seems to get later and later, huh?

Top Records of 2007

Tops 2006

As usual. Late. Here goes anyway.

oh! six. Top Records.

adem - love and other planets
aloha - some echoes
ellen allien + apparat - orchestra of bubbles
futureheads - news and tributes
grizzly bear - yellow house
hot chip - the warning
mew - and the glass-handed kites*
subtle - for hero for fool
whitest boy alive - dreams
wilderness - vessel states

album the would make my top ten if i hadn't done a bunch of work for them:
dirty on purpose - hallelujah sirens

just behind the pack:
phoenix - it's never been like that
the big sleep - son of the tiger
christopher willits - surf boundaries
joe lally - there to here
the evens - get evens

reissues:
au pairs - stepping out of line: the anthology
this heat - s/t (although they did re-release everything in a box set format)
josef k - entomology (thanks domino! their first official u.s. release!)
siouxsie and the banshees - deluxe re-issues
talking heads - deluxe re-issues

mix/comps: four-tet - dj kicks

box: tortoise - lazarus taxon

ep / single:
tokyo police club - a lesson in crime ep
beach house - s/t
model/actress - s/t YOW! DAVID FUCKING YOW! ex-BRAINIAC! WOO!

eric's musical savior of the year: e-music
the cerberus of my soul: new releases legally downloaded -- sometimes well in advance of physical "street date;" shit impossible to find-- supposedly still in print, now available to fill my collection coffer without digging, import prices, or adding physical records to the overflowing piles; and finally alleviation of the guilt i feel when i illegally download music. totally recommended for price point and selection. woo! let me recommend you, so i can get some free downloads!

anticipated records of the year oh-seven!:
!!! - myth takes
stars of the lid - and their refinement of the decline
ted leo - living with the living
do make say think - you, you're a history in rust
low - drums and guns
explosions in the sky - all of a sudden i miss everyone
new chavez material? (a boy can dream right?)

and hey, eric! don't forget about these at the end of 2007
'cuz they're already out this year!

menomena - friend and foe
deerhoof - friend opportunity
of montreal - hissing fauna, are you the destroyer?
deerhunter - cryptograms

--

*so it really came out in 2005. i don't give a fuck.

coming clean...

so i've kept it in for long enough...

the first two albums that helped me through the long hell that is being a midwestern guilt ridden catholic with built in (protestant) work eithic...
and made me angsty were...


A. Fugazi's -- Repeater* **

B. Nine Inch Nails -- Pretty Hate Machine


* mind you, the B-Side of this tape was Morrissey's "Viva Hate," which really helped sum up my mopey, depressed state of junior high school... but...

** some of my best friends. friends to this day...
gave me *SO MUCH SHIT* for Fugazi.
...and no offense... I love you... but fuck you.

Go Tigers!

'nuff said.

Chivalry? HA! Subtlety's Dead.

(Or, How I Learn to Stop Worrying and Loathe the Leer.)

(Or, Take a Picture, It'll Last Longer.)

(Or, Drool much?)

I have been known to sneak a second glance at a nice looking lady -- there's no denying that.
What is also undeniable is the incredible percentage of New York City men that are so interchangably disgusting.
I have never ever seen so many men* turn around and physically crane their necks to stare at women's asses; giving some sort of sexually-strained, just short of wolf-whistle, praise to the God of Perfect Ass,** the way they do in this city.
It's mindblowing.
I don't know whether to laugh at how pathetic it seems or cry foul.
Obviously, I'm not worried about being called any kind of homophobic slurs which willl ultimately be launched in my direction if I were to speak up against this form of assault.
Nor am I looking to score points with species: "REAL MAN***"
So, does anyone have any suggestions that won't end with me getting my ass handed to me?

* "Black, White, Indian, Puerto Rican, and Asian"
** As expressed above, varies by race of man and woman involved.
*** Read: Douchebag

Not A Fashion-Blog.

I swear my blog isn't turning into a social critique on fashion,
nor am I vying for a spot on the next season of Rachel Hunter's Style Me.

However.

