The Finch at the Feeder

It is nearly nine o'clock. (does o'clock mean of clock? or on the clock? hold on...okay. it means "of the clock" and people started saying it in the early 1600s.) I opened the bar at 7 and so far I have only had two customers-- a couple that sat down at the bar and started fighting with each other. I am now huddled at the other end, and it reminds me a little of going to visit my father and stepmom when I was young. Or when I watched The Breakup.

Finals week has proven more relaxing than it is probably supposed to be. I got the mean mofo final out of the way early, probably sinking my Political Science grade in the process. Since then, it's been pretty smooth sailing. Doing my Broken Plate project was pretty fun, free pizza was even more fun, and writing my COMM 375 final was a total breeze. I've got this lame health test tomorrow, but I am not sweating it.

Speaking of sweat--I need to resume my perfect push-up regimen. Last week left me way too tired, but that thing really works, and I like how handsy Stevi gets when I do it every other day. Only problem is I usually have to shower afterward.

Speaking of showers (okay, you caught me, that segue was totally forced), I was the happy recipient of a pretty incredible shower mirror today. It has a light, clock, and razor-holder on it, and it doesn't fog up. It honestly made a big difference in my shave (much smoother), so if someone is looking for a last-minute Christmas gift, I'd consider it.

Speaking of considering it, if someone offered me a grand to deck a unwitting strangerwoman in the face, I would absolutely consider it. Isn't that awful?

On second thought, I'm almost sure I wouldn't do it. Phew.

My favorite Christmas song is "Baby It's Cold Outside," followed closely by "Christmas Time is Here." "Zat You Santa Clause?" is without question my least favorite Christmas song.

The couple has made up, which means I need to talk to them. I hope everyone has a good Christmas countdown week.

I’ve always wanted to sing “One Week” at karaoke. I’ve known all the words (and have been able to spit them out without incident) since the song hit the radio back in 1998. I remember hearing the line “I have a tendency / to wear my mind on my sleeve / I have a history of loosing my shirt” and thinking that Ed Robertson was the next Oscar Wilde. I feel a little ashamed that I got wind of Barenaked Ladies at the same time everyone else did, but it’s appropriate—they’re one of the few pop groups that I foster an undying allegiance to.

Stunt was the first CD I ever owned. I am not counting Shania Twain’s The Woman in Me, which I think (hope) was actually my mom’s. I got it from a friend for my 13th birthday, which was consequently also my first serious boy/girl party. 1998 was a big year for me.

After I got that album, I listened to it endlessly. I made my mom play it in the car wherever we went, despite some half-hearted protests. I played it in my discman on the bus, at lunch, at recess, after school. I played it in my CD player while I studied, while I read, while I played Nintendo. I went to sleep to “When You Dream,” I woke up to “Light Up My Room.” This also marked the beginning of my literal phase, obviously. I could still write every lyric down for you, if you asked.

The truth is, this isn’t a wonderful record. It’s extremely easy to listen to. It’s fun and smart and goofy, definitely the emblematic Barenaked Ladies album. It’s them at their most controlled. I’ve always admired the kid who can act up without making a huge mess. Tracks like “Who Needs Sleep?” and “Alcohol” are smarmy but likable anyway. That’s a staple of Barenaked Ladies, but they really pull it off here.

Another thing I’ve always admired about this record is how well it captures the whole kid-trapped-in-an-adult’s-body mentality. Songs like “In The Car,” which is about the excitement about first experiences with sex, but from the point of view of someone who is really afraid that he might never feel that way again. The emotional heart of the album, “Call and Answer” remains one of the highest entries on my list of songs that really touch me. I don’t think a band could write a more powerful sober moment amidst an otherwise juvenile venture. Plus, it’s a great track for a mix CD.

There are lots of albums I like more than this one. There are definitely a lot of albums that are better than this one. I hated that this album knocked another one out of my top eleven. But the truth is, this was the first piece of music that ever meant anything to me. And it led to me going to 3 different Barenaked Ladies concerts, buying every album, EP and exclusive track, and defending them vigorously when drunk. Regardless of who you are, love of music has to start somewhere. Mine started here.

