pop chronicles

elvis costello
don't tell me you don't know the difference

i know that this would be venturing into some complicated and very subjective territory, but that is much like the story that i'm about to tell you...which does have to do with elvis costello, but only slightly, if you are gonna break it down, but it has enough to do with elvis costello to bring my mind around to this very topic whenever...i mean whenever i hear elvis costello.

for twenty years now, hearing elvis costello has reminded me of marc silverman. marc silverman, who stood behind me in p.e. in 7th grade, who sat next to me in geometry in 9th grade, marc silverman, who was right behind me at graduation. it is entirly possible that it is marc silverman's fault that i stubbornly believed that every thing ever written had to be read between the lines, that every thing ever said had a secret meaning.

marc silverman really liked elvis costello. elvis costello was his favorite. i don't know why i remember this. probably the same portion of the brain that allows me to recall that scott simon's favorite band was xtc in 10th grade, that leslie wasserman once got mad at me because i called her house when i knew that there was a u2 video playing on mtv at that exact moment. that lara's first reaction to hearing 'how soon is now' was to muse, 'what the hell is this, elephant man--the musical?'

anyway, marc sat next to me in geometry, and over the course of that tortuous year, with mr. w, the born again christian who never failed to remind us everyday how important it was that he was saved by jesus, or let jesus in, or whatever, marc and i became kinda pals. he wasn't having as hard a time as i was with proofs and all. i had always been told i had a mental block against math, why, i don't know, but i was always asking the question with the obvious answers, always causing a ruckus with a random moan of frustration, sigh of aggravation, squeal with delight at a new photo of ian mcculloch on lina's notebook, whatever. mr. w. once even said to me, in front of the whole class, 'jennifer, i should really be angry with you for that disruption, but i will let it go because you're being very charming.' what do you think that meant? hmmm. maybe i could have used that to my advantage.

anyway, marc taught me something really important. one day before class, i was complaining about homework, when marc showed me his last assignment. look carefully at the proofs, he told me. gah! good lord! marc was not even doing the proofs, he was writing notes to mr. w., that mr. w., was not even reading. something like: according to theorem 4-7 the adjacent angles transitive property dear mr. w., i think geometry is really retarded and i don't care about your class at all, and i'm so bored and i know you wont even read this blah blah blah blah blah 180 degrees at the intersection of tangent q and isoceles. no shit. for real.

this took homework to a level wholly other. my notes were a little more cautious and possibly a little flirty: according to the pythagorean theorem, mr. w., i understand that the angles in question are supposed to add up to something or other, but in class yesterday, when you explained it, i really understood it, but now that i'm at home, i'm really confused and i think the best thing for me to do would be to close my geometry book and go on to my english homework, where i have to write a paper proving that the atomic bomb was NOT necessary to end world war II. ms. klein wants me to write in on how the atomic bomb WAS necessary to end world war II, but as a japanese american, i do not believe this to be true. what do you think cosine sine y=mx+b.

so marc and i were partners in deception, and one day, close to the end of the year, and therefore close to graduation, and therefore close to the summer, and close to the next school year, where i would go to fairfax and he would go to some school in the valley, i was walking in the hall, and he passed me and stopped. we looked at each other for a second and then all of a sudden we were hugging. very innocently, mind you, but as intensely as two 14 year olds who were not dating and not having sex could, i suppose. we got a definite 'get a room' comment from one kid walking by, and there was at least one, 'oooooh' from a 7th grader.

at graduation practice, marc and i giggled about how he had always been behind me for 3 years, except for in yearbook photos when we were next to each other. ooh, flirting.

then, the day of graduation...walk on stage, walk off, walk to the back of the auditorium. and it happened. marc looked at me, and said, 'come here.' i did. 'well, we made it,' he said, and then he kissed me. on the lips. oh my lord have mercy. marc silverman just kissed me.

2 minutes later, i was kissed again, on the lips, by my friends mother, who had, i'm not joking, a moustache. what a buzz kill.

it could have been the trauma of the moustache mom kiss that made the marc silverman kiss all the more splendid and perfect in my mind. we stayed in touch through 10th grade, but once i had left fairfax and had gone on to beverly, we lost contact. still, with every costello song that i heard, i tried to remember his hug and his kiss, while trying to block out the one that followed. i compared every boy in high school to my idealized marc, convinced that we were meant to be, but because he lived on the other side of mountain gate golf course, we were never to be reunited. in times of unrequited high school hell, i would read and re-read the note he wrote in my yearbook. he even made a joke about theorem 4-12. he signed it LOVE. the valley, the valley separated us, and i hated the valley. (liking a boy from the valley would prove to be a recurring pattern...it's nearly spooky.)

in 1992, after high school, after england, after college, i was working at rhino, where there was a giant elvis costello poster that was sacred and you could never put a flyer up anywhere near it for fear of tape marks or a pin/staple prick. i'm at my post at the register, trying to figure out if i was being teased for my hat, or if that meant that steven actually liked it, when the door opens and, it's marc silverman. no shit!

hey, marc?
jen, jenny, jennifer silver?
marc silverman?
oh my god, hi!

hug. (not nearly as nice as 9 years ago)

hair. a ponytail? good god, no.

t-shirt. flipper? the band flipper?

shoes. white reeboks?

oh no. no no no.
elvis, i asked the poster, how did you fail him?
was it mighty like a rose?
veronica? (maybe the paul mccartney duet was too much)
marrying the girl from the pogues?

so much for that.

tonight at the bar, i put my dollar in. i played 'everyday i write the book,' 'hitsville u.k.,' and 'keep fishin.' as i walked back to my barstool thinking about what we should talk about next, i seriously contemplated telling my marc silverman first kiss story.

some things last a long time.


millionandnine 12:13 AM - [Link]
...

spoon
it's clear who's promoting her own myth

goddamnit. i'm always behind. well, these days, anyway. philip, philip was always ahead, those days, anyway. philip, my co high-modernist, my truck driving, jazz liking, moved to austin, favorite person i didn't hire, favorite person i re-hired, friend. philip liked spoon alot, and girls can tell came out a week after he quit. and he made me a tape that had on it, fitted shirt, and a bunch of i don't even know what the hell kind of other things i didn't recognize. now, after badmouthing spoon, just for the hell of it, i said to pcrab, i don't even know what the hell kind of things were on that tape, but i liked the song about the shirt and the one about drinking my half of the beer. that's spoon. oh, oh shit. i like spoon then.

ha. that's what i get for being arbitrary.

girls can tell is such a good record, it's like joe jackson, and elvis costello, (yes, adam is right that britt daniel could be the new e.c.) and hand claps! tense and more tense, like when i try to tune my guitar myself, and i wind everything too tight and break all the strings and then put the guitar away for another six months. yep.

spoon's drummer's brother's ex girlfriend shops in my store. sometimes spoon's drummer's brother comes in too. spoon's drummer's brother's ex girlfriend told spoon's drummer's brother to put me spoon's mailing list. she likes to keep involved, even though they aren't. it's kinda good, nice that they're still friends, but between you and me, i don't think she's over him, and that's why she told him to put me on the mailing list, so that she could have an excuse to email him. but he has a new girlfriend, and she seems really nice. she didn't hang around too long, on their last visit, i think they met for lunch and then came to the store, and he started wanting to listen to music, and so they kissed and she left and then we talked shop. i feel bad for the ex girlfriend, on account of i think she's not over it, and if she would have seen them kissing, she would've been jealous. now, he seems to like the new girl alot, and i'm glad, because i think she's good for him, like she wasn't all upset that he wanted to hang out in the record store. it wasn't like a boy wants to shop, girl sulks kind of situation, which i see alot. i've been that girl, but in my case, i think it's different, i mean, my job is a record store, i don't think it's a good place to take me on a date. that would be like, i don't know, inviting elijah wood over to your house to watch lord of the rings, you know? but what i'm saying is spoon's drummer's brother's new girlfriend didn't pull the sulky girl thing in the store, whereas i think spoon's drummer's brother's ex might have.

