Maestropolis Ultimis. For Now.

And now for the final two discs, the compilation of which begat this very blog. About time, too.

Disc Six:

1. Neko Case “Things That Scare Me”
This song is four years old by now; but it’s always just missed being on these discs until now, when I decided that it was really too good to lose. An atmospheric, broody alt-country song, with a banjo line that owes as much to Krautrock as to bluegrass, and which has fascinated me since I first heard the words “blackbirds frying on a wire.” From the Bloodshot LP Blacklisted, 2002.

02. The Knife “Heartbeats”
Six years ago, I learned about new music by reading the record reviews on VH1’s website. (No, really.) Today I have lot of sources, but the main one is probably Pitchfork’s daily singles review: the best source of brilliant pop from around the world I know of. This nü-romantic gem from Germany (equal parts Kraftwerk and Cyndi Lauper) has gotten a second lease on life thanks to José Gonzalez’ mellow guitar remake. But it’s those synth trills that get me. From the V2 International LP Deep Cuts, 2005.

03. Jamie Lidell “New Me”
Techno guy does a soul record, was the way this album was explained to me. And there is sequencing, and sampling, and even old-school scratching. But mostly it sounds like Stevie Wonder fronting Funkadelic on acid, with charts by Dizzy Gillespie. Which is really impressive as all hell for an English guy in a studio. From the Warp LP Multiply, 2005.

04. Buck 65 “Rough House Blues”
They thing everyone says is that Buck 65 wants to sound like Tom Waits. From here, it sounds like he wants to sound like Johnny Cash. With, sure, Tom Waits producing. This is good old self-mythologizing hip-hop (or Delta blues), with great line after great line. But the best part is the instrumental break: DJ scratching over honky-tonk piano. That’s the kind of outlandish, perfect-fit combination I can’t get enough of. Thanks, Buck. From the WEA International LP Secret House Against the World, 2005.

05. The Decemberists “Sixteen Military Wives”
In the context of the record, it’s a little like coming across “Young Americans” on, say, Low: it totally doesn’t fit into the album, it’s a big shiny pop single in the middle of all these much more fiercely intelligent, literary epics. (Although because of the lit-rock surrounding it, I’ll always associate the Flashman books with this song.) It’s indie-pop huge, of course, just a Garden State away from being on every teenager’s iPod. But it still feels like a private discovery, especially when the anchorperson on TV goes “la di da di da di da da da da da.” From the Kill Rock Stars LP Picaresque, 2005.

06. The Ordinary Boys “Talk Talk Talk”
There is a paucity of ordinary guys-with-guitars pop on these discs. This band, a more stripped-down version of Oasis, is a rare exception. The song makes me think of all the mod revivalists who wanted to be the Jam but couldn’t quite make it; it’s got the same witty analysis of a quotidian subject that British new wave specialized in. And a great working-class hook. Stiff Records: The Next Generation? From the WEA International LP Over the Counter Culture, 2004.

07. TV on the Radio “New Health Rock”
I’d heard of TV on the Radio for a while before I listened to them, and I’d listened to them a while before I liked them, and I hadn’t thought about them in a long time before I played this forgotten download and sat with my mouth hanging open. Prince fronts Interpol, was the best description I could come up with, but this is really of a piece with the entire post-OutKast pop scene. Wonderful. From the Touch & Go EP New Health Rock, 2004.

08. Cat Power “Could We”
The lazy lope of the song, the muted horns, the sultry singing: suddenly it’s a hot, wet day in the Deep South. Chan in Memphis was the near-constant alternate name for this album in reviews, and here she almost justifies the Dusty Springfield comparison. Especially when she double-tracks an octave up, without losing any of the slow, sexy sizzle. From the Matador LP The Greatest, 2006.

09. The Donnas “The Gold Medal”
Yeah. The Donnas. Playing like, I don’t know, Carole King was their new idol instead of the Ramones. Growth? Maybe. Record-label pressure? Possibly. Great, fun stuff that satisfies the Todd Rundgren itch we didn’t realize needed scratching? Old news; tell it to the electric-piano break. From the Atlantic LP The Gold Medal, 2004.

10. The Cloud Room “Hey Now Now”
The first few seconds I always go, hey didn’t I just hear this like three songs ago? Then the indie jangle starts instead of the indie pounding, and it’s a fragile pop song from a band that can’t catch a break. They could be Postal Service-huge someday, but for now this’ll have to be the soundtrack to our own private movies. From the Gigantic LP The Cloud Room, 2004.

11. !!! “Take Ecstasy With Me”
Coming on like a twelve-inch New Order remix hot from Phil Spector’s mixing boards, this is the epic dance track for people who are afraid of epic dance tracks. No two !!! songs sound the same, so the My Bloody Frankie Goes to Valentinisms of this are both a surreal surprise and a perfect gift. You don’t even need E to like it. From the Touch & Go single Take Ecstasy with Me/Get Up, 2005.

12. The Raveonettes feat. Ronnie Spector “Ode to L.A.”
They’re back. But wait; where did the barbed-wire kisses go? These kisses are plain old Sunset Boulevard cherry-red lipstick! So the Raveonettes escape the Jesus & Mary Chain fetish, but plow half a mile deep into the Ronettes fetish; so much so that the original Veronica Bennett herself descends from on high to show these Scandinavian knob-twiddlers just how a proper “woah-oh-oh” is “woah-oh-oh”ed. The past is so bright, you gotta wear shades. From the Columbia LP Pretty in Black, 2005.

13. Ladytron “Destroy Everything You Touch”
Electroclash is dead; long live the computerized ABBA. The vulnerable, arch vocals are still there; the cocksureness of the electronic fizz isn’t. This is a swirling, gorgeous explosion, all post-ominous echo and radioactive cotton candy. And the clipped German (or is it French?) accent still sounds like a lost android searching for her Kraftwerk mate. From the Rykodisc LP Witching Hour, 2005.

14. Einstürzende Neubauten “Dead Friends (Around the Corner)”
When you’ve been making punishing industrial music for twenty years, you eventually earn the right to make music you don’t need earplugs to hear. This is a song with a lot of space in it; the rabble call it silence, but we know better. Like a cold Kraut stepson of Japan’s “Ghosts,” it gives no more than it takes, and clatters its way to the ultimate existential space: that brief pause between songs that constitutes the world. Verses in German. From the Mute LP Perpetuum Mobile, 2004.

15. The Delays “Wanderlust”
No, it’s not Elizabeth Fraser back from singing in Elvish on the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. (When wasn’t she singing in Elvish, anyway?) In fact, it’s a dude. Yeah, I know. Weird. It’s also a thing of fragile Liverpudlian/global beauty, with steel drums and soaring choruses and great chunky guitars in just the right places. How often does the Cocteau Twins get pegged as an influence on a male band, anyway? From the Rough Trade LP Faded Seaside Glamour, 2004.

16. Foo Fighters featuring Norah Jones “Virginia Moon”
Yes, Foo Fighters are often alt-by-numbers hard rock. Yes, Norah Jones is often jazz-by-numbers dull. No, that does not mean that this little slice of Nashville-balladry-by-way-of-Jobim is anything less than quietly spectacular. Grohl’s always had a prettier singing voice than a screamer should; here he lends Jones class while she gives him indie cred. Yeah, indie’s weird these days. From the RCA LP In Your Honor, 2005.

17. The Kaiser Chiefs “I Predict a Riot”
Whoops, get back on the energy horse, because Hot NME Band #241,678 (started counting in 1999) is ready to bam kick it up a notch. I have no good reason for liking this except I just do, and sometimes a little faux-headbanging is what you need. I could say that there’s Kinksian eye for detail married to an Undertonesish energy, but what’s the point? Pogo like you mean it. From the Universal LP Employment, 2005.

