Okay, so for whatever reason, the only thing I can listen to lately is my entire oeuvre of Sonic Youth. Wait a minute, wait a minute, I know, most of you lot don’t like them. That’s not the point.
The point is: I was thinking about how Smashing Pumpkins‘ 1979 is the best thing Sonic Youth “never wrote.” Similarly, I feel that The Verve‘s Bittersweet Symphony is the best thing Jagger & Richards never wrote. [Or did they? – Mod.]
So that got me to thinking: What are other songs that one-up the influence? Which tunes distill the shape and inspiration to manifest and encapsulate the essence of their model? Fill in the blank: ________is the best thing______never wrote.
Where does it rank in relation to it’s cousin, the vuvuzela? Will it make an appearance on the next Lumineers album? Does this mean that A-ha will do the half-time show at the Superbowl?
Many moons ago, when I was so much older then, I used to work in a bookstore with a lot of other musicians and music lovers. It was as wonderful as a low-paying job could be at that time in a young person’s life. We worked hard. We played hard. We got 35% discounts on books. We were counted on by regulars who sought our advice on tracking down obscure books in their genre of choice. Those of us in bands were assured of getting a decent crowd of bookstore employees and their friends to show up for gigs.
A slightly older, wiser colleague who drummed for an established local band that helped introduce me and my little band to The Scene, as it was, lived in a high-rise apartment 2 blocks away from the bookstore. Once a week, we’d go to his apartment at lunchtime so we could get high and listen to records. We had similar tastes in ’60s and punk rock. Sometimes we’d listen to stuff we both already liked, such as Magical Mystery Tour or Sound Affects. Other times he’d root through his collection to play me deep cutz by a band I’d only known for its hit singles (eg, he’s still the only person I’ve ever known whose owned most if not all of The Beau Brummels‘ albums) or to find a somewhat obscure record I’d never heard. One day, while seeking an album that might earn him Turn-On Points, he pulled out a very silver album sleeve containing an album by a band called The Monochrome Set. The album must have been Strange Boutique. The cover was very silver, and I was really stoned.
That afternoon, I felt like I was hearing the greatest, off-kilter pop album since my beloved Positive Touch, by The Undertones. The rhythms were propulsive. The guitars jangled in jagged, unexpected ways. The melodies were ’60s-based but in no way slavishly devoted to that decade’s melodic conventions. The only thing that stopped me from running down to Third St. Jazz & Rock that afternoon, beside the need to get back to work and little spending money, was the singer’s voice, which had that dramatic, “overdone” English quality that sometimes puts me off from the likes of a Robyn Hitchcock.
Long story short: I never got around to buying a single album by The Monochrome Set, although I rode through the next few decades on the power of that high introduction, only buying and downloading individual songs from their albums over the last few years. All this time I’d never read a single article about the band, never seen a videotaped performance, and never even seen a still photograph of the band members. I knew nothing about The Monochrome Set, despite having kind of liked them since 1985. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I saw this video:
This is cool! These guys would have been really fun to see in their prime. They seem to have been ahead of their time, like a Hoboken band before the Hoboken scene really took root. I still know nothing else about the band, other than having been reminded that they were led by a guy with the excellent stage name Lester Square. I will probably take some time to read up on them. Perhaps you have some details to share. Meanwhile, I’m content to let my ignorance stay clear from this feeling of bliss.
Have you long liked an artist or band that you still know nothing about?
Mildly hip, white music fans are rejoicing over news that Big Boi and André 3000 will be reuniting OutKast in time for next year’s Coachella festival. Although no new OutKast recordings are planned, fans like Toby Wetland, 28, of Scottsdale, Arizona, can dream.
“I mean, like, it’s been so long since they’ve come up on my playlist” said an excited Wetland, outside his neighborhood Teavana. “I can’t even remember the last time I listened to their last album, whichever one it was—but it was incredible!”
At the Hanes Mall Teavana in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Kayli Freebaugh, 31, gushed, “Oh my god, even though I skip over Big Boi’s tracks, there’s been an edge missing from André’s work.” She added, “I can’t wait to see hear what track advertisers pick up!”
Not all mildly hip, white music fans are ecstatic. Sipping a skinny Chai latte outside the Starbucks in Haddonfield, New Jersey, 37-year-old Adam Harrington gently rocked a 3-kid stroller and sniffed, “Unless Organized Noize is supplying the beats, I’ll stay tuned for whatever James Murphy touches next.”
A couple of things regarding rock photography caught my eye last week. First somebody sent me a link to this little story on Dan Corrigan, the house photographer at my favorite rock club, First Avenue in Minneapolis. He’s also known as the photographer for the cover of the Replacements album, Let it Be.
In the video, Dan talks about his strategies to get good photos at shows and the trials of the digital age. I’m not immune to the temptations of taking a photo at a show now and then, but some people really go over overboard.
I’ve had a (very) small amount of photos published over the years, so I know how hard it is to get a good shot. My rock photos are almost uniformly bad.
My questions to you: Have you ever snapped a good rock photo? And if so, can you put a link in the comments?
