“Silverfuck” by Smashing Pumpkins which clocks in at 8:43.
They say conflict and tension yield beauty and artistic breakthroughs. Witness the tired cliché of the “tortured” or “suffering” artist or, when there are multiple cooks in the kitchen, the time-honored soundbite somewhere along the lines of “we were either going to make our masterpiece or break up in the process!”
This last utterance was more or less the statement once made by Billy Corgan when discussing Siamese Dream (or as allmusic remembered it - Corgan growled at the time that if the album didn’t achieve breakthrough success, he would end the band). But really, how would he have known about any tension or strife that was in the band during these sessions? He was a man possessed, completely preoccupied with systematically recording and re-recording every part of every song by himself while the others were pretty much barricaded outside the studio. So as D’Arcy and James Iha struggled to heal the open wound of their failed relationship and Jimmy Chamberlain became increasingly caught up in intravenous drug use, Corgan merrily plowed along with comrade-in-overdubbery Butch Vig in building the biggest wall of sound this side of Phil Spector. I mean, he probably would not have even heard the approaching sirens (think Billy circa the “Today” video all alone with huge headphones on, oblivious to the world) had Chamberlain nodded off mid-fix in the studio bathroom and D’Arcy found him on the floor before placing a frantic call to the paramedics. Read more…
“Poor Jackie” by Man Man which clocks in at 8:24.
The opening verse of Man Man’s epic song “Poor Jackie” sets the scene for a bawdry tale of a street walking murderess who cuts the hearts out of her victims and paints a moustache on her face to hide from police. The track is the sprawling gypsy-prog epicenter of an otherwise pop-forward album, and a highlight of Man Man’s career to this point. The song opens:
“Jackie hits the streets
She swears that all she sees
Is the hunger in their eyes
And the desperation in their speech”
What wonderful serendipity it was that I’d just listened to the song, lyrics still lingering in my mind, when I arrived at my favorite local espresso joint just the other day. Funny, because those lyrics could easily have been written about the woman working the lonely midday shift that day. It was 4pm, a transient hour. The place was empty except for one single man seated at a corner table reading private documents. Private? You bet. Had to be private the way he was twisted and turned to hide them from the world. I paid him no mind seeing as how he was seated across the room from my favorite spot.
My order: “Hi, I’ll have a latte please.”
Jackie: “Oh hey! Okay, is that to stay or to go?”
Me: “Hey, how’s it going? It’s for here. Thanks. How’ve you been….”
So, I “know” the barista at this particular place. Not because I’m the kind of guy who makes it a point to shake hands and make friends with people who serve me beverages, but rather because she’s nice and saw me enough to finally one day introduce herself - “You’re in here a lot. I’m Jackie…”
I come to this place as though it will energize my exhausted mind, or inspire it, or whatever. The drinks do that? The atmosphere? It’s all supposed to I think. There’s something that keeps bringing people back here. Jackie perhaps? She fixes up my latte and makes it all pretty on top with the foam and everything (the way they all tend to do at this particular place) and I go to my regular seat and set up camp. It’s the familiarity that keeps ‘em coming back here, and Jackie’s part of that. Thankfully, around this time of day, they’re not coming back in droves - the people who come in around 4:00 are pretty much all takeaways. Which makes it a perfect time and place to lose an hour. No bothersome conversations the next table over, no nosy jerks trying to see what you’re writing -or worse, asking “whatcha writin’?”- nothing. Just the purity of coffee-faced writerdom.
But no! Wait. Actually, come to think of it, I was missing those people! The human wallpaper. I thought I didn’t need them around but here it was just me alone with a blank computer screen and all the hushed atmosphere I could ever want and suddenly a realization: I really wanted some bozos to half-listen-to and half-watch. Bah!
That’s when I started paying attention to the steadily slow stream of customers stopping in for a quick order “to go”. All I could see was the hunger in their eyes, and the desperation in their speech…
Customer #1: (white male, 45) “How much are the cookies?”
Jackie: “Two dollars a piece.”
Customer #1: “For which? Both kinds? Are there two different kinds?”
Jackie: “Yes, oatmeal and chocolate chip.”
Customer #1: “Is the lumpy one oatmeal?”
