Cafe Tacuba, “Rarotonga”

• Samuel Barber, “Adagio for Strings” (According to Alex Ross, “whenever the American dream suffers a catastrophic setback, Barber’s Adagio plays on the radio.”)
• The Who, “Pictures of Lily” (Boy sees girl of his dreams and discovers she’s been dead for four decades.)
• Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, “Tears of a Clown” (When clowns aren’t creepy, they’re liars, or worse, opera fans.)
• Richard Thompson, “End of the Rainbow” (The author of ditties like “The Wall of Death” sings to a baby, claiming there’s nothing at the end of the rainbow. Thanks, Dad.)
• Nina Simone, “Little Girl Blue” (Bored, sad girl counts the raindrops and discovers evaporation.)
• Marty Robbins, “Streets of Laredo” (The singing gunslinger gets shot to death in “El Paso,” but that’s mild compared to this cowboy variation on the ancient “Unfortunate Rake” story.)
• Billie Holiday, “Gloomy Sunday” (The darkest version I’ve heard of the Hungarian Suicide Song. The composer later committed suicide.)
• Louvin Brothers, “Knoxville Girl” (The most violent song on the cherub-voiced death-gospel duo’s aptly named Tragic Songs of Life, reworking the English “Wexford Girl” murder ballad.)
• Big Star, “Holocaust” (Power pop drained of any power, words drained of any meaning, Beach Boys melodies sinking into quicksand.)
• Hüsker Dü, “Too Far Down”/ “Hardly Getting Over It” (The titans of melodic noise at their greyest, not seeing even a little light.)
• The Antlers, “Bear” (Heartbreaking ode to premature senility and the animal inside.)
• Etta James, “I’d Rather Go Blind” (Passive-agressive romantic obsession turns the lights out and entertains us.)
• Carter Family, “Engine 143″ (Lots of songs are metaphorical train wrecks. This one’s the real deal.)
• Graham Parker, “You Can’t Be Too Strong” (“The doctor gets nervous completing the service, he’s all rubber gloves and no head.”)
• Pernice Brothers, “Chicken Wire” (Garage clutter, exhaust fumes, and no redeeming sentiments.)
• George Jones, “He Stopped Loving Her Today” (Why? Because he’s dead, that’s why.)

That playlist could keep you in therapy for years. But none of them outdo the real King of Pain, Skip James. Blues was never bluer. On “Devil Got My Woman,” Skip out-depresses the whole field by declaring that he’d rather be the devil.

Skip James, “Devil Got My Woman”

Big Star, “Holocaust”

Nina Simone, “Little Girl Blue”

But let’s not get too smug about this. 911 was not a joke. Celebration seems in order this week, even if many of us are too tired and numb to find the right words. I’ll dedicate the selections below to the unsung heroes who patiently get their jobs done without bluster and self-promotion. In tribute to Mexico, where millions struggle for basic dignity while caught in a crossfire few of us understand, I’ll throw in some blustery promotion for my favorite Mexican painter and band. Rufino Tamayo, a former wrestler from a Oaxacan Zapotec family, was sometimes derided as too “historical” for resurrecting pre-Hispanic art. Yet his art was both traditional and subversive, finding a riotously colorful new context for centuries of forgotten folklore. Never claiming the only “right” path, he insisted that the fundamental thing in art is freedom.

Much the same could be said for Mexico City’s Cafe Tacuba, a band whose two decades of subersively traditional, traditionally subversive music are captured in a 2010 documentary, Seguir Siendo. Josh Kun’s essay on the band captures the dizzying number of moving parts involved:

Tacuba has always made music that strives to participate in international conversations while being identifiably Mexican. They referenced Mexican cultural history, wore huaraches in their videos, played acoustic contrabajo and acoustic jarana guitar, spliced son jarocho, boleros, and banda into punk, disco, and classical, and sang songs about the metro and falling in love with a chica banda. Their belief that they could be avant-garde without ever having to leave home—which they spelled out on Re (1994)—has made them a favorite of like-minded music boundary-pushers throughout the Americas.

