Changes

There are a few changes -- some temporary, others permanent -- that I need to address.

First off, I'll be working on a film project for the next few weeks, and my ability to write (let alone think) about music will be somewhat compromised. But I'll be back on this forum at least once or twice a week, so please check in.

Second, and more importantly, NPR is making major changes to its commenting format. You will now have to register with NPR.org and create a public profile to participate in comment threads.

If you just rolled your eyes or groaned when you read that, or wondered how you'll maintain a sense of omnipotence when everyone knows who you are, there are a few advantages:

1. Comments will now be posted instantly, instead of waiting for moderation.

As your soon-to-be-former moderator -- one who often forgets to publish the comments until many hours after you've left them, only to accidentally leave in borderline-insane ones -- I think this is a good thing.

2. Commenting will now be possible on both NPR blog posts and stories.

Do you like Nick Cave, but also Nick Cassavetes, Nick Lachey and St. Nick? NPR will likely do a story on at least three of those people. You can comment on every single one of them. Sweet times.

3. Comments by users may be featured on the NPR homepage, as well as in the inset column of story pages.

NPR is now responsible for your 15 minutes of fame.

4. All users will be able to "recommend" stories.

Tired of stories about America's financial crisis and the upcoming election? Tell that to NPR. If enough people recommend stories, we can just listen to pieces about clowns, sex and rainbows. Fun! And, weirdly, less stressful.

5. Registered users will be able to connect with NPR.org staff and other users through their public profiles and the community home page.

Come find me on NPR's version of Facebook.

6. Users will also be able to participate in the moderation of comments through the "report abuse" links associated with user content.

Make a citizen's arrest on the Internet.

For more information, check out Dick Meyer's blog post about NPR.org's social-media changes.

You can register here. And if you're confused, click here. I hope this isn't too painful for anyone -- I think it will be an improvement.

Lastly, when my friend Miranda July used to live in Portland, we would make short videos in the summer to pass the time. I never thought they'd see the light of day, but they have, and with good reason. If you're so inclined, you can (sort of) view them here.

More soon. (More about music, that is.) Take care.

Carrie Brownstein

12:26 PM ET | 09-29-2008 | permalink

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The Fall

Monday night, I went to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds at the Crystal Ballroom in Portland. If it weren't so obnoxious, I would write this post in all caps -- that would be the easiest way to convey the electricity I witnessed. Or I could use short, monosyllabic phrases like "Holy f---!" to indicate that my senses are slayed and useless.

I've never seen Nick Cave perform live. Leading up to the show, I'd been listening to a mix CD in my car that contains mostly slower, ballad-like tunes -- love songs delivered like dirges. But those songs didn't prepare me for the guitar, violin and double-drums onslaught that left my ears ringing until midway through Tuesday afternoon.

Nick Cave is a mustache on a wire. He has a black drape of hair, receding in the front; he is open-shirted and wild, pelvis undulating. His hands flutter and pose, pointedly and suggestively, and you really feel like you might give anything to be on the receiving end of their call. By that, I mean that you want to be where the music is, at its edges and its core, and it seems to be pouring out of every inch of Cave; both in short fits and long, haunted waves. Cave is a giver on stage. There is no holding back, no wastefulness, no taking it for granted. It was his birthday that night, and when someone from the audience acknowledged the fact, Cave replied, "I am disgracefully old." If disgrace rather than grace is what nurtures guts, is what buries fear, then more artists should unravel themselves from the stifling grip that is poise and posturing.

Cave's Bad Seeds are no less impressive. Warren Ellis of Dirty Three played violin and electric guitar -- one of which was absolutely tiny and constantly being devoured -- and looked like a street urchin in the process. A beast of a beard, a shirt unbuttoned to the waist, only the front row knows what he was doing down there on the floor. All I could see was his hand rise up -- for air, for effect, for a life raft; I could not tell. When the entire group sings, it is an omnipotent taunt, or, as my friend called it, "mantown." Whatever it was, it was more like an avalanche than a band.

I love being a new witness. A convert. Sometimes, I want music to knock me down so hard that it's a struggle to stand up again. The best music, and especially some of my favorite live moments, are like this -- so forceful that I need to regain my balance. Yes, it's unnerving to be caught off-guard by a sound -- for it to unsettle as oppose to soothe. But it's not a bad thing, on occasion, to have music cause you to lose your footing. By the end of the Nick Cave show, it felt like I'd fallen hard.

