There's a million songs like this.

The first song I that hear by a band - the serious introduction to the band. This wasn't the first Sleater Kinney song I heard, but this was the first song of theirs that I played over and over. I've often considered compiling a million mix CDs of songs that I played incessantly, songs that would be the first thing I'd put on any given mix tape or CD, songs that I had to learn to play, played the chords to repeatedly, sang in the shower, and implored friends to listen to.

Sometimes they ended up being such great songs that the rest of the bands catalogue never quite compared. Sometimes they'd end up being my least favorite song by a band once I'd delved into the rest of their discs. I could give you examples of songs that I played so often, (my personal Billboard chart's longest charting singles), that I can't stand the chords of now. The point is, I guess, that these are the most important songs we'll hear, because they will end up on the CD you compile in your head when you think of any given time, situation or place. That's kinda the point, I think.

Sleater Kinney - One More Hour

-kevin

I try not to get drunk when I go to see a band. As far as I can remember, I’ve only once been capital “D” drunk at a show once, but it was at Call the Office in London, so I couldn’t see anything anyway. I’ve been drunk on stage before, but that doesn’t count either, because I wasn’t watching my own band. I always said I didn’t drink at shows was because I go to shows to watch bands, and I go out drinking to get drunk.

That’s kind of changed in the last year or two.

I’ve found that my concentration level will increase if watching a good band while drunk, and decrease if watching a terrible band while drunk - it’s a fast decision maker and I dig that.

When I saw this band at a festival this summer, I was a little drunk. The decision came fast to stay put and, as I teetered back and forth a little bit, I decided that they were the best thing I’d seen that day.

I was shocked when I heard this. I liked them as much sober as I did when tipsy.

Born Ruffians - This Sentence Will Ruin / Save Your Life

This isn’t good for my liver.

-kevin

I have about 2,500 songs on my iTunes right now. I was going through it, trying to figure out what to put on here, but noticed something odd. The sheer number of songs I rarely, if ever, listen to is staggering.

Do I really need Flake’s album? If it wasn’t “early Shins” I wouldn’t give it two thoughts.

And all of the Mark Kozelek live shows? I never listen to them, and only have them on there because they’re hard to find. If I delete them, will I be able to find them again?

Backing them up would probably be the best idea, but no matter how hard I try, I always lose backup discs. I’ve had so many full data CDs disappear into “lost land”, a place that my parents convinced me my toys went when I acted up.

Then there’s stuff like this:

The Sick Lipstick – Teenage Robots

I have this on my computer because a few years ago I had a friend who was friends with a member of this band. She talked about them a lot, and so I figured I’d download something to hear what they were like.

What’s weird is that I don’t remember transferring this MP3 from my old computer to this computer. I just randomly ran into this song on “shuffle”. It must have slipped on from a Data CD that didn’t get sent to “lost land”. Did somebody make me a mix with this on it? I don’t know how it got here.

I also found out that the member of the band that my friend was friends with was previously in a band with Jesse from Death From Above 1979 / MSTRKRFT.

So I’ve spent all this time on this song, the Who / What / Where / When and Why.

I’ve spent more time thinking about how I acquired the song than the song itself.

I really don’t think that this is how music’s supposed to be listened to.

-kevin

So, a couple of weeks ago, the entire staff of Zero (yes, I refer to Kam and I as “the entire staff of Zero”) took a trip to an “antique warehouse”.

Before you allow the images of teapots and “trinkets” (or even "goo-gaws") to form in your mind, understand that this place was filled to the brim with the best crap you’ve never seen. Who knew that there was a Brooke Shields doll? Who'd have thought that there was a place to buy that pack of licensed Beatles mothballs you'd always dreamed of? Who knew about the “Archie Bunker’s Grandson Joey Stivic” doll?

When I go to places like that, I always hope I’ll discover a vinyl treasure like this:

Beaver & the Trappers – Happiness is Havin’

Alright…

This is Jerry Mathers’ band.

Yes, Beaver from Leave it to Beaver had a lil’ 60’s psych-rock combo. I had read about this a long time ago, but had forgotten about it until the antique warehouse triggered my memory, it seemed like the perfect place to find such unnecessary music.

