You know what her music was? Neutral Milk Hotel and Neva Dinova.

And she was doing that scenester thing where she obviously thought no one else in the room could possibly know those bands. So, I'm like, "Yeah, they're good."

They're not all bad. "Two-headed Boy" and "Holland 1945"? I love those songs. But then she starts talking about which ones were her favorites and it was like the most depressing songs from the most depressing bands. I'm not kidding. I don't know the name of it; just think of the slowest NMH song you ever heard, and that was it.

I thought about how five years ago or something I would have instantly bonded with this chick; now, all I could think of was, "Wow, she's fucked up."

And that may be judgmental the other way, and maybe I'm projecting my past or emotions onto people when I think things like that, but I can only think of one person I've ever known who could listen to music like that without being in it, and enjoy it for its beauty alone, and that's Joe Tutt, and he's really well adjusted far as I can tell. So, I'm not saying it's not possible. I'm just saying what I have observed.

A Cursive song was on the tape as well -- "The Martyr." For the first time I saw some really strong parallels between it and The Ugly Organ that I missed before.

Tim Kasher and Conor Oberst really do border on infinite wisdom. Oberst almost gets there, especially with "Let's Not Shit Ourselves (To Love and To Be Loved)." Reflect on that and you start to think all his anger is not only out of pain but out of passion: that in Fevers and Mirrors and his other works, including Desaparacidos, he is leading up to the argument that nobody makes time for the things that matter anymore, and we make so little time we forget. His closest to realizing this, though, and giving it any real depth lies in those last few songs on The Story is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground.

Same for Kasher. I started thinking about, once again, a song I at one time could mouth every single breath, and now only fragments: ideas like manufacturing pain and putting it on display, basically opening up a vein to sell records and how cheap that is, and how even more sad. He is right, but somehow it almost makes things worse, because he acknowledges that, like he has it right between his fingers, so close, but it keeps slipping through, and it's the slipping out between his fingers that inspires him to keep making those same sad, angry, songs, and the more he loses, the more he is fueled to do the same.

I don't know if I respect him more for it, or feel sorry for him, but that motherfucker can write; so, I will give him that.

***

All this stuff about Kasher made me think even more about those who do art because they have to -- and all artists do -- but for two reasons:

Some artists have to do art because they so desperately need an outlet; they are in pain and they need help, or at least, they need to feel they are not alone. Recycling pain for sale and lending it to ready listeners is the closest to healing. Although I at one time found these things therapeutic, I somewhat think it is the opposite of that.

The other kind of artists who "have to" is the genius snobs who I'm sure at least I wish I could be: the ones compelled to create something because they know they will do it better than anyone else, and worse, they are right.

I believe Kasher, Oberst, even Jenny Lewis at one time might have almost gotten there, or do at least for their respective genre -- but really I think more of the French Nouveau Vague filmmakers. It is so interesting that they studied film on their own only to become critics and then be like, "Screw this, we'll make our own movies, and they'll rule."

I feel the same way about Quinton Tarantino here. I guess from this also comes a pure love for the artform, where it's not just about expressing emotions, hoping someone will get it; but it's also about technique, form, style, content, effects -- creating memories. Making history, you know?

*UPDATE: I changed my mind. I just Googled that Bright Eyes/Son, Ambulance song, and am once again amazed and impressed at the title. Wow. Still relates to what I said about Kasher, though. Just sayin'. Also, it's a source of light.*

Labels: Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst, Cursive, Music, Tim Kasher

Thank you, New Zealand.

Yep, still good:

"Something Good"
by Bic Runga

Just wanna know ya
Just wanna talk to ya
I wanna hear about your day
I'd never leave ya
Never be mean to ya
I'd always let you get your way

Something good will come our way
And maybe this good thing's gonna happen today

If I were honest I 'd tell you everything
But it keeps coming out as lies
It's not a promise
In case you're wondering
It's not some blessing in disguise

But something good will come our way
And maybe this good thing's gonna happen today
Something good will come our way
And maybe this good things gonna happen today

I know romance is not in fashion
And my heart is on the line
If you would be so kind
To help me kill some time

Then something good just might come crashing
From the stars that light the sky
If you would be so kind
To help me kill some time

Just wanna know ya
Just wanna talk to ya
I wanna hear about your day
I'd never leave ya
Never be mean to ya
I'd always let you get your way

Something good will come our way
And maybe this good thing's gonna happen today
Something good will come our way
And maybe this good things gonna happen today

Something good will come our way
Something good will come our way
Something good will come our way
Something good will come our way
La la la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la
Something good will come our way

Labels: Bic Runga, Music

Hmm.

I just finished the majority of my review for the debut Watson Twins' album. Tomorrow I'm going to listen to it with a fresh pair of ears, most likely on my lunch hour, cut what I've written in half, and hopefully dig down and find something more positive to say.

Their "Just Like Heaven" cover is stunning, which is what led me to contact their press and request an advance copy of the album in the first place, but the rest, complete with 10 originals in addition to the cover, left me wanting. :(

This is no Sera Cahoone story. And by that I mean the story of one (or two) who has been in the back for so long to step in and share a fair, deserved version of the limelight. The Watson Twins are excellent songwriters. Musically, they leave no room for complaint, but the record as a whole ... seriously lacking.

So, I had to take a break from writing the review. It doesn't deserve so much criticism, but at the same time, if I don't offer it, no one will. It seems that fans and critics alike are in love with the pair. Who wouldn't be? They are beautiful. Their angelic voices can captivate one far beyond their looks. And combined? Forget it. Add in that Southern, homegrown Kentucky charm, and who wouldn't be smitten?

But beyond what meets the eye, their lyrics and overall emotional tone of the album do not offer much more than what is skin deep. There's only vague allusions to personal experience. There're contrived rhyme schemes. Even upon considering their most ideal harmonies, perfectly in that they are not overdone, one can only place a veil over so much.

The album only offers maybe three songs that truly grabbed me, and even they didn't enough to foresee myself busting out this record to listen to much long after the review is published. Nope. No Sera Cahoone or Jenn Wood here.

They are compared to some of the greats -- Emmylou Harris and Lucinda Williams, but what I have to say is that perhaps they lack the life experience to live up to their songwriting craft in their words.

In my mind, a good song triggers feelings, memories, introspection. A good song is something you want to share with someone else. And although every single track is good in its own way; they don't do any of those things for me, so you maybe could see how I could feel a little torn in this review, right?

Even as a critic, I try to avoid negativity. I try to seek out what others would love in an album, and write about that, even if it isn't my thing (with the exception of the blog I wrote on Narrow Stairs, which I did not publish for any publication other than blogs), but in this case, I feel like if I don't say something, no one will.

Perhaps all this praise lavished on the twins is a matter of groupthink: one person loved them, so everyone did. Jenny Lewis did, and we loved them on her famed solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat. But still. It wouldn't be right to say they are not talented enough on their own to support solo work -- they definitely are. It's more disappointing that although these 11 tracks were the product of years of work and months in the studio, at the the end of the day you've got is a bunch of musically cohesive yes, and pleasantly sounding tunes, but about what? Nothing. I can't say I thought of much at all listening to each track over and over.

