When We Were Young

A typical night at the packed Gypsy in Northwest Portland leaves both Chuck and Harrison standing amid the smoke, chatter and fellow patrons searching for a place to stake their claim. They are positioned in the main thoroughfare between two booths with drinks in hand, yet having no adequate place to set them down. Chuck is a Whiskey Sour man, whereas Harrison prefers the more classic Bloody Mary. Patrons pass in front of the two as their dialogue begins.

“This is…big,” Harrison says with hesitation in an effort to create drama.

“Not really,” Chuck flatly responds.

“Huh?”

Chuck shifts his cold drink to and fro trying to find a place to set it down. “Mardi Gras? Yeah. St. Patty’s Day? You’ve got my vote. Valentine’s Day with Tracy Lords’ classic cinema? That was big.” He gives up his efforts.

“Not the gathering. Besides, the date with the Lord wasn’t big; it was expansive – bordering colossal,” Harrison tries to clarify.

“Don’t forget illegal. Those performances were during her carded at an R age.”

Harrison’s brow furrows in confusion, “Well, I’m sure everyone else was 21. Or, at least 18.”

“Besides, it’s Lords. Plural not singular,” Chuck asserts, contentedly takes a sip from his drink, and then continues. “There is only one Lord, you heathen pedophile! Jack Lord!”

“Are you going to try and duck destiny all night?” Harrison shouts with his arms upraised with frustration.

“Duck destiny?”

Harrison places his hands out in front of him as if directing traffic to make his point. “Yeah. Duck. Destiny.”

“I have no idea what you’re alluding to. At first I thought you were talking about the crowd, so I was stating that it really isn’t that big compared to other nights. But, in reality, you were clearly setting this whole conversation up to spiral off into some strange tangent.”

“We need a table. That way you are sitting down,” Harrison responds as he waves down Linda, a waitress common to the pair.

“Why are you pregnant?” asks Chuck as Linda approaches with a look of worry on her face.

“I’m getting killed here Banister! What is it?” an exasperated Linda asks.

“He’s pregnant.”

“No, I am not! He’s dodging inevitability.”

"I thought I was ducking destiny.”

“I don’t have time – “ Linda begins with mounting irritation.

“We really need a table,” interrupts Harrison. “Something huge has come to pass.”

“If you two summoned me over here because you are starting another religion, I swear to God I am going to scream rape.”

Chuck looks worried, “Please don’t swear.”

“What?!” Harrison exclaims trying to regain Linda’s attention. “No, that’s not it at all.” He takes a sip from his drink and gets a stick of celery stuck on the rim of one of his nostrils. “But since you mentioned it, why didn’t you ever convert?”

Linda turns away from the two boys and inhales to scream. Harrison extends his hand to try and gag her, but stops when his drink begins to spill. “No! No no no no no! Please, I’m going to write a little something on a piece of paper here that says ‘25%’ gratuity.”

Linda looks at Harrison closely. “25%? I thought that was our standard. It sure is when Sara is around. Where is Sara, anyway?”

“She formally declined to join us,” Chuck interjects.

“Linda?” the bartender shouts to her with his hands aloft from behind the wait station jammed full of drinks.

“What if I scribbled out that silly number and wrote in a big 3-0?”

“Where is Sara, Harrison?”

“She formally declined – “ Chuck begins again.

“I heard you the first time Chuck!” Linda interrupts. “I was asking Harrison.”

“Um, she has come to the conclusion that it is best that we pursue our endeavors and dreams without her company,” Harrison responds to his drink as if in reverence to someone departed.

“And, in her conclusion, lots of adjectives were used, such as, insane, juvenile, and absurd. I think I may have even heard a retarded cast into the mix at one point,” Chuck affirms as he looks over his shoulder at the angry bartender calling for Linda.

“Two words: Three and zero,” Harrison waves the imaginary piece of paper around like a bad salesman.

“Alright, I swear…” Linda says as she beelines to a table, followed slowly by the boys, where a couple is discussing their day in the close quarters of a booth. In front of them on the table is a plate of appetizers and a fruity fishbowl drink. Unfortunately, there is enough room at the table for four people. Six, if you squeeze.

Linda addresses the couple reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I’m going to ask that they join you for a moment. We are getting their table ready right now.” The couple looks rightfully confused as Harrison and Chuck approach without so much as a sign of recognition of their presence. The bartender continues his calls for Linda. She adds a disclaimer while staring at the boys: “This will only be a minute and you won’t even notice that they’re here.” Linda makes a three and a zero with her hands toward Harrison as she rockets towards the bar.

The table rattles as the two settle in. The giant drink between the couple capsizes spilling along the boyfriend’s hands and shirt. Linda, like Lot, does not look back.

“Shit!” exclaims the boyfriend.

“This is much better,” Chuck exhales – oblivious to the carnage a few inches away from him.

“Oh yeah,” Harrison agrees, as they both set their drinks carefully down onto the wobbling table. They are ready to engage in conversation.

“Here honey,” the girlfriend swipes at her boyfriend’s wet shirt with a napkin.

“Okay, I’m sitting,” Chuck licks his finger and extends it upward to check the wind before continuing, “The world is still spinning. So what’s so big?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Harrison grins. “We are film aficionados right? From the whatever’s till now, it doesn’t matter; those scribed lives fill voids in our existences.”

“There are many voids. Oh so many voids,” Chuck glances over at the boyfriend when he hears him groan.

The boyfriend takes the napkin from the gal and carefully jabs at his shirt, “Christ! It’s all over!”

“Then let’s fill those voids and while we’re at it – I don’t know – maybe our wallets!”

“Looks like Tide country,” the girlfriend uncomfortably laughs.

“So, what? Become actors?” Chuck asks with mild annoyance at the notion.

“It looks like I’ve been shot!” the boyfriend shouts at the entire room.

“Are you insane?” Harrison asks incredulously, “I can’t act.”

“Oh no, that’s not the silk daddy is it?” the girlfriend responds to her boyfriend’s clear dismay.

“You would be a terrible actor wouldn’t you?”

“This is the silk daddy!” sobs the boyfriend as he shrinks his shoulders.

“You’re ducking again,” asserts Harrison distractedly. He turns his attention toward the bar and spots Sean and Dorian.

“The Daddy is ruined!”

Sean and Dorian, precariously carrying pints of neon yellow liquid, approach the table expectantly. “Sup?” Dorian asks.

“Sup, dudes? Slide home,” Chuck and Harrison respond in unison as the each scoot closer to the couple on each side, so Dorian and Sean can slide into each space at the outside end of the booth.

“The intricate and expensive fibers of the Daddy will never survive this!” the boyfriend continues to sob.

“What the hell?” the girlfriend mumbles and crosses her arms.

“What are you freaks up to?” Sean asks as he twirls his drink between his thumb and forefinger just above the table.

“But this is the Daddy!” the boyfriend pleads for understanding.

“Welcome to the future,” Harrison dramatically pronounces to his cohorts and anyone who may be within earshot.

