The devil's in the details

A brief recap of Monday night's BQT:

-- Congratulations to Denial-Acceptance-Anger-Trivia (né Too Friggin' Cool for Words): Victory at long last is ever so sweet. (And a 2.5-point margin is actually kind of large.)

-- Noah You Didn't makes its first top-five showing. Not bad for a buncha broads!

-- The Batter Up Cake Bar supplied lovely strawberry-frosted cupcakes. I'm convinced last-place finishers the Wombats threw the game just to satisfy their sugar jones.

-- Ana amazingly large number of people know who Roscoe Lee Jones was.

-- The crowd also showed an impressive talent for the mano cornuta hand gesture. Ozzy rules!

-- Crash Mansion's new video projector is a fine piece of technological equipment, yesiree it is.

-- Quizmaster Noah's joke about Joe Strummer, Bette Davis, Madonna, Van Gogh, and every gay uncle on earth dying last year bombed horribly.

-- And the weirdest thing: Last night, our lovely door gal Lori took in exactly $666. The number of the beast, in cover-charge form. Coincidence?

Year End List

Hello BQT friends,
As the DJ and musical guru of The Big Quiz Thing, I'd like to share my list of my favorite records from 2007. They're not all 2007 releases, and it’s certainly not a critic’s list. It’s just what I liked or disliked last year. Enjoy.

Though I keep hearing of things that I missed this year (MGMT, Battles), I doubt I’ll hear anything else that will make this list at the 11th hour. So another year passes, another list passed around. Happy reading/listening. Sorry in advance to go on so long about my favorite album this year. And sorry for the length...I guess I got carried away.


A-List:
#1

Of Montreal Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?
“…Nihilists with good imaginations...”

Rarely do indie rock records combine spouse separation, severe nervous breakdowns, and Nordic references; in fact, I can't think of any. Sure, Kevin Barnes’ voice gets shrill, and the false Brit accent gets annoying. But the psychedelic pop harmonies are perfect. I listened to the hell out of this record.

Be warned, this record takes some getting used to. I had resisted this band for years; their brand of sugar-coated indie pop was never to my liking...so sweet it made my teeth hurt. Really. On my first listen to Hissing Fauna…, their 10th(?) release, I was still skeptical until about the third listen, when its brilliance hit me. As you listen closer to the lyrics, the juxtaposition of bitterness and dejection to the sunny, bright melodies might surprise you…but in a good way. Since I never listened to them before this year, I can't comment on how Hissing Fauna... compares.

There are no subtleties in his acrimonious songwriting, presumably directed toward his separated wife, nor does he make any attempts to hide his clinical depression: “I found myself on the verge of a nervous breakdown while living in Norway…” he sings on “A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsvinger.” He is as brutally honest as one can be about the past year, while setting the stories to infectious tunes. Isn’t that what comprises the best songs anyway?

"Gronlandic Exit"
**If I managed this band, this song would be in a commercial by now. A perfect bass line by which to sell Gap jeans or Toyotas. I guess we'd have to leave out the parts that describe Barnes' slow descent into isolation and panic attacks, while lambasting religion as a crutch…those parts not so much a sales tool.

“The Past Is a Grotesque Animal”
**A 12-minute stream of conciousness where Barnes lashes out, occasionally repeating particularly acrid and personal lyrics with emphasis: “But at least I authored my own disaster.” At whom is this torrent of resentment? Who is the “you?” I suppose his ex-wife and the mother of his child. Though, maybe his parents. Maybe a disloyal friend. What does it matter?

“Bunny Ain’t No Kind Of Rider”
**A story about fighting off drunk girls and gay men at a jam-band party, as best I can figure.

“We Were Born The Mutants Again With Leafling”
**I haven’t dissected these lyrics as much, but I really like the song.

The rest:

Datarock Datarock
**Norwegian disciples of the “new rave” indie electronica. Technically this album was released in 2005, but it just found its way to me this year.

Robert Plant & Alison Krauss Raising Sand
**A very pretty album. The lovely-voiced Alison Krauss is perfectly complemented by the Golden God.

LCD Soundsystem Sound Of Silver
**Declared in 2005 as one of the “coolest people on the planet,” James Murphy’s follow-up isn’t as fun or silly, but just as smart and clever. Includes sarcasm and a 5-minute + lament to NY’s loss of cool: “New York I Love You, But You’re Bringing Me Down.”

