How could I judge this now, as a 40-year-old man, with a lifetime of mistakes and regrets and failures and successes and rebirths and victories in between? Sports is a time capsule of the most important things being those which matter least. It is universal in its specificity, and it is a tale of details I have not and cannot relate to. It is the life I grieve because it is no longer being lived, and it is the celebration that I have outlived it. I am glad that I had Sports when I was younger. I am glad that it is here for future emotional young adults to hear and see themselves in. It is not me, but it was. We move past it but never too far. Sports believes in the future... and so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into our 20s, never quite outrunning the insecurities belied within even as we have long since abandoned the dock which it has set out from.
A long time ago, roughly 2008, frequent contributor to the blog Nate and I lived together in South Philadelphia. One night, presumably after some drinking, Nate announced to myself and our then-roommate Stu that he had reduced our respective musical tastes to two words each. I forget what he had for Stu, but it was something along the lines of "wild experimentation." For me, he gave the words "Pop Sensibilities." I protested at the time, but he was right. I like catchy music and tunefulness and a well-crafted chorus and bridge and all that, even if my particular pop sensibilities do not always line up with the larger world's pop sensibilities.
All of that is to say that I feel out of place even writing this review because, and I cannot stress this enough, this album is Not For Me.
"BUT THE MUSICIANSHIP!" you say. Yes. These guys are all clearly great musicians. And I'd agree that occasionally it is good to hear someone like Phil Collins showing what he is capable on drums, since he is mostly now known as the Sussudio guy. That does not mean that it is listenable, to me. This is the argument made for bands like Phish and Grateful Dead, as well as their many acolytes. That's fine. I respect all of these guys as musicians, and I wish I was capable of what they can do on their instruments. But please let me turn this shit off and put on something I can bop my head and hum along to.
Writing anything about the Doors puts me in a difficult position. In the same way that writing about U2 always seems to become a referendum on Bono, writing about the Doors tends to begin and end with Jim Morrison. And not even Jim Morrison, singer, but JIM MORRISON, modern day shaman, Lizard King, all that bullshit. So let us put aside this idea of Morrison because it did not exist in the public consciousness when this record was released, only in his extremely solipsistic mind. The truth is that the driving engine of this band, at least early on, was the trio of extremely accomplished musicians behind them. I won't mention their names much because what else is there to say, but John Densmore, Robby Krieger, and Ray Manzarek are absolutely incredible musicians and songwriters, and Morrison landing with this trio was the best piece of good luck he ever could have wished for.
Classic rock also presents a challenge. How can I sit here and properly weigh the context of a record that came out in 1967? Sure, I've studied history, so I know what the world was like in a simple, facile way. I read Morrison's biography (No One Here Gets Out Alive, I should not have read it in eighth grade). I've seen Oliver Stone's The Doors (lots of boobs!). But I've heard some of these songs a million times, and there is nothing I can now say about "Light My Fire" that isn't said a thousand times better. Songs like that and "Break On Through" do not even register as music as much as they do museum pieces now. It's like reviewing The Great Gatsby in 2025. I can tell you whether I enjoy it but it is mostly just a piece of American history.
Having said that, and my annoyance at the idea of Morrison as some kind of mad genius poet, I will always defend this album. "Soul Kitchen" is maybe my favorite song that the band has ever recorded and they are still riding that wave of popularity gained from their live shows in L.A. That's evident in the energy throughout. Morrison's sexuality is what makes songs like "Back Door Man" work. Or "Whiskey Bar." Even almost 60 years later, these songs sound dangerous. After Morrison became MORRISON, it became easy to write off this sleaziness as part of a persona or just an unfortunate byproduct of his drinking and drug abuse but on this first Doors record it is a necessary, integral part of the music. When they get away from that, when the band loses focus on this kind of bar-rock sleaze, like on "The End," the energy lags. (With the notable exception of "Crystal Ship," which is an incredible piece of crooning.)
"The End" is, according to mythology a song that gained them a following but also made record companies afraid of the Doors (mostly just Morrison, and I think most other members felt similarly). Live, in clubs like the Whisky a Go Go, I'm sure that this journey was entrancing. On record, though, it just doesn't go anywhere. Coming at the end of a subpar side 2, it just kind of wraps up the album by showcasing the band at their worst: becoming conduits for Morrison's rambling because he's the star.
This was one of the most frustrating listening experiences I have had in a long time. I'll start with some good things to say: the band members are good at playing their instruments, and they clearly have an understanding of how to write a good pop song.
What makes this so infuriating for me is that you can tell they know how to write a good song because they seem to willfully choose not to at every opportunity. Every chance for a hook is wasted on a dissonant left turn, and for me none of them work. Pavement and Archers of Loaf were good at dissonance because at least that can be interesting to me. I believe that writing and releasing music like that requires a level of trust with the audience, an understanding of "Yeah we are doing this weird shit, but you know we COULD do the good stuff." The problem with Ought is that they never quite deliver on that good pop song. If it's all weird, it's not weird anymore. It just kinda sucks beyond small little glimmers like the last bit of the title track.
Also, let's not beat around the bush. This guy is one of the least enjoyable lead vocalists I have ever listened to, and I hope to never have to listen to him again. "Beautiful Blue Sky" would be far more enjoyable with a singer who understands emoting and has more than one speed.
If you like Q and Not U, you'll like this band, and may God have mercy on your soul.
The winter of, hmmm, I guess it was 2009 into 2010, that was the winter break that I spent holed up in my room. That's an exaggeration. I was freshly 21; I was probably at McNally's. I had employment that I was expected to take shifts at during breaks, and definitely did (since it was the best job of my life). But the only memories I have right now are of spending hours and occasionally whole days in that room. I was lonely. I was depressed because I under the assumption (yet again) that I was expelled from La Salle. I binged Lost. The whole series. In between episodes, I would put on Alligator, and read episode synopses, and lie in bed and think about it, and listen to the National, and think about what life would be like when I found some sort of purpose, or someone who I might want to search for that purpose with. —Joe
"the angel of 8th ave." by Gang of Youths
from angel in realtime., 2022
This band/song/album is under my internal heading of "PoYB music," in that I'm only aware of and love it becauseof thisblog and the denizens who contribute to it, plus I don't think I've had it recommended or referenced by anyone else I know, granted it's the life of a hermit and luddite.
I only today looked up the 8th avenue in question, and I'm still not sure where it's supposed to be, but on genius, they say the lyric about Laney is referencing the same high school Jordan came out of (unreviewed). Huh. —Sunny
"Arterial" by Lusine
from Arterial EP, 2014
NY-30A is also known as the arterial to the residents of Fulton County, New York. It travels from Gloversville up towards Northville. I'm not sure when it stops being the arterial. I don't even know why they call it that. But I love that feeling when I've come from Albany and then through Amsterdam and I catch the first sight of the Great Sacandaga Lake in Mayfield. Sometimes I wonder if I should blow it all up. Sell all my books, all my stuff. Sell my bed. Keep a few clothes, and book a flight. A quick craigslist search reveals that a lakeside rental home in Northville—four bed, three bath—goes for $1,800. $1,800! Why do I insist on torturing myself living far away from family, from the places where I can breathe easy, when I could have a place on the lake, a quiet sunset, stars, a motorboat? It's not realistic for me to live in Northville, I know. The grass is always greener. I wouldn't actually be happy there. But damn, it's tempting to dream. Do I actually like living where I live, or am I so caught up in the incredible fact that I made the leap to live here that I overlook the many negatives and the general struggle? I am sick of being a masochist, but I don't know any other way. —Zach
"Yazoo Street Scandal" by Bob Dylan and the Band
from The Basement Tapes, 1975
1168 miles from where I'm at right now.
It was basically just some dudes hanging out in a basement. I know, I know, it's important to build myth. I loved, and still love, the idea of some legendary music-making sessions between six of the all-time greats, documenting hours of music and passing those tapes around from cousin to cousin, through the ages, like a secret, like you've got your ear to the basement door and you hear magic emanating from within.
I was thinking about this when I was in parents' garage the other night to pull another seltzer or Aldi diet cola out of the fridge in there, and I smelled a familiar smell, and that shit brought me back to the days when I would spend a lot of my time in that garage (sheeeeeeeit, man, that would've bad fucking news if that refrigerator was in that garage back in my day). We'd be making music. We'd be shooting the shit. We'd be strengthening friendships. We'd be building myth.
