The Great American Mix Up: Vol. 1

When I started mix swapping with Liz over at Dance To The Radio, I was reminded of how much I love creating mix CDs for people. There's an art to it that everyone from Rob Fleming to Rob Sheffield will attest to, and I think finding that proper balance in sequencing is as satisfying as surprising your best friend with what you've made. I was also reminded of the people in my life that have made me outstanding mixes, the mixes that make me expect Saves The Day after a well placed My Chemical Romance cut. It reminded me of the mixes that marked road trips, and the ones that are tied to the most personal moments of my life. In short, I'm reminded of the connection we share through music, that special bond all of us feel when our friends assemble the perfect set of songs with us in mind.

So in order to explore that feeling of artistry as well as intimacy, I've begun a new project that will be documented on This Song Starts A Craze... called the Great American Mix Up. I recently mailed/surprised one of my good friends with a mix I assembled especially for her. In turn, she'll follow suit by sending one of her close friends a mix CD. I'm hoping that this trend of surprising people in the mail with mix CDs will catch on, spreading across every state in the country. As people receive these mixes, I'll be posting who they are, what kind of music has been assembled for them, and how they feel about it.

Ultimately, I'd love for this project to really be about the ones we care about. I personally believe making a mix CD is one of the most personal things you can do for someone. Hopefully, seeing that kind of thoughtfulness spread across the country is something other people would want to be a part of as well.

So without further adieu, I'd like to introduce the first person to be a part of the Great American Mix Up.

NAME: Brandon

CITY/STATE: Rohnert Park, CA

TRACK LIST:

Time To Relax- The Offspring

Run's House- Run-DMC

The Days Go By Oh So Slow- Nightmare of You

Roxanne (The Police Cover)- Fall Out Boy

Tiger Mountain Peasant Song- Fleet Foxes

Be Calm- fun.

Time To Break Up- blink-182

Chillin' (Feat. Lady GaGa)- Wale

The Calendar Hung Itself...- Bright Eyes

Between the Bars (Elliott Smith Cover)- Madeleine Peyroux

Death By Blonde- DeVotchKa

The Start Of Something- Voxtrot

Sunshine All Night- Gold Motel

Written In Reverse- Spoon

Idioteque (Radiohead Cover)- Amanda Palmer

I Put A Spell On You (Screamin' Jay Hawkins Cover)- She & Him

Cut Your Hair- Pavement

Words I Might Have Ate- Green Day

City Girl- Tegan & Sara

Thrash Unreal- Against Me!

Glory Box- Portishead

Signs (Acoustic)- Bloc Party

BRANDON'S IMPRESSIONS/THOUGHTS: A perfect mix with the perfect balance of songs from mutual bands we love (Bloc Party, Bright Eyes), bands I've never heard anything from (She & Him, Against Me!), bands I adore even though I may never have told you (Fleet Foxes, Tegan & Sara) and just plain old awesome music. Every song now instantly reminds me of my friend. Mixes make my heart smile.

CONTACT: http://caitlinbrandon.com

Arcade Fire- The Suburbs (***½)

To their credit, Arcade Fire thinks about every possible angle when it comes to their music. Perhaps other artists do too, but they make that creative anguish invisible to the common listener. Arcade Fire, on the other hand, make it strikingly apparent as they present fully formed works as a testament to their process. And the fans love them for it. Maybe it stems from the way they make 70s style concept albums cool and digestible, or maybe it’s their rag-tag instrumental make up.

Maybe it says something about their perceived authenticity.

Whatever the reason, you’d be hard-pressed to hear a piece of music from Arcade Fire that wasn’t carefully composed, arranged, and conceptualized.

Their latest album, The Suburbs, is another entry in the line of three heavily throughout lamentations on the battle for the American spirit. With 16 tracks to work with, The Suburbs attempts to display the painful process of watching innocence decay, setting it all to a mix of richly layered soundscapes that try to envelop the listener.

