This week, SportsAlcohol.com writers are recounting the best music of 2014. Today’s Track Marks focus on individual songs from albums that didn’t make our individual best-album lists.
I’m pretty in the bag for any song that has the same bones as “Bright Eyes”: a sweet, upbeat tune that trades off boy and girl vocals. But “Bright Eyes” is an especially well done version of this kind of thing, even without any of the direct references to Bonnie Tyler or Connor Oberst that the title promises.
The subject is pretty typical for a song with boy/girl vocals: One of the singers is looking for a romantic relationship, but the other demurs. (“You go to great lengths to tell me this is not a romance.”)
The charm of “Bright Eyes” is that it’s the most positive version of this situation possible (and sounds like it). It’s not really an unrequited romance. It’s more a friendship that’s on the cusp of tipping over into something else, but luxuriating in the pleasure-delaying moment just before it happens: “What’s the hurry? Don’t you see, the best part’s in not knowing. We can take our time; you don’t have to worry.”
The chorus asks “Do you believe in fun?” then answers, “I surely do.” And it certainly does.
This week, SportsAlcohol.com writers are recounting the best music of 2014. Today’s Track Marks focus on individual songs from albums that didn’t make our individual best-album lists.
I contend that Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks is one of those bands, like the Strokes, that manages to have one amazing song—and possibly only one amazing song—on every album. On Wig Out at Jagbags, that song is “Lariat.”
“Lariat” might even be better than most of the other album highlights in that it actually seems to be about something. (I love “Gardenia,” but I still swear that it’s just a string a disparate commonly used expressions, like “curb appeal” or “damning with faint praise.”) Even better: That something is music.
I like hearing about Malkmus’ “Mudhoney summer” or living on the Grateful Dead. I might not agree with his assertion that the ’80s was the golden age of music, but I’m pretty sure the statement “we grew up listening to the music from the best decade ever” is something that all music fans have said at some point in their lives. For me, it was the ’90s—the decade of Pavement—which I admit doesn’t have the same ring to it or double meaning as the ’80s/ADDs, but thinking about the music of that era puts me in the same mood that “Lariat” does.
And yes, Malkmus. People do look great when they shave.
This week, SportsAlcohol.com writers are recounting the best music of 2014. Today’s Track Marks focus on individual songs from albums that didn’t make our individual best-album lists.
Damon Albarn’s had a lot of different musical reputations throughout the years. He was known for making rowdy, frenetic Britpop with Blur, then genre-blending mixed-media hip-hop-rock with Gorillaz, then for doing world music with whatever band/project that was. No matter what he was working on, though, he was always thought of as a serious musician. He’s never really been branded as the guy who makes uplifting, happy music. But all of my personal favorite Albarn songs have been soothing in one way or another.
“Mr. Tembo” fits squarely into this category. It’s light-hearted. When Mr. Tembo starts his trek up the hill, you’re there with him, but you’re confident you’ll both make it to the top. You can put it on a “cheer up” playlist, or listen to it while cooking dinner—it doesn’t really ask all that much from a listener.
The background story to the song is just as mood-lifting. Albarn wrote “Mr. Tembo” about a real elephant, one that had wandered into an airplane hangar in Africa and then was rescued by an elephant sanctuary in Tanzania. Albarn met the real Mr. Tembo, wrote the song for him, and also got to sing it to him once.
This year was a grim one. The news was often bleak. But, whenever you’re feeling blue about how 2014 went down, you can always remember that this is the year that Damon Albarn sang a song to an elephant.
This week, SportsAlcohol.com writers are recounting the best music of 2014. Today’s Track Marks focus on individual songs from albums that didn’t make our individual best-album lists.
