Tuesday, January 31, 2006

I EXPECT TO FIND HIM LAUGHING

Guilty pleasure.

Blasphemous Rumors—Depeche Mode

I swear I’m not doing this to be perverse.

As well focused as my distaste for Depeche Mode is, I can’t get around the fact that I really like this song.

Yeah, it’s as dumbly earnest and adolescently questioning as anything they ever did. Girl of 16, wants to die, tries by her own hand, does not succeed, mother prays, girl finds Jesus, girl gets hit by car, girl dies.

Are you there God? It’s me, Martin.

But still, for some reason it works for me.

Maybe it’s the life-support machine that sounds like it’s churning out Orange Fanta Slurpees…

Monday, January 30, 2006

ROCK AND ROLL GIRLS

Begging your leave, but today finds me dealing with the after effects of my six-year old daughter's sleepover at the house last night.

It was just one friend, but for those of you not familiar with Parent's Math, the equation goes something like this:

If you double a six-year old, it has the odd effect of simultaneously adding three years and subtracting one year from any three-year old over whom the six-year olds exert centripetal force. You then apply Planck's constant liberally and with no discretion, and you arrive at diminished sleep capacity for mom and dad. It's just that simple.

Back with more guilty pleasures tomorrow...

Friday, January 27, 2006

THE MUSIC'S HIGH

Guilty pleasure.

Dancing Queen—ABBA

OK, it’s not Knowing Me, Knowing You, which is like Scenes From a Marriage dusted with confectioner’s sugar, but it’s still pretty regal.

The whole Rachmaninoff meets Spector meets Eurovision vibe caught everyone from Elvis Costello (see Oliver’s Army) to Madge to Stereolab.

It caught me too, one shiny American Bandstand Saturday afternoon, and never let go…

Thursday, January 26, 2006

THE LADDER OF MY LIFE

Guilty pleasure.

Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me—Elton John

When I was 8 or 9 years old, I was a big Elton John fan. There, I’ve said it…

Rocket Man was inextricably linked to cold winter nights looking through a small telescope in my best friend’s backyard. If there happened to be Apollo astronauts walking on the moon, we strained our eyes to see them jump…

Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me was the soundtrack to bike rides to Cold Spring Harbor, where we’d sit on the dock and watch folks unspool string droplines, hoping to stir a stray flounder to bite.

Harmony was playing at my friend’s house up the street when he jumped off the eave of his roof and landed on the middle finger of my right hand, flattening the tip and stunting its growth.

And on May 18, 1977, my best friend and I sat on adjacent swings in our local park, arms wrapped around chains and weight shifted slightly forward. We kicked at the sand, and sang loudly against the death that day of my father. We sang Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

All things considered, I guess there’s no reason to feel guilty…

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

I'M SUCH A FOOL FOR YOU

I’m going to step away from the satrad channel survey for a bit. I’ll probably revisit at some point, considering that I haven’t even covered a bunch of my main presets.

Instead, in honor of yesterday’s tangent, I’m going to sail the guilty-pleasure seas.

Each day I will go off in search of a song that, for one reason or another, I’m embarrassed to admit I love, like, or perhaps just tolerate…

I Could Be Happy—Altered Images

Yesterday’s Lulu confession served to expose a soft spot, and I’ll allow today’s admission to elaborate further.

I am an out and out sucker for the winsome and the wistful.

The weird thing is that it is a definable subset, consisting of the following songs:

To Sir With Love—Lulu
I Could Be Happy—Altered Images
Fade Into You—Mazzy Star
Here’s Where the Story Ends—Sundays
Linger—The Cranberries

These five songs—and these five songs only, to date— target the exact same longitude and latitude on my emotional map.

The only moment that imperils things for I Could Be Happy is when an ever-so-brief hint of Martha Davis from The Motels creeps into Clare Grogan’s vocals.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

LIKE FLIES ON SHERBERT

Today as I wound my way through the parking garage, fiddling with my access card, preparing to swipe it in front of a gray panel to raise the gate, it became clear that I had an itchy remote finger...