“Seguir Siendo: Cafe Tacuba” (Lado B, Track 1)

Cafe Tacuba, “El Aparato”

Finally, to betray my own Midwestern nerd-rock roots, I’ll close out today’s cross-cultural rambling with a couple of extremely non-Mexican provocateurs who also delight in muddling the traditional and the subversive. The first is by Liz Phair, the almost-famous New York Times journalist and Bollywood rapper. As an Oberlin graduate, she’s highly qualified to rhyme “Cinco de Mayo” with “Burnout Ohio.” The second is by Bob Dylan, who eventually disbanded his Woody Guthrie tribute band to become an ace storyteller and the country’s finest deejay. His chronicles of Yankee power are highly recommended for long walks in the drizzling rain:

Señor, señor, do you know where we’re headin’?
Lincoln County Road or Armageddon?
Seems like I been down this way before
Is there any truth in that, señor?

Liz Phair, “Cinco De Mayo”

Bob Dylan, “Isis”



İzleyin:



Comparisons between Mideast and Midwest have obvious limits. Jon Stewart was only partly kidding when he claimed the real danger for Madison protesters was that they risked getting caught in a drum circle. Still, Wisconsin has had its own bumpy ride. For years, Wisconsin remained under the autocratic rule of strongman Brett Favre. The triumphs that followed his departure soon crossed paths with reactionary forces. But those days may be numbered. When Governor Scott Walker recently insisted upon removing public employees’ collective bargaining rights, he enraged leaders of the one institution in Wisconsin more revered than even the Lutheran Church: the world champion Green Bay Packers.

What does this have to do with music? Plenty. Even as Wisconsin returns to the forefront of progressive protest, pundits on both coasts tend to push it to the cultural margins. Ask about the “Wisconsin sound,” and some will think of aging brewers and dairy farmers singing to the cows between Chicago and Minneapolis, and the bored kids trying hard to avoid them. I could walk through the stereotypes, but Cheeseheads With Attitude have already done the job. And don’t call them losers.

In these troubled times, Wisconsin needs and deserves a more compelling soundtrack. To fill this void, I’ve prepared my own Wisconsin-centered playlist.

Violent Femmes, Kiss Off
Robin and the Three Hoods, That’s Tuff
Clyde Stubblefield, Funky Drummer
Hubert Sumlin, Down the Dusty Road
Goose Island Ramblers, No Norwegians in Dickeyville
Spanic Boys, Keep on Walking
Woody Herman, Goosey Gander
Chi Coltrane, Thunder and Lightning
Mustard Men, I Lost My Baby Now
Die Kreuzen, Man in the Trees
Oil Tasters, Get Out of the Bathroom
Les Paul, Vaya Con Dios
Bodeans, Fadeaway
Bunky Green, Step High
Richard Davis, Oh My God
Cedarwell, Weirdest Places
Bon Iver, For Emma

For those expecting seas of cheese, the talent of those associated with the Badger State might surprise you. The old-school hall of fame includes the Wizard of Waukesha, guitar innovator Les Paul, as well as longtime Milwaukee resident Hubert Sumlin, who earned his reputation as Howlin’ Wolf‘s guitarist. The incomparable bass work of Madison’s coolest professor, Richard Davis, graces two of my all-time favorite albums, Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks and Eric Dolphy’s Out to Lunch.

“Wisconsin” and “funk” aren’t words often heard together. But the mastermind behind the most influential breakbeat has also lived in Madison for decades. That man,Clyde Stubblefield, is the funky drummer behind James Brown’s “Funky Drummer,” whose heavily sampled signature riff is a cornerstone of hip-hop and funk. Tap the rhythm and enjoy the nonstop dancing in your head.

