I Totally Hear That

A Brand New Blog!!

2007-10-24T11:13:00.001-05:00

Hello everyone,

After all the fun and excitement of "I Totally Hear That," I just couldn't resist launching a new blog.

So now you can find me--in expanded, fancier form--at The Critical Condition. It's a site for awesome reviews of movies, music, and TV.

Hope to see you there!

--Mark

Hiatus

2007-09-12T11:00:00.000-05:00

Hello all,

Due to the fact that I have multiple deadlines every day for the rest of September, "I Totally Hear That" will be on hiatus until October 1.

I'll look forward to kicking the fun back into high gear next month!

-Mark

Mark in the NY Times

2007-09-02T22:09:00.000-05:00

Howdy, everyone! Check out my latest story in the Sunday Arts & Leisure section of "The New York Times!" It's about musical theater performers branching out into mainstream music careers.

Yowza!

Time After Time (After Time, After Time)

2007-08-26T22:49:00.000-05:00

As I write this, a rock band called Quietdrive has reached the Top 100 of the iTunes singles chart with its version of "Time After Time."

Yes, that "Time After Time." The one that was first a hit for Cyndi Lauper in June 1984. (Back then, I told my parents I was going to marry her. I was only 5 1/2, but I knew what I knew. I also knew that I loved watching Boy George on MTV, so draw your own conclusions.)

In between Lauper and Quietdrive, a dance singer named Inoj ("i-know-jay") reached #6 on the Billboard Hot 100 with her club-friendly remake. Remember it? It's most notable for sounding just like the dance covers of "Heaven" and "Listen to Your Heart."

But that's not all. Wikipedia reports that "Time After Time" has been recorded at least 120 times. Dizzamn!

Obviously, none of us will listen to 120 versions of the exact same song. Unless, of course, we own several Nickelback albums. Boo-yah!

But seriously... in the interest of time-saving, I'd like to narrow the field to the top five versions of "Time After Time." My findings are based on my life experience and the clips I felt like listening to on iTunes, so I wouldn't call this an exhaustively researched list. But it's good enough for government work. Boo-yah!

The All-Time "Time After Times"

(1) Cyndi Lauper's original. Obviously, right? If Cyndi hadn't recorded and co-written such an awesome song, 120 other people wouldn't have cared about it. And don't even pretend like you can surpass her video, in which her boyfriend can't handle her crazy 80s hair.

(2) Eva Cassidy's version Do y'all know bout her? If not, you should really seek out her music. She has the most astonishing voice--the kind of voice that can make her version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" feel as definitive as Judy Garland's--and her technique could melt your heart. Famously, her music didn't gain widespread recognition until after she died of cancer in 1996. She was only 33 at the time, but she still was able to record dozens of songs, including her haunting take on "Time After Time." That's a great gift to the rest of us.

(3) Willie Nelson's version I can't find a full version of Willie's "TAT" online, but I highly recommend you seek out a sample. It's on his 2002 album "The Great Divide," and it really, really rules. I've already espoused Mr. Nelson's awesomeness, and this song proves my point all over again.

"The Great Divide" caught some flak for sounding too adult contemporary to be considered a "true" Willie album, but I think it marks an interesting side trip in his career. Why complain about a record that can make "Time After Time" sound haunting in a new way? Nelson's talk-sung vocal is buffeted by a backing track that reminds me of outer space... all electric instruments and angelic backup singers. Those might seem like odd ingredients, but the result is superb.

(4) Tuck and Patti's version I have a soft spot for this married folk duo because my high school friend Jessica really liked them. We both got emotional over their work, in the same way that we got destroyed by Immortal Beloved. Nowadays, we're better at noticing when earnestness turns into cheese, but it's fun to remember a time when we weren't.

(5) Inoj's version What can I say? I'm a sucker for a dreamy house beat. I like those covers of "Heaven" and "Listen to Your Heart," too.

Special Bonus Treat!

(BONUS) "Time After Time" by Japanese girl-group Earth

Okay, so this isn't the "Time After Time" written by Cyndi Lauper, but sometimes you have to celebrate what a YouTube keyword search provides. The song itself sounds like any other widget created by the pop machine, but the music isn't the point. The joy comes from the English subtitles running at the bottom of the video.

For instance, take a moment to whisper the following phrases out loud: "The falling rain landed on a transparent umbrella/It felt like the same sparkling childhood dream."

Poetry.

I'll let you experience the rest for yourselves...

If Virginia Woolf Wrote About Jordin Sparks...

2007-08-24T13:15:00.000-05:00

Note: The following blog post is an experiment. I wrote it in real time as I gave my first listen to the new single from Jordin Sparks. Though it has been edited for grammar and spelling, the post is otherwise a stream of consciousness reflection.

Please note the moment I lose all pretense of professionalism and start chatting about Jordin Sparks like she is my best gal pal.

---

Here's "Tattoo," the first single from Jordin Sparks' upcoming album.

My first impression? If Blake Lewis' album is influenced by the 80s, then Sparks is totally giving props to the early 90s. (Props! Remember that word?)

If it were 1991, "Tattoo" would be by Sweet Sensation or, frankly, Timmy T. It's pleasantly melodic but not very arresting, which means it's the kind of song you might hear in CVS.

But that's not bad, per se. First of all, I love early nineties pop music. And I appreciate that unlike Katharine McPhee, Sparks has not tried to ape the sassy-yet-horny sound perfected by Christina Aguilera. She at least can avoid claims that she's a trend-chasing puppet.

But is this the kind of debut single we want from an Idol winner? It doesn't grab me by the shirt like "Miss Independent" did.

Okay, let me play it again.

Hmm... is it growing on me? There's something vulnerable and sweet about her vocal. And that yelp they've got looped in the background--Jordin basically yells 'hey!' every four seconds or so--is kind of cool.

And the chorus invites sing-alongs. I can imagine myself at age 11, locked in my bedroom, intently swaying to the mid-tempo beat and relishing the lyrics that sound close enough to poetry for a fifth grader. (This song is certainly more literate than Fergie's moronic "Big Girls Don't Cry." We'll play jacks and Uno cards, will we? First, can we try writing above a second-grade level?)

So anyway... this song is earnest and pretty, and the chorus is catchy. I especially like the way Jordin sings the line "I can't waste time, so give it a moment": She puts a tremulous lilt on the word "moment," giving it about forty-five syllables. It's fun to sing with something like that. It encourages you to ball up your fist and squint your eyes, which totally proves that you're feeling it.

(third listen now)

Of course, the chorus also contains the phrase "Don't look back at a new direction."

Um... what?

Well... maybe I'm misunderstanding the lyrics. Like I said, though, they're generally pretty good. The song seems to be about moving forward with your life, even if people that know you want to protect you from mistakes you might make. In the first verse, she sings:

No matter what you say about life
I learn every time I bleed...

I gotta let my spirit be free
to admit that I'm wrong and then change my mind.
Sorry, but I have to move on
and leave you behind.

That's appropriate for a teenager to sing. Since Sparks is seventeen, this song could be about her parents. Even though she's leaving them to go be an adult, she says they're still "on [her] heart just like a tattoo."

Wow... so this song doesn't have to be about a lover! That surprises me. It's very "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac.

Now that I'm thinking about it, that's really sweet.

Oh my god! Am I getting emotional about "Tattoo?" Is it making me reflect on the bittersweetness of outgrowing your need for your parents' advice?

Did I just get chills from the big note Jordin sings in the bridge?

Am I calling her Jordin now?

Well, damn. Looks like this song is having its way with me. That's how these mid-tempo ballads operate. They seem like they're just sitting quietly in the back of the room, when all along they're worming into your brain. "Let the power ballads grab you with their bombast," they say, "We'll still be here, seducing you. That's how you came to love 'More than Words,' remember?"

So there it is... in the space of a single blog post, I've gone from skeptic to fan.

And yet... strangely... now that I've stopped the audio player on Jordin's MySpace page, I can't remember the song's melody. What is going on?!? What is this twisted magic? Can anyone explain?

You can't spell "cool" without "a-n-n-i-e."

2007-08-21T16:20:00.000-05:00

When I was in college, I asked my friends if there was an artist that we could all agree we liked. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there wasn't, though I suspect a few people claimed they didn't care for The Mamas and The Papas just to be ornery. (Really, who doesn't like "California Dreamin'?")

But even though there may be no act that lives on all our iPods, I would submit that some musicians, regardless of who digs their music, are just unassailably cool.

Case in point? Annie Lennox.

Personally, I've got a sweet spot for most of her work, though I did think "Into the West," the Oscar-winning song she co-wrote for "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King: The Unedited Director's Cut: Now With Extra Footage" was all tease and no reward. Do you guys remember her performance at the Oscar ceremony? That song kept promising to break out the tympanis, but the backbeat never arrived. It was just strings upon strings upon strings, building to nothing.

Still... she's just so awesome. In the 25 years (!) since "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" was a hit, she has rarely seemed anything less than self-possessed. She sings with confidence, almost always sounds fantastic, and carries herself with a cool-yet-nonjudgmental elegance that suggests she has been happy in her own skin for a long time.

Plus, despite changing its color, she has had the same haircut for almost three decades, yet she's always on the forefront of fashion.

Another thing I love about Annie Lennox is how well she executes the theatrical in her public life. Every video and album cover is a carefully wrought performance. She's like Marlene Dietrich, seducing us with the character of herself--never letting us know how much of her we've actually seen.

Even on the cover of her album "Bare," whose name implies a revelation, she keeps up the game. Yes, she's naked, but she's covered in a coat of white dust. She's bare, but she isn't. She's revealing only as much as she wants us to see.

The delicious irony here is that her singing always sounds so pure. Even within the techno chill of "Sweet Dreams," her voice is warm with emotion. And songs like "Why" and "No More 'I Love You's'" demonstrate that she should always be called a soul singer.

Through the fusion of her calculated image and luscious pipes--not to mention her deft songwriting--Annie Lennox has remained majestic.

She stays that way in the video for "Dark Road," the first single from her upcoming album "Songs of Mass Destruction." As a pop song, it's her strongest release in years--maybe this is where the drums from "Into the West" ended up--and as a video, it showcases her genuine skill as an actor. (Sort of like "Ring the Alarm" did for Beyonce.")

Here's the video: Watch and enjoy!

So Much Smoother Than "Smooth"

2007-08-19T21:40:00.000-05:00

Wait. Seriously? I like the new Matchbox Twenty song? Because I really loathe Rob Thomas' music. As in, "Smooth" makes me want to kill somebody, and that damn song "Lonely No More" is just so... proud of itself. Being able to use a drum machine doesn't make you cool, Robbo. If it did, we would all be worshiping at the feet of Club Nouveau.

And do not get me started on Matchbox Twenty's earlier music. Yes, I bought their first album, but what was I supposed to do? I was in high school! "Push" and "3 A.M." were always on the radio, and I had disposable income!

(Just so you know, a similar set of circumstances, resulted in my purchase of a Spin Doctors album in the 8th grade. Turns out, little miss was wrong on almost every damn song.)

Generally, I find Matchbox Twenty--or Matchbox 20, or MtchBx20, or whatever variation they're using--to be bloated, self-serious, and absolutely no fun. They're like Live, but without the one really great album.

Given all this antipathy, you can imagine how surprised I was when I was listening to the radio; heard "How Far We've Come," the new Matchbox Twenty single; and didn't hurl anything at the wall. In fact, I bobbed my head. Possibly, I danced a little.

But I can't get past that jangly guitar in the intro, which is sassy like a beach party. Then there's the syncopation in the bridge: The vocal and the drums have a war, and the only victims are my swiveling hips.

More than anything, I like this song because, despite its heavy guitar line and Thomas' standard mumbling, it sounds effortless. It's a short, sharp shock of power-pop that makes Matchbox Twenty sound less like Counting Crows' mopey cousins and more like Fountains of Wayne's crazy next-door neighbors. You know, the ones they call when they want to cook burgers at 4 A.M.

Since Prince was on Apollonia

2007-08-16T21:16:00.000-05:00

Kanye West has made me cranky before, but these are the times when he justifies his arrogance.

"Stronger" lays waste to so many current hip-hop songs that it should make artists like T-Pain ashamed. Hell, even Timbaland, darling of the moment, hasn't created a beat in the last two years that has the thumping, epic grandeur of West's latest brainchild. This song is on par with "Jesus Walks," and that's one of my favorite songs of all time.

"Stronger's" sample of the Daft Punk song "Harder, Better, Fast, Stronger" is particularly brilliant because it tweaks the techno-fuzz in Timbaland's songs without making West beholden to it.

(Ironically, Wikipedia reports that Timabaland helped West finish the track. I'd like to think that means both men are so secure in their abilities that they can help each other, even as they tease.)

And, you know... I love any and all references to Prince and Apollonia.

Meanwhile, West's continuing ability to be upfront about homophobia is starting to be inspiring. It would be easy for him to drop the subject or massage his position into something less alienating. Instead, he honestly admits his own prejudices while acknowledging how poisonous they are.

Unlike the forced "confessions" of celebrities like Michael Richards, Mel Gibson, or Isiah Washington, I believe West's declaration that he thinks it's wrong to hate people. After all, he spoke up of his own accord, not because he was caught doing something disgusting.

P.S. -- Who do you think he's talking about when he says he'll "do anything for a blonde dyke?"

Girl Robot Wanders the Fields

2007-08-14T21:08:00.000-05:00

The fourth installment of "Girl Robot" has arrived, and it's my favorite so far. Merideth and Ricky have written a beautiful folk-rock song, and Merideth's vocals are particularly impressive this time around.

For me, the teardrop sadness in her voice is even more affecting because it's contrasted by such silly images in the video. I always think it's moving when someone feels genuine emotion in an environment that won't allow it.

And... how awesome is her hair?

A Country Buffet

2007-08-12T19:01:00.000-05:00

You guys, about a year ago I made a bit of a fool of myself. I cast aspersions on... ahem... Carrie Underwood, implying that she was only mildly awesome, when in fact she is almost totally awesome.

Now, I'm not going to tell you that I like every song on her album "Some Hearts." Banal country-pop doesn't grow a soul just because the person singing it can blow the roof off a barn, so no amount of belting will make me enjoy "Don't Forget to Remember Me" (check these lyrics, people).

But...

There's a reason "Before He Cheats" was a top ten hit on the pop charts. And there's a reason I got chills watching La Underwood perform "Wasted" on "American Idol" this season. Those songs rule.

Judging by the sound of "So Small," her latest single, Carrie Underwood has stayed with the producers and songwriters who know how to inject a song with 10 ccs of genius.

And if you listen to country radio, you know that "So Small" is in good company. Right now, there are tons of exceptional ditties out there. Sure, many of them sound like easy listening hits from the 80s, but so what? Country's been turning into pop since at least "Achy Breaky Heart," and we've had plenty of time to get used to it. It's best to embrace the good songs we're given without quibbling over their genre.

In that spirit, let's discuss the following examples of what country has been doing for us lately.

(1) "So Small" by Carrie Underwood

Huh? This is the first single from Underwood's upcoming second album, co-written by the artist with songwriters Luke Laird and Hillary Lindsey. It's a power ballad about realizing that true love makes all your problems seem insignificant.

Why does this rule? Did you follow the link up there? The supple quality in Underwood's voice is, like, impossible to miss. Starting at about 1:32, she sings with these small touches of vibrato that show incredible technical skill, and then she leaps up to the top of her range like she's leaping up to answer the phone. She's in complete control of her instrument, and it's thrilling to hear.

But her vocal gymnastics don't overpower the song. Instead, they complement the muscular instrumental track, which features surging drums and an electric guitar solo.

For bonus thrills, there's also a "bring the beat back" moment at 2:40, right after C.U. hits her big power note. God! It just gets me every time! It's like hitting the top of the roller coaster and then, when the instruments drop out, racing down the hill.

Now... the lyrics may be a tad phony, since they do that country music thing where they ambiguously talk about God. Is it Christian love that makes troubles seem so small? Or is it romantic love? If you make it unclear, you can pander to... um... please everyone.

But, dammit... Carrie just sounds so committed. Whatever we want the song to mean, we can imagine she passionately agrees with us.

(2) "I Told You So" by Keith Urban

Huh? You know! Keith Urban! Aussie country hunk! He's married to Nicole Kidman, and he checked into Betty Ford! And when my friend Laura worked at the Frick Museuem here in New York, she once sold tickets to ol' Keith and Nick. Or as she put it, "I sold tickets to Nicole Kidman and some guy with great highlights."

True enough. His hair is worthy of a Bravo reality series called "Urban Style," in which 12 Australian rubes try to sexify themselves to be just like Keith. The winner marries Nicole Kidman's nanny.

Anyway, "I Told You So" is the third single from Urban's album "Love, Pain, & The Whole Crazy Thing." It recently hit number 2 on the Billboard country chart, and it's a straight-up rocker about a man whose lover comes back to him.

Why does this rule? First and foremost, because of the music. How often can you say a hit single has a surprising sound? Well, here comes Keith Urban, rocking out with Uillean pipes. It's haunting, really, to hear the pipes gently contrast the frantic pace of the drums and the banjo. They bring a type of peace to the otherwise rollicking tune.

As it rides on top of all this, Urban's voice is buoyant, especially in the chorus. He starts by singing short, sharp syllables ("Well! Oh! Can't. You. See."), and then he launches into falsetto. Then he repeats the pattern and ends with a long, growled note on the phrase "I told you sooooo."

It's so dynamic that it can sweep you away, forcing you to bounce in your chair as you write a blog post about it. The energy perfectly reflects the narrator's joy over his lover's return.

(3) "I Need You" by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill

Huh? This ballad is the 10 billionth collaboration between McGraw and Hill, the Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward of country music love. It's currently number eight on the Billboard country chart, and it's about two people savoring their addiction to one another.

Why does it rule? Do you know the song "Leather and Lace" by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley? It's great for the same reasons as "I Need You." Both songs are about the love between sinners--people who drink, smoke, and nurse old wounds--and they both have an unpolished sound that supports their lyrics. They seem like they were recorded in one take, with all the musicians together in a room, playing their instruments as they drank beer and petted old dogs.

That authenticity is particularly impressive on "I Need You," since it isn't something Faith Hill normally has. Most of the time, she sounds like she's racing toward the latest trend--as in, "The people want pop? Here's 'This Kiss!' Oh, wait! They want an homage to old-school country? Here's 'Mississippi Girl!'"

But singing alongside McGraw, explaining that she needs him like a needle needs a vein, Hill sounds emotional and alluring. Her clear tone blends well with the gravel in his throat, letting us imagine these singers slow dancing in some dank Oklahoman bar.

I bet that when Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow heard "I Need You" for the first time, they realized it was the song "Picture" was supposed to be.

It Looks Like Chaos, but It's the Fringe

2007-08-11T22:45:00.000-05:00

Hello, hello!

In this week's Sunday arts section of The New York Times, I have a splashy feature covering the New York International Fringe Festival. You can read it here.

Have a great weekend! (Or week, if you're not reading this until Monday.)

I Have Pity... Just Not for Television

2007-08-09T22:23:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone! I'd like to point you toward an article I wrote for Television Without Pity, which is a smart, snarky, and generally awesome website that everyone should know.

I interview actor Maulik Pancholy ("30 Rock," "Weeds") about everything from being on two hit series at once to the realities of working as an East Indian actor. There's also a bit about Tina Fey's e-mailing habits.

Enjoy!

He Gets None of Me Love

2007-07-26T23:42:00.000-05:00

Hey guys! Don't forget that the deadline for the Simpsons Contest is on Saturday. Keep those entries pouring in!

Now I need to ask a serious question...

How do you feel about Sean Kingston?

Has his music even traveled outside the U.S.? His laughably poor Wikipedia entry doesn't give me any clues about his international reach. It does, however, tell me he uses MySpace to "hit J.R. up 5 times a day."

You know! J.R.

Anyway... for those of you both here and abroad who don't know Mr. Kingston's music, let me bring you up to speed.

He's currently foisting two singles on American radio, and both blend samples of classic hits with a pop-reggae sound. It's sort of like Shaggy, but with fewer references to banging on the bathroom floor.

Of Kingston's singles, "Beautiful Girls" is the most inescapable. If you live near a radio or have ever walked down a street where people play radios, you've probably heard his slightly whiny voice singing over a Jamaica-ed up loop of "Stand By Me."

Missed this jam? Go here.

It's highly likely "Beautiful Girls"--which finds our young hero bemoaning his weakness in the presence of the title characters--will be the number one song in America next week. At the very least, it will be in the top five.

Then there's "Me Love," his even newer song that has started getting played on the radio here in NYC. Rock purists should probably take a seat before I tell you about this one.

"Me Love" egregiously rips off "D'yer Maker" by Led Zepplin.

I remember people foaming at the mouth when Sheryl Crow covered the song pretty faithfully, so I only can imagine what they're doing now. Look out your windows. Do you see fires in the streets? This song may be why.

And I'm not saying "Beautiful Girls" and "Me Love" aren't catchy. They are. The latter is especially so because "D'yer Maker" just sticks in your head. (Oh! Oh-oh-oh-oh! You don't have to go-oh!)

No... I get why the songs are hits. But even for silly pop songs, I find them almost painfully insipid. At least a dumb song like "Barbie Girl" has some irony, and Nelly's "Hot in Herre" has a wicked good beat. Sean Kingston's music just sounds lazy. Like, sub-P. Diddy lazy. There's nothing distinctive about Kingston's voice, and his producer (the aforementioned J.R.) has used the most inauthentic, mall-friendly reggae riffs. They're straight out of a Caribbean Cruise Line commercial, where old white people in floral print shirts dive under "da limbo stick" while white-jacketed "ethnic" servants stand nearby pouring daiquiris.

And remember how I mentioned Shaggy? His reggae pop has about three million times more complexity. Go back and listen to "It Wasn't Me." It holds up pretty well.

For those still doubting that Kingston's music is insincere, I offer these lyrics from "Girls:"

It was back in '99
Watchin' movies all the time
Oh when I went away
For doin' my first crime

Oh it was, was it? Back in '99? Because Kingston was born in 1990. I do not for one quick second believe he was in jail at the age of nine.

"Mark," you say, "Are you suggesting that Sean Kingston is the first teenage pop star to be turned into a total phony by the industry machine? Did you not pay attention to your own post about 'Kids, Incorporated?'"

Obviously, Kingston's not the first offender. However, he drives me especially crazy.

What about you? Do you think I'm right, or am I overreacting?

An Open Letter to Boy Shakira

2007-07-24T23:04:00.000-05:00

AN OPEN LETTER TO BOY SHAKIRA, "AMERICA'S GOT TALENT" PERFORMER:

Dear Boy Shakira,

Why? Why am I so fascinated by you?

Well... I know why. Because you're a conundrum. I mean, what the hell? You are a sincere drag queen. Sincere! Drag queens are supposed to be campy and acidic, commenting on the idiot world with every flick of their world-weary eyelashes. Or else they're supposed to be RuPaul, making happy dance music and giving a performance of feminine attitude that comments on how we construct our notions of women.

But you, Boy Shakira, are none of those things. Maybe it's the way "AGT" is editing you, but you don't seem calculated. You seem like a guy who just loves to get in a halter top and lip synch. In tonight's post-performance talk with Jerry Springer, you said, "It's not about the wig or the costume. It's about entertainment. We're entertainers."

In other words, Boy Shakira, you have decided--with no apparent irony--that the best way you can entertain these folks is to dress up like Shakira and dance.

Or not even Shakira! Because tonight, Boy Shakira, you were Boy Britney! And you did a really good job with the dance moves to "...Baby One More Time!"

That's another part of the conundrum, Boy Shakritney. I have to admit that you're a talented dancer. And now that you've mixed it up and started impersonating other people, you're making it harder for me to dismiss you. I'm interested to know who you'll be next week.

I mean, you're not an A-list drag queen like Justin Bond's Kiki. Kiki is, like, the best drag identity of all time. But you're not a one-note joke like I thought you were.

And let's talk more about your sincerity. Is it possible that's the greatest weapon you've got?

Often, drag queens are fierce. Their anger gives them power, but it's a power that lets them remain feminine. That's what many gay men need to withstand the attacks of vicious people. It's like they're saying, "Oh, so I can't love men because that makes me like a woman? And being a woman is bad? Well, watch this. I'm going to turn into the hardest woman you've ever seen."

Are you making the same statement from a different direction? Just by your very existence, are you a middle finger to the people who can't handle it when a big Latin guy in drag comes out and dances his ass off, refusing to hide one inch of feminine side?

In your polite, smiling ability to make David Hasslehoff squirm in the presence of unabashed queerness, are you shouting a political battle cry? Are you saying, "Look here. You can boo me and hate me, but I will not turn callous for you. You will not rob me of my kindness or my joy or my love of my self. And? Also? I will wear the skirt you hate me for wearing, and I will dance like a crazy locomotive to boot."

Maybe?

Yes. I think that maybe you are saying that.

Oh, Boy Shakritney, you've got me in your web. It would be so easy to make a joke out of you, but you're not a joke. You represent something. It's just taken me a few weeks to see it.

