Perfect (Cover) Songs - Paris Summer

A lot of great songs are discovered as covers, but we usually become so accustomed to the cover that hearing the original can be jarring. In the case of this song, I had heard the cover first and instantly fell in love with the song and, yet, once I found the original, I was blown away that I hadn't already been deep into Lee Hazelwood's work with Nancy Sinatra. I knew her stuff, and had heard his name, but didn't really know anything beyond that. But I was deeply into The Last Shadow Puppets' first album, Age of the Understatement with it's dark, retro and vaguely cinematic feel. I was hunting for anything that had that sound, from them or anyone else - a sound I've since learned has been put under the genre Baroque Pop. So I dug into the b-sides of this side project from The Arctic Monkeys' Alex Turner and Miles Kane, and found a live performance of a song called "Paris Summer" featuring The Kills' Allison Mosshart.

I mean, come on. That's just awesome. The mood, the narrative, the music, the twang, all of it. The back and forth vocals was something The Last Shadow Puppets were making their thing, but here, the way it supports the story of the song, painting a vivid picture of this forbidden, adulterous affair in the city of romance is just breathtaking. And who's better than Allison Mosshart? I had to find the original of this song and I was not disappointed when I did.

Lee Hazelwood's low droning voice can be a little hard to get into, I get that. But it's precisely what I think makes his work with Nancy Sinatra so great. Their voices compliment and contrast each other at the same time. While the original doesn't have the twangy guitar of the Shadow Puppets, the orchestration is deep and dynamic in a way that made me want to dig more into Hazlewood.

Watching the Apocalypse (But Still Dreaming)

I feel a manifesto manifesting in my mind. I'm not sure what to do with it.

Here we are, under stay at home orders while COVID-19 reveals the failures most of us already knew existed in our system and in our so-called leaders, from governors on up to the POSOTUS.  And today, we see another black man murdered by police in Minneapolis because nothing stops the virus of hate, not even an actual pandemic. All at the same time, we have an economy on the verge of collapse and a planet that if we're lucky, will not completely kill us with storms and fires of our own making within our lifetimes, but most likely will within our childrens'. And the most disturbing thing of all is that we could fix all of this if we wanted to. But the real killer, the real virus, I've come to realize isn't people or stupidity, it's ideas. Bad ideas. Big bad ideas. And we should vocally point them out.

I could easily start with the worst idea of all - religion. I could start with that and I would be on a path that I think has merit, but I've realized it's not the source. Greed isn't either. These are symptoms. The source is this idea that difference is somehow bad. It's a very simple thing, Utopian even. Difference is what makes us stronger. I sometimes get angrier  at well meaning, non-racist people who go out of their way to try to achieve color-blindness. It's misguided because at the end of the day, there's always something on some level that makes us different, no matter how similar we may be. We may all bleed red, but so what if we didn't? Who gives a flying fuck if your blood were yellow and mine purple? I know that sounds ridiculous to get into, but it's the idea. It's what I think we need get past. The idea that it's all good because we're the same, deep down. It should all be good, because who gives a fuck if we're not the same on the surface, deep down, or between our sweaty ass cheeks. If you're not harming anybody, how does it matter?

As for Utopia and the fixes to everything, I absolutely know that we can do it and in the cases of many things (world hunger, access to health care, homelessness, lack of education, poverty in general, turning back the clock on environmental disaster) we can already solve them. We just don't. We have in our pockets (maybe even in your hand right now) computers, more powerful than those that got us on the moon, that can potentially connect us with every person, every piece of information about anything is at the tip of our fingers for the asking. And instead of using it to unite us, in most cases (not all) it's the opposite. We use it to further divide ourselves. We have the technology to transition to a completely clean global power system, but we don't do it because those controlling clean technology are just as fucking greedy and corrupt as those that control the filthy oil that we've spilled so much blood over. But we could do it. We could end wealth inequality by snapping our fingers and deciding as a whole that wealth, this thing we completely made up, is meaningless and that instead we are just going to take care of each other and it wouldn't end up with everyone living in squalor. We could all live in some version of paradise. 

I'm sure by now of the 3 of you reading this (if I'm lucky) 2 of you are laughing hysterically at the naive moron who thinks we can actually achieve Utopia (and the other one fell asleep). And that's the problem. Because I'm not saying we will achieve it. I'm saying we could if we wanted it. Will it happen? Probably not. Does that mean we should give up and just continue to do nothing but compromise to the big bad ideas? That's what most people do. That's what our supposed good leaders do. Why? Because it's practical? Fuck that. If you're going to lead me, give me a god damned horizon I can look at and want to keep going. If we don't make it, well, we don't fucking make it but what exactly was the loss?

Why do we say it's OK to struggle for some things but not the things that really matter?  Why is it OK for a poor person to have to struggle to "lift themselves up by the bootstraps" but not OK for us to struggle to do the lifting for them? Why is it OK for someone to struggle to put food on their table but not OK for us to struggle to make sure everyone has food on their table. Or even a table. Or a roof. Why is it OK to struggle to "overcome" adversity, but not OK to struggle to eradicate man made adversity all together? Why is it OK to ask that a black man, a Hispanic woman, a gay man, a transsexual woman, or anyone else, lead by example and "break through" barriers, but not OK for us to say, "fuck barriers"? Why? Why do we glorify struggle at all? (OK, that's as close I'll get to some corny speech with swelling music in the background and it's more ramble than speech anyway, so whatever, it's done I stand by it.)

I don't fucking know why. I don't have a god damned clue why. I do know that I've come to realize that I'm not the misanthrope I pretend to be. It's not people that are the problem, exactly, though many people certainly are and fuck them. It's these big bad ideas. Bad ideas such as greed, hate, discrimination, misogyny, etc, etc. But still, I think the biggest one hindering all this is that we don't truly embrace difference enough. And that boils down to one thing: we lack empathy as a whole. And the definition of empathy is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. That's it. Not another who you recognize as being like you in some way. Just another. They don't have to be anything like you. Look, I won't pretend I don't judge people. We all do it. It's part of the human condition. But I'm going to judge on the basis of your ideas, maybe your actions, though that's not always going to be true. You can call it character but that to me is too abstract. There's never a good definition of what character is and it just takes us back to people being different. Bottom line, if you are not harming anyone, I don't have a problem with you. This includes if your politics, the people and ideas you support, do harm to others, then I'm fucking judging you. And it's not my job to teach you empathy. It's not my job to educate you on why your choices are harming people, it's yours to weigh your decisions carefully and if you fucked up, change your mind and make a different choice. It's not my job to change your mind about a god damned thing.  Be better. 

Anyway, rant over. I really have no fucking clue what any of this means, and I know it's all over the place, but it's been on mind in stages for a while (along with this: "I'm the chan-cellor of the dance-felor" [I don't know either]). Do I feel better dumping this onto my keyboard so it electronically seeps into the cracks of the internet? Not really. Wasn't really expecting it to. But I hadn't written in some time and felt like trying again. Oh, and since this is a music blog, here's a playlist I've been putting together. It's more about mood than a message of any kind. Enjoy. 