It doesn’t seem right that when I think about tUnEyArDs, I think about Chuck Klosterman. When the band’s previous album landed at first place in the Village Voice music poll in early 2012, Klosterman wrote one of his patented meta-think pieces that’s mostly about how Klosterman thinks everyone else thinks, and to a lesser extent is about how this album and tUnEyArDs (referred to hereafter as Tune Yards) may well be forgotten as a novelty within a few years — not because Klosterman thinks it should be, of course, but because he understands how people think and remains, as ever, deeply in touch with that understanding at all times. He knows the pitfalls of indie-rock acclaim, and is just concerned about whether Tune Yards can ever match (or monetize) this early success. (He strikes such a faux-populist pose that he loses his grasp of apparently non-populist activities such as counting or even estimating; he opens by explaining that Tune Yards’ victory will mean something to “maybe 10,000 people.” Though record sales are notoriously difficult to come by compared to movie box office figures, it appears that whokill, the Tune Yards album in question, sold about 40,000 copies, meaning Klosterman (a.) was pre-supposing that only about 25% of the people who bought the Tuneyards album knew who Tune Yards was or (b.) was pre-supposing that only 25% of Tune Yards fans have heard of the Village Voice or know what a music poll is or (c.) did not even try to find out how many copies whokill sold because doing research isn’t populist.)
Other people have taken apart his reasoning more succinctly and intelligently than I can. But you know what’s even better proof than intelligent rebuttals of Klosterman’s stupid points? “Water Fountain,” by Tune Yards, maybe the most immediate song I heard in 2014. The rest of Nikki Nack is plenty good, too, but “Water Fountain” rollicks in a way unlike so much on the indie-rock landscape. It starts with the simplicity of a folk song (it even references a traditional tune called “Old Molly Hare”) but makes a beautiful tangle of chant, metaphor, and allusion as the drums keep clanging and a surprising number of verses accumulate. Anytime a song sounds like Graceland, Talking Heads, Bjork, and Busta Rhymes in equal measure, I’m probably going to get on board, and stay on board for a long while. If Chuck Klosterman and his imagined isn’t there with me, well, I can be thankful for small favors.
This week, SportsAlcohol.com writers are recounting the best music of 2014. Today’s Track Marks focus on individual songs from albums that didn’t make our individual best-album lists.
you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys
The above is an excerpt of my internal monologue when I found out Sleater-Kinney was finally reuniting. A lot of my recent writing and podcasting on the site have confirmed my worst fears that my tastes a little too grounded in my college years. I might overrate what I listened to at the turn of the century, but you can never take the greatness of Sleater-Kinney away from me.
The best thing about Sleater-Kinney releasing “Bury Our Friends” as their first comeback single is I don’t have to say you had to be there, man. Everything that was and is superlative about the band can be found in this song:
Corin Tucker’s voice. FYI, hating Corin Tucker’s voice is the new hating Bob Dylan’s voice: you can do it, but you are making a cliched observation and contributing nothing. Why don’t you just do a Borat impression instead? Also, I happen to think you are wrong. Corin Tucker’s voice is huge and soaring and one of a kind.
Carrie Brownstein’s guitar work. I don’t know what kind of world we’re coming too when she is known more for her sketch comedy work than her tasty licks.
Janet Weiss. How do you describe sexism to people who don’t think it exists? Have them consider Janet Weiss’ resume and the fact that she’s rarely mentioned the conversation of the greatest/most influential/most dependable drummers of all time. She is just a monster. She doesn’t play a lot of fills or solos; she just lays down a tight beat with authority. Janet Weiss is so great sometimes you fail to notice her.
The interplay between all the above. If crusty old rock critics actually listened to how this band gave one another space to do their thing, a kind word would never again be written about the ‘sophistication’ of The Police.
All of this happens in a tight 3:20, reminicent of their classic mid period, circa Dig Me Out.
The sound, though, has the hugeness of their last album, the epic, Zeppelin-inspiried The Woods. All the noise of overmodulation in service of the song, it’s hard to recognize this a three piece without a keyboard player or even a bassist.
The verses are everything great about their lyrics: personal yet universal, relatable yet inscrutable.
The chorus has the proud defiance of the protest songs of their post-9/11 album One Beat.
This week, SportsAlcohol.com writers are recounting the best music of 2014. Today’s Track Marks focus on individual songs from albums that didn’t make our individual best-album lists.
When I read about Cloud Nothings, the word that comes up most often is “dependable.” I can sort of see why writers use it to describe the band: They make straight-ahead rock music, no frills. Their songs are consistently good, but not really going to seep under your skin and become one of your very favorite songs of all time.
