Priorities
I had a couple of choices of what to do with my evening the Saturday before last. There was the rock show at an undergrad dive featuring some locals I like and an interesting interloper. Then, at the last minute, a fellow Beer Enthusiast invited me over for a tasting1. Knowing the host and the other guy he invited, my choice was easy. (I’ll get back to this later2.)
However, the choice did not sit well with me. Sure, the beer and conversation was a pretty nice way to spend a Saturday evening, but I wondered what was happening to me. I used to always go out to see rock shows, especially locals with new out-of-towners sharing the bill. Was it a case of old age sneaking up on me? Am I too old to hang out at college bars drinking bad beer3? Was I not a good friend/cyberfriend4 to one of the band members who’s been unsuccessfully inviting me out to shows for a while now? Was I choosing beer over rock ‘n roll? Is that even possible?
The answer is not easy. On one hand, I’m too old to rock, making me rather boring. On the other hand, I’m a jerk who all but promises show after show to demonstrate support for the local scene, but never follows through5. Neither answer paints me in a very good light.
Of course, I still go to rock shows. Last Monday, I did see Japandroids. I arrived way too early, opting to sneak out for a beer or two at a bar with a much better selection. I completely missed the two openers for a chance to down a good west coast IPA in a can6 and an expensive Saison I’ve already forgotten.
Granted, my time for such pastimes is precious these days with a nineteen-month old telling where to sit and choreographing my every dance move7. That child even makes me more accountable to my partner who needs a break now and again. The time for one interest is barely there, much less the time for two hobbies. Yet, I still find a way to pack in some of it.
Someone will point out that it’s about priorities, but I don’t think that’s completely accurate. For example, I was fully prepared to make my inaugural trip to Dark Lord Day this spring. Then, there was Schlafly’s Repeal Fest this past weekend. And beyond that, there were little beer trips here and there to plan and scheme8. I was fully prepared to make myself into a full-fledged beer tourist.
That was all before Pavement decided to play the Midwest. I bought my three-day passes to Pitchfork in Chicago along with train tickets and a hotel room. (Plus, I bought a ticket for their September gig9 in Kansas City.) Beer tourism was put on hold for Pavement.
So, I haven’t totally prioritized beer over music. It just happened that way on one particular weekend. My age is not the problem; lack of time is. So, that’s why I’m trying to blog about both in this space, trying to show how together, (craft) beer and Pavement can build international coalitions for peace, love, and happiness.
Or some shit like that.
…
Back to the beer.
We drank this:
The blank bottle is my homebrew, Wowee Zowee, which is a huge double IPA named for a Pavement record by the same name. I’ll post on this some more once the labels are affixed to the bottles. Just know that this beer is filthy.
Next to the homebrew is De Proef Signature Les Deux Brasseurs Ale brewed with Jason Perkins. I know, I know. It’s not the catchiest name for a beer, but it is gooooooood. Those dudes at De Proef keep tapping into the best and brightest brewers in the US for these special releases. I can’t remember exactly what it tasted like, but I remember that it’s good. I’d say you should buy any 750 mL bottles you find with the De Proef name etched on its label. For reals.
Moving right, the beer with the frog on it is a Hoppin’ Frog IPA. It’s as solid an IPA as any west coast IPA and it’s from OHIO10.
Let that sink in for a moment: a great west coast IPA from OHIO.
Then there’s The Bruery Trade Winds Tripel. Supposedly, there’s Thai basil in them thar bubbles, but we couldn’t taste ’em. It was really, really good. I need to get a hold of some more beers from The Bruery.
After that is the Mikkeller 1000 IBU. I’ve had this beer before, but it somehow tasted even better on this particular Saturday. You’d think a beer with 1000 IBU’s would be so bitter that it would teeter on the edge of undrinkable, but the malt backbone holds up well. Mikkeller is an interesting “brewery”. They’re these hipsters who travel from brewery to brewery, stirring up their magic concoctions and charging an arm and a leg for them, but somehow it’s worth it. With the rise of bourbons and vodkas made by hipsters, it seems that their true calling is in booze and not music11. Just sayin’.
I know almost nothing about Southampton Cuvee Des Fleurs. It was murky and stank. That’s a good thing. It’s sort of like a garage band with a fat-ass bassline who laments everything and is really not appealing in any way…but you love them anyway.
The last is the Ken Schmidt/Maui/Stone Kona Coffee Macadamia Coconut Porter. Yes, that is a mouthful and so was the beer. Don’t go looking for this badass porter at your local pharmacist. I’m pretty sure they’re all gone. Normally, porters are not my thing, but the coffee is so rich in this one. It must be the coconut.
In summation, the beer was good. We talked about our kids but mostly the beers. Priorities, man.
Notes:
1A fancy term for getting together, pouring a few beers, and shooting the shit.
2Skip down (up from the footnotes) to read about the beer and to skip my mid-thirties crisis.
3I sort of outgrew this early on, aside from a few disastrously embarrassing evenings/mornings.
4I say this b/c we’ve struck up a good online friendship, but in our only face-to-face meeting, I ran the other direction. Of course, I was taking my daughter to the restroom to wash her up for dinner at a brewery where said-friend/cyberfriend was working, unbeknown to me.
5I blame this on Evites and event invitations via Facebook. It’s easy to mark “maybe” or even “yes” and then not show up. I am guilty of this over and over again.
6A Caldera which is always delish.
7Seriously. When we dance, she now tells/shows me which dance moves are appropriate when.
8I have been working on wine country (also plenty of beer), Portland, Colorado, and Belgium trips for a while now.
9On the same day as my kid’s second birthday.
10The best part is that it will soon invade my current home state, Missouri.
11Sort of growing tired of hipsters branding themselves as authentic music “aficionados”. Sort of wish hipsters would leave the music blogging to those of us who “really get” music. Feeling jealous of their ability to brand their lifestyles as “music-obsessed” and “with it”.
The End of the Boomer Age
Slate1 proclaimed that the oncoming Pavement reunion signaled “the end of baby boomer cultural hegemony” and I couldn’t be happier. We finally don’t have to be hit over the head with the British InvasionTM, WoodstockTM, MotownTM, or Vietnam® at every cultural turn and Time/Life special offer2 until our cerebrums are numb and too full to remember any of our own childhoods. Generation X is finally relevant.
