Songs for January

I'll be honest: I've dreaded Songs for January since I started this project last winter.

I began with Songs for February, because late January's when I had the idea, and February lends itself easily to a monthly playlist: pick the single most depressing, bleak, stark, sad, or weird song by 28 different artists. That's February. It's the height of winter: a time to embrace the darkest days of the year, listen to Tom Waits, and generally get moody with the blues. Cool, right?

Wrong. Because, for me, January is that too. I have some slightly--and arguably--different associations with the month, but winter has always been one grey, bleak, hate-able monolith to me. So here's my question:

What's January to you? Do you hate it? Do you love it? Do you somehow dissociate it from the Monthlong Blanket of Ugly that is February? And, in a bigger sense, does winter have stages to you, the way spring and fall do to me? Help me understand this new, mysterious phenomenon of "enjoying wintertime." You're my only hope.

Let me know, and give me your Songs for January in the comments!

In the meantime, here's the final chapter to my yearlong project:

Songs for January!

Bob Dylan, "I Was Young When I Left Home"
I associate January with two artists more than any others: Lucero and Bob Dylan. Lucero, because I rarely listen to That Much Further West outside winter; it's deliberately a cold-weather album.

Dylan leads the charge, though, because he moved to New York in the winter. In his earliest songs, you can hear the violent wind, the cold, steel skyscrapers, the crowded heat of an overpacked Cafe Wha?, acoustic guitars somehow generating warmth. You can feel that conflict of a new kid in a huge, cold city, carving out a warm little world. Whenever I hear "Honey, Just Allow Me One More Chance," or "Girl From the North Country," or "I Was Young When I Left Home," I picture Dylan's New York of the earliest 60's. And I wish I was there.

(Also: "I Was Young When I Left Home" is, to me, Dylan's best vocal performance. I love him as a singer because of how evocative he is, but Dylan rarely sounds this heartbroken. This came before Dylan started wearing different masks--or maybe before he wanted to--but the result is a rare glimpse of the singer fully exposed. For five minutes, he sounds like he can't sing another line. Then he takes a breath, and keeps going.)

Bruce Springsteen, "Waiting On a Sunny Day"
I'll concede that January's not as totally depressing as February. Enough that I'll invite Bruce in for the cautious optimism of this, my favorite song off The Rising.

Uncle Tupelo, "No Depression"
The second of many acoustic-driven tracks on this list. Anything that owes itself to folk music will sound like January to me. Also, "No Depression" gets the nod because Uncle Tupelo takes on figurative depression rather than a literal one. They almost win.

Wilco and Billy Bragg, "Joe DiMaggio's Done It Again"
Re-vamped Woodie Guthrie. Can't you just smell the Cafe Wha? I warned you.

Joni Mitchell, "Court and Spark"
All of this album sounds like winter to me, so why not pick the title track? This introduces a subplot for January: it's a romantic purgatory. Things usually settle themselves--one way or the other--in November and December. But for those with unresolved storylines, January's often a mess of manic courtship and bad ideas. It's the month where you don't have a clue what you want.

Avett Brothers, "January Wedding"
Layup!

Gabe Dixon, "All Will Be Well"
Something about the hurried keys, the imagery, the letter-writing, and the exercise of self-persuasion sounds like January to me.

David Gray, "This Year's Love"
A good thing to hear on New Years Day. Right before you watch football for twelve hours and fall asleep in a bowl of queso.

Band of Horses, "Our Swords"
Most of BOH's catalog sounds wintry to me. Maybe it's the haunting, echoplex vocals. Maybe it's the dark, evocative, bass-led arrangement of this song. Maybe it's this guy's beard. Either way, it works.

REM, "At My Most Beautiful"
Gorgeous keys. Generous songwriting. Generally optimistic. Specifically bizarre. REM, ladies and gentlemen. REM.

The Four Tops, "Just Ask the Lonely"
Speaking of artists from the 60's who had a knack for making records in winter that still sounded warm and inviting, The Four Tops! I have a vision of those great Motown groups singing a'capella on the frozen sidewalks, puffs of icy breath jetting out between lyrics. There's something wonderfully reassuring about sad songs that sound happy, and that's a sound we need in January.

Alberta Cross, "Old Man Chicago"
Thanks to the Brother, I heard this in December and loved it immediately. If anything can make the wintertime streetwalking in Chicago bearable, it's this song. Pitch-perfect, and endlessly likable.

Amy Winehouse, "Back To Black"
Because the song opens with her meeting in a bar downstairs. Everyone knows it's too cold in January to walk more than 30 feet for a beverage. Am I reaching? Probably. But as stated, January's a romantic purgatory--Miss Winehouse is honest enough to fill the time with the occasional bad idea.

Green Day, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"
A testament to smart business: this single broke in the winter of 2005. Of course, it's a great song that would've been a hit regardless; but an unwise record exec would've released it in July, when nobody wants to walk on boulevards of broken anything. People in July don't want to paint their eyes black and consider their shattered hopes; they want to listen to Joe Satriani and play beach volleyball like extras in Top Gun.

Cory Branan, "Love Song 7"
No singer/songwriter does more with fewer words. This is an incredible lyric--sweet, accusatory, invested, detached--that ends with a question rather than an answer. The musical landscape matches the portrayed headspace of the girl, and in its weird dreaminess, confusion, and swirling electronics, somehow suits the season.

Elliot Smith, "Everything Reminds Me Of Her"
The acoustic-with-doubled-vocals production has been well-used in the last few years by such wintertime standards as Bon Iver and the Swell Season. But sometimes you gotta go to the source.

My Morning Jacket, "Dondante"
Specific memories attached to this one in January.

Radiohead, "How To Disappear Completely"
Radiohead has made dozens of creepy, dark, depressing, and downright bizarre songs. I love 98% of them. But none are as successful as "How To Disappear Completely," because none are as convincing. Sure, anyone can create a bleak, uninviting world; but can you make me still want to go there? Radiohead can.

The Hold Steady, "Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?"
Their cover of Dylan's hilariously-tragic plea for reciprocation straddles the line between cocksure and hopeless. Points here for the arrangement (rollicking keys with a full rock set remind me of certain Highway 61 treatments) and the Dylan association. In January, sometimes that's enough.

