Admitted Affection

Guilty pleasure is the wrong word. My crush on WilsonPhillips is guilty. My absolute love for everything Kanye West, well, that is pure pleasure. But sometimes I get myself into something that’s less than respectable. A band my friends would probably avoid. I think, “Given enough time, this ill-regarded band could make the jump to near respectability.”

Oasis is really the poster child for what I’m talking about. By now enough time has passed that every hipster of a certain age is willing and able to defend those first two Oasis records. Dumb as a bag of hammers? Yes. But they did have some killer lines, didn’t they? And they married their wistful, obvious rhymes an unbeatable streak of great melodies. Took me forever to admit it, but Oasis was a great band. For a little while.

Oasis aren’t alone. There are several bands that might fit the Oasis mold. I don’t mean they’re on the same level quality-wise. Indeed, me and everyone reading this would be better off listening to something else besides the five bands in this post. But at some point, these dudes might turn a corner. Or savvy listeners might re-evaluate their past masters. Maybe they’ve got some good qualities we’ve overlooked. Maybe they aren’t too smart. And sure, they’ve all got some serious weaknesses. But they’ve all achieved critical mass at some point (if not critical approval). Some of them are still very popular. Yet, for some reason, people with actual taste haven’t quite given in.

This post is basically me wondering aloud: do these bands have significant redeeming qualities? Such that you might want to be acquainted? For your convenience, I’ve listed them in order, based on the strength of my recommendation. And the last band on this list probably shouldn’t have made it.

Coldplay

This is the most obvious example, and they may be the closest to that magical moment when knowledgeable music lovers admit, “yeah, I don’t turn them off when I hear one of the singles.” I certainly feel that way. But when it comes to Coldplay’s first record, Parachutes, I don’t merely tolerate it. I fucking love it.

This first track sets a tone for the whole record, with it’s “Ventura Highway” chords, and it’s nautically flanged organ and guitar. The thing is, it’s a wonderful guitar record from beginning to end. And Chris Martin’s lyrics, while occasionally cringe-worthy, are better here than they ever would be again. Yeah that voice is unfuckwithable, but the songs and playing are also first-rate. Sure Parachutes got knocked as Radiohead wannabe. But my dark, guilty secret is that I like Parachutes almost as much as I like The Bends.

Snow Patrol

If you’ve heard of Snow Patrol, you’ve may only be familiar with their execrable major label output, recorded after they realized how much money they could make if they sounded more like Coldplay. But their first two records were totally different than the soaring adult contemporary pap they’re putting out now.

On those first two records, Songs for Polar Bears and When It's All Over We Still Have to Clear Up, they were still awfully sensitive but the hooks weren’t nearly as obvious as they are now. Both early records grew on me precisely because their tender ballads were so subtly well-constructed.

It helped that they sounded more like an American indie band than the treacly wave of British crap that followed Coldplay’s success (e.g., Starsailor, Travis). You’ll hear what I mean here:

Anyway, I dig the hell out of those first two records. But, like Oasis, they haven’t done anything worth a damn since.

The Killers

The jury’s still out on The Killers. I thought they were laughably bad when I saw them open for the Pixies. But then I saw them on Saturday Night Live shortly after the release of their second record. They sounded much better. A little like Bruce Springsteen and Tom Petty had a new-wave baby. Hmmm, I said. Maybe a year or two later, I encountered the same song on Guitar Hero III. Loved it. Lyrics are a bit overwrought, but shit this song is fun.

I fell even harder for “Bones.” They might be stealing from every 80s New Wave ever, but on this song the  the production sounds more like Frank Black’s early solo records and They Might Be Giants. I’m sure it’s just the cheesy horns, but it’s an awful lot of fun. Yes, I said fun again.

 

So yeah, I’m listening to the Killers a lot lately. I’m almost to the point where I like them enough to not include them in this post. Almost.

Third Eye Blind

When I worked at the Hard Rock Cafe in Houston, I actually enjoyed waiting tables with a constant stream of music videos blaring all around me. It was a pretty good mix of classic rock (Dire Straits, Beatles), semi-popular indie rock (Pulp, Jeff Buckley) and current buzz faves (remember Eve6???).

Yeah the Buzz bands were my least favorite, too. But there was one buzz song in frequent rotation I always liked to hear: Third Eye Blind’s “Losing a Whole Year.”

More than anything I liked the way it set the pace for me when I was burning a path between my tables and the kitchen, but I noticed something else, too. Third Eye Blind were a lot more musically sophisticated than Hootie or Matchbox20. Losing a Whole Year is a chorus-free hit song, constructed with some odd arpeggios and a wandering bass melody. That self-titled debut also had “How’s it Going to Be”, another of TEB’s banal relationship songs that seems to nevertheless seemed to hit me square in the gut at the time. Maybe that one is a guilty pleasure.