that's all i'm saying.


millionandnine 12:19 PM - [Link]
...

homebrew 101, part one
neneh cherry, jeb loy nichols, clothesline revival

when i grow up, i want to be like neneh cherry. neneh is a mom, but there's no one sassier. she dissed lenny kravitz for being mean to lisa bonet, and used calvin klein models in the video for it.
huh? sucka? homebrew.

jeb loy is homebrew too. he lives on a farm in wales for god's sake. he's country reggae. he's all about a rocking chair, a beer, a lemonade, a stray dog, being barefoot. put your feet in my water, girl, throw your arms around my neck. oh, oh my, why sure, i'd love to. how sexy. how homebrew.

clothesline revival. also so. conrad took all this country music and fucked it up in the most astonishing way. beats, loops, effects. it's alt alt country and it's the kind of thing i want to listen to on dark nights (as opposed to um what, light nights? good gracious) when it's warm enough to have the windows open. it's like when you were a kid and your mom told you a scary story that's pretty at the same time, and you're haunted for years.

when i was younger, i used to imagine myself as a famous record producer. i would be pictured on the inner sleeves of albums pushing buttons, chainsmoking, with a 1/2 eaten sandwich nearby, showing how dedicated i was to my craft. i had to eat while i pushed play and record at the same time.

in another scenario, i would be pushing one of those old fashioned baby carriages through a nearly empty concert hall, pointing and shouting at people to get the sound and lights right, periodically checking on my kid.

another one is where i'm off to work. it's a high powered agent-type job downtown, and i walk there with my dog, and i'm carrying a basket of freshly harvested carrots that i grew in the vegetable patch that i have cultivated on the roof of my penthouse apartment. (sort of like green acres, only backwards)

you know the cover of sonic youth's murray street? where the little girls are playing in the ivy? one of them is kim and thurston's daughter. homebrew.

you know in the video for heavy metal drummer when tweedy is singing with his kid? homebrew.

when i get married, you know how i want to play california stars? yep

erik, my friend, you bet, hb.

if natey and i ever get around to having our biweekly breakfasts, that'll be homebrew too.


millionandnine 12:41 AM - [Link]
...

belle and sebastian
it would take a left wing robin hood

francis says to me: jennifer, listen to this record, it's these kids and they did it as a project for school.

so not trying to disturb anyone in the house, connell was still sleeping, as i recall, and i took the record and put it on. well. let's go to the record store and get it. NOW!

so we piled into the nissan minima. yes, minima. it's a mini car, by nissan. get it? nissan maxima? minima? no shit. look, i could sit in the driver's seat, stick out my left hand, across connell's chest and out the window. it was that small, yes yes. and driving from london to glasgow, i swear we stopped for gas 700 times. the truck stops there are invariably cooler. not like places along i-5, where you expect to find kidnappers, molesters, snipers, perv truck drivers doing speed, families eating doritos, beef jerky and warm safeway select cola straight from the 2-liter. no, a british truckstop is like disneyland. lots of candy, magazines and swear to god, a bookstore in everyone. oh god, we had a detour in manchester, we had to drive around mark e. smith's neighborhood, just in case. we stole rocks from the mcdonald's parking lot. these are mark e. smith rocks. okay.

meanwhile, back in the minima, we pile in, and go to missing. missing is by far the coolest record store in scotland. i bought tigermilk, a me me me cassette single, for the car, and oh yes, that's right, an ant and dec cd, too. ha. i didn't realize i had just purchased an artifact, (no, not the a&d, not the me me me) really. i just bought an album i heard and liked alot. that whole scotland portion of the trip was good fun. drinking, too many rothmans, many scottish pop stars everywhich way. the art school disco, norman and gerry, killermont street. good times, good times.

when i was in junior high, i worked sometimes when my cousin would have sales at her used clothing store. she sold these bracelets one time, that were really new wave. picture a slinky that is 1/2 inch in diameter, turned into a bracelet, and within the innards, you know the slinky tube, if you will, there was a little metal ball that would just roll around your wrist. you know, ensconsed in the slinky. you dig? so meredith let me have a couple bracelets, on account of i thought they were the coolest thing on earth, and at school the next day i was mobbed, for real, by girls who wanted to see it. i totally had my very first anxiety attack. i was enCIRCled by girls grabbing for it. i felt like a celebrity on the red carpet being hounded by papparazzi and autograph hounds. i wanted to be left alone to enjoy my bracelet for its braceletyness.

that's what happened when i got back from scotland with the damn tigermilk. jen silver has tigermilk. jen silver has one of the ONE HUNDRED copies of TIGERMILK!!!! god damn. people asked to see it, touch it, could they borrow it so they could tape it and then make cdr's of it? dang. it's just music, right?

owning that record was the beginning of the end. because belle and sebastian on tour was the beginning of the end of my indie pop, um, NESS. maybe, actually mathew gone was the very beginning, then tigermilk frenzy, then b&s on tour.

there was lots of heavy duty hanging out with heroes before this, because of mathew, i knew plenty indie luminaries, the pastels, bmx bandits, and through francis i got to know teenage fanclub and then stevie, but it never was really schmoozy. for whatever reason, it was special, but kind of normal, because even though i was a fan, let's say, first, it wasn't all like, 'um, oh, may i come in and just intrude for a moment...' it was like, 'hey jennifer, you comin?' it was all very natural and pleasant and friendly and there was this sort of team spirit aspect to when bands would come to town, or i'd go on the road, say, with whoever for a couple days. no big deal. if you get my drift.

so belle and sebastian have made some great records, me, i'm partial to the songs you can dance to. the songs that make me feel how i felt when i was, say 17, and just starting to go to clubs, and they'd play some song i love, and i would just dance like a fool. dance however i want. not caring who's lookin', but having fun. tell me, when was the last time you really danced unselfconsciously? (dmb fans need not answer) ha! see? 17. so that's mayfly for me, and there's too much love, and of course lazy line, though for that to be a real floorshaker, it'd have to have been just this much faster. that's what i love about b&s though, the dance along sing along songs. sure there's all that heartbreakingly sad and awkward stuff, that i used to think was so beyond deep...get me in the right mood and i'll fox in the snow right along with you.

i was annoyed with them for being all willfully obscure, just rerelease tigermilk, just go on tour already!

finally they did. i don't know if it was necessarily a logistical nightmare for them to coordinate all their members and instruments and what not, but to see todd and walter and me on instant messenger trying to coordinate the purchase of tickets and possible travel plans to neighboring cities, i was already irritated and on edge, and nothing had happened. good lord. i just wanted to go to the shows. see the shows. go home. end of story.

the first night was just as i wanted. but the second night. here's what really happened.

a. we had to go to a party in the afternoon, where all kinds of hip kids were hanging out.

b. then we had to leave the party early to get in line.

now, this is not where i was feeling bad already, the hipster party seemed like it would be fun, going early in line wasn't stupid, because we had floor tickets and we're short, but c.....

c. i had to walk around to the back to see if i could catch up with stevie and say hi. 1/2 of me was, 'don't bother.' the other 1/2 was, 'oh, do bother, it will be nice to see him and say hi, he might like to see you, too, so go ahead.'

so once i turned that wretched corner i saw them, the FANS. i am not one of them. i am not one of them. i am not one of them. there was a girl there who had every cd booklet, ready to be signed. the catch was, she didn't know a thing about them. at all. caterers would come out, with vast trays of falafel, and she would go, 'are you in the band, can you sign this?' real band members popped out every so often and were really gracious, posing for photos, signing all of crazy girl's shit, apologizing for having to go back in or get in the bus. crazy girl says to me, 'why aren't you going up to anybody?' 'i'm just waiting on a friend,' i say, like mick jagger.