Elvis Costello w/ Larkin Poe at The Broward Center for the Performing Arts: March 18, 2015

This originally appeared on ppcorn.com (FKA FDRMX) 5 years ago. It's probably my favorite concert review I've ever written and hands down the best last paragraph. This is still one of the best shows I've ever seen and where I became not just a huge Elvis fan, but a huge Larkin Poe fan.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve usually found I actually have less in common musically with people my age. For the most part, as people age, their taste in music narrows, and in many ways just freezes completely, stuck in whatever period they can nostalgically hold on to as being better than “kids today.” That’s not to say I don’t like old and straight up retro music, because I obviously do, but I don’t just like that, and I don’t dismiss anything new outright.

Still, for years I’ve heard my contemporaries talk about seeing people like Paul McCartney live and how he shames young musicians by playing marathon length shows and demonstrating a complete mastery of his art. I’ve never had the chance to see McCartney live, but I’ve had a small taste of that seeing Dylan a couple of times. But that was just a small taste. Last night, I really came to understand what total mastery of the artform is when I saw Elvis Costello play, mostly by himself, for approximately two and a half hours at Ft. Lauderdale’s Broward Center for the Performing Arts.

Before I get to Costello, though, we have to talk about Larkin Poe. I’d seen them on the YouTube series Jam in the Van not too long ago and liked what I heard, so I was familiar with them already. Last night, however, it was just the two Lovell sisters, minus bass and drums, which is fine because these two sisters from Atlanta know their shit. Roots music, whether blues, gospel, country, bluegrass, folk, or whatever depends on a certain authenticity to be sure, but it also depends on a knowledge of its history that I don’t think more modern genres necessarily do. That knowledge has to be organic in order to really come across. I know nothing of their upbringing, but judging from their performance last night, I would not be surprised if they learned to play mandolin and lap steel on a wooden porch by watching their elders. There’s just something loose and natural about their style which came accross from the first song they played, “Wade in the Water” and in every original song they played as well, including a stripped down and more gothic version of “Jailbreak” off their first full length album, Kin.

Of course, as much as I was already loving Larkin Poe, they took me over the top with the last song of their opening set. “You’ll have to decide if this is a Cher song or a Nancy Sinatra song,” announced Rebecca Lovell, eliciting an immediate “Oh shit” of excited recognition from me that I’m sure everyone around me must have noticed as I stumbled for my cell phone. What followed was a completely fresh take on one of my favorite songs of all time, the often covered “Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down).”

During the intermission, I met the ladies at the merch table where they signed their album for me and I mentioned that to me it was a Nancy song because her version was better than Cher’s original, but I should have added that the version I’d just heard was up there with Nancy’s because they brought something completely new to the table by making this story of a love gone as bad as possible into a true southern gothic tale and really all their own while not losing the original’s vision. There’s just a certain fire that they brought to out that came through with the lap steel.

Before the show and during intermission, on the stage was a giant TV playing Elvis Costello videos. So when Elvis just matter of factly walked on stage with little warning, he approached the mic and said “well, you’ve heard all the hits, so I guess you can just go home now” and then unceremoniously started playing “(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes.” Right off what stood out in this solo performance was that there was no pretension about it. He was just going to play and that’s that. Also, he was going to be heard, and everyone there understood that.

I’ve always liked Elvis in a more distant way. I’ve never really dug deep into his catalog because, as he pointed out at one point last night, at this point there are over 500 songs. That’s intimidating to get into if you’re exploring. The good news is, as of last night, it’s clear to me that his mastery of the craft goes well beyond the songs I was already familiar with. I finally really understand what the big deal is.

How often have you been to a show where a performer tries to do something a little quieter than normal only to be drowned out by talking or inappropriate cheering (or worse, heckling) followed by angry shushing from the rest of the crowd? Sometimes the performer will practically have to plead with people to just shut up for one damn second because this could be special damn it!

I experienced the complete opposite of this several times during this show. The first one hit me in the face with it’s power. At the end of “Accidents Will Happen” he stepped back from the mic, played more quietly on the acoustic guitar and sang with no amplification for a few verses. And you could hear every bit of it. There was never a moment of transition to being quiet. It just happened and everyone just understood because he wasn’t asking. He was just doing it and he is Elvis so you’re going to listen, is the feeling I got. There was something very powerful about the way this happened and it happened several more times throughout the night.

For most of the show, Elvis Costello played one guitar or another, acoustic or electric and I was wowed by how underrated he is as a guitar player. He’s not just playing chords for the sake of rhythm, it’s much more complex than that. But his first journey over to the piano resulted in the most clear indication of two other things about Elvis: his songwriting and the overwhelming beauty of his voice. He really is a complete songwriter in the sense that every note, every pause, every flourish is there to support a lyric or an idea.

This is when he played “Shipbuilding,” a song I was familiar with, but never loved or even liked that much, to be honest. But, hearing it this way, just piano and vocals, stripped down, highlighted the complexity and emotion of the song and the performance showcased the power, range, control and genuine feeling that Elvis radiates with every note he sings. His vibrato particularly is amazing to hear live. He’s been accused of oversinging and I’m sure that’s true in a lot of his recorded work, but last night, there was nothing over about it. It was right on and I’m still impressed.

So, there were three encores. The first one was with Larkin Poe and felt like a good ole fashioned hootenanny with the lap steel, mandolin and harmonies. This set ended with the mandatory and uplifting “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding,” a song he didn’t write but did make famous. Like most people I was sure this was it, but suddenly, Elvis just appeared inside that giant TV and started playing again. At several points throughout the night people yelled out requests. I kept hearing calls for “I Want You,” which I would have loved to hear in a stripped down version like this, but that wasn’t to be.

The other most requested song was “Allison” and this is when it came. What hit me at this point, is that as much I had wanted to to hear this song, and as great as the song is, I can understand why he might have skipped it and it would have been ok. There just wasn’t much more to do with the song in the way that he did with some of the others he played earlier in the night. It was a good performance and I’m glad he played it, but I understand now why the first time someone had yelled it out the response was a sarcastic “I love a man with an imagination.”

The second encore ended with a song that I think perfectly distills everything that happened that night, “Radio Soul,” which is an early version of his hit “Radio, Radio.” In this early version, it’s a love song to radio, but it can more broadly be said to be about music and the lines “but everybody else is overwhelmed by indifference and the promise of an early bed but for myself I don’t work too much least not since I’ve been told I could sail away to the songs that play upon that radio soul,” could have closed the night. But, of course, they didn’t. There was one more encore, which started with Elvis on piano doing a somewhat creepy take on the standard “Side by Side,” before he called Larkin Poe back out for two more songs.

All around me everyone was impressed with how much music we had just heard. All told, Elvis played 32 songs for about 2 and a half hours. It’s the longest I’ve ever seen anyone play. The theater had senior citizens who volunteer as ushers and as I was walking out I overheard one of them saying to another “I kept thinking it was over but every time he just picked up that god damned guitar again.” So, in summary, at 61 years old, playing mostly acoustic songs by himself on stage, many of them ballads, some country and at least one standard, Elvis Costello is still pissing off old people. Punk’s not dead.

