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Mark Olson & Gary Louris
Ready For the Flood

At one time or another there were a dozen-odd musicians who called themselves Jayhawks, but to listen to the early, defining dispatches from the band -- a self-titled 1985 collection that barely saw daylight; another, Blue Earth, which was little more than gussied-up demos -- it's clear that the essence of that band was the partnership of singer-songwriters Mark Olson and Gary Louris. On those early, hasty recordings, the reedy, telepathic harmonies nimbly tumble between melody and harmony so intimately that you lose track of which is which. The Jayhawks -- what the diehards consider the real Jayhawks -- is the sound of that partnership, which goes down to the bones. Even if their testaments to false love and small town funerals were sung by young men who fancied themselves old and wise (the most depressing commonality of the No Depression movement they fathered), the authenticity in their partnership was the genuine article; it kicked up the dust of Gram Parsons to stir what would become the other flannel shirt movement of the '90s: alt country.

About halfway down the half page of scrawl I took home from last night’s performance of the McCoy Tyner trio with Marc Ribot is a note that made perfect sense at the time. It says, “This is the difference between what is and what should be.” In the clear light of the morning, the stoner epiphany of that sentence seems exactly like the kind of thing you write down during a drug experience -- something so urgent, that life’s needle comes scratching off the record and you have to write it down immediately, fearing that your square, sober self will let the newly discovered answer to life’s mystery slip away. When you wake up the next day, head pounding and tongue thick, it’s happened again: the sagacious wisdom has melted into a bit of nonsense like “this is the difference between what is and what should be.”

Rachel: So, MTV's Total Request Live is set to end its 10-year run, airing its final episode this Friday and a good-bye bash on November 16. In honor of the long-running request show, Rhapsody's Rock editor, Nate Cavalieri, and our Pop editor (that would be yours truly, Rachel Devitt) decided to have a little conversation about its legacy, which I, poptimist that I am, think is fairly significant. Nate is a bit more cynical, however. And off we go.

OK, yes, one of TRL's most significant "gifts" to the world has been Carson Daly (seriously, can we regift that one?), but I also think the show has carved out -- and deserves -- a special place in music history. It's been host to lots of important pop cultural events: the beginnings of the boy band phenomenon; Mariah's popsicle-laden meltdown/striptease; the first official report of Britney Spears's split from K-Fed. For a good chunk of its run, TRL was an important barometer of popular culture. Not to mention it's been one of the only places you can actually see, uh, music videos on the music video network (even if they aren't full clips).

Nate: Rachel, if I wake up on Christmas morning to find a wobbling refrigerator box that stinks of Axe body spray, I'm re-regifting Carson right back to you. I'll go along for the ride that TRL deserves a special place in the annals of pop culture, but, at the risk of coming off like a curmudgeonly fishing buddy of Walter Matthau, the cancellation of the show was a mercy killing after so many years of TRL hobbling along like a crippled old nag. Sure, it made waves during its short and juicy peak, but, like the cast of twits that dominated its charts – the thrill was quickly gone. Its place in the pop-culture scrap heap is somewhere near the Star Trek franchise – enormously popular, increasingly wretched and ultimately unwatchable. As for it being the only place on MTV to see actual music videos, sure, maybe if the video was number one. But if it wasn't number one, they only played part of it! I know but slogging through an entire three-minute video is rough, but, sigh, I want the M back in MTV!

A few years ago, I interviewed the Dodos, a San Francisco duo who was, at that time, trying to keep their heads during the disorienting situation that befalls a band who's being vigorously courted by record labels. We parked on the sidewalk of a café in the Mission District as the singer, Meric Long, spoke about the most bewildering gig he'd ever played, a few weeks prior, in the board room of a Manhattan skyscraper, to an audience of record industry decision-makers. For a musician of Long's pedigree -- a vet of San Francisco's indie songwriter scene who pens unapologetically nervy, decidedly un-commercial songs -- his obvious discomfort about the situation was evident then, and even more so when they issued their first LP on a reputable small independent label, French Kiss. The situation with the Dodos office gig was on the brain yesterday, sitting in a conference room on the 48th floor of a building near the chaotic center of Times Square (where Rhapsody's New York office makes its home) when Ryan Star strode in, guitar in hand, dressed in faded black, buttressed by a small trio of nervous, doting label operatives.  

