Concert Recommendations: Ash, Kishi Bashi, October 3

Do you prefer your exuberant music with noisy guitars or violin loops?

If that question is easy for you to answer, then your choice of concerts on Monday is easy. Me, I'm still torn.

On violin front is Kishi Bashi, the band name under which Kaoru Ishibashi performs, who just released a terrific third album Sonderlust. It is buoyant, a fun bounceback to his fetching debut 151a after the sophomore slump of Lighght, that failed to make much of an impression. I haven't seen them live, but there are obvious musical connections to Animal Collective's textural use of loops and Passion Pit's synth pop, plus an unexpected homage to Pink Floyd's "Money" with "Who'd You Kill." As a former Berklee employee, I wish Ishibashi's name came up among famous alumni more often than the problematic John Mayer.

If you prefer your lyrics more at the forefront, if you're feeling nostalgic for '90s UK music that never made as a much of an impression on this side of the Atlantic, or you like your punk with power pop sensibilities and a lingering adolescent love of metal riffs, go see Ash touring in support of the 20th anniversary of 1977, the album with such not-quite-hits "Girl from Mars" and "Kung Fu." The Irish band led by Tim Wheeler hit their commercial peak as a 4-piece, but guitarist Charlotte Hatherley left the fold a while back, so they are back to a trio.

Use the comments section to chime in if I've helped you make up your mind, because I'm still conflicted by the wealth of riches in the Boston area on one night.

Ash plays The Middle East Upstair, 472-480 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, MA 02139, doors at 8:00 pm. Kishi Bashi plays Royale, 279 Tremont St., Boston, MA, 02116, doors at 7:00 pm. Both shows Monday, October 3.

Road Trip Report: Ramones Exhibit at the Queens Museum

When the Ramones released their first album 40 years ago, they were either ignored or dismissed as reprobates by vast swaths of the population. Several decades later, they have now been embraced as hometown heroes in their birthplace. The Queens Museum is honoring their contributions to (the downfall of) society is an exhibition "Hey! Ho! Let's Go: Ramones and the Birth of Punk" that opened in April and runs through July 31.

The exhibit consists of four galleries of photos, music, artwork, artifacts, videos, instruments, handwritten lyrics, press clippings and other memorabilia. The materials and supporting text detail the story and influence of the band. Among the highlights are their first press release, penned by Tommy, that demonstrates his vision for the band from the get-go as well as their sense of humor. Visa applications provide a rare photo of Joey without shades. Video screens display early rehearsals and performances, and a block of six old CRT TVs offers a rotation of their music videos. One display includes Johnny's Mosrite guitar and clothes they wore in concert, which were definitely not costumes because part of their ethos was to dress the same on stage and off. As befitting a band with an art director, visuals compromise a significant component, primarily from Arturo Vega but also from other contributors, such as Mark Kostabi's original painting for the cover of ¡Adiós Amigos!

It winds down by describing the post-Ramones careers of the members but ends on a bittersweet note, that the band had limited success while it was active but has grown in stature after the death the original members.

The gift shop has a limited assortment of Ramones gear for most ages (babies and adults, but no t-shirts in kid sizes), and you can feel a lot better about buying stuff there than at Hot Topic.

The museum has other exhibitions, too. I skipped them. They weren't about the Ramones.

My visit lasted about an hour, accompanied by semi-squirmy/semi-interested kids who like but don't love the Ramones.

If you are planning a visit and you are not familiar with the area, keep in mind that the museum is near Citi Field, USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center, the New York State Pavillion and the New York Hall of Science. These can either be added attractions for your trip to the area or causes of traffic tie-ups that you want to avoid.

Finally, if you want to reenact "Happy Family," specifically "Sittin' here is Queens, eatin' refried beans," Taqueria Nixtamal is a short drive or long walk from the museum and is a cheerful little hole-in-the-wall with seats and refried beans. Service isn't quick, but the Mexican food is very fresh and carefully prepared. (Disclaimer: this restaurant recommendation is not an endorsement for gulping down Thorazines. And you'll need to bring your own magazines.)

