A man on his back counting stars

Moving from pure spirit celebration to chilly internal self-doubt. Happy holidays! Actually, I love this song. It's like a wave that starts as a little stirring in the backwaters and then suddenly crashes over you. So glad they don't repeat the big crescendo.

Low certainly has a way with pacing. And harmony too. And as indie-tragic as the lyrics may be, there's a certain beauty in sullen imagery that reaches desperately for nobility. Surely, we've all been that poor fool on his back counting stars. Now go feast. See you back on Monday.

Low - Little Argument With Myself

Second line any time

Back home. Happy about it and yet a little sad about leaving such a magical place. I'd be remiss if I didn't share some more music from my trip. Here's a recording I made on a raucous Friday night on Frenchmen St. Having eaten some fab jambalaya, enjoyed a set of excellent gypsy jazz, and then participated in a karaoke competition (did I win?), I was just pleased as anything to step outside as this band was getting going. Then I had more jambalaya. I have reached the conclusion that New York needs more second line happenings.

?? - Brass Band on Frenchmen St.

Spider on the keys

Still in New Orleans, and for obvious reasons, it's hard to resist the impulse to share some music. Given the amazing richness of the city's musical history and tangling of those strands, there doesn't seem to be much point in trying to find something representative of what's in my ears down here. But if one had to pick an ambassador, you could do a lot worse than James Booker, who embodies a big part of the city's soul as well as its less luminous side (ie dying dying unnoticed while waiting for care in the emergency room). Sadly, I went to the bar where Booker used to hold court, and it seemed to resemble this a lot more than I'd hoped. Anyway, enjoy this little postcard from my vacation.

James Booker - Papa Was A Rascal

Walking on hallowed ground

Oh snap, it's Bill Nelson again! Songblague has been showing him a lot of love this year, and it's because he keeps filling my head with notes that sparkle. It's actually a little alarming how much I'm not getting sick of him. Or maybe I'm just tired, and fatigue makes you reach for unambiguous pleasures.

At any rate, here's one for your dreamy Autumn pleasure. Enjoy it slowly, because the 'blague will be silent while I go for a little vacation/recharge. See you in about a week and a half. Many good things coming soon...

Bill Nelson - Theology

11

Happy Nigel Tufnel Day! (11/11, nudge nudge.) Technically, the full-on 11/11/11 won't come around until next year, but I see no reason not to get in the spirit now. And who better to take us there than a band that has been unleashing beautiful audio damage for years. Pink showed Boris to be a lot more than just masters of monolithic slabs of intense noise. There are a number of ways to make your ears bleed, and there's nothing wrong with getting a little sexier about it. This one sounds like a car on fire that's speeding down the highway with the brick on gas pedal. The driver is either a bloody pulp on the roadside or ingesting massive quantities of speed in the back seat (my vision is a little hazy on that part).

Boris - Woman On The Screen

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

Know nothings

Is it really just serendipity when a couple of bandmates put out solo albums containing songs with the same title? It wouldn't interest me too much if I hadn't been oddly obsessed with '80s Genesis for a while now. I'll try to explain later. Of course, Mike Rutherford's effort was summarily ignored, while the other guy got his goofy mug on many magazine covers. Actually, it's a little sad. Acting Very Strange isn't that bad an album. It's just that some guys are destined to be the bearded one with the bass (or double neck). But who knew his voice was so gruff!? This one's just honest-to-pop catchy. And the beat is hot, courtesy of Stewart Copeland, for any of you drumming trainspotters. Apparently, he was enlisted for the session while they were playing polo.

Mike Rutherford - I Don't Wanna Know

A confession — I love No Jacket Required. We used to listen to it in the car on special Saturdays when my mom would drive me and my sister an hour and half up South Jersey to the big mall that was noticeably less shabby than our local one. Phil Collins had accidentally taken over the charts, in the way that stars did back then—a breakthrough album pumping out hits like Hasidic babies. (Let's take a moment now to reflect on that simpler time, with seamless successions of albums soundtracking your life for months at a time, Thriller to No Jacket Required to Hysteria.)

I found a vinyl copy of this album at a flea market last summer and it all came flooding back, the radio fodder mixed in with the tracks that insinuated themselves into mid-'80s mythology. And then, this song, with a strange power that arena-sizes the pop knack that had humbly plugged along for years previous. Good on him. Seriously, if you've got no love for the triumph of Sweet Phil, I've got none back for you.

Phil Collins - I Don't Wanna Know

Two of these days

Last Friday's little experiment has inspired me to go full-on with musical homonyms — two songs with the same title that couldn't be more different. On the A-side, a tasty live nugget of chug-chugging, delay-fueled space groovery from the Floyd's pre-stadium days.

These guys were one of my first musical obsessions (pre-drugs, no less!) and it took a while for me to overcome an internal punk-snooty backlash that lasted most of my adult life. I think this one goes to show that there really were some good post-Barrett years. This is what you sound like before you ever hear of tax exile.

