100 lifetimes ago, I worked in a record store. The manager wouldn’t let us play Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville, and instead tried to helpfully suggest…Shawn Colvin.
In hindsight, it wasn’t the worst choice. But at the time, it seemed kinda awful? Colvin just wasn’t writing stuff like this:
And the license said you had to stick around until I was dead But if you’re tired of looking at my face, I guess I already am But you’ve never been a waste of my time It’s never been a drag So take a deep breath and count back from ten And maybe you’ll be alright
Look, there’s no denying Phair’s talent, but when Exile came out, owning it felt like a very performative thing to do. Girls liked it because it represented the “f**k you” they’d wanted to say for years. Guys bought it ’cause they wanted those girls to… like them.
None of that is fair to Phair, whose only crime was putting together a record with an openness, vulnerability, and ferocity we’d never seen before. Lost in titillating lyrics about BJ queens and f’ing and running were a searing indictment (and mild hit) about the music scene (“Never Said”) and a track about the fine line between being friends and lovers and how that often becomes a tripping hazard (“Divorce song”). Not for nothing, Hrishikesh Hirway’s Song Exploder podcast did a great episode breaking down the latter.
We all caught up with her eventually, and Exile In Guyville long ago earned its rightful place in the alternative rock canon. The record turns 33 today and still seems a bit ahead of it’s time.
Tell me: what do you think?
KA—
On to the music…
Besides Phair, this week we’ve got a few old faves from VU, Material Issue and The Police. There’s also a ton of fresh tracks from the likes of Hawk and Steel, Kelz, Julia Jacklin and feeble little horse.
A Monthy Python castmate, Elvis, and several world cup soccer players all walk into a $100 million cage…
It sounds like the start of a bad joke, doesn’t it?
If I told you they were there to play in a 3v3 8-team single elimination goal tournament, all to the sounds of a (then) 34-year-old song remade by a Dutch artist best known for working on Tomb Raider, it’d just get weird, right?
The Scorpion KO tournament was part of an award-winning ad campaign, with star players competing in a secret tournament onboard a ghost ship.
Former Manchester United Star Eric Cantona was more emcee than referee, and the entire thing was directed by Monty Python’s Terry Gilliam.
That tournament spawned local versions worldwide, with an estimated 1–2 million kids participating worldwide.
The campaign was a huge success, with Nike president Mark Parker commenting, “This spring’s integrated football marketing initiative was the most comprehensive and successful global campaign ever executed by Nike.”
The game might’ve come easy, but the soundtrack? Not so much.
“The music was a real monkey wrench. We just could not land the right track to pull it together. If you turn the audio off and try to follow this thing, it’s pretty hectic beyond the colours of the jerseys. There was just no obvious tone or tenor. We tried rock, metal — dark, intense stuff — but it didn’t really underscore what we were seeing.
“We talked to all sorts of music producers, contracted a band, some hot producers. They brought in stuff to play, and we were very polite, but I remember thinking, ‘Oh my God, this is a disaster’.
Somehow it all worked out in the end, with the song’s remix charted in dozens of countries, hitting #1 in several.
Do you remember this commercial (or the 2002 World Cup)? Who ya got for this tourney?
KA—
On to the music…
This week what’s old is new again with a killer remix of New Order’s “Spooky.” We’ve also got some (actually) brand new tracks from Wishy, Vienna, The Mountain Goats, and Boston’s Good June. A great setlist to either liven up your commute, play on a road trip or soundtrack your next soccer tournament.
In All Things Must Pass, the bittersweet post-mortem of Tower Records, they eventually come to the part of the story when the wheels really started to fall off.
The part where the banks come in and decide they know what’s best — that they know more than those who spent their lives building the chain.
Like every other takeover of a sinking ship, a few of the wrong things got tossed overboard. Things that are deemed superfluous, but mean a lot to a lot of people.
In aviation, that usually means outsourcing the ground handling or ticket counters. In the case of Tower Records, it was the scrapping of their in-house Pulse magazine. A magazine my music nerd friends and I used to ride our bikes across town to get copies of. A magazine whose every word we’d pore over.
Why am I writing an elegy for a long-gone magazine?
Because one of the best parts of Pulse was its Desert Island Discs feature. In each issue, they’d ask people to imagine being marooned, and what they’d want the soundtrack to be. We’d read every word in the magazine, but only after skipping to this first. Every list either confirmed that someone had the best taste ever or that they were a heretic. In those days, there was no middle ground.
