My Favorite Century —Part VIII
The music industry has seen its fair share of disruptions. Vinyl was king but lost its place to the cassette tape. Tapes reigned long before the rise of CDs. Videos killed the radio star. Napster made Lars Ulrich mad and taught so many of us about illegal downloading — Does anyone remember that guy at Boston University who was told to pay $675,000 for copyright infringement? The rise of the iPod, the shift from iTunes to Apple Music or Spotify streams. And now, YouTube and TikTok are sitting atop the hitmaker space.
The My Favorite Century experience is in one of those moments. A shift is happening.
In part, that's happening because I was miserably ill all of last week. To wit, here's an excerpt from a journal I wrote at 2 am Wednesday instead of blogging about music.
Where does phlegm come from? I read that once you've mouthed phlegm, you can just go ahead and swallow it. Does that seem right to you? No need to spit it? Seems odd to me. You want me to practice "catch and release" conservation with this booger? I just spent 15 seconds making everyone around me deeply uncomfortable, and you want me to... swallow it? On the one hand, spitting is gross, and hawkin' a loogie is vile. So, I am sympathetic. On the other hand, you want me to swallow it?!
In the absence of musical thought, I had a lot of time for other ideas on my mind.
Was there an appetite for reading my thoughts on phlegm last week? Likely not.
If health was reason 1 for making the switch, then reason 2 is because I want to bring back New Music Tuesday.
This is one of those shifts I mentioned in music.
As long as I was paying attention to music, new music always came out on Tuesdays.
I would spend the rest of the week listening to new albums and new singles, reading reviews, and deciding which albums and artists would go the distance. By the time the weekend approached, I was ready to give my opinion on things.
You hear that new Hot Hot Heat album? What do you think of Maps & Atlases? How much does Girl Talk rip? Andrew W.K. PRETTY FUN!
Four days of casual consumption was enough to give me an idea of what I wanted to keep on rotation and what I could go ahead and confine to the garbage bin of the brain.
And then, in 2015, this all changed.
For the first time ever, no new music came out on Tuesday, July 7 (now my wedding anniversary). No singles were released. No albums were dropped. Instead, on Friday, July 10 (my wife's birthday, but I wasn't married to her then), the music industry collectively released all the new music.
There were apparent positives to this change. This move represented global standardization. Lady Gaga fans in Singapore would no longer have her album days before her fans in Argentina. This resulted in less piracy, which is good for the artists. And lastly, the record labels argued that releasing music ahead of the weekend meant more time to consume it leisurely. It’s easier to listen on a Saturday than a Wednesday, the logic went.
I get that I NOW am distinctly not the music audience. But nine years ago? I was still in my late 20s, absolutely hated this idea, and did not buy this logic. I love listening to music on Wednesdays. Saturday are for the boys.
I think the death of New Music Tuesdays killed my enjoyment of new music. I've never put this together until now, so we have to give it up to Strep Throat and a subsequent case of Oral Thrush for helping me understand why I feel left out.
I once told a friend that I thought music peaked around 2014, which made him very mad. I was not saying that music was at its apex in 2014, but more that my enjoyment of music, which was on a plateau for many years, started to fall around that time.
You know what is around 2014?
July 10, 2015.
New Music Fridays killed Sam's love of music.
So, I am bringing New Music Tuesdays back and rediscovering my love of music along the way.
I've tried Neti Pots. Is it common, as a Neti-Phenomenon, to store water in your sinus cavity for days? Sometimes, I'll tip my head just the right way, and a stream of water will flow out. We're talking days apart. I'm reading a book about caves and underground rivers, etc. Is that what my sinuses are like? This saline and water combo took a detour somewhere in there, only to re-emerge four days later? Is that dangerous?
Have you ever read the stories about the person who died doing a Neti Pot because they got a brain-eating amoeba in the water, and it hitched a ride via the Neti Pot directly to the source and ate the brain? I think about that every time the water trickles out.
"Did you leave a brain eater in there? Is this how I go out, just trying to clean my sinuses?"
So, now that we've pinpointed why I am moving the MFC project to Tuesday let me share this week's theme with you.