Ah ... anyway. Anybody else ever had this feeling? Because this cognitive dissonance I'm experiencing over the album is about as much as I'd ever had about anything I'd reviewed. Torn between singing its praises and calling it out, and feeling it so poignantly, knowing these songs are just as personal to them as my own are to me.

Labels: Jenny Lewis, Music, Sera Cahoone, The Watson Twins

Update

1. I just got a 100 on my first test for research methods!

2. My mother's surgery went well yesterday. They had decided to do another surgery after stopping the chemo and then finding several more tumors. However, when they went in to do the surgery, they couldn't find what they were looking for, so they took out several of the effected nodes and are going to do a biopsy. We should get the results in about a week, and then we will know what's in store as far as more chemo. This is good news, though, considering the surgery turned out much less minor this way; they had been talking about how it's safe to remove up to 80% of the organ. So, this was unexpected but good, and she will be out of the hospital hopefully this weekend.

3. Still working on my goals. I've been reading articles linked off the NYU site every day on my lunch hour. Two very good articles are here and here. One is on cognitive dissonance men experienced in defining their masculinity post-feminist movement; the other is about the cultural war behind international conflict, and the irrational separation between political ideology and culture between groups; how it divides us internally and externally. Go Ellen Willis. Sadly, yesterday I went to Borders and looked her up. Her books, including the one I checked out from the UH library and read, are out of print, so I must find and order used copies of them. The good news is they will be cheaper, but slightly inconvenient in that Why-Can't-I-Get-Exactly-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It? sort of way.

4. Man, I love the Blue Scholars, and I can't wait to see them.

5. Surprisingly, I think about Elks Camp a few times a day, but since I'm not hating my life as I know it right now, I'm still enjoying what I'm doing otherwise, so that's good.

6. I have insurance! I enrolled yesterday. I have medical, dental, vision, AD&D, life insurance, and a retirement plan. Working for the state is nice, indeed.

K, thanks!

-c

Labels: Cancer, College, Goals, Music, Work

Narrow Stairs

All right, so here's the verdict, and I'll write again if I change my mind, but I'm heartbroken.

Ben Gibbard wrote the soundtrack for my early 20s, and now it looks as though I may need to find the rest elsewhere.

I finally went out the other day and bought myself a copy of Narrow Stairs. Yes, bought it, which makes me even more entitled to have an opinion, on top of the fact that I've been with them shortly since the very beginning (thanks to Mary Carradine), and even though my friends overwhelmingly tried to pressure me to download it, I wanted to support my favorite band, even on its first major label release.

Ben and the rest of the band seem to have lost their mojo. More than that, they have lost their musicality and sentimentality. Granted, I am writing this after listening to the record just once, but that was about all I could handle.

I recently advised a friend to give it another chance, and I will, too, of course, but let's not kid ourselves: Narrow Stairs is no Plans or Transatlanticism. It's not even a Photo Album. There's nothing to make you suspect this is the same band that gave us "Styrofoam Plates" or "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," or "Song for Kelly Huckaby." There's no "Company Calls" -- not even an "I Was a Kaleidoscope."

Is this what happens? Because I am sadly reminded of a few other depressing moments in music history. This is like Death Cab's Green Album: They will gain a new audience, but what about the true fans? What's in it for us?

Granted, Gibbard's tenor is still as sweet as key lime; drummer Jason McGerr remains on time; Chris Walla can still play guitar with the best of the rest of the high and mighty; Nick Harmer, same: But where's the magic?

Where's the sincerity? Where's the reflection? Where's the breaking your heart and putting it back together? Putting you right back in some lost place, or speaking your thoughts from the back of your mind and playing the notes as you think them? Where is the deeply human, tragic yet hopeful element? Where?

It's rushed, it's repetitive, and it is too lyrical. Where are the bridges? Where are the musical breakdowns? Where are the interludes, the real intros and outros? And what the hell would you call the ending of track 10? Honestly. Who thought that was a good idea -- please don't tell me anyone at Atlantic. Someone there must know how to record.

A few years ago, I read a blog Chris Walla wrote. It was a letter to Bjork, a break-up note after her latest release.

Well, shame on you Chris. And Ben, and Nick, and Jason.

I'm not quite breaking up yet. I'll wait and see. I'll be patient and kind, like love should be. I know that with the truest love you can be let down from time to time; it's the love that can still grow through disappointment that makes it.

I had to listen to The Photo Album three times in a row yesterday just so we could temporarily reconcile our differences, and it was worth it, but please: in the words of the Beatles, "Don't Let Me Down" again. Seriously, if you give me a Maladroit or a Wake up and Smell the Coffee or worse, I don't know what I'm going to do.

Labels: Ben Gibbard, Death Cab, Music

“Stonesy Takes 40 Licks, er Years, and Lives”

Whether rock will ever die can be answered in that the World's Greatest Rock 'n' Roll band is still at it. When Keith Richards became an ex-art school student, and Mick Jagger as well became one of ex-economics, it's hard to tell if they really knew what they were doing, but it worked for 1964. Ray Coleman echoed the buzz in London's Melody Maker, but even he couldn't know what the future would bring, including Martin Scorcese’s Shine a Light, a documentary on the act 40 licks, er years, later.

They started as an answer to the Beatles, at least, in the media's own portrayal mirroring the classic storytelling of The Saints vs. The Roughnecks. Regarding the hair, Richards set the record straight: “Look,” he said. “The hair styles had been quite common down in London long before the Beatles and the rest of the country caught on. At art school and years ago, ours had always been the same” (Coleman 1964: 186). Richards and Jagger were only 19 years old, and the others were no older than 22, but each seemed keenly aware of his own identity as well as what the press had to comment.

“They call us the ugliest pop group in the country,” bassist Bill Wyman said (Coleman 1964: 187).

“They used to have this attitude of 'that scruffy lot from London who don't turn up on time and are nasty to look at,'” Richards said (Coleman 1964: 187).

“Yeah, we know of the image,” Jagger admitted (Coleman 1964: 185). “I think most groups need one. You see, you can get so far without an image in people's minds, but as soon as you make a not-so-hot record, you feel it” (Coleman 1964: 185).

Ellen Willis affirms the image-conscious effort in The New Yorker: “Mick Jagger had his gimmick: he was a hood” (1969: 189). She laments the Stones’ loss concerning a controversial album cover, brushing back the Beggar's Banquet release several months (1969). Willis further pushes the Beatles vs. Stones argument, contrasting Their Satanic Majesties Request to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and pegs Beggar's Banquet a knee-jerk reaction to the White Album, confessing slightly more admiration for “Street-fighting Man” than the slowed down version of “Revolution,” any day of the week, and admitting in her eyes the Stones could still do no wrong (1969).

