by Carrie Brownstein

Bromantic

Last Friday night, I went to the Fleet Foxes show at the Doug Fir in Portland. Instead of following my usual trajectory for show-going -- the one wherein I plan on going all week, but then bail at the last second due to tiredness, old age or an excuse to hang out with my pets -- I arrived at the venue early with a sense of eagerness and anticipation. The Fleet Foxes did not disappoint. On the last show of its tour, the band sounded tight and seamless and so at ease, like that moment when new shoes or a baseball mitt finally acquiesce to the shape of your foot or hand. Like Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes' members do stage banter that forms a nice contrast with the near-hypnotic realm of their music. They go from creating an elixir of a sound to laughing and joking, never losing sight of the fact that it is five men, not magicians, on stage.

Live, it's much more wondrous how the band handles the vocals. I found myself looking around from the bass player to the drummer, trying to ascertain just who was contributing what vocal sound. The point being, of course, that the harmonies became nearly impossible to dissect.

Yet it is not the glory of Fleet Foxes that brings me to this blog entry. Instead, it's the fans. Sure, there was the middle-aged woman dressed in natural fibers, singing her heart out and barely disguising her excitement that Crosby, Stills & Nash had been reborn. But I knew she would be there; how could she not? And there were the couples gazing longingly at one another during key points of the songs, as if to say, "These lyrics deepen my commitment to you and so does this beer. Let's kiss." But mostly, I was fascinated by all the Bromance in the room. I'm certain you've seen it, or maybe you've even felt it -- that phenomenon where mostly straight men show up to shows in small packs, high-fiving during songs, raising glasses at the band in a show of brotherly love, and shouting "I love you!" toward the stage. I don't think I'd seen so much man-on-man-concert-love in a long time, maybe not since the heyday of Built to Spill, or at the one Rollins Band show I witnessed.

Bromance is a strangely beautiful phenomenon. At some points during the Fleet Foxes show, I almost felt like an intruder, like maybe this was a men's therapy group or a secret handshake to which I shouldn't be privy. But loving a band along with likeminded people is not about being exclusionary; it's more about a sense of commonality and appreciation cohering around an art form or a sound or a beard. And, let's be honest, there are probably men who love certain bands, but end up feeling like they're stepping into a Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movie every time they go to a concert.

I hope I don't need to say that of course I know music transcends gender, and that sounds do not belong to any one person or group. But we all know that some bands inadvertently inspire certain forms of bonding. It's those shows you'd rather go to with your friends so you can turn to them during a song, nod in agreement and astonishment, slap backs, and raise drinks in the air. So, what bands inspire a deep brotherly love? Or bring out the divine secrets of the ya-ya sisterhood?

Pictured below, the bromance inspiring Fleet Foxes:

1:52 PM ET | 07-29-2008 | permalink | comments (55) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

 

Call It A Ritual

Despite the fact that recorded music comes to us in a variety of forms -- old, new, emerging, tactile, and weightless -- there is still the moment when it arrives in our hands or to our ears. And when we download that album onto computers, phones, and iPods, or we purchase a CD or LP, we have specific ways to go about unleashing those songs.

The process of first hearing an album is a ritual I love. Different from buying a single song, the acquisition of a new album carries a ceremonious quality. Naturally, the experience depends somewhat on the expectations each of us has toward an artist or band. A theretofore unheard-of artist might reveal a less careful or considered listening, but a sophomore album released after a long delay, or the follow-up to an artist's most popular or critically acclaimed release, might induce more scrutiny, or even an anxious first listen.

For me, the ritual associated with hearing an album for the first time depends on the format. With CDs or vinyl, the tearing off of the packaging and the opening of the booklet is part of the process. Often, the first track is playing and I'm still exploring the artwork, the lyrics, the production credits, and the "thank you" list. These distractions often force me to go back to the first few tracks again. With vinyl, I might flip the record over a few times or revel in the smooth, almost magical surface from which the music will emerge. With these formats, it becomes more than an aural experience, but a fully sensory one. I like to think that hearing a new album is like a first-time meeting: You try to have a mix of open-mindedness, curiosity, and a bit of healthy skepticism.

