A Year of Blind Spots: How Will the Wolf Survive?

There are multiple entry points into Los Lobos, depending on which direction you are traveling from.

 

If you a pop music aficionado, then you will recognize their one big hit, "La Bamba," a cover of a Ritchie Valens song for a Ritchie Valens biopic. It hit #1 on the Billboard 100, and not only was this absolutely Los Lobos' only #1 hit, but it was really their only dalliance with pop music success at all. Think about it—a late '80s hit of a '50s cover sung entirely in Spanish by a former wedding band. Pretty unlikely!

If you are a classic rock fan, then you might recognize Los Lobos' signature sound from the concluding song on Paul Simon's classic album Graceland. If Graceland is a travelogue, with music spanning the globe, to Africa and back, then the adventure ends firmly on the Mexican border with "All Around the World or the Myth of Fingerprints." You might think this song sounds like Los Lobos, because it actually is Los Lobos, acting as Paul Simon's backing band for but a brief moment. To this day, the members of Los Lobos are very upset that Simon fucked them and didn't give them a writing credit for a song that is so clearly theirs.

If you are an XPN/dad-indie fan, then you might recognize them because... well, Los Lobos is still out there, making new music, attracting new fans and/or keeping their old fans from their 1980s breakthrough. There is a very specific type of boomer who could easily recognize the singles from 2015's Gates of Gold, but would have no fucking clue that this is the band who sang that fucking "La Bamba" song they heard so many times in their youth.

As for me? Well, I was able to put all the pieces together eventually. Who knows how or why I put How Will the Wolf Survive? down on a "to listen to" list year(s) ago. Probably a comment section somewhere recommending it. The dominoes fell eventually—holy shit, they are that Graceland band? and they sing that "La Bamba" tune? and my dad is listening to them on college radio?!—but not really until recently. And most importantly, I don't even know if any of that shit necessarily informs my opinion of this particular album. I really just wrote all that so you, the reader, had the dots connected for you before you dug in.

Nah, here's what my opinion really boils down to. It's a question, actually: is this shit too corny for me?

There's a bit of rockabilly here, a bit of Tex-Mex folk, a bit of barroom blues, a bit of... polka. Maybe it's that last one that got me. Polka? At least Weird Al used the genre as a vehicle to say something about non-polka music. The polka here is played completely straight. And polka is decidedly not cool.

Neither is any of this, really, if I'm being completely honest. Music doesn't have to be "cool" for me to like it, of course, but man, Los Lobos are pushing so far in the opposite direction that I'm really only going to like this is it comes back around completely, if it's so brutally honest and sincere and lame that I start to admire it.

The more I listen to it, the more I think How Will the Wolf Survive? at least achieves that. There's a time and a place for cornball music, and Los Lobos manages to find it. I'm actually thinking now that it might be better to say that this music slots neatly into an "oldies" category. Now, 1984 is not "oldies" by any means, and this is three years before "La Bamba"—a cover of an actual oldie—rose to the top of the charts. But it still has that same type of sound, ya know?

This tracks for a band whose first 500 gigs were wedding receptions. Maybe that's the main story here. Los Lobos member Louie Pérez once said, "If you are a Chicano and you got married between 1973 and 1980, we probably played your wedding." When you consider this, in combination with the fact that accordion music has a rich history south of the border, then maybe all the polka shit starts to make sense. And maybe, like at a wedding, I just need to shed the self-consciousness, and just fucking enjoy myself here. Corny? Who cares, man.

Anyways, throw this album into the pile marked "TBD BUT WILL LISTEN AGAIN SOON."

We Are Not Your Kind, Rachel S.

Here's another un-review! Let's go back to the years 2002-2004. My sophomore through junior years of high school. Me, a sensitive straight-A kid full of anxiety and insecurity. I listened to a lot of pop-punk/emo. WE ALL KNOW THIS! At this time I hung with a few sk8er bois and metal heads. And yes, they were all huge fans of Slipknot. They dressed up as them for Halloween and came into school in jumpsuits and the masks and the whole nine yards.

I kind of slid into that group via a much more popular and at the time "hotter" friend (let's call her Ayn Rand if for no other reason than she read the Fountainhead in the twelfth grade and became one of those people. No really, she's a pro-cop far-right republican these days). Well, at least she was my friend, but as I later found out, I was more of a frenemy to her, someone she kept around just to put down, you know? Guys liked hanging out with me, but not a single one wanted to date me because I was chubby and smart and worst of all... funny. I was completely threatening and unthreatening all at once. HIGH SCHOOL!

I bought a pair or two of UFO pants and wildly wide-legged jeans. They were awful in the rain. I was a Hot Topic/PacSun kid for no other reason than that's what my "friends" were into. Again, it was high school and I was just trying to get by. This was also the era of Jackass, so I spent a lot of afternoons watching these same dum-dum idiot boys jump off of trees and make themselves pass out by holding their breath for too long. I regret all of it! Whenever I see teenage girls on the boardwalk trying to get the attention of these types, I just want to shake them YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS! GO HANG OUT WITH PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY WANT TO BE AROUND YOU!

I sort of got bored by their buffoonery, but still wanted them to like me and think I was cool. I guess I thought it made me more of an interesting smart kid if I dyed my hair? Who knows. In any case, things took a turn for the worst toward the end of junior year when the more they got into heavy/nü-metal and Insane Clown Posse / Juggalo culture, they all started spouting off racist shit openly and often. They used the n-word casually and laughed it off when I spoke up about how deeply fucked up it all was. I'd had enough. I walked away.

So naturally, that was their cue to start bullying me. Prank phone calls and weird letters in the mailbox. I got totally iced out by other friends who I considered really close ones, but who also knew this crew. Comments in the hallways. Mean looks. Ayn Rand was the ringleader of the attack. One day right before class one of the clowns just yelled out "YOU'RE FAT!" while I was talking to someone else. Everyone got quiet and just stared at me (thankfully the kind smart jock guy I was talking to just yelled back "What the FUCK we weren't even talking to you!" and then he got reamed out by the teacher soon after). It was a rough period. Also, that guy was eventually expelled from college for getting too drunk at a party and punching a cop when they came to break it up. Karma, you know.

So, I went back to my roots. I hung with my friends in theater, orchestra, and Spanish class. The ones who actually liked the things I liked. The ones I didn't have to really pretend around. They surrounded me and loved me. They pushed back at the people who bullied me. They danced with me at the prom. They got me. And maybe most importantly of all... they didn't make me listen to any nü-metal. 

We Are Not Your Kind, Nate

It is tempting to write about anything other than the music—the nü-metal alignment and initial success, the masks, the trash-can drums, the masks, the celebrity sons, the deaths, the different masks, the three(!) consecutive(!) number one(!) albums, the longevity and staying power as a survivor of the trend that brought them into the public's lives in the first place, Iowa, the feuds, the lead singer's other bands, and, of course, the clothing line.

All of that stuff is well and good, and some of it is more meaningful than the other stuff (Can you believe that THIS band, of all the hard-rock bands from the mid-to-late '90s, is the one that has emerged as the legacy standard-bearer for metal-as-pop music? Is that not a minor fucking miracle all its own? Have you not seen the masks? Are you aware they still have, and have had for their entire existence, a DJ as part of the band? Is that not proof of a divine presence / complete lonesome spiritual chaos voidhood in all our lives?).

Whatever. We Are Not Your Kind employs dual song structure tactics to maximum effect; the tunes here are both LOUD-quiet-LOUD (or, perhaps, EXTREMELY FUCKING LOUD-Only Sort Of Loud-OH SHIT IT IS VERY FUCKING LOUD AGAIN) and Screamy Bonkers - normal voices - Screamy Bonkers. Lead single and first-real-song is this template to a T: the chorus is pure pop, just louder than you’re used to, and the verses are all speed-screaming and belligerent nonsense. Honestly, it’s elevating. It makes you feel like you’re in a mosh pit even if you’re just hunched over your damn computer.

