YouTube Concert #7

Happy Wednesday!

For those of you catching up, I'm posting a performance on YouTube every week: eight videos, six covers, two originals debuted, and one bonus.

Here's #1: Big Star's "Thirteen"
And #2: The Beatles', "It's Only Love"
#3: Simon & Garfunkel's "America"
#4: Chris Milam, "Never In Love"
#5: Beach Boys', "I'm Waiting For the Day"
#6: Amy Winehouse's, "Love Is a Losing Game"
BONUS: Ardent Presents Chris Milam
***Click here for the full playlist

And now, here's #7.  Enjoy!

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!

Song of the Week

Last week, I caught myself in a YouTube maze, video-hopping like a hungry man at a Chinese buffet. I do this a lot: follow videos sidebar-to-sidebar-to-sidebar, until I realize an hour has vanished and I've just watched every R.E.M. unplugged performance they've ever given or conceived of giving.

And it was somewhere between my third and thirtieth viewing of "Nightswimming" that I realized something: no band (other than the Beatles) uses background vocals the way R.E.M. does.

This week's song: R.E.M. "Fall On Me"

Once upon a time, there was a band called the Beatles. The Beatles had three active singers and a fourth that they used for comic relief and novelty songs. They employed all three singers frequently, providing background vocals for each others' songs, and adding harmonies to choruses. Occasionally, however, they used background vocals to add a new dimension to the song; it's wasn't another singer, it was another voice.

For example, the vocal prompts before each line of "Help" enact the co-dependence the song's about. John literally and figuratively needs the help of his bandmates to get through each line, and they take each others' lead: "(When...) When I was younger, so much younger than today/(I never needed...) I never needed anybody's helping anyway." Perhaps the best example is "With a Little Help From My Friends," in which the background singers needle Ringo with questions after every line ("does it worry you to be alone," "are you sad because you're on your own," etc.). His "friends" are omnipresent, but they're planting doubt as much as they're providing help.

This, of course, was a brilliant device that gave each song an added dimension--rather than just use background vocals to add a catchy melody or a pretty harmony, the Beatles put their BGVs to work.

Though the Beatles' songwriting influence only grew after their breakup, this device largely disappered. Background vocals--duets, harmonies, doubled vocals on the choruses, etc.--are everywhere today; but the background singer as a second narrative voice has almost disappeared. Which brings me to REM, perhaps the only band to use this technique as frequently and skillfully as the Beatles did.

Like so many things, I first became aware of this effect from my brother. Many moons ago, whilst rocking out to "It's the End of the World As We Know It," he sang along with Mike Mills' background vocals rather than the lead melody. I'd never noticed Mills' part before, but can't miss it now. As Stipe gives his doomsday prophecy during each refrain, Mills replies with an upbeat, darkly comic twist: "time I had some time alone." Yep, that's one way to look at the apocalypse.

Once that song opened the door, I heard these nuggets throughout R.E.M.'s catalog. Call-and-response dual melodies fill their catalog. From "Orange Crush," to "Stand," their BGVs do more than strengthen one voice; they provide another perspective.

Which brings us to "Fall On Me." In so many REM songs, the "other voice" is that of the singer's guilty conscience, or nagging doubt, or comic relief. But Mills' lyrics only add to the frustration of the lead vocal. At one point, the background takes the voice of the rational inquisitor: "what's it doing in the air?" At another, it only adds cryptic imagery to the scene. At still another, it seems to talk about itself, "keep your conscience in the dark," forming a mantra of self-denial. There are no answers here--the second vocal only doubles the confusion. It's not surprising that during this unplugged performance, Stipe introduces the song as perhaps his favorite in the band's catalog--he's never shied away from ambiguity:



"Fall On Me" is a wonderful example of how a background singer can dramatically--and easily--deepen a song's meaning. Which makes me wonder why so few artists do this.

So, here's my question: can you name some more songs that use this type of background vocal? Some other artists that use it frequently? A few more from contemporaries, off the top of my head:
--The Raconteurs on occasion ("Together")
--Weezer's "Undone" is a decent example (the background singer breaks away from the lead at the last chorus, "unraveling" the song's structure)

Any others?

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 August

August.

August is:
1) The hottest month of the year
2) The longest month of the year
3) A beautiful name
4) A waiting game
5) A breaking point

By my calendar, and my geographic history, August has always been a two-headed beast: a) summer's slow, sweaty finale, and b) an excruciating windup to fall. It's when all your summertime adventures come to a head. It's every road's dead end, every night's goodbye, every situation you've dodged. They've all added up, all summer, and August is their inauspicious math.

But even as you're wrapping up one season, you're looking ahead to the future, and football, and cooler weather, and school, and new people, places--FALL. But not yet. August is the hill you climb at the beginning of every rollercoaster, the sweaty, sticky, overlong, suffocating buildup that makes the rest go. For thirty-one days--and seemingly eighty nights--you've got one foot in the door and one foot out. You can feel it coming, but you can't see it yet. You've got every date marked on your calendar, but they're somehow never closer. You're facing forward, feet stuck.

It's all happening, even when it's not.