What's interesting is that no evidence supports the rivalry. It seems much more to do with the industry's appetite for profits, and many fans took to the Stones as yet another way to rebel against their parents, when the Beatles were the obvious choice (Coleman 1964). Jagger wouldn't have much to do with it. “They're good mates of ours,” he said (Coleman 1964: 187). “We like 'em and they've done so much good for the whole scene see?” (Coleman 1964: 187). Indeed, it seems to be more of a myth or a popular discussion among fans, but has no recorded root in the Stones' history. What we do know is that in 1963 John Lennon and Paul McCartney offered up the band's second single, “I Wanna Be Your Man” (“The Rolling Stones” 1989); that in 1967 Jagger and then-girlfriend Marianne Faithfull went to India with the Beatles to meet the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (“The Rolling Stones” 1989); and that, in the same year, Lennon and McCartney sang back up on “We Love You,” the “Dandelion" single's B-side (“The Rolling Stones” 1989).

As to the myth, or reputation for the Stones being misogynist, drugged out, or whatever is generally thought of as living the quintessential rock 'n' roll lifestyle, did the Stones live it? Yes. They invented it. Richards even recently told Blender Magazine he intends to write a book about it (Higginbotham 2008) -- and good, 'cause somebody needs to.

“I'm not spilling all the beans, and I'm not going to name ladies' names. But I'll tell you what: It's quite a story,” he said (Higginbotham 2008: 42).

A lot led up to the 2006 performances at New York City's Beacon Theatre, where Scorsese filmed two performances that serve as the backdrop for Shine a Light (Fricke 2008). The Stones take the stage each night with presence and glamour only they could create: Jagger – in a far cry from his early 60s jeans, t-shirts and I-Don't-Care attitude (Coleman 1964) -- dressed in skinny slacks, a black jacket, a crimson button-up shirt littered with sequins; Richards in his standard signature black eyeliner and sparkling black sequined scarf messily tied around his hair.

They share the stage with old timer Buddy Guy, still ticking, and collaborating on an excellent version of “Champagne and Reefer,” at one point changing a line to joke that he's got no cocaine for Richards. Also in “Loving Cup,” a starstruck, beaming Jack White joins Jagger in front-center stage, and a surprisingly soulful and powerful Christina Aguilera belts her blues in “Live with Me.”

The film flashes back to black-and-white interviews dating to the 60s and 70s, from the band's early start, to the present. The ambiguous paradox of the band's nature juxtaposed with its image somehow seems to make sense, not contradicting itself at all. At one point in 1967, Richards appears on World in Action, just one month after spending just 24 hours in Wormwood Scrubs Prison and winning his appeal. He is asked to respond to persecution from religious leaders and others who accused the Stones of working as proponents for drug use and godlessness. “I don't want to be offensive or particularly controversial,” he said (Scorsese 2008). “I never wanted to be” (Scorsese 2008).

Maybe it just comes with the territory: in the Stonesy realm, ex-member Brian Jones suffers “death by misadventure” in 1969 (George-Warren and Pareles 2001); heroin charges mean rock after arrest (“Rolling Stones” 1989); Richards stays awake for nine days on cocaine (Higginbotham 2008); and Wyman boasts sexual escapades claiming more than 1,000 women (Higginbotham 2008).

So maybe they are all right: the press in their portrayal of the Stones, and the Stones in their living it, yet denying it. After all, Jagger did recently mock reporters, observing the ridiculous question he is so often asked: “What would you do if you were not Mick Jagger?” (Scorsese 2008).

“I’m like, ‘Somebody else,” he said (Scorsese 2008).

***

Works Cited

Brackett, David. 2005. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Coleman, Ray. 1964. "Rebels with a Beat." From Brackett, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 185-187.

Fricke, David. 2008. "Blues Brothers: The Rolling Stones and Jack White shine a light on the roots of their music." Rolling Stone Magazine. Retrieved April 29, 2008 from http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/19969845/blues_brothers.

Higginbotham, Adam. May 2008. “Dear Superstar: Keith Richards.” Blender Magazine. 42-45.

Scorsese, Martin. 2008. Shine a Light. Paramount Classics.

George-Warren, Holly and John Pareles. 2001. "Rolling Stones: Biography" Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll: Revised and Updated for the 21st Century. Retrieved April 29, 2008 from http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/therollingstones/biography.

“The Rolling Stones.” 1989. Rock and Roll Hall of Fame + Museum. Web site accessed April 29, 2008. http://www.rockhall.com/inductee/the-rolling-stones.

Willis, Ellen. 1969. “Records: Rock, Etc. – The Big Ones.” From Bracket, David. The Pop, Rock and Soul Reader: Histories and Debates. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 189-192.

Labels: College, Music, Rolling Stones

"Frank Sinatra Said Rock Was 'Phony,' But I Still Think He's All Right"

The Legacy of Fear is an idea that states when a form of media becomes new, it is only a matter of time before parents become concerned about its social implications, and how it will affect children. It seems like even though society evolves, and new things become acceptable, one thread remains the same: the idea that a new form of entertainment can threaten the livelihood of our culture, including our attitudes, behaviors, and values. Pop music is no exception, but as we can see, the same fears in respect to rock 'n' roll's hitting the mainstream also came into the light with the Goth and dark wave movements, the punk scene, metal, then rap, and now more than ever, hip-hop.

One of the most fascinating ideas to me about this phenomenon, being new music, societal change, and society's reaction, is how complex it truly is. Music is a product of our culture, and our culture is a product of its influences. Even that is an oversimplification, because though some things remain the same, and themes regarding traditionalist thinking versus progressive go back and forth, things do go forward.

An interesting change that has taken place is the shift from adults having their own music, and having more influence over their children, to a consumer-culture where children are marketed music. Artists want to stay young, keep their audiences young, and keep making money, while parents just want to stay hip for as long as they can. And above all, music is fun for everybody. It eases drives in traffic after an eight-hour workday for adults. It makes bus rides more bearable for kids who would be completely bored without their ipods, and on weekends it gives everybody something to do: dance.

Also noteworthy is the idea of racial and other cultural tensions among audiences and critics of music. The Chicago Defender noted that Asa Carter, head of the North Alabama White Citizens Council said in the early stages of rock 'n' roll that it was "nothing but a plot by the NAACP to lower American youth's morals."

Critics also tried to marginalize members of the Gothic counterculture after the Columbine shootings, because the shooters had been wearing trench coats and were said to have listened to Marilyn Manson. A 17-year-old student at Berkeley High School observed this when she said, "It's always society's solution to blame something other than itself. They just want a scapegoat."

As a side-note, the story of the Goths dodging blame for the Columbine shootings sounded familiar, because in another class, we also explored the possibility of violence in video games being responsible, since the assailants were recorded to have been fans of Doom, a popular first-person shooter game from the time.

I believe parents fear the influence that music has on their children as much as they fear the impact of so many other countless things their children will be exposed to, and the idea that it is outside of their control. Studies have shown that even putting ratings on games and TV shows and movies isn't enough to stop kids from consuming them; in fact, it is thought by communication theorists that these ratings prohibiting children from viewing certain films have an alluring effect.

Then again, maybe parents are as much afraid of growing up as they are of allowing their children to grow up. They want to listen to the same music, and not change the radio station when things that might be inappropriate for children are being said, such as women being called derogatory names, or people singing about committing violence, they should understand that the world is not the same as it used to be, if only in the sense that the lyrics tend to be much more explicit, and children do pick up on their meaning.