Perfect Songs - Manna

This originally appeared over ppcorn.com (formerly FDRMX) back in December of 2014. At the time, I was beyond thrilled because Tanya Donelly commented on it. A week later, my dog, Kane, died and I was devastated, but this song had laid some kind of groundwork for me to deal with it. Over there it was filed under Single Review, even though it wasn't a single. Here, I place it back in it's proper place as a Perfect Song.

I got to see Ms. Donelly with Belly last year in Brooklyn, and while I didn't get to hear this song live, it was still moving to finally get to hear her live, in person and at close range after all the years of wanting to.

Emotional responses to music do not depend on having any understanding of what the song is supposed to be about. In many cases it can happen even if you don’t understand the language at all and there are instrumentals that can evoke very specific feelings. Sometimes we do understand the language but the lyrics are just cryptic enough to somehow put you in a very vivid, if mysterious frame of mind. You won’t know what the original intent of the song is, but it won’t matter, and really it hardly ever does. When art manages to connect with something universal, while doing something that is likely very specific, it’s breathtaking, but when it does this and maintains a certain air of mystery that allows you to make it wholly your own, we’re in a transcendent space altogether. For me, a clear example of this is Tanya Donelly’s “Manna” off her first solo album, Lovesongs for Underdogs.

I fell in love with this song the instant I heard it, 17 years ago. It opens with a quiet whistling wind like sound that leads to a simple acoustic guitar chord progression, complete with fret noise that seems to suggests weariness. The song instantly transports me to another room and though I’m not entirely sure what is in that room, I know it’s white and there is a large open window with white lace drapes, letting the light shine through. And although the room is comfortable and providing some sort of relief, there’s a sense of sadness in it, or perhaps just melancholy. It might be grief. But tt might not be. It might just be intense love that somehow makes one weep at the sheer beauty of life. Either way, Tanya says she is “here now and I’m staying put, for reasons, my reasons” and I’m moved by her voice and presence. And she never tells us her reasons, which only helps this song become yours as you fill in your own reasons. Is this a deathbed she’s sitting next to? If so, whose? I don’t know, but it affects me in a very deep way that I cannot explain.

Once the chorus kicked in that first time I heard this song, and every time since, I was blasted with nostalgia that I could not put my finger on but also could not deny or avoid in any way. That marching snare drum and cello and the melody of Tanya’s angelic voice reminded me of something from my childhood. Over the years I’ve determined that it somehow brings to mind an artist my parents used to play when I was a kid, Demis Roussos. But try as I might, there’s no one specific song that I can say directly connects. It could be several, from “Goodbye My Love, Goodbye” to “Morir Al Lado De Mi Amor” or even his cover of Edith Piaf’s “Hymne a L’amour.” Interestingly, each one of those could also relate to “Manna” thematically, but I would not have known that from hearing them as a child.

I’ve always leaned towards thinking this song was about someone who comes to visit a dying loved one. Perhaps that’s because I took the lyric “and when I hold you like tomorrow you might die, well, that’s because you might, but I’m here now and I’m staying put for reasons my heart knows” literally. But over the years, I’ve also come to appreciate the preciousness of life to the point that I think I understand that we are always dying and now I think that’s what the song is about. And while that may be morbid, it’s also quite beautiful and touching to accept it so that you can fully love someone in the moment. What’s truly amazing to me is that while that idea comes through so clearly, there are verses about a “milky whiteness” that leave me scratching my head. Could the song be about trying to conceive a child? It’s likely this song is about something very specific in Tanya’s life, but I couldn’t care less to pry into what’s behind it because It’s now about so much more than what she might have intended that I think she succeeded, regardless. It’s a perfect song.

IDLES, NYC 10/17/19 - I Was Done In On A Thursday

I guess it was about 6 months ago that I became obsessed with IDLES. I think I'd heard one or two songs before, but it wasn't until then that I really listened to the message. When I played Joy as an Act of Resistance for the first time I was moved in so many ways. The things they were singing were things I'd been feeling in stages for most of my fucking life and here I was at 46 years old before I really felt like another man really understood them the way I felt them. It wasn't one particular lyric, though if I had to boil it down it's obviously "The mask of masculinity, is a mask that's wearing me." But the entire feeling of the album made me feel heard and understood and like there was hope for the next generation after all. 

I've watched countless videos of their live shows and at some point while witnessing the beautiful madness I decided I must be a part of it. I’d never been in a real mosh pit, aside from that now almost laughable incident at Arctic Monkeys, 9 years ago. Again with those regrets I've spoken of before - things I wish I'd done when I was younger but I was too paralyzed by fear, depression, self-doubt and shyness. I've halfway denied that my increase in concert attendance over the last 10 years has been a midlife crisis, but in some ways I guess it has been. 

So, when I saw they were playing the last stop of a pretty short US tour at New York's Terminal 5, I started to figure out how I could justify going. And it quickly evolved into a trip where I would be alone in NYC for nearly 24 hours, with no room. Fly in, kill time, go to the show, kill more time, go home. Anyway, there's definitely something great about just being aimless and on your own in NYC. Still, it was a pretty long day before I even got to Terminal 5, so I was worried I'd be too tired to really enjoy it.

Anticipation.

I got there just a few minutes before doors opened, so the line was pretty long. Yet, somehow I got in, went to the floor and stood 2 people from the front. I was excited now. At one point, during opener Preoccupations, I really had to go to the bathroom and got worried because I didn't want to lose my spot. I actually asked the dude next to me to hold it, he said he'd try and off I went. Coming back I felt like a complete dick and also realized (or should have realized) that getting in and out of this crowd was going to be impossible once IDLES came out.  And when they did come out, and started with the ever building crescendo of Colossus, well, reality laughed it's ass off at my midlife crisis.

The crowd behind me, all however hundreds there were, started this slow, rhythmic wave of that was crushing everyone. It would come forward, then back, then to the sides, then forward, getting slowly more intense. I quickly put my phone away and raised my arms up over my head so I could actually use them. I instantly knew I was going to die if I stayed and that I basically had no choice. And then I went into instant denial figuring this would get easier when it got faster. 

Among the things I regret but not because I never did them is getting blackout drunk. There's a night I won't detail, where I remember grabbing a drink and then it’s just  hazy, out of body flashes of crying and panic all around me, and then waking up on the kitchen floor wearing nothing but wet shorts. Those flashes of haze, where the details are completely lost, are something I do remember vividly as being quite scary. Once the last part of "Colossus" started - the hardcore tag that was supposedly going to be easier - I started to feel like that haze thing was coming over me. But my terror was mine alone. The crowd was actually fine and there was no danger of anyone intentionally harming me in anyway. That much was clear, but made it no less terrifying.

Pic from the excellent piece at Pancakes and Whiskey.

As “Colossus” went right into “Never Fight a Man with a Perm” my mouth went instantly dry. I was trying to jump and scream along, thinking I just have to get more excited, which I did, but it was no use. Quickly, the spirit of denial that was trying to keep me there, gave up and said "fuck this dude, you’re not equipped for this, get out of here." Now I had to figure out how to swim against this fucking raging ocean current and get out before I passed out. 

