If Ian had heard this, either he’d have hung himself sooner, or skipped it altogether. Hey, at least they’re actually in Manchester.

I am T-Pain, now for the iPhone.

Bob Dylan to provide Some Direction Home after all?

Kind of Bloop: an 8-bit tribute to Miles Davis.

Especially For You, by the Smithereens. Go. Listen. Immediately, if not sooner.

(My reminder today was an entry at Merlin Mann‘s blog, which is also worth your time.)

People is talking about concerts, but they’re all just lists. Lists are boring. Lists with context are more fun, so in that spirit, here’s my list.

Glen Campbell

I have no idea of the year, but he was touring for Rhinestone Cowboy, so assume around ’75 or ’76. I was obsessed with the song as a tyke, and Campbell played Jackson (nobody played in Hattiesburg), so up the highway we went. It’s the only time I ever went to a concert with mom and dad. I remember falling asleep during the opener (a standup comic), and being woken up later to hear the only song I cared about.

The Beach Boys

Or something like them; I was too young to know that, quite frankly, without Brian Wilson they’re all harmonizing doofuses. It was sometime in 1980, when I was ten. My mom took me to the Gulf Coast Coliseum, which was a big deal at the time. I don’t remember really wanting to go, but I must’ve.

ZZ Top

I can nail the year a bit better this time; they were touring on Afterburner, and it was spring semester of 1986. I got a ticket to go for my 16th birthday, but my mother – like any sane parent – wasn’t about to let me drive myself to Jackson for the show. So she and my brother came up, too, and we stayed in the Ramada across the street from the venue. At showtime, I walked across to the concert, where I was almost immediately adopted by a pair of young Marines on leave. I was a small kid, and they kept me from getting hassled by the generous redneck contingent — and also gave me beer. And pot. All in all, a delightful experience.

Eric Clapton

Several times in the early 90s, mostly around the Journeyman tours. The most notable show was in September of 1990, just weeks after he’s played with Stevie Ray Vaughan on SRV’s last night alive. There was no opening act; they just killed the lights, and a cigarette ember floated out on stage and proceeded to play the shit out of a guitar.

Sting

Also a few times, but the most fun was in 1990 or 1991 when, over spring break, I found out he was playing in New Orleans that night — with Concrete Blonde opening. I got tickets for my brother and I, and called Mike in Florida to taunt him. “Fuck that,” he said, “we’ll meet you there.” And they did. Amazingly, Frank and I ran into Mike, Joy, and Miche in the hallways between Blonde and Sting. It was also at this show that Sting was busily introducing the world to Vinx.

Concrete Blonde

Yes, as an opener for Sting in ’90, but also as a headliner in Atlanta in ’93 or early ’94, and then again, in the early 21st century at Numbers in Houston. I sorta felt like the same people were at both shows, though we’d gotten a lot older in the intervening decade. Less weird hair. More golf shirts. Sad but true.

Bauhuas

In 1998 or so, I guess, in Houston. Same kinda vibe as the later CB show — very Goth Goes Grey. Excellent show, though.

Rush

Pensacola, Florida, around 1993/early 1994. The other end of a “shit, we’ve already got these tickets” pact I made with my late college girlfriend. We broke up in early fall of 1993, but already had the Rush and CB shows booked (well in advance). The breakup acrimony was put on hold for the two road trips, weirdly enough.

Dave Matthews Band

Initially, for like $5 at terrible Tuscaloosa bars like the Ivory Tusk in the early 90s, when he was just getting started. Eventually, for like $45 for lawn seats out at the Woodlands in Houston. It’s fun to watch a band get big.

Tom Waits

TWICE, bitches. For Chicago in 1999, I took Frank for his birthday. That was really, really cool. Then, again, last year, we went again here in Houston at Jones Hall. The Chicago gig was smaller and more traditionally weird-Waits, but the Houston gig was pretty damn fine, too. Any Waits is good Waits.

Pearl Jam

Do not miss this band. Even if you don’t really dig them. They’re worth the ticket price, and put on a fantastic show.

Foo Fighters

Same here.

When I last saw them, 5 or 6 years ago at Reliant Arena here in Houston, Grohl asked the crowd “Is that club Numbers still here? Man, I played there a long time ago with my other band, and I was on acid, and they were playing the most fucked up shit on the bigscreen projector.”

Numbers is like that.

Big Head Todd and the Monsters

Numbers is also notorious for shitty acoustics, which sent Mrs Heathen and I to the door only about 20 minutes into a 2002 BHT show. Oh well. It doesn’t bite all bands equally, but some of the worst sound I’ve ever heard has been there.

Son Volt

At the dear, departed Satellite Lounge in Houston, ca. 1997.

Sun 60

At the dear, departed Urban Art Bar (a/k/a Urban Aardvark), ca. 1994. I didn’t know this at the time, but liner notes of S60’s records make clear there’s a connection between their and and Vinx.

Garbage

At Numbers, which comes up a lot, in support of their first record. This was one of those times that the sounds was good, and Shirley was close enough we could’ve touched her.

Cowboy Junkies

Twice, both in Houston. First at a hall at UH that was nearly perfect acoustically, and then again at (wait for it) Numbers a few years later — though this time the sound was good.

