Monday, April 13, 2009

it's so fucked i can't believe it: 791-795



791. "connection"
elastica
1994

think of the crunched-out, self-aware artiness of post-punk/divide it by busy, overwrought '90s production/something is missing?/nothing is missing!. enough. yeah, this unabashedly and shamelessly wrenches the riff from "three girl rhumba" and transplants it to a field of gaudy studio effects and sickeningly clean distortion. but it's a raucous and exhilarating ride; justine frischmann snidely sneers and snots more swagger than a cocky college coed on cocaine. you make the connections, sailor. can't you hear both karen o and romeo void? cheap imitation may be the most sincere form of flattery, but this re-contextualizes that wily wire riff and kicks it to the stratosphere. you might be post-modern if...


792. "perverted undertone"
prefuse 73
2003

whatever happened to guillermo! scott! heren!? he emerged early in the decade as indie hip-hop's equivalent to timbaland, inundating break beats with echo, reverb and flange; a funkier and less self-important DJ shadow. a track like "perverted undertone" thrives on its narcoleptic repetition and gnarled simplicity with a swelling, swirling, swallowing synth riff and muted, happy-go-lucky drums. this is music for late night designated driving; you silence your boozed, boisterous buddies with a "shut the fuck up" and a maxed-out sound system while the fading neon lights glisten to the beat.


793. "freak scene"
dinosaur jr.
1988

most of myths about '90s slackerdom arose from this ragtag crew of recalcitrant ruckus-bringin' RAWKers. j. mascis' nonchalant guitar hero pyrotechnics slam you to ground and knife you in the back - that solo is one for the ages and the masses and the records - while the half-mumbled rhymes about fuckin' up and not growin' up suffocate underneath the distortion and feedback. this is the undoubtedly the template for "grunge:" punk 'tude vs. classic rock chops. kurt cobain may still be alive strumming beat happening covers in a dank seattle coffeeshop if not for dinosaur jr.


794. "in the midnight hour"
wilson pickett
1965

oooo-wheeee wil-SON pic-KETT! pulse, pulse, thrust; pulse, pulse, thrust. woozy, bluesy, boozy horns that bluster and blare while the whiskey-breathed men glare at those ever so short skirts. ride it, ride it. this is quintessential (yep, used it aGAIN) stax/volt gritty throbbin' boppin' southern soul. it may not have the spit polish of motown or the smoothed-out silkiness of, say, sam cooke, but it reels and rolls and rollicks and repeats in on itself like a gesticulating elevator. who doesn't crave that giddy moment in the night between boring sobriety and puking, crying and/or awkward sexual politics?


795. "silence"
portishead
2008

ohmigod, stranded in public with swirling insanity and an unbecoming sense of dread. the scathing keith levene guitar lacerations and tumultuous rumble of a rhythm section push you closer to the abyss and then there she is. beth gibbons - with all the world's terror, misery, heartache and chaos wrapped up in her warble - tempts you to jump. this isn't a self-congratulatory comeback or a desperate, cheap cash-in; this is the unmitigated uncertainty of twenty first century existence filtered through a pair of musicians who presumably should have floundered in a sea of muted beats, hushed vocals and pseudo morricone samples circa 1998. this is the perfect opening to what will be remembered as one of the defining albums of the decade.

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Monday, February 9, 2009

comme la vague irrésolue: 796-800



796. "c30, c60, c90, go"
bow wow wow
1980

"i want candy," i know, i know, i know. and, yeah, exploitation all around and upside down. they weren't merely influenced by african music, they plagiarized and stole. machiavellian svengali scumbag douchebag malcolm mclaren didn't merely encourage the future members of bow wow wow to leave poor old adam ant, he forced them. did you know that frontgirl annabella lwin was only fourteen when all this going on? did you know that mclaren made her pose nude for an album cover? all right, all right. but this is the beginnings of the global agit-pop popularized by m.i.a. and her imitators. making mixtapes was the contemporary equivalent to illegally downloading music and this track is a big bony, protruding middle finger to record companies everywhere. copy, share, distribute, re-copy; what's the point in paying for music? and those amphetamine drums - ripped from recordings from burundi or not - threaten to bore a hole into your brain.


797. "kill for peace"
the fugs
1966

listen up hippie apologists and wannabes. take your flowers, take your lysergic acid diethylamide, take your free love, take your patchouli, take your beards and beads and bikes, take your acoustic guitars and drum circles. it's all meaningless without satire, self-deprecation, self-awareness, art. these guys epitomized the real counterculture of the 1960s. yeah, they did drugs, they grew beards, they played folk clubs and strummed guitars. but they didn't do it because it was fashionable, because it was cool, or to rebel against their parents. no, they did it because they didn't buy into the mass hypocrisy and rampant stupidity of western values and western society. "kill for peace" mocks and taunts and tears apart the contradictory ideologies that led to the vietnam war in particular, but could easily be applied to any conflict between nations that threaten lives., of course the phrasing is awkward, of course it's ramshackle and clunky. but it's hilarious ("the only gook an american can trust/is a gook that got his yellow head bust") and sharp as whittled twig. a spoonful of the funny helps the political go down in the most delightful way.


798. "come into my world" (fischerspooner remix)
kylie minogue
2002

kylie knows how to pick her remixers. this was 2002, when electro-clash was the NEXT BIG THING and goofy, goopy geared fischerspooner were the icons, the eyeliner-ed faces, the big league. they add squelched out, heavy bass and spray reverb and echo all over kylie's vocals, transforming her into a spacey, icy, distant, sex and x fueled siren to the bleary-eyed rhythm machines thrusting violently on the dancefloor. the innuendo wasn't very subtle anyway, but the boys add some "uh, uh, uh, uh, uh" repetitions just slam the point into your dopamine-addled cerebrum. this is raunch for the digital age; groping, gyrating, grinding. it's meaningless, it's self-destructive, it makes you feel awful afterwards, but it's fun while it lasts. right?


799. "je t'aime... moi non plus" (feat. jane birkin)
serge gainsbourg
1969

this is the only song covered by both donna summer and einsturzende neubaten, fo' sho. it attempts to replicate pillow talk between lovers, but this ain't sweet, this ain't no love story, this ain't no monogamy, this ain't no boyfriend/girlfriend. despite all the "i love you"s, this is no-strings-attached, casual, animalistic coitus. thrilling, disgusting, amazing, unsatisfying, soulless, gratifying. pervy ol' sergy captures all the mixed, conflicted emotions that come with that type of interaction. the strings and soft organ complement the melancholy of the melody. jane birkin's moans and gasps aren't sexy, they're desperate and hollow. the thrill of sex is replaced by pangs of regret and self-disgust. the french thought this was scandalous, i find it depressing and bittersweet.


