Neko Case: Middle Cyclone

It has been 3 years since Neko Case has graced the world with a studio album and this time she's back with a broadsword. If anything, this interim has delivered us a Neko even more polished, shinier and even more ready to cut your head in half with her vocal skills if not her considerable skills at carback sword fighting. "The Pharoahs" is a jewel of scintillating guitar riffs thrown up in the dust of what used to be your heart and is vocally strong enough to be a fortress in the storms that are running all over this record. Throughout her ventures in country music Neko case has challenged people's conception of what a country singer can tackle lyrically, stylistically and culturally. In spirit, if not in style, she is the inheritor of the storm front named Emmylou Harris that was pushing hard against the Nashville clone factory in the early 80's and winning. Middle Cyclone weaves a whirling path between stark beauty and lavish sonic storms, dipping through your hometown and up the highway towards the lights on the horizon.

A preview of this record is up on NPR.

The Whitest Boy Alive: Rules

The Whitest Boy Alive is the greatest elevator band you've ever heard. They are dancing quietly in a light disco limbo between Belle and Sebastian and The Postal Service, wagging their fingers to the beat. They write minimalist electro inspired pop compositions that have nothing to prove, they are breezy and light on their feet, smiling the whole time as they dance through your headphones. By the time "Intentions" is playing you've already introduced them to your mother and invited them to come stay the weekend. Just when you think that they can be written off as a light handed pop band from Berlin, "Timebomb" comes along and you realize there is something lurking under the covers of their hotel sheets. Something dangerous, something cool and unknown that you need more of. It's OK, they're not going anywhere yet and there's plenty more on this album that bears repeated listening.

Some previews are up on their Myspace page.

M. Ward: Hold Time

Hold Time is music from an alternate history where Chet Atkins started taking psychedelics with Tom Waits on a farm in the middle of the desert and cutting records. These are the radio broadcasts from a parallel universe where AM radio is king and vacuum tubes are driving the information revolution. It is hand crafted, natural and deeply poetic music. "One Hundred Million Years" is Ward in classic form, riding the steam train of Americana between the easy flow of the West Coast and the stomp of the Mississippi shores. This is one more in a series of fantastic albums from M. Ward and includes an appearance from Lucinda Williams on "Oh Lonesome Me", a Don Gibson Cover that showcases his ability to update a classic tune without missing the soul of a song. The album ends with an aching and heartbroken instrumental composition of starlight and lonely highway signs stretching out into the horizon, begging you to just start it all over again.

Samples available on Amazon.

Prose: An Introduction By Way Of A Lesson

Hello everybody, I'm Eriq Nelson

For seven years I worked at the Tower Records here in Richmond VA and I loved damn near every minute of it. It paid my bills (kind of) and it introduced me to some incredible people (very true!). More than anything, it broadened my mind to an unspeakable variety of music. For the area I grew up in, the decaying working class suburbs of Richmond, I had a pretty catholic taste in music. Ani Difranco, Rancid and Tool were my favorite bands coming out of high school and I knew jazz. I thought I knew jazz. I thought I had a broad taste in music. Wow, was I wrong.

Well, I wasn't totally wrong. For the time and place I had been, I was a pretty broad minded dude. The fact that I had a woman singer in my CD collection was pretty outlandish. The first weeks at Tower proved to me how narrow my tastes really were. I met people with knowledge and experience in music so far beyond my reckoning that they appeared near inhuman. I met customers and employees who blew my mind clean in half with the depth of their knowledge about jazz, classic rock, zydeco, African funk and a thousand other genres of music. I listened, I learned and I soaked it all in.

In time, I had been brewing in music long enough that I could start really helping our customers out. I could give them advice about new albums, recommend classics to people, find live albums and deep cuts they might not know about and generally keep them happy with what was in their CD decks. It wasn't always easy, there were plenty of rude people that didn't want anything to do with what was outside of their tastes. It bothered me sometimes, I love music more than almost anything else there is. Eventually I realized that there was nothing I could do for these people, and I let them on their way.

There was another disease running through the record store. It infects knowledgeable employees, it breeds on blogs, Facebook and it's spreading into your local vinyl resellers, one stops and bars. Its name is Indie Snobbery. No one wants to talk about it but the silence must be broken. Not to complain about it's existence, bitching about it's like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but you'll never get anywhere. No, No there's been enough bitching. Instead, I will give you A Lesson.

Meet Mark. Mark is a typical suburban white guy, works in an office, is 35 or 36 and has a pleasant wife. He shops at Tower about three times a month and comes in to buy a pretty demographically typical spread of pop/rock and light jazz records. No one pays him any mind, no one really talks to him. He is a ghost.

