I became a true hip-hop fan in the early to mid ’80s. The first record I bought was Run-DMC’s 12″ single It’s Like That. For me, in my teenage years, I learned everything I knew about political leaders, current events and some social consciousness from hip-hop. The moment the lightbulb went off was the day my buddy Kevin Kitt handed me a tape of Boogie Down Productions. Kevin and I caught the #23 trolley on Erie Avenue every morning on our way to school. I had gotten a new canary yellow Walkman but had no tapes except for the mixes I made from Power 99.

Names like Huey P. Newton and Joanne Chesimard rattled off his tongue like high- powered rounds

He felt sorry for me so he lent me his BDP tape and KRS-One‘s words were my first political science and African American studies classes. He said things that made me want to be smarter, things that made me want to read more so that I could grasp his concepts. I paid more attention to the world around me as before I hadn’t wondered too much about history outside of what I learned in school and church. In a song, KRS mentioned Chuck D and Rakim. So naturally, I went out and bought Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. I think my allowance was like 20 bucks a week back then.

Chuck D, who I later got to interview for my college radio station, made me delve even deeper into exploring my identity as a black kid in America. Names like Huey P. Newton and Joanne Chesimard rattled off his tongue like high-powered rounds. It sparked such a curiosity in me that I gained an interest in history. My history. Shit that they wouldn’t teach in my Catholic school. Hip-hop back then had a conscious soul!

Public Enemy’s “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos” is the one song for me that captured the spirit of the era. It expressed our mistrust of a system we believed to be corrupt and a spirit of purposeful defiance. This song was the father of N.W.A.‘s “Fuck tha Police!”

I’ll admit, I don’t listen to much current hip-hop or trap. I’ve already heard and lived all those stories. What I haven’t heard are stories about Baltimore, Ferguson or Charleston. In light of all the events affecting black youth, there’s an opportunity for hip-hop to retake its soul. Will it? Will more Kendrick Lamars and Lupe Fiascoes be born? Will it regain consciousness? Stay tuned. The revolution will be on iTunes.

R.E.M.’s guitarist Peter Buck said that the band’s history can be divided into two parts: “pre-Losing My Religion” and “post-Losing My Religion,” referring to the point of the band’s history when they became a mainstream act. Despite having become their signature tune, R.E.M. has always downplayed the success of the song, which began as Peter Buck’s experiment to learn the mandolin, as being accidental.

Discovering R.E.M. for me was also accidental when I was lost in the world of Top 40 music, back in the days when my cassette mix compilation consisted of songs by C+C Music Factory and Geraldo’s “Rico Suave.”  It was June of 1991 when “Losing My Religion” broke through the Billboard Top 10, sharing the top-tier slots with Rod Stewart, Mariah Carey, Color Me Badd, Paula Abdul and Michael Bolton. The jangling of Peter Buck’s mandolin couldn’t have sounded fresher between the tired, formulaic, over-produced pop songs.

Around that time, the video also became a part of the regular rotation on MTV Buzz Clips. And how great is that video directed by Tarsem Singh?  The beautiful images couldn’t have complemented the song any better. It was also the first video to feature Michael Stipe’s spastic dance moves.

It didn’t take long until I was addicted and rushed out to buy a copy of Out of Time. While the album has some duds like “Shiny Happy People” (a song rarely performed live and which Michael Stipe has referred to as their worst song ever written), it was the album that got me to explore the rest of the R.E.M. catalog, which eventually lead to my rescue from the dull world of Top 40.

While “Losing My Religion” may not be my favorite song, it has to be the most significant song in my personal musical history, which also can be divided into two parts: “pre-Losing My Religion” and “post-Losing My Religion.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=if-UzXIQ5vw

The moment I hear the drums at the start of “Midnight Train to Georgia,” I can’t help but smile. Sometimes it’s even accompanied by an, “I love this song!” I am not sure at which age I first heard it but it’s been on my list of all-time favorites for many years.

A gorgeous woman with a beautiful voice, “Empress of Soul” Gladys Knight sings with a sense of power, expression and purpose that never fails to give me goose bumps. The echoes of her loyal Pips are featured through memorable lines such as “He said he’s goin’,” “Leavin’ on the midnight train,” “I know you will,” “Ooh-ooh,” and “A superstar but he didn’t get far.” And they have impressive choreographed dances to boot. Then there are the various horns, keys and a melodic bass line that make this a multi-layered musical masterpiece. Having been inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999, “Midnight Train to Georgia” is truly a classic.