“What is this?” asks Dorian as he drains his pint. “All I got from the email was: ‘Meet at Gyps. Stop. You’ll be there anyway. Stop. Probably drunk. Stop. This is big. End transmission.” So, hit us with the line.”

“We are the writers,” Harrison begins moving his hands around in a Vogue motif, “and as you slept, dreaming of Molly Ringwald – "

“No,” Sean urgently interrupts, “I never dreamt of her.”

“Ally Sheedy?” Harrison asks Sean still miming in sheer stupid vanity.

“Naw, never into brunettes.”

“She was tight until that dandruff thing,” adds Dorian.

“Freeze frame. Flakes are el natural. Otherwise, she would be a Disney chick,” Harrison continues the tangent and his gestures.

“What?!” Dorian shouts confused.

“Oh, you know damn well, Scully. Those Disney chicks aren’t real.” Harrison retorts amazed, while finally giving up his flailing arms and hands. “They’re bought, built, all on a program – "

“CGI can only go so far Mulder,” D argues.

“Tell me, have you ever touched one of them? No?” Harrison turns to the others for help. “I didn’t think as much.” Sean and Chuck shake their heads in agreement, or simple indifference.

“Come on Daddy!” the boyfriend shouts as he shakes his shirt in an effort to revive the original color and dry it out as quickly as possible. “We need to get to the drycleaners stat!”

“You lived in L.A. for 14 years,” Dorian addresses Harrison, “and you’re telling me you never saw one of them in person?”

“Pasadena. And, never once.”

“Oh, that’ll help,” the girlfriend sarcastically groans before sucking on the one remaining straw sticking out of the nearly empty fishbowl.

“Once, when I was young, I saw Dorothy Hamill skating,” Sean adds. “Wasn’t she hot once in the 70s?”

“Like, hot always,” affirms Chuck to the palm of the hand his face is leaning on. “Mary Lou was the bomb back in ’84! I swear most of America wasn’t sure whether to eat out of, frame, or hump the box of Wheaties she was on.”

“Daddy? Daddy?” the boyfriend cries out to his failing shirt.

“Listen. We’re doing the screenplay. And I mean THE screenplay,” Harrison returns to topic.

“Screenplay?” the gang responds in unison.

“There you go. Stretch it a little more. That way, maybe everyone will pay more attention to the wrinkles than the stains,” the girlfriend tells her boyfriend.

“That’s it boys! This eagle has finally stopped doing whatever the fuck he was up to prior and landed.”

“I get it. One small step for you and one gigantic step for our kind. Kudos,” adds Sean.

“What’s up with the attitude?” the boyfriend finally responds to his neglected date.

“C’mon dude! What the fuck are you talking about?! That’s ridic!” Chuck pounds the table.

“No, the eagle is right! Think out of the box. Multimedia, mass exposure, internet, action figures. The soundtrack will debut at #1 with a bullet. MTV will be touring our cribs….” Dorian continues to list addressing no one in particular, “my spa will be filled with Cristal…how can I afford such luxury?”

“I know we can do this.”

“Seems like you care more about that stupid shirt than me,” the girlfriend states, as she’s now shifted most of her attention to the boys.

"D’s right about the box,” Sean adds, “hey, they said we couldn’t fly, and I’m certain some people plummeted to their deaths, but those silly Wright Brothers did it. 'Cuz you gotta have faith.”

“10 car garage, a private plane…well, I guess that ends our tour…” Dorian stammers, as he returns to the conversation.

“That’s what I like to hear. I am sick and tired of this can’t do shit. How could Brian Bosworth star in an action movie and get away with it? And worse, we all sat around watching that crap shouting ‘Boz! Boz! Boz!’ What’s stopping us?” Harrison shouts before taking a deep breath.

“But this isn’t a shirt. This is the Daddy?!” the boyfriend whines as his defense.

“Whatever bros,” states Chuck, clearly not convinced.

Dorian looks at his empty glass and then at the bar, “This place is past tense. Let’s motor. Besides, the Oak is about the start.”

“What’s happened to this place?” Sean agrees.

“The Oak is what’s happened to this place? Everything was cool until they added the oak.”

“Look! Here comes Helloween!” Chuck points to a male in his late 30s or early 40s crossing through the bar towards the other section where an announcer is beckoning all to partake in karaoke 80s night. This guy is hardcore hair-metal enthusiast. He proudly sports a cut off baseball T-shirt from Motley Crue’s Dr. Feelgood tour, ripped jeans, big big hair and the same kick ass attitude he had back in ’82. If only the body had remained as fresh as his love for the genre of metal. Patrons watch and also point, while some of the younger ladies in attendance wave to him for some God forsaken reason. He is so damn uncool. They are clearly too young to understand how uncool he is. So much so, that he has become cool.

“What’s wrong with all of you?” Harrison jumps back on point. “We’re talking about THE screenplay. This could be the Ben Hur of the new millennium and all you’re worried about is the Oak!”

“I know Kevin Smith. Maybe he could offer –" the girlfriend begins to the boys.

“I need to get drunk,” Chucks cuts her off.

“Let’s hit the ‘Balt,” suggests D.

“Who the hell is Kevin Smith?” the boyfriend’s voice cracks.

“We need to stay and hash this out,” demands Harrison, sensing he’s lost his audience, as Helloween has begun to wail the opening scream in “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns n Roses.

Everyone else nods in silent agreement.

“Fine, but you guys are picking this one up,” he commands as he waves down the scrambling Linda.

“D’s all over this action,” Sean offers, “he’s got a Jacuzzi boiling over with Cristal.”

“Did you screw him?” the boyfriend jealously continues.

“Someone is going to pay for this and somehow I have a feeling it’s going to be me,” Chuck worries aloud.

“I got it C-Note,” D offers.

“I’m not talking about the bill.”

Linda approaches cautiously. She addresses the couple who are no longer facing each other: “Well, I have some good news for you two. Your guests’ table is finally ready.”

“Cancel it. Just tab me and these three,” Dorian gestures to Sean, Harrison and Chuck. “We’re out.”

The boys all stand and stretch nonchalant aside the booth, while the girl slaps her now ex-boyfriend. “Go to hell!”

“Oh dear,” Linda worries to herself as Helloween continues to shred his voice to the siren screams of Axel Rose and the girl runs towards the exit after the departing boys.

