Anonymous Communist

I guess I’ve forgotten that Five-Star Friday was supposed to be a “semi-regular occurrence.” But no matter, for today’s selection is worthy of five stars.

This is the 1991 studio version of “Tommy the Cat,” featuring the dulcet vocal stylings of Tom Waits and some “Ren & Stimpy”-style animation. Primus sucks!

It’s been slow the past few days at Anonymous Communist headquarters. Thankfully, there are other people around to give me ideas.

Will Reynolds posted his thoughts about five random songs in his iPod, an idea I had a few months back. Having nothing else to blog about, today would be a good time for me to see what shuffles up.

Some of you may remember that several weeks ago, I accidentally put my iPod through the washing machine. So in order to play today’s game, I’m using the iTunes catalog on my computer, which not only contains the unfortunate musical choices of Mrs. Communist but many I’d-rather-be-waterboarded-with-Galliano-than-listen-to-these children’s CDs. The lone caveat to this game is: No skipping songs, no matter how embarrasing or lame. Here goes:

“Too Many Puppies,” Primus — OK, so I cheated a little bit. This was the song that was playing when I saw Will’s post, and it’s a good one. Off Primus’ first studio release, “Frizzle Fry,” this song was written in 1990, during the runup to Gulf War I. The lyrics are still relevant today:

Too many puppies are being shot in the dark
Too many puppies are trained not to bark
At the sight of blood that must be spilled so that
We may maintain our oil fields

The part about “the visions of the past brought to life again/too many puppies, too many dead men” will apply doubly when Lord Cheney invades Iran.

“One Man Wrecking Machine,” Guster — This is one of Mrs. C’s tunes. I’ve never listened to Guster, so here goes… Hey, that was nice. Too many bands today self-consciously try to sound like music from bygone eras, but this song at least sounds like just plain ol’ rock music. And the lyrics, while funny in some parts, tell the story (in my interpretation, at least) of a person who, unhappy with the present tense, decides to try to relive his youthful “good ol’ days” but realizes that A) they really weren’t all that good and B) life has sort of passed him by.

“Can I Kick It,” A Tribe Called Quest — This classic joint off of Tribe’s debut opens with a sample of the bassline from Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side. When the beat kicks in, the shaking of one’s ass becomes unavoidable.

(For the record, Marky Mark shamefully used the same sample for his song “Wildside,” released at least a year after “Can I Kick It.”)

While not as strong lyrically (Phife Dawg’s verse is actually pretty corny), the beat-bassline combo and Ali Shaheed Muhammad’s furious scratching makes this one of the album’s best songs. The video (this one uses a remix) is lots of fun, too.

“Junkie’s Prayer,” Fishbone — Throughout their career, Fishbone have always shown a sense of humor as well as a social conscience. This song combines both. Over a mouth harp and a loop of maniacal laughter, our crackheaded narrator intones an invocation to his god, the drug dealer:

My pusher who art in the crack house
[…]
Give us this day our daily crack
[…]
Forgive us for we have no control or self-respect
Grim Reaper has cashed my life savings check

Fishbone is known for its good-time party music, but they can get serious, too, and make it compelling. I couldn’t find a video.

“Bobo on the Corner,” the Beastie Boys — This 73-second interlude off of “Ill Communication” features percussionist Eric Bobo throwing down over Mike D’s drums and Adrock’s wicky-wicky guitar. Thaaat’s about it. The video I found uses this as the score for some artist’s paintings.

Well, nothing embarrassing, but nothing earth-shatteringly awesome, either. We’ll revisit in a few months.

As introduced by Tim at The Cushy Blog and continued by Manx at A Salute to Some Stuff, I hereby bring you five albums that have been influential, in whichever way, to my life (note: Albums presented in order of influence, not necessarily release or awesomeness):

1. “Nothing’s Shocking,” Jane’s Addiction – As stated before, the late 1980s were a barren wasteland for mainstream rock music. The hair metal was not for me, but coming from a music-loving family I had to have something to listen to. By eighth grade, I had tired of the Beatles and Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd into which I had immersed myself the previous school year. Luckily, I had friends with broader musical tastes. Listening to all these bands I’d heard of but never heard (Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys, JFA, Joy Division, Ministry, Husker Du, et al) was exciting. But as eighth grade was winding down in 1989, dear friend and reader Eric gave me a taped copy of “Nothing’s Shocking.” I slipped it into my portable cassette player (gotta be accurate; it wasn’t a Sony-brand Walkman) and turned up the volume. The album opens with “Up the Beach,” which begins with a lilting, two-note bassline. At about 0:15, a massive guitar chord hits, and I was startled half to death by it. This isn’t half bad, I thought. But it was the second song, “Ocean Size,” that sealed the deal. It begins with guitarist Dave Navarro noodling some arpeggiated chords on an acoustic. When singer Perry Farrell counts off “THREE, FOURRRR!!!” and rest of the band kicks in, it was like the door to musical enlightenment had been blown off its hinges. This album was like crack to me: All it took was one listen and I was hooked. For that summer and well into ninth grade, this album was in nonstop rotation in my headphones. It also was the first CD I ever bought, even before I got a CD player. Plus, the album cover had boobies.