I’ve felt like my entire childhood and a large part of my young adulthood has been hijacked by the Boomer Generation and resulting cultural output. I grew up thinking the Stones and Motown were the beginning and end of music3. Movies like Stand By Me and Mermaids4 dominated theaters. Rolling Stone was the cultural Bible, telling us what was hot and proclaiming the next Dylan5 or Scorsese at every turn. Boomer mainstays dominated pop culture. Boomer culture dominated society. It wasn’t my experiences that counted; it was the experiences of my parents which shaped my memories.
This appropriation of my experiences and interests has been confounded by the adoption of younger generations (including my own) of the Boomer aesthetic. I can’t go anywhere without running into a 20-year-old hippie6 or a hipster7 with a bushy mustache and afro a la 1973. And the music…Kids with iTunes libraries filled with Beatles, Doors, and Grateful Dead make me ill. All this may explain my distaste for hippies and hipsters. Watching younger generations lose their youth to Boomers frustrates the hell out of me.
So, when Slate made their proclamation, I could not fully express my relief in our culture’s escape from beneath the foot of the Boomer leviathan. Of course, with that release comes the inevitable takeover of custom by my own generation, X. While this is a good development for me and my escaping youth, it might not be very nice to those out there who are younger and trying to create their own culture and experiences8.
There has been a rash of eighties and nineties aesthetics popping up everywhere, completely ignoring any new or original thought. Besides Pavement’s reunion, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion9, Pearl Jam10, and Soundgarden are all reuniting this summer. Check the Tumblr blog Look at This Fucking Hipster for plenty of retro eighties looks. Movies like The Wackness or Clerks 211 inundate the young with Gen X with that 90’s flavor. We’re everywhere…much like the Boomers have been everywhere for the past three or so decades.
I don’t know if this is better or worse. I’m just happy that the Boomer’s stranglehold on our pop culture is over. Thank you Slate, but more importantly, thank you Pavement for ending this reign of tyranny at the hands of the Baby Boomer generation. Bring on the Generation X nostalgia12!
Notes:
1Where I met my wife.
2Only four easy payments of $19.99 (+$19.99 s/h)!
3To some degree, this may be true, but we are so far removed from that era of music that I actually prefer more material from the past 15-20 years than I do from the 60’s.
4I could go on and on about movies from 1975 to 1995 that featured stories set in the 50’s or 60’s. It was as if the only worthwhile stories to be told happened when Boomers were kids.
5Granted, Dylan is a modern-day genius and living legend. I have no problem with him, except that the man now mumbles into a microphone and is handed three Grammies instantaneously just for showing up. I find him unwatchable and nearly unlistenable in recent years, meaning the last 20.
6 A distaste that has been well-documented.
7I am somewhat ambivalent about hipsters. They at least are often trying to do something new and unique. We often enjoy the same music as well. Generally, I find them quaint, even harmless.
8Primarily, my daughter. So, she will just have to grow up listening to Pavement and Guided By Voices while watching anything with Harvey Keitel’s penis or Werner Herzog eating a shoe. We Gen X’ers love that shit.
9 A Jehovah’s Witness came knockin’ on my door on a Saturday while I was laying in bed with my wife! OR Take a whiff of my pant-leg, Baby!
10Wait. Did Pearl Jam break up? They might as well have. It’s been so long since they mattered. I lost touch with them when they fought Ticketmaster…and still found a way to charge $30 a ticket for their shows.
11To reveal my age, I saw the original in the theater. We had a great art house theater across the street from my college campus. I worked in the mail room over the winter break and saw a ton of movies over those two or three weeks.
12Actually, don’t. I think I’m tired of nostalgia all together.
When Indie Rockers Grow Old
When indie rockers grow old, they begin to resemble their not-so-indie forefathers. They do things like put out greatest hits records and break from their bands to collaborate with the hippest of collaborators. Pavement did one of these. The Shins’ James Mercer did the other.
Quarantine the Past is Pavement’s attempt at a greatest hits 1 collection. It’s really a great collection, but I’m completely biased2. They give you all the hits as well as a few hidden gems that need to be polished after all those years in the safe deposit box. Revisiting the two selected tracks from the Perfect Sound Forever EP3 was a good enough reason to blow my kid’s college fund on this bugger4.
Of course, this is what a band does to connect a younger generation to their catalog in one, affordable release5. Kids will pick up this LP and get a taste of what Pavement is like. Of course, as with all greatest hit collections, they will miss out on what makes the albums so cherished to long-time fans6. A selection from a band’s oeuvre never does it the same justice as the entire catalog can provide.
Quaratineine does what it can. It spread the tracks evenly among Pavement’s five LP’s as well as a few selections from EP’s and comps7. One cannot possible grapple with all that is Pavement from this record, but it’s a start. Like the collection of Nick Drake tracks I bought after watching that Volkswagen ad8, it only scratches the surface of what is to be consumed. Quarantine does this admirably, but is limited by the same thing that limits all greatest hits collections, especially from a band with no actual hits9.
James Mercer has been around the block, but his band The Shins has only been known for the past decade. That might not be long enough to garner the credibility of a Pavement10, but it is enough to earn a shot at recording an album with one of the industry’s elite producers in Danger Mouse. Sure, Beck and that guy from Sparklehorse who committed suicide have recently done the same with Danger Mouse, but Mercer brings his own style to the Mouse’s droppings.
Jangly guitars, emotive vocals over cool, hip-hop beats, blips, bleeps, and plenty 70’s soul accoutrement equal Broken Bells. It’s chill11. It’s crossover. It’s sort of boring and forgettable. Unlike the bass-in-your-face of the Beck album, Danger Mouse and Mercer just put the listener to sleep. Sure, any track released from this LP will be a hit on adult contemporary alternative radio and it will undoubtedly win a Grammy12, but it’s a bit of a snooze.
I sort of imagine that Danger Mouse heard the soundtrack to Judgment Night13 and thought that was the future of music. Ever since, he has found ways to mix rap with rock into this new hybrid bound to make loads of cheddar. The trouble is that it’s been overdone. He does have a unique ear for pop music, but Beck was doing this a long time ago before he lost his way14. That and Mercer’s work didn’t need a dance beat to be good. I’m OK with the collaboration, but it doesn’t blow my mind the way it would have for many had it been featured ad nausea on MTV in 1999.
