The Not-Pop Jukebox

It’s hard to beat a song like Blondie’s I’m Gonna Love You, Too. It’s bouncy and fun but with enough edge that it doesn’t quite belong on a Gidget soundtrack. It’s one of those song in which the singer (the inimitable Debbie Harry in this case) just sound so happy that you can’t help but enjoy it. It doesn’t quite have the 50s vibe that In the Flesh and even Sunday Girl do but it comes across as almost a refugee from Grease

I’ve been listening to a lot of Blondie lately and I can’t help but think how much Debbie Harry has in common with Kirsty MacColl, vocally. Now there’s a collaboration that would have been amazing. I’m picturing something between Rip Her to Shreds and England 2 Columbia 0 that would showcase both their voices and their respective senses of how women relate to the world.

But enough of this pie in the sky. Someday I’ll post War Child and whine about the trauma of growing up during the Cold War but this is Saturday. I had a tough time choosing between this—fun, frothy, and cheerful—and Rapture, the ill-advised rap attempt they tried toward the end of the band’s fruitful and frustrating run. Both entertain me but for very different reasons. Did anyone else hear the latter? You can’t get that much cheese into just any song, but I decided to spare you…for now.

It's Blues Fest weekend in Fargo. In celebration of that fact, please accept this fabulous offering from Duke Robillard, the man who graces the stage right now. And no, I'm not there. I'm at home with my lovely and loving children who cannot be bribed to spend an entire Friday evening being considerate of others in an open-air concert setting. But I have the line-up memorized and I am enjoying a virtual concert of the participants right here in my living room.

That's neither here nor there. The point is that the man himself is playing less than two miles from me right this moment and he has a new album out to share with audiences to boot. He's included a fantastic take on the standard Ain't Nobody's Business and an unrecognizable but amazing instrumental version of Frankie and Johnny mixed with originals. Sunny Crownover provides the vocals on the former and several other tracks on the album. I only hope Robillard decides to play with his former band, The Fabulous Thunderbirds, who are also hanging around town for the weekend, and that they take a run through Do Me Right while they're at it.

I'm not sure if OH SNAP!! intends their music to be gimmicky or if they really enjoy creating old school hip hop (and by old we're talking about 1985, here). But whatever their aim the big white boys who comprise the act manage again and again to tickle my funny bone with nostalgia and mostly-gentle mockery. I posted one of their first singles, High Top Fade months ago but I hadn't heard Flavor Flav until recently. Instead of a song about Flavor Flav, they've used the name as a synonym for all kinds of positive adjectives, including dope and fresh, words not often heard since Mr. Flav was on the charts himself. Have yourself a little retro rap party for the next few minutes and do scout around for more from these gents. I particularly recommend I'm Too Fat to Be a Hipster and Bill Cosby Sweater.

The Old 97s are a part of a country music movement that seems to have a lot of names like No Depression, Young Country, and alt-country. The upshot seems to be combining enough twang to qualify as country and western without relying on the age-old cliches like losing your house and your wife and your dog dying, as the old joke goes. While a lot of their songs are more country and western than this, Timebomb comes across more like The Dead Milkmen than George Strait (I'll be posting something from him at a later date, though). It's harder and harder to draw lines in the sand on the genre beach these days, something that I consider an improvement. If you like this one but want a twangier sample of The Old 97s' work, bend your ear around If My Heart was a Car, a more classic country song but still alt enough to be enjoyable.

I firmly believe that you can never have too many versions of a great song. As yet another example to prove my point, I offer you the 1977 classic from Plastic Bertrand, Ça Plane pour Moi, remade over the course of the past three decades by an awful lot of people as everything from beach-party surf rock to pure punk to a country-fried version in English from The Bosshoss. For your Monday enjoyment, I offer eleven versions in the original French, the aforementioned English take, and a bonus cover in Spanish titled Olvidemos el Romance released in 2009 by Lost Acapulco. Be warned that the Pigloo version sounds like a cheap copy of The Chipmunks at the beginning. It doesn't get much better, unless you like that sort of thing, but the cheesy computerized voice goes away, at least. Lest you believe the song abandoned by its original performers, Plastic Bertrand recorded a version of it themselves last year with The Lost Fingers. Ça plane pour moi, aussi. There, I've exhausted my French. I hope you're happy.