It's hard to imagine that this also what happened when Bob Dylan and Robbie Robertson and Levon Helm and Rick Danko and Richard Manuel and Garth Hudson got together in some basement of some house in Woodstock, NY, to sing a song about a street in Arkansas and also many, many other songs. That it was just some fucking hangout session in an arbitrary basement. Legends, but also just young dudes, fucking around, creating. It's humbling to think of their music this way. I dunno, I can't explain it. —Joe
"Southtown Girls" by the Hold Steady
from Boys and Girls in America, 2006
On Thursday, June 28th, I was lucky enough to see the Hold Steady once again. I saw them at the Foundry in Philadelphia, my first time there. I believe it was my seventh time seeing them (they mentioned my first time repeatedly as they extolled the virtues of the North Star Bar), and friends, let me tell you, this band has not lost a step. Three things made this show noteworthy for a mega fan like myself: 1) They opened with "Crucifixion Cruise," 2) They included a new song, which I don't think I had ever seen them do, and 3) in what is absolutely a first for me seeing them, Craig Finn forgot the words to a song, this time "Heavy Covenant" (a favorite I was surprised they played). What I'm saying is, this band is still the best live rock band in the business, and you owe it to yourself to see them whenever you can. —Gilson
"Shining Gilded Boulevard" by Purling Hiss
from Drag on Girard, 2023
2.4 miles from where I'm at right now.
I think a lot about going back in time. Not in a yearning way, just as an idle thought exercise to pass the time. "What would I do differently" and "what would I change" and all that. One thing that I think about every time I speeding down Roosevelt Boulevard (the assumed titular boulevard of this Philly artist's song) is what year I'd have to go to and how much money I'd have to have on hand to make the Roosevelt Boulevard SEPTA subway spur a reality. I assume I'd only have to grease like seven or eight pockets in the 1950s for it to happen. Instead, I'm stuck in this timeline, and the city can't even pay its workers enough to pick up the fucking trash, let alone build a new subway line. —Joe
"Les Champs-Élysées" by Joe Dassin
from Joe Dassin, 1969
I've been working through the NYT 36 Questions to Fall in Love with anyone I happen to be in conversation with this summer. If I see you, I'll probably ask you something random from this list. This past Friday, the question I asked people was, "What is one of your most treasured memories?" One of my most treasured memories is walking around Paris all night with my spouse the day before we flew home. There were so many things that we wanted to see one more time before heading back to the States. Please drop a treasured memory in the comments! —Gloria
"St. Mark's Funny Feeling" by Peach Pit
from Magpie, 2024
I've been listening to this album constantly since it was re-released in May. I recall reading an interview with Peach Pit once, in which they described their sound as "chewed bubble-gum pop." I love that description. Maybe give it a listen, it's a good vibe for the summertime weather! —Gloria
"Franklin Avenue" by Ghost Fun Orchestra
from Night Walker, 2016
I took a road trip to Connecticut last weekend to see Ghost Funk Orchestra perform at Capital Groove, and let me tell you, it was absolutely worth it. This band began as a lo-fi solo project by composer and multi-instrumentalist Seth Applebaum, and has since evolved into a dynamic ten-piece ensemble that blends psych-soul, jazz, funk, salsa, and rock. —Gloria
"Route 128" by DEPAPEPE
from ONE, 2011
I recently finished The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. The main character, Esther Greenwood, lives in the Boston area, where this road is located. Esther doesn't know what she wants to be in life. Pretty soon, she's not sleeping. She doesn't sleep for days. I should stop now before I reveal too many spoilers. But sometimes I wonder. Life can be so annoying. I try to buy the right sneakers, the right computer, find the right roommate. Quit my job at the right time. Pick the right girl to date. Well, the shoes I bought hurt my feet, my new computer has a terrible speaker, my roommate sucks, the girl I asked out who initially said yes now said she just wants to be friends, and Day 1 into my summer of funemployment and I'm terrified. I'm going to be negative in these blurbs today. I'm writing them in a different frame of mind than normal. I'm not in my windowless office, with free coffee nearby and no hope. I'm in a place where the hope is sky high, which means that when things don't go right, things hurt that much more. I'm not taking advantage of the time, I fear. I plan a desert hike, but the traffic is devastating and I can't relax. I can't do anything. I just want to lay in bed, like Esther Greenwood, staring up at the ceiling. Wouldn't it be easier? There's such a fine line between happiness and utter despair. —Zach
"Green Lane" by Jonny Nash
a single, 2025
I grew up on Greenlane Drive. Not on Green Lane—on Greenlane Drive. That's cool, but sometimes I worry that I talk about myself too much. A guy who lives in Tel Aviv is looking for a roommate and keeps posting the same message on the same Facebook and WhatsApp groups. "I'm 32, budget 3,000-3,300—and did I mention I'm a chef, so you'll eat so well with me!" Bro, we've heard it fifteen times already, stop talking about yourself, you loser. We don't care that you have an air fryer, everyone has an air fryer these days. So, no, you don't need to know that I grew up on Greenlane Drive. You don't need to know all the details of my life. And then I provide them to you anyway, and sometimes I wonder. Am I like that pathetic 32-year-old from Edgware, London, UK who can't stop writing about himself? I really hope not. —Zach
"Scott Street" by Phoebe Bridgers
from Stranger in the Alps, 2017
2716 miles from where I'm at right now.
Absolute insanity that it's been only eight years since Phoebe Bridgers was my favorite new artist, and songs like "Scott Street" sounded so new and fresh and I was smitten as fuck. Those feelings lasted a while, but curdled, as all feelings like this usually do. She was too good to stay a secret. She's too popular. She's the third boygenius wheel and that whole enterprise is a little annoying. She's inspired a thousand knock-offs and all of them are SHIT. We were sitting on my parents' patio on the Fourth listening to some bullshit algorithm my mom had on called "Songs of America" or some nonsense, basically just like pop music I guess, and there was a song from an artist that I knew wasn't Bridgers but I knew stole wholesale from Bridgers just based on the sound, breathy folky pop, some fucking bullshit, some chick named Gracie something, I hated it, HATED it, even though it's like barely a half-step away from the sounds of "Scott Street," I cannot believe that they all got it so wrong, that they are all missing the magic that Bridgers dealt so effortlessly back in the day. The good ol' days, when I could hear this music and swoon instead of cringe. —Joe
Anywhere between 4.7 miles and 17.8 miles from where I'm at right now.
What I should've done was just walk the length of 10th Street at some point, from Fern Rock to the stadiums. I could've gotten a hint regarding where this song takes place. Let's be real, it's probably like Northern Liberties or Temple (I don't know the personal histories of any Valencia members). But are we to hear the lyrics and infer that you can see the Philadelphia skyline from the Philadelphia apartment of this bro's significant other? I dropped some random pins on Google Maps up and down 10th Street, and didn't see the skyline anywhere. I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to walk a few blocks from any apartment anywhere on that street and see the Comcast Center, so I'm not calling bullshit. I'm just saying.
I used to have a friend—we lost touch, ain't it weird how some people rapidly come in and out of your life in those uncertain post-collegiate years?—who was trying to complete a project, possibly a lifelong one, of walking down every single street in Philadelphia at least once. He had a map where he marked his progress and everything. I don't know if he's still doing it. The way these things go, probably not. But I think about that project all the time. I think about what it could do to one's perspective, how it would help to open your eyes to the beautiful world around you. If I had unlimited time and energy (running perilously low on both lately), I'd walk all the way down 10th Street, and I'd keep my eyes out for the skyline, for tired moppy-headed emo rockers, and for signs of beauty that surround us, if we ever have the time to look for them. —Joe
"Rocca Ave." by Downtown Struts
from Victoria!, 2013
2883 miles from where I'm at right now.
Gilson is absolutely going to write a blurb about this one. If his blurb doesn't end up directly below mine, I'll eat both of my shoes (been meaning to get a new pair anyway). But I needed to choose this song too. It's lived in my head ever since Gilson recommended the album to me what feels like twenty years ago (more like eight months). I have a running list of dumb MMM ideas and one was "songs on the avenue" and this was the only song listed underneath it, and it mostly existed at all because I just wanted an excuse to post this song on the blog.
