You Don't Say?

From an article in the new Rolling Stone on Kid Rock's summer radio smash: " 'All Summer Long' is just instantly familiar," says Justin Chase, a program director in Las Vegas."

Of course, it doesn't hurt that the song merges the riffs from "Sweet Home Alabama" and "Werewolves of London" into a single tune. Just wait till the world gets a load of my new song, "Stairway to Freebird."

[update: I am now informed that "Stairway to Freebird" is a Dash Rip Rock tune that was previously unknown to me. Have all the ideas been used up? Am I doomed to unintentionally recycyle other people's jokes from now on? Read my thoughts on this in tomorrow's post, "The Gettysburg Address"]

He's with the Band

What do you do if you’re fifteen years old and your favorite band asks you to contribute artwork for their new album? If you’re Lee Heinemann, first you suppress the urge to purge.

“I thought I was going to throw up,” Lee says of the moment Tilly and the Wall asked for his help with o, which was released on June 17.

But he quickly beat back nausea. And then he got to work.

* * *

Before we get to now, we have to go back to then, when Lee was an unassuming junior high kid consumed with art and music, the kind who takes a sketch pad everywhere because you never know when the muse might come.

He was just 12 years old when he first heard Tilly and the Wall, the mixed-gender Omaha indie-pop band famous for its buoyant songs and the tap dancing that often stands in place of more conventional percussion. Soon, Lee and his friends in the now-defunct band Taxidermy Recital were hitting the road from their home in Kansas City to see Tilly on Midwestern stops in Omaha and Lawrence, Kansas. He quickly saw the distance between band and fans disappear. “They’re very accessible” Lee says of Tilly, whose members routinely chat with fans lined up to get into shows.

Lee began giving the band his drawings, and Taxidermy Recital gave them a copy of its CD, which featured a cover Lee had created. Soon thereafter, Derek Presnall, Tilly’s guitarist, asked Lee to paint the cover for a seven-inch single by Presnall’s side project, Flowers Forever. At that point, Lee’s transformation into something more than a fan began.

* * *

A few weeks after catching a Tilly show in Omaha in March of this year, Lee received an e-mail from Kianna Alarid, the band’s bassist and singer. She had a proposition.

Since its inception, Tilly and the Wall has possessed a heightened sense of community. Omaha is home to a small and notoriously supportive group of musicians and artists. Tilly can trace its roots back to Park Avenue, a band that also featured Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes and Clark Baechle of The Faint, and now Tilly makes its home on Team Love records, which was established by Oberst and Nate Krenkel in 2003. That sense of community extended to Tilly’s fans, and the band had an idea to increase the level of intimacy between artist and audience even further.

Tilly wanted some artist friends to create individual jewel-case-sized pieces of art to be included in a limited edition of the new album. The idea was not for each artist to create one piece to be reproduced; it was to create individual, unique pieces so that no two copies of the album would be alike. The works would go straight from the artists’ hands to the disc’s cover.

Alarid’s request to Lee was both simple and daunting. Could he create 1,000 inserts for the new album?

Thrilled, flattered and a bit overwhelmed, Lee got to work. Though each piece would be distinctive, the series would be cohesive, as he used silk screens and spray paints to create brightly colored backgrounds overlaid with dark images. After Lee sent an initial batch of 500 to Team Love, they asked him to create as many more as he could as quickly as possible. He worked around the clock to deliver 700 more images to the label.

More than a dozen artists participated, but Lee was one of the stalwarts of the project, and Team Love’s Matt Mangin praises his work. “Lee's [pieces] are some of the very best and so cool,” says Mangin.

For his part, Lee can’t quite get over how wonderful and strange it is to be part of his favorite band’s circle of friends. “The whole thing is so weird,” he says. “Going from being a really big fan to being part of the album they’re putting out is a thrill.”

Tilly and the Wall - Cacophony (from o)

Riding the Rails

If my four-year-old son had a theme song, it would be a tune he doesn’t even know: Robyn Hitchcock’s “I Often Dream of Trains.” Ever since he could form a syllable, he has been infatuated with the things. When he was a toddler, he’d sit on my lap and we’d scroll through the character gallery on the Thomas the Tank Engine site, and he’d soak up the names and bios of dozens upon dozens of characters. I’m not sure he was even two years old when we met with a teacher from a local pre-pre-school program. As part of her evaluation, she asked if I thought he knew fifty words. “Fifty words?” I replied. “He knows more than fifty trains.”

Yesterday, we took him to a local park with a miniature train that the family has ridden many times. Kids sit comfortably in the tiny cars, while adults tuck their knees neatly beneath their chins. For fifty cents a pop, you get two laps around the Kansas City Northern line, complete with railroad crossings and a dark, dark tunnel that provokes roller-coaster-style screams from the pre-pubescent set. As we went around, the click-clack of wheels on rails reminded me of the rhythms that formed the foundation of Johnny Cash’s career. There are songs about cars and planes and the occasional submarine, but no other form of transportation has inspired as many great songs as the railroad. It’s a wonder that Sirius doesn’t have a channel devoted exclusively to train songs. And on the off-chance that they’re thinking of starting one, let’s help create a playlist. I’ll start, you chime in.

“Folsom Prison Blues” and “Rock Island Line,” Johnny Cash
“Mystery Train,” Elvis Presley
“Train in Vain,” The Clash
“Train from Kansas City,” The Shangri-Las/Superchunk/Neko Case
“The Train Kept A-Rollin’,” Johnny Burnette Trio/Yardbirds
“Draw Your Brakes,” Scotty (from The Harder They Come)
“People Get Ready,” Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions
“Downbound Train,” Bruce Springsteen
“Downtown Train,” Tom Waits
“I Hear the Train,” Ike Reilly Assassination
“Down in the Tube Station at Midnight,” The Jam
“The Metro,” Berlin
“Subway Train,” New York Dolls
“City of New Orleans,” Arlo Guthrie
“It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” Bob Dylan

Isaac Hayes, 1942-2008

Flying High Again

I fell asleep last night to the U.S. Men’s Volleyball Team spiking on Venezuela, and woke up this morning to the hoops squad dunking on China, concluding that these are the most rock and roll of all sports, dynamic and powerful, fluid and angular, rhythmic and propulsive, with a drummer’s snap of the wrist and a guitarist’s sense of the riff. Lebron James, in particular, seemed to have a feel for heavy metal thunder, throwing down a Kobe Bryant alley-oop with such ferocity that I fear he may have harmed the universe.

I kind of dig these precisely-half-a-world-away games, where we watch the morning events at night and the nighttime events in the morning, with the wee-small-hours competitions replayed all day long. Shhh! Don’t tell me what Michael Phelps did overnight, though I don’t think I have to guess. With the PGA, minus Tiger, being played this weekend to complete indifference, there’s a new predator in town. That guy is a Shark.

Dwight Twilley - Shark

Steroid Sound

In 1996, his ninth big league season, Baltimore Orioles center fielder Brady Anderson hit 50 home runs, more than doubling his total from any other campaign in a fifteen-year career. It was a mid-career spike unlike any other in baseball history, and is widely believed to be attributable to a brief flirtation with performance-enhancing drugs.

While mulling Anderson’s achievement, I began to wonder whether there’s a musical equivalent. Is there an artist who produced a mid-career album far surpassing anything else in his/her/its catalog? Lots of acts have hit their apex with their first album and then flamed out. But how many have come up with a masterpiece out of nowhere?

