Discussion — Week 317: Faces in the Rocks by Mariee Siou

Drop your thoughts about the album and the reviews in the comments! Or be a little Chandler Bong bitch and go back to sleep!

ALSO: Happy birthday to RC regular Gloria!!!

Faces in the Rocks, Sunny

Certain tones elicit certain associations for me. If there's accordion and mandolin, it's Italy. Or if you do a pentatonic thing slash gong, it's China. What I didn't previously have a reference card for was wood flute and rhythmic acoustic guitar. That's old North America.

Mariee Siou (hearing this artist's name said only out loud, it might take time to put the tribe association together) has a fantastic voice for indie folk music. Leaning into the American aspect, the lyrics are metaphorical, magical, mystical. Evocative of nature and feelings rather than any real plot or character. Through this formula, one does hear some really great tracks with memorable moments. The bridge introducing that three-note motif halfway through "Bundles" would catch me every time listening through the album. I dug the wind flute and picked-up tempo in "Burried in Teeth." The gimmick makes the indie sound familiar with a bit of unique flavor.

My favorite tracks, "Bundles" and "Wild Eyes," are both over nine minutes long, which is a bit much. Sometimes I found myself losing attention, like whenever I'm in that Bravizalana country, which isn't the greatest for a 50-minute lyric-driven thing, but it is what it is. Any album is going to have some filler.

Mariee is in Philadelphia this weekend. "This album's not good enough of a reason to go see that show, but if I magically was at that show, I wouldn't be upset" is my overall rating.

Faces in the Rocks, Sara

Thought I could be a "woo woo" girl, a spiritual gangster of sorts. A woman who charges her crystals at night and drinks moon water. A yogi, a meditator! Mariee Siou said "alright, bet," and proved me wrong. Take all opinions with a grain of salt, as I never finished the album. The songs were too long and slow for a morning commute into the city. I did not gravitate to finish the album. I, a newly minted Rock and Roll Girl™, even turned back on the Titus Andronicus album from last week for refuge. I don't believe anything I listened to was bad or not performed well. Faces in the Rocks just did not strike the right chord with me this week. All music has a time and a place, and I will happily listen to this album while I get my birthday massage next week. 

Listen to this album when you want to relax in a quiet place.

Faces in the Rocks, Rachel C.

On a winter week that gave us a gentle hint of spring, this album made for a near-perfect listen. It reminded me of when you're walking outside and spy a tiny crocus peeking through snow-covered ground—a little before its time, but bright, hopeful, and determined it belongs. 

The natural imagery and indigenous-forward tones featured throughout welcome listeners to celebrate blended community and culture. "Buried in Teeth" and "Wild Eyes" give away nothing to suggest that this was an album written by a twenty-something in 2007.  

Paired with her soft, ethereal vocal harmonies, and the organic treble of redwood flute, the acoustic melodies transcend listening to more of... an experience? Though it must be said—I will always be partial to fingerpicking and strumming. I find the scrapes and thumps in between chords so human.  

This album, like Mariee's voice, is winsome, crystalline, and full of heart.

Faces in the Rocks, Brian

oh yeah. OH YEAH. This made me stronger. Felt myself going super-saiyan with every song. I'm wearing corduroys and a cardigan in Western Massachusetts and I am unfuckwithable. (As I write this feb 27 2025 darling Mariee is performing in my beloved Northampton, birthplace of indie brian. I have seen so many miles there in a subaru outback if you doubt me you can meet me OUT BACK!!!) Anyways I'm on board, love it, into it, Mariee is playing somewhere I've never heard of this sunday in philly March 1st (the fallser club??) and I am debating going off the strength of the blog, unfortunately she is still opening for Eve6. Can understand someone saying it all can seem NPR-y but I think that's probably a personal thing, I don't think it's anyone's fault they're featured on All Songs Considered. The album feels comforting in a way I can only describe as multi-seasonal, the weather doesn't matter but you do know it's Sunday. I will be sending her Christmas song to all my self-described liberal aunts regardless, we stan a Pro-Palestine baddie, 5 out of 5 pUUkes.

Faces in the Rocks, Zach

This is an album that evokes grief. And grief is a funny thing.

Grief comes in waves. You don't know when it's on its way. You know that you have something unresolved, something your body needs to process and get through. Maybe, this morning, you'll remember what happened a few days ago, and you'll get angry all over again, and sad. And then you'll see your coworker and you'll share a coffee with her and everything will seem fine. And you'll go along. Maybe you'll even forget your new reality for a few blissful seconds. 

"There is nothing so whole as a broken heart," the Kotzker Rebbe wrote, once upon a time. And here, on "Wizard Flurry Home": "Cocoon monsoon / It break break breaks my heart in two." A broken heart is the most purifying thing. Today I feel myself in the way I haven't in a long time. The emotions are right at the surface. It's like walking outside and feeling a blast of cold hit your face. It's also awful. It feels awful. We spend our lives avoiding painful feelings. That's one of the reasons Netflix exists. And, yet, there's value here. There's almost no way I would be living my life the way I am now if it wasn't for an awful breakup that happened in 2017. There's something in the pain that we need. We don't understand why. We have the wool over our eyes until it's pulled away, slowly. 

There's something about the litany element to this album. Repeated lines, over and over. A litany is always a way to process grief. To go over the same things with someone until they are dulled down and nearly forgotten. I don't care anymore about the breakup I had in 2014, even though it totally devastated me. When you're going through a trauma—when you're processing grief—you go through the same thing over and over. You say the same sentences over and over, sometimes to the same person, sometimes to different people. How could things have gone differently? How could I have appreciated this thing more? How this, how that? It's boring, grief. Especially when you've gone through the same flavor of it so many times. 

This album feels like wide, endless American roads of the dusty West. Traveling through sun-kissed tribal lands. And here's where I want to write about someone specific, but I can't. The grief is too strong right now. Two days into a familiar pattern and everything is scary. I don't want to poke the bear of devastation that's living inside of me. I'm confused, and sad, and tired—just so tired of the same thing again. The desire to go to the "woe is me" place is very strong. Will I be fine? I think so. Still, as my friend put it yesterday: "We all want to commit suicide but then still be alive."

I do want to kill the sadness. We're human, though, and that's not how it works. So I just keep repeating myself over and over to anyone who will listen, including in this album review that is only tangentially an album review to begin with. 

"Oh, pick me up / I'm this bundle of sticks," Mariee sings. I want to be dead and alive at the same time. To be picked up by my mother for the first time, a new creation so close to the abyss. Don't we all want our mothers, anyway? Do we make our partners into our mothers? Is that the problem with the men of our generation, the ones who struggle in relationships, which is, let's see, most of them?

In my survival moments, I simply exist. In my darkest moments, I wait for a text message that will never come. 

It hurts so much to write that sentence. If only I could turn my body into a canvas. Replace my skin with flowers, replace the blood with blood. Go outside and smell the salty air and realize I don't have forever on this planet. Hold my friend's child and manifest him to be mine. To feel a baby's skin on my face and know I contributed to the world, somehow, rather than sliding along and feeling like I'm not doing much. See value in the pain. What is it trying to tell me? 

And yet I am sick of the pain. I want to lie under a starry sky, my hand clasped with another's. "It's good you were with someone who you really liked," my other friend said. "You told her you wanted to marry her. Now you know you can do it.

"I see you meeting someone really special soon."

I choose to believe him. What else do I have to go on? 

I'll be throwing away a lemon cake tonight. I can barely trust my emotions and how I feel. I don't think I can rely on holding myself up quite yet. But, today, with the cold weather and the green words that accompany it, Mariee Siou is supporting me. I hope that's enough, at least for the next few hours.

Faces in the Rocks, Gloria

On Monday morning, I opened Spotify and started this album under the fluorescent lights of Anytime Fitness. I immediately knew this was the wrong place to listen to it, so I turned it off. 