Their second record had much less going for it, but I liked the lead single quite a bit. Here again, I dug the unexpected craftsmanship that you get in otherwise generic, empty-headed buzz hit. Great drum sounds, harmonized bass lines, a bridge that returns seamlessly to the verse and a nice re-imagination of the chorus. The sophistication ceased to be a surprise once I learned that singer Steven Jenkins successfully insisted on producing his own records, and his guitarist and co-writer studied guitar with Joe Satriani (that might explain the focus on composition rather than pure wankery).

Unfortunately, they look like tools in their videos. And that’s probably because they are tools. The songs certainly don’t give you a lot of substance beyond the better-than-average studio chops and some radio-ready hooks. But I tend to evaluate bands relative to their peers. I ask, did this band exceed the mark set by others in their same weight class? The answer has got to be yes. Would you rather listen to Third Eye Blind or 3 Doors Down?  When I was at the Hard Rock Cafe, I didn’t have a choice, but I had a pretty clear preference.

Kings of Leon

This last one is difficult to explain or justify. I just love this song. And I keep hoping they’ll write other songs just as good.

Sadly, it’s unlikely to happen. Most of their other songs are pretty crappy. And singer Caleb Followill is easily the worst lyricist in this list. He’s alright when you can barely understand him. But more often than not, you hear him pretty clearly. And all his songs are about sex. I’ve supported this approach in the past (because rock ‘n’ roll really should be about getting it on). But this dude needs to get his head out of his loins. Sample, you ask?

Free- is all that she could bleed
That's why'll she'll never stay
White- bare naked in the night
Just lookin' for some play

Just another girl that wants to rule the world
Any time or place
And when she gets into your head
You know she's there to stay

You want it
She's got it
Molly's Chambers gonna change your mind
She's got your
Your pistol

Yeah… it’s pretty bad. Still, of all the Strokes-y bands, I love KoL for their southern bent, clean guitars, and singer distinctive voice. If they could marry that sound with decent songs that weren’t mired in single entendres, I might be able to recommend them more heartily. But hey, they don’t need you or me. They’re fucking huge in Britain.

Just like Oasis.

Napcast - Duet

I've been noticing things in two for the last few months, so decided that this cast would be in twos, too.

2 Die songs
2 Reggae songs
2 Ethereal songs
2 old punkish songs
2 European songs
2 MTV sitings

#2 is probably my new fave
#3, #4, #5 are old faves but I just can't help but listen to them endlessly
#6 and #11.5 are ones that I found on MTV when I tuned to that channel twice in the last 10 years. I saw only two videos and it was these two. I had never seen either band before these videos, so I have to say MTV is a winner in my book.
(and sorry, forgot to put the title for 11.5 on the jpg, but it's an Outkast song)

I got a few of these songs from my friend who apparently has quite the same taste as me as I have been trying to put Song to the Siren on a mix for a long time, and he did it, so here it is.

enjoy


Click here to get your own player.

To listen to it in iTunes, copy this into the Subscribe to Podcast box:
http://nap.podOmatic.com/rss2.xml

p.s. my subconscious was trying to tell me it was time to post a cast last week and even went so far as to tell my body to burn a copy of the mix and get the playlist home. But then my consciousness took over later that night and told me, oh, I shouldn't do this until next week, thereby leaving a gap in the podcasts for the week. Stupid conscious.

The Ballad of Kanye Worst or Why MTV Doesn't Care About Black People

The celebrity universe is one filled with mammoth egos so utterly disproportionate to the wade pool of talent from which they all must so starvingly draw. Trying to grasp the scope of emptiness in the upper echelons of fame would be an exercise in futility, likened to understanding what a beach is by counting every grain of sand contained within its boundaries. Thus, it is better to look at the world of celebrity as the great cultural toilet bowl: clogged, and in desperate need of plunging. Only then would these turds take their leave of our consciousness and leave us to fend with all the real, insurmountable ills we have bestowed on this world.

In bed as much with Old Scratch as their parent and corporate teat, Viacom, MTV has been an open window into the sulphurus depths of our collective soul for decades now. Adeptly recognizing the potential for exploiting the youth of the world, as well as recognizing the bottomless pockets that young Americans seem to have, MTV has mastered the art of marketing so well that if it wasn’t so utterly wicked, we might be able to admire guiltlessly their skill at manipulating the minds and hearts of American children.

As I write this, another MTV Video Music Awards show has come and gone. I am, generally speaking, not only a sucker for painful cultural artifacts, I am a veritable connoisseur of the sort of detritus that washes up on the shores of our collective unconscious. When MTV gets their roids in action, when all pistons are firing in unison, the sheer majestic glory of their grandiose awards show productions are a rogues gallery of disastrous plumage, dialed to ten, and absent a shred of mercy.

