Music For Evenings

Squeeze - Another Nail For My Heart (1980)

In college, a reporter for a local newspaper showed up at the radio

station one day while I was prepping for my show. She was cute, not

much older than me and when she asked to take my picture for a story

she was doing about the station, I said sure. Following the photo, she

asked me some questions and took notes on a pad as I told her my

answers. What happened after that, I still find strange. She wanted to

talk about Squeeze. She loved Squeeze and had a lot to say about them.

She made it seem like it was important for me to like them too. But, I

did like Squeeze. Kind of. I had a copy of their Singles compilation.

The thing is though, and this is why the moment has stayed with me, I

don’t think it’s possible for me to like Squeeze any more than I

currently do. I tried. I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to like

Squeeze more than I ever have, which is not very much.

I know that statistically, it would make sense that every band would

be at least one person’s favorite band, but personally, some bands

just don’t strike me as anyone’s favorite. I can’t imagine anyone

putting more effort into liking Squeeze than I do, which is probably a

little more than most people do. I can remember the titles to at least

3 Squeeze songs (Tempted, Another Nail From My Heart, and Pulling

Mussels From a Shell). I probably know enough of the words to

“Tempted” to fake my way through a karaoke performance. I don’t know

any of the band members’ names. I don’t know any of their album

titles. I don’t even know if they have broken up. I don’t know

anything that’s not on the Internet.

Despite this, I do know that Squeeze is very, very good. I think that

they were around a decade too early, though. Producers spent a lot of

time in the 90s making American alternative rock bands sound vaguely

British. And in the 90s, Republica’s “Ready To Go” was given a U.S.

mix. So, someone in the U.K. understood that there was a right kind of

British to sound like; Squeeze don’t have it. In the 90s people also

bought CD’s by The Rembrandts because they thought the band wrote a

really good pop song when in fact, they just wrote a pretty good

Squeeze song. If you are interested in Squeeze, the Internet is going

to tell you that when it comes to songwriting, they are the only true

heirs to McCartney and Lennon. This is wrong. Most music writers don’t

know how to talk about things that are good without bringing up The

Beatles. The truth is, Squeeze write super-sophisticated, sharp, smart

pop songs. They do this so well, it makes Elvis Costello and Joe

Jackson look like amateurs. I refuse to call “Another Nail For My

Heart,” clever, which it kind of is, but it has no wink-wink,

nudge-nudge moment. Cleverness needs to be noticed. It needs an

audience. I don’t think Squeeze care enough about being clever to read

as clever. The difference is that clever that doesn’t read as clever

is just brainy. But the cleverness, to me, seems important, that

wink-wink, nudge-nudge moment that’s what makes a band a favorite

band, that moment of bonding, when you get that they get that you get

what they meant to be got. That’s what a favorite band is.

Screeching Weasel - Every Night (1993)

I never get enough sleep. I stay up late at night, cause I’m Night Guy. Night Guy wants to stay up late. ‘What about getting up after five hours sleep?’, oh that’s Morning Guy’s problem. That’s not my problem, I’m Night Guy. I stay up as late as I want. So you get up in the morning, you’re exhausted, groggy, oooh I hate that Night Guy! See, Night Guy always screws Morning Guy. There’s nothing Morning Guy can do. The only thing Morning Guy can do is try and oversleep often enough so that Day Guy loses his job and Night Guy has no money to go out anymore. - Jerry Seinfeld

I’ve been thinking about the line from a Bright Eyes song that goes, “What seems normal in the evening by the morning seems insane.”

Not even to be too dramatic, but sometimes I feel like a different person at night than I do during the day. It’s not so difficult to comprehend, the idea of duality has been around much longer than I have; yin and yang, good and evil, mind and body, etc. Even the concept of wholeness is starting to seem outdated when you think about things that make more sense in the world like binary code, Superhero identity, and Hanna Montana. But it’s much more simple than this. At night, I want things. I want to be around people, to feel stimulated, excited. I want to be some place loud and crowded. I want to feel connected to the world. During the day, I’m much more content to just be observing and have a little distance. 