Suffice to say, there are a lot of pieces to The Suburbs, but what’s immediately striking about the overall whole is how subdued the tracks are. There is no epic slash-and-burn or call-to-arms in the vein of Funeral’s “Wake Up” or Neon Bible’s “Intervention.” Instead, the closest The Suburbs comes to that is in the rock n’ roll fuzz and galloping ramble of “Month Of May,” which doesn’t arrive until the album’s latter half.

By and large, The Suburbs is a slow burning record throughout, compartmentalizing its music in a mid-tempo fog.

This doesn’t mean the music is boring; the album’s title track opens things up with a jumpy piano line and shuffling back beat, while the late album cut “Deep Blue” makes careful use of lazy acoustic guitar, stompy distortion, and ghostly backing vocals. However, this is how ALL the arrangements unfold, with very few songs coming across as lean or urgent. Songs tend to run together, especially in the album’s middle, and while each track blooms into the next with calculated precision, the album’s slower moving moods will test even the most observant listener.

While the The Suburbs is built on arrangements that lay layers upon layers of rich instrumentation, there’s not a great deal of separation between these instruments. Instead, the music on The Suburbs seems to be buried in a gauzy miasma, where the individual sounds climb upwards and bleed into each other. While the effect works for the strident strings and twisting theatrics of “Empty Room,” other cuts, like the ascending “City With No Children,” and the meandering “Half Light II (No Celebration)”get lost in the thematic shuffle. Yet ultimately, it’s clear that the hazy cloud wrapping around these melodies is supposed to evoke some sense of a dreamscape where our characters dwell, a symptom of the album’s concept rather than poor production.

Interestingly enough, it’s here that The Suburbs shines brightest, for it’s general concept often comes across as more engaging than the music.

Win Butler aims to tell a story about wide-eyed youths living their lives in the perfection of their dreams. On cuts like “Modern Man,” Butler’s high strung wail laments, “So I wait my turn/I'm a modern man/And the people behind me/They can't understand…” showing us the romance that comes from such a secret and special places. Unfortunately, these dreamers must come back to reality, and it’s the realization that they must eventually become similar to those that structured the world before them that makes The Suburbs such an interesting concept album.

While Butler romanticizes the suburbs as a place these dreamers have created to reject the intolerance and dangers of the world at large, he’s a ruthless author as he displays their maturation as the cause of innocence lost, and the ultimate undoing of their dream world. The realization is a sobering one on “Sprawl (Flatland)” where Butler sings, “Said, well where do you kids live?/Well sire, if you only knew/What that answer’s worth/Been searching every corner/Of the earth…” Coupled with the disc’s transition into a more electronic infused sound as opposed to the first half’s folksier tendencies, and it’s clear that the Arcade Fire’s planning all went into conceptualizing these grand sweeping statements.

Too bad it takes listeners a lifetime to get there.

The main problem with The Suburbs is that it’s overworked. For every solid number like the throbbing synth soaked “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” there’s equally floundering ones in the repetitive “Rococo.” The group could have easily cut a few songs and kept the strongest melodies, allowing listeners to become invested in The Suburbs much more immediately. As it stands, the group has come up with a bloated record, a batch of songs that never really climaxes, even though there’s plenty going on.

And perhaps that’s the point, for real life never climaxes they way we’d expect it to either. Perhaps, in their infinite wisdom, the Arcade Fire has created the perfect concept album to parallel the shadow of adulthood. Throughout all their existential ennui, maybe they’ve found a way to display the feeling one has when life stops being in front of them, and starts residing behind them.

Maybe on paper, they’ve planned the perfect album, while in reality, they’ve simply recorded a good one.

Key Cuts: The Suburbs, Deep Blue, Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)

Sounds Like: Revolver (The Beatles), In The Aeroplane Over The Sea (Neutral Milk Hotel), Rattle & Hum (U2)

Click on the artwork to sample The Suburbs for yourself!