So, Beaver and the Trappers? I was expecting some poor man’s the Archies, but this….sounds like it should have been on a Nuggets compilation. At the very least it could have been on a Brian Jonestown Massacre record.

I swear; it’s kind of good.

Oh, the lyrics.

“Happiness is…messin’ your mind and most important of all…to be FREE!”

They’re ridiculous. Picturing how ugly he got as a teenager while listening to this song makes it better.

It’s kind of about drugs. And sex.

Somebody find me a vinyl copy of this. I would treasure it forever. By that I mean it would sit there next to the rest of my vinyl being ignored. But, see, I would have it.

Also, somebody find me an mp3 of “Wind-Up Toy”. That was the other Beaver and the Trappers song I read about. I have a 30 second clip, I want the whole thing.

I need these things.

-kevin

I came to a disturbing realization this week: The saddest song in the world is “Moon River”. That in itself isn’t disturbing (except for the fact that I think I can decide these things), but this is:

I have no personal attachment to “Moon River”. As far as I can recall, it’s never been the soundtrack to anything important in my life. I haven’t even seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s and am only vaguely aware that there’s a connection between that song and movie.

I’ve also never heard a version of this song that didn’t make me want to a) cry and b) turn it off. It almost seems like an exercise in self-flaggelation to have to sit through it.

Of course Morrissey went and did a nine minute version of the song; leave it to him to create a nine minute version of what I already consider the saddest song in the world.

So what the fuck is it? Can anyone tell me? Is it gene memory? Is there a scientific explanation?

Kid Koala - Moon River (Live)

You’d think Kid Koala’s version would be easier to swallow, but the out-of-sync records and scratching just make it sound like the singer’s sobbing for fuck’s sake.

It’s just really bothering me that it might just be simple notes and chords that is causing my reaction.

-kevin

This may be a continuing series of posts, I’m not too sure.

Around the time that Radiohead released OK Computer in 1997, I got heavily into British music. I loved that record, but for some reason I seemed to believe that it wasn’t Radiohead that I loved, but the fact that they were British.

At the time, popular radio was playing little that I liked, and I was digging around for something new. The internet wasn’t available to me (I didn’t even have a computer until 2001), so I had to read magazines to find out information on new bands. I picked up a copy of Britain’s Select magazine purely for its Radiohead cover story, and began to read about characters like “Stuart Murdoch” and “Goldie”. I became an ardent Anglophile (more on the Stuart Murdoch side than the Goldie side; who as far as I could tell just had gold teeth and talked a lot about ‘E’). I didn’t tell people I was going out for “pints wi’ me mates” or any such posturing, but if it was from the U.K., I’d try to find something I liked about it.

Anyway, it got to a point where the only bands I listened to were from the United Kingdom.

There are a few albums from this period of my life that I loved then, but will never ever play again. I can guarantee that I won’t voluntarily listen to Be Here Now by Oasis or Performance and Cocktails by the Stereophonics ever again. (Actually, I’m tempted to list the Stereophonics as the biggest “what was I thinking?” band of my entire life. I once spent $30 on a Stereophonics bootleg called Kelly’s Heroes. That might be the most unnecessary CD purchased by anyone, ever. They were really terrible).

There was a lot of great music as well; 1977 by Ash is the official soundtrack of my seventeenth year, the Verve’s A Northern Soul is still a masterpiece, and I undoubtedly listened to the Manic Street Preachers’ the Holy Bible much more than I read the actual Holy Bible (and I was an Irish-Catholic altar server – but that consisted more of holding the Holy Bible for Father Dan to read when I wasn’t fainting on the pulpit or listening to my brother’s friend whispering serial killers’ names into my ear from the pew behind me – “Chikatilo” was a favourite, mostly because the name sounded really evil when whispered).

But I digress…

There were a few bands most people would consider a mere footnote in British rock history that I took a liking to. Cable (they were on the same record label as Ash), Adorable (it’s still a crime that they aren’t more widely acclaimed), and the 60 Ft. Dolls are all lesser known bands whose records’ were (and are) worth searching for.