I want this to be a frame to understand Ben Weasel, punk rock contrarian and singer of the band Screeching Weasel. Lately Weasel has been no stranger to controversy by calling out DC folk punk band The Max Levine Ensemble on his radio show for sucking and more recently punching a girl in the face at South By Southwest. I’d rather not see this so much as some sort of Charlie Sheen meltdown than Weasel just making us confront what punk rock really means. He’s always been antagonistic. While it is bullshit for Weasel to attack a fan like he did at SXSW, if punk rock is not a space where we can understand that sort of thing to happen, then what is punk? I don’t condone Ben Weasel’s actions, but I’m also not trying to be hypocritical about it. If for the past twenty years we have accepted and celebrated Weasel for being a punk rock anti-hero than how can we be surprised when he does something stupid, violent and immature?

Weasel’s music plays two sides of the punk rock coin. At times his music has been sophomoric, moronic, and dumb, mapping out the terrain that allowed us to see the Ramones as genius and paving the way for Blink 182 to be popular. The other side, that I think the song “Every Night” expresses well is that he can be honest, emotional and vulnerable.

I don’t like things that aren’t consistent. But it’s only when I get closer that I stop seeing black and white and start seeing shades of gray. The grayness is both confusing and curious. And that Bright Eyes line starts to make sense when I think about Ben Weasel, especially when considering this inconsistency. Punk rock really cloaks a scary fundamental conservatism, a very black and white way of thinking. Weasel’s young vehement antagonism reveals him to be the right wing asshole he always was. And the strong theme of guilt in this song feels really Catholic and relatable, bridging the gap between Night Guy and Morning Guy, The Young Punk and The Old Conservative, a leather jacket worn as armor and a heart worn on your sleeve, but most of all between myself and the things I identify with in the world.  

The Eyes - Topological Lies (1979)

Most of this book was written in Los Angeles in 1988. The neighborhood I was living in disgusted me. It was filthy, garbage was strewn everywhere. It was a failure in human engineering and I was stuck in it. Taking the public bus and getting out in this nightmare made me mad. I would sit for hours in my small room with all my worldly possessions gathered around me and seethe. - Henry Rollins

I’ve been revisiting the writing of Henry Rollins, books I haven’t read since I was in high school. I have joked about the amount of time he spends writing about how much he hates Los Angeles. It is only now that I realize how close to the truth the exaggeration really is. 

It’s been a little gray here lately and I’ve been thinking about darker versions of L.A. As you can see from the photo, even when it’s dark, it’s not really dark. And that’s the idea I was trying to share in this song. The Eyes were part of thelate 70s/early 80s L.A. punk scene. They released a single on Dangerhouse in 1979 and shared members with The Go-Go’s and X. They have somehow fallen through the cracks of the Internet as I have been unable to find more biographical information on them. 

I like the way this song reminds me of ”Hotel California.” But the Eagles miss something about L.A. that I think theDoors may be responsible for. Their L.A. is too sinister and maybe too poetic. I think Bret Easton Ellis and Gregg Araki have gotten much closer to how L.A.’s darkside is still washed in sunlight. What The Eyes somehow capture is this cartoon oblivion that is Los Angeles. Punk as a genre is always at its best when it appears as a cartoon. Even G.G. Allin was much closer to the violence of Bugs Bunny than any real threat. 

Even when it’s dark, it’s not really dark.

The Doors - Peace Frog (1970)

The fourth and final episode of the Analyze Phish podcast ended with Wittels and Aukerman attending a Phish show on New Year’s Eve in New York. Aukerman recorded his reactions and various drug-taking observations, but mostly he recorded his disappointment that the drugs weren’t working. Previously in the podcast it was discussed that Trey Anastasio had gone to rehab and now performs sober and while the rest of the band members were not clean, out of respect for Trey, they perform sober as well. This is curious considering Phish shows seem to be an experience heavily mediated by the effects of drugs.

