Here it is, the second to last volume of the 365 albums endeavor. This block was filled with a lot more unfamiliar stuff than the other two volumes — music friends turned me on to and stuff I discovered on my own (drum and bass dj sets, grime, Colombian tropical, 60s French pop) — which consequently led to some wonderfully surprising listens. Of course, there were the usual “revisits” here as well, which when listened to again — in this manner — only added to my affection and further blew me away with their contemporary relevance; My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless, De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising, Violent Femmes’ Violent Femmes to name a few.

The next installment of this project will be capped off with an end of the year top 10 list of some sort; either the best new music in 2008 or the best music I listened to over the course of this project… maybe both — I’ve still got a little over a month to decide. Until then, here are a few recommendations of some albums from 2007 I picked up in 2008 that would’ve made my top 10 list in 2007 had I picked them up then and done a list.

2007 Redux (2008 style)

The National, Boxer Maybe I’m partial to baritone voices in pop music because they are simply no longer in vogue — at least not since the 80s anyway — or that I sing with one myself, but dammit, this album gets me. These are dark, dramatic brilliantly melodic pop songs. A perfect example of the band evolving with each successive release.

Yeasayer, All Hour Cymbals A Fuzzy, Indie, Afro-Asiany, beat driven Psychedelic cobb salad… sort of. If Peter Gabriel, Love and XTC got together for a one off meeting of the minds, with a hookah and a studio full of friends, you might get something similar… you might. Big ideas, big music, big blend and time spent with it won’t be regretted. What’s not to love about an album that closes with, “I have met so many people I deeply care for/I’m so blessed to have spent that time with my family and the friends I love with my short life.”

Loney, Dear, Loney Noir I’ve already wrote about this record in a previous post, but I think it deserves mentioning again in this context, because if this were a top 10 list for the best albums of 2007, this record would be at the top hands down — this is Swedish pop music at its jangly, achingly melodic best. Put on some headphones, close your eyes and take this album for a spin — from start to finish with no other distractions — and unless you don’t have a heart, you’ll be disappointed when it ends.

Beirut, The Flying Club Cup The influences seem to be shifting a little further south on this disc, but it definitely won’t be confused with anything other than another Beirut record… and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s as wonderful and idiosyncratic as previous recordings and as adept at transporting you to another time and place.

Justice, (Cross) Okay, here’s where 30 sec. previews on iTunes or Amazon won’t do it for you. I heard all the hype on this one, but when I previewed it, I just couldn’t see it. Still, I wanted to understand what I didn’t, so a couple of weeks ago I downloaded it, and let me just say, I get it. It won’t change your life, but it’s fun, almost tongue-in-cheek, mid-ranged, fuzzed out, highly danceable, growling, turn it up to 11 house music.

Burial, Untrue Like the Justice album, I couldn’t understand where all the fawning was coming from, but then again, trying to understand something this ethereal, wide-open and cinematic in 30 seconds is a fool’s errand. This is what a dark, lonely, fog filled night might sound like if it were music. No doubt, there’s still a little dubstep left in Untrue, but Burial is now working with a bigger palette… albeit a gray one.

As usual, if you decide to check out anything I recommend or that’s on the 365 album list (or if you already own something I recommended or that’s on the list), let me know what you think. Also, if you have and any recommendations of your own you’d like to share– whatever the genre — then by all means, drop me an e-mail or leave a comment… I can never have too much new music.

Click here for 365 albums vol. 3

For those of you in the States have a happy Thanksgiving, and for those of you elsewhere in the world, have a splendid week.

pau.

As the rain started to fall halfway through the single song encore of “Popplagið” –  a rain seemingly brought on by the magisterial howling of the music — it became clear this was going to be hands-down the single most joyous and surreal rock ‘n roll moment I ( and no doubt the rest of the 8500 soaked fans at the sold-out Greek Theatre) would ever witness. Had it been a Guns n’ Roses video it would have seemed like contrived, cliché bombast.  But as it was, this timely meteorological phenomena — masquerading as rock show gimmickry — was the perfect finale to an inspired 100 plus minute set of Icelandic musical sorcery.

