It’s nice to see another state, particularly one so populous, signing on to the idea that everybody deserves the same rights as everyone else.

Also, once New York is done celebrating and picking out china patterns, I wonder if it’s too much to ask her to have a chat with her fellow original British colony Virginia, who, as we all know, tends to stay way behind the pack on this sort of thing, and always ends up regretting being on the wrong side of history.

Maybe in this case, a little loving correction might help her break the cycle.

Lots of rumors this week regarding my getting shuffled around to fix somebody else’s problem…again. I’d use the pawn/chess metaphor, but the people making the decisions aren’t that strategic. At best, I’m a Sorry! token or one of the little kid pegs from The Game of Life.

I’m going to the water park now and not think about it.

1. “Until You Dare” – Hooters
2. “Nine While Nine” – Sisters of Mercy
3. “Misunderstanding” – Genesis
4. “True Fine Love” – Steve Miller Band
5. “Cadence to Arms (live)” – Dropkick Murphys
6. “Attention Earth People” – Dimensional Holophonic Sound
7. “Highwire” – The Clarks
8. “Monkey on a Wire” – Kasey Chambers and Shane Nicholson
9. “Back Broke” – The Swell Season
10. “Late Bloom” – Amy Ray
11. “Free To Decide” – The Cranberries

It also seems that I can’t count. Oh well.

I’m pretty sure with this entry, I’m caught up with my listening, and it’s probably time to swap out for a new box of CDs. That is, if I can resist just listening to Alpocalypse over and over for a while. What can I say, a boy never outgrows his “Weird” Al. In any case, in this installment, I lament a pop trend that never came to be, and finally get around to the group I spent more time listening to in my teens than any other:

♦Jewel – Spirit: The apparent similarities between this record and Sheryl Crow, which I talked about a few posts ago, are easy to see. Both records are sophomore efforts produced after both performers hit the big time with relatively small, stripped-down debuts that blew up huge. They’ve even got similar black and white portrait covers. Like Sheryl Crow, Spirit builds on some of the things that made the preceding project successful; in Jewel’s case, that means folky vocals and instrumentation, personal lyrical content on an intimate scale, and a little bit of yodelling. However, unlike the Crow record, Jewel eschews much of the raw, stripped-down production favor of a slicker, cleaner sound. It’s not that this doesn’t work, because the record is quite well produced, and still maintains the singer-songwriter vibe she’d cultivated an maintained (at least until she released the ladies razor commercial dance-pop single “Intuition” a few years later), leading to great success on the radio with singles like “Down So Long” and “Hands” (which, to this day, I can’t hear without replacing the lyrics with those of modernhumorist.com’s excellent parody“A Little Prayer (Wolverine’s Theme)”).

♦Michelle Branch – The Spirit Room: Once upon a time, around the turn of the century, I had a hope. A hope that the era of disposable blonde pop tarts in mainstream music like Britney and Xtina would be supplanted by a new movement of youthful, attractive, and (mostly) brunette female singer-songwriters. Enter acts like Vanessa Carlton, Norah Jones, and Michelle Branch (heralded, of course, by the likes of Jewel, whose blondeness we’ll forgive in this instance). Sadly, that movement was not to be, but the sparks thereof left us with a few nuggets of refreshing, confessional, and infectious pop music that isn’t all about going to da club and exploiting the virgin/whore paradox, and on the whole, more lyrically complex and compelling than Taylor Swift. The Spirit Room is a perfectly wonderful pop record, and emininetly listenable, particularly the ubiquitous single “Everywhere,” as well as “Goodbye to You”, which, while sadly not a Scandal cover, was a pretty great coming to terms with a breakup song that I kind of fell in love with when Branch played the Bronze right before Buffy and Spike hooked up in season six. As listenable as it is, though, I never particularly found myself driven to track down the rest of her output, which is probably a failing of mine than anything else.♦Darcie Miner – Down To Earth: This record continues the tradition of the last two, another teenage singer-songwriter (who’s mostly blond on the album cover), only on a more local/regional scale. Darcie opened a couple of Central PA gigs with the Badlees, and became kind of a protegé or mascot (depending on who you’re talking to). This record was produced by Badlees guitarist/vocalist/songwriter Bret Alexander back in 2000, and sounds like it, down to the mandolins and Jeff Feltenberger background vocals. This isn’t a bad thing at all; the production meshes well with the songwriting, which is very definitely Darcie, hewing closer to the life experience of a teenage girl (and all that implies) rather than Alexander’s trademark road-weary blue-collar poet with a larger than average vocabulary. Shortly after this record came out, Darcie got a sorta-major label deal, which, as they often do, fell apart, ultimately leading her toward more interesting musical directions. Her current web site doesn’t acknowledge this record, other than to say that ” it may not exactly have been the record SHE wanted to make, it still made a very strong impression.” Be that as it may, “My Angel” is a wonderfully crafted pop tune with great dynamic sense, and “No. 17” is probably something I wish I’d have been capable of writing at that age (heck, I’d like to be able to write it now). Also of note is that although I was gone from Central PA by the time this released, I still had electronic fingers in the scene, and Darcie pretty much sold this record to me personally via email correspondence, and I’m glad she did.