So guess what?

I voted for you.

Sincerely,

Mark

An "ITHT" Contest!

2007-07-22T20:38:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone! I am very excited to come back from my hiatus with a contest.

That's right... you have the chance to win an actual prize by reading this post.

And that prize is a free copy of the book "The Psychology of The Simpsons," published by BenBella Books. (You can learn more about the book here.)

In a later post, I will actually review the book myself, but for now, I'm happy to facilitate giving copies of it away. Here's the deal: Watch the following clip of an episode from the show--which has all of its sound removed--then provide your own dialogue.

The five people who write the funniest new "scripts" for this scene will win the book, which will be sent to you directly from the publisher.

To enter, just e-mail me with your dialogue at mark@markgblankenship.com. I will be the sole judge of whose submissions are funniest, and I cannot be bribed! Also, if you know me personally, don't think that's going to get you any special favors. Bring your A game!

Submissions are due by Saturday, August 27. Winners will be announced on Monday, August 30. I will e-mail winners asking them to provide their mailing addresses for the publisher.

That's it. Have fun everyone!

Oh... and here's the clip...

Being Trans All The Time

2007-07-13T17:35:00.000-05:00

So I've just published my first story in Time Out New York. It's a feature about transgender performance artist Scott Turner Schofield and his refusal to stop calling himself trans, even though he now passes for a biological man.

A 700 word feature doesn't give me room to dig into the issue with all the depth I'd like, of course, but I think it offers a nice jumping-off point for a conversation about labeling and identity within the trans community.

Hope you enjoy!

Amy's Wisdom

2007-07-13T17:18:00.000-05:00

I have been traveling all over the Northeast this week. After coming back from Maine, I left almost immediately for upstate New York, and on Sunday I'll be heading to rural Connecticut. The last two trips are business related, but hey... it all kind of feels like vacation.

Yesterday, as I was checking my voicemail before heading into a production of Shaw's "Saint Joan"--being performed at Bard College in Annandale-on-Hudson, New York--I heard a message from my friend Amy. You might remember her as the one who got up in Five For Fighting's grill.

Well, she's back with more thoughts on FFF's easy listening music, and her opinions this time may surprise you!

Rather than try to summarize it, I'm going to transcribe Amy's message in it's entirety. It's that awesome.

Read on and understand why I love her...

Received on Thursday, July 12, 2007:

"Hey, it's Amy! Just wanted to say hi. So I'm driving in Des Moines, Iowa, and this song by Five For Fighting came on. I think it's Five for Fighting, because it has that whiny voice. And I realized I've heard this song for a long time. It has the lyric like, "When you've only got a hundred years to live" or whatever, and I realized I never really liked the song until I saw it in this really, really sentimental Visa commercial.

And then I liked it.

Because it was showing this family going through different lines of credit and the different Visa cards they had. And the song was playing in the background. And I don't know why, but it made me think, 'Oh, how sweet! When they have kids they get the Disney Visa. And when they're old they have the AARP Visa. That's kind of cute.'

And you know how people complain when their favorite bands sell out and let their music be used in commercials? I'm realizing I don't really give a shit about Five For Fighting's integrity or anything, so I think their being used in commercials makes me like them more. Is that wrong? Does that make me wrong and consumerist?

That's all. Take care, sweetie!"

Plenty of good points in there, I'd say. Thanks, Amy!

What Are Your Musical Pet Peeves?

2007-07-09T22:56:00.000-05:00

Andrew and I are just back from an excellent trip to Maine, and for the first time in the history of our travels together, we didn't hit any traffic coming back into New York. It was amazing. We made it all the way home in less than five hours, which is sometimes how long it seems to take to go from Brooklyn to Manhattan.

But even with the Traffic Spirits on our side, we still had plenty of time to listen to music. At one point, the radio hit us with Madonna's "True Blue," and Andrew quickly revolted. You see, that particular ditty is on his list of permanently forbidden car songs. (Other banned titles include Rihanna's "Umbrella," Avril Lavigne's apparently plagiarized "Girlfriend," and T-Pain's "Buy You a Drank (Shawty Snappin').")

Andrew finds "True Blue" to be, and I quote, "insipid."

I just asked him to clarify what he means. Glancing up from his laptop--and looking quite dashing in a blue t-shirt and some shorts recently purchased at a Banana Republic outlet store--he says, "Musically, it's a boring chord structure that never goes anywhere. It's like substandrard fifties music. And lyrically, it's pedestrian. That would be a nice way to put it."

Now while I find "True Blue" to be a charming, inoffensive early draft of the girl-group homage Madonna would later perfect with "Cherish," I can take Andrew's point. This song is not the deepest puddle on the sidewalk.

More damning for "True Blue" (in Andrew's case) is the fact that it embodies two of his musical pet peeves. Not only does it have a music track that is endlessly repetitive, but it also features the lyric "your heart fits me like a glove." For Andrew, saying something "fits like a glove" is forced and phony. That's like how I feel about the "shelf/self" rhyme.

I'm interested to know: Which songs have no chance with you? What are your musical pet peeves? Are there any elements of songwriting that make you want to ball your fists in fury?

If so, don't let that rage fester inside. We here at "I Totally Hear That" want to help you work through it

As for me... well, I just mentioned how much I hate the "shelf/self" thing. And I really, really hate overuse of the vocoder. It's cool on Cher's "Believe," but it's egregious on almost everything else. Case in point? The aforementioned "Buy You a Drank."

See there? By letting out my anger, I found another link with Andrew. We both hate that damn "Shawty Snappin'" song. Amazing!

Truth brings connection, people! Truth brings connection!

"Die Hard's" Message for the Ages

2007-07-05T16:13:00.000-05:00

I've seen three movies in the last week, which is an enormous number for me. Even more surprising is the fact that all three of them have been major Hollywood blockbusters. None of your "Onces" or "Waitresses" here! Well, okay... I saw those last month. But still, I've recently been inundated with "Ocean's Thirteen," "Transformers," and "Live Free of Die Hard."

Of the three, it's "Die Hard" that I can't stop thinking about. Critics have been analyzing this franchise since it started, especially because Bruce Willis' character John McClane is positioned as a bastion of Wild West American machismo. He swaggers in, makes some cocky remarks, and then uses his combination of street smarts and--most importantly--brute force to obliterate all the evil in his path.

In a July 3 story in the New York Times, Caryn James makes the excellent point that "Live Free or Die Hard" finds its terrorists in the people who would deny us access to technological information. The central villain--Thomas (Timothy Olyphant), a computer whiz who used to be highly ranked in the American government--wreaks havoc on the country by systematically undoing everything that is run by computers. He takes out the internet, the cell phone towers, and the TV satellites. Then he obliterates the computers that control water, electricity, and gas. "The loss of our information fix," James writes, "hits a very raw nerve."

James' story is an excellent starting place for examining of the film's central anxiety. In her closing paragraph, she cites its "blend of old-school action and new-school tecnhology," and her phrasing hints at the question running beneath every frame: Now that technology is undeniably in control, how is the classic image of the American man--the one who shoots first and asks questions later, the one who protects the weak with his muscles and guns--going to survive?

The film's assumption, of course, is that many Americans are worried about the emasculation of the archetypal cowboy, and as it addresses and ultimately coddles this fear, "Live Free or Die Hard" becomes a template for how the most conservative (and often reductive) American ideas about gender and power can remain firmly in place.

WARNING: I'm about to give away almost every plot point of the movie. Don't read further if you want to see it later and still be surprised.

To read on, go to PopPolitics!

From My Other Writing Life

2007-07-03T13:58:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone,

I wanted to direct your attention to an article I just published in "American Theatre" magazine about a theater company called The Civilians. In February, I lived with them for a week in Colorado Springs, Colorado, observing their creation of a documentary-style musical about the influence of Evangelical Christianity on the local community.

Hope you enjoy!

(If you'd like to see the story in print, you can find the piece in the July/August 2007 issue)

Tambourine: Not Just for Jan Brady Anymore

2007-07-03T09:31:00.000-05:00

After canvassing both state and federal statutes, I am surprised--and admittedly relieved--to report that the beat on Eve's new single "Tambourine" is not illegal.

It probably will be soon, though, so we'd better enjoy it while we can. I mean, what choice will law enforcement have but to ban a rhythm that's so likely to cause chaos in the streets? Have you guys heard this thing? I cannot remember the last time a song left me so powerless. When it's on, I have no choice but to dance. And what if it came on while I was driving? Or operating on someone? Disaster.

Here's the back story: A few days ago, I noticed the track was climbing up Billboard's Hot 100, so I went to listen to the iTunes sample. And that thirty-second clip practically melted by brain. I was sitting in my Joe-average desk chair, my t-shirt and cargo shorts weren't particularly bootylicious... you'd think I could've resisted. But before I knew it, my arms were up over my head. My hips were shaking. "Tambourine" owned me.

Obviously, I bought the song. Ever since, I've been leaving messages for friends telling them they have to hear it. I brought my iPod to a party just so my friend Rachel could listen in. As expected, we stopped all conversation for an instant dance party.

To fully explicate the awesomeness of "Tambourine," I'm going to do a close reading. It may take me hours to finish it, though, since I'll have to keep getting up to groove to the very object of my analysis.

Undaunted, though, I present you with my thesis:

Unbel-EVE-able: A Close Reading of Eve's Tambourine

First: If you haven't heard the song, go here. You have to get past about 15 seconds of Eve promoting her new album, but then you're good to go. The song is bowdlerized on her MySpace page, but I'll be discussing the uncensored version.

00:01 -- The first thing we hear, after a few shakes of a (duh) tambourine, is Swizz Beatz, the song's producer, saying "You gotta shake your ass!" The phrase "shake your ass" echoes. Right away, we know this is going to be a serious dance song that nevertheless has a sense of fun.

00:02-00:10 -- We first hear the refrain, which is a man chanting something like "Shake your tambourine. Go on. Get yourself a-whistlin." (Only he says it "a-WHISS-uh-linn.") The cadence of this chorus is unusual because there's almost no pause between any of the phrases. The words flow into each other without stopping, which tells us the impending tempo is going to be insistent.

00:21 -- The beat seriously drops. For twenty seconds, we've had an exciting build-up to this moment. The male voice. The tambourine. A chorus of higher voices chanting "Shake. Your. Tambourine. Shake." (Or something. I can't quite make it out.) All of these components get layered on top of each other to create an increasingly intense sound. You can feel the tingle of expectation... and then... BOOM. A single bass note thuds across the track. Then it's time for the serious drum loop. The track explodes with sound and fury.

00:31-00:42 -- Wait a minute! The major bass notes drop out for a minute! The beat changes! And by 00:41, a swooshing synthesizer has been added. Those synth sounds are... lovely. They're like something out of an 80s ballad. They pop up occasionally throughout the song, and they're a key to its brilliance. This is not a lazy, flat hip-hop joint. This is a track with texture. This is a beat that changes and evolves. Its unpredictability makes it much more exciting.

00:41 -- Eve starts rapping. After the frenetic intro, her laid-back flow is a fascinating counterpoint. Again, it gives the song more tension and makes it more exciting. If Eve were rhyming at hyperspeed, the song would sound like Outkast's "B.O.B.," in which everything is just so insanely fast that your body can barely keep up. Now I love "B.O.B," but it's equally awesome to hear the interplay between a rapper who takes her time and a rhythm track that never stops.

1:28 -- Rapping almost a cappella, Eve hits the lines "Pop them bottles, yeah, drink that up, man. Got you feelin' crazy? Well, that was the plan." This is the perfect sentiment for her voice. No matter the song, Eve always sounds like she's smirking while she raps. Whereas, say, Kanye West or Fabolous or Missy Elliott can rhyme with vulnerable emotion, Eve only sounds believable when she's coolly asserting her awesomeness or instructing us to party. Confessional raps like "As I Grow," from the album Eve-olution, feel woefully stilted.

"Tambourine" highlights her skill as an MC, and nowhere more obviously than on this line. The way she enunciates the words--hitting "pop" like she's firing a bullet, giving every syllable in "that was the plan" the same hard emphasis--gives her the confidence and swagger she needs to sell a song about ruling the clubs.

-- -- --

Those are the core elements of "Tambourine," and they keep building and expanding until the end. And speaking of the ending, it comes really abruptly. We're in full-tilt boogie, and then everything just stops. No beat, no music, no nothing. Just a quick echo of a man shouting, and then we're out. Obviously, Eve and Swizz Beatz have said everything there is to say. Assured of their mastery of the dance floor, they just pick up and go. Their confident exit only further proves their point.

And that point? Well, it's right there in the opening. You do gotta shake your ass, by god. And "Tambourine" is the perfect motivator.

Say You, Say Freak

2007-06-29T18:57:00.001-05:00

My friend Laura pointed me in the direction of this clip, and I felt like everyone needed to see it.

For those who don't remember, this is what Fergie looked like when she was on "Kids Incorporated." Imagine if this was the video for "Big Girls Don't Cry." The song would take on a horrifying new meaning.

But really, this is horrifying enough. I mean, what the hell is that clown doing with that broom?

Also, for those who don't know, Laura, our friend Stephanie, and I have a long-standing agreement that Lionel Richie is our mortal enemy. (It's a long story, but there really is a story.)

That makes this clip doubly delicious.

December in the Summertime

2007-06-28T00:39:00.001-05:00

Well, Kelly Clarkson released her third album, "My December," and nobody's head exploded. Which is kind of surprising, given the brouhaha that erupted over this thing.

A quick recap: Clive Davis, legendary head of Clarkson's record label, reportedly delayed release of the record because he didn't hear any hit singles on it. Clarkson wrote this one almost entirely herself, whereas her previous effort, "Breakaway," had her collaborating with some very seasoned pop songwriters (or sometimes just covering their compositions).

"Breakway" was an absolute smash... but you all know that. So obviously there's pressure on Clarkson to have another hit. She recently spoke to Entertainment Weekly about fighting to release the material she wanted--and that she crafted--even if it didn't sound radio-friendly.

Could the battle lines be more clearly drawn? Clive Davis is the evil capitalist pig, and Kelly Clarkson is the pure artist.

However, now that the album is actually out, the sides seem less clear. For one thing, as Greg Kot points out in this story in The Chicago Tribune, "My December" isn't exactly a radical departure from pop formulas.

But in Davis' defense, it doesn't exactly have any obvious hits on it, either. (I disagree with Kot there.) Witness the lackluster performance of first single "Never Again" (a song I really like), which hardly dented the radio. Often, these songs are a bit too formless or a bit too lyrically generic. ("There's a hole/inside of me/It's so damn cold/it's slowly killing me.") As plenty have mentioned, the music apes Evanescence and Pat Benatar, but it lacks the polish of those artists' best tracks.

And the good songs on "My December?" They may be too dark for pop radio and too pop for rock radio.

I'm not arguing that Clarkson should have been denied the chance to express herself artistically. As Kot says, doing the bulk of her songwriting helps her gain the credibility necessary for career longevity. I'm just saying that Davis may be right: There are no obvious masterpieces here on a par with "Since U Been Gone."

If anything, "My December" is like Clarkson's solid debut album. There's an obvious talent for songwriting here, but it's still being honed.

And you know what? Fine. "My December" is still a worthwhile record. It's just not a superstar record. That's a bit awkward, of course, since Clarkson is already a superstar, but what are you gonna do?

After all, the first Kelly Clarkson could have continued for at least a few more years, churning out other people's hits, but the first Kelly Clarkson obviously is no more. The second Kelly Clarkson--the one with her own musical perspective--needs time to grow. She may never reach the peaks of her predecessor, but she may become much more interesting in the long run.

(Also, I know lots of people have made this point, but it's interesting that Alanis Morrissette's career followed essentially the same path. Most Americans, though, didn't hear her first two pop records, so it was much easier for us to embrace the Jagged Little Alanis who burst into our brains. If Clarkson hadn't been a pop sensation in Canada, would they be eating up "My December" like a genius work of art?)

Thoughts on "America's Got Talent"

2007-06-26T23:22:00.000-05:00

So did you watch The Glamazons? Oh, don't try to be all "Glama-who?" I'm talking about The Glamazons! The plus-sized divas who just tore it up on "America's Got Talent." They combined their vocal skills with their ebullient personalities, clear marketing savvy, and brilliantly arranged music to become the hit of the night.

At the very least, they were positioned to be an act we care about, since they were the final thing we saw before the show transitions to its seminfinal rounds. (I think those rounds are next week, but maybe they're in two weeks. Whatever. Eventually, there will be a top twenty, and we're supposed to vote.)

But here's the thing: Even though "America's Got Talent" has been the nation's top-ranked television show for two weeks running--scoring ratings so high that NBC decided to expand this week's episode from one hour to two--it just isn't very cool.

On the contrary, it revels in being a great big backyard talent show where Grandpa and Cousin Doakie can get up and holler.

Despite being produced by Simon Cowell and his "American Idol" cronies--and despite blatantly ripping that show off, right down to the supposedly acidic British judge--"America's Got Talent" is aggressively nice. It's the kind of program that insists anyone from anywhere can do something worth clapping about, even if that something is stuffing himself inside a steamer trunk or training a cat to do gymnastics. (Those have both been acts, by the way.)

Where "American Idol" positions itself as the arbiter of the year's single greatest undiscovered superstar, "AGT" is making the argument that there are lots and lots of people out there who can do cool stuff. That will never make it hip, but it will make it endlessly pleasant in ways that "The Colbert Report" can never be.

After three weeks of watching this parade of abilities, I am ambivalent about the up-with-catrobats spirit.

On the one hand, the show gives us acts like The Glamazons. I'm biased, of course, but there really is value in seeing women who don't fit the media's traditional notion of desirability storming the stage. More importantly? These women are talented singers and dancers; they have great attitudes; and they are hot, dammit. So good for them.

And good for all the non-white people, non-straight people, and non-adolescent people who got passed through to the next round. It's nice to see the show try to live up to its assertion that it is showing us "America." Bonus points for hiring two British judges--sweet Sharon Osbourne and pussycat-in-leopard's clothing Piers Morgan--yet still Yanking out with manic enthusiasm.

On the other hand, does "America's Got Talent" have to be so tacky? I mean, I guess that's American, too. In this country, why celebrate talent with polite applause when you can shriek while wearing naughty t-shirts? Why spin a plate on a stick when you can set a hoop on fire, jump through it, and then hurl the plate into the mouth of a semi-literate tiger?

But week after week, the absolute lack of restraint on "America's Got Talent" becomes embarrassing. It's like how I feel when I walk through Gatlinburg, Tennessee, with all its chain stores and Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museums and fake villages built to resemble small hamlets in Bavaria. Everything in the area is so obviously fake that it mocks the people it attracts. It's like the entire town is laughing at visitors who embrace cheap theatricality, gaudy merchandise, and grotesque recreations of concepts like "nostalgia," "hospitality," and "Europe." If the people behind this sham can make us pay for it, they win. Meanwhile, we lose our discernment, so we just keep coming back for more.

In spite of its good features, I fear this is "AGT's" primary function: It's crassly manufacturing inclusiveness. What's more, because there's no American Idol-style chaser for its often robotic sweetness--the saracasm of your Cowells and Seacrests, say, or the bizarre antics of Paula Abdul--you can gag on it.

Despite his off-screen drinking scandals, for instance, judge David Hasslehoff just loves to coo and weep over acts he likes, and the other two judges (plus host Jerry Springer) are right there with him.

So that leaves us with segments like tonight's performance by "Lazy Legs." He's a young man with a disability that leaves him on crutches, and he leads a dance troupe. He's pretty good, but the show didn't let us forget for a moment that he is "overcoming." His interviews were tastelessly underscored with the song "I'll Stand By You." All the judges kept saying he was an "inspiration." I'm pretty sure they tear-gassed the crowd so everyone would cry. It was so syrupy, you could mix it with bubbles and make Coke.

That mawkishness pervades the show, so it allows so-so talent to get an inordinate amount of praise. Everyone agrees to feel good about something, so they stop thinking critically it. It's like when "Crash" won the Oscar for Best Picture.

So there's my ambivalence. While I like the fact that a wide variety of people are being celebrated on "America's Got Talent," I wish the show didn't feel so flashy, cheap, and empty. I wish the truly interesting acts--like The Glamazons--could be elebrated in a context that seems as clever as they are. I'd wish America's biggest talent show could have a little elegance.

But who am I kidding, right? The remaining episodes are being filmed in Las Vegas, for God's sake. Elegance pales beneath a fake pyramid shooting a column of light into the sky.

Originally posted on PopPolitics

Hey, Ryan. Long time, no see.

2007-06-26T11:02:00.000-05:00

Generally, I'm a faithful guy. I've had the same best friends for over ten years. Andrew and I are just weeks away from our second anniversary. Even when she was getting lambasted for "American Life," I stood by Madonna, acknowledging that there were a few great songs on an otherwise terrible album.

But Ryan Adams? I just keep straying.

But, like... that's only because he keeps doing me wrong!

I mean, we had a great relationship at first. When he was still lead singer with Whiskeytown--a period I'll call "courtship"--I thought he was good for some laughs and a few late-night cry sessions.

Then things got serious. He released his solo album "Heartbreaker," and I was smitten. To this day, there are songs on that gorgeous alt-country masterpiece that force me to stop whatever I'm doing and give them all my attention.

"Oh My Sweet Carolina," especially, is a devastating ballad about homesickness, and the softly plucked guitar melody is the perfect fit for Adams' cracked-and-weeping voice. Plus, Emmylou Harris sings harmony vocals, and her presence always means something beautiful is coming.

With the release of his next album, "Gold," I was ready to call Ryan Adams my steady. Even though I saw him act like a drunken fool at a concert in Atlanta, I couldn't deny the toe-tapping pop of "New York, New York;" the nine-minute, lung-scorching majesty of "Nobody Girl;" or the melancholy beauty of "La Cienega Just Smiled."

(And for the record, "When The Stars Go Blue" is a Ryan Adams song. It's on this album, and it was not originally recorded by Tim McGraw, thank you very much, Ryan Seacrest.)

Ryan and I hit a bumpy spot with his next album, "Demolition," but I thought his self-indulgence was just a phase. A fear of commitment. I mean, when he dropped three albums between 2002 and 2003--"Rock and Roll" and "Love is Hell Parts 1 & 2"--I had to admire his gumption. It was cute! And how could I stay mad over "Demolition" when "Rock and Roll" was so freaking great?

Seriously, you guys. If you don't know Adams' song "So Alive," do whatever you can to hear it. It's the kind of effortless rock anthem that U2 used to make. In the chorus, he sings these long, wailing notes that make you want to stand on the edge of a cliff, throw your arms back, and belt out loud. That kind of bombastic music requires grand gestures, you know?

But after that long honeymoon, Ryan and I hit a major rough patch. He just kept releasing albums, and he was almost drowning is his self-regard. We all know the syndrome. Prince does it. Ani DiFranco does it. They flood the market with every note they've ever put on tape, and it gets hard to sift the quality out of the crap.

This was especially frustrating for Ryan and me. I wanted to yell, "Hey! Why don't you just release one album that's entirely filled with good songs? And why don't you give me back the sweater you borrowed two Labor Days ago?!?"

I'll admit it you guys: After that, we broke up. I needed space to heal.

But now Ryan Adams is courting me again. Today, he released "Easy Tiger," and it's fantastic. (listen to four songs here). Many of the reviews you'll read will liken it to "Heartbreaker," and that's a good comparison. The songs are back to being simple roots-rock, filled with harmonicas and pretty singing and occasionally catchy drum beats. And like he does on all his best songs, Adams submits to his vulnerability. On tracks like "Goodnight Rose" and "Two," it sounds like the music is a last-ditch fight against a permanently broken heart. Even more aggressive rockers like "Halloweenhead" have a Tom Petty-style ache. (The more I listen to it, in fact, the more I think "Halloweenhead" is a spiritual sequel to Petty's "Free Falling.")

The current issue of "Wired"--remember when I read that?--suggests that Adams' new album is focused and affecting because he used his website to release all his random, experimental songs. That seems possible, and I'm okay with it. If he needs to do his own thing a few nights a week, it's only going to make our relationship stronger.

So yes, Ryan, you can come over.

I've missed you, too.

And go ahead. Keep the sweater. It looks better on you anyway.

She's a Girl... and a Robot

2007-06-26T10:49:00.000-05:00

Before we take another step, I need to tell you about "Girl Robot." Credited as the "first internet-based musical," "Girl Robot" is a series of short films about a, well, girl robot, who goes on a new adventure every month. Each film is essentially a music video for a song that is co-written by Merideth Clark (who plays the robot) and Ricky Marson (who directs).

But here's the kicker: These things are great. The songs are catchy, Merideth's vocals are lovely, and Ricky has a real knack for filmmaking. Plus, these people are funny, and their humor give the clips a satisfying bite.

In the second segment, for instance, GR is singing about how she's learning to love the rodents in New York City, and she's subtly playing with a computer mouse. The pun is there if you want it. No pressure. No expectations. (But you totally want it. Admit it!)

