Here’s the truth: So Hot Right Now posts are always hard for me to write. I play those 15 songs obsessively, plucking many of them out of thin air and promptly devouring them over the course of the last week of the month. That’s supposed to quell my wandering attention span, that batch of new songs. I line them up and play them on repeat, I pledge my endless listening devotion to them, for the next month at least. I slide one in next to the other, drag it down, rearrange tracks 7 and 15, then 12 and 3, then think about transitions. What sounds delicious? What bridge between two songs is so luscious and unexpected that it has to be honored? A few months ago Joshua slipped “Flowers in Your Hair” by The Lumineers right behind “Summer Breeze” by the Isley Brothers and that movement from one song to the next plucked an emotional chord. It sounded like the first buttery sunshine filled day of summer or the rosy cheeked heat of a new crush. It was perfect. It was the ideal transition. I wanted every transition on my lists to sound as good.
I am obsessive. There are all kinds of corners and knick knacks in my apartment that get fondly pinged by my passing fingertips several times a day. I often listen to a song more than ten times in a row. And that obsessiveness is sometimes fun, but when it comes to making mixes, it’s easy for it to get exhausting. One of my favorite songs last year was “Closer” by Tegan and Sarah. It’s almost unbearable to listen to now because I listened to it so many times. At this point it sounds like construction or a loud clock—that low level jarring kind of noise that pinches your nerves. I wear out so many great songs, I have to shelve them and come back to them months later, if ever (Seriously, after waiting for the new Tegan and Sara album for months, it’s disappointing to have to skip the excellent kick off that is “Closer” every time I listen to it). So Hot Right Now mixes are lists of songs I’ve worn down to the bone. I post them here, and I run as far away from them as I can.
The past week of this brand new month has been full of big emotions, good and bad. I kept meaning to post my original list, but it seemed like it expired on February 1st. I didn’t want to hear all the stuff I’d listened to last month. I wanted the comfort of songs that I loved, songs I could never get tired of. I wanted Tom Petty and Etta James and Liz Phair. I wanted slightly less familiar songs from albums I play often, songs like “Where I’m Waking” by Slow Club and “Again Today” by The Feelies. I wanted the relief of new songs that I’m still charmed with, like “Young Adult Friction” by The Pains of Being Pure at Heart and “Golden Haze” by Wild Nothing. I didn’t want to sort them out because they sounded so perfect and right just where they were, all in a row, where I wanted them to be when I needed to find them.
In case you were curious, and because it was a very good mix, that mix I made and couldn’t listen to for another second, here’s my original So Hot Right Now for February. I hope you enjoy them both—let me know what you’re listening to this month in the comments.
It’s autumn. I want sweaters, pumpkin beer, tomato soup, a new hair color (I’m thinking dark brown? I know you guys care), and these albums. In no particular order, but in particular I’d like them all at once, thanks.
These are all albums that I listen to here and there throughout the year. Come October 1st, I start playing them on repeat through Thanksgiving. I have no idea why. They fade out with pumpkin spice, holiday flights, and that first clean whiff of impending snow.
Lost In Space by Aimee Mann
Autumn has it’s own class of sweets. We might add frilly pastel frosting flowers on spring cupcakes, or blanket a tart with stone fruit in late summer, but we don’t introduce an entire suite of flavors only to forget them for nine months the way we do in autumn. Cinnamon, nutmeg, dark brown sugar, molasses—any edible goodie that’s given a “harvest” or “fall” moniker features a combination of these flavors. It’s a dark, warm, and ultimately complex flavor backbone, even though it feels simple and comforting.
Lost in Space is musical harvest cake. The tone is somber but complicated. Though the lyrics and themes are dark, it’s not music you listen to if you want to lean into sadness, or cultivate it. Mann’s impeccable grasp on pop song craftsmanship keeps each song catchy and hummable, even though a million tiny pieces are working to make the songs so warm and easy to digest. Listen to it with the windows open on a crisp day while eating something lousy with nutmeg and pumpkin.
Exile in Guyville by Liz Phair
I listened to whitechocolatespaceegg about a thousand times (not an exaggeration) before I ever heard Exile in Guyville. And it took me years to finally listen to it—I started obsessing over Liz Phair in late middle school, I heard Exile in Guyville for the first time when I was 24. The only reason I listen to this album in autumn is because I bought it the first time my family visited me in San Francisco, about three months after I moved, and it was October. We went to Haight Ashbury and bought armloads of CDs at Amoeba, including this one. It was a really perfect day, and the first day that I felt pretty certain that I lived in San Francisco and wasn’t just on some endless visit.
The Queen is Dead by The Smiths
I feel like I’m supposed to like The Smiths a lot more than I do. Which is weird, because I do like them, this isn’t a band I’m supposed to like but don’t. But I’m not obsessed and they’re not a go-to if I were to list bands that were indicative of my taste. I think they have some really good songs, and some boring stuff, and Morrisey seems like a wang.
I heard this album for the first time in Autumn, again way later than seems appropriate (I think I was 22. I’m not even sure how that happened. It was also sort of embarrassing because 500 Days of Summer came out around the same time and I felt like a total poser, even though I hadn’t seen the movie yet. Isn’t there a joke about The Smiths and posers in High Fidelity? Five bucks if you find it. Leave it in the comments.) (P.S. I probably won’t give you five bucks.)
