(You And I) We Can Conquer #Trollgaze

You may be way ahead of me on this one, but I've only recently been thinking through the implications of the online surveillance society, where everything we click on is recorded and analyzed, and the economy that's created when all these clicks are resold and monetized. What we do with our leisure time, most of us, is now making money for someone, most likely a giant corporation - even if we're not paying for anything. The RIAA was very active in warning us that music downloading and streaming would kill record sales - they haven't been as quick to point out that the industry no longer needs those sales to make profits.

As we've known since the early days of deceptive banner ads, a click doesn't care why you clicked, it only cares that you clicked. A page view or video watch from boredom is the same as one from obsession; telling your friends how much you love a song equals telling them how much you hate it; a dislike is as good as a like. And that's what's led to the preeminence of possibly the most important internet-generated phenomenon of all, the troll.

To be sure, old media has long understood that stirring up emotions, negative or positive, stimulates consumption. And there have always been people who would do pretty much anything to get attention. But the past few years have seen a dramatic rise in artists who seek to generate page views, comments, posts and links as an end in itself, employing the usual risqué images and language but also intentionally inept dance routines, intentionally flat singing and affect, and intentionally offensive material. The most successful trolls position themselves so that both their defenders and detractors will draw an audience: the way intersectionality works these days, trolling is easiest for well-off white women claiming their use of racist tropes is really resistance to sexism, or well-off black men claiming their use of sexist tropes is really resistance to racism.

[Insert Clickbait Subhead Here]

It's hard enough for us ordinary people to avoid getting caught up by these calculated provocations; for those trying to make a living either making art or writing about it, it's nearly unavoidable. Music critic Maura Johnston - who coined the term "trollgaze" to refer to media crafted specifically for Internet virality - has incisively lamented the way writers who want to promote fresh and exciting work find themselves instead constructing listicles of sartorial mishaps or best bad bands or worst good bands or why I'm right and you're wrong and vice versa. And naturally that feeds the whole phenomenon.

That's not to say artists shouldn't court controversy and push buttons: they often will, and we're better off for it. Even when the resulting art is not so great: While I find Rihanna's work difficult politically and disappointing artistically, she's no troll; Lady Gaga too seeks to shock but with an (admittedly trite, admittedly Madonna Lite) underlying motive of challenging society's strictures. (Unfortunately for my argument, Kanye West can't be simplified as readily: The same way Tolstoy's main characters unified a Chehkovian true-to-life sketch and a Dostoyevskian representation of a Big Idea in the same person, West is a troll and a serious artist at the same time, and it's not always easy to tease them apart. As a rule of thumb, though, his records sometimes contain authentic work, while the interviews, public appearances and videos are pure trolling.)

tl;dr: PDFTT

I'm going to be much more intentional about what I click on, link to, and write about. Though the old saying "If you ignore him, he'll go away" doesn't apply in many situations, it does work on trolls. There's a smug pleasure in hate-watching people making fools of themselves but that's a pleasure I can no longer afford.

A couple of years ago, Kathleen Hanna said that we should all stop talking about a fauxfensive (or is it nontroversial?) West Coast hip hop outfit, and my thought was "True, but by telling us that you are talking about them." I'm not saying that we should keep mum instead of pointing out egregiously kyriarchal or just poorly executed songs, videos and performances, but it's more critical than before to promote work that moves, challenges, inspires, excites and amuses rather than cataloging how much junk is out there.

In that spirit, my favorite 2013 albums. (DBW)

Funkadelic Fantasy Camp (Did This Really Just Happen?)

In a better world, legendary keyboard innovator Bernie Worrell would have a private plane taking him and his Orchestra to their gigs. In this world, though, he ran a Kickstarter campaign raising funds to buy the Orchestra a touring van, and one of the reward perks offered was a music lesson with Bernardo Da Vinci himself. I signed up for that even though I don't play keyboards, and even though Worrell has a reputation for being uncommunicative (verbally, at least) - frankly, the documentary Stranger: Bernie Worrell On Earth painted a rather alarming portrait.

