Harper's Bizarro

It was only March of 2011 and there was Deerhunter’s Halcyon Digest already in the used CD bin at Other Music. How did that happen? It had done so well in the 2010 year-end polls! I ended up loving it, too.

But someone's loss is my gain. And while that’s the principal behind Used CD Bins, you usually have to do some digging to get any gold.  Not so this time, but that’s Other Music for you.

My local music store - no longer in business – had a huge selection, so you had to do a lot of digging. And even so, most of the time you wouldn’t find anything. Their batting average was, at best,.215. After a while, I decided that it wasn’t worth it.

Mostly because I didn’t want to be the guy (even though I already know I am the guy) that you can see through the store window as you pass by on a sunny day, on your way to having a life, while he’s/I’m going through those cruddy bins. You want to scream “Get a life (you cheap bastard)!” at him/me. But I’m there anyway.

On the other hand, Other Music’s selection is smaller, and yet its batting average is at least .400. Win, win, right? Well, no. Other Music has its own set of issues.

When you really think about it, what does it mean that I end up buying so many used CDs from Other Music?  Basically, what they – those hip young customers of Other Music – are saying to me is Old man, your music is lame. That’s why we get rid of it. Which means that I’m lame because I buy it. I mean, is it ever cool to take other people’s rejects? Of anything?

So let me offer my rationale/defense for this pathetic pastime, disguised as a Theory:

The Bizarro Theory:

In a nutshell, it’s this: Used CD bins serve as portals to the Bizarro world.

I admit it’s a stretch but hear me out. What do you usually find in the typical bin anyway?

• Obvious Crap makes up the vast majority of the CDs. You have to wonder why people bought them to begin with. Mundane Theory: They were gifts, from people who didn’t like them. The music sucked. It got returned. Weird Theory: These people really don’t like music, and they hadn’t yet accepted this about themselves. (Who can blame them?) So they bought a random CD to find out. And they found out. My advice? Treat them like lepers. (Trust me. Jesus was wrong on this one.) Anyway, these CDs don’t get to the portal. They don’t go anywhere. They just sit there forever until another gift giver/music hater comes along.
• Popular -and thus less obvious - Crap makes up another significant chunk. The buyer wised up a little too late.  My advice: Laugh at them for believing the hype, just to show off how cool you are. But first try to con them out of some of their obviously disposable income. These CDs don’t get to the portal either. They actually get bought by other morons. Take their money, too.
• CDs I Already Own. These CDs do go through the portal. It’s just that I’m a schmuck for not waiting little longer for them to show up. I end up paying good money where, if I just waited a bit, I could have gotten them cheaper. Or, I can blame it on Bizarro Jaybee. Did I not mention Bizarro Jaybee? Well if there’s a Bizarro world, there’s got to be a Bizarro Jaybee, right? Come on! Try to keep up. Anyway, Bizarro Jaybee showed up a little late on these.
• The Ones I Buy.  Bizarro Jaybee – stupid and not very good looking, but somehow successful with women – buys CDs, hates them and returns them to Other Music, where they slip through the portal. I go there and buy them. Ipso Facto. Case Closed. E pluribus unum!

I suppose that I should be holding up my end of the bargain and selling the records I hate, so that Bizarro Jaybee can have something to listen to, but it takes me way too long to hate something.  (Not an issue with people, though.) 

But when I really really think about it, I realize that Bizarro Jaybee hates music!

You know what they call people in the Bizarro World who hate music?

Saints.

Time for My New Years Resolutions!

Now that it's almost April, it’s probably safe to publish my New Year’s Resolutions. I’ve come a long way – I used to do this in December.

Which is still how I handle Lent, by the way.  While all my relatives are bragging about what they’re giving up, and making everyone else miserable in the process, I am silent.

It’s not that I’m not giving anything up. It’s just that I won’t know what it is until Lent is over. So I wait until Easter Sunday, and then look back on how I spent Lent, trying to think of all the things I apparently gave up by not doing.

I compile this list that looks something like this:

Going to Mass

Eating caviar

Helping with the dishes

Drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon

Skydiving

Eating fruits and vegetables

I could go on, but you get the idea. I find my list far more impressive than those who go into Lent merely giving up alcohol, caffeine or sex.  One thing. Big deal!

