Sunday, July 24, 2011
Graphic, yes, but it gets the point across. And last week's Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. column was a breech birth issue.
Here's what happened. You guys all know I'm really strapped for time lately. Between my Patch duties and my efforts to make my new house habitable, I'm left with only a few hours on Sunday to crank out my column. I don't get paid for this, and my actual for-money job has to come first, so if something happens, I need to drop everything and cover it. Happens all the time, and the few hours I have to myself each week seem to get fewer and fewer.
So I've found that it's good to do a certain amount of preliminary work for each column. I knew the new They Might Be Giants album would be coming out, and that I'd get it early enough to listen through it and write about it for July 20. I'd read a couple of reviews - always a big mistake - and I expected a certain kind of record: mature, simplistic, poppy. That would go nicely with Eleanor Friedberger's simple, mature solo debut, I thought to myself. And I drafted an outline in my head. I even wrote the intro to the column before hearing Join Us, the splendid new TMBG record.
The problem was this: Join Us wasn't anything like I expected. I was all set to compare it to the Barenaked Ladies album Everything to Everyone, as the point where they decided to leave their quirks behind and grow up. But it wasn't that at all. In fact, it was a celebratory example of how to grow up without losing any of the quirk and wonder of youth. It was mature themes filtered through that wonderful TMBG lens, with all its TMBG-ness.
But, strapped for time, I refused to hear that, and tried to review the record I expected anyway. I hammered at it until it fit the mold I wanted it to, and wrote a terrible, self-serving review that didn't capture the album at all. And I realized that on Tuesday, when I re-read it for the first time.
Needless to say, this is one of the worst mistakes a reviewer can make, and I couldn't release the column in that condition. It would have to be rewritten. And of course, I only had those few hours on Sunday free. Hard as I tried to squeeze it into the week, I couldn't. So I finally finished and posted it today, four days late.
As you can tell, I'm pretty ashamed by this, and I'm determined that it won't happen again. On the bright side, I think my new review captures Join Us pretty well. It's one of my favorite TMBG albums, so I'm glad I took the time to really review it, instead of just pretending. And I hope you all like the result.
Now, to write next week's column...
Saturday, July 9, 2011
I was initially surprised at the new direction Dedicated to Chaos took. After several dour conceptual pieces in a row, including Operation: Mindcrime II and American Soldier, perhaps the last thing you'd expect from these Seattle stalwarts is a freewheeling party record. But in a lot of ways, that's what this is. These 16 songs are the most melodic, catchy and flat-out alive Queensryche tracks since... well, probably Empire.
Some of it is undeniably goofy - "Hot Spot Junkie" is honestly about how cool WiFi is, and "Got It Bad" slips over the line into silliness. (Only Geoff Tate would try out a come-on like, "I bet you read Machiavelli in bed.") But some of it is earnest and grand, especially slower tracks like "Broken." It concludes with a genuine epic, "Big Noize," that ends abruptly, but builds convincingly. The biggest stumbling block is the lyrics - these are surface-level, facile and dumb more often than not. It's obviously an attempt to be fun, to let loose, but it sometimes grates to hear a band this smart pretend to be this stupid.
But musically, this is Queensryche's finest hour in more than 10 years. It is perhaps their first album ever that sounds like it has nothing to prove. That's liberating, and as a longtime fan, it's a joy to hear.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
So yeah. On Thursday, I got to see Daniel Amos play, and Phil Keaggy knock it out of the park with his band Glass Harp. On Friday, I got to see the Choir redeem themselves with a magical acoustic set, and hear the Lost Dogs triumphantly recover from the unexpected absence of Terry Taylor. But Saturday may have been my favorite day at Cornerstone 2011.
That's because Saturday was New Discovery Day. There were only a couple of acts I knew I wanted to see - Photoside Cafe, the Wayside, and most importantly, Saviour Machine, performing their first stateside show in 10 years. The rest of the lineup, however, was a complete mystery to me. And that's the way I liked it.
Every year at Cornerstone, I find at least one band or artist I hadn't previously stumbled upon. My first visit in 2001 gave me Beki Hemingway. My second, in 2005, gave me Mutemath. Last year it was Photoside Cafe and Timbre, both of whom played on Saturday. Oh, and though I didn't discover him at Cornerstone 2005, I first heard about Sufjan Stevens while I was there - everyone was buzzing about this little album called Illinois.
