MinneapolitanMusic

I intended to blog about this yesterday but got myself wrapped up in a whole other world of thoughts and then spent the rest of the day marinating ribs for the Husband to feast on. Man, he loved those ribs.

SO on Sunday night I got the opportunity to be on the radio with almost every other music critic in town, and it was a blast. I got home at around 1 a.m. and didn't fall asleep until 4 or so due to the buzz of being in a room with a good majority of the people I respect most. To be on the show with them and especially to be regarded as one of their peers, for christ's sake, was a bit of a mind bender. Awesome.

We all got the chance to pick a song to play, and here are our picky-picks:

Steve McPherson (Pulse of the Twin Cities): P.O.S, "All Along the Watchtower"
Chris Bahn (The Onion AV Club): Dosh, "The Lost Take"
Jason Nagel (Cities 97): Leroy Smokes, "Never Scared"
Andrea Myers (HowWasTheShow.com): Stook, "I Keep on Fallin' in Love With You"
Christopher Matthew Jensen (Rift): Painted Saints, "Every Time I Smile Wrong (Sopping Thursday)"
Chris Riemenschneider (Star Tribune): Tim O'Reagan, "These Things"
Sarah Askari (City Pages): Gay Beast, "Disrobotics"
Ross Raihala (Pioneer Press): The TV Sound, "Be That Kind"

And here we are post-show:

Back row: Ross, Chris R., Jason, Steve, Chris B., and Homegrown staffers Nice Intern Guy, Candy, and Rawb. Second row: Chris J., Paul (front in Drive tee), Sarah, Me, host Dave Campbell, and Homegrown staffer Glaze.

Photo by random KQRS DJ.

I've been trying to discipline myself to read a little poetry every day, and have subscribed to the Writer's Almanac email list to make it as easy as possible. Today's poem, courtesy of Mr. Keillor, is by Noel Coward, and I found it especially thought-provoking (if you're like me, when you first see a poem you might have the tendency to scan over it, but please give this one a try):

Nothing is Lost
By Noel Coward

Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten 2007s
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small, intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.

This poem reminds me of a discussion we were having over at the HowWasTheShow Forum about first records, and how easy it is to recollect things that have been lodged in our senses: the first songs from our childhood; the smell of waking up on a Sunday to my parent's coffee brewing and cinnamon rolls in the oven; the taste of Grandpa's signature spaghetti sauce. The memories are defined by the things we sensed the strongest, and there's nothing like music to throw us back to a special place or time.

When I was little my dad played guitar. He still does, every now and then, but when I was little I got my own special dad concerts. He had certain songs he played for certain times and situations, and I can remember one more vividly than the rest. I had done something bad, I can't remember what exactly but I think it involved throwing a fit at the store, and as punishment a few of my toys were placed high on the top shelf of my closet where I could see but not touch them. They sat there, taunting me, and even though I had plenty of other toys to play with I specifically wanted to play with those toys, as they were out of my reach.

My dad sat me down with his acoustic guitar and played me the verses of the Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want." I remember trying to wrap my head around the lyrics ("I saw her today at the reception" was translated in my young mind to a woman waiting at the receptionist's office of the dentist, holding a wine glass full of blood...) and nodding my head to the strumming of the guitar. "You can't always get what you want," I sang to myself, trying to understand why, WHY can't you always get what you want? I was an only child and I got everything I wanted, dammit! "But if you try sometimes, you get what you need." It was all clear. If I tried hard enough and behaved, I might get those toys back, and boy did I need them.

It wasn't the most dead-on interpretation of music ever, but it stuck with me for a long time. I still laugh to myself when I hear the song now, and despite the fact that I have a completely different understanding of the words than I did when I was little, it brings back the same memory every time.

What songs take you back to the days of innocence?

I got the deluxe edition of Velvet Underground and Nico tonight during a Cheapo run.

I think I just officially entered my Lou Reed phase.

It's getting to the point now where I occasionally have the opportunity to hear albums as they are being worked on, and it has gotten me thinking about the whole other side of the music circus that I try to keep an arm's length from: production. It's not that I don't want to understand the intricate details involved in the making of a record, it's... no wait, that's pretty much it. I don't really want to know.

I have this foul habit of eating lunch at Leann Chin at least once a week, often times more, and I was standing in line today thinking about the recording process and looking at the congealed gelatin-like substance that coats my beloved sweet and sour chicken, and it occurred to me that I feel the same way about food that I do about music. I don't want to know how the chicken got that color. I don't want to know how much MSG is in the noodles. All I know is that I like eating it because it tastes good to me. I can go into great detail explaining all of the marvelous flavors and textures of the foods I consume at the pseudo-Chinese eatery, with it's flourescent glow and pre-processed spread. But good lord, please don't tell me what is in that stuff. You'll just take all the fun out of it.

Sure, I'll sit you down and ask you 20 questions about how you put together your new record, but is that the most interesting thing for a fan to hear about? It seems like there are two very distinct parts to making an album: the songwriting, which is almost entirely driven by creative impulse and inspiration (aka the stuff I find riveting), and the production, which from the outside can seem like a lot of turning knobs and moving those slidey buttons up and down on a giant mixing board. I fear that if I were to learn all of the little details about slidey buttons that it might take away from my ability to get totally absorbed in a song, to forget for just a second that a human made it and to let it grip my heart and make my tummy do a little flippity-flop. And that would really bust me up inside.

Of course, I suppose the same thing can be said for choosing to dissect and over-analyze every song I hear in an attempt to make a living and understand why it consumes me so. But it hasn't ruined me yet.

By the way: The Debut's debut (har, har) album that comes out next month is going to kick a lot of ass, and the bourbon chicken tastes delicious.

I've always found comfort in new beginnings, and the swapping out of calendars seems like a good accompaniment to reassessing life, if only for a fleeting moment before I get swept back under the current of it all.

I had pretty good luck with my resolutions last year (5 out of 6 ain't bad!), so I decided to sit down and make a new list. Goals for 2007:

1. Write something every day. Even if it's headed straight for the trash can.
2. Stop adopting cats. Three is more than enough.
   
3. Complete novel. Make it best novel ever written.
   
4. Freelance for two new publications by the end of the year, with one, if at all possible, on glossy paper.
   
5. Take more time for personal projects, i.e. organization of the CDs which are currently out of control and taking over my apartment.

I attempted to stage the cheesiest New Year's stock photo possible. Here's to a fabulous 2007!