Amanda Palmer- Amanda Palmer Performs The Popular Hits Of Radiohead On Her Magical Ukulele (****)

When a musical artist sets out to perform cover songs, it’s almost always seen as an insult.

Fans complain that it’s a sign of absent inspiration, that “real” musicians should be in command of their creative faculties at all times. To heck with the music we know, we want something new! Something exciting! Additionally, fans that appreciated the band being covered feel a sense of resentment towards this newfound interpretation. It’s as if someone took a painting that was perfectly fine, and needlessly added a group of dogs playing poker in the corner.

We all like dogs playing poker, but maybe not on the Mona Lisa.

Yet the ever-daring Amanda Palmer accepts the gauntlet thrown before her with a new and aptly titled E.P., Amanda Palmer Performs The Popular Hits Of Radiohead On Her Magical Ukulele. Drawing inspiration from the 40s and 50s, a time where half a long player record would consist of cover songs anyway, Palmer humbly approaches some of Radiohead’s most daring work with the precious pluck and charm of her ukulele. The results eschew some of Palmer’s more brazen theatricality, but ultimately pay careful homage to a band that’s clearly near and dear to her heart.

Popular Hits… begins with a quaint and miniature strum to introduce “Fake Plastic Trees,” a striking contrast against Palmer’s velvety voice. Yet what’s immediately apparent about Palmer’s version is how sparse the arrangement is compared to the 1995 original off The Bends. While other songs in the collection make use of playful musical embellishments, “Fake Plastic Trees” sets a strong tone of “less-is-more,” a daring choice that keeps her covers from coming off as pretentious and indulgent. For a sloppier musician, this sort of bare instrumentation could hinder one’s ability to enjoy these versions on their own terms. Thankfully, Palmer's full voice is as charismatic as she is. She understands how to carefully craft musical tension by coaxing the sweetness out of their morose and self-depricating trappings.

This quality makes Popular Hits… into a far more engaging listen than it might have been had Palmer given these songs the full electric treatment.

Throughout the E.P., Palmer allows this sense of minimalism to bring out the frailty in Radiohead’s songs, even when the originals would have descended into layered soundscapes. Soft piano splashes add resonance to “High & Dry,” while her swelling keys and music box flourishes add weightlessness to “No Surprises.” What’s refreshing is that for as big a personality as Palmer has behind the microphone, she keeps it in check on Popular Hits... Instead, she operates with an almost effortless amount of restraint, which is important considering it’s what the songs call for.

By and large, the Popular Hits’… standout has to be her twitchy take on “Idioteque.” Armed with a jumpy ukulele rhythm, scattered percussion, and sugary harmonies, Palmer keeps her acoustic version as tense as its electronic laced counterpart, which is no easy feat. Where Thom Yorke & Co. had a full laptop of skittering beats to work with, Palmer captures the same kind of restlessness with about half as many layers, further displaying her skills as a composer.

Yet given how well these Radiohead songs translated under Palmer’s control, there are some places where the punk cabaret pioneer could have avoided a misstep or two.

One version of “Creep” would have sufficed, the stronger of the two being the version recorded at a sound check in Berlin. This is partially because we’ve all heard her cover “Creep” in various states of intoxication, and this version’s lack of crowd noise adds to the song’s overall feeling of isolation. It would have also been nice to hear her try her hand at some of Radiohead’s more electronic flavored songs, especially given that her attention to detail really made “Idioteque” stand out.

Yet by and large, Amanda Palmer’s ukulele-infused valentine comes off as a success, simply because she doesn’t try to be Mr. Yorke or Mr. Greenwood. She sings these songs with care and conviction, the same qualities she’d use if the songs were her own. This type of whimsical reverence not only makes Popular Hits… a pleasure to listen to, but also adds an enchanting quality to these well-known tracks. While it’s entirely possible that some won’t care for Palmer’s take on Radiohead, it would be impossible to argue that it’s because of her craft. Listeners trying to find fault with Popular Hits… are probably just bitter that they didn’t think of it first.

