Wednesday, July 24, 2013

July 18-24, 2013; Red Rubber Ball by Cyrkle


When I initially set out to write a blog, my goal was to create sort of a running diary based around the music that captures the moments I was living in. It made sense at the time, and with the way I tend to chronicle musical discoveries, something I put a great deal of thought into anyway. Eventually, I gave up on the idea because...well...let's just say that for a stretch of time there, life was a lot less fun to write about than Nick Cave was. But now that this particular period of my life is over, I think it's time to pick the format back up. I'll still write about my favorite records, songs and provide playlists and album reviews, but I'm going throw posts like these in every now and then.

"I should have known
You'd bid me farewell
There's a lesson to be learned from this
And I've learned it very well"

Apart from love songs, the most important topic in pop music is that of the breakup. The only thing more prevalent than a beating heart is a broken one. Without getting into excessive detail, I had one of the worst breakups of my life last November. I went through all the steps following the end of a major relationship. First came the denial. It was just a phase, I told myself. I'd be taken back after a little break. When that didn't happen, I slipped into that numb sort of shell-shock that all broken hearted people do. The break-up had been so drawn out and so nasty that I couldn't even bring myself to think about another relationship again. For at least a couple of months, I avoided it altogether.

When I finally did get back on my feet, the inevitable instincts presented themselves to me. I almost threw myself into the first rebound fling that presented itself to me. I'd been rejected, and it felt like refusing the only ones who wanted me, no matter what an ill fit they were, was just asking to get abandoned by everyone. But my more rational head prevailed, and I stuck it out, waiting for the right one to come along.

It was a miserable nine months; a time in which I questioned my worth as a person, doubted my ability to be accepted and looked at other people in happy relationships with envy. I was ashamed of my breakup, and I retreated further and further inward. Good friendships passed me by because I was afraid to engage them, being in the state I was. Naturally, this lead to even more isolated feelings and an increasingly miserable sense of self worth. 

"Now I know you're not the only starfish in the sea
If I never hear your name again, it's all the same to me
And I think it's gonna be alright
Yeah, the worst is over now
The morning sun is shining like a red rubber ball"

Last week, my patience was rewarded. I finally found "the one". Sure, it always feels like that in the early part of a relationship, but I really feel like this  is the one I need right now. It's nurturing, rewarding, and it seems to have a real future in it, for once.

Obviously it's nice to be back with someone again. But there's more to the relief I'm feeling than that. There's a real sense of self-worth that this has allowed me to reclaim again. And it reminds me that maybe the problem wasn't entirely with me, but with my old flame just as much or more. And as the song says, there are other starfish in the sea.

"The story's in the past
There's nothing to recall
I've got my life to life
And I don't need you at all
The roller coaster ride we took is nearly at an end
I bought my ticket with my tears
That's all I'm gonna spend."

But now the good news is in, and life is going to get better. My brother has chosen to call this part of life "The Post-Suck" and even titled his own blog after the idea. As of this posting, life is moving up. I'm about to move to a nice new town, start a nice new job, and I have the most wonderful person standing beside me that I could ask for (if you're reading this, Sam, I love you!). The morning sun is shining, and I feel great!

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Playlist: American History in Song

Music fans love lists. We love making lists of favorite love songs, songs to fit certain moods and the always entertaining countdowns. I have over 200 playlists, myself, covering everything from "Creepy" and "Angry" to lists that fit video games I play and a master list for the novel I'm writing. Making lists is my thang, and on occasion, I'll share a list of my own creation.

I decided to make my first playlist in honor of the 4th of July. At first I'd had it in my mind to make a list of songs that I felt encapsulated what America was all about. But as I sat down to write that idea, it failed to come together. I think that's because it's a bit on the trite side, but that bit of self-criticism doesn't preclude that post being written in the future. There are a number of songs I'd like to share on that topic.

That said, the idea that did get my mental motor running was a list of my favorite songs about American history. I suppose one could make the argument that all historic songs do, but what I'm really going for here is a list of great, poignant songs written about some topical point of American history. Be they written about our high points, our low ones, or just something interesting that's happened at one time or another, these songs all convey some real, tangible event and, in my opinion, do it better than their contemporaries.

