Top 10 of 2010

(***For those of you reading this on the Chris Milam site, apologies for the intro.  This is my first post at the Vinyl District, a fantastic music blog out of D.C. that's launching a sister site Memphis.  I'll fill in all the details very soon, I promise.  Meantime, enjoy!)


For those of you I haven't met, let me introduce myself: I'm Chris Milam ("MY-lum").  I'm a singer/songwriter from Memphis, then Nashville, then NYC, now back in Memphis, splitting my time between home and an overactive touring schedule.  I like BBQ, football, dogs, and democracy (in that order).  My passion for trampolines is "well above average."  I have an encyclopedic knowledge of Saved By the Bell, but can't do long division.  I enjoy everything Paul Newman ever made, including pasta sauce.  And (obviously) I love music.

I keep a Blog at my site, ChrisMilam.com, where I talk a lot about music: writing it, performing it, and listening to it.  Recently, Memphis music community dynamo Rachel Hurley asked if I'd like to contribute to Vinyl District's soon-to-launch Memphis site.  Naturally, I said yes!

Every month I'll have a running feature that will be posted right here.  Occasionally I'll post something extra, such as today's Top 10 Albums of 2010.  And, of course, you can get all my posts on TVD and elsewhere by simply bookmarking the Chris Milam Blog and/or subscribing. 

Being an artist and writing about other artists gets tricky; drafting a Top 10 Albums list when you've released an album in 2010 yourself is like voting on superlatives at a super-small high school.  With every omission or oversight, you nonsensically expect someone to feel slighted.  As I type this, I imagine a scenario in which Eminem (whom I've never met) gets his feelings hurt and shows up at my door with baseball bats and half the Detroit Tigers.

Naturally, I'm giving a superlative flair to my list.  Here, now, are my Top 10 Albums for 2010!

(Side note: Please feel free to join the conversation in the comments!  But be forewarned: this isn't a "Best Of" list, it's a "Favorites" list.  Sometimes "best" and "favorite" aren't the same thing.  For example, "Day In the Life" is the best song on Sgt. Pepper, but "Good Morning, Good Morning" is my favorite.  You get the idea.  So, I'm totally open to the fact that some albums that might've been better than these.  They're simply my ten favorites of 2010.  With high school superlatives assigned to them.  Enjoy!)

10) "Life of the Party": Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, I Learned the Hard Way.
I Love It Because: They've always been a great band, but this is a another leap forward in their songwriting.
Perfect For: Going to a party your ex is attending and having an awesome time despite them.
Listen To: "I Learned the Hard Way"

9) "Most Huggable": Magic Kids, Memphis.
I Love It Because: The Beach Boys' sonic influence drew me in; the Beach Boys' intellectual influence that kept me listening: simple songs conveying complex emotions.  Earnest, charming, and beautifully-executed.  
Perfect For: Hanging by a pool in July with a girl you secretly like.
Listen To: "Phone"


8) "Most Dependable": Delta Spirit, History From Below.
I Love It Because: I think this about sums it up.  After Ode To Sunshine, this sophomore album gave me the right balance of expected pleasures and pleasant surprises. 
Perfect For: Coming home after a long time away and feeling a little uneasy.  Bonus points if fireflies are somehow involved.
Listen To: "Golden State"

7) "Most Likely To Succeed": Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More.
I Love It Because: British group with Avett-esque roots, anger issues and otherworldly harmonies?  Sign me up.  Bonus points for a folk-band being this pop-friendly and ambitious--I'm excited by this album, but I'm more excited to see where they go next. 
Perfect For: Drinking by yourself in January and wondering if you should call her (for the record, the answer is "no.").
Listen To: "Sigh No More"

6) "Class Beauty": Band of Horses, Infinite Arms.
I Love It Because: Sheer sonic beauty.  Nearly every song on this album has at least one moment that makes me want to hear it again.  And again, and again... 
Perfect For: Driving through a snow flurry a week before Christmas.  Bonus points if you're exhausted/a little sick/ambivalent about your destination.
Listen To: "Older"

5) "Most Popular": Kings of Leon, Come Around Sundown.
I Love It Because: I loved their first album for its sound and attitude.  I loved the second album for its songs.  I loved the third for its scope and weirdness.  I loved the fourth for its naked ambition--they're clearly gunning for the title "Biggest Band On Earth."  And I love the fifth album because they're embracing that success--they sound at ease.  I love bands that explicitly want to be the Biggest.  Come Around Sundown shows KOL as the rare band comfortable in that role. 
Perfect For: Attending a birthday party for someone you don't know.
Listen To: "Mary"

