May 2006 Archives

There's a very special moment in the wonderfully cheesy movie (you can't really call it a "film") Eddie and the Cruisers when tormented genius bandleader Eddie (who acts like Jim Morrison but sings like Bruce Springsteen) looks at keyboard player and lyricist Frank Ridgeway (whose shaman-like nickname is "Wordman"), crosses his fingers together, and explains the powerful bond that unites them with this immortal line: "Words and music, man."

Now, music writers, being writers and all, often get accused of focusing too much attention to the first part of that equation. A lyric isn't a song, any more than a painting of a pipe is a pipe. But a deft lyric can make a good song great, while a dopey one can make it impossible to love an otherwise beautiful tune.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out where on that spectrum Untitled Bonus Track 4 by the Spinto Band falls. It's a puffy little confection with an adorable melody I can't stop humming, and I thought it was the greatest thing ever till I started paying attention to the words, which seem to have something to do with playing Atari, runaway dogs, and life in Japan -- I can't tell you more, because I'm deliberately ignoring them from now on in order to keep liking the song, and the band. I have a sneaking suspicion trying to figure out what they're actually singing about would ruin everything.

Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against stupid lyrics. In fact, I spent a decent amount of time in my past life writing and recording that very kind. I've got a weakness for songs with words that are so dumb they actually become profound. It's hard to pinpoint the difference between songs that succeed in this regard vs. those that fail, so I'll just point you toward "Good Guys and Bad Guys" by Camper Van Beethoven, another tune about slacker bliss and life in other countries that, for whatever reason, doesn't make me embarrassed to sing along.

  O.K.

The PTB (Powers that Be) were sick of sorting through letters, emails, and death threats from animal lovers and wanted me to get off the subject of dogs and cats.

This will be tough, but I'll give it a try.

So, have you guys looked outside lately? It's Summer doesn't officially start for another couple of weeks, but COME ON...if its hot and sunny outside and you live near the beach, it's summer.

Give me a sunny beach, and I think of Bossa Nova. Sitting here in Rhapsody's palatial offices overlooking the ocean, I was so inspired that I threw together a playlist charting the creation of the Bossa Nova style.

If you are thirsting for more bossa, try the work of Brazil's greatest composer, Antonio Carlos Jobim (called Tom by his friends). And the thing is, this box set doesn't come close to giving you all the Jobim that you need.

So many of these songs conjure up images of sun, waves, and women walking along the shore. Man, who can work when its so sunny outside? Time to get out of here and take Max to the beach.

There's a very special moment in the wonderfully cheesy movie (you can't really call it a "film") Eddie and the Cruisers when tormented genius bandleader Eddie (who acts like Jim Morrison but sings like Bruce Springsteen) looks at keyboard player and lyricist Frank Ridgeway (whose shaman-like nickname is "Wordman"), crosses his fingers together, and explains the powerful bond that unites them with this immortal line: "Words and music, man."

Now, music writers, being writers and all, often get accused of focusing too much attention to the first part of that equation. A lyric isn't a song, any more than a painting of a pipe is a pipe. But a deft lyric can make a good song great, while a dopey one can make it impossible to love an otherwise beautiful tune.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out where on that spectrum Untitled Bonus Track 4 by the Spinto Band falls. It's a puffy little confection with an adorable melody I can't stop humming, and I thought it was the greatest thing ever till I started paying attention to the words, which seem to have something to do with playing Atari, runaway dogs, and life in Japan -- I can't tell you more, because I'm deliberately ignoring them from now on in order to keep liking the song, and the band. I have a sneaking suspicion trying to figure out what they're actually singing about would ruin everything.

Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against stupid lyrics. In fact, I spent a decent amount of time in my past life writing and recording that very kind. I've got a weakness for songs with words that are so dumb they actually become profound. It's hard to pinpoint the difference between songs that succeed in this regard vs. those that fail, so I'll just point you toward "Good Guys and Bad Guys" by Camper Van Beethoven, another tune about slacker bliss and life in other countries that, for whatever reason, doesn't make me embarrassed to sing along.