Jackie: “Yes. Well they’re both lumpy. But the one you’re pointing at is oatmeal.”
Customer #1: “And how much is it?”
Jackie: “Two dollars.”
Customer #1: “For this one? It looks bigger than the rest. Is the chocolate chip better or is oatmeal better?”
Jackie: “That depends on your personal preference really.”
Customer #1: “Can I have one of each to try?”
Jackie: “Yes, for two dollars each.”
Customer #1: “Ouch….”
(extended pause: silence)
Customer #1: “I’ll have an oatmeal please. To keep. That one, the big one.”
Customer #2: (white male, 30ish) Nothing. Silence. He leans in and speaks to her. It’s not a whisper, I don’t think, judging by the look on his face and hers. This isn’t a special quiet moment, just a quiet man. An order is placed, I assume, and Jackie goes to work. The gargle of milk frothery fills the air: score! A latte to go. He turns and leaves just as silently as he entered. No “thank you,” no acknowledgment of any exchange, or service rendered, or goods purchased. Bamf! He was gone in an instant.
Customer #3: (Italian couple, late 20s) “Hey.”
Jackie: “How are you?”
Customer #3: “Can I gets a small coffee and -for the lady- a small coffee as well. That’ll do its, yeah.” (Italian flirt talking and coochie coos ensue) “Let’s go back outside, is beautiful. Yes?”
Jackie: “So nice.” (she hands them their drinks and they leave speaking Italian to each other) “Have a good one guys.”
Customer #4: (white male, 35ish) “A coffee.”
Jackie: “Small or big?”
Customer #4: “Uh medium?”
Jackie: “We don’t have a medium.”
Customer #4: “Oh boy. No medium?! Grande then. Yeah?”
(he seemed impressed with his Starbucks wit)
Jackie: (no sign of annoyance) “So that’s a large?”
Customer #5: (black female, 25) “Iced latte.”
Jackie: “You got it.”
Customer #5: “You dont drink iced drinks do you?”
Jackie: “No.”
Customer #5: “But in the summer… when it’s hot… it’s better. Like, when I’m working outside a lot I always have one. And I feel like it goes better with my stomach too.”
Jackie: “I could see that, iced coffee is funny that way sometimes.”
Customer #5: “Yeah, desserts too.”
Jackie: “Here you go, that’s $4.25.”
Customer #5: (counts change from her pocket, no bills) “Uh oh…”
Jackie: “That’s okay, I’ll just put it on your tab!”
Customer #5: “No, I want to pay you today! How late will you be here?”
Jackie: “Until eight o’clock.”
Customer #5: “Okay, see you later then… I’m working late, definitely see you later.”
Customer #6: (Indian male, 40) “Hey.”
Jackie: “Hi, how are you?”
Customer #6: “Pretty good. Just a latte.”
Jackie: “For here or to go?”
Customer #6: “That’s a good question. For go. I mean, to stay here. Yep.”
(she works wonders with the espresso machine as he nervously paces around the cash register/counter area… moments later his drink arrives)
Customer #6: “The way you do that foam makes me want to touch it. The design on it. And I’m not even that into touching things.”
(he really said that. Her: no reply. He tries the latte…)
Customer #6: “Is that different espresso?” (he licks his lips (ew) as he tastes and talks. He sounds like Paul Giamatti’s character in Sideways…) “Usually it starts moving towards berries but not this one. It’s real nutty. And. It’s buzzing. It buzzes in my mouth and hints of something floral.”
Jackie: “No, it’s the same.”
(he tastes again in disbelief)
Customer #6: “Whatever happened to Derek?”
Jackie: “He’s at the other store. He had to move on.”
(another prolonged taste - he savors the coffee and the moment)
Customer #6: “I guess we all do eventually. But good news for us here, it just means more time with you! Right? Well I’ll be right over there like I always am. Look, you can see me from where you’re standing.”
Jackie: “Okay…”
Jackie threw down some verbal ellipsis that signaled the end of the conversation and I decided it might be the end for me too. I’d observed quite a few more interactions, and wrote them all down, but I left out most of them due to their utter banality. This one though, this one left me feeling the need to leave after witnessing the extraordinary discomfort. I had to go and find sanctuary outside the creepy customer zone. But not Jackie. She couldn’t escape it, she still had three more hours to go.