So when he showed up at my apartment with Glen Fittin (the Orchestra's percussionist) I wasn't surprised that Worrell was humble; I wasn't surprised that he could remember details from long-ago P-Funk sessions; I wasn't surprised that he could coax stunning sounds from my wife's ancient electric piano. But I was pleasantly surprised that he could speak volubly about a range of topics including his composing and arranging process, the role of bass in his music (bass guitar being the instrument I was trying to play), the different approaches he's used working with the Funk Mob vs. Talking Heads vs. Bill Laswell vs. his Orchestra. It was the opportunity to jam with him and Fittin, though, that made it a one of a kind experience - he listened carefully to every note I played as if I were a peer, his face lit up when he heard something he liked and he had boundless patience when I wandered off course. (The songs we played, in whole or in part: "Jam in D(avid)," "Red Hot Momma," "Undisco Kidd (The Girl Is Bad)," "Take Your Dead Ass Home (Say Som'n Nasty)," "Jam in A(rabic)," "Bop Gun (Endangered Species).")

I learned more about improvisation in that one session than I'd learned in the previous 46 years. I could have gotten a lot less and still been satisfied, but doing the minimum is just not how Worrell operates: he put everything he had into my lesson the same way he gives his all onstage.

Who Killed A (Meta)Critic: Where Quant Meets Qual, And Both Are Disappointed

I’ve seen several articles over the past couple of years speculating on whether the value of criticism has disappeared with the advent of “you like this, so we recommend that” functionality on consumer sites (Amazon leading the pack). Well, not so fast. That feature can be helpful for dabblers, but if you’re reasonably up on popular music or getting anywhere off the beaten path, you’re not going to find those recommendations very revealing: if you bought one technical death metal band, they’re going to suggest you try Meshuggah and Necrophagist; if you look at anything really obscure, you’ll learn that the same people who bought it also bought Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber records. The engine runs into the main pitfalls of quantitative analysis.

Professional critics may think of themselves as defending true art from the savage tedium of the marketplace (and they may be right about that), but most people read record reviews hoping to buy something good, or avoid buying something lousy: They want an in-depth opinion from someone who’s good at forming and presenting opinions. In other words, they’re looking for qualitative analysis. And that can be extremely helpful: To name just one example, I’ll be forever grateful to Maura Johnston for hipping me to Sleigh Bells. But one limitation of qualitative analysis is that respondents (like torture victims) tell you what they think you want to hear, and in the case of music critics that results in an oddly non-conformist conformism: As Lester Bangs pointed out forty years ago, anyone looking to make a name in the field will look for stuff the masses aren't interested in, and try to get them interested in it. Over time - as the scribes push their pet acts, and their colleagues don't want to be seen as falling behind - groupthink develops, and the next thing you know there's critical consensus on boring, trivial acts like the BLAND (Beach House, LCD Soundsystem, Arcade Fire, The National and Deerhunter) Class of 2010.

Being aware of these pitfalls, market researchers usually seek to combine quantitative and qualitative analysis, and that’s exactly what Metacritic tries to do: filter all the blathering of critics into recommendations that a consumer can use. The trouble is, their methodology not only doesn’t cut through groupthink, but actually celebrates and elevates it: the flavor-of-the-month acts clutter up the top of their list, who also tend to be the artists you’re already familiar with because every other article is about Frank Ocean or Jack White. So it ends up being a technology-based version of the Pazz & Jop Poll: useful if you need to know who critics are hyping, not useful if you’re looking to find compelling art that might enrich your life or at least inspire you to put down that bag of chips and get off the couch.

Surprisingly enough, it’s that venerable Village Voice poll itself that suggests a way out of this mess: They’ve taken the annual vote numbers and thrown them up on a sortable page that lets you see, for example, which records were picked in the Top Ten by only one critic; which records were picked mostly by non-groupthink critics; and (interesting for a dweeb like me) which reviewers had the most similar lists to a given critic. That dataset only includes Top Ten picks and only covers five years, but it’s a big step in the right direction. We’re getting within hailing distance of the system I consider ideal: You enter in your favorite albums, and a database matches you up with a critic whose taste is similar to yours, but (we assume) listens to a lot more stuff and thinks about it a lot more, and is thereby in a position to bring lots of amazing, transcendent, mind-exploding music to your attention. Wait, did I just give Metacritic that idea for free? Dang.

PS In case anyone’s interested, just two of my 2012 Top Ten albums received votes in P&J: Regina Spektor’s What We Saw From The Cheap Seats and Angel Haze’s Reservation. I was much more groupthink-y in 2011, where seven of my Top Ten received votes, and my #1 pick won the poll.

