Twenty Wineries In Four Days: Day One

My friend AMP and myself are setting off on a tour of North Fork, Long Island wineries. We leave Brooklyn Monday at 1:30ish, and are in the land of the wine trees, as I once drunkenly called them, by 3ish.

2ish: In the car, we listen to an NPR segment about how listening to music while tasting wine can influence how you like it. We hear about one winemaker who actually plays music to his grapes. Later, we listen to Kings of Leon and debate what kind of wine they would go well with. A big mean red? Maybe whiskey would be a better accompaniment.

250ish: We drive by a sign that announces the existence of pumpkin fudge. I am intrigued, but say nothing, figuring we'll find more of it later. We're on a mission here, and it isn't a mission to find fudge.

3ish: We're trying to find Schneider Vineyards, which is on the map in the Long Island wine book from 2001 that someone gave me, but that's the peril of old books, 'cos this place ain't here. Maybe they just don't have a tasting room? Ah well. Instead, we go to Palmer Vineyards. There are insane numbers of people here, which puzzles us, until we figure out that it's Columbus Day. We are also swarmed by fruit flies, which we will soon discover is typical for this time of year. Our unfriendly server discourages us from just having a taste. They're too busy, she says, so we should order a glass. Ummm...hello? The whole point of wineries is to sample a variety of what they have to offer. Their tastes are also excessively priced - something like $4 for an individual taste - but we nonetheless order a couple and sample them (they're not great, or maybe the experience has just soured us). We sit out in the back yard and listen to a live bluegrass band, which was pleasant enough, but overall, this place gets a black mark. (They do have a fun sign, on the way in, though - see the pix.) Moving on.

3:30ish: We pull into Diliberto and instantly feel happier. They have a cute tasting room, in the kitchen of the Dilibertos' weekend home in Jamesport (during the week he's a lawyer in Queens, or so the Internet tells me). The tasting here is also a little weird - rather than standing at the bar and sampling the wine, you order it and they come around to your table and pour it - but we're game. We settle in and while we're tasting the wine, the classical guitarist who is noodling around in the corner drops by and gets our life story out of us and a few of the folks at other tables. It's some one's birthday, so we all sing happy birthday to her. The guitarist starts another tune, and suddenly the owner of the place is standing next to him belting out opera. And he's good, too! I buy a bottle of the 2004 Diliberto Cantina red table wine, and later wish I'd bought more, but it's too late - this place is only open on weekends and holidays. Make sure you don't miss it.

4:15ish: A quick in and out at Laurel Lake. Nothing special, but at least they like you to taste all the wine.

4:32: We try and hit one last winery, Pindar. Their tasting room is only open until 4:30, and they're militant about it. There's not going to be any tasting at Pindar today, and they're not shy about telling us. But we can buy until 5! Thanks, but no thanks. Moving on.

5ish: We check into the hotel in Greenport where we are staying, crack open the Diliberto, and have a glass on the balcony. Perfection. We also start plotting out our course of action for the next day with the copy of Wine Press that we picked up. Essential reading, I'd say. Little profiles of all the vineyards and an up-to-date map (no Schneider's). I start making a smiley-face guide to the wineries we're visiting. Diliberto gets a big smile, Palmer a big frown, and Laurel Lake an expressionless robot face.

7:30ish: We wander over to Claudio's for dinner. Claudio's is pretty cool, a weird combination of dive bar and legitimate seafood restaurant. They have a sign saying they're the oldest family-owned restaurant in the U.S. A beautiful old wooden bar that they apparently got from a hotel on the Bowery. With a real marble railing, and some gorgeous glass details. During prohibition Claudio's was a hot spot for the bootleggers to bring in the liquor, or so they say, and there's still a trapdoor under the bar. The seafood here is good and fresh, and the pumpkin pie is nothing to sneer at. We both have a glass of local wine with dinner. I can't remember what the heck I had a mere four days later, so it must not have been anything worth mentioning. AMP had a glass of Bedell's 2007 First Crush. It's the first vintage of it, and you'd think 2007 grapes might be a little young, but this is pretty good. More on Bedell later, but for now, wine tasting is hard work, and it's off to bed for us.

Swamp Cabbage

Swamp Cabbage, I just learned, is a recipe that involves hearts of palms (apparently best if freshly harvested your own dang self) and bacon - lots of it, with whatever other ingredients you want, stewed together.

While I have not (yet!) eaten swamp cabbage, I imagine it tastes like this band sounds.

Can't Believe TI Sampled O-Zone

Sometimes, you should let sleeping Eurotrash dogs lie.

Maybe THIS Is The Sexiest Song Ever Written

This song...it's plucked strings that hurt the fingers to listen to...it's sitting alone in a spooked-out empty room in an old house...it's a growl from the back of the throat that the voice can't recover from...it's one four-minute-long moan that you feel right down in the pit of your stomach.

Kings of Leon - Closer: Go here to get it.

'Exile In Guyville' Live

I (like 99.9% of Liz Phair fans) mourn the death of the old Liz Phair, anything post-Whitechocolatespaceegg. But she lives again, sorta, by playing 'Exile in Guyville' live in a few cities 15 years post its release. (Fifteen YEARS??? Gulp.)

I dunno, she says she's "emotionally present" in it, but I'm not so sure. Streaming over at NPR, here.

Keep Bringing It The Rest Of Your Life

I saw Michael Franti at All Points West, and while he might be too much of a cheeseball for me in general, this is one of my favorite songs this year. I'd like to figure out a way to blast it from the rooftops...