Tupelo Honey, by Van Morrison
There’s nothing like driving around on back roads with the windows down on a crisp Autumn day, playing Tupelo Honey. It’s great during any season, of course, but something about big pretty leaves falling and that waning end of the day sunshine makes it even better. Also good music for the beginning of a party, before everyone is there, on a chilly night. And for when you’re up much too late, writing a paper, drinking a cup of very hot coffee.
The Best of the First 10 Years, by Elvis Costello
I know, a compilation! How embarassing! But it’s a really good one, and honestly I just get a hankering for Elvis Costello in general and it felt like a cop-out to put “Elvis Costello” down as though he were an album. Why Elvis Costello in autumn? He’s clever, bright, a little slow on the tempo (sometimes), and a lot of his songs have a distinct dreamy quality. Good soundtrack for drinking boozey cups of apple cider, or very hot coffee, while letting your mind wander. So far this month I can’t stop listening to “New Lace Sleeves” and “Living in Paradise” (which isn’t on this compilation. I’m breaking all the rules here. Eep.)
At 13, I wanted to run as far away from the past several awkward years of bad haircuts, braces, and boys who didn’t merely ignore me but appeared (to my ever-sensitive self) to actively dislike me. I wanted to go on a date. I wanted to wear cool clothes. I wanted to go to art school, where I looked forward to dying my hair blue and falling in with the wrong crowd (I did go to art school; neither of those things happened. It was all pretty tame. That’s another post). I had a year of waiting, followed by a summer of daydreaming, before I turned 14 and bid adieu to my middle school years. Here’s what I listened to.
“Doo Wop (That Thing),” by Lauryn Hill
My clearest middle school memories are soundtracked by Lauryn Hill. “Every Ghetto, Every City” reminded me of apartments I grew up in, the pack of kids I ran around with, pooling spare change for melting popsicles, frying our organs as we lay on top of generators, the warm hum coupled with our screechy laughter. “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” was the slow song at my bat mitzvah. “When It Hurts So Bad” and “I Used to Love Him” played as I mourned a crush and reached echelons of heartbreak that I had only encountered in teen movies.
I listened to “Doo Wop (That Thing) every night before I went to bed, for three years. Karaoke is no friend of mine, but when this song is available, I sing the hell out of it. That’s my ultimate karaoke advice: If you can’t sing, if you’re not a natural ham, be a nerdy preteen in the late 90s who’s obsessed with Lauryn Hill. Three years of practice will really calm those pre-performance nerves.
“Candy,” by Mandy Moore
“When you start dating, your dad’s going to sit in the front yard with a baseball bat.”
Around the time I hit puberty, I started hearing this a lot. It was so clearly a stock thing adults say to maturing girls for a couple of reasons: We lived in an apartment and didn’t have a front yard. I looked like a casting ideal for an indie flick about a mega-dorky Jewish kid’s adventures in misfitland. (Think “Welcome to the Dollhouse,” set in Pikesville.) I was pretty far from dating anyone.
But the main reason why this quote made no sense was because my relationship with my dad just wasn’t like that. My first date happened when I was thirteen, and my dad dropped me off for it at the mall, sans baseball bat. When I came home, I sat in the basement and cracked jokes with my dad about how lame the guy was.
Dating? That was fine. Music? That was complicated.
Music was the territory where we fought about my impending teendom. He may not have come armed when it came to my first date, but he wanted to smash my Top 40 proclivities with a baseball bat. This came to a head when we were planning the playlist for my bat mitzvah. Aside from birthday sleepovers, this was basically my first party, and I wanted to make it count. I wanted to show off the music video moves I’d been copying in my bedroom for months. I wanted to lock eyes with some mystery boy and bat my blue eyeshadowed eyes at him and turn him into my dream boyfriend. I wanted all of this to take place with a sexy, teen temptress soundtrack, featuring Mandy Moore.
My dad vetoed this soundtrack. He was DJing. There would be funk. There would be a few upbeat Grateful Dead tracks and some fun, obscure 80′s stuff. There would not be 15-year-old Mandy Moore wailing “I’m missing you like candy.” I was crushed. My list of songs was friend approved. What would they think? How were we going to dance to his music? It was the first time my dad’s music was only his. It had always been mine too.
You can read this moral however you want, but here it is: We danced our little preteen hearts out, and the tapes from that night lived on for years. I played them throughout high school and college, until I stopped owning little old cars with tape decks. I wish I still had them now. Dad: 1, Mandy Moore: 0.
“Perfect World,” by Liz Phair
I was hooked on Liz Phair from the second I heard “Polyester Bride” on 99.1 HFS. My girlfriends didn’t get it; at a sleepover, I played them the album which they said sounded like “70s witch music.” Then we had a Liz Phair fueled séance in a blanket fort. My whitechocolatespaceegg t-shirt was a magnet for cool adults, who saw the shirt as a sign to treat me like a fellow (albeit shorter) cool adult. Middle school teacher: “Oh man I saw Liz Phair last week at a show in DC. We brought a bottle of wine, my ex boyfriend was there…you know how that is.” (I did not.)
Being treated like a cool adult was basically the dream for me, since cool pre-teendom was not working out. Liz Phair became my social wing woman. I turned my nose up at the middle school boys who did not return my affections, the popular girls with their tiger stripe highlights who never said hi. One day, I was going to be cool, tall, vulnerable, and luscious. One day, I was going to drink wine at Liz Phair shows and run into ex boyfriends. They didn’t even know.