So here, now, are thirty-one songs that sound like sweat, that hang thick in air, that either move too slow or come unexpectedly, songs you've been waiting for and songs that sound like waiting, songs that are the prologue and songs that are the epilogue. They're overheated, exhaust-choked, furious and water-logged, a slow poison, a gorgeous bitter end and an interminable wait. They're the playlist for the last great party in purgatory.

Here, now, 31 Songs for August (plus the bonus iTunes random pick!):

(Agree? Disagree? Got a glaring omission? Don't forget to comment below and give me your Songs for August!)

Tom Waits, "Ol' 55"
We pick up August where we likely left off in July: red-eyed, exhausted, and still moving. Of the million songs-about-driving-til-dawn, this remains my favorite.

Led Zeppelin, "Bring It On Home"
The sound of the last kick, the runner who can see the finish line, the adrenaline taking over. The opening blues fall lightly like tires over the seams in the road. Everything speeds up. Again.

North Mississippi All-Stars, "Someday Baby"
Almost the entire NMAS catalog works for August; I could've picked any number of their songs. They all sound like a 200-degree day.

Lucero, "Tonight Ain't Gonna Be Good"
Lyrically, it tells our story: summer's winding down, and tonight it's coming to a head. But the music itself drips with anticipation. It's a clenched fist, but it's not angry. It's resigned, and determined, to end this night/chapter/season one way or another. After tonight, he sings, it'll all be over. Maybe.


Queens of the Stone Age, "I'm Gonna Leave You"
The first of many breakup songs with an impassive slant. It's not that our protagonist is mean-spirited; he's too burnt-out to care. This is the downside of keeping a summertime promise.

Soundgarden, "Pretty Noose"
What is it about Soundgarden that made them a summertime band? Did their singles always come out in warm weather? Did their album art/iconography play up summertime? Am I the only one who associates them with sweaty carrides? Either way, "Pretty Noose" is quintessentially August: it sounds like the desert, it's plodding but high-energy, it's incendiary, it's unrepentent, and then it's done.

Reigning Sound, "Time Bomb High School"
In honor of the first day of school, always a mid-August milieu of sweat, posturing, and frenetic energy.

Jimi Hendrix, "Crosstown Traffic"
Fickle, crazy, short, blurry, and on fire.

Kings of Leon, "Red Morning Light"
For everyone who's every burned it at both ends. From the weird opening wind-down to the nonchalant vocals, this is the sound of a car still running on an empty tank.

Ryan Adams, "Anybody Wanna Take Me Home"
A different take on the "Tonight Ain't Gonna Be Good" conflict. Instead of summertime debauchery coming to an angry, antisocial head, we're alone. Uncomfortably alone. We've reaped what we've sown, and this lonely, barstool anticlimax is the punishment.

Oasis, "Live Forever"
Specific, late-summer memories related to Oasis. Let's move on.

My Morning Jacket, "Run Thru"
Some songs create a breaking point. Some songs build up to one. Some songs linger without any dramatic arc. "Run Thru," somehow, does both. It doesn't fully move (until the bridge), yet it doesn't really stagnate. The conflict in its first seconds is the conflict in its last. Somehow the drama grows, the music more visceral, more frightening, more real, as the time passes. This is the sound of a breaking point that keeps on breaking.

Green Day, "Are We the Waiting"
Perfectly embodies both sides of August: a robust, anthemic call about a slow-moving future.

Pearl Jam, "Parting Ways"
One of those rare songs that sounds at home any time of day, any time of year. I've picked it for August because it sounds sluggish, warm, and waterlogged. It sounds like the last minute of the last sunset. One violet light, and then it's gone.

Smashing Pumpkins, "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness"
And....enter the keys. More on this later.

Beatles, "Two of Us"
A Bonnie & Clyde fantasy of the summertime romance that wasn't. This is what the end of the road would look like if we'd made different decisions in June.

Weezer, "Island in the Sun"
Layup!

Belle & Sebastian, "I Don't Love Anyone"
Like "Island in the Sun," suddenly at home in a mid-tempo pace. The world's spinning less. This is usually a time that thinking gets done, whether you want it to or not. And few bands do "sudden, bittersweet realizations" better than B&S.

Lyle Lovett, "I Loved You Yesterday"
Thirty-one songs for the hottest month of the year, and you thought I wasn't bringing the high Texas heat? Lovett's remarkable for making any kind of pain sound okay.

Beach Boys, "Surfer Girl"
Winning for its fantasy, and its earnestness, and its beauty. But included for that sound. Good Lord, that sound.

Counting Crows, "Miami"
I'll admit it: I missed "Miami." I missed "Miami" on first, second, twentieth listen. For probably four years, I lumped "Miami" in with Hard Candy's misses. I don't know how I missed it. I don't know what I was thinking. It's not great, but it's so effortlessly good, that it makes SNSM even less forgivable. The Crows, at their best, create moments. Because of the production and the lyrics, those moments are typically entrenched in a season, or a time of day. And, at their best, those seasons are inextricable from those musical moments. "Long December" is inescapable at the year's end. And parts of "Miami," to a lesser degree, sound like August to me.

Rolling Stones, "All Down the Line"
There's a moment when you know you should stop. And then the Stones join the party, and you keep on moving.

