Jandek on Corwood

I’ve been fascinated by Jandek for a few years now. I don’t remember how I heard about him (I wish I did), but he has been one of those musicians I’d been meaning to listen to for years. I never have, because tracking down his music isn’t exactly easy. And here’s why:

Jandek is the pseudonym for a solo musician (real name unknown) apparently based out of the Houston area. In 1978 he self-released his debut album (as “The Units”) and sent it to various music magazines. The album was a single man speak-singing whispery stream-of-consciousness lyrics that were painfully personal over an acoustic guitar that seemed to be wildly out of tune and was played with hard single string plucking style. It was met with confusion, no one really seeming to know what to make of it. Jandek found one review in Option magazine to apparently be encouraging enough. A couple years later, Jandek released his follow-up, now calling himself “Jandek” after receiving a cease-and-desist order from a San Francisco band named “The Units”. He has continued to release roughly two albums a year ever since, making him one of the most prolific musicians in modern music.

Jandek has done this while maintaining what may be the lowest profile in the history of music. He has only conducted two interviews (one of which involved having drinking with friends and refusing outright to discuss his music), the occasional written correspondence, his first live appearance was in 2003, an unannounced concert appearance, and he has only played live a handful of times since. Some of his album covers feature pictures of a tall thin man with blond hair, and this is assumed to be Jandek, though there is nothing to suggest that it is actually him besides the fact that this man appears on multiple covers. Even these very limited contacts are all conducted under the guise of contacting “a representative of Corwood Industries,” a man claiming to not actually be the musician Jandek.

Corwood Industries is a company that appears to only exist as a PO Box in Houston, TX, and the only thing is seems to do is release Jandek albums. Up until recent years, if you wanted to contact Jandek or purchase one of his albums, you had to write to Corwood’s PO Box. Unless you lived near a record store that improbably carried Jandek albums, you had to simply send money and a request for a specific album, and hope that Corwood would fulfill your request and mail an album to you. In this, the Internet age, fans have created music videos to post on Youtube and someone has even created a Myspace page for him. There are even a couple of online music retailers that will now fulfill your Jandek orders. These all appear to be fan-driven developments, as Jandek still seems to only be available via Corwood’s PO Box (the same box for 30 years – PO Box 15375, Houston, TX, 77020).

As I said, I’d been curious about Jandek for a while now, and recently found out that Chad Freidrichs had released a documentary about Jandek in 2003. Jandek on Corwood seemed like the perfect way to dip my toe in the mysterious Jandek pool. Here is the trailer for Jandek on Corwood:

Jandek on Corwood consists of two basic elements. There are the sections made up of interviews with musicians, music writers, DJs, record store and record label owners who are all Jandek fans discussing Jandek. The other element is simply montages of imagery set to Jandek’s music. This second element is handled beautifully. The images that creep across the screen are perfectly matched to Jandek’s intense, raw, minimalist music that seems to ooze a sort of decrepit, timeless Americana. It is like watching a beautiful, haunting, long-form art house music video. If you have any interest in hearing what Jandek sounds like, these sections of the film provide an amazing introduction to the listening experience.

The interviews, on the other hand, are odd at first. It is apparent that the people being interviewed are by no means objective. They are fervent Jandek fans. They acknowledge that the music isn’t traditionally beautiful, and many times isn’t even remotely entertaining to listen to. But they have obviously bought into the mystery that is Jandek, they revel in playing the guessing game of who Jandek is, what his life is like, where this music comes from. They expound on what makes his music brilliant and singular. They discuss the elements that make art, especially outsider art, high quality. They seem to be almost making a sales pitch for Jandek.

At first this is off-putting, but after listening to the music, it becomes apparent what is happening. This is not the music that can generate casual fans. The only people who could possibly sit down and discuss this music are the people who have bought so whole-heartedly into what Jandek is doing and what he is about. Anyone who hears this music will have one of two reactions. Either they will abandon it and forget about it forever, or they will be drawn in and left endlessly fascinated by it. There simply is no one out there who can speak objectively about Jandek, he is simply too polarizing. Ultimately, you’re given something akin to an indepth tour through the cult fanbase of this wildly idiosyncratic musician.

