Some Songs Considered

July 22, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“15 Step” – Radiohead
(Words/music: Radiohead, available on In Rainbows, ATO 2008)

If you downloaded In Rainbows that morning in October 2007, unzipped the files, and hit play on the new Radiohead that seemingly dropped out of the sky, “15 Step” greeted you. The programmed drums, clipped of their crispness, blip and snap in an unconventional and disorienting beat. Programmed and live drums weave together in an unconventional and somewhat disorienting beat, and Thom Yorke’s entrance follows this lead. “How come I end up where I started” sounds like a man, literally or metaphorically, lost. The song occasionally dips into these pockets or confusion, but never as unsettling as the opening twenty seconds. Gradually, the song finds its footing: live drums enter and give more stability, and by the time the rest of the band joins in, the misdirection becomes a gentle (yet eerie) floating feeling.

Appropriately, given the narrator’s confusion at the opening, the track stabilizes right as the narrator shifts from first person to second person. “You reel me out and then you cut the string,” is the last line of the opening verse, and by the time the narrator feels stable within this lopsided rhythm, his outward turn becomes accusatory. “You used to be alright – what happened?” he says, and now the track becomes disorienting for the listener. This quick shift replaces the uneasiness of the opening seconds, trading rhythmic uncertainty for emotional turmoil. Of course, this isn’t Yorke directly accosting the listener, but it still reveals a quick shift from lost and confused to a focused anger. Generally, the pieces fall into place for the audience (or in this case, the listener). However, here it’s the narrator who puts everything together before the audience, making the audience squirm for a minute while reconstructing the story.

Some way to start an album, eh?

More on Radiohead: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

July 21, 2010

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“In the Backseat” – Arcade Fire
(Words/music: Arcade Fire, available on Funeral, Merge Records 2004)

Right now, I have minimal expectations for the Arcade Fire’s forthcoming album The Suburbs. I’ve thought so little about their album that I was startled to realize earlier today that it comes out in roughly two weeks and that I will see them close out Lollapalooza the following weekend. This isn’t apathy – their two previous albums rank among my personal favorites – but this is something new. When Neon Bible leaked, I scoured with a singular focus. Today, I barely blinked at song clips posted online.

This general patience somewhat ironically comes from those fanatic listening binges, particularly the hours spent with Funeral. Without over-generalizing, I end up cycling through favorite songs on many of my favorite albums. It begins with the first couple tracks I hear – either singles or ones someone dropped on a mix or whatever – that feel familiar before the album’s first spin. Then there are the immediately grabbing songs. These are the ones that work in every setting – in the context of the album’s sequencing, in random, isolated iTunes double-clicks, and in those frantic, volume escalating moments in the car to name a few. Then, over time, the other songs on the album creep up one by one and seize attention. Sometimes it takes hearing an alternate version or a live performance, while other times it takes hearing a lyric differently or an instrument leaping out of the mix unexpectedly. Sometimes, it’s unexplainable.

Both of Régine Chassagne’s lead songs on Funeral earned this belated affection, but “In the Backseat” fits this description perfectly. Tucked away at the end of the album with many sonic and emotional peaks and valleys, “In the Backseat” rarely got my full attention. Listening with less than engaged ears, the quiet beginning and even volume to Chassagne’s voice slipped past me. It was only the day that, for whatever reason, I keyed in on the lyrics that the song clicked. The lines “my family tree’s / losing all its leaves” gripped me, but it was Chassagne’s voice – the beautifully crystallized and generally even foil to her husband’s gruff and theatrical vocals - that floored me. Her voice throughout the song quivers yet never buckles whether backed sparsely or engulfed in the swelling sound around her. To call it the peak of the album might be unfair (or, at the very least, a matter of opinion), but its delivery crept up on a way that I’ll never completely shake.

