CMC 16: "The Shadows".

"The Shadows" Something occured to me, as I dragged out the completion of these comments: on a cold listen, this stuff really needs a context.

I put my initial mix together over several months. I figured, the easiest thing to do, since I've been absent for so long, was to put together a patchwork of songs that popped up over the course of my life, the past sixteen years. I decided this was CMC number 16, so I couldn't resist the desire to do this. A chronological mix. Not the songs by date of their recording, but songs by date of where they appeared as I moved along in life. That is the only way these songs make sense together. hence, "Shadows."

These aren't the only songs from these times, of course, and they aren't always the best. I give you full permission to hate them. Several, I can only love on occasion. But I've got back to them consistently, during these years. The following is the explanation why.

1: 1990. "Havalina", The Pixies, from Bossanova. Release date: 1990.

I bought a ticket to visit my dad in California in 1990. By then, I'd purchased a new type of Walkman that appeared sleeka nd was easy to conceal on my waist. I knew he'd hate it, the tape-playing Walkman, but I was going to visit him on my own for the first time. I was 18. I was going to need the company on the plane. Also, I figured he'd be fine with the idea that I'd footed the bill for the tickets, for once. A gesture of adulthood. I'd dubbed a mix for myself, and that mix included all of the Pixies' previous album, Doolittle. I'd listened to it a milion times, and it was not the best choice for the trip. I was already sick of it by the time I was over the Grand Canyon.

For about five minutes, the plan was this: I was going to move to San Diego after I graduated high school. Dad had given full support on this one, and was willing to pay tuition for San Diego State University. I didn't get out to see the campus until the official visit, in March 1990. By then, I'd started out at the University of Iowa. By then, I'd met a girl, perhaps the right girl. Did I really believe that? It was one of the big discussions. Turned out, I was determined to be right about the girl. California was persuasive, to a point. I could live out here, I suppose. But do I want to be guy I was, at that time, living out here? Ultimately, no.

"Havalina" is a dreamy song that fits the memory of that time perfectly. When I think of southern California at that time, I think of this song, particularly the flowing guitar notes and the breezy pace. The lyrics barely keep the song from being an instrumental:

Walking in the breeze On the plains of old Sedona Arizona Among the trees

Arizona is an appropriate reference. My grandmother lives there, and I went there soon after this visit, and then stayed in Iowa. Havalina is the Mexican name for a wild boar, and if it was a song about a pig, well, I did stay in the Midwest.

2. 1992. "I Don't Know", The Replacements, from Pleased to Meet Release date: 1987.

In the days before internet, it was hell to keep up on music.

I bought the Replacements' 1984 album, Let it Be, almost entirely note unheard, because of the insane word-of-mouth about how great they were, and the fact they had the balls to co-opt the title from The Beatles. By word-of-mouth, I mean Paul Westerburg was featured in every music magazine, and if I was lucky, a song or two would appear on KUNI. The Replacements were non-existant on MTV, as they protested videos.

As it turned out, I really liked Let it Be, but I didn't really find myself a fan of the Replacements until it was just about over. The group came to Carver-Hawkeye arena, and a friend of mine had two tickets to the show. His girlfriend bailed on him or something-- they were having trouble, I heard-- and he invited me without asking me to pay for the ticket. We both lived in the University's Foreign Language House, which was the only co-educational floor on campus. I recall his girlfriend lived on the same floor. Maybe he took me to spite her directly. I don't know. What I do know was, the show was fantastic. Of course, it's not as if I'd seen a lot of live shows. But this was great, and the Replacements were known for being horrible on stage. I remember this song distinctly, which was twice as sloppy then as it sounds here.

Should we top it off? (I don't know)It's startin' too slow. (I don't know)Who's behind the board? (I don't know)They tell me he's a dope. (I don't know)What the fuck you sayin'? (I don't know).

This song appealed to me because it fulfilled the idea of banging out a song in a kind of stupor. Perhaps it really was recorded that way. Perhaps the saxophone was put in later. It wasn't there on stage that night. It also matched my thoughts on life at the time. Halfway through school, and just what the hell did I know? Later, I'd pick up the Replacements' last album, All Shook Down, and listened to it on the plane to Arizona. It's a better album in many ways, but it was more "mature". "I Don't Know" was a match for the time.

3. 1990-1993. "Way Down Now". World Party, from Goodbye Jumbo, released in 1990.