High Ceilings and Low Floors

I'm rarely right, but it sometimes happens: In 1996 or '97 I was hired by an encyclopedia company to write a few music entries, and one of my assignments was Alanis Morrissette. Though her latest album was the best selling release from a female solo artist ever, I identified her as a flash in the pan, and I'd say history has borne that out. I called the decline of Oasis pretty early, too, but I wasn't confident: that was largely wishful thinking. (On the other side of the coin, I first heard Tracy Chapman and Living Colour on the same day in 1988, and instantly determined that they'd never catch on.) While those may sound easy - akin to predicting Psy will be a one-hit wonder -an artist's early peak is usually clear only in retrospect. Was it obvious at the time that Hootie & The Blowfish would never approach the success of Cracked Rear View rather than cluttering up the airwaves for years a la Nickelback? (Darius Rucker's subsequent country career proves rather than invalidates the point.)

Evaluation of potential doesn't square with an album-based rating system very well. For example, when I rated the Sleigh Bells debut ahead of Janelle Monáe's The ArchAndroid as the best record of 2010 I was still looking forward to Monáe's followup more than Sleigh Bells', because I had a sense that Sleigh Bells had already maximized their potential and Monáe had room to grow. To put it another way, I think she's at least one hundred times more likely to make a five-star record someday. A more recent example: in 2012 I rated Gökçe's Kaktüs Çiçeği four stars, and Angel Haze's Reservation "only" three and a half, but I'm certain Haze's best future album will be better than Gökçe's.

Where does that sense come from, and what's it based on? Well, sometimes there are obvious, easily fixed problems with an early album: The arrangements and mix on Kaktüs Çiçeği are polished and precise, while the backing tracks on Reservation sound like they were whipped up in a weekend - Haze could make a much better record without improving a whit as a rapper or writer. Similarly, it can be a positive indicator when an artist's reach exceeds her grasp: Treats shows marvelous mastery of a very limited sonic palette; The ArchAndroid reaches into a wide range of genres and approaches but not always successfully, and it's easy to imagine Monáe digging deeper in plenty of different directions. (I try not to talk about Frank Ocean, but by these criteria he's a cinch to make a better album than channel ORANGE one of these days.)

Maybe this makes me an Auteur Theory goon, but I do cherish my suspicion that low floors imply high ceilings... In other words, any Jane or Joe can cut a bad record, but it takes a true original to get far enough away from stylistic norms to make a terrible one. For example, Lumpy Gravy is worse than anything ever put out by early peak/low ceiling icon Liz Phair. So rather than pegging artists by how good they can be on their best day, you might want to hear how bad they can be on their worst.

Chuck Mangione, "Feels So Good" (1977)

Typically this hit instrumental is thought of as 70s AM pap, on a level with "Feelings" or "I Really Want To See You Tonight," and that's fair I suppose: it's catchy and overplayed, with no evident purpose apart from entertaining, plus it has that disco climbing bass bit. But I find the piece interesting for a couple of reasons: One, it's an extremely long melody, going on for about a minute before it repeats. According to some sheet music I found online, it's a 23-bar composition, so not up there with "Unchained Melody" but lengthy compared to your usual 16-bar A section, which usually repeats a four-bar phrase in there somewhere. That's not to say it's complex, because it's at a moderate tempo and can be whistled by practically anybody who was alive in 1977. But it is compelling... I find myself running through the whole melody in my head whenever I hear or think of the opening held notes.

The other odd feature is that Mangione doesn't solo: he states the theme at the beginning (twice on the album version), after the rest of the band solos he states it again, and then after a noodling coda (again, cropped from the 7") we're done. If you're thinking the leader lays out to spotlight his ace band, listen again: they each lollygag through the changes in horrendous clichéd fashion. So why doesn't he play? Because it's not a lead & chord progression to be improvised on, it's a piece to be played straight through. (Not every jazz piece lends itself to improvisation - Monk's "Crepescule With Nellie" springs to mind, and I'm sure some of the Ellington chamber work fits too - but they're the exceptions; they also develop rather than repeat.) To put it another way, the tune is excellent pop but terrible jazz, and if you care about the difference (not that you necessarily should), you can find it on this cut. (DBW)

