Endless Vacation 3/3: France

Manchester, England to Paris, France

Spent our last night in Manchester with the whole family. Everyone came out for a night of Indian/Chinese/conversation. Knocked out four hours of sleep, and then got up at 4 a.m. for our flight to Paris. Terrorists are threatening the country. The locals are rioting. Let's do this.

Had trouble with Michelle's passport again, but otherwise the trip was easy. Hired a taxi to drive us for a flat rate of 70 euro. Between the terrorist threats and the strikes, things sounded iffy on the metro.

Checked in and made the steep walk to L'engilie du Sacre-Coeur. I view churches the same as mansions - extravagant wastes of wealth. But the architecture is still gorgeous. Then we walked to the Dali Museum. I'm not an art buff, but I've always had a vague interest in his work. This gallery stoked that notion. Yeah, some of Dali's paintings look like prog-rock album covers, but his sketches and sculptures are amazingly otherworldly. And he had a sense of humor that kept his surrealist art from collapsing under self-indulgence. I'm going to act on my interest when I get home and try to pick up some books about his work and life.



Michelle and I wandered aimlessly for a bit before stumbling upon Indiana, a Native American-themed restaurant. The food was good, even though the decorations felt weirdly racist, a mix of First Nation impersonation and American mockery. This place would never fly in the states, although I enjoyed the U.S.A. 666 poster.

Afterwards, the metro seemed to be open and running fine, so we traveled down to Notre Dame cathedral. Watched two dance troupes dance-fight, because why the fuck not? Notre Dame was gorgeous, a testament to human ingenuity. We slowed down after that - checked out some parks, sat down for a cappuccino at Cafe Richard - before hitting up the Latin Quarter and, briefly, the Louvre. I hate to admit this, but I love Paris.



Overslept but we still saw plenty of sights the second day. Spent hours in the Garden du Luxembourg - sat in cafes and enjoyed coffee and conversation. St. Michel is the place for record shopping. While it pained me to do so, I skipped on vinyl. I'm just not sure how I'll get it home, no matter how badly I wanted these Morrissey singles. But I found some great CD imports, like Six By Seven. They're a great drone/ambient group from the U.K. It's a bitch finding their albums back home. Yes, I specifically bought Celtic Frosts' Into the Pandemonium because John Darnielle recently wrote about it. Grabbed a late lunch at another cafe - salad with goat cheese and walnuts - and then walked to the Louvre. It was too packed, though, due to the security checkpoint. France isn't fucking around with the terrorist threats. So instead we walked through the Tuileries Garden for a couple of hours, and then took the metro back to the hotel.


We had a bit of a scare then. The metro doesn't open early enough for us to ride it to the airport and the phone in our room wasn't working. Eventually, we broke through a language barrier and hired a taxi, but then we realized we didn't have enough cash on us to pay him. So off I went at night to find an ATM.

Now, I like our hotel. It's cheap, clean, and close to the metro. But it's also in the red light district. I was propositioned by sex worked. A LOT. I'm convinced some of them were prostitutes, sitting alone by the entrances to dimly lit bars, wearing dresses that left little to the imagination. They constantly grabbed at me. I fought my way through a mass of whores and drunks and after six blocks, found an ATM. I have fallen in love with Paris, but I need to leave.

Couldn't sleep. Stayed up watching this French music program where celebrities get inside a confession booth and request live videos. Sometimes I got the Bee-Gees, sometimes I got Iggy Pop. The format seems odd. Why have Tim Robbins request "Louie Louie" when you can just play it? It seems like a dumb gimmick, but it still hooked me in. Europeans listen to a lot of crappy electronica, but at least they actually have music on television.

Turns out I was worried about nothing. The taxi showed up on time. Got into the airport without issue, although the line was a clusterfuck. In 80 minutes, I'll be on a plane bound for London-Heathrow.

Paris, France to London, England

I wish the flight to Heathrow took longer. Now we're sitting through a seven-and-a-half hour layover. Picked up gifts for the family, as well as some books.

London, England to Chicago, Ill. to Philadelphia, Pa.

I started going crazy on the flight to Chicago. Eight hours and I'm still not home. But at least I'm briefly in another city I never thought I'd see. I've been singing Alkaline Trio songs to myself for the last hour. I'm drinking a Sprite, the thirst-quenching high fructose corn syrup mix of the American masses. I'm one flight away from home.