Songs That Make Me Feel Good Even When I Have A Fever of 103+F
And now the songs:
Song
I'll Be There for You/You're All I Need to Get By
Artist
Method Man and Mary J. Blige
Released
1995
Lyric
And I'm a walk these dogs so we can live
In a phat-ass crib with thousands of kids
Word life, you don't need a ring to be my wife
Just be there for me and I'm a make sure we
Be livin' in the fuckin' lap of luxury
I'm realizin' that you didn't have to fuck wit' me
But you did, now I'm goin' all out, kid
And I got mad love to give
One Word
Romantic
More Than One Word
In college, I worked primarily two jobs. In my first gig, I sold posters at a store called The Poster Master. I mostly used my time behind the counter to watch Lost on DVD, learn the laughably expensive art of framing and selling the iconic Johnny-Cash-Flippin-the-bird poster, or the 6-naked-women-with-Pink-Floyd-Albums-Painted-On-Their-Backs-But-We-Can-Still-See-Their-Cracks poster, and occasional "Monkey Wearing Headphone" poster.
I'm sure there were others, but those were the big ones at the Poster Master. If you have other memories of what posters you had on your college walls, let me know what I am missing. It was a good gig, selling posters. The guy I worked for was big into online gambling. Lotta poker. Sometimes, he'd come into work and send me home because he wanted to get in on a game, and his kids were using the computer at his house. Warren. I wonder what Warren is up to. I worked with a guy there named Dan. He was 6'4" and 120 lbs with shoulder-length dyed black hair. He perfomed in a band called Glass Ghosts. I went and saw them one time. It was a little too avant-garde metal for me. Everyone was in latex suits and gas masks. I was in cargo shorts and a polo, probably. The three of us were the poster masters.
Anyway, nothing about this song reminds me of my time at the Poster Master, but one time, on the way home from my second job, teaching tennis to the youth of Madison's West Side, I heard this song come on the radio. It struck me as an outlier. Rap music, as I knew it, wasn't romantic or even terribly sentimental. Eminem, T.I and 50 Cent were the three most popular rappers of the moment. While Whatever You Like is undeniably catchy, the concept of giving someone whatever they want is appealing... I am not sure it's romantic. You tell me.
Anyway, this song was a swerve. Method Man out here just rapping about being happy to have this woman in his life, so happy that he wants them to get a crib with thousands of kids. (I suspect he meant a house, not like a crib. A crib with 1,000 kids seems like a dangerous place. Granted, a home with 1,000 kids also seems dangerous, but safer than a crib)
On top of it all, Mary's just out here singing some truth, talking about morning dew. It's great. This song brings me so much joy that I tried to convince Leen to let it be our wedding song. That was a No. It's, admittedly, a song that falls into the "Thug-Love" genre.
Leen and I didn't have a first dance or wedding song. So, there wasn't a lot of room to make this one a part of the celebration to begin with. What I did make happen was that when we cut the cake, I had the DJ spin the original version of the song by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell.
Good song. Good memories. It'll bring a fever down, or at least a mood up.
Song
Caravan
Artist
Van Morrison
Released
1970
Lyric
Turn up your radio and let me hear the song
Switch on your electric light
Then we can get down to what is really wrong
One Word
Cocksure
More Than One Word
As a high school Freshman, my classmates elected me to represent them on the Student Council. The big perk of Student Council was the LEADERSHIP Room, a place where we could go during study hall, sit on couches, and watch MTV or ESPN. Student Council was not that memorable, but the leadership room was great. My other memories from Student Council include the lock-in when our Advisor informed us that he and his wife were trying to have a baby, but he must be shooting blanks. I was a Freshman and didn't entirely understand what this meant, but everyone else laughed, so I did too. He later had a baby, but that baby had something called Failure to Thrive. I do not think that ailment has anything to do with him shooting blanks. Who is to say? I am not a doctor. The other memory is when I, not understanding what was about to happen, signed up to sign Karaoke at the State Student Council Conference.
It was similar to one of those situations where you don't understand how scary something is, so you sign up for it, do it, and then only afterward realize that it is scary, and you're like: never again.
So there I am, fresh off the bus, heading up in front of a large crowd of fellow high schoolers to belt out Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline. This was in 2001 (after 9/11, but before this song became the stadium anthem, it is now), and I am up there doing crowd work, doing the BumBumBum bit, just going for it.