Pink Floyd - One Of These Days (live)

Again, chance matches up beardo '70s-ness with a treasure from my tender/prickly youth. I've often made the weird decision to put this on mix tapes for girls. It's a great song of course, just totally wrong for suitoring purposes.

I'm not sure how far I'm going to go with this homonym business, but I've got an idea for tomorrow that I'm rather psyched about. Be sure to swing by.

Camper Van Beethoven - One Of These Days

Wrong again

I guess once you get a Mac attack, you've got to let it ride. Here's a jump-around jam from Lindsey's coke-addled heyday of high ambition. And why play the sweet break on guitar when you can do it on harmonica! As massive betrayals of self-editing go, I must say Tusk is surprisingly tight. Which reminds me to go make that mix of songs from crazy flawed double albums. Call it Disasterpieces? Suggestions welcome. I'm guessing it'll be pretty prog-heavy.

Fleetwood Mac - I Know I'm Not Wrong

Meanwhile, a double shot of Fleetwood Mac demands a palette cleanser. Playing the random song title associations game, here's some fun stuff from high school. As song pairings go, I guess this is mostly...wrong.

Archers Of Loaf - Wrong

Wilderness

I'm fighting the urge to harp on politics. Sure, our electoral temper tantrum was completely self-destructive and put some truly odious characters in positions of high office. None of the crazies took over in my neck of the woods, so there's a little local consolation. But it's still hard to stomach the idiot pundit nattering that will pass for thoughtful analysis. So, yeah, I think a little mental retreat is in order. Here's a woodsy jam from the Mac's pre-Lindsey/Stevie days. Let's get lost in an early-'70s reverie today.

Fleetwood Mac - Sentimental Lady

Four more years

I'm gonna assume most of you are joining me in a shake of the head about the American electorate's collective crap-out last night. Some of you might see this is a sign of maturity, that we're embracing our descent into Third World-ness, with the likes of the new junior Senator from Kentucky stepping on the gas while fueled by an amphetamine rush of moron ideology. Maybe we are. I was hoping we had found another route though. Remember 2 years ago? Yeah, that was a much better party.

But my mind drifts back a little further to election night 4 years ago. I was at a Voxtrot concert and was pretty psyched about it. They were still an it band, still deserving of their hype. It was a good show - pop music with good genes and a crowd of tolerable hipsters who were in good spirits because America was actually throwing the bums out. Between songs, the singer called out the name of yet another Republican reptile who had gone down to defeat. Even in the absence of good guys to cheer for, it was nice to watch the bad ones fall. And now we have new bad ones. Meanwhile, nobody talks about Voxtrot much these days. But they had a good little run too.

Voxtrot - Trouble

Boys next door

If you thought last week's song by Gallon Drunk leaned a little heavy on the vocal stylings of Nick Cave, you've got a point. And it made me take a long-overdue look at Cave's pre-Bad Seeds work. Despite my changing tastes and a drift toward peacefulness, it's good to know I still have an ear for the band's attractive violence. But it shortshrifts their strengths to focus on the anarchy and cathartic aggression. This track—their first single—is almost krautrock! Beyond the caterwauling and devilish organ, there's a sure-handed, insistent pulse that suggests that maybe the devil has more discipline than he gets credit for.

The Birthday Party - Mr. Clarinet

Mobile mellow

A late word on the demise of the Walkman (for those of you who haven't heard, production is finally being discontinued). Good ambient music can absorb almost anything that passes in front of it, holding its space without being protective of it. The usual assumption is that it's best enjoyed in the confines of an interior space, doing things that music shouldn't overwhelm—laying about, washing dishes, reading, scheming, etc. But actually, I'm a big fan of ambient on the go. Put on the headphones, jack up the treated soft pianos and be the calm, roving center of the city, emotionally unplugged and happily looking in from outside.

Harold Budd and Brian Eno - Late October

Like fencing foils and lovely girls I'll never kiss

Prefab Sprout maintain their vice-like grip on my ears. I suspect this will continue as autumn digs in. Overly ornate flourishes aside, Steve McQueen is the jewel, but the debut certainly has its moments. This would be the tune you'd reference if you wanted to explain how a band could make like Steely Dan in the English '80s — counter-intuitive melodic turns that net a nice return on investment and lyrics that look askance on love, longing, and loss. Metaphors aside, I suspect Paddy McAloon always pretty much sucked at b-ball.

Prefab Sprout - I Never Play Basketball Now

Stranger in a strange land

I'm in a new city without a job, so I've been feeling a bit lost as of late. I'm taking extra pleasure in the small things, such as hearing a song for the first time and feeling like I understand it completely. At the same time, I'm feeling a bit like a musical ignoramus for not having heard this "psychedelic masterpiece" sooner. And for initially thinking it was the Rolling Stones. Anyway, here's how it went: last night I was making dinner and my boyfriend put on Side A of SRC's self-titled album. What I thought was an obscure Rolling Stones B-side turned out to be "Black Sheep." Does Scott Richardson (as in Scott Richardson Case; as in SRC) not sing exactly like Mick Jagger on "Ruby Tuesday"?

