This past weekend DJ JD (that's me!) participated in a Year's End Listening Party, hanging with some of my favorite music addicts as we try to cram a year's worth of sharing and listening into about five hours. Just thinking about it makes me both excited and anxious. When your turn comes up, you have just three cuts. You hope to make a connection, but irregardless if you succeed, it is all a blur.
It makes me pine for those long evenings back in college when the gang would spend an evening digesting an entire album together, decoding its meaning and talking about its significance. Wasted youth is wasted on the young. (That is not a typo.)
So much didn't get played - (Barsk didn't even play Mogwai!) - that I am reminded why I decided to start this blog: to share music that I dig.
So, here was a late 2013 discovery for me that I am excited about, a band called Misun (pronounced Me-Sun) from Washington D.C.
The band termed their sound Aquawave but I happen to think it fits just fine under the banner of well crafted Pop music. Considering they are a DC band, perhaps it would be most fitting if they had "Go-Go" in their genre tag. Regardless of how you would describe them, I had these three cuts lined up in my iPod for the Listening Party and they never got airtime. So here they are for your listening pleasure, dig in.
Battlefields
Battlefields sounds like it could open a Quentin Tarantino movie. A surf retro shuffle with tough soul.
Nothing Else
Nothing Else was actually the first track I heard from Misun thanks to Pigeons & Planes, a site with a ton of daily content. Most of what I hear there doesn't stick with me but this shimmering kiss off song obviously sent me on a hunt for more.
Sharpshooter
Sharpshooter give us a just a tinge of dubby reverb and a bleary vocal delivery with just the right dosage of The Ache. Oh yes. With these three tracks as a representative sample, it seems evident that Misun are still building their sound and that is exciting. From what they have come up with so far, it is clear that the field is wide open. They have released a great deal of singles digitally for free on Soundcloud so far, but nothing in any physical format. That is about to change with their first 7" single (preview below) now taking pre-orders and shipping February 18th.
About a week ago, I was in a conversation with SD and Trocc after a show at Schuba's. The topic had drifted to music (surprise) and I was struggling temporarily to remember a band's name...
Me: "Shoot, umm...it is one of those bands with a three word name..."
SD: "Steel Pole Bathtub?"...chuckle...
SD: "King Cobb Steelie?"...snicker...
Me: "Shut it! No, it was...um...AGENT SIDE GRINDER!"...giggles...
Trocc: "That is a terrible name."
And I couldn't really disagree with him. Except I did - because I like the band. That is why SD was chuckling at his suggestions as well because the Junk Drawer has a soft spot for both Steel Pole Bathtub and King Cobb Steelie. SD could give a fuck about those bands but he listens to bands with names like Sunburned Hand of the Man, Pocahaunted, and MV & EE so take his opinion on chuckle worthy band names with a grain of salt. But this got me thinking of about how the name of something is completely irrelevant, until you start creating a reputation for that name. Then that is your brand, right?
It is easy to slag band names when you don't have any interest in their music. But once you fall under the spell of the music you can forgive practically any name. Here are a few that currently annoy me:
MGMT - so, I am supposed to say each letter of this name? Why exactly? This band used be called The Management and then when they found out some other band had that awful name, rather than take that as a sign they simply started calling themselves the abbreviation of the word. I hate the word management, partly because the worst/pointless/LONG meetings I have to attend all start with it.
Trampled By Turtles - aren't we clever?
The Pains of Being Pure of Heart -- nothing this twee sounding could be good for you in the long run.
Mumford & Sons -- a bit too on the nose for their style of new wave banjo, polished old timey-ness. Plus it makes me think of Sanford & Son whose theme song I like infinitely better than anything that XRT has forced me to listen to by these guys.
What band names do you dislike without any regard or knowledge of their music?
If you were anywhere near Chicago last Wednesday then you know how the late afternoon sky flipped a switch to night, shrouded itself in fog and then initiated an all night marathon of rain. It all started as I was a block away from the highway. When I finally hit the on ramp, an old mixtape playing in my deck delivered "After The Flood" by Talk Talk.
The synchronicity was eerily beautiful. This epic track with its unique feedback squall made the lightning and waves of descending water not only bearable but joyous. It took me close to two hours to get home that night; I rewound this song and played it three times to preserve my sanity. That very same night I wrote a blog post but neglected to save my work as I wrote. An errant keystroke as I neared the end caused the whole entry to be wiped out instantly. "Aw, fuck it." I was too tired to start over. I was grasping for something about how the storm reminded me of the lasting power of this record. It had been elusive anyway, I rationalized that all my faithful readers were well aware of this album's sway. In retrospect I realize that the real message was in that keyboard snag which resulted in loss. That feedback squall was a flood, not rain. I was being warned but I mistook it as a comfort. I trundled off to bed and slept while streets became rivers.