Wilson & Alroy's UNforbidden Words 2013

Everyone has their own personal list of band names they will never use, some of mine being agitpoppers Larry Holmes and his Pearls of Wisdom, angst-daddy outfit Clairvoyant Doorman, and punk act The Runs (as in "Get The Runs!"). Along the same lines, here are words I've long desired to shoehorn into a review, but could never figure out a plausible way. So updating my 2011 pledge to avoid my worst cliches, next year I promise to use these words somewhere, appropriately or not:

Raiment
Sediment
Countermand
Samite
Paraquat
Vivacious or Vivacity
Kelp
Contumely
Satiated or preferably Satiety
Canter (I may use "cantor" too, but not figuratively)
Tendentious
Tawny (but I promise not to combine the above two into "tawndentious")

Free to be you and me, but maybe try being someone else for a change

For the past month or so, I've been listening to a playlist on my phone that alternates tracks from my favorite album of 2011, tUnE-yArDs' W H O K I L L, and my favorite album so far in 2012, Sıla's Joker. This is partly because I profoundly enjoy listening to each record, and also because I'm sort of checking myself on whether the two are indeed roughly equal in quality (I rated each 4 1/2 stars). I do stand by my high recommendations, but the differences between the two were instructive in a way I wasn't expecting.

Though both are basically solo artists (not to diminish the contributions of tUnE-yArDs bassist Nate Brenner) who write their own material, Merrill Garbus and Sıla Gençoğlu have little else in common: the song structures on W H O K I L L are boldly original where Joker follows pop conventions; Sıla's sound is smooth and sophisticated while tUnE-yArDs is unapologetically unpolished; Garbus multitracks most of the instruments herself while Gençoğlu - at least on Joker - relies on live band interaction. It's overly reductive but not inaccurate to say that Sıla's approach is communitarian while Garbus's is individualistic. It perhaps goes without saying that Joker has been unnoticed by U.S. reviewers, after W H O K I L L was a critics' darling and Pazz & Jop winner. Finally, Garbus has a raw, instantly identifiable vocal approach, and Sıla adapts her singing style to suit each number without binding herself to a particular, locatable identity. That got me thinking (for once).

Film criticism has long differentiated between actors and movie stars, on the grounds that you go to see an actor to see her - Meryl Streep being the most obvious example - or him disappear into the character they're portraying, whereas you go to see a movie star play herself or himself (or at least the same approximation of same that they play in every other movie). And the underlying assumption has been that as great as a movie star may be (Katharine Hepburn, say), the actor is performing at a higher artistic level. What seems curious to me is that rock critics (and me as much as anyone) have tended to assume the opposite, that the sui generis performer is making the authentic artistic statement, while the singer who loses her/himself in the tune is more or less a hack. Someone pointed out to me a while ago that one reason critics dislike Billy Joel so much is that he played characters in his songs, in the musical theater tradition, rather than sounding his own barbaric yawp. I'm not retracting any of negative things I've said or thought about Joel over the years, but it's a good point: while it's one thing to assert that his parade of 70s Brooklyn guys - Joey, Eddie, whoever it is who walked through Bedford-Stuy alone - are too similar to each other, it's bordering on puerile to complain that they aren't authentically him. Without a doubt, Garbus's accomplishment is more audacious, but I think it's equally indisputable that Gençoğlu's inhabiting of received forms is more subtle and in its way more difficult: Self-expression is essential, but I in privileging it over empathy I - and I’d say I’m not alone in this - have gone too far. (DBW)

Steal Wilson's Records!

For the first time, the inner sanctum of a Wilson & Alroy critic (in this case, Wilson) will be opened to the public. More importantly, you can take any of the CDs, LPs, and cassettes you see there. Five winning entries will be selected from comments submitted on the theme "Wilson's Worst Review Ever... And Why."

Speaking of "why," why is Wilson doing such a thing?
1) Out of space. Over the years, Wilson (referring to oneself in the third person never gets old) has kept more or less everything he's reviewed, plus a bunch of stuff he never got around to reviewing. By now he has no room for any of the accoutrements pertaining to, y'know, a normal life.
2) Going digital. As wonderful as cover art and liner note are, the convenience of keeping music on hard disk (not to mention the various cloud options - look for my trenchant analysis of Spotify soon) is impossible to ignore.
3) Can't sell 'em. For four reasons - Wilson tossed his jewel cases years ago to save space (see 1), most people don't buy music anymore (see 2), a variety of cats have torn the LPs to shreds, and most of the library is out-of-favor stuff like The Spinners' Live! - record store guys have advised that the fair market value is approximately nil. Or, as Spinal Tap would say, their appeal has become much more selective.

