Just Kids - Patti Smith (2010)

Let's go old school with this review.  Oeuvre rule: I first became aware of Patti Smith 13 years ago, when I took a course called "Writing New York" at NYU.  The syllabus was interesting: it primarily consisted of a big anthology of essays and stories about New York written by famous authors over the previous 200 years, starting with Washington Irving's descriptions of the city as it existed in the financial district at its birth.  "Bartleby, the Scrivener" by Herman Melville (1853) was also included, and moved me deeply.  There was some of the usual stuff by the Beats, and some ultra modern stuff, like the entirety of "Angels in America."  There were three even greater curve balls: The Dark Knight Returns, which I skipped at the time and would love 9 years later, The Velvet Underground and Nico, an album I already owned, and Horses by Patti Smith.  Our professors told us that Patti Smith was a poet that became a musician.  Later when I did mushrooms with a friend that year, he put on Horses and said that everyone had it wrong--psychedelic jam bands were not the preferred musical accompaniment to such an experience; Patti Smith was.

Fast forward 8 years and I'm doing an internship in law school and I see one of the co-workers with a copy of Just Kids under his arm.  I was aware of the book at the time and was interested to read it, but then I went on a dating website and "expanded my options" and who should visit my profile but some person announcing that they were currently reading Just Kids and I quickly realize this is the same cubicle neighbor I know and I "narrow my options" again in fear and embarrassment.  After a few weeks, I realize it's just one of those things and nothing awkward comes out of it but I've got to admit that it colored my impression of the book.  After M Train was released last year, I figured enough time had passed.

I've written previously about Patti Smith regarding her excerpts in Please Kill Me  and if it's not clear, I consider her a national treasure.  According to interviews, she wrote most of Just Kids and M Train at Caffe Reggio.  When I lived in NYC it was very exciting to think of who you might run into, but Patti Smith was probably right there the few times I went in that coffee shop and didn't even notice.  What would you say to such people, though?  I wouldn't know what to say until after reading this book.  It won the National Book Award and while I really don't like naming back-to-back reviews "Best Books," this is just such a charming story, with authenticity in spades, that it would be wrong to say a Raymond Carver biography is more worthwhile: this is the more digestible volume.

When I took that course, the professors made much of Smith's adulation for Rimbaud.  Now here, Smith finally writes about how she traveled to Rimbaud's hometown and stayed in the attic of an inn on a horsehair mattress and tried to summon his spirit:

"After a time, I left, and returned to the warmth of my hotel room and its provincial flowers.  Tiny flowers spattering the walls, just as the sky had been spattered with budding stars.  This was the solitary entry in my notebook.  I had imagined that I would write the words that would shatter nerves, honoring Rimbaud and proving everyone's faith in me, but I didn't." (230)

Smith writes of her worship of great artists and heroes from the past, such as Joan of Arc, Baudelaire and Jean Genet.  And it occurred to me gradually that Smith has achieved the status of a living legend.  Not only is she a national treasure, but a world treasure.  Her musical contributions stand on their own, but with Just Kids she adds another medium to her wheelhouse.  One expects that her versatility and passion will be worshiped by future artists.

***

Just Kids is as much about Robert Mapplethorpe as it is herself.

***

Okay I just want to say I can't really go on because yesterday marked the death of David Bowie and it's just way too emotional to be writing about artists from this era that shared so many similarities, particularly as I was situating Smith into a context as one of the Great Artists of our Time.  I don't want to say Bowie is any better than her (they were quite close in age and also worked in a variety of mediums) but I don't recall his being mentioned in Just Kids.  Many other musicians of the time appear (Bobby Neuwirth, Bob Dylan, Allen Lanier from Blue Oyster Cult (a pretty serious boyfriend of hers), Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, etc.) but not so many from the so-called "punk era" (Tom Verlaine excepted), and perhaps M Train will have a Bowie story or two.  Smith did post a photo on Facebook yesterday of her and Bowie singing together in 2004 or 2005.  She seems to have a penchant for covering other artists' songs, so I would not be surprised if she shows up at some kind of NYC memorial for him, not unlike her rendition of "Perfect Day" after the death of Lou Reed roughly one year ago.

