What a difference a decade or so will make. Two smartly-coifed American bands, clearly drawing influence from gloomy English bands like Echo & the Bunnymen and the Smiths. One is treated with indifference from the press, except for occasional scorn. The other is surfing a wave of hype, making "best of the year" lists for a flawed album. One band admits that they'll never be a critics' band while the other is the very definition of a critics' band. The Ocean Blue were the Interpol of the early '90s. Maybe now they'll get some respect.

I’ve never been a fan of No Doubt, but after watching them on the Superbowl halftime show, I have to give them credit for being a rock band, not a pop band. Why the distinction? Because, unlike Shania Twain, Gwen Stefani sang live rather than lip-sinking. My mom wondered how I could tell immediately that Twain was lip-sinking. The biggest giveaway was that her body was not displaying the moment needed to create sound; her lips moved and she strutted around the stage, but she wasn’t exerting any other muscles. At least Gwen was notably breathless for jumping up and down, an indication of a genuine live performance. And it’s really pathetic that actually performing live is no longer expected of a live performance and that fulfilling the basic definition of a live performance earns bonus points.

I didn’t watch Shania’s band as closely, but I thought they couldn’t be using the lame excuse for lip-sinking that it’s too hard sing and dance at the same time. On the other hand, they looked too air guitar showy to really be playing. I gave them the benefit of the doubt when I saw the monitors on the stage. But the monitors were probably just waiting for No Doubt to use.

As for Sting, it was semi-inspired to have him do a reggae-inflected Police number backed by No Doubt even if Adrian Young is no Stewart Copeland. Unlike Elvis Costello and Joe Strummer until his untimely demise, Sting is now too stodgy too play his old songs. He looked like he didn’t want to move, lest he risk wrinkling his designer pants and artfully slashed t-shirt. Maybe he’ll be willing to cut loose and look less establishment/dignified at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction reunion with his old band.

The Gene Siskel Film Center is running Silver Rockets/Kool Things -- 20 Years of Sonic Youth.  The 60 minute documentary is showing on Sunday, January 26 at 6:15 p.m. and Thursday, January 30 at 8:00 p.m. The film center is at 164 N. State St., Chicago, IL  60601, 312.846-2600.

More information is available at the Siskel Film Center web site, but I will point out that the text is nearly illegible and the site is difficult to navigate.  I would have included a link directly to the Silver Rockets page if it were possible.

I've been listening to American IV by Johnny Cash and feeling torn. I listen to his cover of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" and think that, with his timbre and the spare acoustic arrangement, he really shows off what a powerful, well written song it is. Then I listen to his version of the Eagles' "Desperado" and think that he can bring drama to anything.

Back in 1980, I was wowed by "London Calling" and announced my intention to buy the Clash album of the same name. My older brother talked me out of it by explaining the "Two Song Rule."  There were two parts to his advice:

1. Don't buy an album until you've heard at least two songs from it.
2. Don't go to a concert until you've heard at least two songs by the act.

Being young and influenced by his musical tastes, I didn't question his advice. To a certain extent, it makes sense. Especially when you have limited funds to spend on CDs (at the time it was records) or concerts, don't risk wasting your money on a band who only have one good single in them, especially if it isn't representative of the rest of their work. These days, that means getting the latest Now Top 10 hits compilation may produce more reliable listening pleasure than buying a whole CD by a one-hit-wonder-to-be.

But I've broken that rule plenty of times since then, with quite good results. I saw the House of Love just on the strength of "I Don't Know Why I Love You." They were amazing, although I felt conspicuous about staring at the band when people working at the show outnumbered the punters;  I guess most people who had heard the song were following their own Two Song Rule.  I worshipped the Wedding Present the first time I saw them, enticed by the recommendation of some British guy waiting in line for Godfathers tickets at a show in D.C. I've bought wonderful CDs and seen great performances just based on the guidance of friends or musicians I've interviewed. Through such advocacy, I discovered Crazyhead (I was their biggest fan in Philly by default), the Poster Children, the Walker Brothers and the Woggles.

It helps that I'm more willing to do my research these days. Back in high school, my only source of music information was the songs I heard on the radio. My friends all listened to the same stations, so I wasn't going to hear about anything else from them. We certainly didn't all agree, and I had to endure arguments that Journey actually had a shred of talent and that Madness inherently sucked just because they dared write a song, "Our House," with the same title as one by Crosby, Stills & Nash. But once I reached college, I started listening to non-commercial radio stations, which not only played music I hadn't heard elsewhere, but each station has a unique identity.  (WKDU played far more industrial music than WPRB ever touched, for instance.)  I started reading album reviews.  I started meeting people who hadn't listened to the exact same things as me, and could convincingly tout bands I'd never heard of. It encouraged riskier musical exploration. On the concert front, it helped that I developing interests in smaller bands; it's easier to take a gamble on a club show for $8 than a $30 ticket in a shed for the latest MTV sensation.