I worked a number of jobs while completing my undergraduate studies. I didn't mind working the cafeteria food line. I sort of enjoyed the video tech job, where I was sent on various field gigs, videotaping conferences, setting up gear for presentations, and monitoring the fiber optic network gear for classrooms. I met some pretty interesting professors. The job I sort of loved the most, though, was the student janitor job I enlisted in shortly after starting school in 1989. I needed the extra cash, and the openings were always posted. Nobody wanted to push a cart around an old medical laboratory for six-fifty an hour. But, it was fairly autonomous. Working the late shift (7-11 p.m.) in a virtually empty laboratory, I heard this song playing from an office radio. I was buffing the floor, and the song rolled out the mono speaker with a little more energy, a little more Rolling Stone homage than I was used to hearing in those still poppy '80s, Kip Winger days.

What I see just makes me cry
I'm way down now I'm way down now
The clocks will all run backwards
All the sheep will have two heads
And Thursday night and Friday
Will be on Tuesday night instead
And all lthe times will keep on changing
And the movement will increase
There's something about the living babe
That sends me off my feet
There's breeding in the sewers
And the rats are on their way
They're clouding up the images of perfect day
And I know I'm not alone

I knew of World Party; they had a minor hit in the late 1980s with "Ship of Fools" on the radio and "Private Revolution" on MTV, which featured Sinead O'Conner before she was known. I liked that folksy stuff okay, but I really like this Stones riff-off even better, if only becuase, well, it felt damn good to hear real instruments in a real pop song. And everybody else was addicted to Edie Brickell on campus, so I needed a respite from that, as well. And the lyrics stuck. Cleaning out one of the dirtiest buidlings on campus, perhaps I was just primed for the imagery. And the "whoo-whoo" Goats Head Soup stuff was fine by me. I was never one to dismiss the Stones, or the Beatles, for that matter. Many acquaintences at that time were against any pre-1990 "college rock". Well, this was allegedly post- 80s progressive, kind of, but it may have well been recorded in 1972. In your face, elitists! I listened to the whole album often, for several years, and at one point told my wife to make sure they play "Sweet Soul Dream" at my funeral. I'm not sure I'd say that now, especially since (as Cheri pointed out), I'm not Irish, and it would seem 'a little odd'.

4. 1994. "Futterman's Rule". The Beastie Boys, from Ill Communication, 1994.

"When Two Are Served, You May Begin To Eat."- Gene Futterman

Rap music is a funny thing. I've heard my whole adult life about the vitality of it, but very few artists ever maintain a catalog that people go back to over the years. Maybe I'm wrong. I have very few 'rap' records in my collection. Remember Run-DMC? Anyone play that lately? Even when I finally gave in and bought "Licensed to Ill" in the 1980s, it was with an understanding that I'd likely grow out of it shortly. I maintained an indirect loyalty to the Beastie Boys as a group, however, almost entirely becuase they manage to get a song or two out there every so often, which I wind up loving so much, I buy the album. I bought this album in Japan, used, at a store called the Book-Off, which was a block away from home.

Cheri and I flew to Japan in 1994, a year after we got married. We'd gone through the process of interviewing for english teaching jobs, got hired, and in August of that year, we were in our new place, a one-room the size of a dorm room, with few belongings. It was great. We also had the whole of August off, to get acclimated. We'd been informed of a gym and spa we could join that was nice. It was pretty much like any gym you could join in the States, although they still had spot-burn machines (that thing where you attach a piece of fabric around your waist and stand there while it shakes your fat). While in the U.S. you often here zippy electro-pop tunes over the speakers, this gym in Japan played show tunes. Non-stop. I think I heard the "South Pacific" sountrack fifty times. In the days before iPod, I could have just plugged in a Walkman, but we were enjoying living light. Then this song got played, totally random, out of knowhere. I wasn't aware it was the Beastie Boys, and nobody else did either; one of my first forays into japanese conversation inlcuded "What song is this?" It came in handy a lot during my stay there. Anyway, a student at one of my high schools enlightened me, as he was a Beastie Boys fan (big in Japan, they were.)

I'm sure there's an explanation out there about the origins of this song. I know the BB, after their first album, got the Dust Brothers to produce their second album. The funkiness of this song is the continuation of that separation from the snotty first record. the BB continued down a path social consiousness and spirituality ("Bodhisattva Vow" is one of the tracks). And, of course, this tune is lyric free. Perhaps it was the endorphins shooting around my system as I heard this song in the gym. Perhaps it was the smell of the Pacific ocean again, this time hitting me Eastward after the Western-blowing "Havalina". I do know I've always liked the opening sentiment: You all better get right for this time, cuz there might be no next time, y'all. I've just come to embrace that the Beasties are always going to be there.

5. 1996. "Pool", Spitz, from Namae-wo stukete yaru/I'll give you a name. 1992.