I’d better stop this regional rant before it starts sounding like Sufjan Stevens’ next concept album. But in this age of bearded bards in alternative rock, Wisconsin has two of the best. The best known is Bon Iver, whose heralded For Emma, Forever Ago emerged from singer Justin Vernon’s blustery retreat in a Wisconsin cabin. Thankfully, rather than turning into the Unabomber, Vernon produced an album that slowly smolders with surprising strength. More recently, I’ve been listening to Cedarwell, whose excellent 2010 album A Stone, A Leaf, A Door draws its title from one of my favorite novels, Thomas Wolfe’s Look Homeward Angel. Both the music and leader Eric Neave’s facial hair make me think of Iron and Wine’s Sam Beam. And as an added bonus, Neave has spent some quality time with Lars from Balcony TV.

The musical heritage of Wisconsin’s European immigrants is also far from the single vanilla flavor some might expect. James Leary’s book Polkabilly: How the Goose Island Ramblers Redefined American Folk Music provides a fascinating look at this largely unheard music of the upper Midwest. Leary provides a great account of how a Goose Island Ramblers performance baffled a panel of experts on traditional regional music:

Here were three men from South Central Wisconsin, togged out variously in Cowboy hats and Viking horns, playing a shifting array of instruments (guitar, mandolin, fiddle, eight string fiddle, one string electric toilet plunger, harmonica, Jew’s harp, jug, piano, accordion, and bandionion), singing in Norwegian, German, Polish, English, and “broken English,” while playing a repertoire that shuffled, bent and fused British and Irish fiddle tunes, ballads, and sentimental songs with Hawaiian marches, Swiss yodels, and the polkas, waltzes, schottisches, and mazurkas of Central and Northern Europe.

This may sound like a fictitious band that someone like Tom Waits might invent to annoy an interviewer. But the Ramblers were real, and really American as well. Music like this isn’t for everyone. I just happen to think that if you really want God to bless the USA, you should stop listening to Lee Greenwood and start learning how to play the electric toilet plunger.

Joshua Cohen, from Last Man Standing, reviewing John Brackett’s John Zorn: Tradition and Transgression (2008)

Yes, he’s alive. Is John Zorn the hardest avant-squawker in the ruggedly bookish tradition of revolutionary downtown geek-skronk, or just last night’s reason for a three-alarm headache? There’s no easy answer. Last weekend, most of us enjoyed Zorn’s live collaboration at Yoshi’s San Francisco with the Bay Area’s Rova Saxophone Quartet, whose fellow travelers (especially Larry Ochs) seemed Zorny as hell the whole evening. Zorn isn’t for everyone, and others wished for earplugs. I could rave about the saxophonist’s marriage of hermeneutics and harmolodics, his duck-like squawk while dipping his reed in a water glass, or his contribution to the sales figures for camouflage pants. But since that would probably put even me to sleep, I’ll simply count down my favorite John Zorn moments. And I bet he just hates lists.

Knitting Factory Diplomacy

Zorn abruptly stopped a May 1997 performance at New York’s Knitting Factory to hurl an epithet (“you up there…shut the f*** up”) at audience members who were talking loudly and seemingly ignoring the performance. The culprits turned out to be Vaclav Havel and Madeleine Albright, who were attending the performance as the guests of Lou Reed (Havel’s pal from his days as a playwright and music writer) and Laurie Anderson. Well, so much for the Velvet Revolution. But any resentment toward Lou and Laurie must have been temporary, since this year he performed live with them. And just to be consistent, Zorn hurled the very same epithet at Canadians suffering from ZAD (Zorn Attention Deficit).

Genius of Love

In a 2007 segment of “Who’s Not Honoring Me Now,” Stephen Colbert went ballistic harping on the Macarthur Foundation’s decision to honor Zorn with one of its lucrative genius grants. Pulling out a top hat and cane, Colbert feigned a tapdance to one of Zorn’s more screeching passages and wondered “where your little genius came up with that toe-tapper.” He also accused Zorn of stealing ideas from his legendary collaboration with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on bass, Hiphopketball: A Jazzebration.