(written with Jeff Piering)

Murmur

I have never been a big fan of R.E.M. They maintained on my music periphery during the 80s, when I purchased their albums up through 1988’s Green. Aside from a few singles since then (their last release I purchased was the fantastic 1996 single with Patti Smith “E-Bow the Letter”), I haven’t been interested, nor do I own most of those older albums anymore. In fact, I don’t even hear their newest music anymore. They have managed to reach a place in the pop music hierarchy where they are so well known that no one bothers to promote their music. I am guessing that this is a shame. At any rate, I have just spent the morning reading the 33 1/3 series (Continuum) book about R.E.M.’s debut 1983 album Murmur - before "Losing My Religion" was played 4,000 times a day and before the nightmare that is "Shiny Happy People". Firstly, this series of books is fantastic, if you are unaware, I heartily recommend you rush out and find some titles you're familiar with. They are small (generally between 100 & 150 pages) tomes that are specifically about certain rock and roll albums. I have read maybe two dozen of them and they all take a different angle: from Joe Pernice’s amazing novella for The Smiths’ Meat is Murder to the oddly technical and mostly unreadable book for Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures. Most of the books break down a bit of historical context for the artist at the time of recording, behind the scenes snapshots of the recording sessions, and so on. So far I have purchased only the books for albums that I know and love and have used the books as a tool in many cases to rediscover said album. In this case, I don’t think I’ve listened to Murmur from start to finish since 1988, so hearing it again after reading extensively about it was refreshing and it brought back some fond memories. The book is very well done, but this isn’t about that book or that album specifically. This is about the idea of the album (an idea that could be in serious jeopardy) as heard without preconceptions and unfettered by our media’s race to find the next big thing.

Having said that, I will begin with the first tangible memory I have of the album Murmur. I believe it was the fall of 1985, freshman year of high school, when Wil and I took off in the afternoon and wandered down from the school on the hilltop to Driftwood Mac’s on the south edge of Taft. As mentioned before, in a previous post “Vertigo,” these were my discovery years for music. I was just starting to earn spending money of own and finding ways of learning of new music aside from the stale radio play lists of contemporary hit radio. When Murmur was released in 1983, I’m sure my favorite records were by Men Without Hats, Thompson Twins, Men at Work and the Hall & Oates best of. Two years later, I was sitting next to Wil on the rotting bleachers of the old Taft High football field, which had long since been abandoned, looking at his freshly purchased vinyl copy of R.E.M.’s Murmur and reminiscing about when Steve was on the football team playing on that very field. We were amazed at how in just a couple of years what was once a destination for many of Lincoln City’s town folk during Autumn Friday nights, was now a forgotten overgrown and muddy shadow of its past glory (or shame in the case of Taft’s football history at the time). We compared how the otherworldly cover of Murmur – its grey wasteland covered in kudzu – was fitting for our location at the time - as the Oregon coast’s version of the kudzu plant may as well be the unstoppable tendrils of the blackberry bushes that had already nearly engulfed that field. After sitting and studying this mysterious album and discussing our developing likes and dislikes with music (among other things), we found our way back to his house, to his basement room to listen to the record. I will never forget that day, because of the time spent with my friend, and because of that discovery of hearing something new to us and different from the norm and the purity of hearing music with no expectations.

Things have changed drastically from those days. Then, being from a small town, exposure to new music was almost entirely based on word of mouth, or the odd music video that might’ve appeared on WTBS’ Night Trax or USA’s Night Flight on Friday nights (I don’t know why, but we didn’t get MTV, when they still played music videos, on the coast till late ’87). We couldn’t hop on the computer or phone to hear what so and so sounded like any time we wanted. We didn’t know what most of these artists looked like or where they were from and in some cases what they were going on about. This made these albums our lifelines. They defined us in many ways. We listened to every song on these albums because we didn’t know when the next great mystery would come along. It’s so much easier now to find whatever music we want to nowadays and part of me has a serious jealousy. I used to work so hard to find the artists that I wanted to hear, as opposed to the ones I was forced to hear on constant repeat on the radios that blared from all corners of my little world. How cool would it have been to hear one of the cool kids talking about “this new band” Husker Du and to be able to hop on the net, listen to a sampling of their songs and upon loving them, as I do, owning the songs within minutes? Even though these things happen for me now, I cannot comprehend that experience when I was 13 or 14. I most likely would’ve stolen my parent’s credit cards and driven our family into financial ruin.

Now that we can so easily pick and choose what songs we like, whenever we like, the concept of the album has declined. It is still alive and may be alive to some extent indefinitely, since bands will most likely continue to record and “release” to the public a grouping of songs that reflect their most recent efforts. But the importance of the sequencing of tracks and the ebbs and flows of that collection is vanishing. Why bother, when the potential audience can simply snag the one song they know and move on without hearing anything else? A lot of the mystery is gone and so is some of the fun.

I’d like to invite anyone that reads this to share your favorite memories of discovering new music and how it impacted your life.

Top 25 of 2010

Happy New Year everyone! 2010 was a really solid year for music and I hope you all take the time to expose yourselves to some new sounds. These artists are all worthy of attention.

1.The Joy Formidable
A Balloon Called Moaning
“Popinjay” 7”
“I Don’t Want to See You like This” 7”
(Black Bell)

This debut mini LP from Welsh trio The Joy Formidable has sent a rush of adrenaline through me this year that has not ceased! This is truly a breath of fresh air and why I will always be one who seeks out new music. These highs are too hard to stay away from! Somehow TJF have captured in this crudely recorded – yet still majestic and full sounding set – a combustible mix of early Catherine Wheel, Compulsion and the dreaminess of such purveyors as the Cocteau Twins! But mostly, these kids rock and they bring it. The tiny front woman cranks out guitar lines that rival the best of the post-punk greats and coos over her own din. She is a revelation. Yet she is counter balanced by the swift and busy pounding of drummer Matt Thomas and Ritzy’s significant other Rhydian Dafydd on shredding bass. There are no moments on this rollercoaster ride that aren’t fucking amazing - “The Last Drop” and “Whirring” being the highlights of highlights.
The “Popinjay” single from this summer continues their winning streak of a nice start/stop chorus, but a non- essential B-side. While the new pre-LP (their The Big Roar is due out in about 3 weeks! Holy shit yes!!) “I Don’t Want to See You like This” single (still a non-essential B-side) could be the song of the year! This song benefits with a full, no HUGE, sound by coming from a proper studio and apparently major label backing (Atlantic), meaning they may be a bit easier to track down. Please do that!



2.Thrushes
Night Falls
(Birdnote)

2007’s Thrushes debut LP Some Come Undone is a favorite of mine because it is comfortable. Its warm electricity has been like a soft blanket to wrap myself in when I’ve needed it over the last couple of years. This Baltimore foursome portrayed a gentle blend of sounds that harkens back to the shoegaze days of the late 80s and early 90s along the lines of Slowdive crossed with Pyschocandy era Jesus and Mary Chain, or Black Tambourine. For their second offering, Night Falls, they have continued with this basis, but exploded with some added energy and urgency! Opening with the stellar “Trees,” vocalist Anna Conner proclaims that she’ll “make you cry” atop a wash of splashing cymbals and barely contained drive. This is one of the songs of the year! While their debut lingered in a misty and vague beautiful haze, Night Falls lands with a direct message full of broken hearts and bitterness and buzzing catchy tunes.



3.Standard Fare
The Noyelle Beat
(Bar None)

A ramshackle affair! This spirited collection surprises by evoking the best bands of the so-called C86 Brit indie-pop scene and yet sounding unbelievably current. This three-piece are masterful at capturing the thrill and drama of crushes and fresh love. Emma Kupa’s vocals are the highlight here. She sings with an exuberance that finds her stretching for heights that she may not be able to achieve, but is all the more brilliant for it. Guitarist Danny How, whose playing is lithe, clean and joyously loose, takes the lead voice on a couple of tracks here and is not outdone – as his “Edges & Corners” is a two plus minute burner. Would like to see these guys do more duet numbers such as the back and forth high point of “Nuit Avec Une Amie,” but this is a minor grump, because what is here is fresh and fun as hell! Phenomenal debut! More please!