But when it comes to something as important as music, I'm willing to be more proactive, and share my goals a little earlier. In that spirit, here’s my New Year's resolutions, along with how I'm doing with them:

More Downloads, Fewer CDs: It’s been hard for me to make the transition from actual solid CDs to virtual music. But a lack of actual space and a need to feel less than ninety years old has prompted me to download more.

Status: Going like a mofo! No problem here at all.  I watch the monthly Amazon “100 $5 downloads” like a hawk on the first of every month. Of 7 actual albums I've gotten, 3 were downloaded.  If you count it by CDs, it’s 6 out of ten. A-

This, in turn, will enable with this, my other resolution, which is to:

Get More Current Music: I must say I really do miss those times when I was at one with the zeitgeist – working at the college radio station, hearing all the new releases before everyone else did. Or in 1981 when love was in the air, Elvis C was putting out a record every other month and I would actually go to shows.

Status: I’ve been really falling down on the job here, and Nutboy is all over me about it. So far, of those six records, NONE are from this year, and a grand total of ONE was from last year. The rest? 2002, 1977, 1969, 1935 and, uh, 1923. So I’m kind of sucking at this. But, unlike me, the year is still young. 

The same for books, by the way – more current stuff.  I won’t go into my "Western Civilization Project" here, except to say that it works against this resolution. But just like music, it would be nice to be more in touch with the culture by reading the newer books.  Like music, it’s riskier - none of the current stuff has really stood the test of time yet. But I’ve gotten uncomfortable with the old fogey-ish habits I’ve fallen into. 

Status: C, but working on it. Maybe that’s the difference between the old fogey and the geezer.  The geezer’s trying.

And that’s it. 

You want more?  Oh, I would have included things like being a better person and all that, but my wife and kids are about ready to kill me in my sleep anyway, so, really, why bother?

And besides, look how well I do with Lent?

Joe Versus the Volcano

With Jaybee in the role of the volcano.

A while back, Flavorwire recently ran a fun article about famous feuds between journalist and musicians.

I tend to side with the musicians in these things because, well, without the music, what would anyone be writing about and thus, feuding over?

Voice of my conscience: Oh, really Jaybee? Aren’t you forgetting something???

Oh yeah, there was that time Joe Jackson and I had some words…

VOMC: Words, Jaybee? Words?

Well, yeah. It was like this…

It was 1979 and I’m with my friends at a local club to hear the then hot-new-wave singer-songwriter-angry-young-man-kind-of-like-Elvis-Costello Joe Jackson. You know Joe. He’s the guy who did “Is She Really Going Out with Him?” (I loved “Sunday Papers” myself.) He’d just come out with his second album I’m The Man and was touring the States when he came to my town. I was more of an Elvis fan, but when my friends suggested going I was in.

Now Joe had this song on his first album called “Fools in Love”, whose reggae-ish arrangement really reminded me (and some other people) of Elvis’s “Watching the Detectives”. But, hey no one’s perfect.

In retrospect, I was just a dumb kid who noticed one obvious similarity between two songs, and acted as if I found the cure for polio. Ironically, if I knew a little more about reggae at the time, I would have noted this as, at most, a minor stylistic similarity and moved on.

But I didn’t.

We miraculously got seats right near the front and were enjoying the first part of the set, when I heard the band tuning up for “Fools in Love”. So I figured it was time for someone to be an asshole, and that it might as well be me. So I called out for “Watching the Detectives”.

I got a good laugh from the crowd, if I do say so myself. And Joe knew I got him pretty good. But these show biz types didn’t get to where they were without knowing how to deal with hecklers. Joe’s reply? He said, “In every bed of roses, there’s always got to be one prick.” And he got an even bigger laugh. As they say, Oh snap!

I didn’t mind. I had just rubbed shoulders with a famous person, and like Mark David Chapman, I figured any kind of shoulder-rubbing was good. (Too soon?)

And that’s it.

So, okay, it doesn’t quite qualify as a feud, and hence didn’t make the article.

But I’m certain that I’ve had a profound impact on Joe’s life – after all he sounds nothing like Elvis now. So I hope that on balance, he feels he’s done as well by me as I’ve done by him, and that he’s gotten past any hard feelings he may have had. Ain’t no thang, as Omar might say.

And me? I’m doing fine. While no one’s stopped me on the street to ask if I’m the guy who said that thing to Joe Jackson, it only has been thirty years.

R.I.P. Davey Jones

I prefer to not repeat myself, but the death of Davey Jones's death warrants it.