Meditations on Prince and Bowie or; Why I'll Never Say, "I May Be Old, But at Least I Got to See All the Good Bands"

The public outpouring over the deaths of Bowie and Prince says a lot about the similarities between the artists and explains why the death of, say, Glenn Frey just wasn't as big a deal. Yes, both had distinctive costuming, unprecedented business dealings, and interracial audiences, and they expanded our ideas of appropriate sexual behavior. But much more importantly, both were relentless in pursuing new musical boundaries, of exploring and exploding genre definitions. They didn't rest on the laurels of their back catalogs but spent their whole careers trying to create something new. That kind of vision resonates far more than just selling a shitlload of records.

Which leads me to my challenge to the reader. If our most revered artists constantly looked forward and not just backward, shouldn't you be doing the same as a listener? It pisses me when people, especially those around my age, post the meme on Facebook, "I May Be Old, But at Least I Got to See All the good Bands" because it is closed-minded and backwards looking. And it pisses me off because it was the same bullshit that Gen Xers endured in our youth at the hands of Baby Boomers and that we are now aiming at Millennials. At that attitude's worst extremes, it's powerful Baby Boomers like Tipper Gore parading before the Senate because they fear the music of Prince (and I'll probably have more to say about this after I finish reading Folk Devils and Moral Panics by Stanley Cohen (no relation)). But it also plays in less virulent ways, such as the Steve Miller Band, who sold a shitload of records to Baby Boomers but offered no grand vision or musical innovation, getting into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame before the Cure or Depeche Mode, who defined their musical genres and had the songwriting chops to sustain careers long after the novelty of goth and synth pop subsided, but they are icons to those who came after the Baby Boomers. As Jim DeRogatis said in Color Me Obsessed, "You had the motherfucking Baby Boomers consistently getting in your face and saying, 'Nothing you ever see in your life is going to be nearly as good as the Beatles. Nothing you ever experience is going to be nearly as good as Woodstock.' To which you and I were responding, 'Fuck you. We just saw the Replacements.'" But now the motherfucking Gen Xers are saying the same thing to Millennials, but replacing the Beatles with the Replacements or Nirvana.

So get over yourself. Acknowledge that there is good music being made and still to be made, and go try to find some it. If you need a suggestion, start with OK Go the next time they hit your town. Kurt Cobain never got to see them, and he missed out.

50th Birthday Playlist

Another milestone birthday is approaching, so it was time to update the birthday playlist. I had compiled my 120 favorite songs, enough to fill my iPod Shuffle, from throughout my life for my 40th birthday party. My current iPhone holds many more songs than that, but I decided to stick with the rule of 30 songs per decade.

And once again, I have a few observations:

• Because I have kids, I have rediscovered Top 40 radio. With age I've also gotten over a lot of my music snobbery, so I make no apologies for the pop songs.
• The older songs are ones that have taken on greater significance for me in the last decade.
• I'm happy to say that I've found enough new music in the last decade that I had to struggle to cut the list down to 30.

I played my 40th birthday playlist at my 40th birthday party. I won't have that opportunity with turning 50, but I've known all along that I wanted to update the playlist, because the original one is a gift to myself that keeps on giving. I frequently listen to my music on shuffle, so it's like a little surprise party whenever one of my favorite songs comes on.

The additions from the last decade:

1. American Authors - Best Day of My Life
2. Animal Collective - Summertime Clothes
3. Art Brut - Slap Dash for No Cash
4. Barnett, Courtney  - Nobody Really Cares If You Don't Go To The Party
5. Bloc Party - Helicopter
6. Bow Wow Wow - I Want Candy
7. Case, Neko - Man
8. Chvrches - Clearest Blue
9. Collins, Edwyn  - Losing Sleep
10. Django Django - Default
11. Escovedo, Alejandro  - Always a Friend
12. Franz Ferdinand - Bullet
13. Fratellis - Henrietta 
14. Frightened Rabbit - Swim Until You Can't See Land
15. Ida Maria - Queen of the World
16. Joy Division - She’s Lost Control
17. Kishi Bashi - It All Began with a Burst
18. Lady Gaga - Bad Romance
19. Lekman, Jens - Your Arms Around Me
20. Monae, Janelle - Tightrope
21. OK Go - This Too Shall Pass
22. Pharrell - Happy
23. Redwalls - Modern Diet
24. Ronson, Mark & Bruno Mars - Uptown Funk
25. Savages - She Will
26. Segall, Ty - It’s Over
27. Sleater-Kinney - Surface Envy
28. St. Vincent - Digital Witness
29. Stooges - I Wanna Be Your Dog
30. Zola Jesus - Vessel

Love Songs for Parents

Pop music is a kids' game. It's not just due to risk-averse radio programmers that older artists' music rarely gets airplay. The emotional turmoil of youth, the extreme highs and lows, lends itself to song more easily to than the stability that comes with maturity. Even the most devout Adele fans have to say to themselves occasionally, "For God's sake, woman, pull yourself together already." Unless you're extricating yourself from the kind of tormented relationship that inspired Elvis Costello to write "Alibi" in his 40s (and his divorce from Cait O’Riordan came as little surprise to anyone who heard that song), it's hard to find music that really speaks to the experience of being middle aged.

