The Alphabet, As Determined By The First Things To Pop Up In The Youtube Searchbar.

A is for Akon.
B is for Baby Justin Bieber.
C is for Chris Brown.
D is for Drake.
E is for Eminem
F is for fireflies
G is for Google slap.
H is for Hannah Montana.
I is for "in my head Jason Derulo".
J is for Justin Bieber.
K is for "keisha [sic] tik tok".
L is for "lady gaga telephone".
M is for Michael Jackson.
N is for Nicki Minaj.
O is for "owl city fireflies".

This pause is for me rapidly losing my will to live.

P is for Party In The USA.
Q is for Queen. [yay. :D]
R is for "rihanna rude boy".
S is for Shakira.
T is for "telephone lady gaga".
U is for Usher.
V is for Video Phone.
W is for We Are The World.
X is for "x factor 2009".
Y is for You Belong With Me.
And Z, appropriately enough, is for Zombie.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINS

My 20 Favorite Songs Ever.

Arranged in order of the artists' names (thanks, iPod!)

1. Don't Follow by Alice In Chains (1994)

The song I want played at my funeral. No, really.

2. Beauty And The Beast by David Bowie (1977)

Bowie's best rocker is also his weirdest. Are we at all surprised?

3. Silver Moon by David Sylvian (1986)

Cancel out what my co-worker Jesse Locke calls the "Red Shoe Diaries saxophone solo" and you have an absolutely perfect love song.

4. Romantic Rights by Death From Above 1979 (2004)

This, on the other hand, is just pure, bottomless horniness. Sleazily invigorating.

5. Master And Servant by Depeche Mode (1984)

Thank you, Depeche Mode. Thank you for inventing Nine Inch Nails.

6. Serious by Duran Duran (1990)

Disposable pop heaven. This song lasted me a whole summer.

7. Last Cup Of Sorrow by Faith No More (1997)

It's rare that you'll find the word "uplifting" mentioned in the same sentence as "Mike Patton" (Faith No More's lead singer, but you knew that), and that's precisely why this song works so well. Dark bands write the best happy songs.

8. Tell Me You Love Me by Frank Zappa (1970)

Zappa's genius wouldn't have meant shit if he couldn't rock out occasionally. And he did. Viciously.

9. Rubicon by Killing Joke (1986)

To date, Killing Joke are the only band I can think of who ended their obligatory arena-baiting '80s sellout album with a song welcoming nuclear holocaust with open arms. Gotta love 'em.

10. What Your Soul Sings by Massive Attack (2003)

And how my soul sings when I hear it.

11. Everybody Is Dead by Microdisney (1984)

Too many of my favorite songs sound like they could be on the Weather Channel.

12. And All That Could Have Been by Nine Inch Nails (2002)

Most depressing song. By anyone. Ever.

13. Aneurysm by Nirvana (1991)

Everything you're supposed to like about Nirvana in less than five minutes. Admit it, this grinds Smells Like Teen Spirit into the dirt.

14. Home Sweet Home by Peter Gabriel (1978)

This one deserves its own damn essay. The wordless howling near the end might be the most heartwrenching vocal performance ever put to tape.

15. Never Say Never by Romeo Void (1982)

Otherwise known as I MIGHT LIKE YOU BETTER IF WE SLEPT TOGETHER, I MIGHT LIKE YOU BETTER IF WE SLEPT TOGETHER. Anyone else think these guys were one of the most underrated new wave bands of all time?

16. Don't Take Me Alive by Steely Dan (1976)

Steely Dan don't have bad songs, per se - just ones with better guitar solos than others. And this one has the best.

17. Call It Sleep by Steve Vai (1984)

Speaking of guitar solos, here's my favorite. I realize that Steve Vai is kind of a tool, but man... this just kills me.

18. Straighten Out by The Stranglers (1977)

People questioned wether The Stranglers really counted as "punk". They responded by kicking your ass.

19. Kentucky Avenue by Tom Waits (1978)

My favorite song, actually. Why? Because it makes me cry. Every goddamned time.

20. Pretty Good Year by Tori Amos (1994)

Anthony met his feminine side. We hugged it out. 

