Clem Snide's Eef Barzelay. (Photos copyright 2009, Steven P. Marsh)

Clem Snide, we missed you badly. How long had it been, anyway?

Regardless of all the time that had passed, the crowd at the Mercury Lounge last Tuesday showed plenty of love as Eef Barzelay and company ripped through a superb set of songs new and old. Eef even apologized for being away so long.

More photos after the jump.

Bass player Brendan Fitzpatrick.

Eef Barzelay really does know how to rock out.

Ben Martin keeps the beat steady from behind the kit.

As Ben no longer has regular iPod access, he’s making do with one ‘big’ album a week, posting summary reviews every Monday. This coincides nicely with the #musicmonday meme on Twitter. How serendipitous!

Ben: Still in a bit of an ‘alt-country’ mood after last weeks’ Hungry Bird, I kept off the beaten track this week and listened to Piney Gir’s latest release, The Yearling. You’d be forgiven for saying ‘Piney who?‘ – she’s not the most well-known of artists and save for a single mid-afternoon festival slot I’ve not seen or read much about her either. A chance encounter with a cheap copy of her new album combined with my rather pedestrian listening of late (did I really need to buy three Beatles re-releases?) meant that I jumped all over the skirt-swishing, violiny Ms Gir (aka Angela Penhaligon).

Clever move or not?

Weeeeeell, not too sure. It’s an odd one, certainly.

At times it is the most glorious Magnetic Fields they never made. Say I’m Sorry sounds a lot like a brilliant reimagining of very early Magnetic Fields songs like Love is Lighter than Air which is no bad thing in my book – a few drum machines, some twinkly guitars and some great vocals. Like other Magnetic Fields tracks, Piney Gir’s not afraid of a little quirkiness – Blixa Bargeld’s Bicycle, a song about someone moving to Shanghai, is the one track that indicates that.

I don’t think the Magnetic Fields influence is deliberate though – in fact it’s quite possible that Piney Gir has never heard of Mr Merritt and co. Their big similarity is the cheap production costs – The Yearling is a collection of sixteen tracks that, unlike Hungry Bird, seem to have been recorded very quickly and very cheaply. It’s got a raw energy about it and has no coherant musical or lyrical theme which makes for some nice variety. It’s hard to imagine another artist putting Blixa Bargeld’s Bicycle on an album with the swaying, Suzanne Vega-esque Oleanna.

It’s cheapness is also the album’s big downfall. With a limited budget this album all too often goes for distracting and unnecessary quirky ploys. It betrays a lack of confidence in the songs – a great shame because shining underneath are some great songs and, potentially, a great album. Stuffing a release with sixteen tracks and putting drummed Tupperware noises over the top shows a lack of an experienced producer. It’s so uneven – it just needs a sterner hand and someone to tell Ms Penhaligon to tell her that she’s good.

Look past the oddities and some really great tracks shine through.

Álbum: 1990 (Shimmy Disc, 1990)

Hablar de Daniel Johnston es hablar de uno de esos tipos que te tocan el alma con su sensibilidad..cada letra mal entonada, cada rasgueo mal efectuado, todo aquello que deberían ser defectos, en el particular mundo de Daniel Johnston no dejan de ser virtudes..

Artista total (canta, pinta, escribe…) Daniel Johnston vive en su pequeño mundo, ajeno a la realidad, víctima de un desajuste o desorden bipolar .Para conocer mejor a Daniel, recomiendo encarecidamente el documental The Devil and Daniel Johnston.

Su talento ha sido reconocido por muchos otros artistas, que han versionado sus canciones. Entre ellos, Wilco, Beck, The Flaming Lips, BMX Bandits, Spiritualized, Death Cab for Cutie o Clem Snide bordando este True Love will find you..

Si te ha gustado, descárgatela aquí

As Ben no longer has regular iPod access, he’s making do with one ‘big’ album a week, posting summary reviews every Monday. This coincides nicely with the #musicmonday meme on Twitter. How serendipitous!

Ben: There’s a long-running joke between Dan and I. Whenever we meet, we ask how the review of the last Clem Snide album is coming along. Released way back in the depths of the new year, Hungry Bird was the much anticipated album that, for complex label and legal reasons, was assumed to never be released. After we did the discussions of Franz Ferdinand and Andrew Bird, Hungry Bird was meant to be next on the list.

We never got round to it.

Consider this wee post a review in the memory of that never-written post, and hopefully an end to the stupid joke.

In all honesty, there’s a big reason why we never ended up writing about this one. Clem Snide – more accurately, singer-songwriter Eef Barzelay and a rotating grab-bag of musicians – have produced some of the finest music of the past fifteen years. At turns insightful, acerbic and witty, Eef’s songs are wonderfully inventive country-tinged tunes which no-one else seems to write nowadays.

If you’ve never heard any tracks from 1999’s seminal Your Favorite Music please do yourself a massive, massive favour and purchase it right now. It’s less than eight English pounds in most online retailers. You’ll thank me later.

As great as Your Favorite Music and countless other tracks scattered across half a dozen albums are, the legacy does not live on in Hungry Bird.

See, Hungry Bird was conceived as a big opus, something that Eef had been working on for years as opposed to most of his albums which are recorded and released in quick succession. Rather than being full of the peppy tracks he’s known for, pretty much every song on Hungry Bird is a bloated, meandering mess, with many retreading the same musical feel and tone. It’s easy to listen to the album and not think about where one track ends and another begins.

It does has its moments – Me No is a great opener and long-time live favourite Pray (For the Non-Believer) finally sees a proper release – but the rest is too inconsequential to really bother with. Pray is very nearly ruined too – about the faithful praying for their non-believing brethren to be punished by the divine, it’s all choral soundscapes and scathing lyrics for four and a half minutes. Though it effectively finishes at 4:35, still it trudges on with a slower, acoustic, boring and unnecessary coda until 7:57. The Franz Wright narrated Encounter at 3AM completes the trio of ‘good’ songs on the album. The rest, really, are immensely disappointing.

