by Carrie Brownstein

November 30, 2007

Hearing is Believing

As fans, critics, and everyone in between take stock of the year in music, I'm starting to wonder how much of it I actually heard, or for that matter, own. It is old news that we are in a time of media over-saturation and that music is particularly vulnerable to this phenomenon.

When I think back on 2007, I probably listened to less current music than ever before. It's trite and certainly not a valid excuse to say that I was paralyzed by the dizzying array of choices. With trustworthy blogs, websites, and friends to steer me towards new
discoveries (Beirut), hidden gems (Boris), and the obvious choices I so often overlook (Arcade Fire), I'm still not sure why my music collection stagnated this past year.

Then I went through my iTunes library and realized that I had increased the amount of music I "own" in 2007, by at least a couple hundred songs. But few of the songs amounted to albums; most were a collection of random singles, free downloads, or the supposed three or four best tracks off someone's full-length effort. And I put "own" in quotes because although music is more free and accessible than ever, it is also more disposable; it's easier to let go of. Thus, we've become dabblers. The songs that I have recently acquired don't really add up to anything more than a 10 day long mix tape with little thematic cohesion and only a shallow survey of the artists' work. I have shifted from collecting to compiling.

Sometimes a free download or an album stream is the gateway to a love affair with a band. There have been times when downloading a single leads me to a download of the full album, or to actually buy a CD, and then the older albums, and then the side and solo projects. For me, it's not a matter of whether music should be free or not free, but whether we still have the same relationship to music and to listenership now that the process of acquiring it has changed.

Yesterday, I was driving through St. John's on my way to Forest Park when I passed a record store called "Vinyl Resting Place." I admire a good pun but also can't help doing the proverbial eye roll when confronted with even the best of them. Yet "Vinyl Resting Place" is more than clever word play. And maybe this is why I feel like I didn't collect any music in 2007. My vinyl is a collection, and a collection feels permanent. Though a digital music library will outlast the vinyl records, and will likely outlast us all, the digital is not tactile. Recorded music, at least in the digital form, engages with fewer of our senses, and that certainly has changed the way I experience it.

In reality, maybe I listened to and consumed more music than ever this past year. But it is strange that I didn't even notice.

November 29, 2007

A Quick One While She's Away

a.k.a. the Thursday Takeover.
Today we take a break from thoughts of Rock Band.
Plus, it is time to introduce the other critics. Potentially, their opinions might be more akin to your own.
Click on their mouths to hear them pontificate (hit CTRL click to open in a new window).

November 27, 2007

Are We Not Gamers?

A few weeks ago, I had one or two questions in the comments section of this blog about my opinion of Guitar Hero. I recently wrote an article for Slate about the newly released video game Rock Band, which is akin to GH, but expands the experience to involve more players.

Monitor Mix seems as good a place as any to continue the discussion.

The line between gamers and non-gamers is clearly diminishing, if not already obsolete. I went to a music performance the other week at a place called Backspace. This alcohol free, bagel serving hang out is replete with a "Scrim Room", wherein one sits in front of a computer screen for hours, ostensibly engaging in acts of faux warfare or wizardry. I am the first to admit that I know little about this sort of gamer, though I do find the dedication admirable. The obsession is not so different from my own friends' enthusiasm-bordering-on-addiction to games such as Settlers of Catan, Mafia, or Scrabble. There are also the casual video game players, those who put on boxing gloves and punch the air via Nintendo's Wii or who master solos a la Guitar Hero. They play during their lunch breaks or to help wind down after work; it's social and certainly more participatory than watching TV. And isn't compulsively checking and updating your Facebook page just another form of gaming? In other words, few of us are immune.

With so many of our interactions being mediated by computers, video games have become the rec rooms of the virtual community centers. The best and newest games, such as Rock Band, meld the virtual with the actual; they make little distinction between what is palpable and what is imagined. With Rock Band, you are hanging out with your very real friends, playing along to the master recordings of real songs, and on screen you are atop some of the biggest stages in the world. Of course, the truth is that you are nowhere except in front of your TV. But Rock Band professes that it doesn't matter--though you might not be creating memorable music with your friends, you are creating a memorable, real-life moment, all with the help of the unreal.

Part of me feels that Rock Band is yet another example of our culture's increased tolerance of phoniness, whether for the sake of simplicity or out of sheer denial. It's certainly easier to pretend to make art or to speak the truth than to actually do either.

But it is also unfair to hold Rock Band, a video game, to the same standards that I do artists, or politicians for that matter.

