Keeping Track of History.

Keeping Track of History.

I remember burning my first CD. I was ten years old and it was for the cutest girl on the block, Sarah V. She had the perfect amount of freckles, made bracelets for boys she liked and enjoyed the original Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six computer game, I was in love. Now Sarah V. is forever a part of my music history because the CD I burned for her was Britney Spear's debut album ... Baby One More Time. I don't know how I did it, because burning CDs back in the 90's was a process, much like how I imagine making a custom leather belt could be -- but I did it and it was wonderful. Also, now that I think back on it, I wonder why no one thought it was odd to see a ten year "blonde puff" straining over a Britney Spears record... I should have a talk with my family. 
But, back to the story. 
So, I rode my bike over to her house and parked it around back, next to the huge oak tree. She was waiting out side on the wrap around porch with the little boombox that she'd had since she was five. I placed it in the tray and pressed the play button. I'm fairly positive that this is still, to this date the sweetest thing I have ever done for a girl -- the boombox had a microphone attachment, I had to sing along. 
And I did. 
I even danced for her. 
Music -- it will do crazy things to a ten year-old boys heart. 

Now at 25... sadly, I haven't sang in a long time.

I can't remember the first mix that I had received, but I want to say that it was from my now Brother-in-law, John-Michael. Now when I say I can't remember when I received it, that doesn't mean I don't remember what it felt like. I took that silver disc out of its thin jewel case and placed it into my shitty Sanyo boombox and my ears were refreshed. JM has always been my inspiration for music, especially when it comes to making mixes. So, if I had to blame anyone for my insanity when it comes to finding obscure bands... it's him. 
He taught me a very valuable lesson about mix CDs: 

They will always mean something to somebody.

Most of the time, they mean more to the craftsmen then the listener.

There are very few things that I stress over, but yet find relief through that actual stress, such as: making a cute girl laugh, writing music, encouraging friends through a hard time and making a mixtape.

All of these share the same bond with my heart, and a bond not so easily ignored - progress. When Ever I feel progress I feel good, and when I feel good, I rinse and repeat. Crafting a mix is a delicate process. I dive deep into my feelings and get my heart dirty.  It's much like sticking a hand into a pile of toys to see if  you find some distant and forgotten ... thing at the bottom. I've been practicing this self exploration for 15 years now and I have piles of distant and forgotten ... things that I've found at the bottom.

When I start the process, I begin with the foundation. It's like leading a girl up the rooftop to propose, the entrance has to be either mysterious, deceiving or inviting. You can't just blow your wad at the front door. So, it makes sense that most (good) albums start of kicking and end with that subtle acoustic track that could have been mistaken for a b-side.
But... no matter the person, place, theme, rhyme or reason, I still have many questions that roll through my head when a mix is starting to be conceived. 

How do I start it? 

Do I start the mixtape off with what I am trying to communicate? 

But what if the feeling or idea that I am trying to communicate is too heavy and boisterous, it might drive off the listener or fragment the message so they never really get the idea... 

The list goes on, and that is just for the first song. In the movie High Fidelity Barry, Jack Blacks charecter makes a mixtape and I always crack up during this scene. This might capture what I am talking about.

I'm sure you're familiar with the saying, don't judge a book by it's cover -- well don't judge a mix by it's first track. Mixes mean more than just what they look like on the surface. When music is made, it's cultivated by experiences  and often experiences that are deformed and contorted so the public can understand them. There's no way I can really grasp what Bob Segar ment in the song Night Moves, but I can guess and with that guess I can use take it as my own. 

Lovers of music spends hours, days, even sometimes weeks critically assessing the music. Rob, played by John Cusack, in High Fidelity said that we are using someones else's poetry to communicate what we are feeling. So to be the proper curator requires not only an understanding of the music, but understanding of the person it is intended for.
  

I take the time to say all of this is because I care. I care about my friends. I care about the world and how we listen to it. Mixes are one of the best ways to gather thoughts and feelings. Its one of the best mediums that we can use to display our humanity, all packaged into one little neat piece of plastic. Humans, being highly emotional, I think should take the time to understand we have the ability to talk about the difficult emotions through a mix. 

So I have crafted a couple rules in my time of "mixing". Obviously there is no bible or "how to book" on mixes, so you really don't have to take these to heart. And you are also more than welcome to email me and tell me your rules. But this is what I mentally check off when I still down in front of my stacks of CDs or files of mp3s.

1. Never repeat a band and/or artist. But only repeat an artist when the flow of music calls for it. EX: Oh The Impossible Past --> Nice Things (track #9 & #10). Track #9 is 1:33 and bleeds into track #10. Beautiful trasnition. 
2. The first three songs set the mood, don't forget that. Once the mood is set, it's hard to escape that, unless your listener just "shuffles" the mix. (asshole!)
3. Know your audience. EX: Don't make a track list based on "Oh Girlfriend" by Weezer for your Dad.
4. None of the tracks should be alphabetical order, unless you are compiling favorites from "A -> Z".
5. 70% of the mixtape should be new music for the recipient. (Unless it's just to have sex, cause really...)
6. Localize the core of the playlist. Pick a song to certain around.
7. Never have more than two cover or remix songs.
8. Always pick more songs than necessary so you have more options when it comes to cutting and/or replacing.
9. Listen to your mix several times before you even give it or post it.