"A rush and a push / And the land that we stand on is ours." - The Smiths, "A Rush and A Push and the Land is Ours"



Playlist
-Venice is Sinking - Sorry About the Flowers
-Phoenix - Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix
-Florence + The Machines - Lungs
-Yann Tiersen - Amélie Original Soundtrack
-Kenna - New Sacred Cow
-Venice is Sinking - Sand & Lines
-The Ting Tings - We Started Nothing
-The Long Winters - When I Pretend to Fall
-Bear vs. Shark - Right Now, You're in the Best of Hands. And If Something Isn't Quite Right, Your Doctor Will Know in a Hurry
-The Clash - London Calling
-The Raveonettes - Vintage Future playlist
-The Smashing Pumpkins - Mellon Collie and The Infinite Sadness

Reading List
-Keith Jeffery - MI6: The History of the Secret Intelligence Service 1909-1949
-Simon Pegg - Nerd Do Well

Record Purchases
-The Cardigans - Best Of European deluxe edition
-Celtic Frost - Into the Pandemonium
-Kasms - Spayed with three bonus tracks
-Six By Seven - If Symptoms Persist, Kill Your Doctor
-Torche - Meanderthal

Weezer - 'Pinkerton' deluxe edition

Goddamnit Weezer.

For me, being a Weezer fan is kind of like reconnecting with an abusive old friend. I think about the good times we had early on (“Blue Album,” Pinkerton), see a glimmer of hope (“Keep Fishin’,” “The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (Variations of a Shaker Hymn)”) and get excited only to get hurt. I wish a pox on the people who told me Make Believe was the new Pinkerton. So it goes; with each successive album, Weezer continues to alienate me while still selling tons of records. I instantly regretted buying Raditude; I didn’t bother with Hurley.

But somebody keeps buying these fucking albums. It’s something of a writing cliché to complain about how Weezer stopped being good after Pinkerton, and it makes me wonder how relevant that argument is anymore. I’ve met plenty of people who have never heard that record. Sure, everybody knows “El Scorcho,” but how many 14-year-olds know the words to “Butterfly” these days? My douchebag roommates freshman year of college swore up and down that the back-half of “Green Album” was tops. Fucking “Beverly Hills” was the band’s first number one single. Pinkerton, by comparison, didn’t go gold until 2001.

All of this puts the recent two-disc deluxe edition re-release of Pinkerton at a strange intersection of interests. As a jaded fan, this might be my last Weezer purchase (as of opposed to Raditude… or “Red Album”… or Make Believe…). I get a handful of obscurities (“Tragic Girl,” plus some alternative mixes of varying quality). Current fans get a convenient tour through my favorite Weezer songs: The original 10 tracks and some fantastic B-sides (“Devotion,” “I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams”), plus a whole lot of live acoustic filler.



Pinkerton is Weezer’s semi-controversial second album, a concept record of sorts about dirty, hateful, self-indulgent sex. It was a commercial flop when it debuted in 1996 and the band later disowned it for a while. But it found favor with a newer, more emo generation a few years later. It first destroyed and then saved the band’s career, yet remains an artistic black sheep. It’s the rawest Weezer record, in terms of both lyrics and sound quality. You could draw a straight line of logic explaining the band’s pop rock evolution from “Blue Album” to Hurley were it not for this album.

For a certain group of people, Pinkerton is one of the most important records of all time. This is our Sgt. Pepper or Nevermind, in that it sums up a lot of feelings from our youth, and in that it is simultaneously over- and underrated. It’s my favorite Weezer record, but I also agree that it can come off as misogynistic at times. A common complaint about emo music is that it turns women into whores/saints, and Pinkerton is guilty of both. A lot of these songs are about having meaningless sex and then bitching about it. The record’s best track, “Across the Sea,” is about frontman Rivers Cuomo getting off on the idea of a teenage Japanese fan masturbating, and that was my high school crush’s favorite song. Sometimes I wonder if I would love Pinkerton if it came out today.

Still, though, there are plenty of reasons to recommend this record. Sometimes I feel bad for current Weezer bassist Scott Shriner. He seems like a nice, funny guy, especially on the band’s Video Capture Device DVD. But his legacy is Raditude. Original bassist Matt Sharp is the one who provided bass for Pinkerton, and it’s the best low end of any Weezer record. Pinkerton isn’t very glossy compared to the rest of the band’s output, and it’s better for it. It has a slight Pixies bent, with Sharp and drummer Pat Wilson delivering a deep, pulsing sound. The guitars are ugly, alternating between dissonant chords and squealing, uncomfortable solos. The guitar solos on “Blue Album” are almost as catchy as the choruses; here, they sound like how Cuomo’s fragile ego feels. Sharp’s synth-obsession from the Rentals bleeds into plenty of the songs.



As written before by plenty of people, Pinkerton is about loss and longing and sexual frustration. That’s ideal teen territory, and while some of the songs are uncomfortably honest, like opener “Tired of Sex,” there’s still some fun to be had, like on infectious single “El Scorcho.”