Okay, let's try this again on a Wednesday afternoon walk. I had every intention of taking this walk on the Wissahickon, but I missed my train by two minutes. So I decided to listen on a walk around Center City. Yeah, this is much better—but not perfect. This is the first album I heard in Record Club that I wished I had heard on vinyl first, because hearing it through the headphones plugged into my iPhone feels almost wrong. This album is meant to have the warmth and ritual of vinyl. It's a true album and works as a whole. It's not something I'd listen to an individual song from, but it is something I'll listen to again. 

My mom loves folk music, and I grew up listening to Joni Mitchell, Carole King, Nick Drake, Yusuf Cat Stevens, and Joan Baez. I was interested in the folk revival happening when this album came out, but this was my first time listening to Mariee Siou. This album encapsulates the best of folk music. In addition to her sweet voice and graceful fingerpicking, there is good storytelling with a sense of connection. This album is: 

• Walking ankle-deep in a freezing stream on a bright spring afternoon, the pebbles causing an acupressure type of pain in your feet
• The smell and squish of earth and moss after the rain 
• When you pluck a flower from the soil and feel bad because some of the roots came out too
• Brushing dirt off soft-washed, sun-warmed linen 
• Eating a tomato warm from the sun with nothing more than a T-shirt rub to clean it, and putting your pocketknife to good use to share it with someone
• The slightly scummy smell of pond water drying in your damp curls 
• A perfectly preserved bird skeleton found in your attic
• The ash from the bush fire that makes the wild huckleberries grow better the following summer
• The inchworms and spiders you gently remove for foraged mushrooms and place back outside 
• The debris-filled wax floating to the top of your pot when you boil bayberries to extract it for candle making
• The pine sap stuck to your fingertips after making wreaths for the winter holidays 
• The smoky fire smell you can't get out of your clothes

It's the purity of things that are neither clean nor sterile. 

When I lived in a small town in a rural area, all I wanted was out. Listening to this made me romanticize it. Okay, back to the concrete, fluorescent lights, and unforgiving SEPTA schedule. I'll try to hold on to this feeling when I see the iridescence of a starling's feather stuck in a subway grate or the buds starting to swell on the ends of tree branches.

Faces in the Rocks, Nate

Closer to Joanna than Joni. "Transcendental" is a word that comes up a lot in the fragmented scholarship of Faces in the Rocks. It's a new word for an old idea, an idea that escapes language, a signified concept that defies signification. The portal into definition that Mariee creates does not break the bonds of the tools used to create it. Begrudge not those who seek to create the paths, I suppose, but remain skeptical of those who are certain they lead somewhere new.

Faces in the Rocks, Joe

Standing at the bar, talking shit on the blog, as friends are wont to do. Galilea (names changed to protect their identities) asks me how many times I listen to an album before I write a Record Club album review, and her eyes get all wide when I tell her "20." Sumny chimes in with an improv bit (you can take a man out of Cock Hat, but you can't take the Cock Hat out of a man) in which he breathlessly lists all the contexts in which I "need" to listen to the album to get the full experience. At home, at work, in the car, washing the dishes, drying the dishes, etc. etc., you get it, I dunno man just close your eyes and picture yourself at the Asian Arts Initiative in 2013 listening to your friends make jokes, you get the gist.

Sumny was both correct and not. Correct in that different contexts help, but not correct in that this is the reason why I'm listening so much, or how I structure my week of listening to music. There have been times when I purposefully change up the context and environment, but those were the desperate times, or the truly life-changing times. During a normal week, I just listen too many times, basically. I just listen all the time and it doesn't matter where or when or how, I just beat that shit into my brain. Sometimes, that means hitting repeat nineteen times while sitting in a drab/haunted cubicle. Other times, life comes to me in unexpected ways while listening, and the listening enhances life.

I was walking down Solly Ave. on Tuesday morning, almost-but-not-quite late for the train, the weather not brutally chilly for once, hitch in my step from Crunch's treadmill, waving to Willow's friend's dad as he passes me by in his too-large truck, all the while pumping the soothing, calming sounds of Mariee Siou into my ears. What I really appreciate on this one is the extra instrumentation. Ya know, anything beyond the quivering voice (which is great) and the strumming guitar (which is standard). Could be something like the strings on "Bundles," but mostly I'm talking about the Indigenous instruments, the Native American flute mostly, but there's a buffalo drum and rainsticks in there too. But that flute... I'm floating, man.

The flute makes Faces in the Rocks feel special, like I'm listening to something that I have never heard before. Even though I definitely have, like almost certainly this is a sound that was featured on some soundtrack for some TV show or movie that featured Indigenous characters, but forget all that pop culture shit, and just let it take you away, now, here during this 1x-th listen of Mariee Siou's album. This is not a new context for me—how many Record Club albums have been consumed on these morning walks to public transportation (and how many times have I written about that specific context)—but, ya know, sometimes life just comes at you. Sometimes you're listening to a new (to you) album on the same goddamn traipse you take every morning, and you're focusing on the pastoral sounds of a flute that are taking you somewhere else, somewhere away from this city, somewhere with fresh air and lots of foliage and solitude, and then, as you're listening to the natural, calming sounds of the Native American flute, you run right smack into a chicken.

I don't know where the chicken came from. There is a house in our neighborhood that has a chicken coop but it is not this house, and it's at least five blocks away from this house. Fox Chase isn't, like, overrun with wild chickens or anything (too many wild foxes for that). Maybe the residents here at this random house now own a chicken. If they do, I've never seen it before today. From my perspective, the chicken came out of nowhere, dropped from the skies onto this lawn to confront me as I listened to Mariee Siou get in touch with nature and the wild side of life.

I didn't need the chicken to love this album, but it helped. So there's credence to the theory, I guess.

There's something so mysterious about Faces in the Rocks. Some of that mystery is borne of ignorance on my part, e.g. "buried in teeth" feels like such surreal imagery but I'm sure it's actually referring to a Native American ritual for the deceased. But much of the mystery comes from Siou's otherworldly vocals on top of instrumentation so deeply rooted in our country's own history that it's tough to even hear sometimes. Siou's reaches far back into the past to make something that feels like it could be the future. Maybe the thrill I feel when I listen to something like "Wizard Flurry Home" comes from that juxtaposition of past and future, how each are tied together and the string that ties them run right through the present like a needle through an open weave canvas. I am stuck in the here and now, and Mariee Siou's sound presses upon me and squeezes me in both directions.

It's pretty sounding, is basically what I'm saying here. That's not normally my cup of tea, ya know? Like, when was the last time I loved an album that didn't feature a snare drum? Can't really think of any recently. Probably Pink Moon or some shit. This should prove that Mariee Siou has something extra here, some special ingredient to her sound that makes me appreciate it more than I would other similar artists. Is it really the flutes? I don't know. Probably. It could be that I was listening to those flutes when I was accosted by a chicken. Context matters! You can't force it. Context isn't a checklist. You just gotta let it come to you. Take a walk. Listen to Mariee Siou's Native American flutes. Fight a chicken.

GRADE: 4 pukes out of 5

RC@5: 1000 gecs by 100 gecs

Record Club covered this album exactly five years ago. I gave it another listen this week. Here are some thoughts.

1000 gecs

100 gecs

Week 56: February 23-29, 2020

Reading back, especially at the Sunday write-up for this thing, I was pretty upfront about the fact that I was hesitant to listen to 100 gecs at first. This remains the big thing that I remember about the album, and Record Club's confrontation with it in those final pre-COVID weeks. It's a three-step process over the course of five years. First, I didn't think I would like it. Then, I found that I liked it, despite how strange it was. Finally, I realize how normal it's all become. 100 gecs is about as strange to me now as the idea of a man landing on the moon was to a kid in 1992.

