"Shallow End of the Gene Pool" by Mariner Nine.

Aside from the ridiculous album name and juvenile song titles ("Dude, I'm Growing My Hair" and "Red Rocket Serenade" had me chuckling as I imported the disc to my collection), this record is an impressively awesome effort. I have never heard anything about this band, and the production, while decent, shows that these guys are probably nobodys who had enough money to cut an album. On some of the songs, you can even hear the white noise from certain instruments being punched in during the recording process. A little shoddily done, but the songs are so good, that I forgive literally every shortcoming this record has. That's no small feat, as the smallest thing (especially silly song titles) can mean a deal breaker for me. So far, this is one of the only records in this review process, that I have listened to over and over simply because I like it so well. The songs have a similar vein, but the ideas are always fresh and never repeat themselves. This is perfectly done, colorful indie pop, and I'm going to track down any other recordings by this solid outfit.

"Original Motion Picture Soundtrack" by MK Ultra.

This album rules. The songs are tight and interesting, the lyrics are great and the production is nearly perfect. It turns out the man at the helm is one John Vanderslice. I guess he's gone on to do great things as a solo artist, and while I'm not familiar with those works, it's easy to believe when hearing the material on this record. This dude is a talented song writer who possesses a strong, and seemingly innate sense of flow and structure. He also knows when to end a song, which is nice. Too many artists these days seem to beat their songs to death. My only gripes are as follows: there are too many tracks and the cover art is retarded. Definitely pick this one up and check it out, though. Noteworthy songs are True Crime, Billy Dale Hunt and the amazing Santa Maria. Simple, focused and a rare kick-ass treat.

Smells Like the Nineties Part 2: "Tidal" by Fiona Apple.

This album spawned a monster. Suddenly every floosy who could mash on a piano and attempt to emulate an amalgamation of talented, black female vocalists, were getting record deals. At least this record is good. Fiona's dusky vocals always border on being tawdry, but never come across as trashy, or needy. That's a tough line for a female artist to walk these days and my hat's off to her. She does it gracefully. Her piano playing isn't exactly spectacular, but her chord progressions and compositional skills are noteworthy. All of these ingredients seem to coalesce effortlessly into a record that's complex and rewarding, but easy to listen to.

"Burning Kingdom" by Smog.

Smog sounds to me like an institution with a small, but devoted following. This is just a guess based on their sound, mind you, but I think I'm pretty close to the mark. Burning Kingdom is nearly grandiose for a good majority of its length, consisting of some pretty ballsy levels of sparseness which, to me, belies a sense of "playing to fans who are waiting to see what Smog will do next" . The somber guitar parts are distorted and adorned with cellos and violas to haunting effect. The Song "Renee' Died" pulls its strength from the spare arrangement and recording undeneath lilting female vocals. This is another record that is so "indier than thou" it's almost sickening. The thing is it was released in 1994, making it way ahead of its time. I like this record in a very general and tentative way, but I'm mystified by it. I have a feeling it will only gain luster with each listen. If you like bands like Mount Eerie, Smog is worth checking out.

"Side Effects" by Slipstream.

This was a pretty sweet record, consisting mostly of dreamy jangle-pop. The production was nice and airy, befitting of the music itself. The song order had a nice flow, too. The only problem with this record, is that it was so adequate, that it was almost unremarkable. Which is a real shame, because I wanted to like it more, and I wish I had more to say about it. It was nice to hear some 12-string guitar, though, and I particularly liked the song "Hearing Voices".

Smells Like the Nineties Part 1: "Grace" by Jeff Buckley.

Ah, the nineties. Specifically the music. When the eighties finally grew up and embraced its long ignored angst. Sadly (it seemed to me at least), this happened at the cost of talent and creativity. Nirvana kicked the door in on the "ability" to "write" without being virtuosic. Suddenly everyone that didn't know how to compose, or even play, were given free license to make full on records with full on record companies backing them. It was like the music industry had funded an open mic, and america loved it. Grunge was essentially redneck music for people who hated country. This all dawned on me while I was having a conversation with an ex about nineties music, and I overreacted with the (possibly radical) statement that nineties music was not only unimportant in the history of popular music's growth, but irrelevant. Only after I had said this (I had only meant it as a retort), had I realized its accuracy. As far as Grunge was concerned, anyway.

