“In the suburbs, I

I learned to drive

And you told me I’d never survive

Grab your mother’s keys, we’re leaving”

Okay, so I’m a couple days late on this one — but I had to say something. By now “The Suburbs” is already #1 on Hypem, and rightfully so. I’ve been clocking in so much time trying to figure out my US work visa situation that my creative edge left me for a couple. I opened up the song up on One Thirty BPM and had to pause it fifteen seconds in… I knew this one was going to require a good pair of headphones. So here I am, up on the deck, repeat-listening to the new track, in the sun. I’ll be honest, I never got into the whole Arcade craze of the 2000s: I pretty stubbornly held onto the rock of past generations throughout my adolescence.

I have to say though, this track is phenomenal. It walks, but it doesn’t stroll. There’s such great direction here, and nothing too fancy schmancy. The Beatles sensibility in the bass line, the gravity of the piano in the chorus. It would have been a sin to listen to this through my computer speakers the first go round. It’s been years since Funeral, but the Arcade Fire really do still determine the ideal standard for indie music. It’s not about new instruments and new sounds, it’s about great production value and longevity. People look back on Pet Sounds and Sgt. Pepper’s as decade-defining albums — the Arcade Fire have and continue to produce music that will undoubtedly define the 2000s for future generations. Prepare for the August release. And you thought I wouldn’t go through the post without mentioning their Canadian heritage… woops.

It’s a shame baby but i always knew | Just the way you’re gonna do oh”

Back from a road trip to the Great White North with a cloudy mind (Canadian drinking habits to blame) and a hefty plate of work to complete by the end of the week. Props to U.S. Customs for letting me cross their heavily-guarded border sans passport (again, Canadian drinking)… I’m glad I decided not to hide under the ski equipment in the boot of the truck.

“Psychotic Girl” comes from the den of Cyrus Weinheimer in Montreal. I started listening to The Black Keys several months back — big fan of the lo-fi jams on Thickfreakness. Attack & Release, including the featured track, is five years more refined: crisper recording quality, while maintaining that dusty Southern twang. It’s reassuring to know that something as close to “the roots” as The Black Keys can garner such mainstream attention. I’m reminded of this Memphis juke joint I ventured into while touring in July. In an age of auto-tune and drum machines, this is a musical-purist’s comfort zone. You’re in a grocery store, and to your left is the genetically-modified tomato, to your right is the organic alternative… listening to The Black Keys is akin to leaving the grocery store, hunting down the nearest farm, picking the tomato for yourself and taking an unwashed bite of that plumply red fruit.

and in the parking lot is a sedan he bought | he never, he never complains when it’s hot”

Now that I look at the lyrics, seems to be a coincidence: currently typing away at a paper on Walter Freeman and ice pick lobotomies. But that’s besides the point. I started listening to Pavement about a month ago after hearing about this underrated yet heavily influential 90s alt rock band announcing tour dates for the summer. Pitchfork likes them. I don’t agree with half of the things that Pitchfork has to say, and such was my thought after I bought a couple of the band’s albums: underproduced and underwhelming. Maybe it was a case of Tom Waits Syndrome: hate it or you love it — but most people hate it. I had more or less given up, until I finally developed that acquired taste on Sunday… it’s now chilling with brussel sprouts and mushrooms somewhere in my head.

What did it was Quarantine the Past, not so much as a best hits, but rather a wave of songs that should get you into the right soundspace to appreciate the idiosyncrasies of Pavement. When “Grounded” — somewhere in the middle of the album — made its way to my headphones, my ears were already warmed up. My take on Pavement: Lou Reed meets early Radiohead… Lou Reed in its nonchalance, and Radiohead in its musical experimentation. Take a look at some of the guitar tunings if you get the time — very unconventional. But it works. Or Steve West on drums? If you put any drummer in the Pavement studio and said, “Okay, play along and we’ll record it,” this is exactly what you would get. But that’s all that it needs, nothing more. It’s Pavement, it’s druggy, sloppy, and definitely sounds better when you’re a couple drinks in. And that’s exactly where I am.