So my point? But an informed music consumer and make your purchases wisely, but don't be afraid to try something new. And I did finally buy London Calling seven or eight years later and wished I'd bought it sooner.

At a party a few years ago, an acquaintance complained that there was no good music at that time. He listened to commercial radio but didn't really like anything he heard. Sorry, but that's like saying that all restaurants are terrible when you only go to McDonald's. Commercial radio is convenient and they expend lots of effort marketing it to make you even more aware of it. So if you want to uncover music that's more intriguing, more flavorful, as it were, you'll have to expend your own effort to find it. Listen to the non-commercial radio stations that lack huge marketing budgets. Stay up late to catch the commercial radio programs that air after they stop measuring audience for ad revenue. Buy a CD just because a friend or critic whose taste you respect recommends it.

The fact is, there will always be popular music that sucks. In particular, almost any song will be annoying if overplayed. I even liked "Mambo No. 5" before two out of three Vegas lounge acts were covering it. Times when there is good or bad music really just equate to times when you could hear great music without even thinking about it or when you really had to root around to find something good.

For example, when Moby was touring in support of Play, he joked about revisiting 1987 by playing some hair metal riffs. But that wasn't what 1987 sounded like to me. I realized that I suppressed those memories. For me, 1987 sounded like Julian Cope, That Petrol Emotion and New Order and first discovering Iggy Pop and the Replacements. I specifically remember blasting That Petrol Emotion's Manic Pop Thrill on the car stereo trying to drown out the Bon Jovi coming from the next car over. Doing my own small part to make good music easier to hear.

There is no longer a reason for a Grammy award for Best Rock Instrumental. It's the only reason that Joe Satriani and Jeff Beck still get any press. At this point, those guys are probably composing rock instrumentals just to get the Best Rock Instrumental Grammy nominations that will be their only press. The '70s are over. Prog rock is dead. The Police had decent rock instrumentals on their early albums, and that's going back two decades.  INXS's instrumentals were always filler. Just how pathetic is this category? A few years back, Moby got a nomination for "Bodyrock" an "instrumental" notable for its sung lyrics.

I understand the need to expand the Grammy categories to include newly-created genres, but they also need to get rid of the dead ones.

Concert Review: Interpol, Empty Bottle, Chicago, January 13

Interpol have better hair than the Chameleons, but that's not saying much. The bar is rather low.

Interpol put on a better show than New Order, but that's not saying much. The bar is rather low. (I know they are more often compared to Joy Division, but I never saw Joy Division live.)

They look great, even if their bass player fusses with his hair too much.  They have yet to write a song as great as Joy Division's "She's Lost Control" or even a line as great as the Chameleons' "Feels like I'm stapled to this bed." But enough of the negatives. More so live than on Turn on Your Bright Lights, they amalgamate their influences, so that they aren't just a Black Rebel Motorcycle Club-style glorified cover band. They have both grandeur and tension. Interpol isn't great yet. But they're still a young band and they show potential to get great quickly, especially considering how much they're touring.

As I mentioned previously, I have an issue with "women in rock" issues of magazines, or any forum that treats that as a topic. The problem is that it reduces women musicians to both a novelty and a musical genre. Britney Spears has as much in common with Chrissie Hynde as *NSync do with the Kinks. (And, yeah, I chose those people and bands deliberately. Ignoring obvious musical dissimilarity, I'll point out that one woman wrote a song called "The Adulteress" and bore her lover's child out of wedlock; the other proclaimed her virginity to the media.) It's like saying Kathleen Battle and Craig David have something inherently in common musically just because of their skin color. Heck, you can't even call them both African-American artists since David is British. Yet the media still try to draw such connections between among a subset that represents more than 50% of the world's population.

The ultimate problem is that, by treating women as a genre, it perpetuates the idea that women can therefore go out of fashion. The sheep-like thinking in the music industry is that if something different finds an audience, then the audience should be force-fed more of the same thing until they can't stand it anymore. If grunge, third wave ska or rap metal can see their time come and go, record companies, radio stations, the press, etc. use the commercial failure of a single female artist as justification to stop backing all female artists.