I've left you all far too long without a mashup--not one in the whole month of July! To make up for that I offer Pytski's uber-goofy mix of John Travolta and Olivia Newton JohnYou're the One that I Want from the Grease soundtrack) taking on The Ting Tings (Shut Up and Let Me Go, of course). Naturally, you can download the track for free at his wonderful web site, stocked with all sorts of great mixes and mashes. But what would Grease be without the visuals? Thank heavens he's made video mashups as well.

Some days ago, in my post of Get Up While You Can, I noted that I had not yet posted Jesus Built My Hotrod, a song to which I can't help but think Atari Teenage Riot owes a great debt of inspiration. Today, I rectify that oversight. It's a highly-charged, Mach 3 zoomer of a song and one which was remixed about a thousand different ways. I'm including a shorter version here, to give you a feel for the energy of the song without beating you over the head with it. If you like fast and furious, drag racing included, you owe it to yourself to hear this song at least once.

This round of You Pick the Winner may be a bit unfair because, well, James Hunter includes lyrics in his entry. Were Buckwheat Zydeco not such a great musician I wouldn't even have made this a contest. But with names as similar as Where There's Smoke There's Fire and No Smoke without Fire how could I resist? Add the fact that the two are just great songs in their own right and you have a winning team, no matter which you like better. For what more could you ask on a Friday night, I ask you?

No one would mistake The Wombats for a deep, considering bunch of socially-concerned neo-hippies from Liverpool. But when they're as fun as they are with Let's Dance to Joy Division, who want political commentary? They play fast, bouncy, semi-pop, post-punk, handclap indie rock and the lyrics merely adorn the fact that they are playing--as opposed to working, taking themselves seriously. Most of The Wombats' songs, particularly those from their 2008 full-length debut "A Guide to Love, Loss, and Desperation", tell a little story about something personal simply as an excuse to hammer those drums and jump up and down (generally all done by the same young man, in fact). Some days you just need a little fun. If today's one of those days, enjoy Let's Dance to Joy Division, complete with weird kid choir.

Lest you share share my fascination with/dread of zombies, I thought I'd share yet another song about the undead with you today. This time, it's Herve and his meditation on zombies, including a clip from (I presume) a movie in which a dignified-sounding gent affirms that he has, indeed, seen a man return from the grave craving human flesh (though not in so many words). It appears that I'm not the only one who can't stay away from zombie songs. Herve has another, Cheap Thrills which he's built around a snippet of Michael Jackson's Thriller, yet another celebration of zombies and supernatural creeps in general. Herve's body of work seems to consist mostly of remixes and working with others. If you can get your ears on it, though, have a listen to his (I Can) Get Down. The song is an excellent introduction the man's body of work.

I find myself deeply confused by Shout Out Out Out Out. Their sound is all over the place, at times sounding like a great surf punk band like on Chicken Soup for the F*** You (with max cowbell and hand claps galore) and at others sounding more like Champion in mixing electronica and real instruments. Then you get something like Guilt Trips Sink Ships which is wholly synthesized.

Whatever end of the spectrum you enjoy, Shout Out Out Out makes dance-worthy tracks, particularly when they step away from the vocorder to just make music. I wouldn't recommend a long listening session but a song here and there can give you some spice to the variety of your usual play list picks. Their energy, if nothing else, can be infectious.

Normally I'm not a big fan of "cute". Hot Lava, however, has slipped past my grouch defenses and snuck their particular brand of twee into regular rotation. How, you may ask, has this creatively-adorable band gotten to me? I was prepared to post Apple+Option+Fire to explain it with a note that it took several listens before it really got to me. Then I thought I'd see if there were a video to include. Imagine my chagrin when I found myself won over completely by the cute overload of Blue Dragon. In my defense, I defy you not to laugh at least once during this video or to imagine yourself doing a better job of the "spinach in your teeth" illustration. Be honest, you did, didn't you?