I went insane | Like a smoke ring day | When the wind blows”

I’ve been out of the blogging business for a while, haven’t I? Apologies to avid followers. What started as a short hiatus turned into a dismissed routine. Truth is: I went through a bit of a musical drought. Nothing was motivating me to write. No earworms to share with the world. A lot has happened since December-whatever-it-was… 21st birthday in February (at the height of my disappointment with music) brought Neil Young knocking in the form of his latest box set, The Neil Young Archives Vol. 1. I’ve been so impressed by the quality of the live performance that I could honestly write a dozen unique posts. Everything from the tuning dialogue to the subtle variations to the little imperfections make this 8-disc set utterly addicting.

I’ll start with “On the Way Home,” and “Don’t Let it Bring You Down” off of Live at Massey Hall (1971). Massey Hall is a museum of rock and roll in downtown Toronto, right around the corner from Yonge and Dundas Square where, yesterday afternoon, a crowd of thousands and thousands erupted as Crosby buried one behind Miller in Gold Medal OT. If hockey is Canada’s sport, Neil Young is Canada’s musician. I was so moved by this album that I went out and bought an acoustic guitar — I’ve slowly been working my way through each song. With these songs, I too am on my way home… the past two weeks have been a well-needed surge in patriotism. Congratulations, Canada.

Ég verð undir þér og ég skal dansa bara ef þú hemur mig | Ég skal syngja bara fyrir þig.”

I guess if there’s one thing that separates my blog from others, it’s my slight obsession with all things Icelandic. Oh wait, blogs have already been through that phase… thanks a bunch, Sigur Rós. Truth is: most Icelanders are tired of their association with sleepy post-rock bands. Sure, there’s little to no light in the winter months, but don’t doubt that Icelanders know how to party.

I met Mammút at the Eistnaflug (literally: “flight of the testicles”) festival in Neskaupstaður, Northeast Iceland. I had been touring with a progressive rock band, Perla, and wound up at a local bar taking shots with the three lovely ladies (Kata, Asa, Alexandra) who constitute the core of the band. As far as I can remember, they were dressed up (read: dressed down) in Pocahontas costumes. “Svefnsýkt” was No. 1 on Icelandic charts while I lived there in 2008, though a language barrier prevented it from reaching North American shores that summer. This isn’t Josie and the Pussycats, this is real rock… a little evil, but undeniably sexy.

They ain’t got nothin’ in the world these days

I said they ain’t got nothin’!

They got sweet fuck-all!”

The first track off the renowned Live at Leeds — the opening notes of what could possibly be the greatest live rock album of all time. And yes, that means that I’d take Live at Leeds over Frampton Comes Alive. Though the album has being through various reissues, the original LP remains the most representative of The Who’s absolute insanity. I remember picking up the record at a garage sale for, surely, no greater than 2 dollars when I was twelve or thirteen. I fear that the live performances of The Who are often clouded by their wacky stage antics, including but not limited to smashed guitars and exploding bass drums. While The Who were still recording, Live at Leeds was the first and only live album they released: no distractions, pure sound.

“Young Man Blues” was originally written and performed by Mose Allison, whose music went on to inspire the Rolling Stones, Van Morrison, The Yardbirds — you name it. “Young Man Blues,” as performed by The Who, stands out on the album because it showcases the individual personalities of the members, together summing up to one hell of a show. I’ll start with the most obvious. Keith Moon is and will always be the wildest drummer to ever grace a stage: the man practically goes through epileptic fits when you hand him a pair of sticks. Listen to those fills: the speed at which Keith produces improv variability in his drumming is positively mind-boggling. Does he ever play the same sequence of toms twice? John Entwistle stands out next: like George Harrison, Entwistle is the unsung hero of The Who. Though his bass hides in the background, it is the most technically impressive component of the band. Townshend is undoubtedly the frontman, the attitude of the band. And Daltrey is intelligent about his sparing vocals: people saw The Who live for their musicianship (and insanity), and Daltrey knows that his voice is better used as an instrument than as a distraction from the band’s sound. Crank this one to 11.

the way she moves her hips | the way she wets her lips

I love the way that girl is looking at me”

Rockin’ straight out of 101 Reykjavík, Mugison desperately needs to break the North-American market. Like the Icelandic language, most can’t even begin to decipher the influences of Örn Elías Guðmundsson’s creation — besides similarities to their touring partners, QOTSA, this all sounds unique to me. Listen to him wail away over that glacier-traversing rhythm and refreshingly comfortable organ in “Mugiboogie.” Forget your typical shoe-gaze Icelandic-gone-American post-rock — this is where it’s at!