Sorry but the moment just needed to be cataloged.  I don't think I should write obituaries or elegies or memorials or remembrances or tributes because they don't get a lot of traffic, the exception being Roger Ebert because of his extraordinary influence on my critical work.

***

But yes, this is book is decidedly about Mapplethorpe and my knowledge of him went no further than  a few friends in college steeped in the art world trying to make me uncomfortable by shoving certain racy photos in my face.  That, and a brief snippet from Roland Barthes' Camera Lucida, which considered a self-portrait he had taken.  That, and the last track from the AIDS benefit compilation No Alternative which ended with Patti Smith dedicating an ode to him.  Finally, of course, the stories already shared in Please Kill Me.

I pretty much knew he was gay, but he really comes off as being straight in the beginning, bi in the middle, and gay at the end.  That's not the way it always is, but that's the case some of the time, and probably a lot more often in the 60's and 70's.  He basically was Patti Smith's boyfriend for a couple years, and they lived together almost like a married couple.  Mapplethorpe's mother, actually, believed they were husband and wife up until the point of his death in 1989.  He came from a devoutly Catholic family and his parents did not believe a man and a woman should live together as they did unless they were married.  Even though he started going out with another dude, they continued to live together.  Patti continued to see other dudes, too.  In between, they were sometimes still intimate.  Their bond is a truly beautiful thing to behold.  If everyone was lucky enough to experience the love that they shared for one another, the world would probably be a much better place.

***

It's quite remarkable how Smith is able to pinpoint the exact date (Memorial Day, 1967) when both she and Mapplethorpe, states apart, committed themselves to the pursuit of art.  Also remarkable is the fact that Mapplethorpe is seemingly the first person that Smith meets a couple months later when she ventures out to make it on her own in NYC.  I've got to be honest here: I feel like she's stretching the truth just a tiny bit.  Like, I'm sure the events happened as they are described, but come on--Mapplethorpe probably did trip on acid that Memorial Day and make that drawing and Smith probably did genuflect before that statue of Joan of Arc in Philadelphia--attaching a greater significance to the situation is what one is supposed to do in a book like this.  And maybe she had a meaningful conversation with someone other than him that day when she tried to find her friends at Pratt, but whatever.  This is a super petty criticism.

While we do not live in New York in the 1970's, the great value of this book is its portrayal of "the artist's life."  They are poor and they live together and they support one another and they have moments of great luck and they network like crazy.  They live in the Chelsea Hotel and they go in the back room at Max's Kansas City and basically try to hobnob with the post-Warhol crowd.  Mapplethorpe sort of wants to be Warhol, and Patti tries on a variety of guises before settling into the one that fits.  Maybe that last sentence is inaccurate: Mapplethorpe also goes through a variety of experiments with different mediums before he is given a Polaroid camera as a gift.

Along the way Mapplethorpe is reduced to doing dishonorable things for money.

"He went to a placement service to get part-time work but nothing panned out.  Although he sold an occasional necklace, breaking into the fashion business was slowgoing.  Robert got increasingly depressed about money, and the fact that it fell on me to get it.  It was partially the stress of worrying about our financial position that drove him back to the idea of hustling.
Robert's early attempts at hustling had been fueled by curiosity and the romance of Midnight Cowboy, but he found working on Forty-second Street to be harsh.  He decided to shift to Joe Dallesandro territory, on the East Side near Bloomingdale's, where it was safer.
I begged him not to go, but he was determined to try.  My tears did not stop him, so I sat and watched him dress for the night ahead.  I imagined him standing on a corner, flushed with excitement, offering himself to a stranger, to make money for us.
'Please be careful,' was all I could say.
'Don't worry.  I love you.  Wish me luck.'
Who can know the heart of youth but youth itself? (135)

Another pleasure of this book is the effortlessly beautiful prose.  Smith is economical with her words and describes a vast array of events.  I can only imagine that she kept quite detailed diaries throughout these years.  Either that, or she is blessed with a photographic memory.  Actually, there are many photographs in the book, so perhaps it is a mix of the two: the photograph as diary.

