Groovy warning to wayward youth

Had my head stuck in a fog the last few days. Concentration just keeps slipping away. Ironically, today I came across two separate articles about the ways people deal with the atomized attention span and ever-increasing distractions in today's world. I need to get better at that. I'm thinking one good way to clear the clutter and is to just put on something to keep my head bobbing. Nice and mellow. This track does the job nicely. Can't help but feel a little indicted myself by the lyrics. What a preachy old grampa Horace was as a young man. Still, he's got a point. Better get it together before I end up in jail.

Horace Andy - Skylarking

Into the woods

Safe in the arms of workday air-conditioning, I'm free to entertain my delusions of being an expert camper and nature-wanderer. I can forget inconvenient truths like allergies, my short attention span for dirt, and a mortal fear of sleeping near fire. But fictitious camping trips need real songs, and here's one I'd crank in the car, or at least while packing. I don't know much about these Wye Oak folks, but I dig the bong hit n' run dreaminess they've got going here. Also, I really like album covers where people are pointing at things.

Wye Oak - Warning

The kids are alright

Nothing ever seems to happen in order. In response to a serious Nuggets craving, did I reach for any of the seminal compilation's 4 amazing discs? Or the British sequel (which is actually superior, in my opinion)? Nope, it was Children of Nuggets that found its way onto the stereo. And you know, it almost measures up to its forebears. Sure, a lot of it is '80s bands with a garage fetish or a hankering to channel the strange magic of the mid-'60s. But those constraints are oddly liberating. Sometimes, it's best to not fret over innovation and just write a great song. Maybe that's why XTC did some of their best stuff when they masqueraded as the Dukes of Stratosphear. And maybe it's no accident that they lead off this comp.

But it was this track that snapped me to attention. It kicks in like "September Gurls" and rides a shining wave of sweet melodee for 3 heavenly minutes. Yup, these guys were totally unoriginal, totally inspired, and they are totally in control of my ears right now.

The Nashville Ramblers - The Trains

Oui!

Hello summer! That came fast. I was hoping to work through a proper spring, but it looks like we've leapfrogged into July. Here's a song from a band that always seems to pop up right around these temperatures. They're so solid nowadays, it's hard to even notice them. I remember being very excited about them back in the days when Chicago gave us indie rock rather than presidents. Languid and zippy, all feathery vox and exquisite arrangements, this one makes me want to ride through soft landscapes taking in all the air I can swallow.

The Sea and Cake - All the Photos

Pop goes the syncopation

They will never be hip, but King Crimson will always occupy a special place at Songblague, having come along at such an impressionable time in my youth. Each phase of the band's life is fascinating, unique, and absolutely worth digging into (with the exception of their descent into cheezy prog metal during this decade). I'm sure more of their stuff will find its way into this space.

Here's an offering from their gamelan-inspired, vaguely new wave-ish early-'80s incarnation. Which is as frustrating as all their other eras because you can hear them reaching for something truly inspired and very nearly, but not quite, capturing it. I guess that's inevitable when you start with an aim and then go about creating a musical language to embody it. Still, there's a lot to admire in that.

I like this track because it's probably their best go at turning their 'band as super-syncopated instrument' aesthetic into something resembling a pop song. And an '80s one at that. Give 'em credit. Those are synth drums, and they don't sound completely ridiculous. Belew's cruddy lyrics are another matter. Bring those vox down, Mr. Engineer!

King Crimson - Waiting Man

(While we're at it, here's some footage of these Crims laying down a real brain-burner in France.)

Season of the Mitch

Mitch Easter, that is. The man at the controls for some of the best jangle pop made in the 1980s. Let's Active was his own super hook-laden group. Their first EP and full-length are essential. It's a shame that they never got the fame that went to his buddies in REM. And these kids had a much better band name too. This track is sunshine and a full tank of gas.

Let's Active - Easy Does

Sweet soul aloft

Some songs cannot truly be appreciated until you hear them at cruising altitude. Flying over the Rockies, this one had me under a spell. I guess you need to see miles and miles of land laid bare to get a big enough frame for such soaring sentiments. Thanks to Funk My Soul for bringing these men to my attention.

