Easy Questions

Since I listen to NPR on the morning and evening drive and like it, I'm bummed that its music blogs are so dumb. I admire Carrie Brownstein, but her Monitor Mix and the All Songs Considered blog try to get elicit response by asking people for their pet peeves, and overlooked songs, and albums due for reissue, and music-themed amusement park rides. It works, but wouldn't it be better if smart people like Brownstein, Bob Boilen and Robin Hilton actually put interesting thoughts into the world for people to consider and respond to?

Meaning is Overrated

My wife tends to make up her own lyrics to songs she hears. They sound right to her, and they're what she thinks the singer is singing, but they're often wrong. On the occasions when I tell her what they really are - which isn't always - she's often annoyed because she likes hers better. I often do to.

We're in no danger of dealing with this conundrum, though, when listening to This is Love Psychedelico (Hacktone). It looks like a hits collection for the popular Japanese band; I have "Your Song" and "Lady Madonna, U-Utsu-Naru Spider" on a Japan Night comp from South by Southwest from 2001, and those songs and "Last Night" date back to 2000. The duo's knack for melodies drawn from the British Invasion and California '70s rock invite you to try to sing along, and Kumi's relatively fluent English pronounciation makes the transition from Japanese to English mid-line almost seamless. Because of that, it's tempting to try to substitute English homophones for Japanese words, and the English words and phrases that end the lines give you reason to think your words are right.

The tunes and the charismatic Kumi (blood type O, I learned from their Web site) makes the songs work, but the garage textures provided by Naoki (also O) give the songs weight. Hopefully, This is Love Pyschedelico will give someone a reason to keep mining 'Delico's catalog. After listening to it, I went to YouTube and found another handful of songs worth paying attention to. Start here.

The Voting Question

I've wondered aloud here a few times what characteristics we really vote for. What traits move us to vote as we do? Michael Kinsley addresses this question with regard to Al Franken's run for the Senate:

This year a professional jokester, Al Franken (a Democrat), is challenging a professional politician, incumbent Norm Coleman (a Republican), for a Senate seat from Minnesota. Not every joke Franken wrote or told over a third of a century in the joke business was hilarious, OK? Minnesota voters will have to decide whether their dislike of professional politicians trumps their enjoyment in taking umbrage or vice versa. Coleman is a man of no interest, a run-of-the-mill political hypocrite who started out as a standard-issue long-haired student rebel leader on Long Island in the 1960s and surfed the zeitgeist: Now he is a standard-issue pro-war, tax-cut Republican. Franken, by contrast, needs no introduction and would be one of the most interesting people in the Senate from day one. Interesting isn't the most important quality in a senator. Honest, smart, and (for my taste) liberal are more important. But interesting would be nice.

Like any poll of people's dental habits, I suspect we say what we think is the right answer rather than the real answer when asked about our voting habits. Are we really voting on the issues, or did we - well, not me, but you know what I mean - vote for Bush because we knew people that we thought were like him? Someone nice enough who never made you feel stupid?

Lost Classic? Really?

Is it possible that a classic Chicago album was recorded after the mid-'70s? Is it possible a classic Chicago album was recorded? That's the hype for Chicago XXXII: Stone of Sisyphus (again, are you serious? XXXII? Sisyphus?) Amazon's "Editorial Reviews" read:

Product Description
"Sisyphus has attained legendary status among rock critics, Chicago fans, those who’ve heard parts of it and those who have only read about it." —from liner notes by Bill DeYoung

Formed in its namesake city in 1967, Chicago is the first American band ever to propel albums into Billboard®’s pop Top 40 for five consecutive decades, and is among the most successfully charting U.S.-grown acts of all time. Now, another page in the band’s history is revealed with the long-awaited release of Stone Of Sisyphus, the once shelved album that has attained legendary status among fans and critics alike. Recorded in 1993 and originally intended as Chicago XXII, the disc marked a return to the genre-transcending, adventurous fusion of sounds that defined the group’s 1970s-era heyday. Three tracks from it surfaced on Rhino’s 2003 Chicago box, but the album itself is previously unissued—now, this momentous release also features four incredibly rare bonus tracks.