The 60 Ft. Dolls - The One

The Dolls were a Welsh Jam-like trio who would probably have hit it big had they formed in 2001, as their image and music were custom made for the 70’s punk resurgence of that year. They released two albums, The Big 3 in 1996 and Joya Magica in 1998. Unfortunately, they broke up in 1999 after being dropped from their label, and I think one of them is a hairdresser now (that’s probably a lie, it just seemed fittingly pathetic).

I lost interest in most British music around the Radiohead-clonage craze of ’01. Also, I was influenced upon my acquiring the internet by the suggestions of people (I had never actually met) on chat rooms (that weren’t physically rooms), that I delve more into “indie” music (most of which was on major labels).

I guess I just stopped giving bands a chance simply based on geography.

Since then I intermittently listen to records from that era, but I usually find myself wondering what made me buy it (apart from the fact that it’s, y’know….British), or find myself still sick of it after not having heard it for six or seven years. I’ve never really gone through a phase that dedicated to a specific country since.

(Pretend that last part was read by Daniel Stern over the strains of “the Universal” by Blur).

-kevin.

Are Simon and Garfunkel hip? I really don’t know, and I think I’ve been trying to figure it out for years.

On one hand, I think that the poetic lyrics / critical acclaim / connection with The Graduate etc. would push their hipster worth up a few notches, yet I find that whenever I’m listening to them, at least one person mocks me (or them) and makes me feel decidedly lame for doing so.

Now, I truly couldn’t care less about my being hip (in this case, anyway). I dig Simon and Garfunkel, and know enough people who do as well to not make me feel like a total Asia fan. (The band, not the country).

But… I think I hit upon the two things that make them un-hip, and it really lies in their "Art", so to speak.

It’s the name “Garfunkel”.

And it’s his hair.

A couple of months back, I was talking on the phone with my girlfriend. She heard music in the background, and asked what I was listening to. When I told her that it was Simon and Garfunkel, she just chuckled and said “Garfunkel”. I asked (hungrily at this point, after what seems like years of mock-age) what the problem with S&G was. She replied, “Nothing”.

I think that’s exactly the point. It’s not the band that people mock, it’s his fucking name. Could it be that his name is so phoenetically bad that it’s like the “Cellar Door” of shitty names? Has his name caused generations to dismiss their music in a knee-jerk reaction?

“Garfunkel” invites laughter. It’s probably the word “funk”.

I don’t know….

I don’t think we’d have Iron & Wine or Elliott Smith without Paul n’ Art. I think a lot of people would agree with that. Were they always mocked? Were they un-hip in the 60’s? Were they the Jack Johnson to Dylan’s M. Ward, or something? I’d ask my parents, but they had better things to do in their youth than pore over the bullshit minutia of popular music.

They were probably surfing or fighting greasers.

Anyway, after S & G’s first album tanked, they broke up. Paul Simon moved to England and released a solo album called the Paul Simon Songbook.

Paul Simon – April Come She Will

After some suit re-mixed “The Sounds of Silence” and it became a hit, they quickly reformed and re-recorded a lot of songs from Simon’s solo effort.

I think he should have just stayed solo.

Then there’d be no “Garfunkel” (point “a”). and there’d be only slightly objectionable hair on the album covers (point “b”).

And it would have made my shabby life a little bit easier (point “c”).

-kevin

Buy Paul Simon's "Songbook"

I suppose you could call this my “year end” post. Don’t worry; I’m not going to list a top 5 and use the word “incendiary” or anything. Also, it's not technically my last post of the year, I just thought of something I liked (for a change).

I’m hard pressed to think of much that jumped out at me this year and I “discovered” a ridiculously small amount of new bands. Come to think of it, I don’t really pick up on bands in their infancy as much as I think I do. It’s happened before, but it’s the old tale of boy meets band, boy loves band, band meets and sleeps with thousands of other boys. I no longer find it satisfying to say that I heard something first.

I did, however stumble (quite literally) into two bands this year, Grizzly Bear and Born Ruffians. I ended up seeing Grizzly Bear headline a show that they were supposed to be supporting, and watched them with an amazingly hushed room of people. Turns out that Horn of Plenty had been a bit of a buzz record, but I hadn’t read that anywhere that I can remember. That’s fine, because the song that leapt out at me was from their (then) forthcoming record Yellow House. I remember telling the entire staff of Zero and their girlfriends (meaning Kam and Caitlin) that the song in question “sounded like David Lynch”. That song was “Knife”. (And now you know the re-e-e-est of the story).