And maybe that’s the allure of these sorts of exercises. The rush of confirmation or incredulity is tough to resist. To paraphrase Rick James: judgment is a helluva drug.
But so too is making these lists. The decision…The indecision… Did I make the right picks? Is this really what I’d want? What would the people back home think? Did I bring something that’ll make me sing loud enough to get the attention of a passing trawler? How does a record player work in a place with no power?
Tell me, what do you think?
KA—
On to the music…
A couple of my choices are on here, but I also love the idea that my next pick could be right around the corner. I know it sounds a bit silly, but to me that’s exciting.
The longest-running parlor game for music fans might be arguing about which era of Van Halen is the best.
A close second: what song defines your generation?
The answers are almost always a tell: Boomers might point to The Beatles, The Stones, or Dylan. Gen X often lands on something like “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Millennials, Gen Z, and Gen Alpha…well, the answer gets fuzzier. That’s probably also a tell. (Spoiler: I’m old.)
Writing for NPR recently, Hazel Cills flipped the question a little, asking instead: Can an entire generation be defined by one song?
To me, a definitive millennial song can’t just be a song that failed to reach listeners beyond my specific generation (those born between the years of 1981 to 1996, to pick one of the possible date ranges demarcating the cohort). It also can’t simply be a hit that was popular with a huge swath of millennials. For a song to be definitively millennial, it also has to speak to the millennial identity. Millennials have been saddled with many of those simplistic stereotypes listed above, but also a lot of harsh realities….The music culture that defined our coming of age, from the early 2000s to the mid-2010s, went through its own massive disruptions that influenced not just listeners but also artists: the rise of illegal downloading and the streaming culture that came after, social media platforms like Youtube and Myspace that birthed a new generation of stars, the invention of MP3 players like the iPod and the explosion of festival culture. Millennial music, regardless of genre, embodies the collision of these realities.
One can make the same case with supporting arguments for whichever cohort you choose, and while I have my own ideas on what “Has” to be the song of my people, I don’t know if an entire generation can be distilled down to one track. It’s a fun exercise, and for GenX there’s certainly no shortage of 5-star candidates, but it also encompasses a group born between 1965 and 1980. Can you paint an entire generation with a broad brush? Probably not, but it doesn’t stop us from trying.
Still, it’s a fun exercise—and maybe that’s the point. While we’ll likely never reach a consensus or land on a definitive answer, the conversation itself tells us something about how we hear music and how we see ourselves.
It will not surprise you to read that this playlist is extremely Gen X-coded, with tracks from Sonic Youth, Luscious Jackson, and more. There’s also a nod to older cohorts with George Harrison and Lindsey Buckingham in the mix, and of course a ton of brand new tracks from the likes of The Maureens, Van Chamberlain and Long Relief.
Side A is tracks 1-14 (ends with “Greensburg”). Side B is tracks 15-27.
Other sources: Apple | Qobuz | YouTube Music | Note: Both YT & Qobuz are missing a couple of tracks this week.
Now it’s your turn.
Any new releases or shows you’re looking forward to? Whatcha got? Share your thoughts in the comments!
Happy Memorial Day to everyone here in the US, and happy Monday to our international friends! Whether, you’re home today or just kicking off your work week, I hope you’ve had a chance to rest easy and spin some great records. If you’re in the latter camp, maybe this’ll make the commute just a bit more enjoyable?
I shared this anecdote in the chat over the weekend, but wanted to share it again with the group as a whole.
A few weeks ago, Gabbie, who writes the fantastic New Music For Old heads, asked readers to name the last band or record they found without the internet. It’s one of those fun questions that seems easy at first, but before you know it, you have a page full of crossed-out options and are wracking your brain. For better or worse, these days we find stuff online.
Obviously, it’s fun to find cool records through cool people (cough cough), but it seems wild to me that what was once a pretty straightforward question is now anything but.
And if you’ll allow me to share, I now have a pretty rad answer…sort of. I received a music submission via email from a local act. That in itself is not unusual (and yeah, email counts as internet), but then my kid asked me if the artist had been in touch. This is absolutely not normal. Turns out he had a makeup exam last week, and one of the musicians was the proctor. Once everything was completed and turned in, they were talking, and his music label came up, which led my son to mention this place, and everything came full circle. Not entirely analog, but still pretty cool (to me, anyway), so I’m counting it.