Suffice to say that the Monkees had a huge impact on my childhood, and the music turned out to be far more durable that I ever would have thought.

This was brought home to me over the summer, when I was lucky enough to see them play one last time. Putting aside the fact that I was surrounded by a bunch of old people, it was a wonderful show, and I had a great time.

So I'll simply pay homage to the Monkees, and Davey in particular, by repeating an earlier post and pointing you to what I think are Davey's best performances with them.

First, an obvious one:
"A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You"

Then a Neil Diamond song to which Davey unexpectedly brings the necessary testicular fortitude:
"Look Out Here Comes Tomorrow"

And my personal favorite, something that's sweet, but not sickly so:
"When Love Comes Knocking at Your Door"

RIP Davey.   For a while there, along with the Beatles, you made us all wish we were British.

Secret History: 1976

If you ask me about 1975, I can tell you a hundred different great things that happened (and some that didn’t, since I put the Ramones, Eno and the Wild Tchapatoulas there instead of here where they belonged). When you ask me about 1976 I’m likely to give you a blank stare.

It was kind of a crappy year. Punk hadn’t quite exploded yet, Steely Dan and Dylan had peaked the year before, and singer songwriters were getting positively annoying.

So where did that leave us?


Rock and Roll:

Well, there was Graham Parker. Jaybee Sister One is a big fan who by now could run circles around me regarding Parker's later career. My preference is for his earliest stuff, which somehow got mixed up with/lost amongst punk. He also lost a close election that year for Angriest Young Man to Elvis Costello.

It's too bad because he's not a punk at all. He comes out of the English pub rock tradition and has an approach very similar to Bruce Springsteen. His first record, Howlin Wind is a bit more soulful, with horns being pretty prominent. His second, Heat Treatment pushed the guitar and organ up front. The production is clearer too, so even though it's only got ten songs, I prefer it to Howlin’ Wind. But both are great.

Jonathan Richman has had a long strange career, but The Modern Lovers is where it all starts. This is the one with “Roadrunner”, one of the all time great rock and roll songs. Also, he rhymes Picasso with asshole. You won't find that in a Rhyming Dictionary.


Songs:

I'd like to say that Have Moicy! by Michael Hurley, The Unholy Modal Rounders and Jeffrey Fredericks and the Clamtones (whew!) is simply a bunch of great songs. But I'd be a liar if I left out all the twists and turns, like Peter Stampfel's funny voice and the human digestive tract as subject matter. But I’ll take it over The Pretender any day. I made a point of buying this record when some idiot radio DJ criticized Robert Christgau’s “Best of the 70s” choices, singling this out because she never heard of it. This same idiot DJ (Carol Miller, actually) is still playing the same lame classic rock songs, doing her part to make sure you never hear anything interesting ever again.

Don't hate Kate and Anna Mcgarrigle just because every critic on earth loves them. You really can't blame them because their first record is one of the great singer-songwriter records of the decade. Take that James Taylor, Jackson Browne, etc.

Almost as good is Warren Zevon’s first record - another in the ongoing Chronicles of Albums Jaybee's Brother hated. “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” is a great rock and roll song (and a ding to the abovementioned singer-songwriters to boot) done a disservice by Linda Rondstadt. The real version is here.


Pop:

David Bowie was always at least one step everyone (and two ahead of me) but on Station to Station he makes it easy to like him. No obvious androgyny to make male teens like me uncomfortable. No fey/fake soul music. Just pop. “TVC15” is one of his best ever.


Guilty Pleasure:

Turnstiles is probably my favorite Billy Joel record. He’s not quite a superstar yet, but he’s coming back home anyway. It’s easy to hate the guy, and sometimes I do. I prefer guitars to pianos and strings, but below all that bs, I think his heart’s in the right place. And for a time he was the greatest pop melodist since Paul McCartney.


Wait'll Next Year:

So, my faulty memory makes it kind of a sucky year. My fact checking proves that it wasn’t so bad. But hold onto your hats. The times, as they say, were a-changin’.

Two and a Half Men Watching Television

“You and Mike were close.”

Friend Geri in 2007. She hadn’t seen either of us for nearly thirty years, but she still remembered that.

“Have you ever heard of a band called Television?”

My son, last week.

Mike I:

Mike and I grew up in the same neighborhood, and attended the same Catholic school. He was a year older than me, and friend of my big brother. They went to the same high school for a while.