I wonder how Pinkerton would have gone over in the ’90s if the track listing had been switched around. The B-sides that supplement the first disc seem like more obvious singles, if only because they sound less hurt. “You Gave Your Love to Me Softly” is a fast and forceful number, and while it’s still pretty emo, it’s not overwhelmingly so. It features a memorable set of hooks, a “la la la” chorus and this insanely awesome cut time break near the end of every chorus that gets better every time the band returns to it. It’s like a bridge between the pop perfection of “Blue Album” and the sadness and anger of Pinkerton. Same goes for “I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams,” featuring former Rentals/That Dog member Rachel Haden on lead vox.

The essential material for this re-release could have filled a single disc. There’s a needless parade of live material from various radio promotions; most of them are boring and inferior to their studio counterparts. Being a native of the Philadelphia area, I hold a soft spot for the three songs presented from the band’s Y100 Sonic Session performance from 1997, but I wish the band had just issued the whole show on a separate release and instead included more material from the band’s aborted Songs From the Black Hole record. Granted, a decent amount of that material has surfaced on Cuomo’s Alone demo series, and according to the liner notes, some songs like “Superfriend” have been lost, but it’s maddening how many times the band includes “Pink Triangle,”, with single edits and live acoustic versions nearly killing what was once one of my favorite songs. Besides, this new version of “Longtime Sunshine” references “Blast Off!”, which makes me wonder if there’s a higher quality version sitting in the vaults.

As is, the live stuff ruins the otherwise great first disc, and renders most of the second disc dull. Still, the second disc picks up near the end, first with some alternate mixes of “Butterfly” and “Longtime Sunshine” that are actually good, and then some legitimate rarities. “Getting Up and Leaving” and “Tragic Girl” have never been released until now, and while they don’t top Pinkerton proper or its B-sides, they beat out almost everything Weezer has issued in the last decade.

I hate assigning numerical values to records. Most of the time, I feel like I’m pulling numbers out of my ass. Pinkerton’s first disc is far and away a perfect five-star affair. You get almost all of the best songs of the Pinkerton era, and it’s unfortunate that the remaining winners, like “You Won’t Get With Me Tonight” from Buddyhead’s Gimme Skelter compilation, get relegated to the more ho-hum second CD. It’s this glut of useless material that kills the record’s success. You really only need 23 out of the album’s 35 tracks, and even then I’m being generous by including the 38-second piano interlude from “Across the Sea.” By my estimate, that means 66 percent of the album is worth hearing, but this is still fucking Pinkerton. So let’s call this a four-star record, forget that Death to False Metal also came out this week and go complain about something else.

Vinyl Vednesday 11/3/2010

[Vinyl Vednesday is a weekly feature about three favorite vinyl finds. It’s not meant to be a dick-measuring contest, but it usually turns out that way. Today’s edition is Manchester-themed to tie in with my Endless Vacation story, which means it’s all about The Smiths. “OHHHHH THIS CHAAAAARRRRMIIING MAAAAAA-HA-HAAAAAN.” E-mail pelonej1@gmail.com with your own big finds!]

Records: The Smith’s The Queen is Dead (1986) on black, Louder Than Bombs (1987) on black, and Strangeways, Here We Come (1987) on black. “Because black is how I feel on the inside.”

Place of Purchase: All three came from Hideaway Music in Chestnut Hill. They cater to baby boomer music, which means classic rock is massively overpriced and anything released from the ’80s and beyond is cheap. I probably would have paid three times as much for these records if I went to, say, a.k.a music.

Thoughts: Like a lot of young, unhappy people, I fell in love with The Smiths in high school. I used to work at Sam Goody and, thanks to my 40 percent off employee discount, was able to check out lots of music on the cheap. I bought The Smith’s The Queen is Dead because I’d read good things about the band in Spin and because we simply had a copy of that album. I didn’t know at the time that it would lead me on one of those intensely emotional journeys that music is capable of, that I was starting with the best Smiths record, or that “There is a Light That Never Goes Out” is totally the best song ever no wait it’s “I Know It’s Over” or hrm maybe the title track. Anyway, seven years later, this record still hits hard.

Almost as powerful is Louder Than Bombs, a American singles/B-sides compilation that wound up becoming the definitive Smiths rarities record. A singles collection, it’s packed with peppy numbers like “Ask,” “You Just Haven’t Earned It Yet, Baby,” and “William, It Was Really Nothing.” These songs feature lead singer Morrissey at his cattiest. There are a few quieter songs as well, like “Asleep” and “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.” This record is an ideal place to start with The Smiths. The band burned with songs during its brief five-year run, and Bombs houses 24 hits. Unless you want to start with The Queen is Dead, because, really, that’s great too.