Also, we're in an age we're people tend to consume multiple kinds of media simultaneously. If a child is watching MTV, they might see racy images. At the same time, they are digesting words I know I didn't hear in music twenty years ago.

And so, there is this ongoing notion that is constantly debated, on Oprah, on the Internet, and on the radio, that someone has to take responsibility for this. But it is a complex issue that I believe would involve education, more than just censorship or placing blame on artists, record labels, or parents.

My parents and I never fought about music in my life. I don't recall any conflicts taking place between them and my sisters, either. This is for several reasons. First, I grew up listening to music, and my mother was a musician, so it was always accepted. Second, we had rules, which had more to do with not playing anything super loud and disturbing everyone else, rather than what you were actually listening to. And third, my parents are young. I remember riding in a car when I was a kid, and my mom was single and in her 20s, and she was listening to pop music, like The Police, Hall and Oates, Eurythmics, Tina Turner, and Phil Collins. On second thought, maybe my influence in choosing music when I became older was also pretty tame.

As for my dad, he's a little younger than my mother, and he still loves to rock out. He will turn a Green Day song up in his truck and drum his thumbs on the steering wheel. He'll buy the new Disturbed album and turn it up so you can hear it in the whole house and it'll leak out while he's playing in his garden in the backyard. But the bottom line, though, is they gave me the space to make choices concerning what music I would listen to, and there was some kind of trust there in the sense that my sisters and I would know what was real and what was not, regardless of what our stereo was playing.

Labels: College, Music, Sociology

"The Blues: Examining the Past and Present of a Uniquely American Art Form"

The blues and its influence on American society is a complicated, multi-layered phenomenon that deserves closer examination. Of utmost importance in coming to understand the present-day is the simple act of being able to tread backward through time and begin at the beginning. As we shall see, sociologists attempt to seek out a more truthful representation of how things came to be, rather than romanticize things in ways pervasive among popular music articles and artist interviews.

What must also be understood is that the blues did not evolve out of nowhere. It developed out of a need: a need for expression, as well as a need for African-
Americans to find their place in the American superstructure. Although classic blues arose partly as production of the recording industry, and the notion that performers could earn a living making music, the earliest forms of blues came out of wanderers and field workers. Traditional training was not necessary; to have the blues was considered a part of being human.

"It was assumed that each man had his own blues and that he would sing them," Leroi Jones wrote. He added, "It was assumed that anybody could sing the blues. If someone had lived in this world into manhood, it was taken for granted that he had been given the content of his verses."

The blues as a form of entertainment for Americans had a way of uniting a divided society, though cultural and categorical divisions were present in the blues movement. It is relevant in our study to consider the different directions taken in the light of urban as well as rural areas of the country; the roles of men and women in the performance at the time; as well as regional differences in lifestyles between the north and south; and segregation and racial tension between blacks and whites.

Jones puts forth the idea that African-Americans were introduced to the entertainment industry through the advent of minstrels and vaudevilles. He cites Gertrude "Ma" Rainey as responsible for the beginnings of the classic, more structured, blues style, and says her travels with the Rabbit Foot Minstrels, a larger company that toured the south, led her to teach Bessie Smith (1898-1937), the future and still known "Empress of the Blues."

Interesting enough are those divisions spoken of previously: the great classic blues singers were predominantly women, while men dominated country blues singing. Robert Johnson (1911-1938), often the most highly regarded Delta blues musician, lived and recorded during precisely the same time Smith's work could be heard on the radio. It should be noted also that during this time country blues did not get the same attention inasmuch as airplay, but was ever-present in the south.

It was during this time also that big band and swing music took off, meeting the demands of dancehalls across the nation. Luckily, according to blues guitarist Lowell Fulson, T-Bone Walker solidified the art form and fought the fade out it seemed to face. "I always give him credit, because he's the first man brought the blues guitar – matter of fact, brought the guitar back in style, playing lead," he said.

These forms eventually united and coalesced into a new invention, later referred to by Billboard magazine in 1949 as "Rhythm and Blues." At the time, though, the new phrase was more a blanket term for nearly all African-American popular music.

Fast-forward to 2008, and the blues are highly regarded as a piece of Americana. One can feel the historical presence in almost all music made in the United States today. I believe the trick is, though, that regional location, as well as age, has more to do with the prototype for blues singers than anything. For example, it is known that Johnson rapidly grew in popularity, and as a consequence so did a love for the blues sound once again, when Columbia released his complete recordings in the '60s.

Johnson's recordings are still popular and are reaching new audiences even today. One summer several years ago, I recall taking an interest in old blues and jazz recordings. I asked a trusted friend of mine to recommend me some purchases in that realm. "Get the complete recordings of Robert Johnson," he said. I went out and paid $25 for that set, and it was worth every penny. Other than that, I began exploring blues and old jazz artists by purchasing cheap compilation albums of different artists at stores like K-Mart and Target. Sometimes they sell them for only $5 and $8. My favorite songs from these compilations were by Bessie Smith. I also enjoyed the recordings by Billie Holiday and Lightnin' Hopkins. Little did I know until taking this class how truly important they were in the context of blues history, as well as music in the making today.

After reading the text, I asked several friends if they knew most of the classic blues singers were women. The response was overwhelmingly, "No." I was surprised by this revelation as well. I also wondered if because I live in Texas, if that might be why even friends I speak to about the blues seem more familiar with country blues than classic blues. I wonder if it is a product of living in the south.

I also feel that all modern rock music, including independent music, can be traced back to the blues. I find the idea that musicians today tend to tie themselves to the blues through a personal narrative rather fascinating. However, I believe a generational shift is taking place. As an entertainment writer, I have often interviewed musicians and asked them to name their top five recording artists. Ninety-nine percent of the time I get at least one Beatles album or something by The Rolling Stones, as well as The Beach Boys sometimes, and occasionally Led Zeppelin. I am aware of the fact that all these artists were somehow influenced directly or indirectly by the blues.

In the same way, another friend of mine in conversation said 10 years from now everyone is going to be naming Nirvana on their list. I'm not sure if I agree with that, but I know that even if they do, Nirvana not only covered Leadbelly, but can most likely be traced as well to some classic rock acts, who had at one time or another been highly influenced by the blues.

Examples of this can be found online and in publications showcasing interviews of artists, local and international. In a search for Bessie Smith on MySpace, I found six fan pages created in her honor. Some include biography information, as well as pictures and recordings. Billie Holiday also has twenty-three MySpace pages dedicated to her. This is important because the women of the blues tie so closely to women in rock today. For example, Bessie Smith influenced Billie Holiday, who led to Dinah Washington, to Janis Joplin, and on to local Houston blues artist Carolyn Wonderland, and even some of today's biggest pop icons.

The blues is not only present in rock 'n' roll; it is also felt in soul and R & B recordings. Last month, an article on MTV.com declared Beyonce Knowles, a native Houstonian and international icon of Destiny's Child girl group, as well as a solo artist, is next returning to the big screen after her Dreamgirls debut, to star in the role of Etta James, famed blues singer, in the up-and-coming film, Cadillac Records.

