I'm sure most of us can trace our influence in becoming a fan of such-and-such band through one particular friend who turned us onto them, to a show at which they opened for the band we were there to see, or to a connection by association to another band. Discovering a band on one's own, though, can be a much more satisfying experience. Does discovering one by accident qualify for this distinction, though?
That's what happened when, sometime shortly after the middle of last year, I went onto amazon.com to search for the debut album by The Drams, a band consisting of three former members of Texas alt-country rockers Slobberbone. That album turned out to be nothing special, but one of Amazon's "Customers who bought this item also bought..." recommendations was Midlake's The Trials of Van Occupanther. The only real similarity between the bands is their hometown of Denton, Texas, an artsy enclave on the outskirts of the Dallas suburbs that is also the home to indie rock bands Centro-Matic and The Baptist Generals.
A couple months earlier, Afshin and I had discussed what the album of the year thus far was. Actually, such a discussion generally consists of Afshin telling me what he thinks my #1 album is, me slyly saying "maybe" or "no comment", and the conversation going absolutely nowhere. He was convinced it was The Flaming Lips' The War of the Mystics. That certainly was a contender at the time, but I wasn't satisfied with its potential as an album of the year candidate. I recall thinking and saying to him that I thought I had yet to discover my album of the year. I just had a feeling something special was going to come along in the second half. It did.
Trials is one of those albums that comes along about once a decade. It's just that, in this case, it was the second year in a row that such an album materialized. So maybe I exaggerate a little. What I speak of, though, is an album that not only hearkens back to a musical era that most people never took seriously...that not only does this in a way that sounds modern and refreshing...but also ties it together as a wonderful concept album. And, not an overblown, pretentious and self important concept album, a la a few of the bands I've already written about. But, instead, one with timeless meaning...in this case, that of the struggle of human beings who feel out of place in a world that feels like it has passed them by. People who long to live in a simpler time, one in which maybe they would be better understood. Yes, I agree that "sometimes I want to go home and stay out of site for a long time". And, of course, how could I be completely enthralled with an album that didn't cover the territory of unrequited love. Alright, so this kind of sounds like I'm describing America's "Lonely People", but maybe that's not just a coincidence.
In September, I was in New York to attend a Yankees' game with Jud. The day after the game, we made our semi-regular visit to Kim's Records, a truly independent record store that has actually survived the digital age. I was already pretty obsessed with the Midlake record. I pointed it out to Jud, referring to it as "...a cross between America and the Alan Parsons Project, only better than anything either of those bands have ever done". Jud called me out on this bit of indie snobbery, saying something about comparisons like that being ridiculous. He was right. How can you say something blows away its influences, when it might not exist if not for those influences? But, you have to draw the line somewhere. Obviously, bands can improve upon what has come before, and Midlake, in my opinion, is way better than both of those bands. Now, if I had made the comparison to Fleetwood Mac and ELO, that would've been a different story.
The main complaint most people have with this album is that the first half is incredibly strong, but it fades somewhat after that. I don't entirely agree. While the first half is stronger, and includes the album's best songs ("Roscoe", "Bandits", "Van Occupanther"), the second half, in fact, is just as essential. "It Covers the Hillsides" is just as worthy as those songs previously mentioned, and along with "Chasing After Deer" and "You Never Arrived", ties together the album's overall theme very nicely, particularly with the album's closing line, "...we'll pass by for the last time".
The Midlake live experience is just as magical as this record. I'll be seeing them live for the second time in just a couple of weeks. I'm happy to report that they've gone from playing a sold out show at the tiny upstairs room at the Middle East to the more reputable Paradise Rock Club. I think I could have sold my $10 ticket to that first show for somewhere in the neighborhood of $60 on craigslist, because their popularity had risen dramatically since the booking of that tour.
Midlake is the 40th band on this list only because they are my most recent discovery. As I previously said about Okkervil River's Black Sheep Boy, this album could easily rank among my top ten of all-time, and since it was only their second album, Midlake tops my list of bands I most look forward to finding out what they have to offer to their listeners in the years to come.
Showing posts with label Fab 40. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fab 40. Show all posts
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Trivia Answers
Congratulations to Lee Mazzola for correctly answering the thorn-in-my-side trivia question. He wins a Collector's Edition first printing of the double-disc Fab 40 Companion, which is still in production as I write this.
Here are the answers:
1. Bill Bruford was the original drummer of Yes and the long-standing drummer of King Crimson, joining the band in 1972 and enduring several hiatuses and reincarnations until 1997. He was born on May 17, 1949, 18 years to the day prior to me.
2. Greg Lake was the lead singer and bass player of King Crimson on their first two albums, In the Court of the Crimson King (1969) and In the Wake of Poseidon (1970), before leaving the band to form Emerson, Lake & Palmer with Keith Emerson and Carl Palmer.
3. Gram Parsons was born and raised in Florida, but after graduating from high school in 1965, he enrolled at Harvard, in Cambridge, where I lived for 5+ years. He joined The Byrds in 1968, and stayed only long enough to record Sweetheart of the Rodeo, before leaving to achieve success with the Flying Burrito Brothers and as a solo artist. He suffered a drug and alcohol related death in 1973.
4. Jud Ehrbar is the youngest of this group (born in 1970), was one of the founding members of Space Needle, and later became the drummer of Varnaline for their self-titled album and Sweet Life, as well as contributing to Songs in a Northern Key.
5. Anders Parker is the founding member of Varnaline, and later joined Space Needle for The Moray Eels Eat the Space Needle and the subsequent tour. He attended Arlington High School on the outskirts of Poughkeepsie, New York, graduating in 1986, one year after I did.
6. Jay Farrar was a founding member and co-leader of Uncle Tupelo, and after their dissolution, went on to form Son Volt. He also recorded a collaboration with Anders Parker in 2006, using the moniker Gob Iron.
7. Mike Heidorn was the original drummer of Uncle Tupelo, appearing on their first three albums before leaving prior to the recording of their swan song, Anodyne. He went on to become the original drummer of Son Volt, but is not part of their current lineup.
8. Jeff Tweedy was also a founding member and co-leader of Uncle Tupelo, and went on to greater post-Tupelo success than Jay Farrar by taking that entire band, sans Farrar, with him to form Wilco.
9. Ken Coomer joined Uncle Tupelo for their final album, Anodyne, and was the original drummer of Wilco, although no longer with the band.
10. John Stirratt played on the final Uncle Tupelo album, Anodyne, though his status as an official member of the band is debatable. Several sources say he was, while others say he and Max Johnston were just hired guns for that album. I emailed John at his web site, and his answer was "no we weren't full members at that time, and Max had played with them longer than me at that point...". He then became the original bass player and only remaining original member, other than Jeff Tweedy, of Wilco. His twin sister, Laurie Stirratt, was the bass player for Blue Mountain for their entire existence.
11. Max Johnston, as with John Stirratt, played on the final Uncle Tupelo album as a part-time member, according to Stirratt, and was part of the original Wilco lineup. He was their multi-instrumentalist for the A.M. and Being There albums, before leaving the band to become a full-time member of The Gourds. His older sister is singer-songwriter Michelle Shocked.
Here are the answers:
1. Bill Bruford was the original drummer of Yes and the long-standing drummer of King Crimson, joining the band in 1972 and enduring several hiatuses and reincarnations until 1997. He was born on May 17, 1949, 18 years to the day prior to me.
2. Greg Lake was the lead singer and bass player of King Crimson on their first two albums, In the Court of the Crimson King (1969) and In the Wake of Poseidon (1970), before leaving the band to form Emerson, Lake & Palmer with Keith Emerson and Carl Palmer.
3. Gram Parsons was born and raised in Florida, but after graduating from high school in 1965, he enrolled at Harvard, in Cambridge, where I lived for 5+ years. He joined The Byrds in 1968, and stayed only long enough to record Sweetheart of the Rodeo, before leaving to achieve success with the Flying Burrito Brothers and as a solo artist. He suffered a drug and alcohol related death in 1973.
4. Jud Ehrbar is the youngest of this group (born in 1970), was one of the founding members of Space Needle, and later became the drummer of Varnaline for their self-titled album and Sweet Life, as well as contributing to Songs in a Northern Key.
5. Anders Parker is the founding member of Varnaline, and later joined Space Needle for The Moray Eels Eat the Space Needle and the subsequent tour. He attended Arlington High School on the outskirts of Poughkeepsie, New York, graduating in 1986, one year after I did.
6. Jay Farrar was a founding member and co-leader of Uncle Tupelo, and after their dissolution, went on to form Son Volt. He also recorded a collaboration with Anders Parker in 2006, using the moniker Gob Iron.
7. Mike Heidorn was the original drummer of Uncle Tupelo, appearing on their first three albums before leaving prior to the recording of their swan song, Anodyne. He went on to become the original drummer of Son Volt, but is not part of their current lineup.
8. Jeff Tweedy was also a founding member and co-leader of Uncle Tupelo, and went on to greater post-Tupelo success than Jay Farrar by taking that entire band, sans Farrar, with him to form Wilco.
9. Ken Coomer joined Uncle Tupelo for their final album, Anodyne, and was the original drummer of Wilco, although no longer with the band.
10. John Stirratt played on the final Uncle Tupelo album, Anodyne, though his status as an official member of the band is debatable. Several sources say he was, while others say he and Max Johnston were just hired guns for that album. I emailed John at his web site, and his answer was "no we weren't full members at that time, and Max had played with them longer than me at that point...". He then became the original bass player and only remaining original member, other than Jeff Tweedy, of Wilco. His twin sister, Laurie Stirratt, was the bass player for Blue Mountain for their entire existence.
11. Max Johnston, as with John Stirratt, played on the final Uncle Tupelo album as a part-time member, according to Stirratt, and was part of the original Wilco lineup. He was their multi-instrumentalist for the A.M. and Being There albums, before leaving the band to become a full-time member of The Gourds. His older sister is singer-songwriter Michelle Shocked.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
The Hold Steady (2005)
I first heard of these guys when they appeared on Smithwick's best of 2004 compilation. The album was Almost Killed Me, their debut, and the song was "Certain Songs". I liked it, but I didn't get really turned on to The Hold Steady until the following year, with the release of Separation Sunday.
Interesting story about Smithwick...I've only met him once, at Jud and Amy's wedding, but it seems like I know him better than that. After all, I've received copies of his last three year-end compilations, I've traded online barbs with him while debating the Hall of Fame worthiness of Steve Garvey, and I've heard Scott mention his name numerous times when telling stories about that infamous summer in Alaska. That probably stuck in my head simply because it's funny hearing Scott say "Smithwick".
But that's not the story. The first time I ran the New York City Marathon, in November of 2000, I was staying with Jud at his Upper West Side apartment. The Yankees had just defeated the Mets in the World Series and Jud hadn't spoken with Smithwick, a Mets fan, about it yet. While I was there, eating pasta, relaxing and hanging out with Jud, Smithwick called. He was trashed. Jud said something subtle about the World Series, and Smithwick proceeded to lace into him with an endless barrage of expletives. After a couple minutes of this, Jud handed me the phone, and Smithwick gave it to me as well. Of course, he doesn't remember this, but this was my first interaction with the guy.
Regardless, he gets some credit as the person who introduced me to The Hold Steady. Separation Sunday was an instant hit, and would wind up as my #7 album of the tremendous year that was 2005. Last year's Boys and Girls in America was a bit of a commercial breakthrough for the band, as it helped land them a spot in a Carnegie Hall Bruce Springsteen tribute concert. They performed "Rosalita", or so I've heard, following Jewel's rendition of "Born to Run".
