Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, Sunny

On first blush, the veneer of gravelly (but not Tom Waitsy) voice, pure acoustic guitar, and total lack of production is lacking. It doesn't have the punch I come to expect with pop music. I think things like "what makes a ska voice a ska voice."

But thanks to record club, on blushes 2+, a certain depth emerges. Of course the album has more than just an acoustic guitar, how silly. More, I see now "anarcho-folk" for what it is trying to be and do and here it's being done expertly. Quite in fact I jive with these themes around political economy, gentrification, work, community, &c. I can imagine how impactful such a show could be to see; so very sad to have lost another to despair.

Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, Ryan

Mischief Brew is not your typical band. True to their uncompromising punk credentials, they are strictly DIY-or-die and release everything through independent labels, like the Dead Kennedys' own Alternative Tentacles, but mostly through their own indie label, Fistolo. This label was run by leadman Erik Petersen and his wife Denise Vertucci, and they took an unconventional approach to releasing Mischief Brew's music. LPs are mostly not simply the most recent project of the band, but instead a curation of music that could date from any time in Erik's music-making career. In my opinion, the finest such collection is Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, which is a very effective remaster of two earlier EPs. These releases are important because of how very obscure some of Mischief Brew's best work can be.

This record showcases some of Mischief Brew's cleanest work and most contemporary subject matters. Much of their catalog is highly influenced by the labor struggles of early 20th century America, hobo culture, and highly abstract anarchist ideals. Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, however, showcases a more 21st-century mindset, tackling things like corporate commercialization, gentrification, technology, and the police, in addition to the typical anti-authoritarianism fans had come to expect. Unfortunately, this album is lacking in some of the "Philadelphia-ness" that permeates other records, but that also makes it much more accessible to a wider audience. 

I could go on and on about the depth I find in these tracks, but I will talk briefly about their lyricism. Tracks like "Dirty Pennies" are certainly beautiful but are somewhat an outlier in its strong narrative that follows from verse to verse. In my opinion, Mischief Brew is at its best when Erik sings a series of images that combine to create a feeling. "Liberty Unmasked" is a fantastic example of this. The poetry hardly follows line to line, but after two listens I don't just have the "vibe" (sorry Joe) of the song but some larger, more profound truth. There's a different kind of feeling when you don't know exactly what someone means, but you know that they mean it, and you know that you agree. That's the rare sort of feeling that sends a shiver down my spine and why I will always try to get the late, great Erik Peterson the appreciation I believe he deserves. 

For those looking for more Mischief Brew, I recommend This is Not for Children. This album is harder-hitting and features loads of tunes that are made by and for Philadelphians ("City of Black Fridays," "Lancaster Avenue Blues," and "O' Pennsyltucky" if you don’t wanna listen to the whole album). As of a year ago, I heard that a bassist for the band is still bartending at Tattooed Mom on South Street.

Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, Nate

I do not like it! Folk punk as an enterprise is among the lowest forms of rock music. AJJ get a pass because they subvert the genre's faux-hobo, faux-country hangups. "I'd rather taste a rebel's glory?" What's your rebellion, panhandler?

Tough for me to get past this genre being a turnoff for me, but that's not Mischief Brew's fault, even if they suck ass.

This shit is Not Good.

Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, Pam

Mischief Brew starts off the album, Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, with "Every Town Will Celebrate," which immediately gives the listener a good picture of what the next 40 or so minutes have in store for them. Okay, so this is that kind of album. Anti-capitalism, anti-cop... was this album written for Joe K***?! Are we going to end up with an "F.O.P. Boycott Me!" sign on our front lawn after this week?

There were a lot of instances on Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia that transported me to sitting around a campfire, or even at a Renaissance Faire or something. Musical activism meets turkey legs. Not only did the acoustic guitar give off that feeling, but the language ("Olde Tyme Mem'ry," "Fare Well, Good Fellows," anything about the Devil, even the use of "Bacchanal" in the album title) contributed greatly to the overall Ren Faire mood.

They weren't lying when they deemed Erik Petersen the "punk poet of Philadelphia." You can't listen to his lyrics without becoming at least a little aware of some of the problems plaguing Philadelphia (among many other cities), while having a strong desire to join in and fight the power. But also, maybe that desire extends to dancing around in a long skirt, corset, and flower crown whilst drinking some mead and shouting Huzzah!

I enjoyed the whole "folk-punk" sound. I thought it created an edginess to what could be otherwise soft folk music, and an accessibility to the punk aspect that punk music usually doesn't grant me. It's a damn shame Erik Petersen isn't still around making music.

I don't know why I'm having such a hard time finishing up this review. It feels like there is more to say. I'm thinking that perhaps what I've written so far doesn't quite capture how much I really did enjoy this album (a lot!). Maybe if I were a more skilled writer, I'd tie it up in a bow by trying to convey how Erik Petersen would likely have a lot to say about the current state of our beloved city if he were still alive to do so today.  Honestly though, maybe it's just me getting old and cynical, but I don't think Philadelphia in 2022 would do anything to make anyone less depressed, especially in terms of the causes Mischief Brew aligns themselves so closely with on Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia. 

Ooof. Yuck. Okay, let's instead end on something not so horribly sad—my new favorite toast "To the witches, to the goblins, and the trolls." Cheers to seven more weeks until I get to enjoy a nice pumpkin beer, which will be the closest thing I will see to a bacchanal for a long time.

Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia, Joe

I am sitting at my desk at my government job. I take a break, look away from the screen, put the papers away, and start to reminisce...

Back in the day, I worked with a guy named Ian. He and I and a bunch of other 20-somethings were on the street team for Zipcar, which mostly meant setting up promo tables on street corners and trying to convince passersby to join our company's car-sharing program. Ian was a trip, man. He was around my age, but he looked like Jon Glaser with long hair. He lived the self-described "anarchist" lifestyle, which at the time was extremely foreign to me.

As a 25-year-old still living with his parents, I had no concept of what Ian's life looked like. Personally, my big takeaway was that anarchists clearly don't believe in daily showers. I was also pretty fascinated with what his weekends looked liked. According to Ian, as we drove to some posh university to convince international students to buy a Zipcar membership, he had just spent the night with other anarchist friends, drinking Hurricane forties, and playing a game called "Tire"(?), in which someone would throw a tire up into the air, and everyone else would try to hit the tire-thrower in the face with their empty forty bottle(??). Ian had the scars to prove it.

Ian's preferred music was loud and dirty punk rock music. I didn't mind when he blasted it on our weekly drives, though that was mostly aesthetics as opposed to me understanding what the music even was. He also listened to a band called Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains. Now that one hit me pretty good. The chorus on their first song on their first official album goes: "In my dreams / I am dirty, broke, / beautiful, and free." I took that as Ian's manifesto, even though he never articulated it that way to me (or possibly never could).

Free. Free from what? I dunno, man, all of this? As I gesticulate wildly toward various aspects of society that surround me as, again, I sit here at my desk at my government job. Note that I'm gesticulating only. Note that I still buy into the system, the system that I ostensibly disdain, while also feeding that same system with my labor and my inaction. I get it, man. I get the impulse to say "fuck it" and spend my Friday nights on the corner with Ian. But note that my arms have no scars.

I think the big thing that I've come to understand since those long-ago days with Ian is that anarchy can be a means to end, as opposed to just an escape. In this regard, Ian was perhaps not the best representative of this idea in my life, seeing as he did the reckless hooliganism thing and also worked for a subsidiary of a blood-sucking publicly-traded car rental company. He never really expressed to me ever actually standing for any particular beliefs. Either he just didn't stand for anything, and the anarchy was an excuse to get drunk on malt liquor and fuck around (understandable), or he had correctly sussed me out to be a square and didn't think I could be trusted (also understandable).