WTF is up with the recent trend of gardening clogs. You know what I'm talking about, the solid colored, plastic hunks adorning everyone's feet these days.
I've seen kids as young as three and ladies my grandmother's age wearing them. They're the new unisex jelly shoe or Ugg... and they're definitely ugg...ly. There is nothing stylish about them. Sure, you can have a pair in every color under the rainbow and supposedly they're comfortable as hell; it doesn't mean that you should try to coordinate them with anything but your gardening outfit or wear them anywhere outside of a garden!

As I see it, there's a factory in the distance,
it's chugging out these mothers as quickly as it can.
A gigantic machine shitting them out in perfect form.
Someone dumping a vat of color into the machine everyonce in a while.
Poop. Poop. Poop. Shoe. Shoe. Shoe. Blue. Blue. Blue.
Poop. Poop. Poop. Shoe. Shoe. Shoe. Green. Green. Green.
... into infinity.

Wear Whatcha Like!

Despite a bit of rain, the weather here in New York has been so lovely the last couple of days. We're getting to the last hurrah of summer, so jeans are replacing the "manpris*," and I've even had to break out a light jacket.

Allison and I are heading to Chicago for six days to catch up with friends and family. Since last I've been there, two of my friends are engaged and my brother now has a fancy pants internship. I'm looking forward to a midwest paced weekend.

So, I've had a couple of requests from friends to start blogging about music more frequently. As I'm not going to be taking classes this fall, I've given myself a self-imposed curriculum of two record reviews a week. Once I get back into the swing of things, I'm going to work on getting some of them published elsewhere.

------

*Manpris: (n.) Capri-Pants for men.
I don't know why I get so much grief about wearing long shorts, or "manpri," as it were. I have pasty-white, oh so hairy and veiny legs, which I'm not too fond of showing off.
I will not go the route of AA short-shorts, and most others are just bleeech. Too wrinkly. Too many pockets. Granted, if I wore shorts that were three sizes too big for me and hung them off my ass, I probably would still get shit, but it'd be a different type of shit. Whatever. I like my manpris. Kiss my ass. I probably get grief because I react like this.

mid-nineties favorites...

I forgot how goddamn great these bands were:





To get up from that and just keep going... fucking incredible.





Not the most riff-er-riffic of their work, but it gets the point across.



Funny video. I think Sweeny is now playing with Current 93 (?) ...better than Corgan.


...AND JUST IN CASE YOU FORGOT. ...stay until the end, it's worth the wait. Actually, it's worth a watch for Mitch 's BladeRoadRunnerWarrior hairstyle and swordfighting with gtrs.

Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangster.

I was recently transfered to a new store.
This was welcome news to me.
I had had enough of my previous diggs.

This location is a nice mix of neighborhood and commuter.
My partners are much more agreeable, because the environment is that much more agreeable.

I was brought over to cover for the manager come October when she will be going on maternity leave.
Two weeks ago, she went into early labor due to the heat and stress she was putting on herself.
So, I've been running the show.

I love it.

I haven't been stressed the way that I used to be.
I haven't come home wanting to quit and never go back.
I'm driving the business and it feels good.
I'm liked and respected.
It's everything I thought it could be.

My employees are amazed by the amount of work I put in.
They thank me for being there.
I was called "gangster" by one of my employees today.
I have no idea what that means, and in what context I should take it,
but it sure beats being called "honky cracker."

Truth.

So, I haven't told a lot of people, but the real reason that I'm in Michigan right now is because my mother is battling breast cancer.

As a whole, it's a scary proposition because there is no cure, and ultimately it could claim her life. What is the scariest idea is the cloud of unknown that hangs over the word itself. Cancer is such an intangible. It's almost an emotion like state. It looms. Anyone can die, any day for whatever reason, but cancer can claim its victims or let the survive. Sometimes it comes back with a vengence. Sometimes it strikes and then goes away forever. It's something my mother will have to guard against for the rest of her life. And it will always loom.

