"Big Wheel" by Tori Amos

Tori Amos has a new album, American Doll Posse, dropping on May 1, and I have been wanting to play around with sound samples when I talk about a song. So here you go, fools, it's "Big Wheel" by Tori Amos.

Click the play button and leave comments telling me whether or not you like the feature.

Johnsburg, Illinois

She's my only true love
She's all that I think of
Look here in my wallet, that's her.

She grew up on a farm there
There's a place on my arm where
I've written her name
Next to mine.

You see
I just can't live without her
And I'm her only boy
And she grew up outside McHenry
In Johnsburg, Illinois.

-- Tom Waits

There it is. The absolute perfect song. Clocking in at just over a minute and a half, "Johnsburg, Illinois" is everything a song needs to be. Simple but poignant lyrics, sparse piano, and an almost childlike perspective about love that is sorely missing in today's world. For Tom Waits, it was a song about his wife, Kathleen Brennan. For everyone else, it is, or should be, a small, evocative glimpse of the ideal way of which love is spoken.

Music is important to me, so much so that I treat exposing my children to great music as one of my most essential parental responsibilities. So I made sure that when Julietta and Sabrina were introduced to music a day or two after they were born, "Johnsburg, Illinois" was the first song they ever heard. Ever. In their whole, lovely, dear lives. They are six and five years old respectively, but Tom Waits is an artist that they are familiar with and view as one of the things they can count on being there.

I've heard this song hundreds of times now, and the original effect of the song remains. From the first tinkling of the piano beneath Tom Waits' grizzled fingers, I just kind of stretch out my neck like a turtle and soak it in. It never makes me tired, and it always gives me a measure of hope. I don't always remember that "Johnsburg, Illinois" is a palliative for whatever ails me, but all of us (myself included) should hang on to these little chunks of goodness in our lives.

UPDATE: I usually listen to the version of "Johnsburg, Illinois" that is on Big Time, Tom Waits' live album.

Weird Al Yankovic: Shoo-In for The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Oh, yes. You heard me right. Someday, Weird Al Yankovic will be inducted into The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. After a little research, it seems as though while others think this should happen, I am here to tell you that it will happen. You read it here first, fools.

I know, I know, this is Weird Al Yankovic we're talking about, here. Yes, the same Weird Al who has the hair, and the crazy eyes, and the costumes, and the endless stream of parodies that have been a part of your listening experience for as long as you can remember.

Other artists will be inducted; there are always multiple inductees. What you might not know is what it will look like when Weird Al is inducted. Weird Al's induction will upstage everyone else's. Everybody who is anybody will be there, because they'll be damned if they missed Weird Al's ceremony. Nuh-uh, no way, ain't happenin'. Jay-Z will be there, Prince will be there, and so will The White Stripes, Dwight Yoakam, and all the members of Radiohead (even Thom). Hell, even Yo-Yo Ma will probably be there. And every last person in that audience is going to give Weird Al a standing ovation that will last longer than any other in Rock and Roll HOF history.

And Jessica Simpson and Henry Rollins, among others, will be crying their eyes out. Like babies wanting their bottles. Word up.

He became eligible in 2004, so the clock is ticking. It's either that no one has caught on yet, or that they are simply delaying his induction so that the HOF can handle the throngs and the stress. I vote for the latter.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not the hugest Weird Al fan, but even I can see that this guy has been a part of our lives for, like, ever. He has put the required 25 years in, and as the Hall itself puts it: Criteria include the influence and significance of the artist’s contributions to the development and perpetuation of rock and roll.

Put simply, Weird Al has been the only artist who has done what he has done for as long a period of time. Of course, there has been the occasional Disco Duck and the even-funnier-named Dis-Gorilla, but no one has compared to Weird Al when it comes to longevity and sheer goofy staying power. This man wrote "Ricky," "Lost On Jeopardy," "Eat It," "Fat," "Smells Like Nirvana," "Amish Paradise," and most recently, "White and Nerdy" and that only scratches the surface! Kurt Cobain once remarked that he didn't realize that Nirvana had "made it" until he heard that Weird Al had parodied them. Heady stuff coming from a band that, for good or for bad, revolutionized rock and roll.

So get ready, fools. Weird. Al. Yankovic.

I ain't playin'.