Application Deadline: 7 October

Golden Ticket Scavenger Hunt Date: 15 October

A few caveats:
a) Wilson's lair is in downtown Jersey City.
b) Two cats live there (see above), so if you're highly allergic you may want to pass.
c) Wilson is keeping a very few physical discs, mostly for sentimental value and a few because they don't seem to be available online. So don't make the trip out there hoping to get Godmoma's Here and go home disappointed.

He Said "Lay Down Your Funky Weapon" But I Didn't Think You'd Actually Do It

Here's something a little different: A response to a piece written by my friend and actual music writing professional Kurt Gottschalk and published by the Brooklyn Rail titled In Which Prince at Last Wins the Battle Against Evil, and Yet Y'all Still Make Fun of Him:

---

Personally, I kinda miss having to defend Prince. Back in the 80s, you were always a little guarded when you confessed you were a fan, because it seemed like everyone had something to say about him. "That skinny motherfucker with the high voice? Please!" Hip hop heads and funkaholics wondered why he messed around with falsetto ballads; old-school soulsters wondered why he used programmed drums and samples if he was such a virtuoso. At least one Billboard columnist questioned whether black music should permit effeminate males in its leadership. Religious friends thought it was disrespectful to recite the Lord's Prayer in "Controversy"; atheist friends didn't want to hear "God"; both camps critiqued his calling himself the Messiah (and his spelling) in "I Would Die 4 U." And that was before he wrote "slave" on his face, changed his name to a symbol, and stopped shipping platinum.

But now? After wearing down his critics inside the industry and out with decades of carefully crafted, insistently musical—if inconsistently engaging—albums and tours, Prince announced himself at the 2004 Grammys as elder statesman who could put the young folk to shame, and no one disputed it. The metalheads in Rainbow denim jackets I grew up with in Queens are now the people uploading his Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame performance of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" to YouTube and captioning it "GREATEST GUITAR SOLO EVER!!!" The dudes who wondered why that high-heeled freak was running around with those tall white women are now saying the Black Eyed Peas' bombastic Super Bowl show was a disgrace compared to the tasteful showmanship and serious chops Prince displayed way back in... 2007. At the end of each sold-out Madison Square Garden show, today's most desperately buzz-seeking celebs elbowed each other for a place on stage. He's the hottest ticket in town. Don't get me wrong: I'm happy that Prince is happy, and that he's largely succeeded in making over pop music in his image. I just wish there was still someone around to argue with.

The Second Generation All-Star Band, or, That Last Name Looks Familiar

Maybe I attend too many geezer nostalgia tours, but I've been seeing a lot of bands where the star brings one of their kids onstage. Which ones are cases of nepotism, and which are actually worth hearing? I decided to organize the results as an all-star team; please give me the credit if a promoter puts together a touring combo out of this.

Vocalists

Let's get this out of the way first: there are a lot of pop star kids who have gotten up on stage to sing, and even gotten record contracts, who are just not that great. There's Goffin-King daughter Louise Goffin, Buddy Guy's daughter Shawnna and Nona Gaye among others. Neneh Cherry may have sold more copies of Raw Like Sushi than all of her father's albums put together, but color me unimpressed; likewise, I can't bring myself to care about the Wilson sisters or any of the Wainwrights. Arlo Guthrie and Jakob Dylan were legitimate one-hit wonders, if nothing more.
I don't know if Ronald Bell's son Rachid will ever make a followup to his outstanding debut album, but he's probably the only candidate who could conceivably dethrone Jeff Buckley.

Drums

Los Van Van drummer Samuel Formell is the easy choice, stepping into the shoes of Cuban music legend Changüito and rapidly winning over the band's skeptical and demanding fan base. I've never heard much from Jason Bonham or Zack Starkey but you'd think they have to be in the mix somewhere. Honorable mention for Mother's Finest drummer Dion Murdock, one of the few to play in a band with both parents.

