BMOWP Classic Album – Master of Puppets

April 25, 2009


Master of PuppetsMaster of Puppets by Metallica

I was 14 when Super Mario Kart was released for Super Nintendo. Despite months of religiously dedicating my life to Final Fantasy II, as any geeky fanboy wanna-be did during the first few years of the Super Nintendo, I took time out to try the game out.

It probably goes without saying I was hooked. Most people were. For the rest of the year, there was only one game in my system – Super Mario Kart. We all became experts. We all mapped multi-player strategy in our heads at night, when the console was turned off.

This isn’t about Super Mario Kart, but it might as well be. Because during that time, my love for something else was just reaching its apex. Metallica. Kings of thrash metal, and emerging monsters of rock.

1994 was three years after the release of Metallica. It was two years after my father and I had seen them live at the Arena. It was a year after fully accepting and devouring the entire Metallica canon – at that time, five albums and a cover EP.

You have to picture me at that time: awkward, tall and scrawny, with unmanageable tight curly hair. T-shirts and jeans that were often too short. A cautious self-esteem that wasn’t dangerously low but threatened at times to dip below normal – or, however normal self-esteem can be in middle school, where every kid is desperately searching their life for meaning and popularity and the niche that they will eventually ride out for the four years of high school.

I was the least likely Metallica fan in the world. I wasn’t like my friend Eric, who kept his thin blonde hair long, wore metal shirts and played football, giving him a seeming toughness that befit the strong nature of thrash. I was, instead, an outcast. No leather, just a Chicago Bulls Starter jacket. No ripped jeans, just shorts with socks.

But somehow, I made it there. It started when my dad purchased Metallica on CD. It continued with that Arena show, during the two-and-a-half year Wherever We May Roam tour. It sprouted into something real when I bought …And Justice for All on cassette and discovered the complexity and thoughtfulness I thought lacking from most metal groups.

Everything steamrolled, really. The five albums became a constant playlist of middle-school angst. Metallica didn’t rock out about ladies or mythical demons or any of that – they laid out blistering diatribes on war and society and politics and, occasionally, metal itself. …And Justice for All has always been my favorite – after all, it was the first Metallica album that really clicked.

But it’s Master of Puppets that’s by far the best. And it always comes back to Super Mario Kart.

As far as memories go, it’s forever paired with the game, their points of reference intertwining – the game just months old; the album, several years – combining into some kind of two-headed monster (see what I did there?) that encompassed every thought. Every emotion. I rarely played the game without Master of Puppets in the background. It was the soundtrack of the year, the game serving as an effective stage for escape from whatever it was life was supposed to be like in middle school.

When I hear “Disposable Heroes,” its anti-war message still resonating today, I think first of a red turtle shell seeking out the first place Kart. When I hear “Master of Puppets,” I can still rattle off the solo like it was part of my DNA, but its lasting image is a banana peel in the middle of the road.

It’s no doubt that, when I dreamed of being the frontman of some heavy metal cover band, that I wanted our name to be Damage Inc.

Today, after years of mediocre Metallica albums, I am reminded of what Metallica really was – and is again – by their newest album, Death Magnetic. I remember that discovering Metallica was a movement in my life – a personal shift from safe and easy to that which still drives me today: creativity, complication and mastery of craft.

Yeah, it’s just metal. But I have no shame in being a Metallica fan anymore. Just as I didn’t back in 1994, when my life revolved around two things: a video game and an eight-year old album. It’s just that now, I can put things into perspective, understanding that it wasn’t the video game that made the album so fantastic.

It was the album itself that made life seem so different.

Tags: Music, Vilhauer |

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The impossibility of recreating perfection

April 6, 2009


I’ve come across two albums in the past few weeks that have me thinking the same thing.

What happened to all of the bands I used to enjoy?

Both albums – the newest by both Alkaline Trio and Cursive – gave me pause. One was suddenly slick, as if they were fighting to go on tour with Fall Out Boy. The other was boring. It had lost its angular feeling, its sense of originality. I don’t know what to think about them because they aren’t what I expected.

But what did I expect? A rehash of the band I fell in love with 10 years ago?

I, as many people probably do, hold new albums up to the scrutiny of those we’ve loved the most. How does it compare to the one you first fell in love with. Is Mama, I’m Swollen any answer to Domestica. Does Agony & Irony fit in the canon with Alkaline Trio’s first three albums?