Prince

I have seen god, and he is short. Sweet Fancy Moses, do not pass up a chance to see him. Hock something. Sell plasma. Seriously. At the brand-new Toyota Center in 2004, on seats so good we could tell what gauge strings he was using. With Maceo Parker on sax, I kid you not.

Kid Rock

Don’t laugh; that rich kid faux-redneck does a pretty good show. Also, free tickets, since I was consulting for this guy at the time.

Rolling Stones

Twice at Legion Field (Steel Wheels in ’89 and Voodoo Lounge in ’94), one time almost at the Superdome. This is like a whole ‘nother post. Seriously.

Counting Crows

Opened for the Stones in ’94. Their act didn’t mesh well with Legion Field.

Webb Wilder

Small act, sure, but worth picking up on. Many times, in many places, but best at the Satellite.

Gillian Welch

Houston’s Continental Club, around 2000. It was a terrible and rainy night, so turnout was low. It ended up being kind of like about 15 people just hanging out with Welch and Rawlings as they played, which was very cool and very intimate.

Billy Joe Shaver

Also many times in many places, but the best was at historic Gruene Hall, Texas’ oldest dance hall. I shook his hand; he did not shoot me in the face.

Joe Ely and Robert Earl Keen

They’re really separate acts, but Keen does a big picnic show every year, and the encore featured both of them. It’s some serious mainline Texasism, let me tell you. And that’s a good thing. Now pass me a Shiner.

Lyle Lovett

A Houston native, Lovett told a story from the stage of playing honkytonks out in the rural wilds north of Houston as a then-unknown. A lady took advantage of a pause to scream “WE LOVE YOU LYLE.” Without missing a beat, Lovett replied “Yeah, but where were you then?”

The Smithereens

There’s a pattern to seeing some bands: once on the way up, and once on the way back to earth. It’s especially true for acts with long lives, like this one. I saw them headline at Alabama in around 1990 or 1991, and they brought the house DOWN. They were just on FIRE.

Then, 5 or 6 years later, they headlined the music festival at Frank’s alma mater, which was a much smaller gig. It was that night I got to drink beer with Pat DiNizio, which remains a pretty cool memory, especially since I wore out a copy of “Especially For You” in high school.

Poi Dog Pondering

Another headliner at Rhodes’ Rites of Spring.

Cowboy Mouth

It’s a shame they’ve apparently married the fucking House of Blues here, because that means I’ll never see them in Houston again. That place sucks enough to keep me away from this band’s magic; that oughta tell you something.

But if you can see them somewhere else, DO. I’ve seen them at Rhodes in a stone pit, at the old Satellite, at Fitzgerald’s, and at Numbers, and they always turn in a great show.

Rev. Horton Heat

Someday, I’ll tell you the story of how I got to be the coolest big brother on the planet for about 20 minutes.

Robert Plant

Birmingham-Jefferson Civic Center, 1989, maybe? A then-unknown Black Crowes opened for him. None of us had any idea who they were when they took the stage, but we ALL went and bought that first record the next day.

The Chukker Set

In the late 80s or early 90s, some adventurous types bought Tuscaloosa’s famed Chukker (now sadly defunct). They renewed the place’s tendency to book interesting acts, which is the only way I ever got to see Sun Ra. They also brought in Clarence Gatemouth Brown and local acts yet to break wide like Man or Astroman?.

Big Audio Dynamite

No, really. Opening for the opener at a U2 show at Legion Field in the early 90s.

U2

Sadly, only twice so far. Once at Legion Field in the early 90s, supra, and then again in 2001 on the longest and best first date EVER; that story deserves its own post, too.

Living Color

No, not Jim Carrey. The other one with Vernon Reid and “Cult of Personality.” Lots of fun, but I still don’t understand why Corey Glover insisted on performing in a BodyGlove Shorty. I mean, it’s fucking HOT in Alabama.

R.E.M.

Speaking of hot: at the Woodlands in Houston in 1994 or 1995, probably September. It was night, sure, but still stiflingly, blazingly hot — so much so that this is my only really clear memory of the show. This night was a double-bill; we blazed back to the Urban Aardvark in downtown Houston to see Sun 60 (supra).

John Mellencamp

Son Volt was opening.

Elvis Costello

With Tom at Verizon; it was also the first time I’ve ever seen a line at the MEN’s room and not at the ladies’, which speaks to the demograhics of the show.

Steely Dan

Last year at Verizon. Oldest aggregate concert age EVER. Also, if the bathroom line metric holds, just as much of a sausage-fest as Costello.

Wilco

My erstwhile attorney and I, at Verizon. Tweedy and co. play a good show; see ’em if you get the chance.

Public Enemy

Once opening for U2 in Birmingham (after BAD), and then again in Jackson, Mississippi in a floating bar on the reservoir called The Dock. There are no words for how surreal that was. Chuck D pronounced the crowd “the off-beat-jumpin’est motherfuckers” he’d ever seen.

Daniel Johnston

Either you don’t know and don’t care, or know and care deeply. Speeding Motorcycle Uber Alles.

Sparklehorse

I’m a box of poison frogs. It’s a wonderful life.

Kathy McCarty

A few times. Once, as a solo artist at Rockefeller’s like 12 or more years ago. Then lots of other times as part of the Speeding Motorcycle affair.

Tori Amos

At Verizon in 2002. I don’t need to see her again, but I’m glad I’ve seen her once.