One afternoon I see a new hire giving our buddy Mark the "eyeball roll" as he asks for help. I hate the eyeball roll. I recognize the signs of a customer about to walk out so I stroll over to see if I can help. Turns out, Mark was looking for something like Chris Botti. Now for those who don't know, Chris Botti doesn't play the most despicable form of smooth jazz, but he flirts with it. Right, I'm not a fan at all.

I might not like Chris Botti, or even really want to deal with a guy who counts himself as a fan, but I helped Mark out. I turned him onto Stan Getz, who is a fantastic bossa nova and samba sax player and worked throughout his career with some of the biggest names in jazz. I didn't push him off on whatever top selling crap was there, I listened and I learned, I took the time to meet Mark.

In the three years that he was my customer, he blossomed. By the time I left Tower, he was listening to Herbie Hancock, Lonnie Smith, Michael Brecker and a host of other influential jazz players as well as getting him out to local shows from our jazz scene. I snuck some post-rock in there as well. A touch of Sigur Rós to whet the appetite. So the question here is this: Is it better to turn someone on to good music for the rest of their life or feel smugly superior for your incredible taste for a moment?

No. It is a far better thing that has a lasting effect on the world to open up to people, be patient and understanding and really talk to them about music. If we all really want to support independent musicians, local culture, and editorial independence then it must be a culture of inclusion. There is no way to support yourself as an artist without selling your work to people you might not like. The same is true of those who follow and enjoy these artists. Sometimes they suck, they're narrow minded, they don't know anything. I always remember my first day at Tower, wandering around lost in those huge stacks of music. I am those guys.

Thanks for reading,
Eriq Nelson.

And Assorted Ramblings here: The Temple Of The Forbidden Beat

Do Make Say Think: You, You're a History In Rust

Do Make Say Think have been charting a new course through music since the late 90's, peering around the corners of improvised rock, ambient drones and post-modern composition into a room of ancient instruments. This album from 2007 sends alternating chills up and down your spine as it walks over the entire range of human emotion, touching your head and reaching into your heart with every note. Instrumental music of this quality is rare, rare and special and you want this in your ears as soon as possible. It is the score to old farms, the soundtrack of decay and a symphony of rebirth painted with broad strokes of horns, guitars and drums across the canvas between your ears. It will break your heart and build you back up a thousand times in 60 minutes and you will thank them at the end.

Samples of this album are on Amazon.

Morrissey: Years of Refusal

Morrissey has traveled an interesting road throughout his career, dipping into literature and dropping out of music at times. He tends to walk around rock music loosely and freely without much regard for other people's opinions and it shows. He's got a big collection of organs, synths, drums and guitars and he's gonna use them all tonight. Years of Refusal is a backstage pass to Morrissey's mind. This album starts off strong with "Something Is Squeezing My Skull" bringing a smattering of pure rock to the album, grabbing your attention and letting you inside. Then the he beckons you into the back room for tracks that sound more like a progression of his solo work since his return to the music scene in '03 with You Are The Quarry. For those familiar with Morrissey, you'll notice that his lyrics have moved outwards in this record, painting pictures of the world through his eyes and letting you inside to watch. For those unfamiliar, you are about to meet a brilliant lyricist face to face and come away smiling.

Phosphorescent: To Willie

To Willie is an album long tribute from one very talented singer-songwriter (Matthew Houck) to another. These are the faded memories of honky tonk bars sung from the bottom of a lonely well, a near perfect selection of Willie Nelson tunes representing a broad spectrum of his career dancing on the fingers of a deft arranger and his reverb drenched production. Standing out among these gems is “Can I Sleep In Your Arms” which is treated with all of the warmness and intimacy Phosphorescent can offer. It is as delicate as a snowflake on your fingertip and as strong as the wind outside the windows. Willie did much the same for his hero Lefty Frizell in 1977 with To Lefty, From Willie and it is fitting that the man receive his tribute in turn. This is country music as it is meant to be; fresh, funny, heartbreaking and played with an undying love of the art.

Good for: Lamenting your bourbon soaked memories, or making some new ones.

Animal Collective: Merriweather Post Pavillion

Animal Collective has released a full length album almost every year since 2000 and they have lost none of their tenacity or experimentation in the process. This album is a limo taking you through modern music, it shifts smoothly between the bright pop of “My Girls” into the off kilter and entrancing rhythms of “Also Frightened”, past the stomping and cheering “Summertime Clothes” and right into the dark reverb laden mysteries of "Daily Routine" for a drink. They ride the edges of experimental music like a breaking wave, sometimes dipping the front of the track over the edge but bringing you back to the groove without you ever noticing. If you haven't listened to Animal Collective before, know that they write intentional and complex music that demands your undivided attention and that you will be immensely rewarded for your effort. If you have listened to them before, go out and get your eighth amazing Animal Collective LP.