And no matter what, I come to the same conclusion.

There’s no way to recapture the magic of a beloved album. There’s no way to hear something amazing for the first time. And there’s no way that any new music will be accepted until I look past what I think an album should sound like and instead consider the album for what it is.

For me, no Modest Mouse album will match up to The Moon and Antarctica. No Metallica album will break through the nostalgia of And Justice for All. There will never be another Perfect From Now On. OK Computer. Born to Run.

For bands I’ve loved, each new album is given an unfair challenge: to displace the album I first latched on to. Create something perfect.

And they can’t – it’s impossible. No one can replicate the magic because no one can rerecord the same thing, in the same atmosphere, with the same emotional entanglements. No album can go to the past and be released at the exact time I needed it. It’s a gauntlet that no album can seem to break.

We all run into this at some point or another. By deifying our favorite albums, we’re ensuring that nothing like them can ever happen again. Too close, and you’re simply going back to the well – with disastrous results. Too different, and we wonder why our favorite band has suddenly changed its sound.

What frightens me is that the best albums of my favorite bands are probably all behind them. They’re all relics. They will never be at their peak again, or so I fear.

Then again, how could they reach those heights again? I’ve taken my favorite albums and I’ve lofted them so high in the air that it would take a miracle to reach them.

Tags: Music |

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Peter F’n Frampton

April 2, 2009


[ ROB GORDON walks up to a bar. From the entrance he can hear MARIE DE SALLE singing “Baby I Love Your Way.”]

ROB: [Pauses, incredulously] “Is that Peter fucking Frampton?!”

Far be it from me to comment on boring local news – I’ll leave that to the dude who runs SD Watch – but Kerrie pointed out that the Sioux Empire Fair will be featuring Alice Cooper, Big and Rich and some cowboy rapper. All acts that I’m sure will sell out.

Oh. And Peter Frampton.

Which gives the two of us ample reason to live out one of the best lines in movie history. Or, at least, one of the best lines in High Fidelity.

That’s all. I’ll end the Hornby/Cusack lovefest now.

(P.S. My favorite line of the article: “The fair said it still is negotiating for a hot rock act.”

I can’t wait to see who THAT’S going to be. What, is Hoobastank still around?

Oh, god. They are.)

Tags: Movies, Music, Sioux Falls |

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Steinbeck on Random - 3.5.09

March 5, 2009


It feels like it’s been years since I’ve thrown Steinbeck on random and seen what tender little gems I could round up from the depths of my musical library. It hasn’t been, though – simply months, if you look at it technically. After all, I used to work out, which gave birth to the adapted Steinbeck on Steroids.

Of course, if you look at it literally, it’s true. I haven’t thrown Steinbeck on Random for this blog since September 2007.

Weird.

So, with that in mind, let’s do this.

1. The White Stripes – “Honey, We Can’t Afford to Look This Cheap”
Conquest EP

I don’t know this song.

But, I do know that, without a doubt, The White Stripes show up on random more than any artist I listen to. Despite the fact that several artists have a ton more songs available, The White Stripes always seems to bully its way into the lineup.

Which would be fine, except, you know, they have so many songs that are just, well, whatever. I mean, they’re unremarkable. They have some brilliant songs. And they have some just plain ordinary songs.

This seems like one of them.

2. Johnny Cash – “A Boy Named Sue (live)”
Johnny Cash at San Quentin

Listening to the songs on their own, not as part of an album, I can’t tell the difference between those on Live at Folsom Prison and those on this album. I guess that answers the question, “Despite how good both albums are, is it really necessary to have two live albums from the same artist during the same era?” (The answer, for those not paying attention, is, “No.”)

3. Beck – “Gettochip Malfunction (Hell Yess) (8Bit Remix)”
Guerolito

Guero is by far my favorite Beck album. And that makes my love of these remixes so much more surprising to me.

As a purist in most cases, I prefer the original – the goldy oldies, the book version of the movie, the “before it was cool” aspect of nearly everything. I probably do it to be hip - the elitism of originality. It’s one of my more noble traits, if you’re into a healthy dollop of ego mixed in with every stray comment.

