In honor of Lenny Kaye’s epic retrospective on the MC5’s Kick Out the Jams and courtesy of the dearly departed former eMusic employee Patrick Lelli, here is an amazing clip of Rob Tyner, former lead singer of the MC5, performing his solo song “Grande Days” on an autoharp with a pair of Larry “Bud” Melman glasses and fingerless leather gloves on public access television. Patrick sent me the link the other day, and I’ve watched it three or four times since; it’s one of those amazing moments where the mundane slams unexpectedly into something transcendent. It’s basically why public access TV was invented. The original studio recording is a bit of a scowly cock-rocker; here, armed with nothing more than an autoharp and his quavering, 60s-rock throwback tenor, Tyner turns “Grande Days” into a trembling broadside ballad.

I caught Bristol, England based Malachai on the final day of SXSW. Composed of a vocalist, Gee, and Scott on a laptop etc. They were intriguing. Really hard to classify, definitely a bit of the Bristol sound in there but they’re true magpies, grabbing shiny and dark stuff alike, to create, well the metaphor falls apart here cause there’s nothing nest-like about them.

Reading around, it’s comforting to learn that no one else seems to know how to describe them either. Their PR release quotes Kasabian’s Serge Pizzorno, “it reminds me of Revolver-era Beatles but there’s this kind of early DJ Shadow vibe going on.”

If you’re in NYC you can hear them tonight at Le Poisson Rouge, opening for Ben Frost. Everyone else can check them out here here. Headliner Ben Frost is also available on eMusic.

Man, Jayson wasn’t kidding about today being a big day. In amongst the marquee stuff that’s dropped in, I noticed a bunch (a slew even) of great and/or interesting records that I figured were worth running down here. Even still, I’m sure there’s stuff of note that I missed. Feel free to drop some science in the comments.

V/A, The Minimal Wave Tapes: Volume One: Is 2010 the year of coldwave? Between NYT Salem hype, Cold Cave, the Wierd Records party/scene and now this Stones Throw comp, it’s time to stop being CHILL and start getting COLD. Ugh. ANWYAYYYY, this is pretty great. RIYL: Linn drum-fueled, cheapo ’80s synth sounds. And dreary things.

Side note: Can someone explain to me the difference between coldwave and darkwave? Kthnx.

Hannu, Hintergarten: A great record from last spring. Here’s what I said in October:

Hannu’s Hintergarten is quickly becoming one of my favorite albums of the year. Like a more somber companion to Four Tet’s Rounds, it’s a kind of crackly downtempo electronic album with lots of vinyl pops and piano plinks and, well, space.

Really, really glad to see it on the site! Four Tet definitely on the mind today with this coming in and the new record being pretty legitimately awesome. Also tweeting first thoughts RE: There Is Love In You at 17 Dots Twitter.

Infinite Body, Carve Out The Face Of My God: Some lax Googling tells me that this is one guy (Kyle Parker) who used to record under the name Gator Surprise. Mmmk. This is an interesting take on ambient in that it sounds overdriven. It’s warm and enveloping, sure, but it has this harsh aura. An impressive collection in a (micro)genre where it’s very hard to define your own space.

V/A, The Real Sound Of Chicago: Holy cow are there a lot of regional obscuro comps. This one is from BBE/!K7 so you know it’s at least legit enough to give a whirl. Pretty expansive at 25 tracks, Real Sound focuses pretty much on maximalist disco. It’s a bit too… splashy for me? But definitely of note for disco dudes.

Beach Fossils, Daydream / Desert Sand: We’ve been loving this guy Dustin for awhile now; it’s exciting to finally get some material on the site. I know the whole beach-chill-glo-wave-fi thing has become a bit of a rubbernecking disaster, but this guy has tunes. Seriously. I really like the kind of minimal two guitar interplay. Very optimistic about the LP (also coming through Captured Tracks, sometime in ‘10 I hear).

Quail Lungs, Dumb Dadadum: Like Infinite Body, another artist on PPM, Dean from No Age’s label. Dumb is a pair of ramshackle, probably homemade songs. The A-side is completely falling apart — “Dumb Dadadum” sounds like it was recorded while stumbling home from a drunken night out. You know, slurred lead (and backing) vocals, occasional tamborine randomly showing up, yell-y pub-anthem chorus. The B is a more droning keyboard affair. It’s kind of a slight single, but it’s charmed me for some reason.

