December242011
I got to thinking. Great first words, usually the start of an unabashed rambling narrative of naivete. They’re the beginning to monologues fueled by evenings of recreational drug use. The kind of stories that have no concise sense of ending.
There I was in the shower and I got to thinking. The great think tank of the western world: the shower. How many breakthroughs, brainstorms, epiphanies, eurekas, ah-has, moments of clarity, consolations, resolutions, ultimatums, and imaginary arguments have been waged within its echoing walls? Countless I’m sure. In the shower there is a sense of freedom, a ritualistic shedding of our outer layers. It’s the kind of freedom that allows us to sing without reservation.
So there I was in the shower and I got to thinking that we try to coerce our lives into a greater narrative, trying to find those Hollywood moments. The perfect script, actors, lighting, and staging. Surely those moments exist. We have all born witness to profound moments of pleasure and pain. But often the greater context is lost on us until much later. It is in the afterglow that these moments show their true weight. And even as we recall these capstones of ourselves the experience is less immediate: we view them in the terms of movies.
I got to thinking that the true measure of time are the seemingly insignificant moments. I find them much easier to return to. I cannot recall the first I-love-yous or paradigm shifts in my life with much detail. But I can always return to the late morning awakenings bathed in the afternoon sun as she and I would race to the end of the crossword, neither one of us very good at it on our own. But together? We were a force to be reckoned with. I recall silent yet content drives. Stealing glances in the long stretches between headlights. Not a word shared, just a quiet happiness.
This was years ago. And I’ve moved on. I am not in love anymore. But these moments are indelible. They are burned into my memory. And as such I can return to them at will. There is a pattern to life, rich beyond our understanding. The human brain does not comprehend concepts like finite or infinite with much success. So the greater narrative melts away. What is left, what we can grasp, are those small mundane moments. Those glances. Those mornings.
Hold these moments close. They are yours.
November222011
There was a last cigarette left smoldering in the ashtray, strands of smoke dancing towards the ceiling. The needle found its way towards the center of America. Slow notes plucked growing and glowing raw in the dim light of evening. The rain’s percussive pitter-patter punctuated the weekend. I sat head spinning looking for something to say. There must have been a story that needed retelling. Ah yes, whiskey. The glass. Three ice cubes. I rubbed my foot, my heel left bruised by the blocks of midwestern asphalt. The miles accrued and the odometer climbed but I was really just looking for a ride back to town. To the familiarity of days gone by.
The phone rings.
-Hey…
-Hi John. Everything alright?
The telephone and John are not compatible. He is a man of few words, preferring to communicate with his eyes. Those dull glowing neon signs announcing the content of his soul.
-Uh, yeah. I just wanted…
-Go on.
-I wanted to let you know something.
-Ok John, what?
-Well, I just wanted to say its raining. You should take the time to be quiet and listen. Just listen.
And he hung up. Abrupt as ever. That’s the kind of guy John is, always trying to slow down the rush of modern life. Some call him primitive, I call him home.
July152011
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Low - Dinosaur Act - 4:12
Sadness and emotional solitude are viewed with such vehement stigma. Positive psychology posits sole responsibility on the individual for not willing good fortune with fake sunshiny shit-eating smiles. But happiness and sadness are two sides of the same coin and given enough flips it is natural and expected to land on the other side. Low makes music that celebrates those inevitable low moments. Music that revels in the darkness, that refills the empty bottle and that is, in a strange way, comforting. Comforting because fighting the onset of sadness has been done so long it is ineffective and meaningless; a dinosaur act if you will.
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March132011
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Smog - Ex-Con - 3:35
‘Ex-Con’ appears on, and was the only single from, Red Apple Falls. This predates Bill Callahan’s current obsession with stark minimalism but upon listening the foundation remains the same: Callahan’s brazen baritone. The staccato piano juxtaposes beautifully with the fluidity of Callahan’s vocals. The timbre and effortless cadence of his voice stands out amid all other instruments. He commands attention and trust, a lo-fi preacher of sorts.
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March92011
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The Marlboro Chorus - The Discoverers - 3:10
Poor poor Patrick Stolley. Better known for recording other (Ed.: More famous) musicians at Daytrotter, his ability as a performer often gets overlooked. And this is a shame because, lets face it, the man writes good songs. With The Marlboro Chorus we hear less of the unrestrained structure and energy of his previous band, The Multiple Cat, in favor of a more traditional pop/rock influence. This is not a bad thing. Stolley is a little older and a little wiser. While we would all like to sustain the energy of youth, at a certain point we graduate from being old young-people to young old-people. Its inevitable and it is necessary to adjust accordingly. Yes, Stolley’s music has matured. And yes, it’s still good.
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January192011
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Sackville - Good Citizen - 3:27
This is Gabe Levine and his Montreal band channeling Will Oldham, a struggle that usually results in mediocrity. But here Sackville displays some deft mimicry. Good Citizen, the most straightforward pop track off of their 1997 release “These Last Songs,” rolls along with a fantastic arpeggiated hook and lyrics that are more musical than intelligible. The song builds to a climax of violin, guitar and voice; the interaction between the three is perfect. Sackville never received much recognition and broke up in 2000, narrowly missing the ensuing folk-pop/alt-country revival.
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January142011
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Polvo - In This Life - 4:05
The term math-rock congers images of nerds with guitars hunched over pieces of paper, working on their arrangements to surgical precision. And there is little doubt that Polvo vocalist/guitarists Ash Bowie and Dave Brylawski have given truth to this image, but math-rock was a misnomer from the start. The band never displayed the musicianship and theoretical background that true math-rock requires. In reality the term was used in reference to Polvo when music critics could not adequately describe their sound. The non-conventional arrangements, angular guitars wed in dissonant harmony, and polished-yet-still-somehow-sloppy style were reminiscent of math-rock, but Polvo’s ability to write a good pop hook set them apart.
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November32010
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The Wrens - I’ve Made Enough Friends - 2:49
Track 12 off The Wrens oft-forgotten second album Secaucus (the album was shelved for not being adequately radio-friendly and the label pursued other “talent” signing and facilitating Creed’s career). This is the sex anthem of 90’s indie rock. The instrumentation, in congruence with Charles Bissell’s lyrics, builds from the mild flirtation of male posturing to the excitement and sensory rush of someone’s bed. It’s after the track’s titular declaration “I’ve made enough friends” that The Wrens display some of what are my favorite vocal harmonies in modern music. The climax is chill inducing. As listeners we are participants in this romantic encounter and, unfortunately, it disappears abruptly leaving only it’s lingering memory.
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October252010
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Gin Blossoms - Hey Jealousy - 3:30
This is one that has been tumbling around tumblr lately. Let me start off by saying that I don’t particularly like the Gin Blossoms. But I do really think that Doug Hopkins was a good songwriter and crafted a near perfect pop song in “Hey Jealousy.” The song is good; the story sad. Hopkins, who played guitar, was kicked out of the band immediately after recording their major label debut. His drinking was the problem. The band went on to get famous from the songs that he wrote. The success of his former band in addition to his alcoholism spun him into a quick decline. Doug Hopkins shot himself in the head two weeks after receiving a gold record for “Hey Jealousy.”
This version of the song is off of their pre-major label album Dusted. It is looser, quicker and holds the promise of a band before excessive studio intervention.
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