I had the opportunity to check these guys out live at NASA in downtown Reykjavík, summer of 2008. Turns out that I happened to catch a bit of a rarity: there were two drum sets on stage when I entered the ultra-hip bar. Mugison had recruited a touring drummer for their Canadian tour while the recording drummer welcomed a newborn in the motherland — the time had come to return to the land of fire and ice and they figured, what the hell, if the Dead can do it, so can we. One of the better live performances I’ve ever had the pleasure of catching.

I keep my distance but that distance is too far

It reassures me just to know that you’re okay

But I don’t want you to go on needing me this way”

Lately I’ve been finding great material for TBTV on soundtracks. In a sense, the soundtrack functions a lot like a blog: someone, the musical director or whoever, was moved by a dozen or so tracks and decided to share them with the world. After hearing a song for the first time in a movie, it’s often hard to dissociate its meaning from the context of the story. If you’ve seen Reservoir Dogs, you’ll know that it’s not humanly possible to dismiss images of severed ears when “Stuck in the Middle with You” comes on the radio. Soundtracks are underrated — if you think an iTunes “Deep Cuts” playlist is going to help you become musically literate, reconsider your sources.

I first heard this Hüsker Dü track in Adventureland, Greg Mottola’s 80s throwback flick about a recent college grad forced to work at an amusement park during his summer. For good reason, I share similar sentiment to most about music produced in my birth decade — my radio station of choice in Toronto even has an annual feature called “The 80s Music That Doesn’t Suck Classic Rock Weekend.” And yes, every so often I come across 80s music that doesn’t suck (see The Pixies). It’s not that “Dont Want to Know If You Are Lonely” isn’t typical of the 80s sound, it’s that it contains musical features which didn’t hit a dead end after the 80s: this sort of sound eventually morphed into alternative rock of the early 90s. In the movie, the protagonist and his later-to-be girl head-bob to the song while driving with the windows down… and that’s exact what this is: a carefree, don’t-give-a-fuck sort of track.

You want some real “Deep Cuts”? Listen to Hüsker Dü’s Zen Arcade — it’s been described by Rolling Stone as the Quadrophenia of thrash.

Acid incense and ballons | Saturday afternoon

People dancing everywhere | Loudly shouting I don’t care”

August 17th, 1969. Picture waking up in (or somewhere near) your tent at Woodstock. In my experience, most live tracks don’t convey much about their setting: you might get the echo of a music hall or the vastness of an outdoor stage. With Jefferson Airplane’s “Won’t You Try / Saturday Afternoon,” you get the whole shebang — you can hear people wiping the sleep out of their eyes, you can hear the high wearing off from the previous night (courtesy of The Who). Forget Real Estate as your alarm clock, Jefferson Airplane was the alarm clock to over three-hundred thousand scantily clad concertgoers.

I mean no offense to the hard-of-hearing when I say: if you don’t get shivers around 3:50, you should consider getting your ears checked. Grace Slick’s voice must be tuned to the resonant frequency of my spine. Remind yourself that this is a live recording — she woke up the masses with that voice. When most people think of Grace Slick, they picture a beautiful woman dressed in hippie garb belting into a microphone; I picture my ninth grade art teacher. The two bear no physical resemblance — Mr. Rob Montgomery often sported a grey mustasche — but then again, I haven’t seen Grace Slick in the news lately. Mr. Montgomery did, however, enjoy retelling a story from his earlier days involving the singer. While working as a security guard at a Jefferson concert in Toronto, Mrs. Slick took a seat next to Rob prior to the performance. Having nothing particularly stimulating to offer in conversation, he proceeded to ask the singer if she cared for a bite of the sandwich his mother had prepared for him. She thanked him and took a bite… and to this day, Mr. Montgomery remembers the exact contents of the sandwich. I digress.