When I was of drinking age, the corner bar became the local cultural center, and I'd run into Mike there. The patrons were by turns brilliant and more than a little crazy. They made Cheers seem tame. Mike and I were more reserved, and so gravitated to each other to talk about books and films.

After one of many periodic blowouts with my parents, I found myself in sudden need of an apartment, and a roommate to help swing the rent. Mike was the first one I thought of and, after some hesitation, he agreed to share a place with me.

All of this more or less coincided with the sharp left turn I was making in the type of music I listened to. So, in addition to my own annoying personal quirks, Mike would be dealing with whatever weird records I'd bring home. But by then Mike had already made several left turns of his own, and ended up turning me on to things like Rhapsody in Blue and Threepenny Opera, which now rank amongst my favorite music.

But while still on the musical fence, I'd bring home Hot Tuna and Ramones albums. Mike was always game, though, and we liked this first Ramones record more than that fifth Hot Tuna record.

Then in late 1979, I brought home Little Feat's Down on the Farm, probably more out of loyalty to Lowell George (who'd died earlier that year) than for any lingering interest in Little Feat . I played it a few times and lost interest.

The other record I got that day was Television's Marquee Moon. The first time we played it was, well, shattering.  Talk about out with the old and in with the new.

Marquee Moon was one of those records that hit us in several places at once. There were the guitars, of course. We both loved the Allman Brothers and Grateful Dead, so we could immediately appreciate the searing lead guitar playing of Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd. The music was passionate but not bombastic. The vocals strange, but urgent, and the words dark and cinematic. And it was all held in balance without compromising any of the intensity.

And it was all so freaking CLEAR, too.  None of the overproduction of commercial music, and none of the under production of punk. It was both alien (Verlaine kind of looked like one on the cover) and accessible at the same time.

The highlights for us were "See No Evil", where Richard Lloyd plays one of the greatest guitar solos ever, and, of course, the title song.  Everything else had something to offer and then some.

Mike tried playing it for some party guests but they were Lynyrd Skynyrd fans who preferred that more polished production. For some reason, we didn't care about that, and, unlike most people in the neighborhood, Mike and I took another left.

About a year later, I picked up their second album Adventure, which was relatively mild, but in a good way.  It was clearly not the classic Marquee Moon was, but so what?  It was peaceful, and in some spots, beautiful. 

And it has what may be my favorite song by them - "Days".  Mostly because of the memories it evokes.

We'd play music like Marquee Moon to launch us out for a night of drinking. When we came home we'd stay up talking or playing chess. And of course, we'd put on music. We tried to be considerate of our neighbors and put on "late night" music like Tonight's the Night or Another Green World by Eno.

And Adventure. I remember that one the best.

But Mike was more restless than me, and after a couple of years, he decided to move to Europe. I remember the Sunday when he left. It was an evening flight, so he had most of the day to get ready. I didn't have much to do other than wait around and play records to soothe the combination of excitement and dread I was feeling.

The last record I put on before we left for the airport was side one of Marquee Moon.  It was a pretty safe choice, but I'd underestimated how much it would intensify what I was already feeling.

There's an extended guitar solo in the middle of the title song, that just builds and builds and builds until you think you're going to burst. When it's over, you're left stunned.  And that day I was sure that I'd never heard anything quite so intense in my life.  But it made perfect sense.  The climax of the solo echoed what was the climax to a special period of my life.

Mike flew out to Brussels that night. He traveled Europe for a few weeks before settling down in Germany and getting a job. He stayed for over ten years, visiting Africa and Asia, and living a life I truly envied. What can I say except that Mike had guts.

I could never have lived on my own back then.  Mike was the one who got me through it until I could.  And I wonder how much musical exploration I would have done had Mike been a less enthusiastic roommate.

He'd visit occasionally, but never move back. He eventually met someone, got married and moved to Boston.

I got married, too - to the woman I was seeing right before Mike left for Europe.  I was glad that they made a connection before he left. 

We would visit each other, and he got to meet our kids - Daughter Theresa and son (surprise!) Michael.  Mike II to you.

We both went through our own versions of Life Sucking, and more or less came out the other side a little older and possibly wiser.

We call each other every few months, and spoke just a few weeks ago. I suggested that he come visit, but he said that travel was getting old.  Either travel or us, I thought.