Or that Amanda Palmer didn’t cover their band instead.

Key Cuts: Fake Plastic Trees, No Surprises, Idioteque

Sounds Like: The Broken String (Bishop Allen), Ukulele Recordings E.P. (Hellogoodbye), Radiohead…kinda.

Click on the artwork to sample Amanda Palmer Performs The Popular Hits Of Radiohead On Her Magical Ukulele for yourself!

All Kinds Of Tunes

Because real life doesn't always allow me the chance to give albums the proper 1,000 word treatment they deserve.

KoЯn- KoЯn III: Remember Who You Are (**)
People in their 20s remember a time where KoЯn made urgent and emotive music. It was more than a full decade ago to be exact. Since then, the Bakersfield quartet has really let themselves slide in the 00s, resulting in a band that’s merely a shadow of its former self. This is why KoЯn III: Remember Who You Are is such a calculated return to their sound circa 1996. Producer Ross Robinson is back, Fieldy’s scratchy bass work runs rampant, and Johnathan Davis still employs his tried and true vocal technique of whine-to-spastic freak out. Unfortunately, rather than coming across as rejuvenated, the group seems tired. Though Robinson gives the group great sonic spacing, and some added crunch to Munky’s guitar work, KoЯn III flounders because Davis comes across like a cranky 10 year old (“Why don’t you just leave me alone?/My heart feels free from the past…”) and the music has lost it’s vivaciousness. Where instruments used to smash into each other and squeal tortuously, the group has settled for simply constructing forgettable stabs of power chord gruel. While the album’s stripped down approach is a welcome change, fans can’t help but remember a time when KoЯn inspired a sense of dread, rather than a sense of apathy.

Key Cuts: Pop A Pill, Fear Is A Place To Live, The Past


M.I.A.- /\/\ /\ Y /\ (**½)
Maya Arulpragasam is fast approaching that realm in art where concept trumps execution. Blame it on the truffle oil French fries, or her new found lack of sonic direction, but /\/\ /\ Y /\ fits that bill to the tee. Bent on crafting a “digital ruckus,” /\/\ /\ Y /\ leaps between seizure inducing beats and chainsaw-inspired white noise, dousing the flames in liberal amounts of auto-tune filtered gasoline. On paper, it sounds exciting dangerous. Yet her overwhelming need to soap box about the evils of technological over stimulation fails to inspire any sort of digital mosh pit, undermining her mechanized manifesto. “Steppin’ Up” is an ugly amalgam static shuffles and computerized drawl, while “XXXO” finds Maya embodying a lifeless, surface level dance pop number, rather than satirizing one. While her pervious album, Kala, came across as eclectic, /\/\ /\ Y /\ reeks of disunity, mostly because she rages against the information age in one moment (the stabbing keyboard drivel of “Teqkilla”) and embodies it the next (the reverby haze fest of “It Iz What It Iz”). Still, Maya finds a solid groove within the album’s last quarter, riding on the spunky Suicide sample of “Born Free” and the minimalist electro-throb heartbeat of “Space.” While it’s not exactly ideal waiting for that last part of /\/\ /\ Y /\, it reminds listeners that when M.I.A. wants to make gripping music, she can. She just needs to get over herself and her Googlephobia.