Rufus Wainwright

He opened for Tori. I would, however, see him again.

Barenaked Ladies

Yet another Verizon show, this time with Mrs Heathen. They do a really good show.

Franz Ferdinand

Scottish punky power pop. I hope you can understand them when they sing, because you goddamn well can’t understand them when they talk.

Warren Zevon

At Birmingham’s City Stages, 1993, with (I think) Mohney and crew.

Indigo Girls

In August of 1989, after they’d broken wide open that summer. The concert had to be moved to a larger venue, and they were still pretty shocked and dazed by their sudden success. At one point, one of the said “You know, this is really surreal, since six months ago we were playing to 8 people at the Chukker.” And I think I may have been there then, too, ignoring them, drinking beer on the patio.

The Alabama Homecoming Triumverate

In a shocking sequence, University Programs booked three years of genuinely good shows: Ray Charles, the Allman Brothers (who played forEVER), and Bob Dylan. Charles gave the best show, actually, in 1988.

Johnny Shines

A million times at Egan’s in Tuscaloosa. Shines was one of the last if not THE last real Delta bluesman; he was a contemporary of Robert Johnson. That you don’t know who he was just makes clear that Shines passed on the deal Robert apparently took at the crossroads.

I had not, until a YouTube review of Hughes’ work last night, realized that the song playing while Cameron stares at Seurat’s “A Sunday in the Park…” in Ferris Bueller was an instrumental cover of the Smith’s *Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want. By “Life In A Northern Town” one-hit wonder Dream Academy.

Wacky.

Lady Gaga Is Not Ever Going To Go Away.

Seriously. If you know the song referenced here (“Poker Face”), watch the video. She’s got chops. It’s fun.

Bobby McFerrin plays the audience.

Yeah. This one’s just as cool, if much more wacky:

Here.

(SFW)

Cheap Trick are releasing their new record on 8-track.

(More here.)

We Heathen have been occasionally enthusiastic users of eMusic for some time. They’ve been providing excellent access to indie or nonmainstream tunes in unencumbered MP3 format for years (well ahead of anyone else doing online music without DRM) on an “X downloads per month for $Y” plan, with varying values of X and Y that worked out to the best deal in (legal) online music.

That’s over. In one fell swoop they’ve (a) gotten in bed with Sony and (b) basically doubled their prices without providing any additional value. Additionally, their previous policy of “redownload whenever you want” has been kicked to the curb. It’s a complete conversion from helpful, sane indie provider to pain-in-the-ass faceless corporation.

My friend Hayden wrote this on Facebook. It sums up what many folks are feeling about the transition:

Yesterday eMusic began offering the Sony catalog to subscribers, and incidentally screwed over many of the same long-term subscribers. Here’s what happened.

At the end of May, the eMusic CEO Danny Stein announced that eMusic had inked a deal to offer some of the Sony catalog to subscribers. This led to two changes:

• New plans with less value for our dollar. Long-term subscribers were forced into new plans with fewer downloads for the same price per month. Some of these subscribers had plans that eMusic had grandfathered some years earlier. My former plan, for instance, was one I first bought in October 2005 for 90 downloads for $20/month. At at least one point afterwards, eMusic had modified their $20/month plan to include fewer downloads, but had allowed me to keep my plan. My new plan, however, is 50 “downloads” (I’ll get into why I put scare quotes up in a minute) for $20/month. So my downloads have gone from 22.2 cents each up to 40 cents each. Still a better deal than Amazon or iTunes, but the effective cost to me has gone up by nearly 100 percent.

• Album pricing. Some – but not all – albums with more than 12 tracks will now have a fixed price of 12 “downloads,” a term that eMusic has changed to “credits” on some pages. Some albums with fewer than 12 tracks, especially those where at least one of those tracks is longer than 10 minutes, will now cost subscribers 12 “credits” to download. This really hurts in metal and jazz, where the bang for the buck has always been so valuable. For example, I had 4 Albert Ayler albums in my Save For Later list, each of which had 2 tracks per album. Now eMusic wants 12 credits for each. It’s still a better deal than Amazon or iTunes, but a far worse deal than I was offered just the day before yesterday.

So I spent the evening going through the new Sony offerings. I should point out that this wasn’t easy, because eMusic’s website remains as clunky and unfriendly as ever. The only way to find out what eMusic had added from Sony was to scroll through the new pages, which list everything recently added in groups of 10. All the Sony additions were made on 6/30/09, and to go through them all, I scrolled through nearly 900 pages. Some of the additions are damn great (Skip Spence, the Clash, Dylan) and some aren’t (wow, the whole Celine Dion catalog plus Kenny G plus the New Kids On The Block, oh my!). The thing is that like many of eMusic’s long-time subscribers, I’m already a hardcore music collector and I already have most of the new additions that I would be inclined to buy. I ended up adding a few Dylan albums that I don’t have to my list, plus some Ellington and Mingus albums. I expect that it will take me maybe 2-3 months to burn through all of the new additions that interest me. At least, at the rate of my newly enhanced plan.