Two of the members of The Hold Steady are in the baseball pool that Jud and I run annually. When John Agnello emailed to ask us if they could join, I was pretty psyched. Of course, this bumped John out of his spot as the biggest music industry name/pool participant. This also afforded me an opportunity to read a transcript of an email exchange among band members regarding the aforementioned Carnegie Hall show. Somehow Galen Polivka, the bass player, attached it to the end of the email he sent with his pool entry. Not sure how that happened, but I was happy to be privy to such information.
To me, The Hold Steady represent a fresh perspective on modern rock...bearing a slight resemblance to a lot of stuff I've heard before, but as a whole being unlike anything else out there today. Their lyrics also provide me a chance to live vicariously through fictional characters in a way that I previously only did through movies about decadent lifestyles. I guess deep down I really just want to be a gangster...that's gang-ster, not gang-sta.
Unfortunately, I'm yet to catch their live act, and it seems I've missed out on my chance to see them at a small venue. I procrastinated on getting tickets to a show at the Middle East last fall, thinking I'd have a softball playoff game that night, only to see our team make an uncharacteristically early exit. The next time they're in town, I'm sure they'll be playing some horrible venue like Avalon. Maybe as consolation I can weasel my way into backstage passes or something.
Interesting story about Smithwick...I've only met him once, at Jud and Amy's wedding, but it seems like I know him better than that. After all, I've received copies of his last three year-end compilations, I've traded online barbs with him while debating the Hall of Fame worthiness of Steve Garvey, and I've heard Scott mention his name numerous times when telling stories about that infamous summer in Alaska. That probably stuck in my head simply because it's funny hearing Scott say "Smithwick".
But that's not the story. The first time I ran the New York City Marathon, in November of 2000, I was staying with Jud at his Upper West Side apartment. The Yankees had just defeated the Mets in the World Series and Jud hadn't spoken with Smithwick, a Mets fan, about it yet. While I was there, eating pasta, relaxing and hanging out with Jud, Smithwick called. He was trashed. Jud said something subtle about the World Series, and Smithwick proceeded to lace into him with an endless barrage of expletives. After a couple minutes of this, Jud handed me the phone, and Smithwick gave it to me as well. Of course, he doesn't remember this, but this was my first interaction with the guy.
Regardless, he gets some credit as the person who introduced me to The Hold Steady. Separation Sunday was an instant hit, and would wind up as my #7 album of the tremendous year that was 2005. Last year's Boys and Girls in America was a bit of a commercial breakthrough for the band, as it helped land them a spot in a Carnegie Hall Bruce Springsteen tribute concert. They performed "Rosalita", or so I've heard, following Jewel's rendition of "Born to Run".
Two of the members of The Hold Steady are in the baseball pool that Jud and I run annually. When John Agnello emailed to ask us if they could join, I was pretty psyched. Of course, this bumped John out of his spot as the biggest music industry name/pool participant. This also afforded me an opportunity to read a transcript of an email exchange among band members regarding the aforementioned Carnegie Hall show. Somehow Galen Polivka, the bass player, attached it to the end of the email he sent with his pool entry. Not sure how that happened, but I was happy to be privy to such information.
To me, The Hold Steady represent a fresh perspective on modern rock...bearing a slight resemblance to a lot of stuff I've heard before, but as a whole being unlike anything else out there today. Their lyrics also provide me a chance to live vicariously through fictional characters in a way that I previously only did through movies about decadent lifestyles. I guess deep down I really just want to be a gangster...that's gang-ster, not gang-sta.
Unfortunately, I'm yet to catch their live act, and it seems I've missed out on my chance to see them at a small venue. I procrastinated on getting tickets to a show at the Middle East last fall, thinking I'd have a softball playoff game that night, only to see our team make an uncharacteristically early exit. The next time they're in town, I'm sure they'll be playing some horrible venue like Avalon. Maybe as consolation I can weasel my way into backstage passes or something.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Trivia Hint #6a
In my five previous hints, I've covered all nine of the indisputable answers. My last hint(s) is(are) regarding the two disputable answers.
The two disputable answers were definitely official members of one of their two bands, but not necessarily the other. It depends on your sources actually.
Both of these guys have sisters in the music business. One of them has an older sister who is more successful and well known than he is. The other has a twin sister who would have to be considered less successful than her brother, although he isn't exactly a household name.
Oh yeah...and, obviously, both are men. In fact, all 11 answers are male...not surprisingly.
The two disputable answers were definitely official members of one of their two bands, but not necessarily the other. It depends on your sources actually.
Both of these guys have sisters in the music business. One of them has an older sister who is more successful and well known than he is. The other has a twin sister who would have to be considered less successful than her brother, although he isn't exactly a household name.
Oh yeah...and, obviously, both are men. In fact, all 11 answers are male...not surprisingly.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Okkervil River (2005)
I'd known of Okkervil River for a few years, assuming they were just another alt-country band, and I was long since over that genre. It was probably because they had received some press in No Depression that I was under this misconception, but in 2005 I learned I couldn't have been more wrong. Ironically, it was due to more press that I figured this out. Possibly the most influenced by a record review I've ever been was PopMatters' 2005 review of Black Sheep Boy. I think this is the part that drew me in:
Black Sheep Boy is rife with insecurities, bad decisions, jealousy, cheating, and the alienation of always trying to force a connection with the wrong people...We feel alone, angry, or sad. We look for love and are rejected. We choose a quick or slow self-destruction. Perhaps there is a redemption, or at least short moments of it.
Hmmm.....
I instantly knew that I would love this album. It was about me, after all. I'm long since over embracing my own misery (and even that might be a slight exaggeration), but I still can appreciate the tragic comedy of one particular aspect of my life...well, sometimes. And, I'm a sucker for music that makes me think and feel something deep inside, as only subject matter I can relate to is capable of.
Black Sheep Boy hits the nail on the head, from start to finish. But, the beauty and intensity of this album kicks off from the moment Will Sheff creepily sings "Some nights I thirst for real blood, for real knives, for real cries" on the album's second track, and continues to his desperate closing breaths, "I am waiting, you know that I am, calmly waiting to make you my lamb", on the album's second to last song. The two songs these quotes refer to, "For Real" and "So Come Back, I Am Waiting" are both absolutely stunning, the latter being the greatest album ender that, unfortunately, is not the last song on the album.
I recall driving down the Taconic Parkway on my way to Poughkeepsie for a weekend, cranking that song and belting out the lyrics while tears attempted to escape my eyes (some succeeded). I'm not really sure why. That's just the way I am, I guess. Or maybe that song, or this album, reminds me of sometime, or someplace, or somebody...or some combination thereof.
I used that song to close out my 2005 year-end compilation, even if the boys in the band erred in their decision not to. I suppose a few song-sequencing choices would be my only minor complaint with this album. A couple of sentences near the end of the review pretty much sum it up for me:
Okkervil River's Black Sheep Boy is a record that stuns on first listen, then manages the elusive—it sinks deep into your soul... If a finer record than Black Sheep Boy is released in 2005, it will be a very, very good year.
A finer album than Black Sheep Boy was not released during 2005, but it was a very, very good year nevertheless. It didn't take long for me to decide that this album would top my year-end list. There was still 5 or 6 months to go, but I still knew it. Although momentarily, on a somewhat delusional day in late December, I considered bumping it in favor of Sufjan Stevens' Illinois...a record certainly worthy of that distinction, but one that didn't come close to meaning as much to me as Okkervil River's did.
I've spent a little time with each of Okkervil River's older albums, and I've liked what I've heard, particularly 2002's Don't Fall in Love With Everyone You See and the earlier songs they've played at the two live shows I've seen. Still, this band makes this exclusive list on the strength of just one album. One of these days I'll sit down and attempt the impossible task of ranking my top 50 or 100 albums of all-time. Whether this happens one year from now or 20, I'm pretty certain there will be a place reserved for Black Sheep Boy in the top ten.
Black Sheep Boy is rife with insecurities, bad decisions, jealousy, cheating, and the alienation of always trying to force a connection with the wrong people...We feel alone, angry, or sad. We look for love and are rejected. We choose a quick or slow self-destruction. Perhaps there is a redemption, or at least short moments of it.
Hmmm.....
I instantly knew that I would love this album. It was about me, after all. I'm long since over embracing my own misery (and even that might be a slight exaggeration), but I still can appreciate the tragic comedy of one particular aspect of my life...well, sometimes. And, I'm a sucker for music that makes me think and feel something deep inside, as only subject matter I can relate to is capable of.
Black Sheep Boy hits the nail on the head, from start to finish. But, the beauty and intensity of this album kicks off from the moment Will Sheff creepily sings "Some nights I thirst for real blood, for real knives, for real cries" on the album's second track, and continues to his desperate closing breaths, "I am waiting, you know that I am, calmly waiting to make you my lamb", on the album's second to last song. The two songs these quotes refer to, "For Real" and "So Come Back, I Am Waiting" are both absolutely stunning, the latter being the greatest album ender that, unfortunately, is not the last song on the album.
I recall driving down the Taconic Parkway on my way to Poughkeepsie for a weekend, cranking that song and belting out the lyrics while tears attempted to escape my eyes (some succeeded). I'm not really sure why. That's just the way I am, I guess. Or maybe that song, or this album, reminds me of sometime, or someplace, or somebody...or some combination thereof.
I used that song to close out my 2005 year-end compilation, even if the boys in the band erred in their decision not to. I suppose a few song-sequencing choices would be my only minor complaint with this album. A couple of sentences near the end of the review pretty much sum it up for me:
Okkervil River's Black Sheep Boy is a record that stuns on first listen, then manages the elusive—it sinks deep into your soul... If a finer record than Black Sheep Boy is released in 2005, it will be a very, very good year.
A finer album than Black Sheep Boy was not released during 2005, but it was a very, very good year nevertheless. It didn't take long for me to decide that this album would top my year-end list. There was still 5 or 6 months to go, but I still knew it. Although momentarily, on a somewhat delusional day in late December, I considered bumping it in favor of Sufjan Stevens' Illinois...a record certainly worthy of that distinction, but one that didn't come close to meaning as much to me as Okkervil River's did.
I've spent a little time with each of Okkervil River's older albums, and I've liked what I've heard, particularly 2002's Don't Fall in Love With Everyone You See and the earlier songs they've played at the two live shows I've seen. Still, this band makes this exclusive list on the strength of just one album. One of these days I'll sit down and attempt the impossible task of ranking my top 50 or 100 albums of all-time. Whether this happens one year from now or 20, I'm pretty certain there will be a place reserved for Black Sheep Boy in the top ten.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The Flaming Lips (2002)
As with many people, my introduction to The Flaming Lips was their 1993 alternative rock radio hit, "She Don't Use Jelly". I considered the song a bit of a novelty, and it was, but it was also pretty good. After a while, though, I got sick of it, and it certainly didn't give me any reason to consider taking them seriously.
Fast forward to Christmas Eve of 1999. As has become a bit of a tradition in recent years, and for all I know this may have been the year it started, Scott, Anders and I meet up at Scott's sister Julie's house. Yes, she's the sister referred to way back in the Styx post. That evening, when Anders remarked at how good the new Flaming Lips' album The Soft Bulletin was, it was difficult to believe he was talking about the same band who sang about spreading vaseline on toast.
Anders' opinion has always held a lot of weight with me, but I ignored this recommendation. That is, until three years later, when I heard some good press about Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. After listening to a few samples on Amazon.com (remember those days?), I bought the album and was hooked instantly from the opening moments of "Fight Song", an anthem of perserverance if there ever was one.
Yoshimi would go on to earn my album of the year honors. 2002 was also the year that I officially embarked on my new career and ended a 2 1/2 year relationship that went on at least a year and a half too long. Actually, it turned out to be one of those that wasn't over even when it was over, but I won't get into that.
