Do or Do Not.

It has been known to happen that I fall in completely love based entirely on a voice. Not often, but it does happen. When I saw a performance of Les Miserables in Orlando way way way back in ‘92, f’r instance, I completely fell for the girl playing Eponine… even though I was so far back in the auditorium that I have no idea whatsoever what she looked like. Her voice was powerful enough and gorgoeus enough that it truly didn’t matter — the voice was enough to hook me. And one of the events which cemented my falling for my wife was watching her play guitar and sing. (I’m sure my girlfriend at the time wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about my enthusiasm for Terry’s voice, though.)

Anyway, turns out it happened again yesterday.

This is Allison Crowe, a singer-songwriter from Canada I’d never heard of before twenty-four hours ago:

Up until yesterday afternoon, Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah” was the definitive one for me, the one to which I had the strongest emotional attachment. I don’t think that’s true anymore. Crowe’s version — which has something of an automatic leg up on Buckley’s because of my Thing For Women Playing Piano — immediately moved me in a way that even Buckley’s doesn’t, and that’s not an unimpressive feat. And not only do I love listening to Crowe’s passionate, beautiful voice, but I enjoy watching her sing: I like the movements of her face as she sings, her smile, her eyes, the fact that she looks so much like she’s into what she’s doing. That combination of talent and passion is awfully damn sexy.

Thanks to Kitty for getting me thinking more about this song and thanks to Ben F. for sending me Crowe’s version. Any of you interested in hearing more of Allison Crowe’s amazing voice can check out her MySpace page or this collection of videos from her on YouTube. She’s also got a bunch of tracks available at eMusic for any of you with accounts there.

While cruising around YouTube looking for something else entirely, I stumbled across this video from Dominic Frasca, a guitarist from New York.  I almost hesitate to call him a “guitarist,” for while the term is certainly accurate, it doesn’t seem to convey the skill on display here.  Frasca apparently plays a custom 10-string guitar which also features extra tools allowing him to play a variety of percussive bits, too — his playing makes him sound like a multi-instrumentalist, but with only one instrument.

I’m now on the waiting list for his newest CD at CDBaby.  Impressive stuff — I can’t wait to hear the whole album.

We now break with this nice stream of blogging silence we’ve actively cultivated for the following emergency message:

Next Monday, July 15, new royalty rates go into effect for Internet radio stations which will effectively kill the entire ‘net radio market. These new rates are upwards of ten times higher than any other type of radio broadcaster must pay (and are retroactive to January of ‘06), and most ‘net radio stations would end up having to pay amounts far, far greater than their profits would allow. The new rates say that stations have to pay 33 cents per hour per listener, so a station with only 5000 listeners would have to pay royalty fees of almost $1.2 million per month to continue broadcasting. And that’s a fairly small station. The RIAA got this legislation passed so they could kill ‘net radio and make more money for themselves via record sales and larger broadcasters; it looks like their strategy is going to work if something isn’t done.

(EDIT:  I got my math wrong, or rather, my figures:  it’s not 33 cents per hour, it’s .33 cents per hour.  Still, that figure represents far more than the profits most stations make.  A station with only 5000 listeners having to pay $12K month in royalty fees is still excessive.  But man, doesn’t $1.2 million for 5000 listeners sound more terrible and impressive?)

If you ever listen to any ‘net radio — whether that’s Radio Paradise or Pandora or AOL Radio or anything in between — please visit SaveNetRadio.org to see what you can do. Really, at this point “what you can do” means “call your Congressional representative(s) and tell ‘em to support the Internet Radio Equality Act.”

Light up those phones, people! Save Internet radio! Give those asshats at the RIAA what-for!

For most of this week, I’ve been afraid my iPod had died.  Afraid and terribly depressed — the thought of an iPod-free life was quite funk-making.

Everything was working fine up until a Tuesday or so, when I noticed that the battery was dead dead dead, which struck me as very strange as I’d just charged it the night before.  But dead dead dead it was, and I spent the next two days trying to charge it with no success.  After several attempts at charging it across two different computers, I bought a new charger/sync cable last night which charged the thing right up.  (The old cable apparently still works just fine for syncing, but won’t pull in enough power to charge the battery anymore.  Strange.)

Anyway, my iPod was so happy to have a fully-charged battery again, it blessed me with a blood-pumping collection of favorites on the drive into work this morning.  It would seem charging it up has also made its built-in moodometer function properly once again, as said blood-pumping songs meshed beautifully with the gorgeous, gorgeous spring morning we’re having here in N.C.  Here, have a look:

“Rabbit Run” - Eminem  I have an entire post brewing on this very song.  I kid you not.