Found On MySpace: Fraser Anderson

Lookie here, we got us another soon-to-be regular feature here on The MUSIC, Fool. This series will be called Found On MySpace, and will focus on artists that I have stumbled upon on MySpace. I will provide you with a link to the artist's MySpace page, and there are usually two or three of their tracks on that page.

The first in this series is Fraser Anderson, a singer-songwriter from Scotland who currently resides in France. I first discovered Fraser not on MySpace, but on NPR while I was driving around town one night. I came in on the middle of the segment, which featured Fraser doing some of his songs live in studio. I instantly became a fan, and as soon as I got home, I tried like crazy to find out about him on the Internet. Because of the spelling of his first name (thanks, Kelsey Grammer), I couldn't find him right away. After poking around for about four or five days, I was able to locate him via his band website.

I looked him up on MySpace and started listening. The first song I heard was "Fairytale," a tender love song with guitar work that is fantastic, to say the least. Fraser's voice is honest and sincere, and when he says,"You'll always be my baby blue" (among other things) it speaks of devotion, companionship, and warmth. "Fairytale" became one of those songs that I listened to a hundred times in about three or four days. I played it for my kids and my youngest quickly corrected Fraser, telling me that she'll always be my baby brown (we're Mexican and she was four years old).

I added Fraser as my very first MySpace friend (other than that dumbass Tom) and contacted him about where to get his album and whether or not he was touring the U.S. soon. He responded shortly and let me know that the album wasn't available in the U.S., but that I could get it at his site. He is working on coming to the U.S. We talked about Nick Drake and I introduced him to Iron and Wine, which he hadn't heard and liked immediately. I told told him the "baby brown" story and he quite rightly thought it was cute.

So, he's a nice guy as well as a very talented musician. His songs can soothe you on a hectic day, or make a peaceful Saturday with your family better. Not enough people know about Fraser, but damn, they should. Turn your countenance toward him, fools. It'll be time well spent.

Quickie

VH1 in the morning is poison for the soul. Somehow (and by somehow I mean my wife always turns it there), I start my mornings with at least a little taste. Always the same videos, generally the same crappy artists.

Lucky for me, I persevere, fools. See you later today.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers = Sad, Sad Band

Kurt Cobain's death.

The rise of Puff Daddy as a major artist.

Metallica's dogmatic campaign against Napster.

Disappointing musical events, sure, but nothing like the most disappointing event of the last 25 years:

The gradual suckification of the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

You know how when you haven't seen someone familiar for a long time and you don't have a picture of them? Or when someone has died? Often, you find it hard to remember what they looked like. When this happens, it is as startling as the movies make it seem; you literally can't believe that your mind is so weak that you can't retain the image of someone who was once so dear to you.

This is what has happened to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It is becoming harder and harder to remember what it was like when these jokers were good.

These are the guys who made Freaky Styley, The Uplift Mofo Party Plan, Mother's Milk, and Blood Sugar Sex Magik, after all! Flea was easily one of the most talented bassists of his generation, and the music these guys put out rawked balls. Now, everything they release is a cause to cringe. My soul cries out in rage every time I hear one of their songs, because it is flat-out impossible that this once-excellent band can suck so hard.

Hell, I remember one summer listening to Mother's Milk with my two youngest siblings, Matthew and Ashley. They were very young, and they would bounce on the bed while we listened to "Magic Johnson." For fun, I would grab one of them and play them like a guitar, tickling them at the same time. They would snicker guiltily when Anthony Kiedis sang, "...and if I can't make you dance/I guess I'll just have to make you piss your pants!" and I wouldn't tell on them, because, damnit, it was great.

But then everything started coming apart, and I think it was when "Under the Bridge" was released as a single (I know, this song was on Blood Sugar Sex Magik, but it didn't fit and you know it). Don't get me wrong, they started selling oodles of records, and they were dominant in the extreme. However, anyone who equates commercial success with musical integrity or competence in every case doesn't get music.

Soon, "Aeroplane" was out, and then came "Californication," along with a constant stream of songs that were devoid of everything that the Chili Peppers had built. Their songs had nothing of the fire that burned red hot (uh-huh, I said it) in their bellies. They were no longer edgy, or dangerous, or anything else that embodied them or the movement of which they were the central focus. Sure, they were commercial giants, but so is Rob Thomas, and isn't it a law that he sucks?