Now that I’ve seen the movie and heard the music, what is my take? Personally, I’m hooked. Jandek’s music is intense, filled with such raw intimacy that it is almost scary to listen to. It is like you’re listening to something you’re not meant to listen to. The music brings to mind visions of a broken, reclusive man spewing his deepest, barest, most honest thoughts and emotions alone in an empty room. One of the contributors to the film described Jandek’s music as a 30+ part, 25+ year suicide note. Everything is imbued with such heavy finality, that every note seems like it might be the man’s last. While the content of Jandek’s music may not be that dire (though sometimes it is), the concept of listening for years to something as intimate as a suicide note written by a total stranger is not far off in describing the experience of listening to such emotionally raw music.

For a documentary about a reclusive musician, I found myself actually being kind of scared by the end. Listening to this unbelievably haunting music, seeing these images of rotting Americana, listening to people speak so obsessively about this man who has rarely been seen, whom no one knows, I felt like this is something I should stay away from.

But it’s too late. I’ll be writing to Corwood Industries, PO Box 15375, Houston, TX, 77020 to request my catalogue.

“Scream bloody murder, the mountains are listening”

A lot of people have said that the rhythm section is the backbone of a band, but really how often is that true? Well, in the case of Big Business, it’s very true. Doubling as the rhythm section for sludge metal luminaries the Melvins, Big Business are simply Jared Warren (bass/vocals) and Coady Willis (drums). Guitars pop in now and then but only as accents to bass and drums and their booming assault.

A band consisting solely of bass and drums (and vocals, of course) sounds a bit like a novelty. I mean, really, how much can two guys do with just a bass and a drum set? Thankfully, they can do quite a bit, and they can do it well.

On Here Come the Waterworks, the duo’s sophomore album, the sound is thick, rumbling, and thunderous throughout, but they manage to keep it interesting. Song to song, and sometimes even within single songs, subtle changes in style and pacing keep the album from sounding too much like the same thing over and over again.

Album opener “Just As the Day was Dawning” is a thundering, rollicking, straight-ahead rock song that gives way to “Hands Up,” a hardcore influenced anthem that opens with the repeated screaming of “STAMPEDE!” before demanding “hands up, hands up, hands up/like the people beside you, hands up.” From then on they touch on slow, almost dirge-like territory (the paranoid “Shields” and the brooding “I’ll Give you Something to Cry About”), mid-tempo drum corps inspired pronouncements (the near ethereal “Another Fourth of July…Ruined”), T.Rex-esque boogey (the not-quite-but-almost-danceable “Start your Digging”) and sweeping instrumentals (album-closer “Another Beautiful Day in the Pacific Northwest”).

Personally, the peak of the album is “Grounds For Divorce.” In five and a half minutes the song moves from its up-tempo traditional metal opening into a heavy, slow, harrowing chorus. Throughout the song the tone, sound, and tempo seamlessly shift back and forth, painting an epic portrait of near Biblical destruction. Even lyrically the song switches from self-conscious absurdity (“I heard he dabbled in witchcraft, I heard occult/Oh, they’re pretty much the same/I guess he was adopted or raised by wolves/That’s ridiculous to say”) to ominous seriousness (“We’re left with some stories and notes/But this is the part that will hurt/And nobody learned/And now nothing grows here”) and back again.

Ultimately “Grounds For Divorce” sums up the entire album pretty nicely, showcasing Big Business’s willingness to push the sonic boundaries of their musical range and their seemingly off-the-cuff lyrics that can, at turns, sound absolutely ridiculous or (possibly accidentally) profound.

Surprisingly, this thick wall of murky sound is usually quite catchy. Though the album is a dense assault on the senses, it is a thoroughly enjoyable listen. Assuming, that is, that you like your music loud and gut rumbling.

And for shits and giggles, here's more Murderface:

Wow, just wow...

So apparently the US government can more or less do what it wants, where it wants. International borders be damned.