From the Slate piece:

There is a sad similarity between Rock Band and some actual bands, and that is the attempt at realness. With so much of music blurring the lines between ersatz and authenticity, at least the Rock Band game is a tribute to rock, rather than an affront. In the realm of fakery, I would choose Rock Band over American Idol or over any of the other flimsy truths masquerading as music.

So, do I like Rock Band? In short, yes. If people listen to David Bowie or Black Sabbath because of the game, if they get even one glimpse of Keith Moon's frantic genius or feel how Kurt Cobain's guitar lines were as expressive as his hoarse cry, then Rock Band is better than listening to most of the awful music out there. And, the truth is, not everyone should form a band. Any stroll on MySpace or visit to a modern rock station will tell you that. There are probably a handful of bands who would be doing the world a favor if they broke up and played Rock Band instead. They might actually learn a thing or two.

November 26, 2007

Laura Krafft Interview

As the WGA strike enters its fourth week, I checked in with Colbert Report writer Laura Krafft. Krafft is also a comedian, actress, musician, dog enthusiast, and all around great person. I had the pleasure of meeting her earlier this year in the fine state of North Carolina. Laura was kind enough to answer the following questions via email from her home in New York City.

Carrie Brownstein: When not on strike, describe a typical workday for a Colbert Report writer?

Laura Krafft: Well, it's not as glamorous as we, the writers, would have you believe. There are no dancing girls. There's no exotic petting zoo. The snack food is by turns sweet or savory. Basically, we just sit and write at our computers all day. I also spend a lot of time doing handstands against the wall to stretch my back and get oxygen into my brain. In addition, I practice twirling in my chair and devise ways to make people get their feet off my desk.

The schedule is pretty much the same each day:

-Start the day crammed into the head writer's office with stacks of papers on our laps. Poke around the news, pitch out ideas, try to make each other laugh.
-Then, a bigger meeting where we pitch the executive producers and they decide what works for the show and what doesn't.
-Go off in twos, or sometimes threes or singles, and write stuff for that night's show.
- Turn everything in at one or the whole day gets backlogged.
- Cram into one tiny office and come up with the table of content jokes that are at the top of each show. (p.s. This is when everyone orders in lunch, so it's always really claustrophobic and smelly. As a lady, I only smell like roses and violets so I suffer the most.)
- Spend the afternoon writing things for upcoming shows.
- Trade off late nights, i.e. half of us stick around to help with any last minute rewrites or joke punch-ups.
- Stay for a taping a couple of nights a week to leer at the guests and watch that ridiculously talented and whip smart Stephen Colbert strut his stuff. As amazing as he is on TV, he's even better live.

CB: What does the research process entail for the show?

LK: We all read tons of newspapers, magazines, and blogs. I'm pretty sure we all also all watch a lot of TV. Of course, that could just be me rationalizing.

CB: What are your days like now that you are on strike?

LK: It's kind of nice. You get up. Make coffee at home because you're on strike. Read the papers on-line because you're on strike. Three days out of five you go picket unless you take a week off, like I did, because of a bum leg. (Torn calf muscle.) Then, sometimes, you meet with the other writers and talk about videos you might make so people outside of the WGA know what's happening with the strike and why we're striking. Sometimes, you make those videos. Watch TV and go to bed early because it's strike time and you need your energy. In between, you get slices of pizza and invent new cookie recipes. I made a really nice mocha chocolate chip cookie the other day.

CB: With the show's production on hold, do you still feel the need to write jokes or to research material?

LK: Don't get me wrong, comedy writing is a dream profession and I feel very fortunate to be making my living this way. That being said, I think there' a notion out there sometimes that comedy writers are like joke robots who constantly create and spit out jokes and TV producers just put buckets underneath them which they then empty periodically into the TV shows. I know that I, for one, don't really have a burning need to write jokes. Writing jokes is really hard work! You have to think a lot! I also don't have a crazy need to do research. I have a natural interest in the world around me and I like to see how people tick, but beyond that, I don't have a passionate desire to research people's voting records and different congressional districts. Because of the strike, we've missed a lot of funny news stories that would be great for the show but I haven't felt the need to actually write out any jokes.

CB: Despite what feels like a lot of support for the writer's strike, it's programs like yours and The Daily Show that people seem to be missing the most. Where should people be getting their news? From where do you get your news?

LK: I would hope people would be getting their news from the same places I get my news from; newspapers, magazines, blogs, television and radio. Lord, I hope people only use our shows for what they are, a satirical addendum to the news. We are definitely not a news source. We are a comedy show.

CB: The Colbert Report writers produced a video blog. Will you also be forming a band? Has there been any impromptu music playing or performance on the picket lines?