For this, my 500th post, I thought I'd share a slew of songs. But what to post for such a nice, round number? It took me a bit of pondering before I finally realized what was needed. I compiled a play list today of all of the songs I had that included a number in the title. It turned out to include one hundred songs exactly. That seemed to me an interesting enough coincidence for a post, and a perfect match for this milestone.

Of the 100, seventeen began with actual numbers, including two versions of 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover (Paul Simon and Throat Culture) and four songs whose titles were just numbers (1-2-8 by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Prince’s 7, 19 from Paul Hardcastle, and Phoenix’s 1901). Two were phone numbers and one included a zip code. Heck, I've even posted 60 Revolutions. Thirty-five were various pieces of classical music that I won’t bother including. Another eight were different version or portions of the same song, such as Come On In Part2 and Part 3 by RL Burnside. For some reason Part 1 doesn’t seem to exist even though the album is named “Come On In”.

At any rate, I thought I'd offer you some of the fruits of my labor as a reward for sticking with me through this long and often winding journey. Thank you, dear listeners! I wish I could have included Two in the Bush (Is Worth One in the Hand but, alas!, no one else appears to find that song as entertaining as I do. Where possible, I've included the version from the album on which I own the song. I tried to mix them up to give you a feel for what my typical listening session sounds like. Enjoy!

For my 499th post, I thought I'd give you something high-energy and obnoxious. Crank up those speakers, ladies and gents, and get ready to slam dance (do people still do that?) because Atari Teenage Riot wants to rock your socks with fuzzy guitars, high-speed synth beats, and a lot of yelling. Some days a simply tune just won't do, you need someone willing to hammer down, to put the pedal to the medal and drag your sleepy rear into action. Luckily for you, plenty of folks--and not just the speed-metal bands--have shown themselves willing and able to provide. If Ministry's Jesus Built My Hot Rod makes you jump up and down then Atari Teenage Riot may be for you. Have a listen and see what you think. And someday I'll rectify my oversight in not having posted that Ministry song because it's one of my favorites. Until then, enjoy Get Up While You Can and consider checking out Into the Death if you like it. There's only so much pouding and screaming I can take in a row but these serve as a great pick-me-up when no coffee seems forthcoming. They're definitely NSFW, unless you work at a record store.

It's sad when you hear about a band only when members have left and they are no more. Such was the case with me and Hockey Night, surprising because they hailed from the relatively-nearby Minneapolis. From the moment I first heard them, on Battle Star Scholastica I knew I'd enjoy them. They have a fuzzy, synth-pop, indie thing going on that grabbed me from the beats of the intro.

Apparently a couple of the members moved to Philadelphia and started a new band called Free Energy. I haven't heard anything from them, yet, I was just intrigued by the little news flash on the radio that Hockey Night had separated before I'd even listened to them. I love how life's little serendipitous moments bring me new and wonderful things, particularly when they're as fun as Hockey Night, short-lived though they were.

I've got another two-for-one song today, a cover of a creepy stalker song. Apparently The Bird and The Bee recently released an entire album of covers of Hall & Oates songs, including the ever-so-freaky Private Eyes. Wait, does four months ago still count as recently? Whether or not it does, you should have a listen if you know any of the 80s hits covered. This duo does relatively faithful versions and Inara George manages to accompany her own ethereal voice with style and a convincing amount of ennui. Greg Kurstin manages a host of synth sounds that keep the song faithful to the originals without making them sound dated, a pretty neat feat 25 years later. I don't know if they intend to record a Volume Two covering another unlikely "master" but I look forward to hearing it if they do. In the meantime, have a listen to Private Eyes and see if you like what they've done with Darryl Hall's vocals. I certainly do.

