Fan of the Month!

May's here!

I've been waiting for this. Bigtime. Spring and warm weather might start in April, but it still feels like a prelude to May. Consistently good weather, basketball playoffs, travel, school ending, the first wave of summer blockbusters, lots of new music, Cinco de Mayo, crawfish boils, horse races, summer around the bend--it's an active month. It's a time for winding down and gearing up. It's a great transition. And I've been looking forward to it obsessively.

To match my obsession for the month, I needed a Fan of the Month who lives and loves music at 300%. I needed someone who's so obsessive about Fleetwood Mac that her favorite place on earth is Stevie Nicks' guest house. Which she's never visited. I needed someone who calls me out for mixing up the names of her favorite artists. I needed someone who simply loves anything to the point of obsession, because what's life without that?

I needed a Fannon. What's a Fannon? Read and learn.

I introduce to you May's Fan of the Month, Shannon in Brooklyn!

(As always, if you'd like to be a future FOM, just drop me a line at chris@chrismilam.com. I promise every email is read and much appreciated!)

Name?
Lindsey (ala Buckingham) Shannon Sanderson.

Age?
29.

Where y'at?
Brooklyn, NY.

Something the average interweb browser wouldn't know about me is…?
I kick ass.

So the website www.shannonkicksass.com isn't you?
Hmmmm, nope, but maybe it will be.

The music scene in Brooklyn is…?
In reality I live in a community that loves that they found a band first while playing bocce ball at Union Hall. In my fantasy music scene I am a cliff dweller from the old school who hangs with Stephanie Lynn Nicks and her BFF Back Up Singers.

(Editor's Note: Strap in, dear readers. That's the first of 3,000 Nicks references. If you've ever wondered, "what if someone connected every question with Stevie Nicks just to mess with Chris," you're about to find out. This is a journey.)

Whatcha do for a living?
Office Manager/Ruler of the Corporate Universe.

A lot of people just pictured a handlebar mustache. The corporate universe isn't evil, is it? Is it???
Very....more than anyone should know.

You have taken Fanship to another level. Superfans aren't fans--they're "Fannons." How did you do it, and who are you a "Fannon" of?
My passion is insane and has been from an early age. If I loved you then I LOVED you.

It started with Stevie Nicks. I played "Bella Donna" on a Little Tykes record player for hours. I thought that "Edge of Seventeen" surpassed anything that Mozart had ever composed. I stared at that album cover for what felt like days.

Then hormones kicked in and my devotion to the New Kids On The Block became legendary. I missed every musical movement from 1988 to 1992. I didn't listen to Michael Jackson and I had no interest in Guns N Roses. Hair metal was not on my radar either--all because of Jordan, Jonathan, Donnie, Danny and Joey.

Then, there was The Party, born of the member of the new Mickey Mouse Club. They broke up in 1993 and scarred me for life. It's still hard to talk about.

Then, grunge happened, my local radio station was rocking my world, and I evolved into a total rock and roll soul. I think my mother was relieved.

My musical awakening and my true transformation into a Fannon (seriously, I should copyright that) was in 1994 when I saw Green Day play that tragic festival called Woodstock '94. Billie Joe Armstrong entered my life and has never left. I have been devoted for almost 17 years. I remember sitting with my mom and my grandmother at Applebee's and I just could not eat my shitty meal because I needed to communicate with Billie Joe and I had no idea how to make that happen when my mother said "Go through the wife. He gets fan mail all the time, but I'll bet she doesn't."

Thus a friendship was born, first through letters. I was 15 and Adrienne Armstrong was 25. We talked about life, music, ideas, her and Billie Joe's kids and sometimes a little band called Green Day. I have family pictures she's sent me, I knew when Billie was obsessed with American Idol and I got lots of goodies from their record label Adeline. We wrote letters, emails, sent packages and the band knows my name. All of this came to a head in July 2009 in the mosh pit of Madison Square Garden when Adrienne professed to a large group of tweenies that I am "the biggest Green Day fan ever". So, I guess devotion does get you a bad ass title every now and then.

I'm also still hopelessly devoted to Miss Stevie Nicks and her band Fleetwood Mac. My endless dedication to them could fill a novel.

(Editor's Note: I'm telling you, get comfortable. Fannon is for reals. What a magical story that was. Favorite part: Mom was "relieved" when she went from Disney-fan to rock-chick.)

What was your local grunge station called?
94.5 The Edge.

(Editor's Note: Awesome. It's no 96X, but worthy.)
　
When was the last time you ate at Burger King?
Maybe six months ago.

You have one meal left in life but it has to be fast food. You can pick and choose different items from different joints. Name that meal!
Its all from Sonic: the Club Toaster with tater tots and a vanilla cherry Dr. Pepper.

You have one meal left in life, period. Name that meal!
My grandmother throws these family meals twice a month and she basically cooks whatever pops into her head with no rhyme or reason to any of it. So, I'd want a Mimi Meal: fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, chicken enchiladas, mashed potatoes, rolls, salad, and cheesecake with cookies for dessert. Not kidding, this is a typical spread.

(Editor's Note: I want to be with Mimi and her meals.)

What music publications/blogs/sites do you read? Any of them good?
www.greendayauthority.com
http://ledge.fleetwoodmac.net
http://nickslive.blogspot.com
I also read Rolling Stone but I find it seriously lacking. The most recent issue is called "The State of Rock," but The Black Eyed Peas are on the cover. WTF? I really just want to be in the 'know' as far as what projects people are working on or where their next concert or secret show is going to be. I have such specific taste that I find it hard to give a shit what people think about music. I know what I think and that's all that matters to me.

Pick your dream concert. Any three (living) artists, anywhere, any venue, any month, any time of day. What is it? What's it called?
Fleetwood Mac, Green Day and Coldplay at Red Rocks in June at dusk. Coldplay (still the greatest live act IMO) into Green Day into Fleetwood Mac.

I'd call it "Fannon Land."

(Editor's Note: We're at 87% accuracy for Stevie Nicks-connections for each answer. Can she keep it up? I'm sweating! Uh oh, and I know what question's next...)

You can pick one album as your morning alarm for a year. The songs and their "wake-up" segments will shuffle randomly, but you are stuck with this album for a full year. What is it?

(Editor's Note: Wait for it...)

Tusk by Fleetwood Mac. Their masterpiece. Every second of that album is different from the last. It's severe and beautiful and passionate and you can hear them fighting the establishment that wanted a Rumours II. Lindsey gave them the middle finger with this record.

(Editor's Note: She's not slowing down!)

So, you want to wake up to Stevie Nicks' middle finger every morning?
Actually, I think I said Lindsey's middle finger. Chris, I need you to keep up here! Any member of Fleetwood Mac could flip me off in the AM. I'd just appreciate the acknowledgment.

(Editor's Note: Sweet Jesus, she just cyber-slapped Chris, which makes her my favorite FOM ever. In his defense, that band has only chick-names. It's easy to get confused. Who CAN keep up with Fannon? Flash Gordon? What's HAPPENING HERE???)

If you could fight any public figure, who would it be and why?
I really, really, really despise Taylor Swift and the mediocrity she represents. Its a joke. But I'd rather fight the people who actually bought those albums.

(Editor's Note: AHA! She didn't connect this question with Stevie Nicks! Busted!)