If you’re interested in Clem Snide – and you really, really should be! – don’t start here.

Having one of those  nights where sleep seems to allude me.  We all have those nights.  They are annoying and yet rewarding.  I could have been sitting in front of the t.v. set wondering why nothing is on, but instead I tuned in with my headphones and made these musical discoveries.  Hope they sound as good in the morning.

-

Something about the intensity of Eef Barzelay’s voice on this track.  Haunting.

Clem Snide – Me No

Don’t know much about this group.  Would love to find out more.  What caught my attention is the fact that Delphic does the remix.

Everything Everything – My Keys, Your Boyfriend (Delphic Remix)

What can I say.  You should already know this track.  Something a little more infectious about this remix though.  The drums, the handclaps, the funkiness of it!

The Rapture – House of Jealous Lovers (Maurice Fulton Remix)

Some good casio induced lo-fi from Brooklyn, NY!!!

Small Black – Bad Lover

“Let’s Explode” is from Clem Snide’s album The Ghost of Fashion.

This is Clem Snide. They are a band whose lead singer’s voice is as jarring as his name, Eef Barzelay. They are a drunk country band from New Jersey and Nashville, and sometimes Brooklyn, and they are drunk because it is fun, and, moreso, because the members of Clem Snide firmly believe there is no hope. They’re not a bunch of armegeddon signwavers, Clem Snide, but they think that we’re doomed to live an imperfect love with frozen dinner dates, and occasional glimpses of connection. They’re trechant and harsh. They’re the friend too honest to keep. They won’t sing you love songs, at least not one’s you’ll know are love songs, because that’s just trite. They’re songs are wrapped up in similes, they can’t always see their way through. The group gallops and trips and musters their way through these songs, trailing behind or being dragged by Barzelay’s vocals, depending on your perspective, and depending on the song. Here’s a pop culture reference I can’t quite believe I’m making: Clem Snide are the Doctor House of alt-country bands.

“Well IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII don’t WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN’T to know me BETERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR” Barzelay wails at the end of “Let’s Explode” and the sentiment fits. He’s not doing this for self examination, or soul bearing, or for anything ever resembling empathy. He’s doing it because his mind is soaking in brine and he’s got some stories to tell.

“When We Become” is from Clem Snide’s album End of Love

And this is not Clem Snide. I recently got a job in Brooklyn, doing the kind of work I want to be doing (criminal justice work, for those curious), and am, within the next few weeks, moving the 21.1ish miles from Teaneck, NJ to the borough. Part of me, a real part, is absolutely terrified by this, by such a radical change in my life. And this Clem Snide song get’s it. It’s one of the most beautiful, serene and genuine songs the band has written. The images of the song are both fantastical and impossible, so it’s refrain “when we become what we’re running from” might initially seem to suggest a mildly hidden resignation: we will never, ever become what we’re running from. But the second verse, one of the most simple, bursting at the seems romantic things Barzelay has ever written, gives the chorus a different feel. We can’t run from change, is what I ultimately take from the song. A handful of weeks ago, I was living happily in Michigan with three friends from college, had a great job working with people I loved, and was, slowly but surely building up a life. Right now, I’m sitting in my childhood bedroom on a futon because my old matress had springs sticking out. A few weeks from now, I will be updating this from a drawing table in Bed-Stuy.

Here’s an equally good live take.

The band released a new one earlier this year; you can hear it here.

And now I’ve got a problem: if there are three things Brooklyn doesn’t need at this moment, those three things have to be The Nets, myself, and another fucking MP3 blog. So…do I keep writing about Michigan bands wistfully from afar, like that dithering lamewad who narrates Wuthering Heights? Do I write about Jersey bands, wistfully from not-so-afar? Do I chose a random city and only write about bands from that? Do I stop pretending that this is a blog that is in any way tied to a particular music scene? Well, I guess we’ll see.

Hay discos que son noticia más allá de su contenido y este es, sin lugar a dudas, uno de ellos. Primero porque marca el retorno del grupo que ya ha anunciado que hará la correspondiente gira y segundo porque fue precisamente durante la grabación de estas canciones en 2006 cuando las disputas entre ellos y con su manager, provocaron la disolución del grupo y el posterior segundo álbum en solitario de Eef Barzelay, máximo compositor, voz y guitarra de la banda.

Myspace

Song of the Day: “Girls Don’t Care” by Clem Snide

(Eef Barzelay (vox/guitars) is amazing! “It’s the beef, without the ‘B’.”)

Clem Snide es un personaje novelístico de varias obras del autor William S. Burroughs. Una figura ficticia de la literatura y a la vez un nombre que da voz a un grupo neoyorquino de rock country liderado por el compositor, cantante y guitarrista Eef Barzelay.   La banda aterrizó en el Centro Cultural Contemporáneo de Elche para presentar su nuevo álbum Hungry Bird. Un trabajo que ha visto la luz tras la separación y la posterior unión de la banda. El disco da forma a un particular sonido que reaviva los orígenes del conjunto a través de la combinación de voces que mezclan literatura y poesía con el más puro estilo rock.La historia de Clem Snide comienza en 1991. Se trata de una banda formada en Nueva York y NashVille por cuatro músicos. A partir de su creación editan varios álbumes con giras internacionales por todo el mundo. Sin embargo, se suceden años de incertidumbre e inquietudes que no terminan de plasmarse en el resultado final del grupo. Durante ese tiempo, la banda se separa y vuelve a unirse para volver a desintegrarse en 2005 debido a tensiones y discrepancias entre sus miembros.