There really is nothing "fancy" about this book, and its sheer modesty is responsible for a great deal of its charm.  Smith certainly could be said to be "artsy," but she is never arch or snobbish.  She comes off like an enthusiastic teenager, and her sincerity has an infectious effect on the reader.

I'm at a loss for what else to say about this book, except that, I wasn't going to add it to the Best Books list until I got to the end.  The ending is undoubtedly the most powerful section of the book:

"There was no one present save his nurse and she left us to ourselves.  I stood by his bed and took his hand.  We stayed like that for a long time, not saying anything.  Suddenly he looked up and said, 'Patti, did art get us?'
I looked away, not really wanting to think about it.  'I don't know, Robert.  I don't know.'
Perhaps it did, but no one could regret that.  Only a fool would regret being had by art; or a saint.  Robert beckoned me to help him stand, and he faltered.  'Patti,' he said, 'I'm dying.  It's so painful.'
He looked at me, his look of love and reproach.  My love for him could not save him.  His love for life could not save him.  It was the first time that I truly knew he was going to die.  He was suffering physical torment no man should endure.  He looked at me with such deep apology that it was unbearable and I burst into tears.  He admonished me for that, but he put his arms around me.  I tried to brighten, but it was too late.  I had nothing more to give him but love.  I helped him to the couch.  Mercifully, he did not cough, and he fell asleep with his head on my shoulder.
The light poured through the windows upon his photographs and the poem of us sitting together a last time.  Robert dying: creating silence.  Myself, destined to live, listening closely to a silence that would take a lifetime to express."  (275-276)

One could only pray for such a beautiful tribute from a friend.  Over the past week, I've seen tributes and homages like I've never seen before.  Bowie touched millions of lives and will be remembered as long as music is recorded.  Mapplethorpe doesn't possess quite the same cultural cache, but he was very close in age, and left this world far too early.  He will be remembered by anyone devoted to the art of photography, but he might have accomplished so much more.  Regardless, Smith has done her part to keep his memory alive to the wider public.  There are few better gifts that a human being may bestow.

Please Kill Me: the Uncensored Oral History of Punk - Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain (1997)

I first read Please Kill Me about 9 or 10 years ago, right after I graduated college.  I decided to read it again when I finished my last couple books quickly and the newest one hadn't arrived at the library yet.  I am very glad I did this, and it seems really cliche at this point and non-prestigious, but I must anoint this yet another one of the Best Books reviewed on Flying Houses.  This book is not perfect--it's maybe 50-100 pages too long, but once you start to get wrapped up in the characters, you would probably go on another 200.  I mean, this book never got boring to me.  There were some parts that just aren't as well told as others, but there is so much detail and vulnerability in these pages that no reader can encounter this text without becoming unmoved.  Not everybody is into punk rock music, but everybody should read this book.  Most people like some kind of music, and this book hits on most genres anyways.

There are a lot of similarities to Lexicon Devil (also on the Best Books list), and perhaps one could accuse me of being a sucker for the oral history genre.  I mean, I also really liked Rant.  But it's more than the format, or the concept of a book devoid of exposition, operating purely on dialogue.  The genre just tends to elevate storytelling to a higher level, accentuating unique details from shared memories and sensory impressions.  More obviously, none of these books are PC.  They describe experiences that never should have been allowed to happen.  Please Kill Me positively revels in this material.

Still, it's not an endorsement of a dissolute lifestyle, and focuses a little bit more on the music than Lexicon Devil.  Now this may be because the Germs were a terrible band who seemed to actively avoid improving their chops.  But the other book this calls to mind is Our Band Could Be Your Life.  Where Please Kill Me leaves off (late 70's/early 80's), Our Band Could Be Your Life pretty much picks up.  The format is different, but the attitude is similar.  OBCBYL feels a little bit more academic, and is probably not as engaging a read because once you finish the story of each band, you're done.  I think ultimately what makes Please Kill Me so special is the power of its story.

The story starts in 1965 with Lou Reed and ends in 1992 with the death of Jerry Nolan.  The interviews that comprise this "oral history" seem to have started in the late 70's with Punk magazine and wrapped up with more comprehensive, authoritative, and "sober" interviews in 1994 and 1995.

