Song of the Week: My Morning Jacket, "Circuital"

There are probably 40-50 artists whose next album release I anticipate.  There are probably 20-25 artists whose new album I will almost definitely buy at the time of its release.  There are probably 8-12 artists whose new album I will buy sight unseen/sound unheard the very second it's available.  That list, off the top of my head:

Bob Dylan
Radiohead
Pearl Jam
Lucero
Cory Branan
Outkast (if it ever happens)
White Stripes (probably won't ever happen)
Green Day
Tom Petty
New Pornographers
My Morning Jacket

Of those, there are artists I probably love more than My Morning Jacket.  But I might anticipate a new MMJ album more than any other.  This is mostly because, after twelve years and six full albums, I still don't know their ceiling.  It Still Moves established them as a heavyweight, but Z and Evil Urges proved they still had room to grow, both artistically and commercially.  As great as they are, I keep thinking their next album will be their best.  And as popular as they are, I keep thinking their next single will be their mainstream crossover. 

This week, Circuital came out, and I've probably listened to it twenty times since Tuesday. 

A few stray thoughts about the full album before I dive into the Song of the Week:

1) I'm dying to know what other people (casual fans, diehards, and nonfans alike) think of Circuital.  I immediately liked it--a lot--but haven't yet fallen in love with it.  Anyone in love with it?

2) When Z and Evil Urges each came out, a lot of reviews called My Morning Jacket "America's Radiohead."  I've never understood that comparison, mostly because "America's Radiohead," if anyone, is clearly Wilco.  To wit:
--Both are bands from the 90's
--Both have evolved greatly through the years
--Both have massive, rabid, tech-savvy fanbases
--Both have experimented with different marketing techniques for their releases
--Both are obsessed with technology's impact on modern art
--Both are hugely popular yet still viewed as critically unassailable

The analogy works, right down to the fact that the British version of a given idiom (here, experimental-yet-still-popular-enough-to-fill-an-arena-rock) is often more commercially successful than the American version.  For some reason, Brits know how to sell albums back to us better than we do.  Mumford vs. Avetts.  Etc, etc. 

Really, My Morning Jacket isn't "America's anyone."  Sure, I hear Radiohead's influence.  I also hear Neil Young, and 60's girl groups, and the Muppets, etc.  But on Circuital?  I hear the Who.  I hear a lot of the Who.  Which brings me to...

3) What I hear the most listening to Circuital is another deeply layered, heavily melodic, organically-produced, ultimately underrated record by another Who-a-phile band: Yield, by Pearl Jam.  My Morning Jacket has always had a lot in common with Pearl Jam, enough that they've made natural tourmates in the past and they share tons of fans.  One week in, I think Circuital is their Yield.  Like Yield, it's full of lovely, understated songwriting.  Like Yield, it highlights a band at the peak of their technical powers; you can members democratically offering their parts, ideas thrown around, improved upon, everyone working with great facility in service of the song.  Like Yield, the songs are stylistically--but not thematically--diverse.  Like Yield, the production is organic and open.  And like Yield, it will satisfy established fans, but might not make new ones.

(I've written at length about Yield in the past.  I claim that it's the most underrated album of the 90's here.)

4) Finally, the early press for Circuital has been mostly glowing.  I've been confused, though, by how many reviews spin this album as a "return to greatness" after the "misstep" of Evil Urges.  The same Evil Urges was almost universally praised when it came out by those same publications and blogs.  In other words, it's (I guess?) nice to see that My Morning Jacket has entered yet another strata.  We'll call it: Artists Whose New Album Is Always Awesome, Until It's the Last Album.

This is also known as "The REM Rule."  It's a time-honored tradition.  Every few years since the mid-to-late 90's, music journalists have declared the New REM Album their "return to glory."  To illustrate this return to glory, they reference an REM "golden age" we universally recognize and cherish, and draw comparisons between this new album and those old albums.  Until the next New REM Album comes out.  Then, they pan the last New REM Album to make the same point about this New REM Album.  There's also the "Ryan Adams Corollary," which is similar, except it harkens back to a golden age that isn't universally recognized or cherished. 

Anyway, those are a few of my immediate reactions to the full album.  Next week, I might feel totally different.  What do y'all think?

