DOWNLOAD THE FULL MIX HERE

You what song I can’t get out of my mind? “Mambo No. 5.” And really it’s only the part of the song where he says “The trumpet! The trumpet!” If there’s a perfume called “Essence of Hell No. 5″ Lou Bega is certainly the creator of it. I can’t stand the song, but what do I listen for? Yep, “The trumpet! The trumpet!” I hate you Lou! But I’m grateful, too. Simply because Lou gave me an idea for a mix. Yes, “Mambo No. 5″ made me start thinking of pop songs where the trumpet takes a solo, and once I started down that road, well the following mix fell into place pretty quickly. Enjoy!

“Handlebars,” Flobots

From Denver, this band is one of those rare acts who was helped by radio — before they got signed to a major label. How often does that happen in this day and age? I started hearing this tune on my local modern rock station in San Francisco a couple of month ago, and was struck by the clever way the band blends musical styles. The are also noted for their commitment to social activism and progressive causes. Trumpet solo by Joe Ferrone. (more…)

And so, for no real reason besides pride and misunderstanding, my best friend, Steve, and I had a falling out when we were 17. It wasn’t your typical bloodied knuckles, black-path fight after school that drove us apart. I’m sure that Steve inadvertently brushed me off in favor of his high school girlfriend and that I took it the wrong way. So I decided that I would wait. I would wait for him to initiate the next time we got together and and instead drank warm Bud Lights or kicked back in the basement and idled away the hours listening to music. I was a stupid teenage guy and I let my own self-importance get the better of me. Face it, friends, when faced with the option of hanging with your bud or possibly getting to third base with a 17-year-old cutie, a guy’s going to choose the latter. What should have been resolved within a day or even a week went on for months. Another long, dreary Cleveland winter passed and the two of us did not speak, not even cordial “hellos” in the hallways. Silence. When asked by mutual friends what happened between us, I could only reply, sadly, “I don’t know.” In truth, I really didn’t know. Back then, I wasn’t wise enough to understand that people don’t have to speak every single day to remain close and important to each other. Alas, that was high school, though. I don’t think I knew any kid my age with the wisdom of an adult, John Hughes films notwithstanding.

One Saturday night, we wound up at the same small get together in someone’s living room. In the background, the television was tuned to MTV and the Pete Townshend Deep End Live concert special. Townshend’s presence was strangely appropriate. He was an artist that Steve and I had discovered at the same time, admiring his long history of introspective lyrics and ear bleeding guitar chords. Steve was a great fan of Quadrophenia and Empty Glass, while I enjoyed the anthems on Who’s Next and White City. We both agreed that All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes was his finest work as a solo artist. That night, as we sat uncomfortably in the same tight quarters, I wanted to nudge him and make a comment about drummer Simon Phillips or about how David Gilmour’s guitar playing really suited Townshend’s theatrical music (Gilmour was playing lead for this show). But we kept our distance and the rift continued. When we would eventually reconcile, it would actually be an obscure of Pete Townshend song, “Life to Life,” that would give me the courage to take the extra steps needed to make sure our friendship healed.

Soon after the shared Townshend experience, I approached Steve during our high school’s winter formal. Something inside of me, perhaps the realization that I’d been an ass, compelled me to break the ice.

“We should talk sometime.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. See ya around.”
“Sure.” (more…)

We’ve been doing “Songs for the Dumped” for awhile now, and if we’ve learned anything it’s that:

1. People are at heart mean and vindictive, and

2. Apparently nobody had a good time in high school, because, like, all of these stories are about high school.

Did anyone actually enjoy themselves during this phase? Who are these people that call it the “best four years of their lives?” Are they insane? Liars? Elves? If you have a good high school story, hit us up in the comments down there; meanwhile, Py Korry checks in with a story about two sisters, and Pete Townshend.

“Sisters of No Mercy”
By Py Korry

It’s 1983, and it’s my senior year of high school. At a party one weekend I have a long conversation with Gwen, who’s there with a bunch of friends, and her younger sister, Jenna. Gwen and I talk for over an hour and it’s clear (to me, that is) that the two of us are starting to fall for each other. There’s a lot of smiling, a few not-so-subtle touches to the arm after a couple well timed jokes, and even a couple of slow dances. I was going in for the whole “kiss and then get her number” thing, when her friends said they had to leave. Crap! Could this get any worse? Sadly, yes.

When I saw her at school on Monday, I asked if she would help me with my Geometry homework — since she was getting an A and I was wallowing in the C-/D+ realm. She said she would, and I drove over to her house that night, where she did help me with my homework, and I asked her out. She said “yes” and I floated home thinking I had won the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. Stupidly, I made plans with my friend Matt to double date. We were going to go to San Francisco on Friday to get dinner, and then off to some arty-farty movie with Sting (Brimstone and Treacle ) and then, hopefully, a lot of making out.

But then… (more…)