But I’ll repeat it. I love these remixes. This one is pretty sweet. Do I lose punk points for revealing that? Will my subscription to Paste suddenly dry up?

4. Thirty Ought Six – “Tourmaline”
Hag Seed

Travel with me, if you will, back to 1995.

I was an aspiring punk rocker who still had a soft side for the soft-loud-soft of the post-punk landscape – the genre that eventually became known as “emo” before “emo” meant wearing black and cutting yourself. It was melodic punk. Math rock. Whatever. It’s what all of the old hardcore bands turned to when they got too old to shave their heads.

I wasn’t able to latch onto the genre as it was beginning, so I enjoyed some of the larger label versions that sprouted up in the years following. Sunny Day Real Estate was one of them and, through the power of complicated music and lyrics, they quickly became one of my favorite bands.

Which means any time singer Jeremy Enigk showed up on someone else’s album, I had to have it.

He showed up on this album, by Thirty Ought Six, a band that no one has ever heard of. I knew this thanks to a one-year subscription to CMJ magazine, which came with a sampler CD that, surprise, included this exact song.

I had to have it. My friend Eric got a hold of a promo copy for my birthday. I still have it. And I still love this song.

5. Bob Dylan – “Blood in my Eyes”
Dylan

Hey, did you hear that Bob Dylan is surprising everyone with a follow up to Modern Times? Pretty sweet.

6. Brother Ali (w/ Slug) – “Blah Blah Blah”
Shadows on the Sun

As I’ve grown older, I’ve stopped going to shows.

Not just shows in Minneapolis or Omaha – places I’d happily drive to several years ago in order to see bands I only borderline liked – but here in Sioux Falls. As in, band I truly like, in my own backyard. As in, I could walk there. As in, I have no excuse.

The list of bands I’ve missed, either due to prior engagements or apathy, includes Against Me, Atmosphere and Brother Ali. I like all three a lot. But I didn’t go to the show because, well, whatever.

I guess that’s the long way of saying its cool to hear Slug and Brother Ali together on this song. It pairs a fantastic hook with two of my favorite indie rappers, and the chorus is as irrelevant as can be created by today’s advanced technology. And, it has this short breakdown that sends the track into a mini-version of “Guns and Cigarettes.” Sweet little trick there, boys.

7. The Decemberists – “The Infanta”
Picaresque

Huh. How about that. A Decemberists song that sounds like a mix between sea shanty and military march. Who’d have thunk it?

8. Jurassic 5 – “Sum of Us”
Power in Numbers

Like most album cuts from Jurassic 5, I can honestly say I don’t think I even know this song. And I can also say it sounds strangely like every other album cut from every other Jurassic 5 album.

Don’t get me wrong. I love these guys. But the difference between the awesome singles-worthy songs and the rest of the stuff is pretty wide. They could have gotten away with releasing 5-song EPs every time around and they’d have just as many great songs without the filler.

And, people would probably remember them more fondly. They’d have been scrambling for more, raising their value by a low number of releases. See – that’s supply and demand. That’s economics, as illustrated by Jurassic 5! I’m like Malcolm Gladwell in my ability to explain complex concepts using trite examples!

9. Office – “Company Calls”
A Night at the Ritz

If you don’t listen to Office yet, stop what you’re doing and start listening to them. That’s all. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.

10. Seven Storey Mountain – “Incomplete”
The Emo Diaries, Chapter Two – A Million Miles Away

I’ve always had a short list of phenomenal bands that consistently go unrecognized by me: Jets to Brazil, Mason Jennings, Frank Black, Seven Story Mountain. These are bands that I absolutely love. They can do little wrong in my eyes. They put forth smart, rocking music that, upon hearing, sends me into a weeklong obsession.

Yet, if you were to ask me what my 10 favorite artists were, I’d probably forget all of them. I’d go through the obvious favorites and, upon consulting my iPod to find the rest, I’d slap my head in amazement, wondering how I ever forgot to add them.

It happens every time.

Seven Storey Mountain, like Texas is the Reason before them, are one of the bands from my emo days that still sound fresh. Some of the bands I followed grew old, their sound became dated and silly, too angsty or too complicated or simply too boring. Seven Storey Mountain just rocked. That’s all they did, every song, and they still rock today. They’d be just as cool now as they were in the mid 90s.