Taylor Swift has a lot of fans. If you fought one of them, you'd certainly win (www.shannonkicksass.com). If you fought literally all of them, you'd lose. But how many Taylor Swift fans could you take? At what number would they have the insurmountable advantage?
I have enough rage to take on 100, give or take. Although, if you put me in front of a television that was repeating her performance from The Grammys with Stevie where she was tone deaf and basically took a verbal shit on "Rhiannon" I might have enough rage to take on another 1,000.

(Editor's Note: She connected this question to Stevie Nicks. I am fortune's fool.)

Fill in the blanks!

Five favorite artists from the 60's are…?
Jefferson Airplane ("Volunteers" makes me cry), The Rolling Stones, The Who, Cream, The Mamas & the Papas.

Five favorite artists from the 90's are…?
Green Day, U2, Soundgarden, Fleetwood Mac (that '97 reunion was MAGIC), Alice in Chains.

Five favorite artists from the 2000's are…?
Green Day, Fleetwood Mac, Coldplay, The White Stripes, U2.

Some more singer/songwriters I love are… ?
Elton John, Sheryl Crow. Jack White is a genius.

....is my favorite Beatle.
Never been a big fan, but I like George.

...is my favorite adjective in the English language.
Fabulous.

Know any adjectives from other languages?
Fabuloso.

...is my favorite month of the year.
September.

...is my least-favorite month of the year.
January.

Favorite wrongly-heard song lyric is...? (e.g. "Excuse me while I kiss this guy...")
"Just like the one-winged dove" from "Edge of Seventeen" by Stevie. I mean, the poor thing would fly in circles!

Favorite rock album of the Oughts?
American Idiot by Green Day.

Favorite non-rock album of the Oughts?
Britney by Britney Spears (its my guiltiest pleasure).

Favorite movie (you can pick separate ones for comedy and drama)?
Flatliners, Singles.

Favorite TV show (you can pick separate ones for comedy and drama)?
Gossip Girl (sorry, but it is).

On a scale of 1 to Chris-Knitting-A-Quilt-For-Nick-Saban, how much do you miss football?
I miss NFL football at a 7. I don't miss college football at all; college sports have never been my thing.

(Editor's Note: I just broke up with Fannon.)

Rank these items in order of awesomeness: Jack White, Brooklyn, Slip-N-Slides, The Declaration of Independence, peanut butter, Spain, Green Day.
1) Green Day
2) Jack White
3) Peanut Butter
4) The Declaration of Independence
5) Brooklyn
6) Slip N Slides (these hurt)

I ranked all twelve months a while back. Where would May be in your rankings (1 being best)? What's #1? What's #12?
May would be #3. September is #1. January is #12.

If you owned a thoroughbred horse, what would you name it?
Buckingham.

(Editor's Note: ...and I'm back together with Fannon. I can't believe how good a horse name that is. Curse her and her Fleetwood wiles!)

I did a "Monthly Playlist" throughout 2009, and have taken a brief hiatus. I need your help. Give me 5 "Songs for May."
Well, since May always make me think of the beginning of summer:
1) "Summer of Love," The B-52s
2) "Daylight," Matt & Kim
3) "Moth's Wings," Passion Pit
4) "Nightbird," Stevie Nicks
5) "Waiting," Green Day
　
You can move anywhere in America for six months. Money, time, and job situation are no object. Name the place.
Stevie Nicks' guest house.

You can move anywhere on earth for six months. Same deal. Same place, or do you become an expat?
Where is Stevie going to be during those six months?

Pretend Stevie Nicks is temporarily off the grid. Pretend she has--by some miracle of space-age science we haven't discovered--vanished from the physical earth. Where do you live for six months?

(Editor's Note: Ooh, nice! It only took 3,000 words, but Chris finally tried to counter the Nicks-strike. How will Fannon respond?)

Well, if she vanished I would probably spend it at her memorial site.

(Editor's Note: Wow--just, wow. Masterful.)

The chiffonheads would absolutely build a site dedicated to looking for her.

In all seriousness, a huge beach house in Malibu. Secluded, next to the water...

You are going out tonight. You are going out to do whatever it is you would like to do for a fun night of festivity and frivolity. This can include anything from organizing cricket tournament to bank robbing in Monte Carlo to spelunking in the Ukraine. Anything. You get to assemble your posse for the night. You can pick ANY FOUR MEN OR ANY FOUR WOMEN on the planet, friends, celebrities, athletes, etc. Who is in your entourage and why?
Um:
1) Stevie Nicks
2) Adrienne Armstrong
3) Grace Slick
4) My best friend Becky. She wouldn't say no to anything.

I'm sure we'd all end up in the hospital, Stevie would probably relapse on cocaine, Grace Slick would get into a fight with everyone we met and Adrienne would manage to get us home safely. Eventually.

Where will music be in 5 years? What will be the next "big thing"? Where would you like to see it go?
ROCK 'N' ROLL needs to make a loud and volatile comeback. Auto tune needs to go the way of the dinosaurs. People need to raise their expectations. I want something equivalent to the grunge movement, but with fewer drug deaths and no flannel. I think its our turn again, although I don't know who would be the next big thing out of that genre. It's slim pickins, unfortunately. Maybe Jack White can just form another band.

(Editor's Note: I'm onboard. A revolution of one. Let's do this.)
　
Finally, how can I ever thank you for the support?
Keep playing. Keep on keeping on. Music is all that matters.

Done. Done. Yes, and yes.

Song of the Week!

Earlier this week, I wrote about Green Day's foray into theater, and why Broadway might be punker than punk. What I forgot to mention was my initial reaction upon hearing that American Idiot would be made into a Broadway show: "I should've seen this coming."

Song of the Week: Green Day "Before the Lobotomy"

The "punk + pop + politics" formula of American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown earned Green Day critical acclaim, an even broader audience, and ample Clash comparisons. The comparisons are well-grounded: you can hear the Clash's influence in the politically-charged lyrics, the muscular songwriting, Billy Joe's sneering vocal stylings, etc. Green Day's always worn that label proudly, and well.

But I heard a different band as the primary influence for American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown (the two albums that have been adapted for Broadway): Queen.

You heard me. Queen.

Before American Idiot, Green Day's strength was the four-minute pop song. Their best music was accessible, uber-melodic, tightly written, and small in scope. With American Idiot--a loosely narrative and stunning concept album--everything changed. Two of its (best) songs are over nine minutes long. 21st Century Breakdown took this method to the next level. Songs swing wildly from section to section, one track bleeds into the next, melodies reference other songs and foreshadow those to come, preludes and reprisals bookend the album, etc. Each individual song is a huge planet in an interconnected universe. Both albums create worlds, detail vast urban wastelands, juggle multiple plots, introduce recurring characters, interweave both musical and lyrical themes, all within the vehicle of epic, mercurial pop songwriting.

In other words, this isn't "London Calling"; it's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

The proof is obvious:



Listen and try not to picture it onstage. A pale, single spotlight shines on our antihero, alone on an otherwise pitch-black room. It's a soliloquy, a rare moment of solemn quiet in our chaotic story. Then, at the 1:21 mark, guitars kick in. Lights blast the theater. Dozens of extras begin a raucously (ehem, rockously?) choreographed dance number.

It writes itself.

There's an undeniably operatic quality to "Before the Lobotomy," and it's not even one of the nine-minute epics. Both albums are true rock operas--the kind Queen perfected but rarely tried, and the kind the Who often tried but never perfected.

