by Carrie Brownstein

The Source Of The Sound

My sister visited a friend's grandfather who had an amazing, super hi-fidelity, crazy-ass speaker stereo system. Knowing I would be interested to see it, she passed along a photo. I thought you might be interested in viewing this thing of wonder yourself.

The photo also got me thinking about how all of us music listeners have different devices from which our music springs forth: iPods and mp3 players, car stereos, computer speakers, boom boxes, or the old fashion stereo console. If you are so inclined, please take a picture of the device on which you listen to music most of the time and I'll compile the photos for Friday or Monday's blog.

Send your pictures to monitormix@npr.org

To start things off, here is a picture of my home stereo system (infinitely less cool than the one pictured above). I also have a boom box in the shape of a 1950s car in my kitchen (on sale at Fred Meyer many moons ago), but most of my CDs, records, and mp3s get played through this set up.

5:31 PM ET | 04-30-2008 | permalink | comments (26) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Exiled, Again

In June, ATO records will release a special 15th Anniversary edition of Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville. Originally conceived as a response to The Rolling Stones' Exile on Mainstreet, Phair's Exile became something of a classic in its own right.

Listen to "Divorce Song" from the anniversary edition:

In 1993 I moved to Olympia, Washington to attend college. The Northwest was full of incendiary bands in the early 1990s. Some of the sounds were heard around the globe, others remained stubbornly underground, festering and smoldering, creating an incognito hysteria and inspiring offshoots. There was twee and lo-fi, angular post-punk, emo, metal, riot grrl, noise--most of it eager, breathless and frenzied. For months, I rarely saw or listened to a world outside of Olympia. If I wanted to see bands from London or DC, New York or LA, they would play in basements and be sucked into the smallness of the town, if only for a night. Olympia was part of a series of remote satellites sending signals back and forth, sharing information and secrets.

It was within this context, this feeling that everything important had a line drawn around it and that my town was inside that imaginary border, that I first heard Liz Phair. She crashed through the insularity, with no clear alliance to one music scene, writing from the periphery of her own. I was at a friend's house, he was making us dinner and he put on the album. The fact that I remember any details at all about what my friend was cooking, what we wore, the layout of this small apartment--those memories only exist because of Exile in Guyville. Otherwise, it would have been just another night. I was 19.

The first thing I noticed about Liz Phair was the voice. She wasn't screaming, she wasn't being cloying, she wasn't an amazing singer, but there was something serious about the vocals, something deadly. Part of it was the flatness; the strange deadpan delivery, like someone is singing on their back, like they woke up one night and decided they'd had enough and so they made an album. But the songs weren't victim anthems just like they weren't merely come-ons; they spoke of the fine lines between power and powerlessness, autonomy and isolation, they depicted epiphanies and the subsequent letdowns. The album was a journey vacillating between interior and exterior landscapes, the lyrics evoking halcyon moments always on the verge of implosion, either by the author's own hand or by someone they loved. And the album was drenched in desire, of wanting and of wanting out.

Exile in Guyville was a brave and gutsy album and Liz Phair made herself an island out of it. Some critics and fans dove in to the waters, swimming to save her, to woo her, to worship her, while others hung her out to dry. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of the album, coming at a time when many indie music statements--particularly those being made by women--were more strident, they clawed out a space with volume and rebellion The sphere Phair created was murkier, it was inviting but also treacherous.

I don't know if it was the weight of the endeavor, or the fact that those of us over a certain age couldn't escape this album if we tried, but Exile in Guyville's presence is still felt after all these years. I admit to not having followed Phair much since the mid 90s, but listening to Exile again, I think it just might qualify as a monster of rock.

1:38 PM ET | 04-30-2008 | permalink | comments (40) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

The Bachelor and Other Delights

This week is starting off classy (with Madonna) and it is about to get classier. Though many of us pride ourselves on our fine taste in music, film, and literature--most of us would also admit to (myself included) occasionally enjoying the tawdry, the lowbrow, and the mainstream.