The Notations - Make Me Twice the Man

Occasionally

Back from Arizona. A little jetlagged, a lot exhausted. Have to be brief with this one. I know it's not site-specific, but this tune stuck in my head for a good bit of the drive up to Sedona. Show these guys some posthumous love.

The Occasion - All Over Idaho

Vibin'

Wow, has there really been no jazz up in this space so far?! Let's get to remedying that. This one comes from that special mid-'60s transitional period that was all too short-lived. As much as I love the freeprov that began happening around this time, Hutcherson was really good at speaking the language of bop while artfully seeking ways to push it into new territory. And that tension is really the thing. Many musicians honestly don't have the vision and discipline to handle total freedom. Some critics say that when everything's possible, nothing means anything. I don't quite believe that, but forms and limitations certainly do a lot to spur creativity. Can't have solutions without problems.

Meanwhile, I really like the mental picture of New York circa 1965 that this track evokes. Mainstream jazz was art; guys like Bobby Hutcherson got regular paying gigs, and even the rascals wore suits.

Bobby Hutcherson - Components

Cover me (Ukrainian edition)

If you're gonna cover the Smiths, you'd better bring your A-game. (Cue mental picture of the Mozzer going one-on-one with Kobe Bryant.) By the high standard we demand for anyone taking up the challenge, these boys come at it from left field and absolutely nail it. They've got a 4-song EP of Smiths adaptations. It's well worth seeking out, but I think this is the best of the batch. Makes me want to down my beer in one gulp and flail around the hinterlands.

Does anyone speak Ukrainian? Have these Ukrainians changed the lyrics to address Eastern concerns? I will barter for a translation.

The Ukrainians - Batyar (Bigmouth Strikes Again)

Cover me

I admit, I'm still a sucker for Mark Kozelek's music, even at its most emotionally raw. And I'm always amazed at his ability to draw the same intensity out of other people's songs. Who'd have thought a fairly minor Cars tune could sound so epic and heartfelt? Slowed down, stripped down, it opens wide, with a voice somber and beautiful like a cello. It's so good you can almost forgive him licensing it for a Gap ad.

Red House Painters - All Mixed Up

Desolation nation

Hearing bits of dub in post-punk is never much of a surprise. But it's something else when they really get the expansiveness and textures without trying to cop all those dancehall moves. This track is just so visual. You can almost see the gray smoke and faded industry. And is that 7/8 time? Aww, you guys...

Swell Maps - Big Empty Field

Giant steps

Going on 10 years, the Walkmen are a pillar of their community — critically-approved, steady draw, good work ethic. They deserve it; their body of work is reliably interesting. But it used to shock. Approaching the end of the 'aughts, I think it's worth high-fiving some of the music that defined its landscape.

These guys know atmosphere, tension, and of course, the rawk too. This may be the finest statement of the case, brimming with confidence and newness. It's 2001, but who needs paranoid computers in space! The ingredients are traditional, but it's one of those reminders that rock can always sound fresh when fresh minds are around.

And that guitar strike at 3.43! It's one of my favorite rock n' roll moments. Seriously. Like a shiny screwdriver in your ear; you never saw it coming.

The Walkmen - Wake Up

Memory

OK, a notebook. But what's in it? Is it a diary, quiet and interior, a canvas for little melodramas that pass like weather? Or just a trail of information scraps, literal notes of mental processes quickly forgotten, the consequences recorded elsewhere or nowhere at all? Can one resemble the other?

Goldmund - In a Notebook

Atlas

You never know when a record is going to take on meaning well beyond its ambition. The Coast Is Never Clear is a superb pop album, with smart, bummed-out lyrics cutting nicely against exuberant, deftly-ornamented arrangements. And then they had to go release it on September 11, 2001.

My friend Thomas once told me about driving cross-country from California to begin his life in New York, this album accompanying much of the journey. Tumbling buildings and transcontinental relocation, the title gaining all kinds of wrinkles. It's a lot of weight to put on the shoulders of an album that just wants to wallow in the anguish of love.

Beulah - Popular Mechanics For Lovers

(There's a nice live version too, with extra rock in the chorus. Give it a watch.)

