Judges 5:27

These are the things you should teach. Encourage and refute with full authority. Do not let anyone look down on you.

A Tribe Called Quest – The Low End Theory (1991)

Get yourself some toilet paper cos your lyrics is butt.

There once was a time when I pretended to be really into hip hop. I bought & collected a ton of hip hop albums, & to this day I’m not entirely sure why, because I haven’t listened to way too many of them. My problem with the genre is that I think it has the power to be the single most lasting form of music (& in a sense, in the long history of music to date, it already is), but there’s just so much out there that requires complete concentration & intense study that I became overly bogged down. The other side, of course, is that there’s an immeasurable amount of garbage. Where do you start, then, & once you’ve started, how do you end? What do you avoid & what do you memorize? In short: what’s worth it?

The Low End Theory was my first hip hop album, & I can’t recommend it enough times to anyone who is interested in knowing where to begin. In a sense, it’s also where I ended, however, as time drew on & I jammed handful after handful of hip hop albums into my speakers & onto my shelves. This is one of the few that I am still listening to on a regular, almost day-by-day basis. I think I get a little intimidated by the genre (not because of its content, give me a break), as further investigation unfolds an insane amount of layers into poetics & performance, & the amount of words becomes almost overbearing. At times, this complete bombardment of skill & logistics is arrestingly amazing to experience, & other times you just wonder, “Why are saying this? & why do I care?” There is no way that Low End Theory is any less concentrated or intense than any other hip hop album, but for some reason it stuck with me — & still sticks with me today.

The beats, we all know & don’t care to read about again, are jazz.

The lyrics, yes yes yes we’re all aware, are intelligent.

The flow, duh, is smooth as hell.

From “Excursions” to “Scenario,” the still undisputed greatest hip hop track ever laid down (this is not just my opinion, either. This is music history fact.), the Tribe is incredible. Semi-self-censored, positivity cos we gotta strive for longevity, they make it all look so easy. Like butter.

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Check out Busta’s hat. Psick with a p.s. like psychology.

They are more desirable than gold, yes, than much fine gold;
Sweeter also than honey and the drippings of the honeycomb.

Okay okay, so I know I have been pretty awful at this whole blog thing. I’ve got myself a job now, though, so I’m a bit more settled down (living 5 days a week at a New Age hippy retreat center in Madison, CT doing custodial work during the day & plunging toilets at any odd hour of the night — do as I say, kids, not as I do). I’m getting a tad bored with this list of experiential albums what with all this excitement about Edu-freakin’-punk going around (some of which riles me up, while other parts of it just make me a little annoyed. I’m no educator, though, so who am I to say?), but I might as well finish what I started (I hope it’s still interesting to someone!).

Otis Redding – The Very Best of Otis Redding (1992)

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I first played this album. Listening to it for the first time was a bit like having Warheads as a little kid — people tell you it’s an experience, & you don’t believe it but you’re not necessarily opposed to the idea. & then the experience is more than what they told you, & it hurts, it hurts really, really bad. That’s exactly what this Rhino compilation is: painful, & there’s no reason that it needs to be anything more. Otis Redding is the most timeless & convincing soul singer of our time (I won’t say “my time,” for obvious reasons, but still let me consider the 60’s “our time” for my own sake in making a point, please). Every single thing about the way he performs the music he performs comes across in the inflection of every itty-bitty syllable, & there’s more emotion packed in “These Arms of Mine” than you’re ever going to experience in anything less than complete & utter heartbreak.

That’s the power of this album. Yes it’s a compilation, & yes it’s missing a couple necessary Otis tracks (pick up the Otis! boxset if you want it all, like I did), but it has the power to break your heart. A strong, strong contender for containing 2 or 3 of the most intensely powerful songs that America has produced outside of the avant-garde.

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Just as it is written,
“FOR YOUR SAKE WE ARE BEING PUT TO DEATH ALL DAY LONG;
WE WERE CONSIDERED AS SHEEP TO BE SLAUGHTERED.”

I remember driving home from Giant one day in my Kindergarten years & listening to WHFS (everyone’s favorite Latin music station now – “El Zol!”) & hearing a song come on that I knew was beating around the bush in its lyrics & really wasn’t saying everything it was trying to say. Being so young, I had no idea what it really meant, though, & I was content to just picture the lead singer as giant puss-pore heaving himself towards the sun. Even now, I don’t think I know exactly what “Blister in the Sun” is about, but still it remains one of, if not THE most influential songs of my childhood.