I reached open air, began surfing the satellite, and soon landed on a guilty pleasure: To Sir With Love. Hard cheese, I know.

But I especially like the weird jazz phrasing Lulu drops into the line “What, what can I give you in return?”

And then, 3:12 from my driveway, I found the Replacements doing Alex Chilton. Another pleasure, with which I have never associated a measure of guilt.

The line I really love here? “Check-checkin' his stash by the trash at St. Marks Place.”

Their respective lyrical hiccups put in high relief the fact that these two paeans are actually very closely bound.

And that realization made my journey home today feel oddly satisfying. It was like rounding a perfect circle...

Monday, January 23, 2006

THE ART OF DECEPTION

All Rolling Stones, all the time…

It’s a pretty nice piece of viral marketing for A Bigger Bang, and it makes satrad relatable for the boomers.

Somebody somewhere is surely getting a Corvette and a seersucker suit out of this deal…

Take It or Leave It
Wrapping their orneriness for the same marketplace that was buying Herman’s Hermits and Gerry and the Pacemakers. For all their charges to the barricades, they were ultimately an accommodating bunch…

You Can’t Always Get What You Want (live)
No, not live when it mattered. But it’s not Love You Live, Still Life, or Flashpoint either. Sounds more recent, with Mick giving the audience “You can’t…” and then letting the folks in the $1000 seats handle the “…always get what you want.” Soulless, perfunctory, and cynical in concept. At least it’s not completely cynical in execution.

Diddley Daddy
One of the great rock-historical gaps is the lack of officially released Stones outtakes/rarities. If they could squeeze six CDs out of the Beatles, I’d have to think the Stones can do better than the half-assed single disc that was dropped recently. This would be a nice start

Fool to Cry
Etymology of falsetto: Italian, from diminutive of falso false, from Latin falsus.

Driving Too Fast
Someone should really hide their metaphors from them. I’d be much more interested in hearing songs about 60 with an Exile twist…

Jumpin’ Jack Flash
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: If I need to explain this, you’ll probably never ever ever get it.

Grade: B

Friday, January 20, 2006

HEY JOE

Last night was a symphony of earaches and hazy bad dreams, so I'm taking off today. Be back on Monday.

Man, I could sure use a cup of coffee around about now...

Thursday, January 19, 2006

PITCH BY MY DOORSTEP

Of the several dietary oddities that dot my life, this gives some people the deepest pause: I have only ever had one sip of coffee.

One midnight on a whim I bought a brimming styrofoam cup full of the stuff, to complement my Marlboro reds. I lifted the dimpled cup to my mouth, pursed my lips, blew small ripples across the surface, wet my lips... and poured out the cup.

Just something to keep in mind as we grab a seat in the acoustic coffee house...

Wasted on the Way—CSN
Making '82 sound like '72, as if '77 had never happened.

Need You Tonight (unplugged)—INXS
Kind of slinky and sexy and minimal in its original incarnation, this unplugged version actually manages to strip it up, rather than strip it down. Should've stowed those bongos, random Farriss brother...

Long Way Home—Norah Jones
I'm sorry, did you say something?

Three Little Birds—Bob Marley
Don't get me wrong, it's a nice song. But I can't help thinking that right now there's a kid sitting in a Starbucks, tapping his foot while this plays in the background, telling his friends that he loves the “Reggie music” because it's so “happy.”

Broke Down—Slaid Cleaves
OK, I confess it took me a minute to realize that Slaid Cleaves was not the name of the song. Because I'd really be interested in hearing a song called Slaid Cleaves...

She Belongs to Me—Bob Dylan
It's fascinating that Dylan has made the trip from the early '60s coffeehouse to the early aughties coffeehouse, which are two very different places...

Possession—Sarah MacLachlan
Perhaps you'd like a little stalking with your double vente latte frappacino? Quietly unsettling, and very effective.