Ray Mang, Bullet Proof: NEW DFA, NEW DFA! [Insert Drudge siren] The B-side is probably the winner here — a slow-burning cosmic (overused I know, but it’s cosmic sounding!) disco number with some nice piano stabs.

I realize I’m probably picking a bad time (entire Replacements discography and all) to trot out a laundry list of random-seeming records that you just Have to Download Now! but… let’s just call it Save For Later-bait? Ok, cool.

I’ve posted here before about leaning on lists to augment my all-consuming music nerd habits, but December and January (aka year-end up wrap-up time) turns list scouring time into list drowning time. And, well… I love it. The whole year-end list clusterfuck gets a bad rap — it’s overwhelming, it’s arbitrary, it caters to ugly hivemind sensibility, etc etc. But honestly, the sheer amount of artists and records and songs I discover and come to love makes me quickly shelve any inclination I have toward petty list-hate snark.

I thought it might be worthwhile to share a list of some of my recent discoveries (and obsessions) and to give props to the fine excavators who lit the way. The list is currently spiraling out of control, no thanks to today’s arrival of Village Voice’s (always fascinating) Pazz n’ Jop poll coverage, which, among the great essays and master rankings, allows me to see the individual ballots of many writers I admire. So basically, it never ends. And that’s great.

Bad Sports, Bad Sports
From: Raven Sings the Blues

This record deserves its own post, really. I’m just gonna quote myself from somewhere else:

Obviously, punk in 2010 is a bit of a formalist exercise. We’ve heard the 1-4-5 chord progression, the aggro sneers, the chunky distortion. But when a band nails sweet-punk, that kind of almost-bubblegum that sounds like it’s played in a trashcan, I get knock-kneed. Records like these shouldn’t be so hard to come by. With any genre that’s become a bit rote, songs are king. And man does Bad Sports have ‘em.

To make a (way too long) story short: If you like Jay Reatard, the Exploding Hearts, the Boys, melodic punk music, pretty much anything on In the Red… get Bad Sports. Trust me.

It also must be said that Raven Sings the Blues is a phenomenal blog. Full disclosure: Andy, who runs the site, is a personal friend and old colleague. He specializes in the intersection of garage rock, drone, avant folk and all matters of psych. He is extremely ahead of the curve. Running shit, even.

Connie Converse, How Sad, How Lovely
From: Other Music

Almost buried at the bottom of Other Music newsletter, this record has ruled me for the last month or so. It’s a neat story, sure (’50s home recordings of a woman who just up and left her home one day and… never came back), but the music itself is pretty revelatory. Complete with some flubs and some talking bits, the intimate Carter Family-esque folk ditties on How Sad feel extra confessional. Just a supremely nice recording. That may sound backhanded, but I mean it as honest praise. Every time I listen to this record I just think, “Wow. This is SO. NICE.”

Richard Skelton, Landings
From: eMusic -> New This Month -> Most Downloaded

Even after working at eMusic for two years, I still get lost on the site. And I love that. Yesterday, after browsing Freshly Ripped, I decided to see what some of the past month’s most downloaded albums were. I was sure I’d missed some gems. Charts are one thing, but by navigating using the Browse page, you can just scroll and scroll and scroll until you hit these pages of strangely somewhat-popular albums. Sometimes it’s a trance remix collection and sometimes it’s Richard Skelton’s Landings.

In ‘08, I had some real down-the-rabbit-hole moments with Skelton’s harrowing Marking Time and when I saw Landings appear amidst my maniacal scrolling, I was psyched. Skelton records are typically stark and kinda scary, using echo-laden strings, treated piano and buzzing atmospherics to acheive a pretty dire mood. It’s beautiful, though, trust me!

Instra:mental, “Watching You”
From: Darkstar’s XXJFG’s mix

As much as I routinely find dance music that really moves me (natch), I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll never know as much as my favorite electronic honchos. So, gladly, I seek help. 20 Jazz Funk Greats is a blog that writes a lot about dark electronic music — dubstep, italo, 2-step, UK funky, etc etc. I don’t wanna pigeonhole them too much, but usually there’s a synth or drum machine in the (usually great) song or mix they’re posting.