♦Bon Jovi – Keep The Faith: I eventually knew this little series would come around to a Bon Jovi record. Apologies in advance if this one becomes a little longer than usual. I came of Age in the 80s in the Rust Belt northeast, and for quite a large chunk of it, Bon Jovi was my soundtrack. Sure, I dabbled more than a little bit in glam and thrash (and less openly, mainstream pop music) but I kept coming back to the hard rock populism of Bon Jovi, even when it wasn’t the cool thing (except it gave me something to talk about with girls who still weren’t interested in me). The first four records, particularly Slippery When Wet and New Jersey were about as good as rock records got for me at the time, given my limited experience. They were hard and aggressive enough to address my pubescent masculinity issues, but touched on deep(er, anyway) lyrical themes, borrowing liberally from Springsteen’s slice o’ Jersey life songs, and also cranked out enough of that type of romantic ballad my sheltered little self figured girls liked and if I had them playing in the background at the right moment, well…let’s just say I was disabused of that notion pretty quickly. I idolized Sambora, who was more than just a side-man, contributing to the songwriting and filling out the sound with his background vocals on top of carrying the guitar duties with all those fancy pinched harmonics. Given that background, when this record came out when I was in college, I was excited, begging car-posessing dorm mates to drive me to the local mall to pick it up, then dropping everything for a private listening party. At the time, I enjoyed it, although it was different enough from the earlier records to alienate me a little bit, but not enough to give up my allegiance. I finally saw the band live on the tour supporting this one, and all was, at least temporarily forgiven, until a couple of years later, they forgot how to rock (seriously, someone explain to me how This Left Feels Right was ever a good idea?) and spent most of their musical energy flirting with country audiences, made up largely of the same girls who were dedicated fans in their teens, but mellowed out into rural soccer moms with little stick figure decals on the back of the SUV.

~Look, and unprecedented Second Paragraph!~

This record was heralded as a turning point toward more maturity for the band, largely because JBJ cut his hair. Some of the tunes play this out, but not to the extent one would have expected. It’s still largely the same stuff: hard rock with soaring vocals and a bit of honky-tonk piano backing it up, with experimental forays into acoustic blues (“Little Bit ‘o Soul”), the Springsteen-esque (“Dry County,” which comes to the Boss via “November Rain”-style overindulgence…great guitar solos, though) and the oddly creepy (“If I Was Your Mother”), and a few romantic ballads like “I Want You” rounding it out. If anything pre-sages the changes to come (not necessarily for the better) for the band, it’s the Tom-Waits-y “Bed of Roses,” despite the kick-ass guitar solo; it’s a decent song, and was a pretty big radio hit, though it dialed down the “rock” to such an extent that the band never quite recovered. Notably, coming back to this on CD with much better sound reproduction equipment than I had as a teenager, I noticed how narrow-band and muddy it all sounds. I wonder now if all the early stuff sounds that way and I just never noticed because I was listening to hissing cassettes on crappy speakers for all those years?