How I Define A "Great Album"

Any great album, as a whole, should be able set a mood and unfold in accordance with that mood, even if that mood is completely schizophrenic (see: Frank Zappa). In fact, ambient music exempted, I find that the more intense the mood is, the more memorable the album tends to be. This often means I'm usually the guy championing a band's most "difficult" albums, but somehow I'm okay with that. Put it this way: wallpaper can be pleasant, but I wouldn't put it in a frame and hang it in a gallery. A bit elitist, sure, but you have to understand: I think anything - anything - that constitutes a creative form of self-expression counts as art. Johnny Cash, Bob Marley, The Beatles - all massively popular, all near-universally loved, and all artists of the highest order, as important to their respective genres as Shakespeare was to english literature. If anything, I think the whole "music for the people" rhetoric that critics use to praise artists like Bruce Springsteen is condescending bullshit. Don't praise an album because you think it speaks to or for a particular audience you never took the time to know personally. You'll look like an asshole, or perhaps even worse, a rock journalist.

Great Albums That Absolutely Nobody Talks About, Part Two: The Pursuit Of Happiness - One-Sided Story

Forget "I'm An Adult Now". For just one second, forget that song even exists. There is a deeper, smarter, more sensitive band lurking behind that one hit, one with a capacity for songs that are as infectiously catchy as they are poignant. Lead singer/songwriter Moe Berg writes some of the most honest and down-to-earth lyrical examinations of love I've ever read, strange only in how they manage to so perfectly nail the innerworkings of the Average Joe (and Jane). In Moe's world, love is parasitic (Something Physical), fleeting (No Safe Place), manipulative (Runs In The Family), and occasionally beautiful (All I Want). What's strangest is how quick Moe is to point out his own flaws, making his expressions of genuine desire seem that much more honest as a result. He's one of the few singers I've heard who'll describe the ways in which he can be a jerk and not try to make it sympathetic.

Of course, you also have to the like the music, which is essentially crunchy mid-tempo power pop with an almost rigid sense of songwriting formula (Chorus goes HERE! Solo goes THERE!). But then, it also features the gorgeous backing harmonies or Kris Abbott and Leslie Stanwyck, a perfect compliment to Moe Berg's endearingly dweebish whine of a voice. It's all overseen by producer Todd Rundgren, Mr. Power Pop himself, and hell, if he liked the material enough to produce two albums for an almost totally unknown Canadian indie group, they must've been doing something right. If you can find a copy and it sounds like something you'd enjoy, please give it a chance.

A Followup To The Marilyn Manson Post

Mulch says: (10:18:50 PM)

There's a video for Arma-goddamn-motherfucking-geddon, if you enjoy things that'll make you hate music

Alex says: (10:19:43 PM)

haha I think I'll watch it just to see

Alex says: (10:19:48 PM)

what an awful title

Mulch says: (10:19:56 PM)

It's the chorus.

Mulch says: (10:20:03 PM)

The chorus to an actual song, Alex.

Alex says: (10:21:19 PM)

That shouldn't be.

Alex says: (10:21:26 PM)

That shouldn't ever have happened.

Great Albums That Absolutely Nobody Talks About, Part One: Yello - You Gotta Say Yes To Another Excess (1983)

The title must be ironic. This is Yello at their most focused and least excessive, ditching the atmospheric experiments of their first two albums and flexing their muscles as a pure dance act, albeit one of the most absurdly funny, subversively weird dance acts to ever hit the floor. Let's take the minor hit I Love You, for instance. It's slick, spare, club fodder that has more sound effects than actual instruments, and the lyrics all about... driving. No, really. That's actually what it's about. The main vocal hook is a sample of a woman saying "I love you!" and it barely has anything to do with the rest of the song, except when Dieter Meier responds with a hissed "I know!". God, I love Yello.

Anyways, the whole album pretty much follows in that vein: archly stylish dance music that eagerly exploits it's own inherent ridiculousness. Dieter Meier had finally found his groove as a frontman by this point, mostly using a hushed, deadpan speaking voice that occasionally lets a melody or two creep in - but not often. Frankly, I like it better this way, as the campy irony of his lyrics comes through a lot clearer without it ever being pushed too far over the top. Hell, maybe he's not even being ironic. Frankly, it's hard to care when the music manages to be so compulsively danceable and fascinatingly strange all at once. 