The beauty is in the hook, but the satisfaction is found in the poignant lyrics, how it's lonely inside and you can only find purpose if you step outside your front door and go for a walk and see what's outside. I'm way behind on my Ulysses reading, but the early section where the guy says to his students about god being shouts in the street? That's the first time so far with this book I've been like, oh yeah, this is gonna be worth it.
Anyways, take it away, Gilson. —Joe
I'm writing this on July 3rd. As of this writing, I have moved to Barrington, NJ (Haddonfield zip code though!), and, for the first time in my life, into an apartment I can call my own. This was due in part to my finding a job in Mount Laurel, and my teaching career restarts with summer school on the day that this gets published. But what this is really due to is my sobriety.
I'm almost 40. And I'm just shy of three years sober, which means this life I'm living is only really three years old. I've hit multiple milestones I could not accomplish in my 36 years pre-sobriety, and I am allowing myself to take every victory lap that is accessible to me. —Gilson
"405" by Death Cab for Cutie
from We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes, 2000
Sometime in college, while they were touring Plans, I saw Death Cab at the venue formerly known as the Electric Factory with some of my roommates. I think it was a perfectly fine show, as I really don't remember much of it except the ending of Transatlanticism. I wasn't yet fully into Death Cab, so a lot of things just kinda went in one ear and out the other. I mostly remember this show as my Height Reckoning.
I grew tall later in my life than a lot of people. When I finished my sophomore year of high school, I was still around 5'8, and when I finished my junior year, I was close to my current height of 6'6, and that is not an exaggeration. I made my way to the middle of the crowd for this show and remember turning around at one point and saw a girl, who could not be more than 5'3, standing directly behind me. I immediately made me away to the back of the crowd. It obviously stuck with me. —Gilson
"South Fourth Street" by Ransom Pier
from Wood Lane EP, 2019
I lived on South Fourth Street in Highland Park, NJ for six years, in the same room, on the second floor of a house. The first floor was a dental office, and the dentist was my landlord. My roommates in that house over the years were Matthew, Sammy, Ai, Leo, Indira, Marlana, Michelle, Liel, the subletter who walked from his room to the bathroom naked and got caught out by Liel once, the other subletter who never left his room, Matt, Stephen. In that house I watched sports and didn't feel bad about it. In that house I actually made good food. In that house I didn't walk around on eggshells. How have I made it to this pinnacle of life, and I'm getting invited to birthday parties for 28-year-old women who are living a life I've already lived five times over? How is it that I'm pretending I'm enjoying it? Seriously, what happened to me? A year ago, Ruty, from the poetry group in Tel Aviv, looked me in the eye before she went back to the Bay Area. "You'll be back, too," she said. I didn't believe it at the time. But now I wonder if I should stop holding on so damn tight. —Zach
"You Don't Mess Around with Jim" by Jim Croce
from You Don't Mess Around with Jim, 1972
I love the album You Don't Mess Around with Jim. It was South Philly boy Jim Croce's breakout album. It showcases his knack for storytelling folk-rock with character-driven songwriting. Though his career was tragically cut short by a plane crash at age 30, Croce's music has endured to this day. —Gloria
NEXT WEEK: "When I'm Dead, Just Throw Me in the Trash" — Songs with "trash" or "garbage" in the song title or artist name, in honor of the the fight for fair wages by Philadelphia's essential workers (chosen by Joe)
Through this prompt, I discovered the website them, which calls itself "the best of what's queer." Spotify played me a song by Momma last week. The two sides met in a perfect harmony. This song is one to play at night when you are driving fast through the suburbs.
Has it ever happened to you that something so significant or usual or traumatic happens in your life that you can't help but have it creep into every single element of your writing? I feel a wave washing over me, but I don't want to write about it. I want to write about the light things of life. And then I think I'm going to give in and write about it anyways. Is it performative? Is it "woe is me?" Is it some kind of messed up way of showing off? Do I actually really want to write about it? I don't know. The human brain doesn't make sense. But I'm tired, and I worked from home today, and I'm going to work from home tomorrow, too, and my phone is always charging. None of them standard operating procedure. —Zach
"Boy's a Liar Pt. 2" by PinkPantheress ft. Ice Spice
from Heaven Knows, 2023
I don't think it's wrong to google someone's sexual preferences, but it still feels wrong. I guess I knew Ice Spice was bi for some reason (it quite possibly might be the ONLY thing I know about Ice Spice), but I didn't want to choose a song about shitting or farting for this mixtape (not joyous enough), so I went with this (fucking great) song by RC alumna PinkPantheress. Which meant that I had to google what her sexual orientation is. There were no clear answers, which made me feel worse. Like I was intruding or something, I don't know. I would really only need to know if she likes boys or girls or both or neither or somewhere on the spectrum in between if I was a potential sexual partner of PinkPantheress, of which I am (probably) not. So it's none of my business. Except for the mixtape. She's probably bisexual, which makes it a good pick for the mixtape, in my opinion (other opinions may vary). It made me think about why this is something that we as fans typically feel like we need to know, or even deserve to know (for the parasocially desperate among us). Yes, you're expected to leverage your personal life to sell records, and many celeb artists gleefully do this (noT nAming anY names, aLthOugh i ceRtainly could). But it shouldn't be a requirement. I shouldn't need to know anything about PinkPantheress beyond the good music that she's making (and probably that she, I dunno, didn't vote for trump???). (1/2) —Joe
"Wrestlemania VIII" by Martha
from Love Keeps Kicking, 2019
If one of my kids—Martha or otherwise—came out as gay, or non-binary, or trans, or whatever, anything, then I have confidence that I'd be able to handle it appropriately. There are so many aspects to parenting that I'm bad at, but I feel pretty decent at being able to establish open communication and total support. It's called unconditional love, yo. There are no conditions. They don't have to prove anything or do anything for me to "earn" my love. It's just there. I don't know what else to do. Maybe I need to do more. Maybe I'm a failure in countless ways. But this seems to be a good guiding light, this idea of unconditional love, and I'm gonna follow it. —Joe
"THATS WHAT I WANT" by Lil Nas X
from MONTERO, 2021
(2/2) Which reminds me that I recently read an article about Doja Cat (who features in another Lil Nas X song, not this one, but again, I'm going for "joyous," and this is my favorite non-"Old Town Road" Lil Nas X song... also, when I googled PinkPantheress' sexuality, there were a few hits about she and Lil Nas X being in a "fake" relationship, as some sort of bit... it all connects, here in the blurbs, and the parentheticals to those blurbs) in which she accepted some branded T-shirt from some social media influencer, and but later went on her own social media and basically was like, hey, fuck that guy for putting me in that position, I don't know him and I don't need him touching me out in public like that. Pretty fair! For all her many, many, many faults, Doja Cat seems to be the most reasonable when it comes to striking down parasocial relationships. Me and Doja, of the same mind in this very specific subject—that shit is creepy! You don't know your favorite artists, so leave 'em the fuck alone, even if you're sitting next to them at the bar. Probably what complicated things in this particular Doja Cat incident was that the shirt was a Pride shirt, and the guy went on his Insta or whatever and said something along the lines of, I feel embarrassed, I'm gay and happy and this wasn't the reaction that I expected. But see, that makes the whole thing feel ickier, doesn't it? I think it's awesome that this dude can be his true authentic self out in public... but if the end game is selling shirts on your influence Instagram, then I can confidently say FUCK YOU to him, regardless of sexual orientation. Please, everyone, just get offline. This shit isn't healthy. (Besides PoYB, of course. You're safe here.) —Joe
"Take Your Mama" by Scissor Sisters
from Scissor Sisters, 2004
There's an all-time classic Simpsons episode (Season 8) where the family befriends a gay man and Homer struggles with accepting his sexuality. In the year 2025, there are absolutely some jokes that do not land as well as one would like, but to me, it is important to realize that, while not groundbreaking in 1996/97, this was still the era when Ellen DeGeneres coming out on her show was front page news everywhere. I only bring this up to say that whenever I listen to the Scissor Sisters, who are fantastic, I am reminded of a Homer quote from this episode: "I like my straights straight, and my homosexuals FA-LAAAAMING." —Gilson
"Sober to Death" by Car Seat Headrest
from Twin Fantasy (Face to Face), 2018
Twin Fantasy is the best Car Seat Headrest album (but not my favorite, which is Teens of Denial). The 2018 version is more or less a major-studio remake of the original 2011 version. I didn't listen to it until 2018. I pored over the lyrics a lot back in the day, I don't know why. It's a great album and it felt deep. It's interesting thinking now, though, seven years later, who normal and unobtrusive it was, the idea of this being not only being a musical drama about love, but one about gay love. Like, there are so many important aspects to the story presented here, and that felt like it wouldn't even crack the Top 20 if ranked. That's either because I'm straight and so that part of the narrative was unimpactful by design, or because by the late-'10s, we (progressives, at least) were taking this type of thing for granted. Imagine if the album had come out in 1978, and Will Toldeo had been that upfront and matter-of-fact about his sexual orientation. It would've felt revelatory and essential to the text. There's a lot of bigotry out there, still. Lots of hate, many homophobes (there's even one living in the White House!). But sometimes, when it all feels too heavy, it might be at least a little helpful to remember how far we as a society have come so far. —Joe