Some of ancillary stuff might seem that way—does this band require nine dudes to make all this ruckus? Songs like "Nero Forte" and "Spiders" suggest that all that muscle is well placed. You may not love this stuff, but it is not hard to understand why someone would love it. That, if nothing else, puts Slipknot in an altitude of rarified clarity we all should aspire to.

We Are Not Your Kind, Sunny

My friends of friends have always liked heavy metal. Or, rather, I've always made easy friend-of-friendship with (nv) metal heads. In middle school I sat with several in the back of social studies, noting how they lovingly doodled emblems of "Korn," "Limp Bizkit," "Slipknot" rather than take notes about whatever founding father. (I, a yearning scholar, would be doodling Pokémon instead). Though they were always friendly, everything about their aesthetic/gestalt was disquieting to a young me. Their black-on-black attire, their angry attitude towards school (or just life), and their love of these bands.

The aesthetic was harsh enough that I didn't even bother listening then. Some feeling of "I don't get it; also scared." Eventually after having a roommate of a roommate be a big nü-metal head, I realized it's not for me. And so that posture is the difference in seeing 63 minutes and thinking "Oh boy!" versus "Oh... wow". Some feeling of "I don't get it; also, still a little scared."

Some of it I get—there is depth and variety to the guitar and drum work to have some memorable sequences. The varied rhythms are a lot of fun. It keeps the album from being boring, which is probably the most important thing for a 60+ min album to achieve. Also, like the emo's ability to sing convincingly about life not being fair, Slipknot are the right folk to sing "Burn the liar" and but also "trust is such an arrogant thing." They're clearly good at doing their thing.

What I find odd, about myself really, as I give up any semblance of a proper music review, is how I can't imagine diving in. The masks and costumes (another track, another scowling/cackling face...), the nearly always-on tempo, the video snap shots to screaming band members then cathartic audience members then jets of fire then The Boys, Season 2. It all adds up to something that emotionally I can't cross. I can’t imagine being in that crowd.

Yet others have explained to me how it's bizarre that people would listen to a man in a dead mickey mouse costume combine obscure samples and MIDI sounds at odd tempos with indiscernible lyrics, and how could that possibly be enjoyable? And so, it's odd how some things can feel separated by a chasm a foot wide but a mile deep.

RIP Joey Jordison, I know plenty friends of friends who are quite sad this week.

We Are Not Your Kind, Joe

This is Joe K***, roving reporter for the K*** Family Newsletter, Vol. XXXII, Issue 30. Like last year, I am reporting from the living room of a North Wildwood rental home, but this time, the scene can only be described with one word: bedlam. Slipknot's We Are Not Your Kind has taken the airwaves, making babies cry and convincing grandparents to leave and go on a long walk.

I had a theory, going into this week, if you want to hear it at this point. It was a theory that applies to nü-metal, but could really apply to a wide range of musical genres. The theory was: Everyone feels angry sometimes. Everyone feels like a freak sometimes. Everyone feels like they have this little ball of shame inside them sometimes, and sometimes it can be a little too much to bear. Everyone feels like this sometimes, but only certain people attempt to relieve that pressure with music that reflects the anger and shame back at you. Self-hatred can be cathartic.

Bob, who inadvertently picked the album this week, does not hate himself, as far as I can tell. But he did tell me that he likes the album at least partially because it "has to do with mental health." This is true. There is a lot of pain and anguish expressed in this music. Anger and resentment pulsating in every direction. And there has to be something there, inside of you, that makes you want to experience that through music. And that would want to furthermore make you want to, perhaps, literally wear a T-shirt emblazoned with the cover of this album while walking on the Wildwood Boardwalk.

Again, this was proven to be a bad theory, because it's not like I see a particular brand of anger in Bob, or really any other Slipknot fan (of which there are allegedly many). But I don't think it's by accident that the title of the album is We Are Not Your Kind, a statement that pretty clearly implies a need to feel separate, that people who are "here"—at a Slipknot concert, in a rental beach home listening to Slipknot on the Alexa, wherever—are different than those people who are "there"—absolutely refusing to engage in any nü-metal shenanigans, whatever—and that that separation is integral to the music itself. That there is a community here, and you need to be a certain way and feel a certain way to gain entrance to this community.

I won't go as far as to say that I found that entrance this week. It should maybe even go without saying that I fucking hate this album and I hate this music in general. But I'll also say something positive about the experience, and I really do mean it: It was extremely pleasant to witness someone in this community enjoy something and feel like a part of something and clearly find in comfort in being part of his chosen community. The motivation doesn't even matter. What matters is that it is true. Bob, and many other people—mostly young white men—like We Are Not Your Kind by Slipknot. Even hating the music—and I mostly really do—doesn't ruin the opportunity to talk about it, to hear from a fan, to get a brief warm sensation from the glow emanating from my family member. There's a connection there now, stronger than it was before, because I truly did try to understand that. I don't want to be a part of the community, but I at least took the community seriously, and that creates a bond. So I'm thankful for that.

I'm also mostly thankful that I don't have to listen to Slipknot ever again.

This has been Joe K***, reporting from the field, off to go drink a few more Hamm's before vacation ends. I feel like I have so much more to say about this album and this band, but maybe I'll save it for the next time Bob and I find ourselves at the beach.

GRADE: 1.5 pukes out of 5

POSTSCRIPT: More thoughts, Thursday night, after listening to a few comments from a few other family members at the almost-erstwhile North Wildwood condo:

Pam: It wasn't as "hard" as I thought it was going to be. [Editor's note: 99% chance that Pam does not write her own review.] I would never listen to this on my own.

Mom: I like the beginning...

Willow: Put Little Mermaid back on pleeeeeeease.

Jenn: I don't feel anything about this. I mostly laugh to Shelby's reaction to this.

Shelby [one and a half years old]: [headbanging]

Martha [one and a half years old]: [reluctantly headbanging after seeing her cousin headbanging]

Shelby: [throws cousin over a couch]

Dad: I feel like this is inappropriate for the kids to be listening to.

Bob: I was never into metal until a few years ago... It helped when I finally got into the screaming parts... I just like letting the aggression out... When I was wearing a mask during the quarantine but I was still delivering sodas to local Abington grocery stores, I got really into this album, because I could sing along to the music behind the mask I was wearing.

Joe: Make the connection.

Bob: The connection?

Joe: The fact that Slipknot themselves wear masks!

Bob: I just like their music.

Joe: C'mon.

Bob: I almost felt better when I was wearing my mask. No one knew who I was. They didn't have an opinion about me because they couldn't see me.

Dad: My opinion is that the kids shouldn't listen to this type of music.

Joe: The genre? Or what?

Dad: This type of music. It's my opinion.

Joe: Why is that your opinion? Shelby and Martha seemed to like it!

Dad: I just don't think it's appropriate. It's my opinion. I have a right to have an opinion.

Joe: Sure, but there's gotta be a reason to that opinion. You can't just say you have an opinion. You have to have facts to back it up.

Dad: No I don't. We live in America.

Joe: I'm glad we're not having this conversation about something that's actually important. I'm glad we're talking about fucking Slipknot, of all things. But I need you to know that this isn't how opinions work.

Dad: Yes it is.

Joe: No it isn't. If you said you were voting for trump—thank god you didn't, but say you were—then I would ask you to defend your opinion. You can't just pluck a fucking opinion out of thin air. There needs to be facts that back up your opinion. 

Dad: I have a right to my opinion.

Joe: And I have a right to say your opinion is bullshit. I have that right.

Dad: I just don't think they should be listening to this.

