Seitz is revving up Song of the Day to enrich our lives with musical content. I encourage people to check it out. Hope to have more from our side as well. Minimally would be nice to give thumbs up or thumbs down on the various selections presented.
I don’t know how much value Matt Yglesias bashing will have to the proceedings, but I would do it for zero clicks, so my aims are pure.
There is something that always gets me when I happen to hear that a musical artist of some kind has died from a DJ who then proceeds to play a song by them. This was the very first song I heard on the radio leaving work today, having tuned to robo-oldies (recorded maybe on the moon, but with DJs, so they always throw in some sort of thing that convinces you that they were recorded on this calendar day), and today it was el DJ stating that Davy Jones had died in his same robo-current events factoid voice. He did mention that this was one of their biggest hits, and I guess it was (number one on Cashbox). Different oldies stations have different faves, so I grew up with “Last Train to Clarksville” getting the most play, then “I’m a Believer” but Smashmouth put me off that one. This station here tends to play “Daydream Believer” most of all, and maybe the other “Believer” and I guess occasionally “Pleasant Valley Sunday.” Nobody every seems to play “Valleri”. So I was confronted not really with my own mortality here, but with my parents’, as Davy Jones was essentially their age and not only that he was one of those types that had the air of forever youngness. You can really hear the Neil Diamond in this song, also lots of little bits from a number of songs, but “Cherry Cherry” is what you hear in the strum strum at the beginning and middle, but then it goes into all these other places that sound familiar and exquisitely poppy. OK maybe a little bit is I remember Davy Jones on Scooby Doo.
It’s like that part of the movie where the shorebird finds an ATV on the beach, but doesn’t know it’s the possessed ATV — the one that used to be owned by a guy who, after his girlfriend dies of bird flu, summons a demon to take revenge on feathered things everywhere, but, when he changes his mind at the last second, doesn’t succeed in banishing the demon, but only confining it in the ATV, which goes on to kill him while he’s carrying all the down pillows out of his house to dispose of them — and so, even though everyone in the audience shouts “Don’t touch the ATV!”, the helpless shorebird has it’s little bird feet frozen to the steering wheel as the ATV careens through the town knocking over fruit carts until it crashes into a guy on a buffalo and catapults the bird into a dumpster full of chocolate skittles.
Or, at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. In the end, it turned out to be more like the guy’s girlfriend was allergic to down pillows and he tried to cure her with crystals, the shorebird was playing with the starter on the ATV while a ferret was asleep on the accelerator, there aren’t any fruit carts out this time of year, no buffalo have been sighted in the area since the end of the gold standard (don’t ask), and the dumpster was actually filled with some kind of biodegradable packing material. Other than a few ruffled feathers and a slightly punch-drunk ferret there was nothing to see.
Well, nothing, that is, which would require unlocking the cabinet of Lovecraftian adjectives in order to describe the dangers awaiting whatever tender sensibilities are still possessed by 3B readers after the past decade. There is, however, a Swedish women’s choir performing an a cappella version of Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights” in a video that simultaneously evokes an aerobics class, Esther Williams, and Castle Anthrax.
I heard an ad for this on the radio. I would like to sponsor a pledge drive for Prof. Ann Althouse to attend. The mix of likely 24 hour bar access, possible Norwalk virus and an emanated litany of grievances makes it an intriguing fantastia. Make it happen, friends. Make it happen.
Also, I heard Edgar Winter’s Frankenstein a few seconds later, and a connection between a hoary albino guitar legend and Edgar Winter was made.
Seitz has informative musical considerations. I would love to live the Seitz life for a few weeks, but worry about my eardrums and sadly I know my flat feet would be hurting. Therefore I would like to live the Seitz life while being wheeled around in a Barcalounger.
Since we are wallowing in the skittlest of choco radio, which I unabashedly love- (what else can we all do around the water cooler) (apologies to our international crowd, I understand that this is deeply hurtful.)
I now propose we attempt to mine the actual eclectisism of the 3B community. Please pick 10 songs that you think represent the diversity of your likes (not your dislikes) and we shall see the true shape of our musical souls. Keeping in mind the result may be exactly the same, given that it seems unfair for the ZRM-Brando axis to not include Rush on their list.
UPDATE: My cut and paste skills are getting rusty because my fingers are turning into giant smoked sausages from the portion sizes around here- videos make 10% more sense now END UPDATE
On the bumper-sticker front:
Saw my first version of SECEDE. For all of my critcism of our hypocritical and Medium Lobster-denigrated society, I must say I still found it enraging, so it was likely a win for the bumper and a loss for the bumpee. I can’t decide how ironic it was that it was on a Toyota Yaris and not the expected F350 king cab.
On the radio front:
This is a much more extensive section of the report. I hadn’t yet found the local version of the classic country format so that was something that only got tuned in on the way back from the closest sprawling, unzoned metropolis to Cloverhill Big T (the way down is usually Rick Dees’ Top 40 countdown, of which we only can get about 9 songs before losing it). So coming back one day we had an especially good run.