1000 gecs might mark the most recent substantial example of an album that I was intimidated by. In mid-February 2020, I didn't really want to try out 100 gecs because I thought they would be too weird. This might end up being the last time I think this way in my life. To be clear: in the past five years, there have been albums covered by Record Club that were objectively harder to listen to and understand (off the top of my head, I'm thinking about Squarepusher and Alice Coltrane). Every album after this was attacked voraciously and excitedly, regardless of reputation, regardless of the strange sounds it was said to contain.

So there was a lesson here, with 100 gecs, and I'm proud to say that the lesson was learned. The lesson is that no music is worth avoiding, that every single piece of music (with broad exceptions like music from canonically terrible classic rock artists and music made by rapists) is worth checking out. You never know what you're gonna find. You never know when your oldest daughter is gonna take her first dance steps.

Shout out to our fattest and oldest friend Nate for pushing it through, and also for doing his damnedest in the review to explain why 100 gecs is important. He was on the money here. It's important because it's new. I was reading Stereogum's unfortunately requisite article about XXXTentacion's "Sad!" earlier in the week, and it made me think about 100 gecs. Breihan's overall takeaway was that this was hip hop music that had never been done before at this level of cultural consciousness, and for that, it's worth remembering, regardless of quality. While I don't agree with the implication that the raw newness of the music should cancel out the fact that the artist who made it had a sordid history of strangling his pregnant girlfriend, I do think that the idea of "never been done" is one to consider.

Both in the macro and the micro. 100 gecs, to many ears, was making music that no one had ever heard before. That's how they became popular (relatively speaking, you know what I'm trying to say). But also, this was specifically something that Record Club itself had never heard before. This is the only way to guarantee the continued existence of music itself and also a dinky little music club involving a few friends—the exploration of the new.

It's really not that strange to hear 100 gecs blasting in our household these days (for example). But it's important to remember how that happened, and hold close the idea that we should never be afraid of the new and the strange.

Never Seen It, #193 of 200: Young Frankenstein

"You know, I'm a rather brilliant surgeon. Perhaps I can help you with that list of 200 movies you've never seen before?" "What list of 200 movies I've never seen before?"

Young Frankenstein

1974

Mel Brooks

We're getting toward the end. This will be Frank's final appearance in these hallowed NSI halls (besides the final post, movie #200, 8½, for which I'm inviting every previous participant to return). I've valued Frank's insights immensely over these past five years. He's added so much to my understanding of film. I'm currently whipping up a new blog project for when Never Seen It finally ends, and I'm hoping and praying that Frank wants to be a part of it.

For now, here are Frank's thoughts (and some of my thoughts too) about Young Frankenstein.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FRANK: I'll tip my hand at the top: I love this movie. I was raised on this movie. My mom loves this movie, and would show the opening scene in the lecture room to first-year med students to explain the central nervous system. I can't look objectively at this movie, I've seen it too many times, it's too pervasive in my psyche. I think it's nearly perfect.

Having seen the 1930s Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein, it is a perfect parody. A lot of the characters are straight carryovers. But you absolutely don't have to have any knowledge of those movies for this movie to work. I think everything holds up on its own. 

I also think what makes great comedies stand the test of time is when their pop culture jokes can become absurdist jokes. What I mean is if you are referencing something specific that everyone would understand as a current reference, could I laugh at it as a silly non-sequitur without even knowing it's a reference? Naked Gun and Airplane! are full of these for me. I bet Austin Powers will be that for my kids. 

I think everybody in it is pitch perfect and never better. MAYBE Willy Wonka for Gene Wilder, but it's certainly close. 

I would love to know what you think works or doesn't work in this. I normally respect all opinions and rights to like or dislike what you want, but I will probably debate for this one. 

JOE: Yeah, sure, I liked it. Don't let me damn this thing with faint praise, though. Is it objectively a good movie? Probably, and you'd say the same. But this film project is more concerned with the subjective, and here's where we stand: I've seen it once, and thought it was pretty good, you've seen it a million times and can quote it and it has, over the span of multiple decades, seeped into your soul. I like the idea of a film doing that, and I'm not going to stand in your way of having those feelings about Young Frankenstein. Because, like, shouldn't your opinion count more? The more you see it, and the more important it becomes to you, then the more authority you have on the subject, right? Even if your mom forced you to watch this film ten times (hypothetically), if you didn't like it, you wouldn't have watched it that eleventh time. 

So instead of attempting to say something along the lines of "Young Frankenstein probably isn't as good as you think it is"—because who the fuck am I to say it—I'll use this as an opportunity to pick your brain a little bit. About comedy!!!!!

I went back and read my Blazing Saddles write-up before writing this email. First of all, I didn't realize that these Mel Brooks joints were released in the same year, which is pretty crazy. Second, put all the handwringing about racial insensitivities to the side—they are important generally, but not in the context of Young Frankenstein. What I'm mainly focused on is the idea of "is this funny," and if not, then "why is this not funny." It's easier to talk about here, when racist terms aren't distracting.

Was Young Frankenstein funny? Yes. Objectively, I laughed more than I did with Blazing Saddles. Have I laughed more at other movies I've seen this year... or this week? Also yes. That's not to say it's not funny, I think it's more to do with comedic sensibilities. I'm curious about your thoughts on this, being in my mind the foremost authority in my life on the subject of Comedy. But I was thinking about how it's possible that Young Frankenstein—over 50 years old at this point—has, due to age, a more basic understanding of comedy. Calling this movie "basic" is as unfair as saying that Stevie Wonders' Innervisions is "basic." There have been innovations over the course of a half a century. I have been privy to those innovations. Different tempo, different content, more opportunities for meta humor, etc. Just because I laughed more at the 2025 children's film Dog Man doesn't mean that the comedy is better in Dog Man. It just means that the creators of Dog Man had 50+ more years of comedy to build on. Any legitimacy to this theory?

I was thinking about this when I was reading about the "walk this way" joke, too. Early in the film, Igor says to Frankenstein "walk this way," and Frankenstein starts to literally walk in the manner that Igor is walking, a play on the dual meaning of the word "way." Mid-tier joke, and in my mind, very "basic." Slight chuckle inducing at best. However! Apparently, this is not a new joke, but is repeated from an old vaudeville joke, shown on screen as early as the 1930s, and memorably in at least one Three Stooges bit from 1951. So a couple things here. One, my own personal knowledge of the history of comedy limits my view—what I saw as kinda funny and kinda lame gag actually had deep roots, and so who am I to comment on how funny it is. Two, and somewhat conversely, the joke was old but not old enough for the need to change it in any way. It's still the same joke as it existed in 1974. This is how such a joke can still seem "basic" to me. 

None of this is to say that Young Frankenstein wasn't funny to me. I'm just saying that, because it's basic stuff, I'm not laughing at it as much, because I've already seen these jokes in other forms. Still funny. A few funny bits off the top of my head. Obviously, the punchline of the Monster trying to yell "puttin' on the ritz" is fucking great. I liked the late-movie line of "Oh, you men are all alike, seven or eight quick ones and then you're out with the boys to boast and brag." In general, I liked how Igor was basically just a normal guy who happened to have a hunch, and was put off by the fact that Frankenstein seemed to assume that Igor was going to be a weirdo. That makes me think of the "you made a yummy sound" bit, which I liked.

I think maybe that's the biggest difference between Young Frankenstein and Blazing Saddles. There were fewer "funny hats"—i.e. things that are funny because they look silly and no other reason—and more "funny logic"—i.e. things that are funny because they upend expectations. The distinction between the two is one of the most important things I learned throughout the comedies of Never Seen It. A movie like The Jerk, which is wall-to-wall funny hats, is not gonna be my kinda movie. Young Frankenstein had a few funny hats—Inspector Kemp, mostly—but was more content to use funny logic. I would've expected Igor to be creepy and weird and outrageous, but he wasn't, and that's what made it funny.

