Fragmented

I'm a sucker for fragmented compositions. They're an easy way to invoke the landscape of dreams. Or nightmares, depending on your state of mind. Takeo Toyama has some big-scale ambition in terms of the elements he brings together. I'm not sure the result really adds up, but I like the world it begins to construct. Title-wise, I don't really see where porno comes into the picture, but hey, that's dreams for ya.

Takeo Toyama - Hello Porno

Adrift

The storm hit and ran, but left so many shards of its impact that it'll keep wounding us for months. Or years. Or many years. The relief I felt when my neighborhood was spared was quickly overwhelmed by the sense that our bones have been broken to a degree that is just becoming apparent. Which leads to a feeling of general sickness, even as my pseudo-staycation allows me to stroll my immediate streets throughout a couple mild afternoons and enjoy wine-softened evenings full of easy electrical comforts. A sickness exacerbated by the knowledge that while my hometown is maybe less underwater now, it has been distorted in a permanent way, and still lacking in eyewitness reassurance of basic stability. 

The good news is that this kind of anxiety beyond my own personal well-being makes me confident that I'm generally a decent human being. And also I found some music that resonates with my current unmoored state of mind. I'll be tied up the rest of this week, so enjoy this one until Monday.

Loose Fur - Chinese Apple

Swing from a good good rope

These days, I'm wouldn't even pretend to boast about being the first kid on the block to get to know about this or that band. I wasn't a super early adopter 10 or so years ago, but I do remember catching an early wind of TV On The Radio's Young Liars EP and knowing there was something special about them, even if in retrospect they were just beginning to crawl out the Williamsburg murk and into the sunshine of global acclaim.

That debut work continues to sounds great. In some ways, even better than the big brilliance of what they've evolved into. This song remains my favorite — a bold cover that absolutely re-imagines (and arguably overtakes) an indie rock semi-classic. People talk about the voices that haunt. This has about 15 of them.

TV On The Radio - Mr. Grieves

Tomorrow ain't what it used to be

And a damn shame for all of us. It's nothing new to be discouraged by our collective dread at what's to come. But when you hear a tune that hints at a prior era's sense of wide-eyed (or stony-eyed) wonder at future possibilities, it just brings into relief the sadness of our time. Meanwhile, a thumbs-up to Madlib for re-imagining this groove; the sample is culled from Donald Byrd's track of the same name.

Madlib - Stepping Into Tomorrow

In the city

Manishevitz were another of those also-ran bands from the early-'00s indie rock sweepstakes that populate my record collection more than I would've thought. Bummer, because aside from the obvious Bryan Ferry meets Mark E. Smith vocal tics, these guys had a nice little sound going. Their City Life album is worth your 40 minutes, and this cut makes me happy a lot. Talking barroom-style piano adorning an urbane shuffle. And just plain good songwriting.

Manishevitz - City Life

Lunar interlude

With a pair of double-wide posts so far this week, I'd say a little interlude is in order. And I like that it comes courtesy of Jonny Greenwood, whose main paycheck band rarely gets play as a palette cleanser. At any rate, you may know of his compositional ambitions. This one is a lot less ominous, more a moment to pause and reflect on gravity, or conscience, or whether you may have left the iron on before leaving home.

Jonny Greenwood - Moon Mall

Shins kick in

Continuing a look back to pop of the early 'aughts. I admit I loved that first Shins record, then gradually tired of the preciousness. Which is not to say I want any kicking to come their way. They actually could rock it out in their fashion. Not on this one though. Pure melodic gracefulness and an angelic swirling outro. Such a pretty way to endure a weekend of 9/11 memorial saccharine.

The Shins - Saint Simon

Jogging my memory

You have to have a little affection for bands aping a scene that they're a continent away from. Portland's Joggers seemed to desperately want in on the NYC sound of the early 'aughts. I guess they knew they could never be the Walkmen, so they had the good sense to highlight their harmony chops (not actually in evidence on this track) and lose the attitude. It was a nice angle, but it didn't raise them above the pack of also-rans. Still, I put on their debut album the other day and was pleased that it brought fond memories of that time, in all its nasal-voiced charm.

The Joggers - Hot Autism

Shimmering

There are lots of ways to love the guitar. Hey, not like that. Mind out of the guitar, people. The sound of the thing, I mean. I don't usually think about it. Growing up with rock n' roll means the guitar seems as much a part of nature as water. But sometimes, its properties just assert their magic — a brain-melting Eddie Hazel solo, a John Fahey rhapsody, Johnny Marr doing just about anything. And then there are minor moments that stop you all the same. Like this tune, where the steady, reverb'd string-raking ushers you solemnly into an ethereal place that suddenly comes into existence. Respect to my man Carl for bringing it to my attention.

The Bloodthirsty Lovers - Call Off The Thugs

Icy icy

I may be cheating a little with this one. These two songs are the same song, but delivered in such wildly different voices that the genetic link is very much in question. I keep meaning to like the Fiery Furnaces more than I actually do. In theory, I like that they wrap many of their best hooks in dense cobwebs, but in practice, I often reach for something else. Maybe I'm a little crotchety that way. Here's one where they just let simple be simple. A dreamy little helicopter ride over a mythical topography.

The Fiery Furnaces - Tropical Ice-Land

And here's the big colorful cartoon version. Sounds like end-credits music for a movie you should try to make.