800. "assassins"
lightning bolt
2003

i admit to caring little about noise-rock. i admit to be a pansy who usually doesn't like to be constantly pummeled, pulverized and punished by what i'm subjecting my ears to. i admit to succumbing to belief in the probable misnomer that most noise-rock is aimless, repetitive, masturbatory "noodling." but i can also admit that everything time i play this track, i need to max out my volume. i need to feel the rumble, the chaos, the fervor, the NOISE. "assassins" may work for me due to the elements that least conform to the restrictions of the genre - brevity, rhythmic variation - but it's ultimately the brain-splattering build-up and the full utilization of the power, passion and potential of volume that keeps my eardrums red and my neck sore.

lightning bolt - assassins
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Wednesday, February 4, 2009

finding it easier to laugh out loud: 801-825



801. "loser"
beck

this is that wild, wacky, woolly moment post-grunge, pre-"post-grunge" in mainstream popular rock music when a slack-jawed, slack-eyed, red-eyed transient troubadour influenced equally by mississippi john hurt and chuck d could crack the billboard top 10 with a self-deprecating ode to post-modern malaise. musical intertextuality, people. this is psych-folk-"stoner"-rap, when "alternative" signified something more than "pearl jam sound-alike." beck went on to greener, brighter, hipper pastures, but all the elements that made mr. hansen a vital figure (for a decade or so) are here. check the grab-bag musicality (props to the son house-d slide guitar grinding with shankar sitars) and impressionistic, "ironic" lyrics culled from the vast wasteland of american popular culture fighting in the back seat while beck's own incomparable nonchalant, detached charisma threatens to turn the whole damn car around.

beck - loser

802. "all i have to do is dream"
the everly brothers

this is "dream-pop" when elizabeth fraser was just a gleam in her daddy's eye. if the soft chiming guitar reverb doesn't melt your heart, don and phil's harmonies will. gee whiz! longing, fragility and hopelessness like this shouldn't belong in a number one POP SMASH. this tracks excels due its simplicity; there are no weepy strings nor a crassly brassed out bridge. no, it's just two good ol' country boys pining for a long lost love found only during REM sleep. i wonder if they were lucid dreamers?

the everly brothers - all i have to do is dream

803. "ghost town"
the specials

the early 80s thatcherite united kingdom must have been a ridiculously unpleasant place to live, but it certainly inspired buckets of amazing music. this is the spooky, spacey soundtrack to unemployment, riots and throngs of pissed-off, disillusioned individuals. too much fighting, not enough work. too much starving, not enough dancing. the "yah-yah-yahs" during the chorus sound like rabid cats, the horns sound like laughing spirits and the whole thing sounds like it was recorded six feet under in a well, abandoned bunker or grave. the upbeat, exuberant, nostalgia-fueled bridge adds a nice contrast to the dirge-y dread of the rest of the track. this is music for lost souls and pissed-upon dreams.

the specials - ghost town

804. "over and over"
hot chip

whatever. i don't care about any of your noisy punk or punky noise shit or your sprawling, proggy multi-tracked guitar-based indie rock or your bearded folk. i just want to cavort and gambol (yes!) maniacally, drunkenly and embarrassingly around the room to "dance" music made by and for nerdy, self-aware white dudes. the mantras are undeniably clever: "like a monkey with a miniature cymbal," "the smell of repetition really is on you," "k-i-s-s-i-n-g s-e-x-i-n-g c-a-s-i-o p-o-k-e y-o-u m-e i." hell yeah. hell you. 'ell you. tell you. the cowbells and handclaps are relentless, the synths soar and percolate and then there's that fuzzed-out bass (or maybe a detuned guitar?) underneath it all keeping the party going for hours. fuck your uptight posturing; dance, motherfuckers, dance.

hot chip - over and over

805. "shop around"
the miracles

MAMA: stay away from whores and boozy floozies and trollops and tarts.
SMOKEY: but ma, i'm gonna be a singer.
MAMA: with all your travelin', you's a 'bound to do some trampin', but don't marry before you find a good, decent woman.
SMOKEY: but, ma, mr. gordy here says i'm gonna be a big star. he says i'm gonna save his record label.
MAMA: jus' don't let any hack singers steal your songs, boy.
captain and tennille, david archuleta, YOU DISAPPOINTED MAMA. for shame; go jump off a cliff, go drown in a river, go walk headlong into oncoming traffic. let's keep smokey's pure, smooth, honey-hammed voice sacred.

the miracles - shop around

806. "cheeseburger"
gang of four

hey there, american. how do you think the rest of the world perceives you? what or who do they associate with your culture and heritage? washington, lincoln, jefferson? twain, faulkner, hemingway? apple pie, baseball, hippie pussy? no: coke-a cola, lucky strikes and the golden, flashing, blinding arches. big food. fast food. cheeseburgers, cheeseburgers. the gang of the four sprightly lads from leeds are well regarded for their inflammatory political commentary and here jon king spews anti-capitalist rhetoric like a resurrected eugene v. debs. andy gill's guitar grins at you with melodic distortion. how could one band be so arty, politically engaged and musically brutal yet remain entirely accessible?

gang of four - cheeseburger

807. "walk on"
neil young

why didn't cantankerous ol' shakey want people to hear on the beach? it's one of his best and it opens with this tribute to being a cynical, bitter, detached individual. they may be talking shit, they may hate your guts, no one may like you, but fuck 'em, walk on. "walk on" isn't a messy, jammy affair like most of the rest of album. instead, it's a springy, jaunty, little zip of a tune with a typically youngian harmonic chorus and sputter-stop, chimey guitar. the man could squeeze so much emotion out of so few notes with such little technical ability. no wonder he influenced lydon and cobain, et al, et cetera, etouffee.

neil young - walk on

808. "cause = time"
broken social scene

shoulda been a hip-hop song at this position. damnit, stephen, ya fucked up your own list, how do you expect to succeed in life? are you the cause of your own demise? be the cause. FUCK the cause. this is why broken social scene are one of the few "indie rock" bands that matter, that ooze relevance and reliability. tight, compacted verses with big ol' guitar hero instrumental break-downs. gradual build-up, orgasmic release. this is the sound of a congregation of dudes who know how/what/where/why to play. incendiary.

broken social scene - cause = time

809. "where did our love go?"
the supremes
1964
gold

holland-dozier-holland. ross-wilson-ballard. the funk brothers. could this holy motown triumvirate ever hit a sour, dour note? the supremes' first big hit. handclaps and footstomps. bells and chimes. saxophone break. heartbreak. woe and worry and loneliness. teenage love gained and teenage love lost. "burning, burning, yearning." hear how diana coos and pleas and begs you to stay, you heartless, cruel bastard of a jerk. how could anyone resist? fuck you, beatles. the supremes were the best pop band of the '60s.

the supremes - where did our love go?