No way I'm gonna top that last post by Eric: motorcycles scare the crap outta me, and the closest I've come to a biker bar is Hooters in Fort Lauderdale.

But since he brought up "wasted days," I'm gonna run with that theme a minute and post this very sweet, very un-biker tune by a pair of Irish brothers who go by the Amazing Pilots. It's called "All My Wasted Days," and it's got that distant, dream-pop tenderness you might find in Yo La Tengo's quieter moments, lightly countrified with lo-fi percussion and languid slide guitar. Saw these cats a few years ago at SXSW and they bowled me over. Not Hell's Angels bowled over, but close.

Hi. I was just listening to the first album by my friend Dave Gleason and his band the Wasted Days.

He plays Cosmic American Music. My old band Mover used to play with him all the time. Gleason prefers to pick a rare Fender B-Bender Telecaster. It's an electric guitar that has a caliper system routed in the back of the body so that the player can bend the B-string by simply pushing the guitar down.

The guitar's shoulder strap is hooked onto this caliper and when that B-string bends, you can approximate the lazy, weeping slide guitar sound of a pedal steel. The Byrds used the B-Bender quite a bit on their later recordings.

Gleason's self-titled debut features a bit of a secret treat for Gram Parsons fans. He happens to know a somewhat obsessive Parsons archivist who has in his possession one of the only known recordings of a lost song entitled "Funky String Quartet." He allowed Gleason to listen to the song with nothing but a guitar and notebook so that he could cover the lost gem on his debut album. It came out sounding great. I know that I'm biased and everything, but listen for yourself.

One time like five years ago Gleason told me his rhythm guitar player had to bow out of a gig and that he needed someone to fill in with his band for three sets. I excitedly volunteered to offer up my rhythm guitar playing (and singing) duties, knowing that we'd be doing a lot rocking of covers of Bakersfield honky-tonk standards, like that Everly Brothers version of Merle Haggard's "Mama Tried" or the Flying Burrito Brothers' version of Red Simpson's "Close Up The Honky Tonks."

I didn't find out until the next day that the gig was at the Hells Angels San Francisco club house. I was kind of nervous and I was also kind of excited. I grew up watching all kinds of biker movies like Wild Angels

and that first Billy Jack movie, the Born Losers.

Billy Jack was a halfbreed ex-green beret skilled in the martial arts who tried to show the word that we should all love each other as brothers. The cool thing was that tried to show the world this by totally kicking ass. I was also really into albums that romanticized the biker way of life. Albums like these:

So on the night of the gig, we pulled the truck up to the Hells Angels' Frisco clubhouse (don't ever use the name "San Francisco" when talking to an Angel about the city by the Bay. They prefer you use the term "'Frisco") and the first thing we noticed was that there were tons and tons of beautiful bikes and choppers as far as the eye could see! It was truly a thing of beauty. Then suddenly four huge dudes dressed in denim and leather came up to us and said, "This is a private party. Get lost!" I kindly explained that we were were with these guys:

Then the first Angel dude raised his hand like he was going to kick my ass all Billy Jack style but instead he clapped his hands and yelled, "Hey guys! The Band is here!" Three other huge Angels came out and not only escorted us into their secret clubhouse, but they also picked up our gear and loaded it in for us! True gentlemen!

So we got inside and the place was amazing! They have old school checkerboard flooring and this awesome oak bar--it was a really nice bar--and the beer flowed like water. We set up and tuned our gear and then started warming up with a Dave Dudley song. The older, bigger, bearded guys were totally into it, but we could tell that some of the younger guys were obviously not too down with country music. After our first set one of these younger Angels in black stonewashed jeans and new white Reeboks came up to us and said, "Hey I know you guys are a country band or whatever but do you happen to know any Barenaked Ladies or Eminem songs?"

This totally broke my heart! I wanted to say, "First of all, what kind of Hells Angel are you, asking us to play the Barenaked Ladies? My mom listens to Barenaked Ladies! And secondly, how are a bunch of guys with Telecasters going to play a rap song? Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper would be rolling in their respecteve graves if there were dead!"