Su músico líder Eef Barzelay, sin embargo, no estaba dispuesto a abandonar el mundo de la música y terminó lanzando un par de discos impregnados del talento creativo que le caracteriza. Sin embargo, las composiciones mostraban ciertos vacíos en su voz que le hacían perder personalidad y carácter. Por todo ello, la banda vuelve a unirse a finales del 2008 para dar forma a un nuevo álbum, un trabajo que dejaron a mitad cuando tuvo lugar la separación del grupo. Con esto, ponen fin a su particular crisis a través de un disco envuelto en auras de reconciliación melancólica.

Poesía alternativa

Hungry Bird se presenta en el Centro Cultural Contemporáneo L’ Escorxador al público de Elche en una sala repleta de asistentes. Canciones oscuras, estridentes y lentas se pasean por el escenario ilicitano ante decenas de personas contagiadas por el espíritu del grupo. Beard of bees o Pray  son algunas de las composiciones de la banda. Clem Snide realiza una puesta en escena cercana al espectador con unos guiños cómicos que ayudan a atrapar al público desde la primera letra. Con este trabajo, el grupo recupera la particular, frágil y nasal voz y sonido que forma parte de su peculiar estilo, para crear un álbum de folk rock alternativo y literario que no olvida sus raíces.

Purchases from Record Store Day:
Nirvana: “Sliver” 7″
Raconteurs: “Old Enough” (Bluegrass version) 7″
Counting Crows: “Across The Wire: Live in New York City” (2-disc import)
Clem Snide: “Soft Spot”
Merge Records: “2009 Promo Sampler”

The part of my record collection which doesn’t live at Josh’s house.
Partially because they’re my favorites, and partially because I don’t trust Vincent not to gnaw on the edges of them.

I hate to admit it, but I have been suppressing my new-music-buying passion. Maybe it’s the economy, or maybe just the wintry Mid-Atlantic spring weather, but I’ve been reluctant lately to go on an iTunes shopping spree, or even thumb through the racks at the local Borders or Best Buy.

It’s certainly not due to a lack of desire — there are many new releases I would like to put my hands and ears on. For instance, I still haven’t gotten Neko Case’s latest, which I’ve heard online and now want to own, or the new full-lengths from A. C. Newman, Robyn Hitchcock, U2, The Decemberists, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Gomez, Silversun Pickups, and Peter, Bjorn and John, to name a few.

Perhaps it’s this bout of “shopper’s block” that has caused me to indulge my musical whims in other ways recently (which I’ve chronicled here and here, for example). Or maybe it’s some sort of psychic malady, a type of avoidance behavior or something. I dunno.

I can tell you one thing, though — and this is far worse — only one song has been playing constantly in my head over these last two weeks — “Taxman.” And that’s so not a good thing, and not just because I dislike The Beatles. An earworm of that magnitude is an equal opportunity mood killer.

All of this is to say that, for this week’s post, the best I can do is to pick up from where I left off a couple of months ago (which was really a continuation of what I wrote last fall). Although I have made few new purchases, I’ve nonetheless been accumulating songs, either for free via an email or podcast subscription, or by slogging through music blogs. Most of what I’ve picked up and listened to I’ve liked and can recommend to you, realizing that it’s probably music by groups you have never heard of. (And, since it’s mostly free, you can afford to disagree with me.)

And maybe that’s my calling after all. I’ll let the big guys pontificate about the big-name releases, while I sit here (on my leaky piggy-bank) and offer up suggestions for free songs by relative no-names that I’m willing to bet will quickly top your list of get-to-know names.

So here you go, in (almost) alphabetical order, a hodgepodge of new must-have recordings — some I knew about and decided I must have more right away; some I am still discovering and plan to pursue soon; and some that were complete surprises and highly recommend — along with some thoughts on who or what they sound like, in case that helps. Be sure you click on the links to stream or download the songs.

(Note: I got a little too enthusiastic this go-round, and my list quickly became too long, so I’m posting it in two parts. The second installment will appear at the end of this week, so please check back.)

Animal Collective, Merriweather Post Pavillion. First, I want to take back my previous statement (briefly) and say something about the dazzling new record from this former Maryland-based trio, for three reasons — it’s one of the only full-lengths I’ve purchased in the past 45 days or so; I listen to it constantly; and I like it so much I will admit that I was wrong to delay buying it because of all the hype (never listen to critics). It really does stand up to everything that’s been said, and I’m not trying to exaggerate. In some ways, it’s like everything that’s come before it, and yet it’s completely unlike anything out there. Admittedly I was a little perplexed at first, but after several plays (and this is key — with headphones on) I began to understand why it’s been so popular, and hard to pin down. Imagine Tangerine Dream, The Beach Boys, David Byrne, and Kate Bush getting together to remake Paul Simon’s Graceland. But that’s too limiting, because so much is going on here — I can hear traces of ’80s synth-pop (ELO, Supertramp, and Genesis) in there, along with everything from Vampire Weekend to early Pink Floyd, Blue Man Group, Mogwai, and Midnight Oil, as well as a range of musical influences, including tribal music, gospel, disco, reggae and reggaeton, metal, noise-rock, and lots of indescribable ambient sounds. You’ve got to play it — or at least such cuts as “In the Flowers,” “My Girls,” “Summertime Clothes,” “Taste,” and “Lion in a Coma” — to hear what I’m talking about. And maybe my foot-dragging was fortuitous — this record, though released in the winter, is going to be my favorite soundtrack for hot summer afternoons.

Alexandra Hope, “Whatever You Want,” Invisible Sunday. This song delivers a somewhat incongruous mix of genres — on the surface a shimmery, tinkly-piano Motown beat, complete with doo-wop girl group vocals (think “Mr. Postman”), while a slow, reverb-laden, fuzz-guitar riff (ringing from the amps of a 90’s garage-band “grrl” group like The Breeders) simmers underneath — creating tension that is palpable and infectious.