18. Nellie McKay “The Big One”
Is it? It is! Yes yes y’all, it’s cabaret-funk. Shake your moneymaker, but don’t forget the jazz hands at the end. Okay, so it’s kind of stiff white-girl funk, but hey, we’ll take what we can get in this direly funkless era. The lyrics are embarrassing if you know how so not working-class Nellie McKay is, but Bob Dylan, Joe Strummer and Jimmie Rodgers all faked it, so why not let the off-Broadway child of privilege flex her class warfare muscles? Anything for that multitracked bridge. From the unreleased LP Pretty Little Head, 2006.

19. Ray Davies “Thanksgiving Day”
Now this is just weird. Only an Englishman could wax this sentimental about Thanksgiving; to an American, it’s like admitting your mom is hot. Well, maybe she is, but dude, she’s still your mom. But it’s so good to have the storyteller who gave us Something Else and Arthur back that we’ll even forgive him his deeply unfunky attempt at good-times New Orleans music. “And kisses/all over her American face” is the lyric we didn’t know we needed until we had it. From the V2 EP Thanksgiving Day, 2005.

20. Kirsty MacColl “Sun on the Water”
She was one of the great pop singers, ignored and insulted by an industry that didn’t understand her or her music. She died doing what she loved: swimming in sunny waters. She would also have loved the black humor of this being her last recorded work. What would the finished track have been like, if this is a mere demo? But that’s what it says on the tin. From the Virgin boxset From Croydon To Cuba… An Anthology, 2005.

Disc Seven:

01. Alabama 3 “Have You Seen Bruce Richard Reynolds?”
That opening sound is a thousand PBS specials on Our Historical Railroads rolled into one. Apparently, these guys are a trip-hop group that mostly does soundtrack work. Okay, whatever: this is the best British rehabilitation of forgotten American history since Alan Moore’s Watchmen. The long outro gets better every time I hear it, too. From the One Little Indian LP Outlaw, 2005.

02. Belle & Sebastian “Funny Little Frog”
Amazingly, this isn’t even the best song on their album. Ultra-amazingly, it might even be the worst. For any other group, this would be a career high: Todd Rundgren goes Bacharach, with a summery Motown swing. For B&S (the most and least-apt abbreviation ever), it’s just another song about God. Or a girl. Or both. But not really at all about frogs, funny or otherwise. From the Matador LP The Life Pursuit, 2006.

03. Shakira “Hey You”
She’s still weird, thank God. What is making that riff, a kazoo? Am I hearing things, or is it going all Louis Armstrong on the fanfare that introduces the King of the Land of Make-Believe? Why does she want to be someone’s favorite underwear? What kind of creep even has favorite underwear? And yet there are still white people who insist on racking her with the J. Lo’s and B. Sp’s and the C. Ag’s. From the Sony LP Oral Fixation, Vol. 2, 2005.

04. Chris Connelly “Nicola 6”
Okay, first: yes. He sounds exactly like David Bowie. Even more then David Bowie does these days, actually. Okay, second: how cool is it that the riff is whistled in chorus? Connelly is a veteran of the British industrial scene, which strangely enough tends to produce people interested in very specific sounds, extreme or not. (The American industrial scene is only interested in extreme sounds. That is why America is losing the war on terror.) The perfect pop advocates, in other words. From the Underground Inc LP Night of Your Life, 2004.

05. James Luther Dickinson “Bound to Lose”
This is only his second record. His first was in 1972. The song sounds like it could be from 1972, or 1952, or 1902, or 1862. It’s as American as moonshine, red-light districts, and poker games, and it’s got a great whomp of a chorus, and when he starts screaming “it’s not real,” every loser (Robert Johnson, Hank Williams, Jim Morrison) who ever died humming rock & roll joins in. From the Artemis LP Free Beer Tomorrow, 2002.

06. Mavis Staples “Hard Time Come Again No More”
Now here’s a song that actually is from 1862, or thereabouts. Probably originally sung in public by some white asshole who smeared gunk on his face to pretend he was black. And the whole sorry history of minstrelsy — and slavery, and poverty, and the sheer fucknuckled despair of race in America — is addressed, acknowledged, and absolved in the magnificent voice of a woman who has stood at the intersection of gospel and soul and refused to see a difference for fifty years. From the various-artists Emergent LP Beautiful Dreamer: the Songs of Stephen Foster, 2004.

07. Nancy Sinatra “Burning Down the Spark”
She doesn’t need Lee Hazlewood anymore to provide an unsettling gravitas; she can do it herself now. A guitar line straight out of Ennio Morricone, and a mariachi band straight out of Ring of Fire; you can almost picture her cresting the ridge on a white palomino, eyes squinty under a black sombrero. God, I love a good comeback. From the Sanctuary LP Nancy Sinatra, 2004.

08. Sage Francis feat. Will Oldham “Sea Lion”
The sequencing was unintentional, but now I’m convinced that the drama queen played by Nancy Sinatra is the same person as the inattentive, harsh mother addressed by the Sage here. Poet Oldham’s chorus hook is poetic nothingness; it’s the hard-rapped verses that make the biggest impression. That, and the grainy 8mm film unspooling at the end: “Mom, can you do this?” From the Epitaph LP A Healthy Distrust, 2005.

09. Deerhoof “Spiral Golden Town”
This is always happening, I know, but the next time someone tells you it would be impossible to condense the soundtrack to the first Star Wars movie into a three-minute pop single (yes, including the Mos Eisley cantina scene, and let’s throw in some of the laser-gun sound effects too), you can play them this and watch all their foundationless arguments fade to nothing. Isn’t that a relief? In Japanese or something. From the Menlo Park EP Green Cosmos, 2005.

10. Otis Taylor “Feel Like Lightning”
This song has such tremendous forward momentum that it’s astonishing to reorient yourself mid-song and realise that the electric guitar is the backup instrument: a banjo is the lead. Otis Taylor is not your average bluesman; he manages to make a glorious Roxy Music/Velvet Underground chaos out of the oldest form in American music. Which he would probably say is bullshit. Awesome. From the Telarc LP Below the Fold, 2005.

11. The Pipettes “I Like a Boy in Uniform (School Uniform)”
You know what all those great old songs from all those great old girl groups — the Angels, the Chiffons, the Dixie Cups, the Crystals, the Shangri-Las, the Supremes, the Toys — were missing? That’s right: teenage bisexuality. Okay, it’s a gimmick, and a shallow one, but those final glorious harmonies make everything worthwhile. From the Unpopular single I Like a Boy in Uniform (School Uniform), 2005.

12. Paul McCartney “English Tea”
He ain’t kidding, even if he thinks he is, when he says “very twee/very me.” But the string quartet isn’t playing Eleanor Rigby anymore; it sounds seriously Edwardian. And the best part of the Edwardian age was the children’s literature. This song recalls the restful meal scenes in The Wind in the Willows — with guests E. Nesbit, Mary Norton, and P. L. Travers. From the Capitol LP Chaos and Creation in the Backyard, 2005.

13. John Cale “Satisfied”
I don’t know if anyone who doesn’t know and love John Cale’s literary, sometimes-abrasive, sometimes-gorgeous, 70s work can really enjoy this song; but for me, it’s like seeing a retired heavyweight champion come out and box an exhibition round: it’s not like it used to be, but damn, man, he’s still got it. From the Astralwerks LP Black Acetate, 2005.