Poor Jackie.
Buy Rabbit Habbits HERE
*front thumbnail from HERE; top photo taken by me
EAR FARM’s 8+ is a weekly feature that showcases songs longer than 8 minutes. Click HERE to see the songs recently featured in EF’s 8+.
“Echelon” by Erik Syntax which clocks in at 8:20.
What is this? It seems I’ve unwittingly come across a secret society….a secret society of over two million people apparently, but a clandestine order nonetheless.
Are you ready for this? What if I were to tell you this society was accruing influence and disseminating propaganda via the following potent cocktail: a popular “music” cable television station whose demographic is, say, ages 12-21, a hunky actor cum emo musician, and a sloppily applied Latin catchphrase/slogan. You wouldn’t believe me, would you? I know, I wouldn’t have believed it either, until I fell down the rabbit hole a few days ago….
You see, it all started this past Sunday afternoon when I came across one of the many news pieces about the absurd $30 million lawsuit Virgin had brought against 30 Seconds To Mars – quick catchup for those who don’t know: 30 Seconds To Mars = the crappy, pompous band fronted by Jared Leto - for allegedly failing to deliver a new record on time. Sure, the sheer lunacy of a giant record company suing a band for such an astounding sum of money is fodder for endless analysis, speculation, and commentary, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about. What captured my attention was the lead photograph in this particular piece:
That my friend is 30 Seconds To Mars’ logo staring you in the face; a bit “involved”, yes? But lest the crop circle symbols orbiting the phoenix’s (or whatever winged creature that may be there) armpits distract you, take a gander at the Latin phrase on the underside of the logo.
Provehito In Altum.
Whoa. I found Leto’s arrogance in ascribing his vanity project its own Latin catchphrase captivating. I needed to know more and raced to find a translation to such pomposity. A quick Google search yielded the following: “reach for the heights,” or “launch forth into the deep.”
Meh. It seemed like a fairly hackneyed inspirational slogan, the kind you might find in your guidance counselor’s office hanging next to another poster of a cat hanging off the branch amidst the superimposed text “Hang in there!” Boring, right? I checked again to see if there were any alternate translations. And this is when I stumbled upon a conversational thread within the official 30 Seconds To Mars Forum (the “Pantheon” is what it’s haughtily called). A user named “Wake Up (!)” posted this message:
okay, so im getting a tattoo w/ “provehito in altum” on it and so i talked to a latin teacher today. he said that altum was correct and all, ya know to move foward (either heaven or hell/ up or down). anyways, he said that he didnt recognize “provehito”. it is a latin word, but it isnt the right ending
all in all, the meaning is correct, but the question is whther it is latin or not or if its either correct or not
Now, I’m not one to judge; in fact, I initially applauded “Wake Up (!)” for doing his/her research before eternally committing ink to skin. But then, after another user wrote back and said it must be okay since it’s the motto for “some university”, “Wake Up (!)” responded…
thanks. but i know what it means, i just thought it was weird that he said it wasn’t the right ending and that it was a command, not just a sentence.
but iehter way im getting it tomorrow at 1pm
Whaaa? Either (iehter) way you’re getting it? Meaning if it’s the correct translation you’re getting it, and if it means “Jared Leto sack gargle” you’re still going to get it? What’s going on here? These people were….committed. To Leto. To the Pantheon. To garbled Latin phrases.
Surely, there was some explanation. Delving further into the unwinding mystery, I found an MTV video interview with the dark sorceror himself, Jared Leto. If you have seven minutes to kill and have a high threshold for bullshit, watch below (if not, just skip over and keep reading):
Jesus he talks a lot, doesn’t he? I mean, he barely lets his bandmates get in a single word. Amidst all the grandiose self-love spewing from his eyeliner’d visage, did you catch that part in there around the 1:20 mark in which he spoke about the band’s fanbase? About how they’re a close-knit family who skulks across the country like Grateful Dead fans of yore? What was that name he just used for this “family”?
ECHELON.