Grade: A rich Columbian B-

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

THE RESOLUTION OF ALL THE FRUITLESS SEARCHES

The last band my wife cared anything about was Spandau Ballet. She knitted Gary Kemp a sweater, and air mailed it from Nagoya to London.

She was always more likely to fall for Gary Kemps than Tony Hadleys...

I'll tell you more about her one day, but this is just to say that yesterday was our 13th wedding anniversary.

And as a result, today the satellite is all about romantic ballads and soft pop music, featuring lyrics of love.

That's right, lyrics of love...

You Make Me Fell Brand New—Simply Red
Goddam, what a punk out. You could've played The Stylistics' original, a smooth piece of Philly soul with the potential to make any living creature on the planet go moist, but you opt for this pointless, arid remake. Why?

If You Leave Me Now—Chicago
Where their former muse was Got to Get You Into My Life, here we find it shifting to Maybe I'm Amazed. Saccharine kills, babies...

Send One Your Love—Stevie Wonder
This might be closer to Splenda than saccharine, but one thing's for sure-- it ain't real sugar.

Vision of Love—Mariah Carey
See, nothing says true love like melisma...

Just Once—James Ingram
NBC's Must See Thursdays, now with 15% more soul. If a Cosby sweater could sing, surely it would sing this...

In Your Eyes—Peter Gabriel
Really, it's everything that Lloyd Dobler was not supposed to be...

Woman in Love—Barbara Streisand
Time was when they put the Bee Gees in just about everything. Hell, most breakfast cereals were fortified with at least one Bee Gee back in the day. But still, it took a certain sort of mad brilliance to Bee-Gee up Babs. Between this and Guilty, I'll be damned if it didn't half work.

What, no True? Grade: C

I'm out of town on business tomorrow-- back on Thursday...

Friday, January 13, 2006

IS THIS A LASTING TREASURE?

Roots y'all.

It Hurts to be in Love—Gene Pitney
An uncharacteristic rocker from a FOMAK (Friend of Mick and Keef)...

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow—The Shirelles
I like how they slip by the censors on a sweet melody and a shoop the question: If we fuck tonight, what happens when the sun comes up?

Hushabye—The Mystics
Maybe there’s something here to set this apart from other white-boy doo-wop, but I confess I’m not hearing it.

(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons—Sam Cooke
OK, I’m slow dancing with myself now. That voice… that phrasing… that use of leading parens in the song title…

Sheila—Tommy Roe
It’s fascinating in retrospect to hear these once commercially viable artists at the moment before they were about to be rendered obsolete by The Beatles. It’s like walking through Herculaneum with a spray bottle and a fine brush…

I’m Ready—Fat Domino
The fat man, on the other hand, will not be rendered obsolete by anyone...

Rag Doll—The Four Seasons
Part of their success in America was surely due to the fact that they plied some pretty reactionary territory. Billy Joel lifted their implicit smarm, trebled it, and rode “I love you just the way you are” straight from his ex-wife to Christie,,,

Nicely done. Grade: B+

Thursday, January 12, 2006

A FREE-FORM STYLE

Top 2 OMD Bands
1. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark
2. Ozark Mountain Daredevils

And really, if not for Jackie Blue, it wouldn't even have been close.

Battling a bug today-- back on sat rad tomorrow...

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

CAN YOU IMAGINE NO LOVE, PRIDE, DEEP-FRIED CHICKEN

Pulse. It’s "the ‘90s and now," though I didn’t hit much “now.”
But man, is there some kind of thesis built into what I got of the 90’s…

Hard to Handle—The Black Crowes
Exhibit A, for example, is an ersatz R&B group who were most convincing when they aped the Stones, rather than when they aped the Stones progenitors. So Remedy, yes; Otis cover, no…

Run-Around—Blues Traveler
One of the many jam-bands that attempted to fill the void left by Jerry’s death. And here’s a parking lot in which to peddle your tie-dyes and hash pipes…

Hey Jealousy—Gin Blossoms
Baby, I’m ersatz again, thought it time I let you in…

Ironic—Alanis Morisette
I suppose I should reserve some manner of awe for such fine and well-cut stupidity. Observe: It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife…

Enjoy the Silence—Depeche Mode
Must you continue to taunt me, satellite radio?

