Guilty Pleasures

(Don't ask me what's up with this picture, because I don't know.)

Oh hell, my appreciation of Justin Timberlake isn't even really guilty any more. Dude makes me want to dance, what else do you need? Now, if I were a Kevin Federline fan, that would be something NOT to brag about.

I'm reserving judgment on the new album - I'm pretty sure that Sexy Back, or is it SexyBack? and what's the difference? - is not going to be my Summer Anthem. But I'm a proud owner of the last one (errrr, thanks to a friend who gave it to my birthday, along with Mickey Mouse-ear coasters, because I was too embarrassed to buy it myself).

Somehow I stumbled across Justin's Maida Vale sessions at the BBC (OK, maybe I was looking for them. Maybe. Shut up. What makes you better than me?). And they're kind of good, actually. Check out this version of Cry Me A River, which isn't a'tall like what you might think it would be.

Also, while toodling around looking for an mp3 version of this song, I happened upon a 2003 clip of him wearing a dolphin suit whilst playing bass for the Flaming Lips. So there, you see? Indie cred.

Music For Maids And Taxi Drivers

Forro is the music of rural northeastern Brazil, or so I was once told by a newspaper article.

Who knew that northeastern Brazil had its own music? Intrigued, I up and went to the show that the newspaper article was referring to, featuring a band called Forro in the Dark.

Forro is heavy on the drums and the accordion. It can have singing, or not. The way Forro in the Dark do it, there is wooden flute, and trombone, and saxophone, and other random stuff thrown in.

It's impossible not to dance - just a little bit - while you're listening to it, and easy to imagine you're someplace tropical with a beach and a caipirinha. In fact, often there is a caipirinha nearby.

Sadly, Forro in the Dark's recordings (first song below) do not capture their magic live. But the second song here, from a CD compilation called Brazil: Forro, Music for Maids and Taxi Drivers, gives a little bit better approximation.

Forro in the Dark: Suor de Pele Fina

Jose Orlando: Eu Tambem Quero Beijar

More Bands Should Have Horn Sections

Very occasionally, I will hear a song on the radio and immediately have to possess it. Increasingly, this happens only when I listen to KEXP on the Web, since NYC's radio stations make me want to stick my fingers in my ears and make a face.

It happened not so long ago with this song by The Pharaohs.

The Pharaohs Love Ya

The Pharaohs are not to be confused with the backing band for Sam the Sham on '60s hit Wooly Bully. They're different - and better. They weren't around for very long, but they sure were funky.

It was a task to find this song. At first I tried to buy their album, In The Basement, from Ubiquity Records, but they were sold out. (I did get some cool t-shirts tho.) Finally both iTunes and emusic added some of their songs.

This Old World Of Ours

So I was on the subway the other day and I saw a crazy person talking to herself.

This normally would not be of note, but this crazy person was talking to herself - in sign language.

This song was used in the movie 187, one of my favorite movies. Movie and song are about (among other things) how crazy living in the city can make you.

Massive Attack - Spying Glass

I Mostly [Heart] New York

New York. Where else can I all in the space of five hours take a walk on the beach, get a hot dog at Nathan's, watch some really weird movie clips at the Coney Island Museum (police training video of woman giving birth, anyone? How 'bout a trailer for a 1970's X-rated movie - in 3D?), and then finish up the night with a yuppie-feeling blood orange margarita in the near-Gowanus "forget-up-and-coming-we've-already-arrived" area? I ask you, where else?

Right about now though, I sure am glad I don't live in Queens. What the hell is going on there lately? ConEd is just as bad as the MTA. I hope the Lemon Ice King of Corona Queens isn't affected.

Controller Controller - Disco Blackout

Cold, Dark, And Creepy

Back before Swedish bands got all hip, there was Garmarna.

Garmarna isn't your traditional rock band. They play a weird mix of rock-influenced folk music, of old Swedish ballads that are plugged in. A lot of their music is sorta depressing, but what can you expect from a land that only gets an average of two hours of sun a day?

I particularly like this song, called Vedergallningen, or Vengeance. The lyrics start out like this:

Before the cock crowed I was born
Far are the paths that I follow
My mother was dead before the dawn
Long long she awaited her sorrow

and just sort of get worse from there.

A Flower On My Toe

I once saw the Dandy Warhols at the Bowery Ballroom.

This was several years ago, back when I was already too old for the Bowery Ballroom, but not yet wise enough to know it. I think only a week or so earlier I had been to another show there, which involved four bands, started at like 10 p.m., ended at 2 a.m., and was on a weeknight. I was not a happy camper the next day at work, and decided henceforth to shun the Bowery Ballroom.

Except for the tickets to the Dandy Warhols, which I already had. Another weeknight show.