2. “Surfer Rosa,” the Pixies – I had been tangentially familiar with the Pixies through the “Pump Up the Volume” soundtrack and the occasional mixtape made by friends, but I’d never really given them a serious listen until I heard “Surfer Rosa” sometime during sophomore year. I’m a big fan of unique-sounding rock music, and the Pixies were like nothing I’d heard before. Instead of playing chords, the main guitar lines often were leading the melody, and the chords were relegated to an acoustic in the background. Good examples of this technique include “Caribou” and “Break My Body,” which happened to be the first I ever taught myself on the bass guitar. The extremely loud and extremely dry production by Steve Albini also added to the overall awesomeness of the record. Plus, the album cover also had boobies.

3. “Nevermind,” Nirvana – If “Nothing’s Shocking” was musical crack, “Nevermind” was like a a double-quarter-pounder crackburger with an extra-large freebase. This record made me want to become a rock star. As embarrassing as it is to admit today, “Nevermind” turned me into a total Kurt Cobain fanboy. Almost immediately, I began rocking the thrift-store-cardigan-over-alt-rock-T-shirt look. I even wrote lyrics for a song I called “I’m a Nirvana-be,” which thankfully never saw the light of public performance. While l think the whole “Voice of a Generation” thing is an overblown invention of rock critics, there’s little doubt that this record is one of the most important in the rock-and-roll canon (although it simultaneously slew the beast that was hair metal and killed the concept of “alt-rock”). The popularity of “Nevermind” wasn’t limited to the alt-rock kids. At Southeast, it seemed that nearly everybody was listening to it: the brothers, the Strip Rats, the WDBR set, et al. Even my friend Chris, who owned CDs from such notable artists as NKOTB, Milli Vanilli and Marky Mark, was down with the Nirvana. I quickly got over my fanboy disease, but I’ve never outgrown the music. No boobies on this album cover, but there is baby schlong.

4. “The Low End Theory,” A Tribe Called Quest – This album kindled a love affair with hip-hop that lasts today. I hadn’t really listened to much hip-hop before “The Low End Theory”. I’d always had an appreciation for it, beginning with Run-DMC, LL Cool J and Whodini back in the mid-1980s and into Public Enemy as the 1990s dawned, but never really allowed myself a deep headphone experience. But “Theory” changed all of that. Its combination of beats, basslines, turntable techniques and witty, positive lyrics (”Now here’s a funky introduction of how nice I am/Tell your mother, tell your father, send a telegram”) really opened my ears to hip-hop as an art form. It influenced my own attempts at writing lyrics: One of the originals that my rock band played used my lyrics, the idea for which was totally bitten from “What?”, the penultimate song on the record. “Theory” also served as an advertising platform for all the other rappers that were name-checked on this record. I became a fan of De La Soul, Brand Nubian, the Jungle Brothers, Ultramagnetic MCs, Leaders of the New School and many others thanks to Q-Tip’s and Phife Dawg’s shout-outs. Fun fact: “The Low End Theory,” “Nevermind” and “Blood Sugar Sex Magik” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers all were released on Sept. 24, 1991. Truly a momentous day for music.