But what does cause intense emotion at this age? Parenthood. There are a handful of sappy tracks about parenthood, but the last year has brought two fantastic songs about platonic rather than romantic love. Perhaps their not being explicitly about parenthood is what keeps them from brimming with treacle; one is from a hilarious animated movie about the love between a farmer and his flock of sheep. But they buoyantly capture the happiness, the joyfulness, of being with your kids. Or at least how I feel about being with mine.

The first is a power pop gem from Tim Wheeler of Ash, "Feels Like Summer" from Shaun the Sheep The Movie.




The second is from Michael Franti, who has mellowed from his angry young man days of the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy. He's still aggressive, but now he's aggressively joyous in "Once a Day," a song inspired by his son about the feeling the love of those around you.



Especially if you're feeling like the Romantic Industrial Complex is dictating your emotions today, look beyond the partners and paramours in your life (or lack thereof), and embrace all your loved ones, kids, parents, friends, pets and anyone else whose presence in your life makes it better.

Bowie's Lessons on Leadership

• Have a vision and delegate to people with complementary talents to carry it out. NPR’s recent interview with some of Bowie’s Blackstar collaborators highlights his creative process. Get a big idea, then bring in the right people whose skills differ from your own to fill in the gaps of what you can’t do yourself. Give them enough direction to achieve your goals, but trust them to run with it in their own way and don’t micromanage them. Janelle Monáe has already nailed this, but the lesson applies more generally.
• Bravely let your freak flag fly. I first saw Bowie with his shockingly orange hair on Dinah Shore’s afternoon talk show. He was the strangest thing I’d on my TV in the bland suburbs, and perhaps the strangest thing I’d seen in my first decade on Earth. It clearly made an impression. If you’re going to be unconventional, then do it with conviction. Put it out there for everyone to see.
• Know when to act like a rock star, but know when not to. When Bowie was on stage, he was captivatingly charismatic. But when he was off stage, he didn't demand to be the center of attention. My two favorite examples: I worked at Tower Records at in London in the late '80s. When Michael Jackson was in town and wanted to shop there, his minions made arrangements for all the employees to be shooed out right at closing so that he could browse privately with only the store manager present. When Bowie wanted to shop there, he walked in the door in the middle of the day (sadly, not during my shift), selected his merchandise then stood in line with everyone else and to pay for it. And before his health declined, he reportedly got out to little clubs in New York on a regular basis to see up-and-coming bands, taking it in with the rest of the punters and leaving the spotlight to the young performers. Like a normal human being. Because it’s not always about you.
• Pay attention to your colleagues’ health needs, and be a loyal friend. When Iggy Pop’s life was sinking due to the interconnected problems of drug addiction and the Stooges’ demise, Bowie checked him into a residential mental health facility and visited him regularly during his convalescence. Iggy recovered. They decamped to Berlin, where they cowrote “China Girl” for Iggy. In the ‘80s, Bowie recorded the song for his insanely commercially successful Let’s Dance. Loyalty is not just the right thing to do, it can pay significant long-term dividends.
• Be open to what’s new and be willing to embrace it. When promoting Never Let Me Down in 1987, Bowie endorsed Screaming Blue Messiahs as his favorite new band. Paul McCartney was asked a similar question and that time, and he hemmed and hawed trying to think of any young bands before coming up with Dire Straits, who were already old fart music compared to Screaming Blue Messiahs by that point. It’s just one example of Bowie’s keeping his ear to the ground for new sounds.
• Use your clout to shine a light on others. When Bowie was flush with early success, he produced albums for the Stooges, Mott the Hoople and Lou Reed, drawing attention to artists on the commercial fringes. Over the years, he handpicked opening acts to expose them to his sizable audience, such as Polyphonic Spree on some dates on his final tour. He recognized that his big fanbase gave him power, and he could use it to help other artists. Sonic Youth did this on a smaller scale and earned lots of respect and loyalty for it.
• Use your success as an opportunity to take more risks. Having a few hits can be the equivalent of earning tenure. You could keep cranking out minor variations on the formula that made you successful. Or you could use it as the freedom to explore new musical idioms. Bowie’s constant expeditions into new musical territory made each album into an event, not just excuse to embark on a lucrative tour (I’m looking at you, Rolling Stones and Madonna). He went out on limbs and made you care about what he would do next.