So that's a really good batting average for this festival, and the 2011 edition did not disappoint. First, though, I disappointed myself - I meant to get up in time to see Timbre play, and I missed it. Timbre is a harp-playing wonder, and her band a progressive pop ensemble worth experiencing. Alas, I just couldn't rouse myself early enough to make her 1 p.m. set time. (Yes, I realize that's pathetic. Sorry, Timbre.) But you should buy her stuff anyway.
I did get there in time to see River James, a dramatic rock outfit from the East Coast. I found their set pretty average, until they launched into a song called "Dreams," which was extraordinary. That tune by itself led me to pay $5 for their debut EP. I look forward to seeing where they go next. I also caught Lauren Mann and the Fairly Odd Folk, a piano-playing songwriter and her band from the wastes of Canada. Her tunes are melodic and strong, her voice true, and I practically knocked people aside to pay $10 for her debut album, Stories From Home. Her new one is apparently done - it was produced by Aaron Marsh of Copeland - but won't be out until January. I'll be looking for it.
I took a quick trip to Main Stage to see the great Photoside Cafe next, and they were just as good this year as they were last year. They still sound a lot like the Levellers - raucous, fist-pumping folk-rock with a violin at its center. Great stuff. I ducked back to the Gallery Stage just in time to catch the end of the Psalters set - sweaty, stomping traditional folk tunes with bite, played by nine people shoved onto a stage just that little bit too small for them. They were great.
But the big discoveries of the day were still to come. Songs of Water hails from North Carolina, but they play music as big as the world. Each member plays half a dozen instruments, from the hammered dulcimer to the violin to the tin whistle to all manner of drums, and the band plays big instrumental jigs and quiet, reflective pieces with equal aplomb. Their set knocked me flat. I immediately bought both of their records, and dulcimer player Stephen Roach's solo work as well. New album The Sea Has Spoken is all kinds of wonderful.
And then, after a set of sweetly swaying spirituals and love songs from The Wayside, I discovered Josh Garrels. An imposingly tall man from Portland, Oregon, Garrels does what I would describe as an even mix of coffeehouse folk and hip-hop, although that doesn't quite describe it. On stage on Saturday he performed pretty, jaunty folk numbers like "For You," and then brought the house down with a full-on rap explosion called "The Resistance." Both of these songs are on his new album, with the amazing title Love and War and the Sea In Between.
And guess what? You can get the whole record for free. Garrels honestly believes that God has told him to give this album away. And considering it's 18 songs, 75 minutes, and very, very good, that's impressive. It's not just downloads, either - he's pressed up CDs, and is giving those away as well. The freebie will be available for an entire year, he says. If it gives more people an opportunity to hear this album, well, that's a win, because it's a frank and well-made piece of work. Try it.
So at this point in my day, something amazing happened. The teenagers and hippies who had packed the Gallery Stage to hear Josh Garrels all filed out, and were replaced by a legion of goths dressed in black, many wearing face makeup. It was a complete audience changeover, except for me and one other guy, as far as I could tell. Apparently, Garrels' audience doesn't overlap much with Saviour Machine's.
Their loss. Saviour Machine is a band unlike any other I know. Led by the operatic and melodramatic voice of Eric Clayton, this is a band that creates theatrical gothic metal soundscapes, with crunching guitars and ethereal keyboards, but puts them in the service of surprisingly melodic and beautiful songs. Since 1997, they have been working on a four-CD concept piece called Legend, which depicts in phenomenal detail the Book of Revelations - almost page by page. The first part came out in '97, the second in '98, the third in 2001, and then... nothing.
Clayton has been working on the final installment of Legend for 10 years, while battling health problems and record label insanity. Because of all that, Saviour Machine hasn't played a show in the U.S. in 10 years. So Saturday night was something truly special. The group took the stage to perform unplugged, having rearranged their noisy, intense music for a quieter, more intimate setting. They opened with a cover of "Sympathy for the Devil," and closed with "Gethsemane," from Jesus Christ Superstar. And in between, they treated us to songs from all phases of their career.
It was my first Saviour Machine show, and it was amazing. Afterward, I got to meet Clayton, and he was an extremely nice and down to earth guy. We talked about the fake Legend Part III:II that's out there now, thanks to his unscrupulous German record label, and about the future of the band. He plans to bring the acoustic show on tour, and use the funds from that (and subsequent DVD and CD releases from the shows) to finish the Legend series. I, for one, can't wait.
