Sunshine Underground, Indeed

I heart, heart, heart, heart, heart this song. Since I stumbled onto Sunshine Underground a few days ago, this song has catapulted to the very top of my list of favorite songs of 2006, and into heavy rotation on my iPod. It has sent me dancing moronically around my apartment while brushing my teeth. It has turned me into one of those irritating people that sing to themselves while in public.

Pisser that I left my headphones at home or at work twice this week and so was deprived on my subway ride to and from work. Even more of a pisser that the band's CD is only available as an import. That is happening to me more and more often...yet another sign of the bastardry of the U.S. music industry...

Sunshine Underground - I Ain't Losing Any Sleep

Browsing Indie Mag Ads

In the latest installment of "Music I Found While Browsing Through Ads In Indie Music Magazines," I give you Terry Ohms Plays Wes McDonald.

Wes McDonald is a musician from Alabama, in the rock/country/blues vein. Apparently he traveled to an Arctic pub at some point in his life, where he met a half-Eskimo pagan monk named Terry Ohms with a penchant for similar music. He convinced Ohms to travel to Alabama to record, and this CD is the result.

So first, some Wes McDonald, since I had never heard of him either:

Chinese Rug

And then, some Terry Ohms:

Reports Of My Death

Baby Copperheads

I went and actively sought out Spencer Dickinson after reading the following review in my much-beloved Magnet magazine:

"Picture a boy with a stringer full of fish. An old-timer asks him what he's using for bait, and the lad replies, 'These little brown worms, but they keep biting me.' The codger responds matter-of-factly, 'Son, those are baby copperheads.'"

Well, yes and no. This collaboration between Jon Spencer and a couple of North Mississippi All-Stars does have a bite, but it's watered down from the all-mighty cobra venom of the blues. Still worth a listen, though.

It's A Drag

The Norah Story

A while back I started to tell a story about Norah Jones, but I got distracted and never finished. So here it is now.

When Ms. Jones' massive hit CD came out, I really wanted it, but I didn't want to pay full price. I don't know why. I just had some kind of issue with it.

So I was looking for it used, and I was looking for it used, and finally I found it, in Mondo Kim's East Village location, which for those who don't know, is perhaps the single snootiest record store to exist on the planet, ever. Just by way of description, they have a section called "mainstream," into which they put, I don't know, REM and Radiohead, that takes up maybe one-eighth of the floor space. The rest of the store is devoted to indie, noise, experimental, stuff that I have never heard of before and will never heard of again. Typically, the music they're playing while you're browsing gives you a headache and makes you want to flee.

Imagine my dilemma as I stood there staring at the $7 copy of the Norah Jones CD. "I want it, but if I buy it here, I'm going to be sneered at," went my thought process.

Covetousness won out over pride. I bought it. And as I walked away from the cash register I heard one clerk say to the other, "See, I told you someone would buy that."

Here's a song not on that CD.

Norah Jones - New York City

Addis Ababa To Harlem

Too often, I hear a band and think, "they're okay, but if I wanted to listen to something like this, I'd just listen to XXX better band that did it 10 years earlier." That's why it's always nice when something that breaks new ground comes along. Bole2Harlem definitely qualifies. Listing its hometown as Harlem and Addis Ababa, the group mixes Ethiopian, American hip-hop, dub, reggae and probably a few more sounds besides.

Amet Bale

Protest Music

I remember how excited I was when Bill Clinton won the presidency for the first time. I was young and optimistic (and from Arkansas) and convinced that he could change the world. He didn't, really, except maybe to drag the media even deeper into the muck than it already was.

I'm glad the Democrats are in control of at least one branch of government again, but I'm not nearly as ecstatic as I was back in the Clinton era. These days, the only thing the government seems to want to do is enrich itself.

Mostly I'm inspired at the thought of gridlock. And that's not really something to be inspired by.

Radiohead - Gloaming

Steve Earle - Conspiracy Theory

M.I.A. - Pop

Peace And Love

1) Watching the marathon filled me with inspiration at the coolness of people. And amusement at the craziness of people. My favorite was the man we spotted juggling and running on 4th Ave. in Brooklyn - and 12 miles later, when we trucked up to Harlem, we saw him again, still juggling, still running. Incredible. Second favorite: the man who asked us on 1st Ave. at mile 19 where the Bronx was. Third favorite: these crazy people who turn out every year to run in save the rhino costumes. They are truly insane. Biggest regret: missing Lance Armstrong. Sigh.