“All For You,” by Janet Jackson
The summer before high school I went abroad for the first time, to England and Ireland, with my aunt and uncle. I had a Walkman stocked with Richard Thompson and Shawn Colvin bootlegs, and maybe a Melissa Etheridge album. And while I listened to that music constantly when I was there (Richard Thompson bootlegs were basically developed to soundtrack driving across the Irish countryside), the song that reminds me most of that trip is “All For You” by Janet Jackson. It exploded right when I got back, and in a way, so did I. That trip made me feel older, better able to shake off my mortifying middle school years and dive into my new high school self. So I did.
That summer I babysat at night, and spent the money on languorous, overly air-conditioned trips to the mall with friends where we hummed along to this song as we sifted through jeans and platform shoes, wondering what we were going to look like in a month as high schoolers. I slept over at my friend Ashley’s house and we went to parties, a novelty we never had in middle school. We wore mascara and too much jewelry, we sat in basements drinking fruit punch and rolling our eyes whenever some guy inevitably took over the stereo and blasted Eminem. I listened to this song on nights when I was home. It was hot. Things were changing. I wondered if they would play this song at the homecoming dance in the fall, and if I would go, and what I would wear.
“Jump, Jive, An’ Wail,” by The Brian Setzer Orchestra
Like khakis, short haircuts, and polo shirts, swing music is something so tied up in middle school angst that I can’t broach it again without an organ shifting internal shudder. I debated which mortifying middle school story to tell. The one most tied up in music takes place at the 8th grade swing dance.
Swing music was the trend du jour in late middle school. Our dance in eighth grade was an elaborate swing dance, complete with lessons and a swing themed set by the school band. In a fit of uncharacteristic bravado, I called a popular boy the week before the big night and told him that I liked him. He was unbelievably polite. Even though he was very clear that the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, the fact that he wasn’t a total ass seemed like an invitation for us to fall in love (…who taught me this stuff? Like really?) I showed up at the dance all aglow and gussied up. One of the popular girls came up to me and asked me if I liked Mr. Polite. I grinned and babbled about how cute he was, and she insisted, in a rare girlfriend-y moment, that she was going to ask him to dance with me. I was floored. Popular girl friends? Dance with popular-future-boyfriend? Okay! Let’s do this.
Popular girl went over and made a big embarrassing scene about how much I liked him, and how I had demanded that she ask him to dance to me. He said, and I quote (or more, repeat, since it was repeated to me several times over): “I don’t fucking like her. Hello? She called me and I said I don’t like you. I would never ever like you. Eww. Get with the program.” He even mimed the phone call by holding his hand up to his face like a fake telephone. For some reason that always stood out as the meanest part.
I learned a lot of lessons that night: Don’t trust people who have never previously been trustworthy and are suddenly overly interested in your personal life. DEP hair gel makes curly hair look like a frizzy turtle shell. A nice rejection is still a rejection. And whatever you do, don’t go to the swing dance. If you do, you’ll never want to listen to the Brian Setzer Orchestra again.
Music fans, you know it’s true: If you could hang out with your favorite musicians, you probably know how it would go. You know what you would ask, you can guess what they’d order. They might not answer all your questions, they might not play all your favorite songs, but they would sit across from you and get a Club sandwich and one too many cocktails. They would talk about something, hopefully their music, but maybe just their gardening advice or tips on where to buy a good hat in Cleveland.
Here’s how I think a night with each of my Top 5 musicians would go…in my dreams:
(***Note: While none of these things have happened, all of the artists listed can feel free to email me if they want to change that. Drinks on me. XOXO.)
Loudon Wainwright III: Bourbon and gin, Karaoke Night somewhere.
No one knows how Loudon Wainwright and I ended up singing the Heavy D classic “Now That We’ve Found Love” at a dive bar karaoke night. We certainly don’t know, although half way through the song I vaguely remember drinking gin martinis and wanting to make a joke about ordering Pinot Grigio (which luckily seemed inappropiate, since that line is from a song about his late mother.) The crowd is rapt, and it’s not because of me. Loudon has taken all the mournfulness and humor hidden in “Now That We’ve Found Love” and amplified it. Couples on bar stools are leaning on each other, misty eyed and thinking about mortality. Regulars are swaying and raising a glass. Our performance ends; the bar fills with roaring applause. It all feels right—embracing life, doing something ridiculous, moving a group of strangers to tears. Throw in some family drama and failed relationships, and I’ve got the full Loudon Wainwright experience. So when he says “I got us two bourbons, and we’re breakdance battling that couple from the front row,” I think about mortality and nachos and how I should’ve stuck to Pinot Grigio after all, and I say yes. I really want to see if Loudon Wainwright can spin on his head. I’m pretty sure he can.
Lauryn Hill: Champagne, I’ll never tell.
I know everything. I know where she’s been, I know what she’s up to, I know what she’s doing next. I’ve got a demo of her new album in my back pocket and it’s gold, guys, really. Remember the first time you heard The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill? It’s like that, but better, and even better for me, because I heard it while playing Taboo with Dave Chappelle, Lauryn Hill, and D’Angelo. Dave won, and we all ate those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey kiss in the middle, while Lauryn explained the back story for each song. Then we drank a bottle of champagne and I signed a blood oath to never reveal the location of their artists-who-disappeared-but-need-to-come-back club house.