The Killers, "I Can't Stay"
Because I couldn't resist this transition...

Lucero, "That Much Further West"
First, an epiphany; then, action. In the past, January has felt so long, slow, and tedious, that I'm itching to travel by mid-month. And nobody accompanies you on the road better than Lucero.

(Side note: The instrumental section of this song was when I knew Lucero was going to make another leap. For its deft composition and gorgeous segue into "I'll Stop the World and Melt With You," it marked a new level of songwriting for Ben and the Boys.)

The Beatles, "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away"
A winning combination of folk-inspired production and romantically embittered lyrics. John does January right.

Josh Ritter, "Wait for Love"
Because now I'm just going for awesome transitions. And, by mid-January, it might be wisest to wait...

Bright Eyes, "Lua"
...Or settle for something else. This song lives in winter, and is equal parts fatigued, confused, and genuinely sad.

Tom Petty, "Alright For Now"
Props to longtime reader Ross K for this recent mention. "Alright For Now" is Tom Petty's version of a sad January tune, which is to say it's:
1) Acoustically driven.
2) Bittersweet but never pessimistic.
3) Gorgeous.
4) Accessible.
5) Winning.
6) Everything you'd want it to be, and then some.

Wilco, "Red Eyed and Blue"
Being There is the rare album that lives in two opposite seasons: half of it is quintessential winter music ("The Lonely One," "Misunderstood," "Somebody Else's Song," etc.), and half of it is undeniably sunny ("Monday," "Outta Mind, Outta Site," etc.). I can't think of any other record I own that polarizes me as a listener more, which (I think) was the intention. Either way, "Red Eyed and Blue" is beautiful, inauspicious, and lost. In the words of Ron Burgundy, "beep, bop, boop."

Emmylou Harris, "Making Believe"
Two of the most reassuring things in the world:
1) Emmylou Harris
2) Self-delusion

Ryan Adams, "Dear Chicago"
Working the Chicago motif with Alberta Cross, "Dear Chicago" closes out our lovestory on an ambivalent note. Of all Ryan Adams's sonically cold songs (including all of Love Is Hell), this is my favorite, and the most generous.

Tom Waits, "Closing Time"
You thought I'd make it through a whole January playlist without Tom Waits, didn't you? What is this, amateur hour?

Bob Dylan, "Queen Jane Approximately"
The other sound of the season: that "thin, wild, mercury" Dylan described for his middle-electric work. Key-drenched, rollicking, golden, and incapable of holding back. One of my all-time favorite Dylan lyrics.

Pearl Jam, "All Or None"
Because, by month's end, we've reached a breaking point...and still got a miles to go.

iTunes Random Pick!
"Not In Nottingham," from Disney's Robin Hood soundtrack
I kid you not. Yes, I own this song. Yes, I love this song (the whole Robin Hood soundtrack is brilliant). Yes, iTunes actually picked it. No, I don't know what to do with any of this, but concede temporary defeat and hatch a new plan.

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

Songs for Christmas

As a special bonus this month, I'm picking some personal favorites of the Christmas-song collection to share! A few notes:

1) Please jump in with yours. I selfishly want to discover all the great Christmas music known to man, and need your help. Sure, yes, feel free to debate/argue/discuss in the comments. But really, just give me your recommendations.

2) Apologies to the readers who don't celebrate Christmas--it's what I know! I'd love to hear some other holiday song recommendations?

3) A few years back, I graded all the well-known Christmas tunes in a 3-part monster blog. Check that out here: Part 1, 2, and 3.

4) Just like last time, I'm breaking this down into three categories: pop (Lennon's "So This Is Christmas"), secular ("Silver Bells," "Jingle Bells," "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town," etc.), religious ("Silent Night," "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," "Noel," etc.). I'm giving the pop songs 12 picks, secular 10, and religious 5. Why these numbers? Why not these numbers? I'm also going to try to make some different picks than I have in past Christmas-song posts, for variation's sake. Still, the greats are the greats for a reason.

Here...we....go!

Songs for Christmas!

Pop

Tom Petty, "Christmas All Over Again"
Four chords? Check. Can't miss melody? Check. Oddly evocative lyrics? Check. It's Tom Petty all over again.

The Kinks, "Father Christmas"
Reason #1,602 Why the Kinks Are One of Rock's Most Underrated Bands: give me a 60's rock band that produced a better Christmas song than this. Fun, funny, rollicking, and truly original.

Billy Mack (Love Actually soundtrack), "Christmas Is All Around"
Here's what Love Actually understands about Christmas music: it's the only time that cheap sentiments, cliched lyrics, and cloying pop aren't just expected, but welcomed. In June, I'm not touching NSync; in December, I'm unabashedly buying their cover of "Let It Snow" and hitting repeat. Billy Mack calls this song "Grade-A crap," and it would be, except that it's not. It's funny, and generous, and self-deprecating, and filled with spirit. There's nothing uncool about being happy, and having a good laugh.

BONUS Love Actually pick: Dido, "Here With Me"
This song has little (or nothing) to do with Christmas, save its inclusion in Love Actually. But I'm giving it major love here for three reasons:
1) Turns out I kind of like Dido. Her melodies are gorgeous, and she does "haunted-and-heartbroken" as well as any singer/songwriter from the past ten years.
2) I'm intrigued by how many British singer/songwriters insist on using electronic percussion on their albums.
3) It's made infinitely better by the actor's performance of "My best friend's bride just discovered I'm in love with her." As Dido's chorus swoops over the action, dude performs the unprecedented "triple-pivot, dramatic sweater-zip, sidewalk spin, head-in-hands crouch, and public-outcry-that-scares-onlookers." It comes at the 56 minute mark. It's fantastic.

Hanson, "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)"
Major props to long-time reader Elizabeth for this recommendation. If anyone can sell unrepentant holiday pop cheese, it's Hanson. Everything, from the overwrought Jackson-esque vocal stylings, to glistening production, to the background vocal monolith, is exactly what you'd want it to be. Looking for the most ridiculous, lovable, infectious, pop-rocking 4-minutes in existence? Shtop it--Hanson's got you.