Had I been exposed to an Ian type who actually put purpose behind his so-called rebellion, then perhaps things would have been different. After listening to Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia this week, I'm starting to get the sense that, in an alternate universe, Erik Petersen could have been that person for me. He was no doubt that person for plenty of other people, once-upon-a-time teens who were born a decade before me and lived in a very different Philadelphia than I live in now. The "My Philadelphia" spoken about in that eulogy is not a Philadelphia I've ever known (though, lol, Johnny Hobo gets a shoutout). I'll readily admit that.

In fact, I may even be part of the wave of gentrification that Mischief Brew spends a good chunk of this album rallying against. I cut my young adult teeth on Saturday nights in a blossoming Fishtown, the same Fishtown that I grew up being told was a "bad" neighborhood by my parents, the same Fishtown that my parents will now readily visit themselves to buy overpriced pizza. I may ascribe to the values of "love and rage" that Petersen speaks about in "Every Town Will Celebrate," but I know that I am part of its faceless crowd, waving sweatshop flags, and celebrating the gentrification that tampers down that very same love and rage, and rebellion, and adventure, and so on.

There are times while listening to Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia that I feel like a fraud. I felt a certain thrill and kinship with the idea of rallying against the F.O.P. in "Boycott Me!"; I want to be the hero of tomorrow. But I'm reading along with the lyrics on a website that threatens to swallow those lyrics whole with a large advertisement for Wendy's new $5 Biggie Bag deal. I want to be a rebel, but I'm buying into the system that squashes rebels like bugs. I'm a coward. I don't want to be squished.

I don't think it's easy to be the rebel that Mischief Brew asks you to be, and I don't think that Mischief Brew is making it seem easy either. They present the rigid dichotomy in "Fare Well, Good Fellows": "You either blaze your own trail / Or you're diggin' your own grave." What does blazing one's own trail even look like? Maybe Ian thought he knew, but he was getting a paycheck cut from the same capitalist pigs I was. Maybe Erik Petersen knew the secret, and maybe that secret was so terrible that he found that he couldn't handle the burden in the end.

Or maybe (most likely) the unshakeable truth is that we live in a world that is designed to squish the free-thinkers and the innovators and the rebels. "Old Tyme Mem'ry" says you can either be fake rural or impoverished in the city. "Devil of a Time" says that all that fun you're having in your gentrified city is shallow and pathetic. "Rambler's Ghost" says that if you manage to break free of the system, then your story will be swallowed back up and profited from by rich old vampires who will then keep the money and leave you to die in a ditch. There is no way to escape. We will all fall in line in time, and exterminated if not.

Okay, so where to turn to here? I never had to learn the answer. Ian never had the answer. What answer can we get from Mischief Brew, on their 2003-via-2016 album that fully acknowledges that it exists in an unbeatable capitalist society ("I ain't no preacher for I'm full of blasphemy" on "Roll Me Through the Gates of Hell")?

At the end of my rope, I turn to "Dirty Pennies," a truly breathtaking story-song about a unhoused woman and the cop who had previously cared for her, who had cared so long ago that he can't even remember doing so. This is a tale of compassion, and how our society is structured to gut you of that compassion. The story ends with the cop telling his son a hypothetical story of compassion, hours after he completely discarded any chance of compassion toward another human being who needed it. The talk is talked, but the walk is not walked, it can't be walked because he was given a badge and a baton and is told that the only way that society can function is to chase those dirty and sad and pathetic homeless scoundrels as far away as you can, and to use violence if necessary, and to lock 'em up if they even try to sleep near you, because this is normal. Kindness is abnormal. It has to be if you want to survive.

And so, what I really think "Dirty Pennies" is trying to say here is that the ultimate act of courage you can perform is to have compassion for your fellow man.

Being a rebel is hard. Grappling with my part in the gentrification of my city is hard. Blazing my own trail is fucking hard. Not being lulled to sleep? Motherfucking hard. But having compassion? That's easy. Doesn't feel like it, sometimes. 

Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia ultimately makes a big point in saying that this "anarchy" that we speak of when we talk about Erik Petersen's legacy and when we talk about how we spend our Friday nights and when we talk about music that is affixed with the "anarcho-punk" genre tag is NOT just anarchy for anarchy's sake—i.e. this isn't anarchy in the sense that we are smashing each other in the face with empty forty bottles. This is anarchy as a way of rallying against an unjust system that is designed to keep the rich in power and keep the poor it their place and punish any act of kindness whatsoever. To love your fellow man and rage against those who don't.

For all these reasons, it's important that Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia is mostly just Erik Petersen and an acoustic guitar. No distractions, just a scraggly-voiced Philadelphian with his heart on his sleeve. The message cuts through clear and deep. There is plenty of space to feel, which is an act that we are rarely afforded these days. I appreciated the opportunity.

I don't think that "be compassionate" is some ground-breaking or novel concept. If you are reading this review on this tiny little blog, then you already knew that the idea of compassion is important. To hear the concept expressed so clearly and so urgently, though, was what makes this album special. It's going to stick with me for a long time.

GRADE: 4 pukes out of 5

Five Questions, September 2022

Joe answers five questions that he wondered aloud to himself throughout the month.

1) How the fuck is a NASCAR race in any way fair when some cars have to make a pit stop to change tires or whatever?

Sometimes these questions remain subjective even after they are answered. What is "fair"? I don't know if I can answer that, being someone who doesn't watch NASCAR, even though it seems to be on the family room TV every time I'm at my parents' house and my brother-in-law is there too. I see the cars going fast. I see the the split seconds that separate the drivers during the race. And I can't possibly imagine a car that's in the lead ever being able to get back into the lead if they have to spend fourteen seconds getting their tires changed. Doesn't seem fair, no matter how you look at it. But here's the best I can give you: there is a mandatory minimum of pit stops. For at least two reasons—tires wear down, fuel runs out—everyone will need to meet that minimum for just logistical reasons. Now, if someone has to make more than that minimum number of pit stops during the race, do they have a shot at still winning? That I can't answer, because I don't watch NASCAR. But I can't possibly believe that they would.

2) What is hay, exactly??

Sometimes I think that I probably know the answer, but I the question still goes on the list because it's something I've literally never thought about in my entire life, and because of that, I should probably make sure, just in case. Every Sunday, a truck filled with like 150 bales of hay is delivered to our neighbors. What the hell is that stuff? Confirmed—hay is dried grass. The interesting thing that I also have never thought about is that hay and straw are different. The difference is the type of plant that is dried out. Grass and pre-sprout legumes become hay, and oat, barley, and wheat usually become straw. Hay being primarily food, and straw being "fodder," i.e. laid on the ground for animals to walk/sleep on. The difference is the nutrients in each, and whether it is fit for animal consumption. My neighbor horses could theoretically eat straw, but it would be the equivalent of me eating paper. This is also why horses eat grass and hay—they are the same thing, basically, a comparable relationship between bread and toast. Anyways, this seemed like it was a stupid question, but I needed to know for sure.

3) Do some outlets charge a phone better than others???

Sometimes my stupid human brain convinces me that the answer is one thing, even though we all know the true answer is another thing. Of course it's not the outlet's fault that my phone takes seven hours to charge. It's actually my dogshit charger. There are better chargers than others; I don't understand the terminology (2A? 550 mA?), but we can go ahead and assume that I own terrible chargers. It also doesn't help when two phones are plugged into the same split charger, because the charge is obviously split between the two phones, significantly slowing it down. And finally, having a cheap phone doesn't help, but unfortunately, that's how I live my life, so it's unavoidable.

4) Who should you look at when you are conversing with someone through the use of a translator????

Sometimes, there isn't an actual answer, but I'm more asking for guidance than a clear answer anyway. I was in class a couple weeks ago, and there were guest speakers who spoke entirely in Spanish, with our professor translating every few minutes. They were saying some really kind things, and I didn't want to be rude, but it also felt a little strange to be staring at them and smiling at them as someone else spoke the words to me. I just wanna make sure, that's all. This was a hard google, but at least one website indicated that I should indeed speak to and look at the person who is being interpreted, and not the interpreter. I figured this was the answer, but it's good to know for sure. I didn't want to be rude to anyone.