The Fiery Furnaces - Tropical Ice-Land

Shoulders are sweet

Moving from an actual Frenchman to someone who just wears it well. While this one's sung in English, it earns style points courtesy of production from the very smooth customer Benjamin Burgalat. It's uniquely dreamy and also a little overloaded at the same time, the usual problem when you try to recreate yesterday's atmosphere with today's tools. Which are fast becoming yesterday's tools. How weird to feel nostalgic for 2003.

April March - Somewhere Up Above

Plus minus

Wow, accidental double dose of instrumental introspection. I think something zippy is in order today. Nothing earth-shattering. Just a crisp, honest slice of guitar pop from that album where Scott McCaughey had Wilco as his backing band. Which explains the vibraphone and kinda pointless fall-apart ending. Wistfulness goes nicely with bendy riffs though.

The Minus 5 - Where Will You Go

Eavening

I suppose I wouldn't be doing justice to summertime without some songs that namecheck it explicitly. There's really no logic to why certain bands make it and others don't. The Eaves (I'm assuming they broke up) were also-rans in the battle of backward-looking New York bands of the early '00s. It's fairly obvious that they had lots of dream pop records in their collections and didn't do too much to tweak the influence once they bought pedals of their own. So what? Competence is more and more a virtue to these ears. I like that the singer's voice is dreamy but rooted. And I like that this song reminds me of summertime walks home from the bar back in those early 'aughts.

The Eaves - Summer Gold

Sweet Africa

The Ethiopiques compilations—featuring Ethiopian pop from the '60 and '70s—have offered an embarrassment of musical riches over the last decade. Not only as an archival exercise, but also a valuable corrective to Western pop conventions, especially with singers. Notwithstanding the Joanna Newsoms of the pop map, it's really amazing how narrow our ears are in terms of vocals. We're awfully conservative in what we consider tonally pleasing. And we're even less tolerant of melodies that color outside the bar lines. A lot of Ethiopian stars would be considered novelty acts in America.

Here's a track from more recent times, involving Ethiopian and European musicians together—a little smoother and whole lot clearer than the older jams. I like it because the singers are doing pretty things that unsettle at the same time—a piercing lead melody that charts like a sine wave and a response that trills and grunts. It takes a minute to sound natural, but when it does, it's a breeze of new and friendly air, as lilting as the music behind it. Oh and also I appreciate any soprano saxophone that doesn't make me want to set myself on fire.

Yèshimèbèt - Medo Hane

Triumphantly fleeing old selves

Ruts are hell—suffocating, torturously self-reinforcing. A room without windows. That's why it's so inspiring to see people busting out of them. If any band was headed toward dangerous self-parody, it was Belle & Sebastian at the beginning of the '00s. It turned out all they needed was Trevor Horn to knock them out of their comfort zone.

I laughed out loud when this track came on the stereo the other day. The good kind of out loud. Enjoying its jaunty catchiness, I couldn't help but imagine how they would've done it years before—precious, maudlin, the usual accusations. Instead, it's almost Broadway in its garish orchestration, complete with cartoonish bwah bwah trumpet. They seem to be having a sly kind of fun all the way through and breathing a whole lot easier for it. Sorta like the album cover - people with portentous facial expressions now accompanied by other people with spaghetti on their heads. Bravo.

Belle & Sebastian - Dear Catastrophe Waitress

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

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

Christmas in New York

Ah, the Yuletide. Most years, I find myself with plans fallen through or neglected, spending Christmas day in the emptied-out city. Not having much use for the holiday itself, I tend to happily drift through town, enjoying the hush and exodus. It lasts just long enough to get into some good alone-time reflection before actual loneliness can set in.

This song came to my attention in a bar in Tel Aviv. Hey, why not? Having since heard Elliott Smith's original, I like this one much better. And I think it aptly suits my Christmas mind. Sure, it's maudlin, but it's pretty like cold air and tiny lights.

Madeleine Peyroux - Between The Bars

And, special for Christmas, a friendly note on appropriate holiday behavior. With love from Songblague.

Reverend J.M. Gates - Did You Spend Christmas in Jail

I followed you

I'll admit it, I didn't think these guys would have the staying power. Then for a while, I thought of them as brunch rock, to borrow a friend's phrase. I got into YLT in the mid-'90s, so for a long time they lived in the same mental file cabinet as Pavement, Guided By Voices, etc, even though had had more charm and eclecticism than most of that stuff blasting out of dorm rooms back then.

But they just kept going, getting more assured at whatever they tried their hand at (their cover of Sun Ra's "Nuclear War" was particularly inspired.) Sometimes, they can get a little precious. Not in a fragile way, but rather in their tendency to be overly curatorial about their influences. But this one is just a good loud, pretty rocker fueled by sadness.

Have people started naming their kids Ira or Georgia yet?

Yo La Tengo - Today Is The Day

Hit a stride

There are days when you get up with an all-too-familiar headache, ready to quietly surrender before you start. But then, as if pulled by unseen hands, you start getting things done in rapid succession. And you feel a whole lot bigger than resignation. Here's one that fits that surge. It's also part three in an accidental instrumental rock block. Electro-acoustic tastiness. Hope you're feeling it.

The Books - That Right Ain't Shit