Spitball Army

I’d sold her dozens of classical CDs, so she invited me. But the duo of scratchy gamba and wheezy pump organ set my teeth on edge.

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My favorites in music, from what I heard this past year.

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This week I picked up the November issue of Uncut, the one touting Jack White as the “Man of the Decade” on its cover. That was intriguing enough. But what really grabbed my attention was their list of “THE 150 GREATEST ALBUMS OF THE 21ST CENTURY…SO FAR!”

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Holy time capsule! Where did some of these artists go? Rees Shad? Gillman Deaville? (Who is Rees Shad, anyway?)

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The Sleepy Jackson, a band from “Down Under,” made a rare tour through the United States in the Spring of 2004 in support of their Lovers album. Their stop in this part of the country was at The Nick – the dirtiest club in Birmingham, Alabama.

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An in-store performance by Ben Kweller, at Laser’s Edge Compact Discs in Birmingham, Alabama, on 22 April 2004. Ben pauses mid-song to point out the Led Zeppelin boxed set sitting on the rack.

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I remember bringing the first B-52’s album home the summer after my first college year and playing it really loud, and driving my poor Mom crazy with it. Was that our generation’s “scream-o?”

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I’d heard brief mentions about this band from acquaintances over the last month, but never anything describing them or their music beyond the fact that they hail from Wasilla, Alaska. Yes, that Wasilla.

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“If I can make it here, I’ll make it anywhere.”

So goes the line from the well-worn song “New York, New York.” And, apparently, the inverse rule applies, as well. The last of the giant music retail stores in New York City shuttered completely yesterday, according to this morning’s New York Times.

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The Smithereens Play Tommy;
The Doobie Brothers’ Toulouse Street;
The Church’s El Momento Siguiente

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