But of course I didn't say that at all. I actually said, "No sir. And I'm truly sorry about that. The Barenaked Ladies and Marshall Mathers are both fine musicians. But we do know a Willie Nelson song that you may happen to like."

Post Script: R.I.P. Desmond Dekker

A couple months back I fell hard for a pair of new/blue/truegrass groups that were sort of singing the soundtrack to my life at that point.

The first was the Avett Brothers, a trio from rural North Carolina that play mostly acoustic, percussion-free music with punk rock abandon. Their harmonies are rough and sweet, gorgeous in an angels-in-overalls kinda way, and their songwriting is both poignant and raucous, like making out at a barn dance. Check out the video for  "November Blue," taken from their website -- it's the song that skewered my heart and handed it back to me quivering and ready for more. Unfortunately, it's not on their most recent album, but this track and plenty others more than make up for the lack.

Turns out a good friend of the Avetts is my man Langhorne Slim. I wrote a story on this fun-loving, carpetbagging, thrift store troubadour for the New Times Broward-Palm Beach, the alt-weekly I used to work for, and the interview we did was hilarious. Saw him play a week or so later and really dug his raucous, country gospel blues and choirboy-in-heat vocals. Totally likable, unless you hate it. But you shouldn't.

That boy Langhorne can drink some tequila, too, I tell you what.

Anyone tries to say new country sucks, you point 'em to these guys.
 

OK.

I really wasn't too crazy about this whole blog thing. So, I thought I'd write about my (adorable) dog Max and defang the internet masses with his cuteness.

All I received for my trouble were bags and bags of mail from the feline crazed masses. They called me a cat hater, a catist, and much, much worse! And the thing is -- I love cats. Really. Kittens too.

Awww. Kittens are cute.

Now, I don't love cats enough to spotlight a bunch of songs about them, but Rhapsody's Michele K-Tel's does. Here is her Crazy Cats playlist Please send any complaints directly to Michele.

As you can imagine, my nerves were frazzled after reading all that hate mail. Since I am a man of action, I got Rhino Records on the phone and demanded that they give Rhapsody an exclusive on Les Crane's amazing 1971 album Desiderata.

The only bland thing about Desiderata is its album sleeve. It should look like this 5th Dimension cover. As a matter of fact, Les Crane kind of sounds like the 5^th Dimension – especially if that much loved group were led by Jim Jones & Sly Stone.

The title track (which went Top Ten!) is amazing. Its better than amazing. It makes you put both legs into a pair or pants and get out there and try to conquer the world! 

Listening to "Friends" reminds you what is really important in life. The only thing that could possibly make a man feel better than listening to Les Crane is taking his dog out for a walk. Oops, Max heard me. Now he wants me to take him out so he can chase some cats. Gotta go.

Raise your hand if the sight of a lone sax player in a rock band tends to scare you off. Unless he's Clarence Clemmons (and sometimes, even if he is), the saxophonist tends to be a big, honking warning that you're in for some by-the-numbers rock and roll. The only thing worse than watching him clap awkwardly while he waits for his big moment is knowing that once he stops clapping, there's going to be an overwrought sax solo.

Of course, overwrought sax solos can be things of beauty. Supposedly, Bruce Springsteen spent 16 hours or something conducting poor Mr. Clemmons in the studio until Jungleland had its definitive sax break, and listening back I have to admit it was probably worth it, since for once the sax actually tempers the bombast rather than ratcheting it up even further.

But sometimes the sax doesn't have to wait around for its turn to shine. Sometimes the sax can actually drive a tune. Check out the chorus on the Raybeats' "Searching" to get an idea of what I mean. The horn's doing all the talking. These guys were a surf-leaning instrumental combo that kept jumping back and forth across the fence that separated new wave and no wave in the early-1980s. I must have seen them 10 times or more, since they seemed to open up for just about every major British or U.S. post-punk group that came through NYC when I was in high school. This is easily my favorite song they ever did.