“All These Things I’ve Done” - The Killers  I have not much to say about this song other than I loves it.  It’s one of those songs that goes straight from my headphones to my spinal cord.

“Behind the Wall of Sleep” - The Smithereens  She was tall and cool and pretty and she dressed as black as coal.  No wonder I love this song, as I think that lyric described most every woman I crushed on in my early-to-mid 20s.

“The Waitress Song” - Blue Sky Salesmen Very, very few of you reading this will have ever heard this song, and those that have will understand and know why it brightened my mood this morning.

“Holiday” - Green Day   This song brought on a most impressive fit of air guitar-n-drums from me this morning.  My hands still hurt from enthusiastically pounding the steering wheel in time with Tre Cool.

Stealing Beauty Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (1996)

One of my all-time favorite sexin’ albums. The first four tracks (from Hooverphonic, Portishead, Axiom Funk and John Lee Hooker — which of these things is not like the others?) all feature sultry grooves which slink right into your spine and move on down to wrap themselves around your sacral chakra and give it a good squeeze. Skip the out-of-place Liz Phair song at five and slide right on into Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” at six to give your junk a little extra funk.

Dixie Chicks, Taking the Long Way (2006)

The first three songs which open Taking the Long Way — “The Long Way Around,” “Easy Silence,” and the goosebump-inducing “Not Ready to Make Nice” — are all marked as five-star songs in my iPod. No other album I have on my computer right now can boast that distinction. Sadly, as much as I like the album overall, it sort of shoots its wad early: a few of the songs on the album come close to that level of greatness those first three songs achieve, but none quite get there.

Green Day, American Idiot (2004)

The opener, “American Idiot,” starts setting the tone, but once you get past that song and into the opening bang of “Jesus of Suburbia,” you’ve got a solid twenty minutes of polished ass-kicking punk-pop coming your way: the operatic nine minutes of “Suburbia” bleeds right into the three-chord kick to the face of “Holiday” and into the arena-rock chants of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” Billie Joe and the boys must have been popping some serious songwriting steroids when they were working on this album: these songs are muscular.

The Afghan Whigs, Gentlemen (1993)

Except for the dirge-like track five (“When We Two Parted

I still like action figures. I admit it. Yes, dammit, I’m a 36-year-old man who still digs action figures. My favorite present I got for Christmas last year was the two-pack of Superman and Batman figures based on the artwork of Ed McGuinness — of all the Superman figures I’ve ever owned, and that’s a decently high number, this one’s by far the coolest.

Also, and I think this fact has now been established beyond all doubt, I used to be into hair metal in the 80s and early 90s. But you know what? Everybody was into it back then. I feel no shame.

OK, well, only a little.

But even with my love for metal-lite and for small posable toys… I’m still somewhat disturbed by the concept of these Bon Jovi action figures.

Yes, you read that right. Bon. Jovi. Action. Figures.

There’s three scenarios I can envision that might have led to these action figures being produced, and none of the three of them will really help me sleep any better tonight. One: the people at McFarlane Toys did some market research and decided there was enough of a market for Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora dolls that it made financial sense to move forward with the project. Two: Todd McFarlane himself is enough of a Bon Jovi fan that he decided this was a project he wanted his company to put into action regardless of the potential profit involved. Three: Bon Jovi and Sambora really, really wanted to see themselves as action figures and paid McFarlane Toys to make it so.

However they came to be… I’m sorry, but these things are too lame even for me, and I’m usually not scared off by lame. Hell, I’ve been known to snuggle up in front of the fire on a cold night with a steaming hot mug of lame while wrapped in a warm blanket of goofy.

But this is where I draw the line of lame.

(You know, I’ve never really seriously considered getting a tattoo. Were I going to, the only symbol that’s ever meant enough to me to even consider getting emblazoned on my body forevermore is Superman’s S-shield. Well, I can’t do that, and you know why? Because Jon Bon Jovi has that same symbol on his right deltoid. Talk about lame — why would I possibly want to be ink brothers with this man, this handsome, internationally famous, multi-gazillionaire likely future Rock and Roll Hall of Famer who’s gotten to simulate sex with Cindy Crawford? I’m sure I could find better role models than that.)

My questions about the toys’ origins aside, my other big question is this: who’s actually going to buy these things? I mean, of course, besides people named Bon Jovi or Sambora. There can’t be that many people still that rabidly passionate about these guys, right? I mean, of course, outside of New Jersey…?