Is there any truth to “jefferson airplane” referring to a makeshift roach-clip made from a paper match?

yodeadodoyodeadodoyo-bab-baaaaa

Ahhhhhh-aaahhhh-aaaaaa-aaaaAAA!

Ohhhhhh-ooohhh-oooooo-oooOOO!”

“Hocus Pocus” by Focus. I’m misheard more often than not when I reference this song: “Hocus Pocus bifocals?” The confusion doesn’t end at the title — be prepared to listen to “Hocus Pocus” for a second time, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever heard. The genre is progressive rock, but don’t expect to hear any extraterrestrial Moogs: this Dutch band is the only rock band I’ve ever heard with a yodeler. The lyrics look like something I’d type into Microsoft Word with the onset of writer’s block. My take on the sound: Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson (jazz flute, check) bumped into Heidi on his Swiss vacation and took some sort of amphetamine. I cannot, for the life of me, picture this band in a recording studio.

Beyond the yodeling, whistling and the gibberish solo (2:37, I swear), Focus is pretty technically sound. And maybe it’s a product of their overeducated genre, but this song is showcases a truly talented group of musicians with names like Thijs van Leer (which I’m pretty sure shows up the gibberish solo). Listen to the speed of the drum and guitar solos: it honestly sounds like Thijs cranked the tempo of the recording. I’m probably a couple months late in posting this — would have been perfect for you-know-what-holiday — but, at the same time, this song does a great job of revealing my current state of mind. Crazy music for crazy people writing crazy exams.

Real Estate’s self-titled release is melancholy. Yes. Maybe I find it stimulating because, after two cups of coffee and some well-marketed ginseng-infused drink, everything is stimulating. In all honesty though, despite some drowsiness, the music has direction. It’s the kind of thing you’d want your alarm clock to play for you every morning: pleasant enough that it’ll allow you to finish some dreams and forward-moving enough that you’ll gradually make it out of bed, though it might take a couple of tries. “Fake Blues” is the stand-out track on the album — reminds me of Television’s Marquee Moon in its intelligently coordinated guitar. Maybe that’s it, the song succeeds in its coordination… I haven’t included any lyrics because, frankly, the vocals (which are unintelligible for the most part) are just another contributor to the song’s holistic sound.

And if I hit “publish” after midnight, that’s two days in a row of posting.

Meltin’ in the sun | All that chocolate on my tongue

And that’s good enough reason to live | Good enough reason to live”

You’ll have to forgive me for the posting hiatus. Winter break is quickly approaching and it seems education is getting in the way of my learning — thank you, Twain — or at least my musical exploration. This evening, I give to you The Wood Brothers. The only orienting detail I can offer about The Wood Brothers involves another relatively obscure band: Medeski Martin & Wood. But if you’re into the whole jazz fusion scene, you should know that one of the Brothers, Chris, was a founding member of MMW before releasing Ways Not to Lose in 2006 with his brother Oliver.

“Chocolate On My Tongue” and “Atlas” are consecutive tracks off of the debut studio album, right smack in the middle. You might get a taste of The Wood Brothers from these two songs, but you won’t fully appreciate them until you open up iTunes and give the album a try. The Wood Brothers sound a lot like their name: organic, simple, warm, acoustic… woody, right? Blues meets intelligent folk. “Chocolate On My Tongue” sums up the brother-to-brother understanding between the musicians, a sort of carefree throwback to the easier days of youth, while “Atlas” has a more playful Southern disposition.

I’m ditching a take-home exam to write this post right now. And though that seems unreasonable, I owe this album some respect ahead of time… it’s gonna help me get through three-hours of writing. A good one for the soul.

There is no reason for you to hide

It’s so hard for me staying here all alone

When you could be taking me for a ride.”

A little Canadian content for the masses. CanCon, as it’s come to be known, refers to uniquely Canadian regulations holding that all public media aired in Canada must meet a percentage requirement of Canadian material. Since 1998, all radio programs have been 35% percent Canadian by law. To many, this might seem like some weird socialist policy that only Canucks would ever support. And you know what? You’re probably right. Big Brother, Big Brother. Freedom, freedom.