A few weeks ago I mentioned my love for the reality program The Bachelor. I was not lying. I started watching The Bachelor during a brief stint of living in Berkeley, CA (Ironically, I was there to investigate graduate school programs and higher education, not to develop a television habit. Thanks Berzerkely!). Homesick for the Northwest, I was sucked into The Bachelor by the fact that one of the contestants that season, Meredith, was from Portland. I was rooting for Bachelor Bob Guiney to keep her on the show because then the two of them would return to Portland for what is known as the "hometown date." Well, it happened, and I was able to vicariously view Portland, albeit through Bob and Meredith's eyes, which were mostly focused on each other--though I did get glimpses of Washington Park, the Willamette River, and a scattering of trees.

By the time Meredith was sent packing before the final episode I was hooked. When the next season of the show began, I was back in Portland with no excuse for watching the show at all, yet I still tuned in whenever I could. Admittedly, there are shows in the reality television vein with much more substance and validity. Project Runway showcases people with an actual talent and something like PBS' Manor House provided a more thorough examination of class, social roles, and history; but The Bachelor intrigues me none the less. Maybe we all have that one show, the one guilty pleasure that seems incongruous with our more sophisticated or highfalutin tastes. Yet I don't think it truly is a conflict of interest, or even a fluke. To me, The Bachelor (and this is probably also true of a hundred other reality shows that I don't watch) is fascinating because it exemplifies our acceptance of non-reality as reality. We know that we're not getting to see the whole picture, that the information is being manipulated, and that the story being told is only part of the story. I suppose that sometimes I'd rather just sit back and get that artifice-parading-as-truth from The Bachelor instead of from my government.

Here then is an interview with a friend of mine who worked on The Bachelor. She has asked that I withhold her name for the sake of anonymity.

Question: Describe your role or duties as a producer on 'The Bachelor.'

Answer: I was involved in every aspect of the production; I was heavily involved with casting, interviewing the cast, and following/driving story.

Q: How does the production on a reality television program vary from scripted or more traditional forms?

A: We shoot 100% of the time and air 1% of what we shot. With that said, we roll on a lot of boring sh*t but as soon as you set the camera down is when the good stuff happens, therefore we only stop when they are sleeping and even then there is somebody on standby just in case. Reality TV is known as being down and dirty and on the cheap, so it is very different from scripted [TV] in that one of my roles was to try to get everything for free -- if you see us at a resort in Bermuda it is because that said resort is looking for PR and they gave us the whole date for trade out.

Q: Do you feel like the contestants on 'The Bachelor' (and the Bachelor himself) are actually there to find love? Or do they see it as a way of furthering their careers, entering show-biz, or getting their 15 minutes of fame?

A: I am a bit of a hopeless romantic, so without sounding too cheesy I really believe that at our core most of us are looking for true love. Now, why would some go to match.com, a bar, or a reality TV show? The decision to go on TV is telling of their personalities and their motivations are almost never pure for these reality types. They usually want to leverage something. I don't know if it is always a career in acting more than it is fame, recognizability, covers of US Weekly, never having to wait in line at a club, for some it is about hometown celebrity status. Like take the realtor or the banker for example, after bearing all on a reality romance show they are inevitably viewed as an alpha type person and because of this their lives are exponentially better having made themselves a household name. Not to mention that over 50% of the cast, having not found love on TV end up finding it in their real lives immediately after going on the show -- somehow the people in their lives see them differently, more attractive even, having done something so ballsy.

Q: Does the editing process do justice to the contestants or is there a vast difference between what happened during the taping and what appears on the broadcast? In other words, does the editing carve out a story line or play up certain personalities in order to make it more interesting? I think this is the general assumption that the audience has.

A: TOTALLY! Everyone always ask if what we see on TV is really what happened and for the most part it is but, going back to the film 100% and air 1%, the viewer is only getting to see the really good stuff and, even still, if the stories are many we are going to edit them down to the most compelling bits, therefore leaving out (often times) how somebody goes from seemingly normal to totally coo coo pants. We have even gone so far as to "frankenbite," where you take somebody saying, "of course I'd like to say that I love him" and cutting the bite together to say "of course I love him," cutting out the very important "I'd like to say." [It's] definitely very misleading to the viewer and unfair to the cast member, but they sign up for this, fully knowing the reputation of the reality world.

Q: Was there ever an intelligent or reasonably cool Bachelor or contestant?