To me, the whole thing sounds exhausting; the cataloging of endless songs, versions, and covers, the one-upsmanship concerning show attendance, not to mention the diehard defender of the band one must be to like them. I’m not trying to say that Phish fans are assholes, but there were more than a few times during the podcast that I thought Harris Wittels was one and it was not surprising that he is a Phish fan and that I don’t like him. And I feel like this is important because I think early on one’s musical taste is tied to identity. We like things that we want to be liked for liking. And maybe I have felt people who liked Phish were jerks or I just found it difficult to accept anyone who thought sandals were an appropriate footwear choice. Either way, I don’t think I’m wrong for not liking Phish. But it does make me wonder what of myself I see in the things I do like.

This Doors song from Morrison Hotel has always stood out to me. When I first heard it in 1999, I thought it sounded strangely contemporary when most other Doors songs sound perfectly of their time. And I would like to give credit to Phish for making “Peace Frog” sound so relevant.

In the end, Aukerman admitted to not liking Phish.The podcast was supposed to continue as long as it took for Aukerman to make up his mind about the band. It took four episodes. I had known from the beginning that I would end this series of emails with “Peace Frog”. But I thought I was going to say more about why “Peace Frog” works for me in ways Phish songs do not. But giving Phish credit for making this song sound so relevant feels like the better ending. And maybe more to Phish’s credit, the weakest points of “Peace Frog” are when Jim Morrison gets dark and poetic, which work really well in other Doors songs, but not this one. And I like to think that Phish figured that out before me. Before anyone.

Phish - Down With Disease (1994)

When we last left the middle aged comics, they were deep into a discussion about rock music. 40 minutes into episode 2, they got sidetracked with a discussion of later Chili Peppers albums and then Adam Scott showed up. I felt really self conscious because I wondered if this is what people think of when I tell them that I listen to podcasts. It was so boring.

This Phish song, “Down With Disease” is not boring. As with “Sample in a Jar”,it is also from the album Hoist and avoids much of that goofiness that makes them sound so amateur. It starts off sounding like a Red Hot Chili Peppers song, but fights the funk when Trey Anastasio does his most confident Eric Clapton. The song is really saved though around the 2:30 mark when it turns into the best mid 80s Steve Winwood jam.

The thing I’m learning about Phish that makes it seem obvious why I never really got into them, and this is something that came up in the podcast, Phish fans see a hell of a lot of Phish shows. I can see how the songs can get old after a while. So while you may come to the band for certain songs, you stay with them because they keep making the songs sound fresh and new, but not in a way that makes you feel betrayed by the band. And if there are songs you’re not really into, there is always a chance you may find something to enjoy about each and every particular arrangement of it they do. I just don’t really value improvisation as much as I appreciate really good songwriting.

I remember when I went to see Harvey Danger and they played “Flagpole Sitta”, but not in the way it sounded on the album and I thought, you jerks, everyone came here to see that song, just play it the way it sounds on the record. But now, I can see how they would be so sick of playing that song. I don’t think Phish change their songs because they hate playing them. I just don’t think the band is tied to a recording as a master version of a song.

But I think the main reason I don’t like Phish is they don’t seem to have any real interest in just being a rock band. I can’t help it; I’m a genre-ist.