i'm starting to feel ever more retarded, when stevie steps out. i go up to him and say, 'hi stevie...' he doesn't look up, he just says, 'look, i'm sorry, i don't...' and then he looks up and looks a little relieved, 'oh, its you jennifer, hi.' gah, he thought i was crazy girl. i apologize. 'no, it's okay, it's nice to see you, you doing alright? i'm tired, and sick, and i feel terrible, and i'm going to go lie down.' 'of course, stevie, i'm sorry you're not feeling well, take care, okay, and i'll see you.' 'yes, okay, goodbye jennifer.'

not to be all gloaty about it when i'm trying to tell you how much i am disgusted with my own schmoozing that day, but crazy girl totally gave me the most jealous look on earth as i walked back to the front. 'you know him? oh my god! which one is he?' to quote john cusack in NOT high fidelity. i'm conflicted.

i was conflicted. i felt gross standing outside the back of the warfield. i felt worse after the show though, because i saw jen c., and she gave me her pass. i didn't want it, i wanted to go home. i didn't want to go backstage and continue being awkward and conflicted. do you believe me?

i went. i hung out. i got walter his own pass. i said hi to jonathan richman. i confirmed with stevie that he looked and felt better than he had that afternoon. okay, time to go. let's go walter, come on. but, and you can't fault him for this, i mean, he has a huge crush on isobel, what are you gonna do? fair, go say hi then. no, go. go, go now, walter or i'm gonna get annoyed and leave you here. just go. so he got his nerve up, they had a nice chat about things. he was really happy, and i felt happy for him, but i was totally bitter for myself. in the car i told him that i never want to go backstage again. i never want to meet anyone i like again. i never want to be in the incrowd like that, again. so i got an indie pop divorce.

it was a slow process, with many depositions and negotiations. it took months to sell all the records, and it took a lengthy inner debate to finally put that tigermilk up on ebay.

mind, i still go to shows, and no, i hardly pay for any of them, and yeah, i've met some famous people since, but i don't gush anymore. i only go backstage if it's francis.

well, there was that ira glass thing. oh hush.


millionandnine 12:19 AM - [Link]
...

park ave.
what's the point of being in love
when all it does is leave you cold?

when jared and i were first friends, but after we had secret crushes that didn't go anywhere on account of it being too weird, we used to have record listening parties where we would bring records over and listen to them because the other one hadn't heard them. it was kind of like making a mixtape, but in person.

at one such event, i borrowed from jared a record, a little single by a group called park ave., who had something or other to do with some label called saddle creek, from nebraska, and some kid named conor and in one ear and out the other went all that information, because i just wanted to get home and play the hell out of that 'cloak and dagger' song again.

now, you know how you can listen to a song and hear the lyrics wrong? i may have done this. i may still be doing this, to this day, but how can a new wave throwback indie pop jangle song with the possible lyric

and in the darkness of my apartment, i dye my hair, and it burns, but i tend to welcome the pain, cause it's the only thing that makes you strong, and i miss you still, but i guess i'll just move on

not be the best song about unrequited love gone bad (that's more like it, jennifer) ever made?

i've heard reports that the words actually go, 'i find light there, and it burns' but that makes no sense. how can you find light in the darkness of an apartment? it wouldn't be dark, if there was light burning. having said that, normally, it only burns when you bleach your hair, unless you dye your hair after having damaged your scalp in some other way, say, with previous bleach, straightening, or god forbid a permanent wave. however, let's say you're an emo kid in nebraska--you're probably doing lots of stuff to your hair on a daily basis, because what else is there to do in nebraska? plus, plus, with 'dye my hair' one gets the alliterative (except i think i mean onomatopoeic, right?) bonus of dye and die, which helps to drive home the sting, the virtual death of spirit that comes, inevitably with a one sided crush.

one good thing about running a record store is that you get treats. perks. free stuff. in some cases the free stuff is not so good. someone tells you that he's going to get you a free copy of a box set that you really really want. instead you get some balinese field recordings, which aren't so special, though you are appreciative of the gesture. other times, you ask for something so ridiculous, so completely impossible that you daren't even ask, though, lo and behold, you just did, and now you're embarrassed.

the other day i did this, i asked chris to call saddle creek to see if we could be on their list to get posters and stuff, on account of how much chris jones likes cursive, and hey, they're the ones offering to give the stuff away, plus, it's good for chris to talk to labels and reps because he is, after all, a shift supervisor, and telephone conversational skills with labels and reps are important skills for a shift supervisor to have, do you not think? and so he's on the phone with saddle creek and he gets a little flustered (first time using the new skills) and he hands the phone to me. [oh goodness, now i'm talking to someone at saddle creek and i'm going to ask, but i shouldn't ask, but look, i'm asking] 'um, hey, uh, matt, do you think there's any way in hell that you have any more copies of that park ave./wrens split single?' he says he's not sure, maybe. [that should be good enough for me, stop, don't ask!] 'um, hey, uh, matt, do you think anyone has a copy that they could tape for me, even?' he says he could probably arrange something. [oh my god, how cool. i can't believe i asked.]

we get everything else squared away, what stuff he's going to send, what the new release schedule is, blah blah blah and the next day, i get a call.

hi, could you tell me your address?

are you asking because you're coming to the store, or are you mailing something?

is this jennifer?

yes.

it's matt from saddle creek, we need your address so we can send you the park ave./wrens split single.

[oh my god]

oh my god, okay, cool, here's the address, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.

[oh my god]

and it came, yesterday. cheered me right up for a few minutes, and made me forget about being sick with this stupid cold. repeated listenings at home, later in the afternoon, confirmed my belief in the lyric being about hair color and not some light/dark metaphor.

pop songs matter, even if they are just music.




millionandnine 11:44 AM - [Link]
...

echo and the bunnymen
if my heart is a war
its soldiers are dead

problem number infinity that i'm not totally famous:
i didn't get asked to write the liner notes for the echo and the bunnymen box set. oh, wayne coyne, mr. flaming lips, he gets to. oh, scott kannberg, mr. spiral stairs, mr. pavement, he gets to. okay, so maybe i'm not in a totally important indie rock band that paved the way for many a bespectacled young man in ill fitting cardigan to buy a tascam 4 track and compose 3 chord symphonies with his best friends in his kitchen, but i have seen echo and the bunnymen 12 times. that's worth something?

if i were to have been asked to write liner notes for the echo and the bunnymen box set they would have posed and answered the following questions:

it's not that far to san diego, is it?
are you jim kutler?
do you like, like eric? really?
ian mcculloch or robert smith? you have to choose.
may i have some more whisky?

the answers are as follows:

no, not really.
yeah, i'm jim, who are you?
i do like, like eric, and he's taking that freshman girl to the prom.
ian mcculloch, totally.
yeah, have some.


ah, echo. mystery band of 7th grade when all the cool kids announced that their older brothers and sisters were taking them to the hollywood palladium.

ah, echo, purveyors of songs that glittered and glimmered and got us all hot and bothered as we drove the streets of los angeles.

ah, ian mcculloch, number one popstar crush with that ridiculous hair, the swagger of 19 liam gallaghers, sexier than good god, anyone, and that mouth. foul, brilliant, and entirely kissable in our 16 year old daydreams during chemistry class.


so yes, echo and the bunnymen, not only in the soundtrack to the real movie, pretty in pink, but also to my real life john hughes movie, first crush, first car, first realization that life really isn't fair, and good things don't necessarily come to those who wait.

some of the 12 times: in the pre-audi 4000 in mexico beige days, my poor mom and dad drove 4 giggling girls in black with too red lipstick to irvine and sat in the car, they did, while arrogant liverpool boys did 6 encores with some old guy named ray manzarek. in later years, the boyfriend and i drove from san francisco to san diego and back one weekend. trips on delta sf to la shuttle, nights in friend of a friend of a friend's dorm rooms. in london, to see mac alone, christina and i tore down posters of jamc and who remembers who else before nearly missing the last tube to stockwell, where we shivered in the december ice cold of having no heat.