Peter, Bjorn, & John Writer’s Block
**While technically released in 2006 overseas, this still managed to make a strong showing this year. The ubiquitous “Young Folks” hasn’t even gotten too annoying yet. A solid, enjoyable album.

B-List

Feist The Reminder

**I’m sorely tempted to leave this off after finding it on the Blender 100 Greatest Indie Rock Albums list (WTF?). But I did enjoy this record this year, from time to time, though I can’t imagine I’ll be listening to it next year…

Kings of Leon Because of the Times
A pretty good album, a GREAT live show.

The Brakes Give Blood
**Overall mediocre, but contains one great, 1:37 song: “Ring A Ding Ding”

The Ponys Turn The Lights Out
**I really dug The Ponys for a while, but it just didn’t stand the test of time.

Wilco Sky Blue Sky
**The first half is a pretty decent record. Then it loses me big time.

Dr. Dog We All Belong
**Oddball pop that can appeal to fans of both 60’s pop revivalists and jam bands.

Best Discoveries--More Garage

The Seeds (thanks to Bob Irwin)
**Best song: “Pushing Too Hard”


Best Shoegaze Song

The Besnard Lakes “Devastation”


Best Discoveries Carryover from last year

NRBQ
Still a very cool band.


Best album from 2003 that I still listen to all the time

Lilys Precollection
**I can’t seem to get through a week without listening to this album. The Lilys are the coolest. And I just found out Higgins is the new Lilys backing band? Oh happy day.

Best Re-Discoveries

Komeda The Genius of Komeda
**Believe the title. This album really is genius.

Slint Spiderland
See "Good Morning Captain"
**A textured, chilling, and ultimately exhaustive tribute to Coleridge's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"


Best In Shows:

Black Mountain, Mercury Lounge
**A completely hypnotic show from one of my favorite 2005 bands. Black Mountain is an unbelievable live show.

Porter Wagoner, Joe’s Pub
**R.I.P. Porter...amiable, humble, and clearly thrilled to be performing.

Spiritualized, Apollo Theatre
**A clean and redeemed J. Spaceman (does he even call himself that anymore?) with strings and gospel.

THE END

Character actors blend into the background for our sins

I saw Juno last night, and it was pretty darn fine. Considering how boneheaded most of America is these days in regard to touchy subjects like abortion and teen pregnancy, it's a wonder any sober discussion of the subject can rise to the surface, let alone something as funny and cutting as this film. This is the second movie by director Jason Reitman that I really enjoyed (he did Thank You for Smoking), and it depresses the crap out of me that he's two years younger than I am. Not that I want to be a film director, but you know how it is.

But one of the best things about it is J.K. Simmons. He plays the title character's father, and he is awesome. I've always had a fondness for character actors, those people who appear in 8,000 films yet somehow get to stay fat and ugly (or at least normal looking). They're usually better than nine tenths of the actors they're working with; since the tabloids don't give a shit about whteher they're gay or have a fat ass, they get to focus on, you know, actually acting. Some of my favorites:

J.K. Simmons (J. Jonah Jameson in Spider-Man, the psychologist on Law & Order, the Shaggy Man on Justice League)
John Amos (the dad on Good Times and in Coming to America, Adm. Fitzwallace on The West Wing)
Peter Scolari (the guy on Bosom Buddies who wasn't Tom Hanks)
Wallace Shawn (My Dinner with Andre, the "Inconceivable!" guy in The Princess Bride)

See, this is my problem—now I can't think of any others. Suggestions?

This Monday, be warned…

So this Monday, of course, the BQT returns after a little holiday hiatus (inevitable from the Mondayness of Xmas and New Year's), and I get the feeling, that tingling in my bones, that it'll be a busy night. It's usually crowded when we've been away for a while. Plus, you know how people are always making New Year's resolutions to go to more live quiz shows? Yeah, well, that'll be a big factor too.

Also, I wasted most of my holiday vacation putzing around on Facebook, cavorting with lost friends, and everyone seemed to take an interest in the status of the quiz. So I think—or maybe I like to think—that'll we be seeing a lot of old friends at this one (the dude who coined the team name "Strippers for Stephen Hawking" said he might be returning, after, like, a four-year absence).