2) Saw 'The Departed' a couple of weekends ago while in Boston. While glad I saw it in Boston, I'm not really glad I saw it overall. I mean, how many times do I need it proved to me that Jack Nicholson plays a great crazy person? I did, however, leave the theater filled with a need to listen to the Pogues, a need which I am finally fulfilling tonight. My favorite quiet Pogues song is "Summer in Siam," but it is not quiet Pogue songs that I am seeking out today, so I present you instead with my favorite loud, jump-up-and-down-as-one-does-with-the-Pogues, song:

Cotton Fields

Let's Go Runners!

I'll be out watching the NYC Marathon today. It should be a perfect day for the runners. Here's my wish that you all get to run over the top ramp of the Verrazano Narrows bridge, achieve personal bests, don't cramp, and can walk tomorrow. Or at least by Tuesday! But most of all, I hope you have a great time, because it's a great race.

Born To Run - Bruce Springsteen

Run The Crowd - The Shapeshifters

You Are A Runner And I Am My Father's Son - Wolf Parade

When You're Older, Ohmigod

Lately, there's been a lot of handwringing about how the Internet is changing the world as we know it, but how most of us are too stupid to figure out how exactly, and to position ourselves to make assloads of money from it.

I'm definitely in the "too stupid" camp, but I do know one thing that's going to change.

Bands are going to stop giving themselves names that are hard to search on Google. Go on, try and google "The The." I dare you.

Dept. of Energy is a new band - well, kind of new, since they appear to be a somehow reconstituted version of an earlier group called Dear John Letters - that has the same problem, seeing as how they have a massive government agency to contend with in getting their name out there. It's too bad, because they're pretty cool.

They say in a newspaper article that some of their music relies on lyrics from a poet, Alex Green. I can definitely feel that influence in their songs, which draw imagery that's almost tangible.

Dept. of Energy - Song For John Voluntine

The Splatter Zone

Last weekend I saw Evil Dead The Musical, which was light-hearted good fun, although it would have been gooder and funner had I had a few more drinks ahead of time. My two favorite numbers were "What The F**k Was That" and "All The Men In My Life Keep Turning Into Candarian Demons," which, remarkably, was sung without any major tongue-tripping.

I would share them with you, but the BitTorrent is taking 15 hours to download. So instead, here are some other EVIL SONGS OF DOOM! [It's funny how many songs are out there with the search strings "evil" or "death" or "blood" or "spider" in them, but how few actually sound the least bit scary or demonic. I've tried to aim for the latter.]

Red Devil Dawn - Crooked Fingers

To Hell With Good Intentions - McClusky

Wicked Child - Radiohead live

This Train Keeps Running

My trip back from Boston yesterday was sort of a comedy version of what's wrong with Amtrak. First, a train in front of us hit a truck on the tracks (no injuries). We got moving again fairly quickly, but shortly ground to a halt again. The reason? The Acela train directly in front of us had hit a shopping cart, and it had gotten stuck under the train.

Princeton Junction - The Natural History

Subterranean Homesick Blues

I'm oddly obsessed by this new Walkmen cover album, Pussy Cats, despite the fact (here I display my ignorance of music older than 1990 or so) that I had no idea before I went and looked it up that this is an almost note by note replication of another album by Harry Nilsson and John Lennon, or even that such an album existed. And, if one believes what one reads on the Internet, the original album may have been recorded in the midst of the single largest drug/booze bender that has ever occurred in the history of time.

Judging by the outfits that the Walkmen are wearing in the promo pictures, they may have come close to that level bender in their own recording.

You can listen to the entire album - the whole damn thing - here.

The Walkmen appear to be playing CMJ in New York next week, although it is unclear how one procures tickets.

Sicko

I've been home all day today, since I dare not venture more than 20 steps from my bathroom. What on earth did I eat?

Anyhow, it hasn't been a day off; I've been working from home. The wonders of the Internet. Even more interesting/sad is how much more productive I've been here than I would have been actually at work. Perhaps corporations should look into sickening their employees - but not too much - as a legitimate way of allowing them to work from home while keeping them from getting distracted by bright lights and loud noises.

Anyhow, I've been listening to KEXP live all day on the Web, and they've been doing me right with an endless series of soothingly pleasant bands. They won't ever be my favorite bands, there's nothing special about them, but they're absolutely perfect for keeping a slightly nauseous tummy calm. The ones I bothered to look up: White Whale, Summer Hymns, and (my favorite), a live performance from Black Angels, who are playing NYC during the CMJ festival, in a double-black double bill with the Black Keys.

The First Vietnamese War - Black Angels

This Smells Bad! Here, Smell It!

Appalling. Sexist. Destructive of what ought to be a beautiful thing. And, frankly, not even a good song. Sin With Sebastian's "Shut Up And Sleep With Me" is the aural equivalent of a bad smell that you want to share.