As you may have figured out, Ricky and Merideth are also my friends, which makes me even more excited to spread the word. So far, there are three "Girl Robot" installments, and I'd encourage you to start with number one, since they tell a loosely chronological story.

Teach Me, TV!

2007-06-25T01:13:00.000-05:00

So I've decided that when I don't have time to write lengthy, essay-style posts, I won't just post nothing. I mean, I prefer writing the longer pieces, but it's not always possible, you know?

For now, let me give you my third quickie in less than 24 hours. And I don't mean it like that, dirty.

Anyway... Andrew and I are going to Maine in a few weeks, and I know that the capital of Maine is Augusta. But do you know why I know? Not because of anything I learned in school. No, I know the state capitals because I once decided to memorize the song "Wakko's America" from Animaniacs. This was several years after I had supposedly learned the capitals in elementary school, but the mnemonic device that stuck was the one learned during my wasted middle school afternoons.

So in case you have a hard time remembering things like "Bismarck" or "Frankfurt," just take a few minutes to enjoy the following. It'll change you for the better, just like every cartoon ever made.

A New Way to Read "I Totally Hear That"

2007-06-25T01:02:00.001-05:00

I am pleased to announce a new feature here at "I Totally Hear That." Now you can...

... search by subject!

I've finally gone through and added labels to all my posts, so now if you want, you can see everything I've had to say on the subject of, say, "Pop" or "Rock."

All the labels are listed on the right of the blog, so feel free to click away. And in case you're wondering, "Greatest Hits" are the posts I most enjoy.

It's Glamazon time

2007-06-24T01:05:00.000-05:00

Update: I'm not on jury duty anymore. Having not been assigned to a trial--or even called out of the juror's lobby--my involvement with our legal system will now once again be limited to living with an ADA and watching episodes of "Law & Order: Original Flavor."

Update the Second: Did you know that the current number one show on American television is "America's Got Talent?"

And did you know that you really need to watch this week's episode?

Why? I'll tell you why. Because of The Glamazons.

A New York-based quartet of singing divas who pride themselves on being plus-sized and fabulous, The Glamazons will make their first appearance on "America's Got Talent" this Tuesday, June 26.

And why is this exciting? Because Andrew--yes, my Andrew--is arranging all their music. I won't give away anything else about what's going to happen, but suffice it to say that everything the ladies sing on the show will bear the genius stamp of New York's finest vocal coach and arranger. Okay, maybe I'm biased. But really, I'm not. He's the best.

Plus, Andrew's brother Dave is doing all The Glamazon's orchestrations.

So get your DVRs fired up, because it's time to record this series, y'all.

In Most Cases, I'd Sink

2007-06-22T10:24:00.000-05:00

What's that smell? Is it peaches in autumn? Is it burning hair?

No... it's my civic duty!

That's right: I'm coming to you live from jury duty. I've never been called to do this before, but so far it seems like most government-related experiences I've had. Same waiting. Same uncomfortable chairs. Same person behind me with the loud, nasally voice.

To those of you who have been jurors, let me ask: Did you see the same video that I did? Because when I first arrived--at 8:30, having gone to bed at 3:30--I got to watch this amazing film about the history of the jury system. It starred Diane Sawyer and Ed Bradley of "60 Minutes." Even better, it also starred a group of actors who were recreating a Medieval "Trial By Ordeal."

The scene: In a perfectly ancient forest by a perfectly ancient stream, a group of peasants carry a bound and gagged man to the water's edge. Bradley's voice over tells us he's been accused of a crime, so he's being tossed into the drink. If he's guilty, he floats. If he's innocent, he sinks.

(Side note: Whoa! They just called another round of jurors to the empaneling room! I swear, my heart races every time they do that. It's like they're calling out the names of the people who have to kickbox with the grizzly bear.)

Anyway, they chuck the guy into the stream, and then there's a tense pause. We see the surface of the water, followed by extreme close-ups of nervous villagers.

Waiting.
Hoping.
Lip-chewing.

And still, the guy stays submerged.

Then the head villager--the one in the three-cornered hat--gives an affirmative jerk of his head and... rejoice! Two chaps splash into the drink and rescue our innocent hero.

"Was this fair and impartial justice?" Bradley asks. "They thought so."

Aside from the word "awesome," here are some things I thought while watching this movie:

(1) I bet at least half of those villagers have M.F.A.s in acting

(2) Where was this filmed? Is that water clean?

(3) I wonder if they made the actor stay underwater for a really long time, just to see if he really was innocent.

(Side note: Man! Eric Quinones really needs to get to room 285. They've paged him a thousand times.)

Well, the battery on my laptop is running a little low, and in my rush out of the house at an unaccustomed hour, I forgot to bring the charger. I also forgot to bring a book. Hope that issue of "Wired" sitting on the radiator over there is a page-turner!

(Side note: Excellent. The beefy guy behind me is on his cell phone, and he just said, "That is so gay! That's the gayest thing I've ever heard!" He seems like just the type of sophisticate I'll want to befriend. By "gayest thing I've ever heard," I'm sure he's talking about an audio book of a mid-career novel by Gore Vidal. I'll chat with this gentleman and get back to you about his offerings to the culture.)

Anyway, I know I haven't really written about music in this post, but what can you do? Sometimes Medieval barbarism and Gore Vidal take precedence.

Friday Flashback: The Traveling Wilburys

2007-06-15T00:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I noticed that "The Traveling Wilburys Collection"--
a remastered re-
packaging of both albums released by that late-80s supergroup made of Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison, George Harrison, and Jeff Lynne--was the number one album on both iTunes and Amazon.com.

This made me smile, as I have a very clear memory of listening to the cassette of their first album as a ten year old.

Picture it...

I'm sitting in the first house I ever lived in, there in the den, playing with toys. Given that it's the late 80s, the toys are probably Transformers or Thundercats. Anyway, I'm playing, and I've got my dad's old tape player, eating up the power of D batteries, blasting Wilburys songs. I particularly enjoy belting "Handle With Care," and I always make an "eww, gross!" face when the Dylan-led "Congratulations" comes on.

Foolishly, I thought that was my only TW memory. That is, until I started listening to the samples on iTunes. Turns out I clearly remember every single one of those songs, including the tracks from their second album.

I mean, damn. I don't think I realized how often my parents had that tape playing in the car when they were driving me to Pizza Hut to get that week's pair of "Back to the Future 2" commemorative sunglasses. Clearly, the Wilburys were the constant soundtrack to my life.

Here's a memory that just surfaced yesterday: There's this song on the first album called "Tweeter and the Monkey Man," and the chorus includes the line "The walls came down, all the way to hell." I remember being shocked--shocked!--that my mom sang along to that line in the car.

I mean... really? She just said "hell"? Because I could handle that kind of gutter talk from my dad. Not that he has a filthy mouth or anything, but he can occasionally... let fly.

I remember once he was lying on his back, half buried in the kitchen cabinets as he tried to fix a leak in the sink. I was watching TV in another room--randomly, I remember it was this show "Encyclopedia" on HBO--and I heard two things:

(1) A loud spurting sound, like water firing out of a hose

(2) My dad cursing in ways that would take the green off grass

It was a good three minutes before he was able to close off whatever gasket had exploded, so he had time to get to the more exotic expletives in his vocabulary. We were well past the "S" word, people.

I didn't see my dad until after he'd cleaned up from whatever mess had been created. I knew it would be a mistake to walk in and giggle while he was still sopping wet. But as I sat by "Encyclopedia," I conjured vivid images of what must have happened. In my mind, it was so... awesome. Possibly the funniest thing ever.

But it was also kind of scary, you know? I mean, this kind of cursing could result in random, unexpected deletion of my dessert privileges. Hence the reason I didn't go see what was going on.

Those of you that know my dad are probably thinking, "Really? Mr. Blankenship? But he's such a laid back guy!" And that's true. As I write it now, the story is kind of surprising.

But imagine how much more surprised you'd be to hear my mom cursing a blue streak. Those that know her probably can't even picture it.

Personally, I feel like I can remember every single time I've heard my mom curse, just like Ramona Quimby in that one book. For instance, a few Thanksgivings ago, I was eating pumpkin pie when my mom offhandedly mentioned that she thought Shania Twain seemed like "an uppity bitch."

Sputter. Gasp. Pie flying out of my mouth.

Say what? This sudden blast of judgment was inconceivable from the woman who festoons our refrigerator with laminated mottoes like "We can't all be stars, but we all can twinkle."

And to prove how unusual it is for my mom to get potty mouth, I'll bet you a thousand dollars that when she reads this, she will blush, scrunch her face up, hunch up her shoulders in playful embarrassment, and vigorously shake her head "no." She'll possibly cover up her face with her hands. And then she'll tell my dad to stop laughing about it. She'll say, "Now hush, Gary. You say that kind of stuff all the time." Which will make him laugh more.

But then if I ask her about it, she'll staunchly defend her assessment of Shania Twain. That's why my mom is so awesome. She picks her battles very carefully, and she doesn't hurl insults for fun. If she calls you a bitch, you probably are.

Given this snapshot of my world, I'm sure you can imagine how my mom singing "all the way to hell" would leave me agog as I sat in the back seat of our black mustang with the dark red seats.

Clearly, any group of Wilburys who could make her turn obscene possessed strange and mystical powers.

Maybe that's why they were my playtime soundtrack. I was trying to absorb that power for myself.

Or maybe I'm just another one under their spell, since every song is obviously burned into my subconscious.

Another bizarre coincidence? As I was typing this, I took a break to call my dad. The first thing he asked is whether I want a burned copy of the "The Traveling Wilburys Collection" that he just bought.

And that's eerie.

Eerie all the way to hell.

p.s.--I had that exact pair of Pizza Hut/"Back to the Future" sunglasses pictured up there. Gnarly!

The Hidden Message of The Cop Car

2007-06-12T14:34:00.001-05:00

Oh snap, you guys. I might have to revise my list of bad-ass songs. Because there's no way we can even have that conversation without mentioning the bass-thumping brilliance of "Party Like a Rock Star."

Now I know this song didn't exactly hit the airwaves yesterday, but sometimes I get behind. (Like how my friend Kerri came up to me in March and was like, "Have you heard that song 'Irreplaceable?' It's awesome!" Or how I once told my parents that I loved this new band Simon and Garfunkel.)

Anyway, brand new or not, this song rules. Is there any beat this year more likely to make you shake your booty? I doubt it. Take a look/listen...

I mean, you've got all the ingredients for dance floor genius...

(1)Mindless sing-along chorus? Yes! It takes less than a second to get your mind around the refrain of "Party like a rock/Party like a rock star/(Yeeeeeah!)"

That means the hearing-to-memorization ratio is so small it practically doesn't exist. You've learned this song before you've even heard it once, and instantaneous catchiness is key to any smash hit.

(2) Hot beat? See above

(3) Lyrics that give you a bit of socio-political poignancy to deepen your fun?

Just consider this...

Party like a rock star
Do it with the black
and the white
Like a cop car

Me and my band
Out on a yacht
with Marilyn Manson
gettin' a tan,
man

Too true. Too true. If we could all do it with the black and the white like a cop car, maybe there would be less need for actual cop cars to break up racially-motivated fights.

And if the rap-rock of The Shop Boyz can live in yacht-based harmony with the goth of Marilyn Manson, then we may find peace at last.

Someday, may we all party like this kind of rock star.

Listening More Than "Once"

2007-06-11T14:17:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone! I'm back from a fantastic trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I participated in the annual conference of the Theatre Communications Group. TCG has given me a fellowship to become an affiliated writer with American Theatre magazine, and next month the first article I've written under that fellowship will be published. It's a piece I'm particularly excited to see in print, so I'll keep you updated.

Now as for music... have we talked about the soundtrack to the film "Once?" Well, I know we haven't, so let's do it.

First of all, the movie: It's an Irish film about a singer-songwriter (played by actual singer-songwriter Glen Hansard) who spends time away from his cruddy job by busking in the street. When we meet him, he's singing these beautiful, heart-tearing songs, but the only people listening are the drunks who want to steal the money from his open guitar case.

Eventually, though, the man--we never learn the characters' names--meets a woman (Marketa Irglova, also a real-life singer-songwriter) who loves the music she hears. That leads to a non-sexual relationship built on their decision to write songs together. As these shy, lonely people learn to trust one another with their music, they also learn to trust each other with their lives. The resulting film is remarkable because it depicts a type of love that is very real yet almost never depicted in art: the intense love of friendship.

That's not to say these two don't want to become lovers, but there are several reasons they can't. And instead of pushing the story toward predictable conclusions--affairs, guilt, betrayal--the filmmakers, including writer-director John Carney (a former bandmate of Hansard's), force the characters to deal with the terms they're given. Bound in a universe that tells them they can't sleep together, they find other meaningful ways of sharing their hearts.

By avoiding sex, the film finds surprising ways to tell its story. I'd say it's much more interesting and unconventional to see a "love scene" played out in a piano shop, where the man and woman sing a duet.

There's a similar energy here as in "Lost In Translation," another film with a languid pace that observes two people who care for each other but cannot sleep together.

The movies aren't the same, though, primarily because "Once" has moments of raw emotion supplied by its songs. Glen Hansard, who I'd never heard of before now but is fairly well known in Europe, is an arresting performer. The unguarded feeling in his face and especially in his voice snared me every time a song began. And Irglova offers a soft counterbalance. Her voice is pure and high, blending nicely with Hansard's, and while his screen presence is boisterous, she has a sly subtlety that makes her seem like a private thought you really want to hear.

Another crucial element of the music is how it affects the movie's tone. During songs, "Once" lifts ever so slightly out of realism, letting us know that these numbers are a representation of the character's inner lives. The effect gives the movie a touch of magic without making it overwrought.

For instance, when Irglova's character is listening to music on her Discman, she walks through a convenience store whispering potential lyrics to herself. Eventually, she starts singing the lyrics out loud, and even though she's meant to be improvising, a carefully structured song emerges. What's more, no one else even notices she's singing.

In that moment, it's easy to imagine that passers by just see a woman walking silently with a CD player. But we in the audience get to see what's going on inside her. We can see that she's moved by this music and that it is making her want to belt out with joy.

The impact of the film is retained in the soundtrack. Even without images, the music maintains its power, be it on driving rockers like "Trying to Pull Myself Away" or in Irglova's heartbroken solo lament, "The Hill."

For me, the most representative example of both the album's and the movie's success is the track "When Your Mind's Made Up." A elaborate, sweeping anthem that starts quiet and ends loud, it has a complete emotional journey, surprising turns, and authentic feeling. Hansard's wordless wail over the last minute, backed by crashing drums and Irglova's sweet harmony, is both ecstatic and devastating at the same.

That complexity makes "Once" one of the most satisfying experience I've had this year, both in the movies and in my earphones.

Buying In to Selling Out

2007-06-06T00:00:00.000-05:00

So there's been this enormous brouhaha about Wilco "selling out" because the band's members are letting songs from their new album, "Sky Blue Sky," appear in ads for Volkswagen. Some people are just losing their minds that the band has gone all commercial. The feedback has gotten so intense and negative that Wilco has released a statement defending its credibility on its website, and frontman Jeff Tweedy's brother-in-law has posted a lengthy defense of the band on his blog.

I think the in-law's blog post does a fine job defending Wilco, so I won't do that here. But what I would like to consider is this notion of "selling out." I mean, I can completely understand why fans of a lesser-known band would be up in arms about their beloved rockers (or rappers or folkers or whatever) suddenly making themselves available to wider consumption. Surely the possibility of mass appeal will also result in the dulling of whatever edges made the band so cool and appealing in the first place, right? Lose your soul to make a buck and get played on Disney Radio. To me, that's what "selling out" means.

And because that's what it means to me, I don't think signing to a major label--or even letting your songs get used in commercials--necessarily constitutes selling out. To me, you've only truly sold out if, once you've broadened your exposure, the sound of your music fundamentally changes in ways that seem designed to court a new mass audience.

Take Liz Phair: She's like the queen of selling out. She went from slash-and-burn post-punk goddess to glitzy rocker to pop princess.

Or did she? Her approach to pop stardom always struck me as really intelligent, and this article articulates why.

Okay, okay. So if you can't say Liz Phair sold out without using some po-mo asterisk to explain yourself, what about the country group Sugarland? Total sell-outs. Jennifer Nettles used to be this indie folk-rocker from Atlanta who sang all these dark songs about her broken home and burning sexual desire. Now she's in a group that makes fun ditties with power chords. And you know what? That total, unabashed selling out upset me for a minute, because there's no denying that Sugarland's music is pretty vapid when compared to Nettles' solo work (or her work in the duo Soul Miner's Daughter).

But as I've written, I've gotten over it. The old Jennifer Nettles is dead, but the new one is great in her own way.

The other major sell-out I can think of is Nelly Furtado, but god knows I've written about her enough on here.

So apparently, I can't get that upset about an artist selling out, nor can I be quick to accuse them of having done so. How about you guys? Any artists that "sold out," thus forcing you to drop them forever? Or have you made the journey with them, perhaps embracing them as a mass market act and then replacing the indie hole in your heart with another obscure sensation?

(I feel like I've only brushed the surface of this topic here. There are so many more questions to ask and consider... but a blog post can't be a term paper. I'll think more about it and get back to you. But I'd love to hear all your thoughts. Anything you've think I've overlooked on this topic?)

A Hometown Shout-Out

2007-06-05T12:46:00.000-05:00

So this isn't about music, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to give big props to my hometown.

Y'all, Chattanooga is in today's New York Times. And the story? Is about goats. Word.

Ode to Lil' Mama

2007-06-04T14:54:00.000-05:00

Hey all... go over to Pop Politics to see my ode to up-and-coming rapper Lil' Mama.

And then tell me you don't have "Lip Gloss" stuck in your head for days!

When Everything Cliks

2007-06-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

Let's forget for a moment that The Cliks are a revolutionary rock group simply because of who their members are. Let's focus first on their exquisite music.

Take a listen to "Oh Yeah," from the album "Snakehouse." (video below). Why can't all rock anthems be this raw? There's a scraped-throat wail in singer Lucas Silveira's voice that makes his lower register sound just devastated, which fits a song about friends and lovers who don't treat each other well.

The anger of wounded pride is palpable in how Silveira sings "Oh Yeah's" verses, and that makes his performance on the chorus and bridge even more dramatic. In those sections, Silveira hits pure high notes, trembling through lines like "he's not listening" and "I want my baby back." Those notes are musical surprises, and they make the track even more dynamic.

And the music mimics those unexpected turns. For the most part, "Oh Yeah" is straight-up rock. The power of the drums and electric guitars keeps us chugging forward like a runaway train. It's the kind of tempo that makes me think of running, possibly throwing punches at the same time.

But during the bridge, everything drops away except Silveira's vocal, a soft guitar, and some light percussion.

Yet even though the volume drops, the tempo stays the same. Even in the quiet, there's still motion, like someone pacing the room and muttering. All these elements fuse into one of the most arresting rock tracks I've heard in a while.

But just when you think you know them, The Cliks come at you with a slow-groove cover of "Cry Me a River" by Justin Timberlake. And you guys? It works. They're not making fun of the song. They're digging into it and finding a musical core they can reinvent. Their version has just as much soul as J.T.'s, and it has twice the aggression.

(Want to hear "Cry Me A River," "Oh Yeah," plus two more great cuts from the album? Go to this particularly well-stocked MySpace page.)

If this great album were all The Cliks had to offer, they'd be offering plenty, but they've got more. For one thing, drummer Morgan Doctor, guitarist Nina Martinez, and bassist Jan Benton are all queer women. And how many kick-ass rock groups have multiple queers? Or multiple women?

Then there's Lucas Silveira: a transman fronting this group with swagger, power, and skill. (For those who don't know the lingo, a "transman" is a transgendered person who is born as a biological woman but realizes he identifies as a man. As with a transwoman, sexual reassignment surgery is sometimes--but not always--part of a transman's identity.)

And dammit if I don't find it really inspiring that Silveira and his band are out there doing what they do. Because with music this catchy, sexuality is beside the point. I think most rock fans can find an emotional connection with The Cliks' music. Like me, for instance. While I enjoy the ironic detachment of groups like The Killers and Fall Out Boy, it's nice to hear something so unguarded.

If we can connect to artists like this--feel like they speak to part of us somehow--it makes it easier to resist the barrage of homophobic hatred that keeps tearing through this country. It's harder to fear people when you know they can move you.

So listen to The Cliks: that sound they're making--loud, fierce, and amazing--is a sound that trans, gay, and queer people make every day. It's a sound most people make every day. It's the sound of fighting back against what's wrong-- in love or politics--with a wild burst of energy.

It's a sound I love hearing.

Dave Navarro + Beauty Queens = Skeeve

2007-05-31T11:28:00.000-05:00

Undaunted, I will now rewrite my post about Monday's Miss Universe Pageant, even though the original got lost in a technical misfire. Courage, y'all. It comes for free around here.

So on Monday night, I capped off my Memorial Day weekend by watching Miss Universe with my friends Kerri and Om. (Well, Om was sort of an innocent bystander, since he's my roommate.) At first, we assumed it was going to be a situation where we watched women in ridiculous costumes and ironically gasped at how terrifying it was.

And while we never stopped making fun of the show, the terror became genuine. It's one thing to say "God! Miss Malaysia's outfit frightens me!" and quite another to feel a cold shiver down your back as NBC spends two hours proving that women are still being debased by the same dismissive attitude that once kept them from getting the vote in this country.

I know, of course, that women all over the planet are subjected to constant human rights abuses and that in America they still hit glass ceilings every day. However, I naively believed that misogyny and objectification were only peddled as entertainment in lad mags like Maxim and Stuff. I didn't know that such things were still being sold to us in the guise of female empowerment.

And that type of "girl power" is just what the hosts--including Mario "A.C. Slater" Lopez--were trying to shill when they announced that Miss Universe had the thrilling opportunity to do charity work during her reign. The so-called importance of the pageant was also the subtext of a video package of last year's winner, which showed her alleviating the suffering of impoverished children by helicoptering in to tickle their scabrous faces with the tresses of her magical, lustrous hair.

I'm certain that if we accused NBC executives or the Miss Universe folks--including pageant owner Donald Trump--of being flesh peddlers, they'd point to these bits as proof that the show actually enriches these women.

But let's get real. All that "up with ladies" stuff took less than three minutes. The real purpose of the show was parading a variety of hot babes around to the strains of popular music. Sure, a couple of them had humanitarian interests, but hoo-boy... all of them had firm buttocks!

And you guys? Miss Universe doesn't even have a talent competition. Just swimsuit, evening gown, and a question from a judge. The only thing these women are expected to do is look pretty while walking.

And some of them can't even do that. Miss USA busted ass in the evening gown section. Later, when Miss Mexico--the pageant was held in Mexico City--didn't make the top 5 and Trippy McFallerson did, the hometown crowd booed and booed. They booed right through Miss USA's question-from-a-judge. The poor woman answered and smiled, but you could tell she wanted to ralph.

Here's a clip of the falling...

And here's a clip of the booing...

Anyway... the lack of a talent competition is merely a subtle act of objectification. Want something bolder? How about the fact that Dave Freaking Navarro, famously drug-addled member of Red Hot Chili Peppers, was a judge? You want to know what his question was?

"Would you rather have a relationship with a guy who is spontaneous and wild or one that plays it safe?"

What? Seriously? And worse, Miss Venezuela had to wait for a translator to explain this bullshit to her. I imagine the translator said something like, "The greasy American just propositioned you for sex. I recommend you provide a circuitous non-answer or a fake cell phone number."

No amount of charity work can erase the fact that Trump and the rest of the team let a lecherous skeeve like Dave Navarro be a judge.

Oh! Oh! And I haven't even told you about the cubicle wall. At the back of the stage, there was this giant wall made of boxes, like those IKEA bookshelves you can get or like they use in Madonna's video for "Human Nature." Each box held a losing contestant, and during every competition round, the cast-offs were required to dance inside them. The lighting made it impossible to see their faces but easy to see their legs.

Seriously. Women in cubicles, faces obscured, shimmying. It was like an international strip-a-thon, especially when everyone was required to wear a skimpy bikini during the swimsuit round.

But I don't think anything clarified Miss Universe as a girls-for-sale racket quite like the music being played under the various "performance" segments. During one--I think it was when the top fifteen were announced--the ladies paraded around to a loop of Nelly Furtado's "Say It Right." As they strutted, we heard Furtado endlessly singing "You don't mean nothing at all to me."

And then during evening gowns, we heard a loop of Sean Paul's "(When You Gonna) Give It Up To Me." The title of that song says it all.

So remember contestants: You don't mean nothing at all... unless you give it up.

And girls watching at home? That's a lesson for you, too. Got it? Good! Now get to your cubicle!

Disaster!

2007-05-31T00:08:00.000-05:00

You guys, I could cry. I just wrote this whole thing about watching Miss Universe on Monday night, and Blogger ERASED it. So much for "saving my drafts automatically."

I could cry.

I don't have the energy to type everything again (it's almost 2:00 AM), but I'll do my best to get it up here tomorrow.