Song of the Week: My Morning Jacket, "Circuital"

I first heard this song at a Starbucks in Denver (you were there), biding time until that night's show.  Later, I burned it onto my next road-mix.  It kept me company on the long drive(s) through the heartland.  It joined me one bleary-eyed morning setting out for Omaha.  It played on repeat one late night in Kansas, driving through a thunderstorm.  It's a song about things coming full circle, and it soundtracked my own circuitous route home.  But all of that came later.

I first heard this song at a Starbucks in Denver, a little tired, a little homesick, and a little lost.  I was one of many people on an island with their earbuds and coffee and tiny table.  Then I heard Jim James, my old friend, absent a few years.  His falsetto soared.  He dreamily sung about returning to "childhood ways."  Suddenly, golden acoustic guitars strummed, recalling something timeless yet brand new (1:10).  The next time they returned, Who-esque powerchords (2:00) joined them, propelling the song into a new, anthemic section.  And suddenly I was a tired, homesick wreck in the middle of a Starbucks in Denver.  I won't lie to you: this song got real for me.  Its second minute is simply special--inspired, perfectly executed, and flat-out gorgeous.  And in that moment, it did exactly what it's supposed to do: it called me back home.  Bigtime.

Of course, I could go on and on about all the ways the music of this song enacts the "circular" themes of the lyrics (e.g., it ends exactly the way it began, etc.).  And I could type endlessly about the production of the song (i.e., how amazing the band sounds).  And I could ramble about Carl's wonderfully side-winding lead parts in the song's second half.  I could pick a dozen different technical things this band does amazingly well, things that set them apart from so many other bands.  But I picked "Circuital" because it has the rarest of things: a little bit of magic.

I'm still listening to the rest of Circuital over and over again, looking for more magic.  I haven't heard it yet, but that's why I'm always craving the next MMJ song: they've got it in them.

Song of the Week: Special Pre-Fall Edition

One of my favorite things about music is the way we attach it to a specific time and place in our life.  In college, I began making mixes at the end of each semester so I could remember what I was listening to years later.  But it wasn't just about remembering what music I liked at the time; it was about finding the songs that carried weight.

To put it another way, "what song can immediately put me back in the summer of 2005?"  When I want to remember what that period felt like, I can just play Lucero's "Sixteen" and remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, and how it felt to be there at that time.  I hear those opening chords and I'm back on Walnut Grove Rd in Memphis, driving home late from the Blue Monkey.  I can feel the sticky July air blowing through the car, and I can smell the honeysuckle from Shelby Farms.  It's the way I track--and make sense of--my memories.

Each season usually takes shape around one favorite album or artist that dominates my earbuds.  I listened to a lot of music last fall, but the artist that most defined that season is the Avett Brothers, specifically their song "I And Love And You."

Because I'm desperate for fall and already anticipating the new music I'll hear in the coming months, I want to look ahead by looking back.  Here's a little window into my favorite songs from the past five falls, and how they impacted my life. 

Feel free to chime in the comments and tell me your songs of falls past!

2005: My Morning Jacket, "Anytime"
I had just finished college, spent a summer in Memphis, and moved back to Nashville to release Leaving Tennessee and begin a career.  Even though I'd already spent four years in college in Nashville, I felt like it was moving to a brand new city.  I was quickly consumed by new groups of friends, new places to explore, and new things to do.  There was always a reason to go out, always another event to attend, another trip to take--it was an exciting time.  My Morning Jacket's Z had just come out, and stayed in my car.  Anytime I hear "Anytime," I'm back in my car, about to go to a concert, about to meet new friends.  It's the sound of that post-grad, wide open with possibilities, seemingly free of consequence.

2006: Scott Miller, "Goddamn the Sun"
Really, this should be a co-winner with Miller's "Loving That Girl."  Those songs told two parts of the same story--a story that played out for me that fall.  I always remember the fall of 2006 as having daily perfect weather--sunny, crisp, and cloudless.  The sparkling pop-rock and acoustic production on Thus Always To Tyrants was simply the sound of that weather.  The lyric "my window creeps across my wall" was a familiar image in my bedroom (the window faced south and the shadows crawled across my wall every afternoon).  Sometimes a song finds you the moment your life resembles it.