4) "Class Clown": Dr. Dog, Shame, Shame.
I Love It Because: It sounds like a 40-minute, understated, lovely goodbye letter from an old friend.  There's great levity--and underlying sadness--in all of my favorite Dr. Dog songs, and this album walks that tightrope beautifully. 
Perfect For: Whatever you do the most without thinking about it, then thinking about it.
Listen To: "Shadow People"

3) "Most Well-Rounded": Dawes, North Hills.
I Love It Because: I love anything/everything that successfully derives from the Band.  Their lyrics--weaving between narratives, self-examination, and philosophical musings--kept me listening.  The music industry is increasingly niche-driven, which puts pressure on artists to focus each album around doing "one thing well."  Kudos to Dawes for putting so many different types of songs together, and letting their strengths and their collective story speak for themselves. 
Perfect For: Playing in the background as you're raking leaves, trying not to think about a girl (and failing).
Listen To: "When My Time Comes"

2) "Prom/Homecoming King": Tom Petty, Mojo.
I Love It Because: It's Tom Petty's Love and Theft.  Because Petty's been making great pop songs for decades, we tend to take him for granted.  We shouldn't: his gift of making something this hard look this easy, song after song, album after album, is maybe the rarest of all.  These songs sound like a breath of fresh air--inspired, exuberant, and deftly-performed--which is remarkable from one of rock's elder statesman.    
Perfect For: Motel-hopping in the great American west, flirting with diner waitresses, and daydreaming about pirates.
Listen To: "I Should've Known It"

1) "Most Likable": New Pornographers, Together.
I Love It Because: I can't imagine anyone not loving something on this album.  It's catchy, generous of spirit, familiar yet surprising, lyrically challenging, and imminently listenable.     
Perfect For: A spring day alone in the park, and enjoying yourself even more than if you had a date.
Listen To: "Moves"

Also receiving votes (in semi-alphabetical order):
Valedictorian: Belle & Sebastian (Write About Love), Josh Ritter (So Runs the World Away)
Lives of (Another) Party: Black Keys (Brothers), Hold Steady (Heaven Is Whenever), Kanye West (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), MGMT (Congratulations)
Class Rebel: Dead Weather (Sea of Cowards), Jamey Johnson (The Guitar Song)
Best Dressed: Vampire Weekend (Contra)

What were your favorites of 2010?  What did I leave out?  Hit up the comments and join the fray!

The Mailbag Returns!

It's that time again.  Time for turkey-induced comas, outlet mall mayhem, the most wonderful music of the year, and eggnog-fueled family confessionals.  It's also time (over time, in fact), for another Mailbag!

Thanks again to everyone who wrote in--your mail was awesome, as always.  And if you'd like to be in a future Mailbag, just drop me a line!  I promise all emails are read and much appreciated.

Here we go!

Chris--sometimes I get hangovers.  I also have to get on the subway, so I like to have music to listen to instead of the grinding of trains.  What would you suggest for a good hangover playlist?
--Becky, Park Slope, Brooklyn NY

I spent more time thinking about this question than I did deciding my major in college.  I'm thrilled to answer this.

First thing's first: I have obviously never had a drink of alcohol in my life--save a glass of champagne at my own christening--and certainly wouldn't have consumed enough to merit a hangover.  Further, I don't advocate the consumption of alcohol in any volume that would induce physical/emotional illness afterward.  My motto has always been, "stick to apple juice."

Now, if I DID experience a hangover, I can't imagine I'd want anything excessively loud.  I wouldn't want to kick out the jams with jarring percussion and amps cranked to eleven.  Similarly, it's not the time for hip hop; I couldn't dance if I wanted to.  I'm guessing (again, totally guessing here) that I'm dealing with equal doses shame, self-pity, and regret.  So songs with blatantly carefree messages ("Don't Worry, Be Happy") won't help--and likely will compound--my problem.  I don't want something synthetic, techno, or experimental--my hangover is here, it's now, it's all too real, and it's visceral.  Finally, I probably want to put the entire sideshow behind me as soon as possible.  This excludes all music that would remind me of why I drank in the first place.  The range here is anything from party tracks to breakup music.  No "sad bastard" songs.  I'm low, and don't want to feel lower.