A: Yes. Intelligent -- absolutely most of them are college graduated and some of them prestigious schools like Harvard. But does that make them "cool", no. Were some cool? Absolutely, but I guess that is all in who you ask. Take an associate of mine, if you asked her she would say that none of them were cool. Me, I am a sucker for the human experience, no matter if it is up my alley or not. I liked some of the Bachelors/Bachelorettes but others of them I hated (and I really have to try hard to be moved to hatred.) There are a couple of them that I genuinely care about. Would people like hanging out with these celebrated love seekers? Probably not -- unless you take Meredith she actually was one of the more "normal/cool" cast members that we had. Bob was cool by most people's standards, fun loving, kind hearted, a karaoke machine, and now the host of "Trick My Trucker" who wouldn't want to hang out with that type?

Q: What tricks or strategies does the show employ to amp up the drama and tension during the taping of the show?

A: Well, in the private one on one interviews with a producer (like me) it is the producers job to get the sh*t talking started, like "tell me honestly what you think of Sally" -- if the interviewee does not want to respond in a catty way then the producer will usually go to the next level, like "well I personally think she is a self absorbed, attention starved skank," and then see if the person will take the bait. Once you start learning who in the house is not well liked it is easy to start seeding conversations and gossip. Also, if the conversations linger too long on favorite movies and stuff the producers will step in a say, "ok we all know we signed up for a TV show -- so if you don't start talking about something more topical then you can't have the sushi you requested tonight." The smarter cast members start to realize that everything can be bartered. Like, "I will give you a good one-on-one interview about Sally, IF you let me listen to my iPod for the rest of the day."

Q: Do you feel like 'The Bachelor' already has his lady picked out early on but has to appear undecided due to the nature of the show?

A: Sometimes yes and sometimes no -- really, every hero cast member is different; sometimes there is an undeniable chemistry and that has to be well masked throughout the show, as not to give away the ending. But other times they don't "know" until the very last minute.

Q: What is the interview process like to be a contestant on 'The Bachelor', or to be The Bachelor himself?

A: It is pretty crazy, there are several phone interviews first, then they fly him out with others for a competitive casting sessions where they are all put on camera, taken to dinner, interviewed some more, etc. When the execs finally have a cast member that they'd like to work with they meet with the head of ABC to get his blessing. Sometimes it takes awhile, as they are some real douche bags out there.

Q: How does the crew of 'The Bachelor' deal with the craziness and general stupidity of what they are witnessing?

A: Most of the time the crew gets pretty into it! Reality TV is such a grind for the crew, long hours with little pay that they actually look forward to the crazy bits, it helps to pass the time and the executives get so excited that the vibe is felt throughout. The camera man that has been shooting for 12 straight hours of mani/pedis is like, 'I know this shit I am filming is actually gonna make it to air.' It is pretty satisfying to watch the kids go to crazy town especially for those of us that sold out on any hope of a real life ourselves. Also it makes you happy of any drama free life you may be living.

Q: Why is there never any acknowledgment that the contestants are on television? Aside from the one-on-one interview with the camera, I always wonder why people don't talk about how strange the process is, or admit to the surreal nature of the program during their involvement. Is this edited out or do they truly forget the cameras are there?

A: Definitely edited out. Whenever anyone is talking about the cameras they get scolded and told to resume more TV friendly chitchat. They are told up front that they have to ignore the cameras and after awhile they really do go away, or if they don't you usually don't last long because if you aren't being "yourself", or at least being emotional and effusive then you won't last long on the show; you will be overshadowed by the ones that can get past the cameras. If you don't bring your personality to the show then you end up looking like a cold stone bitch and the producers make sure of that.

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By the way, the current season of The Bachelor is called "London Calling." That, however, is a whole other blog entry.

6:10 PM ET | 04-28-2008 | permalink | comments (36) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Touched For The Very Last Time

If I had to name the famous person who I find the least interesting, it would have to be Madonna. Yet, strangely, I am about to spend time writing about her. Maybe it's because I am tired of seeing her face everywhere these days, or possibly this blog entry is some form of exorcism.

The first concert I ever saw was Madonna's. It also happened to be the first show of the first US tour Madonna ever embarked on. It was 1985, I was in 5th grade, and Madonna was launching her Virgin Tour in Seattle at the Paramount Theatre. I went to the first of the three shows she played in the city. (Incidentally, the Beastie Boys opened and were booed off stage within ten or fifteen minutes). Similar to a lot of pre-teens in the mid-1980s, I was obsessed with Madonna, with her songs, her fashion, her attitude, and her boldness. But like my youthful enthusiasm towards Duran Duran, Ricky Schroeder, and Kirk Cameron, my affection towards Madonna waned. I soon discovered music with fewer filters and disguises, less affect, greater intensity, and most of all, substance.