I was more hopeful for this show than the last. After all, it was just the Dandy Warhols. No three other bands to clog things up. I'd have myself a good time and be home by 1 a.m. LATEST, able to still be sprightly and stuff the next day.

But then they played for three hours. They played every song in their repertoire, and then they played other songs that were not in their repertoire. Their "bass" player ended the night with some silliness that I believe was called "A Flower On My Toe," and of course I was still there, because I am dumb.

I mean, I like the Dandy Warhols, but I don't like them that much.

I distinctly remember the night I happened upon this band's sound. It was right after a work-related event at which I'd seen Carl Quintanilla, then one of People's 50 hottest people, or most eligible bachelors, or something. I'd had a free watermelon martini. I was very impressed with myself. I toddled around the corner to the Virgin Megastore, and treated myself to a little listening station music. It was the Warhols.

It was this song.

Godless

The band appears to have released a new single called "Have A Kick Ass Summer." You can listen to an excerpt here. I don't know what to make of it. They also have some interesting stuff on their Web site, here.

Insomnia

Have been having trouble sleeping of late. Not sure why. Is it because it has been one million degrees here in NY? Is it work? Is it just a screwed up sleep schedule? I don't know. But what I do know is that at least I'm not the only person who's ever had this problem, because here are at least two others who have.

This first one is actually a really terrible song, but in a good way. Picture a drugged-out clubber who can't get no sleep (err, would that mean he can get sleep?). I'm not even sure who it's by, although my computer tells me the artist is someone named Insomnia. Warning: it goes on endlessly, and then cuts off suddenly.

I Can't Get No Sleep

This one, in contrast, is a markedly good song. Who hasn't felt this way at one, two, three, and four in the morning?

M Ward - Four Hours In Washington

Best Cover Ever

To my mind, two things have to happen for a cover song to be worth the space it takes to store it.

First, the cover has to be good. What's good, is, of course, a matter of taste. For me, and I suspect for most people, if I'm going to like a cover, the artist performing it is generally going to be somebody I like in the first place. Oddly, whether or not I like the original artist doesn't seem to matter much at all.

Second, the artist performing the cover has to make it their own somehow. What's the point of a cover song that sounds exactly like the original? Why not just listen to the original?

These two conditions aren't all that hard to meet. I can think of several covers off the top of my head that qualify: M Ward's cover of Let's Dance, Devotchka's new EP of cover songs, Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah.

But for a cover to become a true classic, something else has to happen. I'm not sure what - call it magic, if you want - but whatever it is, it's present on this PJ Harvey/Bjork collaboration. In this case, I think it has to do with the combination of their personalities, the way they're each themselves and the way they fit together.

Take a listen.

Satisfaction

Raindrops On Roses

Some favorite things about the 1H '06:

Wine: Piovano. This is an Umbrian wine that I picked up somewhat at random, and boy am I glad. It is one of only a few bottles of wine I have drunk that have led me to stalk more bottles of said wine.

Song: Down Is The New Up, by Radiohead. Note how it changes from early version (the second time they played it I believe) to late, at the end of their tour.

Down Is The New Up (MSG)

Down Is The New Up (LA)

Movies:

1) Dave Chappelle's Block Party. Damn I wish I had gone to see this for real, rain or no rain. I get the feeling the movie is a poor surrogate. Chappelle is funny as hell, the marching band from Ohio rules [dear Dave: please release the version they did of Jesus Walks with Kanye. Please?], and the Erykah Badu/Jill Scott duet gives me goosebumps.

2) The Heart of the Game, a documentary that turned out so perfectly you almost wonder if it's a documentary. A nice way for us "how many innings are there in a baseball game again?" folks to bide the time while we wait for basketball season to roll around.

Album: Ballad Of The Broken Seas, Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan. This is such a weird combination, but it really works.

Deus Ibi Est

Weird thing: Motherf**king snakes on motherf**king planes

Chali Tuna

Chali 2na is super cool. He raps deep, deep, smooth, down low grooves for Jurassic 5. He was supposed to come out with a solo album last year, but I dunno what happened. Another indication of the stupidity of the record industry I guess. At least we have his EP, Fish Market. As for J5, they have a new album out July 25.

Chali 2na - Join The Dots

There Is Only One True Bean

Found stamped on a sidewalk near the staircase that leads to the Brooklyn Bridge, on the Brooklyn side.

I bought this CD of Tom T. Hall covers for the Calexico version of Tulsa Telephone Book, which is one of my top five cover songs on the planet. But it turns out that Tom T. and I appear to feel the same about coffee. Mmmm, coffee. Warm morning snuggling friend. Without which not only life but the path to the apartment door is impossible to navigate. Not one, but two, songs about coffee adorn this CD. A brief Internet search reveals, however, that Tom T. likes his liquor more than he likes his coffee, having penned at least 10 songs somehow related to that topic. Nevertheless, I give you this coffee song.