But truthfully, the moment wouldn’t have had nearly the impact had it not followed what came minutes before it. After a set of noisy, soaring, melodious anthems and floaty ballads, the band closed things out with arguably the poppiest, most radio friendly song they’ve written, “Gobbledigook” (off their new album, með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust), and took it to a place I don’t think anyone was expecting.

Pleasant enough on the album, the song live — with four extra drummers (members of the warm-up band Parachutes), the big, engulfing sound of the Greek, furious acoustic guitar playing, an amphitheater full of of bouncing, clapping fans and more confetti than could ever be found in a small child’s wildest dreams — became a celebratory piece of pop expression.

Singing mostly in Icelandic and occasionally in Vonlenska (a gibberish language), lead singer and guitarist Jón þór “Jónsi” Birgisson’s angelic falsetto and bowed guitar playing, were the perfect Pied Pipers for this strange and wonderful journey of a show. Not being able to understand what was being sung gave the music a unique kind of authority that wouldn’t have been present otherwise.  Lyrics, weighing no more than any other part of the music, allowed vocal melodies to weave anonymously throughout the songs without the burden of intention.

But saying one couldn’t understand what was being sung is a bit of a misstatement, because at the deepest level, inside where it counts, the band’s songs are easily understood, and for me at least, triggered a number of different emotions. Looking around at the audience’s faces, and hearing them phonetically singing along to their favorite songs, one gets the power of this mystifying music.

Look, it’s a beautiful thing when decades into your life, you experience something that transcends everything similar before it. And it’s even more beautiful is when that something transcends heights you never would have imagined could be topped. Last night, October 3rd, at the Sigur Rós show here in Berkeley, was one of those moments.

Go ahead and forget the fact that my friends and I bought the sold-out tickets off craigslist just hours before the show.  Or that it was a rare warm summer night in Berkeley (a meteorological phenomenon in its own right), and that it was supposed to rain all evening (the forecast called for an 80% chance) but didn’t (at least not until the most dramatic moment possible).  Or that, despite being a fan, this was my first time seeing the band live.  Forget all that and you still have a night that was so perfect, so authentic feeling, so mesmerizing, so emotionally lifting, that I’m reeling from it still.

In fact, the last time I experienced something like this was about 10 years ago when I witnessed a sunset that was — and still is — the most amazing sunset I’ve ever seen.  Of course, by definition all sunsets are uniquely spectacular and so qualifying them in this way almost seems sacrilegious, but sometimes something is so special — so off the hook — you’ve got no choice but to recognize and celebrate its audacious efforts.

Anyway, I go off on this tangent in the hope that it’s able to bring further perspective and gravity to what I witnessed last night; something that while inseparable from everything before it, has managed to separate itself completely.

Now, I know for some this may seem like ridiculous hyperbole (to compare sunsets and rock shows), but given what music means to me, and the power I believe it possesses to change the world, it’s what I’m left with.

Sigur Rós is dynamic on record to be sure, but live they are something else entirely.  Was it a religious experience experience?  Maybe.  You tell me.  Does singing in Vonlenska count as Glossolalia?

Pau.

For those not lucky enough to know Telegraph Avenue here in Berkeley, either through intimate familiarity or reputation, I’ll share with you a story to illustrate its color. I choose this one not because it’s any more representative of the Avenue’s quirkiness, but because it compliments a general subject that’s arisen this month from an e-mail and conversations with friends — baldness.

Why the subject of baldness has taken root (no pun intended) this particular month is beyond me. But it began when a friend of mine imparted that the collateral damage of his steadily receding hairline and complementary back of the head crop circle from the testosterone he’s taking is less problematic and troubling than a noticeable increase in nose hair. Another friend of mine struggled with the merits of growing out his thinning hair versus continuing to shave it, with the concern that a longer more shaggy look wouldn’t suit him and he’d cut it out of frustration before he could find out (inside money says if he tries he won’t make it more than a week). And then towards the end of the month, I received an e-mail from a cousin who — among other things — shared with me his appreciation of having dodged his family’s balding gene bullet, since having a full head of hair came in handy while vacationing under an ozone challenged Australian summer sun.

