band geek.

[Skinner]

Sometimes you can know a song your whole life and never notice how awesome it is. Then, one day you realize it is the Best Song Ever. If you have not had this experience yet, well don't worry - What A Fool Believes is out there waiting for you.

What?? The Doobie Brothers?? Wasn't that the music blaring out of the speakers next to the beer truck at every street fair and neighborhood festival when I was 6? 12? 17? Didn't I roll my eyes at all the middle aged parents squat-dancing and hand-clapping to it in shorts and button-down shirts? DON'T THEY SING ABOUT JESUS???

Ok, yes. All true. But sometimes you have to look past distasteful details to see the big picture, and anyway that Jesusy stuff was way before Michael McDonald joined the band. Totally different doobies. See, the Doobie Bothers started out as a funky, rocky, honky-tonk band, fronted by Tom Johnston. They started off slow, and then got some hits on thier second album with "Listen to the Music" and "Jesus Is Just Alright" (see? Funky rocky honky-tonk.) By their fourth album, they had brought in Jeff Baxter - the guitarist from Steely Dan. Because, you know, you can never have too many guitars.

So this Tom Johnston character gets sick, and they need a new frontman. Baxter brings in his Steely Dan bandmate - Michael McDonald. This is where shit gets CRAZEE for the Doobies! McDonald was a juggernaut of hit music - more motown-r&b-ish kind of stuff, but who cares if you sound different if you're churning out hits. (Just ask Sugar Ray. Ask their black, soulless eyes.)

So in the midst of this, McDonald is kicking around this bit of a song. "What A Fool Believes." But it's stumping him! He needs help!

When you need help, there's only one man to call: Kenny Loggins.

(cliffhanger!!)

 

[Skinner]

The story goes that when Kenny showed up at Michael's house to meet him and work on the song, he could hear Michael singing this little bit of a song from the driveway. By the time Kenny reached the front door he had composed the next part of the song. I love the idea that Michael McDonald openned the door on a bearded stranger who looked at him and belted out "Sheeeeeeee had a place in his liiiiiife, heeeeee never made her think twice." He must have been so taken aback! But after a second he must have said, "As he rises to her apology, andybody else would surely know, he's watching her go." Then they embraced each other and sang - muffled by eached other's neck beards -"what a fool belieeeeeeves he seeees no wise man has the power, to reason away....."

When something like that happens - when you find yourself snuggled into someone's straggly hippie beard within seconds of meeting them - there is magic in the air. This was no exception!

Musically, it's eerily catchy. It starts off with piano and drums - like it's going to be a simple song. Ha! Well, if you believed that, then What A Fool Believes fooled you! Because almost immediately they start adding instruments, until they've got over 10 different instruments - including tambourine and hand claps! And they are all playing this happy, syncopated little song.

Yeah, that's right, I said it - happy. It's a fucking happy tune. Aren't we all getting a little tired of music that is built to cradle us in our aimless depression and isolation? That strokes our hair and says "yes you are sooo different, you're a lonely little soldier, yes you are! Your parents didn't undertand you, you poor little artist!" Well, I am.

Don't get me wrong - this song isn't JUST happy, the lyrics are sad and heartbreaking, but in a different way. It's about these past lovers who run into each other somewhere. To him, it was a very meaningful affair, one that he hopes might one day continue. To her, he's a nice guy and all, but their time together didn't mean much and has largely been forgotten. I think what really gets me about it is that this is the kind of moment that we've all had, and it hurts. But, it's not the kind of moment that you give yourself permission to feel hurt over. You laugh it off and feel silly - oh, my bad, no big deal - but inwardly feel like a stupid little troll. This song treats it like a little tragedy, which is nice for a few minutes, without losing the happiness of the tune. Like a friend patting you on the back and saying "I'm sorry, man, that sucks, let's get a beer and play deerhunter!"