People kind of went bonkers for Darkstar’s “Aidy’s Girlfriend is a Computer”, and not without reason. It’s possibly the most accessible 12″ from Hyperdub yet — it’s glitchy and nuanced, but it’s also kind of as close to the Postal Service as the esteemed label will ever come. Clipped vocals, gently stuttering drum programming. 20JFG says “Aidy” is another in the line of Hyperdub’s “hypnotic phantom digi-diva bass hymnals,” and, well, I’m not gonna say it any better than that.

HOWEVER, I find that Instra:mental’s “Watching You” succeeds in ways that “Aidy” only hints at. They are of the same strain of digi-diva bass hymnal (ha), but somehow “Watching You” feels… weightier. It has more space. More bass. Less cuteness and more ominous-ness. I’ve listened more to this song in the last month than anything else. By far. It makes me sad that we don’t have it on eMusic, but I just had to share it.

Final note (swear): The best-of list posted at the top of the JFG post with the Darkstar mix is essential. It was put together by one of their writers who also has a leftfield modern R&B blog (So Bones) that is also essential. That is all.

Interbellum, Over All of Spain the Sky is Clear
From: Jayson, over the cubicle wall

Sometimes… occasionally… you can discover things by, like, talking to people. This is a wonderful, subtle, beautiful album of modern classical (?), ambient (?) or some such inadequate genre tag. Thanks Jayson! (He did not know I was putting together an overly-long post about “discovering stuff” when he called this out to me. Wassup serendipity.)

David Sylvian, Manafon
From: The Wire

Sadly, I don’t think you can get Sylvian’s stuff anywhere digitally. I’ve never listened much to Japan, but Sylvian’s late-period solo stuff is miles away from the pomp-rock of his former band. He put of some of my favorite records of the decade (the Derek Bailey and Fennesz-assisted Blemish and his criminally underrated collaboration with Burnt Friedman under the name Nine Horses) and Manafon is predictably, singularly unnerving and wonderful.

Side note: Did anyone see Tim Burton’s Sweeney Todd? ‘Cause Johnny Depp’s singing voice is oddly similar to David Sylvian. Like, creepily so.

Lloyd Miller, A Lifetime in Oriental Jazz
From: FACT Magazine (Best Reissues)

God knows how I missed this. Chris Nickson reviewed it for us (glowingly) but even though I… freakin’… WORK HERE… sometimes things get lost in the shuffle. So in case you missed it too, here’s your chance. I’m just gonna quote some of Chris’ review here because it is HIGHLY persuasive:

When it comes to unknown geniuses, Dr. Lloyd Miller ranks high on the list. Born in California, he’s not only a virtuoso jazz pianist and clarinettist, but also a leading authority on Iranian music — he spent several years living there, even presenting a weekly TV programme in Tehran.

This eye-opening trawl through his little-known back catalogue shows just how he’s pioneered musical dialogues between cultures; not just Western and Iranian, but also Indian and Vietnamese.

So, yeah. Don’t walk… RUN!

Finally, here are some records that have grabbed me, but I haven’t had a chance to fully digest yet. It never ends, remember?!

Oneohtrix Point Never, Rifts
From: 14tracks.com

Redshape, The Dance Paradox
From: Little White Earbuds

Paul White, The Strange Dreams of Paul White
From: FACT Magazine (Best Albums)

Ariel Pink is megaprolific LA-based songwriter who sits at the center of a whole constellation of artists making homemade, rinky dink could-be-hits. Using often outdated, underpowered and/or rudimentary equipment, Pink (née Rosenberg) makes quirky pop music that sounds like a sun-damaged, slowly melting version of 1970s FM rock. Since first hitting record on the boombox mic, Pink (often through his makeshift group Haunted Graffiti) has released a steady stream of material — everything from tour CD-Rs to limited run cassettes to official releases on major indies (Carpark, Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks label and, soon, 4AD). It’s all a bit overwhelming, honestly. And that doesn’t even account for the aforementioned constellation: a lo-fi wacko mentor-turned-collaborator (R. Stevie Moore), a melodramatic sometimes-Haunted Graffiti member who’s a philosophy professor by day and solo synth-pop artist by night (John Maus), an obsessed acolyte who credits Ariel with inspiring him to finally write his own songs (Christopher Owens of Girls) and a whole slew more.