Fans of any '60s icon share a similar gripe: the legacy of too many great artists is inextricably tied to too few of their songs in heavy rotation on oldies stations. These select tracks get played and played out, and eventually even the lifelong Beatles fan reaches for the dial during the third daily course of "Yellow Submarine." Today, I cued up the Four Tops after reading about the passing of the band's leader, Levi Stubbs, who died in his sleep in his Detroit home at the age of 72, and was reminded about how this predicament is particularly hard on the stable of artists from '60s Motown: The Jackson 5 is relegated to "I'll Be There"; Stevie Wonder, a Motown artist with as deep and wide-ranging catalog of any, is on three times an afternoon with "For Once in My Life." For the Four Tops, the heavy-rotation hits come between 1964's "Baby, I Need Your Loving" and their final Top 10 in 1973, "Ain't No Woman (Like the One I've Got)." Of the handful of stuff between these bookends, some, like The Big Chill-approved "It's the Same Old Song," represent Motown's streamlined mainstream operation. Others, like "Reach Out, I'll Be There," speak to the group's power in the studio. But it's the outlying, oddly successful hit "Bernadette," a tune that is among their most popular and their most enduring, that best demonstrates Stubbs' power as a performer. It's the rare example of a heavy-rotation hit that lives up to its responsibilities. 

You can have your Dirty South and maybe even your DC Hardcore -- but when it comes to most rank and file rock 'n' roll, American regionalist associations are pretty dicey. There's Seattle of the '90s or Detroit of the '00s, and sh*t, even sniveling Omaha. Yet, when it comes to similarities in the way things actually sound? It rarely comes out in the wash (heard Screaming Trees and Alice in Chains lately?). It was on the brain a lot last week when the long-withheld digital release of Kid Rock went live in Rhapsody. Even if his late career more resembles the beer-bloated aggrandizing of Southern rockers like .38 Special than the MC5, Kid Rock makes much of his Michigan roots.

In scenes with, well, a scene, the glue always seems to be influential figureheads -- something that might be more embodied these days by hip-hop producers. In that way, the recent collection of singles by Memphis garage-rock riser Jay Reatard firmly proves the exception of Memphis' rock legacy. It’s a record that's not only sonically, stylistically concordant with the city's vibrant underground rock scene, but one that shows the long-lasting influence of the people who built it.

[Click the "Continue Reading..." link to listen to a playlist featuring the music discussed in this post.]

It’s Friday at rush hour, and the show has only begun on the N Judah train line. Regular commuters clutch their briefcases, terrified, as a crowd of rowdy interlopers -- many in cowboy shirts, many in no shirts at all -- pack the car. The route is headed toward Golden Gate Park, where the eighth annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival commenced this afternoon, and two of the car's more enthusiastic riders are stone-giddy about the opening day headliner: "Robert f*ck*ng Plant, man," one says to the other in the blown-mind inflection that's the universal dialect of the three-day event. San Francisco might host a slew other open-air music festivals, but Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, a multi-stage festival of roots rock, country and bluegrass (paid for by San Francisco venture capitalist Warren Hellman) is probably the one that most accurately reflects the eccentricities of its host city. Starting with Robert f*ck*ng Plant.

At a glance, last night's performance by Argentinean/Swede folk phenom Jose Gonzalez wasn't much to see: the final set of a two-day, sold-out stand at Yoshi's in Oakland, CA, mostly featured Gonzalez at center stage, hunched over a nylon-string guitar. Sitting between a heavy red curtain and a curious mix of the jazz club's typical chardonnay-and-maki crowd and reverent doe-eyed fans, he was occasionally buttressed by singer Yukimi Nagamo and percussionist Erik Bodin. There was almost no banter ("This song," he said in the honeyed shush of a yoga instructor, "is about tribalism") and few frills beyond those inherent in Gonzalez's faux-traditional Brazilian finger-picking and melancholic evocation of Joao Gilberto. Even the setlist -- drawn from his similarly elegant, bare pair of albums and scattered with new material -- didn't raise eyebrows, save for a forceful cover of Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" that was trotted out for an encore. But, Gonzalez demonstrated that he's one of the most commanding songwriters of recent years by achieving the difficult task of what architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe called "an interesting plainness." The set also made it plainly apparent, and never more serenely unobjectionable, that Gonzalez, is also someone who thrives in an industry that's seen the death of the album-based career. He could be the poster child of its passing.