It took the entirety of NFaMWaP, and into “Heel/Heal” during which the haze kept threatening, to finally get clear of the mosh. I have no fucking idea how I survived but I have a vague memory of singing along at several points, with what must have been a distant look of terror on my face, in between shouting “coming out!” to whoever would listen. At various stages, several people did about all anyone could have done in the midst of that chaos, yelling "let this guy out!" with concern and authority before fading back into the tumult. Thanks, kids, for helping an old man having a panic attack after biting off more than he could chew.

By the time I got to the bar where I planned on ordering about 5 gallons of water, I was completely drenched in sweat, only mostly my own. The pressure of hundreds of bodies pressed against me with full force and not having any control over it was still lingering in my insides and I have no idea how I stayed on my feet. It was like my internal organs had been moshed. But the thing is, I did stay on my feet. I came to mosh and I did. And no matter how it went, I can no longer say I never did it. And now I know. And now I'm free from. . . something.  And it somehow feels like this experience has served as a surrogate for just about every experience I regret not having when I was younger. I don't honestly know why that is, but it is and I'm grateful. And now, a few days later, while the feeling still lingers, I have to say I would try again, maybe stupidly, but still. I would have to get in much better shape before I did, but if IDLES come back again any time soon, I may try to be in the middle of it.

The rest of the show, I was on the outskirts because at that point even if I had wanted back in, there was no penetrating the edge of that mass of bodies. I kept noticing how even by the bars there would be ripples of the force coming through the crowd. 

The energy of that crowd was the direct result of a feedback loop between everyone there and the band as one fed the other which fed the other which fed the other, etc. "Goes and it goes and it goes." This was the thing I love about music made into a physical form where you could literally see the emotional energy radiating through the crowd and back to the stage as band members kept coming out and surfing over them. It's one thing to see that on video or even from a distance, but to actually feel that in the room is beautifully powerful. 

And to top it all off, it's not wasted power. Because at the heart of everything this band does is community, love and acceptance. Being in a crowd that large that is receptive and welcoming of these things was quite moving. Singing “Samaritans” and "Danny Nedelko" at the top of our lungs together after Joe Talbot spoke about the fucked up state of the world and how New York was built by immigrants and the idea of true community was particularly special. 

Once it was all over, walking out of Terminal 5, everyone was overwhelmed by how amazing it was. Many were saying it was the best show they’d ever been to and as I walked the streets of NYC, no matter how far from the venue I got, I kept hearing people singing out IDLES lyrics in the distance from different directions. The message was spreading.

Songs of the Times - Going to a Town

In 2007, Rufus Wainwright released a song that I've always thought was the most complete in capturing the post 9/11 Bush era of sadness and impending doom. It would be one more year before we entered the supposed era of hope under Obama and while that hope was real no matter how imperfect, the stage had already been set and the racist backlash against Obama and the deeper entrenchment of the far right pulling everyone with them has proven to be unstoppable. Now, 11 years after its release, and particularly this week - the push to rob transgender people of their identity, the racist lies about an impending caravan of immigrants from South America, bombs sent to prominent Democrats, the right dismissing it as a hoax, and then today a shooting at a synagogue - "Going to a Town" is even more prescient than it was in 2007.

This song has always made me cry, but the other day, driving home after reading a few bits of information about the bomber (I won't use the cutesy, catchy name based on the president's shitty motto, fuck that) and other miscellaneous chaos, and thinking about how fucked the country is and the whole world because of it, it really got to me. I've never been a patriot by any stretch of the imagination. As a matter of fact, imagination is good word because my guiding principal - if I even have one - when it comes to countries, religion and isms in general is John Lennon's "Imagine," no matter how much of a hypocrite he was. But even though I've never really felt "America" in the way that people do, I do know that I'm deeply "American." I've benefited from it and do enjoy the lofty idea of it. Where I've always drawn the line is in any sort of allegiance or deification of it and its principals. Or any one country's for that matter, because I'm also a Trekkie. That being said, its loss is still sad and that's what this song is about.

I'll leave it at that because going on any more of a depressive rant about the state of the world would just be too damn much. Over on Saint Audio, we posted 2 (so far) Halloween playlists that touch on how we're feeling as well. It's kind of hard to shake, really. It's either completely forget about it or be consumed with feelings of helplessness. My choice for now is to, symbolically at least, go to a town where I'm more present with my family and enjoy what we have now - NOW. And if the revolution does come (and that is it what it will take, don't kid yourselves), great, but I'm not optimistic. What does that mean for the day to day when human rights and lives are at stake? I don't know that either.

A few weeks ago, I was driving to work and on the side of the road there was a guy standing next to what I guess was some kind of Buddhist monk, in full robes - in Davie fucking FL of all places. The monk was calmly holding the man by the shoulders and seemed to be trying to ease his turmoil - whatever that might have been. The man seemed a little agitated, but glad to be listening, glad to be heard, glad for some kind of connection and understanding. There were no other pedestrians, and this is not an area where this sort of thing would ever happen. There is no Buddhist monastery anywhere near there. So it was way out of left field to see this. I don't know what it means or if I was reading way more into it because of my state of mind, but either way, it stayed with me. All I know is that if there is anything positive that has come out of the severe state of fuck the world is in it has been in how ordinary humans of certain mindsets have sort of stepped up their game in terms of every day kindness - whether it's too late or not. That's the town that I'm going to, because I am sick and fucking tired of "America."

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 1 - Nicole Atkins' Goodnight Rhonda Lee

I'm not one for cheesy nostalgia, but I'm a sucker for music that can recall a time and place while still being fresh and timeless. Whether it's music made in the period in question or just as an homage to that period, the songs have to feel alive. This is usually not achieved by accident. It takes work but the final element to make it successful is to make it seem like it didn't take work - like the music just sort of came together, spur of the moment. Nicole Atkins' Goodnight Rhonda Lee feels so immediate that it almost comes across as an improvisational jam session. If you didn't know any better, you could believe these songs are all covers, though you may not be able to pin down exactly where the original came from.

This is essentially a break-up album where the relationship is with one's former self. Rhonda Lee is Atkins' name for her alter ego when she was drinking. Knowing that, the album's title and lyrics all come into focus as a nakedly personal expression. The thing is, none of it comes across as being quite that literal or ever crosses the line into being wallowing or navel gazing. The fact is, you don't need to know what it's really about to enjoy it or get the more universal truths of the lyrics and the emotions behind them. Who can't relate to a line like "All that I have left is the sound of my own breath/And then darkness falls so quiet/But the loneliness can have it’s own allure/I can keep the quiet and keep myself inside/Cuz my records are old friends/I have trusted in them many times before" from "Darkness Falls so Quiet"?

This year has not been easy for many reasons. While protest and facing issues head on in more explicit ways through art is important, sometimes things that are not about the fight specifically can work just as well if not better. An album about changing, maturing and putting harmful things behind you is as important as one about fighting injustice. And personal growth is always welcomed. We can all hopefully learn to "Listen Up" when listening to Atkins sing "I should’ve listened up when I was young/But I always talked to much/Punch drunk on some bad luck/Hard times/You gotta make mistakes to know/It takes mistakes to grow/And now I know I gotta listen up." The reward for this personal growth is that we can "wake up from a nightmare to a dream" as the album's closer, "A Dream Without Pain" tells us. This final song is musically reminiscent of "Knockin on Heaven's Door" but instead of Dylan's weariness, it leaves us hopeful while we put the past behind us.