Truth is: CanCon not only supports the outstanding musical talent that comes out of Canada, it also prevents less talented substitutes from ever reaching the ears of a musically-informed population. Here’s what I mean: why listen to Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seger or Tom Petty when you’ve got Neil? If you turn on any Canadian radio station (I recommend Q107 of Toronto), you’ll hear Neil one-hundred times before anyone so much as mentions Bruce. And believe me: if Bruce Springsteen were worth the airtime, he’d have it. I give to you “Down By The River.” After a day of tailgating and celebrating, there’s simply nothing better than leaning back and grooving to this track. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve covered this one with Hunter and Sandy. Pure, distilled Neil Young at 1:54 for the curious.

“Hang On” for the first minute or so: Emerson begins with an elegant display of piano mastery but doesn’t offer much excitement for the easily distracted. A change: Emerson reaches up for those chords (you know the ones) and brings the bass with him as the song descends into a dark mess of jazz. The bass always gets me. Emerson (and remember, this is live) demonstrates that he is a master of anything with keys in any namable genre. I’m hard-pressed to identify jazz pianists of the same era who could best Emerson’s ability. The song breaks down in the middle as the bass mutes and Emerson stands up to aggressively tug at his piano strings; it then starts sounding a lot like ELP’s “Hoedown.” Think about this again: in one song, Emerson covers classical, jazz, contemporary and Western music. Unbelievable.

Look at her laughing | Like a heifer to the slaughter”

“Baby’s On Fire” comes off of Eno’s 1973 debut album Here Come the Warm Jets — if you can think of a greater album name, please email me. The title prompts images of some freshly middle-aged product of glam-rock wading in his infinity pool with two model types declaring the phrase as if to offer comfort. And that’s kind of how “Baby’s On Fire” plays out: slightly tense with a false sense of ease. The guitars are agitated and percussive, the drums are mechanical… but over top of it all is this warm boomy bass and nasal voice.

In a sense the song doesn’t really go anywhere after Eno’s voice enters the picture — the hi-hat counts away the sixteenth-notes till the track abruptly cuts off at 5:19. That being said, the most striking component of the song is the guitar solo: the meat in the burger, the icing in the Oreo. What you didn’t know was that the guitar stylings are brought to you by the letter F for Fripp (see Suite No. 1). I guess once you’re told that the King Crimson guitarist was recruited for “Baby’s On Fire” you recognize his tendencies: the staccato minimalism, the spastic picking, the Frippian way. If you can stomach it, stick around for “Cindy Tells Me.”

Ric is a blues guitarplayer. I met him one day on

The green pastures of the Harvard University.”

Another track from the prophet, Hunter Pritchard: “Baby, Let Me Follow You Down” comes off of Dylan’s eponymous debut album, released in 1962 when the singer/songwriter was 20 years old. The point that Hunter makes is that the song, like the whole album, showcases the sound of one man. The guitar, harmonica and poetry are all coming from the same guy at the same time. That’s a lot of music. I’m particularly drawn to the off-putting E-flat chord in the verse — there’s something imperfect and intriguing about it, like Uma Thurman.

Dylan’s introductory ramblings are particularly fitting for the week of the Harvard-Yale football game. I guess this is my way of showing some form of school pride. If only Harvard Square still produced names like Dylan and Tiny Tim (yes, that was a nod to Tiny Tim). For now I’ll have to settle for the band of Peruvian pan-flutists who provide me with a soundtrack as I mosey over to class in the morning.

Coming tuesday I feel better | Even my old man looks good,

Wednesday just don’t go| Thursday goes too slow,

I’ve got Friday on my mind”

This post would have been exponentially better if I had posted it at 7:00 this morning, when I awoke to start and finish a 16-page paper on statistics. I’ve had Friday on mind since I stepped on the plane back from Canada this weekend. I owe a lot of these posts to brief weekend stints in the Great White North. Andy Frost of Q107 came on at noon on Sunday for his weekly journey from 1965-1975, Psychedelic Psunday, and began with this little ditty. To me, “Friday On My Mind” is pure psychedelia: the dark bass melody, the muffled guitar and vocal harmonies about living for the weekend.