14. Puffy AmiYumi “Your Love Is a Drug”
Hey, English! The lyrics are obvious, goofy parallels between love and junkiedom, but the appeal lies in the way the girls seem to have no idea that “as I’m jonesing for those eyes” is a funny line. The music is kicky pop, about as loud as it can be without being threatening to thirteen-year-old girls. So what’s wrong with music for thirteen-year-old girls, especially when it’s got a ton of drug references? From the Bar/None LP Nice, 2004.

15. The Divine Comedy “Charmed Life”
If it wasn’t so good, it would be too tasteful to bear. But that’s Neil Hannon for you: first bring in the gorgeous orchestral arrangements and Noël Coward melodies, then slip in the Wildean line “but I knew I’d find the one/and sure enough she came along/and not long after that along came you,” but then undercut the humor with a visionary leap of a chord change, making the funniest line also the most transcendent. Walter Pater would love it. From the Parlophone LP Absent Friends, 2004.

16. Razorlight “Kirby’s House”
Another boring guys-with-guitars band from Britain. Except, okay, some nice Celtic elements here. Huh. You don’t hear that drum sound too often anymore. You know, this song isn’t half bad. Kind of anthemic, in an unpretentious way. Oh, wait, it’s over. Oh, wait. No it’s not. Wait wait wait. Is that Doris Troy from “Gimme Shelter”? Nice. From the various-artists charity Independiente UK LP Help: A Day in the Life, 2005.

17. Hal Cazalet & Sylvia McNair “Oh, Gee! Oh, Joy!”
You like pop music? I’ll give you some pop music; 1913 vintage, to be precise. Jerome Kern’s music, P. G. Wodehouse’s lyrics. Stone cold revolutionary. The people singing it are kind of operetta about it, but if that’s what you gotta do to get some real classic pop around here, that’s what you gotta do. (And sure, the pianist knows from Art Tatum and Bud Powell. Good stuff.) From the Harbinger LP The Land Where the Good Songs Go: the Lyrics of P. G. Wodehouse, 2001.

18. Heavy Trash “Dark Hair’d Rider”
Jon Spencer and Matt Verta-Ray are New York underground art-punk mainstays. They also love the hell out of rockabilly, blues and classic country. This song sounds like it was cut for Sun Records in 1957, until the guitar gives out with a weird, timebending Dinosaur Jr. solo. Children of the grimy city streets, learn thee to rock. From the Yep Roc LP Heavy Trash, 2005.

19. Lila Downs “La Bamba”
This has nothing to do with Ritchie Valens. This is an old Mexican folk song. This is also a stunning reconsideration of what exactly Mexican music is. Where you’d expect a guitar solo, you get a harp (the kind you sit down to play) solo. Where you’d expect mariachi strings, you get electronic burbling. Where you’d expect tejano emoting, you get mystical, oddly weightless vocals. Lila Downs seems to have as many voices as she has words to sing. In Spanish. From the Narada LP Una Sangre (One Blood), 2004.

20. Chip Taylor & Carrie Rodriguez “Once Again, One Day... Will You Be Mine”
I’m not sure it’s physically possibly for music to be slower than this without putting an overcaffeinated six-year-old to sleep. But it means that Rodriguez (one of the great unheard country vocalists — and violinists — today) yanks each word like she’s pulling it out of quicksand. Meanwhile, Taylor (writer of “Wild Thing” and “Angel of the Morning”) has a thin, undernourished voice that makes an unlikely but perfectly paced match. From the Back Porch/Train Wreck LP Red Dog Tracks, 2005.

21. Saint Etienne “Milk Bottle Symphony”
After all that roots-music jive, we need some palette-cleansing jetset sophisti-dance. Except that Saint Etienne has gone homebody on us, and are applying their standard shimmery chamber-pop (with sequencer bass lines; and is that the Beach Boys popping up about two-thirds in?) to a pastoral narrative about the denizens of a set of flats. Okay, we can deal. They’re still as British as eel pie and quiet reserve. From the Sanctuary LP Tales from Turnpike House, 2005.

22. Johnny Boy “You Are the Generation that Bought More Shoes and You Get What You Deserve”
Phil Spector meets Trevor Horn; or How to Create the Perfect Pop Single by Using Pieces of Every Possible Pop Form Ever, But Especially the Opening Drum Line from “Be My Baby.” Johnny Boy are the latest one-guy one-girl band, this time from Britain. This is a burning sugar buzz of a song, too perfect to last, like butterflies and bubbles. Or first love. Or youth. From the Vertigo single You Are the Generation that Bought More Shoes and You Get What You Deserve, 2004.

The above notes (and the ones on previous discs) are being compiled into a lavish box set that I’m making for — well, for just me right now. But we’ll see.

Maestropolis Penultimis

Disc Five:

01. Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros “Coma Girl”
Everything good about rock & roll, from the tough-guy swagger to the eyeliner romanticism. Bruce Springsteen circa Born to Run but without the stadium effect. Hints of psychedelia, reggae, and punk, but mostly just good ol’ Joe, from the opening shot on his last record, getting to quote the Chiffons. From the Hellcat LP Streetcore, 2003.

02. The Broadcast “Pendulum”
I don’t know if it’s still appropriate to call this glitch (or glitch-something), but the beautiful 4ADeseque music sounds like it’s being generated from a machine that is being strangled to death very slowly. I have no idea why they file this under “dance/electronic”; nothing has ever felt less celebratory while being so hypnotically gorgeous. From the Warp LP Haha Sound, 2003.

03. Blur “Out of Time”
Blur famously (for those who care about this sort of thing) decamped to Morocco to make this record, and this is the only song on the record that sounds like it was worth it. Cod-exoticism is one thing, but a song that so perfectly meshes trad Western songcraft with dusty Saharan sonics deserves all the mixtapery it can get. From the Virgin LP Think Tank, 2003.

04. Dogs Die in Hot Cars “I Love You Cause I Have To”
I had to have it pointed out to me that this was ska; all I could hear was the Andy Partridge voice, so I assumed it was an XTC rip-off. So it’s an English Beat rip-off with XTC vocals, instead; and, by the way, a damn good one. And on the evidence of a line like “so now I spend most of my time playing computer games/and wishing I was loving like most of my friends,” it might even be the voice of a generation. From the V2 single I Love You Cause I Have To, 2004.

05. Loretta Lynn feat. Jack White “Portland, Oregon”
When you tell people who’ve been listening to this song that Loretta Lynn is over seventy, that she wrote the song, and that she loves Jack White’s production, their jaws slowly unhinge. It is pretty staggering that a country legend, no matter how proto-feminist she was in the 70s, is trading come-ons with a kid young enough to be her grandson over feedbacking guitars. From the Interscope LP Van Lear Rose, 2004.

06. Café Tacuba “Eres”
A beautiful ballad. This album was compared to Radiohead’s Kid A in a review. Then someone else wrote a review that said there was no comparison; this was so much better. Well. It’s not as experimental or as open-heart-surgery emotional, but it is a beautiful ballad. In Spanish. From the MCA LP Cuatro Caminos, 2003.

07. The Streets “Dry Your Eyes”
What have we come to when the best breakup song of the last decade is a white British guy rapping — no, not even that, talking — his way through lines that don't even rhyme? (“The softness she’s blessed with?” Are you even trying, Skinner?) What have we come to when it can still move you to tears on the last chorus? From the Vice/Atlantic LP A Grand Don’t Come for Free, 2004.