Bass

I know Eddie Van Halen (and Valerie Bertinelli, he mentioned gratuitously) spawn Wolfie is touring with his dad, but I have no idea what he sounds like. I'm sticking with James Jamerson Jr.

Piano

I think this has to be Elio Revé Jr. Not only did he take over his father's renowned charangón, his compositions, arrangements and piano put the group in the forefront of the late 2000s timba scene.

Guitar

As I'm not inclined to pick Dweezil Zappa or Doyle Bramhall II, I'm sure not going to pick Trey Lewd, and I've never heard Teddy Thompson, I'll pick Wendy Melvoin, though her session pianist/arranger dad Mike isn't exactly the kind of front-line performer the competition is all about.

Horns

Got to go with trumpeter Mercer Ellington over tenor saxophonist Ravi Coltrane, based on Ellington's strengths as composer as well as bandleader.

Producer

Dionne Warwick's pride and joy Damon Elliott is the standout.

M.V.P. (Most Valuable Progeny)

Who's the Barry Bonds of the group, the child of a star who becomes a bigger star? Obviously Norah Jones is a much bigger commercial force than father Ravi Shankar, but it's my list and I can snub her if I want to. For "Moon Mist" alone, Mercer Ellington is one of the most accomplished, but he certainly isn't going to make anyone forget the other Ellington. On the other end of the scale, Jeff Buckley made a huge impression during his short career, but it would be a stretch to consider Tim Buckley a star. So I hate to say it, but the winner in the category is probably Bocephus. Please tell me I'm forgetting somebody.

Wilson & Alroy's Forbidden Words 2011

I used WordItOut.com to make a wordcloud based on Wilson & Alroy's Record Reviews, starting with every page I've posted a new review to in 2010 and adding the other pages in our fifty most visited. (WordItOut was the only site I tried that didn't choke on the volume of text I uploaded, and the interface is very spiffy, though I don't like the fact that it doesn't combine word forms, e.g. "song" and "songs" count as two different words.) The results are here:



It's no surprise to see words like "record," "album," "tunes," "track" and "guitar" on a record review site, but I do see some words that I'm clearly overusing. So here come the Forbidden Words, which I pledge not to use in any reviews in the coming year:

1. Really - A classic sign of bad writing: if you used the right word in the first place, you never need to put "really" in front of it. Really.

2. Only - Nothing wrong with the word, but I think it appears in plenty of places where other words would do. My use of "just" has been nearly as bad. So expect to see a lot of "solely" in 2011.

3. Including - I'll have to lean more heavily on synonyms like "featuring" or "consisting of," and alternative sentence constructions.

4. Here - There's no "here" on the internet. Sometimes I use it to mean the record being reviewed, other times I mean the site, and still other times I don't know what I mean.

5. Version - Look forward to seeing "variant" or words like it next year.

6. Production - Time to be more specific about what's creating the distinctive sound of a recording. But without going overboard talking about "arrangements" either.

7. Ballad - Originally used to describe a folk tale in song, I've been using it too frequently to denote anything a) slow, and b) about a relationship.

8. Rock - This may be the toughest one to avoid, but I was shocked to see how often I use the word as shorthand for "rock 'n' roll." Let's see if I can go a year without slipping up.

9. & 10. Interesting and Dull - Just a lazy way of saying I did or didn't like something.

And the number one most frequently occurring word on the site (not counting everyday words that WordItOut filters automatically)? I'm not going to eliminate "like" from my vocabulary, but I will try to keep it to a minimum. And feel free to suggest any other word we've overused (one to a customer, please) by posting a comment.

The Great Recording Artist Draft, or, What Do I Have To Do To Hear A New Angela Winbush Album?

Maybe someone can explain to me why this is a dumb idea, but I'm wondering why we can't set up a mechanism where fans of a particular artist can bid money to "draft" the artist back into the studio to make a new record. Like Jill Sobule in reverse: if you haven't been following that story, she raised about $75,000 from fans and other well intentioned folk so she could record and press her 2009 release California Years (other artists, including Cris Williamson, have done similar self-fundraisers without getting the same media attention).

I'm not talking about recluses like Axl Rose and Sly Stone, who have issues unrelated to financing which keep them from releasing product. I'm thinking more about someone like Ernie Isley or, yes, Àngela Winbush - people who presumably wouldn't be averse to hitting the studio if they could be assured in advance that they would get back their costs and (ideally) a bit extra.

