Solid State

The plan was for me to write a nice post for you all summarizing the music-related movie I watched this weekend from my Netflix. Unfortunately, my cold is back. And it was about halfway through the documentary that even the collective cuteness of the Bens (Lee, Kweller, and Folds) couldn't keep me from passing out on my futon.

So no wrap up yet.

Although I would like to say to the aforementioned cold; seriously? No, really, seriously? I eat healthy, I work out to a fault, I sleep so much it affects my social life, and I take my vitamins. I mean, what better tequila-mixer than a little Emergen-C?

Kidding.

Anyway. After the movie clicked off and the TV was back on, I did dream a little MTV-News that might interest some of you. And a quick on-line check this morning affirmed that it was true.

That is, rapper Common would like you to write a lyric about the importance of HIV-testing.

I tend to jump around from cause to cause, but I've always had a special place in my heart for the importance of HIV-testing. In fact, two years ago (my god, have I really lived here that long?) I decided to try and meet some new friends in the music scene by compiling a CD with just that message, in support of Vermont CARES. It's actually how I met most of you, dear readers, as you were pretty much all on it! Swale, The Jazz Guys, Nest Material, Pretty & Nice, even Dan!

Anyway, I know that most of you don't write rap (although I did catch Lee's wigged-version of white rapper this past Thursday...), but luckily you don't have to. Common is just looking for a good message - in any genre. The bad news is that you have to be 25 or under, which I'm pretty sure eliminates a large part of this reading audience. The prize? Common will perform the lyric on MTV networks - which I know is a major goal in all of your lives.

If you do happen to be interested in the contest, you can check out all the details here.

And I promise, once this cold finally gets off my back (I mean, seriously!) I will write something other than regurgitated MTV.

I got this email in my gmail today and had to screen shot it to share with you all. Please note who sent it to me:

Great. Not only is the music industry dead, but now its personal grim reaper is literally sending me emails about it.

Awesome.

P.S. If the music industry is really dead, why would I want their help in achieving success and recognition? I mean, seriously?

Back in high school my girlfriends and I talked quite often about V-day. To us, the term did not mean Valentine's Day, a holiday pretty nondescript without paychecks or driver's licenses. To us, V-day meant Vagina-Day. Or the Day (capital D) marking the first time our mothers forced us to visit the OB/GYN for our... girly appointment.

To us, V-Day may as well have been D-Day.

Obviously that's not the kind of V-Day this post is about. But I figured I would do my best to make you all feel good and awkward in preparation for what's to come.

Because what's to come is pretty damn awkward.

Much like V-Day, Valentine's Day has never been one of my favorite holidays. Super-emo crushes and mix-tapes, on the other hand? OH SO TOTALLY MY SCENE.

Now let me take you back to a time I like to call 2003, or more affectionately, sophomore year. I was living in the backwoods of Maine, studying writing, selling merch for a pop-punk band called gocasual, and in my spare time, throwing pebbles at the lead singer's window so he could buzz me in to hang out.

Dude, whatever, our dorm security was tight.

And I may have also had a crush on him. A crush the singer remained completely unaware of until I did as every musically-inclined college sophomore girl did, and made him a mix-tape to explain how I felt.

OK FINE, it was a CD. I wasn't cool enough for cassettes, OK?

I remember presenting my friend with the CD, not a particularly unusual thing for me to do, and telling him, "You have to listen all the way through and figure out the message." And so he set off to do just that.

Later on that day the singer ran the track with his disc-man, while I ran my little butt off on the elliptical (some things never change). Then, much to my horror, my friend approached me while I flailed on the ever-graceful machine and, headphones still in place, declared loudly, "I FIGURED IT OUT! IT'S THE STORY OF A HEARTBROKEN LIFE!"

Kids, I will repeatedly write about coming close to falling off the elliptical, but that was the only time that the elliptical itself fell apart and onto the ground with the extreme mortification of the moment.

"Uh, no," I stammered. "Keep guessing!"