I have come up with one: Matthew Sweet.



Sweet’s third album, Girlfriend, is a stone-cold classic, a power pop masterwork that followed two records that failed to dent the collective consciousness, and preceded several others of workmanlike competence. Those records have their high points (like “Sick of Myself” from 100% Fun), but none reached the consistently dizzying heights of Girlfriend.

I’ve searched the corners of my mind for other examples, but have come up empty. Who else has recorded a steroid-fueled classic album? I’m taking nominations.

Bonus Olympic Coverage

As you may have heard, the Beijing atmosphere is of roughly the same consistency as mayonnaise. So let's amend the previous list to include two more songs - "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" by the Platters (as recommended by intrepid TK reader T.J.) and "The Air That I Breathe" by The Hollies.

An Olympic-Sized Post

It is upon us, the quadrennial orgy of athletics and human interest that holds the world’s attention for two weeks. While many will complain about the tear-jerking fluff piece on the modern pentathlete from Liberia who overcame bulimia, civil war and bunions to earn a place on the Olympic squad of his adopted homeland of Luxembourg, I’m a sucker for this stuff. Once every four years, I care about who the fastest man in the world is, and whether the 14-year-old girl from Oklahoma can stick the landing, and how Michael Phelps (prepare to hear that name nine million times over the next 15 days) might really win eight gold medals. I care about team handball and women’s quadruple sculls and volleyball and archery (though I really think those last two events should be combined into a single competition). I like to watch people whose entire lives have built up to an event that might last just ten or twenty seconds, wondering if I could keep from cracking under such immense weight, and marveling when the strongest among them deliver their best performances on the biggest stage. I love that someone I’ve never heard of today is going to be a household name before September comes.

And so here are ten songs in honor of the Games of the 29th Olympiad.

1. Red Rockers – China
2. U2 – Silver and Gold
3. Decemberists – The Sporting Life
4. Velvet Underground – Run Run Run
5. Van Halen – Jump
6. Van Morrison – Carrying a Torch
7. The Pixies – Bird Dream of the Olympus Mons
8. R.E.M. – Nightswimming
9. Bob Geldof – This is the World Calling
10. The Heartbreakers – Chinese Rocks

Jason and The Scorchers (Straight From the IPOD)

They swaggered like a backwoods Stones, came on with the punk fury of a hillbilly Clash and anyone who saw Warner Hodges do that guitar round the world thing knew they were in the presence of rock royalty.

Oh yeah... they can also claim the greatest Dylan cover. Ever.

Jason And The Scorchers - Absolutely Sweet Marie

You’ll Care About It Because I Care About It

Despite being a mutual obsession for Trip and me, we don’t talk sports much here, and certainly not sports (and teams) that hold little interest to most of you. But you’ll have to excuse me, friends, because the Missouri Tigers are on the cover of Sports Illustrated.



Well, they are in this part of the country at least. Elsewhere, it’s Georgia, Florida, Ohio State or Southern Cal. But in the heart of America, the Tigers are college football’s poster boys.

It wasn’t always this way. In fact, for most of my twenty-plus year affiliation with Mizzou, it has been just the opposite, periods of mediocrity interrupted by moments of abject futility, with just a sprinkling of coal-black karma (Colorado’s fifth down; Nebraska’s kicked ball) added for gut-wrenching effect.

During my seven years in Columbia, I never saw a winning season. In fact, until recently, the most exciting thing I ever saw on Faurot Field was a 1994 Rolling Stones show. There was a brief renaissance in the late nineties, followed by a free fall. That sort of chronic losing can be punishing for a fan, especially one who lives in a town with a baseball team that hasn’t made the postseason since 1985 and an NFL team that hasn’t won a playoff game since 1994.

The reversal began in 2001 when Gary Pinkel was hired as coach and immediately recruited quarterback Brad Smith, a blinding improvisational talent who built a foundation over four seasons before handing the reins to Chase Daniel, deadly accurate and fearless, the prototype field general for college football’s new wide-open age. The Tigers’ fortunes spiked last season, when they began the year unranked, eventually rose to number one in the polls, and finished the season with the nation’s number four ranking. I witnessed nine of their fourteen games in person, including the neutral-field defeat of then second-ranked Kansas. My friend T.J. (yes, the Springsteen guy) was there, too. As a sportswriter, he has covered the World Series, NBA Finals and Olympics, but he called that night in Kansas City the most electric event he’d ever seen.

A couple of years ago, Blair Kerkhoff of the Kansas City Star interviewed me for a story on the Big 12 conference’s tenth anniversary, a span that saw mostly disappointment for the Tigers’ football team, and some ugly incidents and probation for the hoops squad. Blair asked about Missouri’s notoriously resilient fans and why we keep coming back year after year in the face of serial heartbreak. “Because,” I told him, “when things finally turn our way, we want to be there.” That’s exactly how I felt as I sat in the Cotton Bowl on January 1 of this year, watching my guys steamroll Arkansas.

Most of the key pieces are back for this year’s team, including Daniel (a finalist for last year’s Heisman Trophy) and wide receiver/kick returner Jeremy Maclin (who could be a candidate for this year’s version), plus ten starters on defense. I’ll be there again this year, from the first regular season game against Illinois to the last against Kansas, and if all goes well, some very warm location just after New Year’s Day. If you attended a small liberal arts school or an urban college without a football team, feel free to adopt the Tigers. There’s room on the bandwagon.

Are you ready for some football? God knows I am.

Guess Who's on First

I recently learned that there’s an indie singer-songwriter from Philadelphia named Mirah, not to be confused with the ass-kicking rock and roll band from Philadelphia called Marah. Not to be confused? We’re a nation that can’t keep there, their and they’re straight. Of course we’re confused.

When I was a wee tot, I knew that there was one band called The Who and another called The Guess Who, and that one of them had a song that concisely summed up my bewilderment. Tell me, who are you? Likewise, in my adolescent years, I learned that there were not only The Faces, but also The Small Faces, and that they were not the same band, except that they kind of were, and that one had Rod Stewart, and the other had the guy from Humble Pie, which, for reasons I cannot recall, was indistinguishable in my head from Blue Cheer. And Spooky Tooth.

It calls to mind an episode of Eight is Enough, a show remarkable not for eight siblings living together in relative harmony, but for the proposition that Dick Van Patten could get Betty Buckley. The whole show was an exercise in dementia – which one is Joanie? And Susan? And Nancy? – but I remember it most fondly for its 1970s updating of Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on First?” routine. The set-up was a big triple bill at the local enormo-dome featuring The Band, The Who and Yes.

“Who is the band?”
“Yes”
“Who?”
“Yes”
“I mean the band.”
“They’re on the bill, too”
“Who?”
“The Band.”
“The band is who?”
“Exactly. And also The Band. And Yes, course.”
“What?”
“No, Yes.”

You get the picture. I’m also reminded of my third-grade classmate who wondered aloud why an American band would be called Foreigner, not aware that they were a confederation of Brits and Yanks, thus making them foreign wherever they roamed. But mostly I wondered why they seemed indistinguishable from REO Speedwagon. I don’t want to know what love is. I want to which band this is.

With age came savvy, and in the 1990s confusion turned to consternation when I sensed that upstarts called The Refreshments were trying to bathe in the glow of my favorite group of rock and roll miscreants. Some bands can never be replaced.