That duo is here (dargan hester), as is one of my fave shoegaze bands, Cheatahs. I found them via terrestrial radio (thank you, WSUM!), and they’ve never really left my rotation since. Squeeze showed up via the early days of MTV.
It’s not the record featured here, but one of my greatest analog finds was when a friend passed me a copy of Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense while on a field trip. It’s not hyperbolic to say that moment changed the trajectory of my music diet forever.
What’s the last record you discovered without going online? Share your story!
KA—
P.S. Speaking of radio, when you’re done here, make sure to check out the final lap of Inhailer Radio’s Indie 500!
Side A is tracks 1-19 (ends with “Narco Polo”). Side B is tracks 20-39.
Note: May 18th is a big day both in music history and for anyone who lived in the PNW in 1980. I first ran this piece when there were about 6 of us here (and 3 of them lived with me), and it’s become an annual tradition.
We don’t have many musical traditions in my family. On Thanksgiving, my wife & kids have to endure “Alice’s Restaurant” at least once (or rather, my attempts to sing it). Sometime in the next few weeks after that, Otis Redding’s version of “Merry Christmas Baby” gets a spin, and that’s about it for the year…with one exception.
Growing up, we hardly had any traditions- musical or not. In fact, about the only time I can remember us doing anything even remotely collective had to do with this song. This started in 1980, in the lead-up to Mt. St. Helens’ eruption, when the song was played as a bit of gallows humor. Anytime it played, we’d all just sort of start singing along. No other song before or since can make that claim.
If you can’t control something, you might as well sing about it, right?
P.S. Since this first ran, my mom moved. I’m not sure the Sanka can came with her, but I’d like to think it’s still in a box waiting to be unpacked.
KA—
Living under a looming threat and widespread mask use was a new phenomenon for most of us. But for those of a certain age living in the Pacific Northwest, it evoked memories of 1980.
Living in the shadows of the Cascade Mountains, it’s easy to forget that it’s a volcanic range. Easy, that is, until Mother Nature reminds you.
And so it was in late 1979/early 1980 with Mt. St. Helens.
At first, the eruptions were nominal enough; some steam here, a small landslide there. Later as they grew in scale, ash began to rain down on downwind communities, and painter masks became de rigueur fashion.
This culminated with a cataclysmic eruption on May 18th, 1980, which permanently changed people’s lives — and left the landscape unrecognizable.
On that day, just five words let the world know it was about to be changed forever. Volcanologist David Johnston had been camped on the mountain’s flank to monitor the increasingly dangerous situation.
The morning of May 18th, in a radio call to the USGS office, he announced the eruption to the world, his last words being, “Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!
Buffett had a different mountain in mind when he wrote “Volcano.” He was talking about the Soufriere Hills volcano on the Caribbean Island of Montserrat.
But radio stations in places like Portland, Oregon, and Spokane, Washington, put it in their rotation as a part of a gallows humor approach to the impending disaster everyone knew was coming but didn’t know when — the calypso style offering a sunny contrast to the (literally) gray pall cast over the area.
Four decades on, the song remains a staple at Buffett performances—and in my house on every May 18th.
If you have friends who grew up in Oregon or Washington, don’t be surprised if pictures of Johnston are on their timelines today.
And for many of those same people, a coffee can full of volcanic ash remains on a shelf in their garage as a souvenir — a reminder of when life got sketchy, and nothing was left to do but sing about it.
Besides Jimmy and Joy Division, this week’s list has new tracks from Dan Pritchard, The Mountain Goats, and Kurt Vile. We’ve also got the usual sonic comfort food/deep cuts from GBV, XTC, and more.
Side A is tracks 1-15 (ends with Wilco). Side B is tracks 16-31.
The 2-lane highway from Portland’s western suburbs to the Oregon Coast was exactly 72 miles.
It usually took about an hour and a half. It was a little faster if traffic was light and we were in a fast car. Or a little longer if we were in my friend Matt’s VW bus. It never bothered us, though.
It’s hard to be in a hurry when the sun’s out and you’re with your friends.
No one ever felt the need to check their watch while moseying through the Coast Range listening to Bob Marley.
At this point, Marley’s “Legend” compilation record is the default reggae record. Even if you can’t name a single other title or artist, you invariably at least know this one. Released posthumously, it’s the best-selling reggae record of all time, racking up millions of copies sold as of this writing. At least a dozen of those sales were from us.
