Fourth of July is, without a doubt, my favorite holiday. Firstly, because it’s not religiously affiliated. Secondly, because it generally involves some combination of the following three items: fire, grilling meat and alcohol. All in the name of patriotism. I’m not sure how our fourth of July traditions evolved to include these potentially disastrous things together, but I’m thankful they did.

However, there are few songs that connect with the holiday for me. Sure, there are all the patriotic anthems if you want to get stereotypical. There’s really only one song that reminds me of a particular fourth of July.

While I was still summering at home on the West Coast, it was something of tradition to go out to the cabin of some family friends on Harstine Island, which is in Puget Sound. It’s right on the water, so it cools off at night, and it’s far from any big cities, so it gets really dark. Because it’s so quiet and woodsy, everyone is shooing off fireworks. You can stand on the shore and be surrounded by bright, colorful lights in every direction — including an Indian reservation. They always delivered. Big time.

I was more or less left to my own thoughts at these holidays, and often I’d clear my mind of everything associated with my life in the cities, my life in New York, my life in Seattle, and just spend hours using as many senses as possible.  Watching the water roll in waves, skimming my hand on top of soft, pointed blades of grass, listening to the sounds of voices from far away, smelling the musk of the forest and the smoke of barbecues in the air… the taste of alcohol. (more…)

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[Taylor’s note: The incredibly talented Vincent “Hey Is It Okay If I Get Called V-Sides” Rendoni did such a wonderful job with his write-up on Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks that we decided we wanted him back. Luckily for all of us, he came back with this great write-up on Animal Collective that, personally, I could not agree with more… but read on and decide for yourselves.]

Animal Collective, “Fireworks” (download)

Not that it’s much of a surprise to anyone who has ever heard it, but “Fireworks” was one of the best songs of 2007. With a steam-engine beat and a background of frolicking hums, you think you were listening to some kind intergalactic train running, at least, until the lead vocals chime in. Now, I don’t forget that Animal Collective has always been the kind of band whose lyrics are either too muddled to hear or too vague to waste time analyzing, but when Avey Tare begins to sing, you can hear the sincere quiver in his voice when he begins, “Now it’s day / I’ve been trying to get that taste off my tongue,” quickly developing an image of being at the breakfast table in the morning, thinking of things past longer than we should have, as all the while, our cereal is congealing. A small bit of piano takes us to a beach illuminated by fireworks and Tare admits to us as much as himself that he’s only what he sees sometimes. You’re shocked. This song has somehow fused melody and celestial ambiance into a spectacular being. Your clap your hands in tiny glee. The piano and melodic howling play hopscotch around each other, brilliantly closing the song…

…Sort of.

Thing is, it’s only about 2:35 in the song with about 4:14 left. You will notice in the above paragraph, I said “Fireworks” was one of the best songs of 2007. It very easily could’ve been the best song of 2007, but then Animal Collective do what they typically do – disrupt and soil the underpants of the universally beautiful thing they created and for a lack of better words, get fucking weird. Shortly after where the song should’ve ended or evolved, there’s a sonic lull at 2:41 and the song wanders, sputters, and only what would seem predictably for this band, they let loose some random yips, howls, and barks. In contrast to the spectral fire they’ve created in the first part of the song, they go ahead and fucking salt and pickle themselves, replacing the piano with nausea-inducing Casio beeps and singing, well, whatever the fuck this is–

I’ve been eatin’ with a good friend / Who said a genie made me out of the earth’s skin / In spite of her, she is my birth kin / She spits me out in her surly blood rivers / All the people out lurkin’ / And dominions of the hot Turk dish / If the elephants are reaching for our purses / Meet me after the whirlwind shivers

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaay then. (more…)

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Have you ever felt like a song has the answer you’re looking for? That if you could just figure out what the person is really, truly singing about and saying, then you’d know what to do?

For the past couple crossroads in my life, “Vienna” has been that song.

Billy Joel, “Vienna” (download)

Judging by Billy Joel’s personal life, it’s probably not the safest bet to assume that he’s got the answers to much of anything, but “Vienna” has a certain timelessness. It was released in the ’70s, but sounds like it could have come out yesterday. It tackles the questions that never really go away: questions about what we want and what we need, about getting older, about how we live our lives. But while it may be straight-forward, it’s also somewhat vague.

Slow down you crazy child
You’re so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you’re so smart tell me why
You are still so afraid?

But couldn’t slowing down be seen as being afraid, too? It all depends on what we’re talking about here.

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want
Or you can just get old

In a song about the values of slowing down, this seems to contradict his point. It sounds like he’s saying that you can work hard to get what you want or relax and just get old. If he’s advocating the latter, this is hardly convincing. Or, is this a criticism of the former, pointing out that even if you work hard to get what you want, you’ll still get old, just like everyone else? But we’re all going to get old, anyway, so isn’t it better to get what you want in the process? Then there’s that “you know” to contend with. Is this the way the subject of the song thinks, and he’s criticizing this way of thinking? (more…)

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As we approach summer, I find myself somewhat unimpressed by 2008 as a new release year. Granted, the second half of the year is almost always stronger than the first, and 2007 was no exception. But 2008’s best releases, so far, don’t feel quite as important as last year’s.