The song was first written and performed in a country, John Denver-esque style by singer-songwriter Jim Weatherly, who had initially called it “Midnight Plane to Houston.” He wrote it after speaking on the phone with Farrah Fawcett, who said she was packing her bags to take a midnight plane to Houston to see her parents. After he wrote the song, Cissy Houston, Whitney’s mother, soon contacted him wanting to omit “Houston” from the title and sing it herself. She ended up recording an R&B version of “Midnight Train to Georgia,” then Gladys Knight and The Pips’ version followed.

Though the original members of then 8-year-old Gladys’ Pips were her brother, sister and cousins, other extended family members were introduced and the lineup changed a couple times. Eventually, Gladys and her Pips split but The Pips went on to record two albums of their own. And let’s not forget The Pips’ comical appearance on the Richard Pryor show. Seems like they did just fine without Gladys stealing the spotlight.

We all have our favorites. Bands for whom we feel an outsized affinity relative to their popularity, acclaim and artistic ingenuity (even when they enjoy success in all these measures). Bands that click for us more than they do for others. Bands that we just love. Bands like The Jesus and Mary Chain.

For most music fans, Psychocandy is what comes to mind when they think of the Mary Chain. Understandably so, their debut is the stuff of legend and essentially spawned a new genre, while altering the trajectory of indie-pop as a whole. A feedback-laden, noisy album that shook the British music scene to its core, Psychocandy is as essential an album as they come. My Bloody Valentine, Ride, Lush, Charlatans, all excellent in their own right, certainly owe a debt to Jim and William Reid, as well as more contemporary bands such as Beach House, M83 and Deerhunter.

What made the album special was that underneath all the distortion and bravado was a collection of truly excellent songs. Take the Beach Boys, combine with Phil Spector’s wall of sound, filter it all through some TV static, and you have a close approximation of this sublime masterwork.

What is sometimes forgotten is that the Mary Chain didn’t stop there. On their subsequent albums, the Reid brothers continued their simple but remarkably effective and consistent songwriting. What changed was the dynamic of the presentation. Darklands (my favorite) toned down the feedback, and in fact abandoned a recording band altogether, producing their darkest songs (and that’s saying something). Automatic suffered from less-than-stellar production but offered some of their most pop-friendly tracks, even finding commercial success and the distinction of being covered by the Pixies. Honey’s Dead mixed up all the elements to great effect and Munki was uneven but a damn fine swan song as the notorious infighting between the brothers led to the group’s demise.

Of course, I bought tickets immediately when I heard they were touring again, and invited a few friends to come along. The show didn’t actually take place until earlier this week though and it had somehow slipped my mind that they would be performing Psychocandy in its entirety. That’s a hell of a way for the uninitiated to be introduced to the band, so I suggested my friends listen to the album but also pleaded that they consider that not all their music was recorded in such a (gloriously) abrasive manner. I tried to soften the blow, but judging by their almost catatonic and trance-like expressions during the show, I’m pretty sure I failed.

As belated testament to my point though, I offer “Sometimes Always,” an almost impossibly beautiful pop duet with Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star (for my money, she has one of the most evocative voices ever recorded). The track is featured on the one album I haven’t yet mentioned, Stoned & Dethroned. For a group whose sound was in constant evolution, Stoned & Dethroned was the most significant departure. They actually considered recording the album acoustic but ultimately decided instead to employ a full band for the first time since Psychocandy, while still retaining a stripped down approach. This was a road album, an “American” album, and one of their finest.

The dichotomy of the Mary Chain is that they’ve stuck steadfastly to their simple songwriting approach, but have simultaneously managed to continually evolve and change. If you’re not familiar, start anywhere, but keep exploring… you’ll get it.

P.S., No one ever gave interviews quite like the Mary Chain

As a big music and film lover, I’m the type of gal who quizzes people with, “What movie/TV show is this from?” whenever a noteworthy song comes on. And “Bad Bad Boys” is one of those songs that’s special to me because Rosie Perez dances to it while waitressing in Untamed Heart, one of the best cheesy love movies ever. Beyond that, it’s catchy, fun and really captures the early ’90s.

Recorded by a trio of African teenagers who had migrated to Sweden, the song is one of three popular tracks off their self-titled album. Unfortunately, they never made another full-length album and ended up calling it quits after some brief touring.

