Slowly Going Bald

My buddy Collins recently burned me an album he downloaded (in a probably less than legal manner) of a Counting Crows concert recorded during their first tour, still a couple months away from the release of August and Everything After. It's a fun performance with surprisingly good sound quality, and the set list is notable for the fact that it doesn't include "Mr. Jones" but does feature a cover of Van Morrison's "Caravan" as well as solid renditions of "Marjorie" and "Open All Night," the latter of which has yet to see official release.

But what strikes me most is how the songs from August and Everything take on a new life when hearing them across the span of 15 years. Frontman Adam Duritz is still riffing on his own melodies so much that you sympathize with the bandmates tasked with singing harmony, but he's also more in control than he would be on later live outings, probably because he wanted to give the audience as good an idea as possible of what the songs would actually sound like when the album came out. As such, he's more lyrically clear than you'd expect to hear on a live recording, and I find myself only now learning a few snatches of lines I thought I learned when I was in high school.

The best example of this is on "Time and Time Again," a plaintive song that immediately follows "Anna Begins" on the studio album, the one-two punch of which is guaranteed to unmake you. It's been years since I looked at the liner notes to read the lyrics, and over that time my brain has filled in gaps caused by Duritz's occasionally hectic phrasing. For this reason, whenever I heard the chorus of "Time and Time Again," I always thought he was singing, "Time and time again / I can't believe myself / and I can't believe nobody else," compressing the "believe" into something like "b'lieve" in his emotional frenzy. And that word works; it gives the song an air of disillusionment and goes nicely with the sense of loss and possible betrayal seen in the rest of the lyrics. (The guy definitely has a theme.) But that's not at all right. He's actually singing, "Time and time again / I can't please myself / And I can't please nobody else." And this makes the song whole worlds sadder. He's no longer singing about losing someone and feeling adrift; he's taking the burden on himself, realizing with a sinking feeling that he's partly or completely to blame for what's happened. He can't make himself happy, or anyone else, but he still howls, "When are you coming home, sweet angel?" I thought I knew the song, and I almost did. But this one's better.

• Blame It on Gravity, the latest Old 97's album, is more than just another fantastic record: It's an energetic, emotionally mature fusion of everything they've ever done, from country to rock to pop, a gorgeous tapestry held together by the thread of frontman Rhett Miller's yearning lyrics.

• The 97's have always been a country band at heart, and that's what they remain, but they've also never been content to be "just" a country band, which is why they've so successfully spread their reach into rock and pop. Their debut, 1994's Hitchhike to Rhome, was a raw, deeply country affair, evidenced by everything from the heartbroken shuffle of "Dancing With Tears" to the cover of Merle Haggard's "Mama Tried" and the rendition of Cindy Walker's "Miss Molly." But 1997's Too Far to Care was a crunchy country-rock record, bookended by "Timebomb" and "Four Leaf Clover." The band moved on to poppier sounds with Fight Songs (1999) and Satellite Rides (2001), letting the honky-tonk of "Crash on the Barrelhead" butt against the sunnier "Nineteen," or the bar blast of "Am I Too Late" ride comfortably next to the pop brilliance of "Rollerskate Skinny."

• All of which is to say that the 97's have always had that Texas country-rock sound as the core on which they build their pop and rock; it's the hub in the center of their wheel.

• But 2004's Drag It Up was a change in the band's sound, or more accurately, a change in the way they balanced their country and pop loyalties. Lead guitarist Ken Bethea — who contributed lead vocals for the first time on that album's "Coahuila" — said on the band's site that Too Far to Care was "made for big cars and air guitars," while Drag It Up was "better served by thinking and driving on Sunday afternoons in the middle of nowhere." And listening to the album, you get the feel that's something the band did a lot of when they were cooking it up. It wasn't that they decided to move away from Texas country or snappy pop; they simply said, "Why not do both?" The result was a blending of their previous sounds, something at once rawer and more advanced, opening with the more (for them) traditional beat of "Won't Be Home" but sliding through the minor howl of "Smokers" and the lonesome two-step of "Blinding Sheets of Rain" on its way to the ballad "Adelaide" and the poignant "No Mother." It was as if the band was saying: We will continue to do what we've always done, but we're going to do it differently.

• That's what makes Blame It on Gravity so wonderful. It's an energetic blend of the band's dual sounds, and the twin hearts of country and pop beat through every song. The ballad "Color of a Lonely Heart is Blue" has the kind of teardrops-in-the-sawdust vibe the band has been putting out since its early days, while "Here's to the Halcyon" is a rollicking take on the up-tempo boom-chicka-boom that Old 97's do like no one else. But there's also "This Beautiful Thing" and "Ride," poppier rock numbers that would be at home on Satellite Rides or one of frontman Rhett Miller's solo efforts. There's even "She Loves the Sunset," a tropical tune so startlingly different for the band but so perfectly done — the grace note Miller pops into the line "The sky is falling / but I fell long ago" gets me every ti,e — that it's not a wayward experiment but an example of the genre-pushing fun the band likes to have.

• Even more, Blame It on Gravity is the most geographically expansive record the band's ever made. Miller's lyrics have always expressed a kind of heartbroken wanderlust, whether it's being stranded in New York while your girl is back home ("Niteclub," "Broadway") or journeying into the unknown West ("Streets of Where I'm From," "W. Tx. Teardrops"). But the new album name-checks everything from the Tappan Zee to a host of Los Angeles landmarks. In fact, it's L.A. that receives the most detailed treatment. On "Ride," Miller sings, "There is a white hot sun and a big blue sky / from the 101 to the 405." It's as if the lyrics are finally catching up to the sonic displacement that happens when the band straddles the line between Texas country and pop that seems to come right out of the SoCal sunshine.

• The final track, "The One," is a kind of summation of everything the band has worked through. It's a peppy number in which Miller says he and the other guys are going to knock off a bank and drive off into the sunset, and the lyrics call out the rest of the band by name. When they finally take the money and run, Miller sings, "What's the rush, let's take the 1." Given the other references to Los Angeles highways, as well as the article in front of the highway number, it's likely that Miller's referring to the PCH, and the song's grinning demeanor and attitude of "Let's just amble up the highway" — not to mention Miller's ease about traffic congestion — would certainly fit the road. But when I hear the song, I can't help but think that Miller's also talking about Mopac. Instead of (literally) choosing one route or the other, the band has it both ways, marrying their influences and setting out on a path at once familiar and uncharted.