The Smiths’ final album, Strangeways, Here We Come was slightly disappointing upon its release. Morrissey had a knack for being maudlin and glib – check out those comments he recently made about China – but Strangeways is at times a bit too silly. Sometimes it’s in the delivery, like on the over-the-top grunting of “A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours.” Sometimes the topics are just silly (“Death of a Disco Dancer,” “Girlfriend in a Coma”). Yet it’s such an amazing record, and arguably the band’s most rocking. The glam swagger of “I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish” and “Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This One Before” is infectious. And while I might knock “Disco Dancer” for its subject matter, there’s no denying the song’s epic rock-out coda, so laden with synth and guitar. I later saw Morrissey play this song live, and it was awesome. When people think of The Smiths, they think “fey,” but this group could show some real muscle when it wanted.

mypod: A-Am

[myPod is an attempt to edit down my CD collection as I import my music on to my brand new 160 GB iPod.]

A Camp

My roommate Eric and I have been pretty big Cardigans fans for reasons I’ve never fully grasped. We both come from punk backgrounds yet love their alternately twee, disco, and electronic sounds. Considering that The Cardigans are considered one hit wonders to the rest of the world, listening to their discography has been a rewarding experience a hundred times over. Just as good is A Camp, a side project Cardigans frontwoman Nina Parsson has used during her main band’s hiatuses. The first album is an excellent bridge between Gran Turismo and Long Gone Before Daylight, blending folk and pseudo-gothic electronics into a pleasing blend. Improbably, Eric and I found two used copies of the album at FYE after months of searching. Belated follow-up Colonia wasn’t nearly as good or adventurous.

Verdict: Keep the first album.

Ryan Adams

It’s kind of a cliché for critics to call Ryan Adams derivative, but that notion struck me pretty hard today while listening to Gold. That album has a heavy singer/songwriter viba a la Jackson Browne, and while the somewhat pandering “New York, New York” is still awfully catchy, the rest of the record gets repetitive fast. It suffers from a glut of slow, piano-based numbers with lyrics about fuck-all. I just don’t have time for that anymore.

Verdict: Upload “New York, New York” and a handful of other songs. Sell the hard copies.

Adrenalin O.D.

Every so often, I pump about $30-$50 into Chunksaah Records’ mail order. I’ll pick up some more Bouncing Souls vinyl, maybe a seven-inch or two, and I always try to take a chance on something else. One such venture introduced me to Adrenalin O.D., a prankster ’80s hardcore band that cranked cartoonish punk songs at a breakneck pace. Chunksaah re-released The Wacky Hi-Jinks of Adrenalin O.D. with a bonus disc of rarities that’s about three times as long as the actual album. If you dig Descendents and NOFX, Adrenalin O.D. should fit right in. The only problem is I kind of prefer those other bands. Ultimately, I’ve decided I could live without Wacky Hi-Jinks, and so the album is falling by the wayside. I am so not punk rock anymore.

Verdict: …sell.



AFI

AFI’s discography is almost maddeningly diverse, and I can say I actively enjoy about half of it. Answer That and Stay Fashionable is a hilarious blast of skate punk that references Reservoir Dogs and Calvin and Hobbes. Black Sails in the Sunset is one of the best (gothic) hardcore albums of the ’90s. Sing the Sorrow goes after quasi-goth/emo/mall punk crowd, but its hooks ensure that I only feel kind of silly singing lines like “I held a falling star and it wept for me / dying.” Decemberunderground ups the ante with more everything – more hardcore on “Caustic Kill” but more electronic touches on “Love Like Winter.” These albums are all amazing. But the records charting AFI’s growth from skate punk to hardcore (Very Proud of Ya, Shut Your Mouth and Open Your Eyes) are too awkward for my taste. The Art of Drowning was always my least favorite AFI album – not as heavy as Black Sails but not as catchy as Sorrow. – and last year’s Crash Love’s stabs at straight radio rock failed to leave much of an impression. That doesn’t mean I think AFI sucks now, though. I’m sure the next album will be another left turn. Maybe it’ll pay off and maybe it won’t. Either way, I listened to A Fire Inside EP like four times in a row today and it was awesome. They cover The Cure’s “The Hanging Garden” on it, and it’s actually better than the original. Yeah, I said it.

Verdict: Keep the faves, sell off the less-than-faves. Shut Your Mouth is never my first pick for early AFI anyway, so I don’t see much point in keeping a complete discography.

Against Me!

