#2 Pet Sounds - The Beach Boys

I had this revelation about a week ago, as I was sitting on the back porch watching my cat Socrates chase butterfly after butterfly.  He would pounce a little to their left and they would fly away; confirming my suspicions that he is partially blind.  I sat there, like Pip in front of his parents' graves and thought, I'm here.  I am here.  Like, my whole life, has been building up to this moment, that just as soon as I appreciated it, it had gone from me.  Like the butterfly that flew over the fence and then there was this new moment, slightly altered, slightly different from the one of neuron fires previous.  And, like a cat who lives only in the present, I knew that this is all I have.  I did not go to college in this moment.  I did not attend grade school in this moment.  I am not the freckle-faced nymph I once was, who secretly ate sticks of butter, carefully unwrapping them and savoring the decadence between small fingers, who was startled with annoyance at the discovery that I could not wash the oils from my hands so easily at the conclusion of my crime; and who started secret clubs where all the members had to have an imaginary friend who played tricks on the boys who killed lizards and toads for fun.  I am 25 right now.  but I won't be that exact age in another second.  I had had all these thoughts before, but they were marinated in this new, surprising, striking feeling of mortality.  Like, I am not promised tomorrow.  I have this moment with my large orange cat and a cup of coffee, and the feel of the grass beneath my bare feet.  But I have nothing else.  I will have other things when I go inside, when I watch paranoid forensic shows on TV while I wait for the next notable thing to happen, or I will have the feeling of the white and black keys beneath my fingers as I play a sonatina by Beethoven; but I do not have those things now.  I have a cat who found me along his winding path, and a cup of coffee.  I wondered why, with persistent annoyance that we do not train people to think like the eternally content cat.  We are taught from the smallest age, that we must wait until we grow up.  You must wait until Christmas to get the Xbox.  You will have your free time in the summer.  You can drive when you are 16, you can vote when you are 18, when you are out of college, you can do whatever you'd like.  It felt like all this incessant and pointless waiting led up to this moment.  That I am here.  Finally, after so long of waiting.  And nobody could have told me that the future held a cat and a cup of coffee.  And a Beach Boys album that may have helped to spark many of these thoughts.  What on earth was the point of waiting?  Why do we program people to look towards the future when it has not yet arrived; and it might not- for you may be the unfortunate boy whose remains are found in a sewer, like in the last forensic show.  Or you may have been one of those people who used to talk of nothing but the future, how you will become a doctor, how you will marry a beautiful woman, how you will make lots of money, and now you nurse dark bottles of beer after a tiring job, standing in intimate circles in the back corner of a bar and talk about nothing but the past, when it is no more.

When I first listened to Pet Sounds, by the Beach Boys, I was a little disappointed.  At first, it seemed very poppy, and I wondered with annoyance how they could have made their way to the second slot on the list.  I thought I would say things like, which beach boy turned trick to get them up that high on the list?  But I really don't know anything about why this album was so important.  I wasn't there in May of 1966 when the album came out.  I imagined young girls in high school buying the album at a record shop.  and I wondered where all those women were today.  Did they have grown children?  Did they remember the smell of the record, the crackling, popping noise it might make as they delicately placed the needle on the first track?  When they hear "God Only Knows" on the radio, do they imagine a past lover, a boy who, like the woman in question, shared the same sympathy with the lead vocalist?  Did they identify with music that supposedly shaped Rock and Roll history (for reasons unbeknown to me)?

When "don't talk, put your head on my shoulder" came on, I recalled a Paul McCartney concert a few years ago when he sang, "She was just 17, if you know what I mean..." and my insides almost curled up and died.  He looked like a gaunt, deathly ill ghost impersonating a man who once was.  An elderly shadow clinging to a moment that came and went.  And I wondered where the Beach Boys were now; what were they doing?  What time made them become.  Do they sit around and talk about the past, or do they have different lives now with new interests and new pleasures?  Did they have a moment with some butterflies, a cup of coffee, and a cat?

In this light, the songs seemed less pointless and poppy to me.  They seemed a little deeper than expected.  Suddenly lyrics like:
Wouldn't it be nice if we were older
then we wouldn't have to wait so long
and wouldn't it be nice to live together
in the kind of world where we belong?

Seemed like a group of people in a quarterlifecrisis reaching out for a future they were promised by parents who unknowingly programmed them.  I could feel people, perhaps a whole generation of people, itching to burst out of their skin, but feeling unable to do so.  The song that really stood out to me on this album, one that was not poppy and happy, one that seemed introspective and sad was "I just wasn't made for these times":

"I keep looking for a place to fit
where I can speak my mind
I've been trying hard to find the people
That I won't leave behind

They say I got brains
But they ain't doing me no good
I wish they could

Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good goin' for myself
But what goes wrong

Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)

I guess I just wasn't made for these times"

I could feel the angst and the annoyance.  The constant searching for a destiny that never really existed, but was always promised by people who don't have to live your life.  How many others of his generation felt this feeling.  God, how many people of my generation feel this?