I want music that eases the mind, but isn't overtly happy.  I want something steady, not rocking.  I want something with a pulse, but a slow one.  I want it to have company (more than just an acoustic guitar, for example), but it can't be loud.  This sounds counter-intuitive, but I don't want anything too good, too impacting.  I don't want a lyric I have to engage.  I don't want to think.  I want the musical equivalent of a warm bath.  Essentially (and again, this is all hypothetical) I want what Rob Gordon wants one Monday morning in High Fidelity: something I can ignore.

Here, now, is The Morning After: Sixteen Songs For Today's Hangover:

Tom Waits, "Ol' 55" - Tom Waits is the linchpin of any hangover mix.

My Morning Jacket, "Golden" - I can't imagine anything being easier to listen to.

Lyle Lovett, "If I Had a Boat" - Even Lyle's darkest songs make me think everything's going to be okay.

Vetiver "Rolling Sea" - Really, anything by Vetiver fits the bill.

Belle & Sebastian, "The State I Am In" - What was Rob Gordon listening to that Monday morning?  "The new Belle & Sebastian."

Stereophonics, "Caravan Holiday" - More British mid-tempo, easy melodies.

Green Day, "Macy's Day Parade" - Vague malaise, exhaustion, but not in your face about it.

Elliot Smith, "Because" - The Beatles version would carry too much with it.  Gorgeous, nondescript--sounds like a really nice nap.

Delta Spirit, "Tomorrow Goes Away" - Bad news: it's pretty explicit about its angst.  Good news: it's really short.

Billy Bragg & Wilco, "California Stars" - A lot of the Mermaid Avenue stuff fits the bill, but this one's the least love-centric. 

Radiohead, "No Surprises" - Radiohead's dangerous territory if you don't want your hangover to get too heady.  This one's the lightest--and prettiest--of the options.

Pearl Jam, "Around the Bend" - A weird lullaby; as negligible as you want it to be.

Ryan Adams, "Chin Up, Cheer Up" - Because at some point you need to test the waters with a dose of cheer and optimism.

Tom Petty, "It'll All Work Out" - Sure, it's about a girl, but Tom Petty can be the exception to the rule.

R.E.M., "Find the River" - Pretty, mid-tempo, balances frustration and hope, sung by one of rock's most reassuring voices.

***Bonus Playlist!***  Good Morning Midnight: Twelve Songs for This Year's Hangover

Now there is a type of hangover that only happens so often (my friends tell me).  It's the rare hangover that you want to face head-on.  You want to wallow in all the self-pity available.  You want to stare down the drink and the shame and give it the saddest laugh imaginable.  When this happens, you'll know it.

The key (I've heard) is embracing what physically led to the hangover (drinking like an idiot) more than what emotionally led to the hangover (breakup/depression/rush party/etc).  There are some beautiful songs inspired by bad-idea-drinking, and this is what they're there for.  They are some of the darkest, bleakest, saddest, pitiful tracks ever committed to tape, and I love them for it.  Embrace them fully, then (for God's sake) leave them behind.

Tom Waits, "Closing Time" - Tom Waits is the linchpin of any hangover mix.

Ryan Adams, "The Bar Is A Beautiful Place" - Gorgeous, haggard.  Hard to hear but irresistible.

Cory Branan, "Freefall" - Unreleased, about bad ideas and empty acts.  Arguably Branan's darkest--and most powerful--song.

Lucero, "Noon As Dark As Midnight" - Really, pick a Lucero song.

Uncle Tupelo, "Moonshiner" - The acoustic guitar's walkdown to minor mode (1:58) following, "pretty women...I wish they was mine," has always killed me. 

Radiohead, "Motion Picture Soundtrack" - A really specific memory attached to this one.  It sounds unspeakably sad to me.

Pawtuckets, "Empty Bottle" - For all the obvious reasons; you're never quite sure who he's talking to.  Especially the vocal delivery on "let go of me now/let go of me please."

Bright Eyes, "Lua" - Get down, Bright Eyes fans!  Props to this one--it deftly tells the story I described above.

Beck, "Guess I'm Doing Fine" - As you might've guessed, he's not doing fine.  Not at all.

Amy Winehouse, "Back To Black" - Self-destruction prophesied.

Stereophonics, "Lying To Myself Again" - Tellingly, my favorite Stereophonics song.

Bob Dylan, "Most of the Time" - Sure, this is about the girl more than anything else.  But my God, how can a song this brutal feel this good?

Those are my picks--what are yours???

(Sports Alert!  The next question is about college football.  If you're not interested in college football, now would be a great time to hop in the breadline, commie.)