In the end, the singer did guess the message of the mix, and it brought us closer as friends. Not boyfriend and girlfriend, however. After all, he was busy with that teeny blond girl next door to him - the one with the heavy eyeliner who could put both legs behind her head. And there are some things even a long workout on an elliptical just can't change.

Feeling sentimental, I dug my own copy of the mix out this past weekend and gave it a listen. My first thought was WOW, did I ever like some god awful bands. My second thought was that the message was embarrassingly clear, and how it took the singer two guesses to figure out the meaning is beyond me.

Men.

Anyway, if any of you are currently crushing hard and looking for a creative confessional Valentine, a similar mix could do the trick.  Of course with all of today's legal confusion surrounding the subject of mix-tapes and mix CDs (if it's for private use, is it OK? They won't tell us), my official advice is to go with a "suggested play list". It might sound lame, but whatever, so is Valentine's Day.

DO start with Weezer's "El Scorcho." There has never been a more charming line then "I'll bring home the turkey if you'll bring home the bacon."

Do NOT under any circumstances include "Short Stories With Tragic Endings" by From Autumn to Ashes. I am embarrassed to admit that this song served as a clincher on my own mix, but will enthusiastically affirm that it should never serve that role (or any role) from here on out.

DO include "Pamphlateer" by The Weakerthans. Or anything by The Weakerthans. They are Canadian. And amazing. And always will be.

Do NOT include songs by both Midtown and Rufio. And The Promise Ring. AND Alkaline Trio. Unless you too are designing your mix for the singer of an aspiring pop-punk band.

DO consider the option of movie soundtracks. Or more specifically, DO consider "Sally's Song" from The Nightmare Before Christmas as a possible closer. It's pretty dead on, and if we're honest, Tim Burton will always earn cool points.

Really though, the most important thing is to remember that today is just another day. If you actually plan to make a CD, do it today, or tomorrow, or never, but do it because you mean it, not because some holiday is pressuring you to. I believe it was Andre 3000, a very wise man, who once said, “Everyday is the 14th.” Consider that advice, and live by it.

And stear clear of errant ellipticals...

So did everyone watch the Grammys on Sunday?

Yeah, me neither.

I had planned to skip the televised awards show in favor of Burlington's own (live! and in person!) Gregory Douglass at Higher Ground. Unfortunately my raging head cold deemed otherwise. Which would have made me the perfect Grammy audience except that by the time the cold drop-kicked me that one last time, I didn't feel like watching anything other than old episodes of 90210 (God bless Netflix).

I did follow the news leading up to the awards show as I found it pretty amusing: namely that concerning everyone's favorite crack-head, Amy Winehouse. So I checked all my favorite gossip sites again Monday morning to see how it all went down.

What I found was somewhat alarming.

Apparently, the masterminds behind the awards show figured they should celebrate their fiftieth showing by featuring every big name in music to ever make it big ever. And three, four, or even five at a time. The stories even made me wish I had tuned in, so I could let you know if Beyonce really can match Tina Turner note for note.

[Obviously we all know the answer to that one: no one can. After all, Tina will forever be the only person to ever get the entire OP asking in unison, "what's love got to do with it?"]

Checking with the Rolling Stone online photo gallery confirmed my fears: designers at tabloids all over the country were surely fired this morning when it was discovered that last night's bizarre pairings deemed their photoshopping skills unecessary. Need a shot of Keely Smith with Kid Rock? Done. John Mayer with Alicia Keys? All set. John Fogerty and Little Richard? Yup. Yoko Ono and Beyonce? You think I'm kidding at this point... but I'm not.

There's even a picture of Cher with a normal haircut. And not just any normal haircut, but MY SAME NORMAL HAIRCUT!

My favorite picture in all my recap-research though, has to be the one of Amy Winehouse awaiting news of her wins for "Rehab" from rehab.

Oh, dear Amy, what will we do with you?

In more political news, Barack won a Grammy to match Hillary's. His is for the audio version of his book, TheAudacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream. Hillary nabbed hers back in 1997 for It Takes a Village.