Wallflowers, "Bleeders"
The tired, ambivalent flip-side to that coin.

The Replacements, "Unsatisfied"
The raw, naked challenge of it is one of the truest statements in pop music. The singer isn't just unsatisfied; he isn't just realizing that he's unsatisfied; he's realizing that nobody around him sees him at all. It's a remarkable turning point, an emotional pivot, without knowing exactly what the next step will be.

Cory Branan, "Green Street Lullabye"
In a way, a sister song to "Tonight Ain't Gonna Be Good." For all its dynamism, and climax, and optimism, it's completely exhausted. You can practically hear Branan take a deep breath after the opening riff stops (he does, in fact, take that breath at the beginning of "Wayward and Down," less a sigh of relief than of resignation). For all its structure, the emotional push and pull of the song is palpable, back and forth between fatigue, fear, recklessness, alienation, hope, and a masochistic joy almost every line. He's at once a part of the crowd and tired of it, moving on and stuck in place. With one couplet, he captures Memphis in August: "kudzu chokes the trees/mosquitos hum like window units/but you gotta move if you want a breeze." It ends with the sad sound it alludes to--a riotous climax--then walks away from the wreckage.

Wilco, "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart"
A harder goodbye than "I'm Gonna Leave You."

Radiohead, "Like Spinning Plates"
There's a moment, near the end, where it all blurs together. Part of it's pace, part of it's ambivalence, part of it is conflict, and all of it becomes abstraction. It's a weird and dizzy dream. You go to sleep and wake up and wonder if it's fall yet.

Pawtuckets, "Smooth Water"
Welcome back, keys. The piano enacts the water's movement: calm, deceptive, quickening, powerful, then eerily at peace. If you've spent time on a dock at night, you know this sound.

White Stripes, "I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet)"
There's a moment in August--impossible to date--where you can see the finish line. Fall-related dates on the calendar start popping up. School's about to start, people are coming and going, old favorite things feel fresh again. This moment's often been captured in pop music and, to me, needs a piano. Here, the Stripes' key-steered end-of-summer resolution is typically sad and funny (humor, I remember humor!).

REM, "Nightswimming"
This song gave me the idea for Milam's Monthly Playlist. I can't think of a single song that I more strongly associated with a certain time of year. I've written about this song before, so I won't belabor it here. Suffice it to say, if you can't hear this in late August, moon out, windows down, one last drive, one last drive alone, still young but remembering a different youth, and feel connected to that time, or that place, I don't know what to tell you.


Bob Dylan, "Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again"
Somehow, the circus is still here. The circus is starting. The circus is ongoing, and will continue to go. It feels like we're moving, but he insists we're staying put. It's the sound of the same old party, simultaneously the one you wanted to leave, and the thing you've been waiting for. It sounds like gold. It's moving toward fall.

iTunes Random Pick for August: Wilco, "Hate It Here"
And, for once, iTunes doesn't completely embarrass me.

So, agree? Disagree? What's August to you? What are your Songs for August? Hit up the comments and let me know!

Side by side in orbit,
CM

Milam's March Madness Elite 8 (East and South)

Welcome back to Milam's March Madness! We're down to the nitty gritty: only eight band remain. Today we'll determine the East and South winners, and tomorrow we'll tackle the West and International regions.

If you're just catching up, click the "Milam's March Madness" label to see the results so far.

Here...we....GO.

East Region

1) U2 vs. 2) My Morning Jacket
Battle: Previewing this matchup last week, I asked whether a band like My Morning Jacket can (or should) compete with a band like U2. If the question is, "who's doing the most," doesn't the bigger band have an insurmountable advantage? If U2's reaching more people (they are), and they're doing credible, serious work themselves, then aren't they "doing more?" I'm inclined to think so. There's no question that U2 affects more people than My Morning Jacket. For all MMJ's popularity (New Years concerts at Madison Square Garden, sold out global tours, etc.) they've never had a Top 40 hit. Radio might be dead, but these things matter. They point to the final level of success, the glass ceiling of ubiquity. People can avoid MMJ now if they want to. Some people--strange as this sounds--still haven't heard any of their songs. But nobody can say that for U2.

If all things were equal, and My Morning Jacket were U2's peers, then this would be the decisive argument. But all things aren't equal, because one band emerged post-piracy, and one emerged 15 years prior. For all the pro's that have come from music on the internet (accessibility, a virtually democratic system of consumption, etc.), there is one major downside: the culture is fragmented. Even the best bands to emerge since The Boom (My Morning Jacket) don't (and probably can't) have the audience of pre-Boom bands. It's possible that My Morning Jacket's relative unpopularity is due only to their timing. It's entirely possible that this band with this body of work would be as big as U2 (down to the Joshua Tree-It Still Moves and Evil Urges-Achtung Baby comparisons, if you want to take it that far), if anyone could be as big as U2. With that timing gap--the one factor that doesn't deal with either bands' work--I can only compare them as bands. I don't think there's any doubt that MMJ is a better band right now, releasing stronger records, and unmatched as performers. U2, ultimately, is U2--nobody can touch that. But some mere mortals can still make better music.