Mark in the New York Times

2007-05-26T23:55:00.000-05:00

Check it out, y'all. I've got a story in this week's Sunday Arts and Leisure section of The New York Times. Excellent!

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/27/theater/27blan.html

There's More Than One Way To Rule

2007-05-24T23:17:00.001-05:00

There are just so many ways to rule.

And I don't mean "rule" as in "leader of people, Queen Helen Mirren." I mean "rule" as in "that rules!" (I've been on an 80s slang kick this week.)

For instance, you can rule in the manner of Patrick Wolf, creating music that makes you sound like the male Fiona Apple. You know, all smoky vocals and unexpected drum beats and sultry piano playing.

Oh, okay... that's not all there is to Patrick Wolf. On a song like "Get Lost," his voice just begs to be part of 80s new wave. I can't make a one-to-one comparison, but he sounds like he'd be right at home with Robert Smith and Morrissey and that guy from Human League. One of the best things about his music, really, is that it's recognizable as pop and instantly accessible, but it doesn't sound like anything else around right now. It's like... I had this friend Steven Kidd in high school. He resembled his sister and his brother, yet his brother and sister? Looked nothing alike.

So Patrick Wolf's music is like Steven's appearance. It's pieces of The Cure and Fiona Apple and even Garbage, but it isn't exactly like any of them (and they aren't exactly like each other.)

Does that make sense? It's after midnight. Close enough.

Back to my original point... another way to rule is the Miranda Lambert way. It's not for nothing that Slant Magazine called her "a country music legend in the making." Just half a listen to her current single "Famous in a Small Town" indicates how sophisticated she is. "Everybody dies famous in a small town," the lyric goes. Good point. Everybody being up in your business all the time may be annoying, but it also means you'll be remembered.

I'm just discovering her catchy, rebellious, emotionally open songs, but I wanted to pass along the news immediately. As the title of this post suggests, she... um... rules. (And having a voice that recalls Natalie Maines of The Dixie Chicks is always fine by me.)

If you like country music, Lambert may be just the thing you need.

Not quite gnarly, but totally Wicked

2007-05-23T09:30:00.000-05:00

I want to call your attention to a pop music oddity you may have missed.

Idina Menzel, Tony-winning star of several Broadway musicals, had a record deal in the late nineties that produced an album called "Still I Can't Be Still." My friend Stephanie once bought it at a used CD store, and it's... well, it's weird. Totally unfocused, from what I remember, bouncing between imitations of alt-rock and pop without ever sounding comfortable with any of them.

Well, now Menzel has another record deal, and she's apparently releasing a new album soon. And the first single from that album?

"Defying Gravity," the anthemic centerpiece of "Wicked." (follow that link to hear the song)

For those who don't know, "Wicked" is currently the most popular thing on Broadway. It's about what happened in Oz before Dorothy showed up, and Menzel became a theatrical superstar by playing the role of the green-skinned "wicked" witch Elphaba. But in this show, Elphaba's not a villain. She's a misunderstood hero whose difference (read: skin color) makes her an outcast. The song "Defying Gravity" accompanies her end-of-act-one discovery that she can fly (and love herself). There's a lot of other complicated plot stuff going on that involves Glinda the Good Witch and a talking goat, but it's not worth going into.

And seriously, y'all, people flip out for "Wicked." It's kind of impossible to overstate how successful it is. Every Saturday morning, there's a "Behind the Emerald Curtain" tour that attracts hundreds of people, including those who haven't even seen the show but still want a taste of it.

Has this phenomenon translated to the rest of the country? I know the tour has been a hit, but I'm guessing that if you don't live in New York and care about the theater, it can be easy to miss the huddled throngs of teenagers who sing the show's songs while they wait to see it for the hundredth time.

As for me, I've tried to understand what's going on with "Wicked," but I can't.

I just don't like it.

I find it incredibly phony, bloated by self-empowerment cliches, obvious jokes, and tacky special effects. Worst of all--for me, at least--I find most of the lyrics inane. For example, in "The Wizard and I," sung when Elphaba is about to meet the Wizard of Oz for the first time, she croons:

And with all his wizard wisdom
By my looks, he won't be blinded.
Do you think the Wizard is dumb?
Or, like Munchkins, so small-minded?

Later in the song, she imagines him not being freaked out by her green skin:

And one day, he'll say to me,
"Elphaba, A girl who is so superior,
Shouldn't a girl who's so good inside
Have a matching exterior?
And since folks here to an absurd degree
Seem fixated on your verdigris,
Would it be all right by you
If I de-greenify you?"

This is supposed to be a big, emotional song, yet it features lame puns about Munchkins being small-minded. And I'd call it more than awkward to use words like "verdigris" and fake words like "de-greenify." Sure, it's "clever" that the lyric can reference Elphaba's skin in so many ways, but that verse in no way resembles how people actually speak. And it's true that people speak this way throughout the show--both in the book and in the lyrics--but the entire conceit of "fake words" draws attention to the artifice of the writing, which weakens the show's affect on me.

All that said, though, I really love "Defying Gravity." I even listen to the cast recording of the song on my iPod. The bombastic instrumentation is stirring, particularly when matched by Elphaba's big notes. And the lyrics are solid. The soaring declaration of the crescendo--"So if you care to find me/Look to the western sky/As someone told me lately/Everyone deserves a chance to fly"--uses witch-appropriate imagery to make a clear point about overcoming other people's negative opinions.

And now "Defying Gravity" is a pop song. Well, it always was a poppish song, but the new version drops the show-specific lyrics and replaces the original orchestra with the gentle percussion and electric guitars of adult-alternative rock. Menzel's voice is a strong as ever, but it's been filtered and echoed in a manner you don't hear on original cast recordings. This version of the song would make sense on a Vanessa Carlton album or as the finale anthem for next year's "American Idol."

Without the orchestra of the stage version, I find this version of the song less arresting, but I'm still enjoying it.

And while it probably won't be a massive hit, it's nice to hear that the days when Broadway numbers were routinely turned into pop songs aren't completely behind us.

Thanks, Belinda!

2007-05-20T21:10:00.000-05:00

As she so often does, Belinda Carlisle has saved the day.

You may remember from my last post that the first morning of my vacation to Delaware was kind of horrifying. Katy asserted that she has little sympathy for anyone who grouses about being on a trip, particularly one that involves free breakfast, but I'd submit that it's hard to have an enormous amount of perspective on these things when they're actually happening. But I've got perspective now, by God, and it's largely because the aforementioned former Go-Go helped turn my trip around. (It ended up being really, really fantastic. Rock on, Delaware!)

And the first great thing that happened? Just before mini-golf and my discovery of a pair of sunglasses that doesn't look askew on my slightly crooked nose?

I was on the radio! In Delaware! Requesting Belinda Carlisle!

You see, this radio station was playing an "All 80s Weekend," and the guy said they were looking for requests. So quick as a Wild West gunslinger, I pulled out my phone and dialed. I got in right away and spoke to the DJ.

Here's what was broadcast on the radio:

Mark: Hey! Are you taking 80s requests?

DJ: Sure thing! Whaddya got?

Mark: I would LOVE to hear "Heaven is a Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle

DJ: An 80s classic.

Belinda: Oooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

At this point, Andrew cranked up the radio, and we set to jamming. God, it was awesome.

And this got me thinking about how much I l-o-v-e "Heaven is a Place on Earth." Whenever I find a radio station that plays oldies, I kind of always hope they'll play that song.

To be bold, I'd say "Heaven is a Place on Earth" is one of my Top 10 Songs of the Eighties.

I know that's quite a statement, but I mean it.

A few qualifiers: When I say "top 10 songs of the eighties," I mean songs by artists whose careers didn't substantially exist in any other decades. Therefore, my top 10 does not include tracks by Madonna, Prince, Bruce Springsteen, Janet Jackson, or the like. Plus, I'm not allowing myself to include songs by groups whose lead singers were popular in the 90s. Therefore, no Wham! or The Smiths.

We're only talking songs by people who can be entirely contained within that magical decade of "Family Ties."

(Note: Deneice Williams had a number one hit in the 1970s. "Let's Hear It For the Boy" would otherwise make my list.)

Herewith is my entire Top 10. Which songs are in yours?

Mark's Top 10 Songs of the 80s (in alphabetical order by title)

"Buffalo Stance," Neneh Cherry

"(Don't You) Forget About Me," Simple Minds

"Don't You Want Me," Human League

"Heaven is a Place on Earth," Belinda Carlisle

"It Takes Two," Rob Base and D.J. E-Z Rock

"Kyrie," Mr. Mister

"Lean on Me," Club Nouveau

"St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)," John Parr

"Take on Me," a-ha

"Walking on Sunshine," Katrina and the Waves

Vacation with a capital "Dammit"

2007-05-19T07:07:00.000-05:00

Do you ever have one of those mornings where everything just sort of explodes in your face, and then you think, "Oh, right! I'm on vacation!"

Well, that's what's happening to me right now. First of all, it's 8:00 AM on a a Saturday, I'm on vacation at a Delaware beach, and I'm awake. What? Exactly. I know that for many, many people, being awake at 8:00 AM is a regular thing, but for this freelance writer--who is accustomed to working until the wee hours of the night--this part of the morning generally happens only in theory. But here I am, in my (admittedly very cute) room at a bed and breakfast, unable to sleep because the sounds of people making said breakfast are coming so strongly through the wall. Then there's the sound of the people upstairs, who apparently are practicing their clog dancing routine while breaking in their heaviest pairs of WWI-era boots. And, finally, there's the good Lord's sunshine, which is streaming over the bed like the brightest lamp in the tanning salon. I close my eyes, but it burns through the lids. Nuclear winter right here in the Delaware spring.

Plus, Melinda got kicked off American Idol, and my brand new iPod only works if I plug it into the external speakers I brought. Unplugged from the speakers? Just headphones? Nothing. Not even a picture on the screen.

So what do I do in the face of this rib-tickling adversity? I sing, dammit. Or at least, I think about singing. I can't actually sing, because Andrew is still trying to sleep. In the middle of the night, he moved to a small twin bed at the back of our little suite, trying to escape... well, I don't know yet. When he wakes up, I'll ask him what pushed him over the edge.

But anyway. Singing. In this bleary-eyed wasteland that is my Saturday morning, I keep my imagination on singing songs that put me in a good mood. Perhaps the Facts of Life theme. Or
"Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves.

Because I find that singing can actually improve my mood. Andrew tells me it stimulates some gland or other that makes this mood-enhancement a fact, but I don't remember the details.

And lord knows I need a little mood enhancement right now. I would love to...

...oh, sorry. I got distracted. The upstairs guests also have a small child, and she keeps testing out the volume level on her new voice. I mean, I assume it's new. Why would she use it so carelessly unless she was discovering all the features? Maybe in a few minutes she'll realize that the "shrieking Mommy's name" option isn't really meant for early morning employment.

Right. Singing. "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the..."

Oh. Sorry. I got freaked out a little right there. It literally sounded like someone dropped an entire tray of coffee mugs.

But screw it. Singing! Walking on Sunshine! Walking on all the sunshine that is streaming through this room! This bright, bright chamber whose ample illumination only reminds me of all that's good in this world! Like the voices of children! Shrieking for mommy!

I'm on vacation!

A Sampler Platter of Songs

2007-05-12T12:27:00.000-05:00

Whew! After what has seriously been the busiest two weeks of my professional life, I have finally found a little downtime. And obviously the first thing I wanted to do was give a Tennessee mountain holler to everyone at "I Totally Hear That."

So... hey y'all! (Imagine me saying that really loud, while sporting the overalls I insisted on wearing in grad school. Because I was subversive.)

Anyway, here are a couple of singles that I think are worth a listen.

Have you heard...

"Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional? I know, right? Generally, this group merits the big "meh" from me. But this new single is really pretty. It has a sadness that strikes me as genuine, and Chris Carrabba's vocals are surprising. Why? Because they don't get all screamy and tortured. Instead, the singing stays simple, the music stays restrained, and the whole experience stays lovely. A tuneful keeper.

And that reminds me... did you all ever hear the song "How I Go" by Yellowcard featuring Natalie Maines (of The Dixie Chicks?) It's astonishing.

Really, I'm kicking myself because I didn't remember to put it on my list of favorite songs from 2006. If you want to hear it, you can watch the following YouTube video, which features the song set to scenes from the anime movie "Princess Mononoke."

Which... bwahahaha! It's just so dorky to put rock songs under snippets of animated films. But I kind of love the towering geekiness of it. I understand the impulse to make something that expresses your own response to a beautiful song. But still... bwahaha!

Anyway... here's the video...

There's an epic sweep to this song that I find really impressive. It manages to be dramatic without sinking under Jim Steinman levels of syrup. Although how amazing would it be to see scenes from "Spirited Away" underscored by "It's All Coming Back to Me Now?"

And if you're looking for some new R&B, let me suggest "Anonymous" by Bobby Valentino. The bouncy beat--created, of course, by Timbaland--has these odd beeps and swooshes in it, as though Bobby just couldn't stop playing his old-school Nintendo while he was in the recording booth. It's fun, and he can hit high notes without resorting to a tremulous falsetto, which means he's a better singer than many of his contemporaries.

Hope you enjoy some of the samples from this platter!

Another PoP post

2007-05-04T00:44:00.000-05:00

Y'all, I went crazy and wrote about "Ugly Betty" over at PopPolitics. Wasn't expecting it. Just happened.

You can read my entry here.

And while I'm posting links, have you seen this video? It's worth it for the second time through, with subtitles.

Two quick things...

2007-05-02T12:23:00.000-05:00

Hey all!

Two quick questions...

(1) Do we really need R. Kelly writing and performing a tribute song to the victims of the Virginia Tech nightmare?

(2) I'd like to create a "Greatest Hits" section on "I Totally Hear That." Which posts on this blog do you think merit 'best of' status? I know... I know... all of them. But if you had to choose just a few, which would the be?

My Politics Go Pop

2007-05-01T15:20:00.000-05:00

Remember a few weeks ago, when I mentioned that the website PopPolitics had referenced my Alanis Morissette post?

Well, now they've got their hooks in me but good. Starting today, I am a contributing editor at the site, and I'll be weighing in on music, culture, and whatever else tickles my fancy.

But dont' worry. I'll still be keeping it real here at "I Totally Hear That." And when I write something for PP, I'll always let you know.

For instance, click here to read my first post for them, in which I argue that Kelly Clarkson's relationship to her own fame makes her one of the most unique pop stars of the moment.

Awesome!

I'm just Idlewild for Douglas

2007-04-29T23:52:00.000-05:00

For those of you who have been worrying--sending cards and flowers and limericks--I'm happy to announce that I have a new iPod. He even plays video!

Yes, I said "he." His name is Douglas. It just seemed to fit.

Recently, Douglas has been repeating the tracks on "Make Another World," the newest album by Scottish folk-poppers Idlewild.

Now I know what you're thinking: "Isn't 'Idlewild' the name of the disappointing film and even more lackluster album that brought a shockingly sudden end to OutKast's time of relevance?"

Well, yes.

But it's also the name of this band that I had never heard of until Entertainment Weekly gave "Make Another World" a good review a few weeks ago. The critic likens the group to R.E.M., which made me curious. I do so love my boys in Athens.

Turns out, it was a great comparison. If you have access to iTunes or some other music downloading site, listen to the sample of the song "No Emotion." Tell me that doesn't recall the nasally goodness of Michael Stipe!

To be honest, I'm not sure that Idlewild is wildly different from bouncy, guitar-fuzz-loving bands like Snow Patrol, Fountains of Wayne, and Interpol. But so what? You can't expect everyone to come along and revolutionize your concept of what good pop music can be. (You know, like The Postal Service did. Seriously, you guys. Me and Douglas got down to "Give Up" on the subway today. That album still blows my mind.)

Anyway, my point is that Idlewild is making music worth listening to. In a few weeks, I'll probably know their album well enough to suss out exactly what makes them different from those other bands I just mentioned. For now, though, I'm enjoying my first impression.

Maroon 5, Part 2: Are We In Agreement?

2007-04-26T00:10:00.000-05:00

So here's part two of my thoughts on Maroon 5. Think of this like a game we can play on a road trip somewhere. Maybe we're going to Six Flags, and we need something to pass the time.

Imagine it: We're sitting in a dark green Toyota Camry, blasting A.C. because Stephanie always gets really hot. I've got my legs stretched out on the backseat, shoes and socks off, aimlessly wiggling my toes. While I'm trying to spread them as wide apart as possible--and while Stephanie is driving, and while you are digging through the snack sack for that bag of peanuts I asked for fifteen minutes ago--I present this question to the car...

Is Maroon 5 the most universal act in pop music right now?

This is a concept I think about quite a bit. At any given time in music history, are there acts that everyone can agree on?

Obviously I mean "everyone" in a very loose way. There will always be someone who doesn't like something. But you know what I mean... The Beatles are an obvious choice. When they were making music, I think most people dug them.

And let me clarify: I'm talking about artists who scored general approval when they were actually releasing music. It's different for everyone to agree on The Beatles now. That's received wisdom. I'm talking about the merging of the contemporary and the universal.

Now... I once read an article that said the splintering of radio into such distinct genres has sort of eliminated the possibility of another Bruce Springsteen, Beatles, Madonna, or Michael Jackson emerging to stir the entire nation into a frenzy. Maybe that's true, but I don't think the nation has given up its taste for musical unification.

Because in the late 90s, didn't everyone sort of agree on Lauryn Hill?

And right now, doesn't it seem like most people sort of like Kelly Clarkson? Or Maroon 5? Again, I'm not talking about L-O-V-E, but I've never encountered anyone who loathes Kelly C. or Maroon 5. They seem to leap across boundaries.

And that's where the rest of you in the car have to jump in. Want to clarify our terms? Want to challenge my assertions? Make your own? Go right ahead. There's a traffic jam on I-75, so we're not getting to Six Flags for another two hours.

Maroon 5, Part 1: Who Brought Sexy Back?

2007-04-24T23:30:00.000-05:00

You guys, I have two distinct ideas about Maroon 5. Two! So I'm going to have a mini-Maroon 5 marathon by posting two separate posts about them. Here's part one...

Maroon 5: The bringing back of Sexy.

How sexy is Adam Levine, lead singer of Maroon 5? Well, first I guess you should watch this video for the band's new single "Makes Me Wonder":

If you don't think he seems sexy in that video, you may not agree with anything I'm about to say. However, regardless of your sexuality, sex, or gender, I'm betting you do think there's a sexiness about Adam Levine. After all, you have eyes. I mean, it's not just me, right? It's not like I'm talking about the raging sexiness of Bucky Covington and asking for no debate.

Anyway, seeing this video makes me think we should revisit the question of Justin Timberlake's ownership of The Sexy in male pop.

The marketing push surrounding the arrival of Timberlake's album "Future Sex/Love Sounds" focused on how he was singlehandedly (singlecrotchedly?) returning sex appeal to the male face of popular music. Hell, "SexyBack" declared that straight up.

And at the time, it seemed like the truth. Here was J.T., in his well-tailored suits and come-hither stare, unafraid to be seen as an object of desire when so many male pop stars... well, were there any other male pop stars around? Are there?

Timberlake essentially came rushing in to fill the void created after pop radio became dominated by two types of men: (1) rappers and hip-hop artists who insist that they never seem vulnerable or in any way capable of being a sexual object and (2) rockers who keep singing about how fucked up they are over bad relationships.

What does that do for people looking for a male sexual fantasy in pop? (Because face it, the days of D'Angelo and his sculpted nakedness are long gone.) On the one hand, you get a man who equates sex with utter dominance, insisting that his sexuality is entirely defined by his lust. "Sexy" is essentially replaced by "horny," and anyone who wants to be attracted to, say, 50 Cent or Ludacris, had better be ready to have fantasies about being a powerless bitch.

On the other hand, you get a man who seems devoid of sexuality because he is so morose about how sex has messed him up. Even in Hinder's "Lips of an Angel," in which the singer wants to cheat on his current girlfriend with his sultry ex, there's an asexual panic. The guy's immobilized because his girl's in the next room while he talks to the old flame. He can't get it on with anyone.

And in case anyone is getting upset about the "powerless bitch" paragraph, I'm not saying that fantasies of being dominated are bad. I have a liberal arts education, so I'm culturally incapable of denying anyone their identity space. But sometimes, you just want a man who seems like he might actually want to be wanted, you know? Who might enjoy fulfilling your needs or revel in the idea of other people finding him desirable. There's a softness and a humanity in that. And--dare I say it?--it makes room for love and intimacy in the sexual act.

And when J.T. rolled up with "SexyBack" and "My Love," it seemed like he alone was making room for those kinds of reactions.

But you know what? We all just forgot about Adam Levine! Because he's been rocking the same sexy vibe from the beginning. Do you remember the video for Maroon 5's "This Love?" He was not afraid to show some skin.

And in the video for "Makes Me Wonder," he's got the whole Bond-sexy thing down. Granted, it seems a little bit like a "SexyBack" retread, but arguably Levine is giving us more of what he gave before and not just copycatting.

Point being: I think Maroon 5 deserves more credit for The Sexy. Again, there's room for other images of male sexuality, but this particular image is in very limited supply. As a nation, we should make sure to get all hot 'n bothered by those who present it. It's only respectful.

I Totally Hear That in the LA Times!

2007-04-24T13:14:00.000-05:00

You read that correctly, folks. My post about Alanis' "My Humps" video has now been quoted by no less than the L.A. Times.

For those who aren't registered at the paper's website, here's the section of the story that mentions me...

---

THE BIG PICTURE: Satire busts a hump
Morissette speaks volumes about sex, power and YouTube with a sly spoof.
PATRICK GOLDSTEIN
April 24, 2007

PEOPLE endlessly complain that Hollywood is full of dopey, superficial films bereft of anything new to say. And they're right. Anyone looking for art that is edgy or relevant — and inspires comment — is turning to Internet video, which has become the true engine driving our pop culture.

Nothing demonstrates this better than the tsunami-like viral success of Alanis Morissette's "My Humps," which surfaced three weeks ago on YouTube and quickly became the most popular video on the channel, attracting 5.5 million views, easily outdistancing such rivals as "Otters Holding Hands" and "Farting in Public."

At first glance, it simply looks like another pass-along parody, a takeoff on the original "My Humps" hit by the Black Eyed Peas. But Morissette's video is armed with a provocative subtext that has people abuzz with debate. It's a fascinating piece of video art, an inspired combination of satire, social criticism and career reinvention that is a signature artifact of today's viral Web culture.

On one level, "My Humps" is a commentary on dim-bulb pop. The Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps," though a huge smash, was widely mocked for its vapid, suggestive lyrics. (Sample: "The boys they wanna sex me, they always standing next to me, always dancing next to me, tryin' a feel my hump, hump.") The video, featuring Fergie, the group's lead singer, was, if possible, even tawdrier. Full of nonstop teasing and thrusting, it's the kind of hip-hop booty porn that would make great torture material for Muslim prisoners at our Guantanamo Bay prison camp.

Dressing herself Fergie-style, with baubles and bling, surrounded by black-clad male dancers, Morissette retained the original's visual sluttiness but replaced the Peas' thumping rhythm track with a pensive solo piano. By removing the intoxicating bass line and clearly enunciating the crass lyrics, she gave the song's sexpot swagger a new tone of sadness and desperation while simultaneously parodying her own artistic tendencies toward self-absorbed angst.

It's a striking performance, functioning as both social criticism and self-criticism. It also has given an instant shot of street cred to Morissette, whose career had slid downhill after her incandescent debut in 1995 with "Jagged Little Pill." Stereotyped as an earnest navel gazer — one blogger recently dismissed her as an "emo-feminist" — she suddenly has fans seeing her through fresh eyes.

As Mark Blankenship put it in his ITotallyHearThat blog, "Remember when I was saying Pink didn't manage to criticize the objectification of female sexuality in 'Stupid Girls' without becoming the very thing she supposedly opposed? Well, Alanis found a way. If that kind of wit, intelligence and humility is in her next album, I'm buying it."

This is what gives YouTube its real power. It is a forum not just for amateur pranks but also for career reinvention.

--

So if anyone is here visiting because of that story... welcome! Have a seat and read a while. May I suggest something in a vintage post?

How about... asking me to determine your pop-chart astrology?

Or perhaps you'd like to debate a disasterpiece?

For that full-bodied, "I Totally Hear That" flavor, try our sampling menu (also known as my run-down of the best songs of 2006).

We hope you'll join us again.

And by we... I mean... me.

Skoal!

Something from my other (writing) life

2007-04-22T21:27:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone!

I don't often do this, but I wanted to post a story I wrote for this week's weekly edition of Variety. I'm really pleased with how it turned out, and I thought it was worth sharing.

--

Posted: Fri., Apr. 20, 2007, 1:53pm PT

'Naked' festival exposes face of war

Mark Blankenship: Critic's Notebook

By MARK BLANKENSHIP

NEW YORK -- What if, just for a little while, people stopped being angry about the war? What else would they feel?