And so with that, I dragged myself back to my hotel room and collapsed. It was another great Cornerstone, even though I kept hearing about low attendance, and rumblings that this may be the last of these annual festivals. I sincerely hope this isn't true, because just in the four trips I've made, I've seen more great music and discovered more great musicians than any other festival I've ever attended. Long live Cornerstone, is what I'm saying.
And now, to sleep.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
That's because Friday was Gallery Stage Day here at Cornerstone. I think I wandered from the gallery stage once during my nine-hour festival experience yesterday, and that was to buy a chicken kabob for dinner. (Mmmm. Chicken kabob.) Otherwise, it was all gallery all the time.
I've really started to think of that stage as Cornerstone itself. Pretty much all of my best experiences at this fest have happened there. It's a marked contrast to every other hangout at Cornerstone, from the grandiose Jesus-pop of main stage to the screaming, brutal hardcore and metal of... well, just about every other stage. Gallery is relaxed and intimate and fun, and it features my favorite musicians at the fest.
It also seems to be a place where artistic expressions of faith (or anything) are welcomed more readily. In my view, the best artists at Cornerstone are the ones who incorporate that faith into their lives, and sing about their own experiences. A band like Petra is a cartoonish huckster selling an idea that has very little bearing on how people live their lives. An artist like Terry Taylor writes about the world the way he sees it, its ups and downs, trials and triumphs, and does so through the prism of his own beliefs. That's the difference, I think.
I mention Taylor up front because he was a notable absence from Friday's lineup. A family emergency called him back home. Taylor's had a rough go of it lately, and I felt sick as I heard the news. Apparently his son Andrew is in the hospital, but is going to be all right. I wish him a speedy recovery.
This turn of events left the Lost Dogs without its guiding light. In a lot of ways, the Lost Dogs are the reason I come to this festival. Terry Taylor, Mike Roe, Derri Daugherty and Steve Hindalong have, together and separately, made some of my very favorite music, and it's always a treat to see and hear them play. I got two incarnations of the same band on Friday, and both were marvelous.
First up was Kerosene Halo, the new Daugherty-Roe project. The album, available now from Lo-Fidelity Records, is gorgeous - an acoustic tour of covers and co-writes, from the expected (two Daniel Amos songs) to the incongruous (Tom Waits' "Bottom of the World"). The show was essentially the album come to life, Roe and Daugherty harmonizing like angels while Hindalong provided subtle percussion. Great stuff.
Then my roommate Jeff Elbel took the stage with his eight-member incarnation of Ping, and tore the roof off. (Well, it's a tent, but you get me.) Jeff has a new EP called Peanut Gallery, and he sounded positively renewed at this show. He dropped his guitar to become a full-on rock star frontman during "You Little Victim," and blew apart the rollicking "I Forget." He offered the audience a choice of closing song, and they picked "Comfort Me," a new, prayerful piece. This was, in my ever-humble opinion, the best Ping show I've ever seen. Get the new record here.
After an extended dinner break and a show by the Crossing, I took my place in the front row for the Choir. If you know me at all, you know the Choir is pretty much my favorite band. And you also may remember that they blew it big time at Cornerstone last year, turning in an unrehearsed and sloppy set. This year was redemption - an acoustic performance, just Derri and Steve and Dan Michaels. And it was proof that Cornerstone is a place where magic happens.
Put simply, last year I spent the Choir show repeating over and over, in disbelief, "This is my favorite band." This year I spent the Choir show grinning and saying with pride, "This is my favorite band." They played old favorites like "Clouds" and "To Cover You" and "Circle Slide," they turned in a menacing and wonderful version of the newer "Midnight Sun," and somewhere in the middle, had a blast recasting "Leprechaun" as a harmonica-driven folk song.
But the most jaw-dropping moment came when Hindalong premiered a new song about his own alcoholism. It was fearless and stark and powerful. As he said, the Choir's career has been all about openness and discussion, about the band and its fans as an extended family. It sure felt that way to me on Friday. I've been a Choir fan for more than 20 years, and they're very much like family to me. I only get to see them once a year, but I cherish the experience.
Glenn Kaiser stomped through a blistering set of blues-rock next with his band. This would have been the Glenn Kaiser Band show to see for newbies. Ordinarily his sets are 50% music and 50% preaching. This time, it was 90% music, and the music was awesome. I am particularly fond of "What Can Be Shaken," an apocalyptic barnburner played on a lap steel. Glenn puts on a great show.