Before moving on, I want to note that this book is ripe for a re-issue, with new material.  The final section of the book (the epilogue) is titled "Nevermind: 1980-1992."  Now, when this book was published in 1997, one of the most fucked up periods of popular music was ascendant, and few would anticipate the backlash to that era, or the revival of the so-called "CBGB scene."  Almost all of the artists in Please Kill Me made "comebacks" (to varying levels of success), and many others have died.  To recognize such occurrences, I would include a "post-epilogue" and title it "Cashing In: 2003-2015."  Apparently, a 20th anniversary edition will be released next year, so my predictions are not far off.

The book starts off on an impossibly high note with its material on the Velvet Underground.  Straight out of the gates, it is immediately apparent that nobody is trying to maintain a squeaky-clean PR image.  Lou Reed is basically at the center of the depravity.  There are PLENTY of juicy excerpts that I could include here, but I will leave them to be sought out by discerning readers.  Instead, I will try to focus on the historical import of the artists described.

Now, most people will say punk rock started with the Ramones.  Some say the Stooges.  Others say the Sex Pistols.  The authors contend that they invented the term themselves.  Sometimes I say that the Beatles' "Helter Skelter" is the real beginning of punk rock.  But truly, honestly, the Velvet Underground embodied everything that came to define the genre (except the faster tempos):

"Lou Reed: Andy Warhol told me that what we were doing with the music was the same thing he was doing with painting and movies and writing--i.e., not kidding around.  To my mind, nobody in music was doing anything that even approximated the real thing, with the exception of us.  We were doing a specific thing that was very, very real.  It wasn't slick or a lie in any conceivable way, which was the only way we could work with him.  Because the first thing I liked about Andy was that he was very real." (7)

Danny Fields makes his first appearance here, and describes how he convinced Lou Reed and John Cale to cut "the Exploding Plastic Inevitable" from their live show (which was a kind of S&M performance with lights and film projections) and to leave Andy Warhol for a better manager, to "make it" as a band.  Fields is practically a non-stop presence throughout the book and tells many of the best stories--though the reader tends to wonder if some of these stories are more "legend" than "fact."  Actually, there are several points in the book where the speaker (or interviewee) draws a distinction between the story everyone hears and the reality that happened.  One of them is the famed meeting of Jim Morrison with Nico and Andy Warhol, indelibly portrayed by Crispin Glover in The Doors:

"Danny Fields: I've never had any respect for Oliver Stone, but after seeing his version of the Morrison/Nico meeting in the Doors movie--'Hello, I am Nico, would you like to go to bed with me?'--the reality of it couldn't have been more different.
What really happened was that I met Morrison at the Elektra office in Los Angeles and he followed me back to the Castle in his rented car.  Morrison walked into the kitchen and Nico was there and they stood and circled each other.
Then they stared at the floor and didn't say a word to each other.  They were both too poetic to say anything.  It was a very boring, poetic, silent thing that was going on between them.  They formed a mystical bond immediately--I think Morrison pulled Nico's hair and then he proceeded to get extremely drunk and I fed him whatever was left of my drugs that Edie Sedgwick hadn't stolen." (29)

Right after this early section about the Velvet Underground with passing references to the Doors, the Stooges are introduced.  Now, the Stooges are one of the major elements of this book, and almost all of the anecdotes about them are mind-boggling.  I particularly appreciate the story of Iggy Pop's first experience with weed:

"Iggy Pop:...I realized that these guys were way over my head, and that what they were doing was so natural to them that it was ridiculous for me to make a studious copy of it, which is what most white blues bands did.
Then one night, I smoked a joint.  I'd always wanted to take drugs, but I'd never been able to because the only drug I knew about was marijuana and I was a really bad asthmatic.  Before that, I wasn't interested in drugs, or getting drunk, either.  I just wanted to play and get something going, that was all I cared about.  But this girl, Vivian, who had given me the ride to Chicago, left me with a little grass.
So one night I went down by the sewage treatment plant by the Loop, where the river is entirely industrialized.  It's all concrete banks and effluvia by the Marina Towers.  So I smoked this joint and then it hit me.
I thought, What you gotta do is play your own simple blues.  I could describe my experience based on the way those guys are describing theirs...
So that's what I did.  I appropriated a lot of their vocal forms, and also their turns of phrase--either heard or misheard or twisted from blues songs.  So 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' is probably my mishearing of 'Baby Please Don't Go.'" (38-39)

The MC5 are also introduced around this section.  Together, these two bands (along with the Dead Boys, who come along towards the end) comprise the entirety of bands based outside of New York City.  While this is a book about the origins of punk rock, it is also a vivid portrait of NYC in the 70's.  The material on MC5, I can take or leave.  I've tried listening to them, and just can't really get into it.  The music just sounds more dated to me, for some reason.