If you haven’t heard of the Easybeats, they’re the most noteworthy Australian pop band to come of the 60s, which doesn’t paint the greatest picture of Aussie rock at the time given their one-hit-wonder status. And if that wasn’t enough, none of the original members were even born in Oz. One for your obscure musical trivia: Easybeats rhythm guitarist George Young is the older sibling of Malcolm and Angus Young of AC/DC fame. I’ll take this over an AC/DC anthem any day.

You tell me that I don’t, then I say I won’t, but then I might.”

Some more real stuff for you. If you’re going to test out a new stereo / want to wake up your roommate / seriously want to rock the heck out of your desk with make-believe drums, please listen to this underrated song. You can fool people too. “Oh listen, what a beautiful acoustic track this is…” WHAM! The guitar and bass enter like a Grand Funk train smashing into your temporal lobe. Funk, right? You could be really sweet and shotgun a beer to this, but let’s get real: if you’re listening to “Sin’s a Good Man’s Brother,” you should be hot-wiring a ‘67 Camaro and booking it to California (and if you’re already in California, stay there… why would you ever consider driving East?).

To summarize: most people throw on some Lil’-15-Cent-Cudi-Weezy-Bodyguard-Touches-Me to get pumped up — which is really cool, until you realize that, even if it had musical quality, it’s likely been ripped off. Honestly, if you think rhyming about “True Religion jeans” and “Grillz” is going to sound really revolutionary in 10 years, you’ve been horribly, horribly misled. Do you ever sit down on your Versace chaise and think: “Maybe I’m not that great… this seems too easy”? Because if you do, you should buy yourself a copy of Closer to Home by Grand Funk and confirm the fact that yes, you aren’t that great.

I’ve come to the realization that this blog isn’t shaping up the way I had originally planned. At heart, I’m the kind of guy who appreciates quality in music, and not the kind of quality that a website like Pitchfork preaches on a daily basis. Who honestly enjoys electro-folk-psych-glo-fi-Williamsburg-I-eat-organic-pumpkin-chips-and-wear-suspenders music? The world needs a reality check. I needed a reality check. If I post about music made in the year 2009, know that I actually believe it adds to the history of music. It will have to earn a third of this blog’s homepage. Music from past generations has already proven history-worthy… so it’ll be my job to simply preach about how fuckin’ incredible it is and convince to you to listen to it.

On another note, my brother Hunter is going to start blogging on TBTV. His knack for discovering musical excellence is unrivaled. I came home (Toronto) to my brother blasting “Monkey Man” on the stereo last night. Mix yourself a drink and tell me this isn’t the grooviest piece of music the Rolling Stones ever cut into a black vinyl disk. Put me in a jacuzzi and dim the lights. It’s got this attitude that’s darker and more tempting than one of those 90% cacao Lindt chocolate bricks melting in Demi Moore’s lap. Give me more of this music — Keith and Mick, this is genius. For readers who think it would be really really sweet to forget about that Wall Street job and morph magically into a Brooklyn hipster, think again: fuck that unoriginal originality, crawl back into the womb, pop back out in Britain, snort your father’s ashes and write songs about jungle sex. Make sure to email me about it.

Creeping vines would send out runners and seek me in their numbers

I sold self-help tapes

Go down to the netherworld, plant grapes”

Not another folk-indie band! Bear with me: I’m sick and can only stomach acoustic music for now. The Mountain Goats (reference to Screamin’ Jay Hawkins) are a Durham-based band headed by singer/songwriter John Darnielle. The Life of the World to Come, their 2009 album, is comprised of twelve characteristically low-fi tracks named after bible verses. Is it just me, or can Jimi’s “Hey Joe” be heard in the eerie “1 Samuel 15:23″? If there’s one thing to be said about The Mountain Goats, it’s that their music emphasizes the importance of lyrics — the instrumentation serves to highlight the preaching of Darnielle. Listening to The Mountain Goats is the closest I will ever get to some beach hootenanny of a past era, and for that I thank them. Simplistic and intelligent.