I'd picture it working somewhat like an eBay auction (remember eBay? It's where you used to go for rare LPs before they all starting turning up on Rapidshare). Anyone interested could sign up for a central clearinghouse where you could put down money toward a new album by a given artist, who might or might not be amenable - it would be up to the artist to indicate interest, specify a minimum bid, etc. Everyone going to the site could see how much money had been pledged toward each artist - you could track fastest movers, newest additions, largest budgets, and so on.

The money would be placed in revocable escrow, so that you'd really need to put up the dough but you could get it back if you got tired of waiting for that next Leo Sayer disc - this would address the hypothetical problem where an artist could have an incentive to wait indefinitely, letting the budget go up and up, rather than actually making the record. Once the artist said yes, got the cash and recorded the CD, everyone who fronted money would get some freebie, like an autographed copy. (Sobule made an elaborate system with various levels, so that if you contributed enough you could even sing a duet on the record, but I doubt many artists would be that flexible.)

To really build a system like that you'd need someone to hold the money, and I'm certainly not volunteering. Thanks to the financial crisis nobody's making any interest to speak of anyway, so the only thing you'd need to worry about would be someone running off with all the money. But we're all music fans, we can trust each other, right? Right? Did I just lose everybody? Anyway, assuming the practical part can be straightened out if there's enough interest, let me throw out my price list:

Alec R. Costandinos	$50
The Abdul Hassan Orchestra	$50
Carole King	$50
Lunachicks	$50
Biz Markie	$50
Pajama Party featuring Jennifer McQuilkin	$50
Brenda Russell	$50
The Shaggs	$50
Bill Withers	$50
Chuck Berry	$100
Ernie Isley	$100
Little Richard	$100
Patrice Rushen	$100
Sleater-Kinney	$100
Àngela Winbush	$200

Sharon Brown, "I Specialize In Love" (1982)

I spent almost twenty years looking for this dance record before finally finding it at The Thing in Greenpoint. Written by Golden/Sher and produced by Next Plateau founder Eddie O'Loughlin, the tune was sort of a cross between early disco and Hi-NRG, mixing Latin percussion and a midtempo groove with jumpy synth, diva belting, and a winning attitude. I heard it a lot in 1982, though it seems like I never heard it on the radio, only coming out of passing cars, which is one reason I had trouble figuring out who the singer was. The other reason is, Brown never had much of a career apart from this one song: she apparently fell out with her label after they released a follow-up ("Love Don't Hurt People") she wasn't happy with, they parted company, and she ended up never releasing an LP.

The song was covered by Exposé in the mid-90s, and their version isn't half-bad, but track down the original if you can. Alternatively, you can check it out on YouTube.

Growing Up Skipper, "Teenage Boyfriend" (1991)

Growing Up Skipper was an early 90s all-female punk trio, not affiliated as far as I know with the Riot Grrrl scene but sharing some characteristics. They released one 7" with three songs; the other two are decent but "Teenage Boyfriend" is the keeper. Sung - almost spat - by lyricist/bassist Jane Guskin (formerly with San Francisco punk rappers the Yeastie Girlz), it's a cathartic, vitriolic assessment on an inconsiderate youthful swain. Apparently the song was covered by God Is My Co-Pilot in 1995; I haven't heard their version.

With its simple, memorable melody and powerhouse delivery, GUS's single is well worth searching for on eBay... There are even liner notes, with a thought-provoking deconstruction of the song's theme. (DBW)

Bobby Murcer, "Skoal Dippin' Man" (1983)

Years before Bernie Williams first picked up a guitar, and decades before Gretchen Wilson extolled the virtues of self-inflicted mouth cancer, Yankee great Bobby Murcer beat them both to the punch with this charming ditty. With the passing of Yankee Stadium, what better time to appreciate this surprisingly catchy Urban Country tune? There have been lots of better songs written about ballplayers ("Mrs. Robinson"; several songs by Chuck Brodsky; maybe even "Go Go Joe Charboneau") but has there ever been a better song sung by a ballplayer?

I couldn't find the actual song online, but here's a YouTube fan tribute using the same melody:
"I'm A Bobby Ray Murcer Fan"

CosmicBen & Wilson Kick Around Jazz

After years of swapping long e-mails about music, fellow amateur critic CosmicBen and I finally got around to writing up a Point/Counterpoint discussion on the general topic of "Jazz: Worth The Trouble?" We plan to continue these conversations as a semi-regular feature; the first one is available now on
CosmicBen's blog.