Creepy. Nice try using benevolent associations with Jerry Garcia, but to me Echelon seemed less dancing bears and more MindHead from Bowfinger.
Want more proof? Hell, the internet’s full of proof. How about the YouTube video of another Echelon member (Echelonian? Echelonite?) getting the Provehito logo on her wrist?
Or what about this fiery response to a post on Best Week Ever comparing Clay Aiken fans (“Claymaniacs”) to Jared Leto fans (“Letotics”):
don’t bash the echelon…fuckfaces…. says:
August 11th, 2006 at 12:22 am
i am soooooooooo with the “letotics” as you put it. which is extremely lame by the way. i agree with anyone and everyone who says that clay aiken’s a homo. he can deny it all he wants…i think everyone knows he is but him. The Echelon, which i am proudly a member of, is not a bunch of “pseudo-goth” kids…if you saw me you probably wouldn’t even think that i went to their concerts and rocked out as hard as i fucking could.you shouldn’t be talking shit unless you go to a show and see how dedicated we really are. And don’t start talking shit on the Echelon because we are not crazy people who speak their own language. provehito in altum means march forth into the deep and maybe it means nothing to you, but it means something to me and the rest of the echelon. We are a family and we know that..we will support them as much as we possibly can whether you dumbshits like it or not.
PROVEHITO IN ALTUM [ECHELON]
Hey, this is serious. 30 Seconds to Mars has sold over two million albums! Do you know how many potential Echelonianites that translates to (hint: over two million)? And it gets worse; it appears that 30 Seconds From Mars has just been nominated for a Video Music Award, which means that come September 7th, Leto’s going to have access to the master tweenage pulpit (MTV) from which to address his minions. Don’t be surprised when the audio broadcast cuts out and you hear the very Norwegian dance song contained within this 8+ pump through your television and brainwash you into becoming one of them. Echelon Echelon Echelon, say it fast and it even starts to sound like a techno beat.
So let me offer a bit of cautious advice to the folks at Virgin Records….back off, man! Stop that lawsuit now! If you keep it up, Leto is going to unleash the entire Echelon army upon you. In Fight Club, the secret society members had mangled faces and visible injuries that gave their identity away fairly obviously; in Echelon, it’s a bit more subtle. Look closely for the Provehito In Altum tattoo. And when you see it, run for the hills. Echelon Provehito In Altum!
Buy Prima Norsk 2: Groovy Norwegian House Music HERE
*above photo from HERE
EAR FARM’s 8+ is a weekly feature that showcases songs longer than 8 minutes. Click HERE to see the songs recently featured in EF’s 8+.
“Kissing the Beehive” by Wolf Parade which clocks in at 10:53.
The Schmidt Sting Pain Index is a pain scale rating the relative pain caused by different Hymenopteran stings (wasps, bees, ants, etc.). The index starts from 0 for stings that are completely ineffective against humans and finishes at 4 for the most painful stings. In the original study, some descriptions of the most painful examples were given, e.g.: “Paraponera clavata stings induced immediate, excruciating pain and numbness to pencil-point pressure, as well as trembling in the form of a totally uncontrollable urge to shake the affected part.”
Subsequently, the scale has been refined. In 1990 a new study was published that classifies the stings of 78 species and 41 genera of Hymenoptera. Notably, Schmidt described some of the experiences in vivid and colorful detail:
1.2 Fire ant: Sharp, sudden, mildly alarming. Like walking across a shag carpet & reaching for the light switch.
2.0 Bald-faced hornet: Rich, hearty, slightly crunchy. Similar to getting your hand mashed in a revolving door.
2.x Honey bee and European hornet: Like a matchhead that flips off and burns on your skin.
2.0 Yellowjacket: Hot and smoky, almost irreverent. Imagine W. C. Fields extinguishing a cigar on your tongue.
The silly comparisons go on, but we’ll stop there. For it is that final stinging Hymenoptera with which we’re most concerned today: the Yellowjacket. More specifically, those Vespula maculifrons (the Eastern Yellowjacket) which build concealed nests, usually underground.