In conclusion, indie rockers are just the new rockers. They release greatest hits collections and stray from their bands to make a unique sound with the hot producer. It all works with the same success rate as it always has15. It’s OK, but it doesn’t compare to the work they’ve done in the past.
Notes:
1Or misses. I mean, really, did Pavement ever have a hit? Nope. Their songs all sounded like hits that would never appeal to the masses. So, maybe they are the greatest “hits” with the quotation marks that you can undoubtedly see. I’ll stop now.
2If you haven’t figured this out, just wait.
3Songs I had forgotten even existed as I am way more obsessed with Pavement’s five proper albums than I am any of their singles, EP’s, or compilation contributions.
4Because, let’s face it, the reason Pavement releases enhanced versions of their albums and now a greatest hits collection is that their fanbase are now in their mid-thirties with good jobs thanks to their college degrees and lots of discretionary funds.
5See The Doors, The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Abba, etc.
6Which was mostly ridiculing each release until the next one came out. “Wowee Zowee is a piece of shit compared to Crooked Rain.” [flash forward two years] “Gawd! Paevement has sold-out with Brighten the Corners. I wish they’d do another album like Wowee Zowee. That was their best record so far.” And so on.
7As an avid mix tape maker in the nineties, I really appreciate the time and care that was obviously take in putting this album together. However, at the conclusion of every song, I’m already humming/singing the opening to the next track on the original album sequence.
8I also bought a VW primarily because of that ad.
9I prefer “misses” as I once used in a title for a mix I made for a girlfriend.
10I realize that this is ludicrous as The Shins have been around as long as Pavement were together. The difference is that Pavement broke up and furthered their legend by doing nothing. Mercer should have considered this route one of the two times he fired band mates.
11I refuse to use the term “chillwave” for two reasons: 1) I don’t really know what chill-wave is. 2) I don’t think this constitutes as chillwave, brah.
12This gives you some indication of how I feel about the Grammies.
13Precursor to rap-rock craze.
14See Midnight Vultures
15It’s C work. It passes. No one will quit listening to them. It won’t increase their audience size or demographic. It does nothing to advance their personal brand.
Perpetually Living in the Nineties
In case you haven’t figured it out, I am perpetually living in the nineties. I obsess over bands who did all their best work over ten years ago; my politic is mired in the discovery of some post-something-or-other during my college days1; and I sometimes think that I’m still 22. Maybe this is what every one goes through. We all sort of stick to that time period when life was fresh and exciting, when we experienced the most as adults2.
So, when it was rumored then announced that Pavement was getting back together, I have to admit that the 22-year-old in me got a little excited3. The band that defined a decade of independent music and much of my coming-of-age years was getting back together for what seems like the unlikeliest of reunion tours4. It was as unlikely as a Pixies reunion or Slint getting back together5. They started out scheduling and promptly selling out a few dates in NYC’s Central Park a year in advance and have slowly added Australia, New Zealand, Europe, nearly every American rock festival, and a handful of US cities. To boot, they’ve even released a best-of LP as an intro to younger audiences6. It’s been a full-on media onslaught ever since.
I first saw Pavement in the summer of ’95. In fact, I saw them twice that year. They were a favorite of mine since late ’93 or early ’94, but I was hooked after seeing them live7. Over the next few years, I would see them play maybe five or six times8. The last time was their final North American date at Cincinnati’s Bogart’s. They didn’t travel through Ohio9 often, so I had to jump on every chance I got.
Honestly, I was a bit slow to the Pavement bandwagon10. I wore out a dubbed cassette copy of Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, but I didn’t fully appreciate what I was hearing. Grunge bands dominated my CD collection more than anything else in those days11. It wasn’t until Wowee Zowee and the soon-to-follow shows in Cleveland and at Lollapalooza12 that I finally got what Pavement was all about.
Anyway, they’re still my favorite band. Their albums are littered among my lists of all-time favorites and I still listen to them regularly. I really haven’t moved far beyond the original lo-fi slackers of indie rock13 or their brethren. At least every other album I receive in the mail is by a band from that era or heavily influenced by SM and the boys. I like to think I’ve grown, but my taste in music suggests otherwise.
One of my opportunities to see the reunited Pavement is at this year’s Pitchfork Music Festival and the bands that have me most interested are bands from…you guessed it…the nineties. Modest Mouse, who I first saw in the fall of ’9614, open the fest on Friday night before an also-reunited Jon Spencer Blues Explosion15 takes over Saturday. Pavement headlines the Sunday lineup. Sure, there are other bands16 playing the weekend-long fest in Chicago, but I am most excited about the three bands with ties to last century.
What is wrong with me? It’s not like all my living happened between 1990 and 1999. I grew up in the ’80’s. I don’t want to look like the eighties or dwell on music from that decade17, but it is a big part of me. The aughts are even more wrought with life-altering experiences. The last decade has seen me switch jobs and careers, get married, move nine-hours from my home, and become a parent18. It’s as if the Y2K bug went off in my head, making everything since seem like a hallucination.
Maybe we just stick with what we know best. It gets harder and harder to expand our knowledge base or interests as we grow older. Some of us slow more than others, but we all quit trying to some extent as our responsibilities mount and youthful exuberance fades.
Then again, I think we gravitate to what comforts us the most. It may also be what we know best, but we return for that solace and control of a well-worn pair of jeans, ratty old couch, or warped and scratched LP quicker than learning something new. Is there anything wrong with that?
The trouble happens when we try to force the “good ole days” on everyone else. We reminisce ad nauseum about how things were better back then, completely discounting the experiences of those who are not of our generation19 but, more importantly, our own experiences before and since. Pavement and other nineties’ indie bands meant a lot to me, but that doesn’t mean a Titus Andronicus20 shouldn’t be meaningful to you or me.
Our heads begin to swell at some point with knowledge and experience, good and bad. We no longer have any room for new information, so it pours out in an effort to keep anything new from entering our consciousness.
So, I will probably continue to live in the nineties. LeBron is no Jordan. Riot Grrrls are the new face of feminism. We’d right this country’s course if Bill were in charge again. Pavement is still the best band in the world…
Don’t give up on me, though. I still have room for something new. Hell, I am in for a whole lotta new as my daughter ages. That and I still follow music, read, and generally pay attention. I may be perpetually living in the nineties, but I do have the capacity to learn and grow.