A clothing boutique owner in Denmark has had $205 frozen by the US government for buying dresses from Pakistan.

Basically, the owner (in Denmark, mind you) ordered some dresses from a man in Pakistan, and the US government claimed she was suspected of supporting a terrorist organization and froze her funds. While the boutique owner did her best to comply with the US, she stopped short of tracking down her dress supplier's date of birth, and is currently out $205 and six dresses.

At first I was confused as to why the US would be involved in an international transaction between two people in two countries, neither of which are the United States. Well, if you read the article linked above, turns out since 9/11 the US has been monitoring transactions made over the Swift bank transfer system. No one knew about this until 2006, when the EU caught wind of it, but then let the US continue anyways.

In short, the US is refusing to let a Danish woman buy dresses from the Pakistani dress supplier, monitoring bank transactions all over the world regardless of jurisdiction, and the EU has about as strong a backbone as Congress.

What a world...

Two of my favorite things

See more funny videos at CollegeHumor

“Am I dead?”

In a bizarre and convoluted connection to the Southland Tales experiment, this post will be about a movie called Right At Your Door. When I rented Southland Tales, I also tried to rent Kill the Moonlight. The video store didn’t have it, so instead I rented Southlander. I had seen Southlander before and it was the closest thing to Kill the Moonlight I could think of (prompting the guy at the video store to say, “You’re all about the Southland, aren’t you?”). Southlander stars Rory Cochrane (remember him? Lucas from Empire Records and the über-stoner from Dazed and Confused?), who is also the star of Right At Your Door. Maybe not a big deal, but seriously, when was the last time you watched a movie with Rory Cochrane?

Right At Your Door is a taut, low budget thriller, featuring Cochrane as Brad and Mary McCormack as Lexi; a young, newly married couple living in Los Angeles, Brad being the struggling out of work musician who is being supported by the more professional Lexi. One bright, sunny, LA morning, Brad dutifully prepares his wife’s coffee, warms the shower for her, and even listens to the morning news to catch the traffic report for her morning commute. She begrudgingly gets up, showers, and just before she leaves, Brad warns her to take the side streets into downtown, since the highways are all jammed. Everything pretty much goes downhill from there.

Shortly after Lexi leaves the radio is interrupted with an emergency report. Terrorists have set off bombs all around downtown LA. After some frantic calling, Brad sets out to go and find his wife. He quickly discovers that getting anywhere near downtown is impossible, as the police are blocking all roads. The radio reports that the bombs were dirty, lacing the billowing smoke with some kind of unidentified hybrid toxin. Brad grabs as much duct tape as he can carry and rushes back home to wait for word from his wife.

Upon arriving home, Brad resumes his frantic calling until he is interrupted by his neighbors’ handyman, Alvaro. With the roads blocked, Alvaro can’t get home and pleads with Brad to let him stay. Brad relents, and as the swelling clouds of smoke and ash spread over the city, Alvaro convinces Brad to begin sealing the house before the toxins reach their neighborhood. Shortly after they finish, a panic stricken Lexi arrives at the door. What ensues is a slow, tense, emotionally devastating sstory, as Brad and Lexi are forced to deal with the realization that she has been infected, and he can’t let her in.

Right At Your Door amounts to 30 minutes of fast-paced, frantic confusion followed by a slow-burning 60 minutes of watching the couple deal with their tragic situation. The film relies heavily on, and makes good use of, the rampant confusion following the attacks. The radio news that plays almost constantly throughout the film disseminates bits and pieces of vague and contradictory news, facts, and conjecture. Authority in the abstract becomes the savior, while any appearance of actual authority inspires skepticism and fear.

Over all, the film is good. Great at times, and frustrating at others. The biggest problem is that the filmmakers don’t seem to know where the narrative tension lies. The fear of authority and the appearance of the military sometimes distracts from the real tension of watching Brad watching his wife slowly dying in their backyard. The confusion caused by the media and the distrust of authority can, at times, turn pretty hackneyed. And the ending, while not unnatural, does seem unnecessary.