In fact, many of pop's biggest and best albums share this quality. With Sgt. Pepper, the Beatles were overtly theatrical; with Abbey Road, they dabbled with extended-form songwriting. Led Zeppelin's work was operatic in scope and principle, but not in execution; they were too "live," or unscripted, to be fully operatic. Pearl Jam's Ten also works: Eddie's vocal style, the narrative lyrics, the anthemic choruses, the carefully-scripted themes ("Master/Slave" piece that opens and closes the album), etc. And Thriller--with its epic songwriting, choreographed videos and ethereal iconography--might be the best example.

All of this got me thinking: what are some other famous rock albums that could hit Broadway? What are some of your favorite rock-opera albums? And what's your favorite song from American Idiot or 21st Century Breakdown?

Hit up the comments and add to the list!

(Postscript: Between Monday's post and this one, "American Idiot" debuted on Broadway and earned a rave review in the NYTimes. Check it out.)

Green Day On Broadway: Punker Than Punk

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And, you can always subscribe! Okay...)

Green Day recently made their theater debut with American Idiot, a Broadway show based on their last two albums. This angered a friend of mine. "It's a joke," he said. "They pose as a new-age Clash, and they take the show to Broadway? What's punk about jazz hands?"

If 1991 was "the year punk broke," then Kurt Cobain was the man who broke it. Cobain once defined punk with one word: freedom. By my friend's definition, there's nothing "Punk" about jazz hands. And he's right. But by Cobain's definition, there's everything punk about jazz hands. Punk is the freedom to take your music anywhere you want.

I prefer Cobain's definition for two reasons:
1) It's inclusive. It looks for reasons to like something rather than reasons to dislike it.
2) It acknowledges a truth that purists of any genre (punk, metal, jazz, etc.) willfully ignore: successful artists actually have more freedom.

Take James Cameron. After Titanic shattered every box office record in history, was he beholden to Hollywood for future films? Was he consumed by the enormous pressure of a follow-up? Was he financially obligated to make a certain type of movie within a certain time frame?

Nope. In fact, the opposite occurred. Titanic's unprecedented success gave him unprecedented creative freedom--it bought him the leverage to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. As many have written, Avatar might be the first truly independent film in American history--the product of one man's singular and unrestricted vision, a project where money and time were no object and outside pressure had no influence. For better or worse, Avatar was Jim Cameron's movie. He was free to make anything, and that's what he made.

That's punk.

Radiohead self-releasing In Rainbows and letting fans pay what they want for the album? Punk.

In Rainbows debuting at #1, selling 3 million copies worldwide, and opening the door for a new music business model? Uberpunk.

U2 skipping the southeast for tours (how many folks in Little Rock can afford those tickets?) but playing halftime for the Saints' first televised game since Katrina? Not punk.

Music, at its best, can reach anyone at anytime. It can transcend its medium. It can support new audiences. It connects regardless of age, or background, or aesthetic prejudice. I think punk's big enough to support this kind of music. I know Green Day's great enough to make it.

What Green Day, Nirvana, Radiohead, and even U2 understand (and what so many purists of some nebulous punk credo don't) is simple: to win the game, you have to play the game. To operate with true impunity--to really Damn the Man--you have to buy your independence. You have to earn leverage. You have to play the game to win it.

And the best way to play that game is to bring people in, to use a pop song to subvert a pop audience. Punk isn't a rigid rulebook, a purist philosophy, a dress-code, or an angry diatribe sung to four people who already agree. It's Outkast getting dance-happy sorority girls to sing along with "y'all don't wanna hear me, you just wanna dance." It's Dylan getting every generation--both the establishment and the youth--to sing "your old road is rapidly aging." It's Green Day getting a Bible-Belt arena to sing along with "East Jesus Nowhere." It's It's Green Day getting a theater-full of academics and patricians to enjoy music they typically wouldn't listen to.

If punk is freedom, then punk is Green Day on Broadway. And if punk isn't freedom, then it's serving a lifetime sentence.

And I'm happy on the outside, clapping from the mezzanine.

December Mailbag (Year In Review Edition)

December 2009: the end of a year, a decade, and (sure, why not) an era.

No matter who you are or where your pop cultural allegiances lay, the past year (and past several years) brought plenty to your proverbial table. It's maybe the happiest byproduct of an increasingly accelerated culture: there's a ton of stuff to choose from. Don't like something? Wait ten minutes.

Of course, every blogger, magwriter, talking head, headshrinker, podcaster, and lieutenant of taste is searching for a way to sum up this decade. Everyone wants the all-inclusive cultural stamp that will give the Zeroes a cohesiveness they've thus-far evaded. Nine years later, we haven't even decided what to call this decade (Oughts, Zeroes, O's?), much less how to describe it. It's been said (a lot) that the hallmark of this year--and, in a way, this decade--is how disjointed, incongruous, and difficult to summarize it's been. In 2029, what will we remember as definitive of this era? What pop cultural offerings (films, albums, TV shows, celebrities) will be remembered as typifying American life?

These questions--and a few others--are on the minds of the Blog's readers.

So let's tackle them in December's Mailbag!

(As always, these are questions from actual readers. If you'd like to send one in, just drop me a line! chris@chrismilam.com)

Hey Chris! A while back, you listed some Best Of the Decade nominees for people to vote for. Who were the winners, and what got your vote?
--Ben, Los Angeles

Because of some bad Blogger gadgets, real vote-collecting was rendered impossible. However, I did get a sense from FB/Twitter/email where most folks were leaning. There wasn't a real consensus; if anything, the general consensus was that there is no consensus. People voted more for the "Other" option than anything. This is interesting for a few reasons:

1) It supports my original hypothesis: a Decade Best-Of consensus would be difficult because this decade was defined by fragmented culture, niche-driven media, and highly specialized fanship.

2) People also didn't agree on what constitutes "pop culture," or at least didn't agree with my basic premise: for something to define (or top) an entire decade, more than twelve people had to like it.

3) The closest thing to a consensus is that hip hop's biggest singles had a greater impact and more relevance than those of the other genres. In other words, U2, Bruce, and even Radiohead couldn't touch Outkast, Kanye, and Jay-Z. This is also interesting for the sheer number of people who state, "I like everything, except rap." Yet there's this wordless understanding (among people that don't like rap) that the decade's best hip hop hits probably came the closest to defining this era.

4) If there is a current King of Pop, it's Justin Timberlake. There is an almost universal, overwhelming recognition of/respect for his celebrity in 2009. Considering his image in 1999 , this is a little surprising.

In the interest of full-disclosure, I'll give you my votes for each category. If you'd like to see the full breakdown and nominees, just click here.

Best Rock Album - Green Day, American Idiot
A slightly unexpected pick, since I've rated 21st Century Breakdown above American Idiot, and both were made this decade. They're both remarkable albums--I just happen to like the songs on 21CB a little more. I don't think there's any question, however, that American Idiot was more accurately of its time; 21st Century Breakdown feels like the first record of a new decade more than the last record of this one.
Listen Here: American Idiot

Best Singer/Songwriter Album - Josh Ritter, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter
This is a tough one to call. The mainstream media pick would be either:
1) John Mayer (probably Continuum), because he was the biggest new singer/songwriter of the Oughts, and he seems to have a requisite amount of "Seriousness" to make him a respectable pick.
2) Bruce Springsteen (The Rising), because these whippersnappers ain't got nothing on the Boss, man.
I don't agree with either, because I think better pop albums were made than Mayer's, and better topical albums were made than Springteen's.