With that being said, my mother is in great shape. She came to the airport to pick me up yesterday and she's exactly as I remember her. A little tired and worn, a little thinner, but still my mother. Her attitude is amazing, but I really didn't expect anything less. The biggest change is the lack of hair. She's into her second week of chemotherapy sessions, and they will last until the middle of October. An e-mail from her last week said that Annie Lennox has nothing on her, and it's true... Sinead O'Connor has nothing on her either. She's dealing with it quite well though... lots of hats. She was worried she would go running for a wig, but I don't see my mother as being that vain, or attached to her hair for that matter. It was probably a bigger deal for her to start losing her red to grey than it is to lose her hair to radiation.

Anyway, I'm in Michigan until Tuesday.
The only plans that I have are to go see my friend Scott in a production of "A Few Good Men," and hopefully grab a couple beers with him in the next couple of days. If you read this and are around, gimme a call... I'll meet you halfway or something.

Definitely a Liar...

...but unsure as to how thieving fits into the picture.

Nine days and I will be thirty-two years old.
That'll make eight years past doomsday, so I'm doing awfully well.

24
----
So it's not loaded stadiums or ball parks,
and we're not kids on swing-sets on the blacktop
and I thought at fifteen that I'd have it down by sixteen
and twenty four keeps breathing in my face like a mad whore.
and twenty four keeps pounding at my door.

Like a friend, you don't want to see
Oldness comes with a smile...
Oldness comes to youth who dream suicide.

(kozelek)
----

This used to resonate so deep within me.
I think we've all have had deadlines for living.
I'm finally realizing that it's never about next, but now.

Top Ten of 2005

So it took me a little longer that expected to suss out my top ten.
There are plenty to fill in the eleven through twenty-five spots, but I really wanted to grab the ten I think are "best."
It took me a lot less time to figure out which albums I was disappointed by this year, but I'll save those for another update.

Boom Bip - Blue Eyed in a Red Room (Lex)
LCD Soundsystem - Self-Titled (DFA)
Deerhoof - The Runner's Four (5RC/Kill Rock Stars)
The Evens -- Self-Titled (Dischord)
Bloc Party -- Silent Alarm (Vice)
The Decemberists - Picaresque (Kill Rock Stars)
Akron / Family -- Self-Titled (Young God)
(Smog) -- A River Ain't Too Much To Love (Drag City)
The Books -- Lost and Safe (Tomlab)
The Fall -- Fall Heads Roll (Narnack)

These are not in one through ten order.
LCD and Bloc Party probably spent the most time on the iPlayer.

I am Reborn?

In typical New Year's fashion, I'll whole-heartedly promise to update this space a little more frequently. No really. I will.

You can expect my Top of 2005 Music List by the end of this week.

Hmmm. In the meantime, a brief 2005 recap will do:

Kalamazoo is not as I remember it.
The people, thank god, still are.
That will not bring me back to Michigan though.
Sorry friends.

I never made it to Portland, OR.
JetBlue can be thanked for that.
Saw Vegas instead. What a depressing place.

Los Angeles was nice.
Stayed in a superlux hotel.
I've been spoiled.

Finally got new glasses to replace the super-glued clear frames.

Do not have the elusive tattoo yet. Still want it.

Do not have the elusive band started yet. Closer. Inching closer.

Yes, I still watch entirely too much television.
No replacement in the reality department, thank goodness.
Lots of basketball and hockey though...

Red Wings: 26-9-3 55pts.
Still a bit concerned.

Pistons: 24-4
Win the championship.
Do not go for 70+ wins.
Please.

More to come. No. Really.

tally another one up for "guilty-pleasure"

So, I've been watching Rockstar: INXS.

This week is the finale.
Squaring off is J.D., Mig, and Marty.
Notably absent is any female presence.
The token female, "Sweet" Suzie McNeil, who by far possesses the best singing voice of all of the candidates, was eliminated last week. I wonder if the guys in INXS felt they needed to keep a girl around until almost the end. I dunno.
She was the best of the females on the show, but was regularly included in the "bottom three" as voted on by the fans.
"You're just not right for our band, INXS."
Right. Because your die hard fans would never buy your records or see your shows if a woman is fronting your band.

It's pretty ridiculous, but I can't seem to avert my eyes.

As much as I hate to say it, I think J.D. -- the obnoxious dude that could be a cast-off from Third Eye Blind -- is going to win. His song, "Pretty Vacant"... I mean... err... Vegas is such a rip off of like, three different INXS songs all lumped together.
He tries, and succeeds most of the time to channel the late auto-erotic aphixiator.