This summer, as hurricane Irma took aim on Florida, we made the decision to pack the family up and head out of town. The stressful trip had it's ups and downs, and it's no exaggeration to say that having Goodnight Rhonda Lee on repeat for most of the trip made it that much better. I wrote about this before, here. This album will always be special to me. That level of connection to music is why I started this blog in the first place and having an album that is also beautiful on it's own merits accomplish this is icing on the cake.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 2 - Hurray for the Riff Raff's The Navigator

From my teens forward, there's a couple of strange things that used to happen to me regularly. People that knew me would regularly tell me, out of the blue, how if I went to New York, I probably wouldn't leave. Also, people that didn't know me would routinely think I was from New York. It took until my mid twenties when I finally went to New York and not only did I understand why this happened, but a third thing happened while I was there - I kept getting mistaken for a local and asked for directions as if I had a clue. I mention this because I feel a strong connection to that city and particularly to music that has a certain New York feel and I can't think of an album in recent memory that better captures that than Hurray for the Riff Raff's The Navigator. And that's just one of the many aspects that makes this album not just great, but truly special, engaging and moving. It's the most complete work of art I've experienced in a very long time.

The main creative force behind Hurray for the Riff Raff is Alynda Segarra, who is of Puerto Rican descent and grew up in New York. At 17, she jumped a freight train out of town and crossed the country several times before ending up in New Orleans. Her career so far has been heavily in traditional "Americana" so it's appropriate that this album properly places Puerto Rican influence on the culture in that context. This is perhaps the most political album to come out this year and it happened before hurricanes and the blatantly racist neglect of responsibility by the current administration ravaged the island. Segarra has been politically and socially outspoken her whole career, but this is by far her most pressing and immediate commentary. The fact that it's wrapped in such a beautifully crafted work of art makes this timeless and breathlessly moving.

Years ago I watched a documentary on the history of Rock n Roll in which Iggy Pop talks about how he came up with the iconic sound of The Stooges. He talked about walking down the streets of the industrial parts of Detroit and hearing the loud crashing of the factory presses at the car manufacturing plants and then imitates the sound. Hearing that interview and then playing The Stooges' Funhouse album, it's crystal clear how that sound is there in every aspect of the record. It completely catptures the feel of that time and place in the sound of the snare and the guitars, but also in the recording technique and explosive aggression of his vocals. Throughout The Navigator, the same thing happens, creating a sonic painting of urban life that is very specific to New York City. Whether it's the echoes of a subway station in the doo wop opener "Entrance" or the metallic grinding of synths and guitars that could be the sound of the train itself or traffic on the street on tracks like "Hungry Ghost" these details pull you into the world of this concept album's main character, Navita as she journeys through the city, discovering her identity.

It's almost a disservice to break this album down into it's parts. The songs are all amazing, with stellar production and poignant lyrics. Segarra's voice has a very particular feel to it that makes you want to listen to what she has to say. It has a velvety flow and vibrato, but behind it is a passionate assertiveness that gives her words impact beyond the literal. There are certainly some standout songs. The first proper song after the "Entrance" theme, "Living in the City," has a Velvet Underground feel that comes across as authentic rather than simple imitation. Another favorite is "Settle" which is perhaps the most subtle version of using the production style and the instruments to create the sounds of the city on the album. It's slightly over-modulated at times while gliding along with a soft melody on strings. It's a beautifully balanced song. And, then of course, there's "Pa'lante" which honestly chokes me up every single time I hear it.

The Navigator's story is presented in true New York City style, as a musical. The album's liner notes are presented in a Playbill and the cover features a very stage-like set of what we might think of us NYC with fire escapes and steam coming up out of the sewers. But the album's themes chip away at this facade while diving into the truths behind what makes New York and by extension, "the American Dream" so romantic. It's the story of immigrants and outsiders, struggling against oppression of all kinds to establish an identity and "be something" as the climactic, empowering and moving "Pa'lante" affirms. The New York City of The Navigator is at once real and imaginary. It's the great city that was built by these immigrants and outsiders, but now it's been occupied, gentrified and appropriated, the original inhabitants pushed aside. The journey taken in the album is a search for true identity, both the protagonist's and the city's.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 3 - Lorde's Melodrama

The first time I heard "Green Light," the lead single for Lorde's second album, Melodrama, I was completely taken with its overwhelming euphoria. I must have played it the whole way to work that morning. I was already a fan since the release of "Royals" and was excited to hear more from this young prodigy. Once Melodrama came out in the Summer, it was clear this whole album was on another level. Lorde's pop virtuosity has multiplied exponentially since her debut, Pure Heroine. Her voice, her songwriting and her lyrical inventiveness are in perfect sync and the result is an album full of vivid pictures, feelings and memorable phrases that is very much alive and kicking.

This album is much more organic than Pure Heroine, with the presence of pianos being the most obvious addition. But also, the songs are more open and inviting. It's the little moments that most stay with me, such as on "Homemade Dynamite" when the music stops and she softly sings "Now you know it's really gonna blow" pause, then the soft "poough" (or however that would be spelled) of the explosion. The humor of that is unexpected and refreshing and ultimately exposes her playful personality, but not for the last time. The very next song, "The Louvre," a tale about a love that is knowingly being exaggerated as being epic has a couple of these moments, but my favorite is the line that gives the song its title, "But we're the greatest, they'll hang us in The Louvre/down the back, but who cares, still The Louvre." It's a line that is realistically conversational and brings the album's main character to life.

Lorde has said in interviews that the idea of the album is of a party where this girl goes from room to room thinking of this relationship that just ended. The shifts in emotional tone from song to song and in her vocal expression make this clear. She has a very mature sense of control over her voice. A song like "Liability" could have been very different if it was more restrained or completely unrestrained. Instead, it is beautifully balanced and heartbreaking with the slightest crack in her voice punctuating the sense of loneliness that is framed by a very subtle uplift in it's declaration of self-love and acceptance. It's a complex song and a theme I'm not sure I'd heard before.

The other straight up ballad, "Writer in the Dark," is chill inducing with her high register chorus that makes me think of Tori Amos: "I am my mother's child, I'll love you til the breathing stops/I'll love you til you call the cops on me/but in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power/I'll find a way to be without you, babe." It's that combination of sadness and empowerment that is hinted at in every song on the album, and those lines are its most clear expression. Yes, it hurts, but also, she will be ok.

My favorite songs tend to make me imagine a movie scene they could play over. Not like a music video, but a scene in a movie that has context beyond the song. Maybe it's because I once wanted to be a filmmaker and because my favorite directors are masters of using pre-existing songs in their movies. Think Martin Scorsese or Quentin Tarantino. With "Supercut" it's as if Lorde has reached into my head and created a song that comes with the scene already burned into it. This is by far my favorite song on the album and perhaps of the year. The music and lyrics work like a holographic projection into your brain where she plays out these scenes of this relationship that was, in detail. Lorde has synesthesia, which basically means her senses sort of work together so she hears music and sees colors. Her music and sense of imagery in her lyrics likely benefits from this, and no song does this more than this one.