Liz Phair: Irish coffees and shots, at a dive bar and a garage band show
It’s like…I don’t really want to go see a local garage band, and I can tell in a second that Liz is that friend. She’s telling some story about how she dated one of the guys, for a while, but not any more but he’s really cool, they’re still cool. She’s overusing the word in cool in a way that tells me that this story is mostly a lie, and she wants to go to the show to check out his new girlfriend, whose Facebook picture she shows me at the bar. We’re drinking Irish coffees and we’re the only two people dancing at an empty little dive, a legit dive, only occupied by rum soaked regulars. “Lets gooo” she’s saying so we do, and the band is fine, and his girlfriend never shows, so we sit in the corner and get in a fight about her weird pop makeover a few years ago. There’s no resolution: She wanted money, I wanted another Exile in Guyville or whitechocolatespaceegg, and both of us are right. It could’ve gotten awkward, except the bartender showed up with free shots and a bowl of Chex Mix. We smile at each other. I tell her I kinda liked “Extraordinary.” She tells me she kinda hated “Why Can’t I.” We cheers when we take our shots, and the only thing left to fight about is who’s bogarting the Chex Mix. (It’s her.)
Bootsy Collins: Who knows.
We talk for seven hours. We talk about P. Funk and we talk about his solo stuff. We talk about “Groove is in the Heart” and we talk about Elmo. We talk about haberdasheries and where to buy platform shoes. We talk about what we like on grilled cheese sandwiches and we talk about the future of funk music. We talk about our lives, and where they’re going, and he gives me a lot of career advice that seems really spot on. I highly recommend using funk legends as your career coaches. But mostly we talk for seven hours because I just want to hear him talk for seven hours. I could’ve done fourteen. It’s a nursing beers kind of day. I don’t even notice what we drink. I just keep waiting for him to say his own name.
Aimee Mann: Dolores Park, Fat Tire
“I never find good Japanese curry,” Aimee says, a little hunched over as she devours the treasured potato croquette hidden in the Japanese curry at Chaya. We’re splitting a platter of the stuff, and shes been a doll about letting me make quick work of the carved carrots and cucumber flowers, but when we get down to it, the last treasured bites, she’s Aimee Fucking Mann and if someone is getting that doughy blob of potato, it’s her. I agree, and shake my head no when she offers me a bite. We were in the Mission, on the way to the bar but starving, and we started talking about Japanese curry. I said “I know where to get that, but I want to hear the saltiest, most ridiculous tour stories you’ve got.” We shake on it, then pinky swear (“These aren’t going in that blog of yours, okay? Now this one time I’m at a bodega with Paul Thomas Anderson and Steve Buscemi and a coyote, yes, a coyote….”)
Curry cleared, we skip the bar and take a cue from her adventures with wild animals and Academy Award nominees; we hit a bodega and buy a six pack of Fat Tire and a sack of peanut M&Ms. We sit on our spread out coats in Dolores Park. I want to know about process—when does she write? How does she get started? How does she come up with this stuff? It’s an embarrassing, non-writer type of a question, but I’ve had at least one Aimee Mann song stuck in my head for about ten years, and I want an answer, even if it’s mortifying. And anyway, she got the croquette.
We talk about Carol King, who we both like but can’t get into, and we make a list of record shops she should go to in the morning. We talk about jeans and prom dates and she teaches me how to poach an egg. She never answers any of my questions, but it doesn’t matter because I’m sitting in the park with Aimee Mann, and it’s a full time effort to quell the inner squeals of my dorky fan girl. We finish the six pack. Our coats are muddy, and we eat the rest of the M&Ms as we walk home.
…and we have Claire at 22. Those first few years out of college are a whirlwind— fast paced, full of change, and of course, complete with a rapidly evolving soundtrack. Here’s mine.
“I Need Some Fine Wine, and You, You Need to Be Nicer,” by The Cardigans
I think it’s brave to have a song title that’s a whole sentence. It shows a level of obliviousness that I enjoy—I can’t believe that nary a producer or studio exec or friend said “Hey, what about ‘Fine Wine’?” or “Hey, what about ‘You Need to Be Nicer’?” or “Hey…are you famous enough to have 12 word song titles?”
Before hearing this, the only song I knew by The Cardigans was “Love Fool,” which I’d been avoiding since elementary school. Once in a while, I get this type of insomnia where a song will race through my head over and over, hitting pause on all impending sleep. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad—honestly, the good ones are the worst, because they become unbearable to listen to after having heard them thousands of time in a row while the bags under my eyes acquire depth and shading. “Love Fool” was my first sleepless song, and it made me hate The Cardigans. 12 years later, “I Need Some Fine Wine, and You, You Need to Be Nicer” redeemed them and set me on a new path when it came my music listening. The Cardigans introduced me to The Sounds, Jenny Owens Young, and Mazzy Star. Mazzy Star introduced me to early Beck, early Liz Phair, and The Smiths. The lesson here is that bands deserve a second chance—they may disappoint you once (Liz Phair), offer you a terrible show (Bob Dylan), or keep you up all night in the worst way (The Cardigans), but another go-round could change your music collection for the better.
“Mrs. Officer,” by Lil Wayne
I’ve made fun of Top 40 music here, and here, and in more places on this blog that I can’t locate, and trust me, I will again. But the truth is (and it might be a hard truth for our faint of heart readers), I don’t dislike Top 40—I like a lot of it, and when I used to drive, I listened to it with the same religious intensity of it’s teen target demographic. I like it because I like to dance and because I like to know what’s popular, but mostly I like it because it’s created to be likeable. It’s the musical equivalent of eating too much candy—you may not feel great about it, but you’re having a good time turning your tongue raspberry blue and spiking your blood sugar. “Mrs. Officer” was a big hit right around my 22nd birthday. I danced to it at every club I went to for months, I listened to it any time I had a chance to drive. It was upbeat and light and to this day reminds me of happy moments from a six month period that didn’t have many. (Also Lil Wayne is kind of awesome. Go watch the Carter Documentary and you’ll see what I mean.)