Anyway, it's not as much of a problem since we left the Slipper Room for the roomier climes of Crash Mansion, but do show up in a timely fashion on Monday to guarantee seating. And if it turns out I'm completely wrong, and no one shows up except me and that guy who dresses like a Renaissance Fair elf, don't laugh…

- QN

I have problems only oc…er, seldomly

When I'm not quizmastering, I'm a copy editor. As such, I'm a pretty capable speller, and one of the many incredibly sucky things about my school system growing up was that we never had anything remotely like a spelling bee; if you couldn't do a lay-up or crab-walk fast, you were SOL in competitive endeavors.

But, there is one word that is the absolute bane of my existence: "occasional." I literally never remember how to spell out it, and just now typed it in incorrect twice before the red underline disappeared to indicate I'd hit pay dirt.

What's going on here? Is it some mysterious mental block? Like when I was in high school and I somehow always forgot to call my parents at 11pm and tell them where I was? Do I harbor some kind of subconscious resentment of "oca"…"occass"…fuck!…"occasional"?

See, what I really need to do is come up with some kind of mnemonic trick or association to help me easily remember the spelling; that's how I mastered "minuscule" (it includes "minus"—I got a million of 'em). Incredibly dorky suggestions are welcome.

Bouncing around my skull: "San Francisco"

So I originally came to NYC to be a music critic. That didn't work out so well—I was 20 years too late to be one of those misfits trapped in his basement, listening to records; they expected me to hang around backstage with Christina Aguilera—but I still approach music somewhat analytically. So occasionally, I plan to blog about whatever song is presently bouncing around my soft little skull…

Right now, it's "San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)," by Scott McKenzie, which just came up on the randomizer on my iTunes. Number one hit from 1967, one-hit wonder. The song is pretty stupid on its surface, a facile anthem for Summer of Love flower-power hippie-dippy nonsense. This dude McKenzie (who I believe went on to be a Christian-oriented musician, but I'm too lazy to check Wikipedia) is moaning and yelling about how "gentle people" from all over the country are feeling compelled to make the long bitch of a journey to SF (remember, there was no JetBlue in those days), in order to do nothing in particular—sit around, love each other, roll around in the grass in Golden Gate Park. Yeah, that'll end the Vietnam War.

Oh, but these are old complaints about hippie culture, and the fact is, I love this song. Indeed, it's the closing track for the 44th mixtape I ever made. It strikes just the right chord of naive hope, the kind that is in pathetically short supply these days (if there's one thing that the Internet encourages, it's cynicism). I figure the dumb lyrics are part of the point; the music is cut-rate Byrds, wimpy acoustic guitar strumming and gimmicky sitar over the tinkling of what sounds like a Fisher-Price xylophone. I have no doubt that this song hit number one (an impressive feat back then, unlike now) because thousands of gloriously stupid kids all over the country heard it, felt its positive vibes, and convinced themselves that San Francisco was indeed the promised land of peace and love. Most of them probably didn't make the trip, but at least they had someplace to fantasize about.

But I bet you there was some guy somewhere, in Iowa or New Jersey, for whom Scott McKenzie had sounded the call. He heard the song one day while working at the Fotomat, looked around at his life, and realized nothing was happening. So he dug out his fringe vest, packed up piece-of-shit 1963 Rambler, and drive to San Francisco, the land of weed and patchouli, to find his dream of joining the hippie revolution. Oh sure, he was eventually disappointed, and today he's a lonely old man working as the tech guy for a karaoke band in San Jose. But for a few years there , he lived the fantasy: met lots of interesting weirdos, did a shitload of drugs, thought he was changing the world by talking about rainbows, and probably fucked some really good-looking women. Not that bad, compared with what he left behind. And all because of Scott McKenzie.

Face the facts

So today, finally, giving in to tedious peer pressure, I acquired that necessity of late-2007/early-2008 American citizenship, a Facebook page. Interestingly, while I'd been aware of Facebook for many years, until I plunged into the registration process, I had never even visited Facebook. I mean, since even before I became a MySpace lackey, I'd been there on a regular basis checking out the poor excuses for websites cobbled together by rock bands struggling and otherwise.

It's kind of shocking how quickly and massively there's been an exodus from MySpace to Facebook, considering that it's pretty much a case of "Meet the new corporate-hipster new boss, same as the corporate-hipster old boss." I'm sure Malcolm Gladwell would have something interesting to say about the changeover.

Anyway, Facebook seems handy to me and all, and please go ahead and make me your friend, or write on my wall, or join my group or whatever. But really, how is this any different from Friendster, which none of us have cared about for three years? And in 2009, what website will people be telling me I'm lame for not being on then? This culture is insane.