Carrie Brownstein

10:42 PM ET | 09-23-2008 | permalink

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So I Thought I Could Dance

I'm about to admit something embarrassing. Last night, I went with my family to see a live performance of the reality television show So You Think You Can Dance. They're fans of the program, and I love my family, so I went. No, I don't watch the show -- I've never even seen it -- but I'm not above reality television. For evidence of this, feel free to go back and read my post about The Bachelor, one of my more contentious entries, wherein people expressed major disappointment that I am not immune to, um, America.

So, while some of you were suffering through what sounds like a horrible Emmy broadcast, I was living inside of a television world and witnessing the mindset of the television viewer.

For those of you who don't know, So You Think You Can Dance (which from here on out will be known as SYTYCD) is a reality TV program wherein dancers from all genres come together and perform choreographed material in front of a live audience. Hip-hop dancers must learn to cha cha cha, ballroom dancers find their way into a breakdance routine, and modern dancers learn to do something other than float, flutter and hug themselves. The dancers pair up and things get sexy. Or "sexy."

Portland was the second stop on the SYTYCD Season 4 tour. The performance took place at the Rose Garden, our giant sports stadium, which will also host an upcoming Celine Dion concert, as well as the Ice Capades. The first thing I noticed once we got to our seats was that, even though this was a live event, we were still essentially going to be watching TV. Like, the whole time. A Jumbotron provided the audience with season highlights, interviews with the cast members and a Brady Bunch-esque segment with questions like, "Which dancer likes to put ketchup and ranch dressing on everything?" In case you were wondering, the answer to that one was a dancer named "Comfort."

A life-size "Snuggle" from Snuggle-brand fabric softener helps us feel like we're still watching TV:



No surprise here, but the entire show has been branded. Each dancer has his or her own look and personality. There's the wacky one, the intense one, the crybaby, the "this show saved me from my crappy life" guy, and so on. And when the dancers introduced the performances, they each came out in SYTYCD gear, of which there were copious amounts. And it was all for sale! There was even an intermission that seemed less about giving the dancers a rest and more about giving us a chance to go and purchase some of those souvenirs. I took the opportunity to buy a $4 bottle of water.

And, finally, there was the dancing itself. I really wanted it to be exciting. Some of these people don't just think they can dance; they really can dance. But, sadly, each piece was designed for our short, pitiful attention spans, which apparently give us about 45 seconds. All of the performances were culled from the TV show. The emcees would say, "Remember when Kate and Joshua did their piece that involved a bed?" The audience would scream. "Well, here it is!" More screams. And then Kate and Joshua would dance on a bed in a piece that was supposed to be about breaking up but made me feel about as emotional as I do about picking up dog poop. Most of the choreography told stories about love, as if all romance were merely an extension of a 14-year old girl's imagination. The dances hinted at sex and flirtation, heartache and manipulation, but through a Disney-fied lens; magic, and magically sterile. The strangest moment -- here is the music part, music-blogger purists! -- came when one of the couples danced to the Mirah song "The Garden."

You'd think the live SYTYCD show would be an opportunity to prove that reality TV is sort of based in reality -- that, in real life, the dancing is better than it is on TV. But when I looked at the stage from our swanky floor seats and then peeked at the Jumbotron, the dancing really did look more exciting on the Jumbotron. Somehow, even, more believable.

Most of my disappointment came from wanting to be part of something that seems surprisingly popular, to experience people enjoying an art form as unlikely as dance. In my naive hopes, I imagined more people buying season ballet tickets and checking out local dance troupes. Instead, however, I was reminded that what SYTYCD popularizes is not dance, but television, and bad television at that.

On the way out, I saw a guy whom I felt summed up the whole night. Wearing baggy gray sweatpants and carrying a program for the show in one arm, he had managed to stuff a 16-ounce paper cup of Coke into his right pants pocket. The straw hung out, dripping little bits of brown soda onto the floor. Other people's sense of satisfaction is a sadly beautiful thing.

The audience as the show came to an end. A packed house, no less.

Carrie Brownstein

3:22 PM ET | 09-22-2008 | permalink

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Unreal Genius

As I write this, iTunes' new feature, Genius, is gathering information about my digital music library. Once the process is complete, Genius will send this information to the iTunes Store.