The New York Dolls come next.  Now, I actually saw the Stooges and the New York Dolls for the first time on the same day, at Little Steven's Underground Garage Festival on Randall's Island in August of 2003 (maybe '04, I can't remember).  Syl Sylvain had just died, and the New York Dolls were the third to last band.  They seemed a bit like a nostalgia act, but David Johansen was energetic and enthused and the crowd loved them.  The Strokes then played next, a very efficient, no-frills, solid set.  The Stooges closed, and to date remains one of the best performances I have seen.  Mike Watt was on bass, but both Asheton brothers were in, and Iggy (then in his mid-50's) seemed as potent as ever.

Really I'm skipping around though.  There's a section before the New York Dolls that introduces Patti Smith.  The material on Patti Smith in this book is essential.  It might as well be Patti Smith's book.  After I finished it again, I watched a performance from the Primavera Sound Festival in May 2015, and while I was slightly let down when I saw her at Lollapalooza in 2005, she seemed like she has tapped into a more powerful energy of late.  Her rendition of Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" (despite screwing up the words) is an emotionally devastating experience that should make you cry in the most beautiful way.

There are several "hearts" of this book, and Patti Smith is one of them (Iggy is another).  The success of her memoir Just Kids has fueled a late-career renaissance, and I hope to read and review that book in the near future on this site.

Jim Carroll, another one of the several characters in this story that recently passed away, is introduced near this point.  So is David Bowie:

"Cyrinda Foxe: David Bowie and his wife Angela had a very open marriage.  They were sleeping with anybody they felt like sleeping with.  David and Angela and I had a menage a trois for about five minutes, but then I made her leave because David and I were gonna play.  Angela was fucking David's black bodyguard, and David and I used to get down on all fours and peek in their keyhole and watch them fuck.  I was sort of like a new toy for David on the Ziggy Stardust tour.  But while we were in San Francisco, David asked me, 'Are you in love with me?'
I said, 'No.'  I wasn't about to say, 'Yes!' I was still tripping around.  I had no flies on me then.  No salt on my tail.  I didn't want to get tied down.  Besides, Tony DeFries wanted everybody to be this Bowie thing.  I didn't want to cut my hair like that.  So I wasn't impressed with them.  I mean, okay, I get to go on a plane and go somewhere, but that's all I thought it was.  So when David Bowie asked if I was in love with him, and I told him no, he left me there." (134)

Soon after, Patti Smith and Television take center stage.  At this point, Richard Hell was still in the band, and perhaps because of his "literary" background tells some of the best stories.  This one explains the book's title:

"Richard Lloyd: Richard Hell had designed a T-shirt for himself that said Please Kill Me, but he wouldn't wear it.  I was like, 'I'll wear it.'  So I wore it when we played upstairs at Max's Kansas City, and afterwards these kids came up to me.  These fans gave me this really psychotic look--they looked as deep into my eyes as they possibly could--and said, 'Are you serious?'
Then they said, 'If that's what you want, we'll be glad to oblige because we're such big fans!' They were just looking at me, with that wild-eyed look, and I thought, I'm not wearing this shirt again." (173)

The Ramones come into the picture, and are introduced by their infamous song about street hustling, "53rd and 3rd," with background history supplied by Jim Carroll.  There is also an interesting story about the song "Chinese Rocks," which sheds light on one of the lines to the song ("Is Dee Dee home?"):