810. "we've been had"
the walkmen

saturn ion commericial; but what is this emotive, straining dylan wanna-be-like and this tinkly, rinky-dink toy piano? and what the fuck are these poignant, clever lyrics? life is full of let-downs, disappointments, hurt, pain and desolation. the american dream? "one day you'll change things for the better, boy. you'll be rich, the girls will be clamoring for your cock and the world is your oyster, go grab a bib." then you wake up, you're in your mid-twenties, fat, balding, friendless, jobless, as insecure and self-pitying as ever and you haven't gotten laid in six months. it's all lies, it's all jargon. we've been had. here you have it, third official SHOULD BE HIGHER designation from the listmaker.

the walkmen - we've been had

811. "picture book"
the kinks

ray davies, you rascal, "a picture of you in your birthday suit." he's a sentimentalist at heart, obsessed with all things lost, forgotten and tossed away into the trash heap of memory and the passage of time. he could also write one hell of a pop song. listen to the interaction between the winding bassline and twisting guitar riff - consider yourself warned, green day. backing vocals, "scooby-dooby doo." debate how "selling out" threatens artistic integrity as much as self-righteousness dictates, but at least a semi-obscure kinks track is ingrained into the public consciousness due to a HP commercial. (THANKS KATRINA!!!!!!!!1111)

the kinks - picture book

812. "bees"
animal collective
2005
feels

it may sound like a repetitive, spaced-out harp-laden ambient track that lulls, lurches and levitates into oblivion. avey tare may sound like a caterwauling derelict. the vocal effects may seem misguided or laughable. but. But. BUT. after smoking a bowl. during the appropriate post-coital moment. "the bees, the bees, (lower) the bees, (lower) the bees, (incomprehensible muttering)" is the voice of god, of love, of understanding, of harmony, of unity with nature and the universe. i never bought into the the twin maxims that drugs and sex make music better until feels. thanks for altering my perspective, ac.

animal collective - bees

813. "chapel of love"
the dixie cups

yay monogamy! yay marital bliss and domestic fulfillment! who came up with the band name? look at the other girl groups: shangri-la's, supremes, crystals. all sublimity, otherworldliness, purity. but, little paper receptacles in which kids spit and pee? c'mon. i mean, i know they're from louisiana, but, c'mon. "chapel of love" is more bluesy and swingy and jazzy than most contemporary girl-group tracks because 1) the girls were from naw owlins and 2) spector the rector wasn't heavily involved. but why'd ya have to go and ruin all our fun, bette?

the dixie cups - chapel of love

814. "fox on the run"
sweet

all those flashy, trashy, seventies-obsessed "hipster" girls into blow, blowjobs and blow-drying must love this song. it's raucous, it's rowdy and it has an IQ of 80. but the hooks come faster than a frightened virgin. the bra is stuffed with squealing synths and big, crunchy, overdubbed glam guitars. peel off the panties and that explosive, ten miles high chorus slaps you across the jaw. this could make a mennonite buy into the decadent vaingloriousness of the rock and roll lifestyle.

sweet - fox on the run

815. "5 years"
bjork

artists as singular, as defiantly idiosyncratic and as unabashedly non compos mentis as bjork guomundsdottir are as rare as the steaks at applebee's. homogenic is her crowning achievement - a daunting juxtaposition of the organic and the synthetic. "5 years" waits patiently at the midpoint, playing a gameboy and ranting to itself about defective lovers and inept boyfriends. those hyper-digitized drums sound like something out of richard d. james' wet dreams. when bjork starts taunting and growling about cowards and the strings sweep in like the angel of death, the track achieves immortality in your memory.

bjork - 5 years

816. "rock & roll woman"
buffalo springfield
1967
again

here's some more mom-rock for ya. this is indeed the first collaboration between stephen stills and david crosby. this is indeed indicative of an enviable, intuitive grasp of song craft and melody. this is indeed full of pleasant harmonies and reverb-ed guitar. this is indeed unfortunately lacking any contribution from neil young. this is indeed an example of that blurry space between folk-rock and psychedelia. this is indeed why buffalo springfield were one of the best bands of their time. rest in peace, dewey martin.

buffalo springfield - rock & roll woman

817. "4"
aphex twin

why is it always the opening track that grabs and bags me the most effectively? it's time for a misty-eyed recollection: i was sixteen and had bought richard d. james on the recommendation of the rough guide to rock music. i popped the CD into my walkman and "4" proceeded to rip my feeble young mind apart. it sounded like metroid battling a hydraulic ram; aliens and industry, fantasy and labor. no one complicates the utopian promises of digitally-created music with such jarring, apocalyptic, dystopian sounds.

aphex twin - 4

818. "rise"
public image ltd.

hey, thanks, rules of attraction. even if he's a bombastic, overwrought, attention-whoring twat of a human being, john lydon remains an unmistakably compelling frontman and persona. that nagging, penetrative yowl may be buried underneath the murk of those enormous, shea stadium drums and steve vai's soaring guitars, but it's still as confrontational and demanding as always. even if he was attempting to "sell out" to gain mass appeal here, lydon was always too bizarre and too disorienting (check the self-contradicting lyrics about racial differences) to win the public's affection. steve vai? really?

public image ltd. - rise

819. "you ain't goin' nowhere"
the byrds

i don't know, man. it took a lot of balls for such a popular, successful band to make such a drastic aesthetic shift. folksy whimsy to psychy whimsy to country whimsy. ooo-whee! it helps that they chose such a delightful dylan tune to kick off sweetheart of the rodeo. makes the pill easier to swallow, makes the hide easier to skin, makes the bed easier to wet. ooo-whee! dig those steel pedals, cowboy. and the clippity-cloppity drumming, pardner. genghis khan, what are you doing here, ya wacky barbarous heathen monster. ooo-whee!

the byrds - you ain't goin' nowhere

820. "michael a. grammar"
broadcast

yeah, so i like music that sounds like video games. i grew up on rpgs and superscopes and extra mario mushrooms, what do you expect? is this an anti-dance song? "i hate that my feet are dancing so much." michael musta got trish all worked up and hot n' bothered and snot n' smothered. this track works because of the underlying current of dread and resignation. shiny happy synths wash out all the darkness and discomfort. let go!

michael a. grammar - broadcast

821. "negativland"
neu!
1972
neu!