I’ve been following with interest the discussion at pandagon and elsewhere regarding the social implications of vegetarianism and veganism, particularly the apparent difficulty experienced by people in relationships where one partner is vegan and the other is not.

It’s an interesting topic that one might not immediately think about; the importance of food in our culture is a lot bigger than people realize. We’re attuned to the tensions differences over politics, religion, or even music can cause in relationships, but food is just kind of always there in the background, not getting noticed until differences get in the way. People are surprisingly defensive about eating choices. It’s honestly shocking how the simple presence of a vegetarian can cause some omnivores (who might not even be aggressive carnivorous troglodytes) to launch into impassioned violations of Wheaton’s law because they perceive another’s choice of diet as an attack on them*. Whether we realize it or not, food and food choice is completely entwined with identity, at least in western culture. That Brillat-Savarin quote at the beginning of every episode of Iron Chef is right:

Tell me what you eat, and I’ll tell you what you are.

Of course, identity isn’t just about food, though food can be a big part of identity. America’s big on the idea of identity politics, but then so, I would posit, is any human culture that isn’t totally occupied with subsistence efforts (though those groups would probably apply identity as a unifying force to encourage effort to feed and defend the group – we can’t escape it – as a species, we’re all about posturing and conveying an image). So many of us define ourselves by the groups and causes we associate ourselves with. Ideology. Party. Church (or not). Sports Franchise. Car Manufacturer. Team Edward vs. Team Jacob (or Team neither)….

On this topic in relation to food, Amanda points out one trend that seems uniquely American and current:

The “must have meat at every meal, cannot even CONSIDER a SINGLE vegan meal” mentality is a new twist on ye ‘ol ew-gross pickiness. There’s a specific kind of American pickiness—one that’s often tied right up with male privilege—that is not only picky but also petulant, as if being unadventurous and small-minded makes you morally superior.

See where I’m going here?

Sure you do. I suppose here is where this post stops being an anthropological discussion and starts becoming a bit of an editorial. I’ll continue to go on record saying that life-long learning and the trying of new things is inherently good, and that remaining intentionally cloistered in self-imposed ignorance generally isn’t, even if it makes you feel superior to all we simultaneously elite and unworthy types who aren’t afraid of things like quinoa or raw kale.

I just want to say, dear friends in the latter category, that you’re missing out on a lot of neat stuff, particularly some delicious food, by clinging to the whole anti-intellecutal moral superiority thing. My vegetarian friends have some amazing and totally delicious recipies that I think you’ll really enjoy.

It’s okay. Try the Taboule.

_________________

* – Also, I’m not going to rule out obnoxious vegs who are quick to judge and chastise meat eaters about their food choices. However, I will say that no matter how many stories I hear about these sorts of people and their militancy to the point of feeding their evolved-to-be-carnivorous cats and dogs vegan pet food and insist you should too, I’ve never personally met one in (forgive me) meatspace (though I have seen some arguments online approaching the line). I have, however, seen many a meat-loving person not think twice about rudely belittling vegs who dare to have a salad for dinner rather than huge slabs of roast beast.

Have you ever had to take in so much information in so little time that your brain hurts from having to expand to be able to take it all in, let alone process it all?

That was between two and three pm for me today.

Ow.

Once again, I dig into the big box (and elsewhere) to find old records to listen to and blather on about. This volume branches out a little bit past the usual piles of hair metal and mid-nineties pop rock into one of the more embarassing musical phases of my life, which is something, coming from someone who usually has no shame regarding his musical tastes:

♦Little Texas – Kick A Little: This one’s left over from my mostly ill-advised mainstream country phase, circa 1994-96. Not entirely sure where the phase came from (beyond an unhealthy fascination with Tricia Yearwood); I chalk it up to the unrefined taste of youth. Still, as they say, I got better, and balance a small stack of semi-embarassing CDs with the experience of seeing some surprisingly good live acts during the period, marked by the fact that I was the only one in the crowd dressed in flannel and combat boots, looking like I got lost on the way to the Pearl Jam show. This record is actually one of the less embarassing artifacts of that age, because after the novelty-ish opening title track, you get the surprisingly excellent “I’d Hold on To Her” and the even better “Amy’s Back In Austin” before falling into full-on pandering to the country lifestyle demographic from “Southern Grace” through the closer “Redneck Like Me.” It’s really an exercise in what might have been (see what I did there?), simply because despite making it obvious that they’re clued in to the pattern by taking the piss out of the whole “hot country” genre with “Hit Country Song” (which does nothing but list all the easy-out go-to references one puts into stereotypical country songs for three or four minutes over mournful steel guitars), but then they spend four-fifths of this record offering up hopelessly cliché country lyrics without any sort of irony. I’d love to see what these guys could do if they really tried digging a little deeper lyrically more often, because they’re all great players and the live show was energetic, charismatic, and novel (if you ignore the Steinberger bass on the little spinny belt buckle thing).

♦Steve Earle – Trancendental Blues: One good thing about my country phase was that I dug deeper and found some great under-the-radar country and folk stuff that succeeds in ways that Little Texas mostly doesn’t. Alt-Country. Celtic Folk. 70s Outlaw. Steve Earle. Despite having success as a songwriter, and a troubled personal history to rival Hank Williams, Earle never fit in with his Nashville peers, in part because his leftist political views are at odds with the mainstream. His style is more experimental, gravitating toward rock and folk styles as well as country, all of which are represented here. The opening tracks, “Trancendental Blues” and “Everyone’s In Love With You” are strong, heavy and energetic (and make for an excellent six to eight minutes of driving) before the record settles into a nice mix of traditional sounding country (“Another Town”) and folk (“The Boy Who Never Cried”, “The Galway Girl”), all of which is honest, raw, and engaging. This record, as well as pretty much Earle’s whole catalog, is highly recommended, especially if you’re a fan of modern folk, alt country, or basically just good American roots music.

♦Melissa Etheridge: Like most people, I’d barely heard of Etheridge before Yes I Am was released to great acclaim and many radio singles. I’d seen her on the Grammys back in ’89 and was intrigued, though it took me until years later to reach back and snag the whole early catalog, all of which serves as evidence of her talent as a great emotional songwriter and one of the most affecting acoustic guitar players to ever pick up an Ovation Adamas 12-string. This first album a great rootsy rock record, recorded on the cheap and in less than a week, and the rawness and lack of polish here is definitely a feature rather than a bug; it works; Her voice is best when it’s mostly unadorned and on the edge of breaking. “Water” got nominated for the Grammy, but when I re-listened to this (at probably 1:00am while driving down the interstate), “Similar Features” and “Occasionally” stood out prominently, but the best track on the record is, hands down, “Like The Way I Do,” which does agressive, slinky, and sexy better than anything else I can think of right now. It’s kind of a shame that Etheridge ended up being more famous for being a lesbian than anything else, and that her later stuff (at least the radio stuff) lost a lot of the edge her early stuff has. But that doesn’t make make those first three records (this, Brave and Crazy and Never Enough) any less awesome.

♦ Lady GaGa – Born This Way: Given all the attention paid to indie rock, roots/country and the sheer volume of hair metal I’ve worked through in this little experiment where I write about music so far, a reader might find it odd that I picked this record up a couple of weeks ago. Sure, those of you who follow my random ten posts have probably noticed my dips into modern pop music through the regular appearances of Katy Perry and Avril Lavigne, but would expect that I’m largely a rock sort of guy, and you’d mostly be right. However, I am unashamedly a fan of Lady GaGa, because, above all, she’s interesting in a way that few other artists are these days. I’m not sure if I’ve said it in this space before, but GaGa is what I imagine you’d get if David Bowie, Madonna, and Freddie Mercury somehow managed to have a baby where they all contributed equal amounts of genetic material. Sure, there’s a lot of glitz and glam and showmanship (and impressively, the GaGa image manages to be sexy without ever explicitly selling the artist as a sex object), but behind that important packaging is some scarily competent pop composition skills, as evidenced by how “Poker Face” has been so seamlessly ported over to other genre styles without losing it’s inherent value. Anyway, Born This Way is, not surprisingly, a very good record, and a record that sounds distinctly modern, but with a definite retro 80s feel. As many have pointed out, “Born This Way” does almost serve as a melodic counterpoint harmony to Madonna’s “Express Yourself,” but that doesn’t make it any less effective as pop song – it’s still instantly recognizable (my 3 year old immediately recognizes it whenever it comes on the radio – that’s distinction right there). Much of the rest of the record reaches back to 80s and 90s pop music; there’s quite a bit of Jim Steinman/Bonnie Tyler in the melodies on this record in songs like “Marry the Night” and “Hair,” as well as the newest single, “The Edge of Glory,” which captures the best kind of Celine Dion/Cher arena vibe without any of the drawbacks of actually sounding like either of them. However, most surprisingly, with “Yoü and I”, GaGa’s probably written the best country song I’ve heard in several years, and managed to get Brian May to play guitar on it. Yes, I think the record’s pretty great.