And the race continues...

It seems Boston really is the "Hub of the Universe." This week, at least. Continuing on a theme from earlier in the week, S'nalban's/Enosburg Falls' finest, Farm, was glowingly reviewed in a recent edition of Beantown's voluminous indie music rag The Noise. Reviewer Ryan Bray refers to the trio's terrific 2007 release Gray Birds as "arguably one of the best records you've likely never heard." Well, I have heard it. A lot. And it's hard for me to disagree. Congrats, boys. When can we expect the new disc?

On a totally unrelated note, have you folks seen the documentary "King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters?" If you like Donkey Kong, fierce competition and even fiercer mullets, I highly recommend it. The film centers around two gentleman widely acknowledged to be the best Donkey Kong players in the world and one man's quest to gain acceptance in the surprisingly exclusive world of competitive gaming. If it sounds ridiculous, it is. It's also thoroughly engrossing and, at times, genuinely touching. Perhaps it was just lingering effects of The Game That Shall Not Be Named, but I found myself rooting with as much enthusiasm and vigor as any sporting event I've seen in recent memory. And for me, that's saying something. Chills, I tell you. Chills.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. As for myself, I'm playing the bachelor for a night or two as m'lady is out of town. I'm thinking greasy pizza, cheap beer and bowling. It's the simple pleasure, folks.

I am writing this post as we near the end of Super Tuesday. You know, the momentous day where pretty much everyone in the country made their vote in the presidential primaries. Except for us Vermonters. We like to do things at our own pace up here, and voting is no exception. Which is why we'll be waiting almost an entire month to officially weigh in on the debate.

Before the 2004 election, I wasn't really concerned with the primaries. My vote was simply "Not Bush". I hated 'No Child Left Behind,' I hated the 'War on Terror,' and I especially hated that his stupid entourage of SUVs was constantly making me late to my job as a lifeguard at Kennebunk Beach.

This time around, I'm glad for that extra month. I've had a hard time figuring out my feelings on the democratic candidates, and while I know I'm not really a fan of Clinton, I've yet to decide any official reason for supporting Obama.

At least until my dad emailed me this video.

[Here's where things get musical!]

I'm not sure that I pulled a concrete justification for a vote out of this video, but my feeling was so strongly in support of Obama, and my emotions so on edge when it ended, that it served as the kick in the pants I needed to give this guy some proper research.

I won't preach to you about my findings, since they'll all be contingent on personal opinion, but I wanted to share the video that got me in a voting frame of mind. Leave it to will.i.am to serve as my motivation. Maybe he'll inspire you as well.

Nahhh. Just kidding. How could anyone ever "damn" The Smittens? There just so darned . . . cute. Like, a puppy-eating-an-ice-cream-cone-in-a-sailor-suit kinda cute.  But they're also a great band that's continuing to gain notoriety beyond the currently gloomy borders of our insular little burg. (Note to Tom Messner: Seriously, dude. Snow or rain. Make up your fucking mind. If I fall on the ice one more time, I'm suing.)

Here's a link to an article published yesterday in the Boston Phoenix about our hometown twee-ty birds. It's one of the better profiles I've read on the band and I kinda I wish I'd written it first. Oh well. Still, it's a good read and succinctly captures the quintet's irrepressibly perk-tastic charm.

If chipper ain't your bag, here's a hysterical collection of celebrity obituary previews from David Thorpe's latest Burn Unit column in The Weekly Dig.  I didn't know this until I read it in Thorpe's column — and promptly cross-checked the facts, of course — but apparently the Associated Press actually prepares obits ahead of time (prehumously?) so they can semi-eloquently break the news the moment a star passes away. They were busted when an early draft of a Britney Spears obit recently leaked to the mass media. For the utterly pop-ignorant, Spears is still alive. Totally nuts. But still alive . . . for now.

