Xmas list

Happy holidaze: a Christmas playlist

By: MATT ASHARE |
Published: December 21, 2011 

'Tis the season to be, well, lots of things. Overwhelmed by family obligations, annoyed by numbing doses of holiday muzak streaming from the speakers at just about every big-box chain (I'm not naming names here), and let's just say "bemused" by the presence of so many jolly, white-bearded Santas in so, so many car commercials (a particular pet peeve of mine). Don't worry, I'm not going to go off on a dated rant about the commodification of Christmas or get all scrooged up about the long lines at Target or the alarming abundance of subpar, made-for-tv holiday movies that have been cutting into my obsessive viewing of "Criminal Minds" reruns (Patinkin or Montegna?: sometimes I just can't decide. . .). Instead, I've been hunkered down in my music bunker (it's a virtual space: I haven't gotten around to building the actual one just yet), putting together a nostalgic little playlist for my holidaze.

       No, I haven't uploaded it to Spotify just yet. Maybe next year. Until then, here are my ten picks for an admittedly old-school, punk rock-leaning Chrismukkah that I might actually foist on my friends if I'm feeling particularly fiendish this weekend. . .

1) The Sex Pistols, "Holidays In the Sun" (1977).

       I realize that Johnny Rotten wasn't thinking mistletoe or candy canes or silent nights when he laid down the sneering vocals for the Pistols fourth incendiary single and what would be the opening track on the band's only proper studio album, Never Mind the Bullocks. No, he was contemplating a "cheap holiday in other people's misery," channeling nuclear anxieties ("I didn't ask for sunshine and I got World War III"), and, if I'm not mistaken, commenting on the boom/bust cycles of economic bubbles ("I wanna see some history/'cuz now I've got a reasonable economy"). Any of that sound familiar?

      

2) Dead Kennedys, "Holiday In Cambodia" (1980).

       Not sure if this was intended as an answer to the Sex Pistols, but how could it not have been? Against an eerie surf-punk guitar riff, DKs singer Jello Biafra works himself into a characteristically caustic frenzy over the unintended consequences of a protracted overseas war that caused a lot of consternation here on the homefront and didn't necessarily accomplish what it was meant to. Again, sound familiar?

3) The Ramones, "Merry Christmas (I Don't Want To Fight Tonight)" (1989).

       Okay, so the Ramones were well past their prime by the time they recorded this little holiday nugget for Brain Drain (a/k/a the "Pet Cemetery" album). But they were still more than capable of cranking up the distortion and putting their own stamp on the holidays with the late Joey doing his best to croon couplets like, "All the children are tucked in their beds/Sugar-plum fairies dancing in the heads/Snowball fighting, it's so exciting baby/Yeah, yeah, yeah. . ." Plus, the title really is so perfectly Ramones.

4) The Pogues, "Fairytale of New York" (1987).

       Original Pogues frontman Shane McGowan still had most of his teeth when he sparred with Brit-pop singer Kirsty MacColl in this epic holiday duet by this Irish rock group who artfully split the difference between punk attitude and traditional Celtic folk. "You were handsome/You were pretty/Queen of New York City/When the band finished playing/They yelled out for more," goes the back and forth between the two young lovers, before bittersweet memories lead the two to conclude, "Happy christmas your arse/I pray god it's our last." But there's a kind of redemption in the end as McGowan proudly declares, "And the boys of the NYPD choir still singing Galway Bay/And the bells are ringing out for Christmas day."

5) The Kinks, "Father Christmas" (1977).

       Ray and Dave Davies must have been plugged into the same juice the class of ’77 punks were powered by when they delivered this angry yet melodic salvo written from the point of view of a couple of beggar boys. "Father Christmas/Give us some money/Don't mess around with those silly toys/We'll beat you up if you don't hand it over/We don't want your bread so don't make us annoyed," goes the chorus. And in the last verse, the singer comes right out and asks Father Christmas (that's what they call Santa over in England, or so I've been told) to give his "daddy a job." Kinda rings true this holiday season.

