A Return After Spring Fever

Hello! It's been a while since I've taken to posting, mostly on account of standard spring fever activities. In the next few weeks, I hope to get back into my irregularly scheduled programming, and here I've decided to kick things off with 8 Random Things About Me, a prompt sent to me by my lovely co-worker and daytime confidant, Mr. Chris Pommier. In the next few weeks I may expand on any number of these 8 Random Things, and I also look forward to writing a bit about Sonic Youth.

Til then, here are some things you may or may not have known about me:

Berlin is my favorite city.

Perhaps it's because this is the first city I visited abroad, or perhaps it is because of the rich political, social and cultural histories of the city, but Berlin won my heart within minutes of my arrival, and that same passion remains today. My sister, who hosted my trip in January of 2006, was a master guide, teaching me nuggets of facts about everywhere we went, and even how we were getting there. She was even patient enough to teach me bits of German (a game I dubbed "Sesam Strasse," which continued on into my January 2007 visit to Linz, Austria), and trusting enough to let me out on my own one afternoon. I continue to enjoy reading recent German/Western/Eastern European history, I would love to learn German, and I would love to go back to Berlin for an extended visit.

I am a runner.

This particular fact is one that I continually try to dispute. Running is uncomfortable and I often only have time to train in the mornings (bringing back horrible memories of high school summer training), and I still dread it almost every day. I annually tell myself I'm quitting. Nevertheless, I love how I feel afterward and I am simply competitive at heart. If I don't run - whether I take a day off or a week off - my body lets me know when I need to get back on the road. Now that I'm outside of the parameters of school-based athletics, I'm able to listen to my body more. I can be lazy when I want to and go for longer runs when I feel like it, which is incredibly liberating.

I clean when I'm nervous.

I also clean when I see someone else cleaning. I can't work at a messy desk, and I can't live in a messy room. Of course, I've also come to realize over the years that "clean" is a standard that exists solely in the eye of the beholder. I know that my own version of cleanliness abides by quirks and rituals I often try to pass off as common sense, but those quirks tend to rear their ugly head most frequently when I'm agitated.

Forrest Gump is my favorite movie.

Simply one of the best movies ever made, in my opinion. And I've seen it enough to have a pretty good idea. By most recent calculations, I have seen it upwards of 50 times - definitely more than 60. As the movie is 2:20 long, this means that I have spent roughly 6 full days of my life watching this movie - nearly a solid week of Forrest Gump! I can talk along with the whole movie, start to finish.

I am a completist.

Though I haven't actively listened to Aerosmith, Ani Difranco, Ryan Adams or the Old 97's in months or in some cases years, I still feel compelled to keep my collection of their catalogs up-to-date. Partially, I think it's posteriety; I'm often annoyed at people who lambast an artist's output when they haven't heard any recent output. Even if I haven't either, having the disc on the shelf grants my remarks a certain credibility, no? That, and I just like seeing all the discs lined up in a row, just like at the store. Except complete, and without duplicates (in most cases).

I am an aspiring hobbyist and collector.

I collect vintage guitars (I have one: a 1967 Epiphone Cortez); I collect rare records (I have 6 or 7); I am a shortwave enthusiast (that, or I'm well-read on the subject, have a decent radio, and tune in occasionally). I love the idea of being a collector or a hobbyist, and like my Uncle Bob I have a tendency to invest a lot of time and effort into hobbies and collections that never grow much beyond their conceptions in my head. Nevertheless, I enjoy these periodic bursts of enthusiasm for something new, and I would like to think it increases my social currency at cocktail parties.

I am exceptionally cheap.

I bike to work, air-dry my clothing, rarely eat meat and use clothes until they are worn. I'm so flippin' happy environmentalism is chic these days.

I am a morning person.

Always have been, and hopefully always will. There's a certain peace and privacy about early morning that I just haven't experienced during the day, or even staying up late. If I sleep much past 7:30 I always feel like I've lost a chunk of my day. Should I - god forbid - sleep past 9:00, I may as well sleep through the rest of the day.