Those problems aside, Right At Your Door is a well made, tense, and emotionally devastating film. The acting by McCormack is serviceable, but Cochrane is great. Large amounts of time are spent watching him anxiously pacing around his house or sitting distraughtly next to his wife, separated by a thin sheet of plastic. A difficult task for an actor, and Cochrane makes it work. There are solid visuals, such as a quiet moment of watching the toxic ash falling gracefully on the neighborhood, looking like a gentle and beautiful snowfall.

The film belies its low budget nature through good acting, solid cinematography, and a tense story constructed around a single location. It can be a difficult task to set a movie in a single place with a limited cast (see 90% of movies adapted from plays), but Right At Your Door does an admirable job. It is a tense film about choices, both rational and irrational, and dealing the inevitable consequences of those choices.

Two Experiments Gone Awry

As I mentioned last post, I was planning on engaging in what I had deemed “The Southland Tales Experiment,” which basically consisted of me watching Southland Tales and drinking lots of whiskey. Somehow I figured the addition of whiskey would drastically alter the experience of watching a movie that has been called “an incomprehensible, self-indulgent mess” (Austin Chronicle) and “a prettier, younger, and developmentally-challenged sister [of Mulholland Drive]” (Modern Fabulousity). Well, it didn’t really happen that way. At least not in the drastic way I expected. Basically what you’d probably to expect would happen did happen. I got a little drunk. That was really it. Oh well. On to the movie!

Southland Tales is, without a doubt, a big sprawling mess of a film. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I found it to be pretty enjoyable. But I’m getting ahead of myself, let’s start with an attempt at a plot synopsis.

If you had to pick a lynchpin for all of the convoluted, interweaving subplots, it’d probably have to be Boxer Santaros (Dwayne Johnson, AKA “the Rock”). Boxer Santaros is a Schwarzenegger-esque action star who has married into politics and has strong ties to the Republican party (married to the daughter of a prominent Texas senator running for president in the 2008 election). Oh wait, let me back up a moment. The film opens in the “near future” of July 4^th, 2005 (FYI: this thing has been delayed for years), when terrorists set off some nuclear bombs in a couple of Texas cities. In the wake of the attacks, the US government has instituted a state of martial law, issuing interstate visas, creating USIDent (a CIA/Homeland Security nightmare that spends its time spying on US citizens, including but not limited to monitoring stalls in public bathrooms), amongst other crazy dystopian style stuff. So, back to Boxer. Oh wait, I totally forgot about the tide-harnessing, perpetual motion machine that is destroying the universe. But first, let’s get to the Neo-Marxists. Or Justin Timberlake as the Revelations-obsessed, Iraq vet narrator. I’m sorry, is this frustrating? Well, welcome to the world of Southland Tales.

Let’s try this again. In 2005 terrorists set off nuclear bombs in Texas. In turn the US government declares war on numerous Middle Eastern countries, institutes martial law, creates the aforementioned USIDent, reinstates the draft, and generally tightens the noose around the public neck. Jump ahead a few years to 2008. The election is looming and civil unrest permeates the nation. With the war in the Middle East cutting off US access to oil, all collective faith is placed in a new form of alternative energy, Fluid Karma. A scientist has been able to harness the ocean tides to create a sort of force field of free energy off the Pacific coast. Now we can get to Boxer. Shortly before the start of the film’s story, Boxer has disappeared near Lake Mead, but is known to be somewhere in southern California. The presidential hopeful (also Boxer’s father-in-law) is desperate to find Boxer for the sake of his campaign. Turns out Boxer has amnesia and is shacking up with former porn-star turned entrepreneur Krysta Now (Sarah Michelle Gellar), and the two of them have written a screenplay together about the end of the world. While this is going on, there is also the Neo-Marxists, a revolutionary group, who seem determined to rig the election, bring down the US government, and cause just general craziness. The Neo-Marxists have kidnapped a UPU2 cop (Sean William Scott) and talked his disturbed twin brother (also Sean William Scott) into impersonating his cop brother in an attempt to stage a racially motivated shooting, thinking a racist cop in LA will somehow spur massive social reform. Well, at this point, it’d just be quicker to say that the Neo-Marxists, Boxer Santaros, the porn-star, the would-be president, the scientist and his perpetual motion ocean machine, the cop and his twin brother, and probably some stuff I forgot to mention all crash into each other, creating an intensely confusing web of plotlines that involve time travel, blackmail, drug use, war veterans, environmental-disruption-induced-epidemic-of-mob-violence, a bunch of stuff about souls and the apocalypse, and other wackiness.