08. The Raveonettes “That Great Love Sound”
Excellent stomping beat, huge fist-pumping chorus, sickly-sweet girl-boy harmonies, thinly-veiled camp references, massive Wall-of-Noise production; basically, it’s the Jesus & Mary Chain meet Phil Spector with Johnny Cash’s rhythm section. Ooh yeah. From the Columbia LP Chain Gang of Love, 2003.

09. Richard X feat. Jarvis Cocker “Into You”

So Richard X is this guy who made his name by stealing the synth riff from Gary Numan’s “Are Friends Electric?” and spinning it into a massive (well, UK-massive) hit for the Sugababes. So he puts out an album of similar mashup-inspired songs. And this one, which doesn’t so much sample Mazzy Star’s “Fade Into You” as add different verses, is one very sexy older man of a song. From the Astralwerks LP Richard X Presents His X-Factor, 2003.

10. The Detroit Cobras “Shout Bama Lama”
The lead singer is an ex-stripper. All they play is obscure covers from early rock & roll and soul. They’re part of the whole Detroit “back to 1965” aesthetic (see also: the Von Bondies, the White Stripes). This song was Otis Redding’s first single, and contains references to old-time racist minstrelsy routines. From the Sympathy for the Record Industry LP Life, Love and Leaving, 2001.

11. Tom Waits “Top of the Hill”
Bronchial hobobilly hip-hop, from the man who did more than any other to rescue popular music from potentially dire consequences at the fag-end of the twentieth century. If pop must eat itself, we can only pray that its regurgitation will always be as thrilling, as funny, as catchy, and as potentially nervewracking as this. I’ll never roll a number seven again, either, Tom. From the Anti- LP Real Gone, 2004.

12. The Strokes “Under Control”
When their second CD was coming out, all the promotional interviews with frontman Julian Casablancas had him dropping Sam Cooke’s name. And you can almost hear it, here. It might be too much to call the song a langorous “You Send Me” for the post-alternative generation, but it can definitely bear comparison with, say, the Commodores’ “Easy.” (Like, you know, Sunday morning.) From the RCA LP Room on Fire, 2003.

13. Belle & Sebastian “Your Cover’s Blown”
And then, on the eighth day, God said “let there be Belle & Sebastian remixes.” And God saw that it was good. Bedsit indie isn’t just for bedsits anymore, which tends to makes people who loved the band before everybody loved the band cranky, but if people must fill dancefloors with sweaty primitivism, why not do it in the most wittily literate fashion possible? Anyway, it’s not like he gets the girl. From the Rough Trade EP Books, 2004.

14. Sam Phillips “Love Changes Everything”
Did I mention that when I was about ten years old the most thrillingly sexual musical artist I knew of was Leslie Phillips? This was because she didn’t smile on the cover of the Christian-contemporary LP my parents had, and, well, she was kind of hot. Also, there were loud guitars on the record, and I did not hear a lot of loud guitars growing up. Being able to love her new music is one of the greatest pleasures I’ve had in growing up. And she’s still kind of hot. From the Nonesuch LP A Boot and a Shoe, 2004.

15. Ian McLagen & the Bump Band “The Wrong Direction”
I bought this album because I’m a Faces junkie. Ian McLagen was the keyboard player for the Faces. (Other members of note include Ron Wood, later of the Rolling Stones, Kenny Jones, later of the Who, Ronnie Lane, later of Ronnie Lane, and some singer.) This is a great song, not least because the singer claims that he’s on God’s shitlist. Who can’t relate to that? From the Gaff Music LP Rise & Shine!, 2004.

16. The Notwist “Pick Up The Phone”
In the winter 0f 2002, I spent more time than I dare remember downloading songs from various Top Ten CD Lists around the Internet. Very few of them have stuck around, inspiring actual-record-buying or even a second listen. This one took some time to get its hooks into me. I think it was the weird, glitchy rhythm that did it. Or the dude’s English, too free from any distinguishing accent to be real. Great stalker song. From the Domino LP Neon Golden, 2003.

17. The Scissor Sisters “Take Your Mama”
This song makes me want to be gay just so I can have a coming-out as fabulous as the Scissor Sisters say it should be. I heard it for a while on a UK radio station before listening to the Scissor Sisters album, and I realized that I had thought it was an old Elton John song from the 70s every time I’d heard it before. I don’t know why, but the little blurps my mind plays like that fill me with joy. From the Universal LP Scissor Sisters, 2004.

18. The Libertines “Music When the Lights Go Out”
The swooniest swan song from an album chock full of nothing but swoony swan songs, their second. Neither Babyshambles nor Dirty Pretty Things will ever have my full, naked, unashamed, unswerving devotion like the Libertines did. Maybe I’m too old and jaded now, or maybe they are. But it was a great couple of years, even though on my end it was pretty much all through the computer. From the Rough Trade LP The Libertines, 2004.

19. Warren Zevon “El Amor de mi Vida”
I love songs that make me want to cry. I’m not sure this would make anyone else want to cry, though. It’s kind of personal. Although the fact that Zevon was dying when he recorded it certainly doesn’t make it any less poignant; I love to think of the (totally imaginary, I’m sure) girl he’s singing to hearing this only after he died and her heart breaking. Chorus in Spanish. From the Artemis LP The Wind, 2003.

20. Banda Ionica “Lorenzo in Sicilia”
Oh, hey, this is another relic from the Great Music Hunt of Christmas 2002. So Banda Ionica is this band from Sicily, right? Only they’re a good old-fashioned Italian brass band, what we’d call a marching band here in the States. Only they seem to be on the same wavelength as, say, Tom Waits and Radiohead. This is a kind-of-sort-of cover of the theme to the film Lawrence of Arabia, hence the title. From the Felmay LP Matri Mia, 2002.

Maestropolis: Still Going.

Disc Four:

01. The Raveonettes “Attack of the Ghost Riders”
How was I to know they wouldn’t just be a one-off? This is a great little single, a three-minute B-movie starring James Dean with a soundtrack by the Jesus & Mary Chain. But, oh, how very much better they would get. From the Columbia EP Whip It On, 2002.

02. The Delgados “All You Need Is Hate”
Sure, it’s a conceptual lift from the Beatles (or, more specifically, John Lennon). But the music is Elton John circa 1970, or Standard Indie Orchestral. With a fuzz guitar gently weeping somewhere in the background. The lyrics remain disquietingly opaque; they’re satirical, or are they? Why is charity a joke that friendly cities think that we’ll believe? Or am I just hearing Jimi Hendrix kiss this guy? From the Mantra LP Hate, 2002.

03. The Thrills “Santa Cruz (You’re Not That Far)”
The hook: they’re Irish, but they love California, or the idea of California they got from late-60’s Beach Boys records and early-70’s Eagles records. So, not unnaturally, they sound like a Beach Boys/Eagles tribute band. But really it’s the banjo, I think, that puts it over the top. From the Virgin LP So Much for the City, 2003.

04. The Dirty Dozen Brass Band feat. Norah Jones “Ruler of My Heart”
Hey, shut up. Norah Jones’ voice is one of the great gifts of being alive today. Of course she doesn’t even slightly hold a candle to the classic Irma Thomas version of this song, any more than the Band did “Ain’t Got No Home” better than Frogmouth. But this track is wonderful just to hear that tuba puffing the intro. And is there a slight electronic touch to the song, or is my mp3 just screwed up? From the Rope-A-Dope LP Medicated Magic, 2002.

05. Billy Bragg & the Blokes “Take Down the Union Jack”
The ultimate in long-distance Anglophilia, I suppose; my throat still tightens a bit at the final line: “to be an Anglo hyphen Saxon in England dot co dot uk.” Although it did take me forever to decipher the line about Gilbert & George taking the piss (they’re conceptual artists). I really don’t understand why more folksingers don’t play Gibsons. Like an acoustic is so much more authentic. From the Elektra LP England, Half English, 2002.