that's what, at one time, one calls devotion. at another time, one calls it completely mad.

the bunnymen were like this: grandiose, arrogant, (i say it again) lush. over confident, the deepest blue, the shiniest silver, the most crashing guitars, the most ridiculously orchestrated string arrangements, the most drunk, the most mysterious, the darkest, the brightest, the most romantic, the most cruel, they'd rip your heart out and put it back sideways all in 4 minutes of a perfectly crafted song.

when ocean rain came out, they said it was the best album ever made. ocean rain was an album to fall in love to, they said.

listen, if you don't believe such a statement, and you are still of an age where you can get away with such a shenanigan, (i.e. in college, or possibly early grad school) try this: the next time you are alone with your crush, simply play the song, ocean rain. if you're not making out 30 seconds in, then you're not right for one another, that way. seriously. if your crush looks at you and busts out laughing at your audacity, you've got a friend for life.

see, useful for all sorts of things.
millionandnine 4:03 AM - [Link]
...

x
it felt sad.

when i was in 6th grade, i had a life changing experience. paul wilcox brought to school a record, a soundtrack to a movie called 'times square.' i looked at the names of the groups on the back cover and i had heard of some of them, but didn't really know what any of it was about. my record collection at the time consisted of a shaun cassidy record, a fake saturday night fever soundtrack, billy joel's glass houses, plus the soundtrack to xanadu and grease. oh, hip as hell, huh? i knew about other stuff, from listening to k-roq in the morning, like, the plimsouls, missing persons and oingo boingo.

so i'm looking at the record cover, and i ask paul, what's this kind of music about? he looks at me, straight in the eye, and says, 'it's new wave.' the next day, paul started a near riot when he showed up in line outside the class with a badge on. all it had on it, was the letter x.

what's that about, paul? he explained, they were a new wave band, and that they were really cool, and that his sister got him the badge and no one could touch it.

further investigation led me to discover that x was the group that sang that song that i didn't understand, except they said something about buying a clock on hollywood boulevard.

one day, when my parents drove me past the not yet constructed beverly center, i saw a spray painted ghostly type of figure on the wall. next to it was painted the words, 'it felt sad.' i recognized it, from the x song--my first taste of punk rock hipster status, at age 12. existentialist graffitti + rock and roll angst illegally painted on the side of a capitalist monstrosity, goddamn, i'd arrived.








millionandnine 12:14 PM - [Link]
...

grand central records
winter presses down



pretend you live somewhere near the ocean, where it's really cold. so cold that the sand on the beach that you love to walk is icy. ice slippery and sandy at the same time. the water, the ocean water is so cold that it might even have ice cubes in it. the wind is blowing, there's rain coming down, you're all bundled in boots and jacket and scarf, hat, mittens and all. the air you breathe in hurts your insides and the air you breathe out is more than visible, the condensation hits your cheeks as you walk through it. you crunch on sand, shells, and the occasional crab gives you a sidelong glance. trails of seaweed and jellyfish tendrils all tangled up with driftwood try to trip you up. you're thinking hard, but you're not upset. you're hellbent on getting to where you are going, but you don't know where it is. you're restless, edgy, even, but you're all serene still, because you've got it better than a dead jellyfish.

beaten up with the sting of salt and wind, you head inside your favorite hangout, order your drink without looking around and sit by the heater. a beat fills your head and you realize you're among friends. you drink, you talk, you warm up.

repeat.

this is how i feel everytime i slip anything grand central in the player. it feels good. i don't know how it's like this, but it is.

i have never seen sea water with ice cubes in it, though i have seen a dead jellyfish or two and i know the cold of getting up early and getting sandy wind burn from when i was a kid and we used to dig for clams in winter. i know that restless feeling from wandering through london streets after the tube has stopped running but i have never had a favorite hangout where i'd be surprised, yet not surprised to find my friends.

i loved nights when i'd be djing and the kids at the club would give each other that you wanna dance? look, and they danced, even though they were dancing to something as indie unaffirmative as jorge ben or neneh cherry. i loved dancing with everyone to the wedding present and then having to jump back behind the turntables before the song ended. i loved sneaking upstairs, all sweaty and hot and breathing in the damp san francisco 2 am air. i loved waiting outside of totally wired in december 1989, bundled up in a duffle coat with the hood on, shivering, teeth chattering, waiting for him, the boy with the floppy hair to come out, seeing him hop on the bus, my bus, and watching him defrost a circle of window with his sleeve as he slouched in the back, looking at me weird as the driver pulled away. i loved kicking myself for not getting on the 41.

tension, release, exhaustion, exhilaration, furrowed brow, smile.
god bless misters rae and christian, mister andy turner, miss kate rogers, and all their fellow jellyfish music makers. you know what makes me tick, and i thank you for it.



millionandnine 2:25 PM - [Link]
...

lloyd cole
maybe you're a little hasty,
but they say love is blind.
now her name's on you,
jennifer in blue.

i have a theory about scotland, but i don't know if it can be proved. i think there's something in the water, or the shortbread, or the thistles, the heather, the lochs, whatever, that produces good pop songs. i mean pop songs in the archaic, meaning not boy bands and trl. cases in point: orange juice, strawberry switchblade, the jesus and mary chain, teenage fanclub, aztec camera, the delgados, bis and so on. strip all the icing off those cakes (in whatever form it's on, feedback, casio drum beats, what have you) and you have plain old pop songs that have smart little hooks and generally, one or more smart little lyrical knowing grins per verse.

lloyd cole is scottish. his records are full of songs that jangle along sometimes, and at other times they made a 16 year old girl in l.a. wish she was an existential degenerate manifesto writer in some seedy coffee house in poland. not that lloyd had any real polish existential degenerate themes in his music, mind, but there was a definite air of coffee, cigarettes, shacking up with a man and whiskey which at the time, i didn't realize just meant college, and one's early 20's.

my friend lara and i started wearting black and toyed with the idea of berets after repeated listenings of perfect skin, speedboat, forest fire and are you ready to be heartbroken. we already had the old time cowgirl/ethel mertz look down thanks to 100 used clothing stores within walking distance of lara's house, useful for reenacting scenes from rattlesnakes, 4 flights up and perfect skin. had we been 1 or 2 years older, or not hot off the heels of obsessions with slick popstars like the drummer from spandau ballet, and the bass player from culture club, we'd have known that we were supposed to go out and buy bob dylan records. anyway, we wanted to turn ourselves into true beatnik chicks, but the only template we had for that was the english beat's save it for later video.

we tried. hard.

lloyd eventually moved to new york and started doing amaretto di saronno ads which appeared in interview magazine. apparently he started going to alot of therapy, which explains the t-shirt for the 'don't get weird on me babe' tour, which lists a dozen or so mental conditions that could wreck a relationship. he was relegated to being included on mix tapes, and discussed nostalgically.

this brings me to the second best april fool's joke i ever pulled, that was not actually on april first:

the best one, of course, is the one i stole from the rockabilly guy at the used clothing store i worked at one summer. i have only one tattoo, but it covers my whole back. it's a map of disneyland. disneyland before mickey's toontown and before the tomorrowland remodel. it still has the submarine voyage on it. yeah, it hurt. yeah, but it was worth it.