5) Is beer from a keg called "draft" beer or "draught" beer?????

Sometimes the answer is so simple that I feel bad I even included it here. I think that This Is My Blood is still warping my brain into thinking things are more complicated with beer drinking than they actually are. The simple answer: the former is the American spelling, the latter is the British spelling. The only wrinkle in this answer is that I myself have never been to England, and yet I know that I've seen and even used the "draught" spelling before, so what gives? The secondary answer to this is also simple: marketing. If a domestic beer or a corner bar wants to seem "fancy" or "exotic," then they can use "draught" to get themselves part of the way there. I've never consciously used "draught" to achieve this goal myself, but since when have I ever consciously thought about anything that I ever do?

Cats and Dogs

I was sitting there in my research class, watching the PowerPoint slides as we slowly moved through them, and yet again we're surprise attacked by a picture of the professor's cat, whom he calls "Dr. ___" and not just "___," insisting that the cat has a doctorate degree, and helps with grading papers and whatnot. It's the dumb type of cat humor that typically I'd tend to sit through silently and wait till the moment passed, but today, I had a revelation of sorts. I didn't hate this. I might even... like cats? Oh god, am I a cat person?

Well, no, I wouldn't go that far, but the fact that the question even crossed my mind shows how much my mindset about pets in general has shifted in the past three or four years. Used to be that I disliked cats, mainly because I was mildly allergic to cats. They made me physically uncomfortable, so why should I want to be around them? But lately, I find myself with a new enemy, one that I dislike more strongly than I ever have cats. Yes, I'm talking about dogs. I fucking hate dogs. Hate them. Can't stand them. Don't ever wanna be near one.

Okay, so it's not that I'm a cat person, it's just that I despise dogs so strongly that anything, even goddamn stinky fucking cat, starts to seem preferable. Put a gun to my head, and I'm choosing cats over dogs 100% of the time at this point, which is an insane thing to consider, based on how I've historically felt about cats my entire life up to this point. But I hate dogs just that much.

This probably shouldn't be a shocking revelation to anyone whose read the blog before. It almost feels like I'm going through the stages of grief in reverse on this subject. First, the depression (so many dead dogs). Then, the bargaining (I will never have a dog, so let's instead listen to some music about dogs). Now, it's time for the anger (I fucking loathe dogs). Stay tuned for the shock and denial, I guess, next time a dog makes its way into my house.

There's no denying this salient point: I didn't feel this way before I had kids. Dogs were more of a neutral presence in my life. We owned two different dogs growing up (Mollie passed the baton to Chloe after her death), but it's not like I ever committed to taking care of these dogs at any point, and was thus not responsible for their well-being at any point either (unless specifically asked to do so, like if I was house-sitting while my parents were away or something). I can take care of myself, so dog behavior was a nonentity in the way I lived my life.

But with kids, now all of a sudden, you're responsible for someone else's health and welfare, and that's where I butt up against the very idea of dogs. There is never a 0% chance that a dog is harmful or could harm another being. Never. Maybe that chance is 1%, which means it's not likely that this particular dog is going to harm a child who doesn't know any better, but which also means it's not impossible. You're always taking a chance with a dog. It's the same thing with, I dunno, leaving your four-year-old in the car while you run into Wawa real quick. What are the actual chances that something bad could happen? Not very high. And yet I would never fucking leave my kid in the car by herself at this age, not in a million fucking years, simply because there is a greater than 0% chance of harm.

And I'm not pulling these feelings out of my ass here. I currently have in my life two dogs who have spent a not insignificant amount of time in the vicinity of my children who have documented incidents of violence toward humans. My aunt had to go to the hospital because a dog bit her fucking nose off. My niece had to go to the hospital because a separate dog tried to bite her nose off and just barely missed. Harm was inflicted upon human beings by dogs for the simple crime of getting too close to the dogs. That's it.

If it were me, I would've immediately gotten rid of the dog. Immediately. Would've sent them to the pound and been done with it. There is an animal living in your house that attacked a person in your care for no fucking reason! And these dogs are still allowed to exist! Furthermore, the very idea of "domesticated" dogs is allowed to perpetuate! As if that's even possible!

I think here is the real reason I get so angry about dogs. It's not that dogs are inherently violent. They are, but it's not like I'm inordinately angry at bears or sharks, despite the fact that these creatures also are known to violently maim and even kill humans. I feel differently about dogs because I'm constantly gaslighted over the fact that I have every right to be weary of dogs. I say that I don't want my kids around dogs, and I'm told that I'm overreacting. Everyone acts surprised when my kids are afraid of their dog. Why are you surprised? Dogs literally attacked their family members! You can still see the scars!

 

I sincerely don't understand how this was normalized. I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised; we also live in a society that chalks up a white male college lacrosse player raping a woman as "boys will be boys." It makes sense that we'd turn the other way when we invite violent creatures into our homes, and forgive them instantly when them maim and maul our family members, and ignore the fact that this could be the behavior of any dog, and any instant, there's literally nothing stopping them from snapping for no reason and putting your kid in the hospital. It makes sense because our priorities are warped and very often completely backward. 

I'm not saying all this because I myself am afraid of dogs. I'm not the concern here (though ask me about how many parties I've been to since I graduated college in which one of my adult peers was bitten in the face by a dog). My children are the concern. One of the pillars of parenthood is the idea of protection, and I take that responsibility seriously. And I'm tired of being everyone else completely ignoring the fact that dogs either are or very well could be a menace to my children (everyone except my reasonable and protective wife, I should point out now, which I'm thankful is true, or else we'd probably have a dog right now). I'm not waking up in the middle of the night, sweaty after a nightmare about dogs. I don't need to see a dog attack in my dreams, because I've seen the aftermath of a real dog attack with my own goddamn eyes.

As much as I have always disliked cats, I'm struggling to think of a time I've ever had any reason to think this way about them. A few surface-level scratches here and there over the years, but for the most part, cats are content to just tell you "fuck you" with their eyes and then disappear behind the couch for hours or even days. I used to resent that behavior, but now I find it comforting. Cats and I are extremely comfortable with our mutual distrust for each other, and no cat owner has ever tried to convince me otherwise.

Actually, let's just end this blog post by saying fuck dogs, fuck cats, and hermit crabs forever. Our hermit crabs are still alive! Two months later! And they haven't even come close to seriously injuring my children!

Never Seen It, #89 of 200: Jerry Maguire

Show me the list of 200 movies I've never seen before! Show me the list of 200 movies I've never seen before!

Jerry Maguire

1996

Cameron Crowe

This is a list of 200 movies I've never seen before, but that doesn't mean I don't know anything about any of the movies on the list. In fact, my knowing at least one aspect of them may have originally guaranteed their placement on the list in the first place. Sometimes, films are so ingrained in the pop culture public consciousness that it would be impossible for me to come in with zero knowledge of that movie.

For the most part, I'm talking about famous quotes from the movie. Occasionally, for whatever reason, a certain quote from a certain movie will become "well known." Meaning that people are quoting it outside of the context of describing the movie. The biggest example recently in this Never Seen It column has been A Few Good Men, whose immortal line "You can't handle the truth!" I was already familiar with. It would have been impossible to function as a person who consumes pop culture art to not know about that line at the age of 33.

But so the question became, why do they say that line in the movie? Who can't handle the truth? The truth about what? Why can't they handle it? I needed to know. And so I placed A Few Good Men on a list of movies and forced myself to watch it to find out. The fun part was finally putting the quote into its original context. And the judgment became, did the film do a good job with that quote? More importantly, was its stature in pop culture justified by its usage in the movie?

Today's film—which I swear we're going to talk about—is Jerry Maguire, and it is one of seven movies to have multiple quotes listed on AFI's Top 100 Movie Quotes list. I knew that "Show me the money!" was from this movie. I did not know (or forgot?) that "You had me at 'hello.'" was in it as well. After watching Jerry Maguire, and hearing the famous quotes in their natural habit, I can now say that they were... okay, I guess.

