I survived Christmas and all I got was a few crummy ideas. Or, a wine-inspired ramble.

Not to be Ameri-centric, but can’t you imagine some of the election dominating Evangelicals thinking that this recent craziness, and the fear that comes with it, is God’s punishment to people who live near water. You know, the blue states. I wonder. I know it freaks my Oregonian ass out a bit.

But, anyway, that’s just what I’m thinking about while listening to Dust to Digital’s Where Will You Be Christmas Day? My bio-mom got it for me for Christmas along with the totally awesome Goodbye, Babylon box set—which, as a musical artifact sitting in my room, is pretty awesome. The Christmas album is filled with a lot of blues Christmas songs, some gospel and other (for me) indescribable stuff. The one I’m listening to right now is a bluesy love song called "Santa Claus" where Walter Davis works the jolly red-clad character into a damn good lament about the singer and his baby. And the next song sounds like vaudevillian orchestra. Weird.

But I was shocked to hear one of the songs that sounds EXACTLY like the Joggers "Back to the Future" from their Startime debut, Solid Guild. The Joggers are a fantastic Portland band that plays a poppy garage rock with bits of what they call shape-note singing. Anyone who knows what that is, kudos. But for the rest of us it means that they sing these four-part atonal harmonies that build, reshape, and repeat in a sort of rollicking manner. Pair that with some cutting guitar (two ultra-hot Gibson SGs mind you) and it’s pretty awesome. But "Future" sounds exactly like "Sherburne" by the Alabama Sacred Heart Singers. I mean it is EXACTLY like it. It’s fantastic wherever you hear it and as effective in the rock format as it is as a gospel, but the chant is exactly the same in both songs. Next time I see them I’m going to ask.

Oh, so I changed the mix CD for my sister back in Wisconsin. The first draft was a bit depressing. Quite a few songs about leaving, dying and never coming back. Eek. So, this new one is a considerable improvement I think. "Less Than Zero" is so much more fun, and dangerous, than "Watching The Detectives." Devendra Banhart’s"Little Yellow Spiders" instead of the "cause I’m never comin’ back"-laced "At the Hop." And she needs to hear Neko Case. She’s a red head. Oh, and I named it "Leprechaun Park," after the smallest park in Portland. Ain’t that cute.

1.Do You Remember Rock 'n' Roll Radio? The Ramones
2. Date With Ikea, Pavement
3. Less Than Zero, Elvis Costello
4. Little Yellow Spider, Devendra Banhart
5. I Will Dare, The Replacements
6. The Tigers Have Spoken, Neko Case
7. Float On, Modest Mouse
8. Jezebel, Iron & Wine
9. Take Me Anywhere, Tegan & Sara
10. So Says I, The Shins
11. Evolution, Gift Of Gab
12. Future, Cut Copy
13. Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Pt. 1, The Flaming Lips
14. Disorder, Joy Division
15. Damaged Goods, Gang Of Four
16. Government Center, Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers
17. The Legionnaire's Lament, The Decemberists
18. Four Leaf Clover Badly Drawn Boy


Before listening to the Christmas CD I was going to rattle off about the homily given by my parent’s priest on Christmas Day and compare it to Pink Floyd’s The Wall. But this post has grown long. Someone should remind me to do that some time soon.

"Like a Rolling Stone” will not always be the #1 song of all time. Or, The 0s and 1s have it.

On my red-eye flight from Las Vegas (where you can smoke in the airport) to Minneapolis (where it was 20 degrees below zero when I landed!!!) I read this quizzical passage:

"Where lies the boundary between meaning and sentiment? I wondered. Between memory and nostalgia? America and Americana? What is and what was? Does it move?"

It could be from an incredibly self-aware story in No Depression, but it's not. It's from an article in Harper's by Donovan Hohn called "A Romance of Rust: Nostalgia, progress, and the meaning of tools."