Anger has dominated much of our cultural discourse about the strife in Iraq, from talking heads bellowing on cable news to pop stars like Eminem recording tirades. Fury has steered the theater, too, whether it's in the barbed satire of musicals like "Bush Is Bad" or the intellectual protest of David Hare's "Stuff Happens."

But while those sentiments are necessary, there are other responses to war that deserve exploration. With largely exceptional results, "Armed and Naked," an Iraq-minded festival of 14 short plays and four short films that wrapped April 22 and was organized by cutting-edge Off Broadway company Naked Angels, evoked the feelings that can live next to anger in the nation's heart.

The most striking plays trafficked in sorrow. Instead of pushing a political agenda or demanding a partisan allegiance from the audience, they explored how war devastates all Americans, no matter if their states are red or blue.

Enough pieces took this humanistic stance to form a kind of coalition, inviting us to step back from our idiosyncratic beliefs and grieve together over what's happening to our soldiers and our families. Over two weeks, the effect was harrowingly cathartic.

That impact points to the quality of the festival's work. While some of the pieces founder, most exhibit deep critical thinking and careful attention to craft.

Writers like Theresa Rebeck, Itamar Moses and Deirdre O'Connor make particularly good use of the short play format. Each scribe takes an everyday image -- playing cards, interpreting foreign speech, packing for a trip -- and develops it into a piercing metaphor. Delivered in 15 minutes or less, their insights are as taut as they are surprising.

With "Amici, ascoltate," Warren Leight returns from a long sojourn in television (on "Law & Order: Criminal Intent") to create a miniature epic. Without a single wasted word, he introduces three generations of a military family as described by Tony (Tony Campisi), a man whose mother almost shot him in the hand to keep him from going to Vietnam.

In a stellar coup de theatre, Leight lets Tony inherit his mother's fear by picking up her gun and carrying it, in one gesture, into the present day, when his own son is about to leave for Iraq. As Tony makes a silent, crucial decision, the pistol becomes more than a prop, representing any family thatloves its country but wants to keep its children alive.

Shifting meanings also invigorate "Myrtle Beach," a poetic and unsettling mediation by fest co-producer Dan Klores. The play is a conversation between the head (Yul Vasquez) and body (David Deblinger) of a solider who has been blown up.

At first, there's a dreamy calm as the two body parts -- inventively costumed by Jessica Wegener -- discover each other in the rubble. Ultimately, though, the playlet erupts into keening for the innocent man who was destroyed. The force of its imagery almost terrifies.

"Myrtle Beach" is particularly gratifying theater because it couldn't work as a film. The same is true of Will Eno's "Bully Composition," which invites the audience to imagine itself as a platoon of soldiers posing for a wartime portrait. A major question -- posed by Thomas Jay Ryan and Elizabeth Marvel, playing a photographer and his assistant -- is whether we're posing before a day of battle or just after we've returned. Wouldn't our expressions be pinched and fearful either way?

Eno asks this question so elegantly, couching it in a story about an ambiguous photo from the Spanish-American War, that he makes a moral point without preaching. If we examine our current standing in the war, he suggests, we have no way of knowing if we're at the end of the nightmare or the beginning. Capturing the image of our current historical moment means framing worried, uncertain faces.

Eno's play creates a reverential sadness. The audience is asked to become a congregation, considering its own mortality and the fates of all anonymous soldiers. But there's something liberating in that communion, in sensing how much we can empathize with fighters we'll never know.

A similar empathy floods Louis Cancelmi's "President and Man." But before it was even seen, the media and several conservative groups prematurely announced the play was a fantasy about assassinating George W. Bush. That sounds juicily inflammatory, but it isn't Cancelmi's intention.

To be sure, a nameless president (Chris Sarandon) gets killed in his bedroom by an aide (Brandon Miller), but Republicans might be surprised to learn the commander in chief is portrayed in a sympathetic light. He spends most of the play telling the first lady (Lizbeth Mackay) how much he loves and wants to help his people.

He's just afraid to tell them how much he cares. "I'd probably clam up," he explains. "I get too self-conscious when I know people are making judgments about what I say."

And just as the president can't face his people, his people can't face him. While slitting his boss's throat, the assassin says, "It's what they wanted. The people. They just didn't know how to ask for it."

That doesn't read as an attack on any particular official but as a cry of anguish for leaders and citizens so alienated from each other they can't communicate. A lack of understanding trumps good intentions, which leads to anger. And while anger results in action, the action doesn't fix the problem.

Welcome to My Random Thoughts, Pt. 2

2007-04-20T11:46:00.000-05:00

It's time for another clearinghouse special on my random thoughts!

(1) Obviously, it's about time Sanjaya got kicked off American Idol.

Is that a revolutionary statement? No. But let me tell you... when it was down to just LaKisha and Sanjaya, I was literally sitting with my head between my knees, rocking with fear that she was going to get eliminated before the far inferior Malakar. I can't take that kind of stress every week, so thank goodness it's over.

(2) On the subject of Idol, I hope Jordin, Melinda, and LaKisha comprise the top three.

Chris Richardson drives me up a steep wall. First of all, his voice? Sucks. Justin Timberlake is not the greatest singer in the world, so being a less accomplished version of J.T. is not to Chris' credit. Plus, he just seems so skeevy to me, wearing those white sneakers every week and oozing this aura of cheap beer and Velveeta and peeing in the sink in the middle of the night.

Oh, and? And? He used to be a "supervisor" at Hooters. Hooters! My deepest love to everyone reading this who enjoys hot wings served by girls in mini-shorts. Seriously. It's a free country, and I'd probably let a guy in a thong bring me a cheeseburger. But if I did that, I'd know it was trashy. Just like Hooters is trashy. And being on the management staff at Hooters makes you trashy with benefits.

As for ther other guys: Phil is just not very good. And Blake is talented and cool, but he strikes me as phony. There's something about him that tells me he's trying too hard to be awesome. (Could it be his "improv performance" that one week, when he was wearing those fake teeth?) There's never a moment when he doesn't seem really calculated and image-obsessed, so even though I think he's good, I'd like him to place fourth.

(3) Rihanna has cleared her name of "Unfaithful" by releasing "Umbrella"

Rihanna doesn't have much of an artistic personality, so my affection for her rises and falls based on how much I like her current single. Last summer, I examined the hot mess of "Unfaithful," which was the murder ballad of 2006.

But now she's back with her new single, "Umbrella." Listen to it below...

There's no way around it. This song kicks ass. The bass? Thumps like a mother. And her reggae-accented singing--especially on those "ay ay ays" in the chorus-- is cool.

And how great is it in the chorus when the synth swells up underneath her voice? It sounds sunny and uplifting, just like the lyric about how she's never going to stop loving her fella.

Welcome back, Rihanna. I'm back on board. Who knows? Maybe this time you'll keep me for two songs in a row!

Arcade Fire... Better Late Than Never

2007-04-18T00:21:00.000-05:00

Did you know that Arcade Fire is a really good band? I know! In the last three years, not a single publication, friend of mine, or random person walking down the street has suggested such a thing.

Okay. That's a lie. But you know, sometimes I just can't get down with the latest hip band or TV show or whatever. For whatever reason, there are always certain "of the moment" cultural presences that exhaust me before I've even begun to know them. I think that's because they get embraced by people who are much more hip than I will ever be, and I just don't feel like I will ever be able to keep up. Like, my jeans will never be that skinny, so I should just wait until some less undeground version of said cultural touchstone emerges and enjoy that instead. Instead of Beth Orton, I'll listen to Sandi Thom. Instead of "The Believer," I'll read "Salon." I still get to enjoy a solid product, but I don't have to feel intimidated by the uber-coolness.

Some of you may have noticed that I have a minor hang-up about uber-coolness. To me, that's an attitude that eschews fun of all varieties. And trust me, I have been around this attitude at certain parties. It always gets me in trouble. Here's an example of a conversation I actually had in grad school...

Not Me: "I just got back from seeing [Obscure Polish Play]. It was life-changing."

Me: "Totally. That's how I felt after seeing the Madonna-Britney Spears video this morning."

(chirp. chirp. chirp.)

See, I was trying to be funny, and it just died. "Not Me" refused to laugh about that, and he looked at me as though he thought I actually believed there was a comparison to be made between Obscure Polish Plays and "Me Against the Music." I won't go into all the six thousand reasons I actually said what I said. But suffice it to say, I'm pretty sure "Not Me" had just been talking about Arcade Fire.

And... see? I allow myself to get pushed away from certain things becasue I think it's going to make me stop laughing at myself, at the world, etc. But it turns out that I'm usually hurting myself when I restrict myself that way. "The Believer" is a good magazine, and Beth Orton rules. And as I said earlier, Arcade Fire makes great music. (If you can find it on their very complicated website, listen to the song "Black Mirror" here.)

The Canadian ensemble recently released their second album, "Neon Bible," to much acclaim and very good sales. I bought it last week, and I have been happily absorbed in its lush rock songs ever sense. The review on iTunes correctly likens the band to Bruce Springsteen, both because of lead singer Win Butler's raspy wail of a voice and beacuse of his penchant for lyrics that explore middle-class anxiety with bombastic riffs.

An excellent example of that spirit is on the song "Windowsill," which opens with soft electric strings and the whisper-sung assertion, "Don't wanna hear the noises on TV/Don't want the salesmen coming after me/Don't want to live in my father's house no more." And that need to escape keeps building--along with the number of instruments and the speed of the rhythm--until Butler is railing against media culture, the war, and all the other things that might make someone feel overwhelmed by living right now.

But it never gets so intense that he starts screaming. His vocals are passionate but controlled, which makes the song feel like an almost-explosion. The tension of what never quite breaks out makes the song fascinating, and it certainly recalls some of Springsteen's spookier, folkier music.

On other tracks, there are just so many people in the band that their music can have delicious texture. A song like "Black Wave/Bad Vibrations" stacks choral singing on top of rolling drums on top of a very plaintive series of chimes. It's an epic-sounding lament, made more painful by the refrain, "There's a great black wave in the middle of the sea/For me/For you/For me." Really, the song reminds me of sobbing. It just gets more and more intense as its sadness grows.

Then for fun, there are song like "No Cars Go," where the interplay of men and women's vocals (and people repeatedly shouting "Hey!" in the background) create the breezy energy of running in no particular direction because you just feel that free. Kind of like the energy of U2's "Mysterious Ways," though the songs sound nothing alike.

So there you go. Arcade Fire. "Neon Bible." Awesome. Glad I finally figured that out.

Trapped in Olde Tyme Brooklyn

2007-04-14T16:13:00.000-05:00

It had to happen, I suppose. Last summer, my iPod started giving me the "sick face," and now it has died. All 2,000 songs have been erased.

However, the clock has managed to keep perfect time. Strange.

All in all, this has not been a great week for technology. Along with my iPod, Andrew's phone and cable box died. Oh, and the overhead light in my living room isn't working, but my landlords are out of town for the next week.

So here I am, sitting in the almost-dark with no iPod, dating someone with no phone and no cable.

Screw it, you guys. I'm going all the way Colonial House. Coming soon, my report on the latest fife and drum music from Goody Goode and her tunesmith sisters!

Rejoice! Kelly Clarkson has a new single!

2007-04-13T13:31:00.000-05:00

Quick question: Did you ever wonder what would happen if Pat Benatar had a younger sister?

Well, wonder no more. "Lil' Patty" (or is that "Baby Benny?") has now been revealed to be Kelly Clarkson.

Need proof? Just go listen to "Never Again," the new single that was just released today. (Much to my excitment, I assure you!)

Once again, Kelly's angry. Andrew made a good point that on her last album, only "Breakway" and "You Found Me" are even remotely positive. Otherwise, it's all "you'll never see the tears I've cried because of you, that I've cried since u been gone, that I 've cried behind my hazel eyes while pondering the beautiful disaster from which I must now walk away."

But a girl gets pissed, you know? I mean, homeslice named her upcoming album "My December." She's cold; she's tormented; she's telling you all about it.

But with Alanis about to headline at Caroline's Comedy Club, I'm happy to let Kay-Clacka (what? she needs a nickname! I can't just say "Clarkson" over and over, and I refuse to call her "Kelly" until we're BFF) be our new dark queen of pop. You know, along with Amy Lee.

There's no denying the influence of Evanescence-style, gothically dramatic grunge on "Never Again." I'd even say the song is alternative rock, which is a striking departure from the rock-pop of the "Breakaway" album. But the single still has poppy influences.

Listen to how high up in the mix Clarkson's vocals are. Many harder rock songs are produced to push the guitar and drums to the fore, letting the vocal get absorbed in a wall of raging sound.

It's the hallmark of a pop song when the singer is placed so obviously in front of the band. (So guess what kind of song that makes "It's Not Over!" Snap, Mr. Rock Face!)

The vocal mixing on "Never Again" is really reminiscent of Pat Benatar's hits, which give pop diva grandeur to a rock sound. And there's not a thing wrong with that. We need to hear these women, right?

And Clarkson's hitting high notes in "Never Again" that sound exactly like the ones Pat Benatar busts out in "Heartbreaker" and "Invincible," slight warble and all.

If you know the overlooked Benatar classic "All Fired Up," maybe you'll agree with me that K.C.'s new one sounds like a cousin, what with the crunchy bass and the ominous drums. Granted, "All Fired Up" is really positive and rebellious, but the structure is similar.

All in all, I say good job Kelly (okay, I guess we're BFF now). Way to keep your music interesting and surprising without giving up your affinity for catchy hooks!

I love you, Marla Hooch!

2007-04-08T23:54:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, as Andrew was getting ready for a ski trip, I was flipping through the channels on his TV. Imagine my cries of happiness when I stumbled across the opening credits of A League of Their Own! Despite the fact that I've seen that move at least six times--two of them in the actual movie theater, back when I could get a Chattanooga matinee ticket for about $3.00--I sat down and watched the first hour.

And good lord, it was satisfying. Marla Hooch! Saying goodbye to her dad as they both cry! And what about that scene where we meet Dolores (Rosie O'Donnell) and Mae (Madonna)? See Rosie balance a bat on her hand! See Madonna be sassy!

My response to the movie got me thinking... what are my "stop titles?" Meaning, which movies will make me stop the remote control if I flip past them on cable? Which songs will keep me from changing the radio dial in the car, even for just a second? Which books, if I'm walking past them in the bookstore, will make me pause, smile, and read the back cover for fun?

(The implicit question here is what are your "stop titles?" Soon you'll know mine. Tell me yours!)

I think each genre I mentioned has different criteria. For a movie, I'm likely to stop on something light and escapist that doesn't requite a great deal of emotional involvement. "Terms of Endearment" and "Magnolia" are great movies--two of my favorites--but I don't want to pop in on them for a few scenes before I go do my laundry. If I don't get the total experience, I'm not that satisfied.

For a cable tv pop-in, I need something whose enjoyment can be reasonably contained in a few minutes.

That burst of pleasure has a lot to do with where the movie is when I find it. My favorite part of "A League of Their Own" is the first hour, so if I don't happen across it until Bill Pullman is back from the war, ready to woo Geena Davis away from the Peaches, then I'm not having it. On the other hand, "The Matrix" is more likely to get me at the end, when it's bad-ass, grab-the-guns -and-shoot time.

Those are two of my big "stop" movies. Others include "A Few Good Men," during the "You can't handle the truth!" scene; "Fried Green Tomatoes," at any point after Kathy Bates' discovery of her self-worth; and "Bring It On," during any cheer routine.

Of course, I think one of those five movies is guaranteed to be on cable every weekend, so I should just never turn on the TV.

For songs, my reasoning is a bit more capricious. The entire point of a pop song is that it doesn't require more than five minutes of your time (unless you're listening to Meat Loaf.) My musical "stops" have no rational explanation, and I don't know that I can definitively name all of them. However, I am certain I will always stop my radio station scanning if I hear...

Madonna in any form

"Gloria" by Laura Branigan

"Take on Me" by a-ha

"All I Want" by Toad the Wet Sprocket

or "Mo Money, Mo Problems" by The Notorious B.I.G."

As for books, it's all about childhood. I am obsessed with looking at how the Narnia books are presented in each of their re-printings.

Which... by the way... is anyone else bummed that The Magician's Nephew is now being packaged as book six and The Horse and His Boy is being pushed as book three? Half the fun of reading those books late--out of chronological order, but in the order in which C.S. Lewis wrote them--was discovering the answers to questions you forgot to ask about The Lion, the Witch, and The Wardrobe and Prince Caspian.

For instance, I'm happy that the first time I read about it, I didn't really understand why there was a lamppost behind the wardrobe. It was just there. Then, in The Magician's Nephew, it felt totally magical to realize that it had grown from the soil after an enchanted woman threw a piece of iron into the ground... and that that woman was the White Witch! AAAAAAGH!

Okay. Okay. I'm sure it's just as magical to read it in the other order, but I like what I learned first, you know? That's why all this talk of the new movie featuring the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles--that does not feature Shredder--will only make me scoff.

Wait... is this just the first step of my evolution into an arch conservative? Will all this "Don't change what I know in pop culture" business lead to a stubborn insistence that gays shouldn't marry and U.S. health care should never be affordable?

Whoops! I'll be right back. I've got to go buy my ticket to TMNT.

More love for "I Totally Hear That!"

2007-04-06T14:13:00.000-05:00

The website Pop Politics has given a very kind shout-out to my post on Alanis' "My Humps." Thanks guys!

And I recommend their site to everyone. It's very smart in its pop culture analysis, and you don't find that every day.

Plus, the incredible website Okayplayer mentioned the post, too. Just scroll down their homepage until you see an entry called "A Sense of Humor is a Terrible Thing to Waste." That particular post gives a great argument for why hip-hop artists should laugh at themselves sometimes. Does 50 Cent have a million-dollar grin? Does T.I. know what it means to dream? We may never know.

A Song By Any Other Name (Would Sound Better)

2007-04-06T12:20:00.000-05:00

Listening to Athens, Georgia-based band Of Montreal, I am conflicted.

To be sure, I love the band's music. It's dancefloor boogie created by people with a real talent for composing. (Or person, rather. Kevin Barnes, the only permanent part of the revolving-membership ensemble, is the primary songwriter.) The sound is fun and bouncy, even though the lyrics are about failing marriages and the like. I appreciate that contrast. It gives the good times a bit of rebellion, like when I went out dancing after I got fired from my job at a crappy bookstore or broke up with my first boyfriend. Dance, dammit! It proves they didn't win!

I'd put Of Montreal somewhere between New Pornographers (because of the classic pop structure in several of the songs) and Scissor Sisters/Beck (because of the loopy sound effects and occasional falsetto singing). I encourage you guys to go to the band's MySpace page (linked up top) and listen to the songs "Suffer for Fashion" and "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse."

A Promethean what? Exactly. Because that's the other thing with Of Montreal. Despite making good-to-great music, they are just so damn pretentious. The name of their album is "Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?" Song titles include "We Were Born the Mutants Again With Leafling," "A Sentence of Sorts in Kongsvinger," and "Voltaic Crusher / Undrum to Muted Da."

Good God. Get over yourselves already. These ridiculous strings of words recall the reason Fall Out Boy drives me crazy. With FOB, long, punny titles like "Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends," while occasionally clever, are preemptive weapons against anyone saying the band is mainstream or inauthentic. If you have to work to remember a song's name, then it can't be for everyone, right? No matter how many people buy it? Those plastic kids that wouldn't invite you to their pool parties and made fun of you at lunch... they don't get it, right?

The New Yorker ran a really smart piece about how Fall Out Boy seems terrified of admitting that they're popular. And while Of Montreal isn't selling hundreds of thousands of copies, they're on a similarly self-conscious path to making sure they seem bizarre. It's the rock version of how hip-hop artists have to keep it real.

But here's an obvious lesson none of these bands ever seem to take: Overtly trying to seem different makes you just as inauthentic as people who desperately try to be popular.

Ultimately, it's all about wanting to be accepted, I think. It's just that Of Montreal wants to be accepted by a different clique than the ones Akon or JoJo are eager to join.

So, Of Montreal, here's my request: Please stop trying so hard. You're not David Bowie, creating an elaborate identity of freakishness in order to blend theater and rock while commenting on the fluidity of gender. You're not Meat Loaf and Jim Steinman, using long song titles to accentuate the grand theatricality of your music. Right now, you're a group of talented musicians who seem afraid to drop your facade of carefully-constructed otherness. Your music already sets you apart. Why not let it speak for you, rather relying on song titles that tell us in advance how we're supposed to feel about your work and persona?

"I Totally Hear That" on Slate.com!

2007-04-03T21:40:00.000-05:00

Well, damn! Slate.com just wrote about my post about the Alanis video. On the page I link to, just scroll down to find me quoted there.

Crazy!

And welcome Slate readers!

Isn't It Ironic?

2007-04-03T09:43:00.000-05:00

You guys, when did Alanis Morissette get a sense of humor?

I ask that question not because I don't like her music. Sometimes, I do. "Hand in My Pocket?" "Hands Clean?" Absolutely. But after she released so many albums of naval-gazing rock-pop, I thought I knew her. I figured "Alanis" was synonymous with "convoluted lyrics" or "increasingly fewer instances of a discernible chorus or hook because all her songs are just long lists of people's names or the forty-one reasons she's praying."

So how was I supposed to predict that she'd be able to mock both herself and the current pop music Zeitgeist so well?

Okay, her particular target for parody isn't super current, but it's not like "My Humps" has become this old relic that no longer resembles anything else in pop culture.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Some of you may be asking, "How the hell do Alanis Morissette and 'My Humps' go together?"

Before I answer that question, let me offer a little background material. If you haven't seen the video for Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps," you might want to watch it here:

Mind reeling? Been too long since you had to taste that particular brew of Fergie poison? Been trying to forget her since she likened herself to a bridge? Sorry to bring back old memories, but it had to be done. Because having seen the original, it's easier to appreciate Alanis' take on the video. Take a look...

I say, "Brilliant."

My god. Brilliant.

Because not only is Morissette mocking the ludicrousness of "My Humps," she's also mocking herself. The fact that she recorded this song in the "Morissette style," with the haunting piano and angsty wailing in tact, proves that she knows she can sometimes seem like a drippy flower child. And it's not like when Tori Amos records silly songs in her freak-out-fairy style. A Tori video of "My Humps" would be filled with symbolic images of mountains melting or something. Like when she covered that Eminem song. That shit was scary. Yes, Tori offered a strong critique of Eminem, but she never seems to do the same for herself.

The fact that Alanis copies the images of "My Humps" but changes the sound only points out how over-the-top both she and the Black Eyed Peas can be. It can all be an artifice, she's saying. Everything hurled at us on the radio or television or movie screen can be an artificial attempt to seem totally authentic, but sometimes it's all just silly posturing.

And it's good to be reminded of that.

Plus, remember yesterday when I was saying Pink didn't manage to criticize the objectification of female sexuality in "Stupid Girls" without becoming the very thing she supposedly opposed? Well, Alanis found a way.

If that kind of wit, intelligence, and humility is in her next album, I'm buying it.

Pink and Pop-Culture Justice

2007-04-02T13:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes there's justice in pop culture. Like when someone as cool as Jodie Foster gets to be a star or when people finally stop believing that M. Night Shyamalan is anything more than a pony with one increasingly insufferable trick.

Another example of justice? Pink's career is being reborn. Again.

It won't be a surprise to long-term readers of "I Totally Hear That" that I have soft spot for this lady. But come on! She's awesome. Yet her awesomeness has been strangely overlooked since the heyday of "Don't Let Me Get The Party Started Like a Pill." Even her big comeback album "I'm Not Dead" looked like flopapalooza...

...until now. Suddenly, "I'm Not Dead" is racing back up the album chart, the long-moribund single "Who Knew" has sold enough copies to debut on Billboard's Hot 100 chart, and the song "U + Ur Hand" has become an actual hit. As I write this, it's top 20 on both Billboard and iTunes, and it's in the top ten of radio play.

What? Crazy!

I've said before that I don't think "U + Ur Hand" is one of her best songs, and I still think that's true. (Though, admittedly, it's growing on me.) But who am I to complain? Maybe now more people will start listening to the rock-awesome tracks on her new album.

And I do mean "rock-awesome." She shreds it up, both vocally and musically, on monster ballads "Long Way to Happy" and "Runaway." And though lyrically it's not the most sophisticated song, "Dear Mr. President" has a lovely vocal and arrangement that give emotional weight to its anti-Bush sentiment. Plus, the song features the Indigo Girls in their least mawkish performance since 1997. I really thought I would never be able to like any of their newer music, and now I do.

And for the third and final time, I implore you: Listen to "Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)." There's so much to love.

But remember: It's all about cherry-picking with Pink. Enjoy the good and skip the bad. At her best, Pink is a raw-throated belter with a filthy mouth, bruised heart, and diverse taste.