5. “Bags & Trane,” Milt Jackson and John Coltrane – During college, I had begun to develop an appreciation for jazz music, but beyond owning a copy of the “A Charlie Brown Christmas” soundtrack it was still mostly superficial. During my first junior year, my housemates and I went to a record sale fundraiser for WSIU-FM and picked up a few more jazz records. One of the ones Eric got featured Oscar Peterson and Milt Jackson. I became quite taken with Milt Jackson as my experience with the vibraphone was limited to its use on the eponymous Tortoise record, which was in heavy rotation at the time. One day later that year, I was browsing a used-CD store (I forget the name; it was next door to Rosetta News) and came across a the “Bags & Trane” album. I had never listened to anything with John Coltrane, but having known of his reputation and because I really liked Milt Jackson, I had to get this album. After listening to it, I couldn’t believe someone willingly gave it up. I was completely blown away and awed by Coltrane. When he first comes in at about 1:38 of the first song, “Stairway to the Stars,” I literally had goosebumps and instantly became a fan of his. I think the biggest thing about Coltrane is his sound. It’s one of those things that is so beautiful that trying to describe it with words doesn’t do it justice. There’s no one else that sounds like him. In fact, on the Johnny Griffin album “A Blowing Session,” there are three tenors: Griffin, Hank Mobley and Coltrane. You can tell, every time, when Coltrane is taking his solo just by the sound of his horn even though his solos are mixed in with those of Griffin and Mobley. It’s that distinctive and that indescribably beautiful.

Honorable mentions: “The Wall,” Pink Floyd; “…And Justice for All,” Metallica; “Never Mind the Bollocks,” Sex Pistols; “Mother’s Milk,” Red Hot Chili Peppers; “Fear of a Black Planet,” Public Enemy; “Pure Guava,” Ween; “Tortoise,” Tortoise; etc.

There are few subgenres of rock music more loathsome than hair metal. Or poodle rock, or butt rock, or cock rock, whatever you want to call it. It all sucks.

Beginning in the mid-1980s, hair metal enjoyed unchallenged popularity on MTV, which was most kids’ main source of music back then (and which actually played music videos). You couldn’t go more than one or two videos without one of those shitty bands in lipstick and blush, dressed in skintight leather pants festooned with bandannas flinging their poodle haircuts about.

Even “Headbanger’s Ball,” where all the actual metal videos were relegated, was overrun with crap like Trixter and Warrant. Perhaps that was because in its early days, The Ball was hosted by Mr. Poodle Haircut himself, Adam Curry.

This kind of music burns its candle of suckitude on both ends. The vapid lyrical content, over-reverbed drums, self-indulgent weedly-weedly guitar solos and scalded-cat vocals are bad enough. It’s the image that these bands project is what makes them doubly loathsome. What is cool about making yourself look as womanly as possible by troweling makeup on and teasing your hair? MTV should have run a contest for girls back in the day: “Win a dream date with Poison, where you can trade makeup and hair secrets!” The stage antics of these bands were just as ridiculous as the way they looked: Singers twirling microphones, guitarists throwing their “axes” over their shoulders, drummers flipping their sticks, etc. It’s all contrived and corny and probably learned at Musicians Institute.

Thankfully, by the early 1990s other bands had come along to relegate hair metal to the cutout bin of musical history. On with the list:

5. “Girl School,” Britny Fox – I don’t recall this one getting a lot of daytime play on MTV. But did it ever rule “Headbanger’s Ball.” You had to sit through two or three videos such as this to get to one from Anthrax or Suicidal Tendencies. It doesn’t take a genius to be able to infer the content of the video from the song’s title.

4. “More Than Words,” Extreme – This song should have been called “Baby I Wanna Fuck You.” It’s not your typical chorusy, reverby, overwrought hair-metal power ballad, but with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, the lyrics fulfill two of the three main hair-metal cliches: partying, fucking and loving you forever. You can guess which two this song has.

3. The entire “Hysteria” album, Def Leppard – There was a time when Def Leppard didn’t suck. In the early 1980s, they actually were considered among the top acts of the so-called New Wave of British Metal. And as an 8-year-old with two teenaged siblings, I thought the “Pyromania” album (”Onda-gleeben-glouten-globen!”) was the cat’s ass. I listened to that record so much that I even memorized the vinyl noises in between songs on my brother’s copy. But something happened in between “Pyromania” and “Hysteria” that turned this band into garbage. Maybe it was the drummer losing his arm, maybe it was my evolving musical tastes. But during seventh grade, this album spawned a never-ending stream crappy videos, epitomized by:

2. “Unskinny Bop,” Poison – This song contains possibly the worst lyric in the history of recorded music: “Like gasoline you wanna pump me.” Seriously… what the fuck?

1. “I’ll Never Let You Go (Angel Eyes),” Steelheart – Coming at the tail end of hair-metal’s “relevance,” this song very well could have been the one to lower the hair-metal casket into its grave. It neatly encapsulates most of hair-metal cliches: The parentheticized song title; the over-chorused arpeggiated acoustic guitar intro; the over-reverbed drums, of which there are a ridiculous amount; and, of course, the eardrum-perforating, upper-register screeching of the lead singer. Please remove all pets and small children from the room before the end of the video.