And then I remembered that yes, there are still quite a number of Bon Jovi-philes out there, as is made obvious in this documentary video (now several years old, but still pertinent, I feel):

There was a time when I really, really, really didn’t much like Alanis Morrisette. Couldn’t stand her, to be truthful. But that dislike, if I were being brutally honest with myself, wasn’t because of Morissette herself but rather because of her song “You Oughta Know” and the reaction from the media (and no small number of fans) to the song. Such a tremendous hullaballoo was made out of the fact that this woman (gasp! a woman!) was singing about these aggressively sexual acts in the song as if no female singer-songwriter had ever addressed issues of sex, jealousy, rage and revenge before. The frenzy surrounding that one song (and the near incessant radio and video play the song received for most of 1995) really turned me off of her music… even after I realized how catchy the rest of Jagged Little Pill was. [1] The more albums she sold and the more spins that record got and the more magazine covers she turned up on, the stronger my hatred for her grew.

(All of that distaste for her on my part was formed before I developed the Popular Does Not Automatically Equal Suck theory I operate under these days. Ah, the folly of youth.)

But over the last ten years or so, as she her name has become less synonymous with that one song (and, well, as I grew older), I’ve mellowed more than a bit and started to kind of dig on her. Some of her songs are actually pretty groovy, and her voice manages to be both fragile and biting at the same time, and very vulnerable — even when I have no idea what the hell her lyrics are talking about, I always feel like she feels whatever it is she’s singing.

Tonight, though… tonight my respect for Ms. Morissette increased a hundredfold:

(Click here if the video won’t show for you.)

Well done, Alanis. Well done.

(It occurred to me while listening to this song, though, that it seemed like a cover Tori Amos should have done.)

[1] Still, infernally catchy or not, please don’t get me started about the almost complete lack of irony in the song “Ironic.”

Up there at the top of my site is an Amazon.com banner ad. It’s the type of ad that Amazon theoretically populates with products based on the Amazon browsing preferences of the person viewing the page — it’s supposed to show you products it thinks you’ll like given what you’ve looked at while browsing around Amazon previously. But those recommended-just-for-you products are mixed in with products it thinks will be appropriate for the site based on the content on the page.

I don’t know if it’s because of all of the Def Leppard talk in my post from Wednesday, or if I don’t realize just how much hair metal I’ve looked at on Amazon, but… yesterday I got an ad for The Best of Britny Fox up there.

The Best of Britny Fox??!? I had no idea there was such a thing! Nor, honestly, did I care. Nor, honestly, can I see why anyone would. I’d imagine that a great number of you reading these words have never even heard of a “Britny Fox” (yes, that spelling is correct), and I’ll tell you right now that you’re not suffering a damn bit by lacking that information in your head. I mean, sure, I liked a lot of terrible one-hit-wonder hair metal bands during my misguided teens-through-early-20s, but Britny Fox were too lame even for me… and I dug Trixter.

I had to know more, of course. Was this “album” really just a single? Was it, as Timmy B. theorized, just the a repeated loop of the chorus from “Girlschool,” the only song of theirs anyone might possibly remember? [1]

Well, now I know: a little research turns up the fact that the entire Best Of album, unsurprisingly, was culled from their first two major-label studio albums. A full half of each of those two wholly unremarkable records were thrown together to make a tasty Best Of Britny Fox casserole. That’s right, folks: two albums and then a “best of” for a band whose career makes the descriptor “best of” seem more than a wee bit ironic. I do believe that this album is what the music industry refers to as a “contractual obligation album.”

(Apropos of almost nothing: one helpful user on the Amazon page for the album tagged this album “buttrock.”)

Still, the inclusion of that particular album in the Amazon ad makes me question their algorithms for product selection. Yes, sure, fine, I had some Def Leppard references in Wednesday’s post (and OK, yes, one other recent post was all about my ill-advised youthful love affair with hair metal), so I can understand why Amazon thinks I have such love for this sort of material. But of all the related products their matching processes could have found, that was what it came up with? A six-year-old compilation album for a band who hasn’t sniffed a major record label in sixteen years? That strikes me as bizarre. (My best guess is that Amazon picked up on my Britney Spears posts from late last year and combined ‘em together into one big icky talentless melange.)

But the really terrible thing? Now that I’ve clicked through and looked at that product to do research for this post, and now that I’ve got the words “Britny Fox” splashed all over this page, I’m betting I’m going to wind up with more and more briefly/dubiously successful metal bands showing up in the ads. Hey, who knows — maybe I’ll get a Danger Danger ad soon! Or Bulletboys, maybe. Or Steelheart! Oh, or Vixen! Little Caesar? Bonfire? Salty Dog? Kix?

PS: Clearly I’m going to need a “hair metal” post tag now.

[1] Timmy B. gets props of some sort here — or perhaps mocking shame and derision — for remembering the name of the song… bless that boy, his ridiculous knowledge of stupid music trivia puts mine to shame.

