Why my friends are smarter than me

Tony, my longtime partner in grime from college, quipped upon hearing the new Bob Mould record, "In which, the leader of Husker Du and Sugar betrays his biggest influence: Cher."

Why couldn't you have said before I filed my piece?!

My iPod hates me

For the fourth day in a row, my shuffle has served up "Mull Of Kintyre." Perhaps I'm being punished for crimes against humanity committed in an earlier life.

Do You Remember

Yes, I du.

1989: Two years after the breakup of Husker Du, when Dave came to my college dorm room on Union Square, saying that I needed to listen to some new music. At the time, I was knee deep into classic rock and woefully undernourished in indie rock. He slapped Warehouse And Other Stories as an example. I don't think I got 30 seconds into "These Important Years," before begging him to turn it off. "It's so abrasive," I whined, the irony being that Warehouse is easily the most accessible and most melodic of Husker Du's albums.

1992: I've just broken up with my live-in girlfriend of three years. I hadn't found a place to live so we were still living with one another on non-speaking terms (Not advisable, kids). Tony was nice enough to offer me a floor to lay my drunken head on for an evening. The album he played that night: Sugar's Copper Blue. When he explained that this was Bob Mould's new band, I was gobsmacked. "But I thought I hated Husker Du. This sounds incredible."

From that moment, I was converted. It sounded like the most perfect balance of angst, confection (no pun intended) and aggression.

To this day, Bob Mould is one of only two people to whom I've ever written a fan letter. I'm not ashamed to say I was 25 at the time.

The new album is good but not great. Cynics will say Bob's discovered disco and we wish he hadn't. Fans will say he's integrating the electronic indulgences of Modulate with his more accessible solo stuff. They're probably both right. Lyrically, there's more sunshine here than fans will be used to, but there's still a fair amount of angst. It won't make anyone forget about the Huskers or Sugar. It's got some high moments on it. But from a sentimental perspective, it's good to have him back.

On a final note, you would think that the world's largest news agency with bureaus in 28 different countries would figure out a way top get umlauts into their copy. When I asked an editor about adding them, they said, "We can try, but it might crash the system."

Bob would probably smile at that.

Wichita Lineman

Hmm, the iPod is in a 70s mood today.

What is it about the song "Wichita Lineman" that makes every singer want to attempt this song? On my iPod, I have no fewer than four versions: R.E.M., Freedy Johnston, Scud Mountain Boys, Glenn Tilbrook. I mean, it's not a terrible song. But it ain't exactly Sammy Cahn.

Your musical recommendation for the season is The Autumn Defense's "If I Can Make It Through The Summer." If I were to make a list of songs I wish I wrote, this song would have to be on it.

An obsession begins

Two months ago, a friend of mine got tired of waiting for me to make the leap into the 21st century and he bought me an iPod Shuffle. Needless to say, I love it and it has become an obsession. There are lot of reasons I was hesitant to make the leap (maybe someday I'll go into them, if I can think of something lucid to say). But one of the main reasons is that I'm a slave to the physical world (And if that ball comes into my yard again, you kids aren't getting it back!). I lost count at 3,000 CDs. In order to realize the most value from the iPod, I've got to go throught he arduous task of digitizing my collection. It's time consuming, but it's a lot of fun, I must say.

But it's creating all sorts of moral dilemnas. With two kids, a full time job, and other demands on my time. I've got about an hour or less a night to devote to iTunes. And you can't just digitize your collection alphabetically. Because after an hour of importing discs, you're left with ABBA Gold, The Best Of Johnny Ace, Arthur Alexander, Dave Alvin, American Music Club, Archers Of Loaf and Laurie Anderson -- a fine cross section of music to be sure. But it's not what I want to listen to.

So where do you start? I started with the The Replacements' All For Nothing/Nothing For All -- a symbollic gesture, mostly, a doff of my digital cap to my favorite band of all time, not necessarily, the music I listen to most. Then I went through Wilco and associated alt-country acts, because it's what I'm listening to most.

But when the iPod shuffle decided what I would be listening to on a given day, I wanted it to be able to draw on the widest selection of music possible. So I had to consciously diversify. So I imported all of my jazz, reggae and blues CDs. Then I decided to go through my boxed sets, since these compilations would give a nice representation of the the more beloved acts in my collection: The Band, Talking Heads, Aretha Franklin, Bob Marley, etc.

But as I worked my way around the boxed set collection, I came upon a George Harrison boxed set. Now who in their right minds would import their George Harrison collection and not import their Beatles CDs. So I got sidetracked and did the Beatles. Then I went back to George. But now, how can you import George Harrison CDs and not import John Lennon CDs? So I got sidetracked again. And if you've got John Lennon and George Harrison on your iPod, how can ignore Paul. And naturally, because I'm anal, I have to import all of Paul McCartney's albums. That means, "Mull Of Kintyre" is on the Ipod, but "Broke Down Piece Of Man" by Sam & Dave is not.

Sleep does not come easily to me with this in mind.

For the love of God...

Shouldn't the American public be able to sue for reparations for this?

The first album I bought with my own money

Sometime around 7th grade, the music you listened to became important. It wasn't enough to be well versed in the Top 40 hits. Kids would call you "teenybopper," if you listened to the radio. They'd beat you up if you didn't know who Led Zeppelin was (Ok, they wouldn't beat me up, but they would laugh mockingly).

I needed a band that I could call my own. It had to be a new band. A band that was putting out its debut album. A band that I could claim that I liked before anyone else. A band that was popular, but not too popular. A band that made a statement about who you were.

One day I was watching MTV and I heard the guitar riff. It was short, powerful and distorted. The voice soared over it: "I never meant to be so bad to yooooou...

At the song's conclusion, I checked the name of the band and the name of the album. They were one and the same. Chances were good it was a debut album by this band. I may have found my band.

With my weekly allowance, my friend Stefan I made our weekly sojourn to the mall ("Now stay together, boys." "Thanks, Mom.") I plunked down my $7.99 on my first cassette: Asia.

The Roger Dean album cover. Ah the one-two punch of "Heat Of The Moment" and "Only Time Will Tell." I etched the band's ensignia in every notebook and book cover. It was true love.

And then, somewhere along the way, the horrible truth emerged: Every member of Asia was previously a member of prog rock bands in the 70s, thus forgoing any claim to hipness that you can possibly imagine.

Postscript: I told this story to Son Volt's Jay Farrar, hoping to add a little warmth and levity to an interview that, frankly, was sputtering. Characteristically, he had no reply and kind of treated me like the kids in junior high did after I told them I liked Asia.

Son Volt

My latest cure for insomnia