In sum, the album's placement on the list at first glance seems like something to be written off as a fluke.  It could easily be dismissed that "oh, it only made it so far up the list because it was pop music."  Perhaps that helped it get placed, but there is much more to this album beneath the surface.  The thoughts that it provoked in me made me rethink dismissing it.  I wonder if I heard it years from now if it would have produced similar thoughts, or a whole chain of different ones.  Maybe 'twas the culmination of being the same age as the band members, in a generation that so desperately wants change and yet feels so impotent to break away helped to formulate this "review" if you can even call it that.

So thanks 24-year-old Brian Wilson.  Did you know that one day, on my own path, yours would cross mine on an iPod and I would spend a Sunday afternoon with a cat named Socrates sharing a private eternity of thoughts that will soon be forgotten, like everything else?  Until I am blindsided by a Proustian Madeleine years from now and a song of yours from this album will come on, and I might tell children of my own how had I not written a blog in my confused 20s, I never would have stopped to appreciate a neurological path accidently forged by a musician before me, who never knew my name, nor has never and will never meet me.  And they might laugh, or think I'm strange, and I, in turn, might laugh at them when I go to make brownies and all the butter is missing.

You make me and baby Jesus happy to hear your music.

What people who actually know how to write reviews said:

"Who's gonna hear this shit?" Beach Boys singer Mike Love asked the band's resident genius, Brian Wilson, in 1966, as Wilson played him the new songs he was working on. "The ears of a dog?" Confronted with his bandmate's contempt, Wilson made lemonade of lemons. "Ironically," he observed, "Mike's barb inspired the album's title."

Barking dogs — Wilson's dog Banana among them, in fact — are prominent among the found sounds on the album. The Beatles made a point of echoing them on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band — an acknowledgment that Pet Sounds was the inspiration for the Beatles' masterpiece. That gesture actually completed a circle of influence: Wilson initially conceived of Pet Sounds as an effort to top the Beatles' Rubber Soul.

Wilson essentially made Sounds without the rest of the band, using them only to flesh out the vocal arrangements. He even considered putting the album out as a solo project, and the first single, "Caroline, No," was released under his own name. The deeply personal nature of the songs, which Wilson co-wrote primarily with lyricist Tony Asher, further distinguished the album from the Beach Boys' typical fare. Its luxurious sound convey a heartbreaking wistfulness, as songs such as "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times" and "I'm Waiting for the Day" bid farewell to the innocent world of the early Sixties and to the Beach Boys' fun-in-the-sun hits.

Unfortunately, Capitol Records proved no more enamored of Pet Sounds than had Love; the label actually considered not releasing the album at all. Not yet vindicated by history, Wilson withdrew further into his inner world. "At the last meeting I attended concerning Pet Sounds," Wilson wrote in his autobiography (which took the name of the album's opening track, "Wouldn't It Be Nice") about his dealings with Capitol's executive brain trust, "I showed up holding a tape player and eight prerecorded, looped responses, including 'No comment,' 'Can you repeat that?' 'No' and 'Yes.' Refusing to utter a word, I played the various tapes when appropriate."

Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/500-greatest-albums-of-all-time-19691231/pet-sounds-the-beach-boys-19691231#ixzz1s8lvL2iN

#295 Meat is Murder - The Smiths

Trying to get through this album was like my recent three hour trip to the *genius* bar at the apple store.  That place is like a church where all the clergy have to be in wheelchairs, own square glasses or be non-white.  But if they are white, they must be outwardly gay; or at least pretend to be.  And you don't get an interview unless you have a more unconventional piercing than the interviewer.

yay.  celebrate **diversity**  Here is how it went down:

"I don't know; it is deleting all of my contacts and resetting itself to last Tuesday" I proffered in dismay as I handed the priest the iDol.

"eureka! Let's restore it," the trollish applepotamus exclaimed, as suavely as a minion of Steve Jobs could muster.

"I just did that; three times," declared your sarcastic narrator.

"okieee dokie.  let's sync it and see what happens."

"rad.  because I totally have all day with you at the shrine of Steve Jobs because I Dave Chappelled my ass out of institutionalized servitude known as employment.  Oh, rapture."

So, as I sat there, I began to soak up the ambiance of the store.  Like a sea of allusions for those *hip* enough to decode musical countercounterculture badassery, they played Clapton, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, U2, a whole bunch of bands you wouldn't know because they aren't mainstream, and finally, The Smiths.

"What band is this?" I asked; after 45 minutes of silence.

