So I'm singing, drinking, breathing, writing
Goddamn it! I was just finishing a big long post and my Internet "unexpectedly quit." GRRRR
The condensed version of the post is as follows:
I'm not sure who I am more disappointed in--me, for taking another two weeks to write one lousy post or you, for not commenting on my last post where I SPECIFICALLY asked for your opinions on my albums of the year! (Well Adam, I guess you are off the hook there! And, I might add, your opinions on Kanye were seconded by like every rock critic in the country! Have you seen Pazz and Jop!) C'mon, if you have time to read my ridiculously trivial posts, then you have time to leave a comment behind. I was just interested in what albums you all liked last year. I know mine is not the end all be all of opinions.
I also really wanted to post about Bright Eyes. His two albums were released on my birthday and, while I haven't spent much time with Digital Ash (his electro album), that is only because I have been so obsessed ith his country-ish, Americana record Wide Awake, Its Morning. If you think these songs are moving on the record, then you should really see them played live. Adam took me to one of Conor's Town Hall shows and it was incredible. (BTW: Town Hall is an awesome venue. The acoustics are clarion. The theater is intimate. And the sight lines are amazing. Seriously, our seats in the front row of the FAR left side of the balcony were like the best seats in the house. We could see details like facial expressions and shoe lace color. It was almost like it was a private concert--aside from the asshole teenages who were heckling and making me embarassed to be in the same audience as them. The only seats that could have been better would be the comperable seats to ours on the RIGHT side of the stage, because we were on the same side as Conor's floppy bangs.) These songs were furious played live and the seven piece band (including Rilo Kiley's drummer Jason--who I only noticed when some jackass yelled "THE GUY FROM RILO KILEY!" and Conor yelled, "His name is fucking Jason!") were tight. As a side note, can someone tell me if Conor's latest girlfriend is Stephanie the bass player? The only disappointment of the show is knowing that the two best songs were both new and, therefore, unavailable to listen to at home. One was a hilarious, urgent, and bitter tune about when the president talks to God--it's my favorite song about Dubya aside from "God and Country" by the Thermals. The other was called something like "Everything Must Belong Somewhere." I loved that one so much that I hummed it all the way home and tried to recollect the lyrics. They went something like this: (um...I had help recalling these lyrics from crazy Conor fansites....just so you know...)
Leave the bright blue door on the white-washed floor.
Leave the death ledger under city hall.
Leave the joyful air and that rubber ball today.
Leave the lilac print on the linen sheet.
Leave the bird you killed at your father's feet.
Let the sideways rain in the crooked street remain.
Leave whimpering dog in his cold kennel.
Leave the dead starlit on her pedestal.
Leave the acid kids in their green fishbowls today.
Leave the sad guitar in its hard-shell case.
Leave the worried look on your lover's face.
Let the orange embers in the fireplace remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
The train off in the distance, bicycle chained to the stairs.
Everything must belong somewhere.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
Leave the ocean's roar in the turquoise shell.
Leave the widower in his private hell.
Leave the liberty in that broken bell today.
Leave the epic poem on its yellow page.
Leave the grey macaw in his covered cage.
Let the traveling band on the interstate remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
Sound-stage in California, televisions in Times Square.
Everything must belong somewhere.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
Yeah I know that now that's why I'm staying here.
Leave the secret tops on the trundle bed.
Leave the garden tools in the rusted shed.
Leave those bad ideas in your troubled head today.
Leave the restless ghost in his old hotel.
Leave the homeless man in his cardboard cell.
Let the painted horse on the somber carousel remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
Just like the gold around your finger and the silver in his hair.
Yeah, everything must belong somewhere.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
In truth, the fullest tears resound.
Each blade of grass as it lies down.
The world requires no audience.
no witnesses, no witnesses.
Leave the old town drunk on his wooden stool.
Leave the autumn leaves in the swimming pool.
Leave the poor black child in his crumbling school today.
Leave novelist in his daydream tune.
Leave the scientist in his rubik's cube.
Let true genius in the padded room remain.
Leave horses hair on the slanted bow.
Leave the slot machines on the riverboat.
Leave the cauliflower in the casserole today.
Leave the hot white-trash in their shopping malls.
Leave the hawks of war in their capitals.
Let the organs moan in the cathedral remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
You lock the devil in the basement, God up into the air.
Yeah, everything must belong somewhere.
I know it's true, I wish you'd leave me here.
I know it's true, why don't you leave me here?
