Unwrapping the Rhapsody, part 2: This Musical Life

A co-worker is currently graciously sharing his free trial of Rhapsody with me, a program he described as Microsoft's iTunes, which is about as much as I know about tracking down music on-line. At the risk of incriminating myself of cyber-crimes, I'm one of an admitted many that have participating in file sharing to acquire his music, but to my credit I usually only indulge in downloading tracks I've already purchased in the past, on albums I've either lost of damaged. I'm actually pretty narrow-minded when it comes to music; I still like what I've always liked, and I struggle to integrate new material into my daily playlist. So I've wondered what to do with Rhapsody, with this preciously time-sensitive all-access pass to the entire spectrum of music as we know it!

I wholeheartedly embrace my personal eras in musical taste, though some would say distaste, as I proudly pledge allegiance to bands and musicians definitively out of style. For example, I grew up on the Monkees, period. Some still debate their validity as a band, including Micky Dolenz himself, who, in his introduction on CMT's Gone Country, said he played the drummer on a television show, despite their tours as a band and his legitimate talent! While my friends embraced MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice, I transitioned into the likes of Bryan Adams, Sheryl Crow, and the Crash Test Dummies, when they were still dubbed rock 'n roll. Yes, today's adult contemporary was yesterday's rock 'n roll, in those last gasp years before "alternative," "punk," and "emo"* became the rebel genres of choice. A friend introduced me to Face to Face, and their self-righteousness struck a chord with me (heh) that both matched and transcended their thrashing pace -- so they remain my one and only alternative/punk favorite from those wayward early '90s.

(*I just recently heard of the "screamo" genre, the prodigal son of punk and emo that apparently best describes the likes of Dashboard Confessional, whose "Vindicated" from the Spider-man 2 soundtrack has always been my favorite musical companion to Tobey Maguire's pouty Peter Parker.)

While few would still proudly claim Bryan Adams a personal favorite, the late '90s remain my most enduring and universally accepted era, with the Dave Matthews Band and the Barenaked Ladies becoming linchpins in my playlist. Their balance of frivolity, i.e. DMB's sexual hyperbole and BNL's frequent lyrical goofiness, with the seriousness of autobiographical tunes like "Warehouse" and "What a Good Boy," respectively, best reflect the time a boy leaves the nest of home and high school to become a man at college -- which is exactly when I embraced them. David Gray shortly followed with his White Ladder, the album that made hit "Babylon" an overplayed guilty pleasure.

Now, my love for karaoke sckewed my musical development a bit, as I found myself most comfortable singing songs like Billy Joel's "Piano Man" and most recently John Cougar Mellancamp's "The Authority Song," tunes that I didn't consider personal favorites until they won me some acclaim onstage. Hearing those old radio hits coming out of my own mouth gives their otherwise dated lyrics new personal meaning; now, I liken Bon Jovi's Tommy and Gina to a modern day Romeo and Juliet in both romantic clout and lyrical significance! Like when you shake a bedsheet to roll and smooth out across a mattress, karaoke kicked up the wrinkle of those forgettable '80s and '90s jams so I could be comfortable with them in my mp3 player, too.

In recent years, I've embraced the ambient sounds of the Postal Service and Keane, the folksy blends of Farmer Not So John and Eddie from Ohio, and a smattering of odd pop jams like Li'l Mama's "Lipgloss" to round out an ironically eclectic yet still painfully narrow-minded playlist. So, the question remains -- What am I supposed to do with the whole world of music at my fingertips?

Well, firstly, I've collected my favorite artists' latest stuff. Let's face it: everybody hates their favorite bands' new stuff until it becomes just another part of the old stuff. I felt this way about David Gray's White Ladder album; it was so good that I was sure his follow-ups would pale in comparison, and I didn't bother. I mined some of his older material through re-releases and found it inconsistent, an artist trying to find his voice, so I figured White Ladder was appropriately as far as he could climb. Boy, was I wrong! Tracks like "Alibi," "Ain't No Love," and "Slow Motion" from his album Life in Slow Motion have become instant favorites. I've even found some incredible live versions of these tunes on YouTube, and would you believe that "Alibi" actually has a story-driven music video? Whatever happened to those days?

Yes, also, live tracks of old favorites have become a must to download. The Dave Matthews Band and Barenaked Ladies are infamous for their available live material, but live albums from Toad the Wet Sprocket, R.E.M., and Counting Crows have breathed new life into the overplayed radio hits I fondly remember from the '90s. See, this is where the branching out begins. Knowing these bands only from what I've heard on the radio, I actually begin to enjoy their other lesser known tracks. In turn, the band's overall musical identity, not what I had expected, broadens my pallet to other, similar tastes. Ideally, I should experience these past three decades in a way I never have before, as if I'd always owned these albums, saw these bands live, and lived a more comprehensive musical experience. The key word is ideally.

