Tomorrow will be July 15, which, by most standards would mark the midpoint of the summer. Overall I've enjoyed my summer vacation a great deal this year, but there's been one big thing missing: A new definitive summertime album.
This isn't to say there hasn't been any good music to come along this summer. Going back to the last week of school, I've added seven new albums to my music library:
"Simplicity" by Tesla -- overall it's a very good rock album and I like it a lot, but it still has the feel of a band putting out new music well beyond their heyday, which is exactly what this is. It's hard not to compare this to the better work they did... yeesh... 20 years ago. Fine, I admit it: I'm getting old.
"Great Western Valkryie" by Rival Sons -- I bought this after listening to a couple previews and reading reviews. A bluesy rock album, but way too one dimensional. It hasn't earned much playing time.
"The Hunting Party" by Linkin Park -- I bought this because I'm a big fan of the band and I'll be seeing them at the end of the summer. This is probably my favorite of the summer so far, but it's way too intense to reflect the lackadaisical feel needed for a definitive summertime album. (Although I have to say it's truly excellent workout music, especially when paired with their previous release "Living Things.")
"Burials" by AFI -- I bought this just because they're the opening act for the Linkin Park/30 Seconds to Mars tour. I figured since I like both of those bands, I'd probably like the one they hired as an opening act, and I do. But with song titles like "I Hope You Suffer," "A Deep Slow Panic," "No Resurrection," "Heart Stops," and "The Face Beneath the Waves," again -- considerably non-lackadaisical.
"Nothing More" -- A very good self-titled debut release I bought because I was curious and it was cheap. It has a lot of progressive-rock tendencies that remind me of bands like Fair to Midland and (yes, I'm invoking the name) Dream Theater, but that same complex nature makes it hard to find yourself with any of these songs stuck in your head.
"Famous Graves" by Cheap Girls -- I already gave this one enough blog space a few posts back.
"Redeemer of Souls" by Judas Priest -- First off, it's hard to get past the undeniable Spinal Tap quality of the title. Second, it's super long - probably would have been a double album back in the days of records, tapes, and CDs. Third, even though I like the music, its both very intense and complex.
So this has left me digging deeper into the library to find better fits for the summer. I've fallen back on a lot of Big Head Todd and the Monsters and The Hold Steady after seeing both acts live recently, and they've gotten the job done well so far. But I'm still hoping for something new to come along that will imprint the summer of 2014 for me. Being that it's a Monday means new releases will show up on the iTunes store tomorrow, and in fact if you play the time zones right, many will actually be for sale in the last hour or two of Monday. Does this mean I'll stumble upon that missing piece later tonight, and the second half of my summer will have slightly more emotional guidance than the first half has? I can only hope. If not, I'm open to suggestions....
Monday, July 14, 2014
Monday, July 7, 2014
Four Days of Cheap Girls
FRIDAY
I’m reading the newspaper in the morning, scanning over the “variety” section to read whatever has been written up about the concert I’ll be seeing the next night: The Hold Steady playing at the Weesner Amphitheater in the Minnesota Zoo. I know, a zoo, but it’s actually a great venue for an outdoor show. I see the Hold Steady gets a mention, which is no surprise due to the band’s deep local roots. I also see they’re playing with an opening act -- a band I haven’t heard of before called Cheap Girls. The first thing that comes to mind is how a friend of mine from high school always said the best name for a band would be Free Roast Beef, because people would see that name on the sign outside and would absolutely come in to see the show. I don’t know, I guess he had a thing for roast beef. But of all the other potential band names in the world, it didn’t surprise me to see someone may have applied that same logic string and named themselves Cheap Girls.
I like to think of opening acts as opportunities. I’ve seen some tragically awful ones in my concert-going days, but I’ve also discovered a few that have become staples in my music library. I went on iTunes and was surprised to see Cheap Girls already had something like three or four albums to their name. I played a few previews to see what I was getting into, and thought they would be a reasonable sonic match for The Hold Steady. But I was too preoccupied in getting ready to see The Hold Steady for the first time, so I didn’t bother checking out Cheap Girls any further.
SATURDAY
I drive to my sister’s house in the late afternoon. Almost as soon as I arrive my brother-in-law Dave hands me a CD -- Cheap Girls. Dave is a very enthusiastic music fan, and in his own words, once he discovers a new band he goes in all the way. Even though he’s a huge Hold Steady fan, he said he was almost more excited to see Cheap Girls since they had become a new favorite of his. He said they had a guitar-drive power pop sound that reminded him a lot of Bob Mould’s old band Sugar. From what I’d heard in the previews, I agreed with that description.
We got to the zoo in plenty of time for the show, including Cheap Girls. They turned out to be a trio, with the bass player doubling as the singer. The thing about them I couldn’t get past was how much the bass player/singer looked exactly like what I’d imagine Nephew #3 will look like in fifteen years (at least from where we sat). It was striking.