Interesting stat: since the BCS championship game started in 1998, only 12 different teams have ever played in the game.  My question: with approximately 120 teams in the FBS division, is it a good thing that college football is dominated by such a small elite? Would a playoff really change this?  Sometimes you get a little tired of the same teams.
--Jimbo "Secretly an Egalitarian" Fisher, Buffalo NY

The bad news for egalitarians: college football has always been and always will be dominated by a small number of elite teams.  The good news: those teams change.  Look at where Alabama was in 2002 compared to now.  Conversely, look at where Miami was in 2002.  I think what you're getting at is even though dominance for this group is cyclical (Bama's up, Miami's down, etc.), there's still a small number of teams that even have a shot at dominance.

I'm not so sure.  Virginia Tech is an example (albeit maybe the only example) of a program that started in obscurity, rose to prominence, and has maintained that success in the long-term.  It can happen, but it's infrequent.

It also takes:
1) A coaching staff that finds unconventional ways to win against more talented teams (VT example: special teams).
2) One game-changing recruit (VT example: Michael Vick and, in a different way, defensive coordinator Bud Foster).
3) Some luck. (VT example: Michael Vick, my God, Michael Vick)
4) Some outside-the-box marketing and recruitment ideas (VT example: playing a ton of nationally-televised Thursday night games before anyone else thought to.)
4) Admitting to yourself that the playing field isn't equal, the Big Guys don't want to give you the benefit of the doubt, and you have to go above and beyond "what's fair" to prove your worth.  (VT example: scheduling more tough non-conference games than they should've.)

This last point is something Boise State needs to come to terms with.  One big non-conference win a year clearly isn't enough.  Maybe that's not fair, but that's your reality.  Schedule two, or three top ranked teams outside your conference.  Stack them up and take on everybody (the way Bobby Bowden did when he was building up Florida State in the 80's).  Some programs are born on third and think they got a triple; some programs have to do more to get to the same place.  It's not fair, but it's reality.

As for a playoff, it wouldn't help the lack of parity.  That's a systemic issue in the way each program works and the resources it has at its disposal.  A playoff would only help the stray non-BCS team get its shot at a title.  Boise St. is more likely to get a real shot at a championship in a playoff than in the current BCS format;  it's the difference between earning one spot out of several in a tournament (which they clearly would do) and earning enough votes for one spot, period. 

I don't get sick of watching the same teams in the Big Game (Oklahoma, Ohio State, etc.).  I get sick of watching the same teams lose the Big Game (Oklahoma, Ohio State, etc.). 

Cue obnoxious SEC chant!  S-E-C!  S-E-C!

Chris: Like you, I generally dislike baseball, and I favor football, particularly college football.  However, I find that there are many, many good songs about baseball and nearly zero about football.  For example, the album that the Baseball Project* released a couple years ago was one of my favorites of 2008 (check out the song "Harvey Haddix" in particular) and Todd Snider's "America's Favorite Pastime" appeals to fans of sports and recreational drugs.  Football has given us nothing in the music department.  Why is this?  Must the baseball fan turn to art in order to prevent himself from going insane with boredom?  And, when will Chris Milam fill the college football pop song void?
 --Seth in Urbana, IL



*This band features REM's Peter Buck plus two solid songwriters from bands that are apparently well-respected were previously unknown to me, The Minus 5 and the Young Fresh Fellows.

First thing's first: the Young Fresh Fellows are fantastic.  I was introduced to them by the now-classic music doc Hype! about the Seattle rock explosion in the early 90's.  This song backdropped a grunge-gone-mainstream montage: flannel couture, Japanese fans with Elvis sideburns, etc.  The other obscure Seattle band that movie introduced me to was the Fastbacks--their song "K Street" is still one of my sleeper favorites from that era.

Second thing's second: when you say "football has given us nothing in the music department," I'm assuming you don't count the "rowdy friends" Monday Night Football intro?  Courtesy of Bocephus?  Or the Faith Hill "hey jack/slappin fat/etc." Sunday Night jingle? 

Yeah, I don't either.

NOW to the heart of the matter: why does baseball inspire better music than football? 

Theory #1:
It's older, or at least has been mythologized by America for much longer.  Simply more time for baseball tunes to work their way into our song canon.  This is especially true from football's side: it's been widely viewed since the sixties, but it's only become America's true past-time (and the dominant sport in terms of popularity and cultural relevance) in the last generation.  Give it some time.

Theory #2: 
The sport itself is more musical, and more pastoral.  The crack of the bat sounds like a rim shot.  The grassy outfield inspires "home on the range" lyrical cliches.  Mellow ballpark organs fill the gaps between innings.  Compare this to football, where everything basically sounds like a Detroit auto plant--one huge metallic explosion after another--and this (a little) makes sense.