Winner: My Morning Jacket

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
South Region

1) Pearl Jam vs. 2) REM

Battle: In preparation for this battle--pitting two of my all-time favorite bands against each other--I faced all the demons of adolescence. I looked for clues in old yearbooks. I burned Lucky jeans from the 5th grade. I called ex-girlfriends:
"Hey __," I'd say, "I have a question for you."
"Really," they'd answer.
"Yeah! Which band would you say meant more to me at the time we dated? Pearl Jam or REM?"
"What?" they'd ask.
"When did we date? What dates specifically did we go out? That might help. I can break this thing down chronologically."
--Click.

As many great bands as there were in the 90's, my Top Tier looked like this (in no order):
Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Radiohead, REM.

If you ask me to compare any of those four to anyone else, I have a starting point. If you ask me to compare them to each other my head caves in and I need a towel. I could go round, and round, and round in circles on this one: Pearl Jam's arguably got the better body of work, but acknowledge REM as their artistic trailblazers. They're playing in a house that REM built. If one band's art produces another's success, isn't the indebted band necessarily weaker? Wouldn't this lead to a Pandora's Box of who-influenced-who-and-by-how-much questions, ultimately tracking back to a guy in Western Europe with a harp and men in the Southern Hemisphere with drums? By this logic, aren't the Ramones better than Nirvana? Because that's an argument I'm not willing to make.

When faced with difficult choices, I usually ask, "which team/band/thing has the single best characteristic?" In other words, if I need to compare two bands and all other things are equal, who has the single best song? This argument is the sole reason Counting Crows even made it past the first round. But Pearl Jam and REM could win this battle against anyone. But how do you weigh "Nothingman" and "Nightswimming" and declare a winner?

You can't. In fact, comparing their 90's selves is fruitless. Since this tournament gives more weight to recent work, I can only judge them since 2000. If Pearl Jam hadn't released Pearl Jam in 2006, that would be yet another mind-numbing dead heat, with PJ probably getting the nod off live performance and business ingenuity (selling high quality bootlegs for every show). As solid as REM's records have been since 2000, their best work is behind them. Pearl Jam's self-entitled record proved doubters wrong: they're still at the top of their game.

Winner: Pearl Jam

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*FINAL FOUR MATCHUP* (ON MONDAY!)
2) My Morning Jacket
1) Pearl Jam

Thoughts:
--Pearl Jam faces off against another touring companion. This might be the Final Four overall, but it's the finals for Best Live Band--these are the best two around, and MMJ learned at the feet of the master.
--The generational issues that defined the Jacket/U2 debate persist here; MMJ probably can't be as big as Pearl Jam. But this battle will be even more interesting, as Pearl Jam's most recent work trumps U2's. What do y'all think?

Who goes to the Finals?

• Pearl Jam
• My Morning Jacket

View Results

Who do you like in the Final Four? Hit up the comments and join the debate!

Elite 8 for the West and International Region tomorrow...
CM

Songs for February

Here at Chez Milam, I'm staring a new running feature:

Milam's Monthly Playlist!

At the beginning of each month, I'll post several songs that might fit the mood/climate of that particular season. As Poet Laureate Scott Weiland once said, "So much depends on the weather." Accordingly, the way I experience music is largely affected by the time of year I hear it. For example, I might love Beach Boys' "Do You Wanna Dance." But I only listen to it when the weather's warm and the windows are down. Some music just isn't made for February.

Thankfully, here are 28 songs fit for the coldest, bleakest, grayest, quietest, ugliest, most depressing month of the year. Grab six hot toddies, pop in the headphones, wonder why nobody loves you enough, and revel in the moody blues of...

Songs of February!

1) Fleet Foxes - "White Winter Hymnal"
Quintessential winter music, so hushed and pretty it belongs in a chapel.

2) Simon & Garfunkel - "I Am a Rock"
I don't care what month Paul Simon says it is (December, for the record), finger-picked songs about being insular sound like February to me.

3) The Walkmen - "The Rat"
For a song with such frenetic energy, it still sounds cold. Perfect for driving in a freezing car, pissed off.

4) Feist - "Sealion"
February can be temporarily upbeat, as long as it's still harmonic and spare.

5) MGMT - "The Youth"
I probably associate MGMT with wintertime because this record came out winter '08. Despite the huge arrangement, all their stuff is palpably sad.

6) R.E.M. - "New Orleans Instrumental No. 1"
No clue.

7) Lucero - "The Only One"
I can only listen to this record (That Much Further West) in January and February. This song moves slowly, like the cold months tend to.

8) Ryan Adams - "My Blue Manhattan"
There is a time and a place for Captain Adams' "suicide music." Savor the flavor, because this is it.

9) Elliot Smith - "Needle in the Hay"
Hey, speaking of suicide music... Brilliant, spare songwriting.

10) Iron and Wine - "Sea and the Rhythm"
Iron and Wine's actual genre is called "Acoustic February." Fact.

11) Ingrid Michaelson - "The Chain"
Her best song, methinks.

12) Tom Waits - "I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love with You"
...Depressed yet?

13) Bonnie Prince Billy - "I See a Darkness"
...How about now?