I’m hardly an Ariel expert — believe me, they’re out there — but I thought I’d put together a little primer for curious parties. It goes without saying (I think?) that I’m a huge Ariel fan and I’d recommend pretty much any of his records to anyone who likes their pop a little warped and fucked-up sounding.

Haunted Graffiti
Ariel’s primary project. Has released a million gagillion little things, but there’s no sense in getting bogged down eBay-ing old cassettes when you’ve got some brilliant, easily findable albums out there. Conventional wisdom (which, I think, does exist even in such a small pond as this) says The Doldrums is his best of the “official” albums, but my personal fave is Worn Copy. Don’t be turned off by the 10+ minute first track, it’s a song cycle more than anything. In any case, by the time you get through the 2-3 punch of “Immune to Emotion” and “Jules Lost His Jewels,” you’ll either love it or hate me for dragging you this far along. Oops.

R. Stevie Moore
Warrants his own post entirely, really. A wacked-out New Jersey guy who’s put out dozens and dozens of records that are perfect in that kind of “not perfect at all” way. Both Moore’s end-product (wordplay-stuffed, bad/great falsetto-pop with cheap synths and great chord changes) and method (4-track, DIY releasing) are huge — and hugely apparent — influences on Ariel. Start with Meet the R. Stevie Moore!. Also, his cover of “Chantilly Lace” is classic.

John Maus (UK/EU ONLY)
I am embarrassing-level obsessed with Love Is Real. I’m pretty sure it will decimate everything else on my Last.fm pretty soon. Maus is a philosophy professor at the University of Hawaii and was at one point a core member of Haunted Graffiti. He also played keyboards for Panda Bear. His lyrics aren’t particularly philosophical (Sample: “Rights for gays. Right now. Rights for gays. Oh yeah.”) but his music does have a bit of a melodramatic professor vibe. Love Is Real is almost all synths. They overlap and swell and swirl a lot and are honestly a bit cheesy. It doesn’t matter. His songs are like a waaaay goth-er New Order. God, I’m having a terrible time explaining why to love this record. Listen — if you live anywhere in Europe, just download it, okay?! Thanks!

Nite Jewel
Nite Jewel is a divisive figure here at 17 Dots HQ. Yancey likes (loves?) one song. Joe and Maris eat H8er Tots. I love a few songs, find the rest kinda… okay. I like how unified the sound is. Everything, from the drums to the soft synth pads, sound kind of underwater. Scuba disco? Something like that. Nite Jewel is primarily Ramona Gonzalez and her husband Cole M.G.N., who was also a guitarist in Haunted Graffiti. Yancey says start with “Lover” from Good Evening and I say the insta-winner is “What Did He Say.” Either way, it’s definitely worth a listen.

Final, obnoxious-but-sorta-true thing I’ll say about Nite Jewel: Good Evening is total proto-chillwave.

Girls
When Christopher Owens moved to San Francisco, he wasn’t playing music, let alone writing it. Soon after arriving, he met Ariel Pink and Matt Fishbeck and went from smitten to obsessed real fast. He joined their band Holy Shit as a guitarist and fell in with the California coast fucked-up flower rock people. Next thing you know he’s written his first song (“Lust For Life,” instant classic), performing to increasingly adoring crowds (often wearing a homemade Ariel Pink shirt) and putting Ariel homages on his singles’ b-sides. (The flip on Lust For Life, “Life In San Francisco,” was inspired by Pink’s fan favorite “Life In L.A.” Ariel’s “L.A.” is a bit breezy and tongue-in-cheek; Girls’ “S.F.” is a TON breezy and is pure dew-eyed, heart-on-sleeve Owens.)

I’m the kind of listener who gets stuck on songs and moods. I find one mood I like and suddenly it starts appearing everywhere before me, echoes of the ideas ubiquitous. Right now two songs dominate my consciousness, both precious, contained, and beaten down by life. One is “Black Lake” from the new Real Estate record and the other is “Criminals” from the Atlas Sound album Logos.

