Cold, Cold, Cold

Another decade, another polar vortex.

For the first time since Madonna, Prince and Bruce Springsteen ruled the pop charts, I was made privy to extremely cold temperatures. Wednesday, January 30^th greeted me with temps reading minus twenty-five (F), while Thursday morning—the 31st—revealed they had sunk even lower, to minus twenty-nine (F).

Ah, winter. The leaden air mass that sits upon us like a cruel older sibling evokes memories.

I share them here.

The eighties were cold. And no, that isn't a tacit reference to the Reagan administration.

For reasons known only to itself, the weather pattern shifted and brought Arctic cold to the upper Midwest on three separate occasions during the decade: 1982, 1983 and 1985. In a cosmological fusion of the real estate maxim location, location, location and the more-general one that states timing is everything, I was able to participate in all three.

Arctic cold is extremely efficient. It does in a few minutes what non-Arctic cold takes an hour to do. Sadistically, it freezes and then numbs one's flesh, providing a prickly burn as it does so. Accounts that include phrases like “a thousand tiny razors” are not far off.

Add wind and the process is exponentially accelerated. The sensations are deepened. Accountants steeped in cost-benefit analysis applaud wildly. It is very, very efficient.

My first immersion experience with Arctic air occurred on January 16, 1982. I had taken it upon myself to head into the city for some record shopping. Being young, I instinctively knew the emergency weather warnings being issued about dangerously cold temperatures did not apply to me.

They were for other people.

Dressed as I would for any other winter's day, I set off downtown. All was well until the trip home.

Waiting on the Fullerton El platform (so named because this particular conveyance is elevated above street level, thereby exposing patrons to the full effect of any and all wind), I became aware of a painful, incessant chill.

Surprisingly, the sneakers I wore did little to insulate my feet. My ears were on fire thanks to the ability polar breezes have for reducing human skin to pin cushions.

At least I hadn't inconvenienced myself by wearing a hat.

One of the more amusing qualities of Arctic cold is its ability to provoke profanity. As I stood on the El platform completely exposed to the minus forty-degree wind chill, I could do little but hop up and down and spit “Fuck!” from between my clenched teeth.

Yes, it was cold.

And thanks to a perversion of generosity, the fun wasn't over yet.

Since this was Saturday, the bus that would normally take me to within a block of my home was not in service. Which meant a one-mile walk into the same westerly winds I had combated on the El platform.

No alcoholic, no junkie and no crackhead ever went to the lengths to satiate their addiction than I did that day.

God smiles on us in many ways. On this day, he—or she—had decided to teach a young man about vulnerability. About exposed skin's sensitivity to polar temperatures. About hats.

While I had successfully avoided the social embarrassment that goes hand in hand with having the beautiful young women who frequented record stores on Saturday mornings from pointing and laughing at my hat hair, I had risked permanent (and painful) skin damage.

After arriving home, I inspected my ears for the small, white patches that indicate frostbite. Finding none, I dove into bed. I minimized pillow-to-ear contact for fear they would snap and break off.

There were other experiences, most notably December 24, 1983 (minus twenty-three with steady twenty MPH winds) and January 20, 1985, which bottomed out at twenty-seven below with similar wind speeds.

But chastened by my El platform experience, I limited my exposure. If I wasn't attending a holiday party or periodically starting my car, I was inside. The way God intended. So instructive was the Arctic cold that I only needed to suffer it once. 

Regrettably, Jack Daniels, Stolichnaya and Heineken couldn't say the same.

My Favorite CDs of 2014

Twenty-fourteen was not one of the all-time great rock and roll years. Not like 1965 or 1980 or even 2011. 

There were a passel of good releases plus some noteworthy boxed sets and archival live albums. But nothing I played to the exclusion of sleep or even leaving for work on time.

On the other hand, maybe I'm just getting old. Or more responsible. Being that sixty is closer than fifty, one of these is a distinct possibility.

OK. On to 2014. 

First, the box sets.

I'm taking the road less-traveled and choosing the three-disc Michael Bloomfield collection From His Head to His Heart to His Hands.

The careers of other sixties guitar gods were certainly more celebrated and more thoroughly-chronicled than Bloomfield's. But I can't imagine they were any more deserving than that of this Chicago kid with the unruly hair.

His stinging leads informed some of the sixties most indelible albums, and helped usher the guitar into new and unimagined realms. This collection shines a much-needed light on the career of one of rock's unacknowledged masters.

