Sounds of My Life: Come Sail Away

For all of my high school years, my absolute favorite activity was marching band. I'm not ashamed to admit it, and over the years it's gotten me a tremendous amount of jeering from my peers; but I'd also like to delude myself that on some level, there's also some sense of admiration for my commitment to and passion for music.

And football. Let us not forget the football; it was in marching band that my love for the game began and flourished, and while the NFL is surely flawed beyond all comprehension at this point, I still enjoy it.

Football aside, there was just something about the sense of accomplishment for me; a born klutz, I quickly developed an enormous sense of pride in being proficient in not only playing my piccolo while marching at the same time, but that every bit of it was done from memory.

Think about it. We're talking a set of 4-5 songs, of which each had roughly 5-7 drills or "formations" a piece. It wasn't easy, and we weren't even very good, but it was the first place in high school where I made a lot of friends and felt like I belonged.

While we were all geeks, I have many fond memories of practicing and performing and cheering along at the Friday night football games for 4 whole years in those god-awful green-and-white polyester suits with the hideously plumed plastic hats.

That's the beauty of band. No one cares if you're a geek, because you're all geeks banded together. (That's not to say we didn't judge within our own walls ... I won't even mention what we used to say about the flag girls.)

"But Janelle," you ask. "What the hell does any of this have to do with Styx?!"

Shut up.

I'm getting there.

Mr. Sharkey was a student teacher in the district when I was in 8th grade; so I'd seen him around in class. All I knew at the time was that he was young, Canadian, and pretty shy. Totally the opposite of the current high school band director, whose name escapes me at this moment, but suffice it to say all I can remember is that the upperclassmen referred to him as "Applehead."

He was an arrogant jerk, and no one liked being directed by him.

So it was a pleasant surprise when it was announced before my freshman year that Applehead was moving onto another school and Mr. Sharkey was going to be the big cheese at my high school.

I realize now that Mr. Sharkey was in the unenviable position as a freshman himself -- a freshman who pronounced tomorrow "tomoorrow," no less -- fresh meat being thrown to the proverbial wolves.

He was nice. Too nice. Easy to bully, which is never a good thing, even if we're talking about a bunch of geeks here; as it stood, we had a bit too much of a Bad News Bears element in us as a group.

As I'd mentioned, Mr. Sharkey was a young guy; probably 24-25 or so by the time he got the job in 1994, and as such, he had affectations that such young men of the time had.

Early on, he made the mistake of making the "Do Or Do Not, There Is No Try," Star Wars reference as his motivational tool in practice, which quickly earned him the nickname Yoda. And being from Calgary, he was a die-hard Flames fan; at one point, a bet between the band and Mr. Sharkey ensued over our motivation and, long story short, resulted in him wearing a Blues jersey for an entire day.

Most relevantly, though; he loved classic rock. Jazz rock, acid rock, prog rock. A few of the songs in our routine in my freshman year were Nugent's "Cat Scratch Fever," Santana's "Oye Como Va," and Mangione's "Land of Make Believe."

Everything else is fuzzy, but my sophomore year's routine featured Joel's "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant," and, you guessed it, Styx's "Come Sail Away." You know the beginning synth flute part? I even had a little featured quartet with another flautist and 2 trumpeters for that part of the song.

So a few days ago, when Brian and I were watching the episode of Freaks and Geeks where Seth Rogen's character develops a crush on a sousaphone-lugging band nerd, and as the group looks on at the marching band practicing, Jason Segel's character makes a comment about how horribly the band is butchering a rock song, it took me back to Mr. Sharkey and the Panther Pride Marching Band and all of the shenanigans we pulled and fun we had.

Yesterday, as I'm driving to work and I see "Styx" on the artist list on the Sirius, I had to tune in; just to see. Since it was the Classic Vinyl station, chances of it being either "Come Sail Away" or "Mr. Roboto" were pretty high.