I can't say I've thought or cared about Madonna since I was 14. Except for a few early hits, her music has not stuck with me, not even in a nostalgic sense. I never pull out Madonna records to listen to (I'd have to double check that I still have one), nor do I pause when I hear her old songs on the radio. Even her mid-period dance hits ("Ray of Light" for example) struck me as contrived. As I mentioned in another blog entry, I mostly think of Madonna as a brand. She is someone who will do anything to seem current, so much so that everything she does reeks of disingenuousness and desperation.

Madonna goes beyond the usual banality and sterility of contemporary pop. Now and again, I'll hear a pop song on the radio and be able to enjoy it as a guilty pleasure. But I can't say that I am drawn to Madonna in that way, she takes herself too seriously. And even that would be tolerable if she weren't so artistically gutless.

Or maybe it is just the phenomenon of Madonna that perplexes me. I am but one of thousands of people writing about her this month. Madonna inserts herself into the collective imagination every few years and it always feels like some natural disaster from which we have to recover.

On her new album, Hard Candy, (a name which sounds like a parody of a pop album title), Madonna's songs are so Botoxed, so unnervingly seamless, that even if the whole point of the album was to have fun, it's the kind of fun where you have to keep reaffirming its very existence, as in, "this is fun, right?" In other words, it's self conscious and contrived. The fact that Madonna is playing it safe on this record, or "doing what she knows how to do best" should not be cause for celebration. If anything, I wish it were cause for alarm, or at least forced us to ask ourselves why she has yet to be usurped. At this point, however, I think the most I can muster is a huge yawn.

So, I wonder, who is a fan of Madonna's music? Are you? If so, what do you like about it? Will anyone be holding benefits for themselves so that they can afford tickets to her concerts? And why does Madonna still capture the imagination of so many people?

1:36 AM ET | 04-28-2008 | permalink | comments (51) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Join Or Die

Dear readers. Sorry for the longer than usual delay between posts. I went to Los Angeles to help finish a project.

Yesterday was Earth Day and I celebrated it by letting my dog sh*t on a lawn that is full of chemicals. When the owner came out to yell at me, I pointed to the excrement and said, "That is the only natural thing in your yard, Happy Earth Day." I should be getting my thank you note from the city of Portland within the next week.*

For the past few nights I have been obsessed with the John Adams mini-series on HBO. Paul Giamatti, Laura Linney, Tom Wilkinson, and the entire cast are superb. Watching a dollar bill come to life, AKA seeing George Washington (as played by David Morse with a prosthetic proboscis) enter a room, is thrilling. And it is fascinating to see people such as Franklin, Hancock, Jefferson, and of course, Adams, not merely as historical figures but as men -- ones with vastly different characters, levels of doubt, and with varying awareness and acceptance of fragilities and weakness in our nascent country. Franklin speaks in quips (one of my favorite books at home is a slim volume of Franklin's quotations); Jefferson seems guided by destiny and in possession of an eerie prescience; and Adams is a pragmatist with a wry humor and an attachment and intellectual dependence on his wife that is both unique for the time period and utterly touching. I think what I appreciate most about the John Adams mini-series is that the viewer is painfully aware of all that was at stake during that time period. Everything was dire: from the intimate epistolary relationships to the public orations. The notions of sacrifice and of freedom were not abstract concepts that one read about. They permeated lives.

Whether in relation to Earth Day, local or national elections, the tanking economy, or the Iraq War, it has become ever so difficult to know -- no, to feel -- what, exactly, is at stake. And it takes continual effort to not forget about those whose lives are more at risk than our own.

On the plane to Los Angeles I read an article in Esquire Magazine (it pained me to have to purchase anything with Jessica Simpson on the cover). But I had heard Chris Jones on NPR who wrote an article about one soldier's journey home following his death in Iraq. It is a long story, but it should be, and if you read one magazine article this week, this month, this year, I recommend this one.