06. Electric Six “Danger! High Voltage!”
Garage-disco, baby! (And that’s gar-ahjj, not garridge.) It came to the attention of the cool kids in the room because Jack White is doing the call & response thing, but it was such an instantly lovable track that it even ended up on the Charlie’s Angels 2 soundtrack, in overproduced form. Disco needs more skronky saxophones that sound like they stepped out of a sweaty 50’s r&b nightclub. Fire in the Taco Bell! From the Beggars XL LP Fire, 2003.

07. Simian “La Breeze”
Demented pop, like some alternate-universe version of Supergrass where they listened to Aladdin Sane instead of Electric Warrior. That false start is great to play in public, for the same reason that watching a scary movie you’ve already seen with someone who hasn’t is great. What kind of phasing do they use to get that rubbery guitar sound? Delightful. From the Astralwerks LP We Are Your Friends, 2002.

08. The White Stripes “Ball and Biscuit”
A monster, stomping behemoth of a track that chews broken bottles and spits them back in your face. (You can actually hear the exact moment of the spitting. It’s at 5:37, when Jack decides not to go back to the main riff, and just keep doing his best Jimmy Page. Meg, of course, John Bonhams throughout.) Guitar solos aren’t punk? Then fuck punk. From the V2 LP Elephant, 2003.

09. Craig Armstrong feat. Evan Dando “Wake Up in New York”
The chaser; Dando (from the Lemonheads, not that that really means anything to anyone who wasn’t in college in 1992) sounds like he was personally just pummelled by Jack White before coming into the studio to sing this song. Meanwhile, the strings wax and wane with robotic precision, and if you really try hard, you can fall in love with New York to this song. From the EMI LP As If to Nothing, 2002.

10. The Be-Good Tanyas “The Littlest Birds”
I’ve never even really tried to understand the Mormon mindset, but listening to this song makes me start to question whether polygamy is so bad. (Metaphorically, ’k? Let’s keep our panties untwisted.) Harmonies like this make any song with just one woman’s beautiful voice seem boring. The fact that the lyrics are basically a female version of “Freebird” is icing on the cake. From the Nettwerk LP Blue Horse, 2001.

11. The Joe Jackson Band “Take It Like A Man”
And for one great, glorious track, he proves that sometimes you can go home again, with slightly punchier production. Seriously, the song could be an outtake from Look Sharp!, it’s so nervy and funny and rocky and unnecessarily complexly piano-soloey. Suck it, Webster’s. (And, hey, Joe, bravo for rhyming “icicles” to “bicycles” and almost making it work.) From the Rykodisc LP Volume 4, 2002.

12. Paul Westerberg “Let the Bad Times Roll”
I heard this song before I’d ever heard any Replacements. (Yeah, yeah, I suck. Sorry for being born the wrong year, dude.) So the gravelly whine had no associations for me, whether of nostalgia or betrayal; in fact, it just made the words that much cooler. Props to Westerberg for coming up with a brilliant, this-is-our-pop-moment title, and then writing lyrics to match it. From the Vagrant LP Stereo, 2002.

13. Macy Gray “You Got to Be My Mother’s Son-in-Law”
Macy gets her Billie Holiday on. Remember when “I Try” was inescapable for a year? Now I kind of miss her, don’t you? This is just a silly soundtrack cover song, sure; but I don’t really hear enough swing anymore, and if there’s any modern singer whose voice was tailor-made for the stuff, it’s her. From the various-artists Sony LP Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood: Music from the Motion Picture, 2002.

14. The Bygones “The Book”
Obscure-as-hell Nebraska band who want nothing more than to be Bob Dylan with the Rolling Stones as his backing band. For the space of the guitar solo here, they almost manage it. Otherwise, the jury’s still out on whether the country-Dylan lyrics are brilliant or gimmicky. From the Derailleur LP Circles, 2002.

15. Bebel Gilberto “No Return”
Another cover! What the hell, man? But, no, you have to hear this one! I used to be kind of a Kinks fanatic; this song, on Something Else, was nice and pretty, but I didn’t even realize it was supposed to be bossa nova until Astrid’s daughter-in-law Girl-from-Ipanema’d it to spacey perfection. From the various-artists Rykodisc LP This Is Where I Belong: the Songs of Ray Davies and the Kinks, 2002.

16. Tricky “Mission Accomplished”
One of the downsides of being an Anglophile is that you’re always hearing about these great bands which you just missed by about a decade. Tricky apparently never lived up to Maxinquaye, but nobody told me until I had fallen in love with this tightly-wound bit of trip-grind. (Like that? I got a million of ’em.) From the Epitaph EP Mission Accomplished, 2001.

17. Virginie Ledoyen “Mon amour mon ami”
Ooh, French pop! Sung by an actress who isn’t a singer! Wait, not Brigitte Bardot? Actually, it’s so much less twee than it sounds, but there’s still plenty of twee left over. I appreciate the 40’s production; it would be terrible if they tried to put anything electric in it. Still, of course, most right-thinking Americans should hate it. In French. From the various-artists WEA Music France LP 8 femmes: Bande originale du film, 2001.

18. The Avalanches “Frontier Psychiatrist”
Is there even anything to say about this track? I must have listened to it hundreds of times by now, and I’m still unpacking the different sounds in my head. All that’s left is that pinnacle of laziness, quotation: A record? record? record? record? To an optometrist! Tighten your buttocks and pour juice on your chin, indeed. From the Modular LP Since I Left You, 2000.

19. Solomon Burke feat. the Blind Boys of Alabama “None of Us Are Free”
Possibly the last great soul man (assuming James Brown never records again). On Sundays, he preaches from the pulpit, which makes this song so inspired. The Blind Boys are his congregation here, and Reveren Burke doubles at the organ. Listen for the wildcat roar as he returns to knock the chorus home one more time. Oh, and the song is true. From the Fat Possum LP Don’t Give Up on Me, 2002.

20. The Cooper Temple Clause “Did You Miss Me?”
It seemed like this would be the perfect bookend to the album. Starts out slow and a little Pink-Floydy, and slowly builds to throbbing, burning noise, complementing the Raveonettes at the beginning of the disc perfectly. Otherwise, not really an interesting song. From the Mourning LP See This Through and Leave, 2002.

21. Nick Lowe “Between Dark and Dawn”
But then I realized that the disc had to end with this. Because if you don’t love Nick Lowe’s music, I’m not sure you qualify as a human being. From the Yep Roc LP The Convincer, 2001.

Maestropolis, Disc Three

Huh. Reading back over the last few posts, my tone is more defensive than I meant it to be. No apologies for listening to Interpol should ever be necessary. With that said:

Disc Three:

01. The Streets “Turn the Page”
What probably caught my ear was the references to that Russell Crowe movie where he wears a leather skirt. What kept my attention was the throat-lump-inducing (for fantasy fans, anyway) last lines: “stand by me, my apprentice . . . be brave. Clench fists.” And the disses. I mean, “rhubarb-and-custard verses?” Where is this guy from, anyway? From the Atlantic LP Original Pirate Material, 2002.

02. Mark Knopfler “Marbletown”
A standard blues song, wherein a British dude — as usual — is more convincing in his evocations of timeless Americana than most Americans since Johnny Cash died. It made me think of O Brother, Where Art Thou? and, which is better, the movie it stole its name from. The song could use a Veronica Lake, actually. From the Warner Bros. LP The Ragpicker’s Dream, 2002.