I have yet to give a memorable karaoke performance since then. This entry, though, is not about Neil Diamond but Van Morrison.
Neil and Van are featured in what, for my money, is the best concert film ever made: The Last Waltz. Filmed on Thanksgiving Day, 1976, the documentary covers The Band's Farewell Show. Joined by myriad friends and stars, the show lasted 5 hours and was captured and condensed into just the hits by director Martin Scorsese.
One of the undeniable highlights of the performance is when Van Morrison comes on stage to sign Caravan.
Have you ever given any thought about why Van Morrison settled on Van? Was he a big van-life guy before that movement took off? Did he drive a Chrysler Pacifica? What was the van scene like in 1960 Ireland when Van got his start? Tell me honestly if you knew the dude's name was Ivan. I bet you didn't. I don't know if there is an artist for whom the gap is more significant between my favorite song and my least favorite. I hate Brown Eyed Girl. Loathe it. Van also hates it. He was quoted in 2011 as saying he thinks he has 300 songs that are better than it.
Why? Well, its original title was Brown Skinned Girl. Next time you are thinking, Damn, I just want to listen to Ivan Morrison, pride of Belfast, put on Caravan (or Moondance, I guess).
For his Last Waltz performance, Van comes on stage in a maroon skintight jumpsuit. It's not clear if he's drunk, or on drugs or both. (Neil Young was on so much cocaine during the performance, and it proved so unmissable in the footage that Young's longtime manager demanded that Scorsese have the evidence of it on his nose removed in postproduction.) Towards the end of the song, you can tell that the people filming are trying to find a wide shot of the stage to catch Van doing aggressive kicks corresponding to the horns. Finally, around the 4:15 mark, they get him. This moment in the film brings me so much joy. Van Morrison is a man associated with a voice. When you finally see what Van Morrison looks like, portly, short, balding, he's just really going for it with his kicks. He finishes the vocals, sets down the mic, and walks off stage.
Van erred in writing Brown Eyed Girl and made up for it in his creation of Caravan. Go ahead. Take a ride.
A selection of questions I Googled or asked ChatGPT last week:
Do I have strep, or did I irritate my throat so much from trying to hawk a loogie that I bruised it? What is it called when only one side of your throat is sore (Cattarh)? Is there a way to cure a Cattarh? Is it common for Cattarh to become strep? When does your mouth become your throat? Can I take out my own tonsils?
Song
Milk
Artist
Kings of Leon
Released
2004
Lyric
She saw my combover, her hourglass body
She has problems with drinking milk
And being school tardy
She'll loan you her toothbrush
She'll bar tend your party
One Word
Original
More Than One Word
It's easy to forget that before the Kings of Leon were singing about their Sex being On Fire and their glow-up into mega ROCK Stars, they were singing about more fun things like Buckets looking like some grungy dudes from Tennessee. KoL is the most famous band in recent memory who really left their roots behind and "sold out," but they're not the first and won't be the last to do it. The Black Keys fall into this zone as well. Original music: A+. Stuff after like their 3rd album? It's a bit too mainstream for me.
I saw that Kings of Leon are readying a release of a new album. I have not listened to much of their music of late, and while I dream that this new album is closer to what came out at the start of the 2000s, I suspect it's closer to the stuff that fills arenas and gets them Supermodel wives like Lily Aldridge. I wish then that these bands had an opportunity to release their original-style music under a new name. This reminds me of two brands I recently learned about, where this is an issue. Did you know that Pyrex and PYREX are two different brands? The All-caps one is the GOOD pyrex, but the Title Case version is busted, so much so that the measurements aren't even always correct. Like you have one job, Pyrex, how are you going to not be an accurate measurement of a Cup? Same for Uggs. You know the ones. Turns out Uggs are trash now, and if you want good Uggs, you have to get Uggs Since 1974. If your Uggs don't say "since 1974," they're garbage, and you're going to be mad you spent money on something that will rip soon.
So if Kings of Leon is now the anthem band, can Leon's Kings or Kings-of-Leon be the old-school, original tribute band? I want more songs like Milk. Milk, if you've never heard it, and frankly, you probably haven't, is this song about an unnamed enigmatic woman.
