Honestly, I Love You (but a few suggestions?)

The age of facebook has allowed anyone (at any time and as often as they so choose) to post youtube clips of songs to entertain (or annoy) those who receive them in their feed. So, outside of the long-armed reach of facebook, I'd like to post a few suggestions. Earnest suggestions. Type "1" songs (see below). I'd like to post a few clips with the hope that they receive consideration from you outside of any vapid forum and in the clear knowledge that I am posting them because I love the songs. See, the way I see it is this: there are three types of song posts on facebook. Let me clarify my methodology and list for you:

1: These are the songs posted in earnest. The songs that the poster can't stand to keep trapped inside their lil laptop's monitor. They're stuck in the heads of the people who post them all day long (perhaps on endless brain loop for days, weeks even). They are loved songs. They are brought out only when company visits. They're played for new lovers on that third or fourth or whatever date when the listener is studied intently (but secretly) for reaction, and when the listener does (or doesn't) react appropriately, well, I dunno.... Are they really that good looking?

2: These are posted to prove wit. These are the posts one would expect from members of They Might Be Giants or some similarly over-learned under-feeling NPR porn band. They are posted to caress the ego of the poster (is that considered psychic masturbation?). They are, simply speaking, "Isn't this ironic?!? HA!" posts. Of course, sometimes things are posted for sheer hilarity. If the poster thinks old ladies falling down is funny, so be it. Their disdain for the world is a necessary consideration. These types of posts must be judged on the basis of:

     A) The trustworthiness of the poster (isn't there another word for "poster"? Shit.)

     B) Level of funniness. This is a dangerous area, listener. As your mother said a gazillion times, "Be careful, children. Remember: F-u-n rhymes with g-u-n". She didn't say that? She should have. Unless she regularly packed heat. Regardless of what your mama said, funny is funny. Sometimes a "hee" sometimes a "ha" and sometimes, just sometimes, it's truly hilarious. But regardless, these types of posts are unreliable. They are not earnest, though they might not be arrogant either. (Disclaimer: I'm a fan of the funny for the the sake of the funny).                                

3: These are unreliable posts due to simple chemical abnormalities (or normalities, depending on your friends). These clips are posted under the influence of chemicals, be they notable drugs (like, oh i dunno, crack cocaine or the lesser considered substances like Tylenol PM). Of course, not knowing your "friends" personally, perhaps these clips are posted on psychiatric drug holidays (brief vacations from substances that may make the "friend" less insufferable, whether they be suffering themselves or not). Sleep deprivation can also complicate a post. It's a clinical fact that psychosis slowly sets in when sleepless nights accrue, and though it may not seem it, your friend is certifiable. An innumerable number of factors could be at play, and while it may entertain both of us for me to further illuminate these many and varied possibilities, I am becoming bored with myself now so I'm moving on.


And so, dear reader, I submit to you (absolutely unapologetically) these three songs. I am not submitting them for the video included necessarily, but for the love of the song. No irony is intended or implied. I've nothing to prove. I was never and will never be a member of any modern-day novelty troupe (unless it pays well, then all bets are off). I have taken all my medication as directed (even took the last one with a full glass of water! Just as directed!). Nothing has entered my bloodstream that ought not be there (unless enchiladas are now known to the state of California to cross the blood-brain barrier). These songs are stuck in my bones. They aren't the "greatest", the "most relevant", the "most underrated", etc. I just love them. Now. Today. Please: let me know what you think. Even better, gimme some of yours. After all, these are what real recommendations are (and by "are" I mean I really get off on this shit and I hope you will, too).

The first is the Sparklehorse song most often stuck in my head. It's from Linkous' 2nd record Good Morning Spider, maybe the least remembered or critically loved (but who really knows or cares - I never claimed to be a critic or historian, just someone who likes rock and roll). And since Mark Linkous died Saturday it's been stuck up there:


The second song is a Spiritualized song full of musical violence and brilliance that was released on a record that began their exit from the hipster critic lovefests (they're out of vogue now? so what...) called Let It Come Down. But the song stands alongside anything they've done and, in my mind, Jason Pierce is still making great records (Songs in A & E absolutely has it's moments) But I unabashedly love this song (and yes, in this case the I adore the video as well). And I know it's super sentimental and all. I love it for that. Here goes:


The third and last I first heard on an Oxford American magazine sampler cd. Google "Jim Ford". His story is too amazing to not research further. Raising Brando's kids, hanging with Sly Stone, appearing in cartoon form in Playboy, writing Harry Hippie for Bobby Womack... This guy did it all. Then died in a trailer north of San Francisco working on Fiats and afraid to leave the house. The song oozes soul and the man is as white as they come. Go figure:



So that's it. I did the best I could to write this post and then post for y'all the first three songs that came to mind. Refreshingly honest, you say? I imagine most of you know me too well to mix the "h" word with my name in conversation (except in jest). But I did, quite simply, post the first three songs that occurred to me to post without any consideration, so there ya go. I'm sure they'd be different tomorrow or maybe five minutes from now, but doing it this way is the closest I'm gonna get to "givin ya what I got" or something like that. Adios.