SRC - Black Sheep

Bad people doing wrong things

Yesterday, I woke up in a nasty mood. It continued all through the day, fueled equally by mundane frustrations (missing elevators, slow walkers) and a sense of big trouble brewing (the oncoming electoral triumph of thuggish orc-like seekers of Congressional office). The thing about a scowl is the longer you hold it, the more naturally it fits, even when there's no shortage of sunshine around you. And you end up with this song stuck in your head and feeling kinda good about it. Maybe that good feeling is what keeps the malice inside. I'm sure it will pass.

Gallon Drunk - Jake On The Make

Tweedom rock

Yesterday's menace gives way to the poster children of tweedom. But Songblague has the gentleness of a true tough guy. Which allows us to smile on this song, pet its tender head, and take it by the sweatered arm into our warm home. The lyrics are a crock of shit (go find anyone with such a sanguine view of breakups), but the lilt makes me go along with it. Tease me and I'll rip your arm off.

The Field Mice - When Morning Comes To Town

Rock n' roll funhouse

The only thing cooler than putting a song together is taking it apart. Or more specifically, creating something that sounds taken apart and then reassembled with a total disregard for traditional ideas of shape. Such was the stock in trade of U.S. Maple, one of the most interesting indie bands of the late '90s/early '00s. If the guitars sound all Beefheart-y, it's because they were on the same wavelength. Which I guess would be a bunch of wavelengths at once, a very specific order masquerading as chaos. As for those raspy vox, sure, they're a little creepy, but wasn't rock n' roll supposed to be disturbing once too? You can even waltz to parts of this.

U.S. Maple - Ma, Digital

Five lives in one

Tom Verlaine's first solo album is pretty much on the level of Television. The man's got some kind of style, which I suppose is how he makes riffy rock n' roll seem several steps beyond Rolling Stones-esque triteness. I love that little piano bit. Sounds like a cartoon cat walking through a dark alley.

Tom Verlaine - Souvenir From A Dream

Mercury rising

Here's a fun one, courtesy of an obscure Spanish psych outfit who made a concept album about the planets. I don't know what the concept is beyond naming songs after each planet. Whatever. Just talking about the solar system is cool. It's some groovy stuff, and you can find it here. So let's take a minute to appreciate the runt of our planetary family, the first to go up in flames if the sun ever has a really nasty temper tantrum.

Proyecto - A Mercurio

Humble experiments

Ladies and gentlemen, Songblague proudly presents the unsexiest saxophone ever recorded. Barry Black was a side project of Eric Bachmann (of Crooked Fingers and ex-Archers of Loaf croaksmanship) where he got to indulge his "serious music" aspirations. The stuff is pleasant enough as Composition 101 fare, but the charm is in appreciating little seedlings that don't have much hope of germinating and don't seem at all diminished by their modest ambition. This tune sounds like it should soundtrack a claymation film about a haunted house.

Barry Black - Chimps

Tippett point

Most of the time, I'm happy that I'm not living in 1971. Except when I hear tracks like this. I can almost see the sun's glare in my mental picture of this band's imaginary outdoor concert. Which I'd much rather look at than this terrifying album cover.

Keith Tippett - Black Horse

At your fingertips, out of reach

I'm a pepper. This weekend, I finally broke down and got an iPhone. "Broke down" is of course all wrong, since this is clearly an upgrade on every level of my being. Now I am whole. Not to be too sarcastic about it, but I've always been ambivalent about early adoptership of new gadgets, even ones that do revolutionize your daily life. My professional life aside (bloody hypocrite), my instinct is to pause indefinitely when it becomes de rigueur to own a thing and when not owning it consigns you to a sort of second-class citizenship, especially if...gasp...if you're not broke enough to be priced out. Especially when said gadget does present a new platform for social exchange. The fetishized commodity...blah blah. Well, it's true. Aren't there more interesting things to fetishize? And I'm not even one of those paranoid types who's weirded out by GPS knowing where I am at every moment. Maybe a little.

The main thing is that the more you have, the more you have to lose. The iPhone's ability to consolidate the components of your life is astounding, and getting used to that does put you in a certain servitude to the new normal. I'm not a live-by-your-wits-in-the-woods type, but I try to maintain some sense that I can exist a little outside the cradle of our loving machines. Yes, I'm aware that I'm saying this on a blog that is fully a part of that network. And now I've nestled even deeper into my place on the grid, marveling at my new toy's ability to put so many of my world's levers into my tingling hands as to convince me that is really can be that small.

Which is a long wind-up for a tune that does just the opposite — pushing and flowing, expanding, dissolving, coyly luring you in and then escaping your grasp.

Woolfy - The Warehouse (Project Sandro's Wall To Wall Mix)

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

The wrath of Kan

He's been called the French David Bowie. Does every country have its David Bowie? Does David Bowie have a David Bowie? I don't know much about Alain Kan other than that he seemed to enjoy shocking the public, and then one day vanished at a Paris metro station. Excellent career move. Thanks to Paul Durango for putting him on my radar, where he will stay.

Alain Kan - Le Premier Bébé De Lady Star Lune