How creepy is that? Could you imagine knowing that somewhere, someone is eulogizing you while you still live and breathe? It sounds like a Stephen King novel: A struggling writer gets a gig penning celebrity eulogies and a funny thing starts happening: they die exactly as he describes. He goes mad with power and becomes a celebrity in own right for his uncanny ability to predict death. But then the AP hires a new celebrity obit writer . . .

Actually, that's not bad. I smell a screenplay.

Really loading up on the Beantown rags today, for some reason. Must be a lingering subconscious reaction to the Super Bowl . . . sigh.

So how bout that Super Bowl, eh?

Uh, yeah. I don't actually watch football. Baseball is my sport. And frankly, intensely watching a team from March through October requires a few months of rest from any sports coverage.

But if I had to claim affiliation to any team, it would be the Patriots. If only because I spent just about every Sunday of my college career hanging out in my friend Brian's apartment with the game on. Everyone else was there for the football. I came for our friend Aliza's famous spinach artichoke dip.

And so I clearly remember the celebration after the 2002 Patriots victory, and that of 2004, and 2005. A part of me felt like I should have made the trek back to Maine to watch the 2008 game with the old gang. And the old dip.

Instead I went to my childhood home in Connecticut, land of brown winters and big box store strip malls.

And Giants fans.

Yep, it's true. Not only did my grandfather play college football with Giants defensive end legend Andy Robustelli, but I spent my Super Bowl Sunday at the home of my best friend from high school. My best friend from high school and her entire New York fan family.

But it was all ok. And you know why? Because New York or New England, there was one thing we could all agree on: Tom Petty.

HELL YEAH TOM PETTY!

I mean let's be honest for a second. No matter how much hype the Super Bowl halftime show gets, no matter how many people claim to watch it, it blows. It's all lights, and flash, and medleys, and nipples, and just... not my scene. I'd actually rather watch football.

But when I heard that Tom Petty had agreed to perform, and had promised no medleys and no dancers, I was definitely curious.

My verdict? Overall, I enjoyed it.

Petty kept his word. No medleys and no dancers. Of course, there was a crowd to rush the stage and 'sing along' (many appeared to not actually know the lyrics) in brightly colored tee-shirts with obviously-issued identical flashlights. But, meh, that was unavoidable.

The band delivered four great American rock songs, appealing to all generations. And at our basement party of five Giants fans and one Patriots fan-wannabe, we all sang along. And sat there through the entire thing. Which is really the whole point, at least in the eyes of the NFL. If they can guarantee views, they can continue to charge a high price for advertising.

My only real concern was that I'm pretty sure Tom Petty flat-ironed his hair.

Which is just... bizarre.

Almost as bizarre as that underdog upset.

But in all seriousness, congrats to the Giants fans. That was a pretty amazing thing your boys pulled off last night.

Now get them a new home base, would ya? Because according to their season's record, The Meadowlands just isn't lucky enough for a team that can now call themselves the 2008 Super Bowl Champions. And the only group able to muster enough force to stop that uber-human strength generated by the shine of Brady's straight-toothed smile.

Are you all aware of the "sleeveface" phenomenon?

I was not. That is, not until Ward and friends over at Middlebury College's WRMC 91.1 introduced me by way of their blog. Which you should check out. It's relevant, updated often, and has a background of colors much too bright, but adorable in its own private-school-dance-party kind of way.

Plus the writers all have cute shoes and apparently no shirts.

Wait, what?

Anyway. Sleeveface occurs when an individual uses a record sleeve to obscure his or her face. Simple? Yes. Awesome? Suprisingly, also yes.

Following the links from the WRMC blog, I found a facebook group, a flickr group, and of course, the homepage for the movement, www.sleeveface.com.

My personal favorite of what I've seen is this one, posted by a Henry Covey:

I have not yet tried my hand at making my own sleeveface, as if vinyl translates to coolness, I am decidedly stuck in the eighties... but I might be able to pull off a fun Bowie or Michael Jackson...

How about you kids? Anyone have a sleeveface to share?