03. Blur “Don’t Bomb When You Are The Bomb”
And that’s the entirety of the lyrics; it probably won’t show up on any future greatest-hits comp, although it was Blur’s first release after their hits package, which was my introduction to the band. More electronic and African than ever before, this track would probably fit better under the Gorillaz umbrella today. From the white-label single Don’t Bomb When You Are the Bomb, 2002.

04. Radio 4 “Dance to the Underground”
Forget “House of Jealous Lovers” — this was my introduction to the nascent dance-punk scene. (See also: Liars, LCD Soundsystem, and Franz Ferdinand.) No, they didn’t do anything Gang of Four and PiL hadn’t done first, but when Blink-182 was carrying the punk banner, this was a shock of cold, head-bobbing — hell, ass-shaking — water. From the Gern Blandsten single Dance to the Underground, 2001.

05. Los Lobos “Done Gone Blue”
I have no idea why this song, over any other Los Lobos song, made the cut. Not that it’s bad, or even undistinguished; but except for the Strummery gibbering just before the sax solo, there’s nothing — oh, wait. Now that it’s down in words, that sounds pretty cool. I guess it’s the reason. From the Mammoth LP Good Morning Aztlán, 2002.

06. Björk “Pagan Poetry”
That transition, from straight-up Chicano rawk to the tinkling stabs of some kind of electronic harpsichord, is one of the reasons I like doing this sort of thing. And Björk, for once, sounds like a human being, especially when she recites “I lahve heem, I lahve heem, I lah-ahve heem” over and over. Getting-in-the-mood music for ice mummies. From the Elektra LP Vespertine, 2001.

07. Jonathan Rundman “Find Your Way to Prague”
He’s a Minnesota singer-songwriter/roots-rocker. The song is from a 52-track concept album about the Lutheran liturgical year. It’s a disco song. It was cobbled together from tape loops he had, because he didn’t want to disturb the neighbors with real drums. How Minnesotan. How can you not love it? From the Salt Lady LP Sound Theology, 2000.

08. The Polyphonic Spree “Soldier Girl”
The NME strikes again. “Light & Day” is probably better, but what the hell. Come on, chant along with the suspiciously happy robed choir: “I found my soldier girl, she’s so far away, she makes my head spin around.” There seem to be a lot of minimalist lyrics on this disc. From the Fierce Panda EP Soldier Girl, 2002.

09. Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds “Oh My Lord”
Never mind; this is where all the words from the other songs went. Another of his patent wonderfully macabre psychological thrillers, in which the words “the plot, the plot” seem mysteriously to signal the point when the Bad Seeds kick it up a notch. Also, it’s long, and that’s good, because there are a lot of short songs on this disc. From the Reprise LP No More Shall We Part, 2001.

10. Apples in Stereo “Baroque”
Standard fuzz-rock, sure, maybe a little more treble than normal, but hey. That is, until the chorus, when they suddenly go all “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” on our asses. More indie rock songs should have classically-derived vocal interludes, and I don’t mean booking an out-of-work opera singer because you were too cheap to spring for the theramin. From the SpinART LP Velocity of Sound, 2002.

11. Aaron Sprinkle “I Know There’s an Answer/Hang on to Your Ego”
Sacrilege, right, I know. Not just covering the Beach Boys, covering Pet Sounds! And the alternate lyrics! Who does this guy think he is? Only, unaccountably, it’s good. Aaron Sprinkle is one of the unheralded pop geniuses of the age. Used to be in the Christian indie band poor old lu. Now mostly produces and releases his stuff to the tiny subset of Christians who are also indie-pop freaks. From the various-artists Silent Planet LP Making God Smile, 2002.

12. Ladytron “Seventeen”
It’s all about the attitude. It has to be, because it’s a terrible song, as a song. More minimalist lyrics, set this time to music that wants to be minimalist, only the band’s inner shoegazer won’t let it. This inner shoegazer, by the way, will pop up to thrilling effect three discs from now. Be prepared. From the Emperor Norton LP Light & Magic, 2002.

13. Badly Drawn Boy “You Were Right”
If you’re of a certain age (i.e., just starting to be interested in sex when you heard about Madonna’s book Sex), the line “I’m turning Madonna down” in this song is more charged than it necessarily should be. Awkward self-revelations aside, the song is gorgeous sympho-pop that also works in a list of Important Musicians who died in Damon Gough’s lifetime, yet it isn’t a bummer. Weird. From the Artist Direct BMG LP Have You Fed the Fish?, 2002.

14. Phish “Mexican Cousin”
This was supposed to be their farewell record. Two years later, they were back. But I still like this song, a pleasantly rough approximation of a Ronnie Lane song in the Faces days. (Don’t hear it? You don’t listen to enough Faces, mate.) And for once, they almost seem to be singing about something, rather than just stringing words together. Always a plus. From the Elektra LP Round Room, 2002.

15. Puffy AmiYumi “Atarashii Hibi”
For that first second, you’re not sure whether “Pump it Up” is playing, but then the two Asian chicks start singing and, no, that’s definitely not Elvis Costello. If all J-pop was like this, no other nation would have a prayer. Thank God it’s mostly breathy twaddle over breathier synths. Which makes Puffy’s glammed-up pop/rock all that much more special. In Japanese. From the Bar/None LP An Illustrated History, 2002.

16. Hot Hot Heat “Talk to Me, Dance With Me”
I guess I was really into dance-punk that year. Not that the dance-punk scenesters would look twice at Hot Hot Heat. Not only are they latecomers and therefore (always) bandwagon-jumpers, but they’re Canadian! That is so not punk. The guy still yelps like early Robert Smith, and if you can’t quite dance to it, there’s enough cowbell to make up for it. From the Sub Pop LP Make Up the Breakdown, 2002.

17. Yo La Tengo “You Can Have It All”
I hated this song for a while. Oddly enough, that was after I’d compiled this disc. It had been a last-minute desperate need-to-fill-out-the-disc addition, and I thought it killed the mood. Then I realized a) who was I kidding, there was no mood to this thing, and b) it’s a beautiful little pop ditty. Ba bum ba ba ba ba bum, ba bum ba ba ba ba bum . . . . From the Matador LP And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out, 2000.

18. Zwan “Honestly”
Remember Zwan? Billy Corgan was so glad to be working in a band again? They got out one record and then split acrimoniously? Maybe he should have mixed the girl bass player higher; her voice is nice. It would have been a relief from the Wall-to-Wall Billy. Seriously, though, I was surprisingly into these guys for a couple of months, before it became apparent that it was just the Pumpkins, Mark II. Which wasn’t, actually, all that bad a thing. From the Reprise single Honestly, 2002.

19. The Beta Band “Won”
Sounding like a poorly-thought-out union between Crosby, Stills & Nash (the harmonies), a children’s version of Radiohead (the production), and ten thousand giggly pot-smoking college bands in the nineties (the lyrics), this song could only have been produced by the Beta Band. I assume. I’ve never enjoyed anything else I heard from them, even the song in High Fidelity. From the Astralwerks LP Hot Shots II, 2001.

Maestropolis, Continued.

Disc Two:

01. Wilco “I’m the Man Who Loves You”
That spastic, stuttering guitar opening is, I think, the best possible way to open a disc. If we must have guitars, let them stammer. The saxophones and other assorted brass are pretty kickass, too. It’s just a great song. From the Nonesuch LP Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, 2002.

02. The Music “Take the Long Road and Walk It”
They didn’t pan out over an album, or indeed for another three minutes, but in the space of this song, the Music almost live up to their ridiculous name. Baggy Stone Roses beats, U2ish rise-and-ebb dynamics, a yelping British frontman who can actually hit a note, and Zepplin-fondling guitars (especially when they break out the bottleneck slide at the end), for once, add up to a track as cool as that makes it sound. From the Hut LP The Music, 2002.