Okay, it's ready to go. I am asked to pick a song from my library, and I have chosen Love's "A House Is Not a Motel." I click the Genius icon, and in the side bar, it suggests a bunch of Love songs that I don't own. Something about the phrasing -- not to mention the "click to buy" button -- makes me feel defensive and incomplete. Actually, iTunes, I do own those songs; just not on CD. My first suggestion: Apple sends a person to my house to index my record collection.

Basically, the Love song is a seed, and iTunes fertilizes that seed and makes a baby. Thus far, my baby is 25 songs long and is pretty damn cool. With Arthur Lee for a head, Television and Pretty Things as arms, Suicide and Television as legs, and feet made of MC5, I really could love this thing. The top of my screen displays a button letting me know that I can save this baby and make it into a permanent playlist. Then iTunes and I can make more babies -- right now.

Sure, our lives are hectic. Sometimes, it might be nice to have someone or something -- like our computers -- act as our own personal DJs, with our own music collection. And, as discussed on this blog before, the shuffle feature on iTunes is rife with inconsistencies and disappointment. But do we not have time to make a simple playlist? Don't we want a little credit now and then? A little venture into creativity? Isn't figuring out the best song to follow another a source of pride? What Genius does is level the playing field. All of us who have spent years laboring over the perfect mix, the ideal playlist, we're out of luck -- verging on obsolete. It's as if my dad and I, if given the same ingredients, can each make prize-winning cookies -- even if his are store-bought and mine are made from scratch.

Maybe I should think of Genius as just another one of the music industry's performance-enhancing drugs. We might abhor cheating in athletes, but it's sort of what we aim for with technology -- shortcuts and new ways of completing formerly arduous or unnecessary tasks. Leaving us more time for... more technology.

I imagine that I will use Genius in lieu of the shuffle mode. At least it's taking genre into consideration. And perhaps I need to let go of the notion that humans are better deciders. Then again, if iTunes Genius were deciding the election, it would probably think McCain sounded better following Bush than Obama would. Sometimes the next thing shouldn't be like the last one at all. That said, I think I'll stick to making my own playlists.

--------------

Read Bob Boilen's blog entry on Genius here.

Carrie Brownstein

3:05 PM ET | 09-17-2008 | permalink

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Prove It All Night

I've held onto ticket stubs from any concert I saw before the age of 18. That list includes, but is not limited to: Madonna, The Church, Jane's Addiction, B-52s, Lollapalooza '92 and '93, Fine Young Cannibals, New Kids on the Block, Sonic Youth, Escape from New York Tour (with The Ramones, Blondie and Tom Tom Club) and Elvis Costello.

Why? Perhaps they're a novelty. After all, I don't buy high-priced tickets too much these days, or wait in line at Ticketmaster. I usually opt, instead, to walk up to the ticket booth the night of the show. Or maybe I keep the old tickets because they don't take up much room.

But I've let go of tour T-shirts, stickers, posters and fliers. There used to be many tangible indications that I loved a band or artist, yet most of it is long gone. There were the mix tapes containing only a single band's songs, school notebooks with lyrics writ large in the margins, and hours spent searching for rare singles and B-sides.

But what now? How evident are our musical loves? What happened to the faded LP jacket or warbly cassette tape? Both were clear indications that something was your favorite rather than merely an acquisition. Whatever your opinion of the MP3, they're never worn down by our affections and obsessions. We can't break them from overuse, or even break them in.

I suppose we could trick ourselves into thinking that we no longer care about proving the extent of our knowledge about certain bands or musicians. But just because our walls are no longer covered in posters -- and our outerwear is free of patches or buttons -- that doesn't mean we don't want people to know that fandom courses through our veins. And it's not just fandom we want to prove, but full-on expertise.

These days, we write blogs. We make our iTunes playlist public at the office. ("Dave, I didn't realize you were such a Yes fan. Every album? Wow! And what's with all the obscure Brazilian post-punk? Pray tell.") We use song names in the subject lines of emails and hope the recipient gets the reference. We make mix tapes to be played at parties, we DJ, we download songs as our cell-phone ringtones, and we name our kids after Dylan and Beatles songs. Maybe these things constitute new forms of wear, tear and overuse.

There's still something beautiful about a threadbare concert T-shirt, or about an album so worn that the needle can't find its groove. No one would ever doubt who or what was your favorite if those were the yardsticks. Today, there are more ways than ever to advertise and prove our adoration for music, but I still like a little physical evidence hanging around. After all, it's nice to know that your love has left a lasting mark on something.