In a related 2006 story also on MTV, pop singer Christina Aguilera participated in a photo shoot for InStyle Magazine, where she had the opportunity to pose for pictures with her self-described all-time favorite singer, Etta James. This also ties into the idea that modern artists feel the need to create a fiction, via memory or otherwise, to tie them to a revered master from another time in music, i.e. the blues.

"I've said it for the last seven years — since I had my first debut record out — in every interview, in every story, in every on- and off-camera question. I mean, all of Etta's old songs, countless songs I could name, I grew up listening to. That music was always such a huge escape for me, even from a young age," Aguilera said.

She also recounted a story of shopping for vintage records with her grandmother when she was seven years old, and immediately falling in love with the raw emotional sounds demonstrated in the earliest soul, blues, and jazz recordings. In the interview James seemed to recognize that influence in Aguilera's singing as well, and told her so. "It's like you were here many years ago," she said. "You don't look exactly like them, but there's something about you that's like Dinah Washington, Billie Holiday, those kinds of chicks. I've never seen a girl sing as tough as you sing, as little as you are. It's like you're an old soul."

As discussed, the blues has shown to be a pervasive part of American life. Even in popular music today, I believe it has great influence. Blues songs were about heartbreak, struggle, and basic human emotions people could relate to. The earliest singers were not classically trained, and the blues was thought to be a universal feeling. This is much like the lyrical content for a lot of popular songs, whether indie rock, pop punk, bubblegum songs by future American Idols, or alternative. Blues songs were personal. They were confessional, much like some of our favorite artists today.

I also think the success of the blues as an art form comes from the very instrument that expresses it: the guitar. If guitar is not going away, then certainly the blues never will, so whether in lyrics or instrumentation we are always going to experience the blues.

I once made a British friend, Tom, while working as a camp counselor in Seattle. I remember sitting at a pier on the Vaughn Bay with a bandana in my hair, playing my guitar. It was Tom's first time in America, working at this camp for the summer, and he said before it was over, he was going to participate in American life by purchasing his own acoustic guitar. He told me in England, going to the University there wasn't like being in college here. He had not the same experiences I had of going to parties or hanging outside the dorms while people passed a guitar around and played to each other. He said he wanted to take that home with him, and he did. He bought one, and I taught him a couple songs before the summer ended.

An acoustic guitar has many advantages. It is relatively cheap if you're not picky, and one of the greatest things about it is that it is so portable. A guitar is also unique in that it can be used solitarily or in combination with other musicians. It is also easy to learn, or at least to fake it. Most people I know at school can play at least one song, and the thing about guitar is that most general audiences don't notice mistakes, so you don't have to be great to be able to play for people. This dates back to the original blues players making music based on what they felt, rather than what they were taught.

***

Hey guys -- I've just been learning some really interesting shit this semester, and wanted to share it. Please let me know what your thoughts are, and if you read this far, thank you.

-c

Labels: College, Music, Sociology, The Blues

Shag Day Lunch Break

"It's that time, huh?" my boss says, opening the fridge.

"Yep," I say with a smile.

I put my leftover hamburger (fake meat!) helper in the office microwave for a minute-and-a half. I fill up my water bottle and descend the steps and go down the hallway out the back door. Students are gathered in clusters, others walking, some on the phone, but I see one empty concrete table left for me, in the middle of everything.

I take a seat and start on my food. It is lukewarm -- more like half-hot, half-cold. I eat the hot parts and decide to save the rest for dinner. I reach for my bag of chips that is supposed to be my afternoon snack. Ever bite into a regular potato chip when you were almost positive you had brought jalapeno chips?

I open up the book I'm reading, and glance over it while smoking a cigarette. Having taken the last table, I am obliged to say "yes" when a young man asks if he can sit with me.

I read. He quietly eats his lunch, sitting sideways. A passerby approaches and says to the stranger, "Good job, today, man!"

And he says thank you.

Ellen Willis is talking about baroque and classical sex, defining them and applying them to music, books, movies, pornography, pop psychology and feminism.

I listen. I try to figure out which I subscribe to, but I can't, as each seems to have within it some inherent setback, a cultural paradox she develops and points out.

I turn the page without another thought, and begin an essay on her desert island album pick. Turns out to be a lengthy but pensive ode to The Velvet Underground. I am not surprised by this, as the book contains another essay, "Beginning to See the Light," the same words in gold decorating its spine.

I eat up Willis' descriptions of the punk aesthetic and its ties and frays from rock 'n' roll, how art rock became a means to justify itself as such, and how it arose out of need for self-acceptance as well as respect. She goes on to talk about new wave as the culmination of the two and as an antithesis as well.

The stranger gets up, and I turn to light another cigarette. He stops and says, "I'm sorry, but why the cigarette?"

I stare dumbfounded, not quite insulted. His air has that of a legitimate question, with not even an echo of condemnation; the sound of his voice is pure inquisition.

"You just look so peaceful," he said. It's a beautiful day, and you've got your book, and you look so comfortable. I was just wondering if it added something. You just didn't look like anything was missing."

Again, he is genuine, but unapologetic, just staring at me expectedly.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm an addict. I guess if I knew the answer to that, maybe I could ..." I couldn't finish my sentence.

On second thought, a word enters me: companionship. But the stranger who has been sitting silently near me for quarter of an hour is gone.

I return to my book, and now Lou Reed has become something that Mick Jagger and Pete Townshend never could be. And now "White Light/White Heat," "Heroin," "Pale Blue Eyes" and so many others contain the spirit of contempt, despair, confusion, enlightenment, estrangement and many other elements, and they just sort of wash over me all at once with her words, and Reed's lyrics are floating through the spaces in the crowd.

Lou Reed said, "I don't know."

And Ellen Willis said, "I don't know."

I checked my time, and put up my cell phone. I closed my book, and put it away. Through all this I am exchanging stares with another stranger, 10 feet away, sitting down, facing me, on a wall. He's faceless, except for his red and yellow striped polo shirt, and a sternness that is not in the least bit a smile. His look tries to penetrate across to me, but I cast my eyes downward.

I clumsily take up my things and stand up. I trip over my left foot. I still do not look back. I sigh, and walk slowly through the doors, up the stairs, head full of words, and sit back down at my desk.

Labels: Addiction, Books, Ellen Willis, Music, People-watching, Quitting Smoking

Moment of Truth

Do you believe in psychic hearing? Ha.

Not long ago, I was in the middle of making what may or may not have been a mistake. But anyway, this song came into my head, just one or two lines repeating, right then. It was so weird.