02. Interpol “NYC”
It was just after 9/11. America was gearing up for Iraq. There was a vague possibility, to someone who spent time on the paranoid left of the Internet, that we might actually go to war with France. In that context, Joy Division rumblings with Smiths atmospherics and the line “the subway is a porno” made perfect sense. From the Matador LP Turn on the Bright Lights, 2002.

04. Beck “Sunday Sun”
I’d never really listened to Beck before this. Sure, I’d heard “Loser” and “Where It’s At,” but I hadn’t really listened to them; they seemed to share sonic space with Sugar Ray and those guys who did “How Bizarre.” But with Nick Drake arrangements and a mumbled baritone, suddenly Beck was personal. I think of this song as sunshine pop for manic-depressives. From the Geffen/Interscope LP Sea Change, 2002.

05. Ivy “Edge of the Ocean”
I don’t remember how I heard of Ivy, or what made me think it would be a good idea to check them out. But I fell in love with this song, or perhaps with the idea of what this song seems to say: fall in love with a French woman and head out towards the beach. The northern beach, for preference; the trip-hop backing is pretty chilly. From the Bitter Sweet LP Long Distance, 2001.

06. 16 Horsepower “Flutter”
The piano stabs like a clumsy serial killer; the guitar picks so softly you can barely hear it, like some dread thing scratching at the door. And yet the scariest thing in the song is when all the instruments die and the indie version of a high lonesome croon says “all our colors agree … in the dark.” From the Jetset LP Folklore, 2002.

07. Supergrass “Grace”
So of course we need a pick-me-up now, and who better than the boys who’ve taken all the friendliest parts of the the Kinks, T. Rex, the Buzzcocks, and Blur, and just want to urge you to save your money for your children? I defy you not to grin to this song. From the Parlophone LP Life on Other Planets, 2002.

08. Marianne Faithfull “I’m on Fire”
Everything she does is full of interest, and this wasn’t even my favorite song from this album, but it’s got Billy Corgan’s nasal whine on backing vocals, so of course I had to include it. To be fair, I can’t really imagine any other song here at this point. It’s a glossy, studio soufflé — it would fall at a breath. From the EMI LP Kissin Time, 2002.

09. Steve Earle “Amerika 6.0 (The Best That We Can Do)”
This remains about the only Steve Earle track I’ve ever gotten to know well. And somehow it feels like the only one I need; its combination of righteous country-rock swagger and outraged indictment of establishments everywhere makes me wary; surely anything else couldn’t be as good? Special bonus: he quotes T. Rex on the outro. From the Artemis LP Jerusalem, 2002.

10. The Libertines “The Good Old Days”
They were my favorite working band, and this song is the reason why. From the Rough Trade UK LP Up the Bracket, 2002.

11. The Flaming Lips “In the Morning of the Magicians”
Funny story. I fell in love with this song thinking it was “Do You Realize?” because some schmuck on KaZaA had mislabled his mp3s. Then I heard “Do You Realize.” I like this better; it just seems more Lippy to me. From the Warner Bros. LP Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, 2002.

12. Sam Phillips “Wasting My Time”
I listened to Sam Phillips when she was Leslie Phillips; I thought she was a badass hard-rocker. (I was ten.) She’s still badass, even with just a string quartet behind her. The quality of her voice makes me think, for no reason I can pinpoint, of Madeline L’Engle. This is a compliment. From the Nonesuch LP Fan Dance, 2001.

13. Paul Weller “Written on the Wind”
I’d never gotten into the Sex Pistols, and the Clash were too generally revered. The Jam became my favorite punk band by default, because the Kinks were my favorite British Invasion band. Paul Weller’s solo career has been hit-and-miss since, but this song is a perfect slice of his neo-soul-psychedelia dadrock. With a Booker T. sample, yet. From the Independiente LP Illumination, 2002.

14. Johnny Cash “Personal Jesus”
It was Solitary Man, the previous record, that buried deep within me, with its gallows-humor version of Nick Cave’s “The Mercy Seat” and its dignity-in-the-gutter reading of blackface vaudevillian Bert Williams’s “Nobody.” In comparison, this is tossed-off, just a fun, Deltafied run-through of an Eighties-Night staple. In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t choose “Hurt” instead. From the American LP American IV: The Man Comes Around, 2002.

15. Bryan Ferry “Hiroshima”
Radiohead was still one of my favorite bands when I picked this because that’s Johnny Greenwood doing the guitar explosions behind Ferry’s ageless croon. And then Ultravox’s “Hiroshima Mon Amour” gets referenced, and it’s all magnificently downhill from there. From the EMI LP Frantic, 2002.

16. Tom Waits “I’m Still Here”
Another one of those short songs that gets picked to round out a disc, this is also perhaps one the most simply beautiful songs in Waits’ catalogue. When he reaches for that high note, it’s enough to move me to tears; but perhaps that’s because the album is one of my all-time favorites. From the Anti- LP Alice, 2002.

17. The Coral “Shadows Fall”
Many of these songs seem to have dropped onto the list because a new British band was being hailed in the British press as the Greatest Thing Ever. I would give it a listen, and decide I liked it. When I used to play this at work, my co-worker would always look up and grin, “Pirates!” From the Deltasonic LP The Coral, 2002.

18. Pulp “The Trees”
The last Pulp single, frothy and “organic” (that word must have been in the press-release package) and kind of orchestral, but still totally wicked, romantic pop. I don’t really love this song, but it feels right to have Pulp represented on such a disc. Good placement, too. From the Island LP We Love Life, 2001.

19. Peter Gabriel “Signal to Noise”
Nusrat Fateh Ali Kahn’s last Western recording, apparently. It’s a good one, too; he jumps from note to note with the speed and grace of a cat. Oh, and there’s some white guy going on about something over a bunch of electronic pomp and circumstance, too. But this song is all about the Nus-man. From the Geffen LP Up, 2002.

Next: more.

More Music-Geekery; or, They Say to Write What You Know, and What Do I Know Better than My Own Peculiar, Sometimes Short-Lived, Obsessions?

I’ve mentioned here an off-and-on project of the last several years, which has been collecting the non-hit songs (or at least they weren’t hits when I collected them) I’ve loved best, burning them onto a CD, and calling the result “Maestropolis.” This last because I used an image from Fritz Lang’s Metropolis as the cover of the first one, and made a lousy play on the old-fashioned use of the word “maestro” as a musician’s honorific. But what the hell. I didn’t do this for cool points, I did this so I could listen to a bunch of songs I liked in a row without having to swap out CDs every three minutes.

I just finished burning the latest edition, a two-disc set. (It’s been a while since I last did it, and good music tends to accumulate. Also, I went out looking for stuff, and ... well, I found it.) All together, the various editions have accreted 138 songs, which it strikes me is a good number for a box set. Oh yeah. You’re in for it now.

The following is the liner notes for said imaginary boxed set. Maybe not imaginary, if I get off my ass, find some cardboard, and print out enough proper images. But for now, this is it. My favorite songs (that didn’t get a whole lot of exposure; like everyone else, I love “Hey Ya” to death) from the past, roughly, five years.

Disc One:

01. The Webb Brothers “The Liar’s Club”
Orchestral pop with fuzz-toned guitar. Notable for tackling (in a more earnest fashion) the entire message of the first Strokes album, a year early. Only they’re Chicago, not New York. And they’re the sons of “Macarthur Park” songwriter Jimmy Webb, not fashion designers and record executives. But you can still hate them as much as you hate the Strokes. From the Wea International LP Maroon, 2000.