4.Trembling Blue Stars
Fast Trains and Telegraph Wires/Cicely Tonight Volume One
(Elefant)

This is reportedly the final TBS album and that is a shame, because this collection (an album and a seven track EP) may be their best. Robert Wratten has left the legendary winsome Field Mice in the dust, the experimental Northern Picture Library (a personal favorite) after only one album, and now his longstanding Trembling Blue Stars are finished only to be revered as influential years from now due to their heart on sleeve quiet reflection and delicate perfection. Some of these tracks would make their greatest singles (“My Face for the World to See,” the Cath Carroll sung “The Imperfection of Memory,” the downbeat “Half-Light” and the stellar “Cold Colours”), but the 11 tracks on CD1 are cohesive and flow together like the soundtrack to a really cool movie. On the second disc we see a bit of house cleaning possibly, as it includes some instrumental ambient pieces, a cover of the Dream Academy’s “Not for Second Prize,” the return of Anne Mari (of Field Mice/NPL) to lead vocals on “The Lowest Arc.” However, CD2 fittingly closes with a hidden track titled “No More Sad Songs,” a perfect epitaph for one of the great bands of the last 15 or so years.



5.The Corin Tucker Band
1,000 Years
(Kill Rock Stars)

It’s about time! After lamenting Sleater-Kinney’s disbandment in 2006, I have been waiting anxiously for some Corin Tucker material - hoping she would grace us all again with her insightful and emotional music. Yes, she is best known for her in your face banshee wail from those S-K albums, but we’ve always known that she’s a powerful lyricist with a penchant for tackling big subjects with a one on one individual slant. She does so here winningly! Her solo debut (with major help from multi-instrumentalist Golden Bears’ Seth Lorinczi & Unwound’s Sara Lund on the drums) is as personal as can be with ranging subjects of missing her husband (“Half a World Away”), battling depression (“Dragon”), the unnamed crisis of an old friend (“Riley”) and the damage of losing ones means of a living in the touching “Thrift Store Coats.” Her vulnerability is expressed so poignantly throughout and we’re all the better for it. And with a less forceful set of songs than those of her old trio, we are given a chance to hear Tucker’s full range as a singer. Let’s hope that we don’t have to wait another 4-5 years to hear more material.



6.Bad Religion
The Dissent of Man
(Epitaph)

30 years man! 30 years! Bad Religion celebrates 30 years as a recording entity this year with their 15th album. It’s hard to believe. And to be honest, though I always like their albums, they have had a serious case of diminishing returns over the last 15 years. This new one felt the same at first too. However, after repeated listens, it became clear that these 15 tracks really feel like the proper follow-up to 1993’s Recipe For Hate. Stylistically more diverse (check out the return of the pedal steel on “Cyanide”), they prove that they are still hard at work trying to improve and progress. Besides, who can resist a band whose words are so incisive and educational on top of some of the best double time punk rock riffs ever put to tape? Happy Anniversary guys.



7. The Secret History
The World That Never Was
(Le Grand Magistery)

After their fantastic debut EP from 2008, The Secret History finally unleashes their debut LP and it was definitely worth the wait. Much has been made of their story. Darren Amadio and Michael Grace Jr. (principal songwriter) are holdovers from the much talked about NYC band My Favorite. In this setting, however, they rely less on an 80s synthesized sound, and more on expansive and well thought out full band arrangements (augmented with piano, strings and horns) to give this a more classic and timeless sound. Helping with this move are the cool lead vocals from Lisa Ronson, the striking daughter of the famous Mick Ronson (guitarist with David Bowie as a “Spider from Mars”). Lyrically, Grace’s songs haven’t strayed far from his past, as they are filled with Catholic image laden scenes of runaways, outcasts, the broken hearted and rock-n-roll hoodlums. These songs are absolutely hook-laden gems that strike a need to sing along upon the first listen.



8.Leatherface
The Stormy Petrel
(No Idea)

A year full of surprises - not only is Leatherface back, but original guitarist Dickie Hammond is back in the fold where he belongs, alongside Frankie Stubbs. This album is not their best (look to ‘91s Mush, ‘93s Minx and ‘94s The Last), but it's so welcoming to hear these two intertwine their guitars with such deft touches. Hammond’s staccato fills are so warm and lush against Stubbs’ rhythm work. This is their eight LP overall and first since the 2004’s middling Dog Disco, so it’s additionally welcoming to hear Stubbs’ roaring and heart wrenching voice howl its way through 12 new tracks. And new is the key here, because they are not revisiting their past here. They belt out a downright hit with the soaring “Never Say Goodbye,” and surprise with the fleet-footed shuffle of “Another Dance.” Other standouts include the early Police sounding “God is Dead,” the odd “Belly Dancing Stoat” and the amazing “Diego Garcia,” which puts a personal feel on the island’s shameful history. This is like receiving a long letter from a long time friend you haven’t heard from in a long time.



9.Northern Portrait
Criminal Art Lovers
“Life Returns to Normal” 7”
(Matinee)

Much has been made of Northern Portrait’s similarity to the Smiths, and yes, this five-piece from Denmark do have a striking resemblance to those Mancunian legends. There’s the energetic, intricate, and tasteful guitar work driving these catchy tunes and vocalist’s Stefan Larsen’s pleading Morrissey crooning (with a touch of Roy Orbison when he goes falsetto). The comparison doesn’t simply stop with the sounds either. These songs are filled with self-deprecating underdog lines that can bring a smile to one’s face or help one wallow in their misery. This debut album (on the heels of 2008’s great twin 4 track EP’s) is truly worthy of a listen. They do need to find more of their own voice, but this is a solid foundation to start with and, hell, I cannot stop listening to it! What could be higher praise for a record recommednation?
As for the 7”, “Life Returns to Normal” is a nice example of their sound pulled from the middle of the LP that captures their melancholy essence in about four flowing minutes. The non-LP B-side is a cover of “Some People” from the UK’s massive pop superstar Cliff Richard.



10.Defiance, Ohio
Midwestern Minutes
(No Idea)

Defiance, Ohio has won me over again! This is their fourth LP (third for me) and it continues to showcase their thinking man’s punk rock with serious folk leanings (the band play violin, cello, piano, banjo, upright bass, and mandolins, along with the basics). Sonically, they remind me most of early Camper Van Beethoven, but with a lyrical bent that is heavy on how our society is unfolding before us and how that can affect us individually. It can get a bit political at times, but never preachy. They come off as earnest and curious as to how we’ve gotten to where we are at this point and it is contagious. “The White Shore,” “Hairpool” and “Dissimilarity Index” all touch on cultural segregation and our self-imposed limitations and numbness from media overload. It’s a lot to tackle in short catchy tunes, but they do it and they make it lively and fun! This is heartfelt stuff that makes you think and fires you up.