More on Arcade Fire: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

July 15, 2010

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“Carnival of Sorts (Boxcar)” – The Feelies
(Words/music: Bill Berry, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe, recorded live in Woodstock, NY 9/12/2009 and available via nyctaper)

One of the unintended consequences to obsessing over a band is to unravel and retrace their influences. Being a devout R.E.M. fan meant travelling down several paths. The trio of Velvet Underground covers on Dead Letter Office made the Velvet Underground an obvious choice, as did Michael Stipe’s repeated and enthusiastic mentions of Patti Smith in various interviews. The Feelies came later only after someone connected the dots for me that R.E.M.’s earliest songs “sound a lot like Crazy Rhythms.” Sure enough, the same guitar tone (which I want to say that Buck said came from plugging the guitar directly into the mixing board, but I can’t remember exactly) and frantic energy filled these songs. If the Feelies weren’t a direct influence on R.E.M., they certainly drew from a similar pool of influences.

Naturally, when I saw that the Feelies recently covered an R.E.M. song from the Chronic Town EP, my heart nearly skipped a beat. Having seen the band perform earlier this year, I was eager to hear them play one of my favorite early R.E.M. tunes. Not surprisingly, they perfectly replicated the original’s guitar in tempo, tone, and tune – easily as good as the way R.E.M. played the song on tour in 2008, at least. It made sense, as this similarity drew me into the band in the first place. Even though vocalist Glenn Mercer flubbed a few lyrics (which, to be fair, Michael Stipe does on a regular basis), he captured not only the melody of the original but also the intonation in his delivery. His performance singing the tune made it sound as natural as one of his own, which is as good as a cover version gets. Aside from a mini guitar jam at the end, their version stays faithful to the original, which fit in nicely with the rest of the band’s set.

(Kudos to the always terrific nyctaper for sharing yet another brilliant live recording!)

More on The Feelies: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: the feelies | R.E.M. | 2009 | 2000s | live recording |

July 14, 2010

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“Deceptacon” – Le Tigre
(Words/music: Sadie Benning, Johanna Fateman, and Kathleen Hanna, available on Le Tigre, Mr. Lady 1999)

Rock music thrives on repetition to the point that much of the terminology relates to how certain elements repeat. “Groove” describes the repetition of a rhythm (or in more complex cases the stressed parts of the measure) and “riff” describes a repeated instrumental figure. Then there’s the verse/chorus/bridge/coda “road map” that indicates when certain harmonies and chord changes return. Even the term “hook” refers to a melody that repeats and therefore “hooks” the listener back into the song. While variety has a role (fans of improvisation can exhale), repetition anchors the music more than we often realize.

Targeting in to the repetition in “Deceptacon” feels natural. Whether keying on the dance rhythms, the garage rock riff, or Kathleen Hanna’s do-wop quotes, many parts of the song return several times over the track’s three minutes. However, a less obvious repetition flows through the rest of Hanna’s lyrics. While she sometimes repeats lines and phrases, Hanna repeats certain words scattered through a couple lines. For example, at the end of the second verse, Hanna uses “want” three times in a single line (“You want what you want but you don’t want to be”). She does this with “I’m” in the first verse and, to a lesser extent, “walk” in the third verse (not to mention the constant peppering of “you” and “your”). It gives her vocals, already aggressively delivered, and added rhythmic edge – the “want” line in verse two in particular creates a polyrhythm with the rest of the track. Hanna also uses rhyme (particularly internal rhymes rather than end of line “couplet” rhymes) to create this rhythmic disruption, but it’s her repeated words that cut right to the song’s rhythmic core.

More on Le Tigre: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

July 13, 2010

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“If I Could Talk I’d Tell You” – The Lemonheads
(Words/music: Evan Dando and Eugene Kelly, available on Car Button Cloth, Atlantic 1996)

While much of the world watched LeBron James announce his departure to Miami last Thursday night, I tried my best to read his lips. Earlier in the day, I made the choice to pass on “The Decision” in order to see the Lemonheads play in Milford, CT. Even though I couldn’t pry any of my friends (most of which silently hoped James would play for the Knicks) away from the announcement, I still went with little to no idea what to expect in setlist or lineup, save for Evan Dando. If nothing else, I was curious to see what this current incarnation had to offer.

