The Whining Stranger on Music: An Epochal Announcement

Last night, the Whining Stranger joined the 21st century.
His music appreciation habits will never be the same.

The Whining Stranger on Music: The Whining Stranger Digs Classic Album Covers, Part 1

I know I'll seem like an old grump in writing this, but I do long for a time when records (a word I use in talking to undergraduates at times, to raised eyebrows and general confusion) were bigger, and their sleeves gave them a real objet d'art feel. I like the shine of the compact disc, true; I dig the portability of the mp3 (after venturing around NYC with my girlfriend's mp3 player in my pocket, I'm sold on the new technology--finally), but aesthetically I just can't get past the grandeur of the long-ago album sleeve. Here are five noteworthy covers:

1. The Beatles by The Beatles [aka "the White Album"].



This cover is so zen in its simplicity. Maybe I'm especially inclined toward this one because its my favorite of their recordings--so diverse, so chaotically lovely--but I admit I've always been mesmerized by the slightly crooked setting of their name.

2. Porgy and Bess by Miles Davis



An elegant record with a saucy cover. What's with the flash of knee? What's with the not-so-demure feminine hand hooked around the trumpet? Meow.

3. The Hissing of Summer Lawns by Joni Mitchell



Joni's covers--usually painted by herself--are always amazing. This one has a certain baroque charm in the intricate pattern on the snake's belly. All that greenspace is hypnotic too, befitting one of the greatest album titles in pop music history.

4. Bookends by Simon and Garfunkel



I dig san serif fonts on album covers. I dig candid photos. Paul and Artie look so wide-eyed here. I know the inticmacy is staged, but even if its a performative candor it's so suitable for the music you hear within.

5. Gettin' Around by Dexter Gordon



The recently released Van Gelder Edition of this album is in frequent rotation on my stereo right now. But the cover! I could compile a list of fifty favorite album covers just by sorting through Reid Miles's designs for Blue Note Records back in the 50s and 60s alone. I love the use of space. I love the bicycles. And look--another san serif font! Brilliant.

The Whining Stranger on Music: "No, we can't dance together." (But it's fun to watch you go to it, MJ.)

I found this on YouTube last night, while trying to assuage my post-SD concert longing with some Steely Dan video action. After laughing so hard my stomach ached, I had to post it here.

The Whining Stranger on Music: Five Songs To Lift Your Spirits (Or Mine Anyway)

These are melancholy times, friends. The evening news gets me down. Sushi helps. Pop music too. Check these out:

1. Stevie Wonder, "Sir Duke"

[If you can't feel this all over, your heart has stopped. A celebration of jazz legends, with an infectious chorus, and a tasty horn part. Stevie saves me.]

2. Ben Folds Five, "Jackson Cannery"

[Poor-kids-who-grew-up-in-ramshackle-neighborhoods-in-working-class-towns unite! It's anthemic; it's about being a have-not; it has funky piano. Nuff said.]

3. Joni Mitchell, "Carey"

[I get the chills always over the second verse: "Come on down to the Mermaid Cafe, and I will buy you a bottle of wine, and we'll laugh and toast to nothing and smash our empty glasses down..." Life is fleeting; enjoy your friends; enjoy your wine.]

4. Donald Fagen, "New Frontier"

[A number about throwing a wingding in a bomb shelter amidst the paranoia of the Cold War. The bomb might fall tonight, kids, but if you've got that blonde you've had your eye on in your arms at last then how bad can mass annihilation really be?]

5. Randy Newman, "Tickle Me"

[If you can listen to this without laughing--or at least smirking--then you are more curmudgeonly than I am even. About being bored with your loved one and settling on something fun to do.]

The Whining Stranger on Music: The Perfect Cover Song

Last night, the WS had the good fortune to enjoy some quality drinking-homebrew-on-the-patio-and-engaging-in-conversation time with a good friend. We got to talking about the aesthetic of the cover song in popular music: i.e. what makes for a good one, what makes for a bad one, and what are the all-time greats. We came to an agreement that a successful cover song needs to be about surprise, and reinvention. Imitation bad. Reconfiguration good. Sorry, Pat Boone.

Here are some of the greats that we brought up in our discussion:

Talking Heads (covering Al Green), "Take Me To The River"

[Dig it: ol' quirky art school nutcase David Byrne brings some CBGB angular, postmodern soul to a classic gospel tune from the Reverend. It shouldn't work, in theory, but it does. If Byrne had played it straight, not so much. But he makes it Byrne.]