Best Albums of 2014 Meta List

I’ve read enough best-of lists over the years that I’ve finally nailed down the formula.

1. The blockbuster album to prove that I’m not an elitist out of touch with what’s popular but I'll rank it low on my list to prove that I’m still cool.
2. The painfully obscure release that demonstrates that I listen to way more music than you do.
3. The bloated reissue that I claim helped me rediscover a classic. The publicist gave me a free copy so that I could encourage you to blow your money repurchasing something you already own.
4. The new album from a veteran performer that shows they are either still relevant or that they were ahead of their time. Bonus points if they’ve gotten a stamp of approval from someone younger and famous; Bob Seger would be on every list this year if Jack White had produced his latest.
5. A bunch of albums that have had buzz all year as the critical concensus so that I can maintain credibility with my peers.
6. The stuff I actually enjoyed and listened to repeatedly throughout the year. But I might not have the guts if it doesn't match the above criteria.

This may also be a preview of my 2015 list.

Concert Review: Bob Mould, Paradise Rock Club

The middle-aged man on stage, with his glasses and close-cropped thinning hair, could have passed for a suburban dad. Had he been out on Spy Pond Field for Arlington Town Night a few hours earlier, no one would have blinked an eye. Then Bob Mould unleashed a glorious cacophony with his guitar and left no doubt that he was someone special.

Mould arrived at the Paradise on Friday to a packed house to support his latest album, Beauty & Ruin. He’s been making the promotional rounds, and as I listened to his new material, I realized how distinctive his guitar sound is, even for someone like me who isn’t a guitar geek, and how much I loved hearing it, even though I’d never been a huge Hüsker Dü or Sugar fan. The album has gotten a good response for Mould’s skill as a lyricist, but live it was all about the guitar: the distortion, depth and din. No angry young man, Mould wielded a smile and an axe, creating a joyous noise.

Bassist Jason Narducy matched Mould in spirit, and the esteem in which Mould holds him was evident from their mic positions. Mould placed himself not in the center of the stage with Narducy shunted off to the side. Instead, each was equidistant from drummer Jon Wurster at the center, except when they frequently flung themselves around the stage.

Punk is about more than a store-bought snarl and Hot Topic wardrobe. Hüsker Dü never fit that fashion mold back in the day, so there’s no reason for Mould to do it now. It’s in blazing his own path, guitar as machete, that Mould has lasted this long, playing to larger crowds than he did 25 years ago and remaining relevant.

The Trouble with Chic

We're midway through the voting process for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and there has been much debate about the relative merits of not only the nominees but also those who didn't get tapped. In almost every case, it boils down to one of two arguments:

• The public loves an artist, but the critics don't. 
• The critics love an artist, but the public doesn't. 

This isn't the issue with Nile Rodgers and Chic, and the fact that I named Rodgers separately indicates the problem. You can't say it's a lack a popularity or influence. Rodgers' distinctive fingerprints are all over not Chic but also his hits with Madonna, David Bowie, INXS, and, most recently Daft Punk. His style is prominent in his work as both performer and producer.

The issue is that Rodgers' credits are too diffuse to merit induction in any category despite the importance of his work taken as a whole. Although Chic epitomized disco and were were heavily sampled in hip hop, but they only had a few hits; the band's career was eclipsed by Donna Summer, whose reign extended well beyond the disco era. To recognize Rodgers' work as a sideman (now called the Award for Musical Excellence) overlooks his work as a producer (now called the Ahmet Ertegun Award) and vice versa.

Nile Rodgers deserves to be in the Rock Hall, but their category structure makes it all but impossible to properly recognize his impact.
 

Why Sound City Makes Me Angry

The Dave Grohl-directed Sound City has been praised as a love letter to rock and roll.

It left me seething with rage.