What transpired caught me off guard. Dando, backed by two members of the opening band The Candles, plowed through almost all of the high notes from his catalog. The songs sounded as effervescent as ever, with Dando’s voice miraculously sounding like his mid-‘90s prime. The most striking part, however, was the crowd. A majority of the crowd looked a few years older than me (a stark inversion of how I usually feel at shows these days) yet erupted with unbridled joy at an astounding frequency. Within a few notes of just about every song, hands clapped and voices whooped in approval, shortly followed by many singing along. This wasn’t just on the hits (of which there were many, at least relatively speaking) but literally every song. Dando, who grew a bit more skittish in his banter as the night progressed, nonetheless fed off the crowd’s enthusiasm even as he flubbed a couple songs.

The most telling part of the night came in the introduction to “If I Could Talk I’d Tell You.” The song features the kind of simple yet infectious melody and spry accompaniment that Dando seemed to churn out effortlessly in the early ‘90s. Even if it wasn’t at the top of the list of songs I wanted to hear (“It’s a Shame About Ray” and recent favorite “No Backbone”) or the one I was most excited to hear (a solo cover of Big Star’s “Night Time”), it was the most indicative song of the set both in composition and in audience reaction. “This next one starts with a drum fill,” he said, tinkering with the tuning knobs on the top of his road worn white Gibson. “You all know how it goes.” He was right – people bobbed their heads and sand along to the song, but it wasn’t unique to this song. It was one of the most enthusiastic crowds I’d seen in a long time. My guess it was repayment for a disproportionate number of classics and personal favorites.

More on The Lemonheads: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

July 8, 2010

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“And She Was” – Talking Heads
(Words/music: David Byrne, available on Little Creatures, Sire 1985)

If I asked you to ignore the audio box at the top of this post and the two lines identifying the song and album and start listing off Talking Heads songs, I’d imagine that most of you would go through a decent number before getting to “And She Was.” I’m not condemning that because I’d be the same way. I suppose it’s more to point out that we levy more attention toward the band’s more complex beginnings, be it the eccentricities of their first couple albums or the Funkadelic-borrowing juggernaut the band became in the early 1980s. These recordings require effort to untie and ultimately reward this close scrutiny with new wrinkles gradually revealed over time. Naturally, spending more time immersed in Remain in Light puts those songs in more immediate memory.

That being said, the art of “And She Was” lies in the minimal attention it demands. This isn’t a whirlwind of Adrian Belew or a twisted string of words. Instead, David Byrne (who started to elbow out the rest of his band by this point) put all of the pieces together with the same care that the band assembled previous records, only this time with brighter and lighter tones. The arpeggios in the verse ring brightly, the wood block pops during the chorus, and the electric guitar turns up at just the right point at the end of the song. Even Byrne’s vocal tics find a place in the song, most notably in the “has” and “hips” in the final chorus. However, it’s the unbridled joy in Byrne’s voice in the repeated “hey”s in the final pre-chorus that perhaps best characterizes the song. The band wrote plenty of simple songs (“Thank You for Sending Me an Angel,” “Heaven,” and “This Must Be the Place,” to name a few), and even if “And She Was” doesn’t rival the band’s most artfully constructed compositions, it deserves a place in the discussion of the band’s greatness. Or, if you’re anything like me, it deserves more recognition for the number of times I turn it up in the car and sing along.

More on Talking Heads: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

July 1, 2010

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“Darklands” – The Jesus and Mary Chain
(Words/music: Jim and William Reid, available on Darklands, Warner Brothers 1987)

It’s a strange endeavor to approach a band’s catalog when it’s complete (or, at least seems complete – who knows with the JAMC). There’s the compilation route – and the Jesus and Mary Chain have an excellent one titled 21 Singles that makes an incredible case for this band as a singles band – but in many ways a compilation feels like cheating. It almost seems too easy to fall in love with a band with all of their best songs immediately put in front of you, and sometimes it makes delving deeper into the catalogue harder. Then there’s the approach of asking for starting points. Sometimes this is quite useful, but it also demands that you consider the source as well. So when asking about the Jesus and Mary Chain, you’re likely going to be told to start with Psychocandy, and I’m not going to argue with that starting point. I will, however, admit that it’s not my favorite Jesus and Mary Chain album (and, given my run of songs over the last year and a half, that probably isn’t a shock). Based both on play count and gut instinct, Darklands comes out on top for me.

