Listening Diary

Gone are the teenage days of the sitting in one’s room and letting a new album wash over you. Most people my age couldn’t do that now even if they wanted to.  Well, I do want to, and it’s damn near impossible.

But even back then, when other kids were listening to Pink Floyd lying on their beds stoned, I listening ot it, while sitting at my desk, doing homework. On a Friday night, I’d be reading a novel.

In other words, most of the time, I was rarely sitting there, just listening. In fact, it was a form of not listening. More like absorbing. Through my pores, I guess. And it worked, to an extent.  I still know every note to every solo on Allman Brothers at Fillmore East.

But I fear it’s had the overall effect of making me a slower listener, because it takes me forever to decide if I like something or not. (Meet the Beatles? The jury’s still out...)  Which is why I hate to dismiss music when I may simply have not given it the time it needs.  Like the Green Bay Packers - they never really lost a game, they just ran out of time.

And of course, as adults and parents, our opportunities to just listen are rare. Always “doing something else” is the story of our lives. If we’re lucky, we get to combine activities, like listening to music while surfing the web. I remember reading an article where Captain Beefheart advised his fans to put his record on, and then go mop the floor.  “Music to do something else to”, I guess.

But multi-tasking has been discredited, and neither thing gets done as well as it could have been if done alone. Including actively listening to music. So, these days I’ve got two obstacles to get over: finding the time to listen and finding the time to listen.



So here’s an old geezer’s attempt to listen to and judge new music I picked up on last trip to the record store.

Beck’s Sea Change (2002)
Why did I buy it?  Lots of mentions in my spreadsheet (don’t ask link), despite a mocking Robert Christgau review. And only $8.99!
First Listen – Late evening. I played it at the computer while I sat in the adjoining room. Mrs. Jaybee was at the computer, so she heard it better than me.  She passed on my playing it again for dinner the next night. Too depressing, she said. Me? I thought it was pretty. But then I was in the next room. (Time is bad enough. Space is a whole other blog...)  B+
Prediction: I’ll probably end up liking it a lot.

Bright Eyes Lifted (2002)
Why?: Only one mention, but I loved I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning, and it was an allmusic pick.
First Listen– Late that same night.  More sprawling than Wide Awake. More noisy. More warbling. So far, less melody, too.  Not terrible, but not great either. B-
Prediction: I’ll end up loving it.

The Best of Blur (2000)
Why? I don’t know.  A Best of with a bonus CD, used at 8.99?
First Listen: No sooner did I put it on when I realized that the air conditioners needed to go in.  First song, okay. Second song confirmed to be that annoying one my son mentioned. Third is an old favorite. The little I heard of the rest was all right.  Didn’t care for the last song.  B-
Prediction: Disappointment. This is based on the fact that I ended up paying 8.99 for it when I could have gotten it from Amazon for $5. For that alone, I’ll project my self loathing on them and hate them, which is also what I do when I’m slightly disappointed.

Wu Tang Clan’s Enter the Wu Tang (1993)
Why? One of the most mentioned hip hop record.. Plus, that nice young man who helped me charge my car battery years ago in Newark, was wearing one of their tee shirts. First Listen: I kept trying to find the right time to play this.  I settled on a sunny afternoon in the backyard, while the neighbors were barbecueing. I took it off after about 7 seconds, when I heard the first line: “bring the f*cking ruckus!” Okay, maybe another time.  I finally settled on early in the morning before everyone is up, but with the volume low. (Hey, it worked for A Tribe Called Quest!) B
Prediction: Probably not a good bet for summer listening, but by winter I’m really going to like it.


Second Listen:


Beck’s tunes are right there so I almost have no choice but to enjoy them for now. B+
Bright Eyes gets interrupted.  It’s a loooonnng record. Such records make me feel bad. The artist works so hard to create it, and here I am, barely able to find the time to listen. But it’s growing on me. Sloooowly. B
I keep getting up to leave the room after putting on Blur.  This time to clean the grill.  Sounding better, though. B
Tried to listen to Wu Tang Clan again, but Mrs. Jaybee was working and asked me to turn it off.... B


Third:

Beck is sounding better and better. But it’ll peak soon, I fear... A-
Bright Eyes almost makes it thru the early morning, until Mrs. Jaybee wakes up. Incomplete
Blur almost makes it thru the late morning until I have to run some errands. And driving around, by the way, is no way to listen to new music. As if doing chores at home is.... Incomplete
Wu Tang benefitted from a beautiful evening when I’m home alone and everything sounded great. A-


Around this time, I got a few more CDs, which made this experiment even more half assed than it was when I started. But I try to soldier on....



