Tag Archives: tuneage

Weekend Listen

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Listen to my tale of ire and woe, all ye who care to warm yourselves by my fire this cold and damp eventide.

Here’s the sitch:* In my sophomore year at a fine institution several states south of here, I attended a free outdoor concert on Earth Day. The day was warm, the sun was strong, and I enjoyed churros and tie dye stations before dancing my patooche off to Passion Pit.

Upon reflection, I thought, “Man, that free outdoor concert was fun. I would even pay to do that!”

And so the following year I did pay to do that. I went to the Bushstock Festival in London, where I saw Darwin Deez and Yelle. But the weather was not so kind to me this time. Alas, in true London form it was 50 degrees and pouring rain. I smiled through my shivers, and still managed to sing along to “Radar Detector.”

The following year, I decided that bad things never come in twos — surely it wouldn’t rain when I attended the Sweetlife festival in Washington, DC. On festival morning, I looked at the grey sky and crossed my fingers, thinking, this can’t possibly happen to me twice! I don’t deserve it! And yet, the rain fell on my shoulders as I watched The Shins and Kid Cudi take the stage.

Still, I had not learned my lesson. I moved back to my hometown, and thought it nothing short of miraculous that the year of my move was the year of the first Boston Calling music festival. Nowhere has nicer and more predictable weather than New England in May, I thought naively as I bought my tickets. And yet, here I am, on festival weekend, looking at a forecast for two straight days of rain.

I think it’s me.

It’s like my Sisyphus punishment. Except I’m not quite sure what I’m being punished for. Maybe spending all my money on concert tickets.

But I’ve gotten pretty good at dancing my troubles away in the rain with a cold beer in my hand. And I’m pretty excited about the bumpin’ lineup for this weekend, especially considering it’s the first year of the festival. Here are a few of the songs I’m hoping to hear.

I’m late to the party, everyone. But I feel like I just discovered Portugal. The Man. And, I mean, I guess they’re pretty good. I mean listen to this strummy, dreamy, drummy melody with notes of piano and extasy! It’s the perfect song to go for a bike ride to in the summer. Or better yet, run through the sprinkler to. I’m not one for physical exertion.

Matt & Kim is my spirit band. They dance to Major Lazer between songs, drum like their intention is to dislocate their arms, and swear like sailors. This will be the third time I’ve seen Matt & Kim in concert, which I guess makes me kind of a groupie. It’s not something I ever expected, but I’m cool with it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them play “Where You’re Coming From” live. I’d certainly like to.

Listening to The Shins reminds me of first learning about music, and really thinking that I knew a lot about it. For instance, isn’t the Garden State soundtrack a great place to get all your music? But that soundtrack did introduce me to The Shins, so I can’t be mad about it. I’d love to hear “Australia” this weekend, that, sweetly sung by James Mercer, made me my happiest at 17.

If it rains for Governor’s Ball next month, I will execute every meteorologist on the East Coast. That’s a fact.

*How does one spell the abbreviation for “situation”? It’s a more complex question than I originally thought.

Weekend Listen

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Ladies and Gentlemen, I am bored.

Like buzz off all my hair, jump out of an airplane, buy a bulldog, move to India bored.

For many people, being this bored is actually a good thing — it forces them to do the crazy things that they wouldn’t otherwise. Like get a tattoo on their hindquarters that says “Grade A Top Round” or something.

Another section of society should never under any circumstances allow themselves to get this bored. These are the people who do things like casually skydive. If they get this bored, one of two things will happen: 1) They will become a YouTube sensation, or 2) they will overthrow the American government. Do not wait to see which influence will win.

Unfortunately, I fall into neither of these categories. Sure, I think about all the crazy things that I could do when I’m hella bored on the couch. But at the end of the day, I just go to the mini mart, buy some Doritos, and snuggle in deeper. It’s a sickness.

So today I aim not to let that happen. I aim to dance my boredom away. And while it’s possible to dance your way out of boredom without any tunes whatsoever (Pretty sure Ke$ha could do it), I’d look a lot dumber.