I think it's time for a good 80s New Wave song, don't you? It's a pity that more of INXS's songs from "Shabooh Shoobah" didn't have official videos, or at least that no one has felt the need to post them on Youtube, because that album represents their absolute best work. "Listen Like Thieves" won them international fame but, although I do love some of the songs, it just can't hold a candle to the ones that came before it. It's funny that "Shabooh Shoobah" took five years sell enough copies to qualify as a gold record and "Listen Like Thieves" only a similar number of months. "Kick" probably got there in days. Here again is proof that popularity does not equate in quality. Later albums lacked the originality and soul of the older INXS.

This video for The One Thing played on baby-MTV, a mere year old at the time in 1982. I must admit that I remember it, as I do watching the first video they played. I was all of ten when this one came out and it was one of the first cassettes I bought (after Earth, Wind, and Fire's "Raise!" Even then I had pretty diverse tastes.) At any rate, enjoy and share the first albums you remember buying in a particular medium.

Every time I listen to E I just want to hunt him down and give him a hug. That's as true for his work with Eels as it was when I first heard his solo work in 1992. If you know the story of Mark Everett's life you know that he's earned every bit of his melancholy and sorrow. But if you're familiar with his work you also know that he's put it into his music and spun it with his genuine desire to love life despite the awful things it keeps doing to him. His dark sense of humor and virtuosic way with words grab me every time.

It's usually the more up-tempo tunes that really grab me, like LA River and this wacky gem, Hey Man (Now You're Really Living), although in a certain mood I adore wallowing in the slower songs from both the solo and group albums. Say what you will about his voice (I think the Tom Waits and Bob Dylan comparisons are overstated but it does lack a certain smoothness), the stark emotion make Mr. E a joy to hear. At times he sounds like a much deeper precursor to Vampire Weekend, those unapologetic prepsters, sans the Paul Simon influence. If you like this one, have a listen to Going Fetal (performed with Tom Waits, for you trivia buffs out there).

This morning I've been doing what I call following the primrose path. I start with an artist, in this case Shemekia Copeland, enjoy a slew of songs, then move to another with whom the first performed. Today, that led me to Robert Cray, then to Albert Collins (whom I adore), then Gary Moore, Johnny Copeland (yes, Shemekia's dad), and Stevie Ray Vaughan. I could have gone with John Lee Hooker instead of Albert Collins, but I knew that path would branch far too much for one morning's post, much as BB King or Taj Mahal would have taken me in very different directions if I'd chosen one of them for the second step.

I truly do have a point, here. Great musicians play together and searching out collaborations can help you find performers and songs you may otherwise have missed. And so I recommend the primrose path to you all, particularly if you're a blues or folk music fan. And to reward you for having waded through this rainbow of blather to find the golden song at the end, I offer something from the 1985 collaboration between Albert Collins, Johnny Copeland, and Robert Cray, "Showdown!" (Have I ever mentioned how much I love Alligator Records?)

Finally, my darlings, I return to you all bearing the sunburned goodness of a worn-out parent fresh from the world of Disney in need of something very different. For that, I turned to LL Cool J. I considered posting Pink Cookies in a Plastic Bag Being Crushed by Buildings because the whole concept tickles me but thought it was a bit mellow and perhaps graphic for a sudden appearance. Maybe for Valentine's Day. In the meantime, enjoy this old-school nugget, You Can't Dance, complete with break dancing references and a classic line of 80s-style put-down lyrics. If that's not enough entertainment for a fine Friday night, then you'll just have to come back and try again for Saturday. I'm still trying to picture a can't-dance house and a can't-dance car.

As a tiny side note, this was the first song I can remember in which I could positively identify sampling of the nigh-ubiquitous (particularly in early hip hop and rap) Incredible Bongo Band. As I had the album it always cracked me up to hear it pop up in unexpected places. You know it's old-school now when you're listening to the Grandmaster Flash re-mix of their version of Apache. That's enough over-the-hill blather for one evening, I think. Can you tell I've missed you?