2007: The Hold Steady, "Stuck Between Stations"

I wanted this pick to be My Morning Jacket's cover of "It Makes No Difference," because that song meant the most to me in the fall of 2007.  But when I hear "Stuck Between Stations," I'm immediately transported to one time and place.  My brother had just moved to town and we got a house together on the East side.  For the first time, I had to drive across the river to meet friends at night.  Every time I hear "Stuck Between Stations," I'm on 440W circling the skyline, driving with my brother to show him my favorite places and people in this new home.

2008: Kings of Leon, "Notion"
Everything about this song--the arrangement, the guitar tones, the wide open song structure, the measured energy--simply sounds like October to me.  Which is great, because I hit it hard in October 2008.  I thought I was listening to "Notion" because of the sheer fun and fallish beauty of it; I realize now the song's lyrics (about a cyclic relationship that just isn't right) characterize my life at the time.  I felt upbeat, but not content; I enjoyed my life in Nashville, but I was ready for a change.  Whenever I hear "Notion," it sounds like a kickstart, a wake-up call--the moment I knew I was headed somewhere else. 

2009: Avett Brothers, "I And Love And You"
I first heard this on Letterman the day after I'd left Nashville and the night before I moved to NYC.  By the time they reached the chorus ("Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in/are you aware the shape I'm in"), I was a wreck.  No song better characterized what I felt when I left, what that journey looked like, and what I anticipated when I arrived. 

2010: Who knows? TBD
That's one thing I love about music, and what I love about making these mixes: something will emerge.  There's always another song waiting to meet us.  Maybe we've heard it before and are about to hear it in a new way.  Maybe it's a brand new song.  Either way, it's there, somewhere down the road, chronicling the season and informing our memories.

What are your past Songs for the Fall?  What will you be listening to this fall? Let me know what favorite tunes can put you in a certain time and place.

Song of the Week: Black Crowes, "Sunday Buttermilk Waltz"

When I post about songwriting, I usually focus on the lyrics, the music, and how the two work in tandem to create something magical. Lyrics are one of the first things I listen for; great lyrics can make a song resonate even when the music doesn't. Strong lyrics can say anything, however simply or abstractly, and speak straight to our heart.

But some songs don't need them.

Song of the Week: Black Crowes, "Sunday Buttermilk Waltz"

(***Editor's Note: With Lala's demise, I'm struggling to find free streaming versions of all these songs. I've linked to the iTunes sample by default. If you find one, let me know!)

Steps to enjoying "Sunday Buttermilk Waltz":
1) Find some great headphones.
2) Hit play whilst wearing these headphones in public.
3) Walk in the sun with nowhere to go.
4) Maybe get some lemonade.

Or, just hit play. It's a terrific composition: melodic, memorable, bouncy, creating and relieving tension at every turn. Through headphones, each instrumental layer has its own voice; they build and echo off each-other, harmonics calling and responding, melodies topped with counter-melodies topped with counter-melodies. The result is kind of musical impressionism: it creates a picture that looks one way close-up, and another way from a distance.

It achieves what any pop-strumental should: the song wordlessly communicates a feeling that anyone would recognize. The title, "Sunday Buttermilk Waltz," doesn't narrate action so much as paint a picture to match the song's aural imagery. You want to describe what this song sounds like in three words or less? Sunday buttermilk waltz. Perfect.

This tune got me thinking about other instrumental works by pop artists. They don't happen often; when they do, they usually give the album an added thematic dimension, or provide a wider sonic landscape, or give the listener a break in the action, or all of the above. They give us something to think about, or to thoughtlessly enjoy.

Some more of my favorite pop-strumentals are listed below. Interestingly, many are the title track for their album--musical prologues that set the scene for all subsequent songs. Many either begin the album, close it, or are the centerpiece. They either set the scene, provide some ending credits, or mark an important transition. What are some of your favorites?

A few more favorites:
Beach Boys, "Let's Go Away For a While"
Outkast, "Intro" (for Speakerboxxx)
Uncle Tupelo, "Sandusky"
Josh Ritter, "Edge of the World"
My Morning Jacket, "[Data Track] or Bonus Track"
Pearl Jam, "[Untitled] or [Red Bar]"
Pink Floyd, "Any Color You Like" (take your pick from this album, really)
R.E.M., "New Orleans Instrumental No. 1"
Radiohead, "Kid A"
Smashing Pumpkins, "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness"
Tom Waits, "Closing Time"
The Who, "Underture"

And, of course, the king of all pop-strumentals, the one-time #1 hit:
Booker T. and the MGs "Green Onions"

What are your favorite instrumentals? What have I left out? Let me hear it!