I'm often fidgety at first.Sitting, then standing, then pacing, noticing each time I'm drawn in or losing interest. Other times, the ritual involves doing something other than merely listening -- for example, putting on the album and then cleaning the house, making dinner, or talking on the phone. That process is employed more toward bands with which I'm unfamiliar, in the hope that I'll hear something from the other room and want to run back toward the speakers for a closer inspection.

Context also plays a role. A first listen in an office environment is a much more private, even furtive ritual: The headphones are filled with a distraction due to the unfamiliarity of the songs. In a car, the ritual of hearing a new album might involve excessive volume; for some, these are the best speakers we have, which certainly changes the experience.

Some of us listen to these new albums straight through, beginning to end. Others start with songs we might have already heard -- the single, an early download. Occasionally, we might get stuck on a song, fall in love early on, and not get past Track 3 for hours. No matter what the process, the means, or the context for hearing a new album, most of us have developed a physical or emotional routine -- some sacred, some mundane -- but we carry it out regardless.

So, what are your rituals when hearing a new album for the first time?

12:37 PM ET | 07-24-2008 | permalink | comments (42) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

 

Music News You Can Use?

Last night I watched a documentary called Amazing Journey: The Story of The Who. It's not a great film, by any means, but it does feature fascinating interviews with the two surviving original members, Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey. The men are interviewed separately; a fact could not be made more conspicuous. Most of the questions pit the two men against one another, each showcasing his bitterness, rivalry, and disenchantment toward the other. At one point, Townshend says that he, John Entwistle, and Keith Moon are geniuses, while Daltrey is merely a singer. And regarding the famous stutter in "My Generation," Townshend -- denying Daltrey even fleeting or partial credit -- lets viewers know that he had performed it that way on the demo. Daltrey, for the record, does not quite remember it that way.

Daltrey is widely considered the weakest member of The Who -- his peak in the band was his embodiment of Tommy -- and Townshend is fairly justifiably an egomaniac in many a fan's mind. So, maybe it was the Townshend/Daltrey tension, along with the disparity among all four members that made The Who spectacular. The Who's music was a monster, and I don't expect it to have been the product of delicate harmony behind the scenes. In other words, it might not have been the same band had its members all gotten along.

Even though tensions and clashing egos are storied throughout music -- from sibling rivalry a la The Kinks to Fleetwood Mac-style ex-lovers' spats -- there's only so much information that I need to help build the drama or to fill out the story of an album.

Yet it was not the he-said/he-said aspect of the film, or even The Who's members themselves, that I thought about the next day. Rather, it was whether all of the excess information I now have about the The Who changes or affects my feelings toward the music. I don't think it does. Nor have the music biographies I have read distanced me from the artists I love. But I think that all of the background chatter matters less with bands I have listened to for years, whose music I discovered free from accompanying dialog, conjecture, or gossip.

I don't always want to be inundated with the minutiae about a band these days. Perhaps my intolerance is greater because we have access to more information about not just music, but everything. Music is one part of my life where I don't need to know each and every detail. You know, how some bass player broke a finger, spent the night in a hospital, hooked up with an actress who was also in the hospital being treated for pinkeye, showed up at the Sasquatch Festival drunk, and then did an exclusive interview talking about how he's going to start thinking about working on a new album.

There's no doubt that I love the depth and detail that technology has offered to fandom, but is there certain, maybe frivolous, information about a band that you'd rather not know? Or, if you love an artist, is all of it relevant? And does it ever influence the way you hear the music, for better or worse?

2:12 AM ET | 07-21-2008 | permalink | comments (47) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

 

Pump Up The Jams

I don't usually delve into my personal or daily life on this blog. There are plenty of other places on the web where you can read about people's relationships, tattoos, irritable bowel syndrome, and cuticles. But I will momentarily break from my rule, and I ask that you withhold judgment: Today, I started a month-long Fitness Boot Camp.