Let me make it clear to you and to everyone reading this that this is NOT me presenting myself as a dude who knows anything about comedy. This is me instead setting up the tee and placing the ball on the tee and handing you the heavy metal bat and asking you to swing as hard as you can. IS YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN FUNNY??? IF SO WHY?!?!?!

I'll take Willy Wonka over most movies any day. I'll make my kids watch Austin Powers in, at most, five years from now.

FRANK: I think it's crazy how well Willy Wonka holds up. It's all verbal jokes, and those don't always age well. My kids also LOVE it, so it's not just nostalgia, it's got some universal quality.

It's funny when I think of Young Frankenstein, I don't think of it as the funniest movie of all time. I don't even know how many times it makes me laugh out loud. I think Monty Python, Naked Gun, Airplane!, Best in Show, Spinal Tap, Anchorman, and Wet Hot American Summer all make me laugh out loud more. Is it crazy to say what works better in this is it looks better? Like Mel Brooks is copying a cinematography style and nailing a pastiche and literally even filming with the old universal monster making equipment from the Frankenstein movies. It just has a clear love and admiration for the source material. All great comedy I think is taken very thoughtfully by the creators, with a few exceptions. I once heard Conan O'Brien talk about how it bummed him out that there were a lot of up-and-coming comedians whose take away from his show was "be dumb," and he essentially was like "Do you know how hard the greats have to work to make things dumb? Do you know how many hours of practice and writing and understanding of craft you have to have before you can break something down to dumb and silly?" Some people can just be naturally funny, of course. I think his point was Andy Kaufman can do anti-humor. You're just making people uncomfortable, and the fact that you can't tell the difference means you're not ready. 

Anyway, I ramble and my mind wanders, but I do think there is an expiration on laugh-out-loud humor, and fifty years might be it. And pastiche-wise, I mean, those movies were already forty years old when he made Young Frankenstein. It would be like Tina Fey making a beat for beat parody of E.T. next year. Insanity.

You absolutely nail the too many funny hats. This is a very Upright Citizens Brigade note, so you are well on your way to a Harold class FINALLY. When they teach improv at UCB, they teach to take the first absurd thing and then build on that for all it's worth until it's dead, because it gives you something you can build on instead of just a one-off joke. 

So is Young Frankenstein funny? I think so? I think its lasting impact is more that it is just a well-made movie, and a better template of how to make a parody movie. Like, I think Young Frankenstein will age better because of good bones than, say, Scary Movie 2 twenty years from now. It works as a movie, and it's lean and doesn't stay too long, and to your point, almost all the jokes serve to propel the story forward. 

I will die on the hill, though, of physical comedy aging the best, and I will always laugh at Gene Wilder stabbing himself in the leg with the scalpel, or kicking the guy in the nuts. Dialogue norms come and go, groin shots are forever.

Things I love:

"Taffeta, darling" "Taffeta, sweetheart" "No, the dress is taffeta" — Really, all scenes with Madeline Kahn, I think she is just an absolute powerhouse of silly.

"Werewolf" "Werewolf?" "There wolf, there castle" "Why are you talking that way?" "I thought you wanted to!" — Dumb, dumb vaudeville bits. Basic as can be. The value is all in the delivery. These are guys who spent years in theater and vaudeville and writing and acting on variety TV. I think this joke doesn't work ninety-nine times out of a hundred. It goes to my point that it's actually a master that can make a basic joke hold up to even a head nod today. 

Frau Blucher's name making the horses neigh every time — When I was like twelve, a man in a Barnes & Noble (DONT ASK ME HOW THIS CAME UP, APPARENTLY I WAS JUST TALKING TO OLD MEN IN BOOKSTORES) told me that this happens because "Blucher" is the name of the largest glue factory in Germany. This made it funnier to me for years, the ultimate inside baseball joke. IT TURNS OUT THIS IS AN OFT-TOLD LIE. It isn't the name of a factory, or the German word for glue. I often love Snopes for the work they do in debunking quackery, but this is one where I wish the legend was still true in my heart. 

To your point of Dog Man having built on fifty years of comedy... I think something to consider when thinking of Young Frankenstein's greatness, or Stevie Wonder's, or Elvis or Van Gogh or whoever, is that, without seeing it, I know that Dog Man is a direct joke descendent of Mel Brooks. Like going back to the days of vaudeville, through to slapstick comedies, through to Noël Coward one-liners, through to Marx Brothers gags, through to Sid Caesar, through to Mel Brooks, through to Zucker Brothers, through to 30 Rock, through to TikTok BEEPBOOP, there are jokes that have worked and been passed down, or jokes that were great at the time that directly inspired the next great person. And there are 1000 comedians who were doing stuff at the time that got lost to time because their jokes weren't as good as the "walk this way" gag. The basic joke is the one that has survived and matured and refined hundreds of years. It might not have had a literal walk this way joke in it, but I guarantee Dog Man had a spiritual "walk this way" joke in it. Because all comedy is FRAUD that is just STEALING. 

Comedy is tragedy plus time, it's a release of pathos, it's letting go of the trauma of the absurdity of our existence on a mortal coil that doesn't care about us, all wrapped up in slipping on a banana peel. It can come in the form of misanthropy, or it can come in the form of a sincere love of humanity and how stupid we are. I think this is the latter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FRANK'S GRADE (I assume): 5 pukes out of 5

JOE'S GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5

NEXT TIME: We are finished the portion of this list with movies that start with a letter, and move on to the seven movies who titles start with a number. It's 12 Angry Men.

Song of the Day: "Jack & Diane"

A column about music, and about writing about music, or not. See the previous songs HERE.

"Jack & Diane"

John Cougar Mellencamp

from American Fool

1982

This is either my least favorite good song of all time, or my favorite terrible song of all time. It's like right in the middle there, playing jump rope with the line separating "good songs" and "bad songs," landing on either side depending on how I'm feeling at that particular moment in time when it reaches my ears. Clearly, the day I wrote the blog post for The Lonesome Jubilee was one of those days when I couldn't stand "Jack & Diane." Most days are like that. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that there weren't plenty of times that I turned on the radio to the local classic rock station or "'80s, '90s, and today" erstwhile "oldies" station and thought "yeah, that's it." I guess it could be dependent on what other songs are playing on other stations at the time, like if XPN has their member drive and 104.5 is playing Red Hot Chili Peppers yet again and 95.7 Ben FM is playing the child molester Michael Jackson and WMMR is dropping the new single from Five Finger Death Punch, then maybe I'll leave "Jack & Diane" on the car speakers. But I have my limits.

You might think that this is an unlikely scenario, but it's not. Radio stations like 102.9 WMGK and 98.1 WOGL have an extremely limited number of songs that they play, and as the years go on and the span of music history considered "classic rock" creeps precariously closer to the present, those music libraries start to look pretty similar. Almost to the point that maybe you start wondering why both stations have to exist at the same time in the same city at all.

I don't listen to the radio all that much, but whenever I do, I'm constantly thinking about the idea of music radio. Mostly in the context of "how the fuck does this shit even still exist?" But occasionally, my mind will wander to other radio-adjacent topics. How much leeway to the radio DJs have in choosing songs from the station's libraries? Is it considered a fuck-up when two stations are playing the same song at the same time? Does anyone monitor this besides the wayward 30-somethings who are driving for a total of six minutes and don't want to be bothered during those six minutes to pull out the iPod and plug it in?

At one point or another in a long, strange adult life, I was friends with a college student who worked (or "worked," I have no idea whether her college paid her for her efforts) at the university radio station. The weird part was that this college's radio station played mostly metal music. The weirder part is that she didn't really listen to that much metal music outside of the radio room. I tuned in a couple times, but it wasn't really my scene either, musically speaking. We didn't really talk too extensively about it, and it's been a long time since I've talked to her.