I don't know why I still number these things, since I post them so infrequently. Anyway, today's clip features a very young Bonnie Raitt covering John Prine's "Angel From Montgomery." Enjoy:

It's been a while since I posted a track list for a mix CD here. I haven't put together a new one in a while, and have been listening to either new (to me) music or revisiting old compilations I made in college. It's in the spirit of excavating the past that I present a mix album made by my friend when he was in either 8th or 9th grade. He made a mix known as his Awesome Tape, back when compilations required recording from CD to tape in real time or doing the same with the radio, sitting next to it with your finger on the Record or Stop button, waiting for the song to come along. He unearthed the tape when we lived together our senior year of college, and I took it upon myself to assemble the track list and burn it to a CD so we could continue to enjoy the mix without suffering the eventual lag and breakdown unavoidable with cassettes. The only change to the CD version of the mix is the omission of an Eagles song from their live reunion album, which though reflective of my friend's (and my) tastes at the time nevertheless felt a little out of place with the rest of the lineup. But the remainder is authentic, and I think it stands as a solid mix of mid-1990s alternative rock. Without further ado, here it is: Clay's Awesome TapeCD. Don't fight the nostalgia.

Clay's Awesome CD
1. "Sister," The Nixons — A good starter track. I used to think it was just a nice little love song, but it's actually about singer Zac Maloy's sister, which is kinda creepy. An old roommate of mine (not the guy who made this CD) would shush me whenever we heard this track or STP's "Interstate Love Song."

2. "Skin and Bones," The Hazies — Really good alternative rock.

3. "Til I Hear It From You," Gin Blossoms — One of the band's better-known tunes, and one that didn't appear on one of their albums but rather the soundtrack to Empire Records, itself a flawed but awesome snapshot of the era. I'm a total sucker for good 1990s pop, and this song — this band — are right up there.

4. "Hey Jealousy," Gin Blossoms — A classic. I still listen to this album regularly.

5. "Found Out About You," Gin Blossoms — Another amazing song, and plenty dark.

6. "Mr. Jones," Counting Crows — The quality of August and Everything After is beyond dispute.

7. "Round Here," Counting Crows — See No. 6.

8. "Under the Bridge," Red Hot Chili Peppers — This was the last song (to me) that the Chili Peppers put out before slipping into a weird abyss of unpopularity for a few years in the middle of the decade.

9. "Far Behind," Candlebox

10. "Red Headed Stepchild," Golden Smog — Another great example of the cross-breeding between country, rock, and pop. Band members from this edition included guys from Soul Asylum, The Jayhawks, and Wilco.

11. "Runaway Train," Soul Asylum

12. "With or Without You," U2

13. "One," U2

14. "Shame," Matchbox 20 — Liking Matchbox 20 now falls somewhere below kicking kittens on the social acceptability scale, but that's just because they only put out one good album. Plus it came out when I was like 14, and really, at that age you're not listening with your head. Whatever: This is still a good song.

15. "Hang," Matchbox 20

16. "Molly (Sixteen Candles)," Sponge

17. "Name," Goo Goo Dolls

18. "Competition Smile," Gin Blossoms

And because there was no iTunes link for the Hazies tune:

Total albums purchased/acquired in 2007: 54
Of those, albums released since 2000: 37
Albums from before 2000: 17

I've never before bothered to keep track of the albums I bought over the course of a year, but I feel certain that I've never acquired 54 in a year. Additionally, my album collection went through a bit of a purging process when I was in college, thanks to an otherwise terrible books/music outlet that offered an economically unsound (for them) plan that let you swap in four used CDs and get a brand new one, of any price, in exchange. Granted, the trade-ins had to pass some kind of weird physical examination that consisted mainly of a surface check for scratches mixed with whatever mood the cashier was in that day — and given that these cashiers lived in and worked in Abilene and were probably upset at their station in life, their moods were invariably negative — but still, it allowed me to slough off some of my catalogue's filler in exchange for some albums I love and will never sell.

I guess what I'm saying is that I went into 2007 with a pretty trim collection, relatively speaking, and I valued all of my albums. With the 54 albums I picked up last year, my collection stands at around 275 albums, meaning that in 2007 I acquired 19.6% of my total library. That's kind of ridiculous, when you think about it. I didn't set out to buy more albums last year simply because I was keeping track of the purchases, but I do think the experiment made me more willing than before to buy music. And I've never really been too reluctant to do that, so you can see why it all added up to me buying fully one-fifth of my total collection just last year.

I also think it's interesting that 37 of the albums I bought last year, or nearly 69%, were from 2000 or later. I don't buy that much of-the-moment music, and usually only buy a new release if it's from an artist I follow, like Ryan Adams or Wilco. However, it turns out that even if my purchases aren't all or even mostly from this year, a majority of them are fairly modern, falling in the last seven years or so. Am I somehow more drawn to modern releases despite loving certain bands or performers from the 1950s, '60s, '70s, etc? Or were my current-skewing purchases nothing more than an externalization of the kind of vague window in which we all live, dragging the past decade or so behind us like a gunnysack to hold the pop culture detritus we keep collecting?

I don't know. But I do know that the sheer amount of music released last (and every) year, combined with the atemporal and personal-discovery nature of music, means that my list of the top albums of the year almost never looks like the ones compiled by the aging critics at Rolling Stone or the hip douchebags over at Pitchfork. My best albums of the year were quite literally my best albums of the year, the ones I bought and listened to and couldn't take out of my car stereo without just one more listen. Music is personal like that, and this was what last year was for me. I can't even really make a top 10 list or anything; all I could hope to do would be to trim 10 disappointments and leave the 40 good albums I came up with. But since I can't do that, here's a selection of tracks from my year in music.

"Firecracker," Ryan Adams (I already owned most of the tracks, but not the entire album.):

"Arms of a Woman," Amos Lee:

"Wagon Wheel," Old Crow Medicine Show:

The Lemonheads, "Into Your Arms":

"Bad Reputation," Freedy Johnston:

"God's Gonna Cut You Down," Johnny Cash:

"What a Crying Shame," The Mavericks:

Finally, a song I love from one of absolute favorite albums of the year, performed by one of my favorite bands of all time, whom I actually saw in concert again over Christmas:

"504," by Old 97's:

October 2007

Original Soundtrack, Into the Wild (2007)
I heard the soundtrack before I saw the movie, which was unusual but pleasant. Eddie Vedder has some great songs on this album, as well as couple decent protest anthems, but my favorite is probably "Rise Up." It's just Vedder and a mandolin, and it's amazing.