So, how do we go about proving our love for a band or artist these days?

Carrie Brownstein

12:08 AM ET | 09-15-2008 | permalink

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You Were Great, No Really

Last week, I briefly mentioned the particular brand of awkwardness that occurs after watching a friend's less-than-stellar performance, or seeing their sub-par art exhibit, when they ask you, "So, what did you think?" We're all guilty of the little white lie that follows, which usually boils down to a generic compliment. Some of us, and I'll count myself among this crowd, even overcompensate and blurt out, "I LOVED IT." To any of my friends reading this entry, rest assured that I have never done this to you. I am talking about some other friend.

Though I don't usually post my own work on this blog, I did just happen to finish up a piece that deals with this phenomenon.

Feel free to discuss instances wherein you found yourself being less than truthful about a friend's artistic endeavor. And tell us some of your best lines.

And, if you can't stand this video, feel free to practice your lines on me. Seriously, I won't be offended.

You can watch the video below via YouTube, or on the ThunderAnt Web site.

Carrie Brownstein

2:22 AM ET | 09- 9-2008 | permalink

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Stumbling On Happiness

What appeared to be a very successful Music Fest Northwest (MFNW) has just wrapped up here in Portland. Because of scheduling conflicts, I only managed to see a band or two -- Bodies of Water/Deerhunter and Spoon's Britt Daniel solo -- so I have little in the way of reviews. At a particularly fragrant and crammed Wonder Ballroom show, a friend joked that I would likely blog about body odor. There, I just did.

Aside from the perplexing but bold Lycra body suit worn by Bodies of Water's singer (replete with Capezio dance shoes, no less), the thought that lingered with me post-MFNW has to do with bands playing shows in which they perform a single album in its entirety. At MFNW, Built to Spill was in town to perform its epic Perfect From Now On.

As I'm sure many of you have read, or maybe even witnessed, the phenomenon of bands playing their most revered album live has become a bit of a trend at festivals, with everyone from Sonic Youth to Public Enemy climbing on board.

In theory, I'm drawn to this idea. Distill a sound and a moment. Hear the songs in the proper context and in relation to the rest of the artistic output from that time period. Gain insight into the intention and the themes. Basically, shine a light on a singular point of a journey.

Particularly with sequencing and the notion of an entire album being rendered nearly obsolete these days, a live performance of an album forces the listener to discover or rediscover the importance of one song as part of a whole. More understated songs reveal themselves as fulcrums, while popular tunes are exposed as culminations rather than exceptions. The performance of an entire album is a sentence compared to a regular set list, which often consists of stringing together phrases. (The best set lists, of course, do this seamlessly.)

Yet it's important to note that these performances are not occurring concomitant to the release of the album. The aim here is to look back -- and, hopefully, to reignite. So I imagine that the most successful performances in this context require a desire to re-explore on the part of not only the band, but also the audience.

As fans, we all have had the inclination to hear the old songs; in fact, we often grow bored with the unfamiliarity of newness, of experimentation and growth. So, do we want our favorite sonic moments encapsulated and reborn? Or does it remind us that, with our most beloved bands, our affection is stretched out across years and across albums? And are we still able to be surprised when we know what the set list is? Lastly, are there specific albums you'd like to see performed?

I want to end this post by illustrating my penchant for contradiction. All weekend, an excellent music festival took place in my city. And, as I mentioned, I missed most of it. Yet last night, on a stroll along the eastside esplanade, I stumbled across a crowd of crusty punks, hippies and dogs on ropes -- their faces aglow from a man juggling fire. I wandered in further and ended up in front of a stage where a band wearing gnome and fairy outfits was playing. The audience consisted mostly of bare-chested interpretive dancers. I wanted to leave as soon as I got there. But I was also excited by the possibility of not knowing what was going to happen next.

The festival turned out to be this:

Carrie Brownstein

12:06 PM ET | 09- 8-2008 | permalink

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Thursday Treasure Hunt, Part 3

It's time for the third installment of Thursday Treasure Hunt. If you are so inclined, please respond if you fall into one or more of the following categories. If you do choose to respond, please provide a brief explanation, if necessary. Thanks.

