If you're obsessed with being "in tune," playing the "right notes," and having everyone play in the "same key," don't waste our time. We may technically suck, but our vibe trumps the suckage and results in an awesomely great band. Which is why you're reading this ad.
Prepare to be judged, buddy. We will judge you by your ringtone, your shoes, your playlists, and where you live.
Playing songs is good, matching our vibe is awesome, but having a van might be the most important thing of all.
For the past few years, Jane Siberry, whom I've written about here and here, has made her music available on a "pay-what-you-want" basis on her website.
This week, she announced she's discontinuing that practice because of frustrations with PayPal.
"My music is now free," she announced. "Please download with great enthusiasm. Take good care of the music. Fill your ipods. Send it everywhere."
(If you're not sure where to start, I'd recommend Jane Siberry for stark folk with huge vocals, No Borders Here for great songwriting and tentative electronica, The Speckless Sky for gorgeous synth-based pop songs, The Walking for haunting melodies and longer cinematic songs, Bound by the Beauty for the pure exuberance of not-quite-folk/not-quite-country, and everything for great songwriting and amazing harmonies.)
Our eyes met and you smiled at me. I could almost have died happy right then and there.
You -- Christie Brinkley blonde in silver Mercedes convertible with wind billowing your hair, your eyes twinkling as you laughed over bluetooth. Me -- JoBro face with scraggly beard. I was pushing shopping cart containing exactly 981 bottles and cans. Just enough to buy us both dinner as long as you don't drink.
Please tell me you don't drink. I'd hate to ruin my idea of what you'd be like on a date (and might need another week to gather the necessary bottles and cans).
The official unemployment rate in California is over 12% (around 10% around the U.S.). Workers are being asked to take pay cuts, benefit cuts, and demotions to keep their jobs.
And the stock market fell 1,000 points in 15 minutes on Thursday.
Oh, and there's a quarter million gallons of oil leaking out every day from an offshore drilling well built by a company that chose not to obey stricter safety procedures because, well... isn't everything better if we let industry make its own rules?
We need some good news. And we need some great music. We need indie rock to reclaim the cello once and for all. And we need ninja karate performers harnessing the power of the dojo.
Yeah, it's time for a new New Pornographers album.
Remember -- we're all in this Together.
Bonus: My favorite track from the new album, which tells you everything you need to know to survive through the Crash Years:
With windows cracking and a roof held together by holes...
One band, two songs, same subject.
XTC's "Love on a Farmboy's Wages" it the rural one -- in which a man who works on the farm (and, sadly, is really great at what he does) prepares to marry his beloved. He wonders how he can provide for his new family, but is ultimately willing to give it a shot. It's a wonderful acoustic song (although a strange and unfortunate choice for a single).
Three years later, XTC was paired with producer Todd Rundgren for Skylarking. Andy Partridge and Todd didn't get along. When the album came out, it sounded odd -- like it was designed to be played in a car going 80 with all the windows open. (And, famously, the oddball hit single "Dear God" wasn't even on the album -- it was a B-side that got all the radio play and forced the record company to pull the album and rerelease it with "Dear God" on Side 2 because there was no room on Side 1, which contained a "suite" of songs about the seasons -- one of Todd's pet ideas.)
Another song from Skylarking that got plenty of radio play was "Earn Enough for Us," seemingly the urban version of "Love on a Farmboy's Wages." But this time, the couple is married and the husband goes off to work every day on a bus, puts up with hurtful comments from his boss, and vows to get another job at night when he learns he's going to be a father. (Link for Gmail subscribers.)
Back when this record first came out, I thought the two songs told the exact same story.
It wasn't until I listened carefully to Skylarking a few days ago that I realized what "Earn Enough for Us" really is. If anything, it's a sequel. The Farmboy gave up what he was good at to earn more money in the big city, only to discover himself struggling and his wife expecting. But he's still hopeful, he's still willing to do whatever it takes. Unlike Major Tom (who apparently was really just a junkie), the Farmboy has matured and grown into a man who takes his responsibilities seriously -- he's even willing to be in a more radio-friendly song if that's what it takes.
I'm older now and I can see the heroism in the husband's struggle. He's harnessed the hope from the farm, tempered it with realism, and hunkered down to provide for his loved ones. But the Farmboy is never really gone -- and I like to think he's planting a small garden behind that little house, caring for it with love, and knowing it will grow and prosper.
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
A while back, I read the story on a blog (and I wish I could remember which one so I could link to it)Kinky Paprika's Shhh/Peaceful blog about Trevor Bolder, bassist for David Bowie's Spiders From Mars band.
According to the story, Bolder had his face painted blue for a performance, but accidentally used permanent paint. Reportedly, Bolder had to go to a specialist in Switzerland for an expensive medical procedure to remove the paint. In fact, the procedure was so expensive, Bolder had to sell his car to pay for it. It mostly worked, but not completely. And that's why, to this day Bolder still has traces of blue paint behind his ear.
I love this story.
And as I said then, it should be repeated over and over.
It's weird and exotic -- involving Bowie, glam rock, and the idea that rockers would risk life and limb to paint their faces for performances. It's truly a glimpse into another world.
But more important, it's completely absurd.
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars is arguably Bowie's masterpiece. The songs are almost all classics (and almost all have been radio staples for more than 35 years). More importantly, the album as a whole tells a somewhat coherent story (although, in best rock fashion, it's vague enough that every listener can project themselves into it).
Bowie would hopskotch from style to style, persona to persona, for years, before slipping into the role of rock elder. But it was the Spiders -- Mick Ronson's mighty guitar playing and arranging (and some say uncredited songwriting), Trevor Bolder's bass playing, and Mick Woodmansey's understated drums (and Be-Rock-Always name) -- that pushed Bowie to his heights he'd never hit again.
The best part of the story is how it builds on the plausible (face painting, getting the type of paint wrong), layers in exotic details (an exclusive private doctor! in Switzerland!) with the hyperbolic (a procedure so expensive he had to sell his car) before delivering the amazing and oddly detailed fact that puts the ribbon on the story (to this day, he still has blue paint behind his ear).
It's a story of rarified air and rock and roll decadence. A story with a moral. A story that's falls apart almost immediately if you look closely.
Skin peels and chafes and regrows. At about the same rate that Bowie changed his persona in the 1970s.
Hell, if you've ever gotten "permanent" marker or paint on yourself, you know this. Even if you can't wash it off, it comes off with the skin in a matter of days, weeks, or months.
It's doubtful the paint would have lasted five weeks, let alone five months or five years. It's still there more than 30 years? Just not possible.
But still, to this day, we've got a great story of rock & roll excess.
And ultimately maybe that's more important than the facts. Isn't rock and roll all about believing these stories we all know can't be true? When the power chords thunder and the downbeat hits, don't we all willingly throw logical thinking out the window because, deep down, we want to live in a world of myths and legends?
We start in a diner, taking cell phone pictures of a man in an ape suit. We ask him for his autograph, but he has no opposable thumbs, so he can't sign. But when I look away, he steals the croutons from my salad.
I walk through the dream, like walking through a museum of my past. Much of it is frightening and little makes sense. But from time to time, everything clicks into place and there's harmony.
At least until I catch her staring wistfully at the ape.
But when I ask her about it and try to figure out why everything feels so surreal, she just smiles. "Everything is just the way it's supposed to be," she tells me. "Maybe you just need to find another way to look at it."
And I look up and she's gone.
And I wake up, and she's been gone for years.
And that feeling, that believe that everything's the way it's supposed to be, fades into the back of my mind, left behind like the dream. Leaving me wondering if I want it to come around again.
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