Yeah, 2010 has been a crappy year for us AM! fans, but I’m not gonna do anything brash. I’m keeping my AM! collection, even my CD and vinyl copies of White Crosses. I’m taking a break, that’s for sure, but songs like “We Did It All For Don” and “Problems” won’t be leaving me for a long time. I still hum them to myself. But man, listening to Crime is really bumming me out right now…

Verdict: Keep. Don’t judge me.

Akira Original Soundtrack

In another life, I was a dork for anime. I attended Baltimore’s Otakon annually. I watched a lot of shows about dudes with funny hair and girls with ridiculously heaving bosoms. It was a good life. While I don’t watch that style of storytelling much anymore – still got the complete Trigun and Cowboy Bebop collections though – I’ve held on to soundtracks from some of my favorite works. Akira is probably one of the oldest animes you can reasonably expect every otaku to love – yeah, there’s Dragon Ball and Gundam – but Akira is more critically acclaimed and better animated. I pretty much bought the soundtrack because I enjoy the film, even though the music had never stood out for me.

I was struck by how percussive and experimental Geinoh Yamashirogumi’s compositions sounded – this music was much more intense than I had realized. The next time I watched the movie, it was like a whole new experience. There is nothing else in my music collection quite like this album. It’s not quite orchestral, not quite traditional, not quite rock. But man is it awesome.

Verdict: Keep. Also, consider buying Akira again…



Alkaline Trio

I’d say I own all of the essential Alk3 albums and none of the clunkers. The Asian Man material – Goddamnit, Maybe I’ll Catch Fire, Alkaline Trio – are all perfect collections of quasi-gothic Chicago pop-punk songs about failure. Failure with significant others. Failure in the work force. Failure at sobriety. I associate Fire with Philadelphia – walking back from parties at the Drewber St. house, sitting through construction on Broad – but all three sum up where I’m at right now. The hits start to dilute circa From Here to Infirmary, but that album packs enough good songs to justify owning it, even though it is a bit of a comedown after the Asian Man years. Remains, the group’s second rarities compilation after Alkaline Trio, collects some of the best Alk3 songs of all time (“Jaked on Green Beers,” “Queen of Pain,” “Warbrain,” and their cover of Berlin’s “Metro”). I don’t need the later years.

Verdict: Keep.

Allister

Oof, I still love Allister after all these years, but there’s a slight drop off in quality going from a Chicago punk band like Alkaline Trio to their neighbors in Allister. I still get stoked on their first two albums, though. Dead Ends and Girlfriends is an exuberant burst of sugary pop punk in the vein of Ramones and Mr. T Experience. It’s a little immature in spots – is “Jacob Thinks I’m Gay” homophobic? – but it’s a record I’ve played so many times that I can’t stop now. Plus, that cover of the Fraggle Rock theme is bitchin’. After a line-up change, the band got a lot sleaker for LP #2, Last Stop Suburbia. It’s a little uneven – frontman Tim Rogner’s songs get kinda repetitive after a while – but it also boasts amazing anthems like “Stuck” and “Somewhere on Fullerton” I was fully ready to sell Before the Blackout – released after another personnel change – but it’s a solid pop rock collection. Not nearly as good as the other records, but it’s become a major guilty pleasure for me.

Verdict: Keep.

Tori Amos

I thought A Piano would be all the Tori Amos I needed. I was wrong. Within a year, Amos dropped one of the best albums of her career, the sprawling American Doll Posse. That record saw Tori sprinkle in a few political bon mots in between sexy techno jams and hard rockers. She even tried her hand a country crossover hit with “Big Wheel.” Her 2009 follow-up, Abnormally Attracted to Sin, was a less successful double album. This could have been a really good 10-song cycle, but every ominous number like “Give” or Zeppelin-esque rocker like “Strong Black Vine,” there are nonsensical, wishwashy songs like “Flavor” or “Lady in Blue” to dilute the mix. More successful is Strange Little Girls, a rather ambient collection of covers from 2000. “Bonnie and Clyde ’ 97” is the creepiest, but “Strange Little Girls” and “Real Mean” are both pretty catchy. And that slowed down cover of Slayer’s “Reign in Blood” is pretty great. My girlfriend has made it her mission to buy me every Tori album, and while that’s worked out pretty well with, say, From the Choirgirl Hotel, I’m not that keen on Little Earthquakes. I love the songs, but I prefer the sequencing and mixes selected for the first disc of A Piano. It sounds better/cleaner, and it comes with B-side “Take to the Sky (Russia).” Plus, I’m just kind of used to the album opening with “Leather.” Now there’s a sexy party jam.

Verdict: Keep, but I’m gonna edit down Abnormally Attracted to Sin. And there’s really no point in uploading Little Earthquakes.