My favorite thing about Clap Your Hands Say Yeah is that I can never understand what in the name of Moses Alec Ounsworth is saying — “Yesterday, Never” is actually one of the band’s more enunciated tracks. Usually that would bum me out, because I’m all about singing — nay, shouting — along to music. But in this case, it just lets me focus on the driving drumbeat and the garage-bandy guitar and the happy vibes.

This one’s a throwback, y’all. Santigold’s debut album might have my favorite album cover of all time, because she looks like she’s barfing glitter. And I dig that. This song reminds me of stomping through DC, pretending that I owned the damn place. I didn’t. I’m pretty sure it belongs to Barack Obama. But that’s beside the point…this song has everything that you could ever want: clapping, yelling, distorted voices — I mean, are you jumping up and down with excitement yet? I know I am.

I think I’ve listened to this song 6 times a day since it was released. And why not? It sounds like the super cool jam that would play in a nightclub during a Quentin Tarantino movie. All smooth vocals and plucky guitars, super sexy, crazy danceable. Plus, who doesn’t like a song with the thesis “We’re up all night to get lucky?” Isn’t getting lucky what we’re all out to do anyway? (Head out of the gutter everyone. I was talking about those record high Powerball numbers).*

*Which, by the way, isn’t the lottery always at a record high these days? It’s stealing it’s own thunder. To quote “The Incredibles,” “If everyone’s super, then no one will be.” I think that says it all.

Weekend Listen

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SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER AND GERMANY!!*

It’s warm. It’s sunny. People are out in the streets and actually seem happy to be there. The Seasonal Affective Disorder that settles over New England from October to April has officially lifted. People are being kind to one another, like not honking their horn as much when an a-hole (usually me) cuts them off in traffic. They seem to be calling their families more frequently, if the results of my wiretapping are any indication.

It’s the time of picnics and popsicles and ponies and poppies and pop art and pop tarts and peaches and plums and pears and puppies and peonies.

I’m pumped.

And to get even more pumped, I’m pumping up these jams.

First up is “Dirty Paws” by of Monsters and Men. We’re starting slow here, and shaking off the winter haze. The whispered lyrics and lightly tapped cymbals make this the perfect song to fall asleep on someone’s shoulder too. At least until it picks up in urgency around minute 3. But even then it is nothing but melodious and harmonious and keyboard-y and seriously, those cymbals are outta sight. Take a cat nap and think about how cold you were for six months. That’s all over now.

I think that “Bourgeois” is my favorite song off of Phoenix’s new album. Why, you ask? I think it’s the ethereal sounding synths and the fact that I’m a sucker for Thomas Mars’ voice when he sounds particularly plaintive. Plus, I consistently fall in love with Phoenix’s lyrics. Like this: “You lost your mind on a cruise ship, bartending crucial lies. We’re destined, wise, and we socialize.”

Lastly we kick it up a notch with a throwback from my high school days, when all I did was listen to mashups from The Hood Internet. I’m obsessed with mashups, because they compine my undying love for rap with my undying love of listening to really upbeat tunes. Tragically, gangsta rap in it’s original form is not often the most uplifting. It’s good for feeling like a badass, but not so good for boarding a bicycle and trying to chase down the ice cream truck. This combo of the Beastie Boys’ “Rump Shaker” and Matt and Kim’s “Good Ol’ Fashioned Nightmare” feels kind of like I imagine taking ecstasy would — insta-happiness.

What are you waiting for? Go outside and smell the snapdragons! (Roses are the most mundane flower in existence. Sorry I’m not sorry.)

*Calm down. Mel Brooks said it first.

Weekend Listen

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So I’m Boston, born and bred. Technically I left for a couple of years to go get my education on elsewhere, but I find that irrelevant — I came right back. And in case you live in a cave or have some sort of weird moral aversion to the news, we’ve been having a hard week. But it’s okay. We’re bouncing back. And as a relief to the anger, and upsetness,* and extreme stress we’ve been feeling this week, I think it’s time for a little peace and love.