Bad Day—Daniel Powter
Um, is this the snow-white kid in that Lance Henriksen movie? Because it sure sounds like it...

Closing Time—Semisonic
Semiliterate, semimeaningful, semimelodious, semishit, semibland, semicomatose, see my toes, see my nose, see my gin blossoms…

Drops of Jupiter—Train
And if you put Semisonic and Gin Blossoms in a blender and pureed until smooth and pinkish brown, this is the sludge with which you’d fill your ewer. The Wallflowers would be licking their lips waiting for you to pour it into their cups…

It’s pretty impressive how this simultaneously defines the decade and lies through its fucking teeth about it. Grade, for the sake of gumption: A+

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

SPLIT LIKE LIGHT REFRACTED

Three scary words: adult album rock.

Everybody Wake Up—Dave Matthews Band
Every decade gets the Depeche Mode it deserves. I'm looking at you '90s...

Don’t Get Me Wrong—The Pretenders
They had such a messy history, and were defined more by profligacy than prolificacy, but when Chrissie was on her game, they were almost without peer. This isn't quite Talk of the Town or Back on the Chain Gang, but it's still pretty sweet.

Hey Hey What Can I Do—Led Zeppelin
This is definitely in my Zep top five. My Zep top five:
1. Hot Dog
2. This
3. Communication Breakdown (instrumental track)
OK, so my top five only has two and a half...

Ballad of John and Yoko—The Beatles
Most folks, when they write a self-referential song, don't actually go that extra self-mythologizing mile. Who Are You doesn't crawl up Rog and Pete's ass. In a Big Country? Nah. Belle and Sebastian? Obliquely, at best. Clash City Rockers? Getting warmer, I suppose. But this shit is like Antmusic for navel gazers...

All the Way Home—Bruce Springsteen
From Devils and Dust, apparently. Sorry, that's the best I can do. Feel free to drop me a line if you know anything more...

Don’t You (Forget about Me)—Simple Minds
The former Mr. Hynde always seemed to have a hard time reconciling the fact that he didn't write the group's biggest American hit. It hurt to be a whore for John Hughes, I suppose, but it paid the rent. I'm sure they encore with it at numerous European festivals every summer these days...

Talk—Coldplay
Yellow was cute, in all its hoodie-on-the-beach earnestness, but I fail to see how the world needed anything more than that...

Grade: C+

Monday, January 09, 2006

SOMETHING MUST'VE HAPPENED OVER MANHATTAN

All Dolled Up is a DVD of pixelvision-quality film of the New York Dolls from back in the '70s, and it's like having footage of Moses on the mount. If Moses was a bunch of snotty assholes from Queens/Staten Island, that is. In, um, fishnets. And troweled-on makeup.

Needless to say, it's essential.

Back on the satellite tomorrow...

Friday, January 06, 2006

COCA LEAVES AND PEARLS

Deeper cuts from classic rock legends. And how deep do the deeper cuts cut?

Cortez the Killer—Neil Young
Neil playing that long, slow river of a guitar. Paisley skirts twirl, puka shells gently grind, and I grow bored…

Bodhisattva—Steely Dan
These boys is smart, so their Orientalism is sly and knowing-- their Japan is a varnish before it’s a country, their China is a plate before it’s a place on a map.

Me and the Boys—NRBQ
Some bands seem fated to live on the margins, and it’s often hard to figure why. What was it with NRBQ? Bad timing? Lack of sex appeal?

Everything’s Coming Our Way—Santana
Sorry, I’m still thinking about NRBQ. And fortunately, this is not at all distracting…

Leave It—Yes
OK, this chipmunkery is distracting. Goodbye goodbye goodbye bad, goodbye goodbye goodbye bad…

White Punks on Dope—The Tubes
Sometimes even the unremittingly obnoxious can deliver the goods, whether by luck or by design. And as statements of upper middle class ennui go, “Other dudes are living in the ghetto/But born in Pacific Heights don’t seem much betto” is OK by me.