So I'm happy every time PJ Harvey is compared to Nick Cave or Tom Waits rather than Patti Smith. And it's a sign of progress that the Strokes are compared to Patti Smith as well as Television and the Velvet Underground. Instead of buying magazines that do a special "women in music," seek out those that cover women in music because they cover music. And while you're at it, consider whether a magazine is putting a female musical on the cover because of her music or her willingness to display her pulchritude.

At the movies recently, I caught the trailer for How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, which featured Sixpence None the Richer's cover of Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over." Without even hearing the whole song, I  realized that, once again, the band's taste in pop songs is matched only by their ability suck all the life out of them and leave them blandly pretty. As with their version of the La's "There She Goes," they robbed the song of all its texture.  Their songs are like a vacuous model, a pretty surface but no personality.

At least they haven't discovered David Mead yet. "Girl on the Roof" from his 2001 disc Mine and Yours would have been a perfect summer single if anyone had stumbled across it.

Concert Recommendation: Interpol, Monday Jan. 13, Empty Bottle, Chicago

Good news if, like me, you failed to purchase tickets for their sold-out Metro show.  They've added another show the next night at the Empty Bottle.  Tickets go on sale on Wednesday, January 8 at 10 a.m. and are available at http://emptybottle.com.

Concert Recommendation: Interpol, Sunday Jan. 12, Metro, Chicago

Many people have likened New York's Interpol to Joy Division. They sound far more like the Chameleons, but fewer people even know what the Chameleons sound like to even form a comparison. When touting the Chameleons show to friends last October, I described the Chameleons as Interpol with better vocals. However, if Interpol doesn't include a drunk, complaining guitarist, then it will be a better show than the Chameleons put on. If your itch for Manchester-style mope rock with chiming guitars hasn't been scratched since the '80s, go see Interpol.

Anyway, I feel a little silly recommending the show since it is already sold out, and I didn't even get a chance to buy tickets. I'm not convinced this blog has sufficient readership to warrant my hitting up a publicist for comp tickets (Yeah, my being ethical that way probably explains why I haven't been more successful in the music industry.) So if you know of some extra tickets, please email me.

A while back, a researcher reported findings on "stuck tune syndrome," the phenomenon of having a song running through one's head. One way to get rid of it is to tell someone else. So I apologize for announcing this, but I have "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" by Gayla Peevey going through my brain. If you've never heard it, you should probably be thankful. If you're curious, it's on Dr. Demento Presents: The Greatest Christmas Novelty CD of All Time.

I recently overheard a woman explain that she named her daughter Morrissey after her great aunt's maiden name. Although the mother looked the right age, she didn't look the type to have had a Smiths poster on her college dorm wall. Maybe it was just coincidence, or maybe suburban motherhood had erased the last traces of a sullen youth. But what a great idea: scrounge up an obscure relative, and you can justify naming your kids after your favorite musicians.

Really, such "honors" are better saved for pets who won't have to bear the potential emotional scars. Okay, maybe I named my kittens something other than Iggy and Townshend because I'm still clinging to the idea of one day using those as baby names. But if you want someone else to save you the trouble, there's a dog named Zappa available for adoption at the Evanston Animal Shelter.

Concert Review: Robbie Fulks, Abbey Pub, Chicago, December 31

At first it was confusing: a guy in a Slash wig and Al Jourgensen-style crushed cowboy hat churning on guitar. Then the melody emerged. He was playing "Auld Lang Syne" like Jimi Hendrix's version of "The Star-Spangled Banner." And it only got better from there. The rest of the band, including Robbie himself, joined the guitarist. But Robbie was almost unrecognizable. Yes, the guy playing country music was wearing a silver lamé shirt, glam rock make-up including blue eye shadow, "sculpted" cheekbones and star on his cheek, and a "rock star" wig, like Tina Turner's 'do, but with optic fibers that blinked. Taking into account the music and the visuals, my friend asked, "Are you familiar with the expression 'cognitive dissonance'?"

I generally don't like country music, alt- or otherwise, because I can't get past the twang. Robbie has no shortage of twang, but I like him anyway.

Concert Recommendation: New Bomb Turks, Tuesday Dec. 31, Beachwood Ballroom, Cleveland

If you happen to find yourself without plans this New Year's Eve and in the vicinity of Cleveland, get to the New Bomb Turks' final show. They aren't calling it quits on the band, just on touring, which is a shame because they are an invigorating live act. Cleveland's Plain Dealer has the full story.

I'm dreaming of a white riot.

Joe Strummer, rest in peace.

Theater review: I Just Stopped By to See the Man, Steppenwolf Theatre, until January 19, 2003

It's a play, not music, but it's about music. It's 1975, and a huge British rock star tracks down the reclusive legendary blues man he reveres. The old black man lives in the rural Mississippi Delta with his politicized daughter. Everyone has a secret. It revisits an era that Cameron Crowe illuminated in Almost Famous. Most impressively, the characters shows great insight into the transformative power of music, and the symbolism of the dramatic climax is subtle but effective.