My Morning Jacket, "XMas Curtain"
Some genius, once upon a time, wrote that music is the "unspoken, inscrutable language of the soul." The right combination of sounds can communicate something otherworldly, can transform into something new, and can transport you to any given time, or place. These songs tap into some secret only the gods know. And what I'm trying to say is this: Jim James might not be from this planet. When he sings about dawn, it sounds exactly like a sunrise. When he sings about evil urges, the accompanying music is recognizably evil and alluring. And when he sings about Christmas, it just sounds like Christmas. Sure, an extremely weird Christmas. But Christmas nonetheless.

Leon Redbone (Elf soundtrack), "Christmas Island"
I can't hear it without laughing. Which, I think, is its goal.

Lynyrd Skynyrd, "Santa Claus Wants Some Loving"
Have you ever thought to yourself, "I'm looking for a creepy riff-rock Christmas song. But it can't just be a little creepy. It's got to be much creepier than 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,' which is disturbing to begin with. It's got to be so creepy that even the uber-famous band singing it doesn't get love from their crowd when they perform it live. It's got to be creepy and off-putting enough that the band members' wives ask them not to play it anymore, and cancel that holiday vacation to St. Barts." If the answer to that question is yes, look no further.

Emmylou Harris, "Light of the Stable"
I've mentioned this one in the past, but it's an all-time favorite. Christmas music, above all else, must make you feel something; it has to resonate. Considering my idea of heaven is Emmylou Harris singing "Halleluja" while I judge a barbeque contest, this song resonates. I can't think of any Christmas vocal that tops it.

Low, "Just Like Christmas"
The song takes place in Oslo, and is exactly what I picture Oslo sounding like. I'd love to find out sometime. A different mood from Hanson, to be sure (this is Christmas in a dreamy, supercold haze, as opposed to Christmas in a McDonald's playland), but pretty and resonant all the same.

Vince Guaraldi Trio, "Christmastime Is Here"
I'll admit it: I have no idea who Vince Guaraldi is. I'm completely--willfully--unaware of his catalog outside the Peanuts Christmas soundtrack. He's probably a fantastic jazz pianist and composer, and wholly deserving of an audience the other 11 months of the year. I can't possibly bring myself to care, because the one thing that I do know about Vince Guaraldi is so unspeakably perfect, I can't go above or beyond it.

I once knew a girl who loved Peanuts, but didn't think that it was sad, or that Charlie Brown was a tragic figure. Which is insane to me, because that's exactly what I loved about Peanuts growing up--it was palpably sad, but always hopeful. How do I know I was right? Vince Guaraldi, that's how. It is sad in the best possible sense--it meets you when you're down, but it tells you you're not alone. And, occasionally, it picks you back up.

John Lennon, "So This Is Christmas"
As I get older, it gets harder to gloss over the goofy "war is over" childrens' chorale that eventually swallows the song. But the fact remains: "So this is Christmas/and what have you done..." remains the best opening to a Christmas pop song I've ever heard. The whole thing--from the delivery, to the perfect pop structure, to the production--is so effortless for Lennon, it's easy to take for granted its simple perfection.

Frank Sinatra, "I'll Be Home For Christmas"
Because this has always been a great song, but I'm just now starting to hear it.

Secular

Sting, "I Saw Three Ships"
Four years in, and Sting gets his first mention on the Blog! Congrats, Sting!

Vienna Boys Choir, "The Holly and the Ivy"
Part 1 in a 2-part tribute to my brother's Christmastime favorites. For some unknown reason, this ranks near the top of his list. I can't hear it without thinking of him and his weird affection for songs about shrubbery.

John Williams (Home Alone sountrack), "Carol of the Bells"
Part 2 in the 2-part tribute: This John Williams version does what a John Williams anything should do: knock you out, steal your wallet, puncture a lung, crack a rib, and make you want more. But my brother's got a vendetta against any "Carol of the Bells" version with actual lyrics. Again, I would've never noticed this, but he's got a point: it's a great tune. It doesn't need a choir of 60 children screaming, "bells, bellsy bells!" or whatever the words are. Either way, I'm including this version, so you can sing along to the Apocalyptic nonsense lyrics and wonder if your life is better without them.

The Temptations, "Little Drummer Boy"
One of my favorites from the "secular" group, because of that great, rising melody, and the endearing lyric. I haven't heard a version of this song that brings out those two points better than the Temptations'. Effortlessly cool, yet subtle and affected.

Jackson 5, "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town"
Little Michael wasn't ready to croon yet ("Give Love on Christmas Day"), but he could rock some soul-screaming vocals like no other. This version is so winning, and fun, that it makes every other sound drab and joyless in comparison. One of the rare Christmas staples that renders all other versions an afterthought.

Diana Ross & the Supremes, "Silver Bells"
A longtime favorite of mine, I used to prefer the Rat Pack versions of this song with their cool narrative emphasis and bouncy style. Now, I go for the smooth, deeply melodic version by Diana Ross & the Supremes. It's prettier, and dreamier, and somehow happier.

Nat King Cole, "The Christmas Song"
Every Christmas list I ever make will include Nat King Cole's version of "The Christmas Song." Let's be very clear about that right now.

Otis Redding, "White Christmas"
Three reasons this is probably my all-time favorite from this group:
1) As stated in Songs for December, Otis Redding owns this month. If December is a Season of Snuggliness (as November's Fan of the Month would say), nobody communicates that feeling better than Otis.
2) The dominant horn line is almost identical to my favorite My Morning Jacket moment of all-time: the outtro for "I Will Sing You Songs." Seriously, listen to this song. Then listen to the 5:28 mark of this song. Then tell me Otis Redding and Jim James aren't actually messengers from God.
3) It arrives at the perfect moment in Love Actually, which we've now established owns my soul.

Religious

Smokey Robinson, "Away In a Manger/Coventry Carol"
Noticing a Motown trend, are we?

Boyz II Men, "Silent Night"
You're damn right. It is exactly what you want from a Boyz II Men a'capella version of "Silent Night." Insanely overwrought, melodramatic, and weirdly deviant from the original, and always gorgeous.