My first experience with mewithoutYou was this: my friend Jordan and I made fun of them ridiculously. Their song “Gentlemen” (not on this album) was released on a compilation CD that came with Taking Back Sunday’s Tell All Your Friends. Almost every time we were in the car together for a long period of time (which was quite often, back then) we would put “Gentlemen” on and do strange, angry dances and crack up until I almost ran us off the road. In our defense, I believe mewithoutYou is a band that doesn’t work nearly as well out of context. This was especially true back then, when they were making music that was even more distinct than it is now.

Needless to say, it took me a long time to give these guys a real shot. Jordan wised up before I did, and it took him at least half a year to convince me to put A->B Life (their first full length) into my stereo. I was pleasantly surprised when I did, as these guys were real rockers with a message, and they got openly emotional about things but still seemed tough while they did it. I listened to about 5 songs from the record consistently and was glad to add mewithoutYou into a long list of bands that I liked, albeit casually.

Catch for Us the Foxes changed this. It opened with this driving, anthemic appeal about loneliness and togetherness and change that seemed so far ahead of the lo-fi swash of anger and despair on A->B Life. This was music with a purpose, and it was empowering and encouraging to listen to. I remember saying once that “Torches Together” was the musical equivalent of the “I Have a Dream” speech. I stand by that statement.

Catch for Us the Foxes also has some of the meanest instrumentation found on a modern indie record. On it, the guys in mewithoutYou seem to channel 70’s jam bands, 80’s arena rock, and 90’s grunge/metal all at once. The main guitar lick of “Tie Me Up! Untie Me!” is like a brandished butterfly knife, while the verse part in “Seven Sisters” is this beautiful, delicate thing surrounded by a walls and walls of disarray.

This also has a pattern of one-upping itself. First, you think that “The Soviet” is the emotional and musical climax of the album, then “Paper Hanger” trumps it with a breakdown that feels like a kettle slowly coming to a screaming boil. It isn’t until two songs later that the true high point is revealed in the breathtaking inclusion of “The Cry of the Exodus” by Scotty Kruger in the middle of “Four Word Letter (Pt. 2).” The song starts strong and gets stripped bare, then releases the musical equivalent of an unexpected tidal wave onto the listener. It was a bold move layering this other-worldly acapella wailing into the bridge of a rock song, but it works, really works, in a way that sort of transcends the rest of the album. mewithoutYou don’t pull any punches when it comes to talking about their spirituality, both in their songs and in their everyday life, and you can feel that sense of reverence and questioning in almost all of their music. “Four Word Letter (Pt. 2),” though, is a spiritual experience. Throughout the record, there is the sense that the band’s music and feeling is too much for singer Aaron Weiss’ shaky, emotive voice, but it isn’t until this song that Weiss finally concedes, and his vocals are swallowed up by everything else that is crashing around him, and his words and melody are incomprehensible among the controlled chaos of the song.

“Carousels,” which follows “Letter,” is the inverse of its predecessor. It’s equally powerful, but internally instead of externally. Strength is replaced with humility, and the effect is has on the listener is one which is unique to this band, to these two songs.

“Son of a Widow” is, I think, often overlooked, but it’s the perfect closing track for this album. After a series of musical eruptions, one-upping, and flipped overdrive switches, this track offers an acoustic-driven lament on everything that came before it. It barely rises above a whisper, but the last line: “The son of a widow You raised from the dead / where did his soul go when he died again?” delivers as much punch and awe as anything that came before it.

Catch for Us the Foxes taught me that loud music does not equal bad music, that a band can scream and carry on with sincerity and dignity, and that you could write about Christianity without sounding like The Newsboys. I find this album inspiring, and challenging, and really, really fun to listen to. What more could you ask for?

I used to think that The Decemberists were screamo. I’m really not sure why, except for the name, which reminded me of Underoath or The Used, for whatever reason. The first song of theirs I heard was “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” which I really liked, but made me think they were like a better version of Flogging Molly. It wasn’t until some months later that I got the chance to give Picaresque a good listen.

Let’s start with the obvious: “The Infanta” is one of the greatest opening tacks on a record there is. It does everything an opening track should—it surprises, it builds, and it paves the way for the seriously great ten tracks that follow. I’ve never become a fan of a band faster than the first time I listened to this track. If it was offered, I would’ve bought a Decemberists t-shirt before the final operatic note was sung.