After that sunk in, we both thought for a moment and decided to challenge ourselves by coming up with ten records from the nineties that were not only good, but at least mostly main stream and relevant to the growth of popular music. Basically, "Was it a record that most people were familiar with?" and "Did the record leave its thumbprint on the years to follow by shaping a new genre or at least inventing something that was picked up and used with any frequency by subsequent artists?" These are the records I could come up with. I'll intersperse one of these in between every couple of "mystery cd" posts, in no particular order, to keep things interesting.

1. "Grace" by Jeff Buckley.


Quite possibly the best record of the decade. Make no mistake though, this album is a two man show. Polished to an understated sheen by the masterful ear of Andy Wallace, Jeff's compositional skill could never have been so perfectly realized without him. That fact is clearly evidenced by the pothumous release "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk". Listen to both back to back and the differences are glaringly obvious. Jeff was a wildly talented individual, but he needed Andy's guiding to reach the perfection that is Grace. The songs seem to flow organically from some distant idea, rather than from a person, and Mr. Wallace knows exactly how to not only capture that mood, but to focus and direct it for the listener. For a certainty, this is one for the ages.

Castle Von Buhler Presents: "Anon" (Disc 2)

This was another compilation put out by a label with an unusually, and misleadingly, kick-ass name: Castle Von Buhler. Comprised almost entirely of lackluster electronic "music", this record fails to be anything other than a huge let-down. There is one good song, though, and it's the first track, "Tuba Edit" by Eardrum. It's made entirely from 16-bit samples, and it builds at a nice, even pace, incorporating subtle, but effective key changes to keep things moving. I might check them out later...At any rate, all this compilation "showcases" is Castle Von Buhler's inability to sign anyone good to their label.

North of Nowhere Presents: "19 Bands From Bellingham".

This was a compilation put out by an independent record label called North of Nowhere. Based in Bellingham, this was evidently a showcase of the local bands at the time. Not much was going on here other than the Grunge "phenomenon" hard at work. Overall, a pretty lame disc. I couldn't even locate any artwork for the release. Poop.

"Lead Pipe Cinch" by Uncle Otto.

Boy. This is getting tough. I almost don't have the energy to rip on this album as much as it deserves. Suffice it to say this: Talented drumming, acceptable production, boring and uninspired vocals, and generally crappy songs of which there are way too many. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping the next one's a gem.

"Cathexis" by Vexed.

The drummer for this band is talented, but the guitar "tone" is nearly intolerable and the bassist, evidently only knows how to slap. There are some interesting time signatures at work here, but all they do is distract you from the middling vocalist's forgettable ramblings just long enough to annoy you once you notice him again. All in all, a pretty stupid record. I hope they broke up and the drummer joined an awesome band.

"Splay" by Shiner.

Shiner is a pretty cool band, but the poor production on this record really holds it back in a big way. The guitar parts are all completely interesting, and the rest of the band are clearly behind the songs 100%, but if you have this record playing in the background, it's somewhat forgettable, and at times, borders on annoying. Only when heard on headphones, does the album sufficiently come to life, and boy does it ever. These guys are ready to rock, but only on their own terms, and only when they're good and ready. Splay is embellished with intricate arrangements and odd time signatures delivered at a steady, even pace, which only serves to enrich the listening experience. I'd love to hear some later works by Shiner, if the production has improved.

"Bingham's Hole" by The Mommyheads.

This was a great record to listen through. The major player here is Art Cohen. As in, Leonard Cohen's son. Surprizingly, though, this is a pretty straightforward outing. Immensely colorful guitar parts intertwine with melodic keyboard splashes and playfully dancing basslines. Understand that this happens harmoniously and with an alarming lack of effort. Through it all, is a rolling, gliding drummer who is spot on at all times. Not one note is out of place, either. These songs seem to happen of their own volition, and that takes an ammount of innate talent in all parties involved that surpasses "gifted" and borders on "scary". Oh, and the vocals remind me of what might have happened if Queen started an Indie-Pop band. Buy this album. It will sparkle in your ears.