Because love is all you need.

And I’m pretty sure I’m the first person to ever say that.

I should trademark it.

“Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right,” by Bob Dylan is one of my favorite musical items in the history of the universe. There can never be enough hyperbole to accurately represent my feelings towards it. Technically it’s a breakup song, not a love song. But it’s so healthy and mature — it expresses the world view that everyone should have, but is too selfish and self-absorbed to actually adopt. So you know, “goodbye’s too good a word, babe. I’ll just say fare thee well.” (Which also, what a great thing to say as a dismissal.)

Joni Mitchell and I aren’t always friends. But even though I usually hate all expressions of emotion, I am always legitimately moved by Joni’s non-cliche lament. I mean who even says things like “I could drink a case of you”? Kudos to you Joni. If I ever need a song to softly weep to in a bittersweet manner, this will surely be the one.

I think after a week like this, we’re all relating to Paul Simon saying he gets all the news he needs from the weather report. I hear you, Paul. And hopefully it’s always 85 degrees and sunny. Shut out the bad stuff and just live the happy. In fact for a while I was seriously considering getting “I’ve got nothing to do today but smile” tattooed on me somewhere. I’m glad I didn’t go through with it. I’m far to cynical to have that sort of Polyphonic Spree message with me all the time. But some of the time, like now time, it’s a very nice message indeed.

Let’s hope the newspapers are all just blank pages next week, and we can all go have a picnic in the Boston Common.

 

*Not a word, but a much better description of how I felt this week than “sad,” which is for when your goldfish dies or the end of the movie “Up.”

Silver Springs

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I was a child raised on the classics. And when I say “the classics” I don’t mean The Illiad, Ulysses, or Hamlet like some punk-ass graduate student. No, my canon consisted of The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, The Band, The Kinks, Blue Oyster Cult, and The Who. I was the kid who woke up every birthday to the sweet sounds of “Birthday” by the Beatles. I have my dad and frequent three-hour drives to Vermont to thank for whatever knowledge of classic rock I have managed to glean and retain over the years.

By the by, I don’t claim to be any sort of cool kid (as usual). It’s just that my long term love for Bob Dylan makes my current choice to listen almost exclusively to songs recorded by people once either a) imprisoned or b) under contract to Disney that much more perplexing. I may be the only person in the universe to have the following four songs on my ipod, all with almost equal numbers of listens: Kansas’ “Carry on my Wayward Son,” Tyga’s “Rack City,” The Walkmen’s “Angela Surf City,” and Danity Kane’s “Damaged.” So, no. I’m not a cool music kid. Instead music is to my ears what food is to a labrador retriever — it all tastes pretty good going down, even the garbage.

Anyway, I bring up my longterm relationship with classic rock because this weekend I am fulfilling a dream long in the making. I am pilgrimaging to Chicago to see Fleetwood Mac (and, let’s be honest, mostly Stevie Nicks) in concert. It is purely because my father raised me right that I will be one of the youngest people dancing like a gypsy to “Dreams” on Saturday night. I should probably buy him a better birthday present than usual this year.

Weekend Listen

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It’s not really fair for me to mention it to all of you, since you’re likely still sitting at work right now, but I’m feeling tropical.

Like really tropical. Bootleg tequila, possible third degree sunburn, and ten cent plastic sunglasses tropical.

I’m going to go have the spring break that I never had when I was the appropriate age to throw down like a lithe teen (I know how that sounds…it sounds bad. But I’m only 23, so I feel like I can still say weird stuff about teenagers? No?). Why didn’t I ever have it? Because I have lived a G-rated existence.

And likely that G-rated existence will continue even through the next week, when I shall be in sunny Cabo San Lucas. I mean, I’ll try my best to live out old episodes of Laguna Beach, but the craziest thing I’ll do is likely drink one to0 many margaritas and fall asleep by the pool.

