Don't seek the blood from the panther

Moving right along...from the aphoristically-minded Fripp to the equally meditative "brothers" Ween. This is about as perfect a send-up of proggish lyrical muck as you're likely to find, made all the more fun because it comes from a place of genuine affection. It's awfully bonged-out, but it wisely reminds you how necessary it often is to embrace both love and cringing mockery of a musical style at the same time. Somehow, both impulses feel richer in tandem. I'd say a fair bit of SB's aesthetic these days is a result of that dual consciousness. Mang.

Ween - The Stallion, Pt. 3

Nightmare beach party

It was over 30 years ago, but it feels like just yesterday. You had your beach blanket, bathing suit, big inflatable ball, and you were ready to leisure the sunny day away. Until suddenly, dour Bob Fripp emerged from the surf, set up his stool, and unleashed precision-guided menace all over the soft sand. When later interviewed by reporters, he discoursed on the research & development phase of Frippertronics through the prism of contemporary dance music. In the absence of follow-up questions, he got his his reel-to-reel going and soloed gently against drifting soundscapes as the sun sank forgivingly.

Robert Fripp & The League Of Gentlemen - Cognitive Dissonance

Jet set hot nerdness

Oh sweetness, does this one just nail it! Grovesnor (aka Rob Smoughton) is a sometimes-member of Hot Chip, maker of excellent mixes, and top crafter of H&O-nodding, '80s neon r&b pop gems. He's also aces at turning a weakness into strength. I think his aesthetic wouldn't work half as well if he didn't totally foreground the schlub factor. He clearly know that the night may belong to the beautiful, but the nerds create the soundtracks.

Grovesnor - Taxi From The Airport

Music from a world where high school theater people are tolerable

Spencer Krug should be just too precious for me. Too theatrical, fantastical, lily-white. And yet... he continues to rock me right. Maybe it's our shared citizenship (joint) of Canada. Or the organ and guitars he's got swirling rhapsodically here. I'd sit through a musical that featured this tune.

Sunset Rubdown - Paper Lace

Dance party in the auto factory

Just because machines work the assembly line now doesn't mean they don't also need to cut loose afterward. Except they don't go down to the bar to get blasted. They just rock an all-night rave up right there on the factory floor after the lights go out, and they don't even need to limp to work the next day.

Cornelius - Another View Point

Painted ladies

Some bands just perplex with their monikers. Say you're a bunch of dreamy-voiced ladies from LA who write sparkly, music that billows out in soft shapes around the room. The word "paint" may be applicable to your sound, but not when preceded by "war." Whatever. Guess you have your reasons. Which I might try to suss out if I weren't lulled into a reverie by this song right here.

Warpaint - Stars

Charged particles

You start your song off with the bass insistence of "Psycho Killer," and I turn my glance in your direction. You push into a searing, Can-esque groove and I'm getting in the car, fastening my seat, and ignoring the scenery. You kick into a chorus that sparks off like dirty fireworks, and I'll sit tight as you take us through a second half that sounds like you forgot to turn off the tape machine while you rehearsed your next song. There are worse kinds of chance encounters. An yet again, a salute to the infinitely kind Mutant Sounds for the rip.

Patrick Burke - Target Atoms Tirade

Good associations

Several months ago, Kissing The Pink segued out from an Associates jam in the SB flow. And since I couldn't help but give the former a second nod, I figure their neighbor deserves a follow-up too. Which makes sense considering how much I remain enamored of these old Associates. Weird that the voice keeps not annoying me.

The Associates - Even Dogs In The Wild

Don't throw away the years

You know a band is great when it can pull on several of the best musical threads of their time and still sound uniquely like themselves. The unfortunately-named Kissing The Pink left a pretty thin body of work, but it's all worth your time. I posted a track a while back, but I think they deserve a more than a little extra love, if only for the delightfully weird synth sound at the base of this song. Moody deliciousness.

Kissing The Pink - It's All For You

One for the road

I'm not sure why I'm often compelled to post a piece of avant Judaica just before heading out of town on a road trip. I'm pretty sure it's not a one-way exodus, but I guess you never really know. Anyway, here are San Francisco's Secret Chiefs 3 rocking up a tune from John Zorn's Masada songbook. Having visions of a tallis draped across the rental sedan. A good way to get pulled over.

Secret Chiefs 3 - Akramachamarei

Bubbles in the brain

I suppose if you're going to cover a sultry jazz standard, it helps to be from another planet. Or the future. Or France circa 1980. This one reminds me of another weird work of re-imagination.

Lio - You Go To My Head

Hazy lazy

Yesterday's song was long and fraught. This one's just long and spaced-out. But then the electrons jump an energy level at 3:55. Bands like this take a lot of abuse (even the word "shoegaze" is so sneeringly dismissive), but really, when they create and hold a mood like this, what's to complain about?

Lush - Desire Lines

(Bonus — sometimes these guys rocked it out too. Your patience is rewarded with one such fireball.)

Conn man

Stretch out for this one, people. If you're up for a multi-sectioned tour through the wasted American mindscape strung out on fables of wealth and success, Bobby Conn will happily take you there. Don't settle too deep into the spooky cabaret intro or gentle guitar picking that follows because some serious glam histrionics await on the other side of the 3:30 mark. Conceptually incoherent, but in a fine way.