This song, thankfully, was never a widespread hit in the U.S. But it was a massive smash Europe-wide (and in countries that like to pretend they're part of Europe) for at least a year in the mid-1990s, when I was living in Russia.

So, take a listen (oh go on! take a listen!), close your eyes, and imagine the following scenario:

You're walking through an open-air Russian electronics market in the dead of winter. It's cold enough that your fur-lined Russian boots haven't prevented your toes from turning blue. The path is icy. There are open air tables with bootleg CDs on either side of you, and the proprietors of both tables have giant stereos that they think will convince you to buy their stuff. From both sides, this song is blaring, just slightly out of sequence, and you are certain you are going to lose your mind.

Shut Up And Sleep With Me

99 Anthems

I tend to regard both mash-ups and later-era Jay Z as silly. Since I also tend to regard Radiohead as sacred, you'd think this particular mash-up would drive me crazy. But somehow, it doesn't. Instead, it works perfectly. Great driving blaring out the open windows song. Great grumpy riding on the subway glaring song. Great freak your friends out song. Would love to see them actually perform it live together. I bet they'd both do it.

99 Anthems

How Silly Of Me

One of the things I like about live shows is the way the artists interact with their audiences, whether it's telling a story about a song, or talking about something that happened to them that day, or chatting with somebody in the crowd. If I was at the show, finding a live version brings back the atmosphere. If I wasn't, it helps me imagine what it must have been like.

A great example is the Hold Steady's song "Don't Let Me Explode." Who knew Saint Barbara was the patron saint of landmines, or, "more specifically, not stepping on them"? You can find a live version of this song from Lollapalooza, on ITunes. I can't listen to it without thinking of that bottle of whiskey the band was passing around the stage a couple of weeks ago in NYC.

Of course, since I stalk Radiohead relentlessly, I can think back to a lot of songs with Thom Yorke babbling about whatnot on them. I like the one where he says to two chattering audience members, "Little boys, SHUT UP!" and also the one where he sings tunelessly to himself and the soundman, "Can't hear the f**king piano..." But I think this one is my favorite. It's from pretty early in their career (either 1993 or 1995, I can't figure it out from my crappy labeling system), and it's just so weird to hear Yorke refer to "The Bends" as a new song.

The Bends

Then there's the Frames, whose lead singer has a tendency to tell stories that have pretty much nothing to do with the actual songs, which is quite charming, really.

What Happens When The Heart Just Stops

And finally, there's this song of Jeff Tweedy's I just found on another blog, where the conversation goes:

Tweedy: I think from the sound of it you've had a few drinks.
Audience: (Indistinguishable)
Tweedy: You're judged? You're not judged...Did you say you're judged?
Audience: (Indistinguishable)
Tweedy: Oh, you're on drugs. How silly of me.

Please Tell My Brother

Silence = Golden

I live in Prospect Heights, a neighborhood in Brooklyn that some (mostly those who don't live here) call sketchy and others (mostly those who do live here) call a bargain.

I love Prospect Heights. I love its energy, its diversity, its proximity to Prospect Park, its crazy eateries like Tom's Diner and the Islands, and the fact that I have a choice of three train lines to get into the city. But I must confess that the energy is sometimes too much.

For instance: my upstairs neighbor seems to have untold amounts of energy for pacing up and down immediately above my bed at all hours of the night. My cross-the-back-yard neighbors have the energy for very loud rap music at 7 a.m. in the morning. The kids out front have the energy for basketball until 2 a.m. in the morning.

When I've had enough sleep, it's all good. But when I haven't, I feel like this.

Susanna & the Magical Orchestra - Enjoy The Silence

Big list of cover versions of the Depeche Mode original here.

Black Acres Are Claiming Me

I [heart] Princeton Record Exchange.

While its new CD selection can be a little irritating, this 25-year-old bastion of indie music does its NYC counterparts one better in the used category, pricing used CDs rationally, as if they might, in fact, have been previously listened to.

Its wall o' cheapo CDs, priced at not more than $4.99, has sucked many a music fan into determined scans of each and every title there. Not an insignificant task, given that the hundreds of CDs are organized only casually by genre, and not at all beyond that. Aerosmith lives next to Wilco, N Sync next to Jandek. But the hours of crossed eyes are worth it. My haul this weekend included the Outkast Speakerboxx/Love Below set for five bucks, the debut Vines CD for $1.99 (perhaps not really a bargain, upon a first listen), and - the real find - an Elysian Fields CD, Queen of the Meadow, for $1.99.