The film chronicles the Sound City studio in the Los Angeles suburbs. Despite the studio's unassuming appearance, many legendary and successful albums were recorded there, including Nevermind. Their success came down to several factors. Magical acoustics unintentionally made drums sound great. A sweet custom recording console afforded producers precise control. The people involved in running the place had great ears for commerce as well as music.

It's when the studio's fortunes decline that things start to turn ugly. Short version: their resolutely analog set-up was incompatible with the growing use of digital recording and production technology, so artists stopped booking there. They were forced to shut.

It's the condemnation of technology and its broader implications that make the movie intolerable. The talking heads are cantankerously retrograde in the view of music: Real music is purely analog. Using a sampler isn't making music. Software such as Pro Tools and Auto-Tune allows people who have no business calling themselves musicians to make music. Watching the narrow-minded white men outright reject any music that didn't meet their strictly-defined ideals made me seethe. It made me resent Nevermind because it framed it as backwards-looking.

Seeing this made me more annoyed about the casual sexism of the place. The highest ranking woman at the studio is fondly recalled for being hot and little else. The beloved rundown atmosphere included a wall covered in porn. Women were hired as secretaries who could be pulled into duty as back-up singers, but men hired as entry-level runners were groomed to become engineers and producers.

People of color got even less screen time than women.

It reminded me of the disco backlash, which wasn't just about musical purity but a backlash by straight white males, especially aging ones, against the rise of music by people who weren't straight, white or male. Then it reminded me of a strain of straight white male conservative Republicans who are bent out shape by the prospect of their reign of unquestioned dominance being challenged. Guess what, fellas, there's more to good popular music than bass, drums, guitar and vocals. And you sound just as cranky as your predecessors did a few generations back when musicians embraced the technology of the electric guitar. A prior generation no doubt decried singers who needed microphones.

It reeks of tokenism, but at least Trent Reznor gets a chance to advocate for technology, recognizing it as a tool that can enable new kinds of creative expression. But he probably only gets a pass because he also talks about playing classical piano growing up, so he still qualifies as a "real" musician.

A member of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club squeezes in a throwaway line about how apps like GarageBand make recording accessible to many more people than in the past. It's because of people like the pigheaded retrograde gatekeepers that populate this movie that GarageBand and its ilk are crucial to the continued revitalization of music.

The hope in making this movie was probably that the audience would run home listen to the great albums made there by Fleetwood Mac, Tom Petty, Johnny Cash, REO Speedwagon(?) or Ratt(???). Instead, it left me filled with the desire to listen to Depeche Mode, Lady Gaga and the Beastie Boys, especially Paul's Boutique, artists who have created great music that embraces technology, music that has looked to the future instead of being trapped in the past.

Concert Recommendation: The Hives, House of Blues, June 23

In the charming Mo Willems' childrens' book Edwina, The Dinosaur Who Didn't Know She Was Extinct, the title character goes around town making people happy, blissfully unaware that dinosaurs should no longer inhabit the earth. When a know-it-all in need of an audience explains to her that she should be extinct, she buys his arguments but just doesn't care. She just goes on having fun, and even her lecturer joins her.

Substitute "garage rock" for "dinosaur," and you've got the story of the Hives. They burst onto the scene a decade ago as part of the third wave of garage. The White Stripes appeared to be the only long-term survivors of the fad, and even they've broken up, and not before Jack White repositioned his duo as blues revivalists. But armed with unflagging bravado, especially by satirically arrogant lead singer Howlin' Pelle Almqvist, the Hives have kept chugging along, blissfully unaware that there won't be a Grandchildren of Nuggets compilation. And, like Edwina, they go around making people happy by putting on great shows. "Go Right Ahead," the lead track from the new Lex Hives is their raucous take on ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down," and it is just as energizing as any of the highlights from their breakthrough album Veni, Vidi, Vicious.

The Hives play the House of Blues, 15 Lansdowne St., Boston, (888) 693–2583 at 6:30 on Saturday, June 23.

2011: The Non-Year of the Year of Women in Music

Much has been made of women's achievements in comedy this year. Funny women have written best-selling books and have worked both in front of and behind the camera on popular TV shows and in movies. Many commentaries on this also add that it shouldn't be a big deal that women, who are majority of the world's population, are succeeding in any particular endeavor, but the fact remains that it is still seen as a trend and a novelty.

