In Which the Keyboardist from Lucero Moves in With Us

When Rick Steff moves in with us, he’s immediately upset that we called him a keyboardist to his face. He thinks that the term “keyboardist” has negative connotations related to synthesizers and keytars and Casios, and insists that we call him Lucero’s pianist, organist and occasional accordionist. We oblige.

We offer him the couch (pretty comfy) or an air mattress, but he chooses to sleep on the floor on a dingy mat he keeps rolled up in his travel bag. I ask if sleeping on hard surfaces is good for his back or something, and he doesn’t answer.

Burn Out And Fade Away: Elvis in Concert

Around these parts, we like to write about Elvis Presley on the occasion of his birthday. Whereas in the past we’ve recommended some music and ranked his movies, this year we’re going to take a darker turn. To mark the King’s 78th birthday yesterday, we’ll discuss Elvis in Concert, a CBS TV special (and soundtrack) showing footage from two of the handful of Presley’s final concerts, June 19 and 21, 1977, in Omaha and Rapid City. Elvis’s last concert took place in Indianapolis June 26 and he died on August 16.

If you’re so inclined, you can listen to the album here.

Now That’s What the Dilemma Calls Music 2012!

Happy New Year, PCHA-ers!

It’s time once again to present my annual mix modeled after the abysmal Now That’s What I Call Music series.

As always, this mix is not intended to be a pure rundown of the best songs of the year — it’s a mix of the best songs of the year run through my own “Now”-style filter. These are the hit singles that play on the imaginary radio station in my alternate universe where people have good taste. So it’s a CD-length (approximately) playlist of my favorite songs of 2012, heavily weighted toward the upbeat, the singles and the songs I played over and over again throughout the year.

Forthwith, the music.

Merry Christmas, PCHA-ers!

Good tidings etc etc

Three-Minute Records: Do They Know It’s Christmas?

Three-Minute Records is a periodic feature at Pop Culture Has AIDS where we take a closer look at great, notable or interesting songs in pop music history.

“Do They Know It’s Christmas?” is perfectly emblematic of both its time and its genre — those being the mid-’80s and charity celebrity supergroup one-offs, respectively.

It’s also one of the handful of best Christmas songs ever, and at turns stirring and hilarious. It’s pompous, overblown and lovely. It features one of the most fascinating groups of musicians to ever get in a room or appear on a track together. Let’s all watch and listen, then meet back here for a quick chat, OK?

2 Idiots Discuss: The Year in Music

“OK, I think by now we’ve established that everything is inherently worthless/And there’s nothing in the universe with any kind of objective purpose” — Titus Andronicus

Thanks for summing up the year in music, Titus!

2 Idiots Watch: The 12-12-12 Concert

Anytime a concert features Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Kanye West, the Rolling Stones, Eddie Vedder and The Who, it’s a Pop Culture Has AIDS bylaw that we have to watch it together and live blog it. Since one of us is in Peru and the other has a newborn, that’s easier said than done. But we persevered. We made it through almost six hours of dinosaur rock to bring you our trenchant insight and analysis.

Will The Dilemma be totally in the bag for aging classic rockers? Will David Simon Cowell misdirect his classist political rage? Will we viciously turn on New York City firefighters like a small but efficient pack of wolves.  Will the prospect of a reunited Nirvana with Paul McCartney replacing Kurt Cobain kill us dead? Read on, friends.

2 Idiots Draft: The Rolling Stones 50th Anniversary Mix

In all the hoopla around The Rolling Stones 50th Anniversary Marketing Extravaganza Sell-A-Thon (copyright Richards/Jagger, all rights reserved), something may have been lost… the music. While the crass commercialism of The Stones third act now has stretched into its fourth decade (Jesus, take them), all of this tedious hype rests on a great catalog of music, the vast (vast, vast) majority of which was made in the band’s first 15 years.

Make no mistake… in pop culture’s most tedious debate (Beatles vs. Stones), P.C.H.A. is on the Stones side. Which makes every time they pop their heads out of their country estates to refill their already overflowing coffers that much more painful. But, nothing salves a wound like a fantasy draft. So, in honor of their 50th anniversary (with a remarkably stable lineup to boot), we’re going to pick 25 songs each (don’t worry… we’ll keep the commentary brief), and see who can come up with the best collection. First up: David Simon Cowell.

Stupid-Ass Comment Of The Day

Forget about silly ol’ Barack Obama.  Myanmar (the country formerly known as Burma) has a much more exciting guest on the way.  On the heels of the first visit by a U.S. President, they will host their first outdoor concert by an international star.  And, since the stage is at the base of a Buddhist religious site, who else could it be besides Jason Mraz (OK, I guess it could also be Jack Johnson)?