But I'll always remember her telling me about at least one inner-working of the radio station, and that was that there was a structure to which songs they played in which order. It was a color-coded system based on sub-genre. Every song available to her was labeled with a different color, depending on what kind of metal it was—maybe alt-metal is red, death metal is blue, doom metal is green, grindcore is purple, post-metal is yellow, metalcore is orange, thrash is brown, speed metal is pink. I made those up, but you get my point. And when she would arrive at the station, she would be given an order: "Okay, the next hour is going to be blue, orange, red, blue, green, orange, purple, yellow, blue, pink." And she could choose her own songs within those parameters, but she had to stick with the subgenre order.

I don't think every radio station does something like that (I'd probably kill myself if I found out that ol' "rhythms not algorithms" WXPN juiced the system in this way), but I would imagine that most do. WOGL has to play an even amount of '80s rock, '80s pop, '90s alt-rock, '90s R&B, etc. Maybe WMGK and WOGL both have to play '80s heartland rock a certain number of times per day, and, like, how many radio-popular songs are their in that subgenre, and so you really only have a maybe one-in-25 chance of the same goddamn shitty John Cougar Mellencamp song being played on two different Philadelphia stations at the same time.

Okay, I've convinced myself that I hate this song again. May all those who consciously choose to traffic in algorithm-based commercial radio be doomed to hear "Jack & Diane" as many times as possible through the work day.

Celtics Sisters — 2/26/25

Welcome to Celtics Sisters, a brand-new PoYB column in which noted Celtics fan Brian Anonymous chronicles the highs and lows of the Boston Celtics' NBA season. He'll be covering both the hard numbers and stats on the court, as well as some of the high drama off the court. Let's all welcome some much-needed basketball coverage to Puke on Your Birthday!

Ranking the Sixers roster based on who would be the best blogger.

I can't remember if this happened already, but if anything, it's an updated squad, and I'm in charge now. All of this is wishful thinking. Add your favorite zesty hoopers in the comments!!!

1. Jared McCain

Referring to yourself as the zesty hooper is transcendent. jared>>>john

2. Andre Drummond

Seems like a guy who would surprise you how much he knows about Christopher Nolan. 

3. Eric Gordon

I think when he eventually retires in nine more years after being traded back to Houston and eventually back to Philadelphia, he will have some fun stories on the Jeff Teague podcast :)

4. Ricky Council IV, Lonnie Walker IV

They could talk about movies or something.

5. Kelly Oubre

Looks good in hats. 

6. Nick Nurse

Oh god, he'd be so EAGER. Looks bad in hats.

7. Paul George

He is the average age of PoYB readership, which is basically a boost. Who will be the first blogging puking nepo baby?

8. Geurschon Yabusele

Would write in French. Fun, I guess.

9. Joel Embiid

Oh wow, he did the suck-it thing from the WWE, and you all still love it.

10. Quentin Grimes

Seems like he'd be good at listicles.

11. Tyrese Maxey

Does not seem like he'd be good at listicles. 

12. David Roddy

Really don't know who this guy is. Baseball player name or '80s bully. 

13. everyone else, and Kyle Lowry

Kyle Lowry hates technology. 

Stay zesty in the comments. As I'm typing this, shams has just announced they are debating cutting Embiid's foot off. Next Wednesday, I will be ranking the churches I've been to with Joe Mazzula. CUS CRISE.

A Year of Blind Spots: Dust

Joe is working through a list of albums that he considers "blind spots," i.e. albums that he's never heard but feels like he should.

Dust

Screaming Trees

1996

When I download an album, and put it onto my iPod via iTunes, I try to assign each album a genre tag. This is before I listen to the album at all. I go with what Wikipedia says, and if that says multiple genres, I go with my gut. For Dust, I typed "grunge." It is a grunge album, so says Wikipedia. I am not necessarily disagreeing with this genre assignment after spending time with Dust. But I also don't think I've ever heard a grunge album that sounds like this.

What the fuck is "grunge," then, if we're talking about grunge? Shit, man, I don't know. Nirvana? Nevermind is the touchstone of the genre, so I've always been told. Ten doesn't really sound like Nevermind, but that's grunge too. RYM says that it's a sludgy sound with raspy vocals and angsty lyrics. Screaming Trees have all that. But it's also a time and a place, say the U.S. Northwest in the 1990s. Screaming Trees is that too. So I have no problem calling it grunge.

From my gut, though, and I balk at the term while listening to this album. There are too many softer elements on here. There are too many sounds that are ripped right from the psychedelic rock playbook. But there's grunge too. Consider first the rip-roaring song "Witness," with its wall of feedback and a guitar solo that is so grunge that it hurts. Now go back one track, and listen to "Sworn and Broken." Is that... a mellotron solo? We are at the circus. This is not grunge.

For the record, this is what I like about Dust. We are post-genre now, here in 2025, and I don't think that a grunge album has to be ALL grunge. I'm also not dense enough to ignore the likelihood that Dust is a mid-career changeup for them. Maybe the early '90s saw for them an intense grunge sound, and Dust took a half-step away from that, but not far enough to see the "grunge" tag fade away. It's probably like Fucked Up, who only occasionally dabble in hardcore these days but will never not be described as "hardcore band Fucked Up." Dust is a psych-alt-rock album from grunge band Screaming Trees.

But who are Screaming Trees, beyond their genre? Well, that's not normally something I can answer in this space, since I'm only dipping my toe into discographies. I can say that frontman Mark Lanegan's name is one that I've seen around. Seems like he had a robust solo career after Screaming Trees disbanded, stretching close to his death in 2022. He was also a member of Queens of the Stone Age for a bit. Wouldn't be surprised if another Blind Spot entry covered a solo disc, but we'll see. Main point here is that Screaming Trees weren't on an island. They are part of a lineage. As is usually the case with these blind spots.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that that lineage covers both personnel and also over sound and timbre. They are grunge, so you can mention 'em in the same breath as Soundgarden or Stone Temple Pilots, but at the same time the non-grunge sounds make them feel more refined, a bit more intelligent than, like, Alice in Chains. And then you have a song like "Gospel Plow" that sounds like it's trying to be five different Led Zeppelin songs, including "Kashmir," which could go a bit haywire, until you remember that this is a grunge band doing this, and it feels grounded in a way that a band with a solid classic rock feel would not. But, like, what other fucking grunge band was using a fucking djembe? This is unique; this is not unique.

The First Time I: Made Lemon Cake

This is The First Time, a column where Zach either 1) writes about the first time he did something specific in his life and talks about any pop culture connections surrounding it, or 2) tries something for the first time ever in 2025 and writes about it—sees a new movie, eats a new food, etc. etc. etc.

Dating in your 30s is not easy. We are all so pierced with arrows at this point. 

It was my roommate's birthday dinner on Friday, and I baked him a lemon cake. I put lots of time into it. 

Things have been going really well with S. I'm very anxious about what's happening with it, whether it will work out, etc. I haven't been sleeping that well, but I've been getting excited about a future with her. I booked a flight to the US so I could meet her family in April. That's a huge step.

I told S I was making the lemon cake. "It's going to be bomb," I said. 

We got in a fight of sorts on Wednesday night. The next time we were scheduled to meet was at my roommate's birthday dinner. "Are we meeting the next couple days?" I asked. She said she wanted to be more flowing about when we meet, that she didn't always want to report back to me her plans, that she wanted more independence. I wasn't saying I needed to know all her plans. I don't know how the conversation got to that point. Anyway. It cast a pall over the week. On Friday, we talked on the phone, and we said we'd talk more about it Saturday night. We'd go to the meal together Friday night, and then put it on pause.