The unhappy median would be Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes (I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning/Digital Ash In a Digital Urn), because:
1) He's of this generation.
2) He's "serious," and "topical," and "political," and "these things mattered in the 2000's."
3) Bright Eyes were a seminal band under the greater tent of whatever-people-mean-when-they-say-emo. And, for better or worse, "emo" was an advent of this decade.
Again, this isn't satisfactory, because there were better "serious," "topical," "political," and "stylistically influential" albums this decade, too--albeit less popular.

So, I'm picking what I believe was the best collection of songs released by a singer/songwriter: Josh Ritter's The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter. No atmospheric crooner can touch "Wait for Love," no nascent lyricist can touch "To the Dogs or Whoever," and nobody, period, can top "The Last Temptation of Adam." It's simply the best collection of songs by a singer/songwriter this decade--it just so happens singer/songwriters weren't especially popular this decade.
Listen Here: The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter

Best Hip Hop Album - Outkast, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below
As much as I love The Black Album and College Dropout, they came out in the wrong era. The moment Speakerboxxx/The Love Below dropped, everyone else was playing for second.
Listen Here: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below

Best Pop/R&B Album - Amy Winehouse, Back to Black
There's little doubt that it's Timberlake's Popworld and we're all just living in it, but Amy Winehouse had the best--and most relevant--pop album of the Oughts.
Listen Here: Back To Black

Best Rock Single - MGMT, "Time to Pretend"
This was a hard choice, especially because it's nowhere near my favorite rock single. But a vote from my brother (then, oddly enough, ESPN's Sports Guy) got me thinking: there might've been bigger singles, and there might have been personal favorites (mine was My Morning Jacket's "One Big Holiday"). But there was no better rock hit in the Zeroes than "Time to Pretend." It's a twisted, re-imagined Teenage Wasteland, obsessed with celebrity, easy success, and stunted emotional growth. It's equal parts earnest and ironic, rocking and electronic, contemporary and futuristic, dreamy and nightmarish. It sounds like two hypersmart kids trying to put the final nail in rock's coffin--and subsequently bringing it back to life.

Best Hip Hop/Pop Single - Outkast, "Hey Ya"
Truly, the best hip-hop single of the O's was from 1999: Outkast's "B.O.B." Never one to retread old paths, "Hey Ya" focused on the individual warfare of a single relationship, rather than the cultural warfare depicted in "B.O.B." You won't hear "Bush," or "terrorism," or "Paris Hilton" in "Hey Ya"; you'll hear the best, most multi-faceted, bittersweet, jubilant depiction of a relationship gone wrong this side of 2000. And you will hear perhaps the most all-encompassing throwaway lyric of all-time, "Y'all don't wanna hear me/you just wanna dance." I can't think of a better epitaph for the Oughts.

Best TV Comedy - The Office
For transcendent comedy, only Arrested Development's masterful three seasons can compete with The Office's best work. However, AD's influence was limited by its niche audience, while The Office shifted the paradigm of American network comedies. Like Seinfeld in the 90's, it's that rare, great, groundbreaking show that also became a massive hit.

Best TV Drama - The Wire
The exception to my "limited audience, limited influence" rule: The Wire was so much better than every other TV drama (this from a Mad Men superfan) this decade, and so perfectly descriptive of American life in the 2000's, that it simply doesn't matter how many people own the DVD's. If you don't, I promise: it's your fault, not The Wire's. The show's that good, that important, and that characteristic of its time.

This wasn't the best TV drama, or TV show: for my money, The Wire was the best piece of art American pop culture offered this decade.

Best Film Drama - The Departed
It featured arguably the strongest collection of this generation's actors (whether younger actors, or older ones peaking now). It also grappled with The Wire's themes of institutional poverty, crime, blurred moral lines, villainous heroes and heroic villains, and what it means to fight a losing battle. I can't think of a better story to tell from the decade that was.

Best Film Comedy - Royal Tenenbaums
The Departed masterfully tackled societal issues on an individual level; the Royal Tenenbaums characterized individual issues in a social context. The closest thing to a perfect film I've seen this decade.

Agree? Disagree? Let me hear it!

Dear CM, what was your favorite album of the year? Your favorite song? Thanks!
--Rachel, Memphis
You're welcome! This is a great question. Because my favorite song and album are different from what I think were the "best" song and album, I'll answer both:

Best Song of the Year: Green Day "21st Century Breakdown"
It's a more complex, anthemic, and dynamic song than the thematically similar "Know Your Enemy." It's as good a finale for the decade as I've heard, and as good a prologue to the 2010's as we could hope for.

Honorable Mention: Kings of Leon "Use Somebody"
This song has received all the predictable backlash a monster hit engenders. It's blustery, almost too catchy, and the video's beyond ridiculous. It's a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them. When I first heard it (on the album in late 2008), I thought it was the quintessential Kings of Leon song: "You know that I could use somebody/someone like you" finally juxtaposed the strength/vulnerability conflict KOL's been writing around for years. The play on "use" puts him equally in the passive and active role--the narrator needs someone (he "could use" some company; he's lonely, isolated, exhausted, etc.), but he also knows he could leverage his fame/fortune/celebrity to have anyone's company (hence, manipulating/"using" them). It's a tidy refrain that sums up the band's lonely-rockstar image and executes it to perfection in the song composition itself. Folks who think "Use Somebody" is dumber than "Viva la Vida" either a) aren't paying attention, or b) don't speak English.

Favorite Song of the Year: The Avett Brothers, "I And Love And You"
Gorgeous songwriting, flawless execution, refreshing production, and I heard it the night before I moved to New York. It owned me from the opening chord.

Best Album of the Year: Green Day, 21st Century Breakdown
This was a relatively strong year in the pop/rock world--certainly cause for celebration and optimism leading into the next decade--but I can't make a strong case for anything but 21CB. In 2009, there was Green Day, and there was everyone else.

Favorite Album of the Year: Lucero, 1372 Overton Park
Because there is nothing so exciting--and rewarding--as a music fan than watching a good band become great.

But what were your favorites of the year? Hit up the comments or drop me a line (chris@chrismilam.com) and let me know!

Finally...

Christofferson! Do you have any New Years resolutions?
--Nicole, New York
First, congratulations to Nicole for being the second person to call me Christofferson. Second, I do have some New Years resolutions. I always make New Years resolutions, because I genuinely believe in everyone's capacity for self-improvement.

I once knew a girl who told me, "New Years resolutions are dumb. I don't make any, because I know I'll forget or abandon them by February. Everyone does. It's a silly ritual and a set-up for disappointment."

Or, you could use an arbitrary date on the calendar to set real, tangible goals for yourself and try to meet them. It's amazing to me when folks believe self-improvement should come from anywhere but them, through hard work, over time. Nothing really good is really quick or really easy...but it is worth it.

Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe I only think this because I'm a masochist, a workaholic, an insomniac, and a hyperactive loon. Hence, I love New Years resolutions. I love making a list of "hard stuff to do" and forcing myself to do it long after I've reconsidered its worth. I make a ton of resolutions. Here are a few for 2010:

New Years Resolutions (A Sampling):
--Write at least 60 new songs.
--Play at least 50 concerts.
--Learn 1 instrument I've never played before.
--Make 1 new album (needs to be made in 2010, not necessarily released in 2010)
--See 5 states I've never seen before.
--Visit 1 country I've never visited before.
--Visit my family in West Virginia.
--Do not miss any birthdays of friends or family.
--Read at least 1 book that I don't want to read.
--Read at least 1 book that's been recommended to me.
--Go see at least 1 movie that I don't think I'll like.
--Talk less.
--Listen more.
--Give up something for Lent (something big, TBD).
--Beat the Phaal Challenge (an Indian place on my block has the hottest curry in America, and I'm destined to conquer it).
--Take (generally) more pictures.
--Pray for other people, when asked. It doesn't hurt anything.
--Never hold back a compliment.

Then there are a bunch of resolutions and goals specific to my career, which might bore you, and a few more personal ones, which might not, but I won't write them.

What are your resolutions? Do you make any? Gonna beat the February jinx this year? Hit up the comments and give them to me--I'd love to hear how 2010's looking better already.

The Monthly Mailbag Returns! (Part 2)

The Super-Giant, Mega-Blowout, Resurgent, Triumphant, Two-Part Mailbag Continues!

For Part 1, go here.

Let's get back to your questions!

Hey Chris, in a recent Fan of the Month, you asked an interesting question: what album would you pick as your morning alarm for a year? I thought the FOM's answer was great (The Ultimate Otis Redding). Mine would be either be Led Zeppelin II or Pearl Jam Vs. What's yours? --Rob, Washington, D.C.
I was afraid of this. As soon as FOM Sarah picked The Ultimate Otis Redding, I knew that: 1) someone would turn the question on me and 2) I'd have no answer. Her choice was perfect, and probably one I wouldn't have come up with on my own. Now, I'm reeling.

As a refresher, the question is this: You wake up to an alarm every morning. You have to pick one album that will serve as your wake-up call for exactly a year. Which song plays--and which 30-second snippet it chooses--is completely randomized. You can't control it. All you know is that you'll wake up to 30 seconds of something off that record for 365 days. Now...

Let's break this thing down. To me, there are four things to consider:

1) Mood. This one, obviously, is huge. Because one randomly chosen moment from this album will start every day, I need something that offers plenty of positive, fun, uptempo moments. It needs to have energy (Green Day), but it doesn't need to be heavy (Metallica). Angry albums are avoided (sorry, Rage Against the Machine). Some days might deserve a sad/slow/uneasy beginning, but I can't afford to pick a sad/slow/uneasy album. As much as I love Cory Branan, one week of The Hell You Say alarms would leave me bed-ridden for months.
Excludes: Most singer/songwriter fare. All of the classical music and jazz that I own. All metal. Most old blues and country. Most rap. Practically everything by R.E.M., Radiohead, and Wilco. A few things by the Beatles. Pearl Jam' No Code.

2) Variation. Within the range of that overarching mood, I still need variation. Every day doesn't feel the same, and every alarm shouldn't sound the same. I'm looking for the album that has the right percentage of upbeat rockers (57%), mid-tempo groovers (31%), and take-it-down-a-notch-and-reflect ballads (12%). And if you're wondering if that's the approximate breakdown for how I feel every morning when I wake up--yes, yes it is.
Excludes: Early Beach Boys. Most punk. A lot of Led Zeppelin, the Who, and the Clash. Some alt-country. A few things by the Beatles. Pearl Jam's Vs.

3) Durability. There are only so many 30-second snippets to choose from, and 365 days in a year. I'm no mathematician, but you'll repeat alarms. A lot. I need an album that's long enough to curb repetition, and durable enough to survive it. I need something I've heard a thousand times already and continue to enjoy. I need something I have a chance at still loving after the year's over, which means fresh, new favorites are less desirable. As much as I love the new Avett Brothers' I And Love And You, I can't vouch for its durability--I like it right now largely because it's happening right now. For this question, I need something I've lived with for several years, something always enjoyable and occasionally surprising. For me, older, "classic" albums get the nod.
Excludes: All short albums and most contemporary albums (Kings of Leon, Band of Horses, Avett Brothers, some My Morning Jacket). Anything I own that you might find in Pitchfork. Some early Beatles. Pearl Jam's Backspacer.

4) Seasonality. It's one of music's greatest and most mysterious joys: some things just sound like a season. Most of my favorite albums entrench themselves (lyrically, sonically, even thematically) in one season and invite you to spend those months with them. But for this question, I need something that's beyond versatile. I need something beyond season-neutral. I need an album that's season-specific, but for an entire year. Because this album will be my alarm for 365 days, I need something that gives me a decent chance of matching that morning's weather and mood. This album needs to have "fall" songs and "spring" songs, and everything in between.
Excludes: Everything by the Counting Crows. Most Lucero. A lot of the White Stripes. Some Beatles. Pearl Jam's Yield.

So, what's left?

Motown and Stax artists have great options (mood-wise, most of the sad songs still sound happy), but I'm limited to my albums. I only have their anthologies, and I'm arbitrarily deciding that those don't count. Big Star's in play, but their penchant for the depressing ("Try Again") and/or bizarre ("India Song") scares me off. If I heard "India Song" at 6AM on a February morning, I might have a seizure.

Of course, there are always the Beatles. If you made the case for Help or Abbey Road, I probably wouldn't fight you. Still, the Beatles' catalog is almost too good for this question: the things that make their best albums great (multi-dimensionality, song variation, etc.), make them problematic for a daily wake-up call. Revolver might be the greatest pop record of all-time, but if the shuffle sent me "Eleanor Rigby" four days in a row, I might not recover.

You see where I'm headed, don't you?

My choice: The Rolling Stones' Exile on Main Street.

The key quality that prompted this post is what makes it my choice now: amazing sonic consistency. The "mood" breakdown is perfect: tons of upbeat rockers that may-or-may not literally be cheerful (from "Rocks Off," to "Happy"), plenty of mid-tempo groovers that can start the day off and get you moving ("Casino Boogie," "Ventilator Blues"), and the occasional time-to-reflect ballad ("Sweet Virginia," "Shine a Light"). While the ballads are slower and wistful and--yes--sad, they don't sound spine-crushingly depressing. There's a difference between "Stones sad" and "Radiohead sad," and the difference is whether I'm getting up with some nostalgia, making some coffee, and forming a resolution, or whether I'm moving to a cabin in Denmark and never taking another phone call.

Exile even has an innocuously trippy tune ("I Just Want to See His Face") to meet you halfway when you've woken up from a bizarre dream. In terms of mood and variation, it has everything, and I don't think anyone's arguing its durability. I've lived with this album for years, and I always come back to it, regardless of season, time of day, or my given mood; its remarkable consistency and makes it one of the most-listenable albums I own.

As for seasonality, it runs the spectrum. As a brassy rock record, it lends itself naturally to any sunny months; you can make a case for all of it fitting in with summer. Still, some songs have the renewed energy of spring ("Rocks Off," "Turd On the Run"); some have that beautiful, wistful quality of autumn ("Loving Cup," "Torn and Frayed"); some fit in with the subdued stoicism of winter ("Sweet Black Angel," "Let It Loose").