Judging from the 1600+ comments on Danny Stein’s original announcement on eMusic’s blog, I’d say that I’m not alone in being less than impressed with what subscribers are getting in return for the new catalog and reduced-value plans. I understand that eMusic needs to do what it can to remain a viable business, and Stein said that eMusic had been under pressure from the indie labels for some time to increase its per-download charge. I don’t like the suddenness of the change, nor the lack of a response to complaints from eMusic. It is as if they’ve decided that they don’t care about keeping their often-enthusiastic long-time subscribers – or, at least, don’t know how to show that they care – and that doesn’t make much business sense to me.

eMusic also needs to figure out what the per-album pricing means to them and to customers. If many of the albums I was previously planning to download now will cost me either 12 or 24 credits (double-albums are twice the credits), why are all the monthly download plans and booster packs being offered in multiples of 5? Don’t get me wrong: I prefer the base-10 idea, but why not make the per-album credit a flat 10 downloads, then? Not that eMusic would listen to me; I’m merely a long-time subscriber.

As another poster on Danny Stein’s blog post noted, Sony isn’t part of any long-term music business solution. They are part of the problem. See ya, eMusic. We’ll watch you burn, and won’t miss you.

Storm Large mashes up “In the Light” and “White Wedding:”

Extra Credit.

I agree with Electrolite that the two best bits about MJ are:

• This essay by Bob Rossney; and
• This cover of Billie Jean, by Amanda “Dresden Dolls” Palmer at an LA gig the night after he died.

Radiohead plays Ceremony:

(Can’t get enough? More here.)

From the Heathen Greatest Hits file, Hurra Torpedo:

Koko Taylor, dead at 80.

(Called to our attention by Agent Rob.)

Kaki King sure is fun to listen to. Check her out at TED.

So, DangerMouse has teamed with Sparklehorse to produce a new record, intended to be sold with a book of photographs by David Lynch, all under the title Dark Night of the Soul. Each track has a different singer, and the rogues’ gallery is impressive; from the NPR story:

In addition to Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse (Mark Linkous), other artists appearing on Dark Night of the Soul include James Mercer of The Shins, The Flaming Lips, Gruff Rhys of Super Furry Animals, Jason Lytle of Grandaddy, Julian Casablancas of The Strokes, Frank Black of the Pixies, Iggy Pop, Nina Persson of The Cardigans, Suzanne Vega, Vic Chesnutt, David Lynch, and Scott Spillane of Neutral Milk Hotel and The Gerbils.

For reasons passing understanding, though, EMI has apparently gotten all douchey over the CD itself, so the book will be released with a blank CD-R instead, with the clear implication being that would-be listeners should feel free to download the leaked record instead to get the whole experience. EMI is silent on their attempts to quash the record, but it doesn’t take much work to imagine it’s just another stupid move by a record label. (More at Rolling Stone.)

You can listen to the record at NPR, to see if you like it; you can also sign up for updates at the official Dark Night Of The Soul website, and hope that EMI comes to its senses and releases the CD eventually. And, of course, it’s trivial to download the disk from the darknets. Do what thou wilt, Heathen Nation. But check this stuff out; it’s strong.

Peep this.

(Also, fans of certain artists should make sure they don’t miss the reference by commenter #8.)

A challenge facing any Journey coverband is finding someone who can sing as high as Perry. One option? Use a 9-year-old:

Granted, his career’s over as soon as his balls drop, but he’s good for a couple years anyway.

Turns out, it’s the first of May, and Jonathan Coulton has a song about it. NSFW, but funny as hell.

Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addiction are touring together this summer; the branding is all about NIN|JA, which is beautiful. (With them on most dates is Tom Morello‘s new gig Street Sweeper, adding to the overall grooviness.)

Problem: No dates convenient to Houston. For this lineup, though, I’d fly; the principal bands here are up there with Willie on my persona list of “acts I’ve never seen but desperately want to.” Right now, the only really good candidate for me is the Charlotte show. Mike?

(Yes, really Jane’s; the lineup is Farrell/Navarro/Avery/Perkins, or the same lineup as the seminal EP and Nothing’s Shocking.)

There was a little reunion of sorts at the Beacon Theater on Thursday. Enjoy.

(Well, I guess it’s sort of for Pattie Boyd, too.)

HT: MAD.

Right, so, it’s another one of those Things, this time about musical choices. Frazer tagged me, but I’m replying here since I don’t (usually) do notes at FB.

1. What are you listening to right now?

It’s a tossup:

• The new Neko Case record, which means also her back catalog (mostly Fox Confessor)
• Oddly, Brian Eno’s ambient works
• The new U2
• Black Francis, Powderfinger
• Zoe Keating. Seriously, check her out.

2. As a teenager, what was a band you were ashamed to admit to liking?

I’m not sure I was ever really ashamed of anything except Twisted Sister.

3. And today?

I just turned 39. I have no time for musical shame. If it makes me happy, I’m glad to listen to it. I’m sure there are people at my age who would be mildly ashamed of admitting to purchasing and listening to The Wall again after so many years, though, as I did last week. ;)

4. Have you met an artist you admired? How did it go?

I’ve met and drunk beer with Pat DiNizio, who fronted the Smithereens, a band who lived in my tape deck for most of my high school career via their “Especially For You” record. It was really cool. (At a bar called Alex’s in Memphis, after the Smithereens played at a party at my brother’s alma mater.)

I got to hang out with Kathy McCarty of Glass Eye several evenings in Austin when she did a show a friend of mine put together out of Daniel Johnston’s music, and that was really rad. As part of that process, I met and spoke with Johnston himself a few times, too.