Cat Power (covering The Rolling Stones), "Satisfaction"

[Chan Marshall slows it down, and drops the chorus, and makes it one moody, we're-gonna-be-up-all-night existentially angsty funride. Hell, Mick was just singing about not gettin' laid. Wherein lies the reason for her dissatisfaction is going to require some major therapy time.]

Cowboy Junkies (covering The Velvet Underground), "Sweet Jane"

[Another savvy, cross-gender reinvention. This is my friend's favorite. An erstwhile drug number turned into a sweaty and ambiguous erotic aria. Brilliant.]

But what say you? If ever I am lucky enough to entice a reader to this ol' modest mono(b)log(ue), I would love to know what cover songs have rocked your world. Leave a comment.

Musings: In the beginning...

[Note: These first two posts originally appeared on another free blog site, over the past week. After publishing them, though, I decided that this provider has better features, more browsers, good karma, etc. and republished them here.]



Chapter 1, Saturday, in which our hero emerges...
And so it begins. The luddite of the pen and the Blueline notebook emerges, digitized, into the landscape of the blog. It makes sense, perhaps. Living as he does in [unnamed dusty landscape college town, somewhere east of Shanghai but west of Peoria], he who walks the bad-driver-lined streets, always ready to emit a cri du coeur over glaring intolerance, anti-intellectualism, reckless disregard for the environment, bullyish religious fundamentalism, and just plain ol' bad taste--

Here is his forum.
Sign in, stranger.
Get ready to whine.

Chapter 2, in which our hero contemplates beard growth and bad drivers...

I have not shaved in, I think, eight days. [Ed. That is, yesterday, 15 May, it was eight days...] Oh, the slow life of a beard. It begins with such hopefulness, that first day or two of not shaving. Those first long sessions of follicle-gazing in the mirror. That feeling that within days I will look like, at worst, Freud, or at best, George Clooney in Syriana. But then the pace slows. You're just a guy looking in-between, all scratchy face, and uncertain grooming. But I persist for now. I'll keep you posted. Maybe I tough it out and end up looking charmingly bushy, or I change course and bust out the razor.

Today, driving in [college town, parts unknown] I was floored when a driver waved me in as I was trying to pull out of a parking lot. Sorry, generous drivers of this mid-sized burgh, but I am so used to being cut-off, or having a middle-digit waved in my face, that I was momentarily incredulous. God bless you, non-bad driver.

By the way, if any future commenters--look how blog-vain I am already--can identify where the title of this blog comes from without Googling, you have earned my limited but heartfelt esteem.

And though this blog purports to be a literate record, I will admit that I am hooked on Gray's Anatomy. Last night's [Ed. i.e. Sunday's] (melo)dramatic cliffhanger made me bounce off the couch. How could they have [non-spoiler! non-spoiler!]? He is my favorite character, after all. Bummer. Quelle bummer.

This entry is mediocre. I'll try harder to be more philosophical next time.

Books on the Nightstand:
Omeros by Derek Walcott [A reread for me. Breathtaking poetry. I met him once. He was delightfully curt.]

The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason [Oh, what earth-shattering secrets wait to be discovered in the musty confines of American university libraries!]

Currently Listening To:
Morph the Cat by Donald Fagen [Fagen is the only hope for American pop music. He rocked my world in Vegas in March. I have listened to this disc nearly every day since its release.]

The Birth Of Soul : The Complete Atlantic Rhythm & Blues Recordings, 1952-1959 [Disc 2] by Ray Charles. [I am not so dolorous when listening to Brother Ray. The way his voice cracks on "What Would I Do?" is sublime.]

Three Feet High and Rising by De La Soul [Classic hip-hop. Had this one in the car yesterday. Reminded me of when I had a clue about what was going on in popular music. "Three is the magic number," kids.]

Recently Watched:
Metropolitan (dir. Whit Stillman, 1990) [I love blue oxford shirts and grosgrain belts and pretentious conversation. I read The Official Preppy Handbook and was able to suspend my irony at times. Sue me.]

The Squid and the Whale (dir. Noah Baumbach, 2005) [This one had Whining Stranger written all over it: set in the 80s, family drama, corduroy blazers, writers, retro sneakers, and one mofo of a beard. Why did it have to end?]

The King of Comedy (dir. Martin Scorsese, 1983) [Loved revisiting this one. Rupert Pupkin, baby. "Better to be king for a night then a schmuck for a lifetime." Amen, Rupert. Amen.]