Falling Out of Love

As you know from my well-documented post on how I listen, I select a different playlist as my soundtrack every week. Last week, the playlist was all of my Ani Difranco music. As I have intimated before, Ani Difranco was the first artist whose music and fan community I become completely engrossed with. In high school, I very much believed that fluency with Ani's work was required to be the best lesbian, and the best citizen, I could be.

Wow. My first week of listening to almost nothing but Ani in about six or seven years, and I was floored at how heavy-handed everything seemed. Surely it wasn't so much like this in high school, was it? Songs that defined me seem so utterly shallow now that I don't even want to tell you which ones they were.

Most bands and artists that I've started listening to less either became progressively worse (Old 97's) or simply less interesting to me (Ryan Adams), but I've always been able to look upon their previous work fondly. While most 'break-ups' with previous band 'crushes' ended amicably, I'm quite nearly resentful toward Ani as I return to her music.

I guess I was hoping for something a little more Annie Hall and a little less "You're So Vain". A few of her songs still get me – Welcome To, Fire Door and Both Hands – but so many of the songs I thought were anthems lack nuance and any sense of what I feel to be authentic emotion. Even "Shroud," my favorite off of 2007's Repreive, is appealing to me purely from a musical sense; the lyrics are simply another testament to her own personal enlightenment.

I'm not saying that Ani is disingenuous, but her words seem so carefully chosen that even love songs are more sermon and less diary. The political songs say just the right thing to appropriate the right demographic, and the self-righteous songs are laced with just enough humiliation to create an aura of humility.

More so than anything else, I was filled with the realization that these songs have always been this melodramatic and self-absorbed, and if anything, I would wager that that's exactly what drew me to her. She was the one who was going to be herself, and fuck it if you didn't like it! Well, I was going to be myself, and fuck it if you didn't like it! Unfortunately, all of that outrage (like all teen angst) was hopelessly misdirected at understanding parents and a world that welcomed me for who I was.

And so too has Ani found an overwhelming acceptance, and in fact marketability, based on this anger and self-righteousness. A visit to righteousbabe.com shows us all of the Ani goods for sale these days. I haven’t visited in a while, but the last I checked, the baby clothes and the trucker hats were enough to keep me away for good. When did DIY become a branding initiative? She even went so far as to produce, package and sell her own ‘bootlegs.’

The anger that Ani's music births and represents seems directed more toward our awareness of our own privilege and apathy than the topic at hand. ‘Tis of Thee’ doesn’t make us angry because America doesn’t care about the race, poverty and drug wars, it makes us angry because we don’t care that America doesn’t care about race, poverty or drug wars. It’s just easier to think of it the first way, and remind yourself that the Ani Difranco t-shirt you own is a political statement and not the product of fanaticism.

So why is it that I feel so angry about falling out of love with Ani Difranco? I suppose it's because the Old 97’s and Ryan Adams never tried to get much past sex, drugs, rock and roll and love. Perhaps I resent Ani because she didn’t need to sell t-shirts or bootlegs to make her music heard; perhaps I resent Ani because the political messages she worked so hard to cultivate are no better written than the commercials they are trying to usurp. Or perhaps I’m just kind of embarrassed for realizing I’ve been had.

Ani Difranco - Angry Anymore

The Discount Bin

Within every independent record shop is a dark corner, bottom shelf or basket by the door filled with records so abysmal, so repugnant that they have been quarantined from the rest of the inventory. Perhaps as a prelude to my interest in outsider music, I have always been drawn to the discount bins. The discs are unorganized, chaotic, and the packaging seldom indicative of any genre; you really never knew what your fifty cents will buy you.

My modus operandi with the discount bins is to try to look for something that doesn't seem too terribly interested in coalescing with the mainstream. Anything that at all says 'boy band,' 'bar band' or 'diva' ought to be treated like small pox; if you think Celine Dion is bad, imagine her local-label derivative. If you're persistent in your hunt, though, you might find a true diamond in the rough - or at least rhinestone in the anthrax.