Singer Jennifer Waters' voice is so slinky, almost as slinky as the fiddles on this song. Listening to this song is like going to a bordello, wearing a red velvet dress, watching champagne bubbles, waltzing tipsily.

Black Acres

Say Huhh!

Follow me here through the tangles of my own Saturday morning mind.

I've been meaning to post something about Norah Jones for a while, simply because I have a funny story to tell. But I need a particular type of morning to inspire me to write about or listen to light jazziness: one like today in NYC. A gloomy, windy, definitely fall, sit around in your PJs shivering and sniffling cuz your heat's not on yet and you have a cold, think about a second cup of coffee, weekend morning.

I sit down fully intending to write about this funny Norah Jones story, and idly do a search on an mp3 blog aggregator to see if there's anything out there about her lately that's intriguing, and I stumble on this reference to a collaboration she did with the Peter Malick Group a few years ago called "New York City."

That leads me on a wild goose chase through the Internet frontiers of MySpace postings and probably illegal Russian language Web sites, after about 20 minutes of which I do some more stumbling onto Peter Malick's MySpace page. There, I find a song called "F Train."

If you dig back through the archives a bit [here], you will quickly spot a possible obsession on my part with the F train, which is the worst subway train on the planet. I was previously amused to discover that at least one musician shared my obsession. Imagine my surprise that there are not one, but two songs, out there on the topic. How many more might there be? How many more people share my obsession? I've been wanting to put together a mix CD of my favorite NYC songs for a while (more stumbling this morning: big list of NYC songs on Wikipedia), but might I be able to put together an entire CD of songs about the F train? The mind boggles.

So my apologies, but the funny story about Norah Jones will have to wait for another day. Instead, I direct you to Malick's page for his song, and repost Mike Doughty's song for comparison's sake. In my mind, Malick's take wins: as I've said before, the Doughty song is a little too cheerful and happy about the F train. Malick, instead, seems to be talking about the train through the ramblings of a possibly homeless, gruff, definitely drunk man, which is much more in line with my own experience. And there's a lot of standing around on the platform, waiting, too. "Say huhhh! F Train."

Mike Doughty - Thank You Lord For Sending Me The F Train

The Cult Of The Hold Steady

The Hold Steady were infectiously happy at their Irving Plaza show Sunday. You couldn't help but grin watching them. Sure, you may have also been a little terrified that they would fall on their asses as they passed a bottle of whiskey around the stage, topped it off with wine drunk straight out of the bottle, and sprayed the crowd with beer. But they didn't, and even if they had, they probably would have been happy about that too.

Happy because the Minnesota Twins are in the playoffs, occasioning, as singer Craig Finn said, "the first costume change in the history of The Hold Steady" (into a Twins shirt for the encore). Happy with their exceedingly active fan base of oddly tall 6'8'' boys crowding the floor close to the stage. Manically clapping happy. Arms spread wide, clutching their receding hairlines happy. Happy enough to invite the entire crowd out drinking at a bar on Avenue A with them after the show. It was almost like a cult, my friend muttered, but hell, this is one cult I'll gladly join.

Cattle and The Creeping Things (live on the Current)

Most People Are DJs

This Tuesday is the first time since The Eraser came out that I'll be dragging myself out of bed a little bit early in order to hit J&R Music on my way to work. That's because of the new The Hold Steady disc. I don't own any of this band's other CDs, but Boys and Girls in America is going to make a run for my favorite album of the year. They're at Irving Plaza tonight, and I'll be there. Hmmm, maybe the album will be there...

While I'm at J&R I may also pick up the new Beck, which sounds pretty good, judging from the four-fifths of it that is already available on the Web.

You can listen to songs from both these albums over at NPR. You can also listen to a song from a band I previously posted about, Forro in the Dark. Looks like they have an actual, professionally recorded, gonna-be-available-at-places-other-than-their-shows, album coming out in November.

Finally, the new Frames album is out - IN IRELAND. Sigh. Tiding myself over with a couple of links on their MySpace page.

Orphan No More

After watching the Green Day/U2 concert that was part of the overblown ESPN coverage of the New Orleans' Saints' first game back home in the Superdome, I stuck Green Day's Warning in my CD player for the first time in a long time.

This CD, for me, is an orphan. If you're a hardcore music fan, you know what I'm talking about. Perfectly good albums - even great ones - that you listened to three, maybe four times, liked a lot, and promptly forgot about because there were five more that were not so patiently waiting their turn.

Orphan CDs. They're just sitting there taking up space, but don't even try and talk yourself into getting rid of them, because you know it's not gonna happen.

Instead, let's rejuvenate the orphan CDs, and make them full members of our music collections. I'm starting with Warning.