Overall I liked the sound. The songs were surprisingly structured for an up-and-coming alternative band, and while there wasn’t exactly a lot of virtuosity on display, they were a nice, tight live band. They looked like three guys who had been randomly matched up by student housing in college and decided they might as well start a band since they had all the instruments covered. The singer had some odd mannerisms, like standing up on tiptoes at random moments, bumping the microphone forward an inch or so with his chin when he sang, and walking around like he just woke up with his bass in his hands during guitar solos.
SUNDAY
I imported the disc and loaded it up to my phone to give the album some car time, which I’ve found is the best way to learn new music. But then I wound up editing almost the whole day and got distracted by my revision playlist, so I forgot about it.
MONDAY (today)
I was determined to play Cheap Girls for all of my driving today, to give them that necessary car time. The first song, “Slow Nod,” started off promising, with the kind of celebratory sound you’d expect to hear during a final photo montage during the closing credits of a movie about people who just survived a wacky, shenanigan-filled summer and came away from it as better people. The next few songs were remarkably similar, and I found myself driving the long way when I could to listen to it more. The singer's voice was a little on the nasally and twangy side for me, but at least the guitars were higher in the mix and they sounded great.
The album, “Famous Graves” (the title of which reminds me of a favorite book of mine, KILLING YOURSELF TO LIVE by Chuck Klosterman), isn’t very long, clocking in at just under thirty-six minutes, with some songs barely long enough to play you though finding your way out of a parking lot. But a straight-ahead guitar rock song that’s only three minutes long can be about perfect, and Cheap Girls have some good ones. This could be an album that will get some plays from me this summer, but I think it will end up being something imprinted on the summer of 2014 instead of having much staying power.
But hey: A few more plays through, and who knows....?
I’m reading the newspaper in the morning, scanning over the “variety” section to read whatever has been written up about the concert I’ll be seeing the next night: The Hold Steady playing at the Weesner Amphitheater in the Minnesota Zoo. I know, a zoo, but it’s actually a great venue for an outdoor show. I see the Hold Steady gets a mention, which is no surprise due to the band’s deep local roots. I also see they’re playing with an opening act -- a band I haven’t heard of before called Cheap Girls. The first thing that comes to mind is how a friend of mine from high school always said the best name for a band would be Free Roast Beef, because people would see that name on the sign outside and would absolutely come in to see the show. I don’t know, I guess he had a thing for roast beef. But of all the other potential band names in the world, it didn’t surprise me to see someone may have applied that same logic string and named themselves Cheap Girls.
I like to think of opening acts as opportunities. I’ve seen some tragically awful ones in my concert-going days, but I’ve also discovered a few that have become staples in my music library. I went on iTunes and was surprised to see Cheap Girls already had something like three or four albums to their name. I played a few previews to see what I was getting into, and thought they would be a reasonable sonic match for The Hold Steady. But I was too preoccupied in getting ready to see The Hold Steady for the first time, so I didn’t bother checking out Cheap Girls any further.
SATURDAY
I drive to my sister’s house in the late afternoon. Almost as soon as I arrive my brother-in-law Dave hands me a CD -- Cheap Girls. Dave is a very enthusiastic music fan, and in his own words, once he discovers a new band he goes in all the way. Even though he’s a huge Hold Steady fan, he said he was almost more excited to see Cheap Girls since they had become a new favorite of his. He said they had a guitar-drive power pop sound that reminded him a lot of Bob Mould’s old band Sugar. From what I’d heard in the previews, I agreed with that description.
We got to the zoo in plenty of time for the show, including Cheap Girls. They turned out to be a trio, with the bass player doubling as the singer. The thing about them I couldn’t get past was how much the bass player/singer looked exactly like what I’d imagine Nephew #3 will look like in fifteen years (at least from where we sat). It was striking.
Overall I liked the sound. The songs were surprisingly structured for an up-and-coming alternative band, and while there wasn’t exactly a lot of virtuosity on display, they were a nice, tight live band. They looked like three guys who had been randomly matched up by student housing in college and decided they might as well start a band since they had all the instruments covered. The singer had some odd mannerisms, like standing up on tiptoes at random moments, bumping the microphone forward an inch or so with his chin when he sang, and walking around like he just woke up with his bass in his hands during guitar solos.
SUNDAY
I imported the disc and loaded it up to my phone to give the album some car time, which I’ve found is the best way to learn new music. But then I wound up editing almost the whole day and got distracted by my revision playlist, so I forgot about it.