Aside from the anecdote I’m about to share and some sympathetic head nodding, my contribution to the subject was limited. I do notice a bit of a “Nicholson” forming on either side of my temples, but that’s hardly enough to qualify as going bald (not yet anyway). And since I’ve yet to get to Australia, I’m not sure what my full head of red hair will do for me if and when I get there.

The nose hair lamentation, however, I can identify with. Why the male of the sexes needs more hair in their nose (or ears) as they get older is an evolutionary enigma that’s had me stumped for close to a decade. Even more puzzling is why some gentlemen refuse or can’t seem to keep it under control — I’m a quadriplegic for God’s sake and even my paralysis hasn’t kept me from maintaining a regular pruning schedule. The way I see it, if I’ve got to suck up my pride and ask somebody to get up and in there for me, I don’t see how nose shrubbery on the able-bodied can be excused. I’m just saying.

But I digress.

The Ave.

Telegraph Avenue is filled with “interesting” characters. It’s Berkeley, after all. It’s an odd mix of academics, eccentrics, radicals and the homeless. Often times, you’ll find someone is a mix of all four. Some of these folks I’ve gotten to know quite well — some by name, while others solely by daily passing nods and hellos. When you’ve been here as long as I have, have red hair, use a wheelchair and have a red dog, you tend to stand out as much as anybody else and connections of familiarity invariably form.

Still, sometimes you come across somebody you’ve never seen before and not because they’ve only just arrived in town, but rather they’ve chosen to fly under the radar and not be noticed. Why this is, who can say, but when you meet them you certainly won’t be short on hypotheses.

When my watch died a couple of months ago I needed to find someplace within walking distance to get it fixed. I knew of a jewelry shop on the Avenue and so I thought I’d try that first. On my way there, not more than five stores from my destination, I discovered an actual watch repair shop that I’d somehow overlooked for all these years; a barely there storefront squeezed comically into what seemed like a narrow walkway between two other businesses. It wasn’t very inviting place — a steel cage fortified the door and it’s only small window was barred and covered with a piece of cardboard (admittedly, Telegraph has its sketchy elements, but it’s hardly Times Square circa 1978). Still, despite the Fort Knox like security, a “we’re open” sign hung prominently on the door and a note above a doorbell reading, “ring for assistance”, suggested they were actually interested in customers.

Having a broken watch on me, I figured I qualified as business and went ahead and did as the sign suggested and rang the doorbell. After waiting a couple of minutes, but hearing nothing, I decided to give it another shot and hit the button again. Just as I was about to turn to go, I heard locks — maybe four — one by one disengage from the door, and a tall, spindly man in his 70s with the worst toupee I’ve ever seen, opened it and leaned out.

“Yes?” He said, looking down at me briefly and then up and down the street to make sure I didn’t have an accomplice who could rob him.

“I’ve got a watch I need to have fixed”. I said.

“Give it to me. Let me see it”. He said, keeping his distance, but extending his hand and wiggling his fingers in an inpatient beckon.

When I explained I was unable to get it myself and that he’d have to reach into the pack alongside my chair for it, he let out a groan and cautiously stepped from the door. As he leaned over me, a mix of sour body odor and cheap drugstore cologne entered my airspace and nearly made me gag. His toupee, from this closer vantage point, appeared to be backwards and was listing to one side, looking like a cheap, blonde Beatles wig from the sixties. I wanted to say something — to let him know his hairpiece was off and that perhaps in his efforts to get to the door, he’d placed it on carelessly, but not knowing how he would take such assistance (as it seems most toupee owners go to great lengths to camouflage the fact that they wear one), I thought better of it… that and the large side arm strapped to his belt. Anyway, I figured he’d either work it out later or that was the look he was going for — no sense in upsetting the man any more than I already had.