Say, me say many money say me say many many many”

Either the weirdest or greatest hip-hop song of all time. This one’s a throwback to my blur of a summer: cottage air and freshly cracked Canadian beer. What’s that sound in the beginning? Whales? And does the chorus even make sense? My thought is that this song is best left unexplained and listened to under the influence of some substance. Sit back and listen to the rhymes:

“I get mad frustrated when I rhyme | Thinkin of all them kids that try to do this for all the wrong reasons
Season change mad things rearrange | But it all stays the same like the love doctor strange”

“I used to be underrated, now I take iron, makes my shit constipated | I’m more concentrated”

“Mama always told me, ‘you’re one in a million,
Always watch our back, never tango with Haitian-Sicilians’”

“Too many mics not enough mikes, exit your show like I exit the turnpike
Dice and dynamite like dolomite, double do’s been like I don’t Dick van Dyke”

Setting up of other roads, travel on in old accustomed ways.”

It’s about time that I posted about Yes — you should know that I purposely dilute the amount of progressive rock on TBTV. Too much talk of space and parallel universes attracts the wrong crowd. But, every now and then, I’m creatively entitled to write about songs with names like “Starship Trooper” —  not to be confused in any way with the B-movie. I regularly heard Yes on the stereo as a wee young lad (explains a lot), but buying The Yes Album LP and listening to this particular song for the first time brought me into the thick of it all.

“Starship Trooper” is classic Yes. Multiple movements. Chris Squire’s signature bass antics. Steve Howe’s folksy interruptions. Bill Bruford (not Alan White) behind the kit. This is a band of musicians. The most striking part of the song is the third movement, Würm, which consists of a crescendo-ing loop of spacey chords. And that might sound boring to most. But add into the mix two key ingredients: tripleted-sixteenths on Bruford’s right foot and the most orgasmic guitar solo you will ever hear. Gives me chills every time.

I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing,
Oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was on me.

I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
And I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I’d said.

Till I finally died, which started the whole world living,
Oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was on me.

I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
And I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I’d said.

Till I finally died, which started the whole world living,
Oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was one me.”

Got to tell you somethin’, go right to your head

Cause I got a line on you, babe”

I went through Spirit binge two summers ago after catching “I Got a Line On You” on the radio. Most stop at identifying “I Got a Line On You” as a rockin’ song and dismiss the band as a name to go along with a one-hit-wonder. Yes, Spirit was critically underrepresented, but this didn’t prevent them from producing hits recognizable by the most naively-eared tweenager or the spaciest psych-freak. Case-and-point: “Fresh Garbage.” If one of my sisters were to pull up my blog and listen to this song, her initial reaction would be: “Why is Logan blogging about Pink?” One of Pink’s bigger hits “Feel Good Time” was indeed based upon the Spirit song. But the list doesn’t stop there. We’d expect some half-talented pop star with Dennis Rodman’s hair-stylist to lift a song from a little-played psychedelic band. But Led Zeppelin? The song “Taurus” is now widely accepted as the main inspiration for “Stairway to Heaven,” not in some minor way, but in a very obvious “we lifted what became our most famous guitar lick” way. I’ll stop here, but the list of bands that rode on Spirit’s half-success goes on. Here’s to the real creative minds.

Fela Kuti, in short, is the father of Afrobeat — one of the first, if not the first, to popularize West African music in North America. Born in Nigeria, Fela turned down medical school for a musical education and wound up pioneering a genre — not so bad. While Fela’s music might be the grooviest thang you’ve ever heard, it is also loaded with political emotion and commentary. In that sense, I guess he’s comparable Bono, but much sweeter and less Irish.

“Let’s Start” features Ginger Baker on drums — and that should be a statement in itself. Listen to the layers of percussion and rhythm. I can’t help but compare the trumpet in this song to exclamations in the original Batman cartoon, though that might just be me. And just when you thought one all-star drummer was enough: “Open & Close” features Tony Allen behind the kit. Will identifies Allen’s solo as “one of [his] top moments in drumming history.” All I know is, Funk has a lot to owe to Fela Kuti, and you’ll hear it in these two tracks.