Finding the Born Ruffians was a stumble aided by alcohol, but a stumble nonetheless. That’s all documented here.

Born Ruffians – Knife (Grizzly Bear Cover-Live KEXP)

What a nice little package to end the year.

I absolutely love when bands cover their contemporaries' songs (see the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ cover of Sonic Youth’s “the Diamond Sea”, or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Rentals cover or…well, just about any Yeah Yeah Yeahs cover). That’s always been something that appealed to me since I heard a snippet of Pearl Jam playing the first bars of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” when opening for Nirvana in ’91.

That’s the second time Pearl Jam has been mentioned in a row, as well as the first (and hopefully last) time I blog about the same band twice.

-kevin

Buy Born Ruffians’ "ST"

Buy Grizzly Bear’s "Yellow House"

The year has started with me walking towards a job that isn’t really going anywhere before I start a course (whichever course I choose) that might not take me anywhere. You never know….

What I do know I can glean out of this job is a little responsibility and a lot of time to listen to music uninterrupted. I love that about working around so much music. There’s always a CD lying around that I haven’t heard, but will love. Or at least will love for the 3 minutes the only good song on the CD is playing.

I’m not the kind of guy who complains about buying CDs with “only one good song on it” (people who do that irritate me – if anyone in this day and age still complains about that, they’re, frankly, what the Germans call “das sucker”); I do complain about bands having one amazing song that they can’t top.

Not McLusky…no, all of their songs are as good as each other. Same goes for My Bloody Valentine. The Coral have a problem with writing really great songs juxtaposed with extremely boring, uninteresting songs.

Scruffs had one great song on an album of like-minded songs that never really match up.

Scruffs - My Mind

I’d give you a quick background, but there’s always a Allmusic for that. It’s not like I’m writing about music here. Let's just say Big-Star-70's-Teen-Angst-Rock.

I'm just using this as an example of a CD I bought in a 3 minute frenzy that didn’t leave me disappointed, but….sated. It never got any better.

So, I’m looking for more uneven CDs, twenty four more three minute songs to fill up 72 minutes in order for my CD to be full. Then, I’ll have to start over.

-kevin

"Wanna Meet the Scruffs?" is a terrible name for an album but buy it anyway!

I had planned to do a themed series of posts, much like Kam's, but my theme fell apart. It was a stupid, boring, bad idea, but three posts survived. I'm still going to try and do the tricky seven in a row and at the end, you're supposed to guess what the original theme was. Anyone who was privy to the theme beforehand isn't allowed to guess and ruin it for our four dedicated readers.

Inherently, pleasure shouldn’t make you feel guilty. In most music circles, however, you’re expected to feel appropriately guilty for enjoying certain artists, or more accurately, specific songs by certain artists.

Example!

A while ago I was considering compiling a CD of my favorite “guilty pleasures” and I was discussing choices with friends. I mentioned this:

Veruca Salt - Shutterbug

A friend said “I like Veruca Salt”. I realized then that the "guilty pleasure" easily becomes the “unintended insult”. I had failed to remember that when you admit to liking something guiltily, you imply that it’s something to feel guilty about. I felt bad and quickly mentioned “Heat of the Moment” by Asia. Nobody really likes Asia, right?

The reason for considering a band a "guilty pleasure" lies in either some hang-up you have about what you “should” like, or something the band did that’s embarrassing, and therefore liking them condones such behavior.

Nonetheless, in all honesty, here's my reasons for feeling guilty when I listen to this single from the late 90's:

1. I saw Veruca Salt live in 2000 and there were exactly two rows of people there. I felt so embarrassed for them. I guess it gave me the impression that they were washed up, or worse, that I had gone to see a band that was washed up – the fact that it was goddamn frosh week and I went to the show alone didn’t help. (My fault).

2. Veruca Salt haven’t been revered publicly (yet) by an up-and-coming band (a la Panic at the Disco’s unbelievable championing of Third Eye Blind – what’s that about?) (My fault).