Stay Tuned for Part III

Phish - Sample in a Jar (1994)

Today I listened to a rather boring podcast that I was told would be otherwise. Analyze Phish is an hour long podcast in which comedy writer Harris Wittels tries to convince comedy writer Scott Aukerman to like the band Phish. Now, my initial impression was that due to the fact that this is a conversation that has been multiplying exponentially inside dorm rooms across the country for the past ten years, and Wittels and Aukerman are not nearly famous enough to not to be self aware that what they’re doing is maybe the stupidest thing in the world, but the potential for it being at least a little bit enjoyable lies on the fact that they know what they are doing is not a good idea. I’m not sure that really comes across. Often Aukerman makes fun of Wittels for liking Phish, but the two seem to take the process entirely too seriously. And for me, the really excruciating part was the fact that Wittels seemed to think the proper way to introduce Aukerman to Phish was through the band’s humor and playful musical approach.

Whether they’re a comedy writer or not, you don’t try to get someone to take a band seriously by showing the band as a band who don’t take what they do seriously especially if that someone has already told you that they really appreciate bands who take what they do very seriously.

The thing I learned and maybe this was the point, just because you have good taste in comedy doesn’t necessarily mean you have good taste in music. And I think I was more aware of how this applies to Aukerman as opposed to Wittels.

I guess the really strange part about the podcast is that I’m pretty sure these initiations are really the only way people start liking Phish which struck me as kinda creepy.

There are two Phish songs that I would use to introduce someone to Phish. But I wouldn’t really want someone to like Phish, but if you were to like Phish, I think these two songs would do it.

“Sample In A Jar”  is from Phish’s album Hoist (1994), which if you like Phish is kind of irrelevant because Phish fans care little for the studio albums. And this is something that has always prevented me from really liking jam bands, how do you prevent the discussion from falling endlessly away from you?

Example:
Guy: Oh, man, “Wilson” is my totally favorite Phish song.
Dude: Mine too. I saw them play it in ‘97 at Red Rocks and it was like this calypso calliope version. So groovy.
Guy: No way. I saw them play it in 2001 at Goddard College. It was like this trippy Prog Metal version.
Dude: One time I saw them mash it up with Beyonce’s “Crazy In Love”. So dope.
Guy. Have you heard the recording from 1999 that’s totally inspired by the movie Castaway?
Dude: Yes, I was there dude, everyone was passing around volleyballs it was insane.
Guy: That’s nothing you can sync up the recording from August 9, 2002 with the movie Castaway. Both are exactly 139 minutes long
Dude. Really? I tried it with the recording from March 15, 1998, but it didn’t work.
Guy: Yeah, isn’t it so great that we have the same favorite song?

I feel a little hypocritical for feeling so strongly about this point, but I do feel strongly about it. I don’t like that in order to like a band, I have to hear endless versions of songs and know specific performances of said songs. That overwhelms me. I just want to be able to be familiar with a band’s studio recorded history however antiquated that concept is becoming.. Still, I did tell someone today about a show I saw last night and said that I enjoyed the show because I feel like every time I see the songs performed live they’re arranged differently. I feel like the songs grow and change as I do. So yeah, I get it, but I don’t like it.

I think the first time I heard Phish was a performance of the song “Sample in a Jar” at a high school talent show. I really liked how the song sounded very much like a classic rock song when it had only been around for a few years. It has a timeless quality and it’s economical and restrained which is something I don’t hear much in other Phish songs. Something else about the introduction and hearing the name of the song and not the original artist made me feel like it was an old Irish folk song.  But the other thing about the experience that has made sure the song has stayed with me was that the performance made me feel on the outside, that it was something to share, but not necessarily with me. And I’m projecting, like a ton. The experience is more reflective of how I felt in high school than about the music, but sometimes it is difficult to feel the difference even if you are aware of where the line is between the two.

When I try to hear what it is to like about “Sample in Jar,” I want to speak about its vagueness but also its specificity. The song specifically mentions two people by name, Elihu and Leemor. This is somehow more elusive than enlightening. It reminds me of when I talk about friends by name to people that are not familiar with them. The specificity opens up like a Russian doll, beginning with my high school talent show experience, new and smaller containers of vagueness concerning relationships starting with me and my high school classmates, their relationship with Phish, mine, and finally the characters in the song itself. I almost feel like I would know more about Elihu and Leemor and the context if they were not actually mentioned by name.