Frank Sinatra, "The First Noel"
This one's grown on me over the years. I used to gloss over it because of familiarity and a weird personal connection to a Home Improvement episode. Now, it's one of my all-time favorite Christmas melodies. If done right, it's incredibly powerful; of course, Sinatra does it right.

Relient K, "Angels We Have Heard On High"
Proof that the SoCal mall-punk bands weren't stupid, just dumb. This is a brilliant cover of an old-classic, equal parts hilarious, fun, clever, and genuinely impressive.

Nat King Cole, "O Holy Night"
My all-time favorite, anytime, anywhere. True story: when I got a new computer last February, I didn't transfer any music onto it for a few weeks. There were four songs I bought--in February, mind you--on iTunes because I knew I had to have them in my library immediately. They were, in order of purchase:
1) Pearl Jam, "Nothingman"
2) The Band, "The Weight"
3) Bob Dylan, "Desolation Row"
4) Nat King Cole, "O Holy Night"

Now, a few bonus picks!

BONUS WINTERTIME SONG: Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson, "Winter Song"
Slightly goofy in the charming, childlike manner of so many Michaelson songs, impeccable vocals, gorgeous harmonies, and pitch-perfect songwriting. One of my favorite experiences as a listener is when I like something that I typically wouldn't like. I was surprised by--and grateful for--how much I appreciate this song.

BONUS NEW YEARS SONG: Guy Lombardo, "Auld Lang Syne"
You knew it was coming, and this is easily my favorite version.

BONUS CHRISTMAS VIDEO:
"O Holy Night," as performed by a New Orleans jazz ensemble on an episode of Studio 60.
By my rubric ("Christmas music, above all else, must make you feel something; it has to resonate."), this is the best Christmas song I've heard this season. I can't hear it without getting goosebumps.

Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!


What are your Songs for Christmas?

Songs for December

It's here.

December: the twilight of the year, autumn's dead end, winter's gorgeous prologue, and a season unto itself. It's chilly but warm, wintry yet inviting. In December, the weird rainy autumn of November dissolves, but all of its heady magic amplifies; it should be a time to wind down, but winds itself up instead.

Because December's the last month, it's also the climactic month. You unconsciously tally the year's successes and failures, crunch those heartening numbers, and start a final, mad, lovelorn bumrush at making four weeks count. It's as though your loves, or losses, or your life might expire with each year's final breath. It's closing time. The clock's ticking.

Rather than the bleak, cold, emotionally desolate realities of winter, December's brings polar opposite. You don't just want to make things count; you want to make them right. You want to finish strong. Your heart swells like the Grinch. You have a newfound appreciation for Lifehouse. You can't stop watching Love Actually. It's cliched to the point of Hallmark cards, but it's true: the holiday season is a season of giving. People embrace each other--literally (as November's FOM dubbed it the "Snuggle Belt"), and figuratively (glad tidings, good will toward men, etc.)--without fear of reproach or rejection.

So here, now, are 31 songs for closing time. Songs that sound like the last winded sprint toward the finish line. Songs that sound like a hopeful end and a brave new beginning. Songs that sound like a trumpet's clarion call or a sax's rainy lament. These are songs that go all-in, for better, for worse, and for the best.

They are 31 Songs for December!

(Plus the Random iTunes Pick)

Be sure to tell me your Songs for December in the comments section...

Green Day, "See the Light"
The sequel to "21st Century Breakdown," it's the album's final chapter, and marks the beginning of the end. It rhymes nicely with my Songs for October, which begins with "21st Century Breakdown," its companion piece. Here, the song is properly sped up, the lyrics more hopeful but more urgent. It fades out into a great unknown, ready for anything.

The Killers, "Losing Touch"
Multiple December themes at work here:
1) Going home, and ensuing headiness.
2) Reaching a tipping point in relationship.
3) Needing resolution, one way or another.
Bonus points for two musical traits I associate with the month: horns, metallic percussion (triangle/bell sounds), and keys.

The Thrills, "One Horse Town"
Though the album (So Much For the City) resides in spring/summer, I discovered it in December 2006. So, I always associate the rhythmic hustle and bustle and melodic warmth of "One Horse Town" with a Christmastime homecoming. Lyrically, it also describes those homecomings aptly.

Bob Dylan, "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry"
So much middle-60's Dylan has a wintry quality to it--something about the key-driven, starkly percussive production, matched with his cold-weather imagery, set that scene either explicitly or implicitly. "It Takes a Lot to Laugh..." has always been my favorite of those piano-led blues shuffles, and it takes place as "wintertime is coming." Its mood is lyrically wistful, but musically upbeat; it's the perfect combo for the month.

Otis Redding, "That's How Strong My Love Is"
Some artists, or even albums, are just made for a certain season. Phantom Planet is a summertime band. The Beach Boys are a summertime band. The Counting Crows Hard Candy should've been titled This Is What October Sounds Like, And Deal With It. And there is no artist I listen to more in December--every December--than Otis Redding. Part of it's the sound (e.g. aforementioned horns). Part of it's the mood. Part of it's his approach to the songs themselves: even the sad love songs are still generous of spirit. They're down, but they're not out. And the cheerful love songs enact the joy of having loved ones to share the holidays with.

Whiskeytown, "The Ballad of Carol Lynn"
This song sounds like one long, sustained, doubtful sigh. It tries to put something unresolved into perspective; you can practically hear the two people exhaling after a big fight. If this isn't Whiskeytown's best, it's certainly one of their prettiest.

Beatles, "Norwegian Wood"
And the trials and turmoils of our autumn relationships continue. Maybe it's the girl depicted, maybe it's the story in full, or maybe it's the strange and stark production, but this song just sounds cold, and not in a good way. Not everything can be "snuggly" in December.

Bumpercrop, "Sinking Stone"
Bumpercrop wins the award for "biggest gap between a band's notoriety and the number of times they're mentioned in my Monthly Playlist." Still, I had to include "Sinking Stone." It was my introduction to Bumpercrop in November of 2002, and I listened to it on multiple trips home from school that December. For a mid-tempo song with little changes or dynamism, it's never dull, and always gorgeous.

