The “Washing the Bowl” Playlist

In no particular order:

Tonight I Have to Leave It (Shout Out Louds)

Amazing (Aerosmith)

23 (Blonde Redhead)

Looking Down the Barrel of A Gun (Beastie Boys)

Dark Center of the Universe (Modest Mouse)

You Are Dreaming (Shout Out Louds)

Loud Pipes (Ratatat)

Not Ready to Make Nice (The Dixie Chicks — hate on, haters)

The Remainder (Sleater-Kinney)

Pour Me Another (Atmosphere)

How’s It Going to Be (Third Eye Blind – mmm, yeah.)

Little Dawn (Ted Leo and the Pharmacists)

Apologize (Timbaland/One Republic)

Seventeen Years (Ratatat)

You Were Right (Built To Spill)

Gotta Get Thru This (Daniel Bedingfield)

Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right (Dylan, live, Before the Flood)

Sky Blue Sky (Wilco)

 

Cultural Currency and the Lack Thereof

When I lived in New York, I didn’t think that the cutting-edge-of-everything attitude that is so pervasive there had really affected me. Not to imply that I was above that (hardly!), more just that I’m happy to keep up on the subjects that interest me and let the rest slide. So I was surprised to find, when I moved here, how much cultural flatus had infiltrated my consciousness without my necessarily seeking it out. How much of my identity was tied up in knowing who’s playing where and what’s popular on YouTube this week, who’s on the cover of various magazines and what restaurants just opened/closed, what the latest fitness craze is all about and who just made an idiot of themselves on Oprah. And how much of my identity was invested in being a person who knew these things without even trying, who picked them up merely by living in a certain place and taking the subway and walking by newstands every day. Even now, almost a year later, I find that heard it already, been there, read that attitude cropping up from time to time. When I was in San Francisco in March, one of my friends called me over to her computer. “Have you seen this?” she asked. “Soo funny.”
“Oh, yeah,” I replied, looking over her shoulder. “That went around my office about a year ago.” Everyone teased me for being an over-everything New Yorker, and they were sort of right.

I hadn’t realized how much stock I placed in merely knowing these things until it was impossible to do so. That’s a testament to the isolation of New Zealand, something that I had failed to comprehend before moving here (although all the guidebooks point it out! funny I missed that.). Then upon further examination it all seemed kinda silly to care about anyway and that’s where I left it. Sometimes, of course, I still am bothered by the cultural lag here, pop and otherwise. When I was in the throes of my running craze last fall, I decided that I really wanted to read a fitness magazine, Self or Shape, something like that, because finally I had an exercise routine and such a magazine would be a source for advice and tips and not a shortcut to self-loathing. So I went to the newstand in Lyttelton and bought one. First of all, it was like $12.00. Second of all, something was off. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was — the cover wasn’t glossy enough, the font was a little strange, the articles not as informative as I expected, all ringing far-off bells of familiarity. I had almost finished reading when I realized the source of my dissatisfaction. This was August 2006, and the store had sold me the August 2005 issue of Self. It was all they had on the shelf.

In a similar vein, Alanis Morissette’s parody of “My Humps” has just surfaced over here, to much fanfare.

Then, at the gym yesterday, C4 (which is like New Zealand MTV, if MTV still played videos, so. . . MTV2? MTV5? or MTV circa 1990?) was doing a countdown of some sorts — I couldn’t figure it out, because while some songs I knew had been out for some time, some were newer. Basically, I couldn’t decide if it was some sort of classic “best of” countdown or was meant to reflect the very latest new music, with New Zealand’s perpetual behind-the-times-ness adding an additional layer of confusion. ANYhoo, my mind was officially blown when “From Yesterday,” by 30 Seconds to Mars came in at #3! 30 Seconds to Mars, as in, Jared Leto’s band! The ruthlessly scorned, mocked, and mock-worthy Jared Leto! Jared Leto aka Jordan Catalano! So, my question is, did 30 Seconds to Mars achieve widespread US fame anywhere between 1 year and six weeks ago, fame which is only now spreading across the Pacific and down to New Zealand? Or (gasp), is 30 Seconds to Mars really big in New Zealand?

Right now I am listening to Blonde Redhead in protest.

 

Time on your side that will never end /

I have a problem.