I like Green Day, but I'm not an extreme fan. I only own this one album, and it had accumulated quite the layer of dust on it. For that, I apologize, because it's just wrong. This is a great album, filled with catchy riffs, numerous chances for a good head banging, and some great, smart lyrics to shout along with. This song in particular has it all.

Minority

Naughty With The Bisque

Not to date myself, but back in college I recall being on a campus bus on the way home from the library, and some schmuck was on a cell phone the size of my leg, having a conversation like this. "Hey man...what's up?"..."Nothin' man...hanging out on the bus!" And I recall swearing then and there never to have a cell phone, because, well, how useless.

Now, of course, I don't have a land line because I rely only on my cell phone. Instead, I've found a new subject to disdain: the blackberry. Who needs to be at work 24 hours a day?

I'm sure I'll be addicted within a month.

Anyhow, what a week. I could use more power lunches like this and less actual ones.

Har Mar Superstar - Power Lunch

It's My Life

This weekend I saw Jesus Camp.

Jesus Camp is a documentary about born-again Christians who take their kids to camp and teach them that ghost stories and Harry Potter are bad, that George Bush is doing the work of God on this earth, and that global warming is an invention of the liberals. It is about how America is increasingly mixing church and state. And it is about the deliberate teaching of intolerance. It is scary.

Afterwards, I went and got Egyptian food in Queens, and I got a drink, and I enjoyed me some life. I'm sure I'll burn eternally in hell.

This is by a guy who operates under the name Muslimgauze. It's hard to tell, from what's out there on the Internet, whether the guy who created this music is a Koran-thumping fundamentalist, or whether he's a peaceful guy from Manchester who likes Mideastern beats. That's really not the point - the point is, he has the right to believe whatever he believes, and make songs titled "Kabul is free under a veil," in peace. And I have the right to listen to it, whether or not I agree with him. And the world will be a better place if it understands that we're both OK people.

Shimmer, Then Disappear

How Come You Treat Me The Way You Do?

To properly listen to this song:

1) Move to the south side of Chicago as a student.

2) Live in a gigantic hovel of an apartment with six other people. Never do the dishes. Spend much time eating food that is bad for you and drinking Schlitz.

3) Discover the blues. Go to blues clubs in bad neighborhoods and listen to the blues. Congratulate yourself on still being alive afterwards. Then congratulate yourself on how cool you are.

4) Throw a party and invite some of the cool bluesmen you know so that other students can see how cool you are.

5) Wake up the next morning incredibly hung over. Wander out into living room where roommates are trying to finish the left-over keg of beer so it can be returned.

6) Put this song on the stereo. Listen. Realize that it's not you who's cool. It's the music.

Hound Dog Taylor - Sadie

Travesty Against Mankind

I see that T.A.T.U. has a best of album coming out. Pardon me, but didn't they have only one (and I'll be charitable here) "hit"? Maybe I'm just getting old and out of touch.

Anyhow, talk about a stupid creationist myth surrounding these guys. At least with the White Stripes, you might actually have wondered, briefly, whether they were husband and wife, or brother and sister, or neither.

As a cleansing ritual, I have to post some Russian music sans silly gimmick or gyrating hips. This song is about vodka, and like vodka itself, it hits hard, goes down with a little cough and some watering of the eyes, and could be better digested with some black bread and a pickle.

By a group called DDT, this is about two old friends running into each other and sitting down for a drink. It's beyond my ability to translate, but best I can figure, here's the chorus:

White river
Drops of life
Ah, river/hand
Give me wings
I'm drowning and in all this nonsense
You're a shotglass on the table
You're the sky in my hands

DDT - Belaya Reka

Flashback Friday

Nine Inch Nails may have been the music that introduced me to the alternative world.

Where I'm from, mainstream music is country. The few radio stations that played pop in the 1980s down south - well, it was a steady diet of such fine artists as Kylie Minogue, Bonnie Tyler, and Def Leppard. I think that last may be one of the first tapes I bought, and I still harbor a secret affection for "Pour Some Sugar On Me."

I was a band geek. I remember very few details of this one particular band trip - for instance, I have no idea why we went to North Little Rock, or how we wound up at the mall, or how my friends and I met this kid named Mac, a band geek from another school, or where he was from. But I do remember that he was really cute, and that he had this blue Corvette, and that we all got in it to drive from one side of the mall to the other, and that Pretty Hate Machine was in the tape deck. It may have been the first time I unabashedly asked somebody, "What is this?" and then went straight out and bought it.