I’ve met-in-passing, ie just shook hands or whatever, with a larger group (Buddy Guy, Chuck D, Billy Joe Shaver, Eddy Shaver, Fred LeBlanc, Jonathan Richman, Mike Mills, yadda yadda yadda), but the only actual conversations were with those three.

5. Have you had dreams about bands or artists?

I can’t recall any.

6. What was your first gig attended?

(ack!) The Beach Boys, when I was in the fifth grade, ca. 1981. My mother took me. (Yes, I know that in 1981, they weren’t really the Beach Boys. Give me a break. I was 11.)

The first one I went to without adult supervision was ZZ Top in 1985 or 1986, for the Afterburner tour. I was 15. Mom still took me, but this time that meant she stayed at the Ramada across the street from the venue in Jackson, MS, and I walked across the road at showtime.

I was a small teenager, and kinda stuck out, I guess, so I was immediately adopted by two Marines on liberty who were extraordinarily pleased with their luck that day; someone had given them the tickets to the show. They discouraged rednecks from fucking with me, bought me beer, and gave me my first exposure to Miss Mary Jane. It was an excellent concert.

7. Which living artist have you not seen, but desperately want to?

Christ, that’s a long list. Shockingly few jazz giants still walk the earth and play occasionally (Ornette, e.g.), but if I keep it to popular music I think there’s only one:

Willie Nelson.

(To my eternal joy I don’t have to say Tom Waits, since I’ve seen him twice.)

8. Which artist or what band would you like to resurrect and see live?

Jon had some obvious ones I’d echo (Minutemen, Ramones). I’d add Stevie Ray Vaughan, whose music has always just blown me away. I’m not really a fan, but seeing the Dead at their peak is something that I’m sure was quite an affair. I’d love to have managed to take in at least one show. And getting a ticket to see Miles Davis during the Black Beauty shows would’ve been amazing.

But at the end of the day, my top wish here has to be Morphine.

9. Which song/riff/solo would you like to learn to play and sing just right?

Too many. I’ve tried to be a guitar player many times over the years, and either I’m insufficiently disciplined or constitutionally incapable. Still, I’d love to be able to play along with a credible blues riff, or be able to improvise well enough to pull together a smokin’ blues take on “Wabash Cannonball” like this guy I knew who owned a guitar shop in my hometown.

10. How many records do you own, or how many songs do you have in your iTunes?

10,000 in iTunes. Well over 2K CDs, I’m sure, most of which aren’t ripped yet.

Ladies and Gentleheathen, I present the Internet’s finest hour: iDaft.

From twenty-one years ago:

Apparently they made Miley Cyrus cry.

Memo to Neko Case: 30 minutes of cricket noises isn’t interesting. It’s especially uninteresting if there’s no music at the end. WTF?

Zoe Keating:

Via Wil Wheaton, who explains a bit that makes the track above even cooler:

See that MacBook next to her? She uses that to sample herself several times to build a rhythm, and then she plays over it, like a one-woman string quartet. Or quintet. Or awesometet. I didn’t realize this the first time I heard her; I just thought her music was haunting and beautiful, but once I knew what she was doing, I was awestruck. In fact, knowing how she does it, I defy you to listen to it again and keep your jaw off the floor.

We here at Heathen Central are longtime fans of classical instrumentation in modern music; I once saw Rasputina (of which Keating is an alum) in a now-defunct bar in downtown Houston, and a really awesome modern original string quartet played at the Heathen Hitchin’. I’m glad to discover Keating; I suspect I’ll be hitting iTunes shortly to get some more. The piece above is “Tetrishead,” found on “One Cello x 16: Natoma,” $7.92 at iTunes.

Now playing on Heathen Radio: The Nightfly, by Donald Fagen, largely because of this excellent retrospective on its place in popular music (via Andrea, at Facebook). Check it out, unless you are — like certain wives of mine — allergic to the axis of Fagen/Becker.

Standing tough under stars and stripes
We can tell
This dream’s in sight
You’ve got to admit it
At this point in time that it’s clear
The future looks bright
On that train all graphite and glitter
Undersea by rail
Ninety minutes from New York to Paris
Well by seventy-six we’ll be A.O.K.

Fellow Malleteer AJ (the tall black dude, not the short white girl) commented on the prior post, demanding I provide some NEW music I found equally compelling.

Sad to say, of course, but he’ll learn soon enough that music you encounter after 30 tends not to be as personally meaningful as the stuff you found before 30, and that’s reflected in the lone 21st century entry on the prior list (Radiohead’s Amnesiac). I’ll give it a swing, though.

The rules change a little: I’m going to pick records not that have lodged in my personal history as irrevocably as the other list, since this isn’t yet knowable. Instead, I’m going to give my best guess for 20 (or so) records I think I’ll still be listening to in 20 years, and I’m going to do my best to avoid any overlap artist-wise with the prior list (so, Radiohead’s already represented, e.g.; re-including U2 was unavoidable, however).

