10 posts tagged “title songs”

Coupla things....

First, as yinz will no doubt learn - we shit the bed royally in the Seventh Annual Karaoke to the Death VII.  The mere adjective "shameful" doesn't begin to apply to our performance, as it is too timid a modifier by magnitudes heretofore unknown.  We didn't notch just the worst/best performance by a defending champion ever, but are seriously in the running for worst/best performance of all time.  That kind of stigma is difficult to overcome.  We need a comeback.  And in a big way.

Second, as yinz no doubt already know - we've been harboring a grudge against the New Pornographers ever since they shit the bed royally with their their lackluster performance at Nightclub 9:30.  We haven't listened to them since.  But it's been close to three months now and we guess it's time to let bygones be bygones.  We mean, they still have two-and-a-half albums that are worth our time.

All of this is a long and tortured introduction to our latest sponsor here at hotrod.vox.com.  We mean to make things right with Dan and Neko and the gang while simultaneously inspiring us to be all that we can't be at KttD VIII.  And we daresay, we've been inspired.  We might spend the days prior to the big event on a bender, à la Neko.  Or take the stage while shoving a sandwich down our gullet, à la Dan.  Or we might just play the role of a dispassionate, lispy, ginger twit.  We are particularly well-suited for that part.

Oh, and that reminds us:  we might have made amends, but we never promised to try to like their latest turd.  We don't sell CD's back, as a rule, but we're not averse to giving them away.  So if anybody wants a free copy of the New Pornographers shittiest record, speak up.  It's yours - completely free of charge, including shipping.  Send us a private message.  Or mention it in the comments and we'll contact you.  Yes, seriously.

Look.... I'm willing to stipulate that well into my thirty-fourth year, there are certain inconveniences I risk when I go to rock shows.  I'm old.  There, I said it.  I know that a night at the club means I'm getting to bed later than I'd prefer.  And don't even get me started on opening bands.  And what's more - I've been old for a while.  These past few years, I'm watching the clock all evening, speculating on when the band I came to see would take the stage and how long they might play.  At this point - a decade and a half into my career as an indie rocker - among the highest praise I can think to bestow upon a band is to say they are punctual.  No, I'm not kidding.  So this one caught me a little off guard.

We were only a few blocks away down U Street and we had it timed perfectly.  Ted Leo and the Pharmacists were scheduled to perform at eleven-thirty.  We were to roll into the 9:30 Club at twenty-five minutes past eleven, twenty minutes before Ted's set actually began.  So naturally we were displeased when a text message came in at twenty after, as we were settling up, that Ted and the boys had already taken the stage.  We only missed the first five or ten minutes, but still...  Where's that wanton punk rock disregard for the audience?  Why didn't they make us wait just a little?  Where have all the rude boys gone?

Lost in all of the hullabaloo surrounding the end of Rocktober was that indie-rock legend and High Priest of the HCoIRO (DC Chapter) Robert Pollard turned fifty(!) on Wednesday.  This means, of course, that he was high-kicking well into his forties.  I like to see that.  Also significant - as I now do the math - is that Guided By Voices' breakthrough album "Bee Thousand" was released in 1994, when Father Bob would have been thirty-six years old.  I am currently thirty-four, and had until now assumed that the window of opportunity on becoming an indie-rock legend had passed me by.  It's comforting to know I still have two years left in which to pursue my dreams.  Look for "Rainy Days and Fun Days" - the debut record from Johnny and the Misanthropes - to hit the shelves in the Spring of 2009.

Yinz no doubt know by now that our current favorite band, for almost a decade now, is the Old 97's.  But we've always stopped short of considering them for the esteemed position of All-Time Favorite Artist.  That honor, naturally, belongs to Bruce Springsteen - with or without the E Street Band, but preferably with.  And so as September eases into Rocktober, the Boss figures to feature heavy in the rotation these next few weeks.  His new long-player (WITH the E Street Band) drops tomorrow, and we're only six weeks shy of the big show rolling through town.  Assuming Youtube user "BossTimeDotNet" is to be believed - and we can't see why not - the video below is just a small portion of what DC area rockers enjoyed nearly thirty years ago.

Oh, and we whole-heartedly thank Billy for his generous sponsorship and for holding down the fort while we were away.  We hope there are no hard feelings; it was just time to move on.

It's been a while since we last posted audio of those songs which so generously offer us their sponsorship.  It's not that we're not appreciative; nothing could be further from the truth.  It's just....  we don't know.  We're lazy?  Yeah, that actually sounds about right: we're lazy.

So here's a few tracks for yinz.  And if anybody can recall what this site was called between "Made-Up Dreams" and "No More Workhorse Blues" maybe you could refresh our memory.

[UPDATE:  Jodi helpfully points out that the missing song in question was Whiskeytown's "Losering."  Many thanks; we are grateful.  We'll tell you what, though - we'll be spending some time over the next couple of weeks searching diligently for a song entitled "The Dork Bulletin."]

i have a confession to make: mere days after built to spill generously and unknowingly bestowed their sponsorship on this here li'l ol' blog, i skipped not one, but both, night(s) of their two-night stand at 9:30 club.  i'm not particularly proud of myself.  but then, i'm not particularly sorry either.  this is a confession, not an apology.  i felt worse about bailing on emma and yo han than missing a live performance of one of my long time favorite bands.  i had an inkling that the shows would be wanky - an instinct that proved correct - and i'd had a long weekend.  maybe i'd have felt differently if i hadn't seen them five or six times already.  and if i wasn't so old.