The thing about downloading music on either side of the legal spectrum is the threat that "the album" loses its identity, and by proxy, the band does, too. Imagine if "Money" was the only track you'd ever heard from Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. Does that hit represent the psychedelic context of the album as a whole? Even if the album weren't conceptual like that, consider this: If "Everything I Do (I Do It For You)" from the Robin Hood soundtrack was the only Bryan Adams song you'd ever heard (and for many, it is -- and thanks, last week's episode of Family Guy, for nailing that stake in the coffin), you'd never know of his earlier rip-roarin' tunes like "Summer of '69" or "Kids Wanna Rock." Downloading an artist's work by disjointed track is like trying to appreciate a painting via one piece of a puzzle -- and that's where the music industry is headed.

Worse, consider how American Idol operates. The mission: We're going to find the next big pop star by making contestants sing other people's songs. Then judges throw out criticisms like, "We don't know who you are as an artist," and, "That was very karaoke." Listening to some of the top artists and hits that Rhapsody has to offer . . .?

I couldn't have said it better myself. Ever hear that old saying, "Stick with what you know?" Right now, it's music to my ears.

The Karaoke Chronicles: The Sixth Night of Russmas

On the way to McClure's Bar and Grill in Tustin, I mused aloud to my girlfriend, "The sixth night of Russmas . . . We're halfway there, baby!" She managed a grin, but I could tell the marathon was getting to her, and honestly I'm feeling the strain, too. Even if we stay at a place for just an hour or two, getting home by or before midnight, this is the week before that other holiday everybody's bustling about, and that has its own traditions to maintain, as well.

Fortunately, McClure's, right down the street from my favorite local comic book shop, has a warm, inviting atmosphere, with those old padded booths I like, where even a fatigued mind can relax and enjoy some karaoke. The K.J. is a no nonsense type, rapidly calling singers to the stage and avoiding the spotlight altogether -- a rare trait in any karaoke jockey. The crowd was a younger sect, too -- the guys a gang of Weezer rejects, the gals a group of watered down Gwen Stefani disciples, all in the best way possible, I assure you. Just south of the Orange Crush (I think that's what they call that assemblage of freeways in OC), this place was the polar opposite of the previous night's TomKat Lounge, the distinction between north and south Orange County.

The song slips boasted three places to list tunes, so if you know what you want to sing, one trip up to the K.J. is all it takes to load up for the night. I haven't seen that in a long time, but the pressure is on -- you know, sometimes the mood changes between songs, and you want to switch things up. On the other hand, once you're in the rotation, you're in, so the format has its advantages. Because of our aforementioned fatigue, I only sang two out of the three songs I listed, with no regrets:

"One Week" -- Barenaked Ladies
"Two Princes" -- Spin Doctors

The Barenaked Ladies and the Dave Matthews Band have vied for the "my favorite contemporary band" position for almost a decade now*, and while "One Week" isn't my favorite of their songs, it's a fast, favorite '90s tune; besides, I think the best BNL song, "What a Good Boy," might put off a crowd . . . that's not to say I wouldn't sing it. Also, Aquaman gets a mention, Superman did in Saturday night's Dave Matthews ditty "Where Are You Going," so . . . if only Martian Manhunter got a plug in a Gin Blossoms song, or something, I might be able to get the whole Justice League out there by the end of Russmas! Ah, but that would be having my birthday cake and eating it, too.

"Two Princes" was a random old radio play favorite I've never sung before, but I don't think I'm Bohemian enough to really pull it off.

The highlight of the night came when someone sang the new Killers song "Human," which everyone I talk to seems to agree is the worst Killers song ever. (According to a coworker, people have recently called KROQ and asked them to stop playing it!) On top of the song's hokey lyrics, the guy sang it terribly, and our grumblings were loud enough to attract the attention of a dude dancing (hence, not human?) nearby. When we shared our disgust with the song, he snidely replied, "Oh, yeah, like that whole 'soul/soldier' song is any better . . ." My friend Stephanie didn't even let him finish. "Shut up! That's the best Killers song!" Soldiers we all became, defending our positions on the matter.

A quick interlude here: Our favorite karaoke venue, Durty Nelly's (coming the Tenth Night of Russmas), boasts a few devoted regulars, one of whom, a Scottish guy, sings the Killers' "All These Things That I've Done" expertly and way enthusiastically. It's become a staple of our Durty Nelly's experience, and why I'd never sing the song there (and hence have opted to sing it twice elsewhere these past few nights!). Also, between the accent and the guy's outed homosexuality, he's a hit with the ladies, mine included. Musing about the tune a few nights ago, my girlfriend summed it up best, explaining that the song has nothing but fond memories attached to it, Nelly's and all. (I particularly liked it at the end of the Pierce Brosnon vehicle The Matador.) So, enter this guy, with the gall to suggest the song barely even has lyrics!

Also, I must insist that this guy looked like Zephram Cochrane as portrayed by James Cromwell in Star Trek: First Contact, weird beanie and all.




Stephanie quickly changed her next song choice to the ditty in question to prove the tune's catchy viability and multi-faceted lyrics. Mission accomplished, and, in her words, the fellow was owned. When he then challenged her to a dance contest, shortly after describing dancing as a vertical expression of a horizontal activity, his true colors were revealed. Talk about moving at warp speed. We left shortly after, the spirit of Russmas still thick in the room, if not also in that guy's pants.