it opens with a jackhammer. it's going to be noisy, it's going to be abrasive and it ain't gonna be a fun ride. but, michael rother's throbbing, pulsating, lub-dub lub-dub bass? and, a little somethin' somethin' called the "motorik" rhythm, courtesy the one and only klaus dinger? as white noise sweeps back and forth between your left and right headphones, that nasty rhythm section keeps on putting and puttering, goofing and golfing. and then, it stops. butthenit comes back, twice as fast and you brain goes wacko jacko attempting to keep up. kraut-rock, pshaw, scrimshaw. this is post-mechanical post-industrial post-rock before "industrial" even thought to exist as a genre.

neu! - negativland

822. "birthday"
junior boys

JUNIOR BOYS: hey, instead of emphasizing the upbeat, jolly-roger drugssexrockn'roll side of dance music, let's be sad-sacks.

and it works. this track is about having your loved one miss your birthday. does it get any more pathetic? the synths are spooky and sparse, the bass is mechanical and off-putting and the drums sound like they've had a few. this is dance music for people who are too depressed to get up and prance and prattle around like the rest of the unruly, godforsaken dirty leviathan of a crowd.

junior boys - birthday

823. "follow the leader"
eric b. and rakim

eric b. goes nutty with the production here with wet, sloppy, frothy bass, copious ghost story synth strings and chase scene sax breaks. it's sinister and unsettling and speaker-rattling and head-splitting. rakim, rakim, rakim. are you the best rapper of all time? maybe. maybe. no one before or since has been as smooth and smug and smart. you drop one-liners like breadcrumbs and your metaphors are ridiculously, brilliantly simple. "the tempo's a trail/the stage is a cage/the mic is a third rail." you smarmy bastard.

eric b. & rakim - follow the leader

824. "bunk trunk skunk"
be your own pet

it may be all bluster and braggadocio and bullying, but is not a refreshing blast of retarded punk fury floating in a sea of plodding, prodding indie-rock? does it not make you wistful for long-lost, carefree youthful arrogance and flippant rebellion? nah? just breathe in and let jemina pearl scream into your earlobe and then maybe you'll get it. it may only have three chords and three brain cells, but it's impossible to ignore the opening line: i'm an independent motherfucker!

be your own pet - bunk trunk skunk

825. "fight test"
the flaming lips

cat stevens, kenny rogers, dumb "inspiring" lyrics, big dumb stageshow, overrated over-hyped band. but. enormous poignant singalong chorus, solid instrumentation and, uh, enormous poignant singalong chorus. i mean, objectively, the lips are a great band, but i've always been perturbed and disturbed, frightened and uptightened by their unabashed whimsy and sugary frivolity. this is undeniably an excellent track, though, because...ENORMOUS POIGNANT SINGALONG CHORUS.

the flaming lips - fight test
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Thursday, January 22, 2009

try to find where you are inside of my head: 826-850



826. "i wanna be sedated"
the ramones

for whatever reason, this is the ramones' most well-known song. right? i mean, "blitzkrieg" has "hey! ho! let's go!" but this one has "bam, bam, bam-bam, bah-bam, bam, bam-bam!" maybe it's so renowned because of the lifting chord changes and the hopelessly helplessly bored n' dissatisfied n' freaked out so much that i need pills and booze and weed to get me through the mundanity of everyday existence lyrics. ("mundanity" is a word, damnit! look it up, blogger!) the ramones were always cartoonish and dorky, but incredibly affective whenever they hinted at the darkness underneath the veneer.

the ramones - i want to be sedated

827. "dance to the music"
sly & the family stone

this then? this is not a song. this is noise, static, musical masturbation. this is not a song, in the ordinary sense of the word. no, this is a castrated jam session, a gob of spit in the face of pop, a kick in the pants to structure, verse-chorus-verse, melody, harmony, chord progression...what you will. sly stone will sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but he will sing. he will sing while you croak, he will GET UP AND DANCE TO THE MUSIC over yr dirty, rotten, festering corpse.

sly & the family stone - dance to the music

828. "keep the car running"
arcade fire

token buzzwords used to describe the arcade fire (specifically neon bible era arcade fire): bombastic, overwrought, pretentious, springsteen, sodomized. they seek to make grandiose, BIG music with sweeping influence using all-encompassing political and emotional rhetoric. this was a really charming affect when they were a bunch of kids using dinky instruments and shoddy production techniques and not a bunch of older kids using real instruments and professional techniques. thus, many critics were repelled by neon bible's righteous musical grandiloquence. whatever. i dig the lilting mandolin and hectic undertones in this track. so what if they sound like they're trying to parrot springsteen? 'bout time he got some indie recognition!

arcade fire - keep the car running

829. "white rabbit"
jefferson airplane

like "fortunate son," "all along the watchtower" and several other tracks from the era, "white rabbit" has lost a lot of its potency from superfluous use in films, television, et cetera. it's the go-to "acid trip" song. and it has inspired more stoner high school kids to proclaim that alice in wonderland "is about drugs, man!" than necessary. but. i could give less of a fuck about hippies, lsd, the generation gap or whatever else this song is supposedly about. one word: crescendo. by the time the drums start cascading, that snaky bassline twists in on itself and starts to eat its own tail and grace slick starts screaming "FEED YOUR HEAD!" you know all the schlocky hippie sentiment and "flower power" has been completely obliterated.

jefferson airplane - white rabbit

830. "ladyflash"
the go! team
the aughties has inspired a lot of musical synthesis; the infinite options and easy access provided by file-sharing ultimately means that many different people are listening to many different styles and forms of music and are absorbing and reinterpreting these styles and forms in many different ways. thus, a white guy from england can combine old-school hip-hop beats with kitchen-sink soul production and get a black girl to do cheerleader chants over the concoction, and voila!, he's pitchforked and playing musical festivals on both sides of the atlantic. of course, it wouldn't work if tracks like "ladyflash" weren't filled with warmth.

the go! team - ladyflash

831. "the mountain low"
palace music
1995
viva last blues

who doesn't want to fuck a mountain? one of the more compelling aspects of the bearded conundrum that is will oldham is his unabashedly blatant expressions of awkward sexuality. don't be creeped out, little one, just give in to the soothing instrumentation and let bonnie billy's off-key warble send you to a place where sex, nature, love and god all merge together in one entangled, gesticulating mess.

palace music - the mountain low

832. "academy fight song"
mission of burma

too herky-jerky and off-kilter to be punk, too boston and too dirty proletariat to fit in with the arty fucks at cbgb's, too ahead of their time to be "alternative," mission of sperma remains america's quintessential post-punk band. this is their ass-kickin', mind-stimulatin', young n' hotshot debut single. it's cerebral, but anthemic; intense, but catchy. every arty-punky band to follow in the irish wake took notice of this dynamic.