Around Christmas of that year, having already completed my top ten, so I no longer had to devote all of my time to listening to music from the current year, I picked up a copy of The Soft Bulletin. Three years after Anders' initial recommendation, I finally realized what a masterpiece it is. For a while I thought it was better than Yoshimi, and most people agree it is, but now I'm not so sure. Soft Bulletin is more consistent, but Yoshimi is more varied and, therefore, more interesting. I highly recommend that you spend the requisite three months obsessing over both of these albums to decide for yourself.
Last year's At War With the Mystics made my top ten, but I still think it falls a little short of the brilliance of its predecessors. Nevertheless, their tour to support said album was fantastic, and if you've yet to share in the Flaming Lips live experience, what are you waiting for? I can honestly say this is the only show I've ever been to where I felt a bond with every stranger I came into contact with. And, given my fondness for well chosen live covers, the "War Pigs" encore was a joyful experience, especially with images of Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld flashing on the screen behind the stage. Wayne Coyne is no Ozzy, but the band pulled it off admirably.
Venturing into the back catalog, I still prefer 1995's Clouds Taste Metallic to Transmissions from the Satellite Heart, the album that gave birth to their brief flirtation with commercial success. I'm not a huge fan of the older material, and I still haven't had that Zaireeka listening party that I've been talking about for years. In fact, that's one CD I own that I've never listened to, and I've refused to listen to the blended versions of this adventurous set of four discs intended to be played simultaneously on different CD players. Therefore, I still haven't heard it, not even a second of it.
The Flaming Lips and the remaining three bands on this list represent the new wave, so to speak, of music I'm into...the post alt-country period, if you will. The Lips are easily the most established band of the four. Still, I expect and look forward to future Flaming Lips material, while I'm also afforded the perfect opportunity for further exploration of the past work (i.e. Zaireeka) of one of my newer favorite bands.
Fast forward to Christmas Eve of 1999. As has become a bit of a tradition in recent years, and for all I know this may have been the year it started, Scott, Anders and I meet up at Scott's sister Julie's house. Yes, she's the sister referred to way back in the Styx post. That evening, when Anders remarked at how good the new Flaming Lips' album The Soft Bulletin was, it was difficult to believe he was talking about the same band who sang about spreading vaseline on toast.
Anders' opinion has always held a lot of weight with me, but I ignored this recommendation. That is, until three years later, when I heard some good press about Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. After listening to a few samples on Amazon.com (remember those days?), I bought the album and was hooked instantly from the opening moments of "Fight Song", an anthem of perserverance if there ever was one.
Yoshimi would go on to earn my album of the year honors. 2002 was also the year that I officially embarked on my new career and ended a 2 1/2 year relationship that went on at least a year and a half too long. Actually, it turned out to be one of those that wasn't over even when it was over, but I won't get into that.
Around Christmas of that year, having already completed my top ten, so I no longer had to devote all of my time to listening to music from the current year, I picked up a copy of The Soft Bulletin. Three years after Anders' initial recommendation, I finally realized what a masterpiece it is. For a while I thought it was better than Yoshimi, and most people agree it is, but now I'm not so sure. Soft Bulletin is more consistent, but Yoshimi is more varied and, therefore, more interesting. I highly recommend that you spend the requisite three months obsessing over both of these albums to decide for yourself.
Last year's At War With the Mystics made my top ten, but I still think it falls a little short of the brilliance of its predecessors. Nevertheless, their tour to support said album was fantastic, and if you've yet to share in the Flaming Lips live experience, what are you waiting for? I can honestly say this is the only show I've ever been to where I felt a bond with every stranger I came into contact with. And, given my fondness for well chosen live covers, the "War Pigs" encore was a joyful experience, especially with images of Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld flashing on the screen behind the stage. Wayne Coyne is no Ozzy, but the band pulled it off admirably.
Venturing into the back catalog, I still prefer 1995's Clouds Taste Metallic to Transmissions from the Satellite Heart, the album that gave birth to their brief flirtation with commercial success. I'm not a huge fan of the older material, and I still haven't had that Zaireeka listening party that I've been talking about for years. In fact, that's one CD I own that I've never listened to, and I've refused to listen to the blended versions of this adventurous set of four discs intended to be played simultaneously on different CD players. Therefore, I still haven't heard it, not even a second of it.
The Flaming Lips and the remaining three bands on this list represent the new wave, so to speak, of music I'm into...the post alt-country period, if you will. The Lips are easily the most established band of the four. Still, I expect and look forward to future Flaming Lips material, while I'm also afforded the perfect opportunity for further exploration of the past work (i.e. Zaireeka) of one of my newer favorite bands.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Trivia Hint #5
I've given you hints regarding 7 of the 11 answers so far. I'm going to cover the remaining four in two more hints, for those of you who are still reading this, despite my decreased output of late.
Here goes...the final two indisputable answers also share both of their bands in common. Are you sensing a pattern here? Also, they share similar roles in both bands as the two answers that were the subject of hint #4. Am I making sense here?
Alright, I'll get even more obvious. Each of these pairs includes a guy who was the drummer of both bands shared in common. I don't need to give a further hint about the other two.
I'm not sure if that cleared anything up. Good luck.
Here goes...the final two indisputable answers also share both of their bands in common. Are you sensing a pattern here? Also, they share similar roles in both bands as the two answers that were the subject of hint #4. Am I making sense here?
Alright, I'll get even more obvious. Each of these pairs includes a guy who was the drummer of both bands shared in common. I don't need to give a further hint about the other two.
I'm not sure if that cleared anything up. Good luck.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Alejandro Escovedo (1999)
No Depression magazine named Sheila E's uncle, Alejandro Escovedo, their artist of the decade for the 1990's. The peculiar thing about this was that they awarded him this honor in mid-1998. Considering the magazine was named for an album by Uncle Tupelo, and that Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy were both very relevant throughout the decade, I was slightly appalled. Still, I had to find out what the fuss was all about.
I started with the live compilation More Miles Than Money, released in 1998. I was quite impressed with a handful of songs, especially "Pissed Off 2 A.M.", but I wasn't blown away. I didn't give up, though, even after being quite unenthusiastic about his side project Buick MacKane's 1997 release, The Pawn Shop Years, which also had a few standout tracks, but overall was quite inconsistent.
1999's Bourbinitis Blues was the album that really pulled me in, and 2001's A Man Under the Influence more than reinforced my enthusiasm. Both would make my top ten in their respective years and led to some back catalog exploration with the purchases of Gravity and Thirteen Years.
The quality that made Alejandro stand out most to me was, and still is, his showmanship. He possesses a tremendous gift for engaging an audience, with his music and his storytelling. He's one artist I'd definitely like to meet. He also has a knack for selecting excellent covers to pepper into his shows of mostly originals. The Stooges' "I Wanna Be Your Dog" and Mott the Hoople's "I Wish I Was Your Mother" come to mind.
It was at my first Alejandro show that I was caught in a lie to a current employer. In 2001, I was working part-time as a Reference Librarian at Framingham State College, while working my way through grad school. I worked a couple weeknights from 5-10, in addition to Sundays. One particular weeknight that I was scheduled to work, Alejandro was playing Johnny D's in Somerville. I told the Head Reference Librarian that I needed to leave early that night, and gave some excuse related to my school work. I'm not sure why I didn't just ask for the night off, but I know I felt guilty about leaving early, because this workaholic supervisor of mine would end up working until 10pm after she had already worked a typical 8-5 day.
I met up with Len at this show, and who did I see there but the Library Director, otherwise known as my boss's boss. It was crowded so I was able to avoid her, or so I thought, but I was a little disappointed that I couldn't approach her and discuss our common admiration of the music of Senor Escovedo. As it turns out, I would get the chance. The next day, I received an email from Bonnie, the Director, asking if she'd seen me at the show the night before. I owned up to my mistake in judgment, not to her, but to the supervisor to whom I'd lied. She was surprisingly understanding. Bonnie never revealed that she had any knowledge of my dishonesty, and our Alejandro bond lives on. I've seen her at one show subsequent to this, and every time I talk to her his name comes up. She remains on my list of references to this day.
Last year, apparently I made an offhanded remark to another Director of mine, now my former boss. She had always expressed interest in learning about new and interesting music, of any variety except heavy metal, despite the fact that she is mostly familiar with classical. Near the end of my tenure at my old job, I made a casual mention of Alejandro, and when he played a show late last year at the Museum of Fine Arts, she attended. I showed up at my former employer's Christmas party weeks later, and my former boss Susan, after a few glasses of wine, went on and on raving about the show.
After a 2-plus year bout with Hepatitis C, he released his fine comeback album, The Boxing Mirror, last year. The illness almost killed him, but now everything seems back to normal. I can't think of anyone who is more deserving of a second chance.
I started with the live compilation More Miles Than Money, released in 1998. I was quite impressed with a handful of songs, especially "Pissed Off 2 A.M.", but I wasn't blown away. I didn't give up, though, even after being quite unenthusiastic about his side project Buick MacKane's 1997 release, The Pawn Shop Years, which also had a few standout tracks, but overall was quite inconsistent.
1999's Bourbinitis Blues was the album that really pulled me in, and 2001's A Man Under the Influence more than reinforced my enthusiasm. Both would make my top ten in their respective years and led to some back catalog exploration with the purchases of Gravity and Thirteen Years.
The quality that made Alejandro stand out most to me was, and still is, his showmanship. He possesses a tremendous gift for engaging an audience, with his music and his storytelling. He's one artist I'd definitely like to meet. He also has a knack for selecting excellent covers to pepper into his shows of mostly originals. The Stooges' "I Wanna Be Your Dog" and Mott the Hoople's "I Wish I Was Your Mother" come to mind.
It was at my first Alejandro show that I was caught in a lie to a current employer. In 2001, I was working part-time as a Reference Librarian at Framingham State College, while working my way through grad school. I worked a couple weeknights from 5-10, in addition to Sundays. One particular weeknight that I was scheduled to work, Alejandro was playing Johnny D's in Somerville. I told the Head Reference Librarian that I needed to leave early that night, and gave some excuse related to my school work. I'm not sure why I didn't just ask for the night off, but I know I felt guilty about leaving early, because this workaholic supervisor of mine would end up working until 10pm after she had already worked a typical 8-5 day.
I met up with Len at this show, and who did I see there but the Library Director, otherwise known as my boss's boss. It was crowded so I was able to avoid her, or so I thought, but I was a little disappointed that I couldn't approach her and discuss our common admiration of the music of Senor Escovedo. As it turns out, I would get the chance. The next day, I received an email from Bonnie, the Director, asking if she'd seen me at the show the night before. I owned up to my mistake in judgment, not to her, but to the supervisor to whom I'd lied. She was surprisingly understanding. Bonnie never revealed that she had any knowledge of my dishonesty, and our Alejandro bond lives on. I've seen her at one show subsequent to this, and every time I talk to her his name comes up. She remains on my list of references to this day.
Last year, apparently I made an offhanded remark to another Director of mine, now my former boss. She had always expressed interest in learning about new and interesting music, of any variety except heavy metal, despite the fact that she is mostly familiar with classical. Near the end of my tenure at my old job, I made a casual mention of Alejandro, and when he played a show late last year at the Museum of Fine Arts, she attended. I showed up at my former employer's Christmas party weeks later, and my former boss Susan, after a few glasses of wine, went on and on raving about the show.