Time now to play a fun little game I call “Going Through My Referrer Logs To See Which Search Engine Phrases Brought Users To My Site In The Last Week.”  Honestly, though?  I think I need to come up with a better name for the game than that.  I like to feel that I’m doing a public service here, providing answers to those questions that Google seems to think I’m uniquely capable of answering.  It’s a responsibility I take very seriously, and I’ll do my best to help soothe the mental anguish and sleepless nights these answerless questions must be causing to the questioners.

opening band for adrenalize tour

This one came to me in several different forms, all from former metalheads like myself desperately yearning to know which band or bands opened up for Def Leppard on their Adrenalize tour in 1992.  Well, Google led you people to the right place.  I’m gonna give you the answer right now.  You ready, my fellow headbangers?  Here goes:

No one.  That’s why you’re having such trouble finding the answer.  Def Leppard didn’t have an opening act that time out…they played a three-plus hour set without any supporting bands on the bill.  You shelled out all of that money hard-earned by busing tables and selling pot for a 100%-all-damn-Lep set, bay-bee.  Did you wanna get rocked, the Lep asked you?  Oh yes, you answered.  You wanted your asses rocked into near cataonia by a three-hour syringe full of pure grade-A Leppard.

(This was the case for the American portions of their tour, anyway; it’s possible the answer’s different in other parts of the world.)

A Love Song for Bobby Long spoiler

You want a spoiler for the mostly-wretched movie A Love Song for Bobby Long?  OK, here goes:  John Travolta sucked mightily in it.  How’s that do you?  OK, fine, here’s a bonus spoiler for you:  yes, it’s true — you do get a nice side-shot of Scarlett Johansson’s boob.

give me a warm enema daddy

Um.  Sorry, can’t help you there.

“inflated boy” superhero

My best guess here is that someone was trying to find out some more information about Chuck “Bouncing Boy” Taine, storied member of the Legion of Super-Heroes (and nowadays featured on the cartoon about said futuristic teens) and role model for fat kids the world over.  Well, unknown person, now that you know his actual name (though I honestly don’t think “Inflated Boy” is any less ridiculous than “Bouncing Boy”), you can read up on his heroic legacy at the Wikipedia.  Always remember:  Chuck might have been the fat kid in the Legion, but he still ended up with a smokin’ hot wife…two of ‘em, technically.

layer cake+what is his name

Another one which came to me in a number of permutations, all of which wanted to know the name of Daniel Craig’s character in the excellent film Layer Cake.  I don’t think this is a spoiler, so I’m going to give you the answer:  we don’t know.  And not only don’t we know, we’re not supposed to know.  The character himself said as much:  “If you knew my name, you’d be as clever as me.”  Whatever the character’s real name was (he’s referred to in the credits only as “XXXX”), it wasn’t revealed within the movie itself or the novel on which the movie was based.  Any site which tries to tell you his name, unless it comes directly from J.J. Connelly, the novel’s author, is lying to you.  This particular bit of information is one you’re going to have to get used to not knowing.

fuzzy storytelling guy

Yup, that’s me!  (Though I hope the “fuzzy” refers more to my propensity for hirsuteness than to my storytelling techniques, else I’ve got a problem.)

actress who did not wear panties to the oscar

Can’t help you there, either, though I must admit I’m more than a little curious to know the answer myself.

im into fuzzy rabbits.  kind of smart i have a big

Ladies and gentlemen, this week’s winner for the Search Keyword Which Causes Me The Most Mental Discomfort Award!

The 2006 Grammy nominations were announced yesterday, and while I normally could care less about the Grammys — they’re easiliy the least representative of the industry they recognize than any of the other major awards shows — I took no small sense of satisfaction in seeing that the Dixie Chicks were nominated for five awards this year. And it’s not just they they received the five nominations, it’s which categories the nominations were in: Album of the Year (for Taking the Long Way), Record of the Year (for “Not Ready To Make Nice”; given for the song’s performance), Song of the Year (given for songwriting), Country Album of the Year and Country Song of the Year.

That’s right — a song specifically written as a middle-finger salute to the country music industry and its fans for being a bunch of backwards, ignorant yokels just got nominated for Country Song of the Year. This fact makes me almost giddy with glee. I honestly don’t care it they win a single award; just the fact that were nominated, especially in the country categories, plants a field of black flowers in the topsoil of my petty, vengeful little heart.

I realize that the nominations were likely less a rebuke of country radio and fans than it was the fact that Grammy voters usually seem to know almost nothing about the music for which they’re voting. “Dixie Chicks? Oh, I’ve heard of them, they’re supposed to be good! They’re country, right?” But I really don’t much care about the whys or wherefores in this situation — all I know is, the country nominations for the Chicks will surely piss off all of the right people, and that’s enough for me.

Technorati tags: Music, Dixie Chicks, Grammys