I have to admit that I really do not know how to use tools very well. Earlier this summer I cut the arms off my couch to fit it into my room, but the workmanship was somewhat shoddy and really, destruction is much easier than creation. But tools have always been a part of my life. My father owned a lumber yard, which I worked at thoughout my high school summers, much to the chagrin of the yard's real workers, I imagine. Plus, the Baumgartens are a farm family, many of my uncles living in the same fertile valley in southeastern Wisconsin my family did (which is where I'm typing this right now). I spent many summer days digging through barns filled with retired farm implements and curious whatsits made out of metal, wood and springs. So, whereas most people under the age of 40 would have skipped over Hohn's 18-page story, I dug in.

Hohn spends the story skipping around the Midwest, hitting estate auctions and tool museums, talking to Galoots--the self-given name of tool fetishists--trying to answer the questions posed above. The questions take Hohn from pre-industrial societies concerned with function over form to post industrial society where function has been perfected and the self-sufficient artisan has been replaced by the consumer, reliant on machinery and outsourced labor. The result is a society where traditional tools are more novel than necessary, leading to companies like Stanley reinventing the same tools with different bits of rubber attached and maybe a new and exciting sports utility knife that folds out from the handle to satisfy the customers want of something new. Hohn isn't damning the modern, but he does make some good points about the beauty of work (the type that strains your back not your eyes) and the culture that that work creates. And all I can think as I'm eating my pretzels is how much this reminds me of music and rockism. Here is what Hohn writes after referencing a Karl Marx quote that reads, “Estranged from labor, the laborer is self-estranged, alien to himself”:

“For the most serious tool aficionados ... the hegemony of mind and machine over hand and matter entails an estrangement more profound even than the one Marx imagined and estrangement not only from self but from time. Old tools imply an entire way of being, an artisanal cosmology.”

Replace “tool aficionado” with “rockist” and “old tools” with, say, “the acoustic guitar,” and this could be a thesis about Nick Hornby. Mind and machine over hand and matter = laptop over guitar. Those old coots who love their handsaws and have nothing but disdain for robotic assembly lines in Japan are neighbors to the man who says that a guitar-led band has soul, while a band that clicks and buzzes with Grooveboxes and Moogs is writing the soundtrack for a lifeless wasteland. Rockism, of course, is more complex than this, involving celebrity and the lipsync and more, but the question of instrumentation is a big one. And speaking as someone more in tune with the strum than the click, I’m curious to know exactly where that boundary between meaning and sentiment is. And something tells me that Rolling Stones' Top 500 Songs that came out last month is probably a good measure, it’s glossy pages the equivalent of a worn tool shed filled with hundreds of hammers and bow saws that are wondrous, rusty and mostly useless. I’m not going to say anything about that list except that most acts on it did a great amount of physical work to create their songs. Guitar strumming, drum pounding, bass slapping or tamborine clapping were involved in probably 95 % of those songs–I don’t have the issue on me right now, so I might be off, but I can’t imagine by much. Fans of electronic music would find little of interest here and that’s a very telling fact. Electronic music (or elements of it in other genres) is quickly becoming ubiquitous, and as a tool it is much more meaningful than most of the music on Rolling Stones’ list.

Why? Because we’re now a nation of button pushers. Working smarter, not working harder, is the ethic of the day. Who needs James Brown live when we can loop “baby, baby, baby” over and over again and get it perfect every time. Mr. Brown might have been "the hardest working man in showbusiness,” but he’s no match for binary code. Any emaciated under-exercised pale cube jockey will tell you that.

Of course, I'm a sentimental bastard and you will never ever take my copy of Blonde on Blonde away. Well, at least not until I get it on my iTunes.

You know, we have a lot of hard work to do today. Or, The only way the center is ever gonna get better.

So, I ended up picking the satisfied lady in the songwriter's contest I wrote about yeaterday. And having surpassed that test of my endurance, I finished up the track list for my little sister's Christmas mix CD. Things that I learned during this process: that Tegan & Sarah album is pretty rad and I am into a disproportionate amount of depressing music. Hopefully the Joy Division won't bring her down. But if it does, Jonathan Richman is there for her.