Let me explain. Early June in Portland was awful: soggy, cold, snow continuing to fall in the mountains, few signs of a summer to come. Tired of colorless days, and in a moment of weakness, I took the advice of a coworker and signed up for the camp. The camp sessions last for one month and take place at nearby parks; each workout lasts an hour. I had to choose between three or five days a week and a start time of 5:30 a.m., 7:30 a.m., or 9 a.m. I went for the second option, three days a week.

Before camp starts, each participant has a preliminary meeting with the instructor, David. I don't need to describe David, whose name has been changed, because you already know what he looks like. Tan? Yes. Muscular? Duh. (What you may not have imagined is that David ALSO works in radio -- he does an on-air lunch-time fitness program for a Top 40 station -- and when I told him I worked for NPR, well, let's just say that he wanted to talk shop for a while and swap stories about "the biz.") The meeting consisted mostly of measurements and fat-pinching. Obviously, I knew that I hadn't been endowed with an hourglass figure, but what I didn't know is that I am shaped like a plank with two tiny birds sitting on it. Alas, Fitness Boot Camp cannot perform miracles.

This morning, we had our first class. About 20 of us laid out our yoga mats and followed David as he sang, shimmied, and lip-synched to the music pumping from the boom box. The songs consisted of a lot of mashups, remixes, and dance hits. Some of the women sang along. At one point, he played a tune that sampled "Cars" by Gary Numan. When David shouted, "Does anyone know the name of the song in the background and who sings it?" the music nerd in me overruled my fear of crowd participation and I called out the answer. I imagine that after a month of camp, I'll associate a whole new set of songs with motivation. I can't wait to fire up a 10-minute version of Will Smith's "Miami" to get myself out of bed in the mornings.

So bear with me as I ask you to ponder this question. What songs get you motivated -- to bike, run, exercise, compete, ask for a raise, get ready for a night on the town, or just face the world each day?

1:07 PM ET | 07-14-2008 | permalink | comments (189) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

 

Every Inch Of My Fun

Last month, Hard Rock Park opened in Myrtle Beach, S.C. It's a rock 'n' roll theme park, complete with a Led Zeppelin roller coaster called the Ride, "whose hairpin turns are synchronized to Robert Plant's wails in 'Whole Lotta Love.'" I can't think of another ride that would inspire the question, "Daddy, what does 'I want to be your backdoor man' mean?" Sounds like a good time for people of all ages! You can read about it here.

As far as I'm concerned, the park creators have overlooked a few obvious attractions.

Tongue Twister: Visitors to the park ride on a giant replica of Gene Simmons' tongue. A voice emanating from the tongue keeps bragging about how long it is and how it never gets tired.

Smile! You're On Camera: Visitors make their own sex tape with a washed-up rocker of their choice, such as Motley Crue's Tommy Lee -- or, to be more accurate, a carny who looks like him. You get to keep the video as a keepsake. Pay extra, and the theme park will leak the video onto the Internet.

Steven + Stevie's Car Wash: Visitors drive go-karts through a car wash that uses only scarves. Steven Tyler's scarves do the washing; Stevie Nicks' scarves dry you off. Customers leave feeling refreshed and mostly clean. Adults only, due to the sensual nature of scarves.

All-Access Tour Bus: Park-goers get to feel what it's like to be on tour. For eight hours, you are trapped in a bus with a broken toilet. There are beer bottles everywhere, and the "fresh fruit" that someone decided to bring onto the bus has gone bad. Old episodes of Full House play on the DVD player while your lighting tech has sex in a bunk that's not his. When the Tour Bus ride is over, everyone showers in a bathroom in the club's backstage area. Whoops! We forgot the towels.

Roadie: The Ride: Visitors lug around an amp everywhere they go. Park employees yell, "Put it there. Wait, no, put it there instead." Fun for the whole family.