But I had one minor gripe. The rock star tells the blues man that kids pay $20 a ticket for their stadium shows. Concert tickets weren't that expensive in 1975. It was controversial for Bruce Springsteen to charge $16 in 1984, so clearly no one was charging $20 in 1975.  The play was written recently; playwright Stephen Jeffreys should have done more research.

Biggest Musical Disappointments of 2002

There's no point in doing a "worst of" list.  The targets are too numerous and too obvious.  So instead I'll focus on what didn't live up to my expectations:

The Who Tweeter Center, August 24.  There is no reason to fault Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey for choosing to go ahead with the tour right after John Entwistle's death. Financial concerns aside, there are good emotional arguments for carrying on with established plans after the loss of a loved one.

But the show ended up too "Who By Numbers." Replacement bass player Pino Pallidino was wise to not take the spotlight of someone who shunned the spotlight anyway. He could only be described as adequate. When a teammate was killed in the Tour de France in 1995, Lance Armstrong won a stage a few days later and proclaimed, "Today I rode with the strength of two men." Pete and Roger may have been trying to honor John's spirit, but they didn't absorb his strength. I left feeling the need to add an asterisk and footnote when saying that the Who is my favorite band and craving a new solo album and tour from Pete.

The end of the Chameleons UK concert Metro, October 14. As wondrous as opening number "Swamp Thing" was (see yesterday's post), the Chameleons couldn't sustain their momentum. As the set wore on, one guitarist got more drunk and more argumentative, complaining about various aspects of the club. When they returned for an encore, he went on an endless, meandering tirade. It was already late, and who knew when he'd finally shut up and allow the band to start playing again. For a group that never had a lot of fans in the first place, they should be more concerned about attracting new ones than alienating the few they have left.

Radio 4 Empty Bottle, November 4. Maybe it can be chalked up to a bad sound mix. The edgy, metallic guitar got lost behind the wall of percussion.  Maybe it can be chalked up to timing. They urged, "Get behind the struggled," so on the eve of Election Day I was preoccupied with getting up early the next morning to vote. In any case, they didn't match the electricity of Gotham.

Concerts missed because of cycling:  The Church, The Woggles, Cinerama The problem with having multiple passions is that it creates scheduling conflicts.  I was out of town attending bicycling events when three great live bands came through Chicago.

Canceled Fall tour Originally, the Fall would have been in the above list of concerts missed for cycling, but their spring tour was canceled. They rescheduled for October and I had tickets, but the tour was canceled again. Visa problems or something. Mark E. Smith & Co. are maddeningly erratic, horrible in one performance but the greatest band in the world at that moment the next time. It's always worth it to take that gamble that it'll be a good night and frustrating when the chance is lost.

New Bomb Turks Metro, June 5. It was the perfect opportunity. The Columbus quartet had been plying their garage punk for about a decade to small but appreciative audiences. They aren't young and cute like the Strokes and they have an aggressive edge, but an opening slot with the Hives gave them a shot at reaching out to the MTV crowd. Front man Eric Davidson tried to incite the audience and the rest of the band worked hard, but they just never achieved their usual tightness.

Rob Zombie Aragon Ballroom, April 5. Rob Zombie is a cut above most metallers. Yeah, he owes a few back royalty payments to Al Jourgensen for his appearance. But he's intelligently humorous in interviews. Rather than exploiting teens' desire to piss off and shock their parents, his brand of scariness is an homage to the horror movies he worships. In other words, he respects his audience. Or so I thought until I got to the Aragon. Staff of the band or venue were shining lights on women, egging the rest of the audience to encourage them to flash. It was such a sexually oppressive atmosphere that Rob and the band and the dancers and puppet masters would have to be great to make up for it, and their were too leaden. I left wanting to listen to Belle & Sebastian. Making matters worse, scheduled openers the Damned back out of the tour due to the hostile audience and the only opening act was cliche-riddled in their "rebelliousness."

Tweeter Center How can you build a venue designed to hold 30,000 people without any public transportation access and only one four-lane exit to funnel cars in and out? Getting to and from the place is such torture that it puts a hurdle in front of enjoying any concert there.