Bruce Springsteen, We Shall Overcome: The Pete Seeger Sessions (2006)
Bruce Springsteen no longer has the vocal range to pull off some of these songs, but the fun of the album is that he doesn't seem to care. Every song feels like a group of musicians sitting around and banging out covers of old-time songs, which is exactly what's happening. Springsteen can't hit the high notes on the opening "Old Dan Tucker" without sounding like he's screeching more than a little, but that's the whole point. Everything on the album is fast and loose, and it's one of the most enjoyable records Springsteen has ever made.

Allison Moorer, The Hardest Part (2000)
Good alt-country that flirts with mainstream. Plus she's married to Steve Earle, so I kind of had to check her out on general principle.

Christopher Denny, Age Old Hunger (2007)
This is easily one of my favorite albums of this year, and one of the best discoveries I've made in a while. I already wrote about it for John's blog, but if you're too lazy to click over, I'll say it again: Go buy it.

Ryan Adams & the Cardinals, Follow the Lights (2007)
Never let it be said that Ryan Adams is content to rest on his laurels; this EP dropped just a couple months after the release of Easy Tiger.

Elvis Costello, The Delivery Man (2004)
I picked this up on a whim, and I've enjoyed it, but I always have to spend time with Elvis Costello albums. This one's good, but I can't quite commit to it yet.

November 2007
Nothing. Broke.

December 2007

Matthew Sweet, Girlfriend (1991)
Where has this album been all my life? Oh right, it came out when I was 9. This is the kind of great guitar pop I can't seem to get enough of, even if Sweet has the habit of occasionally getting kinda squirrely with the lead guitar and ignoring the melody. Still, "I've Been Waiting," "Girlfriend," "Winona," "Your Sweet Voice," "Nothing Lasts"; these are amazing songs.

Amos Lee, Amos Lee (2005)
I picked this up because Lee blew me away with his voice when I saw him at the Aimee Mann Christmas show, so I was surprised when most of the tracks here were subdued. But it's a great acoustic soul album, especially "Arms of a Woman."

Old Crow Medicine Show, O.C.M.S. (2004)
I could listen to "Wagon Wheel" over and over and over again. And I have.

Josh Ritter, The Animal Years (2006)
I loved Hello Starling when I found it, and it's interesting to see how The Animal Years takes Ritter's singer-songwriter aesthetic, mixes in some brash Americana leanings, and ups the ante on the impressionistic lyrics. Not that the songs on Hello Starling are completely literal; it's that they spoke in a more easily accessible metaphor, with bits like "Here I am standing at your window again / Waiting for you to say 'Go away' or 'Come in' / I'm your locked door's worst knocker, I'm your curtain's best friend / I'm trying hard to love you but you don't make it easy babe," or the line from "Kathleen" that says, "Every heart is a pack tangled up in knots someone else tied." But on The Animal Years, Ritter sings things like, "Out on the desert now and feeling lost / The bonnet wears a wire albatross / Monster ballads and the stations of the cross / Sighing just a little bit." The songs here take a little more work, and the musicianship and production aren't what you'd expect, but that's part of what makes it a great album.

Matthew Sweet, 100% Fun (1995)
Also good. There's not much I can add. I'm a sucker for great pop, and Sweet makes just that.

The Lemonheads, Come On Feel the Lemonheads (1993)
What can I say, I'm on a 1990s kick. If you made a pop record between 1992 and 1997, I'll listen to it.

Ryan Adams, The Suicide Handbook (c. 2001)
The aborted tracks and rough cuts of what would eventually be trimmed down to make Gold — a pretty phenomenal album — this is a great look at early versions of songs I already know and love. The acoustic version of "Firecracker" is amazing.

Gram Parsons with the Flying Burrito Brothers, Live at the Avalon Ballroom 1969 (2007)
It's always a pleasure when more Gram Parsons music gets released, and this is a great double-album of Burrito Brothers concerts that show's just how archetypal and influential Parsons was on rock and country music of his era. Every track is worth hearing, but the rough demos of "$1,000 Wedding" and "When Will I Be Loved," with the harmonies on the Everly Brothers cover still shaky and half-improvised, are downright beautiful.

I'm looking for really good guitar pop from the 1990s, and I'm welcoming all suggestions. Perhaps it's because some of it was the soundtrack to my early years of high school — a period notable only for the terrors puberty wreaked on me and the pop music that accompanied those changes. Or it could be a longing for a time when a different kind of music could make the charts. Or maybe it's because I'm at that quarterlife crisis stage where I'm digging through the past we all thought we put down. Whatever it is, I'm looking for as many good guitar-based pop-rock artists or bands that I can find.

Here's a rough idea:
Gin Blossoms
Matthew Sweet
Freedy Johnston
Eytan Mirsky
Counting Crows
Fastball
Fountains of Wayne
The Format
Rhett Miller's solo work
"Nineteen," "Oppenheimer," and anything from Satellite Rides by Old 97's
The Refreshments
Weezer's first album
The pop(ish) stuff from Wilco's Being There, e.g., "Monday"

Does that make sense? I'm looking for any good alternative/pop-rock/pop/rock band you want to throw my way. The bands and artists I've mentioned aren't exhaustive, but more of a general idea of where I want to go. Basically, if you can conceivably imagine Liv Tyler and Rory Cochrane dancing to it on a rooftop, I want to hear it. Nothing is too dumb or cheesy to mention; believe me, you can't embarrass the guy who used to drive around town at 16 while earnestly singing along to every word of Cracked Rear View. Also, I'd like to keep the list somewhat restricted to groups or performers who started their careers or were most prominent during the 1990s. For nostalgia's sake. Okay: Go.

July 2007

Ryan Adams, Easy Tiger (2007)
I had what could be called tempered hopes for this album, given the fact that Ryan Adams has in recent years put out some great records (Jacksonville City Nights), some really good ones (Cold Roses), and some terrible ones (29). But I was happy to hear Adams fusing the best of his current sounds on Easy Tiger, which ranges from the acid-country-rock of Cold Roses to rootsier country and pop-rock that almost sounds like lost tracks from Gold. There are some great songs here, and the album is more listenable than some of his other work; "Goodnight Rose" sets the perfect mood for country-tinged rock, and "Halloweenhead" is the kind of crunchier rock Adams hasn't really succeeded at until now.