Sad to say, despite some cool stuff this weekend, I’m having one of those down periods. We’ll just say that yesterday, for all kinds of reasons, just wasn’t optimal, and I was, frankly, relieved to go to bed and put it death, at least figuratively.

That said, I still did some objectively cool and interesting stuff this weekend, and I’m going to try to focus on those things.

My weekend actually began on Wednesday night, as I took Thursday off to surprise the eldest at the school’s end-of-year awards ceremony, where she received up an academic award in science, which, you know is all kinds of cool. I’m proud of the kid, especially about the fact that she’s learned a lot of really important life lessons a whole lot earlier than I figured them out, and is probably setting herself up for greater success than I ever had, which, really, is what you want when you’re a parent. I’d like to say that I could claim at least a little bit of credit for how well she’s doing, but I know better than to do so.

Anyway, word came down that this award thing was going down about an hour after the casual “hey, guys, how about a couple of us go to a ball game?” plans for Wednesday became a thing, with the boss and various other people beyond the initial ad-hoc group attending. So, I ended up staying in DC a bit later than usual to attend the game and be a courteous member of the office team (and figured I’d be able to dodge some rush hour traffic in the process). I did end up seeing perhaps the best played game in Nationals history (seriously, 10-0? Will never happen again), but ended up hitting two of those floating islands of nighttime interstate construction and crawled into my bed around 2am after being awake for only slightly less than twenty-two hours straight.

That really sucked.

So, Thursday. Award business went of without a hitch. clap, clap, proud, etc. Rest of the day a blur. I was very, very tired. Though had some fun playing board games with friends that evening. Still stayed up too late.

Friday. Last day of school. Spent the morning baking on elementary school paved playground watching the annual “Dance, Monkey, Dance!” display put on by the kids. Middle child wore a toga. To dance to “Sweet Home Alabama.” I don’t get it either. Don’t think too hard about it, you’ll just hurt yourself like I did. Rest of the day involved cracking the whip on the kids to clean up the house before Saturday’s birthday party.

Saturday. Spent the morning “practicing amateur archeology” with some friends along a stretch of adopted highway. Felt good doing soemthing good for the environment that was immediately apparent and obvious. Also, saved a turtle. Afternoon? Lots of little girls in my house. Not a bad time; they’re generally good kids. Eldest’s younger siblings don’t integrate terribly well with the group, and eldest doesn’t have much interest in facilitating said integration. Some chaos ensues, but an overall success. The house is still standing. Kids leave, there’s a huge brown chocolate stain on my living room carpet near where the rock band drums were set up. Gah. Discovered the strange surreal majesty of “Yo Gabba Gabba!” How have I missed this?

Yes, it’s true, this post is starting to look like Rorshach’s journal. Hrrm.

Sunday. Day trip. New American Girl store in DC metropolitan area is very, very pink. Worth a trip if you have a little girl you want to impress. Most successful part of the day. Otherwise, the less said about the day, the better.

So, the last couple of days, edited for content. Ready to move on now.

Happy Birthday, Kid. Sorry about teasing you about “the awkward hug”.