"I am a Scientist," by Guided by Voices

My favorite song of the day. Looks like someone's been drinking. 

                                        

"Freak Scene," by Dinosaur Jr.

My Favorite Song of the Day: "Freak Scene," by Dinosaur Jr. And an emphatic Yes! Yes! Yes! to this live version.

"Isabel" by Unrest. It's the Song of the Day

I am such a sucker for that drum beat. That ubiquitous early 90s Madchester-ish drumbeat. The album version, without the drums, is beautiful too. But like I said--give me that beat as a bed and I'll jump in.

"Isabel," by Unrest. 1993

"On Fire" by Sebadoh. It's the song of the day.

Haul

On January 19, I dropped by Freakbeat records in Sherman Oaks with my pal, Russ.

This was my haul.

Black Market Clash, by The Clash

I especially dig side 2. Their version of "Armageddon Time" is one of my all-time favorite white guy covers of Jamaican music.

Time for Tyner, by McCoy Tyner

Really imaginative live set. Visionary 1960s' jazzpiano playing here.


















We the Common, by Thao and the Get Down Stay Down

If you're not down with the Get Down Stay Down, then you bloody well need to be. 

Haul

On Saturday, 11/28, I dropped into Atomic Records in Burbank with Russ. This was my haul.

"Status," by Eric Dolphy

Double album issue of avant-garde breaking bop jazz artistry. 

"Ridin' Shotgun," Dub Narcotic Sound System

I was not prepared for how funky Calvin Johnson could get. This was a fun(ky) surprise.

"Chesterfield King," Jawbreaker, 1991

"We stood in your room and laughed out loud. 

Suddenly the laughter died and we were caught in an eye to eye. 

We sat on the floor and did we sit close." 

Brian was a good friend. He offered to drive Mike and me to the airport one gray, wet morning for a flight to San Francisco. My first trip away from my family. First time on an airplane without them. Mike and I just wanted to run around San Francisco for the weekend. It was the late 90s, but we still sought to channel some Beat energy circa 1956.

Brian was in the driver seat. Mike in the passenger seat. He was much bigger than me. So I crammed into the tiny seats behind in Brian's pick-up truck. My knees pressed against my chest, my body positioned sideways, leaving my head to stare out the rear window at the 15 freeway and what we were leaving behind that morning.

A mixtape Brian had made was blasting through the truck speakers. The only song I remember from the drive was Jawbreaker's "Chesterfield King." A song I had heard many times before. But on that freeway drive, that song hit me in a new way. Like a first kiss. A first anything. 

The story Blake Schwarzenbach howls is the classic teenage love angst song. But he captures his feelings in a novel way and layers the song atop the punk chord changes. The energy of the music matches the energy that teenagers keep hidden in their heads, their chests, their other places. 

"I took my car and drove it down the hill by your house. 

I drove so fast. 

The wind it couldn't cool me down, so I turned it around and came back up."

The best line of the song. The pseudo-chorus above, paints the clear picture of a tiny moment that means so much. Not many songwriters are able to capture these tiny moments. Blake can. And although I never drove my car down a hill by any girl's house to cool myself off, Blake sings it with so much heart and honesty, I feel like I have. Maybe I did. I don't remember. 

And a live version because WHY NOT?

Haul.

On Thursday, August 12, I stopped in CD Trader in Tarzana. This is my haul.

Double Barrel, Dave and Ansel Collins. 180 gram reissue.

24 Hour Revenge Therapy, Jawbreaker, 20th Anniversary reissue.

"Red Paint," The Promise Ring, 1996

"I was sad enough last Saturday,

I woke you to talk but you didn't have much to say."

I will always treasure those first two Promise Ring albums. Yes, nostalgia is a powerful thing, but so is damn good music. 90s indie rock. My favorite type of music.  

"Red Paint" from The Promise Ring's awesome debut, 30 Degrees Everywhere, opens with its immediate bouncing bass and palm muted power chords. Davey von Bohlen's vocals are free verse poetry confessions. He sings something about Cherry Cokes. Together, Davey, guitars, bass, drums all ascend into an eruption into what would be the chorus if this were a traditional song format.