Don't ever doubt the power of just one man
The worldwide power of just one rhyme
Don't ever doubt the force of the bass line
Or a record gone round to burn the house down
You've got to let go of remote control

Janis Joplin On The Blues

Studs Terkel: I gotta ask the cliched question about the blues being a black man's music.

Janis Joplin: Anybody can sing the blues. Well, I don't know whether they can sing them or not, but they can feel them. Everybody's got feelings inside of them. It's just the faculty of being able to transform it into music. I mean, everybody's got 'em. Everybody's got those things, they've just got to know what to do with it. You either repress it or you use it. Sort of. I feel better after singing, yeah.

-From 'And They All Sang'

Hang Me Up To Dry

Have had this Cold War Kids song on repeat all day. Despite not caring much for this group generally, something about it is just grabbing me, randomly. I like the real simple riff, played emphatically, that carries the song all the way through. I like the weird "cat walking on a keyboard" piano that kicks in late in the song, which make me wonder if someone in the band was trying to engineer a Jonny Greenwood-esque destruction of it. I dig the lyrics, which you can make work for pretty much any situation you care to. I'm making 'em a soundtrack to a tough deadline. Careless in our summer clothes/splashing around in the muck and the mire.

In A Hurricane Without An Umbrella

Yesterday morning was supposed to be wet and windy, as Hurricane Hanna rolled through, but instead it was just overcast and oppressively humid. So with a friend, I made the trek into Manhattan to pick up some wine and some fancy groceries, keeping a wary eye on the sky, mindful of what a little rain can do to the New York subway.

Come 3 p.m.-ish, Hanna got serious. Pulled out the cheap-ass umbrella I bought at the subway the other day and within instants - not even minutes - it was blown inside-out and busted. Picked up another umbrella at Kmart, which either teleported itself to a Caribbean island without me noticing or wandered away from me while I was distracted by some boots at the Union Square DSW (they were nice boots). Rather than go for umbrella #3, I gave up, took the subway home, and walked the half-mile from the subway stop in nothing short of a torrential downpour. The paper grocery bags, ever more sodden, finally gave out right at my front door.

Inside, we shut the windows, made dinner, drank two bottles of wine, and blasted some blues music. The hurricane did whatever it did outdoors, but we didn't care none.

This here is what we played. A super cool cover of Ri-Ri. And an appropriate message for those who would venture out in a hurricane without an umbrella.

Corona!

I am at Brighton Beach with my friend AMP. It is a gorgeous August summer weekend. The perfect temperature. The ocean, a perfect shade of blue. The waves, not too wavey. The beach, not too packed.

Ahh, Brighton Beach. There is, behind me, a not-couple of gay man and not-gay woman drinking what would ultimately be five bottles of Sovetskoye Shampanskoye. Somewhere to the right, someone with a boom box playing, of all things, Russian accordion music - loudly. Several entrepreneurial types are plying the beach, selling water - "ice-cold water! Water that's almost TOO cold." - beer - "Ice-cold beer! Corona! Smirnoff Ice! Kholodnoye pivo!" - and solid advice - "All the pretty women, pay attention! Ladies - if your man beats you, leave him!" Seedy, yes, but somehow in a normal, non-threatening, "it's just Brooklyn" kinda way.

Eventually, surrounded by such temptation, we begin to want Coronas. We buy one apiece from one of our entrepreneurs. This one is lugging beer around the beach in black plastic bags, and having his two - daughters? - help him to make change and open the beers. We toast ourselves. We toast our befuddled champagne-drinking friends. We take pictures of our feet on the beach with the surprisingly cold Coronas and otherwise feel as if we have suddenly inhabited a beer commercial.

A watchful neighbor notices the beach police drawing near in their beach buggy. We hide our beers under clothes and in bags. The police take up residence 20 feet away from us, apparently hitting on a couple of women. The entire beach near us - all drunk, all - pretends to be asleep. My friend's phone rings, but she cannot answer it without taking the beer out of the bag. The police leave, undoubtedly knowing that they could bust every single one of us if they wanted to (the trash can nearby, filled to overflowing with empty Corona bottles, is a dead give-away).

A comic moment.

I know I just posted about Calexico, but I have to link to this. It is so perfect.

There on the beach.
I can see it in her eyes.
I only had a Corona.
Five cents deposit.

Miles Of Highway Poppies

Liking the new Calexico stuff that people are posting. Just like always, the mariachi trumpets and gee-tars send my mind down an empty shimmering highway in a Cadillac, windows down, on my unhurried way to a dusty sun-baked Mexican bar - and I have a very specific bar in my mind's eye. Where there will be an outdoor area without any shade, with mellowed-out drunks and maybe someone noodling on an acoustic guitar. And cheap Christmas tree lights at night.

The stars in their slowness took us by surprise. Thank you, whoever posted this picture.

Here.

"Which One's The One?"

My favorite stage banter of All Points West (liberties taken where memory fails):

Sia, to crowd: Well, hello there! How are you all? Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? No? Why, you're not very demanding, as crowds go...

Kings of Leon frontman Caleb Followill: Hey ya'll. I hear they're not letting you get very drunk out there. (Disapproving boo from crowd.) Well, they didn't say anything to me, so I'm gonna have a drink.

Radiohead's Thom Yorke: This one's dedicated to Kings of Leon. If we were better-looking, we'd be friends with them.

Girl Talk's Gregg Willis (with abnormally high energy): I just got back from Norway - I played with these guys Mayhem - those guys just go on stage and kill each other and they don't even care. Let's party!