Fourth:


Beck continues to maintain a very high level of pleasantness. A-
Bright Eyes gets an uninterrupted play again, and its rough edges are finally starting to smooth out. B
The Mrs. and I had an argument while listening to Blur in the van. I HATED it, and damn near threw it out the window. C-
A beautiful sunny day is not the best time to listen to Wu Tang Clan. The effect of the mayhem gets blunted when I’m lounging in my backyard. B-



Fifth:


Beck is doing just great, but I don’t feel like I really know anything about it except its surface. A-
I’m beginning to notice the individual songs on the Bright Eyes record. A critical development. B+
I no longer hate Blur, but I’m still kinda pissed at it. I will admit that the songs are beginning to become distinguishable. B
I’m enjoying the overall sound and energy of Wu Tang Clan, when Mrs. Jaybee confesses that she hates them. And all I can say is that that nice fellow who helped me start the car - who must now be about thirty-five - will be very disappointed. B+



Sixth:


Beck is in the lead, but I’m doubting his staying power, as I do with all pretty records. A-
Bright Eyes’ ambition and range are now getting clearer. That doesn’t mean that I love the record. If anything, it draws attention to the potential weaknesses. Now that I’m past the noise and conversations, I’m taking in the songs.  Will they turn out to be any good? There’s at least one great one, though. B+
I’m resisting Blur. I don’t quite believe they’re real. In other words, how could they be great if I didn’t know more about them? Unreasonable, I know, but considering what I was going to do with them on the fourth listen, it could be worse. The music, by the way, is in the good, not great, range. They may require good weather. B
Wu Tang is on sabbatical....



Seventh:


Beck continues to sound strong, as my resistance weakens. A-
Now I’m wondering what was so off-putting about Bright Eyes. It’s all hanging together pretty well. B+
Blur is also hanging together well, but it’s just not as compelling. B
Poor Wu Tang....



Eighth:


Beck comes crashing through. On a perfect quiet night for this sad record, both me and Mrs Jaybee love it. A
I’m hearing Bright Eyes now, and the three or so great songs are, well, great. But the length of the record renders the genre exercises a little annoying. B+
And a beautiful afternoon proves me correct about Blur. They’re a pop band, but the songs are stronger than I had hoped. And I like their guitar player.  B+,
Oh where oh where are thou Wu Tang?


And in Conclusion...

I’ll stop now. And here’s how they sound:
Beck:: A
Blur: A-
Bright Eyes: B+
Wu Tang: B+

And here’s how I predict they will sound to me at the end of the year:
Beck: I’ll see through all the beauty and find some flaw to harp on. A-
Blur: Obvious summer records tend to get put away during the cold weather. B+
Bright Eyes: His persistence will eventually win me over. A-
Wu Tang Clan: They’ve been relegated to early morning or late night when Mrs. Jaybee is asleep. But I may finally be getting this music. B+

In other words, despite my wishy washiness, I appear to be sticking to my original opinion. No, not about the music. About what my opinion will be.

Between then and now I hope to formulate a final judgement on Meet the Beatles...

Secret History: 1977

This may ultimately be the most important year of all, because things were happening and a lot of us were doing our best to deny it.  

Sadly, it’s the year when listeners were presented with a choice, but had long before already made the wrong one. Conditioned by increasingly diluted AOR-type rock music, but then suddenly confronted with punk - on the news instead of the radio - what was the average listener to do, but double down on some very lame music? Hence the complaints in letters to Rolling Stone about songs where “you couldn’t hear the words”, etc.

I was no better. I loved “rock music” and wished that it would get the respect it deserved.  So I wanted it to be serious, and found the, well, glamorous surface of glam rock and spectacle of arena rock excess a bit depressing.

On the one hand commercial success indicated a wider acceptance of rock music.  But sometimes it felt….icky.  Like when I saw Al Stewart on “In Concert” with a full orchestra.  And country rock bands accepting Grammys and American Music Awards wearing tuxes.