the lloyd cole one goes like this, as a result of 'jennifer he said' being put on a mix tape for holly, who then asked if the song was about me, which i suppose she could have thought possible on account of she thinks that i know everyone who is a scottish popstar (which is not true, just a piece of sf indie folklore)

josh and i had a weird friendship. one of those ones. he was like duckie in pretty in pink, and um, so was i. we didn't realize we each needed a molly ringwald to like, so we just jon cryered each other, fruitlessly, for a year or two. it was love and hate, but the so-called love part had us pondering whether or not to get matching tattoos with each other's names, to commemorate our super deep and meaningful, yet entirely dysfunctional friendship. one night, after a show, to which we had backstage passes, on account of josh's zine, we ended up getting drunk with lloyd cole. we ended up asking lloyd to be the final decider about the tattoo thing. he said that we shouldn't do it, and we, of course, took his advice. thank god, right? the next thing josh and i know, the third record comes out, and there's a song on it...about us! weird huh? yeah, it's pretty cool.

my co-barista took the story, hook, line, and sinker.

it is far more interesting than my real meeting lloyd cole story, in which i was attempting to inquire as to the chemical make up of the scottish water or shortbread to see if my scotland/popsong theory could stand up. instead, the conversation went like this:

um, lloyd, mr. cole, why do so many of the characters in your songs have names that start with the letter j, and furthermore, why do so many of your songs take place in northern california?

do they?

jennifer, jesse, jodi, jane. san jose, mission street, morro bay.

oh, must have been books i was reading, steinbeck, saroyan.

oh, i love saroyan, now, what is it about scottish pop--

i've got to get my taxi.

songs--

sorry.

er. thanks.



millionandnine 8:10 AM - [Link]
...

alfie
when you can hear me sing out so loud, you won't hear me talk again

sweet boys, alfie. big stoners, big goofy smiles and simple haircuts made difficult through probably 1/2 a lack of a comb and 1/2 sleeping wrong.

here's how the discovery went. i knew that alfie had a record called 'if you happy with, you need do nothing.' which is just about as messed up a brilliant title as ever was. and after all the badly drawn boy hype, i finally heard them, a little song that made little sense, but shuffled along like a tim burgess dance move, whined like a mini ian brown and made me all nostalgic like a cup of tea with milk or a warmish pint of cider or walking home from mornington crescent, in three words: all early 90's-y. an album that pitted jangle pop against 1965 west coast jazz versus phish, a misty morning kind of walking through the park 1/2 drunk kind of thing.

ooh, look, walter, alfie are playing. you might like them. well, what do you care, it'll be free, let's go.

oh shit, look at that. there are only 9 people here. that's sad, though. 9 people and two of them for sure didn't pay.

and what do these stoner shuffler wool sweater goofs do? they buy everyone beer. that, my friends deserves a pop chronicle award in itself. 'eh, we don't have alot of money, like, but we've all chipped in to get you some beer, so as the girls come round, just take one, you know, we want to say thanks for coming.' oh sweet.

how many shit for nothing bands have i seen that have thrown fits because they didn't get enough of the door? or that there weren't enough people at the gig? or that there was a buzzing in the monitor? so not on.

afterwards, they came out and air kissed everyone, it was like parents meeting each other at the 6th grade assembly. surreal and really, so on.




millionandnine 10:05 PM - [Link]
...

reasons why i was always destined to run a record store, part I, of what will most likely be a series.

clark
texas records, santa monica, california

clark was so cool.
costello glasses,
morrissey haircut,
perfect 501's,
big black t-shirt.

clark was a total reason to want to work in a record store. cool, smart, knew exactly what the customer wanted.

clark, i've been hearing alot of things about this whole c86 stuff. what's that about?

take this, you'll love it.

you sure?

you like the smiths, right?

yeah.

well then.

texas records itself, was so damn cool.

a. they were so named after 'texas fever' by orange juice, and it showed. edwyn collins all over the place.

b. they had a special case for factory mix tapes. (do you remember those? so intimidating.)

c. they had a fish tank shaped like texas.

d. they had rad instores. salem 66 for christ's sake.


when we openend the used store next to the regular store in the marin strip mall, i wanted it to look like texas.

i proclaimed, paper lunch bags, we would stamp each bag with the logo! antique furniture and fixtures! quirky looking bin headers! a clothesline! hmm. oh well. i tried.



i don't know what clark does now. i don't know if he was part of the store's core, or if he was like a part timer or what. maybe he went on to work at texas hotel, the label they started. i do know that some days, i'm a total clark. 'oh, you like that coldplay? here, here, listen to joseph arthur. i promise you'll love it. i swear.'

thanks, clark.

millionandnine 10:30 PM - [Link]
...

mathew fletcher
half japanese, oh please
call me up across the moat and shoot the breeze

mathew was my best best friend for a long time, even though we lived thousands of miles from each other. he would listen to me for hours on the phone, going on about blur and jawbreaker, and he would tell me all the latest gossip.

the way i figure it, we had bad timing. i went to go see heavenly play, i had to get my train. we hung out in edinburgh, he had to meet someone about a band. he came to visit, and ended up hanging out with my boyfriend for like 2 weeks, while i was in la cause my mom was sick. he visited with his girlfriend. i broke up with my boyfriend, but then he had a new girlfriend. bad bad timing.

secret crush aside, best friend status aside, did you ever see anyone drum like that, while smoking and fighting with his sister? i didn't.

did you ever spend $100 on a phone bill because you and your friend had to pick apart the holes in the script of bill and ted's bogus journey?

did you ever have a friend who was so conveniently geographically placed, so that on the night that your dad died you could call him and he would actually have you smiling for a minute, even though everything in the world that you knew was taken away from you and nothing would ever be the same?

did you ever have a friend that was as moody and bitchy as you were and you could just both sit there and scowl, and it was okay?

did you ever get a phone call saying that your friend was dead because he killed himself?

did you ever have your dead best friend's ex girlfriend tell you later that he really loved you, was always so worried about you, and cared so much about you? did you feel like shit after that because you never though he'd be the one to commit suicide?

did your dead best friend's sister, upon seeing you, bury her head in her hands?

god, i miss him. i can't listen to any of his records, not talulah gosh, not heavenly, not bugbear. well, sometimes, i bust out half japanese and kick myself for not straight up asking him if it was what i think it was.
once, at dinner, we were talking about songwriting, with my at the time boyfriend sitting right there. i said, 'i want to say so many things in songs, but some of them are mean, and i don't want the people to know.' he said, 'yeah, most of the time, you can write about someone, and you know they'll know, you don't ever have to say.' he looked in my eye. i felt it.

i felt it when i got a christmas card reading: 'jennifer, merry xmas, as if.' (no one knew me well enough to say that. no one.)

the last time i saw him, when we said goodbye, it was the longest goodbye ever. slow motion hug, slow motion fingers parting. sad music in the background movie audience holding their breath slow and tense. maybe i knew. maybe he knew. but we never said it. and we never said goodbye either.


millionandnine 7:49 PM - [Link]
...

jawbreaker
been staring for 100 hours
run down a spiral plane
keep mouth clamped tight
and it isn't right

when my friends gloria and joel were living together, at some point, i borrowed joel's jawbreaker lp. unfun. the one with the little kitty on the cover. he said that i would love it. i did. i never gave it back. even when he cried on my knees when they broke up and made me listen to bob dylan for 3 hours straight. he asked for it back, but i thought that a song like 'i want you' would be just too much in his fragile state. it might have sent him over the edge.

i don't know what happened to joel, but i still have the lp. i will deny that it's his if he ever tracks me down. 'oh no my brother, i bought my own.' that's what i'll say. please back me up in this, k?

so, when jawbreaker were on geffen, and dear you came out, my boss from the strip mall record store would NOT let me have the limited super rare promo that was all shaped and packaged like a book. the only time i was ever as disappointed with not getting something from someone who was supposed to care but obviously didn't understand the hierarchy of deservance in terms of records was when my ex had a copy of comet gain's tigertown pictures before the release date, and wouldn't give it to me, even though he's supposed to be my boyfriend. shit. i mean, really.

i mean, i doubt so much that chris kimball is sitting at home right now, listening to jawbreaker. i mean, i doubt the man has ever listened to jawbreaker in his life. oh, but i'm over it.