As luck would have it, it wasn't only "Come Sail Away," but the song had just started. So I rocked out and remembered and sang at the top of my lungs all the way into the office parking lot.

High school was brutal, but some times, I really miss those guys.

Artist: Styx

So here's the thing ...

Given my admitted soft spot for all things chintzy-pop, I am an love with the viral video du jour; and let's face it, the featured band in said video.



Partly because their music is catchy, poppy, happy, and goofy; partly because their lyrics are actually quite clever (even if trite and contrived); and partly, to state the obvious, because their videos are consistently awesome.

But the largest selling point for me was OKGO's frontman's op-ed piece for the Times that was published a few weeks ago appropriately-entitled "Whose Tube," which ironically supports the very idea of me posting their video.

Being American, I love things that are right and whole in a moment in time. This is one of those things.

Do watch the video and enjoy along.

Morning Drive-Time

I'm loving the satellite radio concept more and more each day. Now that I know how to work my receiver (not to mention that I now have a receiver that has a remote); I'm missing my iPod in the car less with each passing day.

Case in point, this morning's track list:

"Heavy Cross," Gossip (AltNation)
"Smile Like You Mean It," The Killers (AltNation)
"Big Poppa," Notorious BIG (Pop2K)
"To Be Young, Is To Be Sad ...," Ryan Adams (Outlaw Country)
"Linoleum," NOFX (Faction)
"Strange," Built To Spill (XMU)

Paired with the unmistakable feel of the season's first snow in the air, I get the feeling it's going to be a good day.

Derivation?

Many bands tread a fine line between derivation and simply being "influenced by" certain sounds, bands, scenes, etc.

This is one such song that reminds me of the phenomenon, even though such a link may not actually exist.



When I first heard the song on Sirius Alt Nation, my first instinct was ... catchy chorus, not much else going on. The chorus is happy, fun ... I instantly liked it, of course, but then after I heard it the second time I realized it reminded me of something.

Malajube's "Montreal -40c," to be precise.



One of my favorites of 2008; but for the fact that I can't speak French. Do you know how infuriating it is to have a favorite song to which you can't sing along?! Forget the fact that later in the year I overheard it in a Radioshack ad.

Sigh.

Anyway, these "The Features" guys are apparently the Kings of Leon's pet project; which is no surprise, since the lead singer sounds exactly like Leon's.

Thoughts? What is crossing the line of just plain derivative drivel and simply having a sound of a relative influential nature (The Decemberists & Neutral Milk Hotel being a good example of the latter ... at least in the earlier albums).

What ... the MOTHER FUCK?!

I apologize for my vulgarities. I try to limit them.

However, the number-FUCKING-ONE track on XMU's 15 this week is ... Grizzly Bear feat. Michael McDonald.

That's right. Ya-mo-blow-my-brains-out Michael McFUCKINGDonald.

The song makes me want to stab someone in the face. With a mother FUCKING vengeance.

Which begs the question. What the FUCK is going on with today's youth?!?!

Gut Reaction

As a fan-bordering-fanatic; I'm entitled a few quibbles with Wilco's new release. So here you go.



1) The stupid cover art. It's a first for Wilco that an actual full photograph is used for the cover, and it's an incredibly dumb one. As is the typeface.

2) It's pretentious title. Wilco (The Album). Not just a self titled release, it's specifically: "Wilco (The Album)." It makes the bile rise a little ...

3) It's pretentious, self-aggrandizing track 1, named simply: "Wilco."

4) The bevy of "borrowed" licks. Is that "Werewolves of London" ("Wilco")? How about "Every Day People" ("You Never Know")? A true sign that a strong influence of Nels' "experience" is, indeed, too much of a good thing.

5) Jesus, Tweedy. I thought you kicked your addiction and were onto sunnier days. What's with all the ballads?