*******
Laughing Stock was the Talk Talk's fifth and final album but it was my introduction. I recently found an article on its creation and mythology that is worth checking out.
In 1996 I rented Swimming With Sharks from the local video store. I laughed so hard that tears streamed down my face as l doubled over, clutching my gut. It also hit way to close to home. I completely identified with Frank Whaley's character. "I need to find another job," I told Trocc as the credits rolled.
So last week I am standing in line at the drugstore and I spy a DVD copy atop the disheveled bargain cut out bin. "This Is A Special Edition You Schmuck!" the slipcase informed me, while bearing a $3.99 price tag that Buddy Ackerman's ego would NEVER tolerate.
I am quite looking forward to dipping into the bevy of the special features of this DVD. If you haven't seen it and you are fan of Kevin Spacey roles where he gets to let his Napoleonic beast off the chain then check these two clips out and then put Swimming With Sharks in your Netflix queue.
Age is a weird thing when you can look back at the hard times with a sense of accomplishment. It didn't kill me. I survived. Today I am back at that same workplace. Thankfully there are no egomaniacal tyrants above me. But my current boss lacks imagination and conviction. This is a problem because our business happens to be changing the world. For the moment I am sticking it out, trying to inspire courage and confront skepticism. I need to give myself a deadline to this effort - I am getting too old to feel like I am simply surviving at my job.
Tomorrow - Jan. 4 - is my good buddy Trocc's birthday. So, I wanted to give his tumblr blog a plug. It is called Cold Cold Lampin and he does not fuck around. By that I mean it is a solitary journey best embarked after dark and one that should NOT be attempted at work. Horror movies, comic books, heavy metal, basketball, scantily clad babes: all the good stuff in life. Trocc collects it in a tidy little place for you to vibe on. Clever animated gifs and neat art, too - you should check it out.
Back in the early days of the internet, I used to send Trocc a cheesecake photo in an email for his birthday. I would spend about an hour looking for the perfect picture of the perfect girl to brighten his day (oh how I suffered!). Today that task is so much easier thanks to Tumblr blogs! Vast curatorial exercises in sight all for your perusal. So I just went to the very first tumblr blog I happened upon years ago, Yimmy's Yayo - visual crack for the ocular fiend since 2008 - and within SECONDS found that perfect gift for my buddy.
This post is about THE CALL. Whether or not you even get the call AND just as important, how you answer it. I am speaking, of course, of the call to Rock. This past Tuesday I texted my buddies Trocc, SD and Barsk at 5 pm. Quittin' Time. See, SUN ARAW was playing at the Empty Bottle that very same night. I had a bit of a wild hair and I wondered if there were any takers. I dig what I have heard of Sun Araw but I have kept him somewhat at arm's length because of his prodigious recorded output which can sometimes be anathema to a collector like myself with a strong completist streak. My wallet can only withstand so many bands like White Hills at one time.
The replies were swift and regretful. No takers for the spontaneous rock out. I felt that weird mixture of "aw shucks" and relief. I wouldn't be attending a concert tonight so my wild hair (in)groaned. But my future Weds. morning self was just as expressive with gratitude. Much later that night, I was watching The Walking Dead with my sweetheart. I get a call from my friend, Mr. Kite. It is 11:50 pm. A pivotal scene is playing out and a herd of zombies are traipsing towards the farm. There is no way I am gonna pause the program to answer what could be a butt dial. A minute later my phone signals that a message has been left. 12:30 pm. I am have just climbed into bed. I decide to listen to Mr. Kite's message before turning in. It was a spontaneous call to rock out. That night. Starting at 2:30 am at the House of Blues - Prince was getting a do-over for his botched aftershow performance the night before. Rahm Emmanuel had even given permission to the club to break curfew if necessary. Now, Mr. Kite is practically the Mayor of the House of Blues. You roll in with him and You. Are. Set. Up. Admission, Seating, Drinks - it all just happens without you ever having to dip into your wallet (except to tip your servers, of course). The offer is tempting. It is just so crazy that I wonder what it kind of show it might be. Mr. Kite lays out the rationale quickly in his voicemail; You see, the newspaper reviews of his Monday night show at the United Center were none too kind. Prince has something to prove tonight (which was actually technically going to be very early in the morning). But I am in my pajamas. Teeth have been brushed. The choice was set before I even knew that there was a decision to be made. It was truly an honor just to get the call. That has got to be a rarefied list of people that you will call at midnight to say "Hey! Do you wanna come on into the city and rock until DAWN?"