In some playlist articles, I'll do a countdown style of presentation. But this time around, the songs are listed in in chronological order. For your convenience, I've linked the songs to Youtube videos so you can listen while you read (if you are so inclined)


Date Recorded: 1930
Event: Unspecified Flu Plague in Memphis

Listening to this bouncy, peppy sound of this old gospel stomp, one might be surprised at how dark the lyrics are (a mistake easily compounded by the exceptionally low quality of the vocals. Tin records don't age well). Beneath the fun exterior, this song is actually about God cleansing Memphis of sin by exterminating its population with a violent flu plague.

"Yes he's killed rich and poor
And he's going to kill more
If you don't turn away from your sin"

The context of the song is a little fuzzy. It opens by proclaiming that "In 1929, men and women sure were dying", though there are no records of major flu outbreaks in Memphis at that time. However, Elder Curry was a very pious man that never let a bit of truth get in the way of his fire and brimstone message. More likely, this song is either an old negro spiritual about a real plague, or simply a more phonetically catchy way of describing the 1919 flu pandemic. Assuming it's the latter, Memphis was hit especially hard by the pandemic, with roughly 7,700 victims in the area succumbing to the disease. This song represents a very devout (and thankfully, extinct) school of thought among mainstream Christians that everything is part of God's plan, and even major disasters are probably your fault. None the less, it's a fun song.


Date Recorded: 1939
Event: The Lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smite

This song is not fun, though it is extremely poignant.

On July 7th 1930, Thomas Shipp and Abram Smite were sitting in an Indiana jail house. They were accused of murder (of which they might well have been guilty) and rape (which they were absolutely not; the woman who claimed to be the victim would admit on record that her story was a fabrication). Neither man got a chance to see their day in court, because that night, a mob of citizens broke into the jail with sledgehammers, beat them to death and hanged them publicly. The photograph of their bodies hanging in front of the mob who killed them became one of the most iconic of the Civil Rights movement.

The photo, which was widely proliferated at the time, inspired Jewish schoolteacher Abel Meeropol to write the poem "Bitter Fruit" about the incident. Billie Holiday put it to music.

"Southern Trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees"

The song is a chilling thing to behold. Holiday sings it with a haunting sincerity, made all the more somber by the slow, funeral-style blues melody that forms the backbone of the song. There's a genuine fear in Holiday's vocal performance. To most us now, the phenomenon of lynching is just a historical abstract, but at the time it was a very real threat to southern blacks. Shipp and Smite may have been guilty of their crime, but others (such as Emmit Till) never committed any crimes to begin with. 

3. Anything Goes by Cole Porter


Date Recorded: 1934

Event: The Great Depression

Anything Goes is one of the earliest (and in my opinion, one of the funniest) pieces of satire in American pop music. Written by American Songbook master Cole Porter, the song takes aim at a number of prominent social figures and absolutely skewers them. The roast of Depression Era high society comes so fast that it can be hard to catch all of the barbs, and most of them aren't really funny unless you know the historic context behind them.


In olden days, a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking.
But now, God knows,
Anything goes.
Good authors too who once knew better words
Now only use four-letter words
Writing prose.
Anything goes.


Even these opening lyrics, which seem to be fairly standard indictments of fast moving, risque society, are a joke if you know who they're coming from. Porter was a homosexual in a marriage of convenience with a woman who shared his tastes for taking with multiple partners and opulent, scandalous parties; thus making him the last person to genuinely wax nostalgic about the decline in American puritanism.


From this point, the song goes on to trash just about anyone with any kind of name, albeit it a friendly, cheeky manner. The declining wealth of the Vanderbilts, box office disasters funded by the Rockefellers, and First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt's unusually chummy relationship with the press are all targets. Sadly, as most of the humor in this song is a bit dated, most of these historical lyrics get cut out of its more modern interpretations.