Joe: But you haven't told me why! I don't understand why this is the thing that is going to ruin our relationship this week. I've held back all week about political shit. You've said some racist bullshit on our vacation and I didn't say shit, and now we're gonna get into an argument because of fucking Slipknot?! I have the same opinion about this music! This is insane!

Joe, to the audience: Yes, my father and I really had this conversation. Not word-for-word, but definitely true to the best of my ability. And I am transcribing it to the best of my memory, Thursday night, while me and Bob and Pam and Jenny listen to Slipknot, and Willow cries because it's way past her bedtime, and my mom and dad sit out on the porch, and this is post-apology, by the way—I apologized to my dad for getting so upset at him, and I'll be honest I'm still a little upset, perhaps because I've been plugging up my opinions all week, and, again, it's fucking insane but true that Slipknot was the thing that finally broke me, but then again I get so goddamn angry when Boomers think like their opinions are fucking solid gold just because we live in an ostensible democracy, and get so butthurt when someone calls them out on that same opinion, FUCKING SNOWFLAKES, but then again here I am so goddamn butthurt about it that I'm typing away on a goddamn blog, thinking that my dad will never read this even though maybe he might, and even though I know I'm too drunk to be blogging in the first place. Fuck anyone who can't back up their bullshit opinion. That's what we're here for, right? No one in Record Club is throwing opinions out into the wind. We back up our goddamn opinions with words. We are courageous here. Me and Sunny and Nate and Rachel, and then also Pam and Bob and Jenn and Willow and Martha—there's fucking courage here. No one I mentioned, besides Bob, actually likes this fucking music, but at least we can back it up, ya know? We have reasons for our opinions. We're not scared to say it. God bless Record Club for this reason. And fuck anyone who is gonna say that they don't like any particular album or band or genre without giving a reason why.

Album of the Week: We Are Not Your Kind

The idea is to go one level deeper. Instead of having the members of Record Club pick the Album of the Week, let's find people who were merely mentioned in a previous Record Club album review, and let's have them pick the Album of the Week.

My general rule when trying to compile the list of album pickers for this project was to exclude those friends and family who could theoretically join Record Club in the future. Our album picker this week definitely toes the line on that rule, but I am at this point confident that he will never join Record Club, so I counted it. Plus, I'm gonna be hanging out with him for the next five days in North Wildwood, so I thought it would be fun to have him pick the album this week, even if he didn't know he was picking the album...

Feel free to check out the archives and the playlist, but otherwise, read on to find out where this very, very dumb journey continues.

 

WEEK 120 — July 25-31, 2021

 

What we're listening to this week:

 

ALBUM: We Are Not Your Kind

ARTIST: Slipknot

 

WHO "PICKED" THE ALBUM: my brother-in-law Bob

THE REVIEW HE WAS FEATURED IN: There's been three, and in all three, Bob is complaining about the music. He didn't like CHAI in Jenn's PUNK review. He thought Roy Blair's hair sucked and his music was just okay in Jenn's Cat Heaven review. He thought the music was "weird" in my Watermelon Man! review. At least "Wind of God" still slaps.

HOW WE GOT HERE: I knew that I wanted Bob to "choose" an album for Record Club, so a few weeks ago, when we were all chilling around the dining room table in Rockledge, I asked everyone what their favorite album of all time was. Bob picked this one. (I guess my dad would technically be eligible to pick an album soon, but his favorite album of all time is infamously a Rolling Stones greatest hits compilation, so he is disqualified out of pure spite.)

Also, I should say that, while I have always gotten along with Bob in real life and that I consider him a brother, our interactions online have been more of a mixed bag. I won't even mention the Facebook bickering, which was mostly my fault. I'm mainly thinking of The Lord of the Rings. We had what I thought was an excellent movie discussion a couple years ago, but I sometimes get the sense that Bob harbors a grudge that I was too harsh in my opinion of his favorite movie of all time. So I thought it would be interesting to have a quasi-sequel of sorts here. Will I similarly come down to hard on his favorite album of all time? We'll know by Friday.

 

Suffice it to say that I hope Bob forgives me for featuring him on this blog yet again, and understands that I truly mean it to be a celebration of something Bob likes, and not in any way malicious online ball-busting. Love you, brother.

WILL BOB WRITE A REVIEW: I can't imagine he will, but like I said, we'll be on vacation together this week, so there will be ample opportunities to peer pressure him to do so!

ALBUM RELEASED: August 9, 2019

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: Nü-metal(!!)

TRACKLIST:

1. Insert Coin
2. Unsainted
3. Birth of the Cruel
4. Death Because of Death
5. Nero Forte
6. Critical Darling
7. A Liar's Funeral
8. Red Flag
9. What's Next
10. Spiders
11. Orphan
12. My Pain
13. Not Long for This World
14. Solway Firth

LENGTH: 63:29

 

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: YouTube

 

READING SOME SHIT: Not knowing anything about Slipknot whatsoever, I searched on Stereogum.com to see if they had anything. They did. Most recently, frontman Corey Taylor did a career-spanning interview with them. But this article about Taylor's beef with Nickleback frontman Chad Kroeger made me laugh a lot too.

 

PREVIOUSLY ON RECORD CLUB: Here's some trivia for you. Record Club album The Rising, by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, features the great Max Weinberg on drums. Max's son, Jay Weinberg, is Slipknot's drummer. The more you know!

Happy listening, Bob! Have a great week!

A Year of Blind Spots: The Shepherd's Dog

If The Shepherd's Dog is like a cop beating the shit out of me—Pam included "House by the Sea" on a mix CD she gave me years ago; Allison spoke highly of it right on this very blog; I have had good things to say about other Iron & Wine albums; The Shepherd's Dog has always been their most critically-acclaimed work; Pam is clearly familiar with it enough to be able to recall its song titles at will—then this was the week that it yelled "stop resisting!" and I went limp and took my nickel ride.

That is a sinister metaphor for what many would assume to be somewhat of a wimpy musical project. I can see it. Sam Beam's vocals have a soft, soulful quality to them that I can't even fucking imagine in my wildest dreams rising to a shout. If you're entry point to I&W was, like me, Our Endless Numbered Days, then maybe you're extrapolating. My experience this week tells me that that would be unfair. The Shepherd's Dog kicks ass.

Here's the problem with assuming that Beam's voice is too gentle: when the music heats up, it doesn't even fucking matter. It actually creates kind of a thrilling juxtaposition, is what I'm seeing on this album. Take something like "White Tooth Man." Beam still sounds pretty dreamy, but the tempo (faster), rhythm (bongos and crashing cymbals), and theme (small-town trouble) all create a sense of unease that's thrilling, perhaps even more so when paired with the vocals. Or like in "Boy with a Coin" (which, now that I'm thinking about it, has the same "Hey-ey-ey-ey" hook as "White Tooth Man"), when the clapping goes double time in the chorus. It's not like Beam is reaching new heights himself, it's just that the music around him is getting him there in a different way.

So yes, this is a week of "duh" in terms of whether I'd like this so-called "classic." I do. A lot. Duh. I promise to stop resisting.

Watchout!, Nate

Time compresses everything, eliminates delineations and grudge lines. For a person in 2021, there is little difference between, say, "Brandy" by Looking Glass and "Dream On" by Aerosmith and "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder. It's all, broadly speaking, just good times tunes from the Back Then. So when I say that I enjoyed my time with Martha and the Vandellas and took nothing greater from it than "Motown is cool," I recognize that I am not looking for the scars of the long-ago genre wars, not digging for the context as to why this group, where this group, why not other groups, not looking to place it anywhere in a context outside my laptop and my work desk and my headphones.

That said, cool times record, this one.