"Becky's So Hot" by FLETCHER
from Girl of My Dreams, 2022
I see her down in the basement every few hours these days. We talk about shelter construction. "You're an urban planner," she said. "You should know!" Last week I was late, and she looked up at me, all fake mad. "You're an idiot!" she said. Today she saw me eating cookies in the basement. "You guys are like a comedy duo," she said, addressing me and my partner. Then she went back to her phone. We were all dressed strangely. I hadn't showered from my COVID-esque virtual workout earlier, closed gym and all. She was ready for bed but looked effortlessly stunning. Becky so hot, indeed. I am sure I'll see her again today, somewhere between 2 and 5 AM, down in the basement, trying not to die. —Zach
"The Sentinel" by Judas Priest
from Defenders of the Faith, 1984
I was oh so close to writing a blurb for a Queen song just to irritate Joe, but I decided to highlight a different LGBTQ rock/metal icon: Rob Halford from Judas Priest. Now, I might be a bigger fan of Iron Maiden than Judas Priest (I have a friend and colleague who I debate this subject with whenever we hang out), but I recognize and appreciate the massive impact Judas Priest had on the genre of metal. This specific song is one of my favorite songs by the legendary band. It works as a more welcoming intro to Judas Priest in a way that "Painkiller" or "Screaming for Vengeance" might not be. —Batts
"Purse First" by Bob the Drag Queen ft. DJ Mitch Ferrino
a single, 2016
Yes mama. Bob the Drag Queen is one of my all time favs. I'm gooped and gagged by this song. Ok, let's spill the tea... let's walk into the room purse first. This song is giving, and I'm living, and it. is. sickening. Bob owns 51% of this company and she betta werk! 10s across the board. Shantay you stay.
Oh, and Bob... don't fuck. it. up. —Pam
"Love Nobody" by Jenn Champion and OYSTER KIDS
from Love Nobody EP, 2021
Here's a song about falling in love with someone despite yourself. It works for anyone, but with this being Pride Month and this song being performed by a queer artist, I wonder if there is any subtext about discovering your sexuality in this song. However, as a straight cisgendered white man, I'm probably not an authority on that subject. But that doesn't mean we can't be allies. —Batts
I have a difficult time believing people that say they never questioned their own sexuality for even a second. I'm not saying I had to think very long and hard about it, but I know for a fact there were a number of times in my life that I wondered, "Wait... am I?" before I came back to the conclusion that I am, in fact, straight. Or, at the very least, on the straight end of the Kinsey Scale. Though I'd certainly wager that I am not particularly close to the absolute straight end of the spectrum. —Gilson
"Critterland" by Willi Carlisle
from Critterland, 2024
Take me to Critterlaaaaaand. Honestly, take me to Critterland. Give me some possums and squirrels and a crow friend and I'll be so content. I think I must have been a granny witch or an herbalist in a past life, because "Critterland" just gives me the warm fuzzies. I'll always stand by the idea that nature can teach us a whole lot if we listen. —Pam
"Road Head" by Japanese Breakfast
from Soft Sounds from Another Planet, 2017
My life changed because of road head I never got. Let's say I had gotten it? I'd be trapped in an unhappy marriage, somewhere in Charlotte or Houston. I'd never bring dairy or soy or gluten into the house. I'd have to go to her sister's wedding, which was basically an homage to Donald Trump. I would have a frustrating sex life. I would not be happy. I only got road head once in my life, and that was sixteen years ago. It didn't happen that other time, and for that I am eternally grateful. —Zach
"Red Moon" by Big Thief
from Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You, 2022
I've written about this before, but Adrianne Lenker's joyous, gleeful, legendary hollering of "That's my grandma!" has got me thinking about it again. Just the idea of how I (and my sisters and cousins and yes of course my dad) lionize the idea and memory of my paternal grandparents, and how I wonder sometimes if that's a product of only knowing them until right before all this stuff ("politics," me "being a woke libturd" I guess) became actually, legitimately important to me. I wonder how much I would've seen that would've disappointed me if my own grandma lived through her 90s, if my grandpa had survived to see 100. My maternal grandma is still with us, and she is constantly disappointing me with what she says and how she acts in this realm. As of this writing, it's been only seventeen hours since I've heard her say something disgustingly racist. I wonder if I would still think about them fondly if I ever learned about, for example, what my grandpa thought about joyful music from queer artists. Probably not. I know this is pessimistic, and maybe I'm wrong. But I don't really have time in my life for people who are equally pessimistic about basic human ways of life. Doesn't matter who they are, family or fucking whoever. No time for it. —Joe
It's Halloween and you're getting ready to go out with your best friend
Your listening to Life in Cartoon Motion as you get ready
Her favorite album
You have such a crush on her
She knows this
But she'll only make out with you when you're both drunk
She wants to borrow your dress, and she gets changed in front of you
You look away too shy to look at her
The most beautiful girl you know
Later that night you'll stumble home
Alone
Drunk
High
One broken heel, and one bloody foot
Dried leaves stuck in your ripped fishnet stockings
She'll still be at a party with a guy you introduced her to
"Love's gonna get you down" —Gloria
"Cherry" by FLETCHER and Hayley Kiyoko
a single, 2021
Working in healthcare during the pandemic, there were certain times when I would listen to the same song on repeat during my commutes—maybe it was a decision fatigue response? Like how Steve Jobs always wore a black turtleneck to keep brain power for more important things. Although, I'm not comparing anything I did to be even an ounce as transformational as his work. But when this came out near the end of 2021, I listened to it for about a month on my drive. —Gloria
"QUEER" by BROCKHAMPTON
from Saturation II, 2017
I like the idea that we can take ideas and words and symbols and make them our own if we want to. I think about the fact that, for a while, we had a plaque with the "don't tread on me" snake on it. It went up before me or Pam knew its significance (i.e. that it had been commandeered by the rabid conservative Tea Party movement, a precursor to maga), but after I learned about it from a few weary liberal friends visiting and brave enough to say something, I doubled down. No, we're not removing that shit. I'm taking it back. A fucking COP isn't allowed to put that shit on his coffee mug. He's the boot. I'm the fucking snake, getting tread on. Not that I deserve to have an opinion on the matter, but this is something that I appreciate about the LGBTQ movement—how they have reclaimed the word "queer." I haven't done research, but I'm assuming (based on the dictionary definition of "strange, odd") that it was original used to denigrate and disparage gays and lesbians, no? But people were just like, nah, you're not gonna use that term, WE are gonna use that term, and we're gonna celebrate it. And now we get to celebrate today, on this mixtape, with queer artists. Use the verbiage of your abusers against them! Fuck those pieces of shit! —Joe
"MUDDY" by Jamila Woods
from LEGACY! LEGACY!, 2019
There was never a question about whether we should do a mixtape to celebrate Pride Month. It's a shame that there can only be one, to be honest. I only fear that maybe Puke on Your Birthday can do it justice. I want this to be a space online where people feel comfortable with who they are. I know that this becomes a difficulty thing to even test because the majority of contributors are straight men. I don't know! As always, I get worried about my own writing, how it's perceived, whether I'm misspeaking, whether I'm being insensitive in micro ways and don't even realize it. I'm speaking my truth but that doesn't mean that how I'm can't be improved, thus altering my truth for the better. Sometimes I write a lot and I can hear Jamila Woods screaming in the background: "Motherfuckers won't shut up!" She's talking about me. My bad. —Joe
Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to work for a place that didn't dismantle DEI. I work for a company that recognizes and celebrates the marginalized whenever possible. It's still corporate bullshit, but after subjecting myself to attempting to stay up with the news, it's a nice reprieve from what could be. So this month is Pride! This month my queer coworkers can safely joke "you can't ask me to do that!? It's PRIDE!" and for that I am grateful. —Sara
"She" by dodie
from Human EP, 2019
This is such a pure and tender song. I think that "She" so clearly encapsulates the feeling of being young and kind of in love with your straight friend. It's not really a joyful song, but an honest one that is full of beautiful bittersweetness. It's vulnerable; it's the feeling of a secret that you can't say out loud. —Gloria
NEXT WEEK: "This Blog Is Not a Political Blog" — Just pick a few good songs about these completely arbitrary subjects, chosen randomly: frozen water; pork; peace; civil liberties; state violence; standing up for what you believe in (chosen by Joe)
"Lady Godiva's Operation" by the Velvet Underground
from White Light/White Heat, 1968
It's not that I can't stand the sight of blood. It's just that I'm a little squeamish. Squeamishness is an emotion I can handle. It's actually pretty easy to handle. I just look away! It's not that hard. If I'm getting blood drawn for a lab, I just look the other way. Not only that, but I explain to the nurse who is handling the phlebotomy that I need to look away, but NOT because I'm going to pass out, just because I feel squeamish, and it's helpful to look away. It's not a big fucking thing, looking away. The bigger deal is, I dunno, needing my truth to be known? I don't like people assuming I'm something that I'm not. It's fine if you pass out at the sight of blood, but I don't, and I don't like the idea of someone thinking that I'm the type of person who passes out at the sight of blood. This compulsion is perhaps the reason that I obsessively write about myself on a public blog.