Notes:
1…and cooch-flavored cigars. Sorry. Apparently my humor is also stuck in the nineties. Who could resist a Clinton/Lewingsky reference? Not this guy.
2Perceived or otherwise.
3Let’s face it. The 18-35 year old in me was excited. Still is.
4This was meant to come off as sarcastic, cynical even. The trend seems to be start a band, record one or more memorable albums, release them on an indie, create some buzz, break up, reunite once all the “money” is spent, and make some major bank.
5First, see above. Second, these two represent the two extremes of the reunited indie band. The Pixies pieced together several classic records and toured the shit out of their livers and waistlines. Then, they reunited…twice. Slint, on the other hand, really only recorded one great album. Sure, it was Spiderland, but it was only one album and a smattering of shows. They were able to garner a lot of fame and cash from that one release. Of course, it was Spiderland.
6And, in all honesty, for pathetic losers like me who will buy said greatest hits collection even though I own a copy of every track on that comp.
7Despite the stories of terrible live shows which often featured sub-par drumming and SM chastising other band members for not playing their parts correctly, a Pavement set was a memorable rock show.
8I’m never quite sure of the number. I do know that I didn’t see them ten or more times and it was certainly no less than five. Similarly, I saw Guided By Voices well over ten, twelve times, but I’m not sure how many. It’s also like that for Modest Mouse and Built to Spill. I told you that I was stuck in the nineties.
9This explains the number of GBV shows in my pocket.
10So slow that I remember turning down a chance to see them in an art gallery in the spring of ’94. I either didn’t have any money (maybe a $4 cover) or was with a girl or a combination of the two.
11Remember, it was the nineties. Grunge cannot be held against me. That and the number of flannel shirts I wore.
12This was the Lollapalooza that they were blamed for destroying. However, I seem to remember a pregnant Sinead O’Connor playing either just before or right after Pavement. Just sayin’.
13Sorry. Somewhere it is written that the words “slacker” and “lo-fi” must accompany everything said on the Internet and/or glossy magazines concerning Pavement. I believe Spin proclaimed this in 1994.
14Completely by accident. A local band I liked was opening for this “mouse band” at Bernie’s. At a friend’s urging, I hung around to stand behind a pole, completely unaware of what was about to be unleashed. I know that it is hard for folks to imagine a time when Modest Mouse was edgy and punk, but I assure you, dearest reader, it happened.
15The Hipsters have no idea what’s about to happen to them. Jon Spencer will make them submit to his every whim. Judah Bauer will strike fear into every dude with a mustache and Russel Simmons will induce migraines with every blow to his kit. You’ve been warned, Chicago…in a footnote of a blog no one reads, but you’ve been warned.
16I’m most excited/interested to hear/see Broken Social Scene, Bear in Heaven, Titus Andronicus, Panda Bear, CAVE, Sleigh Bells, Here We Go Magic, Cass McCombs, Girls, Lightning Bolt, and St. Vincent.
17I’m not counting anything from the hardcore scene or Manchester, England. Those are things I discovered much later and still enjoy. My musical tastes were limited to whatever Casey Kasem brought me on Sunday mornings.
18All long stories which will more than likely not be discussed on this blog.
19That’s X for those of you who are keeping score. Technically, I’m on the tail-end of GenX, like my parents are barely Boomers.
20I am loving their new record. A review will follow shortly. Hopefully.
Dissatisfied
2010 feels a lot like the Reagan era1. The economy’s in the shitter. Libertarians2 and the like are dominating the political discourse. The difference between the haves and have-nots is embarrassingly large, yet the have-nots are garnering all the blame. Things generally suck right now.
The music of that time spoke to this sense of impending doom3. The hardcore scene spoke to the frustration and paranoia of the working class. Jangly, angst-ridden college rock from Manchester spoke to the fears of the educated. And the music was good because of this uneasiness. There was an urgency that spoke to the last days before nuclear annihilation. More importantly, there was a dissatisfaction with the whole deal.
The Soft Pack4 deliver the discontent with their self-titled LP, channeling the words of Westerberg, Minutemen politic, voice of Lou Reed5, Rollins’ urgency, and Joy Division-like darkness6. The band gets at the dissatisfaction in the air with this record like the musicians of the hardcore 80’s did in their time7. Of course, as the picture of who has brought this blight upon us8 clarifies, so does the sound. Gone are screaming vocals hidden beneath a tidal wave of guitars-turned-to-eleven. Still, the tradition of ferocity and velocity of drums and guitar are very, very present.
Malcontentment is all over this record. The exasperation of unsuccessfully urging others to join your fight describes one of the most frustrating experiences one can have (“C’mon”). It’s especially frustrating when such simple, rudimentary appeals to emotion elicit such fervor while reason and logic are discarded as simultaneously elitist and transparent9.
There’s a negativity toward the good in the world (“Down on Loving”). How can we be so happy with mediocrity all the time? Things are not good just because people think they’re happy.
Mortality is realized only as one looks to grow self-reliant (“Answer to Yourself”). You figure out that the only one you can depend on is yourself. the irony is that you won’t be around long enough to fulfill your potential10.
There’s both the dissatisfaction of where we live11 (“Move Along”) and being a part of something larger than one’s surroundings (“Pull Out”12). It’s a classic contradiction. I hate where I’m living11, but I don’t want to live anywhere else. The grass is greener over there, but I’ll put a fence up so that I don’t have to look at it.
The disgusting over-consumption and selfishness of the rich is called out (“More or Less”). Of course, the term “rich” is relevant. It could mean the über-rich who lament the taxes they pay and the constant fight to keep the poor out. It could also address the consumption of Americans in general. We are a rich and wasteful people.
The dissatisfaction turns sad as the album moves toward its end. The complacency surrounding everyday unsolved murder mysteries is sadly recreated (“Tides of Time”). The energy folks waste arguing over this life while deaths go unexplained day after day is a bit sickening. If it could happen to anyone, it could happen to me. Will I be forgotten13?
A call to arms theme returns since the first track (“Flammable”). The band moves from waiting for others to join the fight into action to burning everything in their path. Just give me a reason and I’ll burn you.
Nothing’s more depressing than the end to a relationship. It’s even worse when it just sort of ends, one person moves on to the next part of their life. The other poor bastard is the one left behind and doesn’t put up a fight14 (“Mexico”).