i went to see jawbreaker at gilman, once. it was absolutely goddamn life affirming. i felt like an old lady there, i must've been at least 20 or something hideous like that. it was pretty empty, and the kids were obviously not aware of what they were witnessing. at one point, someone threw something at blake and he just stopped and stared and said, 'fuck you...in the heart.' poetry. i use that line all the time, you know, when i'm really mad.

but it was intense, that show. i thought there would be blood to mop up afterwards, the strumming was so hard, the shouting so loud, the raw emotion hitting the back wall like shards of non-safety glass. i was hoarse, sweaty, and spent, after, and i wasn't even a teenager.

unfun has gotten me through at least 3 breakups. when the kids come into the store and buy nofx or rancid, i make sure to grab bivouac and put it on for them. chesterfield king. no one ever wrote a better song about unrequited love gone good. yes, i said good. odd, for me, don't you think?


millionandnine 5:23 PM - [Link]
...

the figgs
step back, let's go pop

they're so underrated, that's cool, whatever, they fucking rock. well, they fucking pop, i guess i mean. well, really i guess i mean they fucking popped on that low fi at society high record, and the little cd single that came out around the same time--i couldn't possibly have, at anytime after 1995, purchased a record called banda macho so my crush on the figgs lasted only for one release. though i heard they did a record with graham parker, that's gotta mean something in the annals of power pop right? that's like if the kids from interpol were asked to, i don't know, be in wire or something.

so at city discs, (which was the strip mall in marin record store that brought me, miriam, todd, and connell all together in a frenzy of misdirected cupid's arrows, best friends forever pinky swears, brit pop v. tom petty debates, and analysis of high and low brow cinema,) the boss, chris, gets some co-op money and they install a laser disc player listening station monstrosity the benefit of which is solely that we can watch pulp, eggstone and letters to cleo videos at the touch of a plastic covered button. oh, we could also watch korn and radiohead too. but what killed jennifer was these four scruffy boys that sounded like a blender full of costello, westerberg and davies. "hey kristy, i think that one is like, the mod of the band. look on this single, they cover village green, he's a mod." we trundled down to the bottom of the hill, the first time i ever went. (i wax to you ever so nostalgically) there are like 9 people there. we watch, we crush a little, we giggle, we dance a bit, we notice how much the mod one smokes, we go home.

it was one of those rare evenings where you go to see a band, get all happy in the moment, and then leave. you don't know anyone there so you don't have to be all, 'hi,hi,' you didn't once make out with the guy back by the pool tables so you don't have to hide, you don't stand there with your expensive pint looking at the girl in the opening band thinking jealously, 'oh, i could do so much better than her," you go, you rock, you leave. so much simpler. but we like the complicated too, don't we? oh yeah....

so the figgs, yep, good times. you want more nostalgia? i'll put favorite shirt, stood up and shut on a mixtape for you.

millionandnine 11:31 AM - [Link]
...

my favorite
in impossible city
my best friend's falling apart

alright, it's been building up to this for a while. for all intents and purposes, i shoulda written about my favorite first, but maybe i had to warm up to it. and i had to get a little inspired. and i'm feeling so, so here comes the feelings.




once upon a time, i went to england and i got myself into all sorts of trouble, mostly, um, emotional, i can see, by looking back on it in my old age. i started my rocky road to indie pop infamy by working on a way too ambitious zine, with my fellow expatriate anorak wearer, christina-- and upon my return, i wasted hundreds of dollars worth of my uncle's blue xerox toner cartridges printing it up, driving my dear old dad insane. i sent it to sassy magazine, as a submission for their 'zine of the month' feature, and wouldn't you know it, we got picked. me and christina were now in big big trouble. we were only going to sell it for a quarter, cause we figured no one would really want it--4000 quarters and no money later, the story is that disgruntled sassy readers across the nation were writing to christina kelly saying that we were stupid bitches who were extra lame because we couldn't even fill an order for one shitty fanzine about bands they never even heard of. great

i got a few very interesting bits and pieces of mail as a result, the best things being a tape from some kid in new york that was too complicated to really examine, but the whole package screamed of true passion; and a few really pro looking zines, by some kids in michigan called chip and tim. i got something from a kid in san jose called clint, who would later become my boss at the bookstore, and i'm getting ahead of myself so hold on a sec. no never mind. eventually, what i'm trying to say is, that chip and clint and i would start a label, i would have a secret crush on chip for 5 years, and in 1993, i would drive 55 miles each way for a month to work at crown books, for clint. that's not too complicated is it? oh, it might be.

anyway, fastforward (thank god, i hear you sigh) to that 1992 fall/wintertime, and i am back from my nervous breakdown trip to my dear united kingdom, wherein i spent an exorbitant amount of money, having panic attacks in all the finest indie venues from king tut's wah wah hut down to the camden falcon, and crying on the shoulders of indie players, leaving a trail of emotional debris in kitchens, bedrooms, and airport terminals. i get a call from chip who tells me that a band that i'm going to love more than anything on earth are about to send me a package and if i'm smart i will put out a single with them. i ask him, 'why not you?' and he said that not only is he thinking of putting audrey to rest, but that i had to do it, and i would understand why soon enough. something about how their zine had not only the fred perry emblem in a collage, but also the independent trucks logo.

i check the mail, there it is, i realize these are the same kids who sent me that complicated package from 1989, and i pop the tape in, and i'm not 1/3 of the way through absolute beginners again when i am on the phone with michael grace telling them that i want to put out a record with them.

this record would be and will always be, until i have a baby, or something equally life changing, my crowning glory achievement.

the last new wave record, it's called, and it's like the style council's solid bond single in that you put it on, flip it over, and want to immediately flip it over again, you know, infinity.

what was/is it that made me instantly feel solidarity with these self proclaimed detectives of suburbia? there's the referential winks to weller, and morrissey, sumner and hook and curtis, mccluskey and whatshisname, and all the other right heroes, and the words that michael wrote were things that i understood. i thought about them. i was them. and this went on and on. when the sleeves were printed, i was aghast. pink! lambretta! perfect! and when the inserts arrived on my doorstep. even more perfect. colin macinnes said, 'my favorite are the only band that matters.' too right.

go kid go! you can start an engine, you can shave your head and you can wear your boxing gloves to bed, it's all been said.

i know it's not 1986.

god how i tried, after the last new wave record, to keep riding that momentum, but everything got in the way. i tried to be in bands, tried to capture the spirit and soul of that early '93, planned a million trips to new york, sat chainsmoking on the tiled walkway of the suburban strip mall, complaining to michael through the miracle of the pay phone that my life was shit, and i was exactly a lost detective of suburbia, a ghost of a dead teenager, a young pretender, a dangerous friend, all that.

then mathew died, and i had another series of panic attacks up and down the british isle, still hadn't made it to new york, and wandered around for a few years until finally, like mohammed and his mountain, my favorite were coming to california. we were going on tour! i say we, like i deserve to. whatever. how is it that it was the first time we all met? we navigated up and down the west coast from sf to seattle and back, and i didn't pack enough clothes, was basically broke, forgot the conditioner, was tired and cranky and stupidly missed my soon to be ex boyfriend, but have i ever been happier? maybe not. the sound of flip flops coming down the hall of the motel six, me and andrea watching but not wanting to watch some holocaust documentary. gilbert smoking outside the van. i think it was todd and darren fighting about beef jerky.

i got a letter from michael a while ago, and it was a hard one to read.

i had to think, was i in this or not? did i care about the teenage dream (at 30?!?!) every plan i had to take my sullen teenage years and turn them into something productive was lost. i still felt the passion for songs i heard, i still wanted to breathe fire and take a stand, show or find some solidarity somewhere, but i couldn't really be bothered. i vowed, no more schmoozing, no more pop gossipping, no more getting drunk in the rockridge bart station parking lot. no more.