And then came the Lost Dogs, minus Taylor. The band tapped Paul Averitt, who played bass with Daniel Amos on Thursday, to sing Taylor's parts, and he nailed it. He was tremendous. Even without Taylor, this was one of my favorite Lost Dogs shows (and I've seen about a dozen now). It's typical of this band of longtime friends and mutual admirers that they spent the show jokingly ripping on Taylor for being absent, and then playing his songs with reverence. And they played "Carry Me," my favorite from last year's brilliant Old Angel, and it was wonderful.
They ran out of material by the end of their set, and initially refused calls for an encore, but when the crowd just wouldn't relent (and rightly so), they charged back on stage for a take on Bob Dylan's "Knocking on Heaven's Door." It was a graceful conclusion to a great show.
I knew Deas Vail couldn't compete with that as the closing moment of my Friday Cornerstone experience, so I stayed for a couple songs of sky-high dramatic indie pop (which I liked), and then slowly wandered back to the hotel. A great, great day at Cornerstone. Tomorrow (well, today) I am darting back and forth between stages, but I finally get to see Saviour Machine play, which will be fascinating to say the least. More tomorrow!
Friday, July 1, 2011
I’m getting old. I thought I’d be able to scrawl out a few notes on the first day of my Cornerstone experience last night, but as I stared at the computer screen at 2 a.m., I just felt all of my energy being sapped away. Last year I had no problem writing up blog entries in the wee hours, but I just couldn’t do it this time. So here I am at 1 p.m., putting these thoughts together before heading back to the festival for Day Two.
This is my fourth Cornerstone Festival, so it’s starting to feel like home to me. I know the ins and outs of the stages, and where to find the best burgers, and where the ATM is. (A crucial discovery I made last year.) But the first-day immersion into this culture I am increasingly less a part of is still strange for me.
Whenever I talk to people about Cornerstone, I tend to frame it in terms of how un-Christian it is. Or at least, how counter it is to the accepted image of Christianity. I guess I do this partly to justify it to myself, but also to make it seem appealing to my religion-averse friends. Because the music is amazing. Stunning, remarkable stuff, on the whole. And that’s why I’m here.
But there is no way to couch what I saw last night. This was a full-on Jesus rally – in fact, that was the name given to the Main Stage lineup: Jesus Rally. It was a celebration of the Jesus movement of the ‘60s and ‘70s, a wave that started in California and swept the nation, culminating in big festivals like Cornerstone. And as I stood with just a few thousand others, watching the aging forerunners of this movement playing to an aging crowd, I felt like I was bearing witness to the end of something special.
Before all that, though, the day got off to an inauspicious start with Mike Roe’s solo set at the Gallery Stage. The power had gone out at Gallery shortly before, and Roe was forced to stand in front of the stage, acoustic guitar in hand, and compete with the piercing sounds of hardcore from the nearby tents. It just didn’t work – I couldn’t hear anything the man was doing. Luckily, I’ll have two chances today to see Roe do his thing.
So that was disappointing, and looking around at the sparse attendance this year was even more saddening. As I understand it, there was some debate over whether Cornerstone 2011 would even go ahead, given the low turnout last year, and this year doesn’t look any better. But what I love about Cornerstone is the intimacy. For instance, during Roe’s set, Derri Daughtery, guitarist/singer for the Choir and one of my favorite musicians in the world, sat down in the audience and just hung out with us. That’s pretty cool.
Another thing I like about the fest is its ability to surprise me. Here’s a good case in point: Barry McGuire played the main stage on Thursday afternoon. He’s a 75-year-old bald and paunchy man, best known for singing “Eve of Destruction” in the ‘60s, and I didn’t have high hopes for his performance.
But it was marvelous. He shaped that gruff old voice into a terrific instrument, and held the audience in the palm of his hand. His set – just him and a guitar – built up force as it went, and in addition to a bevy of old folk tunes, he covered Madonna’s “Frozen.” He ended with “Cosmic Cowboy,” a riveting spoken-word journey. It was something to see.
From that moment on, I spent the rest of my day at main stage. This is the first time I’ve done this – the main stage is usually populated with the most shallow, commercial, worthless music at the festival. Whatever you normally think of when I say the term “Christian music,” that’s what you’ll find at main stage most years.
But this year? Classic act upon classic act. Resurrection Band? Phil Keaggy? Petra? I’ll take “Music I Obsessed Over When I Was 12” for $1,000, Alex. Nothing but aging, God-loving hippies all day. It was an experience.