11.Midway Still
Note to Self
(Boss Tuneage)

Wow! I would’ve never imagined that I’d be hearing new Midway Still material again. After loving their first two LPs from ’92 and ’93, it seemed that they were gone forever like so many of their brethren from the UK punk revival of that period (Leatherface, China Drum, Mega City Four, and Drive). Midway Still were maybe the closest to fitting in with the Nirvana craze during that time they were never able to capitalize on those comparisons. I always thought those were lazy though. Midway still’s shredding and LOUD guitar work felt more in common with the heaviness of My Bloody Valentine (who they’ve covered) and the propulsion of Bob Mould’s work in Husker Du. Yet, here we have 12 new Paul Thomson songs to enjoy and they sound as fresh and ass-kicking as they did 17 years prior. Welcome back!



12.Young Galaxy
Invisible Republic
(Paper Bag)

Young Galaxy has gone through quite a transformation since their very good 2007 debut for venerable Canadian label Arts & Crafts. Since then, they have split with that label and the duo of Stephen Ramsay (ex –Stars) and Catherine McCandless have expanded the band to a four-piece. Gone are the slow-building shoegazing epics from the first LP (reminding and Slowdive, Chapterhouse and Engineers). Enter in some bolder upfront downright danceable songs. The swirling layers of sound remain, but they are more for background atmosphere, while beats and basses guide this hip-shaking collection to the dance floor. There’s a bit of an 80s quality to these rhythms, and I have to admit that though I miss where they were going on their dream-like debut, I really like the sound of this. Hell, the track “Dreams” is worth the price alone.



13.Killing Joke
Absolute Dissent
(Spinefarm)

Another 30 year anniversary is celebrated this year. This one is a major shock too, because this new Killing Joke album finds the original lineup from their hallowed first two LPs reuniting for the first time since 1982! Twenty eight years is a long time, however, these guys are as fierce and potent as ever. It’s so welcoming to hear Paul Ferguson’s tough but absolutely swinging drumming style back in the fold. It all fits so neatly with Geordie’s signature guitar scrapings, Youth’s relentless basses and of course Jaz Coleman’s unmistakable growl. This is a band that was at the forefront of post punk, industrial, goth and even punk music. They have done it all and it’s so good to find them releasing another classic this late in the game.



14.Lanterns on the Lake
“Lungs Quicken” EP
(self released)

This is the third self released CD EP from the UK’s pastoral Lanterns on the Lake. I discovered them after hearing a few amazing songs from their previous hard to track down Greenspace configuration and learning that they were now recording under this name. Luckily, I am now on their mailing list, so I send them my dough when they let me know something new is out and about. This is my favorite EP yet. “Lungs Quicken” is a gentle builder and begins with what could be the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings and ends with the band slowly adding touches of atmosphere as the beautiful vocals plea for her lungs to work as she seems filled by a subtle urgency for survival in difficult times. This reminds me of the non-country moments of Rubber Rodeo. This would be a great 12” single, as the warmth of vinyl would really give this an added depth. “Sapsorrow,” and the short ambient “Cello Song” round out this short collection in fine style. This is definitely worth tracking down.
( http://www.lanternsonthelake.blogspot.com/)



15.Exlovers
You Forget So Easily 10”
(Chess Club 2009)

I was a bit late to the game on this one, as I only managed to get this hard to find 10” vinyl EP about a year ago. These five songs are worth the effort. The title track is as likely to get stuck in one’s head on the first listen as any song out there, and that’s a really good thing! Same with the equally spirited jangle of “Just a Silhouette,” or the straight ahead rocker “You’re so Quiet.” The remaining two songs are acoustic ballads that evoke the greatness of Elliott Smith. They remind me of fellow UK popsters Fields (with their simultaneous male/female vocals!), if they decided to drop the inclination of reaching towards the epic and simply went for 3 minute catchy nuggets. This is fantastic stuff and finally they are due to release an album in 2011!



16.Beautiful Things
Dream World
(Summerside 2009)

This band is clearly driven by the L.A. singer/songwriter Dina D’Alessandro, whose previous two solo albums captured a crisp and clean pop rock with a 90s Brit-Pop slant. Her last offering, 2005’s Is it Safe?, was a personal favorite, as it dealt with a kind of hurt and disappointment that living with health issues can cause. This Beautiful Things debut does not change her stellar sound a bit! We’re still blessed with songs that bridge the gap between sounding best on a sunny summer day, or on a cold lazy reflective day. This album sonically reminds me of Richard Butler’s (Psychedelic Furs) late 90s Love Spit Love’s second album Trysome Eatone. D’Alessandro’s lyrics here have a definite slant towards dreams – both sleeping and waking – that gives this collection a sweet cohesiveness. This is a truly underrated artist who writes and records very solid and tremendously addictive songs. Also, check out her overdriven cover of A Flock of Seagulls’ “Space Age Love Song.”



17.Emma Pollock
The Law of Large Numbers
(Chemikal Underground)

Former Delgados front woman graces us with her second solo LP since that great band’s sad farewell. Where 2007’s Watch the Fireworks felt a bit like Delgados-lite (still high praise), this one named after a mathematical theorem is like its title - much more angular and difficult. Things can at times feel clinical, but over time, the precise playing and production reveals a warm hearted center that finds our heroine reaching new heights of creativity and a clear separation from her old band. Warm yourself in the glow of the twin piano bookends “Hug the Piano,” the pounding “Hug the Harbour,” and the touching “House on the Hill.”



18.Lloyd Cole
Broken Record
(Tapete)

It seems that roughly every 10 years or so Lloyd Cole emerges with his best work. In 1990, it was the appearance of his flawless self-titled debut solo album (after years with the Commotions). In 1999, he ended that decade with The Negatives, which didn’t leave my stereo for months. Now, he hits in 2010 after several years of basically completely solo (and a bit forgettable) releases and silence, with this Nashville tinged beauty Broken Record. Here we find him working with much of the crew that made his solo debut 20 years ago. Back is the muscular drumming of Fred Maher and the keyboards of former Commotion Blair Cowen. Back is the full band and lush production with the deepest bass tones and a richness and clarity that suits these catchy as hell tracks. He’s back and cooler than ever.



19.Eux Autres
Broken Bow
(Bon Mots)

Brother and sister duo Heather and Nicholas Larimer return with their third LP (that I know of) and are now augmented with a third member (drummer Yoshi Nakamoto). This addition allows them to expand their neat little pop songs and give them added adornments. Remaining are the nasally passé vocals of the siblings that somehow work in favor of adding depth to their sneaky lyrics. Broken Bow feels inspired by the classic folksy moments from old Bruce Springsteen (covered here “My Love Will Not Let You Down”) crossed with the early 90s Slumberland noise pop bands like Velocity Girl, Black Tambourine and Henry’s Dress. This is a fantastic sound, but unfortunately, either the recording and/or the mix are fairly poor here – dimming the shining songs’ impact. This is a minor flaw that cannot keep this one from repeated listening.