6) Yes, I even have a problem with the collaboration with Feist ("You and I"). It's a good song, don't get me wrong, but Tweedy always saved "celebrity" collaborations for his side projects (see also: Golden Smog). Wilco was always his creative stronghold; this departure from that stance makes me fear for the future. Specifically, Jeff beginning to "phone in" his career because he's too lazy/busy/wants the commercial attention. This song screams "radio friendly." I have no problem with Wilco attaining commercial success like it did with Sky Blue Sky, because -- true or not -- that felt at least acccidental; this new album's sound makes it feel like they're actually reaching in that direction. Horrifying.

7) "Bull Black Nova" just blows. It makes me want to stab someone!

8) The repetitive phrasing! In the music and lyrics. It's everywhere, all over this album, in every song; and it's horribly grating!

Still hoping it'll grow on me ... but man; this is A Ghost Is Born all over again. Thankfully, that one did eventually find its way in; but even then, not in its entirety.

Today, though, I'm really missing Jay Bennett. I think I'd rather retreat with my copies of Summerteeth and YHF for the summer and save the new arrival for fall; which is where the heart of the album seems to belong anyway.

It's like a Reincarnation!

It occurs to me that I would be offended by Vampire Weekend's complete and total ripoff of Simon & Garfunkel's sound if it weren't for the fact that is so entirely pleasing.


Vampire Weekend - Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend

It's like they took all the great parts from "Cecilia" and "Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard" and forged a 10-song album from them.

As it turns out, sometimes hype is founded.

File Under: "I Just Don't Get It."

It happens. Writers, friends, random acquaintances; people who typically share your music tastes rave, swoon and obsess over a band you just have to experience.

So you do.

Annnnnd ... you don't get it.

Two such bands for me, that I just want to like with all the want that's there, are the The Fleet Foxes and Guided By Voices.

The Fleet Foxes, with their beautiful, lush harmonies somehow absentmindedly omit music from their music. I get it. You love you some CSNY. And The Band. You are all bearded, scruffy nomad-looking folk from the Pacific Northwest.

Why should I care when there's zero going on with your highly-lauded self titled release aside from four-part harmonies? Especially when I don't like beards? You could be so much more engaging, complex, and -- well -- enjoyable if a fraction of thought was put into more than how prettily we can sing together.

The only saving grace for them, which gives me hope for future releases, is that in this interview with Under The Radar Magazine, lead singer Robin Pecknold actually mourns the enthusiasm the press expressed over the release because it felt so incomplete to him.

Let's just hope the success doesn't go to his head.

Then there's Rob Pollard. The quintessential darling of Magnet Magazine, my alt-rock periodical of choice.

I've made my way through a large portion of the GBV catalog. There's a lot of catchy in there.

A lot of catchy, half-finished thoughts.

What is it with this guy? Is it just that he's a punk rocker trapped in an indie-rocker's body? Why can't he see a full phrase through? Most of the songs just trail off into oblivion without any semblance of finality. It seems to me that if he'd taken half of what he'd written, stew over the songs for a few days and actually go through the editing process, he'd come away a brilliant poet/lyricist/songwriter.

Instead, the result is just aggravating, frustrating, annoying ... but not noise, like punk rock is ... it's just so ...

Unsatisfying.

That's the word.

Rob Pollard's songwriting, to me, is sex without the courtesy of completion.

Or maybe I just need someone to explain it to me.

Summer of '98

This morning, while finalizing a mix for my brother, a bolt of genius struck my brain.

Why not make a time capsule mix for tonight's camping expedition? Say, perhaps, the summer of '98?

GENIUS!

This idea was actually partially sparked by Sirius Faction Thursday afternoon, when I happened to tune in right at the time "Sell Out" started. Volume cranking, and top-o-the-lungs singing ensued; I even contemplated stopping for a pack of Camel Lights for a split-second.

The Summer of '98 was one of my best, probably because it the summer between high school and college, the summer I moved out of my parents' for good, the summer I started working full time hours at Slackers, the summer I saw Pearl Jam from the front row at Riverport with my best friend ... so it was my real first taste of "freedom." I was a kid in an adult's world. And it was pretty awesome.