Watchout!, Sunny

Martha and the Vandellas
2648 West Grand Boulevard
Detroit, MI 48208

Jimmy Mack:

Go Ahead and Laugh: He Doesn't Love Her Anymore. What Am I Going to Do Without Your Love? One Way Out; I'll Follow You!

Tell Me I'll Never Be Alone...

No More Tearstained Make Up; I'm Ready For Love. Let This Day Be!! Keep It Up—Happiness Is Guaranteed.

—❤️ M&tV

(P.S. Something like half or all of these songs are about love and relationships. Motown can sing about that with straightforward eagerness. Music today has basically all these topics, but from a more ironically detached perspective. Motown is more sanguine versus today's melancholic/phlegmatic. This sense of humour is nice, but that's also because I don't have a diet of 6-11 Motown servings a day (which I can't even imagine), so what do I know.

With that caveat, this is some good Motown. Understated and effective drum/piano/bass do most of the work, with a bit of horn/wind/string to vary things up from the big band. But it's the Vandellas up front, which is why you're here. Martha's voice is that great timbre for Motown, big and commanding while tacking to "modern" rather than "soul/religious." Watchout! is the sort of thing you might imagine the Jersey boys from Jersey Boys being sour about.)

Watchout!, Sam

The first time I auditioned for a musical was my freshman year in college (one of two times in which I subjected myself to that embarrassing ordeal). I sang the nursery rhyme tongue-twister "Proper Cup of Coffee," and got cast in a one-line singing role, as I deserved.

The audition was my first exposure, really, to women singing. Sure, I had played in alt rock/emo bands throughout high school and was well acquainted with pubescent boys trying to be Rivers Cuomo or Chris Conley. That's to say, I was familiar with preteen men singing poorly.

What stands out from that audition was how good most people were—especially all the women. Maybe women's voices are biologically more pleasing than men's voices or maybe men may be fine enough if they tried to sing as opposed to squeak. Regardless, I was pretty impressed at the talent summoned to the Masque's rendition of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.

Ultimately, the wheat was separated from the chaff, and some people were deemed more talented than others. I'm sure the folks who missed the cut would have carried on admirably but they all lacked a certain element that would elevate the material. It may not be vocal ability, but some people possess a certain charisma that makes you want to hang around.

Such is the goal with pop music. Someone decided that Martha Reeves had something special, something unique enough to set her above the rest of the Vandellas. Like Diana Ross and the Supremes, it may not necessarily be vocal ability, but there's something that's different. Diana Ross, as previously covered in Record Club, had a swagger, a way with her diction, a flourish with her voice that set her apart.

Here, I didn't get that same feeling with Martha Reeves. Other than a few moments, she failed to differentiate herself from the Vandellas. That's not to say she was bad or the songs were unenjoyable. But it feels like a replacement level Motown album.

Maybe, we can blame the assembly line, workman-like style Motown became in later years. Watchout! was released in the last year that Motown heavy hitters Holland-Dozier-Holland and William "Mickey" Stevenson were writing at the label, and maybe they were going through the motions here.

Reeves shined the most on "Go Ahead and Laugh," which is the only song she's allowed to belt it, to improvise, to distinguish herself. Otherwise, the propelling baselines and light orchestration all kind of blended together for me.

If this was my first audition, I'd say Martha was great. Now, I'd say she's talented but unremarkable.

Watchout!, Stephan

As alluded to in the introductory email to this week's album, my grandmother, whom I will mostly refer to as 'Gram' for the remainder of this review, did not actually choose this week's record. Growing up in the same household, I was absolutely no stranger to her singing or humming all sorts of songs, familiar and unfamiliar tunes. Whether it be music playing on the radio or just a song in her head, I have plenty of fond memories of her relaxing on her usual spot on the couch, head back, eyes closed, singing along.  For this reason, I was initially disappointed by her lack of interest in discussing her favorite album with me when I last visited. Thankfully, my mother helped by suggesting that any Motown record would be a good representation of the music she liked the most—a good bet for anyone really, in my opinion. This week's artist was ultimately decided based on Gram's connection to the lead vocalist—the fact that they share the same first name. Watchout! was then selected because the image of Marta Reeves on the cover was reminiscent of my grandmother's sassiness that I remember as a kid. Alright, enough of the sappy stuff, let's get into this review...

Outside of Stevie Wonder, I don't think that I have ever listened to a full studio album of any other Motown artist. So, I'm glad to finally take the time to do so for this review of Watchout! by Martha Reeves and the Vandellas.  The opening song, "I'm Ready for Love", reminds me of "You Can't Hurry Love" by the Supremes, bringing that typical upbeat, R&B energy for which Motown is known.  However, despite such an energetic beginning, I was surprised to find that many of the songs that followed had a much different vibe.  Other than the classic "Jimmy Mack" and the lesser known "One Way Out", most of the subsequent tracks offer more of a ballad vibe rather than outright dance vibes.  This is not to say that it is a problem, but certainly unexpected given that Martha and crew are also known for "Heatwave" and their previous album was literally called Dance Party.

Despite my initial expectations for a Motown jam session, I ended up loving the soul of this album. Tracks like "Keep It Up," "Happiness Is Guaranteed," and "Go Ahead and Laugh" are powerful and emotive and strengthened by the combination of Martha Reeves' soft, yet strong vocals and the well-balanced, harmonic sound of the Vandellas. The composition and execution of "No More Tearstained Make Up" (my favorite song on the album) is simple, yet very moving and beautiful. Compared to Motown peers such as Gladys Knight or Diana Ross, Martha Reeves probably falls short in terms of pure range and vocal strength, but there is such a sweetness and emotional genuineness in her voice that draws me in and really connects me to these songs. Though at times many of the songs are a bit lyrically generic, Martha and the Vandellas dig deep into the heart of the songs, bringing a soulfulness and passion that a less talented trio would be unable to accomplish.

Returning to Gram, much of her romantic relationships remain a mystery to me. What I do know is that she was never married and has never shared details or feelings, neither positive nor negative, about any of her relationships with her baby daddies (probably TMI for a Record Club review). Though unspoken, I always sensed in her a yearning or desire for love and companionship. I can't say for sure if she ever felt truly head-over-heels for someone or if her former relationships ended in devastating heartache similar to that expressed in the songs of Watchout!, but it's certainly interesting to think about my Gram—past or present version—as the main character of the album's narrative. Speculations and bottled emotions aside, I'm certain that Gram would dig this record—eyes closed, head back, singing along.

Verdict:
Watchout! — 3 out of 4 Vandellas
Love for my Gram — 4 out of 4 Vandellas

Watchout!, Joe

More so than any other possible subset of music, I've always felt that Motown music has the unique ability to not only be known by everyone, but also to be appreciated by everyone. There are plenty of sounds that everyone in the country would recognize, but Motown is the only instantly recognizable sound that also gets you on your feet. Even if you don't know a particular Motown song, then it's still gonna be more than "I feel like I know this song." It's instead gonna be: "Holy shit, this song is awesome."

In other words, Motown music represents, in my eyes, the true power of music. It has the ability to bring people together. The entire collective just has a particular alchemy, a specific brand of magic that gathers strangers close and friends closer.

This isn't just speculation. As someone who strives to cultivate these types of parties/gatherings/whatever, I've put the hypothesis into practice. Motown is the perfect soundtrack to the shindig I want to be a part of. One summer in high school, I picked up a compilation CD of Motown's biggest hits, and it was such an easy album to put on at that part of the night, when the beer is flowing and the camaraderie is swelling and you're looking for some type of catharsis. Motown can easily get you there.

 

There was one particular night that always come back to me when I'm thinking about the phenomenon. My hometown friends and I had a tradition for a few summers in our youth in which we'd spend a weekend at Brianna's parents' shore house (called "Warped Shore" because some of our crew would go to Warped Tour first and we'd all meet down the shore afterward). We'd get drunk and act like teenagers and have a fucking blast.