20.Sambassadeur
European
(Labrodor)

Anyone that knows me knows that I love the Swedes. Musically, they seem to take the best pop moments from the US & UK scenes and boil out the frivolous bits and condense everything to the tastiest morsels. My love affair started in the early 90s with the powerhouse loud dreamy guitar bands Popsicle and Easy, but has expanded over the years to include the lush full arrangements of bands like Sambassadeur. This is their third offering and subtly their best yet. The opening “Stranded” goes from a slow classical sounding piano to a propulsive pop number adorned with a magical string arrangement and Anna Persson’s rich voice. And so it goes from there. It’s a comfortable stretch of simple sounding songs filled with layers and layers of tiny details and finishes with a Tobin Sprout cover (“Small Parade”). I think anyone who likes Camera Obscura would really dig this. Check out my beloved Swedes.



21.Versus
On the Ones and Threes
(Merge)

Another unexpected return in 2010: Versus reappear after 10 years away. They were one of my consistent stalwarts of the 90s – from the moment I received their demo tape in 1992 all the way through to their swansong Hurrah in 2000. Many are hailing this new collection (their 5th official LP) as maybe their best one yet. I am not ready to go there, because I have a soft spot for the glossy Two Cents Plus Tax. However, On the Ones is a grower. With each listen more nuances and subtleties uncover themselves and I am finding that what was once a lukewarm welcome back has become a rebirth of why I loved them all along. Listening to it again at the moment has it sounding even better than the last time. Let’s hope all of these successful comebacks stick around.



22.Tracy Shedd
EP88
(Eskimo Kiss)

I have always had a quiet respect for Tracy Shedd’s straightforward and clean songs. I have always sought out her records when she releases one, but then kind of forget about her until the next one comes along. This year saw the release of a 10” vinyl 5 track EP by her and cohorts. This one finds her returning to her piano roots. Apparently, she grew up with some serious skills on the piano but abandoned it for writing songs on guitar all these years. The change back to piano is noticeable and these tracks seem built on a more solid foundation. They feel lasting and timeless. It’s a moody grouping here that is stunningly pretty and reflective and melancholy.



23.The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
“Say No to Love” 7”
“Heart in Your Heartbreak” 7”
(Slumberland)

These NYC pop upstarts graced us with two vinyl singles of new material while we anxiously await their sophomore LP effort. Their progression is apparent from the get go. These recordings are fuller, smoother and cleaner productions, yet they are still based in these guys’ ability to write the most effortless youthful sounding melodies heard in years. Both singles are excellent and make the anticipation for the new LP all the higher.



24.Swans
My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky
(Young God)

Swans are back! This may be the most shocking return of the year. Michael Gira had proclaimed the Swans as dead on their final live release in 1998. Yet, here he is again, with some of the old cohorts and it is devastatingly and convincingly a Swans album. The Swans’ darkness and bleaker than bleak words are accompanied by an ever evolving sound, but one that is, as always, unmistakably their own making this a strong claim this is not some cash in reunion. There is a beauty in what Gira has always put together in the many incarnations of this band, but what I think has often been overlooked is that there is a certain sardonic quality to his words. Yes, they are serious as all get out, but you can almost see him grinning as he sings of setting all the world's lairs ablaze in the most straightforward track on the LP “Reeling the Liars in.” We also hear, who I’m guessing is Gira’s young child singing a duet with Devendra Banhart in “You Fucking People Make Me Sick,” which is as disgustful as it sounds. Oh boy, this is brutal and scary stuff – just like we hope for. I shouldn’t love this stuff, but I can’t help it.



25.Various Artists
Auteur Labels: Independent Project Records
(LTM)

This is what I wrote elsewhere about this compilation earlier this year: “This release features the fantastic US label Independent Project Records founded in Los Angeles in 1980 by Savage Republic co-founder Bruce Licher. This 23 track compilation spans the history entirely (notice the clear gap from ’96-’08) showcasing its varied assortment of artists and their amazing groundbreaking sounds. I first ran across this label in the mid-to-late 80s when I picked up Camper Van Beethoven’s landmark debut Telephone Free Landslide Victory (1985), featuring, of course, their quirky single “Take the Skinheads Bowling” (included here). The next time I ran into the label was when I found the debut LP from Nebraska’s For Against’s Echelons (1987). It wasn’t until late 1990, while away at college that I encountered a For Against release on the label which absolutely changed my life. The first in IPR’s series of 10” colored vinyl only releases featured some unreleased and experimental tracks from this amazing band. This “Archive Series” debuted with the promise of a new installment every other month which could be had via subscription. These records were interesting, thought provoking, and most importantly, entertaining, but the bonus was the fantastic artwork that made up these special records. The records were numbered and pressed in an old fashioned letterpress printer and looked otherworldly. They provoked the imagination and upon arrival would send me off to stereo to absorb every nuance of these incredible products. These records expanded my horizons and exposed me to what felt like a special secret world.”

The Book of Love

Yesterday, I made a half-hearted attempt at trying to sort through the stacks and stacks of stuff I have allowed to pile up in my place. By sorting, I really mean purging. The goal is to get rid of it all. This will not ever happen, but I like to believe that it will. After dumping a bunch of useless paperwork, I tried tackling a box of my old writing. As I’ve mentioned before, I have random notebooks and loose sheets of paper piled in drawers and boxes, crammed with handwritten writing efforts. This is when I discovered a little yellow sheet of paper crumpled up and smashed into the corner of the box I was going through. It was not titled. Since I have been unable to get myself to write at all in recent times, I thought I’d share this scattered thought from my past, which may have been a rough draft as an intro for an old issue of the “This Wreckage” ‘zine. I know I did not use it. Clearly, I came to my senses.

“I’m only pulling pieces
From the pages of my former life
Stiff and wrinkled paper
Written in a different time
Are you gonna cross the line?”
- Corin Tucker, 2010

Being careful. No, you did not want to hurt her. You left no traps. Only an open door. Biting your tongue and smiling through the pain. Everything is perfect in here. Everyone is smiling. Everyone is happy.
Being too careful. Being someone different, because what you are is not enough. Nothing will last from this. Everything built on a foundation of lies.
Nothing works. Relationships are always doomed to fail. Fear, lies, miscommunication, misunderstanding and then, finally, truth. Inevitably, truth is the end. It’s really sad too. The simple delusions we put ourselves and others through.
Nothing works. Failure can appear from nowhere. All feels fine. All feels good. All feels right. No. Let’s screw it up. Let’s walk away.
Sometimes I wish I knew someone who believes in things spiritual. I don’t believe and I can’t (this person would disregard this). I wish I could be convinced that there is a plan, because I do not like what I see. I do not like what I feel.
Sometimes I get so anxious that a big ball wells up in my throat making it difficult to breathe. My lungs quicken, my hands clench into fists and my heart pounds erratically. This feeling arises far too frequently these days and at times as disparate as being pulled over in my car by a cop to seeing what I think may be a cute girl wandering around a half mile away. But this feeling is strongest when I’m alone and wishing a girl who used to like me would pretend to again. It’s during these times when the feeling of regret becomes so overwhelming that I cannot fathom why I made such rash and harsh decisions without care for how this could affect anyone, especially me.
Last year, was easily the worst year of my life. Half of it was bad, due to my own stupidity. The other half: I had no control over. It scared the shit out of me. Three down and I was nearly the fourth. Things may have turned out better if I had. Maybe I should’ve gone. If only the nurses hadn’t acted so quickly. Maybe if a doctor had not been available. I never did like to make decisions for myself. It’s too hard.
Full circle now. I’m left feeling nothing these days. Not a damn thing. Empty. Hollow. Yes, that’s right, kind of like a relationship where one or both people has lost interest, yet they keep it going. Why keep it going? It’s going to fail anyway.
- May 7, 1992

Can I Play With Madness?