People complain that Bobby Conn is bombastic and goes for easy sociopolitical sarcasm when a bunch less self-righteousness would serve him better. They're mostly right, but there's something I like about the downers who were all strident about the decay of American culture even in the pre-9/11 triumphalist salad days. At least he went for theatrical excess when his peers were busy doing the stand and stare. Also, the stuff is a weird no-man's land between note-perfect '70s excess and an earnest desire to write protest songs. It's a rare pair of sunglasses that can accommodate both these ambitions.

Bobby Conn - You've Come A Long Way

Rumble by clockwork

You can say what you will about the Police (I still say they were awesome; we can debate it later), but I will tolerate no slander on Stewart Copeland's drumming. Rarely do you find a percussionist who completely owns his/her style, where the more people imitate it, the more it shines. I should know. His were some of the first tricks I stole when I was 14 and learning to play.

Given the results of his erstwhile bandmates' solo endeavors (I believe Sting is still lost in his Fields of Shit), Copeland's film soundtrack work really does stand up. And, of course, how could I not have some love for drummers successfully stepping out of their comfy domain. His score for Francis Ford Coppola's Rumble Fish is a total winner. The music combines the best parts of Copeland's kinetic nervy drumming with artfully clackety-clack mechanical samples and a noirish melodic sensibility. It makes for a perfect audio analogue to the movie itself, which is also pretty great, in case you haven't seen it. You can hear a lot of those elements in this track, the title of which notwithstanding, bears absolutely no resemblance to this sweet number.

Stewart Copeland - Tulsa Tango

One day, we will all be the old dude at the rock show

I suppose it's inevitable for every show-goer to experience that special moment where he become the guy who frowns with displeasure at the kids massed around him, uttering the dreaded phrase he used to joke about. For me, it happened when I went to see the trendy Dirty Beaches last week. I've allowed myself to go along with the buzz, because I do like the dude's mysterious, lo/no-fi aesthetic. And I was excited to see how he'd translate the bedroom grit to the stage.

Turns out, he didn't even try. Dressed in what I guess he thinks a Johnny Cash/Nick Cave/Suicide listening tough guy would wear, he appeared solo on stage, yammered in a tough guy mumble, and then launched into karaoke versions of his own songs. He literally had the recorded tracks playing while he did his vocal thing overtop with the distortion cranked in the mic. He seemed awfully pleased with himself until the power went out, and he went all Wizard of Oz exposed, standing silent, no idea how to roll with this tech fail. Decidedly un-tough guy. By the time he got his mojo back, I was pushing my way toward the exit.

But before this disappointment, the night had already been salvaged by this fun little opening band. They're a duo from Austin who clearly have little use for excess sound or affectation. Naturally, much of the audience chattered their way through their set, but I was happy to be surprised and charmed by a warmup act that had me bobbing my head with no frown to be seen.

Yellow Fever - Newbie

Space spirals

Yesterday's tune got us into space. And what with fuel costs being what they are, may as well hang out in the distant reaches a bit, courtesy of Gong guitarist Steve Hillage, who has continued to be terribly under-appreciated. Maybe he should've teamed up with fellow Steves Howe and Hackett to form a less embarrassing supergroup than what they came up with on their own. Actually, it's probably better that he pursued a more cosmically-minded career.

Steve Hillage - Meditation of the Snake

Bionic boogie

I usually try not to judge a song by its album cover. Except in cases like this, where the imagery gives all the context clues you need to know what you're getting into. And we are in fact getting into a sporty little space vehicle bound for interstellar escapades. If nothing else, this tune gives "bionic" some much-needed non-dystopian associations, and the world should be grateful for that. Maybe this is what interstellar radio will one day sound like.

Francis Rimbert - Bionic

Peanuts plus

Wouldn't you know it — Songblague turns 2 years old and I'm not even around to mark the occasion. I'd say it at least warrants taking a little listen back to SB's first day on planet Internet. It's an intro tune I'm still quite pleased with.

I guess now that I'm toddling, I may as well tap into some happy childhood memories. Borrowed memories of course, since I wasn't much of a presence in 1965, when the world swooned to the jazzy pep of the Peanuts' Christmas antics. But I found a nice rip of the album (with a great helping of vinyl crackle intact) around the holidays, and have continued to be charmed by it. Especially this seminal track, which pulls off the unique trick of sounding like something appropriate for both children around the fire and drunk Santas about to collapse at the bar right around last call.

Vince Guaraldi - Christmastime Is Here

And a little 2fer Tuesday to remind you that Vince Guaraldi had some grown-up gems too. Here's something Charlie Brown and Linus might've been listening to as they celebrated the procurement of their first dimebag. I'm sure Snoopy was there too.

Vince Guaraldi - Oaxaca

Silky sinning

OK! A week off the decks, and now I'm refreshed and ready to rock, roll, or some combination of the two. Metaphorically that is, because we're jumping back in with a rather un-rocking tribute to sin.

In the '80s, guitar strangler/late-model samba practitioner Arto Lindsay had the nifty idea of releasing a series of albums based on the seven deadly sins. So he hooked up with avant keyboardist Peter Scherer and created the Ambitious Lovers, a vehicle for state-of-the-art (now very dated) dance pop that was mostly outside their respective comfort zones. Results were mixed, and I think they only got around to three of the seven sins before the project ran aground. Here's one of the winners. I guess the coming-slowly-toward-you-at-the-bar groove is where the lust fits in.

Ambitious Lovers - More Light