Thirty Days

Recently, on one of the morning shows, I saw an interview with Doug and Annie Brown, a couple who consummated their love every day for 101 days straight, an endeavor that Doug chronicled for the world to read. First off, I think it’s clear that Annie gets a unanimous, first-ballot induction into the International Wives Hall of Fame both for her physical generosity and for encouraging Doug to write a book about it (as someone who writes a little, I’m not sure which gift is greater). And second, their effort has given me an idea for Teenage Kicks.

If Trip has read this far, he’s understandably concerned, but worry not, partner, this doesn’t involve you. Rather, taking inspiration from the Browns, I pledge to post something here, starting at this moment, every day for the next thirty days (I actually posted yesterday, too; consider it a bonus), which will take us through September 3. Some days, undoubtedly, will consist of maintenance blogging. But I’ll do my best to throw in some sweaty, screaming, swinging from the chandelier blogging, too.

You’ve been warned.

And now, apropos of nothing, enjoy some T. Rex:

The Tees that Bind

The trip wasn't totally in vain. A package unexpectedly arrived at my door today. Inside was the limited edition t-shirt from Bruce's three-night stand at Giants Stadium. Sometimes, a t-shirt is a 50-50 blend with a nifty silk screened design. Other times, it's an act of friendship. Thanks, Teej.

Echoes of Ghosts

One of my favorite albums is My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, the 1981 collaboration between David Byrne and Brian Eno, an experimental patchwork of African music, electronica and funk that served as the logical extension of Talking Heads' Remain in Light, on which the two also collaborated. After a twenty-seven year hiatus, Byrne and Eno are set to release a new album, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, later this month. The first single "Strange Overtones" is bubbling and infectious and is available for free download. Get it. Now.

Joe Strummer on The New York Dolls

I'm currently reading Redemption Song, the excellent Joe Strummer biography by Chris Salewicz, and here's what Joe had to say about The New York Dolls 1974 perfromance on the BBC's The Old Grey Whistle Test:

"I'll never forget watching Johnny Thunders on that program on BBC2, the Whistle Test. Johnny Thunders and his crew - the Dolls - played two numbers. I remember all the musicians in Newport and all the students in the Union bar watching it on the television there, and it just wiped everybody out: the attitude, the clothes, it was different from all this earnest musician-worshipping nonsense that had come in with progressive rock. When the Dolls played that British TV show, that just gave us legs and arms, and the spirit to really get into it".

-

What Joe said.

Joe Strummer - Trash City

New York Dolls - Trash

The Hold Steady's Constructive Strummer

The buzzsaw guitar that opens “Constructive Summer”, as well as the Hold Steady’s messy and glorious new cd, Stay Positive, is a call to arms for curly indie kids, spastic punk rockers and and graying classic rockers – here’s a band to bridge the gaps and a seven nation army for all camps to hail as the latest saviors of rock and roll.

After three increasingly magnificent records (the spoken word art punk of Almost Killed Me, the epic Separation Sunday, the more structured and polished but no less amazing devastation of Boys And Girls in America), it only takes six seconds to realize that Stay Positive continues The Hold Steady’s incredible hot streak.

“Constructive Summer” opening lyrics:

“Me and my friends are like
The drums on Lust for Life
We pound it out on floor toms
Our psalms are sing-along songs”

It’s the most succinct summation of The Hold Steady circa 2008… the inclusiveness (”me and my friends”), the rock and roll definition ("the drums on Lust for Life”), the shared celebration (“we pound it on floor toms”) and the mass celebration that takes place during their beer stoked, sweat soaked shows (“our psalms are sing along songs”). And at this point we’re still only 26 seconds into not only song of the summer, but the song of the year, maybe the song of the last five years.

Later in the song we get references to obscure punk bands (“doublewhiskeycokenoice ”) and not-so-obscure punk bands (“Raise a toast to Saint Joe Strummer”) as well as an exhortation to be all you can be (“Let this be my annual reminder / That we can all be something bigger”). There’s also drinking, small town ennui, more drinking, the Word of forgiveness, tribute to fallen comrades, self-empowerment and of course, more drinking. And all this in less than three minutes!

All the familiar topics are in place in this record – damaged women looking for salvation, addictions in need of salvation, small town romance dance as sin’s salvation, escape from Catholic salvation and ultimately, rock and roll as our ultimate, if temporal, salvation. Stay Positive is The Hold Steady’s Pulp Fiction as it time shifts and tackles the issue of salvation and redemption while exposing the ugliness of daily addiction and the mundane reporting on a multitude of casualties – some who seek and find a way out, but most who stay and live imperfect lives intermittently saved by rock and roll.

The virgin vampires of “Navy Sheets (“Now we’re trying to find a DNA match”) show up earlier as the holed up kids in “Sequestered in Memphis” and later we find one of them strung out in “Lord I’m Discouraged”. And then it sounds like the emotionally distant crush casualty from Boys and Girls in America’s “Chips Ahoy” shows up just about everywhere. For a real in-depth look at what makes this album great, read this, my favorite Stay Positive review to date.

-

But back to "Constructive Summer" (and by the way, name a better song released this year and I'll buy you beer all night long) - that opening Clash '77 killer Kubler blast that's quickly wedded with the Jerry Lee Lewis piano pounding is the exact moment where The Hold Steady fuses their punk rock roots with their ever-widening arena rock ambition. The song is capped off by a moving salute to the venerated "saint" Joe Strummer, who espoused the DIY ethic and rock and roll passion that The Hold Steady are using to build something big this summer.

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Constructive Summer (cd version)

Constructive Summer (Non-COMM version)

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The Clash - White Riot

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Joe Strummer - Coma Girl

Blindsided by the Flight

I am, by nature, a practical man, not prone to impulse or extravagance. And so when my friend T.J. recently offered that he had an extra ticket for the Bruce Springsteen show on Sunday, July 27 at Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey, I begged off, reasoning that I had exploited enough of my wife’s good will on my three-day excursion to Philadelphia a few weeks back.

Exploited, but apparently not exhausted, because when I recounted the story a day later, she said “Springsteen? In New Jersey? With T.J.? You said ‘NO’?”, incredulous that I had passed on the chance to see Him in the Holy Land on what may be the last big go-round for the E Street Band.

Given the green light, I made plans for a surgical strike on the Garden State. Leave Kansas City early Sunday, change planes in Minneapolis (you can’t go direct to anywhere from Kansas City; if you needed to go to Minneapolis, they’d route you through Anchorage), arrive at LaGuardia at 1:59 p.m., show at 7:30. Even if my flight was a couple of hours late, we’d have time to spare! Baby, we were born to run!

The alarm clanged at 5:15 a.m., and I sprang out of bed, caught a quick shower, hit the road and parked at the terminal at 6:02. Got through the gate, grabbed a cup of coffee, and we were airborne an hour later. We touched down in Minnesota (there really are 10,000 lakes; I counted them on the way in) a few minutes before our scheduled 8:26 arrival. Straight out of the jetway, I checked the screen with the day’s departures, found my flight to New York, and saw the two little words that lift the spirits of all travelers. “In Mpls,” I texted T.J., “On time to LAG.” Following LaGuardia info online, he shot back “You’re actually a little early.” This couldn’t be going any better! We’ll have time to drop my stuff off at the house and then stop in at the diner where Tony Soprano stopped believin’ before heading to the Meadowlands. No retreat, baby, no surrender!