After a 2-plus year bout with Hepatitis C, he released his fine comeback album, The Boxing Mirror, last year. The illness almost killed him, but now everything seems back to normal. I can't think of anyone who is more deserving of a second chance.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Tom Leach (1998)
One band that is noticeably absent from this list is Blue Mountain. They are one of a handful of bands that just missed the cut and were painful for me to leave off. That's not to say they don't have a place in all of this, though. They were definitely a significant part of the alt-country heyday and it was at one of their shows that Len and I made a great discovery.
Tom Leach was the opener at that show at TT the Bear's in Cambridge, obviously selected by the local promoter for his potential appeal to Blue Mountain's roots-rocking audience. Also on that bill were Leach's Slow River/Rykodisc labelmates, the Purple Ivy Shadows from Providence, another unfortunately underappreciated band that no longer exists...although there have been rumors of a reunion involving founding members Chris Daltry and Erik Carlson.
Back then, we likened Tom to the second coming of Johnny Cash. Of course, his sound definitely owed a debt to the legends of country music, but his influences turned out to be a little more varied than that. Regardless, he became my first and only favorite local artist of my days in Boston, and quite possibly the artist whom I've seen live the most times, although Shore Leave must be creeping up on that distinction.
I'm not sure if it's deserved, but I give Tom Leach the credit for inspiring Len's golf method of rating songs. Len and I played golf, albeit poorly, together during our high school years, at places we would later hang out late at night drinking, such as College Hill. Len's system was pretty basic, but it worked. Par was a decent song, with a Birdie being a very good song, and an Eagle was one of those songs that would give you goosebumps every time you heard it. We never really bothered to rate songs that were above par, except to refer to those we didn't like by artists we did, as Bogies. I suppose we could have gone further in that direction, considering a golf score can increase infinitely, just as a song can be infinitely bad.
There were a few songs that were identified as Eagles during those numerous Tom Leach shows that we saw back in the day. Unfortunately, I don't know the names of any, and none of them have ever seen the light of day on record. I own the only two official Tom Leach releases, as well as two homemade recordings, but none of them hit the nail on the head in the way that those Plough & Stars shows did. Well, maybe that's a good thing in that it makes them all the more special. I doubt if Tom would've made this particular top 40 otherwise.
He's still recording and playing today, although he moved to Brooklyn several years ago. On a recent visit to the Abbey Lounge, I told him that I haven't had a favorite local artist since he left town. It's sort of like missing a woman so much that you feel like you don't want anyone else, although that feeling eventually passes. Tom Leach still hasn't been replaced, and if my love life was a perfect analogy, it would be pretty sad. Sometimes it feels that way, but it's really not that bad.
The thing of it is, it wasn't just Tom himself that made those songs and those shows and those times so special. It was also the band he assembled and their cohesiveness and chemistry at that particular point in time. What I'm trying to say is, it's not the same without Dave Steele. His amazing guitar playing, background vocals, and Gram Parsons-esque good looks were a major factor in making those experiences so memorable.
And it's also not the same without the guy we called "The Ultimate Tom Leach Fan", an honor that may have been bestowed upon him at the expense of two more deserving fans.
Tom Leach was the opener at that show at TT the Bear's in Cambridge, obviously selected by the local promoter for his potential appeal to Blue Mountain's roots-rocking audience. Also on that bill were Leach's Slow River/Rykodisc labelmates, the Purple Ivy Shadows from Providence, another unfortunately underappreciated band that no longer exists...although there have been rumors of a reunion involving founding members Chris Daltry and Erik Carlson.
Back then, we likened Tom to the second coming of Johnny Cash. Of course, his sound definitely owed a debt to the legends of country music, but his influences turned out to be a little more varied than that. Regardless, he became my first and only favorite local artist of my days in Boston, and quite possibly the artist whom I've seen live the most times, although Shore Leave must be creeping up on that distinction.
I'm not sure if it's deserved, but I give Tom Leach the credit for inspiring Len's golf method of rating songs. Len and I played golf, albeit poorly, together during our high school years, at places we would later hang out late at night drinking, such as College Hill. Len's system was pretty basic, but it worked. Par was a decent song, with a Birdie being a very good song, and an Eagle was one of those songs that would give you goosebumps every time you heard it. We never really bothered to rate songs that were above par, except to refer to those we didn't like by artists we did, as Bogies. I suppose we could have gone further in that direction, considering a golf score can increase infinitely, just as a song can be infinitely bad.
There were a few songs that were identified as Eagles during those numerous Tom Leach shows that we saw back in the day. Unfortunately, I don't know the names of any, and none of them have ever seen the light of day on record. I own the only two official Tom Leach releases, as well as two homemade recordings, but none of them hit the nail on the head in the way that those Plough & Stars shows did. Well, maybe that's a good thing in that it makes them all the more special. I doubt if Tom would've made this particular top 40 otherwise.
He's still recording and playing today, although he moved to Brooklyn several years ago. On a recent visit to the Abbey Lounge, I told him that I haven't had a favorite local artist since he left town. It's sort of like missing a woman so much that you feel like you don't want anyone else, although that feeling eventually passes. Tom Leach still hasn't been replaced, and if my love life was a perfect analogy, it would be pretty sad. Sometimes it feels that way, but it's really not that bad.
The thing of it is, it wasn't just Tom himself that made those songs and those shows and those times so special. It was also the band he assembled and their cohesiveness and chemistry at that particular point in time. What I'm trying to say is, it's not the same without Dave Steele. His amazing guitar playing, background vocals, and Gram Parsons-esque good looks were a major factor in making those experiences so memorable.
And it's also not the same without the guy we called "The Ultimate Tom Leach Fan", an honor that may have been bestowed upon him at the expense of two more deserving fans.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Trivia Hint #4
I guess you could call this past week-plus another period of writer's block, although maybe it's more that I just haven't felt like writing at all. I'll get back on track, though I suppose the fact that it's over a month since my 40th birthday means it's starting to lose its luster.
Actually, the funny thing is (well, not really that funny) I started writing this because I wasn't going to give in to the usual dread that accompanies milestone birthdays. I was really doing a good job of that, or so I thought. However, in the time that has passed since I started this project, I met someone knew, started getting used to having her around, even if it was only a couple days a week, maybe even falling for her. This short-lived relationship has since come to an end, and over the past week I've found myself falling into the trap I was trying to avoid.
Well, fuck all that. I guess I'm going to have to have a good listen to Son Volt's "Drown" and move on. The ironic part, though, is that in a lot of ways, this recent attempt at romance reminds me too much of the initial circumstance that led to that song becoming an anthem of sorts. Whether or not this song still has the same effect on me, one thing I know for sure is that I'm not falling into the same extended funk that I did back in '96.
On to the trivia hint...the sixth and seventh answers to the question also share both of their bands in common. One of them also shares a band, not discussed at all in this blog, in common with one of the first five answers. That is, one of those for which I've already given a hint.
Actually, the funny thing is (well, not really that funny) I started writing this because I wasn't going to give in to the usual dread that accompanies milestone birthdays. I was really doing a good job of that, or so I thought. However, in the time that has passed since I started this project, I met someone knew, started getting used to having her around, even if it was only a couple days a week, maybe even falling for her. This short-lived relationship has since come to an end, and over the past week I've found myself falling into the trap I was trying to avoid.
Well, fuck all that. I guess I'm going to have to have a good listen to Son Volt's "Drown" and move on. The ironic part, though, is that in a lot of ways, this recent attempt at romance reminds me too much of the initial circumstance that led to that song becoming an anthem of sorts. Whether or not this song still has the same effect on me, one thing I know for sure is that I'm not falling into the same extended funk that I did back in '96.
On to the trivia hint...the sixth and seventh answers to the question also share both of their bands in common. One of them also shares a band, not discussed at all in this blog, in common with one of the first five answers. That is, one of those for which I've already given a hint.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Pernice Brothers (1998)
This is a little off topic, but it's still music related. My iPod died a couple months ago. It was pretty devastating, but I took it pretty well, despite the fact it was just short of its second birthday and I had neglected to purchase the extended warranty, so I was pretty much screwed. I tried at least a dozen times over the course of a couple weeks to resurrect it by resetting, but to no avail. It kept coming back with the frowny face that tends to indicate a hardware problem.
I read the online support information and tried everything they suggested, but I was convinced it was dead. However, just before I threw it on the cart, Sara suggested we go to the Apple store together, as hers had died recently as well. There was something about the strength in numbers that would come from the two of us accompanying each other to the dreaded Genius Bar. Little did we know when we arrived there were no more geniuses available that day, so I logged onto the in-store Mac to schedule an appointment for two days later.
Sara wasn't with me when I returned. While I was waiting in line, I pulled the source of my frustration out and started playing with it (that sounds bad, doesn't it?). I clicked the hold button back and forth a couple times, and saw the shaded Apple logo that usually appears as the thing is re-booting. I watched and waited for the frowny face to come back, but it didn't. In its place was the standard menu. When I clicked on Artists, there it was...my directory of the 55+ GB of music on my iPod, all of it intact.
So, tonight I have it set up on the HomeDock I use to play it through my stereo, and I've been listening to my entire Pernice Brothers collection as I've been writing the following...
I discovered Joe Pernice at the previously discussed Wilco/Scud Mountain Boys Saratoga double bill. Both Len and I purchased their then current album, Massachusetts, at that show. Little did we know it would turn out to be their swan song. We were able to explore their back catalog, but it was limited, as the two-disc The Early Year would compile both of their prior albums, Pine Box and Dance the Night Away.
We were aching for more excellent alt-country at the time, and Massachusetts absolutely fit the bill. The two earlier albums were good, but a little too pure country for us to really embrace. When the somewhat ironically named Pernice Brothers (Joe's brother was only a part-time member of the band and his role has diminished since) rose from the ashes of the Scud Mountain Boys, we were a little disappointed there was very little alt-country twang on their debut, Overcome by Happiness. Even more ironically, a song from that album, "Chicken Wire", was recently named #1 on AOL/Spinner.com's list of the "25 Most Exquisitely Sad Songs in the Whole World."
Overcome by Happiness would grow on me, though, and would close out my 1998 second only to Richard Buckner's Since. Scott second-guessed my ranking of this album ahead of Varnaline's Sweet Life, and in hindsight I agree. Len would also contend it wasn't as good as Massachusetts, but still...it was an impressive debut. A more appropriate comparison would be to point out it couldn't hold a candle to the two masterpieces that followed.
I've often made the statement I might be the world's biggest Pernice Brothers fan, as few agree with that previous statement, and with my evaluation of 2001's The World Won't End and 2003's Yours, Mine and Ours as the #1 albums of their respective years. I might have some competition from the writer of Gilmore Girls, a show I've never watched for more than five minutes despite numerous Pernice references. Re-thinking my previous discussion about my second favorite artist, it's a sin of omission I left Joe Pernice out of that conversation.
The World Won't End is definitely still my favorite, but I'm sure Sara's is Yours, Mine and Ours, as that is the album that kicked off her obsession...thanks to me, of course. In fact, since Sara practically invented the concept of bludgeoning an album to death, I'm really surprised she never killed any of the Pernices' for me, given all the times she drove me to and from work.
Since Lee has already read me the riot act regarding Gillian Welch, I'm a little nervous about opening up this can of worms, but Joe Pernice is also on a non-music related short list of mine. That is, my favorite Red Sox fans. I can't even explain my criteria for this list, but there's something about these folks that makes me appreciate their love for a team I can't help but despise, thanks to all the idiotic yahoos in this town. And yes, they're more idiotic than Yankee yahoos, which there are plenty of, because they somehow believe in this ridiculous notion they're the most intelligent fans in baseball. I say with a great deal of confidence that the only Red Sox fans who know more about baseball than I do are Peter Gammons and Jerry Remy, and the latter is debatable.