Thom (to Jonny, trying to figure out the down beat to "Videotape"): Which one's the one? Which one's the one? Jonny! Wake up! Which one's the one?

Jack Johnson (peering at odd large balloon/bamboo animal being held aloft in front of him by the crowd, during an impromptu bridge in his first song): That thing is very strange. What is it? It's phallic, yet oddly feminine. I think I like it.

Thom (to crowd, apropos of nothing): Cool beans.

All Points West - The Money Shot

Thom & Jonny on acoustic guitars.

Every picture I took before this one and most after were blurry messes. The Radiohead gods smiled upon me for one moment only.

Blackness

Whoooo boy. It's been a long time since a book has made me cry, and that's all I'll really say about that, except to add that were I the one doing the soundtrack for the movie version (which one has difficulty imagining will be anything but a mess compared to the perfection of the book), I would secure the rights to these songs, in no particular order, except for the first one, which is, well, first:

Nada Surf - The Fox. (Here.) I just happened to hear this just as I was getting sucked into this book, and I found it cropping up in my head as I got further and further in. The more I listened to it, the more it seemed that the band must have written the song while reading this book. It would be good for any number of stretches of text that find our father and son struggling across their post-apocalyptic world. We're in a different war, with ourselves and some of you, so many things that don't hold true. With the fear that dims all light.

Radiohead - The Gloaming. Genie Lantern light a fire, this is now the witching hour. What if it were always the witching hour?

Arvo Part - well, anything, really, but how about Fratres...redemptive and cleansing, but still a little ominous. For the closing credits.

The Frames - Dream Awake. For a flashback or two. (Here.)

Massive Attack - Inertia Creeps. For when it does.

El-P. Flyentology. Or Run the Numbers. Or both. For when there are bad guys.

Liars - The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack. For aloneness.

Peter Gabriel - We Do What We're Told. For your random general creepy scene.

Pela - Rooftops. For, I think, the closing scene.

Menomena - Running. For the long stretches without food. (Here.)

It's a little creepy, how different all these songs are if you imagine them from another point of view. Now, off to stock up on canned goods.

Hmmm.

I find this worrisome. Footloose as silly little movie about kids who just want to have fun in a small uptight town - yes. Footloose as tribute to deceased sibling? I dunno...

You can stream a wee bit from it here (scroll down) too.

My Perfect Driving Mix

When driving a lime green rental car to Cape May and back, the following CDs hit the spot.

Bloc Party - Silent Alarm. Perfect for getting the hell out of the Avis parking lot and then immediately getting stuck in traffic on the BQE.

Massive Attack - Mezzanine. Perfect for zoning out across vast swathes of the Garden State Parkway.

Lil Wayne - Tha Carter III. Perfect for feeling vaguely bad about blasting out your windows as you roll into bucolic little Cape May - until you realize that you just passed two other cars also blasting it out their windows.

The Ting Tings - We Started Nothing. Perfect for frantically trying to get to one last winery before it closes at 5 p.m. (We made it!)

The Kills - Midnight Boom. Perfect for driving along the beach at night to. Also good for replaying the first song over and over again at any random point along the drive.

The Hold Steady - Separation Sunday. Perfect for the bittersweet sensation of having to leave Cape May. Wahhhh!

Joe Turner Been Here And Gone

I'm reading this Studs Terkel book, "And They All Sang," which has to do with the musicians he interviewed on his Chicago radio show back in the day. And I'm considering that reading this book is a mistake, because I don't need any more stacks of CDs tottering precariously on the edge of my stereo, and I suspect that I'm about to acquire them.

Already, I am intrigued by a man called Big Bill Broonzy, and a song of his called "Joe Turner No. 2", which Terkel sets the stage for thusly:

This is the one. If ever there was a hush in the control room, the edge-of-the-chair anticipation, it is now. Bill is retuning his guitar. This one calls for extra-special tuning. "You guys can go for a drink while I'm doin' this." Now he's ready. We hear a guitar, but it's like no guitar we ever heard before. It's a human voice, not one but a whole ramshackle town...And now that chord - whang - only it isn't that - it's crying, everybody crying - a cry of salvation.

By chance, one happens to be able to hear this song in its entirety online at the moment, thanks to this fabulous replay of this fabulous Americana show that aired July 3. It's the third song in.

PS. Fast forward through the drugged-out DJ's vacant ramblings.

Adam Yauch Is My BFF

According to a recent "My New York" column in the NY Post, Adam Yauch is my doppelganger.

Consider:

*"I actually find Brooklyn much more interesting than Manhattan at this point," he tells the paper. Well, duh. He also loves Prospect Park.

*He likes the fish cake and green papaya salad at Sri Pra Phai. I'm more a fan of the fried salad myself, but I would totally order the papaya salad for kicks.

*He says Regal Battery Park Stadium is his favorite big cineplex in NY for the same reasons I like it: "There will be like 25 people in a stadium that's made to hold 300 people." He also says he and fellow Beastie Boy Mike Diamond battle over whose personal theater is. Sorry guys: it's MY personal theater.

I'm totally going to also check out the Manhattan Special Coffee Soda he talks about: "It's this crazy, weird, nasty soda that they used to have commercials for when I was a kid."

I recently saw Yauch's movie "Gunnin' For That Number One Spot" with him in attendance to answer audience questions. Afterwards, as my friends and I walked to the subway, we were right behind him. He's like the anti-P. Diddy: just this normal guy that you wouldn't know was a rap superstar. Nobody recognized him. Given all the above, I wonder how many times I've walked by him and not even known it.