Avett Brothers, "Laundry Room"
Ah, there are those keys again. And there's that homecoming imagery again. And there's that lyric: "tonight I'll burn the lyrics/cause every chorus was your name." Uh...busted.

Stereophonics, "Lying to Myself Again"
To really do December right, you've gotta take one long, hard, merciless look in the mirror. Then, start moving.

Wallflowers, "Invisible City"
For reasons I can't define and certainly can't explain (there is no tangible link here, just trust me), this song reminds me of "Silver Bells." If "Silver Bells" had a non-holiday-related, morose, evil step-cousin. Let's move on.

REM, "Electrolite"
I could write all day (and nearly have in the past) about how REM manages to speak some unreal, intangible language of the soul...but I won't now. Suffice it to say that "Electrolite" is everything a great December song should be: intimate, superficially mellow yet full of weird chemical intensity, piano-laden, generous, unabashed, honest, and cheerfully vulnerable.

Augustana, "Twenty Years"
You heard me. They wrote something after "Boston," and guess what: it's really probably maybe not bad at all. Not even a little. It's full of piano-powerchord-operatics and anthemic orchestral swells and totally-menial-yet-strangely-affecting lyrics. Don't ask me why a line like "fall asleep with the TV, darling" would matter this much. It just does; in December, everything matters this much.

Coldplay, "Fix You"
And just when you thought it couldn't get any more piano-laden or anthemic, welcome to Coldplay's four-part harmony and gorgeous otherworld, where lovers can just love each other, man, perpetually walk the streets just seriously, soul-crushingly, loving each other, pining for better days with the innocent and earnest hearts of newborn babes, all while the soft and symbolic rainfall of a Hemingway novel punctuates the scene. This isn't Coldplay on a good day--this is Coldplay on their best day. It's gorgeous, and disarming, and undeniably powerful.

Craig Armstrong, "Glasgow Love Theme"
Like November before, the middle of December gets an instrumental that wordlessly says it all. This piece from the Love Actually soundtrack calms the story, lends "peace on earth" to this piece of musical earth. It sets the stage for a turning point, a homecoming, the last gasp, and--maybe--a happy ending.

Band of Horses, "Is There a Ghost"
Maybe it's the cold, haunting production. Maybe it's the orchestral power of the song's latter half. Maybe it's the fact that I listened to this album a lot last December. Maybe it's just pretty. Anyway, it sets me moving.

Beach Boys, "God Only Knows"
And the Love Actually soundtrack has its second credit! An amazingly generous song that both gives everything to its subject and gives no credit to its narrator. It's intensely vulnerable, honest, and winning; the sound of a man who barely trusts himself, but trusts love so much that he's fearless.

Delta Spirit, "Strange Vine"
Re: keys.

(Side Note: I know I'm incredibly late to this part, but I got Ode to Sunshine a month ago and have really enjoyed it. This will probably sound insane, but it sounds like Phantom Planet and the Avett Brothers' lovechild to me. In all the right ways.)

Raconteurs, "Intimate Secretary"
Personal memories attached to this one, involving me, my car, Belle Meade Christmas decorations, and Kroger. Sort that out.

Lucero, "Goodbye Again"
Chalk this up as reason #2,081 why 1372 Overton Park is Lucero's best album yet: they channel Otis Redding. "Goodbye Again" is a nod to a different strain of pop songwriting; from the square, slow backbeat to the horn arrangement, to the way the chord progression provides space for the musicians to fill or leave empty. Ben's lyric and vocal might be Lucero, but everything else pays a beautiful homage to a Memphis original.

Wilco, "Was I In Your Dreams"
In terms of arrangement, this is the Wilco version of Lucero's departure: a slow, boozy, cocksure, barroom shuffle. From the jazzy piano and organ trills to the light horn accents, everything about this song musically sets the scene of a man walking home from a Christmas party at 2AM. He's telling himself what he needs to tell himself, and he feels good even though he shouldn't. He's alone, but he's cool with it.

Dr. Dog, "100 Years"
As we march toward one year's end, we look forward to looking back.

Pawtuckets, "Broken Heart"
Usually, December's a time for cheer, festiveness, time with loved ones, and happy endings. Sometimes, all that seasonal love can turn sour. If it does (and I hope it doesn't), this is what it sounds like, and this is what you should listen to. "Broken Heart" won't cheer you up, but it'll give you company when you're down.

Cory Branan, "Darken My Door"
One of my all-time favorites from Branan's unreleased catalog, "Darken My Door" is an incredibly intimate song about physical distance. Even when our narrator's alone, the girl stays with him, and in the song. It's a gorgeous, simple melody, an impeccable lyric, and its vulnerability makes it at home in December.

Lyle Lovett, "Christmas Morning"
Layup!

The Temptations, "I Wish It Would Rain"
In classic Motown fashion, "I Wish It Would Rain" makes a lament sound like a celebration. To me, that's true for this month: even the bad times aren't that bad. There's too much to celebrate, too much to enjoy, too much good out there. Even if you have a bad day, you can glide above it.

(Side Note: Yes, I realize this song lyrically does the opposite: tries to make a positive into a negative. But musically, it does the opposite. Hence, multi-dimensionality. The lesson, as always: Motown was good.)

Pearl Jam, "Low Light"
True story: when Yield came out, I was still playing catch-up as a Pearl Jam fan. That Christmas (98?), my brother and his friend were making some mixes to enjoy while driving around back home. They had written the tracklists, but those sheets had many changes and edits. For the purposes of cleaning up/consolidation, they wanted to type the track lists. I volunteered, because I was a humanitarian in 1998. Anyway, "Low Light" was on the tracklist. Because of sloppy hand-writing--and my Pearl Jam ignorance at the time--I typed, "Pearl Jam - Cow Light." And then was ridiculed mercilessly. For volunteering to type their tracklists.

So, this song (a Top 10 Pearl Jam Favorite of mine) always reminds me of 1) December and 2) cows. The mind is a wonderful thing.