Wow, I thought I was sympathizing with Red Sox fans here. Ok then, the list...there are only four of them. I couldn't even come up with someone to round it out to a top five. These are in no particular order, but obviously Joe Pernice is one. Then there's Sara's mother, she of the classic quote, "I really like Dan...even though he's a Yankees' fan." Apparently, she can't say the first half of that without adding her little qualifier. Third, there's Craig, Lee's college pal, who has to be the least confrontative Red Sox fan I've ever met. I still appreciate the story of how Lee mailed Craig his "1918" t-shirt after the Sox won the World Series...not only a great expression of sportsmanship, but hilarious as well.
Last, but of course, not least, is Gert. I still love to tell the story of the day I met Gert. It was my first day of work at Forsyth in March of 2002. Gert came into my office and introduced herself. I had no idea who she was, for all I knew she was a member of the Board of Trustees. After about a minute of small talk, she says "...enough about that, let's talk about baseball." I feel like from that moment forward, there was an instant connection. It's as if we'd known each other for a year rather than a minute. Gert and I are still close friends, despite the fact I left Forsyth a year ago and am not able to walk down the hall to talk with her about baseball or life (two somewhat interchangeable concepts) every day as I used to.
Though I haven't been as excited about their last two albums, both have been solid and predictably enjoyable efforts. Still, as the only artist to command the top spot on my year-end list on two separate occasions, the Pernice Brothers maintain a reverential status that is second only to Neil Young, and that's saying something.
I read the online support information and tried everything they suggested, but I was convinced it was dead. However, just before I threw it on the cart, Sara suggested we go to the Apple store together, as hers had died recently as well. There was something about the strength in numbers that would come from the two of us accompanying each other to the dreaded Genius Bar. Little did we know when we arrived there were no more geniuses available that day, so I logged onto the in-store Mac to schedule an appointment for two days later.
Sara wasn't with me when I returned. While I was waiting in line, I pulled the source of my frustration out and started playing with it (that sounds bad, doesn't it?). I clicked the hold button back and forth a couple times, and saw the shaded Apple logo that usually appears as the thing is re-booting. I watched and waited for the frowny face to come back, but it didn't. In its place was the standard menu. When I clicked on Artists, there it was...my directory of the 55+ GB of music on my iPod, all of it intact.
So, tonight I have it set up on the HomeDock I use to play it through my stereo, and I've been listening to my entire Pernice Brothers collection as I've been writing the following...
I discovered Joe Pernice at the previously discussed Wilco/Scud Mountain Boys Saratoga double bill. Both Len and I purchased their then current album, Massachusetts, at that show. Little did we know it would turn out to be their swan song. We were able to explore their back catalog, but it was limited, as the two-disc The Early Year would compile both of their prior albums, Pine Box and Dance the Night Away.
We were aching for more excellent alt-country at the time, and Massachusetts absolutely fit the bill. The two earlier albums were good, but a little too pure country for us to really embrace. When the somewhat ironically named Pernice Brothers (Joe's brother was only a part-time member of the band and his role has diminished since) rose from the ashes of the Scud Mountain Boys, we were a little disappointed there was very little alt-country twang on their debut, Overcome by Happiness. Even more ironically, a song from that album, "Chicken Wire", was recently named #1 on AOL/Spinner.com's list of the "25 Most Exquisitely Sad Songs in the Whole World."
Overcome by Happiness would grow on me, though, and would close out my 1998 second only to Richard Buckner's Since. Scott second-guessed my ranking of this album ahead of Varnaline's Sweet Life, and in hindsight I agree. Len would also contend it wasn't as good as Massachusetts, but still...it was an impressive debut. A more appropriate comparison would be to point out it couldn't hold a candle to the two masterpieces that followed.
I've often made the statement I might be the world's biggest Pernice Brothers fan, as few agree with that previous statement, and with my evaluation of 2001's The World Won't End and 2003's Yours, Mine and Ours as the #1 albums of their respective years. I might have some competition from the writer of Gilmore Girls, a show I've never watched for more than five minutes despite numerous Pernice references. Re-thinking my previous discussion about my second favorite artist, it's a sin of omission I left Joe Pernice out of that conversation.
The World Won't End is definitely still my favorite, but I'm sure Sara's is Yours, Mine and Ours, as that is the album that kicked off her obsession...thanks to me, of course. In fact, since Sara practically invented the concept of bludgeoning an album to death, I'm really surprised she never killed any of the Pernices' for me, given all the times she drove me to and from work.
Since Lee has already read me the riot act regarding Gillian Welch, I'm a little nervous about opening up this can of worms, but Joe Pernice is also on a non-music related short list of mine. That is, my favorite Red Sox fans. I can't even explain my criteria for this list, but there's something about these folks that makes me appreciate their love for a team I can't help but despise, thanks to all the idiotic yahoos in this town. And yes, they're more idiotic than Yankee yahoos, which there are plenty of, because they somehow believe in this ridiculous notion they're the most intelligent fans in baseball. I say with a great deal of confidence that the only Red Sox fans who know more about baseball than I do are Peter Gammons and Jerry Remy, and the latter is debatable.
Wow, I thought I was sympathizing with Red Sox fans here. Ok then, the list...there are only four of them. I couldn't even come up with someone to round it out to a top five. These are in no particular order, but obviously Joe Pernice is one. Then there's Sara's mother, she of the classic quote, "I really like Dan...even though he's a Yankees' fan." Apparently, she can't say the first half of that without adding her little qualifier. Third, there's Craig, Lee's college pal, who has to be the least confrontative Red Sox fan I've ever met. I still appreciate the story of how Lee mailed Craig his "1918" t-shirt after the Sox won the World Series...not only a great expression of sportsmanship, but hilarious as well.
Last, but of course, not least, is Gert. I still love to tell the story of the day I met Gert. It was my first day of work at Forsyth in March of 2002. Gert came into my office and introduced herself. I had no idea who she was, for all I knew she was a member of the Board of Trustees. After about a minute of small talk, she says "...enough about that, let's talk about baseball." I feel like from that moment forward, there was an instant connection. It's as if we'd known each other for a year rather than a minute. Gert and I are still close friends, despite the fact I left Forsyth a year ago and am not able to walk down the hall to talk with her about baseball or life (two somewhat interchangeable concepts) every day as I used to.
Though I haven't been as excited about their last two albums, both have been solid and predictably enjoyable efforts. Still, as the only artist to command the top spot on my year-end list on two separate occasions, the Pernice Brothers maintain a reverential status that is second only to Neil Young, and that's saying something.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Trivia Hint #3
The fourth and fifth answers to the trivia question share both of their bands in common. Additionally, one of them attended the same high school as I, and the other holds the distinction of being the youngest of the 11, and is the only one born in the 70's.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Lucinda Williams (1998)
My introduction to Lucinda Williams was "You're Still Standing There", her magnificent duet with Steve Earle on his 1996 album, I Feel Alright...that and her cover of Victoria Williams' "Main Road" on 1993's benefit album, Sweet Relief. But, it was the former that really blew me away. I subsequently read about the Lucinda legend in No Depression, particularly how she's such a perfectionist that it took her six years to complete the followup to 1992's Sweet Old World.
The result of this six-year process was 1998's Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, an absolute masterpiece and well worth the wait. I've already discussed my inherent but unintentional prejudice against female artists, so it should come as little surprise that this album's year-end rank of #4 on my list was the highest charting female artist to date. What might be a little less surprising is that no female artist has climbed higher since, with this ranking being matched only by Kelly Willis' What I Deserve in 1999, Kathleen Edwards' Failer in 2003, and Joanna Newsom's Ys in 2006. This, of course, does not include the #2 ranking of The Fiery Furnaces' Blueberry Boat in 2004 or The New Pornographers' #3 effort of 2005, Twin Cinema, as both bands receive significant contributions from, but are not really fronted by, female artists.
After Car Wheels and its followup, 2001's Essence, the strength of Lucinda's output has dropped off considerably, in my opinion. Though 2004's World Without Tears and this year's West were well received by many, I feel they lack the great songwriting of her previous work. I really only dipped into her back catalog a little as well, purchasing Sweet Old World, and not hearing her self-titled 1988 release until Sara made a copy for me a few years ago. It was probably as a result of bonding over Lucinda that I turned Sara on to Kathleen Edwards, and I was rewarded when Sara got her to sign the liner notes of my copy of her debut album, "To Dan, got her hooked, eh?" That last touch indicating she somehow knows of my history of fondness for Canadian artists. The only thing about Kathleen Edwards that Sara and I could never agree on was who had a better chance of sleeping with her. Probably neither of us.
Speaking of Kathleen Edwards, and other female alt-country artists such as Kelly Willis, to what extent is Lucinda Williams owed some credit for their ascendancy? I can't necessarily speak for their careers in general, but I can for their esteem in my book. Lucinda is, in some respects, the Jackie Robinson of my musical world. For years, I oppressed these female artists, never giving them the chance to prove that their talents could match up with their male counterparts. My admiration for Joni Mitchell was kind of an aberration, but Lucinda Williams has paved the way for those who've followed.
Alright, I'm exaggerating at my own expense here. Still, despite a diminished interest in the alt-country scene in recent years, female countryish vocalists are still a bit of a weak spot for me. They're not all necessarily in the mold of Lucinda Williams, but in my book, she certainly deserves some serious pioneering credit and, of course, the distinction of being the second female artist to infiltrate my Fab 40.
The result of this six-year process was 1998's Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, an absolute masterpiece and well worth the wait. I've already discussed my inherent but unintentional prejudice against female artists, so it should come as little surprise that this album's year-end rank of #4 on my list was the highest charting female artist to date. What might be a little less surprising is that no female artist has climbed higher since, with this ranking being matched only by Kelly Willis' What I Deserve in 1999, Kathleen Edwards' Failer in 2003, and Joanna Newsom's Ys in 2006. This, of course, does not include the #2 ranking of The Fiery Furnaces' Blueberry Boat in 2004 or The New Pornographers' #3 effort of 2005, Twin Cinema, as both bands receive significant contributions from, but are not really fronted by, female artists.
After Car Wheels and its followup, 2001's Essence, the strength of Lucinda's output has dropped off considerably, in my opinion. Though 2004's World Without Tears and this year's West were well received by many, I feel they lack the great songwriting of her previous work. I really only dipped into her back catalog a little as well, purchasing Sweet Old World, and not hearing her self-titled 1988 release until Sara made a copy for me a few years ago. It was probably as a result of bonding over Lucinda that I turned Sara on to Kathleen Edwards, and I was rewarded when Sara got her to sign the liner notes of my copy of her debut album, "To Dan, got her hooked, eh?" That last touch indicating she somehow knows of my history of fondness for Canadian artists. The only thing about Kathleen Edwards that Sara and I could never agree on was who had a better chance of sleeping with her. Probably neither of us.
Speaking of Kathleen Edwards, and other female alt-country artists such as Kelly Willis, to what extent is Lucinda Williams owed some credit for their ascendancy? I can't necessarily speak for their careers in general, but I can for their esteem in my book. Lucinda is, in some respects, the Jackie Robinson of my musical world. For years, I oppressed these female artists, never giving them the chance to prove that their talents could match up with their male counterparts. My admiration for Joni Mitchell was kind of an aberration, but Lucinda Williams has paved the way for those who've followed.