– –
Summer. August even, likely 1987. Yes, definitely. August 1987, hot as SHIT. It seemed hotter then than it does now. Not over extended periods of time, but just in spikes. Like, most days were probably in the low 90s, but this one day the temperature was around 140. That’s what it felt like at least. I remember, my friend Jay and I (name not changed, he deserves to be outed for what he did) were doing some work for his uncle to earn money. The job: move massive amounts of firewood from waaay over on one side of the house to waaay over on the complete, opposite, side. Seemed like busy work, prison work, even then. But hey, the pay was phenomenal. Fifty bucks! Fifty dollars each! An entire treasure chest full of loot to the two of us. Money that we were planning to use to go to Carowinds (and by “go” I mean have one of our moms drive us there) and/or buy some more Oakley sunglasses. Or, money that we’d find a way to spend on some manner of self-indulgently carefree material reward. Really, though we were working, we had no need for extra cash.
We also had no need to go fishing after our work was done. It wasn’t as if we needed to catch food for our families, or wasn’t as though we’d know what to do with the fish if/when we caught one. We’d struggle to grab a hold of it, take some rusty pair of pliers, and wrangle the hook out of its cheek before sending it off to be caught again by us the following week. The circle of life in a small suburban lake.
Okay. So, we also had no business jumping into that hidden little lake we were about to fish -it was a small adventure reaching it, down a path not traveled in years and through some thick brush- no business at all swimming there. It was still very pure and natural, not the kind of place one wants to swim. And Jay’s house, about a quarter of a mile down the road, had a swimming pool. An obvious target for two overworked sweaty youths. But no. We were hot and exhausted and ready for an adventure -always ready for an adventure- and jumping into that lake for the first time ever was the best thing we could come up with. In the past we’d stood on the edge and looked into the murky shallows but we never jumped in. All of that was going to change on this day.
So there we were, adventuring into the known wilderness. Towards Mount Lakemanjaro…fishing poles, swim trunks, tackle boxes and bait in hand. Come to think of it, I’m not certain we thought much of the impact that our swimming might have on the environment. Specifically, that it might’ve severely hindered our chances to catch any fish if we, say, jumped into the lake and splashed around a bit before trying to fish there. But, that’s what we did. We had to, because it was there; and, had never been done before. At least not by any kids we knew who’d lived to tell of it. The jumping into the lake was the daring part of our adventure, the bit that caused that day to go down in history as legendary was accidental. But, no less, legendary.
After an extremely quick dip into the water we setup a spot on the other side for the fishing part of our adventure (it’s worth noting that this might’ve actually been a pond…it was pretty small and unkempt…but there were fish there, and, to us, it was a lake). Not many fish had been caught in this spot, but word was that there were a few bigguns in there to be had, so we decided to use Jay’s lucky frog lure. The thing was magic, worked every time. And believe it or not, it worked almost as soon as it landed in the water this time.
“I got one! Shit! It’s huuuge!” Jay exclaimed. He reeled it in with difficulty but then realized it wasn’t coming out of the water without a net. “Here, you take the pole and hold it there. I’ll run home and grab a net.”
No problem. I stood with the beast as Jay’s fishing pole bent severely under its weight. It was BIG. But it wasn’t going anywhere, and by the time Jay returned it had little to no fight left in it.
“What the…?!” I questioned when he showed up with the net.
“It’s all I could find, watch out,” he said, moving me out of the way and taking the fishing pole. The net he’d returned with wasn’t just any net, it was a net with a ten foot long pole attached to it. The net that his dad used to clean the swimming pool. We both laughed at the incongruous nature of the situation as he struggled to get the fish into the net.
“You want some help?”
“No, I think I got…” he didn’t even finish what he was saying. Mid-sentence the awkward swimming pool net dropped like a seesaw with only one kid on it, the end of the pole landing right at my feet. In under a second I was covered, swarmed, attacked by a nest full of yellowjackets. Remember: Eastern Yellowjackets build concealed nests, usually underground; or, right next to where I was standing.