Theory #3: 
An extension of #2: what type of music would football inspire?  Heavy metal, probably--brawny, screaming, leaden, heavy metal.  Not bouncy American standards that can be sung while watching the green grass sway and tubby dudes in pajamas trot around dirt.

It's hard to admit, but the thing I find so lame, irrelevant, and relentlessly dull about baseball is the same thing that lends itself to easy songs: it's an accommodating blank slate, filled with a cliched lexicon we're taught since childhood.  It's easy to write another baseball song because SO MANY have already been written; just listen to "Centerfield" and paint by the numbers.

What we need is one--just one--truly great football song.  That'll provide the blueprint to future generations of red-blooded American singers and songwriters.

Clearly, this is my destiny.  Thanks for the push, Seth.

But what do y'all think?  Are we totally forgetting a catalog of football tunes?  Am I off-base?  Oh Lord, I even intended that pun.  Time to move on.

Chris, you like ranking things arbitrarily.  It's the holiday season.  Rank all the major holidays!
--Chris in Memphis

Fine, I wrote this one in myself.  But someone needed to!

I'm defining "major" holidays as:
--Secular holidays everyone celebrates or at least remembers and looks forward to (days of remembrance aren't included, as they're not typically a "celebration")
--Religious holidays that I've celebrated.  All apologies--I'm sure I'd love them all, but can only speak to my Methodist experience.  Please tell me what I'm missing in the comments!

So, that gives us this list (and let me hear it if I'm missing any):
--Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Halloween, July 4th, St. Patrick's Day, Cinco de Mayo, Easter, Valentine's Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day.  Eleven total.  Let's get to the rankings!

Honorable Mention: Michael Vick's Birthday (June 26)
You've got your Christmas, I've got mine. 

Honorable Mention (Seriously): March Madness
The first 24-48 hours of March Madness might as well be a national holiday.  Nobody gets any work done, everyone's doing the exact same thing, and it's a time of hope, celebration, and (later) bitter disappointment.  Bonus points, since this occasionally coincides with St. Patrick's Day.

11) Memorial Day
People always have big Memorial Day plans, but I never do.  In my life, I don't think I've ever done anything fun on Memorial Day.  So this is me, being bitter.

10) Labor Day
Fall's my favorite season, and Labor Day weekend is its unofficial beginning.  Huge points for football-season-starting associations.

9) Cinco de Mayo
I love Cinco de Mayo.  The problem is that not enough of my friends remember it or celebrate it, so it's only occasionally (and incidentally) fun.  Clearly, I need to move to Mexico.

8) Easter
The holiday itself doesn't blow my hair back, but the periphery does: cheerful folks at church, girls in sundresses, etc.  How dare you judge me!  (Side note: Easter gets points deducted for the same reason all early spring events do--it's early enough that we all still look like our pale winter selves, but late enough that the sun's illuminating us in all our ghastly glory.  Easter/Steeplechase pictures are usually horrifying.)

7) Valentine's Day
In all honesty, I actually enjoy VDay.  On the years with good Valentine's memories, I've looked forward to it.  On the forgettable VDays, I haven't begrudged couples their fun.  And God knows we need something to take the edge off February.  I just can't put it ahead of the Top 6.

6) July 4
Love mid-summer, love pool parties, love BBQ.  Love AMERICA.  The downside is that it seems like folks are always traveling/out of town/spread out for July 4.  There's rarely one, centralized celebration.  But when there is, it's one of my favorite holidays.

5) St. Patrick's Day
For all the predictable reasons.  Also, SXSW typically overlaps, as does March Madness, as does some (unseasonably) good weather.  By the time mid-March comes, I normally have so much stored, frustrated energy from winter that St. Patty's is a much bigger deal than it should be.  Bonus points: my first day of recording my first album (Leaving Tennessee) was St. Patrick's Day 2005.

4) New Years Eve
Its ceiling is ridiculously high, but it's almost always disappointing or anticlimactic.  But when it's good, it's fantastic, and it's the last real chance to celebrate the holiday season before two months of dreary weather and non-events set in.  The downside: I don't like black eyed peas.

3) Thanksgiving
Ten years ago, Thanksgiving might not have cracked my Top 10.  "Let me get this straight," Chris would've said, "it's just Christmas dinner, but without everything else?  Lame!  Also, I'm asking Nicole to Homecoming and she's definitely saying yes."  Oh, how wrong I was.  About everything. 