And while I do all that, here’s what I’ll be listening to. It’s my very own “I live on the wild side” playlist, even when living on the wild side only means buying off-brand laundry detergent.

This remix to Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” makes me want to take back everything terrible I said about her on the night she died (I know. I’m a terrible person. I might have intimated that if I died young people would like my music too. And I sing like a sick cat). Anyway, it’s jumpy, it’s upbeat, it’s like a caffeinated smile for your ears. Get into it.

I know people have mixed feelings about the second season of Girls, but to me there is almost nothing better than Hannah in an open weave mesh shirt slapping herself on the chest and saying “It’s a Saturday night, baby, and I’m alive!” I’m not really capturing her intoxication, because this is typed. But it was magical. That episode featured this song, “I love it,” by Icona Pop. And it’s going to make me act like Hannah. Minus the illegal substances.

For when we need the evening to take a turn towards general badassery (mmmkay? I’m not really sure what general badassery entails. Except, of course, badass music. It’s kind of a chicken and egg thing). “Brooklyn We Go Hard,” has everything you need because it features two of the most badass people in the universe — Jay Z and Santigold — and it features the thing you need to do (Go Hard) prominently in the name of the song. Also a delightful beat. Just let it happen to you. Give in.

Helping Haters Hate

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Headlines Hatergram

I’m a little bored guys, and my mind runs all the time. Like listen to the things that I think about on a daily basis: What would be a hysterical name for a porn shop/hardware store? Answer: Screws and More.

So I think you’ll understand why I had to start a second blog that indulges my greatest passion: memorizing the lyrics to rap music. This is a real thing that I have been doing since R.Kelly’s “Ignition” came out way back when. I don’t like to brag, but my skills are…impressive. And that’s what helped me come up with this idea:

Introducing: HATERGRAMS*

Here at Hatergrams, we see you clearly. You — yes, you, reading this — are the most amazing person on the planet Earth.

You spend your Sundays sipping champagne on Jay Z’s yacht off the coast of Malta. You regularly get snapchats from Barack Obama (always him giving you the thumbs up). You know every word to every Beatles song ever recorded and have walked across hot coals. You read Proust’s “Swans Way” at age 9 and had memorized it by 15. Your fridge is filled with nothing but foie gras and coconut water. You once defeated Dos Equis’ Most Interesting Man in the World in a duel.

So why does everyone keep hating on you? It doesn’t make any sense at all. The public should behave towards you as the Red Sea once behaved towards Moses. But until they wise up, here’s a supply of fresh words for your skeptics, fresh from the mouths of the 21st century’s greatest poets — because no one can cut a hater down to size better than a rapper.

So please, send your detractors a hatergram. And as the great Kanye West once said, “If they hate, then let them hate and watch the money pile up.”

ENJOY, my friends. And share with others. Otherwise I’m just making glittery jpgs of Drake lyrics so my eyes don’t glaze over during my lunch break.

*p.s. apparently this is kind of already an instagram thing so help me think of a better name if you can.

Weekend Listen

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I’m hittin’ the road, Jack.

Unforutunately, unlike the classic Ray Charles tune, I’ll have to come back. On Sunday. But I’m pretending like I’m plotting my escape to some faraway isle and never returning. Because it’s that time in the year when it’s still cold and you want it to be warm, you haven’t had a day off since President’s Day (if you even finagled that), and you’re considering burrowing yourself straight through to China.

But don’t do that…just take a little weekend vacation (or staycation. Even if you just stay on your couch with some Ben and Jerry’s). And listen to these tunes. And you’ll feel better. Like spring is within your grasp. Even though it won’t be 60 degrees until the end of May (sorry).

Carried Away by Passion Pit is a freaking happy song. That’s really all there is to say about it. There are soaring vocals, a chorus of individuals joining in for the hook, and just the right amount of synthesizer. As with most Passion Pit songs. Just press play and pretend you’re on a beach with a margarita.