Wilco, Sky Blue Sky (2007)
Man, did I miss Wilco. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for Jeff Tweedy's need to get really experimental to the point where only really self-involved college students could dig their music. (Several minutes of feedback and silence does not a smart song make, and you're more than welcome to disagree, but really, I don't give a shit.) But apparently even Tweedy didn't like the direction the band was taking, saying, "I got really nervous about the technology on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. If you need a certain amp or pedal to make a song what it is, it isn't a song." And this album is clearly the manifestation of that stripped-down, direct approach that had gotten away from the band. Sky Blue Sky is like a breath of fresh air, a mix of pop and blues and soul and country that's somehow soothing and exciting and hopeful all at once. From the gentle opening of "Either Way" to the funk of "Hate It Here" to the peace of "On and On and On," this is the album Wilco needed to make if they wanted to stay alive.

Patton Oswalt, Werewolves & Lollipops (2007)
I watch a lot of stand-up comedy — I'm probably the only guy you know who still gets pissed when you mention how Dat Phan won "Last Comic Standing," or who quotes Slovin & Allen to confused coworkers — but I don't buy many comedy albums. But Patton Oswalt is one of my favorite comedians. I loved Feelin' Kinda Patton, and his latest is just as fantastic. It's fast-paced, dirty, and filled with weird little free-associative riffs born of a lifetime of being the hyperliterate nerd with strong opinions about George Lucas. (Okay, so I relate to the guy.) Oswalt's comedy is more confessional than observational; rather than making tired jokes about airports or cabs or whatever, he tells stories about his own life and beliefs but makes them widely relatable. Werewolves & Lollipops is hilarious and weird and wonderful, and I laugh every time I hear it.

August 2007

Two Dollar Pistols, Hands Up! (2004)
The cover art snagged my eye (don't judge me), and I hoped that the vintage photo would mean an old-school sound. Thankfully, it did. Two Dollar Pistols are churning out some vintage country, ranging from Western swing to drinking songs to classic-sounding ballads like "Where Would We Be Without Goodbye." I love finding albums like this in the clearance bin and taking a chance on them; when you find a winner, like I did here, it feels like you're the only person in the world who's ever heard the album. It becomes yours in a way that other albums never can.

Marty Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives, Souls' Chapel (2005)
Marty Stuart is great at fusing bluegrass, country, and soul, and even if you don't subscribe to any particular religious creed, this album still sounds great.

Yonder Mountain String Band, Yonder Mountain String Band (2006)
Decent newgrass.

September 2007

The Beatles, With the Beatles (1963)
It's stunning to think that The Beatles only put out 12 studios albums as a group. Their second album has some amazing classic pop, including "It Won't Be Long" and "All My Loving," as well as some great covers of R&B tunes like "Please Mister Postman" and "You Really Got a Hold On Me." It's so easy after all this time and hype to just write them off, but listening to this album reminds you of how good they really were.

The Infamous Stringdusters, Fork in the Road (2007)
A solid bluegrass album. What can I say, I like the genre.

June Carter Cash, Wildwood Flower (2003)
This is the wonderful flip side to Johnny Cash's American Recordings. June Carter Cash's final album is wonderful, a simple and genuine recording that looks back on her life and career with some great songs and enjoyable performances. It's a little shocking to her hear voice, which was never powerful to begin with, sounding almost paper-thin on some of the tracks, but it works well with Johnny's watery baritone. Daughter Carlene Carter provides some backing vocals, and even Marty Stuart plays on a couple of the tracks. The American Recordings received more press, but this album is just as important.

A continuing look at the albums I bought this year.

May 2007

Fountains of Wayne, Traffic and Weather (2007)
I've been listening to Fountains of Wayne since I was 14 or 15; I have fond memories of singing along with "Leave the Biker" while staying up late at a friend's house and playing Quake III until unholy hours of the morning. Traffic and Weather isn't the overall success of the band's previous release, Welcome Interstate Managers; that album was a more cohesive work, whereas this one is a collection of great songs mixed with what can only be called filler. That said, it's still a solid pop-rock album with some smart songwriting, wonderful characters, and damn catchy tunes. There's even the requisite country excursion ("Fire in the Canyon") amid the songs about lonely people living lonely lives in search of someone to love (as in the pretty obviously titled "Someone to Love").

Freedy Johnston, This Perfect World (1994)
It's weird how the music of your youth — and I mean real youth, not the arrested emotional development that's a hallmark of your 20s — somehow passes you by. For instance, everybody my age discovered bands from the 1980s (or '70s, or '60s) at a certain point, but the stuff that was charting when we were kids is easier to miss, perhaps because it existed as a periphery to our childhoods and we just never thought it worth the attention. This is part of the reason I really love early- to mid-'90s pop, and am always looking for more. (Eytan Mirsky, we barely knew ye.) This album came out the year I turned 12, but I didn't even hear of Freedy Johnston until I graduated from college and a friend made me a mix tape for my cross-country trek that included Johnston's "Bad Reputation" from This Perfect World. I fell in love with the song. The album is equally fine, a collection of rootsy pop so pure you can close your eyes and see the flannel and bad haircuts. It's a great album for anyone who lived through the era but still managed to miss it.

Mindy Smith, One Moment More (2004)
Smith's debut album features some really good alt-country, leading off with the howling "Come to Jesus" and culminating in a pretty fantastic cover of "Jolene" that features Dolly Parton on backup vocals. It's a deliberately paced album, but a good one.

June 2007

Johnny Cash, American III: Solitary Man (2000)
You really can't go wrong with any of Cash's American Recordings series. "I'm Leaving Now" is a personal favorite.

Johnny Cash, American V: A Hundred Highways (2006)
Again, another great album. "God's Gonna Cut You Down" is probably the catchiest song about damnation you'll hear outside of a revival meeting.

The Hold Steady, Boys and Girls in America (2006)
Literate bar rock. Who knew? Another solid find. I really don't know what else to add, which I know makes me look lazy or ignorant or you name it, but I don't care. The Hold Steady produce honest, yearning rock from the heart.

Elvis Costello, Spike (1989)
I'll be honest, I bought this because (a) it was $2.99 and (b) it has "Veronica." Pretty much all I needed.

Larry Gatlin and the Gatlin Brothers, All the Gold in California: The Best of the Gatlins (1996)
This is probably the greatest impulse buy I've ever made. I was with my sister at Amoeba when I spotted this greatest hits collection of the band whose tapes my mother used to play when my sister and I were very little; I've had "She Used to Be Somebody's Baby" in my head since at least age 7. The Gatlin Brothers put out some awesomely cheesy country in the 1980s, and this album has a bunch of their hits, the kind of songs I can't objectively classify as "good" but that still hold a weird little place in my heart. I'm nostalgic. The disc was only a few bucks, and paid for itself with the joy my sister and I felt while belting out "Broken Lady" on the way home from the store.