“Bees!!! Aaaaargh!!!” I screamed. Loudly, as loud as I ever have. I probably said a swear word or three before I took off running towards Jay’s house. The stings were happening in rapid-fire fashion. I could tell that some of the bees were stinging me over and over again. It felt like I was getting shot by a miniature .50 caliber machine gun as they attacked my chest, my face, my ears…everywhere. There were some caught in my bathing suit stinging away and some flying next to me as I ran, darting in for stings like kamikazes dive-bombing a battleship. Though I was in some form of mild shock, and probably not fully feeling what was happening to me, the pain was still outrageous. I couldn’t outrun them but I kept running, swatting in the air as I ran. Jay was right behind me screaming. We both were. That quarter mile to Jay’s house suddenly felt like five hundred miles.
What a sight it must’ve been for his mom when we finally reached home. She was already outside as we ran up screaming and crying and trying to tell her what had happened. Quickly she ushered us over to the garden hose and had us strip down. Bees fell off of us as we removed our clothes. Some hung there on our bodies, dead. Stinger in place: nest successfully defended. An honorable death.
The water from the hose felt like fire. Or our wounds did, something. All I remember thinking was “it’s not stopping, it HURTS!”
Once we got hosed down and put some dry clothes on we did the only thing we could. Sitting there, shocked, moaning and groaning, we tallied up our individual scores. Who was stung more?? An important question that needed answering. I secretly wished for my own mother to take a little extra time in arriving to pick me up so that we might finish counting. I had a feeling I was going to come out on top. The “winner”?
Jay: “21, 22… 25, I think. I have 25.”
Me: “42? No. 45, 46, 47? Is that…no, that’s just one big sting. So that’s 46? I have 46!”
Forty-six. That day, back in the summer of 1987, I was stung forty-six times by yellowjackets and lived to tell the tale. Ever since then I’ve felt a connection with bees and wasps. Closer to them. They no longer frighten me at all, and back when it happened I secretly hoped the experience would turn me into some kind of superhero. Shoot, Spider-Man was only bitten once. Me? There were stings everywhere. I figured I deserved some powers or something as a result, but ultimately, I was probably very lucky to come out of it as relatively unscathed as I did. I mean, I stood there right over a massive yellowjacket nest when it had a huge metal pole come smashing down upon it and the entire hive attacked ME, the intruder. Fair enough. Can’t go kissing a beehive and not expect to get stung.
– –
For the record, in regards to that Schmidt Sting Pain Index, I was in fact stung in my mouth. And I’d rather have W. C. Fields extinguish a cigar on my tongue than to experience the horrendous feeling of getting stung on the roof of my mouth again; all the while fearing I’d inhale or swallow the insect before consciously gathering it in my mouth to spit it out as I ran. Awful. And yes, that yellowjacket stung me on the way out too… twice.
Buy At Mount Zoomer on Amazon.
*above photo from HERE, front thumbnail from HERE.
EAR FARM’s 8+ is a weekly feature that showcases songs longer than 8 minutes. Click HERE to see the songs recently featured in EF’s 8+.
“Six Days At The Bottom Of The Ocean” by Explosions In The Sky which clocks in at 8:43.
If Olympic subplots of human rights violations and superhuman quests for eight gold medals haven’t really been doing it for you, perhaps you’d rather peruse the torrent of self-reflexive, media-focused stories polluting newswires like smog on the Beijing skyline. Welcome to the “Metalympics.”
Here you’ll find some of the following topics of varying urgency and importance: NBC is doing an admirable job in expanding its Olympic coverage, NBC will undoubtedly do a terrible job in its coverage, NBC’s viewers should boycott the Olympics and send a message to China, McCain is outspending Obama on advertisements aired on NBC during the Olympics, and oh right, of course, NBC’s viewers should be careful of coming across spoilers when watching the Olympics.
Lost in all of these tangential stories and pseudo-stories about NBC’s broadcast and online coverage is an honest assessment over one of THE most important aspects of watching the Olympics on television: MUSIC (what did you think it was going to be? We’re a music site, remember?)
The most applicable Olympic-music article I’ve come across came nearly three months ago in the June issue of Fast Company. This piece, “Strike Up The Band”, profiles the duo behind Audiobrain, a New York-based “sound-branding” firm entrusted with the enviable task of providing the soundtrack to the Beijing Games.