If this is a lost classic, "classic" has suffered a conceptual demotion. It might not all sound like Chicago, but a lot of it does, and the tracks that don't sound like other MOR bands. We must all remember: obscure does not equal good.

A-Trak, take one

I was just listening to the Aural Exciters' "Marathon Runner" from Kid Creole's The August Darnell Years, and I'm not sure which would motivate me to exercise more - the cooing of disco dollies or the percolating beats of A-Trak's "Running Man," the latest in the series of 45-minute workout soundtracks commissioned by Nike. Since I need an oxygen tank at second base if I try to leg out a double in softball, I'm not going to put either track to the test.

I'm interested in A-Trak's mix, but I haven't listened to it for longer than 15 or so minutes yet so I'm not ready to pass judgment yet. On iTunes, though, one exerciser reviewed it, writing - and I quote - "I bought it yesterday, and I was running with it. I think it's totally cool. When I done my bodywork, I feel very laxative."

We Agree! We Agree!

At Carrie Brownstein's "Monitor Mix," she bemoans the crappy results of iPod shuffle. She writes:

Additionally, by placing the songs in a horrible sequence, iPod shuffle highlights the weaknesses of one's music collection instead of the strengths. After a few bad songs in a row, I begin to second-guess my taste in music. Why, for instance, do I still have that one Ludacris song on there, or entire albums by Mastodon, Journey, or The Magic Numbers when all I need is a handful of songs? Also, there seems to be too much Beatles and Roxy Music and not nearly enough Wilco or Springsteen. And why play only my least favorite songs by my favorite bands?

Not surprisingly, those who have commented on her blog entry all agree with her. I'm interested in Brownstein's blog, but too often the vibe I get from the readers is 'Me and Carrie from Sleater-Kinney agree,' so I don't spend much time reading the comments.

I've had unpleasant shuffling experiences as well. Mine became fixated on 1980s Joni Mitchell, stuff I put on the iPod with the hope that a new context would make me like it more. Those Joni tracks aren't there anymore, but in general, I've enjoyed hearing songs in odd contexts, and I've found contexts that make songs stand out that I thought were minor on the albums they came from. And compensating for my iPod's love of Joni is its ability to find its way back to John Cale's Vintage Violence or anything by Nikki Sudden.

And I've discovered why so much third tier, regional R&B didn't find a bigger audience. Heard next to each other, rare groove tracks, songs from the Night Train to Nashville sets and tunes from the Eccentric Soul series seem like cool variations on the themes that produced hits. Heard in a more eclectic context, their generic natures becomes clearer.

Early in the piece, Brownstein articulates the promise of shuffle as "an endless radio station that only plays your music," and at the end, she challenges readers to see if they like or can even tolerate the first five selections made by their iPod shuffle. I'd challenge readers to find a radio station that plays five songs in a row that they like, and if they find it, I want to know about it.

"Louisiana 1927"

From my recent comment on New Orleans' embrace of "Louisiana 1927" for the L.A. Weekly:

Like so many Newman songs, “Louisiana 1927” is tough to pin down as it moves from a narrator dramatically documenting the flood, to a chorus sung by the flood victims, to an account of President Coolidge’s chilly response to the flooding: “Little fat man, isn’t it a shame what the river has done to this poor cracker’s land.” The politician is insulting, even when sympathizing, and the first verses and chorus are there to set up the satire of a callous, indifferent government — one that spoke to the song’s Nixonian moment as much as Coolidge’s administration.

Obviously, it’s also spot-on today. Much has been made of the photo of Bush during the fly-over, but little has been written about the way the airspace had to be cleared of rescue helicopters before Air Force One could swing by for a look-see. Bush didn’t simply just offer platitudes in the face of disaster the way Newman’s Coolidge did; he actively obstructed the rescue effort for a photo op.

Thanks to Randall Roberts at the weekly, who put in all the cool video in the posting that I'm (so far) too lazy to do here.