"Show me the money!" comes pretty early in the movie. Jerry Maguire is almost two movies in one. Tom Cruise plays a sports agent who tries to revitalize his passion for his work by becoming more client-focused, and is fired for his efforts. That's the first half of the movie. The other half is a rom-com with Renée Zellweger, which we'll get to. But back in the first half, Jerry is trying desperately to hang onto as many clients as he can after getting the boot, and the only one he manages to keep is Cuba Gooding Jr.'s Rod Tidwell.

Tidwell makes one thing clear—he believes he is worth a lot of money—and so he makes sure that Jerry Maguire is on the same page. He implores his current and future sports agent to thus "Show [him] the money." He yells the phrase on the phone to Jerry Maguire multiple times, and even makes Jerry yell it back at him. Simple, and yet effective—Cuba Gooding Jr. won an Oscar for this role.

It didn't feel like a momentous line, no culmination of plotlines or character decisions or anything, just a funny little line that comes about one-third of the way into the film. It doesn't feel to me like the 25th best movie quote of all time. But I have at least three theories as to how it could've ended up in such a spot.

One is that it unintentionally touches on the American public's uncomfortable relationship with capitalism. We are meant to see Jerry Maguire as a hero for wanting to eschew monetary success in favor of intimate relationship building with his clients, i.e. happiness, and yet here is his one and only client rebuking that mindset, saying that happiness doesn't matter unless you have money, and lots of it. He forces Jerry Maguire to repeat the phrase over and over, much to Jerry's embarrassment. He's embarrassed because he is being forced to admit that he is wrong. He can write as many manifestos as he wants, but the truth remains: he will be a slave to capitalism forever.

The second theory is related to the fact that Jerry is himself forced to yell "Show me the money!" multiple times. I'd argue that the fact that it is Tom Cruise yelling this phrase and making a fool of himself really had an effect on an American public who was used to see Tom Cruise as the most unflappably cool screen actor of his time. He is a larger-than-life persona, otherworldly. Just a few months earlier, he was seen on the big screen in Mission Impossible (which we'll get to by early next year). I'm thinking that maybe there was some unconscious itch to see this guy taken down a peg, and Jerry Maguire fulfilled that unconscious desire by debasing its title character and making him eat shit just to pay the rent. Not that anyone dislikes Tom Cruise, it's just uncomfortable seeing someone's star shine as bright as his. Maybe "Show me the money!" was a way to dim it slightly.

The third theory plays with Occam's razor, because it is the simplest and thus the most likely to be true. Maybe moviegoers just like stupid phrases yelled over and over in funny ways. Maybe the words means less than the way big-name actors yell them. Maybe Cuba Gooding Jr. could have yelled "Bake mom some pretzels!" over and over, and "Bake mom some pretzels!" would have ended up as the 25th-best movie quote of all time. Does it even matter?

Regardless of which theory is correct, I'd argue that the quote left a little to be desired when it finally hit, after a lifetime of hearing it repeated in public. Which is fine! That's on me for isolating the phrase from the rest of the movie, and expecting it to still stand. One specific line of dialogue probably shouldn't be the end-all-be-all of a movie. Still, the fact that everyone knows the line, including me, who had never seen the movie before, told me that it was going to hit hard when it finally popped up. The fact that it didn't was disappointing.

But hey, at least that one actually makes sense, unlike the other one. "You had me at 'hello'" is perplexing. The context is that Jerry is finally making his big profession of love for Zellweger's Dorothy Boyd (so we're in the other half of the movie from the sports agent stuff). He gives this long-winded speech about his love for Dorothy, but she eventually says that the speech (his grand gesture) was completely unnecessary, because: "You had me at 'hello.'"

This is me being stupid, probably, but I didn't get it when she first said it. I get what she meant—she's loved him since she first met him, and she doesn't need him to profess his love now, after their love has already been well established—but it's the details that confuse me. Specifically, the fact that she calls it "hello," when Jerry Maguire doesn't say "hello" to her in this scene at all. And "hello" is not even the first thing he says to Dorothy when they first meet at the airport (it's "Excuse me, can I help you?").

Okay, fine, he does say "hello" to the other women when he enters the scene, but it's a tossed-off "hello," and I don't understand why Dorothy would specifically refer to this "hello" as the moment when she knew their love was meant to be. I'd almost be inclined to argue that this "hello" was added to the script, or ad-libbed by Cruise, when everyone realized that "You had me at 'hello'" makes no goddamn sense otherwise. 

No, that's too strong. Again, I know it makes sense as a declaration of undying love. I'm just saying that the details are too strange to me that I can't seem to wrap my head around its popularity. (I'm not the only one—Zellweger was so confused by the line in the script that she thought it was a typo at first.) And to say that this is the 52nd-best movie quote of all time seems insane to me.

But this is what the American public has chosen, and who the fuck am I to say otherwise? I'm just some asshole who's watching some movies. I'm only one man. There is nothing I can do to change what the general pop culture populace has chosen as their mottos. All I can do is consume, comment, and then move on.

GRADE: 3 pukes out of 5

NEXT TIME: Pretty much every filmography I've ever looked up has a credit for JFK, so we'll see next time just how many major Hollywood stars one political drama can fit into three hours.

Song of the Week: "ChevyS10"

Hop in and turn the music up loud, we have songs for days and weeks.

"ChevyS10"

Sudan Archives

from Natural Brown Prom Queen

2022

Big props to any artist who can completely reinvent themselves while also managing to stay true to their own unique sound. Threading that needle is not easy; some might even say it's impossible. Not Sudan Archives. She pulled it off.

Last we checked in on Sudan Archives in this very blog column, she was making some stately R&B music that seemed, to my ears, just a little boring (that Song of the Week being the album's exception). So I didn't expect a whole lot from her follow-up, Natural Brown Prom Queen. Maybe more of the same.

Holy shit, no. This is something completely different. Sudan Archives has leveled up. The sound is more pop-inflected now, so that means it's bigger, and louder, and sexier. She contains multitudes now. There's some house-inspired music that feels more homegrown than Renaissance. There's some deep bass beats that make me keep thinking that Rico Nasty is going to hop on here at any moment. There's some quirky/catchy songs that I swear to god remind me of tUnE-yArDs.

But the great thing about it is that Sudan Archives does all this but also manages to not stray far from the one thing that made her unique in the first place: the violin. I don't think that we even need to try to overcompensate here with an explanation of this instrument. It's cool that she's out here making big-tent pop-R&B while focusing on the violin. It's cool that she's playing the violin and sounding cool while playing the violin. It's cool that she's out here singing a chorus that goes "I just want my titties out" while playing the fucking violin. Sudan Archives goes bonkers on this album but also maintains her core truth. It's impressive.

Witness "ChevyS10," which one might consider the centerpiece of Natural Brown Prom Queen. It's a trip. It starts with some vocal flourishes over a light guitar, but then that beat comes in, and you start dancing a little, and it slowly morphs into this slinky, funky thing, with all the suave badassery you'd expect from other cool car drivers in music, like William DeVaughn. But also, on top of all that, is a really neat violin riff, just six notes, repeated a few times, somewhat asynchronous to what's going on in the rest of the song, but that's cool too, that she's able to layer this additional, unique sound on top of everything else.

Natural Brown Prom Queen was a big surprise for me this past week. But now I'm convinced that there is no one out there doing what Sudan Archives is doing right now.

Album of the Week: Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia

September is always a rough month for students, as we all head back to class and attempt to readjust after a long summer of leisure. Understandable that Record Club might fall to the wayside, if you are indeed focusing on schoolwork. That's why I want to give a big shoutout to all the significant others of adult learners right now. Y'all are holding down the fort, both at home and at Record Club. Thanks for all you do.

As we move into the fourth week in a row where a grad student's boyfriend picks the album, remember that you there are plenty of options if you want to get involved in Record Club, even if you find yourself quite busy this time of year. You can check out previous albums that we've covered in the archives, you can just listen to a nice selection of Record Club songs on two different playlists, or you can hype yourself up by checking out how far we've come in 2022 so far.