Counting Crows, "Long December"
Layup! This song lives in December, but it also aligns with December in terms of personal connections. During the same time (98-99ish) as the "Cow Light" debacle, my brother's friends would come home from college and often hang out at our house. They'd stay up almost all night catching up, trading stories from school, and generally being relentlessly cool. Meanwhile, I had reached an age/level of acceptability that I was allowed to hang out. There was always music in the background--usually mixes or favorites people brought over--and one night Recovering the Satellites must've played 6 times consecutively.

And I'm fourteen, and I'm getting this intense, fly-on-the-wall education about my brother, and his friends, and College Things, and all coolness therein, and what it looks like when older kids like each other, and what it looks like when college girls flirt, and there's this never-ending avalanche of great pop music I've never heard before, and Recovering the Satellites cycles until the last car leaves at 5am and I'm still listening an hour later, by myself in the den, too wired to sleep...and then there's "Long December" again while this new sun comes up...and what I'm trying to say is this: that was a great night.

Sam & Dave, "Bring It On Home To Me"
This song is so pitch-perfect--so effortlessly winning and cheerful and warm--and its arrangement so in-line with the aforementioned December mood (keys, horns, etc.), it's destined to close a holiday-season rom-com with Sarah Jessica Parker, backing a final "party" montage of white people hugging each other and dancing uninhibitedly while wool and knowing glances abound. And when that happens, you think I'll be sad. But I won't. I will see that movie, twice, and I will love that montage, and I will nod my head and chuckle to myself like a crazy person. Because it's December, man.

Rolling Stones, "Shine a Light"
I think I've picked a song from Exile for most months of the year, so why not include its closer for December? Not much more to add, other than to point out the "light" motif running through this playlist. From Green Day to the Stones, I'm intertwining some serious imagery. Didn't think I was working on that level, did you?

My Morning Jacket, "It Makes No Difference"
The Band's original would give us an unhappy ending, but I prefer (and picked) MMJ's cover for this reason: it breaks free. While the lyrics are trapped in a state of unresolved heartache and turmoil, the music tells a different story. It pushes itself forward, explodes, and plows ahead with certainty, then some degree of contentment, then something like jubilation. While the Band's harmonies were mournful, MMJ's sound sunny and triumphant. In the song's climactic moment (the bridge's transition into the final chorus), the band drops out, only to be signaled by James's defiant final vocal for a last charge. The trading guitar and sax solos create a perfect dialogue, equal parts anguished and cheerful. It's a bittersweet and ambivalent song, to be sure, but it's also winning. It puts up a fight, and it's ready for more. It's proof that the right sad song can make you feel infinitely better than a happy one.

And the iTunes Random Pick for December is...
The Band, "Katie's Been Gone"

Oh, sweet irony.

What are your Songs for December? Hit up the comments and let me know.

Oh, and keep a lookout. I'm to do a special list later in the month: Songs for Christmas!

Until then,
CM

Songs for November

(***BONUS NOTE! Now just click here to hear the whole playlist. Thanks, Michael!)

About the same number of Americans are born every month. It's true, I read it somewhere. The exceptions to the rule are August and September, which have slightly higher birth-rates than the other months. There's not a spike in the chart, but there is a bump.

Why are (a few) more Americans born in August in September than the other months? Why do we have more Leo's than any other sign? And why, dear God, am I telling you any of this?

Because if you're born in August-September, you were probably conceived in November-December (assuming you're human). More specifically, if you were conceived November 15, your due date was approximately August 15. What I'm about to say might make some of you uncomfortable, but you'll have to deal with it: November-December, evidently, is baby-making season. And if you were born in August-September, your parents fell victim to its snuggly charms. In a big, big way. Think about that.

There is something in the air in November. It's not fall's best month (September), and it's not fall's prettiest month (October), and it's not The Most Wonderful Time of the Year (December). The weather's worse than you remember (way more rain), and the leaves don't fall at the rate you expect (usually all-to-nothing, which can be jarring). It features a major holiday, but that holiday has no gifts and showcases food-you-don't-eat-any-other-time. November's lacking some typical fallish delights, but it's got something else:

Mojo. I noticed it first in college, long after my brother had warned me: November (and into December) is the time when stuff goes down. Relationships start, relationships get serious, relationships get turbulent, relationships end. These things can start, or finish, or become anything in between--one way or another, It Happens in November. And if It doesn't, the scene is set for a truly frightening and heady December. Don't believe me?

Think about all your past relationships. Think about their chronology. Now, think about how often you consider your exes. How often you wonder what they're doing. How often you think about calling them just to see. I will bet you $9 and a cardigan that number rises in November. I know mine does.

What is it? Is it the first rush of cold weather? The fear of winter and the anxiety of spending five months indoors by yourself? The fact that people look good in sweaters? The holiday season, and heart-warming activities therein? Does the cider go to our heads? All of the above?

Some months are great on paper, but November's great because of its intangibles. It's a strange and magical time of year, and it works in mysterious ways. It's a time when people get together, or think about getting together, or drive circles at midnight obsessing about getting together. It's a time when all experience seems amplified, all feelings heightened. The emotional stakes are raised. It's the beginning of the end of the year, and it's fall's tipping point.

Now, thirty songs that typify its mysterious mojo...

30 Songs for November!

(Oh, and as always, there's the iTunes' Randomly Selected Pick.)

Counting Crows, "Hard Candy"
A lyrical layup ("On certain Sundays in November..."), but concrete proof that the Counting Crows can enact the sound of a season as well as anyone. This song is quintessential fall.

Ryan Adams, "Gimme a Sign"
As much fun as fall is, there's an end-game to the festivities. This song marks the turning point from October (inconsequential fun) to November (needing more).

Magpies, "Cobblestone Road"
An Americana outfit I discovered a while back, the Magpies have a catalog full of rootsy, Band-inspired, harmony-laden, rollicking songs. "Cobblestone Road" is my favorite--all some songs need is a wide open space, and breathing room.

Monsters of Folk, "Say Please"
Desire. Supplication. Acoustic guitars.

Josh Ritter, "Good Man"
One ongoing theme of this list--and every November relationship--is the conflict between what you should do and what you are doing. Josh Ritter sets the right example.

Teenage Fanclub, "Falling Leaves"
Layup!