“Electric Feel,” by MGMT
My sister, who is categorically much cooler than me, had exhausted this song by the time I found it on her iPod. We were in Port Isabel, TX for a week visiting our grandparents. It was HOT outside. Really hot. By the time we got home, Baltimore had thawed out too, and the Maryland summer was in full swing. “Electric Feel” then, and now, was the perfect summery song: Fun, warm, the kind of thing I wanted to listen to while drinking mojitos and dancing outside.
“Devil’s Pie,” by Rhymefest
“Devil’s Pie” is an awesome, insanely catchy, socially conscious rap that samples The Strokes. My boyfriend bought this album that year and I listened to it relentlessly. If you like this track, check out “Bullet,” a similarly conscious rap that liberally samples Citizen Cope.
“Walking with a Ghost,” by Tegan and Sara
At 22, I’d been avoiding Tegan and Sara for a couple years. The last year was the hardest, since I had a roommate who loved them, and a boss who shared that sentiment and played Tegan and Sara-ish songs all day.
Why was I avoiding them? I have no idea. Seriously. For whatever reason, they became one of those bands: Other people liked them, I didn’t, and I wasn’t going to bother to do the legwork to figure out why. It’s the same thing that keeps my CDs wrapped in plastic for years, or allows lists of music recommendations to go dusty in old notebooks before I take a hint and listen to the Decemberists, for christ’s sake. It’s like I’m afraid I’m going to like something new, and that liking will require the kind of obsessive energy I put towards all music that I like. I’m going to have to buy albums and go to shows. I’m going to have to get hung up on a song, then another, and move through a handful of albums at a several year long snail’s pace. It’s a lot of work, being obsessive about music. It can cause this exact kind of avoidance and bitterness for no good reason. I heard this song at 22, I loved it, I got just as obsessive as I feared I would, and then there were new bands, new artists, more songs, more albums, and the cycle continued, as it should.
Claire: We’re wading through our record collections this month and taking a look at opening tracks, middle tracks, closing tracks, penultimate tracks, with, as always, some musical nostalgia and High Fidelity references thrown in. The idea for this month’s theme started with both of us rereading High Fidelity, as all good ideas do.
So what makes a good album opener? A giant musical blast, or a soft hand-held intro? A song that hints at a great album and delivers, or song that cons you into listening to something subpar? We landed on all of the above.
JOSHUA’s List:
“Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” by Arcade Fire, on Funeral
This song has the softest opening of any of the songs on this list, but like the album it begins, it swells to a grand and exhilarating scale. It positively exudes the childhood wonder that permeates this album: It’s like Win Butler dropped acid and mentally regressed to age 6 and wrote an album about it. The instrumentation of the song reflects that idea, with wide open, repetitive piano chords and simple, bass drum heavy drumming. This song made me listen to everything Arcade Fire ever wrote.
“Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + the Machine, on Lungs
I once told my brother Daniel I’d love to cover this song…if I only had a harp. It’s so infectious. I think it’s the clapping that causes this song to just stick in your head for months after you hear it. And Florence’s voice…Jeebos. Unfortunately, it has a level of promise that the rest of the album just doesn’t quite live up to. And the album is pretty damn good too, but this is a masterpiece, hands down. Just try to get it out of your head. Good luck. Side note: Florence Welch sings about horses all the fucking time.
“The Boy in the Bubble” by Paul Simon, on Graceland
A perfect way to start what I think is one of the most perfect albums ever written. How Simon makes accordion so appealing, I’ll never know. And that bass! Oh man, I have dreams of being the bassist for this album like three times a week. The lyrical phrasing and timing of this song is great, too: it’s never quite on the beat, but either just behind it or just ahead of it. The song signals what’s to come in the album and glib and ironic ideas of what’s to come in America from 1986 on. And lasers! Bizzow!
“Testify” by Rage Against the Machine, on Battle of Los Angeles
I don’t think you can talk about album openers without talking about Rage Against the Machine. Every album they had opened with an insanely “up” song and this is no exception. And it’s tight. Tight like the whole album is, much more so than their other albums. It’s like the album was designed to be listened to start to finish each time, each song building on the intensity and message of the previous. It may not have been as caustic as the previous albums, but I think it’s their best, and this is the best way to open that album.
“Don’t Carry It All” by The Decemberists, on The King Is Dead
This is my favorite album opener on the list, hands down. Those of you familiar with the Decemberists know that their previous albums were all steeped in the tradition of British folk revival; that is, it sounded like their music was plucked out of a galley of a whaling ship in 1860. This is decidedly different: Big, open major chords, harmonica, beautiful mandolin and backing vocals. It’s the Decemberists’ take on classic Americana. It’s exactly what they sing about: A “turning of the season.” Let’s raise a glass!
Honorable Mentions:
“Bat Out of Hell” by Meat Loaf, on Bat Out of Hell: Almost all of his songs are about losing his virginity, except this one, in where he beefs it on a motorcycle. Bad. Ass.
“1816, the Year Without a Summer” by Rasputina, on Oh Perilous World: Sets the stage for historical epic as commentary on the Iraq war. But this song, as Melora Creager is oft to say at performances, is a song about the weather.
“Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads, on Stop Making Sense: God, this was so close to making the top list. It’s amazing. The guitar work is impeccable.