that's why i sold all my records. because i didn't need them making me confused about who i am or where i stand or what i want to be when i grow up. (too late to think about that one lady, you're there)

but i'm beginning to feel it more. i'm beginning to feel like i used to, passionate about a chord progression, excited by the prospect of a night out, happy to see couples walking arm in arm, (not sneering in loneliness) and glad that i can call my friend in new york and tell him about things other than how much my life is shit, though i still do that too, mind.

it's all full circle.


lostdetective.com launches today.

go kid go.


millionandnine 12:50 PM - [Link]
...

pavement
secret cret cret cret

oh good god, where to start....
the wedding present. love them. you should always keep in touch with your friends, this boy can wait, the william shatner version of felicity they covered box elder, merely stating, box elder is by pavement who are from stockton california.

hmph. gedge could have said so much more, 'box elder is by pavement who are not only from stockton california, but also are going to radically change everything that jennifer silver, who currently likes the wedding present, thinks about music, which she supposedly loves.' that's what gedge SHOULD have said.


pavement are the best band ever, my favorite band, i think. they did make the best record ever made, that's for holy fucking shit sure.
i almost think i didn't know anything about anything until i found pavement. and you know what else? i was late on the bandwagon, yes i was.

because of the gedge thing, i went to the local shop and picked up slanted and enchanted on cassette. that day i also purchased mudhoney, i think and possibly some felt. in the car, later that week, or so, my parents and i (i was home for the summer, see) were in the car, and according to the rules of the car, i had the volume on the absolute lowest lowest level, with the music coming only out of the front right speaker in the passenger door, so as not to disturb my father while he was driving and so as not to give my mom a headache. to my surprise, my dear old dad said one of the cutest things he had ever said to me, as he turned up the volume to just above a whisper, 'what the hell is this? that rap music?' as summer babe wafted ever so nearly silently out of the door handle area.

that summer was also the summer of holy cow, and michael eberhard was spotted, dancing to 'me in time' by the charlatans while his chest said:
pavement.

then there was cut your hair on 120 minutes and whatever else there was but i wasn't paying attention (my bloody valentine, teenage fanclub, soup dragons distracted as i was) until that blessed day, in blessed 1995, when i was in the store, opening a package that in it contained about 97 posters proclaiming the release of what is, as i said before, for holy fucking shit sure, the best record ever made. kids, i present to you:


wowee zowee.


miriam and i drove todd insane. he said it was terrible. didn't want to hear it. couldn't stand it. we were crazy. who the hell are these idiots? all manner of bad things did dear todd say, about pavement, while i---under the wing of miriam and sitting in her grandmother's car in her grandmother's driveway smoking her grandmother's skinny little stupid capri cigarettes and talking about how much of a crush i have on todd, and how much her soul mate miriam thinks gabe must be---i became intrigued, entranced and enveloped by the sheer audacity of these boys who made a racket sometimes, and who made perfect (non) sense out of the architectural finer points of madison square gardens, you know, for example.

declarations were made, back catalogs raided, analysis of every minute musical, lyrical, stylistic detail upon detail, with the fervor of an 8th grader in 1982 with a stack of imported magazines with simon le bon on the cover.

connell joined soon thereafter, and a pilgrimage to lollapalooza had us sunburnt and bumming cigarettes from the girls in the row behind who were in love with chris from the peechees. we said that seeing pavement and elastica on the same day was like sex.

that day, pave hid behind cardboard cutouts of a southwestern desert scene, bored as hell, it looked like, but my god how special. sonic youth as the sun went down, even with teenage riot, did not even come close. you feel me here?

this is me and connell in line for a show at bimbo's. we stopped in japantown to buy stickers. here we are spelling out words like nie! huggy nation! pavement ist rad! bye bye! i love graham coxon! whatever, we were fanatic, lunatic, obsessed with being obsessed and passionate about our passions and our soundtrack was, styles, they come and go, but i'm not gonna let you i'm not gonna let you i'm not gonna let you i'm not gonna let you.....i n f i n i t y. when crushes went unrequited, it was 'why didn't i ask?' and when everything was okay it was 'spritzer on ice in new york city.' when i would give connell a compliment, it was 'elevate me later.' and when i went to visit my father's grave it was 'across the grapevine to l.a....we got the hills of beverly.'

i walked into my shrink's office one day, cheerful for the first time in weeks and weeks, he said, 'well, you seem to be doing better...' and i said, 'well, yes i am, you see, james just gave connell, who just gave me, a tape of the new pavement record. everything is swell. they're so good.'

for the difficulty of writing a rock song in 7/8 time (or whatever it is). for the sublime joy of being able to sing 'room services ca-ha-halls in the random haaaaaaaaaaallls----------------go!' while driving down 280. for the hilarity of bob throwing japanese caramel candy at people, chainsmoking and making 'caw-caw' noises for 2 hours straight. for the solidarity of liking echo and the bunnymen just as much as malkmus and spiral.

because of pavement, there are in jokes, here's my favorite:

rotating the milk at peet's, i say to kyle, 'hey kyle, check that expiration date, man, it's later than you think.'


true love always? no.
perfect sound forever? yes.





millionandnine 4:19 PM - [Link]
...

the replacements


i'm in love
what's that song?


okay, i'm not that guy from the goo goo dolls, i'm not a music journalist hack. i do, however like the replacements, quite. i wasn't ever one of those big replacements fans that knew all about them and learned how to play the guitar and drink because of them. i was more like, oh, i like that alex chilton song, before i knew who alex chilton was. but that's not the point.
once i got to college, i learned pretty fast who alex chilton was, what the big deal about big star was, and i heard 'american pie' for the first time, and really, was not that impressed. anyway, i remember we (that's me and the weller obsessed boy i hooked up with) were in his friend/band mate's dorm room, listening to alex chilton's cover of 'b-a-b-y' and all the puzzle pieces came together.

listening to 'on the bus' one day, i remembered that i had seen the replacements on tv once, on david letterman, and i thought they were funny. then i remembered their videos on 120 minutes in high school, then i realized, oh my good lord, the replacements are the most important band in the universe!

i'm a sucker for a riff and a hook, for sure. stupid 3rd eye blind bastard did put it best when he whined, 'if the four right chords can make me cry...' bastard bastard bastard

so naturally, D to F#m to G to D makes me want to fall right down on the ground and be rescued by a guitar weilding poet seducer alcoholic. that's how it works right?


i mean, when they make a goddamn movie after a song you wrote and you're not john lennon, you're fucking paul westerberg and you understand everything in the world that has to do with being young, longing for something, and wanting to not be responsible for anything except for your sweetheart's heart, maybe. or something close to that. maybe i mean your own heart. maybe you don't want to be responsible at all for anything but loving. maybe you just want to love something. you're, (good god, forgive me here, i AM a hack) achin' to be. right?

just like me.





millionandnine 1:58 PM - [Link]
...

beulah
when i get to california
gonna write my name in the sand
i'm gonna lay this body down
and watch the waves roll in
i'm gonna rest this weary head
on someone who i think will care
when the stars in the sky start falling
i think you'll understand
that the city spreads out,
just like a cut vein
everybody drowns, sad and lonely, alright


i used to work in this record store, called record finder, in the castro. it's that one that's sort of behind tower? you know? next to the laundromat, and there's a little deli/store and la mediterranee? yeah, that one.
it really wasn't a great record store to work at, unless you were a collector of toys, because that's all anyone would talk about--all day, all night, toys toys toys. action figures, star wars crap, the whole nine. i really didn't enjoy that job all too much, but i did meet a few nice folks during the course of my employment.
this one guy, miles, was in a band, called beulah, and he was about to go on tour, and needed some plastic sleeves for their record, but he couldn't get any, so i gave him a bunch. that's how we know each other, from the record store.
i didn't think too hard about his band or anything, because i was really busy being fanatical about pavement and blur and comet gain at the time, and for a while there, i was still coming out of the black hole of seclusion i was in on account of mathew's suicide thing, (oh, don't worry, if i keep writing this thing, and you keep reading, all will become clear) so i wasn't really paying attention to new bands and whatnot, just listening to wowee zowee, (the greatest record in the history of music, ever) over and over and smoking lots of cigarettes and that's about it.
anyway, fast forward, if you will, to last last year, around oh, i guess it was spring, i think it was, when we were setting up some sort of display or moving a bin or something--what i do know is that i was standing up in the front of the store, and this racket emerged from the speakers that made me stop dead in my tracks and then jump up and down a whole lot, and when i looked to see who it was, it was that band, beulah!
ben then said, jennifer, have you heard track five? it's YOUR LIFE. and it is/was/is/was, whatever. it's even called silver lining, get it? silver? silver lining?