There are a lot of ways to describe this movie. Sprawling, convoluted, overly ambitious, garish, nonsensical. The tone of the film is incredibly uneven, oscillating between near slapstick level comedy and end-of-times Biblical prophecy drama. Laugh out loud moments often transition uncomfortably into confusing, earnest, pseudophilosophical ramblings about the nature of existence and souls and identities and what not.

The biggest complaints that can be leveled against Southland Tales would have to be Richard Kelly’s mishandling of the more serious, dramatic elements, and the uneven nature of the film as a whole. That being said, the film is an incredibly fun ride. Kelly is able to effectively create a bizarre, thoroughly engrossing version of the future that is both wildly foreign and frightfully familiar. Terrifying and wholly believable elements like USIDent are mixed with comically despicable caricatures of our own popular culture (e.g. Krysta Now’s talk show, which features her and three other pornstars sitting on the beach discussing current events). If the two biggest problems are the drama and overall tone, the two biggest strengths are the comedy and the dystopian world Kelly creates.

Also of note is the performance of Dwayne Johnson. Since he left the WWF (or WWE, or whatever), I’ve seen him in a few things here and there. I have to say, the more I see of him, the more I like him. He’s not the best actor by any means, but he definitely possesses an affable charm. One of my favorite bits in the entire movie is the expression Johnson makes when he is shocked or scared (which happens a comical number of times, given his enormous stature), wherein his eyes bug out, his brow arches, and he does a sort of rapid finger-tenting motion.

Along with the Rock, Buffy, and Stifler, Southland Tales manages to wrangle together one of the most bizarre ensemble casts I have ever seen. Mandy Moore, Jon Lovitz, Cheri Oteri, Amy Poehler, John Larroquette, Bai Ling, Lou Taylor Pucci, Wallace Shawn (i.e. the Sicilian from the Princess Bride), Kevin Smith, and countless others play roles of varying size. This movie is a veritable parade of B, C, and D-list actors. It’s almost as if Kelly’s casting agent had never heard of extras.

Overall, I enjoyed Southland Tales. It is without a doubt not a film for everybody. Viewers will need to let go of trying to make sense of it, and even let go of trying to remember how all of the characters and plots relate to one another. In order to really enjoy it, you’ll need to just sit back and enjoy the ride. Turning your brain at least halfway off would go a long way. You know, maybe all that whiskey helped after all.

Oh, happy day!

Believe it or not, the Octopus Motor has now been cluttering up the Internet for a full year! For a number of reasons, I decided to avoid SXSW like the plague this year, so no long-winded recap of all the awesome bands I saw. Sorry. But worry not, I would not forget you on this, the most exciting of days. Instead, I have assembled the Octopus Motor Paper Anniversary mix-CD. Below you will find a track-by-track listing of the mix, complete with comments about each song, and, when available, videos for each track. Enjoy!

Stay tuned for exciting, year-two entries, like “the Southland Tales Experiment” where I watch Southland Tales and drink lots of whiskey. Fun!

The Octopus Motor Paper Anniversary Mix:

1. Toilet Boys – Another Day in the Life

I first heard this song my freshman year of college, and it has never ceased to kick ass. It’s one of the most simple-minded songs I have ever heard. That may be why it has stayed in my collection for so long. Really it all just boils down to fun, gritty rock. And I think we all could use a little more grit and a lot more fun in our lives.

