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Saturday, December 28, 2002 -- 09:56 a.m.

I haven't gotten any shit for this yet, but as a pre-emptive strike: on that post about "Midnight to Stevens", the reference to punk rock "peter[ing] out" should have probably been given the qualifier "popular British" or whatever -- i.e. the Pistols dissolving, the Jam going more pop (not that this is a bad thing) and most of the class of '77 more or less going byebye (whither the Adverts?). Of course, if you're talking about American hardcore and pre-alternative, you've got an entirely different story.

I'm gonna start updating more often, since I feel a bit rusty while talking about music. I'm also going to update Radio Detritus with a new theme (probably rare funk). And while I still have the chance, I should probably plug the best compilation CD not affiliated with a much-feared-by-moralistas Playstation 2 megahit. Prefuse 73 is the [insert superlative noun here; i.e. "bomb"; "shit"; "man"].

-Nate

Wednesday, December 25, 2002 -- 11:55 a.m.

Merry Xmas everybody. Crank up the Slade or whatever you all do today. Happy other religious holidays too (I'd say Happy Hannukah but no matter how I spell it I always feel as though I am spelling it wrong).

But enough holiday cheer: How could any sort of loving diety let this happen? I find it interesting that almost all the songs on this list are from 1990 or later, and almost none of those (I will spot you the Biggie song and Destiny's Child) are what even the most pop-apologist hooray-for-treacle type would call "great". I'm not trying to be Defender of the True Rock and Roll here; I'd be more than happy if one of those slots was given to ABBA or the Bee Gees or what-have-you, but the presence of a guitarist who scored a hit single that came 25 years after he was interesting and not one but two Boones makes me endlessly miserable.

-Nate

Tuesday, December 24, 2002 -- 07:44 p.m.

So yeah. I put my year-end thoughts up on SSCB. Seems pretty anticlimactic after I spent so much time mulling over all the thoughts I had about this year (wow, I like the Neptunes, gee whiz), but hey, it's closure.

-Nate

Tuesday, December 24, 2002 -- 12:53 p.m.

Addendum to the Strummer post: listen to The Clash's 1982 song "Midnight to Stevens" while you're at it. It's the Great Lost Clash Song (only available, to the best of my knowledge, on Clash On Broadway), evidence that by the time punk rock petered out they could easily adapt to something larger, more nuanced, more subtle, but just as strong. Notable for two reasons: first, it's Joe's own eulogy to the late Guy Stevens, who produced London Calling and died shortly thereafter around 1980, and second, he sustains a note for a good seven seconds that, while not quite Shirley Bassey in "Goldfinger", starts really giving me chills at about second three. Lyrics are here. I should probably set up some way for people to get it, though I don't have the webspace.

-Nate

Tuesday, December 24, 2002 -- 09:42 a.m.

Leave it to JSP to put succinctly what I couldn't quite express properly myself: "I am of the opinion that we would never have an energy crisis again if we could just figure out some way to harness the energy produced by the spinning motion made by Joey Ramone and Sid Vicious' graves every time someone uses the words "punk" and "Avril Lavigne" in the same sentence."

-Nate

Monday, December 23, 2002 -- 06:03 p.m.

I have tales of hanging out with Matos to recount and a southsidecallbox.com deadline staring me in the face, and all I can think about right now is Joe Strummer.

I don't want to really go on too long about this. Eulogies are going to be showing up on every single popcult/music weblog and messageboard in the universe. Some will be reverent. Some will be predictably jaded and snotty. Some will just be astutely matter-of-fact and neatly circumvent cliche, instead opting to mention something interesting and cool about the man.

Me, I'll just ask you to dig out your copy of Sandinista! and play "The Sound of Sinners", and hope that he went somewhere better than he thought he was going in this song.

-Nate

Sunday, December 22, 2002 -- 11:17 a.m.

Got a spam e-mail from MP3.com that I opened because it mentioned Beck. Here is what it said:

/// The World According to Beck -- An Exclusive Interview!

What is it about Beck that wins him praise and admiration year after year, from so many critics and fans alike? Is it the quirky weirdness of his lyrics that you find emblazed in your memory like "I got two turntables and a microphone"?

That's the blurb. In its entirety. Usage of the questionable term "emblazed" aside, the best example these people could think of for a 'quirky weird' Beck lyric is the least weird line from "Where It's At"? Of course, they do cite two other examples in the interview proper: the chorus to "Loser", and the chorus to "Devil's Haircut" (misquoted as "devil's haircut on my mind"). Oy.
And it only gets worse. Hey, I consider him one of the best artists of the '90s, but "modern-day musical Shakespeare"? Gargh.

-Nate

Thursday, December 19, 2002 -- 08:37 p.m.

I just got a polite e-mail from Tom Siler, a member of usedtabe-local Mpls.-went-NYC band Tulip Sweet and her Trail of Tears, regarding the fact that I posted somewhere about said band not being very good. I commend him for not throwing any personal attacks at me (though he did say he thought Wilco sucked... that hurt me in my heart, or possibly my liver), and so in return I will post a brief shill of this other band he's in that I do like: The King of France. They're like Built to Spill with less guitar heroics, or something like that.