A half-full Northwest Airlines flight leaves the gate on schedule, and we hit cruising altitude. I have a row to myself and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay in my hands. I don’t even care that they have Diet Pepsi and not Diet Coke on this plane. I believe in a promised land!

We’re well into a flawless flight, somewhere over Pennsylvania, when the captain comes on and says there’s some bad weather in New York and we may have to hold for a while. No problem, we’ll be a few minutes late. Oh-oh-oh thunder road, oh thunder road, oh thunder road! Then he says “if we hold too long we may have to make an emergency landing to pick up some fuel before heading on in to New York.” Oh. That sounds sort of ominous. Still, suppose we’re even three hours late. We skip the diner, head straight to the stadium, and proceed to rock out with the coolest AARP-eligible band on the planet. Let’s prove it all night!

Then, twenty minutes later, the blow I never saw coming. “Folks, it seems that the weather is such that the entire eastern seaboard is closed for business. The tower has advised us to turn around and head back to Minneapolis.” To . . . where? What? Minneapolis? You sure it wasn’t Annapolis? Really? Oh.

I did the math in my head. I knew. What can I do, what can I say, I don’t wanna fade away.

Two hours later, we hit the runway. I made the requisite vaguely despondent phone calls, and booked a flight that was scheduled to touch down in Kansas City just as Bruce hit the stage in New Jersey.

I called Trip, who is coming out here to see the Boss with me on August 24. “At least we’ll have the show in Kansas City,” he says. “Yeah,” I reply, “it better be one ******** great show.” Sometimes I feel like I’m a rider on a downbound train.

Ting-ing in The Rain

Bounc-ting on the stage like the bleach blonde spawn of Debbie Harry, Chrissie Hynde and Nancy Sinatra (or Nina Persson for you hipsters), Ting Ting lead tinger Katie White launched a slap-happy new wave dance party that wouldn’t let up at last night’s sold out Philadelphia show. The Ting Tings are a British role reversed White Stripes with the emphasis on the groove rather than the riff.

Opening with the piano driven opening of insistent percolator "We Walk", it was clear there would be no tentative stage theatrics from this bubbly, beat crazy duo. They raced through 8 of 10 songs from their debut disc in a whirlwhind 35 minute set. Highlights included ipod star maker "Shut Up And Let Me Go" (a kiss off/demand for their former record label) which sounds like a great lost Blondie classic, the edgy lost girl lament "That's Not My Name" and the electro whimsy of lover's plea "Traffic Light" ("our slow one" according to White) ditches the big beat for a 60's styled soft pop treatment. The show's sole encore was a cacaphonous, eight minute rave-up of title track "We Started Nothing" which showed the couple could cause quite a ruckus.

The Ting Tings won't save rock and roll, and my guess is their album will soon be consigned to the summer of '08 obscurity pile, but they were able to electrify a room on a steamy, stormy July night at Philadelphia's best venue. (And can we give it up one time for Johnny Brenda's... I'd see just about anybody there).

The Tings Tings - Shut Up And Let Me Go

The Ting Tings - Traffic Light

E. Rutherford Shuffle

Bruce, 

If you’re reading, and we suspect you are, I have a request.  Being neither in my early fifties nor from the eastern seaboard, I’ve not seen you play the dozens upon dozens of times that my buddy Trip has.  But I have seen you play in three different cities (Kansas City, St. Louis, Chicago), and I’m about to make it four, as I head to the Garden State for this Sunday’s show at Giants Stadium.  That will mark the longest trip I’ve ever made for the express purpose of seeing a rock and roll show.  While you’re understandably flattered, it was an easy call to make, seeing you, on your home turf, on perhaps the last big go-round with the band, with my friend T.J.  So really, don’t mention it. 

What I’m trying to say is that I’ve perused the internet for the set lists of the shows I’ve attended, and you’ve managed not to play some of my favorites on the occasions I’ve seen you.  So, if you can find it in your heart to play something from the following list, I’d be grateful.

1. Rosalita

2. Jungleland

3. Lost in the Flood

4. Tunnel of Love

5. Spirit in the Night

6. It’s Hard to be a Saint in the City

7. Detroit Medley

8. Kitty’s Back

9. The Fever

10. E Street Shuffle 

And if you can’t get to any of these on Sunday, that’s cool.  You can make it up to me on August 24 in Kansas City.

50 (+ 1)

Everything I wrote a year ago remains true, except that he's 51 now and we actually have met. He's a terrific man, decent and funny and generous, with a lust for life and music that astounds and inspires me. So happy birthday, partner. Here's two more for the list:

2007
Jeremy Fisher - Scar that Never Heals

2008
Felice Brothers - Frankie's Gun

. . . Yeah, But He's My Nerd

Trip gets quoted in Dan DeLuca's Philly Inquirer story about the demise of The Spectrum.

Trip McClatchy, 50, of Havertown, who blogs about music at teenkicks.blogspot.com, saw James Taylor there in 1972, the first of McClatchy's 76 Spectrum shows. (He has them on an Excel spreadsheet.) He ranks the Faces with Rod Stewart in 1973 second to Springsteen. But he also remembers seeing Slade, Jo Jo Gunne and Brownsville Station in 1974, and taking his younger brother Kevin to see Kansas in 1977, only to have him sleep through the show except for "Carry On Wayward Son."

That's seventy-six shows at the Spectrum alone. I'm told that the spreadsheet - which lists every show the man has ever seen - currently has 1,404 entries, with Ezra Furman & The Harpoons and The Redwalls being the most recent addition.

The dude makes my obsessions seem like minor habits.

Fleet Foxes Sell Out?

Shuffling aimlessly on stage as they prepared for last night’s jammed, sweltering show at Philadelphia’s First Unitarian Church did not prepare the audience for the exacting precision of the angelic, often four-part harmonies that were the clear stars of Seattle’s Fleet Foxes magical, mystical, suffocating (did I mention it was sweltering) campfire chorale hoedown.

The band seems to draw from a wellspring of influences, from Brother era Beach Boys to a less reverbed Jim James, from Crosby, Stills and Nash to Crosby by himself (I believe you, Feeney), from traditional English folk to barbershop quartets, from the current freak folks to the psych pop of The Zombies and a huge helping of southern California soft rock (Bread, America, Mamas and Papas). Apparently not an influence – Band of Horses.

Starting the show with the gorgeous opening a capella moments of the stunner “Sun Giant” (the title track of their debut EP) and it’s first line “What a life I lead in the summer”, it was a definite signal that Sub Pop’s latest uber-buzz band was going to treat the assembled punk rockers, pasty faced wallflowers and scattered geezers to an unusual show, and the church’s hot-house basement was the perfect setting.

Clearly the band was thrilled with the rapturous reception and frequently gave thanks to the crowd, occasionally tossing out bottles of water from the stage or just dousing the kids up front with the same holy water. They asked that one of the teetering ceiling fans be turned off and were quickly hooted down by the delirious mass who decided decapitation by ceiling fan was preferable to the room temperature edging up by even one degree. (Seriously, it was hot.)

The highlights were many – including the “hard-to-believe-they-pulled-it-off-live” voices in the round of the haunting, heart stopping “White Winter Hymnal”, the final encore of the grief stricken confessional of “Tiger Mountain Peasant Song”, the jangly, Paul McCartney cribbing (“Whoa my love, Whoa my love, Whoa my love, Whoa…”) of “English House” and a solo turn by lead singer on “Oliver James” that was preceded by an unlikely yet spellbinding cover of “Crayon Angels” by 70’s tragic folkie Judee Sill. These guys know their shit.