"omg, you don't know the Smiths?  They are like the best alternative band from the 80s.  They're from England.  Well, it's not that surprising you don't know them; I mean, you ONLY have 3,939 songs.  You know, when I bought my most recent iPod, i had to let it sync with my music library for 23 hours before I could actually use it because I had 90,000 songs."

"rad."

 ps. you have a booger.  almost.  just there, a little to the left, no other nostril.  good job, trogdor.

So when I left the store, I purchased "Meat is Murder" by the Smiths because it actually sounded like something I'd like; after all, I've been a vegetarian for 8 years.  But it just droned the fuck on.  and on.  and on.  The band whines and bitches about school and how mean the headmaster is for *like* ever.  SO DROP OUT ALREADY.  Jesus.  and then he's like "wah, I wanna go home" and continues to complain about how he doesn't want to participate in gym class.  Get off your whiny ass and run a little bit.  motherfuck.  It's not the end of the world.  Or be a man and shoot yourself in the leg like people did to go home from Vietnam.  Grow some balls, Morrissey; or go get a job at the apple store with the other spineless androgynous beings.

The next 8 songs he's bitching and moaning about some chick he can't have with whom he is in love.  Fucking man up and get a cool car or something.  Or brag about your 90,000 songs or do some other alternative-hipsterish mating call.  or just go find another girl who isn't dating a cooler guy than you.  There are plenty of chicks, man.  Stop singing about a non-story.  Nothing is happening in your songs except it's clear you're a loser and can't get laid or run a few laps around a track.  god damn it; get a diary and leave my ears alone.

And then, right when you think the moaning will subside, there is a song that starts off real awesome like.  You can sort of imagine a mirage on an airstrip and real badasses like from a Tarantino film walking toward the camera in slow-mo.  It's called "How Soon is Now?"  And then he ruins it by opening his mouth and crying about how he's human and he needs to be loved, just like everybody else does.  and I had to practice yoga breathing to get through the rest of this horseshit.  I have to get through this.  I kept saying to myself.  Just 2 times.  I only have to listen just 2 times.  I'd rather be getting time raped from me at the apple store.

Then, finally, the big song: "Meat is Murder" comes on for the 10th and final track.  Yes, I'm thinking, a song for we veggies everywhere.  And then it's practically a joke.  Like if I were a cattle slaughterer, I'd totally play this shit while killing cows all day as a sardonic joke.  It's a parody of itself it's so bad.  It's like a bad horror movie where the audience is laughing instead of being frightened.  You know, like a Twilight movie or something when preggers Bella wakes up from her impromtu C-section and being bitten by her 400 year old husband and everyone is covered in blood and the werewolf guy is trying to get up on her infant baby.  It was sort of like that.  But you can't even laugh about it with the person next to you because everyone else loves the smiths.

I just wanted to scream at him.  If you're going to write a song about the horrors of eating meat, you need to arm yourself with some fucking ethos, pathos, and logos.  motherfuck.  Get some English class, yesterday.  First, Morrissey, establish some credibility by not being a whiny pussy who complains about gym and some girl he can't have.  Second, make us feel bad for these animals.    Describe how they cut off chicken beaks and pack them in together really tight; or how they chain small calves to poles so they can't move their whole lives.  For more information please visit: here. For "fleshed out" arguments, please click: Animal Liberation by Peter Singer.  Make me FEEL BAD FOR THE ANIMAL.  You can't do that with horrible lyrics like, "a death for no reason is murder..." blah blah blah.  CONVICTION, MORRISSEY, CONFUCKINGVICTION.  Get some.  And finally, you need to show the logic behind why a person shouldn't eat meat.  Because meat eating causes cancer, heart disease, diabetes, obesity, ugliness, sluggishness, lethal dog-farts, and erectile dysfunction etc.  If you don't believe me, go get you a netflix subscription and watch the following movies: Forks Over Knives, Food Matters, Fat Sick and Nearly Dead, The Gerson Miracle, Going Further, The Beautiful Truth, Raw for 30 days, and Food Inc. to name a few.  After you watch these movies you won't want to argue with me because you'll have a paradigm shift and be like, omfg I need to buy a juicer.  Wake the fuck up people.  Or write better songs and say more than cursory bullshit.

Man, that felt good.  Maybe I was having a shitty day.  the album wasn't all that bad.  Sorry if I offended everyone because that was probably the best band to come out of the 80s.  Glad I missed 6 years of the 80s.

Cows and apple-people approve of "Meat is Murder" by The Smiths.

What the Rolling Stone Experts are saying; although, I disagree with all of it:

Inspired by can riffs, bookended by lengthy, brutal songs about corporal punishment and the horrors of the cattle industry, the Smiths' 1985 disc is the darkest entry in the U.K. group's catalog. On "How Soon Is Now?" Morrissey sums up with great pathos and hilarity what a drag it is to be shy. More pathos would come.

Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/500-greatest-albums-of-all-time-19691231/meat-is-murder-the-smiths-19691231#ixzz1ntdG20VI

#63 Sticky Fingers - The Rolling Stones

You know you're unemployed and a potential drain on society when you've realized that for the last two hours, you've been watching a family of ducks while listening to the Sticky Fingers album by the Rolling Stones.

I felt like Tony Soprano this week because I found myself sitting by a pond near my house obsessing over a family of ducks that recently decided to make it their home.  For those of you who didn't know; I have a secret *not anymore* obsession with birds.  Not that I've ever tried before, but I finally found a reason to relate to Mark Bittner, in one of my favorite all time documentaries: The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill.  It's about a homeless dude who befriends a flock of parrots.  But he can get away with this shit because he lives in san francisco, not in shit kicker county, texas.

Because I spent the last 60 hours of my life watching HBO's classic Shakespeareanesque series The Wire, I began to name the birds after the characters.  The one who was all alone and quacking at the others received the name of Omar; the one who kept trying to mate with all the females was McNulty; the douchey one who kept pissing the others off was Prezbo etc etc.

There is no segway, not even a bad one into the music section of this particular post-- oh wait, I lied.  I do have one today:

In one of the earlier episodes of The Wire, Prezbo explains to all the cops a line in "Brown Sugar," the opening song to the Sticky Fingers album.  It's a line that, as Prez puts it, we've all heard before but never listened to.  It ultimately sheds insight into listening to wire taps over and over to crack a case about trafficking foreign women into the United States for sex--but back to MY story with Ducks and Stones, I named one little duck Prezbo and listened to Brown Sugar over and over and rather than hearing slurred speech and something like: "Go-Mo haze, you know the kind in tears, sold in the market down in New Orleans--"  I finally heard it like Prezbo: "Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields, sold in the market down in New Rrleans" and I began to repeat the song over and over and was suddenly grossed out by the audacity of their lyrics.  They really are singing about young black women being raped in a sex trade!

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Wooo.

It dawned on me that the whole album mirrors these moments.  The music is beyond fantastic.  It gets you high because the beats throw you into the kind of mood where you feel like you're pumped and ready to take on the duck pond--but then, after repetition, you begin to comprehend the gravity of the lyrics which juxtapose the music forcefully.  My settled favorite song on this album is Dead Flowers.  It flopped from Bitch to Brown Sugar, to Moonlight Mile and ended up on Dead Flowers.  The music is mellow, yet happy somehow-- but there is a jarring line where Jagger says, "I'll be in my basement room with a needle and a spoon" and I was just like "yikes, man, lighten up.  What do you think this is, an episode of The Wire?"

I was a bit put off by his phony Texas twang; it made me feel a little insulted, because a REAL Texan would know that we ain't got no basements in this here state.  Y'all gotta go up north fer that.  damn brits.

Overall the album was priceless.  A true gem and one of my favorites so far.  I wish that bands today could rock out and tell it like it is like the Stones.

Even Ducks approve of the Rolling Stones.

I'd like to give kudos to this blog that helped clarify how the "Brown Sugar" convo went down in the police room in the Wire: The Codebreakers

and omfg, this album cover is still vulgar after 41 years.

What the Rolling Stone Magazine had to say about this album:

Drummer Charlie Watts remembered the origin of Sticky Fingers as being Mick Jagger and the songs he wrote while filming a movie in Australia. "Mick started playing the guitar a lot," Watts said. "He plays very strange rhythm guitar . . . very much how Brazilian guitarists play, on the upbeat. It is very much like the guitar on a James Brown track — for a drummer it's great to play with." The album has tough, straight-up rock, such as "Brown Sugar" and "Bitch," but also finds the Stones expanding their sound with strings on the lovely "Moonlight Mile." Two of the best cuts are the two country songs: one forlorn ("Wild Horses") and one funny ("Dead Flowers").

Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/500-greatest-albums-of-all-time-19691231/sticky-fingers-the-rolling-stones-19691231#ixzz1nA77sl4q

#316 Rock Steady - No Doubt

So I was at this gelato place the other day and this little pixie-waif girl was yes-manning the shit out of this hipster type in a lumberjack plaid button up.  He was ranting on and on about how his unapologetic friend "was all like this and that" concerning said friend's newest idea on how to spend his trust fund moneyz.  The girl was sucking on the tiny spoon and saying, "omg, that is ridic.  so ridic.  If I had that kind of money, I would do something better with it, like go skiing in Colorado.  It's skiing season, you know."

I was keenly tuned into this opportunity to be the anthropologist in my mind and my fiance and I were shaking our heads, both wondering the same thing, which is of course is-- when the zombie apocalypse happens, clearly we won't be the first to go.  

And then the male specimen turned the the female and said, "and all that shit between me and him went down about the time the Drake album came out."  and that's when Dulce de Leche came out of my nose.  I asked my fiance later, "Who the fuck measures time by when the Drake album came out? and P.S., didn't he mean crippled Jimmy from Degrassi?