Alright, I'm exaggerating at my own expense here. Still, despite a diminished interest in the alt-country scene in recent years, female countryish vocalists are still a bit of a weak spot for me. They're not all necessarily in the mold of Lucinda Williams, but in my book, she certainly deserves some serious pioneering credit and, of course, the distinction of being the second female artist to infiltrate my Fab 40.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Richard Buckner (1997)
The inclusion of Richard Buckner completes a trifecta of sorts. I've previously discussed Anders' recommendation of Joe Henry and Jud's of Steve Earle in 1996. Well, it wasn't until the following year, but John Parker gets the credit for Richard Buckner. It was during a Varnaline tour, while joining the band for dinner at the Middle East prior to a show that the subject came up. Buckner was scheduled to play TT the Bear's the following week, and John recommended highly that Len and I go see him. He also said to say hello from the guys in Varnaline, but we didn't. In fact, years later, and after all the tours Anders has done with him, and all the times I've seen Buckner live subsequently, I've never talked to him. He actually seems approachable, unlike Jay Farrar, but it must be his somewhat imposing size, lerch-like look and his unconfirmed reputation as one of the toughest guys in indie rock that's intimidated me a bit.
This, of course, reminds me of a discussion Len and I would sometimes have on the subject of meeting musicians whom we were fans of. Having fairly obscure taste, the fact that we were able to see some of our favorites at such small venues was an advantage that was not lost on us. Being huge fans of Uncle Tupelo, and later Son Volt, the main focus of this conversation was Jay Farrar, as Anders toured with him several times. I'm sure Jay is a decent guy, but given his reputation as a reserved and private person, we basically decided we didn't really care whether or not we ever met him. There certainly were opportunities. At one show at the Paradise, we were hanging out backstage with Anders after his set, while Jay and Mark Spencer were on stage. Near the end of the show, we opted to rejoin the audience to watch them perform their last few songs rather than remain backstage and possibly get to meet Jay.
Being a Neil Young fanatic, the question often crossed my mind as to what I would say to him if I ever had the chance. I really love "Cortez the Killer", man? The bottom line is, I have no idea what I'd say, and I'm basically happy that I'm not one of "those fans". My only real brushes with greatness have been baseball players. In the spring of 1993, during the year that I lived in Fort Myers, FL, I was at a restaurant with a few co-workers and spotted Dave Winfield dining alone. It was his first year with the Twins, who trained in Fort Myers. I mustered up the nerve to approach him and, although it was a brief and satisfying exchange in which he referred to George Steinbrenner as "The Fat Man", I've since decided that there are times that these people should be left alone.
A couple years ago, I was eating at a Thai restaurant in the Back Bay on a Sunday night, with some friends who knew nothing about baseball. Just as we were getting ready to leave, I realized that Mariano Rivera was dining, with Felix Rodriguez, at a table behind us. I'll admit that I became pretty starstruck at that moment, so I headed to the bathroom to figure out what I was going to do. On my way out, I stopped at his table briefly and wished them luck in their upcoming series with the Red Sox. Rivera, in a very softspoken and polite tone, said, "thank you", and that was it. I was pretty giddy about the whole thing and immediately called Jud to tell him what had just happened.
Oh yeah...Richard Buckner. I went to that TT's show per John's recommendation and immediately bought Devotion & Doubt, which would eventually make that year's top ten. One year later, the magnificent Since would be my album of 1998, and 2000's The Hill completed a three album run of top ten honorees, second only to Steve Earle's streak of four consecutive top ten records. None of these, however, are as good as 1994's Bloomed, which was reissued in the late 90's and remains my favorite Buckner album.
Though the three albums that Buckner has released since have failed to chart as high, he remains one of the most consistent and enduring artists from my alt-country period. While I have been generally unenthusiastic about the recent output of some of my favorites from that period, the aforementioned Earle included, Buckner consistently writes and makes music that, while it never strays far from his standard formula, rarely manages to disappoint.
This, of course, reminds me of a discussion Len and I would sometimes have on the subject of meeting musicians whom we were fans of. Having fairly obscure taste, the fact that we were able to see some of our favorites at such small venues was an advantage that was not lost on us. Being huge fans of Uncle Tupelo, and later Son Volt, the main focus of this conversation was Jay Farrar, as Anders toured with him several times. I'm sure Jay is a decent guy, but given his reputation as a reserved and private person, we basically decided we didn't really care whether or not we ever met him. There certainly were opportunities. At one show at the Paradise, we were hanging out backstage with Anders after his set, while Jay and Mark Spencer were on stage. Near the end of the show, we opted to rejoin the audience to watch them perform their last few songs rather than remain backstage and possibly get to meet Jay.
Being a Neil Young fanatic, the question often crossed my mind as to what I would say to him if I ever had the chance. I really love "Cortez the Killer", man? The bottom line is, I have no idea what I'd say, and I'm basically happy that I'm not one of "those fans". My only real brushes with greatness have been baseball players. In the spring of 1993, during the year that I lived in Fort Myers, FL, I was at a restaurant with a few co-workers and spotted Dave Winfield dining alone. It was his first year with the Twins, who trained in Fort Myers. I mustered up the nerve to approach him and, although it was a brief and satisfying exchange in which he referred to George Steinbrenner as "The Fat Man", I've since decided that there are times that these people should be left alone.
A couple years ago, I was eating at a Thai restaurant in the Back Bay on a Sunday night, with some friends who knew nothing about baseball. Just as we were getting ready to leave, I realized that Mariano Rivera was dining, with Felix Rodriguez, at a table behind us. I'll admit that I became pretty starstruck at that moment, so I headed to the bathroom to figure out what I was going to do. On my way out, I stopped at his table briefly and wished them luck in their upcoming series with the Red Sox. Rivera, in a very softspoken and polite tone, said, "thank you", and that was it. I was pretty giddy about the whole thing and immediately called Jud to tell him what had just happened.
Oh yeah...Richard Buckner. I went to that TT's show per John's recommendation and immediately bought Devotion & Doubt, which would eventually make that year's top ten. One year later, the magnificent Since would be my album of 1998, and 2000's The Hill completed a three album run of top ten honorees, second only to Steve Earle's streak of four consecutive top ten records. None of these, however, are as good as 1994's Bloomed, which was reissued in the late 90's and remains my favorite Buckner album.
Though the three albums that Buckner has released since have failed to chart as high, he remains one of the most consistent and enduring artists from my alt-country period. While I have been generally unenthusiastic about the recent output of some of my favorites from that period, the aforementioned Earle included, Buckner consistently writes and makes music that, while it never strays far from his standard formula, rarely manages to disappoint.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Trivia Hint #2
The third answer to the trivia question is the only one of the 11 who is no longer alive. He and I also share a former city of residence, although he lived there very briefly and before I was born.
Big Star (1997)
When Scott and I were living together in Albany (he was my roommate, not my "partner" as one local proprietor asked), he owned a copy of #1 Record/Radio City, their first two albums on one cd. I couldn't get past Chris Bell's vocals on the album opener, "Feel", and instantly dismissed it, without even getting through one song.
I'm not really sure what possessed me to buy it on a whim a couple years later. This was still a year before "In the Street" would become the theme song of "That 70's Show". Honestly, I just think it was a case of the intrigue of knowing their reputation as a band that never achieved commercial success but had a tremendous influence on numerous acts that followed. I figured that, if I gave it a chance, I would probably like it. This turned out to be not entirely true. I was absolutely awestruck, to the point that I began referring to Big Star as the band who picked up where the Beatles left off. That is, they would have if anyone was really paying attention, and if they stopped letting Andy Himmel occasionally contribute one of his songs. It's a little unfair of me to say that, I suppose. "Way Out West" isn't bad, but "The India Song" is abominable, possibly one of my least favorite songs by an artist that I love. Well, I guess Neil Young would have something to say about that.
I can still see myself living in my little dive of a motel room in Framingham that I got a monthly deal on because I was tired of checking in and out of the Red Roof Inn every week. I was in the process of relocating to the Boston area for the job that is associated with the aforementioned evil pager. I have vivid memories of sitting in that room, escaping from the reality of my very stressful new job, listening to my two recent discoveries, #1 Record/Radio City and Whiskeytown's Strangers Almanac. Unfortunately, that wasn't my only means of escapism.
Escapism...I know it's going to be difficult to believe, but I'm going to go off on an unrelated tangent here. Tom Petty's 1999 release, Echo, was a nice little comeback...not necessarily a return to his original Heartbreakers-era form, but better than his decent but unremarkable material from earlier in the decade. I absolutely loved that album's first song, "Room at the Top", which was clearly about using substances to temporarily forget one's troubles, maybe the by-product of his recent divorce. I purchased Echo at Rock Bottom Records in Portsmouth, NH, during one of the many times I passed through while traveling between Boston and Poland Spring, Maine.
It was also during this visit that I heard James Iha's Let it Come Down playing in the store and instantly fell in love. Basically, the album consists of 11 beautifully sappy love songs, reminiscent of 70's AM radio soft rock, that have a certain melancholic optimism unrivaled by anything else I've ever heard. I realize that's a bit of an oxymoron, and that the album has been criticized for recycling essentially the same melody over and over, and that I'm going way out on a limb here, but I'll forever stand by my contention that this is one of the best albums I've ever heard.
For those of you who don't know, Iha was the rhythm guitarist and co-founding member of The Smashing Pumpkins, and his only solo album bears absolutely no resemblance to that band's output. I've often fantasized about starting my own record label and releasing albums by criminally underappreciated acts such as Reservoir and Tom Leach, and maybe even Shore Leave. In retrospect, though, I have to say that my first order of business would be to convince Iha to sign on for the long-awaited followup to this masterpiece.
Getting back on track here, for years I was under the mistaken impression that Alex Chilton was Big Star. I guess I never bothered to reconcile the fact that there were two distinctly different voices on 1971's #1 Record. It wasn't until I heard the excellent, but posthumously released, Chris Bell solo compilation, I Am the Cosmos, that I realized the original Big Star was just as much Bell's band as it was Chilton's. In fact, Bell was a founding member and Chilton was recruited to join the band after his stint as the teenage lead singer of The Box Tops.
Unfortunately, as is the case with many co-fronted bands, the two couldn't get along and Bell left after the first record. 1974's Radio City was clearly an Alex Chilton affair, and it was just as good as its predecessor, but it seems a shame that this tremendous collaboration only existed for an album's worth of material. Any hope of a reconciliation ended when Bell was killed in a 1978 car accident.
Big Star would release only one more album, 1978's Third/Sister Lovers, before calling it quits. Their 2005 comeback album, In Space, doesn't necessarily tarnish their legend, but still kind of reminds me of Michael Jordan's comeback in his late 30's...not disastrous, but pointless.
Big Star defined power pop and paved the way for bands like The Replacements, Teenage Fanclub and Cheap Trick. More importantly, to me that is, they played a major role in influencing my eventual shift in taste, away from country influenced rock towards music firmly grounded in pop sensibility.
I'm not really sure what possessed me to buy it on a whim a couple years later. This was still a year before "In the Street" would become the theme song of "That 70's Show". Honestly, I just think it was a case of the intrigue of knowing their reputation as a band that never achieved commercial success but had a tremendous influence on numerous acts that followed. I figured that, if I gave it a chance, I would probably like it. This turned out to be not entirely true. I was absolutely awestruck, to the point that I began referring to Big Star as the band who picked up where the Beatles left off. That is, they would have if anyone was really paying attention, and if they stopped letting Andy Himmel occasionally contribute one of his songs. It's a little unfair of me to say that, I suppose. "Way Out West" isn't bad, but "The India Song" is abominable, possibly one of my least favorite songs by an artist that I love. Well, I guess Neil Young would have something to say about that.
I can still see myself living in my little dive of a motel room in Framingham that I got a monthly deal on because I was tired of checking in and out of the Red Roof Inn every week. I was in the process of relocating to the Boston area for the job that is associated with the aforementioned evil pager. I have vivid memories of sitting in that room, escaping from the reality of my very stressful new job, listening to my two recent discoveries, #1 Record/Radio City and Whiskeytown's Strangers Almanac. Unfortunately, that wasn't my only means of escapism.