At her worst, she's a hypocritical copy of all the bling-n-booty twits she's supposedly above. Case in point: The video for "Stupid Girls," in which she sings about hating airheaded starlets while cavorting around in skimpy clothes to "parody" them. But if your parody involves booty shorts and getting drenched with water, you've allowed yourself to become the very thing you're supposed to oppose, Pink. You don't get to have it both ways, strutting around as an overt masturbatory fantasy for teenage boys while trying to justify your own objectification by calling it a social comment. The guys jerking off over you aren't making the intellectual distinction about whether the reductive caricature of womanhood writhing before them is ironic or not. Better to present an alternative form of feminine sexuality than suggest you don't have the imagination to think beyond the images you disdain. That's like saying the "stupid girls" have won.

So, right... not a clear-cut case. But for the most part, Pink's art seems like a refreshing, tuneful alternative. She's a bad girl with feelings. She's got raging hormones and a real, vulnerable humanity.

For those looking to explore her two most recent albums, "Try This" and "I'm Not Dead," let me offer these suggestions. I hope you enjoy.

From Try This:

(1) Trouble (this single should've been a huge hit)
(2) Last to Know (aggressive, angry beat. lots of cursing. inventive overdubbing on the vocals)
(3) Oh My God (seriously, one of the dirtiest songs ever. with rapper Peaches)
(4) Save My Life (a message song with lovely harmonies on the chorus)

From I'm Not Dead:

(1) Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)
(2) Long Way to Happy
(3) Runaway
(4) Nobody Knows (a bluesy torch song that builds to a seventies-rock cresecendo)
(5) Dear Mr. President

Let Claire Blow Ya Mind

2007-03-27T23:07:00.000-05:00

Today, my mind was blown. An anonymous commenter right here on "I Totally Hear That" has sworn that the female voice on Positive K's "I Got a Man" is... wait for it... actually Positive K. For real! Read it for yourselves! This makes a certain amount of sense, considering that several different women rap the female part in the video and no woman is credited on the single (which I still have on cassette in Chattanooga).

But just because it makes sense doesn't mean I can wrap my mind around it. It also makes sense that Bjork is a human being and not an alien elf spirit sent here to amaze and delight us. But still... sheesh. You know?

And you want another conundrum? I don't hate this Gap commercial:

On the face of it, I really should hate it, if for no other reason than I think these so-called "boyfriend trousers" make the women wearing them look dumpy. It's the way they hang off the hips, I think. The fabric bunches up just below the hipbone, and it doesn't look as casual and saucy and "oh, look, I'm wearing the pants of the man I screw" as it's supposed to. Instead, it just makes the woman look ill-proportioned.

Laura tells me that the Gap recently sold a pant of similar style called "The City Cut" or something. Based on her experience of those trousers, she concurs with my dumpiness assessment.

And yet the commercial is so charming. First, who doesn't love that song, even if you don't know "Annie Get Your Gun?" And the line about "anything you can wear, I can wear better" really is a clever tie-in to the product, even if it pains me to acknowledge a whiff of artistry in advertising.

Then you've got the Patrick Wilson factor. The man is constantly taking off his clothes--it's not for nothing that he starred in the original Broadway cast of "The Fully Monty"--but why shouldn't he? Work what you've got, brother! This ad teases us with Wilson leg, which both furthers his reputation as Hollywood's favorite stripper and gives us a reason to keep watching.

But then there's the kicker, as it were. Claire Danes! Am I right that this is her best performance since "My So-Called Life?" She's so natural and charming, and she gets great extension on those kicks! Never mind that she was part of the evil plot to leave Mary Louise Parker abandoned and pregnant. She's delightful!

(Speaking of mind blowing: Patrick Wilson. Mary Louise Parker. Both in the cast of the "Angels in America" TV movie... playing husband and wife. And once, I sat right next to MLP at a cabaret being performed by her personal assistant. Was Positive K there? Maybe! It's all connected, people!)

Life Through a Jens

2007-03-26T10:46:00.001-05:00

You guys! Gmail is the best e-mail server ever.

Want to know why? Because each Gmail account has so much storage space that you can easily send Mp3s to your friends. And that has allowed me to form a special club with my fabulous friend Rachel.

Every Monday, we send a song that we don't think the other has heard. It's like getting a present every week.

So far, the hot hits from Rachel have included a creepy, brilliant song called "No Children"-- from an early album by The Mountain Goats--
and a kicky little pop song called "Knee High" from the group French Kicks.

Songs I've sent to Rachel include an old school track from Suzanne Vega (can't imagine why she was on my mind recently, can you?) and an alt-country number called "Like Her" from The Volebeats. And it's weird about The Volebeats, because I've had their album for almost two years, but I've never made it past the first six songs. I mean, I like those first six, but somehow I just get stuck there. Does that ever happen to you with an album? I remember how long it took me to discover that there were songs other than "Straight Up" and "Forever Your Girl" on my Paula Abdul tape. Imagine my surprise when I finally learned that "Cold Hearted" and "Opposites Attract" and "The Way that You Love Me" had been waiting there all along!

But Paula Abdul, in this one narrow instance, is beside the point. Without a doubt, the best thing about my song club with Rachel is the fact that it introduced me to Swedish singer-songwriter Jens Lekman. You guys, this man is amazing. The song Rachel sent me is a smoky, beautiful mid-tempo rocker called "Black Cab," about being drunk and embarassing yourself at a party and trying to get a damn ride home.

Lekman's voice is so effortless lovely. It has a rich lower register that can slide easily to creamy high notes, and every now and then it trembles with a sadness that makes everything he's singing sound like gut-punching honesty.

But it doesn't stop there! Want a rocking, horns-and-handclaps rhythm to accompany a song about a guy who gets sent to prison and then uses his one phone call to dedicate a song to his lover on the radio? Then go listen to "You Are the Light."

Okay, really, the song is about absolute love tinged with cynicism, but it starts with that prison phone call image, which is awesome. It reminds of an updated Smiths track, with its swooping chorus and female backing vocalists.

In the course of writing this post, I've downloaded Lekman's 2005 album "Oh You're So Silent, Jens." What a great album title! If you have iTunes, listen to the sample of "Maple Leaves." Is that a drum loop? Am I dancing? Can this guy do everything, while sounding more and more like Morrissey every second?

Apparently he can!

(Plus, he's cute. Never hurts.)

Touched

2007-03-22T23:55:00.000-05:00

Get ready for some sidetracking, you guys. This post was going to be about one thing, and then it totally became something else. Rather than go back and change the beginning, I'll just leave my whole thought process on display.

It all started here...

Let's see... how to justify this on a music blog... Well, regular cast member Vanessa Williams had some big hits, and tonight's special guest Patti LuPone is a Broadway musical legend. That's reason enough for me to discuss "Ugly Betty!"

And there's so much worth discussing. I agree with all the scuttlebutt that this is a golden age of television. In the last decade or so, even amidst the crappy reality series and endless vehicles for "actors" like Pamela Anderson, television has proffered series after series that can rightfully be called art. Did you see the last episode of "Six Feet Under?" It's a beautiful, heartbreaking example of storytelling. Watching that show--and particularly that episdoe--expanded me as a person, much like an excellent piece of theater or an exceptional novel, because it unveiled something true about being alive. Wrapped up in "Six Feet Under's" best episodes were ruminations on how much we can help one another have a better time being human.
Even as we wound each other endlessly--and often unintentionally--we also can heal someone's wounds.

I think about the moment, for instance, in the final episode of the show when Claire offered to stay home with her mother instead of moving away to school. And her mother, Ruth, said no. No, don't stay here. And thanks to the writing, the acting, and the directing, I was able to see how much good both halves of that conversation did for those characters. For the mother to hear the daughter's offer to stay and the daughter to hear the mother's joy in her child's developing life.

I wouldn't have felt the depth of that moment--or understood the importance of gestures like that in my own life--if the series hadn't been so well constructed over dozens of episodes. I knew these women, and so I could feel the explosion of love in just a few sentences.

As a rule, I prefer small moments of love in art. They feel more real to me than those grand gestures, like Jack sinking into the ocean so Rose can live or even Juliet committing suicide. To me, those gigantic acts are the kind of moments that you can consciously perform because they *seem* like love. They seem like the things people in love are supposed to do, and they can be performed without much real feeling if you just understand our general cultural script of what romance and commitment are supposed to look like. (How do you think I "dated" girls in middle school? I just did what I'd figured out I was supposed to do.)

In my experience, the most honest love reveals itself in unconscious or barely expressed actions. Small things that come naturally, without an effort or a show, tell me love has sunk so deeply into someone's being that it has become a part of them. It's like how whenever I have good news, I always call my friends Laura and Stephanie. Because obviously if something good is happening to me, it means even more if I can share it with them.

Or take Andrew: When he walks by me on his way to get a glass or a fresh pair of socks or any mundane thing, he touches me. Even if he's on the phone, and I'm on the computer, and we're both doing things that don't involve the other, I'll still feel his fingers brush quickly across my shoulder or my waist. Just a quick touch as he moves through the room, like we're grounding each other. It's so small. It's so automatic. It's everything.

And you know what? Now that I've said that, I don't want to go into an analysis of "Ugly Betty." Suffice it to say that it's a work of art that can bring me around to gratitude for what I have in the real world.

Where I've been hiding...

2007-03-15T14:58:00.000-05:00

Hey all... I know the posts have been a little bit slower in the last two weeks, so I thought I'd show you an example of what I've been doing while ludicrously not blogging.

Here's a link to my story in this week's Village Voice. If you're in New York, pick up a paper copy. They're free, don't you know!

R.E.M.ember them?

2007-03-12T19:25:00.000-05:00

When the Police reunited at the most recent Grammy awards I was happy. Not, like, ecstatic, because they hit the height of their popularity when I was around four years old. My primary memory of the group is seeing one of their album covers pasted into the window of the DJ booth at Roller Coast Skate World, a then-awesome roller skating rink in Hixson, Tennessee. (Hixson's a little suburb of Chattanooga, y'all. I lived there until I was eleven.)

Anyway, it's hard to feel super nostalgic for a band that made less of a blip on my young radar than the theme song to "The Electric Company." The only song that I remember loving at the skating rink was "Let's Hear It For The Boy" be Deneice Williams. Oh my God, you guys. Even at the age of six, I would lose my mind when I got to skate to that. I can remember being crouched down, arms stretched before me in a Superman flying pose, rolling around curves at what felt like 90 M.P.H., and almost blistering my throat while singing, "Let's give the boy a h-a-a-a-nd!" Amazing.

So I guess if Deneice Williams released some awesome new song, I'd feel a little nostalgic.

However, the sweetest pang of musical longing I've had in ages came with the announcment that R.E.M. has reunited, however briefly, with original drummer Bill Berry. They only got back together to cover a John Lennon song ("#9 Dream," to be precise) for a Darfur Charity Album called "Instant Karma." Lots of great acts will be on the record, including The Postal Service, Regina Spektor, Christina Aguilera, and Green Day--I know! It's like they asked me to suggest the talent pool!--but I'm particularly excited about R.E.M.

Because back when they were still a foursome, their music kicked every possible ass. "Out of Time?" Don't even. "Automatic for the People," "Green," "Document," "Murmur?" My case rests all up in the face of U2.

Sure, there were some missteps (i.e. everything on "Monster" that wasn't "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" "Strange Currency," or "Crush With Eyeliner"), but the R.E.M. foursome made so much great music that I can forgive them a whole bushel of bad songs. I can even forgive them, say, a series of underwhelming post-Berry albums. Well, no need to forgive "Up." That's a really good record. But everything past then... um... is not on my desert island list.

So even if it's only for four minutes, I'll be glad to hear the old gang. If it wouldn't conflict with the chronology I've created in this post, I might even go roller skating to the sound of their reunion. But it does conflict, so I won't. But still... the joy.

Okay, I'm posting it...

2007-03-08T11:40:00.000-05:00

No sense in not posting Melinda's performance from last night. Contrast it with "My Funny Valentine," and you get a sense of her range. Plus, the end of this clip lets us hear Simon take a veiled swipe at Jennifer Hudson for calling "American Idol" a career stepping stone. But Simon? It was. No one shows up on "Idol" hoping that's where her career will end. It's supposed to be the first step.

And how funny is Randy in his comments? That last "what?!?" is so perfect. That's what I say about Melinda, too.

Winterpills and Melinda chills

2007-03-08T01:03:00.000-05:00

Mucho thanko to AdamH for suggesting I listen to the Winterpills (check them out here). I've just toured through the iTunes samples of their new album, and my first reaction is that they're great. Vaguely spooky, very melodic pop with layered male-female harmonies and the occasional explosion of drums. I'm instantly reminded of The Shins, and that's a good, good thing.

And also, there's a hint of Cowboy Junkies in there. A similar relaxed lushness, as though the beautiful music were being made just after a nap.

Now let's turn our attention to American Idol. For those of you that don't watch it, consider me your lifeline to the most popular television show in America. The New York Times recently noted that the show could lose half its audience and still be in the top 10, so I think we all have a cultural responsibility to know a little about what's going on over there...

...but even if you disagree with that statement, trust me when I say we all need to know about Melinda Doolittle. It doesn't matter which venue introduces us to an artist this exciting: the point is that she's been introduced. She's phenomenal. Her vocal expressiveness and control, her charming personality, and her ability to impeccably inhabit multiple musical personalities make her seem destined for artistic brilliance. So far, she's excelled as a soul singer, a jazz thrush, and a blues belter. Just watch this performance of "My Funny Valentine:"

To quote the mom in that famous episode of "Good Times" where the dad's character dies, "Damn, damn, damn." She's just exquisite. The grace with which she sinks to the bottom of her range in the early riff is so sultry, and she exhibits no effort when she surges into the higher notes at the end. And her phrasing of the line "Don't, baby, don't change a hair for me" is filled with sensual affection. You can hear the smile in the way she sings it.

And I know I'm being effusive, but I also think I'm right. It's rare for a performer to make me feel this instantly electrified, so I'm going with it.

Let me know if you want me to post tonight's exceptional take on Lieber and Stoller's "I'm a Woman." Peggy Lee may have started that song, but Melinda finishes it, you know what I mean?

Five Songs For... Staying Awake

2007-03-05T23:23:00.000-05:00

Due to a long series of events not really worth repeating, I went to bed last night at 4:00 AM, woke up at 9:30, and have been working non-stop until right now... 11:24 PM. I'm beat.

But I'm also in that place where you're so tired that you circle right back around to being up, you know?

And that leads me to 5 Songs For... Staying Awake.

(1) "Girlfriend" by Avril Lavigne

Seriously, why fight it? Have you guys heard this song? (Listen here)

I didn't realize how desperately I missed the sound of the Go-Gos until this little bomb got dropped. No matter the time of day, this song's chorus makes me want to jump around, punching the air with my fist to match every syncopated syllable of the line "Hey! Hey! You! You! I don't like your girlfriend!"

And, true, Avril Lavigne has always pretty much been a poseur. Like, lose the "complicated" ties. You're not punk. But on this single she's not trying to be anything but a fun pop-rocker.

(2) "Birdhouse in Your Soul" by They Might Be Giants

The live version of this song on TMBG's "Severe Tire Damage" is my favorite. I'm compelled to stay awake so I can sing along with the chorus. It has such insouciance that it always makes me smile, and consciousness is better served by happiness. (Deep! Are my pupils really dilated? Am I typing this to myself? What time is it?)

(3) "When Tomorrow Comes" by Eurythmics

To my mind, this is the best song ever to make a greatest hits album that was never actually a hit. And why wasn't it? WHY?!?

It's a beautiful, uplifting song that features one of Annie Lennox's best vocals. Just today, I was singing this as one of my potential "Idol" audition numbers.

If you don't know it, I encourage you to drop the .99 at iTunes. Or at least listen to the sample. Joy may very well ensue.

(4) "Do You Want To" by Franz Ferdinand

Short, snotty punk-pop song with kick-ass beat, loud guitars. and reference to straight-
but-open lead singer blowing a guy keeps young man awake. Film at 11:00. (Or watch the video at any time!)

(5) Your turn! Which songs keep you awake? Can the keep me awake before I zzzzzzz

zzzz...

zzzz... mmmf... snort... wha?

Whuzzhappening? Oh... umm... how did all of you guys get here? And why I am still using boldface type?

A Different Kind of Show Tune

2007-03-03T22:07:00.000-05:00

So I talk about all kinds of music on this site. Some of it's sophisticated, some of it's trashy, but perhaps none of it--I said none of it--is more significant than the nuggets of musical genius I will be discussing today.

That's right: It's time to discuss television theme songs.

Right off the bat, I think we should mourn the loss of what I'll call "The Narrative Theme." You know... those 40-second songs that tell you the entire plot of a series, sometimes with animation.

As far as Andrew and I can remember, the last series to have a theme like this was "The Nanny." You can go here to watch/listen to the delightful tale of a gal from Flushing, Queens who wears red when everyone else wears tan. It's a fantastic opening--charming, sophisticated, and cheeky. If the actual show were as accomplished as the theme song, I might want to watch it. (Plus, it's sung by Broadway sisters Liz and Ann Callaway, which is just another point in its favor.)

Other hot narrative themes include "The Patty Duke Show" and "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." (You have to scroll down a bit to find the 80s American version of the opening, but it's there. Plus, it's fun to check out the British version, where they're called "The Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles.")

Then, of course, there's TV theme songs whose words aren't necessarily about the show. Those are getting rarer, too. When was the last time a theme song became a hit single, a la "I'll Be There For You?" Or how about "How Do You Talk To An Angel" from The Heights? Guys, that song went to number one. Number. One. Ironically, it peaked on the pop chart in the same week its accompanying series was canceled, but that's another story. (I can't find a sample of this one. Anyone? Bueller?)

In fact, I'm not sure I can name five current series whose theme songs have words. There's "Scrubs."And like every other pop culture product that takes an ironic view of religion, "Big Love" uses "God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys. Apparently, the Grey's Anatomy theme is called "Cosy in the Rocket," but since I've never seen an episode, I'll just take the web's word for it. Katy, I remember, likes whatever song starts "Veronica Mars." That's four.

Hmm... Are there others?

Maybe not. Or at least there aren't that many others, which is kind of sad. I'd argue there's not a single current TV theme song that can equal the catchy brilliance of the openers to "The Golden Girls," "The Facts of Life," or "Growing Pains." I don't think they can even approach "Tossed Salad and Scrambled Eggs." Well... maybe they can. I really hate that song, unless it's in Spanish.

(And here's a fun fact: "The Facts of Life" was co-written by "Growing Pains" star Alan Thicke. Will his son be writing a TV opening soon?)

Of course, in the absence of great sing-alongs, I at least can enjoy the excellent wordless themes of current and recent series like "The Office," "Sex and the City," and "Six Feet Under." (HBO, man. They really know how to put together an instrumental, you know?)

But I have a theory: as commercials take up more airspace, themes will continue to dwindle. It's already happening. "Lost," "24," and "Heroes" run credits on top of actual scenes, thereby allowing them to squeeze more show into their 42 minutes. The theme to "30 Rock" sails by at light speed. How long will it be before "American Idol" drops the liquid walking man and the "ah-ahhs" that accompany him?

Too soon, perhaps. Too soon.

But in the meantime, what are your favorite TV themes? I obviously haven't named them all, and I'm sure there are few current ones with words that I've overlooked.

Do tell!

P.S.--Did you click on the link for "The Office" theme? Because it takes you to something much cuter than you're expecting.

Take Me On a Magical Mystery Tour

2007-03-02T01:40:00.000-05:00

First off, let me send love and cheer to "N," who just keeps posting the nicest comments here.

So... yesterday I spent the day with my friend Adam. We ate southern food in three different restaurants and talked about our experiences, and then I turned the entire day into a pithy little story about Dixie culture in NYC that will appear in the summer of issue of "Sights," the in-flight magazine for ATA Airlines.

But don't worry... I don't use any space in the article to describe how sick I felt after eating three meals' worth of fried. And yes, I do mean "fried" as a noun. Specifying that I ate "fried chicken" would imply that other things on my plate weren't fried, and that just wasn't the case. I think even the red velvet cake was fried. By the end of this little adventure, my brain certainly was.

As we were walking off some of the 8,000 calories we consumed, Adam and I started talking about music, and he threw down a bit of a gauntlet for me.

"Mark," he said, "You should really know more about The Beatles. Like their more obscure songs. They're great, and I think you'd enjoy them."

It's true. I don't know that much about The Fab Four. I mean, obviously I know "Yesterday" and "Paperback Writer" and "Hey Jude" and the other 20 Beatles songs you can't avoid if you grow up as a hearing person in the Western world. But the album cuts? Not so much. I've just never walked down that long and winding road, if you will.

However, I'm willing to travel. After all, if Elton John's old album tracks can be so awesome (and they are!), then the same might be true of the mop toppers.

Which leads me to a question for all of you: Where should I begin? I need, like, four or five songs to get me started. Suggestions? Anything I should avoid?

All your help in my Beatle-fication is greatly appreciated.

There Are Worse Things Than Apathy

2007-02-26T23:03:00.000-05:00

Plenty of people have been saying the Oscars were fine. Not great, but not terrible either.

I agree.

Ellen had some pretty funny jokes (Taking a picture with Clint Eastwood for her MySpace? Genius.) and some of the winners really deserved it (Hello, Jennifer Hudson! Hey there, Forest Whitaker! Won't you and all your ancestors have a seat?).

Even better, the execrable "Babel" only won for its score.

But all in all, it's not like this was an Oscars that could inspire passion. Not like the soul-deep agony created when "Brokeback Mountain" lost Best Picture, or the swirling joy when Adrien Brody went to the podium for "The Pianist." (If you haven't seen that movie, you should. He really deserved it.)

Nothing better encapsulates how this year's ceremony ran unswervingly down the middle of the road than the surprise win for Melissa Etheridge. Her song "I Need to Wake Up" took home Best Original Song, trumping three good-to-great songs from "Dreamgirls" and one totally ass-tastic creation from Randy Newman.

If Newman had won, it would have been worth getting pissed. But Etheridge? You can't really get upset that a woman so obviously courageous and upstanding--she's an activist for breast cancer awareness and an unashamedly open lesbian--won a major award.

Nor is the song all that bad. But that's the point. Like most of Melissa Etheridge's music, it's sturdy and inoffensive, and if it comes on in a bar, few people are likely to walk out. However, it's not like the song is great. Respectability and awesomeness are not the same thing.

For me, Melissa Etheridge is part of a group that also includes Lenny Kravitz, Sheryl Crow, and The Fray. If their music comes on the radio, I won't change the station, and I might ask for their greatest hits collections for Christmas. However, I won't spend my own money on their songs, and I won't ever really care about them all that much. But it's not like they're hurting me, and it's really fun to sing "Come to My Window" at karaoke.

So in this topsy-turvy world, maybe it's okay for the Melissas of the world to sometimes win the big awards. If Ryan Gosling had been an unexpected winner--thus making me cheer--and Babel had taken seven Oscars--thus making me shriek--my blood pressure would be out of control, my vision would be blurry, and my world would be a little askew. And I don't need that kind of stimulus when I'm already in a tizzy about when Claire's going to meet her dad the Flying Man and whether "Lost" will ever become awesome again.

Repeat Steps One Through Three

2007-02-21T21:59:00.000-05:00

Last night, as the gents of American Idol were trying to make us love them, Jared Cotter gave me an excuse to talk about an old pop song. Now this may not be enough to make me like him and his crazy eyebrows, but it at least makes me like him more than, oh, Sundance. (Seriously, dude. Your dad had a hit single. If you're going to pimp the fact that you were raised around music industry professionals, you should demonstrate some kind of savvy yourself, y'know? Otherwise, it makes you look like you don't have the sense to learn by example.)

The song that Jared sang last night was "Back at One" by Brian McKnight, a song a like because it has an impossible chorus. By that, I mean it creates a system that cannot be completed.

See, the chorus has B. Mick following five easy steps to loving his woman. They go like this:

One... you're like a dream come true
Two... just wanna be with you
Three... girl it's plain to see / that you're the only one for me
Four... repeat steps one through three
Five... make you fall in love with me
If ever I believe my work is done... then I start back at one

But wait! It's impossible for Brian to get to step five! She can never fall in love with him! Because every time he gets to step four, he has to repeat steps one through three. The pattern loops forever!

I know it's probably unintentional, but that lyrical twist makes the song a proclamation of hopelessness. It's like Sisyphus wrote a love song, and that's cool.

In other news, does any movie look worse than "Amazing Grace?" First, there's the overwrought, white-boy-soul at the beginning of the trailer. Then there's the suggestion--once again--that the only people who can save those mixed up black people are the noble whites who take pity on them. Other movies that recently made that point include "Blood Diamond," "Freedom Writers," and "The Last King of Scotland." And then there's "Amistad," which clearly inspired the folks at "Amazing Grace" with its waistcoats and slave talk.

And really, I can't stand that kind of patronizing bullshit. It belittles everyone.

Just to feel better about the world, I'm going to go watch the top 12 women on "Idol." Nothing patronizing or reductive there, by God!