Don’t worry, human rights advocates, the show is sponsored by MTV EXIT (said by Politico to raises awareness about human trafficking, although where Jersey Shore in Italy fits into that isn’t addressed).  And it’s clear that Mr. Mraz has a good handle on modern slavery.

“I thought this was something that was abolished when Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, but all it did is become hidden from our view.”

Oh, Jason.  Although thanks for serving as a good illustration of U.S. myopia.  And also for throwing in some solid business advice.

“There was a recent estimate that there are about 27 million people enslaved on the planet, certainly due to hard economic times not just in the Western world but certainly in Third World countries. Humans as a commodity is a great way to run your business.”

Thanks, bro.  We’ll keep that in mind.

Three-Minute Records: Champaign, Illinois

Three-Minute Records is a periodic feature at Pop Culture Has AIDS where we take a closer look at great, notable or interesting songs in pop music history.

By any considered measure, The Old 97′s are declining as recording musicians. Their career to date forms an almost-perfect bell curve, with early albums Too Fare to Care and Wreck Your Life building to their peak of Fight Songs and the impeccable Satellite Rides. Then, as Rhett Miller started doing double duty as a solo artist (his solo albums peaked at the same time as the band, then instantly began declining), the Old 97′s albums suffered, with each post-Rides album representing a step down from the prior release.

This narrative fits how we think of musicians today — that they build to an early peak and then become stagnant or overreach. It’s too neat a story, though, and one that doesn’t fit nearly as many bands as we’d like it to. That would, after all, make it a lot easier on us because we could then apply a simple pattern to the way we think about art.

The Year I Embraced Nostalgia Tours

OK, the post title is a little misleading, for two reasons:

1) I’ve never had a huge problem with nostalgia tours, certainly not when compared to David Simon Cowell.

2) The tours I’ve embraced have not all been pure nostalgia-based; some have been laced with new material.

But the larger point remains: in the just the last couple months, I’ve seen a cadre of artists who either reunited after long hiatuses or returned to earlier material for the first time in a while:

• Jane’s Addiction at The Aragon Ballroom
• At The Drive-In at Lollapalooza
• Afghan Whigs at Lollapalooza
• Archers of Loaf at the Bottom Lounge
• Bruce Springsteen at Wrigley Field
• Bob Mould at the Metro

And without exception, all were legitimately fantastic shows…shows that comfortably stand alongside those by artists currently in their prime that I’ve seen seen this year, including Japandroids, Fucked Up, Gaslight Anthem, and JEFF the Brotherhood.

Bob Mould at the Metro, bathed in an unearthly glow

The Dilemma Vs. The Top 40 III: Rise of the Machines

All important works of art come in trilogies. That’s an undisputed fact. Ali and Frazier fought three times. Tolkien wrote three Lord of the Rings books. David Bowie recorded three Berlin albums with Brian Eno. They made three Mighty Ducks movies.

And now I’m back to take on Billboard’s Top 40 pop songs for a third time.

I won’t lie: last year’s epic battle left me thoroughly bludgeoned. I think the Top 40 beat me. And two years of doing this has left me an empty shell of a man. I hear phantom AutoTuning and bland country music when I’m lying awake at night in a silent house. I feat that LMFAO or Blake Shelton are going to jump me in dark alleys and make me listen to their songs. But like all true heroes and champions — like Roger Clemens and Lance Armstrong — I’m making a comeback. I’m going to win this year. This is my time. The third act will be my hour of glory.

I’ve spent some time in the wilderness, gathering strength. I’m even less up-to-date on popular music than I was at this time a year ago. But I am fucking ready.

A reminder of the rules: For the third consecutive year, I will listen to all of Billboard’s Top 40 pop songs consecutively in one excruciating sitting, counting down from 40 to 1. I have not looked ahead at the countdown. I have no prior knowledge of what awaits me in the hours to come. I will simply start at #40, press play, then scroll up. I suffer for you.

Alcoholize Me: The Lucero Project

All credit for the idea for this post goes to our pal Stephen Malkmus Motherfucker, who had a flash of inspiration while watching Lucero play a (great) free show at a Chicago street festival a few weeks ago. He suggested a documentary in the vein of Supersize Me, but instead of eating three supersized McDonald’s meals every day for a month, you have to live out the lyrics of a different Lucero song every day for a month. The effect on your body will probably be similarly unhealthy.

The Memphis band famously write songs about a rough, boozy and smoke-filled life, and if I had to guess, I would say that some of the band members live what they write.