So did the Fleet Foxes sell out? Prompted by a fan’s request that pleaded “Don’t ever, ever sell out”, singer Pecknold engaged the interloper in a short dialogue. When he asked the young cub what selling out was, the response was “selling thousands and thousands of records”. Pecknold parried that that was “selling, not selling out… so define selling out”. The fan quickly shot back “Don’t be Band of Horses!”. Pecknold just as quickly quipped “Don’t worry, we won’t”.

So there it is – sold out, but not sell outs. And most likely owners of the most talked about, most startling, most accomplished debut of 2008.

Fleet Foxes - Oliver James mp3

Fleet Foxes - Sun Giant mp3

Judee Sill - Crayon Angels mp3

Positive Reviews

The reviews are starting to come in for The Hold Steady's fourth album, Stay Positive, already out digitally and due in stores next week. The consensus: it's good, really good.

My review is in the new issue of The Providence Phoenix (thanks, Mr. Editor!). Some reputable folks have also weighed in, like the Village Voice, Uncut, Rolling Stone and MTV, among others.

What do you think of the record? Leave us a comment.

In Philadelphia, Where I Met Satan

Left to right: Craig, Satan, me, Kurt, Chip, Mike

A few weeks ago, I snuck into Philadelphia under cover of darkness as part of a rolling series of surprises for my longtime friend Kurt on his fortieth birthday, a 72-hour operation orchestrated by Kurt’s wife Claire with a shocking, almost militaristic, level of precision, foresight and secrecy.

The travels also allowed Trip and me to hold some long-overdue and high-level Teenage Kicks editorial board meetings, fueled by hops, malt and rock and roll. The consensus coming out of those meetings: We’ve got to ramp this thing up.

Thursday night’s main attraction was Rilo Kiley at the Electric Factory, which followed burgers and beers at North Third. Philly, let me say this: You rule the beer world. Great brews can be found in any bar on any corner. I swear this is true: On Friday, I threw a rock into a tree, and a perfectly-poured Hoegaarden fell into my hand, with lovingly-sliced lemon floating on top.

Kurt and Claire and I were joined for the evening by Trip and his bride Cathy, making a rare rock and roll show appearance, and our friends Mary and Kevin, up from Baltimore for the night. The epic conversation and panoply of on-tap offerings prevented us from catching the first two acts on the bill, but Jenny Lewis and her man-slaves put on a shimmering show that looked something like this:



The next day featured more beer and rock and roll, as we caught Langhorne Slim’s noontime set at World Café Live (thanks to XPN’s Deb Ashmore and the many friendly friends who treated me like a brother on our visit to the station). Slim and his War Eagles put on a high-energy hootenanny at the bargain-basement price of free.



Later that afternoon, Kurt and I (by now joined by Chip, just in from Ann Arbor) were across town, about to enter Standard Tap, when we encountered Slim and a lovely companion on the street. Though happy to be recognized, Slim was a tad crestfallen when we awkwardly confessed that we couldn’t make it to that night’s show (though I have since bought your disc, Slim; I hope that’s sufficient consolation).

The weekend’s entertainment high point, however, indisputably happened on Saturday night. With the Phillies out of town, we found our sporting fix with the Philly Roller Girls, enjoying a roller derby double-header pitting the Broad Street Butchers vs. the Dutchland Rollers and the Heavy Metal Hookers vs. the Philthy Britches. Sitting just inches from the action in our VIP seats, it quickly became clear that the competition was for real. Featuring delightful young women with names like Robin Drugstores, Felony Griffith and Heavy Flo, it was all-out serious stuff that often ended up in our laps after collisions in the corners shot bodies off the track like human cannonballs. Here’s a big salute to Mo Pain, the Michael Jordan of Philly women’s roller derby. The girl can skate.

In between bouts, we were treated to the dulcet tones of La Resistance, a local metal band fronted by the heretofore unknown child of Joey Ramone and Sarah Silverman. But the band’s purest genius rested in their physical formation, with co-lead guitarists, one left-handed and one right-handed, flanking the stage, guitars pointing outward, manifesting the band as nothing less than the devil’s horns writ large.

And speaking of Satan, she (yes, she) was there supporting her sisters in the Heavy Metal Hookers. More charming that you’d imagine, she graciously posed for pictures.

I Am Iron Man

I've had many nicknames - some good (The Kid, T Kid, Teek), some bad ("jackass"... thanks Feeney, "sink man") some both ("music enthusiast", "chief"), but none that I've held onto more dearly (at least for the last 60 hours) than "Iron Man", if only because a) it doesn't fit and b) it was fueled solely by my cheery intake of several Oliver Ironman Pale Ales during a time honored version of let's give everyone a nickname at dinner game. It's a game I like to play all the time so if I've tagged you (Reeber, Doctor, T Mahn, Jooooooey P, Pinhead, J Johnny Mezz, The Most Intense Man in America, Nooseball, Zeke, Baby, Jackass... again), I'm sorry.

This particular game took place at The Wharf Rat, a pleasant little beer and sandwich joint a few blocks away from Camden Yards and more importantly this night, several blocks from Ram's Head Live, a good sized rock club set down in the Inner Harbor's outdoor version of a suburban mall. The event - The Hold Steady returns to the stage either a) following the release of their latest masterpiece Stay Positive or b) preceding the release of their latest masterpiece Stay Positive. In 2008, release dates are fluid and this crowd most definitely has chosen a), as either the unofficial internet leak or the official itunes leak ($9.99 for files... PT Barnum lives!) has imbedded the new songs directly in the bloodstream and it's evident this crowd believes that "The sing-along songs will be our scriptures"... and sings/shouts/scream the lyrics to every song.

I won't beat you over the head with another Hold Steady valentine, but suffice it to say that any show that starts with these four songs ("Constructive Summer", "You Can Make Him Like You", "Your Little Hoodrat Friend" and "Banging Camp") immediately vaults itself into consideration for show of the year. Yes, they're that good and they're coming soon to a mid-sized bar near you. Go forth and be saved.

From the last strain of "Killer Parties", it's minutes before we head back up 95 in the "no roadies" car (ed. note: Rigby deserves a medal) as my two compatriots are probably carrying on an enlightening conversation about either architectural landscaping or bone biology. Me, I'm doing what I do best in a moving vehicle... sleeping (sorry about that, guys). Home at 2:30 and up at 6:45 (thank you beer pee!) to get Zeke home (nice move with the house alarm, by the way). My god - people actually have lives where they arise before 7:00 on the weekends and do things. I find that appalling.

So in quick order there's a short nap, two hours of tennis in 90+ heat, a trip to the pool, a nice dinner, a quick thought of another Hold Steady show in Philly that night (family member to me - "DAD... you're going out AGAIN! I thought we were gonna watch a movie."), a viewing of 10,000 B.C. (possibly the worst movie of the 21st century with the added insult of not being hilariously awful), followed by a show at The Khyber with local kids The Writers Club, A.A. Bondy and The Delta Spirit, who I will gush about in a soon to be written future post. Not now, though, it's bedtime. (But if you like a soulful mix of The Black Crowes, Ryan Adams and Oasis with some anthemic gang-style choruses, stay tuned.)