Too often I feel like people are encouraged to never admit negative feelings about something. But when you do just admit them they generally go away. That's the big lesson I take away from What A Fool Believes - consider your problems important enough to be little tragedies, but then go get a beer and play deerhunter.

 

[Skinner]

Rocky Mountain High

About a month after I graduated from college I moved to London. My plan was to live there for at least a good 3-4 years if not longer. I was going to LOVE it - who needs friends when you've got a country full of strangers waiting for you!? But just in case I got lonely between rollickng trips to the pub and late night clubbing, I made each of my housemates make me a mix tape.

As it turned out I didn't love it. I lived with an old gay french man, who promptly left town a week after I arrived - leaving me in charge of two cats and a giant garden (I killed half the garden, but the cats survived.). I worked in a tiny office in the suburbs, often all by myself. My co-workers were 2 middle-aged married men who lived out of the city. Needless to say, for the first few months I spend a lot of time alone, and I just about wore through Dave's tape.

Of all my roommates Dave was my best friend, my scarecrow (the one I'll miss most of all) so his tape made the most sense to me. I walked all over London listening to it, I commuted to it, I explored Sainsbury's and the British Museum to it. Dave's mix became my soundtrack to the city, which would have made more sense if Dave was into Brit-pop. But Dave was going through a country/folk phase that year, so London was to the tune of John Denver.

See, Rocky Mountain High was about me, man! I was born in the summer of my...20th...year, coming home to a place I'd never been before! Colorado isn't one particular place, it's a state of mind! Yeah...and when John Denver sang about it, it seemed so hopeful and right. I mean, by his account this was just the start! I was going to climb cathedral mountains and see silver clouds below!

Denver provided me with an alternative to the loneliness of being a stranger. What if instead of lonely, I was " in quiet solitude...seeking grace in every step (I) take(s)?" When a drunk British boy told me I wasn't pretty enough to make out with "no matter how drunk" he was, it was alright because, see, my "sight (had) turned inside (my)self to try and understand / the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake". The new friends that turned out to be coke heads who made me pay for everything and then left me at a pub "accidentally"? That's just the rainin' fire in the sky!

See? Everything would be ok. John Denver said so.

After about 8 months, I decided John Denver was a dirty liar. Either that or his song really only applies to actual Colorado, not a metaphorical Coloradu. After almost a year in London I still had no British friends (I had fallen in with American and backerpacker crowds) and had yet to hear God's casual reply, so I gave up. I quit my job, packed up and came back to the US.

When Dave picked me up at the airport I was laughing and crying with relief. We went to 7-11 and I got real American coca-cola, and vowed to never leave home again.

Now, when I think back on it, I definitely remember how much I hated it. But I also remember things that I loved about it - the freedom of being able to decide who I was and create a whole life for myself. All the tiny streets to explore, the friendly couple that owned the pub below my office, all the new candy! Not having anyone to count on, but finding out I could count on myself. I have never wished that I didn't do it.

I know I'd be a poor man if I never saw an eagle fly. Even if I hate eagles.

 

[Skinner]

Boogie on...

Dear Lindsay Lohan,
Steveland Judkins was born premature in Michigan in 1950. His eyes weren't fully developed when he was born, leaving him permanently blind. Now, this was way back when segregation was the norm and racism was expected, so as a blind, black boy Steveland didn't really have it easy, you know? Especially with a name like Steveland - ha ha!

Anyways, he turned out to be a musical prodigy, mastering piano, harmonica, and drums by the time he was nine - like a whole little blind band! Pretty soon he got discovered and signed to Motown by Berry Gordy, the same guy who signed the Jackson Five! (You might remember him from the cartoon.) They changed his name to "Stevie Wonder" and recorded a whole bunch of albums.

After Stevie turned 21 his contract with Motown expired, and he started his own label. He even went back to school to learn about music theory and songwriting. He financed and released two albums on his own, on which he played almost all the instruments! The he used those albums as leverage to get a more open contract with motown, so he could make decisions for himself instead of letting older people decide everything for him (sound familiar?) That's a lot of work just for control or his own music!