"Do You Remember Rock 'n' Roll Radio?" by The Ramones
"Four Leaf Clover" by Badly Drawn Boy
"Government Center" by Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers
"The Legionnaire's Lament" by The Decemberists
"Float On" by Modest Mouse
"Jezebel" by Iron & Wine
"Disorder" by Joy Division
"Micronomic" by Lali Puna
"Evolution" by Gift Of Gab
"Future" by Cut Copy
"Kissing The Lipless" by The Shins
"California" Low
"Take Me Anywhere" by Tegan & Sara
"Less Than Zero" by Elvis Costello
"It's Been Raining" by Kimya Dawson
"The Sound Of Settling" by Death Cab For Cutie
"Damaged Goods" by Gang Of Four
"Shady Lane" by Pavement
"At The Hop" by Devendra Banhart
"Let The Distance Keep Us Together" by Britt Daniel
"Cotton" by the Mountain Goats

I head for Wisconsin tomorrow. 8 inches of snow. A low of 4 degrees last weekend. I will be wearing layers and layers of threadbare T-shirts and cardigans, as well as the gloves my dad wore in 1976. And my family will make fun of me.

Confronting the "other." Or, A more pretentious title.

I’m listening to a song called "A Lonely Lovers Game." It’s a duet. Slow piano piece. The woman is melodramatic, the man is a little pompous—a little like a Phantom of the Opera duet. It’s the third song I’ve listened to in the last 20 minutes. They all have one thing in common: the fact that I have no idea who these people are.

The discs were delivered to me to judge for a local songwriter’s association contest. It’s the second year I’ve done it. And, for the second year in a row it’s my, um, most interesting listening session. Both years they’ve told me I’m going to get the "rock" category, and then I end up with one or two "rock" tracks and about six "other." Seems like "rock" is on the wane with songwriters these days.

"Other" apparently means "with a tempo," so I’ve got a couple Stevie Nicks rip-offs, both with tearin’ guitar solos, and a song that sounds like a brilliantly satisfied woman doing a sort of loungy middle-eastern rumba and one with a guy who sounds like Clint Black, but this guy enjoys repeating his choruses a hell of a lot more. The weird thing isn’t how random these styles are, but the fact that I don’t have any clues as to how I should feel about them before I pop them in the stereo. Each package contains a CD with a song title on it and a lyric sheet. That’s it. No band name. One of the lyric sheets had some puffy lettering, which made me think they might be super-zany ska, but it was just one of those Stevie Nicks rip-offs. I’m so accustom to getting something. A one sheet, CD art, band photos. At least a band name for Christ's sake.

Okay, I’m overplaying any frustration I might have. But, dammit, it’s weird. It’s like hearing a great song on the radio, waiting for the name and never getting it. Except there’s no radio station to call or look up on the web to get the artist’s name. It’s just me and the song.

It shouldn’t be this weird.

But right now it’s a toss up between the satisfied lady and the more convincing Stevie Nicks. I need a couple more listens.

So, now I’m off to Peacock lane, a nearby street with houses and houses of Christmas lights. I’m sure I’ll have a story about it.

Oh, and I switched up some stuff on my conventional year-end list. I threw in the Cure album, which I just kind of forgot about, and the DFA Compilation #2, which I finally got just a couple weeks ago. And with that, the best albums list is finally almost finalized. But soon I’ll be changing the best Portland band.

Looking for an Elliott Smith song without drugs, drinking or puking. Or, making a mix CD for my kid sister.

Here I sit on a Sunday night contemplating the appropriateness of Devendra Banhart's free-love-with-farm-animals lyricism to young children. About an hour ago I gave up all hope of finding an Elliott Smith song to put on the Christmas mix CD I'm making for my 12 year old sister, Emi, and I can't help but wonder, "Am I doing this right?" Why am I avoiding good songs about questionable behaviour? Those are the always the best. Aren't I giving my sis a completely skewed idea of what music should be? Wasn't I listening to NWA and the Dead Kennedys when I was 12? This whole mix CD for a minor thing is hard work. I appreciate even more the tapes my cousin Kurt made me when I was a kid.