LK: There's been some really great music on the picket lines! Mostly percussion. A Colbert writer named Barry Julien plays the drums, so he's been laying down some nice fills on a snare skin. (Skin? - drum lingo) There was some talk of another writer renting a xylophone for the picket line because it's the only instrument he knows how to play. I play flute and piano but haven't tried bringing to any rallies yet.

CB: Is there any particular song or slogan that has become the rallying cry of the strike?

LK: I like "More Money! Les Moonves!" the best. What are the chances of being on strike against a guy named Leslie? You have to jump on these things.

CB: If the strike lasts a long time, do you have any good ideas for a reality TV show or game show that you'd like to share?

LK: How about "So You Want To Give Writer Laura Krafft an Allowance" It's a show where people compete to give me a comfortable financial stipend. The competitions start out sort of cute and small-townsy, stuff like pie eating and egg-tossing. But then, tension mounts and the final episode is a fight to the finish on top of an enormous skyscraper with the contestants using nothing but medieval weaponry and instinct. Who will win the top prize of compensating me for life? Who will suffer the humiliation of toppling off a skyscraper on live television!

CB: Apparently, and as supported by empirical evidence, television viewing is now an acceptable hobby for even the most refined and literate citizens. We tend to discuss the latest shows instead of the latest books. That being said, what are the shows on TV that you will not watch? And what shows are the important ones to watch in order to engage in public discourse?

LK: I'll watch most TV as long as it isn't sports. I'd rather watch people read from the dictionary or tie their shoes than watch a basketball game. Other than that, I'll happily watch anything. My favorite comedy show, hands down, is America's Funniest Home Videos. Any video involving ducklings or grandmas is usually great. I also like watching the local news. I like the local crime reports and how the weather people interact with the anchor people. "Chuck, pack your overalls because this is going to be a great weekend for corn de-tassling!" or "Chuck, unpack that net it's going to be crawfish CRAZY this weekend!"

CB: Is there a quintessential Colbert Report fan?

LK: Summed up in one word -- diverse. One common denominator seems to be proud nerd. People who are interested in a lot of different things. People who appreciate trying to find the humor in what can be quite awful circumstances.

CB: What is the last album you listened to in its entirety?

LK: Parallel Lines by Blondie. I probably listen to it every three days. Aids digestion.

CB: What kinds of conversations do you have with your dogs?

LK: We like to sit down as a family and talk about our day. I'll tell them about things like riding on the subway or eating in restaurants. They keep me in their loop -- Floyd's really focused on cursive writing, Emmy wants to study German. Open communication brings us together and makes us a strong unit.

CB: Have you ever done stand up comedy? Do you like performing live?

LK: Are you kidding me? I totally rock at stand-up comedy! AND I'm really funny at it. Basically, I'll just do hilarious things on stage and then the audiences' sides split all over the place. Performing is one of the most fun things to do on earth. I try not to do the same thing too many times because I like the rush of finding out when something works.

CB: What is your least favorite kind of performer or brand of comedy?

LK: I don't like when stand-up comedians do the same material for a long time. I also don't like when performers don't respect the audience. I always appreciate the fact that someone has taken time out of their own lives, traveled to a venue, paid to get into said venue and sat there for a couple hours all to watch a performance. The only part I really mind about bombing on stage is that I may have ruined part of the audience's night.

CB: Aside from Charo, what other massive celebrities have you jammed with?

LK: That's about it. What other massive celebrities are there?

November 21, 2007

Favorites!!!!!

The holidays crept up on me this year. Suddenly, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. And isn't Christmas the very next day? Was the week following Easter when the shopping season began? I am way behind.

I read that Oprah announced her "Favorite Things" earlier this week. A Panini maker? Really? So that every lunch feels like the lunch you eat at your office? I think the only "favorites" that Oprah and I share are the Planet Earth DVDs and Scrabble. Why am I writing about Oprah? I can honestly say that I have never written about her before, even in an email. This is a surefire way to alienate myself from NPR listeners (not to mention a valid reason to start seeing a therapist). Must. Stop.

In honor of never mentioning Oprah again on this blog, I will now exorcise the Oprah demon in the form of my own "favorite things" list.

1. Q-tips. Give the gift of clean ears to those you love but who have neglected this simple yet pleasurable regimen. Make sure to promote a safe and gentle technique. But remember, earwax is a natural buffer against loud music, so leave a little behind. Dispose of Q-Tips after use, and by that I don't mean leaving them on your nightstand.

2. Floss. Bleeding, swollen gums are unsightly. Floss is a perfect stocking stuffer for anyone who thinks that chewing Altoids is tantamount to proper dental hygiene.