It's either going to be him, or Mig -- the hardbodied Aussie.
Who, I think probably is the most widely talented and easily molded to fit whatever INXS might want.
His good looks don't hurt him either.

The wild-card is Marty.
He's got a lot of raw talent, but he's certainly not the favorite.
His influences seem to be varied; early in the show he claimed that INXS needed an more of an edge.
"The kids are into harder sounds like System of a Down..."
Yet he goes on to write the trite and goofy, "Trees."
He regretably says, "I wanted to lighten things up."
It's light aright... pure fluff... somewhere in the realm of the Presidents of the USA's, "Lump"
His take on "Don't Change" was good, but I don't think INXS can see this guy as their frontman.

Oh, by the way, I don't even like INXS that much.

Two Sports That I Hold Dear

It usually comes as a surprise to people that I like sports.
Needless to say, I didn't come into liking sports through the tradition of playing little league, pee-wee football, 'Gus-Macker' styled tourneys, or intramural Sports.
In fact, during my adolescence I adamantly shunned sports.
I never felt the desire to play in any of the aforementioned athletics and it was due to neither my physical size and/or lack of coordination and skill. I just didn't "feel it."
Dad and I never really threw the ball around in the backyard, and most of my friends weren't into it either.
Sure, I was a skater, but during my true growth period... that was never a sport... at least that's what the jocks told us.

Honestly, that's what it really came down to -- Jocks.
For the most part, I found them to be mind-numbingly stupid.
All they ever talked about was sports.
Some of them could spout insane amounts of statistics about players and teams. *
They seemingly had no other interests.
Oh wait... they did.... girls.
They got all the girls.
The good looking ones that were cute and had good taste in music, but bad taste in boys. **

There's still a ton of jack-asses that make sports incredibly insane and almost impossible to enjoy.
The guy who dove into the safety net the other night at Yankee's Stadium, the guy who threw a beer on Ron Artest this past season at the Palace... or just go on any internet sports chat room or listen to a call in show.

Somehow I'm beyond that though...

I remember listening to Red Wings games on AM 760 WJR with my father, coming home from Boy Scout Meetings. "Going to bed" and turning my bedside alarm clock down low to catch the third period. The swishing sounds of the skaters on the ice, the hollering between the players, the announcer's voice skyrocketing in octaves as he wails, "He SHOOTS, He SCOOORES!"

Watching as my mom "C'mon!"s and "Oh!"s her way through any sporting event on television.
(Mom, you don't need to emote every time the puck is passed.) [[Although her squeeling with glee as Darren McCarty pummeled Claude Lemieux in retaliation for his check on Kris Draper... that was sweet.]]

I think of the silly characature t-shirts that my brother and I had of Dennis "The Worm" Rodman and John "Spider" Sally during the reign of the Pistons Bad Boy Era.

Anyway.
While the Pistons didn't win the Championship this year.
I'm excited about the new coach and the prospects of an expanded bench, but Hockey is back!
I can't help but be excited.

I once joked about how sports might ruin my marriage some day...
but I don't think that'll happen as Allison gave me permission to order NHL Center Ice for the season.

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


* While I'm somehow better for being able to tell you who produced what album and it's year of release, and who did the remixes for that mind-blowing third track.

** How do you explain a girl that gives you the Smiths mix tapes, but dates asshole football players?

Making the Band

I remember trying to convince Brooke Rossi that she had what it took to be the front-person for a band...
I don't think it was quite as hard as it has been trying to convince Allison.
Granted, when we lived in Kalamazoo we had started... twice.
The first time was a short lived project that was pretty much doomed from the get go.
The second was doomed as well, as we knew we were going to end up moving to NYC.

Recently though, I've found that it's best to talk about bands and such, when she's had a few drinks. The only problem is that later she claims to not remember having the conversations. So, I figured I should write this down so I don't have to start from scratch again.