"Richard Hell: Dee Dee called me one day and said, 'I wrote a song that the Ramones won't do.'  He said, 'It's not finished.  How about I come over and show it to you and we can finish it if you like it?'  So I believe he brought an acoustic guitar over.  And I had my bass.  Basically the song was done, but he just didn't have another verse.  I wrote two lines.  That's all.  It was basically Dee Dee's song, though I think the lyrics, the verses I wrote, were good.
Dee Dee Ramone: The reason I wrote that song was out of spite for Richard Hell, because he told me he was gonna write a song better than Lou Reed's 'Heroin,' so I went home and wrote 'Chinese Rocks.'
I wrote it by myself, in Debbie Harry's apartment on First Avenue and First Street.  Then Richard Hell put that line in it, so I gave him some credit." (213-214)

After this, the story jumps over to England briefly and covers the Sex Pistols.  There is one story that made me smile (anybody that has run with a crew of "punks" should be able to relate):

"Bob Gruen:...I didn't see Johnny with a girl until the last night.  He left the last show with some girl who was backstage.  It was kind of a surprise, because from the first minute I met him, Johnny didn't seem to ever like anything.
He just seemed to be in a really bad mood from day one.  You know, everything sucked.  He was so cynical and sarcastic about everything that he would always point out the derogatory aspect of everything.  That's why I was so surprised when I saw him leave the Winterland gig with a girl on his arm and half a smile on his face.  It was the most human thing I ever saw, because it was something so out of character to see him enjoy a moment of life." (331)

The book ends with a few interesting stories: Phil Spector's production of the Ramones album End of the Century, the deaths of Sid & Nancy, Nico and Johnny Thunders, and a lot of stuff about the Dead Boys...I could quote more (obviously the Phil Spector anecdotes are priceless)--but I've gone on long enough in this review and it's time to wrap it up.  I want to include one final quote that I found very punk, and certainly pertinent one month after the blockbuster SCOTUS decision:

"Legs McNeil: Gay liberation had really exploded.  Homosexual culture had really taken over--Donna Summer, disco, it was so boring.  Suddenly in New York, it was cool to be gay, but it just seemed to be about suburbanites who sucked cock and went to discos.  I mean, come on, 'Disco, Disco Duck?' I don't think so.
So we said, 'No, being gay doesn't make you cool.  Being cool makes you cool, whether you're gay or straight.'  People didn't like that too much.  So they called us homophobic.  And of course, being the obnoxious people we were, we said, 'Fuck you, you faggots.'
Mass movements are always so un-hip  That's what was great about punk.  It was an antimovement, because there was knowledge there from the very beginning that with mass appeal comes all those tedious folks who need to be told what to think.  Hip can never be a mass movement.  And culturally, the gay liberation movement and all the rest of the movements were the beginning of political correctness, which was just fascism to us.  Real fascism, more rules.
But as far as being homophobic, that was ludicrous, because everyone we hung out with was gay.  No one had a problem with that, you know, fine, fuck whoever you want.  I mean Arturo would regale me with these great sex stories.  I'd be going, 'Wow, what happened then?'
What was great about the scene was that people's curiosity seemed stronger than their fear.  The time was rife with genuine exploration, but not in a trendy mass-movement way.  And I was always fascinated by how anyone made it through the day, what they really did when the lights were out, to keep their sanity, or lose it." (275)

In short, if you read this book, not only will you understand me better, but you will also understand yourself better.  How you react to some of the more salacious stuff can act as a barometer of the types of art you appreciate.  I always prefer the real, the raw, and the honest truth: psychological realism.  It seems that most all of the artists on display in this "bible" think along similar lines, and I can only state that they have been powerful influences.

LCD Soundsystem - This is Happening

The 3rd album from LCD Soundsystem, This is Happening, is an instant classic which will be noted in any retrospective on music from the early 2010's. I realized this during my first listen, around the fourth track. It is the Merriweather Post Pavilion of this year and surely will be named #1 album of 2010 by this website. My problem is that I have listened to it so often already, and have already memorized almost all of the lyrics, that most of its magic is now gone. I haven't quite had the album for two weeks, but I have listened to it every single day, at least once.

There is talk that this will be the last LCD Soundsystem album, and the last tour. If so, you might as well kill me when the summer ends because there is not much else worth listening to in my opinion. There are a lot of interesting bands coming out like Dum Dum Girls and Sleigh Bells, and while I like them, and Surfer Blood, they don't come close to matching LCD's capabilities. This album isn't perfect, but it's close enough to perfect to make the case for being an all-time classic.