3. You Tube. Send a link of a You Tube video. Include a cheerful holiday greeting to distinguish it from the thousands of other You Tube videos you forwarded in 2007. If you have artistic leanings, make a storyboard of your favorite You Tube video and give it out as a series of one-of-a-kind paintings.

4. Pizza. Show up Christmas morning with a pizza. Or, for Hanukkah--8 nights of Pizza. Who doesn't love the Italian tostada? Everyone will forget you didn't actually bring a present.

5. Music. This is a music blog, after all. Buy a CD and download it onto your computer. The CD is now ready to give out as a gift.
Music recommendation: Just give everyone the soundtrack to Todd Haynes' film, I'm Not There. It will be hard to find a better album (or to see a better movie) this year.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

November 19, 2007

One And A Half Reviews

I saw No Country For Old Men the other night. What struck me most was the lack of music within the film. The sound was as arid and sparse as the landscape portrayed on screen. And the scarcity provided greater suspense than any aptly placed timpani hit or string section crescendo. The images, the characters, and the dialog had no cushion beneath them, nothing to soften the harshness they portrayed, giving each scene a brittle and sometimes disturbing clarity. Though I love the marriage of film and music, seeing a movie that was the sonic equivalent of a faint, distant knocking, came as a pleasant, albeit uneasy, respite.

I also went to three shows this past weekend and I don't think I've done that since I was twenty-two, which was nearly 100 years ago. Since I've gotten older, and probably for the last five years, my relationship trajectory with live shows goes something like this:

1. See listing in local paper or hear about a show from a friend.
2. Think about going to the show, maybe even put it on my calendar.
3. Start listening to the band's music in anticipation of the show.
4. When people ask me what I am doing that night, say that I am going to the show. I am not lying--in my mind, I am really going to the show.
5. Feel tired the day of show and check out what movies are playing.
6. The night of the show, look at the clock and think about what is happening at the show at that very moment.
7. Rent a movie.
8. Sometime in the next week, hear about the show from someone who went.
9. Tell myself I will see the band next time.
10. Find a new show to plan on seeing.

On Saturday I saw Emily Jane White. Upon first hearing her sing you will think of Cat Power or Jolie Holland. It's good to get that thought out of the way. I found her less soulful than Cat Power and more Southern Gothic than Holland. And she has her own thing as well that I would describe as haunted folk.

I don't like reviewing shows. When I see live music, I often find myself drawn to other aspects than the music itself (and this is not due to a lack of magic on the band's part). So, here is what else was happening at the shows I attended:

I could not believe how long the middle band played at the Emily Jane White show. It was one of those instances where they clearly had a lot of friends in the audience and were therefore pretending that the show was taking place in their living room. The band insisted on bringing their own PA, apparently due to the uniqueness of their sound. Get this: they had a cello! With the house sound person rendered useless, and wanting nothing to do with this band, there was no one to fix the searing feedback that the cellist made each time she hit a high note. It made for a lovely hour and a half. When they were done, they took thirty minutes to get their gear off stage. At one point, I heard a drum fall and assumed it was Emily White's drummer setting up. No, it was the middle band's drummer finally taking his gear down. He had been hanging with his friends outside, oblivious to the fact that they weren't headlining. This brand of rudeness always seeps into the next set, but fortunately, EJW's music made up for it.

On Friday I saw a friend's band play at a club called Dante's. There were more human seatbelts in that audience than at any show I'd been to in a long time. A human seatbelt is when one person comes up from behind and wraps their arms lovingly (possessively) around the person in front of them. The human seatbelt is often accompanied by a slow swaying.

Personally, I never buckle up at a show.

Enjoy your day.

November 16, 2007

I Am Cellphone, Hear Me Roar

Last week, after two long years, I became eligible for a free cell phone upgrade with Verizon. My old phone had been through so much trauma that the least egregious tragedy to befall it was being chewed on by my dog. At that moment, when the phone was somewhere between my dog's incisors and slobbery tongue, it was probably just grateful to be in my warm house and not on the side of a road or in a field. My goal was to walk into the Verizon store and purchase a phone that did nothing but make calls. When the employee would try to sell me on a phone that could do everything from drive a Prius to drink 8 glasses of water a day (so that I could continue down my current path of doing neither), I was going to decline in the name of simplicity. I planned to talk extra loudly so that other customers could hear me extol the virtues of a "less is more" philosophy. I didn't want mp3 capabilities, a camera, or anything I could wave in the air at a concert in lieu of a lighter--I just needed a mouthpiece and a couple of buttons with numbers on them. It was all part of my plan to continue to eschew certain technologies that felt like they were distancing me from more tactile experiences.