My favoritist instrumental ever, though, is "Teenie's Dream," by the mighty Willie Mitchell, who led the Hi Records house band, eventually ran the label, and produced all the best Al Green records. This tune might be named after guitarist Teenie Hodges, but the horn's the star. It arrives 59 seconds in and completely owns the song from that point out. One day a savvy music consultant will make this the theme song to some lame sitcom, and it will be ruined forever, but for now we can all listen association-free. I can't not be happy for the 2 minutes this thing lasts.

Friends: The name's Garrett. I am named after this record right here. Wish I could say that makes me the biggest Bob Dylan fan of all time, but alas… Don't get me wrong – Bob's great. But he's no Stephen Malkmus!

OK, that's a joke. But behind every joke is a glint of truth, right? And the truth is that my name is Garrett, and I am an indie rocker. Or at least thems my roots. I was raised on records like this and this. But then I discovered stuff like this and this. Then this. And who could forget this. So these days I'm one of those dang-blasted people who listens to everything. (Well, not everything.)

As of this posting, I'll have been an editor at Rhapsody for exactly eight days. Before touching down here I was the music editor at SF Weekly. My favorite part of that gig was discovering new bands and sharing their music with the world. Bands like this. And this. Also, one time I got my mom to interview Rod Stewart.

But now here I am at Rhapsody, and I gotta say: It's pretty sweet. There's foosball in the basement, beer on tap in the kitchen – we've even got teeny tiny Oompa Loompas running around. (Still don't know what they do, but their songs delight the ears!)

So that's pretty much me. Before I leave you, please allow me to blow your mind with the following jammers:

Battles is a supergroup of sorts featuring the drummer from heavy metal marauders Helmut, the guitarist from post-rock havoc-wreakers Don Caballero, and Tyondai Braxton, who's a sweet experimental musician dude in his own right but who also happens to be the son of legendary jazz cat Anthony Braxton. As heard on this EP, Battles' music is a churning storm of organic and electronic instruments, held together by strange rhythms that tug the beast every which way but loose. If your circuits are in need of some blowing, this record's for you. These guys also recently signed to Warp Records, so expect a full-length soon.

Here we have the debut disc from Sunset Rubdown, Shut Up I Am Dreaming. When this record came out a month ago I found it lacking, but repeated listens reveal pop hooks burried in the strangest places: amidst dirty, squelching waltzes and in dark, creaking piano dirges. Some really spooky, evocative indie bangers here.

This band Midlake is from Austin and they've got a new record coming out in early June that I have a sneaking suspicion is going to make a splash, so here's a link to their debut so you can get ahead of the curve. I mean, it's not for nothing that the Flaming Lips hand-picked the group for their European tour. The Lips are a good touchstone for Midlake's sound: narcotic soft-rock that's been known to blast off into a stratosphere of synths and organs and singer-dude's sleepy croon, the whole thing giving you that neat-o feeling that you're tripping the light fantastic beneath disco ball snowflakes. So yeah, I dig it.

OK, that's all for me! Till next time...

by Linda Ryan

Hello. My name is Linda Ryan and I'm one of the writers here at Rhapsody. I am in charge of organizing the playlists in Playlist Central and I also am the Photo Editor. I know that our jobs aren't supposed to define us -- I learned that one the hard way -- but it seems like a natural place to start when telling you a bit about myself because most of my jobs have involved music – and isn't that what we're here to talk about?

I have been working here for the past six years. I started here when it was a company called Listen.com. Before that I worked at a variety of record labels, radio stations and a national trade magazine called Gavin, which has since become part of history (read: it closed its doors). I've been involved in music more than half of my life – which is a completely scary, absolutely insane thought. I mean, wow -- I haven't even been a redhead that long!