But anyway, I began to wonder which albums I measured time by.  I really could only think of Enima of the State by Blink182 when I was in the 8th grade.  I was fortunate enough to find a way to tie in that anecdote with No Doubt's Rock Steady album by saying that it came out when I was in the 9th grade.  I remembered people being excited about the new album and the radio overplaying it, but I wasn't a big No Doubt fan myself.  I thought she was kind of annoying.

This time around, I listened to this album longer than usual.  I chewed on it, and sat on it, and wondered what I was going to write about.  I didn't get attached to any of the songs, nor did I care so much about the music.  I found it to be mostly an upbeat album and like one of those wine blends that sounds horrible but by the time you're drinking it, you're too drunk to care.  It was mostly like that.  It's EXCELLENT dance music, a little R&B, hip hop, lots and lots of Jamaican beats (which I found out is why she titled the album "Rock Steady") and overall just a good album from the 1st to the last song.  It didn't move me, it wasn't memorable, it wasn't super special, it was just nice background music.  Not my style.  But if you want to dance like nobody's watching; it would be a good purchase.

What the RS Mag has to say (lol, at least I didn't reference ewoks):

In which No Doubt do dancehall and techno but reveal themselves to be a great New Wave band: On "Don't Let Me Down" (produced by Ric Ocasek), they sound more like the Cars than the Cars. Bassist Tony Kanal compared Steady to Return of the Jedi: "It's, like, full of Ewoks. You know, just happy."

Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/500-greatest-albums-of-all-time-19691231/rock-steady-no-doubt-19691231#ixzz1l4ELTLbM

#137 The Chronic--Dr. Dre

Newsflash- 12th grade English teacher gets arrested for brandishing a 9mm in her right hand and a .45 in her other hand in front of a stolen shelby on the $outh$ide on Halloween.

Except I had to take the picture in the garage because I don't have dooozzz kinda nutttzzzzz.  plus little kids were asking for candy outside my door.  All I had was chewing gum and lighters.  

So in case you've never seen a picture of me, this is me.  rat-a-tat-tat.  I had to make it black and white so I might look blacker than I really am.  but clearly that didn't work.  I'm black where it counts, mofo.  As irony would have it, I can't really quote anything from the album as a caption because it'll sound racist coming from a white biotch like me.  "I never hesitate to put a nigga on his back" is going to make this picture look white trash in less time than it takes that car to get to 60mph.

But regardless, this is how the album made me feel about 1/2 of the time.  Like I just got off an episode of gangland.  I felt like cruising around blaring "Ain't Nuthin but a "G" thang" but I didn't because I'm a whitey, fulla white guilt, white whines and I have no earthly idea what it would be like to grow up in Compton in 1992.  The closest I get to gang violence is the 17-year-old kid in the back of my class flashing a gang sign when he thinks i'm not looking.  and then drawing the latin king sign, or whatever, on a desk.  in pencil.  

The music is pretty infectious, empowering, and intoxicating.  While at the same time, it's degrading, racist, angry, and sickening.  The amount of little interludes where someone is getting effed in a Dr's office, snoop is asking a woman if deezzz nutttzzz have gotten at her, and kids about 15-20 years old are begging for their lives, only to be ended by the sound of a gun blast--kinda made me want to vomit after a while.  I really couldn't listen to the whole album at once.  I had to take it in short bursts because I'd start out all pumped up and ready to fight someone, and end up drained and exhausted.  Like, who the fuck can be that desensitized to murder, violence against women, and mediocre rap?

I feel completely inadequate to review this album.  Because the only angles I can take are the obvious ones: 1. white girl listens to rap music; 2. pseudo-academic discusses gang violence from up in her ivory tower and quotes different sociological articles about the influence of rap music on urban communities in the early 90s; or 3. Closet Wigger admits rap fetish.

So I thought I'd just do my best to be "real." So...Here are things I learned:

1. Black people think that the year '64 is the best year for the make of cars (**sarcasm disclaimer**)

2. Death row doesn't seem so bad if the alternative is living in Compton

3. The only word I'll always remember from this album is when Snoop Dog says "Dolomite" 

4. Fly Ass Bitches is not a description for a dog humping a donkey covered in flies.

5. Bitches ain't shit is a bad thing.

6. Black people use contraceptives too.

White person questions I honestly have:

1.  what is a chronic?

2.  Am I the only person who didn't know there were wild impalas in california?

3. ok, for real, what is this: rollin' in my '4 with 16 switches

And got sounds for the bitches, clockin' all the riches
Got the hollow points for the snitches?

And if you don't like this blog post, you can tell it to my 9.