Another note – this Emo Diaries album was the last to actually include great music from bands anyone had heard of. What started as a who’s who of the genre on album one and two quickly turned into a series of “the best of people you’ve never heard of.”

By album five and six, I had stopped buying these albums. I realized there was a reason no one had heard of the bands they were featuring.

Tags: Music, Steinbeck on Random |

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What I’ve Been Reading - December 2008

January 8, 2009


Books Acquired:
McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern #29 – Dave Eggers (editor)
Alphabet Juice – Roy Blount, Jr.
Obama – David Mendell

Books Read:
McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern #29 – Dave Eggers (editor)
Paul’s Boutique – Dan LeRoy
Doolittle – Ben Sisario
Murmur – J. Niimi (not finished)

Well, Christmas has come and passed, and our New Year’s trip rode by quietly, at least in terms of Black Marks on Wood Pulp coverage, so I suppose it’s about time I tackled those books I read last month.

Our book collection grew thanks to a healthy helping of Christmas cheer. Kerrie’s parents added a biography of Obama by the Chicago Tribune’s David Mendell, who covered Obama from the beginning of his first Senate campaign. The book runs from that point until his announcement that he was running for President, and comes highly recommended.

On the other side of the family, my mother brought me Roy Blount, Jr.’s Alphabet Juice, which I have begun reading and absolutely love. More next month.

Of course, as I do quarterly, I received (and read) the newest edition of McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern – Issue 29 this time around. I’m sure I’ve exhausted my word count on this series, so I won’t go into it aside to say that it was as good as always, though there were no stories that made me sit up and say “OMG THAT WAS AMAZING” like Stephen King’s story from Issue 26 or Dan Chaon’s “The Bees” from The Better of McSweeney’s.

There were disturbing stories (Laura Hendrix’s “A Record of Our Debts” hit me hard enough to wish I hadn’t read it) and cute stories (Blaze Ginsberg’s “My Crush on Hillary Duff”) but nothing that stuck with me.

(Yeah, I just said it. “Cute.” As in, “oh, that’s cute, why don’t you stop back when you’ve started writing like a big kid.”

Ugh. I hate it when people call my stuff “cute.”)

This stuff was all secondary, though. The bulk of my month, in terms of both reading and writing, was devoted to my very first book proposal, a 3,000 plea to allow me the freedom of writing about something I probably was ill-equipped to write about yet feel completely convinced that I can do regardless. (Though I’ll never get approval with sentences like that.)

The subject is Continuum’s 33 1/3 series, a fun collection of books written by very fancy musicians or music expert, all focused on one classic album. The catalyst was an open call for proposals. The brewing idea was my plan to write a collection of short stories based on the 16 songs on Ween’s Chocolate and Cheese. The revelation: why not combine the two?

I’ve kept this quiet from you, dear blog reader. I didn’t mention this beforehand for a few reasons; mainly that I’ve tried as hard as I can to stop writing about writing. Or blogging about blogging. Or going too meta on your ass in every sense of the word. It’s hard, though – I love writing about myself. I really enjoy it. I like talking about myself too, in case you’re ever in a room with me and don’t have anything to say.

So I sort of hid the proposal, though I tweeted about a billion or so times – enough that what was supposed to be a subtle plea for assistance turned into a handful of great examples. (Thanks, Deane!) I kept the proposal in my head. I held back on writing it. I wanted it to be good, done a bit at a time, developed and rewritten until it was perfect; not a frantic race to the finish like most of my projects end up becoming.

To prepare, I purchased four 33 1/3 books, thinking that buy the time I was finished with the fourth I’d be fully prepared to begin. The books are short – they took only a day or two to read – and would give me a little insight on what the crew at Continuum was looking for.

I breezed through Dan LeRoy’s Paul’s Boutique, enjoying the chance to get a behind-the-scenes look into a classic album. A classic album that almost wasn’t, I learned; it was a hit with those who wrote about music, but commercially panned because it wasn’t License to Ill. In other words, it was critically revered, but no “Paul Revere.”

(Ahem.)

Ben Sisario’s Doolittle struck a similar chord. Instead of a straight forward history, Sisario went driving with Pixies front man Frank “Black Francis” Black, a rambling remembrance of one of indie rock’s most famous groups and albums. I didn’t see behind the curtain as much as into the living room of a “dysfunctionally brilliant” family.