14) Pearl Jam - "Fatal"
...That'll do it. Play this for your Valentine at your own risk.
















15) Radiohead - "Morning Bell/Amnesiac"
Nobody does cold, haunting arrangements better.

16) Cory Branan - "The Snowman"
Unreleased gem full of wintry images and post-breakup anger/depression. Equal doses sad and bizarre...one of the best songs Tom Waits never wrote.

17) Harlan T. Bobo - "Left Your Door Unlocked"
As long as we're on the acoustic, post-breakup tip... By the way, if you're desperate for a sad singer/songwriter to ease your February pains (or just reflect them), I can't recommend Mr. Bobo and this record (Too Much Love) highly enough.

18) The Drifters - "There Goes My Baby"
Lest we forget the uber-sad uber-oldies. The lead-vocal is heartbreaking and gorgeous.

19) The Replacements - "Unsatisfied"
A moody playlist without the Replacements? What kind of amateur do you take me for?

20) Band of Horses - "St. Augustine"
Heavy vocal reverb makes its 1,000th appearance on this mix. Why does February sound so much like reverb, acoustic guitar, light piano, and baroque harmonies to me?

21) Death Cab for Cutie - "I Will Follow You Into the Dark"
I didn't want to like this song, but they left me no choice. Quintessential February music.

22) Stereophonics - "Lying to Myself Again"
I can never tell if the Stereophonics are underrated stateside or appropriately anonymous. Either way, this is a rare piano track from them.

23) Bob Dylan - "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues"
Even The Bob's jangly tunes sound like wintertime to me. "I do believe I've had enough" pretty much sums up my feelings by the end of the month.

24) Wilco - "The Lonely One"
Being There always gets heavy rotation in the winter, and this is its low-point/high-point.

25) My Morning Jacket - "I Will Be There When You Die"
I challenge you to find a more morbid song title.

26) Josh Ritter - "The Temptation of Adam"
Intimate vocals, acoustic guitar, sad and brilliant song about a doomed relationship, complete with cold war imagery? This song is the February jackpot.

27) Ben Nichols - "Toadvine"
Stand-out off the new record, about hoping for brighter days.

28) Jim James - "Goin' to Acapulco" (cover of Dylan & the Band)
Because, by February 28th, who isn't daydreaming of blue skies and happier times?

What are YOUR Songs for February?

Don't see nothin' but the light,
CM

(***Even though I'm listing one song for every day in February, each song isn't meant to correspond with that date. I'd recommend not listening to "Fatal" on the 14th. Unless you're an unbelievable masochist, in which case it's a great idea.)

In My Stereo, Inauguration Edition

As you all know, I'm a political animal. And a political junkie. I'm like a rabid grizzly cracked out on CSPAN.

Not really. The format of this blog is basically, "Chris talks music" and occasionally, "Chris talks things-about-Virginia-Tech's-offense-that-infuriate-him but deletes the post at the last minute in a rare display of discretion."

So what am I doing posting on Inauguration Day? I'm listening to music today, that's what. Here, now, an Inauguration Day Edition of In My Stereo!

Bob Dylan, "Chimes of Freedom"
One of Dylan's most lyrical and inventive efforts, after he expanded his use of language but before his fascination with surrealism really took flight. The verse is stunningly complex, but never obtuse; the syntax is as occasionally "mad" and "mixed-up" as the subjects themselves, but never out of focus. My favorite among Dylan's "protest" songs, because of its humanist core. Dylan wastes little time condemning "them," rather painting "us" with such depth, power, and transcendent beauty that the chimes of freedom still sound vital today.

I said it before and I will say it again: I'm not positive this isn't Dylan's best lyric. Comment below and tell me all the Bobert Zimmerdylan Masterworks that trump it. I love being wrong.

Woody Guthrie, "This Land Is Your Land"
For my money, the quintessential American folk song: boundlessly optimistic and proudly populist. Few artists have put more faith in the average American than Guthrie, and the average American is better for it.

Lauryn Hill, "His Eye Is On the Sparrow"
Yes, this is off the Sister Act 2 soundtrack. No, you can't have my copy.

I wrote earlier about music's connective power with our spirit, its unspoken language of the heart. If music, at its best, makes us feel something true without necessarily knowing why, then gospel music, at its best, connects with its audience so purely, so viscerally, so powerfully, as to instill them with the faith that transcends knowledge. Great gospel simply bowls you over and leaves you gasping for air, unable to shake or account for its emotional force.

"His Eye Is On the Sparrow" is one of my favorite gospel songs, and Lauryn Hill's version is unmatched. Something about her vocal tone in this song is at once proud and vulnerable, hopeful yet vaguely sad. It is heart-breaking, and never fails to impact.

**It's worth noting that this is a duet with another female vocalist, who's also great, and whose name escapes me, as it isn't "Lauryn" or "Hill."

Pearl Jam, "I Am Mine"
For a GenX band, Pearl Jam certainly have their finger on the pulse of Generation I. The lead-off single for 2002's Riot Act is both sad and triumphant in its message: if everything external gets you down, look internally for happiness. But more than being about individual redemption, it sounds redeeming, with minor-key, angsty verses building perfectly into sweeping, major-key choruses.