Thirty days. A different Lucero song as your guide each day. (Actually, now that I think about it, David Simon Cowell may have attempted this exact feat when he visited from The Other America this summer. He just didn’t have a film crew capture it all for posterity.)

How would a Supersize Me-like documentary about living out Lucero songs look? Probably like this…

Correlation/Causation and The People’s List

OK, I guess we need to talk about The People’s List. I guess we can’t avoid it any longer.

As with most things Pitchfork does, The People’s List has pissed off a lot of Internet folk. There have been complaints that the list doesn’t include enough women or non-whites, that the list is too predictable, and that THE PEOPLE are kind of morons. Or no wait, The People’s List is the hallmark of a revolution!

I think that The People’s List suffers from the same flaws that nearly all online lists and polls have, and therein lies the great disappointment.

Because Pitchfork readers — and by extension, indie music fans — are supposed to be different. They’re supposed to be better.

Don’t Cry Vs. Don’t Cry: The Ultimate Showdown

Recently, much to my amazement, I learned that David Simon Cowell prefers the original version of Guns N’ Roses “Don’t Cry,” which appeared on Use Your Illusion I, to the alt lyrics version, which appeared on Use Your Illusion II.

We’ve addressed the Use Your Illusions before, but it’s worth noting that the inclusion of two musically identical versions of the same song with different lyrics on albums released simultaneously is the ultimate example of the pomposity and vanity that defined Guns N’ Roses in the early ’90s.

As I wrote back then:

The alt lyrics are vastly superior to the original. Lyrics were never GNR’s strong suit, but… “Give me a whisper/And give me a sign/Give me a kiss before you/tell me goodbye”? Yuuuuck.

Correct, slightly younger Dilemma! But let’s break it down some more.

Lollapalooza Recap: Saturday and Sunday

Saturday

I don’t believe in omens. I’m not a crackpot, you guys.

But riding the red line down to Lollapalooza Saturday afternoon, I started to get a very bad feeling as dark thunderclouds rolled in from the west and my train filled up with shirtless drunk bros wearing Native American headdresses for some reason. I blasted my headphones to try to drown out their idiotic banter and tried not to think about the mud pit Grant Park would turn into after the storms blew through.

Lollapalooza Recap: Friday

“I’m getting too old for this shit!” — Danny Glover

HA HA HA HA HA! Hilarious, original and timely reference…right, you guys? Nailed it, basically.

Seriously, though, I’m getting too old for this shit.

As I wake up Saturday morning, my feet hurt, my legs hurt, my ass hurts and I feel like a baked potato, sun- and dehydration wise. My soul doesn’t hurt yet, but we’ve got a couple days to go.

I made my triumphant return to Lollapalooza yesterday, for the first time since Kanye West’s closing set in 2008. Accompanied by the Musky Canadian, I was just a man and his will to survive. Here’s my tale.

The Walkmen Achieve the Improbable

Little inspires dread in music fans than one of their favorite artists experiencing one of these three things: getting sober, getting religion, or getting a family.

All three life transitions usually indicate an artist is about to go in a new musical direction, inspired by their acuity and happiness. Unfortunately, that newfound direction is almost certain to be boring. In rock and roll, contentment is the enemy of excitement. Religion usually leads to jamminess and self-righteousness (see: Bob Dylan’s Slow Train Coming), sobriety usually leads to a softening of necessary rough edges (see: The Hold Steady’s Heaven is Whenever), and marriage and/or kids, worst of all, usually leads to flat-out boredom (Springsteen/Human Touch). On the flip side, the best albums are often written in the throes of divorce, addiction and godlessness.

Which brings us to The Walkmen.

The domesticated Walkmen

Heaven, The Walkmen’s new album, finds the band married, in the fatherly way, and happy with their lives. But instead of spelling disaster, these developments have led to their best album thus far.

The Best Same-Named Songs & Movies

What is the best combination of film and song that share the same name? Now, I’m not talking about combinations where the song appears on the movie’s soundtrack (Purple Rain, Who’s That Girl?) or instances where the film was clearly named after the song (Blue Velvet) or vice versa (Badlands). I’m only interested in songs and movies that have absolutely nothing to do with each other except a shared title. Which great pieces of art serendipitously shared a name? Let’s find out.

Disqualified!

My Name’s Yauch and I’m Throwing the Yolk

 

23 years ago today, Paul’s Boutique kicked off one of the biggest transformations in any hip hop group’s career. Since we are still officially in The Year of Mourning MCA, we must commemorate the occasion.