As usual, Daniel Amos didn’t quite fit in. But man, they tore it up. DA has been playing Cornerstone since it started 28 years ago, and I last saw them perform in 2001. Terry Taylor, one of the world’s most criminally underrated songwriters, is 61 now. But he led the band through an absolutely scorching set, including a flat-out awesome burn through “I Love You #19.” They also played “The Twist,” my favorite Taylor song – it’s proof all by itself that “religious art” is not an oxymoron.
I expected DA to be the highlight of my day, and for a while, it looked like my prediction was spot on. Randy Stonehill played an unremarkable set of too-direct folk music – he has a tremendous voice, and an awkwardly amusing stage presence, but I’ve never found much art to what he does. E Band trotted out their ‘70s prog and ‘80s pop to an appreciative audience, but I crept away to eat and read for a while.
Resurrection Band was very good, though. One of the first real Christian hard rock acts, Rez is fronted by married couple Glenn and Wendi Kaiser, who also lead Jesus People USA, the Chicago organization that puts on Cornerstone each year. Glenn just happens to be one of the best blues-rock guitarists you’re likely to hear, with a strong and gritty voice.
Glenn is 58 years old now, and he and Wendi have both packed on the pounds since the early days. But their set was fiery and raucous. Highlihghts included “Lovespeak,” “Your House is On Fire,” “Shadows,” and an epic, smoldering take on “Where the Roses Grow,” Glenn really showing what he can do with a bluesy lead.
But then! The rock bands on Thursday were interspersed with solo acoustic acts, and when I saw the name Phil Keaggy, that’s what I immediately expected. But no. Phil, one of the finest guitarists on the planet (seriously), brought his band Glass Harp with him. And they smoked. An eight-minute take on “Time” just set the stage – the real deal was a 30-or-so-minute medley that started with the instrumental “David and Goliath” and ended with “Do Lord.”
Phil is a perfect example of the paradox inherent in this music I love. Keaggy’s musical prowess is undeniable. I can think of no one I know who wouldn’t be goggle-eyed and amazed at his work. But he simply and directly expresses his faith in his songs, so he’s relegated to the Christian section of the music store, next to old Amy Grant records and Stephen Curtis Chapman. He should be revered as one of the best guitar players alive, but at age 60, he’s largely forgotten. And I feel privileged to have seen this show. It was astoundingly good.
After all that, there’s no way Petra, the original “ministry band,” could have lived up. And they didn’t. I liked Petra a lot when I was a church-going pre-teen, but there’s an inherent cheeseball silliness to what they do – they’re kind of the Jesus-rock Survivor – and it’s not an ironic, knowing silliness. They’re a band that should be playing Knott’s Berry Farm, not main stage at a festival like this.
And they were under-rehearsed to boot. “Clean,” their third song, was an absolute train wreck – guitarist Bob Hartman was playing in a different key than everyone else, and they finally just had to stop, compare notes (for 10 MINUTES) and start over. And I just couldn’t take much more, so I left.
But on the way out, I caught the last few songs of the Farewell Drifters set at Gallery Stage, and I wish I’d seen the whole thing. The Drifters are young guys from Nashville who play bluegrass-pop with delirious harmonies and instrumental prowess. I heard them do new tune “You Were There,” and had to buy the new album Echo Boom immediately. Their sweet music was a balm after Petra, and ended my night on a graceful note.
Today should be my favorite day of the fest, with Kerosene Halo (Mike Roe and Derri Daugherty), my roommate Jeff Elbel, the Choir, Glenn Kaiser Band, the Lost Dogs (minus Terry Taylor, apparently) and Deas Vail. Report later, or tomorrow if I’m still too old to do it tonight.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
This year, Mike Roe of the 77s and Derri Daugherty of the Choir are unveiling their new project, Kerosene Halo. It's been a great couple of years for Daugherty lovers - two Choir albums, a solo record, and now this. And Mike Roe, well, he's always been prolific and amazing. So now two of my favorite voices (and guitar players) have joined forces for a record that is, quite frankly, gorgeous.
It's mostly covers, including tunes from Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, and two from Daniel Amos mastermind Terry Taylor. But just listen to the voices intertwine, the beautiful atmosphere this thing conjures. No, seriously, go listen. You can hear all of Kerosene Halo's debut album for free. I think it's wonderful, and I can't wait to see them play this stuff live.