3. The guitar solo at the end basically made it unnecessary to print “Produced by Bob Rock” on the back of the sleeve. Upon hearing the solo, one just assumes that Bob Rock had something to do with it. (Their fault).

4. I like this song a lot better than their previous single, “Volcano Girls”, which I can’t stand (despite the fact that, when it comes to Veruca Salt, "Volcano Girls" is the song people seem to get all wet about). (My fault?)

So, upon further research, it’s my fault that I consider them a guilty pleasure. Based on this, I’ve come to two conclusions: a) Veruca Salt probably shouldn’t be considered a guilty pleasure and b) I’m completely full of shit.

Buy A Veruca Salt Album Which Has Its Title Ripped Off Of Another Band's Song Or Album Title...No, Not The AC/DC One (American Thighs), Not The Led Zeppelin One Either (IV), No, No, Not The Second Beatles One (Resolver), The First Beatles One!! (Eight Arms To Hold You)!

-kevin

Since the advent of the inter-web, I’ve noticed that I possess more “alternate-versions” of songs than I ever thought I would. If I dig a song enough, I’ll usually type its title into soulseek regularly until I’ve found every possible version of it. It ends up obscuring what I like about the song in many cases, because I start to sing the demo version’s slightly different lyrics when actually listening to the acoustic version that I found on some random blog. Y’see how that’s a problem?

Final Fantasy - This Is The Dream Of Emma & Cam

Now, before you start furrowing your brows in a vain attempt to understand the situation, it's not a misprint, it's not supposed to be "This Is The Dream Of Win and Regine". It’s the “alternate” version of the tune from Owen’s Young Canadian Mothers vinyl-only EP (hence the shoddy quality). It’s not that different, and truthfully, not as good. At least the title adheres more closely to the Postal Service's "(This Is the Dream of) Evan and Chan".

These "alternate versions" cause havoc for record store employees, because often you'll get someone coming in, asking to hear a CD, and then complaining that it's "not the right version" and that they "heard it on the internet". When it's explained to them that they may have heard a bootleg or a b-side, they furrow their brows in a vain attempt to understand the situation.

It all leads to furrowing.

Young Canadian Mothers is Out Of Print (Luckily, I Have A Copy, Ha-Ha), But Has A Good Home Has The Better Version Of This Song, and You Can Buy That Here!

-kevin

I didn’t really listen to any Jazz before I worked in a record store.

What happened was that I got sick of digging through the "Misc. S" section to find new CDs to listen to, so I resigned myself to the Jazz section. I ended up getting heavily into anything that said “ballads” or had a depressing title. It Could Happen to You by Chet Baker caught my eye.

“What?!?” I wondered. “What could happen to me?”

Chet Baker - Everything Happens To Me

Apparently everything could happen to me. This song is a lot funnier than I think was originally intended.

Almost every Jazz CD in my collection is there for a reason. I own this Chet Baker record because, one day, it'll be my “dinner-party” CD. (Despite the fact that, according to this song, I'll try to throw a party and the guy upstars will complain).

We all give subtitles to certain CDs in our collections. We all have a “Saturday Night” CD, a "Sunday Morning" record, and a "Slightly-Foggy-Monday-Afternoon-in-August" album.

Other CDs are owned for specific situations. I call them “It’s good if…” albums.

“Frank Sinatra's In the Wee Small Hours is good if it’s raining and you just got dumped."

If you really think about it, though, how often are you going to get dumped and subsequently have the day to sit around and listen to Ol’ Blue Eyes bitch about Ava Gardner? Maybe once?

Why would you buy a CD preparing for that occasion? It's like buying a CD in preparation for a locust attack - it could happen, but it probably won't happen to you. (In that case, though, I'd recommend The Locust's Plague Soudscapes. I think if locusts heard you playing this, they'd ultimately let you live for your valiant effort in trying to communicate with them).

I continue to buy CDs and records based on premonitions of situations that haven't happened yet. Invariably, I look at my record collection, see these "mood records", and no matter what kind of mood I'm in, I think “I’m not really in the mood for that….where’s Louder Than Bombs?”

