Toonight

There's nothing savage about Roberto Zanetti. This is clinical Italian pop, state of the art 1984. It was probably intended to have a shelf life of about 2 weeks. And yet, here in The Future, I find it utterly magical. I am convinced that this man is singing off of phonetic cue cards.

Savage - A Love Again

Rock the Cuban Slide

Timing is often beyond us. I first heard the Pretenders in their mid-'80s incarnation. Eh, I thought. I watched a lot of MTV back then, and they blended in nicely enough to not get too excited about. "Back on the Chain Gang" was cool, but the Cars had better videos. What a great surprise it was later to finally got ahold of the fresh and fiercely assured rock of their first album. This song is a true album closer. You want more. You can't have it. You want it even more.

My old band attempted a cover, subbing in some slinky rhythms in place of the pounding rawk, though we did all we could to preserve the excellent guitar solo. It was sounding pretty good, but then we expired, and so went the effort. Alas. Maybe one day it'll happen. Meanwhile, I'll give my pocket change to anyone who can describe/perform the Cuban Slide.

The Pretenders - Mystery Achievement

Bloody red bats

This song is either very playful or very disturbing. Your reaction probably says more about you than the tune. I think it represents what's best about Hitchcock's songwriting - the ability to come at ordinary subjects like love and loneliness with language that's true to the secret, surreal depravity of the heart. Which is probably why people think he's being silly a lot of the time. It also makes him the best stage banterer I've ever seen.

Robyn Hitchcock - Sometimes I Wish I Was a Pretty Girl

Escape pod for your ipod

Spent some good holiday time with old friends, a new grill, and a very great baby who stole the show. My mind casts back to bands we rallied around in our younger days. Luckily, Stereolab's outerspace/innerspace jams never really go stale, so it all feels just right today. 

Furthermore, millions of moviegoers are not wrong; Star Trek is awesome. And now that I think of it, it has a couple escape pods too. So there's some accidental thematic resonance for ya. Songblague is feeling giddy about headspace voyages.

Stereolab - Escape Pod (From the World of Medical Observations)

Sha la la la + bbq sauce

Cross the Shirelles with the Raincoats and you get something like Dolly Mixture. The story is that they were some punk rockers' girlfriends who thought it'd fun to form a band. If that's true, they quickly evolved into fine tunesmiths in their own right. They even picked up some instrumental chops before they were done. I'd say they've got about a dozen tracks that coulda shoulda woulda been radio hits. Seriously, tambourine and glockenspiel together = pop magic. Here's my favorite. Quite likely to turn heads at whatever Memorial Day barbecue you find yourself attending.

Dolly Mixture - Remember This

(Songblague is taking a floating holiday on Monday. Hopefully, I'll be floating above the congested highways of New Jersey.)

Sunshine, lava fields, motors

I took a vacation in Iceland a few years ago; happily, it was the sunny season. Which is to say, the time of literally constant sun, except for about 45 minutes of dusk before it swung right back up. Good thing too, otherwise you wouldn't be able to properly experience the beautifully alien landscape and the weather's attention deficit disorder. It's also good because when you get your car stuck on top of a snowy mountain, not having to worry about darkness coming is a real load off your panicking mind.

Here's a tune I remember vividly from driving through the Icelandic wilds. It's car music embodied, the motorik beat reminding you that you're probably sharing the road with Germans or Swedes, though they're on a magical vacation too and everyone's sharing a dreamy enchantment with the surroundings.

Jóhann Jóhannsson - 10 Rokkstig

Say anything, you

The summer between my junior and senior years of college was placid in a way that seems inconceivable now. I had a mindless job, an internship, a band, time for books, and suspiciously little worry about post-graduate plans. Sundays, I'd often drive down to the Princeton Record Exchange and spend the afternoon thumbing through the inventory, the size of which was matched only by the douchiness of the clerks.

The setting sun on the drive back always made beautiful shadows on the road, and these guys held a steady spot on the car stereo. Run On was a New York art pop band from the days when not too many people cared about New York art pop bands. They'd probably clean up today. Their albums still sound great; Songblague heartily recommends. Especially for moments like the one at 2:55, when the violinist stomps on a pedal and takes it home like John Cale with a flower in his hair.