Angus & Julia Stone, “Just a Boy,” A Book Like This. Here’s an original idea: take two musicians, male and female, get them to sing in harmony and play gently on guitars, piano and drums, and you’ve got a hit. OK, so not a novel concept, I know, but these two Aussie siblings are no novelty act, either. With their lush harmonies, warm acoustics, brushy percussion, and smart lyrics, this duo stand shoulder to shoulder with their Contemporary Music contemporaries, like The Weepies, KaiserCartel, and The Sundays.

Asobi Seksu, “Layers,” Hush. An aptly titled release (both the single and the LP) for these Brooklynites, who have toned down their signature wall-of-guitar sound and amped-up the keyboards and organs, while raising the levels on singer Yuki Chikudate’s angelic voice(s), to heighten the dreamy, shoegazing drama of an ever-evolving band.

Bishop Allen, “The Ancient Commonsense of Things,” Grrr… . For their third release, the core duo of Justin Rice and Christian Rudder have returned to the basics — guitar, bass, drums — adding only enough instrumentation (plucky or swirling strings, vibes, mandolin, etc.) to enhance or accent the melodies without jeopardizing the stripped-down feel of their earlier songs. Also check out the bright “Dimmer.”

BLK JKS, “Lakeside,” Mystery. This is another band that evokes the “where have you been all my life?” response. Except for what I’ve read here, I know very little about these guys, whose sound mix is a mish-mash of differing often seemingly incongruous tempos, rhythms, vocals, and instruments — think Peter Gabriel meets Soundgarden. I’ve only heard “Lakeside,” but it makes me want to encounter all the many sides of this band.

Born Anchors, “In Disguise,” Sprezzatura. With its raw, angular guitar licks, plaintive vocals, and anthemic drum pounding, this song is a page torn right out of U2’s early songbook, with some heavy post-punk influences, from the likes of The Pixies or Bloc Party, peeking out from behind the mask.

BrakesBrakesBrakes, “Two Shocks,” Touchdown. Despite its cloying, stylized British mannerisms and surreal lyrics (think Syd Barrett or Nick Drake), I’m surprised I can’t get enough of this song, especially its hypnotic melody and Who-like cacophonous ending.

Clem Snide, “Me No,” Hungry Bird. Reunited for the second (or possibly third) time, this fickle band lead by the prickly Eef Barzelay, has come back stronger, a little edgier, with more intensity, passion and clear-eyed lyricism, all in support of the same old genius melody-making. Having only heard this mid-tempo, angstful tune, I found myself hungry for more, saying “me, yes.”

Dan Auerbach, “I Want Some More,” Keep It Hid. Rather than venturing away from the raw, rootsy, blues-heavy rock that he cranks out with his two-piece, The Black Keys, Auerbach has expanded his sound on this debut solo recording by adding more musicians and revealing his funkier, more soulful singer/songwriter side. You’ll want more, too.

El Goodo, “Be My Girl,” Coyote. This is one of the groups that were unable to play on the final day of Woodstock — precisely because none of the members had been born yet. Their song’s youthful, beat-driven pop sound is joyously old-school imitative — a bit like Beck doing a cover of an unknown song by The Dave Clark Five — and it will make you glad all over.

Eleni Mandell, “It Wasn’t the Time (It Was the Color),” Artificial Fire. Mandell’s plaintive, smoky vocals (a raspier Emmy Lou Harris?) here play counterpoint to the quiet electric-guitar arpeggios, sort of like a female version of Bono at his most unforgettable fiery. But about two-thirds through the marshaling drums suddenly burst into a crescendo of crashing guitar chords and a jarring, melodic solo that sears it all.

Flight of the Conchords, “Carol Brown,” Singles. The two hapless Kiwis are back with new songs from the second season of their eponymous TV show, and this is one of the least faux-funky and funniest: a mocking reversal of the “50 Ways … ” motif, basically a loser’s list of loves lost, and nothing I write can do justice to the masterful arrangement, the flawless, airy samba, or Jemaine’s deadpan delivery of the witty lyrics — “Jen said she’d never ever see me again, then when I saw her again, she said it again,” or “Flo had to go, I couldn’t go with the Flo,” or “Mona, you said you were in a coma,” etc. I also like the wickedly humorous “Angels.”

Laura Gibson, “Spirited,” Beasts of Season. Singer-songwriter Laura Gibson has a voice reminiscent of Regina Spektor’s, in both timbre and inflection. But it’s her steady, upbeat pace and fuller instrumentation that make this song unique and, well, a little more spirited.

Harlem Shakes, “Strictly Game,” Technicolor Health. This song is full of the same swinging, bouncy world-pop energy made famous by the band’s better-known Brooklyn neighbor, Vampire Weekend. But there’s a looser instrumentation here that helps shake out the Shakes’ sound, making them seem like they’re having more fun.

Heartless Bastards, “The Mountain,” The Mountain. Sometimes all you need (OK, all I need) is some pounding drums, a solid bass line, some upfront guitars (power chords and soaring leads), and a female singer who can wail like Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. It’s insurmountable.

Here We Go Magic, “Fangela,” Here We Go Magic. This song, by a young Brooklyn-based “band” (actually just singer Luke Temple, with four friends who help when playing live), provides a delightfully frothy concoction of acoustic guitar strumming, offbeat rhythms, and spacey dance-club dubs, that will enchant you.

Hotels, “Kite Fight,” Where Hearts Go Broke. At first this song made me think, “Joe Jackson.” Then I thought, no, “Devo.” Then, wait a minute, OK, “The Cars.” Now, after a spin or two, I’ve decided, “Joe Devo Cars.” Or maybe I need another spin.