"Turn The Radio Off" was the #1 CD of that summer -- played in the old Corolla through my portable player via tape-deck adapter -- and a close second was Save Ferris' "It Means Everything;" in heavy rotation were also Less Than Jake's "Hello Rockview," Rancid's "And Out Come the Wolves," Sublime's self-titled and Squirrel Nut Zippers "The Inevitable." The hip hop tracks were all Tanya, my college roommate's, influence.

I know it seems like a juvenile mix, and there's so much pop here it kind of makes me cringe sharing it, but what the hell. I can't deny who I was -- who I am still, to a certain degree -- and although the following season was when I delved deep into teenage depression, and discovered the likes of Modest Mouse, Piebald, and the other reaches of indie and emo culture, I can't ignore the fact that even though I was working for the rekkid sto', I was still quite the pop princess.

... and blonde!

Me in the summer of '98 with my graduation cake.

My college roommie Tanya, me, and my best friend Kerri.


Summer of '98
Good Enough for Granddad Squirrel Nut Zippers
Red Sweater! The Aquabats
Doo Wop (That Thing) Lauryn Hill
I Can't Wait Hepcat
Where'd You Go? The Mighty Mighty Bosstones
You and Me and the Bottle Makes Three Big Bad Voodoo Daddies
History of a Boring Town Less Than Jake
Do the Evolution Pearl Jam
April 29, 1992 Sublime
Ghetto Superstar (That is What You Are) Pras w/Michel, ODB & Maya
Closer The Urge
Come On Eileen Save Ferris
Build Me Up Buttercup The Goops
Sell Out Reel Big Fish
Santeria Sublime
Gone Til November Wyclef Jean
Pharoah's Dreams Hepcat
Baby Got Going Liz Phair
My Skateboard Aquabats
She Has a Girlfriend Now Reel Big Fish
All My Best Friends Are Metalheads Less Than Jake
Roots Radicals Rancid
This Lonely Place Goldfinger
So Long-Farewell-Goodbye Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

Heima Sweet Heima

I just get the feeling that Sigur Ros is a band you either love or you just hate.

What's more, I have a feeling that I'd be more inclined to be a party member of the latter, had I not stumbled across Heima last night on the Sundance Channel. Rarely ever do I find myself flipping the channels for something to watch; normally I switch it off and head to bed or a book or the record player. But, while paging through the guide I recalled them being a band of note, and not one I'd ever paid much heed, "So what the hell," ... says I.

My first impression is that, alone, their music sounds a bit like Thom Yorke fronting the Arcade Fire; which, I'm sure to most indie rockers such as myself would find appealing. But I've never been a huge Thom Yorke, or Radiohead for that matter, fan. So it was mildly irritating at first impression.

However, there was something very eerie and beautiful about their music soundtracked behind the gorgeous shots of the Icelandic landscape.

What's more, once you get into the dialogue from the live music scenes, the film makes the Icelanders even more so a charming and fascinating people. The scene shot in the building that looks a bit like an American Legion hall is particularly quaint and sweet; it gives the impression of a family reunion, all the family members of different generations sitting together quietly over tea and cake to take in a nice afternoon recital.

In any event, if you're ever bored, and it's on the television, I highly recommend. I recommend even more to just buy it if you're a fan of Sigur Ros, or of great musical documentary film making, or, really, Iceland in general.

Sounds Of My Life: Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor

The year was 1998, Electroshock Blues was just released, and my mind was effectively blown. Beautiful, clever, cynical yet hopeful pop songs. Wow. This guy was just my speed.

This song reminds me of a particularly awkward social moment in my life, which echoes many of the foot-in-mouth moments I have and will relive over and over again. Try as I might, in practical application, my gob just isn't as eloquent as my mind wants it to be.