I could draw a line straight through from the Byrds through this Real Estate record. The shorthand goes Byrds -> Beachwood Sparks -> Real Estate. There’s a slight hint of folk music in Real Estate (their best song is called “Fake Blues”), and a twang that would be far more pronounced if we were still in the 1998 No Depression era. That’s the secret with Real Estate: they’re faddish and going along with the lo-fi thing because that’s what you do when you start a band this second (tomorrow this whole thing will be over), but at core they’re a country band, and that comes through on “Black Lake.”

It’s a stilted song — more hesitation than an amateur sky-diving convention — but the jangling guitars cut through with such force and acuteness that the whole thing shuffles and swings. The vocals are buried (of course) and convey a muffled resignation that the slowly plodding snare pops reinforce all the more. It also has slide guitar — when’s the last time you heard slide in an indie song outside of Beach House? It’s my favorite slide since Johnny Depp played on the B-side version of Oasis’ “Fade Away.”

“Criminals” from Atlas Sound is all layers. It’s more hushed than muffled, but there’s a similar cowering feel that “Black Lake” shares. Both songs benefit from choruses that open up just enough to let in some sun and show us the breadth of their understanding and vision, and then quickly scurry back into the darkness. There are at least five or six guitar parts churning simultaneously, including a number of acoustics and possibly a ukulele as well. It sounds thick as it churns, with Bradford Cox murmuring and cooing above it. It’s an incredible listen.

I love both of these songs, and would love more if people have suggestions. Please share if you do!

Our fall will sound like summer. Not everyone’s but certainly indie rock’s, and three bands (a trend) — the Drums, Girls and Beach Fossils — will be partially responsible. Some of their music will remind you of surf rock. More of it like the electrified cicadas of early R.E.M. Most of it like California. And all of it blissful and innocent and gaudily young.

The Drums come from Brooklyn, and the big indie labels are currently in pursuit (it’s almost an infestation round these parts). They are fey, freshly awkward, and beautiful, their skin glistening with that “born in the past 22 years” sheen. The music is similar in every way. It’s emotional, fearless, and spends every Tuesday night having life moments at Lit hours after you went home because, ya know, “work tomorrow.”

“Let’s Go Surfing” is the Drums’ best song, and it’s no joke. Second listen and you know that this is a classic for all surf videos from now until eternity, but maybe a classic for everyone, too. Even better with the video:

Sure, first ten seconds you’re writing it off as a Bat for Lashes rip-off but then you get over yourself and just take it in, this lanky, ’50s queer pinup handsome boy jogging and singing his song, and then:

And you are just hooked. The weird burping guitar line, the whistle that will reel people in with the “is that Peter, Bjorn an…” gag, and finally, in a tie, that chorus and middle-eight, so perfectly effortless.

(Epilogue: The drunk girls who will love love love this song will call it “The Obama Song” when they request it from the DJ.)(I’ve come close to talking myself into thinking that’s what he really says sometimes.)

Beach Fossils I know nothing about except that I went to see Girls and Kurt Vile only to leave thinking that Beach Fossils, the no-name opener, played the best show I had seen that night (the clip above is from that). It’s jangly with a hint of that chooglin’ feeling that John Fogerty gets every time he eats too many oysters. It reminds me of Pavement, too, but I can’t explain why.

The vocals are not great. They are warped and warbling: over the course of a song or two it sounds awesome but over a full set (which is the case) not so much. But “Vacation” and “Daydream” feel too much like perfect early Galaxie 500: nerdy and awkward and high as fuck. (And the beach thing goes past the name: this is music for going to an awesome clambake where everyone brought amazing casseroles and booze and you only brought chips and a six-pack but hey, who cares, life is easy, let’s play Trivial Pursuit and smile through our sunglasses.)


The band is currently unsigned and soon to be trendy. Love them anyway.

Before I get into our last band lemme mention a handful of almosts: Real Estate. Vivian Girls if I liked them. Kurt Vile has his beach-y moments. And the Desolation Wilderness record is very apt (try “Satellite Song“). Still, no one compares to Girls:

That’s “Hellhole Ratrace” by Girls, a song that lead off our own Selected + Collected compilation, in the video above. It’s the best song on their upcoming record, Album (out September 8 ) in a four-way tie with “Lust for Life,” “Ghostmouth” and “Summertime.”