The Chili Peppers seem oblivious. They still run around onstage with their shirts off, unaware that you can't be raw enough to perform with your shirt off when what is coming out of the speakers is processed crap like "Dani California" or "Stadium Arcadium." Anthony Kiedis still poses and gyrates like he is still rocking out like he used to, not knowing that he used to forcibly tell you what you wanted to hear. Now, he just sings it to you like he's trying to channel Luther Vandross or something. It's revolting and I wish they would stop.

Part of me wants the old Chili Peppers back, but most of me has given up on them and holds a grudge for the damage they have done to their own good name. They have treated their craft with grave disrespect, and it would be mighty hard for me to forgive them. Of course, I don't think they will ever give us anything good again.

Cynical, I guess, but we are talking about the greatest musical disappointment in the last 25 years.

Chucky F*cky at SXSW!

The MUSIC, Fool has its first commenter, and it's a real live working musician, Chucky F*cky! As such, I want to tell all y'all fools that the aforementioned mastah of disastah is playing not one, not two, but three shows at South By Southwest this week!

Here's the schedule. Get your ass to Austin:

Wednesday - Mr. Fabulous and Casino Royale, 6-9pm @ the Belmont on 6th (No wristbands needed for this one)

Thursday - Golden Arm Trio, 1am @ Habana Calle 6 Annex (Wristbands or pay cover)

Friday - Mistress Stephanie and Her Melodic Cat, 10 pm @ Habana Calle 6 Main Stage (Chicken Ranch Records Showcase) (Wristbands or pay cover)

Oh hell to the yeah, indeed! This dude is kickin' more tail than a... uh... ummmm.... tail-kickin' foot monster! (Note to self: Work on the clever verbage. Embarrassing self.)

Much Love To: Prince

This is the first in what will be a regular feature here on The MUSIC, Fools. In the "Much Love To:" series, I will heap praise upon an artist that I think richly deserves it. Basically, this is my chance (cuz it's my blog) to tell you what I really like.

So, today, we begin with much love to PRINCE, the granddaddy of them all when it comes to giving much love. There is no one who is more important to my musical life than Prince. No one. Everyone else falls short, and this includes other artists who I am absolutely crazy about, like Tom Waits, Iron and Wine, XTC, Tori Amos, Tool, Ricky Skaggs, and Radiohead.

I began listening to Prince about the same time everyone else did, around the time Purple Rain came out. I was on the way to the beach with my family and "When Doves Cry" came on the radio. I didn't like Prince at all at the time (for stupid, childish reasons), so there was some resistance. It didn't last.

Soon, I was shakin' my ass along with the rest of America, doing air piano, and pounding on every surface with reach to keep the beat with this totally bitchin' song. 1983 turned into a Purple Rain festival for me, as I grew to know songs like "The Beautiful Ones," "Computer Blue," "Let's Go Crazy," and, lord help me, "Darling Nikki." Hell, "The Beautiful Ones" became so important to me that I recorded it over and over on a 120-minute tape just so that I could listen to it when some damn girl had done me wrong. Think on that: A two hour tape filled with nothing but one three to four minute song! Ah, teenagers who torture themselves willingly....

Whenever I discover an artist that already has a body of work in progress, what usually happens with me is that I go backward as well as forward. This is what I did with Prince. Around The World In A Day came next, and then I went back in time to 1999. I was thoroughly amazed.

Many more albums followed, and I followed with them. Years later, when the Daily Texan (the University of Texas at Austin's daily paper) ran a picture of Prince and Appolonia, I went out and got hundreds of copies, put a song title on each picture, and taped those suckers to my wall. Prince was present at almost every turn. If he wasn't there when something important was happening to me, his music certainly worked as a context for my life. "Friend, Lover, Mother, Sister, Wife" was the song I danced to with my wife for the first time. My kids like (and sometimes request) Prince's music, which gives me fatherly pride like you wouldn't believe.

Prince's music is like an heirloom of sorts, something I can pass on after I am gone. And I know that his music will never lose its relevance because it is timeless and universal and inventive and ever-changing. Prince endures.

So much love to Prince, for being the most important musician of the last 25 years. Keep it up, fool, because not everyone does it as right as you do.