Until “I’m Not Part of Me.” With this song, Cloud Nothings still adhere to the straight-ahead rock formula, but this time they’ve achieved something greater. Everything about it adds a layer of excitement: the scratchy guitar intro, the way the drums are delayed until they make a triumphant entrance, the way the vocals simple announce “it starts right now,” the way it all builds into a shout-along chorus.
The best lyric, for me, is the one they plucked from this song to become the title of the album: “I’m learning how to be here and nowhere else.” That really hits on something about living in 2014, in an age where everyone always has one eye on their cell phones. But when this song comes on, I find it pretty easy to be in it, and nowhere else.
The lights in the theater darkened so that the glowing black of the screen was the only illumination. Multiple noises began to cease, rustling candy wrappers hushing, settling shoe soles snacking against dried soda, settling fabrics brushing seatbacks. The film critic dashed off notes on a reporter’s pad.
This passion project faces high expectations. How will Stiller stretch this short story out to feature length? I doubt it can retain the core of the original. I wonder how he pitched it.
The lavishly appointed Hollywood meeting room erupts in applause and cheerful congratulation. The executive had just explained the gist of the film, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, about an office worker who feels ignored by his peers, but is secretly awesome, and eventually shares his secret awesomeness with the rest of the world. The chief, able to greenlight projects without checking with anyone, smiles with round shining cheeks. No champagne is popped, but the atmosphere in the room is one of champagne-popping.
A script reader standing against the wall at the far end of the room clears his throat. No one hears.
At the risk of dating ourselves, the majority of the SportsAlcohol crew loves the music that was tearing up the CMJ charts during the transition of the Clinton to Bush 43 administrations because that’s when we were in college. Sabrina, Marisa, Jesse, and Me (Rob) went to see one of our favorites from that time period, The Dismemberment Plan, on their current tour when it came through New York.
We were joined by Sara. Not the Sara that has been writing great pieces for us about unlikeability (among other things), but another equally excellent Sara that we’ve been going to shows with for about fifteen years. It is just dawning on me now how many Saras with no ‘h’ Jesse knows. It’s at least three, which feels like a lot to me.
Afterwards, we sat down to talk about The Plan as well as other music from the turn of the century. What bands did we like back in the day? Which ones are still going strong and which ones fell by the wayside? What group’s lack of a promised second record is driving Sabrina insane? Was the world ever our oyster? How come Interpol is still together? All these questions and more follow.
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Unlikeable protagonists have been having something of a Renaissance as of late (so much so that some of us at Sports Alcohol have gone so far as to wonder if we aren’t unlikeable protagonists ourselves). They can be found anywhere, of course, but many films tend to show them thriving (or at least getting by) in the art world. This makes sense, as it’s a place uniquely suited to the working out of personal demons in a public arena – and film is a format uniquely suited to displaying that struggle in immediate and imaginative ways. Three recent films, Inside Llewyn Davis, Birdman, and Listen Up Philip, have done just that, grappling with the great divide that often opens between creators and their creations, particularly once said creations are out in the world for others to consume. Though their chosen mediums vary, from music to theatre to fiction, one thing unites the three artists portrayed in these films: they are total bastards. Continue reading Listening to Llewyn, Riggan, and Philip: Three Portraits of the Artist as an Asshole→
Note: this podcast is made of nothing but spoilers (and magically quantifiable love).
With the possible exception of Jesse and Marisa’s Wedding, a record number of SportsAlcohol contributors gathered in the same place this past weekend for a screening of Interstellar in IMAX. Afterwards, some of us sat down to talk wormholes, black holes, and Dogstar (the band not the star). Tune in to find out who liked it, who had reservations, what Ben would call Interstellar if it were a TV show, and how Rob felt about that name.
How To Listen
We are up to four different ways to listen to a SportsAlcohol podcast:
You can subscribe to our podcast using the rss feed.
I have trouble believing it myself, but we are on iTunes!. I’m not saying you have to give us a review, but it sure would help.
You can download the mp3 of this episode directly here.
As always, if you are very lazy, like my Matthew McConaughey impression, you can just listen in the player below.