He seemed pretty cool, all in all, so now the only thing I have to worry about at the moment is being knifed on the street by Avril Lavigne.

-Nate

Sunday, December 15, 2002 -- 12:02 a.m.

OMG as a TRUE AMERICAN I am offended that the post office actually recognized that there are MUSLIMS that live here and WE ARE AMERICANS AND NOT MUSLIMS SO TO HELL WITH THEM. Oh, sure, while we're at it, let's urge the USPS to avoid printing any sort of St. Patrick's-themed stamps, too - I mean, c'mon, Timothy McVeigh, people!

-Nate

Saturday, December 14, 2002 -- 07:11 a.m.

I woke up ten minutes ago, not merely because I've gotten used to awaking before sunup, but because there's something nagging me. You see, I got my entry for the Village Voice Pazz & Jop Poll (which may or may not have been that TOP SECRET PROJECT I may have alluded to last week; I forget already). And while I will not ruin most of the surprises (such as "which Eminem song will he vote for and where will he put it on the singles list"), I will come clean and mention what my #1 album is.

Clinic revisits old ground on the disappointing Walking With Thee. Burgeoning song lengths expose weak melodies and a waning interest in rhythmic ambition. It's still the Clinic sound, only it’s been diluted. The band finds catchy grooves on "The Equaliser," "Welcome" and "Sunlight Bathes Our Home," layering contrasting beats atop one another, but the bulk of the album is stumbling mid-tempo numbers. If this is Clinic’s idea of respectability, it's rather dull. -Yancey Strickler, trouserpress.com

Clinic suddenly sound more like vultures than magpies. The opening three tracks - 'Harmony', 'The Equaliser', and 'Welcome' stalk past with a sinister rattle: a retread of past glories, sure, but none the worse for it. But it's around the sixth track, 'Come Into Our Room' - a teeth-grindingly familiar murk of drum machine sputter and chill vibraphone squeal that clings to formula like a malnourished infant - that your patience finally snaps. Throughout the album, singer Ade Blackburn sounds like some tragic Faustian character, granted the backdrop to spirit the music of his heroes into sound, but cursed to lack the soul to bring it to life. The lush, touching 'Distortions' was a highlight of Clinic's debut, 'Internal Wrangler'. It finds no equivalent here. 'Walking With Thee' is barely forty minutes in length, but feels about half that length - not because it flies by, but because throughout, it barely feels substantial. Clinic really need to pull off a bold leap of faith - an 'OK Computer', a 'Kid A', even - to prove there really is something behind the mask. Honestly, they're still a fascinating concept. Sadly, here they just sound like a bit of an average band. -Louis Pattison, NME.com

Stripped nearly bare of reverb and static, much of Walking With Thee sounds incomplete, particularly on the almost-punk of "Pet Eunuch," "Welcome," and "The Equaliser," which, with its rattling percussion and driving bass line, could've rivaled Internal Wrangler's ugly-beautiful intensity if had a little more oomph. [...] There's a lot of promise on Walking With Thee, but nothing here touches the deadpan cool of Internal Wrangler's "The Second Line," the detached poignancy of "Distortion," or the raw energy of "Second Foot Stomp." -Heather Phares, All Music Guide

If not clinical, definitely formal ("Pet Eunoch," "Welcome") [*/****] -Robert Christgau, dean of something or other

So why is it my favorite album of the year? Could have something to do with being a contrarian or feeling leery about putting another Definitive Jux release as my #1 (like I did last year with The Cold Vein) or some other fargleblagh -- but I'm going to be honest here: I love the beats. I have no idea how Yancey's brain works but I hear significant progress between Internal Wrangler and this record, and I hear it because the album I listened to more than any '02 release this year was Daft Punk's Discovery. The more I listened to that record, the more I was able to hear hints of club/house thump and bounce on Walking With Thee, only it wasn't that familiar digital Moroder-style throb. It was retrofitted by a rhythm section that wanted to mate Mingus and Richmond's "Boogie Stop Shuffle" with Yule and Tucker's "Rock & Roll". And the beats don't run together in a mess of goo and glop if you've ever bothered to dance before; the contrast between "The Bridge"'s blatantly disco boomf-tssh, "Vulture"'s double-step tail-evading bop-jazz rumble and "Harmony"'s Morricone/Bangalter/Yorke Triple Threat match for the undisputed hipster title (won by Bangalter via his rhythmically thwacked folding chair to everybody's head). And that's just the thumpy stuff, where they're not making forebrain-grabbing singles based around the familiar turf of Them-ish isles-garage ("Walking With Thee") or Buzzcock fuzz rock ("Pet Eunuch") or the "Kimberly" and "Voot" b-sides of their own "Cement Mixer" single ("Mr. Moonlight") sent into some hyperbolic satellite orbit.

(And here is where I will put a placemark for when I feel awake enough to further elaborate on this.)

-Nate