"Casual Thinking" by Man Ray

Man Ray is a band with an identity crisis. They sound like they would have rocked harder and more precisely, had Grunge never existed. But, it did, so they had to "dumb down" their sound and make it "rough around the edges" so it would be more accessible to the general public. This lack of trueness to one's self is evident in many bands of the post-Nirvana '90s. Candlebox is a prime example. They would have sounded like Skid Row, were they honest and courageous and had simply done what came naturally. Unwittingly, these bands paved the way for acts that were genuinely polished yet "rough around the edges" such as Our Lady Peace or Matchbox Twenty. So do we ridicule them for their lack of integrity, or thank them for inventing a new genre? Either way, I didn't really enjoy this record. Thanks mainly to the vocalist and his "lyrics". The lead guitarist has excellent tone, though, and there are some solid, inspired moments, though not enough to genuinely impress me.

"Lost Blues & Other Music" by Palace Music.

Palace Music is evidently the musical brainchild of a certain Will Oldham. This album is a collection of songs he performed with an ever-changing ensemble of friends and musicians. The songs lope along at a dutiful pace, like an old, reliable horse. Will's vocals are charmingly disheveled, yet honest and soulful. Songs of tragedy, love and lots of death adorn this dusty diamond, and as I listened they conjured images of pioneer trails, blue skies dotted with puffy, white clouds and apple trees, leaves blowing lazily in the dry, autumn air. Standout tracks include "Riding", "Little Blue Eyes" and the surprizingly focused "Gulf Shores". This is the kind of stuff I always want to hear at open-mics, but hardly ever get to. Palace Music are in no hurry, and that's a rare treat. For my money, this is about as good as Folk Music gets.

"Fireproof" by That Petrol Emotion.

I didn't particularly like this record, but I can tell it was made by people that definitely know what they're doing. My hat is off to them regarding the nice, thick production. This is a solid, white guy rock album, with few flaws when heard in that context. These guys are confident players, without being flashy. The songwriting and arranging is precise and coherent, in fact they even approach greatness with the track "Heartbeat Mosaic". Overall, it's excellently done, just not my cup of tea.

"They Spent Their Wild Youthful Days in the Glittering World of the Salons" by The Swirlies.

The first Gold Nugget! This album is very good. Creative and accessible, only the slightly tinny production holds it back. Silky vocals adorn the clean soundscapes, intermixed with bursts of chunky dirt. Without coming across as intentionally "indie", the band refuses to be ordinary. It takes guts and talent to achieve this with the seemingly effortless grace they display here. Their dynamics vary greatly, but they never lose sight of the album's common thread: complicated, tight writing inside cunningly likeable songs. There's a theme here that almost every artist under the radar shoots for. Most fall short, but it's because of their impure motives. Witness total honesty: http://music.yahoo.com/track/1157342

"700 Miles" by 700 Miles.

This record sucks. Full of faux emotion and drenched in gravelly vocals, the album is a testament to the '90s' almost complete lack of stylish delivery. Most of the songs were clearly written as acoustic ballads, originally, and then "pumped up" with electric guitars and sort of loud drums. Some people just weren't cut out for writing music, but that's the beauty of grunge. It lets everyone try. Don't buy this. Don't listen to it. If you own it, you're either friends with the "band", or blessed with a poor taste you find no need to rectify. Don't believe me? Exercise your right to masochism here: http://new.music.yahoo.com/videos/--2138547

Everyone's a Critic.

I've recently come to possess a hefty sum of compact discs from a local radio station. They have no cases or booklets. They were, in fact, glued to the walls of the studio as decoration. A friend of my father's was doing some alarm maintainance at the facility, and they asked him to remove the discs. He put them in a big envelope and gave them to me for sifting through. Some of them are covered in dried glue and chips of paint. Some are cracked beyond repair. Some of them, however, are in passable condition, and fit for listening. Most of the albums are from bands I've never heard of, so I've decided to listen to at least one a day (subject to change as I see fit) and give a one paragraph review of each one. Here I go.

The Homicide House.