This summer, my 8 year old daughter, Shayera, would ride with me to work every morning because her summer camp was near my job. While we would listen to many different albums on the way, we probably played this album more than any. While some of the themes of the album are still beyond her, I was happy to share the work and perspective of a strong, confident, young woman like Lorde with her and watch her sing and dance to these songs. Anyway, here's what she thinks of it in her own words:

I love Lorde because her music makes me smile. The type of music is pop music. It makes me get up and dance every time I hear it. The songs flow into each other like they're one song. This is just a little bit of what I think about Lorde.

I like "Green Light" because it sounds like you are talking to someone. I also like it because it sounds like a song you would hear at a party. I like "Sober II (Melodrama) because it sounds like she's relaxing at a party. I think that this is the most pop song out of them all.

I love Lorde's album Melodrama because it just makes me want to get up and do something. If you compare Lorde's music with someone else's music, Lorde's music would win. That's how good her music is! I also like her music because it's very unique. Lorde is a great singer and composer.

I recently listened to the WTF Podcast episode where Marc Maron talks to Lorde. They talked about how expressions of joy tend to be uncomfortable and she said she has decided to express her joy openly in her art and life. It comes across in her completely free performances where she's not afraid of being awkward in her movements. But it also comes across in her music and her singing. When I worked with Shayera on writing her piece, I was taken by how much of this she was intuitively picking up on without the knowledge of the interview. That, to me, speaks volumes about how successful Lorde is an artist. And to think this is only her second album.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 4 - Royal Thunder's WICK

The only reason this album isn't higher on my list is because the numbers are really meaningless and interchangeable based on my mood. A couple of years ago, Royal Thunder's last album, Crooked Doors was my number 1. This year's WICK feels very much like a follow up to that album, not just because it's the next one they made, but because there is a sense of connected themes, lyrically and musically, that I can't help but think is no accident as the band has developed their artistry and point of view considerably over the past few years.

While the album could be argued to be split in two sections with the more upbeat (relatively speaking) songs up front before going into the more introspective and moving tunes, this is by no means to suggest that it's not cohesive. One thing easily leads to another and everything is connected. There's a progression that makes sense and connects the songs to one another and possibly to the previous album. Maybe I read too much into it, but opener "April Showers" talk of "fifty pills in the wall" and closer, "The Well"'s final line "these walls will tear us down" feel like there's more than just a common word between them considering the overall themes of loss and isolation that appear in between those lines. Then there's the hymn-like ending of the final song that fans will recognize from Crooked Door's "Floor." The vaguely religious allusion and connecting of loss to ritual is haunting.

As usual, the band is tight. Josh Weaver's riffs are complex enough to keep things interesting without losing the rock structure. These songs are not meant to be rousing anthems but there is a little bit of an 80s metal vibe going on through a couple of songs like "Sinking Chair" and "April Showers" that drives them into your being. And of course, Mlny Parsonz's vocals are beyond phenomenal. In particular, the ballad, "Plans" is a gut-wrenching and cathartic performance that feels like an open wound, finally getting some healing air after a past due bandage is removed. 

Overall this album may be a little more "mainstream" than any of their previous releases. But to me, that makes it even more daring, since they do this without losing any of their power or perspective. If anything, what I find is that the melodies lull you into what might be an easy, "radio-friendly" hard rock mood before taking an unexpected turn that illuminates the brilliance of the whole. A given note or chord might be more major than minor, but the band has figured out how to still imbue it all with their same emotional heft. This is an album that, like all of their work, gets you headbanging and pondering the pains of existence at the same time. 

Royal Thunder is easily my favorite band of the last several years. I will buy anything they put out at this point, really. You should, too.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 5 - Jackie Shane's Any Other Way

Several years ago I was obsessed with finding obscure soul from the 60s. This was before Spotify, but the Internet still provided via various music blogs that would post MP3s of long out of print compilations and albums by artists I'd never heard of. It was on one of those compilations that I first heard a song called "In My Tenement." I knew nothing else except that the imagery and delivery painted a picture of real urban living that felt more alive and underground than most anything else I had ever heard in the genre or the period. Only recently did I learn that the singer, Jackie Shane, was a transgender woman who should have been a huge star, but, mysteriously, decided to quit in 1971. She never recorded a full studio album, but this year, Any Other Way, a collection of all her singles and the one live album she ever put out gives as complete a picture as we're going to get of this artist.

I'm always fascinated when I find artists who didn't quite make into the collective pantheon of recognized greats for any given era. Nostalgia sometimes has the effect of making it seem like there were only a handful of artists working in any particular era. Or that only that relatively small group of remembered artists had anything to contribute. So when performers like Jackie Shane are discovered it's a truer window into that time than the more well known acts that have been re-contextualized over the years. The fact that it's an artist that was marginalized for who she was opens a door to corners of the 60s we don't hear much about. And on top of all that, this was an incredibly talented artist who was poised to be a breakout star, to the point she was even invited by George Clinton to join Parliament Funkadelic, but declined.

All social context aside, what remains is an artist with a unique voice in the genre. Blending a velvety vibrato with an energy and ferocity that could be unleashed at will, it's not hard to see why at one point she was asked to leave a tour with Jackie Wilson for upstaging him. The album's title track was her biggest hit and it's not hard to see why. It's a song that she imbues with a subtle complexity in her delivery that is both weary and self-assured as she gives new meaning to the line "Tell her that I am happy/Tell her that I am gay/Tell her I wouldn't have it/Any other way." My favorite track on the album is probably "Walking the Dog" which is effortlessly smooth and funky. The band(s) on these songs are all tight, but the way Shane's voice glides is pretty amazing, whether she's belting out a impassioned scorcher or attacking an upbeat dance number.

The live portion of the album is a lot more raw and gives us a glimpse of what the energy of her shows was like. Here the swagger and ferocity is fully unleashed on classics like "Money (That's What I Want)," a grinding and funky "You Are My Sunshine" and even James Brown's "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag." In between songs, her banter reveals a personality that was ready for the big time. I can only imagine what her career may have been like, the impact she might have had, if she had continued performing all these years. This is an artist that deserves to be more than a cult figure for music nerds to collect.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 6 - Larkin Poe's Peach

I'm usually most impressed by music that sounds like it's off the cuff, unassuming and with little in the way of fancy production. The DIY aesthetic of the most underground punk is one extreme of this, but it all stems from my love of more traditional music, regardless of the origin - folk music. Whether it's the traditional Latin American boleros I grew up with or the blues I got into in my teens, the sound of a couple of people with guitars and a feeling to share is the most amazing thing to me. Larkin Poe have brought this idea into the 21st century with their Tip o' the Hat series of covers on YouTube and their latest album Peach.