It's also probably the reason that White Light/White Heat blew my fucking MIND as a teenager. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to feel. You mean I can feel squeamish? From a fucking song? Everything is new, nothing will ever be the same. —Joe
"If You Want Blood (You've Got It)" by AC/DC
from Highway to Hell, 1979
Guys, I'm currently on an AC/DC kick for some reason. The classic Bon Scott era, to be precise. While my introduction to AC/DC was via my dad playing the CD on car rides when I was a kid, this song was not in the rotation. I actually discovered it from an episode of The Bear (a great show, by the way, highly recommended) where an episode ends with this song as the soundtrack to a sequence where the characters are preparing for a major event. It's got some good "pump up" vibes. —Batts
"The First Cut Is the Deepest" by Cat Stevens
from New Masters, 1967
I did not realize there were so many versions of this song! There's the Sheryl Crow one—I think that may be the most popular one among our age group. Then there's a Rod Stewart one. But I recently compared Rod Stewart to the lead singer of Goo Goo Dolls, so that Rod-the-Bod-to-Pam-writing-on-PoYB ratio would be a little too high. Anyway, it turns out I liked the Cat Stevens version the best out of the lot! Easy choice. I very rarely notice drumming. I'm getting better at listening to music in a more holistic way. I have no idea if the drumming is good, or horrible, but I noticed it. And I liked it.
When I worked at Einstein, there was another educator in my department who was the biggest Cat Stevens fan I have ever met. A Cat Stevens superfan. She used to follow him around the US when he was touring in the '70s. I love that Cat Stevens was her guy. —Pam
"Open Heart Surgery" by the Brian Jonestown Massacre
from Bravery, Repetition and Noise, 2001
The doctor always asks you about your medical history, and it's kind of alarming to me how little I actually know. I'm asked about history of heart disease, and the answer is always the same. Here is my best approximation of what I'd typically say: "My grandfather, my mom's dad, died before I was born. Of a heart attack. I think. I'm pretty sure it was a heart attack. Something like that. And my grandmom, my dad's mom, had heart surgery at one point, I'm pretty sure. I remember it mostly. A bypass. I don't remember if it was single or double or what. I remember my mom telling me that this was the reason we shouldn't eat a lot of salt, because of my grandmom's bypass. So yes, yeah, heart stuff in my family, I guess. I'm not sure." And then in about five minutes I'm moving on to "I need a doctor's note for my employer please, mark me out for the next three days." —Joe
"The Kid Who Broke His Wrist" by the Sidekicks
from Runners in the Nerved World, 2015
I've never broken a bone. But that's not really interesting to write about, the idea that something hasn't happened to you. I like writing about experience, not lack of experience. I also haven't had major surgery. That's not interesting either. There was a wisdom teeth thing, which is quite common, and there's nothing to write about anyway since you're sucking the laughing gas the whole time. I chose to get a vasectomy, but I can tell you about that experience in person if you'd like, or just watch an old episode of The Price Is Right, in which right before the credits Bob Barker bids you to spay and neuter your husbands. You see? Now I'm just making shit up. Because the truth is too boring. —Joe
Say what you will about Benjamin Gibbard, but I've always loved his lyrical songwriting. "Tiny Vessels" is a perfect example of this. How most other guys would explain this scenario: "Bruh. I don't know if I'm really into her. The sex is good, though."
Ben Gibbard's version: "I wanted to believe in all the words that I was speaking / as we moved together in the dark / And all the friends that I was telling / all the playful misspellings / and every bite I gave that left a mark / When tiny vessels oozed into your neck / and formed the bruises that you said you didn't want to fade / But they did, and so did I that day." —Pam
"Dear Tragedy" by Bayside
from Bayside, 2005
"Gilson, where have you been?" I hear you asking. It's the thing everyone wants to know. I've got big guys, tough guys, coming up to me saying "Sir, submit more emo songs. Sir, we love it, sir." Tears in their eyes. So here I am. My long road in recovery has made several leaps and bounds lately. In early May, I began a new job as a teacher at Bancroft School for Autism. I am scared and nervous and excited and all those emotions that I was numbing within myself and now here they are and I am looking forward to the next step... —Gilson
"Break My Body" by Pixies
from Surfer Rosa, 1988
You ever held a bone? I've held a broken arm, but never an actual solo bone. Maybe to feed a dog. Or give to a dog, rather. Man, imagine holding a bone that should be in your body but now it's outside your body. No thanks. Civil war doctor shit. —Nate
"BLOOD SWEAT & TEARS" by Duke Deuce
from CRUNKSTAR, 2022
The hustle culture is too much for me, man. I'm not trying to turn my passions into profit. Maybe I'd think differently if I didn't come from privilege, I dunno. Occasionally, there will be something that I put my "blood" and "sweat" and "tears" into, but very rarely is it for profit. It's just because it brings me joy. I guess I'm also lazy. The parish has a weekly lottery. I would get money off our tuition bill if I put some blood and sweat and tears into it, sold a lot of tickets, really hustled, really spent a lot of time on it. E.g. maybe stop hitting people up for an ALBUM REVIEW and start hitting them up for LOTTERY MONEY. But even thinking about it bores the hell out of me. Sorry, I'm just rambling. What this blurb should have said was: WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU —Joe
"Who Shot You" by 41
from 41 Ways, 2023
Don't get shot, is my suggestion. NJ Drill has given way to Sexy Drill as the east-coast rap trend de rigueur, and as always the fact that I know these things means I am already two steps behind, but I have always been a fan of how knuckle-headed and rap history literate 41 has been. I hope they continue to bring malice and violence to their sex jams. —Nate
"Spitting Blood" by WU LYF
from Go Tell Fire to the Mountain, 2011
(not available on Spotify!!!)