Violent Femmes – Violent Femmes (1982)

Violent Femmes I still hold regularly in pretty high regard as one of my favorite albums of all times, & for an early-eighties doo-wop-punk creation I think it has got to be one of the greatest albums ever made. The magic of it isn’t even in its perfect formatting (there are so few albums that are sequenced completely perfectly from start to finish, but this is definitely one of them [except for the reissue with “Ugly” & “Gimme the Car” stuck onto the end – this album is supposed to end with “Good Feeling,” no exceptions!]), & the magic has nothing to do really with the spot-on mixing (there wasn’t much to mix, really, seeing as how there are three instruments & the drums are really just one snare & brushes). It isn’t the songwriting either, which gets equal parts flack for being immature & praise for being so epitomizing of teenage frustration (personally, I am a big fan of this songwriting). I guess what does it for me when it comes to this trio & this album is that it’s so completely brash about borrowing from a bizarre mixture of styles & perfecting the most simplistic versions of each & every one of them.

There’s the power-pop of songs like “Prove My Love” & “Blister in the Sun,” the weird Motown deconstruction of “Gone Daddy Gone,” & the reggae youthfulness of “Please Do Not Go”. It’s the idea of saying, “I want to write a song like this” & writing it. It doesn’t have to break new ground, it doesn’t need to be the best in the genre, it just needs to make do with what you have, & if you what you have is an electric guitar, an extra-large Mariachi bass, & one drum, then why not set up shop & lay down the tracks? It’s music you can do but would have never imagined you could do; I guess it’s one of those “Why didn’t I think of that!” moments – that’s what the whole album is like.

It’s truly an amazing feat that this album became as cherished in the indie/punk circuit as it did, but I think for once this is where they got it right. There is no hype big enough for Violent Femmes, its reputation precedes it for every good reason in the book. Feel good, sit down, crank it to 11. & when you’re done with this, pick up Hallowed Ground because that has got some amazing tunes as well – Jesus folk-punk, anyone? Anger & religion confounds!

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“Kiss Off,” 1983.

ALSO: they had one of the more bizarre sitcom cameos I’ve ever seen in an episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch:

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Then she said, “Wait, my daughter, until you know how the matter turns out; for the man will not rest until he has settled it today.”

I’ve been on a mountain in Maryland doing maintenance work & mowing lawns for the past week, so bare with me here as I get back into the swing of things, or in the case of this next album, the blues of things.

Ghost World Soundtrack (2001)

This album was introduced to me with three words: “Jaan Pehechaan Ho,” the album’s opening track that starts the film off as well, an obscure Bollywood romp that was like nothing in the world that I had ever heard before (maybe it’s me being musically sheltered, or maybe it’s a lost sound after all that would tear apart any American ear). Trumpet lines flitter in & out without stereo panning – it’s just the feel, the twitchy fingers – & that mystery masked man’s voice is leveled in the mix in ways I hadn’t known existed before. It was the song that tore things open for me, conventions of song structure thrown to scrap (& it isn’t even that abstract of a song! in fact, it’s rather standard!). & you talk about lo-fi…I didn’t know the half of it.

Because this album’s music is ripped from the annals of 78-rpm heap piles for the most part (save for a couple of joke tracks that you skip & then big-band standards re-done with a modern band that you mostly skip as well), introducing me to the BLUES for the first real time, & giving me the gritty stuff that was broken because it was old & the records dusty, not because it was anything over-emotional. Ghost World also gave me “Devil Got My Woman,” which was THAT song for me (& on a good day, it still is), the song that was on repeat forever right on the cusp of high school’s start; I believe it’s made me cry before, & probably after the first listen. It’s an amazing, haunting track with an aged falsetto & the bumps from record grooves balancing with your heart beat as it gets slower…& slower.

Songs like this & Little Hat Jones’ “Bye Bye Baby Blues” were something like eye-openers, launching me into areas that I took a few steps towards & had to step back, the history there was just too much. The blues is still an area of music that I have only begun to graze, but its impact on where I headed musically & historically is undeniable. The movie is good, too, if only for the first half (I really didn’t like the ending, for what it’s worth, though Steve Buscemi does his usual amazing job), but the soundtrack is worth your money & then some.

ALSO: Now through the magic of YouTube I am able to bring you the original “Jaan Pehechaan Ho” video from the film in which it was originally performed, Gumnaam. Amazing, I have something new on my rent list now.

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Let the rivers clap their hands,
Let the mountains sing together for joy

I’ve mentioned Squirrel Nut Zippers before, but I’ve never really given them the time they deserve on this webspace, for all the time they’ve taken from my life. Their first three albums really all form a collective “formative album,” though I’ll stick to my personal favorite just for the sake of the game.