I've recently moved out of my apartment and into a house. I'm not quite settled yet, but I'm hoping I like the house more with time. I already miss my apartment badly. It was charming and concise with a great view of the port of Tacoma. I loved the neigborhood for the most part, but there was some drug activity nearby at night. All the same, I was on the 5th floor in a corner unit, so I was fairly secluded from anything unsavory. My new house is at the corner of two very busy streets, and the area feels sparse. I moved for a few reasons. 1) I wanted a basement so I could have a music rehearsal space. 2) One of my good friends wanted to move back to the area, so he could be close to his friends. He also wanted a roommate, which leads me to: 3) The rent is nearly half what I was paying at my apartment, due in part to the noisy locale, but mostly because of a triple homicide that happened at the property a few years back.

I'm already having trouble getting back into the give and take of having a roommate again. This especially manifests itself in the area of decor, which is strange. I didn't think it would be a problem, but I've come to realize over the course of the past few days that he is more inclined to arrange things for function, and I, form. This morning, we actually disagreed on which side of a cube shaped ceramic container should be facing outward on the kitchen counter.

Matilda loves the place, though. She has plenty of room to romp around, and more than a few options for soft, cushioned seating to claim at her whim. A happy puppy makes for a less dissatisfied master.

And I am dissatisfied. I've felt ill at ease since the move, and it's hard for me to nail down the reasons why. I know it's more than the house itself, or even it's location (it's directly across the street from my workplace, for crying out loud), but I know there is definitely something wrong. I'm generally cranky, and I'm starting to take it out on my friends. Maybe I want a career, I would certainly like a family of my own, I had my driver's license suspended due to unpaid tickets and almost everything I've ever tried to make payments on has gone to collections and destroyed what little credit I have.

In short, I think I just don't feel like a productive member of society. I feel more like I'm a drain on it, and that's pretty disheartening. But it's not as if the spot I'm in is a result of something that's happened to me, it's due to a lack of action on my part. The tough bit is going to be pulling myself out of my stagnance, and getting it together on my own. That will be difficult, as I'm not even motivated by the society itself, I'm motivated by the idea of being an ideal companion for someone, but I have no prospects to give me the needed impetus. It seems like my only reward for "being productive" is the end result itself, and that is in no way enough to motivate me, nor will it ever be.

There are things in life I enjoy, to be sure, and it's not an issue of self worth. I think I'm fine as a person for the most part, and I'm content with who I am. It just seems like other people don't realize what you're worth unless you're doing something that either interests them, or directly benefits them. I've spent the past 30 years just being me and it's gotten me nowhere. Maybe it's time I started doing something. Maybe not.

Sasq-Watch!

I'm on the watch. As of today, I'm a Bigfoot hunter.

After my hike on Squak Mountain, I decided to try and look for pictures of the immediate vicinity that anyone had posted on Google Earth. I switched on a filter that made an impressive number of yellowish dots permeate the landscape. As I moused over the dots, some were place names, some were vacation pictures... Some were dates.

There was only one yellow dot on Squak Mountain, and it simply read: 1983-08-17.

My curiosity was piqued, so I indulged the dot and gave it a click. A rectangular bubble popped up containing a link that redirected me to the Bigfoot Field Research Orginization's website. It told the story of two men who were hiking on Squak Mountain and heard something of massive bulk walking towards them on the other side of an embankment. They sat very still, and suddenly, the footfalls ended. They felt as if the thing had realized they were there. After a silent stand-off lasting roughly 20 minutes, the thing turned around and walked back into the forest, vibrating the ground with every step. The men were harrowed and said not a word on the way back to their truck, at which point they simply high-tailed it.

There are literally over 400 Bigfoot sightings in Washington state alone. There are also audio recordings of these awful howling screams that people sometimes hear at night while camping. Some friends of mine and myself have since become avid readers of the site. We simply can not stop trying to freak ourselves out about Sasquatch. At any rate, when I say I'm becoming a Bigfoot hunter, I don't mean I'm going to go out looking for him or anything. That would involve peeing myself too much, and it would just put me under a lot of unnecessary mental duress. I already have a surfeit of problems that don't need to include a terrifying, unclassified primate that screams at people from the hills. At least not in person. No, I plan on filling more of the "armchair" hunter position at this point. I'm content to sit at home, in my 5th story apartment, downtown, reading about how he's out there, probably scaring some dogs, or just being completely terrifying in general.