“Kinetic, huh?” He said, looking at the face of the watch and then flipping it over to scrutinize the back.

“Yeah. Can you fix it?”

“It’s a Seiko”.

“Yeah”. I said. But he wasn’t asking a question.

“Japanese garbage”. He said, putting the watch back in my pouch. “I don’t work on Seikos”.

But before I could say anything else, he was back inside and re-bolting the locks. What he had against Seiko or the Japanese, I can’t say, but even if he’d given me the time I don’t think I would’ve felt comfortable pursuing the issue — his side arm, rapidly falling toupee, nervous paranoia and quixotic distaste for timepieces from the land of the rising sun were all I needed to take my business elsewhere… no questions asked. The irony of it is, I bought my watch on eBay and so I doubt it was Japanese (or a Seiko) in the first place, more than likely it was a Chinese knockoff and probably the reason it wasn’t working.

And so ends my anecdote about Telegraph Avenue and baldness. The point of it all is in there somewhere and I suggest if you really want to find it, you look at it as sort of a “Where’s Waldo” kind of a deal. It’ll be more enjoyable that way and ultimately more rewarding. As for the watch, well…

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Pau.

This week’s recommended buys/listens:

Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, Devendra Banhard Idiosyncratic freak folk.  A difficult one to pin down exactly; alternately comic and nostalgic, it’s a mix of 70s Laurel Canyon haze and modern indie quirkiness.  A favorite of mine in 2007.

Out My Window, Koushik 60s style sunshine pop with a hip-hop beat.  Though the two albums I’m recommending here are representative of modern nostalgia, they come at it from different directions. Here we have banging beats over fuzzed out guitars, B3 style organ and ethereal vocal runs.  it’s not production wizard pastiche, these are songs, but they definitely have a crate diving aesthetic.  Think DJ shadow meets Pet Sounds.

As August comes to an end, and I suppose symbolically summer as well, I thought it was only appropriate to close it out with a music posting. Concert wise, it’s been a slower summer than I’d expected — only one show at the Greek Theatre so far — but like most things in life it’s not the quantity that matters but the quality, and the one show I saw certainly bore this out; The National, Modest Mouse and REM — 3 bands I dig for the price of one (sometimes quantity does come into play).

Radio Free Berkeley

The first time I saw REM was back in 1982 and the last time I saw them was at the Greek Theatre in 1986, a show that was eventually rained out and rescheduled for the Oakland Arena a month later. Of course, the intimacy that would’ve been felt at the Greek wasn’t at the Oakland Arena, and despite the band’s ability to fill the space sonically, it wasn’t a very memorable show.

That was not the case with this most recent show, which in many ways felt like a celebration and a homecoming; both in the bands REM chose to support them and the love shared between the audience and this seminal group. They were clearly happy to be back in Berkeley and that enthusiasm seemed to fuel their performance, as they blazed through a two hour plus set of classics and mostly everything off the new album, Accelerate. The only time things lagged was strangely during the hit “Losing My Religion”, which despite the inspired sing-along, felt a bit sluggish and by the numbers. They ended the night with a rousing version of “Man on the Moon”, which was one of those transcendent rock show moments you put on a top ten list. They may be in their early or near 50s, but it was great to see they could still turn it out.

And then…

Now some of you might’ve been expecting something else this week, and I assure you that’s on its way, but for now I wanted to give you volume 2 of my 365 albums project and share a few juicy nuggets that you may want to add to your iPod and end of summer/start of fall life soundtrack.

Click here for the entire list: 365 albums vol. 2

Sound Opinions

London Calling, The Clash. A masterpiece. If you consider yourself a self-respecting music fan — open-minded to all genres — then this is one of two albums mentioned here you should already have in your music collection. Rolling Stone deemed it the best record of the 80s and that’s not hyperbole. The production, song writing and passion behind London Calling, find The Clash on the verge of becoming one of the most important rock bands ever. I got this on vinyl as a Christmas gift in 1979 and have since purchased it twice more (the most recent being the 25th anniversary Legacy Edition).