Iran, “Buddy,” Dissolver. Apparently, there’s a reason that this song sounds like TV on the Radio doing an atmospheric doo-wop tribute to Phil Spector (before his big, bad hairdo and prison sentence) — because, it is, essentially. Iran, the name of a “new” band that featured several members of TVOTR before their current incarnation, have reformed for this LP. Confused? Me too, but don’t worry, the music’s your friend — also check out the Bowie-tinted “I Can See the Future.”

K’naan, “Bang Bang,” Troubadour. It’s not the tight hip-hop beat or clever and clear rapping that makes this song a standout. Rather, it’s the way the chorus takes a sudden turn back in time to 1970s-era R&B soul — as if the Somali-born singer steps aside to reveal Stevie Wonder (actually Adam Levine from Maroon 5) taking The Commodores through a falsetto high-wire routine. It slays me every time.

Kinky, “Fuego En La Fabrica,” Barracuda. I don’t know anything about the band or this infectious techno-dance song. But if the grooves in “Rockit” once got your legs moving, and you like spacey, funked-out duck calls, then download this immediately.

The Love Language, “Lalita,” The Love Language. I think what grabbed me right away with this song was its unmistakable “Can’t Hurry Love” backbeat and Motown locomotion. But it’s the growling, snarly, catchy guitar hooks that keep me hitting repeat.

That’s it, for now. I hope this wasn’t too taxing and you found something you like. Keep a lookout for more recommendations coming at the end of the week. In the meantime, please leave a comment and let me know what you think of my choices, or feel free to suggest others.

My apologies for the list-i-ness of this post but I’m just not feeling particularly bloggy at present.

Here’s the long-story-short-too-late version: I went to a Clem Snide show in Madison last week. It was fantastic.

My head is all over the place right now so I’m kinda having a hard time settling down and writing about it. To further emphasize that point I apparently can’t type either… (which I originally typed as “My head is all over the place3 right now so I’m kida having a hard time settling down and righting about it. Te futher emmphasize that point…”)

There’s just no fixing some people.

Me yammering on about the show before and after my late night jaunt to Madison:

I got some video of a few of the songs played during the show, but I mean to tell ya’: My footage sucks. A lot. My camera just isn’t designed for that sort of environment- by which I mean THE DARK- so you can’t see a bloody thing most of the time. When you can see anything it’s all shaking around like to make a person sick as I had to hold my camera at arm’s length above my head to get a clear shot, all while being jostled about by other patrons who had the good sense not to bother trying to film a show with a digital photo camera.

I also got some pictures, but none of them really turned out either. Just not the night for such things, it would seem. Not for me, anyhow. But I can live with that. Just got to make sure to get it right next time around…

Adios, folksies.

Para que no os aburráis esta Semana Santa, he preparado una recopilación de versiones de temas de Neil Young (también haré un recopilatorio doble de Neil Young, que me lo han pedido algunos amigos que le verán en el Primavera Sound).

En total son 19 temas interpretados por Thom Yorke, Mercury Rev, Paul Weller, K.D. Lang, The Divine Comedy, Clem Snide, Tanya Donelly, Of Montreal, Britta Phillips, She & Him, The Byrds, Euro-Trash Girl, Saint Etienne, Pixies, David Bowie, Jeff Healey, Suzi Quatro, Waco Brothers y Pearl Jam.

La recopilación empieza por los temas lentos, como After the Gold Rush o Philadelphia, y poco a poco va cogiendo ritmo, terminando con Rockin’ In The Free World, Revolution Blues y Fuckin’ Up. Como siempre, haciendo clic en la imagen de la portada podéis descargaros las canciones de la recopilación y la carátula en pdf.

AQUÍ tenéis el listado de temas. Feliz Semana Santa.

Every Friday night my brother is at Joe Pop’s in Ship Bottom putting his own spin on Frank Sinatra. When he’s not there, he’s at the Quarter Deck and at 11, after all the other karaoke stints are over, he’s at Kubel’s where the clients are as old as the paneling on the walls but the applause is just as loud as anywhere.

And it’s the same thing. He never progresses past “Fly Me to the Moon,” or “Zing! Went the Strings of my Heart.” But each time he goes up, the crowd cheers. With his smooth mix of originality and Sinatra-isms, like the snapping of his fingers, Eric is pure entertainment.

Hollywood, of course, would never think so. 

Unlike the perfection and polish we, as an audience, are accustomed to viewing in sitcoms and dramas on TV or the big screen, my brother does not offer the same Hollywood standard of refinement and honing. He’s not a pro. He never went to Julliard or trained on Broadway. He never went to acting or entertaining school. He was never lucky enough to know someone who knows someone who knows someone else who could get him in to meet Martin Scorsese or the head of EMI. He could care less about becoming the next Harry Conick Jr. And when he hits the wrong note up on Kubel’s 5×5 ft. stage, there’s no editing out the mistakes. Pure. Raw. Unadulterated. And that’s OK. He doesn’t seem to mind, and despite moderate flinching from the audience, neither do we. What’s more, even though he’s just as influenced socially and culturally by the industry’s ideal of what is “standard” entertainment, it has no bearing on his courage or ability to perform anyway.

I, on the other hand, cannot claim the same amount of courage, regardless of having a fairly decent voice. When we make our rounds of the karaoke bars, it takes me five Yuenglings and a shot of tequila before I get up to do Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.” Is it stage fright? Not exactly. I’ve been teaching in front of classrooms and speaking publicly on and off for 15 years. Maybe it’s disinterest. Again, this is far from true after a sober realization of wishing I pursued a career as a singer. No. My lack of courage comes instead from having watched too many Turner Classic movies. It comes instead from falling prey to the idea that the media define what is acceptable or unacceptable. It comes instead from being tricked by the smoke and mirrors of perfection Hollywood has created. And it comes instead from a belief that if I can’t sing just like Patsy, I shouldn’t sing at all.