Oh, and there are evidently white ones in Washington, somewhere. Some kids saw two of them just standing there at the tree-line, at which point they turned around and mildly retreated into the forest, clearly unimpressed by people in any way. That's probably the worst thing I've ever heard.

Cold Mountain.

Squak Mountain is a rather steep, if diminutive, foothill that is part of a chain called the Issaquah Alps. Reaching an elevation of 2,024 feet, it is niether the smallest, nor the most lofty peak in the chain. In fact, some housing developments snake their way up it's slopes as far as 740 feet.

This latter fact is what possessed me to consider climbing to the summit, as I had a delivery in one of those neigborhoods last wednesday. As I approached the house, I was immediately struck by the mountain's towering, snow-capped presence. It simply dominated the immediate vicinity, and I was filled with wanderlust. That night, I looked it up on Google Earth, and there was a small cluster of buildings at the very summit. I absolutley had to get to those buildings.

Thursday morning I rose early, made a solid breakfast for myself, and was out the door. I went straight to REI and bought a topographical map, which also showed Cougar Mountain. I drove all the way out there and found this tiny, unobtrusive trail head, practically in the middle of a neigborhood. This, coupled with the fact that Squak Mountain is ensconced between Cougar and Tiger Mountains, elated me. I would probably have this entire hike to myself.

I parked at the obscure trailhead, and shouldered my pack. Matilda slept in the van. This was cougar country. As I meandered up the slope, I noticed that the Snow-dusted summit was completely covered in a solid, grey cloud. No vistas today, I guess. The first mile or so was a soggy affair, though it wasn't raining. I gradually passed the snow level, which was mostly slushy. I shuffled along at a rhythmic pace, the sound of my boots crunching in the snow keeping me company. Eventually, the snow became much less slushy, and more the way snow ought to be. It was also deeper.

My ascent was becoming taxing, and my breathing heavy. After a while, my heart felt like a hammer, and I was about to turn back, satisfied with a good walk in the snow, when I approached a marked split in the trail. To the left, a trail shot upwards and wound around a bend, out of sight. The sign read "Center Peak: 0.8 Mi.". I was nearly done for, and I still had a goodly trip back to the van, but I wanted to see those buildings! Oh well. I caught my breath and drank some water. Planning to return another day, I started to make my way back to the car.

It immediately began to snow.

I turned right back around and decided to climb to the summit. Fatigue and weather be damned. The trek became arduous at this point, as the snow was deeper, the trail was steeper and it was snowing fairly hard. I trudged up the slope with a strange sense of mission that had never really been present in me up until now. Maybe it was my complete love for snow, but I was absolutely giddy. At points I became so tired that I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I was covered in snow, my legs hurt and I couldn't see anything for being covered by a cloud. Finally I saw a strange metal fence-type structure and I tried my best to jog up to it. On the other side was the final bend. There was a thicket of small trees that lined the trail and were bowed inward from the weight of the snow, creating a sort of tree tunnel that I had to practically crawl through. Awesome.

I emerged from the tree line to a serenely quiet scene. A small cluster of fenced in buildings and five or so antenna towers jutting up from their midst. They were presently unmanned and I was the only person there. It was snowing steadily and the flakes were monstrous. I was utterly immersed in grey. I couldn't hear a thing. I stayed up there for about twenty minutes and listened to the sound of complete silence. I was so rejuvinated, that I hiked back down to the van without even stopping to catch my breath.

Although, it could have been the Clif Bar.

Finito.

I'm done. I deleted both my facebook, and myspace accounts. There is no one among my circle of friends that I can't get in touch with via a telephone, or an e-mail address. However, since I myself am notoriously difficult to get ahold of, and therefore nearly impossible to stay current with (also because I'd like a quasi-creative way to spend my free time), I have decided to take up blogging again. We'll see how it goes. Oh, and I climbed a mountain yesterday. More on that later.