4. MLF Lullaby by Tom Lehrer


Date Recorded: 1962
Event: Cold War nuclear proliferation

In the early parts of the Cold War, there was a certain madness prevalent in the upper echelons of military and political apparatuses of the United States, where conventional wisdom held that a nuclear war with the Soviet Union could not only be deterred, but actually won outright. As part of a decades long effort to turn that lunatic philosophy into a reality, much ado was made about a Multilateral Force (or MLF) agreement between the US and its European allies, in which naval ships manned by European crews would be armed with American nuclear missiles. The theory was to increase the non-commie first and second strike capabilities. 


Naturally, people who knew what nuclear war would actually do to the world were critical of the proposal, to put it lightly. Tom Lehrer, scientist, mathematician and unquestionably one of the funniest satirists in American history, was among them. Lehrer, a Jewish activist, took particular umbrage at the notion that Germany would become a nuclear power under the proposal. 


Once all the Germans were warlike, and mean

But that couldn't happen again
We taught them a lesson in 1918
And they've hardly bothered us since then

Lehrer's condemnation of Germany was somewhat unfair. But given how many times he'd seen nations change loyalties and governments, and the relative instability of the world at the time, some of his doubts were understandable. Lehrer delivers the song as a lullaby being sung to a frightened child, which was more or less the degree of deference shown to the American people by the military and political bigwigs making these sorts of decisions.


The MLF proposal, which was pushed by both the Eisenhower and Kennedy Administrations (proof that insanity can be a bipartisan endeavor), ultimately fell flat because the Europeans and Americans couldn't agree on how the missiles should actually be deployed. And Lehrer would ultimately retire early from music because he couldn't handle touring and performing regularly. None the less, the song stands as a testimony to the grade-A scorn that a capable songwriter can apply to the people who deserve it most.


5. Long Hot Summer by the Tom Robinson Band


Date Recorded: 1978
Event: The Stonewall Riots

With homosexuality so widely tolerated now, it may be difficult to remember that it was at one point not only socially unacceptable to be gay, but punishable by law. There was a wealth of laws on the books across the country that not only prohibited homosexual acts, but punished businesses that catered to gays. NYC was particularly notorious for this, and would often revoke the liquor and boarding licenses of hotels that would serve liquor or rent rooms to homosexuals.

In 1969, there was a massive police raid on the Stonewall Hotel in Greenwich Village. The homosexual community decided that they'd had enough at that point, and rioted, throwing the police out. The event was a major catalyst of the Gay Rights movement, and prompted homosexuals to start coming out of the closet and advocating their social dues for the first time.

Hey man, I don't understand
We ain't hardly bothering you
Say fag, you're just a drag
We ain't nearly finished with you


The incident is remembered in the 1978 song Long Hot Summer by the Tom Robinson Band. The punk scene was no more friendly to homosexuals than most others. In fact, the overly machismo attitude of the early punk scene made writing this song about the riots, which were a lightning rod for controversy even 9 years after the fact, a fairly brave thing to do. Written as a dialogue between homosexuals and straights, the perspective alters every couple of lines. Eventually, the two come to an understanding in which the straights realize that the gays don't bother them, and start assisting their efforts to be left in peace. Given that this is ultimately what's happening to the gay/straight relations in this country, it makes the song surprisingly prophetic.


6. Tupelo by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds


Date Recorded: 1985
Event: Tupelo Flood of 1936

Tupelo, Mississippi is famous for 2 things: being the birthplace of Elvis Presley, and getting repeatedly flattened by natural disasters. The town was devastated by a floods in 1927 (along with everything else in the Mississippi Delta) and 1936 as well as a tornado later that year. The latter flood happened to occur about the same time the singer was born, and thus the mad genius that is Nick Cave combined the two events into one song.

But the lil children know
They listen to the beating of their blood
They listen to the beating of their blood
The sandman's mud!
The sandman's mud!
And the black rain come down
the black rain come down
Water water everywhere
Where no bird can fly no fish can swim
No fish can swim
Until The King is born!


It wouldn't be much of a Cave track without a frightening level of melodrama, so naturally the flood's scale and the significance of Presley's birth are elevated to Biblical proportions. The song itself is a dark, bass driven and sinister sounding one chronicling the town's salvation by the birth of "The King". It ends on a threatening note that Tupelo will "reap what it's sown" when the King walks out of the city, which is a vague reference to the tornado, which killed 216 people, though Presley was actually in the town at the time it took place (albeit as an infant). Cave obviously intended this track to fun rather than historically accurate, and to that end, it succeeded brilliantly.