The albums he released after that were giant successes with fans, critics, scholars, cats and gerbils (haha - JK! I made up the last two, although who knows!? They probably did like them!) I mean, WOW, Lindsay. These were really great albums. Not a bunch of songs lumped together, but whole musical journeys from one song to the next, all of the pieces fitting together.

In 1973 Stevie put out an album called "Innervisions". Up until then he was seen a just a smiley nice guy. Innervisions sounded different, though - it sounded angry and frustrated. The centerpiece of the album was a song called "Living for the City" (uh-oh...are you starting to see where I'm giong with this Lindsay?) Living For The City is a gritty, funky, raw R&B song about racism and injustice. It tells a story of an honest, hardworking man from an honest, hardworking family just trying to get something better for themselves. In each verse, we see a different member of the family do the best they can, but what the get in return is never equal to what they've given. No matter how hard they all work - in their jobs, schools, and lives - it's always only just enough for the city.

As the song goes on, and it gets more frustrating and upsetting Stevie's voice changes from the hopeful tone it had in the beginning - a tone that makes it sound like maybe things will get better for this family. By the end he is growling and shouting the song out with fury and passion. In the last verse Stevie even refers to his tone and explains it :
"I hope you hear inside my voice of sorrow
And that it motivates you to make a better tomorrow
This place is cruel no where could be much colder
If we don’t change the world will soon be over"

Oh - side note - right after he released this album, Stevie's car was hit by timber on the way to a concert. It crushed his head and put him into a coma. He almost died, but thankfully recovered minus only his sense of smell. That puts him down to three, Lindsay - three of the five senses the rest of us have. Recieving the grammy for Album of the Year doesn't quite make up for that.

So my point is, you kind of fucked up. Right there, in the middle of your "Don't Move On/Living For The City/Changes (medley)" from "Confessions of a Failed Drama Queen", you broke into this:
"This girl, she works,
In downtown New York City.
Surrounded by,
4 walls that ain't so pretty.
Her parents give,
Her love and affection.
To keep her strong,
Movin` in the right direction."

That is FUCKED UP, Lindsay Lohan. I mean, after all that Stevie Wonder went throgh and accomplished...do you see how your version sounds like white bougie crap? Is that what you want to do to music? I downloaded it and BOY was I unimpressed. I know you didn't write it, but you really have to learn to have some standards and stick to them! Here's one to start with: no more co-opting pivotal anti-racism songs to bitch about temp jobs.

You know who first covered "Living For The City?" RAY CHARLES. Why would you want to get in the ring with that?? That version, which came out in 1974, ALSO became a big hit. And imagine how honored Stevie must have felt! His first album when he was 12 was "A Tribute To Uncle Ray" - all Ray Charles covers. Do you think he was honored by your cover?

Now I am assuming you just didn't know any of this, right? I mean, I don't want to be a bitch, Lindsay, but this is the kind of stuff that makes people say that you're a dumb rich whore. People who dont even know you!

Sincerely,
-Eliza Skinner

p.s.
I LOOOVED Mean Girls.

 

[Skinner]

There's always tomorrow.

According to Clive Bell's theory of Formalism, Art is that which produces the "Aesthetic Emotion". Aesthetic Emotion is different from the other feelings we experience, he describes it as an unexplainable, overwhelming welling of emotion; and it is experienced in not to the content of the piece, but to the piece itself. Bell has all these stupid little qualifiers for his theory, but overall I really like it.

I intended to write about a Patty Griffin song called "Sweet Lorraine." It's a story about a misunderstood girl who instead of feeling sorry for herself or damaged, just gets really good at picking herself back up again. Another theory I really like: you are going to get knocked down, no way around it, but true strength and even joy is in being able to pick yourself up again.