Every once in a while, a tour attains legendary status. Such tours represent a watershed moment in the career of a band or artist. Examples would be the Rolling Stones in 1972. Bob Dylan in 1966. Or the Talking Heads in 1983.

Another would be Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in 1978. The uniform intensity of the band's performances (all 111 of them) was staggering. I've never heard a band play so hard so often. They were relentless.

Fortunately for us, several shows were simulcast on radio. And one of them, the August 9^th date at the Agora Theater in Cleveland, recently received an official release by LeftField media on Bruce Springsteen.net.

The sound quality is excellent, as is the performance. Cleveland was an early stronghold for Springsteen, and suitably enlivened, he and the E Street Band turn in a charged performance worthy of release.

Now for 2014's favorites:

1. Hookworms – The Hum On their second album, Hookworms don't just confront the so-called sophomore jinx, they assault and batter it until it's the consistency of porridge. (Which isn't to be construed as an endorsement of senseless violence, but as the Square Peg's way of saying The Hum is really good.)

Dark, aggressive, eerie—The Hum might be how The Doors would've sounded had it been recorded today, rather than a half-century ago. Most amazing of all is that Hookworms are able to infuse the proceedings with melody and, well, hooks.

Who knows—I might just be late for work one of these days.

Check “The Impasse” and “Retreat”.

2. Mogwai – Rave Tapes The spare and austere beauty of Scotland oozes from this collection, a continuation of the work featured on last year's brilliant Les Revenants soundtrack. Call it Mogwai 2.0.

The rock-inspired crunch continues to give way to a subtler, more-nuanced music that is as resonant as it is unhurried. 

Only a labored spoken word piece mars the glorious mood. On planet LPG, Rave Tapes was the grower of the year.

Check “No Medicine for Regret” and “Heard About You Last Night”.

3. Jenny Lewis – The Voyager I wasn't cool-enough to tap into Rilo Kiley until Under the Blacklight, and by then it was pretty much over with. Thankfully, Lewis' solo career has been a fruitful one.

The Voyager finds Lewis grappling with the questions biological clocks and boyfriends who won't take off their headphones pose. Paradoxically, it's all cloaked in a warm pop sheen, burnished by Lewis' oh-so-charismatic voice.

However deeply you choose to listen, The Voyager is a trip worth taking.

Check “Aloha & the Three Johns” and “Slippery Slopes”.

4. Hamish Kilgour – All of It and Nothing Brother David is better-known, but Hamish's solo debut is a smack dab doozy.

In that way a certain generation of Flying Nun alumni have, Kilgour's spare, talk-sung epics have an appealing understatement which is unlike anything out there. The shambling melodies and Kilgour's modest voice imparts an intimate, homemade feel.

Odd bits of instrumentation shine like stars in All of It and Nothing's vast sky, cementing its appeal.

Check “Crazy Radiance” and “Smile”.

5. Temples – Sun Structures Temples hit all the right notes on this, their debut album. 

Inhabiting a sweet spot somewhere between early Pink Floyd, mid-sixties Byrds and a bit of the Walker Brothers, they fashion a hook-laden nugget that's one of the freshest-sounding releases of the year.     

Check song of the year “Keep in the Dark” and “Sand Dance”.

6. Sharon Van Etten – Are We There When Van Etten asks if we're 'there', she's not referring to a vacation destination. 'There' is a place where, if you're really lucky, it might stop raining long-enough for sunlight to animate the particle of color in her endless night.

But with light comes shadows, and the haunted Van Etten can't help but wonder what romantic devilment lies within.

A snippet of lighthearted studio chatter closes Are We There, suggesting the possibility of a happy ending. Which is fine—as long as it doesn't preclude her master's thesis on the dark side of love.

Check “Our Love” and “Every Time the Sun Comes Up”.

7. Gary Clark, Jr. – Live Were it not for the smoldering, electric guitar goodness of this album, I'd be concerned this release masks a case writer's block, coming as it does two years after his last studio release and with no plans for another one anytime soon.

But when you have a talent like Clark who can sing like Marvin and play like Jimi, it's best to just enjoy the music however and whenever it comes. So what if it doesn't follow the prescribed path to success? 

Being on hold never sounded so good.

Check “Catfish Blues” and “If Trouble Was Money”.

8. The Faint – Doom Abuse I'd lost track of this Omaha, Nebraska outfit after 2004's Wet from Birth. Turns out it wasn't very hard, as following a year-long tour for Fasciinatiion they essentially disbanded.

Doom Abuse isn't the rusty release you could rightfully fear after so much time off, but a hit-the-ground-running collection that sounds like it came straight from the kinetic aftermath of a hot tour.