Kicking off the tumult was an appearance by the epitome of Southern American dispossession, a good five pounds over the public limit of acceptability for post-teen empty-brained wet dream candidates: Britney Spears. The years since her last chart topping success have not been kind to the young starlet. In the presentation of her public persona (not to mention the regular public presentation of her shaven genitalia), she has exposed what must certainly have been a terrible southern upbringing. There is an impersonal cruelty to the rigors of fame, and there are those who are unable to rectify their own self-interests in the face of the demands of celebrity. Spears is no exception, in fact, she exemplifies the dangers of growing up too fast in the fast lane without the proper anchor. Sadly, it is in the cards that her children will almost certainly suffer a fate worse than hers given their less than stellar gene pond.

As America has watched Ms. Spears hop from one disastrous life choice to another, on that pathetic Sunday night, we all coalesced to the point in time that is the MTV Video Music Awards. This was to be Britney’s moment to shine, her moment to finally put to rest the rumors of her lapses in sanity, her supposed leap back into the welcoming arms of pop mega-stardom, and out of the great void of irresponsible behavior. Instead, she upped the ante on her downfall, and in the process, dug herself a hole so deep she may never come out. Her performance was pathetic. She looked scared and bored at the same time. She was whored up in an outfit that looked desperate. She was clearly lip-syncing, and that was during the time when she was actually trying, the rest of the time she blankly stared into space with her blue contacts and did what I guess was supposed to be a dance. It reminded me of a scene in the (excellent) Mike Leigh film, Naked, in which the protagonist, Johnny (played absolutely convincingly by David Thewliss), arrives on the doorstep of a lonely woman in a dilapidated apartment in London, only to realize that she is much older than she appeared in the adjacent window across the street from which Johnny and a night watchman spy on her. As she continues to drink herself into oblivion (or perhaps, hopefully, absolution), she lazily dances for Johnny in hopes of his awakening her from her existential slumber. There are shades of this barren exhibitionism in Britney’s performance, and many, including myself, are uncomfortable with what it says about her, about us.

Included in the audience was Kanye West. Never one to shy away from speaking his mind, West had plenty to say on Spears’ performance, on MTV, and on the need for the world to buy his new record. Infamous for his adlibbed, brutally honest, and searing indictment of George Bush and the government’s poor response to the Katrina catastrophe, West has become a poster boy more for his opinions than his forgettable music. Prominently featured in the awards show, hyping his new record and his newly minted feud with the ballistically perforated rapper, 50 Cent, West had an axe to grind Sunday night, and nothing was going to stop him from grinding it down to a nub.

Apparently, Kanye felt that MTV was exploiting Britney by even having her on the show in the first place. But to sweeten the pot, he added that he also was upset because he feels he should have kicked off the show with "Stronger," the first single from his new album, "Graduation."

"They exploited her, they played me, and I really don't mess with MTV," he said.

He doesn’t play with MTV, unless they ask him to, and then he plays in the suite designated for his own party, replete with hired audience members, DJs, and multiple guest rappers. Then it’s like a giant fucking playground.

West even went so far as to play the race card when he explained that he should have had the show closer instead of Justin Timberlake. Never mind the fact that the closer included Timbaland, a man who certainly falls somewhere well outside the boundaries of what most people consider white.

Apparently, to Kanye West, having the opener, closer, and all the awards would be the only reasonable way for MTV to conduct their utterly meaningless awards show ceremony. Only then would MTV be freed from the shackles of racism and exploitation that plague them today. In addition, giving West all the attention would afford Britney the chance to heal and grow into a well rounded egomaniac on par with someone like, well, Kanye West.

It takes a big man to stand up to the powers that be and tell it like it is. I don’t even think that’s vaguely close to what happened in Vegas, Sunday, but it sure is entertaining to watch as the unfairly wealthy reduces themselves to cartoonish fools, both simultaneously above us and below.

That this takes headlines, steals our attention, and raises my ire, is a story unto itself, but one I don’t wish to tell. That great depths hide within the shallows of the surface dwellers gives us all a way to fathom the path of all the rest, no matter how sad and weak, no matter how short the steps. That in time, a great wave will come and wash us all out to the roiling sea of the unknown is both a comfort and an unsettling reality. For what if nothing exists beyond this, and all of our fears are simply unwarranted waste; what does this say about now, about you, in this life now? Under the open, blameless gaze of the yawning sky, the lot of humanity scrambles for an answer but gets only questions, and as we fill our days with dreams, only emptiness gives repose. This curse is our salvation, and through it all - blind, feral, and very, very hungry - tomorrow waits on baited breath.