Loretta Lynn, Van Lear Rose (2004)
Jack White, taking a break from creeping everyone out with his own band(s), stepped up to produce Van Lear Rose and write one of its tracks. It's an interesting blend of a more experimental alt-country on the White-penned "Portland, Oregon" and Lynn's more straightforward style on the more classic-sounding numbers like the title track and "Miss Being Mrs." (which is a fantastic title). Definitely worth it.

Bruce Springsteen, The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle (1973)
What can I say, I like Bruce Springsteen. And I don't like him with some kind of pseudo-hip ironic detachment, nor as some kind of relic from a bygone era of performers. I really like him. And if I didn't take to this album as quickly as I did Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J., it's still a great record from one of the biggest artists of the last 50 years. The packed lyrics and sense of an epic life being frustrated by circumstance wouldn't really explode out of the gate until Born to Run, but it's still amazing to think that Springsteen was only 24 years old when E Street Shuffle came out. Let that sink in.

Mary Chapin Carpenter, Stones in the Road (1994)
I remember Mary Chapin Carpenter charting early in the 1990s with the album before this one, Come On Come On, which produced something like half a dozen singles, including her cover of Lucinda Williams' "Passionate Kisses." Stones in the Road didn't have as many hits, but it's still got some good songwriting for its time, including the album opener, "Why Walk When You Can Fly."

Lyle Lovett, Joshua Judges Ruth (1992)
The title pretty clearly hints at both the biblical and emotional underpinnings of the album, and Lovett again performs some amazing songs, including "Church" and "I've Been to Memphis." If you're not listening to Lyle Lovett, you could pick worse places to start.

I didn't even know about Aimee Mann's 2nd Annual Christmas Show until a couple weeks ago. I like Mann plenty, having first been exposed to her (as might be the case for some) on the Magnolia soundtrack. I didn't know quite what to expect from her Christmas show at the El Rey, but I wasn't prepared for such a fun show. That's what the concert was more than anything: A chance for Mann and her fellow musicians and performers to have fun doing a few seasonal numbers. The concert played largely like a variety show, with several special guests (more than are mentioned here) popping in for a number or two before disappearing offstage again. Mann and Paul F. Tompkins, a comedian who's way too smart for his talking-head role on "Best Week Ever," served as co-emcees for the evening, and Tompkins even performed a brief set at one point. They even traded banter and performed duets. The whole thing was so damn charming, you know? The evening opened with the lights slowly revealing the Christmas trees, nutcrackers, and simple lights adorning the stage, while Mann performed "Jacob Marley's Chain":

Not long after, Mann stepped to the mic and introduced Jackson Browne, at which point the crowd erupted in that kind of incredulous applause where they can't quite believe what's happening. And sure enough, Browne sauntered onstage looking as timeless as ever, his lanky hair swaying back and forth like it has been since "The Pretender." Browne then made his way to the keyboard and performed "The Rebel Jesus" and a cover of Steve Earle's "Jerusalem." The video is godwaful for the first half, but bear with it, or just close your eyes:

But Mann and Tompkins kept the energy up and the mood light with some of their interactions, especially "Baby, It's Cold Outside":

Probably the most vocally impressive guest was Amos Lee, who came out to sturdy applause, quietly took his place at the mic, and proceeded to blow the doors off with a cover of John Prine's "Christmas in Prison":

Grant-Lee Phillips was also there working his 12-string, and in addition to a great version of The Pretenders' "2000 Miles," he also teamed with Mann for a fantastic version of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," which made me smile like a kid the whole time:

Mann also dipped into her non-seasonal catalog with "Save Me." This video can't come close to how great it was to stand there and hear her sing this in a venue as intimate as the El Rey. When it was done, in that moment of silence when the cheers die down and the artist is getting ready for their next number, a guy behind me shouted, "You should've won the Oscar!" The applause erupted again, and Mann smiled before making a joke about how Phil Collins was probably very deserving. (The fact that Collins won an Oscar for a song from Disney's Tarzan while Mann's work in P.T. Anderson's pretty damn amazing Magnolia went unrecognized is just another indictment of the Academy.) Anyway, this is "Save Me":

The show ended with everyone onstage for an encore of one song, "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)," first recorded by Darlene Love on 1963's A Christmas Gift For You From Phil Spector and recorded by a hundred others since. The horn section came back out, all the evening's musicians returned to the stage, and everyone blasted away at a Christmas classic with gleeful unselfconsciousness. The show was rousing; there's no other way to put it. It was fun and funny and uplifting in the way the best concerts always are. A month ago, I didn't even know Mann did a Christmas show, and now I'm already looking forward to next year:

In which I chronicle the albums that came into my life this year.

March 2007

The Flying Burrito Brothers, The Gilded Palace of Sin/Burrito Deluxe (1969/1970)
It's oddly appropriate that the only (affordable) versions of these albums I came across at Amoeba were combined onto one disc, since Gram Parsons' G.P. and Grievous Angel are also collated onto one CD in the States. The Gilded Palace of Sin/Burrito Deluxe is a great blend of country and rock, though it leans more toward the 1960s sound than the broader "Cosmic American" sound Parsons would unleash on his solo efforts. "Christine's Tune" and "Sin City" are classics, as is the cover of the Stones' "Wild Horses."

Lucinda Williams, West (2007)
I'm stuck on this one because I like Lucinda Williams but also know that it's hard for me to get involved with her music, though I usually don't regret it. Still, this is a good album, and one of her more listenable (for me) in a while. You really can't go wrong with Lost Highway.

Marty Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives, Live at the Ryman (2005)
Marty Stuart churned out his fair share of bad mainstream country hits a few years ago, but as a bluegrass artist, he's amazing. Live at the Ryman is an easygoing, fast-paced bluegrass album that features stunning instrumentation and old-time chats with the audience between numbers. The harmonies on "Homesick" will make you ache.

The Greencards, Weather and Water (2005)
I picked up this album after reading about it somewhere, probably in Paste. Solid, low-key newgrass for those who can't quite handle the rowdiness of Nickel Creek. It's a good background album.

The Mavericks, What a Crying Shame (1994)
This is just fantastic. Everything about the album is so howlingly 1994, from the ripped knees of the bandmembers' jeans in the photo to the strutting sound of mainstream country radio from the early part of the 1990s. But Raul Malo's phenomenal vocal range and the band's Latin influences keep the music fresh, and the album includes everything from a great deep-catalog Bruce Springsteen cover ("All That Heaven Will Allow") to the title track and some truly heartbroken ballads. I couldn't stop listening to this one for two weeks after I got it.