And if you do feel like you have the time, then continue on below. You never know when an album is going to grab you by the throat and say, "put the homework down, and listen to this." Maybe this is the week. Only one way to find out.

WEEK 191 — September 25-October 1, 2022

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

ALBUM: Bacchanal 'n' Philadelphia

ARTIST: Mischief Brew

RELEASED: Two separate recordings from 2003 were combined into one official LP and released on February 2, 2016

LOCATION: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: a few different punks—punk rock, folk punk, anarcho-punk

WHY RYAN PICKED IT: "Correct me if I'm wrong but it seems that the folk punk poet laureate of Philadelphia, Erik Peterson, is yet to be represented in Record Club. I'm prepared to get my feelings hurt because I'm a super fan, but I genuinely believe his music is tragically underappreciated."

TRACKLIST:

1. Every Town Will Celebrate
2. Olde Tyme Mem'ry
3. Boycott Me!
4. Dirty Pennies
5. Liberty Unmasked
6. Farewell, Good Fellows
7. Devil of a Time
8. Rambler's Ghost
9. The Drunk of Three Nights
10. Roll Me Through the Gates of Hell
11. Anti-Lullaby

LENGTH: 47:07

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: Bandcamp

READING SOME SHIT: Here's an article in Vice that celebrates the life and scene of Erik Peterson, who tragically took his own life in 2016, a few months after this album was released.

PREVIOUSLY ON RECORD CLUB: This appears to be the most explicitly Philadelphian album we've covered so far, but there are plenty of albums we've done that come from Philadelphia, and thus are implicitly Philadelphian (being the best and most important city in the world, this is unavoidable for Philadelphia artists). The other Philly RC alumni: Empath, Stereo League, Caracara, Empty Country, Valencia, Kurt Vile, Mannequin Pussy, the War on Drugs, Tierra Whack, Johnny Football Hero, Jazmine Sullivan, plus the Menzingers, kind of.

Happy listening, fam! Have a great week!