The stakes we are fighting for in any number of battles right now are obfuscated by rhetoric. And maybe that is why we are always searching for ways to distract ourselves ('search' is the wrong word, it takes little effort to find distractions); today's struggle never feels real, never pricks our skin, only piques our intellect, if ever.

Strangely, it took a mini-series about one man in the late 18th and early 19th Centuries (as well as the book I'm reading about John Brown) to remind me that there were times when letting go of one's beliefs was not an option. So, if the stakes are huge right now, why do they feel so small?

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*Not a true story.

10:43 PM ET | 04-22-2008 | permalink | comments (27) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Is That All There Is?

A man named Joshua Allen, using scientific methods, his internal good-taste barometer, and a whole lot of sass, has come up with the perfect song length. That length is 2:42. His article includes a link to a mix tape featuring songs that clock in at exactly 2:42.

The mix features twelve songs by some great bands and musicians, from The Beatles to The Breeders, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young to Tom Petty. Yet hardly any of the songs therein constitute those artists' best output. For instance, if "Don't Do Me Like That" is Petty's most perfectly timed song, then what are "American Girl" and "Free Fallin?" Grandiose and excessive? And "Get Up" by R.E.M? That's not even the best song on Green, let alone their most perfect tune ever.

Taking a look through my iTunes library, which allows me to sort songs by time--something I could not do with my vinyl without a massive headache, score one for technology--I found a few other songs at 2:42.

Them-"I Can Only Give You Everything" (I admit, one of their best)
MC5-"High School" (Nope. Not their strongest)
Judas Priest-"Deceiver" (Great Priest song but perfect?)
Blitzen Trapper-"Wild Mountain Nation" (I adore this song. F**k! This guy might be onto something)
Glen Campbell-"Galveston" (A hit, yes, but due to its length?)

Okay, so there are a lot of great songs at 2:42. But scrolling down to songs in the three or four minute range, I am bombarded with some of the best songs by The Clash, The Stones, X, Bee Gees, Pixies, Joy Division, and Dylan. I might concede that the two longest songs on my iTunes-- Pink Floyd's "Echoes" and Can's "Halleluhwah" aren't in heavy rotation--but that doesn't mean I'm too lazy to sit through them once a... year.

Allen's strongest argument for 2:42 is The La's song "There She Goes." He says about the song, "[It] is so flawless that it instantly made everything else the band did pointless." I agree. Possibly, Allen's argument might be stronger if he could find a bunch of one-hit-wonder bands whose hit songs were all the same length. Because maybe 2:42 is the perfect song length for bands for whom we only care about one song. But the rest of the bands he mentions weren't one-hit-wonders. The fact that they have great songs at 2:42 cannot be separated from the fact that they are simply great bands; with some songs that leave us wanting more as well as songs with lengths we get lost in, whose musical stories are written in sentences not just in phrases and fragments. In fact, maybe we wouldn't even like a band's 2:42 song if all of their songs were 2:42. In other words, 2:42 might leave you wanting more, but if there isn't any more goodness to be had, then 2:42 is an empty number; it's an arbitrary shell that houses one amazing song.

Joshua Allen is joking--I think--but he brings up an interesting discussion. Is there a reason that short songs feel better? Easier? That they're the songs we put on mixes? The ones we use when we introduce a new band to our friends? Do these songs truly distill the best elements of a band, saving our ears from profligate solos, break downs so long they could be their own song, and too-slow-on-the faders fade-outs?

True, we're often impressed by succinctness, a tale trimmed of fat, getting knocked out before we knew what hit us. And we all like things quick and easy on occasion. But easy is only part of the story.

1:57 AM ET | 04-17-2008 | permalink | comments (66) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Screams In The Ears

A mid-April mix tape courtesy of Monitor Mix.

These are some songs I've been listening to the past few weeks.

To stream, click here.

Deep Purple. Massive riffage. Not as blown out or Psychedelic as Blue Cheer but more melodious. I go back and listen to their albums (okay, only two of them) a few times a year. They don't leave the turn table for weeks.

The Band. One of my favorites. Each player is amazing. This is a band who I didn't really value when I first heard them. But later I thought that they were the ultimate group to aspire to.

Bill Fox. One of the best (among many other greats) from Ohio. Fox also played with The Mice. A friend introduced me to this guy in the mid 90's and I was blown away. He shouldn't be a secret yet sadly he is.

