“Stay and Defend” by Wolf Gang 

“I discovered the Talking Heads through a classic movie,” St. Vincent says with a wink. “Great film. See it if you haven’t. It’s called Revenge of the Nerds.” Next to her, David Byrne smiles and saunters a bit. He is perpetually in movement—the man in Stop Making Sense is here, albeit with ice-white hair and sans giant suit. But dancing David Byrne remains the same—he still jangles and sways, seesaws his arms and walks in tight, jagged circles, a jolting choreography, pleasurable and odd, like the man himself.

“It’s so nice being in Bawlmore,” Byrne says with a smile, his native tongue thick with the local vernacular.  A homegrown legend, he grew up in Arbutus, dropped out of MICA. (“Someone once told me that David Byrne used to show up at the Talking Head club downtown in a plastic mustache-glasses-nose combo and I’ve been spreading that lie ever since,” I tell my dad. That someone was Kenny Liner, and five minutes later the host for the night points to Liner, sitting across from me, and introduces him to the crowd. Baltimore is a city, sure, but the locals know it’s the smallest town). Bryne calls Druid Hill Park “Droodel Park” and I wish I was one of the people in that park who got to look up hours earlier and say “Did David Byrne just ride by on a bicycle?”

St. Vincent is mesmerizing—her rich voice bounces through the Meyerhoff, she traverses the stage in tiny flitting footsteps as electric green and crisp white lights wax and wane, create shadows, leave the crowd alternately blinded and hypnotized. Her songs shine in a brilliant shining night, standing beside a merry legend, in a sea of unbelievable Talking Heads covers, she shines. She makes me want to listen to her albums, she makes me want to see her live and solo, and on this night, that’s no small feat.

Love This Giant continues to be good weird fun, weirder and funner live, but listen, I learned something important: Transcendent joy can be acquired in 60 seconds. All you need are the opening bars of “This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody)” and a crowd. Play it loud, play it louder with a grin if you’re David Byrne, and listen closely to the faint “pop-pop-pop” of a hundred hearts expanding, exploding, a hundred seats clattering as a hundred thrilled bodies leap up to dance. The transcendent joy of strangers can be witnessed and enjoyed too, like when the entire band, one by one, moved in a circle and each sang a piece of “Wild Wild Life,” each with smiles a mile long. David Byrne and St. Vincent not only introduced each band member, but gave a quick plug for the band’s various solo projects with a plea to “support working musicians.” They looked like a happy, slightly starstruck family—they made the audience feel like a mass of momentary cousins, part of the gang for one night only.

The crowd danced, the crowd screamed, the crowd knew: David Byrne happily playing Talking Heads classics is the stuff of dreams. The crowd applauded until they came out and did it twice more.

Check out the full setlist here. And if you ever see David Byrne ride by on a bike, you call me. Call me right away.

The Original Summertime So Hot Right Now

How have I already exhausted this playlist? Obsessive, constant, deeply devoted listening, that’s how, and I’m hoping it’s a testament to the strength of this 15 song beast. I’ve exhausted it, but I keep coming back. If you see me on the street, make no mistake, this is running circles through my ears, headphones or not.

I finally came around when it comes to Calvin Johnson. I’ve been head over heels for Beat Happening for months, but something about his voice didn’t appeal to me right away, so I kept playing “Collide” and “Fortune Cookie Prize” and pretending Heather Lewis was their only vocalist. They’re both represented here, with Calvin’s smooth deep voice on “Hot Chocolate Boy” kicking off the list, and Heather’s sweet gentle vocals shutting it down with “Left Behind.”

I wanted to title this playlist “Tender Jams for Tired Kids” instead of the traditional So Hot Right Now. Thoughtful, mellow songs took over—“Everytime” by Family of the Year and “Long Slow Dance” by the Fresh and Onlys, a solid cover of “The Only Living Boy in New York” by Sin Fang, all of these and more sound like the logical nine-years-later next step from my freshman year mixtapes.

My summer music tastes have changed with my locations—back home, I wanted warm, bright pop all summer. Foggy, overcast San Francisco summers demand Brilliant Colors, Wax Idols, and a spare and slightly twangy “Short Country Song” by Emmy the Great. But the beat picks up here and there— it gets classic with “Age of Consent” by New Order, it gets fun and a little strange with Kid Cudi’s “Young Lady,” featuring a sample of Father John Misty.

I’m heading back to Baltimore this week, back to steamy heat and marshmallow fluff slathered snowballs, and you better believe I’m going to blast Rumours on repeat until I forget this playlist enough to be able to play it again.