Silvertone, Chris Isaak. When I first came to the Bay Area back in 1985, Chris Isaak and Silvertone were the first local band I fell in love with. The live shows at that time seemed like a monthly necessity — with Isaac mixing inspired music, comic stories and a tiki party like atmosphere into a can’t miss event. And while the music on Silvertone doesn’t exactly capture the experience of those shows, the odd blend of Sun Studio style rock ‘n roll and reverb drenched surf guitars makes it an eerie, good listen. The influences are clear — The Ventures, Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison, Johnny Cash — but the record never feels derivative or retro. In my opinion Isaak’s smooth, soaring voice has rarely sounded better. An excellent debut.

Roots, Curtis Mayfield. Choosing my favorite Curtis Mayfield album would be a lot like choosing a favorite child — you love them all for different reasons. Roots was the album I selected for this section of my project and if you’re looking to start with one in particular, this certainly wouldn’t be a poor choice. His signature wah guitar sound, that beautiful voice, the poignant lyrics — it’s all here.

Midnight Organ, Frightened Rabbit. Frightened Rabbit aren’t the first band to write songs about loneliness, sex, or post-relationship misery — they aren’t even the first Scottish band to do it — but their jangly, chiming guitars and mournful melodies effortlessly dig their way into your heart and you’re happy to commiserate. Fresh on the heels (literally) of their wonderful 2007 debut Sing the Greys, Midnight Organ is less raw and punk driven, but no less powerful. In fact, the cleaner sound fits the band nicely and makes me wonder if there’s been a couple extra sunny days in Glasgow this past year. Definitely one of my top 10 albums of 2008. Brilliant.

What’s Going On, Marvin Gaye. The second masterpiece on this list. Put together during the Vietnam War and after the deaths of Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X. and Bobby Kennedy, this is the quintessential example of an artist being moved by suffering, chaos and revolution and creating something transcendent and illuminating. This album never ceases to blow my mind with the journey it takes the listener on and if you truly give yourself over to it, it’ll both inspire you and bring you to tears.

The Odd Couple, Gnarls Barkley. Darker sounding than the first album and perhaps less accessible, The Odd Couple nevertheless musically surpasses what Green and Danger Mouse did on St. Elsewhere. The album feels more cohesive and the songs explore a richer territory. Lyrically, Green hasn’t been better and Danger Mouse keeps it as funky and surprising as always. One of my top 10 albums of 2008.

La Pistola y El Corazon, Los Lobos. This 1988 valentine to the music that moved and influenced them — huapango, ranchera, etc. — is bar none my favorite Los Lobos album. In Spanish and largely acoustic — guitars, guitarrón, violin, and accordion — this collection of original and traditional songs, has an intimate and live feel that’ll both squeeze your heart and move your feet. One of my favorite albums of all time.

Saturdays=Youth, M83. Somewhere between nostalgic, tongue-in-cheek and absolutely sincere, Saturdays = Youth might be the musical equivalent of a John Hughes movie. That said, this 80s influenced electro-rock album is the real deal. Individually the songs are melodic shoegazing anthems, but where they really shine is when they’re taken together as a whole. After my first listen I didn’t quite see this, but after the second and then third I was blown away by how much it worked. Alternating between quiet and bombast, the album is a surprising success.

Atlantis: Hymns for Disco, K-OS. This is hybridized conscious hip-hop that will get you thinking as well as shakin’ your ass. I love it. So far I haven’t been disappointed by anything this Toronto rapper has done. Atlantis illustrates K-Os’ proficiency at twisting and blurring genres, while continuing his contribution to the expansion of hip-hop’s boundaries. Put on “Sunday Morning” or “Valhalla” and see where your day goes. Few albums work on as many different levels as this one.