But to bring this story full circle, after another grueling two hours of tennis Sunday morning, I took my son and a couple of his buddies to see Iron Man, a perfect mix of smashing and exploding stuff, middle east paranoia and a supremely confident, star making (again) turn from Robert Downey, Jr. where, in the movie's final seconds (warning - spoiler alert!!), utters the four words that define the weekend...

The Hold Steady - Constructive Summer

The Delta Spirit - People Turn Around

Black Sabbath - Iron Man

Here Comes the Flood

Lately, I’ve treated this space with the sort of neglect normally reserved for my children. But with forthcoming releases from The Hold Steady, Sloan, Alejandro Escovedo and Ron Sexsmith (among others) likely to dominate my summer listening, I thought it best to share thoughts on the music that has been crushing me over the past couple of months.

Santogold, Santogold. A wild and wicked collage of new wave, soul and dance music with rhythms that sit in the pocket and stay there. The comparisons with M.I.A. are inevitable and on the money, but the Brooklyn-via-Philly artist is less audacious, more accessible. My clubhouse leader for album of the year. Recommended if you like: M.I.A., Massive Attack, Res.



Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! Nick Cave is on fire, in the midst of a historic run that began with the cinematic sweep of 2004’s Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus double disc and continuing with the sensational sleaze rock of last year’s Grinderman. Now comes Lazarus, another hyper-literate exploration of religion, sex and soul, featuring one of the hottest bands on the planet. This, pardon my French, is the shit. Recommended if you like: Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, The Hold Steady.



The Ting Tings, We Started Nothing. British minimalist dance rock duo make the party album of the summer, all flash and sass in 4/4 time. Irresistible. Recommended if you like: Blondie, Lily Allen, the first B-52’s record.



The Futureheads, This Is Not the World. British retro-wavers party like it’s 1979 on their third full-length effort, which doesn’t quite equal (but doesn’t pale next to) their near-classic debut. Jagged and skittish but wickedly propulsive. Play it in your car with the windows down and the volume up. Recommended if you like: Arctic Monkeys, 1990s, Gang of Four.



Elbow, The Seldom Seen Kid. Another Brit collective (a theme seems to be emerging), but one not rushing to the chorus. A guitar band that values space over speed, warmth over noise, honey over sugar. Recommended if you like: Early Radiohead, late Blur, low-key Pink Floyd.



The Republic Tigers, Keep Color. Kansas City boys make good with lush, densely-layered, melancholy guitar pop drenched in harmonies. Evocative and elusive, pristine but not prissy. A stellar debut. Recommended if you like: The Shins, Travis, Death Cab for Cutie.



Various artists, Nigeria Special: Modern Highlife, Afro-Sounds & Nigerian Blues. Some of the best music to be released in the States this year was recorded more than three decades ago in Nigeria. A sprawling two-disc set that spotlights little-known acts and spans a vast musical terrain, it features the laid-back lyricism of juju, the hard pulse of Afrobeat, and many styles in between, including the influence of Latin music that comes from living on Africa's west coast. Remarkable, shimmering stuff. Recommended if you like: King Sunny Ade, Fela Kuti, Thomas Mapfumo.



Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes. This is a new acquisition that I’m slowly wrapping my head around, but it definitely has gravity, the kind of disc I expect to suck me in and reveal itself over time. The whole thing has a warm, analog feel, as if made in another time for our time. Recommended if you like: My Morning Jacket, M. Ward, Band of Horses.

Crush... Thy Name is Zooey

A friend of mine sent me this picture today and I needed an excuse to post it. Here are three tracks (the whole show!) from their charming, if somewhat shaky, daytime performance at SXSW on 3/14/08 - broadcast live on The Current. Why only three songs? They had some sound boinks and the SXSW machine doesn't coddle tuning-up artists. Plus, are you gonna tell Billy Bragg he's gotta wait?

She & Him - This Is Not a Test (live @ SXSW)

She & Him - Black Hole (live @ SXSW)

She & Him - Change Is Hard (live @ SXSW)

Bonus Crush Cut

The Clash - 1-2 Crush on You

Teenage Kicks Playlist # 1 (for Mezz and Mannix)

I have a feeling my summer will be dominated by Stay Positive, the staggeringly good new disc by The Hold Steady that sees the official light of day on July 15. The lead single, "sequestered in Memphis" hit their myspace page a couple of weeks ago and it may even convert you non-believers (I'm looking right atcha and you know who you are).

But there's more to life (and rock and roll) than just The Hold Steady ("Hey jackass, you wouldn't know it by this blog"), and we are here to help spread the word. My only criteria is a great hook or melody and generally a manageable song length. My partner Michael is much more open minded.

So please, feel free to check these out, support the artists if you find anything you like, and drop me a line if you hear any crush-worthy pop songs.

The Hold Steady - Sequestered in Memphis - "In barlight, she looked all right/ In daylight, she looked desperate"... is there a better live band right now? (I will come to your house and give you a purple nurple if you say Radiohead). The song of the summer.

The Explorers Club - Do You Love Me? - Beach Boys inspired kids from Charleston, SC deliver a 1966/2008 mashup.

Fleet Foxes - Tiger Mountain Peasant Song - Think Jim James fronting the Mamas and Papas, but without The Mamas.

Los Campesinos! - You! Me! Dancing! - Breathtaking blur of spasmodic new wave zazz - deserving of each and every one of those exclamtion points!!!! (Note to J. Johnny Mezz - song kicks in at 1:42... stay with it)

You Me And Iowa - Dress The Stage - LA power poppers do the Death Cab/Shins/Big Star great 3 1/2 minute pop song thing... I can't get this one out of my head.

Mates of State - Get Better - Husband/wife electro-pop get high gloss sheen with fantastic results. (This has Mannix written all over it).

Amy Lennard - I Wish It Were Mine - Lyrically almost too naked (she wants her girlfriend's life), the evocative performance stays with you... a budding americana sweetheart? I'd like to hear more.

Helio Sequence - No Regrets - Indie pop duo with a blues gospel stomper that sounds like a lost nugget from Harry Smith's collection. Sounds like nothing else on their new record, but I love it. (Bonus points for clocking in under 2:00).

Can't make this stuff up

Last week, a truck from a major shipping company parked in front of my house, and the driver got out to deliver a package. As he handed it to me, I noticed that it was addressed to the previous homeowner, who moved far away seven years ago. I explained, and the driver took the package back and was on his way.

Today, a postcard arrived. It was sent by the shipping company and addressed to the previous homeowner. It reads:

Dear Customer:

On 23 May 2008, we received a package(s) for you from: Shipper name [redacted by Teenage Kicks]

We are unable to complete delivery because: RECEIVER MOVED, NOT DELIVERED

Please pick up your package(s) at the above address (photo id is required) or call us at [phone number redacted].

Springing Leaks

The Hold Steady’s much-anticipated fourth album, Stay Positive, which is set for a July 15 release, leaked to the internet last week, sparking a lively and sometimes angry debate on this message board, and a more civil and philosophical discussion between Trip, Mary Z and me.

During our conversation, I recounted a talk I had over the weekend with a kid who works behind the meat counter at my local grocer. I don’t really know him at all, but I do know that he’s a huge fan of music in general and Animal Collective in particular. As he handed me a couple of steaks on Saturday, I casually asked if he had picked up the band’s new EP, which was released a couple of weeks ago. “I got it when it leaked,” he said. I replied, half joking, “but you paid full price when it was released, right?” “Absolutely,” he said, fully earnest. He confided that this is his music buying routine. “For me,” he said, “the leak date is the release date.” If ever I needed evidence that we’re living in a whole different time, that was it.

