Sirens in corduroy

I guess they're not technically in cords on the album cover, but the Roche sisters certainly exude that vibe. Their folk fusion is much more snarky, cynical '70s than embarrassingly literal, shrill '60s. And they can sing. Together. In impressive harmony. I like 'em.

This would probably be their hit. Sort of a minimal, wise-ass "She's Leaving Home," from a perspective that's jealous and bitter rather than heartbroken and resigned. And yes that's Robert Fripp making awesome cameos around the 2 and 4 minute marks. Dude knows just where to put those notes. Plus triangle! Delish.

The Roches - Hammond Song

Sandpaperscapes

So many ways to do it moody. This one fits into Songblague's growing tradition of ambient goodness of a decidedly desolate variety. Tim Hecker is a master of texture, and he keeps getting better. Which makes it even harder to find a language to talk about it. This track makes me feel like I'm taking a microscope to the album cover and tracing strange topographies in equally strange shades of gray. Mang.

Tim Hecker - Chimeras

Home

It's a rare trick to create a song so somber and funky at once. Plus those menacing strings that I love so much, and even a progged-out guitar/xylophone run! I and many of my favorite people also live in Brooklyn baby, but in truth, the place that this soul chant conjures is miles away from the strollerville that Songblague calls home.

Roy Ayers - We Live In Brooklyn, Baby

Unstitch the seams

It's been almost two years since an excited conversation about a song at a bar on a Monday night sparked a series of emails that eventually begat this blog. In honor of its continued awesomeness, I'm more than delighted to step in and cast a different perspective on the conversation.

Anyway, on to the music. This is the first song I ever heard from one of my favorite bands, and much like a first drunken kiss in the middle of street, that fact leaves a little mark in your memory forever. It's hard not to have a soft spot for that.

In my head, the protagonist of this song is sitting in an orange plastic chair in the badly lit waiting room of a hospital in rural Nebraska. He's just blacked out at the wheel of his car, wrecked it, and suffered a concussion. Naturally, the hospital won't release him until someone comes to get him, and in this moment he's realised that he has no one to call - unless he calls his wife, who hasn't spoken to him since he confessed his affair with one of the neighbors. And naturally, he's freaked out because he's having a midlife crisis and he's not so sure if there's a God, and he hasn't seen the inside of a church in decades anyway.

In real life, I'm 99% sure this song is not about that guy, but I do know that by the time the harmonies kick in at the end, your heart is basically destroyed. It's totally worth it though, I promise.

Okkervil River - The Velocity of Saul At the Time of His Conversion

The gypsy and the moustache

Man, this one's been in the queue forever. I know that Fleetwood Mac is well back in fashion and that Lindsey/Stevie's pre-Mac debut has been adequately rescued from obscurity (thanks to my buddy Terence for hipping me to it). But I'll bet some of you still aren't sold on the magic. I surely am though. Enough to eclipse the memory of having to run laps in gym class to the hit singles off Tango in the Night. All you skeptics, give this magnificent nugget a chance.

Then there's that album cover. What can you say? I'll say that Stevie's thousand-yard-stare isn't fooling me. She knows what she's doing with that right arm. Props to Lindsey for keeping a straight face. Can you imagine the outtakes from this photo shoot?

Buckingham Nicks - Long Distance Winner

And now dear listeners, let me introduce your special guest blogger for tomorrow (and hopefully more thereafter) — Songblague's godmother, Ms. Sarah Flynn. A while back, we had a daily song exchange which ran for a solid 6 months. That worthy enterprise eventually ran out of steam, but it planted the seed for this open-ended listening party we've got going here. I think this space could stand to be a little less of a mono-blog, and I'm very excited to have her on board. Lend her your ears, friends. And your friends' ears while you're at it.

Sloth love Superchunk

Sorry. You probably know by now that the more egregious the pun, the less I can resist. Nothing slothy about Superchunk though. And Songblague does in fact love them. I don't think you can have any fondness for '90s indie rock and not turn an affectionate smile in their direction. It's like watching a kid sitting on top of a fire engine, pretending to drive. With the helmet on and everything. Just too sweet. Hope your weekend is filled with a similar sweetness. And loud guitars.

Superchunk - Good Dreams

PS - Special guest posting begins next week. Team Songblague is in effect!

Tension in Paris

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Europe, they were getting their synthwave on. Check this awesome comp and enjoy the French being something other than slinky, sleazy, or smooth. This is actually one of the least synthy tracks on that collection. I like how it stands at the intersection of postpunk austerity and early new wave's minimal melodic drive. Pretty rare to get that in a romance language.

Act - Ping Pong

Dutch neon

Whole bunch of newness going on at my work. It's mostly for the good, but until my compass resets itself, I'll be more than a little disoriented. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, since it gets me in the mind for some cosmic slo-mo disco, by way of the Netherlands. Happy thanks to the Dirty Space Disco comp for putting this in my orbit.

Risqué - Starlight

Baby tortoise in the desert

I used to like Tortoise a lot. Probably more than they deserved. It's pleasant stuff, but listening these days, they sound like less than the sum of their parts (though they get big ups for schlepping around two marimbas all these years). Here's one of those parts—bassist Doug McCombs's solo project, which does the proverbial 'soundtrack to imaginary film' thing, and does it quite well. He's one of the least bass-y bass players around. Which adds range to the melodies, but sadly, suggests that there was very little bass face going on at the sessions. Oh those dour Chicagoans.

Brokeback - Another Routine Day Breaks

A wool sweater of sound

Anyone else feeling literally sick about the Haitian catastrophe? The thought of deaths reaching into the tens of thousands seems somehow less tragic than the fact that the actual number will never truly be known. Hope everyone's sending what they can. Meanwhile, I'd say some serious musical salving is in order.