Accelerate, REM. The return of REM to its old form? Perhaps. But unlike the general consensus, I haven’t been disappointed with the band’s output since drummer Bill Berry’s departure. In fact, I appreciated the band’s attemps to go in a different, more experimental direction. C’mon, they lost a key member of their group — where else would they go? Where Accelerate returns to form in most people’s eyes is in its energy — it rocks in a way the previous three albums haven’t. Because of this, a lot of folks have compared it to Monster, but I think that’s confusing energy with enthusiasm; I see more in common with Lifes Rich Pageant than Monster. For me, Accelerate sounds like a band that loves playing together and the songwriting and performances reflect that. It’s a brisk, solid album whose songs work especially well live. One listen to “Houston” with its growling organ and melodic chorus and you’ll understand where I’m coming from.

Seun Kuti & Fela’s Egypt 80, Seun Kuti & Fela’s Egypt 80. Following in the footsteps of his late father before him (and older brother), Seun Kuti has delivered a startling debut in the best sense of the Kuti afro-funk tradition — funky brass, layers of picking guitars, call and response choruses. And even though using his father’s most recent band, he’s still managed to deliver something fresh, hard-hitting and politically potent. This is a youthful, groove filled Africa-centric wake-up call. Another of 2008’s best.

Trip Tease, Tipsy. OK, so throw Esquivel, Raymond Scott, Tricky, a crate diver like DJ Shadow, Cut Chemist or Madlib, some martinis and a few tikis into a pot or studio, mix it all together and you might get something that resembles Tipsy. Maybe. Weird, wonderful and above all danceable. I do love the 21st century. Pastiche at its finest.

Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend. Due to the crazy hype for this album, I didn’t feel any real pressure to rush out and get it fearing it couldn’t possibly live up to the stratospheric fawning. What I’d read about the group’s sound certainly piqued my interest, but since my monthly music budget was already in the red, Vampire Weekend was relegated to wait status. But then when the backlash began with the same fervency as the hype, my curiosity won out and the emergency reserve was dipped into. First, let me just say it’s a fine album — nothing earth shattering — but it’s a lot of fun. Think Afro-pop meets Haircut 100 meets Pavement and you’ve got the idea. As far as the backlash goes, well, if you’re truly interested you can google for it. I, for one, like to let the music speak for itself. If others like it, fine. If others don’t, that’s fine too.

Please Panic, The Vulgar Boatmen. I first heard this group back in 1990 when my buddy Chris and drummer of our then band A Small Parish turned me on to their debut album, You and Your Sister. From the opening notes of that LP I was smitten; it was both familiar and folk-based, yet wholly original and energized. Since then, they’ve released only two albums Please Panic in 1992 and Opposite Sex in 1995, with Please Panic arguably being their masterwork. Describing their music is difficult because it somehow transcends the folk rock genre it most aptly fits. It’s sparse, sweet, sonorous, deceptively simple and above all moving. Why the band in the heyday of alternative rock never rose to great heights is a complete mystery that’s forever baffled their small but very loyal fan base. There are some great songwriting duos out there — Lennon and McCartney, Johnny Marr and Morrissey, Elton John and Bernie Taupin, Difford and Tilbrook, Isaac Hayes and David Porter, Holland and Dozier, George and Barbara Gershwin — but none of them have written a more affecting and plaintive love song than the Boatmen’s Robert Ray and Dale Lawrence’s “You Don’t Love Me Yet”. Opinion? Perhaps. But it’s an amazing piece of music.

And there you have it. Hopefully I’ve inspired you to check out some of these artists or any of the others I’ve included on my list and that you enjoy what you hear. If you do, or have any recommendations for me, please leave a comment — I love the feedback. Also, as an added bonus, I’ve included some links to the music of some friends of mine. Again, if you like what you hear; purchase it, download it or simply let them know what you think. It’s good stuff.

Travis Callison
ekTek
3.1
Dayna Stephens

pau.

So how does one know when summer actually arrives?