Just Somethin' About Sittin' On A Stoop

Back in the days when I had a stoop, I used to do a lot of sittin' on it. There just aren't many better ways to spend a lazy summer evening. My Puerto Rican Social Club neighbors undoubtedly thought it was weird that I sat on it with a glass of wine rather than a 40, but damn, what's the point of a stoop if you can't do what you want while you're sittin'?

So when I first heard this frolicking Little Jackie song "The Stoop" no more than five minutes ago, it immediately took up residence on my soul's stoop. It encapsulates the whole experience. So frickin' good. I seriously need me some stoop sittin' time now, so I'm gonna go hunting for somebody else's to sit on. (Go here to get it.)

Sittin on the stoop in Bed Stuy
Always say hi when the brothers walk by
Just for the etiquette sittin on the top step
With a bag of chips sit back relax enjoy the bricks
We got a heavenly philosophy
I don't mess with you you don't mess with me
It is what it is it ain't all hard
Up in the hood sittin on the front stoop
It's all good.

No Longer Eating My Heart Out

I confess to some jealousy of those bloggers who are eternally moaning about all the free review copies of music they get that they don't have time to listen to...but NO LONGER! I have just received my first review copy of a CD.

After I wrote briefly about Robin Danar's Altered States CD here, the nice folks over at Elemental Consulting/Shanachie were nice enough to contact me and I ask me if I'd like a copy. That was an easy enough question to answer. So now I have one!

This is mostly an album of covers, but I think my favorite is an original track by Jessca Hoop, which you can hear over here...

What's With...

Blogs that when you land on them, start playing music at you without you doing anything? Grumble...

Although, I must confess that the last time this happened, I liked what I was hearing well enough to fumble around the Web page until I figured out what it was. And it has tilted me from being in the "I dunno about Santogold" camp into the "Alright, I'm digging Santogold" camp. Twas this, in less invasive format:

You'll Find A Way

Reasons #242 and #243 Why Lil Wayne Rules

#242.

The lyrics!

Man I got summer hatin on me cuz I'm hotter than the sun
I got spring hatin on me cuz I ain't never sprung
Win-ter hating on me cuz I'm colder than yall
And I would never I would never I would never fall
I'm being hated by the seasons
So f--- yall for hatin with no reason

#243.

Wherein Lil Wayne thanks all the fans for buying his history book and gives a shout out to the book drive. Eh?

Not Duke Ellington's A Train

Another stolen photo...

Gosh, I didn't know toting around a boom box was back in style. It is in the outer outer boroughs, at least, where not one, but two boom boxes were going on the shuttle back to the A Train after my trip to Rockaway Beach. Along with a guy drinking a Corona on the train, two barefoot kids (eek!) and several people eating chicken and rice out of styrofoam containers.

Sadly, neither one of our boom box entertainers had put much thought into their playlists: one was playing an abominable, abysmal, asphyxiating slow jam, and the other, more boppable but somewhat irksome gangsta rap.

If I were lugging a boom box on the A train and drinking a Corona at this very moment (and I kind of wish I were!), this would be what I would be playing.

Beastie Boys - An Open Letter to NYC (duh)
Bryan Adams - Summer of '69
Notorious B.I.G. - Anything. Everything
The Ting Tings - Great DJ
Def Leppard - Pour Some Sugar On Me
Lil Wayne - Lollipop
Smashing Pumpkins - 1979
Flo-Rida - Low
Ludacris - The Potion
The Replacements - Kiss Me On The Bus. Or maybe Bastards of Young
Foghat - Slow Ride
Santogold - L.E.S. Artistes
Billy Idol - White Wedding
M83 - Highway of Endless Dreams
Jurassic 5 - Quality Control
Dead Prez- Hip-Hop
The Raconteurs - Salute Your Solution
Nas - Made You Look
M.I.A. - Galang
Soul Coughing - True Dreams of Wichita
And of course, The Ramones - Rockaway Beach

Hot In The City Tonight

Two small NY vignettes.

1. I am running in Prospect Park on Sunday. It is 7:45ish p.m. but it is still blazing hot. It is Puerto Rican Day, and the park is CROWD-ed and festive. I look to my left, see a guy lying face down in the grass in a very chalk outline-esque way. All around him, people partying, wandering, sitting, and this dude, face planted in the dirt. I ponder what to do. A half mile or so ahead there's an African drumming group that's always there on Sundays, and there's usually cops there to quell the drummers, should they, I dunno, start throwing drumsticks viciously. So I run along and find me a slightly pudgy cop, stop, and say, "there's a guy lying face down in the grass back there." He looks at me and goes: "drunk." I stare at him. "Maybe," I say. "Or, he could be dead..." Says he: "How far back is he?" I explain. He looks sad, and hot, and makes general noises about how he's going to check it out. I sure hope he did...

2. I am exiting the PATH train at the WTC station. There are two people at the turnstile next to mine, an unruly-looking guy coming in and a fierce-looking woman going out, who have reached an impasse. He has put his money in. She is halfway through the turnstile. Finally, she backs down and out, but he has already lost his money. "I lost my money!" he says, and as she breezes through the turnstile next to him, he slaps her in the back of the head. She hauls off and punches him. A flurry of half-hearted slapping ensues, as I stand frozen in the turnstile next to them, with my jaw on the floor. Two PATH employees are nearby, and they're like, "WTF?" And the guy is like, "I lost my money!" And they're like, "Dude, you just hit a woman because you lost your money???"

In the summer, in the city.

Like Being In Hell With A Cool Soundtrack

(I had to link to this picture. Click here for the original post by its original author.)