Then, somewhere between my house and the mall, I bought an iPhone.

A friend of mine uses the term iHole to refer to people who parade their Apple products around. I don't have anything to add to that sentence.

So, now I have a phone that can tell me the weather. Currently, my phone says it is 55 degrees and raining. Awesome, now I don't need to look out my window; it does take a lot of energy to rotate my neck. In fact, I'll just shut the blinds and load Google Earth onto my phone's web browser. Wow, it's like I live in Portland. And I can check my email every 5 seconds instead of every 5 minutes, which means I just lost 5 friends on account of being that much more annoying. This iPhone is great. No, really it is pretty great. Do you want to see my photo library?

And here, last but not least, is the music part of this post. I am fascinated by ringtones. While many of our music listening experiences have become more privatized, our tastes are more publicized than ever. Between playlists on iTunes, social networking sites, and (ahem) blogs, we pretty much know what everyone else likes or dislikes. But ringtones are the musical calling cards; they broadcast our current favorites, our sense of humor, and depending on their volume, our level of hearing loss out to the world. Ringtones provide a momentary aural blueprint of who we are, or at least of who we want the world to think we are. Ringtones also establish a fleeting but collective listening experience. I guess it is testament to the power of music that even on the tiniest of stages, for better or worse, it can still be heard loud and clear.

Ok, I am off to download Dan Fogelberg's "Auld Lang Syne" as my default.

Until Monday......

Note: This post was brought to you by Apple, AT&T, Google, and Verizon Wireless.

November 15, 2007

Teach Your Children

Yesterday I drove to Seattle to attend my father's retirement party. My dad worked at the same company for 33 years. I asked him to tell me what music he listened to in those years, and he named but two bands: Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, and Collective Soul. Please hold while I refresh my memory of Collective Soul. Ahh--yes. I have already forgotten them again. I suppose I understand why he would name those two bands. CSNY were where his musical tastes lay in the '70s: country-tinged, harmonious, and not averse to a little cocaine (yes, he liked the Eagles too.) And the other band, Collective Soul, well, that was who brought his musical tastes into the contemporary realm; they made him aware that there were bands putting out albums in the present tense (present tense circa '94). Sure, Nirvana and Soundgarden were immeasurably better, but they weren't always easy. And they didn't have seven #1 hits, as Collective Soul did, which certainly increased the chances that my dad, or you, or anyone, would hear them on the radio.

On a side note, I wonder when the last time was that someone referenced "Collective Soul"? OK, apparently November 4th, 2007. For some reason, I was expecting a little more distance between myself and the other Collective Soul name-dropper. For more about Collective Soul being played in outer space, click here.

If someone asked me to encapsulate '90s music, I would likely say "grunge" off the top of my head. I guess I could break it down into that strange period in the early '90s where there was something called "college rock," when bands like the Lemonheads and Buffalo Tom ruled tiny airwaves, power that felt immense for the dedicated fans. Or I would think of MTV's "120 Minutes" with host Dave Kendall, clad in black with hands in pockets, as he introduced the latest videos by the Stone Roses or Inspiral Carpets. I might mention Bikini Kill, Nine Inch Nails, the Beastie Boys, Lollapalooza, or any other number of bands or events that clawed their way into our imagination. But I wouldn't mention Collective Soul. Yet that band exists, and dads mention them, and other bands of a similar ilk have come before them and will continue to arrive. They are simultaneously immense and invisible.

Or is it sheer music snobbery to say that they are invisible? Maybe it's Magnetic Fields or Wire, who might feel ubiquitous because of the accolades and the mentions, who are not big at all, but merely present. I would argue, however, that presence, not size, is what makes one band outlast another.

Who we recall a year later, or a decade later, are only a handful of the bands who exist at a given time. Yet concomitant to the relatively few timeless bands--the Pixies, the Cure, R.E.M.--are the other bands, those shadowy giants. The ones who bring about an empty nostalgia or whose songs we can neither name nor sing, whom we've heard of but never heard. So, who is today's version of Collective Soul? Or who was the Collective Soul of previous decades?

On the other hand, if my dad is onto something, and Collective Soul is the lasting band from the 90's, then I should probably start listening to Nickelback.