mission of burma - academy fight song

833. "mikey rocks"
the cool kids

welcome to late aughties indie hip-hop. enough backpack rapping, enough self-conscious self-aggrandizing self-righteousness, enough afro-centrism and afros. let's just wear gold chains and do blow like the big shots, but do it ironically. "i don't use bad grammar, so please excuse this/i just tryin' to let niggaz know who i is." that minimalist beat is a monster, mikey rocks' rhymes are droll and slyly playful and by the time that synth shot appears in the last verse, you know these kids ain't just a gimmick.

the cool kids - mikey rocks

834. "take five"
the dave brubeck quartet

HOLY SMELLING SHIT! dave brubeck is still alive? and still playing shows? talk about longevity. talk about staying and playing power. really though, this track isn't about that relentless piano. it's sort of about about joe morello's octopus drumming and the wicky-wicky-wack syncopation (the "five" in the title is the "5" in 5/4 time, gentle people). but mostly, majorly and primarily, it's about paul desmond's mind-burning saxophone riff. jazz may be all complex and intellectualized, but that sax riff is just as infectious as any contemporary pop vocal melody. see, jazz, that's why no one REALLY likes you anymore. we can appreciate you, we like you in small doses, we like you in smoky, boozy clubs, but you're just no fun anymore. i think we should see other people. oh, hey phil spector. hey beatles. hey zimmerman.

the dave brubeck quartet - take five

835. "kill the poor"
dead kennedys

the spiritual and musical heir to the fugs' "kill for peace," i'm guessin'. i don't give a fuck about american "hardcore" music. black flag has always come across as juvenile and BOUGIE to me. and i avoid eye contact whenever skate-punk walks past me on my way to school. but. jello biafra's wit, caustic sarcasm and ballsiness elevates the dead kennedys above the rest of the muck, at least on fresh fruit for rotting vegetables. "kill the poor" has an interesting introduction; it would be an affective anti-ballad if it didn't devolve into punky-ritalin chaos and repetition. such is the charm of a self-consciously unsophisticated form of music, i guess.

dead kennedys - kill the poor

836. "long distance call"
phoenix

have you ever been stranded and wasted in a foreign country with only a minimal amount of local currency in tow? i haven't really, but i imagine it'd sound a lot like "like distance call." a steady lull of a drumbeat and wah-synth washes and chimey guitar strums and thomas mars' brokenhearted broken english croon striving to find comfort in that disemboded voice oceans away through the maze of wires, machines and computers. god the bless the power of communication and god damn it.

phoenix - long distance call

837. "no action"
elvis costello & the attractions

maybe the buddy holly glasses were wound too tightly across his computer programmed-out face, but the other elvis was a pissed off, disillusioned, frothing-at-the-mouth angry young man on this year's model. maybe i've always been struggling with disillusionment issues myself, but this incarnation of elvis costello has struck me as exponentially more interesting than the solid golden oldies lovin' and imitatin' geek of the early 80s and whatever he became after that. "no action" is one of those opening tracks that defines the mood and tone and aesthetic sensibility of the entire album: cathartic black and literate yet contradictory punkish fury. i mean, "i don't want to kiss you, i don't want to touch."

elvis costello & the attractions - no action

838. "bandages"
hot hot heat

there was a time between my "musical enlightenment" at age 13 and high-speed internet, pitchfork and easy access to everything at age 18 when i still had to resort to antiquated methods of discovering "new" (as in current, contemporary and of the now) new music: radio, television, friends and "what the fuck was that?" moments at department stores. "bandages" is an example of the latter day saints. it leapt out at me like a ferocious, snotty-nosed ocelot from the barely audible background music while i was CD browsing at a target back in aught three (or two, maybe). simple parts - rowdy, searing organ, shout-along, repetitious chorus and a near-end song break-down - make a satisfying whole. even if i never did listen to any other song off of make up the breakdown - which i indeed bought that day. suggestive selling, yes!

hot hot heat - bandages

839. "crying"
roy orbison

that voice. that tremulous, defeated vulnerable yet enormously "operatic" voice. that build-up. soft brushed-out drum rolls, piano fills and hints of strings leading into orchestral crashing and tom pounding. and that final note. by god, that final note. i hated roy orbison for the longest time because of that schlocky, skeezy sad-schmuck fest known as "oh, pretty woman," but singles like "crying" defy any easy categorization. eerie darkness lies hidden underneath the sentimental veneer of many a "golden oldie," and "crying" may be one of the most otherworldly. silencio.

roy orbison - crying

840. "still d.r.e." (feat. snoop dogg)
dr. dre
1999
2001

the woozy, rollicking, stoned-as-hell west coast sense of liberation found in dre's earlier g-funked work is absent here. this is unmelodious, repetitive and, aside from snoop's inimitable drawl, lacking any semblance of "soul." this is harsh, mainstream gangsta rap for the new millennium. sure, public enemy and the bomb squad brought atonality and discordance to rap production a decade earlier, but this is mainstream. every car speaker in every neighborhood - inner-city, suburban or rural - blared dre's 2001 in the fall of 99. everyone heard it and its influence is traceable in rap's development throughout the aughties. if dre hadn't helped make the g-funk sound - which he himself created - unfashionable with tracks like "still d.r.e.," the neptunes, timbaland, et cetera, probably wouldn't have been as ubiquitous.

dr. dre (feat. snoop dogg) - still d.r.e.

841. "waterloo"
abba

this is abba before the disco sheen, before transnational success and inter-band dramatic tension. this is abba fresh-faced, full of youthful vim and vigor, pith and vinegar, longitude and latitude. if the raucously energetic chorus, complete with handclaps and saxophone, doesn't sweep you off your feet and send you clamoring towards the nearest chapel to commit to a life-long love affair with benny, bjorn, agnetha and anni-frid, then i don't know what to tell ya. and if you still can't embrace the pleasures and pop glory that is abba, in this day and age, when dogs piss on rockism's grave, then maybe you should go listen to "real music," like, uh, kt tunstall or something. i mean, she writes her own songs and plays her own instruments, right?!?!

abba - waterloo

842. "no children"
the mountain goats
2002
tallahasse

call him histrionic all you want, john darnielle is one of the most effective and evocative lyricists i've ever stumbled across. "no children" captures the moment of complete dissolution in a self-destructive marriage; the lyrics are bitter, tragic and maybe a little bit self-deprecatingly self-aware ("i hope you die/i hope we both die"). the track may lose some of darnielle's trademark one-channel guitar n' voice rawness because it is a full-band arrangement. nevertheless, the piano riff emphasizes the frenetic, hopeless urgency of the lyrics. the scariest thing? this can't rightly be considered a "break-up" song: "you are coming down with me/hand in unlovable hand."