Put your body on

There's something in the air. Hard to pin down, but it always happens around this time of year. All sorts of strange vibrations, a bubbling up, a gathering of momentum that will end up shot in too many directions in the hazy, disorienting summer. But this is the promising part, like discovering new muscles and setting yourself in motion. I think this song captures a little of that surging sense. And is that a whiff of "Running Up That Hill" I'm catching in the vox?

Gang Gang Dance - House Jam

Hot mishigoss

What red-blooded American can watch The Taking of Pelham One Two Three and not be totally smitten? Seeing it again recently, I was struck by how essential the music is to the movie's character - the audio equivalent of Walter Matthau's gotcha face in the closing shot (which, in my humble opinion, should be placed on the dollar bill). Groovy, jittery, and a little skronky, it can soundtrack my subway ride any time.

Unfortunately, I also saw the trailer for the forthcoming remake, the main ambition of which is seemingly to prove that it's possible to suck the soul out of just about anything. All the more reason to cherish the awesomeness of Mr. Shire.

David Shire - End Title

Three o'clock high

Like magic and pornography, the question of the perfect pop song defies rational debate. Encountering one demands a pause to consider the accomplishment — the elements fitting in just the right places, the decisions all wise, the ending that comes just soon enough to make you want to hear it right over again.

Some physicists talk about multiple universes happening in parallel, and I think each must have its own perfect pop song, or maybe several, depending on the subcultures. In the cosmos of early-'80s cool-dork America, this is the anthem I stand up for.

The Three O'Clock - On My Own

Majestic lady

Cheyenne Fowler's got some powerlungs. Google tells me that she was a Native-American soul sensation who somehow failed to set the world aflame. An injustice on the scale of Sacco and Vanzetti, I'd say.

This song has 1976 written all over it, and I guess it would've sounded best in a place like Philadelphia, pre-Rocky - wintertime, dirty, full of despair, sideburns, and brown leather jackets. In my imaginary movie, it's being performed in the club scene, where the protagonists either get killed, fall in love, or hatch a plan to leave town with the loot and their lives.

Dig the brain-melting guitar solo at 1:27. Makes me desperately want to know how to play guitar solos.

Cheyenne - Come Back to Me

Ghost in the machine

Ariel Pink's aesthetic has been well-characterized. My variation - hook-laden neon lite rock recorded in a laundry machine by a pack of feral orphans. In another dimension. The graffiti haunts effortlessly.

I saw him play last night and found myself fixated on how slight a figure he cuts. It started as he was preening for groupies in the will-call line. But on stage, it was full-on ridiculous. He's like a man in miniature, scrawny with long, thin, greasy hair and a budding beer gut. Seemingly smaller than the instruments on stage. Fashion-wise, he looked like he'd be more at home nervously pacing around an off-track betting joint.

The weirdest thing about the show was how normal it sounded. Backed up by a very rehearsed 4-piece rock outfit, he traversed all his spooky musical corridors. It sounded amazing and epic, but having such a pro-sounding band kinda undermined the original appeal - the disorienting confluence of bygone hookiness and nightmarish 4-track hiss oblivion. Whatever. I was happy to be rocked in this particular way. Here's how it sounds when committed to tape. And yes, I think we're talking actual tape.

Ariel Pink - Gray Sunset

Stay young forever

Putting on a Cocteau Twins record at regular intervals will keep you from getting old. I don't know why, but it's true. Even if it won't do much for your tan. As always, I have no idea what Elizabeth Fraser is singing about, but I'm genuinely moved. Excuse me, I have to go disintegrate now.

Cocteau Twins - Fifty Fifty Clown

Guilty pleasure minus the guilt

I never much cared for the Strokes. Among other things, how rock n' roll can you really be when your father gave the world this piece of a.m. gold? A fine song to be sure, but it puts the kids' denim n' leather schtick in a showbiz frame I don't think they'd like to acknowledge. True true, they've written some catchy tunes. Even if they sound better when Christina Aguilera is substituted in.

But I digress. No Strokes today. Instead, we've got a tune from one of those bands that sprang up in their wake and probably wouldn't have had much of an audience without them. I admit I have a strange soft spot for me-too groups. Especially ones with crappy names and atrocious taste in album cover art. Such handicaps notwithstanding, these sprites managed to produce this foxy little toe-tapper a few years back.

The Cribs - You Were Always the One