Meet Yr Idol: This attraction lets fans line up for hours to get a close-up glimpse of their idols. The park makes the line rainy and cold or 100 degrees and sunny. Then, when you finally reach the front of the line, impersonators of the biggest names in music give you the brush-off and mock you as you try to get an autograph, take their picture, or tell them how their music changed your life.

Bass Solo, The Musical: Sad, bitter, underappreciated bass players get to play you that one solo that never made it onto the album or into the live act. Performance Time: three hours.

4:36 PM ET | 07- 9-2008 | permalink | comments (29) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

 

What We Do Is Secret

Today I heard Sufjan Stevens' "Casimir Pulaski Day." I had nearly forgotten about the song, about Illinois -- that behemoth of an album from 2005 -- or about the charming live show I saw him and his band play a few years ago. It was that live performance that got me interested in Stevens in the first place. Specifically, it was the trumpet player, Craig Montoro, whose melodies gave the songs clarity, acting as a beacon. Listening to the song today, again it was the trumpet that drew me back into Sufjan Stevens' world.

Montoro is what I like to call the secret weapon. Different from the underrated, the secret weapons are the players who you one day discover are behind much of what you love about a band. Sure, they wouldn't exist without the songwriter(s), but they are the element that pushes the songs from like to love, and from great to glorious. Often, the secret weapons are multi-instrumentalists who masterfully add the crucial guitar line in one song, then provide the harmony you find yourself singing along to in the next.

Sometimes it's easier to spot the secret weapon at a live show. Watching The Decemberists play in San Francisco, I realized that Jenny Conlee was their secret weapon. It seemed like she could play anything, and that without her, their music wouldn't be the same. Conlee propelled Colin Meloy's song-stories, giving the audience something to latch onto and a way of gaining perspective on the narrator's tale.

Other secret weapons are the ones you find yourself watching during a show, despite the fact that the singer is twirling a baton, taking his shirt off, or making out with the front row. The secret weapons are captivating because of their power.

Finally, secret weapons are often the ones who garner the most praise in interviews from the other band members or from fellow musicians. But as fans, we too know that they're crucial to the uniqueness of the sound. We find ourselves sitting closer to our stereo speakers to better hear the nuances of their bass playing, or to determine how they got that snare sound. From Nate Walcott of Bright Eyes to Led Zeppelin's John Paul Jones, Mike Campbell of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, or Lindy Morrison of the Go-Betweens, they might not be the main attraction. But sometimes the side show is just as spectacular.

Who are the secret weapons that you love?

12:54 PM ET | 07- 8-2008 | permalink | comments (113) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

 

Firecrackers

With the 4th of July upon us -- and my neighbors barricading off the streets in preparation for a block party -- I was thinking about the notion of independence from both a personal and a musical standpoint. (To be honest, my idea of freedom right now is to leave my neighborhood before anyone can chat me up about their new lawnmower). Independence, freedom, and rebellion mean something different to each of us at different times in our lives. Some might have experience actually fighting for one's country, while others have waged their own battles -- some small, others quite significant. Freedom might mean breaking away from our parents, from normative culture, a crappy job, a bad relationship, discrimination, or a set of values with which we disagree.

These moments of fleeing -- of embracing a new way of being, of standing up for something -- often have soundtracks: music and lyrics to remind us why we're fighting, to motivate and galvanize us, to soothe, and to provide release.

As teenagers, maybe music was the final push in a slowly mounting "f--- you" campaign. But as adults, we're not immune to the power, solace, and validation that music provides to our own struggles.

What are your favorite lyrics or songs that encapsulate a sense of independence, rebellion, or freedom, personal or otherwise?