Their jobs sound amazing. Basically, they are the puppet masters manipulating and yanking at your heartstrings at precisely the right moment with precisely the right song. Matching moments like Muhammad Ali’s lighting of the torch in 1996’s opening ceremonies to an applicable bed of music may not sound like rocket science (more “Chariots of Fire”, less “Nookie” duh), but its impact on the overall viewing experience cannot be underestimated, at least according to the Fast Company piece:
No matter how immune consumers may believe they are to these kind of audio cues, they’re not made out of wood: Positive sounds have a 65% chance of changing listeners’ moods, according to sensory branding expert Martin Lindstrom.
Turns out we are all slaves to the music. Now, here are some more facts. Fact: The days of NBC embedding every human-interest story, athlete profile, daily recap, and medal ceremony throughout the Olympics with maudlin and dramatic musical swells are far from over. And though the network is making the move to expand its coverage online (which will hopefully mean we can bypass and avoid some of the more drawn-out human-interest pieces that regularly dominate the games), NBC’s primetime coverage will still dictate storylines and tell us how to feel, all of which will be delivered against sappy strains of music. So congratulations Audiobrain, your jobs are safe.
Fact: NBC and all of its affiliate networks and websites will be airing 3,600 hours of Olympic-related programming this month, which means that Audiobrain and NBC have to compile over 30,000 musical tracks to accompany every possible moment, emotion, victory, upset or defeat that could transpire over this period of time.
Fact: That’s a lot of work.
EAR FARM wants to make things easy on NBC, easy on Audiobrain, and most importantly, easy on the viewers. That’s why we propose that Explosions In The Sky be considered as NBC’s house band for the Olympics. It’s oh so simple; get them on the next plane out to Beijing, clear a corner of NBC’s Olympic Studios, set them up and let them play! Just like Max Weinberg, Kevin Eubanks and Paul Shaffer manage to puncture every flailing joke and awkward moment of late-night programming with a perfectly placed musical stinger, so will Explosions bring the inherent drama of the Games to the forefront by playing LIVE and in studio. Couple these live performances with the band’s entire pre-existing back catalog - which NBC could license in its entirety and use whenever appropriate - and we’ve got ourselves an instant Olympics soundtrack.
Not surprisingly, there’s a longstanding synergy that exists among the band, NBC, and televised athletics. As most are aware, Explosions’ music figures heavily into NBC’s critically adored series Friday Night Lights, adding just as much depth and texture to the show as the actors’ performances and authentic locations. Of course, the show is based on the 2004 film Friday Night Lights - in turn based on the Buzz Bissinger book of the same name – which Explosions not only scored but also contributed a few pre-existing tracks (including “Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean”). “Six Days” was also used by HBO in an episode of the documentary series Mayweather-Hatton 24/7 (more sports programming) while NBC has used brief pieces of other Explosions songs in several of its NFL broadcasts (more sports, more NBC).
So it’s really a no-brainer; they’re the perfect fit. Oh, but one last thing NBC, it may be best to save “Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean” as musical accompaniment for those moments in Beijing that occur outside of the pool. Consider guitarist Mark Smith’s explanation of the song’s meaning to the Austin Chronicle and you’ll see what I mean:
“It was written around the story of the Kursk, the Russian sub that sank to the bottom of the ocean. We were imagining what it was like to be those men at the bottom of the sea, trapped and desperate, running out of oxygen. [The song] gallops, getting faster and more intense until it just stops, and you breathe your last breath.”
Good to know, right? Opening ceremonies commence tomorrow evening. Let’s get them over there already. USA! USA! Explosions In The Sky! Explosions In The Sky!
Buy The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place on Amazon.
*above photo from HERE
EAR FARM’s 8+ is a weekly feature that showcases songs longer than 8 minutes. Click HERE to see the songs recently featured in EF’s 8+.
Entropy Reigns (Pearson and Usher’s Second Law Dynamix) by Kelley Polar which clocks in at 8:30.
Above video created using footage shot at the Mystic Aquarium & Institute for Exploration.
Buy Entropy Reigns EP on Amazon.
EAR FARM’s 8+ is a weekly feature that showcases songs longer than 8 minutes. Click HERE to see the songs recently featured in EF’s 8+.