One year, there was a literal dance party in that cramped little Cape May Villas bungalow, involving lots of Miller High Life, oven mitts, board shorts and bikinis, my very best friends, and, yes, Motown on the speakers. I used to have one of those tiny speaker systems that had a port for an iPod Classic specifically, and I didn't go to a party without it. This was a goddamn party. I swear to god, if one thing in the world is true, it's that the song playing out of the speakers when this picture was taken is "Jimmy Mack" by Martha and the Vandellas:

 

But that song was part of that infamous Best Of playlist, right? I guess I took the tiniest pause when this week of Record Club started, because the question was whether the magic of Motown existed in my mind and my ears because of a Greatest Hits compilation that my friends and I used to reach nirvana on the backs of, or if maybe the magic extended outward, across the entire Motown discography, even the deep cuts on one of the many albums that the label put out in the '60s and '70s. Listening to Watchout! was a risky proposal. Would the magic run out?

 

Good readers of Puke on Your Birthday, I am happy to report that Watchout! by Martha and the Vandellas manages to maintain the quality, the consistency, and the magic of the Motown music that I was already familiar with before this week.

I think it's tempting to try to break the machine down into its parts to investigate how exactly it runs so smoothly. Is it just a matter of having a magnetic center in Martha Reeves (or the other Motown megastars)? Is it more to do with the supernatural songwriting, i.e. did Holland and Dozier and Holland make some kind of pact with the devil? Is it that the drummers of the Funk Brothers (a prominent and sprawling backing band featured on many Motown songs including the ones on this album) always seem to be deep in the pocket? Is it that these Motown songs always seem to be deceptively more complicated than a typical two-minute soul-R&B-pop song might be (e.g. the cascading vocal/percussion performance on "I'll Follow You," or how the verses of "One Way Out" build tension by hitting the same note over and over)? Something else?

But then you risk ruining the magic by examining it too closely. This is absolutely one of those precious metals that could rust if you handle it too often. Just let it be its special thing. Pop it on, dance to it in the kitchen with the kids or in your seat on the bus or in some Cape May Villas kitchen from so long ago, let it exist in that space, and don't fuck with it.

Sure, you might also then zoom out too far, and you might start to feel like this album seems a little slight. It's more of a collection of songs than a cohesive album, for sure. I'm saying this as a stalwart defender of the idea of the "album" as a work of art: it doesn't make sense to apply this criticism to every single album in history. Watchout! was released in 1966, and the idea of the album as a complete artistic statement was only just starting to form. Watchout! is a throwback from the time when music was truly allowed to just be a collection of songs. Let's not ruin the fun here, okay?

And that's really what it comes down to—the fun. Music is special because there's a potential to create this sort of rapturous joy in the space of three minutes, and Martha and the Vandellas, like their Motown peers, are able to pull that specific sort of joy out of thin air, over and over and over. The magic is still there!

GRADE: 4 pukes out of 5

Future Me Hates Me, Sunny

The beauty of last week's Free Throw album was that it was completely middle of the road. Everyone who had an opinion on it said that they have no opinion. So to write a good review about it means you have to go beyond the curtain, right?

Whereas we now have the Beths' first album. This is a good album! I enjoyed it. And I'll say I enjoyed it. It doesn't necessarily make you pull a fake review of you talking to some girl at the Franklin Music Hall—which is cool, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's good music you're reviewing. The Beths is great. The title track is cool. "Little Death" was really good. There were a couple others that were pretty good. I think the fun thing about the Beths is the same question of any typical emo album.

 

The problem with Free Throw is that, as an emo album, it was completely down the middle, and thus completely forgettable. The Beths, on the other hand, does two things interesting. The voice, i.e. the singing aspect, is interesting. I also think the thematic aspect of they're coming from is interesting, which you get from the title track and "Little Death" especially. How does one act? This is "Hamletting." This album is a good example of what "Hamletting" is about: of not knowing what to do next, because you're too stuck in doing it. With the Beths, you have a self-introspective aspect of "How do I go forth?" Which isn't a lot, but it's enough. Whereas with Free Throw, I don't know what the gestalt is, or what the gimmick is.

Overall, the album was great. I'm glad that it's an emo album with a twist, whereas Free Throw is an emo album without a twist—which is also fine, but forgettable.

It's interesting albums we listened are for people who are our age, who used to listen to emo, but who are now 35-year-olds with kids, and who are talking about how to raise a kid now, and that stuff. Free Throw is in a weird position where it's not meeting the bar for 2017, and it's not meeting the bar for 2027. But the Beths did! I had a great old time.

Are the Beths emo? Sure. I feel like the aesthetic is there. "Future Me Hates Me," I love that song. Here's what I like about it. I think the concept is very relatable to us, as people who do stuff knowing full well that in a week or two, we will wish the me-before didn't do that thing we did. And at least for me personally, I have that feeling all the time. Why did you not do that thing? Why did you put this thing off? Why am I dealing with past me's bullshit?

It's the conversation in the shower. The Beths brought that out with "Future Me Hates Me." The fact that that song is about love makes it more poignant, but I think that act is very relatable to the modern subject. The point of emo to me—and what missed with Free Throw—is that this was the music I heard in high school. And it was great, and gave me highly emotional feelings... but I'm not in high school anymore. I am unfortunately a 32-year-old man who... whatever. The Beths captured what it means to be thirty-plus and dealing with feelings in a completely unresolved, unadjudicated, without-purpose lifestyle of modern Americana. That is what my emo is. That's why I like the Beths.

For some reason this is the stuff that comes to the front in Record Club—and movie club, and book club, and on Puke on Your Birthday in general, because I clearly have no other place to express it—what does growth look like? I know I need to grow, but I don't know what to grow into. And things like the conversation between the Beths and Free Throw is a question of, like, these are two models of what a 30-year-old previously-emo person could be, and what do they grow into?

If we were poolside, then someone like Sean E**** might say that it's an issue of inertia. That we could name any issue, and see that it's not that people don't recognize that something is an issue, or that they should grow or should fix something, it's that, okay, I should grow, but what's the next step? That by not knowing that, they can't do anything, or they are prevented for some reason.

This is close to my general thesis, and I'm still lost on this. The concept of self-improvement is tough to impossible, because if you knew what you needed to do to improve yourself, you would have already done it. So the concept itself is inevitable.

The last thing I'll say with the Beths vs. Free Throw is that I listened to Future Me Hates Me twice, in the amount of time I had on the drive to Rockledge, versus Free Throw, which I listened to all week. The songs on Future Me Hates Me ring through enough enjoyable, catchy, punk rock anthems with a miracle perspective that reflects the modern situation, the modern gestalt, that works and that will stick with me a while. Whereas Free Throw, these are good stories, good songs, I like it for what it is, but it's the same as my breakfast cereal. I like my Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but if anyone asked me at lunchtime what I had for breakfast, god forbid if they say that I didn't have a good breakfast. I had a good breakfast... I just won't be talking about it. I think the Beths transcends that. A little bit.

As told to Puke on Your Birthday poolside.

Album of the Week: Watchout!

The idea is to go one level deeper. Instead of having the members of Record Club pick the Album of the Week, let's find people who were merely mentioned in a previous Record Club album review, and let's have them pick the Album of the Week.

Yes, compiling the list of albums for the next ten weeks of albums was as weird as it sounds. Plenty of real-life people were mentioned in reviews by bloggers who had no intention of ever letting those people know about Record Club's existence; we found work-arounds for those people, though I can't lie and say there weren't plenty of random Facebook Messenger DMs left unanswered. Some of our participants were celebrities, and we found creative ways to figure out their album choices. In at least one case, the album chooser is a fictional character. But we'll get there.