But the real news is not only that women dominated the world of popular music in 2011 but that their collective achievement doesn't warrant commentary. Taylor Swift was Billboard's women of the year for her phenominal sales, and they didn't name a corresponding man of the year. Adele had the year's top-selling album and is poised to clean up at the Grammys. Katy Perry broke one of Michael Jackson's sales records. Britney Spears was newsworthy only for her ticket and single sales. Nicki Minaj was one of the biggest break-out artists of the year. Not a single male solo artist or band made Entertainment Weekly's reader poll for favorite musician of the year. And none of this has been the subject of trend stories; most people acccept this as unworthy of comment.

It's true that accepted roles for women in popular music are still limited, but it is a sign of genuine progress when the success of so many women to the exclusion of the success of men is no big deal.

Why I'm Not Reviewing Ida Maria's New Album

I loved Ida Maria's debut album, Fortress 'Round My Heart. It's one of my favorite albums of the last five years, so I jumped at the chance to review Katla, her recent follow-up. But my primary outlet for album reviews these days is CD Hotlist, an online publication aimed at people who buy music recordings for libraries. And that's the hitch. Katla is part of a growing trend of albums that are only available as digital downloads, not in physical form. To make a long story short, because of standard end-user license agreements, libraries can't buy digital downloads for their borrowers to use. My colleague D. J. Hoek has written about this issue in greater detail. So there is no point in CD Hotlist running a review of an album that libraries can't buy.

I'm hoping the situation will change. In the short run, I hope Ida Maria's label will view Katla as enough of a priority to issue it on CD. In the long run, I hope the copyright laws will change or vendors will change their restrictions so that libraries can collect, preserve and allow access to digital-only recordings. I've got a review of the album ready to go. The short version is that it's awesome.

Concert Recommendation: Fountains of Wayne, Brighton Music Hall, August 12 & 13

I just finished my third music theory class. My professor praised my work on my final project, asking if was my first composition. I explained that I had only composed for assignments in my music theory classes. I've been aware that I'm perfectly capable of writing something that meets the criteria for an assignment but have absolutely no idea about its aesthetic values: it's correct, but is it any good? I have my doubts.

Then I came home and listened again to Sky Full of Holes, the new album by Fountains of Wayne. My rudimentary composition skills will never match their ability to craft hooks. The new album isn't quite as heavy on them as some of their previous releases, but the band's entire body of work is overrun with them. They will showing off their hooks in a pair of Boston shows, one electric, one acoustic, this weekend. They will also be showing off their other skills: the specificity of their lyrics, Jody Porter as their secret weapon adding muscle on guitar, and a general sense of playfulness with their presentation.

I'm not fretting over not matching their compositional skills since I can compensate with other expertise. I've reviewed the new album for CDHotlist: New Releases for Libraries. I'm surprised that other reviewers have failed to comment on the change in perspective, that they are now writing about people well into adulthood, which I particularly appreciate as someone who is well into adulthood myself.

Fountains of Wayne play the Brighton Music Hall, 158 Brighton Avenue, Allston, MA, 617-779-0140, with Nicole Atkins at 9:00 p.m. on Friday, August 12 (electric) and Saturday, August 13 (acoustic).

Book Review: Just Kids by Patti Smith

It has already won the 2010 National Book Award for non-fiction, but I'll add what I can to the heaps of praise for Just Kids by Patti Smith.

The world is overrun with celebrity memoirs. Even those with ghost writers or co-authors are rarely worth reading unless one is already interested in that celebrity. But Patti Smith established herself as a writer of poetry and prose before making her biggest splash as a nonconformist rock star. What makes this book so special is that it is a beautiful, fascinating read even for those who aren't fans of her or Robert Mapplethorpe's work.

The title refers to Smith and Mapplethorpe's early adulthood, when most of the book is set. Smith offers sketches of her childhood, leading to her decision to take off to New York by herself to become an artist. Through a series of coincidences that were stranger than fiction, she repeatedly runs into the young Robert Mapplethorpe, and the two become lovers. Together, they struggle to find their way in the world. Both know that they want to be artists but are working through the process of determining what sort of art to pursue. They also just need to survive on a day-to-day basis, scraping by on meager incomes, trying to fund their art and fill their bellies. As time goes on, together they come to terms with Mapplethorpe's homosexuality and how it affects their relationship.

Smith chronicles not only their own lives but the literary, art and music scene in New York in late 1960s and early 1970s. Famous names pass through their orbits, but Smith is no mere name-dropper and conveys the atmosphere at places like the Chelsea Hotel and Max's Kansas City for all its denizens. She unravels how she found her voice, and eventually an audience, as a poet and musician and how Mapplethorpe did so with his photography. The story trails off when they are no longer "just kids" but wraps up with Mapplethorpe's untimely death from AIDS.