i've already discussed built to spill's genius and i don't care to belabor the point.  they're great, and if you don't like them there is something wrong with you.  here, then, is our title song of the past weeks:
thanks, dug.  i'll catch you next time through town.  i promise.

legend has it that eric liu woke up in a cold sweat.  he had been napping on the couch for quite a while before garrett or vrabel or ley or somebody put "spiderland" into the CD player.  it was the closing track that allegedly roused liu in terror from the deepest of slumbers.  mehaffey still swears by its power.  when we idly suggested that we might like to perform this song at karaoke to the death (not that a karaoke track exists, mind you), he threatened not to attend.

we can hardly blame him.  the spoken lyrics are cryptic at best, and seem to describe a tragic shipwreck involving both icy shores and frightened delicate children.  an apology for unknown misdeeds on the part of the narrator is drowned out (so to speak, and we never realized the irony of the particular turn of phrase before) by the churning guitars and the relentless drums, only to be heard after he begins to scream his contrition.  if all of the louisville math-rock scene had been this good, we'd be a bigger fan.

several months back, i ventured to the 9:30 club with dabysan and emma and dre and yohan to see the pogues.  it was their first tour in some time reunited with shane macgowan.  it was an awesome show.  it was depressing as hell.

the evening began inauspiciously.  the pogues seem to have fans beefier than most, and i usually get stuck behind a giant wearing a ten-gallon hat anyway.  as per usual, i retreated to the balcony level to escape the great unwashed of the main floor.  unfortunately, the only place where we had even some semblance of a view was on the narrow balcony directly in front of the bar, which is the only way to get to half the upper level, including a bathroom.  i was bruqsuely nudged in the back more than i prefer.  but then, twice is more than i prefer.  i mostly don't like people on an individual basis anyway, so when you put a large-ish group together in a confined space i really begin slowly to lose my shit.

i had all but resigned myself to a disappointing evening, when as a last ditch effort i decided to check out the view from the floor.  ironically, it completely turned the show for me.  yes, i was surrounded by more people, but at least i could see.  plus, i almost saw dabysan get his ass kicked, so that was good.

free to focus on the performance at hand with ebbing rage, i was able to get into it.  shane was by now nineteen sheets to the wind and with every heroic pull at the whiskey bottle the crowd roared its approval.  as the band launched headlong into song after endless song, they grew more invigorated and more enthusiastic.  they played every song i'd wanted to hear and another couple dozen besides.  i left drunk on irish music.  and beer.

it wasn't until the next day that it occurred to me the gusto with which the crowd had roared for shane's dangerous level of inebriation.  it wasn't until the next day that it occurred to me that shane's stumbling around the stage approached buffoonery.  it reminded me of that line from mr. burns: "Oh this might take a while, Smithers. Why don't you get drunk and stumble around comically for my amusement?"  the band wouldn't have toured without shane, and i wouldn't have paid fifty bucks to see them.  and we were cheering him as he drank himself to death.  literally.  it all struck me as a tad... exploitative.  a google image search for "shane macgowan" did little to brighten my mood.  i wasn't the only one to feel this way, for which i am thankful.  (and i feel i must add that i formulated my opinion long before the review showed up in the press.)  this is part of what the washington post had to say:

[Shane McGowan]'s legendary bad habits are what made his band mates kick him out of the Pogues in 1991, but he's somehow still alive today - - if just barely. With his choppers gone, McGowan's jaw has the scrunched-up shape of a weathered accordion bellow, and his singing has morphed from rough-voiced crooning to mush-mouthed gargling. It was sad to watch this genius of song reduced to a shuffling fool (think Ozzy Osbourne), and it was awkward to witness how the audience roared at McGowan's every slug from the whiskey bottle and his every unintelligible utterance.

The highlight was, of course, "Fairytale of New York," one of the loveliest songs McGowan ever penned. Ella Finer, the daughter of Pogues banjoist and guitarist Jem Finer, crooned the female parts originally sung by Kirsty MacColl, and she more than held her own. With confetti "snow" falling down on them, Ella and McGowan joined together for an awkward dance during the song's concluding section. It was a sweet moment in an otherwise bittersweet concert.

i wish shane well - and the rest of the band, for that matter.  i hope he finally gets some help that sticks, but i am enough of a realist to know that at this point that probably won't happen.  in the meantime, we are left with the songs, and many of them are gems.  the past month or so of this site has been brought to you by the pogues and my favorite of their songs.  we thank them for their patronage.  godspeed, shane.

ps. i've been having trouble with the audio as of late, but i CAN offer the following video.  this is yohan's band at an awesome wedding i attended in vermont in june.  i apologize for its brevity.  i was still figuring out the video on my digital camera at the time.  those that know me will be entirely unsuprised to know that i prefer film.

those frequent or semi-frequent visitors may notice a minor difference today.  i felt like a change, is all, and i mean no offense.  frankly, we were called "great barrier reef" only because i couldn't think of anything else at the time.  it occurred to me over the weekend that i don't necessarily need to have a consistent title, so i'm gonna change it from time to time, if that's okay with you (and i don't really care if it isn't).

i am sorta stealing a page from emma's book, except that rather than a song of the day, i'll have a song of the.... whatever.  probably about a month, but no promises.  last month was brought to you by the Old 97's - my favorite band of nearly a decade now.  "barrier reef," off of their best record - "too far to care" - is a staple of their live show, and even more lively (no pun intended) than on disc.  except, i guess, their live disc.  i've posted an mp3 to the right for your listening pleasure.  and stay tuned for more info on our current sponsor.