I’m going to see St. Lucia at Boston Calling in a few months, and I’m already peeing myself about the possibility a little. Not in a gross way, but that’s just how excited I am — I’m overflowing. Anyway this song is deeply rhythmic and measured. Which is a little unusual for any song that’s not hip hop. But given how much I love hip hop, imagine how excited I was to find some indie pop with similar sonic qualities. Now note that no one in St. Lucia sounds like Ja Rule. It’s just the rhythm…does that make sense? I give up.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it a million more times — I’m not afraid of sounding like a broken record if the record is correct — there’s nothing more important than feeling like a cool kid. And Waterfall by the Fresh & Onlys is the essence of cool. It has tambourine and jangly guitar with a slight reverb that makes it seem like the whole thing was recorded in a garage after they ingested some mysterious substances. Let it inspire you to ingest some mysterious substances of your own and have good times.

That’s what I’ll be doing on my imaginary weekend of no return.

Weekend Listen

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I think I’ve got the black lung, pop.

No for serious. I’m queasy and achy and snotty and all the other gross dwarves they wouldn’t let into the movie because they would freak people out too much.

Luckily, mind control is a thing, and I refuse to be sick. I’m crushing Powerade at a rate of 2.5 bottles per day, sleeping 9.5 hours each night, and I’m going to wake up tomorrow feeling like I could run a marathon  — which is particularly impressive because I don’t think I can run a mile even when I’m healthy.

Music is a helpful therapy during these dark days. Because whenever I feel like I’m about to slide off the end of the seesaw into full blown sickness, I just dance it out.

Germs are allergic to my dance moves.

But then again…so are most living organisms.

If I had a choice, this would be the first song played at every party I ever attended and every bar I ever enter. Unfortunately, I have not yet been elected to the office of DJ of the World. I hope the world reconsiders before 2016. This is everything you want to get an evening started — it’s funky, offbeat, and has a killer hook. You’re welcome.

I like this song almost as much as I like Justin Timberlake’s SNL performances, and that’s saying something. I know it’s eight minutes long, and that you weren’t expecting to listen to a pop song for the same amount of time you’d listen to Stairway to Heaven. But guess what? This song is better than Stairway to Heaven (sorry) because it’s danceable and happy and turns into an entirely different song around minute 4. Just wait for it. JT gets real.

This is my life now. Thank you, The Melker Project, for making a mixtape that blends the soulful voice of Stevie Nicks with modern rap. And does it in a way that also appreciates puns — by pairing “The Chain” with “2 Chainz” for example. It shows great wisdom. I will be listening to this every day until I see Fleetwood Mac in concert this April. Once again, this delightful mixture shows that just like Peanut Butter and Chocolate, two rights make something even more right.

21st Century Philosophers

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I don't think he owns shirts. He's making an expensive ink shirt for himself instead.

I don’t think he owns shirts. He’s making an expensive ink shirt for himself instead.

Ahhhh … sensuality. It’s a subject I’m incredibly familiar with. I mean, I’ve seen the trailer for 9 1/2 weeks, and I’ve even heard of the Kama Sutra. So I think I know what I’m talking about. But even expert seductri* such as myself occasionally need inspiration. That’s why I was so relieved to find this quote from one of my peer seducers, Adam Levine.

I’m turned on by the idea of taking risks.

Thank goodness — I was so tired of rose petals, bath oils, and candles night after night after night.** Now I can turn to risk taking to set the mood. Things like eating light doses of poison — you never know what the outcome will be! Or making dumb investments — I suppose there’s a chance high heels for dogs could pay off.

Now, there’s a chance that Levine was using the term “turned on” metaphorically. Like when people say they “get high” on life (if anyone has found a literal way of doing that, I’ll need to know immediately). But then again, have you seen the music video for “Payphone”? Dude sets fires for romance.

*A plural for seductress that I just invented. You’re welcome.

**What? I just treat myself to rose petals on my empty bed every couple of Wednesdays. Don’t look at me like that.