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 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 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

Songs for June

Several months back, I described February as "the coldest, bleakest, grayest, quietest, ugliest, most depressing month of the year." Some months, for better or worse, are easily characterized. Some, like June, are not.

June isn't the in-between chapter of May, and it isn't the mid-summer constancy of July. It's summer, but not definitively. It's somewhere between the last season and your future plans. Late spring ushers in energy, anticipation, restlessness. By July, you've settle into a routine (maybe in a new place, maybe in a summer destination, maybe some makeshift vacation, etc.). But June is the summer's pliant middleground. It is, simply, whatever the hell you want it to be.

If you're like me, it can (and will be) nearly anything, so long as it doesn't let up.

Here now are thirty songs of heat and wind, downshifting and sidewinding wherever they want, going--fast--without any particular destination in mind. Here, now, are:

30 Songs for June!

(Note: I'm actually doing 31 songs. I'm trying a new trick where I let my iTunes randomly pick a song from my entire musical library and see if I can't make its case. The iTunes Pick will come at the end.)

(Note #2: No iMeem playlist this month, because iMeem's changed what can and can't be added to a playlist. I'll have a playlist handy when I find a new platform, or when The Man is finally defeated. Whichever comes first. Meantime, just search on Songza.)

(Note #3: Don't forget to comment below and give me your Songs for June!)

Jack White, "Great High Mountain"
Because every trip's gotta start somewhere. This song sounds like a lazy river that refuses to pick up speed.

Green Day, "Holiday"
And, just like that, we've kicked it into fourth gear.
(Side note: After I get several listens, I'll post a review of the new Green Day record. For now, I'll say that if it had come out before my March Madness series, Green Day might've gone even further.)

The Hold Steady, "Constructive Summer"
It's interesting to me that the Hold Steady see summer as a time of productivity and self-improvement. For me, that's fall. Either way, the song's so chock-full of energy and earnest optimism, I'm sold.


The Who, "Can't Explain"
Long before the rockoperas and doublealbumepics, The Who proved that simple can be great, too.

Bob Dylan & The Band, "Apple Suckling Tree"
June, done right, is a gorgeous mess. "Apple Suckling Tree" is one of the finest, messy, basement jams in American music--still true to its foundation, but made better by its deviations.

The Beatles, "And Your Bird Can Sing"
The middle-Beatles statement: yes, we still harmonize better than the Byrds; yes, we still roll better than the Stones; and yes, we still like Buddy Holly better than the rest of you chumps. The sound alone matches the month, but I love it for John's biting-but-never-malicious lyric.

Lucero, "She's Just That Kind of Girl"
Here's hoping that the new Lucero has plenty more of wherever this came from.

White Stripes, "Forever For Her (Is Over For Me)"
Mr. White makes his second appearance with something of an autobiographical pick. This record came out in the summer and I have inescapable June-related memories attached to this tune. It'll always remind me of the summer after graduation, after moving back to Memphis, before moving back to Nashville, driving for hours in the steamroom air, stuck to the driver's seat, always at a red-light, not quite in the past, never near the future.

MGMT, "Electric Feel"
The lone "summer-song" on a record full of bizarre, coldweather music. Through all the swirling, multi-track, instrumental confusion, it's a glorified dance record. And a good one, at that.

Wilco, "Say You Miss Me Too"
Because it's too early to admit it, but you're already missing whatever you said goodbye to in May.

Cory Branan, "Tame"
Something about that dry, warm guitar tone sounds lonely, bemused, and a little evil to me. Like most of Branan's best songs.

Led Zeppelin, "Going to California"
Because at some point, you need a destination. Also, bonus points for the vocal delivery of "telling myself it's not as hard as it seems." If Plant ever had a finer moment, I haven't heard it.

Smokey Robinson, "Ohh Baby Baby"
To be honest, I have no idea. I can't stop listening to this song.


Beta Band, "Dry the Rain"
"I will now sell five copies of The Three EPs by The Beta Band."
"Go for it."

Rolling Stones, "I Just Wanna See His Face"
One of rock's finest interludes, it stumbles and plods along surreptitiously, like it's repositioning itself for a counterattack and doesn't want you to notice. A perfect song for the middle of the month, when you're road-weary and sunburnt and dehydrated and time-blurred.