I laughed in recognition when Smith said she made more money selling promo copies of records than she did selling her writing as a rock critic. But I was also amazed by her bravery in setting out into the world to pursue her dreams, with only the safety net of Mapplethorpe. It was a wonderfully complex, supportive relationship. Their life together was quite an adventure, exquisitely rendered by Smith.

Update on Some Thoughts about NIN

The last time I saw Nine Inch Nails, I commented in my review "Reznor is screaming, 'Too fucked up to care anymore.' I'm pondering whether Nine Inch Nails has received the academic examination it so clearly merits, and whether filling that possible void is why I should be heading back to grad school."

I'm happy to say that I'm just putting the finishing touches on a paper about Nine Inch Nails. I decided to analyze "The Great Destroyer" rather than "Somewhat Damaged," but the semester is still young. The shorter version: Fuck you, Adorno. Just because it's modern and it's popular doesn't mean it isn't also serious art.

Concert Review: The English Beat, Johnny D's, Somerville, January 4

The English Beat are better than you remember. Off the top of your head, you can only recall "Mirror in the Bathroom" and their cool logo. But they have more songs that make you go, "Oh, yeah, this is really good," than you realized. And they can get a party going on a cold Tuesday night in January like nobody's business.

"How Can You Stand There?" was the unofficial theme song for the night. It was probably about political apathy, but it applied to the audience at a more literal level to the few hold-outs in the audience. Most of the sold-out crowd at Johnny D's was on their feet and dancing. Even people with seats at tables on the edges of the crowded room were up and moving. Dave Wakeling could taunt someone up front for standing still with arms folded only because it was a rarity. Even more impressive about "How Can You Stand There?" is that it was a new song, not yet recorded, but it fit in so easily with their repertoire of hits that the audience never slowed down.

And the major and minor hits kept coming: "Hands Off She's Mine," "I Confess," "Best Friend," "Twist and Crawl," "Save It For Later" (See what I said about more good songs than you remember?) They brought out the covers that they put their own stamp on, "Tears of a Clown," "Can't Get Used to Losing You" and "I'll Take You There." Guitarist and singer Dave Wakeling is the only original member still with the band; the current keyboard player probably wasn't even born when the Ranking Roger was bobbing around in videos in the early days of MTV. But the line-up in tight, ably delivering the material that made the band the epitome of the early '80s ska revival.

No, the evening wasn't perfect. While it was impressive that they played more than two hours, the energy in the room sagged at around the 1 hour 45 mark; they could have trimmed a few songs and still kept the audience more than satisfied. And it's hard to fully endorse a group so clearly trading on nostalgia. But it's also hard to fault a band that generates so much fun.

Concert Review: Grinderman, House of Blues, November 13

At a point in his career when most of his remaining peers are treading the nostalgia circuit, Nick Cave is attracting sizable crowds for not just new material but a new band that doesn't include his name. Cave has always oozed charisma and put on a great show, but he also has the songwriting chops to engender a continued following. Scaling back from the sprawling Bad Seeds to the stripped down four piece Grinderman has created a boost of energy for someone whose energy wasn't flagging, as seen on Saturday at Boston's House of Blues.

For all of Cave's intensity and command of the stage, this wasn't a one-man show. Guitarist/violinist Warren Ellis, with his stringy hair and beard and demonic flailing looked liked he'd gone nuts after years of solitary confinement in a third world prison. The rhythm section functioned as the band's anchor to sanity.

The band came out and set the stage on fire with the impolite "Mickey Mouse and the Goodbye Man." "Worm Tamer" had the texture of a wire brush. The blues got electric shock treatment with "Get It On." Cave started out playing guitar, but put it aside for a tambourine, which he soon pitched during "Heathen Child." His posture demanded attention, but Ellis was cranking out unearthly sounds. Ellis was down on the floor for "Evil!" but the impassioned delivery still couldn't fully save the song from its weak lyrics.