Misfits. A friend of mine drove me by Glenn Danzig's house in Los Angeles the last time I was there. I felt like a kid on Halloween, scared of possible hauntings or unwelcome surprises. I don't know if it was the build-up to the drive-by, the Misfit's lyrics I had going through my head, or the house itself, but I was frightened. Only later did I think how there is no other person in music who I might be scared to meet. Yet this person's name is Glenn.

Check out Muxtape to make your own and to listen to other mixes.

Enjoy.

10:51 PM ET | 04-15-2008 | permalink | comments (27) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Questions and Suggestions

As Monitor Mix nears its sixth month of existence, I thought I would open this forum up to suggestions for future posts/topics as well as to questions.

If you have either a suggestion or question, please send them to:

monitormix@npr.org

I will compile the questions to answer in a later post.

And I look forward to hearing your suggestions. Otherwise, I plan on writing about how much I love the Adam Carolla Show and how I listen to it instead of the local NPR program that airs during the same time. (This is true.) Another post might discuss my love of the reality television program The Bachelor.

5:48 PM ET | 04-14-2008 | permalink | comments (20) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Solitaire

What is a solo project? Is it different from "going solo?" For me, "going solo" implies leaving the band indefinitely to perform on your own, using your own name, even though you are actually playing with other people (see Sting, Peter Gabriel, Michael McDonald, Phil Collins.) Then there is the solo album, which implies more of a break from the band to pursue your own interests (nearly every member of the Eagles, Thurston Moore, Chris Walla, etc.). Or, the solo album could be what you do after the band (every member of the Beatles, Tom Verlaine, Richard Lloyd, countless others).

Do you have a favorite solo album or solo performer? Are there people you prefer solo than with their band?

My favorite solo album is All Things Must Pass.

I've been thinking about this topic because on Friday I saw two solo performances at a benefit show. One set was by Stephen Malkmus (The Jicks, Pavement), the other by James Mercer (The Shins). Malkmus went on stage in a parka and tuned for so long that the audience clapped throughout, unsure as to whether or not he was playing a song. His Silvertone guitar stayed stubbornly out of tune, which only added to the set's imbalance. I like a performer, a song, a set that teeters on destruction. Malkmus' guitar playing, when stripped of accompaniment, vacillates between insouciance and deliberation. The playing appears indecisive, which contrived or not, is why it's exciting.

James Mercer deals in contentment. Even if or when the lyrical intent is obfuscated, the melodies are complex and daring, his voice soaring, his audience seems happy. They are moved, yes, but not so far as to be taken out of their comfort zone. "Ah, this is the life," they all must be thinking. Mercer is one of my favorite contemporary singer/songwriters. Therefore, I am not immune to that strange magic of Mercer and the Shins. And at a solo show, it becomes quite clear that Mercer could play the songs on his own without too many people missing the eccentricities of the rest of the band. The shape of the songs remain intact, their craft distilled, the melodies more striking and strikingly beautiful. But it was in the relationship between the audience and solo Mercer that I started missing the band. Maybe it was the strange complacency that set in -- the sense that this was all we needed -- to be under a tent drinking wine and listening to pretty songs. In that moment I wanted Marty (of the Shins) to ruin the placidity, for him to say something goofy from stage, for him, for the band, to come crashing through. Not that I don't like quiet, or soft, I like both. And I especially love Mercer, solo or otherwise. But it is also good to remember the reason why the rest of a band exists or why there is a band in the first place: to create tension, movement, dynamics, chemistry, and to remind us that music isn't about feeling content, it's about feeling alive.

1:39 PM ET | 04-14-2008 | permalink | comments (50) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

The New York Times: On the Heels of Monitor Mix

Not that writing about record stores is a new topic, but I thought it was interesting that after a fairly interesting discussion this week here at MM, none other than The New York Times wrote a seemingly random article about vinyl, specifically the Princeton Record Exchange.

Readers of the MM comments section will note that Antony mentioned the Princeton Record Exchange yesterday.

Coincidence? Well, yes, probably.

Anyhow, check out the completely unrelated (or is it?) article in The NY Times here.