After finishing one of the books, I’d find myself obsessed for days with the namesake album. I listened to Paul’s Boutique more this month than I had my entire life, and Doolittle finally broke out of the “one song wonder” pile and into a full rotation.

I got ready for more of the same with R.E.M.’s Murmur.

Alas, something had to give. My attention wasn’t what it should have been, maybe. Or perhaps I had soaked in all of the research I could handle and needed a break. Whatever it was, I never finished Murmur. I will (after all, I only have 25 pages left). But I didn’t.

J. Niimi’s Murmur wasn’t horrible, it just wasn’t written for me. It was written for a music geek who thought too long and too deep about his album of choice. Paul’s Boutique and Doolittle didn’t try to make the albums more than they were in real life – they just honored them, told the story and let the reader understand the thought process behind it. Murmur, on the other hand, from the first pages, took its album topic to another level, placing it high above everything else, as the savior of alternative rock. It outlined every detail of the recording to a level that only the most seasoned audio geeks would understand, and waxed poetic about the often incomprehensible lyrics.

Murmur’s not a bad album. But I don’t think I like it that much. Which made this book hard to swallow and, unfortunately, boring.

Though when I think about it, I may have learned more from Murmur than I did the others. I understand the power of knowing my audience. It might so happen that the Murmur audience is into that stuff, that I got caught with the wrong author and the wrong album. Murmur isn’t the same as Automatic for the People – the two albums come from nearly completely different bands. I shouldn’t have expected something that connected with me, because Murmur as an album doesn’t connect with me.

If I’m lucky enough to have my proposal approved – lucky enough, that is, to write a 30,000 word book on Ween’s Chocolate and Cheese for a modest advance and little to no royalties, a project done for the sake of doing it, for the idea of having a book published with my own ISBN number – I’ll hopefully capture the right mood. My audience is Ween fans and those with a passing interest in goofy, yet brilliant albums. I can’t take the subject too seriously because, let’s face it, that’s not who I’m writing for.

In school, we all learn how not to write. In doing so, we’re really learning how to write for a select audience – teaching professionals, those who are defined by rules and structure. It’s not until later that we realize that we can write for other people. That every audience deserves a different voice.

For some of us, it takes a lot longer.

Tags: Books, Literature, Music, What I've Been Reading, Writers, Writing |

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BMOWP’s Top 10 Albums of 2008, kind of

December 30, 2008


New music, to me, is a foreign concept. Being outside of the music release scene, I rarely grasp onto new music during the year it’s released. Instead, I discover and rediscover music only after I’m unable to forget it. After three singles have washed through the Sirius XMU cycle, or after a book reminds me of its relevance.

Which makes a “top 10 albums of 2008” list a little difficult.

What I’ve done in the past with my end of the year reading lists (coming tomorrow!) is review my year in listening. I dive into the entire catalog, bringing up new favorites, discovering forgotten gems, finally getting around to listening to something I picked up last years. My favorite books of 2008 weren’t actually published in 2008, for the most part, and my favorite music follows that same

Which is to say, in an off-handed way, that years do nothing for me. I understand the value of a top albums of 2008 list, but that’s not how I listen to music; year by year, with a conscious knowledge of when an album came out. Instead, I know of three types of music: music I just got, music I’ve had for a while, and music from a long time ago.

With that said, my top 10 albums of 2008 are all over the place, from all sorts of years, and they prove two things:

1. The nature of shuffling an iPod. It brings back old favorites, and, like my personal tastes, it knows no time frame. One song on shuffle might lead me to finding the entire album, listening to it several times and, without fail, wondering how I had ever forgotten about it.

2. My lag in discovering new music. Regardless of how religiously I read Largehearted Boy or Paste, I am desperately behind on discovering new music. Chances are, if a great album came out in 2007, I’m just finding out about it now. Or, more importantly, just caring about it. (Not always the case, but indeed common.)

Those albums:

Band of Horses – Cease to Begin (2007)
As is the case with a good majority of the albums on this list, Band of Horses forced me into submission after numerous plays on Sirius XMU. Something about the guy’s voice reminds me of Doug Martsch’s dreamy alto stylings, and the reverb sends me back to last year’s awesome Neon Bible. I had always loved “Is There A Ghost,” but it wasn’t until I heard the entire album (twice) at Michelle’s in downtown Sioux Falls that I made it my own.