1. Lonelyland, Bob Schneider, 2000
2. Post-War, M. Ward, 2006
3. Stories from the City, Stories from Sea, PJ Harvey, 2000
4. Transcendental Blues, Steve Earle, 2000
5. Essence, Lucinda Williams, 2001
6. Big Boi & Dre Present Outkast, Outkast, 2001
7. Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, The Flaming Lips, 2002
8. Blacklisted, Neko Case, 2002 (tie: also, Fox Confessor Bring the Flood, 2006)
9. Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace, Foo Fighters, 2007
10. Elephant, The White Stripes, 2003
11. Funeral, The Arcade Fire, 2004
12. A Ghost is Born, Wilco, 2004
13. A Tale of God’s Will, Terence Blanchard, 2007
14. Z, My Morning Jacket, 2005
15. Medulla, Bjork, 2004
16. The Rising, Bruce Springsteen, 2002
17. Sea Change, Beck, 2002
18. Scar, Joe Henry, 2001
19. O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack, Various artists, 2000
20. All That You Can’t Leave Behind, U2, 2000
21. Pearl Jam, Pearl Jam, 2006
22. Dreamt For Light Years In The Belly Of A Mountain, Sparklehorse, 2006
23. Hardwire Healing, The Dexateens, 2007
24. Strays Don’t Sleep, Strays Don’t Sleep, 2005
25. The Shepherd’s Dog, Iron & Wine, 2007

Happy Now?

So, over the weekend, another one of those pass-around lists happened on Facebook. I wrote a response, but posted it only there, which seems foolish in light of the follow-up I’ve also been asked to write, so here’s my 25-album list in response to these instructions:

List 15 albums that had such a profound effect on you that they changed your life, or the way you looked at it. They sucked you in and took you over for days, weeks, months, years. These are the albums that you can use to identify time, places, people, emotions. These are the albums that, no matter what they were thought of musically, shaped your world.

I snagged the idea from someone who’d expanded to 20, so I felt no compunctions about expanding to 25. This updated, edited version also includes mental snapshots for context.

1. Lifes Rich Pageant, REM, 1985. A Columbia House cassette and the crappy deck in a ’78 Regal. Twenty-four years later, I meet Mike Mills in an airport, and what I think of is the first time “Begin the Begin” hit my ears in that car.
2. The Joshua Tree, U2, 1987. See prior art; the beginning of the rest of my life, whether I knew it or not, since this thread leads eventually to Erin.
3. Trace, Son Volt, 1995. A loaner pickup, theater in Texas, and weird scenes inside a corrugated metal barn.
4. Sticky Fingers, The Rolling Stones, 1971. Chris Jolly’s room at Mallet, ca. 1990
5. Mars Needs Guitars, Hoodoo Gurus, 1985. The back seat of the family car, an actual Walkman, and a drive home from the Coast
6. Especially for You, The Smithereeens, 1986. One side of a well-worn cassette dubbed from Eric’s copy, played on constant repeat from 1986 to 1988.
7. Uh-Huh, John Cougar Mellencamp, 1983. The other side of that same cassette.
8. The Velvet Underground & Nico, The Velvet Underground, 1967. John Smith, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 1988.
9. The Heart of Saturday Night, Tom Waits, 1974. A sort of romance, and an unrelated long nighttime drive through the North Carolina hills in the cold, cold winter.
10. 1984, Van Halen, 1984. Church trips. Really.
11. In Through the Out Door, Led Zeppelin, 1979. We dance madly in the hallway outside my room while Frank “shoots up,” Tuscaloosa, 1990 or thereabouts.
12. Shelter, Lone Justice, 1986. Capstone Summer Honors Program, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 1987.
13. Journeyman, Eric Clapton, 1989. A pitch black auditorium, a single floating cigarette, and the best opening chords ever.
14. Couldn’t Stand the Weather, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble, 1984. Mike Adams’ Sentra, 1987.
15. Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos, 1992. Cassie hated it. I loved it. 1992.
16. Purple Rain, Prince and the Revolution, 1984. C’mon.
17. Jane’s Addiction, Jane’s Addiction, 1987. In some weird grad students’ house south of Hardy near Elam, I get stoned for the first time, 1987.
18. Cure for Pain, Morphine, 1993. Birmingham visit, 1995, and I discover Morphine via Mohney.
19. Amnesiac, Radiohead, 2001. Eric and Chet summer as bachelors, 2001. Also REDACTED.
20. The Soul Cages, Sting, 1991. Sting sings about my dad, 1991.
21. One Fair Summer Evening, Nanci Griffith, 1988. The Tom Waits girl hipped me to this live Griffith set in 1993 or 1994. It was years before I realized I’d moved within blocks of the venue in question.
22. Concrete Blonde, Concrete Blonde, 1986. On near infinite repeat from Patrick’s room, ca. 1990.
23. Pretty Hate Machine, Nine Inch Nails, 1989. ANGRY. Also, HORNY.
24. The Trinity Session, The Cowboy Junkies, 1987. I drive Frank and Eric P to the farm in 1988. We stop at a now-gone record store to pick this up on the way out of town.
25. Doo Dad, Webb Wilder, 1991. Hattiesburg done good. “There’s a glimmer of morning / Just over the tree-line…”

I finally got around to playing with iTunes’ “Genius” feature. Frankly, the hype and expectations were such that I figured it would suck, so it just wasn’t on my radar. I’m not even sure why I gave it a whirl today.

Holy Crap.