What are you listening to this month?

I was surprised by one of my answers a couple weeks ago.

“What kind of music do you like?” asked New Friend X.

“Mary Chapin Carpenter.”

Huh?  I backtracked. “Um, folk. Singer songwriters. Laura Veirs.”

After several months on a hearty K Records fueled kick, interspersed with a handful of decidedly non-folk-songwriter acts, this answer tumbled out of my momentarily possessed mouth and revealed the truth: I missed them. Old favorites like Patty Griffith and Mary Chapin Carpenter, semi-old discoveries like Laura Veirs and Missy Higgins, I missed the whole songwriting gang. I was a little tired of deep monotone Calvin Johnson, tired of trying to figure out if I like solo David Byrne (I do? But I don’t? But I miss original David Byrne, could he time travel or change his suddenly way-smooth voice, pretty please?). I missed my first amorphous genre love, with its sweet voices and poetic lyrics, and I wanted it back.

Enter Emmy the Great: Genre-jumping, sharp tongued, and until recently, undiscovered by yours truly. I was hooked on the first listen, and I hope you are too.

“We Almost Had a Baby” on We Almost Had a Baby

This was the song that transfixed me. I’d been looking for it, that feeling, that stop-what-you’re-doing-and-play-it-again surge, and I found it in “We Almost Had a Baby.” Crisp, clear storytelling and a tone that reminded me of old country songs,   which are referenced at the end when Emmy lays out a common country bass line— “Do you think of me when you are playing the one and five in four? Is country music all your life is for?”

It’s the saga of the almost baby, the accidental pregnancy that wasn’t, the emotional rollercoaster of imagined parenthood followed by the strange emotional hangover when it doesn’t happen. I love listening to this from a young, female perspective—the only other song I know that covers the travails of almost-babies is “It Was an Accident” by NRBQ, a light-hearted paean to having sex in cars and trying to dodge potential parental responsibilities.

“24” on First Love

Simple lyrics devastate, especially in breakup songs. Nothing knocks the wind out of me like Beck’s mournful chorus on “Lost Cause,” or Bob Dylan’s crackling voice singing “You just wasted my precious time/ Don’t think twice, it’s alright.” “24” belongs in the hall of fame of swift and biting goodbyes with its repeated lines “I’m sorry that you happened to me.”  It’s a heartbreaking song about a snails pace breakup, where the life is slowly sucked out of their relationship until the day her lover watches a 24 hour TV marathon, and she turns 24.  Together they’ve wasted time and promise. The years have passed and she says  “You are still not Charles Bukowski, and I am not Diane Cluck.” Her tone conveys the acute exhaustion of feeling very old when you are very young, and the brisk hope of walking away from the person and the trappings of your life that are holding you down.

“Paper Forest—Afterglow of Rapture” on Virtue 

The album Virtue was inspired by the end of Emmy’s engagement. This song showcases more of her vocal range than the other ones listed here, and has a darker, more tense tone, shown through a rapidly plucked guitar and dramatic shifts between high and low notes. It’s an experience I’ve never heard in a song—the dual realizations in the throes of heartbreak that you’ve survived, and that you need to catalog every moment of it before you forget. It’s not a fresh heartbreak song, or one that appears to be written long after the fact, when hindsight and reflection polishes the jagged lines. It’s right smack in the middle—halfway out, but not quite there yet. This is one of the most engaging parts of Emmy’s music—her ability to tell unique, relatable stories, ones that feel familiar based on experience, but new and unexpected in the context of a song.

“Iris” on  Iris

“Iris” is sunny, retro pop, outfitted with breezy snare rolls and cheerful vocals.  Emmy told Guardian UK that this song was an ode to a hybrid of several girls she knows, including herself, a gang of “Princess Impermanence”s who are dissatisfied with today, but looking forward to a brighter tomorrow. Her music bounces from genre to genre, tone to tone, never quite settling on one solid spot. It makes each album delightful and unexpected—one moment you’re in the midst of a folk song, minutes later there’s something bright and slightly twee streaming through your speakers. Throughout, there’s that sharp, witty songwriting and Emmy’s rich, ever-changing vocals.