The compositions are among the most skeletal Boris Blank has ever written, meaning that Carlos Peron gets to have a blast littering incongruous samples all over the place. I Love You is full of tires squealing, Great Mission manages to conjure up an entire electronic jungle, and Heavy Whispers (my favorite track) uses a woman screaming as part of the main rhythm. Only Pink Floyd has managed to use sound effects this effectively this often, and remember they had a lot more "real" instruments backing them up.

The main thing I want to emphasize is how much fun this album is to listen to. Like the Art Of Noise's first album, this is early electronic music at it's most playful, back when the concept of music made by machines was still a novelty in itself. Unlike the Art Of Noise's first album, however, this one features a slightly unhinged swiss millionaire ranting in broken english about seduction, excess, and... gorillas. Which party would YOU rather go to?

Nothing's Shocking: The Continual Decline Of Eminem And Marilyn Manson

In the indie-saturated musical landscape of 2009, the only thing more anachronistic than an Eminem album is a Marilyn Manson album. I wish I was dwelling in the realm of the hypothetical here, but since both things have actually come to pass, I'd feel remiss in not registering my... well, it's not exactly disappointment. More like that feeling you get when you've expected something to suck badly enough for long enough that you're actually looking forward to seeing how spectacularly it fails. Let's face it: having something to complain about sure as hell beats having nothing to talk about. Hence, this blog post.

First off, we have Eminem's new album Relapse. I'd had a bad feeling about Eminem's music ever since he went into self-imposed depressed-rich-drug-addict exile. I'm sure the amount of shit he went through during that time could have given him a lot of material to work with (in addition to the drug addiction that spawned the album's title, there was the death of good friend and fellow rapper Proof), but Eminem's biggest strength was always his quick wit, so knowing he spent much of his time off in a depressed stupor wasn't exactly promising. In addition, Eminem's worst trait has always been his self-absorption, so again: depressed stupor = not promising.

When I heard the new single We Made You, my suspicions were more or less confirmed. It's essentially My Name Is... Part 3, the celebrity-baiting shtick now completely worn out by virtue of Eminem's own increasing cultural irrelevance. Maybe it's just my own aversion to pop culture, but I don't care what ANYONE has to say about Lindsay Lohan, much less someone whose only reason to spite her is because it's expected of him.

What I didn't expect, though, was the abundance of serial-rape-and-murder songs on the album. It's hard to tell if Eminem was trying to seriously get in the mind of a psychopath, vent his inner torment in the most unpleasant way possible, or simply go out of his way to offend people. It could very well be all three of these things, but ultimately, who cares? The best these pieces can provoke is a certain sick fascination, but that hardly counts as engaging the listener, even if Eminem still has a hell of a way with words.

The same can't be said of Marilyn Manson who, even at his best, often had the verbal dexterity of a drunk, vomiting Chuck Palanhiuk. On albums like the genuinely-really-good Mechanical Animals this wasn't a problem, as the cheesiness of it was what made it fun. Problem is, a) he wasn't kidding and b) he didn't actually stop.

So now, 9 years after doing anything that isn't a complete fucking embarrassment, we get The High End Of Low, an album with song titles like "Pretty As A Swastika" and "I Have To Look Up Just To See Hell". The lead-off single is called "Arma-goddamn-motherfucking-geddon". He says "abortion", "fuck" and "suicide" within the first 30 seconds. It makes even less sense in context. The first thing you hear him sing on the actual album is "I'll swallow a bowl of you like / a big bottle of big big pills". There's a song called "Unkillable Monster" and it's a fucking power ballad. He sounds bored. The band sounds bored. Hell, I'm fucking bored, except when I reflect on the fact that this album somehow got major label backing. It's at this point that I stop being bored and start being very, very angry.

FINAL VERDICT:

I'll give the Eminem album a 5 out of 10 for the way he occasionally salvages mediocre material with lyrical dexterity. I'll give the Marilyn Manson a 2 out of 10 because it's one of the worst pieces of shit I've ever heard in my life.