The band scaled back the intensity for "When My Baby Comes," but Ellis started brandishing his frayed violin bow like a whip and soon was leaving acres of scorched earth in his wake. They came up for a breather with "What I Know" but leaped back into the fire with "Honey Bee (Let's Fly to Mars)." But they stumbled with "Kitchenette;" Cave overstepped the line into self-parody with heavy-handed double entendres and wacky falsetto utterances of "tippy toe, tippy toe." Cave regained his footing as gospel preacher who's now playing for the other team with "No Pussy Blues." During the encore, "When My Love Comes Down to Meet You" was brimming with psychedelic distortion. They wrapped the set with "Grinderman" as the band's name glowed in red on the back curtain.

Cave has shaved off his mustache, no doubt to stay a step ahead of ironic hipsters. The guy knows how to remain relevant.

Set list:
   
Mickey Mouse and the Goodbye Man
Worm Tamer
Get It On
Heathen Child
Evil!
When My Baby Comes
What I Know
Honey Bee (Let's Fly to Mars)
Kitchenette
No Pussy Blues
Bellringer Blues

Encore:

Palaces of Montezuma
When My Love Comes Down to Meet You
Man in the Moon
Love Bomb
Grinderman

Kickin' It Real Old School

My blog was dormant for two months because I'm back in school, pursuing a masters in music at Tufts, which has left me with little time to see shows or even blog. My first major paper was on a historic music text in one of Tufts' special collections, A General History of Music by Charles Burney. It was one of the first two comprehensive histories of music published in England. Burney released his first volume in January, 1776 but didn't finish the four-volume series until 1789. His rival Sir John Hawkins released his history 10 months later in its entirety. The rivalry was immediate and has persisted for 200 years. Hawkins's strength was in his coverage of ancient music, but that's about the only advantage he held. Burney's writing style was accessible, and the clear structure of the work made it a useful research tool, whereas Hawkins's style was detached and the work is so disorganized that it is difficult to find a particular subject within the text. While Hawkins intentionally excluded contemporary music, viewing it as worthless, Burney embraced it; it is largely because of his extensive coverage of his contemporaries that he is still cited today. Besides being an antiquarian, Hawkins was also a curmudgeon, while Burney's social skills allowed him to travel in more prestigious circles than his middle class background might have limited him to. The story has the makings of a great screenplay.

As I gingerly leafed through Burney's and Hawkins's books, it occurred to me that I doubt I've ever touched anything that old other than a building. And as I synthesized my research materials, I started to feel kinship with Burney. I have immersed myself in the world of contemporary music but struggle to make sense of music of the distant past, and until now my knowledge of music history has been through self-study and interaction with musicians. I'd like to think that my writing is accessible, but I am humble enough to seriously doubt that anyone will be quoting me 200 years from now.

Concert Review: Fountains of Wayne with Marshall Crenshaw, Paradise Rock Club

Every attempt to see Fountains of Wayne since I moved to Boston two and half years ago had been thwarted, so it was with great relief that I finally saw a full set by them last night. It is the rare band whose songs make one smile so much that their cheeks hurt.

The band previewed songs from their upcoming album, but only a few. Most memorable was "A Road Song," in which they sing about the cliches of a road song while mining new territory in that subgenre, including the lyrics, "I guess I'm not Steve Perry." And for that, the fans were very thankful.

Without a specific album to promote, they drew from their entire catalog. The set selection included no surprises, as much as I hope in vain for "Little Red Light." They brought a handful of audience members onto the stage for a percussion addition to "Hey, Julie." They explored their roster of songs about transportation from taxis to a lavender Lexus. They worked songs by Billy Joel and Blue Öyster Cult into the extended bridge for "Radiation Vibe." But mainly they did what they did best, wielding perfect power pop with sing-along hooks and sharply detailed lyrics. Their coterie of loyal fans recognized that "Stacy's Mom" is just the tip of the iceberg of their seemingly endless depths of should-be hits.

Marshall Crenshaw's voice has weathered since his '80s heyday, but his songs haven't aged at all. As he poured out semi-hit after semi-hit, from "Cynical Girl" to "Whenever You're on My Mind" to "There She Goes Again," it was an immediate reminder why he made such a splash and earned critical plaudits when he came onto the scene. Of course he played, "Some Day, Some Way," but I had forgotten how much other great material he had to draw from, so much so that he skipped the songs I specifically remembered beforehand, "Mary Anne" and "I'm Sorry (But So Is Brenda Lee)." His new material was in the same vein. Although he is nothing but sincere, without a trace of Fountains of Wayne's snarkiness humor, his singer/songwriter power pop was a well-suited pairing with the headliners.