MONDAY (today)
I was determined to play Cheap Girls for all of my driving today, to give them that necessary car time. The first song, “Slow Nod,” started off promising, with the kind of celebratory sound you’d expect to hear during a final photo montage during the closing credits of a movie about people who just survived a wacky, shenanigan-filled summer and came away from it as better people. The next few songs were remarkably similar, and I found myself driving the long way when I could to listen to it more. The singer's voice was a little on the nasally and twangy side for me, but at least the guitars were higher in the mix and they sounded great.
The album, “Famous Graves” (the title of which reminds me of a favorite book of mine, KILLING YOURSELF TO LIVE by Chuck Klosterman), isn’t very long, clocking in at just under thirty-six minutes, with some songs barely long enough to play you though finding your way out of a parking lot. But a straight-ahead guitar rock song that’s only three minutes long can be about perfect, and Cheap Girls have some good ones. This could be an album that will get some plays from me this summer, but I think it will end up being something imprinted on the summer of 2014 instead of having much staying power.
But hey: A few more plays through, and who knows....?
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
The World Cup
Confession: For the most part, I don't get the whole sports fan
thing. I don’t hate sports; I just generally don’t care much about them.
Sure, there have been times I've gotten caught up in the excitement. I
think watching a Twins game can be an amusing distraction, and I'll pay
attention to the Vikings season with reasonable interest. I love
following the narrative of the Olympic games. But I've never felt the
need to paint my face. And I don't memorize statistics in preparation to
debate the value of any particular player at a moment's notice. I don't
talk about the problems of my local professional teams saying what "we"
need to do better, as if I have any involvement beyond that of
spectator. If you really think about it, Jerry Seinfeld said it best:
"You're actually rooting for the clothes when you get right down to it."
But soccer? That was always my exception. That was my sport growing up. I played on teams for ten consecutive summers of my childhood and teenage years. I know how physically exhausting it is to run at an off-and-on sprint for ninety minutes. I've played in extreme summer heat and have seen sweat so rich with salt it was as white as milk as it dripped from my skin. I know what it feels like to have a plastic shin guard shatter against my tibia. I saw the Kicks play at the Metrodome. I tailgated with my friends outside Met Center before Strikers games. I even kept my own stuffed Ozzie the Parrot -- Tino Lettieri's personal mascot, which he kept in his net during games -- in my dorm room, even though hardly any of the other guys on my floor knew who Tino Lettieri was. I went through the training and passed the test to become a registered FIFA referee. I coached two different youth teams during two collegiate summers. I spent a childhood guiding my younger sister into becoming the kind of dominant high school player who was named to two high school all-conference teams.
So when I see so much interest and American media coverage explode around this year's World Cup, I have mixed feelings. On one hand, I love seeing people get so pumped up about my game after witnessing its consistent maginalization for so long. But on the other hand, I know it won't last. I know these are fair-weather fans, hopping on the latest bandwagon distraction. Maybe some of the more recognizable players will make it around the talk show circuit for a few weeks, but after that they'll quietly slip back into general anonymity. Terms like "the Group of Death" will fade from the cultural consciousness as quickly as catchphrases like "the polar vortex" did.
But for the moment it's nice to see American fans temporarily pretending to care about a great sport, that's only truly appreciated by a relatively small number of us here in America.
As well as the rest of the entire world.
But soccer? That was always my exception. That was my sport growing up. I played on teams for ten consecutive summers of my childhood and teenage years. I know how physically exhausting it is to run at an off-and-on sprint for ninety minutes. I've played in extreme summer heat and have seen sweat so rich with salt it was as white as milk as it dripped from my skin. I know what it feels like to have a plastic shin guard shatter against my tibia. I saw the Kicks play at the Metrodome. I tailgated with my friends outside Met Center before Strikers games. I even kept my own stuffed Ozzie the Parrot -- Tino Lettieri's personal mascot, which he kept in his net during games -- in my dorm room, even though hardly any of the other guys on my floor knew who Tino Lettieri was. I went through the training and passed the test to become a registered FIFA referee. I coached two different youth teams during two collegiate summers. I spent a childhood guiding my younger sister into becoming the kind of dominant high school player who was named to two high school all-conference teams.
So when I see so much interest and American media coverage explode around this year's World Cup, I have mixed feelings. On one hand, I love seeing people get so pumped up about my game after witnessing its consistent maginalization for so long. But on the other hand, I know it won't last. I know these are fair-weather fans, hopping on the latest bandwagon distraction. Maybe some of the more recognizable players will make it around the talk show circuit for a few weeks, but after that they'll quietly slip back into general anonymity. Terms like "the Group of Death" will fade from the cultural consciousness as quickly as catchphrases like "the polar vortex" did.
But for the moment it's nice to see American fans temporarily pretending to care about a great sport, that's only truly appreciated by a relatively small number of us here in America.
As well as the rest of the entire world.
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