November 13, 2007

Curbed

Sunday night was the season finale (and possible series finale?) of one of my favorite shows, Curb Your Enthusiasm. This was the harshest of seasons. Even for a show so adept and influential in the realms of provocation and discomfort, no other season has been so raw. Larry David all but undressed in front of his viewers, letting us see past his misanthropic acumen to a sprawling vulnerability. This was the season of remorse and of self-loathing. Earlier this year, David separated from his wife of fourteen years. And in Curb's fictionalized version of the event, Cheryl (played by Cheryl Hines) walks out on him as well. In one of the bleaker episodes, Larry's friends choose sides, and all but Jeff -- his manager -- choose Cheryl.

The most difficult aspect of Curb's sixth season is that those of us who identify with Larry (I include myself in this group) are now forced to wonder if we too are really this intolerable. Previously, it always helped to have Cheryl there as the sympathetic and arguably more stable partner. As the audience's translator, Cheryl reconfigured even Larry's most egregious foibles into excusable, or at least forgivable, misunderstandings. As long as Cheryl tolerated and loved Larry, then we Larrys of the world were worthy of love as well; all we needed was an understanding boyfriend or girlfriend, husband or wife, who got us and even appreciated our OCD, hypochondriacal, chaos-courting ways. But this season, Cheryl finally had enough. When she called on an Airfone from a harrowing plane ride, Larry hung up. The TiVo guy was there, and we all know how hard it is to get one-on-one time with any customer service rep. Couldn't Cheryl's needs be deferred until a more convenient time? Didn't she understand? Of course she didn't, and really, why should she have? Watching this season, I actually wanted Cheryl to leave, to find someone better, to move from a role of comedic triage nurse to a character in charge of her own disasters.

What I love about this show is that it's as sinister as any TV drama. As Alessandra Stanley wrote about the fictional Davids' relationship clashes in The New York Times, "that they are played for laughs on this faux cinema verite comedy only makes them sharper-edged." Agreed. Not every show is willing to go, or has a character that allows them to go, towards peaks of hysteria--that place where sad and happy merge in a tremor that resembles crying as much as it does laughter.

The character of Larry David has always extracted the absurd from situations as if it were a rotten tooth. What he pulls out is ugly to look at, but it's also an indication of an underlying sickness. David drags the mundane kicking and screaming towards the insane. And in a time when what we've come to accept as mundane is really quite insane, it's good to remember what we can learn about ourselves when we acknowledge all that is unhinged--both within us and in the world at large.

Thanks to Curb Your Enthusiasm, some of my own outbursts and mishaps feel validated. Like when my car door nicked a sedan in an airport loading zone, and I found myself daring its driver--an eighty-year-old man in a leg cast--to come out and punch me. It wasn't my finest moment, but it was a Larry David moment. And, sometimes, those are nearly as good.

November 8, 2007

Baby on Board

Each of us has a deal-breaker when it comes to songs, albums, or musicians. It's an aspect we cannot forgive, a line that cannot be crossed. Maybe it's a sound we abhor in a certain context-a children's choir or horn section, for instance, intruding on an otherwise perfectly austere album in the name of maturity and sophistication. Or maybe it's a band that gives your favorite song to a burger or clothing or car company. Songs in commercials are the arranged marriages of the music business, with the fans as the naive bride or groom, forced to pair that which they hold dear with something they have yet to meet. Occasionally, it's a pleasant surprise and the coupling is a success, but most often it ends in heartbreak.

For myself, the line in the sand is neither of the aforementioned. My deal-breaker is preciousness: when the music is a tiny, baby bird that needs us to be nurturing and respectful, otherwise it can't spread its wings. I like quiet music, folk music, solo artists--it's not a matter of volume or numbers, but it is a matter of art being able to stand on its own two feet. I don't think music needs to be coddled, no matter how delicate or soft it sounds. When a band or singer makes me go "awwww," as I would at the sight of a newborn child, then that is a band that needs a pacifier not an amplifier. Other indicators of preciousness include, but are not limited to: matching old-timey outfits; mumbling, soft-spoken stage banter that trails off and is quickly followed by a cutesy smile, which for some reason garners huge cheers from the audience; being so nervous on stage that someone in the crowd has to yell "you can do it!" or "we love you" (exception made here for child performers); asking people to lie down on the floor for the next song; and any audience sing-along or participation so complicated that it needs to be explained BEFORE the song starts. When I am at an overly precious show, I am often filled with contrarian, immature urges: suddenly banging a gong, stepping on a whoopee cushion, or knocking some vegans together to start a mosh pit. I think what bothers me the most about preciousness is that it takes good form and reduces it to good manners, and turns performance into charade. I have no trouble taking music seriously or considering it special, but I don't need to be instructed about why it is.

I'd love to know what your deal-breakers are? And did preciousness exist before the 90's?

Well, it's Friday and my first week as a blogger is officially over. I'm a little sad I didn't get invited to the weekly NPR night at Chili's, but I'll get over it.

