5 – 10 – 15 – 20

Inspired by the Pitchfork interview model (in which people discuss “the music they loved at five-year interval points in their lives” with the goal of getting “a detailed roadmap of how their tastes and passions helped make them who they are” or learning something odd and obscure) and prodded by [ dan ], I hereby submit my list.

Like any exercise, this task reveals some trends but leaves out hugely significant ones.  I need a separate entry explaining the absence of pop culture influence through the typically formative years.  My family’s odd relationship with music (and most other consumer goods) as well as my inability to take a critical stance on this documentary will play into that entry.  Until then..exchange your grandma’s dollar for tokens…I’ve got a fever that’s driving me crazy!!

Age 5 | “Pac Man Fever” (Buckner & Garcia)

I don’t remember the presence of too many records in our house growing up, but I can vividly recall this album’s iconic cover and the giddy feelings conjured by hearing the sounds associated with Aladdin’s Castle in the Carbondale mall coming out of our huge record player/stereo console.

Clear evidence that I experienced this musical masterwork on vinyl: the first four songs are burned in my memory, while the last four are totally unfamiliar.

Age 10 | “Rock Me Amadeus” (Falco)

Regarded by some as the “the single worst pop song recorded in the entire decade of the 1980s,” I must have liked something about this mess of a synth-pop-chant tribute to Wolfgang.

My brother got me the cassette of Falco 3 as a present, and I gave it back to him when the other songs “weren’t as good” as “Rock Me Amadeus.”  Classic.

Age 15 | “Recipe for Love” (Harry Connick, Jr.)

While others were in the throes of adolescent angst and smelling teen spirit, I was happily swingin’ to the big band sounds of Harry Connick, Jr.  Sarah introduced me to this disc, and I eventually came to appreciate Harry as a piano player more than a singer.  He doesn’t play much on this album, and the tracks alternate “happy”/”sad” a bit too drastically and predictably, but I can trace my interest in jazz piano to recordings such as this one from high school.

Who Wiggles Wilco

Recently the phrase “fruit salad” came up in conversation among a few colleagues, and immediately the discussion shifted from menu planning to those musical wonders from down under:  The Wiggles.

As the parent of a four-year-old, that reference wasn’t lost on me.  In fact, I could not only hear the Wiggles singing the song, but I could also picture the video.  To be sure, one of the prices of parenthood is all that exposure to really bad music.  As the title of this entry suggests, you’re not only exposed to it, but you’re also required to integrate it into your collection for play on car trips. 

I’m happy to report that our son has long outgrown the Wiggles and has, in fact, turned me on to an artist who I actually don’t mind listening to.  I think my willingness to talk publicly about this artist suggests a combination of relief at being in the post-Wiggles era, and a general lowering of standards as a result of said era.

A few weeks ago, Colin came home saying he had learned a song that included the phrase “It doesn’t matter what you look like,” but he couldn’t tell us much more.  This was, at first, a cause for concern.  Let me explain.

Top autumn albums

The air turns crisp; the leaves fall golden to the ground. The neighbor burns those leaves against city ordinance, filling the air with the acrid but familiar smell of smoke. How best to complete the autumnal feast of the senses on this, the first day of fall?

By cranking up the iPod, of course.

When I think of great music for fall, I tend to look for some combination of these qualities:

• unusual instrumentation, typically acoustic and/or with some form of experimentation with sound
• lyrics that suggest or attempt profundity (results may vary)
• general mood that invites moderately depressive introspection
• optional: previous association with autumn, such as time of first exposure or significant live event

To get my playlist started, I offer these top three albums for autumn (plus a list of runners up), in no particular order:

Andrew Bird, Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs
Top fall track: Masterfade

The Stone Roses, The Stone Roses
Top fall track: I Wanna Be Adored

Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane over the Sea
Top fall track: Oh Comely

Runners-up:
Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot | Elvis Costello, When I Was Cruel | Arcade Fire, Funeral | The Delgados, Universal Audio | Sufjan Stevens, Seven Swans | Sweeney Todd, 2005 revival cast | Betty Buckley, Heart to Heart | Jose Gonzales, Veneer | The Decemberists, any.

And Miles to go…

A photo from a 2007 Allerton Music Barn jazz performance

I’ll admit having mixed feelings when Sarah got us tickets to the Allerton Music Barn Festival’s presentation of Beyond Cool.  To be sure, I was excited about the chance to hear some great (important, even) jazz performed by Illinois music faculty using the original Miles Davis nonet/Gil Evans orchestrations.  But an un-air conditioned barn in central Illinois is late August?  That sounded far from “beyond cool.”

I’m happy to report that the forces of global warming were held at bay, and the evening was actually quite cool –in the mid-60s, in fact– and there was much to admire and appreciate about the experience.  First, the venue is incredible.  It is, indeed, a formerly working hundred-year-old barn, fully and beautifully restored with an upper-level concert space that seats almost 200.  I must admit that I’m not certain why the space was converted: yes, it’s a chance to cross promote U of I initiatives with the School of Music hosting events at Allerton Park, but the 35 minute drive each way did make Smith Hall on campus seem just as appropriate.

The first half of the program featured several selections from The Birth of the Cool, the 1957 compliation of singles from the Miles Davis nonet (which includes a French horn and tuba, so seeing and hearing that instrumentation was an experience in itself).  The second half used the same instrumentation to go “beyond cool,” showcasing compositions or arrangements by the faculty.  I have an unabashed bias toward piano-centric bebop, so while the “cool” style played by such a large ensemble isn’t exactly my first choice, the commitment, skill, and passion of the players provided ample compensation.  Chip McNeill’s alto sax, Jeff Helgesen’s trumpet, and Chip Stephens’ keyboard (especially his solos in the second half) were all highlights.