The whole point of the music is to not be respectable, and it was finally driven home to me at the time while in a village record store. As leather clad cashier was wearing a button that said “Help Keep Rock and Roll Sleazy”. (He was doing his part.) That was when I knew I was sitting on a fence that would have to collapse at some point.

I have an almost visceral reaction to the records I bought that year – not because they somehow changed my life - but because they didn’t, and as such represent a breaking off point.  The Before of the Before and After.  

I didn’t pick up on the records released this year until at least 1980. But in retrospect. It turns out to have been a hell of a year, with more to come after.

Well, of course, there's the Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks.  You either take this road or you don't.  Well, I took it and I'm glad. This is some of the most powerful rock and roll ever made. And no, I have no love for Sid. I’m a Glen Matlock guy, no matter what John Lydon thinks.  Those tunes didn’t come from outer space. But it was Johnny’s snarl that put them over.

Television’s Marquee Moon has lots of guitar on it.  And lots of solos.  So in that way it’s not punk music at all.  As a matter of fact, it's the perfect record for bridging punk and jam music.  It's got all the speed, passion and harshness of punk, but with all the virtuosity of the Dead or the Allman Brothers. At least me and Roommate Mike thought so... 

By 1977 the Ramones had already made a lot of waves and had become the target of  ridicule from disc jockeys.  So just how did their seemingly simplistic formula result in a brilliant third album Rocket to Russia? I don’t know either. One of the greatest punk albums ever with classics such as  “Rockaway Beach”, “Sheena Is a Punk Rocker”, and, my favorite “We're a Happy Family” ("Daddy likes men…")

I'm putting The Clash here because this is when the UK version came out, which I'm not totally familiar with.  In 1979 the American version would be released, which would contain much of the UK version, along with a number of singles they released since then.  I'm happy with the US version because there's so much on it.  Being a punk record, its sound isn't that great, but it contains some of the greatest rock songs ever, including what might be my favorite – “Complete Control”.

How can a record be punk and still be pretty? Because punk is an ethos not a genre. Anyway, aside from the occasionally weird hiccups in David Byrne's singing, and odd subject matter, Talking Heads 77  is very sweet. Especially "Psychokiller". jk

I was never one for cults, though, so don’t get the idea that once I fell for punk music, I’d never like anything else.

Back when I was even whiter teenager , I bought records by singer songwriter or the above-mentioned Allmans and Dead.  But while in the record store I couldn't help but notice the flamboyant record covers of bands like Funkadelic and Parliament.  Of course, I was a snob, and assumed such covers were needed to hide crappy music.

Little did I realize that Funkadelic was quite an ambitious outfit, with a damned good guitar player (the recently deceased Gary Shider). My first plunge was One Nation Under a Groove that has the greatest opening five seconds of any record ever recorded, but which then makes its way into the classic funk music of the era.  It's a bit more confident and sure of itself than I'm comfortable with, so I went back to Best of the Early Years, an early greatest hits record, which has more in common with the hard rock and Sly Stone records I was happy with.  An alien (to me) universe every bit as valid as the one I was inhabiting at the time.

Rough Mix is a misleading title.  It may be fun, but it's also pretty tight.  Pete Townsend joins up with Ronnie Lane (from the Small Faces).  They also have some friends join them, like Eric Clapton.  And against all expectations – they were all in decline by then - the result is wonderful.   “Heart to Hang Onto” is my favorite, but not by much.

If you find “Heroes” a bit harsh, so you might prefer David Bowie’s Low, which is  experimental and catchy at the same time. Great on vinyl, since the two sides are so different.  Side one for parties, and side two for late at night.

Just around the demise of Elvis I, the new one - Costello, that is - arises. You can fault My Aim is True for an dull production and sameness of some songs, but that’s about it.  This is the beginning of an explosion of songwriting (the best since 1970?) that would last for years.

“Being German” and “being into electronic music” aren’t the first two things I’d look for in a band, and Kraftwerk looked like a bunch of robots with all the soullessness that it implies.  But that's clearly untrue within the first minute Trans Europe Express. Sounds great in the summertime, of all things.