--John Murry

Surviving The Revolution ( "I'm Not There" But You Are Definitely HERE)

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and open a vein."

-- Walter "Red" Smith

Just like any other musician or any music lover, I've spent hours in discussion with "audiophiles" dissecting the sonic merits of every album that's made any reputable (see: acceptably hip) "Top 100 Albums of All Time" list. Over the last several years almost all modern references have fallen out of these discussions, with any recently released album being replaced by another "vintage gem", perhaps even one that no one bought and listened to in it's own day and that's only found on the shelves of the most discriminating indie shops today (shops that have been all but replaced by iPods).

I'm not attempting to defend either the vinyl or iTunes cultures or to illustrate how any grander cultural or economic force has changed what we listen to. The reason I'm not is because I don't believe it has, at least not to any important extent. In fact, we are now living in an age in which even if you are dead broke you can, at any given moment, download any band's complete discography with the click of a mouse (if you own a computer, of course). If you have even the slightest interest in hearing something you've never before heard you can go to a myriad of websites for free, read what Pitchfork or PopMatters has to say, and download the next newest thing all free of risk (hey! it's free, right?). So why, then, in this brilliant age of constant communication, during the height of the satiation of the generation of entitlement's reign, are we talking less and less seriously about anything being released today and more and more about things we've been discussing since 1990? Because we are confused? We no longer know what we like?

No. Now that it can all be had instantly we have too much and we know that not as many people have the same albums as we do (ya know? it's a product-to-people ratio kinda thingy.). In the studio when we search our lobes for references for the music we want to create, our tiny little primate brains stutter. We don't have the nerve to say things like, "Something kinda like the intro to that LAST Dylan record". Instead, we start talking about "Blonde on Blonde" (or "Tonight's The Night" or "Hunky Dory") or any number of records made before 1980.

Man, we talk about Dylan ALOT. And rightfully so, but never about anything after "Blood On The Tracks", lest we receive a slap on the wrist for breaking this grand and unspoken rule. Rarely are lyrics even mentioned. My personal least favorites that have weasled their way in most recently are Joni Mitchell's "Blue" and Van Morrison's "Astral Weeks". Now don't get me wrong, both have their value and are "masterpieces", whatever the hell that means (though I'm not a fan of Joni Mitchell at all, really), but they weren't being mentioned ten years ago AT ALL. And yes, I have one dear friend who sees "Blue" as the very gateway into his own music making (and he makes it quite well). Of course they were talked about in music circles but, in my experience, they were never mentioned as reference points in studios and have seemingly, by something akin to divine intervention, been referenced over and over (and over and over) more recently.

And yet those two albums and a myriad of others discussed ad infinitum have had little effect on the records I've seen made (and little to none on those I've heard at all). In the 80's people wanted to sound like someone on SST and in the 90's it was SubPop and if they were "talented" (if they had something, anything) they ended up sounding a bit like those bands but ultimately sounded like themselves. When Sam Philips recorded Elvis I seriously doubt he said, "Mr. Presley, what I'm hearing here is a kinda (insert something here) crossed with a bit of, you know, (insert something else here). Berry Gordy went looking for teenagers to sign (who certainly weren't studying Mom and Dad's records at home in preparation).

In his book "How The Beatles Destroyed Rock and Roll" Elijah Wald blames it on the over-synthesizing of disparate musical forms and on there not being enough of the intangible(the "it feels good!" stuff) in all things after the Brit invaders washed ashore for good. I think Mr. Wald is right in his assertions, for the most part. But I think the scourge of modern music (or indie rock, anyway, cause hip hop hasn't lost it yet) is the endless meta-analyses that float around in discussions and the disuse of the body. As rock star neurologist Oliver Sacks has said, "Certainly it's not just a mathematical experience, it's an emotional one". Rock and roll (the name itself) is a bawdy old reference to gettin' it on (literally).

My thesis, my manifesto (here, today, right now anyway), is that we are analyzing and referencing and counter-referencing the heart and soul straight out of rock and roll. We are taking up so much oxygen running our mouths that we are choking out the intangible and the magical. We are, by talking too much about what moves us musically, not moving ourselves at all. We are too afraid to tap our feet, too afraid to shake our collective ass, too thoroughly post-modern to let anyone know we love something (I mean REALLY love it). Musicians are becoming scientists. And strangely scientists (like Dr. Sacks) are becoming musicians. Like sportswriter Red Smith (the Michael Lewis of his day) says above, to create art you have to do much more than synthesize or imitate. Ya gotta bleed. You have to inject yourself into it (awesome pun intended).

So go home, illegally download GNR's "November Rain", and wait for Slash's solo to kick in. And then, without any hint of irony, play the shit out of your air guitar and give your girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife/friend/pet that knowing nod (you know what I'm talking about). Because yes, people: deep down we all know it just feels right. And any song or album that doesn't ain't worth shit.

--John Murry