I don't know what happened to the tape I bought. It's probably still in my bedroom at home. But I recently found a used copy of the CD and bought it. Listening to it, I was reminded of a line from a newspaper review of one of my favorite diners, which reads something like, "Like nostalgia itself, the egg cream is more fondly remembered than experienced anew." Just substitute the words "Nine Inch Nails" for "egg cream" and you've got it.

Nevertheless, this song still rules if you're just fricking angry.

Head Like A Hole

Soda On The Side

This is awesome.

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Chicken Noodle Soup

The Pantheon

"The pantheon" is the phrase an ex uses to describe his favorite bands. Ask him how he feels about the Rolling Stones, and he'll say, "They're in the pantheon."

If you go strictly by number of CDs owned, here's who's in my pantheon/favorite song:

4) Cowboy Junkies (9 cds)/Blue Guitar
3) Kronos Quarter (10 cds - tie): it was a tiny bit of a surprise that I have so many of these guys' CDs. I almost never listen to them. Nor do I have a single favorite piece.
3) Ani DiFranco (10 cds - tie)/Amazing Grace
1) Radiohead (11 formal purchases + numerous bootlegs)/The Gloaming

Near pantheon:

Calexico (6)/Tulsa Telephone Book (a cover)
The Frames (6)/God Bless Mom live version
Andrew Bird (5)/I
Wilco (5)/I Am Trying To Break Your Heart
Dandy Warhols (4)/We Used To Be Friends
Magnetic Fields/The Sixths (4)/The Dead Only Quickly Decay
Jurassic 5 (4)/Jurass Finish First
Modest Mouse (4)/Paper Thin Walls
PJ Harvey (3)/Rid Of Me live version
Spoon (3)/Anything You Want
M Ward (3)/Involuntary

(To be fair, I should also list other 3-or-more CD bands whom I snobbishly don't think are going to move up the list: Beta Band, No Doubt, Beastie Boys, Holly Golightly, Peter Gabriel, Hem, Prince, Police/Sting, Simon & Garfunkel/Paul Simon.)

Who's in your pantheon?

Coltrane In A Dub Shack?

I stumbled on Ubiquity Records' Web site a while back when I was searching for The Pharaohs, about whom I posted earlier. At the time they didn't have the Pharaohs' CD I was looking for, but I still ended up ordering some $75 worth of stuff from them, cuz they back a lot of other funky artists too (and, my real downfall: they print some really neat t-shirts).

I just got an email from them about something called Radio Citizen, which at first listen sounds pretty cool. They describe it thus: Strains of film noir-worthy dark jazz, chunky tropical dub, and snake-charming soul permeate Berlin Serengeti. CD to be out Sept. 12.

Check them out here to listen to some songs, or download some 45 second clips at Ubiquity's Web site.

O Canada

I have just returned from western Canada, where I fell wildly in love with Banff. I am now filled with the urge to hike, climb mountains, raft down rivers and fight bears. Go to Banff before it disappears in a wild orgy of suburbia or before U.S. citizens are banned from Canada because of the stupid things our president says.

Having seen this part of Canada, it's easy to understand why there are so many good Canadian bands. With inspiration like this to work with, creating big gorgeous songs must be easy.

I think Nathan Lawr might be my favorite Canadian artist, with the possible exception of the Cowboy Junkies. Sort of in the M. Ward vein, I guess, but less growl-y. It is endlessly frustrating to me that his music isn't available in the States.

What You Lie To Me

Then there's Fiftymen, a blues-influenced band straddling the country/rock border that I just now discovered on the useful if somewhat frustrating maplemusic.com Web site.

After Darkfall

In Particular, In Particular

This song. It gets. Stuck. In my head. And I can't get it out. It's been stuck in there. Swirling around, off and on. For probably three years. Other songs by this band? Not so much. Just this one.

Blonde Redhead - In particular

Truly Dismayed, Horrified And Amused

In the Virgin Megastore at Union Square over the weekend minding my own business as per usual when all of a sudden the music playing in store intrudes on my consciousness and ... it's a reggae version of a Radiohead song. A pretty terrible one, that got horribly stuck in my head.

Come to find out, it's not the only really bad Radiohead cover album to appear this month. There's also "Rockabye Baby," in which Radiohead songs are turned into xylophone-y melodies for babies. All I'll say about this one is that I'm reminded of a study someone did where they played Radiohead songs to elementary school kids and asked them to draw pictures of whatever came to mind, and most of the kids drew pictures of, like, cars driving off cliffs. Although it's probably better than the Metallica CD this label also has coming out.

And then there's, aaaaahhhh, "A Crunk Tribute To Radiohead," featuring such ingenious titles as "Creepin On Dat Ass" and "Talk Show Hoes." Which I have to say kind of makes me laugh.