At the record store, I absent-mindedly mention to one of the new hires that her name reminds me of a lyric in an Eels song. The song itself is beautiful and complex, but instead of going into all of that, I lquote a portion of it to her:

"My name's Elizabeth ... my life is shit and piss."

This girl was very much an Elizabeth, not Liz or Beth; Elizabeth to the core. I realize, immediately, as I say this that this was a horrible thing to say to someone I've just met; even though I didn't mean it to be derogatory or negative in any way. I was having a moment where I wanted to share the profundity of the tune with someone ... but ruined it. Horribly.

Fortunately she was a sweet-natured enough girl that she didn't seem phased ... but, even worse, I didn't apologize for my misstep. That was the weird thing about this moment, and so many others that I've lived since: I make these incredibly bone-headed comments, realizing immediately the unintended double entendre, but utter no word of apology largely because I just don't want to dig the whole deeper (a la Larry David).

I just go on with the conversation, hoping the slip is just ignored or that it just is understood that I realize what a putz I am. Instead, the whole world probably just sees me as the gigantic, unapologetic a-hole that I am.

Artist: The Eels


PS I finished E's autobiography a couple of days ago. It was just what I expected (this is a good thing).

WHAT is happening?!

I'm dying to know if Norman Gentle (Nick, whatever) made the cut into the final 12. We find out tonight!



OH MY GOD!!! I'M A MONSTER!!!

In all honesty though, he's the best thing to ever happen to Idol. Outside of the awesomeness that is the cringe-fest of the Hollywood auditions, the show is so sickeningly disturbing that I normally don't watch past the first 2 weeks. By Hollywood week, it's just a row of 40-50somethings sitting back and telling teen-20somethings how marketable "they" are or could be if only "they" were completely different from the person that was on stage performing.

Thrilling.

But this is why I love Norman/Nick. He's totally, hysterically true-blue regardless of what the judges think or say, which makes him incredibly lovable.

And I think it's enough for him to make it; and for some reason that makes me happy. Due to the underdog quotient? Probably. But that's a stretch ... he's going up against some Latinas Fantasticas (the producers really seem to be pushing a Latin-American winner year), a blind guy, and -- the most dangerous of all -- an early favorite of the judges, a 20something widower who has the face of Robert Downey, Jr. and a voice that melts buttah.

More likely it's due to the fact that a completely odd duck has forged a nook in the most ghastly display of the commercialized monstrosity that is the recording industry.

The American Version

Musically speaking, Philadelphia continues to surprise and impress me. In 1998 it was the Delta 72. In 1999 it was The Friggs, only I didn't realize they were Philadelphian until just recently. 2006 was Mazarin. In 2007, Dr. Dog and Man Man.



The 2009 Philly band du jour (thanks to Brian, as was Dr. Dog) is The Swimmers, an indie-pop outfit that composes harmonious rockers a la New Pornographers way. Only non-supergroup. And, you know, non-Canadian (yes, I'm aware that Neko isn't Canadian).

The 2008 album is quite good, and I'm wondering where I can get my hands on a copy; for the meantime I'll just have to stream the entire album, Fighting Trees at their website.

http://www.theswimmers.com/

Dear John, I'm Sorry To Disturb You, But ...

(Forgive the XTC reference.)



The current focus of my audiophilistic obsessions is the weepy, mournful, and almost cute vocals of Loney, Dear. His newest release, Dear John, is nothing short of exceptional. His new richer, more layered and lush compositions make his former releases seem simplistically precious by comparison; which is no small feat.

But don't take my word for it. Here's the opening track:



And here are some tracks from his 2007 release Loney, Noir (courtesy Loney, Dear's own website):

Hard days
I Am John
The City, The Airport

He's on tour right now with Andrew Bird and, regrettably, I don't live in a sufficiently cosmopolitan city to deserve a hometown visit, but I have aggravated everyone I know to be more fortunate than I to go see him.