I don't think anyone would say that everything is appropriate for the junior mix tape. But it's hard to know where to draw the line. My cousin put "Holiday in Cambodia" on that first mixtape when I was about 12, which was fine with me. "Holiday"? Well that sounds nice. "Cambodia"? Do they have camels there? I wasn't that stupid, but I didn't have any clue what the hell that song was about in the exact same way I had no idea what "Born in the U.S.A." was about. I liked 'em both. That guy is going on holiday with a guy named Pol Pot and this guy is killing the yellow man (I always pictured Pac Man as the cartoonish victim). That's cool. I think it’s Emi’s right to be confused like that.

So, I guess Devendra is in and I'll look over the Smith albums again. And some Wolf Eyes, maybe?

Someone asked about the name of the upcoming Sleater-Kinney release. The album will be called Entertain according to www.pauseandplay.com/cdfront.htm.

Would you call Modest Mouse fans "Mouseketeers"? Or how Isaac Brock turned me into an asshole.

Walking to the Modest Mouse show at the Crystal Ballroom last night, a couple things occurred to me. 1. The last band I saw perform for 5 nights straight was the backing band for my High School show choir during a particularly intense tour through Germany. 2. I was skipping a friend's holiday/birthday party--complete with an ugly holiday sweater contest--to see a band that I had already logged about 4 hours with during the previous four days.

For those of you who do not live in this soggy city, the band, riding a modern rock radio wave, sold out the Ballroom (cap. 1800) for five consecutive nights. Leadman Isaac Brock is a Portlander and this was a way for him to give back to the community, I guess. Although, to be cynical, a five night stand at $20 a head in the Ballroom adds up to $180,000, and whatever cut they get of that must be a nice perk to add to the goodwill.

So, why did a night of sing-alongs to angry self-depricating anthems trump a night of sing-alongs to Colonel Sanders' Christmas album and drinking cheap beer? Well it is the holidays and, to be honest, I feel a lot more like screaming "God I do hope you are dead" with a couple thousand strangers than talking to friends about my work week. Horrible, I know. But that's that, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one in town who let someone down to see one or more of the shows. Especiallly considering that Isaac Brock's songs cater to the miserable loner type. I mean, the guy wrote a song about Charles Bukowski.

Miserable or not the crowd at least played the part, screaming along with every pessimistic self-satisfying screed on cue. "Who would want to be such an asshole" they screamed with an ironic smirk during "Bukowski;" "I hope you are dead" they screamed during "Satin in a Coffin;" "You get away from me" they screamed during "Ocean Breathes Salty" and on and on each and every night. Cleansing? Yes it was. But it was also scary. Modest Mouse's songs have to be the most sinister chunk of pop culture right now, taking the whole dialogue from emo's alienation to a willful isolation (which has been a problem for my friends, my country and myself for a while now). Whether or not getting together and screaming "I'm an asshole. You're an asshole." will solve the problem, Brock and Co. hit a nerve.

The band did have to trick people into this realization, though. "Float On," the first single off the band's latest album, Good News for People Who Love Bad News, is just about the happiest song Brock has ever written--it's also one of the most brilliant. Dressed in an anthemic chorus of "We'll all float on," that song took over radio and M2 and introduced a whole lot of people (yes, frat boys and suburbanites) to the band. And the album cover is a bit misleading. Sure it's got arrows piercing a wall on it, but wrapped up in those soft pinks and greens, the album is a gentle comeon, promising nothing, but certainly not indicating the anger within. Unsuspecting teens, tweens and parents bought it and soon they were all singing that they hoped someone was dead. Isn't that the one thing you aren't suppose to say. I mean no one even really says that about Osama Bin Laden. But here, for the fifth night in a row I'm saying it with a bunch of strangers and my buddy Mike. And by the time I'm screaming it, I'm not even thinking about that party anymore. I, asshole.

I'm sorry. Am I boring you?