Squirrel Nut Zippers – The Inevitable (1995)

It was really my mom who introduced me to the Zippers, & swing throw-back in general, though I never really got into all the music as much as she did (Brian Setzer? no thanks), & in exchange I’ve been giving her new favorite bands for the past 5 years or so. This band is somewhat of an artifact within an artifact, almost an unnoticed relic of a time period that’s sometimes considered too kitschy anyway — though I will give the proprietors of the UMW Centennial Ball ample applause for providing amazing 1920’s re-do time capsule music (after all, if you can’t get a band that sounds like old bands, why not get a band that sounds like a band that sounds like old bands?). The Squirrel Nut Zippers themselves are a group of North Carolina misfits whose blues work (frontman James Mathus‘ spin-off band provides the tunes here) is astonishing in its realness of the situation, but their true calling has always been this ancient swing-up croon-down music. Mostly originals, & yet still the covers sound like nothing else made in the mid-nineties. I suppose part of it may be losing yourself in the music, but I don’t think this would be jarring for anyone. It’s a semi-lo-fi swing-jazz/blues concoction that’s introduced me to the one of the most tightly wound, talented group of musicians I’ve heard.

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It’s raw & unfiltered one-take type music, & it can’t hurt to re-live an era you missed the first time around, right?

Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed.

I am officially done with exams for this year, so let’s continue along the road of Formative Albums, shall we?

Blind Melon – Nico (1996)

Ah, Blind Melon. My favorite band in middle school, & one that still holds a very dear place somewhere in my heart (& a somewhat dustier one on my CD shelves). Before my voice changed, I would sit in my room singing those high notes that Shannon Hoon hit so well (not falsetto, but drug-ridden & nasally; worn). Another band introduced to me by my sisters, & Nico was one of two albums that came in the mail for my sister on cassette tape but was discovered by my dad, who promptly listened to it & confiscated it (“Do you know what those lyrics mean?!”). Recorded before Hoon died, but released afterwards, this is something like the band’s swan-song, though I don’t think anymore that it’s their best effort, for the obvious reason that it’s non-concrete & not really pinned down by anything.

My obsession with this album & with this band was one that would only last for less than a couple years, but I have returned to the music recently & found it definitely still holds up. It’s strong Southern alt-rock, not in the style of Lynyrd Skynyrd (thank God), but something else entirely, with more heart & songwriting prowess than what you’ll find in their one hit (though “No Rain” was my favorite song for a couple years in elementary school). It’s a little hard to explain I suppose, it’s just one of those memory-pieces, I guess. We all have ’em, it just depends to what extent we’re willing to admit it.

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“Skinned” 1995

The Lord God appointed a bush, and made it come up over Jonah, to give shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort; so Jonah was very happy about the bush.

For many years, I spent a large amount of my time sorting through and working in a local record store, The Record & Tape Exchange, in Fairfax, VA, where I grew into a music aficionado of sorts; even if there was a seemingly infinite amount I had to learn, I became relatively entrenched in the life of the album collector/listener. I was never very good at it, it turns out, & there are many people who are still going strong (most notably my friend and ex-coworker Math, whose album reviews & creative input into the music world – especially in the realm of free media & Plunderphonics – are really something special). Still, when all has been said & done (though hopefully not for good, hopefully not forever), I have amassed somewhere around 1,500 albums, & digging through them these days makes me spin; there is so much I have yet to listen to, so much education I’ve yet to take the time to care about.

At this point, I figure the best place for me to start in my music-time-capsule would be at the proverbial start. Thus, in the footprints of the illustrious Jim Groom, who has yet to start posting results from his own Formative Films project, I bring to you my Ten Formative Albums, a list that is pretty comprehensive (all things considered, though I am still very young & I still have hundreds of albums sitting on my shelf that I haven’t listened to yet), & as I myself have discovered, surprising in intervals. Most of the albums here I still rather like, but there are a couple that I can’t sit through all the way even if I really wanted to without skipping a handful of tracks. Also: at least one of them I would still consider one of my Top 5, so that’s got to say something about the power of music-memory. Anyway, I’m going to tackle this Day-by-Day style until they’ve all been covered in semi-detail, & of course we’re going Bio-chronologically – meaning it will follow the timeline of my own life, regardless of when the album itself came out.

So, let’s do this.

Silverchair – Freak Show (1997)

What I remember most about this album is a day in third grade, when my teacher left the door to the classroom closet hanging open, & I saw cardboard boxes full of CD’s. I don’t know why they were, & I can’t for the life of me think why my teacher would have delivered dozens of CD’s to her classroom instead of her home, but I do remember spotting from a good distance Silverchair’s Freak Show. My sisters, some of the most formative figures in my very early music life, had this album, the band’s second, on cassette tape & would play it in their room. I had heard the music, but only in snippets, & something about it was unbelievably unscrupulous to me; it would follow in a soft-loud-soft pattern, but it was never tired. Anyway, when I confronted my teacher about this stash I had discovered, she gave me some meaningless excuse & moved on, but to this day I’ve always wondered if maybe she loved that alt-rock no-name disc as much as I would grow to.