Radical Jewish Dinner Theater

Since John Zorn has collaborated with both Blind Idiot God and Faith No More, it’s pretty obvious that he is a religious man. His journey through Judaism is evident in the solo album Kristallnacht, his work with the boundary-blurring Jewish ensemble Masada,and his efforts to expand the reach of radical Jewish culture with his impressive record label, Tzadik. But hey, anybody can sound like a prophet in a Wikipedia entry. I’m more impressed by his entry in Uncyclopedia, which noted: “Following a screening of Ken Burns’ ten-part series Judaism: What’s Up with That?, Zorn decided to renew his faith in the religion he was coincidentally born into. Despite retaining seemingly conflicting beliefs in Baphomet, witches, and Count Dracula, Zorn insisted on identifying himself explicitly with Radical Jewish Culture, an ancient musical well-spring experiencing a postmodern renaissance among the chosen few, like Madonna.” The same entry lists the two best fake quotes from Zorn:
• “The task of the creative musician today is to create a space for the unblemished, proud celebration of false ethnicity for middle-class nerds.”
• “Me so Zorny.”

John Zorn, “Invitation to a Suicide”

Stephen Colbert on John Zorn

John Zorn on John Zorn

First, let’s talk hair. Xavi’s Barça teammate Carles Puyol scored the winning goal, and as the late Warren Zevon might have noted, his hair was perfect. Puyol has a huge head of rock star hair that could have seen him waking up with Peter Frampton’s wine glass in his hand in 1976, sparking the dubious hair-metal craze in 1986, skateboarding with Pearl Jam in 1996, or opening for My Morning Jacket in 2006. More locally, Puyol’s hair would have easily qualified him to substitute for the lead singer in Barcelona band Sopa de Cabra (see the video below). To be sure, Puyol can’t match the legendary locks of Colombian soccer star Carlos Valderrama. But at the decisive moment in yesterday’s match, Puyol’s flowing tresses gave him an unusually wide target to receive the ball on Xavi’s corner kick and connect for the winning header. By contrast, close-cropped German striker Miroslav Klose, who might as well have been a member of Kraftwerk, stood nearby in disbelief.

In contrast to Argentina’s celebrated Hand of God goal 24 years ago, this one was perfectly legal. Still, it’s clear that Spain won by the hair of God, which can’t bode well for the follicly challenged Netherlands team that will face Spain in the final. In Spain’s honor, here’s an impromptu list of songs about hair:

Ben Vaughn Combo, “Wrong Haircut”
Nina Simone, “Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair”
Mongo Santamaria, “Afro Blue”
Calexico, “Hair Like Spanish Moss”
Danney Ball, “Let’s Give the Devil a Bad Hair Day”
Cowsills, “Hair”
Morrissey, “Hairdresser on Fire”
Pavement, “Cut Your Hair”
Beck, “Devil’s Haircut”
Blake Miller, “Long Hair”
Captain Beefheart, “Hair Pie, Bake 1 and 2″
Rogers and Hammerstein, “I’m Gonna Wash that Man Right Outta My Hair”

But wait, there’s more. Spain’s victory over Germany was also preordained by a precocious cephalopod. British-born Paul, who lives at an aquarium in Oberhausen, Germany, is the world’s most famous psychic Octopus. He has stunned the world soccer community by successfully predicting the outcome of 10 of 12 matches in which Germany has been involved dating back to 2008, including all six of its World Cup matches this year. Not everyone has appreciated the brilliance of the Oracle of Oberhausen. The Argentine newspaper El Dia unwisely suggested that he become the star of a paella recipe, and outraged German chefs have now followed suit. By contrast, Spanish chef José Andrés has removed octopus from the menu at all his restaurants. Paul has yet to weigh in on the outcome of the final match. Until then, the only thing I’m sure of is that neither side will be eating calamari or listening to the songs of bald musicians.