Many of my feelings about the Darklands album also explain why I love the title track. “Darklands” captures the Reid brothers at their most tuneful. I understand and respect the appeal of the earlier and more chaotic songs on Psychocandy, but I’m far more inclined to the gentle sweetness and tinges of melancholy in these songs. Of course, this is easy for me to say looking at their catalog as a whole, especially considering that I’ve never seen one of their loud, chaotic, and confrontational shows. Still, it’s hard to deny the charm in “Darklands,” whether it’s the gentle jangle or the way William Reid’s voice toes the line between gruff and brash and gently beautiful. It may be an outlier when looked at the band’s work overall, but it’s hard to deny a guitar jangle employed so perfectly.

More on The Jesus and Mary Chain: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 30, 2010

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“Game Theory” – The Roots f/ Malik B.
(Words/music: Malik B., Khari Mateen, and The Roots, available on Game Theory, Def Jam 2006)

No one will ever question the Roots’ chops as musicians, nor should they. However, I wonder if their consistent prowess gets them taken for granted. They always put meticulous thought into the performance and sequence of their albums, and now as Jimmy Fallon’s late night house band, they are on TV five nights a week backing musicians ranging from Christopher Cross to Public Enemy. Even ?uestlove’s Twitter account reflects his immense understanding of music history and ear for tunes, as he constantly shares deep cuts many haven’t heard and offers off-the-cuff “lectures” ranging from production minutia to a thumbnail sketch of his band’s catalog. Continued brilliance defines genius, but it also makes it easy to accept brilliance as commonplace and let appreciation lapse into acceptance.

This thought ran through my head over the last week as I listened to the new Roots album How I Got Over at least a dozen times in a variety of settings. It’s the same thing I’m hearing this afternoon, granted in a harder tone, as Game Theory fills the air. Their recordings manage one of the trickiest balancing acts – minding the tiny details without sacrificing the song’s “big picture.” Every bit of the track, whether the snap out of half time when the rhyming begins or the timbre and level of the organ peppered throughout the verses, feels perfectly positioned and performed. Even with a band as good as the Roots, this isn’t a one-take track. Still, this degree of attention to drum sounds and integrating samples might get in the way of the track’s overall feel, yet the Roots always manage to retain the same intensity they exude as a live band. I can lose myself in the specific sounds in one of their tracks as easily as I can absorb the beat and bob my head along to it. This versatility may seem effortless, but it’s also elusive, and few ever reach that level once, let alone at the frequency the Roots find it.

More on The Roots: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 29, 2010

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“The Comeback” – Shout Out Louds
(Words: Adam Olenius, music: Shout Out Louds, available on Howl Howl Gaff Gaff, Capitol 2005)

Even if they don’t come to mind right away as a personal favorite, it’s fair to say that I’m a fan of Shout Out Louds. I’ve enjoyed each of their three albums more than the previous record. Tonight, I realized that I consider one of their songs (“1999”) as one of my favorites of this nearly half-completed year. I even realized that I wrote about this band in this blog’s second entry – before pretty much every single band that I’ve loved my entire listening life. I only qualify my fandom because it seemed to sneak up on me.

I suppose it relates to the way the band puts together their songs. “The Comback,” for instance, isn’t flashy or overly dramatic; instead, it lays out its melody with few frills. There are some nice embellishments, in particular the quick guitar work near the end of the solo section, but generally the band pushed the melody to the forefront and lets it carry the song’s weight. I realize this might sound like a backhanded compliment, but in this instance its straightforward nature helps the melody linger even after the song ends. Rather than call it “simple,” I’d prefer selective, as the band knows when to toss a curveball and make it effective. When they do, these embellishments aren’t lost in sensory overload. It’s easy to overlook a band that makes spectacular songs seem unspectacular, but only while the music isn’t playing. When one of their records spins, the admiration returns.