But that's the thing. Promise Ring songs don't always fall into the verse-chorus-verse format. Sometime there are no choruses. The song structures lay the template for the emo uprising of the early 00's. But don't blame The Promise Ring for that. Songs like "Red Paint" stand up for all that could have been great with aggressive non-traditional structure indie rock paired with emotional and poetic lyrics. 

Here is where this all works.

Bewitched

Random reviews of random albums...

Bewitched, by Luna, 1994

1994 is my favorite year for music ever. I've said it before. I'll say it plenty of times again. So many great albums released. Bewitched is another stellar example of the magic of 1994.

But it would be two years later, in 1996, when Bewitched caught me in its sorcery. I had just gotten my first job. A 16 year old ice cream scooper at the local Baskin Robbins. It didn't last long. One and a half paychecks. Every night when my shift was over, I'd hop into my Volkswagon Vanagon and hit play. The cassette in the deck for these three weeks of sweet treat labor was Luna's Bewitched.                                  

I was terrible at scooping ice cream. I was even worse at cleaning the place after closing time. I just went through the half-assed motions until my shift supervisor finally just said enough, go home. Then back into the van for more Bewitched.

It was this year of my life where I plummeted hard for Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground. Obsessed. So what hit me first in the brain about Luna was, man, they sounded like the Velvet Underground! Or at least more like the Velvets than any other band around in the 90s. Easily. 

Bewitched opens with the seminal "California (All the Way)." 4 muted bar chords open the song. Strumming only the high strings ohh so gently to welcome you in. Few songs are so effective in their welcoming. The lead guitar sings the melody line that will form the chorus, and then Dean Warham's spoken, soft voice opens up the tale about a relationship crumbling across state lines. Velvets connection? Listen to this song and tell me it does not remind you of "Ride into the Sun." Same chords even!

(Side note. I will forever love "California (All the Way)" because it was a song that my teenage band would play at every show.)

"Tiger Lily" is up next. The mellow, cool guy, almost even too cool, vibe of Bewitched glides on here. Velvet vibe still present. Connection? Listen "Tiger Lily" and then listen to "Some Kinda Love." Hear it?

But the hands down most gorgeous piece of the gorgeous Bewitched puzzle is the title track. The song opens with a clean electric guitar chords processed with perfection in a heavy tremolo effect. Four chords to infinity. I can lie down to this song and forget to get up until long after it is finished. Dean whispers "All of a sudden/the girl of my dreams" and four bass notes roll with the four chords. A gentle organ follows along. After the chorus, the drums enter along with a second guitar and pure magic has been made. Horns and vibes in the outro. This is a masterpiece.

A beautiful song written to a beautiful muse. A bewitching muse. That emotion is captured in this song. Dean is not just in love with her. He is not just enchanted by her. He is captivated. He is drawn. All he can do is strum these four chords until he can longer cradle the guitar. He throws it down "And I'll come running to her." He repeats. I believe it.

"Instant Disassembly," Parquet Courts, 2014

"Mamasita, catch me now as I sink
Into darkness I thought to be extinct
Chilled my eyeballs as the curtains were torn
And shed a light so bright
Shining like the day I was born"

"Instant Disassembly" by the Brooklyn band Parquet Courts has become one of my favorite indie rock tracks of the last few years. Indie music has gone so electronic heavy, so poppy synth heavy, when bands like Parquet Courts pop up, I am so relieved. Indie ROCK has a future. Guitars, drums, bass, unfiltered vocals. They still have a place. Bands can still rock in this era of machines.

All that said, perhaps I am not drawn to this track because it is glimpse into the future of indie rock. Maybe it pulls me because it reminds me of indie rock's glorious past. These guys grew up listening to the same music as me. They must have.