Now, I get it: the food's fantastic, the little traditions (throwing the football with my brother, betting on when Dad falls asleep during the Cowboys game, etc.).  I love Thanksgiving for the same reason I love September, Fridays, appetizers, Please Please Me, the drive to a party, etc: it's the beginning of something.  And when this something is "the holiday season," that's a big deal.

2) Halloween
Look, if I could just eat candy for the rest of my life and not get scurvy, I would.  So the "food" category goes to Halloween.  It's always fun, people are always in a good mood, girls are dressed in "special" ways, it's the peak of fall, the weather is Chris-friendly (brisk but not cold), and you've got more great holidays to look forward to.  But there's also the other element, the weirdness of Halloween, that my brother pointed out to me years ago.  It's cool that a country founded by mostly Puritans decides to really celebrate all things dark, morbid, pagan, demonic, supernatural, and generally frightening, have its cherubic kids dress as devils, and party with tall tales, vandalism, and candy.  Halloween has the same dichotomy that all my favorite things embody: really fun if you don't think about it, and endlessly weird/amusing/kinda dark if you do.

1) Christmas
I'm on record at this point.  The Day After Thanksgiving hits, I decorate my place, I watch Love Actually, I drink hot chocolate, I listen to my Christmas playlist, my heart doubles in size Grinch-style, and I turn into a warm and/or fuzzy bowl of figgy pudding.  If you ever need a favor from me, or need to give me some bad news, do it in December.  I'm invulnerable.  I'm euphoric.  Christmas season is one of the only things I can think of that never disappoints--it's always memorable, always heady, and always has a little bit of magic.

What are your rankings?  Did I leave out your favorite holiday?  Want to make the case for Flag Day?  Hit up the comments!

If you need me, I'll be elbow-deep in some punkin pie.  Tis the season!

Until next time,
CM

Song of the Week Returns!

It's baaaaaack!

Song of the Week makes its triumphant return after a not-brief hiatus. In the past, I've used SOTW to describe, often with "musical jargon" and "songwriting mumbo jumbo," what makes a given song work. I'll still do that. I'll also occasionally post links. Sometimes, I'll talk about why I personally love a song--what memories and associations it conjures up, and why those matter. Sometimes I'll just post a link and let you deal with it. It all depends on the song.

But this week's song is an opportunity to turn a negative into a positive.

Song of the Week: Tom Petty, "A Higher Place"
Subtitle: "In Defense of Derivation" or "A Good Idea's Worth Repeating" or "Chris's Nine-Thousandth Love Letter to Tom Petty, and First One to Taylor Swift"

A quick anecdote:

Last spring, I sat in the office of a Nashville exec who is a great fan of music, a truly gifted A&R scout, and all-around capital fellow. He said, "play me some country songs." I had four on a CD. He hit play. Track 1 got to the chorus, and he hit next. Track 2 got to the chorus, and he hit next. Track 3 got to the chorus, he skipped again. Only Track 4 played in full. When the disc finished, he said, "You know what was wrong with the first three songs?"

"Nope," I replied.

"Nothing. They were good, down-the-pipe, pop country songs. They were so good, in fact, they've already been hits. You know what was right about the last one?"

"Nope," I replied.

"It's the same kind of song, but I'd never heard that hook before. That's what I want: the hook that I haven't heard before."

I can see those who dislike contemporary country bristling: many hate it because they think it all sounds the same, or is too derivative. But there's a difference between musical derivation (yes, G-C-D can--and does--rule the world) and lyrical derivation. Nashville knows that a great melody's a great melody, and country fans expect a certain type of song structure (narrative verses, soaring choruses) and production (big studio polish, traditional country arrangements, etc.). But SOMETHING has to be different. In other words, don't write "Achy Breaky Soul." Nobody's buying it.

In one way, Nashville's songwriting community operates like Hollywood: there's a perceived model for "what works," and it's a model that the business types and the creative types both recognize and work around. For example, a hit country song needs X, Y, and Z. A hit movie needs A, B, and C. The blueprint's constantly evolving, of course, but it's always there. The industry largely expects a paint-by-numbers approach for projects with pop intentions.

NOW, here's where Nashville differs from LA: execs will turn off a song if it's "been done before." While Hollywood lives off prequels, sequels, remakes, and films "based on a true story," Nashville wants new ideas. Or, it wants new versions of old ideas.

This is what they say in their office, and this is what many execs genuinely believe, and I think their industry's healthier for it. BUT...

