So I'm on an adventure for a few days, with one of my greatest pals. We're going to ramshackle all over this New Mexican frontier, and listen to some rad tunes to top it all off. My contribution to our first listen in the car was Gregory Alan Isakov. I think I consider it some sort of cosmic obligation to put on his albums when my iPod is the Chosen One. I had to play one of my favorite driving tunes; a song that makes the yellow blurring lines seem like friendly percussion for the tripping guitar line. As we watch the Sandias rise in front of our tiny popcan car, they hold all the soaring fantasy that Gregory weaves, and welcome us to make it come true. We packed lunch, so we'll have time to do that.
Gregory Alan Isakov recently spent time in Colorado for some incredible shows. If you weren't lucky enough to snag a live listen, I implore you to find out when you can see and hear him for yourself. His most recent album, which the aforelinked song is from, This Empty Northern Hemisphere, features the haunting voice of Brandi Carlile, but I have yet to see her sing with him...one day.
So I am not normally a YouTube fanatic. I'm just not. I've tried to be hip and find videos of sleepwalking dogs but I always get bored. But when music surfaces on YouTube, I will take time to let that little red bar do battle with my computer's perpetual nap time in order to see what happens. And based on a recommendation, I did indeed find things to make me a YouTuber for the day.
First a video of a 2007 performance by Ryan Adams and Neal Casal in County Kerry, Ireland. I'm putting up Two, but the whole set is beautiful. Ryan Adams' pained lyrics in Two are made even clearer by his honest body language; his foot moving in rhythm but sticking at an awkward angle, pointing directly up with rigidity, giving away his authenticity. Ahhh...and it just sounds real pretty.
My attention was drawn to this music video by Israeli theatre director, Oren Lavie, by a friend of mine who is way more versed in YouTube than I. It's a stop motion music video for a captivating folk tune called Her Morning Elegance. The video is just brilliant. Oren Lavie chases a dreaming girl across pillow and blanket landscapes, as she sleepwalks through terrifying and beautiful adventures; running on clouds, swimming in the deep blue seas with sock fish going through her fingers, and gray sky days with only a scarf for protection.
The album was released on iTunes in January (on my birthday), but the physical copy came out in March, and I'm dismayed that I haven't heard it until now. Lavie has a voice that makes me think of sanddollars whispering under low tide, and barefoot callouses sliding along rocky coastlines. Though the rest of the album isn't exactly what I would normally put on, I just can't get enough of Her Morning Elegance. Oren Lavie gets my respect unconditionally for posting the bad reviews of his album on his website, which causes me to pause and consider when I would put on his Nick Drake-y voice and jazzy melodies. Because I think he has a place in my ears. What a way to start off the morning, with a song that takes my heart rate down from the pace my coffee pot determined.
So there comes a time when I feel like that spoiled kid with tons of toys, and nothing to play with. I was staring at my music library the past couple days and stamping my mental feet. I had nothing to LISTEN TO!! I started hounding friends for suggestions. Luckily, I have some very tolerant friends with very good musical taste. And after spending a lot of time on LaLa listening to some delightful albums, it occurred to me to check up on the bands I had left by the wayside since their last releases. What kind of person am I to forget about those wonderful tickling artists who delighted me just a few months ago? So I buried myself in familiar newness. And here are a few gems.
The Spinto Band enchanted me, like it did many people, with their 2008 release Moonwink. The trackSummer Grof was filling me with ear fireworks made of crescendos and carefully calculated bursts of bright energy all summer long. I eagerly awaited more to spin to, and was pleased with the EP that they gave birth to all by themselves, Slim and Slender. It has the same tablespoon by tablespoon dosage of starry eyed staccato beats, and sweeping fits of swimming guitar with controlled, reaching vocals wailing into the setting sun. The opening number, Jackhammer, leaves me feeling like an LP from The Spinto Band will make me even smilier, with its coasting, driven, jangly melodies. Regrettably, the rest of the EP does not make me shimmer with whimsy as much as I hoped, but the succinct taste of things to come does whet my appetite.
This song convinces me that I will never live in a city for very long.
If I could tackle Liam Finn and thank his Kiwi brain for coming up with such brilliant new music, I would. I’ve been harboring deep love for him ever since his 2007 I’ll Be Lightning sent me whirling with layers and layers of goodness. The man can deliver a powerful, yet subtle, punch of dream-like strangeness that makes sense to people who dream of “oceans of pink lemonade.” He speaks of the things I want to see in my own head. And that is exactly what this son of Crowded House’s lead man Neil Finn (who I do love so) has done again. His recent EP release, Champagne in Seashells with backing vocals by Eliza Jane, shows me that his ability to make me want to jump into tornados and find the pulsating rhythm in the eye of the storm has only increased. Here is the opening track, Plane Crash.
November is approaching. And I’m depressed about it. Luckily, my friend suggested I finally listen to the Seattle name changers Say Hi (previously Say Hi to Your Mom). Eric Elbogen and friends have undergone some pretty intense aesthetic changes since the formation in 2002, and I’m pleased to have listened to them as they’ve arrived with their March, 2009 release Oohs and Aahs. The album has good beats, and even better lyrics. Elbogen has a talent for fanciful and clever lyrics that make me think about simple things in different ways. With Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder weighing heavily on this cloudy day, I recommend their first real slow track on the album.
I think I will feel better when the winter is gone. And I'll have to repeat it as much as Elbogen does to make myself believe it, too.
Simplicity has been left by the wayside. In one of my all time favorite movies, Almost Famous, Philip Seymour Hoffman says that rock could become an “industry of cool.”
Has it? I don’t know. On my bad days I’m almost convinced there is nowhere for a person who doesn’t know how to have a good haircut to go. No music to listen to. On most days, though, I find my heart carried away by the words and sounds of people who write from a part of themselves that I ache to find on my own.
And so it begins. The quest to find music, friends. Music that doesn’t need someone else’s opinion to validate it for you. Music that when you listen to it, you find a friend without any awkward small talk, or small white lies about the crazy stuff you did in college. Music that does what it feels, says what it wants, and sounds like honesty and beauty just backhanded you across the dance floor.
So to begin. I’d like to share an artist that knocked me flat with absolute power this past week by ripping out his plug from his Guild, standing on the speakers, and pushing his music right into my blood. Joe Pug, everyone.