Feeding it “Neighborhood #1” from Arcade Fire’s first as a seed, it then spat out 24 tracks from my library that, as it turns out, I wanted to hear right now. The list:

Yeah, this is gonna get used. If you haven’t played with Genius, do so. Today.

Animatronic bears from the Rock-afire Explosion Band do Arcade Fire:

Lux Interior is dead. You don’t know who he was, maybe, but you know the sounds he made with The Cramps, and you know the CBGB crowd he ran with.

It’s been shocking to most of the people I’ve talked to about Interior that he was an astounding 62 years old, hardly an age associated with transgressive psychobilly music, but there it is. Interior was born in October of 1946 into a bland and banal postwar world, and founded the Cramps in 1973. Interior and his lifelong companion Poison Ivy were the among the first to blend punk or pre-punk ideas with rockabilly, and created a sound more or less all their own.

The horrible and sad thing is this: Arguably the most significant and important generation of American rock musicians came through CBGB in the early-to-mid 1970s, and they were mostly 20 to 25 years old at the time, and with some outliers were therefore mostly born between 1945 and 1955. These people were born into prosperous postwar America, with radio shows and Ed Sullivan and Elvis, and somehow managed to create something entirely new. It was these bands — the Cramps, Talking Heads, Blondie, Patti Smith, Misfits, Dead Boys, Television, the Ramones, New York Dolls, the Velvet Underground, and others — that shaped a good chunk of what’s interesting in modern rock music, and it’s these bands that are growing older at an alarming rate.

Losing Dee Dee, in 2002, and Johnny, in 2004 — both born in 1951 — was the first shock, but we’re in for some more. These guys weren’t choirboys, and the elder statesmen in the group are closer to 70 than 60 (John Cale and Lou Reed, both born in 1942; Sterling Morrison, born the same year, got cancer and died young at 53).

Go listen to something loud, weird, and incomprehensible to your parents, since God knows that’s what Lux would want you to do, and it’s probably what the rest of the CBGB crowd would like, too. (Even if many of them are older than your parents; Mrs Heathen’s mom is younger than Debbie Harry or Lou Reed.)

(Has the great CBGB musical documentary been made yet? It’s probably not punk rock to want one, but I sure as hell do.)

(Lots more Cramps goodness at The Daily Swarm.)

Check out their appearance on Letterman from 2004; they start a couple blocks away and work their way into the studio on a long, wide-angle tracking shot.

Enjoy:

The good news is that for thirty cents a track, Apple’s iTunes Music Store will allow you to upgrade any 128kbps DRM’d tracks you bought previously for DRM-free 256kbps versions, which is kind of a no-brainer.

The bad news is that you can’t do this for anything that’s been withdrawn from the iTunes store, and some of the DRM’d music I’d like very much to unlock and improve is on the Complete U2 digital box set — which Universal (who are still assholes) has apparently pulled from iTMS as of about a year ago.

(Obviously not all 446 tracks, mind you; that’d cost almost as much as the box set did to begin with — I really just want to unlock the live/unreleased/rare stuff that isn’t duplicated with CDs Mrs Heathen and I already own.)

Fuck.

Apple announced today that, by the end of the quarter, all music in the iTunes Music Store will be DRM free.

The iTMS is the largest US retailer of music, on or offline. eMusic and Amazon have both been doing some of this already, so it’s been an obvious endgame for a while. Having it actually happen, though, is huge. DRM on music is, for all practical purposes, a dead letter.

Cool.

At last, a proper flow chart useful for determining the goodness of a given day without resorting to sniffing your AK for cordite.

Audio-only; Dweezil Zappa and Ozzy Osbourne cover “Stayin’ Alive.”

From the A/V Club, by Chuck Klosterman. It includes this excellent paragraph:

Throughout Chinese Democracy, the most compelling question is never, “What was Axl doing here?” but “What did Axl think he was doing here?” The tune “If The World” sounds like it should be the theme to a Roger Moore-era James Bond movie, all the way down to the title. On “Scraped,” there’s a vocal bridge that sounds strikingly similar to a vocal bridge from the 1990 Extreme song “Get The Funk Out.” On the aforementioned “Sorry,” Rose suddenly sings an otherwise innocuous line (“But I don’t want to do it”) in some bizarre, quasi-Transylvanian accent, and I cannot begin to speculate as to why. I mean, one has to assume Axl thought about all of these individual choices a minimum of a thousand times over the past 15 years. Somewhere in Los Angles, there’s gotta be 400 hours of DAT tape with nothing on it except multiple versions of the “Sorry” vocal. So why is this the one we finally hear? What finally made him decide, “You know, I’ve weighed all my options and all their potential consequences, and I’m going with the Mexican vampire accent.”

So, longtime Heathen Tom asked on Facebook for a top-5 or top-10 list to serve as a jazz primer of sorts. I started typing, and then realized a wider distribution might spark more interesting discussion, so here’s where I exercise a staggering degree of hubris in compiling just such a list: the Heathen Jazz Top Ten.

First, an aside. What popular culture thinks about when they think of “jazz” is probably the stuff that happened in the late 50s and early 60s, and that period is well represented below. This isn’t to say that the stuff before (Charlie Parker! Louie Armstrong!) or the stuff after (Ornette Coleman! Terence Blanchard!) is less valuable; only that my the Heathen playlist is sort of centered there, and on things that grew directly out of that period (Miles’ electric work, e.g.). All that said, I’ve got enough ego to suggest that this might make a good survey of jazz for those interested but unexposed. Jump in here; branch out as indicated. In other words, come on in; the water’s fine.