Lyle Lovett, "LA County"
The checklist for a great Lyle Lovett song:
--Perfect for driving? Check.
--Simple and immediately likable? Check.
--Weirder and scarier the more closely you listen? Check.

The Thrills, "Big Sur"
As with May, songs about California are a motif. Not necessarily for the destination itself, but for the idea of a place at the end of the road, a place that might provide some respite. Or, with any luck, a place that won't.

Paul Simon, "Gumboots"
I appropriately rediscovered Graceland recently when I raided the Brother's record collection. I say "appropriately" because I can't hear this album outside the summer. I'm pretty sure it's illegal. Anyway, a classic Paul Simon song that makes little-to-no sense, makes you resent him for pulling it off by being "quirky" and "suggestive," and makes you like it because its one cohesive moment ("You don't feel you could love me...") somehow delivers. Sometimes the melody's all that matters.

Tinted Windows, "Nothing To Me"
You're damn right I put Taylor Hanson on the playlist. Seriously, listen to this song, then chalk up yet another contemporary band referencing Big Star to great affect.


Phantom Planet, "Hey Now Girl"
Speaking of Big Star disciples...

Son Volt, "Drown"
Alt-country's biggest hit in the mid-90's, and the only Son Volt song that I always want to hear. Bonus points for being one of the greatest Mix Transition Songs of all-time (i.e., no matter where you put this song on a mix, it will make for a great transition.)

Ryan Adams, "So Alive"
Bypass the monotonous verses and the occasional falsetto: it's the hook that matters, and the energy of the season. Windows down, speed up. Watch it go.

Kings of Leon, "Ragoo"
Because maybe somewhere in the meandering and philandering month you met a girl that caught you off-guard. And maybe that's all KOL write about.

Wilco & Billy Bragg, "Secrets of the Sea"
Some of Mermaid Avenue's (the double album of Woody Guthrie songs Wilco and Billy Bragg adapted) best takes are the ones that don't stay true to Guthrie at all. A great song's a great song, and Woody doesn't have to sound like Woody for his songs to be great.

Buddy Holly, "Not Fade Away"
One of the best bootlegs I've ever heard is from a Bob Dylan concert several years ago. He and the band close the show with a breathtaking, retooled, fully orchestrated version of "Not Fade Away." But for June, I prefer Holly's original: raw, vulnerable, bouncy, and streamlined. He says what he says, and he's gone as quick as he came.
***Bonus points for one of the best opening lines in rock history: "I'm gonna tell you how it's gonna be/you're gonna give your love to me."


Beach Boys, "Don't Worry Baby"
You knew it was coming.

Pearl Jam, "Parachutes"
Exhibit Q in the ongoing Case for Stone Gossard; I can't think of a guitarist/songwriter who can do more things well, and make all of them look effortless. Also, some autobiographical June-heavy connections to this song.

Jimmy Cliff, "The Harder They Come"
Because the rest of the year you very, very slowly forget how great he is. Because it's warm-weather music. Because when June comes around you dust him off and hit play. Because he never fails, in that moment, to completely knock you out.

Tom Petty, "Mind With a Heart of Its Own"
I don't know who wrote this song first: Tom Petty, or U2 when they called it "Desire." Frankly, I don't care. Always moving, occasionally without direction, it's quintessential June music.

My Morning Jacket, "Phone Went West"
It's a song that tells a story and foreshadows its own bittersweet conclusion. We can't see the end yet, but we know where it's going. By the end of June, I usually do, too.

And now....the Bonus Pick! I'm going to let iTunes randomly select a Song for June. Let's see what the machine thinks.

Drumroll....

Johnnie Taylor, "Somebody's Sleeping In My Bed"
You've gotta be kidding me. I've been doing this for four months. I just spent the last two hours compiling a list of Songs for June. Songs about leaving something/someone behind. Songs about the journey and an unknown destination. Songs that sound like urgency, like movement, like fierce, misguided energy.

I do all of that, and iTunes picks THE PERFECT SONG about what's happening back home, what's going on while you're away. It picked the one song that tells the other half of the story.

I quit. Til next month.

But...WHAT ARE YOUR SONGS FOR JUNE?

That's a bad thing to say but it's the truth,
CM