the mountain goats - no children

843. "one nation under a groove"
funkadelic

ready or not, here comes the supposedly "rock"-orientated funkadelic with a massive, hook-filled disco jam. this is such a gaudy, full track; it has all the right elements: trashcan percussion, handclaps, chicken scratch guitar, rumbly synth-bass, moog-y swells and sprangs, bells and fucking whistles. and, as with any george clinton project, as many plays on the word "funk" as possible (get it? they say "funk" instead of "fuck," get it?). it doesn't even have an instrumental break. it's just eight minutes of ecstatic, coked-out exuberance and exhilaration.

funkadelic - one nation under a groove

844. "here's your future"
the thermals

it's about god, it's about christ, it's about the hypocrisy of organized religion. it's a screed, an attack, a potshot, a searing indictment of religious determinism. fuck new testament benevolence; god is unfair, he's mean and he's a dick. too brash, bold and rambunctious to be classified among their portland brethren, but too articulate and literate for the "punk" tag, the thermals ride a wave of snarling feedback into your conscience.

the thermals - here's your future

845. "steam and sequins for larry levan"
matmos

yeah, that matmos. "amplified crayfish" and "liposuction" matmos. "steam and sequins" is hallucinatory paean to post-disco pre-AIDS new york and the legendary DJ/club owner/icon/hipster in the title. matmos ditches most of the musique concrete experimentation - though there are still a lot of fucked-up noises on this track - to make something resembling an actual dancefloor hit. it's not even all that difficult to imagine this as the soundtrack to last call at the paradise garage as all the sweaty, discombobulated bodies slowly down that final crown and coke and smoke one more cigarette before venturing into the great unknowable outside the vaunted doors.

matmos - steam and sequins for larry levan

846. "houses of the holy"
led zeppelin

i know, i know, i know, i know. classic rock radio has beat this one to death. radio programming does the devil's dance daily on the grave of zeppelin's credibility; a "stairway" for every hour! even if they represent all that is bloated, preposterous and stagnant about the early 1970s and everything that is potentially damaging about the specialization and deification (the term "rock god" still makes me cringe) of musicians, i still like led zeppelin. and i really like them when they don't try to be mystical, or funky, or rootsy, or bluesy. this is a pop song. this is love, weed and sex. this is trashy, but not scummy. this is dorky innuendo, but not "fuck me." when they weren't attempting to be anything other than guys making good, solid rock n' roll music, the zep was pretty on target.

led zeppelin - houses of the holy

847. "kidz are so small"
deerhoof

i found satomi matsuzaki's voice incredibly grating at first too. intonation 2005. i was hot, i was miserable, i was heartbroken. obvs. not the best condition to be exposed to this wonderfully idiosyncratic band with a cute 'lil AZN frontwoman sing-songing about pandas and flowers. but i've since embraced deerhoof with open heart and legs. "kidz" is my favorite track off friend opportunity. why? oh, the usual deerhoof tricks: stop-starts and other rhythm complexities, 'twee lyrics and vocal performance, odd effects. but did i mention that it has a ROBOT?

deerhoof - kidz are so small

848. "it takes two"
rob base and DJ ez rock

yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! you think it's simple to make a rap beat? yeah! could you make something this infectious, this catchy, this incessant like DJ ez rock? whoo! you think it's simple to rap? yeah! could throw down as much self-conscious braggadocio as rob base? whoo! yeah! whoo! yeah! whoo!

rob base and DJ ez rock - it takes two

849. "let's get sick"
MU

if you don't like your dance music all fucked-up, abrasive, distorted, frightening and ominous, you best stay away from this monster. if the unrelenting drum massacre and harsh synth yelps don't send you trembling to your parents' basement, the broken-english, digitized vocals screaming "FUCK THAT!" will. it starts off with a siren; you've been warned, compadre.

mu - let's get sick

850. "the night they drove old dixie down"
the band

although they might have influenced every bearded, stoned monstrosity with an acoustic guitar and a harmony in the head to romanticize the antebellum american south (i'm looking at you, fleet foxes, ya hacks), the band at least knew how to write a song and "dixie" is one of their prettiest. the lyrics are a bit stultifying and academic, but the self-pity, resignation and quiet fury in levon helm's soaring voice more than compensate. the potency of the track isn't even diluted by the whole canadian thing (sorry, had to mention it).

the band - the night they drove old dixie down


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Tuesday, December 23, 2008

i got my head checked by a jumbo jet: 851-875



851. "hate it or love it" (feat. 50 cent)
the game

wait, did the avalanches produce this or something? the syrupy 70s strings and dopey bells n' chimes add an element of shockingly sweet sentimentality uncommon in mainstream hip and the hop. we never really got to know "rap's mvp" because he never really was all that compelling, but spotlight-stealing fiddee delivers one of the best non-sequiturs ever: "daddy ain't around, probably out committin' felonies/my favorite rapper used to sing 'ch-check out my melodies.'"

the game (feat. 50 cent) - hate it or love it

852. "don't let's start"
they might be giants

oh, just another example of a song that got ingrained into my brain after i saw the video on mtv back when i was a wee lad still wearing green day underwear. it's been a buzzing gnat; nagging, don't don't don't let's start in the recesses of my psyche. it would get caught on repeat in my head and i had no way to allievate the desire to hear it. i finally downloaded it illegally TEN YEARS later, but it's still there, nasally awkward voice and overwrought 80's production and all. such is the value - and obnoxiousness - of a expertly-crafted pop hook.

they might be giants - don't let's start

853. "lost highway"
mekons

oh, shut up you wacky post-punkers. like you know anything about highways or ramblin' and gamblin' and bein' like a rollin' stone or corn whiskey or juke joints and loose honky-tonked women. but, hanky-panky's version barely missed the 1950 cutoff date, so, mekons it had to be. fake and affected, yeah, but, it's all about the song - one of the greatest encapsulations of american, bleary-eyed wanderlust and the hopelessness of displacement and the loss of the foundations of family and community. is the life of sin and booze and sex and cards worth losing your VERY SOUL?

mekons - lost highway

854. "ankle injuries"
fujiya & miyagi

i actually really liked this band, where'd they go? wait, they released an album this year and no one cared? wait, they're just another overhyped, underdeveloped pitchforked band? at least they synthesized their influences better than most. they even chant the name of the band in the opening, yes! the panning effects tautly tease your perceptions while the throb of the bass challenges you to not move yr wretched feet. the motorik rhythm could sing me the phonebook.