We know when songs are about love. We know when they are about heartache, betrayal, revenge. We know when songs are nonsensical; bubblegum songs that are sticky enough to chew on for awhile, but really not meant to be digested. We know what to do with these, but songs like “Sample in Jar” are complicated and sticky in a different way. They refuse to leave because they don’t give us enough for us to process. I can’t really make sense of “Sample in a Jar” that is not to say I’m supposed to. Still, I don’t know where to put it, it’s just always sort of there in my head, waiting to filed, understood.

Cowboy Junkies - Anniversary Song (1994)

I don’t get Canada. I don’t understand the tone. David Cronenberg, Degrassi, Kids in the Hall; something just seems off. It’s the first act in an episode of The Twilight Zone. You know something is weird, you’re just not really sure what.

Cowboy Junkies were a band from Toronto and they recorded their second album live in a church. The Trinity Sessions featured sparse and haunting covers of “Blue Moon” “Walking After Midnight” and “Sweet Jane.” The album was spooky and beautiful and was what I would come to also love about Mazzy Star and Portishead.

“Anniversary Song” is from the band’s Pale Sun, Crescent Moon album and stands out from the more moody slow burners they are known for. The song’s ability to so successfully plant itself in the proverbial middle of the road and avoid tonality territory mined by Atom Egoyan, Shania Twain, and this Canadian produced teleplay of the Kurt Vonnegut’s “Harrison Bergeron” that I saw on ABC at 1am Sunday morning starring Sean Astin does little to harbor my skepticism concerning Canada.

My inability to read the song as strange, just makes it seem that much more strange to me.

The Boxboys - American Masquerade (1980)

At Sunset and Vendome in Los Angeles sits a nondescript one story building called Body Bar Spa. Yelp reviewers delight in their massage, facials, and other urban spa treatments. At one time though, 3037 W. Sunset Blvd used to be the only place in Los Angeles one could hear ska music. The O.N. Klub opened in 1980, Brit Howard Paar was doing who knows what in L.A. when he approached Bob Selva, the owner of a failing Asian restaurant in Silver Lake. The two sat down at The Viper Room where Paar convinced Selva of his love of Jamaican music and London’s Two-Tone scene and more importantly, how profitable a place that catered to that could be. When the club opened, Paar’s DJ sets, a mix of reggae, Motown, Jamaican ska, Two Tone and sixties soul brought in a diverse crowd of mods, punks, reggae fans and what would eventually become the 60s inspired paisley underground.

One of the first live acts to play The O.N. Klub, The Boxboys were also considered to be the first American ska band to put out a record. Their Uptown Yankee Ska 7 inch came out in 1980. What is so impressive about The Boxboys is actually how unimpressive they sound. Should I be more impressed by the first band to combine Jamaican ska with punk and new wave? Or am I right to think Billy Joel was the first American to do it well on “Still Rock N Roll to Me?” “American Masquerade” sounds a maybe a little bit prettier, a little less threatening than say X or The Bags, other female fronted punk bands recording in L.A. at the time, but maybe no less edgy. Their sound is a little cleaner, but what does that mean? We used to be able to understand a band’s place in relation to the mainstream by how distorted their guitars were, but that is no longer the case. One could identify a band’s rebelliousness, their intentional unmarketablility, their lack of interest in being a part of the machine, by how heavily distorted their guitars sounded.

Listening to this Boxboys song, I enjoy how clean it sounds. Saxophones in rock n roll songs always sound perfectly placed to me. I find the staccato ska rhythms addicting. And Betsy Weiss’s vocals are that American Idol/High School Talent show/Ray’s Happy Birthday Bar Karaoke quality of good, but not trained.

Sebadoh commented in “Gimme Indie Rock” on the moment when things started to sound better slower. I think we are at the point when things just sound better clean.