It’s no coincidence that the release of Bruce Springsteen’s new album, Working on a Dream, comes a week after the joyous inauguration of President Obama. Bruce came out in support of Obama during the primary, and he stumped for his man just as he had for John Kerry.
The venture into politics is paying off huge: besides the obvious benefits of having a competent President, the Obama campaign appearances were clearly the launching pad for a whirlwind of publicity: a Golden Globe win here, an inauguration gig there, a Wal-Mart exclusive compilation for casual fans who should know all those songs already, a performance at the Oscars (that one didn’t pan out), and the pinnacle of American consumer culture, the Super Bowl half-time show. (more…)
I’ve seen Sean McCaul play on the Union Square L-train platform three times now, and each time I haven’t had the $10 in cash to buy his (presumably) self-produced CD. I need to put a ten-dollar bill in each of my bags and backpacks and be prepared, Hardy Boys style, to meet risk with success.
I want McCaul’s album because he’s brilliant. I remember coming down the stairs to the platform a couple years ago and being surrounded by soothing noise, rising and descending tones of an ethereal, emotion-made-sonic quality. McCaul plays the vibraphone, a rack of metal bars of specific length that, when struck, emit a note; depending on how you strike the bar and the type of mallet used, it can sound either like a rolling wall of noise, liquid and intermingling, or a staccato, if mellow, sort of polyphonic drum. I’ve only ever heard vibes played on a Miles Davis album before McCaul.
He is a slight, calm presence on the stewing chaos of the platform. I remember a black t-shirt with black jeans and work boots, eyes on his vibes unless someone drops a bill into his case and then he’ll nod his thanks. His eyes bespoke concentration and an interior peace I can only imitate. I assume he plays his own compositions. His music moves quickly but unhurriedly to cover a range of moods, and he uses space to fine dramatic effect. There is also a narrative quality to his music. I get the sense, more immediate and vivid than another instrument, that he’s telling me a story that takes place over a period of years.
Poking around the internets, I found a lone video of McCaul at work. Unfortunately, it cuts off before his stream-of-consciousness mellowification can build to full effect, alas. I hope to see him again soon, and this time have $10 in my wallet.
At the behest of my loyal, sometimes frightening fans, I’m posting regularly again and trying to develop some running themes to distinguish this blog from the billions of other, lesser blogs. With that in mind:
Many Fridays ago, I posted some music videos because I was feeling too lazy to compose brilliant scratchings. It’s Friday again. Enjoy this Electronica-themed Music Video Meltdown!
Junior Boys – “Last Exit” (excerpt)
Modeselektor – “Ziq Zaq” (homemade vid.)
Beck – “Bit Rate Variations in B-flat (Girl remix)” (The regular song is great, but this is pure uncut fucking magic)
Hey, Keesup here. Hope everyone is having a pleasant winter and has decided what they will give up for Lent. (Me? I’m quitting the sex clubs.) I hope everyone is voting tomorrow if they have a primary in their area. Specifically on the Democratic ballot. And even more specifically, for Senator Barack Obama. I’m volunteering, and have donated, and it’s not to late for you to do the same. You could even just engage in vigorous, substantive debate with vindictive Hillary supporters. Here are some tunes to get you pumped up, inspired by Obama’s own playlist for his events.
“We’re All To Blame” by Sum-41: Ok, yes, they are clearly aping the basic songwriting dynamics of System of a Down, but I actually think it’s kind of moving to see these sub-blink-182 retards start to care.
“Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield: I never really paid much attention to this song until I heard this at an Obama appearance. But it strikes me more and more as the perfect embodiment of Obama’s real message: he isn’t appealing us to buy into his potential, he’s telling us to believe in ours.
I-Empire by Angels & Airwaves: To quote Blender Magazine’s Jonah Weiner, “[Tom] DeLonge is hungry for the vast truths of the universe, but there were more of those in one bar of blink[-182]’s ‘First Date’ than on this whole record.” Ouch. But seriously, it’s a terrible record. The most positive thing you could say about it is that it’s like bad U2 with a less annoying singer.
Runner-up My December by Kelly Clarkson: Everyone took her side in her public hissy-fit with Clive Davis. Oh how wrong we were. I generally think artists should have as much control as possible over their own content, but Clive was right, honey. This album is a big piece of shit.
The Musical Shitlist: Six Terrible Songs From 2007
“Me Love” by Sean Kingston: So, Page and Plant refused to license “Stairway to Heaven” for the Live Aid DVD, but they let this dude sample “D’Yer Mak’er?” Unacceptable.
“Apologize” by OneRepublic ft. Timbaland: How do you end up in the bottom five and top ten at the same time? Add a superfluous, uninteresting beat to an already flaccid excuse for a simpering ballad, and forget to take your name off the credits.
“The Moneymaker” by Rilo Kiley: I know, it’s supposed to be sleazy and porny, but this might be the first time in history that the voice of Jenny Lewis has actually made a song worse. Worst. Rilo Kiley. Ever.
“Wadsyaname” by Nelly: I apologize on behalf of all of St. Louis.
“Crank That (Soulja Boy)” by Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em: The apotheosis of ringtone rap and the nadir of my having a sense of hearing.
“Big Girls Don’t Cry (Personal) Remix” by Fergie ft. Sean Kingston: I really don’t like this Sean Kingston character. This song was already irritating enough to qualify for the list with Fergie alone. But congratulations, Mr. Kingston. Your unfathomably grating cameo has vaulted “Big Girls Don’t Cry” to the honor of Worst Song of 2007.