What other white people said about "The Chronic" by D.R.E:

When George Clinton first heard hip-hop artists blending old records with new beats, he thought, "Damn, that's pretty tacky." Then Dr. Dre turned samples of Clinton's P-Funk sides into G-Funk, and Dr. Funkenstein approved, calling funk "the DNA of hip-hop and rap." Dre had already taken gangsta rap to the main-stream with his earlier group, N.W.A, but on The Chronic, he funked up the rhymes with a smooth bass-heavy production style and the laid-back delivery of then-unknown rapper Snoop Doggy Dogg. When Dre and Snoop dropped "Nuthin' But a 'G' Thang," there was no getting out of the way.

#293 Greatest Hits -- Simon and Garfunkel

This album evoked strange and melancholy feelings in me.  I had to force myself to listen to it, not because they bored me or anything, but because they made me feel so powerfully alone.  The album is haunting and poignant, even if many of the songs seem like upbeat, sing-a-long folk songs.  I recalled different stages in my life as I listened to this album on my drive to work and running in the evenings.

My fondness for the movie The Graduate came about when I dated a guy who looked almost exactly like Art Garfunkel. Sigh, unfortunate choice, I know.  I would put their pictures side by side, but I'd really rather not get sued.  Anywho-- When I saw the movie The Graduate, I was haunted by the music throughout the movie and had no idea that those songs (Mrs. Robinson, Scarborough Fair, and The Sound of Silence) I had heard growing up were a part of what would become one of my favorite movies of all time.  When I graduated from college myself, I, like Ben from The Graduate, suffered the worst bout of Post-Graduate-Stress-Disorder known to man.  I was the sad, directionless, liberal arts graduate.  I lived with my parents in their flaccid-dick house (lots of savvy technical equipment, awesome TVs and touch panel controls in every room for your entertainment...but none of it ever worked) and played "Paint it Black" on guitar hero for hours on end and read Proust in the evenings.  I watched The Graduate at least a hundred times that summer and hummed along in melancholy madness to the strange music I have recently revisited in this album...

I went to Florence in February one year with my fiance.  We had been in Italy for over a week at this point and had simply run out of things to say to one another.  Everyone around the world had absurdly cold winters, and Italy was no exception.  We were in a plaza outside the Uffuzi one night wondering around on the cobblestone looking at statues while it began to sprinkle freezing rain.  Understand that we had decided to do this trip alone and without English speaking guides and very touristy hotels.  We saw a lot of "off the beaten path" Italy, and because of this, had a tremendously difficult time communicating with people.  I speak some French and had a very limited understanding of Italian although I practiced the language for months before taking this trip.  I noticed a young Italian man set up a little mic and began to play his guitar.  He played many covers in different languages, but as I stared at a marble statue of some giant Roman man with ripped abdominal muscles under a streetlamp, I began to feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as the musician began to sing "The Sound of Silence."  It occurred to me that this was the first time I had heard my language spoken from anyone other than my fiance.  I mean, besides very limited conversations.  I felt like he was singing directly to me.  And a song so powerfully metaphorical and symbolic, it was ironic that the whole song could be taken so literal in that moment:

For example:
In restless dreams I walked alone 
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.
 OR because of my limited Italian:
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share 
And no one dared 
Disturb the sound of silence.
My favorite was when I heard him sing this part and I watched all these people stare at statues of gods:
And the people bowed and prayed 
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls. 
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence."


And if you've ever been to Italy, you know that nearly every wall has some sort of graffiti on it.  I can only guess they are "words of the prophets" because I don't speak Italian slang.  And the graffiti isn't like fun or pretty graffiti.  It looks just like angry phrases from a counter culture that is sick of people looking at the country's past and living in the shadow of giants... but that is my personal opinion.

And when he sang "The Sound of Silence" I laughed like a crazy person because the universe is organized chaos.  I will also remember a song that makes me feel so powerfully alone now had ironically, at one time, made me feel less homesick.

What people who actually talked about the album said:

Released in the wake of a brief reunion for a George McGovern campaign benefit concert in 1972, Greatest Hits combines big Simon and Garfunkel hits and live tracks, and summarizes nearly everything great about the duo: intimate harmonizing, observant lyrics, innovative arrangements and singular tunes.

#65 Moondance--Van Morrison

Ever since I was a little kid, I thought Van Morrison was a black person because I couldn't imagine a world in which a white dood could sing with so much depth, meaning, and soul.  When I found out he was white a few years ago, it just freaking blew my mind.  no way; I envisioned him as this awesomely tall black man who held the mic with conviction while he rocked the gypsy outta everyone's souls.  