Max V

Sunday May 9th, 9:57

A crisp wind flows eastward stretching out towards the Willamette. I am sitting on some steps downtown waiting for the Max. Today was the first warm day of the year, but a chill is beginning to settle in to the evening – making me wish I had decided to wear a jacket. A fair weather weekend, along with the Cinco de Mayo festival at Waterfront Park have brought out the crowds tonight, so I skipped the last train through because it was crammed with folks heading home for the night. To my left, a guy at the other end of the block is making balloon animals for the kids who are high on sugar and adrenalin. I watch blankly, while holding a copy of a weekly paper in front of me.

“Can you spare any change,” a voice calls out from my right. I look up to see a teenage couple reeking of cloves lord over me. The boy has his arm around the girl and they are both wearing vintage faded black overcoats and black punk rock T-shorts. The girl clings to the boy and huddles under his arm. She is wearing a short skirt and ripped fishnets. Her eye make-up is thick and blotchy. It was her who asked for the change.

“Sorry,” I reply, almost chuckling audibly. Their punk/ goth/ industrial look is so cliché that I nearly forgot that it’s no longer my mid-80s high school years. Even the bands that they advertise were defunct by the time I was old enough to hit the clubs. I make a half-hearted effort to look sympathetic, but they eye me with disgust anyway, as they move on towards their next potential coin benefactor. I shudder with the freshening breeze and a bit of nerves as well. I no longer feel any connection with teenagers and their unpredictability, which makes me feel old and frail and vulnerable.

Another train rumbles to my stop and I watch the teens step on, along with the balloon animal guy and hordes and hordes of chattering families. The train is once again packed, so I choose to wait. I light a cigarette and commence looking at the paper for ads for upcoming shows. As I read, I lose focus of my surroundings, save for occasional yelps from children and a pair of belligerent voices yelling at each other from down the block. I recognize the voices as two drunken guys out roaming the street looking for an outlet for their drunken energy. My recognition comes from the familiarity of being one of those guys too many times in the past. Somehow, they recognize my past glory as well, because they head straight for me. I turn back to the paper with fierce concentration, hoping that they will continue stumbling and bumbling harmlessly on by.

“Hey dude, how’s it hanging?” the white guy with long greasy blond hair groans at me. I do not look up at him, but my peripheral vision ascertains his position and that of his cohort, who looks to be Native American. They are a few feet to my right, holding tall cans of cheap beer. The silent guy peels around his buddy and throws his empty can at the concrete trash receptacle off to my left. He misses badly and stumbles uselessly after the rogue can.

“Okay man. How are you tonight?” I finally respond, resigning myself to this fate, and making eye contact. He’s wearing an ancient baseball style T-shirt/jersey thing and pale ripped jeans. The guy is cut. He could easily crush my skull with his bare hands in a matter of seconds. His friend continues stomping in his heavy boots chasing the rolling beer can. Every time he catches it, he spins and shoots it erratically back to the trash – again missing horribly. This activity causes the blond guy to laugh and shout insults at him. I try to smile to feign interest.

“Kimosabe sucks like the Blazers,” he hoots loudly over his shoulder, before draining the remainder of his beer. He then takes the empty can and beams his friend in the middle of his back, which ricochets perfectly into the hole at the top of the trashcan. He releases a gut-wrenching howl and a stream of mostly unintelligible insults at his buddy, who turns around confused.

I finish the cigarette and mindlessly grab for another one, wondering if they’re going to panhandle or not, so I go ahead and offer each them a smoke from the pack. They oblige.

“Thanks dude,” the blond man mumbles with the cigarette stuck loosely between his lips. He already has his lighter out, but continues to talk without using it. “You know that today is Mother’s Day, right?” He adds, as I watch the smoke bounce up and down.

I nod with recognition of this fact, though I hadn’t really thought about it.
“No matter what, your Mom loves you, right?” Even Mr. Injun over here has a mom who loves him.”
I nod again, but feel a lump form in my throat as I try to hold back the realization that my mom has been dead for years.

“My mom passed away,” I reply, against my better judgment, as my eyes begin to sting from the smoke billowing in to them.

The blond man reaches out to grab my hand and says to me, “She’s still out there bro. She’s looking after you and she still loves you. Kimosabe! Come here! Let’s pray!”

On command, Kimosabe clods over and before I realize what’s happening, we’ve all joined hands. I play along out of a desire to avoid conflict. I do not believe in the power of prayer, nor do I believe in God. Would God let something like this happen? Well, maybe.

The blond guy stammers some familiar common prayer and after a moment of uneasy silence, I look up at their two faces. Their eyes are both clenched solemnly closed. Finally, Kimosabe says “Amen” and they bounce alive and release hands.

“Thanks,” I croak and look down at the paper folded underneath my arm. The next train is rolling slowly my way. I stand up stiffly. “This one’s for me boys,” I say triumphantly, as my escape nears and my confidence grows.

“Just remember what I said, man. She’s looking out for you…always. She has her eyes on you right now,” the white guy warns me, as I reach down and pick up the abandoned beer can and stand it on the lid of the trashcan before boarding the train. This car is also smashed full of fatigue parents and kids sticky with cotton candy and the striking smell of stale caramel corn.

I turn back and reach my hand out to shake the hands of the two guys. I feel a well of emotion spill up into my eyes and throat like a sudden rush of vomit. “Thanks,” I say, “and take care of yourselves.”

“The doors are closing,” intones the voice of the Max. I jump onto the train into the center of a couple of arguing kids and a biker with his vehicle. He is wearing some wrap around sunglasses, a stern expression, and the posture of a Private at attention. His bike dangles from a hook, swinging annoyingly between me and the handrail. I turn toward the door that shut behind me and I search for sight of the two drunken strangers. I do not see them, but I do see that the concrete trash monument stands alone with the tall boy sitting on top of the grey metal lid in memory of our strange encounter. I turn back towards the biker and see myself reflected in his shades. Behind him, written in marker, someone has scrawled “Sleep in My crotch” on the back of one of the seats. I shake my head to try and forget what has happened, but begin to wonder how I can incorporate that line in to some sort of short story.


more MAX stories can be found here:

MAX I
MAX II
MAX III
MAX IV

Make Me a Mixtape

“You remind me that I'm never going to be twenty-two
listening to the alarm waking up south of North Avenue
my skin is going to wonder what I'm doing now.
So write me a letter,
tell me where you are
how to get there
and how long that it takes to tape me some songs.
Make me a mixtape
something old and something new
something I said or that we did
that reminds me of you
Make me a mixtape that makes me yours.
Don't leave out Husker Du.
Put something on that The Cars did in 1982.
It makes me yours.”