7. James K. Polk by They Might Be Giants

Date Recorded: 1990
Event: The Presidency of James Knox Polk

James Knox Polk, Speaker of the House, Governor of Tennessee and 11th President of the United States, was an interesting man. A staunch believer in preserving the Union and Manifest Destiny, he oversaw the annexation of the American Southwest, the expansion of US trade with the rest of the world and a very successful war against Mexico. The term "Dark Horse" was first used in politics relating to his success at the Democratic Convention, where he entered hoping to secure the nomination for Vice Presidency, and left as the Presidential nominee. Polk is well known among political scientists for setting an agenda and achieving all of it. Whether one agreed with that agenda or not, it can't be argued that he was anything less than an effective President.

In 1844, the Democrats were split

The three nominees for the presidential candidate
Were Martin Van Buren, a former president and an abolitionistJames Buchanan, a moderateLouis Cass, a general and expansionistFrom Nashville came a dark horse riding upHe was James K. Polk, Napoleon of the Stump

The 1990 song in his honor by They Might Be Giants was actually written by a friend of the band named Matthew Hill. It sings his praises, ignoring the controversial nature of the Polk presidency. But that's the band for you: always catchy, always entertaining and never particularly offensive or challenging. An accordion and singing saw drive the music, and the song is both catchy and lighthearted. Ultimately, this song seems like something from a grade school history book, which more or less fits They Might Be Giants' aesthetic perfectly.


8. The Big Three Killed My Baby by the White Stripes


Date Recorded: 1999

Event: Decline of the Big Three auto manufacturers

For decades, the Big Three American auto companies (Chrysler, Ford and General Motors) made repeated, poor decisions in regards to their businesses. They ignored demands for increased fuel economy, failed to invest in technological advancement and designed flaws in their cars to swindle consumers. These decisions helped bolster European and Japanese manufacturers' rise to prominence in the American market as US consumers turned on their homegrown companies. The problem came to a head in 2008, when the world economic crisis would eventually force Congress to bail out Chrysler and GM, lest they fail entirely. 


Though 2008 may have been the peak of their crisis, the problems that the Big Three faced had been recurring for decades, and each of the companies has received government assistance at one time or another. The effect of their repeated flirtations with bankruptcy have had a particular impact on Midwest cities like Detroit, MI, Gary, IN and  Dayton, OH, which over the course of the 20th Century, gone from some of America's most prosperous cities to some of its poorest.


Why don't you take the day off and try to repair
A billion others don't seem to care 
Better ideas are stuck in the mud 
The motors runnin' on Tucker's blood 


The White Stripes are a Detroit based band, and their 1999 song about the Big Three's downfall is rage distilled. The guitar chord progression is simple, as is the percussion beat, but both pound furiously between Jack White's vocal cries of anger at the companies whose negligence he claims killed his hometown. The song offers scathing indictments of Big Three's policies of planned obsolescence and coziness with oil companies. White also mentions Preston Tucker, an early challenger to Big Three dominance that they ultimately conspired to remove from the market; an action which dissuaded future competition and allowed them to maintain the chokehold on American market that ultimately made them comfortably enough to start the foolhardy decision making that would later lead them to disaster.


Got any other songs you'd like to add? Leave them in the comments section!


Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Golden Jukebox: Telstar by the Tornados

From time to time, a few people (my girlfriend in particular) criticize me for caring about songs' lyrics more than their music. That's not true. While I do have a preference for songs that have great lyrics and great music, lyrics no more make a song good than its instrumentation. And while there are certainly a number of songs I love strictly for their lyrical value (because, let's face it: without their poetry, the Dawes are pretty blase`), the same is true for songs that sound amazing, but have purely utilitarian lyrics (*cough*Zepplin*cough). In fact, some of my all time favorite songs have no lyrics at all.

Enter Teslar.