The reality is that derivation produces more hits than it denies. While Nashville's telling published songwriters "bring me something new," its breakout star is Taylor Swift, whose songs are not only lyrical facsimiles of each other, but derive from the most cliche modern narrative possible: the teenage fairytale.

Let me be clear: I like Taylor Swift. I think she's a talented songwriter. I admire her ability to take something old and repackage it cleverly and winningly. But the fact is this: the right song will hit regardless of whatever rules the execs are playing by, because songs aren't movies.

People respond to music because of the great, incommunicable aspect of its aesthetics; it uses a language we don't speak and can't touch, but know intrinsically. Somehow, it sonically connects. And while none of us know exactly how this happens or why, the vehicle for that connection is the melody.

In other words: it's the melody, stupid.

A great melody always wins. Often, songs with great melodies play by all the other pop songwriting rules (4-minutes or less, verse-chorus structure, etc.). Many times they don't. Which is why the same song that might get Taylor Swift's demo skipped in an office has made her a megastar outside that office.

Which brings me, at last, to Tom Petty, King of the Three-Chord Song. Tom Petty is:
1) One of the most explicitly derivative songwriters in rock history.
2) A writer of simple, largely formulaic pop songs.
3) An relentless fan/disciple of the Byrds and Beatles.
4) One of the most universally loved and respected American artists (in other words, name me someone who DOESN'T like Tom Petty).
5) One of the most commercially successful solo artists of all-time.

"A Higher Place" might be Tom Petty's most Byrds/Beatles-derivative song, remarkable considering his cover of "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better" and his work with George Harrison in the Traveling Wilburys. This song is a gorgeous homage to the songwriting devices of the Byrds and Rubber Soul-era Beatles, all jangly guitars, simple structures, optimistic lyrics, and harmony-drenched arrangements. Anyone listening to it who's ever heard 1) The Beatles, 2) The Byrds, or 3) pop music since 1963 would recognize its as being openly derivative.

Does that make it a bad song? Of course not--just listen to it. It's gorgeous, and impossible to dislike, in the way that so many Tom Petty songs are. In fact, I'd argue that its derivation makes it a better song.

Because he's working within a mid-60's pop-rock idiom, Petty can manipulate those sonic expectations: "this is a happy song," he seems to say, "bouncy, jangly, and predictable. Groove on it, brother." But when the "find somebody" stutter-step of each verse interrupts the song, the move isn't Beatles or Byrds--it's uniquely Petty. This interruption belies the song's upbeat foundation; there's a problem here, and Petty's lyrics let us know he needs help. The happy-song-with-angsty-lyrics is a classic pop juxtaposition, and Petty's one of its pioneers. While using his predecessors to establish one expectation (and make something beautiful), he uses his own artistic instincts to create something new.

And that's really the whole point: just as few things are wholly original, few things are wholly derivative. Even the most faithful cover artist will accidentally put his own stamp on the original, and even if that stamp is worse, it's still his. Derivation is to be embraced, because American pop music is the music of derivation: folk melodies, ancient ballads and narratives, a melting pot of disparate musical instruments and traditions. Pop melodies work because they're tried and true--some part of us unconsciously recognizes them, anticipates them, and celebrates them. Great artists take what's already there--the rough blueprint--and instinctively aid its evolution.

Like Tom Petty, the Beatles, or (sure) even Taylor Swift.

Music's always changing, even when it's not, and the song doesn't remain the same, even when it tries to.

Songs for November

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

30 Songs for November!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teenage Fanclub, "Falling Leaves"
Layup!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Band of Horses, "Marry Song"
Ditto.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the way it goes,
CM

Songs for October

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

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

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

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

31 Songs for October!

***Now with Clickable Playlist. Thanks Michael!

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

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

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

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

The Strokes, "Last Nite"
Consequences.

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

Simon & Garfunkel, "Cecilia"
Consequences.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Led Zeppelin, "Ramble On"
Layup!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the iTunes Randomized Bonus Pick is...

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

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

Take advice from fools,
CM

Songs for September

September.

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

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

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

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

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

Thirty Songs for September!

(Plus the one iTunes Random Pick.)

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Big Star, "September Gurls"
Layup!

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

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

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

Words only got in the way,
CM

Three Hour Tour

Back on that desert island, I've gots my Petty, and I've gots my Motown, and I ain't looking back. Here's my explanation:

First, the Springsteen vs. Petty debate. When people talk about Bruce Springsteen's importance, I don't fight it, and probably couldn't. He means a great deal to a great many people, and has probably shaped American singer/songwriter-dom as much as anyone post-Dylan. His particular brand of Jersey-tough-but-poet-at-heart became a successful artistic formula. He's made liberalism sound pragmatic. Maybe more than anyone, he's struck the right chord post-9/11. He's done nothing but churn out hit, after hit, after meaningful record, after meaningful record, for the better part of thirty years. I get it.