11:54 AM ET | 04-10-2008 | permalink | comments (12) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Shameless Recommendations Version 1.0

I did an on-air version of the "Branded" post for NPR's Day to Day. The piece will air tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this), Thursday, April 10th. Check your local NPR affiliate to find out when it airs in your city, or stream it online.

In other news, for those of you who reside in the Northwest, I would be remiss not to mention a benefit taking place this Friday, April 11th, called The Buckman Bash. The show will feature solo performances by James Mercer (The Shins), Stephen Malkmus (The Jicks) and will be hosted by Portland actor/writer/artist/self-proclaimed sellout Andrew Dickson.

From The Oregonian:

The Buckman Art Show started in 1991 as a way to support the school while also providing exposure to artists in the community. Buckman Elementary School Arts Focus is a Portland Public School program offering an arts-integrated curriculum, with classes in dance, drama and music and visual art

Click here for ticket and venue info.

8:58 PM ET | 04- 9-2008 | permalink | comments (2) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

A Cure For The Shut-Ins Among Us

On April 19th, over 100 independent record stores around the country will celebrate Record Store Day. The website for the event features quotes by artists revealing their relationship to, or affection towards, the dying breed that is the local record store. For its brevity and bluntness, I think my favorite quote is:

"You can't roll a joint on an iPod - buy vinyl!" -Shelby Lynne

???????

And the award for being a caricature of oneself goes to Ian Gillian of Deep Purple:

"Buy real records in real shops, or I'll come round your house and scream at your mother."

(It might also be that I've been listening to Deep Purple all week and was just happy to see that Gillian is up and about, dispensing words of wisdom).

Portland lost one of its best record stores in August of last year. Music Millennium, the oldest music store in the Northwest, closed its location on NW 23rd street. Though the original location on E. Burnside remains, it was a bleak moment for music enthusiasts to see the 23rd Avenue store get swallowed up by Portland's eagerness to provide its resident with high-end versions of everything from sweatshirts to soap. The fact that Music Millennium is the chief peddler of the popular bumper sticker "Keep Portland Weird" lingers as a sad irony.

Growing up in a suburb of Seattle, my options for records stores were Cellophane Square in the mall and Rubato Records, a few blocks away behind a hardware store. Cellophane Square was where I could buy band posters and band stickers and get all the new releases from Sub Pop, K, and Popllama Records. But Rubato was where I went to learn about music. The store had opened in 1977 by Helena and John Rogers. By the time I discovered it in the early 90's I had only an inkling of how amazing it was to have this store exist outside of Seattle; there was very little competition in the way of Punk, post-Punk, Psychedelic, and Metal. My early searches for music were narrow--trying to track down New Wave albums or complete my late 70's Punk or 80's Hardcore collections. It was Helena and John who steered me towards the predecessors and to the nearly forgotten. From Blues artists like Son House or Bobby Bland, to the Shocking Blue, Ian & Sylvia, Au Pairs, Electric Prunes, or Tubeway Army--I found rare albums and early pressings that only later I would learn the true value of.

This is a sentimental post, yes (and yuck). For the most part I don't think the issue is about CD vs. MP3 or analog vs. digital. I love record stores because they are tactile, for the process of discovery they provide, for the fun of seeing what other people are looking at, and for all the unwrapping I get to do when I get home. The instant gratification of downloading an MP3 is fantastic but so is getting out of the house.

So, when is the last time you set foot in a record store? 1999? Last week? Is there a reason that you still choose to shop at one? Or reasons why you don't?

1:17 PM ET | 04- 8-2008 | permalink | comments (83) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

BRANDED

Kanye West has inexplicably launched his own travel website; it's like Orbitz or Travelocity except that it's Kanye. Ostensibly, the point is that West is selling more than hotels and plane tickets; he is selling a lifestyle, namely, his.

On its own, the news of Kanye's online travel agency is benign, novel in its quirkiness, maybe even admirable as seen as part of a long line of West's creative and unique endeavors; but within the broader context of artists or people-turned-brands, West's new venture is not so much troubling as it is tiring. Maybe it's that it comes at a time when Madonna is once again ubiquitous, gracing the cover of half a dozen magazines. And Madonna is always extolling something--oxygen facials, peeing in the shower (kills fungus!), Pilates, adoption, Kaballah, children's literature, Britain. Madonna is so branded that it's hard to distinguish between her and, say, Proctor & Gamble; she's just some other company that shape shifts with the times, transforming her outward appearance and message to attract new buyers, all the while selling us on a new way to exist in the world. And the concept of artist as a brand is also overwhelming within the context of an election year--one in which we as consumers (I mean, voters) are already inundated with sales pitches of how we can best make America (that brand we live in) safer, cleaner, and stronger.