It is lyrics like these that continue those annoying (yet kinda true) "Next Dylan" comparisons. Unfortunately I can't post the music here, but it was equally powerful. I was listening to Wide Awake... again yesterday at work and I foudn myself wondering, "when did Conor Oberst become the new Ryan Adams?" Or should I say the OLD Ryan Adams. The one on Heartbreaker whose pain seethed through your speakers. Who go Emmylou Harris to sing backup on their songs, giving them a Graham Parsons edge. Who made alt-country citified? Who moved to New York and wrote songs about roaming the streets here and getting drunk all the time and sleeping with the wrong women. There are so many smart, "zinger" couplets on Conor's new album (like "I know you have a heavy heart, I can feel it when we kiss, So many men much stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it, But me I’m not gamble you can count on me to split, The love I sell you in the evening, by the morning won’t exist.") and Ryan used to have that. Before he got obsessed with 80s nostalgia and gave up tight songcraft.
There is just one more thing that I wanted to say. I thought Pazz and Jop was interesting. Check it out for yourself and let me know. But here is what I can't stand about rock criticism: It's only cool, if its grumpy. I mean some people take the tack of being anti-anything mainstream ("I hate Ashlee Simpson...blah, blah, blah") and some think they are being truly unconventional and take the tack of being anti-anything too indie ("Ashlee Simpson makes great pop songs, it's people like Arcade Fire that don't deserve the amount of press they get, blah, blah, blah") but the uniting force between these schools of rock criticism is that both are totally grumpy in their opinions. Read all of the little briefs that people wrote in Pazz and Jop--they are all so surly and clever. I never want to be like that. It is amazing to get to write about pop music. It is a dream come true to me to get paychecks (however small) for weighing in with my opinion on a record. That is a joyous thing. I'm not saying that I love every album I hear or that there aren't artists that I think are terrible, but I just can't bring myself to be so curt and contrary about them. I'd rather just celebrate the joy. Maybe that is niave. But I feel like there are so many albums out there and so many worthy artists that I'd rather just spend my time writing and listing to what I like and not creating rules that dictate what I like and what I don't like. There is no need to draw a line in the sand deciding what is cool and what isn't and rolling your eyes at everything on the other side of that line. Critics who think that they are being fair and prolateriat by dissing the indie band du jour in favor of some big selling country act like Toby Keith are being just as stubborn as people who look down their noses at a band whose record you could actually find and buy in a mall Sam Goody. Why do there have to be absolutes?
The condensed version of the post is as follows:
I'm not sure who I am more disappointed in--me, for taking another two weeks to write one lousy post or you, for not commenting on my last post where I SPECIFICALLY asked for your opinions on my albums of the year! (Well Adam, I guess you are off the hook there! And, I might add, your opinions on Kanye were seconded by like every rock critic in the country! Have you seen Pazz and Jop!) C'mon, if you have time to read my ridiculously trivial posts, then you have time to leave a comment behind. I was just interested in what albums you all liked last year. I know mine is not the end all be all of opinions.
I also really wanted to post about Bright Eyes. His two albums were released on my birthday and, while I haven't spent much time with Digital Ash (his electro album), that is only because I have been so obsessed ith his country-ish, Americana record Wide Awake, Its Morning. If you think these songs are moving on the record, then you should really see them played live. Adam took me to one of Conor's Town Hall shows and it was incredible. (BTW: Town Hall is an awesome venue. The acoustics are clarion. The theater is intimate. And the sight lines are amazing. Seriously, our seats in the front row of the FAR left side of the balcony were like the best seats in the house. We could see details like facial expressions and shoe lace color. It was almost like it was a private concert--aside from the asshole teenages who were heckling and making me embarassed to be in the same audience as them. The only seats that could have been better would be the comperable seats to ours on the RIGHT side of the stage, because we were on the same side as Conor's floppy bangs.) These songs were furious played live and the seven piece band (including Rilo Kiley's drummer Jason--who I only noticed when some jackass yelled "THE GUY FROM RILO KILEY!" and Conor yelled, "His name is fucking Jason!") were tight. As a side note, can someone tell me if Conor's latest girlfriend is Stephanie the bass player? The only disappointment of the show is knowing that the two best songs were both new and, therefore, unavailable to listen to at home. One was a hilarious, urgent, and bitter tune about when the president talks to God--it's my favorite song about Dubya aside from "God and Country" by the Thermals. The other was called something like "Everything Must Belong Somewhere." I loved that one so much that I hummed it all the way home and tried to recollect the lyrics. They went something like this: (um...I had help recalling these lyrics from crazy Conor fansites....just so you know...)
Leave the bright blue door on the white-washed floor.
Leave the death ledger under city hall.