"Instant Disassembly" is a throw-back to the American post-punk sound of the 1980s and early 90s. Strip away Sonic Youth's feedback. Slow down the Minutemen. Let Fugazi rest for a bit. Make Stephen Malkmus smile a little more, in a less ironic way. Cram The Feelies into a time machine. Tell Television to lay off the guitar solos. If Stephen Merritt was not so-David Sedaris-y. Ask the Talking Heads to go back to their first rehearsal songs. All of this is what I hear in Parquet Courts' tracks.

"And it’s worth repeating
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe
It’s hard to inhale yeah
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe"

Classics.

Modest Mouse. As a three piece. In the late '90s. Some of my most favorite music. Ever.

"Doin' the Cockroach," live in Seattle.

Gallery Jukebox. Mark Rothko and Built to Spill

"Red Over Dark Blue on Dark Gray," Mark Rothko

                                    

"Randy Describes Eternity," Built to Spill

Built to Spill Albums in order from Least Best to Super Best

8. Ancient Melodies of the Future (2001)

7. Untethered Moon (2015)

6. Ultimate Alternative Waivers (1993)

5. There Is No Enemy (2009)

4. You In Reverse (2006)

3. Keep It Like a Secret (1999)

2. There's Nothing Wrong With Love (1994)

1. Perfect From Now On (1997)

Modest Mouse Albums in order from Least Best to Super Best

6. Strangers to Ourselves (2015)

5. We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank (2007)

4. The Moon and Antarctica (2000)

3. Good News For People Who Love Bad News (2004)

2. This Is A Long Drive For Someone With Nothing To Think About (1996)

1. The Lonesome Crowded West (1997)

Belle and Sebastian Albums in Order from Least Best to Super Best

8. Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like A Peasant (2000)

7. Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance (2015)

 6. Write About Love (2010)

5. The Life Pursuit (2006)

4. Tigermilk (1996)

3. Dear Catastrophe Waitress (2003)

2. The Boy With the Arab Strap (1998)

1. If You're Feeling Sinister (1996)

My Ten Favorite Tracks of 2014

10. "Moving to the Left," Woods

9. "Alexandra," Hamilton Leithauser

8. "Coffee," Sylvan Esso

7. "Howling at the Moon," Phantogram

6. "Every Time the Sun Comes Up I'm in Trouble," Sharon Van Etten

5. "Hotel," Antlers

4. "I'm Not Part of Me," Cloud Nothings

3. "Red Eyes," The War on Drugs

2. "Habit," Ought

1. "Goshen '97," Strand of Oaks

My Ten Favorite Albums of 2014

Not a great year for music.

10. "Familiars," The Antlers

9. "Everyday Robots," Damon Albarn

8. "Morning Phase, "Beck

7. "Lost on the River," The New Basement Tapes

6. "Underneath the Rainbow," The Black Lips

5. "Dean Wareham," Dean Wareham 

4. "Now Here In," Cloud Nothings

3. "Lost in the Dream," The War on Drugs

2. "Heal," Strand of Oaks

1. "Benji," Sun Kil Moon

Perfect From Now On

            My wife has no patience for abstract expressionism. I laugh when we tour together through museums and we enter a wing of pieces by abstract expressionist artists like Gorky, Pollock, or Rothko. She looks back at me and with a rolling of her eyes, perhaps with a sigh, she scurries on to the next room, knowing all along that this act of hers always brings me to the point of awkward museum laughter. She loves art and going to museums. She’s just not as excited about abstract art as I am. Example, we wandered through the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, and I lingered longer in front of a painting by Mark Rothko, Magenta, Black, Green on Orange, after my wife dashed into the adjoining hall, searching for her favorite impressionist paintings. At over seven feet tall, the Rothko, which is comprised only of large thick irregular rectangles of color against an orange background, both challenges and overloads the senses. Its power is in seeing it in person; my art history textbooks could do a Rothko no justice. There is not any real form in his works. The viewer is bombarded with the emotions color can create. Joy, ecstasy, doom. He was only interested in capturing life and the passion of humanity and if you just focused on color relationships, then you missed the point. When I attempt to explain this to my wife she responds, “There is no point.” I love her.