When she came over, I showed her the cake. She was excited and made it look much nicer—she smoothed out the icing, and it looked really good. She's an incredible person.

The time came for the cake to be served. I was very excited. I spent a lot of time on it, and I was looking forward to serving it and to people liking it. S had also taken part—in making the frosting look nice, in cutting up fake candles out of an apple to serve. She was invested.

I got rave reviews. Everyone told me the cake was amazing. "You should open your own bake shop," someone said.

S didn't say a word about the cake. 

I was waiting for her to say something. Anything. The cake was good! It really was. It was a little sweet, but it was delicious.

It really bothered me. On the walk home, I couldn't contain myself. "I really wanted a compliment on the cake," I said.

"It was good, but the frosting was a little sweet," she said. "I'm not going to just compliment your cake just to make you feel good. That's not the basis for an authentic relationship."

I wanted to hear that the cake was good. That's probably my wounding. Why should she validate me, when she didn't even like the cake that much? 

"I don't usually compliment people's food," she said.

Again it turned into a whole thing. I felt shame, because I didn't want to want a compliment so much. It sucks so much to want something to fill you up. I also wanted one. I also felt bad bringing up another thing. I had told myself the day would pass peacefully, that we would talk more Saturday night. But it didn't, and we didn't.

Is it so hard to give a compliment? Does it always have to come down to authenticity?

There's more to the story but I'm not going to write it here. The point is that things were going super well, and then these two events happened.

I prepared a lot for what I would say Saturday night. I was also nervous. The entire relationship, I've been terrified she'd break up with me. That's not a fun feeling. So I went there not feeling sure.

When I walked in, I felt like things would be OK. She greeted me with a smile and warmth. I wrote her a little note, to ease the tension. I told her I was looking for the right words to say.

When I got done, she looked kind of stiff. "You said everything so well," she said. "It was perfect.

"But there's this dynamic between us. Where you're afraid of rejection, and I want to heal you, but I can't, and I'm not sure it's a healthy dynamic for a marriage.

"I need a few days to think about it."

So here I am, on Day 2 of "a few days." I'm sad, I'm scared, I'm trying to stay positive. I don't want to go through another breakup. I don't know what I have to do to get married. We have so much in common. We have issues, but I want to work through them, and try to work through them.

I don't really know what's going on, fully. I think she is scared. I think she's also identifying an issue we have—we tend to get intense and stuck on things. I also don't always feel myself around her. We both want to feel ourselves! But is that a reason to pull the plug after an overall really good three months?

This dating stage is so crazy. I feel like people who are dating have no clue what awaits them in marriage. How these things that seem so big in dating might just be standard in a marriage. 

I don't mean this in an ego way, even though it might sound like it: I'm a "normal," emotionally available, good enough looking, financially stable, goal-oriented, sensitive and thoughtful man. I go to therapy. I work on myself. I want to be with my partner and start a family. I found someone who I really connect with. I know she connects with me, too. We like each other. We have shared values. Yes, there are issues. It's not perfect. But will we let those issues kill off a real possibility for marriage?

Do I want it too badly?

I don't know. I know this is how it's meant to happen, whatever that means. I do wonder why it wouldn't work with her. I think she's really scared, too. She's been engaged. She's been hurt. Here comes an emotionally available man who tells her he loves her (I have), who tells her he wants to marry her (I have). Is it too much for her to take? 

If it is, well, then, I don't know how to do this dating thing. I don't know how to make myself more "manly," less sensitive. How to not want my partner to show me love through compliments. I need to try. I need to work on myself. This is my stuff. It's true. It's still so crazy hard.

I also need to tell myself that I don't need to be with someone to be happy. 

But I still want a family, and I want a partner. It's my dream, honestly. It's a huge goal in my life. It's not a goal I can achieve alone. It's a goal of the heart, and those are not achieved easily.

I tell myself that the universe is sending me only good things. I've certainly grown through this experience. 

I have so many male friends who are single and around my age. The millennial generation is so fucked up. We seek perfection. Dating apps and Instagram don't help. Our parents got married so much more easily. I can name two single men in my parents' generation who I know. Only two. Everyone just got married.

It's so hard for us. What we've gained in self-awareness and therapy, we've lost in dedication to committed relationships.

Last night, I went to a poetry reading. I'm addicted to people telling me my poems are really good. This time, they didn't really as much. And I—with intention—accepted that. Just like I need to accept people—including my partner—not telling me the lemon cake was amazing.

I'm praying. Not that she will be my wife, because that's not up to me at this point. More that I will be happy, that things will happen the way they're supposed to, that truth will be revealed.

In the meantime, I sit here in a room. I'm sad. I'm hopeful. I'm trying.

Song of the Day: "Here's to the Night"

A column about music, and about writing about music, or not. See the previous songs HERE.

"Here's to the Night"

Eve 6

from Horrorscope

2000

This is a concert review, but only kind of. It's a concert review but it's also a simple documentation of a night that happened, a night with friends, friends from the blog, adult friends and not kid friends, adults out late at night, hanging out, talking freely because adults' brains are fully developed and you don't really need to watch what you say. There is trust, among friends. There was trust in a friend when that friend sent out a message indicating that we should all get together to see '90s burnouts Eve 6 in concert, in 2025, for some reason. Thanks for trusting me.

The real reason: Titus Andronicus, the greatest rock 'n' roll band of our generation, playing in concert. It wouldn't normally matter who they were playing with, but because it was Eve 6, the juxtaposition of the Has Been and Always Will Be, it suddenly mattered. Seeing Titus Andronicus in concert is a holy ritual; seeing Eve 6 in concert would be a silly diversion. To both on the same night, in the same room, would be a treat.

Something I didn't expect, nor did anyone as far as I can tell (except Nate, who indulges in the spoilers of previous nights' setlists), was that Titus was opening for Eve 6. Which is awkward as hell, because that means you get to see the best concert of your life, and then you have to put up with some old dudes who had a couple of hits at the turn of the century. Which is fine. No one is holding a gun to your head to stick around for a band you don't necessarily care about. I'm just saying that I would've definitely stuck around to see Eve 6 if they had promised that withstanding Eve 6 would lead to seeing my favorite band perform on stage.

BUT FIRST: some drinks at the local drinking establishment. This is the reason why this blog post is not a "concert review," because slamming club sodas at Fat Moon has nothing to do with the concert, but the description of that pregame experience is integral to understanding the Record Club field trip that we took to the concert.

I know I told the West's Tavern story probably too many times that night, but it's more than just a funny story about a bunch of nerdy theater kids attempting to squabble up. It's just another story marking how much time changes things—just like this "review." I recognized the walls of Fat Moon, and the door, and the karaoke machine. But there were more changes than not. The whole goddamn bar was shifted to the other side of the room. We were back after a decade and too many life changes to count, and things felt different, but also the same.

That's a nice way to describe Titus Andronicus. It wasn't the first time I saw this band perform live, but rather the fifth. A full 12.5% of the concerts I've been to in my lifetime were Titus Andronicus shows. I've seen them on this stage, playing these songs, from this angle. But also... it was my first time seeing my favorite band while completely sober. It was my first time I was able to clearly remember all the songs that they played, even the ones at the end of their set. This has no bearing on anyone else, except that maybe it says something about the band that I was still so very comfortable singing along to all their words and cheering and nodding my head vigorously, despite the 0.0% BAC and the inability to "let loose" in the classic sense. Not every band can do that. Titus did it easily.

But back to Fat Moon. My favorite part about the evening was seeing people with whom I normally and primarily interact online, and, more importantly, witnessing some of my online writer friends meet each other for the first time. "Oh, you're so-and-so!" was the fucking best. If Puke on Your Birthday is the impetus for continuing that World's Colliding feeling I used to cherish so much around the keg, then it'll have all been worth it. Plus: no awkward silences needed when you have the blog to speak half-sarcastically about. Everyone knows they have one thing in common, and that one thing can easily fuel three hours of pregame conversation.