"Dance Yrself Clean" opens up the album with a 9 minute dance track that starts out very quietly for its first two, erupts for the next four, quiets down again for another, and returns one last time before ending for good. The song is about how people are jerks--present company excluded--and how losing yourself in music or dance can make it all seem insignificant. It is a great song, but I am always hoping for it to end so the next one can start.

"Drunk Girls" may not be the best song on the album, but it's the shortest, the most tightly-packed with ideas, and probably the catchiest. Definitely the funniest. There is a peculiar type of genre that this album (and to a certain extent, other LCD albums) has spawned, and it is the "cover-like homage." Now, there are 2 songs on this album that are "cover-like homages" par excellence, but "Drunk Girls" is a "cover-like homage" that is like a mash-up between VU's "White Light/White Heat" and "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." That is the best way I can describe the song, but its lyrical performance is what truly sets it apart. Every stereotype or generalization ever made about girls or boys in relation to partying or hanging out at bars is practically contained, with a very ambiguous attitude. The song doesn't stand in judgment of its subjects necessarily, but it does poke fun.

"One Touch" sounds like something off of 45:33 or the LCD S/T. It's a pretty straightforward dance track with one difference: it seems to be able to induce me into a trance. The lyrics are about how someone "doesn't see how we could be pleased with this" because "we've been waiting such a long time." Obviously you could say that about this album, but I can't believe anyone wouldn't be pleased by this album. The song is good, but not one of the very best off the album. Still, trance-inducing, which is cool.

"All I Want" comes fourth and is the first obvious "cover-like homage" of the album. There are a few things to say about it: #1-James Murphy plays every single instrument on this song, and it is a masterpiece, which shows he is a genius, #2-It is the "All My Friends" of this album--and while it doesn't quite reach the heights of that song, it comes damn close, and #3-If David Bowie hears it, he would not sue, but laugh in appreciation. Just the opening of the song, the first minute, is enough to send chills. Lyrically, it may be one of the LCD's saddest songs along with "Someone Great"--it seems to make the point that relationships primarily exist to satisfy one's narcissism. Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but it's a song about complex feelings.

"I Can Change" seems like the lightest song on the album and first has Murphy advising, "Never change/never change/never change/this is why I fell in love" and then has him assuring, "I can change/I can change/I can change/if it helps you fall in love." The song is most notable for his use of falsetto when he sings "hoping and hoping and hoping the feeling goes away!" It's the greatest moment of the song, but overall, it sounds almost intentionally cheesy, as if Murphy knows the chief sentiment of the song is a cliche of adult relationships.

"You Wanted a Hit" is the sixth track, and arguably the best song on the album. It's a return to the 9 minute dance track, except its decidedly downbeat. There is a weird type of Asian music that opens the song, then fades out for the lone guitar line which persists through the entire song--guitar that might be heard on a Young Marble Giants or Gang of Four album--very simple, almost quiet, but evil in a way, and sort of badass. It's a fantastic song about music criticism.

"Pow Pow" is another 9 minute dance track that immediately follows, and another contender for best song on the album. There is definitely a lot more going on here on the previous track--it almost like sounds like a New Order opening, and then some of the best opening lines of any song, "From this position/I will relax..." "Drunk Girls" may be the funniest song, but "Pow Pow" has the most ridiculous lyrics, they are just usually mumbled or otherwise less audible.

"Somebody's Calling Me" is the other obvious "cover-like homage" and the only song on the album that I don't really like. I'm sorry but it sounds kind of depressing and dreadful, like the song that inspired it. I skip it often.

"Home" is a great closing track that reminds me strangely of the Dismemberment Plan song "Back and Forth," which closed out one of their semi-masterpiece albums. It's less remarkable than many of the other songs, but totally pleasing.

At 9 tracks and 65 minutes, it's not easy to make it straight from the beginning to the end, but it's a loaded album that somehow, incredibly, is actually better than Sound of Silver. It's like Ada being better than Lolita. You never thought it was possible, except from the same person. I may have over-indulged during these last two weeks of May, but there could not be many better ways to start the summer than the release of this album.