And maybe the biggest bringers of disgust can be found in the hangers-on, freeloaders, even sycophants (“Parasites”). Some of us live for others to follow every word we sputter15. Even then, we despise these admirers who can’t think critically and take us for who we are16. On the other hand, there are those who can see through the worship to a parasite’s true, pathetic nature. It turns us off from hero-worship, religion, and political zealotry. It causes us to question humanity in general. How can so many of us be so stupid?
Truth be told, I am dissatisfied. That’s maybe why this record spoke to me so clearly. It could also be why I’ve interpreted the message so negatively. But this is what I want from music. I want it to recognize my disillusionment with my station in life. I want to know that someone else feels that way too. Then the dissatisfaction I feel is satisfyingly real, even legitimate.
The Soft Pack makes me feel not so alone the way The Replacements and Afghan Whigs with their own miserable lives expressed in song once did. Sometimes I need a record to remind me, to pinch me. That is what The Soft Pack did for me. If you want to feel happy and good about life, listen to The Black-Eyed Peas or Miley Cyrus17. If you want to feel alive and present, listen to a band like The Soft Pack. Dissatisfaction is guaranteed.
Notes:
1Except, of course, we have a black guy as president. That’s a pretty striking difference.
2Read “tea-baggers” here, but there were no tea-baggers back then, or at least they were in the bath houses. I’m mostly getting at rich, white dudes who want to keep their money so they appeal to a socially conservative agenda to get their way.
3Sans the ghastly pop and hair metal that dominated the charts at the time. I’m referring to the bubbling underground of hardcore scenes and college campuses. Although, maybe all that bad music spoke more to our doomed futures than anything played on your college radio station. If you’re still reading this footnote, you have clearly realized that I have digressed.
4Formerly The Muslims. I wonder why they changed their name?
5I’m thinking more Velvet Underground era, not Berlin and beyond.
6With some New Order jangles sprinkled throughout.
7Except that The Soft Pack have the advantage of the Internet and the groundwork those seminal groups laid.
8I’m talking the disgustingly rich and greedy corporations here.
9Obama suffers and succeeds because of both. W only appealed to the emotions of his base.
10Look at any number of rock stars who died in their prime, usually at the age of 27.
11I once blogged this point into the ground. Maybe you’ve read that blog.
12This song so reminds me of Pavement’s “Two States,” but instead of splitting California into north and south, The Soft Pack support the state’s succession from the union.
13I often have visions of dying too soon due to an aneurysm, randomly driving off the side of the road, or both. I just wanted that to be somewhere in writing. Is that morbid?
14This once happened to me. I was left behind, but don’t worry. I was well over the relationship for a while as my girlfriend had been planning her exodus for several months. So, it’s cool.
15To subscribe, look under “Daddy’s Work” to the right. Click on “Entries RSS” and take me to your reader.
16This does not refer to you, dear reader.
17This is how out-of-touch I am with mainstream music. Should I have used Lady Gaga instead?
Young and Old
A comment in my last post struck me. Longtime reader and taint haiku-ist Carrie had this to say1:
This is why I feel I have to fight so hard to be credible, because most of the people my age–quite frankly–listen to music with no reference points (also note: I had a moment of swelling pride today when a 40-something guy on one of the online forums I frequent told me my musical depth gives him hope)
Two things: 1) The fact that as a youngster, Carrie has to fight for credibility due to her generation’s inability to move beyond P4k and iTunes. 2) Carrie is not like her peers in that she has impressive “musical depth.”
First of all, Carrie doesn’t have to prove anything. A quick glance of her blog, Colossal Youth, and you’ll quickly realize that she has plenty of credibility. This is also proven by my second thing above. I’m glad that is out of the way.
What I wanted to get at is the fact that it’s way easier to have musical reference points when you’ve been at it as long as I have2. Of course I know Pavement, Brainiac3, Guided By Voices, and Archers of Loaf3. I lived those years. There was no work involved. I went to the club once or twice a week and saw some shows. The local record emporium kept me updated. There was very little work to it.
I don’t blame the young for not always knowing music’s history. It takes work4. I don’t know that I always put in the work to know newer bands these days. It’s OK.
On the other hand, I did do a lot of the work necessary to gain that point of reference. I loaded up on quintessential albums in the used section at Used Kids5. I’ve read the books and magazine articles. I put in my time to learn about the trajectory of music. It’s not easy, but it’s totally worth it.
There’s no excuse with Google and Wikipedia and whatever not to know about music’s past. It’s easier than it used to be. Someone name-drops Lydia Lunch. You run over to Wikipedia and search it out to find that she was a pioneer of No Wave and has deep connections with Sonic Youth. It’s really not that hard.
Of course, we older folk can’t expect younger generations to know about our music if we don’t teach them. Take this evening. I had a conversation with a friend about the indie scene in Ohio back in the nineties6. It got some wheels in my head spinning. I put on some Guided By Voices while I fed and bathed my daughter. I sang and danced to the music and taught her a new word: Ohio. Her indie rock education began a long time ago, but this was the beginning of another conversation over Ohio’s contribution to music.
This does not leave out the young people. They have to hold old cranks like myself by the hand and tell us about new bands so that we don’t fall behind7. Of course, an exchange between young and old is always necessary to advance thought, even in music.
Anyways, Carrie’s comment made me think and think some more is what I’ll do.
There are more angles to look at this topic. Take beer, for instance. Kids know how to get shit-faced and have a good time no matter how terrible the beer tastes. Older beer drinkers know what tastes good and how to get the same effect out of three beers as opposed to twelve.
I have always felt that I’ve had a lot to learn from those younger than I, but they can learn from me as well. So, that’s where this blog fits in. I don’t have many readers at the moment, but I know someone will glean something worthwhile from my words at some point.
What do you think? What can we learn from each other? What have you learned from folks younger/older than yourself?
1In her comment footnotes no less!
2I was one of those kids affected by Nirvana. I smelled of the teen spirit. I grew up in grunge and the early days when hardcore transformed into lo-fi which later became the all-encompassing indie.
3If these boys are too obscure for you, look ’em up. Buy something today. I’ll wait.
4Although I always prided myself at understanding from where a band came or their influences, I can’t say I always put in the necessary work to truly get a band.
5If you’ve never been, it’s really worth the trip to Columbus, OH.