Two song excerpts that come to mind for me:

From Stiff Little Fingers' "Alternative Ulster"

Take a look where you're livin'
You got the Army on your street
And the RUC dog of repression
Is barking at your feet
Is this the kind of place you wanna live?
Is this where you wanna be?
Is this the only life we're gonna have?
What we need is

An Alternative Ulster
Grab it and change it, it's yours
Get an Alternative Ulster
Ignore the bores and their laws
Get an Alternative Ulster
Be an anti-security force
Alter your native Ulster
Alter your native land

Check out this 1979 performance of the song:

And from Bruce Springsteen's "Badlands"

Lights out tonight
trouble in the heartland
Got a head-on collision
smashin' in my guts, man
I'm caught in a crossfire
that I don't understand
But there's one thing I know for sure, girl
I don't give a damn
For the same old played-out scenes
I don't give a damn
For just the in-betweens
Honey, I want the heart, I want the soul
I want control right now
talk about a dream
Try to make it real
you wake up in the night
With a fear so real
Spend your life waiting
for a moment that just don't come
Well, don't waste your time waiting

Watch a 1985 performance of the song:

Happy 4th of July.

5:20 PM ET | 07- 3-2008 | permalink | comments (36) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)

 

Random Order

Last week, I pulled out my underused iPod, updated it with new songs from my iTunes, got in my car, and hit the play button. Almost immediately, I was reminded of why I had put my iPod away for that last few months. The reason: the shuffle feature.

What should be an awesome, even liberating way of listening to one's music collection instead becomes obnoxious and restrictive -- at least for me. You'd think that you'd spend your time basking in the depth and eclecticism of your own musical tastes. Reggae? Check. Krautrock? Uh-huh. British Folk? Covered. All of it blended together by a computer-generated randomizer. The shuffle mode is an endless radio station that only plays your music. Sounds perfect, so why is it not?

For one, most of us don't like the notion of random, even when the choices presented to us are culled from our own collections. It's like if there were a robot randomly selecting what we wear each day. Sure, it's our own closet and our own clothing, but we don't want to wear sweaters on 80-degree days, or to put on some magenta silk top that only looked good in the dressing room. With music, it boils down to mood and context, as well. You can adjust the randomness of the shuffle feature, but the options lack nuance. There need to be choices like, "Only play this song if I am driving between Seattle and Portland and I think about my old friend from high school" or, "Please play this one on cold winter days when the sky looks like it might snow and I realize I'm out of ingredients to make hot chocolate."

Additionally, by placing the songs in a horrible sequence, the iPod shuffle highlights the weaknesses of one's music collection instead of the strengths. After a few bad songs in a row, I begin to second-guess my taste in music. Why, for instance, do I still have that one Ludacris song on there -- or entire albums by Mastodon, Journey, or The Magic Numbers when all I need is a handful of songs? Also, there seems to be too much Beatles and Roxy Music and not nearly enough Wilco or Springsteen. And why play only my least favorite songs by my favorite bands?

I know: It's not my iPod's fault. It's mine; chalk it up to human error. Maybe I need to erase certain songs and add others. Or, even more daunting, I should probably convert my vinyl collection into MP3s. But wouldn't that make it worse? Wouldn't even more randomness just start to feel like nothingness?

The drawbacks of the shuffle feature mean more work for the listener -- and iPod shuffle should be about passivity, about letting go. I suppose that's the crux of the problem for me. In the shuffle mode, I spend most of my time hitting fast forward until I find a song I feel like listening to; I can't help but try to carve out a story. I love contrast and the blending of genres, so it's not about disparity. It is, however, about intention. What iPod shuffle lacks is one of the best parts of a great mix -- album sequence, or a justification for why one song follows another.

Or maybe I'm just a control freak and I don't like surprises.

But just for fun, set your iTunes or iPod to "shuffle" and see if you like (or can even tolerate) the order of the first five songs. I'm certain that at least a few of you will be itching to get to a song you actually feel like hearing.

And listen to this NPR story to learn more about the mathematics underlying the shuffle mode.

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Don't forget to Vote the Rock in 2008.

2:09 AM ET | 07- 2-2008 | permalink | comments (102) | e-mail post | trackbacks (0)