My Morning Jacket, "Just Because I Do"
The flip side of "Good Man's" coin. It's not My Morning Jacket's best song, but it might be their most fun, and one of those wonderful times Jim James says exactly what he's thinking. This song makes sense, even when it doesn't make sense.

Wallflowers, "Sleepwalker"
"Educated virgin" is one of my favorite lyrical moments from the 90's. The song's minor-major battle plays out the way November usually does: a constant push and pull with a bittersweet ending.

REM, "Half a World Away"
Who hasn't been here? REM take the singularly painful experience of feeling detached, alone, and heartbroken, and make that feeling universal. By singing about loneliness, Michael Stipe shows us that nobody's truly alone.

Pearl Jam, "Just Breathe"
Eddie Vedder, via Faith Hill.

Big Star, "I'm In Love With a Girl"
That thrilling, silent, terrifying realization that she's gotten to you. Again. And you never stood a chance.

Black Keys, "All You Ever Wanted"
The next realization, and a haunting reminder to to "be careful what you wish for."

White Stripes, "You've Got Her In Your Pocket"
By November, we've replaced the harmless dalliances with something more consequential, and more troubling. Even when a relationship involves less, it means more. Suddenly, everything matters.

Uncle Tupelo, "Atomic Power"
In 2004, I made a fall mix to commemorate that semester at school. The mix was split into two halves, with "You've Got Her In Your Pocket" ending the first half, and "Atomic Power" starting the second. Something about that pairing always stuck with me, the way Uncle Tupelo's instrumental wordlessly communicates everything the rest of the mix wants to say. It's a departure, a turning point, the moment when everything that came before suddenly isn't enough. There's something in that repeated acoustic phrase, something about the bent notes and the steady pace beneath it. It's the sound of needing more, and searching for it.

Loretta Lynn and Jack White, "Portland, Oregon"
And sometimes that search includes Oregon, sloe gin fizz, Loretta Lynn, and a corner booth.

Kings of Leon, "Fans"
This song is a wide open, acoustic-driven, backbeat-fueled, soaring, sustained, Petty-infused pop rock tune that should be titled "The Highway, And Why You Love It," or "Cruise Control" or "Roll Down Your Window and Roll Up the Rock" or something equally ridiculous and appropriate. I don't have a clue what this song has to do with "Fans"; that's for a better linguist to decipher. I put the song here because of what it is, not what it says it is.

Simon & Garfunkel, "Leave That Are Green"
Layup! Also, something in that baroque arrangement sounds wintry to me--it makes a smooth transition as we head toward December.

Ryan Adams, "Tears of Gold"
What is November without images of home?

Band of Horses, "Marry Song"
Ditto.

Coldplay, "Trouble"
1) Personal ties to this one.
2) Yeah, you heard me.
3) I think this is a legitimately good song.
4) That gorgeous piano melody, the somber musical imagery, the stark lyricism...this is what Adam Duritz' bothersome November weather (in "Hard Candy") actually sounds like.

Avett Brothers, "Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise"
By late November, we're building momentum, and well-past the point of self-delusion. Also, bonus points for any songs with keys--they connote the holiday season to me.

Jimmy Eat World, "Crimson and Clover"
Jam right. I'm bringing out the JEW, and they're singing a round, and everyone on the home stretch will have to deal with it.

Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Someday Never Comes"
One of my favorite John Fogerty melodies, and lyrically appropriate.

Bob Dylan, "4th Time Around"
Many Dylan songs explore semi-relationships: the thing that happens when two people are holding back and can't make it work. Many Dylan songs have an entirely "wintry" arrangement, from the bright acoustics, to the light keys, to the spare, haunting rhythm section. "4th Time Around" brings both to the table, and tells the story perfectly as we inch toward December.

Scott Miller, "Loving That Girl"
Dylan's "4th Time Around" scene revisited, now a day, or a week, or years later. Sometimes, November's too much.

Ben Nichols, "Toadvine"
You knew Ben Nichols was coming. But wait...

Lucero, "Nights Like These"
...There's more. Remember at the beginning, when I described "driving circles at midnight obsessing about getting together"? That's Lucero's genre: "Music to play in your car at midnight while you obsess about a relationship, with nobody to talk to, and nowhere to go." This is a gorgeous song, and my all-time favorite by Lucero, and it enacts a breaking point.

(Side note: "She had a weakness for writers and I--I was never that good at the words, anyways" is the moment I fell in love with Lucero. This was the first Lucero song I heard. When that line came--at the song's climax, breaking into the instrumental section--I had a new favorite band. Seven years later, it still hits home.)

Wilco, "Someday Soon"
Alt-country arrangements sound like a homecoming to me, which is exactly what late November brings. "Someday Soon" is Tweedy's version of Tom Petty's final sentiment; it's optimistic, but less certain.

Tom Petty, "It'll All Work Out"
Petty tells a story with simultaneous intimacy and distance: you can never fully tell if he's singing about a faraway past or an immediate one. There's wisdom in the detachment, but there's pain in the closeness. When he sings the chorus, he's halfway convincing. And that's really all anyone needs by November's end: an easy, hopeful, pretty refrain they can sing and even believe. After all, the story's not over.

iTunes' Bonus Random Pick!
"Making Believe" - Emmylou Harris.

Alright, iTunes, way to pull out the Emmylou trump card. Now you're not even playing fair...

What about you? Are you an August baby? Is November the start of Something for you? Did you call an ex last night? And, most of all... What are your songs for November? Hit up the comments and let me know!

That's the way it goes,
CM

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

Songs for September

September.

It's the month I've been waiting for. It's the month I really want when I need warm weather in March. It's summer's kept promise, it's the payoff for August, it's the end of the dog days and the beginning of fall. It's the month so good, I ranked it #1. Here's what I said at the time:

"If March is the worst of both worlds, September's the best: it begins with the lingering heat of summer, it ends with the slowly-falling temperatures of fall. It has all the remaining energy of summer but the renewed exuberance of a new school year, a new football season, a new everything. September's the time when things start to happen, the payoff from the overlong waiting game of summer, the beginning of the end of the year. I swear (in Nashville anyway), you can feel the energy pick up September 1st. And while it's got all the perks of fall (weather, football, girls looking their best, amped-up music releases, etc.), it's got the bonus of being first. As it's happening, you can still look forward to the next months and all implied greatness therein. There is no downside to September.