6Yes, we had a scene. Guided By Voices, The Breeders, Afghan Whigs, Brainiac, Gaunt, New Bomb Turks, etc.
7Or we could just read some blogs.
Boys Only
“Boys Only” is not the most accurate title for this post. I mostly wanted to address the idea that certain things are for only the manliest of men. It’s the idea that rock ‘n roll and beer (among many other things) can only be properly appreciated by the most testosterone-riddled individuals is what I want to refute.
I remember seeing Pavement in the spring of 1995 as they supported Wowee Zowee. My sister and I were able to almost reach the stage for Pavement’s set. Directly in front of us were these bros and their little girlfriends1. Besides their drunken slurring and spitting, these “fellow” Pavement revelers were shirtless and ready to kick some ass. Already sweaty from openers Fuck and Dirty Three, my sister and knew that we were in for a long show.
Pavement came out and the ruckus began2. The bros moshed like there was no tomorrow, high-fiving at the start and stop of every song. God3 only knows what they were screaming throughout the set. I don’t think they were making any requests as I’m pretty sure they barely knew who Pavement was.
Why were these two mooks even at this show and why did they feel the need to not let anyone else enjoy the music? I see these same guys4 at every show, particularly outdoors. For whatever reason, someone5 has played for them a Pavement, Sonic Youth, or Dinosaur Jr song that they thought rawked. This emboldens them to not only attend indie rock shows but to then “show these indie fags how we throw down at an ICP show, bitches!” Really? Do we need this element at indie rock shows, too? They already took over grunge6 and emo7; now they want slow-core, shoegaze, and math rock to complete their dominance of the summer music festival circuit. Why does rock music have to be so masculine? I don’t care what a guitar represents. This is why moshing didn’t last. No one wants that shit at their Iron and Wine shows!
While I think indie rock’s separation from a testosterone-fueled mindset is pretty straightforward8, beer is another story. Beer, whether it’s swill9 or good craft beer, has been claimed by the manliest of men. For Bud Light drinkers, it’s the quantity of beer you down in a sitting. You’re only a man if you finish this case on your own. With beer geeks, it’s about quality. “Don’t bring that silly New Belgium Fat Tire10 to my party. We drinking nothing but the Stone Vertical series in order! Boo-ya!”
Well, maybe it isn’t that bad, but I am let down time and time again at beer tastings. The beer arms race is out of control. It used to be about discovering a brew you’d never had before at the grocery or beer shop, but now it’s all about getting every beer from out-of-market locales. 12% ABV, fermented in bourbon barrels, Brettanomyces, 100 IBU’s, blends, collaborations, etc. The escalation to try every beer or at least have one in your cellar is intense.11
I sometimes complain to my beer geek friends that I have more beer than I know what to do with between searching local stores daily, having my mom bring me out-of-market brews12, and brewing my own. They all look at me like there’s fish coming out of my forehead. “You can never have too much beer!” they exclaim. Silly me. My liver and self-respect be damned. No drink up.
Of course, the overtly masculine male takes over everything. Football. Darts. Sheep herding. Gardening. Cross-stitching. Everything. It’s in their nature. There’s no room for vulnerability or a feminine sensibility. Join in or be the fag they knock to the floor.
I don’t love things like music and craft beer because I am male. I love them because they make me happy. There is no reason why these things have to be bastardized by tired gender stereotypes.
As much as anyone, I like to let off a ton of steam dancing at a rock show or playing air drums whenever possible. This is a expression of pure emotion. It isn’t an opportunity to assert my masculinity.
I don’t have to down a bottle of beer in one long gulp or hunt down every rare beer just to prove myself a worthy beer geek. Beer should be about enjoying a quality beverage, pairing it with good food, and sharing it over good conversation.
I submit that not only are these pastimes (as well as many others) not for boys only, but they don’t have to be hyper-masculine hobbies either.
As a programming note, I want to apologize for the excessive footnoting. I was influenced by the author John Sellers and blogger doublewordscore13. It will happen again. It’s like old-school hyperlinks, but I have those too.14
So, have a beer for me and drop the needle on your favorite record. I’ll see you next time.
1What I mean by “little” is that they were rather short and petite. This in no way was meant as a demeaning comment toward the young ladies. Rather, it addresses these bros’ preference for petite girlfriends. It also addresses their unrealistic expectations for the female (as well as male) body to stay tiny and fit throughout life. I’m sure these same bros had a rough time once they knocked up their girlfriends (possibly on that very night) and watched their flat bellies turn round. I feel sorry for their spouses, children, and mistresses.
2My most vivid memory of this moment also involved a shirt as Spiral Stairs/Scott Kannberg came out in this homemade t-shirt which read something like “I ♥ PAVEMENT” in red letters on a white shirt with red 3/4 sleeves. That part was pretty sweet.
3Stephen Malkmus
4Not actually the same, exact bros. That’s an exaggeration to demonstrate how similar every concert situation I have includes dudes with backwards hats and too much to drink. Mooks. Douches. Frat boys. Whatever.
5This would be their roommate from freshman year, that smart girl they think is cool but would never admit it to their bros, or the VJ on 120 Minutes they happen to catch after passing out from a night of binge-drinking and date-raping.
6pre-Nickleback
7pre-New Found Glory
8I haven’t even mentioned the constant one-upsmanship of indie geeks and record store clerks who have everything The White Stripes ever did on vinyl for Sympathy for the Record Industry or were at the last North American Pavement show and the final Afghan Whigs gig. This issue is addressed more in the beer section of my argument.
9Why do people drink yellow fizzy beer? It’s more rice than anything and you have to drink a shit-ton to get even a little tipsy. Why not have three good beers and enjoy the buzz and the flavor?
10Of course, I call it “Flat Tire” which isn’t OK. New Belgium is maybe the greenest brewery in the world. That and they do make some good beers. I love me some La Folie.
11I fall for all these things. My cellar is overflowing as I write this. I think I have a problem.
12That’s Ohio. Best recognize!
13Whom I once got fired, but he is as loyal a friend as there can be. I am indebted to him forever. You should totally click through to his blog so that his stats are completely skewed towards my site. He’ll begin to think that all of his readers have come from me.
14Now, I’m just getting lazy with these things. Maybe next time I will utilize the footnotes more efficiently/effectively. And if you’re reading this, you have to be reconsidering adding me to your RSS reader.