Freedy Johnston: Coffee, Coffee, Coffee

Late 20th Century Blues

I saw the Cowboy Junkies at a Housing Works show some time ago. They were the third band to play. The first, a local band called LP, or El-P, or something, can be summed up by this one lyric that I remember distinctly through my giggling: "This long dark night of the soul sure is long and dark." The second band was pretty good, but I can't for the life of me remember their name. Then there were the Junkies, who could with one strum of the guitar and one sung word from Margo Timmins [the word could be 'shrubbery', frankly - it wouldn't matter] evoked all the feeling that El-P had earlier stomped on.

Here's a live version of Blue Guitar, which most of the time is my favorite Cowboy Junkies song.

Blue Guitar

May All Your Babies Grow Up To Be Radiohead Fans

Good friends Gina and Eric just had a baby named Nora. I don't know any songs about babies named Nora or even people named Gina and Eric, but I do have in my possession a number of songs about babies - or at least, with the word babies in the title.

I'm sure that Nora is much more attractive than Neko Case was as a baby.

When I Was A Baby

Separately, is this album out yet? What about now? Now? Sigh.....NOW?

The excruciating experience of waiting for this album reminds me of how, when I was in Hong Kong for a month when Hail To The Thief came out, one of the things I was most happy about (forget new culture, great experience, bla bla bla) was getting to buy that album a full day earlier than I would have in the States.

Whilst we not so patiently bide our time, lots of good new Radiohead stuff over at ateaseweb.com.

Thom Yorke teaser, plus this is what it was like in Florida, only more humid.

And It Rained All Night

She Asked Me Why You Know

Headed out to Florida for a wedding. Hope it's not too humid. Leavin' y'all with this R.L. Burnside tune because it seems appropriate.

Goin' Down South

The F Train

This is a song for anyone who has ever lived along the F train's route in B'klyn.

I lived on this accursed train line for more than a year, and when I moved, one of the reasons was to get away from it. It was shortening my life. I still can't talk about it without turning red in the face.

This song doesn't quite feel like it's closely acquainted with the F train. For one, it's way too cheerful; a song about the F train should be much angrier. For another, Mike Doughty talks about the train "speeding" under the river, which is, well, laughable.

Nevertheless, the general sentiment - and the title - are right on.

I Thank You Lord For Sending Me The F Train

The Perfect Burger

July 4th. How to celebrate the holiday when one despises one's government? By eating as much as possible, of course! I'm going to spend my day hunting for the perfect burger, perhaps taking a trip to Cones on Bleecker Street (hmmm, tiramisu or coconut?), and doing something somewhere close to the water. Fireworks? Who needs 'em? I've had fireworks out back my building all night for the past week.

But before all that, I will listen to this song on repeat for at least half an hour.

Hot In The City

Bald Lover

In school a friend, Dave, had a weekly blues show on the college radio station. One night he played this Muddy Waters song that I loved instantly. It had piano and harmonica and a jiggy little beat and bragging lyrics about gypsy women and sexual prowess, which is really all you need for a rollicking good blues song. The next week I called up and asked Dave if he'd play the song again, but I didn't know the name of it, so I says, says I: "Dave, you played this song last week by Muddy Waters, I don't know the name but it sure sounded like it was about a bald lover." And Dave says, "Ahh, I'll play that song for you, but it's 'Born Lover,' not 'Bald Lover.'"

To this day I am not convinced. Judge for yourself.

Born Lover

Going Down South

Perusing the ads in alt-music magazines will usually tell you only a) about bands you already know about, b) about bands you don't want to know about, or c) that you have too much time on your hands/are avoiding something else you really should be doing instead. But occasionally you can find out about d) a new tune that kind of rocks.

I'm from a smallish town near Memphis, which is a good thing, cuz otherwise I never would have had the patience to navigate this nearly unusable Memphis record label's Web site after seeing an ad for it. Persistence paid off with the below song, which is by a guy named Corey Branan. He hails from Mississippi and appears to have turned out all right despite having played in a Black Sabbath cover band at some point in his young life. And having narrowly avoided death at the hands of King Kong.

You can stream his whole new album at his own Web site, which fortunately is more user-friendly than that of his label.

She's My Rock N Roll

Thinking About What?

This is a song by the Dirtbombs. Because this (finally) not-humid, not-yet-raining, loud construction noises at 7 in the morning, sit in Prospect Park for 4 glorious hours summer N.Y. day seems to call for it. If you feel like listening to them in a club that sounds like a bathtub, they are playing at Maxwell's on July 29.

I Can't Stop Thinking About It