Of all the releases from last year that I loved, Yeasayer’s All Hour Cymbals has carried over into this year the best. Were I to rearrange my Top 10, it would make it to the top three, at least.

Those unconvinced or unfamiliar need only listen to “Ah, Weir.” Reaching only the 1 minute 21 second mark, it’s one of the more powerful, memorable moments of music to cross my ears in the past year.

Yeasayer, “Ah, Weir” (download)

Though there are no words in it, to call “Ah, Weir” an instrumental would, technically, be incorrect - the band members use their voices only to hold specific notes, acting as an accompaniment of sorts to the swaying of synths and percussion, their gorgeous harmonies undulating with the music. It’s the soundtrack of drifting out to sea on a raft, of driving into a sunset, of standing still while wind rustles pushes everything around you. It’s hard to ignore and even harder to forget. And it’s just a minute and a half long interlude.

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When I was in middle school, I had a lot of ideas for music videos. Generally, these ideas were boring and tame — mostly because at the time, I was listening to a lot of really sappy, sad music (I changed from a private school to a public school between seventh and eighth grade and had a bit of a hard time with it). Most of these ideas consisted of one boring act, definitely not enough to sustain an entire video — a woman packing, for example. And instead of ever developing these ideas or incorporating others, I would just do it myself, without even filming. If my idea was a woman running through grass, I’d put the song on, then run out on our lawn. If the song made me think of a woman cuddling by the fire with her cat, I’d turn the song on repeat, then do just that. It’s no mystery why I never tried to make it into the business. I’d be hard-pressed to remember any ideas that coordinate with songs now, except for one: Fleetwood Mac’s “Silver Springs.”

Fleetwood Mac, “Silver Springs” (download)

I had a huge crush on a guy in sixth and seventh grade, and of course felt that I was mature enough to understand love and loss, being as we were so prematurely and painfully separated by my going to public school (our private school only went through 8th). Nothing had ever happened between us and likely the extra year wouldn’t have made a difference (our school was pretty uptight!), but I was convinced that this was a great tragedy in my life.

Around this time, the late ’90s Fleetwood Mac live album, The Dance, came out, featuring “Silver Springs,” which I hadn’t known was a rather rarely performed or even heard song at the time. (more…)

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When you’re young, the desire to fit in can be a very, very dangerous thing. Sure, this applies to drugs, sex, alcohol, violence and all those things parents worry about — but it also relates to music.

I came across Da Real One’s version of “If U Like Pina Colada (Pina Colada Song)” during eighth grade. It was released as part of a rap compilation called And Then There Was Bass. Aside from the fact that I was simply trying to look cool at my new public school (sadly, yes, this was cool), I can’t say why I liked it, except to guess that it was (hopefully) much for the same reason I like it now: sheer ridiculousness.

Da Real One, “If U Like Pina Colada (Pina Colada Song)” (download)”

When I bought my Mac, I went through my CD collection trying to decide what songs to copy and came across this gem as part of an old rap mix I had made. About a week ago, a few friends and I were looking for ridiculous old rap songs, and lo and behold — I was reminded of this.

You think the original “Escape (Pina Colada Song)” is bad? (I actually kind of like it, but never mind.) Wait until you hear a rap cover version of it, complete with awful late ’90s beat, a reference to a threesome between Da Real One and two lesbians, and references to Hennessey, joints and cruising. He also asks if you like “juice in your kina,” a word that even UrbanDictionary doesn’t know.

The music video is even better, of course, featuring Da Real One lounging in Rorschach Hawaiian shirts, sipping Pina Coladas with women in bikinis while watching women dance in stereotypical rap video booty-shaking fashion.

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This song is Spring.

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, “Helplessly Hoping” (download)

It’s easy enough to point to nearly any Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and say that — “Judy: Blue Eyes,” certainly. “Guinnevere,” absolutely. “Our House,” you bet.

But “Helplessly Hoping” is it, the most Spring of any of their songs. This is it.

The opening guitar could be anything, it could be Spring showers, blossoms sprouting, skipping down the street, a gentle breeze, sunshine peeking through clouds.

It’s hope, the kind that comes from feeling warm air on your skin, packing away heavy clothes, letting your body relax after bracing against cold, being out among people again, being free from the doldrums of Winter.

“…gasping at glimpses of gentle true spirit he runs / wishing he could fly…”

It’s meeting people for the first time and seeing old friends in a new light. It’s the excitement, confusion and frustration that comes from new beginnings. It’s the senseless equations that form chemistry.

“…they are one person / they are two alone / they are three together / they are for each other…”

It’s taking chances, letting things go, daring to live.

“…love isn’t lying it’s loose in a lady who lingers / saying she is lost / and choking on hello…”

And it’s far too short, requiring your attention almost immediately before it threatens to slip into yesterday.