And I just looked it up, and this is what it said:

"You’ve Got to Learn to Live with What You Are"

By Ben Folds

I know that you’re in there
I can see you
You’re saying you’re okay
I don’t believe you

And now that gig is up, the spell is broken
The fat lady’s sung, the president has spoken
These days that you were waiting for will come and go
Like any day, just another day

There’s never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching, ohh ohh
Ohh, all you need is the thing you’ve forgotten
And that’s to learn to live with what you are

So freak out if you wanna
And I’ll still be here
Don’t call me for years and when you do
Yeah, I’ll still be here

And I’m not saying that the effort is a waste of time, but I
Just love you for the things you couldn’t change, though you’ve tried
These hours of confusion they will soon expire like
Everything does

There’s never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching, ohh ohh
Ohh, all you need is the thing you’ve forgotten
And that’s to learn to live with what you are

Sometimes everything you’ve ever wanted floats above
It’s stickin’ out its tongue and laughing while
Everything that anyone could ever need is down below
Waiting for you, know this

There’s never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching, ohh ohh
’Cause all you need is the thing you’ve forgotten
And that’s to learn to live with what you are
You’ve got to learn to live with what you are
You’ve got to learn to live with what you...

Are

Labels: Ben Folds, Music

A Song to ‘Kick Start My Rockin’ Rollin’ Heart

Jimmy Eat World went pop in 2001, or at least, that is when the band got its first break. A third full-length release, Bleed American, named after its opening title track (although re-released as self-titled after 9/11), hit record stores in July that year, courtesy of Dreamworks Records.

I had never heard of the band before, when my editor passed it on to me to review. But on first listen I instantly became a fan. The album’s positive lyrics, driving drum-beats, sweet vocal harmonies, and heavy baselines were enough to lure even the most skeptical listener to a completely rockin’ good time.

As a Dreamworks release, it was definitely mass marketed. The record received rave reviews in major publications, such as Rolling Stone, and the band began appearing on shows such as Total Request Line on MTV. The hit song of the year -- which seemed to play on every radio station in town, and that eventually brought a houseful of teenagers and college coeds to the Verizon Wireless the following fall -- was “The Middle.”

“The Middle”, however, although catchy and wonderfully upbeat, is not the song that engages me the most. My favorite on the album, the one that makes me want to turn the radio up and sing along out loud, whether I’m washing the dishes, driving someplace with my boyfriend, taking a shower, or hanging out with friends on a Friday night, is “A Praise Chorus,” the third track on the album.

The lyrics are articulate, but they are not political. Written in second person, it perfectly speaks to individual persons in a positive manner. The lyrics ask questions of the listener, such as “Are you gonna live your life wondering, standing in the back, looking around? Are you gonna waste your time thinking, how you’ve grown up, or how you missed out?”

The song is definitely formulaic, in that is uses merely four power guitar chords: A, D, and E Major, which are standard pop chords and appear in a number of popular songs, as well as F sharp minor, a secondary though still common sound choice. These exact four chords have appeared together in pop songs across generations, including “Maybe Baby” by Buddy Holly; “Please Mister Postman” by the Beatles; “Jimmy Jazz” by The Clash; and “Message in a Bottle,” by The Police.

The song structure is also typical. It utilizes the verse-prechorus-chorus style, with one slight alteration: the song has a bridge, rather than a solo instrumentation. This is incredibly effective for the song, because by providing a bridge, that is, a one-part alternative perspective on the lyrics and music containing the same message, the band created space to allow for two lyrical hooks, which work well together.

One repeated phrase throughout the song is “Wanna fall in love tonight.” The chorus ends with this, while the bridge is a repetition of the words “Crimson and clover, over and over.” The bridge’s catch phrase is repeated as dynamics build, and lead vocalist Jim Adkins raises his voice over the refrain to fully shout in singing tune, “Don’t, don’t, don’t let’s start! Why did we ever part? Kick start my rockin’ rollin’ heart!”

With a line like that, containing all the energy, positivity, and momentum brought from the first half of the song, it becomes time get up, turn it up, dance around, and sing along as loud as you can: “I’m on my feet/ I’m on the floor/ I’m good to go/ So, come on, Davey/ Sing me something that I know/ Wanna always feel like part of this was mine/ Wanna fall in love tonight.”

Labels: Jimmy Eat World, Music, Sociology

50 Years and So Many Songs! No Other Band Could Last So Long!

A student of media effects claimed today that after a week of tracking media messages, whether selectively sought or passively observed, one could not escape them unless he were asleep. Billboards, commercials, music, magazine covers in check out lines: they pervade our daily existence.

One could say that if media messages do shine so on through window panes --which is to say, they perforate us, willingly or not-so-willingly – then, whatsoever they provide for our days, The Beatles similarly yet thankfully do for our lives.

This four-piece 1960s version of a boy band was initially taken about as seriously as New Kids on the Block was nearly 20 years ago. This is clearly demonstrated in the 1964 New York Times article by Theordore Strongin: “The age of 15 or 16 or 14 or 13 is essential in a Beatles expert,” he wrote.

Strongin’s words would almost make it easy enough to subscribe to that line of thinking, if nearly 50 years later, we didn’t know any better. However, in sharp contrast, and just two weeks earlier, William Mann of the London Times saw things another way. He wrote, on inkling, an article that seemed to gather the not yet understood electricity in the air, and mimic a familiar theme to what had once been the title of a popular 1957 song: “Something’s Coming.”

For Mann, the fact that the Beatles took back the crown from all the American rock bands, who had been so lovingly worshipped in England for decades previously, was the icing on the cake. His excitement, however, seemed swept over by a slight veil of nervousness, which upon describing the phenomenon and everything positive to be found within the music, he stopped to make a bold, precautionary, and telling statement:

“These are some of the qualities that make one wonder with interest what The Beatles, and particularly Lennon and McCartney, will do next, and if America will spoil them or hold on to them, and if their next record will wear as well as the others. They have brought a distinctive and exhilarating flavor into a genre of music that was in danger of ceasing to be music at all.”

Insofar as anticipation, with the masses’ breathless attention so penetrating even skeptics could not deny it, all eyes were on the Beatles. A Hard Day’s Night, the band’s third album, along with its first movie of the same title, paved the yellow brick road for the Beatles. For the first time, critics were starting to wake up and smell the coffee, and Trix wasn’t just for kids anymore.

The rest is history, and today the chronology of Beatles albums is often muddled when downloaded in mp3 format, or when Number Ones are compiled onto one smashing album. Most important is that by the time they got to Revolver and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles, with credit also to those nameless predecessors of “acid-buddhist imagery and rock beat,” acknowledged in passing by Village Voice writer Richard Goldstein, in combination with seemingly endless new production possibilities provided by the technologically advantageous four-track, forged a new genre, one that no one has ever come close to be able to do better.

For the love of pop music, everyone must love the Beatles on some level. Yes, I’ve encountered a few prunes who swore up and down they hated them, but they’re just jealous. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. By and large, what I’ve always found uniquely interesting about the Beatles is that, although fans and pop critics may not always agree which Beatles album was ever the best, the point is that everyone has a favorite: Revolver, I’ve heard countless times. Sgt. Pepper’s, for the daring. The White Album, for the sentimental, which I’ll admit, includes me.