 

 

 

Shut (Klosterman) Up and Play the Hits

Last week, I caught a midnight screening of Shut Up and Play the Hits, Will Lovelace and Dylan Southern’s documentary capturing LCD Soundsystem’s final concert in Madison Square Garden and the ensuing day, as James Murphy makes his peace with the end of his band.

The late-night crowd, replete with LCD fans, was enthusiastic and the screening was entertaining.

The film itself nicely captured that swan-song performance as well as Murphy’s sadness and satisfaction in its aftermath. Any film featuring a full-length performance of “All My Friends” and a crowd-surfing Aziz Ansari has a lot going for it right out of the gate. But the documentary isn’t perfect.

A few minutes in, Murphy sits by himself at a café waiting to be interviewed, on what appears to be the day of the final show. His interrogator walks in, sits down, and begins talking…

Every Rolling Stones Album Ranked

Last week marked the 50th birthday of The Rolling Stones. Not the guys in the band, the band itself.

50.

Years.

Old.

Good Lord.

The Stones have been a working band longer than the combined ages of the members of Jack White’s new touring band.*

Though they’ve devolved into corporate hackery in their later years, and haven’t put out any worthwhile music in at least two decades, we’re still going to celebrate their longevity by ranking every one of their studio albums.

*may not actually be true

The Best Summer Albums Ever

In case you haven’t noticed, the Japandroids have the summer of 2012 on lockdown. According to a recent Stereogum poll, “The House that Heaven Built,” is the indie song of the summer – and with good reason. Its lit-fuse guitar riff, hammering drums, and “oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh” cries should be blaring out of every car stereo and earbuds from Vancouver to Provincetown.

But its not just that single that has given the Japandroids domain over these infernally hot months — Celebration Rock is built for summer; for sweaty days and boozy nights, with one soaring road-ready anthem after another. And while there’s always a lot of discussion about the best summer songs and singles, there’s rarely much chatter about the best summer albums of all time — albums that own the summer in which they’re released, so they’re eternally connected to a specific few months in history.

So what are the best summer albums ever? Roll down the windows, let the wind blow back your hair, and click through.

Three-Minute Records: 4th of July

Three-Minute Records is a periodic feature at Pop Culture Has AIDS where we take a closer look at great, notable or interesting songs in pop music history.

The Beach Boys’ recorded “4th of July” for their 1971 album Surf’s Up, omitted the track from the final cut, then finally released it on the 1993 box set Good Vibrations: Thirty Years of the Beach Boys.

The early ’70s were fascinating years for The Beach Boys. They were a half-decade beyond the final days of their commercial peak. Brian Wilson had gone full lunatic. In an effort to regain their popularity, the band alternated between Wilson-inspired chaotic weirdness and safe, straight-forward pop music. By 1971, Wilson himself was at best intermittently involved with the group, leaving his brothers and bandmates to fill the creative void left in his absence.

Inside the Hearts and Minds of Team Breezy

chris brown raisin balls

—
The Iron Sheik (@the_ironsheik) May 21, 2012

Yeah, Iron Sheik, I would probably agree that Chris Brown has raisin balls. It would explain a lot.

Chris brown win grammy for best beat the fuck out of his girlfriend and she dumb bitch to a come back to him

—
The Iron Sheik (@the_ironsheik) February 13, 2012

Definitely opposed to violence against women, Sheik. I’m with you. But we’re getting into a bit of a tricky area when we start calling Rihanna a dumb bitch for potentially going back to her woman-beating ex-boyfriend. While I would be disappointed in Rihanna for doing such a thing — which we have no evidence ever occurred — there’s no need to get pejorative toward her.

Team breezy bigger clown than the jabroni doink. Chris brown need the binoculars to see his balls

—
The Iron Sheik (@the_ironsheik) February 21, 2012

Sounds about right.

chris brown team breezy new name is team dead midget goat dick and the raisin balls #teamsheikies

—
The Iron Sheik (@the_ironsheik) February 22, 2012

Totally on board with that name.

Chris brown deserve to die worse than bin laden

—
The Iron Sheik (@the_ironsheik) February 13, 2012

Now I think you may be getting carried away.

Thank you, Iron Sheik, for setting the tone for this post. Like the Sheik, I think Chris Brown is a vile, worthless piece of human garbage.

I am, however, fascinated by the marvel that is Team Breezy — a global assemblage of Chris Brown fanatics and apologists who take to Twitter and the Internet to defend their misunderstood hero against all comers.

Team Breezy, made up largely of young women, simply does not care that Chris Brown punches, kicks, bites, and claws at women. Why? Because he’s hot. And has a pretty voice (ed. that’s debatable).