Enjoy, and if you are able, go see him live!

Adam and Eve Were Jews!

New Favorite Band Alert!



I have no idea why it took me so long to get into the Silver Jews!

I have no idea why such revelations ever surprise me! There is simply too much music to ever possibly keep up with!

So shame on anyone who knew about these guys and didn't bring them to my attention!

SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME!!!

PS Holy Shit! Magnet's website has been revamped and is completely and totally amazing!!!

I can't stop using exclamation points!!!

Beauty and the Beast

Need I say more?

Alone, I don't care for her willowy whisper; but I can't ever seem to get enough of Lanegan's scratchy wrasp, so it's like the heavens parting on a cloudy day when these two voices meet.

This dynamic duo is at it again with a fresh batch of melancholia for us all to enjoy, and just in time for SAD season. It's out now, and Isobel has some tracks on her MySpace, so dig in!

www.myspace.com/isobelcampbell

Creep Cabaret

Thanks to Haw-ehd (Stern) for this one. It's very nice.



I love hah.

What a bunch of Hobos.

I love it when I fall in love with a band so hard that it takes all I have to keep from talking about them ... all. the. friggin'. time.

I hate it when said band is fronted by a very dear friend, so it sounds like sycophancy of the highest degree if I publish good press about them.

But let's face facts. This is neither the Times nor the Trib. It isn't even the Post. Hell, my only audience is my family and friends ... so screw it.

Therefore, in absolutely no disingenuous terms, let it be understood that The Hobo Wives have been one of my new favorite bands since last April when I first heard them all together at the Lemmons show.

I'd heard their rough tracks before the show; but once they took the stage, it became obvious that the talented outfit's fabric was so tight-knit that the songs pretty much play themselves. The songwriting is stellar, the sound is incredibly rich and completely alive, and all of the musicians and vocalists are, in a word, gifted. Since then, I just can't seem to get enough of the lush melodies and jangly guitars that tell their alt-twangy melancholy tales of woe.

It's not completely unrelated that I have always appreciated and very much believed in Matt Kahler's songwriting since we met. After 10 years of friendship, a 400 mile move to the north, and a rich compilation of competent musicians and vocalists in his arsenal, he seems to have finally found solid footing as the musician I always knew resided within.

As a friend, I couldn't be happier for him. Personally, I couldn't be happier for me; and no, not just with the satisfaction that comes with being right. Their brand of southern-fried rock is just what the doctor ordered to soothe the aches that accompany these days of financial uncertainty.

It's relatable, believable, and damn catchy.

Which is why I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if we heard a lot more from this group once they're finished in the studio and start out on tour.

Until then, please to enjoy their available tracks on MySpace:
http://www.myspace.com/thehobowives

Shamefully False Advertising

Today when I read about a band named Jesus H Christ and the Four Hornsmen of the Apocalypse, my interest was immediately piqued. Not that the name of a band necessarily says anything about said band, but as far as band names go, this one was pretty clever. Even if wordy.

Its just a shame they suck; no, that's not true. They don't suck; the horn section is actually really good. But not one second into this video, I officially hated the frontwoman.



http://jesushchristrocks.com

Free Wilco Song!

Last night, Geoffrey Velvet (aka Jeff Tweedy) & Co were on the Colbert Report rockin' for the cause to vote. While Wilco is a long-time Obama supporter, their message is a bi-partisan effort to encourage people to get out and vote next Tuesday.

So by going to http://wilcoworld.net/vote/index.php/, anyone who plans on voting (or anyone who wishes to fib) can make their solemn promise to Wilco to vote in the presidential election and, in exchange, will receive a free live recording of Wilco and the Fleet Foxes covering Dylan.

Pretty sweet.

In case you missed 'em, here's the interview:



... and the performance of "Wilco The Song:"



Side note: has anyone else found this year's voter encouragement efforts as far more digestible than 2004's "Vote Or Die" campaign?