The first song I can’t identify but it sounded like late 50s/early 60s production and a really good voiced male singer. I think there was a Loretta Lynn in there.
Then Willie and Waylon, ubercoolly namechecking themselves. That is so outlaw. Love it.
Then, what I guess I would have expected would be illegal in a country song, irresistible hand claps. Juice Newton! Seriously, Belle and Sebastian should just twee this up an score an easy hipster B-side.
Followed by an all-time great, The King:
Little did I know I was just being tenderized for the body slam. This cowpie came through the windshield at 85 mph:
Moving on, because I spend more time in the car, I spend more time with the radio. I realize I could listen to something else, but I still hold out hope for that little charge of happiness when some mindless corporate radio programmer throws an interesting or nostalgic bone my way, instead od the mindless corporate shuffle on my iPod or some such. I only listen to CDs or music of my actual choosing on long drives because I can’t shake the engrained habit of hopefully scanning the dial for something unplanned and wonderful to come on, or sheepishly, something wonderfully terrible.
We have what I guess would be called a Top 40 station, that was 60% Gaga all summer, with 30% Taylor Swift. Very randomly for Big Texas Cinnamon Roll they have a midmorning DJ who is Australian (some listeners think she’s English).
We also have an Urban “Beat” station, but on weekend mornings they kick it Oaktown oldschool style (K knows of what I speak).
The majority of what we have that is tolerable enough to make it onto the presets, though, are various mix/magic/first name stations. Here are a few choice bits:
The Point: Big city station comes in all the way to Big T, I believe these cobags were the perpetrators of the Def Leppard/Erasure double shot. They bill themselves as 80s and more, but what they mean by 80s is 83-95, and it seems like they are mining Hysteria nonstop. “Animal”, “Rocket” and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” have all featured, and I think we have to assume “Armageddon It”, “Love Bites” and “Hysteria” make it in their mix, but no “Foolin” or “Photograph” because that might break their algorithm. It is this station that rode me both into and out of work with this next song, as if I had pressed pause for the intervening 9 hours.
Keep in mind that I view this sort of music as “Blue Girl” music, and I realize that I do this because BG is the next generation up from myself, and I don’t want to even consider the possibility that I could be on the edge of the demographic targeted by this station. I started listening to the radio at the age of 8, so I remember most of these songs from the first time around, but really would prefer that the alleged “horrible” “cheesiness”* of these songs is not aimed at any nascent or growing nostalgic reverie type behavior on my part. Therefore, I create an alternate universe where BG (no joke!) is listening to these songs and then posting about some awesome hijinks she got into with her cool friends and some crazy station wagon in an idealized midwestern town possibly involving harmless drug use or alcohol, things not present in my childhood or at least my memory.
Also all over this station and the next:
Also, lots and lots of Phil.
Jack: DJ-less automaton robot mix presents essentially a shuffle that goes beyond what you would expect from your Alice, Bob, Ted type stations in that it seems to be a true Top 40 mix of songs from 1975-2005, but skewing heavily 80s. This means they mine some unexpected corners. For example, everywhere else I’ve lived has whittled down this crap band’s radio contribution to “Working for the Weekend” but Jack pulls out:
Shortly followed by this one hit wonder. I allude to Sly Fox and “Let’s Go All the Way”, and if you listen to it at the right angle, in another dimension you might be convinced it could be a Love and Rockets song.
Possibly related, Pitchfork decides to relive their older brother’s childhood and reexamine Hall and Oates, because to remain cool in hipster narrative is always to connect with your older bro’s/sis’s pop records because everything in your life is a music policy position. Seriously, we have GOT our EYES on you sad sacks. UC prepare yourself for the cobaggery. If I can hack it with the arrival of project CODE NAME: SMALLTIME BEEF, you surely must be able to give to our readers. We are a mere month away.
I imagine Kathleen, doped out on maternal happy hormones, waving baby B pics at a glowering anti-mommy blog UC. I wish there were a verse in the song about Tom Petty sitting on a mountain of cash money while playing this song to haters for hating on him for selling the sample to “Free Falling” for the song describing said hate. Advantage: Tom Petty RE: Getting irony soaked cash.
I imagine fish playing this song to AG hating for not sharing his fishstick. Advantage: fish.
I imagine Snag playing this song for the boys at inappropriate times when they try to get at his cash. Nothing could be more annoying and embarrassing (for them). Perhaps if Snag decided to wear some bling for affect or a delightfully unfortunate doo-rag. Advantage: Snag.
Notes from the Cloverhill Big Texas Honey Bun radio scene: I don’t think I’ve ever heard Def Leppard back to back with Erasure before. This is a lie. Likely a high school dance.
Also: In the Beach Boys:Def Leppard analogy, Good Vibrations:Armageddon It. Sad, but true.
Also, I kind of imagined Capt. Trollypants trying to hit on Blue Girl at some internet airport bar by playing this song on the jukebox. A song so resistant to its inherent cheese factor that Bruce can dance like Molly Ringwald in the video and I still love everything about it. The Captain might not recognize anything so subtle, but advantage: accidentally Captain T.