Category Archives: Song Highlight

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Thinking is Overrated

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Broken“If I can keep myself from thinking for the rest of my life, maybe I’ll survive this fall.” – Jeffrey Lewis

Jeffrey Lewis, the famed comic book artist and occasional singer / songwriter delivers an exceptionally agonizing diddy filled with a deceivingly optimistic tone, catchy refrain, and the sliver-sharp wit that requires, no, DEMANDS repeated listens. Titled Broken Broken Broken Heart, Jeffrey Lewis and his backing band, The Junkyard, spawn a candy-coated razorblade of nervous sensitivity, discretely masked inside an anti-folk pop song, and it’s nothing short of blissful ear bourbon.

JLewisWe aren’t meant to sympathize with Mr. Lewis, or whatever character he is when speaking in the first person. His over-analytical observations of (failed) relationship-causing pain are muted and all but ignored after evidence is revealed as to the cause of his (much deserved) heartache: being cruel and curious.

I’m stuck in a Jeffrey Lewis rutt as of late, and it seems as though a few times a day I need to squeeze in a quick listen, usually to the three or four key tracks off this album (2009’s ‘Em Are I). Jeffrey’s is a story of success by self-deprecation. Mix that with hooky guitars and soul-baring honesty, and you’ve got the ingredients for an emotional cocktail you’re not soon to forget.

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Death by Trolley

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PJ'sBand name: Death by Trolley aka DBT. Does it exist? No, but it should. Do any of you remember the Twilight Zone episode, Judgment Night? For those that don’t, it’s a microscope peak into the looping, déjà vu hell of a German U-boat captain forever reliving the victim’s side of his own, malicious, and blood spilling attacks. For me, a death by trolley, accompanied by Eddie Cano’s version of The Trolley Song, is my own personal night of judgment.

The hit and run victim to this proposed, personal death loop, I picture myself merrily strolling along with a carefree heart, and a suspicious smile. All this is abruptly interrupted at around the 30 second mark when, WHAM! out of nowhere I’m violently struck by the Death Trolley. Able to force out a few, labored breaths, I accept my fate, and proceed to give in to the sweet, calming void of death… only for the entire trip to loop and begin its eternal cycle, that which has no end.

Eddie Cano plays my end song, a duet with the booming, forceful abruptness of the Death Trolley.

The Trolley Song

 

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3x MC + 1x DJ

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Front16hr work days call for lazy posts… and right now the lot of you are thinking, “Man, this guy must work 16hr days ALL THE TIME!” To that I say, “Well aren’t you just a little slice of something.” By now the majority of you know my adolescent obsession with the Beastie Boys, and if you don’t know this little tidbit of useless information, I have an adolescent obsession with the Beastie Boys.

BAck1998 was a bittersweet year for the B-Boy fan, a year that brought with it borderline anxiety-ridden anticipation, and (the almost inevitable) heartbreaking disappointment. We received a Grammy for Best Alternative Performance with Hello Nasty, if you’re into such materialistic badges of mundane stature, but with it we had to suffer through, well, Hello Nasty. My echoing opposition of this album has dwindled as I’ve aged, but my early disliking to it certainly didn’t prevented me from owning it (a necessary) three times (1x CD, 1x yellow vinyl, 1x black), in addition to all the singles that accompanied it (Intergalactic, Body Movin’, The Negotiation Limerick File, and Remote Control / Three MC’s and One DJ). Don’t ask “why” of people who obsess. You certainly do not want to see how the sausage is made. Moving along, Three MC’s and One DJ showcased the awe-inspiring talents of the band’s newly acquired DJ, Mix Master Mike. I dug / dig the new DJ (you can’t knock his skills), but I’ve always preferred the traditional cuts of DJ Hurricane, the band’s mainstay DJ since their Licensed to Ill days.

Anyway, this video is 3 parts goofy, 1 part technically fascinating, and all parts good time. When we’re tired, and lazy, the Beastie Boys always seem like the logical excuse. Enjoy!

 

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First You Love Me, Then You Get on Down the Line

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FleetwoodMonday mornings are about as celebratory as striking a 10d x 3in nail through your foot, but that didn’t stop the newly formed supergroup (circa: 1975), Fleetwood Mac, from churning out a righteous soundtrack that pairs perfectly with a stiff cup of joe on this, the beginnings of another working week.

Written by Lindsey Buckingham, Monday Morning launches the 1975 self-titled album (the band’s second… self-titled that is), and features, for the first time, the inclusion of the now defunct, but once romantic pair, Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks.

Monday MorningMonday morning you look so fine… so long as Mick Fleetwood and crew are pumping groove-juiced energy through the speakers, Monday mornings look a’okay.