Some unexpected twists and turns here. Grade: B

Thursday, January 05, 2006

WORKIN' ON MYSTERIES WITHOUT ANY CLUES

Up next is Classic Rewind, classic rock from the cassette years, or so it says here...

I Want You to Want Me (Live)—Cheap Trick
This was one of the soundtracks to the summer of '79. I fell asleep on the beach with this echoing off the dunes, and burned my pasty ass to a crisp. Spent a week in bed, nearly naked, recovering, and read the novelization of Alien.

Night Moves—Bob Seger
At the midpoint between Detroit rocker and turd, we find the genus arena-friendly rocker. And this is one of its finest products. Littered with lyrics that I misheard back in the day. “We weren't in love, oh no far from it”? Yeah, I got “We were in love, holdin' on the fire front”...

Hold the Line—Toto
We're not in Kansas anymore. Or wait, maybe we are. Or is it Boston?

Handle with Care—Traveling Wilburys
See the gratuitous swipe at Jeff Lynne from a previous post.

Tom Sawyer—Rush
Rush fans were cute. They didn't get in your face. Their hearts were in the right place. They had really ugly pets. They liked to play pool. They lifted weights in front of a full-length mirror and cursed their reflection between reps...

Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)—Pink Floyd
I can understand liking Barrett Floyd, I can understand digging Dark Side Floyd. But The Wall Floyd? No. The Wall hates humanity, and that sucks.

Simply Irresistible—Robert Palmer
I would've bought Sneakin' Sally Through the Alley, or Bad Case of Loving You, or Johnny and Mary, or Looking for Clues, but this? This seems to deviate from the mission of this particular channel.

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap—AC/DC
Less cock rocking, and more AC/DC. I mean, just go ahead and parse that last verse...

Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)—Billy Joel
Heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack. Ick ick ick ick ick.

Grade: C

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

HAVE ANOTHER HIT

Classic Vinyl, wherein the classic rock sounds of the '60s and '70s conspire to illustrate just what a dumbass I am. Damn you, classic rock sounds of the '60s and '70s. Damn you to hell.

All Right Now-- Free
Hating this would be like hating a big slobbering puppy that's tripping all over itself trying to lick your face. It might be a little irksome, it might be a little gross, but you'd be a churl to scorn it...

25 or 6 to 4 –Chicago
Here's my first dim moment on the playlist. It was only within the last five years or so, after having been exposed to this for a lifetime, that I discovered what the title means. I always figured it was just a bunch of jazz-rock hippies sitting cross-legged on the floor, so stoned that they were riffing random numbers. I believe it was my friend Tom who pointed out that they are referring to the time. So, more properly, 25 or 26 to 4, or even better, 3:35 or 3:34. OK, you know what? Chicago deserves at least some of the blame here...

Fresh Air-- Quicksilver Messenger Service
Mercurial.

Love Me Two Times-- The Doors
We've been down this road before...

Bad Moon Rising-- CCR
It's built on such a Jimmy-crack-corn foundation that it's easy to miss just how foreboding it really is. It's like Gimme Shelter at a hoedown...

Sugar Mountain-- Neil Young
I like Neil Young. Some of my best friends are Neil Young. But I always found this to be an irritant. Hearing it for the first time in a long time, though, I'm surprised it's not as cloying as my memory had it pegged...

Right Place, Wrong Time-- Dr. John
Seems more like wrong place, right time. This is the least aged piece in the survey. You go, Mac Rebennack!

Low Spark of High Heeled Boys-- Traffic
Shining dumbass moment number 2. I thought this DJ bathroom break was super freaky, what with these boys in their high heels and all. Then about 10 years ago my friend Roger pointed out that “high heeled” was more likely what we'd call “well heeled” in America, that is, moneyed...

Grade: C+