“Summertime” is just tremendous; it’s a crime that the world has not had it these past three months. Nothing but bass, clanging guitar and Christopher Owen swaggering in his surly 14-year-old way. Lyrics like “Lay in the park/ Smoke in the dark/ Get high like I used to do/ Summertime/ Soak up the sunshine with you” that make your knees buckle and your eyes mist at how goddamn simple it used to be.

You keep waiting for the song to erupt but, like “Hellhole Ratrace,” it never quite does. It just becomes more ornate and gilded, but never sharp. Girls are too delicate for such a thing, for their Album is something much bigger than an indie record. It is an ethos to life done easy, a conscious path to a new innocence, and I am sure that we will embrace it — along with these bands — this fall.

Until we all turn on them like jackals, anyway.

Today marks the 50th anniversary of Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue, aka every non-jazz listener’s favorite jazz record. You’ll see a lot of excellent essays this week about the impact of Blue and what it has meant to jazz and culture at large since. What you won’t see are many attempts to place the record in a contemporary context or to understand what the album and our current music culture have to do with each other, if anything at all.

While it is a very specific take, I’d like to offer up Andy Baio’s Kind of Bloop 8-bit Miles Davis tribute album that was released today as, at the very least, a unique response to today’s anniversary. Using Kickstarter, Andy raised enough money to commission completely legal covers of Kind of Blue by five prominent 8-bit artists: Ast0r, Virt, Sergeeo, Shnabula and Disasterpeace. (I know that sounded like the most made-up list of words ever, but this is real, promise.)

The results are pretty magnificent, I must say. The album is currently available only to folks who supported the original project ($5 for the download, MP3 or FLAC, and $30 for a limited-edition CD)(vinyl may come later), but it will go on sale to the general public this Thursday at 3pm EST. At the album’s homepage, you can listen to extended samples of all five recordings — they are pretty spectacular.

The really interesting bits (ha!) come with the purposeful degradation and simplification of the original recordings, which are obviously quite ornate and intricate. It’s not that the 8-bit arrangements are simplified, it’s that the creators of these new versions had to find a balance between getting the basic note structures of the original correct and also finding the real essence of the original recordings. And on that front, the record is definitely a success.

As for Kind of Blue itself, it’s all a bit daunting, isn’t it? I’m reminded of a part in Don Delillo’s novel White Noise where the protagonist observes a group of people taking pictures of a barn with a huge sign next to it reading: “The Most Photographed Barn in America.” As one character remarks to the other, the people aren’t taking pictures of a barn, they’re taking pictures of taking pictures of a barn, an unknowing self-referencing act. In its status as an icon of icons and a classic for all ages, Kind of Blue has a bit of that status. Which is all the more reason to rejoice when someone deigns to approach it in a new light.

Usually when I think of summer jams, I think big and bold and bright. I think of swooping Beach Boys harmonies or “Heat Wave”-y romps or, ya know, Summer Jam. I’ve noticed recently, though, the ease of which I’ve stockpiled a bunch of scratchy new lo-fi summer favorites. I know “lo-fi” is a bit of a red herring these days, but these songs are downright scrappy compared to the lush sunshine-pop I usually associate with summer boombox hits. These aren’t brassy fist-pumping anthems, they’re kinda rinky-dink and ragged and homemade.

Below are some songs I’ve been particularly enjoying, but it’s worth noting: pretty much ALL of these bands (save, maybe, Ducktails) have either no records available or nearly out-of-print ones. Most of them are also extremely new. Needless to say, they’re not really on eMusic. Still, I thought ‘em worth sharing — most links are to Hype Machine for your browsing convenience.

Neon Indian, “Deadbeat Summer”: Probably my most on-repeat of the lot. What I said when I first got hooked: “This is lo-fi used to effect, with a purpose: it’s hazy and chintzy and kinda beach-y. Like the sunburnt yin to Glass Candy’s icy yang.”

Beach Fossils, “Vacation”: Beach Fossils is Brooklyn’s Dustin Payseur — one guy, one bedroom (presumably) and one mightily oscillating vocal chorus effect. Maybe this would grate over an entire LP, but on the two or three tracks he’s got streaming so far, it’s perfectly breezy.