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Post #450 aka Dust it Off and Jerk It

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Jerk ItComfort answers to no fashion Queen, and raunchy, sex-minded, worked-tongue-wiping, paid-lap-dance-dirty, baby-makin’ pelvic beats answer to no, conventional, receptive ear. Thunderheist, the Toronto based, globally minded, five-year international outbreak, very much like the cheese, stands alone. None match their sex = sex + more sex-resolved, blood-churning, infectious rhythms, and none do it so devilishly glamorous.

Words… that these are, do absolutely no justice to the concrete weight that, Grahmzilla and Isis effortlessly exhale with every gasping, rhythmic beat present in every one of these five, remixed (save for one) tempting trax.

If it ain’t dirty, it ain’t Thunderheist.

Editor’s note: For this, my 450th post, I’d like to thank global warming, overly-sensitive neighbors, and hangover victims, but seriously, I’ll thank the unspoken will that fuels so many able, and socially alienated victims… affordable whisky. Dust it off, dear frequenters of PG nonsense… dust it off and jerk it.

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Burn On

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Sail AwayNative American for “crooked river,” the Cuyahoga spans 100 or so miles, twisting and bending through Ohio state shores, until it unloads into Lake Erie, the scariest of the Great Lakes. The river is famous for catching fire a reported 13 times since 1868, and is the subject of Randy Newman’s 1972 rolling, Baroque pop classic, Burn On.

Burn OnInspiration comes from many, varied mediums. Today’s post was influenced by last night’s movie of the week, the 1989 baseball classic Major League. Set in Cleveland, Ohio, the film’s opening features the serene, everyday life of the city’s residents set to the backdrop of Mr. Newman’s fiery piano rolls. Baseball, and therefore summer lingers in the air, as does the faint, distant smell of a glorious, polluted river engulfed in flames.

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A Recipe to Die for!

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RecipeDirected by Nathanial Hörnblowér (MCA aka Adam Yauch’s behind the camera alias), the Body Movin’ video, a farcical exploration into the fascinating, yet nonsensical action-adventure-thriller, was the 2nd single off the band’s 1998 Hello Nasty album, as well as the follow up to the widely received radio smash, Intergalactic. The B-Boys have long been known for their outrageous music videos (1989’s Hey Ladies comes to mind), but in my opinion, nothing tops the grandiose scale of a ninja Ad-Rock sword fighting with a monocle sporting, P-Jam wearing MCA for a diabolical fondue recipe. Anyway, it’s worthy of a watch, so here goes… happy Wednesday!

RIP MCA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DV-mrqlMBi8

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BP b/w P

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BPBlack Powder b/w Punkture by French / American duo Motor is a simple, yet hard hitting EBM / Tech-NOH two-track 12” from Novamute records, and I’m proud to say was, without a hint of shameful regret, a record that seldom left the platter back in early 2007. Released in 2006 along with their debut album, Klunk, Black Powder is perfect for turning your office into a Vegas after party in just under two minutes (rhythmic light wands not included). Motor’s brand of filthy dance, four on the floor beats are certainly nothing new, but WELL worth getting into.

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We’re Nookie-Bound

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MeatballsSince you asked, the hands-down greatest camp song ever written goes something like this:

We are the C.I.T.’s so pity us,

The kids are brats the food is hideous,

We’re gonna’ smoke and drink and fool around.

We’re nookie-bound.

We’re the North Star C.l.T.’s.

If you’ve never been to summer camp, or don’t remember one of the greatest scenes in the 1979 Ivan Reitman film, Meatballs, then you, my friend, have never experienced summer.

Alright, that may be a bit harsh, but for someone who grew up with this film (my parents had dubbed it onto the same VHS as Stripes… they will forever be related, the ultimate 6-year-old double feature), this scene, and this song in particular, has driven in its stakes and popped a permanent tent into the dust-covered, brush-rattling, creek-rolling, open-air, tree-covered corners of my psyche. It’s always summer up there, and this is its theme.

I still get goosebumps when listening to this song, and every time it’s welcomed with a smile. I hope you enjoy.

 

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Gotta Get Up

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Nilsson SchmilssonAs I fought inevitability this morning in an epic battle of comfort vs. responsibility, the lyrics to Gotta Get Up by Harry Nilsson began to loop inside my groggy head like a snooze-less alarm. I have no shame admitting my adolescent experience with the mighty Mr. Nilsson, having just “discovered” him via means of the sobering documentary, Who is Harry Nilsson (and Why is Everybody Talkin’ About Him?).

Call me a newcomer, a sap-hearted seedling, or a punk-eared Johnny-come-lately. Call me whatever you wish, just remember to call me a fan of Harry Nilsson.