Scarlett Johansson - Anywhere I Lay My Head

Before I begin talking about this album, let me state that I have had a crush on Scarlett Johansson roughly since Ghost World. So, that's about a six year crush, and both of us have gone on to do wonderful things in those years (she did Lost in Translation and I did a bunch of little writings that are not worthy of the public's attention), but I was very excited to hear she wanted to do something as bold and risky as release an album, and what's more, an album of Tom Waits covers, and what's more, with Dave Sitek, Nick Zinner, David Bowie, Tunde Adebimpe (sp? I just want to say "TV on the Radio" in general, because that's what it sort of sounds like), making it an actual "indie cred" album. However, I remember when a friend of mine went to go buy the Zwan album at Other Music roughly six years ago, and the record store clerk looked at her blankly when she asked for it and then said, "Oh, I guess they've got some cred."

So maybe Anywhere I Lay My Head is comparable to Mary Star of the Sea in its goodness, but I will actually take SJ over BC in this instance. While her voice is not what made her famous (her acting talent, her grace, her beauty), apparently she used to aspire to musical theater, so she is living out a side of her dreams at least, and her voice is more soothing than Billy's. However, that comparison is completely off-base--the only way it makes sense is to say that both artists wanted indie cred so they recruited backup musicians from various indie rock supergroups--except in the case with Scarlett, it seems like she actually just likes that music (in her liner notes, when she mentions sharing a mutual appreciation (with Dave Sitek) for New Order, of course I want to melt further into my crush). Enough people respected her to agree to be a part of this album, and while it may not be one of the top 10 albums of 2008, it probably deserves to be in the top 50, and is a very sucessful experiment as far as albums go from actresses. I would not dissuade her from doing another a few years down the line.

Really, just the title track emphasizes the strengths of the album--it could be good music to sleep to, as Tom Waits might be if he didn't occassionally go crazy on his albums with all the booming and clanging and dog barking. I can only describe her voice as being somewhat similar to Chan Marshall's. I would not compare her to Neko Case--she does not reach as high a register. She does have a very limited range, but as a crooner, she does everything she needs to on this album. I think in an interview she said she didn't want it to be like "coffee shop" music, but she has more succeeded in making "lounge" music. But it is not "lounge" music in the same way typical Waits (piano-era-Waits, which Johansson does not cover much of here) could be--drunken and sad. It's more like "after lounge" music, if that makes any sense.

Some of the songs are sad, and some of the lyrics are awesome to hear Scarlett sing (like on "I Don't Wanna Grow Up," which vaguely delivers on its New Order-y construction), but more awesome is hearing Bowie sing on "Fannin Street." "Green Grass" and "Town with No Cheer" are my favorite songs she picked, and they are done decent justice, though "Grass" to a better effect than "Town."

Nick Zinner does not bust out any YYY's moves, but Dave Sitek does make the album sound like a TV on the Radio album, and with several guests from the band on many of the tracks, any fan of TVoTR will at least appreciate the production value. Otherwise, is the album worth buying? If you have a crush on Scarlett, like me, and you hope to meet her in L.A. and have her break off her engagement with Ryan Reynolds by praising her album and knowing everything about it and about her and about what makes her great, then you might like this album. I don't think many people are going to get it--she's not going to be as big as JLO. But it is a low key album, a low key release, despite the Bowie presence, and a quality listen. It might be a better album to burn off your friend (I recently read that Scarlett did not attend the premiere of the new Woody Allen movie she is in because they wouldn't provide an $8,000-a-day make-up artist for her, and while this sounds completely out of character, I'd rather presume she wanted to be in the States on the day her album was released) because she probably doesn't necessarily need the money, but please listen to it before you make fun of me for saying it is good or just laughing off the thought of it. She is very concerned about whether or not Mr. Waits is going to like it. I'm not sure how he is going to feel about each individual track, but overall, I have to think he would be very complimentary to Scarlett. It's clear that a lot of effort was put in here, and a covers album isn't necessarily going to be a revelation (unless you're Chan Marshall maybe), so I believe she's done about as well as she can, and done a very respectable job of releasing a debut. As weird as everything sounded in concept, the finished product is actually pretty nice.