Key Cuts: Born Free, Tell Me Why, Space


The Roots- How I Got Over (****)
It was confusing seeing The Roots as Jimmy Fallon’s house band, especially considering Fallon is horrendous at late night and The Roots create socially conscious music. Yet all that extra jamming must have really helped the Philadelphia hip-hop institution rekindle the love for their inner cool. While their last two records were immediate and heavy slices of protest, How I Got Over mines the laid back jazz atmospheres of their early records while looking towards an uplifting and hopeful future. The album is a seamless mix of fluid bass work, twinkling piano, and indie samples (Joanna Newsom, and Monsters Of Folk included), affirming that The Roots are the kings of low-end chic. They definitely wear the crown well. “Dear God 2.0” sports airy beats and hypnotic bass as Black Thought contemplates the afterlife, “ All I’m trying to do is live life to the fullest/They sent my daddy to you in a barrage of bullets/Why is the world ugly when you made it in your image?/And why is livin’ life such a fight to the finish?” Elsewhere, John Legend lends his jumpy piano to the expansive late album cut “The Fire,” while the smoky barroom ivories of “Walk Alone” show that poignancy can come from subtly. Yes, ?uestlove still commands the drum kit with a deft prowess and a restrained presence, but what really makes How I Got Over stand out is The Roots’ ability to tap into incredibly human struggles. Their music is inclusive in message and compassionate in scope. Ultimately, it helps their album comes across as a lesson in soulful, social poetry, rather than just another record by Jimmy Fallon's house band.

Key Cuts: Walk Alone, Dear God 2.0, The Fire

Guest Post @ "A Rush Of Blog To The Head"

A few weeks ago, my very good friend Matt over at A Rush Of Blog To The Head asked if I'd be interested in contributing to a long standing segment on his blog. I don't guest blog often, save for the occasional blog swap, but I was immediately flattered that Matt thought enough of my writing to feature it. Simply put, it didn't take me long to say Yes, especially considering it's been one of my favorite segments to read for a good long while now.

Oh, and did I mention it's musically slanted?

Since January, Matt has been recounting down his top 50 albums one Sunday at a time, as part of his weekly (50) Sundays Of Music series. Part of the fun stems from Matt's eclectic taste, but the real draw comes from him sharing his attachments to these albums. Ultimately, Matt's segment gives his readers a deeper understanding into the albums that speak to him, while making us evaluate our own feelings and musical attachments in the process. It's brilliance is in it's simplicity.

I've posted my submission below, simply because I feel it's one of my more contemplative pieces, but I strongly urge you to check out Matt's blog, as well as the rest of his (50) Sundays Of Music segment. Remember, there's only 23 left!

(50) Sundays Of Music #24: Howl by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

When Matt so graciously asked me to contribute this piece for his "(50) Sundays Of Music" series, I was immediately thrilled. I'd been following Matt's blog for a while, and I love the reflective nature and intimacy he brings to music discussions, something I've always attempted with my own writing. And after thinking about what a privilege it is to write something like this, I decided to comment about a record that has, only recently, made an impact on my life, rather than simply being one of my favorites.

Back in 2005, the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (BRMC) released an incredibly polarizing record that split their fan base down the middle. It was called Howl, an homage to the poem by Allen Ginsberg as well as a thematic summation of what was inside its jewel case. I suppose if you'd been a fan of the group's blues-by-way-of-shoegaze cool, the record would have been incredibly off putting due to its acoustic character. There are no flashy guitar solos and no messy bridges on Howl. The record doesn't contain BRMC's signature drone, and it doesn't require amps that go to 11. Instead, it shuffles along, finding its pace in shimmering reflections and slow burning theatrics.

Yet the album is far from a collection of stripped down, "Unplugged" style b-sides.

The songs on Howl have an incredible weight to them, and that's the first thing I noticed when I spun the album. Like I said earlier, it's not so much a collection of stripped down songs, but an exploration of older, more organic ways to create music. These tracks are held together by the jangle of acoustic blues and folk, but they're fleshed out with weeping electric guitar, lumbering piano, and solemn strings. It's almost as if tinkering with these old (By 2010 standards) sounds puts an emphasis on how universal BRMC's lyrics are, a sense that no matter how far you travel, you'll always arrive somewhere familiar. So suffice to say, BRMC's lush harmonies and high production values make it a work to take seriously, an album that is more than just an acoustic novelty.