Beastie Boys – Paul’s Boutique (1989)
Pixies – Doolittle (1989)
Through research for a book proposal for Continuum’s 33 1/3 book series, I picked up four of the series’s most interesting selections. Before reading each book, I went back and lightened to the album again and – lo and behold – found myself completely re-in-love with both Paul’s Boutique and Doolittle. They’re brilliant albums, and the insight gleaned from the books make both albums even better, creating a nagging longing for a re-do back in 1989: as I was listening to Def Leppard and Poison, this ridiculously great underground (and not so underground) music was being released. I missed out.

Ween – Chocolate and Cheese (1994)
And, in listing the two albums most affected by 33 1/3 research, I’d be remiss in leaving out the actual 33 1/3 research subject – Chocolate and Cheese, Ween’s most sprawling and brilliant album (though, for the record, not my favorite – The Mollusk, thanks.) To say that this research got me back into music would be an understatement. I’ve re-learned more about music writing – and about music itself – over the past two months to qualify for reintroduction into the scene.

(Just kidding. I went to a show the other night and felt more out of place than ever.)

Beck – Guero (2005)
I’ve gone back to Guero a few times, but this time it’s for keeps. Better than Odelay, more fun than Modern Guilt and more accessible than Sea Change. It’s the perfect Beck album because it’s totally awesome.

Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago (2008)
Okervill River – The Stand-Ins (2008)
I guess I’m showing my indie rock love by putting these two albums on the list, and one might think I’m doing so in order to claim whatever small piece of relevancy is left in the Best of 2008 market. But I really like both of these albums for their killer songwriting – Bon Iver writes from the insides of an abandoned whale, and Okervill River is as meta as you can get – songwriting about songwriting, I guess.

Girl Talk – Feed the Animals (2008)
Me likey mashups * giggle *

Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (2007)
“The Underdog” is song of the year for me – both because I love it and because iTunes refuses to make a Genius play list without it.

They Might Be Giants – Flood/Apollo 18 (1990/1992)
It’s not cheating if I give each album only ½ of a place on the list, right? I went through this nostalgic 1990s alternative kick this past summer, led by the geekitude that is They Might be Giants. They’re irrelevant and silly and not something an adult should listen to, but Sierra loves them and, I guess, so do I.

Tags: Music, The Top... |

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Steinbeck on Steroids – 11.02.08

December 2, 2008


Usually, you work out to something upbeat. Something with energy. Hip hop, or metal, or anything with a steady beat and a constant electricity. It’s only natural that we typically just select one of these genres to shuffle.

Today, I didn’t. I just Super Shuffled it. In doing this, outside of a ramping up at both ends, I found tranquility in staying quiet, my playlist ranging from brooding to folky, emo to childish. Nothing hard-core. Nothing from the streets. Just a vanilla and, surprisingly, soothing playlist.

It worked. I was able to think. I left not just physically accelerated, but mentally.

“Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me” – The Pipettes
“Red Letter Day” – The Get Up Kids
“Rear View Mirror” – Grandaddy
“Hot Cha” – They Might Be Giants
“Origami” – Ani DiFranco
“Star Me Kitten (Demo)” – R.E.M.
“Reckoning (Live)” – Ani DiFranco
“Bombtrack” – Rage Against the Machine

(Let’s stop here for a second. While it sometimes seems as if Steinbeck can read my mind, piecing together a perfect series of songs using some intense E.S.P., there are times when it reveals its inner machine – pulling some song out of the recesses of the system that is so completely off track it leaves me wondering how it ever ended up on the iPod in the first place.

This was the case with Rage Against the Machine this go around. Steinbeck was gently soothing me through my first trip to the gym in over a month, keeping me settled and smooth, and it tried to slip this one past me.

I skipped it. Then I scolded the machine. It responded with one of the oldest songs in its repertoire.)

“I Wish I Were in Love With You” – Ella Fitzgerald
“In 3’s” – Beastie Boys
“In the Jailhouse Now” – Johnny Cash
“Unemployed Black Astronaut (Nobody Remix)” – Busdriver

Tags: Music, Steinbeck on Random |

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