You can listen to Rockabye Baby clips, which is probably all you want to listen to anyway, here. The Radiodread I will not post because it looks like they're keeping an eye on the blogs, but Web-savvy folks can find it. And here's one off the crunk album.

No Sizzuruprises

Lest We Forget

George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People

The Art Of Writing

These are some of my favorite lyrics. Brownie points for you if you can guess who sings them. A couple of links at the bottom.

"You want me? Come and find me. I'll be waiting, with a gun and a pack of sandwiches."

"Just when you think you have enough, enough grows."

"Boys and girls in America, they have such a sad time together...crushing one another with colossal expectations, dependent, undisciplined and sleeping late."

"We're keeping busy, yeah we're bleeding stones. With our machinations and palindromes. Anything but hear a voice, says we're basically alone."

"Star, star, teach me how to shine, shine, teach me so I know what's going on in your mind, cuz I don't understand these people, saying we're all asleep when they talk and talk forever but they'll just never climb."

"These walls are paper thin and every one hears every little sound. Everyone's a voyeur they're watching me watch them watch me right now...everyone wants two of them and half of everyone else was around. It's been agreed the whole world stinks so noone's taking showers anymore."

"I rock ruff and stuff with my afro puff."

Radiohead: Talk Show Host (TATR Version)

The Hold Steady: Stuck Between Stations (Live on The Current)

This Truck Runs On Freedom

Doubletruck is a group of local NYC fellas, including a friend of mine, who are performing their second show at Otto's Shrunken Head on Friday. You can check them out at their vertigo-inducing Myspace page, here. They may not be polished, but they indisputably rock. And, if I dare say, the lead singer sounds a bit like Kurt Cobain.

This is my favorite so far.

Not Quite A Lie

Life Lessons Learned

These are some lessons I learned at a really terrible show at a really terrible club last night.

If I ever have a club with a slanting floor, I will make sure that the band is at the bottom of the slanting floor, rather than the top, so that people other than those in the very front row will be able to see what's going on.

If I ever have a very small club space with very low ceilings in a basement, the only musicians I will book there are acoustic singer-songwriters. If I do book a full band, I will make sure all their equipment is not on at full volume. Nor will I play the set-change music at deafening decibel levels.

If I am ever in a band that decides to organize its sound around harmonies, I will first make sure that I am confident I can sing in tune with the person with whom I am harmonizing.

If I am ever in a band, I promise not to rhyme the words "cry" and "die" unless I wish to be scorned.

If I am ever in a band that is pretty clearly stocked by indie kids from major metropolitan areas, I will not sing songs about how I was put in jail in Arkansas. Even if it is a cover song. I just won't.

Tempo. Maintaining it. Important.

And finally, if I am ever in a band, I will not play spaces such as those described above, for fear of a) driving my fan base away with a headache or b) making my fan base go deaf so that they can no longer hear my music.

Following such a show, it is necessary to listen to something very, very quiet to cleanse the soul.

Arvo Part: Kanon Pokajanen, Ode 1

Arvo Part is an Estonian composer who writes the most peaceful music I have ever heard. He describes it thus: "I have discovered that it is enough when a single note is beautifully played."

Ssssssnakes On A Plane

Five favorite general Snakes On A Plane-related moments:

5) Word 'Snakes' appears on screen during opening credits; obsessed audience member throws arms in air and cheers.

4) Air bags deploy - with snakes!

3) "I've got a snake - on my dick!"

2) "This plane's going to go down faster than a Thai hooker!"

1) Air of unbearable anticipation is finely relieved as Samuel L. Jackson unleashes can of whoop-ass on motherf**king snakes on motherf**king plane.

The Cobra Starship song on the soundtrack [singing the next word] SUCKS! But the Cee-Lo Green song, which I shamelessly stole from another blogger, rules. Just as tongue-in-cheek as the movie itself is.

Ophidophobia

Holy S**T

I'm not sure how I feel about Ariel Pink himself - a little too weird for me, mon - but I'm kind of digging this Holy Shit collaboration with Matt Fishbeck, another artist about whom I know nothing.

Rather than go on about my total ignorance, I shall simply post. So here it is, a song that I like. Behold.

Written All Over Your Face

Seashells And Fudge At The Seashore

Back from Delaware. Yes, Delaware, where I could not post - or do anything - because I was exceedingly busy planting my face in the sand. Beaches are good things.

Most beach towns - within easy distance of New York, anyhow - seem to have certain things in common. Cotton candy and hot dogs. Boardwalks. Cheesy amusement park-style rides. Meatheads and other frightening elements of humanity. Souvenir shops selling boxes covered in shells. Oh, and fudge.