When I put it on, that's the quality that shines through the most: Authenticity.

There's an honesty through which these songs were assembled, and an earnestness to the truths they examine. Lyrically, Howl isn't so much a protest record as it is a lamentation on the choices men make. Throughout the album's 13 tracks, both Robert Been and Peter Hayes look at human morality as determined by pain and struggle. They don't necessarily come to a finite conclusion, but their journey has captivating highs and lows. Whether it's in exploring the anguish of change on "Promise" ("All lines are broken/And we need you to hold on/Your eyes have opened/But you've got to go on/I'll comfort you, I'll stay with you/It's a promise not forgotten") or the world-weary connectedness of "Shuffle Your Feet" ("Tiiiiiiiiime/Won't save our souls") BRMC's refreshingly grand scope makes Howl a deceptively thoughtful record through modest means.

Yet as true as these qualities are for me, as well as other fans of Howl, I suppose it doesn't say an awful lot about why this album is important to me.

To that, I have to simply reply that it's an album that perfectly parallels my present outlook on life. Suddenly, almost overnight, my world got bigger and my fears scarier in this post-college world. I often joke about how I feel middle aged at 22, but I'm beginning to feel a disconnect from young people that are hedonistic, and I yearn to connect with others that are searching like I am. You won't find any songs on Howl about romantic relationships, or nights out with your friends, and while those are all important aspects of life, Howl touches on the soul, spirituality, and the stuff that men are made of. At a time in my life where I'm confused about the future, it's comforting to have a piece of music that so eloquently asks the same questions I'm asking.

There's a vulnerability on Howl that really rings true for me, a quality absent from the vast majority of music today. Maybe it has to do with the way Been's naked voice sounds over plucked strings, or maybe it's because I've developed a voracious appetite for the blues. I suppose it might have to do with the idea of life as one loud cry for something intangible. Maybe everyone is howling for understanding, and confusion runs rampant because we can't hear each other over the noise.

Honestly, I'm not 100% sure.

Whatever it is, I find Howl instantly relatable and endlessly applicable, the sign of any timeless record. Perhaps if you take it for a spin, you'll feel that way too.

Mike & Liz's Monday Mixes: Volume Two

Good morning guys! I've got another installment of "Mike & Liz's Monday Mixes" for you and I think you're all going to enjoy this one. With summer firmly upon us, Liz from Dance To The Radio and I have assembled two jam packed playlists to help you make the most of the summer sun. So sit back, roll the windows down, and make a b-line for the beach. These two mixes will make the drive instantly brighter, exuding that special sense of freedom that only summer songs can.

Holiday From Real- Jack's Mannequin

I Get Around- The Beach Boys

Perfect In My Mind- Gold Motel

Girl- Beck

Island In The Sun- Weezer

The Rock Show- blink-182

Scar Tissue- The Red Hot Chili Peppers

Dusk & Summer- Dashboard Confessional

Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon- Queen

In The Sun- She & Him

Crooked Teeth- Death Cab For Cutie

Here Comes The Sun- The Beatles

Sunny Afternoon- The Kinks

Baseball- Ozma

Cap Cod Kwassa Kwassa- Vampire Weekend

You're So Last Summer- Taking Back Sunday

I Am The Highway- Audioslave

Summer's End- Foo Fighters

Soco Amaretto Lime- Brand New

July, July!- The Decemberists

It's Summertime- The Flaming Lips

The Breeze- Dr. Dog

Oceans- The Format

Banquet- Bloc Party

Mr. Jones- Counting Crows

Alligator Bop- A Great Big Pile Of Leaves

A Praise Chorus- Jimmy Eat World

Mushaboom- Feist

Promise- Eve 6

As Tall As Cliffs- Margot & The Nuclear So & So's

Daylight- Matt & Kim

Chelsea Dagger- The Fratellis

I Gotta Move- Ben Kweller

Lasso- Phoenix

Holiday- Weezer