Stone Gossard's gifts for melodic, song-serving guitar work are on full display (hear that fill halfway through every chorus?), and Mike McCready's solo is winning.

A sweeping, pretty pop song about deciding, one day, to find a better way to live.

Big Star, "Watch the Sunrise"
Lots of songs try to sell the "skipedee-do-dah, it's a brand new day, and look, it's beautiful, too" angle. Lots of artists have spent careers churning out third-rate versions of "Here Comes the Sun." It's practically become a subgenre at this point. A subgenre I'll call, "Sunday Morning Music for White People" or, "The Greatest Hits of James Taylor." You pick.

All this to say, "Watch the Sunrise" is an exception. If a song is about this many pop cliches--"look at the sun and/or stars, look how they shine for you"--it had better sonically create the energy, hope, and awakened beauty it's revisiting. Of course, Big Star's studio wizardry and pop craft take this song to a heightened place. It is pitch-perfect, too gorgeous to ignore and too earnest to doubt. It simply sounds like the best sunrise you've ever seen. And I saw a good one this morning.

R.E.M., "New Orleans Instrumental No. 1"
I don't know why. Maybe you can listen to it and tell me.

Sam Cooke, "A Change Is Gonna Come"
Cooke's effortless vocals and velvet-smooth timbre made him one of pop's most treasured singers; that is, nobody else made virtuosic singing sound so easy. This rare gift lent itself well to gospel singing, as Cooke's natural poise and the easy, serene tone of his voice engendered faith in the listener. When Sam Cooke sings something, you trust him. You want to believe him.

That's why "A Change Is Gonna Come" can be covered by every overzealous, keyboarding crooner on the planet, but it will always belong to Sam Cooke and Sam Cooke alone. At the time of its release (1964), this song was a definitive statement of hope and perseverance during the turbulence of the civil rights movement. In the hands of any other singer, it might've sounded manic or desperate, sad, or even angry. But Sam Cooke's naturally calm demeanor and effortless vocal grace communicated a sense of peace, confidence, and abiding hope in the midst of a violent and uncertain struggle. He sang, and Americans believed him. And he was right.

...But what's in your stereo?
CM

The Fool Might Be My Middle Name

Howdy, howdy. When last we left off, I was listening exclusively to early Beach Boys and answering "yes" emphatically to their question, "do you do you do you do you wanna dance?"

Since then, I actually met Jessica Simpson. Alright, I didn't meet Jessica Simpson. I refilled her water. Impressions:

1) She likes her phone.
2) Famous people have big heads. I'm not being figurative. By my guesstimation, Jessica Simpson's fitted hat size would be at least a 12 1/4. I don't know what any of this means.
3) She likes biscuits. She asked me, "Could we have some more biscuits, please?" I thought, "does this place even have biscuits? If it once did, does it have more of them? Also, that sentence was oddly British. English people are weird..." I said, "More biscuits." I assume someone hunted down or grew some biscuits and brought them to the Clan Simpson. I really don't know. Carbs aren't my specialty.
4) Otherwise, not a lot going on I couldn't find at Wolfchase Mall.



None of this, of course, is as odd and ridiculous as my buddy's encounter with Kirsten Dunst and Jason Schwartzman a few years ago in Paris...in which he strode up to her and actually said, "Hey Kirsten Dunst!" Full name. I won't detail the rest of the encounter here, but it involves bad math, failed chivalry, and a very quick exit.

Anyway, at some point in the past week I've actually listened to some music other than "Do You Wanna Dance" by the Beach Boys. Here, once again, is what's In My Stereo...

REM's "Strange Currencies"
I have a framed picture in my room of Woody Guthrie, with a long quote from him about the type of songs he writes. It begins, "I hate a song that makes you think that you are not any good. I hate a song that makes you think that you are just born to lose, bound to lose, no good to nobody...I am out to sing the songs that make you take pride in yourself and in your work..."

Few would accuse REM of being a folk band, but I believe Michael Stipe shares Guthrie's philosophy. I can't think of another contemporary band that, song-to-song, invests quite so much in bringing the listener up, never knocking them down. One of REM's greatest traits is selflessness. From "Everybody Hurts," to "Sweetness Follows," to "Daysleeper," to "Strange Currencies," so many of their most celebrated songs come from a place of deep empathy, insight, and courage. It's so easy to write a song about getting down, and so hard to enact hope; Stipe chooses the latter as much as anyone, and the results are often brilliant, always inspiring.

All this to say, "Strange Currencies" is a gorgeous song about a frustrating relationship. Many of you, I'm sure, have heard it before. It's plaintive, breathtakingly honest, and, despite its exploration of the relationship's problems, always optimistic.

Josh Ritter, "The Temptation of Adam"
I recently caught Josh Ritter in the second of a two-night Nashville stint, with Ingrid Michaelson opening. If it hasn't already, it's rapidly becoming clear that the slightly elder generation of singer/songwriters are bringing it in ways Ryan Adams didn't, and won't. Nobody's chart-topper, Ritter is simply a very, very sharp writer, and at times brilliant. I hadn't heard this song before the show and got it afterward. Using the cold war as a metaphor for a doomed relationship (first line, "If this was the cold war, we could keep each other warm"), complete with dates inside missile silos and a crossword asking, "what five letters spell apocalypse?" The story-telling here is inspired and incredibly sharp, and Ritter's manipulation of the metaphor throughout the narrative is, um, Hemingway-an?