fujiya & miyagi - ankle injuries

855. "hang on sloopy"
the mccoys

the guy who played guitar on most of weird al's albums is in this group. this is a excellent example of a defining '60s one hit wonderment - a bunch of dopey amateur teenage musicians from a small town in the middle of ass-raping nowhere stumble upon an engaging set of chord changes and slop it all off with a grandstanding, monster of a chorus and achieve national recognition. there's no substance here, just shake it shake it shake it [dancing = sex, by the way, in case you don't know, in case you live under the rock of ages]. sloopy will be the name of my firstborn.

the mccoys - hang on sloopy

856. "nutmeg" (feat. rza)
ghostface killah

ghost's rhymes are so dense and intricate, i don't even know what the fuck he's talking about most of the time. but, as any good intellectualized rap music fan will tell ya, he's so po-mo and joycean. you need footnotes to fully grasp the complexity of his wordplay and allusions - (i don't know if i came up with that thought myself or if i stole it from somewhere). seriously, check out the lyrics. ghost's kaleidoscopic schizophasia is complemented by a soulful yet frenetic rza beat dependent upon doppler effect strings. this is the beginning of ghostface's escalation from second-tier to the pinnacle of the twenty-first century wu empire.

ghostface killah (feat. rza) - nutmeg

857. "the boxer"
simon & garfunkel

this is a quintessential example of an overlong outro diluting the impact of an otherwise affective track. i call bullshit on most of paul and art's output, but hal blaine's drum snaps just shot me in the brain. is that a jew's harp? oh wait, "bass harmonica." paul simple simon the pieman's lyrics have always struck me as embarassingly pretentious and pansified and muted and diluted. more than anyone, i think he opened the doors for the likes of james taylor and any other castrated jackass with a vomit-inducing song in the heart and delicate, callous-less guitar strummin' fingers. regardless, there's some hellfire and creepy undertones here and again, those drum gingersnaps make me quiver in the liver.

simon & garfunkel - the boxer

858. "lex"
ratatat

i'm mc vag and i'm here to say/i rap to this shit everyday: the beats are rude like your attitude/the bass is hot like a witch's twat/the drums are loud and it make me proud/to say, hey, fucker, get off my cloud/you know no boys are allowed/i'll piss on you like you're the turin shroud/because i'm mc vag and i'm here to stay/i'll shoot you down anyway. if ratatat can inspire a white girl from the 'burbs of chicago to freestyle, it must be some DOPE, ILL, NASTY boisterous electro-mash.

ratatat - lex

859. "sweet jane"
cowboy junkies

ssee, now, you just don't listen, mott the hoople. i TOLD you that "sweet jane" is a SAD song. you don't need to glam it up more. you don't need to rock it out. it doesn't need two guitars and an extended intro, lou, you rock and roll animal. it just needs a sweet, sad lonely voice and some bare instrumentation. isn't that better? doesn't that heighten the emotional vulnerability and poignant hopelessness inherent in the original song? the best velvet underground covers emphasize the melancholy and downplay the raucousness. this will haunt your dreams, evil mothers and role-players.

cowboy junkies - sweet jane

860. "da doo ron ron"
the crystals

his name was bill? really? next thing you'll tell me is that "da doo run run" is code for "uncouth, dirty, premarital, unprotected sex." i mean, it has to be, right? his name was bill and then it was all "da doo run run." how influential is phil spector? production ultimately makes or breaks or fakes a track and he arguably started that trend. pare away the wall o' sound and this would have been a pleasantly inoffensive pop track. but then add a percussive, pounding piano, snarling horns, and a thwacking, smacking stop 'n start teasing drum beat and it turns into something gigantic and pulversizng. phil spector, you may be crazy, but you knew how to make a pop record. and then he hit you and it probably felt like a kiss.

the crystals - da doo r0n ron

861. "you are a runner and i am my father's son"
wolf parade

under certain conditions, those gargantuan drums, the herky-jerky unrelenting rhythm and the incoherent yelping constitute something incredibly ominous and threatening. spencer krug is among the most talented indie-schmock songwriters, but i've never been able to delve into his work - mainly because i'm wary of his unrestrained proggy influences. [his other band, sunset rubdown, is an absolute snorefest live too; literally, i was nodding off to incomprehensible noodling and jammed-out ballyhoo]. regardless, this is a steel-toed boot in the drywall opening track; it'll knock you out of your see, feel, hear, smell, taste.

wolf parade - you are a runner and i am my father's son

862. "the humpty dance"
digital underground

humpty hump coulda been big; a contender; a real force to be reckoned with. he had the wit of chuck d., the refinement of rakim and the whimsical spirit of luther campbell. he had his own dance, he appeared in a dan akyroyd film and he was poised to rule the rap world. then a young machiavellian upstart named too pack stole the limes from the light and humpty-pronounced with an "umpty"- was reduced to being a forgotten novelty act, a mere one-hit wunderkind. it's a rough game out there, folksies. learn from his mistakes and stay away from lumpy oatmeal and burger king bathrooms.

digital underground - the humpty dance

863. "melody day"
caribou

see, everybody loves trying to sound like 1968! even name-changing electronic musicians. with all those sleigh bells, you'd think there would be chestnuts roasting on an open fire at grandmother's house through the woods (his name is a synonym for "reindeer" yar har har har har!!11). dan snaith unashamedly stacks layer upon layer of chimes, woodwinds, horns and percussion, resulting in a dizzying amalgam of psychedelic whimsy and chamber-pop pathos. this may be "record collecter pop," but it swirls and soars and pirouettes gracefully around your jaded, disaffected ears.

caribou - melody day

864. "the windmills of your mind"
dusty springfield

this sounds like anomaly; the lyrics are too clever (simile after simile after simile!), the structure too complex and labyrinthian, the production too string and castanet laden, dusty's voice too sultry (but not "soulful.") surely this is from the 50s, or even the early 60s. surely this wasn't released the same year of woodstock and the proliferation of the moog. this represents a dying gasp of a declining method of musical production. the paradigm would shift irrevocably and this sound would soon be labelled archaic, moldy, and retrograde.

dusty springfield - windmills of your mind

865. "needles in the camel's eye"
brian eno

i hear the roots of shoegazing in the pounding rhythm and repetitive, heavily-layered guitars. i hear every indie rock vocalist in the yelps and strained notes. i hear the anachronistic detuned, twanged-out surf rock guitar in the instrumental bridge battling the ramshackle noise underneath. i hear the fake-out and stop starts toying with your expectations. i hear YET ANOTHER opening track that captures the power and emotional dynamism of the entire album. i hear bryan ferry's heart snapping in two like a piece of glossy plastic - hey brian can do fine on his own! i hear the most influential rock musician (/producer) of the 1970s.