Well, I suppose you could look at the calendar and go with the whole June 21st summer equinox thing. It’s not very romantic, but it’s certainly accurate and official. Or I suppose you could make the observation that the days are getting longer and — depending on where you live — warmer. The qualification of that last bit being, here in Berkeley/San Francisco, at least, summer doesn’t always guarantee warmer (hence that dubious Mark Twain quote: “the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”). Or you could note that baseball season has begun and you suddenly have an irrational itch for eternally long sporting events. Or you might find yourself spending increasing amounts of time in front of the Otter Pop section of the frozen food aisle, mesmerized by the bright colors and — depending on your age — awash in warm, fuzzy nostalgic feelings for the sugary goodness of Alexander the Grape, Sir Isaac Lime and Strawberry Short Kook.

All these are prognosticators, to be sure, and won’t let you down with their accuracy, but for me it all begins with the music. Summer music. When I was a kid, it was the crackly tones of “pop goes the weasel” pied-pipering their way out of an ice cream truck, lulling my suburban friends and I into such somnambulistic states that our allowance money was easily handed over for half melted ice cream sandwiches, cinnamon toothpicks and astro pops. Later it was the outdoor music festivals and early Sunday morning lines at ticket master for shows at the Irvine Meadows amphitheater. And while neither of these particular portends have completely disappeared — I still go all Pavlovian when I hear “pop goes the weasel” — I now gauge the arrival of summer by the sickly sweet sounds of Hong Kong pop songs.

For good or for bad, I live four floors above the back entrance to the “Great China” restaurant here in Berkeley. Architecturally, it doesn’t look anything like your normal Chinese eatery, it’s more of a small Victorian house sandwiched between the massive brick California Theatre on the one side, an apartment construction site on the other and my complex to the back. A worn wooden staircase lines the side of the restaurant just outside the kitchen door and rises up to a level of no consequence or purpose (think the Winchester House and you’ll probably get my meaning). There’s a door at the top of the stairs — half as narrow as a normal door — but as far as I can tell it’s never used. Basically it seems these stairs serve two functions only; a place to store crates of green onions and the raw dough for dumplings and a place where the staff of middle-aged Chinese women sit sleepy eyed in the morning listening to pop music on a boombox while they wait for their bosses to arrive to let them in.

In the wintertime, I barely notice this life at all — my double pane window sadly blocks out all the sound below. The drowsy, singsongy conversations of these women and the cheap radio are no match for my modern glass. Come the end of spring, however, when the weather starts to warm up and I open my windows 24/7, the Cantopop once again rises from below, swirls into my room and like the swallows returning home to San Juan Capistrano signals the change of the season.

Summertime.

It’s my birthday today and I’ll tell ya straight up, I love it. Truth is, I love anything that celebrates life, especially when it has a party in tow. It’s cool to be here another year; to look back and to look forward and be grateful for the moment that’s happening right now — it’s a gift.

And speaking of gifts, I’ve got one to pass on to all of you. A heads up more than anything else, but a good heads up. It’s time sensitive, though — today only (kind of like a birthday) — so if you’re interested ya need to act quickly. I’m giving you a late start, I know, and I apologize — I only just discovered it myself.

Amazon’s MP3 Album of the Day is the latest release from Erykah Badu, New Amerykah: Part One (4th World War), and at $2.99 it’s quite the deal (I paid $8.99 yesterday).

It’s been eight years since her last studio album and the time off seems to have stimulated something interesting within her. It’s a challenging album, to be sure. Not perfect, but inspired and never dull. Equal parts 60s style psychedelic funk, neo-soul, modern hip-hop and political commentary, it’s an album — after only one listen — that’ll probably be in my top 10 at the end of the year.

If you think contemporary R&B has gotten a little stale and formulaic, then check this out — you won’t be disappointed. And if you don’t know anything about Miss Badu’s music but are feeling a little experimental, then for $2.99 here’s your chance to funk up your iPod playlist and impress your friends with how hip you are the next time you make them a mix CD.

Oh, and if you happen to be reading this after midnight the 23rd, the album is still worth it at $8.99. Let me know what you think.

At long last, here it is, volume 1 of the 365 albums a day experiment. It’s a list of what I’ve listened to so far and some of the songs that sparkled during the experience. You’ll notice some albums have two songs listed, while others have five or more. This doesn’t mean the albums where I only noted two were any less of an overall experience, it only means those were the songs that grabbed me at the time. Another listen might garner different results.