It’s pretty safe to say that while Eric is the exception, I am the rule. There are hundreds of thousands of people who do not possess an ounce of stage fright and are born with sufficient amounts of ambition for this kind of life. But something holds them back.

That “something” might be that their definition of talent isn’t really theirs at all. It belongs to corporate America, to the 10 o’clock news, to Hollywood and the music industry. It’s an extremely narrow, corporate point of view that dictates how we appreciate art, music, film, theater, even the clown at a neighborhood children’s party. And it skews our thinking of what normal is as far as the concept of performance is concerned.

Take Britney Spears for example. For more than ten years she seems to have set the standard by which all other female entertainers follow. Sony/BMG Label Group (Spears’ record label), thus, defined a good performer on youth, looks, sexiness and blond hair. And after which, America was inundated with Britney look-alikes: Christina Aguilera, Hillary Duff, Hanna Montana, Jessica Simpson and so on. They literally stopped taking a chance on any other entertainers that did not fit this description. “Pink” somehow squeezed through, but only after ditching her edginess for a more conforming look.

Another example: When it comes down to what is aired on radio stations, the repeat time for a “top ten” hit outweighs and out-buys what any local, new artist could ever squeeze through the turnstile of opportunity. One song, in fact, must earn the amount of money required to pay royalties on mechanical rights, performance rights and now, movie rights. And so air-time is essentially monopolized by a few hundred hit songs all trying to earn their keep. There is no room for anything else. When I think of how many times they still play Rod Stewart when there are so many new and noteworthy bands out there, I want to vomit. 

Statistically speaking, it’s sad when you learn how limited our choice of entertainment is.

The Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) is an umbrella trade organization that represents a little over 1600 record labels and claims that it “creates, manufactures and/or distributes approximately 90% of all legitimate sound recordings produced and sold in the United States.” But of those 1,600 or so labels there are only four major ones: EMI, Sony Music Entertainment, Universal Music Group and Warner Music Group, which control 70% of the industry. In March of 2006 Myspace had 1.4 million registered, unsigned bands. How many of them will ever see the likes of a Warner Brothers contract? Answer: less than one percent.

Of all the potential talent that exists in this country alone, there are only one or two albums each week that will sell a million copies—only a pathetic few actors (about ten) will be handed a check for 20 million for one film. And with big Hollywood corporations like Disney and Viacom buying up independent radio stations, TV channels, movie production studios, newspapers, book publishing companies and even cell phone provider companies we are left with less and less diversity and a more corporate, Disney-esque view of the world. It’s no wonder I find it hard to get up on stage and sing my heart out. One wobbly note tosses me into the slush pile of performers who weren’t schooled in the Mickey Mouse Club.

Here’s an embarrassing fact. I was in my late 20’s when I found XPN. For those of you who still don’t know exactly what XPN is, it’s an independent, member-supported radio station from the University of Pennsylvania, that (get this) still includes contact information where you can send your own, original music if you’d like it to be considered for air-play. When I came across this station, purely by coincidence, it was during a phase of instinctual curiosity and a basic need to find folk music, a genre of music I grew up with but truly believed died out with bell-bottoms and hip-huggers. My parents, both musicians, played their Martin acoustic guitars almost every where they went, singing songs from Bob Dylan, Eric Andersen, Peter, Paul & Mary, Emmy Lou Harris and others. As I grew older, I found it hard to believe that there wasn’t a new generation of people who might produce music like that, but I never, ever, ever, ever heard any folk on the big stations. So, for the longest time, I figured it didn’t exist. Until one day, I began a search. When I hit 88.5, there it was: a whole new world of music revealed to me.

Josh Ritter, Wilco, Clem Snide, Martha Wainwright, Joe Purdy. Ray LaMontagne, Damien Rice, The Damnwells, Bon Iver, Glen Hansard. And on and on. I wondered why big labels never picked up half these musicians. I wondered why radio stations never played them. Though I was grateful to find this genre of music, I was eerily disturbed by the fact that it’s been kept such a secret; that “variety,” “diversity” and “talent” don’t earn as much money as over-produced bleach blondes with belly rings and double-D’s.

There are several arguments of which I will not get into: 1.) that Hollywood caters to popular demand and gives us what we want; 2.) that Hollywood defines popular culture and tells us what we want; or 3.) a combo of both. Anyway you look at it, there is a huge gaping disconnect between the popular entertainment that we’re spoon fed and the reality of a more natural, flawed, human entertainment. For a change, listen to one of XPNs live studio sessions compared to one produced by a Clear Channel-owned station. This difference is enormous. When Regina Spektor was invited to XPN for a live session, you could hear pages turned, throat clearing, notes that were improperly hit. She sounded magnificent. She sounded real. And it made all the difference in the world when it came to appreciating the human quality of her performance and believing I too should be able to sing and make a few mistakes.

Gladly, Hollywood has no authority at Kubel’s where there’s no TV hovering over the bar and the crowd of shots drinkers mostly, has much lower expectations of a good performance. It’s Friday, and that means karaoke, which ultimately means my brother. 

This week he’s doing one of Sinatra’s best, “The Lady is a Tramp.” He promised a few regulars the week before that he’d do it. And he always keeps his promises. I’m there for support. Though he doesn’t need it. When he grabs the mic from behind the bar, he tests it once or twice for feedback. He nervously laughs and then says, “hit it Johnny,” despite knowing that the DJ’s name is Rob. As the music starts, he begins keeping time with a finger snap and a foot tap. There’s a twinkle in his eye. His voice is a little off. He doesn’t hit every note. But he’s charming. He really draws you in. I think what makes him so good is that he really believes he’s Frank, if just for the time it takes him to hit that last, sustained C note.