Good for: Headphones in the dark, headtrips in the light.

Poetry: Coffee Wench

I awoke in the dawning of the world of men
crossed the tides of black asphalt
staving off the foul beasts of early morning
with persuasive tones from an ancient guitar


Peering out from steel and plastic
I scoured the streets of salvation
for a single stalwart port
serving sweet hot thoughts
and pastries for breakfast


Presented with the flying flags of a thousand ports
I let the stars take me down a side street
to the wooden decks of unfamiliar commerce
and wafting smells of coffee and bagels


The wash of sunlight drifting past the windows
covered the floor with dreamtime
and the ragged edges of the bedsheets


My eyes raised to the bustling row of goods
passing over clerks hawking awareness
and busy breakfast paninis
to the absence of the of coffee wench


Can a day truly be begun
without coffee and a scowl?
how can any day be complete
without mean looks and apathy?


She was not there
like a hole in the world that says whisky and books
begging to be filled with the sleepy eyed damning of my ways
and hot coffee with cold sarcasm


I left feeling hollow and unhated
pointed my bow towards the sinking west
traversed the sea of commuters
towards the endless day

Rant: A call to villainy

Throughout human history people have grappled with the unassailable forces of adversity and found strength in their struggle against them. Be it natural disasters, war or highly irascible mega fauna there has always been some horror beyond the next bend. Humanity has been propelled to this point in its development by adversity, strife, chaos and the urge to overcome it. Not just overcome it, but to tame the chaos surrounding their lives, to use it towards their own ends. Villains provide us with a human face to that struggle, a corporeal and mortal manifestation of our frustrations. They provide the world a target in times when there is no one to blame. At times villains take action that causes them to be blamed. But most importantly, villains provide opposition.

Opposition and strife has generated far more innovation than any other force in human life. Through this agent of change humanity has altered the face of the planet, invented endless new technologies to alleviate suffering and in a moment of striking irony, secured future generations their fair share of suffering with the byproducts of developing that technology. So not all is lost for the budding villain. Humanity has devoted it's time and attention in equal measures to feeding people and finding new ways to turn those crops into a fiery wasteland, don't think that utopia is around the corner just waiting to be found.

The benefits of villainy have been heaped upon society, of this have no doubt. Why the greatest friendships ever known were formed under considerable duress! Is there a greater friendship than one that was formed in battle? A man who has held your life in his hands countless times, who has risked his own so you might both survive the horror is the greatest friend you can know. Whom do you suppose drove the engine of war to manifest that battle? Villains. It requires a villain to look at the bleak, senseless horror of warfare and extract this gleaming heart from it's chest - we are blessed to know adversity.

Being heartless is not the only requirement of true villainy. There is a subtlety to it that escapes the vast majority of politicians, investors, broadcast anchors and other aspiring villains. There is a prevailing philosophy amongst these pretenders that a villain must burn down the whole building to spite a room. Any five year old with access to a large enough arsenal can destroy the planet wholesale. That is simple. A true villain will only crush as much as is necessary to instill paralyzing fear in what remains. It is a far more effective use of resources than attempting to dominate the entire planet at once. Too often in today's pathetic excuses for villainy do I see those with the heart of a villain but with none of the restraint that is needed to fill the role. We, as persons of integrity, do not want to see the world destroyed. Just a little more under control. Our control.

So does this call for villainy go out to the world, a call for any who wish to see the world a better place. People of vision, integrity, honor and considerable personal wealth with little moral grounding I call upon you all. Act now towards providing the world its adversaries, its nemesis, its good fight. The world has need of measured doses of evil perpetrated by those who will understand the nature of their goals. We must stop the amateurs from disgracing the role. These hack villains must be stopped, they lack grace in their actions and lower the art to mere thuggery.


Thank you for your time:

Eriq Nelson
Adversary.

Poetry: Art Sucks

what's going on here

can't be monetized

doesn't fit into an agenda

there is no market for it

we are spinning lies into pretty shapes

just for the joy of spinning

smiling up into the sunlight

and laughing

unlike the rest of the world

who are spinning lies for a profit

or a feeling of importance

I dance with them between my fingers

I spit them out on plastic keyboards

like nude models on a canvas of fiber optics

these delicate moments are my friends

they are the monsters that live in my mind

and I won't sell them

I dance because there is nothing else

there is only the dance

between light and shadow

between night and day

everything else is an illusion

so I prefer to live among the pretty lights

that people treat like real things

threading my fingers through

each and every fiber of being

laughing at people who take things seriously

being very serious about unimportant things

generally being a fool

and dancing

what's going on here

is not art, it's dancing

is not a dance, but dancing

is not you, is not me