April 2007

Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, No More Beautiful World (2007)
This is a genuinely terrible album, and I haven't even made it all the way through. I tried three times to listen to it and only made it to track 3, which maybe means I could have made it to track 9 if I'd really buckled down. Roger Clyne made some really good rock-pop with The Refreshments, and as the frontman of his new band, he's made some great alt-country and rock-tinged music. But this atrocious record is Clyne's full-throated and idiotic announcement of his intention to turn himself into some kind of latter-day Jimmy Buffett, with songs about nothing more than sombreros and margaritas and every other stupid beach-based cliche you could want. I bought this album out of loyalty to Clyne, and though something in me — the anal-retentive collector, I guess — can't quite be made to part with it, I know I'll probably never listen to the album again. I'd planned on catching Clyne when he came through L.A. earlier this year, but after buying this album, I skipped the concert.

The Fratellis, Costello Music (2006)
Really good, vaguely punkish pop-rock that's wormed its way into dozens of movie trailers and more than a few film appearances. It's impossible not to sing along with it; "Whistle for the Choir" will get stuck in your head in a great way.

Peter Bjorn and John, Writer's Block (2006)
I was told I would be evicted from L.A. if I didn't buy this album. (Kidding [kind of].) I heard the lead single, "Young Folks," on KROQ a couple times and checked out the album, and really dug it. Just great, simple, earnest indie pop.

The Duhks, Migrations (2006)
Decent background bluegrassish stuff. Not too bad, but nothing to write home about.

Lyle Lovett, Pontiac (1988)
This is a full-on classic, featuring Lovett's distinctive mix of country, blues, and jazz; it's two parts Texas to one part Lousiana, and it works every time. The album opener, "If I Had a Boat," sets the tone with its simple melody and lyrics that balance hope and heartache, and "L.A. County" is downright haunting.

The International Submarine Band, Safe at Home (1968)
The only full-length album the band would ever release is worth picking up for anyone interested in the early days of country-rock, and especially for anyone looking to fill out their Gram Parsons collection. The album features a couple of Parsons' originals, including "Luxury Liner," as well as some interesting Cash covers with "I Still Miss Someone" and a medley that uses "Folsom Prison Blues." Incidentally, it was ISB producer Lee Hazlewood who prevented Parsons' vocals from appearing on The Byrds' Sweetheart of the Rodeo the same year; Parsons vocal tracks on the Byrds classic have only recently seen release. When Hazlewood died earlier this year, I kept trying to insert this injustice into his obit, but it didn't happen.

Dick: I guess it looks as if you're reorganizing your records. What is this though? Chronological?
Rob: No.…
Dick: Not alphabetical....
Rob: Nope....
Dick: What?
Rob: Autobiographical.
Dick: No fucking way.
—High Fidelity

The pleasing thing about lists is they allow you to see just how you measure up, to look at where you've been, and to show you where you want to go. I started putting together a list of every movie I've ever seen when I was a senior in college, and after a few weeks of combing the IMDb databases and adding titles whenever they occurred to me, it began to take shape and become as complete as I could make it. I update it a couple times a week, and while I concede there may be a title or two I've simply forgotten that I've seen, it's mostly accurate. The movie list is organized by title, not by when I happened to first see the movie, but I can usually make a good stab at when I saw a particular movie; for many films, I can remember who I was with when I saw them, and where we were.

But music is different. An album has an effect on your growth in a different way than a movie or a TV show, mostly because it's something you listen to several times in order to let it begin to sink in. The best albums become somehow stuck in your car's CD player or become a default choice on your iPod, and you listen to them over and over again. Music is much more of a continued experience, which is why I decided this year to keep track of the albums I acquired in hopes of being able to step back and observe my musical habits and maybe come to some kind of half-assed conclusions about the whole thing in a musical-journey-of-life-minus-the-b.s. sense. (I say "acquired" because I bought almost every album on here, but a couple were gifts from friends or coworkers. They're definitely not illegally burned copies. I swear.)

I figure this will take a few installments, so the first one will deal with albums I bought in the first two months of the year; I didn't have the idea until February or so, meaning I had to work from memory for the first few discs on the list. But later months are accurate.

Here we go.

January-February 2007

Old 97's, Hitchhike to Rhome (1994)
This was a fantastic buy. I couldn't stop listening to it when I got it; removing it from my car's CD player seemed impossible, an idea that made no sense. Living in L.A., I spend a fair amount of time on the road, and most of that timeis spent trying not to die, and albums like this one always make those trips more enjoyable. Hitchhike to Rhome is raw, and young, and so damn earnest and swaggering that I fell under every note's spell. The cover of "Mama Tried" is fantastic, as are "If My Heart Was a Car," "Stoned," and the fantastic version of "Doreen," which would resurface on the band's Wreck Your Life. I'd loved the Old 97s before this, but Hitchhike to Rhome cemented them as an all-time favorite.

Old 97's, Early Tracks (2000)
I bought this because I'm a bit of a completist when it comes to certain bands, and I wanted to own it. It's a decent album: It's got a different version of "W-I-F-E," as well a nice cover of Merle Haggard's "Harold's Super Service." But on the whole, it's only really listening to if you already know the Old 97s. There's nothing here to get excited about, just stuff to enjoy a few times.

Steve Earle, I Feel Alright (1996)
Holy hell, did this click with me from the very first song. I already owned a couple of Earle's albums before I got this one — Guitar Town, The Mountain, El Corazon — but this one came on hard and fast and blew me away. The dirt and pain are so real here, and Earle churns out some amazing songs. The eerie obsession of "More Than I Can Do," the breezily lamenting "Now She's Gone," the beautiful "Valentine's Day," and the solid duet with Lucinda Williams, "You're Still Standin' There," are all amazing. The album exists at the nexus of blues and country and rock and the singer-songwriter ethos, and it's always great to hear.

Emmylou Harris, Quarter Moon in a Ten-Cent Town (1978)
Emmylou Harris was on an unholy creative tear in the late 1970s and early 1980s, and her string of albums from that period remain the best she's ever put out, from Elite Hotel to Roses in the Snow. Quarter Moon in a Ten-Cent Town is a typical entry from this era for her — a solid collection of covers with some duets and assists from established artists — but it's still worth getting just to hear Harris' voice at the peak of its power. Trivia: The album cover was painted by Susanna Clark, husband of Guy Clark, who also painted the cover of Guy's Old No. 1. Impress your friends.