Featuring a mix of traditional blues covers and original songs, the album was entirely recorded and produced by Rebecca and Megan Lovell playing all instruments. It's a blend of organic instruments, drum programming, synths and simple editing tricks that captures that same feeling of two people in a room with guitars, but throws in a laptop without losing the urgency. All the attention is on the music, with arrangements that are stripped down but complex and feel fresh. It's all folk music, music of the people. Music that should feel like anyone could pick up an instrument and just play it. And while hip hop already showed us that this could mean a turntable or mixer and electronica artists have been making bedroom albums, this album is a great blend of these more modern takes with the more traditional. On top of that, this record was completed in one long weekend.

Robert Johnson's "Come on in My Kitchen," opens the album with a literal invitation to see what the sisters have cooked up. It's a minimalist take on the song, which I very much prefer to bands that electrify and over-complicate the blues for no reason. It's a demonstration of how these ladies respect their roots. The songs alternate between covers and originals that aren't all so obviously rootsy, giving everything a truly timeless feel. A classic like Son House's "Preachin' Blues" oozes funk in a way that is different from but still reverent of the original. Originals like "Freedom" and "Cast 'Em Out" show off how well the ladies can make these traditions their own, incorporating classic blues and gospel styles while remaining fresh and relevant. Then there are songs like "Look Away," "Pink & Red" and "Wanted Woman/AC/DC" which mix things up by going more modern and heavier without going overboard or sounding out of context. The juxtapositions work incredibly well and are all anchored by two of the most talented and dedicated guitar players, singers and all around musicians currently working. 

The album ends even more stripped down than it started with a haunting hand claps and foot stomp version of "Tom Devil" that is begging to be used in a movie. This is an expression of artistry and tribute that pushes Larkin Poe into a whole new dimension of their career. They know the roots of the music they love, they have deconstructed it and put it back together in their own way. Whatever they do next I'm in.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 7 - La Santa Cecilia's Amar Y Vivir

When I was a kid, my dad would play his records on Sundays. Among them were a lot of Mexican artists. For some reason, Cubans, or at least my family, have a strong connection to Mexican music, probably because Beny Moré and others went there to record back in the early 50s. It's also likely because of the movies featuring Pedro Infante, Jorge Negrete, Javier Solis and others that were hugely popular in Cuba (if you haven't seen Coco, this is my excuse to bring it up and it's actually relevant for several reasons). In later years, when there was a big party, member of my extended family would sometimes hire a local, all female Mariachi band to come. I liked this all fine at the time, but I mostly just internalized it. The boleros I came back around to in my teens. But in the past 10 or so years, I've grown to really appreciate the traditional Mexican styles like ranchera as well as some more modern re-interpretations from bands like La Santa Cecilia. Their album, Amar Y Vivir (En Vivo Desde La Ciudad De Mexico, 2017) captures everything I love about Latin American music, Mexican in particular.

This album was recorded in various famous locations in Mexico City, mostly on the streets. At various points throughout the documentary on the making of the album, the band talks about how they grew up learning from street musicians and eventually doing it themselves. It's also an album about reconnecting with the roots of Latin American music. The songs range from old boleros like "Odiame" and "El Ultimo Trago" to a reinterpreted cover of Cafe Tacuba's "Ingrata" as well as La Santa Cecilia's own compositions. There are featured guests throughout, lending this an air of casual musical conversation that reminds me very much of my visit to Cuba at 5 years old. So, basically, it's nearly impossible for me not to love this album.

There isn't a bad song on here, but my favorite is "Como Dios Manda," an original song from 2014's Someday New. The song was already written in a traditional style, but here it gets a full mariachi treatment that truly makes it timeless. At the beginning of this year, I had the chance to see them live and this song remains the most amazing concert experience I've ever had. Every time I hear the song now, it affects me deeply. This version amps that up and while it's much more elaborate than the simple way it was played at the concert I attended, the emotion is just as palpable. Which is true of just about every note Marisol Hernandez sings. She says she hopes the Mariachis continue playing this song and that one day it becomes one of those songs people just request of them along with all the other traditional songs. I know this song already has that status for me.

In a year that started off with the election of a "person" who made a point of insulting and targeting immigrants, Latin Americans and Mexicans in particular, it's great that this band has found a way to protest with love and art. During the concert in January, they commented on this and while it was still too early to determine how the year would play out and what the reactions would be from our communities, they already had a road map in place to simply do what they had already been doing, maybe with a little more focus and passion. They comment on this again in the album video and it's inspiring to see and hear. Sometimes indirect protest is the most lasting.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 8 - Crystal Fairy

This was the first album that got my attention this year and it's held my attention the whole year. A super-group made up of drummer Dale Crover and guitarist Buzz Osborne of the Melvins, Omar Rodriguez-Lopez of At the Drive-In and The Mars Volta on bass, and vocalist Teri Gender Bender of Le Butcherettes, Crystal Fairy has a sound that encompasses all its parts and multiplies the experience into something else entirely. Their self titled debut album is hopefully not their last, as these musicians are among the most prolific with tons of different, vital bands between them. The experience they bring and the history they have together in other projects, makes this particular combination sound much more self-assured and cohesive than most super-groups. Each member brings a plethora of talent to the equation, but the dramatic, theatrical and psychedelic metal of this album is unlike any of their other projects.

The album kicks off hard with the aptly titled "Chiseler," which quickly chips away at any expectations you may have had. Throttling beats and riffs knock you out as Teri wails "In denial there is no end/Every monkey must transcend" and you're off. The album barely lets up, though the mood drops to more psychedelic and creepy at times. Everything comes together to build a sweaty, acid trip in a horror movie vibe with every track. The music, as is described in the song "Posesion," sucks you in with an allure of the forbidden: "Magic spell, messages from hell/All these things and more/Playing on my possessed stereo." And then the final track, "Vampire X-Mass" goes full tilt with images right out of a cult Italian horror masterpiece.

There really isn't much I can say about this album without dispelling the it's mysterious atmosphere, so I won't. Bonus points for giving us what I like to call a triple selfie in the song "Crystal Fairy" by Crystal Fairy on their album, Crystal Fairy.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 9 - Bully's Losing

If we're to have any semblance of sanity, we should frame 2017 as the year of the great catharsis and hope it leads to real change in every aspect of society. As the year comes to a close, with the probes into Russian collusion and the deluge of sexual misconduct accusations of various degrees finally being exposed and taken seriously as we rally to take down toxic masculinity in all it's forms, there is some evidence that this may be true. There are probably more literal and overtly political soundtracks for this year, but spiritually, I think Bully's Losing, featuring Alicia Bognanno's raspy, empowering wail of exasperation/defiance/relief captures the moment in a more timeless way.

The power of this album's lyrics is in how personal they are. These songs are all very specific and yet the first person lyrics that are usually directed at an individual offer the opportunity to rob them of elaborate context. And that's ok, because they're ultimately about the way Bognanno feels in these situations that we don't have all the facts for. They are very simple and literal descriptions of things that resonate with emotional poetic truth, particularly because of the music and the way they are delivered. For me, the album's closer, "Hate and Control" with lyrics like "What is it about me/That makes you so uncomfortable?/Can we just exist without your hate and control?" frames the whole thing as being about this young woman screaming at those who would hold her down, either emotionally or physically.