Sopa de Cabra, “Sents”

Mongo Santamaria, “Afro Blue”

Beck, “Devil’s Haircut”

Beatles, “Octopus’s Garden”

Bauhaus, “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”
Frightened Rabbit, “Head Rolls Off”
Cramps, “I Was a Teenage Werewolf”
Austin TV, “Shiva”
Parliament, “Dr. Funkenstein”
Rolling Stones, “Sympathy for the Devil”
Tom Waits, “Cemetery Polka”
Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, “I Put a Spell On You”
Sun Ra, “Space is the Place”
Dream Syndicate, “Halloween”
Philly Joe Jones, “Blues for Dracula”

Bauhaus: “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”

Dear Bauhaus,

Please be advised that Bela Lugosi has now been dead for 53 years. Time to move on with your lives.

Sincerely,
Stuck Between Stations.

Frightened Rabbit: “Head Rolls Off”

Like the proper Scotsmen they are, Frightened Rabbit charms schoolchildren everywhere with this cheeky ode to decapitation.

Cramps: “I Was a Teenage Werewolf”

RIP Lux Interior, who lost his exterior this year. This one’s from the aptly titled Songs the Lord Taught Us, although the teacher may have been the other guy, the one with the horns. That is, Alex Chilton.

Austin TV: “Shiva”

From the video description, which may have lost something in translation from Spanish: Mario Lupo and his xoloscuincle dog, Kerdoc “accidentally fell in a hidden magic forest which at the end results in the Devil´s cave.” Haven’t we all had that dream?

Parliament: “Dr. Funkenstein”

If you’re George Clinton, every day has been Halloween for the last 68 years.

Rolling Stones: “Sympathy for the Devil”

A children’s craft website thanks Tyrone for this fun idea for a Keith Richards Halloween costume: “Take brown hair (wig or your own if you have brown hair), rub balloon on head till hair stands up on top and if you want to tie wide cloth ribbon around your head. Next blot lots of makeup on face so it creases. Complete with an open button down dress skirt, straight leg jeans and a toy guitar.”

Tom Waits: “Cemetery Polka”

You always have to turn to Tom Waits for touching, sentimental family drama: “Uncle Phil can’t live without his pills/He has emphysema and he’s almost blind/And we must find out where the money is/Get it now before he loses his mind.”

Screamin’ Jay Hawkins: “I Put a Spell On You”

Listen to Creedence’s version if you want true grit, or Nina Simone’s version if you want erotic mystery. But nothing beats the man himself for sheer theater, and a great excuse to put on a cape.

Sun Ra, “Space is the Place”

Don’t believe those “birthers” who try to claim Sun Ra really wasn’t from Saturn. He was the real deal.

Dream Syndicate: “Halloween”

Urban myth debunked: Steve Wynn, the singer/songwriter who ran the Velvet Underground-obsessed Dream Syndicate, is not also the billionaire hotel magnate who once put his elbow through a priceless Picasso he was about to sell. That would be the other Steve Wynn.

Philly Joe Jones: “Blues for Dracula”

Hard bop may not have been the scariest genre in music history, but Philly Joe was one of its best drummers (see the unrelated clip below). On the title track of the 1958 Blues for Dracula, you can hear him mugging like the Count before getting down to business with Nat Adderly and Johnny Griffin.

If that’s the case, the companies must now be furious, since his list has now inspired a slough of counter-lists and rejoinders. A rival music publication, Snoozer, published its own list, largely to chide Kawasaki for assigning his number-one ranking to Happy End’s early seventies chamber-folk classic, Kazemachi Roman. Yet another site features contemporary Japanese bands, offering the latest on the likes of Parabellum Bullet, 54-71, and Avengers in Sci-Fi, not to mention band-name-of-the-year-nominee Wagdog Futuristic Unity.

Before I get completely lost in translation, I’ll take a short scavenger hunt through five decades of J-rock. Wander for yourself and find your own happy end.