Amy Winehouse, "Rehab" (2006)

I don't know why we've got all these blue-eyed soul British women all of a sudden, but Winehouse is the latest. She comes off like Joss Stone's unwed mother, a drunken, tattoo-covered hard luck woman singing in an Etta James-influenced croak over pseudo-Motown loops, desperate to show us what a bad girl she really is. Her second album Back To Black became a major hit behind this single, supposedly prompted by a management company's suggestion that she get treatment for alcoholism. If you think her response ("I said no, no, no") is clever, you probably also have a closet full of "I don't have a drinking problem: I drink, I get drunk, I fall down, no problem" T-shirts.

What bugs me about the song, though, isn't the banality of the sentiment or the execution (do we need anyone reviving Soul II Soul's schtick?): it's the missed opportunity. The substance abuse rehabilitation industry has mushroomed in recent years, with remarkable media support, and no one's holding it accountable. Judges routinely sentence offenders to attend rehab or AA meetings (or attach it as a condition to parole, which amounts to the same thing), celebrities vanish into rehab after any embarrassing public episode, and who knows how many regular people are following their example. But does rehab actually work?

It's difficult to get decent statistics on the success of rehab programs, because the nature of success is difficult to define - what period of time do you cover? do you count people who dropped out of the program? - and because the for-profit rehab centers have little incentive to participate in controlled studies. Certainly the anecdotal evidence from reality TV shows (Intervention is addictsploitation at its most gripping) and the aforementioned troubled celebrities is not promising. I'm sure they work for some people, and I'm sure they work better for people who actually want to give up the addictive behavior, but I'm also sure that, like prisons, rehab facilities often just teach you more about how to enjoy your addiction than how to give it up. I would love to hear a follow-up from Winehouse along the lines of "They tried to make me go to rehab, I said 'Heck yeah! Those dudes know how to party!!'"

Rick Dees and His Cast Of Idiots, "Barely White (That'll Get It Baby)" (1977)

I intend to use the blog mostly to discuss songs I like, but this time I wanted to call your attention to this forgotten flop single from the creator of "Disco Duck." Ostensibly a parody of a certain R&B singer, with the Caucasian-American Dees performing both the egotistical seducer and his reluctant female prey in mock "black" accents, it manages to be at once incredibly offensive and totally unfunny... a magic combination. It's definitely worth a spin just to hear how ill-conceived and clueless an attempt at humor can be: the concluding watermelon reference is jaw-dropping.

The thing that strikes me, though, is that Rick Dees, a working DJ at the time the song was released, emerged unscathed from the experience, and is working in radio to this day. (The song was banned, allegedly, though I can't believe it would have gotten significant airplay in any case.) Thirty years later, one-time Dees competitor Don Imus was tossed out on his ear for racist comments which were rather milder and unpremeditated: unlike Imus, Dees wrote, recorded, released and distributed his song with the knowledge and consent of his corporate masters. Now make no mistake, I'm glad Imus is no longer on the radio, and I hope he never comes back. But why do you think the reaction is so different today than it was thirty years ago? Because we've become overly sensitive and quick to take umbrage? Hardly: in 70s terms, the disc was offensive to anyone who wasn't a George Wallace voter. Because there are no more significant examples of racism left to confront? Guess again. Because the opportunists who've been annointed by the media as "spokesmen for the African-American community" are more interested in cheap stunts than any meaningful attempts to critique the prevailing power structures? You're getting warmer.

"That Summer Song With The Huge Guitar Hook" (1999?)

Is anyone working on a search engine that identifies a scrap of melody? Let's say with a piano-like interface where you tap in a melody, it plays back to confirm you entered it right, and then it searches a database? I would use a site like that constantly. For years I've been trying to find a song that was all over the radio in the summer of 1999 or maybe 2000. I think it was a one-hit wonder, a pop-rock band with a guy singer, and the hook went more or less like this:

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--8--10-8------------------8--10-8----------------
-----------10-7--7------------------10-7--7-------
--------------------10----------------------------
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Catchy as viral meningitis, as I recall. I might want to pick up their album, if I knew who they were...