Cynic
I watched the last couple of episodes of The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien this past week. I hadn’t watched one episode of the late night talk show since O’Brien took over, but I always knew that I preferred O’Brien over his predecessor Jay Leno from watching Late Night for years. (That and his years with The Simpsons were easily the best in that show’s history.) He is a vastly superior comic who doesn’t have to depend on clichés and newspaper clippings sent in by his viewers to write a joke.
His last few shows included a gag where he pieced together the most expensive comedy bits ever in order to run up NBC’s bill. One night, he dresses up the world’s most expensive car as a mouse whose theme song is the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” and the next he “buys” a former Kentucky Derby winner dressed in a mink Snuggie™ watching restricted NFL footage. O’Brien outdid that with a giant sloth skeleton “purchased” from the Smithsonian, spraying an “original” Picasso with beluga caviar.
These bits were a stroke of genius as he appeared to be really sticking it to NBC by running up the bill for the show. It’s like that guy in the office who’s about to be laid off, so he gathers as many office supplies as he can fit into his car before leaving. The sketches were so convincing that it prompted outrage from viewers over wasted spending. This is the type of comedy that gets beyond those “wacky politicians in Washington” and men are from Venus” triviality. This is the same “outside-the-box” comedy that doomed shows like Arrested Development or…um…that’s pretty much the list.
Amidst all the comedy, in one truly sincere moment, O’Brien had this to say:
All I ask of you is one thing: please don’t be cynical. I hate cynicism — it’s my least favorite quality and it doesn’t lead anywhere.
While positive and gracious in his exit, O’Brien left me feeling a bit…well…cynical about the whole thing. His message was true and from the heart. He’s probably right in that cynicism doesn’t lead to many good things. Of course how can he feel cynical with that $40 million buyout from NBC…
Sorry. Cynicism just took over.
I don’t blame O’Brien for taking the money. I think it was shitty how NBC treated him. I’m with Coco on this one.
His cynicism comment got me thinking about the fine line between cynicism and critique. It’s hard in these days of post-Bushian patriotism and post-Obama Hope™ and Change® to critique anything without running the risk of the “cynic” tag. A cynic looks at an occurrence with skepticism and questions motives or perceived viability – or at least that’s how I take it. Why shouldn’t we closely examine every situation for inaccuracies, inconsistencies, or dishonesty? Should we just accept everything at face value? Is everything as wonderful and altruistic as others would like us to believe?
Because we question one’s motivation or analyze the unseen effects of an event does not mean we are adding nothing to the conversation as the term “cynic” implies, especially in O’Brien’s use of the word.
Is the age of cynicism dead? Did it get thrown out with irony? It sure seems that way sometimes.
Take the Pavement reunion. No one, including myself, thought this gig would happen once much less a full-blown world tour that includes every summer festival on the circuit. It seemed as if front man Stephen Malkmus was tired of working with suspect musicians and the rest of the band was tired of his ego. A reunion seemed out of the question.
Why are they getting back together? It has to be the money. Look at the killing Pixies made. Dinosaur Jr is more popular than ever. Even a band like Cap’n Jazz reunited for one night not just to relive old times and to give their fans another taste of what they miss, but it also happened to coincide with C’nJ off-shoot Joan of Arc’s album release and tour. These bands all wanted to make some cash off their legacies while they still could.
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with any of this. It’s great that Conan O’Brien was at least able to walk away with millions (sadly sans the masturbating bear). I love that my favorite band Pavement will make a ton of money this summer. They should. I won’t begrudge them that. If pointing out monetary benefits as motivation or somewhat justifiable consolation makes me a cynic, then so be it.
Cynicism is not dead (nor irony). Sure, it’s critique’s older, uglier step-brother, but it’s necessary. It shouldn’t paralyze us with apathy. However, it also won’t keep us from smashing those rose-colored glasses of ignorance. I’m okay with tempered cynicism. It has it’s place no matter what Conan O’Brien or anyone else has to say about it.
Of course, as I write this, I’m wondering if I just wanted to up my visitor count by mentioning “Conan O’Brien” and “Pavement reunion” all over this post. Maybe I am, but it doesn’t mean that this post holds any less truth.
Oh, and cynicism is welcome in the comments. See, there is a place for cynicism in this world.
DIY
DIY. Do it yourself.
This is a sentiment that has had a long, slow growth over the past couple of decades. While mainly a hippie thing in the sixties and early seventies, punks (and not just the mohawked, rocker types) have adopted the DIY ethic as their own. Creating their own music, style and politic.
DIY has manifested itself in nearly every industry or craft. It’s spread beyond economies and has seeped into our daily lives. We build meat cart beds, sew our own clothes, build our own web presence without giving any real money to giant corporations making these products for us. Sure, the end results are often rough around the edges, but that’s what gives our things, our lives character.
In no other industry or craft has DIY had a greater effect than indie rock and craft beer.
Yesterday’s garage band playing the prom is today’s Lollapalooza headliner. These bands have moved from cheap cassette tapes of their songs to small runs of 7″ vinyl to full albums available online and created on their MacBooks. They didn’t like what the mass producers were mass producing, so they made their own. Some of it good, a lot of it unlistenable, but all of it original.
Take Pavement, for example. A couple of college kids from Stockton, CA decide they want to record some songs and put it to vinyl. A scary hippie with a makeshift recording studio and an uncanny ability to not keep a beat helps them out and you have Slay Tracks. The rest is history. Had SM and Spiral Stairs (pseudonyms) never worked up the nerve to record their own songs, Pitchfork would have nothing to pine over this year.
And Pavement is just a small piece of the indie-DIY puzzle. They sounded like they were doing it themselves (good thing). I haven’t even mentioned Sonic Youth making their own path through the major labels when so many 80’s indie bands had failed. Those old codgers even rebuild their own instruments. Folks at Merge (as well as countless other indies) started a record label just to release records by themselves and their friends. Indie rock is littered with DIY success stories.
Beer had a similar rise. About the same time punk rock was blowing up – making way for the hardcore and indie movements – Jimmy Carter signed a bill into law declaring homebrewing legal. No other development has had more of an impact on the beer market than this one bill. Soon after, a dude named Maytag brewed some steam beers in San Francisco and another guy started a brewery in Chico, CA. Charlie Papazian founded the Association of Brewers. It all took off from there.
