No Duffy. I'm begging you for mercy.

So I listen to a lot of music. And while I wouldn’t always admit this (though I am on my blog, so go figure that out) I’m a pretty big fan of poppy/trashy/bubblegummy pop. Every now and then I’ll turn on VH1 to see what the latest trash is on the airwaves. I’ve come to enjoy such nuggets as Estelle’s “American Boy” or Charlotte Something’s “How I Could Just Kill a Man.” So light. So airy. So simple and poppy.

Recently though it brought me to Duffy’s smash hit “Mercy.” And I gotta say, sorry Duffy, I’m not buying it. Go beg someone else. I have no sympathy for overused, tattered lyrics that are just oozing with lame.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

The opening verse begins “I love you/But I gotta stay true.” Sounds like you’ve got some difficult feelings to sort through. You love the guy, but you’ve got to be true to yourself. Phew, that sounds pretty tough. (Yawn.)

A little further on she rasps “You got me good, just like you new you would.” I mean, is Ron Isley coming in for a guest appearance? I half expect him to show up and break into “Twist and Shout.” (Heard it before. Ready to change the station.)

But wait, she’s not quite done yet, she follows with “I don’t know what you do/But you do it well/I’m under your spell.” Really, Duffy? Really? I mean, were you listening to “I Put a Spell on You” before jotting down some lyrics? Besides that, it sounds like a pretty dire situation on your hands. You don’t even know what he’s doing to you, and yet he’s influencing your every move. I’ll bet he even commanded you to write this song. Yeah, that’s it. You didn’t even write this song. It’s him. He knows what you need. But he’s not giving it to you, just letting you complain about it to others while not letting go. Wow, so meta. (Yawn. Stretch. Yawn. Turn the dial.)

Not only have I heard these lyrics a million times before, but their overuse has rendered them lifeless, boring and just plain lame. And I wanted so badly to like this song. It's enjoyably simple. Sadly for Duffy, though, simple turned to lame real quick. I do hope, however, that she gets it all figured out with her man. Then maybe her follow up can start with lyrics like “I’m free to do what I want, any old time.” I mean, they worked before, didn’t they?

Charles Mingus. Live.

If time travel were a possibility for me, I would do a lot of crazy things. Along the way, I think I would travel back to see Charles Mingus play live. Sadly, the last Deloreon was sold from Bay Ridge Honda last week, so I’m stuck with this live recording of Mingus at Antibes. Which is just what this is, a live recording. A recording of Mingus and his band cutting up one night at a festival in Antibes (wherever the hell that is).

Live performances can be a mixed bag. Raw emotion and energy can be captured in a way that studio recordings can’t replicate. And there is no lack of that here. Born out of bebop and strong gospel ties, Mingus’ work is never void of character and emotion. But within the emotion lies error. So while the energy of a live performance can be felt, so too can its shortcomings.

Recorded in 1960, following Mingus Ah Um and Ming Dynasty, Mingus at Antibes features a generally piano-less quintet. The group is considerably smaller than his more well-known endeavors; Mingus Ah Um was recorded as an Octet for example.

Though his band is certainly accomplished (Eric Dolphy, Booker Ervin, Ted Curson) the lack of piano leaves a void that is not easily replaced. This is with the exception of “I’ll Remember April” in which Bud Powell joins. But Powell’s comping only reasserts what is missing from the rest of the performance. Recordings of “Better Get Hit In Your Soul” and “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting” seem empty without a fuller baselined harmonic structure.

Additionally, mistaken moments hurt the overall performance. Whereas Miles Davis’ forced splee-ahs feel intended and endeared, the snafus within this recording are hardly charming and more often just sound like, well, mistakes. A missed re-entrance on “Better Get Hit In Your Soul” is a prime example.

This is not to say that the entire performance is lacking. “What Love” is gorgeously heartfelt and listening to Curson and Dolphy trade fours on “I’ll Remember April” is really worth the price of admission. Admission to, well, this live show.

“Just Don’t Care” For Those Lyrics

Alright people, this is getting a little ridiculous. It seems some song lyrics are as cyclical as skinny-legged jeans; leaving us for a brief moment only to enjoy a resurgence a few years later. Why is it that we constantly hear the same tired, uninspired song lyrics cropping up throughout pop music? Every time I hear it, I silently hope that it will be the last time, alas, it never is. Maybe it’s an lyrical rite of passage to write a song marrying “maybe” with “baby” or “girl” with “world,” but then, maybe these songs should never receive airplay to begin with.

But the most egregiously overused rhyme in music today (and yesterday, too) is the pairing of “air” with “care.” Or more directly, this sentence: “Throw your hands in the air and wave them around like you just don’t care.” The original lyricist should be receiving royalties for the number of times it’s reprised in pop music. Artists ranging from OutKast, Dr. Dre and Ed Lover to Sting have made use of the lyric somewhere along their careers. And hey, I get it, you want people to get into the music. You want them to show their interest and get them excited. But there has GOT to be another way to do it. What about asking crowds to piggy-back on each other? Or wave just one arm? There are a ton of words that you could rhyme with “arm.” (“Everybody throw up an arm! For lunch I ate a chicken parm!” See how easy that was?)

The latest iteration of the well-worn Air/Care rhyme comes in the form of Michael Stipe’s tenor whinny on REM’s single “Man-Sized Wreath.” While not taken verbatim, Stipe offers “Throw it in the air, kick it around the dance floor like you just don’t care.” While I understand writing lyrics can be difficult I would expect more from an accomplished lyricist like Stipe. These lyrics are tired, worn and in need of a rest. There are too many other words out there to be used for artists to constantly be leaning on these old hands (see my arm suggestion earlier).