Then, amazingly, the rest of the album delivered. Colin Meloy writes and sings like no one in the business, and the whole “baroque rock” deal is so…cool. Someone once told me that they felt like The Decemberists sang with the voice that I write with. I took that as a mega-compliment, and I sort of agree. I feel like The Decemberists write the songs that I would, if I had any real musical ability.

I don’t want to undermine tracks 2-5, but I think that “For My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)” is where I really started to feel this album. The longing in that song gets me every time; it really seems almost new to me every time I hear it. Then it transitions to “16 Military Wives,” which is almost odd for a Decemberists song, especially on this CD, but it works sandwiched between “True Love” and “The Engine Driver,” which is the real standout track here. It’s a song full of narratives, which I usually really, really hate, but I can never get over the line “there are powerlines / in our bloodlines,” or the way the song really kicks when Meloy starts in with the whole “writer of fictions” business, which I almost always belt out, for obvious reasons. I don’t even like “The Bus Mall” that much, but it follows “Engine Driver” perfectly, and it has a personal nostalgia that is a little contagious. Suddenly, I’m identifying with these pool hall punks and I don’t even know why.

I’ve already mentioned “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” and if you haven’t heard it, you really should. It’s a completely original experience, unless you hang out a lot of people that sing sea shanties. My first copy of Picaresque didn’t include the final track, “Of Angels and Angles,” but I’m glad about this fact. It made the first time I heard the song a minor miracle, because I had a record that I thought couldn’t get any better, and then I hear this lullaby and become a true believer. The first time I heard it, I honestly thought “I would like to sing this to my kids someday.”

Anyway. Picaresque is in the list because it moved me and continues to move me. I think The Decemberists are one of the few bands that don’t seem to be changing too much, despite the fact that they’ve been picked up by a major label and are supported by everyone from Zach Braff to Howard Schultz. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every album they put out—including The Tain, the one-track experiment no one ever really talks about—but none of them have been so precisely spot-on, crisp, or touching as this one. I think I’ll put it in now.

Anathallo came to me during a bleak musical drought. I hadn't heard an album that was both new and exciting to me in months, and I was increasingly unenthusiastic about bands and records that I had previously liked. I remember a nagging fear that perhaps I had "outgrown" being passionate about music, and that I was only a few ambivalent ticks away from becoming one of those people that didn't care what they listened to, as long as it had a beat.

Then this CD fell in my lap, and all of that was inverted, refuted, and promptly dismissed. Anathallo had produced something I’d never heard before. As soon as the chorus sang “who could imagine” and came back with “a holiday at the sea,” I knew that this was a band I could fall in love with.

The album is quite short (only three songs!) but there is so much packed in there that it’s hard for me to call A Holiday at the Sea an EP. It’s hard to find an element in here that didn’t stand out to me as completely unique at the time. It is immediately obvious that the folks who put this together are a bunch of band kids who grew up listening to early indie rock and going to church. The title of the album comes from C.S. Lewis’ The Weight of Glory, and there something in the arrangement of all three songs that suggests traditional hymns as a major influence. Marching band percussion, a killer horn section, pitch-perfect melodies and dynamic, almost elusive instrumentation were blended seamlessly in a time when these aspects fell somewhere between uncommon and unheard of.

Still, the record is more than just a bunch of choirboys having fun. There is a strong element of spirituality here, no matter what your beliefs are. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who could give Holiday a good listen and be unmoved.

I went on to see Anathallo live which is nothing short of a musical miracle. This was even truer back then than it is today. Love for Anathallo led me to bands like Sufjan Stevens, Mates of State, and Owen, and suddenly music was interesting again. My tastes have evolved since, but all that evolution comes back to this record (which I still love to listen to), making it a must-include for my top 11.

I think I've officially abandoned tumblr. It just isn't quite as practical as the tried&tested blogger, and there are way more features on this thing. I'm currently watching Hard Candy, and it is freaking me out a little bit. I'm also fighting a serious headache and debating whether or not to drop $1000 on might-be-necessary-might-not car repair. Not the best of days, really.

This weekend, though, should be something to behold. Eric's big bash on Thursday, Friday = Halloween and Ashley and Zo's party, Saturday brings Rodeo Ruby Love and Everything, Now! at Luna and dinner with Dave and Wendy... it's a pretty good lineup. I am almost tired thinking about it, but in a good way.

Fa, la. Writer's community soon and I have to figure out which BloggerBeware entry I'm going to read.