I can't imagine why someone awesomely named Francesco Puccioni would flatten it to something as boringly middle American as Mike Francis. Maybe it was some small repayment on the Marshall Plan. He was a smooth operator though. And this Italo pop nugget could have been the "Careless Whisper" of an alternate '80s. With an alternate Boz Skaggs on crooner duty. And, bonus for Friday, here's another piece of specialness to love in the actual present. Youtubing it because it's important to visualize the joy.

Mike Francis - Late Summer Night

Cartoon skeleton army marches on

I'm not sure why, but I just keep seeing that same weird image when I hear this track. My old band used to gig with these guys sometimes, and I always stood in awe of their commitment to full-on stage freakouts. And today Songblague stands in awe of this unstoppable beat.

Meanwhile, everyone go send some money to Haiti right now. Seriously. Not that this song title has anything to do with human empathy, but I guess it fits fine.

Need New Body - Show Me Your Heart

Come on, let's rock

After a double dose of Anglo melancholy, I think it's time for some landlocked American rawk. And so it will be. I always thought Bob Mould hit it just right with Sugar—Hüsker Dü muscle with pop hooks aplenty. Oh yeah, and finally a kick-ass rhythm section. Even though the Beaster EP that followed their hit debut had an odd menace to it, this track fully captures the melodic ferociousness that is Mould's gift to humanity. His voice is just huge here, even though it's kinda buried in the mix. The man sure had some pipes to go with that guitar back in the day.

Sugar - Tilted

Sadder than bombs

It says something about music's strange alchemy that some songs stop you dead in your tracks even after a million and a half listens, when you think you've squeezed out every last drop of emotional impact. Here's one of those for me. I'm not even sure why. The lyrics are pretty plain by the Mozzer's standards, straight-up maudlin, without the sly black humor. It doesn't even bother with narrative arc.

But I guess it's the little things that do it for me—Johnny Marr being all wizardly with layered guitar parts, the understated complimentary bassline, the quiet synth doubling that comes in at the outro. Among the ranks of objective Smiths classics, this is sorta B-list. And yet...it kills me every time.

The Smiths - Back To The Old House

How has it taken this long to get a Smiths jam up on the 'blague?! Here's the stripped-down Peel Sessions version. Even sadder, ghostlier. Do you have a favorite?

The Smiths - Back To The Old House

Hearing the cuckoos cry

Some pairings are odd, and some are odd, but just make sense. Case in point - the Captain Howdy, a collaboration between Kramer (longstanding acid pop experimentalist and facilitator; no, not the Seinfeld dude) and Penn Jillette (yes, the guy with Teller). I believe both are under-appreciated. And I think this song finds their their strengths in perfect harmony — brain-massaging psych track backing a monologue charming told. There's some useful truth in it too. Even on Songblague, I long for Songblague.

The Captain Howdy - I Long For Kyoto

Gimme ah-ooh in your chorus

It always gets me how anything Steve Albini touches sounds like Steve Albini, no matter what the band has to say about it. I'm not a huge fan of his leaden style. Or his killjoyness, which is probably not unrelated. The drums always seem to drag. The music makes me visualize a recording studio, rather than the bands' own sound pictures. But this one defies that gravity. It glides and shimmers. And in 7/8 time, no less!

The Forms - Bones

Sadness makes the vainest fools

Wow, another Robert Palmer song that's just straight-up, un-ironically awesome!? Who knew? This one came at me suddenly, and I've been holding it close ever since. But something about it keeps eluding me, like trying to discern a strange face in the dark. Maybe it's the off-kilter vocal cadence and the way the verses slide into a refrain that fills the word "want" with a most terrible desperation. His delivery still oozes Mr. Cool Expat, but there's such simmering anguish underneath, I'm amazed the tape didn't just snap in the mixing room. Meanwhile, I'm gaga for the sinister, swoopy synth moodiness, à la mid-'80s Depeche Mode. You pull that off and you get my everlasting devotion. All that and the good grace to fade at around 3 minutes...I want more!

Robert Palmer - Want You More

Lunatic in funkytown

Everyone knows John Lurie is one kool kat. Just look at those eyes and sleeves. I love the fake jazz poses that the Lizards strike (musically and visually), but it's the crazy, dead-blank look on Arto Lindsay's face that tips their hand. It's an expression that telegraphs all the damage he wants his guitar to do to you. It's some impressive violence, but the groove holds strong. How weird must it have been to see these guys on tour with '80s King Crimson?!

The Lounge Lizards - Do The Wrong Thing

Gonna set myself on fire

As part of Operation 'Relax, But Don't Let Your Brain Go To Mush' during the holiday deadweek, I found myself digging up old mixtapes, specifically the ones from old Decembers. The one I made around Christmas of my sophomore year in college saw me in an especially Lounge-y mood (I sometimes forget about that fascination). And yet tucked into the schmaltz was this old chestnut. I jumped around the room from muscle memory, reminding myself that Fugazi is awesome at any age. And today, it's invaluable in helping me jump back onto the work merry-go-round.

Fugazi - Margin Walker

This is not a new year

Alright 2010. The year we make contact. Start of the 'tweens. No looking back. Not even to grab the fedora from under the rapidly closing vertical door. The boulder is coming. What to do?

Onward! Lydon and the boys didn't have too much time for nostalgia either, even if early PIL sounded a lot like the Sex Pistols, but with a better bass player. I'm not suggesting that this should be the year of sneering cynicism. But sneering is OK, as long as it garnishes constructive acts. Like the man said, you have to incorporate if you want ownership over yourself. I sorta prefer discorporating, but that's just me.

Public Image Ltd - Public Image