If you've ever found yourself in a relationship that is constantly on the brink of explosion--and you have a bit of an evil streak--this song is for you.

(***Had to pick something sad and evil to balance out the "redemptive powers of love" enumerated in "Strange Currencies," right?)

Black Keys, "All You Ever Wanted"
I mentioned earlier that the new Black Keys is, to my ear, their best record to date. Interestingly, this record is at its best when it's trying something new (as opposed to the new Counting Crows...). There's plenty of stripped-down, blues-riff rock here, but the album's opener, "All You Ever Wanted" is an unexpected, acoustic, slow-shuffling lamentation. Where the old Black Keys would've taken to this with a single heavy guitar and plenty of kick drum, this song is brilliantly paced and built, arranged and executed by a fully matured band. Whether these decisions were made by producer Danger Mouse, or the Keys, or both, they're the right call. Everything--from the song's beautiful build, to the vocal performance, to the brilliant inclusion of an overloud organ at the song's climax, to the countermelodies of that organ and the lead guitar--is executed brilliantly. "All You Ever Wanted" gives the Black Keys a broader, more versatile sound, and a brand new dimension as a live band.

If you like organ, or bluesy vocals, or what I like to call "dignified songs about loneliness," you'll like this song.

Johnathan Rice, "End of the Affair"
Mucho propers to Sound Guy Steve for introducing me to Rice. A cursory iTunes search reveals a mixed bag of songs that I may or may not be into, but "End of the Affair" is an inspired piece of songwriting. This song is, essentially, an ongoing breakup conversation between a guy and girl, with both parts singing, arguing, harmonizing, agreeing, disagreeing, etc. The way the two vocals with--and against--each other is really the story of the song. The opening line of each verse, ("So.....honey" or "So....sugar") is a great microcosm for the conflict of the song. A bouncy, upbeat harmony on "Sooooo" followed by a minor chord and the two singers saying the least sincere "honey" in the history of pop music. The mutual resentment is palpable. And awesome.
The melody throughout is catchy and accessible. The song is maybe at its most dynamic during the bridge, in which the two voices separate and sing brilliantly overlapping parts in a brief--but revealing--moment of dialogue. The girl leads, "You've got all your problems, I've got mine" while he cuts her off, "My hands are tied behind me..." They agree they're wasting each other's time, and that all of this amounts to something that just "ain't right." Tellingly, they repeat the word "right" at the end of the song, and the vocal delivery makes it more of a question than an answer. The songs starts with a declaration of certainty, and ends with a suggestion of ambiguity. The end of the affair might not actually be the end of this affair.

If you've ever had a breakup conversation that went in every direction and never actually settled anywhere, or found yourself in a frustrating relationship you couldn't quite leave, or looked across the table at someone and thought, "I couldn't be more sick of you," or you like male-female harmonies, or catchy melodies, or, you know, anything at all about pop music, you'll like this song.

I think about that great big button, and I'm tempted,
CM

P.S. Lest you forget...

Top 40 Bands on the Planet, Part III

Some readers need to learn the art of delayed gratification. After a brief stint to Memphis, I'm back and ready to deliver the Top 10 Bands on Planet Earth. But first, a caveat:

Many of you are reading this wondering, "I wonder where Aerosmith will rank in the Top 10," or, "He's gotta have the Stones at Number 1, right?" Wrong. Old, legendary bands like Aerosmith and The Rolling Stones were of a completely different era, and haven't been relevant in upwards of fifteen years. They're great bands, they're still standing, and they get points for longevity--but, for the purposes of fair comparison, I haven't included them in this list. That goes for perennial reunion projects like The Who, Big Star, Fleetwood Mac, etc.

Onward and upward!

10) Red Hot Chili Peppers
Another aging band whose best days are behind it but whose worse days aren't fast approaching. Although their most recent effort sounds somehow less mature than 2000's Californication, the Chili Peppers are still a band devoted to musical alchemy and live-performance dominance, all in the context of the "Modern Pop Song." Any band that's still relevant fifteen years after its breakthrough is deserving of praise.

9) The Strokes
Is it a testiment to their strength or a sign of their weakness that The Strokes really catalyzed the "garage rock" Renaissance of the early zeros? Although you can tell something about a band by their influence, I'm of the opinion that no good band should be criticized for having crappy imitators. Three rock-solid albums, tireless touring, and singles that are as accessible and intriguing as ever, and I'm starting to wonder if we're still waiting for the best of The Strokes. Regardless of how you feel about their slightly indulgent lyrics, their carefully tailored hipster status, or their own commentary on their own band in their own scene, The Strokes are a group that is currently vital, relevant, and consistently interesting. Simply put: they matter.