This album stirred up so many memories of my childhood that I hesitated even writing a blog about it because nobody likes childhood stories.  They are awkward on such venues, but I'm all for awkward so here it goes:

When I began listening to the album and it got to "moondance," I recalled being about six-years-old standing on my dad's feet encased in cowboy boots (yes, we're from Texas, you wear boots with work clothes) insisting he dance with me when he would come home from work.  I remember the smell of the office--an acrid dry cleaning smell mixed with paper, ink, sand-weights that hold down large maps, and sterile air perfumed with fluorescent lights--on my father's starched shirts and the color of this little red pen he wore in his front breast pocket.  

I remembered sneaking into mom and dad's bedroom while the album played so I could listen to "and it stoned me" alone under their bed while everyone else was in the living room.  They had "surround sound" back then and "OMFG" it would play in the back room if you hit the right button on the five disk cd changer.

I recalled "come running" and "crazy love" being played on the way to and from ballet lessons.  Everyone hated being around me when the album was on because I only ever wanted to hear "moondance."

When "into the mystic" came on, I recalled being 19 and watching my brother and sister-in-law dance alone together at their wedding reception.  and promptly downed two glasses of red wine because at that point in my life, love and marriage were illusions and stupid social constructions.

I think that Van Morrison is just good for the soul.  My new job has been very stressful and demanding of my time, emotional and mental stability.  It has required me to invent a personality in order to cope with the never-ending responsibilities and tasks asked of me.  The panic attacks and the utter terror I feel moments before I walk into the door, have been briefly subsided this week thanks to Van Morrison playing, "Brand New Day" on my drive to work; day in and day out as I bail out the titanic with a dixie cup, so to speak.

Van and I are the only people on the road at 6:30 am, and the only people leaving work around 8:00 pm, and I know I am lucky to have a job; and it could be worse, I have nothing but white-whines to share with all of you-- but for seventeen glorious minutes of my 24 hour day, moments of panic subside; for however brief, by the sound of a saxophone, a piano, a steady beat, and a voice that transcends my mind to places where the responsibility was not yet mine to fulfill; the weight of the world not yet on my shoulders, and the joy of dancing, of watching people dance, of hiding under a bed, of living in moments when life was not yet full of panic and terror begin to flashbulb into my head.  And then I pull into my parking space, take a deep breath, turn off the ignition.  The music ceases and whether I'm ready or not, I force myself to begin a Brand New Day.

What the people with less stressful jobs and all-you-can-take potty breaks have to say about Moondance:

"That was the type of band I dig," Morrison said of the Moondance sessions. "Two horns and a rhythm section — they're the type of bands that I like best." Morrison took that soul-band lineup and blended it with jazz, blues, poetry and vivid memories of his Irish childhood, until songs such as the title track, "And It Stoned Me" and "Caravan" felt like a lucid dream. On the sprightly "Everyone," Morrison turns the title over and over in his mouth, not scatting so much as searching for the sound of magic. One song, "Into the Mystic," serves as an apt summary: To listen to the album is to get your passport stamped for Morrison's world of ecstatic visions.

#230 Night at the Opera -- Queen

If I haven't defined my term epic awesomeness, this album is a good definition for that phrase.  Although classified as Rock, methinks it is more of a mock-a cappella full of glam, gayness, piano and badassery (which are all synonyms, i know, god, stop reminding me).  Enough to inspire the Queen of Epic Awesomeness (Lady GaGa herself, my darling mother monster) to steal her name from the song "Radio GaGa" which is NOT on this album, but Queen needs to be recognized for inspiring the greatest artist ever.  But I'm biased.  I'm totally straight and I'd f*ck gaga even if she were wearing an outfit delicately comprised of ragged razor blades (not my original joke- I stole this from someone accusing me of obsession).

However, If Queen and Lady GaGa were to have sex, it might look like this amazing youtube video (if you inserted a piano and globs of mascara made from baby seal brains:

Totally Brill, I know.  But anyway, back to Queen.  So Night at the Opera JERKS you all over the place.  from driving cars, to dying on two legs, to lazing on a sunday afternoon, back to 1939, like you lived it and then--to this amazing song anyone who has seen wayne's world has a hard on for: Bohemian Rhapsody.

What is so AWESOME about Bohemian Rhapsody only applies to the percentage of people who dig Camusian shizzle.  Which is generally too many unhappy people in a population.  and mostly comprised of worthless liberal arts majors who can't understand Nietzsche well enough to dig harder core philosophy, like myself, or those in their last year of college who hope not to be a self-deprecating eff-tard who can't get published anywhere else but on a blog only her mother reads.  I digress...