In the late 1980s, hair metal, along with R&B counterpart new jack swing, was soulless, corporate music at its acme that even a moderately intelligent 13-year-old could see through. And after seeing these videos again 15 years later, it is music that, even with the benefit of nostalgia, has not gotten any better with age.

More than 36 hours after the show, my ears are still ringing and my throat still hurts. Those are signs of a kick-ass rock-and-roll show. (UPDATE 1:55 p.m. 10-20-07: The show is now up at Internet Archive. Tip of the Ween hat to Eric.)

We knew we were in for good times when, upon arriving at the venue there was a parking space open across the street from the door:

I believe our gracious driver called that Rockstar Parking. Because there was some time to kill before they opened the doors to the club, we all took advantage of the tanning salon next door. We entered roughly the color of the Canopy sign and emerged at a hue akin to the Classic sign.

Once inside, it was time to hit the bar, which was conveniently located just inside the doors. U-Huff and I got each got a pint of Dead Guy and walked into the auditorium:

This was my first time at the Canopy, and I came away impressed. Its former life was a movie theater, but the only seats that remained were in the back, balcony-style. There was a bar on each side of the auditorium, which was nice because we were in for a lot of standing around, waiting for the band to come on. It was akin to a rain delay during a baseball game; nothing to do but shoot the shit and drink beer.

Every so often, a small group in the crowd would try to start an exhortation but would give up after about 30 seconds when no one else would join in. The more we waited, the more fevered the anticipation: People were cheering the roadies who came out to tune the guitars. Our party entertained ourselves with beer and by messing around with our cameras and cell phones.

Finally, after what I’d guess was about 90 minutes (actually I have no idea how long it was) the boys took the stage, to the enraptured delight of those assembled:

Once the show started, I was too consumed with rocking out to take many more pictures, most of which were of the band onstage bathed in various colors of light. I did, however, get a couple shots of one particularly exuberant pair, which comprised the lead singer of Pantera and who I thought was his girlfriend:

But as we were laughing about it the next day, U-Huff insisted that they were two dudes. And upon inspecting further photographic evidence, it turns out that the person with Johnny Pantera indeed is a long-haired dude with wispy yet hirsute arms.

The show itself was, of course, great, it being Ween and everything. In between songs, I’d remarked to U-Huff that I’d always thought that people who brought a pen and paper to a show to take down the setlist were big nerds. Yet here I was, click-clacking the setlist into my iPhone, which is like 10 times more nerdy than doing it analog. So for all you Ween nerds out there, here ya go:

1. Exactly Where I’m At
2. She Wanted to Leave
3. Light Me Up
4. Piss Up a Rope
5. Learnin’ to Love
6. Take Me Away
7. Touch My Tooter
8. Piano interlude
9. Even If You Don’t
10. Just An Object to Me
11. Woman and Man
12. Zoloft
13. Buckingham Green
14. Bananas and Blow
15. Booze Me Up and Get Me High
16. Own Bare Hands
17. Frank
18. The Mollusk
19. Spinal Meningitis Got Me Down
20. Happy Colored Marbles
21. Spirit Walker
22. Don’t Get 2 Close 2 My Fantasy
23. I’ll Be Your Jonny on the Spot
24. You Fucked Up
25. I Can’t Put My Finger On It

The main set concluded with “Finger,” and at this point I really had to take a leak. So I let the other audience members do the encore exhortations and hot-footed it to the bathroom, where for once the ladies could come and go (if you will) as they pleased and the dudes had to stand in line. I had to go so badly that when it was my turn, three guys started and finished at the urinal next to me before I was done. Some people talk about intense exercise giving them a rush of endorphins; for me it’s draining a dangerously full bladder.

The encore started as I was heading back toward our place on the floor:

1. Fiesta
2. Waving My Dick in the Wind
3. Reggaejunkiejew
4. Poopship Destroyer

The LP version of “Poopship” runs about 2 minutes; Wednesday’s version was extremely loud and extremely slow, running about 10 minutes. The last few minutes consisted of Dean (the guitar player) and Dave (the bass player) torturing their instruments and amps to wring every bit of noise out of them.

It’s a good thing we were able to park so close, because by the time the show let out, it was pouring rain. On the way out of town, I managed to snag a picture of the best street sign ever.

In a few hours, the mean streets of Urbana will be exactly where I’m at.
Ween takes the stage at the Canopy Club tonight, and U-Huff and I, along with Captain Jack from Silly Joel and the Paperboys centerfielder, will be there.