The problem, succinctly stated, is that I am not cool. Among other things, I am continually about 3-5-? years late in “discovering” new music, and so by the time I’ve figured out I really like an artist/album/band, there’s no fresh audience I can share my enthusiasm with. I often think about starting a club, a club for fellow nerds where we could talk about groups like Mogwai, My Morning Jacket, Sebadoh, and Spoon without fear of (well-deserved?) ridicule from the general eye-rolling public. The club would be called Big In ‘04 or something like that. But for now, all I have is this blog . . . so let me present you with my newest obsession, “Oh My God” by the Kaiser Chiefs. In keeping with the general theme here, this video is really not cool. So I suggest that you minimize the screen and just listen to the song, which is.

 

I Actually Was a Cornflake Girl

I distinctly remember being 15, holding a copy of Different Class in one hand and Little Earthquakes in the other, and shoving Different Class back on the rack behind the ROCK-P tag at the local used record store. Given the clientele of this particular retailer, I think they should have ditched the alphabetical/genre classification system and instead just divided the store into two categories: Records That Will Remain In Your Parents’ Basement Until the Second Coming and Please, Buy This Instead. The former half of the store even could have been decorated to resemble a basement, complete with rusty exercise bike and exposed ventilation ducts, and there could even be some cautionary examples of the doodled-over notebook covers devoted listeners of Tori/Ani/et al. are prone to create realistically shoved beneath the records. Excellent idea, no?

Because of some warp in the space-time continuum, the clerks at this store were way, way less supercilious than the average used records store cashier; thus, there were no checks whatsoever on the early teenage penchant for maudlin, melodramatic, and angsty music. Some 14 year-old is probably purchasing the complete oeuvre of Evanescence there now, with nary a disapproving glance to stop them.

And so it transpired that upon moving abroad, I left a lot of Alice In Chains and Tori Amos in my parents’ basement and just recently found Different Class at the library, filed under ROCK-P and scuffed and scratched just like in the record store 10 years ago. I think I needed the interim to hear Jarvis Cocker sing
She doesn’t have to work but she doesn’t want to stay in bed/
‘cos it’s changed from something comfortable to something else instead

and think, exactly.

 

Falling Behind the Younguns

I realize that I’m typically the last person to figure stuff like this out, but really, when did Modest Mouse double in size?

 

RIP, S-K.

Oh, no! Sleater-Kinney is indefinitely on hiatus (mixed thanks to Dave for alerting me to this sad news).

Sleater-Kinney started out in 1994 as three girls, two guitars, and one drum kit. 12 years later, the basic elements are still there (uber-drummer Janet Weiss took the sticks full time in 1996), but the girls are women now, with babies in tow and possessing a lyrical perspicacity barely hinted at in their early records. More recent albums have been decked out with all the trimmings of a fancy studio production (theremin, anyone?) but the two guitars and the fierce lady on the drums remain the lungs and heart of the group.

Like most things that were at one point the thing, I came to Sleater-Kinney late — summer of 2003. I had a long-standing predilection for indie-girl music (see: Liz Phair, Juliana Hatfield, the Breeders, Veruca Salt) and an even longer-standing fondness for punk-aspiring pop (see: Weezer, Nirvana), so it was pretty much love at first listen when I found Dig Me Out in my then-roommate’s extensive record collection. I was going through a terrible breakup that summer (at least a 9 on the breakup Richter scale) and “Turn It On” was the coffee, the Camels, the weed, and the whiskey that allowed me to get on with everything. I listened to it very loud, at least 6 times per day. I memorized every guitar lick, every handclap, and every vocal quiver, and used to (aw, heck, still) fantasize about being pulled on stage to sing it, in harmony, with Corin Tucker.

Fast forward about a year, to April 27, 2004. I saw the best concert of my life when Sleater-Kinney played at Irving Plaza. It was a perfect show. Every time they started a new song, you could feel a wave of excitement move through the audience as each attendee shouted to her friend, “I LOVE this one!” The band was dancing, the people were dancing, even I — with all three of my left feet — was dancing. And they played “Turn It On.”

Six months later: another breakup, another S-K song. This breakup was even worse, but the song was better. “The Remainder”, I submit, is an excellent example of how Sleater-Kinney has grown lyrically from Dig Me Out to One Beat. Compare:
It’s too warm / Inside your hands
It’s too hard /It’s too good
It’s just that when you touched me / I could not stand up
I fell into / I fell down
with this.
If you saw me on the F train with earphones in my ears and tears in my eyes that autumn, it was because I was listening to Corin sing about a careless lover watching someone fall “with no expression at all.”