Viva Las Vega

2007-02-18T23:15:00.000-05:00

All in all, this was a pretty great Sunday. Here's what I did:

--Slept until 11:00 AM

--Ate a breakfast that someone else (namely, Andrew) prepared

--Played two rousing games of Boggle (In which Andrew and I both found the word gutting. I was certain that would be my mighty triumph word.)

--Read Entertainment Weekly's predictions about who will win the Oscars (And no matter what the naysayers may... um... naysay... I think Jennifer Hudson deserves to win. There are interviews with two anonymous Academy members who call her overrated, but I'd say that's just sour grapes about all the praise she's been getting. Forget those women from "Babel." Hudson rules.)

--Put new songs on my iPod.

And that last one is why I'm here tonight. Do any of you procrastinate about putting your older CDs on your iPod? Because I always find it kind of a chore. First, you have to dig through your dusty old CaseLogic to find the CD you want. Then you have to wait for a century as your computer loads it on to iTunes. And then finally you have to transfer the songs from your desktop to your iPod. Yikes!

Okay... so maybe this isn't the kind of brinksmanship waiting game played by spies on the verge of international warfare, but it's still tedious.

However, I'm always happy when I finally upload older albums. Though I still have a stereo, I almost never listen to CDs. If music isn't brought to me by Apple-created software, I don't hear it that often, so it can be a delightful trip through the past to find an album that's been getting ignored for years as I spin my click wheel. Sometimes, I'm shocked to remember that I actually own a song I almost bought on iTunes. (Hello, Belinda Carlisle! Saved $.99 on that one!)

Today's particularly welcome rediscoveries were albums by Suzanne Vega.

"Luka" and "Tom's Diner" obviously rule, but Suzanne Vega has recorded at least two dozen excellent songs. Do you know the song "Gypsy?" It's got some of the best singer-songwriter lyrics of all time. (So good, in fact, that Vega included them in a book of her collected writings. Sure, that's a touch pretentious, but if any recent writer can get away with it, it's S. V. Put her book next to Jewel's, you know?)

With odd, captivating details, Vega uses "Gypsy" to address a man she desperately loves who nevertheless will never treat her well. He's a beautiful, popular flirt, destined to steal your heart and then make you smile as he breaks it. The persistent movement of the music--a soft drum beat, a guitar line than never stops--suggests a person who will never stop long enough to be held. Ironically, though, Vega's mournful voice is just in front of the rhythm. The music is dancing behind her, and it can't be bothered to catch up to the woman who's singing with so much sadness.

And that's the point. The lyrics are about how she's leaving this man behind, and he's not going to notice. She says:

Please do not ever look for me
But with me you will stay
And you will hear yourself in song
Blowing by one day.

But will he even notice the song if he hears it? Maybe not. That drum beat never tries to catch up with Vega's voice. Sometimes, people never stop their life long enough to watch how other people are drifting out of it. They never notice how much they hurt people by allowing themselves to ignore the consequences of their flirty--yet ultimately detached and distant-- behavior.

Sigh.

Often, when people make folk music this good, I never want them to stop, particualrly when they prove not to be good with other genres. Ani DiFranco, for instance, got self-indulgent and annoying when she abandoned tightly structured, guitar-heavy folk rock in favor of endless jazz canoodling. She's never recovered from that self-conscious artiness, if you ask me.

But when Vega branched out in the mid-90s, she was brilliant in a brand new way. The entrance of industrial dance beats on the album "99.9 F°" allowed her to flirt with techno without losing her intelligence. A song like "Blood Makes Noise" is remarkable in two ways. First, there's the insanely catchy beat, which is built out of a clanging, sticks-on-a-can sound and a bass line looped over and over. Vega's voice gets filtered through a crazy fuzzbox, and the song sounds like the best club track that never hit it big.

Remember, though, how "Luka" sounded like a pretty little ballad until you noticed it was written from the perspective of a battered child? Same situation here. The narrator of "Blood Makes Noise" is a woman who is trying and failing to talk to her doctor about her medical history. The fear of whatever the doctor might say is so crippling that there's blood pounding in her head and ringing in her ears. She clearly thinks a terrible diagnosis is coming--or maybe one just came--and she's trying to explain her own incoherence.

I'd like to help you doctor, yes I really really would
But the din in my head is too loud, and it's no good

We never really know what's up with this woman, but the dread is clear. The song is a dramatic sucker punch wrapped in a rave beat.

And that's probably the lasting genius of Suzanne Vega: She masters the sound of the most popular music styles, but her lyrical content is always dense and surprising. Her love songs are these lush anthems, filled with soaring choruses. But they're about people who imagine thesmselves in The Huncback of Notre Dame ("In Liverpool") and whores who have no regrets ("No Cheap Thrill"). Her rockers are about women questioning their morals ("Marlene on the Wall") or the hypocrisy of Western society ("When Heroes Go Down.")

There just aren't that many muisicians this challenging who are also this easy to listen to. If you're looking for a quick blast of Vega glory, I recommend "Retrospective: The Best of Suzanne Vega." Every album, though, has high points that aren't on this "best of" package. If you're inclined to folk , dip into "Solitude Standing" (that's the one with "Luka") or 2001's "Songs in Red and Gray." If you like folk laced with bold experiments in industrial rock, try the aforementioned "99.9 F°" or "Nine Objects of Desire."

In all cases, you'll probably find songs you'll want to put on your iPod right away.

Am I sweating? 'Cause I'm sure seeking heat!

2007-02-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

Do you remember the scandal that erupted a few years ago because someone dubbing himself "The Masked Magician" was threatening to reveal all the secrets of stage magic in a television special? There were enraged death threats being hurled from boardwalks and dank cabaret theaters everywhere. "Don't you dare show them how this rabbit got here!" the magicians cried.

Well, change "magicians" to "music insiders" and "rabbit" to "hip new album" and you've got a sense of the curtain I'm about to draw back here.

In other words: Do you want to know a great way to find new bands before most people have heard of them? Go look at the Heatseekers chart on Billboard.com. It tracks albums by artists who have never appeared in the top half of theTop 200 Album Chart. The bands that do well on the Heatseekers tally--meaning they hit number one or linger in the top ten for several weeks--tend to be up-and-comers just breaking through. Often, these artists are making music that's riskier than most of what's on the radio. Sometimes, though, they're producing very pop-friendly stuff that just hasn't found its audience yet.

It's through this chart that I first learned about Regina Spektor, Scissor Sisters, Keane, and a country singer I really like named Mindy Smith. And then I got to feel totally awesome for knowing them a few months before they had hit singles. (Okay... Mindy Smith never had a hit single, but you know what I mean.)

This week's number one Heatseeker album is "Carnavas" by a group called Silversun Pickups. The Silver-wha? I know! I'd never heard of them either, but seeing them atop the chart led me to check them out on iTunes. And it turns out they're pretty good. As the iTunes review says, they're like the rebirth of Smashing Pumpkins. Same melodic-yet-fuzz-drenched sound. Same use of "S.P." for band initials. And the woman in Silversun Pickups? She plays bass. Just like D'Arcy Wretzky!

Anyway, they're absolutely worth hearing. I've enjoyed having their songs playing as I write this, and I think that's where their music fits... as interesting texture for the background. More challenging than Enya, less distracting than Cher. (Have you ever tried to write a paper while listneing to "Believe?" Nothing can withstand that song's command to start dancing.)

So I encourage everyone to take a Heatseekers tour. It can be an exciting way to discover new artists, and, really, discovering good new music can be so hard sometimes. It's always nice to have a new outlet.

(P.S.--Debuting at number 18 on this week's chart is Sondre Lerche. After listening to that album several times, I can say unabashedly that I love it. Every song is great. My favorite is this piece of ear candy caled "John, Let Me Go." Delightful!)

The Secrets of My Shower

2007-02-14T23:55:00.000-05:00

You guys... who is this guy Chris on American Idol? The one with the big afro and the pudgy hands and the wicked excellent sense of humor? Because he's awesome. Is it possible that someone as obviously intelligent and non-annoying could actually become our next American Idol?

Wait... what? Did you guys answer that question? I couldn't hear you over the braying sound of Taylor Hicks' laughter. And the shrieking cackle of Kelly Pickler. And the weird gurgling that Bo Bice carries in the back of his throat.

But no matter. I can root for Chris and that beat-boxing guy and Lakisha, she of the soft-spoken dreams, and that girl who used to be a back-up singer. And I have someone to hate, too. That girl Antonella. The one who's best friend got kicked off. She seems like a smug little princess to me. Chris will destroy her.

Here, however, is the big topic of the day, framed as a question: Am I the only one who imagines auditioning for this show? I'm always thinking about which songs I would choose, and I even--wow, this isn't easy--pretend in the shower that my audition is happening at that moment. Lately, I've been wowing the judges with my rendition of Erasure's power-pop classic "A Little Respect." See, that song shows the full extent of my (imagined) range, leaping from thundering bass notes to a tear-inducing tenor.

And for my encore? Why, that's "Righteous Love" by Joan Osborne. Damn, you know? (If you don't know that song, please go listen to it. It's an amazing blues-rock song that sounds like a lost anthem from the 1960s.)

Now I'm not bold enough to imagine myself winning it all. For now, the fantasy stops with me getting through to Hollywood. But who knows? Maybe next year--if they extend the age limit by one year--I'll be the one working my way into some blogger's heart.

Post-Grammy Haze

2007-02-12T00:55:00.000-05:00

So it's pretty awesome that Dixie Chicks won all three of the major Grammys--record, song, and album of the year--for making music that actually merits awards.

And it's cool that The Police reunited to sing "Roxanne" at the opening of the show. (Ask me about my "Roxanne" drinking game. It's buzz-tastic.)

It's also groovy that Ludacris ironically thanked Oprah in his acceptance speech for Best Rap Album, thus referencing their previous argument. (And I love Oprah, but even I can't handle the controversty surrounding her school for South African girls. Asked why she didn't open the school in the U.S., she said, "If you ask the kids what they want or need, they will say an iPod or some sneakers. In South Africa, they don't ask for money or toys. They ask for uniforms so they can go to school.")

But back to the Grammys...

Do these triumphs make the Grammys awesome? Argh. It's so, so close. But then you get to the "Best Pop Performance By a Duo or Group With Vocal" category.

Here are the nominees that didn't win:

Pussycat Dolls, "Stickwitu"

Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Follow You into the Dark"

Keane, "Is it Any Wonder?"

The Fray, "Over My Head (Cable Car)"

I think we can agree that Pussycat Dolls is a ridiculous choice. That song is pretty good as insta-ballads go, but the "group" quite publicly consists of one singer and five or six backup dancers. It's only the singer--Nicole Scherzinger--who actually appears on the record. The dancers just... dance. So calling The Pussycat Dolls a group is like calling four cherry Popsicles your recommended daily serving of fruit.

But look at the other nominees. Damn if they aren't all really good! In the case of the Death Cab song, maybe even great! What brilliant track could have beaten them all?

Um... how about "My Humps?"

Yes, that's right. That's the song that won. Fergie now has more Grammys than Death Cab for Cutie, and the Recording Academy has given us no advice on how to deal with that.

I'd like to direct your attention...

2007-02-06T09:25:00.000-05:00

...to two very worthy new albums that were released today.

In the mood for stripped-
down garage rock with just a whiff of an unwashed boy in a white t-shirt? Then check out "Phantom Punch" by Sondre Lerche. He's a Norwegian singer-songwriter who manages to sound underground without being over-the-top pretentious. I think it's because he occasionally makes a really pretty song like "Tragic Mirror," which sits in the middle of the new album like a pleasant conversation. And two tracks later you get "John, Let Me Go," which is deliciously sunny.

On the other side of singer-songwriter town (the blues-gospel side) is "Children Running Through," the new album by...

...Patty Griffin.

'Nuff said.

In other news, I'm taking a work-related trip to Colorado Springs, Colorado this week. And guess what: It's going to be in the 40s. Oh, global warming! You're so crazy! But that does sound better than the fourteen degrees New York is currently dropping on me.

Oh, Renee.

2007-02-03T00:49:00.000-05:00

So apparently, this is opera diva Renee Fleming singing "I Could Have Danced All Night."

And that's crazy. Would you guys applaud for me if I sang it like that? I hope so.

http://www.parterre.com/renaay_all_night.mp3

Who would? Winwood.

2007-01-31T23:25:00.000-05:00

Last year, my frends Josh and Katy sent me this amazing collection of CDs that contain Billboard's top 100 songs from 1980-1997. That means I own pretty much every song you can imagine from that period. (Except, strangely, "Tell it to My Heart" by Taylor Dayne and "Gypsy Woman (She's Homeless)" by Crystal Waters. You'd think those would've been in the top 100 songs of their respective years. But then you'd also think Pat Benatar would sing "We Belong" in concert. And she didn't. Oh, sure, there's time for all those new songs, but no love for "We Belong?" What the hell?!? At least "Shadows in the Night" was awesome, and... Well, I digress. That concert was four years ago.)

Anyway, I've had these CDs for months, but it's kind of overwhelming, having so many yester-hits at one's disposal. To save my sanity, I only dip into them occasionally, like when I get a jones to hear "The Promise" by When in Rome or when I decide it's time to revisit the early work of Vanessa Williams.

Or when I've got 80s crooners on the brain.

As I was falling asleep two nights ago, I found myself singing Steve Winwood's "Valerie." Why? I don't know. But all I needed was the Top 100 of 1988 to get me rocking.

"Valerie" quickly led to "Roll With It." Which led, as surely as one margarita leads to three, to "Higher Love," "The Finer Things," and "Back in the High Life Again."

Turns out Winwood rules. That's kind of news to me, because when he was at his 1980s peak, I was less than a decade old. I just didn't grasp his magnitude. (Or his cuteness. Check the pictures in this post! Even with 1987 hair, he's dreamy.)

Thankfully, I'm old enough now to appreciate the man. It only takes ten seconds to hear how much better Steve Winwood holds up than blue-eyed-soul contemporaries like Huey Lewis or Hall & Oates. You might hear the occasional synthesizer in "Roll With It" or "Valerie," but there's impeccable craftsmanship at work, too.

Take "Higher Love:" It's buoyant horn section and Chaka Khan's backing vocal make it endure as uplifting gospel-pop. I'm listening to the song as I type this, and it's putting me in a good mood.

And how much more can you ask of pop music?

Now I guess I have to track down songs by Spencer Davis Group, Blind Faith, and Traffic, just to see what kind of music he was making before he embarked on a solo career.

Wait... shouldn't I hate you?

2007-01-29T23:20:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I get DVDs from Netflix and then keep them for months. Literally months. There's all kinds of reasons for this, like how I tend to work during the day and see plays at night, leaving me little time to watch a movie. There's also the fact that I can't handle starting a movie without finishing it. Andrew can watch something over a period of days, but my heart is not built that way. I need to see the completion of an arc, dammit!

Recently, I had "Harold and Maude" for ages, and I finally returned it without watching it. Pleae refrain from sending letters. I know it's supposed to be great, memorable, etc. But you know what? It had its chance. Just like "Apocalypse Now" did for my entire second semester of my third year in grad school.

In "Harold and Maude's" place came "American Dreamz." Now it just so happens that I've been on a bit of a movie-watching kick, since I don't have to go to the theater until Friday. That means I actually sat down and watched "American Dreamz" today, and it led me to a question of enormous weight:

What the hell is up with Mandy Moore?

Like, how did she sneak up on us and become this respectable star? Because if you ask me to free associate with her name, this is what happens:

You: "Mandy Moore"

Me: "Ugh. Disposable."

You: "Stephen Moore."

Me: "Cool! I went to grad school with him!"

You: "Roger Moore"

Me: "Umm... wasn't he a Bond?"

You: "Mandy Moore."

Me: "Wait. She's still around?"

Exactly.

But if you look harder at the evidence, Mandy Moore is not only still around, but kind of around in a serious way. It may not be brilliant, but "American Dreamz" is a decent movie--a satire of American politics and "American Idol" from Paul "About a Boy" Weitz that stars such totally credible actors as Marcia Gay Harden, Willem Dafoe, Dennis Quaid, Jennifer Coolidge, and the super cute Hugh Grant. ("Music and Lyrics?" If you insist!)

Then you have to think about "Saved!", a movie that rules and in which Mandy Moore is the bomb. Hilary Faye, y'all! She is filled with Christ's love!

But that's just one movie. Is that enough to justify my grudging respect? Or Hollywood's? How is it that Mandy Moore's obvious crap movies can still star Diane Keaton, while Kate Winslet, queen of all that's awesome, gets stuck next to the soul-crushing horror of Cameron Diaz while trying to pretend she finds Jack Black attractive?

My disbelief mostly springs from the fact that Mandy Moore was first presented as a pop starlet along the lines Britney, Xtina, Jessica Simpson, Jennifer "Who?" Paige, and Willa "What?" Ford. But even though she has an album called "Greatest Hits," Moore never actually had a hit. I mean, there were songs like "Candy" and "I Wanna Be With You," which were on the radio enough to make her annoyingly memorable, but do you know how many Mandy Moore songs have been in the top 40? One. The top twenty? Less than that.

Yet even Moore's barely-there music career isn't ridiculous. She released a fairly respectable album of covers on which she tackled Joni Mitchell and XTC. XTC! When Jessica Simpson covered Patty Griffin last year, I almost vomited. But if Mandy Moore did it, I'd probably listen to a sample before judging.

And Mandy Moore's new album features songs that she has co-written with Lori McKenna (an exceptional singer-songwriter), plus a cover of "Give in to Me," one of the best forgotten Michael Jackson songs of all time.

So... could it be that I'm actually excited for Mandy Moore's new album? Is it all thanks to an appearance in one really good movie and a general ability not to become a fame whore while her peers appear on Maxim covers and in mug shots?

I don't know. Really, the whole thing makes my mind reel.

Second Times the Charm

2007-01-28T00:03:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone! Well, as it happens, I have another story in The New York Times, this one in the theater section. You can give it a read here.

EW shows the love

2007-01-25T18:19:00.000-05:00

Well, if it weren't enough that The Times ran my story on "The Office," the good folks over at Entertainment Weekly just responded to it. You can read the interesting commentary on my story here.

You know what else happened today? I downloaded "Wincing the Night Away," the new album by The Shins. All in all, everything's coming up roses for the Markster.

For those of you who know The Shins, you'll already be familiar with their jangly pop, which is what Fountains of Wayne would sound like if they had stayed edgy instead of scoring a big fat hit with "Stacy's Mom." (I liked that song, so no offense to FoW. Just saying.)

I know some would call me a heretic for saying this, but I like The Shins' first album, "Oh, Inverted World," much more than their follow-up, "Chutes Too Narrow." Beside having a title that sounds like gay porn, "Chutes" feels blissed out and aimless to me. There's a dearth of hooks that command my attention, and I am busy, people. My attention's flickering away! If it's pop you're meant to be making, even if it's cool indie pop, then go ahead and stick in my brain.

Those songs from "Oh, Inverted World?" Stick in my brain like Post-Its. Have you heard "Girl, Inform Me?" Listen once, hum it forever. Same with "New Slang," which is the song that supposedly made Natalie Portman's character in "Garden State" stop being the prepubescent waif who would never, ever grow up and therefore force Zach Braff's character to realize that he has to deal with women and their very adult feelings.

(Oh, wait. That's not what happened. Porto stays mentally challenged, which makes her the perfect lust object for those men who want to succor their feelings of superiority and masculine power by only choosing girl-dolls as conquests. Give me Natalie-as-schemer in "Closer" any day.)

Anyway... what?

Right. New Shins. Full of great hooks. Plus, the music sounds a little bit different, but not radically so, than the last two records. Growth and familiarity all in one! Huzzah! (Listen to samples here.)

Good Times for "The Office"

2007-01-25T16:25:00.000-05:00

Remember that post I wrote last month about music on "The Office?" Remember how it mysteriously disappeared?

That's because I rewrote it as a story for The New York Times!

If you go here, you can read my story in all its glory.

Awesome!

This Ain't a Scene, It's an Oscar Race

2007-01-23T23:06:00.000-05:00

Let's digress to film for a moment. Oscar nominations were announced today, and I have a couple of responses:

(1) I will not be seeing "Letters from Iwo Jima." Will. Not. Twice before, I was suckered by critics renting out the sides of blimps on which to declare the brilliance of the latest Clint Eastwood movie. Off I went, buying my ticket with expectations as high as the Pope's hat, and you know what? I hated "Million Dollar Baby." Know what I hated more? "Mystic River." Both of those mose relied on the mustiest, phoniest storytelling cliches, yet everyone insisted they were these sophisiticated, surprising works of art. I will not be fool again, even though that means this will be the first year since 1992 that I have not seen all the Best Picture nominees.

(2) I will see "Babel," but I'm not excited about it. My friend Maggie said it's more depressing than the thought of Schwarzenegger as governor, yet I feel compelled. Seven... nominations... must... see... movie. Plus, I liked "21 Grams," which is by the same director.

(3) "Dreamgirls" deserved a best picture nomination more than "Little Miss Sunshine." Though I do think "Sunshine" is pretty great.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

I love the new song by Fall Out Boy. "This Ain't a Scene It's an Arms Race" starts with a pulsing rhythm that's almost like 80s dance, and then it explodes into hyperspeed rock riffs. It features a large group singing along to the chorus. It does that thing where the audio gets split during certain verses, so that one line comes out of your left speaker, and the next line comes out of the right. Trippy!

So there you go. I dig on Fall Out Boy. Watch out, Radioactive Man!

Albums and (of course) Idols

2007-01-19T00:19:00.000-05:00

Before we begin, let me ask you all this: Are you watching "30 Rock?" If not, you should be. It's awesome. If you are, and you saw tonight's episode, you'll know what I mean when I say, "Kat Cour Su." (Just imagine that scrawled on a wall. Yeah. Now you feel me.)

Anyhoo... let's carry on. I'd like to tell you about my...

Six Favorite Albums of 2006.

(I'm on a computer with limited interface capabilities, so links to old posts won't be coming into play today. But I didn't want to wait to post. That's dedication, people!)

6. Scissor Sisters, "Ta-Dah!"

5. Gnarls Barkley, "St. Elsewhere"

4. Under the Influence of Giants, "Under the Influence of Giants"

3. Shiny Toy Guns, "We Are Pilots"

2. Snow Patrol, "Eyes Open"

1. Dixie Chicks, "The Long Way Around"

Now that I've got this blog, I feel like there's no real reason to go into detail about my choices. I've been saying what I like about these albums for months. But if you still haven't given yourself a chance to hear them, you should. You won't be disappointed.

Elsewhere, did anyone notice the recent report that the premiere for the sixth season of American Idol had the second-highest ratings in the show's history? (Behind only the finale between Clay and Ruben. Ruben, by the way, is still billing himself in concert as "American Idol's Ruben Studdard." Carrie Underwood and Kelly Clarkson don't need the show's help anymore, Rubes. What does that say?)

However, for the second consecutive week, national album sales have hit an all-time low. It's fascinating that the most popular television show in America is centered around an industry on the wane.

What does it all mean? I don't know, but I hope that really tall woman from Seattle makes it the top 24. She's so tall! I'd buy her album for that reason alone! And that would send the sagging music business through the roof. In the way a tall woman's head might go through it.

2006: The Year in Songs

2007-01-16T12:33:00.000-05:00

The votes are in, the campaigns are finished, and, finally, the lawsuits are settled. That means it's time to anoint my best and worst songs of 2006. (Albums will come in a later post.)

Some of you have been getting an e-mail version of this annual list for years, but now the future is upon us. Behold! Like magic, an e-mail becomes a blog!

Anyway, here we go. But before I get to the countdown, I have to give a special citation.

Artist That Evoked the Most Complicated Reaction in Me: Nelly Furtado

I just don't know what to do about Nelly Furtado version 2.0, in which the former folky becomes Timbaland's R&B muse. (I've fretted about this before.) On one hand, there's the outstanding single "Say It Right," which has the standard stuttered beat of all current hip-hop, but also contains this beautiful, spooky chorus built from layers and layers of Nelly's voice. On the other, there's "Promiscuous." Or as I like to call it, "Who Needs Pants?" In three minutes, Nelly Furtado goes from folk-pop iconoclast with to the latest brand of hoochie.

So what happened here? In her quest for radio success, did Nelly Furtado dismiss her individuality? Or did she take her distinctive sound and update it, thereby making a fairly homogeneous genre a little more interesting? I mean, you can still hear Latin rhythms in songs like "Maneater" and "No Hay Igual."

Either way, I feel like I now have to say, "Nelly Furtado has a few good songs, despite being generic," whereas before I could declare her awesomeness bar none.

Like Natalie Imbruglia, I am torn.

Worst Songs of 2006

3. "Do I Make You Proud" by Taylor Hicks

God help us all. Reportedly, the final song for this season of "American Idol" will be chosen through a nationwide contest, and that will be a blessing on all humanity. The computer program that wrote this year's insipid 'inspirational' tune should never be allowed to create music again. Instead, it should be returned to its obvious original function of churning out scripts for "The Ghost Whisperer."

2. "Laffy Taffy" by D4L

I wish I could tell you what this rap song about a woman's, um, sweet taffy, sounded like in its final two minutes. But I've never been able to get all the way through it.