A Tool Story To Warm Your Heart

So we're driving down the road one day and we're listening to Tool. I believe the song was "Bottom" or "Prison Sex." Our ten or eleven month-old (and at that time only) daughter was in the backseat minding her own business. My wife is in the seat next to me.

Simultaneously, my wife and I are thinking these things:

Wife: "I wonder what flavor cake we should make for Julietta's first birthday party? Peach or strawberry?"

Me: "I wish I could spit acid."

This is what I meant when I said Tool makes you want to acquire evil destructive superpowers. For me, wanting those abilities isn't a threshhold that is difficult to cross, but it takes a special kind of magic to move me as deeply as Tool does.

By the way, be careful if I happen to be singing Tool directly at you. No telling what could happen....

MUHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!

Nice Rock

Time for the naming of a new genre, boys and girls. Yes, that's right: Nice Rock is here!

A new bunch of bands have come around recently that I recommend to others and when they ask me what they are like, I usually say something like, "They're nice! You know, nice." This is not a negative criticism; in fact, I really like Nice Rockers. They pump you up in a kind of wistful, clean sort of way. Contrast this, if you will, with Tool, who make you want to acquire destructive evil superpowers (more on this later). Suffice to say, Nice Rock bands make you feel good, but they are not guilty pleasures that make you wonder whether you are selling out by listening to them.

One of the bands that made me notice that this genre existed was Keane. When I first heard "Somewhere Only We Know," I wondered if I was going soft. I mean, these guys jammed, you know, but in a decidedly un-man-jammy kind of way. Was I too womanly for groovin' like the dickens and belting this stuff out as I drove to work? The answer worked out to something like: "I am more womanly than I would like, but I am o.k. with that because this music is nice." Hence, the genre's name.

Other examples of Nice Rock bands include Pernice Brothers, The Vinyl Skyway, David Gray, and sometimes, Matthew Sweet (note: this link goes to his management's MySpace page, but his music is there). They focus heavily on melody and everything sounding concordant with all the other elements of the song. There is almost no room for any notes that lend an edge to the song in which they reside; edges are not desirable. Instead, Nice Rockers formulate their songs to be listened to without much work. Their songs just kind of flow into your ear and swoosh around, like a sweet white wine.

Nice Rockers are not to be confused with the neo-folk movement that is springing up around folks like Iron and Wine (if I could put fireworks here, I would), Sufjan Stevens, and Devendra Banhart. Those guys are nice, too*, but not at all in the same way.

So there you have it. Nice Rock. Use your new knowledge wisely, fools.

* Well, Devendra Banhart not so much. I hate his music, but realize that he is important to the movement. Kinda like Bob Dylan, who also sucks.

I Am Going To Kick Morrissey's Ass.

Hate to start the ol' blog thang on a negative tip, but this mofo needs an ass whoopin'. I'm just the man to do it.

I hate Morrissey. I will kick his sorry ass if he ever bothers to walk across my path. Stupid, celibate dumbass. Damn wuss.

Yeah, I know, The Smiths were an important part of your youth. Morrissey and the boys helped you get through the hard times because they knew who you were and the very sound of them brought out emotions you never knew you had. Well, suck it, because he's gonna get a skull bustin' from me.

This is all contingent on Morrissey somehow showing up where I am one day. Unlikely, because I dislike him so much that I usually avoid him at all costs (and oooooo, how lazy I can get when I set my mind to it!). Whenever one of his songs come on, I immediately change the channel (an ability those in favor of censorship should learn to develop) or demand that the channel be changed.

So, Morrissey, kiss my ass. I'm gonna get you, sucka.

The First Post, Fools.

This here is my first post. I'm writing it knowing full well that no one will read this until I publicize this blog. Weird thing, that.

I'm not entirely sure what this blog will turn into as it evolves. I know that, for now, it will be a forum for me to talk about what I think about music. It will also almost definitely veer into politics on occasion, and if you are a conservative, you probably won't like what I have to say. Which, of course, is fine, being that I don't believe that the overwhelming majority of conservatives (you know which ones I don't mean, so don't be insulted) have anything of real value to add to the public discourse at this particular moment in American history.

But mainly, it will be about the music, fools. And I loves me some musics. So listen up.