The WHOLE song, in case you haven't noticed is a retelling of the stranger, i personally think.  So for all those people who sing along and think it's funny, you are misled.  totally sad song.  about a guy named Meursault who sucks at life like you do because you have nothing better to do than read this blog and await your death.  Now, I'm about to pretend to get really pedantic but not put a lot of substance into my thesis, so you can go ahead and leave all you non-english major peoplez. Your ignorance and lack of arrogance isn't welcome here.  and all you "gender studies people" can leave too.  but not because you're not ignorant or arrogant; but because nobody likes you.  and women just don't write as well as men.  in general.  so get over it and read some faulkner or proust.

but back to Queen and Albert Camus:

The song opens up like so:
Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality
Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,
Because I'm easy come, easy go, Little high, little 
low,
Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to 
me, to 
me


Alright so you can't really tell at first, but the chorus lets you know that it's someone who just goes with the flow... not sure if he's living or dead, doesn't seem to care "doesn't really matter. etc.  So prepare for captain obvious:

MAMA just killed a man,
Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, 
now he's 
dead
MAMA, life had just begun,
But now I've gone and thrown it all away
Mama, ooh ooh oooh ohh.., Didn't mean to make 
you cry,
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters


So in the stranger, Meursault kills this arab guy on the beach and his excuse is that it's kinda hot, and the sun was in his eyes.  and he's all like "mama, blah blah" and in the book, i mean his mother is dead on the first page and all, but when he's tried, he's more or less convicted for not crying at his mom's funeral. so his conviction is tied to his lack of sympathy for his mother's death.  and carry on, because, yeah, nothing really matters.

Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all 
the time
Goodbye, ev'rybody, I've got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth
Mama, ooh, I don't want to die,
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all


pretty into the "physical"  shivers down spine, body's aching all the time.  he says goodbye to everyone because he's going to go to jail and be on trial.  whether he's living or dead, it doesn't really matter, might as well not have been born at all.

And here is the trial:

I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the 
Fandango! 

Sent a bolt of lightning, very, very frightening 
(Galileo) Galileo!! (Galileo) Galileo!!, Galileo!! 
figaro!!
Magnifico I'm just a poor boy nobody loves 
me
He's just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstrosity
Easy come, easy go, will you let me go
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go
(Let me go) Will not let you go
(Let me go) Will not let you go (Let me go) Ah
No, no, no, no, no, no, no
(Oh mama mia!!!, mama mia) Mama mia, let me go
Beelzebub!.. has a devil put aside for me, for me, 
for me
 
People in the trial are jabbering back and forth about nothing having anything to do with the murder.  let him go, don't let him go.

And now the rebellion, after he accepts his fate of death:

So you think you can stop me and spit in my 
eye
So you think you can love me and leave me to 
die
Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby,
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta 
here
Nothing really matters, Anyone can see,
Nothing really matters,
Nothing really matters to me
Any way the wind blows 


nuff said.  then he dies.  any way the wind blows.

But here's what RS had to say:

"Queen will be the Cecil B. DeMille of rock," proclaimed singer Freddie Mercury, and this is where the band let its over-the-top tendencies loose, with heavy metal ("Sweet Lady"), pop ("You're My Best Friend)" and the most operatic of all rock songs, "Bohemian Rhapsody."

#42 The Doors -- The Doors

While sitting outside on the patio with my family my brother inquired what album I was listening to currently.  I said, "The Doors - The Doors."  He said, "ok, now tell me, don't you think Jim Morrison is over rated?"  My father chimed in with a laugh of total agreement and said, "of course he was."  Then they both looked at me for confirmation but I just said, blushing in my honesty--

"I love the Doors!"  and they both laughed.

I thought this album was upbeat and happy for the most part.  I also found it rather impressive for a debut album (1967) and shows the band's potential and skill.  Even if they are over-rated or cocky.  But, I'd be cocky too if I had luscious locks like Jim Morrison.

<--- Do you smell Pantene Pro-V?  Growl.....

Easily, the most memorable songs on the album are:

Break on Through
Twentieth Century Fox
Light My Fire
Back Door Man
Take it as it Comes

Those were my favorites anyway.  Their music sounds so unique with the organ that it makes for a very recognizable and original sound.  I loved it all the way through.  I am slightly confused as to why it made it so high on the list; but it was still a great album.  Even if music snobs everywhere think they were overplayed, overrated, or possibly too vulgar, cocky, and attention whores - It doesn't change the fact that they debuted a pretty excellent album.  So, hats off to you Jim, your hair, and your fellow Door members.

What the Rolling Stone has to say about that:

After blowing minds as the house band at the Whisky-a-Go-Go, where they were fired for playing the Oedipal drama "The End" (which was too explicit for even the Sunset Strip), the Doors were ready to unleash their organ-driven rock and Jim Morrison's poetic aspirations on the world. "On each song we had tried every possible arrangement," drummer John Densmore said, "so we felt the whole album was tight." "Break On Through (to the Other Side)," "Twentieth-Century Fox" and "Crystal Ship" are pop-art lighting for Top Forty attention spans. But the Doors hit pay dirt by editing one of their jamming vehicles for airplay: "Light My Fire," written by guitarist Robbie Krieger when Morrison told everybody in the band to write a song with universal imagery