The Record Club Final Word: Tom on Young Enough

If you pick an album for Record Club, you will get an "exit survey" on Friday morning, after the reviews have been published. This isn't to add more to your workload; I instead just want to provide space for the album picker to have the final say, if they feel like they need some sort of closure on the week. It's totally and completely optional. But I also love reading about music, and I love reading about writing about music, and so I'm always glad when someone fills out the exit survey.

~~~~~~~~~

1. Was there anyone who convinced you to consider a different opinion regarding the album itself?

Not really :-). But I was encouraged by the sheer amount of reviews that people turned in, it seemed like some had familiarity with this record already and those that didn't found it catchy and shortish enough to listen to and write about, which was why I chose it. I assume everyone who reads this and certainly everyone who responds is at least anywhere from 1-10 years older than me, so just taking time out of their day to listen and think is greatly appreciated.

2. Was there anyone who you felt did a good/bad job at presenting their own views, regardless of whether you agreed with said views?

Happy to hear it'll go into Pam's regular rotation.

I liked Joe's session with his therapist as a great dialogue between interlocutors, even though I think finding a shift from "cool" guitars to "commercial" pop as disconcerting is a vestigial feeling from when "selling out" actually meant something like when Liz Phair got all that backlash in 2000. It's worth noting that Charly Bliss didn't play much bigger venues than with Guppy on their 2019 tour despite their sound shift.

It was also a good use of practicing intuition and criticism, the 150-some-odd-year-old questions posed by Matthew Arnold when he formalized the genre have always been: "What's it doing? Do you like it? Why or why not? Be specific." Finding the right word (wan, meretricious, ephemeral, staid, ebullient, kitschy, affable) to describe something is a laborious endeavor in and of itself, which is why the professionals make money off the work. The other thing the therapist was getting at, which my own helped me learn during a crisis of the quarter-life kind, was being honest with yourself. If, when listening, something doesn't stick or you don't like something it isn't worth it to force yourself into thinking that you do like it just to seem more in the know or something. Maybe you only half like it. That's okay, taste is taste is taste. It's all relative, what matters is the argument.

3. Were the reviews varied, or did this album elicit same-y opinions? What about that album made that true? Or do you think that this answer is reviewer-dependent and not album-dependent?

The reviews were the same in the sense that five out of eight mentioned "Blown to Bits," and four out of those five thought it was a serious highlight, which I disagree with; it's a great song and all, but aurally and sentimentally, tracks 4-8 are the real meat of the album for me. The consensus out of all eight seemed to range from "earthshattering" (me) to "fine" (Sunny), with everyone else falling somewhere in between. I think it's an easy album to latch on to since it's so catchy.

I also noted at least two digs at my Chvrches ban which, yea I was asking for, but I think comparing any band with a girl singer and synths (of the tracklist only two songs [1 & 8] have real Neon moments in the vein the Scots love to thrive in) to them is reductive, to say nothing of the differences in their approach to subject matter. For the white liberals in the chat, think of the episode of Parks & Rec when April says Donna is like the tiny white furry dog just because she "is pretty and likes makeup and stuff" and Donna takes offense because it shows April only knows her on a surface level. Same vibe. People's answers are always reviewer dependent, I think if there's a real consensus on the hook-songs that drew people in, then there's an argument to be made that those songs scratched some existential sonic itch that people had.

4. Did the variety of reviews justify the album choice? Would you choose a different album (yes/no) based on the reviews received?

It justified the album as good and accessible to me, I honestly would've been surprised if there were any outright pans in the feedback like the one I gave Magic Toaster back in the day.

Full disclosure though, Young Enough was on a shortlist in my head along with Talon of the Hawk by the Front Bottoms and Private Lives by Low Cut Connie. Both of which are a little longer time-wise and require more time to get to know because they can seem so simple at first (angst-folk punk-I like girls vs. troubadour-south Philly-dirty soul piano man). Both are more literary than they seem though, and I can't recommend them enough.

If ever given the chance to suggest a record again, I'd probably go with something by a Black artist. Maybe Saba's introspective CARE FOR ME. or the Roots' existential How I Got Over. The two works I've been losing my mind to lately are Beyoncé's latest masterpiece, whose danceability keeps revealing itself in new and exciting ways, and Open Mike Eagle's Anime, Trauma and Divorce which is 35 minutes about exactly what it says it is.

5. What can Record Club do differently to make your RC experience (especially as a weekly captain) a worthwhile one?

Box of Cheez-Its

6. Any other takeaways you have from this experience?

Not really. I liked being a captain, it let me gauge how much strangers I've never met like something I unabashedly love. If they did or didn't agree, I was still spreading my own gospel.

A Year of Blind Spots: Super Fly

The easy comparison would be to say that Curtis Mayfield's Super Fly is like Isaac Hayes' Hot Buttered Soul, because these are two titans of soul music at the top of their game. I love the sounds and textured in this specific type of soul music—the excess of strings, the falsetto vocals, the funky rhythms with syncopated drums and bongos, the tension between the inhuman amounts of cool and the creeping sense of dread. Keep it coming.

A different comparison would be to say that Curtis Mayfield's Super Fly is like the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, because they function in the same way in relation to the movie that they connected to. I talked about how the soundtrack for Saturday Night Fever was interesting because it featured the best sounds of disco, while the movie portrayed that sound as a death rattle. Same juxtaposition here, but in reverse. Super Fly the album is about cycles of poverty and violence, and the merciless grip that the drug trade has on those trapped in these cycles. Super Fly the movie is about a drug dealer trying to make one last steal and then escape the game forever. The characters on the album are at best on the periphery of the movie.

That's interesting to me, how asynchronous a soundtrack and a film can be, even when the artist on the soundtrack portrays himself in the film, singing a song from the soundtrack. It's almost like Curtis Mayfield knew that this film was going to be labeled "Blaxploitation" and was doing his best to pull it back from the brink. He miraculously succeeds; I liked Super Fly, but probably only because the soundtrack was so goddamn good.

There's a ongoing conversation about the so-called "blaxploitation films" and their value, a conversation I'm probably not qualified to engage in. There's an argument that films like Super Fly did more harm than good by perpetuating racist stereotypes, by consistently portraying black people as pimps, drug dealers, criminals. The counterargument is that it was revolutionary that the central characters in these films were black, that the very idea of black characters being front and center, no matter how they were portrayed, is a net positive. 

Like I said, it's not my place to say, but I will say that, to my ears, Curtis Mayfield is doing a lot of the heavy lifting when it comes to that counterargument. Super Fly the album is a poignant look at the struggle, whereas Super Fly the film is content to glamorize that struggle. Had the soundtrack featured songs about how cool the neighborhood coke dealer was, I don't think we'd be talking about Super Fly right now. But the fact is that the soundtrack was able to undercut a lot of the cheap thrills of the movie by being honest and real about how dire the situation really was. And still is, if I myself am being honest about it. That is the legacy of Super Fly. That's why it lives on.

Young Enough, Sunny

Drawing the comparison to **v***** isn’t what I'd do, but I get why. It doesn't have enough beep boops! I'd immediately make the association to Metric, mixed in with a bit more pop and indie, Tegan and Sara or adjacent. Alls to say it fits in and around my sensibilities enough that it was a nice week of listening, but nothing terribly stuck, as I kept tending to compare to my more familiar touchstones.

Young Enough, Dillon

I've reviewed the last few records doing a lot of thinking about what I was listening to, and I'm here to proudly say that I didn't break my brain with this one. Not that this record doesn't deserve serious attention—it does. Maybe it was my mood this week, or maybe this album really fucking slaps (it does), but I just felt. No, there shouldn't be an "it" at the end of that sentence. I'm not sure what I was feeling, but I know I was feeling.

Two times this week I turned on Young Enough when I was sinking after a long day, feeling tired and hollow, and felt somehow more alive. I can't say I really felt better or felt my worries fade away into a kale-smoothie-yoga-CBT-induced nirvana, but almost every song on this album made me feel like it was what I needed, each in a different way.

My strongest guess for what is behind all this feeling is that pop lyrics are specific enough to wake up your imagination, but general enough to project your own experience onto the lyrics as well as the instrumentation. Or maybe Charly Bliss just slaps.

Young Enough, Nate

This kind of record—buzzy, released in the last few years—is the hardest to review within the confines of this project. Records from the distant or less-recent past (or, even better, records from the now) are easier to approach because they come cloaked in the protection of either distance or virginity. Having to confront the undeniable quality to this record—a bunch of young people decided to take a stab at remaking Tokyo Police Club's best songs and basically pull it off—means having to grapple with just how strongly hype, marketing, and artifice affects the overall impression of a band more than songcraft does. Put another way: These fuckers were everywhere, anointed by everyone, and annoying as hell for interstitial reasons when this album dropped. None of that changes the fact that it's masterful, modern power-pop. Sucks to have missed this at its first pass, pleasing to catch it now.

BONUS: Here are the eight best Tokyo Police Club songs presented in increasing order of radness. This is the rare band that got better the more they slowed down. Also, there are two TPC references in that first bonus sentence! If you find them, you need to get a fucking life.

8) "Cheer it On"

7) "Miserable"

6) "End of a Spark"

5) "Be Good"

4) "Favourite Color"

3) "Your English is Good"

2) "Not Sick"

1) "Argentina"

Young Enough, Tom

Why Tom? Why in this "Lose Yourself"-esque moment of one shot, one opportunity to pick an album for the adoring masses of Puke on Your Birthday's weekly Record Club did you pick Charly Bliss's 2019 under-the-radar power pop technicolor audiofest Young Enough?? Because writing a sternly worded letter to my congressman (do better Mr. Boyle) hasn't changed anything, and I want people to feel good. Not to mention Joe's submission format allows not just for the occasional shitpost or nonsense thread of possibly incoherent thoughts, but for some more longform blog-lite essayposting the likes of which usually I find annoying but that I'll take full advantage of since I can gush over this record.