Best of 2002
Rather than focusing exclusively on albums, here's my list of my greatest musical experiences of the past year:

Elvis Costello When I Was Cruel and Chicago Theatre, October 17. What an enviable career he's had. Focusing on being a musician, his craft, rather than on being a rock star, always the center of attention, has allowed him to take risks. He's worked with an impressive and varied set of collaborators and taken on artistic challenges. He still has the dignity to perform his "angry young man" songs without looking like a washed-up buffoon. And his new material has a lyrical precision and vitriol that comes from wisdom rather than youthful brashness.

David Lee Roth once commented that rock critics preferred Elvis Costello to him because rock critics look like Elvis than him.  While I have certainly taken more fashion cues from Elvis, it's actually because Elvis has depths of talent and, at this point, David Lee Roth is a washed-up buffoon.

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds Chicago Theatre, April 26. It was worth the wait of several years since having last seen Nick perform, perhaps not since Lollapalooza 1994. It was worth the wait of several months, the tour postponed after September 11. The man is an astonishingly intense performer, seething with the emotion of fictional Southern gothic tales. Plus, it was great to see the audience prove that some goths age quite gracefully.

The Hives Veni, Vidi, Vicious and Metro, June 5. Their album is wildly raucous, with appropriate song titles like "The Hives-Declare Guerre Nucleaire." And what enthralling performers! Yeah, it's shtick but the Swedes have charisma to burn, and boy, do they burn it. For the first time in ages, I left concert believing that a band was sure to be huge and I was thrilled to have witnessed them in front of a small crowd.

The Mooney Suzuki Metro, June 5 and October 9. Another charismatic garage band. A surprise discovery opening for the Hives, they were more fabulous given the time and space to headline a few months later. They were in town at the beginning of a long streak of great concerts.  Other bands like Sleater-Kinney may have had stronger songs, but no one put on a better show.

Anthony Kiedis inducting the Talking Heads into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame I was already thrilled to see high honor bestowed on the Ramones and Talking Heads. Then I heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers front man's introduction speech. He said that when he first heard the Talking Heads, "I wanted to have sex with a lot of librarians." As a music librarian, I was amused and flattered. Although in telling other music fans, I was surprised how many were unfamiliar with the nerdy image shared by the Talking Heads and my current profession.

Chameleons UK playing "Swamp Thing" Metro, October 14. In 1987, I couldn't get into their sold-out show at a tiny club. Their grandiose and glorious LP Swamp Thing was one of my favorites at the time. Today, it is one of the few pieces of vinyl that I still play, and I play it regularly. "Swamp Thing" was the mesmerizing pinnacle of the album. I finally heard it live, their set opener. I was delirious.

Future Bible Heroes Eternal Youth and Schuba's, November 6. The synth-pop was like 1982 all over again, especially Claudia Gonson's droll delivery of "I'm a Vampire." Live, the synthesizers were joined by acoustic instruments that further emphasized Stephen Merritt's sharp lyrics. "I'm Lonely (And I Love It)" made me wish I had a friend who'd recently gone through a break-up because it celebrates the process so beautifully.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "Once More, with Feeling" Speaking of "I'm a Vampire," a song crying out to be used on the Angel or the Sarah Michelle Gellar series, the show had its own impressive CD this year, the soundtrack to last year's musical episode. Show creator and novice songwriter Joss Whedon could have created a mere novelty. Instead, the songs have an insidious way of burrowing into your brain. But I'm still not sure if lyrics like, "His penis got diseases/From a Chumash tribe" are quite appropriate for a family sing-along.

Radio 4 Gotham It's impossible to criticize a band for aping Gang of Four since that's not exactly a proven path to fame and riches. And unlike shameless Jesus & Mary Chain rip-off Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, at least they bring something new to the mix with more complex percussion.

Badly Drawn Boy About a Boy So liltingly melodic that I forgave the filmmakers for excising the Nirvana/Kurt Cobain references that inspired the novel's title.

Coldplay/Ash UIC Pavilion, September 24. Coldplay's songs took on a new level of resonance live. Ash, with a few years of experience under their belts and the addition of second guitarist Charlotte Hatherley, finally made their anticipated transition from a band with some great songs to a great band. And "Kung Fu" left me giddy.

The Police Message in a Box Yes, it came out nine years ago, but I just got it as a birthday gift.  It made me feel like I was 16 again, but only the joyous parts of being 16, not the insecurity and trauma.

The Cynics Double Door, December 14.  Years since I've seen them, but they've lost none of their verve.  See my December 16 post for more verbal swooning.

David Bowie "Cactus" Bowie's cover brought out the obsessive sexuality of the song in a way that the Pixies' original never did. Not only was it a great version, it got a Pixies songs played on radio stations that wouldn't play the Pixies.

Pink "Get the Party Started" My guiltiest pleasure of the year, but the tune is so damn catchy.