Is there any other record so closely associated with it’s genre?
Most of us wound up going deeper into Marley’s discography, but like so many others, “Legend” was our on-ramp to his music. There we’d be, singing, “Every little thing’s gonna be all right,” while the bus wheezed and gasped, struggling to carry us over the hills. We sang “get up stand up” and would wind up doing just that through the years. The Bush family derisively referred to Portland as “Little Beirut.” We wore it as a badge of honor.
But over on the left side of the map, those concerns were a million miles away- our only worries being gas money and hitting spots like Indian Beach.
Today, we remember Marley on the 45th anniversary of his passing.
Four decades plus is a long time to have been gone from this life, yet Marley’s music & vision resonate now more than ever.
If we want every little thing to be all right, we need to get up and stand up.
This week’s list has factory fresh tracks from BODEGA, Nightbus, Onesie, and Taxi Girls, and well as the usual sonic comfort food and deep cuts.
Side A is tracks 1-14 (ends with “The Barbeque Party”). Side B is tracks 15-27.
For a hot minute, I had a weird streak going: I’d make the drive from Portland to Seattle and tune into 107.7 The End as soon as it came in. And sure as shit, every time I did, I’d hear The Clash’s “Train in Vain.” They certainly made more tracks than that, and certainly made ones that are more resonant, but my point here (besides some musing about the universe working in mysterious ways) is that it was incredibly catchy and stuck with you long after you heard it. It felt like Mssr. Strummer, Jones, Headon, and Simonon could do no wrong. Then came the split, Cut the Crap, and the most important band in the world suddenly… wasn’t.
Flash forward a couple of years, and Strummer starts writing some songs and playing with the Mescaleros. There’s a record. Rock and the X-ray Style? Not his best work. To be fair, I think the world held him to a high- even if unfair- bar. And maybe this first one was needed to get his sea legs again.
Whatever, the second act would have to wait a bit.
So along comes Global a Go-Go, and it’s clear that Strummer has spent his time shaping the corners. This is an amorphous record that comes across like everyone brought some ideas to the garage just to see what might happen. Remember when you were a kid, and the fixins bar at Fuddruckers seemed like a dare? Yeah, like that. (Just me? Oh. Okay.)
At any rate, all of these elements make for what is often diplomatically called a ‘challenging listening.” It’s catchy in parts, and there are a few spots where I caught myself catching the groove, but it doesn’t have the cohesion of something like Train in Vain or Rock the Casbah. And that’s fine! At this point, the days of Combat Rock were firmly in the rearview mirror. At the same time, I can’t help but wonder if having someone keep him in check a little bit would’ve helped. I mean, an almost 18-minute track to wind things up? C’mon. Some sort of editorial guidance (for lack of a better term) could’ve elevated this from simply interesting to really good.
You know, the kind of thing you hope is playing when you turn your radio on.
While Strummer & the Mescaleros come across as serious musicians trying not to be taken seriously, The Beta Band seems just the opposite. Hot Shots II is also a sprawling, throw-everything-in-the-mixer kind of thing. But sometimes a soufflé collapses in on itself. Every time I thought, “Ah, here we go!” something would shift… or, worse, an annoying crackle or pop that set off my misophonia. Maybe I’d like this better if I still got high? I dunno…
Bottom Line: On Bluesky, someone posted that Strummer should win everything this week, and I’m all in on that. Global a Go-Go it is…
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
One of my mom’s favorite stories to tell is about the time she managed to grab some Star Wars action figures for me as a kid. This was at the peak of the (first) movie’s fame, and to hear her tell it, it was something like emerging victorious from a great battle. The reality is that she worked at a clothing store, and her boss let her bail a little early so she could walk down to a nearby toy store. I was never the biggest Star Wars fan (please don’t @ me), but I like this version. It’s early in the AM as I type this, but I can’t remember anything so consuming us collectively in recent years.
Every year, I snort at the Dave Brubeck memes and tell myself I should put on one of his records….and every year, I’m reminded I don’t actually own any. Why my mind thinks I do, I don’t know. Maybe next year?
So, May 4th is a day for Star Wars (and Dave Brubeck!) memes, but it is also Sluttering Day—half celebration, half inside joke enjoyed by Jawbreaker fans the world over. I will definitely be putting on one of their records today. Of course, that happens most days, but that wasn’t always the case with Dear You. Depending on where you were when it came out, most people were consumed with the idea that they’d sold out. I’m as guilty as anyone, but tbh, that was our loss. That record is fantastic.