After I told the story, Trip responded with the most astoundingly astute observation I’ve heard on the new wave of music distribution. “The genius of Radiohead was not their new distribution model, or the pay what you want schtick, it was that they got folks to pony up for the leak. That was genius.”

That was genius. And it had never occurred to me.

In recent years, the record industry’s prevailing strategy has been to deny reality. Radiohead, on the other hand, not only accepted reality, they exploited it. The music is going to leak no matter what you do, so instead of letting it sit on a shelf while the artwork gets printed and the discs get pressed, just put it online the moment it is finished, and give people the option of putting money in your pocket. And then, after the initial hysteria has worn off, release it again, in hard form, maybe even with bonus tracks not available the first time around.

Shouldn’t this be the model we all move toward? Am I obsessive enough to toss two or three bucks at The Hold Steady for the right to listen to the new album for the next two months while I wait to get my hands on a physical copy? You bet I am, as are 99.9% of the folks in that message board thread.

I left the meat counter with another thought. It’s just so easy now. A kid can amass a huge collection by investing a little time and hardly any money. My natural inclination is to want to rip the ethics of a generation of kids who go on line and take what they want without paying a penny to the people who created it. But then I stop and consider that they don’t remember, and can't begin to understand, the music biz’s old culture of commodification. Music is in the air. You hear it on the radio, you hear it at the supermarket, you hear it coming out of cars on the street, you hear it at your friends’ houses, and you hear it on the internet. They don’t understand why they should be held accountable for listening to what’s out there, and it’s hard not to see their point.

Part of me thinks that they’re missing something, but that’s probably just romantic revisionism. I remember when acquiring music was a quest. At a minimum, it involved a trip to the record store. For harder to find stuff, it required several trips. For out-of-print discs, it required sifting through cut-out bins or sending away to a mail-order shop. I spent years of my life and a small fortune constructing a collection that represents to me far more than randomly grabbed bytes of information. I still remember the moment, many years ago, when I came across a copy of Let’s Active’s then out-of-print Big Plans For Everybody. My heart fluttered. I had been looking everywhere for it, and finally I held it in my hands. Luckily for me, the kid behind the counter didn’t know that I would have paid ten times the clearance price to own it.

In the famed “Yada Yada” episode of Seinfeld, Jerry’s dentist Tim Whatley converts from Catholicism to Judaism, and immediately begins telling Jewish jokes while continuing to tell ones lampooning his former faith. Incensed, Jerry visits Whatley’s priest, and complains. “I have a suspicion that he's converted to Judaism just for the jokes,” he says. “And this offends you as a Jewish person?” the priest asks. “No,” says Seinfeld, “it offends me as a comedian.”

Maybe the new age of illegal downloading doesn’t offend me as a law-abiding citizen. Maybe it offends me as a record collector.

Anti-War, Pro Soldier

Memorial Day 2008 is almost over for most of us, but for many it's just beginning. I wanted to write something that could convey my support for the troops while making it clear we need to end this war as soon as possible. And then I discovered my brother had already done a much better job of doing just that than I could ever hope to, so please read THIS.

I'll just leave you with some anti-war songs of recent vintage. And if you only listen to one, make it "Day After Tomorrow" by Linda Thompson, a breathtaking version of Tom Waits and Katheleen Brennan's stunner from 2004's Real Gone.

Godspeed Jimmy... and bring 'em home.

Linda Thompson - Day After Tomorrow

Ike Reilly Assassination - Broken Parakeet Blues

Jason Isbell - Dress Blues

Josh Ritter - Girl in The War

A.A. Bondy - American Hearts

Lucero - Joining The Army

Rock me out to the ballgame

Scott McCaughey. Steve Wynn. Peter Buck. Linda Pitmon. Sounds like an indie rock supergroup, and it is, of sorts. Meet The Baseball Project, a band assembled to record rocking original tunes by Wynn and McCaughey, all devoted to the national pastime and its great and colorful characters, like Satchel Paige, Ted Williams, Curt Flood and Fernando Valenzuela. The album, Volume 1: Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails, will be out on July 8. You can listen for free here. Make sure to check out "The Death of Big Ed Delahanty," the greatest garage rock song ever dedicated to a 19th Century major league power hitter.

Single Going Steady

They’re back and they’re sequestered.

The Hold Steady is set to release its fourth album, Stay Positive, on July 15. Can it live up to the impossibly high standards of the band’s first three discs? If the newly released single “Sequestered in Memphis” is any indication, the answer is an emphatic “yes.” Hear it here. Buy it at iTunes.

Sometimes I talk to Tad Kubler, the band’s lead guitar player. Not in real life; that would be weird. Instead, I carry on these conversations in my head, little fake interviews. And one of my questions always goes like this: “Koob, tell me straight, sometimes when you’re in the studio with Craig, do you just bust out laughing your ass off at how ridiculously awesome that dude can be?” According to this blog post from John Agnello, who produced the new album (and the last one), that’s exactly what happens:

Craig had been messing around with lyrics at rehearsal, adding certain ones, dropping some, changing vocal inflections and entrances. We all knew that basis of the song, but it wasn’t until Craig actually started the lead vocal for the song, that I got to hear the entire story. On his second take of the song, after I had checked the vocal sound, me and Tad, who had stopped in to be on call, were laughing our asses off about how good it was! Whenever I hear the song, I can see Craig singing it!

The Hold Steady: Comedy, tragedy and debauchery, coming to a city near you.

Heavy Metal

Ever since I found myself blessed with children, trips to the cinema have been rare. Being a refined intellectual, I suppose I should try to see the finest in art house fare during those odd evenings out. Screw that. If I make it to the movies just once or twice a year, I want to see some shit get blown up.

So I saw Iron Man over the weekend. And I hereby declare that it’s the greatest comic book movie ever made. By a mile.

Many (if not most) superhero stories suffer in translation to the big screen. When I was a kid, the X-Men was – far and away – my favorite comic book series. But the movies, while entertaining in their own slight way, try to cram too many ideas into too little time, and their premises (the guy was born with laser beams shooting out of his eyes? Really?) seem more plausible on pulp than celluloid.

Iron Man, on the other hand, was a minor player in my childhood (the box in the basement suggests that I owned only three issues – numbers 87, 88 and 161), but he’s perfect for film. A genius weapons manufacturer designs a sophisticated battle suit? That could happen.

The set-up, though, is just half of it. Director Jon Favreau engages in some expert, nuanced storytelling. And this film is perfectly cast. Gwyneth Paltrow, Jeff Bridges and Terrence Howard are terrific, but Robert Downey comes on like a force of nature in the title role. The film is fast, funny and phenomenally entertaining.

But you probably already know this. I just wanted to gush.

She & Him for You

Hopefully by now you've all bought the disc/legally downloaded/stolen Volume One, the debut by She and Him, featuring wide-eyed indie ingenue Zooey Deschanel (you know her from Elf) and hipster guitarist and man-about-town M Ward. It's a wonderful throwback to 3 minute, slick girl group pop with just enough fuzziness to keep it rooted in 2008. Deschanel's voice has an earthy, wobbly charm as she channels Jenny Lewis channeling Laura Nyro.