2. Chris Connelly – Spoonfed Celeste

At the time that Chris Connelly was recording this song, he was doing vocal/keyboard duties in bands like Ministry, the Revolting Cocks, and the Killing Joke, amongst other industrial luminaries. Connelly has always fascinated me. I first noticed him after seeing him live as a member of Pigface, and I started to realize that this guy was wholly different from the rest of the industrial metal circus. Then I heard this country-tinged piano romp. Needless to say, Connelly and the industrial music scene eventually parted ways. Both parties were probably better off for it.

3. Brother Ali – Take Me Home

My brother played this song for me a few times over the holidays as he was assembling his annual holiday mix-CD. The first time I really listened to it, though, was the afternoon of December 31^st. I was driving south on I-35, heading home from Round Rock, feeling particularly unpleased with life. I was in a foul mood following some particularly foul turns in life. As I was driving, listening to the aforementioned holiday mix-CD thinking about how life wasn’t “all rainbows und sunshine,” this song came on. I was blown away. I have never heard anything so self-affirming and uplifting. I played the song on repeat for the remainder of the drive, and ever since then I can’t not listen to this song and feel better about life, myself, and the world in general.

4. Faith No More – Surprise! You’re Dead!

Mike Patton may be the greatest man ever. Literally ever. Is there anything that this guy hasn’t done or can’t do? I seriously doubt it. I mean, listen to this thrashing, proto-rap/metal gem, then put on some old Mr. Bungle, and maybe finish off with some Fantómas or Peeping Tom. I wish I could say more, but really, I just want to take him behind the middle school and get him pregnant.

5. Liars – Plaster Casts of Everything

Liars are by far the greatest band around today. They never cease to surprise with their unbridled creativity, combined with their “fuck ‘em” attitude towards fans’ and critics’ expectations. (Though, we all know how I feel about them.) “Plaster Casts of Everything” is a driving, muscular rock song, unlike anything they’ve done before. Pulsing, repetitive, and catchy, it’s probably the closest they’ve ever come to a straight up, non-weird rocker. Which means, it’s still pretty weird.

6. Skeletons & the Girl-faced Boys – Git

I first gave this band a try based on their name alone. I mean, c’mon, “Skeletons and the Girl-Faced Boys” is bound to lead to something at least mildly excellent, right? Skeletons’ music is like old, funk-influenced Prince, but played by a bunch of white futurists. The digital sheen, electronic blips, and fuzzy keyboards combine with leader singer/songwriter Matt Mehlan’s falsetto voice to make catchy, strange, funky pop music. If you like your music fun, synthetic, and with a healthy dose of good-spirited experimentalism thrown in, I recommend checking these guys out. (Though, they tend to change their name a lot, so I’m not sure what they’re going by these days.)

7. Of Montreal – Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider

There are a lot of Of Montreal haters out there. Stuffy hipsters who have decided that the band has become too commercial and is no longer cool enough to acknowledge that they’re pretty fucking great. Fuck off, hipsters. They are great. The entire Hissing Fauna album is great; wrapping gloomy lyrics about divorce, bi-polar disorder, and nervous breakdowns in gleaming, upbeat, shiny pop songs. Not to mention that this song in particular is one of the rare instances where Kevin Barnes lets himself give a big “fuck you” to the source of his many problems.

8. Scissor Sisters – I Don’t Feel Like Dancing

Despite about not wanting to dance, I can’t listen to this and not dance. I wonder if they planned that…

9. M.I.A. – Bamboo Banga

It took me a while to warm up to M.I.A., maybe it had something to do with the fact that every time I saw one of her videos or album covers I instantly got a migraine, quickly followed by a seizure. Her music is pretty good, though. The old school, Casio-style synths and her chanting staccato delivery make for a particularly engaging combination. This song more or less won me over with the lines “Now I’m sitting down, chilling on gunpowder/strike match light fire/who’s that girl called Maya.” Just don’t look directly at her.

10. Saul Williams – Black History Month

The production by Trent Reznor is fantastic. The lyrics, though maybe not the best, are delivered with such fiery conviction that it easily makes up for their shortcomings on paper. The particularly awkward spoken word portion is saved the moment Williams yells “Let these suckers know the cost of making Harriet run” just as the thundering drum line creeps back into the mix and takes over.