This Record Club project is so convoluted that I don't even have a name for it (though hit me up in the comments if you think of one). The goal was to take heed of the fact that so many musical opinions have rested on the shoulders of so many people who will never be a part of Record Club, but so let's try to get them involved anyway.

Feel free to check out the archives and the playlist, but otherwise, read on to find out where this very, very dumb journey begins.

WEEK 129 — July 18-24, 2021

What we're listening to this week:

ALBUM: Watchout!

ARTIST: Martha and the Vandellas

WHO "PICKED" THE ALBUM: Stephan's grandmother

THE REVIEW SHE WAS FEATURED IN: Stephan's Purple Haze review

 

HOW WE GOT HERE: I explained the deal on a Sunday afternoon at McGillin's—I wanted Stephan to find out what his grandmother's favorite album of all time was. I was confident that there was an answer, since she was wise enough to buy a Cam'ron album for Stephan for Christmas, i.e. she wasn't going to be one of those people who say something like "Hmm, that's a tough question, I have no idea." You know the type. Anyways, moot point, because Stephan's grandmother wasn't up to talking about music or anything else when he subsequently visited her. So Stephan just took his best guess, and that's how we ended up with a Motown classic. Stephan promises to give more background into his educated guess in his review, but for now, let us simply show some appreciation for a grandmother who is allowing us the chance to listen to "Jimmy Mack" a bunch of times this week.

WILL STEPHAN'S GRANDMOTHER WRITE A REVIEW: I doubt it!

ALBUM RELEASED: November 16, 1966

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: R&B + soul + specific songwriters = Motown

TRACKLIST:

1. I'm Ready for Love
2. One Way Out
3. Jimmy Mack
4. Let This Day Be
5. Keep It Up
6. Happiness Is Guaranteed
7. I'll Follow You
8. No More Tearstained Make Up
9. Go Ahead and Laugh
10. What Am I Going to Do Without You Love?
11. Tell Me I'll Never Be Alone
12. He Doesn't Love Her Anymore

LENGTH: 31:37

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: YouTube

READING SOME SHIT: There are plenty of written interviews but they all seem to be behind paywalls of various sizes, so let's watch a spectacularly awkward speech by Kate Pierson and Fred Schneider (of the B-52s) introducing Martha and the Vandellas to the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. Schneider had the perfect opportunity to describe Martha and the Vandellas as "explosive" but totally dropped the ball. The pun was right there! C'mon man!

PREVIOUSLY ON RECORD CLUB: We have two indirect connections this week. The first is that it was only three weeks ago that I was expressing my surprise at the fact that we had only covered one album from the 1960s so far. Well, here's the next one. The second is more of a coincidence than anything else: this album's title is extremely close to Wells Fargo's Watch Out!, so make sure you note which one has a space and which doesn't!!

Happy listening, Stephan's grandmother! Have a great week!

A Year of Blind Spots: Superunknown

A problem that I've run into week after week in this column is the type of album that features one or two songs that I already know intimately, and a whole bunch of other songs that can't possibly measure up. With Superunknown, it's not a problem. Not only do I still love "Black Hole Sun" after all these years, but I also found the deep cuts to be both completely different in sound and completely matching in quality.

First, the big single. I was in the car with my mom in the Spring of 2002, on a Saturday morning, on the way to Bishop McDevitt High School, and "Black Hole Sun" was the last song on the radio before I got out of the car and took an eight-hour test (probably best not to ask the details here). So for the entire eight hours, I had "Black Hole Sun" stuck in my head. It's been burned into my brain ever since.

But listening to Superunknown, that song kind of seems like an outlier, no? That fascinates me endlessly, how a band's big song could also be the least representative of their sound. How does that happen? Why does America insist on shaping bands in their own tastes' image?

Like I said, though, it's not like "Black Hole Sun" ruined anything for me this time around. The hour of music surrounding it is harder, cockier, more willing to rock out in a fast-paced, grungy, very very very '90s sort of way. It kind of reminded me of the Blind Melon album Soup, another album that is very of its own time and place, but surprises you because it's really fun and not at all like the band's big hit.

A lot of that has to do with musicians just being in that grunge pocket and playing very competently to a crowd of schmoes like me who will probably never get enough of this shit. Though maybe a lot of it has to do with Chris Cornell, too. The man is a presence on Superunknown. I had two thoughts at separate times during my listening experience this week: 1) "Holy shit, I forgot that this dude was also in Audioslave, I remember this voice distinctly," and 2) "Holy shit, Chris Cornell sounds nothing like he did on Audioslave." The fact that both of these thoughts could exist in my mind speak to the insane range that Cornell covers all over this LP.

I don't think my admiration has anything to do with the fact that we know how Cornell's story ends. I would never presume to know enough about the man to have him cast any sort of shadow over the work here. But still... I can't help but think about it all the same. I mean, the album ends with a song called "Like Suicide." C'mon. There's something here.

Piecing It Together, Sunny

The beauty of this album is how clearly it codes. This is punk rock/emo down the middle. The chicken/egg piece in my mind is whether Castro's voice naturally has that half-whingey/half-screamy tendency and so led him here, or if he felt punk in his heart and made his vocal cords obey. The pieces connect into a convincing aesthetic; an aesthetic that revels in a lyric such as "life's not fair."

To such a tight aesthetic, me here without a fine-enough-tooth comb doesn't see too much light between the tracks. It's not that it's lacking variety, just that the variety doesn't spike or shine in the memory. "Ocular Pat Down," maybe buoyed by the reference, is the nicest mix of everything going on. All's to say it's perfectly fine, and sometimes you want a classic dose of emo. Perhaps they found their consistent way.

Piecing It Together, Sam

I listened to this album on my way to and from Target to buy pants. My intention was not to buy pants initially; I wanted tennis balls. Once in target, I realized that the pants I had been wearing during the pandemic had run their course and I needed an update.

No paragraph better encapsulates my favorite song from this album "Second Wind." Yes, I am proud of my ability to go through fifteen pairs of pants to find two or three that fit. That said, it is hard to accept that I am past the fun part of my life. If emo music is going to evolve so I can still identify with it, the songs will have to be by people my age complaining about not being young anymore.

Glory days rock isn't glamorous but it's honest. I can get behind dissatisfied 30-somethings much easier than bullshit about heartache. Plus, writing about the concept of aging is less cringey than problematic emo lyrics about girls. On balance, Free Throw writes about both age and ladies; I can take or leave the latter.

An additional observation: the guitar licks here are undeniable, but are composed in a way where I dislike the guitar player. I had a similar feeling toward Coheed and Cambria. Just too complicated. 

Piecing It Together, Nate

Fuck what the nerds say, the eye-test says there are only so many chords, so many configurations of those chords, so many ways to tell the story of sad young men having fun in their sadness. It works as well as anything else, and its inability to ignite has as much to do with how much of this kind of thing one consumes as it does with any failings or successes of the product itself. Even the best cheesecake will not taste as good after one eats four other cheesecakes (unless you're King Missile).

In other words: it's fine, baby!

Piecing It Together, Joe

[mezzanine, bar]

"I LIKE THIS, BUT IT SOUNDS A BIT DERIVATIVE, YA KNOW?"

"Huh?"

"AND YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT I'VE NEVER REALLY USED THAT WORD BEFORE WHEN DESCRIBING MUSIC. BUT YOU LOOK LIKE A REALLY SMART GIRL, AND I FIGURED I COULD USE A TEN-CENT WORD AROUND YOU AND YOU'D UNDERSTAND IT AND APPRECIATE IT. I JUST THOUGHT THAT THIS BAND WAS DERIVATIVE. MY NAME IS JOE, BY THE WAY."

"Oh."