Sleater-Kinney is way, way, more than breakup songs, but I’m no music writer, so I will merely add 4 more things and leave the rest to the pros:
1. They are great to listen to while running (something about that driving beat)
2. The Woods was a critical darling and for once Pitchfork is creaming its pants over something that is 100% deserving
3. You can find out which Sleater-Kinney album you are here. I am Dig Me Out.
4. They are playing a final show at Webster Hall on August 2, and you are all officially charged to go in my stead.

Be well, Sleater-Kinney. We miss you already!

 

If Your Horoscope Leaves You Wanting More. . .

For those of you who miss playing MASH (which, as far as I can tell, is everyone who used to be a fourth-grade girl), there’s a new, grown-up version on the block: the iPod I-Ching, which I read about here. This will get you through a bored afternoon at work, promise! All you do is set your iPod (or digital music player of choice — not going to shill for Apple here) to Shuffle and let the results foretell your answers to the questions below.

My results:

How does the world see you?
Angry Blade / Iron and Wine
“grace is a gift for the fallen, dear, you’re an angry blade and you’re brave but you’re all alone.”

Will I have a happy life?
Blinding Sheets of Rain / Old 97s
“Blinding sheets of rain — that’s what I’m blaming
I must have been blind not to see that you would leave
Now you are gone and the world is an ugly place
And I pray good lord send more blinding sheets of rain”

Uh-oh. Maybe I should call my therapist.

What do my friends really think of me?
Moonshiner / Uncle Tupelo
“I’ve been a moonshiner seventeen long years
I spent all my money on whiskey and beers
I go to some hollow to sit by my still
If whiskey don’t kill me, then I don’t know what will.”

Errrrr.

Do people secretly lust after me?
In the Satellite Rides a Star / Old 97s
“I’ve got your number
I know who you are
You’re a satellite on the world”

Sounds like a yes. I won’t let it go to my head.

How can I make myself happy?
Stem – Long Stem – Transmission 2 / DJ Shadow
stay out of jail? avoid parking violations? ok.

What should I do with my life?
So Jealous / Tegan & Sara
?????

Will I ever have children?
Dilaudid / The Mountain Goats
This is a very creepy song.

What is good advice for me?
9 to 5ers Anthem / Aesop Rock
Oh my god, I almost can’t believe this. I WILL quit my job. Thanks, Aesop Rock!

“We the American working population
Hate the fact that eight hours a day
Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn’t us
And we may not hate our jobs
But we hate jobs in general
That don’t have to do with fighting our own causes
We the American working population
Hate the nine-to-five day-in day-out
When we’d rather be supporting ourselves
By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
That we have harbored based solely on the fact
That it makes us smile if it sounds dope”

How will I be remembered?
Destiny / Zero 7

What’s my signature dancing song?
Ironclad / Sleater-Kinney
(another oddly prescient iPod choice; I’m no dancer but Sleater-Kinney is about the only music I’ve been observed “dancing” to.)

What do I think my current theme song is?
Knives Out / Radiohead

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
Cracking Up / Jesus & Mary Chain
Errrr. Again.

What song will play at my funeral?
Your Algebra / The Shins

What type of men/women do you like?
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah / The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth
(just for the record, MR has very nice — white–teeth.)

What is my day going to be like?
Black Heart Procession / Gently Off the Edge

 

Chasing the Bandwagon

9/26/05: Pitchfork posts this fawning review of Apologies to the Queen Mary
10/24/05: Wolf Parade plays the Bowery Ballroom. Elsewhere, I go to bed, probably before midnight.
12/5/05: I add “Apologies” to my Amazon wish list. Santa brings me shirts from Wal-Mart this year.
2/27/06: My brother sends it to me for my birthday.
3/6/06, 8:30 PM: I finally get around to seeing if, oh, you know, they might be touring anytime soon.
3/6/06, 8:35 PM: Obvs these shows have been sold out for ages.

I’ve always depended on my much-cooler friends to keep my music cred (such as it is) passably up-to-date; guys, you’re letting me down here!

Related: I feel old.
Related only tangentially: Visit here to laugh about music writing a la Pitchfork.

But hype or no, when Spencer Krug sings “I’ll draw three fingers on your heart,” my insides seize up for a second.