NEXT TIME: A is for... punk rock side projects, ska superheroes, and the second best hardcore band to come out of Virginia.

Endless Vacation 2/3: Scotland

Manchester, England to Dundee, Scotland

Took three trains and about six hours to get to Dundee, Scotland, but it was worth it. Saw Glasgow for about two blocks/20 minutes, but it seems like a beautiful city. We traveled most of the way with a mother/daughter combo. The mom had some humorous stories about traveling through South Africa, Australia, and California. When Michelle got sick from the train rocking back and forth, another passenger offered her some anti-nausea medication. I can't imagine people back home doing these things.

European trains have bathrooms and snack bars. Why doesn't the R5 have these? Americans love snack bars.

We're staying in Dundee with Michelle's cousin Sam. They've been pen pals for a few years. They have a lot in common but never thought they would meet. They both love Tori Amos, which makes me wonder if it's genetic.

Sam made us a delicious dish of curry, vegetables, and rice. Her son Frankie is a charmer, and he's got a fast wit:

Sam: "Stop leaning back in your chair."

Frankie: "You didn't hear a thunk did you?"



After dinner, we drank pear cider and talked for hours.

Mars bars = Milky Ways.

Scotland has been eye-opening. Learned a lot about Michelle's grandmother and great-grandparents. Michelle's dad had a rough childhood, and I'm not sure if he'll appreciate what we learned, but Sam's parents gave us a wealth of info in such a small amount of time, as well as a photo of William Matchett, Mr. Muir's grandfather. [I'm not going to post the notes I took from our meeting. Too personal.]


Sam dropped us off downtown while she went to law school, and we took in the sights, including the McManus Museum, which claims to have the biggest collection Scottish Victorian art in Scotland. I wrote down some artists I plan to look up later, such as Sir George Reid and especially Edward Atkinson Hornel. Strangely, his art reminds me of the work of John Baizely from Baroness (They're a metal band!).

Eventually we met back up with Sam. She took us to the Law, an extinct volcano overlooking Dundee. Even through the fog, you could see a way's away.


Then we met with Sam's sister, Lori, and her newborn for dinner. They were both lovely and the conversation went into the night.

In Scotland, they put put mustard in their mac & cheese.

Holding Sam's baby, i felt a creeping sense of contentment. His every move was adorable. I'm going to become a father within the next five years. That's reasonable, right?


Back at Sam's house, we engaged in some singalongs before bed. Sam grabbed an acoustic guitar and played a song she wrote about her daughter April, who has severe autism and spends most of the year in at a specialized school. It's the kind of lovingly sad song that only a mother could write. Then she covered "When Doves Cry" by Prince and "What's Going On" by 4 Non Blondes.

Dundee, Scotland to Manchester, England

After a quick breakfast, Sam took us to the Dundee train station. We only need two trains this time, but it's still going to take six hours.

Has Mogwai's "Like Herod" ever been used in a horror film? Because it should be. Or perhaps a sexy sex scene in a rom/com. Either/or.

Playlist
-Mogwai - The Hawk is Howling
-Garbage - Garbage
-Franz Ferdinand - Tonight
-Camera Obscura - My Maudlin Career
-Franz Ferdinand - You Could Have It So Much Better
-Garbage - Version 2.0
-Mogwai - Young Team
-Morrissey - Years of Refusal
-Kasms - Spayed
-The Horrors - Primary Colours
-The Cure - Three Imaginary Boys
-The Kinks - Come Dancing With The Kinks: The Best of The Kinks 1977-1985

Reading List
-Harold Evans - My Paper Chase: True Stories of Vanished Times

Record Purchase
-The La's - The La's

TOMORROW: I don't speak the language and I don't have any money. Heading to France.

Endless Vacation 1/3: England

[I recently returned from a two-week stay in Europe. I traveled through three countries, met a ton of people, and even found some cool records. Here's a journal I kept of the trip.]

Blue Bell, Pa. to New York City, N.Y.

Jeremy picked us up around 11:45 a.m. and drove us to JFK. He's such a good friend; it's ridiculous. We left him a tip, hidden in the backseat. Checking in wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Just remember to take your shoes off when they ask you to. We don't board until 5.35 p.m., so Michelle and I have plenty of time to kill. We explore the airport, searching for lunch, and settle for a bistro.

I'm not sure if this has come up before, but the food they serve at airlines is bullshit.

New York City, N.Y. to London, England

I've never gotten used to flying. It goes with my general fear of heights - I hate giving up control and raising myself to a height where gravity could kill me with its terrible embrace. Still, the takeoff was uneventful. Michelle started mocking me for being nervous, and then, bam, we hit turbulence. We closed the window port and I cranked up Banner Pilot. All we can see outside is blackness anyway. Well, blackness and the wing trembling with every gust of wind. I picked an awful time to quit drinking. Now on to the reading and the countdown to death and the horrible gnashing of my teeth.