we were playing suey, i think thats how you spell it, we never asked but its probably short for suicide, which is bleak, and not really descriptive of the rules of the game, which more resembled homicide, lethal weapon being a tennis ball, which youd throw against a big brick wall, and if someone caught it with one hand, they could hit anyone, and if they caught it with two hands, they had to hit you, and youd get three strikes i guess, or maybe four to spell suey, i forget that too, but in any case youd have to dodge tennis balls that someone was throwing at you, if you got three or four strikes youd stand at the wall facing it, covering your nuts, and everyone would take a turn throwing the ball at you as hard as they could, i tended to avoid all that by only half-heartedly playing, and i was kinda decent at avoiding getting pegged, average reaction times, but i remember there was one time when i dodged it too successfully and landed on some broken glass, my hand was bleeding but not excessively so, it was just a cut, but i didnt really know how to respond, so i ran to my friend toms house, tom was back at the wall, his mom was home, they lived only like three blocks from us so i guess i stopped at the closest house just in case it was serious, and mrs m was real nice and patched it up and that was that, but i remember my mom later being like why did you go to their house, you couldve just come right home, and my only answer was that i was bleeding and it made sense for me to seek immediate medical attention, not knowing how serious it was, and maybe my mom was only confused because it happened to not be a serious cut, and shed be singing a different tune if id needed stitches —Joe
"Prayer to God" by Shellac
from 1000 Hurts, 2000
I will always, always use an opportunity to share this song. The most frightening song I have ever heard and maybe the song I most associate with any one singular emotion: fucking rage. I don't love a lot of Albini's musical output, but this song has a melody and craftsmanship that feels like it almost happens by accident. What a tune. —Gilson
"Orange Blood" by Mt. Joy
from Orange Blood, 2022
Sometimes, I get a vibe for artists even though I can take or leave their music. For whatever reason, Sixers podcast The Rights to Ricky Sanchez has several local bands regularly participating in their nonsense. Amos Lee, War on Drugs, and this band have appeared on and incorporated the podcast into live performances. There's a running joke that producer CJ claimed he didn't know what an encore was when at a Mt. Joy show, and was really just lying so he could leave the show early. Explaining a podcast joke is as pointless as a "you had to be there" story. But I know Joe has plenty of time to hear about podcasts, so long as it is written in blog form. —Sam
"Broken Witch" by LIARS
from They Were Wrong, So We Drowned, 2004
This is not the first song to frighten me, but a memorable listen all the same. I've come all the way around to finding this song incredibly funny, and it will both propel and delight me when it comes up on my running playlist. I hope it makes you sick. —Nate
"A.C.L." by the Symposium
from The Symposium, 2017
There's been some injury talk on the blog recently. I've written about different injuries I've had in different places. There's the big one, though, that I've never gotten, and that's a torn ACL. I really hope I never have to deal with this. I don't really do sports where ACLs tear easily, but you never know. My brother tore his ACL in college circa 2010 and it's never fully recovered. To this day, he can't run.
I will admit, however, to taking a sick pleasure in watching gruesome videos of sports injuries. ACLs being torn are high on the list. Just look up the Willis McGahee 2003 Fiesta Bowl injury. Awful to watch, but I can't look away. Other terrible injury videos: Tony Saunders blowing out his arm throwing a pitch, the recent Oswaldo Cabrera broken ankle sliding into home, Alex Smith breaking his leg while quarterbacking. The most schadenfreude instance is probably Bill Gramatica tearing his ACL while celebrating a 43-yard field goal. —Zach
"Surgeon" by St. Vincent
from Strange Mercy, 2011
I haven't followed St. Vincent as closely as I wish I did. I'm not super familiar with her newer stuff, but her album Strange Mercy, on which "Surgeon" appears, is top tier. She's a little too weird for the mainstream, which is definitely my cup of tea.
I'm curious as to whether any of the mixtape writers have had surgery? I have. A few. The prompt for today isn't related to a "real" surgery, just a dermatological thing, nothing crazy. But I've been anesthetized for surgery a few times. I've had all good experiences. As a nurse, I've also assisted in a lot of minimally invasive procedures and observed in the operating room. I'd love to hear about your past surgical histories! The good and bad! Surgery is so cool. Modern medicine is quite amazing. And the human body is a marvel. —Pam
"Stitches" by Orgy
from Candyass, 1998
I remember naming Orgy in a YSC post and Joe saying that Orgy should be covered somewhere in the blog. Well, here we are. I was deep in bar mitzvah season when Orgy was popular. My two friends and I thought it would be a good idea to honor our friend Josh at his bar mitzvah by singing a cover of Alanis Morissette's "Head over Feet" with the following spoof chorus: "Josh / you are the best / you like girls with big round / ...eyes." So clever to the thirteen-year old mind! Josh retaliated at Ari's bar mitzvah a couple months later by singing "Pretty Fly for a White Guy" and getting girls from our grade to come on stage to mimic humping motions while singing "Give it to me Ari... uh huh, uh huh." I wasn't part of that effort. But Ari got so mad that he left his own bar mitzvah to sulk in a hotel room upstairs. At some point during that night, a few of my friends were in an elevator, and Mike Tyson walked in. Apparently he was staying at the hotel too. Adolescence! —Zach
"Peace Frog" by the Doors
from Morrison Hotel, 1970
Jim Morrison really pours his own life into the lyrics here. When he sings about "blood in the streets in the town of New Haven," he's talking about getting arrested on stage in 1967. Then there's that line about "Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding," which ties back to a horrible childhood experience he had of seeing a car accident involving Native Americans. The entire song is essentially Morrison blending his messy personal life with the violence of the era, creating a raw, poetic snapshot of the 1960s. Aside from that, it also has a really cool organ part. —Gloria
I came close to death when I put my hand through a glass window. I came close to death when I was hit by a car in rural North Dakota, 70 miles west of Minot, by a 94-year-old man named Lorry Brothen, and had to be helicoptered to the hospital. I came close to death when I looked down to the street from the roof of a high building and wondered what it would be like to let go. I came close to death when I crossed the street in DC after going to a Caps hockey game (GO OILERS) and heard gunshots; I looked back and saw a man shooting a gun at another man. I came close to death when our Subaru crossed Lincoln Drive in Mt. Airy on the way to my cousin's bat mitzvah when I was eight or nine and we were T-boned by another car. I came close to death when my girlfriend broke up with me in 2017 and I didn't sleep all night, just watched clips of The Wire over and over, and then went for an early morning run in the woods and tried to cut my wrists with multiple implements but I was too scared to go through with it. I wonder sometimes which is preferable—to be born and suffer somewhat (as all humans do, to varying degrees), or to have never been born. But then you realize life is actually pretty cool and nice and amazing. —Zach
"Blood Bank" by Bon Iver
from Blood Bank EP, 2009
Simple moments and subtle interactions become meaningful as you begin to fall in love with someone. Anything can feel special, even being in a parked car in the dead of winter as the snow starts to fall. I remember sitting in a car during a fall rainstorm when I first started dating my spouse, watching the raindrops roll down the windshield. Our entire world was the inside of the vehicle for a few moments. Even then, I thought about how every raindrop carries a tiny speck of dust at its center, like a hidden secret waiting to be heard or a fragile heart wanting to be held. —Gloria
"Bad Blood" by Taylor Swift ft. Kendrick Lamar
a remix of a track from 1989, 2014
When, "oh it's so sad to think about the good times..." comes in, it hits me hard every time.
According to Spotify, this single came out on May 1, 2015. The original song is part of the 1989 album, which was released almost exactly six months prior. I must have been listening to this some in the summer of 2015. My son was one.
Actually, it's right around this time that I quit my job of seven years to loosen up the summer of 2015. Now it's 10 years later, and wait... I just quit my job to loosen up my summer!
I have an almost eleven-year-old and thirteen-year-old, and back then I had a one- and three-year-old. They were in daycare, now they'll be home for most of the time. I'm looking forward to it.
My kids were going to live with me forever back then. Now my daughter graduates high school in five years. Time is different. It's going to be a good summer. —Sarah Q.