Buy Chet Baker's It Could Happen To You, and get the added bonus of a record cover depicting Chet and a sexy jazz girl canoodling in, what appears to be, the mouth of a giant red snake....here!

-kevin

There seems to be something in the air; everyone I know is making changes in their lives. I think of it as preparation for nostalgia – in a year, I’ll be buried under a mountain of school-work and think back on this time as a golden age.

I look back on 2003 with much nostalgia – it was a golden age for doing nothing. I’m going to have to skip past examples, though (I like to give off the appearance of a man that's busy), and get right to the point:

The Dismemberment Plan - The City

2003 is the year the Dismemberment Plan broke up, within about a year of my discovering them. Theirs was a glorious career, and I still think that few in music, and especially indie rock, can match Travis Morrison’s lyrical prowess. Luckily, I got to see them on their farewell tour – but it was bittersweet because seeing them play only cemented my love of the band.

I still have a rusty, lousy button that I got from the show. If you see me wearing it, it’s a special occasion. Probably.

Buy An Album Pitchfork Reviewed Accurately!

-kevin

There are 5 W’s when you’re writing about anything, and I feel that only the ‘where’s have been neglected on Zero. So rather than posting a vague description of how places influence and shape our musical tastes and experiences, I thought I’d run down a quick list of a few specific places that have contributed to my (and I’m sure a lot of my geographic peers’) musical landscape. This isn’t meant to be “a tourist’s guide to musical Ontario”; it’s just to reference specific places that held some kind of magic in my musical upbringing.

Okay, this is part one.

1. Records on Wheels (Record Store) – circa 1989-1992.

Back before malls only had an HMV and a Sunrise Records, there were a few different alternatives scattered across suburbia. Records on Wheels was the only record store within walking distance of the house I grew up in. It housed a pretty sad selection, but I distinctly remember poring over cassettes every weekend, wishing I had enough money to buy one. The first cassette I ever purchased with my own money, I purchased from ROW; the Doors’ Greatest Hits. I remember that “Not to Touch the Earth” freaked me out a little. When Morrison breathed “I am the Lizard King, I can do anything” at the end, I disbelievingly wondered “anything?!?” It turned out that he could do exactly nothing, because he was dead.

2. Encore Records (Record Store) – circa 1992-present.

I often find it hard to describe to people who live in my hometown how lucky they are that an independent record store like Encore exists closer to us than Toronto. The first time I went in, it was because the sign said “Records”, and my dad thought he might be able to bulk up his collection of 45’s. He lasted about one minute in Encore’s racks before he dragged me out by my Zellers brand sweatshirt (I think it was the one that said “Baseball All-Star” on the front. Maybe it was the “Football All-Star” one, I don’t remember. I was neither, nor would I ever be, an "All-Star" at anything except - perhaps - over-drinking and sarcasm). Anyway, I was intrigued by the fact that they had a wall of cassettes that were priced much lower than Records on Wheels’. I found out that it was because they were used cassettes. I thought that was "awesome" and my first purchase there (as much as I hate to admit it) was Pump by Aerosmith. I hate to admit it, because the second time I went in I bought Nevermind by Nirvana (which is, let's face it, is much "cooler") and thus I began a relationship with Kurt Cobain that led me to quit sports and ruminate a lot.

(I loved that band enough to do my seventh grade public speaking assignment, commonly known as “speeches”, on Nirvana a year before he killed himself – everyone did them on Nirvana the year after – but I think the teacher would have rather I took her suggestion and done the speech on kinkajous. Whatever, I got an “E” for effort).

Since then, Encore has provided me with the fixin’s for every musical habit I’ve ever had, and I doubt more than a month has gone by in ten years that I haven’t set foot in that store; my favorite record store of any I’ve visited.

3. The Field And Forest By My House (An Actual Field and Forest) – circa 1990-1995.

In the later years of elementary school, I used to wander around the forest and field in front of my house with my crappy little walkman on, listening to songs that I taped directly from the local top 40 station, AM109. I had very “eclectic” tastes back then, and listened to mix tapes that included, at various intervals, Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now”, the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Under the Bridge”, and Mudhoney’s “You Got It (Keep It Outta My Face)”. Actually, if you compile all of those songs together, you have a ready-made ironic mix CD. I was being ironic before I knew what irony was. I was “pre-ironic”.