6) Keith Richards, "Run Rudolph Run" (1978).

       Long before he convened the X-pensive Winos, Keith took a break from the Stones to deliver his first solo recording as a Christmas present of sorts. It's just a straight-up version of the oft-covered Johnny Marks/Marvin Brodie novelty hit first popularized by Chuck Berry in ’58. Keith doesn't do anything fancy with the tune: he just sticks to the Berry blueprint and has an infectiously good time with it.

7) The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "This Time of Year" (2007).

      The Bosstones may best be remembered for helping to ignite the ska-punk revival that, for better or worse, flashed and burned in the early-’90s. But they had a lesser-known talent for penning straightforwardly catchy, revved-up, melodic punk tunes like this seasonal salutation to being home for the holidays, hanging with old friends, and making the best out of the Christmas season. "There's crap, it's true," admits raspy voiced Dicky Barrett, "What can you do?/It's simply spending it with you/That keeps me looking forward to/Forward to this time of year." Exactly.

8) Frickin' A, "Merry Merry Merry Frickin' Christmas" (2004).

       They may be from Cincinnati, Ohio, but when the Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in like a hundred years back in 2004 after coming back from three games down to beat the Yankees in the ALCS, Frickin' A rose to the challenge and revised this already amusing Christmas send-up into a holiday gift to Red Sox Nation. So, after the Sox historic collapse in the final month of the 2011 season, I'll be consoling myself with lines like, "School's out/Christmas break/Back to Boston/The Red Sox in four straight." Next year. . .

9) The Raveonettes, "The Christmas Song" (2003).

       Almost embarrassed to admit that I found this little treasure on Music from The O.C.: Mix 3 — Have a Very Merry Chrismukkah. And I do wish that the Danish duo had opted for a less generic title for this moody little number — something like "I Wish that I Could Stay," as in "All the lights are coming on now/How I wish that it would snow now/I don't feel like going home now/I wish that I could stay." But it's a nice, bittersweet, slow-dance treat for the end of the night. . . or, of course, the early morning hours.

10) Lady Gaga, "Christmas Tree" (2009).

       Yes, I know the good Lady Gaga made headlines a few weeks back when she released her version of the Irving Berlin classic "White Christmas," replete with an extra verse she wrote herself because the original felt "too short." And maybe the new A Very Gaga Christmas would be a good way to close things out. But even with the extra rhymes, she plays "White Christmas" too straight. I much prefer the old, bad-grrrl Gaga, fa-la-la-la-la-laing about her own, ah, Christmas tree to the tune of a thumping techno-funk beat.

http://www2.the-burg.com/entertainment/2011/dec/21/happy-holidaze-christmas-playlist-ar-1560323/ 

TOM WAITS

Tom Waits celebrates his staying power on Bad As Me

By Matt Ashare

Tom Waits, Bad As Me (Anti-)

BAD TO THE BONE: 'I've been here since Eisenhauer"

Tom Waits hasn't quite done it all – he's just done a whole helluva lot since he first emerged as something of an odd duck in the early ’70s. With a penchant for vaudevillian theatrics, an abiding affinity for deep blues and late-night jazz, and a proclivity for rockist experimentation, the prolific Waits has spent most of his career as an acquired taste, a delicacy of sorts. Working on the fringes and behind the scenes, he's seen his songs covered by Bruce Springsteen ("Jersey Girl") and Rod Stewart ("Downtown Train"), to name just two; played supporting roles in films by Robert Altman (Short Cuts) and Francis Ford Coppola (The Outsiders and Bram Stoker's Dracula); and collaborated with avant-garde playwright/director Robert Wilson on two musicals, The Black Rider and Alice. Along the way, he's collected his fair share of accolades, including a Best Original Song Score Oscar nomination for Coppola's One From the Heart, a Best Alternative Album Grammy for 1992's Bone Machine, and an induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame earlier this year. And yet, until now, with the release last week of his 20th proper studio album, Bad As Me, Waits has never debuted in the top ten of the Billboard top 200 sales charts.