The Promise Ring, 2000


I have always made mix tapes. It has been going on for even longer than I’ve been buying music. They used to come along fast and furious. I could whip them out for myself, friends, co-workers, classmates relatives, and every once in awhile, for a girlfriend or a hopeful girlfriend. I’m not sure why, other than my near psychotic need to share my love of music. What better way is there than sharing the actual music? I’ve tried writing about music, but that’s an entirely different beast and one that never (especially with my limited abilities) quite paints the right picture. I still do my annual top albums list, but I certainly have grown tired of using the same old adjectives to describe the music I love for no real reason.

The mixes don’t happen very often anymore. Somehow, it has mostly consolidated. I now make a couple of CDs during the year and send them out to a small core audience (a slowly growing one) of old friends, instead of sending each person their own. It is less personal, but the inspiration to make a mix CD does not occur as often as it used to. However, when the urge strikes, that psychosis returns. I obsess over every detail of the mix. I’ve been wondering what that drive is all about. But I really don’t know, other than the love of music and the communal aspects that can be derived from it. It could be that it’s simply a pleasant distraction. Something for my busy and mostly negative thoughts to focus on that isn’t destructive.

Recently, I’ve been wrestling through the annual summer mix. I’ve put together random mixes of potential songs (up to about 140) onto several CDs to listen to in my car. Wherever I drive, I am focused on what sounds best, what goes best with others. I have also been taking requests from those the mix is intended. I am confounded at times at the challenge that is presented when I receive requests of such varying styles and often vagueness. The main intention is to offer up the newest music that is upbeat and good for summertime. But I also love the idea of piecing together the puzzle of songs that are written on scrap paper and floating in my head. The next challenge is always the toughest. How to whittle 70-80 songs into a manageable 20 or so that find some kind of coherent flow? The flow is the key. Each segue way may only make sense to me in the end, but, believe me, there is always a reason for them.

Having just completed the latest installment of the summer mix, I feel relieved and relaxed. I am ready to sit back and enjoy the music and let the obsession of what goes best with what to float away. I hope that as I hand them out to my friends that it will lead to fun moments and future memories. And in the end, the mix will be forgotten, but the times we had with it as the soundtrack may be lasting.

Make Up

Gary and I were standing outside the department store sitting at one end of the mall.

“Dude! You know that these make-up chicks are hot!” Gary affirmed as he slapped me on the shoulder.

“I really don’t know man. Besides, I think I’m allergic to all of that toxic shit. My eyes always start burning whenever I’m near that section,” I responded, looking for excuses not to give this a try.

“We gotta do it. Who else has tapped this market? Just think of all those lovely ladies, who have been lonely all these years, because only other ladies talk with them. No dudes in their right mind would ever trudge in there!” Gary shouted as he grabbed my hand to encourage me. “I’m telling you, this is cash!”

We locked our fists and I accepted this sinister logic as gospel before we turned toward the store’s entrance.

The department store was a generic one in a generic mall. It was built in the 70s, remodeled in the 80s and retouched in the 90s. The mall’s lighting was a combination of soft fluorescents and giant distant skylights. The image of actual daylight, along with the faux little stick trees in pots lining the walkways attempted to give the image that maybe this is as close we may come to nature sometime in the future. The smell of cinnamon rolls, caramel corn and an overwhelming feeling of sterility attacked my senses. Inside the store, the illusion of daylight was snuffed out by strategically directed spotlights and phony wood walkways that split into two directions, framing the make-up counters. Behind this mysterious unknown land were the dual escalators, women’s shoes and purses. Gary and I stood agape, taking in the densely packed silver and glass counters that formed a daunting maze for us to maneuver.

“Let’s do this,” I grunted through my clenched teeth. We each headed into the maze, uncertain of what we would find, or how we might deal with it. He went to the left side and me to the right. Our goal, apparently, was to spot hot women working in the section and find a way to communicate with them.

My mind raced as I navigated my way aimlessly around the pathways. I didn’t know if I should pretend to be shopping for a girlfriend, or, NO! Not a girlfriend. Need to be on the market. I don’t care what Gary says, women are not more attracted to taken men (or are they?). I didn’t know what to do. I decided I was shopping for a sister’s graduation. Now that that issue was settled, I simply needed the nerve. The smells of thousands of perfumes, lotions, soaps and war paints dominated the stifling atmosphere of the store. The odors had choked the air out of my lungs and I began to wonder how women could breathe in such an environment. Estee Lauder, Avon, Obsession…so many names…with posters hinting at nudity and yet, everything looked the same. The only signs of life I could make out were employees wearing white lab coats, along with a quiet indecipherable chatter floating amongst the waves of powerful smells. My eyes were beginning to itch and sting and water. My nostrils were flooded with congestion, so I began gasping for air through my mouth. I staggered close to a young woman who was having blush applied to her cheeks by one of the white coats. They spoke to each other simultaneously using some form of advanced communication. My eyes glazed over, so my vision was like a camera lens completely covered with Vaseline. I started to think of what I had always heard about near-death experiences. Maybe this foggy light was what everyone was reaching for. I stumbled and swerved with my hands over my burning eyes, listening for voices to avoid. The conversations that I passed by continued unbroken, telling me that they were oblivious to my ragged presence. The tile floor beneath my feet felt slippery due to the constant misting of sample bottles of nasal nuances glazing the smooth surface. I removed the hands from my eyes and looked ahead through the haze to find an escape route. I spotted a hint of darkness beyond the gleaming and sparkling glares in the foreground. I lunged forward with no regard to any potential bystanders hoping to reach the other side of the make-up section. Sweat was running down my face and my back as my body temperature reached unbearable levels. I could hear the faint tickle of piano keys tempt my ears. I knew this was the piano on the other side. I was almost free! As I approached to exit of this strange hell, my eyes cleared for a moment. Beside the piano was a wooden bench and some potted plastic shrub and what looked like real dried out lichen wrapped around its base. I fell to my knees and stretched out to the bench, sitting at the base of the escalator, in a failed attempt at a dive. I cried out in agony due to the unforgiving surface on the floor crushing my knees. The piano continued its soothing tones. Already on the bench, breathing heavily, was Gary. His gasps split each word he said, as I dragged myself up onto the seat next to him: “How…did…you…fair?” I couldn’t answer. Tears were striping my cheeks as they tried to cleanse my scorched eyes. “Now that we’ve scouted out what we’re up against, we can go in with a set plan of action,” Gary blurted with renewed intent.

My back slid down the slats of the bench and I exhaled and began coughing out the toxins. This was not happening again.