Check “Your Stranger” and the would-have-been Max Headroom favorite “Dress Code”.

9. Rodney Crowell – Tarpaper Sky On one hand, as perhaps one of three guys on this list who could recall the 1976 punk explosion, Crowell is a survivor.

On the other, that would be damming him with faint praise.

Albums like Tarpaper Sky are the reason Crowell isn't appearing at your local casino alongside Eddie Rabbit and the Oak Ridge Boys on those generic, pre-packaged oldies tours.

His remains a fresh and vital talent.

Check “Grandma Loved That Old Man” and “I Wouldn't Be Me Without You”.

10. Prince – Art Official Age September was twofer time in Paisley Park as Prince released a pair of albums, the better and more cohesive of which appears here.

Art Official Age isn't anything you haven't heard before, and it isn't going to replace Dirty Mind or Sign of the Times in your Prince pantheon.

But all of that's forgotten the first time you get up and pop n' lock.

Check “Breakfast Can Wait” and “Art Official Cage”.

Honorable mentions:

Wussy – Attica!

The Black Keys – Turn Blue

Jack White – Lazaretto

The Twenty Year Rule

I am the newly-appointed Minister of Cultural Affairs for the State. I have decreed that no pop band or artist may record for more than twenty years.

Because of the power accorded me, this means there is no Bob Dylan after 1982. No Rolling Stones after 1984. No Bruce Springsteen after 1993. No U2 after 2000.

This also means Green Day has bid us farewell. That Pearl Jam is in the process. And that the Dave Matthews Band has just two years left.

This raises questions. Who would lose the greatest portion of their legacy? Does a band or artist even contribute to its legacy after twenty years? And whose career would end on the highest note?

What I’ve done below is list five artists each from the sixties, seventies and eighties, and placed their careers in the context of the twenty-year rule.

I list the artist, what would be their final album, some significant albums that never would have been as a result and the number of studio releases which followed their twentieth anniversary:


Bob Dylan
Shot of Love (1981)
Infidels, Oh Mercy, Time Out of Mind, Love and Theft
12

The Rolling Stones
Undercover (1983)
Bridges to Babylon
5

The Kinks
Word of Mouth (1984)
none
3

The Moody Blues
The Present (1983)
none
5

Neil Young
This Note’s for You (1988)
Freedom, Ragged Glory, Living With War, Chrome Dreams II
14

Aerosmith
Get a Grip (1993)
none
3

Bruce Springsteen
Human Touch, Lucky Town (1992)
none
6

Tom Petty
She’s the One (1996)
Mojo
4

Prince
Crystal Ball (1998)
Musicology
9

The Cure
Wild Mood Swings (1996)
none
3

U2
All That You Can’t Leave Behind (2000)
none
2

R.E.M.
Reveal (2001)
Around the Sun
3

Metallica
St. Anger (2003)
none
1

The Red Hot Chili Peppers
By the Way (2002)
none
1

Green Day
21st Century Breakdown (2009)
none
0


Granted, the third category (significant albums made after a band’s twentieth anniversary) is highly-subjective. But it’s my blog and I can do whatever I want. You are free to quibble with Around the Sun and Mojo until the recession is over for all I care.

Next, a couple of things become clear. One, very few bands or artists have released a career-defining album after their twentieth anniversary. Or even many good ones. And two, solo artists fare better than bands.

What does it say that Bridges to Babylon is the best Stones album of the past twenty-seven years? This from a band that once released Beggar’s Banquet, Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main Street in a space of less than four years.

Or that U2 haven’t released a powerful album in over a decade? You could argue it’s been twice that for the Cure and Metallica. It might be more for Bruce. Prince has released one.

There’s a pattern here.

It’s interesting that soloists age better than bands. Fewer people equal fewer agendas. And fewer agendas mean less time wasted, which streamlines the creative process. However hard it may for a solo artist to find artistic inspiration twenty years down the road, it’s far-more difficult to get four or five people to even look for it at that point.

A band is marriage times five. Think about that.

Another thing. Even given the better odds for solo performers, the output of Dylan and Neil Young in their third and fourth decades is astonishing. They are rock and roll’s George Blanda. They are (if you’ll pardon the expression) musical freaks. Let’s face it. No one has a right to be making albums like Love and Theft two years away from being eligible for social security benefits.

It’s just not fair.

So you see, while my proposal may at first seem severe and even undemocratic, in the end it should be obvious that it couldn’t be more egalitarian.

Or is it?

Comments welcome.