Have a good weekend.

November 6, 2007

Our Sophisticated Tastes Betray Us

What is a band that started it all for you, but which you hardly ever name now that your tastes are more varied (refined, complex, cool)?

The other week I watched a movie about Johnny Ramone called Too Tough To Die. It's part tribute, part concert film, part eulogy. In the concert there are none of the original Ramones on stage (How could there be? Joey and Dee Dee had recently died and Johnny was days from passing, one of the most stunning series of losses in all of music history; and Tommy, well he was out of the band by '78). Marky Ramone played drums at the concert and he was clearly adored, like a much loved and prematurely widowed uncle at a family wedding. Various musicians joined Marky on stage to sing or to play guitar: Pete Yorn, Eddie Vedder, Tim Armstrong, Dicky Barrett, and many others. Whether I liked the non-Johnny vocal stylings or not, it didn't really matter. These were Ramones songs, and Ramones songs are perfectly trenchant, sonic laser beams, and a result of their precision is that they can be played by anyone without losing their exactness. I sat on my couch watching this movie, listening to this music, and the songs filled me with a restless inspiration. How had I forgotten about The Ramones? I own nearly all of their albums, I might even consider them one of my favorite bands, but I rarely listen to them. Suddenly this oversight, this forgetfulness, felt disastrous. I think of The Ramones as a starter band, one you have to know, one you have to love, one you have to discover in order for them to lead you elsewhere. But then you go further away and sometimes you forget to ever go back. You find post-punk, you listen to Wire, Gang of Four, The Slits, you find reggae and dub. Then you embrace classic rock, first ironically, maybe at a karaoke bar, and then for real. F*ck this straight-forward punk sh*t, give me prog and wanky solos and post-rock, and soon nothing is valid that comes in under five minutes. When friends or prospective dates ask you your musical tastes, you can't just say, "The Stones" or "The Clash", you have to say the name of the last Ethiopiques CD you bought, or you mention Captain Beefheart, Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd, Candi Staton, Bert Jansch, Thirteenth Floor Elevators, a side project of Wilco but not actually Wilco, the list goes on and on. Really? Really these are our favorite bands? The ones that got us out of bed in the morning on a sunless day? Sure, sometimes they really are favorites, for a day, a week, maybe longer. But watching the Johnny Ramone film I was reminded that for all of the wonderful and complex paths The Ramones' music had led me down, not too many led me to a place better or more satisfying than the point from which I started.

That being said, I'll still probably name Blitzen Trapper next time someone asks me about a band I love.

Ok, confession. I put an ad up on Craigslist Portland (no, not in the 'casual encounters' section). I posted an ad in regards to the cat/bird/lizard on the shoulder question from my first blog post. And, after a few days, I got an answer:

I carry geckos, snakes, and my iguana around, sometimes a rat. I listen to mainly rock a.k.a. System of a Down, Three Days Grace, Disturbed, Korn, ... good bands :) I also listen to SOME rap. Like mostly techno or popular good dancing rap/pop w/e u call it. But to make it simple I listen to 80% rock. 5% rap and 15% soft classical music a.k.a. Mad World and stuff like from the soundtracks of Halo and The Fountain. Does this help?

Yes, it does.

Invisible Host

Hello.

Well, the cat-on-the-shoulder question garnered some interesting responses (see the November 4th comments for a full report). It seems that only a single reader thus far is actually a cat-carrying citizen, he hid the cat inside of his beard no less. For the record, some of the bands he likes right now are Battles, Apples in Stereo and Arcade Fire; meaning that he likes some of the same bands as myself, and I would imagine that some of you share his tastes as well.

A few of the other answers were:

The Stray Cats, Catpower, Cat Stevens, and Josie and the Pussycats. Genre guesses veered towards Industrial, Metal, or Goth, while others conjured softer, gentler tastes such as Alanis Morissette or Sarah McLachlan. A few readers rightly pointed out that carrying around an animal wasn't necessarily attention-seeking behavior but merely illustrated affection for our pets. I did sense an underlying fear of Jimmy Buffet and we can explore that later. And for those of you wondering, this was an earnest question.