4. Molson Park (Concert Venue) – circa 1995-1996.

Thank God that I hadn't done anything even remotely bad in elementary school because, based on my penchant for behaving myself, my parents decided to let me go to Lollapalooza ’95 (without a chaperone) when I was 13. Now I know that Lollapalooza had turned into a parody of itself by 1995, but to a 13-year-old kid it was the most awe-inspiring experience possible, other than discovering that scrambled porn unscrambles. Because of my parents (and because of the good people at Molson, whose park hosted the two consecutive Lollapalooza-s that I went to), I had seen Pavement, Beck, the Jesus Lizard, Hole, Sonic Youth, the Ramones, Soundgarden, You Am I, and the Violent Femmes by the time I turned 15. Not a bad 730 day’s work. (Full disclosure: I also saw the Mighty Mighty Bosstones at ’95, which sullies the experience slightly. Well…a little more than slightly).

To my virgin ears, Pavement were a hell of a band to contend with. Unlike the alterna-teens at the festival, I couldn’t understand why they didn’t try a little harder. I remember them playing “Cut Your Hair”, (I knew that one from CFNY), but the rest of the set sounded to me like this:

Pavement - False Skorpion

I’m sure they didn’t play that one.

Anyway, if it wasn’t for corporate-sponsored-alterna-rock-events of the mid 90’s (go Jostens!); I wouldn’t have been introduced to what we know now as “indie-rock”. So, that's how that happened.

Buy Pavement's Wowee Zowee - Sordid Sentinels edition (which, according to Amazon, is a "Best of") here!

-kevin

Lately, I can’t open a magazine, hit a website, or overhear hoboes talking without hearing about "disposable formats". Everyone’s up in arms about what is the disposable format – “make music online only; save the industry”, “crack down on illegal downloading; save the industry”, “think green, no jewel case; use an eco-pak”, “those blintzes were terrible”.

I don’t think CDs are disposable, but CD singles are done. They’re dead as…dead, and there’s no excuse for the screw job anybody growing up in the 90’s had to endure. I remember paying up to $16.99 for an Ash single, just to own three songs that were b-sides. Songs that, right out of the gate, can be deemed inferior to the rest of a bands oeuvre. People mention Oasis and the quality of their B-sides, but Noel Gallagher has admitted that he did that on purpose (saving some single-worthy tracks for b-sides), just so we suckers would believe that he was a genius. That’s also why, incidentally, The Masterplan is Oasis’ best album.

Anyway, I’m digressing in my first paragraph but, believe it or not, I'm going somewhere with this. The first time I heard Sloan’s “I Am the Cancer”; I heard the rarer acoustic version of the song from Sloan’s Live at a Sloan Party, a CD that was included as a U.S. incentive to buy their One Chord To Another album. I remember thinking “Wow, this doesn’t sound like Sloan”. I, at that time, had perceived Sloan to be…well…a bunch of dorks. When I bought Smeared and heard this version, I liked it more. It sounded “cool”.

Sloan - I Am The Cancer

It’s still my favorite song of theirs, so when I found a copy of the I Am The Cancer single, I bought it. “Why do you want that Sloan single?” the entire staff of Zero (a.k.a. Kam) asked. Two reasons:

1. One weird trend I have in “collecting” is that if there’s a possible way to own a single for my favourite song by a band, I usually go to great lengths to do so. I have no idea why. Perhaps I’m trying to prove to the song that I like it best. I want it to know, so I single it out, spend money on it, and…kiss it. Or something. There’s one example of this that cost me a little too much money, and anyone who knows me can probably guess what band it was and what song it was for.

2. Sloan singles are pretty hard to come by, and I dig the fact that they used to do stuff like this; the b-side of the single I bought:

Sloan - Rag Doll

They were flat out trying to sound like My Bloody Valentine. They were trying to be cool. That’s really endearing. Most people don’t know this side of Sloan, and that’s cool. The problem is that it seems like every time a band is trying to find their footing, or trying to sound cool, it’s archived on the goddamn “Waybackmachine”. I guess I’m just saying that no format is disposable, as MP3s are superb for their utter randomness, CD singles for their forgotten 4th tracks and CDs for their…omnipresence?