Being that the White Album is my favorite, I must say that Ellen Willis’ backhanded scoff at the title got me a little sore. But then, it has me laughing in a sense, like Mann was at bittersweet goods, since I do so want to know what her thoughts were on Weezer’s Blue Album, or Green Album, or Jay-Z’s Black Album, or better yet, the Gray Album: Danger Mouse’s online, legally suspect yet not-for-profit, brilliantly presented mix of The White Album’s beats and orchestrated strings serving as the backdrop for The Black Album’s punchy hip-hop lyrics. Then again, I think she would have enjoyed it; she did admit to harboring a rebellious, screaming teenager in her head.

Mania, recording innovations, and all aside, I can’t recall when I heard the Beatles first because they have always existed: in my lifetime, in the life before mine, and will afterward as well. But I can tell you the two things that make me pay attention: The first is that someone once told me if I wanted to learn how to play guitar I needed to play the Beatles. They never barred anything; they played all the chords the way they were supposed to be played. They didn’t cheat. I once heard they rode a bus for four hours one day just to find a rumored man who knew how to play the B7.

Besides that, I’ve always heard the Beatles never stressed about writing lyrics. That’s debatable, but I can say honestly I’ve never stressed too much about why I like their lyrics. To me, it seems like the lyrically complex are equally as entertaining and thoughtful as the more poppy ones, silly and catchy rhyme schemes and all -- so catchy I’ll bet you a dollar that whether you like a Beatles song, you could sing one, and with your eyes closed.

Labels: College, Music, Sociology, The Beatles

Super Super Goodnesssss

Hi.

I haven't written in awhile. But I just wanted to tell you that life is so, so good right now.

I have an awesome new job. And I'm writing entertainment stuff again at the cougar. Just for practice and to make it my business again to check out some new shit.

So far, I've gotten into two new bands like whoa: The Whigs, and Peachcake. Seriously, check them out, guys.

Peachcake is going to be playing Houston on Saturday night, and I really, really want to go. More on that later.

So my job. My job is stressful at times, but that is because my department is short-staffed to begin with, and also because I have a lot of responsibility, which I really like.

Last weekend was my first full weekend off since I can't remember. Saturday AND Sunday. I quit Chuy's once I knew my job was definitely working out.

I work weekdays only, and I have my dream schedule for school: two Internet classes, plus one during the day where my office allows me to leave and come back, so I never miss that class.

I have study groups in all three of them, and think I'm maintaining everything pretty well. To finish up my minor, I'm taking a sociology class called Popular Music & Society. It's going to rule. I'm required to listen to music basically, and read about jazz and the blues, soul and rock. I am assigned essays from time to time, where I write about the music in a social context.

I'm about to go watch UH play 1 Memphis in Basketball. I haven't even been to a basketball game since I've been in college, and I don't even know why. I've always loved the game.

It's time.

Anyway, oh and I've discovered my new favorite show, Futurama. Thanks to Joe and his awesome DVD collection.

I've started cooking again, too. The other night I made spaghetti with my own sauce. I made it different than I ever had before. I put one whole small clove of garlic, then also oregano, mozzarella cheese, rosemary, basil, crushed red pepper and black pepper. Then I chopped red onions, green and red peppers, and added them to the tomato sauce, along with a can of diced tomatoes. It was beautiful, man. Fucking awesome.

I've been baking cookies, too, although the slice and bake kind cause they're so quick and easy. And I get a kick out of it. I'm thinking, though, about possibly spending some of my newfound weekend time exploring new recipes, and maybe trying to bake some simple shit at first, from scratch.

I'm trying to find a recipe for chocolate mint bars, similar to what Starbucks makes. Andy loves them. So if anybody knows any -- uh, Beckie? Fellow bakers? -- hook me up.

Well, peace and much love, and here's to a wonderful life and a fantastic week.

Oh, and my little niece is so beautiful. She is truly a miracle and I am looking forward to spending time with her, and also waiting for the so-near day that I will hold my newborn nephew. He's coming next month.

Man, good times.

Gotta go watch the game now!

Much love,

Labels: College, Cooking, Music, Peachcake, Sociology, Work

You know what's funny?

I am doing so well lately. Very, very well. I have a new job. I work 8 to 5:30, and even get to leave for a couple hours on Tues. and Thurs. to go to a class.

I only need six classes to graduate, and I am enrolled in three.

I moved in with a friend of mine, a familiar place. Know lots of my neighbors, as they are old friends.

I'm making more money per hour than I ever have. I do not have to worry about financial stuff anymore at all, so long as I stick to this nice budget I made for myself that doesn't even have to be too strict.

My little sister just had a beautiful baby. I'm so excited. I haven't seen her yet, but may tonight, or by the end of the week.

I feel more on my own, and confident, and I have many goals that I think are realistic, and I've been reading some really amazing books that in a way like experience just propel me further into my own specific context, if that makes sense.

Oh, and my mother. I have been afraid to say anything, because she still has lots of chemo to go through and these things can be unpredictable and I don't want to get ahead of myself, but anyway, she had her first follow-up with the radiologist since the treatments started. It's a miracle, I believe. And I hope it is not a mistake. And I feel very blessed. But, after just a couple months of chemo, the consensus is that the spots are gone. I am amazed. How could one go from Stage 4 liver cancer, four spots, to nothing, in just a couple months? My mother is a brilliant, strong, compassionate woman. Some combination of god or her own will, or everyone else who loves her, of course, along with giving some credit to the advancement of modern medicine, is responsible. And I am grateful.

I was going to write about the two things that have left me slightly unsettled, but in the wake of all this good news, it seems a little silly. Maybe I'll come back to these things some other time.

Although, just for the title's sake, the funny part, which sums up the other stuff, I shall leave you with what this was initially supposed to lead up to -- the lyrics of the unfortunate Phil Collins song from which a small piece flew back and forth in my brain this morning, only to drift away and settle with me again here and now, on my lunch break.

"In Too Deep"

All that time I was searching, with nowhere to run to, it started me thinking,
Wondering what I could make of my life, and who'd be waiting,
Asking all kinds of questions, to myself, but never finding the answers,
Crying at the top of my voice, and no one listening,
All this time, I still remember everything you said
There's so much you promised, how could I ever forget.

Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.

So listen, listen to me,
Ooh you must believe me,
I can feel your eyes go thru me,
But I don't know why.

Ooh I know you're going, but I can't believe
It's the way that you're leaving,
It's like we never knew each other at all, it may be my fault,
I gave you too many reasons, being alone, when I didn't want to
I thought you'd always be there, I almost believed you,
All this time, I still remember everything you said, oh
There's so much you promised, how could I ever forget.

Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.

So listen, listen to me,
I can feel your eyes go thru me

It seems I've spent too long
Only thinking about myself - oh
Now I want to spend my life Just caring bout somebody else.

Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep.

You know I love you, but I just can't take this,
You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps,
Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this,
You know I want to, but I'm in too deep...

Labels: Cancer, College, Goals, Graduation, Music

So, I'm sitting here, listening to Jill Scott, and getting ready to go to work.

But something's on my mind. Well, many things, actually. Yesterday was a test to get through. I had a final. My sister called me to inform me she was in the hospital. She ended up getting out at 5:30, but that had me a wreck for a little while, considering my future niece in her little belly had a high heart rate, and they were monitoring her and renee all night while they waited for the fever to go down.