Now that I am part of the extended NPR family (in the same way that my aunt's second cousin's mailman is part of mine), I went ahead and explored npr.org. Since you are reading this blog, I suppose some of you have already checked out the myriad of features on NPR's website. But here is a warning if you haven't: PROCEED WITH CAUTION. After clicking on "people at NPR", I found myself unable to turn away from the pictures of the on air personalities. I started with Ira Flatow, host of "Talk of Nation's Science Friday". I wanted him to look like Harold Ramis and, frankly, he doesn't. And that was only the beginning. Ira Flatow became my gateway to further disillusionment. If you are like me and you want to preserve your mental image of NPR hosts as bodiless, omnipotent beings with stentorian voices who keep their sibilance in check and whom you send money to once a year, or who are a centimeter tall and live inside of your stereo/computer/iPod/car, then I suggest that you use self-restraint when searching the site. I am in no way suggesting that my disappointment stems from these hosts having "faces for radio". Not at all. In fact, some of them are TOO good looking. It's myself, as a listener, with whom I am disappointed. It's like showing up for a blind date assuming you're the one who'll be laughing about it later with your friends and then realizing that it's your date who will be laughing. Basically, I no longer feel attractive enough to be an NPR listener. Thanks Madeleine Brand and Luke Burbank.

Next item of business: Not to be too self-congratulatory, but I just wanted to note the accuracy of my first post. Yesterday, I mentioned that I live in "Portland a.k.a. the city sponsored by The New York Times". Well, apparently The New York Times has my back because on the exact same day they came out with yet another article about Portland, which you can read here:

Portlanders Bike!

This is a subject that I have been and will continue to keep track of. What do New Yorkers think about this, by the way? Are you suspicious? Curious? Indifferent? Are people in other cities jealous? Or, if you live in great places like Madison or Asheville (who did have at least one article in The Times), are you just grateful not to be in the spotlight? Or maybe Portlanders are the only ones who notice.

And last but not least:

Song stuck in my head: Theme from "Curb Your Enthusiasm"
Maybe because it's the only aspect of the current season that isn't brutal. And it's the only part of the show I can repeat out loud without offending anyone.
Most recent album I learned to love only by listening to it as background music: The National's Boxer

Enjoy your Tuesday.

November 4, 2007

Welcome to Monitor Mix

Dear readers, hello and welcome.

This inaugural post is to let you know who I am and what exactly I am doing here.

First, about me:

Name: Carrie Brownstein

Hometown: Redmond, Washington.

Current place of residence: Portland, Oregon a.k.a. the city sponsored by The New York Times.

Number of years lived outside of the Pacific Northwest: 0

Number of States visited: 48

Amount of most recent electric bill: $55.35

Items that can be found on my front porch: two chairs, a side table, and three pairs of Adidas (I am currently looking for sponsorship).

Memorized and available for demonstration: Elementary school theme song "We All Come From Benjamin Rush," certain Roethke poems, most of the Misfits catalog.

Color of all pets in household: Black and white.

Last book read: Denis Johnson's Tree of Smoke.

Instruments played: Guitar (fairly well), piano (barely), harp (imagined), triangle (air triangle only).

About the blog:

My hopes for Monitor Mix are that it will be descriptive as opposed to merely prescriptive. I would rather discuss and examine what it is that people actually consume than to tell you what you should be listening to. There are already plenty of great blogs and online resources that tell us what the best new music is or that unearth rarities and lost classics. Though I might occasionally review a piece of music, I would rather explore the contexts and the ways in which we enjoy or maybe even despise it.

The other day I was driving home and saw a boy in his early twenties walking along the sidewalk. He was wearing a gray trench coat, combat boots, and a backpack, and he had a medium-haired black cat on his shoulder. It always worries me when people carry their cats around in public. It's not as bad as the woman in North Portland who brings a mini pony with her to the coffee shop, but it still makes me uneasy; it's attention-seeking, and I am forced to spend the next few hours wondering how someone trains a cat to do that. But what kind of music does a young man who is a human scratching post listen to? I might guess Peter Murphy or Tool or My Chemical Romance, but I have no idea. These are some of the questions I want to answer. I want to find out why people are drawn to certain songs, genres, voices, or instruments.

Let's start with this question: If you carry a cat around on your shoulder when you go out, or a bird, or a lizard, what music do you listen to? Or, if you're not any of those people, ask someone who is.

Send your response using the "comments" link at the bottom of the page. I'll compile your answers for a future post.

I guess I should add that I probably won't stay on the topic of music.

It's very likely that I'll contradict myself.

I wear the same thing almost every day.

I'll post daily or almost daily, so please check back.

Comments and participation are welcome and encouraged.

Thanks for reading.
-Carrie

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Carrie Brownstein

Carrie Brownstein is a writer and musician. She was a member of the critically acclaimed rock band Sleater-Kinney. Her writing has appeared in 'The New York Times,' 'The Believer,' 'Pitchfork,' and various book anthologies on music and culture. Read Carrie's F.A.Q.

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