Magic Kids, “Hey Boy”: There’s been some talk of Magic Kids’ Langley School-ness, but rather than the detached female chorus, I think it’s the “Little Deuce Coupe” kind of bounce and 4-track orchestration that makes “Hey Boy” irresistible. Sometimes it reminds me of a purer pop version of the skewed Elephant 6 sound. Either way, total summer jam.

Girls, “Lust For Life”: We’ve gushed endlessly about these California Girls, but what’s one more plug? I hope this band takes over the world. “Lust for Life” is a short, sweet stunner and an instant classic. Please, please, please don’t miss the just-released video — their best yet.

Toro Y Moi, “109″: Another one man band (South Carolina’s Chaz Bundick) who, in fact, has another one man band that’s for his glitchy disco tracks. Kids are prolific these days. I blame Bradford. “109″ is the b-side to his upcoming single and it’s got that underwater, Ariel Pink kind of vibe but with much more pillow-y cooing.

The Drums, “Let’s Go Surfing (Knight School Version)”: The Drums are getting some amount of hype right now for their sparkling synth-pop, but I prefer the Knight School version of “Let’s Go Surfing.” Knight School themselves are a wickedly infectious new crash-pop band from Brooklyn who are about to put out their second album of the year (seriously, what’s happening these days?!) and they replace some of the rigidity of the original “Surfing” with some swingin’ drums and ragged three-chord guitar. I’ve listened to this song an embarrassing amount times over the last couple of weeks.

Real Estate, “Fake Blues”: Jersey dudes (along with Ducktails) who play these kind of classic rock-influenced laid back beach tunes. I could have picked any one of a handful of songs here, but “Fake Blues” has a particularly nice and woozy arc.

Ducktails, “Beach Point Pleasant”: Almost certainly the “jammiest” of the entries, “Beach Point Pleasant” is essentially just a looped quick synth arpeggiation with some meandering flanged guitar noodlings. I guess that doesn’t make it sound too appealing, but it’s a surprisingly effective for a “lay on a blanket staring up at the sun and zone out” kind of summer afternoon.

When it comes to jazz, pretty much everything I know is bullshit. I traffic in half-truths and shallow assertions and hope that no one ever asks a followup (if they do, I’m all ears no mouth). If I’m completely honest with myself — and I’m doing my best to be — then I must admit that only three jazz albums have meant anything to me in the same way that, say, Pavement or Neil Young has: the soundtrack to Robert Altman’s Kansas City (’20s/’30s jazz comp that I loved in college), Thelonious Monk’s Alone in San Francisco and Charles Mingus‘ The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady. I’ve dabbled and flirted with Miles and Ornette and Sonny and Dizzy and all the rest, but it’s never been love at first, second, third or fourth sight.

That’s the big preamble, the advance apology to all of the experts as the dilettante comes staggering in. Here I am today deigning to write about Charles Mingus of all people. I mean, honestly, WTF? But as I’ve thought about this over the past few weeks, I’ve felt less sheepish about stepping out here. Surely there are others whose ventures into jazz have been similarly high on gesture and low on return, and who would like to hear a complete and utter idiot talk about what they’ve found to connect with? Just maybe?

Let’s start with this, then: holy shit do I love Charles Mingus. I can’t tell you what kind of jazz he makes (bop? post-bop?)(I am declaring this whole post free of any crib-note Wiki/AMG research. Scout’s honor. That’s the faker’s guide, and this is all about honesty.) — and certainly it varies by album — but it’s incredibly vibrant, even when it sounds really sad.

That’s my favorite part, how mood and instrumentation and arrangements are divorced from each other, how even when the music is cheerful in tone (trumpet = positive for the most part in my idiot worldview) there’s this kinda resigned mood that it always falls back on. It’s like fake-laughter: you can guffaw like a fucking laugh track but in two seconds you know if it’s genuine. He can be romantic and beautiful and wistful and audacious and sly and cunning and a million other things, but happy not so much.

I get a lot of that from the two Mingus recordings that I spend most of my time with:

1. The Black Saint and Sinner Lady
2. “Original Faubus Fables” from Charles Mingus Presents Charles Mingus

I realize that Ah Um is the highly regarded one, and a month or two back I decided to finally spend some time with it after feeling a bit like I had fallen in love with the wrong woman due to its universal admiration. And yes it’s good (as much as I know what that term even means in this context) and yes there are parts I like very, very much, but in comparison to the two pieces I just mentioned, Ah Um mostly seems to benefit from really good titling. The album title is memorable and the song names are great: “Pussy Cat Dues,” “Self-Portrait in Three Colors,” “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat,” etc. It just sounds like a classic jazz album, you know? Very evocative.