Kim Richey, The Collection (2004)
I won't lie: My first exposure to Kim Richey came via "Angel." But I'm glad I found her. This is a decent best-of with some good songs that's worth an occasional listen. If you find it at a used record store for a couple of bucks, pick it up just for "A Place Called Home." Trust me.

Jessi Colter, An Outlaw, a Lady: The Very Best of Jessi Colter (2005)
I'm pretty sure my CD is autographed by Jessi Colter, unless someone in L.A. is in the habit of falsely autographing albums and selling them back to Amoeba. Regardless, this is a good album that I really haven't spent any time with, largely because I can enjoy the songs at arm's length and appreciate them for what they are, but I have trouble listening to the overly produced sounds of 1980s-era country for too long. The day I bought this, I was waffling between it and Colter's 2006 album Out of the Ashes. I probably should've gone with the latter.

Ryan Adams, Gold (Special Edition) (2001)
I know, I know. I owned most of the songs on Gold already — and when I say "owned," I mean I gleefully ripped them from the shared folders when I was a freshman in college — but I'd been keeping an eye out for a long time for a good used copy of the two-disc edition for less than $20. I finally found a good deal and snagged the album. There's not much to say in the way of discovery. I already knew how great the album was, having had "La Cienega Just Smiled" and "Firecracker" bouncing around my head for years, but it felt really nice to be able to hold the actual discs in my hands. That's what I don't like about downloading songs: You don't get to touch anything, to flip through the battered liner notes, to root through bins week after week waiting for that one album to show up. There's no tactile connection. Anyway, Gold is amazing, and something Adams will probably never top, which is why he's making (slightly) different music now instead of trying to bottle lightning twice. If you don't have the album, you should.

Lyle Lovett, My Baby Don't Tolerate (2003)
The album cover and the fact that it's on the Lost Highway label pretty much sold me on this one, and I wasn't disappointed at all. My Baby Don't Tolerate is a rootsy album that runs the gamut from Western swing to modern alt-country to some fantastic gospel numbers. The album is also amazing in its repeatability; instead of feeling like a sonically linear journey from A to B, the songs seem to call out to each other in pairs, creating a wonderful sense of internal continuity. And this isn't just in obvious pairs like the choir-backed album closers, "I'm Going to Wait" and "I'm Going to the Place." It's in the way "In My Own Mind" and "Nothing But a Good Ride" seem to mirror each other, and how track 3 ("The Truck Song") and track 10 ("San Antonio Girl") seem to have the same basic chord progression, as if they're just flip sides of the same battered old 45. Plus, I smiled like an idiot the first time I heard "San Antonio Girl," happily crushed by the weight of memories brought on by Lovett's mentions of everything from HemisFair to the Riverwalk to Mi Tierra's huevos rancheros. Damn, but it made me miss home a bit.

It's always tough to find new artists, by which I mean new to me. Everyone has those artists whose back-catalogs they're slowly building — when I go to Amoeba, I swing through the Jayhawks and Johnny Cash (to name but two) sections out of long-standing habit — but it's often harder to come across someone new whose music really connects with you. I read Paste and No Depression and do my best to try and find good music, but one of the best ways to bring new music into your life is still to have a friend point you toward something. John, fellow blogger and Pajiba staffer, recently steered me in the direction of Christopher Denny, and I'm thankful he did.¹ Denny's voice is tremulous and incredible, and his country-based roots-rock mixes singer-songwriter credibility with a sound that could have been B-sides from Gold. He's honest, and sad, and hopeful, and really just a great musician. His debut album, Age Old Hunger, features some stunning tracks — "The Stars Above and My Heart In Your Hands" and the instrumental "Going Home" come to mind — but this is one of the best. Enjoy:

"Westbound Train," by Christopher Denny

^{1. John, if you're reading this, feel free to recommend anything you want in the future.}

• Seeing Emmylou Harris in concert is one of the highlights of my life in Los Angeles. No question about it.

• I don't have any photos of the concert because it was being taped for the BBC, who would understandably be annoyed if the crane camera panned the crowd to find a large man in a red plaid pearl-snap taking pictures of the talent.

• The show was for a series the BBC cooked up called "The Ten Commandments of Country," in which one assumes they'll have a string of artists come up with what they consider to be the 10 guiding rules of the genre. Emmylou didn't hold that rigidly to the concept, opting instead to offer a few suggestions/observations and focusing on playing the kind of music that she does best: The stripped-down, honest, pure kind of music that will never stop being classic. It reminded me of home, and of being at rest.

• At one point, Emmylou said, "If love didn't hurt, there'd be no country music." This is the gospel.

• I can't help but refer to her as Emmylou. Working in journalism has bred into me the deep-seated habit of referring to people or artists by their surname on second reference, and that carries over into my critical writing, as well. But Emmylou is one of the rare exceptions to the rule — others include Willie and Elvis — where a performer's first name is infinitely more evocative and definitive of their music and personality. I could never get by with referring to her as Harris. It's just too impersonal somehow. I think of her simply as Emmylou.

• I won the tickets through LAist after stumbling rather fortuitously upon this entry during a rare free moment at work. The site was auctioning off a pair of tickets to the person who could "most convincingly (identify) his or her favorite Emmylou song performed with another artist." This was no small task to set before me; questions like this will make me shut down completely and think about an artist and all the songs of theirs that I love until I find myself gazing slackly at the wall. Plus, though some of the other commenters/entrants seemed only briefly versed in the basics of the written language, they weren't above pulling out the big guns in hopes of winning. One person named-checked 9/11, which come on, that's like cheating.

• But this is what I wrote:

"This is a tough one. Emmylou has performed so many amazing songs with other artists over the years that it's hard to pick just one. But I have to go with 'That's All It Took,' with Gram Parsons, from Parsons' GP. Instead of the backing harmony vocals she provided on the other Parsons tracks, she comes blasting out of the gate on the second half of the first verse, her voice all fire and power as she howls:

I tried so hard to let you go, but look
how I still tremble at your name.
That's all it took.

It's a sad, powerful song, and the kind of Cosmic American music that would influence the rest of her career, from country to folk to bluegrass to gospel. I love it for all those reasons, but also because of the honesty and pain in her voice as she sings."