11. Powerman 5000 – Car Crash

Following the uber-earnestness of Saul Williams, I think it’s time for a little reprieve by way of the slums of goofy alt-metal. Maybe one of the dumbest songs I have ever heard, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s awesome. Well, maybe “awesome” is too strong a word, but how many songs include references to Mad Max? Not enough.

12. Alice Cooper – Desperado

A moody ballad by a Detroiter about an old-West style gunslinger, this song strikes a particular chord with me. Not that I’m a gunslinger or anything, but I am a native Michigander who made the unlikely journey down into the heart of Texas. Maybe it’s a stretch, or maybe it’s the understated guitar accompanying Alice’s brooding vocals that explode in tandem into a wicked double-barreled snarl. Alice lamenting “You’re a notch/and I’m a legend/You’re at peace/and I must hide” in a deep, gravelly voice over thick, powerful guitars.

13. Thao Nguyen with the Get Down Stay Down – Fear and Convience

I find this song to be extremely comforting. Sort of like crawling under a blanket after coming inside from the cold, or taking a hot shower after walking through the rain. The playful guitars and mid-tempo rollicking drums perfectly compliment Nguyen’s coy, woman-girl lyrics and vocals.

14. Black Kids – I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You

I wonder if the Black Kids will be able to survive the huge amount of hype surrounding them. Regardless, they will at least always have this song. Fast, kind of messy, and begging to be sung along to, this song always makes me want to shake it. Too bad your boyfriend’s just going to “bite my moves.”

15. Dresden Dolls – Girl Anachronism

This is the first Dresden Dolls song I ever heard. Which might have been an unfortunate thing for me, because no matter what else I hear by them, I always compare it back to this. The spastic pianos and frantic spouting of lyrics about self-mutilation and child birth make for an insanely enjoyable two and a half minutes. As much as I enjoy their other stuff, nothing compares to the piano stomp of “Girl Anachronism.”

16. High on Fire – Rumors of War

This band renewed my faith in modern, straight-up metal. The brief pause after the line “spit in the evil eyes” before the guitar, bass, and drums explode under Pike’s growling “Stand our ground with hate and fury/Fear that comes will die” gives me chills. And sort of makes me want to shake some people by their collars before punching them in the face. Of course, this really isn’t new news.

17. Blur – the Universal

I don’t really like Blur all that much. I mean, they’re OK, but I’m more or less indifferent to them. But “the Universal” is one of the greatest songs I have ever heard. The strings and lyrics lend a dark, surreal undercurrent to the song (e.g. “No one here is alone/satellites in every home/yes the universal’s here/here for everyone”), before it the music rises into the anthemic chorus of “It really, really, really could happen/yes, it really, really, really could happen/and the days they seem to fall through you/well just let them go.” For whatever reason, it always bring to mind a generic movie ending, where the main character walks down the street, back to the camera, as the camera slowly pans back, higher and higher into the sky, and we know that no matter what trials and tribulations our hero suffered through, he’s going to be alright.

18. Hefner – Hello Kitten

There’s always room on a mix for a folksy rock song about masturbation.

19. David Bowie – Golden Years

Along with jam bands and house music, I can’t stand blue-eyed soul and white funk music. And yet, it’s as if Bowie keeps creeping up on me and whispering in my ear, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” This is straight up white funk, but it’s also really good. I don’t know how he does it, but I love walking down the street, my giant, goofy, DJ-style headphones on, listening to that bass line and hearing Bowie tell me “Don’t let me hear you say, life’s taking you no-o-where.” It totally makes me strut like I have a moustache.

20. Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan – Ballad of Broken Seas

I love Mark Lanegan’s voice, but I’ve always been a little frustrated by it. He seems to have a problem finding the right style of music to make full use of it’s deep, whiskey and cigarette soaked sound. Who’d of thought that an ex-Belle and Sebastian member would be the one to bring it out? “Ballad of Broken Seas” might not be the best song on their duet album, but its gentle pianos, plaintive cello, and tales of self-destruction seem like a fitting end.