The only part I don't really get is fudge. Ice cream, yes. Key lime pie, yes. But fudge in the hot sun? Ookie.

Semisonic apparently disagrees.

Sunshine and Chocolate

Beach!

I will go to a beach this weekend. I do not know what beach it will be, or even in what state. Perhaps Delaware, perhaps just down the Jersey shore. But it will be a beach, and there will be a road trip, and it will be summery good fun.

No one beats Don Henley for summery road trip beachtime music. No one.

Boys Of Summer

Everyone Falls On Hard Times

Wow, is all I can say.

I was sitting on the couch tonight pretty much doing nothing, and what popped into my head but this old song by Brooklyn band The Boggs, called Hard Times. It was on an album they put out in, oh, 2002? I bought it. I liked it. I promptly forgot about it. And then, apropos of nothing, tonight, The Boggs.

I came online to post Hard Times. But linking around, I found all sorts of new good stuff. Looks like they have a new, different lineup, and an album coming out sometime this year, if one is to believe their somewhat discombobulated MySpace page. And judging by this track, which may or may not be inspired by The Muppet Show, it rules.

Forts

Also from their MySpace page, they're playing a show at Cake Shop on the Lower East Side on August 19.

Every Lisper's Nightmare

Stephin Merritt is undeniably a genius, but sometimes genius gets a little tiresome. Don't get me wrong: I love 69 Love Songs. But after a while, it's just him, going on and on.

That's why his side projects are nice. You get the genius of the man, but with a little variety thrown in.

Take The 6ths. That is, if you can pronounce their name. Same dead-on funny, sarcastic, thought-provoking lyrics - new singer!

The Dead Only Quickly Decay, with Neil Hannon of The Divine Comedy

This One's About A Three-Legged Dog

Those familiar with The Frames will know that their lead singer Glen Hansard often introduces songs by saying, "This one's about..." and then telling some insane, absurd story that has little to do with what the song is actually about.

My favorites are the ones he tells about dogs, and he told one about a dog before playing a newish song called 'Falling Slowly' at Central Park Summerstage on Thursday. As best I can remember, it went something like this (insert lilting Irish accent here): "This one's about a three-legged dog...that's on a boat...it's on a boat in the middle of the ocean...and the boat is sinking."

I love these guys, and they were in rare form Thursday. It was so hot when the show started, and Hansard was doing silly rain dances all over the stage - and then it rained, and everyone in the crowd was ecstatic, and the band was happy, and they sounded so good.

There's nothing quite like rediscovering a band after a few months away from them and finding out that they've been busy making new music that I will soon be able to enjoy. Their lead singer seems to have produced a semi-solo album this year, and there's a version of Falling Down on it that you can listen to here. And there's a new Frames album coming out in September!

Here's another one from that solo album.

The Swell Season

Too Darn Hot

So I wanted to post a song about snow because it's so freaking hot. So naturally I looked through my Russian songs, and even found one with snow in the title.

But upon sitting down and really listening to the lyrics, it turns out the song isn't about snow at all, it's about relationships. But it's a cute little song, and I've gone to all this trouble to sorta kinda translate it, so here you go. At least it feels kind of cool. It's by a band called Akvarium (or Aquarium, if you must).

S Utra Shel Sneg

Turn out the light
Leave a note that we're not home
Tiptoe past the open doors
There where everything is light
There where everyting is silent

And you can be haughty like steel
And you can say something's not quite right
And you can pretend that you're just acting out a movie
About people under lots of pressure

But snow's been falling since morning
You can still do something
If you want to

You remember i was sure of myself
(untranslatable something about how sure of himself he was)
I was certain that I was right
But now snow is falling
And again I don't know who I am

Someone is broken and doesn't want to be whole
And someone is full of themself
And you can be right up against something but still not see it
But there's something better, it's that simple

Snow's been falling since morning
You can still do something
If you want to
Snow's been falling since morning
You can be with someone else if you want to

Blogs Are The New MTV

(Yet another strange picture of musicians inexplicably posing with animals.)

I don't really care that MTV is 25.

Remember back in, oh, 1988 when MTV was good, and you could actually hear new music from listening to it? On 120 minutes, maybe? What a great show that was.

Now not even MTV2 shows good videos. Or videos at all for that matter.

You'd never hear a song like this on MTV any more, and that's a shame. Because: the joy of hearing this song played on the radio (on a college station, not mainstream radio, of course), and then sort of keeping one eye out for it everywhere you went, and then finding it in the used bin at Princeton Record Exchange for $1.99.

Band of Bees - Minha Menina