In 1995, Mercury Records placed a bet on Wammo, a beat-poet/alternative musician out of Austin, Texas. Well, Mercury lost that bet. Around 1999 I was scoping the discount bins of Second Hand Tunes in Oak Park, Illinois, and a promo of Wammo's debut release, Fat-Headed Stranger, caught my eye. It might have been the acoustic guitar on the back cover, or, it could have the ominously titled final track, "Charles Bukowski is Dead," clocking in at 0:09. Regardless, at least I could be sure it wasn't techno.

And techno it wasn't. The album is equal parts alternative-country and spoken word, and no doubt contributed to my current taste for each. "Batman" and "There is Too Much Light in This Bar" blend furious guitars with urgent spoken word, delivering the sort of coming of age poems I imagine one writes as a struggling poet in Austin. Excellent narratives that always end where they start, but take you the scenic route back through 7th grade.

One of the standout tracks, "Children of the Corn Nuts" mourns the death of grunge and the birth of the "alternative to alternative" with the refrain, "I was flannel when flannel wasn't cool." Speaking as an awkward child of the '90s, I could most definitely relate. For purely nostalgic purposes, this easy-on-the-ears country lament is definitely my second-favorite track on the album.

Wammo's standout track for me is "Salty," the gift that keeps on giving. While I was first attracted to it simply for its catchy tune and funny chorus, my introduction to the Pixies later that year leads me to believe that this song is nothing short of an epic tribute to Kim Deal - and who isn't more deserving of an epic tribute? From the wordplay to the background vocals lifted straight from "Here Comes Your Man," this song is how a tribute should be done.

An excerpt:

Kim, what's the deal?
I jumped into the mosh pit so that I could get a
closer look at you
So appealing,
With your flannel shirt-tail hanging down so long
(so long, so long)
So Kim, what's the deal?

Kim, what's the deal?
My mind floats like a pixie on the window silling
When I hear you sing
So appealing,
How did you get so high and get so low?
(so low, so low)
So Kim, what's the deal?

I'm glad you're a breeder, 'cause I'm a breeder too
But we don't have to breed, let's just have a drink
or twenty-two
It's so salty Kimmy

[enter brilliant interlude re: SXSW, perhaps?]

So while some of my discount bin purchases have made their way to the garbage and others sit unloved (and near intolerable) on my CD racks at home, Wammo is god's promise to me that not all who wander are lost.

Oh, and the final track?

"Charles Bukowski is dead. Finally, there is enough beer for the rest of us."

*****

* Chantel Kreviazuk anyone? Didn't think so.

Outsourcing

Tonight I provide my few and friendly readers with a link to a colleague's blog. Chris Pommier - poet, writer, thinker extraordinaire - has invited me to write for his blog whenever I damned well feel like it. Since I would like to keep this blog related to obsessions and fanaticism, I have decided to use his blog as my 'off topic' venue.

My debut post will appear here just as soon as he approves it, but I think you should head over there now to read up a bit first. To see what I think about Abbie Hoffman, the Boy Scouts and contemporary inactivism, get your link on!

More to come soon here at The Electric End.

What's So Fine About Art?

Welcome to Valentine's Day, the holiday on which restaurants are terribly crowded, and Ben & Jerry's, Haagen Daaz, and other pint-o-serving ice cream dealers make a killing.

But I'm not here to write about romanticism or loneliness, because I really have no use for either at present. Instead, I present to you a Clever Song - because I'm always in the market for clever.

The Old 97's were the first - and not last - group whose music I was introduced to based solely on a review. Rolling Stone's 2001 review of the group's fifth album, Satellite Rides, used the words "cowpunk," "bar band," and "insatiable melody," all qualities I was looking for in an obsession at the time. Add to that a suitable example of Rhett Miller's "deft way with one-liners" - "Do you wanna meet up at the Picwood Bowl?/ we could knock nine down and leave one in the hole" - and you had yourself a clever band.