CLAIRE’s List
“Born Under Punches (The Heat Goes On),” by the Talking Heads, on Remain in Light
I owned “Remain in Light” for years before I listened to the whole album because I could not get past this song. Funky, bizarre, like if Brian Eno and Parliament Funkadelic made a new wave love child. It’s rare to have an album start to with a burst like this, but as you can see from Joshua’s Honorary Mentions, the Talking Heads excel at this: “Burning Down the House” was a track one, as was “And She Was” which, though not as rowdy or bizarre, begins with a jolting “Hey!”
If, like me, you spend part of your week writing about albums, and the bulk of it reading stuff about the War on Women, don’t be surprised when the line “…And I’m a government man” gets stuck in your head. And the reoccuring dream where Rick Santorum dances to “Born Under Punches”? Occupational hazard.
“Box of Rain,” by the Grateful Dead, on American Beauty
The first time I ever listened to the Grateful Dead by myself, outside of my parents’ cars or stereo, was when I was fifteen and suddenly obsessed with “American Beauty.” It’s not a creative first Dead album, but I fell into that deep musical love with it, the kind where you listen to an album on repeat for a whole year with very few pauses for other music. This was the song I replayed the most. Beautiful, gentle, and one of the very few times where Robert Hunter’s odd-quasi-poetic lyrics got under my skin.
“Miss You,” by The Rolling Stones, on Some Girls
Is it weird that I’m always embarassed to write about the Rolling Stones? Is it because every time I play the “What band does everyone like that you don’t?” game with people, The Rolling Stones always come up? (Top 5 answers to that question: Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Ramones, The Who, Radiohead) Anyway, great opening to a great album—tense, sonically interesting (shuffling from oohs to aahs, singing to lyrics, and a nice showcase of Jagger’s weird and limited range) (none of those sound like compliments, but really, it’s a good song. Jagger is okay too.), and a solid introduction to the feel of the album overall.
“6’1″,” by Liz Phair, on Exile in Guyville
The irony of the placement here is not lost on me. This was Phair’s first album, so who knew what to expect. But when the guitar starts, and then her funny flat-ish voice throws out a catchy balance of anger and snark and imagery—you want to sit down and listen to the whole record. Even now, when Phair has since sold out and sold back in, has made good albums and not so good albums, when we all know what’s up with her and have for a while, this song has that “I want to know this girl, and I want to hear what she says next” quality.
“Cooksferry Queen,” by Richard Thompson, on Mock Tudor
What can I say? I like a tense opener. Listen to the first few bars of “Miss You” and “Cooksferry Queen” and you’ll understand. This song builds—in speed, in lyrical content, in Thompson’s voice, which goes from smooth and steady to gruff and growling. And it has the classic Thompson song story— Boy named James/Mulvaeney/Insert-British-sounding-name-here meets redheaded/curlyheaded/pigheaded girl, goes on a heady adventure with his ill-fated love, encounters danger/far flung small town locales/psychedelic imagery.
Honorable Mentions:
“Welcome to the Working Week,” Elvis Costello on My Aim is True: I listened to this song so many times at a long ago terrible job that it will always remind me of crying while eating a sandwich. For all you pop-music-lovers or terrible-job-havers (or anyone looking for a good, upbeat sandwich cry), this is a great song. Enjoy.
“Blue Bird,” Bonnie Raitt on Bonnie Raitt: A happy, lovely opening to a sometimes happy, always lovely self-titled freshman album by Bonnie Raitt.
“Icky Thump,” by the White Stripes on Icky Thump: I completely forgot about this album. These things happen. Welcome to the honorable mentions category, White Stripes.
JOSHUA: It has been said that when we lose someone, we go through five distinct stages of grief: Bargaining, Denial, Anger, Depression, and Acceptance. We like to this this extends to breakups as well. You know it to be true. First, you bargain with each other to try to save the relationship (we’ll simplify this process and just call it what we know it to be: breakup sex). Then, you deny that it’s over or you think you can get your partner back. After that horrific part is over, you focus all your anger in the world at your ex: Everything in your whole life is wrong because of that asshole. Then you sink into a deep, dark hole of depression and wish the world was over so you could get away from your feelings. Finally the scotch runs out and you step outside into the sunlight one morning and realize you’re over and done with it. Sometimes this takes days, sometimes years, but eventually you do actually run out of scotch you get over him or her. And for each part of this ordeal, we’re here with songs to describe and illuminate.
JOSHUA’s List:
Bargaining: “In The Car” by Barenaked Ladies
Ambivalence, repressed anger, hope for the future tinged by the regret of the failure are all what this song is about. And break up sex is filled with every one of these and more. We don’t like that we’re doing this but we’re sure as hell gonna do it anyway. The worst part is that break up sex tends to be pretty awesome. Unfortunately, in this song, it’s pretty terrible.
Denial: “She’ll Come Back To Me” by Cake
What better way to put yourself in denial than a good, old-fashioned country song? Cake delivers with this. The sentiment is right on the money – the speaker is seeing his girl leave him for another dude as he sings, but has convinced himself that she ain’t going nowhere. It’s deluded, it’s idiotic, it’s classic denial.
Anger: “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morissette
I don’t think there is a better song out there to listen to when you’re pissed off about a break up, namely because it puts everything in perspective: You’re not as angry as Morissette is. Period. Unless your ex killed your puppy, I seriously doubt you have the ability to be as irate as she is in this song. Not only is the music hard and spiteful, but Morissette’s vocals are dripping with rage. She practically spits out every word, especially the line about scratching her nails down someone else’s back. Shit, I didn’t do anything bad to her and I felt those nails.