I therefore resolve that lyrics such as these be retired and enshrined in Cleveland’s Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame. Think of it, each rhyme could have a gold plaque lined with the artists that have sung their praises through the years. Maybe this would finally force some artists to offer us something new.

The New Brooklyn Interpol

Last night, I attended a majestic show at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) called “American Tunes” that featured the songbook of Paul Simon. While Simon played plenty of his hits through the years, he also invited several current musicians to join him on stage to reinvent some of his greatest songs. Performers included Amos Lee, Gillian Welch, Josh Groban, Olu Dara and a little known, Brooklyn-based, band called Grizzly Bear.

Ten minutes alone on stage was enough to establish their unique sound by reinventing two Simon classics, “Graceland” and “Mother and Child Reunion.” I was immediately struck by Grizzly Bear’s controlled sound. Every note was consciously meant and meticulously emphasized. I could hear their intent beyond the notes. “Graceland” was reinterpreted to incorporate a several minor chord changes and new syncopations while “Mother and Child Reunion” was slowed down considerably and layered with a stark guitar wailing over a sprawling, undulating bass.

So for all you Interpol lovers, the next big thing has arrived. Grizzly Bear’s quiet, haunting sound creates a deep trance similar to Interpol’s breakout “Turn on the Bright Lights.” Tracks like “Deep Sea Diver” and “Knife” are fine examples of their slow, chilling effected sound. If only we could get the Paul Simon songs recorded too.

Today is going to be a good day

I feel good this morning. As I was driving to work I turned on the newest rock station in NYC, 101.9 WRXP - The Rock Experience. I have listened to this station for the past month. They do a good job of mixing Classic Rock with Modern Rock and some Contemporary stuff in between.

This morning at approximately 8:44 EST, they played none other than my favorite band on the planet: dada. I was besides myself. I thought to myself: "Self, how could this get any better? Maybe if they played some David Bowie, my favorite artist, right after this." AND THEY DID! Immediately following dada's "Dizz Knee Land" they played "Let's Dance"!

I think RXP was trying to tell me something. Message received my friends, message received.

The Arrival... Not Charlie Sheen's

With her third album, Kathleen Edwards has begun to find her own voice. No longer the love-child of Lucinda Williams and Neil Young, Edwards emerges with a sound and voice all her own.

Previous efforts, Failer and Back to Me, often offered whimsy as she took on topics like dating and mating in modern times. The Edwards of old offered lyrics like “But I don’t think your wife would like my friends” (from “Westby” on Failer). Lyrics like this spoke comically about Edwards playing hard to get. These sentiments, however, no longer are part of her canon with her latest release. The title track, “Asking for Flowers,” pleads sorrowfully, “Asking for flowers / Is like asking for you to be nice / Don’t tell me you’re too tired / Ten years I’ve been working nights.” Apparently, the earlier play was for naught; she wound up in the relationship she had playfully avoided. These sentiments are furthered in “The Cheapest Key” in which Edwards complains “B is for bullsh*t and you fed me some.”

Continuing her maturation, Edwards takes on larger issues that the standard heartache.
Songs like “Oh Canada” and “Oil Man’s War” show Edwards beginning to play in a political realm of sadness and turmoil.

Musically, Edwards’ evolution is on full display. Tracks like “Buffalo” and “Asking for Flowers” boast a timbre richness that she had yet to capture on tape. There is a newfound cohesiveness that trumps the previous adjunct instruments. Asking for Flowers succeeds in delivering a rich, textured sonic feel.

Other standout tracks include “Goodnight, California” and “I Get the Money, You Get the Glory,” a country-honk tune that, in one of the more creative lyrical offerings, boasts allusions to Gretzky and Marty McSorley, two of hockey’s greatest. The pedal-steel guitar is a welcome addition as well.

Edwards’ arrival is on full display. At times capricious but overly moody, she has given us a album of that is fully her own both lyrically and sonically.

Duped!

So I apologize that all of my posts to Guac & Roll thus far have been about music. I had wanted to write more about burritos, however, there has been a dearth of burritos in my life recently. There was, however, hope upon the horizon.

I recently received a phone call from my sister to say that the very town that I grew up in had just opened up a Moe’s burritos. I was ecstatic! The gods had shone down upon our tiny Northeastern town. For those of you unaware of the glory of Moe’s, let me educate. When I lived in Atlanta, there were 3 major chain burrito joints: Chipotle, Willy’s and Moe’s (R.I.P. Tortillas…). Of the three, only Chipotle has extended into the Northeast. I still miss Moe and Willy dearly, so you can imagine my excitement upon learning that Moe would be back in my life again. Oh how I had missed him…

I could almost hear that familiar greeting (“Welcome to Moe’s!”) in my head as I revved my engine and made my way to the new locale. What I found, however, was a sick, cruel joke of a restaurant called “Moe’s.” But this was no Moe as I had known him. This Moe made bagels and pizza, “fresh” on the premises. How could he? What kind of sadistic pervert would use Moe’s name to fashion his own personal gains in bagelry?

I think that a little piece of me died that day. I stumbled back to my car and drove up the road to Wendy’s whereupon I ordered the #6 combo, with a coke and no tomato.

I still miss Moe and wish him well. Maybe one day I’ll see him again. One day. One day soon….



I give you now the perfect Moe’s burrito order:

The Triple Lindy with Beef. Black Beans. Rice. Beef. Salsa. Cheese. Sour Cream. Guacamole. Black Olives. Rolled in a fresh tortilla and served with a side of corn chips. Might I also recommend the Billy Barou nachos or the Closetalker salad. Either is a fine alternative to the TL.