I’ll finish up with a record that is almost forgotten now. Karla Bonoff is a guilty pleasure. It’s  the epitome of LA studio hotshot smoothery.  Her voice resembles Linda Rondstadt, who actually did a few of these songs, too.  It's very middle of the road, and perhaps because it brings back some great memories I'm going easy on it.  Karla can really write a tune.  The one 1977 record I actually bought that year that’s worth remembering.

It’s embarrassing to admit how clueless I was about the things that would end up having such lasting value. But the next few years would be thrilling as I slowly caught up. In 1977, my musical world was cracked in half and I didn't even know it.

Pazz and Jop: Officially Sanctioned Music

I guess a legitimate question would be why Pazz and Jop?  Why not Rolling Stone?  Metacritic?

There was something about that combination of iconoclasism and thoroughness that appealed to the rebel and nerd in me simultaneously. Rolling Stone had already begun to seem very politically correct by then. And I was usually disappointed with the records they recommended.  It was as though they wanted you to like what you should like instead of what was really good or bad.

Sometimes I have an issue with Pazz and Jop (although last year’s winner - tUnE-yarDs - was right on) but I’m not sold on Metacritic as a replacement yet.

Of course, the deeper and yet more obvious question is Jaybee why do you care what other people think? Can’t you just make your selections based on what you hear?

Well, no.  And here’s why:

1. I really don’t hear much that I like on the radio, unless it’s genre stuff, like old jazz or blues.
2. I’ve been burned too often by loving a single song only to find the album wanting.
3. I’ve also been turned around - as I’ve said before - too often by records that sounded strange or outright bad the first time I heard them, but then came to love. Notice the contradiction here with number one.  Maybe I don’t hear good stuff because I need more time, so it’s not you, radio, it’s me.
4. There are just too many records out there, and I have a limited amount of time and money. I need a buffer, a filter. Okay, a Fuffer.

To this day I have to remind myself that there is no officially sanctioned good music. (George Bernard Shaw had no use for Shakespeare. I have no use for Rush. Yeah, I said it.) The closest things we have to it is popular opinion - critical consensus runs a very distant second, and I’m sorry to tell you that it’s much more reliable. But I’m not sorry to say that I prefer a thinking person who gets it wrong sometimes, to a dope who occasionally gets it right.

What if I didn’t have that critical recommendation to encourage me to give a questionable record a chance? I’d just be tossing aside records that would otherwise open new worlds for me.

So I work a little at it.  So what? It’s been worth it.

Pazz and Jop, Chartsengrafs

So how many records do I have on the old spreadsheet at this point?

Oh, about 5000, not counting jazz and classical.

But don’t worry.  I’m not about to go out and buy 5000 CDs. (But that would make one nifty Fathers Day present, wouldn’t it?)

And what’s there amongst the 5000?

Eighty percent of them have only mention, and tend to be very recent records. Most will never get another mention, but who knows which?  Over time, some may show up again on some best of the decade or All time Best List. It’s not likely, but who cares when the sky (65k rows, actually) is the limit?  I’ll be there, waiting. I’ve got (some) time (left).

So I look to those records that keep getting mentioned over and over again and wonder if I’d like them.

About fifteen percent (750) of them have two mentions. If they’re brand new, I may take a chance on them. Sometimes I‘ll get burned by “flavors of the year” - they show up here, think they’re hot stuff, but never move on. If I hold off on them, many will just sit here and rot.

About 3 percent (150) have three mentions. Now we’re talking respectable! You’re making a name for yourself and not just in your own neighborhood. I’m watching.

Less than 1 percent (36) have four mentions. Hmmm. Very Serious. You’re officially “sanctioned”.  Not always a good thing. But I have to really start thinking about you. If I haven’t gotten you already, it’s probably because I hate you on principle.

Only 27 have five mentions. I almost have no choice at this point. You are liked by young and old, gay/staight and maybe more than one race. If I’ve not gotten you it’s because I’ve already gotten too much by you already, or you’re in a genre I’m under-appreciating, like hip hop.

There are twelve CDs with 6 mentions. Buying you feels less like a joy than an obligation. I may have heard too much of you already. When I do get these CDs they tend to be a letdown.

There are eight CDs with 7 mentions. You’re in the canon, I guess. And maybe a bit too established for me to bother going there.  And I may have already heard enough of you on the radio.

There are only three with 8 mentions. Maybe it’s time for me to try hip hop again.  Notorious BIG here I come.