Though there’s no sense dwelling on what could have been, I can’t help but be curious about how their music careers would’ve evolved as they grew to write their own songs. But at least we had Ace of Base to carry the Swedish ’90s pop torch for us into the 2000s.

Short Circuit was one of my favorite films growing up and I’m pretty sure I watched that movie at least several dozen times (along with classics such as Mr. Mom, Conan the Barbarian and of course, any movie with ninjas).

A recent listicle reminded me that it wasn’t exactly the most sensitive of films when it comes to minority casting (because you know, I’m sure there wasn’t a single Indian actor available to play the stereotypical emasculated Indian nerd) but little me didn’t care so much because… robots.

Johnny 5 was my man and don’t get it wrong, I’m going to be revisiting the series stat. None of these newfangled imitators even come close.

We are here though to revisit the El DeBarge classic “Who’s Johnny” from the (sadly never released) soundtrack. Frankly, I don’t know anything about this song except that it was in the movie, it’s amazing, and I had somehow forgotten all about it.

You’re welcome.

(And it’s 100% your loss if you miss the video below.)

A couple week’s back, Katie + I attended the limited release of the new bio-pic The End of the Tour not once, but twice.

For anyone not already familiar with it, The End of the Tour follows now-deceased author David Foster Wallace at the close of the book tour for his celebrated 1996 postmodern novel, Infinite Jest. At its most basic level, the film is a depiction of life + living through the lens of an extended conversation with fellow author David Lipsky as he shadows Wallace for a Rolling Stone article that never came to be. Though the article never materialized, after Wallace’s suicide, Lipsky combed through hours of audio tape from those days of travel, talk, and near inhuman consumption of junk food + cigarettes, eventually compiling it all into a best-selling memoir, Although of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself.

The movie—an adaptation of that memoir—was, in fact, great. Our reasoning for seeing it twice in almost as many days was more that we wanted to catch the discussion and Q+A with the film’s director, James Ponsoldt, and lead, Jason Segel, who plays Wallace; but it’s also a great movie to see twice. Based on actual audio of two actual people who both stood as intellectual, literary savants and two dudes trying to look away from the glaring possibility that we’re all truly alone and life is meaningless, the end product’s understandably dense…but in a fun way not without humor. All that to say, it was nice to catch a few things I missed the first go ’round.

As the film ends, with sad, blurred images and the voice of Jesse Eisenberg as Lipsky reading aloud from his memoir, a cover of a early Pavement song—”Here”—softly unfolds under the credits.

The cover, by British band, Tindersticks, is good and totally fitting for the mood at the end of the film. But, like many if not most covers, it just made me want to revisit the original, which—no offense meant to the Tindersticks—still stands head-and-shoulders above any reinterpretation I’ve ever heard. The blasé, low energy pop-rock and frank, flat tone epitomizes the 90s indie darlings, their sound, and their whole aesthetic + attitude as a band. In addition to “Zürich Is Stained”, this remains one of my favorite songs from the band’s most excellent debut, Slanted and Enchanted.

Give it a listen and, if you get a chance, be you a Wallace fan or not, check out The End of the Tour. It’s worth it.

As is wont to happen after a few (too many) drinks with a new friend, a recent bar conversation turned a bit contentious on the topic of music.

What can you expect when a guy doesn’t like Fleetwood Mac?!

We went through a litany of musicians, finding little common ground, as I latched on to his defense of Primus and used it as a springboard for an endless Les Claypool slap-air-bass parody… blah-boop-boop-blah-blah-blah-boop-boop-blah.

We enlisted the bartender who couldn’t resist joining in but tried to mediate, as our other companion wisely stayed out of the discussion all together.

We finally agreed on one thing though. Erasure.

Oh that glorious duo of Andy Bell and Vince Clarke. Those soaring melodies. The always danceable synths. The soothing harmonies. How can you not like these guys?

I’m not sure what “Ship of Fools” is about exactly except that there was a kid who wasn’t very good at math and that life sucks, but like many Erasure songs, it’s sort of dark but still demands that you move around like a maniac and sing along at the top of yours lungs.

See the thing is, it might take some effort, and you might have to go through 20 bands at first, but eventually music brings people together. I can’t wait to take my new friend to the next Erasure show (and Fleetwood Mac).