brian eno - needles in the camel's eye

866. "sunshowers" (diplo mix)
m.i.a.

it's pretty minimalist: the "push it" drums, a throbbing mechanical bass, occasional sound effects or synth swells and then maya's off-kilter rhymes. if the album version is actually kind of pleasant, diplo's mix (that actually showed up on the piracy funds terrorism mixtape released before arular) heightens the ominous, drugged-out undertones of the refrain (sampled from a group called "dr. buzzard's original savannah band") and draws attention to maya's contradictory, politically-charged words (which usually get obscured by the beats).

m.i.a. - sunshowers (diplo mix)

867. "jambalaya (on the bayou)"
hank williams

all right, so maybe this is a gross bastardization of cajun music and maybe that faux-patois is kind of grating (and both grammatically and politically incorrect), but i'll be damned as all hell if this isn't the most fun hank ever seemed to have on record. it's really a throwback to the old, weird america: the distinctions among roots music - "blues," "country," "cajun," et cetera - in the twenties and thirties were blurred, if not completely non-existent. a few decades later williams recognized the playfulness of the sound of fiddles and accordions and slapped it to record. "son of a gun, we'll have big fun," indeed.

hank williams - jambalaya (on the bayou)

868. "maybe partying will help"
minutemen

the bass pops and chicken scratch guitar have always sounded more red hot chili peppers than gang of four to me, but this ode to existential dread is more clever than anything anthony kiedis ever vomited out. what else is there to do when faced with the unbearable nothingness and the perils and tribulations of being a lonesome, isolated individual? let's get drunk, let's do drugs, let's have sex, let's just have fun, damnit. if you stop and wonder why, you'll just depress yourself, bro. hedonism is better than disillusionment.

minutemen - maybe partying will help

869. "too drunk to dream"
the magnetic fields

only stephin merritt could construct a "post-modern drinking song." we don't drink because it eases the pain of loneliness or heartbreak, or because it really makes everything seem better. we drink because it's what we think lonely, heartbroken people are supposed to do. he details the dicotomy in the opening: sober - misery, idiocy, ennui, spiritual death VS. shitfaced - excitement, revelation, clarity, strength. then the hyper-distorted instrumentation catapults in, causing you to lose your balance and fall into a trashcan. is booze the only way to alleviate the cruelty of all the heartless bastards? no, but that's what we all want to think when we're downing the umpteenth shot of jameson while the room swirls and prances.

the magnetic fields - too drunk to dream

870. "kill you"
eminem

what ever happened to eminem? wasn't he constructed as the aughties quintessential self-contradicting, "complex" yet mass-appealing pop persona? did kanye usurp his position? most of marshal mathers' work sounds incredibly dated to these old ears, but the exaggerated, slapstick-y and self-aware references to violence, sex, drugs make "kill you" his defining track - even if he does come off as self-aggrandizing. Vile, venomous, volatile, vein, Vicodin, vrrin, VRRIN, VRRIN!

eminem - kill you

871. "song 2"
blur
1997
blur

so it's the summer of 1997 and a young, impressionable stephen brown is starting to really get into mainstream music for the first time ever. before this, he had primarily relied on his parents for musical stimulus, but as a big badass ten year old going into the fifth grade, he had shifted his focus from gift mixtapes and weird al to "modern rock radio" and mtv. he now makes fun of most of the bands he enjoyed at the time - matchbox 20, third eye blind, sugar ray - but how can he explain his still-lingering fascination with blur's "song 2" he developed at that early age? it's an anomaly; a british deconstruction of american indie-rock with non sequitur lyrics and a big massive, shout-along chorus. i remember it being played at pool parties, basketball games, skating parties, ymcas, tae-kwon-do dojos and any other public center of midwestern mundanity conceivable. most americans still only think of blur as the "woo-hoo!" band.

blur - song 2

872. "i'm a slave 4 u"
britney spears

whether you care at all about brit brit as pop icon and immerse yourself in all the tabloid sensationalism and no panty upskirting is yr prerogative, but, uh, the neptunes? williams and hugo could have conquered the world. this sweaty, bacchic track was crucial in the shift of focus within pop music - at least among critics and nerdy fans - from performer to producer. "rockists" - a younger me included - would have balked at the idea of genuinely digging a britney spears song when she was in pigtails and a schoolgirl outfit. but then the neptunes came and surrounded her with synth swells, handclaps and crazy beats and, voila, a new way of thinking about pop music.

britney spears - i'm a slave 4 u

873. "i had too much to dream last night"
the electric prunes

for me, it's all about the oscillating backwards guitar. "psychedelia" may have acquired negative connotations due to dirty, rotten hippies, but those fucked-up guitar sounds piled on top of an otherwise conventional rock song was pretty "mind-expanding" and brilliant. later these dudes got involved with david axelrod, who diluted their rawness and grit. there's a reason why this is the opening track on nuggets; this captures all the insanity and uncertainty of the mid-'60s while still managing to RAWK like metamorphic.

the electric prunes - i had too much to dream last night

874. "pogo"
digitalism

the first mix CD from a significant other inevitably leads to sentimental attachments to songs you otherwise may have ignored or even actively disliked. such is the beauty of sharing music; it establishes a completely new context for the consumption of music and transform how you would engage with it. track is a fairly innocuous dance-rocky rave-up, but my memory of it will be permanently linked to not only that all-important first mix CD from an ex-girlfriend but also her cute commentary on the lyrics: "they sound like a crest ad campaign!"

digitalism - pogo

875. "suite: judy blue eyes"
crosby, stills and nash

my mother knows more than me about the technicalities of music. she can tell if someone is singing off-key, i can't. in terms of reading music, she's a college graduate and i'm still in first grade. even if "mom's ipod" usually inspires a groan from me and my sister during car trips, i usually respect her taste in music because i think that she understands and experiences it in a completely different manner than i do. she holds some obnoxious boomer attitudes - "a synthesizer isn't a real instrument" and "rapping doesn't take any talent, it's just talking" are the most grating - but i do value her opinions on music. ANYWAY, the point is, she has inspired me to appreciate songs i normally would dismiss. without the influence of my mother, i probably would denigrate the lyrics to this track as hippie sentimentality, criticize the four-part structure as pretentious and casually toss it into the "whatever" pile. but, because i've talked to her about it in those aforementioned car trips, i recognize and appreciate aspects to the song that i otherwise would have missed, particularly the complexities of the harmonies. "doo, doo doo, dep-doo, doo doo doo doo."

crosby, stills and nash - suite: judy blue eyes
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