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The first music, in general, that I remember loving and growing up with was from The Music Man — as in the movie with Robert Preston, which I would watch repeatedly, to the point of annoying my mother, when I was about four years old. But memory is a tricky thing, and a lot of the music that stuck with me until today, I don’t have memories of hearing until I was much older than my Music Man-watching age. But one of the first rock songs I remember hearing and loving, probably from the age of seven or eight, is “House of the Rising Sun.”

The Animals, “House of the Rising Sun” (download)

When I was younger, I had a really tiny keyboard piano. Really tiny. About the size of a modern laptop. It was difficult to actually play much on it, but when I had it, I didn’t really know how to play much of anything anyhow. Generally I’d just play a couple random notes, attempt composing (which usually meant coming up with four to 10 single notes in succession), or playing the presets. The presets were generally super irritatingly fast and happy numbers that sounded more like robots with ADD than anything musical. For whatever reasons, at some point my tastes began gravitating towards things that were a bit darker, a bit slower, a bit more somber — despite my early leanings towards musicals. In a case of what can only be some sort of musical destiny, the only pre-set tune that wasn’t extremely perky on this little toy piano was “House of the Rising Sun.”

What is “House of the Rising Sun” doing as a pre-set song on a little toy piano? Your guess is as good as mine. Because none of the other songs were rock songs, and the only pre-set that was a recognizable popular song was a classical piece, it didn’t occur to me that this was a “real” song. It wasn’t until someone referenced “House of the Rising Sun” in a movie that I learned that I didn’t have to run to my toy piano every time I wanted to hear it. But sometimes I still did anyway.

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Getting a car was a bit of a long process for me. In actuality, it probably wasn’t that long, but when you’re 17 and most of your friends have cars, anything short of buying a car the minute you see it is “too long.” There was a bit of a debate over the Pontiac Sunfire I wanted because it wasn’t exactly a safe car. Naturally, I didn’t care as much about safety; I just liked that it looked cool, and even though it was used, it was new enough to have a CD player (the downside for my friends who got theirs early is that a lot of them had to install one, an amenity that I doubted would have happened for me otherwise).

Like any teenager with a new car, when it was finally mine, you couldn’t get me out of it. So, even though my school was close enough that I could reasonably walk (it was a little less than a mile away), I drove. (I didn’t feel that bad about it, though, because one of the school princesses, who got a very cool car just as soon as she could drive, lived two blocks away and still drove. And there were never enough parking spaces!)

For my senior year of high school, I cultivated the ever popular “I don’t give a shit about this place or anyone here” attitude. I spent most of my time listening to Seattle indie bands, talking more in class than I had for the three years prior (when I went to them), and dreaming about getting into a school in New York City. The car became a reminder of how good life was — or could be.

This time coincided with my love of a Seattle band named Peter Parker. Their second album, Semiautobiographical, probably took up 80% of my music listening that year. Because I thought I was so damn cool, I decided at some point that I needed “entrance music,” a song that I could play every time I drove into the school parking lot. It became a very easy choice. While driving into school one morning, my arrival at the threshold of the school parking lot just so happened to coincide with the beginning of the drum beat of “Barcelona (Das Ist Alles)” that kicks in at the 56 seconds mark. It felt like a sign. This had to be my entrance music. (more…)

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The best thing about St. Patrick’s Day - aside from that whole drinking thing - is that it’s a day to be especially proud about redheadedness.

A long time ago, the Seattle alternative weekly Tablet had a feature called something like: “what it’s like to be…” and had someone write a short paragraph about what it was like to be, for example, a garbage man, or a transplant to Seattle. They also had someone write a paragraph about what it’s like to be a redhead that was the most accurate thing I’ve ever read. It more or less said: “if you’re a redheaded woman, you’ll be forever harassed by older and/or creepy men obsessed with redheads and your looks won’t be more widely appreciated until you’re older. If you’re a redheaded man, your life will be harder than the women, and you’ll likely be mocked except by the very rare redhead obsessed woman.”

Redheads have it rough. As a non-redhead, you might scoff at this, but just look back at history. Redheads were thought to be children of Satan, morally denigrated and hostile. In movies, bullies, enemies, and other sorts of “bad” people are often portrayed by redheads. And let’s not forget the whole “ginger kid” prejudice thing, as pointed out by “South Park.” (Although, luckily for American Redheads, the real thing is far more prevalent in the U.K.)

Bruce Springsteen, “Red Headed Woman” (download)

That’s not to say that being a redhead doesn’t have its positives, it surely does. One of them is this song. I was a Springsteen fan long before I heard this song, but you’d better believe it made me like him even more. The redhead praise aside, it’s fun to hear him be so blatantly sexy and raunchy for an entire song.

This is the perfect day to follow suit after the Boss. After you’ve had your Irish car bombs, your Irish coffees, your Bailey’s, your Jameson, your Guinness… do something nice for a redhead. We could use it!

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