Ultimately, Exile's the pick because it has to be: no other album I own does so much by doing one thing. It's not the best album of all-time, but it is a classic. They're not the greatest band in history (perhaps a debate for another post), but they're in the Pantheon. They might not have a song for every moment of every day, but they've got a whole album to wake up to. Maybe that's always been the Stones' appeal: I'm never in love with them, but I'm always infatuated.

I want to settle down with Revolver, but I want to wake up next to Exile on Main Street.

You've been promising reviews of new music since the New Green Day came out. Enough already! Give me something. --Ben, Little Rock
Ask, and ask again, and ask repeatedly, and ye shall receive!

Green Day, 21st Century Breakdown
When American Idiot came out, I thought, "this is an inspired, relevant album by the right band at the right time...it's one of the best of the decade, but it's also probably Green Day's swan song. They probably can't do this again."

In theory, I was right: even the greatest bands don't bat 1.000. For every Vitalogy, there's a Riot Act. For every Kid A/Amnesiac, there's a Hail to the Thief (I know, I know, it's still a good album). Point is, we judge bands relative to other bands, but also relative to themselves. In a way, they define their own greatness.

So when 21st Century Breakdown came out, I didn't expect much. I wanted to be fair to Green Day. I wanted to hear the record on its own merits, and not against the unreasonably high standard of American Idiot. And now I feel like a perfect moron for expecting anything less than brilliance.

21st Century Breakdown doesn't rival American Idiot; 21st Century Breakdown trumps it in every respect. Subjectively, I prefer the new "rock" singles ("Know Your Enemy" and "21st Century Breakdown") to "American Idiot." I think they're smarter, and more inclusive, and more fun as listens. Its featured ballad "21 Guns" is a more complete song--and a more daring vocal--than the admittedly great "Boulevard of Broken Dreams." Melodically, it could be "Boulevard's" sequel.

For all the Clash comparisons Green Day's earned, invited, and rejected over the years, the last two albums sound more musically influenced by earnest, operatic pop bands (Queen) than political punk outfits. In fact, those disparate influences form one of the most rewarding aspects of the record: 21CB is somehow aesthetically consistent as a record while varying wildly song-to-song. For example, a string of songs at the album's center seem to be songwriting exercises. There's the Hives-esque garage rocker ("Horseshoes and Handgrenades"); a Jack White-style campy, baroque melody ("Little Girl"); a stutter-stepping emo anthem, complete with My Chemical Romance-style cheers and pointed descriptions of "white boys and fat girls" ("East Jesus Nowhere"); several falsetto melodies ("21 Guns," "Before the Lobotomy") that sound more conventionally akin to Switchfoot or even The Fray than Green Day. It's as if Billy Joe is taking on every challenger to the throne, one at a time, and pummeling them into submission. The achievement isn't that Green Day can out-perform other bands with their own tricks; it's that they can put all of these songs together on a wide-ranging concept album, and still make the whole thing sound like a Green Day record first.

American Idiot held a stance, loaded for bear, took aim, and beautifully, mercilessly mowed down all opposition; 21CB does more by letting everyone, including the opposition, in. It aims as high, and it achieves more. And if I wrote my March Madness now, I'd have to reconsider the winner.

It's that good.

The Avett Brothers, I And Love And You
There's a lesson to be learned here: great pop music can take any form. While Green Day openly wants to be the biggest band in the world, the Avetts seem perfectly comfortable maximizing their niche. They have no Billboard hits--and may never--but they'll always increase their audience with their brand of smart-yet-accessible, rootsy-yet-contemporary pop. This isn't just their finest collection of songs (something that shouldn't surprise any fan of Rick Rubin), or their most mature production (see the last parenthesis); it's their most generous. It strikes the same tone (strength-through-vulnerability, earnest, selfless, proudly optimistic) that characterizes the best of Big Star, Counting Crows, Elliot Smith, Wilco, and, most of all, REM. This is a record that wants to give a lot to the listener, and it has a lot to give.

Pearl Jam, Backspacer
For a Pantheon pop-rock band, Pearl Jam sure does take a lot of listens. It's hard to fathom--and easy to forget--but Pearl Jam's best work has always taken some time to sink in. Retrospectively, how could anyone not hear the obvious, effortless brilliance of "Alive" upon Ten's release? The album languished for a year until Nevermind kickstarted the Seattle explosion. Why, when I began buying records for myself, did I not realize that so many of my favorite 90's singles were made by the same band in the same three-year span? How did I, a young and very casual pop fan hear "Glorified G" in 1993 and "Not For You" in 1995 but not know which band they belonged to? Yield might be my favorite album on the planet to listen to, but my first listen yielded no returns (pun fun!). I can't imagine ignoring "Save You" now, but I did at first. Pearl Jam's deeper cuts seemed unremarkable in 2006, and essential in 2009.

You get the picture: something about this band (Eddie's melodies, Stone's riffs, something else, everything else) sneaks up on you. Your first impression--even if it's good--will not be your sixth impression. Pearl Jam records are a fluid thing.

They're also a deeply personal thing. As I've written before, no band will probably mean more to me than Pearl Jam, because they're the band that mattered the most at the age where music mattered the most. While I can hotly anticipate and subjectively appreciate a new Green Day record, I don't feel invested in it. I receive, and I react. With Pearl Jam, their development as a band is somehow inextricable from my development as a fan. When they take an artistic turn, I explore new territory as a listener. They shape what type of fan I will be to other bands, and future records.

So I avoided the sneak-peeks of Backspacer as they appeared across the internet. I dodged the single downloads and the talk show appearances. I wanted to hear it all at once. Then, I wanted to hear it five times before I reacted. And now that I've lived with this album for almost six weeks, I can say that it's very good. It's a record Pearl Jam fans will be proud of. It's a record Pearl Jam fans will in no way be disappointed by (except for the lunatics who object to Target). It stands on its own, and it stands tall. If this was their first album, Pearl Jam would be catapulted on its singular merits. If this was their last album, I think I'd be satisfied with their swan song.

Because of its smaller scope, quirky moments, dark rockers, and casual confidence, a friend initially compared it to No Code. Citing its thematic and lyrical departure (deeply introspective, interpersonal, and narrative) and meditative tone, another friend considered it a "new Yield." I think they're both right: the album's tone, casual production, and mid-level consistency are sonically reminiscent of the tough-loving No Code. In terms of thematic departures, it's the first major shift since the spiritual awakening of Yield.

I'd ultimately rank Backspacer above No Code (the songs are stronger) and below Yield (the songs are weaker). Which puts it in in my Top 5 Pearl Jam records. Which makes it better than practically everything else.

One more note: in the spring of 2008, I greatly anticipated the new Black Crowes, Counting Crows, and My Morning Jacket releases. All disappointed me to varying degrees. The Black Crowes didn't have their fastball anymore, and MMJ seeemed to only have their fastball. Most depressing, by far, was the unmitigated failure of CC's Saturday Nights, Sunday Mornings. Of the three billion things that went wrong on that record, the first (and biggest) was this: they experimented in a way that ignored all of their strengths.

And what I'm trying to say is this: Pearl Jam knows their strengths (lovable rock riffs, rock solid rhythm section, soaring choruses, song-serving musicality, and EDDIE), and they're still smart enough to use them. Even when they want to try something new, they use their strengths as the starting point for experimentation. If Eddie wants to tell a new type of story and experiment with a string-arrangement ("The End"), they let his voice and the band's talent for nuanced performance lead the way.