"Pain" by the War on Drugs
from A Deeper Understanding, 2017
I've often felt I'd rather be in physical pain than emotional pain. I can handle physical pain. Marathon running and whatnot. I know how to endure. I don't wish that upon myself, of course, or on anyone. But emotional pain feels like a dark forest. You can't find the exit. At its worst, there is no exit. Maybe drugs help. I don't know. Humans suffer a lot. They are also capable of boundless joy. Life is confusing. —Zach
Not all wounds are physical. Sometimes the harshest wounds are mental and spiritual in nature, as Florence Welch sings here. Hearing this song in 2022 while I had my own mental health issues at the time (fucking pandemic) helped me remember that A LOT of people were going through shit. Though the song was written just before COVID, it feels like an apt song for her first album since lockdowns. I should also mention that the music video for this song was dedicated to the people of Ukraine since it was filmed in Kyiv just a few months before Russia's invasion. —Batts
"Blood" by Pearl Jam
from Vs., 1993
...Also in this chapter of life, I have finally put myself in a position where I can live in and afford place by myself in Haddonfield, NJ. Back close to Philly, where I belong. The idea that I can have an apartment of my own, with MY name on the lease, where I will never have a drop of alcohol, is kind of a mind blowing one. This represents the pinnacle (thus far) of my journey. I'll be 40 in August. I am late to becoming an adult; I know this and it is obvious to everyone. But as that one guy in Ghostbusters 2 says when the Ghost Titanic arrives in New York Harbor: "Better late than never." —Gilson
I think the first time I listened to The Black Parade, this wasn't on there or I didn't wait for it. On future listens, I was confused, then amused, then confused again. So it goes.
I've always found the phlebotomist's job fascinating. Feels the closest thing to a medieval doctor-type job, the job being purely about drawing blood. Seeing one at the Red Cross blood donation feels good, seeing one at the CSL Plasma feels bad, even if roughly the same thing happens to your arm. —Sunny
NEXT WEEK: "As a Bisexual, Am I Only Allowed to Celebrate Half of Pride Month?" — Joyful songs by queer artists (chosen by Gloria)
Welcome to Monday Morning Mixtape, a PoYB Contributor-curated playlist of songs, made just for you at the start of each week.
I'm writing this intro before any songs are submitted, so I don't know how many songs we have listed out on the mixtape below. But isn't it a weird coincidence that we've had exactly 23 songs for exactly half of the mixtapes made so far? 23 songs, no matter what the theme is or who is submitting. If there are 23 songs listed below, I think it will be time to admit that GOD EXISTS.
"Beware the Ides of March"
Songs that are about getting stabbed in the back (figuratively) or about getting stabbed (literally) or that just casually mention Julius Caesar in some way
How do you eliminate something before it becomes dangerous? In the Shakespeare play Julius Caesar, Brutus justifies his decision to join the conspiracy to kill Caesar by saying, "And therefore think him as a serpent's egg—which, hatched, would as his kind grow mischievous—and kill him in the shell." This quote means that Caesar will grow into a tyrant, causing harm in the future. Taking the risks involved in killing him now is worth it. In this song, Dead Kennedys use a play on these words, "serpent's egg's already hatched," to comment on the caustic nature of politicians in power. —Gloria
"Caesar on a TV Screen" by the Last Dinner Party
from Prelude to Ecstasy, 2024
Prelude to Ecstasy was one of my top favorite albums that came out in 2024. It is a no-skip album filled with just the right amount of feminine rage. Abigail Morris said the following about writing this song: "I thought it would be fun to write a song from the perspective of feeling like a king, but you are only like that because you're so vulnerable and so desperate to be loved and quite weak and afraid and childlike." Thinking about the contradiction of seeking to exert power when we feel weakest. Thinking about the strength in weakness and the weakness in strength. Thinking about Lao Tzu's message in the Tao Te Ching, "The hard and strong will fall. The soft and weak will overcome." —Gloria
"The Ides of March" by Miles Kennedy
from The Ides of March, 2021
One of the first things my husband and I connected over when we first met was talking about was music. And one of the first artists he introduced me to was Myles Kennedy and his band, Alter Bridge. This song was written by Kennedy in 2020 when most of us felt uneasy and uncertain about the state of, well, everything. The first portion of this song captures that feeling of anxiety, but the whole thing ends positively: "Cool heads prevail in times of change / Remember who we are / Remember what we are / Remember what we're meant to be." This is a good message for those of us who are getting progressively more anxious about the state of the nation. —Gloria
"Buddha Rhubarb Butter" by Soul Coughing
from Lust in Phaze: The Best of Soul Coughing, 2002
"As for my single self I had as life not be as live
To be in awe of such a thing as I myself."
Julius Caesar, Act 1 Scene 2
These words from my personal favorite Shakespeare play are also the first lyrics to this pretty good Soul Coughing B-side included on their Greatest Hits compilation.** Why? I have no idea. Ask Mike Doughty. But based on everything I've heard and read about the amount of drugs that were in his system during the entire existence of Soul Coughing, he probably also does not know.
**It is very funny to me when a band like Soul Coughing does a Greatest Hits compilation. They had two ARGUABLE hits ("Circles" and "Super Bon Bon") and included shit that would never, in any world, be considered a hit, and would indeed get you jeered if you attempted to play it at a social gathering (first-hand experience). This is like when Pinback recently announced that they will be playing two shows: one for an album in its entirety, and the next night they will play "all the hits." Now, I like some Pinback songs. But counting anything they have ever done as a hit would require the same mental gymnastics and wordplay that the administration is currently using to try to nullify the 14th Amendment's birthright citizenship clause. —Gilson
"Creeper" by Islands from Arm's Way, 2008
INDIE DARLINGS ONLY. Nick Thorburn, my Canadian King. Islands have become a band I've probably seen the most since living in Philly because they are VERY easy to see. I told Mr. Thorburn to watch The Young Pope a few years ago but I'm not sure if he ever got around to it. I also have a video of Ed Droste from Grizzly Bear saying "Young Pope? No don't think I've seen it yet sorry" So if you know anyone that was on Pitchfork and touring in the 2010s that you think would like to talk about The Young Pope, @ me in the comments. Tiocfaidh ár lá —Brian
"A Better Tomorrow" by Wu-Tang Clan ft. Tekitha
from A Better Tomorrow, 2014
Today is St. Patrick's Day, but the Ides of March has always been a more important holiday for me. Mostly for personal reasons, and also a little bit because March 17th is forever the anniversary of the water pong write-up incident (happy seventeenth anniversary, Mehow). But I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that the racist Northeast Philadelphia overdoes it with the Irish bullshit, and it irks me. Too many Fake Irish around these parts. You know how you can prove that you're really truly Irish this year? Get deported. I'll call ICE. If you're actually Irish, then let your orange overlord kick you out of his country. If you're sticking around, then it's time to admit you're a phony. —Joe
"Outpatient" by Jawbreaker
from 24 Hour Revenge Therapy, 1994
After they released Bivouac, Blake Schwarzenbach had to have pretty major surgery on his vocal chords, and this is a pretty legitimate reason for why he stopped yelling as much, and I guess getting rid of that in his vocal range also made him want to play piano. I have no other good explanation. Also, surgery is just getting stabbed by a professional.