Hello!  My name is Ted Kartzman, and I license all the music for Rhapsody that does not come from major labels.  Some call me the indie guy.  If you'd like to know why we don't have this label or that label, you can email me here.  At the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival earlier this month, I said, "Well my friends, the time has come to raise the roof and have some fun..." Let us go and see Lionel Richie close down the festival on Sunday!  Everybody sing, everybody dance!   Fiesta, forever!  I just had to see this icon of the 80's, just to see what shape that sweet afro was in, just to hear his pop anthems of childhood, and there were more anthems than you'd think.  And oh what a feelin, we were dancin on the ceiling!  It was Sunday and everyone was at the tail end of a long weekend of music, so he eased us in with "Easy" (like Sunday morning) before busting into funky full band versions of "Brick House" and "Lady (You Bring Me Up)."  I don't think my friends who split realized just how deep his career has been, people around me had no idea he was in The Commodores, a funk force to be reckoned with.  And when Lionel slowed down, hands were held and you reminded you that your girl was once, twice, "Three Times A Lady." 

Look, don't get on his case just because of his infamous daughter, or because he cheesed out in the 80's.  Who didn't get a little synth-y or ballad-oriented back then?  Everyone was doing it!  Believe me, if you were there, you would have waved and asked "Hello!  Is it me you're looking for?"  You would have admitted that "Stuck On You" provided a feeling down deep in your soul that you just can't lose.  So many of these songs were irresistible pop pleasures, it looked like everybody was having a ball!  Walking out of the fairgrounds knowing that "everyone you meet, they'll be jammin' in the streets...All Night Long."  Oh, what a feeling!  Guess I'm on my way...mighty glad I stayed. - TK

Normally I can't get down with blatantly tongue-in-cheek spoof rockers like the Darkness or Andrew W.K. The stuff's good for a laugh and not much more, bloated with self-aware bluster and winking insincerity. But one outfit I could proudly pump my fist with is  Danko Jones. The Canadian power-rock trio has been around for over a decade, embodying, in Jones' own words "a man, a band, a five-year plan." The group's new album on Razor and Tie, Sleep is the Enemy, is as brashly rawktastic as it is bust-a-gut funny. (Think AC/DC back in the "Big Balls" days.) Touching is really the only word to describe the exxxtreme romance exrpessed by the line "I'll burn my house down just for you / I'll rip my nuts off just for you." A true Lothario, this Danko fella. Or not. But his punkish passion and blue-collar soul make for a fun listen.

By Jon Maples

As you might imagine, Tuesdays are rather hectic in our office.  With a passel of new releases to feature, we end up scrambling around at ungodly hours to get everything done (okay, everyone say "awwww"). But Tuesday is also like Christmas morning in these parts, too, with all the new music we get to (mixed metaphor alert) sink our, ahem, ears into. Here's a few tracks that started my day.

Slaid Cleaves -- Devil's Lullaby
This Austin, Texas native has released understated, country-tinged efforts for a decade now. This is the lead track off of his newest, Unsung.

The Walkmen--Lost In Boston

The indomidable Michele K-Tel writes that the Walkmen's toned down their guitars and organ and have found "a new Dylan-esque drawl." This is the key track that exemplifies the new approach.

Vetiver--To Find Me Gone
The lead track on the freak folk supergroup's new release (for the record--I hate the term supergroup). They sure paint an atmosphere on this one.

Holly Brook--Giving It Up For You
Back in my day singer-songwriters didn't have their first hit as a guest vocalist for a Linkin Park side project. Actually, in my day there was never a Linkin Park nor a genre called rap rock, but that's exactly Ms. Brook's path. Her debut shows insightful, if amazingly youthful, writing...without the rap rock.

Dashboard Confessional--Don't Wait
Never my cup 'o' tea, DC's new single seems slightly less whiney as in past releases. Okay, maybe not. Caution: Engage earnestness before playing.

Mission Of Burma--13 and Man In Decline
Our own Jamie Dolling says these two songs are the core of the band's The Obliterati. That's good enough for me.

(Listen to all these songs in a single playlist.)

I'm Nick Dedina, the jazz editor at Rhapsody. Overall, I'm not too crazy about blogs, but I love dogs.

This is my dog Max. In Max's honor, I went ahead and made a playlist of songs  honoring our canine companions. The list's mix of everyone from Johnny Cash to George Clinton to the Cure to misunderstood visionary Lobo, pretty much sums up my musical tastes.

I also enjoy music by people who are dead. Dead people are better than living people. Fewer tattoos and body piercings. If I can't find enough dead people to listen to, I'll settle for music made by old people.