My issue with Bruce is that I hardly ever listen to him. Maybe it's the vocal histrionics, or the cringe-inducing grandpaerobics of his current shows, or maybe it's the pomp, grandeur, and full-throated circumstance of his best-known records...maybe it's just that I'm not from Jersey. It's not that I question his sincerity. I know he's sincere. It's that I can't relate to it. At all.

(Side note: I relate to sincerity. Just not whatever world he talks about and musical backdrop he uses to desribe it. Born to Run is the classic example, and one I've written about. I know, on paper, it's a good record. But I can't listen to it for purely subjective aesthetic hangups. It sounds cheesy to me. Incredibly cheesy. So cheesy I don't know how people listen to it and don't laugh. Again, maybe it's just that I'm not from the same place; like someone not from SoCal might not get past the sonic goofiness of the Beach Boys.)

So, save the odd latenight car-ride or road-trip celebration or any other incidental occasion, I don't seek out Bruce. "Blood Brothers" is the exception. I love that song whenever it finds me, and seek it out when it doesn't.

Tom Petty, for me, occupies the exact opposite end of the spectrum. It's an uphill battle to make the case that Petty's the more important figure (though I would make the case that he's a drastically underrated lyricist), he's one of the most listenable artists I know. In his entire catalog, there are maybe 4 songs I actively dislike. Everything else occupies some position between "casually enjoy it" to "fervently love it." His genius is not that everyone loves him; it's that nobody hates him.

And why should they? His songs are dynamic, melodic, inclusive, generous. He's grown and successfully experimented at every stage of his career. He knows his strengths, and trusts them enough not to pridefully chase his weaknesses. He says, simply, "I don't care what coffeehouse poet you think you are, ain't nothing on Picaresque that says more than 'Free Falling.'" And, of course, he's right.

So on my desert island, I need listenability. It's just me, and I don't need to find myself deep or important. I need someone who can bring any type of song to the table and take nothing off it. I want someone whose catalog is many and varied enough to keep me guessing and stave off boredom. I wouldn't last three days with Bruce and the Saxhounds. But Wildflowers alone could buy me a few years.

For the same reason (though by a much, much slimmer margin) Motown's catalog edges out Stax. This one was much more difficult for me to answer, because Stax's catalog is incredibly listenable in its own right, and obviously more indicative of where I'm from. Stax sounds like Memphis. Folks from there will always recognize its music as something not just wonderful, but inherently familiar. It sounds great, but it also sounds like home.

The issue, essentially, is that I'm an unabashed tramp for a great pop song. If you want to join the Motown-was-artistically-dishonest-shucking-and-jiving-for-white-folks-everywhere bandwagon, I won't stop you. I also don't care. There's no question that Stax, as a label representitive of an artistic movement (soul) and one committed to the representation of that art, sounds more vital, and in a way more authentic. But there's nothing dishonest about Motown's music. If you have a beef, take it up with the marketers. You can't tell me that the Four Tops didn't mean it when they sang. Motown produced some of the truest pop America's ever heard. Also--arguably--they produced the most beautiful songs.

It is a catalog so beautiful, so true, and so dynamic, that I don't think there's anything I'd rather take to the desert island. So, you can have the academic debates and talk to yourself about cultural importance-with-a-capital-i. What good is cultural importance alone, for eternity, on a desert island? To me, the beauty of the question that it takes social pretension completely out of the equation. It's you, and only you, on an island until you die. Nobody to lie to. Nobody to intellectualized art with. No conversations where you convince yourself of an opinion you don't actually share. On the island, there is no room for bs. All that matters is what you want to hear.

Sometimes, that's all that should matter.

This leads me to another question, to close out the week:

What is your favorite guilty pleasure?

This shouldn't imply that Tom Petty or Motown are guilty pleasures for me, or that they should be for anyone. They're great. I'm just taking the issue a step further. What would you enjoy most on a desert island, because you could listen, dance, and singalong without guilt? You're the only person around, forever. You can't be a dork.

So, to put it another way, what guilty pleasure would you most want to guiltlessly enjoy on the island?

Here's my Winner:


And Runner-Up:


Deal with THAT.

Highway in the night,
CM