For a very, very large chunk of my life, my only surgery was when I had my tonsils removed as a child, I think as a four year old. So let's ball-park that in 1989. Since then, I have had the following surgeries:
I am set on any more surgeries for the foreseeable future, thank you. —Gilson
"I Got Stabbed" by the Microphones
from Little Bird Flies into a Big Black Cloud, 2002
I don't even know what Phil Elverum calls himself anymore. Elephant 6, the Micophones, Philly Elvy, etc. I still think the word minimum is forced and unnecessary and makes the blurbs feel like SAT Prep Questions so I will continue to write like "In this Book Report I will be talking about The Book." A friend who lives on the west coast told me he has some friends coming to see Phil later in the year at Union Transfer, so if any of you have friends of Phil as well, let me know! No, not like that. Not the John Mayer type. —Brian
I've witnessed one stabbing. Let me explain how it happened. We were pretty drunk. We had been in the woods, young adults about to start families of our own, getting drunk at the same place we had drank at as teens, in celebration of our pal Mike, a bachelor party that had to happen five months after the wedding since the wedding was a surprise affair. After surviving that old classic cold of Burholme Park, we warmed up at Chase's Hop Shop, which is mostly a six-pack store but has some tables in the back. Our friend Bernie carries around knives. That's kind of his thing. Don't ask me why, some people just like knives. I feel safer around Bernie now that he's joined me on the sober side of the fence, but we were all still drinking heavily back then. Our friend Nick was wearing a hoodie. I guess it was an older hoodie. There was a loose string poking out. Bernie thought it would be a good idea to cut the thread off the hoodie without telling Nick he was about to cut it. Nick had the very natural reaction of raising his open palm as Bernie made a gesture toward him. The blade went right through his hand. —Joe
"Back Stabbers" by the O'Jays
from Back Stabbers, 1972
this wasn't the worst screw-job of all time but the one i think about sometimes is the time i thought it would be a good idea to sign up for a gym that was near my workplace a new gym because maybe i'd go before or after work, this being before children were a concern, and of course it didn't really work out too well because getting the motivation to hit the gym is harder than you want to think it is and plus this particular gym was kinda shabby, ya know, not too many machines, and the deal was that you could get a refund w/i the first ten days or whatever, they charged an astronomical sign-up fee but i figured if i didn't like it i would just ask for a refund, and i didnt like it, n i asked for a refund, an all of a sudden the "owner" who was "in charge" of giving said refunds was never around, i went like every day and got an excuse every day for like two weeks in a row, until finally i went 1 day and the whole place was gone, cleaned out, no more gym, total fucking bamboozle job —Joe
Talking god with the kiddos is tricky and getting trickier by the day. Mostly because I'll get told about god and then I try to respond as ELI5-style intelligently as I can, but they get bored pretty quickly and tune it out. Like W tries telling me the other day that "Jesus died" and I wanted to have a discussion about how he didn't just die, he was killed, by the ruling elite, who were threatened by the fact that he was preaching about social justice and equity. Her response? "Are we having french fries for dinner tonight?" I'm thinking about switching tactics and taking after middle-child M, who responded to W's chattering about god and jesus by insisting that she—and this is a direct quote—"only believe[s] in the demigods of the wind and sea." Moana 2 sucked shit, but this is the most hilarious thing that M has ever said in her entire life. —Joe
"Rolling Stone" by Ulver
from The Assassination of Julius Caesar, 2017
From Nemoralia, the feast honoring the Goddess Diana, patron of hunters, wildlife, and the moon, to the death of Princess Diana and plenty in between, Ulver refers to a plethora of things in their album The Assassination of Julius Caesar. However, this album contains shockingly few references to Julius Caesar himself. "Rolling Stone" includes one of those few references. I know it's a long song, but stick through it. The best part starts around the six-minute mark. —Gloria
"The Place Where He Inserted the Blade" by Black Country, New Road
from Ants from Up There, 2022
Okay and but so the personal reasons for the Ides of March being important is that March 15, 2002, marks the date of my very first open-mouth kiss, performed during an ad hoc game of truth or dare in the alleyway behind the 200 block of Longshore Avenue. You might have heard about this if you've been friends with me at any point in the past 23 years. The Joe of 2003 stated the fact in all seriousness, that March was an "anniversary" for me, and that memory lasted just long enough for the seriousness to morph into a joke, so that, say, the Joe of 2014 and the Joe of 2019 were still proclaiming the importance of March 15th but that the irony was thick, very thick, even if some people (*cough* Pam *cough*) claimed the absence of irony.
And now cut to a pretty drunk Joe on the evening of March 14, 2023. I knew I had to make some changes about the drinking, and I had tried everything I could think of save for just straight-up fucking quitting. Didn't want to do it, knew I had to do it, didn't want to do it now, knew it was now or never. So I lie in the dark for a good long while and contemplate my future. Right in the middle of the dark night of the soul, I have this thought, ya know, this intrusive and actually pretty funny thought, funnier under the rather somber circumstances—if I quit drinking tomorrow, then March 15th is going to become an anniversary for me twice over. That 21 years is an important milestone for an alcoholic and that I could quit drinking exactly 21 years after I became addicted to open-mouth kissing cute women.
Every time I write about sobriety, I can feel myself getting a little too serious. It's not fun, to reflect on the decision I made on March 15, 2023. I guess it shouldn't be fun. Still, though. Still. It's kinda funny that March 15th ended up being the date, right? I think it's funny, at least. —Joe
"Positively 4th Street" by Bob Dylan
a single, 1965
I feel like this song is on-theme. Maybe it's a stretch, but it is just so bitter and direct. It seems to metaphorically speak of the betrayal of being stabbed in the back. "I know the reason / That you talk behind my back / I used to be among the crowd / You're in with." Is that how Caesar would feel towards his friend and ally Brutus when Cassius convinces him to join the conspiracy to assassinate Caesar? Is that how Caesar would feel when Brutus persuades him to go to the Senate only to be stabbed to death? I don't know. Maybe Caesar should have just listened to his wife and stayed home when her dream foretold his death. I wouldn't have wanted him to go, either. Perhaps that is because I'm all about precognitive dreams these days, being approximately 40 days into an 80-day dream experiment. But talking about that experiment is for another day and another corner of the blog. —Gloria
"Meanwhile, Rick James..." by Cake
from Comfort Eagle, 2001
How far can we push the limits of Joe's secret-police canceling of our cherished artists for violating his ever-shifting line of morality? Surely the mention of a dubious artist would not draw the ire of the PoYB EiC? Will his censorship campaign extend to the band Cake or even to eating cake? Am I banned for referencing this Super Freak? I don't know about you, but I'm interested in checking out the Bluesky version of amateur music blogging.
P.S. not totally sure what this song is about, but something weird is happening in this relationship. —Sam
"Weather with You" by Crowded House
from Woodface, 1991
"Julius Caesar and the Roman Empire couldn't conquer the blue sky."
Def leaning away from backstabbing and into mentions of Julius Caesar. This song always makes me think of early childhood. We listened to it / Crowded House hits often enough in our house that "lying like a lounge room lizard" is still a family phrase. One of my earlier memories was around nap time / quiet time, when true lullabies weren't exactly called for. My dad was holding my brother, singing, and walking in long circles around the living room as "Weather with You" played. I trailed behind in a slow sort of conga, bouncing along until the memory itself trails off. Most likely, I fell asleep before said brother.
Wikipedia describes the band Elvenking as an Italian folk metal band. I was unfamiliar with this band, and folk metal in general, until this song popped up on a random Spotify playlist I was listening to back in 2022. I wouldn't say that I have any affinity for folk metal, but I do have a soft spot for some of the niche subgenres that have emerged from European bands trying to honor the work of Iron Maiden or Judas Priest. But I guess "folk" and "metal" actually do pair together rather organically when you consider that plenty of 70's metal album cover imagery was inspired by vikings and knights with swords, knives, and axes battling demonic hordes and fire-breathing monsters. Yeah, I could imagine this song playing over some Lord of the Rings-inspired fantasy battle. —Batts
"Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood from Some Hearts, 2005
I will paraphrase my wife's joke on this song: "And I cut off his dick and put it in a blender and turn it on and then drink it up and spit it out and boil a hot dog and when it's done put the puréed dick on as a condiment and then I eat that meal and digest it well and poop it out and throw it in his face... Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats." —Sam
"Los Ageless" by St. Vincent
from Masseduction, 2017
So we're all supposed to comment on how much writing blurbs sucks now, right? Well, my relationship with writing—blurbs or otherwise—can best be described as "love/hate," which it usually is for most writers. Of the fifty other pieces I'm supposed to write—from essays to screenplays to pitches to (maybe) a novel—I find myself drawn back to the blog. But, as St. Vincent herself sings about in this song, the theoretical muse can really be a back-stabbing little shit sometimes. One minute, the writing is going well, you're on a roll. The next, you wonder what the fuck you were even thinking stringing these words together... It's frustrating, but intoxicating. Maybe this song puts that feeling into words with this repeated phrase at the end: "I try to write you a love song but it comes out a lament." —Batts
Not that I'd want to rewind time, but boy, would I like to listen to this break up album by Olivia Rodrigo in high school or college. It would have been absolutely perfect. Instead, it was released about one week before I got engaged. I listened to it so much. Maybe too much for a recently engaged woman. That is something enjoyable about this song and subsequent album. For three minutes in your head you can be a broken-up-with angsty sixteen-year-old, and sometimes you just need that! —Sara
NEXT WEEK: "Play Ball!" — Songs for baseball's opening day (chosen by Gilson)