I needed to pick one song from my time in Japan. Living in the countryside, pre-peer-to-peer file sharing, it was an interesting time to pick up on local music. For one thing, most of the high-school students I spoke with loved music, but in particular, they loved Western music. I spent part of an afternooon working through the lyrics of Deep Purple's "Burn". When it came to Japanese music, the divides between "popular", "mainstream" , "alternative" and what-have-you existed as rigidly as they did Stateside in early '90s. Also, the kind of suggestions and comments I would get depended a great deal on which school I was at. Case in point: Spitz. Spitz was an established band playing incredibly hooky tunes in the '90s. Every all-girls school I visited had its fair share of fans. I was sitting in the teacher's office of one such school, eating a lunch of egg bread and rice balls (mmmm, rice balls) when this song flowed out the overhead speakers. It's common for students to produce an in-house radio program over lunch or early afternoon during cleaning. One student, whom I met for the first time later that week, lent me several of her CDs of this group. I had this experience many times, actually, and I was always appreciative of students' willingness to share music in this now outmoded way. Of course, I transposed a ton of lyrics for students in return, so it all came out even. I found myself struggling to explain Janet Jackson lyrics to one student one whole afternoon.

The members of Spitz went for a natural appearance in their music and their image, in contrast to the glam-look a lot of bands at that time seemed to be going for. And if their music was not challenging, it was certainly catchy, like this song. The airy, floating guitar sound near the end of the song conveys that misty feeling of being up in the mountains in some of the schools I worked at. I don't have the lyrics translated, but at the time I didn't understand any of the lyrics; other songs by Spitz often allude to taking flight, mysterious feelings and straightforward love.

6. 2000-2002. "On Earth." The Sundays. From Blind, released 1991.

I had decided while in Japan that I'd be heading to graduate school in the near future. In 1996 I started in earnest to study for the GRE in my small apartment, during the evening. This turned out to be a mistake because, quite frankly, I was throwing away valuable time experiencing life in Japan studying non-Japanese material. Looking back, I should have studied the language more, because I was already situated in the largest learning library for the Japanese language. The GRE was scrapped, the exam schedule in Tokyo cancelled, and I stopped thinking about school. This turned out to be wise, becuase I really didn't know what I wanted to study and it would take several years of re-acclimating to the United States before I'd know for sure.

When I finally decided what I was going to with my life, I promptly purchased a Compaq laptop and loaded it with the necessities. I also dug out a copy of The Sundays' Blind, which I'd purchased years before, when I was an undergraduate. It was an album I'd given just a few listens to before 1994. I'd bought it after being a fan of their debut CD, but perhaps life was speeding up in 1994, prior to departing the country. The disc got left behind (it's quaint, looking back, how I thought I could only take a dozen or so CDs with me.)

One of the benefits of graduate school was that I could play the part of the college student properly; at 29, I had at least a few things figured out, unlike when I was 18, and knew less than nothing. Of course, I didn't really get into a lot of was 'new' on the local college station; often I just got more into what I already had. In 2000, Blind got loaded into the laptop, and I began listening to it during marathon reading and writing sessions, particularly when I was crunching out research results. It was melodic and comforting, and filled the "college rock" void I'd missed being away.

Read between the lines
Give me something to savour
Can you do that?
cos Ill believe anything

I disclose that when it comes to The Sundays, I often cannot decipher the vocals. Harriet Wheeler has a beautiful voice, but it's all instrument to me. I'm not criticising, just saying. I only understand their version of "Wild Horses" because I'm familiar with the Stones' version. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because the atmosphere of spacy, jangly guitars here works for me. Of course, I can't althogether hear this song without thinking of being locked away in the city library quiet room, tapping out another term paper. Good times, but fortunately, well in the past.

7. 2003. "I See Monsters". Ryan Adams, from Love is Hell, Part 2, 2003.

I don't recall where I heard Ryan Adams for the first time, but I'm betting it was in a movie. It appears a lot of Adams' stuff shows up there (or on television) sooner or later, particularly from his album Gold. Adams came to Iowa City in 2001 to perform, and while I didn't go to the show, I did hear about it for a while afterwards. I picked up Gold and liked it okay, but I really got into the hyper-mellow Love is Hell E.Ps. I had just finished school the year before and was well into working at my new job. So, adult life, at 31, had officially commenced. Either I retreat for a Ph.D, which I'd agreed on vetoing prior to entering grad school, or I'd get with the program and start saving money, talking about having the children, moving into a house, the whole bit. Granted, acquaintences were already way ahead of me in many of those departments; we were still renting an apartment and living like college students. The thing was, we weren't really making the move to change any of it.