We made it back to Fat Moon afterward too. "Afterward" meaning that we were sitting around a table at the bar as Eve 6 was still playing. I don't think you'll find too many overly positive reviews on this blog for the "main event" at the double-bill concert. A good assumption for that is that Eve 6 just doesn't have the song catalogue to carry a 2025 show. Another good assumption is that the opener played so joyously and so competently and blew away the audience so thoroughly that there was just no chance in hell that Eve 6 was ever going to match it. And then furthermore, there were comments about how Eve 6's frontman was a little off-putting.

Here's what I'll say about that. I agree, but also, understand it to a certain degree. He was off-putting but it was all an act, a defense mechanism again pushback for the idea of a band like Eve 6 taking the stage 24 years after their last measurable "hit." Of course the first question is "why the fuck are Eve 6 playing at the show tonight?" and Max Collins has two ways of dealing with that. The first is that he could ignore it, and just play. The second is that he could lean into it. The second option means being self-deprecating, and you can see that self-deprecation all over the internet. Eve 6 is a band that acknowledges that they have no right to be playing to crowds even half this size in 2025, and they outwardly and explicitly acknowledge it, and apparently, that acknowledgment plays a little too sardonically in person. Yes, it's fun to make fun of "Here's to the Night" online, in a meme or sarcastic quip on social media or whatever, but it's a whole different thing to make fun of "Here's to the Night" right before you play "Here's to the Night" to your fans.

So that's what I'll say about that. I don't think that interpreting that instead as "giving me the ick" is wrong either. I just think we need to clarify and say that the "ick" comes from a band pushing back against the idea of "music is magic" just a little too hard in front of paying customers.

But Eve 6 wasn't why we were there. Honestly, neither was Titus Andronicus, as perfect as their set was. I was mainly there to hang out with friends. I don't get as many opportunities to do that as I used to, due to a whole host of factors associated under the umbrella act of "getting old." Here was one opportunity, presented by music, and friends, and a blog.

Monday Morning Mixtape 008: Bitch, I'm a Cow

Welcome to Monday Morning Mixtape, a PoYB Contributor-curated playlist of songs, made just for you at the start of each week.

More discussion this week about preferences between objective MMM themes and subjective MMM themes. These songs presented below are songs with cows (etc.) in the titles. A song either has a cow in the title or it doesn't; it's either eligible for the mixtape or its not. The argument I received is that we should have themes where the requirements are up to the interpretation of the blogger. You'll see one of those next week. I'll be watching closely to see how it goes. If you've stuck around for eight weeks and you have opinions about how this thing should be done, I'm all ears. Let me hear it.

"Bitch, I'm a Cow"

Songs with cows, oxen, bulls, or livestock in the title

chosen by Zach

Spotify

YouTube

"Black Cow" by Steely Dan
from Aja, 1977

If anyone chooses "The Cow as White as Milk" from Into the Woods, ya gettin' CUT. Not only because this is a song from the terrible 2014 Disney adaptation of the play, and not only because the dastardly bullshit artist James Corden sings it, but mostly just because the Jack song in the stage show is "Giants in the Sky," and that doesn't have a cow in the title. Back in 2008, La Salle University was putting on their own version of Into the Woods, and some dude named... actually, I don't even remember his name, but he was casted as Jack. But he also couldn't sing, like at all, which ended up being a problem. (Chris! His name was Chris.) So poor Dougie P., both the Producer of the Masque at the time and also making out with Hannah D. in his role as the Baker, had to break the news to him—Old Jack is out, and New Jack was in. New Jack was Dwyer. So Dwyer ended up killing it on "Giants in the Sky," and Chris ended up joining FIJI, the fraternity with all the rapists. The Masque basically ruined Chris' life, is basically what I'm trying to say. So if ANYONE is gonna deign to write about motherfucking MILKY WHITE on this fucking BLOG, then it's gonna be either Dwyer (PoYB Contributor) or Chris (literally have not spoken to him in sixteen years). Everyone else, back off.  —Joe

"The Ballad of Bull Ramos" by the Mountain Goats

from Beat the Champ, 2015

I am writing from Louisville, Kentucky. At a bourbon distillery tour, the local guide was extolling the Kentucky laws that allowed him to kill as many deer as he wanted on his fifteen acres of bluegrass. The guests from Michigan looked on with jealousy. The Philadelphia-based crew just wanted to drink the booze.  —Sam

"Cows Around" by Corb Lund and the Hurtin' Albertans

from Cabin Fever, 2012

Now here's a fun song. There will be more about lemon cake in this space coming forward. Sometimes you pick lemons. Sometimes you make them into cake. Sometime that cake fucks up your entire life without you realizing it. Fuck lemons, I fucking hate them so, so, so much right now.  —Zach


"La Vaca" by Mala Fe

from Con Su Loquera, 2000

I would listen to this song 50x in a row regardless. A few years ago, me and someone's mom both heard this on the AC boardwalk, and we locked eyes, lighting up at the same time... we danced together under the light of the DJ Pauly D billboard, and we will never forget each other....  —Brian

"Bull Thunder" by Hateful Coil

from David's Town, 2011

(***not available on Spotify!!)

So there's a hardcore rock opera called David Comes to Life by a band called Fucked Up. It's sort of a love story but things get tricky with unreliable narrators and meta plot devices. It's hard to follow but you don't have to follow it to enjoy it. And it's deep, man. Fucked Up makes it deep. They went all out. One of the ways they went all out was that they made an entire second album called David's Town, which is presented as a fictional compilation of fictional artists from the fictional town that David Comes to Life takes part in, called Byrdesdale Spa, U.K. So "Bull Thunder" is by a Byrdesdale band called Hateful Coil, but Hateful Coil doesn't exist, and neither does Byrdesdale. This song, like all music, requires you to buy into the magic. And I think that's great. Consider me all in.  —Joe

"Oxen" by Tzusan and Shogun

from Dr. Dunbar's Travelling Taxidermy Service, 2024

Is this person's accent actually real? It doesn't seem possible. How could someone be that British? As a matter of fact, I think that British people are incredibly different from us Americans. More rough on each other, saying sorry all the time, not meaning it. I made my British roommate a lemon cake for his birthday.  —Zach

"Bulls on Parade" by Rage Against the Machine

from Evil Empire, 1996

This song makes me want to throw down. I listen to it when I'm angry. For me, RAtM is the ultimate angry band. And I've been angry lately, about a lot of things. I wish I listened to my soul a little bit more. I remember watching RAtM on TRL once upon a time and being happy.  —Zach

"Bull in the Heather" by Sonic Youth

from Experimental Jet Set, Trash and No Star, 1994

I'd tell you anything you want, '90s Kim Gordon—the inspiration behind buying a secondhand bass in my early 20s. One of my favorite things about Sonic Youth is their unorthodox style of guitar playing. They use unique tunings and often prepare guitars to create a distinctive sound. Preparing a guitar refers to placing different objects between the strings—drumsticks, pencils, etc.—to alter the timbre. In this song, I'm obsessed with the scraping noise on the strings of the bass. I love the combination of Kim Gordon's breathy talk-sing over this song's experimental noises.  —Gloria

"Poor Cow" by Sham 69

from The Game, 1980

Ain't no shame in a googling game. So what if you don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of every goddamn song that's ever existed. So what, I say. Trust the internet to provide a path on which to stumble. Scroll through the old dead message boards and see what you can uncover. Maybe it's your next favorite song. Maybe it's just some random-ass shit to fill the space. Trust the playlist that comes of it, built from disparate bricks scattered across the infinite musical landscape. No idea who Sham 69 was. Now I have somewhat of an idea. That's only because I went out to search, and returned with some fucking song.  —Joe