Escapism...I know it's going to be difficult to believe, but I'm going to go off on an unrelated tangent here. Tom Petty's 1999 release, Echo, was a nice little comeback...not necessarily a return to his original Heartbreakers-era form, but better than his decent but unremarkable material from earlier in the decade. I absolutely loved that album's first song, "Room at the Top", which was clearly about using substances to temporarily forget one's troubles, maybe the by-product of his recent divorce. I purchased Echo at Rock Bottom Records in Portsmouth, NH, during one of the many times I passed through while traveling between Boston and Poland Spring, Maine.
It was also during this visit that I heard James Iha's Let it Come Down playing in the store and instantly fell in love. Basically, the album consists of 11 beautifully sappy love songs, reminiscent of 70's AM radio soft rock, that have a certain melancholic optimism unrivaled by anything else I've ever heard. I realize that's a bit of an oxymoron, and that the album has been criticized for recycling essentially the same melody over and over, and that I'm going way out on a limb here, but I'll forever stand by my contention that this is one of the best albums I've ever heard.
For those of you who don't know, Iha was the rhythm guitarist and co-founding member of The Smashing Pumpkins, and his only solo album bears absolutely no resemblance to that band's output. I've often fantasized about starting my own record label and releasing albums by criminally underappreciated acts such as Reservoir and Tom Leach, and maybe even Shore Leave. In retrospect, though, I have to say that my first order of business would be to convince Iha to sign on for the long-awaited followup to this masterpiece.
Getting back on track here, for years I was under the mistaken impression that Alex Chilton was Big Star. I guess I never bothered to reconcile the fact that there were two distinctly different voices on 1971's #1 Record. It wasn't until I heard the excellent, but posthumously released, Chris Bell solo compilation, I Am the Cosmos, that I realized the original Big Star was just as much Bell's band as it was Chilton's. In fact, Bell was a founding member and Chilton was recruited to join the band after his stint as the teenage lead singer of The Box Tops.
Unfortunately, as is the case with many co-fronted bands, the two couldn't get along and Bell left after the first record. 1974's Radio City was clearly an Alex Chilton affair, and it was just as good as its predecessor, but it seems a shame that this tremendous collaboration only existed for an album's worth of material. Any hope of a reconciliation ended when Bell was killed in a 1978 car accident.
Big Star would release only one more album, 1978's Third/Sister Lovers, before calling it quits. Their 2005 comeback album, In Space, doesn't necessarily tarnish their legend, but still kind of reminds me of Michael Jordan's comeback in his late 30's...not disastrous, but pointless.
Big Star defined power pop and paved the way for bands like The Replacements, Teenage Fanclub and Cheap Trick. More importantly, to me that is, they played a major role in influencing my eventual shift in taste, away from country influenced rock towards music firmly grounded in pop sensibility.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Old 97's (1997)
1997 should have been the year of the Old 97's, but unfortunately I didn't pick up Too Far to Care until late in the year. So, most of the time I spent with this album in frequent rotation was in early '98. Back then, I wasn't as adamant about having my year-end list completed by New Year's Eve, so I spent the first couple of months of '98 listening heavily to Teenage Fanclub's Songs from Northern Britain, Reservoir's Pink Machine, and Too Far to Care, trying to decide if they were top ten worthy. Old 97's would eventually slot in at #8, while the other two would get edged out. In hindsight, Too Far to Care was probably my second or third favorite album of '97, that is among those I was aware of at the time, and the 97's instantly became synonymous with the term cow-punk in my lexicon.
In early 1998, I crashed and totaled my 1990 Nissan Sentra. I won't get into all the details of that one (only a few people know the full story and two of them are named Scott), except to say that, right after the accident, that evil pager of mine went off and, seconds later, was launched deep into the woods. The car was really only totaled because it had a bent frame and wasn't worth much anymore. In fact, I didn't really bother to find out. I just called the junk yard and said "come and get it".
Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that, shortly thereafter, I bought the car that I'm still driving, a 1998 Subaru Impreza. You wouldn't know it anymore, but that vehicle was deceptively powerful in its younger years. What does all this have to do with the Old 97's, you ask? Not much, except I recall driving that car around and belting out the lines, "She said, do you have a car? And I said, do I have a car?" every time I listened to "Barrier Reef". I guess you had to be there.
Another of my favorite lines from that album was "Well I'll find another lady, and you'll wreck another man" from "Salome", Rhett Miller's ode to lost love. Really, though, I never felt like saying that to anyone. My favorite song from Too Far to Care, at least in the early days of my Old 97's fandom, was "Big Brown Eyes". But, it's not because I could identify with the lyric, "If that phone don't ring one more time, well I'm gonna lose what's left of my mind". Definitely not.
On the tour to support that album, Len and I saw them at TT the Bear's in Cambridge. In fact, that show was Len's introduction to the band. During one of the openers, who we weren't really interested in, Len and I almost played a doubles match in pool against two of the 97's. I believe it was Murry Hammond, the bassist and occasional singer-songwriter, and drummer Philip Peeples, but they had to go get ready for their set before Len and I finished off our opponents.
This also reminds me of the time Scott and I were playing pool against each other after a show at Bogie's in Albany. This was undoubtedly part of the Lifetime Pool Achievement, for which Scott and I decided to keep track of our record against each other for the rest of our lives. I guess there's only a 50/50 chance that the winner will be able to celebrate, and even that will be bittersweet, I suppose, but the tournament has been dormant for quite some time. In fact, neither of us remember what the score was, but we do know that it was tied. I'm thinking something like 33-33.
Anyway, The Reverend Horton Heat had been the headliner that night at Bogie's, and Jim Heath, the Reverend himself, was waiting to play the winner. Well, Scott and I were drunk, beyond the point that the alcohol improves your pool playing skills, and were so bad that he eventually picked up his quarters from the table and left. I'm not sure why we were at that show anyway, as neither of us were ever really a fan of that band. There was probably some connection to one of the opening acts, or maybe our friend Carl, who worked the sound board there until he was unceremoniously canned, got us in for free.
The 97's two earlier albums, Wreck Your Life and Hitchhike to Rhome, were very good as well. The latter wasn't very well regarded, and I suppose it did expose Rhett Miller's immaturity as a songwriter, but that quality also made songs like "St. Ignatius", "Hands Off" and "If My Heart Was a Car" quite endearing.
I was disappointed in the band's move in a more pop-oriented direction on 1999's Fight Songs. As a regular reader of No Depression, the power pop transformation of many alt-country bands turned into a divisive issue, with Wilco's Summerteeth being another prime example. Of course, the purists wanted more of the same from their favorites, but the flip side was the desire of these artists to avoid being pigeon-holed. Although not entirely in the purists camp, and despite the fact that 2001's Satellite Rides showed the band improving on their new formula, for me this was the beginning of a downward slide for the 97's, and Rhett Miller's subsequent solo material certainly adds fuel to the fire.
Seeing Miller play solo and attempt to stir up a little nostalgia by playing some of the Old 97's fan favorites was further evidence that these songs were missing a key element without Ken Bethea on guitar, and that nothing could ever match the cow-punk energy of the original Old 97's formula.
In early 1998, I crashed and totaled my 1990 Nissan Sentra. I won't get into all the details of that one (only a few people know the full story and two of them are named Scott), except to say that, right after the accident, that evil pager of mine went off and, seconds later, was launched deep into the woods. The car was really only totaled because it had a bent frame and wasn't worth much anymore. In fact, I didn't really bother to find out. I just called the junk yard and said "come and get it".
Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that, shortly thereafter, I bought the car that I'm still driving, a 1998 Subaru Impreza. You wouldn't know it anymore, but that vehicle was deceptively powerful in its younger years. What does all this have to do with the Old 97's, you ask? Not much, except I recall driving that car around and belting out the lines, "She said, do you have a car? And I said, do I have a car?" every time I listened to "Barrier Reef". I guess you had to be there.
Another of my favorite lines from that album was "Well I'll find another lady, and you'll wreck another man" from "Salome", Rhett Miller's ode to lost love. Really, though, I never felt like saying that to anyone. My favorite song from Too Far to Care, at least in the early days of my Old 97's fandom, was "Big Brown Eyes". But, it's not because I could identify with the lyric, "If that phone don't ring one more time, well I'm gonna lose what's left of my mind". Definitely not.
On the tour to support that album, Len and I saw them at TT the Bear's in Cambridge. In fact, that show was Len's introduction to the band. During one of the openers, who we weren't really interested in, Len and I almost played a doubles match in pool against two of the 97's. I believe it was Murry Hammond, the bassist and occasional singer-songwriter, and drummer Philip Peeples, but they had to go get ready for their set before Len and I finished off our opponents.
This also reminds me of the time Scott and I were playing pool against each other after a show at Bogie's in Albany. This was undoubtedly part of the Lifetime Pool Achievement, for which Scott and I decided to keep track of our record against each other for the rest of our lives. I guess there's only a 50/50 chance that the winner will be able to celebrate, and even that will be bittersweet, I suppose, but the tournament has been dormant for quite some time. In fact, neither of us remember what the score was, but we do know that it was tied. I'm thinking something like 33-33.
Anyway, The Reverend Horton Heat had been the headliner that night at Bogie's, and Jim Heath, the Reverend himself, was waiting to play the winner. Well, Scott and I were drunk, beyond the point that the alcohol improves your pool playing skills, and were so bad that he eventually picked up his quarters from the table and left. I'm not sure why we were at that show anyway, as neither of us were ever really a fan of that band. There was probably some connection to one of the opening acts, or maybe our friend Carl, who worked the sound board there until he was unceremoniously canned, got us in for free.
The 97's two earlier albums, Wreck Your Life and Hitchhike to Rhome, were very good as well. The latter wasn't very well regarded, and I suppose it did expose Rhett Miller's immaturity as a songwriter, but that quality also made songs like "St. Ignatius", "Hands Off" and "If My Heart Was a Car" quite endearing.
I was disappointed in the band's move in a more pop-oriented direction on 1999's Fight Songs. As a regular reader of No Depression, the power pop transformation of many alt-country bands turned into a divisive issue, with Wilco's Summerteeth being another prime example. Of course, the purists wanted more of the same from their favorites, but the flip side was the desire of these artists to avoid being pigeon-holed. Although not entirely in the purists camp, and despite the fact that 2001's Satellite Rides showed the band improving on their new formula, for me this was the beginning of a downward slide for the 97's, and Rhett Miller's subsequent solo material certainly adds fuel to the fire.
Seeing Miller play solo and attempt to stir up a little nostalgia by playing some of the Old 97's fan favorites was further evidence that these songs were missing a key element without Ken Bethea on guitar, and that nothing could ever match the cow-punk energy of the original Old 97's formula.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Trivia Hint #1
While I suffer through a bout of writer's block, I'm going to introduce the first of a series of hints to the trivia answers:
The first two of the 11 answers share one of their two bands in common, and although they both are credited with appearing on many of the same compilations, they never played together in that band. Also, one of these two shares a birthday with me, although he's a bit older.
By first two, I mean the first two revealed in my chronological list.
The first two of the 11 answers share one of their two bands in common, and although they both are credited with appearing on many of the same compilations, they never played together in that band. Also, one of these two shares a birthday with me, although he's a bit older.
By first two, I mean the first two revealed in my chronological list.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Whiskeytown (1997)
After my initial discovery of, and major infatuation with, the major bands in the alt-country genre (The Jayhawks, Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, Wilco), I began to feverishly seek out anything else that would satiate my newfound obsession. To this end, I became a subscriber and regular reader of No Depression, the alt-country bi-monthly named for Uncle Tupelo's debut and The Carter Family song of the same name.