Here's one cut from Volume One, four live tracks from a KCRW session earlier this year (including "Magic Trick", an M Ward cut from Post-War), a perfectly sweet live take of "Bring It On Home to Me" and a cover of Richard Thompson's "When I Get to The Border" recorded for a soundtrack for The Go Getter.

Why Do You Let Me Stay Here (from Volume One)

Sentimental Heart (KCRW)

You Really Got A Hold On Me (KCRW)

Change is Hard (KCRW)

Magic Trick (KCRW)

Bring It On Home to Me (Acoustic)

When I Get to The Border (from the film The Go Getter)

OMIGOD... It's Tokio Hotel!

Saturday about 250 teens and tweens showed up at Main Street Music in Manayunk to shriek at budding German pop stars Tokio Hotel. Who? Exactly my thoughts a week ago when my buddy Pat told me this band was slated for an in-store appearance to sign cds (no performance) at his cd store. I was sure he was mistaken and meant up-and-coming Canadian indie-popsters Tokyo Police Club. But nope, it was Tokio Hotel and they are coming to America to steal the hearts (and pocketbooks) of your daughters.

In the age of myspace, facebook and Youtube, these Teutonic heartthrobs generated this kind of madness with just a brief blurb last week on their myspace page and a couple of Tokio Hotel blog mentions. I'm not sure who their handlers are, but apparently they've figured out the correct formula to create a massive buzz... who says the music industry is dead?

Think Jonas Brothers mixed with Bon Jovi in a glam rock stew... and after hearing thier first English language disc, Scream (albeit accompanied by a couple of hundred off-key, decked out, made up Hannah Montan wannabes), it's not too bad. "Ready Set Go" sounds like a hit and reminds me of Head Automtica, who impressed with 2006's Popaganda, a quirky jumble of beats, guitars and hooks, heavy on the hooks.

-

Fans line Main Street for a glimpse of Tokio Hotel

The first of the rabid fans arrived at 4 am and they came from all over - Reading, Allentown, South Jersey, North Jersey, Warminster, NE Philly, South Philly, Connecticutt... there was even a rumor of a Maine mom rewarding her 8 year old's straight A's with a trip to Philly to see Tokio Hotel. At about 3:30, the autograph signing began, and hyper-ventilating, followed by the glazed eyes of witnessing greatness led to sobs of raging teenage hormonal joy. Not one little girl seemed even a tiny disappointed with their 15 seconds gawking at potentially the next huge pubescent phenoms. By 4:20, the boys were back in the van being whisked away to screams of delight and terror. By 4:25, anything that remained at Main Street Music featuring the name or visage of Tokio Hotel had been ripped away and carried out by still delirious, wide-eyed fans.

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Gustav, Bill, Tom, Teenage Kicks, Music Enthusiast, Georg

I'm not sure, but I believe each girl uttered the same three words as they left their fleeting meeting with their bedroom posters come to life:

"Oh. My. God."

The moment Trip discovered The Felice Brothers

Trip is in the yellow sweater.

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Pleading Guilty

Ten Songs that Should Not be in My iPod

I love some atrocious music. At least that’s how it would be judged by this community’s standards. But I prefer to think of it as unconventionally brilliant, bits of flotsam that bring the glory of stone classics and revolutionary obscurities into sharper relief.

Jim McGuinn started me thinking about these songs by playing a set of guilty pleasures on WXPN a couple of weeks ago. But I don’t feel guilty about any of it. You love what you love, and shouldn’t let anyone tell you that you’re wrong. So you can keep your Sufjan Stevens, indie hipsters. Give me Daddy Dewdrop.

To prove my lack of shame, I now share with you ten songs that honest-to-goodness reside on my iPod.

1. The Osmonds, “Down By the Lazy River.” The first song I ever loved, it was my gateway drug to rock and roll. To my tender ears in 1972, this was as edgy and dangerous as the Rolling Stones. But it wasn’t even the pinnacle of the boys’ edgy rockin’ danger. Warning: Unless you want your mind blown by some sheer Utah psychedelic audacity, please – I beg of you – don’t click this link.




2. Aldo Nova, “Fantasy.” He had me at guitars-shooting-lasers. But the addition of a skin-tight cheetah-print suit, cowboy boots, a bubblicious pop metal riff, and a vaguely unplaceable accent (French-Italian-Canadian?) pushes this one into the guilt-rock stratosphere.



3. Abba, “Knowing Me Knowing You.” You see the story pop up from time to time: Rage-fueled crusading homophobe shows up in photos at a Days Inn with a well-oiled gigolo and a couple of vials of crank, exemplifying the thing he professes to hate. Abba is gay prostitutes to rock snobs, the band they fiercely deride in public while privately cherishing their copy of Gold. The canon is full of choice tunes, but this one takes top honors. And, for me, Anna-Frida will always be Mary Anne to Agnetha’s Ginger.



4. The Babys, “Isn’t It Time.” I remember seeing the Babys on The Midnight Special or some such show in 1978 and thinking that John Waite was one of the prettiest girls I’d ever seen. I’ve always had a soft spot for the band’s bubbleglam music that was so awkwardly out of step with the brilliant punk rock and new wave that was happening at the time. This song – which some American Idol hopeful should appropriate the way this Belgian dude did – with its shameless, guileless and unapologetic romanticism, is tailor-made for my list.




5. The Partridge Family, “I Think I Love You.” As a kid, I didn’t know that The Cowsills were the true antecedent to this fictional family; I thought Shirley, David and company were simply the perfect pastiche of the Osmonds and The Brady Bunch, and little could be better than that. I’ll fight anyone who wants to slag this slice of pop perfection. “I think I love you/So what am I so afraid of/I’m afraid that I’m not sure of/A love there is no cure for/I think I love you/And that’s what life is made of/Though it worries me to say/I’ve never felt this way.” Shakespeare wishes he had written that.



6. Haircut 100, “Love Plus One.” There’s nothing wrong with loving this song, which is the pure embodiment of summer for me. It’s the intensity with which I adore it that should be called into question. What does the “100” in the band’s name represent? Just that it’s one of my one hundred favorite tunes of all-time, that’s what.



7. Kiss, “Shout It Out Loud.” When I was a kid, three of the things I loved best were rock and roll, superheroes and professional wrestling. And then came a band that seemed to synthesize all three! Don’t let ‘em tell you that there’s too much noise. They’re too old to really understand.




8. Hall and Oates, “Private Eyes.” I know that you can dig “Sara Smile” or Abandoned Luncheonette and still maintain some semblance of hipster cred. Screw the cred. Give me trench coats, fedoras and an endless bounty of pop hooks.



9. Justin Timberlake, “SexyBack.” I know what you’re thinking. This song is misleading inasmuch as my partner Trip – and not young JT – brought sexy back. And you’d have a point. And you may also be thinking that Justin is all that’s wrong with contemporary pop music. That’s where you couldn’t be more wrong. The kid is so right it hurts, injecting all the traditional verities of rhythm, melody and sex into a four-and-a-half minute jam that’s irresistible even to middle-aged men like me.



10. Rick Springfield, “Jessie’s Girl.” What exactly should I feel guilty about? Is the song too catchy? Is the riff too irresistible? Is the lyric too note-perfect in its portrayal of best friend’s girl jealousy? Or maybe I’m not supposed to dig this because the guy used to be on a soap opera. Leave that line of reasoning for Jack Wagner’s string of hits, ‘cause I’m gonna love The Rick till my dying day.