"Bull in the Heather" by the Go! Team

from Proof of Youth (bonus track), 2007

I stole from Nate a forced bonding activity at a bachelor party in which most people had loose connections to each other: "Will Person Like This?" Originally, a game to see where Brett C****'s unpredictable tastes will land, I tailored to our bachelor party. Everyone picks a song on a playlist and the groom-to-be thumbs-ups or -downs it. Gives them a little spotlight, and people can show off a little. I picked a different song by the Go! Team, and received a thumbs-up. I hope this one does as well.  —Sam

"Bull Believer" by Wednesday

from Rat Saw God, 2023

MJ Lenderman, whose music is just fine, announced recently that he was no longer going to be touring with Wednesday. I am assuming that it was phrased that way—"not touring with the band" instead of "leaving the band" or "quitting the band"—only because his guitar tracks were already laid down for the next Wednesday album. Two albums from now, this dude is not gonna be contributing to his ex-girlfriend's band. Which is fine. Totally makes sense. I think all my ex-girlfriends are great people and I hope they think the same of me and there is not a fucking chance any of them would want me in their band. Plus, Wednesday is fucking great. Way better than MJ Lenderman's solo work. For Karly Hartzman, there's only one thing to say about her ex-boyfriend and future ex-bandmate: FINISH HIM!!!!!!  —Joe

"Cattle Prod" by Font

from Strange Burden, 2024

Alright so Old Jack joined FIJI, which was bad. Bad for other people, because of the danger that the frat posed to women who ended up at their off-campus rental home. But TKE was probably worse for the fraternity members themselves. Pronounced "Teek," TKE was an "unofficial" frat who had lost their charter (I don't know if that's the right terminology), and operated "underground" at La Salle. Which means they did pretty much whatever they wanted to the pledge classes that deigned to pledge an off-the-books frat. I saw one of those pledges, my freshman year. A dude I used to hang out with a little bit that first semester. He showed me his thigh, where his "brothers" had taken a branding iron and charred the TKE symbol into his skin. I didn't really see that guy too much after that. I wonder if TKE killed him.  —Joe

"The Ox" by the Who

from The Who Sing My Generation, 1966

What stands out more? Keith Moon’s unrelenting drumming, or Nicky Hopkins' frenzied yet fluid piano riffs? This song works so well. It's such a solid instrumental piece by the Who. What's even more impressive is that this song was an improvised studio jam session. A cool track from a cool band to start your week.  —Gloria

We liked "Baba O'Reilly" back when we thought it was called "Teenage Wasteland," back when we were the teens and the way we viewed the world made it seem like a wasteland. Car packed with crates full of Lionshead bottles that clinked as we hit the bumps on the AC Expressway, we ignored the pejorative use of the word "wasted," instead leaning into the slang for inebriation, yelling the big line as we rode with windows down. We probably would've yelled along to "The Ox" too, if it had words. Let the pounding drums instead soundtrack the debauchery of that Senior Week to follow.  —Joe

"Wooly Bully" by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs

from Wooly Bully, 1965

My first car, a 1999 Chevy Blazer that I bought in 2009 and had until 2016, had a broken CD player. This meant that I was still listening to cassette tapes well into the 2010s. My dad would often make me mixtapes, and these tapes would include some of his favorite bands, including Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs.  —Gloria

NEXT WEEK: "Five-Star Rating and a 20% Tip" — The songs in an Uber to carry you home after a fun night (chosen by Sam)

Album of the Week: Faces in the Rocks

Record Club only hangs out in person once every like two years or so, but it's been fun every time, and I'm down to do it more often if y'all want. As long as you keep the lights on around here by writing reviews, then I'm totally down to gather together in real life and spend hours talking about those reviews. Regardless, thanks for being my friends! We have fun!

Record Club:

archives | supplemental

spotify playlist | youtube playlist

choose | writing

WEEK 317 — February 23-March 1, 2025

Faces in the Rocks

by Mariee Siou

LISTEN:

Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Apple

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PICKED BY SUNNY

SUNNY'S COMMENTS: "Why I picked it? I asked my YTT classmates for 'an album you liked from the last five years.' Surprisingly hard to get a straight answer. I received an overwhelming amount of experimental jazz and industrial rock suggestions, which I'll save for mid-year or something. I'd never heard of this folk singer songwriter before though, so here's something just a little different."

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ALBUM DETAILS

GENRE: Contemporary folk, singer-songwriter, Indigenous American traditional music, chamber folk, Indigenous North American music

RELEASED: I don't know the exact date. It was released in 2007. Wikipedia says August 1, RYM says October 1, and Bandcamp says January 1, so possibly one of them? Unless the other websites that say "sometime in 2008" are correct? Let's just say mid-to-late '00s to be safe.

LENGTH: 49:40

TRACKLIST:

1. Wizard Flurry Home
2. Buried in Teeth
3. Friendboats
4. Wild Eyes
5. Bravitzlana Rubakalva
6. Two Tongues
7. Bundles
8. Flowers and Blood

LYRICS: Genius.com

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ARTIST DETAILS

CORRECT NAME: You might see the artist's name spelled like "Mariee Sioux" in most places (including the cover art of this album). According to Wikipedia, "she began changing her stage name from Mariee Sioux, as named by her parents, to Mariee Siou, in an effort to decolonize her name." So PoYB will not be including the x.

PRONOUNS: she/her/hers

ABOUT: Mariee Sioux Sobonya was born on February 4, 1985, in Humboldt County, California, but grew up in Nevada City. Her father was a musician, and she started to write songs at a young age. She volunteered at a school in Patagonia as a teenager, and that is where she taught herself how to play guitar. After releasing seven albums before the age of 40, she has drawn comparisons from Joanna Newsom to Joni Mitchell, and she has toured through North America and Europe. I'm sorry that this "About" blurb is reading like it was put together by ChatGPT, but there's not much on the Wikipedia page. Maybe once I get to the "Reading some shit" section, we'll learn some more about Mariee Siou.

DISCOGRAPHY: As noted above, Siou has released seven studio albums. Faces in the Rocks was her third, but the first released through a label. Her most recent, Circle of Signs, was self-released in 2023.

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ADDITIONAL INFO

READING SOME SHIT: Medium has her as a "rising star" seventeen years after Faces in the Rocks came out

WATCHING SOME SHIT: "Wild Eyes" live seven years ago

RECORD CLUB CONNECTIONS: No strong connections, as far as I can tell. When I hear "Indigenous music," I think about Waak Waak Djungi. Siou played Le Guess Who? Festival in 2021, along with Sons of Kemet, whose members include tuba player Theon Cross, as well as drummer Tom Skinner, who eventually formed the Smile with two Radiohead members (for real, Le Guess Who? 2021 was the only concert connection I could find for any RC alumni at all). We have three faces before Faces in the Rocks, including Brave Faces Everyone, Cheekface, and Radical Face. We have one other rock before Faces in the Rocks—Sob Rock. 

MENTIONS ON THE BLOG: None yet!

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OTHER ALBUMS TO CHECK OUT

LAST WEEK'S ALBUM: The Will to Live by Titus Andronicus, and make sure to check out the reviews if you wanna see what we thought of it! 

RC@5: We're relistening to the Record Club album we featured exactly five years ago this week. The RC album for this week in 2020 was 1000 gecs by 100 gecs.

SHADOW RECORD CLUB: Each week, I'm exploring a genre of last week's album by listening to one of that genre's top-rated albums. Last week's The Will to Live was a pub rock album. We're listening this week to Power in the Darkness by Tom Robinson Band.

NEXT WEEK'S RC ALBUM: In case you need some extra time with an album to write a review for it, you can get a head start on Red Headed Stranger by Willie Nelson!

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Happy listening, RC family!
Have a great week!