For those who've never heard it, the Tornados' song Telstar is a loud piece of instrumental pop music that dates back to 1962. It was recorded in honor of  theTelstar communications satellite, which was one of the first ever launched by a private company. Why they chose this largely innocuous (at least from a historical perspective) satellite for the title of their signature song, I can't say. But it did't stop the song from becoming a massive hit in the US and UK, where it hit number one on both countries' pop charts. The Tornadoes frontman, Joe Meek, was notorious for his nigh insanity in the recording booth, and the meticulous detail he put into producing his songs (most of which aren't good enough to be very memorable). To create the effect he was going for on Telstar, he employs a number of space agey sound effects and a keyboard instrument called a clavioline that gives the driving beat its celestial property. A steady surf-rock drum roll supports the tune, and Meek adds layers of echo and distortion on top of everything to reflect the scale of the final frontier. The various elements all come together to create a sound that's very futuristic in a 1950s, "Tomorrowland" sort of way.

Using nothing but it's own unique instrumentation, Meek tells a story with Telstar. It starts off with the sound of a rocket blasting off and follows it with a steady, driving drum beat. The clavionline rises along with the drums to transition from act 1, liftoff, to act 2. Act 2 is the breach of the atmosphere, and the clavioline leads the charge, forming the beat that makes up the bulk of the song. The distorted, surf rock guitar replaces it to create a sense of wonderment before the cycle repeats itself. The sounds all increase in volume for the third and final act, in which a vocalist jumps in to add echoing "ooh"s and "Aah"s. As the craft breaks into orbit, the sounds all rise into a crescendo of noise, building an excited, hopeful atmosphere that still manages to retain the rest of the song's awe factor. It finishes with a few rising notes and a fadeout, as if the craft is vanishing into the distance.

This record is the proof of the old saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. When I listen to Telstar, it means a great deal more to me than what it represents at face value. With it's lofty, floaty sound effects, there's a real sense of hope and excitement imbibed in this song. At the same time, the wailing clavionline and hint that the thing you're "watching" is disappearing also create an odd atmosphere of sadness. As much as an instrumental track can be "about" anything, this song (to me) is about the start of one journey and the end of another. It is at once a song of adventure and nostalgia.

Often, our impressions of a song reflect the circumstances in which we were introduced to it. Mad Men introduced me to this song. It was played at the end of an episode as the main character flew from New York to California, away from his family and uncertain whether he'd choose to return. I was, at the time, weeks away from my own college graduation: a period in my life which saw my breakup with my college girlfriend, several dramatic changes in my interpersonal relationships and a very intense uncertainty about what would come next for me. It is perhaps because of those particular circumstances that the song brings my life's turning points to mind. To me, this song is graduating college and moving from my hometown to go pursue my political career. It was leaving the company that had given me my first chance to become a real campaign manager. It reminds me of all those times that I left something I loved behind to start the next, exciting chapter of my life.

The greatest beauty of music is its ability to mean something unique to its listeners. To each individual who hears a song, it means something different that can't be duplicated between any two people. And to me, Telstar is a medley of hope, triumph, uncertainty and nostalgia that leaves pang in my heart every time I hear it.

Monday, June 17, 2013

Album Review: Same Trailer, Different Park by Kacey Musgraves



Among my family and friends (though my family more than anything) there's this myth that I don't like country music. Part of this is self inflicted, as I spend an awful lot of time complaining about it. The reality, however, is that I actually quite like country. In fact, my favorite album last year was a country record (I Like to Keep Myself in Pain by Kelly Hogan, to be exact). But while I like Country, I hate the generic, recycled pop that passes for it 90% of the time on radio. The music out of Nashville has devolved into a formulaic genre crowded with bland music, mediocre vocals and tropey songwriting that has justifiably become the butt of a very large national joke. The big labels have taken over the vast majority of the genre, and the only the music from it that gets any sort of publicity is exactly what I'm complaining about. Unless it's specifically pointed out to me (or I'm on one of my occasional alternative country benders), I tend to avoid country music altogether.

So all that being said, I'm glad that Kacey Musgrave's March release Same Trailer, Different Park was brought to my attention. Signed by Mercury Nashville (one of the largest country labels in the world) and a frequent opening act to Miranda Lambert, I had no need whatsoever to pay her any mind. Yet for all my grievances with popular country today, Musgraves album is a very different sort of country record than what typically comes out of that scene.