Paul Chambers is dead. This Paul Chambers LP is great.

John Coltrane plays on it. He is dead too. Kenny Burrell and Horace Silver are on the record. Thankfully, Burrell and Silver are just old, and are still with us.

Django Reinhardt is amazing. And dead.

This Reinhardt platter, cut right before he passed away, makes me wish that Django had lived for another 100 years. The man was amazing. His two greatest originals, "Nuages," and "Manoir de mes Reves" are done beautifully here.

I even like some artists who are alive. I'm a fan of all of Josh Rouse's CDs. His most recent is far from his finest effort -- and it's still tops in my book.

Bill Frisell is also alive and kicking. This is one of Frisell's pretty records. Frisell shares my views on dogs.

Alright. I gotta get outta here and go walk my dog.

Howdy.

My name is Eric Shea and I dig early twang-rock, heavy music, 20th century shoegazing bands, acoustic folk and riding old school skateboards inside empty backyard swimming pools.

I have to admit that this is my first blog. Ever. I guess I was absent that day when America got all caught up in writing to everybody in the first person. So I was a bit apprehensive to join the blogging world until my girlfriend said, "Just shut up and do it, you stupid baby." OK then, a little more about myself. I have worked here for over seven years. Yes, that's a hell of a long time to stay at one job, but check this out. I get to work with music and since music is my religion, I can tell the parents that my job is a secular vocation. Also, this job totally rules because they let me tour with my band Parchman Farm. For instance, we recently got to play the southwest for a week supporting these Australian dudes and when our 1988 Dodge van made it back to San Francisco, I still had a job!

OK, I'm totally boring myself. Let's talk about music.

So I actually wrangle up most of the country music for Rhapsody, but I also tackle some folk music and soundtrack stuff. But being a native Californian, I believe that this song is the most perfect song in the history of music (thus far). Lately I've been digging Unicorn, a '70s country rock band from the UK who had Pink Floyd-era David Gilmour produce and play pedal-steel on their recordings. Speaking of the '70s, my girlfriend has been turning me on to all sorts of obscure punk songs from that era--stuff I'd never have found by myself. It kind of inspired me to make a '70s punk playlist revolving around the subject of living life as a perpetual teenager.

I am also a sucker for soft rock. In fact, my buddy Dylan Magierek and I spent three years putting together a Bread tribute album.

Josh Rouse delivered us a perfect cover of "It don't Matter To Me" and speaking of covers, have you ever heard Iain Matthews' amazing versions of Joni Mitchell's Woodstock or Neil Young's Tell Me Why? For some reason, waify English dudes play twangy canyon rock of yesteryear far better than the original Los Angelino canyon crooners..

Anyway, enough of my rambling. I have to get back to work and write some reviews about professional ramblers.

My name is Maples and I am one of the editors here at Rhapsody. Contrary to what you might have heard, we aren't all music geeks that hold our noses at any music except the hippest new band. No sir, that's not me.

I'm glad we cleared that up.

But I have been known to find a song that says something to me and play it over and over. Ad nauseum. Until my friends, neighbors, acquaintances, therapist and vinyl beg me to stop. Fortunately, in this digital age, there is no more vinyl to make suffer. However, I've still been known to overload my player once or twice...or 10 times.

Besides the previously linked song from the great new band Margot and the Nuclear So and So's, I've also been overplaying "The Funeral" by Band of Horses and this omnipresent song.

Other classic songs that I've hit play a couple million times include an early one by Freedy Johnston,  one of the most bitter happy songs ever recorded, and the song that reminds me of an old apartment with wide open views of my adopted city.

Part of my job is to listen to new stuff, so I'm not able to feed the one-track fetish as much as I normally would, so I probably can tell you more about the new Built To Spill, Gomez or Tim Easton than I would otherwise. I guess that's cool.

by Sam Chennault

What up world.  My name is Sam Chennault and I'm Rhapsody's hip-hop/soul editor. Before coming here, I wrote for a variety of magazines and papers -- almost always about urban music. Feel free to google me or check out my own blog right here.