In brief, I would definitely hit up McClure's again. With three nights of karaoke, Tuesday through Thursday, it offers a fun mid-week respite in an inviting atmosphere, even one that inspires rousing debate. The joint lets you be human and, uhm, dancer, whatever that really means.

* For the record, the Monkees are "my favorite band of all time," with Face to Face reserved for "my favorite punk band," and Bryan Adams "my favorite male performer," though his back-up band, with Keith Scott on guitar, is awesome and necessary for old favorite like "Cuts Like a Knife." Just so you know. "My favorite female performer" is still open for suggestions, though Whitney is a strong contender . . .

The Karaoke Chronicles: The Third Night of Russmas

Saturday, December 13, 2008. The third day of Russmas began with yet another holiday event at work, but my co-workers were obviously too pooped for another egotistic extravaganza, so my girlfriend and I ventured into the night alone, which was just as well considering the location was where we met. Mulberry Street is a restaurant in downtown Fullerton, one of the city's relatively recent additions in the quest to revitalize its historical, traditionally antique shop-ridden district with a nightlife for local college students and the upper middle class. When my girlfriend and I met there in May (through an old co-worker of mine I had converted to the karaoke cause and who was just as excited to find it in such an upscale venue), the singing was in full swing, but this time we arrived way too early, and patrons were still enjoy their fine dining experience. The night before, we were rushing to beat last call, and Saturday, we were ahead of the game. Who says third time's the charm?

I've always lamented about the few places that offer karaoke before 9 p.m. If I want to sing a quick song during my lunch break, why not? What are we so ashamed of, that the karaoke has to wait until the cover of darkness? Well, Mulberry takes that shame a step further, saving its open mic for a late 11 o'clock. Even then, some diners were still enjoying their meals -- darn near elderly patrons at that, so when the K.J. cranked her pre-performers tunes, they grumbled almost as loudly. Now, Earth, Wind, and Fire's "Reason" has sentimental value to me, as one of my boss's favorite songs and the one we played at his birthday roast a few years ago, but cranked to eleven during supper? Mulberry Street's decidedly Caucasian crowd, the senior citizen dinner table, and the R&B rhythms flowing through the joint created the perfect storm for the awkward Russmas spirit.

Mulberry's dark wood hues inspired me to sing some slower songs, like a lounge act or something, so my choices were:

"She's Got a Way" -- Billy Joel
"Where Are You Going" -- Dave Matthews Band

"She's Got a Way" was for my girlfriend, since the night turned into a reminiscent date, and, come on, it takes a special woman to endure twelve nights of karaoke, particularly at some of the dives we'll frequent. Her dedication adds a new, intimate meaning to the lyrics, "She's got a way of showin'/How I make her feel/And I find the strength to keep on goin'."

"Where Are You Going" was for me, as I'm a big Dave Matthews Band fan. For all my years of karaoke, though, this was my first foray into the DMB, mainly because Matthews has such a distinct voice, I was afraid of the comparison I'd inflict upon myself. It's one thing to sing along loudly with friends, as my old high school chums did as we cruised those mean Peoria, Arizona streets, but it's another to perform for a crowd, through an unforgiving microphone. As soon as I heard myself, I regretted the choice . . . then, the recently, dearly departed LeRoi Moore's saxophone chimed in an instrumental interlude, and I was almost honored to deliver the tune.

While the Dave Matthews Band has plenty of more beloved, potential crowd-engaging songs to choose from, "Where Are You Going" is a good introspective tune, reminiscent of the life-changing work that I do. Further, with a mention of Superman, it seems comprehensive to my obsessions enough to stand as the only DMB tune I croon in these twelve days . . . unless there's a "Dave Speak" version out there with some reference to Twinkies or Little Debbie snack cakes that I haven't heard yet.

I hadn't realized I'd scheduled two restaurants in a row, but El Torito and Mulberry Street seem to represent either side of the restaurant-turned-karaoke joint phenomenon. Whereas El Torito caters to a karaoke-centric crowd in a well-lit adjacent bar yet closes early, Mulberry Street offers karaoke in a darker corner of downtown to socialites that happen to stumble in on the later (presumably much more shaky) leg of their bar-hopping. At El Torito, the guy that sang "Careless Whisper" also tried (and succeeded at) a fast-paced rap song, apparently just for the vocal experience, while at Mulberry Street, some goof sought to entertain his friends by inserting the b-word into an otherwise harmless Hendrix tune. Hey, karaoke is Japanese for "empty orchestra," which implies that anyone can fill that void, even if they're a little empty themselves.

Thankfully, Mulberry Street has been a little more fulfilling for me, not just on the third night of Russmas, but on that warm May night earlier this year, too, when I met the woman brave and patient enough to survive these twelve nights of self-indulgence with me. I doubt she thought then that this is where she'd be going, but that way about her makes anything possible.

*LeRoi Moore suffered and died from injuries from an ATV accident earlier this year, and I wrote an eulogy for him here.