Friday 12.03.2010 | 10:23 AM EST

Discography Divorce: You Can Have All The
Billy Joels. Except The Stranger

Alec: I’m sick
Leslie: What’s wrong?
Alec: Just sickness

For many that came of age in the 80′s, a double-feature both scathing and saccharine ran concurrently in our teenage minds. Each spoke directly to our youth’s romantic angst. The first, The Breakfast Club, is unassailable by any critic worth his salt. The second, not so much. But still, it presents a scene so well conceived, so close to the bone, that the squeamishly sentimental St. Elmo’s Fire squats permanently in the minds of broken-hearted record geeks everywhere.

Annie Hall wrote her name inside her books so Alvy couldn’t claim them as his own. In the Age of Digital, division of real estate (at least where pop records are concerned) is a relative non-issue. Each party gets it all: the Billy Joels, the Carly Simons, and any other shmaltzy crap you may have guiltily romanticized while making hip, critically astute proclamations about Post-Punk’s influence on bands borne of the new millennium.

Breaking up is hard to do. But in this rare case, everyone wins the record collection negotiations. Unless you happen to be a vindictive dick or a cold-hearted a bitch from hell. Alec and Leslie may have been. Annie and Alvy were not.

Thankfully, neither are we.

Ahoy St. Elmo, patron saint of sailors.

Saturday 11.06.2010 | 4:23 PM EST

Qué? Don Draper Says “What?”

Been wanting to dedicate 1000 words to Mad Men, it deserves many many more than that.
But for now, what else is there to say?

Thursday 10.21.2010 | 2:23 PM EST

The National New Video:
Terrible Love Alternate Version

I hate music videos. I want songs to render visions and narrative of my own divising, not be force-fed pre-conceived stories that are generally artsy pretensions trying too hard to make a point.

Not the case in The National’s second video supporting High Violet. Directed and produced by Matt’s brother Tom Berninger, it presents an intimate back-stage peek at the boys on the road, prepping for shows, along with stunning live footage and general silliness. Check it out:

And yes, many of my peeps beat me to this on Facebook. Screw you guys. A guy has to work, you know? ;-)

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Tuesday 10.12.2010 | 5:23 PM EST

Mick’s Rock, I’m Roll:
Keith Richards on Planning

Been revisiting the Stones quite a bit of late. Last month it was early-80′s period in heavy rotation, Tattoo You and Emotional Rescue. This month, with the recent release of a Deluxe Edition of 1972′s Exile on Main Street, I’m obsessed with the record and the archival tracks included on Disk 2. Dare I say, these tracks may be better than the original record. Ok, maybe that’s a stretch, but they’re certainly no throw-aways (Morrissey would be proud). Following up, the documentary Stones In Exile chronicles the band’s tax-sheltering exile from their British homeland to the south of France and the subsequent trials and triumphs of recording this landmark record.

In my youth I was McCartney over Lennon, Jagger over Richards. As an adult preferences have reversed, my gradual warming to the cold, scary, unapproachable Keith cemented by what could be the best quote ever about this band, straight from the horse’s mouth (drug pun not intended):

Listen Up, Lads

“I never plan anything…Mick needs to know what he’s gonna do tomorrow and me, I’m just happy to wake up and see who’s hanging around. Mick’s Rock. I’m Roll.”

–Keith Richards, Stones In Exile

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Re-issue! / Re-package! / Re-evaluate the songs
Double-pack with a photograph / Extra Track (and a tacky badge)

–Morrissey, Paint A Vulgar Picture

Tuesday 10.12.2010 | 12:23 PM EST

Say Your Prayers:
Kurt Vile’s God Is Saying This To You

Kurt Vile’s 2009 God Is Saying This To You offers everything you could want from lo-fi singer-songwriter laments. Imagine a gathering of Bert Jansch, Neil Young and Bon Iver plucking out ghostly strains haunting dark country woods. Drenched in reverb, Vile’s gritty vocals and and well- pruned guitar arrangements seem to come from somewhere far off, perhaps a distant A.M. radio crackling softly from a neighbor’s front porch. It’s a chilling effect, perfect for a crisp autumn night spent alone on the veranda, sipping bourbon, smoking yourself daft, haunted by the specter of lost loves and friends forgotten.

My Best Friends (Don’t Even Pass This)

Thursday 10.07.2010 | 6:23 PM EST

Play It Pretty for Atlanta:
The National Live @ The Fabulous Fox Theater

start slideshow

iPhone 4G + CameraBag

Flew to my home town last weekend to visit family and friends, and lo and behold, who happens to be playing at one the most historic, stunning venues in the country?

High-lights:

The historic Fabulous Fox Theater
• Killer seats
• First time my parents attended a show. Dad’s ears hurt and mom was too short to see well, but they smiled and swayed the whole show through
• 10 dear old southern friends in attendance
• Killer version of Terrible Love
• Acoustic version of Vanderlyle Cry Baby Geeks to close the show
• 7 Afterparty Gin + Tonics with the boys. No hangover.

Continue to be pleased with the iPhone 4G’s camera. CameraBag still my photog app of choice…

+ Start Slideshow

Friday 08.20.2010 | 9:23 PM EST

Mix Tape: Empire Blues Vol. 5

…chapter five in a maudlin series of sad bastard music for half-broken New Yorkers.

“The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don’t wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules.”

— Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

Ok, so it’s not the timeliest soundtrack for the short glory of a Brooklyn summer, when skirt hems shorten, summer dresses fight for modesty against a naughty breeze and trim-fit tanks & halter tops wipe the memory of winter skin long hidden ‘neath a scarf, a hat and an overcoat.

But Hot Time Summer in the City ain’t all steamy roof-top parties freshly quenched with frozen grapes and gin. Five flights down the pavement is a frying pan, streets belching derelict breath as the city sings the blues. As we loathe and worship the summer sun in equal measure, dark skies and torrential rains gather to dampen the spirits of hardy city-slickers.

Roddy Frame claims loneliness and being alone don’t always mean the same thing. Mos def. But on the sidewalk, loneliness is a displaced tenant bracing a swift stream of brisk strides, tense jaws, blank faces. Nothing stands still, nothing takes root underfoot and break-ups catch you in their undertow. You got the Empire Blues.

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For the archivist, dive into Vols 1-4 with the player on the right. Or maybe wait till autumn…