I chose Young Enough for a few simple reasons, first of all being that it's an album I love. In much the same way a friendship can start out simply with "wow they seem cool" and move on to "shit we hang out all the time I guess I enjoy their vibe," my relationship with this song cycle grew from a casual place in a massive playlist of other records I was reviewing to such adoration I took time out of my day and money out of my wallet to purchase it for $9.99 on the group's Bandcamp page so I could always have it with me (on Bandcamp Friday to assure every cent went directly to them of course). As a lover of speed and hooks and guitar the soundscape alone was more than plentiful in scratching every kind of itch I had in that musical drought of a summer (sans the big one) before Dark Brandon won the most important election of the last generation. Secondly, time-wise it was economical. The way that listening happens through this club makes it very hard to develop a deep and meaningful relationship with some of the music, I just don't think that one week is enough for anything over 50 minutes and can lead to snap judgements based on shallow interactions—outside of something that you really hate. 38 minutes and 54 seconds to enjoy some art seems like a short enough span that, working in tandem with the earworm sounds, it could provide not too large of a time commitment to reach a semi-reasonable conclusion.

Which brings us to the record itself, the eternally squeaky Eva Hendricks has gone on record as saying it was their attempt to make their own Melodrama after their debut Guppy's clear lean on a Weezer Blue Album template. That first record was full of tallow and schmaltz, everything was crunch with little direction outside of some side-eye, and Hendricks was such a screamer that her sense of humor could barely make up for the lack of intra-song cohesion outside of the 30 seconds after the first chorus of "Glitter" where the guitars actually felt enrapturing. Their failure to make a Lorde record, though, yielded something with such focus and galvanizing hooks that it forms a real narrative on the anxieties of one's meandering soon-to-be-mid-twenties in the face of personal tragedy. Structurally, it pulls off the same thing that The Dean himself points out about one of Joe's wet dreams, after the first three anxiety-based songs we arrive at the meat of the album, everything's put into context.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves, "Blown to Bits"'s neon-synth intro warms the engine up. Ostensibly about the accidentally sent emergency bomb warning in Hawaii all those years ago, it signifies more for its once and eternal line "I don't know what's coming for me after 24," which before 25 sounds most agreeable and after 25 sounds like unnecessary worrying for those who still haven't figured their shit out yet, but no rush, that's what your twenties are for. "Capacity"'s lamenting builds to a tasty guitar lick at 1:23, and the small mantras in the pre-chorus and outro should be enough to get any East Coaster to briefly give into their superiority complex, while "Under You"'s momentum makes an otherwise bland song enthralling.

Then comes the best sequence of the whole damn track listing all but one of which are reasonably downtempo despite how loud they are. "Camera" and "Fighting in the Dark" are reaction-to-abuse songs, one on the streets and one post therapy in a frustrating realization that healing isn't a return to feeling unviolated but a way to cope and understand. That's why Hendricks' ball never drops. The sheer size of "Young Enough" is adequate to impress to say nothing of its subject matter of a young couple in love, which could be or (more likely) could not be the toxic thing she just came out of. Make note of the simple diction "You were still just a kid / You're a beautiful boy / Crushing cigarettes just to prove a point' and how it leads to some semblance of truth, what one Pitchfork writer terms "the sadomasochism of youth." in "We're young enough to believe it should hurt this much." May this showstopper end every set that Charly Bliss has until the sun swallows this god forsaken planet.

And then there's "Bleach." Let me ask you reader, have you ever heard the laughter of a six-year-old in a bounce house, three jumps away from throwing up all the ice cream that their parents just bought them? Have you ever taken acid and walked around the woods on a Saturday morning in early June as the birds, cicadas, and not yet oppressive heat provided a sense of comfort? Have you ever seen the sunrise come up over the mountains surrounding the Dead Sea in the Masada, each beam of light illuminating all that surrounds so that you can feel God? Have you ever gotten road head? "Bleach" is a thrill ride of fury and fun and synth that blows everything else out of the water, every sound, every note is designed as a form of pure pleasure, self-care for someone raging against the fruitlessness of her own attempts at healing, which is why she's surrounded by the things she loves and things she wants to buy. According to Hendricks the song is about trump, but anyone who's taken an intro to English class knows enough to know that what the writer puts in isn't necessarily what the audience gets out of it (looking at you The Director of Luca, "it's not about being gay" my ass). Within the narrative of the album this is the rage against a gaslighter, an abuser the likes of which no one should have to deal with, one that drives Eva herself to scream one of the greatest lines of sarcasm ever put onto digital: "Spitting me out and I should say something nice? / I'm fucking joy and I hemorrhage light." Go off bestie.

What's left is three more earworm laments to time wasted on this horrible person and the horrible things they did but not with such context that they play almost as the come down until the last track which is not acceptance but a course forward. It should be noted that Eva and her fellow guitarist who played Dash in the 2004 mid-life crises movie The Incredibles are usually the ringleaders when it comes to songwriting, but it's actually her drummer brother Sam who wrote most of the riffs this time around on the back half and cemented his place as their secret weapon, to say nothing of their rhythm section in general which (as hearkens back to the CBGB punk they love so much) will always play on beat with little to no syncopation.

I am unapologetically and unabashedly in love with this record, to the point that my three roommates, when I had them, accused me of "simping like a motherfucker" anytime I put it on. Partially it's because it sounds so good, and partially because it's a bit of a safety blanket, a kind of "it hurts a lot right now but you'll be okay" in the face the of biological, electoral, and economic collapse that never really went away. I am hopeful that their next record delivers just as much as this one did but I won't hold my breath, so many groups find just the right synergy for the work to be greater than the sum of their parts only to blow it on the next one and spend the rest of their career trying to figure out what went wrong. Album three is famously the hardest one if those aughts revival bands taught us anything. But hopeful I remain.

Young Enough, Kai

Wow did I hit play on a CHVRCHES album I thought as Young Enough began. I'm just joking, as I took time to read the "why I picked it" section of the album introduction this week. I will say, though, I played CHVRCHES after listening to Charly Bliss, and they don't sound worlds apart...

The album name seems to capture the main theme I got from the album—being young and growing up. I sometimes get frustrated with this theme, as I generally find those passionately singing they are still young enough to make mistakes are in their early twenties (or younger), and I feel grumpy and old as I exclaim that yes, you definitely are “Young Enough.”

I was suspicious this was the case on "Young Enough," when I heard "I don't know what's coming for me after twenty four." To decide whether I should feel grumpy and old when listening to the album, I actually tried to find out the age of the members of the band. I only succeeded in finding Spencer Fox's age, lead guitarist and co-founder, who is 29. As such, I guess that is close enough to my age that I don't have to feel grumpy. Interestingly, on my search, I also learned that Spencer Fox is the voice of Dash from The Incredibles movie. Go figure.

I have never been great at understanding music genres. There seems to be as many genres as there are artists at times. Charly Bliss seems to straddle Pop and Rock to my ears, and blends those on the album. I haven't listened to much Pop, or Power pop, in a while, and I really enjoyed the change of pace for this week.

Specifically in terms of reviewing the album, I thought it started really strong, and in particular I really liked "Blown to Bits" despite pulling out the "twenty four" lyric above from said song. After the opening few songs though I kind of lost the thread of enjoyment, and the mid-to-late point of the album didn't leave much of an impression on me. Overall though, an enjoyable listen.

Young Enough, Pam

Apparently, one time I overheard Joe listening to this exact album and I compared the lead singer's voice to that of a cartoon character (I know, good burn). I'll assume that reaction came from some deep-rooted jealousy that surfaces when Joe is drawn to indie band frontwomen with quirky voices (see: anything Joe has previously written on Frances Quinlan of Hop Along). Ok, so now that that's out of the way, I did really enjoy this album. I don't think I'll ever get to the point where I'm comfortable saying that something "slaps," (I'd feel too much like Dr. Evil doing the "Macarena": "I'm hip!"), but Young Enough was honestly very enjoyable from start to finish.

We can talk about style, importance, or how much a particular album is appreciated, musically, but perhaps the highest praise I can give for a Record Club album is that I will honestly listen to it again. I've been consistently writing these weekly reviews for almost a full year now, and the list of Record Club albums that make it to my listening rotation after the week they are picked remains pretty limited (even including my own picks!). I think in recent Record Club history, I've only felt the same way about Amadou Balaké and Tyler Childers, and I really have continued to enjoy their albums. Based on how Young Enough has left me feeling this week, I think I can say with confidence that it will join the ranks of these two very cool, and all very different albums. I also caught our four-year-old singing "It's gonna break my heart to see it blown to bits" yesterday, and that felt like a real parenting win.

Young Enough, Gary

Charly Bliss must be a great band. My daughter won't stop dancing to them. 

Back in the day there was a videogames called Amplitude. The game was all over the place with types of music from P.O.D. to blink-182. Then there were a few songs from Garbage ("Cherry Lips"), Freezepop ("Super-Sprøde"), and David Bowie ("Everyone Says 'Hi'").

CB really brought me back to playing, because their music had such early-2000s pop-rock feel. Highly recommend checking out the Amplitude soundtrack if you enjoyed this album. 

My favorite song was right out of the gate. "Blown to Bits" was incredible. It combined the electric funk to my life. Sports, drunk walks, and staying at home alone instead of going out to the party? Yep!

Speaking of bringing back memories. "Chatroom" had me right back there. A/S/L? When really we all just wanted to see some stranger nude. There is some deep shit thrown in there for sure. But still a upbeat song to get you grooving. 

Hard to believe gets the legs bumping. It's a good spot too, because it comes off a song that's probably my least favorite ("Hurt Me"), because it's the only song I skipped halfway through. How many times can you tell me I don't want to hurt you? Anyway, hard to believe gets you dancing around like a crazy woman. Or at least that's what happened in our basement when I put it on, and Gia couldn't stop tapping her foot, spinning around, and doing a pointing motion. 

Thanks for reading. I give the album 4 out of 5 Miller Lites. 