I noticed a few ads for the latest album by a band that I thought had a fairly trite name for the genre. Still, I was curious enough that, when I stumbled across said album on sale at the Natick Newbury Comics for $8.99, and briefly previewed it at their in-store listening station, I decided to give it a chance. Whiskeytown's Strangers Almanac would go on to easily earn the top spot on my year end list for 1997.
That summer, I would also see what I still consider to be my best free show ever (not including shows for which I attended free because I was on the guest list, of course), Whiskeytown and Hazeldine at Bill's Bar on Lansdowne Street. The stories were already circulating that Ryan Adams' unstable personality would often lead to erratic performances, but he and his bandmates didn't disappoint that night. Hazeldine was impressive as the opening act as well, so I proceeded to the merchandise table, where Caitlin Cary sold me a copy of, and raved about, their latest, How Bees Fly.
A few years later, as a solo artist, Adams would again deliver one of my most memorable shows ever, an acoustic performance at the Kendall Cafe, which had a capacity of about 50 people. This was obviously before Adams' popularity had peaked, and we were lucky enough to secure the second closest table to the stage by making a dinner reservation. David Ryan played a tremendous set of songs from his solo debut, Heartbreaker, as well as some Whiskeytown favorites, and was charismatic and hilariously entertaining, even telling a story about how, while riding the train down south, an older African-American lady had made fun of his mop-like hair by referring to him as Edward Scissorhands.
Unfortunately, Whiskeytown wouldn't release another album until after their breakup in 1999. My intense desire for new Whiskeytown sounds was partially satisfied by the reissue of their debut, Faithless Street, in 1998. 2001's posthumous (so to speak) release, Pneumonia, would prove to be another masterpiece, even if it did stray somewhat from their country-rock formula, with many of the songs heading in a more pop-oriented direction.
Maybe Whiskeytown's perch atop most, if not all, bands in this genre (in my opinion) is due in part to their short history. They released only three proper albums, and all three are outstanding. There will be no Fab 40 double-duty for Ryan Adams, though. Despite his masterful solo debut, Heartbreaker, and some worthy material beyond this, his recent solo career has proven to be a disappointment. Maybe this is evidence that, had they remained together, Whiskeytown would've eventually disappointed as well, but they are the beneficiary of their brief existence and remain, quite possibly, my favorite alt-country band ever.
I noticed a few ads for the latest album by a band that I thought had a fairly trite name for the genre. Still, I was curious enough that, when I stumbled across said album on sale at the Natick Newbury Comics for $8.99, and briefly previewed it at their in-store listening station, I decided to give it a chance. Whiskeytown's Strangers Almanac would go on to easily earn the top spot on my year end list for 1997.
That summer, I would also see what I still consider to be my best free show ever (not including shows for which I attended free because I was on the guest list, of course), Whiskeytown and Hazeldine at Bill's Bar on Lansdowne Street. The stories were already circulating that Ryan Adams' unstable personality would often lead to erratic performances, but he and his bandmates didn't disappoint that night. Hazeldine was impressive as the opening act as well, so I proceeded to the merchandise table, where Caitlin Cary sold me a copy of, and raved about, their latest, How Bees Fly.
A few years later, as a solo artist, Adams would again deliver one of my most memorable shows ever, an acoustic performance at the Kendall Cafe, which had a capacity of about 50 people. This was obviously before Adams' popularity had peaked, and we were lucky enough to secure the second closest table to the stage by making a dinner reservation. David Ryan played a tremendous set of songs from his solo debut, Heartbreaker, as well as some Whiskeytown favorites, and was charismatic and hilariously entertaining, even telling a story about how, while riding the train down south, an older African-American lady had made fun of his mop-like hair by referring to him as Edward Scissorhands.
Unfortunately, Whiskeytown wouldn't release another album until after their breakup in 1999. My intense desire for new Whiskeytown sounds was partially satisfied by the reissue of their debut, Faithless Street, in 1998. 2001's posthumous (so to speak) release, Pneumonia, would prove to be another masterpiece, even if it did stray somewhat from their country-rock formula, with many of the songs heading in a more pop-oriented direction.
Maybe Whiskeytown's perch atop most, if not all, bands in this genre (in my opinion) is due in part to their short history. They released only three proper albums, and all three are outstanding. There will be no Fab 40 double-duty for Ryan Adams, though. Despite his masterful solo debut, Heartbreaker, and some worthy material beyond this, his recent solo career has proven to be a disappointment. Maybe this is evidence that, had they remained together, Whiskeytown would've eventually disappointed as well, but they are the beneficiary of their brief existence and remain, quite possibly, my favorite alt-country band ever.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Steve Earle (1996)
The second outstanding recommendation of 1996 was Jud's suggestion that I check out I Feel Alright. We were hanging out before or after a Varnaline show at TT the Bear's. He also recommended Colossal Head by Los Lobos that night, and both albums placed in my top ten that year, but the Steve Earle recommendation would prove to much more significant.
I've considered Neil Young to be the king of my musical world since the early 90's, but in the late 90's and early 00's, I frequently pondered the question of who played second fiddle. There are a few others who first came to mind when I would think about this, including Jay Farrar and a certain former alt-country icon turned indie singer-songwriter known as much for his spoiled brat attitude as anything else (more on him later), but shortly after the release of 2000's Transcendental Blues, I decided that Earle was the unsung hero in this discussion. He's since fallen from this perch, but he's still among just a handful of artists whom I've considered my second favorite. I rarely ever bother to consider this question anymore.
I Feel Alright would also introduce me to Lucinda Williams, on the amazing duet "You're Still Standing There", and it would also kick off a run of four consecutive albums by Earle that would land in my top ten. I'm pretty sure this is a record, although my taste was pretty narrowly focused during those years. All four of these albums, the aforementioned I Feel Alright and Transcendental Blues, as well as 1997's El Corazon and 1999's The Mountain (on which Earle collaborated with The Del McCoury Band) would take their turns at being my favorite album of his.
In 1999, on his tour with The Del McCoury Band, Len and I wore our Varnaline t-shirts to his show at the Somerville Theatre, for which we had seats in the second row but to the right of center stage. I had previously read an interview with Earle in which he stated that the two bands he most wanted to sign to his E-Squared label were Marah and Varnaline. He had already signed Marah, so we thought we would subtly advocate for Varnaline. I don't think he looked at us once. A week later, I saw him up close at the Newport Folk Festival. He was playing the main stage, but was hanging out talking and signing autographs for people near the side stage where his younger sister, Stacey, was playing. I didn't have my Varnaline shirt on, but Anders didn't need my support anyway, because he would eventually sign with Earle's label.
Scott's younger brother, Eric, came to the Somerville Theatre show with us. We had an extra ticket, so I called him fairly last minute and he came up from Plymouth on the Commuter Rail/Red line. He was in his late teens, but he still seemed psyched to be going to a show in a hip neighborhood with two of his older brother's best friends. This is one of my top three favorite Eric moments. The other two being when he signed the thank you card he sent me for his high school graduation gift, "the younger brother you wish you had", and when, at age three, he was convinced my name was Bruce because that's what we all called each other back then. This, of course, was in reference to a Monty Python skit. Despite the fact that everyone was Bruce in our small circle, I was the only Bruce to Eric and when someone called me Dan, he spoke up by saying, "That's not Dan! It's Bruce!" Scott and I are the only ones from that group who still call each other Bruce to this day.
Anyone who knows a little something about Steve Earle knows he is a man of conviction. His political stances are fairly well documented and often provide the subject matter for his songs. However, I'm not going to discuss Earle's politics here, but I will commend him for one particular event that comes to mind. Scott, his girlfriend Sarah, Len and I had tickets to see him at Pearl Street in Northampton several years ago. Two or three songs into his headlining set, he stopped and said he couldn't continue. He was having problems with his voice and was unwilling to mail it in with a performance that didn't measure up to his high standards.
Everyone would get a full refund, less Ticketmaster charges of course, despite the fact that the opening act, Garrison Starr, had played a full set, so I'm sure that Earle ended up having to pay her. I'm not sure how much money he lost by not performing that night, but I'd definitely seen Jeff Tweedy endure voice-related problems at least twice and think nothing of it. Maybe this isn't such a big deal, but it proves to me that the Hard-Core Troubadour is a standup guy, and someone I still admire.
I've considered Neil Young to be the king of my musical world since the early 90's, but in the late 90's and early 00's, I frequently pondered the question of who played second fiddle. There are a few others who first came to mind when I would think about this, including Jay Farrar and a certain former alt-country icon turned indie singer-songwriter known as much for his spoiled brat attitude as anything else (more on him later), but shortly after the release of 2000's Transcendental Blues, I decided that Earle was the unsung hero in this discussion. He's since fallen from this perch, but he's still among just a handful of artists whom I've considered my second favorite. I rarely ever bother to consider this question anymore.
I Feel Alright would also introduce me to Lucinda Williams, on the amazing duet "You're Still Standing There", and it would also kick off a run of four consecutive albums by Earle that would land in my top ten. I'm pretty sure this is a record, although my taste was pretty narrowly focused during those years. All four of these albums, the aforementioned I Feel Alright and Transcendental Blues, as well as 1997's El Corazon and 1999's The Mountain (on which Earle collaborated with The Del McCoury Band) would take their turns at being my favorite album of his.
In 1999, on his tour with The Del McCoury Band, Len and I wore our Varnaline t-shirts to his show at the Somerville Theatre, for which we had seats in the second row but to the right of center stage. I had previously read an interview with Earle in which he stated that the two bands he most wanted to sign to his E-Squared label were Marah and Varnaline. He had already signed Marah, so we thought we would subtly advocate for Varnaline. I don't think he looked at us once. A week later, I saw him up close at the Newport Folk Festival. He was playing the main stage, but was hanging out talking and signing autographs for people near the side stage where his younger sister, Stacey, was playing. I didn't have my Varnaline shirt on, but Anders didn't need my support anyway, because he would eventually sign with Earle's label.
Scott's younger brother, Eric, came to the Somerville Theatre show with us. We had an extra ticket, so I called him fairly last minute and he came up from Plymouth on the Commuter Rail/Red line. He was in his late teens, but he still seemed psyched to be going to a show in a hip neighborhood with two of his older brother's best friends. This is one of my top three favorite Eric moments. The other two being when he signed the thank you card he sent me for his high school graduation gift, "the younger brother you wish you had", and when, at age three, he was convinced my name was Bruce because that's what we all called each other back then. This, of course, was in reference to a Monty Python skit. Despite the fact that everyone was Bruce in our small circle, I was the only Bruce to Eric and when someone called me Dan, he spoke up by saying, "That's not Dan! It's Bruce!" Scott and I are the only ones from that group who still call each other Bruce to this day.
Anyone who knows a little something about Steve Earle knows he is a man of conviction. His political stances are fairly well documented and often provide the subject matter for his songs. However, I'm not going to discuss Earle's politics here, but I will commend him for one particular event that comes to mind. Scott, his girlfriend Sarah, Len and I had tickets to see him at Pearl Street in Northampton several years ago. Two or three songs into his headlining set, he stopped and said he couldn't continue. He was having problems with his voice and was unwilling to mail it in with a performance that didn't measure up to his high standards.
Everyone would get a full refund, less Ticketmaster charges of course, despite the fact that the opening act, Garrison Starr, had played a full set, so I'm sure that Earle ended up having to pay her. I'm not sure how much money he lost by not performing that night, but I'd definitely seen Jeff Tweedy endure voice-related problems at least twice and think nothing of it. Maybe this isn't such a big deal, but it proves to me that the Hard-Core Troubadour is a standup guy, and someone I still admire.
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