Album of the year:

This is the album that I've been waiting for since 9/11. Honestly, I almost felt betrayed by the fact that the Coup (hip-hop's foremost political flamethrowers) have remained quiet these past five years as our country's political situation has spun out of control.  These days, everyone has jumped on the hate-Bush bandwagon, most notably former Dubya supporter Neil Young. And why not? It's easy when even the right is calling for his disposal.

But where were these guys when we needed them four years ago? If you weren't living in SF or Manhattan, then you probably could've used some solidarity back then.

I can only think of a handful that were brave enough to challenge Bush's war on terrorism in 2001 or 2002, chief among them is this track:

Mr. Lif, Home of the Brave

I interviewed Mr. Lif a couple of years back and he said that he debuted this song not four months after 9/11 and just blocks from the WTC. That takes balls. Funny how Michael Moore stole all his ideas from this for that little documentary that came out a couple years ago.

Here's another one:

Sage Francis, Makeshift Patriot

Dude's flow needs some serious work, but you have to hand it to Sage for sticking his neck out there so early in the game.

And I'll leave you with what is perhaps the greatest political song to come out post-Katrina:

"Get Ya Hustle On [Explicit Album Version]" - Juvenile

Apocolyptic N.O. bounce. Crescent City native Juve is frustrated, disoriented and angry, and this track reflects all those emotions. Maybe the What's Going On for cats with diamond grills. I've debated with my friends about the viability of Juvenile's message. He's suggested slinging yayo as a way to escape post-Katrina poverty. Yeah, maybe it's morally reckless and socially irresponsible, but I see it as a Mookie moment (Do the Right Thing for cats that's slow). It doesn't make much sense on paper and seems out of place, but it's appropriate given the context.

One other thing...

My sister, who visited me this week, told me about an episode of Cribs were Master P led the cameraman to lake was adjacent to his mansion and told duke that he liked to come out here and "think about things."

I instantly imagined him sitting on a pier and grunting "uggghhh....uggghh" to himself as the sun set over the water and world revolved.

Anyway, you can listen to my Master P interview, where he disses Bow Wow, right here.

I'll get around to the rest of Tim's suggested lists for my next blog entry, but this should give you a good idea of what I'm about.

...To the show that never ends. Really, this musical universe is expanding faster than the Milky Way on Cialis. And here I am, riding high on the sweaty, bucking bronco that is rock n roll.

That's me, Jonathan Zwickel, Rock/Pop Producer at Rhapsody.com.

I'm gonna tell you right now that although rock pays the bills, it's not the only card in my hand. I play with a loaded deck of indie and oldie, funk, soul, and hip-hop, reggae, dub, outernational, electronica, and weird, unlikely combinations of them all. And there's no game I like better than 52 Pickup. I'll certainly deal some good ol rock n roll for you kids, but beware the unpredictables I might toss in when the mood strikes.

For instance, betcha never heard Dutch deep-funk fivepiece Lefties Soul Connection.

Their medly of the Isley Bros' "It's Your Thing" and the Meters' "Hey A Pocky Way" sounds like it was scraped off a Memphis juke joint floor in 1968, but it's fresh from Amsterdam, circa 2005. The roots of the roots, pulled up and taken back to the future.

And for those of you fiending for righteous riffage, here's my nomination for Riff of the Year (So Far): the opening strains of Built to Spill's "Conventional Wisdom" from the just-released You in Reverse.  Best listened to home alone in your underwear, broom in hand,  windmill-strumming madly.

By Tim Quirk

Name: Tim Quirk

Job: Executive Editor, Rhapsody

What I did before Rhapsody: I was in a band called Too Much Joy.

Welcome to Pop-Ed, the Rhapsody Staff Blog. If you don't know what Rhapsody is, you can learn more here, and hopefully that will be the one and only commercial for the service, as this blog isn’t designed to sell you anything.

The purpose of this blog is to obsess about music: music we love, music we hate, music we've changed our minds about, music we don’t feel strongly about one way or the other but that was on our minds this morning because of something we read, or saw on TV, or overheard somebody talking about.