My passion for music constantly challenges me in ways I never thought to imagine. 
If you have received a mix from me now you know why it took forever. I've been using the website 8tracks, so be sure to check that site out every once in awhile. I post a new mix about twice a month now.

Here's a treat for you too.

22// Night Beds

I Should Live in Salt

Trouble Will Find Me // The National pt. 1

I Should Live in Salt // The National

23 The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar.24 Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven;25 And he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground.26 But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.

So the swell begins.
Like an old phaser breathing heavy, the first track of the National's new album kicks off, or rather -- gently lets go of the dock and drifts out to sea. The technicality of the music is much like of Boxer, swerving around time signatures like drunk bees; deep simba beats likend to "Lemonworld" off of High Violet and a sincerity of "Mr. November" from Alligator (minus the screaming). The National are truly evolving and bringing the best parts of them along. Matt Berninger, the front man, never ceases to amaze me with his writing and this is just the beginning.
"I Should Live in Salt" immediately captured my attention, lyrically drawing parallels from the biblical story of Lot's wife. Berninger hums, in his soft baritone voice, as a doxology to his memories; lamenting in glory to what has passed.

"I should live in salt for leaving you behind.
Behind"

I have been a National fan ever since I've heard the opening of Boxer - Fake Empire, and I feel like I have gotten to know Berninger fairly well since then, so for him to chant that we should know him better than that, births a sinking feeling. A feeling that I and most people should be familiar with: Don't you know me yet? He croaks about large visualizations, such as the term, "writing it on the wall" but there is not enough room, or turning the television down because there is to much "crying". It creates an atmosphere that the end is near and there is nothing that can be done about it, a finale or a judgement that is about to occur. And in recent events, such as the tornados in Oklahoma, school shootings or even the war overseas, it's freakishly fitting.

Much like Lot must have felt, when he begged to stay or escape to the closest city, I imagine he was trying to communicate to the angels, you know me better than this. A common place feeling of abandonment, we've all wished to be the pillar of salt rather than the one we loved.  But the angels didn't give up on him and ushered him to safety.

So will the rest of the album usher us to safety or will it be a continuing biopic of "Lots" remorse? How far down the rabbit hole will we go, and what will Berninger show us? I'm excited.

The next piece will be on my two favorite songs: Fireproof & I Need My Girl.

Mùm

(I encourage you to press play before reading)

Welcome to the dark side of the Postal Service.

During my senior year of high school the banana-pancake Jack Johnson phase was exploding for the wannabe art kids and "accidentally  to-public" potheads, along side with that "hot fuzz" buzz by The Killers. For the band nerds and pre-teen goth kids it was AFI and The Black Eye'd Peas, peeling their way in with the sounds of emo-skunk grime. Needless to say I was apart of both of these groups, but I was also secretly keeping some music to my self. I'd drive to school listening to the local college radio station, relentless hoping that when I got to school I'd get into a verbal argument over economics or some war about "terror". But then there was Death Cab For Cutie. 

Ben Gibbard -- my nightingale. He'd let me have a good silent cry. I always felt I was long over due for an angry "dead-journal entry", so that came in handy too, but once I discovered the Postal Service, all those raw emotions and 'goofy feelings about girls' clicked. I was satisfied being melancholy but yet synthetically bubbly -- in the trendy way Lite-Brite could have been, but damn-it, it just was art!

Now that I'm in a post-graduate life, I found that I had sat down my Postal Service record sessions a long time ago (but not in a galaxy far far away...). Life had taken its course and I had gotten older. Like anyones life, there had been a series of up's and down's or "life altering" experiences/people. The shift of adulthood wasn't something I had noticed immediately, but when friends began to move away and letters from crazy ex-girl friends weren't fun to share anymore, I felt the heat of the water that had been boiling for sometime.

When I discovered Mum, I really took the time to sit down and listen to them. I don't recall the day I found them, but I'm certain that my ears felt like cellophane and my craving for a vintage smoke rocketed to it's highest potential. Their soft patterns of electro glitch beats, and kitchen noises are tucked into a whirlwind of emotion. The piano sounds like its being hit by a mallet made of silly putty, and the bass and percussion are recorded through a walkie-talkie... or gramophone. Their whole sound just screams, layers!
I felt like I did in high school when I found the Postal Service. I chanced upon a band that completes a small niche in my life. I listen to them in the car, walking to class (rain preferably) and in bed when I should be writing. 

Glass Fractal

The Album, We Finally Are No One, essentially sounds like rainy day emotion wrapped up into a glass fractal and set in front of a candle. I honestly have nothing to say about their cord progression, beat-choices, or lack of unintelligible singing, because I feel like I just can't. And like I said, its the dark side or adult version of the Postal Service. Meaning just that, its not something many people would catch if they are consumed in rotisserie pop music, regurgitated every year.
There is a work of genius here, and I suggest you listen to it.
If you like Mum you should check out: Seabear, The Album Leaf and Broadcast.