Baby, I know you cannot hear me now
'Cause you're fast asleep
But I love you now
Colors inside your head go spinning around
Like a ferris wheel Exploding and falling to the ground
Oh, people are screaming, people are screaming
My baby, she's dreaming
Oh, people are shouting, people are freaking
I'm just staring at the ceiling Waiting for the feeling
Oh, oh but when she calls, I know she's the one
Makes me want her harder Makes me want to be a little stronger
Still I see monsters

I'm always a little worried about things, but not knowing what move to make next was about as intimidating as anything I've encountered. Perhaps not what Adams was getting at, lyrically, but the mood matches.

If anything, Ryan Adams filled the spot left behind by Paul Westerburg after The Replacements broke up and Westerburg stopped putting out music as much. The Love is Hell E.Ps (which were eventually combined into a full album in 2004) is like the follow up to The Replacements All Shook Down. The mood is appropriately stark and honest, and I like the image of Adams singing to a sleeping partner.

8. 2004. "Automatic Stop", The Strokes, from Room on Fire, 2003.

The Strokes were as popular around the University of Iowa campus as anywhere else in 2001, though the initial popularity waned later. A friend gave me a mix of the Strokes shortly before graduation in 2002. Another friend gave me Room on Fire, the second album, a couple of years later. At this rate, The Strokes will be one of those groups I'll be able to collect without having to put down a dime of my own money.

Simply enough, I love this song because of the guitar part and rhythm during the chorus. For a song with such despair in the lyrics, I find it strangely affirming.

So many fish there in the sea
I wanted you, you wanted me
That's just a phase, it's got to pass
I was a train moving too fast
Didn't understand what to see
Yeah, then I got a different view
It's you...no.Wait,
I'm gonna give it a break.
I'm not you friend,I never was.I said wait, I'm gonna give it a break.
I'm not your friend,I never was.

9. 2005. "The Shadows". Yo La Tengo, from I Can Feel the Heart Beating as One, 1997.

Yo La Tengo, on the one hand, represents a traditionally "alternative"/college radio name brand that liking them is almost tantamount to poseurism. The Onion makes as much clear. So, when I started finding my way around the web to find music files (all legal, of course), it was with some reluctance that I sampled (and wound up buying) their album Summer Sun. Itunes had their other recent stuff, and before long, the last few albums were in my iPod as well. I discovered at a local vinyl store that YLT is one of the few groups that puts out all their new stuff on the old 33 1/3 format, and as I have a turntable, it was tempting to go totally elitist and buy I Can Feel the Heart... on an actual record, the first time I would do that since 1989. (I talked myself out of it, though, since I remember all too well how hard it was to keep records clean. I have no nostalgia for scratches and pops. MP3s may have limited range compared to CDs, but CDs, when mastered well, sound great, thanks.)

Scold me, that's all you've got to say
Coldly hurt me and turn away
You say I'm not sorry that
I'm resolved to what is next
I head for the shadows
Hold me, taking it back in tears
You've told me, slowly confessed your fears
But I've got myself to protect
It's too soon for me to forget
I wait in the shadows

The sheer sensitivity and preciousness of the lyrics here make it almost too easy to dismiss YLT. But the last few records really grew on me, and the lyrics here match the atmosphere of the song. So, I gave in and became a fan. And, I wound up buying a new Tom Waits album on vinyl, just do see what it was like. Predictably, the experience was as I expected, and I wound up downloading the album for security purposes.

10. 2006. "Cleaning Windows", Van Morrison, The Best of Van Morrison, 1991 (originally Beautiful Vision, 1982).

In a bit of a cheat, I've pulled the song I'm most familiar with, an album I bought in 1989, Van Morrison's Greatest Hits. It was a simple matter at the time-- I realized I liked a few Morrsion songs, most of them on the compilation record, and then twenty CDs later, I have a little more background on the guy. I haven't picked up the last few CDs; Van Morrison continues to be prolific, putting out about an album a year, but I've been going back to the old stuff.

I heard leadbelly and blind lemon
On the street where I was born
Sonny terry, brownie mcghee,
Muddy waters singin Im a rolling stone
I went home and read my christmas humphreys book on zen
Curiosity killed the cat
Kerouacs dharma bums and on the road
Whats my line? Im happy cleaning windows
Take my time Ill see you when my love grows
Baby dont let it slide
Im a working man in my prime
Cleaning windows...

This song was playing at the moment I was taking this photo in the pharmacy down the street. I was putting the final bits of this mix together, and I got a little worried that I'd be ending it on an "old Fart" note, I kind of rebuke of modern stuff in favor of something rather middle-of-the-road. But I got over that. I want to be the window cleaner in this song. In a way, I am, sort of, although I haven't read any Zen books. Simply, it gets at a simple peace of mind about life. And it a way, working a eight-to-five job and having most of my weekends to myself, I think I'm already there. And in seeking more peacefulness this year, it seemed like a good place to strive to be.