“God of Loneliness” on God of Loneliness

Emmy’s voice, especially in the intro, sounds distinctly Natalie Merchant-esque, which gives the whole song a jaunty, 90’s alt radio feel that I love. If you told me this song was circa Lilith Fair, I would believe it wholeheartedly (and I would’ve blasted it on the Lilith Fair sampler I wore down to nothing in middle school). The twinkly, layered guitar and wind-chime-like sounds that shows up about a minute in grounds the song in the retro present—it has that sweet, dated pop sound that’s stayed popular over the past five years. The 90’s singer songwriter and modern retro pop  sounds combine and create the infinitely catchy, shoulda-been-on-the-radio “God of Loneliness” which will spiral through your head all day after two listens.

“Lloyd, I’m Ready To Be Heartbroken” by Camera Obscura 

“Hot Knife” by Fiona Apple 

“Red Eye” by Kid Cudi and Haim

Top Album Cake: Beat Happening Cake

Who made this? Where is it from? I’ve had this picture saved for ages and I have no idea. If you are the magical Beat Happening baker, I have so many cake needs in my life that you should fulfill. Leave your info in the comments.

Top playlist I forgot to post: May So Hot Right Now

It’s a good one too! And for the first time in ages, it actually IS what I listened to in May, along with a handful of albums that I had on repeat (Tender Buttons by Broadcast, Love Has Come for You by Steve Martin and Edie Brickell, and Truckload of Trouble by The Pastels). What did you listen to?

Top Weekly Playlist: Friday playlists on Rookie

Esoteric and fun, handwritten and animated like the final page in a high school notebook–I find so many unexpected and excellent songs through Rookie. Their music content (which is all over the map, including themed album roundups, a custom made song of the month, and odes to favorite artists) is pretty excellent, whether or not you’re in their target teenage girl audience.

  Top Calming Album: Holiday in Rhode Island by The Softies

Sweet and slow and a little sad, this album has trumped my old Top 5 Calm songs for when I need a soothing, mood-adjusting playlist.

Top Interview: Aimee Mann on WTF with Marc Maron 

Who knew Aimee Mann had a soap-opera-worthy childhood? Great, revealing interview that ends in a lovely performance by Mann.

So—who is Edie Brickell and where has she been all my life?

Right under my nose, I guess, if she’s been galavanting with Steve Martin and Paul Simon and every other twinkly comedy/music luminary who may pop up in special episodes of Saturday Night Live. And streaming through my speakers sometime circa elementary school, when she fronted the Bohemians and released mainstream coffeeshop classic “What I Am.” To the Brickell fans sure to land on this post, my apologies. Some of this blog’s only negative comments are from superfans of obscure-to-some-but-not-to-multitudes musicians who show up to harangue me for focusing on that one song that everyone knows when there’s career’s worth of gems out there that I’ve ignored. I get it. My favorite singer songwriter is mostly known for “Dead Skunk,” so trust me, if I had that cojones to kick it President-of-the-fan-group style and track down “Skunk” loving posts, I would.

Love Has Come for You is a delightful, banjo-filled good time. The lyrics contain the stuff of classic folk songs, with wayward heroines who sin and scheme and periodically commit wildly heroic acts, like Sarah Jane who adopts a baby thrown off of a train in “Sarah Jane and the Iron Mountain Baby.” The title track features straight forward storytelling, engaging from the first line, with a catchy chorus.  The tone shifts wildly from song to song, switching from sassy (“Siamese Cat”) to bouncy (“Get Along Stray Down”) to sultry (“Fighter”), but the album is cohesive, a brief and lovely emotional roller coaster full of catchy riffs and stand out images (“You know my creepy cousin with the handlebar mustache?”). Brickell’s voice is fluid and lovely; it moves with ease from one tone to the next, and sounds completely different from the 90′s voice I remember.

Martin charms, as he always does—he plays the banjo like he smiles or tells a joke, with skill and a twinkle (What’s a twinkle? It’s Steve Martin, it’s the dad from Frasier, it’s that old guy wearing a funny little hat at the grocery store. I don’t know how you acquire it, but it has something to do with white hair and kind eyes and a face that says “I’m always in on the joke, kid.”).

Give it a listen, and prepare to be thoroughly charmed. Not up for a whole album? Check out “The Fighter,” my favorite on Love Has Come for You, and “Who You Gonna Take?,” a twangy ditty with a clear “Can we just date already? Get it together” message.

One of my all time favorite songs is called “Jolene.” You may have realized this, as I have mentioned it over and over and over again on this blog. It’s raw, it’s primal, and it features multiple count-offs. It is also, perhaps, the least famous song with the same name.