 

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Gratitude Village

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GratitudeThe brothers three, AKA the Beastie Boys, followed up their 1989 (critically hailed, and historically beloved) flop, Paul’s Boutique by moving from NYC to northeast Los Angeles where they would record their instrumentally diverse, and genre-shredding third album, Check Your Head. Gratitude, one of the albums’ five singles, features the crew goofin’ under the Atwater Village sign, which has now become an immediate nerd-tour destination spot for yours truly.

BackTwo quick things and then I’ll be out of your hair. 1) Having been introduced to the b-boys back in Wisconsin, I had no Earthly idea to think of visiting the Atwater Village sign once I finally got my ass to LA. On a side note, I currently live only 13 from it, a stark contrast from the 2008 miles from where I first heard this song. 2) Gratitude is an essential buy if only for the unreleased joker, Honky Rink. I won’t go into details, but it involves a facetious announcement for white-only skaters at a local ice rink. Check your head, and this out.

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Eye of the Calico Cat

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EyesWould Rocky III still be considered the single greatest motion picture achievement had it not featured Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger?  This seemingly innocent question has been the catalyst for civil wars throughout many Philly-loving cliques since this song’s release back in 1982. Did Robert “Rocky” Balboa have enough momentum going for him with the victorious releases of Rocky and Rocky II (1976 and 1979), or can the silver-screen-crowning-victory-belt be awarded to the Chicago-based arena rockers? A solid case for both parties can be made, but what matters most here is Rocky III. For without Rocky III, the world would not be blessed with Rocky IV, Rocky V, or even the 2006 rehash, Rocky Balboa. Is that the kind of world you’d like to live in? It certainly isn’t one I’d want to live in. Thank you, Rocky III, for all that’s right with the world.

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Don’t Miss the Train

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Train in Vain18 tracks weren’t enough for the illustrious London Calling, the third studio album by the legendary misfits of genre-bending punks, The Clash. Unofficially hidden, or rather lopped on after the appropriate concluder Revolution Rock, the third and final single stemming forth from this prodigious album, Train in Vain (not unlike a retaliatory missile, or the first bullet fired during a revolutionary riot), was originally written and recorded as a giveaway track for the publication NME (or New Musical Express… I just found out), and was to be released as a flexi-disc single through the magazine… something that, for whatever reason, never came to be.

Certainly not news to the astute a-Clash-ionado, this little nugget of info explains why London Calling ends perfectly (with Revolution Rock), then spits out an unscheduled, and unwanted encore with Train in Vain. This is certainly not to say TiV is a song of lesser listening value, rather its inclusion on London Calling, or its position therein rustles the feathers of album perfection. Since London Calling is the closest thing to a perfect album as is (save maybe for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, This is Tim Hardin, The Shape of Punk to Come, Paul’s Boutique, Circa: Now!, The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society, or Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde) it really doesn’t matter.

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Come With Us, and Leave Your Earth Behind AKA Post #400

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Come With UsCome With Us is an explosion of heart-stopping, blood-bursting, mind-altering dance music even your mom can get behind. No prescription is needed to ride this 2002 rager. Part submerged sonar ping, part stress-inducing orchestral outbreak, this three-track single is a marathon run at sprinting speeds where sweat falls to the ground with impeccable rhythm.

I have yet to hear a Chem Bros track that I didn’t fall in love with. They’re much like Creedence in that regard. It is a personal goal (quite easily an obsession) to own every record The Chemical Brothers ever released. This, like any and every other Chem Bros release comes deeply recommended.

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Sick Rick Day 2

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Mystic Sampler No. 1Still fighting off whatever head-pressing virus has decided to camp out amongst the deserted prairie that is my weakened immune system, today’s contagious groove come from the 1984 Mystic Records Sampler #1 and Ill Repute’s Book and It’s Cover.

The Nardcore kings of hardcore punk, Oxnard, CA’s Ill Repute come with an in-your-face approach to the classic conception, “don’t judge a book by its cover.” I’m desperately searching for ways with which to attribute this philosophical approach to the name of the band (Ill Repute) and my current haze (sickness), but alas… none doin’ (this medication is causing a thick cloud of fog to form between my ear canals).

Band BioI really hope I’m better by tomorrow… otherwise I’ll be forced to tackle one of the two remaining Ills: either Licenced to, or Communication.

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I Caught A Good One. It Looked Like it Could Run.

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MartyI’ve found, that in my 34 years experience on this revolving rock, that the best (read: only) way to experience Texas is through song. Personal politics aside (for now), Marty Robbins’ tenderly told ballad of haunting devastation, albeit now 55 years old, still manages to jerk a hidden tear or two from this sappy, heavyhearted lover of Western ballads.