      Bad As Me, which hit number six its first week out, is the first collection of new material Waits has recorded since 2004's Real Gone. And it does boast an impressive guest list, including Keith Richards, who plays guitar on four of the disc's 13 tracks; Los Lobos multi-instrumentalist David Hidalgo (four tracks); and Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea (one track). Avant guitarist Marc Ribot, Primus bassist Les Claypool, and Tom's son, drummer Casey Waits, are among the more notable players who round out the cast. But the real difference makers on Bad As Me are the songs themselves, all of which were written and produced by Waits with his wife Kathleen Brennan. It's as if the two made a conscious decision not necessarily to iron all the wrinkles out of Waits' style, but to perhaps smooth over some of the rougher edges in an effort to create a more accessible variation on some familiar plots.

      The disc opens with Richards riffing Exile-style on the chugging blues of “Chicago.” Here, Waits deploys his trademark Howlin’ Wolf baritone growl as he conjures the mix of hope and desperation that led to what’s become known as the “Great Migration,” the early 20^th-century movement of millions of African-Americans from the South to the Midwestern cities like Chicago. It’s a song that could have been written decades ago, yet it resonates with uncanny immediacy in these times of slow economic recovery.

      “Chicago” is hardly a blueprint for Bad As Me. Instead of sticking to one sonic palette or staying on genre, so to speak, Waits tries on a number of the different hats he’s worn over the years. “Talking At the Same Time” is a slow swinging number with tinkling lounge piano, a tasteful horn section, and ethereal vibrato guitar that finds Waits singing in a world-weary falsetto about our troubled times. “A tiny boy sat and he played in the sand,” Waits croons, “He made a sword from a stick and a gun from his hand/We bailed out all the millionaires/They got all the fruit/We got the rind/Everybody’s talking at the same time.”

      Waits goes into mad daddy mode on the disc’s title track, a wigged-out celebration of geek love driven by a trash-can drums and outfitted with surf-style guitar licks and a honking baritone sax. And, over another very Exstylish Richards riff, he barks maniacally about his having his vertebrae rolled “like dice” and his skull being a “home for mice” when he’s “gone.” Aptly enough, the song’s called “Satisfaction.” But, just in case you miss the Stones reference, Waits drives home the point with a wink and a nod: “Now Mr. Jagger and Mr. Richards/I will scratch where I’m itching.”

      On the mellower side, Waits has fun with rhymes like “Ocean wants a sailor/Gun wants a hand/Money wants a spender/And the road wants a man” in “Face the Highway,” a haunted goodbye that drips with stoic defeat. The combination of Augie Meyers’ accordion and Hidalgo’s violin, helps lend the spare, tragic “Pat Me” an air of drunken cabaret. And Richards teams up to sing harmony with Waits on the largely acoustic “Last Leaf,” a countrified homage to aging, if not gracefully, then at least with a certain sense of pride. “They say I’ve got staying power here on the tree,” Waits intones, “I’ve been here since Eisenhower/And I’ve outlived even he.”

      As the album nears its end, Waits gets into character as a casualty of war in the most outwardly dissonant track here, the protest tune “Hell Broke Luce.” Noisy percussion, serrated guitars, and the sound of machine-gun fire punctuate points like “How is it that the only ones responsible for making this mess/Got their sorry asses staples to a desk?” And he closes out the affair on a gorgeously sad note, with yet another of his perfectly pitched odes to the broken souls of the world, the poetically bittersweet ballad “New Year’s Eve.”