In any event, part of the idea was to function as a filter and give you suggestions you might like to download in advance of getting the whole album. It’s a great time to be a music lover; sites like iTunes and Amazon allow you to purchase individual songs instead of whole CDs or record company determined singles, and that’s a pretty inexpensive way to get your feet wet with a new artist. For myself, I’m still an album type of guy, but I’ve found from time to time it’s nice to sit with something before you dive all the way in.

Below are some links to some new discoveries and a couple of “classics” that were a joy to revisit. If you don’t have any of these in your iPod or record collection already, you might think about adding them.

For a PDF of the complete list click here: 365 albums volume 1

I’ve gotten several e-mails wondering how the whole 365 albums thing is coming along, and to this I have to to say, swimmingly. It’s been a revelation and a whole mess of fun. Currently, I’m putting together a list of all the albums I’ve listened to so far and the tracks that really grabbed me and as soon as that’s finished I’ll put it up. In the meantime I wanted to share with you a discovery I came upon yesterday that completely blew me away.

The band is Loney, Dear and it’s essentially a one-man project from Swedish multi-instrumentalist Emil Svanängen who — from the basement of his parents home — has crafted four albums of beautifully written songs.

The music is transcendent. It’s delicate, layered, melancholic, soulful and above all else surprising. Melodies, which seem simple at first, layer and rise to crescendos which never seem forced or anthemic. Emil’s falsetto feels as much like an instrument as it does a voice and it has the ability to reach into your heart and set it on fire.

This sounds like rock critic hyperbole, I know, but it’s not. This is — for lack of a better way to characterize it — pop/folk genius and it’s moved me in a way I haven’t been moved by a record in a long time.

Click the image below to be taken to a download page.

I am not by nature what you would call a “new year’s resolution” type of a guy. I’m more of a “check yourself on a regular basis and make adjustments on the fly” type of guy. Not that there’s anything wrong with making new year’s resolutions, I’ll applaud anything that inspires reflection and then, in turn, change. I just don’t make them myself.

That said, given that I write a blog, January is just about over and the fact that I embrace contradiction with a Leo Buscaglia-like bear hug, I thought I’d share with you a little project I’m going to take on over the next 365 days. While it may not be a resolution exactly, for the sake of this week’s musings it’s close enough.

My project: A-side

As a musician, semiretired DJ, music fan and an internationally renowned maker of mixed CDs, I consume a lot of music. Countless dollars (and perhaps a lucrative retirement package) have been spent amassing what can only be described as an impressive collection of vinyl, tapes, CDs and DVDs filled with the miraculous sounds of pop, jazz, rock, hip-hop, dub, reggae, electronica, latin, Afro-pop, ska, classical, R&B and just about every subgenre in between. It is, to be sure, a dizzying volume of music.

Which brings me to the point of my project: I intend to listen to a different album every day for the next 365 days. And I’m not talking about as background music either. I’m talking about sitting down (or laying down as the case may be) and truly engaging in the experience of listening to an album from start to finish. Focusing on that album only and nothing else.

My reasons for doing this are threefold (outside of the obvious fact that I just plain love music):

1. Because I’ve got a ton of music that rarely gets listened to and I think it should be.
2. As I’ve gotten older (sort of) and more distractions have entered my life my relationship with music has undergone changes, which upon reflection, need some attention. Don’t get me wrong I’m as stoked as ever when I hear something dynamic, it’s just the quality of my engagement needs to be retooled.
3. It’s a great opportunity to make new discoveries and to share them with all of you.

B-side

This one hasn’t quite been figured out yet, but aside from giving you a simple rundown of what I’ve listened to at the end of each month, I thought it might be interesting to create a mix of some of my favorite songs from each album (that’s at least 29),and either post it here or send out a hardcopy to those who might be interested and are very, very nice (you know, for the low cost of a CD and postage). Let me know what you think.