The record opens not with a bang, but a whimper. Silver Linings is a fairly generic darkest-before-the-dawn type songs with blase` music. On My House, the second track, things begin to pick up. This is where Musgraves music really begins to set itself apart from the pop-country herd. My House is driven not by  barley-there acoustic guitar chords, but by a wailing harmonica that would be more comfortable on a Bob Dylan record than a Taylor Swift one. Other tracks, such as Merry Go Round, Dandelion, Step Off and It is What It Is veer closer to bluegrass than traditional country with banjos, steel guitars and gentle to non-existent percussion leading the way. I Miss You smacks of old, Patsy Cline style honky-tonk while tracks Blowin Smoke and Stupid pack enough of a rock and roll wallop that they would comfortably be called alternative country, were they performed by someone who hadn't already established herself as a pop artist. Even though there are a few fairly generic Nashville twangs on this record, Musgraves does a very good job showcasing the diversity that country music has to offer across the record's 12 tracks. Though it doesn't work with every sound she attempts, her airy, pretty voice does a good job carrying most tunes and establishes her as one of the better singers in her genre.

And there's no. Fucking. Auto-tune.

Though her music is solid, Musgrave's real strength is in her songwriting. On this record, the folksy nostalgia for rural America and Disney style love songs that pollute modern country are replaced by more realistic themes. The track Merry Go 'Round might well be the most poignantly accurate song I've ever heard about life in small town America.

"Mama's hooked on Mary Kay.
Brother's hooked on Mary Jane.Daddy's hooked on Mary two doors down.Mary, Mary quite contrary.We get bored, so, we get married
Just like dust we settled in this town"

Though Musgraves is never hostile towards small towns (which I can only assume, though can't confirm that she grew up in), she ditches the notion that rural Americans are always the best of Americans. Instead, she shines light on the darker underbellies of addiction, isolation and intolerance that exist there right alongside the strong attachments to family and community solidarity typically hyped by country songwriters. In Blowin' Smoke, Musgraves sings from the perspective of a diner waitress gossiping about her coworkers' lives. It exposes another the flip side of rural life: everyone might know you, but that also means that they all know and talk about your business. That her and her coworkers all snark about the girl who leaves town while professing their desires to change their own lots implies a sense of jealousy, made all the more artful because it's never explicitly stated. Some of the themes on this record are strongly reminiscent of Bruce Springsteen's more story driven work: loveless marriages made all too young, decaying small towns and the broken dreams that lie therein.

Of course, that isn't to say that all of the songs here are negative. Step Off is a defiant cry of independence directed toward anyone trying to tie down Musgrave's sense of freedom. The aptly named, It is What it Is relates a couple inexplicably drawn to each other in spite of all the reasons they shouldn't be. And one of the album's more impressive lyrical tracks, Follow Your Arrows, encourages listeners to follow their hearts in spite of the judgement of others. "Just 'cause you can't beat em, don't mean you should join em." The album says of drinking, following ones faith, and even generally speaking one's mind. Refreshingly, Musgraves bucks the anti-feminist, machismo thinking that dominates much of the scene when she even encourages her listeners to follow whatever sexual impulses they have: single, married, gay or straight. 

This record is by no means perfect. There are times when it sounds a bit generic, or when Musgraves's exceptional songwriting fails her. But overall, this is a fantastic album that really showcases what the genre can be at its finest. Musgrave demonstrates skill at crafting a variety of musical composition, and a passion for songwriting that makes her one of the best storytellers in music today, country or otherwise. Same Trailer, Different Park is a solid album that I would recommend both for country listeners, and rock fans more skeptical of the genre.

Track List
1Silver Lining3:51
2My House2:42
3Merry Go 'Round3:29
4Dandelion3:04
5Blowin' Smoke3:09
6I Miss You3:50
7Step Off3:03
8Back On the Map4:06
9Keep It To Yourself3:17
10Stupid2:39
11Follow Your Arrow3:21
12It Is What It Is3:46