So, more or less off the cuff — and in chronological, not quality, order — here we go:

1. Kind of Blue, Miles Davis, 1959. This is the biggest jazz record ever. I am not exaggerating. (It’s also the best selling — 4,000,000 and counting.) Davis’ band for this record includes giants-in-their-own-right John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderly. Its recording is the subject of a book. Despite being hugely popular and famous, it’s also incredibly important, and represented a real departure at the time. Jazz as we know it today would be impossible without Kind of Blue (hell, MUSIC as we know it wouldn’t be the same, either). Bonus: Totally safe for non-afficianado audiences.

2. Time Out, Dave Brubeck, 1959. You know half the songs on this disc already. It’s also the only example of “West Coast” or “Cool Jazz” on the list. Superclean and precise, its sound prefigures Steely Dan in some ways. Like KoB, it’s also extremely accessible; play it at a dinner party, and your guests will praise your taste.

3. Mingus Ah Um, Charles Mingus, 1959. You can’t have any list without Mingus. It’s just silly. MAU is my go-to Mingus recording.

4. Sketches of Spain, Miles Davis, 1960. It’s almost impossible to believe that Davis produced this and Kind of Blue in the same two-year period, but there it is. Sketches is unusual in lots of ways, but the biggest departure is that Davis worked with composure and arranger Gil Evans here, and so we get a “jazz” record that’s far more composed and far less improvisational than nearly anything else in this category. Davis’ own contemporaries tried to suggest it wasn’t jazz because of this, to which he is said to have replied “It’s music, and I like it.” You will, too. It’s an excellent choice for the dim-room-and-fine-wine treatment.

5. My Favorite Things, John Coltrane, 1961. Trane plunges headlong into free jazz here, but not in a way that makes the record inaccessible to casual listeners; the title track is a long way from Julie Andrews, but it’s also clearly the same song. I’m particularly fond of “next steps” records where artists are really finding a new form; this is a great example (as is Silent Way, also on the list), and reminds you of how incredible the 1959-1972 period was for American music. By this point, Trane’s already got McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones with him; they’ll still be there for “A Love Supreme,” below.

6. Money Jungle. Duke Ellington, Max Roach and Charles Mingus recorded this in a single day session in 1962. To hell with the Sun “Million Dollar Quartet;” I’d give eye teeth to have seen this trio. This disc is never “put up” at my house, and I have copies on my laptop, my iPod, and my iPhone at all times. It’s staggering and beautiful while also being COMPLETELY safe for nonjazz people. (Remember the black-text-on-white Flash animation “Samsung Means To Come” I blogged some years back? Its music was taken from Money Jungle.)

7. A Love Supreme, John Coltrane, 1965. Widely viewed as one of Trane’s masterworks, this modal opus is the earliest “concept album” in my whole collection. Play it all the way through the first time you listen, preferably in a darken room. Intoxicants are optional. Dramatically less accessible than Brubeck, but still recognizably post-bop and not anywhere near the free jazz or fusion entries you’ll find elsewhere on the list. Also still safe for dinner parties, but only very hip ones.

8. Straight, No Chaser; Thelonious Monk, 1966. I’m not the student of Monk that I am of Davis, but this record cooks.

9. In A Silent Way, Miles Davis, 1969. This is when things start to get a little far out for the mundanes. IASW is still recognizably the same kind of creature the early sixties produced, jazzwise, but is also well on its way to something else entirely. Miles and his band — which at this point included household names like John McLaughlin, Herbie Hancock, Tony Williams, Chick Corea, and Wayne Shorter — are fully electrified here, which signals the start of a trend for Davis that would reach its apotheosis with his next album (Bitches Brew, only a year later but light years beyond in style and approach) and his live performances in the 1970s (e.g., Black Beauty, Dark Magus, Agharta, and the Cellar Door Sessions that became Live-Evil). N.B. that while Silent Way is listenable for nonfans, dropping the needle on anything after that — especially BB — will clear a motherfucking room. It’s musical durian. Of course, some will stay behind, but you’ll like them enough to open up the good Scotch.

10. Root Down, Jimmy Smith, 1972. There is little more magical and alive than the sound of Jimmy Smith at a Hammond B3. This live record captures him at his peak. Do NOT miss this one. (It’s also the source for the sample in the Beastie Boys track of the same name. Them kids got taste.)

And two not on the list:

• On the Corner, Miles Davis, 1972. Bitches Brew meets Funkenstein. I actually like OTC better than BB, but that’s not the “scholarly” opinion. I say check ’em both out.

• A Tale of God’s Will, Terence Blanchard Quintet, 2007. Like Davis’ Sketches, this is much less improvisational than the rest of the list; jazz isn’t always improv through and through. Blanchard’s reasons here are similar to Davis’ in 1960: he involves an orchestra. His tribute to his hometown of New Orleans — it’s subtitled “A Requiem for Katrina” — will raise goosebumps with its beauty.

Chris Mohney Hates You.

The Cellar Door Sessions frankly demand it. I mean, c’mon: that’s John McLaughlin. And Keith Jarrett. At the same time. With Miles Davis.