As much as I listen to and love jazz, this performance made me realize how deficient I am in knowledge of history, movements, and styles.  I know the “cool” of this concert leans a bit too close to the “smooth” of jazz today, but I’m also a fan of Bill Evans, who you’ll find categorized as “cool” or “post-bop” as well.  So in addition to continued listening, I think it’s finally time to add a certain Ken Burns documentary to my Netflix queue.

Top Three Covers

First, some hedgy attempts at definitions.  A good cover sometimes improves on a song that was just okay to begin with.  A great cover takes an already strong song and finds new and valid meaning in it.  The best covers might also represent an interesting, or at least personally satisfying, connection between originator and reinterpreter.  Here are three of my favorites, in no particular order (N.B. As I was writing, I thought of at least three more candidates.  Expect, perhaps, a slightly more cheerful follow-up list):

Paul Westerberg covers “Nowhere Man” by The Beatles

Even though this song is about the eponymous Nowhere Man, not sung by him, Westerberg’s rendering adds a satisfying layer of pathos and validates that crucial line: “Isn’t he a bit like you and me?”  This plaintive and folky interpretation suggests he is more than “a bit” like the aimless man in the song.  The conception of the sound of the cover succeeds, too, as  Westerberg’s lone voice adds a measure of reflectiveness to the song (especially since, post-Replacements you could argue…).  The single voice is accompanied only by the simple arpeggiations on the guitar,  with the exception of the haunting woodwind that sometimes peeks through the main sounds to reveal the closing phrase from “Taps.”  Very nice indeed.

Ryan Adams covers “Wonderwall” by Oasis

Adams takes the line “Maybe…You’re gonna be the one that saves me” and reimagines the song as a plea to be saved rather than a more straightforward attempt to say to her “things that he would / Like to say to her /…but I don’t know how.”  Though the fuller sound of the original is effective, the pain in the song also suggests an edge of anger, a layer absent in this stripped down, sorrowful version.  Hearing the crack in Ryan Adams’ voice as he puts the emphasis on “maybe” rather than “you’re gonna be the one,” refocuses the song in a fundamental way:  the person doing the saving is no longer the concept in question.  Rather, the very idea of whether he’s savable, or worth saving, is what this version of the song considers.

Allison Moorer covers “Light of a Clear Blue Morning” by Dolly Parton

Though I do like the original Dolly Parton version of this song, it sounds like someone singing an anthem in church.  There’s no question that the singer believes in the optimistic message she’s preach-singing, but there’s not much authenticity in the hyper-produced gospel styling (which is, I must admit, a bit of a guilty pleasure).  But the scratchy and atmospheric Allison Moorer cover sounds like someone who’s acutally in that moment, at the verge of dawn, trying to convince herself of the lyric’s optimism.  This cover is especially interesting as it seems to “get” the song in a much for meaningful sense than the version by the songwriter herself.

Top Three Live Performance Events

In no particular order:

The Kenny Barron Trio, Village Vanguard NYC March 2005

Though I’d dabbled in jazz for a while, I was a very casual listener until my evening at the Vanguard.  My jazz exposure was limited a couple major discs by Miles Davis and John Coltrane and a few random things I’d picked up from friends. 

After a trip on the 1 Train down to the West Village, I found myself in the presence of an art form that I’ve grown to love:  the jazz piano trio.  Kenny Barron’s smart playing–neither too spare nor too showy in ornament and improvisation–was certainly the highlight of the experience, but I found myself appreciating the truly collaborative effort of playing in a jazz combo.  I was too new to the scene to remember what they played, but the evening was an important one, opening my awareness to great jazz pianists like McCoy Tyner, Cedar Walton, Thelonious Monk, Bill Evans, Ahmad Jamal, Phineas Newborn, Jr., …and all of their collaborators. 

Sweeney Todd, Eugene O’Neill Theater NYC March 2005

John Doyle’s actor-musician production of Sweeney Todd  brought the act and art of storytelling to the fore and managed to make Patti LuPone back into an ensemble member.   People unfamilar with score and story claim the plot and characterization may have been muddled in the process of the stripping the revenge tale to its core, but I didn’t find this to be the case.  In fact, the doubling of character and instrument actually enriched the experience for me.  I’d never had much interest in the young love/Anthony and Johanna story before, but the sonic and physical gravity lent by their twin cellos strengthened their presence.  (It also helped that Doyle stifled any audience response through applause until after the first rendering of “Johanna”).  There was so much to appreciate in this production–between the strength of the score and story themselves, the performances, and the “work” of the show being produced right in front of you–that I actually saw this twice.

Twelfth Night, The New Globe Bankside London July 2002

While I enjoyed all aspects of this original practices production at the Globe (meaning all casting, costuming, and music/effects choices must adhere to the practices of the Elizabethan theater), the experience was definitely made by Mark Rylance as Olivia.    Though there is much to call artificial about his performance, the rendering of Olivia’s sorrow that eventually turns to comic love was completely effective.  I remember his movements around the stage seeming as if the character were floating around instead of walking.  The cast erupting into a ridiculously festive dance after the performance added to the atmospheric perfection of the experience.  Being footsteps from the Thames in an open-air reconstruction of the Globe didn’t hurt, either.