She has agreed that she is musically inclined enough to figure out plenty of songs on piano, guitar, and bass.
She is a little timid about her ability to "jam" and also is not really into writing lyrics -- mainly concerned that she's going to give away dark secrets, be too cheesy, or write about things that she might later regret.
She thinks that stage presence is an issue, but feels like her style would be somewhere between Karen O (Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs) and Gwen Stefani.

I strongly agree that she's musically inclined.
Probably more-so than myself, and I think with enough practice she could be really, really good.
As far as "jamming" goes... I have never considered myself a "jammer."
In the past, it usually worked in the sense that I would figure out a complete song built around a bass line, and then band members would build the rest of the song around that. I'd usually hand them a tape and say... "Figure something out for this later. Let's practice the songs we know." If that makes me a "jammer," then call me a "jammer," but I hate the term.

Lyrics are always hard.
I mean, either your fucking Ted Leo and everything that comes out of your mouth is so thoughtfully provocative and intelligently insightful... or you're Jim Morrison and your lyrics are insipid and pretensions beyond belief.
I mean, do you make everything rhyme? or is that lame?
How personal do you get? How vague can you be?
My thought has always been, it's not what you say but how you say it.
If you say, "La, La, Love you..." you better mean it.
If you say, "Nazi Punks, Fuck Off..." you better be able to back it up.

I think every good band, or songwriter has a song they regret writing.
I think that's why they might refuse to play the song later in their careers.
They've moved on from that sentiment... for maybe, better or worse.
It's the nature of songwriting.

I don't think stage presence is much of an issue. I've seen this girl sing karaoke.
Sure, she isn't going to swing from the rafters or stage-dive, but do I want that anyway?
I mean, the first time you get on the stage and perform... it's petrifying.
If it's like mine... she will face the back of the room and/or stare at what her fingers are doing on the fretboard.

...and I have nothing to worry about with stage looks...
this is my wife we're talking about....
you've seen this girl put together outfits.
It's a no-brainer.

Anyway, I think the convincing has been done.
I've just got to get her a guitar now.

Summah, Summah, Summah, T-IME!

I know I complain about a lot of things, but I feel that most of my agonies in life are created by lack of common courtesy. What bothers me more when seeing a movie? The trio of teens in front of me, obviously tripping balls... or is it the man with the cell phone that rings about two-thirds of the way through... or is it the man with the baby, that behaves itself for more than half, but when set into cooing/crying/babbling mode for a good ten or fifteen minutes is then not taken taken into the lobby. Oh, and he's got a cell-phone too, it rings with about twenty minutes left -- yeah, the baby!!
Can you believe it?

Well, that's an easy one. It's definitely number three, followed by number two, and number one -- well, they're endearing at this point.

So, besides my aforementioned extra entertainment for my five dollar, fiddy cent* -- War of the Worlds; directed by Steven Speilberg, and starring FANNING, and the domineering side of TOMKAT...was alright. Speilberg sure does create the tension, as demonstrated by the crying child, needed for a film like this to be a passable blockbuster.
Dakota Fanning is excellent in her little nut-job way.
Cruise is alright -- I have no beef with the dude and his acting abilities. He doesn't jump on any couches. He does tell people he loves them, but it's not in a creepy cult worshiping way. Fanning has a part to play. Cruise is on let's say "Cruise-Control" -- this is not work for him, it's a few weeks of partying with his best-est buddy Steven Speilberg, known as:
B L O C K B U S T E R -- F I L M M A K I N G.

You need to suspend your belief in the probability of things. You need to let go of some of the leaps that are made. I'm hoping there's at least 15 - 20 minutes on the cutting room floor that can make up for some of the leaps I was forced to make.

I will give them this... When the "tripod" first appears and that first little thing goes popping out... I'm thinking -- LAME! Oh, how I was fooled. The tripods were great. Everything I would expect from say, The White Mountains, The City of Gold and Lead, or The Pool of Fire -- if they were made into movies.** Like the grenade aspect, very nice Mr. Spielberg. Did you glean that there idea from them?

Morgan Freeman is great for voice-over/narration work. It seems worthless to criticize him for his limited role in this work. Intro. Outro. PAYDAY. Whooooo.
So, I won't blame him.