8) Wilco
If The Strokes get credit for being a relevant faux-indie band on the mainstream's fring, Wilco gets extra credit for doing it twice as long. No other band of the past ten years has so gracefully straddled the hazy line between stars and superstars--their music is exceedingly well-known and successful, but the most casual music fan likely does not know the name Wilco. Being There (their debut) and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (one of the best albums of the decade) alone would merit a Top 20 ranking, but their entire catalogue serves as a constant reminder of just how rewarding thoughtful songwriting and potent performances can be. I often use the term successful as a relative, as though each band should be graded respective to whatever it is they do. In that, Wilco is a band that does what they do so well that they don't have any recognizable imitators--only a generation of admiring and appreciative fans.

7) Counting Crows
If a football team is only as strong as its weakest link, then perhaps bands are only as strong as their strongest link. In the case of the Counting Crows, their greatest asset and hindrance is the same person: singer and chief songwriter Adam Duritz. Few individuals in the history of rock are as simultaneously admirable and frustrating. When he's on ("Round Here," "Saint Robinson's Cadillac Dream," "Long December"), he's so, so on. When he's off ("Colorblind," "I Wish I Was a Girl," "New Frontier"), he's horribly off. But perhaps the greatest transgression is his more recent refusal to be productive in any capacity, good or bad. The Counting Crows, for all their longevity, hit-making prowess, and nearly unequalled musicianship, don't currently merit a higher ranking because they simply have been inactive for nearly four years. Here's hoping that next time is the best of times, rather than the worse.

6) R.E.M.
My brother and I believe that there are two types of people in the world: those who believe U2 was the quintessential alternative rock band of the 80's and those who believe R.E.M owns that distinction. Consider me in the latter camp, and I think time has proven it. Not only did R.E.M. age better in the 90's, they've become rock's most respectable and still relevant elder statesmen, opting instead to craft beautiful, accessible songs ("Imitation of Life," "Bad Day," etc.) rather than pimping IPods and posing as an unwitting, ludicrous self-parody. As a vocalist, Stipe remains as disarming, versatile, and gorgeous as ever, and the band has no shortage of creativity or ambition still in the tank. They are, with every new album and tour, writing the book on how a band can age gracefully.

5) My Morning Jacket
If R.E.M. was the South's band of yesterday, My Morning Jacket almost indisputably its band of today. Nevermind the fact that their first two major-label releases stand among the strongest and most relevant of the decade. Nevermind the fact that their live show is, to this artist's eye, currently the best on the planet. Nevermind the fact that Jim James hasn't even peaked as a songwriter yet, and that the addition of their new lead guitarist and keyboard player give the band an entirely new dimension in the studio and onstage. Disregard all of that, if you like. If for no other reason, love My Morning Jacket because they are a band simultaneously of yesterday and tomorrow--their music at once classic and clairvoyant, familiar and fresh. They are, arguably, rock's best new band, and it's possible they haven't even peaked yet.

4) Radiohead
If this list came out in 1997, Radiohead would be my consensus #1. Since The Bends and OK Computer (two Pantheon albums), Radiohead has taken an aesthetic departure towards more "experimental" music. While Kid A and Amnesiac were ultimately successful forays, Hail to the Thief is a thoroughly disjointed album. Most recently, they've sounded like a band that has blazed so many trails they're reluctant to pick one. Never discount their enormous influence, exceptional songwriting, and cultural importance--all three are above reproach. Radiohead's current problem is not unlike the Counting Crows': it's been far too long since their last release, so it's difficult to grade them on what they've done lately. There's a fair chance that the next Radiohead album will be completely brilliant, catapulting them to their debatable place at #1. Until then, though, their memory and sustained impact keep them safely in the Top 5.

3) Green Day
Many pop music fans, even Green Day fans, struggle with the question, "How seriously can I take Green Day?" This is due, in large part, to their self-effacing persona, their uneven live shows, and the fact that their debut album was named after poo. For me, American Idiot put those questions to rest. Here is a band that has simply, magically, completely grown up. Smarter songwriting, pointedly topical lyrics, fantastic musicianship, and a palpable sense of urgency inform this double-disc--it plays like the last and definitive statement of a band that has nearly everything to say for itself. And, in a time when some of rock's "biggest" bands claim their fame by pretending to be small, Green Day remains a great band for their willingness to go big, and their capacity for delivering.

2) The White Stripes
Of the two "new" bands in the Top 5, My Morning Jacket has the higher ceiling, but the White Stripes have (to this point) achieved more. This could be due to the fact that Jack and Meg White are simply older and more experienced than Jim James & Co. This could be due to the fact that they're more devoted to writing songs with a pop sensibility, gaining them increased airplay, exposure, and mainstream impact. Or, they could just be more consistent. Whatever the reason, the span from White Blood Cells to Get Behind Me Satan is as good a three-album stint as we've had since the mid-90's. These two are steady, reliable, sharp, and exciting, and in their absolute prime. For right now, they're as good as anyone.

1) Pearl Jam
The best band (in the studio and on the road) of the past 15 years just released one of their best albums. Their concerts are as tight and unpredictable as ever. And Eddie still has his fastball. Pearl Jam, at least for 2006, is the Once and Future King.

Self-entitled,
Chris

P.S. Special thanks to everyone at the P&H Wednesday--y'all know how to make a kid feel at home again.