Depression: “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning” by Frank Sinatra
You’ll hit this point eventually. It’s the point where it’s 3:48 am and you’ve polished off most of a bottle of scotch and you’re unable to think about anything else. Sinatra knows that point very well, and this song is both a reflection of being at that point and the perfect musical expression of living through that point. His voice is tough to stomach because it’s just so, so dark and depressing. Be careful using this song, however. If it’s 3:48 in the am and you’ve polished off most of a bottle of scotch and you’re unable to think about anything else, don’t listen to this song. You’ll die of sadness overload.
Acceptance: “Tears Dry On Their Own” by Amy Winehouse
This is the kind of acceptance only Amy Winehouse can do: She’s happy for the time they had and she knows she’s the one who fucked up. She’s dealing with it but it’s tough. But the song looks at the end of relationship very logically and pragmatically and that’s the kind of lack of emotion you want to really get over your ex. You’re never gonna really move on if you’re always listening to Frank Sinatra, let’s be sure; this song actually helps. And it has a badass drum sample from “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” which I can only hope is a meta-reference to acceptance: She’s so over it that she’s ready to be in a great relationship where there ain’t no river wide enough to keep her from getting to him.
CLAIRE’s List:
Bargaining / Breakup Sex: Liz Phair, “Fuck and Run”
Right away, Liz Phair gives a pitch-perfect description of that awful feeling of waking up with a start, probably mid-hangover and post-mistake-making (the likes of which you may only remember in bit and pieces over coffee and hash browns). She captures that in between moment of still being in the relationship, at least enough that you’re still falling into bed together, but wanting to move on…except that want for someone new hasn’t trumped the original want for your ex, yet. A really well written whirl wind of emotions—shock, regret, that feeling that this is all things will ever be, forever. I love Phair’s near-monotone voice here, and how it only sounds angry when she sings “I can feel it in my bones, I’m going to spend another year alone,” and later “…my whole life alone.”
Denial: Warren Zevon, “Reconsider Me”
This is a weird one for me, because I think “Reconsider Me” is also a beautiful love song (and one of my favorite songs, ever). But it’s all pretty heartwrenching–Zevon’s wide eyed optimism is hard to hear; that line “And I’ll never make you sad again, cause I swear, that I’ve changed since then” always makes me tear up. There are people who I wish would sing me this song and mean it. And those are the same people who I probably wouldn’t forgive; because if you really listen to this song, something went seriously wrong. This is not just a “Sorry we bickered!” song. This is a “Sorry I made a total mess of your life!” song. If you put this on the jukebox and dedicated it to someone you wronged, I’m not sure she would come back to you. But I think she might think a little better of you. I would. (For all you Zevon fans—in my mind, “Accidentally Like a Martyr” is a sequel to this song. Someone did not get reconsidered.)
Anger: Lucinda Williams, “Joy”
Empowered, feisty, catchy. Lucinda Williams is mad as hell, and she’s not going to take it anymore.
Depression: The Weepies, “World Spins Madly On”
Like Liz Phair, The Weepies get it right from the first line. That image of waking up and having that jolting memory of exactly what’s going on, and how unbearably terrible it is, is so painful that I think we all block it out. Even hearing the beginning of this song gives me a small shudder of awful nostalgia. This song also outlines the experience of being so unbelievably depressed and heartsick, but still having to go on with day to day life. A spot on ode to post-breakup depression.
Acceptance: Bob Dylan, “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright”***
Alright Dylan haters, I know this is a list-killer for you, but hear me out. “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” is an incredibly well written, elegantly composed “screw you” to all exs, awful or otherwise. It reflects on the dismantled fantasy of the relationship. It pairs acceptance that it’s over with a bit of passive aggressive snark. And it acknowledges that even acceptance comes with a twinge of wishing it had all worked out. Also a very quotable song when you’re feeling smug.
***So, why is there a picture of Dylan and not a video? Because I refuse to link to any of the horrible versions of this song on YouTube. But if you need to hear a cover of this song, or if you’re looking for a sign of the apocalypse, go listen to Ke$ha’s cover. Yeah. It’s a thing.
Joshua: You may be asking yourself, So Hot Right Now? Is that exactly what it sounds like? Yes, it is. We all tend to have these songs that are stuck, like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth, in our brains for what seems like a month. I just happen to make them into a playlist with a catchy name (which I totally stole from from an ex). The spin I came up with was to create the list with the limitation that it must be able to fit within a standard length of a burned cd, making it essentially a So Hot Right Now mixtape. I also arrange the songs with some fleeting adherence to the rules of making a mixtape, which are many and more, according to Rob Gordon, so they aren’t exactly perfect. And in that vein, I also tend to revise the lists halfway through the month with what plays and doesn’t play. So without any further ado, here are our first So Hot Right Now lists of the New Year!