And nine mentions? Just you, Ms. Lauryn Hill. You’ve probably got a brilliant album I just don’t think I’ll appreciate.

But what I’m not mentioning are all the ones that I’ve bought along the way. I’ve done it for those with as few as one mention (or even none, as in the case of favorites from my teen years) because it just “felt” right. And as you can see, I’ve held off on some that I’ve practically got people stopping me in the street urging me to buy.

So Jaybee, you might ask, what’s going on in that head of yours?

Next:  What’s going in that head of mine.

Pazz, Jop and the Even More Embarrassing Present

The Even More Embarrassing Present:

I see that Nutboy’s getting worn down. My strategy is working.

Whenever I’m asked a potentially embarrassing question, I find that a long-winded answer ( not your typical long-winded; Jaybee long-winded - I’m a professional) usually lulls the questioner into a state of passive acceptance.  Sort of summed up as “Whatever, just shut the f*ck up.” I even used it on myself once.

By the mid nineties I was married with two young children. And despite my best efforts, I was feeling more than a little out of touch with music. As the years went by, the Pazz and Jop winners were becoming less and less familiar to me. There was some information out there but the web hadn’t really kicked in yet. At least, not for me with my land line and 56k modem.

By 1997, that list I was carrying around - virtually unreadable and ripping at the folds - now contained just those hard-core-impossible-to-find-anyway records. And new records were coming out, and the yearly Pazz and Jop results were piling up.

So during a week when I was in between jobs (note to self: quit jobs more often) I had a day or two to mess around, and I decided to transfer my written list to a spreadsheet. Then, when I should have stopped to rent some porn, I instead pulled out all of the old dusty Pazz and Jop articles I kept, and compile them into the spreadsheet, too.

At first, I didn’t enter everything – I couldn’t type that fast. But I did take the high vote-getters. I also added Christgau’s list, using his skepticism to counterbalance the other critics.

Then, whenever a special poll came out (Rolling Stone’s Best of the Decade, Elvis Costello’s 500 Albums You Should Hear etc.) I’d add them, too, but even more importantly, I’d track the number of mentions each record got.

And suddenly, names stated to jump out at me: Belle and Sebastian, Moby, Stereolab, Air.
Their records would appear over and over again, and now I could see it.

Other polls came out:
Local Americana station’s Best of the Century
Paste Best of the Decade
Metacritic’s Best of the Year

And I kept adding them.

Now I had a list all right! A list on steroids! And the rest, as they (don’t) say, is history.

And now that this stuff is published on line, it’s a lot easier to cut and paste, so the level of effort has dropped to below CNO (Complete Nerd Obsessive) levels.

I also broke out two other lists for jazz and classical.

And it goes on.  

Now this all may seem a bit silly. It does smack of a phrase I heard in Richard Linklater’s Slacker - "premeditated fun".

But damn! I still want magic. And magic, as we know, is inherently unpredictable. But that isn’t going to stop me from squeezing as much of it as possible out of what is left of my life.  

What I’m saying is that it works for me.

So when I’m in the mood for new music, I can look over my spreadsheet and see which records did great in year-end polls, which ones keep popping up in the All Time of Best of Decade polls and consider getting them.

And ordering on Amazon, Barnes and Noble or iTunes is frighteningly easy. Those hard to find records just aren’t anymore. They can be delivered to my doorstop in a week or two.

Mind you, browsing in a record store is a completely different thing. Not being able to carry around a laptop in the store, my reflexive reactions kick in, and I sometimes get things whose poll placement means nothing to me.

I guess the next step is to bring an ipad with me, but then I’ll look like I work there. And I get enough of that at Costco.

Pazz, Jop: An Embarrassing Interlude

Probably a redundant title as most of my interludes tend to be of the embarrassing variety.

Anyway, in the summer of 1989 I was changing jobs and was asked what I'd like as a going away present.  I didn't have a CD player yet, so I thought I could use this gift as a jump start on a CD collection. (Ever hear of DAT?  No one else has either.  It stands for digital audio tape and it was considered a better technology than CDs, so I was waiting for CDs to die out and DATs to take over before committing to a new technology. I always was a betamax kind of guy.)

So, I thought, why not just give them the list I’ve been carrying around for the last few years? They could get me whatever I hadn’t already gotten! Genius!