When I went to purchase the album, I was delighted to find a bonus EP as well. In addition to the requisite b-side, there was a radio broadcast including songs from prior releases. * The band kicked off the set with "Barrier Reef," which to this day remains one of my favorite Clever Songs. I don't even know where to start - drunk, sloppy, and so damned true. I've included the lyrics below for your enjoyment, and wish you a better evening than Rhett's outing to the Empty Bottle. **

Barrier Reef - Too Far to Care (1997, Elektra)

The Empty Bottle was half empty, tide was low, and I was thirsty.
Saw her sitting at the bar, you know how some girls are,
Always making eyes, well she wasn't making eyes.

So I sidled up beside her, settled down and shouted, "Hi there."
"My name's Stewart Ransom Miller, I'm a serial lady-killer."
She said, "I'm already dead," that's exactly what she said.

So we tripped the lights fantastic, we was both made of elastic.
Midnight came and midnight went, and I though I was the President.
She said, "Do you have a car," and I said, "Do I have a car?"

What's so great about the Barrier Reef?
What's so fine about art?
What's so good about a Good Times Van,
When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man?

My heart wasn't in it, not for one single minute.
I went through the motions with her. Her on top, and me on liquor.
Didn't do no good, well I didn't think it would.

What's so great about the Barrier Reef?
What's so fine about art?
What's so good about a Good Times Van,
When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man?

When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man.

When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man.

* Yes, I am aware that I recently lambasted the Needlessly Included Live Track, but I grant the Old 97's an exemption for including a whole broadcast, featuring songs from prior releases. That, and they're pretty damned good live.

** Known also the venue in Chicago where I saw my first Jandek concert.

Jandek Hits Jackpot

According to Pitchfork, Jackpot Records is gearing up for a series of reissues, among them Jandek's debut LP, Ready for the House.

In contrast with their compact-disc cousins - expanded, polished and remastered in such a way as to make every album seem like the defining moment of an artist's career - vinyl reissues are simply a repressing of a record that has gone out of print. All that really changes with the vinyl reissue is the label - but isn't that everything? Reissues (not to be confused with repressings, another run on the same label), then, are nothing more than a reproduction of an original work.

The CD reissue, so long it bears the steroidal infusion of bonus materials, is an entirely separate product from the original. You can have both - heck, you can even have the album on vinyl - and possess distinctly separate products. Likewise, a vinyl reissue of a vinyl record is a distinctly separate product from the original pressing.

I'd like to think I'm not a Jandek elitist - for starters, I don't even know how I would define being a Jandek elitist. Nonetheless, there is definitely an aire of inauthenticity about Corwood reissued via Jackpot Records. Undoubtedly, one of the most definitive characterists of Jandek is the idea that Jandek is tied to Corwood, and Corwood to Jandek.

A reissue of a record this rare (often going for more than $300 on eBay, if you're lucky to find one), is like a poster of a painting. Pardon my hyperbole, but though it will look the same and sound the same, it still won't be the 'real' thing.

That being said, Corwood has made it very clear over the years that nothing happens without their stamp of approval, and I don't doubt any deviation from this policy for Corwood reissues via Jackpot. Part of me wants to think that the Corwood approval makes the reissue authentic, but the fact that it wouldn't be distributed via Corwood (purely speculation here, but probably accurate) just doesn't seem right to me.

Will I buy it? You bet. I'm eager to see whether it will contain the original recording from the LP or one of the 'remastered' versions Corwood has crafted over the years.

Will I still try for an original on eBay? You bet. And maybe I am a Jandek elitist after all.

Also, The Myth of The Blue Icicles was 'released' this Saturday. Check it out!

Let's Turn the Record Over

B-sides and bonus tracks allow artists the opportunity to showcase covers and toss-offs they would otherwise save for the occasional encore, as well as precious gems that didn’t end up meshing with the rest of the album. And, of course, absolute crap, stray live tracks, and pointless remixes. Yet even the most banal of bonus tracks becomes an absolute necessity to the obsessed fan.