"NICE TO MEET YOU. DO YOU COME HERE MUCH? I CAN'T SAY THAT I DO. ESPECIALLY SINCE THAT WHOLE COVID THING. THAT WAS SCARY, RIGHT? I WAS REALLY SMART ABOUT IT. STAYED HOME, WORE MY MASK, TRIED TO DO THE RESPONSIBLE THING. BUT I FIGURED THIS BAND FREE THROW MIGHT BE A GOOD SHOW TO SEE, AND I'M GLAD I THOUGHT THAT, BECAUSE I ENDED UP HERE, TALKING TO YOU. WHAT DID YOU SAY YOUR NAME WAS AGAIN? I'M ONLY ASKING BECAUSE YOU LOOKED LIKE YOU'D BE COOL TO TALK TO, THAT'S ALL, I'M NOT TRYING TO BE A CREEP, I HATE CREEPS, BUT I THOUGH MAYBE YOU'D HAVE AN OPINION ABOUT FREE THROW AND THEIR ALBUM PIECING IT TOGETHER, SINCE THEY ARE PLAYING THE SONGS FROM THAT ALBUM HERE, NOT SURE IF YOU KNEW THAT."

"..."

"SORRY FOR YELLING. THEY'RE REALLY LOUD, RIGHT? SOMETIMES I LIKE THAT, BUT TODAY IT'S JUST NOT HITTING ME AS MUCH AS I HOPED IT WOULD, I DUNNO WHY. MAYBE I'M JUST GRASPING AT STRAWS WHEN I USE THE WORD 'DERIVATIVE' BUT FOR REAL, I FEEL LIKE I'VE HEARD ALL THIS BEFORE. NOT THAT IT ISN'T FUN, BUT THEY AREN'T REALLY BRINGING ANYTHING NEW TO THE TABLE. I WAS AT A TBS CONCERT LIKE TEN YEARS AGO AT THIS VERY MUSIC VENUE AND I FEEL LIKE I HEARD THE EXACT SAME SONGS THEN. AND THAT WAS TEN YEARS AGO. HAS MUSIC NOT CHANGED AT ALL? WHY DO YOU THINK THAT IS, THAT WE LISTEN TO THE SAME SHIT OVER AND OVER? 'TBS' IS TAKING BACK SUNDAY, BY THE WAY. CAN I BUY YOU A DRINK?"

"I'm good."

"YEAH I CAN FOR SURE GET YOU THAT, I JUST GOT PAID THIS MORNING, I HAVE THIS SWEET GIG AT MY UNCLE'S LAW FIRM, I DON'T HAVE TO DO SHIT BUT I'LL NEVER GET FIRED BECAUSE THAT'S MY DAD'S BROTHER AND MY DAD WOULD KICK HIS ASS. MY DAD GOT ME INTO WEIGHTLIFTING WHEN I WAS YOUNG. THAT EXPLAINS WHY I HAVE SIX-PACK ABS. YOU CAN SEE THEM IF YOU WANT. SERIOUSLY, JUST ASK, I'M NOT EMBARRASSED. OH COOL, THEY ARE PLAYING MY FAVORITE SONG FROM PIECING IT TOGETHER. NO... NO WAIT, DIFFERENT SONG. IT'S TOUGH TO TELL SOME OF THESE SONGS APART. I FEEL LIKE WE'VE BEEN STANDING IN THIS LINE FOREVER—"

"[rolls eyes]"

"—AND WE'VE HEARD LIKE THREE SONGS BUT THEY ALL SOUND THE SAME. IT'S NOT LIKE I'M NOT MAKING AN EFFORT TO DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN THEM, I'M HERE AT FREE THROW'S CONCERT, I FUCKING CARE, YA KNOW? AND AFTER A WEEK OF TRYING TO GET A HANDLE ON THESE SONGS, I'M STILL STRUGGLING. IT JUST FEELS LIKE ONE BIG BLOB OF POP-PUNK-EMO-WHATEVER TO ME. AND THAT'S BEEN KIND OF MY JAM LATELY, YA KNOW? I'VE BEEN PORING OVER SOME EMO CLASSICS THIS WHOLE YEAR AND I WAS HOPING THAT MAYBE FREE THROW COULD CARRY THE TORCH AND BRING SOMETHING NEW TO THE TABLE. MIGHT'VE BEEN TOO MUCH TO ASK, I DUNNO. DO YOU LIKE EMO MUSIC? I DON'T WANT TO MAKE ASSUMPTIONS, I'M NOT THAT KIND OF GUY, BUT YOU ARE AT A FREE THROW CONCERT AND YOU'RE WEARING BLACK EYELINER, WHICH LOOKS REALLY GREAT, BY THE WAY, REALLY STUNNING, I LOVE GIRLS WHO KNOW HOW TO PUT MAKEUP ON THE RIGHT WAY, AND FOR REAL, TELL ME IF I'M BEING A CREEP, BUT MAYBE WE CAN STAND NEXT TO EACH OTHER IN THE MOSH PIT. JUST AN IDEA. I'M JUST PUTTING MYSELF OUT THERE. I'M USUALLY NOT LIKE THIS, BUT I FIGURED YOU LOOKED REALLY COOL AND I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE COOL ENOUGH TO SEE THAT I'M COOL TOO AND THAT WE'D BE COOL TOGETHER AND MAYBE LISTEN TO FREE THROW TOGETHER, SINCE WE BOTH CLEARLY LIKE THEM DESPITE THE FACT THAT THEY ARE KIND OF DERIVATIVE. SHOULD I USE THAT WORD? I DON'T WANT YOU TO THINK I'M SHOWING OFF WITH MY HIGH VOCABULARY. I SWEAR I CAN BE CHILL. WHAT KIND OF DRINK DID YOU WANT AGAIN?"

"[subtly looking away]"