More on Shout Out Louds: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 24, 2010

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“Sleep All Summer” – The National and St. Vincent
(Words/music: Eric Bachmann, available on SCORE! 20 Years of Merge Records: The Covers!, Merge Records, 2009)

The first ever second post on a single song! Here’s what I said about the original version last October:

Sonically, it feels like these warm October afternoons, specifically in the way the guitar sounds. The gently picked acoustic guitar sounds warm yet tempered by the wistful slide guitar lines that gently come and go. Whenever the bright notes cut through to the forefront, the somber slide guitar swoops back in like a cool breeze. Eric Bachmann and Lara Meyerratken’s vocals tug at these emotional strands as well. Bachman, especially when reaching for the higher notes, sounds bright especially when contrasted with Meyerratken’s even-keeled vocals. It’s when they sing together that Bachmann and Meyerratken bring out the best in each other’s voices and channel that early autumnal warmth. Even without listening to the words, it’s clear that these two characters sound conflicted – in this case, it’s a longing to reconnect with a lover while realizing that the spark is gone. Lots of pop songs use the seasons as a metaphor for life, but few feel as focused on the moments of flux between seasons as “Sleep All Summer.” It captures the feeling of summer’s last moments before fall. Like the love between these characters, change is inevitable, for better or worse.

And even in June, I’m not going to argue with that logic. If anything, The National’s Matt Berninger’s deeper voice sounds even more autumnal than Eric Bachmann. Like Bachmann and Meyerratken in the original, Berninger and Annie Clark play off each other, letting their voices gently intertwine during the chorus without becoming completely inseparable. It’s a faithful homage to the original without being redundant, largely because it’s nice to hear Berninger and Clark sing together. Hearing it now at the beginning of the summer, I’m more drawn to the breezy tone rather than the somber story; in short, I hope my summer is full of evenings where “Sleep All Summer” would be an appropriate soundtrack.

More on The National: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

More on St. Vincent: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 21, 2010

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“Rappaport’s Testament: I Never Gave Up” – Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
(Words/music: Chumbawamba, available on Mo’ Living EP / Living with the Living Bonus Disc, Touch and Go 2007)

Near the end of a blistering set this past Friday night, Ted Leo took a few minutes to speak candidly to the audience. The dialogue with the crowd wasn’t strange, as Leo does this several times every night. However, the tone deviated from the kind of witty banter normally spun off the stage. Instead, Leo thanked his supporting act Screaming Females (who are a must see on their own) and then apologized to them. Evidently, on an otherwise troubled tour cut short by van failure, the Screaming Females faced boycotts at certain shows for their association with “sellouts” like Ted Leo. This baffled the crowd Friday night, and seemed to get under Leo’s skin too, as he calmly but forcefully recounted the band’s repeated efforts to keep their shows affordable and accessible. Furthermore, even when playing larger gigs in support of bigger bands, he uses his website and Twitter page to let fans know what to expect (specifically, not to pay $45 for a 30 minute Ted Leo / Pharmacists set). This also doesn’t mention the responses to e-mails, willingness to talk to every single person waiting around after a show (me on several occasions), and show up with guitar in tow for charitable causes.

I present all of this to offer a slightly different take tonight. I could (and have, believe me) go on about the merits of Leo as a songwriter and performer, but his convictions also factor in as well. While I might not share all of his causes, I always admire his resolve and his passion; in a world of complainers, Leo acts. When he dedicated the final song of the set, a cover on Chumbawamba’s concentration camp prisoner-quoting “I Never Gave Up,” to the Screaming Females, it felt like a genuine act of respect for a (relatively) young band that endured too much crap in order to play music for people. It’s also hard not to read into the song’s closing proclamation as a sort of mantra for Leo’s ethics too – someone who persevered through his own struggles along the way. Even though it’s possible to appreciate art created by less than ideal individuals, I find my appreciation for the art deepens when I genuinely appreciate the artist as well. With Leo, the list is almost as long as the list of things I appreciate in his music. Personally, it’s also refreshing to have heroes at the age of 27, with Ted Leo certainly among them.

More on Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 21, 2010

June 21, 1948: The First LP Is Released

1948: Columbia Records puts the needle down on history’s first successful microgroove plastic, 12-inch, 33-1/3 LPs in New York, sparking a music-industry standard so strong that the digital age has yet to kill it.

Happy birthday, records (well, LPs at least)!