Unless you're a UT fan. In which case your season's probably over by Week 3."

I wrote that in April, when fall seemed as far away as the Olympics. Now I'm writing from Hillsboro Village, on August 26, and the sun's going down, and it's the end of a cloudless day, but it feels like dawn.

Now, thirty songs about possibility, promise, expectant energy, fire, vitriol, fervor, and the last great payoff. Thirty songs about new storylines, new loves, heightened senses, a fresh, better, more memorable season. Thirty songs about the months you'll want to revisit next winter, and five winters from now, the songs you've been waiting for.

Thirty Songs for September!

(Plus the one iTunes Random Pick.)

Sacred Harp Singers, "Idumea"
Like this song, there's something intangible about the eve of fall--it swells up, and bowls you over.

Paul Simon, "Boy in the Bubble"
It sets the stage as well as any.

Josh Ritter, "To the Dogs or Whoever"
And we're off. September is so all-encompassing and jam-packed it's in constant danger of derailing. Then a familiar refrain takes shape, renews its structure, and it races on.


The Hold Steady, "Stuck Between Stations"
I'm a pop music fan. I need a melody. I need a singer. But sometimes, the Hold Steady are so good, so undeniably powerful, I don't need the melody. The band says it all.

Cory Branan, "Miss Ferguson"
From the band who says it all to the man who does. Arguably Branan's most famous song, "Miss Ferguson" is Episode 1 of a new old story. It's the opening chapter of a season-long relationship. Like the two people involved, the song is incapable of holding back.

Counting Crows, "Angels of the Silences"
Remember when the Counting Crows could do this?

Gin Blossoms, "Lost Horizons"
The first of many Gin Blossoms appearances this fall. Maybe I'm crazy, or maybe this is entirely related to my own history with the Gin Blossoms, but no other band from the 90's feels more entrenched in the fall. Their entire catalog feels like the offspring of Zeus and a gold leaf.

Scott Miller, "Goddamn the Sun"
A jaw-droppingly tight vignette from another fall favorite. The song borrows equally from REM and John Donne, is beautiful, and forceful, and inspired. "My window creeps across my wall" alone merits inclusion.

North MS All-Stars, "Drinking Muddy Water"
The third song you want to hear on Gameday.

Wilco, "Kingpin"
Usually, if Jeff Tweedy allows himself a moment of pride or confidence, it's undermined by irony, sadness, or general pessimism. "Kingpin" is a noteworthy exception, and better for it.

Band of Horses, "The General Specific"
Find a quiet road, find a cool breeze, roll down the windows, hit play.

Ryan Adams, "Firecracker"
Something about the harmonica has always felt autumnal to me, so "Firecracker" gets bonus points. But really, it's the song's tone that does it: even when it's desirous, it's at ease. It's comfortable. It's happy. It can take or leave her. It convincingly saves the angst for later.

Teenage Fanclub, "Ain't That Enough"
My introduction to Teenage Fanclub was hearing this song in my brother's car one September. I never stood a chance.

Old 97's, "Question"
Very specific, very goofy memory attached to this one. Still, it sounds like fall.

Ole Miss Marching Band, "Dixie"
The first song you want to hear on Gameday.

Billy Bragg & Wilco, "Airline to Heaven"
Arguably the best cut from the Mermaid Avenue sessions, this song takes a Guthrie song to an even higher place. It's soaring and infectious and sounds like gold.

Tom Petty, "Free Fallin"
Speaking of soaring and infectious and sounds like gold... Some things are cliche for a good reason.

REM, "Radio Song"
If for no other reason than the sheer exuberance during the opening line. For someone so obsessed with the "end of the world," why does Michael Stipe make it sound so good? The song, like the season, is undeterred.

The Wallflowers, "The Difference"
A band entrenched in late fall, "The Difference" is their deceptively sunny exception. It invites complication and races right past it.

Magpies, "Picture Me In a Love Song"
Yes, it's a beautiful song, and yes, its jangly guitars and doo-wop rhythms fit the month. But it's the brilliant piano-work during the outtro that strikes the right, ambivalent chord. A bittersweet song that's much more sweet than bitter.

Lemonheads, "Into Your Arms"
A different version of the story told in "Kingpin," but here the sweet-sounding blues is replaced by suspended chords and sunny melodies.

Nirvana, "Son of a Gun"
Heady memories attached to this one. Moving on!

Pearl Jam, "I Am Mine"
I first heard this song in late September, 2001. Pearl Jam had played a benefit shortly after 9/11, and debuted this new song written in its wake. The bootleg quickly made the internet rounds. Even though the song didn't appear on record until the next spring, I'll always associate it with September.

Green Day, "Wake Me Up When September Ends"
Layup!

Kings of Leon, "Slow Night, So Long"
Once the days start getting shorter, and the air gets cooler, this is the sound of the beginning of your night.


Lucero, "What Else Would You Have Me Be"
A song with so much anthemic energy, every second has a thousand possibilities. The song not only enacts that feeling, but celebrates it.

Rolling Stones, "Loving Cup"
Only "Like a Rolling Stone" features better key-work to start a song. Something about the melody--and the performance of the harmonies--feels like fall. It doesn't sound like home; it sounds like coming home.

Pawtuckets, "She's Gone"
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Pawtuckets' Dogsbody Factotum is the best alt-country record you've never heard. My life was forever improved by my introduction to it one August. "She's Gone" was on constant rotation by September. It is, exactly, the sound of lost love at the beginning of the year's end.

Big Star, "September Gurls"
Layup!

My Morning Jacket, "Anytime"
September doesn't ease into any conclusion. It doesn't stop to consider itself in a moment of sober melancholy. It doesn't take a breath. It turns up the volume and dares October to follow.

And the iTunes Random Pick:
White Stripes, "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself." Hmmm. Aesthetically off, thematically perfect. Touche, Machine. Touche.

What about you? What are your Songs for September? Hit up the comments!

Words only got in the way,
CM