Leave the joyful air and that rubber ball today.
Leave the lilac print on the linen sheet.
Leave the bird you killed at your father's feet.
Let the sideways rain in the crooked street remain.
Leave whimpering dog in his cold kennel.
Leave the dead starlit on her pedestal.
Leave the acid kids in their green fishbowls today.
Leave the sad guitar in its hard-shell case.
Leave the worried look on your lover's face.
Let the orange embers in the fireplace remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
The train off in the distance, bicycle chained to the stairs.
Everything must belong somewhere.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
Leave the ocean's roar in the turquoise shell.
Leave the widower in his private hell.
Leave the liberty in that broken bell today.
Leave the epic poem on its yellow page.
Leave the grey macaw in his covered cage.
Let the traveling band on the interstate remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
Sound-stage in California, televisions in Times Square.
Everything must belong somewhere.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
Yeah I know that now that's why I'm staying here.
Leave the secret tops on the trundle bed.
Leave the garden tools in the rusted shed.
Leave those bad ideas in your troubled head today.
Leave the restless ghost in his old hotel.
Leave the homeless man in his cardboard cell.
Let the painted horse on the somber carousel remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
Just like the gold around your finger and the silver in his hair.
Yeah, everything must belong somewhere.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here.
In truth, the fullest tears resound.
Each blade of grass as it lies down.
The world requires no audience.
no witnesses, no witnesses.
Leave the old town drunk on his wooden stool.
Leave the autumn leaves in the swimming pool.
Leave the poor black child in his crumbling school today.
Leave novelist in his daydream tune.
Leave the scientist in his rubik's cube.
Let true genius in the padded room remain.
Leave horses hair on the slanted bow.
Leave the slot machines on the riverboat.
Leave the cauliflower in the casserole today.
Leave the hot white-trash in their shopping malls.
Leave the hawks of war in their capitals.
Let the organs moan in the cathedral remain.
Cause everything must belong somewhere.
You lock the devil in the basement, God up into the air.
Yeah, everything must belong somewhere.
I know it's true, I wish you'd leave me here.
I know it's true, why don't you leave me here?
It is lyrics like these that continue those annoying (yet kinda true) "Next Dylan" comparisons. Unfortunately I can't post the music here, but it was equally powerful. I was listening to Wide Awake... again yesterday at work and I foudn myself wondering, "when did Conor Oberst become the new Ryan Adams?" Or should I say the OLD Ryan Adams. The one on Heartbreaker whose pain seethed through your speakers. Who go Emmylou Harris to sing backup on their songs, giving them a Graham Parsons edge. Who made alt-country citified? Who moved to New York and wrote songs about roaming the streets here and getting drunk all the time and sleeping with the wrong women. There are so many smart, "zinger" couplets on Conor's new album (like "I know you have a heavy heart, I can feel it when we kiss, So many men much stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it, But me I’m not gamble you can count on me to split, The love I sell you in the evening, by the morning won’t exist.") and Ryan used to have that. Before he got obsessed with 80s nostalgia and gave up tight songcraft.
There is just one more thing that I wanted to say. I thought Pazz and Jop was interesting. Check it out for yourself and let me know. But here is what I can't stand about rock criticism: It's only cool, if its grumpy. I mean some people take the tack of being anti-anything mainstream ("I hate Ashlee Simpson...blah, blah, blah") and some think they are being truly unconventional and take the tack of being anti-anything too indie ("Ashlee Simpson makes great pop songs, it's people like Arcade Fire that don't deserve the amount of press they get, blah, blah, blah") but the uniting force between these schools of rock criticism is that both are totally grumpy in their opinions. Read all of the little briefs that people wrote in Pazz and Jop--they are all so surly and clever. I never want to be like that. It is amazing to get to write about pop music. It is a dream come true to me to get paychecks (however small) for weighing in with my opinion on a record. That is a joyous thing. I'm not saying that I love every album I hear or that there aren't artists that I think are terrible, but I just can't bring myself to be so curt and contrary about them. I'd rather just celebrate the joy. Maybe that is niave. But I feel like there are so many albums out there and so many worthy artists that I'd rather just spend my time writing and listing to what I like and not creating rules that dictate what I like and what I don't like. There is no need to draw a line in the sand deciding what is cool and what isn't and rolling your eyes at everything on the other side of that line. Critics who think that they are being fair and prolateriat by dissing the indie band du jour in favor of some big selling country act like Toby Keith are being just as stubborn as people who look down their noses at a band whose record you could actually find and buy in a mall Sam Goody. Why do there have to be absolutes?