02. Elvis Costello “Tear Off Your Own Head (It’s a Doll Revolution)”
Pop/rock with the devil in the details. Written by Mr. McManus for a hypothetical girl group, and later covered by the Bangles, who also called their attempt at a comeback CD Doll Revolution. Its zippy pseudo-feminist stylings probably kept it from getting any kind of pop airply, where misogyny is still in. From the Island LP When I Was Cruel, 2002.

03. Texas “Parisian Pierrot”
Yeah, Texas. Scottish lite-rockers replaced by Dido in the annals of British wuss music. The song by Noël Coward, from one of his earliest musicals in the late 1920s. Gertrude Lawrence both made it famous and was made famous by it. Texas leaves out a line in favor of a sample of a guy saying something in French. From the MMC various-artists charity LP Twentieth Century Blues: the Songs of Noël Coward, 1998.

04. The Strokes “Hard to Explain”
Spiky pop-post-punk, with one of the great slacker drawls on vocals. By now everyone pretty much knows where they stand on the Strokes, so I’ll just say that I loved this song when I first heard it as a crappy mp3 rip of a British radio spot, the day after the first stupid review appeared in the NME, and I love it now. The moment of silence after the first chorus is one of the defining pop moments of the 21st century. From the Rough Trade UK single This Modern World, 2001.

05. Bob Dylan “Bye and Bye”
Country waltz, with Lanois-ish touches in the production. It is a fact which completely throws everything we thought we knew about pop music into immense disarray, that Bob Dylan is still making music just as good as any he’s ever made, and — as in the present instance — so much different from anything he’s ever done that no comparison really suffices. He manages an adequate croon in his croaky Old-Bob voice, and, well, it’s just pretty perfect. From the Columbia LP Love and Theft, 2001.

06. Steve Taylor “Shortstop”
Every subgenre has its legends and heroes, its fallen and its intensely watched. Steve Taylor, back in the late 80’s, used to be called the “clown prince of Christian music,” with satirical songs taking on everything from mass-market conformity to — most infamously — anti-abortion zealots. This is his only dispatch since 1995’s live album Liver, and his only studio song since 1993’s Squint. It’s kind of a swing song, if swing concerts had mosh pits. From the Squint Entertainment various-artists LP Roaring Lambs, 2000.

07. Johnny Cash “The Mercy Seat”
This song was the means of my learning the first lesson of music-geekery: no one will thank you for making them listen to a Nick Cave song, no matter who sings it. The general public does not expect from music what they are happy to enjoy in a movie. Their loss. From the American LP American III: Solitary Man, 2002.

08. Doves “There Goes the Fear”
Not really a fan of this song anymore, but it’s still listenable. The kind of epic British mope-rock that was still fashionable before everyone remembered that they’d heard Joy Division. Hey, it’s better than Coldplay. From the Heavenly LP The Last Broadcast, 2002.

09. Mark Knopfler “What It Is”
I used to really love Dire Straits. Then I found out what else was going on in music, 1979-1984. But this is the kind of song that anyone who enjoys pop music should love; it’s got Knopfler’s trademark crisp guitar lines, some of his best imagistic songwriting, and a killer violin hook that makes me think of any movie where people ride horses towards towering walled cities. From the Warner Bros. LP Sailing to Philadelphia, 2000.

10. Robbie Williams “The Road to Mandalay”
Okay, I’ll admit to a bit of a Brit-music fascination. There are worse things. My favorite Robbie Williams music is Swing When You’re Winning, by a long shot, but this is a close second, a pretty-then-bombastic pop song that I can’t really find precedent for outside of the Waterboys. From the Capitol LP Sing When You’re Winning, 2000.

11. Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros “Johnny Appleseed”
Joe Strummer could have been one of the great folksingers, with his voice. In a way, I guess he was. (Depends on your definition of “folk,” dunnit?) This, maybe the folkiest song he ever did — it would have been called a protest song in 1967 — is turned into a pan-global party by the band he preferred over the Clash in his last five years. They introduced me to all sorts of great music; here’s to the Mescaleros. From the Epitaph LP Global a Go-Go, 2001.

12. Shakira “Objection (Tango)”
The only pop starlet who could conceivably have duetted with Strummer and held her own, Shakira remains one of pop music’s best-kept secrets, even while she storms the spotlight. The thing is; it’s not her producers that give her music the kind of world-music-in-a-blender edge that made “Toxic” listenable; it’s the lady herself. This went on to become a kind of hit about a year after I fell in love with its surf-guitar breakdowns. Imagine if Ricky Martin had had this sort of musical cleverness. From the Sony LP Laundry Service, 2001.

13. David Byrne “Neighborhood”
Oddly, I like this song more now than I did when I used to listen to it all the time. I used to think it was faintly cheesy musically, only tolerable for the “we’ve got peace, love, monkey business” lyrics. But I’ve learned to love 70’s soul, and now the flute riffs are no longer corny, but satisfying. From the Virgin LP Look into the Eyeball, 2001.

14. Dolly Parton “Shine”
Trippy covers are a kind of hobby of mine, it seems. This one has a crackerjack bluegrass band going to town on Collective Soul’s 1991 alterna-dork hit. Dolly’s voice, of course, is still pure mountain-stream cool, and she even makes the vague, waffly spiritual lyrics (years before Creed, remember) sound kind of sexy, something no one who grew up with VCRs could have done. From the Sugar Hill LP Little Sparrow, 2001.

15. Kinky “Soun Tha Primer Amor”
I once saw these guys turn a pretty boring Cinco de Mayo into a kickass party. The next day, I hunted down their CD; of course, it’s not nearly as good. However, I still love this Mexican-ghetto electronica song, because I remember hearing it live and thinking it applied to this girl who I was pretty sure was there, but I never did see her. In Spanish. From the Nettwerk LP Kinky, 2002.

16. Daniel Amos “Who’s Who Here?”
Daniel Amos is the other Christian rock act (besides Steve Taylor) that pagans can listen to without breaking out into a cold sweat. They were great in the early 80s, when they rode the New Wave bandwagon to a highly specific purpose better than anyone I’ve ever heard of, and only okay since then, when they’ve ridden the alterna-rock bandwagon to no real purpose. But this Neil-Young-with-Crazy-Horsey song still makes me laugh, if only for the superb turn of phrase, “shit-chat.” And, of course, the cowbell. From the Galaxy21 LP Mr. Buechner’s Dream, 2001.

17. The Vines “Highly Evolved”
I know, I know. I’m embarrassed too. It’s less than two minutes long, and I had some space left on the disc. Australian Nirvana-wannabes riding the garage-rock-revival wave? What was anybody thinking? From the Capitol LP Highly Evolved, 2002.

18. Radiohead “Optimistic”
Hello, my name is Jonathan Bogart, and my mind was blown by Kid A, even though Radiohead wasn’t being as experimental as the hype said. Now that this confession is out of the way, I hope we can all move on. To wit, this is still a great song, in a Krautrock-for-the-masses kind of way. From the Capitol LP Kid A, 1998.

19. Stone Temple Pilots “Atlanta”
For some reason, when the album came out, I kept reading that this song was a Doors rip-off. I can’t imagine why people must have thought so, unless they never got past Scott Weiland’s opening word, which does sound a bit like Jim Morrison. But it ends with marimbas! Marimbas! And that’s why I lik Stone Temple Pilots better than any of the grunge bands with more cred. Because they use marimbas. From the Atlantic LP No. 4, 1999.


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