No Cantina Theme, Jawbreaker, or Brubeck on this list. But we do have the latest from TV Star, Dari Bay, Me at the Zoo, The Level, and Weird Nightmare (among others), as well as a good dose of the usual sonic comfort food.
Whichever one you’re celebrating today, I hope it’s filled with some killer sounds!
This week, Side A is tracks 1-16 (ends with “Lately”). Side B is tracks 17-31.
Today we’re taking a look at Lucinda Williams’ Essence as it faces off against Superchunk’s Here’s to Shutting Up.
Note: As many of you saw, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 2001 challenge and noted that I’d be writing some of these up.
The plan is to do quick hits on each first-round matchup and post them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably be a few typos. We’ll also have a few guest posts along the way, so make sure to stay tuned for those!
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks always appreciated.
KA—
When I was a teenager, I was a holy terror behind the wheel. It was hammer down all the time from a kid who could barely see over the steering wheel. Tracks like Superchunk’s “Precision Auto” were the perfect soundtrack. Mac McCaughan had some shit to get off his chest, and I was there for it. Albums like ’93’s On the Mouth were the perfect record for where I was at the time.
Flash forward to 2001: I drive a Corolla, and while I’m not quite at the stage where I call out every sign I pass, it’s close. I’m only 26, but well on my way to becoming old before my time. Not being able to see very well doesn’t help.
Mac McCaughan, on the other hand, sees things perfectly. As he’s racked up the miles—er, years—his writing (and the band’s sound) has taken on a much more reflective tone. He’s still railing against a lot of the issues of the day, but there’s more perspective—the kind that can only be earned by the years (see also: Mould, Bob).
If you like mid-discography Superchunk, you’ll find plenty here to dig. What you see is what you get; no one’s trying to make a concept record. If you’re all in on the early stuff, you might find the edges a little too sanded off, but odds are good you’ve thought that for a while now. It’s easy to get consumed by (waves hands all around), and while fully checking out isn’t an option, trying to care less is sage advice.
I don’t know anyone who claims this as their favorite record by the band, but it’s got a lot of what’s helped them make it to elder statesman status, and with just the right blend of angry and sanguine, it was the right record for them to make at the time.
With Williams, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here as the music I was listening to wasn’t her speed. Or rather, her music wasn’t mine. At this point in my life, I preferred louder, harder, faster, more from my stereo, whether that was in the form of a band like Bad Religion, or a high BPM count from (insert techno band here). My friend circle also had a total of zero fans of singer-songwriters. In other words, there was no one there to get a record like Essence on my radar, let alone make the case why I might like it (tbh, it likely would’ve been a few years too early, but I’d have come around). It’s also likely that whoever would’ve been making this hypothetical case would’ve been influenced by the record that came before it: Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. A record that has come to be almost required listening for anyone looking to pen a song or two.
Williams released that record in 1998 after scrapping multiple versions to hit a mix of country, rock, and blues. It (rightfully, IMO) earned her acclaim and it influenced generations of songwriters while defining the Americana genre. Essence is the follow-up, and was a radical departure from those expectations.
Essence is much more spare, plain-spoken, and down-tempo. After the high-profile success of her previous work, this record reads as a weird turn. The problem—or rather my problem—is that this is a gentle record made in an era where there wasn’t much space given to such things. Even though I wasn’t listening to singer-songwriter stuff in any meaningful capacity, I had carved out exceptions (see also: John Hiatt). The kicker was it had to have a little oomph. I wanted a track that sounded good while burning up the interstate, not one that evokes images of looking out the window thinking about things. I could see “Out of Touch” fitting the former, but I have to squint to do it.
In a broader sense, this fits in well with what singers like Sarah McLachlan were doing at the time. In other words, writing incredible songs only to set them to what was often lukewarm music.
If there’s any sort of miscarriage of justice here, it’s that Williams also writes incredibly well. It’s a rare talent that can squish an entire story into a verse or two. She was recently included on the NYT list of 30 Greatest Living American Songwriters, and whether you agree with the premise of these sorts of things, it’s hard to argue her warranting a place on there. Essence feels like an odd turn for someone who never really made them.
Bottom Line: I think Williams will carry the day with the voting crowd, and my bracket pick reflects that. However, my vote will likely go to our friends from North Carolina.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
Kevin Sent 