Run On - Anything You Say

Soloing across heaven

I remember the joy and excitement when I first heard Parliament. It was funky alright, but also a lot like a cartoon, with the likes of Star Child and Dr. Funkenstein trying so hard to entertain. Funkadelic, on the other hand, had darker intentions. Sure, they were all one nation under a groove, but the music dove down into deep murky psych territory from which some of them never returned.

If Eddie Hazel had left us with nothing but the guitar solo on "Maggot Brain," he would still deserve statues in his likeness. Is it really a shame that he shortchanged his own genius? Or did he need to be so addled to reach those musical places? Isn't being self-destructive and leaving all those 'what-ifs' often your shrewdest career move? Anyway, here's Eddie bustin' out a sweet version of a song that I finally have some love for.

Eddie Hazel - California Dreamin'

Evoking ancient things

Sometimes I look at my record collection and think I should spend more time getting into people like Gustavo Santaolalla. With a long career as a musician, producer, and field recordist, there's a lot to dig into. And considering that he's one of those artists who had to flee his country when some murderous thug became dictator, I'd say he deserves at least as much attention as any week's blog sensation. These days, he's a big-time film composer. And he's good at it; he made The Motorcycle Diaries almost bearable.

This one comes from Santaolalla's flat-out beautiful solo album Ronroco. And though it has nothing to do with movies, it just begs for some visual accompaniment. Since I lamely have never been to South America, I fear all of my cinematic imaginings are the tritest of the trite. Still, listening to this track, I can almost feel the dust caked in my palms as the afternoon glare begins to burn holes in my eyes.

Gustavo Santaolalla - Gaucho

Climbing, climbing

Some years ago, a friend gave me a cassette of Mike Oldfield's greatest, uh, hits, I guess you could call them. It was the guiltiest pleasure, one I would deny possessing if anyone ever made the accusation. Discreetly, I listened. A lot. Among the overblown, undercooked 20 minute epics and curious attempts at pop songs, there was this little monstrosity. Just as overblown and ridiculous, but with all the mismatched ideas compressed into a 4+ minute shit diamond, a deadly clot in the artery of good taste. I hope you will love it all weekend long.

Mike Oldfield - Five Miles Out

(Thank Jesus, Oldfield also made a video, as precious as the song itself. A must-see.)

Solo parade

Sure, we all know how home studios have democratized music and let a thousand flowers bloom every day (even if many of them are ugly). But let's not forget another important benefit—that they've rescued the one-man band from old vaudevillian indignities. Like having to sit on a unicycle playing the violin with a harmonica propped up to his mouth, desperately kicking a bass drum between pedal cycles to make a living. Adam Pierce, the anagram-loving multi-instrumentalist who calls himself Mice Parade, has taken full advantage.

I like Mice Parade because he always exudes the joy of a talented guy making music in his own little world, putting on the layers seemingly at his leisure. This song makes zero sense compositionally. It's pretty much three cool sections daisy-chained together. But with such enthusiasm and good taste in influences, who can complain.

Mice Parade - My Workday in May

Communists not so much in love

Hate would be too strong a word, but these guys weren't exactly giddy about the state of the Thatcherized world, with its itchy trigger fingers and rotted ideals. This is the sound of pure disgust, though they make some grudging concessions to the language of rock. But it's a neat trick they're pulling off, with their dour speak-singing, rusty wire guitars, and martial clanging adding up to something mighty human and compelling.

I recently gave Deceit a good listen and was floored all over again. I don't think you'll find a more far-ranging, fully-realized album in the post-punk era. It's ahead of its time alright. And given that the band seemed almost certain about the imminence of nuclear destruction, I'm glad their predictive powers were confined to the music.

This Heat - Cenotaph

A Communist in love

Billy Bragg...you gotta love the bloke. Or at least respect the heart that has been beating faithfully on his sleeve for nearly 30 years. Whether toeing the red line or serenading from outside the window, he's as steadfastly idealistic as they come, even if a little of the edge has come off the accent in recent years. Here's an early one, which finds him in a bit more of an indirect mood than usual. And squeezing every last drop out of a dubious pun - an effort Songblague very much appreciates.