Claire’s List:
1. Etta James “My Dearest Darling”
2. Camper Van Beethoven “That Gum You Like is Back in Style”
3. The Smiths “Nowhere Fast”
4. The Fratellis, “Whistle for the Choir”
5. A Fine Frenzy, “What I Wouldn’t Do”
6. Kate Nash, cover of’ “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You”
7. Best Coast, “Sun Was High (So Was I)”
8. They Might Be Giants, “Letterbox”
9. The Dead Milkmen, “Punk Rock Girl”
10. Taj Mahal, “Corinna”
11. Lucinda Williams, “Firecracker”
12. The Jayhawks, “Angelyne”
13. Liz Phair “Glory”
14. The Velvet Underground “There She Goes Again”
15. Richard and Linda Thompson “I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight”
Joshua’s List:
1. Warren Zevon – Lawyers, Guns, and Money
2. Soft Cell – Tainted Love / Where Did Our Love Go
3. Barenaked Ladies – Light Up My Room
4. Paul Simon – Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes
5. Amy Winehouse – Valerie
6. The Band – Up on Cripple Creek (live)
7. The Decemberists – Red Right Ankle
8. Old Crow Medicine Show – Wagon Wheel
9. The Decemberists – On The Bus Mall
10. Talking Heads – And She Was
11. The Decemberists – The Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned)
In 2004, Liz Phair decided to replace her beloved bad girl indie image with a toothy, crooning, Top 40 makeover. In the grand scheme of this “I was created for the opening credits of a Kate Hudson movie” genre of pop, Why Can’t I is not a horrible song. But from the woman who wrote Exile from Guyville, from the voice that sang Polyester Bride and Shitloads of Money on repeat in my bedroom during a two year long middle-school whitechocolatespaceegg bender? It’s a disappointment on par with the weird “I Love the 90s” appearances she made where she listed each year’s top Fuck and Run guys. Ick.
Good artist: Loudon Wainwright III
Bad song: I Wish I Was A Lesbian
Loudon Wainwright is funny. He has the goofy grin and the jerky movements, he has the blinking twitchy schstick, he was Katherine Heigl’s kooky gynecologist (Knocked Up), mentored every comedian you’ve liked over the past eight years (Undeclared), hell, the man was on MASH (…MASH). I like his funny songs. The one where they all do acid? Priceless. He Says She Says? A personal, parallelogram filled favorite. I Wish I Was A Lesbian? An overplayed, over twangy, not even particularly funny bit of AM DJ trash.
Good artist: Richard Thompson
Bad Song: Cold Kisses
I like creepy, haunting Richard Thompson. But this is just creepy. Richard Thompson, I want you to misunderstand and talk about Bathsheba and plead for what’s already yours! Not play a gross guy game of underwear rifling and dick-comparing.
Good artist: Elvis Costello
Bad song: Cover of “What the World Needs Now” with Burt Bacharach
Lounge Lizard madness, from one of the world’s greatest singer/songwriters. I’m sure this made a lovely first dance song for all the weddings no one wanted to go to that year (“Did they just do a rap version of Corinthians? Why are the bridesmaids wearing sailor hats? DAMNIT, IS THAT ELVIS COSTELLO AND BURT F**KING BACHARACH?!”)
Good artist: Bob Dylan
Bad song: Man Gave Names to All the Animals
After albums like Blonde on Blonde, and Blood on the Tracks, Dylan mixed it up by becoming a born again Christian and releasing the early folk version of Veggie Tales. This is really all I have to say:
“He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass until she was filled
He saw milk coming out but he didn’t know how
“Ah, think I’ll call it a cow”.”
Joshua’s List
Good artist: Eric Clapton
Bad song: I Shot the Sheriff
Why do white people have such an obsession with covering reggae music? It never seems to work. And this time it fails miserably. The song isn’t that great to begin with and this is like the bubblegum-made-with-Splenda version….Yeah.
Good artist: Red Hot Chili Peppers
Bad song: Deep Kick
The whole album this is on, One Hot Minute, is awful. And this song is heinous. It’s like John Prine meets Donovan meets Flea waking up from a bad booze, speed, and heroin hangover. This band was based on speed rock funk. Anything under 80 bpm just seems weird and this is truly bizarre. I just want to ask everyone involved what they were thinking, all the way down to the mixing board tech. Awful.
Good artist: Led Zeppelin
Bad song: Carouselambra
As good as the two previous albums (House of the Holy and Physical Graffiti) are, that’s how bad this song and the album it’s on is (and the grammar of this sentence). If that made no sense, that’s fine, because that’s exactly how I feel about this song. Why is there like 20 minutes of synth playing? Why does it alternate between fast and slow parts? What the hell were they smoking that made them write and record this song? Baffling.
Good artist: Michael Jackson
Bad song: You Are Not Alone
The song is bad. It’s Michael Jackson meets Michael Bolton. And the video just makes it even worse. A newly white and disfigured Michael sings to a very pale and odd looking Lisa Marie Presley. And they’re both naked! What. The. F**K.
Good artists: Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney
Bad song: Ebony and Ivory
I saved the worst for last. Stevie and Paul both have some of the greatest music ever recorded, but this gets close to the worst song ever recorded. It’s not “Friday” or “Party All The Time” bad, but it’s right under it. It’s patronizing to both the artists and the fans. And simply putrid to listen to. I don’t know even know how to talk about this song without the bile rising in the back of the throat. That sounds like hyperbole, but I just spit up a little listening to the refrain. I mean, does anyone like this song? Anyone out there in blagosphere even remotely like this song? I’m willing to bet serious money that no one has ever liked this song, including Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney.
Honorable Mentions:
BB King and Heavy D – Keep It Coming: Another entry in the Worst Duets contest.
Cake – Dime: It’s no secret that I love Cake. I routinely blast them when I’m driving. But this song is bad. The worst part is the refrain, where John McCrea lands the word “shine” for nearly 3 measures.
Rage Against the Machine – Anything off the album Renegades: It’s no small wonder that they broke up after this album. The only passable song is the cover of “Maggie’s Farm,” but that’s only because it’s such a good song to begin with. The worst part is that the song selection is fantastic, it’s just the execution that is terrible.