I just wish instead of the whole basement/crazy Tim Robbins run-in or Thee Olde Ferry-Fiasco... they would've spent more time explaining what was going on with the tripods!! Duh?! Hey lets spend less time introducing us to the extras who die***, lose the hard-assed son, and get down to some story development. I mean, what's with the tripods "stabbing" humans, what *IS* with the blood red plants? I mean any moron -- even Ray, can see that they're dying, but why? Really? I think that's some common courtesy that needs to be understood by directors --especially those of the supposed calibre as Mr. Spielberg. Storytelling. Do it. Please?

Nevermind, cue Mr. Freeman please.

Or wait, I got it... if we would've had Ray's brother in the movie instead of Ray... he would have had the answers we were looking for... and if Speilberg had a brother we would've gotten the movie we were looking for?

Oh, and one last thing... the son should've died. For stealing the car, he should've fucking died.
--

*not including the S U P E R C O M B O.

** or should I say when? WHEN?

*** they die, Robbins dies, but why doesn't the son again?

to keep out the crazies

www.flickr.com

randomizer

Is anyone amused by Geico commercials as much as I am?

Allison and I are going to Portland in July
We're staying in a hotel that's converted from a school.
It has a movie theatre built in and it is FREE.
What should we do and see there?

Allison and I got rid of our car.
I have never felt more free.

Unlike my pal Josh, who is seemingly in need, not want of a new pair...
I'm still on the hunt for new glasses and Rx'd sunglasses.
So, I can be vain in the sun as well.

About thirty days and I'll be in Kalamazoo.

I want to get a tattoo.

The Continuing Saga of Compact Disc Reduction

Adult. - D.U.M.E. - Just got it. Already, I don't value it as much as some of their earlier work... but I can't ditch it yet.
Aerial M - October EP - Keeper, valued alone for it's wicked "slowcore"* cover of the Mistfit's "Last Caress."
Aerial M - S/T - Keeper, I love Pajo's gtr. noodling on a rainy afternoon
Aesop Rock - Bazooka Tooth - Keeper. I dunno if its the gritty production or the even grittier vocals, but it's still fresh.
Afghan Whigs - Uptown Avondale - Keeper. Btwn "Band of Gold," and "Rebirth of Cool" are some pretty forgettable Whigs "soul" covers. But a mega-mix of "Rebirth" and the Stone Roses' "Fool's Gold" can always pump-up a party... and "Band of Gold" seems like it would find a good home on Gentleman.
Afghan Whigs - Gentleman - Keeper. "I'm a GENTLE -MAN!," "THIS IS WHAT JAIL IS REALLY LIKE," "Tonight I go to Hell. For what I done to you. This ain't about regret. It's when I tell the truth." Lyrically: Bare-nekkid-soul -- spirit, not sound, and by the end -- spent. "Well baby, now it's through." Musically, this is the 90's sound I wish to remember.
Air - Moon Safari - Bye Bye. Kitch factor high. Make out album, indeed. Essential? Nah.
Air - The Virgin Suicides - Keep. Sure, it's a kitch filled creep-fest, but the eerieness of the Giovanni Ribisi sample in "Suicide Underground," the motorik pace of many of the tracks, and the flow of the middle passages makes it a dark dream worth revisiting.
Air - 10000hz Legend - This is Not My CD. I'm unsure how this made it into my collection, but if you're interested in returning my remastered Clash - Sandinistas, AmAnSet's - From Our Living Room to Yours, or Luna's - Penthouse**, I'll be more than happy to give you back this CD, or trade it in good faith that it's yours, or just give it to you 'cuz I don't want it.
Air - Talkie Walkie - Gone Daddy Gone.
Air Miami - Me. Me. Me. - KEEP. KEEP. KEEP. Mark Robinson and Bridget Cross' work here is very much like a Perfect Teeth II, showcasing their mix of hooky, blistering guitar strum paired with boyant bass-lines, and meloncholy dirges. Vocal stylings here are some of my favorites, although Mark is still very much unrestrained with his potty/dirty-mouth/mind.

--
* My favorite of the "cores," but still a horrible name for a genre.
** Yeah, I'm talking to YOU, Cali-boy. Otherwise, I don't know where these are.