Michelle looks really cute cuddled up in her blanket, though. She's reading Ayn Rand.

The Muir luck kicks in halfway through the flight: We have bed bugs. But we also have free apple juice.

I couldn't sleep the night before we left - nervous excitement. Now I'm doing the same thing again. I just can't sleep in new/strange places, and the fact that it's only 10:30 p.m. back home isn't helping. But this stems from anticipation. I want to see England. I want to know the world and be known for more than my nationality.

It's still too dark, but we're over Ireland. That's going to be my next trip, to see my homeland. It was good enough for James Joyce and Kevin Shields, right?


London, England to Manchester, England

Heathrow is miles better than JFK. A little pricey, but the food is better and more vegetarian-friendly. Flight to Manchester got delayed. We're working on muscle memory and no real thought. Brains are fried, lids are heavy. It's 8:30 a.m. and I want to go to bed.

Had a scare finding Pete and Val [Michelle's dad's cousin and his wife. We mostly stayed with family on this trip, which is what made it so affordable. The whole thing only cost me about $1,000], but things were quickly sorted out. Talked for hours about family and work and life. Manchester is beautiful. This is how I wish Philadelphia looked, with rolling greens and cottages merging with the highways and trams. P/V treat us with utmost kindness, giving us lunch, dinner, and a place to sleep. I'm still adjusting to the time zone - I sprung out of bed ready for Friday, only to realize it's 11 p.m. on Thursday.

In England, the minority leader is called the Shadow Chancellor. HOW COOL IS THAT?


Took the tram Fri. to the center of Manchester proper. I was nervous about being in a foreign city on my own and on foot, but it's such a beautiful and open area. William Penn intended Philly to be one big urban garden, and Manchester almost mirrors that intention. Big gardens meet epic shops, with classic architecture spread all around. You can go from a garden to a Ferris wheel to a sprawling department store to the Cathedral of Manchester in seconds. Still adjusting to the food, but man can Brits brew tea/coffee. I've already seen two or three chains that beat Starbucks.


At the same time, Manchester has plenty of American elements. Burgers, alleged Philly cheesesteaks, and even Krispy Kreme. [In retrospect, England was the most U.S.-friendly. People on the street stopped me and asked about my accent and America. They still think of it as this golden land of opportunity. Scotland was the most hostile of the three countries. The French didn't give a shit either way]. They call Live Free or Die Hard by the name Die Hard 4.0, though.


P/V are so kind to us, driving us to and from the tram, taking us clothes shopping. They cooked us a fabulous breakfast and dinner. And now they've got us hooked on Damages, starring Glenn Close and Rose Byrne. We traveled 3,000 miles to watch American TV!

P/V have given us incredible spreads every day, and good conversation. Even though we don't agree on the topic of religion, we agree on a lot of things, like the importance of communication and community service on a local and global level. We value the sanctity of a romantic relationship. We really like watching Glenn Close yell at people. I don't share their Christian views, but their religion had led them to the same place I'm at: It's OK to spread your wealth around if you don't need it. It's OK to reach out.

We're at a hotel/reception hall for P/V's 40th wedding anniversary. It's beautifully British. Time to suit up.

"You all look like Bond. Some of you look like James Bond; some of you look like vagabonds." - Peter Byrne

The food was, of course, lovely - poached pear salad with nuts and goat cheese, mushrooms and veggies in gravy with bread, and tons of desserts. P/V's dance lessons paid off. Three weeks ago, Peter narrowly escaped death when a house collapsed on him [He owns and runs a construction company]. Now he's dancing with the love of his life.


I met their three children: Colin, Julie, and Nicola. They're just as wonderful. I stumble into a few uncomfortable conversations about religion politics (I'm Irish, lapsed Catholic, and American, and everyone thinks I'm Jewish. I'm in no place to get confrontational). A lot of these people strike me as conservative, but they all hate American conservatism. And they keep saying "Yeah man!" to me in a Southern accent.

Anyway, the night is great. Tons of dancing and beautiful speeches. A couple of drunks stumbled in and started a fight right at the end, but the memory I'll always hold on to is of everyone dancing around P/V during "New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra. Well, that and watching Julie's young son Joe breakdance.

Went for a walk through the English countryside with Colin, Sasha, Julie, Ian, Nicola, and the kids. Spent a few hours taking in rivers and trees. Ian's dog Billy kept challenging bulls, which was hilariously terrifying.