1. "Wind It Up" by Gwen Stefani

I pretty much said everything I want to say in this article and in this post. But let me just reiterate: Ironic yodeling wasn't cool when Jewel did it. So that means that Gwen Stefani is less cool than Jewel.

Best Songs of 2006

(Note: If I've already written about these songs or artists, the titles will be links to my previous posts about them)

20. "Want To" by Sugarland -- A country duo that excels at making hummable, feel-good melodies. And that's not as easy as it seems. This one is particularly fun for singing along.

19. "S. E. X." by Lyfe Jenninngs featuring LaLa Brown

18. "Cheated Hearts" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

17. "Crystal Ball" by Keane -- Lush and beautiful pop.

16. "I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker (With Flowers in My Hair)" by Sandi Thom -- And then I wrote more about this song here.

15. "You're All I Have" by Snow Patrol

14. "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor -- Once again I say, "Watch the video! It's so endearing!"

13. "Fireflies" by Rhett Miller and Rachael Yamagata

12. "Irreplaceable" by Beyonce -- This one would've been higher, but the radio is just playing the hell out of it right now, which makes it impossible to ignore the rhyming of "minute" with "minute." Now, I still love the song, but I feel like you have to get marks down for that kind of lazy songwriting. Am I too strict? Please petition your school board if you want to complain about my grading methods.

11. "Not Ready to Make Nice" by Dixie Chicks

10. "In The Clouds" by Under the Influence of Giants

9. "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol -- Really, just a beautiful, beautiful song. It gets more haunting with time, and Martha Wainwright's airy voice is the perfect addition.

8. "Don't Cry Out" by Shiny Toy Guns

7. "Turn, Turn, Turn" by Dolly Parton -- This year, Dolly Parton released an album called "Those Were The Days," in which she covers songs from the 60s and 70s, often duetting with the songwriters or original artists. The album has a tacky, discount-store cover, but the music is just exceptional, particularly this version of "Turn, Turn, Turn" (featuring backing vocals from The Byrds' Roger McGuinn.) The banjo-led arrangement is rollicking like the best old-school country, and Dolly's voice is astonishing. Really, the entire song is worth it for the last 45 seconds, when she starts wailing with this raspy joy that makes me want to lift a hand to Jesus. Many kisses to Andrew for giving me this CD for Christmas!

7. "SOS" by Rihanna -- All these months later, my booty's still shaking.

6. "Smiley Faces" by Gnarls Barkley

5. "Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)" by Pink -- Come on, people! Pink is awesome! Why, why, why has her latest album not been more popular? Oh, okay. It may have something to do with the fact that the singles "Stupid Girls" and "U + Ur Hand" are its weakest songs. But this song! Just spend the 99 cents: You won't be sorry. As I've said before, you'll feel like a bad-ass.

4. "Returning to the Fold" by The Thermals

3. "Ain't No Other Man" by Christina Aguilera

2. "Here It Goes Again" by O.K. Go -- I can't believe I haven't already written about this band! The treadmill-hopping video rules, of course, but the song itself demands wild dancing around the room. The fact that it sounds just like The Cars is only a point in its favor.

1. "Bitter End" by Dixie Chicks -- Without a doubt, the most gratifying song I've heard all year. There are so many small moments to love here, like Natalie Maines' voice when she sings the line "It's alright, you can sleep tonight." Her soft crack on the high notes--on the syllables "right" and "night"--define the longing in a song about missing a friend who is gone forever. Then there's the harmony vocals on the chorus and in the ad-libbed final minute. They make "Bitter End" sound like it's launching up off the ground, offering to carry us.

And the insistent tempo, with its heavy drum implying a forward march, is a poignant counterpoint to the theme of loss. No matter how much we miss someone, life keeps moving. The song keeps playing. We can raise a glass and toast the past, but then we have to go.

And that's heartbreaking and honest and exactly the kind of sentiment that the Dixie Chicks, with their impeccable artistry, can make electrifying.

Do They Need Shiny Toy Bullets, Too?

2007-01-14T12:31:00.000-05:00

Well, it's been a while, but I'm back. Since we last gathered here, I've been out saving the cheerleader and saving the world. Oh, and angling to get Dwight booted out of Dunder-Mifflin so that I can take his job.

Also, I've been listening to "We Are Pilots," the album by Shiny Toy Guns. Last month, I was ambling around iTunes, glancing at that magical column suggests artists I might like. Right at the top was Shiny Toy Guns.

"Shiny Toy Guns?" I thought, "Well, I don't know if I can support that kind of violence."

But iTunes has been right before, so I gave the samples a quick listen. And damn!

Here's what you get with this group:

** A man and a woman who swap lead vocals, occasionally having "conversation songs"

** Dance and rock beats in the same song, living together in peace.

** A female vocalist (Carah Faye) who sound just like Neko Case from New Pornographers.. And we all know Neko rules.

** Two songs, "When they Came for Us" and "Don't Cry Out" that are miniature epics. It's always so fun when a song sounds different in the beginning, middle, and end. It's like getting three songs in one! (For another great example, see "All These Things I've Done" by The Killers.")

Speaking of The Killers, if you wish they hadn't left behind their New Wave roots--you know, like they were embarassed that their music was fun--then Shiny Toy Guns may be for you. Or if you've ever wondered what Human League might sound like today, get thee to a gunnery!

A Shakespeare joke. That's right. Welcome to the '07, fools.

(For samples of the STG album, go here.)

Updates, additions, and a little more Margaux

2006-12-26T01:44:00.000-05:00

Hello all! Two shopkeeping things:

First, I'd like to repost the link to my "Chartological Readings" entry, since it seemed to be popular. I've just analyzed the chart of a reader named "Cheerleader," and it's fascinating. If you haven't had your pop chart read, write in! Just go here.

Also, due to a technological glitch and a few professional things that I cannot yet discuss--all good--I decided to take down my post about Christmas songs on "The Office." However, that also meant removing my admonition for everyone to check out the fabulous jewelry of "I Totally Hear That" reader Margaux Lange.

So let me say again... her jewelry is awesome. Check it out here.

And check out the similarly awesome work of my friend Kate. She's the one who told me that Margaux was reading this blog. (Margaux and I have never actually met, you see.)

Shopkeeping done, I must now go to bed. Soon, I'll be leaving Chattanooga to stay with Andrew's family in Michigan. Outstanding!

Gift "Certificates" are SO 1998

2006-12-26T01:07:00.000-05:00

Some of you might be thinking, "Yo, Mark! Where's your list of the best songs and albums of the year? All the other lists are out there. Are you... lazy? A no-goodnick? Drunk?"

Well, no. It's just that, for the time being, I am not fortunate enough to get advance press copies of CDs. (Anyone out there want to hire me to write about music?) That means I have to wait until I actually buy albums in order to hear them, and that means I don't hear a lot of things until after Christmas. Today, for instance, I received a boatload of music, plus a gift card for iTunes that will let me purchase more. Once I've sifted through my spoils, I'll indulge myself (and entertain you?) by ranking the best and the worst tunes of 2006.

For now, let me ask you this: what were your favorite albums and singles of the year? I have $25 to spend at iTunes, and I'd love some suggestions. At present, my plan is to buy the greatest hits of Mary J. Blige and the latest album from a punk-pop group called Morningwood.

And you know that I love some Mary J. However, other than a tape of her first album, "What's the 411?", that Thomas Blake gave me for my birthday in 7th grade, I've never owned any of her music. (Remember Thomas? Some of you do!) I do dig the lady, but she has always struck me as someone who, from a purchasing perspective, was designed for a greatest hits album. Sort of like Sheryl Crow or Lenny Kravitz or Nickel Creek. I can't exactly explain why, but I feel like these artists' best songs will always be their singles. The rest of their studio albums? Fillertown.

(Okay... with Sheryl Crow I can explain why I feel that way. With the exception of one song per album, neither "Tuesday Night Music Club" nor "Sheryl Crow" gave me anything worthwhile that wasn't also released to radio. That's why I sold those CDs and got her greatest hits instead. I should not have to hear "The Na-Na Song" before getting to "Strong Enough.")

But anyway... those are my current choices. I'm open to arguments that I should spend my gift card elsewhere.

Proof that TV Can Offer Happiness

2006-12-22T17:36:00.000-05:00

One of the best things about being home for the holidays is that I get to watch a lot more TV. And my parents just got this new chair/ottoman set that may as well be dubbed the Insta-Nap, so don't even think I'm moving away from the tube. (Plus, it's rude to leave your chair if the cat is sleeping on you. Everyone knows that.)

Anyway, the ancillary bonus of watching a lot of TV in Chattanooga is that my parents get CMT, or Country Music Television. That's not a channel I get in New York, which means it wasn't until today that I saw "CMT Giants: Reba." That's right. An all-star tribute to Ms. Reba McEntire, in which literally every famous person in the history of ever got on-stage to praise, cry over, or sing the songs of the Red Headed Pixie With No Upper Lip. (As my dad calls her.)

And I love Reba. How can you not? She still seems so down to earth, and she's got more charisma than any three members of most boy bands combined. On "Giants," she was telling girlhood stories about making people pay money to hunt deer on her "grandpap's" farm. Amazing. Hers is the kind of affectless warmth that makes me love the South in spite of its persistently hate-filled politics. (I know Reba's from Oklahoma, but close enough)

Anyway, here's the point of this story. There was a moment when "CMT Giants: Reba" presented me with the most deliriously perfect experience I could ever expect from the television.

Kelly Clarkson stepped on stage to introduce Reba's "idol and inspiration," Dolly Parton. Then Dolly sang a Reba song. Then she forced Reba to get on stage and sing with her.

Kelly. Reba. DOLLY. Do you see how this is the perfect storm of down-home diva greatness? The only thing missing was Sissy Spacek and Loretta Lynn parasailing into the orchestra pit to lead an audience singalong of "Is There Life Out There." And that might have happened. I took a little nap in the middle of the show.

Oh... and even though it was Reba's shindig, Dolly managed once again to prove that she is the shining platinum standard of... everything. First of all, she sounded great on the song, which was a honky tonk number called "How Blue." Plus, she said the following things:

(1) When commenting on Reba's dress (pictured above): "I bet you didn't buy that at Dillard's!'

(2) At the end of the her number, before pulling Reba on stage: "If you think you're gonna sit out there on your country butt and do nothing, you've got another think comin'."

(3) After Reba sang with her: "Good. Now sit your ass down!"

All of this, of course, was punctuated by her squeaky laughter.

If I had CMT at home, I would DVR Dolly's time in Reba-town and watch it 30 times a day.

5 Songs For... Going Home (Chattanooga Edition!)

2006-12-18T20:28:00.000-05:00

I'm less than 18 hours from starting my Christmas vacation in glorious Chattanooga, Tennessee. And to celebrate, here's "5 Songs For... Going Home." But it's the special Chattanooga edition!

(1) "Tennessee" by Arrested Development -- Sure, Speech is talking about going to Tennessee in order to confront the racism that has haunted his and his family's life, but let's not dwell. The song is still cool after all these years.

(2) "Tennessee Homesick Blues" by Dolly Parton -- Because when Dolly yodels, it sounds cool. GWEN STEFANI AND JEWEL.

(3) "Chattanooga Choo Choo" by The Andrews Sisters -- There are plenty of versions, but The Andrews Sisters are so quintessentially big band!

(4) "It's Good to be on the Road Back Home" by Cornershop -- Remember Cornershop? They had that one song, "Brimful of Asha?" Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow? Well, they also had this song, which is on their one popular album, "When I Was Born for the Seventh Time." It's a mid-tempo ballad that features a special guest vocalist, and in it, Cornershop's British singer and the woman start trading verses about how they're leaving Chattanooga to go home. I'm sure that the songwriters just saw Chattanooga's name on a map, thought it sounded cool, and stuck it in a song. I can't imagine the people in Cornershop ever made it to the scenic city. But it's still awesome to be name-checked.

(5) You choose! -- And you don't even have to stick with the Chatts theme. What are you favorite "going home" songs?

John Mayer Leaves Sucktown

2006-12-14T01:53:00.000-05:00

I want ths blog to have integrity, so I must admit that after hearing samples of John Mayer's new album on iTunes, I do not hate it. He's still not rocking my entire world, but he seems to have grown beyond what I disliked in his first two albums. Now he's more like the musical love child of James Taylor and The Eagles, which isn't necessarily bad. (I sort of realized this a few months ago when I wrote about liking "Waiting on the World to Change," but even then I wasn't quite ready to believe.)

Therefore, I think The Grammys can be forgiven for nominating him. He's no longer a Sucktown Choice (though James Blunt still is). Now, he's the safe-bet choice who's new but sounds like a throwback. I'd say that ups his chance of winning. If Mary J.'s performance doesn't destroy him first.

All We Want for Christmas... Is Her?

2006-12-14T01:14:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I talked about Aimee Mann's super-depressing Christmas album, but now I must turn my attention to the opposite end of the Christmas spectrum.

Namely, I must discuss the super-cheery "All I Want Want For Christmas is You," sung by Mariah Carey.

My argument here is not whether the song is good or bad. (However, I love it. It sounds like a spunky girl-group song from Phil Spector's pre-murder days, and it shows off the pretty parts of Carey's voice without resorting to her dog-whistle squeaks or the recent breathy-equals-singing-because-I-blew-out-my-vocal-cords approach she's been taking. Sigh. Someday I'll get into my long, tangled history with this woman's music.)

What I think demands our attention is the fact the Mariah Carey has written and performed the only new Christmas song in twenty years to gain any kind of traction in the public consciousness. At this very moment, it's one of the five best-selling singles on iTunes, and I bet you can hear it three or four times on the radio tomorrow.

And that's a rare achievement. It's really, really hard to make inroads with new holiday music. Every year, artists unleash new tracks that wither away forever, trumped by our ongoing affection for standard carols and holiday rockers from the 50s and 60s.

It makes sense that we got a new batch of "Christmas classics" in the boomer years. Rock music was a brand new form that was nevertheless dominating the culture. We needed new holiday tunes to fit our radical changes in taste. But rock and pop haven't altered so fundamentally in the last fifty years that we need new replacements. "Blue Christmas," "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," "jingle Bell Rock," and The Chipmunks' "Christmas Song" still suit us just fine. Ditto "You're a Mean One Mister Grinch," "i'm Gettin' Nuttin' for Christmas" and "Happy Xmas (War is Over)." With the big band-era standards (i.e. "White Christmas," "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Winter Wonderland") thrown in the mix, our playlists are full to bursting. A song has to be exceptionally striking to muscle in on the holiday radio turf.

A quick aside: Of course rap music was a radical shift, but the genre has never really tried to embrace the holiday season. Run D.M.C. had the awesome "Christmas in Hollis," but the general ethos of rap has never fit the cozy goodwill of enduring Christmas hits.

Before Carey's, I can only think of a few holiday songs recorded after 1970 that have proven, ahem, evergreen. Obviously, "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer," recorded by Elmo and Patsty in 1979, is on the list. And you could argue for Adam Sandler's "The Chanukah Song" as a successful holiday hit.

But notice that both those songs are parodies. "All I Want for Christmas Is You" is straight-ahead pop with a sing-along chorus and sleigh bells providing most of the percussion. It's the kind of song you'd think we'd filled our quota on, yet there it is. It may end up being Carey's most enduring hit, just like "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" has been for Brenda Lee.

Am I forgetting others that should be on this list? Anyone want to argue for their newly minted faves? No matter what, though, I think we have to give Mariah Carey credit--despite her lapses in musical judgment and that unfortunate Christmas Kitten album cover up there--for doing what so few others have accomplished.

Whoa! Did the Grammys get relevant?

2006-12-13T00:47:00.000-05:00

Psych! The title of this post is a trick question. Of course the Grammys didn't get relevant! The only relevant award show is The Oscars! I mean, really. Name one other award show that will prompt me to get up and watch the live announcement of nominees. Name one other award show that has gotten me to drag my ass all the way to New Haven, just so I can watch said live announcment with my friend Rachel while we eat rum waffles and loudly praise the enduring glory of Queen Latifah.

Wait... what? Solipsism? What's that?

Anyway, no one's pretending that the Grammys are anything but a show you read about the next day instead of watching live. However, I'm happy and a little shocked to report that this year's nominees make me care. And that's good, because I always want to care about awards shows. They just usually let me down.

Consider the following facts:

(1) Bob Dylan released an album this year, and it did not get any major nominations.

That's a huge deal, since the Grammy folks tend to automatically nominate every record created by someone who first rose to prominence in the sixties. Last year, Paul McCartney got a best album nod for "Chaos and Creation in the Back Yard Full of Records That No One Cares About." When I was in college, Steely Freaking Dan won the best album award. And Green Day's "American Idiot" lost to Ray Charles' moribund "Genius Loves Company." Oh. My. God. I know a legend died, but wasn't Jamie Foxx's Oscar enough of a tribute?

I mean, Grandpa may whittle an eagle, but that doesn't mean it can fly. The Grammys lose credibility when the nominators fall back on music from artists who were popular forty years ago. It announces them as fogies who stubbornly refuse to admit that good music might possibly have been created after that godly time known as the 1960s.

And I'm not saying that new equals good. I'm saying that Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan and Steely Dan have been making the same records for decades. Are they good? Maybe. Yes. Sure. But awards and nominations are much more interesting when they go to artists who are doing something that sounds current. Or at least doing something different from what they've done before. (As a side note... if they've just got to nominate older artists, why didn't these people shower praise on Loretta Lynn for her exceptional, genre-busting record "Van Lear Rose?" Where was the best album nod for her?)

Not nominating Ol' Man Dylan, though, is a good sign. All of this year's albums reflect the present culture instead of the past.

(2) This year's nominees
--be they loved or hated--at least played some role in the public conscious-
ness. This means we the people might actually be able to give a damn about the awards and argue about them on the subway, instead of snorting in disbelief that some farty old dude swept every category.

It's easy, for instance, to care about Gnarls Barkley, nominated for record and album of the year. And while Corinne Bailey Rae--a nominee for record and song of the year, plus best new artist--may not be edgy, she's at least interesting.

The Grammy people have been nominating the Dixie Chicks for years--and rightfully so--but this year it's especially awesome that they picked up record and song nominations for "Not Ready to Make Nice" and an album nod for "Taking the Long Way." No matter their politics, the Chicks made incredible music in 2006, and it deserves awards.

And guess who else got a best new artist nomination? Imogen Heap! Fabulous lead singer of Frou Frou and recently fabulous solo artist! Her Grammy love is just so... cool. I mean, Imogen Heap is so cool that her coolness may actually get diminished by a nomination, you know? But it also feels kind of vindicating that she got noticed. Like that year they gave a best new artist nomination to SWV.

Now, there are definitely some crappy nominees in the big categories. James Blunt for record of the year and best new artist? John Mayer for album? Sucktown. But even the crap nominees were popular enough to engender real hatred. And that makes for great office banter!

(3) In a stroke of genius, Mary J. Blige has received the most nominations of any artist. This means she will likely perform at the Grammy ceremony.

And I cannot stress this enough: When Mary J. Blige performs on a national broadcast, we are given a new reason to live. Have you seen this woman? When she sings on TV, she gets so passionate that her earrings fly off. Her body doubles over. Duet partners get destroyed in a blast of nuclear light. Remember how, on the season finale of the most recent American Idol, Elliott Yamin just got twenty feet out of her way? That's because Mary J. owns it, y'all. Everyone else can just take notes.

And this time, Mary's up for everything! Record of the year? Song of the year? Six other categories? Yes, yes, yes! That means she'll have even more energy. Even more of a statement to make. She will no doubt turn "Be Without You" into a searing revelation of her scarred, beautiful soul.

I haven't even seen this Grammy performance yet, and already I want to give it an Emmy.

Lean Closer, Pilgrim! The Charts Whisper Secrets!

2006-12-10T23:30:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I entered my mid-late-twenties. Which means I turned 28. Which means I will never again be interested in MTV's programming. (But, really, that particular prophesy came true when I was still in college.)

Sadly, Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" went to number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart dated December 16, meaning it was not one of my Extra Special Birthday Hits.

And what's an Extra Special Birthday Hit?

It's a song that ascends to the number one slot on your actual birthday date. You see, every Hot 100 is dated to correspond with the Saturday of the week in which it's published. So even though "Irreplaceable" is number one for this entire week, it will be recorded as a hit that peaked on December 16. Clear?

If that doesn't make sense... well... I admit that the whole thing is a bit arbitrary. But it's still fun. I like to believe that you can learn something about yourself based both on the song that was number one the day you were born and the songs that topped the chart on your actual birthday date. I call it chartology.

For instance, I am in a unique chart-ological position. I was born on December 9, 1978. That's the EXACT day that Chic's "Le Freak" became a number one song. The very day! That means I am forever and inextricably linked to "Le Freak." What does it mean?

Well, Nile Rodgers, who was the driving force of Chic, went on to write and produce the 80s-defining hit "Like a Virgin." Perhaps I, after experiencing some kind of success of my own, will also be responsible for shepherding the career of a protege. Also, Rodgers has said that "Le Freak" was written as a kiss-off to the snooty bouncers at legendary club Studio 54, who wouldn't let Chic past the velvet rope. How ironic, then, that "Le Freak" became the best-selling single of the 1970s. Maybe I will have similar success in the face of adversity.

See where I'm going with this?

There are two other songs that first hit number one on December 9: Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman" and Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire." I'm not quite sure I've gained the wisdom to know what that means, but I'm sure it means something. The charts are mysterious in their revelations.

As another example, the number one song when Andrew was born was Chuck Berry's "My Ding-A-Ling." Which is awesome. But I will not use a family-friendly blog to pontificate further on why that is so. His two Extra Special Birthday Hits are "Then Came You" by Dionne Warwicke and The Spinners and "Saving All My Love For You" by Whitney Houston. Both started their runs at #1 on October 26.

First of all, Then Came Who? Does anyone remember that song? Interestingly, though, for the brief moment in which "Then Came You" was popular, Warwick was spelling her last name with an extra "e." Which suggests that Andrew is mutable. He will never be stuck in a rut, and he will always surprise us with his personal growth. And the Whitney connection? Obviously, Andrew is either going to become addicted to crack or emerge as a defining diva of his generation. I'll keep you posted.

So tell me... what are your birthdays? Just post them in the comments, and I'll give you a chart-ological reading. Don't delay. Secrets of the universe await you.

Americans Just Won't Take That

2006-12-05T01:00:00.000-05:00

It's not just the difference between "burgers and fries" and "bangers and mash." Americans and Brits may speak a similar language, but we are very different beasts.

Nowhere is this more obvious than our national tastes in music. (Well, except for Wham! in the 80s. Everybody loved Wham! And if you didn't, you must not have seen George Michael's short- shorts and "Choose Life" t-shirt. And his frosted hair. I mean, all of us were having pre-adolescent fantasies about running our fingers through it. Right?)

Anyway... consider this week's album charts from either side of the pond. Both lists are topped by artists making a comeback, but... how can I say this? The babies aren't twins.

In America, our number one album is "Kingdom Come" by Jay-Z, who is returning from his faux-retirement to reassert his claim on hip-hop. (We all know how I feel about artists pretending to retire, but let's table that for now.)

In Britain, both top album and top single are claimed by Take That. Remember them? Robbie Williams used to be a member when they were a boy band. In America, they had that one hit, "Back for Good," but in England there were help-lines created to console grieving teenagers after the group broke up. Literally.

I'm not saying that I like Take That. Frankly, I don't know if I do, since "Back for Good" is the only song of theirs I've ever heard. They probably wouldn't be my scene, since I only had a vague tolerance for Backstreet Boys and N*Sync.

But what I can relate to is the sentiment of a nation that sends Take That back to the top. There's just something so sweet about letting them have another crack at fame, especially since their revival is all about being grown up versions of their old cute selves.

To me, I think a people that can still love Take That must have a softer heart than we do. Or maybe they just have a more deeply ironic purchasing pattern. Either way, I'm in.

Because in America, our most popular music rarely allows the kind of friendliness that Take That exudes. When New Kids on the Block tried to get back together, we laughed. When Jordan Knight and Joey McIntyre had comeback hits, it was because they became dirty sex fiends. (Especially Jordan. Remember that song? It was gross.)

I know it sounds like I'm saying I want America to embrace cheesy sentimentalism, but that's not what I mean. I just wish that Americans (and the corporate-owned radio stations that seek them out) could make more room for unironic fun. It wouldn't have to mean the end of our street cred. Brits like hip-hop, too, but that doesn't mean they don't giggle once in a while.

I think that's why I find so much refuge in "Ain't No Other Man." That's a song that just oozes with joy. Not lust or attitude or self-aware smugness or masculine aggression or greed-centered boasting. Just joy. Even if I don't want to hear that song all the time, the escape it provides is valuable and rare.

p.s. -- Please go look at this and tell me you don't want to hear what these people sound like. Make sure you scroll down to the "breakfast picture." I grew up less than two hours away from this bizarre little town, and I can't tell you how much this website makes me want to visit again.