So I set out to do a little research on Griffin. Ok, so she grew up in Florida...youngest of seven...bought her first guitar at 16, but was discouraged from pursuing music because of it's instability as a career. In fact, she didn't begin playing music in front of people until she was 29. She had gotten divorced, and didn't really have anything left, or any reason not to try. Within the past 11 years, she has released 4 albums, toured all over the world, and built a fanbase that includes peers like Emmylou Harris and the Dixie Chicks.

Apparently the Dixie Chicks even recorded a few of her songs, and named a tour after one: "Top Of The World." Griffin recorded the same song on her most recent album, Impossible Dream. Despite being given a copy months ago, I haven't really listened to this album at all. It just didn't find me at the right time. I probably needed happy upbeat music at the time, not mournful country/folk.

In the interest of research, I pulled "Top Of The World" up on my iTunes. As soon as it started I felt like I was melting and found myself crying in my pajamas in the middle of my apartment. I had no idea what the song was about, but it fucked me right up.

Turns out the actual content lives up to the form. "Top Of The World" is about a man (Griffin oftens writes from a male POV), who has died and is looking back on his life with regret. He "wished it'd been easier, instead of any longer", and expresses fear that he hurt or stifled his wife unwittingly("I think I broke the wings off a little songbird/and she's never gonna fly to the top of the world"). We get the feeling that he probably really was a bastard, and emotionally unavailable, but it was because he was human and wasn't taught any better. He doesn't use this as an excuse, just an explaination.

As in a lot of Patty Griffin's songs, she implies that our only salvation is each other. We stand next to suffering every day, but don't recogize it in each other. The whole point of the song seems to be summed up in these lines:
"Everybody's singing
we just want to be heard,
Disappearing every day
without so much as a word. Somehow."

It seems so complicated to understand people, but really we just want to mean something to someone. Sometimes one person is good enough, sometimes we get wrapped up in being meaningful to whole world and miss the importance of that one person.

The song ends with a sample of Griffin's parents singing "Impossible Dream" from Man of La Mancha. It's a good thing I was already crying, because this was a beautiful, pure example of the best possible outcome of a life. A reminder that all marriages don't have to be like the one in the song. To love each other and still harmonize after raising 7 children apparently isn't such an impossible dream.

So it turns out this song fucks me up in a formalist way, and in literal terms. Patty Griffin's voice with a guitar and violin squeezes the part of my brain that makes my heart burst. So does the idea that the mass of men really do lead lives of quiet desperation.

 

[Skinner]

I can’t fight this feeling anymore.

EXT. New York Street, Nighttime. Rain is pouring down. A woman runs though down the street, the rain soaking her hair and clothes. She comes to a doorway and presses the buzzer desperately. The door opens partially, tethered by a brass chain

ELIZA​

Wait – don’t shut the door! Look. I know you don’t want to see me, I’ve been a real jerk – but please just hear me out.

You’re right – I was horrible. I spent years making fun of you viciously with my friends. I'd tear you apart just to entertain them, leaving your carcass at their feet. Over and over I sacrificed you to my hip avante garde friends – for what? Nothing. I was just using that as an excuse to mention you - to hear your name in all my conversations because I just liked having you there.

God, I don’t know - I-I thought maybe I could like you without it being a big deal. And it worked for a while. Return of Saturn, Rock Steady – I could still pretend like I was just a casual listener. One who just happened to know all the words to every song. But then you released Love.Angel.Music.Baby, and I just can't pretend anymore.

I love you, Gwen Stefani.
I love you and I don’t care who knows it! Do you hear that world?! I LOVE GWEN STEFANI! I love your trilling, electronically enhanced voice. I love your silly clothing line, and your totally unnatural hair. I even love your unabashed obsession with your ex-boyfriend. You make me want to buy a trapper keeper so I can fill it with photos of you. I want to make paper dolls of you and Steven Tyler and dress you up for my dream rock and roll wedding.