      It’s hard at this point to imagine the 61 year-old Waits as anything other than the cult artist he’s always been. But it sure does feel like the cult of Waits is growing. . .
http://www2.the-burg.com/entertainment/2011/nov/09/tom-waits-celebrates-his-staying-power-keith-richa-ar-1446733/ 

New Year's Daze

Keefing it Real
A New Year's Eve playlist

"Happy," The Rolling Stones (from Exile On Main Street Deluxe Edition) — Thanks to Life, a memoir as bold, brash, and rakishly charming as his best riffs, it's been the season, if not the year, of Keith. When he took over the mic to proclaim, "I need a love to keep me happy" back in ’72, nobody thought he'd live to see the end of the decade. A full 38 years later, he's still going strong, and this signature song rings as true as ever.

"Help Me Mary," Liz Phair (from Exile In Guyville) — If Phair's Exile really were a song-by-song answer to the Stones' Exile then the match for "Happy" would be "Fuck and Run" — probably not the best strategy for a successful new year.  Better to celebrate tempering "hatred with peace" and weaving "disgust into fame," especially since Phair impressively channels Keith's loose yet propulsive chordings on this ultimately uplifting track.

"P.S.," Ryan Adams and the Cardinals (from III/IVI) — It's almost always worth looking to the past before moving forward into new year/decade. This rousing glam kiss-off came out of ’07’s Easy Tiger sessions. Why it's taken so long for alt-country's allegedly reformed king of dramedy to unburden himself of it is anybody's guess. Just glad to finally have it. 

"Ready to Start," The Arcade Fire (from The Suburbs) — The Grammy-bound Arcade Fire made a bit of history in 2010 by hitting #1 with an indie release. Win Butler never quite sounds like he's ready to bust a move — he's far to cerebral for that. But this instructive, upbeat ode to new beginnings rocks most of the moodiness out of him until he indeed resolves that he's "ready to start." 

"Not Afraid," Eminem (from Recovery) — Anyone who can go from Relapse to Recovery in the span of a year deserves props. Poised to overshadow The Arcade Fire and just about everyone else at the Grammys, the new Eminem made some major New Year's resolutions when last the the ball dropped. He may sound angry and defiant at the start of "Not Afraid," but before long he's apologizing (!!) and urging us all to take his hand and move into the future. Redemption, not to mention recovery, is, as Martha Stewart would say, a good thing.

"Just Dance," Lady Gaga feat. Colby O'Donis (from The Fame Monster) — Just because — because she brought spectacle to a new level and had a fashionably great time doing it. So just shut up and dance. It's New Year's eve. . .

"Wake Up Everybody," John Legend feat. the Roots (from Wake Up!) — Sure, the video plays a bit too much like a big-budget PSA and Legend's channeling of What's Going On-era Marvin Gaye comes off slightly stilted. But the Roots come to the rescue, grabbing the groove and then the mic to take this socio-political wake-up call places Gaye never had the chance to dream of.

"Daft Punk Is Playing At My House Tonight," LCD Soundsystem (from LCD Soundsystem) — With Daft Punk busy deflecting lukewarm reviews of their Tron Legacy soundtrack, it's not likely they'll be playing any house parties over the holidays. LCD Soundsystem's electrofunk homage/send-up "Daft Punk Is Playing At My House Tonight" isn't just the next best thing, it's better. For best results, press play and repeat.

The Invisible Hand, "The Future of Music" (from The Invisible Hand) — It just wouldn't be right not to celebrate something Charlottesville as we ring in the new year, and The Invisible Hand have all the makings of the future of the local scene, if not quite the future of music. Angular melodies, hyperkinetic drums, gloriously noisy guitars, and a frontman who sings with the kind of passionate intensity Yeats would approve of. Give it a shot.

"Fake Empire," The National (from Boxer) — Until something better comes along, every New Year's Eve should end with "Fake Empire," an epic ode to staying out "super late" that begins as a slow dance and gradually gains a glorious kind of momentum. By the time the lights go out, Matt Berninger is crooning "No thinking for a little while" as the horns kick in and the drummer drives off into the rising sun.