It’s this DIY attitude that provides all the innovation for both of these trades to flourish. In the midst of these economically hard times, indie labels and craft brewers are a few of the folks still making money. Major labels have been losing money for almost two decades. The big mega-breweries are experiencing something they never thought breweries would feel: a pinch from a down economy. Folks are willing to pay good money for quality music on vinyl or extremely hoppy imperial IPA’s or sour beers brewed in wine barrels.
Instead of waiting for someone to make something they liked, these indie rockers and craft brewers did it for themselves. And they’re finding that other people wanted the same things they did. So, they’re able to make a living doing what they love.
Even I’ve done some things for myself. I can’t play an instrument and I didn’t have the capital to front a label, but I’ve done what I can to promote and support these DIY bands. Even better, I’ve taken up homebrewing in the last year. Three out of four batches made it to bottles. The first was drinkable; the second was a huge success; and the third gets better every time I try it. These things and various DIY projects litter my life with meaning and accomplishment.
By trade, I’m a teacher. There is maybe no other profession that uses DIY as much as teaching in public schools. There is often nothing in the way of appropriate materials available on a daily basis. We make our own. Now with all this Web 2.0 stuff, we really make our own all over the place.
The point of celebrating the DIY ethic is to call attention to the capabilities we all hold inside. We can do and make whatever we want or need. There is no more waiting for governmental or private enterprises to make what we want. We have to do it for ourselves.
So, build your meat cart bed. Learn to knit. Take a guitar lesson. Plant a garden. Do it for yourself. Don’t wait for someone else. “Yes we can” was not just a campaign slogan. Believe in it. Believe that you can do it for yourself.
This is just the first in a series on my manifesto for life. I feel most strongly about DIY. You should too. Let me know what you plan to do or are doing that fits the DIY lifestyle.
(*Note: This is not some lame-ass hipster, holier-than-thou diatribe. You should really give this a try.)
Tuesdays
Tuesdays used to be a big, big deal for me. I would see somewhere weeks ahead of time that a record was set to release on a particular Tuesday. The date would be marked on my calendar immediately. I’d count down those days, insuring that I had the money in my account to make that purchase (and a few others) on the day of the release.
There was a time in college when I’d even wait in line at midnight to pick up certain albums as they were released to the public. I don’t know why I had to have those albums right then. I just did.
Eventually, I learned that my favorite record store sold the new album’s promo copy days before the official release. It was technically cheating, but I didn’t care. Whatever I could do to get that new release in my hands was fine with me.
Things changed around the time Napster rolled in. Maybe it was because the record industry told us it was stealing as they sued unwitting college kids for ten times their tuition or it was my steadily growing income that kept me from pirating my favorite bands’ music. Whatever it was, I realigned my trips to Used Kids with the Tuesday release schedule.
Right up to maybe eighteen months ago, I was going to the record store religiously every Tuesday. As I grew older and had more responsibilities, I had less time to read the magazines and blogs in order to know what was coming out when. So, it was a surprise every week.
Then, I discovered Insound and the pre-order. Now, as release dates are announced, I put in orders for three or more records at a time, spread out over a couple of months. The UPS lady thinks I’m a DJ I get so many records these days. They’re always shipped several days before the release day and usually arrive by the weekend prior to the designated Tuesday. Even with this little end-around maneuver, I look forward to giving every record it’s due time by it’s release Tuesday.
I developed another hobby which involved release dates. Craft brewers like to do big PR campaigns whenever they bottle something new. Blogs start hinting at bourbon barrels, collaborations between breweries, and copious amounts of hops being dumped into brew kettles for weeks. Then, out of nowhere, much like a Pitchfork leak of an album cover, the label is posted somewhere. I drool much the same way when I heard Built to Spill or Pavement had another record on the way.
The difference between craft beer and music is that breweries have their own version of Tuesdays. Sometimes they’re Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, etc. A beer could be released on a Monday in Denver, but we won’t see it in Missouri for another two or thee weeks. Sometimes, it takes months to get a new release. The practice of waiting on Tuesday for record geeks just doesn’t equate for beer geeks.
That is, until this Tuesday here in Columbia, MO.
As word spread that Bell’s of Kalamazoo, Michigan was planning on releasing their insanely hoppy and hyped double IPA early this year, the collective beer community waited patiently for word of the beer’s arrival. I mean, with a name like “Hopslam,” it’s no wonder why hopheads across the nation long for this annual release every year. We here in Columbia (aka COMO), knew our day was Tuesday.
For me as a record geek, the arrival of one of maybe my three favorite beers in the world made me feel right at home. I wasn’t swinging by the record store, scoping shelves for new arrivals, but I was bugging grocery employees for any information I could garner regarding the sweet, sweet nectar that is Hopslam.
When the day arrived, it was all I could do to wait and try my new purchase. When I still bought CD’s, I’d remove the cellophane and pop the disc directly in the player, take the long route home, and listen away. Beer doesn’t quite work that way. There are “rules” about not opening the beer in a car as well as “suggestions” not to consume while driving. I even had to wait until my work day was over to enjoy this year’s release.
And like a great new album by one of my favorite bands, Hopslam doesn’t disappoint. Last year’s version was an over-the-top hop bomb that punched you in the face with grapefruit and cat piss. Unbalanced for some, I enjoyed the beer immensely for its aggressive style. However, this year’s beer impresses me even more. It’s so well balanced with a more pronounced honey and malt presence, somewhat missing from last year’s fresh version. Either way, the hype and the wait for this beer makes this annual event a lot of fun.
Release dates – whether for beer or records – is a religious experience. My Tuesday is a Christian’s Sunday or Jew’s Saturday. Tuesday is my Sabbath. It’s the birth and rebirth of my savior rolled into one day of the week, every week. Even when the UPS truck arrives on Monday or that new Southern Tier imperial stout drops on Friday, Tuesday is the day I worship. And isn’t that what religion is about? It’s about practices that bring peace and calm to your life.
I don’t pray to a god. I crack open a Hopslam, take in its Simcoe nose and roll the malt and honey over my tongue. I tear off the cellophane from a newly-arrived LP and drop the needle before leaning back. These things bring me peace. These are the times I can reflect upon and feel OK with the world.
Tuesdays do all that for me.
Beer and Pavement 
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