It seems like everyone has one of those records, the album that caught them in crosshairs, at just the right moment. Usually the providence of 15-year-olds, it's some piece of music that connects in a nervy, serendipitous, oversized way to become not only a favorite, but a bellwether for life itself -- from personal style and social appointment. In a recent interview with Brian Wilson we talked about his, the Ronettes' "Be My Baby," a tune that he listened to obsessively as a youth and claims changed his life. For me, the moment came standing in (now defunct) Blue Moon Records, Traverse City, Michigan, with the Jayhawks' Hollywood Town Hall on the earphones. Taking in the sleeve -- black and white photos of a band that oozed nerd-tough, corduroy-sheathed Midwesterness, liner notes by Joe Henry (brilliant in themselves, you can read them on a similarly obsessed fan's Myspace profile here) -- I was no longer doomed to the fate of a rudderless, pimple-crusted teenager at the insufferable whims of the program director at Z-93 "Rock of Mid-Michigan."  I was born again. All I needed was that record and a new (used) corduroy jacket.

by Nate Cavalieri

An interview with Brian Wilson is best likened to a rickety thrill ride at the county fair: approached with some apprehension, experienced in a jarring haste and over in a blink. I recently had the chance to dial up Wilson and chat about the record he released this week, That Lucky Old Sun, a portrait of the southern California of Wilsons' youth. For the devoted, it's a sight better than most of the elder Beach Boy's late-day fare thanks to the heavy hand of arranger Van Dyke Parks and the carefully calibrated sentimentalism of Scott Bennett's lyrics.

by Nate Cavalieri

Some information about Beach Boy Dennis Wilson's lost and lone solo album Pacific Ocean Blue popped up in January in Rolling Stone, and for a brief moment, there was even a video of one of the record's tracks, "River Song," floating around YouTube. Even so, we didn't really understand the full-bore, imminent radness of the re-release until hearing a couple of tracks on Buddyhead (they were swiftly removed). The post justly gushes about the reissue and features an interview with the record's producer Gregg Jakobson. In any case, the anticipation is reaching a fever pitch, and we have the re-release date of June 17 circled and underlined in big, bold marker on our calender.

Kill the oppressive boredom of the days between now and then by observing hirsute MTV personality Mark Goodman interview Brian and Carl backstage at Live Aid in 1985, or listening to Shuggie Otis' once-lost now-rescued classic Inspiration Information.

by Nate Cavalieri

Sneaking a listen from the earphones of Gary Lucas is exciting -- among his many accomplishments, the man was the former guitarist in Captain Beefheart's Magic Band and a collaborator of Jeff Buckley. We recently solicited a playlist from Lucas, which turned out to be an eclectic genre-hopping romp though acid jazz, folk singers and Afropop. You can listen to the playlist here, but equally illuminating was Lucas' track-by-track commentary, which we've included after the jump.

by Nate Cavalieri

According to a report by Reuters, the results of a survey taken by Jacobs Media found that "if you are male and a Led Zeppelin fan, chances are you may be leaning toward voting Republican in the U.S. presidential election." Certainly curious inbox fodder for those about to rock, but a close look finds that summary to be a bit misleading, and the fine print analysis to be downright alarming.

by Nate Cavalieri

(Or: Big Mac Attack: Michael McDonald @ NYC's Blue Note)

The day after the release of Michael McDonald's Soul Speak, the silver-haired Doobie brought selections of his latest album of covers to a two-night stand at New York City's Blue Note, performing a set that left your correspondents in a state of flustered, disoriented awe. Here, we recap the evening, note by sweet, soul-stirring note.