Do you need a surrogate? Because I would do that for you, Gwen. Well, I would really rather not destroy my body, but I will if you want – or I can help you go pick out a refugee baby. I know from your many albums how badly you want to be a mom – and I want that for you too. I am fascinated by your suburban coolness – that you are not working towards a penthouse in the sky, but a split-level outside the city. Oh, you tragic heroine! You could have had all that so easily, but now it’s all so far away!

How do you do it? How do you manage to constantly increase your commitment to being both tough and girly without ever sacrificing one or the other? Just when I think you’ve gone as far as possible, you dress up in ribbons and wrestle monster trucks. How perfect of you to put a cheer on your album! Cheering is the toughest, cutest girl thing ever! You are B.A.N.A.N.A.S.!

Some might question your choice to put plugs for your clothing line, L.A.M.B., all over your album, L.A.M.B. Not me! I love it! Brilliant! I am AT LEAST that self-obsessed – if I had an album it would be all about me and my projects and stuff. Also, I have already admitted my infatuation with all things Gwen, so I don’t mind hearing about how fly your new line is. Really, who doesn't like a few songs about cute shoes?

And you put in a Fiddler On The Roof cover!? Jesus, Gwen - you could have just called me. We've been such fools!

I just want to rollerskate all OVER your album. And make out with cute boys, and try on wigs, and dance around in pajamas and prom dresses ALL OVER IT. Listen, you don't have to open that door - you just have to know that I love you, because…you make me a better girl, Gwen”

 

[Skinner]

Soundtrack to The Apocalypse

So, has anyone noticed that the world is ending? Seriously?

Over the past few years the world has undergone a series of horrible events - wars, epidemics, natural disasters - and they seem to be coming with more and more frequency. This past year a string of freakishly powerful hurricanes and tornadoes tore through Southern US, and we even had a volcanic eruption in Washington. Then in the past few weeks the Tsunami destroyed South East Asia AND knocked the whole fucking planet off it's axis (we're now losing 1/6 of a second every day). Now California has been buried by mudslides and 19 inches of snow - the most since 1916. Oh, and there's that ASTEROID that's ACTUALLY SERIOUSLY heading for earth. According to the Mayan calandar we've got seven years, people.
Things still seem pretty ominous.

As the earth's collective shit falls apart, what's on the radio? Heartwarming soul enriching music, somehow soothing us and making it all make sense? No - 50 Cent. In fact, 50 has 2 songs in the top ten right now - Disco Inferno and How We Do with The Game. Finally SOMETHING makes sense! The more convinced I become that the the world is ending, the less I care about anything except happy dogs, making out, and shake..shake...shaking [this] ass (girl). No amount of recycling is going to refreeze the ice caps at this point, so I may as well enjoy the ride.

A few years ago popular music was ruled by mopey hits - remember all those warm photos of Norah Jones clutching her flock of post 9-11 grammys? John Mayer's barely feigned modesty as he discovered that Something's Missing, but it wasn't candy lips or bubblegum tongues? We all tapped our chins and nodded our collective head knowingly. Joni Mitchell covers and Alcia Keys' croning made a perfect soundtrack to sipping coffee in bulky sweaters while we reassured each other of our sensitivity and caring.

Well, there are no piano hits on the charts now. (John Mayer's got one ratty old song slowly making it's way up the charts - Daughters - but that's just because sororities across America still need something to listen to on spa/crafts nights.) For the most part, people just want to get retarded and drop it like it's hot. We've thrown off the sweaters and abandoned our quest for a musical balm - folks are just looking to get laid and blow some disco whistles. We don't need no water let this motherfucker burn, Motherfucker.

So give me all the Snoop and Missy Elliott you've got. I have NO PATIENCE for anything less! We've literally got no time to waste on Ashlee Simpson and sub-par Destiny's Child singles! This is it, folks - choose your out song wisely. I don't want a comet to hit my apartment with Simple Plan or Bread on the radio, so I'm not taking any chances. No shitty music for the next (last) seven years at least.