Saturday I went to a music festival down near Atlantic City at a place called Appel Farm. It would have been awesome had it not been 250 million degrees in the shade. Oh wait, there was no shade. The last time I completely sweat through every piece of clothing I was wearing was at the Mermaid Parade a couple of years ago, and I had totally forgotten what a disgusting feeling it was.

Anyhow, I think Enter the Haggis was pretty good, but I was so hot I couldn't pay attention. By the time Suzanne Vega came on, I had resigned myself, and managed to enjoy her stage banter quite a bit ("Do I look like Alice Cooper up here? Maybe not the best idea to outline my eyes in black ink before coming out here...and now, we're going to play a song in a major key!")

She ended her set with "Tom's Diner". Now, when I was growing up I absolutely hated that song, mostly because local radio overplayed the crap out of it. But compared to what radio plays today - well, I'll take it. And the live version she did was surprisingly rock 'n' roll...lots of bass, lots of drums.

Then there was They Might Be Giants, who were enjoyable simply because they were clearly having a good time, and because, as they say, they might be the only band on the planet that employs a full-time confetti artist. And maybe because, by that point, the sun had retreated at least five feet away from my head.

My friend advanced a theory that with They Might Be Giants, you can totally date someone by what songs they're a fan of. In my case, it's "Istanbul Not Constantinople" and "Particle Man", but there were some people in the audience grooving to "Fingertips," which I found to be an incomprehensible mess. So what TMBG era do you hail from?

Yay!

New Calexico album

Parental Apocalypse

Spied outside my building in Brooklyn the other night: a small child, perhaps six or seven years old, skipping down the sidewalk singing about lollipops. Bucolic childhood scene? Maybe, if it weren't Lil Wayne's song about lollipops. Disturbing, seeing a child utterly absorbed in singing "She lick me like a l-l-l-l-lollipop."

Stoked/Not Stoked

I am

Stoked: That Radiohead has 167,147 fans on Facebook (which I just joined!), currently 80,848 more fans than Britney Spears. All is as it should be.

Not stoked: That Coldplay has more fans than Radiohead. Which reminds me of a distasteful interaction I once had:

Me: (playing Radiohead CD)
Unnamed blasphemous one: They sound like Coldplay!
Me: (ominous silence)... ... ... Uh, nooooo, Coldplay sounds like Radiohead.

As a side note, Linkin Park, Justin Timberlake, and Chris Brown all have more fans than Radiohead, as does Victoria's Secret Pink. (?) And someone called 'The Stig'. (But not, thankfully, Tool.) Curious, this Facebook...

Stoked: To be going to All Points West.

Not stoked: In sign number 5,644 of the pending CD apocalypse, I was stalking the new Ting Tings album this weekend (i.e. too lazy to look up release date so just checking to see if it's out whenever I'm at a record store) and it was available, but only as LP or MP3 download. If want CD, must wait until June 3. Which happens to be today, but see, I wanted it Sunday, see.

Stoked: Waterfalls in New York! Really!

Yahhhhh!

Okayyyyy, I might be a teeny bit obsessed with Soulja Boy Tellem. Or whatever their name is. First I frightened my neighbors by learning, slowly and clankily as a 30+-year-old woman trying to be cool does, how to do the Superman dance. Now, I can't stop laughing about this "Yahhh Trick Yahhh" song. In its lyrical genius, it outdoes "Supersoak that ho" (is that realllllly what they're saying!??!) by, like, a factor of one million. I think I will try the move at about 3:32 of the way in the next time someone messes with me on the subway.

The Million Dollar Quartet

Another "how did I live this long and not know about this?" moment.

If you ever go to Memphis (and you should), your number one stop, even ahead of Graceland, must be Sun Studio. This two-room, 45-minute tour is one of the best I've ever been on. I got to hear great stories (Elvis lied about his mother's birthday to get that legendary first Sun recording), hear great music (sure, you've heard 'Hound Dog,' but have you heard 'Bear Cat'?), and stand in the studio itself, ground zero for rock and roll.

The picture here hangs in Sun Studio (several times). It's a shot of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Johnny Cash. They randomly got together (Cash left) for a jam session. Sam Phillips recorded the whole thing, without anybody else knowing. The session sat, dusty and unheard, for some time; according to our tour guide, it was because Elvis was by that time under contract to RCA and no one else could record him. But after his death, the session saw the light of day. And it's great: as historical record, as music, as way of making legends real. It's got gospel. It's got blues. It's got Christmas music. It's got Elvis impersonating the first Elvis impersonator.

Click here for Sun Studio's own opinion of the top ten lyrics ever recorded there.

And, one of the best tracks on the CD:



And, speaking of Memphis, the Hold Steady is streaming a track from their new CD on their MySpace page where they depart their traditional northern U.S. climes and move south. Is that a joke, that fried reference?

Forever's Not So Long

I have two favorite Devotchka songs so far - maybe three now - and they played one - maybe two - Saturday night at the Fillmore in Philly. It was a good show...I don't really feel like my life has been enriched by the odd encore of scantily clad gymnast, but oh the string section, and the intricate piano work, and the sheer temerity of the sousaphone. And the mariachi trumpets. And his voice.

And these lyrics.

How It Ends

My other old original favorite is "Too Tired." And my new maybe but lemme think about it a little while favorite is "Transliterator."

The Opposite of Dank

Quite a tasty little wine, this odd combination of shiraz and viognier. It's a red wine that tastes fizzy without actually being fizzy...that makes your stomach sparkle...a mouthful of it is the opposite of dank. Which we can all use some of in New York this unsparkling, unfizzy, undelightful spring.