Anyway, I am hardly qualified to speak more broadly on this (I have no idea when any of these records came out or even their relationship with each other, and will only learn as much once I’m finished with this, keeping with the no-cheating policy), but I wanted to put just a bit of context in before I talk directly about the Mingus works that I’ve connected with.

I spend most of my time with the Black Saint record. (Its become one of my most-listened to records, period.) It has this interesting post-music feel to it. It’s its own language, evolved from the music that you and I know but extrapolated into bits and smaller bits that are reassembled in a constant stream. It’s like watching a Twitter feed of notes: this comes next because it comes next and it all just spirals out from there, whatever narratives that develop partially figments of our imagination and entirely a demonstration of the talent level of the players. Or, to put it even simpler, it just *flows*.

Black Saint has a handy structure. The first piece (am I allowed to call them songs?) is called “Solo Dancer,” the second “Duet Solo Dancers,” the third “Group Dancers” and the fourth and final piece “Trio and Group Dancers” (it is also bananas). Musically these titles are very descriptive; even I can understand the logic: the album builds from simple to complex as the record goes on, with themes coming back throughout. (BTW isn’t that just a great structure for a record in general? Why don’t more people do this anymore?)

Black Saint is considered a “Latin” Mingus record, and best I can tell it’s because of a finger-picked flamenco guitar part in “Trio and Group Dancers,” which serves as a bit of a warmup to the big twelve-minute expansion with hints of mariachi and this insanely interesting structure where measure-by-measure the pace quickens — some instruments more than others — and it all kinda collapses into itself, this big implosion, and then back comes the stately, refined piano motif — untempered by a trumpet howl — that winks at modernism (so says I) and then locks into an elliptical flutter of a horn line that’s catchier than anything I know what to do with. (It kinda sounds like Vince Guaraldi.)

I don’t feel like I’m doing this record justice, but it’s this perfectly encapsulated thing, its four sections perfect quadrants, each touching a different mood and all of them, ultimately, something that feels a lot like falling in love, that “oh well let’s go for it” feeling of committing to an imagined life, a conscious devotion that feels permanent but, as this love moves on and the next comes along, is ultimately temporal. So I guess what I’m saying is that it’s unsentimental in the best possible way. It has seen it all and knows the score but just can’t help wanting to get swayed by that feeling once again.

Where Black Saint feels like the impulsiveness of being all-heart and no-brain, “Original Flaubus Fables” is pure playground, a goofy, show-offy thing that’s incredibly endearing.

The refrain is a familiar one, a nine-note trombone flirtation that I feel like I’ve heard a million times. And so this particular performance starts off pretty straight, leaning hard on the hook but with a low-in-the-mix male voice pantomiming the horn refrain, its tone casual and conversational. It’s also disarmingly political. We get our first political injection before the song begins, the vocal (Is it Mingus or someone else?) opening: “Oh lord don’t let them kill us/ Oh lord don’t let them stab us/ Oh lord, don’t let them bother us/ Oh lord no more swastikas,” and then it flirtatiously shimmies into the piece. Later the vocal returns: “Oh I am made so sick/ And ridiculous/ Two four six eight/ They’ll brainwash and teach you hate.”

As “Original Flaubus Fables” continues over its nine minutes, it devolves. It shifts into what I will stupidly call “free jazz,” by which I mean a whole lotta caterwauling. And just as it loses its thread in a long devolvement, up the theme pops again, and it bounces around like that for a while before finally stopping because, well, it seems a bit exhausted.

I’m downloading more and more Mingus, looking for more records to like, and so far I’ve enjoyed Town Hall Concert and At UCLA 1965 quite a bit. I’ve also been listening to Bitches Brew a lot (growing on me) and Lester Bowie’s The 5th Power (a great recommendation from a while back).

What I’d like to leave with is a request for recommendations, and also to hear from people about records they feel no compunction being morons about — you engage with it despite being largely illiterate of its history and context, and in fact that’s become part of the charm. Those records are the best.