Sidenote: I think I'm the only person that's going to enjoy this week of Record Club. I hope I'm wrong there though. 

Tip your waitors and waitresses. Go birds!

Young Enough, Joe

I think there might be a point when you can know too much about a band. I was thinking about this as I listened to Young Enough for the 63rd time and finished reading an interview with Eva Hendricks with a website called The Creative Independent, which is "a growing resource of emotional and practical guidance for creative people." There was lots of interesting insight into how an rock band could ever possible operate in today's day and age. There was also a feeling of, "I don't think I need to know this."

It almost ruins the kayfabe, to a certain extent. I want to believe that music exists as a higher form of art, that it is created solely for me, the listener, that it is specifically designed to make me feel emotions I wouldn't feel otherwise. To learn that, yes, to a certain extent Charly Bliss exists to make money, or at the very least cannot exist without money, is tantamount to pulling back the curtain. I don't want to know what's back there. I want the illusion to remain. I know it's an illusion, but I thought we all collectively decided to pretend anyway.

There's a lot of discussion about money, and Hendricks presents herself as someone who is making do with what little she and her bandmates have in the Big City. I don't doubt that this is true. But she also hails from Westport, Connecticut, where the average household income is $220k. I don't even think she is being disingenuous; I too was raised with privilege, and I too found myself taking advantage of the food pantries for off-campus students in college, even though my parents would've definitely given me money for food if I had asked them. It just seems weird to me that you'd have this big discussion about money and not once mention what base you were born on.

See, this is what I'm talking about. What does any of this have to do with my thoughts about Young Enough? Nothing, really. You can know too much about a band. I wish I didn't know anything about Charly Bliss before this week. I even wish I had never heard their debut album, Guppy. Well, no, I don't wish that, I love that album, but it would've been easier to hear Young Enough in 2019 if I was coming in fresh. There wouldn't have to be a comparison. I wouldn't have heard the distinct turn toward pop.

And if I didn't know anything about Charly Bliss, then I wouldn't know that this focus on making decidedly pop music was deliberate, and then we wouldn't have to have this stupid discussion yet again. What is pop? Blah blah blah. I mean, to my ears, the idea of "pop music" seems here to be used as a sort of preemptive excuse—"the production is crisper and we don't really sound all that much like a garage band anymore because we were trying to be a pop band, you see."

Not that any of this matters either, I'm just saying. Young Enough is definitely catchy, so if consciously making pop music is something they want to continue doing, then I'm cool with that. I think it just would have been easier if I had started here and then discovered the more Weezer-inspired stuff from a couple years earlier. And, alternatively, it definitely would have been easier if I didn't have to here the word "pop" and immediately put my guard up, and start asking questions like "should I like this?" and "is it cool to like this still?" and "then why is this technically lumped into the same genre of Meghan Trainor?" and so on. All stupid questions that I'm being forced to propose due to the genre tag that Charly Bliss gave themselves.

"How do you feel about this review so far?" asks my therapist.

"Not very good," I respond.

"Tell me more about that."

"I really like this album, and the review that I have so far makes it seem like I don't."

"Why do you think you'd write a negative review for an album you think positively about?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Sigh... I guess it's just something that happens."

"Tell me about your writing process."

"I can tell you that sometimes, when I don't know what to write, I just sit in front of a computer and start typing."

"Do you find that those writing exercises are beneficial?"

"Not really! Look what is happening here!"

"What do you think that says about you, that freeform typing results in words and paragraphs that are more negative than you may have originally intended?"

"I think it says something about how snarky writing and pessimism come more easily to me than positive thinking and constructive criticism."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with this, Joe. I just think we should use this space to explore ways in which you can write the way in which you want to write. I want you to practice ways in which you can feel good about your music criticism."

"Okay."

"Do you want to practice now?"

"We might as well."

"Tell me more about this album. What is something you really like about Charly Bliss's Young Enough?"

"It's catchy."

"Be more specific. I only ask this because you've used the word 'catchy' in dismissive terms in past sessions. What specifically about this is catchy?"

"I mean, every song, pretty much."

"So you're saying that 'catchy' is a good thing, in this case."

"For the most part."

"For the most part?"

"It was definitely a little off-putting at first, back in 2019, and occasionally now."

"Tell me more about this. I notice that you used the word 'pop' a few times in your first draft of your review. I know that you have certain feelings about that word. What are your feelings now, as they relate to Charly Bliss?"

"It's... probably shorthand for 'too simple,' I guess. Kinda like a defense mechanism."

"You're saying that 'simple' is bad?"

"Sometimes."

"And you're saying that Young Enough is too simple?"

"Yes... well, no. I don't know. Okay, I get your point. I could see an argument in the other direction. I do recall that thing that Eva Hendricks said about 'Chatroom.'"

"What did she say?"

"How it was about sexual assault, how a previous boyfriend had sexually assaulted her, and how she was insistent that 'Chatroom' be this shiny pop song anyway."

"Why do you think she made that decision?"

"Pop music as a mask, I guess. Or as a soft landing when talking about a hard subject."

"And would you consider this 'simple'?"

"Absolutely not."

"So there are exceptions."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Tell me more about Eva Hendricks."

"Like her vocals?"

"Yes."

"I really like the vocals. Always have."

"Do you feel like your peers feel the same way?"

"I know that some people have a problem with them, like they are too high or sugary or whatever. I've heard that opinion in my household in the past. I didn't get the sense that that problem existed this week, though. For anyone."

"Give power to Hendricks's words."

"That's right. She has said in the past something along the lines of criticisms of her voice seeming, to her, like sexism, that a man would not receive any complaints about vocals being 'too low' in the same way that she has received complaints for her vocals being 'too high.' If I recall correctly."

"How do you feel about this in the context of our 'too simple' discussion? Try to remember our work with Freudian theory."

"I see what you're saying. That maybe, despite the fact that I've been a fan of Charly Bliss since 2017, that maybe subconsciously the twee-sounding vocals are informing my opinion that this music is more 'basic' than other music, when really it's not."

"Exactly."

"And that maybe I should just shut my goddamn trap before I make myself look even more stupid in the review."

"Well, no, I would never advocate for that, Joe. I hope you consider this a safe space to explore some of these ideas about yourself."

"Thanks. I do appreciate that. I just worry that, even equipped with this self-reflection, I still won't be able to write an adequate review about Young Enough."

"I have two suggestions for that."

"I'm all ears."

"First, you can feel free to 'transcribe' this conversation to the best of your memory, if you'd like. That might help to get some of your ideas down on the page."

"Thanks. I'll probably do that. Writing my review on the 67 bus after getting multiple cavities filled at the dentist was obviously not working out very well."

"Second, I think that it's helpful to continue to explore your feelings about yourself, because those feelings pretty clearly inform your opinion about this album, and about music in general. If you're attempting to write a review, then it's necessary to talk about how you feel. And if that's not a good reason to be in therapy, then I don't know what is."

"Okay, how should I go about it, then?"

"Tell me about the opening moments of Young Enough."

"The song 'Blown to Bits'?"

"Yes."

"I mean... it's a stunner."

"In what ways?"

"It just feels epic in ways I'm struggling to describe."

"Try anyway."

"It's like... there's this like constant tension building throughout the song. Hendricks is naming all these pedestrian scenarios—a walk home, Dad watching baseball, a shitty reality show—and then names this feeling that pervades it all, this sort of existential dread that hangs over every moment. It's really thrilling."

"Thrilling how?"

"Well, one, the music keeps building higher and higher, and never quite breaks, so you're left hanging with that dread. And two, I dunno, it's just thrilling to hear this existential dread in a catchy song."

"Tell me more about this."

"I feel that dread sometimes. Maybe that's why I'm drawn to this song. I get it. It feel validating to start an album like this."

"Does that feeling ever come back throughout the rest of Young Enough?"

"Not really. Maybe the title track. But otherwise, there's a lot of pretty normal negative emotions that one might feel in their 20s. Romance, heartbreak, credit card theft."

"More pedestrian scenarios."

"I... yeah, I guess so."

"The same type of pedestrian scenarios described in 'Blown to Bits'?"

"Ah, okay, I see where you're going with this."

"Go ahead."

"You're saying that Young Enough is not, in fact, 'too simple,' because the existential dread still hangs over ever song, but Charly Bliss are just too good at masking it all behind the pop music? That it was just me who was too stupid to realize it? That we're all just trying to mask some type of pain, and Charly Bliss are so good at capturing that attempt at masking that I couldn't even see it until now?"

"Is that what you are saying?"

"I think so."

"It sounds like that's what you're saying."

"I am, yeah. But I think also that that makes me seem like I'm taking this all a little too seriously."

"Tell me more about 'too seriously.'"

"We're just talking about an album review here. I feel like there's a way to take this too seriously."

"I don't think there's a wrong way to write an album review, as long as what you're writing is staying true to yourself and what you actually think about the album."

"Fair enough."

"Do you care that much about Charly Bliss?"

"Yes and no. I want to do right by them, because I like the music a lot. But I also don't necessarily think that this particular album warranted me going to the therapist to discuss it."

"I disagree. I thought today's session was helpful."

"But if I look back over the transcript for today, am I really going to think that I was able to portray Young Enough in a positive light like I originally wanted to and failed at? Or did I fall into the same old patterns?"

"There's still room to improve, Joe. And we have all the time in the world. Well, not today, because our session is over, I'm sorry to say. But next week, let's meet up here again and talk about what you worked on after this session. Let's really try to work on getting your thoughts together before sitting down to write a review. If you like the album, then write that. If you have mixed feelings, then, well, I guess you can always bring your first draft to me and I can look it over."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Okay, see you next week. Be safe getting home."

GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5