When bands become brands, the dynamic creates a very cynical way of viewing music; the inherent value shifts from an aesthetic or sonic one to a monetary one. If I am choosing between a U2 iPod or a regular one, a White Stripes camera or the non-White Stripes camera, my role as a fan has been commodified as well. Basically, I feel like a tool.

I'm not fooling myself--bands and fans and the music industry as a whole are a business, and a struggling one at that. And there has always been a bottom line. But when everything is branded it gives me the feeling like I'm doing all of my shopping at the mall; there is the illusion of choices, but mostly they are being made for me. And by being at the mall in the first place, I've already forfeited most of my options.

Much of music has always been about buying into an idea, a movement, a sphere of influence, an aesthetic, and a voice. As music fans, we're sometimes willing to let the collective voice of the audience speak for us, or for the music to represent a bit of who we are. But I'd be less willing to do that for a brand. Imagine putting brand stickers on your car, following brands around the country, asking for a brand's autograph, or trying to sleep with members of the brand. Frankly, it wouldn't be as fun. So, before Bright Eyes puts their name on a hybrid car or Feist comes out with a line of handbags, they should remember that their fans would likely be embarrassed to utter the words, "I'm with the brand."

11:51 AM ET | 04- 3-2008 | permalink | comments (43) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

Won't Get Fooled Again

A few weeks ago I received a copy of the new B-52s album, Funplex. A band I've been fond of for many years, I was weary of trying to stretch my love too thin, or to have a late career misstep affect my adoration for nearly all of their early and mid period work. The cover offered little solace; the four remaining members looked almost embalmed, and oddly younger than they did in the late 70's. A friend had mentioned hearing the first single, the title track, on the radio. Reports were that it was great, true to form and catchy. I had yet to hear a single note of the album.

What drew me to the B-52s in the first place was Ricky Wilson, who crafted the early songs (along with drummer Keith Strickland) and whose guitar playing is sorely under appreciated. Part Ventures, part post-Punk angularity, almost like sped up Chuck Berry, I don't know if Wilson ever played a wrong or frivolous note.

There are few bands who have no clear predecessor; and though they may be influential, no one is quite capable of succeeding them either. Even if one were attempting to, it would be difficult to emulate the B-52s. Fred Schneider, for instance, is inimitable. His voice cuts through the music, sometimes adding to, but also, on occasion, destroying the melody--like a commentator or even an interloper. The dynamic between his vocals, and those of Cindy Wilson's and Kate Pierson's keep the music in a perpetual struggle of harmony and discord. Though the songs have a pop sensibility and plenty of celebratory explosions, there is also an element of suspense. Whether it is a beautiful melody on the verge of imploding or a taut guitar line giving way to fluidity, it is tension that sets the B-52s apart.

Watch the B-52s lip syncing "My Own Private Idaho."

So, I really wanted to embrace the latest effort by the B-52s; they were not merely rehashing the past but instead writing their first new material in sixteen years. Luckily, it was not difficult to enjoy Funplex. The opening riff of "Pump" was written by Strickland--who moved from drums to guitar after Ricky Wilson passed away--and it is a clear homage not only to where the B-52s have been but to Wilson himself. The riff is then engulfed by the rest of the band, by vocals, drums, and that tireless energy and hopefulness that seems to magically propel all of their songs. The voices of Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson sound amazing, sometimes interchangeable, sometimes the twang and ache of Wilson more pronounced. The album's production is fresh but not slick, the grittiness not lost, the chemistry still palpable and alive.

Check out the video for the first single from Funplex.

In what often feels like a constant search for something new to love--from gadgets to trends to music--it is always nice for something you already love to surprise you; for it to feel, and to sound, both new and old at the same time.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the B-52s, REM, or any band who are still making records long after you thought they would have ceased to do so. Should they stop while they are ahead? Or have you been pleasantly surprised or able to view the new material with fresh ears?

12:19 PM ET | 04- 1-2008 | permalink | comments (57) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)