They’re touring in support of their new record (which comes out Oct. 23 but can be preordered here), so it’ll be fun to hear all sorts of new tunes.

I hope to have a full report up sometime Thursday. Until then, enjoy the clean version of their rejected Pizza Hut jingle:

Continuing the A Tribe Called Quest meme, this is from 1993’s “Midnight Marauders.” Track 8, if you will.

I remember being totally trashed at some random bar in Champaign a few months after this came out when the DJ put this song on. I was so happy that they played something actually good (and this song is great) that, completely out of character, I danced with some woman I didn’t even know. That’s how much I like this song.

I had to DVR this year’s “Hip-Hop Honors” because of work obligations. But I wasn’t going to miss A Tribe Called Quest, one of this year’s honorees.

Others honored included:

• Missy Elliott: The woman introducing Missy, Kerry Washington (?), started off by saying “You can call Missy lots of things…” Just don’t call her late for dinner. Get it? ‘Cause she’s fat? Aw, never mind.
• “Wild Style”: Released in 1982, this movie showcased hip-hop in its most absolutely pure form. Fans of the Beastie Boys might recognize some of the dialogue (”I heard she’s been giving it to all those graffitti dudes…”).
• New Jack Swing: I loathed New Jack Swing in its heyday, and the music really hasn’t gotten any more tolerable with age. It’s still crappy singing over crappy keyboards over crappy beats. It was nice seeing the late 1980s-era dancing, though.
• Whodini: “The Freaks Come Out at Night.” Need I say more?
• Snoop Dogg: Snoop was the shit back when he first appeared on the “Deep Cover” soundtrack and then on “The Chronic.” But he hasn’t made music worth listening to since he dropped “Doggystyle” back in 1993. And I’m not sure why Harvey Keitel was tabbed to introduce him during the show.

I had to sit through all of that to get to A Tribe Called Quest. You know, the whole “save the best for last” thing. Those of you who read Occasional Potato (my old blog, whose name was taken from a Tribe lyric) know how much I like ATCQ, so I’ll spare you here. Suffice it to say that “The Low End Theory” is the finest hip-hop record of all time.

During the show, Pharrell Williams and Lupe Fiasco performed “Electric Relaxation.” Lupe took the Phife verse and butchered a couple of the lines. Nice going, dumbass. Then Tribe (including Jarobi!) took the stage as the show’s final act and medleyed “Check The Rhime” and “Award Tour.” Check it below:

I’m not sure which is more appalling: The fact that there is a two-CD compilation called “Buzz Ballads” or the music contained therein.

I was watching a DVRed episode of “The Sarah Silverman Program” (which is brilliant, by the way) this morning and before I could grab the remote to fast-forward through the commericals, an ad came up for this “Buzz Ballads,” which apparently comprises “32 of the most rockin’ alternative power ballads,” according to the spot.

I remember a time when “alternative power ballad” would have been a contradiction in terms, so that’s strike one. Quote-unquote alternative rock came to the forefront partially because of the worn-out, cliched power ballad.

Strike two is the use of the word “buzz” in reference to this kind of music. It’s as useless a term as “alt-rock” or “modern rock.”

Strike three is the actual musical selections. There’s not a single halfway decent song among the 32. It’s all that garbage that KPNT (”105.7… The Point!”) overplayed to death in the mid-1990s. Selections include:

• “Lightning Crashes,” Live
• “Glycerine,” Bush
• “Runaway Train,” Soul Asylum
• “Jumper,” Third Eye Blind
• “Sex and Candy,” Marcy Playground
• etc.

Wait… this does have one good song: “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Except it’s the Tori Freaking Amos version. *retching sounds*

Among other bands included are Better Than Ezra, Candlebox and Eve 6. Don’t they want people to buy this CD?

Everyone has their favorite entertainment medium. Some people like television; others enjoy the movie pictures.

I like music.

I also enjoy sharing my impeccable music bonafides with others, which is where we’re at now. I have an iTunes playlist titled “Five-Star Classics,” songs for one reason or another I have a deep attachment to. And of course, they’re all from about 1996 and earlier.

And what better song to kick off what I hope will be a semi-regular feature than one named for last night’s lunar event:

Most of my music listening gets done with the iPod on shuffle. Driving to work yesterday, I was pleasantly surprised when this shuffled up:

Ahh… this brings up good memories of the Spring 1995 semester in Boomer II. If I could only remember…