Category Archives: music

dBs, Dentists

Two songs that seem very much of a common kind, though I find it hard to articulate exactly why. Maybe the high, incredibly clear vocals. Maybe that they’re songs about love that aren’t about pleasure.

The dBs, “Black and White”

The Dentists, “Charms and the Girl”

The Dentists song was one of those lost songs for me for years, something I’d heard on a mixtape some WHRB friend had made — all I remembered was that opening, the note repeated again and again, then the four-note circle, then the notes repeated, then the four-note circle, then the tenor vocal coming in: “I have heard / a hundred reasons why…” When I finally found it again, thanks to tech magnate and indie-pop culture hero Kardyhm Kelly, it was just as great as I’d remembered.  It’s not on Spotify.  Is that what we define as “obscure” these days?

Sinking Ships — The Cinema Clock

This post is to remind myself of this great 1980 release from a band that apparently nobody knows anything about.  I like the way it starts out like a Joy Division rip and then gets much bigger and more interesting (not more interesting than Joy Division, more interesting than a Joy Division rip.)

 

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I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’

“I’m tryin, I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’, I’m tryin'”

reappears, 25 years after Slanted and Enchanted, in Selena Gomez’s “Bad Liar””:

Both songs are lopey and talky.  Stephen Malkmus is talking over the Fall’s “A New Face in Hell.”   Gomez is talking over “Psycho Killer.” Gomez, unlike Malkmus, tells you what she’s trying to do, or trying to not do.  I don’t think this blunts the basic ambiguity of the line — I’m trying to do something, but also, yeah, I’m a little trying, aren’t I?

Bonus track:  Julian Cope, “Try Try Try.”  Your famous victory will be no victory!

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Linger

Dolores O’Riordan, singer in the Cranberries, died today.  In the fall of 1993 I was living in an apartment by myself for the first time, the Baltimorean on N. Charles Street.  I was devoting myself full-time to being a writer and kind of hating it.  I didn’t know anyone in Baltimore and the people in my program were mostly older than me and socially inaccessible and I was lonely.   The apartment was always too hot.  I ate spaghetti with jar sauce for dinner by myself and listened to “Linger.”  It’s still the sound of loneliness to me, after all these years.

 

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Show report: Camp Friends and Omni at the Terrace

Beautiful weather last night so I decided, why not, go to the Terrace for the free show WUD put on:  Camp Friends (Madison) and Omni (Atlanta).

Missed most of Camp Friends, who were billed as experimental but in fact played genial, not-real-tight college indie.  Singer took his shirt off.

Omni, though — this is the real thing.  Everyone says it sounds like 1981 (specifically:  1981), and they’re right, but it rather wonderfully doesn’t sound like any particular thing in 1981.  There’s the herky-jerky-shoutiness and clipped chords (but on some songs that sounds like Devo and on others like Joe Jackson) and the jazz chords high on the neck (the Fall?  The Police?) and weird little technical guitar runs that sound like Genesis learning to play new wave guitar on Abacab and arpeggios that sound like Peter Buck learning to play guitar in the first place (these guys are from Georgia, after all.)  What I kind of love about young people is this.  To me, all these sounds are separate styles; to a kid picking up these records now, they’re just 1981, they’re all material to work from, you can put them together and something kind of great comes out of it.

You see a lot of bands with a frontman but not that many which, like Omni, have a frontman and a backman.  Philip Frobos sings and plays bass and mugs and talks to the audience.  Frankie Broyles, the guitar player, is a slight guy who looks like a librarian and stands still and almost expressionless while he plays his tight little runs.  Then, every once in a while, he unleashes an absolute storm of noise.  But still doesn’t grimace, still doesn’t move!  Amazing.  Penn and Teller is the only analogue I can think of.

Omni plays “Jungle Jenny,” live in Atlanta:

And here’s “Wire,” to give a sense of their more-dance-less-rock side:

 

Both songs are on Omni’s debut album, Deluxe, listenable at Bandcamp.

Best show I’ve seen at the Terrace in a long time.  Good job, WUD.

 

 

 

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Mark Metcalf

Have you ever heard of this guy?  I hadn’t.  Or thought I hadn’t.  But: he was Niedermeyer in Animal House

and the dad in Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It” video

and the Master, the Big Bad of Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 1.