While the whole band sounds great, what mostly stands out to me here, aside from Alicia's Scream (possible cover band name) is the rhythm section. As I've written before about the band, Bully takes the sound of the 90s and runs with it. They call to mind everyone from The Pixies and The Breeders to Weezer and Nirvana. And because they understand what made those bands special, their songs always have a good groove under them, no matter how noisy the guitars might get. Bassist Reece Lazarus and drummer Steward Copeland sound fantastic on this album. When playing the loud quiet loud dynamic as this band does, it's important to let the bottom end pop. Alicia Bognanno's production is right on, with an atmosphere that lets the music breathe and gives a great sense of space. When I listen to some of the best albums of the 90s, particularly those recorded by Steve Albini, who Bognanno interned with, it's the drums and bass that most stand out. This album fits in with that tradition.

Overall, Losing is full of catchy songs that will help you through your shitty day. You don't need to feel exactly what she's singing about to appreciate the emotion behind her wail. You'll recognize that you too feel like screaming at someone like that sometimes. But it's screaming and exposing pain, not to wallow in it, but to alleviate it as a form of empowerment and healing.  Just as I wrap this up, Time's Person of The Year 2017 was announced and it's fitting. Because, really, silence gets you nowhere. Fuck silence.

Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 10 - A Giant Dog with A Sweet Spirit

My number 10 favorite album(s) of 2017 is a tie because I feel like they are two sides of the same artistic expression and fit well together. I recently saw Sweet Spirit open for The Afghan Whigs and Har Mar Superstar and was blown away by their music, energy and range. To then find out that Sabrina Ellis and Andrew Cashen, who front the band, also have another band, A Giant Dog, and that both released albums this years, drew me in even more. Once I listened to both albums, I was hooked on both bands. If there's one word I would use to describe their approach, it would have to be unbridled. Ellis and Cashen have an undeniable hunger that propels their work, with a passion and a sense of melody that stands out. Both of these albums are flat out contagious and had me pumped all the way through.

A Giant Dog is the older band, with more of a 70s glam punk flavor and their latest album, Toy is as raw as it is melodic. Lyrics are fun and off-kilter without being unintentionally cheesy which is not easy to do. "Photograph," is a little bit funny, a little bit shocking and kind of beautiful with lyrics like "You're naked and the house is cold/The mirror says you're getting old/I wanna see you with your sagging tits/I wanna see you with your jeans all split/I wanna kiss you when your teeth all rot/And all your memories are things we thought." I didn't really get into HBO's Vinyl, but there's a scene in the first episode where the main character wonders into a New York Dolls show in a building that is slowly crumbling. He finds himself in sweaty ecstasy as the music drives him and the rest of the crowd into a sort of throttling trance at this music that is empty of pretension grabbing them by the soul and shaking them out of the numbness of everyday life. That's kind of how this album feels and it's so fucking perfect for forgetting about how fucked up the world is for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Sweet Spirit's St. Mojo dives into pop, country and disco, sometimes simultaneously. It's experimental, but like Toy, it's empty of pretension. That is the real accomplishment of both these bands, and it comes through even more so in Sweet Spirit. The earnest sense of fun here is pretty close to what their live show was like. Anything can happen and as songs go from power pop to country, funk and really, whatever else they feel like playing, it feels like everything does happen. This is overall a high energy, fun album, for sure, including a tongue in cheek ode to Pamela Anderson in "Pamela." But then there's also a couple of more poignant moments like "The Mighty" about remaining strong in the face of adversity, particularly when the more powerful forces that hold us down "have further to fall." Truly a message for 2017.

The pairing of these two albums works almost like a double album. You don't have to listen to them back to back, but I find it hard not to at this point and it really doesn't matter which goes first. I'm looking forward to hearing more from them.

Favorite Album of 2017 Contenders

It's that time of year for best of lists to start rolling out.  At some point I started a google doc with new albums and my ratings for them, but life is a thing that happens so that kind of went to shit. Anyway, I more or less know what will be in my top 5, but beyond that is kind of open right now.

I've been contributing over at Saint Audio where I posted a piece about a new app called Stationhead, for you iOS people. I started a station on there and have already loaded some of the top album contenders on there, so go check that out. If at some point, I see there are actually people listening, I might say a few words.

If you don't have access to iOS, Stationhead or a Spotify premium account, you can get a sample of the albums I'm considering on this playlist. Go listen, one way or the other and soon I'll begin my countdown. As I've said in previous years, I intentionally use the word favorite and not best. I don't know what the best is, just what I like. Fight me.

Perfect (Cover) Songs - Alison

I'm just going to get to the pretty obvious and well established point: Elvis Costello is one of the greatest songwriters of all time, period. The fact that one of his greatest songs comes from his very first album in a long and ridiculously productive career is a testament to this fact. "Alison" is one of those songs that is brilliantly original and yet, somehow, stupidly obvious in how it taps into musical and emotional ideas that just seem to be part of the fabric of existence. While there have been many covers, few come even close to the original's simple perfection. In fact, most covers are pretty bad, but there's one that I think finally matches the original, and comes close to surpassing it, but first let's hear from the man himself.

This early live version trades in some of the soulful polish for, maybe, even more soulful, raw emotional edge. The droning organ in this version really amps the moodiness where this could be a small bar with nobody in it and Elvis is some nobody who just lived this moment where he saw his long lost love after years and is now just laying it all out for whoever happens to be there to listen. While Elvis can certainly mine new feelings from this or any of his songs with every performance, along comes the one cover that has blown me away, from Lydia Loveless.

I've been listening more and more to Loveless the past couple of years and I'm always moved by how plaintively empathetic her delivery is on everything she does, but here it really stands out to me. Stripped down to just guitar and vocal, this can't get anymore raw and nobody right now does raw like her. It comes across as incredibly open and honest in just the way that Elvis's best work usually does, but her very distinct and natural twang adds both sweetness and edge in a unique combination that makes this hers. Lately, when I feel like listening to this song, this is the version I pull up. Although, occasionally, I go back to back with this and the original. To think this was just a b-side for her. Then there's a Linda Ronstadt version that was a minor hit for her. But, man, it's pretty horrible.

That sax is just completely out of place and it comes across as this light FM thing you'd hear in an elevator. But worse to me is that she changes the whole tone of the song for no reason by altering the best line in the song from "I don't know if you've been loving somebody, I only know it isn't mine" to "I don't know if you were loving somebody, I only hope he wasn't mine." Is Alison the other woman to Linda's husband in this scenario?  I don't know, but the rest of the lyrics don't change, so it makes no damn sense at all. Yet, as bad as that is. . .

Bono is as insufferable as his worst caricatures on this cover and I actually like U2. Had he ever even heard the song before? Bono the Butcher they should call him. Fuck. I don't care that Elvis is there with him, this is a disaster. I mean, I know I celebrate rawness and this is certainly raw and unhinged, but damn, dude, there's a limit. This goes way beyond the guy at an empty bar singing out his heartache and right into drunken ex-boyfriend doing bad, heartfelt karaoke at Alison's wedding while everyone stares in horror - you know what, fuck it, this is actually kind of brilliant now that I think of it like that. The bizarre scatting at the end is the best part. This is now my new favorite version (not really).