June 19, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“Fake Empire” – the National
(Words/music: The National, available on Boxer, Beggars Banquet 2007)

For the past couple of years, the National brought along a horn section while they toured. In a recent interview with Pitchfork, Aaron Dessner called the choice to bring these extra instrumentalists on the road as one necessary to recreate some of the songs from Boxer. “We don’t have them because we want to sound bigger or grander,” Dessner said in the interview, “it’s just the texture of those instruments.” This statement stuck out largely because it hits on two truths in the band’s music. First, The National aren’t about gimmicks; even with a large number of instruments on their two most recent records, the tracks rarely feel excessive or decadent. Secondly, this band approaches their songs as compositions, taking great effort not just in the writing of their songs, but in the arrangement and continued performance of these works. Thus, the horn players become necessary parts of many of these songs, as opposed to something that a slightly maddening (and hopefully tongue-in-cheek) Vulture post might suggest to “liven” up the band.

As those in attendance this past Wednesday night at Radio City Music Hall know (and from looking down from the second balcony, a lot of people were there), The National needs little help creating excitement. Their lineup, in addition to the horn players, featured a small string section and help from Annie Clark (a.k.a. St. Vincent) and Sufjan Stevens on a couple songs. Still, none of these additions were choices of excess that playing a room like Radio City might warrant. Instead, each of these additions, including their famous friends, played supporting roles. Even Clark and Stevens contributed texture rather than star-power. The result, particularly on the swelling, set-closing “Fake Empire,” not only validated the choice of room (as the sound resonated beautifully, especially at the back of the room where we sat), but also the band’s reputation as a live presence. Even before Matt Berninger navigated the fringe of the room and dragged a hundred feet of microphone cord into the first balcony for the electric “Mr. November” in the encore, the richness of the songs captivated the crowd throughout. Even if Berninger’s repeated trips into the audience get cited as the most electric moments in the show, then the supporting players deserve some of the credit for their exceptional textural contributions.

More on The National: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 18, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“LA” – Elliott Smith
(Words/music: Elliott Smith, available on Figure 8, Dreamworks 2000)

I’ve never been to Los Angeles, so the mental picture of the city is a patchwork of film scenes, tourist clichés, and other assorted images. One of these is the album cover of Elliott Smith’s Figure 8 album, where the late singer (decked out in a vintage Los Angeles Summer Olympics t-shirt) stands in front of a swirling mural in the Silver Lake neighborhood of the city. Smith recorded most of his previous album in Los Angeles, but by the sessions for Figure 8 had relocated to the city, with the references to the city on both the cover and in the album itself, including the song sharing the city’s initials.

Where most people think of Smith’s music as a “sad guy with a guitar,” Smith’s ambition and chops as a songwriter went well beyond the singer-songwriter mould. Like much of Figure 8, “LA” features full instrumentation, including a highly melodic lead guitar riff. It also leans heavily on Smith’s multi-tracked vocals – one of his underrated skills as an arranger. Smith had a knack for using his voice like a painter; he knew when to blend colors, over-saturate part of a piece, or gently shade to set the tone for the entire work. On “LA,” Smith’s blending of his own vocals makes it catchier and sunnier as his harmonies bolster his lead vocal and the lead guitar riff as well. This is the kind of song that fits the LA in my head – one that borrows heavily from an East coaster’s idealized California and its perpetual sunshine. I know that the actual city has its own clouds, but the LA in my brain remains closer to this idealized concept.

(Also, since this post came as a result of the Lakers’ NBA championship tonight, I present the following tenuous sports connection: Smith’s later albums, Figure 8 in particular, loosely remind me of Lakers’ forward Pau Gasol. Both face persistent reputations of “softness,” Gasol in his play from a lackluster 2008 finals appearance and Smith for his hushed early work. However, both have a deeper toughness and a broader range than often credited. Neither is the flashiest part of the team (be it the Lakers of Smith’s discography) nor the MVP (Kobe Bryant and Either/Or respectively), but both deserve closer consideration.)

More on Elliott Smith: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 17, 2010

Tonight’s Plan

I’m watching the NBA finals and grading papers right now. There will be a post after the game ends (even if it’s after midnight), so let’s tie it to the outcome.

Boston wins - “Shipping Up to Boston” by Dropkick Murphys.

Los Angeles wins - either “Los Angeles” by X or “LA” by Elliott Smith, I’m not sure.

Cool?

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