Except for 3” CD singles; that’s just fucking garbage.

Spend money on Smeared by a bunch of dorks.

-Kevin

I used to do my best to make it out to local shows; I’d pay my three bucks and watch five or six bands do their damndest to impress the fifteen people in attendance, especially trying to bowl over the 5 or six people that they didn’t bring with them.

After a spell (sorry, I’ve just been reading To Kill A Mockingbird, so I’m prone to say “after a spell” and “ain’tcha ‘fraid of hain’ts?”), I decided that pretty much every local band was terrible, including any of the ones I was involved in. Most bands would do something to give me a healthy dose of the “douche-shivers”, such as laying sheets of wood on the stage before their set, (as not to damage the stage when they trashed their instruments), or only jumping around during the cover song they were playing, displaying that, like the audience, they were also completely bored with their originals.

I’m glad I didn’t stop attending these local mistake pageants, because I began to discover one or two dynamic bands whose records ended up in my regular rotation.

The first of these bands were the Candidates. I saw them open for Die Cheerleader (then known as Cheerleader 666), and was mighty impressed with their banter, which included mocking a band made up of Jehovah’s Witnesses that failed to turn up for the show, and several boasty claims of rock n’ roll superiority. Theirs was the first local CD I bought from a band that a) didn’t go to my high school or b) my brother wasn’t in. After the ‘Dates broke up, two of the members “stole” my best friend out of my band to form the Machines, which was great because a) they're way better than my old band and b) they recorded a record superior to the records of the bands from whence they came, and I’m all for musical purification.

The Machines – Time

Another group I discovered was the Sourkeys. I was, admittedly, confused upon my first experience with the ‘Keys. That might be because, before the first time I saw them play, someone described them as “the Pixies crossed with Weezer”, basically causing me to expect...well...Weezer's cover of "Velouria". They were a little more involved than that, with their off kilter time shifts and intricate melodies. After a spell (gee!), I began to follow each song, and began to become accustomed to the sudden musical shifts. My friends and I delighted in creating interpretive dances to their songs outside of the bars in which they played. That’s a true story. I never get sick of their records, and their live shows are great even when they’re “bad”.

The Sourkeys - Locked & Loaded

So support your local artists, because you never know: there might be another artist there who’s better than them. That’s about as clear as I can get, huh?

Buy Music From My Friends Pt.1 (The Machines - After My Misspent Youth)
Buy Music From My Friends Pt.2 (The Sourkeys - The Spectacle)

- kevin

Is it too late for me to "get into" Rob Crow?

Crow’s one of those guys who has about 40 bands plus 30 side projects, and unless you’ve been following him seriously for at least five years, it’s guaranteed that you’ll get lost along the way. I’ve delved into Heavy Vegetable quite a bit and a little bit into Pinback, but am still ignorant of the ways of Thingy, Physics, Optigonally Yours, The Ladies, Holy Smokes and yes, even the mighty Goblin Cock (with that name, they must be described as “mighty”).

See, when I heard this song…

Heavy Vegetable - Abducted By The Work Aliens

…I was sold on Heavy Vegetable.

When I heard this song…

Pinback - Tripoli

…I was sold on Pinback.

Basically, I need someone out there to suggest a single song by any of the other Crow projects that you think will “sell” me on it. So tell me what you think the best Goblin Cock song is, and I’ll see if I can be sold on Goblin Cock. Did I mention one of the side projects is called “Goblin Cock”?

This is less a typical post and more a plea for help, so I urge any of you out there to help me in my quest for the mighty Gobl…oh, forget it…saying it for a fifth time would be redundant.

Buy Fast Tempos And Odd Time Signatures (Heavy Vegetable) Here!

And Pinback, the band that everyone describes as “emo”. I don’t see an emo connection at all. I mean, come on….is every band who plays slighty sad, slow songs “emo”? Where do we draw the line? I’m going to try not to say that word for two months. "Emo", I mean. Not “Goblin Cock”. Anyway, Buy Pinback Here!

-kevin