the whole record, it's, it's, it's...it's all pop and crack and horns and ba-ba-ba's that are relentless, and the lyrics are sad sad sad, and miles did an article in the sf weekly that was sad sad sad sad sad, but still the record just makes me feel joyous, mostly, even when the song is about your dad getting blown through a windshield in a car wreck, and he still won't quit drinking, or something like that.

it's my favorite favorite favorite driving record, the coast is never clear, is, and i have hand motions that i do, and certain places in the songs where i hit the dashboard and the ceiling and i even bought an egg shaker for the car so i could play along. when it was christmas last last year in the store, i bought a new key chain for the bathroom key, only it wasn't a key chain, it was a loop of xmas bells, so that i could pretend to be beulah's loop of xmas bells player.

i was waiting, really waiting to see beulah play live, because i figured that would be the best thing, you know, since their record kicked so much of my ass, that live, i would probably be sent into convulsions of joy and whatever. it weren't necessarily so, because the whole concert, i just wanted them to play everything faster. faster faster faster! but they didn't, they just kind of rolled through everything, and it was good, but not 'oh my god, i'm gonna die' good. i did my hand motions though, and thought that maybe miles saw me do them, because when i went up to him at this wilco show, i said, hey, and he said hey, and he said he saw me at their show, and i told him that their record was the best of last year, which it was, but if i say that now, i mean, last last year.

see, i can't stop schmoozing. i hate it, but i'm kind of a schmoozer. it's bad.


anyway, so what is it, about this record that i love so dearly?
the juxtaposition of sad words vs. really unsad music?
the kind of like therapy soul searching one does when one listens closely to the lyrics and concepts and applies them to events in one's own life?
the maracas, horns, and egg shakers?
the harmonies?


oh, i don't know.

i don't know why i like anything, i just do.




millionandnine 11:52 AM - [Link]
...

weller

today's post is dedicated to my little brother ex husband fashion victim lawyer best friend, walter.

when i was in 7th grade, at john burroughs junior high school, the jam broke up. i knew who they were because 'town called malice' was on the radio all the time. never mind that the kids at school would sing 'tom o'malley' instead. whatever. who cares. this post is mostly about the style council anyway. but, thing is, the thing that made me hate the style council at first was that paul weller used to be in the jam. why did i hate paul weller? i don't know, but i remember distinctly in 9th grade when i was all about mocking steven chean for liking the style council and i would have to eat my words when i came around a couple of years later, when i decided that it was destiny that jennifer silver would be a mod.

this was just one of many arch declarations i am prone to making, most recently, i stated that 'whatever and ever amen' was the 2nd best record ever made in the history of music ever, and i meant it that day, 5 days ago, now, i don't know, but in high school, such arch declarations force one to go out and buy new clothes and get a new haircut, just to be able to fit into whatever scene it was you wanted to be in.

i wanted to be a mod, so i raided the thrift stores, raided the record stores and dreamt about one day, having my very own scooter. metal flake red. never mind that i could not, and cannot to this day ride even a bicycle.

the style council were the only band on my 'steps to being a mod in my very own mind's eye' checklist that still existed and still made records. plus, they had done a song with the girl from everything but the girl, and i knew i liked them, because they once did a song with johnny marr from the smiths and the smiths, of course, were the best band ever, right? so.

i bought 'a paris' and 'cafe bleu' on the same day, at rene's records on melrose. i liked them enough, especially the swingy sort of old people jazzy sounding songs, 'headstart for happiness' and what not.

the big mtv rumor of the day was that paul weller himself, was going to be cast in julien temple's rock musical, absolute beginners, based on the book by colin macinness, on which the jam, had, a few years back, based a song. (and a good one, too, all pow! and smash! and with horns and running down corridors and something about clocks)

reading absolute beginners was all of a sudden a top priority, and i remain steadfast today, still, that it is a book that everyone should read when they're having their late teen's early 20's identity crisis, and then they should read again, coupled with high fidelity when they hit 30.

the absolute beginners movie came out and paul wasn't in it, but i was introduced to miles davis in a round about way, and i had to go buy more style council records because they became the embodiment of some sort of 'new mod' ideal, not all dirty scooters and quadrophenia and those parties in the valley where the kids who looked so smart and stylish at the clubs looked drunk and stupid and slutty when their older brothers would take off the specials lp, and put on rap music and they knew all the words. how, i thought to myself, can these hooligans be true mods? they're throwing up on the sidewalk. where is the style? where is the love? where are my car keys?

weller and co. embodied style and love for me for quite a time, even when i moved past the true mod vs. fake mod debate, took a bizarre and thankfully short lived dip in the goth world, embraced indie pop with a fiery passion and went off to college and hooked up with a boy who had a disturbingly similar paul weller obsession.

i still know all the words to nearly every style council song. certainly i have memorized 98% of the jam's intelligible lyrics. the first song i learned to play on guitar was 'down in the tube station at midnight.' i can imitate paul weller in the short film 'jerusalem' where he says, 'go back waves!'

the whole weller thing is so wrapped up into my search to find something to identify with as a teenager. i needed a manifesto, a set of rules, some guidelines. so do i really like 'down in the seine' because of how paul sounds so tortured and left bank? or do i only like the idea of a tortured and left banked british guy singing in french? do i think that's a good song? i can't tell. it's too complicated. is 'here's the one that got away' a great song because it has a stephane grapelli-esque violin part, or is it a great song because i remember blasting it really really loud in the westside pavillion parking lot?

maybe it doesn't matter why.

millionandnine 3:00 PM - [Link]
...

okay, the entire point of this blog is to chronicle my experiences with music. this, from a girl who recently sold most of her record collection. i have long been defined by my records and my obsessive love for indie rock and pop, and other types of music, i suppose.

i've done fanzines, had a record label, been in bands, written liner notes, designed record sleeves, been an arch fan of alot of musicians and have schmoozed with the best of them. i've been working in record stores forever and have spent tens of thousands of dollars, i'm sure, on being completely insane about music. i've thrown fits about not being able to go to shows, i've waited in line for hours, i've driven hundreds of miles to see bands. i've been in tour buses, been a sort of roadie, sold merch for people, let people sleep on my floor, taken folks on tours of whatever city i've been living in, i've embarrassed myself to co-workers and friends, i've cried, gotten into fights with people, have had ridiculous crushes, made a million mixtapes, and gotten up to all sorts of antics in the name of music.

recently, in the process of selling off most everything, i tried to divorce myself from my old persona, which included not really dropping friends, but associating with old friends less, because i've found that in many cases, without discussing what 7 inches we bought last week, or what this indie luminary is doing with that one, i've got little in common with them anymore. egged on by the friends who are still talking to me on a regular basis, i've decided to try and pin point exactly what it is and was that made me love what i loved, and what makes me love what i still love. this isn't going to be a necessarily easy thing to do, and it might take years, or i might give up entirely.

let's see how it goes.
millionandnine 11:40 AM - [Link]
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