I sometimes laugh at guys like Eric who will never amount to all the hype I’m used to seeing on the big screen, but I shouldn’t. He deserves credit for maintaining individuality in a world where expectations are at the mercy of a very small, narrow-minded clique of people who pick and choose entertainment for us. I give credit to the audience too, for sacrificing their more rigid and illusory vision of what entertainment “should be.” It’s very hard to overcome socially determined notions of fashion and behavior, and simply enjoy entertainment for entertainment’s sake. It’s hard to accept other interpretations of performance without feeling ashamed or embarrassed for the one performing. 

Of course, a little bit of Hollywood mixed with a lot of reality makes the best performance. And that’s possibly why Eric is so worth watching. He gives us both. And even though he’s not getting paid for his rendition of “The Girl from Ipanema,” he’s happy. Occasionally one of the “dames” at Kubel’s will buy him a drink after the show. That’s pay enough—and it’s usually always the same: “two fingers of Jack Daniels over the right amount of ice.” Just like Frank.

Resources: stopbigmedia.com, musicthinktank.com

The Difference Between Movies and Movola

Wow! vs. How?

Somehow I allowed Monster to sneak to the top of my Blockbuster queue last week. Whoops. Just not in a lesbian serial killer kinda mood these days, y’know? I’m amazed at how unlike herself Theron was in it. It’s not just the weight or the hair or any of that. It’s not just “play ugly” or “play disabled” and “you’re guaranteed to win an Oscar” in this case I don’t think. It’s the way she carried herself, the way she spoke, the look in her eyes. She was just so totally other in this. The Oscar was deserved.

And I couldn’t finish it.

That’s right– turned it off. Excellent work but I turned it off. Got to the point where she gets into the second car with the fella wearing glasses and a combover and before anything went anywhere I hit “stop” and called it a night. I exchanged it for The Secret Life of Bees. *sigh* Straight downhill, ain’a hey? But it was that, Twilight, or Step Brothers, and my hopes for either of the other two being any better as promising additions to my evening were fairly low. As it stands, however, I haven’t been able to bring myself to pop TSLoB into the dvd player and am instead plowing through Season 7 of Murder, She Wrote. I *heart* me some Angela Lansbury. If anybody knows how to put me in touch with her for lunch someplace that serves outdoors and offers fresh squeezed juice, I’m all ears.

All the World’s A Big Flat Space Full of Loud-mouthed Narcissists

D. Daniels, C. Peterson, S. Fudali, R. Arnell

“Don’t Dress for Dinner” closed this past weekend at Waukesha Civic Theatre. A heck of a lot of great houses on this one. Just one loud, appreciative, gloriously supportive group of folks after another. That’s the kind of thing that makes any show better than it is, and boy did we get a lot out of mileage out of that fact. Good times, good times.

Good pictures, too. You can always count on a farce for show pics that are, at the very least, interesting.

I have to say the best part of being in this show was meeting Chelsey Peterson and Donna Daniels. Two of the greatest women I’ve worked with– possibly *ever.* Just genuinely good, quality people you can’t help but be grateful to know. The kind of people that make you say “They’re in my life?! SWEET!” I sincerely hope to work with both of them again as soon as possible. Amazing people.

They’ve both got shows coming up. First there’s “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” with the Lakeland Players (Chelsey) and “Social Security” at Sunset Playhouse (Donna; also featuring Susan Loveridge and Bonnie Krah). Anybody want to join me to take in either show?? Gonna be a lot of fun!

P.O. Box Send-Ruth-Stuff

"Hungry Bird"

Came home to a thin, square package waiting for me in the front lobby this afternoon. My copy of Clem Snide’s “Hungry Bird” on vinyl. Wahoo! And actually– there were two copies in the box, along with four cds: 2 singles and 2 groovy, smoothie, relaxy albums. How cool is that?

Package #2: A box on my doorstep from ThinkGeek.com. That can only mean good things. In this case? A good fun thing: An orange Tetris ice cube tray. Thank you to James, who bought me the tray for my birthday, for providing fun ice cubes for beverages at parties he will not be able to attend. Bwahahahaha!

Cool Ranch Doritos

Oh man could I go for some right now.

Well That Was Weird…

At 2:30 pm today the power went out in the entire neighborhood. So there we all are just working away at our desks when *fwoop!*– off go the lights, off go the computers, off go the phones.

It was great!

Well- except for the people who were right in the middle of complicated tasks when everything shut down so they ended up losing their last hour or so’s work. It was pretty fly for the rest of us, though. We sat in the semi-darkness talking until the lights came back on around 3:30, and then continued to twiddle our thumbs until 4:00 when IT had a chance to get everything up and running again.

It was still great!

So we’re back to doing our thing when one of the girls at a desk near me goes over to sit down by our team leader, AK’s, desk. With a muffled voice and almost child-like word choices she told AK she didn’t feel so good. Suddenly she slumps over in the chair and stops speaking. Not a word, not a movement- nothing. She’s only like 6 feet away so I run over to where she’s sitting so she doesn’t fall to the floor and homegirl is GONE. Her face is gray, her lips are blue, her eyes are open, but boy there is just NOBODY home.

So I’m kneeling there on the floor pushing her hair back, brushing her cheeks, holding her hands– trying to wake her up, you know? And this goes on for like a minute and still there’s just NOTHING from this girl. The woman at the desk on the other side of me comes over and we each put one hand under the girl’s armpits and knees and pick her up and lay her down on the floor and man there is still just NOTHING happening behind those eyes. Weirdest. Thing. Ever.

After a minute of laying on the floor she starts talking and asking what happened, while AK tells 911 how to get to our office. Turns out she donated during the blood drive a few hours before, drank her juice, ate her cookies… but apparently she must’ve donated ALL of her blood, a situation I don’t imagine agrees with most people, her included. Whoops!