Had another family dinner, this time with the kids. I'm so happy for Michelle. She's finally found an extended family. Sure, she's connected to her Canadian family, but this is such a huge, loving group all at once. I have that back home with both sides of my family (especially on the Ferris side. My mom is one of seven), but she's never really had so many people in one place. Michelle has officially given her heart to England. She has such an easy rapport with the Byrnes. We still have some time left here and we're already thinking about coming back.


Playlist
-Ramones - Ramones Mania [For NYC]
-Banner Pilot - Pass the Poison [Nate Gangellhoff's band]
-Banner Pilot - Resignation Day
-Banner Pilot - Collapser
-The Kinks - Face to Face
-Camera Obscura - Let's Get Out of This Country
-The Smiths - The Smiths
-My Bloody Valentine - Isn't Anything [For Ireland]
-Tori Amos - Abnormally Attracted to Sin ["Welcome to England"]
-Big Business - Mind the Drift
-Nick Drake - Pink Moon
-The Kinks - Arthur (Or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire)
-The Breeders - Pod
-The Smiths - Strangeways, Here We Come
-The Beatles - Magical Mystery Tour
-Nick Drake - Bryter Layter
-The Kinks - Village Green Preservation Society
-The Slits - Cut [In honor of Ari Up, who passed away this week at 49. Do punks ever make it beyond 50?]
-The Smiths - Louder Than Bombs
-forgetters - forgetters
-Oasis - (What's the Story) Morning Glory?
-The Smiths - The Queen is Dead
-The Stone Roses - The Stone Roses
-David Bowie - Low
-Buzzcocks - Singles Going Steady
-Happy Mondays - Platinum Collection
-Wire - Pink Flag

Reading List
-Nate Gangellhoff - You Idiot: The First Book
-Craig Ferguson - American on Purpose

Record Purchases
-The Jam - The Very Best of The Jam
-Bruce Springsteen - Greatest Hits [Note: I didn't really cut loose on the record shopping until Paris. Still, I got these two CDs for wicked cheap. So, that's something.]

TOMORROW: I'm Connor and/or Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacCleod. Heading to Scotland.

The Extra Lens - 'Undercard'

When John Darnielle (The Mountain Goats) and Franklin Bruno (Nothing Painted Blue) debuted the Extra Glenns in 2002 with Martial Arts Weekend, the project simultaneously felt like a friendly one-off and a serious musical leap forward, at least for Darnielle. It was a breezy collection of songs written and performed by two friends. But by Darnielle’s pre-4AD standards, it was stuffed with instruments. With a few exceptions, TMG’s lo-fi days consisted of just acoustic guitar and vox, with a smattering of bass. But Extra Glenns gave Darnielle a chance to expand his range, mere months before dropping the truly expanded musicianship of Tallahassee. Bruno, meanwhile, known for loud, angry indie rock tunes with NPB, got a chance to dial it down a bit.

Eight years later and a few letters shorter, the rechristened Extra Lens finally released a follow-up record, Undercard. While it sounds a great deal like Martial Arts Weekend, it feels like a step back musically after all of the indie rock leanings Darnielle embraced on records like Heretic Pride and The Sunset Tree. The lyrics are still sad, but the music itself is brighter, flecked with Bruno’s shimmering guitar and piano parts. Darnielle handles lead vocals, and he sounds exactly like himself. He’s a great songwriter, but he pretty much has two choices as a singer, shouting and whispering. Either way it’s a little nasal.

Undercard is freed from the emotional weight of TMG’s last few records. This isn’t a concept album about dead family members, although it certainly tackles familiar TMG concepts like infidelity and suicide. In a sense, Undercard is the Burn After Reading to The Life of the World to Come’s No Country For Old Men. It’s funnier and lighter and still dark, but also slightly disappointing for those same reasons. Give me intense songs about cancer and drug abuse, man. I just wanna relate.

Still, this is Darnielle we’re talking about. That guy doesn’t fail. So while Undercard might not pack the same resonance as Get Lonely, it’s still a quality effort. Take a song like “How I Left the Ministry,” a pleasant little ditty about a preacher and his neighbor’s wife who get into a car accident while on their way to a hotel for athletic displays of adultery. The lyrics pack in self-loathing and sexual desire, with lines like “The last thing I saw before falling unconscious / Was your right hand tracing a heart on my thigh / And I thought, ‘My God what an infantile gesture’ / And I thought ‘My God what an indescribable high’” delivering a wallop.

Undercard is a lesser work for Darnielle and Bruno, but it’s still better than most of the records released this year. Put it another way: Longtime fans might be underwhelmed but still satisfied. New converts can enjoy it with the knowledge that both artists’ discographies are even better than this album.