Caleb Falwell sings about his combover (who is among us) and a girl who has a problem with drinking milk (adorable) and being tardy (relatable). The Kings of Leon undeniably went into a stratosphere of fame I did not know was possible for them when I heard their early stuff on the Fifa 05 soundtrack. I assure you Caleb no longer has a combover, and I want this early innocence and joy back. This song has also become one of the boys' favorites lately because it has words they understand. Toothbrushes?
Milk?
Parties? I also convinced them that the opening lyrics are: Saaaaaaaaaaalty Beef.
Are those the lyrics? No. But is it funnier to hear them sing about salty beef than salty leaves? Well, you know the answer to that. Long Live Leon's Kings.
Song
Once in a Lifetime
Artist
Talking Heads
Released
1980
Lyric
And you may ask yourself, "How do I work this?"
And you may ask yourself, "Where is that large automobile?"
And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful house"
And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife"
One Word
Surreal
More than One Word
It seems odd that in an entry where I already lightly alluded to water flowing underground a la the nasal cavity, I wouldn't take a moment to extol the virtues of a Talking Heads song that mentions water flowing underground. This song brings me immense joy. David Byrne's singing in this song is most definitely talking. There are different levels to talk-singing. Destroyer, as we covered last week, slow, low talks. Byrne here does more scream-talking. He says that he was channeling a radio evangelist. I see it.
I am empathetic to scream-talking because I recently understood my inability to modulate my volume levels. Work From Home has broken me. I work at home, with no one but Duchess Peppercorn to bother, so I often yell into the Teams calls. People can just turn me down.
Back when I was a teacher, I had a class of 8 8th-grade girls. One of them really did not like me. It's fine. I didn't like her either. I had someone from the district come in to monitor my teaching, and after the class finished, he said, "Yeah, it was a good lesson, but just one question for you: why were you yelling at them the whole time?"
I often mistook yelling for enthusiasm—volume for volume's sake. I still am guilty of this now with the boys. Roman is a typical two-year-old who occasionally struggles with following directions. I am not too proud to admit that sometimes I fight fire with fire, or more accurately, I fight yelling with yelling. My ability to raise my voice does not denote anger; it merely means I can get loud if I have to, especially if it means breaking through the noise (or, in the case of the 8th-grade girls - boredom) of life.
When Byrne is out here sing-yelling, I think he's yelling to be like, Holy shit. One day, I was doing X, and then through the passage of time, now I am doing Y. THAT'S WILD.
In his words, “We’re largely unconscious. You know, we operate half awake or on autopilot and end up, whatever, with a house and family and job and everything else. We haven’t really stopped to ask ourselves, ‘How did I get here?"
In education, a good teacher does something called backward planning. They start with the assessment and then work backward to determine how to put the students on the path to success. Life can work that way. People with vision boards and job goals can enact a plan that way, but for most of us (me at least), we're just winging it, one day at a time, hoping to tread water or get to the next day. This song is an excellent reminder to roll the window down on your life and take a look around. Take stock of what you've got and how you got there.
This song speaks to me because I have a beautiful wife and a beautiful house; however, I assure you I did not backward plan these things into existence.
It's an interesting thought experience to see how far back you could go in your history to be able to envision where you are now. Even going back to June 2020, I could not imagine where I am now. Life handed us too many turns since then. And were you to come to me then and say: Sam, in four years, you'll have a new job, a new house, a new child, and a wife who is an American... I would have needed clarification on how we got where we are. Think about it for yourself. How far back in your journey could you go before you could say: yeah, I can see that.
That's what this song is about.
It's the type of experiment that can take your mind off an illness for a few moments (or exacerbate a migraine if you let it.) Since this song mentions a beautiful wife, I asked my beautiful wife her thoughts on this song, and she simply said: I fucking love this song.
What’s left to say?
Hope you enjoyed New Music Tuesdays.
Last week’s entry elicited these two quotes from readers:
Bay of pigs could revive me from the brink of death. — LS
Pyramids makes me feel weird in the best way — AS
Here’s hoping you have thoughts on this week.