Little more screams unquestionable masculinity than a gunfighter, dressed in black, poised and ready to maim a potential opponent, while he stands endlessly noble over a flamboyant (and there’s nothing wrong with that) sea of hot pink. Displayed on my vinyl-papered bedroom wall for years, Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs successfully manages to steer that sturdy steed along the fine line between sensitivity and unchallenged storytelling. I know that for a lot of people, Western really isn’t their ideal choice for a hog-killin’ time, and believe me, I used to lasso that sentiment myself, but given the song’s history, coupled with the beautifully told ballad of lost love, I’ve concluded that, at least for me, El Paso is a legitimate cry from an otherwise worthless state.

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Your Pedestal’s Your Prison, and So is Your High

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Train TracksSo as to dismiss my feelings of guilt and laziness, and to sustain any modicum of respectability I probably no longer possess, today’s suggested listen comes from Jim & Ingrid Croce. Spin, Spin, Spin is a depressingly sweet number featuring the short lived husband and wife duo lamenting the painful distraction of drugs, and the underlying consequences that inevitably tag along. Especially heartbreaking is hearing Mr. Croce sing:

But where are you spinnin’

When will you know

That life is for livin’

That it isn’t a show

Dead at age 30, Mr. Croce left so much astounding work unfinished. This haunting song lives as a fruitful example of how timeless this artist’s songwriting ability has become, and cries for the deserving respect that fuels the thoughts of wonderful things that may have been. RIP Mr. Croce.

Spin

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Describe, Desire, Defile, Deny

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Pencil CrassI have very little time this morning (which unsurprisingly turned into late evening), so I’m going to get right to the point. Crass. That’s my point. To sum up something as historically imperative as Crass would be beyond devastating… so here goes: Dangerously accurate art punk done right.

Because I know the majority of you don’t care for in-your-face social snarls, here is a less than typical Crass song called, Walls (Fun in the Oven). No jabs at the Queen, declarations of a corrupt system, or stiff middle fingers saluting traditional moral values (there may be a hint of that). Roughly, Walls is a thick, spoon-fed helping of the conformist “rule” that husband + wife + baby = happiness. Enjoy!

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(Let’s Talk) Physical

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Physical CoverThe obnoxiously soothing b-side to the Olivia Newton John cover of (Let’s Get) Physical by the Revolting Cocks is a marathon listen. Clocking in at 10:08, this monster of a patience builder is little more than an irate, mechanical loop set off to offend everyone, up to and including the most devoted RevCo fans… at a seemingly endless coil of 10, nauseating, industrial minutes…

Physical BackI’m in love with this song. It offers somewhat of a calming experience, not unlike the way Philip Glass’ Einstein on the Beach provides its monotonous, brilliant beauty. I’ve included the track for you (to struggle through) to enjoy, so you can get a sense of what Chicago’s industrial scene was like in 1989.

Not unlike drinking straight vinegar, or putting hot sauce on your morning toast, (Let’s Talk) Physical, and the Revolting Cocks as a whole, are certainly acquired tastes. This isn’t a song I’d spin as often as let’s say, The Kinks’ Animal Farm, but its function of knocking me out of any given dry, laborious day, at 10-minute intervals, is a rare and welcoming treat.

 

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Blues on the Ceilin’

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Hardin CoverThere is something distinctly haunting that unjustly fills the room when I listen to the fortuitous desperation that surrounds Tim Hardin when he sings the lyrics, “I’ll never get out of these blues alive” on the Fred Neil classic, Blues on the Ceilin’ from Tim’s 1963 recorded, 1967 released (third) album, This is Tim Hardin. For you see, he didn’t. Escape those blues, that is. Mr. Hardin, my current crutch, passed on December 29, 1980. The cause of his untimely death? The blues… in the form of diacetylmorphine.

Other monumental iconic phrases from this track are:

– I’d do it all over, but I’d rather not

– Love is just a dirty four-letter word to me

– The bitter the blues, the better they keep

– The toast was cold, the orange juice was hot

White. Boy. Blues. As prolific an oxymoron as it is, has its fair share of respectable highlights. Tim Hardin isn’t known for his blues-driven ways (and that’s painfully unfortunate), but instead, for his often covered and heart-tuggingly sweet If I Were a Carpenter.

BluesWhen I drink whiskey, alone, I subconsciously gravitate towards Tim Hardin. Like a beaming source of intellectual and soul-bearing light, Mr. Hardin asks only one favor of us while we enjoy his personal blues-documenting catalog, and the favor is that we must share in this man’s heartfelt dismay. Pain manifests itself in many forms, up to and including a soulful voice accompanying sincerity projecting from the blackened heart.