Backspacer might not be their greatest record. It might not match the renaissance of Yield. But it's really, really, really good. And as long as they're together, and playing to their strengths, they have more greatness in them.

Monsters of Folk, Monsters of Folk
Given my unrelenting mancrush on all things My Morning Jacket and Jim James, you'd think I sought Monsters of Folk the second it was on the market. Somehow, I didn't. It passed me right by. Maybe it was the timing, mixed with my move and temporary internet shortages. Maybe it was my distaste for most of the Conor Oberst catalog. Maybe it was my extreme apathy toward every M. Ward song I've heard. Maybe I just forgot.

When my brother was kind enough to send a copy, I expected:
--A spare, acoustic neo-folk record
--Something that sounded sunny and vintage and autumnal
--To truly love one song and like a few more
--That all of those would be sung by Jim James
--To ignore pretty much everything else

The lesson, as always: I'm an idiot.

Monsters of Folk is nothing I expected, which is totally rewarding. While some melodies and arrangements are familiar, and some arrangements are more acoustic and spare, and some songs are vaguely "rootsy," the message is sent in the first second of the first song: this is not a folk record. It's not even a "folk record" in the modern, revised, deconstructed, and polished vein of Mermaid Avenue. It's really just a collection of songs, most of which are good, and a few of which are very good.

Beyond the collection of songs, it's a collection of talent--talent that collaborates in ways I didn't expect. My favorite melodies--always my gateway to song infatuation--on this record are sung by Conor Oberst. My favorite lyrics are sung by M. Ward. Oddly, my favorite Jim James vocal moments appear in the background ("Losin' Yo Head" being the romping exception). Maybe the most impacting song on the album is its least "folky," the surreal and haunting "His Master's Voice."

Monsters of Folk is practically nothing I expected it to be, and almost everything I want it to be. It's a great reminder that some of the best listening experiences are unexpected.

It still feels good to be wrong.

Lucero, 1372 Overton Park
The time between the pre-order for this record (mid-summer) and its actual release (October 6) seemed to last years. The time between the actual release (October 6) and its arrival in my mailbox (October 16) seemed to last decades. In the interim, I hid from friends. I hid from reviews. I refused discussion of the record. I wanted to sit in silence and wait in the dark. And I waited forever.

1372 Overton Park was worth the wait.

When Rebels, Rogues, and Sworn Brothers came out in 2006, I reviewed it in this space. It was a breakthrough for the band. Sonically, Rebels expanded their sound by adding keys' legend Rick Steff and a more polished production. In terms of songwriting, Ben Nichols made another leap; the lyrics were sharper, more structured, the hooks catchier, the scope bigger, the tone more epic. It leaned on the best of their influences (Springsteen, the Replacements) while staying true to their own unique vision. It was such a strong, exuberant, inspired record, I worried that it would be their best. I worried they might've exhausted their magic.

I shouldn't have worried. If you liked anything about Rebels, you will love everything about 1372 Overton Park. I don't like this record because it's very good, and I don't like it because I'm a long-time fan and I feel invested at this point (I think you know by now I'm hardest on my favorite bands). I love this record because it's truly, legitimately, unbelievably great.

Two aspects of this album have dominated its press:
1) This is Lucero's true major label debut. What's that mean for "nobody's darling" underground rock heroes? Will the weight of expectation crush them?!? Oh no, oh my!
2) There are horns. Wait, what? Horns? Christ! What will the fanboys think?!? Oh no, oh my!

Of course, the critical consensus is that:
--This is Lucero's best album.
--The horns work and the album wouldn't be the same without them.
--This will be on every critical short list for "Album of the Year."

And what to make of those two points, anyway?

1) This is Lucero's major label debut. Yeah. They're ready. They could've gone one of two ways. They could've shrunk, reverted back, played the "lovable loser, star-crossed ne'er-do-well" angle and cut a bunch of Attic Tapes sequels. Or, they could've continued their evolution as a big, bad, popular rock band, seized the opportunity, owned it, and taken what they've rightfully earned on the road for a decade: real success.

They chose the latter. And after seeing this last week in New York--touring with a horn section, keys player, and lap steel guitarist--they're not looking back. At all. They were exceptional live, simultaneously polished and thrilling, sharp and spontaneous, epic and intimate. They're the best they've ever been, and they're the biggest they've ever been, and while that's somewhat surprising for Lucero fans, it's also great.

2) Horns. Aside from my personal love affair with all horn-related things and all music therein (including Memphis's legacy there), why would anyone object to an instrument outright? Would anyone? While there are certainly "superfans" out there who are put-off by the idea of Lucero with an expanded (read: poppy) sound (more on that in a second), I'd love to meet the music fan who read a press release that said "Lucero, now with horns" and said, "screw THAT." I don't think they exist. Ultimately, the horns work because the songs support them; in turn, the horns serve the songs. They're not just supplemental; they're essential.

Here's the section where I'd love to gush about each song individually, and perhaps I will at another time. Suffice it to say that half of my favorite Lucero songs of all-time are on this album, and that I have a new favorite every day, and that there isn't even a relative weakness, and that I can't stop listening to it. If you're reading this blog, you're probably inclined to like Lucero anyway. I doubt I need to sell it, and it certainly sells itself.

I will say that one strength of the songwriting is that it should only expand the band's audience. These songs are so pitch-perfect, so perfectly tuned into their audience while becoming more accessible to a broader audience, that there's something for fanboys and sorority girls alike. Sure, the horn line's a far cry from the dueling acoustics of the Attic Tapes. But "Mom" isn't a far cry from "It Gets the Worst At Night." It's the same band--just exponentially better. There are albums that have one song for everyone, and there are albums in which every song has something for everyone. 1372 is the latter. It's the best kind of populism.

I re-read Nick Hornby's Songbook last week. In one essay, he struggles with the idea of his new favorite song becoming everyone's favorite. What once belonged to him--his own musical secret--suddenly belonged to everyone. "How is it possible to love or connect to music that is as omnipresent as carbon monoxide?"

My friends have struggled with the same issue regarding Lucero, their most recent success, and their ever-expanding fanbase. "What would you do if you saw a thirteen year-old twerp at a strip mall tomorrow wearing a Lucero t-shirt?"

This question is asked and answered by music fans from a specific time and place (Memphis, this decade, watching Lucero come through the ranks), but could be asked by anyone, anywhere who has ever loved a local band. We follow them. We root for them. We chart their successes, we note their failures, we gobble up every release, and we anticipate every concert. We argue and agree with each other about their prospects and their achievements. We sing along.

Beyond that, we invest. The band's story becomes inextricably linked to our own. In the same way all music criticism can be read as autobiography, the band's success or failure can run parallel to our own successes and failures. And when the band reaches a level of success where a kid can show up in their t-shirt and overlook the life before it, we take it as an insult to us, our investment, and our life. These people skipped the process and went straight to the payoff.

Well, here's my story: I happened to hear a Memphis band named Lucero in 2002. My brother recommended them to me; his friend recommended them to him. Relative to Memphis scenesters, I was late to the game.