Check it out at this store.

The Bones Of You

Every so often, I hear a single song and I know that I have to be able to hear it again whenever I want for the rest of my life, and probably whatever other songs it has been packaged with on a CD as well, and that I must possess this capability immediately.

This happens less and less often as I grow more cautious about all the previous CDs bought on a similar impulse that turn out to be, well, junk. But it remains a happy impulse when I can't rationalize myself out of it, and so it was yesterday morning.

Now that we've got a decent radio station in NY at 91.5FM, my alarm clock tunes in at 7 a.m., just in time for the NPR round-up, after which I usually drag myself out of bed. But yesterday this song comes on after the news and glues me to my mattress until it decides that it has had enough of me, and ends. Partly because of the determined guitar strum that kicks in at beat one and carries all the way through, building at around 2:20 to a great contemplative noise before pausing and then striding forward again. Partly because of the lyrics, which are simply true, and were especially true for me yesterday morning, and start off something like:

So I'm there
Charging around with a juggernaut brow
Over draft speeches and deadlines to make
Cramming commitments like cats in a sack
Telephone burn and a purposeful gait
When out of a doorway the tentacles stretch of a song that I know
And the world moves in slo-mo
Straight to my head like the first cigarette of the day

And partly because of the ending - is that "Summertime" being played so faintly in the background? Curious...

"The Bones of You," this song is called (listen here), by Elbow, who I had previously lumped into the "another indie band that I don't have time for" category. No longer.

Addendum

As a postscript to my marching band post, I have just accidentally watched a video called "Talkin' Out Da Side Of Ya Neck" by a group called Dem Franchize Boyz, the Charming Olde Shoppes of the rap world. The video features a marching band and a repetitive brass line that could be played by a lone horn player who regrouped after proving unable to master, say, the C major scale in junior high band.

The song appears, fortunately, not to be about tracheotomies (tracheotomiez?), but instead to be about lying jerks.

Beh, I can't even bear to link to it.

Dirt Off Your Shoulder

I usually don't listen to music when I run. For a lot of reasons: my ears I guess are weirdly shaped because the buds fall out; and they sweat and that's just kind of nasty; but mostly because the beat of the music interferes with my running. I find myself trying to keep time with the music, and I just can't get any kind of groove.

But a couple nights ago, I'm at my local NYSC, curse its raggedy soul, at the tail end of a run on the treadmill, and this Jay-Z song comes on the usually garbage in-house video network, and damned if it didn't exactly match my tempo, and damned if I didn't run for an extra five minutes because it was so perfect.

Sigh.

Michael Beasley has disintegrated my desktop computer and probably all my music files therein (it's a long story). Now I must struggle with the unhappy decision of buying a new hard drive and taking the old one to a specialist to try and salvage my stuff, or just reloading the OS and starting over with a clean slate. The latter option is tempting considering my low tolerance for bureaucratic BS, but oh, the music I will lose...

A happier tale lies in the Hungry March band, New York City's off-kilter group of musicians of varying talent who play just because they want to. I ran across them - I think it was them - at the entrance to Prospect Park, pumping out a goofy version of something I recognized vaguely. "One, two, three, four!" they all shouted several times, over a rhythm that went "bam-a-lam-a-ding-dong."

I knew I knew that, so off I went to my computer. Typing in "bam-a-lam-a-ding-dong" turned up a variety of interesting things, including the news that this was a song by someone named Barry Mann, but I knew that wasn't what I knew, so I found myself on Wikipedia, where mass intelligence quickly led me to what I remembered that I knew I knew.

It's Le Tigre. It's Deceptacon. And it rocks.

My House Is Turning Into A Library

I am inspired by Mr. Dan Kelly's list of books he has actually managed to kill off to post my own list of neglected books which are gathering dust on bookshelves or elsewhere and which I WILL read before I buy more books, dammit. Yeah sure (in my predicted order of actually getting read):

Sacred Games, Vikram Chandra

Wall Street Noir, featuring a short story by Henry Blodget??? Curious.

This Is Your Brain On Music, Daniel J. Levitin

Londonstani, Gautam Malkani

Abraham, Bruce Feiler

Maxium City, Suketu Mehta

The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand

Portraits and Observations, The Essays Of Truman Capote

Survivor, by Chuck Palahniuk: I have a funny story to tell about Chuck Palahniuk sometime.

The Facts Behind The Helsinki Roccamatios, Yann Martel

Amnesia Moon, Jonathan Lethem

The Granta Book of Reportage

Carter Beats The Devil, Glen David Gold

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, Betty Smith

These last three I have picked up and put back down. That typically bodes ill for me finishing them, but I actually do want to read these:

Collapse, Jared Diamond

The Journalist And The Murderer, Janet Malcolm

And They All Sang, Studs Terkel

And there are about another 20 that I ought to just put out on the curb because I am clearly never going to read them. I'm so uninterested in them that I'm not even going to list them here.

Marching Band Geeks, Rise Up

For eons, I've been trying to build a playlist of marching band-inspired music - let's qualify that: an enjoyable playlist of marching band-inspired music - and was motivated by Vampire Weekend's recent incorporation of a high school drumline in their lineup to finally get this list out of my head and onto blog.

We aren't talking anywhere near CD length yet, and without Missy Elliott we wouldn't even be talking EP, but here ya go:

My favorite marching band-influenced performance evuh is Kanye West's Jesus Walks, which he did live with the Ohio Central State marching band for "Dave Chappelle's Block Party". Irritatingly, the only way to see or hear this performance is to buy the DVD (which I did, but still). It didn't make the CD, and there's no trace of it online. Grumble. Hating on whatever copyright laws are keeping me from enjoying this someplace other than my TV.