7:40: Squeeze into packed Blue Note. Electricity, scent of Elizabeth Taylor's "White Diamonds" in the air. Audience members find their seats, occasionally vocalizing their excitement in McDonaldesque falsetto "OOOOOHs."  At our shared table, a woman orders chardonnay and expresses disappointment in Rudy Giuliani's failed presidential bid.

by Nate Cavalieri

(Real-life political musicians)

After so much feverish lead-up -- IM squabbles concerning the details of John McCain's heroism, will.i.am duets with Obama circulating YouTube, and "I don't usually send emails like this" messages from otherwise politically indifferent friends -- it was two relatively trivial events of Super Tuesday that left an odd taste on Back-to-Usual Wednesday. Don't laugh: the release of Jack Johnson's Static Through the Silence and Sheryl Crow's Detours.

by Nate Cavalieri

The more we reflect on the year in rock, the more it feels like a long afternoon spent at the multiplex. There were well-anticipated (if only occasionally) satisfying blockbusters, nubile starlets debuting in breakthrough roles, and a sprinkling of art-house crossovers. Like sequels to our favorite flicks, the parade of marquee reunions offered both spine-tingling and unsightly results. The year's other rock-related stories, like Phil Spector's trial, Van Halen's roller coaster and the lumbering maneuvers of the record industry, were chock-full of surprise endings. Here are the top 10 memorable rock'n'roll moments of 2007.

by Nate Cavalieri

After hearing the news about songwriter Dan Fogelberg, who lost his battle with cancer yesterday, it seemed appropriate to cue up his essential hit, "Leader of the Band." Fogelberg wrote it about being the "living legacy" of his father, a community bandleader in Peoria, Illinois, and put it square in the middle of what would ultimately be his career-defining album, 1981's The Innocent Age.             

by Nate Cavalieri

In the past year, I've discovered there are only two albums in my collection that appease the fairly random (and fairly opinionated) assortment of characters who tend to wind up at my house for a makeshift get-togethers. The first ain't no hen's tooth: Michael Jackson's Thriller. Bored to tears? Sorry, but some 25 years after its release, that album's mix of pleasures is still palpable – whether as an ironic cultural book replete with white linen suits, Vincent Price and tiger cubs, or as a genuine double-sided testament to the peak of titans of the era's pop music: Quincy Jones, and MJ. (Macca and Eddie Van are hardly slouching either, actually.) If thinking about Thriller doesn't suit you, fine, just move the coffee table and dance.

by Nate Cavalieri

A mere fraction of Rhapsody's West Coast cadre made the trek to CMJ this year, and while I used the opportunity to stay home, catch up on some knitting, and chuckle ruefully about missing the inebriated, usually unsuccessful quest to see bands with names like Dragons of Zynth or Jay Retard, I did feel a stab of jealousy about those lucky witnesses to the Friday night show at The Delancy. After a warm-up set by multi-instrumentalist Cale Parks (who has made some pretty amazing records as a member of Aloha and on his own as a solo artist) one of my favorite Chicago bands, The Narrator, played until the wheels came off. Reading the review in Stereogum (here) or the wasted post-show interview with bassist James Barron (here) makes me think that the show alone might have been worth the the trip.

by Nate Cavalieri

The only thing that brightens the grim 12-hour flight (coach, middle seat of five) from London to San Francisco other than United Airline's discerning cinematic programming (Tell It To Me, Live Free Or Die Hard, Knocked Up and, last and least, License To Wed - a film nearly as vapid as my conversation with star Mandy Moore, posted here on Rhapsody) is the transatlantic 32-hour day. Compelled - nay obligated! - to scratch off something from the "if there was only more time in the day" list, I spent those four bonus hours as any card-carrying rockist would - soothing frayed nerves with a handful of Solpadeine Max and the recently reissued and expanded Traveling Wilburys catalogue. 

by Nate Cavalieri

Even though the category for "Monster Single of the Year" has some infectious tunes, we can't help but feel as if a few favorites from last year got left out in the cold. We saw one such monster first hand when Peter, Bjorn and John played Rhapsody's SXSW party and "Young Folks" made folks squeal like children on a pony ride. (See and hear the performance for yourself right here.) But, given the stiff competition (go Avril! She is, like, so whatever!), it's small wonder PB&J were overlooked. If the most competitive VMA category seems abridged, here are a few neglected monsters from the past year.