I heard Tennessee, then heard the two releases before it. I thought they were making some smart, gorgeous, sleepy, accessible alt-country. I loved their songs. I went to shows. I went to shows where I was 10% of the audience. I went to shows that were drunken farces. I watched as the fanboy contingent formed. I watched as they continued to put out records, as they developed a bigger sound and scope. I watched as the crowds grew. I watched as they created a trainwreck stage schtick, almost a piece of self-destructive performance art. I worried it would compromise their development, that they were creating their own ceiling. I heard "Sixteen" and thought they'd broken new ground. I saw them being better musicians live, and I saw the crowds double. I read the press. I rooted like hell for a major label deal and some real promotional backing. I wondered how big their audience would get if they actually had some business behind it. I waited for them to get their live act together, and their partying under control. I watched as the fanboys got rowdier. I listened when Rebels came out, and I worried that would be it. I heard the rumors about SXSW, about the Black Keys supporting shows, about every opportunity seized or slipping by. I wrote about their struggle with the underdog persona, and what it means to be a failure in the face of success. I watched all of it from the front row of bigger and bigger venues, all while they kept making music and that music kept getting better. And what I'm trying to say is this:

I hope to God I see that thirteen year-old twerp at the strip mall. I want to see a million of him. I've had my time with Lucero, and it ain't going anywhere. Let that kid have his time. And let Lucero have theirs.

They've earned it.

-----------------------

P.S. Next Week: Songs for November!

Songs for October

Last spring, I ranked September #1 because it's both the thing itself and the anticipation of something greater; it's a consequence-free environment. You anticipate leaves changing. You track the cooler mornings. You wait for earlier nights. You settle in, meet up, and start the sprint. September's a furious opening act.

But October's the show. The leaves change, the nights come quickly, sweaters come out, mornings get brisk, Octoberfest lines the beer shelves. Every storyline from September's mad dash now has consequences. The plot thickens, the air thins.

If you love fall (and I do), then you live for October (and I d0).

Here now are 31 songs about change, songs written from the thick of it, songs golden then black, bright then fading, songs that sound like a skyline sunset and a world on fire. Here now:

31 Songs for October!

***Now with Clickable Playlist. Thanks Michael!

(Plus, iTunes' random pick.)
(Don't forget to comment and tell me your Songs for October.)

Green Day, "21st Century Breakdown"
The title track to the record because it sounds like the beginning and the end.

Band of Horses, "Islands on the Coast"
I'll be honest: I don't think Band of Horses are spectacular. I'm not sure they're great. But they do this very, very well.

Dropkick Murphys, "I'm Shipping Up to Boston"
What I imagine playoff season in New England sounds like...especially if Boston loses.

The Strokes, "Last Nite"
Consequences.

Teenage Fanclub, "About You"
Sometimes a band writes from a place nearing self-parody. Kings of Leon's anticipated single being "Sex on Fire." Bono singing about Jesus complexes. And Teenage Fanclub saying, "screw it, let's start every song with a ton of jangly guitars and layered harmonies and figure it out from there." Sometimes, you gotta double down.

Simon & Garfunkel, "Cecilia"
Consequences.

REM, "Me in Honey"
One of Stipes' strongest vocals, and one of his most honest lyrics. That's saying something.

Lucero, "San Francisco"
I pick this one with a caveat: their new record comes out October 6. It's possible 1372 Overton Park becomes my actual October Playlist.

Death Cab for Cutie, "No Sunlight"
Bright melody about fading innocence, complete with sunset imagery. It's a shoe-in.

The New Pornographers, "All the Old Showstoppers"
It sounds like October, and I have no clue why.

Belle & Sebastian, "If She Wants Me"
Consequences. Bonus points: rage has never been sung so sweetly.

Fountains of Wayne, "No Better Place"
Somehow, Fountains of Wayne have gone from "forgettable one-hit wonder" to "goofy popsters" to "sleeper favorite band" in a matter of months. They didn't change; I did.

My Morning Jacket, "Lay Low"
The song's beginning sounds like the start of a good night; its remarkable outtro sounds like the end of a bad night.

Daniel Johnston, "Devil Town"
I'd love to tell you I'm cool enough to know Daniel Johnston's entire catalog. I actually heard Bright Eyes' cover on Friday Night Lights. So, um, yeah.

Bob Dylan, "When the Ship Comes In"
He's singing about a day in the future, but he knows it's already come.

The Byrds, "Turn! Turn! Turn!"
If someone asked me what the quintessential sound of October is, I would say "jangly guitars, sun-kissed vocals, some cascading guitar melody, flat-wound bass, light percussion, and thick harmony, and lyrics about change." I would then point them to three songs. This is the first.

Bruce Springsteen, "The Rising"
Bruce is almost always good, and smart, and earnest, and goofy. Here, he's just good, and smart, and earnest.

Tom Petty, "Waiting Is the Hardest Part"
Ah, more great songs by aging goofball legends! If you said I could only take artist's catalog for the entire fall, I would take Petty without thinking. He's got a monopoly.

Led Zeppelin, "Ramble On"
Layup!

Bright Eyes, "Four Winds"
It's the fiddle. Something about fiddle feels autumnal to me. Savor the flavor, Bright Eyes fans.

Son Volt, "Drown"
Serious consequences can still sound cheery.

Pearl Jam, "Breath"
Specific memories here--let's move on!

Kings of Leon, "Notion"
This is #2 on the aforementioned list (The Byrds' "Turn!" being #1). It might not be an amazing song, but it's an amazing sound. Grandeur, excitement, sadness, joy--it's all there.

David Gray, "Babylon"
Very much in the spirit of the season.

Counting Crows, "Butterfly in Reverse"
Specific memories attached to this one, and the whole production of Hard Candy feels autumnal to me. I always thought this song could've been written for a Disney flick, played in the background while wolfcubs frolicked. Cinematic and light-hearted.

Ryan Adams, "Cannonball Days"
Eight years later: where did this lyric come from? Jiminy. Without fall imagery, its story feels like October, helped by the acoustic-plus-organ arrangement.

Bumpercrop, "Burn Everything"
At some point, you have to slow down.

Wilco, "What Light"
If Sky Blue Sky sounds like a very sad fall, this is the hopeful exception to the rule.

Pawtuckets, "Old Fashioned Way"
It sounds like the last sunset of the year.

Gin Blossoms, "Til I Hear It From You"
And here's #3. Two songs inspired me to start Milam's Monthly Playlist:
1) REM's "Nightswimming" (August) and
2) Gin Blossoms' "Til I Hear It From You" (October)

This isn't my favorite song of all-time, although I love it. It's not the best song of all-time, though it's remarkable. It's not the prettiest song in history, though it has to be close. But this song, more than any other, puts me back in a specific time and place so easily, so powerfully, so consistently, it's almost hard to hear.

They say music, at its best, communicates something intangible, that some combination of sounds can transcend their parts and speak the language of our soul. It's a language we don't speak but instinctively understand. It can take you somewhere, and you don't know why, and you don't know how. You're in one place and your heart is immediately transported. It's why I love music, and it's why I love this song.

Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch, "I'll Fly Away"
Maybe it's memories of going home for Thanksgiving or traveling for fall break. Maybe it's the drives on football weekends through the mountains in East Tennessee. But something about subdued Americana has always felt like late fall to me. This song caps off one stage of fall and introduces the next. We're always moving.

And the iTunes Randomized Bonus Pick is...

Bruce Springsteen, "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out"
Ah, Goofy Bruce--we meet again!

What are your Songs for October? Hit up the comments and let me know!

Take advice from fools,
CM