            I heard an art critic once explain the key to analyzing any kind of art is to look for the    “3 H’s” – Head, Heart and Hand. Any great piece of work will exhibit all three. Head signifies the innovative idea; the new way the artist approaches and translates their world into art. Heart expresses the passion, emotion and feeling that a piece can conceive. Hand indicates the technical craft of the artist. My wife, always looking to challenge me, points to a starkly minimalist painting hanging nearby, Suprematist Composition: White on White by Kazmir Malevich. The painting comprised only of a white square, seemingly floating against a white background. And that’s it. “What’s this one all about? No Head! No Heart! No Hand!” She had a point.

            In high school I was in an AP Studio Art class with a close group of artist friends. I liked to think that I was capable of exhibiting the 3 H’s in my artwork back then. However, the problem was I never had the 3 H’s going at the same time. Sometimes I had a great idea, but could not get my Hand to cooperate with my Head. Or, an emotional muse would overtake me, but my Head and my Hand were not on speaking terms with my Heart that day. Artist’s Block. On most days, the art teacher, Ms. Pool, would let the us work on any piece of art we wanted, the end goal being to create a portfolio that we would submit at the end of the year to be judged in order to earn college credit. Ms. Pool would always supply us with the materials we needed, and the space to work, but she was often short on direct guidance. If our Head was not cooperating, it could be a long, painful, class period.

One such day stands out to me. My friends were all probably working on something magnificent, while I sat staring at an over-sized sheet of white paper with the sinking feeling that I had absolutely nothing artistic to offer to anybody. The Supremes sang, “You can’t hurry love, you just have to wait.” I substitute art for love. Making art does not always fit into a high school class period and if we produced nothing, Ms. Pool would get on our case. In desperation I grabbed several green oil pastels, ranging in tone from bright yellow-green to dark forest green and proceeded to cover the entire sheet of paper in these hues. At first, I had no clue what I was doing or where I was going. I just wanted to blanket the paper in color so I would have at least done something that period. But the more color I put on the page, the more immersed I felt in the process. I began at the top with the bright green gradating to the bottom with the darkest green. My hand swept across the page in long strokes, with such pressure that the oil pastels would break and dissipate in my hand. When the pastels were gone, I used my fingers to smudge and smear the greens together. The more the hues blended, the greener my fingers became, the more the piece made sense to me. The green was not a color; it was a sentiment. It was life. It was newness. It was the rebirth of my inspiration. It was a field of energy. From dark to light. One of my friends at the table with me said it looked like a Rothko to her. I made a mental note to search for this “Rothko-guy” in my encyclopedia when I got home from school. Another friend asked what I was going to call the piece. Perfect From Now On, I replied, the name taken from an album that was just released that week in 1997 by a band we loved named Built to Spill. It was perfect. In the opening track of the album, the singer proclaims, “I’m going to be perfect from now on, I’m going to be perfect, starting now!” His declaration was my declaration. My art would now be ideal. I would let color be my stimulus. My guide. And in the color, I would understand and describe emotion. I now had a new direction navigated for my class portfolio.

The bell rang and the period ended. We cleaned up, left class and entered the letdown of reality, the rest of the world apart from art. You know… high school. The next day I bounded into art class, ready to grab a bigger sheet of paper, and a new monochromatic color scheme in oil pastels. Ms. Pool had set up in the front of the room a still life of fruit, baskets, and abandoned glassware for the class to study, copy and paint. I couldn’t be bothered by a still life anymore. Oranges? Apples? A table-cloth? Paul Cezanne called, he wants his motif back. I was not going to just paint a still life. Because life is not still. I was going to recreate life and its majesty with a new field of color. I was going to challenge structure and form and make something so vibrant that retinas would sting.

Just as I was about to streak purple to paper, Ms. Pool came over to my table. “We’re not going to have a repeat of whatever that was yesterday, are we? Oh God, I hope not.” I put away the purple oil pastel, and grabbed a black charcoal drawing pencil. I sketched a still life and deserted my color fields, and never submitted a portfolio.