That’s a hell of a career! Plus: he lived in suburban Milwaukee until three years ago! And he used to go out with Glenn Close and Carrie Fisher! OK. Now I’ve heard of Mark Metcalf and so have you.

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Robin laid a gun

OK here’s a weird piece of kid culture AB brought home:

Jingle bells, Batman smells

Robin laid a gun

Shot a tree and made it pee in 1981

This dates back at least to 2007 apparently.

It scans and rhymes very nicely but makes so sense at all.  What can it mean?

It seems like we are witnessing a kind of cultural hybrid; the “Jingle bells / Batman smells” of my childhood has here combined with a “Jingle bells / shotgun shells” tradition I was unaware of until now, which is actually older than the Batman version.  A lot of the “shotgun shells” versions found online involve Santa meeting his death in a hail of bullets, but “shot a tree and made it pee” is not uncommon.  I wonder how many utterly nonsensical kids rhymes we know are actually hybrids of different songs, each of which at some point sort of made sense?

 

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Show report: Xenia Rubinos at the Frequency

Xenia Rubinos is a — ok, what is she?  A singer-songwriter-yeller-wreaker-of-havoc who plays an avant-garde version of R&B with a lot of loud, hectic guitar in it.  I’ve been pronouncing her name “Zenya” but she says “Senia.”  She played to about 100 people at the Frequency last Thursday.  She seems to belong in a much bigger place in front of a much bigger crowd, so much so that it feels a little weird to be right there next to her as she does her frankly pretty amazing thing.  Here’s “Cherry Tree,” from her 2013 debut, still her best song by my lights.  It would be most people’s best song.

This, live, was pretty close to the record.  Other songs weren’t.  Live, I thought she and her band sometimes sounded like Fiery Furnaces, which doesn’t come through on the records.  “Pan Y Cafe”, a fun romp on the album

is much more aggro live.  It’s kind of what the Pixies “Spanish songs” would be like if somebody who actually spoke Spanish wrote them.  (She likes the Pixies.)

Maybe I should make a post about the greatest shows I’ve seen in Madison.  This was one of them.  Who else?  Man Man in 2007.  The Breeders in 2009.  Fatty Acids / Sat Nite Duets in 2012.  I’ll have to think about this more thoroughly.

 

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I got a message for you

“I got a message for you, if I could only remember.  I got a message for you, but you’re gonna have to come and get it.”  Kardyhm Kelly gave me a tape of Zopilote Machine in 1995 and I played nothing but for a month.  “Sinaloan Milk Snake Song” especially.  Nobody but the Mountain Goats ever made do-it-yourself music like this, nobody else ever made it seem so believable that the things it occurred to you to say or sing while you were playing your guitar in your bedroom at home might actually be pop songs.   The breakdown at the end of this!

“I’ve got a heavy coat, it’s filled with rocks and sand, and if I lose it I’ll be coming back one day (I got a message for you).”  I spent a lot of 1993 thinking about the chord progression in the verse of this song.  How does it sound so straight-ahead but also so weird?  Also the “la la la”s (“Sinaloan Milk Snake Song” has these too.)

“Roll me in the greenery, point me at the scenery.  Exploit me in the deanery.  I got a message for you.”

The first of these I ever heard.  Douglas Wolk used to send mixtapes to Elizabeth Wilmer at Math Olympiad training.  This was on one of them.  1987 probably. I hadn’t even started listening to WHFS yet, I had no idea who Robyn Hitchcock was.  It was on those tapes I first heard the Ramones, Marshall Crenshaw, the Mentors (OK, we were in high school, cut us some slack.)

(Update:  Douglas denies ever putting the Mentors on a mixtape, and now that I really think about it, I believe Eric Wepsic was to blame for bringing the Mentors into my life.)

Why is this line so potent?  Why is the message never explicitly presented?  It’s enough — it’s better — that the message only be alluded to, never spoken, never delivered.

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Very Aomby

This song, by Damily, is amazing:

This is tsapiky, a currently dominant style in popular music of southern Madagascar.  There isn’t much tsapiky on Spotify, but what there is is pretty good.  (None of it equals “Very Aomby,” though.)

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