In sixth grade, “Freak” would become my favorite song, & I would listen to it up in my room on repeat. I can’t really remember why for the life of me, but it can’t be denied that Silverchair was definitely the first band that was THAT band for me, if that makes sense. I would go on to buy all their albums, even when they came out with new ones & I hadn’t heard a single song (for better or for worse, as I would find out with Diorama, which though I hated at first, I now consider the band’s inarguable masterpiece). All in all, the album still semi-holds-up to scrutiny. It’s a bit overproduced (typical of any Nirvana soundalike at this time period), but still there’s a lot of heart though. They were very young, talented, & just as intense as I needed my music to be at 9 years old (see also: not very).

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Later, I would find out that the remix of “Freak” on their Greatest Hits album was actually much better than the original. Whatever.

Then they brought to him a demoniac who was blind and mute; and he cured him, so that the one who had been mute could speak and see.

Recently, I’ve been re-discovering Andrew Bird, a musician whose work as the Squirrel Nut Zippers’ violinist (is “fiddleist” a word?) has impressed me since middle school, when I would put on Perennial Favorites & play “Ghost of Stephen Foster” in loops just for the hyper fiddle work. At some point, in high school, I found his solo work with The Bowl of Fire, working for store credit at the record store to pick up Thrills one day, & found an alternative to Squirrel Nut that followed the same basic formula – 30’s big-band/swing throwback ditties & crooning bits in between – but with this odd air of self-awareness. There was an interest in paying homage to a style & moving past it at the same time, the lyrics too skewed or too modern to fit the jazz, or the vocals recorded to poorly to sound just right. The album has grown on me each time I’ve put it on, to say the least.

By now, Andrew Bird is a much bigger act, moving on to solo work since ten years ago (when Thrills was released), work that is equally as interesting, although much more acclaimed & much, much more disquieted. His interests now are in the way rhythms sort of flow from nothing & come together in layers, soundlessly rising, rising, rising, & just before the climax, hushing. I’m just getting into his newer albums (I really disliked The Mysterious Production of Eggs at first, but have found myself wishing I had it here at school with me recently…), but more importantly have found his first solo album (from 1996), Music of Hair, & am in love with it.

The concept behind it is using the violin to create fiddle dirges in several different styles, meaning most of the album is instrumental: just a man & his violin (the instrument he’s best at, by far). Amazon.com doesn’t carry this album, I’m not how to go about buying it on CD, so for now a download is about as close as I can get.

ANYWAY, talk about taking the long long long way to a point: let’s listen to another set of songs. Here is Bird’s “Glass Figurine” from Thrills, & a live performance taken from 2007 or 08; it might as well be a new song altogether. What was once a swing number with a full-jazz-band sound has been replaced by one man & a loop machine. Very spooky.

So enjoy:

The Original

LIVE

Some people keep silent because they have nothing to say, while others keep silent because they know when to speak.

Not so sure about the rest of you, but I’m a man who loves a good cover song, & usually you’ll find these deconstructing the original & reforming it with just the lyrics intact. & sometimes even that goes out the door (for better or for worse – though when is a cover not a cover anymore??). Despite fear of losing any “cred” I once had or try to hold onto as a music fan, I’ll admit it here & now that my No.1 guilty pleasure album may just as well be Cat Power’s The Covers Record; I won’t say it’s my favorite album by any measure (though at one point in my life I tried to pretend like this was true), but certainly it goes places a lot of other albums are afraid to go. The concept is simple: put the artist in a room with a handful of previously-recorded numbers & take away any semblance of the “original” track, to be replaced only by echo-laden vocals & sparse instrumentation. The Stones’ “Satisfaction” is practically unrecognizable without its driving power-riff & chorus anywhere to be seen, for example, & the Velvet Underground’s “I Found a Reason” is completely & unabashedly re-formed to make something else entirely (a 2-minute piano piece where the empty spaces hang heavier than the keys themselves, & one of my favorite songs of all time).

Anyway, this post wasn’t going to be just about this album, because really it isn’t that amazing, but rather I wanted to make an attempt at starting to post songs-in-twos: an original & its cover. I’m starting with “Paths of Victory” – a traditional song that Bob Dylan breathed new life into, unsurprisingly – mainly because I’ve just worked out a ukulele arrangement for it & I’ve been playing it non-stop these days. So, for what it’s worth – Dylan & Cat Power, head to head.

Dylan.

Cat Power.