I had to call my mother and tell her the news. There has been a lot of this lately. Phone calls. They are one of the most real parts about being a grown up. All these calls. Like last time Renee was in the hospital, or when my mother had the surgery and I had to call people and tell them how it went.

And people calling me asking how my mother is doing. And I talk about the chemo, which I don't fully understand. She uses words like the pump, and the oncologist, and medications and side effects, and talks about medical bills flowing in like what seems like a tidal wave, and fighting with the insurance company, and how wigs aren't covered by insurance even though you're losing all your hair through the treatment of your disease. Pshhh. They're considered cosmetic.

And then I'm thinking about how I've been feeling lately. How I walk around with all this weight. Like how last night I looked forward to hanging out with good friends all day, but found myself stepping outside to make a phone call and then ended up crying quietly to myself on the ground for a minute.

Just keeping composure is so hard. I try to keep things in line, like things I need to do, and save my feelings for when I'm with specific people, or when I'm alone, or when I'm in therapy.

But I just started, needed to let a little out, and all the sudden I was worried that I wasn't going to stop. And I didn't want to make a scene. And I calmed down, went back inside, so drained and void.

On top of this, a few months ago I was debating High Fidelity love versus An Affair to Remember Love. I decided something, to take some advice both my grandmother and sister gave me: "Relationships are work, but it's worth it to you in the end."

But sometimes when you fall in love, you make excuses for people. You can do it over and over without even noticing it. You can sacrifice principles that are so important to you. You can keep things, or allow things or people to be brought into your life that you never really wanted in the first place. Or at least, things you had learned to let go of in order to personally evolve.

Evolve. That's all I want to do.

To fall in love and be able to do that with someone would be incredibly wonderful. Sometimes you can backslide, but you can help each other out, you know, if you've got similar vision, priorities, and ideas.

But what do you do when you wake up and realize you've bended yourself so far that you just don't know what to do anymore? And you just want that person for once, to see your side of things, and to validate it, and appreciate it, and respect it, but they just don't?

And then you think about all the other compromises you've ever made.

And you start to ask yourself again, the initial questions. But you know the only person who can truly answer that is yourself.

Labels: Cancer, College, Jill Scott, Love, Music, Relationships

My new favorite song

Smoke
by Ben Folds



Leaf by leaf, page by page,
Throw this book away.
All the sadness, all the rage,
Throw this book away.
Rip out the binding, tear the glue,
All of the grief we never ever knew --
We had it all along;
Now its

Smoke:

The things we've written in it,
Never really happened.
All of the people come and gone
Never really lived;
All of the people have come have gone
No one to forgive:

Smoke.

We will never write a new one,
There will not be a new one,
Another one, another one.

Here's an evening dark with shame,
Throw it on the fire.
Here's the time I took the blame,
Throw it on the fire.
Here's the time we didn't speak,
It seemed for years and years

Here's a secret no one will ever know:
The reasons for the tears,
They are smoke.
Where do all the secrets live?
They travel in the air.
You can smell them when they burn;
They travel.

Those who say the past is not dead,
Stop and smell the smoke.
You keep on saying the past is not dead,
Come on and smell the smoke.
You keep saying the past is not even past,
You keep saying
We are smoke.

Labels: Ben Folds, Music

Hi. Long time no talk.

I've been having a panic attack for what seems like the last two hours, so this may not be the best time to write. But what else can I do with all this anxious energy?

I haven't written on this thing in so long. I haven't written anything for myself, even, in what seems just as long.

I have not written a complete song in two years.

But I've been busy. The busy part has been spent making mistakes, and then picking up the pieces of past mes, and trying to break patterns in both thought and action.

Sometimes all this is easier than others.

I thought I learned several years ago that things never get easier, that they never stop changing, that bad things can continue to happen, that people constantly come and go ... I thought I knew a lot. I even thought I was an idealist.

But what I have learned since is that "knowing" things doesn't get you very far between where you are and where you want to be.

So here I am, starting over like so many other times, while knowing this will not be the last, and pushing the envelope, trying to develop a new sense of self, a positive one, trying to not only dream, but to act, and trying to make decisions.

I am finding out how many decisions there really are.

I guess maybe I should start over, and let you know what is new, to catch you up, for whatever reason:

I have been to jail.

I've totaled two vehicles in my life.

I've made countless mistakes, and learned from some.

I've been in a fight.

I've been a camp counselor for now six out of the last seven years.

I've been the editor-in-chief of a daily newspaper.

I've been in love.

I've been in lust.

I've said things I didn't mean.

I've meant things I shouldn't have said.

I've hated myself. And a lot of other people. And the world, sometimes, and acted accordingly.

I've had dreams I wished were real.

I've had realities come at me and feel as if they were nightmares while they were happening.

But I've found that situations repeat themselves and can be presented as tests for your so-called new and improved self.

I have found that wisdom neither comes from experience nor age.

I have found that I prefer to believe that the body's natural state is one of calm, and a form of happiness, when not interjected with nonsensically emotional thoughts manifested from personal systems shaped by separate realities.

I have come to a place where I can set goals and surprise myself at accomplishing even the smaller ones.

I have come to appreciate, when I remember, that the differences between individuals are often as vast as those between nations.

I have come to recognize the past while consciously shooting for a present that I can own, and when I say I, I mean me, and the me I mean is the purest form of me, the one I like to believe is strong and good.

I read today in Les Mis, which is wonderful -- and I agree with Victor Hugo, or at least the narrator on this, completely -- that within every human being is an animal, and not just one animal but all animals ... because the last few years have shown me that within me is a turtle, a lamb, a rabbit, a wolf, a lion, a sheep, a black widow spider, a bluebird, and many more I have yet to discover.

This thought is distressing sometimes. Because these animals within humans all comprise an orchestra of virtues and faults; and all virtues have faults, and all faults have virtues. It bothers me as much in one vein as it motivates me in another. It gives me hope in still another. And at times this realization, whether in a moment of release or even in contemplation, is enough to chill my bones and palpitate my heart.

And doing "what is right" is such a broad yet narrow way of thinking, isn't it?

I've made mistakes that others would be proud to make, and have told me so.

And some of the good things I've done, the ones I am acknowledged for, amount to almost nothing in my own eyes when scrutinized underneath my microscopic system of values.

So I guess that's everything, without saying much, all the issues I've been thinking about while not really. All that a few good books, good deeds, mistakes, and a little therapy have taught me so far.

But I will say that all in all, I'm working my way toward a form of happiness I've never quite felt before -- the kind that you can get to no matter what your circumstances ... a kind of comfort I would love to feel for any length of time in my own skin, hopefully, forever ... the kind that allows you to love and give and receive, and be good to others no matter what is going on at the moment ... the kind that would just feel peaceful.

That's what I want very, very much. And that's all I'd like for the present and future. So that's all I feel like writing. I'm gonna get back to finding something to laugh at, or somethin' .... cause that's all I need. That's all anybody needs.

Labels: Books, Camp, Jail, Les Miserables, Mistakes, Music, Regret, Therapy