We'll just have to content ourselves with these other offerings. Can something be simultaneously whack and dope?

*JC Chasez: Blowing Me Up With Her Love. This song was made for marching band. Literally. It appears on the soundtrack to the movie "Drumline," a fine example of the movie genre of good teenager A faces off against bad teenager B, goes through trials and tribulations, and ultimately, unsurprisingly and tritely, triumphs.



*Gwen Stefani: Hollaback Girl. Gwen kind of lost me with the whole Harajuku girl thing, but I still dig this song. Wind It Up has a similar vibe.



*Missy Elliott: Bad Man. Missy loves her some marching bands in general. But she especially loves them on "Bad Man," which is all about the tuba. As anyone who's ever been in band knows, that's, well, whack.

A few other also-rans: Eve's Tambourine, which makes solid use of drum major whistle, but is devoid of energy, and Outkast's Morris Brown, which is a full-on marching band extravaganza and even talks about marching bands, but somehow completely lacks excitement. And Destiny's Child with Lose My Breath. Yawn.

I don't know why this list is all hip-hop. Is marching band inherently anti-rock? What am I missing?

Danzing!

A friend I hadn't seen for nine years was, awesomely, in town last weekend. Needless to say, we had some catching up to do. One of the things we did was reminisce about Russian music - especially bad Russian music.

I reminded him of Ivanushki International (Little International Ivans), the Russian equivalent of the Backstreet Boys. I particularly love this song, which translates as "I'll be yelling about this all night," for its lovely combination of classical riff and disco beat and its tuneless screaming about something that ought to be romantic ("I seriously love you! I really hope you love me too! And I'll be yelling about it all night!" And then they put it in the third person for a chorus of screaming: "He seriously loves you! He hopes you love him too! Etc.")

He, in turn, introduced me to this wonderful horribleness, which isn't strictly Russian (it's Ukrainian) but certainly qualifies in terms of cheesy, huh?-inducing strangeness. Or wait, maybe that's just a characteristic of European popualar music...

This Song Sounds Like This Picture Looks

Vampire Weekend meets Ra Ra Riot?

Say no more.

I'm only writing this post because I stumbled across "Osaka Loop Line" before the vast majority of the tune-oblogosphere, which never happens. I would also like to take this opportunity to brag that I saw Vampire Weekend for free - FREE - at some weird outdoor amphitheatre down on the East River by the F train East Broadway stop last summer. In the audience were lots of overdressed Williamsburg kids, some folks from Virginia on whose floor the band had crashed, and a guy with a video recorder who was maybe a dad? Vampire Weekend still was a little frayed around the edges, which made them even better. It was a beautiful day to take off your shoes and listen to a little ska.

I'll be real curious to see what happens to this band in the over-hyped new media world that we live in. I'm wondering if it's even possible to have a "next big thing" anymore, given the backlash to the backlash to the backlash environment that now dominates.

Now It's Said And Done

I've been vaguely conscious of the Shout Out Louds as that band with the one song that you can sing along with loudly and that is easily confused with a rather similar LL Cool J song..."Let's call this the comeback...mumble mumble"...but otherwise I had pretty much ignored them. But when my Magnet indie rock magazine declared their follow-up album one of the top 20 of last year I revisited them.

This song is pretty good objectively. It also happens, for me, to be that rare song that burrows its way into your consciousness just because it happens to exactly match your mood the very first time you listen to it.

Normandie

Joey Dorsey Is A Monster

Watching that Memphis-Texas game last night was painful no matter which team you were rooting for. As somebody down the bar from me put it about Texas' last five minutes desperation hack-a-Tiger strategy, "It's like Hillary Clinton's campaign!"

Let's go Tigers.

Big Mama Thornton - Hound Dog

A Small Angry Book About Work

This book is so good, I can't describe it. Because when writing is really good, trying to convey it in my own lame words just diminishes it. So, this book is good. The chapter "The Thing to Do and the Place to Be" has blown a hole in my soul. Period.

Other things that are this good (in their own way):

Kublakai. Old-school throwback hip-hop.

Turn your head while it happens in your back yard
Put your tough face on go on act hard
Tell a story before you know what the facts are
But everybody knows the truth.

The Ting Tings. As some other blog wrote, who doesn't love a song with the chorus "The drums/The drums/The drums/The drums"?

This song. Turn the volume up. Properly position your speakers. The Mae Shi.

It's hard to say, but the new Raconteurs album might be. You can find it if you look for it. Lots of reverb-y goodness. And some trumpets? Let's see if this uber-cool (love the piano player's tat) video persists on Youtube. If it doesn't, you can see it at their Web site.



Oh, and this. As the email forward I got proclaimed: EVERYONE SHOULD SEE THIS.

Wanna Be Somebody

With all the basketball I've been watching the past couple of weeks, the Nike commercial that's been in heavy CNBC-like rotation on ESPN and CBS was bound to sink into my consciousness eventually. "What is that?" I finally thought to myself this morning as the song stirred me off my couch and towards my running shoes (which aren't Nike).

With the wonders of the Internet, it took me about two minutes to figure it out, and another two minutes to download the song. It's called "List of Demands," by a guy by the name of Saul Williams. Apparently first a poet and second a rapper, and has been around for years. This returns me to my eternal question: how can good music go so unnoticed for so long?

Nice work, Nike. Make a better shoe and I'll run in it.