• Less than 12 hours later — I'd entered the contest not long before the deadline for submissions — the folks at LAist let me know I'd won. It's a weird feeling to win something based on a display of emotional outpouring, and even weirder when that gift is concert tickets to one of the greatest artists in her field and someone you wouldn't mind having semi-adopt you as a kind of grandmother figure, who would sing you a song and maybe give you some lemonade.

• I guess I'm saying it was quite a show, and the fact that I'd earned entrance simply by being a fan, by writing about some small part of what I love about music and life and heartache — I don't know. That was good.

I created this mix just a couple weeks ago, meaning it came less than two months after the last one, by far the shortest span between mixes so far. Even though I live in L.A., which has a better selection of radio stations than most markets, I find myself listening to CDs almost constantly when I'm in the car. It's not that I don't like modern rock; I enjoy KROQ as much as the next guy, especially the fact that they still feel weirdly obligated to play Sublime every hour. It's just that I get tired of thumbing back and forth between stations, catching snatches of songs I tolerate and trying to avoid commercials. It's easier to listen to albums I love, of which there are many, and to pop in these mixes whenever I make them. As usual, the mix reflects songs I've been listening to for years ("Horses," "The Fox") with songs that are newer to me ("Without Goodbye") or that I'm pleasantly rediscovering after one of those weird dormant periods where you forget you own certain CDs or songs ("Winner's Casino," "In Lieu of Flowers"). Happily, almost all the tracks are available via iTunes, though as always, I recommend picking up the full albums at your local used CD store. Happiness is worth $7 a pop.

Alt 6.0
1. "Horses" (live), Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers — A faster, amped-up version of a track that originally appeared on The Refreshments' The Bottle & Fresh Horses, before Clyne formed his new band. Clyne has since slidden into a bit of artistic disrepair, but this song is a reminder of his country-rock glory days.

2. "W-I-F-E," Old 97's — A solid, swinging song that's made for drinking, or singing in the shower. I choose both. The lesson of the song: When choosing between your wife, your girlfriend, or your rampant alcoholism, always go with the booze.

3. "Pinball Song," Slobberbone — I admit, this song was already on a previous mix. I duped it by accident. But this is my fifth mix, meaning I've cobbled together about 100 songs on these playlists, and sometimes in my eagerness to include a song I really love I forget to check if I've used it before. Sue me.

4. "Winner's Casino," Richmond Fontaine — A great song from a concept album from Richmond Fontaine, meaning it trails off into static and weird ambient noise that doesn't really add to the song and almost detracts from its overall impact (I call this the "mid-period Wilco effect").

5. "Without Goodbye," Two Dollar Pistols — A great, classic-sounding song. Lead singer John Howie, Jr. says "where" like "whar," which kinda reminds me of how my father says "warsh" for "wash." So there you go.

6. "Stickshifts and Safety Belts," Cake — This has been in my head since I was a freshman in college.

7. "Start With Amazing Grace," Zane Williams — Zane Williams has slept on my couch.

8. "Box Full of Letters," Wilco — A.M. is still my favorite Wilco album. I own many of them, and love so many moments on Being There, Summerteeth, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and Sky Blue Sky. But I'll always love this one the most. Simple, powerful country-rock.

9. "More Than I Can Do," Steve Earle — There's always an undercurrent of creepiness in songs about pursuing a woman until she's yours, and this one's no exception. I mean, it's a great song, and I Feel Alright is a desert island album, but something about telling a woman you won't leave her yard even if she calls the cops is a little sketchy. (Also, I think this song would be great if you laid it under the scene in the movie where the killer catches up to the victim and murders them. I know that's weird, but admit it, that's a good idea. Somebody at "Dexter" needs to make that happen.)

10. "Back to Me," Kathleen Edwards — Amazing song, and sensual. The way she howls "come" and drags out that vowel ... come on. We all know where you're going with that, Kathleen. And it's awesome.

11. "Jolene," Mindy Smith w/ Dolly Parton — A great cover that gets a boost of credibility (not that Mindy Smith needed it) by having Parton sit in on the harmony.

12. "Bramble Rose," Tift Merritt — It's gonna be okay, Tift.

13. "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry," Johnny Cash — One of the all-time classic songs, from the last album Cash released before he died.

14. "The Fox," Nickel Creek — This has been in my head since high school.

15. "Casino Queen," Wilco — Everything I said above.

16. "Long Time Gone," Dixie Chicks — I remember the summer this song came out, and how I couldn't get enough of it. I worked for the campus maintenance crew at my college, and it was a generally terrible summer, but while driving the van from the shop to campus, I would listen to the radio and wonder how far I could get if I just stole the van and headed for home.

17. "You Don't Have Far to Go," Merle Haggard — Old, old school, from Hag's first album.

18. "That's All It Took," Gram Parsons — You can never go wrong with Gram Parsons.

19. "In Lieu of Flowers," Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion — The first track on Exploration is the best one. The way Guthrie and Irion blend their harmonies is fantastic.

20. "Fire in the Canyon," Fountains of Wayne — Fountains of Wayne slip into country every now and then, and it always sounds good.

21. "Save It For a Rainy Day," The Jayhawks — An old roommate of mine heard me playing this CD one day and was convinced this song was used in a movie or TV show he'd recently seen, though it wasn't. That's how bright and elemental and good this song is: You will think you've heard it before, but that's because it already exists in your soul, and Gary Louris is just pulling it out. He's good at that.

22. "Cheatin'," Gin Blossoms — New Miserable Experience is a great album, and it's marked halfway through and at the very end by interesting genre exercises that diverge from the rest of the record's early-'90s pop-rock. The first is "Cajun Song" — so, so good — and the second is "Cheatin'," an upbeat, countryish lament that's better than most people give it credit for being. Granted, the chorus is a bit confusing; when the singer explains away his infidelity by saying of his mistress, "She made me feel just like a woman should / You can't call it cheatin' because she reminds me of you," I always wonder, "So, she made you feel like a woman should? So, you feel like a woman?" I think "She made me feel just like a woman could" or "She made me feel just like a man should" would be clearer, but then again, I'm not a suicidal songwriting genius, so what do I know. Regardless, it's a great song.

• I didn't expect to be one of the youngest members of the crowd Saturday night at the Lucinda Williams show, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Lucinda was born in 1953 and started releasing albums in the late 1970s, which not only means she now holds the crown for Oldest Woman I Would Sleep With, but also that she appeals to a slightly older crowd. My concert companion and I are in our mid-20s, which definitely placed us on the younger end of the spectrum. There was an old man in a beret who looked like he could get wild. But he didn't.

• There was a young couple there, not too much older than me, and they were