MONSTER SINGLE: Kelis, "Bossy"
BREED: Here-comes-trouble Monster
SECOND COUSINS WITH:Madonna, "Material Girl"; Lil' Kim, "Magic Stick"
We had a feeling that Kelis was sex-on-wheels with "Milkshake," but this single, co-written by Too $hort, inspires cold sweats. Plus, it's the sassy answer to 50 Cent's "Piggy Bank." Icy!

by Nate Cavalieri

Even though Carrie Underwood's 2006 debut went platinum six-times over (for selling roughly a ba-jillion records) the American Idol star and recently-announced CMA Nominee is still an odd duck in the "Best New Artist" category. Not only does her pearly white mainstream styling make an odd contrast to lovably scruffy indie nominees like Peter, Bjorn and John and Gym Class Heroes, but the clean-livin' "Jesus Take The Wheel" ethos makes her a comparative candy striper next to the other ferocious ladies on the list. Oh yeah, and she sings COUNTRY.

by Nate Cavalieri

That coyly-spelled title is a little silly, but with its big beat guitars and relentlessly catchy chorus, Fall Out Boy's "Thnks Fr Th Mmrs" is a worthy pick for the nomination of Monster Single of the Year. (Plus, the video for the tune continues the long-honored tradition of monkeys in pop music that was started with Michael Jackson and diaper-clad Bubbles.) Fall Out Boy's ascent to the top also brings more mainstream attention to the once-fringe emo subgenre…

by Nate Cavalieri

The din of rumors about Britney's appearance at the VMAs is only growing louder, and though it's unconfirmed by our pals at MTV, the gadflies are suggesting that the former pop queen might use an appearance to buoy her image. Truth be told, with all the malicious stories, unsightly tabloid headlines, and unfortunate haircuts, we're rooting for Britney to pull it together. Looking over the list of past VMA champs, she's not the only one who could use a publicity stunt to bring them back from the edge of that scary place called Has-Been-Landia. We put together this list of acts we'd most like to see mount a comeback…or plant one on Madonna!

1.) Living Colour "Cult of Personality" Best Group Video, 1989

• We'd chew our arm out of a bear trap to hear this Body Glove-favoring band's rumored 2007 release.   Chances are, it'll be no Vivid, but we can dream.

2.) Salt-N-Pepa & En Vogue "Whatta ManBest R&B Video" Best R&B Video, Best Choreography, 1994

by Nate Cavalieri

Though the Justin/Beyonce dance-off sounds intriguing (we got 15-to-1 odds on Ms. Knowels) the showdown we've been waiting for is happening in the Best New Artist Category between the two feisty brunettes from across the drink: Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen. As entertaining as its been to watch their rivalry splattered across British tabloids, we feel a little bad for Lily, whose record is like a wittier, sassier, double-x chromosome version of our favorite Streets LP from way back. Even so, poor Lily seems a bit outmatched against the chain-smokin', hair-teasin', tattoo-sportin', soul-hollerin' Winehouse (who, as hard as we try, always makes us just want to listen to a real super soul sista and former Rutger's Island prison guard Sharon Jones).

by Nate Cavalieri

THE GOOD!

• Band of Horses put down the bong and finish another record!
  Under the all-caps title "RECORD IS DONE!!!" Band of Horses, runners-up of the hotly-debated Rhapsody year-end staff poll for 2006's Everything All The Time, might finally issue a follow up. "That's right folks," reads the myspace blog. "That little bastard's in the can and soon will be set free on the Sub Pop record label. We're looking at doing that sometime in October if CD's and Records still exsist [SIC] in 4 months."

by Nate Cavalieri

Sure, sure, better late than never, but it's still a drag to come so overdue to a pair of wonderful, somewhat recent, vaguely-related records many months after their release. Start with You're Making It Come Alive, a LP of immaculate, slightly skuzzy pop from Brooklyn's The End of the World that'll draw quick, if not entirely just, comparisons to other post-Velvets in the Spoon/Strokes camp. But with tunes like the "Party's Over" -- a late night frustrado jam decorated with sagging balloons and hand-wringing hipster sweethearts -- the band deserves better. What might be the better half of "Party's Over," the opening "Crowded Rooms" has tons of loner charm, and, like pretty much everything else that follows, uses the croon of singer/sometimes-guitarist/drummer-when-he-has-to-be Stefan Marolachakis to take your heart out with a spork. At a recent San Francisco show with the Narrator, Marolachakis even pulled off a rare feat with the singing drummer thing -- even though he was on double duty the tunes actually felt good.