So, my editor just called my top ten list for 2004 "conventional." "Conventional?" I ask. "How?" "Well, I just mean that I've actually heard of all these artists." Of course she has. She's my editor. Anyway, the top-ten including my forced witticisms and word-play will be published in Willamette Week next Wednesday. But, as a teaser, I've posted my top 30 and then some other year-end lists. And, yeah, I'm sure some of this is misspelled, but I've got a bad Modest Mouse hangover and copy editing ain't on the agenda today. Enjoy.

2004’s Top Albums
1. Devendra Banhart, Nino Rojo
2. Kanye West, College Dropout
3. Arcade Fire, Funeral
4. The Hold Steady, The Hold Steady Almost Killed Me
5. duo 505, Late
6. The Mountain Goats, We Shall All Be Healed
7. Joanna Newsom, The Milk Eyed Mender
8. Modest Mouse, Good News for People Who Love Bad News
9. Candi Staton, Self-titled
10. Green Day, American Idiot
11. Viva Voce, The Heat Can Melt Your Brain
12. Dizzee Rascal, Showtime
13. The Futureheads, Self-titled
14. Interpol, Antics
15. Richard Buckner, Dents & Shells
16. Sonic Youth, Sonic Nurse
17. The Thermals, Fuckin’ A
18. The Eagles of Death Metal, Peace Love Death Metal
19. DFA Comp. #2
20. The Streets, A Grand Don't Come for Free
21. Dosh, Pure Trash
22. Air, Talkie Walkie
23. John Tejada, Logic Memory Center
24. Ted Leo & the Pharmacists, Shake the Sheets
25. The Good Life, Album of the Year
26. Tegan & Sarah, So Jealous
27. Psychic TV, Godstar: Thee Director’s Cut
28. Franz Ferdinand, s/t
29. The Cure, s/t
30. Cut Copy, Bright Like Neon Love
*Bonus: DJ N-Wee, The Slack Album (The Black Album/Slanted and Enchanted mash-up)

2004’s Top Portland Albums
1. Viva Voce, The Heat Can Melt Your Brain
2. The Thermals, Fuckin’ A
3. Richmond Fontaine, Post to Wire
4. Dolorean, Violence in the Snowy Fields
5. Corrina Repp, It’s Only the Future
6. Josh Hodges, Sexton Blake
7. Blitzen Trapper, Field Rexx
8. Talkdemonic, Mutiny Sunshine
9. The Helio Sequence, Love and Distance
10. Blanket Music, Cultural Norms
*Bonus: Modest Mouse, Good News For People Who Love Bad News (Isaac Brock lives in P-town. The rest of the band doesn’t.)

2004’s Biggest Dissapointments:
1. Le Tigre, This Island
2. PJ Harvey, Uh Huh Her
3. Travis Morrison, Travistan
4. U2, How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb
5. R.E.M., Around the Sun
*Bonus: Bjork, Medulla (Solely for the throat singer)

What Will Most Likely Be Awesome in 2005 (Some album titles not available)
1. Low, The Great Destroyer
2. The Decemberists
3. Spoon, The Beast and Dragon are Adored
4. New Gorillaz album with Danger Mouse and De La Soul
5. Frank Black, Honeycomb (guests: Al Green, Lucinda Williams, Cheap Trick, The Band)
6. Billy Corgan’s solo album
7. Flaming Lips, At War with the Mystics
8. GNR, Chinese Democracy
9. Lauryn Hill
10. Bright Eyes
11. ODB, Dirt McGirt
12. Sleater-Kinney, Entertain
13. Kanye West, Late Registration
14. Queens of the Stone Age
15. Al Green
*Bonus: Soul Coughing reissues

What Will Most Likely Suck in 2005
1. D.M.C. (formerly of Run-D.M.C.), Checks, Thugs and Rock n' Roll (guests: late Jam Master Jay, Kid Rock, Korn's Fieldy, Sarah McLachlan, Limp Bizkit's DJ Lethal)
2. Paris Hilton
3. Limp Bizkit (Wes Borland rejoined, which means nothing really)
4. New Weezer
5. New Billy Idol
*Bonus: Billy Corgan solo album