The first b-side I encountered was a bonus track on the Japanese version of Fastball's 1998 release, All the Pain Money Can Buy. "Freeloader Freddy" seemed like the perfect name for the perfect, laid-back power pop song. Unwilling to dish out $30 for the imported release, I simply “visited” the album every now and again at the now-defunct CDNOW.com. The more artists I became enthralled with, the more forbidden tracks I had to pine for. Why, why did all the bonus tracks have to go to Japan?

When Napster burst on the scene in 1999, I suddenly had hundreds of these b-sides and bonus tracks at my fingertips. * I finally heard the opening riff of "Freeloader Freddy" after more than a year of waiting, and I was not disappointed. It's still one of my favorite pop songs today. I have roughly three discs of Everclear b-sides, non-album tracks and tracks from members’ preceding groups, and songs like “Gay Bar Song” and “The Swing” were a huge part of my high school experience.

I was born into an area when the b-side was transitioning out of the collective conscious of the record industry. What used to be a way to promote 45 rpm singles became bonus tracks on cassette and compact disc singles in the 1980’s and 1990’s, always accompanied by a completely worthless remix of the song (in case you didn’t want to hear the repeat of the chorus after the second verse; see Aerosmith’s Livin’ on the Edge radio promo for an example). Nowadays, finding a hard copy of a mainstream single outside of the checkout line at Walgreen’s is a feat, though various indie and hipster groups still release 45s and CD singles like it’s 1983.

What used to be a reward for buying a single track has now become an expectation with the purchase of every album. Most often, independent record labels reward listeners for pre-ordering albums by throwing in a 45 or several free downloads. Independent record stores will sometimes have a limited quantity of bonus discs, buttons and stickers to hand out on release days. DVDs of performances, too, have become quite popular. Since 2002’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Wilco has made a habit of releasing non-album tracks within about six months of an album’s release.

And it is in examining Wilco’s various bonus offerings that we encounter the bastard child of the Unnecessary Remix, the Needlessly Included Live Track. Whereas the bonus EP More Like the Moon, released in conjunction with the Australian edition of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot contains six studio tracks, the AGIB and SBS EPs include (what I find to be) rather bland live interpretations of several of the album tracks. Perhaps I’m just a completist, but I can’t see the interest in hearing one song from a single concert (see my upcoming post on live bootlegs).

The digital era does not itself lead to more songs per album (though arguably the prevalence of digital studios and recording technologies can decrease producing costs, increasing the amount of studio time artists are able to use), but it does definitely decrease the cost of making extra tracks publicly available. Therefore, the artist is able to pass on to the customer even the most banal studio riff raff (see Ryan Adams) free of charge.

And so I suppose you and I are both wondering what the moral of this story about b-sides is? Like the studio instantiations mentioned in my previous post, these extra tracks become evidence of the time that exists outside of the 42 minutes on any given album. While some of the songs seem like toss-offs – bridges to better songs and 2:30 of life lost – others are honestly compelling music that wouldn’t have fit on the album for which they were recorded.

My two favorite examples are Wilco’s excellent “The Thanks I Get,” left off of 2007’s Sky Blue Sky, and Sleater-Kinney’s powerhouse track “Everything,” left off The Woods. (Seriously, listen to how Janet alternates between the snare riff and the hi-hat riff depending on whether Carrie or Corin is singing.) Both of these tracks are fair assessments of where the respective bands were creatively during these times, but neither of them are particularly suitable for the albums. See also, “Kicking Television,” the Wilco track that is shit-kicking live, but fell incredibly short in the studio.

While the b-sides of the past were hard to track down because so few surfaced, and then nearly disappeard altogether as 45s went out of style, the bonus tracks of the present are more elusive simply because those that aren’t official leak in the strangest of places. Nevertheless, they have always had the elusive appeal of a forbidden fruit. Even when the song is crap, the hunt often renders them all worthwhile.

Well, except for this.

[*] Well, not my fingertips - too chicken to 'break the rules' as it were, I had my dear friend Alyssa download and burn at least 100 bonus tracks for me during high school. Bless you, Alyssa!