Mrs. Jaybee reminded me that we're the ones with the van, so it wouldn't kill us to drive up to Boston. Seems like a good idea.

Mike II:

My son Mike plays a mean guitar, and I try to expose him to my guitar heroes whenever he shows an interest. When he mentioned Television I was all over it.

We found that iTunes not only had Marquee Moon and Adventure, but also Live at the Old Waldorf. And for a somewhat hefty (to me) $24.99, all three together - along with unreleased tracks and alternate versions - in one package called The Complete Elektra Recordings.

I had to mull it over. It was a lot of money for  music I mostly had already, which went against one of my core music-buying principles. But this was a special situation. I guess I could have just told Son Mike to put on the vinyl in the basement to hear Television, but he's still not finding vinyl very sexy yet. So I got it.

It's unlikely that he'll hear it in quite the same way me and "uncle" Mike did. After all, he's got his own music, friends and, eventually, children to experience.

I hope he's as lucky as me.

Planning Your Own Funeral Soundtrack

There’s nothing that says “I’m Forcing You to Listen to the Music I Like One Last Time” more than planning your own Wake and Funeral Soundtrack.  I’ve had less than flattering things to say about wedding and gift CDs in the past, so you might think me a hypocrite to suggest something similar for my wake. But so what?  I’ll be dead.

And there are some who might consider such a project to be the ultimate in procrastination – after all, there’s got to be something else that requires more urgent attention than a playlist I'll never get to hear. Estate planning, showering, etc.

But I happen to think it’s a worthwhile exercise.

Do you want to make ‘em weep?  “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” might work. (Nothing says Do like Don’t)

Are you resentful of some people in your life?  Try Big Star’s sarcastic “Thank You Friends”.  They’ll end up glad you’re dead, which, when you think about it, is very considerate of you.

There’s also Warren Zevon’s “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead”.  Much more appropriate for those dying young, this might get a snicker since a more appropriate title for me now is “I’ll Sleep Right Here Where I’m Sitting”.

Of course, there are some songs that are best left out:

The Beatles “Getting Better All the Time” - Even I’m not that sarcastic.

Frank Sinatra “High Hopes” – A barn door closed too late, if ever there was one.

So here's my official list:

"Fox in the Snow" by Belle and Sebastian:

It's just so freaking sad, I had to include it.  I want to make sure somebody’s crying.

"My Friends" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers:

Since it's not all about me, I guess I should say thanks, as I have to make up for Big Star.  

 “The Story of My Life” by the Velvet Underground:

The music is so unassuming and sweet that you could miss the despairing lyrics.  

“My Life” by Iris DeMent:

Of course, if you think your life’s been a waste, it might help to put this on  It'd make you feel better, if you were still alive, that is. 

"At Last" by Neko Case:

This one's a little more defiant.

"When it’s Cold, I’d Like to Die" by Moby:

Wish granted!

"My Weakness" by Moby:

Moby's just so good at this kind of thing. This one's good for either death of alien abduction.

"Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens:

This one ought to get them crying again.

"When I Get to the Borderline" by Richard and Linda Thompson:

But let's not despair.  Richard's good for a rueful grin, if not exactly a laugh.

"Wall of Death" by Richard and Linda Thompson:

Another F*ck You Death! song.

"That Day is Done" by Elvis Costello:

Co-written by Paul McCartney, it's an uncharacteristically direct look at death.  You can play it instead of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken".

"Don’t Forget About Me" by Dusty Springfield:

If you want to haunt your relatives and friends.

“Boundary Rider” by the Go Betweens:

It has nothing to do with me, other than that I love it, but it sounds nice.  You can chisel those lyrics on my headstone if you like.

But for the mourners themselves I’d suggest playing most of Funeral by Arcade Fire, but I think I’d be presumptuous to assume that anyone would get that excited about my passing, except in maybe a good way. Your choice.

"Sweetness Follows" by REM:

It's going to be all right.

"Underneath the Weeping Willow" by Grandaddy:

Maybe the saddest song I’ve ever heard. But at the end you get permission to be happy again.

“It’s Summertime” by the Flaming Lips:

The Lips repeat that idea. You can play this on June 22 following my wake.  If anybody still gives a damn, that is.

And that's that.

Mrs. Jaybee thinks this line of thinking is nuts, but I think not planning this is like not getting ice for a party.  The iceman cometh.  Twice!  Lucky him.

Moving on.