I'm ready for the 72 hour rave on the beaches of Kansas. I hope 50 Cent makes it.

(And Gwen. Duh.)

 

[Skinner]

Rock Me All Night

The Zeigarnik effect states that people remember uncompleted or interrupted tasks better than completed ones. Interrupted can mean unfinished, or unsolved – something your brain couldn’t quite figure out. Your brain leaves these open files of information lying around all over the place, where they’re easy to trip over. The files that get left in the rostromedial prefrontal cortex are the WORST, because they are all just music and emotions.
I can’t stop listening to Rock Me by Liz Phair. It’s from her lastest album, “Liz Phair”, not one of the cool older ones. I love every second of this song. When I hear it I gleefully shout “FAVORITE SONG!” because my brain is so happy to get a break from manufacturing it internally. It is a pop song through and through, with zero indie cred and a kick-ass anticipatory opening hook. It’s sparkly ear candy, but something doesn’t fit right – my brain can’t figure it out, so I have to keep listening to it.
It might be the melody and production. It’s very heavily produced – by The Matrix (Avril’s buddies) - with bizarre back-up electro-versions of Phair buried in the bridge. The harmonies in the chorus are just slightly dischordant – leaving my brain to search for the missing notes. There are so many different things going on musically, it literally hurts my head to try to pick one bit out to listen to. But most brilliantly, there are complete breaks in the music – everything drops out all together, creating a beat, a rhythm, of silence. INCOMPLETE! My brain is scrambling!

As if that’s not enough to send “Rock Me” spinning around my rostromedial prefrontal cortex, there’s the lyrics.

“Oh Baby you’re young /but that’s okay.
What’s give or take /9 years anyway?
I bet your last cigarette /You won’t regret
My time
I wanna be with /a guy like you
So uncomplicated/so in tune
Just take of my dress/let’s mess
With everybody’s mind”
WHOAH! Double whammy – that rhyme scheme (AB, CB, DD, E, FG, HG, II, E – can I even use those letters?) is complicated enough to have my brain going in circles for hours. But it’s also about an affair with a guy 9 years younger than her, and there’s no angst or drama involved. I had to mentally chew on this on a while.

Why isn’t she freaking out about her friends’ opinions or her old saggy ass? Where is the mention of ego or status or what they’ll have in common? And who are these mythical “uncomplicated” younger guys? She gets past all the hang-ups by presented the cons as pros. Every downside to dating a younger guy – other people’s opinions, this dude has a roommate, he spends his time playing X-box, he doesn’t know anything about music – is exaulted. I mean wow - that sounds great! And has NEVER worked out in my experience. So my brain needs to turn this upside down a few times.

Apparently other people are having a hard time figuring it out, too. While female reviewers love it:
“[Rock Me is] a sweet, hard-hitting, little ditty…I admit it. I rock to ‘Rock Me’. I can’t help it.” – Jenny Blaxland, Monsters At Play

Male reviewers hate it:
“It’s hard to imagine that Liz Phair…wouldn’t have something profound and devastating to say about older women who shack up with clueless college kids, but on ‘Rock Me’…vapid, cliché’-filled rhyme couplets dominate”* – Matt LeMay, Pitchfork Media

Across the board the male reviewers tightly clutched their dressing gowns and yelled “filth!” at “Rock Me”. To me, it sounds pretty prissy, and disappointing, that they are so abject to the idea of a younger guy as a sex object. The younger girl as sex object is so standard it’s THE standard. Come on fellas, lighten up. This song will be stuck in your head until you get over it, probably.

It's stuck in mine.

* Just not true. First of all, if we assume this is from Phair's POV , she's 36 and the dude is 27. Hardly a college kid, and there is no mention of shacking up. Vapid couplets? Does he know what couplets are? These are not couplets. Jerko.