That sentence seems to make no sense. And it doesn’t. But it’s still true: the song by Cake, “Jolene,” is much, much less famous (and certainly less covered) than the Dolly Parton original, “Jolene.” And they have certain similarities to each other: Both songs have excellent and yet markedly simple chord progressions, repeated throughout the entire song; both songs are filled with desperate energy; both songs are…uh, about women named Jolene? Ok, so, perhaps the similarities end there.

I’d been on the Cake song’s schnuts for years before I ever heard Parton’s song. Isn’t that crazy? She has one of the most famous songs ever about begging a woman to step the fuck off her man (she phrases it a bit better than that) and I don’t think I ever listened to it until a couple of years ago. Perhaps I had my generation’s rightful bias of Ms. Parton – as Claire pointed out, all of us in our twenties know about Ms. Parton is oversized boobs and Dollywood. We had reason to be suspect of her musical credentials.

“Jolene” by Dolly Parton

As you can hear, we were sorely wrong.

I can’t say the song is perfect. Her voice is perhaps a bit too warbly for my taste, but as was pointed out to me, this can easily be construed as a function of the nature of the lyrics – she warbles because she’s terrified and desperate. I just think her voice is like that, so, think what you will. But the instrumentation is great – the use of finger-picked nylon string guitar is nigh-perfect for the line laid down. The drums give off high energy without ever hitting a tom. The bass follows the tonic, but does it earnestly. (Can a single note be more earnest than another? Probably.)

Her real musical achievement, however, is the chord progression and key signature. The chord progression a very simple D-minor, F, C (or a i-III-VII), but it evokes a terrifying amount of heartbrokeness (that’s a word, right?) in three simple chords. It gets this from key signature too: by setting in in D minor, it forces the guitar player to play the F chord in a lower octave than the D-minor chord, which gives that second chord a certain gravitas not available the progression in, say, B minor. More on this later.

“Jolene” by The Little Willies, featuring Norah Jones

My friend Laura happened to be listening to this version of the song on Spotify, which cemented my desire to write about this song. It took me a few times listening to it through to realize that it was Ms. Jones singing, however. (That’s a total lie. I only figured this out during my exhaustive [read: 20 minutes on Spotify, 10 minutes on YouTube] search for versions of the song, leading me to the Wikipedia page about this version.) She has it down, though. Her breathy, throaty sound really accentuates the desperate nature of the lyrics. This is compounded by the insistent brushes on the snare, which are easily my favorite way to hear the drums played. I can’t imagine it was even a choice for this version; drumsticks never entered the equation.

“Jolene” by Roxie Watson

I had to mention this folksy version for a couple of reasons. First, the addition of the accordion is a stroke of brilliance. Ditto the banjo picking out the melody over the verse breaks. The thing that sold me on this version, however, is Ms. Watson’s singing. Her voice isn’t anything that hasn’t been heard before, but her sliding up into pitch on the word “Jolene” is something to behold. (I can’t for the life of me remember what that vocal technique is called. On a string instrument it’s a glissando, but that still may be wrong.) Having heard her do this, I kind of wish Ms. Parton could do that on her version as well. I also like the fact Ms. Watson keeps relatively the same tempo as the original. The trend seems to be to slow it down (with the shitty exception of the terrible version by Me First and the Gimme Gimmes), but in this version, the uptempo really works for them.

“Jolene” by Mike & Robyn

I want to preface this with that I know absolutely nothing about this band (folk duo?), but they did something really special with this version. The vocal performance is great (though I go back and forth on whether or not I like not starting the song with the chorus), but what is interesting about this version is the tuning of the guitar. It sounds like some version of an open-D tuning (I know it’s more than simply a drop-D, but perhaps not as far as a full open-D minor tuning? I dunno. I’m not great at discerning these things), which gives it a level of oomph not available to a simple D-minor chord on the guitar. Since you have that bottom D, you can give equal credence to both the D-minor chord and the F chord, allowing for a much darker sound.  This begs the obvious question: Can we get a Dethklok version?

“Jolene” (live) by The White Stripes 

This is perhaps my favorite cover of this song. It’s obviously not groundbreaking having a man sing the song, but having Jack White sing the song is a far cry from, say, The Sisters of Mercy. And for my money, it’s the best cover of the song by a man. Mr. White is adept at finding the truth in a song via performance, and he nails it here. Even Meg White manages not to shit the bed, as so often she does. Somehow, the warble that bothered me in Ms. Parton’s version fails to do the same in this version – Mr. White’s warble just make him sound that much more pitiful and desperate in begging for Jolene not to take his man. It has to be his vocal performance that makes this cover – the guitar part is nothing special, and the drums aren’t great, but goddamn can Mr. White sell those high notes.