"I'M GOING TO GET A 24-OUNCE PBR, IT SEEMS LIKE IT'S THE CHEAPEST ON THE MENU, AND I SWEAR I DON'T WANT TO GET STUCK IN THIS LINE AGAIN TOO SOON, THOUGH HEY IF I'M GOING TO BE MEETING PEOPLE AS COOL AS YOU THEN MAYBE I SHOULD GET A SMALLER BEER, HA HA. 'PBR' STANDS FOR PABST BLUE RIBBON, BY THE WAY. NOT THE PROFESSIONAL BULL RIDERS, WHICH IS ALSO 'PBR,' WHICH I KNOW BECAUSE I WAS AT XFINITY LIVE! FOR MY BOY'S BACHELOR PARTY A COUPLE MONTHS AGO, AND THEY HAVE A PBR BAR, AND YOU'D THINK IT STOOD FOR PABST BLUE RIBBON, BUT IT WAS PROFESSIONAL BULL RIDERS, AND YOU COULD ACTUALLY RIDE A MECHANICAL BULL, WHICH SEEMED STUPID. I MEAN, I COULD RIDE THE MECHANICAL BULL, I WOULD PROBABLY BE THE BEST ONE THERE TO BE HONEST, BUT IT'S STUPID BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO EMBARRASS ANYONE ELSE. BUT YOU COULD TELL THAT OTHER PEOPLE WERE CONFUSED, BECAUSE, YA KNOW, THE WHOLE 'PBR' THING MEANING EITHER PROFESSIONAL BULL RIDERS OR PABST BLUE RIBBON. NOT THAT I'M TOO GOOD FOR EITHER ONE. I'M ACTUALLY A REALLY CHILL GUY WHEN YOU GET TO KNOW ME. WHICH I FEEL LIKE WE'RE DOING NOW, BECAUSE I CAN TELL YOU'RE REALLY CHILL TOO, AND CHILL PEOPLE USUALLY GET ALONG REALLY WELL TOGETHER. YOU'RE WELCOME. HA HA I'M JUST KIDDING. I LIKE TO JOKE AROUND A LOT TOO. I'M ACTUALLY A REALLY FUNNY GUY, JUST ASK MY FRIENDS. THEY'RE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE. ACTUALLY THEY'VE BEEN IN THE BATHROOM A REALLY LONG TIME, I HOPE THEY ARE OKAY. PROBABLY DRANK TOO MANY CRAFT BEERS IN THE PARKING LOT. I STOPPED AT YARDS BREWERY ON THE WAY HERE AND WE DRANK A FEW IN THE PARKING LOT. IT WAS REALLY COOL. I KNOW A GUY AT YARDS, HE HOOKED ME UP. THE BEERS WERE ACTUALLY PRETTY HEAVY, AND I WASN'T SURE IF I WAS GONNA BE COMING TO THIS BAR BUT I GOT A 'SECOND WIND,' HA HA. GET IT? BUT ME AND MY BOYS WOULD PROBABLY DRINK BEFORE ANY CONCERT, IT JUST SEEMED RIGHT BEFORE A FREE THROW CONCERT. I FEEL LIKE THIS BAND NEEDS A LITTLE HELP, YA KNOW? LIKE THESE ARE THE TYPES OF SONGS THAT WOULD HIT REALLY HARD WITH A GOOD BUZZ ON. BUT WHEN I WAS LISTENING TO THEM ON THE WAY TO MY UNCLE'S OFFICE, THEY JUST SEEMED A LITTLE GENERIC. SORRY, I DIDN'T WANT TO SAY 'DERIVATIVE' AGAIN. BUT YEAH, WE GOT A LITTLE TIPSY IN THE PARKING LOT. IT'S HELPING. I LOOKED UP FREE THROW'S OWN DESCRIPTION OF THEIR ALBUM, AND IT SAID SOMETHING LIKE THIS ALBUM IS AN 'EXPLORATION OF SELF-ACCEPTANCE.' I MEAN, I TOTALLY GET IT, BUT DO YOU? I CAN TELL YOU IF YOU'VE NEVER REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT IT BEFORE. YOU REALLY GOTTA ASK YOURSELF WHAT IT IS YOU ARE 'ACCEPTING,' YA KNOW? AND I THINK WHEN IT COMES TO ME, I'M ACCEPTING THE FACT THAT NOT EVERY ALBUM I COME ACROSS IS GOING TO BE LIFE-CHANGING, AND JUST BECAUSE IT ISN'T LIFE-CHANGING DOESN'T MEAN IT'S NECESSARILY BAD IN ANY SENSE OF THE WORD, YA KNOW? JUST BECAUSE I DON'T CARE ABOUT THIS ALBUM ENOUGH TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT FREE THROW, AND JUST BECAUSE IT'S DERIVATIVE DOESN'T MEAN IT CAN'T BE GOOD IN A COMFORTABLE WAY. I'VE SPENT TEN PERCENT OF THE TIME THINKING ABOUT FREE THROW THAN I DID ABOUT DEMI LOVATO LAST WEEK, BUT YOU DON'T SEE ME AT A DEMI LOVATO CONCERT, NOW DO YOU? I THINK THE SELF-ACCEPTANCE IS ACCEPTING THE SPECIFIC PART OF MYSELF THAT KNOWS THAT I'M ALWAYS GONNA REACH FOR THE PAINT-BY-NUMBERS EMO-PUNK-WHATEVER, AND ACCEPTING THAT MOST MUSIC IS LIKE THIS, AND THAT GENUINELY EXCITING MUSIC THAT'S ALSO GOOD IS ALSO ALSO EXTREMELY RARE, AND IT'S TIRING SEARCHING FOR IT CONSTANTLY, BECAUSE THEN I'M CONSTANTLY DISAPPOINTED. SO, LIKE, IT'S JUST EASIER TO LISTEN TO THIS KINDA THING, PIECING IT TOGETHER, BECAUSE IT DOESN'T DISAPPOINT, IT JUST IS, YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN? I JUST CAME UP WITH THAT INSIGHT. I TALK ABOUT MUSIC A LOT. ME AND MY FRIENDS GET TOGETHER EVERY WEEK AND TALK ABOUT MUSIC ONLINE. IT'S CALLED RECORD CLUB. IT'S REALLY COOL. MAYBE I CAN GET YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS AND I CAN SEND YOU AN EMAIL ABOUT IT SOMETIME?"

"I should really go."

"NO IT'S COOL I TOTALLY GET THAT, I DON'T EVEN HAVE A PEN ANYWAY, AND MY PHONE IS ON LIKE 1%, MY HINGE APP WAS TOTALLY LIGHTING UP BEFOREHAND AND YOU KNOW HOW THAT DRAINS THE PHONE'S BATTERY, HA HA. AND PLUS YOU PROBABLY WANNA GET BACK TO THE MUSIC, TOTALLY MAKES SENSE. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I'M WAITING FOR A BEER, I SHOULD REALLY GET BACK TO MY FRIENDS TOO, THEY'RE PROBABLY GETTING WORRIED ABOUT ME. I'LL JUST EXPLAIN TO THEM THAT I WAS TALKING TO A REALLY CUTE, SMART GIRL IN LINE TO GET A BEER, THEY'LL TOTALLY UNDERSTAND. PLUS I CAN HEAR THE MUSIC FROM HERE. SOUNDS PRETTY GOOD. I LISTENED TO THIS ALBUM ALL WEEK. WHAT SONG IS THIS AGAIN? 'THE GRASS ISN'T GREENER' MAYBE? ANYWAYS, I KNOW I CAN TALK A LOT, SORRY ABOUT THAT, I JUST GET REALLY EXCITED WHEN I'M WITH SOMEONE WHO I THINK IS AS COOL AS ME. NOT THINK, KNOW. KNOW IS AS COOL AS ME. YOU'RE AT A FREE THROW CONCERT. WE'RE TWO PEAS IN A POD. YOU WOULD PROBABLY GIVE THIS ALBUM 3 PUKES OUT OF 5 TOO, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT? YEAH, I SAID 'STARS.' STARS. THREE OF THEM. IT'S A GOOD ALBUM. I'M GLAD I'M HERE. A BIT DERIVATIVE. WHAT WAS YOUR NAME AGAIN?"

Album of the Week: Piecing It Together

Record Club has something cooking for the next ten weeks. That whole ordeal is going to start next week, though. Before we dive in, let's just take a breather and appreciate something new and unassuming. We'll see!

Check out the archives, check out our playlist, and check out this week's album below. Have an awesome seven days, everybody!

WEEK 128 — July 11-17, 2021

What we're listening to this week (Joe's pick):

ALBUM: Piercing It Together

ARTIST: Free Throw

RELEASED: June 25, 2021

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: Probably some particular "wave" of emo (I still don't get it)

WHY JOE PICKED IT: Well, they have a song called "Ocular Pat Down," and an Always Sunny reference is usually going to catch my attention. But other than that, I dunno, it just seemed like fucking forever since I chose an album that came out during the current year and was potentially in my wheelhouse (last one was SUGAREGG, probably?).

TRACKLIST:

1. Cloud Sick
2. Worry Seed
3. The Grass Isn't Greener
4. Down & Out
5. Ocular Pat Down
6. Second Wind
7. Force of Will
8. Dormancy
9. Trust Fall
10. Ghost in the Routine
11. Equilibrium
12. Dawn of a New Day

LENGTH: 39:13

 

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: Bandcamp

 

READING SOME SHIT: I skimmed this piece from Upset Magazine, but man... that picture makes the band look like dudes I wouldn't want to hang out with in a million years.

PREVIOUSLY ON RECORD CLUB: Piercing It Together was produced by Record Club super-producer Will Yip, bringing his total up to four albums: this one, Patience, Hello Exile, and Better EP. Though I should clarify that Free Throw is a Nashville band, not a Philly band.

Happy listening, fam! Have a great week!