You are engaged
You are recently heartbroken
You are a recent heartbreaker
You sold a car this past year
You purchased a car this past year
You ride public transportation to work
You used to be vegan
You used to be vegetarian
You used to eat meat
You own an iPhone
You own a Blackberry
You have a land line
You haven't been to a show or concert this summer
You have traveled out of state to see music this summer
You bought a band T-shirt at a concert this summer
You've cried at a show
You have a catchphrase
You have a nickname
You have a secret handshake with at least one friend
You sign most of your emails with a variation of "XO"
You sign most of your emails with "Best"
Your gut feeling tells you that John McCain will be the next president
Your gut feeling tells you that Barack Obama will be the next president
After watching both the RNC and the DNC, you're confused as to which party actually represents change
You were impressed by Sarah Palin's speech at the RNC
You sort of wish Obama had made a bolder choice for his VP
You think a Prius is as annoying a symbol as a Hummer
You went camping this summer
You played hackysack this summer
You made fun of people who played hackysack this summer
At one point in your life, you dressed like or styled your hair like your favorite rock star
You're going to school this fall
You live in a dorm
You sleep on a futon
You sleep on a California King
You have owned a waterbed in your lifetime
You wore a trenchcoat in high school
You are growing a beard or mustache
You have had to defend your love of The Doors
You have had to defend your love of Rush
You've never flown on a plane
You don't know how to drive a stick shift
You can't stand the sound of Joni Mitchell's voice
You can't stand the sound of Bob Dylan's voice
You have written poetry about a band or musician
You live next door to people who have different political beliefs than you do
You have made a mix CD for someone in the last year
You can't remember the last time you saw a movie in a movie theatre
You've had your entire CD or record collection stolen

Carrie Brownstein

2:43 AM ET | 09- 4-2008 | permalink

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Offense Is The Best Defense

I'll be the first to admit that it's hard to be a music blogger sometimes, particularly when the most fascinating tidbits aren't coming from the music world. For example, you spend the weekend talking with your friends about Sarah Palin and about how annoying it is that anyone would think that women are dumb enough to vote for her because of her gender. Then it turns out that Sarah Palin's 17-year-old daughter is pregnant, and that she has to marry the father of the baby! Somehow, the release of a new Metallica single doesn't inspire the same sense of shock and awe. All you can think now is how the best reason to not vote for John McCain is to spare Bristol Palin and Levi Johnson (the baby's father) the pain of having to get married. If only Bristol Palin were also in a band, I would have so much more to add.

Alas, the only thing I have to tie together politics and music is that my post titled "Battle of the Bands" garnered me an invite from Mike Huckabee to see a performance by his band, Capitol Offense, at the Republican National Convention in St. Paul this week. Sadly, NPR would not cover the cost of that plane ticket -- and believe me, I inquired.

Here's an excerpt from the email I received:

Carrie, After reading your article "Battle Of The Bands," Governor Huckabee asked me to contact you. We would like to offer you an invitation to attend our party "a little straight rock" on Tuesday night, September 2nd, where you can hear Josh Turner, and then the Governor's band, Capitol Offense with a special performance by Jeff Cook. Please let me know if you are interested.

!!!

I can't deny it; I was very excited to get this note. It certainly beat out the invite I received a few months back to attend a benefit put on by Nicole Richie. (NPR wouldn't fork over money for that trip, either.) Plus, it's not every day that I can forward something to my father as proof that people are actually reading my blog. Note to Dad: Mike Huckabee, or someone close to him, is reading my blog; are you?

Aside from the novelty of the Huckabee invite, and my genuine interest in going so that I could write about the experience, the situation also presented me with a strange conundrum. What if I don't like Mike Huckabee's band? I know what you're thinking -- that I could never like Capitol Offense. But maybe I would. After all, there are times when I am in the mood for a Steppenwolf cover.

Potentially disliking Capitol Offense is not really on the same level as not liking a friend's band. I've sure we've all experienced this on one level or another -- that awkward moment when you go to a friend's art show, concert or poetry reading, and you realize that you might have to outright lie. They ask, "Did you like it"? (First of all, why would anyone ask that?) And then you don't want to, but you hear yourself lying, "Yes." It feels awful.

Now, with Capitol Offense, I might never know.

Mike Huckabee, please let me know when your band comes to Portland, okay?

Carrie Brownstein

2:45 AM ET | 09- 3-2008 | permalink

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