Go see him live April 9 at Irving Plaza. Meanwhile, go here to get the song.

List of Demands

Some Strange Area Codes In Which To Have Hoes

Luda!

I have long been a fan of Luda's genius song, Area Codes, which, like Kanye's Gold Digger or Chingy's Dem Jeans, is just too funny to be offensive. So I can't stop giggling over the above map and link, which take the whole concept one step further. I'm particularly enjoying the Midway and Wake Islands speculation.

And, as my pal AMP points out, if you work in the media industry as we do, you can delude coworkers from afar into thinking you are staring at some weird delegate map, unless, of course, they overhear you snickering to yourself.

Music, Real Music, Is Happiness

I never listen to New York radio, with the exception of WFMU, which technically is Jersey City radio. In the morning, I put on KCRW or KEXP archives streaming online. On the subway, my iPod. If I rent a car, CDs. I only rarely have the desire to listen to a--hole men on morning talk radio on K-Rock or latest vapid hit #45 on infinite repeat on Z100 or self-important yammerings on Hot 97 or anything on any Clear Channel station.

So this is the best news ever. Aptly titled Radio Liberation can't liberate me from death by NY radio soon enough.

Music Is Happiness - The Octopus Project

Yes, Another Radiohead Post

I've been digging through my infinite Radiohead mp3 collection at the bequest of someone I think will become a friend, despite the fact that in one of our first meetings he blasphemed that he wasn't really into Radiohead. But he claimed redemption by declaring himself ready to be reconvinced, and asking what CD he should start with. Whereupon I of course offered a mix.

I'm still fumbling through my 24 versions of The Gloaming to find the perfect one, but I have already stumbled across a few random gems I had totally forgotten. Herewith:

UMass percussion ensemble covers Paranoid Android

Thom curses the sound system

Genius Jay Z mashup

Linkus

Because I [heart] this post.

clicky

Intrigued By This

I'm looking forward to this, which comes out next week and promises to be an album of really unique-sounding covers. It's hard to tell for sure, since the only stuff available online so far is the Pete Yorn/Kinky cover of "Use Me" - not as good as Grace Jones' campy version, but what is? - and a few snippets of the other songs. Still, promising.

Obama.

My bud Dan Kelly posted this picture, which he stole from somewhere else. I'm stealing it from him, because it rules.

The Thrill Of The Hunt

I heard this man, Yoav, on, I don't know, Morning Becomes Eclectic? Downloaded some of his stuff. Liked. Days passed, and so did the conscious memory of him. Fast forward. Have dropped by Kims after gorging self at cute little tea shop in East Village. One of Yoav's songs is bubbling in my head, but I can't remember his name. Does it start with a Y? Browse the indie Ys. Nothing there. Randomly browse all the indie stuff. No luck. Try the "listen here" stations, but can't search by the name of the song, which is the only thing I can remember. Give up. Hit the used bin. Success! It's a good feeling, finding first runs in the reruns.

Yeah The End

Hip-Hop Dance Craze!

A few weeks ago, I read an article in that bastion of trendiness, the Wall Street Journal, about how hip-hop artists are thinking up dances as part of the process of song creation, in yet another attempt to stave off diving music sales. (Having read that article and then seen "Step Up 2" - which ruled - I'm also wondering about the simultaneous success of that movie and its pseudo-theme, Flo-Rida's Low. Marketing genius? Random luck?)

Of course, after having read that article, I had to check out these dances, which led to an hour of nonsense in my apartment that any neighbors peeking through my back windows may have enjoyed, or may have been terrified by. My judgment?

Dude N Nem - Watch My Feet: Too freaking hard.


Chicken Noodle Soup: Too ridiculous.


Soulja Boy - Crank That: Just right. Plus, easy instructional video!


Finally, what the hell is this???

SXSW = Delta Blues?

I'm always glad when SXSW rolls around because - even if I've never been - the wonder of the Internet means that a bunch of new bands pop up onto my radar. But at the same time, it's really all a bit much. Who has time to sort through all that music - most of it pretty much the same old stuff - to find the really fresh new bits? Not me. What typically happens is that six months later, I'll stumble across some band that I'll think is awesome and then realize I have at least a couple of songs on my computer from my SXSW browsings that I never bothered to listen to.

Enter NPR, which has done a little bit of sorting to help me out. Of the stuff they have available to listen to, I'm jamming the most to Honeycut and Magic Arm (like that eastern vibe).

My least favorite of the cuts on here is the Ironweed Project. Whoever Ironweed Project is, they claim to have followed the same path as Robert Johnson to the blues, but are proud of the fact that unlike Johnson, they cleverly avoided having to sell their souls. Don't they understand that that's the whole point???

Rain Down On Me

It's raining in New York; has been for, oh, 18 hours now. From inside my apartment, I'm imagining it as a biblical deluge-type downpour as I scrounge through my music for my favorite rainy day tunes.

How long, I wonder, could I stay inside these four walls before I went crazy? Stay tuned...stay tuned.

On the topic of rain, how excited am I that Radiohead is playing Liberty State Park again in August at All Points West or whatever it's called? Last time they played there (twice), it was August of 2001, and I hauled my butt the six-mile roundtrip walk from my then-apartment in Jersey City to see them. On the more sublime end of my memories of those nights is the World Trade Center lit up behind the stage...on the more banal end, the cheeseball near me who turned to his friend just as they got to the "Rain Down" chorus on Paranoid Android and said, "Wouldn't it be cool if it rained right now?

Sia - Breathe Me

Film School - Activated

Alexi Murdoch - Home

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