The Jacks, “Jacks No Sekai”

Happy End, “Kaze Wo Atsumete”

The Plastics, “Top Secret Man”

Boredoms, “Super Go”

Cornelius, “Count Five or Six”

Parabellum Bullet, “Wanderland”

Roy Orbison, “Love Hurts”

Otis Redding, “Try a Little Tenderness”

Etta James, “I’d Rather Go Blind”

Joy Division, “Love Will Tear Us Apart”

Bon Iver, “Skinny Love”

George Jones, “He Stopped Loving Her Today”

Fairport Convention, “Who Knows Where the Time Goes”

Antony and the Johnsons, “Fistful of Love”

Zoe Krylova’s picks

PJ Harvey: rare steak and a baked potato
Patti Smith: hot chicken curry
Devendra Banhart: venison stew and a chimay
Vetiver: salad of mixed greens and wildflowers, elderberry wine
Bjork: dim sum
Joni Mitchell: assorted crackers and exotic cheeses
Neil Young: ribs
Classical Indian music: samosas and chai
Sun Ra: dark chocolate and smoothies
Reggae: jerk chicken & fresh lemonade

P.J. Harvey, “When Under Ether”

Sun Ra, “Pink Elephants”

Scot Hacker’s Picks

Elizabeth Cotten: For doing Fahey before there was Fahey, for being a chick doing the real gospel blues, for doing sweet folk without getting all Joan Baez on our asses, for making me float. Listen here. Note: The video above doesn’t do Cotten justice – definitely check out the Smithsonian collection of her works for the full effect. Recommended eating: Goat curry with IPA.

Music of Indonesia, Vol. 20: Indonesian Guitars: For reminding that none of us have heard the end of what the guitar is or does, or how it sounds. There’s always more pineapple to suck the juice out of, one more finger to lick. For reminding that the delta between Daniel Johnston, Japanese koto, and Bill Harkelroad converges on the Indian Ocean. Listen here. Recommended eating: Chicken satay and limeade.

Elizabeth Cotten, “Freight Train”

Roger Moore’s picks

Nick Lowe, “Let’s Eat”: bangers and mash, Boddington’s Pub Ale
Fats Waller: “All That Meat and No Potatoes”: cassoulet, Chateauneuf-de-Pape
Nina Simone, “I Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl”: creme brulee, armagnac
Lee Perry, “Roast Fish and Cornbread”: escoveitch fish, Jamaican cornbread, Red Stripe
Ramones: “Everytime I Eat Vegetables it Makes Me Think of You”: Nathan’s hot dog, root beer
Amadou and Miriam, “Senegal Fast Food”: thebouidienne (fish stew), hibiscus juice
Hank Williams, “Jambalaya”: jambalaya, crawfish pie, file gumbo, Everclear
John Lennon, “Cold Turkey”: turkey sandwiches, black coffee, aspirin
Roches, “The Troubles”: strawberry-apricot pie, milk
eX-Girl, “The Tofu Song”: kobe beef, cold sake
Cafe Tacuba, “Raratonga”: cochinita pibil, Dos Equis Amber
Howlin’ Wolf, “300 Pounds of Joy”: barbecue, lemonade
Wilco, “Pot Kettle Black”: Chicago deep-dish pizza, Goose Island Ale
Billie Holiday, “All of Me”: fava beans, a nice chianti

Amadou and Miriam, “Senegal Fast Food”

eX-Girl, “The Tofu Song”

Nick Lowe, “Let’s Eat”

Christian Crumlish’s picks

Van Morrison: steak and kidney pie
Pavement: corn dogs
Emmylou Harris: hush puppies
Mike Watt: truck stop empanadas
Tom Waits: possum

Pavement, “Gold Soundz”

Mike Watt, “Big Train”

Benoit Baald’s pick

Guns n’ Roses: pu-thay [Editor's note: we think this is an Asian dish, but Baald is unavailable for comment]

Dan Haig’s pick

Recommended listening: The stuff that’s somehow still coming out of my fingers.

Recommended eating: I find it very hard to eat and play at the same time. Sort of like walking and chewing gum, only much harder.