Ah, but that list was folded, frayed and stained with hot sauce. Pretty nerdy, if not downright weird. I’d have to re-write it, as if it belonged to a normal person

But it occurred to me that if I hadn't succeeded in finding these obscure records after years of trying, what made me think these well-meaning amateurs would? To my horror, I realized that they'd quickly give up and get me a tie instead. So I’d have to guide these very good intentions in a way that ensured that they weren't wasted.

So I created a prioritized list, which went something (exactly) like this:

1. New CDs I’d like, taken directly from my first list. (ie. Joy Division's Closer)
2. CDs to replace some albums I had that were really old and scratched. (Beggar's Banquet)
3. CDs of records that I had shared with my brother but didn’t have the nerve to steal when I moved out. (Europe 72 by the Dead)

But this just describes what I wanted, not why one type was better than the other. So let me now give you the Jaybee translation, which I actually had the nerve to tell of of the befuddled gift givers:

1. I’d like you to really try to get these records. I know that they’re harder to find because amazon.com hasn’t been invented yet. But I don’t want you settling on the easier ones in section 2 and 3 unless you give these the old college try.
2. Okay, you did your best with the 1s. Now you can try for these, which will be really nice to have in a pristine version. But give it a good shot before moving on, okay?
3. All right, I believe you when you said you did your best, and although there are other records I’d prefer, I’m perfectly happy with these. Are you sure you went to the record store I recommended? And remember, no tie!

By the time they gave me the gift they were happy to see me go. But I got the CDs I wanted.

And this was just the beginnings of what I came to call my Gift Management Strategy, which had a rough start but ultimately found its home in my Amazon.com wish list.

If it hadn’t, I would have been bludgeoned to death in my sleep (I would hope) by now.  

There’s still time.

Pazz and Jop, Part Cinqo: My First Time

“So what about Pazz and Jop?!?”



That’s Nutboy, getting impatient. He’s right. For the last few weeks I’ve been writing around Pazz and Jop rather than about it. But that’s me. I’ll tell you about the history of watches when all you asked for was the right time.



My first Pazz and Jop was for 1978. Entitled “Triumph of the New Wave”, it confirmed what I was beginning to suspect - that this punk stuff was not about to go away.



It was the year of The Clash’s US breakthrough Give ‘Em Enough Rope, Blondie’s pop breakthrough Parallel Lines, Elvis Costello’s spite breakthrough This Year’s Model, Talking Heads Jaybee-life-changing More Songs About Buildings and Food, and the Ramones best-commericial- breakthrough-they-could-hope-for Road to Ruin. Plus Nick Lowe and Brian Eno, with their hands in everything.



It was not half bad for those thirty-ish oldfolks either. The Stones resurgent Some Girls, Neil Young’s beautiful Comes a Time and Springsteen’s not-great-but-after-a-three-year-wait- we’ll-take-it Darkness On the Edge of Town.



And many, many more.



After my wandering the desert for a long time, here was an oasis of music, and a treasure trove of information all summed up in one handy place. I was immediately addicted to it, and would look forward to it every year after.



And then, at the end of 1979, Robert Christgau gave a great summation of the decade, that only whetted my appetite for more.





The List:



So I had a lot to work with to catch up on what I missed in the 70s. But going forward I’d be keeping an eye out for other handy sources of music info.



In 1981 I got the “Rolling Stone Album Guide” and “Christgau’s Records of the Seventies” - the former a compendium of miscellaneous critical voices, and the latter one person’s voice, prejudices and blind spots and all. “Rolling Stone” had their star system – five for a masterpiece, four for excellent etc. Christgau had his grade system - A+ masterpiece, A for great, etc.



I pored through the two books looking for treasure, and there was plenty. If anything the problem was where to start.



And there were the disagreements, too. I’d long ago come to terms with critical disagreements. But even so, I couldn’t help but notice that there was some consensus.



So one night, while my friends were doing fun things like watching porn on the VCR, I was comparing these two books, looking for records that rated both five stars in Rolling Stone and an A or better in Christgau. I ended up with a list of about fifty records, and still think I had a better time. But that’s what a nerd would say, isn’t it?



I had officially become “that weird guy in the record store”. But it sure beat trying to carry that stuff around in my head.



And I’d spent the better part of the 80s using that list - and subsequent Pazz and Jop results - to find new music.