Billy Bragg - The Milkman of Human Kindness

Flying nun, dying one

Yeah yeah, New Zealand is totally happening. Which is great because now a decent chunk of the American population can distinguish between a Kiwi and an Australian accent. Still, I sorta wish Brett and Jemaine—or at least Peter Jackson—would point the kids in the direction of Flying Nun. Here's an absolute classic from the label's early '80s heyday - a beautiful and haunting song that could really do without the little perky intro. Get past that and think of how you'd feel if you killed the one you love and have no idea why. The darkness makes the pop all the sweeter.

The Chills - Pink Frost

Come on feel the Neu!

Sick week continues. The latest developments - bloodshot eyes, clogged ears, antibiotics. Weathering this calls for steady hands. German ones. I need a landmark to get my bearings.

No need to add to the praises heaped on Neu!'s genius, but it's interesting to come to them after yesterday's gimlet-eyed lullaby. Consider them the bony-cheeked European cousin to the wild early-'70s beardmen in Britain and America. Goes to show that there's no language barrier when it comes to the brotherhood of greasy long hair.

Neu! - Hallogallo

Night and daze

Miles wakes up bleary-eyed on the leopardskin rug. There are empty plastic bags and unlabeled bottles on the nightstand, but he's more curious about the cashews and banana peels on the floor. (The cuica in the bed seems to make sense though.) He has no idea what time or day it is. His last memory is of being in mid-musical flight, swirling colors and sweat, flanked by many hairy men in ecstatic waves. He looks out the window and this tune appears full-formed in his head.

Miles Davis - Little Church

Green doesn't matter when you're blue

This song is one cryptic little snowglobe - compact, quietly beautiful, and maybe just pulling your leg a little. Even with a dozen or so musicians, it's so intimate that you're compelled to put your ear right up to it, and then you're brushing up against an arrangement exquisite and fragile like unexpected flowers. As always, Wagner's lyrics are elliptical enough that it's hard to know what kind of response he's looking for. And yet, each portentous line seems so weirdly poignant, you can't help but be moved because someone's story is in there. And then you feel like an ogre fighting a genetic urge to peer down and smash your fine glass globe. And what awful pity you'd have on yourself then.

Lambchop - Ohio

Silicon soul

Still under the weather, still a little sideways, still out of step with time's usual way of passing. So when I hear a song with such an elegant arc, it almost sets me right. This is some sexy synthetic struttin' soul. Minimal music for maximum joy. You really need to let this slow cooker do its thing. By song's end, it's like you've been walking down the road with your mind pleasantly misplaced, only vaguely noticing that a beautiful scene has grown up all around you. It's also like being seduced by a weeping vocoder, if you're into that kind of thing.

Junior Boys - Parallel Lines

Wiggin' out

I've had this cold that won't go away. It's like clouds that arrive and just sit there dumbly raining down, irritating and boring simultaneously. Lying around in the midst of fever dreams and false fits of vitality, a comic self-pity took hold. But also weirdly feeling off enough for long enough to seem almost like someone else. This song popped into my head during one hallucinatory, half-conscious moment. I laughed out loud and can't figure why. Wigs are funny, I suppose. But it's sad to have nowhere near the pep to enjoy it properly. Sniff.

Husker Du - Flip Your Wig

Naked hippie highway car chase scene

If I can overgeneralize for a minute, what is it with Frenchmen and their synthesizers? The stuff's great, but it's never exactly subtle. The gamut seems to run from cinematic to full-on melodramatic. It always feels so epic and free of irony.

Here are some lesser-known Gallic synthmen, who I discovered via a mix they made for Allez-Allez. I'm liking these cats a lot, but the album cover confuses me. For me, this wants to be music for a tweaked-out car chase through the neon streets. I'm not really hearing naked women and children in the forest. Not highways so much either. Now if you put them all together...there's a movie I'd see.

Unrelatedly, Happy Birthday Jess!!

Principles of Geometry - Interstate Highway System