“The Choisest View” by Modern English which clocks in at 11:40. Read more…
“Hurricane” by Bob Dylan which clocks in at 8:33.
Read more…
“Apparition et scène de Myrtha” composed by Adolphe Adam, performed by Wiener Philharmoniker (with Herbert von Karajan conducting) which clocks in at 11:42.
I don’t understand many things. And if you don’t mind, I’ll skip the witty culturally referential starter course list of some of them and get right to the matter at hand: I don’t get people who situate themselves as “music lovers” but yet won’t venture within 100 yards of anything classical, jazz, or generally made outside of North America and Europe - the so called “world music”. If anything, this music of the world is what gets a passing listen from most of these music lovers as they gobble up offerings from artists such as Vieux Farka Toure, Konono No. 1, Dengue Fever, Youssou N’Dour, Os Mutantes, and the like based solely upon critical hype that’s resulted from the records being reviewed in publications that cover pop, rock, country, R&B, and hip-hop. Read more…
“Nobody Girl” by Ryan Adams which clocks in at 9:40.
How many different Ryan Adams have you seen? Read more…
“Rio Bravo” by Brian Wilson which clocks in at 8:16.
Brian Wilson’s reclamation of his own legacy over the past five years has been nothing short of remarkable. Pop music’s very own Lazarus, the man who even 40 years ago just wasn’t made for these times now seems busier than ever. He’s simply unstoppable, working at a frenzied pace that rivals even his most manic era of musical immersion from back in the day. Read more…
“Money For Nothing” by Dire Straits which clocks in at 8:26.
There are very few songs that initiate a reflexive response within me similar to the old York Peppermint Pattie commercials (”When I bite into a York Peppermint Pattie, I get the cool sensation of ___”); and for those who are often in my company, I’d consider this a very good thing. The induced reaction I’ve had in the past to certain songs by Rush, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath is equal parts repressed metalhead and untamed Woodwose. It’s something best enjoyed from a distance, like Amy Winehouse, Cleveland, or the Duke lacrosse team. If you’re interested in witnessing the behavior for yourself, the best bet would be to have someone record the phenomenon on videotape so you can enjoy it later on YouTube. In fact, the resulting air guitaring alone has been known to cause minor injuries including (but not limited to) Read more…
“The Past Is A Grotesque Animal” by Of Montreal which clocks in at 11:53
Rome: 1992. We met in the garden. Among daisies and lillies and bumble bees and fountains made of sculptures of adorable fat little child angels and dozens of loud American high school students on holiday; only a small portion of which were themselves fat little children. Even with their ridiculously loud clothing, unconscionably loud mouths, and ‘hopefully I won’t get mugged’ fanny packs, these were our peers. Each of them was like us, but so much more obvious about their vexed malcontent.
There you were with your Public Image Ltd. t-shirt and belt buckle that screamed Texas. There I was with a hundred lines of poetry running through my mind and a camera pointed squarely in the face of each statue that came my way. Statues are so much easier to photograph than people, and friendlier too. I turned away as you walked by the first time, still able to see enough of you to catch passions just like mine hidden behind your eyes. Upon your second passing you caught enough of me to see I wasn’t much more than a clown. I was in the middle of showing off my skills of imitation. Your head whipped around, my friend laughed. It wasn’t what I’d call the most ideal manner of making a first impression… Read more…
“Somebody’s Gotta Win, Somebody’s Gotta Lose” by The Controllers which clocks in at 8:03
Matt and I made a bet. It is not without precedent, but more on that in a bit.
First, the good news. After what’s felt like a solid five to seven months of playoff basketball, the NBA Finals commence TONIGHT. “Ho hum,” you may say - or probably something less Grimms Fairy Tales-ish and more like “Who effing cares?” - but before your jock-averse eyes glaze over, consider the following: Read more…
“Bucky Little Wing” by Islands which clocks in at 9:38
“Bucky Little Wing” is a hidden track on the first Islands album Return to the Sea. Hidden in the puzzle above are 15 words pulled directly from the lyrics to the song. The words can be positioned forwards/backwards, up/down, and diagonally. If you’d like a hint, click HERE for a list of all 15 words you are looking for. Good luck! Read more…