Eventually she came around and was a lot better, and her folks were on their way to drive her home so she didn’t have to get behind the wheel after such an iffy afternoon. But man– what a way to start a week! Poor girl. :S

Burr Eat Toes

Patches napping on Alfred

At my folks’ place doing laundry and watching some TV. Nothing I care to see, really, but it’s a nice change of pace from night after night of “Murder, She Wrote” and watching cable shows online. Still- I don’t think I’ll be making a habit out of watching “Dancing With The Stars.” Couldn’t bring myself to care a lick; just not my kind of entertainment. And how long has this show been running? Wow.

Dad’s homemade burritos were another nice switch after the usual pb&j/ reheated spaghetti/ Lean Cuisine buffet of my own kitchen.

And the warm, friendly dog that is currently napping between my ankles? Oh just– icing on the cake! Love it!

Clem Snide
Dimecres, 22 d’abril del 2009 / 21:30 hores
Entrada sense numerar / 5 euros
Venda anticipada: Servicam i a la taquilla del Gran Teatre.
En la taquilla de L’Escorxador, un hora abans del començament del concert.

No li falta ironia a l’assumpte: el disc que el 2006 no es podia editar per problemes econòmics i personals, Hungry Bird, és el que ha fet que Eef Barzelay torne a la càrrega i ressuscite Clem Snide amb nous músics.

No le falta ironía al asunto: el disco que en 2006 no se podía editar por problemas económicos y personales, “Hungry Bird”, es el que ha hecho que Eef Barzelay vuelva a la carga y resucite a Clem Snide con nuevos músicos.

O vocal anasalado do cantor e guitarrista Eef Barzelay  -  revelando inequívocas influências de Neil Young -  e o nome  retirado de um personagem de William Burroughs, jogam um olhar curioso para essa banda de Nova Iorque: Clem Snide.

No final do mês passado (02/2009) lançaram seu nono disco, Hungry Bird, que fora gravado e congelado desde de 2006. Nada de novo, apenas boas canções, a maioria calmas, uma guitarra semi-barulhenta aqui e ali para pontear pianos, metais sutis, um disco gostoso de ouvir. Como disse acima parece que todas as bandas do dito “alt country” (será que ainda usam este termo?) parecem ter saído de algum momento da carreira de Neil Young.

Discografia do Clem Snide:

* You Were a Diamond – CD – Tractor Beam Records – 1998
* Your Favorite Music – CD – Sire Records/spinART Records – 1999
* The Ghost of Fashion – CD – spinART Records – 2001
* Soft Spot – CD – spinART Records – 2003
* End of Love – CD – spinART Records – 2005
* Suburban Field Recordings: Volume One/Early Home Recordings: Volume One – MP3/iTunes – SpinArt Records – 2005
* Suburban Field Recordings: Volume Two – MP3/iTunes – spinART Records – 2006
* Have a Good Night: Live Recordings 1999-2005 – Self-released – 2006
* Hungry Bird – Released February 24 2009

Os caras estão em tour pelos EUA e Europa, coloco o link do disco, peguem, antes que o mesmo seja deletado:

http://rapidshare.com/files/210405242/Clem.Snide.Hungry.Bird.2009.DesertEagle.TurkBoardMusic.rar

A few shows into a tour of the States and Europa in support of their most recent release Hungry Bird, Clem Snide is playing Upstairs at the Middle East tomorrow night in Cambridge and, should you find yourself without other plans, it should make for a fun show in an intimate little room.

Here’s a couple songs from the first Clem Snide record that I got into, The Ghost of Fashion:

Clem Snide “The Curse of Great Beauty”

Clem Snide “Moment in the Sun”

Clem Snide tour dates:

• Mar 18 2009      Bowery Ballroom     New York, New York
• Mar 19 2009     Middle East (upstairs)     Cambridge, Massachusetts
• Mar 21 2009     El Mocambo     Toronto
• Mar 22 2009     Beachland Ballroom     Cleveland, Ohio
• Mar 23 2009     The Tiger Room @Calhoun St.     Fort Wayne, Indiana
• Mar 24 2009     Schubas Tavern     Chicago, Illinois
• Mar 25 2009     400 Bar     Minneapolis, Minnesota
• Mar 26 2009     High Noon     Madison, Wisconsin
• Mar 27 2009     The House Cafe     Dekalb, Illinois
• Mar 28 2009     Off Broadway     St. Louis, Missouri
• Apr 4 2009     The Mohawk (outside stage)     Austin, Texas
• Apr 6 2009     Plush     Tucson, Arizona
• Apr 7 2009     Spaceland     Los Angeles, California
• Apr 8 2009     Bottom of the Hill     San Francisco, California
• Apr 9 2009     Humbolt Brews     Arcata, California
• Apr 10 2009     Doug Fir Lounge     Portland, Oregon
• Apr 11 2009     Tractor Tavern     Seattle, Washington
• Apr 13 2009     Urban Lounge     Salt Lake City, Utah
• Apr 14 2009     Hi-Dive     Denver, Colorado
• Apr 15 2009     The Record Bar     Kansas City, Missouri
• Apr 18 2009     Centro Civico Universidad     Zaragoza
• Apr 20 2009     Moby Dick     Madrid
• Apr 21 2009     Aulario de la Bomba     Cadiz
• Apr 22 2009     Centre Cultural Escorxador     Elche
• Apr 23 2009     Sala Apolo     Barcelone
• Apr 24 2009     Kafe Antzoki     Bilbao
• Apr 25 2009     Teatre lloseta     Majorca
• Apr 26 2009     Conservatorio     Santander
• Apr 28 2009     Ziegel Oh Lac     Zurich
• Apr 29 2009     Treibhaus     Luzern
• Apr 30 2009     Atomic Cafe     Munich
• May 1 2009     Gebaude 9     Cologne
• May 4 2009     Lido     Berlin
• May 6 2009     Borderline     London