Some of these are surprising. Cee-Lo Green stays true to the rockabilly roots of "You're So Square (Baby I Don't Care)," and his voice works very well in this style. My Morning Jacket turns in a heartbreaking take on "True Love Ways." Kid Rock (!) does a fine job with "Well All Right." And wait until you hear Modest Mouse chew up and spit out "That'll Be the Day."
Some of these versions don't work as well - Julian Casablancas treats "Rave On" like an outtake from his miserable solo album, and Lou Reed murders "Peggy Sue" - but most are heartfelt and lovingly-crafted tributes to a man who died too young, but definitely left his mark on the burgeoning young art form known as rock and roll.
I can't apologize enough for allowing this blog to deteriorate. My last post was in mid-January, when I had just started working for Patch, and I had no idea just how difficult and time-consuming those first few months would be. Ask anyone who knows me - I've pretty much become invisible. But now I think I have more of a handle on it, and I'm ready to start this monster up again.
Here's the thing: I initially started this blog as a supplement to my weekly column, Tuesday Morning 3 A.M., because I had too much music to cover in one place each week. This problem has not gone away. I still buy more music than I can fit into a weekly column, and lately, my thoughts on that music have been bursting out of my skull. I'm finding TM3AM a more difficult slog lately, simply because I have so much to say, and no time to say it all at once. (Does that make sense?)
What I mean is, quicker hits - like these blog posts - will be easier for me, I think, than trying to cover everything I want to say about music in the weekly column. That's the hope, at least. The column isn't going anywhere - look for a dissertation on silly pop music next week, and my thoughts on this year's Cornerstone Festival the week after. But check here more regularly, because my first-listen reactions and thoughts on music news will go here.
Thanks very much for reading, and thanks for your patience with me these past six months. I think we're ready to roll again.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
But bang it out I did. This week I took a look at the determinedly slight new Decemberists album, and tacked on a pair of quick takes, one of Joy Division wannabes White Lies, and the other of Portland, Maine supergroup Space vs. Speed. As always, click on over to read the column, then head back here to leave me a comment.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
McCrea is a filthy liar.
This album sounds like Cake. If you liked Cake before, with their stinging guitars and chiming horns and McCrea's low-key voice, you will like this. The tempos are slower across the board - "Federal Funding" may be the most laconic opener in the band's history - but the sound is essentially untouched.
There is one standout, and that's "The Winter," which features acoustic piano for the first time on a Cake album. This is one of the finest songs McCrea and company have written, and its mournful singalong will stay with you. But it's the one moment of real evolution on an album that otherwise sounds stuck in the past. I like Cake, and I like this record about as much as any of their others, but there are no new vistas explored here, and I can't fathom why it took so long to complete.
That's putting it mildly, actually. My entire life is based around having things to look forward to. I scour new release calendars and band websites, looking for information on new music. I make up schedules in my head, and grasp at any information I can get - track listings, track times, producers, guest musicians. I want to love everything I hear. Even the albums I know will be crap. I buy them hoping they'll surprise me.
All that's a way of saying that if you're looking for cynicism, or rampant trashing of every album that comes down the pike, you're in the wrong place. Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. is all about loving music, and while I'm not afraid to give honest assessments of terrible records, I would much rather write about the ones I love, and am looking forward to.
So 2011's first column is in that vein. I've come up with 11 reasons to be excited about 2011, from the new Decemberists to Bright Eyes to PJ Harvey to the as-yet-untitled third Quiet Company album. It's going to be a good year, I can just feel it.
Since writing this column, another one has been announced: Okkervil River's I Am Very Far, out on May 10. It just keeps getting better. Click on over to read the column, and then head back here to leave me a comment.
I'm determined to make better use of this blog in 2011 than I did in 2010, as well. The last half of last year was a whirlwind, and while the opening weeks of 2011 have been similar, I plan to carve out time for my first-listen reviews, and revive the Reasons to be Cheerful feature. The blog is an important part of this conversation we're having, and I fell off the train big time last year.
I'd love this whole tm3am thing to be a two-way street. If you have thoughts, ideas, reviews of your own, or recommendations, I'd like to hear them. You can leave them in the comments under this blog, or email them to firstname.lastname@example.org, or connect with me on Facebook (www.facebook.com/asalles). Thanks very much for reading, you don't know what it means to me.
All right, we're ready. Year Eleven. All systems go.